Title: PG Edition of Netherlands series — Complete
Author: Motley, John Lothrop
Language: English
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by JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.

Corresponding Member of the Institute of France, Etc.


1555-1623



CONTENTS:
     The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1555-1584
     History of the United Netherlands, 1584-1609
     Life and Death of John of Barneveld, 1609-1623

     A Memoir of John Lothrop Motley by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.



THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1566

A History



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D. Corresponding Member of the Institute
of France, Etc.
1855

[Etext Editor's Note: JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, born in Dorchester, Mass.
1814, died 1877. Other works: Morton's Hopes and Merry Mount, novels.
Motley was the United States Minister to Austria, 1861-67, and the United
States Minister to England, 1869-70. Mark Twain mentions his respect for
John Motley. Oliver Wendell Holmes said in 'An Oration delivered before
the City Authorities of Boston' on the 4th of July, 1863: "'It cannot be
denied,'--says another observer, placed on one of our national
watch-towers in a foreign capital,--'it cannot be denied that the
tendency of European public opinion, as delivered from high places, is
more and more unfriendly to our cause; but the people,' he adds,
'everywhere sympathize with us, for they know that our cause is that of
free institutions,--that our struggle is that of the people against an
oligarchy.' These are the words of the Minister to Austria, whose
generous sympathies with popular liberty no homage paid to his genius by
the class whose admiring welcome is most seductive to scholars has ever
spoiled; our fellow-citizen, the historian of a great Republic which
infused a portion of its life into our own,--John Lothrop Motley." (See
the biography of Motley, by Holmes) Ed.]



PREFACE

The rise of the Dutch Republic must ever be regarded as one of the
leading events of modern times. Without the birth of this great
commonwealth, the various historical phenomena of: the sixteenth and
following centuries must have either not existed; or have presented
themselves under essential modifications.--Itself an organized protest
against ecclesiastical tyranny and universal empire, the Republic guarded
with sagacity, at many critical periods in the world's history; that
balance of power which, among civilized states; ought always to be
identical with the scales of divine justice. The splendid empire of
Charles the Fifth was erected upon the grave of liberty. It is a
consolation to those who have hope in humanity to watch, under the reign
of his successor, the gradual but triumphant resurrection of the spirit
over which the sepulchre had so long been sealed. From the handbreadth of
territory called the province of Holland rises a power which wages eighty
years' warfare with the most potent empire upon earth, and which, during
the progress of the struggle, becoming itself a mighty state, and binding
about its own slender form a zone of the richest possessions of earth,
from pole to tropic, finally dictates its decrees to the empire of
Charles.

So much is each individual state but a member of one great international
commonwealth, and so close is the relationship between the whole human
family, that it is impossible for a nation, even while struggling for
itself, not to acquire something for all mankind. The maintenance of the
right by the little provinces of Holland and Zealand in the sixteenth, by
Holland and England united in the seventeenth, and by the United States
of America in the eighteenth centuries, forms but a single chapter in the
great volume of human fate; for the so-called revolutions of Holland,
England, and America, are all links of one chain.

To the Dutch Republic, even more than to Florence at an earlier day, is
the world indebted for practical instruction in that great science of
political equilibrium which must always become more and more important as
the various states of the civilized world are pressed more closely
together, and as the struggle for pre-eminence becomes more feverish and
fatal. Courage and skill in political and military combinations enabled
William the Silent to overcome the most powerful and unscrupulous monarch
of his age. The same hereditary audacity and fertility of genius placed
the destiny of Europe in the hands of William's great-grandson, and
enabled him to mould into an impregnable barrier the various elements of
opposition to the overshadowing monarchy of Louis XIV. As the schemes of
the Inquisition and the unparalleled tyranny of Philip, in one century,
led to the establishment of the Republic of the United Provinces, so, in
the next, the revocation of the Nantes Edict and the invasion of Holland
are avenged by the elevation of the Dutch stadholder upon the throne of
the stipendiary Stuarts.

To all who speak the English language; the history of the great agony
through which the Republic of Holland was ushered into life must have
peculiar interest, for it is a portion of the records of the Anglo-Saxon
race--essentially the same, whether in Friesland, England, or
Massachusetts.

A great naval and commercial commonwealth, occupying a small portion of
Europe but conquering a wide empire by the private enterprise of trading
companies, girdling the world with its innumerable dependencies in Asia,
America, Africa, Australia--exercising sovereignty in Brazil, Guiana, the
West Indies, New York, at the Cape of Good Hope, in Hindostan, Ceylon,
Java, Sumatra, New Holland--having first laid together, as it were, many
of the Cyclopean blocks, out of which the British realm, at a late:
period, has been constructed--must always be looked upon with interest by
Englishmen, as in a great measure the precursor in their own scheme of
empire.

For America the spectacle is one of still deeper import. The Dutch
Republic originated in the opposition of the rational elements of human
nature to sacerdotal dogmatism and persecution--in the courageous
resistance of historical and chartered liberty to foreign despotism.
Neither that liberty nor ours was born of the cloud-embraces of a false
Divinity with, a Humanity of impossible beauty, nor was the infant career
of either arrested in blood and tears by the madness of its worshippers.
"To maintain," not to overthrow, was the device of the Washington of the
sixteenth century, as it was the aim of our own hero and his great
contemporaries.

The great Western Republic, therefore--in whose Anglo-Saxon veins flows
much of that ancient and kindred blood received from the nation once
ruling a noble portion of its territory, and tracking its own political
existence to the same parent spring of temperate human liberty--must look
with affectionate interest upon the trials of the elder commonwealth.
These volumes recite the achievement of Dutch independence, for its
recognition was delayed till the acknowledgment was superfluous and
ridiculous. The existence of the Republic is properly to be dated from
the Union of Utrecht in 1581, while the final separation of territory
into independent and obedient provinces, into the Commonwealth of the
United States and the Belgian provinces of Spain, was in reality effected
by William the Silent, with whose death three years subsequently, the
heroic period of the history may be said to terminate. At this point
these volumes close. Another series, with less attention to minute
details, and carrying the story through a longer range of years, will
paint the progress of the Republic in its palmy days, and narrate the
establishment of, its external system of dependencies and its interior
combinations for self-government and European counterpoise. The lessons
of history and the fate of free states can never be sufficiently pondered
by those upon whom so large and heavy a responsibility for the
maintenance of rational human freedom rests.

I have only to add that this work is the result of conscientious
research, and of an earnest desire to arrive at the truth. I have
faithfully studied all the important contemporary chroniclers and later
historians--Dutch, Flemish, French, Italian, Spanish, or German. Catholic
and Protestant, Monarchist and Republican, have been consulted with the
same sincerity. The works of Bor (whose enormous but indispensable folios
form a complete magazine of contemporary state-papers, letters, and
pamphlets, blended together in mass, and connected by a chain of artless
but earnest narrative), of Meteren, De Thou, Burgundius, Heuterus;
Tassis, Viglius, Hoofd, Haraeus, Van der Haer, Grotius-of Van der Vynckt,
Wagenaer, Van Wyn, De Jonghe, Kluit, Van Kampen, Dewez, Kappelle,
Bakhuyzen, Groen van Prinsterer--of Ranke and Raumer, have been as
familiar to me as those of Mendoza, Carnero, Cabrera, Herrera, Ulloa,
Bentivoglio, Peres, Strada. The manuscript relations of those Argus-eyed
Venetian envoys who surprised so many courts and cabinets in their most
unguarded moments, and daguerreotyped their character and policy for the
instruction of the crafty Republic, and whose reports remain such an
inestimable source for the secret history of the sixteenth century, have
been carefully examined--especially the narratives of the caustic and
accomplished Badovaro, of Suriano, and Michele. It is unnecessary to add
that all the publications of M. Gachard--particularly the invaluable
correspondence of Philip II. and of William the Silent, as well as the
"Archives et Correspondence" of the Orange Nassau family, edited by the
learned and distinguished Groen van Prinsterer, have been my constant
guides through the tortuous labyrinth of Spanish and Netherland politics.
The large and most interesting series of pamphlets known as "The Duncan
Collection," in the Royal Library at the Hague, has also afforded a great
variety of details by which I have endeavoured to give color and interest
to the narrative. Besides these, and many other printed works, I have
also had the advantage of perusing many manuscript histories, among which
may be particularly mentioned the works of Pontua Payen, of Renom de
France, and of Pasquier de la Barre; while the vast collection of
unpublished documents in the Royal Archives of the Hague, of Brussels,
and of Dresden, has furnished me with much new matter of great
importance. I venture to hope that many years of labour, a portion of
them in the archives of those countries whose history forms the object of
my study, will not have been entirely in vain; and that the lovers of
human progress, the believers in the capacity of nations for
self-government and self-improvement, and the admirers of disinterested
human genius and virtue, may find encouragement for their views in the
detailed history of an heroic people in its most eventful period, and in
the life and death of the great man whose name and fame are identical
with those of his country.

No apology is offered for this somewhat personal statement. When an
unknown writer asks the attention of the public upon an important theme,
he is not only authorized, but required, to show, that by industry and
earnestness he has entitled himself to a hearing. The author too keenly
feels that he has no further claims than these, and he therefore most
diffidently asks for his work the indulgence of his readers.

I would take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to Dr. Klemm,
Hofrath and Chief Librarian at Dresden, and to Mr. Von Weber,
Ministerial-rath and Head of the Royal Archives of Saxony, for the
courtesy and kindness extended to me so uniformly during the course of my
researches in that city. I would also speak a word of sincere thanks to
Mr. Campbell, Assistant Librarian at the Hague, for his numerous acts of
friendship during the absence of, his chief, M. Holtrop. To that most
distinguished critic and historian, M. Bakhuyzen van den Brinck, Chief
Archivist of the Netherlands, I am under deep obligations for advice,
instruction, and constant kindness, during my residence at the Hague; and
I would also signify my sense of the courtesy of Mr. Charter-Master de
Schwane, and of the accuracy with which copies of MSS. in the archives
were prepared for me by his care. Finally, I would allude in the
strongest language of gratitude and respect to M. Gachard,
Archivist-General of Belgium, for his unwearied courtesy and manifold
acts of kindness to me during my studies in the Royal Archives of
Brussels.



THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION.



Part 1.

I.

The north-western corner of the vast plain which extends from the German
ocean to the Ural mountains, is occupied by the countries called the
Netherlands. This small triangle, enclosed between France, Germany, and
the sea, is divided by the modern kingdoms of Belgium and Holland into
two nearly equal portions. Our earliest information concerning this
territory is derived from the Romans. The wars waged by that nation with
the northern barbarians have rescued the damp island of Batavia, with its
neighboring morasses, from the obscurity in which they might have
remained for ages, before any thing concerning land or people would have
been made known by the native inhabitants. Julius Caesar has saved from,
oblivion the heroic savages who fought against his legions in defence of
their dismal homes with ferocious but unfortunate patriotism; and the
great poet of England, learning from the conqueror's Commentaries the
name of the boldest tribe, has kept the Nervii, after almost twenty
centuries, still fresh and familiar in our ears.

Tacitus, too, has described with singular minuteness the struggle between
the people of these regions and the power of Rome, overwhelming, although
tottering to its fall; and has moreover, devoted several chapters of his
work upon Germany to a description of the most remarkable Teutonic tribes
of the Netherlands.

Geographically and ethnographically, the Low Countries belong both to
Gaul and to Germany. It is even doubtful to which of the two the Batavian
island, which is the core of the whole country, was reckoned by the
Romans. It is, however, most probable that all the land, with the
exception of Friesland, was considered a part of Gaul.

Three great rivers--the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Scheld--had deposited
their slime for ages among the dunes and sand banks heaved up by the
ocean around their mouths. A delta was thus formed, habitable at last for
man. It was by nature a wide morass, in which oozy islands and savage
forests were interspersed among lagoons and shallows; a district lying
partly below the level of the ocean at its higher tides, subject to
constant overflow from the rivers, and to frequent and terrible
inundations by the sea.

The Rhine, leaving at last the regions where its storied lapse, through
so many ages, has been consecrated alike by nature and art-by poetry and
eventful truth--flows reluctantly through the basalt portal of the
Seven Mountains into the open fields which extend to the German sea.
After entering this vast meadow, the stream divides itself into two
branches, becoming thus the two-horned Rhine of Virgil, and holds in
these two arms the island of Batavia.

The Meuse, taking its rise in the Vosges, pours itself through the
Ardennes wood, pierces the rocky ridges upon the southeastern frontier of
the Low Countries, receives the Sambre in the midst of that picturesque
anthracite basin where now stands the city of Namur, and then moves
toward the north, through nearly the whole length of the country, till it
mingles its waters with the Rhine.

The Scheld, almost exclusively a Belgian river, after leaving its
fountains in Picardy, flows through the present provinces of Flanders and
Hainault. In Caesar's time it was suffocated before reaching the sea in
quicksands and thickets, which long afforded protection to the savage
inhabitants against the Roman arms; and which the slow process of nature
and the untiring industry of man have since converted into the
archipelago of Zealand and South Holland. These islands were unknown to
the Romans.

Such were the rivers, which, with their numerous tributaries, coursed
through the spongy land. Their frequent overflow, when forced back upon
their currents by the stormy sea, rendered the country almost
uninhabitable. Here, within a half-submerged territory, a race of
wretched ichthyophagi dwelt upon terpen, or mounds, which they had
raised, like beavers, above the almost fluid soil. Here, at a later day,
the same race chained the tyrant Ocean and his mighty streams into
subserviency, forcing them to fertilize, to render commodious, to cover
with a beneficent network of veins and arteries, and to bind by watery
highways with the furthest ends of the world, a country disinherited by
nature of its rights. A region, outcast of ocean and earth, wrested at
last from both domains their richest treasures. A race, engaged for
generations in stubborn conflict with the angry elements, was
unconsciously educating itself for its great struggle with the still more
savage despotism of man.

The whole territory of the Netherlands was girt with forests. An
extensive belt of woodland skirted the sea-coast; reaching beyond the
mouths of the Rhine. Along the outer edge of this carrier, the dunes cast
up by the sea were prevented by the close tangle of thickets from
drifting further inward; and thus formed a breastwork which time and art
were to strengthen. The, groves of Haarlem and the Hague are relics of
this ancient forest. The Badahuenna wood, horrid with Druidic sacrifices,
extended along the eastern line of the vanished lake of Flevo. The vast
Hercynian forest, nine days' journey in breadth, closed in the country on
the German side, stretching from the banks of the Rhine to the remote
regions of the Dacians, in such vague immensity (says the conqueror of
the whole country) that no German, after traveling sixty days, had ever
reached, or even heard of; its commencement. On the south, the famous
groves of Ardennes, haunted by faun and satyr, embowered the country, and
separated it from Celtic Gaul.

Thus inundated by mighty rivers, quaking beneath the level of the ocean,
belted about by hirsute forests, this low land, nether land, hollow land,
or Holland, seemed hardly deserving the arms of the all-accomplished
Roman. Yet foreign tyranny, from the earliest ages, has coveted this
meagre territory as lustfully as it has sought to wrest from their native
possessors those lands with the fatal gift of beauty for their dower;
while the genius of liberty has inspired as noble a resistance to
oppression here as it ever aroused in Grecian or Italian breasts.



II.

It can never be satisfactorily ascertained who were the aboriginal
inhabitants. The record does not reach beyond Caesar's epoch, and he
found the territory on the left of the Rhine mainly tenanted by tribes of
the Celtic family. That large division of the Indo-European group which
had already overspread many portions of Asia Minor, Greece, Germany, the
British Islands, France, and Spain, had been long settled in Belgic Gaul,
and constituted the bulk of its population. Checked in its westward
movement by the Atlantic, its current began to flow backwards towards its
fountains, so that the Gallic portion of the Netherland population was
derived from the original race in its earlier wanderings and from the
later and refluent tide coming out of Celtic Gaul. The modern appellation
of the Walloons points to the affinity of their ancestors with the
Gallic, Welsh, and Gaelic family. The Belgae were in many respects a
superior race to most of their blood-allies. They were, according to
Caesar's testimony, the bravest of all the Celts. This may be in part
attributed to the presence of several German tribes, who, at this period
had already forced their way across the Rhine, mingled their qualities
with the Belgic material, and lent an additional mettle to the Celtic
blood. The heart of the country was thus inhabited by a Gallic race, but
the frontiers had been taken possession of by Teutonic tribes.

When the Cimbri and their associates, about a century before our era,
made their memorable onslaught upon Rome, the early inhabitants of the
Rhine island of Batavia, who were probably Celts, joined in the
expedition. A recent and tremendous inundation had swept away their
miserable homes, and even the trees of the forests, and had thus rendered
them still more dissatisfied with their gloomy abodes. The island was
deserted of its population. At about the same period a civil dissension
among the Chatti--a powerful German race within the Hercynian
forest--resulted in the expatriation of a portion of the people. The
exiles sought a new home in the empty Rhine island, called it "Bet-auw,"
or "good-meadow," and were themselves called, thenceforward, Batavi, or
Batavians.

These Batavians, according to Tacitus, were the bravest of all the
Germans. The Chatti, of whom they formed a portion, were a pre-eminently
warlike race. "Others go to battle," says the historian, "these go to
war." Their bodies were more hardy, their minds more vigorous, than those
of other tribes. Their young men cut neither hair nor beard till they had
slain an enemy. On the field of battle, in the midst of carnage and
plunder, they, for the first time, bared their faces. The cowardly and
sluggish, only, remained unshorn. They wore an iron ring, too, or shackle
upon their necks until they had performed the same achievement, a symbol
which they then threw away, as the emblem of sloth. The Batavians were
ever spoken of by the Romans with entire respect. They conquered the
Belgians, they forced the free Frisians to pay tribute, but they called
the Batavians their friends. The tax-gatherer never invaded their island.
Honorable alliance united them with the Romans. It was, however, the
alliance of the giant and the dwarf. The Roman gained glory and empire,
the Batavian gained nothing but the hardest blows. The Batavian cavalry
became famous throughout the Republic and the Empire. They were the
favorite troops of Caesar, and with reason, for it was their valor which
turned the tide of battle at Pharsalia. From the death of Julius down to
the times of Vespasian, the Batavian legion was the imperial body guard,
the Batavian island the basis of operations in the Roman wars with Gaul,
Germany, and Britain.

Beyond the Batavians, upon the north, dwelt the great Frisian family,
occupying the regions between the Rhine and Ems, The Zuyder Zee and the
Dollart, both caused by the terrific inundations of the thirteenth
century and not existing at this period, did not then interpose
boundaries between kindred tribes. All formed a homogeneous nation of
pure German origin.

Thus, the population of the country was partly Celtic, partly German. Of
these two elements, dissimilar in their tendencies and always difficult
to blend, the Netherland people has ever been compounded. A certain
fatality of history has perpetually helped to separate still more widely
these constituents, instead of detecting and stimulating the elective
affinities which existed. Religion, too, upon all great historical
occasions, has acted as the most powerful of dissolvents. Otherwise, had
so many valuable and contrasted characteristics been early fused into a
whole, it would be difficult to show a race more richly endowed by Nature
for dominion and progress than the Belgo-Germanic people.

Physically the two races resembled each other. Both were of vast stature.
The gigantic Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies. The
German excited astonishment by his huge body and muscular limbs. Both
were fair, with fierce blue eyes, but the Celt had yellow hair floating
over his shoulders, and the German long locks of fiery red, which he even
dyed with woad to heighten the favorite color, and wore twisted into a
war-knot upon the top of his head. Here the German's love of finery
ceased. A simple tunic fastened at his throat with a thorn, while his
other garments defined and gave full play to his limbs, completed his
costume. The Gaul, on the contrary, was so fond of dress that the Romans
divided his race respectively into long-haired, breeched, and gowned
Gaul; (Gallia comata, braccata, togata). He was fond of brilliant and
parti-colored clothes, a taste which survives in the Highlander's
costume. He covered his neck and arms with golden chains. The simple and
ferocious German wore no decoration save his iron ring, from which his
first homicide relieved him. The Gaul was irascible, furious in his
wrath, but less formidable in a sustained conflict with a powerful foe.
"All the Gauls are of very high stature," says a soldier who fought under
Julian. (Amm. Marcel. xv. 12. 1). "They are white, golden-haired,
terrible in the fierceness of their eyes, greedy of quarrels, bragging
and insolent. A band of strangers could not resist one of them in a
brawl, assisted by his strong blue-eyed wife, especially when she begins,
gnashing her teeth, her neck swollen, brandishing her vast and snowy
arms, and kicking with her heels at the same time, to deliver her
fisticuffs, like bolts from the twisted strings of a catapult. The voices
of many are threatening and formidable. They are quick to anger, but
quickly appeased. All are clean in their persons; nor among them is ever
seen any man or woman, as elsewhere, squalid in ragged garments. At all
ages they are apt for military service. The old man goes forth to the
fight with equal strength of breast, with limbs as hardened by cold and
assiduous labor, and as contemptuous of all dangers, as the young. Not
one of them, as in Italy is often the case, was ever known to cut off his
thumbs to avoid the service of Mars."

The polity of each race differed widely from that of the other. The
government of both may be said to have been republican, but the Gallic
tribes were aristocracies, in which the influence of clanship was a
predominant feature; while the German system, although nominally regal,
was in reality democratic. In Gaul were two orders, the nobility and the
priesthood, while the people, says Caesar, were all slaves. The knights
or nobles were all trained to arms. Each went forth to battle, followed
by his dependents, while a chief of all the clans was appointed to take
command during the war. The prince or chief governor was elected
annually, but only by the nobles. The people had no rights at all, and
were glad to assign themselves as slaves to any noble who was strong
enough to protect them. In peace the Druids exercised the main functions
of government. They decided all controversies, civil and criminal. To
rebel against their decrees was punished by exclusion from the
sacrifices--a most terrible excommunication, through which the criminal
was cut off from all intercourse with his fellow-creatures.

With the Germans, the sovereignty resided in the great assembly of the
people. There were slaves, indeed, but in small number, consisting either
of prisoners of war or of those unfortunates who had gambled away their
liberty in games of chance. Their chieftains, although called by the
Romans princes and kings, were, in reality, generals, chosen by universal
suffrage. Elected in the great assembly to preside in war, they were
raised on the shoulders of martial freemen, amid wild battle cries and
the clash of spear and shield. The army consisted entirely of volunteers,
and the soldier was for life infamous who deserted the field while his
chief remained alive. The same great assembly elected the village
magistrates and decided upon all important matters both of peace and war.
At the full of the moon it was usually convoked. The nobles and the
popular delegates arrived at irregular intervals, for it was an
inconvenience arising from their liberty, that two or three days were
often lost in waiting for the delinquents. All state affairs were in the
hands of this fierce democracy. The elected chieftains had rather
authority to persuade than power to command.

The Gauls were an agricultural people. They were not without many arts of
life. They had extensive flocks and herds; and they even exported salted
provisions as far as Rome. The truculent German, Ger-mane, Heer-mann,
War-man, considered carnage the only useful occupation, and despised
agriculture as enervating and ignoble. It was base, in his opinion, to
gain by sweat what was more easily acquired by blood. The land was
divided annually by the magistrates, certain farms being assigned to
certain families, who were forced to leave them at the expiration of the
year. They cultivated as a common property the lands allotted by the
magistrates, but it was easier to summon them to the battle-field than to
the plough. Thus they were more fitted for the roaming and conquering
life which Providence was to assign to them for ages, than if they had
become more prone to root themselves in the soil. The Gauls built towns
and villages. The German built his solitary hut where inclination
prompted. Close neighborhood was not to his taste.

In their system of religion the two races were most widely contrasted.
The Gauls were a priest-ridden race. Their Druids were a dominant caste,
presiding even over civil affairs, while in religious matters their
authority was despotic. What were the principles of their wild Theology
will never be thoroughly ascertained, but we know too much of its
sanguinary rites. The imagination shudders to penetrate those shaggy
forests, ringing with the death-shrieks of ten thousand human victims,
and with the hideous hymns chanted by smoke-and-blood-stained priests to
the savage gods whom they served.

The German, in his simplicity, had raised himself to a purer belief than
that of the sensuous Roman or the superstitious Gaul. He believed in a
single, supreme, almighty God, All-Vater or All-father. This Divinity was
too sublime to be incarnated or imaged, too infinite to be enclosed in
temples built with hands. Such is the Roman's testimony to the lofty
conception of the German. Certain forests were consecrated to the unseen
God whom the eye of reverent faith could alone behold. Thither, at stated
times, the people repaired to worship. They entered the sacred grove with
feet bound together, in token of submission. Those who fell were
forbidden to rise, but dragged themselves backwards on the ground. Their
rules were few and simple. They had no caste of priests, nor were they,
when first known to the Romans, accustomed to offer sacrifice. It must be
confessed that in a later age, a single victim, a criminal or a prisoner,
was occasionally immolated. The purity of their religion was soon stained
by their Celtic neighborhood. In the course of the Roman dominion it
became contaminated, and at last profoundly depraved. The fantastic
intermixture of Roman mythology with the gloomy but modified superstition
of Romanized Celts was not favorable to the simple character of German
theology. The entire extirpation, thus brought about, of any conceivable
system of religion, prepared the way for a true revelation. Within that
little river territory, amid those obscure morasses of the Rhine and
Scheld, three great forms of religion--the sanguinary superstition of the
Druid, the sensuous polytheism of the Roman, the elevated but dimly
groping creed of the German, stood for centuries, face to face, until,
having mutually debased and destroyed each other, they all faded away in
the pure light of Christianity.

Thus contrasted were Gaul and German in religious and political systems.
The difference was no less remarkable in their social characteristics.
The Gaul was singularly unchaste. The marriage state was almost unknown.
Many tribes lived in most revolting and incestuous concubinage; brethren,
parents, and children, having wives in common. The German was loyal as
the Celt was dissolute. Alone among barbarians, he contented himself with
a single wife, save that a few dignitaries, from motives of policy, were
permitted a larger number. On the marriage day the German offered
presents to his bride--not the bracelets and golden necklaces with which
the Gaul adorned his fair-haired concubine, but oxen and a bridled horse,
a sword, a shield, and a spear-symbols that thenceforward she was to
share his labors and to become a portion of himself.

They differed, too, in the honors paid to the dead. The funerals of the
Gauls were pompous. Both burned the corpse, but the Celt cast into the
flames the favorite animals, and even the most cherished slaves and
dependents of the master. Vast monuments of stone or piles of earth were
raised above the ashes of the dead. Scattered relics of the Celtic age
are yet visible throughout Europe, in these huge but unsightly memorials.

The German was not ambitious at the grave. He threw neither garments nor
odors upon the funeral pyre, but the arms and the war-horse of the
departed were burned and buried with him.

The turf was his only sepulchre, the memory of his valor his only
monument. Even tears were forbidden to the men. "It was esteemed
honorable," says the historian, "for women to lament, for men to
remember."

The parallel need be pursued no further. Thus much it was necessary to
recall to the historical student concerning the prominent characteristics
by which the two great races of the land were distinguished:
characteristics which Time has rather hardened than effaced. In the
contrast and the separation lies the key to much of their history. Had
Providence permitted a fusion of the two races, it is, possible, from
their position, and from the geographical and historical link which they
would have afforded to the dominant tribes of Europe, that a world-empire
might have been the result, different in many respects from any which has
ever arisen. Speculations upon what might have been are idle. It is well,
however; to ponder the many misfortunes resulting from a mutual
repulsion, which, under other circumstances and in other spheres, has
been exchanged for mutual attraction and support.

It is now necessary to sketch rapidly the political transformations
undergone by the country, from the early period down to the middle of the
sixteenth century; the epoch when the long agony commenced, out of which
the Batavian republic was born.



III.

The earliest chapter in the history of the Netherlands was written by
their conqueror. Celtic Gaul is already in the power of Rome; the Belgic
tribes, alarmed at the approaching danger, arm against the universal,
tyrant. Inflammable, quick to strike, but too fickle to prevail against
so powerful a foe, they hastily form a league of almost every clan. At
the first blow of Caesar's sword, the frail confederacy falls asunder
like a rope of sand. The tribes scatter in all directions.

Nearly all are soon defeated, and sue for mercy. The Nervii, true to the
German blood in their, veins, swear to die rather than surrender. They,
at least, are worthy of their cause. Caesar advances against them at the
head of eight legions. Drawn up on the banks of the Sambre, they await
the Roman's approach. In three days' march Caesar comes up with them,
pitches his camp upon a steep hill sloping down to the river, and sends
some cavalry across. Hardly have the Roman horsemen crossed the stream,
than the Nervii rush from the wooded hill-top, overthrow horse and rider,
plunge in one great mass into the current, and, directly afterwards, are
seen charging up the hill into the midst of the enemy's force. "At the
same moment," says the conqueror, "they seemed in the wood, in the river,
and within our lines." There is a panic among the Romans, but it is
brief. Eight veteran Roman legions, with the world's victor at their
head, are too much for the brave but undisciplined Nervii. Snatching a
shield from a soldier, and otherwise unarmed, Caesar throws himself into
the hottest of the fight. The battle rages foot to foot and hand to hand
but the hero's skill, with the cool valor of his troops, proves
invincible as ever. The Nervii, true to their vow, die, but not a man
surrenders. They fought upon that day till the ground was heaped with
their dead, while, as the foremost fell thick and fast, their comrades,
says the Roman, sprang upon their piled-up bodies, and hurled their
javelins at the enemy as from a hill. They fought like men to whom life
without liberty was a curse. They were not defeated, but exterminated. Of
many thousand fighting men went home but five hundred. Upon reaching the
place of refuge where they had bestowed their women and children, Caesar
found, after the battle, that there were but three of their senators left
alive. So perished the Nervii. Caesar commanded his legions to treat with
respect the little remnant of the tribe which had just fallen to swell
the empty echo of his glory, and then, with hardly a breathing pause, he
proceeded to annihilate the Aduatici, the Menapii, and the Morini.

Gaul being thus pacified, as, with sublime irony, he expresses himself
concerning a country some of whose tribes had been annihilated, some sold
as slaves, and others hunted to their lairs like beasts of prey, the
conqueror departed for Italy. Legations for peace from many German races
to Rome were the consequence of these great achievements. Among others
the Batavians formed an alliance with the masters of the world. Their
position was always an honorable one. They were justly proud of paying no
tribute, but it was, perhaps, because they had nothing to pay. They had
few cattle, they could give no hides and horns like the Frisians, and
they were therefore allowed to furnish only their blood. From this time
forth their cavalry, which was the best of Germany, became renowned in
the Roman army upon every battle-field of Europe.

It is melancholy, at a later moment, to find the brave Batavians
distinguished in the memorable expedition of Germanicus to crush the
liberties of their German kindred. They are forever associated with the
sublime but misty image of the great Hermann, the hero, educated in Rome,
and aware of the colossal power of the empire, who yet, by his genius,
valor, and political adroitness, preserved for Germany her nationality,
her purer religion, and perhaps even that noble language which her
late-flowering literature has rendered so illustrious--but they are
associated as enemies, not as friends.

Galba, succeeding to the purple upon the suicide of Nero, dismissed the
Batavian life-guards to whom he owed his elevation. He is murdered, Otho
and Vitellius contend for the succession, while all eyes are turned upon
the eight Batavian regiments. In their hands the scales of empire seem to
rest. They declare for Vitellius, and the civil war begins. Otho is
defeated; Vitellius acknowledged by Senate and people. Fearing, like his
predecessors, the imperious turbulence of the Batavian legions, he, too,
sends them into Germany. It was the signal for a long and extensive
revolt, which had well nigh overturned the Roman power in Gaul and Lower
Germany.



IV.

Claudius Civilis was a Batavian of noble race, who had served twenty-five
years in the Roman armies. His Teutonic name has perished, for, like most
savages who become denizens of a civilized state, he had assumed an
appellation in the tongue of his superiors. He was a soldier of fortune,
and had fought wherever the Roman eagles flew. After a quarter of a
century's service he was sent in chains to Rome, and his brother
executed, both falsely charged with conspiracy. Such were the triumphs
adjudged to Batavian auxiliaries. He escaped with life, and was disposed
to consecrate what remained of it to a nobler cause. Civilis was no
barbarian. Like the German hero Arminius, he had received a Roman
education, and had learned the degraded condition of Rome. He knew the
infamous vices of her rulers; he retained an unconquerable love for
liberty and for his own race. Desire to avenge his own wrongs was mingled
with loftier motives in his breast. He knew that the sceptre was in the
gift of the Batavian soldiery. Galba had been murdered, Otho had
destroyed himself, and Vitellius, whose weekly gluttony cost the empire
more gold than would have fed the whole Batavian population and converted
their whole island-morass into fertile pastures, was contending for the
purple with Vespasian, once an obscure adventurer like Civilis himself,
and even his friend and companion in arms. It seemed a time to strike a
blow for freedom.

By his courage, eloquence, and talent for political combinations, Civilis
effected a general confederation of all the Netherland tribes, both
Celtic and German. For a brief moment there was a united people, a
Batavian commonwealth. He found another source of strength in German
superstition. On the banks of the Lippe, near its confluence with the
Rhine, dwelt the Virgin Velleda, a Bructerian weird woman, who exercised
vast influence over the warriors of her nation. Dwelling alone in a lofty
tower, shrouded in a wild forest, she was revered as an oracle. Her
answers to the demands of her worshippers concerning future events were
delivered only to a chosen few. To Civilis, who had formed a close
friendship with her, she promised success, and the downfall of the Roman
world. Inspired by her prophecies, many tribes of Germany sent large
subsidies to the Batavian chief.

The details of the revolt have been carefully preserved by Tacitus, and
form one of his grandest and most elaborate pictures. The spectacle of a
brave nation, inspired by the soul of one great man and rising against an
overwhelming despotism, will always speak to the heart, from generation
to generation. The battles, the sieges, the defeats, the indomitable
spirit of Civilis, still flaming most brightly when the clouds were
darkest around him, have been described by the great historian in his
most powerful manner. The high-born Roman has thought the noble
barbarian's portrait a subject worthy his genius.

The struggle was an unsuccessful one. After many victories and many
overthrows, Civilis was left alone. The Gallic tribes fell off, and sued
for peace. Vespasian, victorious over Vitellius, proved too powerful for
his old comrade. Even the Batavians became weary of the hopeless contest,
while fortune, after much capricious hovering, settled at last upon the
Roman side. The imperial commander Cerialis seized the moment when the
cause of the Batavian hero was most desperate to send emissaries among
his tribe, and even to tamper with the mysterious woman whose prophecies
had so inflamed his imagination. These intrigues had their effect. The
fidelity of the people was sapped; the prophetess fell away from her
worshipper, and foretold ruin to his cause. The Batavians murmured that
their destruction was inevitable, that one nation could not arrest the
slavery which was destined for the whole world. How large a part of the
human race were the Batavians? What were they in a contest with the whole
Roman empire? Moreover, they were not oppressed with tribute. They were
only expected to furnish men and valor to their proud allies. It was the
next thing to liberty. If they were to have rulers, it was better to
serve a Roman emperor than a German witch.

Thus murmured the people. Had Civilis been successful, he would have been
deified; but his misfortunes, at last, made him odious in spite of his
heroism. But the Batavian was not a man to be crushed, nor had he lived
so long in the Roman service to be outmatched in politics by the
barbarous Germans. He was not to be sacrificed as a peace-offering to
revengeful Rome. Watching from beyond the Rhine the progress of defection
and the decay of national enthusiasm, he determined to be beforehand with
those who were now his enemies. He accepted the offer of negotiation from
Cerialis. The Roman general was eager to grant a full pardon, and to
re-enlist so brave a soldier in the service of the empire.

A colloquy was agreed upon. The bridge across the Nabalia was broken
asunder in the middle, and Cerialis and Civilis met upon the severed
sides. The placid stream by which Roman enterprise had connected the
waters of the Rhine with the lake of Flevo, flowed between the imperial
commander and the rebel chieftain.

     ***********************************************

Here the story abruptly terminates. The remainder of the Roman's
narrative is lost, and upon that broken bridge the form of the Batavian
hero disappears forever. His name fades from history: not a syllable is
known of his subsequent career; every thing is buried in the profound
oblivion which now steals over the scene where he was the most imposing
actor.

The soul of Civilis had proved insufficient to animate a whole people;
yet it was rather owing to position than to any personal inferiority,
that his name did not become as illustrious as that of Hermann. The
German patriot was neither braver nor wiser than the Batavian, but he had
the infinite forests of his fatherland to protect him. Every legion which
plunged into those unfathomable depths was forced to retreat
disastrously, or to perish miserably. Civilis was hemmed in by the ocean;
his country, long the basis of Roman military operations, was accessible
by river and canal, The patriotic spirit which he had for a moment
raised, had abandoned him; his allies had deserted him; he stood alone
and at bay, encompassed by the hunters, with death or surrender as his
only alternative. Under such circumstances, Hermann could not have shown
more courage or conduct, nor have terminated the impossible struggle with
greater dignity or adroitness.

The contest of Civilis with Rome contains a remarkable foreshadowing of
the future conflict with Spain, through which the Batavian republic,
fifteen centuries later, was to be founded. The characters, the events,
the amphibious battles, desperate sieges, slippery alliances, the traits
of generosity, audacity and cruelty, the generous confidence, the broken
faith seem so closely to repeat themselves, that History appears to
present the self-same drama played over and over again, with but a change
of actors and of costume. There is more than a fanciful resemblance
between Civilis and William the Silent, two heroes of ancient German
stock, who had learned the arts of war and peace in the service of a
foreign and haughty world-empire. Determination, concentration of
purpose, constancy in calamity, elasticity almost preternatural,
self-denial, consummate craft in political combinations, personal
fortitude, and passionate patriotism, were the heroic elements in both.
The ambition of each was subordinate to the cause which he served. Both
refused the crown, although each, perhaps, contemplated, in the sequel, a
Batavian realm of which he would have been the inevitable chief. Both
offered the throne to a Gallic prince, for Classicus was but the
prototype of Anjou, as Brinno of Brederode, and neither was destined, in
this world, to see his sacrifices crowned with success.

The characteristics of the two great races of the land portrayed
themselves in the Roman and the Spanish struggle with much the same
colors. The Southrons, inflammable, petulant, audacious, were the first
to assault and to defy the imperial power in both revolts, while the
inhabitants of the northern provinces, slower to be aroused, but of more
enduring wrath, were less ardent at the commencement, but; alone,
steadfast at the close of the contest. In both wars the southern Celts
fell away from the league, their courageous but corrupt chieftains having
been purchased with imperial gold to bring about the abject submission of
their followers; while the German Netherlands, although eventually
subjugated by Rome, after a desperate struggle, were successful in the
great conflict with Spain, and trampled out of existence every vestige of
her authority. The Batavian republic took its rank among the leading
powers of the earth; the Belgic provinces remained Roman, Spanish,
Austrian property.



V.

Obscure but important movements in the regions of eternal twilight,
revolutions, of which history has been silent, in the mysterious depths
of Asia, outpourings of human rivets along the sides of the Altai
mountains, convulsions up-heaving r mote realms and unknown dynasties,
shock after shock throb bing throughout the barbarian world and dying
upon the edge of civilization, vast throes which shake the earth as
precursory pangs to the birth of a new empire--as dying symptoms of the
proud but effete realm which called itself the world; scattered hordes of
sanguinary, grotesque savages pushed from their own homes, and hovering
with vague purposes upon the Roman frontier, constantly repelled and
perpetually reappearing in ever-increasing swarms, guided thither by a
fierce instinct, or by mysterious laws--such are the well known phenomena
which preceded the fall of western Rome. Stately, externally powerful,
although undermined and putrescent at the core, the death-stricken empire
still dashed back the assaults of its barbarous enemies.

During the long struggle intervening between the age of Vespasian and
that of Odoacer, during all the preliminary ethnographical revolutions
which preceded the great people's wandering, the Netherlands remained
subject provinces. Their country was upon the high road which led the
Goths to Rome. Those low and barren tracts were the outlying marches of
the empire. Upon that desolate beach broke the first surf from the rising
ocean of German freedom which was soon to overwhelm Rome. Yet, although
the ancient landmarks were soon well nigh obliterated, the Netherlands
still remained faithful to the Empire, Batavian blood was still poured
out for its defence.

By the middle of the fourth century, the Franks and Allemanians,
alle-mannez, all-men, a mass of united Germans are defeated by the
Emperor Julian at Strasburg, the Batavian cavalry, as upon many other
great occasions, saving the day for despotism. This achievement, one of
the last in which the name appears upon historic record, was therefore as
triumphant for the valor as it was humiliating to the true fame of the
nation. Their individuality soon afterwards disappears, the race having
been partly exhausted in the Roman service, partly merged in the Frank
and Frisian tribes who occupy the domains of their forefathers.

For a century longer, Rome still retains its outward form, but the
swarming nations are now in full career. The Netherlands are successively
or simultaneously trampled by Franks, Vandals, Alani, Suevi, Saxons,
Frisians, and even Sclavonians, as the great march of Germany to
universal empire, which her prophets and bards had foretold, went
majestically forward. The fountains of the frozen North were opened, the
waters prevailed, but the ark of Christianity floated upon the flood. As
the deluge assuaged, the earth had returned to chaos, the last pagan
empire had been washed out of existence, but the dimly, groping,
faltering, ignorant infancy of Christian Europe had begun.

After the wanderings had subsided, the Netherlands are found with much
the same ethnological character as before. The Frank dominion has
succeeded the Roman, the German stock preponderates over the Celtic, but
the national ingredients, although in somewhat altered proportions,
remain essentially the same. The old Belgae, having become Romanized in
tongue and customs, accept the new Empire of the Franks. That people,
however, pushed from their hold of the Rhine by thickly thronging hordes
of Gepidi, Quadi, Sarmati, Heruli, Saxons, Burgundians, move towards the
South and West. As the Empire falls before Odoacer, they occupy Celtic
Gaul with the Belgian portion of the Netherlands; while the Frisians,
into which ancient German tribe the old Batavian element has melted, not
to be extinguished, but to live a renovated existence, the "free
Frisians;" whose name is synonymous with liberty, nearest blood relations
of the Anglo-Saxon race, now occupy the northern portion, including the
whole future European territory of the Dutch republic.

The history of the Franks becomes, therefore, the history of the
Netherlands. The Frisians struggle, for several centuries, against their
dominion, until eventually subjugated by Charlemagne. They even encroach
upon the Franks in Belgic Gaul, who are determined not to yield their
possessions. Moreover, the pious Merovingian faineans desire to plant
Christianity among the still pagan Frisians. Dagobert, son of the second
Clotaire, advances against them as far as the Weser, takes possession of
Utrecht, founds there the first Christian church in Friesland, and
establishes a nominal dominion over the whole country.

Yet the feeble Merovingians would have been powerless against rugged
Friesland, had not their dynasty already merged in that puissant family
of Brabant, which long wielded their power before it assumed their crown.
It was Pepin of Heristal, grandson of the Netherlander, Pepin of Landen,
who conquered the Frisian Radbod (A.D. 692), and forced him to exchange
his royal for the ducal title.

It was Pepin's bastard, Charles the Hammer, whose tremendous blows
completed his father's work. The new mayor of the palace soon drove the
Frisian chief into submission, and even into Christianity. A bishop's
indiscretion, however, neutralized the apostolic blows of the mayor. The
pagan Radbod had already immersed one of his royal legs in the baptismal
font, when a thought struck him. "Where are my dead forefathers at
present?" he said, turning suddenly upon Bishop Wolfran. "In Hell, with
all other unbelievers," was the imprudent answer. "Mighty well," replied
Radbod, removing his leg, "then will I rather feast with my ancestors in
the halls of Woden, than dwell with your little starveling hand of
Christians in Heaven." Entreaties and threats were unavailing. The
Frisian declined positively a rite which was to cause an eternal
separation from his buried kindred, and he died as he had lived, a
heathen. His son, Poppa, succeeding to the nominal sovereignty, did not
actively oppose the introduction of Christianity among his people, but
himself refused to be converted. Rebelling against the Frank dominion, he
was totally routed by Charles Martell in a great battle (A.D.750) and
perished with a vast number of Frisians. The Christian dispensation, thus
enforced, was now accepted by these northern pagans. The commencement of
their conversion had been mainly the work of their brethren from Britain.
The monk Wilfred was followed in a few years by the Anglo-Saxon
Willibrod. It was he who destroyed the images of Woden in Walcheren,
abolished his worship, and founded churches in North Holland. Charles
Martell rewarded him with extensive domains about Utrecht, together with
many slaves and other chattels. Soon afterwards he was consecrated Bishop
of all the Frisians. Thus rose the famous episcopate of Utrecht. Another
Anglo-Saxon, Winfred, or Bonifacius, had been equally active among his
Frisian cousins. His crozier had gone hand in hand with the battle-axe.
Bonifacius followed close upon the track of his orthodox coadjutor
Charles. By the middle of the eighth century, some hundred thousand
Frisians had been slaughtered, and as many more converted. The hammer
which smote the Saracens at Tours was at last successful in beating the
Netherlanders into Christianity. The labors of Bonifacius through Upper
and Lower Germany were immense; but he, too, received great material
rewards. He was created Archbishop of Mayence, and, upon the death of
Willibrod, Bishop of Utrecht. Faithful to his mission, however, he met,
heroically, a martyr's death at the hands of the refractory pagans at
Dokkum. Thus was Christianity established in the Netherlands.

Under Charlemagne, the Frisians often rebelled, making common cause with
the Saxons. In 785, A.D., they were, however, completely subjugated, and
never rose again until the epoch of their entire separation from the
Frank empire. Charlemagne left them their name of free Frisians, and the
property in their own land. The feudal system never took root in their
soil. "The Frisians," says their statute book; "shall be free, as long as
the wind blows out of the clouds and the world stands." They agreed,
however, to obey the chiefs whom the Frank monarch should appoint to
govern them, according to their own laws. Those laws were collected, and
are still extant. The vernacular version of their Asega book contains
their ancient customs, together with the Frank additions. The general
statutes of Charlemagne were, of course, in vigor also; but that great
legislator knew too well the importance attached by all mankind to local
customs, to allow his imperial capitulara to interfere, unnecessarily,
with the Frisian laws.



VI.

Thus again the Netherlands, for the first time since the fall of Rome,
were united under one crown imperial. They had already been once united,
in their slavery to Rome. Eight centuries pass away, and they are again
united, in subjection to Charlemagne. Their union was but in forming a
single link in the chain of a new realm. The reign of Charlemagne had at
last accomplished the promise of the sorceress Velleda and other
soothsayers. A German race had re-established the empire of the world.
The Netherlands, like-the other provinces of the great monarch's
dominion, were governed by crown-appointed functionaries, military and
judicial. In the northeastern, or Frisian portion, however; the grants of
land were never in the form of revocable benefices or feuds. With this
important exception, the whole country shared the fate, and enjoyed the
general organization of the Empire.

But Charlemagne came an age too soon. The chaos which had brooded over
Europe since the dissolution of the Roman world, was still too absolute.
It was not to be fashioned into permanent forms, even by his bold and
constructive genius. A soil, exhausted by the long culture of Pagan
empires, was to lie fallow for a still longer period. The discordant
elements out of which the Emperor had compounded his realm, did not
coalesce during his life-time. They were only held together by the
vigorous grasp of the hand which had combined them. When the great
statesman died, his Empire necessarily fell to pieces. Society had need
of farther disintegration before it could begin to reconstruct itself
locally. A new civilization was not to be improvised by a single mind.
When did one man ever civilize a people? In the eighth and ninth
centuries there was not even a people to be civilized. The construction
of Charles was, of necessity, temporary. His Empire was supported by
artificial columns, resting upon the earth, which fell prostrate almost
as soon as the hand of their architect was cold. His institutions had not
struck down into the soil. There were no extensive and vigorous roots to
nourish, from below, a flourishing Empire through time and tempest.

Moreover, the Carlovingian race had been exhausted by producing a race of
heroes like the Pepins and the Charleses. The family became, soon, as
contemptible as the ox-drawn, long-haired "do-nothings" whom it had
expelled; but it is not our task to describe the fortunes of the
Emperor's ignoble descendants. The realm was divided, sub-divided, at
times partially reunited, like a family farm, among monarchs incompetent
alike to hold, to delegate, or--to resign the inheritance of the great
warrior and lawgiver. The meek, bald, fat, stammering, simple Charles, or
Louis, who successively sat upon his throne--princes, whose only historic
individuality consists in these insipid appellations--had not the sense
to comprehend, far less to develop, the plans of their ancestor.

Charles the Simple was the last Carlovingian who governed Lotharingia, in
which were comprised most of the Netherlands and Friesland. The German
monarch, Henry the Fowler, at that period called King of the East Franks,
as Charles of the West Franks, acquired Lotharingia by the treaty of
Bonn, Charles reserving the sovereignty over the kingdom during his
lifetime. In 925, A.D., however, the Simpleton having been imprisoned and
deposed by his own subjects, the Fowler was recognized King, of
Lotharingia. Thus the Netherlands passed out of France into Germany,
remaining, still, provinces of a loose, disjointed Empire.

This is the epoch in which the various dukedoms, earldoms, and other
petty sovereignties of the Netherlands became hereditary. It was in the
year 922 that Charles the Simple presented to Count Dirk the territory of
Holland, by letters patent. This narrow hook of land, destined, in future
ages, to be the cradle of a considerable empire, stretching through both
hemispheres, was, thenceforth, the inheritance of Dirk's descendants.
Historically, therefore, he is Dirk I., Count of Holland.

Of this small sovereign and his successors, the most powerful foe for
centuries was ever the Bishop of Utrecht, the origin of whose greatness
has been already indicated. Of the other Netherland provinces, now or
before become hereditary, the first in rank was Lotharingia, once the
kingdom of Lothaire, now the dukedom of Lorraine. In 965 it was divided
into Upper and Lower Lorraine, of which the lower duchy alone belonged to
the Netherlands. Two centuries later, the Counts of Louvain, then
occupying most of Brabant, obtained a permanent hold of Lower Lorraine,
and began to call themselves Dukes of Brabant. The same principle of
local independence and isolation which created these dukes, established
the hereditary power of the counts and barons who formerly exercised
jurisdiction under them and others. Thus arose sovereign Counts of Namur,
Hainault, Limburg, Zutphen, Dukes of Luxemburg and Gueldres, Barons of
Mechlin, Marquesses of Antwerp, and others; all petty autocrats. The most
important of all, after the house of Lorraine, were the Earls of
Flanders; for the bold foresters of Charles the Great had soon wrested
the sovereignty of their little territory from his feeble descendants as
easily as Baldwin, with the iron arm, had deprived the bald Charles of
his daughter. Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Overyssel, Groningen, Drenthe
and Friesland (all seven being portions of Friesland in a general sense),
were crowded together upon a little desolate corner of Europe; an obscure
fragment of Charlemagne's broken empire. They were afterwards to
constitute the United States of the Netherlands, one of the most powerful
republics of history. Meantime, for century after century, the Counts of
Holland and the Bishops of Utrecht were to exercise divided sway over the
territory.

Thus the whole country was broken into many shreds and patches of
sovereignty. The separate history of such half-organized morsels is
tedious and petty. Trifling dynasties, where a family or two were every
thing, the people nothing, leave little worth recording. Even the most
devout of genealogists might shudder to chronicle the long succession of
so many illustrious obscure.

A glance, however, at the general features of the governmental system now
established in the Netherlands, at this important epoch in the world's
history, will show the transformations which the country, in common with
other portions of the western world, had undergone.

In the tenth century the old Batavian and later Roman forms have faded
away. An entirely new polity has succeeded. No great popular assembly
asserts its sovereignty, as in the ancient German epoch; no generals and
temporary kings are chosen by the nation. The elective power had been
lost under the Romans, who, after conquest, had conferred the
administrative authority over their subject provinces upon officials
appointed by the metropolis. The Franks pursued the same course. In
Charlemagne's time, the revolution is complete. Popular assemblies and
popular election entirely vanish. Military, civil, and judicial
officers-dukes, earls, margraves, and others--are all king's creatures,
'knegton des konings, pueri regis', and so remain, till they abjure the
creative power, and set up their own. The principle of Charlemagne, that
his officers should govern according to local custom, helps them to
achieve their own independence, while it preserves all that is left of
national liberty and law.

The counts, assisted by inferior judges, hold diets from time to
time--thrice, perhaps, annually. They also summon assemblies in case of
war. Thither are called the great vassals, who, in turn, call their
lesser vassals; each armed with "a shield, a spear, a bow, twelve arrows,
and a cuirass." Such assemblies, convoked in the name of a distant
sovereign, whose face his subjects had never seen, whose language they
could hardly understand, were very different from those tumultuous
mass-meetings, where boisterous freemen, armed with the weapons they
loved the best, and arriving sooner or later, according to their
pleasure, had been accustomed to elect their generals and magistrates and
to raise them upon their shields. The people are now governed, their
rulers appointed by an invisible hand. Edicts, issued by a power, as it
were, supernatural, demand implicit obedience. The people, acquiescing in
their own annihilation, abdicate not only their political but their
personal rights. On the other hand, the great source of power diffuses
less and less of light and warmth. Losing its attractive and controlling
influence, it becomes gradually eclipsed, while its satellites fly from
their prescribed bounds and chaos and darkness return. The sceptre,
stretched over realms so wide, requires stronger hands than those of
degenerate Carlovingians. It breaks asunder. Functionaries become
sovereigns, with hereditary, not delegated, right to own the people, to
tax their roads and rivers, to take tithings of their blood and sweat, to
harass them in all the relations of life. There is no longer a metropolis
to protect them from official oppression. Power, the more sub-divided,
becomes the more tyrannical. The sword is the only symbol of law, the
cross is a weapon of offence, the bishop is a consecrated pirate, every
petty baron a burglar, while the people, alternately the prey of duke,
prelate, and seignor, shorn and butchered like sheep, esteem it happiness
to sell themselves into slavery, or to huddle beneath the castle walls of
some little potentate, for the sake of his wolfish protection. Here they
build hovels, which they surround from time to time with palisades and
muddy entrenchments; and here, in these squalid abodes of ignorance and
misery, the genius of Liberty, conducted by the spirit of Commerce,
descends at last to awaken mankind from its sloth and cowardly stupor. A
longer night was to intervene; however, before the dawn of day.

The crown-appointed functionaries had been, of course, financial
officers. They collected the revenue of the sovereign, one third of which
slipped through their fingers into their own coffers. Becoming sovereigns
themselves, they retain these funds for their private emolument. Four
principal sources yielded this revenue: royal domains, tolls and imposts,
direct levies and a pleasantry called voluntary contributions or
benevolences. In addition to these supplies were also the proceeds of
fines. Taxation upon sin was, in those rude ages, a considerable branch
of the revenue. The old Frisian laws consisted almost entirely of a
discriminating tariff upon crimes. Nearly all the misdeeds which man is
prone to commit, were punished by a money-bote only. Murder, larceny,
arson, rape--all offences against the person were commuted for a definite
price. There were a few exceptions, such as parricide, which was followed
by loss of inheritance; sacrilege and the murder of a master by a slave,
which were punished with death. It is a natural inference that, as the
royal treasury was enriched by these imposts, the sovereign would hardly
attempt to check the annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was
increased. Still, although the moral sense is shocked by a system which
makes the ruler's interest identical with the wickedness of his people,
and holds out a comparative immunity in evil-doing for the rich, it was
better that crime should be punished by money rather than not be punished
at all. A severe tax, which the noble reluctantly paid and which the
penniless culprit commuted by personal slavery, was sufficiently unjust
as well as absurd, yet it served to mitigate the horrors with which
tumult, rapine, and murder enveloped those early days. Gradually, as the
light of reason broke upon the dark ages, the most noxious features of
the system were removed, while the general sentiment of reverence for law
remained.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Taxation upon sin
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 2.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION., Part 2.



VII.

Five centuries of isolation succeed. In the Netherlands, as throughout
Europe, a thousand obscure and slender rills are slowly preparing the
great stream of universal culture. Five dismal centuries of feudalism:
during which period there is little talk of human right, little obedience
to divine reason. Rights there are none, only forces; and, in brief,
three great forces, gradually arising, developing themselves, acting upon
each other, and upon the general movement of society.

The sword--the first, for a time the only force: the force of iron. The
"land's master," having acquired the property in the territory and in the
people who feed thereon, distributes to his subalterns, often but a shade
beneath him in power, portions of his estate, getting the use of their
faithful swords in return. Vavasours subdivide again to vassals,
exchanging land and cattle, human or otherwise, against fealty, and so
the iron chain of a military hierarchy, forged of mutually interdependent
links, is stretched over each little province. Impregnable castles, here
more numerous than in any other part of Christendom, dot the level
surface of the country. Mail-clad knights, with their followers, encamp
permanently upon the soil. The fortunate fable of divine right is
invented to sanction the system; superstition and ignorance give currency
to the delusion. Thus the grace of God, having conferred the property in
a vast portion of Europe upon a certain idiot in France, makes him
competent to sell large fragments of his estate, and to give a divine,
and, therefore, most satisfactory title along with them. A great
convenience to a man, who had neither power, wit, nor will to keep the
property in his own hands. So the Dirks of Holland get a deed from
Charles the Simple, and, although the grace of God does not prevent the
royal grantor himself from dying a miserable, discrowned captive, the
conveyance to Dirk is none the less hallowed by almighty fiat. So the
Roberts and Guys, the Johns and Baldwins, become sovereigns in Hainault,
Brabant, Flanders and other little districts, affecting supernatural
sanction for the authority which their good swords have won and are ever
ready to maintain. Thus organized, the force of iron asserts and exerts
itself. Duke, count, seignor and vassal, knight and squire, master and
man swarm and struggle amain. A wild, chaotic, sanguinary scene. Here,
bishop and baron contend, centuries long, murdering human creatures by
ten thousands for an acre or two of swampy pasture; there, doughty
families, hugging old musty quarrels to their heart, buffet each other
from generation to generation; thus they go on, raging and wrestling
among themselves, with all the world, shrieking insane war-cries which no
human soul ever understood--red caps and black, white hoods and grey,
Hooks and Kabbeljaws, dealing destruction, building castles and burning
them, tilting at tourneys, stealing bullocks, roasting Jews, robbing the
highways, crusading--now upon Syrian sands against Paynim dogs, now in
Frisian quagmires against Albigenses, Stedingers, and other
heretics--plunging about in blood and fire, repenting, at idle times, and
paying their passage through, purgatory with large slices of ill-gotten
gains placed in the ever-extended dead-hand of the Church; acting, on the
whole, according to their kind, and so getting themselves civilized or
exterminated, it matters little which. Thus they play their part, those
energetic men-at-arms; and thus one great force, the force of iron, spins
and expands itself, century after century, helping on, as it whirls, the
great progress of society towards its goal, wherever that may be.

Another force--the force clerical--the power of clerks, arises; the might
of educated mind measuring itself against brute violence; a force
embodied, as often before, as priestcraft--the strength of priests: craft
meaning, simply, strength, in our old mother-tongue. This great force,
too, develops itself variously, being sometimes beneficent, sometimes
malignant. Priesthood works out its task, age after age: now smoothing
penitent death-beds, consecrating graves! feeding the hungry, clothing
the naked, incarnating the Christian precepts, in an, age of rapine and
homicide, doing a thousand deeds of love and charity among the obscure
and forsaken--deeds of which there shall never be human chronicle, but a
leaf or two, perhaps, in the recording angel's book; hiving precious
honey from the few flowers of gentle, art which bloom upon a howling
wilderness; holding up the light of science over a stormy sea; treasuring
in convents and crypts the few fossils of antique learning which become
visible, as the extinct Megatherium of an elder world reappears after the
gothic deluge; and now, careering in helm and hauberk with the other
ruffians, bandying blows in the thickest of the fight, blasting with
bell, book, and candle its trembling enemies, while sovereigns, at the
head of armies, grovel in the dust and offer abject submission for the
kiss of peace; exercising the same conjury over ignorant baron and
cowardly hind, making the fiction of apostolic authority to bind and
loose, as prolific in acres as the other divine right to have and hold;
thus the force of cultivated intellect, wielded by a chosen few and
sanctioned by supernatural authority, becomes as potent as the sword.

A third force, developing itself more slowly, becomes even more potent
than the rest: the power of gold. Even iron yields to the more ductile
metal. The importance of municipalities, enriched by trade, begins to be
felt. Commerce, the mother of Netherland freedom, and, eventually, its
destroyer--even as in all human history the vivifying becomes afterwards
the dissolving principle--commerce changes insensibly and miraculously
the aspect of society. Clusters of hovels become towered cities; the
green and gilded Hanse of commercial republicanism coils itself around
the decaying trunk of feudal despotism. Cities leagued with cities
throughout and beyond Christendom-empire within empire-bind themselves
closer and closer in the electric chain of human sympathy and grow
stronger and stronger by mutual support. Fishermen and river raftsmen
become ocean adventurers and merchant princes. Commerce plucks up
half-drowned Holland by the locks and pours gold into her lap. Gold
wrests power from iron. Needy Flemish weavers become mighty
manufacturers. Armies of workmen, fifty thousand strong, tramp through
the swarming streets. Silk-makers, clothiers, brewers become the gossips
of kings, lend their royal gossips vast sums and burn the royal notes of
hand in fires of cinnamon wood. Wealth brings strength, strength
confidence. Learning to handle cross-bow and dagger, the burghers fear
less the baronial sword, finding that their own will cut as well, seeing
that great armies--flowers of chivalry--can ride away before them fast
enough at battles of spurs and other encounters. Sudden riches beget
insolence, tumults, civic broils. Internecine quarrels, horrible tumults
stain the streets with blood, but education lifts the citizens more and
more out of the original slough. They learn to tremble as little at
priestcraft as at swordcraft, having acquired something of each. Gold in
the end, unsanctioned by right divine, weighs up the other forces,
supernatural as they are. And so, struggling along their appointed path,
making cloth, making money, making treaties with great kingdoms, making
war by land and sea, ringing great bells, waving great banners, they,
too--these insolent, boisterous burghers--accomplish their work. Thus,
the mighty power of the purse develops itself and municipal liberty
becomes a substantial fact. A fact, not a principle; for the old theorem
of sovereignty remains undisputed as ever. Neither the nation, in mass,
nor the citizens, in class, lay claim to human rights. All upper
attributes--legislative, judicial, administrative--remain in the
land-master's breast alone. It is an absurdity, therefore, to argue with
Grotius concerning the unknown antiquity of the Batavian republic. The
republic never existed at all till the sixteenth century, and was only
born after long years of agony. The democratic instincts of the ancient
German savages were to survive in the breasts of their cultivated
descendants, but an organized, civilized, republican polity had never
existed. The cities, as they grew in strength, never claimed the right to
make the laws or to share in the government. As a matter of fact, they
did make the laws, and shared, beside, in most important functions of
sovereignty, in the treaty-making power, especially. Sometimes by
bargains; sometimes by blood, by gold, threats, promises, or good hard
blows they extorted their charters. Their codes, statutes, joyful
entrances, and other constitutions were dictated by the burghers and
sworn to by the monarch. They were concessions from above; privileges
private laws; fragments indeed of a larger liberty, but vastly, better
than the slavery for which they had been substituted; solid facts instead
of empty abstractions, which, in those practical and violent days, would
have yielded little nutriment; but they still rather sought to reconcile
themselves, by a rough, clumsy fiction, with the hierarchy which they had
invaded, than to overturn the system. Thus the cities, not regarding
themselves as representatives or aggregations of the people, became
fabulous personages, bodies without souls, corporations which had
acquired vitality and strength enough to assert their existence. As
persons, therefore--gigantic individualities--they wheeled into the
feudal ranks and assumed feudal powers and responsibilities. The city of
Dort; of Middelburg, of Ghent, of Louvain, was a living being, doing
fealty, claiming service, bowing to its lord, struggling with its equals,
trampling upon its slaves.

Thus, in these obscure provinces, as throughout Europe, in a thousand
remote and isolated corners, civilization builds itself up, synthetically
and slowly; yet at last, a whole is likely to get itself constructed.
Thus, impelled by great and conflicting forces, now obliquely, now
backward, now upward, yet, upon the whole, onward, the new Society moves
along its predestined orbit, gathering consistency and strength as it
goes. Society, civilization, perhaps, but hardly humanity. The people has
hardly begun to extricate itself from the clods in which it lies buried.
There are only nobles, priests, and, latterly, cities. In the northern
Netherlands, the degraded condition of the mass continued longest. Even
in Friesland, liberty, the dearest blessing of the ancient Frisians, had
been forfeited in a variety of ways. Slavery was both voluntary and
compulsory. Paupers sold themselves that they might escape starvation.
The timid sold themselves that they might escape violence. These
voluntary sales, which were frequent, wore usually made to cloisters and
ecclesiastical establishments, for the condition of Church-slaves was
preferable to that of other serfs. Persons worsted in judicial duels,
shipwrecked sailors, vagrants, strangers, criminals unable to pay the
money-bote imposed upon them, were all deprived of freedom; but the
prolific source of slavery was war. Prisoners were almost universally
reduced to servitude. A free woman who intermarried with a slave
condemned herself and offspring to perpetual bondage. Among the Ripuarian
Franks, a free woman thus disgracing herself, was girt with a sword and a
distaff. Choosing the one, she was to strike her husband dead; choosing
the other, she adopted the symbol of slavery, and became a chattel for
life.

The ferocious inroads of the Normans scared many weak and timid persons
into servitude. They fled, by throngs, to church and monastery, and were
happy, by enslaving themselves, to escape the more terrible bondage of
the sea-kings. During the brief dominion of the Norman Godfrey, every
free Frisian was forced to wear a halter around his neck. The lot of a
Church-slave was freedom in comparison. To kill him was punishable by a
heavy fine. He could give testimony in court, could inherit, could make a
will, could even plead before the law, if law could be found. The number
of slaves throughout the Netherlands was very large; the number belonging
to the bishopric of Utrecht, enormous.

The condition of those belonging to laymen was much more painful. The
Lyf-eigene, or absolute slaves, were the most wretched. They were mere
brutes. They had none of the natural attributes of humanity, their life
and death were in the master's hands, they had no claim to a fraction of
their own labor or its fruits, they had no marriage, except under
condition of the infamous 'jus primoe noctis'. The villagers, or
villeins, were the second class and less forlorn. They could commute the
labor due to their owner by a fixed sum of money, after annual payment of
which, the villein worked for himself. His master, therefore, was not his
absolute proprietor. The chattel had a beneficial interest in a portion
of his own flesh and blood.

The crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs. He who
became a soldier of the cross was free upon his return, and many were
adventurous enough to purchase liberty at so honorable a price. Many
others were sold or mortgaged by the crusading knights, desirous of
converting their property into gold, before embarking upon their
enterprise. The purchasers or mortgagees were in general churches and
convents, so that the slaves, thus alienated, obtained at least a
preferable servitude. The place of the absent serfs was supplied by free
labor, so that agricultural and mechanical occupations, now devolving
upon a more elevated class, became less degrading, and, in process of
time, opened an ever-widening sphere for the industry and progress of
freemen. Thus a people began to exist. It was, however; a miserable
people, with personal, but no civil rights whatever. Their condition,
although better than servitude, was almost desperate. They were taxed
beyond their ability, while priest and noble were exempt. They had no
voice in the apportionment of the money thus contributed. There was no
redress against the lawless violence to which they were perpetually
exposed. In the manorial courts, the criminal sat in judgment upon his
victim. The functions of highwayman and magistrate were combined in one
individual.

By degrees, the class of freemen, artisans, traders, and the like,
becoming the more numerous, built stronger and better houses outside the
castle gates of the "land's master" or the burghs of the more powerful
nobles. The superiors, anxious to increase their own importance, favored
the progress of the little boroughs. The population, thus collected,
began to divide themselves into guilds. These were soon afterwards
erected by the community into bodies corporate; the establishment of the
community, of course, preceding, the incorporation of the guilds. Those
communities were created by charters or Keuren, granted by the sovereign.
Unless the earliest concessions of this nature have perished, the town
charters of Holland or Zeland are nearly a century later than those of
Flanders, France, and England.

The oldest Keur, or act of municipal incorporation, in the provinces
afterwards constituting the republic, was that granted by Count William
the First of Holland and Countess Joanna of Flanders, as joint
proprietors of Walcheren, to the town of Middelburg. It will be seen that
its main purport is to promise, as a special privilege to this community,
law, in place of the arbitrary violence by which mankind, in general,
were governed by their betters.

"The inhabitants," ran the Charter, "are taken into protection by both
counts. Upon fighting, maiming, wounding, striking, scolding; upon
peace-breaking, upon resistance to peace-makers and to the judgment of
Schepens; upon contemning the Ban, upon selling spoiled wine, and upon
other misdeeds fines are imposed for behoof of the Count, the city, and
sometimes of the Schepens.......To all Middelburgers one kind of law is
guaranteed. Every man must go to law before the Schepens. If any one
being summoned and present in Walcheren does not appear, or refuses
submission to sentence, he shall be banished with confiscation of
property. Schout or Schepen denying justice to a complainant, shall,
until reparation, hold no tribunal again.......A burgher having a dispute
with an outsider (buiten mann) must summon him before the Schepens. An
appeal lies from the Schepens to the Count. No one can testify but a
householder. All alienation of real estate must take place before the
Schepens. If an outsider has a complaint against a burgher, the Schepens
and Schout must arrange it. If either party refuses submission to them,
they must ring the town bell and summon an assembly of all the burghers
to compel him. Any one ringing the town bell, except by general consent,
and any one not appearing when it tolls, are liable to a fine. No
Middelburger can be arrested or held in durance within Flanders or
Holland, except for crime."

This document was signed, sealed, and sworn to by the two sovereigns in
the year 1217. It was the model upon which many other communities,
cradles of great cities, in Holland and Zeland, were afterwards created.

These charters are certainly not very extensive, even for the privileged
municipalities which obtained them, when viewed from an abstract
stand-point. They constituted, however, a very great advance from the
stand-point at which humanity actually found itself. They created, not
for all inhabitants, but for great numbers of them, the right, not to
govern them selves but to be governed by law: They furnished a local
administration of justice. They provided against arbitrary imprisonment.
They set up tribunals, where men of burgher class were to sit in
judgment. They held up a shield against arbitrary violence from above and
sedition from within. They encouraged peace-makers, punished
peace-breakers. They guarded the fundamental principle, 'ut sua
tanerent', to the verge of absurdity; forbidding a freeman, without a
freehold, from testifying--a capacity not denied even to a country slave.
Certainly all this was better than fist-law and courts manorial. For the
commencement of the thirteenth century, it was progress.

The Schout and Schepens, or chief magistrate and aldermen, were
originally appointed by the sovereign. In process of time, the election
of these municipal authorities was conceded to the communities. This
inestimable privilege, however, after having been exercised during a
certain period by the whole body of citizens, was eventually monopolized
by the municipal government itself, acting in common with the deans of
the various guilds.

Thus organized and inspired with the breath of civic life, the
communities of Flanders and Holland began to move rapidly forward. More
and more they assumed the appearance of prosperous little republics. For
this prosperity they were indebted to commerce, particularly with England
and the Baltic nations, and to manufactures, especially of wool.

The trade between England and the Netherlands had existed for ages, and
was still extending itself, to the great advantage of both countries. A
dispute, however, between the merchants of Holland and England, towards
the year 1215, caused a privateering warfare, and a ten years' suspension
of intercourse. A reconciliation afterwards led to the establishment of
the English wool staple, at Dort. A subsequent quarrel deprived Holland
of this great advantage. King Edward refused to assist Count Florence in
a war with the Flemings, and transferred the staple from Dort to Bruges
and Mechlin.

The trade of the Netherlands with the Mediterranean and the East was
mainly through this favored city of Bruges, which, already in the
thirteenth century, had risen to the first rank in the commercial world.
It was the resting-place for the Lombards and other Italians, the great
entrepot for their merchandise. It now became, in addition, the great
marketplace for English wool, and the woollen fabrics of all the
Netherlands, as well as for the drugs and spices of the East. It had,
however, by no means reached its apogee, but was to culminate with
Venice, and to sink with her decline. When the overland Indian trade fell
off with the discovery of the Cape passage, both cities withered. Grass
grew in the fair and pleasant streets of Bruges, and sea-weed clustered
about the marble halls of Venice. At this epoch, however, both were in a
state of rapid and insolent prosperity.

The cities, thus advancing in wealth and importance, were no longer
satisfied with being governed according to law, and began to participate,
not only in their own, but in the general government. Under Guy of
Flanders, the towns appeared regularly, as well as the nobles, in the
assembly of the provincial estates. (1386-1389, A.D.) In the course of
the following century, the six chief cities, or capitals, of Holland
(Dort, Harlem, Delft, Leyden, Goads, and Amsterdam) acquired the right of
sending their deputies regularly to the estates of the provinces. These
towns, therefore, with the nobles, constituted the parliamentary power of
the nation. They also acquired letters patent from the count, allowing
them to choose their burgomasters and a limited number of councillors or
senators (Vroedschappen).

Thus the liberties of Holland and Flanders waxed, daily, stronger. A
great physical convulsion in the course of the thirteenth century came to
add its influence to the slower process of political revolution. Hitherto
there had been but one Friesland, including Holland, and nearly all the
territory of the future republic. A slender stream alone separated the
two great districts. The low lands along the Vlie, often threatened, at
last sank in the waves. The German Ocean rolled in upon the inland Lake
of Flevo. The stormy Zuyder Zee began its existence by engulfing
thousands of Frisian villages, with all their population, and by
spreading a chasm between kindred peoples. The political, as well as the
geographical, continuity of the land was obliterated by this tremendous
deluge. The Hollanders were cut off from their relatives in the east by
as dangerous a sea as that which divided them from their Anglo-Saxon
brethren in Britain. The deputies to the general assemblies at Aurich
could no longer undertake a journey grown so perilous. West Friesland
became absorbed in Holland. East Friesland remained a federation of rude
but self-governed maritime provinces, until the brief and bloody dominion
of the Saxon dukes led to the establishment of Charles the Fifth's
authority. Whatever the nominal sovereignty over them, this most
republican tribe of Netherlanders, or of Europeans, had never accepted
feudalism. There was an annual congress of the whole confederacy. Each of
the seven little states, on the other hand, regulated its own internal
affairs. Each state was subdivided into districts, each district governed
by a Griet-mann (greatman, selectman) and assistants. Above all these
district officers was a Podesta, a magistrate identical, in name and
functions, with the chief officer of the Italian republics. There was
sometimes but one Podesta; sometimes one for each province. He was chosen
by the people, took oath of fidelity to the separate estates, or, if
Podesta-general, to the federal diet, and was generally elected for a
limited term, although sometimes for life. He was assisted by a board of
eighteen or twenty councillors. The deputies to the general congress were
chosen by popular suffrage in Easter-week. The clergy were not recognized
as a political estate.

Thus, in those lands which a niggard nature had apparently condemned to
perpetual poverty and obscurity, the principle of reasonable human
freedom, without which there is no national prosperity or glory worth
contending for, was taking deepest and strongest root. Already in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries Friesland was a republic, except in
name; Holland, Flanders, Brabant, had acquired a large share of
self-government. The powerful commonwealth, at a later period to be
evolved out of the great combat between centralized tyranny and the
spirit of civil and religious liberty, was already foreshadowed. The
elements, of which that important republic was to be compounded, were
germinating for centuries. Love of freedom, readiness to strike and bleed
at any moment in her cause, manly resistance to despotism, however
overshadowing, were the leading characteristics of the race in all
regions or periods, whether among Frisian swamps, Dutch dykes, the gentle
hills and dales of England, or the pathless forests of America.
Doubtless, the history of human liberty in Holland and Flanders, as every
where else upon earth where there has been such a history, unrolls many
scenes of turbulence and bloodshed; although these features have been
exaggerated by prejudiced historians. Still, if there were luxury and
insolence, sedition and uproar, at any rate there was life. Those violent
little commonwealths had blood in their veins. They were compact of
proud, self-helping, muscular vigor. The most sanguinary tumults which
they ever enacted in the face of day, were better than the order and
silence born of the midnight darkness of despotism. That very unruliness
was educating the people for their future work. Those merchants,
manufacturers, country squires, and hard-fighting barons, all pent up in
a narrow corner of the earth, quarrelling with each other and with all
the world for centuries, were keeping alive a national pugnacity of
character, for which there was to be a heavy demand in the sixteenth
century, and without which the fatherland had perhaps succumbed in the
most unequal conflict ever waged by man against oppression.

To sketch the special history of even the leading Netherland provinces,
during the five centuries which we have thus rapidly sought to
characterize, is foreign to our purpose. By holding the clue of Holland's
history, the general maze of dynastic transformations throughout the
country may, however, be swiftly threaded. From the time of the first
Dirk to the close of the thirteenth century there were nearly four
hundred years of unbroken male descent, a long line of Dirks and
Florences. This iron-handed, hot-headed, adventurous race, placed as
sovereign upon its little sandy hook, making ferocious exertions to swell
into larger consequence, conquering a mile or two of morass or barren
furze, after harder blows and bloodier encounters than might have
established an empire under more favorable circumstances, at last dies
out. The courtship falls to the house of Avennes, Counts of Hainault.
Holland, together with Zeland, which it had annexed, is thus joined to
the province of Hainault. At the end of another half century the Hainault
line expires. William the Fourth died childless in 1355. His death is the
signal for the outbreak of an almost interminable series of civil
commotions. Those two great, parties, known by the uncouth names of Hook
and Kabbeljaw, come into existence, dividing noble against noble, city
against city, father against son, for some hundred and fifty years,
without foundation upon any abstract or intelligible principle. It may be
observed, however, that, in the sequel, and as a general rule, the
Kabbeljaw, or cod-fish party, represented the city or municipal faction,
while the Hooks (fish-hooks), that were to catch and control them, were
the nobles; iron and audacity against brute number and weight.

Duke William of Bavaria, sister's son--of William the Fourth, gets
himself established in 1354. He is succeeded by his brother Albert;
Albert by his son William. William, who had married Margaret of Burgundy,
daughter of Philip the Bold, dies in 1417. The goodly heritage of these
three Netherland provinces descends to his daughter Jacqueline, a damsel
of seventeen. Little need to trace the career of the fair and ill-starred
Jacqueline. Few chapters of historical romance have drawn more frequent
tears. The favorite heroine of ballad and drama, to Netherlanders she is
endued with the palpable form and perpetual existence of the Iphigenias,
Mary Stuarts, Joans of Arc, or other consecrated individualities.
Exhausted and broken-hearted, after thirteen years of conflict with her
own kinsmen, consoled for the cowardice and brutality of three husbands
by the gentle and knightly spirit of the fourth, dispossessed of her
father's broad domains, degraded from the rank of sovereign to be lady
forester of her own provinces by her cousin, the bad Duke of Burgundy,
Philip surnamed "the Good," she dies at last, and the good cousin takes
undisputed dominion of the land. (1437.)

The five centuries of isolation are at end. The many obscure streams of
Netherland history are merged in one broad current. Burgundy has absorbed
all the provinces which, once more, are forced to recognize a single
master. A century and a few years more succeed, during which this house
and its heirs are undisputed sovereigns of the soil.

Philip the Good had already acquired the principal Netherlands, before
dispossessing Jacqueline. He had inherited, beside the two Burgundies,
the counties of Flanders and Artois. He had purchased the county of
Namur, and had usurped the duchy of Brabant, to which the duchy of
Limburg, the marquisate of Antwerp, and the barony of Mechlin, had
already been annexed. By his assumption of Jacqueline's dominions, he was
now lord of Holland, Zeland, and Hainault, and titular master of
Friesland. He acquired Luxemburg a few years later.

Lord of so many opulent cities and fruitful provinces, he felt himself
equal to the kings of Europe. Upon his marriage with Isabella of
Portugal, he founded, at Bruges, the celebrated order of the Golden
Fleece. What could be more practical or more devout than the conception?
Did not the Lamb of God, suspended at each knightly breast, symbolize at
once the woollen fabrics to which so much of Flemish wealth and
Burgundian power was owing, and the gentle humility of Christ, which was
ever to characterize the order? Twenty-five was the limited number,
including Philip himself, as grand master. The chevaliers were emperors,
kings, princes, and the most illustrious nobles of Christendom; while a
leading provision, at the outset, forbade the brethren, crowned heads
excepted, to accept or retain the companionship of any other order.

The accession of so potent and ambitious a prince as the good Philip
boded evil to the cause of freedom in the Netherlands. The spirit of
liberty seemed to have been typified in the fair form of the benignant
and unhappy Jacqueline, and to be buried in her grave. The usurper, who
had crushed her out of existence, now strode forward to trample upon all
the laws and privileges of the provinces which had formed her heritage.

At his advent, the municipal power had already reached an advanced stage
of development. The burgher class controlled the government, not only of
the cities, but often of the provinces, through its influence in the
estates. Industry and wealth had produced their natural results. The
supreme authority of the sovereign and the power of the nobles were
balanced by the municipal principle which had even begun to preponderate
over both. All three exercised a constant and salutary check upon each
other. Commerce had converted slaves into freemen, freemen into burghers,
and the burghers were acquiring daily, a larger practical hold upon the
government. The town councils were becoming almost omnipotent. Although
with an oligarchical tendency, which at a later period was to be more
fully developed, they were now composed of large numbers of individuals,
who had raised themselves, by industry and intelligence, out of the
popular masses. There was an unquestionably republican tone to the
institutions. Power, actually, if not nominally, was in the hands of many
who had achieved the greatness to which they had not been born.

The assemblies of the estates were rather diplomatic than representative.
They consisted, generally, of the nobles and of the deputations from the
cities. In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats in the
parliamentary body. Measures were proposed by the stadholder, who
represented the sovereign. A request, for example, of pecuniary,
accommodation, was made by that functionary or by the count himself in
person. The nobles then voted upon the demand, generally as one body, but
sometimes by heads. The measure was then laid before the burghers. If
they had been specially commissioned to act upon the matter; they voted,
each city as a city, not each deputy, individually. If they had received
no instructions, they took back the proposition to lay before the
councils of their respective cities, in order to return a decision at an
adjourned session, or at a subsequent diet. It will be seen, therefore,
that the principle of national, popular representation was but
imperfectly developed. The municipal deputies acted only under
instructions. Each city was a little independent state, suspicious not
only of the sovereign and nobles, but of its sister cities. This mutual
jealousy hastened the general humiliation now impending. The centre of
the system waging daily more powerful, it more easily unsphered these
feebler and mutually repulsive bodies.

Philip's first step, upon assuming the government, was to issue a
declaration, through the council of Holland, that the privileges and
constitutions, which he had sworn to as Ruward, or guardian, during the
period in which Jacqueline had still retained a nominal sovereignty, were
to be considered null and void, unless afterwards confirmed by him as
count. At a single blow he thus severed the whole knot of pledges, oaths
and other political complications, by which he had entangled himself
during his cautious advance to power. He was now untrammelled again. As
the conscience of the smooth usurper was, thenceforth, the measure of
provincial liberty, his subjects soon found it meted to them more
sparingly than they wished. From this point, then, through the Burgundian
period, and until the rise of the republic, the liberty of the
Netherlands, notwithstanding several brilliant but brief laminations,
occurring at irregular intervals, seemed to remain in almost perpetual
eclipse.

The material prosperity of the country had, however, vastly increased.
The fisheries of Holland had become of enormous importance. The invention
of the humble Beukelzoon of Biervliet, had expanded into a mine of
wealth. The fisheries, too, were most useful as a nursery of seamen, and
were already indicating Holland's future naval supremacy. The fishermen
were the militia of the ocean, their prowess attested in the war with the
Hanseatic cities, which the provinces of Holland and Zeland, in Philip's
name, but by their own unassisted exertions, carried on triumphantly at
this epoch. Then came into existence that race of cool and daring
mariners, who, in after times, were to make the Dutch name illustrious
throughout the world, the men, whose fierce descendants, the "beggars of
the sea," were to make the Spanish empire tremble, the men, whose later
successors swept the seas with brooms at the mast-head, and whose
ocean-battles with their equally fearless English brethren often lasted
four uninterrupted days and nights.

The main strength of Holland was derived from the ocean, from whose
destructive grasp she had wrested herself, but in whose friendly embrace
she remained. She was already placing securely the foundations of
commercial wealth and civil liberty upon those shifting quicksands which
the Roman doubted whether to call land or water. Her submerged deformity,
as she floated, mermaid-like, upon the waves was to be forgotten in her
material splendor. Enriched with the spoils of every clime, crowned with
the divine jewels of science and art, she was, one day, to sing a siren
song of freedom, luxury, and power.

As with Holland, so with Flanders, Brabant, and the other leading
provinces. Industry and wealth, agriculture, commerce, and manufactures,
were constantly augmenting. The natural sources of power were full to
overflowing, while the hand of despotism was deliberately sealing the
fountain.

For the house of Burgundy was rapidly culminating and as rapidly
curtailing the political privileges of the Netherlands. The contest was,
at first, favorable to the cause of arbitrary power; but little seeds
were silently germinating, which, in the progress of their gigantic
development, were, one day, to undermine the foundations of Tyranny and
to overshadow the world. The early progress of the religious reformation
in the Netherlands will be outlined in a separate chapter. Another great
principle was likewise at work at this period. At the very epoch when the
greatness of Burgundy was most swiftly ripening, another weapon was
secretly forging, more potent in the great struggle for freedom than any
which the wit or hand of man has ever devised or wielded. When Philip the
Good, in the full blaze of his power, and flushed with the triumphs of
territorial aggrandizement, was instituting at Bruges the order of the
Golden Fleece, "to the glory of God, of the blessed Virgin, and of the
holy Andrew, patron saint of the Burgundian family," and enrolling the
names of the kings and princes who were to be honored with its symbols,
at that very moment, an obscure citizen of Harlem, one Lorenz Coster, or
Lawrence the Sexton, succeeded in printing a little grammar, by means of
movable types. The invention of printing was accomplished, but it was not
ushered in with such a blaze of glory as heralded the contemporaneous
erection of the Golden Fleece. The humble setter of types did not deem
emperors and princes alone worthy his companionship. His invention sent
no thrill of admiration throughout Christendom; and yet, what was the
good Philip of Burgundy, with his Knights of the Golden Fleece, and all
their effulgent trumpery, in the eye of humanity and civilization,
compared with the poor sexton and his wooden types?

   [The question of the time and place to which the invention of
   printing should be referred, has been often discussed. It is not
   probable that it will ever be settled to the entire satisfaction of
   Holland and Germany. The Dutch claim that movable types were first
   used at Harlem, fixing the time variously between the years 1423 and
   1440. The first and very faulty editions of Lorenz are religiously
   preserved at Harlem.]

Philip died in February, 1467. The details of his life and career do not
belong to our purpose. The practical tendency of his government was to
repress the spirit of liberty, while especial privileges, extensive in
nature, but limited in time, were frequently granted to corporations.
Philip, in one day, conferred thirty charters upon as many different
bodies of citizens. These were, however, grants of monopoly not
concessions of rights. He also fixed the number of city councils or
Vroedschappen in many Netherland cities, giving them permission to
present a double list of candidates for burgomasters and judges, from
which he himself made the appointments. He was certainly neither a good
nor great prince, but he possessed much administrative ability. His
military talents were considerable, and he was successful in his wars. He
was an adroit dissembler, a practical politician. He had the sense to
comprehend that the power of a prince, however absolute, must depend upon
the prosperity of his subjects. He taxed severely the wealth, but he
protected the commerce and the manufactures of Holland and Flanders. He
encouraged art, science, and literature. The brothers, John and Hubert
Van Eyck, were attracted by his generosity to Bruges, where they painted
many pictures. John was even a member of the duke's council. The art of
oil-painting was carried to great perfection by Hubert's scholar, John of
Bruges. An incredible number of painters, of greater or less merit,
flourished at this epoch in the Netherlands, heralds of that great
school, which, at a subsequent period, was to astonish the world with
brilliant colors; profound science, startling effects, and vigorous
reproductions of Nature. Authors, too, like Olivier de la Marche and
Philippe de Comines, who, in the words of the latter, "wrote, not for the
amusement of brutes, and people of low degree, but for princes and other
persons of quality," these and other writers, with aims as lofty,
flourished at the court of Burgundy, and were rewarded by the Duke with
princely generosity. Philip remodelled and befriended the university of
Louvain. He founded at Brussels the Burgundian library, which became
celebrated throughout Europe. He levied largely, spent profusely, but was
yet so thrifty a housekeeper, as to leave four hundred thousand crowns of
gold, a vast amount in those days, besides three million marks' worth of
plate and furniture, to be wasted like water in the insane career of his
son.

The exploits of that son require but few words of illustration. Hardly a
chapter of European history or romance is more familiar to the world than
the one which records the meteoric course of Charles the Bold. The
propriety of his title was never doubtful. No prince was ever bolder, but
it is certain that no quality could be less desirable, at that particular
moment in the history of his house. It was not the quality to confirm a
usurping family in its ill-gotten possessions. Renewed aggressions upon
the rights of others justified retaliation and invited attack. Justice,
prudence, firmness, wisdom of internal administration were desirable in
the son of Philip and the rival of Louis. These attributes the gladiator
lacked entirely. His career might have been a brilliant one in the old
days of chivalry. His image might have appeared as imposing as the
romantic forms of Baldwin Bras de Fer or Godfrey of Bouillon, had he not
been misplaced in history. Nevertheless, he imagined himself governed by
a profound policy. He had one dominant idea, to make Burgundy a kingdom.
From the moment when, with almost the first standing army known to
history, and with coffers well filled by his cautious father's economy,
he threw himself into the lists against the crafty Louis, down to the day
when he was found dead, naked, deserted, and with his face frozen into a
pool of blood and water, he faithfully pursued this thought. His ducal
cap was to be exchanged for a kingly crown, while all the provinces which
lay beneath the Mediterranean and the North Sea, and between France and
Germany, were to be united under his sceptre. The Netherlands, with their
wealth, had been already appropriated, and their freedom crushed. Another
land of liberty remained; physically, the reverse of Holland, but stamped
with the same courageous nationality, the same ardent love of human
rights. Switzerland was to be conquered. Her eternal battlements of ice
and granite were to constitute the great bulwark of his realm. The world
knows well the result of the struggle between the lord of so many duchies
and earldoms, and the Alpine mountaineers. With all his boldness, Charles
was but an indifferent soldier. His only merit was physical courage. He
imagined himself a consummate commander, and, in conversation with his
jester, was fond of comparing himself to Hannibal. "We are getting well
Hannibalized to-day, my lord," said the bitter fool, as they rode off
together from the disastrous defeat of Gransen. Well "Hannibalized" he
was, too, at Gransen, at Murten, and at Nancy. He followed in the track
of his prototype only to the base of the mountains.

As a conqueror, he was signally unsuccessful; as a politician, he could
out-wit none but himself; it was only as a tyrant within his own ground,
that he could sustain the character which he chose to enact. He lost the
crown, which he might have secured, because he thought the emperor's son
unworthy the heiress of Burgundy; and yet, after his father's death, her
marriage with that very Maximilian alone secured the possession of her
paternal inheritance. Unsuccessful in schemes of conquest, and in
political intrigue, as an oppressor of the Netherlands, he nearly carried
out his plans. Those provinces he regarded merely as a bank to draw upon.
His immediate intercourse with the country was confined to the extortion
of vast requests. These were granted with ever-increasing reluctance, by
the estates. The new taxes and excises, which the sanguinary extravagance
of the duke rendered necessary, could seldom be collected in the various
cities without tumults, sedition, and bloodshed. Few princes were ever a
greater curse to the people whom they were allowed to hold as property.
He nearly succeeded in establishing a centralized despotism upon the
ruins of the provincial institutions. His sudden death alone deferred the
catastrophe. His removal of the supreme court of Holland from the Hague
to Mechlin, and his maintenance of a standing army, were the two great
measures by which he prostrated the Netherlands. The tribunal had been
remodelled by his father; the expanded authority which Philip had given
to a bench of judges dependent upon himself, was an infraction of the
rights of Holland. The court, however, still held its sessions in the
country; and the sacred privilege--de non evocando--the right of every
Hollander to be tried in his own land, was, at least, retained. Charles
threw off the mask; he proclaimed that this council--composed of his
creatures, holding office at his pleasure--should have supreme
jurisdiction over all the charters of the provinces; that it was to
follow his person, and derive all authority from his will. The usual seat
of the court he transferred to Mechlin. It will be seen, in the sequel,
that the attempt, under Philip the Second, to enforce its supreme
authority was a collateral cause of the great revolution of the
Netherlands.

Charles, like his father, administered the country by stadholders. From
the condition of flourishing self-ruled little republics, which they had,
for a moment, almost attained, they became departments of an
ill-assorted, ill-conditioned, ill-governed realm, which was neither
commonwealth nor empire, neither kingdom nor duchy; and which had no
homogeneousness of population, no affection between ruler and people,
small sympathies of lineage or of language.

His triumphs were but few, his fall ignominious. His father's treasure
was squandered, the curse of a standing army fixed upon his people, the
trade and manufactures of the country paralyzed by his extortions, and he
accomplished nothing. He lost his life in the forty-fourth year of his
age (1477), leaving all the provinces, duchies, and lordships, which
formed the miscellaneous realm of Burgundy, to his only child, the Lady
Mary. Thus already the countries which Philip had wrested from the feeble
hand of Jacqueline, had fallen to another female. Philip's own
granddaughter, as young, fair, and unprotected as Jacqueline, was now
sole mistress of those broad domains.



VIII.

A crisis, both for Burgundy and the Netherlands, succeeds. Within the
provinces there is an elastic rebound, as soon as the pressure is removed
from them by the tyrant's death. A sudden spasm of liberty gives the
whole people gigantic strength. In an instant they recover all, and more
than all, the rights which they had lost. The cities of Holland,
Flanders, and other provinces call a convention at Ghent. Laying aside
their musty feuds, men of all parties-Hooks and Kabbeljaws, patricians
and people, move forward in phalanx to recover their national
constitutions. On the other hand, Louis the Eleventh seizes Burgundy,
claiming the territory for his crown, the heiress for his son. The
situation is critical for the Lady Mary. As usual in such cases, appeals
are made to the faithful commons. A prodigality of oaths and pledges is
showered upon the people, that their loyalty may be refreshed and grow
green. The congress meets at Ghent. The Lady Mary professes much, but she
will keep her vow. The deputies are called upon to rally the country
around the duchess, and to resist the fraud and force of Louis. The
congress is willing to maintain the cause of its young mistress. The
members declare, at the same time, very roundly, "that the provinces have
been much impoverished and oppressed by the enormous taxation imposed
upon them by the ruinous wars waged by Duke Charles from the beginning to
the end of his life." They rather require "to be relieved than
additionally encumbered." They add that, "for many years past, there has
been a constant violation of the provincial and municipal charters, and
that they should be happy to see them restored."

The result of the deliberations is the formal grant by Duchess Mary of
the "Groot Privilegie," or Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland.
Although this instrument was afterwards violated, and indeed abolished,
it became the foundation of the republic. It was a recapitulation and
recognition of ancient rights, not an acquisition of new privileges. It
was a restoration, not a revolution. Its principal points deserve
attention from those interested in the political progress of mankind.

"The duchess shall not marry without consent of the estates of her
provinces. All offices in her gift shall be conferred on natives only. No
man shall fill two offices. No office shall be farmed. The 'Great Council
and Supreme Court of Holland' is re-established. Causes shall be brought
before it on appeal from the ordinary courts. It shall have no original
jurisdiction of matters within the cognizance of the provincial and
municipal tribunals. The estates and cities are guaranteed in their right
not to be summoned to justice beyond the limits of their territory. The
cities, in common with all the provinces of the Netherlands, may hold
diets as often ten and at such places as they choose. No new taxes shall
be imposed but by consent of the provincial estates. Neither the duchess
nor her descendants shall begin either an offensive or defensive war
without consent of the estates. In case a war be illegally undertaken,
the estates are not bound to contribute to its maintenance. In all public
and legal documents, the Netherland language shall be employed. The
commands of the duchess shall be invalid, if conflicting with the
privileges of a city.

"The seat of the Supreme Council is transferred from Mechlin to the
Hague. No money shall be coined, nor its value raised or lowered, but by
consent of the estates. Cities are not to be compelled to contribute to
requests which they have not voted. The sovereign shall come in person
before the estates, to make his request for supplies."

Here was good work. The land was rescued at a blow from the helpless
condition to which it had been reduced. This summary annihilation of all
the despotic arrangements of Charles was enough to raise him from his
tomb. The law, the sword, the purse, were all taken from the hand of the
sovereign and placed within the control of parliament. Such sweeping
reforms, if maintained, would restore health to the body politic. They
gave, moreover, an earnest of what was one day to arrive. Certainly, for
the fifteenth century, the "Great Privilege" was a reasonably liberal
constitution. Where else upon earth, at that day, was there half so much
liberty as was thus guaranteed? The congress of the Netherlands,
according to their Magna Charta, had power to levy all taxes, to regulate
commerce and manufactures, to declare war, to coin money, to raise armies
and navies. The executive was required to ask for money in person, could
appoint only natives to office, recognized the right of disobedience in
his subjects, if his commands should conflict with law, and acknowledged
himself bound by decisions of courts of justice. The cities appointed
their own magistrates, held diets at their own pleasure, made their local
by-laws and saw to their execution. Original cognizance of legal matters
belonged to the municipal courts, appellate jurisdiction to the supreme
tribunal, in which the judges were appointed by the sovereign. The
liberty of the citizen against arbitrary imprisonment was amply provided
for. The 'jus de non evocando', the habeas corpus of Holland, was
re-established.

Truly, here was a fundamental law which largely, roundly, and reasonably
recognized the existence of a people with hearts, heads, and hands of
their own. It was a vast step in advance of natural servitude, the dogma
of the dark ages. It was a noble and temperate vindication of natural
liberty, the doctrine of more enlightened days. To no people in the world
more than to the stout burghers of Flanders and Holland belongs the honor
of having battled audaciously and perennially in behalf of human rights.

Similar privileges to the great charter of Holland are granted to many
other provinces; especially to Flanders, ever ready to stand forward in
fierce vindication of freedom. For a season all is peace and joy; but the
duchess is young, weak, and a woman. There is no lack of intriguing
politicians, reactionary councillors. There is a cunning old king in the
distance, lying in wait; seeking what he can devour. A mission goes from
the estates to France. The well-known tragedy of Imbrecourt and Hugonet
occurs. Envoys from the states, they dare to accept secret instructions
from the duchess to enter into private negotiations with the French
monarch, against their colleagues--against the great charter--against
their country. Sly Louis betrays them, thinking that policy the more
expedient. They are seized in Ghent, rapidly tried, and as rapidly
beheaded by the enraged burghers. All the entreaties of the Lady Mary,
who, dressed in mourning garments, with dishevelled hair, unloosed
girdle, and streaming eyes; appears at the town-house and afterwards in
the market place, humbly to intercede for her servants, are fruitless
There is no help for the juggling diplomatists. The punishment was sharp.
Was it more severe and sudden than that which betrayed monarchs usually
inflict? Would the Flemings, at that critical moment, have deserved their
freedom had they not taken swift and signal vengeance for this first
infraction of their newly recognized rights? Had it not been weakness to
spare the traitors who had thus stained the childhood of the national joy
at liberty regained?



IX.

Another step, and a wide one, into the great stream of European history.
The Lady Mary espouses the Archduke Maximilian. The Netherlands are about
to become Habsburg property. The Ghenters reject the pretensions of the
dauphin, and select for husband of their duchess the very man whom her
father had so stupidly rejected. It had been a wiser choice for Charles
the Bold than for the Netherlanders. The marriage takes place on the 18th
of August, 1477. Mary of Burgundy passes from the guardianship of Ghent
burghers into that of the emperor's son. The crafty husband allies
himself with the city party, feeling where the strength lies. He knows
that the voracious Kabbeljaws have at last swallowed the Hooks, and run
away with them. Promising himself future rights of reconsideration, he is
liberal in promises to the municipal party. In the mean time he is
governor and guardian of his wife and her provinces. His children are to
inherit the Netherlands and all that therein is. What can be more
consistent than laws of descent, regulated by right divine? At the
beginning of the century, good Philip dispossesses Jacqueline, because
females can not inherit. At its close, his granddaughter succeeds to the
property, and transmits it to her children. Pope and emperor maintain
both positions with equal logic. The policy and promptness of Maximilian
are as effective as the force and fraud of Philip. The Lady Mary falls
from her horse and dies. Her son, Philip, four years of age, is
recognized as successor. Thus the house of Burgundy is followed by that
of Austria, the fifth and last family which governed Holland, previously
to the erection of the republic. Maximilian is recognized by the
provinces as governor and guardian, during the minority of his children.
Flanders alone refuses. The burghers, ever prompt in action, take
personal possession of the child Philip, and carry on the government in
his name. A commission of citizens and nobles thus maintain their
authority against Maximilian for several years. In 1488, the archduke,
now King of the Romans, with a small force of cavalry, attempts to take
the city of Bruges, but the result is a mortifying one to the Roman king.
The citizens of Bruges take him. Maximilian, with several councillors, is
kept a prisoner in a house on the market-place. The magistrates are all
changed, the affairs of government conducted in the name of the young
Philip alone. Meantime, the estates of the other Netherlands assemble at
Ghent; anxious, unfortunately, not for the national liberty, but for that
of the Roman king. Already Holland, torn again by civil feuds, and
blinded by the artifices of Maximilian, has deserted, for a season, the
great cause to which Flanders has remained so true. At last, a treaty is
made between the archduke and the Flemings. Maximilian is to be regent of
the other provinces; Philip, under guardianship of a council, is to
govern Flanders. Moreover, a congress of all the provinces is to be
summoned annually, to provide for the general welfare. Maximilian signs
and swears to the treaty on the 16th May, 1488. He swears, also, to
dismiss all foreign troops within four days. Giving hostages for his
fidelity, he is set at liberty. What are oaths and hostages when
prerogative, and the people are contending? Emperor Frederic sends to his
son an army under the Duke of Saxony. The oaths are broken, the hostages
left to their fate. The struggle lasts a year, but, at the end of it, the
Flemings are subdued. What could a single province effect, when its
sister states, even liberty-loving Holland, had basely abandoned the
common cause? A new treaty is made, (Oct.1489). Maximilian obtains
uncontrolled guardianship of his son, absolute dominion over Flanders and
the other provinces. The insolent burghers are severely punished for
remembering that they had been freemen. The magistrates of Ghent, Bruges,
and Ypres, in black garments, ungirdled, bare-headed, and kneeling, are
compelled to implore the despot's forgiveness, and to pay three hundred
thousand crowns of gold as its price. After this, for a brief season,
order reigns in Flanders.

The course of Maximilian had been stealthy, but decided. Allying himself
with the city party, he had crushed the nobles. The power thus obtained,
he then turned against the burghers. Step by step he had trampled out the
liberties which his wife and himself had sworn to protect. He had spurned
the authority of the "Great Privilege," and all other charters.
Burgomasters and other citizens had been beheaded in great numbers for
appealing to their statutes against the edicts of the regent, for voting
in favor of a general congress according to the unquestionable law. He
had proclaimed that all landed estates should, in lack of heirs male,
escheat to his own exchequer. He had debased the coin of the country, and
thereby authorized unlimited swindling on the part of all his agents,
from stadholders down to the meanest official. If such oppression and
knavery did not justify the resistance of the Flemings to the
guardianship of Maximilian, it would be difficult to find any reasonable
course in political affairs save abject submission to authority.

In 1493, Maximilian succeeds to the imperial throne, at the death of his
father. In the following year his son, Philip the Fair, now seventeen
years of age, receives the homage of the different states of the
Netherlands. He swears to maintain only the privileges granted by Philip
and Charles of Burgundy, or their ancestors, proclaiming null and void
all those which might have been acquired since the death of Charles.
Holland, Zeland, and the other provinces accept him upon these
conditions, thus ignominiously, and without a struggle, relinquishing the
Great Privilege, and all similar charters.

Friesland is, for a brief season, politically separated from the rest of
the country. Harassed and exhausted by centuries of warfare, foreign, and
domestic, the free Frisians, at the suggestion or command of Emperor
Maximilian, elect the Duke of Saxony as their Podesta. The sovereign
prince, naturally proving a chief magistrate far from democratic, gets
himself acknowledged, or submitted to, soon afterwards, as legitimate
sovereign of Friesland. Seventeen years afterward Saxony sells the
sovereignty to the Austrian house for 350,000 crowns. This little
country, whose statutes proclaimed her to be "free as the wind, as long
as it blew," whose institutions Charlemagne had honored and left
unmolested, who had freed herself with ready poniard from Norman tyranny,
who never bowed her neck to feudal chieftain, nor to the papal yoke, now
driven to madness and suicide by the dissensions of her wild children,
forfeits at last her independent existence. All the provinces are thus
united in a common servitude, and regret, too late, their supineness at a
moment when their liberties might yet have been vindicated. Their ancient
and cherished charters, which their bold ancestors had earned with the
sweat of their brows and the blood of their hearts, are at the mercy of
an autocrat, and liable to be superseded by his edicts.

In 1496, the momentous marriage of Philip the Fair with Joanna, daughter
of Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile and Aragon, is solemnized. Of this
union, in the first year of the century, is born the second Charlemagne,
who is to unite Spain and the Netherlands, together with so many vast and
distant realms, under a single sceptre. Six years afterwards (Sept. 25,
1506), Philip dies at Burgos. A handsome profligate, devoted to his
pleasures, and leaving the cares of state to his ministers, Philip,
"croit-conseil," is the bridge over which the house of Habsburg passes to
almost universal monarchy, but, in himself, is nothing.



X.

Two prudent marriages, made by Austrian archdukes within twenty years,
have altered the face of the earth. The stream, which we have been
tracing from its source, empties itself at last into the ocean of a
world-empire. Count Dirk the First, lord of a half-submerged corner of
Europe, is succeeded by Count Charles the Second of Holland, better known
as Charles the Fifth, King of Spain, Sicily, and Jerusalem, Duke of
Milan, Emperor of Germany, Dominator in Asia and Africa, autocrat of half
the world. The leading events of his brilliant reign are familiar to
every child. The Netherlands now share the fate of so large a group of
nations, a fate, to these provinces, most miserable. The weddings of
Austria Felix were not so prolific of happiness to her subjects as to
herself. It can never seem just or reasonable that the destiny of many
millions of human beings should depend upon the marriage-settlements of
one man with one woman, and a permanent, prosperous empire can never be
reared upon so frail a foundation. The leading thought of the first
Charlemagne was a noble and a useful one, nor did his imperial scheme
seem chimerical, even although time, wiser than monarchs or lawgivers,
was to prove it impracticable. To weld into one great whole the various
tribes of Franks, Frisians, Saxons, Lombards, Burgundians, and others,
still in their turbulent youth, and still composing one great Teutonic
family; to enforce the mutual adhesion of naturally coherent masses, all
of one lineage, one language, one history, and which were only beginning
to exhibit their tendencies to insulation, to acquiesce in a variety of
local laws and customs, while an iron will was to concentrate a vast, but
homogeneous, people into a single nation; to raise up from the grave of
corrupt and buried Rome a fresh, vigorous, German, Christian empire; this
was a reasonable and manly thought. Far different the conception of the
second Charlemagne. To force into discordant union, tribes which, for
seven centuries, had developed themselves into hostile nations, separated
by geography and history, customs and laws, to combine many millions
under one sceptre, not because of natural identity, but for the sake of
composing one splendid family property, to establish unity by
annihilating local institutions, to supersede popular and liberal
charters by the edicts of a central despotism, to do battle with the
whole spirit of an age, to regard the souls as well as the bodies of vast
multitudes as the personal property of one individual, to strive for the
perpetuation in a single house of many crowns, which accident had
blended, and to imagine the consecration of the whole system by placing
the pope's triple diadem forever upon the imperial head of the
Habsburgs;--all this was not the effort of a great, constructive genius,
but the selfish scheme of an autocrat.

The union of no two countries could be less likely to prove advantageous
or agreeable than that of the Netherlands and Spain. They were widely
separated geographically, while in history, manners, and politics, they
were utterly opposed to each other. Spain, which had but just assumed the
form of a single state by the combination of all its kingdoms, with its
haughty nobles descended from petty kings, and arrogating almost
sovereign power within their domains, with its fierce enthusiasm for the
Catholic religion, which, in the course of long warfare with the
Saracens, had become the absorbing characteristic of a whole nation, with
its sparse population scattered over a wide and stern country, with a
military spirit which led nearly all classes to prefer poverty to the
wealth attendant upon degrading pursuits of trade;--Spain, with her
gloomy, martial, and exaggerated character, was the absolute contrast of
the Netherlands.

These provinces had been rarely combined into a whole, but there was
natural affinity in their character, history, and position. There was
life, movement, bustling activity every where. An energetic population
swarmed in all the flourishing cities which dotted the surface of a
contracted and highly cultivated country. Their ships were the carriers
for the world;--their merchants, if invaded in their rights, engaged in
vigorous warfare with their own funds and their own frigates; their
fabrics were prized over the whole earth; their burghers possessed the
wealth of princes, lived with royal luxury, and exercised vast political
influence; their love of liberty was their predominant passion. Their
religious ardor had not been fully awakened; but the events of the next
generation were to prove that in no respect more than in the religious
sentiment, were the two races opposed to each other. It was as certain
that the Netherlanders would be fierce reformers as that the Spaniards
would be uncompromising persecutors. Unhallowed was the union between
nations thus utterly contrasted.

Philip the Fair and Ferdinand had detested and quarrelled with each other
from the beginning. The Spaniards and Flemings participated in the mutual
antipathy, and hated each other cordially at first sight. The
unscrupulous avarice of the Netherland nobles in Spain, their grasping
and venal ambition, enraged and disgusted the haughty Spaniards. This
international malignity furnishes one of the keys to a proper
understanding of the great revolt in the next reign.

The provinces, now all united again under an emperor, were treated,
opulent and powerful as they were, as obscure dependencies. The regency
over them was entrusted by Charles to his near relatives, who governed in
the interest of his house, not of the country. His course towards them
upon the religious question will be hereafter indicated. The political
character of his administration was typified, and, as it were,
dramatized, on the occasion of the memorable insurrection at Ghent. For
this reason, a few interior details concerning that remarkable event,
seem requisite.



XI.

Ghent was, in all respects, one of the most important cities in Europe.
Erasmus, who, as a Hollander and a courtier, was not likely to be partial
to the turbulent Flemings, asserted that there was no town in all
Christendom to be compared to it for size, power, political constitution,
or the culture of its inhabitants. It was, said one of its inhabitants at
the epoch of the insurrection, rather a country than a city. The activity
and wealth of its burghers were proverbial. The bells were rung daily,
and the drawbridges over the many arms of the river intersecting the
streets were raised, in order that all business might be suspended, while
the armies of workmen were going to or returning from their labors. As
early as the fourteenth century, the age of the Arteveldes, Froissart
estimated the number of fighting men whom Ghent could bring into the
field at eighty thousand. The city, by its jurisdiction over many large
but subordinate towns, disposed of more than its own immediate
population, which has been reckoned as high as two hundred thousand.

Placed in the midst of well cultivated plains, Ghent was surrounded by
strong walls, the external circuit of which measured nine miles. Its
streets and squares were spacious and elegant, its churches and other
public buildings numerous and splendid. The sumptuous church of Saint
John or Saint Bavon, where Charles the Fifth had been baptized, the
ancient castle whither Baldwin Bras de Fer had brought the daughter of
Charles the Bald, the city hall with its graceful Moorish front, the
well-known belfry, where for three centuries had perched the dragon sent
by the Emperor Baldwin of Flanders from Constantinople, and where swung
the famous Roland, whose iron tongue had called the citizens, generation
after generation, to arms, whether to win battles over foreign kings at
the head of their chivalry, or to plunge their swords in each others'
breasts, were all conspicuous in the city and celebrated in the land.
Especially the great bell was the object of the burghers' affection, and,
generally, of the sovereign's hatred; while to all it seemed, as it were,
a living historical personage, endowed with the human powers and passions
which it had so long directed and inflamed.

The constitution of the city was very free. It was a little republic in
all but name. Its population was divided into fifty-two guilds of
manufacturers and into thirty-two tribes of weavers; each fraternity
electing annually or biennally its own deans and subordinate officers.
The senate, which exercised functions legislative, judicial, and
administrative, subject of course to the grand council of Mechlin and to
the sovereign authority, consisted of twenty-six members. These were
appointed partly from the upper class, or the men who lived upon their
means, partly from the manufacturers in general, and partly from the
weavers. They were chosen by a college of eight electors, who were
appointed by the sovereign on nomination by the citizens. The whole city,
in its collective capacity, constituted one of the four estates (Membra)
of the province of Flanders. It is obvious that so much liberty of form
and of fact, added to the stormy character by which its citizens were
distinguished, would be most offensive in the eyes of Charles, and that
the delinquencies of the little commonwealth would be represented in the
most glaring colors by all those quiet souls, who preferred the
tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom. The city claimed,
moreover, the general provisions of the "Great Privilege" of the Lady
Mary, the Magna Charta, which, according to the monarchical party, had
been legally abrogated by Maximilian. The liberties of the town had also
been nominally curtailed by the "calf-skin" (Kalf Vel). By this
celebrated document, Charles the Fifth, then fifteen years of age, had
been made to threaten with condign punishment all persons who should
maintain that he had sworn at his inauguration to observe any privileges
or charters claimed by the Ghenters before the peace of Cadsand.

The immediate cause of the discontent, the attempt to force from Flanders
a subsidy of four hundred thousand caroli, as the third part of the
twelve hundred thousand granted by the states of the Netherlands, and the
resistance of Ghent in opposition to the other three members of the
province, will, of course, be judged differently, according as the
sympathies are stronger with popular rights or with prerogative. The
citizens claimed that the subsidy could only be granted by the unanimous
consent of the four estates of the province. Among other proofs of this
their unquestionable right, they appealed to a muniment, which had never
existed, save in the imagination of the credulous populace. At a certain
remote epoch, one of the Counts of Flanders, it was contended, had
gambled away his countship to the Earl of Holland, but had been
extricated from his dilemma by the generosity of Ghent. The burghers of
the town had paid the debts and redeemed the sovereignty of their lord,
and had thereby gained, in return, a charter, called the Bargain of
Flanders (Koop van Flandern). Among the privileges granted by this
document, was an express stipulation that no subsidy should ever be
granted by the province without the consent of Ghent. This charter would
have been conclusive in the present emergency, had it not labored under
the disadvantage of never having existed. It was supposed by many that
the magistrates, some of whom were favorable to government, had hidden
the document. Lieven Pyl, an ex-senator, was supposed to be privy to its
concealment. He was also, with more justice, charged with an act of great
baseness and effrontery. Reputed by the citizens to carry to the Queen
Regent their positive refusal to grant the subsidy, he had, on the
contrary, given an answer, in their name, in the affirmative. For these
delinquencies, the imaginary and the real, he was inhumanly tortured and
afterwards beheaded. "I know, my children," said he upon the scaffold,
"that you will be grieved when you have seen my blood flow, and that you
will regret me when it is too late." It does not appear, however, that
there was any especial reason to regret him, however sanguinary the
punishment which had requited his broken faith.

The mischief being thus afoot, the tongue of Roland, and the
easily-excited spirits of the citizens, soon did the rest. Ghent broke
forth into open insurrection. They had been willing to enlist and pay
troops under their own banners, but they had felt outraged at the
enormous contribution demanded of them for a foreign war, undertaken in
the family interests of their distant master. They could not find the
"Bargain of Flanders," but they got possession of the odious "calf skin,"
which was solemnly cut in two by the dean of the weavers. It was then
torn in shreds by the angry citizens, many of whom paraded the streets
with pieces of the hated document stuck in their caps, like plumes. From
these demonstrations they proceeded to intrigues with Francis the First.
He rejected them, and gave notice of their overtures to Charles, who now
resolved to quell the insurrection, at once. Francis wrote, begging that
the Emperor would honor him by coming through France; "wishing to assure
you," said he, "my lord and good brother, by this letter, written and
signed by my hand, upon my honor, and on the faith of a prince, and of
the best brother you have, that in passing through my kingdom every
possible honor and hospitality will be offered you, even as they could be
to myself." Certainly, the French king, after such profuse and voluntary
pledges, to confirm which he, moreover, offered his two sons and other
great individuals as hostages, could not, without utterly disgracing
himself, have taken any unhandsome advantage of the Emperor's presence in
his dominions. The reflections often made concerning the high-minded
chivalry of Francis, and the subtle knowledge of human nature displayed
by Charles upon the occasion, seem, therefore, entirely superfluous. The
Emperor came to Paris. "Here," says a citizen of Ghent, at the time, who
has left a minute account of the transaction upon record, but whose
sympathies were ludicrously with the despot and against his own
townspeople, "here the Emperor was received as if the God of Paradise had
descended." On the 9th of February, 1540, he left Brussels; on the 14th
he came to Ghent. His entrance into the city lasted more than six hours.
Four thousand lancers, one thousand archers, five thousand halberdmen and
musqueteers composed his bodyguard, all armed to the teeth and ready for
combat. The Emperor rode in their midst, surrounded by "cardinals,
archbishops, bishops, and other great ecclesiastical lords," so that the
terrors of the Church were combined with the panoply of war to affright
the souls of the turbulent burghers. A brilliant train of "dukes,
princes, earls, barons, grand masters, and seignors, together with most
of the Knights of the Fleece," were, according to the testimony of the
same eyewitness, in attendance upon his Majesty. This unworthy son of
Ghent was in ecstasies with the magnificence displayed upon the occasion.
There was such a number of "grand lords, members of sovereign houses,
bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries going about the streets,
that," as the poor soul protested with delight, "there was nobody else to
be met with." Especially the fine clothes of these distinguished guests
excited his warmest admiration. It was wonderful to behold, he said, "the
nobility and great richness of the princes and seignors, displayed as
well in their beautiful furs, martins and sables, as in the great chains
of fine gold which they wore twisted round their necks, and the pearls
and precious stones in their bonnets and otherwise, which they displayed
in great abundance. It was a very triumphant thing to see them so richly
dressed and accoutred."

An idea may be formed of the size and wealth of the city at this period,
from the fact that it received and accommodated sixty thousand strangers,
with their fifteen thousand horses, upon the occasion of the Emperor's
visit. Charles allowed a month of awful suspense to intervene between his
arrival and his vengeance. Despair and hope alternated during the
interval. On the 17th of March, the spell was broken by the execution of
nineteen persons, who were beheaded as ringleaders. On the 29th of April,
he pronounced sentence upon the city. The hall where it was rendered was
open to all comers, and graced by the presence of the Emperor, the Queen
Regent, and the great functionaries of Court, Church, and State. The
decree, now matured, was read at length. It annulled all the charters,
privileges, and laws of Ghent. It confiscated all its public property,
rents, revenues, houses, artillery, munitions of war, and in general
every thing which the corporation, or the traders, each and all,
possessed in common. In particular, the great bell--Roland was condemned
and sentenced to immediate removal. It was decreed that the four hundred
thousand florins, which had caused the revolt, should forthwith be paid,
together with an additional fine by Ghent of one hundred and fifty
thousand, besides six thousand a year, forever after. In place of their
ancient and beloved constitution, thus annihilated at a blow, was
promulgated a new form of municipal government of the simplest kind,
according to which all officers were in future to be appointed by himself
and the guilds, to be reduced to half their number; shorn of all
political power, and deprived entirely of self-government. It was,
moreover, decreed, that the senators, their pensionaries, clerks and
secretaries, thirty notable burghers, to be named by the Emperor, with
the great dean and second dean of the weavers, all dressed in black
robes, without their chains, and bareheaded, should appear upon an
appointed day, in company with fifty persons from the guilds, and fifty
others, to be arbitrarily named, in their shirts, with halters upon their
necks. This large number of deputies, as representatives of the city,
were then to fall upon their knees before the Emperor, say in a loud and
intelligible voice, by the mouth of one of their clerks, that they were
extremely sorry for the disloyalty, disobedience, infraction of laws,
commotions, rebellion, and high treason, of which they had been guilty,
promise that they would never do the like again, and humbly implore him,
for the sake of the Passion of Jesus Christ, to grant them mercy and
forgiveness.

The third day of May was appointed for the execution of the sentence.
Charles, who was fond of imposing exhibitions and prided himself upon
arranging them with skill, was determined that this occasion should be
long remembered by all burghers throughout his dominions who might be
disposed to insist strongly upon their municipal rights. The streets were
alive with troops: cavalry and infantry in great numbers keeping strict
guard at every point throughout the whole extent of the city; for it was
known that the hatred produced by the sentence was most deadly, and that
nothing but an array of invincible force could keep those hostile
sentiments in check. The senators in their black mourning robes, the
other deputies in linen shirts, bareheaded, with halters on their necks,
proceeded, at the appointed hour, from the senate house to the imperial
residence. High on his throne, with the Queen Regent at his side,
surrounded by princes, prelates and nobles, guarded by his archers and
halberdiers, his crown on his head and his sceptre in his hand, the
Emperor, exalted, sat. The senators and burghers, in their robes of
humiliation, knelt in the dust at his feet. The prescribed words of
contrition and of supplication for mercy were then read by the
pensionary, all the deputies remaining upon their knees, and many of them
crying bitterly with rage and shame. "What principally distressed them,"
said the honest citizen, whose admiration for the brilliant accoutrement
of the princes and prelates has been recorded, "was to have the halter on
their necks, which they found hard to bear, and, if they had not been
compelled, they would rather have died than submit to it."

As soon as the words had been all spoken by the pensionary, the Emperor,
whose cue was now to appear struggling with mingled emotions of
reasonable wrath and of natural benignity, performed his part with much
dramatic effect. "He held himself coyly for a little time," says the
eye-witness, "without saying a word; deporting himself as though he were
considering whether or not he would grant the pardon for which the
culprits had prayed." Then the Queen Regent enacted her share in the
show. Turning to his Majesty "with all reverence, honor and humility, she
begged that he would concede forgiveness, in honor of his nativity, which
had occurred in that city."

Upon this the Emperor "made a fine show of benignity," and replied "very
sweetly" that in consequence of his "fraternal love for her, by reason of
his being a gentle and virtuous prince, who preferred mercy to the rigor
of justice, and in view of their repentance, he would accord his pardon
to the citizens."

The Netherlands, after this issue to the struggle of Ghent, were reduced,
practically, to a very degraded condition. The form of local
self-government remained, but its spirit, when invoked, only arose to be
derided. The supreme court of Mechlin, as in the days of Charles the
Bold, was again placed in despotic authority above the ancient charters.
Was it probable that the lethargy of provinces, which had reached so high
a point of freedom only to be deprived of it at last, could endure
forever? Was it to be hoped that the stern spirit of religious
enthusiasm, allying itself with the--keen instinct of civil liberty,
would endue the provinces with strength to throw off the Spanish yoke?



XII.

It is impossible to comprehend the character of the great Netherland
revolt in the sixteenth century without taking a rapid retrospective
survey of the religious phenomena exhibited in the provinces. The
introduction of Christianity has been already indicated. From the
earliest times, neither prince, people, nor even prelates were very
dutiful to the pope. As the papal authority made progress, strong
resistance was often made to its decrees. The bishops of Utrecht were
dependent for their wealth and territory upon the good will of the
Emperor. They were the determined opponents of Hildebrand, warm adherents
of the Hohenstaufers-Ghibelline rather than Guelph. Heresy was a plant of
early growth in the Netherlands. As early as the beginning of the 12th
century, the notorious Tanchelyn preached at Antwerp, attacking the
authority of the pope and of all other ecclesiastics; scoffing at the
ceremonies and sacraments of the Church. Unless his character and career
have been grossly misrepresented, he was the most infamous of the many
impostors who have so often disgraced the cause of religious reformation.
By more than four centuries, he anticipated the licentiousness and
greediness manifested by a series of false prophets, and was the first to
turn both the stupidity of a populace and the viciousness of a priesthood
to his own advancement; an ambition which afterwards reached its most
signal expression in the celebrated John of Leyden.

The impudence of Tanchelyn and the superstition of his followers seem
alike incredible. All Antwerp was his harem. He levied, likewise, vast
sums upon his converts, and whenever he appeared in public, his apparel
and pomp were befitting an emperor. Three thousand armed satellites
escorted his steps and put to death all who resisted his commands. So
groveling became the superstition of his followers that they drank of the
water in which, he had washed, and treasured it as a divine elixir.
Advancing still further in his experiments upon human credulity, he
announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary, bade all his
disciples to the wedding, and exhibited himself before an immense crowd
in company with an image of his holy bride. He then ordered the people to
provide for the expenses of the nuptials and the dowry of his wife,
placing a coffer upon each side of the image, to receive the
contributions of either sex. Which is the most wonderful manifestation in
the history of this personage--the audacity of the impostor, or the
bestiality of his victims? His career was so successful in the
Netherlands that he had the effrontery to proceed to Rome, promulgating
what he called his doctrines as he went. He seems to have been
assassinated by a priest in an obscure brawl, about the year 1115.

By the middle of the 12th century, other and purer heresiarchs had
arisen. Many Netherlanders became converts to the doctrines of Waldo.
From that period until the appearance of Luther, a succession of
sects--Waldenses, Albigenses, Perfectists, Lollards, Poplicans,
Arnaldists, Bohemian Brothers--waged perpetual but unequal warfare with
the power and depravity of the Church, fertilizing with their blood the
future field of the Reformation. Nowhere was the persecution of heretics
more relentless than in the Netherlands. Suspected persons were subjected
to various torturing but ridiculous ordeals. After such trial, death by
fire was the usual but, perhaps, not the most severe form of execution.
In Flanders, monastic ingenuity had invented another most painful
punishment for Waldenses and similar malefactors. A criminal whose guilt
had been established by the hot iron, hot ploughshare, boiling kettle, or
other logical proof, was stripped and bound to the stake:--he was then
flayed, from the neck to the navel, while swarms of bees were let loose
to fasten upon his bleeding flesh and torture him to a death of exquisite
agony.

Nevertheless heresy increased in the face of oppression The Scriptures,
translated by Waldo into French, were rendered into Netherland rhyme, and
the converts to the Vaudois doctrine increased in numbers and boldness.
At the same time the power and luxury of the clergy was waxing daily. The
bishops of Utrecht, no longer the defenders of the people against
arbitrary power, conducted themselves like little popes. Yielding in
dignity neither to king nor kaiser, they exacted homage from the most
powerful princes of the Netherlands. The clerical order became the most
privileged of all. The accused priest refused to acknowledge the temporal
tribunals. The protection of ecclesiastical edifices was extended over
all criminals and fugitives from justice--a beneficent result in those
sanguinary ages, even if its roots were sacerdotal pride. To establish an
accusation against a bishop, seventy-two witnesses were necessary;
against a deacon, twenty-seven; against an inferior dignitary, seven;
while two were sufficient to convict a layman. The power to read and
write helped the clergy to much wealth. Privileges and charters from
petty princes, gifts and devises from private persons, were documents
which few, save ecclesiastics, could draw or dispute. Not content,
moreover, with their territories and their tithings, the churchmen
perpetually devised new burthens upon the peasantry. Ploughs, sickles,
horses, oxen, all implements of husbandry, were taxed for the benefit of
those who toiled not, but who gathered into barns. In the course of the
twelfth century, many religious houses, richly endowed with lands and
other property, were founded in the Netherlands. Was hand or voice raised
against clerical encroachment--the priests held ever in readiness a
deadly weapon of defence: a blasting anathema was thundered against their
antagonist, and smote him into submission. The disciples of Him who
ordered his followers to bless their persecutors, and to love their
enemies, invented such Christian formulas as these:--"In the name of the
Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the blessed Virgin Mary, John the
Baptist, Peter and Paul, and all other Saints in Heaven, do we curse and
cut off from our Communion him who has thus rebelled against us. May the
curse strike him in his house, barn, bed, field, path, city, castle. May
he be cursed in battle, accursed in praying, in speaking, in silence, in
eating, in drinking, in sleeping. May he be accursed in his taste,
hearing, smell, and all his senses. May the curse blast his eyes, head,
and his body, from his crown to the soles of his feet. I conjure you,
Devil, and all your imps, that you take no rest till you have brought him
to eternal shame; till he is destroyed by drowning or hanging, till he is
torn to pieces by wild beasts, or consumed by fire. Let his children
become orphans, his wife a widow. I command you, Devil, and all your
imps, that even as I now blow out these torches, you do immediately
extinguish the light from his eyes. So be it--so be it. Amen. Amen." So
speaking, the curser was wont to blow out two waxen torches which he held
in his hands, and, with this practical illustration, the anathema was
complete.

Such insane ravings, even in the mouth of some impotent beldame, were
enough to excite a shudder, but in that dreary epoch, these curses from
the lips of clergymen were deemed sufficient to draw down celestial
lightning upon the head, not of the blasphemer, but of his victim. Men,
who trembled neither at sword nor fire, cowered like slaves before such
horrid imprecations, uttered by tongues gifted, as it seemed, with
superhuman power. Their fellow-men shrank from the wretches thus blasted,
and refused communication with them as unclean and abhorred.

By the end of the thirteenth century, however, the clerical power was
already beginning to decline. It was not the corruption of the Church,
but its enormous wealth which engendered the hatred, with which it was by
many regarded. Temporal princes and haughty barons began to dispute the
right of ecclesiastics to enjoy vast estates, while refusing the burthen
of taxation, and unable to draw a sword for the common defence. At this
period, the Counts of Flanders, of Holland, and other Netherland
sovereigns, issued decrees, forbidding clerical institutions from
acquiring property, by devise, gift, purchase, or any other mode. The
downfall of the rapacious and licentious knights-templar in the provinces
and throughout Europe, was another severe blow administered at the same
time. The attacks upon Church abuses redoubled in boldness, as its
authority declined. Towards the end of the fourteenth century, the
doctrines of Wicklif had made great progress in the land. Early in the
fifteenth, the executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague, produce the
Bohemian rebellion. The Pope proclaims a crusade against the Hussites.
Knights and prelates, esquires and citizens, enlist in the sacred cause,
throughout Holland and its sister provinces; but many Netherlanders, who
had felt the might of Ziska's arm, come back, feeling more sympathy with
the heresy which they had attacked, than with the Church for which they
had battled.

Meantime, the restrictions imposed by Netherland sovereigns upon clerical
rights to hold or acquire property, become more stern and more general.
On the other hand, with the invention of printing, the cause of
Reformation takes a colossal stride in advance. A Bible, which, before,
had cost five hundred crowns, now costs but five. The people acquire the
power of reading God's Word, or of hearing it read, for themselves. The
light of truth dispels the clouds of superstition, as by a new
revelation. The Pope and his monks are found to bear, very often, but
faint resemblance to Jesus and his apostles. Moreover, the instinct of
self-interest sharpens the eye of the public. Many greedy priests, of
lower rank, had turned shop-keepers in the Netherlands, and were growing
rich by selling their wares, exempt from taxation, at a lower rate than
lay hucksters could afford. The benefit of clergy, thus taking the bread
from the mouths of many, excites jealousy; the more so, as, besides their
miscellaneous business, the reverend traders have a most lucrative branch
of commerce from which other merchants are excluded. The sale of
absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests. The enormous
impudence of this traffic almost exceeds belief. Throughout the
Netherlands, the price current of the wares thus offered for sale, was
published in every town and village. God's pardon for crimes already
committed, or about to be committed, was advertised according to a
graduated tariff. Thus, poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven
ducats, six livres tournois. Absolution for incest was afforded at
thirty-six livres, three ducats. Perjury came to seven livres and three
carlines. Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper. Even a
parricide could buy forgiveness at God's tribunal at one ducat; four
livres, eight carlines. Henry de Montfort, in the year 1448, purchased
absolution for that crime at that price. Was it strange that a century or
so of this kind of work should produce a Luther? Was it unnatural that
plain people, who loved the ancient Church, should rather desire to see
her purged of such blasphemous abuses, than to hear of St. Peter's dome
rising a little nearer to the clouds on these proceeds of commuted crime?

At the same time, while ecclesiastical abuses are thus augmenting,
ecclesiastical power is diminishing in the Netherlands. The Church is no
longer able to protect itself against the secular aim. The halcyon days
of ban, book and candle, are gone. In 1459, Duke Philip of Burgundy
prohibits the churches from affording protection to fugitives. Charles
the Bold, in whose eyes nothing is sacred save war and the means of
making it, lays a heavy impost upon all clerical property. Upon being
resisted, he enforces collection with the armed hand. The sword and the
pen, strength and intellect, no longer the exclusive servants or
instruments of priestcraft, are both in open revolt. Charles the Bold
storms one fortress, Doctor Grandfort, of Groningen, batters another.
This learned Frisian, called "the light of the world," friend and
compatriot of the great Rudolph Agricola, preaches throughout the
provinces, uttering bold denunciations of ecclesiastical error. He even
disputes the infallibility of the Pope, denies the utility of prayers for
the dead, and inveighs against the whole doctrine of purgatory and
absolution.

With the beginning of the 16th century, the great Reformation was
actually alive. The name of Erasmus of Rotterdam was already celebrated;
the man, who, according to Grotius, "so well showed the road to a
reasonable reformation." But if Erasmus showed the road, he certainly did
not travel far upon it himself. Perpetual type of the quietist, the
moderate man, he censured the errors of the Church with discrimination
and gentleness, as if Borgianism had not been too long rampant at Rome,
as if men's minds throughout Christendom were not too deeply stirred to
be satisfied with mild rebukes against sin, especially when the mild
rebuker was in receipt of livings and salaries from the sinner. Instead
of rebukes, the age wanted reforms. The Sage of Rotterdam was a keen
observer, a shrewd satirist, but a moderate moralist. He loved ease, good
company, the soft repose of princely palaces, better than a life of
martyrdom and a death at the stake. He was not of the stuff of which
martyrs are made, as he handsomely confessed on more than one occasion.
"Let others affect martyrdom," he said, "for myself I am unworthy of the
honor;" and, at another time, "I am not of a mind," he observed "to
venture my life for the truth's sake; all men have not strength to endure
the martyr's death. For myself, if it came to the point, I should do no
better than Simon Peter." Moderate in all things, he would have liked, he
said, to live without eating and drinking, although he never found it
convenient to do so, and he rejoiced when advancing age diminished his
tendency to other carnal pleasures in which he had moderately indulged.
Although awake to the abuses of the Church, he thought Luther going too
fast and too far. He began by applauding ended by censuring the monk of
Wittemberg. The Reformation might have been delayed for centuries had
Erasmus and other moderate men been the only reformers. He will long be
honored for his elegant, Latinity. In the republic of letters, his
efforts to infuse a pure taste, a sound criticism, a love for the
beautiful and the classic, in place of the owlish pedantry which had so
long flapped and hooted through mediveval cloisters, will always be held
in grateful reverence. In the history of the religious Reformation, his
name seems hardly to deserve the commendations of Grotius.

As the schism yawns, more and more ominously, throughout Christendom, the
Emperor naturally trembles. Anxious to save the state, but being no
antique Roman, he wishes to close the gulf, but with more convenience to
himself: He conceives the highly original plan of combining Church and
Empire under one crown. This is Maximilian's scheme for Church
reformation. An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor, the
Charlemagne and Hildebrand systems united and simplified--thus the world
may yet be saved. "Nothing more honorable, nobler, better, could happen
to us," writes Maximilian to Paul Lichtenstein (16th Sept. 1511), "than
to re-annex the said popedom--which properly belongs to us--to our
Empire. Cardinal Adrian approves our reasons and encourages us to
proceed, being of opinion that we should not have much trouble with the
cardinals. It is much to be feared that the Pope may die of his present
sickness. He has lost his appetite, and fills himself with so much drink
that his health is destroyed. As such matters can not be arranged without
money, we have promised the cardinals, whom we expect to bring over,
300,000 ducats, [Recall that the fine for redemption and pardon for the
sin of murder was at that time one ducat. D.W.] which we shall raise from
the Fuggers, and make payable in Rome upon the appointed day."

These business-like arrangements he communicates, two days afterwards, in
a secret letter to his daughter Margaret, and already exults at his
future eminence, both in this world and the next. "We are sending
Monsieur de Gurce," he says; "to make an agreement with the Pope, that we
may be taken as coadjutor, in order that, upon his death, we may be sure
of the papacy, and, afterwards, of becoming a saint. After my decease,
therefore, you will be constrained to adore me, of which I shall be very
proud. I am beginning to work upon the cardinals, in which affair two or
three hundred thousand ducats will be of great service." The letter was
signed, "From the hand of your good father, Maximilian, future Pope."

These intrigues are not destined, however, to be successful. Pope Julius
lives two years longer; Leo the Tenth succeeds; and, as Medici are not
much prone to Church reformation some other scheme, and perhaps some
other reformer, may be wanted. Meantime, the traffic in bulls of
absolution becomes more horrible than ever. Money must be raised to
supply the magnificent extravagance of Rome. Accordingly, Christians,
throughout Europe, are offered by papal authority, guarantees of
forgiveness for every imaginable sin, "even for the rape of God's mother,
if that were possible," together with a promise of life eternal in
Paradise, all upon payment of the price affixed to each crime. The
Netherlands, like other countries, are districted and farmed for the
collection of this papal revenue. Much of the money thus raised, remains
in the hands of the vile collectors. Sincere Catholics, who love and
honor the ancient religion, shrink with horror at the spectacle offered
on every side. Criminals buying Paradise for money, monks spending the
money thus paid in gaming houses, taverns, and brothels; this seems, to
those who have studied their Testaments, a different scheme of salvation
from the one promulgated by Christ. There has evidently been a departure
from the system of earlier apostles. Innocent conservative souls are much
perplexed; but, at last, all these infamies arouse a giant to do battle
with the giant wrong. Martin Luther enters the lists, all alone, armed
only with a quiver filled with ninety-five propositions, and a bow which
can send them all over Christendom with incredible swiftness. Within a
few weeks the ninety-five propositions have flown through Germany, the
Netherlands, Spain, and are found in Jerusalem.

At the beginning, Erasmus encourages the bold friar. So long as the axe
is not laid at the foot of the tree, which bears the poisonous but golden
fruit, the moderate man applauds the blows. "Luther's cause is considered
odious," writes Erasmus to the Elector of Saxony, "because he has, at the
same time, attacked the bellies of the monks and the bulls of the Pope."
He complains that the zealous man had been attacked with roiling, but not
with arguments. He foresees that the work will have a bloody and
turbulent result, but imputes the principal blame to the clergy. "The
priests talk," said he, "of absolution in such terms, that laymen can not
stomach it. Luther has been for nothing more censured than for making
little of Thomas Aquinas; for wishing to diminish the absolution traffic;
for having a low opinion of mendicant orders, and for respecting
scholastic opinions less than the gospels. All this is considered
intolerable heresy."

Erasmus, however, was offending both parties. A swarm of monks were
already buzzing about him for the bold language of his Commentaries and
Dialogues. He was called Erasmus for his errors--Arasmus because he would
plough up sacred things--Erasinus because he had written himself an
ass--Behemoth, Antichrist, and many other names of similar import. Luther
was said to have bought the deadly seed in his barn. The egg had been
laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther. On the other hand, he was reviled for
not taking side manfully with the reformer. The moderate man received
much denunciation from zealots on either side. He soon clears himself,
however, from all suspicions of Lutheranism. He is appalled at the fierce
conflict which rages far and wide. He becomes querulous as the mighty
besom sweeps away sacred dust and consecrated cobwebs. "Men should not
attempt every thing at once," he writes, "but rather step by step. That
which men can not improve they must look at through the fingers. If the
godlessness of mankind requires such fierce physicians as Luther, if man
can not be healed with soothing ointments and cooling drinks, let us hope
that God will comfort, as repentant, those whom he has punished as
rebellious. If the dove of Christ--not the owl of Minerva--would only fly
to us, some measure might be put to the madness of mankind."

Meantime the man, whose talk is not of doves and owls, the fierce
physician, who deals not with ointments and cooling draughts, strides
past the crowd of gentle quacks to smite the foul disease. Devils,
thicker than tiles on house-tops, scare him not from his work. Bans and
bulls, excommunications and decrees, are rained upon his head. The
paternal Emperor sends down dire edicts, thicker than hail upon the
earth. The Holy Father blasts and raves from Rome. Louvain doctors
denounce, Louvain hangmen burn, the bitter, blasphemous books. The
immoderate man stands firm in the storm, demanding argument instead of
illogical thunder; shows the hangmen and the people too, outside the
Elster gate at Wittenberg, that papal bulls will blaze as merrily as
heretic scrolls. What need of allusion to events which changed the
world--which every child has learned--to the war of Titans, uprooting of
hoary trees and rock-ribbed hills, to the Worms diet, Peasant wars, the
Patmos of Eisenach, and huge wrestlings with the Devil?

Imperial edicts are soon employed to suppress the Reformation in the
Netherlands by force. The provinces, unfortunately; are the private
property of Charles, his paternal inheritance; and most paternally,
according to his view of the matter, does he deal with them. Germany can
not be treated thus summarily, not being his heritage. "As it appears,"
says the edict of 1521, "that the aforesaid Martin is not a man, but a
devil under the form of a man, and clothed in the dress of a priest, the
better to bring the human race to hell and damnation, therefore all his
disciples and converts are to be punished with death and forfeiture of
all their goods." This was succinct and intelligible. The bloody edict,
issued at Worms, without even a pretence of sanction by the estates, was
carried into immediate effect. The papal inquisition was introduced into
the provinces to assist its operations. The bloody work, for which the
reign of Charles is mainly distinguished in the Netherlands, now began.
In 1523, July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels, the first
victims to Lutheranism in the provinces. Erasmus observed, with a sigh,
that "two had been burned at Brussels, and that the city now began
strenuously to favor Lutheranism."

Pope Adrian the Sixth, the Netherland boat-maker's son and the Emperor's
ancient tutor, was sufficiently alive to the sins of churchmen. The
humble scholar of Utrecht was, at least, no Borgia. At the diet of
Nuremberg, summoned to put down Luther, the honest Pope declared roundly,
through the Bishop of Fabriane, that "these disorders had sprung from the
Sins of men, more especially from the sins of priests and prelates. Even
in the holy chair," said he, "many horrible crimes have been committed.
Many abuses have grown up in the ecclesiastical state. The contagious
disease, spreading from the head to the members--from the Pope to lesser
prelates--has spread far and wide, so that scarcely any one is to be
found who does right, and who is free from infection. Nevertheless, the
evils have become so ancient and manifold, that it will be necessary to
go step by step."

In those passionate days, the ardent reformers were as much outraged by
this pregnant confession as the ecclesiastics. It would indeed be a slow
process, they thought, to move step by step in the Reformation, if
between each step, a whole century was to intervene. In vain did the
gentle pontiff call upon Erasmus to assuage the stormy sea with his
smooth rhetoric. The Sage of Rotterdam was old and sickly; his day was
over. Adrian's head; too; languishes beneath the triple crown but twenty
months. He dies 13th Sept., 1523, having arrived at the conviction,
according to his epitaph, that the greatest misfortune of his life was to
have reigned.

Another edict, published in the Netherlands, forbids all private
assemblies for devotion; all reading of the scriptures; all discussions
within one's own doors concerning faith, the sacraments, the papal
authority, or other religious matter, under penalty of death. The edicts
were no dead letter. The fires were kept constantly supplied with human
fuel by monks, who knew the art of burning reformers better than that of
arguing with them. The scaffold was the most conclusive of syllogisms,
and used upon all occasions. Still the people remained unconvinced.
Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert.

A fresh edict renewed and sharpened the punishment for reading the
scriptures in private or public. At the same time, the violent personal
altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination, together
with the bitter dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real
presence, did more to impede the progress of the Reformation than ban or
edict, sword or fire. The spirit of humanity hung her head, finding that
the bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones, seeing
that dissenters, in their turn, were sometimes as ready as papists, with
age, fagot, and excommunication. In 1526, Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is
drowned at Zurich, in obedience to Zwingli's pithy formula--'Qui iterum
mergit mergatur'. Thus the anabaptists, upon their first appearance, were
exposed to the fires of the Church and the water of the Zwinglians.

There is no doubt that the anabaptist delusion was so ridiculous and so
loathsome, as to palliate or at least render intelligible the wrath with
which they were regarded by all parties. The turbulence of the sect was
alarming to constituted authorities, its bestiality disgraceful to the
cause of religious reformation. The leaders were among the most depraved
of human creatures, as much distinguished for licentiousness, blasphemy
and cruelty as their followers for grovelling superstition. The evil
spirit, driven out of Luther, seemed, in orthodox eyes, to have taken
possession of a herd of swine. The Germans, Muncer and Hoffmann, had been
succeeded, as chief prophets, by a Dutch baker, named Matthiszoon, of
Harlem; who announced himself as Enoch. Chief of this man's disciples was
the notorious John Boccold, of Leyden. Under the government of this
prophet, the anabaptists mastered the city of Munster. Here they
confiscated property, plundered churches, violated females, murdered men
who refused to join the gang, and, in briefs practised all the enormities
which humanity alone can conceive or perpetrate. The prophet proclaimed
himself King of Sion, and sent out apostles to preach his doctrines in
Germany and the Netherlands. Polygamy being a leading article of the
system, he exemplified the principle by marrying fourteen wives. Of
these, the beautiful widow of Matthiszoon was chief, was called the Queen
of Sion, and wore a golden crown. The prophet made many fruitless efforts
to seize Amsterdam and Leyden. The armed invasion of the anabaptists was
repelled, but their contagious madness spread. The plague broke forth in
Amsterdam. On a cold winter's night, (February, 1535), seven men and five
women, inspired by the Holy Ghost, threw off their clothes and rushed
naked and raving through the streets, shrieking "Wo, wo, wo! the wrath of
God, the wrath of God!" When arrested, they obstinately refused to put on
clothing. "We are," they observed, "the naked truth." In a day or two,
these furious lunatics, who certainly deserved a madhouse rather than the
scaffold, were all executed. The numbers of the sect increased with the
martyrdom to which they were exposed, and the disorder spread to every
part of the Netherlands. Many were put to death in lingering torments,
but no perceptible effect was produced by the chastisement. Meantime the
great chief of the sect, the prophet John, was defeated by the forces of
the Bishop of Munster, who recovered his city and caused the "King of
Zion" to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs.

Unfortunately the severity of government was not wreaked alone upon the
prophet and his mischievous crew. Thousands and ten-thousands of
virtuous, well-disposed men and women, who had as little sympathy with
anabaptistical as with Roman depravity; were butchered in cold blood,
under the sanguinary rule of Charles, in the Netherlands. In 1533, Queen
Dowager Mary of Hungary, sister of the Emperor, Regent of the provinces,
the "Christian widow" admired by Erasmus, wrote to her brother that "in
her opinion all heretics, whether repentant or not, should be prosecuted
with such severity as that error might be, at once, extinguished, care
being only taken that the provinces were not entirely depopulated." With
this humane limitation, the "Christian Widow" cheerfully set herself to
superintend as foul and wholesale a system of murder as was ever
organized. In 1535, an imperial edict was issued at Brussels, condemning
all heretics to death; repentant males to be executed with the sword,
repentant females to be buried alive, the obstinate, of both sexes, to be
burned. This and similar edicts were the law of the land for twenty
years, and rigidly enforced. Imperial and papal persecution continued its
daily deadly work with such diligence as to make it doubtful whether the
limits set by the Regent Mary might not be overstepped. In the midst of
the carnage, the Emperor sent for his son Philip, that he might receive
the fealty of the Netherlands as their future lord and master.
Contemporaneously, a new edict was published at Brussels (29th April,
1549), confirming and reenacting all previous decrees in their most
severe provisions. Thus stood religious matters in the Netherlands at the
epoch of the imperial abdication.



XIII.

The civil institutions of the country had assumed their last provincial
form, in the Burgundo-Austrian epoch. As already stated, their tendency,
at a later period a vicious one, was to substitute fictitious personages
for men. A chain of corporations was wound about the liberty of the
Netherlands; yet that liberty had been originally sustained by the system
in which it, one day, might be strangled. The spirit of local
self-government, always the life-blood of liberty, was often excessive in
its manifestations. The centrifugal force had been too much developed,
and, combining with the mutual jealousy of corporations, had often made
the nation weak against a common foe. Instead of popular rights there
were state rights, for the large cities, with extensive districts and
villages under their government, were rather petty states than
municipalities. Although the supreme legislative and executive functions
belonged to the sovereign, yet each city made its by-laws, and possessed,
beside, a body of statutes and regulations, made from time to time by its
own authority and confirmed by the prince. Thus a large portion, at
least, of the nation shared practically in the legislative functions,
which, technically, it did not claim; nor had the requirements of society
made constant legislation so necessary, as that to exclude the people
from the work was to enslave the country. There was popular power enough
to effect much good, but it was widely scattered, and, at the same time,
confined in artificial forms. The guilds were vassals of the towns, the
towns, vassals of the feudal lord. The guild voted in the "broad council"
of the city as one person; the city voted in the estates as one person.
The people of the United Netherlands was the personage yet to be
invented, It was a privilege, not a right, to exercise a handiwork, or to
participate in the action of government. Yet the mass of privileges was
so large, the shareholders so numerous, that practically the towns were
republics. The government was in the hands of a large number of the
people. Industry and intelligence led to wealth and power. This was great
progress from the general servitude of the 11th and 12th centuries, an
immense barrier against arbitrary rule. Loftier ideas of human rights,
larger conceptions of commerce, have taught mankind, in later days, the
difference between liberties and liberty, between guilds and free
competition. At the same time it was the principle of mercantile
association, in the middle ages, which protected the infant steps of
human freedom and human industry against violence and wrong. Moreover, at
this period, the tree of municipal life was still green and vigorous. The
healthful flow of sap from the humblest roots to the most verdurous
branches indicated the internal soundness of the core, and provided for
the constant development of exterior strength. The road to political
influence was open to all, not by right of birth, but through honorable
exertion of heads and hands.

The chief city of the Netherlands, the commercial capital of the world,
was Antwerp. In the North and East of Europe, the Hanseatic league had
withered with the revolution in commerce. At the South, the splendid
marble channels, through which the overland India trade had been
conducted from the Mediterranean by a few stately cities, were now dry,
the great aqueducts ruinous and deserted. Verona, Venice, Nuremberg,
Augsburg, Bruges, were sinking, but Antwerp, with its deep and convenient
river, stretched its arm to the ocean and caught the golden prize, as it
fell from its sister cities' grasp. The city was so ancient that its
genealogists, with ridiculous gravity, ascended to a period two centuries
before the Trojan war, and discovered a giant, rejoicing in the classic
name of Antigonus, established on the Scheld. This patriarch exacted one
half the merchandise of all navigators who passed his castle, and was
accustomed to amputate and cast into the river the right hands of those
who infringed this simple tariff. Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became
Antwerp, and hence, two hands, in the escutcheon of the city, were ever
held up in heraldic attestation of the truth. The giant was, in his turn,
thrown into the Scheld by a hero, named Brabo, from whose exploits
Brabant derived its name; "de quo Brabonica tellus." But for these
antiquarian researches, a simpler derivation of the name would seem an t'
werf, "on the wharf." It had now become the principal entrepot and
exchange of Europe. The Huggers, Velsens, Ostetts, of Germany, the
Gualterotti and Bonvisi of Italy, and many other great mercantile houses
were there established. No city, except Paris, surpassed it in
population, none approached it in commercial splendor. Its government was
very free. The sovereign, as Marquis of Antwerp, was solemnly sworn to
govern according to the ancient charters and laws. The stadholder, as his
representative, shared his authority with the four estates of the city.
The Senate of eighteen members was appointed by the stadholder out of a
quadruple number nominated by the Senate itself and by the fourth body,
called the Borgery. Half the board was thus renewed annually. It
exercised executive and appellate judicial functions, appointed two
burgomasters, and two pensionaries or legal councillors, and also
selected the lesser magistrates and officials of the city. The board of
ancients or ex-senators, held their seats ex officio. The twenty-six
ward-masters, appointed, two from each ward, by the Senate on nomination
by the wards, formed the third estate. Their especial business was to
enrol the militia and to attend to its mustering and training. The deans
of the guilds, fifty-four in number, two from each guild, selected by the
Senate, from a triple list of candidates presented by the guilds,
composed the fourth estate. This influential body was always assembled in
the broad-council of the city. Their duty was likewise to conduct the
examination of candidates claiming admittance to any guild and offering
specimens of art or handiwork, to superintend the general affairs of the
guilds and to regulate disputes.

There were also two important functionaries, representing the king in
criminal and civil matters. The Vicarius capitalis, Scultetus, Schout,
Sheriff, or Margrave, took precedence of all magistrates. His business
was to superintend criminal arrests, trials, and executions. The Vicarius
civilis was called the Amman, and his office corresponded with that of
the Podesta in the Frisian and Italian republics. His duties were nearly
similar, in civil, to those of his colleague, in criminal matters.

These four branches, with their functionaries and dependents, composed
the commonwealth of Antwerp. Assembled together in council, they
constituted the great and general court. No tax could be imposed by the
sovereign, except with consent of the four branches, all voting
separately.

The personal and domiciliary rights of the citizen were scrupulously
guarded. The Schout could only make arrests with the Burgomaster's
warrant, and was obliged to bring the accused, within three days, before
the judges, whose courts were open to the public.

The condition of the population was prosperous. There were but few poor,
and those did not seek but were sought by the almoners: The schools were
excellent and cheap. It was difficult to find a child of sufficient age
who could not read, write, and speak, at least, two languages. The sons
of the wealthier citizens completed their education at Louvain, Douay,
Paris, or Padua.

The city itself was one of the most beautiful in Europe. Placed upon a
plain along the banks of the Scheld, shaped like a bent bow with the
river for its string, it enclosed within it walls some of the most
splendid edifices in Christendom. The world-renowned church of Notre
Dame, the stately Exchange where five thousand merchants daily
congregated, prototype of all similar establishments throughout the
world, the capacious mole and port where twenty-five hundred vessels were
often seen at once, and where five hundred made their daily entrance or
departure, were all establishments which it would have been difficult to
rival in any other part of the world.

From what has already been said of the municipal institutions of the
country, it may be inferred that the powers of the Estates-general were
limited. The members of that congress were not representatives chosen by
the people, but merely a few ambassadors from individual provinces. This
individuality was not always composed of the same ingredients. Thus,
Holland consisted of two members, or branches--the nobles and the six
chief cities; Flanders of four branches--the cities, namely, of Ghent,
Bruges, Ypres, and the "freedom of Bruges;" Brabant of Louvain, Brussels,
Bois le Due, and Antwerp, four great cities, without representation of
nobility or clergy; Zeland, of one clerical person, the abbot of
Middelburg, one noble, the Marquis of Veer and Vliessingen, and six chief
cities; Utrecht, of three branches--the nobility, the clergy, and five
cities. These, and other provinces, constituted in similar manner, were
supposed to be actually present at the diet when assembled. The chief
business of the states-general was financial; the sovereign, or his
stadholder, only obtaining supplies by making a request in person, while
any single city, as branch of a province, had a right to refuse the
grant.

Education had felt the onward movement of the country and the times. The
whole system was, however, pervaded by the monastic spirit, which had
originally preserved all learning from annihilation, but which now kept
it wrapped in the ancient cerecloths, and stiffening in the stony
sarcophagus of a bygone age. The university of Louvain was the chief
literary institution in the provinces. It had been established in 1423 by
Duke John IV. of Brabant. Its government consisted of a President and
Senate, forming a close corporation, which had received from the founder
all his own authority, and the right to supply their own vacancies. The
five faculties of law, canon law, medicine, theology, and the arts, were
cultivated at the institution. There was, besides, a high school for
under graduates, divided into four classes. The place reeked with
pedantry, and the character of the university naturally diffused itself
through other scholastic establishments. Nevertheless, it had done and
was doing much to preserve the love for profound learning, while the
rapidly advancing spirit of commerce was attended by an ever increasing
train of humanizing arts.

The standard of culture in those flourishing cities was elevated,
compared with that observed in many parts of Europe. The children of the
wealthier classes enjoyed great facilities for education in all the great
capitals. The classics, music, and the modern languages, particularly the
French, were universally cultivated. Nor was intellectual cultivation
confined to the higher orders. On the contrary, it was diffused to a
remarkable degree among the hard-working artisans and handicraftsmen of
the great cities.

For the principle of association had not confined itself exclusively to
politics and trade. Besides the numerous guilds by which citizenship was
acquired in the various cities, were many other societies for mutual
improvement, support, or recreation. The great secret, architectural or
masonic brotherhood of Germany, that league to which the artistic and
patient completion of the magnificent works of Gothic architecture in the
middle ages is mainly to be attributed, had its branches in nether
Germany, and explains the presence of so many splendid and elaborately
finished churches in the provinces. There were also military sodalities
of musketeers, cross-bowmen, archers, swordsmen in every town. Once a
year these clubs kept holiday, choosing a king, who was selected for his
prowess and skill in the use of various weapons. These festivals, always
held with great solemnity and rejoicing, were accompanied bye many
exhibitions of archery and swordsmanship. The people were not likely,
therefore, voluntarily to abandon that privilege and duty of freemen, the
right to bear arms, and the power to handle them.

Another and most important collection of brotherhoods were the so-called
guilds of Rhetoric, which existed, in greater or less number, in all the
principal cities. These were associations of mechanics, for the purpose
of amusing their leisure with poetical effusions, dramatic and musical
exhibitions, theatrical processions, and other harmless and not inelegant
recreations. Such chambers of rhetoric came originally in the fifteenth
century from France. The fact that in their very title they confounded
rhetoric with poetry and the drama indicates the meagre attainments of
these early "Rederykers." In the outset of their career they gave
theatrical exhibitions. "King Herod and his Deeds" was enacted in the
cathedral at Utrecht in 1418. The associations spread with great celerity
throughout the Netherlands, and, as they were all connected with each
other, and in habits of periodical intercourse, these humble links of
literature were of great value in drawing the people of the provinces
into closer union. They became, likewise, important political engines. As
early as the time of Philip the Good, their songs and lampoons became so
offensive to the arbitrary notions of the Burgundian government, as to
cause the societies to be prohibited. It was, however, out of the
sovereign's power permanently to suppress institutions, which already
partook of the character of the modern periodical press combined with
functions resembling the show and licence of the Athenian drama. Viewed
from the stand-point of literary criticism their productions were not
very commendable in taste, conception, or execution. To torture the Muses
to madness, to wire-draw poetry through inextricable coils of difficult
rhymes and impossible measures; to hammer one golden grain of wit into a
sheet of infinite platitude, with frightful ingenuity to construct
ponderous anagrams and preternatural acrostics, to dazzle the vulgar eye
with tawdry costumes, and to tickle the vulgar ear with virulent
personalities, were tendencies which perhaps smacked of the hammer, the
yard-stick and the pincers, and gave sufficient proof, had proof been
necessary, that literature is not one of the mechanical arts, and that
poetry can not be manufactured to a profit by joint stock companies. Yet,
if the style of these lucubrations was often depraved, the artisans
rarely received a better example from the literary institutions above
them. It was not for guilds of mechanics to give the tone to literature,
nor were their efforts in more execrable taste than the emanations from
the pedants of Louvain. The "Rhetoricians" are not responsible for all
the bad taste of their generation. The gravest historians of the
Netherlands often relieved their elephantine labors by the most asinine
gambols, and it was not to be expected that these bustling weavers and
cutlers should excel their literary superiors in taste or elegance.

Philip the Fair enrolled himself as a member in one of these societies.
It may easily be inferred, therefore, that they had already become bodies
of recognized importance. The rhetorical chambers existed in the most
obscure villages. The number of yards of Flemish poetry annually
manufactured and consumed throughout the provinces almost exceed belief.
The societies had regular constitutions. Their presiding officers were
called kings, princes, captains, archdeacons, or rejoiced in similar
high-sounding names. Each chamber had its treasurer, its buffoon, and its
standard-bearer for public processions. Each had its peculiar title or
blazon, as the Lily, the Marigold, or the Violet, with an appropriate
motto. By the year 1493, the associations had become so important, that
Philip the Fair summoned them all to a general assembly at Mechlin. Here
they were organized, and formally incorporated under the general
supervision of an upper or mother-society of Rhetoric, consisting of
fifteen members, and called by the title of "Jesus with the balsam
flower."

The sovereigns were always anxious to conciliate these influential guilds
by becoming members of them in person. Like the players, the Rhetoricians
were the brief abstract and chronicle of the time, and neither prince nor
private person desired their ill report. It had, indeed, been Philip's
intention to convert them into engines for the arbitrary purposes of his
house, but fortunately the publicly organized societies were not the only
chambers. On the contrary, the unchartered guilds were the moat numerous
and influential. They exercised a vast influence upon the progress of the
religious reformation, and the subsequent revolt of the Netherlands. They
ridiculed, with their farces and their satires, the vices of the clergy.
They dramatized tyranny for public execration. It was also not
surprising, that among the leaders of the wild anabaptists who disgraced
the great revolution in church and state by their hideous antics, should
be found many who, like David of Delft, John of Leyden, and others, had
been members of rhetorical chambers. The genius for mummery and
theatrical exhibitions, transplanted from its sphere, and exerting itself
for purposes of fraud and licentiousness, was as baleful in its effects
as it was healthy in its original manifestations. Such exhibitions were
but the excrescences of a system which had borne good fruit. These
literary guilds befitted and denoted a people which was alive, a people
which had neither sunk to sleep in the lap of material prosperity, nor
abased itself in the sty of ignorance and political servitude. The spirit
of liberty pervaded these rude but not illiterate assemblies, and her
fair proportions were distinctly visible, even through the somewhat
grotesque garb which she thus assumed.

The great leading recreations which these chambers afforded to themselves
and the public, were the periodic jubilees which they celebrated in
various capital cities. All the guilds of rhetoric throughout the
Netherlands were then invited to partake and to compete in magnificent
processions, brilliant costumes, living pictures, charades, and other
animated, glittering groups, and in trials of dramatic and poetic skill,
all arranged under the superintendence of the particular association
which, in the preceding year, had borne away the prize. Such jubilees
were called "Land jewels."

From the amusements of a people may be gathered much that is necessary
for a proper estimation of its character. No unfavorable opinion can be
formed as to the culture of a nation, whose weavers, smiths, gardeners,
and traders, found the favorite amusement of their holidays in composing
and enacting tragedies or farces, reciting their own verses, or in
personifying moral and esthetic sentiments by ingeniously-arranged
groups, or gorgeous habiliments. The cramoisy velvets and yellow satin
doublets of the court, the gold-brocaded mantles of priests and princes
are often but vulgar drapery of little historic worth. Such costumes
thrown around the swart figures of hard-working artisans, for literary
and artistic purposes, have a real significance, and are worthy of a
closer examination. Were not these amusements of the Netherlanders as
elevated and humanizing as the contemporary bull-fights and autos-da-fe
of Spain? What place in history does the gloomy bigot merit who, for the
love of Christ, converted all these gay cities into shambles, and changed
the glittering processions of their Land jewels into fettered marches to
the scaffold?

Thus fifteen ages have passed away, and in the place of a horde of
savages, living among swamps and thickets, swarm three millions of
people, the most industrious, the most prosperous, perhaps the most
intelligent under the sun. Their cattle, grazing on the bottom of the
sea, are the finest in Europe, their agricultural products of more
exchangeable value than if nature had made their land to overflow with
wine and oil. Their navigators are the boldest, their mercantile marine
the most powerful, their merchants the most enterprising in the world.
Holland and Flanders, peopled by one race, vie with each other in the
pursuits of civilization. The Flemish skill in the mechanical and in the
fine arts is unrivalled. Belgian musicians delight and instruct other
nations, Belgian pencils have, for a century, caused the canvas to glow
with colors and combinations never seen before. Flemish fabrics are
exported to all parts of Europe, to the East and West Indies, to Africa.
The splendid tapestries, silks, linens, as well as the more homely and
useful manufactures of the Netherlands, are prized throughout the world.
Most ingenious, as they had already been described by the keen-eyed
Caesar, in imitating the arts of other nations, the skillful artificers
of the country at Louvain, Ghent, and other places, reproduce the shawls
and silks of India with admirable accuracy.

Their national industry was untiring; their prosperity unexampled; their
love of liberty indomitable; their pugnacity proverbial. Peaceful in
their pursuits, phlegmatic by temperament, the Netherlands were yet the
most belligerent and excitable population of Europe. Two centuries of
civil war had but thinned the ranks of each generation without quenching
the hot spirit of the nation.

The women were distinguished by beauty of form and vigor of constitution.
Accustomed from childhood to converse freely with all classes and sexes
in the daily walks of life, and to travel on foot or horseback from one
town to another, without escort and without fear, they had acquired
manners more frank and independent than those of women in other lands,
while their morals were pure and their decorum undoubted. The prominent
part to be sustained by the women of Holland in many dramas of the
revolution would thus fitly devolve upon a class, enabled by nature and
education to conduct themselves with courage.

Within the little circle which encloses the seventeen provinces are 208
walled cities, many of them among the most stately in Christendom, 150
chartered towns, 6,300 villages, with their watch-towers and steeples,
besides numerous other more insignificant hamlets; the whole guarded by a
belt of sixty fortresses of surpassing strength.



XIV.

Thus in this rapid sketch of the course and development of the Netherland
nation during sixteen centuries, we have seen it ever marked by one
prevailing characteristic, one master passion--the love of liberty, the
instinct of self-government. Largely compounded of the bravest Teutonic
elements, Batavian and Frisian, the race ever battles to the death with
tyranny, organizes extensive revolts in the age of Vespasian, maintains a
partial independence even against the sagacious dominion of Charlemagne,
refuses in Friesland to accept the papal yoke or feudal chain, and,
throughout the dark ages, struggles resolutely towards the light,
wresting from a series of petty sovereigns a gradual and practical
recognition of the claims of humanity. With the advent of the Burgundian
family, the power of the commons has reached so high a point, that it is
able to measure itself, undaunted, with the spirit of arbitrary rule, of
which that engrossing and tyrannical house is the embodiment. For more
than a century the struggle for freedom, for civic life, goes on; Philip
the Good, Charles the Bold, Mary's husband Maximilian, Charles V., in
turn, assailing or undermining the bulwarks raised, age after age,
against the despotic principle. The combat is ever renewed. Liberty,
often crushed, rises again and again from her native earth with redoubled
energy. At last, in the 16th century, a new and more powerful spirit, the
genius of religious freedom, comes to participate in the great conflict.
Arbitrary power, incarnated in the second Charlemagne, assails the new
combination with unscrupulous, unforgiving fierceness. Venerable civic
magistrates; haltered, grovel in sackcloth and ashes; innocent, religious
reformers burn in holocausts. By the middle of the century, the battle
rages more fiercely than ever. In the little Netherland territory,
Humanity, bleeding but not killed, still stands at bay and defies the
hunters. The two great powers have been gathering strength for centuries.
They are soon to be matched in a longer and more determined combat than
the world had ever seen. The emperor is about to leave the stage. The
provinces, so passionate for nationality, for municipal freedom, for
religious reformation, are to become the property of an utter stranger; a
prince foreign to their blood, their tongue, their religion, their whole
habits of life and thought.

Such was the political, religious, and social condition of a nation who
were now to witness a new and momentous spectacle.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Divine right
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     No one can testify but a householder
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     Tanchelyn
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Villagers, or villeins



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 3.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
PHILIP THE SECOND IN THE NETHERLANDS
1555 [CHAPTER I.]

   Abdication of Charles resolved upon--Brussels in the sixteenth
   century--Hall of the palace described--Portraits of prominent
   individuals present at the ceremony--Formalities of the abdication--
   Universal emotion--Remarks upon the character and career of Charles
   --His retirement at Juste.

On the twenty-fifth day of October, 1555, the estates of the Netherlands
were assembled in the great hall of the palace at Brussels. They had been
summoned to be the witnesses and the guarantees of the abdication which
Charles V. had long before resolved upon, and which he was that day to
execute. The emperor, like many potentates before and since, was fond of
great political spectacles. He knew their influence upon the masses of
mankind. Although plain, even to shabbiness, in his own costume, and
usually attired in black, no one ever understood better than he how to
arrange such exhibitions in a striking and artistic style. We have seen
the theatrical and imposing manner in which he quelled the insurrection
at Ghent, and nearly crushed the life forever out of that vigorous and
turbulent little commonwealth. The closing scene of his long and
energetic reign he had now arranged with profound study, and with an
accurate knowledge of the manner in which the requisite effects were to
be produced. The termination of his own career, the opening of his
beloved Philip's, were to be dramatized in a manner worthy the august
character of the actors, and the importance of the great stage where they
played their parts. The eyes of the whole world were directed upon that
day towards Brussels; for an imperial abdication was an event which had
not, in the sixteenth century, been staled by custom.

The gay capital of Brabant--of that province which rejoiced in the
liberal constitution known by the cheerful title of the "joyful
entrance," was worthy to be the scene of the imposing show. Brussels had
been a city for more than five centuries, and, at that day, numbered
about one hundred thousand inhabitants. Its walls, six miles in
circumference, were already two hundred years old. Unlike most Netherland
cities, lying usually upon extensive plains, it was built along the sides
of an abrupt promontory. A wide expanse of living verdure, cultivated
gardens, shady groves, fertile cornfields, flowed round it like a sea.
The foot of the town was washed by the little river Senne, while the
irregular but picturesque streets rose up the steep sides of the hill
like the semicircles and stairways of an amphitheatre. Nearly in the
heart of the place rose the audacious and exquisitely embroidered tower
of the townhouse, three hundred and sixty-six feet in height, a miracle
of needlework in stone, rivalling in its intricate carving the cobweb
tracery of that lace which has for centuries been synonymous with the
city, and rearing itself above a facade of profusely decorated and
brocaded architecture. The crest of the elevation was crowned by the
towers of the old ducal palace of Brabant, with its extensive and
thickly-wooded park on the left, and by the stately mansions of Orange,
Egmont, Aremberg, Culemburg, and other Flemish grandees, on the right..
The great forest of Soignies, dotted with monasteries and convents,
swarming with every variety of game, whither the citizens made their
summer pilgrimages, and where the nobles chased the wild boar and the
stag, extended to within a quarter of a mile of the city walls. The
population, as thrifty, as intelligent, as prosperous as that of any city
in Europe, was divided into fifty-two guilds of artisans, among which the
most important were the armorers, whose suits of mail would turn a
musket-ball; the gardeners, upon whose gentler creations incredible sums
were annually lavished; and the tapestry-workers, whose gorgeous fabrics
were the wonder of the world. Seven principal churches, of which the most
striking was that of St. Gudule, with its twin towers, its charming
facade, and its magnificently painted windows, adorned the upper part of
the city. The number seven was a magic number in Brussels, and was
supposed at that epoch, during which astronomy was in its infancy and
astrology in its prime, to denote the seven planets which governed all
things terrestrial by their aspects and influences. Seven noble families,
springing from seven ancient castles, supplied the stock from which the
seven senators were selected who composed the upper council of the city.
There were seven great squares, seven city gates, and upon the occasion
of the present ceremony, it was observed by the lovers of wonderful
coincidences, that seven crowned heads would be congregated under a
single roof in the liberty-loving city.

The palace where the states-general were upon this occasion convened, had
been the residence of the Dukes of Brabant since the days of John the
Second, who had built it about the year 1300. It was a spacious and
convenient building, but not distinguished for the beauty of its
architecture. In front was a large open square, enclosed by an iron
railing; in the rear an extensive and beautiful park, filled with forest
trees, and containing gardens and labyrinths, fish-ponds and game
preserves, fountains and promenades, race-courses and archery grounds.
The main entrance to this edifice opened upon a spacious hall, connected
with a beautiful and symmetrical chapel. The hall was celebrated for its
size, harmonious proportions, and the richness of its decorations. It was
the place where the chapters of the famous order of the Golden Fleece
were held. Its walls were hung with a magnificent tapestry of Arran,
representing the life and achievements of Gideon, the Midianite, and
giving particular prominence to the miracle of the "fleece of wool,"
vouchsafed to that renowned champion, the great patron of the Knights of
the Fleece. On the present occasion there were various additional
embellishments of flowers and votive garlands. At the western end a
spacious platform or stage, with six or seven steps, had been
constructed, below which was a range of benches for the deputies of the
seventeen provinces. Upon the stage itself there were rows of seats,
covered with tapestry, upon the right hand and upon the left. These were
respectively to accommodate the knights of the order and the guests of
high distinction. In the rear of these were other benches, for the
members of the three great councils. In the centre of the stage was a
splendid canopy, decorated with the arms of Burgundy, beneath which were
placed three gilded arm-chairs.

All the seats upon the platform were vacant, but the benches below,
assigned to the deputies of the provinces, were already filled. Numerous
representatives from all the states but two--Gelderland and
Overyssel--had already taken their places. Grave magistrates, in chain
and gown, and executive officers in the splendid civic uniforms for which
the Netherlands were celebrated, already filled every seat within the
apace allotted. The remainder of the hall was crowded with the more
favored portion of the multitude which had been fortunate enough to
procure admission to the exhibition. The archers and hallebardiers of the
body-guard kept watch at all the doors. The theatre was filled--the
audience was eager with expectation--the actors were yet to arrive. As
the clock struck three, the hero of the scene appeared. Caesar, as he was
always designated in the classic language of the day, entered, leaning on
the shoulder of William of Orange. They came from the chapel, and were
immediately followed by Philip the Second and Queen Mary of Hungary. The
Archduke Maximilian the Duke of Savoy, and other great personages came
afterwards, accompanied by a glittering throng of warriors, councillors,
governors, and Knights of the Fleece.

Many individuals of existing or future historic celebrity in the
Netherlands, whose names are so familiar to the student of the epoch,
seemed to have been grouped, as if by premeditated design, upon this
imposing platform, where the curtain was to fall forever upon the
mightiest emperor since Charlemagne, and where the opening scene of the
long and tremendous tragedy of Philip's reign was to be simultaneously
enacted. There was the Bishop of Arras, soon to be known throughout
Christendom by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle, the
serene and smiling priest whose subtle influence over the destinies of so
many individuals then present, and over the fortunes of the whole land,
was to be so extensive and so deadly. There was that flower of Flemish
chivalry, the, lineal descendant of ancient Frisian kings, already
distinguished for his bravery in many fields, but not having yet won
those two remarkable victories which were soon to make the name of Egmont
like the sound of a trumpet throughout the whole country. Tall,
magnificent in costume, with dark flowing hair, soft brown eye, smooth
cheek, a slight moustache, and features of almost feminine delicacy; such
was the gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont. The Count of Horn; too,
with bold, sullen face, and fan-shaped beard-a brave, honest,
discontented, quarrelsome, unpopular man; those other twins in doom--the
Marquis Berghen and the Lord of Montigny; the Baron Berlaymont, brave,
intensely loyal, insatiably greedy for office and wages, but who, at
least, never served but one party; the Duke of Arschot, who was to serve
all, essay to rule all, and to betray all--a splendid seignor,
magnificent in cramoisy velvet, but a poor creature, who traced his
pedigree from Adam, according to the family monumental inscriptions at
Louvain, but who was better known as grand-nephew of the emperor's famous
tutor, Chiebres; the bold, debauched Brederode, with handsome, reckless
face and turbulent demeanor; the infamous Noircarmes, whose name was to
be covered with eternal execration, for aping towards his own compatriots
and kindred as much of Alva's atrocities and avarice, as he was permitted
to exercise; the distinguished soldiers Meghen and Aremberg--these, with
many others whose deeds of arms were to become celebrated throughout
Europe, were all conspicuous in the brilliant crowd. There, too, was that
learned Frisian, President Viglius, crafty, plausible, adroit,
eloquent--a small, brisk man, with long yellow hair, glittering green
eyes, round, tumid, rosy cheeks, and flowing beard. Foremost among the
Spanish grandees, and close to Philip, stood the famous favorite, Ruy
Gomez, or as he was familiarly called "Re y Gomez" (King and Gomez), a
man of meridional aspect, with coal-black hair and beard, gleaming eyes,
a face pallid with intense application, and slender but handsome figure;
while in immediate attendance upon the emperor, was the immortal Prince
of Orange.

Such were a few only of the most prominent in that gay throng, whose
fortunes, in part, it will be our humble duty to narrate; how many of
them passing through all this glitter to a dark and mysterious
doom!--some to perish on public scaffolds, some by midnight
assassination; others, more fortunate, to fall on the battle-field
--nearly all, sooner or later, to be laid in bloody graves!

All the company present had risen to their feet as the emperor entered.
By his command, all immediately afterwards resumed their places. The
benches at either end of the platform were accordingly filled with the
royal and princely personages invited, with the Fleece Knights, wearing
the insignia of their order, with the members of the three great
councils, and with the governors. The Emperor, the King, and the Queen of
Hungary, were left conspicuous in the centre of the scene. As the whole
object of the ceremony was to present an impressive exhibition, it is
worth our while to examine minutely the appearance of the two principal
characters.

Charles the Fifth was then fifty-five years and eight months old; but he
was already decrepit with premature old age. He was of about the middle
height, and had been athletic and well-proportioned. Broad in the
shoulders, deep in the chest, thin in the flank, very muscular in the
arms and legs, he had been able to match himself with all competitors in
the tourney and the ring, and to vanquish the bull with his own hand in
the favorite national amusement of Spain. He had been able in the field
to do the duty of captain and soldier, to endure fatigue and exposure,
and every privation except fasting. These personal advantages were now
departed. Crippled in hands, knees and legs, he supported himself with
difficulty upon a crutch, with the aid of, an attendant's shoulder. In
face he had always been extremely ugly, and time had certainly not
improved his physiognomy. His hair, once of a light color, was now white
with age, close-clipped and bristling; his beard was grey, coarse, and
shaggy. His forehead was spacious and commanding; the eye was dark blue,
with an expression both majestic and benignant. His nose was aquiline but
crooked. The lower part of his face was famous for its deformity. The
under lip, a Burgundian inheritance, as faithfully transmitted as the
duchy and county, was heavy and hanging; the lower jaw protruding so far
beyond the upper, that it was impossible for him to bring together the
few fragments of teeth which still remained, or to speak a whole sentence
in an intelligible voice. Eating and talking, occupations to which he was
always much addicted, were becoming daily more arduous, in consequence of
this original defect, which now seemed hardly human, but rather an
original deformity.

So much for the father. The son, Philip the Second, was a small, meagre
man, much below the middle height, with thin legs, a narrow chest, and
the shrinking, timid air of an habitual invalid. He seemed so little,
upon his first visit to his aunts, the Queens Eleanor and Mary,
accustomed to look upon proper men in Flanders and Germany, that he was
fain to win their favor by making certain attempts in the tournament, in
which his success was sufficiently problematical. "His body," says his
professed panegyrist, "was but a human cage, in which, however brief and
narrow, dwelt a soul to whose flight the immeasurable expanse of heaven
was too contracted." [Cabrera] The same wholesale admirer adds, that "his
aspect was so reverend, that rustics who met him alone in a wood, without
knowing him, bowed down with instinctive veneration." In face, he was the
living image of his father, having the same broad forehead, and blue eye,
with the same aquiline, but better proportioned, nose. In the lower part
of the countenance, the remarkable Burgundian deformity was likewise
reproduced. He had the same heavy, hanging lip, with a vast mouth, and
monstrously protruding lower jaw. His complexion was fair, his hair light
and thin, his beard yellow, short, and pointed. He had the aspect of a
Fleming, but the loftiness of a Spaniard. His demeanor in public was
still, silent, almost sepulchral. He looked habitually on the ground when
he conversed, was chary of speech, embarrassed, and even suffering in
manner. This was ascribed partly to a natural haughtiness which he had
occasionally endeavored to overcome, and partly to habitual pains in the
stomach, occasioned by his inordinate fondness for pastry. [Bodavaro]

Such was the personal appearance of the man who was about to receive into
his single hand the destinies of half the world; whose single will was,
for the future, to shape the fortunes of every individual then present,
of many millions more in Europe, America, and at the ends of the earth,
and of countless millions yet unborn.

The three royal personages being seated upon chairs placed triangularly
under the canopy, such of the audience as had seats provided for them,
now took their places, and the proceedings commenced. Philibert de
Bruxelles, a member of the privy council of the Netherlands, arose at the
emperor's command, and made a long oration. He spoke of the emperor's
warm affection for the provinces, as the land of his birth; of his deep
regret that his broken health and failing powers, both of body and mind,
compelled him to resign his sovereignty, and to seek relief for his
shattered frame in a more genial climate. Caesar's gout was then depicted
in energetic language, which must have cost him a twinge as he sat there
and listened to the councillor's eloquence. "'Tis a most truculent
executioner," said Philibert: "it invades the whole body, from the crown
of the head to the soles of the feet, leaving nothing untouched. It
contracts the nerves with intolerable anguish, it enters the bones, it
freezes the marrow, it converts the lubricating fluids of the joints into
chalk, it pauses not until, having exhausted and debilitated the whole
body, it has rendered all its necessary instruments useless, and
conquered the mind by immense torture." [Godelaevus]

   [The historian was present at the ceremony, and gives a very full
   report of the speeches, all of which he heard. His imagination may
   have assisted his memory in the task. The other reporters of the
   councillor's harangue have reduced this pathological flight of
   rhetoric to a very small compass.]

Engaged in mortal struggle with such an enemy, Caesar felt himself
obliged, as the councillor proceeded to inform his audience, to change
the scene of the contest from the humid air of Flanders to the warmer
atmosphere of Spain. He rejoiced, however, that his son was both vigorous
and experienced, and that his recent marriage with the Queen of England
had furnished the provinces with a most valuable alliance. He then again
referred to the emperor's boundless love for his subjects, and concluded
with a tremendous, but superfluous, exhortation to Philip on the
necessity of maintaining the Catholic religion in its purity. After this
long harangue, which has been fully reported by several historians who
were present at the ceremony, the councillor proceeded to read the deed
of cession, by which Philip, already sovereign of Sicily, Naples, Milan,
and titular King of England, France, and Jerusalem, now received all the
duchies, marquisates, earldoms, baronies, cities, towns, and castles of
the Burgundian property, including, of course, the seventeen Netherlands.

As De Bruxelles finished, there was a buzz of admiration throughout the
assembly, mingled with murmurs of regret, that in the present great
danger upon the frontiers from the belligerent King of France and his
warlike and restless nation, the provinces should be left without their
ancient and puissant defender. The emperor then rose to his feet. Leaning
on his crutch, he beckoned from his seat the personage upon whose arm he
had leaned as he entered the hall. A tall, handsome youth of twenty-two
came forward--a man whose name from that time forward, and as long as
history shall endure, has been, and will be, more familiar than any other
in the mouths of Netherlanders. At that day he had rather a southern than
a German or Flemish appearance. He had a Spanish cast of features, dark,
well chiselled, and symmetrical. His head was small and well placed upon
his shoulders. His hair was dark brown, as were also his moustache and
peaked beard. His forehead was lofty, spacious, and already prematurely
engraved with the anxious lines of thought. His eyes were full, brown,
well opened, and expressive of profound reflection. He was dressed in the
magnificent apparel for which the Netherlanders were celebrated above all
other nations, and which the ceremony rendered necessary. His presence
being considered indispensable at this great ceremony, he had been
summoned but recently from the camp on the frontier, where,
notwithstanding his youth, the emperor had appointed him to command his
army in chief against such antagonists as Admiral Coligny and the Due de
Nevers.

Thus supported upon his crutch and upon the shoulder of William of
Orange, the Emperor proceeded to address the states, by the aid of a
closely-written brief which he held in his hand. He reviewed rapidly the
progress of events from his seventeenth year up to that day. He spoke of
his nine expeditions into Germany, six to Spain, seven to Italy, four to
France, ten to the Netherlands, two to England, as many to Africa, and of
his eleven voyages by sea. He sketched his various wars, victories, and
treaties of peace, assuring his hearers that the welfare of his subjects
and the security of the Roman Catholic religion had ever been the leading
objects of his life. As long as God had granted him health, he continued,
only enemies could have regretted that Charles was living and reigning,
but now that his strength was but vanity, and life fast ebbing away, his
love for dominion, his affection for his subjects, and his regard for
their interests, required his departure. Instead of a decrepit man with
one foot in the grave, he presented them with a sovereign in the prime of
life and the vigor of health. Turning toward Philip, he observed, that
for a dying father to bequeath so magnificent an empire to his son was a
deed worthy of gratitude, but that when the father thus descended to the
grave before his time, and by an anticipated and living burial sought to
provide for the welfare of his realms and the grandeur of his son, the
benefit thus conferred was surely far greater. He added, that the debt
would be paid to him and with usury, should Philip conduct himself in his
administration of the province with a wise and affectionate regard to
their true interests. Posterity would applaud his abdication, should his
son Prove worthy of his bounty; and that could only be by living in the
fear of God, and by maintaining law, justice, and the Catholic religion
in all their purity, as the true foundation of the realm. In conclusion,
he entreated the estates, and through them the nation, to render
obedience to their new prince, to maintain concord and to preserve
inviolate the Catholic faith; begging them, at the same time, to pardon
him all errors or offences which he might have committed towards them
during his reign, and assuring them that he should unceasingly remember
their obedience and affection in his every prayer to that Being to whom
the remainder of his life was to be dedicated.

Such brave words as these, so many vigorous asseverations of attempted
performance of duty, such fervent hopes expressed of a benign
administration in behalf of the son, could not but affect the
sensibilities of the audience, already excited and softened by the
impressive character of the whole display. Sobs were heard throughout
every portion of the hall, and tears poured profusely from every eye. The
Fleece Knights on the platform and the burghers in the background were
all melted with the same emotion. As for the Emperor himself, he sank
almost fainting upon his chair as he concluded his address. An ashy
paleness overspread his countenance, and he wept like a child. Even the
icy Philip was almost softened, as he rose to perform his part in the
ceremony. Dropping upon his knees before his father's feet, he reverently
kissed his hand. Charles placed his hands solemnly upon his son's head,
made the sign of the cross, and blessed him in the name of the Holy
Trinity. Then raising him in his arms he tenderly embraced him. saying,
as he did so, to the great potentates around him, that he felt a sincere
compassion for the son on whose shoulders so heavy a weight had just
devolved, and which only a life-long labor would enable him to support.
Philip now uttered a few words expressive of his duty to his father and
his affection for his people. Turning to the orders, he signified his
regret that he was unable to address them either in the French or Flemish
language, and was therefore obliged to ask their attention to the Bishop
of Arras, who would act as his interpreter. Antony Perrenot accordingly
arose, and in smooth, fluent, and well-turned commonplaces, expressed at
great length the gratitude of Philip towards his father, with his firm
determination to walk in the path of duty, and to obey his father's
counsels and example in the future administration of the provinces. This
long address of the prelate was responded to at equal length by Jacob
Maas, member of the Council of Brabant, a man of great learning,
eloquence and prolixity, who had been selected to reply on behalf of the
states-general, and who now, in the name of these; bodies, accepted the
abdication in an elegant and complimentary harangue. Queen Mary of
Hungary, the "Christian widow" of Erasmus, and Regent of the Netherlands
during the past twenty-five years, then rose to resign her office, making
a brief address expressive of her affection for the people, her regrets
at leaving them, and her hopes that all errors which she might have
committed during her long administration would be forgiven her. Again the
redundant Maas responded, asserting in terms of fresh compliment and
elegance the uniform satisfaction of the provinces with her conduct
during her whole career.

The orations and replies having now been brought to a close, the ceremony
was terminated. The Emperor, leaning on the shoulders of the Prince of
Orange and of the Count de Buren, slowly left the hall, followed by
Philip, the Queen of Hungary, and the whole court; all in the same order
in which they had entered, and by the same passage into the chapel.

It is obvious that the drama had been completely successful. It had been
a scene where heroic self-sacrifice, touching confidence, ingenuous love
of duty, patriotism, and paternal affection upon one side; filial
reverence, with a solemn regard for public duty and the highest interests
of the people on the other, were supposed to be the predominant
sentiments. The happiness of the Netherlands was apparently the only
object contemplated in the great transaction. All had played well their
parts in the past, all hoped the best in the times which were to follow.
The abdicating Emperor was looked upon as a hero and a prophet. The stage
was drowned in tears. There is not the least doubt as to the genuine and
universal emotion which was excited throughout the assembly. "Caesar's
oration," says Secretary Godelaevus, who was present at the ceremony,
"deeply moved the nobility and gentry, many of whom burst into tears;
even the illustrious Knights of the Fleece were melted." The historian,
Pontus Heuterus, who, then twenty years of age, was likewise among the
audience, attests that "most of the assembly were dissolved in tears;
uttering the while such sonorous sobs that they compelled his Caesarean
Majesty and the Queen to cry with them. My own face," he adds, "was
certainly quite wet." The English envoy, Sir John Mason, describing in a
despatch to his government the scene which he had just witnessed, paints
the same picture. "The Emperor," he said, "begged the forgiveness of his
subjects if he had ever unwittingly omitted the performance of any of his
duties towards them. And here," continues the envoy, "he broke into a
weeping, whereunto, besides the dolefulness of the matter, I think, he
was moche provoked by seeing the whole company to do the lyke before;
there beyng in myne opinion not one man in the whole assemblie, stranger
or another, that dewring the time of a good piece of his oration poured
not out as abundantly teares, some more, some lesse. And yet he prayed
them to beare with his imperfections, proceeding of his sickly age, and
of the mentioning of so tender a matter as the departing from such a sort
of dere and loving subjects."

And yet what was the Emperor Charles to the inhabitants of the
Netherlands that they should weep for him? His conduct towards them
during his whole career had been one of unmitigated oppression. What to
them were all these forty voyages by sea and land, these journeyings back
and forth from Friesland to Tunis, from Madrid to Vienna. What was it to
them that the imperial shuttle was thus industriously flying to and fro?
The fabric wrought was but the daily growing grandeur and splendor of his
imperial house; the looms were kept moving at the expense of their
hardly-earned treasure, and the woof was often dyed red in the blood of
his bravest subjects. The interests of the Netherlands had never been
even a secondary consideration with their master. He had fulfilled no
duty towards them, he had committed the gravest crimes against them. He
had regarded them merely as a treasury upon which to draw; while the sums
which he extorted were spent upon ceaseless and senseless wars, which
were of no more interest to them than if they had been waged in another
planet. Of five millions of gold annually, which he derived from all his
realms, two millions came from these industrious and opulent provinces,
while but a half million came from Spain and another half from the
Indies. The mines of wealth which had been opened by the hand of industry
in that slender territory of ancient morass and thicket, contributed four
times as much income to the imperial exchequer as all the boasted wealth
of Mexico and Peru. Yet the artisans, the farmers and the merchants, by
whom these riches were produced, were consulted about as much in the
expenditure of the imposts upon their industry as were the savages of
America as to the distribution of the mineral treasures of their soil.
The rivalry of the houses of Habsburg and Valois, this was the absorbing
theme, during the greater part of the reign which had just been so
dramatically terminated. To gain the empire over Francis, to leave to Don
Philip a richer heritage than the Dauphin could expect, were the great
motives of the unparalleled energy displayed by Charles during the longer
and the more successful portion of his career. To crush the Reformation
throughout his dominions, was his occupation afterward, till he abandoned
the field in despair. It was certainly not desirable for the
Netherlanders that they should be thus controlled by a man who forced
them to contribute so largely to the success of schemes, some of which
were at best indifferent, and others entirely odious to them. They paid
1,200,000 crowns a year regularly; they paid in five years an
extraordinary subsidy of eight millions of ducats, and the States were
roundly rebuked by the courtly representatives of their despot, if they
presumed to inquire into the objects of the appropriations, or to express
an interest in their judicious administration. Yet it maybe supposed to
have been a matter of indifference to them whether Francis or Charles had
won the day at Pavia, and it certainly was not a cause of triumph to the
daily increasing thousands of religious reformers in Holland and Flanders
that their brethren had been crushed by the Emperor at Muhlberg. But it
was not alone that he drained their treasure, and hampered their
industry. He was in constant conflict with their ancient and
dearly-bought political liberties. Like his ancestor Charles the Bold, he
was desirous of constructing a kingdom out of the provinces. He was
disposed to place all their separate and individual charters on a
procrustean bed, and shape them all into uniformity simply by reducing
the whole to a nullity. The difficulties in the way, the stout opposition
offered by burghers, whose fathers had gained these charters with their
blood, and his want of leisure during the vast labors which devolved upon
him as the autocrat of so large a portion of the world, caused him to
defer indefinitely the execution of his plan. He found time only to crush
some of the foremost of the liberal institutions of the provinces, in
detail. He found the city of Tournay a happy, thriving, self-governed
little republic in all its local affairs; he destroyed its liberties,
without a tolerable pretext, and reduced it to the condition of a Spanish
or Italian provincial town.

His memorable chastisement of Ghent for having dared to assert its
ancient rights of self-taxation, is sufficiently known to the world, and
has been already narrated at length. Many other instances might be
adduced, if it were not a superfluous task, to prove that Charles was not
only a political despot, but most arbitrary and cruel in the exercise of
his despotism.

But if his sins against the Netherlands had been only those of financial
and political oppression, it would be at least conceivable, although
certainly not commendable, that the inhabitants should have regretted his
departure. But there are far darker crimes for which he stands arraigned
at the bar of history, and it is indeed strange that the man who had
committed them should have been permitted to speak his farewell amid
blended plaudits and tears. His hand planted the inquisition in the
Netherlands. Before his day it is idle to say that the diabolical
institution ever had a place there. The isolated cases in which
inquisitors had exercised functions proved the absence and not the
presence of the system, and will be discussed in a later chapter. Charles
introduced and organized a papal inquisition, side by side with those
terrible "placards" of his invention, which constituted a masked
inquisition even more cruel than that of Spain. The execution of the
system was never permitted to languish. The number of Netherlanders who
were burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive, in obedience to his
edicts, and for the offences of reading the Scriptures, of looking
askance at a graven image, or of ridiculing the actual presence of the
body and blood of Christ in a wafer, have been placed as high as one
hundred thousand by distinguished authorities, and have never been put at
a lower mark than fifty thousand. The Venetian envoy Navigero placed the
number of victims in the provinces of Holland and Friesland alone at
thirty thousand, and this in 1546, ten years before the abdication, and
five before the promulgation of the hideous edict of 1550!

The edicts and the inquisition were the gift of Charles to the
Netherlands, in return for their wasted treasure and their constant
obedience. For this, his name deserves to be handed down to eternal
infamy, not only throughout the Netherlands, but in every land where a
single heart beats for political or religious freedom. To eradicate these
institutions after they had been watered and watched by the care of his
successor, was the work of an eighty years' war, in the course of which
millions of lives were sacrificed. Yet the abdicating Emperor had
summoned his faithful estates around him, and stood up before them in his
imperial robes for the last time, to tell them of the affectionate regard
which he had always borne them, and to mingle his tears with theirs.

Could a single phantom have risen from one of the many thousand graves
where human beings had been thrust alive by his decree, perhaps there
might have been an answer to the question propounded by the Emperor amid
all that piteous weeping. Perhaps it might have told the man who asked
his hearers to be forgiven if he had ever unwittingly offended them, that
there was a world where it was deemed an offence to torture, strangle,
burn, and drown one's innocent fellow-creatures. The usual but trifling
excuse for such enormities can not be pleaded for the Emperor. Charles
was no fanatic. The man whose armies sacked Rome, who laid his
sacrilegious hands on Christ's vicegerent, and kept the infallible head
of the Church a prisoner to serve his own political ends, was then no
bigot. He believed in nothing; save that when the course of his imperial
will was impeded, and the interests of his imperial house in jeopardy,
pontiffs were to succumb as well as anabaptists. It was the political
heresy which lurked in the restiveness of the religious reformers under
dogma, tradition, and supernatural sanction to temporal power, which he
was disposed to combat to the death. He was too shrewd a politician not
to recognize the connection between aspirations for religious and for
political freedom. His hand was ever ready to crush both heresies in one.
Had he been a true son of the Church, a faithful champion of her
infallibility, he would not have submitted to the peace of Passau, so
long as he could bring a soldier to the field. Yet he acquiesced in the
Reformation for Germany, while the fires for burning the reformers were
ever blazing in the Netherlands, where it was death even to allude to the
existence of the peace of Passau. Nor did he acquiesce only from
compulsion, for long before his memorable defeat by Maurice, he had
permitted the German troops, with whose services he could not dispense,
regularly to attend Protestant worship performed by their own Protestant
chaplains. Lutheran preachers marched from city to city of the
Netherlands under the imperial banner, while the subjects of those
patrimonial provinces were daily suffering on the scaffold for their
nonconformity. The influence of this garrison-preaching upon the progress
of the Reformation in the Netherlands is well known. Charles hated
Lutherans, but he required soldiers, and he thus helped by his own policy
to disseminate what had he been the fanatic which he perhaps became in
retirement, he would have sacrificed his life to crush. It is quite true
that the growing Calvinism of the provinces was more dangerous both
religiously and politically, than the Protestantism of the German
princes, which had not yet been formally pronounced heresy, but it is
thus the more evident that it was political rather than religious
heterodoxy which the despot wished to suppress.

No man, however, could have been more observant of religious rites. He
heard mass daily. He listened to a sermon every Sunday and holiday. He
confessed and received the sacrament four times a year. He was sometimes
to be seen in his tent at midnight, on his knees before a crucifix with
eyes and hands uplifted. He ate no meat in Lent, and used extraordinary
diligence to discover and to punish any man, whether courtier or
plebeian, who failed to fast during the whole forty days. He was too good
a politician not to know the value of broad phylacteries and long
prayers. He was too nice an observer of human nature not to know how
easily mint and cummin could still outweigh the "weightier matters of
law, judgment, mercy and faith;" as if the founder of the religion which
he professed, and to maintain which he had established the inquisition
and the edicts, had never cried woe upon the Pharisees. Yet there is no
doubt that the Emperor was at times almost popular in the Netherlands,
and that he was never as odious as his successor. There were some deep
reasons for this, and some superficial ones; among others, a singularly
fortunate manner. He spoke German, Spanish, Italian, French, and Flemish,
and could assume the characteristics of each country as easily as he
could use its language. He could be stately with Spaniards, familiar with
Flemings witty with Italians. He could strike down a bull in the ring
like a matador at Madrid, or win the prize in the tourney like a knight
of old; he could ride at the ring with the Flemish nobles, hit the
popinjay with his crossbow among Antwerp artisans, or drink beer and
exchange rude jests with the boors of Brabant. For virtues such as these,
his grave crimes against God and man, against religion and chartered and
solemnly-sworn rights have been palliated, as if oppression became more
tolerable because the oppressor was an accomplished linguist and a good
marksman.

But the great reason for his popularity no doubt lay in his military
genius. Charles was inferior to no general of his age. "When he was born
into the world," said Alva, "he was born a soldier," and the Emperor
confirmed the statement and reciprocated the compliment, when he declared
that "the three first captains of the age were himself first, and then
the Duke of Alva and Constable Montmorency." It is quite true that all
his officers were not of the same opinion, and many were too apt to
complain that his constant presence in the field did more harm than good,
and "that his Majesty would do much better to stay at home." There is,
however, no doubt that he was both a good soldier and a good general. He
was constitutionally fearless, and he possessed great energy and
endurance. He was ever the first to arm when a battle was to be fought,
and the last to take off his harness. He commanded in person and in
chief, even when surrounded by veterans and crippled by the gout. He was
calm in great reverses. It was said that he was never known to change
color except upon two occasions: after the fatal destruction of his fleet
at Algiers, and in the memorable flight from Innspruck. He was of a
phlegmatic, stoical temperament, until shattered by age and disease; a
man without a sentiment and without a tear. It was said by Spaniards that
he was never seen to weep, even at the death of his nearest relatives and
friends, except on the solitary occasion of the departure of Don Ferrante
Gonzaga from court. Such a temperament was invaluable in the stormy
career to which he had devoted his life. He was essentially a man of
action, a military chieftain. "Pray only for my health and my life," he
was accustomed to say to the young officers who came to him from every
part of his dominions to serve under his banners, "for so, long as I have
these I will never leave you idle; at least in France. I love peace no
better than the rest of you. I was born and bred to arms, and must of
necessity keep on my harness till I can bear it no longer." The restless
energy and the magnificent tranquillity of his character made him a hero
among princes, an idol with his officers, a popular favorite every where.
The promptness with which, at much personal hazard, he descended like a
thunderbolt in the midst of the Ghent insurrection; the juvenile ardor
with which the almost bedridden man arose from his sick-bed to smite the
Protestants at Muhlberg; the grim stoicism with which he saw sixty
thousand of his own soldiers perish in the wintry siege of Metz; all
ensured him a large measure of that applause which ever follows military
distinction, especially when the man who achieves it happens to wear a
crown. He combined the personal prowess of a knight of old with the more
modern accomplishments of a scientific tactician. He could charge the
enemy in person like the most brilliant cavalry officer, and he
thoroughly understood the arrangements of a campaign, the marshalling and
victualling of troops, and the whole art of setting and maintaining an
army in the field.

Yet, though brave and warlike as the most chivalrous of his ancestors,
Gothic, Burgundian, or Suabian, he was entirely without chivalry.
Fanaticism for the faith, protection for the oppressed, fidelity to
friend and foe, knightly loyalty to a cause deemed sacred, the sacrifice
of personal interests to great ideas, generosity of hand and heart; all
those qualities which unite with courage and constancy to make up the
ideal chevalier, Charles not only lacked but despised. He trampled on the
weak antagonist, whether burgher or petty potentate. He was false as
water. He inveigled his foes who trusted to imperial promises, by arts
unworthy an emperor or a gentleman. He led about the unfortunate John
Frederic of Saxony, in his own language, "like a bear in a chain," ready
to be slipped upon Maurice should "the boy" prove ungrateful. He connived
at the famous forgery of the prelate of Arras, to which the Landgrave
Philip owed his long imprisonment; a villany worse than many for which
humbler rogues have suffered by thousands upon the gallows. The
contemporary world knew well the history of his frauds, on scale both
colossal and minute, and called him familiarly "Charles qui triche."

The absolute master of realms on which the sun perpetually shone, he was
not only greedy for additional dominion, but he was avaricious in small
matters, and hated to part with a hundred dollars. To the soldier who
brought him the sword and gauntlets of Francis the First, he gave a
hundred crowns, when ten thousand would have been less than the customary
present; so that the man left his presence full of desperation. The three
soldiers who swam the Elbe, with their swords in their mouths; to bring
him the boats with which he passed to the victory of Muhlberg, received
from his imperial bounty a doublet, a pair of stockings, and four crowns
apiece. His courtiers and ministers complained bitterly of his habitual
niggardliness, and were fain to eke out their slender salaries by
accepting bribes from every hand rich enough to bestow them. In truth
Charles was more than any thing else a politician, notwithstanding his
signal abilities as a soldier. If to have founded institutions which
could last, be the test of statesmanship, he was even a statesman; for
many of his institutions have resisted the pressure of three centuries.
But those of Charlemagne fell as soon as his hand was cold, while the
works of many ordinary legislators have attained to a perpetuity denied
to the statutes of Solon or Lycurgus. Durability is not the test of merit
in human institutions. Tried by the only touchstone applicable to
governments, their capacity to insure the highest welfare of the
governed, we shall not find his polity deserving of much admiration. It
is not merely that he was a despot by birth and inclination, nor that he
naturally substituted as far as was practicable, the despotic for the
republican element, wherever his hand can be traced. There may be
possible good in despotisms as there is often much tyranny in democracy.
Tried however according to the standard by which all governments may be
measured, those laws of truth and divine justice which all Christian
nations recognize, and which are perpetual, whether recognized or not, we
shall find little to venerate in the life work of the Emperor. The
interests of his family, the security of his dynasty, these were his end
and aim. The happiness or the progress of his people never furnished even
the indirect motives of his conduct, and the result was a baffled policy
and a crippled and bankrupt empire at last.

He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses, and he knew how to turn
them to account. He knew how much they would bear, and that little
grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast and deliberate
injustice. Therefore he employed natives mainly in the subordinate
offices of his various states, and he repeatedly warned his successor
that the haughtiness of Spaniards and the incompatibility of their
character with the Flemish, would be productive of great difficulties and
dangers. It was his opinion that men might be tyrannized more
intelligently by their own kindred, and in this perhaps he was right. He
was indefatigable in the discharge of business, and if it were possible
that half a world could be administered as if it were the private
property of an individual, the task would have been perhaps as well
accomplished by Charles as by any man. He had not the absurdity of
supposing it possible for him to attend to the details of every
individual affair in every one of his realms; and he therefore intrusted
the stewardship of all specialities to his various ministers and agents.
It was his business to know men and to deal with affairs on a large
scale, and in this he certainly was superior to his successor. His
correspondence was mainly in the hands of Granvelle the elder, who
analyzed letters received, and frequently wrote all but the signatures of
the answers. The same minister usually possessed the imperial ear, and
farmed it out for his own benefit. In all this there was of course room
for vast deception, but the Emperor was quite aware of what was going on,
and took a philosophic view of the matter as an inevitable part of his
system. Granvelle grew enormously rich under his eye by trading on the
imperial favor and sparing his majesty much trouble. Charles saw it all,
ridiculed his peculations, but called him his "bed of down." His
knowledge of human nature was however derived from a contemplation mainly
of its weaknesses, and was therefore one-sided. He was often deceived,
and made many a fatal blunder, shrewd politician though he was. He
involved himself often in enterprises which could not be honorable or
profitable, and which inflicted damage on his greatest interests. He
often offended men who might have been useful friends, and converted
allies into enemies. "His Majesty," said a keen observer who knew him
well, "has not in his career shown the prudence which was necessary to
him. He has often offended those whose love he might have conciliated,
converted friends into enemies, and let those perish who were his most
faithful partisans." Thus it must be acknowledged that even his boasted
knowledge of human nature and his power of dealing with men was rather
superficial and empirical than the real gift of genius.

His personal habits during the greater part of his life were those of an
indefatigable soldier. He could remain in the saddle day and night, and
endure every hardship but hunger. He was addicted to vulgar and
miscellaneous incontinence. He was an enormous eater. He breakfasted at
five, on a fowl seethed in milk and dressed with sugar and spices. After
this he went to sleep again. He dined at twelve, partaking always of
twenty dishes. He supped twice; at first, soon after vespers, and the
second time at midnight or one o'clock, which meal was, perhaps, the most
solid of the four. After meat he ate a great quantity of pastry and
sweetmeats, and he irrigated every repast by vast draughts of beer and
wine. His stomach, originally a wonderful one, succumbed after forty
years of such labors. His taste, but not his appetite began to fail, and
he complained to his majordomo, that all his food was insipid. The reply
is, perhaps, among the most celebrated of facetia. The cook could do
nothing more unless he served his Majesty a pasty of watches. The
allusion to the Emperor's passion for horology was received with great
applause. Charles "laughed longer than he was ever known to laugh before,
and all the courtiers (of course) laughed as long as his Majesty."
[Badovaro] The success of so sorry a jest would lead one to suppose that
the fooling was less admirable at the imperial court than some of the
recorded quips of Tribaulet would lead us to suppose.

The transfer of the other crowns and dignitaries to Philip, was
accomplished a month afterwards, in a quiet manner. Spain, Sicily, the
Balearic Islands, America, and other portions of the globe, were made
over without more display than an ordinary 'donatio inter vivos'. The
Empire occasioned some difficulty. It had been already signified to
Ferdinand, that his brother was to resign the imperial crown in his
favor, and the symbols of sovereignty were accordingly transmitted to him
by the hands of William of Orange. A deputation, moreover, of which that
nobleman, Vice-Chancellor Seld, and Dr. Wolfgang Haller were the chiefs,
was despatched to signify to the electors of the Empire the step which
had been thus resolved upon. A delay of more than two years, however,
intervened, occasioned partly by the deaths of three electors, partly by
the war which so soon broke out in Europe, before the matter was formally
acted upon. In February, 1553, however, the electors, having been
assembled in Frankfort, received the abdication of Charles, and proceeded
to the election of Ferdinand. That Emperor was crowned in March, and
immediately despatched a legation to the Pope to apprize him of the fact.
Nothing was less expected than any opposition on the part of the pontiff.
The querulous dotard, however, who then sat in St. Peter's chair, hated
Charles and all his race. He accordingly denied the validity of the whole
transaction, without sanction previously obtained from the Pope, to whom
all crowns belonged. Ferdinand, after listening, through his envoys, to
much ridiculous dogmatism on the part of the Pope, at last withdrew from
the discussion, with a formal protest, and was first recognized by
Caraffa's successor, Pius IV.

Charles had not deferred his retirement till the end of these disputes.
He occupied a private house in Brussels, near the gate of Louvain, until
August of the year 1556. On the 27th of that month, he addressed a letter
from Ghent to John of Osnabruck, president of the Chamber of Spiers,
stating his abdication in favor of Ferdinand, and requesting that in the
interim the same obedience might be rendered to Ferdinand, as could have
been yielded to himself. Ten days later; he addressed a letter to the
estates of the Empire, stating the same fact; and on the 17th September,
1556, he set sail from Zeland for Spain. These delays and difficulties
occasioned some misconceptions. Many persons who did not admire an
abdication, which others, on the contrary, esteemed as an act of
unexampled magnanimity, stoutly denied that it was the intention of
Charles to renounce the Empire. The Venetian envoy informed his
government that Ferdinand was only to be lieutenant for Charles, under
strict limitations, and that the Emperor was to resume the government so
soon as his health would allow. The Bishop of Arras and Don Juan de
Manrique had both assured him, he said, that Charles would not, on any
account, definitely abdicate. Manrique even asserted that it was a mere
farce to believe in any such intention. The Emperor ought to remain to
protect his son, by the resources of the Empire, against France, the
Turks, and the heretics. His very shadow was terrible to the Lutherans,
and his form might be expected to rise again in stern reality from its
temporary grave. Time has shown the falsity of all these imaginings, but
views thus maintained by those in the best condition to know the truth,
prove how difficult it was for men to believe in a transaction which was
then so extraordinary, and how little consonant it was in their eyes with
true propriety. It was necessary to ascend to the times of Diocletian, to
find an example of a similar abdication of empire, on so deliberate and
extensive a scale, and the great English historian of the Roman Empire
has compared the two acts with each other. But there seems a vast
difference between the cases. Both emperors were distinguished soldiers;
both were merciless persecutors of defenceless Christians; both exchanged
unbounded empire for absolute seclusion. But Diocletian was born in the
lowest abyss of human degradation--the slave and the son of a slave. For
such a man, after having reached the highest pinnacle of human greatness,
voluntarily to descend from power, seems an act of far greater
magnanimity than the retreat of Charles. Born in the purple, having
exercised unlimited authority from his boyhood, and having worn from his
cradle so many crowns and coronets, the German Emperor might well be
supposed to have learned to estimate them at their proper value.
Contemporary minds were busy, however, to discover the hidden motives
which could have influenced him, and the world, even yet, has hardly
ceased to wonder. Yet it would have been more wonderful, considering the
Emperor's character, had he remained. The end had not crowned the work;
it not unreasonably discrowned the workman. The earlier, and indeed the
greater part of his career had been one unbroken procession of triumphs.
The cherished dream of his grandfather, and of his own youth, to add the
Pope's triple crown to the rest of the hereditary possessions of his
family, he had indeed been obliged to resign. He had too much practical
Flemish sense to indulge long in chimeras, but he had achieved the Empire
over formidable rivals, and he had successively not only conquered, but
captured almost every potentate who had arrayed himself in arms against
him. Clement and Francis, the Dukes and Landgraves of, Clever, Hesse,
Saxony, and Brunswick, he had bound to his chariot wheels; forcing many
to eat the bread of humiliation and captivity, during long and weary
years. But the concluding portion of his reign had reversed all its
previous glories. His whole career had been a failure. He had been
defeated, after all, in most of his projects. He had humbled Francis, but
Henry had most signally avenged his father. He had trampled upon Philip
of Hesse and Frederic of Saxony, but it had been reserved for one of that
German race, which he characterized as "dreamy, drunken, and incapable of
intrigue," to outwit the man who had outwitted all the world, and to
drive before him, in ignominious flight, the conqueror of the nations.
The German lad who had learned both war and dissimulation in the court
and camp of him who was so profound a master of both arts, was destined
to eclipse his teacher on the most august theatre of Christendom.
Absorbed at Innspruck with the deliberations of the Trent Council,
Charles had not heeded the distant mutterings of the tempest which was
gathering around him. While he was preparing to crush, forever, the
Protestant Church, with the arms which a bench of bishops were forging,
lo! the rapid and desperate Maurice, with long red beard streaming like a
meteor in the wind, dashing through the mountain passes, at the head of
his lancers--arguments more convincing than all the dogmas of Granvelle!
Disguised as an old woman, the Emperor had attempted on the 6th April, to
escape in a peasant's wagon, from Innspruck into Flanders. Saved for the
time by the mediation of Ferdinand, he had, a few weeks later, after his
troops had been defeated by Maurice, at Fussen, again fled at midnight of
the 22nd May, almost unattended, sick in body and soul, in the midst of
thunder, lightning, and rain, along the difficult Alpine passes from
Innspruck into Carinthia. His pupil had permitted his escape, only
because in his own language, "for such a bird he had no convenient cage."
The imprisoned princes now owed their liberation, not to the Emperor's
clemency, but to his panic. The peace of Passau, in the following August,
crushed the whole fabric of the Emperor's toil, and laid-the foundation
of the Protestant Church. He had smitten the Protestants at Muhlberg for
the last time. On the other hand, the man who had dealt with Rome, as if
the Pope, not he, had been the vassal, was compelled to witness, before
he departed, the insolence of a pontiff who took a special pride in
insulting and humbling his house, and trampling upon the pride of
Charles, Philip and Ferdinand. In France too, the disastrous siege of
Metz had taught him that in the imperial zodiac the fatal sign of Cancer
had been reached. The figure of a crab, with the words "plus citra,"
instead of his proud motto of "plus ultra," scrawled on the walls where
he had resided during that dismal epoch, avenged more deeply, perhaps,
than the jester thought, the previous misfortunes of France. The Grand
Turk, too, Solyman the Magnificent, possessed most of Hungary, and held
at that moment a fleet ready to sail against Naples, in co-operation with
the Pope and France. Thus the Infidel, the Protestant, and the Holy
Church were all combined together to crush him. Towards all the great
powers of the earth, he stood not in the attitude of a conqueror, but of
a disappointed, baffled, defeated potentate. Moreover, he had been foiled
long before in his earnest attempts to secure the imperial throne for
Philip. Ferdinand and Maximilian had both stoutly resisted his arguments
and his blandishments. The father had represented the slender patrimony
of their branch of the family, compared with the enormous heritage of
Philip; who, being after all, but a man, and endowed with finite powers,
might sink under so great a pressure of empire as his father wished to
provide for him. Maximilian, also, assured his uncle that he had as good
an appetite for the crown as Philip, and could digest the dignity quite
as easily. The son, too, for whom the Emperor was thus solicitous, had
already, before the abdication, repaid his affection with ingratitude. He
had turned out all his father's old officials in Milan, and had refused
to visit him at Brussels, till assured as to the amount of ceremonial
respect which the new-made king was to receive at the hands of his
father.

Had the Emperor continued to live and reign, he would have found himself
likewise engaged in mortal combat with that great religious movement in
the Netherlands, which he would not have been able many years longer to
suppress, and which he left as a legacy of blood and fire to his
successor. Born in the same year with his century, Charles was a
decrepit, exhausted man at fifty-five, while that glorious age, in which
humanity was to burst forever the cerements in which it had so long been
buried, was but awakening to a consciousness of its strength.

Disappointed in his schemes, broken in his fortunes, with income
anticipated, estates mortgaged, all his affairs in confusion; failing in
mental powers, and with a constitution hopelessly shattered; it was time
for him to retire. He showed his keenness in recognizing the fact that
neither his power nor his glory would be increased, should he lag
superfluous on the stage where mortification instead of applause was
likely to be his portion. His frame was indeed but a wreck. Forty years
of unexampled gluttony had done their work. He was a victim to gout,
asthma, dyspepsia, gravel. He was crippled in the neck, arms, knees, and
hands. He was troubled with chronic cutaneous eruptions. His appetite
remained, while his stomach, unable longer to perform the task still
imposed upon it, occasioned him constant suffering. Physiologists, who
know how important a part this organ plays in the affairs of life, will
perhaps see in this physical condition of the Emperor A sufficient
explanation, if explanation were required, of his descent from the
throne. Moreover, it is well known that the resolution to abdicate before
his death had been long a settled scheme with him. It had been formally
agreed between himself and the Empress that they should separate at the
approach of old age, and pass the remainder of their lives in a convent
and a monastery. He had, when comparatively a young man, been struck by
the reply made to him by an aged officer, whose reasons he had asked for,
earnestly soliciting permission to retire from the imperial service. It
was, said the veteran, that he might put a little space of religious
contemplation between the active portion of his life and the grave.

A similar determination, deferred from time to time, Charles had now
carried into execution. While he still lingered in Brussels, after his
abdication, a comet appeared, to warn him to the fulfilment of his
purpose. From first to last, comets and other heavenly bodies were much
connected with his evolutions and arrangements. There was no mistaking
the motives with which this luminary had presented itself. The Emperor
knew very well, says a contemporary German chronicler, that it portended
pestilence and war, together with the approaching death of mighty
princes. "My fates call out," he cried, and forthwith applied himself to
hasten the preparations for his departure.

The romantic picture of his philosophical retirement at Juste, painted
originally by Sandoval and Siguenza, reproduced by the fascinating pencil
of Strada, and imitated in frequent succession by authors of every age
and country, is unfortunately but a sketch of fancy. The investigations
of modern writers have entirely thrown down the scaffolding on which the
airy fabric, so delightful to poets and moralists, reposed. The departing
Emperor stands no longer in a transparency robed in shining garments. His
transfiguration is at an end. Every action, almost every moment of his
retirement, accurately chronicled by those who shared his solitude, have
been placed before our eyes, in the most felicitous manner, by able and
brilliant writers. The Emperor, shorn of the philosophical robe in which
he had been conventionally arrayed for three centuries, shivers now in
the cold air of reality.

So far from his having immersed himself in profound and pious
contemplation, below the current of the world's events, his thoughts, on
the contrary, never were for a moment diverted from the political surface
of the times. He read nothing but despatches; he wrote or dictated
interminable ones in reply, as dull and prolix as any which ever came
from his pen. He manifested a succession of emotions at the course of
contemporary affairs, as intense and as varied, as if the world still
rested in his palm. He was, in truth, essentially a man of action. He had
neither the taste nor talents which make a man great in retirement. Not a
lofty thought, not a generous sentiment, not a profound or acute
suggestion in his retreat has been recorded from his lips. The epigrams
which had been invented for him by fabulists have been all taken away,
and nothing has been substituted, save a few dull jests exchanged with
stupid friars. So far from having entertained and even expressed that
sentiment of religious toleration for which he was said to have been
condemned as a heretic by the inquisition, and for which Philip was
ridiculously reported to have ordered his father's body to be burned, and
his ashes scattered to the winds, he became in retreat the bigot
effectually, which during his reign he had only been conventionally.
Bitter regrets that he should have kept his word to Luther, as if he had
not broken faith enough to reflect upon in his retirement; stern
self-reproach for omitting to put to death, while he had him in his
power, the man who had caused all the mischief of the age; fierce
instructions thundered from his retreat to the inquisitors to hasten the
execution of all heretics, including particularly his ancient friends,
preachers and almoners, Cazalla and Constantine de Fuente; furious
exhortations to Philip--as if Philip needed a prompter in such a
work--that he should set himself to "cutting out the root of heresy with
rigor and rude chastisement;"--such explosions of savage bigotry as
these, alternating with exhibitions of revolting gluttony, with surfeits
of sardine omelettes, Estramadura sausages, eel pies, pickled partridges,
fat capons, quince syrups, iced beer, and flagons of Rhenish, relieved by
copious draughts of senna and rhubarb, to which his horror-stricken
doctor doomed him as he ate--compose a spectacle less attractive to the
imagination than the ancient portrait of the cloistered Charles.
Unfortunately it is the one which was painted from life.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 4.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
PHILIP THE SECOND IN THE NETHERLANDS
1555-1558 [CHAPTER II.]

   Sketch of Philip the Second--Characteristics of Mary Tudor--Portrait
   of Philip--His council--Rivalry of Rup Gomez and Alva--Character of
   Rup Gomez--Queen Mary of Hungary--Sketch of Philibert of Savoy--
   Truce of Vaucelles--Secret treaty between the Pope and Henry II.--
   Rejoicings in the Netherlands on account of the Peace--Purposes of
   Philip--Re-enactment of the edict of 1560--The King's dissimulation
   --"Request" to the provinces--Infraction of the truce in Italy--
   Character of Pope Paul IV.--Intrigues of Cardinal Caraffa--War
   against Spain resolved upon by France--Campaign in Italy--Amicable
   siege of Rome--Pence with the pontiff--Hostilities on the Flemish
   border--Coligny foiled at Douay--Sacks Lens--Philip in England--
   Queen Mary engages in the war--Philip's army assembled at Givet--
   Portrait of Count Egmont--The French army under Coligny and
   Montmorency--Siege of St. Quentin--Attempts of the constable to
   relieve the city--Battle of St. Quentin--Hesitation and timidity of
   Philip--City of St. Quentin taken and sacked--Continued indecision
   of Philip--His army disbanded--Campaign of the Duke of Guise--
   Capture of Calais--Interview between Cardinal de Lorraine and the
   Bishop of Arran--Secret combinations for a league between France and
   Spain against heresy--Languid movements of Guise--Foray of De
   Thermes on the Flemish frontier--Battle of Gravelines--Popularity of
   Egmont--Enmity of Alva.

Philip the Second had received the investiture of Milan and the crown of
Naples, previously to his marriage with Mary Tudor. The imperial crown he
had been obliged, much against his will, to forego. The archduchy of
Austria, with the hereditary German dependencies of his father's family,
had been transferred by the Emperor to his brother Ferdinand, on the
occasion of the marriage of that prince with Anna, only sister of King
Louis of Hungary. Ten years afterwards, Ferdinand (King of Hungary and
Bohemia since the death of Louis, slain in 1526 at the battle of Mohacz)
was elected King of the Romans, and steadily refused all the entreaties
afterwards made to him in behalf of Philip, to resign his crown and his
succession to the Empire, in favor of his nephew. With these diminutions,
Philip had now received all the dominions of his father. He was King of
all the Spanish kingdoms and of both the Sicilies. He was titular King of
England, France, and Jerusalem. He was "Absolute Dominator" in Asia,
Africa, and America; he was Duke of Milan and of both Burgundies, and
Hereditary Sovereign of the seventeen Netherlands.

Thus the provinces had received a new master. A man of foreign birth and
breeding, not speaking a word of their language, nor of any language
which the mass of the inhabitants understood, was now placed in supreme
authority over them, because he represented, through the females, the
"good" Philip of Burgundy, who a century before had possessed himself by
inheritance, purchase, force, or fraud, of the sovereignty in most of
those provinces. It is necessary to say an introductory word or two
concerning the previous history of the man to whose hands the destiny of
so many millions was now entrusted.

He was born in May, 1527, and was now therefore twenty-eight years of
age. At the age of sixteen he had been united to his cousin, Maria of
Portugal, daughter of John III. and of the Emperor's sister, Donna
Catalina. In the following year (1544) he became father of the celebrated
and ill-starred Don Carlos, and a widower. The princess owed her death,
it was said, to her own imprudence and to the negligence or bigotry of
her attendants. The Duchess of Alva, and other ladies who had charge of
her during her confinement, deserted her chamber in order to obtain
absolution by witnessing an auto-da-fe of heretics. During their absence,
the princess partook voraciously of a melon, and forfeited her life in
consequence.

In 1548, Don Philip had made his first appearance in the Netherlands. He
came thither to receive homage in the various provinces as their future
sovereign, and to exchange oaths of mutual fidelity with them all. Andrew
Doria, with a fleet of fifty ships, had brought him to Genoa, whence he
had passed to Milan, where he was received with great rejoicing. At Trent
he was met by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who warmly begged his intercession
with the Emperor in behalf of the imprisoned Landgrave of Hesse. This
boon Philip was graciously pleased to promise,--and to keep the pledge as
sacredly as most of the vows plighted by him during this memorable year.
The Duke of Aerschot met him in Germany with a regiment of cavalry and
escorted him to Brussels. A summer was spent in great festivities, the
cities of the Nether lands vieing with each other in magnificent
celebrations of the ceremonies, by which Philip successively swore
allegiance to the various constitutions and charters of the provinces,
and received their oaths of future fealty in return. His oath to support
all the constitutions and privileges was without reservation, while his
father and grandfather had only sworn to maintain the charters granted or
confirmed by Philip and Charles of Burgundy. Suspicion was disarmed by
these indiscriminate concessions, which had been resolved upon by the
unscrupulous Charles to conciliate the good will of the people. In view
of the pretensions which might be preferred by the Brederode family in
Holland, and by other descendants of ancient sovereign races in other
provinces, the Emperor, wishing to ensure the succession to his sisters
in case of the deaths of himself, Philip, and Don Carlos without issue,
was unsparing in those promises which he knew to be binding only upon the
weak. Although the house of Burgundy had usurped many of the provinces on
the express pretext that females could not inherit, the rule had been
already violated, and he determined to spare no pains to conciliate the
estates, in order that they might be content with a new violation, should
the contingency occur. Philip's oaths were therefore without reserve, and
the light-hearted Flemings, Brabantines, and Walloons received him with
open arms. In Valenciennes the festivities which attended his entrance
were on a most gorgeous scale, but the "joyous entrance" arranged for him
at Antwerp was of unparalleled magnificence. A cavalcade of the
magistrates and notable burghers, "all attired in cramoisy velvet,"
attended by lackies in splendid liveries and followed by four thousand
citizen soldiers in full uniform, went forth from the gates to receive
him. Twenty-eight triumphal arches, which alone, according to the thrifty
chronicler, had cost 26,800 Carolus guldens, were erected in the
different streets and squares, and every possible demonstration of
affectionate welcome was lavished upon the Prince and the Emperor. The
rich and prosperous city, unconscious of the doom which awaited it in the
future, seemed to have covered itself with garlands to honor the approach
of its master. Yet icy was the deportment with which Philip received
these demonstrations of affection, and haughty the glance with which he
looked down upon these exhibitions of civic hilarity, as from the height
of a grim and inaccessible tower. The impression made upon the
Netherlanders was any thing but favorable, and when he had fully
experienced the futility of the projects on the Empire which it was so
difficult both for his father and himself to resign, he returned to the
more congenial soil of Spain. In 1554 he had again issued from the
peninsula to marry the Queen of England, a privilege which his father had
graciously resigned to him. He was united to Mary Tudor at Winchester, on
the 25th July of that year, and if congeniality of tastes could have made
a marriage happy, that union should have been thrice blessed. To maintain
the supremacy of the Church seemed to both the main object of existence,
to execute unbelievers the most sacred duty imposed by the Deity upon
anointed princes, to convert their kingdoms into a hell the surest means
of winning Heaven for themselves. It was not strange that the conjunction
of two such wonders of superstition in one sphere should have seemed
portentous in the eyes of the English nation. Philip's mock efforts in
favor of certain condemned reformers, and his pretended intercessions in
favor of the Princess Elizabeth, failed entirely of their object. The
parliament refused to confer upon him more than a nominal authority in
England. His children, should they be born, might be sovereigns; he was
but husband of the Queen; of a woman who could not atone by her abject
but peevish fondness for himself, and by her congenial blood-thirstiness
towards her subjects, for her eleven years seniority, her deficiency in
attractions, and her incapacity to make him the father of a line of
English monarchs. It almost excites compassion even for Mary Tudor, when
her passionate efforts to inspire him with affection are contrasted with
his impassiveness. Tyrant, bigot, murderess though she was, she was still
woman, and she lavished upon her husband all that was not ferocious in
her nature. Forbidding prayers to be said for the soul of her father,
hating her sister and her people, burning bishops, bathing herself in the
blood of heretics, to Philip she was all submissiveness and feminine
devotion. It was a most singular contrast, Mary, the Queen of England and
Mary the wife of Philip. Small, lean and sickly, painfully near-sighted,
yet with an eye of fierceness and fire; her face wrinkled by the hands of
care and evil passions still more than by Time, with a big man's voice,
whose harshness made those in the next room tremble; yet feminine in her
tastes, skilful with her needle, fond of embroidery work, striking the
lute with a touch remarkable for its science and feeling, speaking many
languages, including Latin, with fluency and grace; most feminine, too,
in her constitutional sufferings, hysterical of habit, shedding floods of
tears daily at Philip's coldness, undisguised infidelity, and frequent
absences from England--she almost awakens compassion and causes a
momentary oblivion of her identity.

Her subjects, already half maddened by religious persecution, were
exasperated still further by the pecuniary burthens which she imposed
upon them to supply the King's exigencies, and she unhesitatingly
confronted their frenzy, in the hope of winning a smile from him. When at
last her chronic maladies had assumed the memorable form which caused
Philip and Mary to unite in a letter to Cardinal Pole, announcing not the
expected but the actual birth of a prince, but judiciously leaving the
date in blank, the momentary satisfaction and delusion of the Queen was
unbounded. The false intelligence was transmitted every where. Great were
the joy and the festivities in the Netherlands, where people were so
easily made to rejoice and keep holiday for any thing. "The Regent, being
in Antwerp," wrote Sir Thomas Gresham to the lords of council, "did cause
the great bell to rings to give all men to understand that the news was
trewe. The Queene's highness here merchants caused all our Inglishe ships
to shoote off with such joy and triumph, as by men's arts and pollicey
could be devised--and the Regent sent our Inglishe maroners one hundred
crownes to drynke." If bell-ringing and cannon-firing could have given
England a Spanish sovereign, the devoutly-wished consummation would have
been reached. When the futility of the royal hopes could no longer be
concealed, Philip left the country, never to return till his war with
France made him require troops, subsidies, and a declaration of
hostilities from England.

The personal appearance of the new sovereign has already been described.
His manner was far from conciliatory, and in this respect he was the
absolute reverse of his father. Upon his first journey out of Spain, in
1548, into his various dominions, he had made a most painful impression
every where. "He was disagreeable," says Envoy Suriano, "to the Italians,
detestable to the Flemings, odious to the Germans."

The remonstrances of the Emperor, and of Queen Mary of Hungary, at the
impropriety of his manners, had produced, however, some effect, so that
on his wedding journey to England, he manifested much "gentleness and
humanity, mingled with royal gravity." Upon this occasion, says another
Venetian, accredited to him, "he had divested himself of that Spanish
haughtiness, which, when he first came from Spain, had rendered him so
odious." The famous ambassador, Badovaro confirms the impression. "Upon
his first journey," he says, "he was esteemed proud, and too greedy for
the imperial succession; but now 'tis the common opinion that his
humanity and modesty are all which could be desired." These humane
qualities, however, it must be observed, were exhibited only in the
presence of ambassadors and grandees, the only representatives of
"humanity" with whom he came publicly and avowedly in contact.

He was thought deficient in manly energy. He was an infirm
valetudinarian, and was considered as sluggish in character, as deficient
in martial enterprise, as timid of temperament as he was fragile and
sickly of frame. It is true, that on account of the disappointment which
he occasioned by his contrast to his warlike father, he mingled in some
tournaments in Brussels, where he was matched against Count Mansfeld, one
of the most distinguished chieftains of the age, and where, says his
professed panegyrist, "he broke his lances very mach to the satisfaction
of his father and aunts."

That learned and eloquent author, Estelle Calvete, even filled the
greater part of a volume, in which he described the journey of the
Prince, with a minute description of these feasts and jousts, but we may
reasonably conclude that to the loyal imagination of his eulogist Philip
is indebted for most of these knightly trophies. It was the universal
opinion of unprejudiced cotemporaries, that he was without a spark of
enterprise. He was even censured for a culpable want of ambition, and for
being inferior to his father in this respect, as if the love of
encroaching on his neighbor's dominions, and a disposition to foreign.
commotions and war would have constituted additional virtues, had he
happened to possess them. Those who were most disposed to think favorably
of him, remembered that there was a time when even Charles the Fifth was
thought weak and indolent, and were willing to ascribe Philip's pacific
disposition to his habitual cholic and side-ache, and to his father's
inordinate care for him in youth. They even looked forward to the time
when he should blaze forth to the world as a conqueror and a hero. These,
however, were views entertained by but few; the general and the correct
opinion, as it proved, being, that Philip hated war, would never
certainly acquire any personal distinction in the field, and when engaged
in hostilities would be apt to gather his laurels at the hands of his
generals, rather than with his own sword. He was believed to be the
reverse of the Emperor. Charles sought great enterprises, Philip would
avoid them. The Emperor never recoiled before threats; the son was
reserved, cautious, suspicious of all men, and capable of sacrificing a
realm from hesitation and timidity. The father had a genius for action,
the son a predilection for repose. Charles took "all men's opinions, but
reserved his judgment," and acted on it, when matured, with irresistible
energy; Philip was led by others, was vacillating in forming decisions,
and irresolute in executing them when formed.

Philip, then, was not considered, in that warlike age, as likely to shine
as a warrior. His mental capacity, in general, was likewise not very
highly esteemed. His talents were, in truth, very much below mediocrity.
His mind was incredibly small. A petty passion for contemptible details
characterized him from his youth, and, as long as he lived, he could
neither learn to generalize, nor understand that one man, however
diligent, could not be minutely acquainted with all the public and
private affairs of fifty millions of other men. He was a glutton of work.
He was born to write despatches, and to scrawl comments upon those which
he received.

   [The character of these apostilles, always confused, wordy and
   awkward, was sometimes very ludicrous; nor did it improve after his
   thirty or forty years' daily practice in making them. Thus, when he
   received a letter from France in 1589, narrating the assassination
   of Henry III., and stating that "the manner in which he had been
   killed was that a Jacobin monk had given him a pistol-shot in the
   head" (la facon qua l'on dit qu'il a ette tue, sa ette par un
   Jacobin qui luy a donna d'un cou de pistolle dans la tayte), he
   scrawled the following luminous comment upon the margin.
   Underlining the word "pistolle," he observed, "this is perhaps some
   kind of knife; and as for 'tayte,' it can be nothing else but head,
   which is not tayte, but tete, or teyte, as you very well know"
   (quiza de alguna manera de cuchillo, etc., etc.)--Gachard. Rapport
   a M. le Minist. de l'Interieur, prefixed to corresp. Philippe II.
   Vol. I. xlix. note 1. It is obvious that a person who made such
   wonderful commentaries as this, and was hard at work eight or nine
   hours a day for forty years, would leave a prodigious quantity of
   unpublished matter at his death.]

He often remained at the council-board four or five hours at a time, and
he lived in his cabinet. He gave audiences to ambassadors and deputies
very willingly, listening attentively to all that was said to him, and
answering in monosyllables. He spoke no tongue but Spanish; and was
sufficiently sparing of that, but he was indefatigable with his pen. He
hated to converse, but he could write a letter eighteen pages long, when
his correspondent was in the next room, and when the subject was,
perhaps, one which a man of talent could have settled with six words of
his tongue. The world, in his opinion, was to move upon protocols and
apostilles. Events had no right to be born throughout his dominions,
without a preparatory course of his obstetrical pedantry. He could never
learn that the earth would not rest on its axis, while he wrote a
programme of the way it was to turn. He was slow in deciding, slower in
communicating his decisions. He was prolix with his pen, not from
affluence, but from paucity of ideas. He took refuge in a cloud of words,
sometimes to conceal his meaning, oftener to conceal the absence of any
meaning, thus mystifying not only others but himself. To one great
purpose, formed early, he adhered inflexibly. This, however, was rather
an instinct than an opinion; born with him, not created by him. The idea
seemed to express itself through him, and to master him, rather than to
form one of a stock of sentiments which a free agent might be expected to
possess. Although at certain times, even this master-feeling could yield
to the pressure of a predominant self-interest-thus showing that even in
Philip bigotry was not absolute--yet he appeared on the whole the
embodiment of Spanish chivalry and Spanish religious enthusiasm, in its
late and corrupted form. He was entirely a Spaniard. The Burgundian and
Austrian elements of his blood seemed to have evaporated, and his veins
were filled alone with the ancient ardor, which in heroic centuries had
animated the Gothic champions of Spain. The fierce enthusiasm for the
Cross, which in the long internal warfare against the Crescent, had been
the romantic and distinguishing feature of the national character, had
degenerated into bigotry. That which had been a nation's glory now made
the monarch's shame. The Christian heretic was to be regarded with a more
intense hatred than even Moor or Jew had excited in the most Christian
ages, and Philip was to be the latest and most perfect incarnation of all
this traditional enthusiasm, this perpetual hate. Thus he was likely to
be single-hearted in his life. It was believed that his ambition would be
less to extend his dominions than to vindicate his title of the most
Catholic king. There could be little doubt entertained that he would be,
at least, dutiful to his father in this respect, and that the edicts
would be enforced to the letter.

He was by birth, education, and character, a Spaniard, and that so
exclusively, that the circumstance would alone have made him unfit to
govern a country so totally different in habits and national sentiments
from his native land. He was more a foreigner in Brussels, even, than in
England. The gay, babbling, energetic, noisy life of Flanders and Brabant
was detestable to him. The loquacity of the Netherlanders was a continual
reproach upon his taciturnity. His education had imbued him, too, with
the antiquated international hatred of Spaniard and Fleming, which had
been strengthening in the metropolis, while the more rapid current of
life had rather tended to obliterate the sentiment in the provinces.

The flippancy and profligacy of Philip the Handsome, the extortion and
insolence of his Flemish courtiers, had not been forgotten in Spain, nor
had Philip the Second forgiven his grandfather for having been a
foreigner. And now his mad old grandmother, Joanna, who had for years
been chasing cats in the lonely tower where she had been so long
imprisoned, had just died; and her funeral, celebrated with great pomp by
both her sons, by Charles at Brussels and Ferdinand at Augsburg, seemed
to revive a history which had begun to fade, and to recall the image of
Castilian sovereignty which had been so long obscured in the blaze of
imperial grandeur.

His education had been but meagre. In an age when all kings and noblemen
possessed many languages, he spoke not a word of any tongue but
Spanish,--although he had a slender knowledge of French and Italian,
which he afterwards learned to read with comparative facility. He had
studied a little history and geography, and he had a taste for sculpture,
painting, and architecture. Certainly if he had not possessed a feeling
for art, he would have been a monster. To have been born in the earlier
part of the sixteenth century, to have been a king, to have had Spain,
Italy, and the Netherlands as a birthright, and not to have been inspired
with a spark of that fire which glowed so intensely in those favored
lands and in that golden age, had indeed been difficult.

The King's personal habits were regular. His delicate health made it
necessary for him to attend to his diet, although he was apt to exceed in
sweetmeats and pastry. He slept much, and took little exercise
habitually, but he had recently been urged by the physicians to try the
effect of the chase as a corrective to his sedentary habits. He was most
strict in religious observances, as regular at mass, sermons, and vespers
as a monk; much more, it was thought by many good Catholics, than was
becoming to his rank and age. Besides several friars who preached
regularly for his instruction, he had daily discussions with others on
abstruse theological points. He consulted his confessor most minutely as
to all the actions of life, inquiring anxiously whether this proceeding
or that were likely to burthen his conscience. He was grossly licentious.
It was his chief amusement to issue forth at night disguised, that he
might indulge in vulgar and miscellaneous incontinence in the common
haunts of vice. This was his solace at Brussels in the midst of the
gravest affairs of state. He was not illiberal, but, on the contrary, it
was thought that he would have been even generous, had he not been
straitened for money at the outset of his career. During a cold winter,
he distributed alms to the poor of Brussels with an open hand. He was
fond of jests in private, and would laugh immoderately, when with a few
intimate associates, at buffooneries, which he checked in public by the
icy gravity of his deportment. He dressed usually in the Spanish fashion,
with close doublet, trunk hose, and short cloak, although at times he
indulged in the more airy fashions of France and Burgundy, wearing
buttons on his coats and feathers in his hat. He was not thought at that
time to be cruel by nature, but was usually spoken of, in the
conventional language appropriated to monarchs, as a prince "clement,
benign, and debonnaire." Time was to show the justice of his claims to
such honorable epithets.

The court was organized during his residence at Brussels on the
Burgundian, not the Spanish model, but of the one hundred and fifty
persons who composed it, nine tenths of the whole were Spaniards; the
other fifteen or sixteen being of various nations, Flemings, Burgundians,
Italians, English, and Germans. Thus it is obvious how soon he
disregarded his father's precept and practice in this respect, and began
to lay the foundation of that renewed hatred to Spaniards which was soon
to become so intense, exuberant, and fatal throughout every class of
Netherlanders. He esteemed no nation but the Spanish, with Spaniards he
consorted, with Spaniards he counselled, through Spaniards he governed.

His council consisted of five or six Spanish grandees, the famous Ruy
Gomez, then Count of Melito, afterwards Prince of Eboli; the Duke of
Alva, the Count de Feria, the Duke of Franca Villa, Don Antonio Toledo,
and Don Juan Manrique de Lara. The "two columns," said Suriano, "which
sustain this great machine, are Ruy Gomez and Alva, and from their
councils depends the government of half the world." The two were ever
bitterly opposed to each other. Incessant were their bickerings, intense
their mutual hate, desperate and difficult the situation of any man,
whether foreigner or native, who had to transact business with the
government. If he had secured the favor of Gomez, he had already earned
the enmity of Alva. Was he protected by the Duke, he was sure to be cast
into outer darkness by the favorite.--Alva represented the war party, Ruy
Gomez the pacific polity more congenial to the heart of Philip. The
Bishop of Arras, who in the opinion of the envoys was worth them all for
his capacity and his experience, was then entirely in the background,
rarely entering the council except when summoned to give advice in
affairs of extraordinary delicacy or gravity. He was, however, to
reappear most signally in course of the events already preparing. The
Duke of Alva, also to play so tremendous a part in the yet unborn history
of the Netherlands, was not beloved by Philip. He was eclipsed at this
period by the superior influence of the favorite, and his sword,
moreover, became necessary in the Italian campaign which was impending.
It is remarkable that it was a common opinion even at that day that the
duke was naturally hesitating and timid. One would have thought that his
previous victories might have earned for him the reputation for courage
and skill which he most unquestionably deserved. The future was to
develop those other characteristics which were to make his name the
terror and wonder of the world.

The favorite, Ruy Gomez da Silva, Count de Melito, was the man upon whose
shoulders the great burthen of the state reposed. He was of a family
which was originally Portuguese. He had been brought up with the King,
although some eight years his senior, and their friendship dated from
earliest youth. It was said that Ruy Gomez, when a boy, had been
condemned to death for having struck Philip, who had come between him and
another page with whom he was quarrelling. The Prince threw himself
passionately at his father's feet, and implored forgiveness in behalf of
the culprit with such energy that the Emperor was graciously pleased to
spare the life of the future prime minister. The incident was said to
have laid the foundation of the remarkable affection which was supposed
to exist between the two, to an extent never witnessed before between
king and subject. Ruy Gomez was famous for his tact and complacency, and
omitted no opportunity of cementing the friendship thus auspiciously
commenced. He was said to have particularly charmed his master, upon one
occasion, by hypocritically throwing up his cards at a game of hazard
played for a large stake, and permitting him to win the game with a far
inferior hand. The King learning afterwards the true state of the case,
was charmed by the grace and self-denial manifested by the young
nobleman. The complacency which the favorite subsequently exhibited in
regard to the connexion which existed so long and so publicly between his
wife, the celebrated Princess Eboli, and Philip, placed his power upon an
impregnable basis, and secured it till his death.

At the present moment he occupied the three posts of valet, state
councillor, and finance minister. He dressed and undressed his master,
read or talked him to sleep, called him in the morning, admitted those
who were to have private audiences, and superintended all the
arrangements of the household. The rest of the day was devoted to the
enormous correspondence and affairs of administration which devolved upon
him as first minister of state and treasury. He was very ignorant. He had
no experience or acquirement in the arts either of war or peace, and his
early education had been limited. Like his master, he spoke no tongue but
Spanish, and he had no literature. He had prepossessing manners, a fluent
tongue, a winning and benevolent disposition. His natural capacity for
affairs was considerable, and his tact was so perfect that he could
converse face to face with statesmen; doctors, and generals upon
campaigns, theology, or jurisprudence, without betraying any remarkable
deficiency. He was very industrious, endeavoring to make up by hard study
for his lack of general knowledge, and to sustain with credit the burthen
of his daily functions. At the same time, by the King's desire, he
appeared constantly at the frequent banquets, masquerades, tourneys and
festivities, for which Brussels at that epoch was remarkable. It was no
wonder that his cheek was pale, and that he seemed dying of overwork. He
discharged his duties cheerfully, however, for in the service of Philip
he knew no rest. "After God," said Badovaro, "he knows no object save the
felicity of his master." He was already, as a matter of course, very
rich, having been endowed by Philip with property to the amount of
twenty-six thousand dollars yearly, [at values of 1855] and the tide of
his fortunes was still at the flood.

Such were the two men, the master and the favorite, to whose hands the
destinies of the Netherlands were now entrusted.

The Queen of Hungary had resigned the office of Regent of the
Netherlands, as has been seen, on the occasion of the Emperor's
abdication. She was a woman of masculine character, a great huntress
before the Lord, a celebrated horsewoman, a worthy descendant of the Lady
Mary of Burgundy. Notwithstanding all the fine phrases exchanged between
herself and the eloquent Maas, at the great ceremony of the 25th of
October, she was, in reality, much detested in the provinces, and she
repaid their aversion with abhorrence. "I could not live among these
people," she wrote to the Emperor, but a few weeks before the abdication,
"even as a private person, for it would be impossible for me to do my
duty towards God and my prince. As to governing them, I take God to
witness that the task is so abhorrent to me, that I would rather earn my
daily bread by labor than attempt it." She added, that a woman of fifty
years of age, who had served during twenty-five of them, had a right to
repose, and that she was moreover "too old to recommence and learn her A,
B, C." The Emperor, who had always respected her for the fidelity with
which she had carried out his designs, knew that it was hopeless to
oppose her retreat. As for Philip, he hated his aunt, and she hated
him--although, both at the epoch of the abdication and subsequently, he
was desirous that she should administer the government.

The new Regent was to be the Duke of Savoy. This wandering and
adventurous potentate had attached himself to Philip's fortunes, and had
been received by the King with as much favor as he had ever enjoyed at
the hands of the Emperor. Emanuel Philibert of Savoy, then about
twenty-six or seven years of age, was the son of the late unfortunate
duke, by Donna Beatrice of Portugal, sister of the Empress. He was the
nephew of Charles, and first cousin to Philip. The partiality of the
Emperor for his mother was well known, but the fidelity with which the
family had followed the imperial cause had been productive of nothing but
disaster to the duke. He had been ruined in fortune, stripped of all his
dignities and possessions. His son's only inheritance was his sword. The
young Prince of Piedmont, as he was commonly called in his youth; sought
the camp of the Emperor, and was received with distinguished favor. He
rose rapidly in the military service. Acting always upon his favorite
motto, "Spoliatis arma supersunt," he had determined, if possible, to
carve his way to glory, to wealth, and even to his hereditary estates, by
his sword alone. War was not only his passion, but his trade. Every one
of his campaigns was a speculation, and he had long derived a
satisfactory income by purchasing distinguished prisoners of war at a low
price from the soldiers who had captured them, and were ignorant of their
rank, and by ransoming them afterwards at an immense advance. This sort
of traffic in men was frequent in that age, and was considered perfectly
honorable. Marshal Strozzi, Count Mansfeld, and other professional
soldiers, derived their main income from the system. They were naturally
inclined, therefore, to look impatiently upon a state of peace as an
unnatural condition of affairs which cut off all the profits of their
particular branch of industry, and condemned them both to idleness and
poverty. The Duke of Savoy had become one of the most experienced and
successful commanders of the age, and an especial favorite with the
Emperor. He had served with Alva in the campaigns against the Protestants
of Germany, and in other important fields. War being his element, he
considered peace as undesirable, although he could recognize its
existence. A truce he held, however, to be a senseless parodox, unworthy
of the slightest regard. An armistice, such as was concluded on the
February following the abdication, was, in his opinion, only to be turned
to account by dealing insidious and unsuspected blows at the enemy, some
portion of whose population might repose confidence in the plighted faith
of monarchs and plenipotentiaries. He had a show of reason for his
political and military morality, for he only chose to execute the evil
which had been practised upon himself. His father had been beggared, his
mother had died of spite and despair, he had himself been reduced from
the rank of a sovereign to that of a mercenary soldier, by spoliations
made in time of truce. He was reputed a man of very decided abilities,
and was distinguished for headlong bravery. His rashness and personal
daring were thought the only drawbacks to his high character as a
commander. He had many accomplishments. He spoke Latin, French, Spanish,
and Italian with equal fluency, was celebrated for his attachment to the
fine arts, and wrote much and with great elegance. Such had been
Philibert of Savoy, the pauper nephew of the powerful Emperor, the
adventurous and vagrant cousin of the lofty Philip, a prince without a
people, a duke without a dukedom; with no hope but in warfare, with no
revenue but rapine; the image, in person, of a bold and manly soldier,
small, but graceful and athletic, martial in bearing, "wearing his sword
under his arm like a corporal," because an internal malady made a belt
inconvenient, and ready to turn to swift account every chance which a new
series of campaigns might open to him. With his new salary as governor,
his pensions, and the remains of his possessions in Nice and Piedmont, he
had now the splendid annual income of one hundred thousand crowns, and
was sure to spend it all.

It had been the desire of Charles to smooth the commencement of Philip's
path. He had for this purpose made a vigorous effort to undo, as it were,
the whole work of his reign, to suspend the operation of his whole
political system. The Emperor and conqueror, who had been warring all his
lifetime, had attempted, as the last act of his reign, to improvise a
peace. But it was not so easy to arrange a pacification of Europe as
dramatically as he desired, in order that he might gather his robes about
him, and allow the curtain to fall upon his eventful history in a grand
hush of decorum and quiet. During the autumn and winter of 1555,
hostilities had been virtually suspended, and languid negotiations
ensued. For several months armies confronted each other without engaging,
and diplomatists fenced among themselves without any palpable result. At
last the peace commissioners, who had been assembled at Vaucelles since
the beginning of the year 1556, signed a treaty of truce rather than of
peace, upon the 5th of February. It was to be an armistice of five years,
both by land and sea, for France, Spain, Flanders, and Italy, throughout
all the dominions of the French and Spanish monarchs. The Pope was
expressly included in the truce, which was signed on the part of France
by Admiral Coligny and Sebastian l'Aubespine; on that of Spain, by Count
de Lalain, Philibert de Bruxelles, Simon Renard, and Jean Baptiste
Sciceio, a jurisconsult of Cremona. During the precious month of
December, however, the Pope had concluded with the French monarch a
treaty, by which this solemn armistice was rendered an egregious farce.
While Henry's plenipotentiaries had been plighting their faith to those
of Philip, it had been arranged that France should sustain, by subsidies
and armies, the scheme upon which Paul was bent, to drive the Spaniards
entirely out of the Italian peninsula. The king was to aid the pontiff,
and, in return, was to carve thrones for his own younger children out of
the confiscated realms of Philip. When was France ever slow to sweep upon
Italy with such a hope? How could the ever-glowing rivalry of Valois and
Habsburg fail to burst into a general conflagration, while the venerable
vicegerent of Christ stood thus beside them with his fan in his hand?

For a brief breathing space, however, the news of the pacification
occasioned much joy in the provinces. They rejoiced even in a temporary
cessation of that long series of campaigns from which they could
certainly derive no advantage, and in which their part was to furnish
money, soldiers, and battlefields, without prospect of benefit from any
victory, however brilliant, or any treaty, however elaborate.
Manufacturing, agricultural and commercial provinces, filled to the full
with industrial life, could not but be injured by being converted into
perpetual camps. All was joy in the Netherlands, while at Antwerp, the
great commercial metropolis of the provinces and of Europe, the rapture
was unbounded. Oxen were roasted whole in the public squares; the
streets, soon to be empurpled with the best blood of her citizens, ran
red with wine; a hundred triumphal arches adorned the pathway of Philip
as he came thither; and a profusion of flowers, although it was February,
were strewn before his feet. Such was his greeting in the light-hearted
city, but the countenance was more than usually sullen with which the
sovereign received these demonstrations of pleasure. It was thought by
many that Philip had been really disappointed in the conclusion of the
armistice, that he was inspired with a spark of that martial ambition for
which his panegyrists gave him credit, and that knowing full well the
improbability of a long suspension of hostilities, he was even eager for
the chance of conquest which their resumption would afford him. The
secret treaty of the Pope was of course not so secret but that the hollow
intention of the contracting parties to the truce of Vaucelles were
thoroughly suspected; intentions which certainly went far to justify the
maxims and the practice of the new governor-general of the Netherlands
upon the subject of armistices.

Philip, understanding his position, was revolving renewed military
projects while his subjects were ringing merry bells and lighting
bonfires in the Netherlands. These schemes, which were to be carried out
in the immediate future, caused, however, a temporary delay in the great
purpose to which he was to devote his life.

The Emperor had always desired to regard the Netherlands as a whole, and
he hated the antiquated charters and obstinate privileges which
interfered with his ideas of symmetry. Two great machines, the court of
Mechlin and the inquisition, would effectually simplify and assimilate
all these irregular and heterogeneous rights. The civil tribunal was to
annihilate all diversities in their laws by a general cassation of their
constitutions, and the ecclesiastical court was to burn out all
differences in their religious faith. Between two such millstones it was
thought that the Netherlands might be crushed into uniformity. Philip
succeeded to these traditions. The father had never sufficient leisure to
carry out all his schemes, but it seemed probable that the son would be a
worthy successor, at least in all which concerned the religious part of
his system. One of the earliest measures of his reign was to re-enact the
dread edict of 1550. This he did by the express advice of the Bishop of
Arras who represented to him the expediency of making use of the
popularity of his father's name, to sustain the horrible system resolved
upon. As Charles was the author of the edict, it could be always argued
that nothing new was introduced; that burning, hanging, and drowning for
religious differences constituted a part of the national institutions;
that they had received the sanction of the wise Emperor, and had been
sustained by the sagacity of past generations. Nothing could have been
more subtle, as the event proved, than this advice. Innumerable were the
appeals made in subsequent years, upon this subject, to the patriotism
and the conservative sentiments of the Netherlanders. Repeatedly they
were summoned to maintain the inquisition, on the ground that it had been
submitted to by their ancestors, and that no change had been made by
Philip, who desired only to maintain church and crown in the authority
which they had enjoyed in the days of his father of very laudable memory.

Nevertheless, the King's military plans seemed to interfere for the
moment with this cherished object. He seemed to swerve, at starting, from
pursuing the goal which he was only to abandon with life. The edict of
1550 was re-enacted and confirmed, and all office-holders were commanded
faithfully to enforce it upon pain of immediate dismissal. Nevertheless,
it was not vigorously carried into effect any where. It was openly
resisted in Holland, its proclamation was flatly refused in Antwerp, and
repudiated throughout Brabant. It was strange that such disobedience
should be tolerated, but the King wanted money. He was willing to refrain
for a season from exasperating the provinces by fresh religious
persecution at the moment when he was endeavoring to extort every penny
which it was possible to wring from their purses.

The joy, therefore, with which the pacification had been hailed by the
people was far from an agreeable spectacle to the King. The provinces
would expect that the forces which had been maintained at their expense
during the war would be disbanded, whereas he had no intention of
disbanding them. As the truce was sure to be temporary, he had no
disposition to diminish his available resources for a war which might be
renewed at any moment. To maintain the existing military establishment in
the Netherlands, a large sum of money was required, for the pay was very
much in arrear. The king had made a statement to the provincial estates
upon this subject, but the matter was kept secret during the negotiations
with France. The way had thus been paved for the "Request" or "Bede,"
which he now made to the estates assembled at Brussels, in the spring of
1556. It was to consist of a tax of one per cent. (the hundredth penny)
upon all real estate, and of two per cent. upon all merchandise; to be
collected in three payments. The request, in so far as the imposition of
the proposed tax was concerned, was refused by Flanders, Brabant,
Holland, and all the other important provinces, but as usual, a moderate,
even a generous, commutation in money was offered by the estates. This
was finally accepted by Philip, after he had become convinced that at
this moment, when he was contemplating a war with France, it would be
extremely impolitic to insist upon the tax. The publication of the truce
in Italy had been long delayed, and the first infractions which it
suffered were committed in that country. The arts of politicians; the
schemes of individual ambition, united with the short-lived military
ardor of Philip to place the monarch in an eminently false position, that
of hostility to the Pope. As was unavoidable, the secret treaty of
December acted as an immediate dissolvent to the truce of February.

Great was the indignation of Paul Caraffa, when that truce was first
communicated to him by the Cardinal de Tournon, on the part of the French
Government. Notwithstanding the protestations of France that the secret
league was still binding, the pontiff complained that he was likely to be
abandoned to his own resources, and to be left single-handed to contend
with the vast power of Spain.

Pope Paul IV., of the house of Caraffa, was, in position, the well-known
counterpart of the Emperor Charles. At the very moment when the conqueror
and autocrat was exchanging crown for cowl, and the proudest throne of
the universe for a cell, this aged monk, as weary of scientific and
religious seclusion as Charles of pomp and power, had abdicated his
scholastic pre-eminence, and exchanged his rosary for the keys and sword.
A pontifical Faustus, he had become disgusted with the results of a life
of study and abnegation, and immediately upon his election appeared to be
glowing with mundane passions, and inspired by the fiercest ambition of a
warrior. He had rushed from the cloister as eagerly as Charles had sought
it. He panted for the tempests of the great external world as earnestly
as the conqueror who had so long ridden upon the whirlwind of human
affairs sighed for a haven of repose. None of his predecessors had been
more despotic, more belligerent, more disposed to elevate and strengthen
the temporal power of Rome. In the inquisition he saw the grand machine
by which this purpose could be accomplished, and yet found himself for a
period the antagonist of Philip. The single circumstance would have been
sufficient, had other proofs been wanting, to make manifest that the part
which he had chosen to play was above his genius. Had his capacity been
at all commensurate with his ambition, he might have deeply influenced
the fate of the world; but fortunately no wizard's charm came to the aid
of Paul Caraffa, and the triple-crowned monk sat upon the pontifical
throne, a fierce, peevish, querulous, and quarrelsome dotard; the prey
and the tool of his vigorous enemies and his intriguing relations. His
hatred of Spain and Spaniards was unbounded. He raved at them as
"heretics, schismatics, accursed of God, the spawn of Jews and Moors, the
very dregs of the earth." To play upon such insane passions was not
difficult, and a skilful artist stood ever ready to strike the chords
thus vibrating with age and fury. The master spirit and principal
mischief-maker of the papal court was the well-known Cardinal Caraffa,
once a wild and dissolute soldier, nephew to the Pope. He inflamed the
anger of the pontiff by his representations, that the rival house of
Colonna, sustained by the Duke of Alva, now viceroy of Naples, and by the
whole Spanish power, thus relieved from the fear of French hostilities,
would be free to wreak its vengeance upon their family. It was determined
that the court of France should be held by the secret league. Moreover,
the Pope had been expressly included in the treaty of Vaucelles, although
the troops of Spain had already assumed a hostile attitude in the south
of Italy. The Cardinal was for immediately proceeding to Paris, there to
excite the sympathy of the French monarch for the situation of himself
and his uncle. An immediate rupture between France and Spain, a
re-kindling of the war flames from one end of Europe to the other, were
necessary to save the credit and the interests of the Caraffas. Cardinal
de Tournon, not desirous of so sudden a termination to the pacific
relations between his, country and Spain, succeeded in detaining him a
little longer in Rome.--He remained, but not in idleness. The restless
intriguer had already formed close relations with the most important
personage in France, Diana of Poitiers.--This venerable courtesan, to the
enjoyment of whose charms Henry had succeeded, with the other regal
possessions, on the death of his father, was won by the flatteries of the
wily Caraffa, and by the assiduities of the Guise family. The best and
most sagacious statesmen, the Constable, and the Admiral, were in favor
of peace, for they knew the condition of the kingdom. The Duke of Guise
and the Cardinal Lorraine were for a rupture, for they hoped to increase
their family influence by war. Coligny had signed the treaty of
Vaucelles, and wished to maintain it, but the influence of the Catholic
party was in the ascendant. The result was to embroil the Catholic King
against the Pope and against themselves. The queen was as favorably
inclined as the mistress to listen to Caraffa, for Catherine de Medici
was desirous that her cousin, Marshal Strozzi, should have honorable and
profitable employment in some fresh Italian campaigns.

In the mean time an accident favored the designs of the papal court. An
open quarrel with Spain resulted from an insignificant circumstance. The
Spanish ambassador at Rome was in the habit of leaving the city very
often, at an early hour in the morning, upon shooting excursions, and had
long enjoyed the privilege of ordering the gates to be opened for him at
his pleasure. By accident or design, he was refused permission upon one
occasion to pass through the gate as usual. Unwilling to lose his day's
sport, and enraged at what he considered an indignity, his excellency, by
the aid of his attendants, attacked and beat the guard, mastered them,
made his way out of the city, and pursued his morning's amusement. The
Pope was furious, Caraffa artfully inflamed his anger. The envoy was
refused an audience, which he desired, for the sake of offering
explanations, and the train being thus laid, it was thought that the
right moment had arrived for applying the firebrand. The Cardinal went to
Paris post haste. In his audience of the King, he represented that his
Holiness had placed implicit reliance upon his secret treaty with his
majesty, that the recently concluded truce with Spain left the pontiff at
the mercy of the Spaniard, that the Duke of Alva had already drawn the
sword, that the Pope had long since done himself the pleasure and the
honor of appointing the French monarch protector of the papal chair in
general, and of the Caraffa family in particular, and that the moment had
arrived for claiming the benefit of that protection. He assured him,
moreover, as by full papal authority, that in respecting the recent truce
with Spain, his majesty would violate both human and divine law. Reason
and justice required him to defend the pontiff, now that the Spaniards
were about to profit by the interval of truce to take measures for his
detriment. Moreover, as the Pope was included in the truce of Vaucelles,
he could not be abandoned without a violation of that treaty itself.--The
arts and arguments of the Cardinal proved successful; the war was
resolved upon in favor of the Pope. The Cardinal, by virtue of powers
received and brought with him from his holiness, absolved the King from
all obligation to keep his faith with Spain. He also gave him a
dispensation from the duty of prefacing hostilities by a declaration of
war. Strozzi was sent at once into Italy, with some hastily collected
troops, while the Duke of Guise waited to organize a regular army.

The mischief being thus fairly afoot, and war let loose again upon
Europe, the Cardinal made a public entry into Paris, as legate of the
Pope. The populace crowded about his mule, as he rode at the head of a
stately procession through the streets. All were anxious to receive a
benediction from the holy man who had come so far to represent the
successor of St. Peter, and to enlist the efforts of all true believers
in his cause. He appeared to answer the entreaties of the superstitious
rabble with fervent blessings, while the friends who were nearest him
were aware that nothing but gibes and sarcasms were falling from his
lips. "Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content, since
they will be fools," he muttered; smiling the while upon them
benignantly, as became his holy office. Such were the materials of this
new combination; such was the fuel with which this new blaze was lighted
and maintained. Thus were the great powers of the earth--Spain, France,
England, and the Papacy embroiled, and the nations embattled against each
other for several years. The preceding pages show how much national
interests, or principles; were concerned in the struggle thus commenced,
in which thousands were to shed their life-blood, and millions to be
reduced from peace and comfort to suffer all the misery which famine and
rapine can inflict. It would no doubt have increased the hilarity of
Caraffa, as he made his triumphant entry into Paris, could the idea have
been suggested to his mind that the sentiments, or the welfare of the
people throughout the great states now involved in his meshes, could have
any possible bearing upon the question of peace or wax. The world was
governed by other influences. The wiles of a cardinal--the arts of a
concubine--the snipe-shooting of an ambassador--the speculations of a
soldier of fortune--the ill temper of a monk--the mutual venom of Italian
houses--above all, the perpetual rivalry of the two great historical
families who owned the greater part of Europe between them as their
private property--such were the wheels on which rolled the destiny of
Christendom. Compared to these, what were great moral and political
ideas, the plans of statesmen, the hopes of nations? Time was soon to
show. Meanwhile, government continued to be administered exclusively for
the benefit of the governors. Meanwhile, a petty war for paltry motives
was to precede the great spectacle which was to prove to Europe that
principles and peoples still existed, and that a phlegmatic nation of
merchants and manufacturers could defy the powers of the universe, and
risk all their blood and treasure, generation after generation, in a
sacred cause.

It does not belong to our purpose to narrate the details of the campaign
in Italy; neither is this war of politics and chicane of any great
interest at the present day. To the military minds of their age, the
scientific duel which now took place upon a large scale, between two such
celebrated captains as the Dukes of Guise and Alva, was no doubt esteemed
the most important of spectacles; but the progress of mankind in the art
of slaughter has stripped so antiquated an exhibition of most of its
interest, even in a technical point of view. Not much satisfaction could
be derived from watching an old-fashioned game of war, in which the
parties sat down before each other so tranquilly, and picked up piece
after piece, castle after castle, city after city, with such scientific
deliberation as to make it evident that, in the opinion of the
commanders, war was the only serious business to be done in the world;
that it was not to be done in a hurry, nor contrary to rule, and that
when a general had a good job upon his hands he ought to know his
profession much too thoroughly, to hasten through it before he saw his
way clear to another. From the point of time, at the close of the year
1556, when that well-trained but not very successful soldier, Strozzi,
crossed the Alps, down to the autumn of the following year, when the Duke
of Alva made his peace with the Pope, there was hardly a pitched battle,
and scarcely an event of striking interest. Alva, as usual, brought his
dilatory policy to bear upon his adversary with great effect. He had no
intention, he observed to a friend, to stake the whole kingdom of Naples
against a brocaded coat of the Duke of Guise. Moreover, he had been sent
to the war, as Ruy Gomez informed the Venetian ambassador, "with a bridle
in his mouth." Philip, sorely troubled in his mind at finding himself in
so strange a position as this hostile attitude to the Church, had
earnestly interrogated all the doctors and theologians with whom he
habitually took counsel, whether this war with the Pope would not work a
forfeiture of his title of the Most Catholic King. The Bishop of Arras
and the favorite both disapproved of the war, and encouraged, with all
their influence, the pacific inclinations of the monarch. The doctors
were, to be sure, of opinion that Philip, having acted in Italy only in
self-defence, and for the protection of his states, ought not to be
anxious as to his continued right to the title on which he valued himself
so highly. Nevertheless, such ponderings and misgivings could not but
have the effect of hampering the actions of Alva. That general chafed
inwardly at what he considered his own contemptible position. At the same
time, he enraged the Duke of Guise still more deeply by the forced
calmness of his proceedings. Fortresses were reduced, towns taken, one
after another, with the most provoking deliberation, while his distracted
adversary in vain strove to defy, or to delude him, into trying the
chances of a stricken field. The battle of Saint Quentin, the narrative
of which belongs to our subject, and will soon occupy our attention, at
last decided the Italian operations. Egmont's brilliant triumph in
Picardy rendered a victory in Italy superfluous, and placed in Alva's
hand the power of commanding the issue of his own campaign. The Duke of
Guise was recalled to defend the French frontier, which the bravery of
the Flemish hero had imperilled, and the Pope was left to make the best
peace which he could. All was now prosperous and smiling, and the
campaign closed with a highly original and entertaining exhibition. The
pontiff's puerile ambition, sustained by the intrigues of his nephew, had
involved the French monarch in a war which was contrary to his interests
and inclination. Paul now found his ally too sorely beset to afford him
that protection upon which he had relied, when he commenced, in his
dotage, his career as a warrior. He was, therefore, only desirous of
deserting his friend, and of relieving himself from his uncomfortable
predicament, by making a treaty with his catholic majesty upon the best
terms which he could obtain. The King of France, who had gone to war only
for the sake of his holiness, was to be left to fight his own battles,
while the Pope was to make his peace with all the world. The result was a
desirable one for Philip. Alva was accordingly instructed to afford the
holy father a decorous and appropriate opportunity for carrying out his
wishes. The victorious general was apprized that his master desired no
fruit from his commanding attitude in Italy and the victory of Saint
Quentin, save a full pardon from the Pope for maintaining even a
defensive war against him. An amicable siege of Rome was accordingly
commenced, in the course of which an assault or "camiciata" on the holy
city, was arranged for the night of the 26th August, 1557. The pontiff
agreed to be taken by surprise--while Alva, through what was to appear
only a superabundance of his habitual discretion, was to draw off his
troops at the very moment when the victorious assault was to be made. The
imminent danger to the holy city and to his own sacred person thus
furnishing the pontiff with an excuse for abandoning his own cause, as
well as that of his ally the Duke of Alva was allowed, in the name of his
master and himself; to make submission to the Church and his peace with
Rome. The Spanish general, with secret indignation and disgust, was
compelled to humor the vanity of a peevish but imperious old man.
Negotiations were commenced, and so skilfully had the Duke played his
game during the spring and summer, that when he was admitted to kiss the
Pope's toe, he was able to bring a hundred Italian towns in his hand, as
a peace-offering to his holiness. These he now restored, with apparent
humility and inward curses, upon the condition that the fortifications
should be razed, and the French alliance absolutely renounced. Thus did
the fanaticism of Philip reverse the relative position of himself and his
antagonist. Thus was the vanquished pontiff allowed almost to dictate
terms to the victorious general. The king who could thus humble himself
to a dotard, while he made himself the scourge of his subjects, deserved
that the bull of excommunication which had been prepared should have been
fulminated. He, at least, was capable of feeling the scathing effects of
such anathemas.

The Duke of Guise, having been dismissed with the pontiff's assurance
that he had done little for the interests of his sovereign, less for the
protection of the Church, and least of all for his own reputation, set
forth with all speed for Civita Vecchia, to do what he could upon the
Flemish frontier to atone for his inglorious campaign in Italy. The
treaty between the Pope and the Duke of Alva was signed on the 14th
September (1557), and the Spanish general retired for the winter to
Milan. Cardinal Caraffa was removed from the French court to that of
Madrid, there to spin new schemes for the embroilment of nations and the
advancement of his own family. Very little glory was gained by any of the
combatants in this campaign. Spain, France, nor Paul IV., not one of them
came out of the Italian contest in better condition than that in which
they entered upon it. In fact all were losers. France had made an
inglorious retreat, the Pope a ludicrous capitulation, and the only
victorious party, the King of Spain, had, during the summer, conceded to
Cosmo de Medici the sovereignty of Sienna. Had Venice shown more
cordiality towards Philip, and more disposition to sustain his policy, it
is probable that the Republic would have secured the prize which thus
fell to the share of Cosmo. That astute and unprincipled potentate, who
could throw his net so well in troubled water, had successfully duped all
parties, Spain, France, and Rome. The man who had not only not
participated in the contest, but who had kept all parties and all warfare
away from his borders, was the only individual in Italy who gained
territorial advantage from the war.

To avoid interrupting the continuity of the narrative, the Spanish
campaign has been briefly sketched until the autumn of 1557, at which
period the treaty between the Pope and Philip was concluded. It is now
necessary to go back to the close of the preceding year.

Simultaneously with the descent of the French troops upon Italy,
hostilities had broken out upon the Flemish border. The pains of the
Emperor in covering the smouldering embers of national animosities so
precipitately, and with a view rather to scenic effect than to a
deliberate and well-considered result, were thus set at nought, and
within a year from the day of his abdication, hostilities were reopened
from the Tiber to the German Ocean. The blame of first violating the
truce of Vaucelles was laid by each party upon the other with equal
justice, for there can be but little doubt that the reproach justly
belonged to both. Both had been equally faithless in their professions of
amity. Both were equally responsible for the scenes of war, plunder, and
misery, which again were desolating the fairest regions of Christendom.

At the time when the French court had resolved to concede to the wishes
of the Caraffa family, Admiral Coligny, who had been appointed governor
of Picardy, had received orders to make a foray upon the frontier of
Flanders. Before the formal annunciation of hostilities, it was thought
desirable to reap all the advantage possible from the perfidy which had
been resolved upon.

It happened that a certain banker of Lucca, an ancient gambler and
debauchee, whom evil courses had reduced from affluence to penury, had
taken up his abode upon a hill overlooking the city of Douay. Here he had
built himself a hermit's cell. Clad in sackcloth, with a rosary at his
waist, he was accustomed to beg his bread from door to door. His garb was
all, however, which he possessed of sanctity, and he had passed his time
in contemplating the weak points in the defences of the city with much
more minuteness than those in his own heart. Upon the breaking out of
hostilities in Italy, the instincts of his old profession had suggested
to him that a good speculation might be made in Flanders, by turning to
account as a spy the observations which he had made in his character of a
hermit. He sought an interview with Coligny, and laid his propositions
before him. The noble Admiral hesitated, for his sentiments were more
elevated than those of many of his contemporaries. He had, moreover,
himself negotiated and signed the truce with Spain, and he shrank from
violating it with his own hand, before a declaration of war. Still he was
aware that a French army was on its way to attack the Spaniards in Italy;
he was under instructions to take the earliest advantage which his
position upon the frontier might offer him; he knew that both theory and
practice authorized a general, in that age, to break his fast, even in
time of truce, if a tempting morsel should present itself; and, above
all, he thoroughly understood the character of his nearest antagonist,
the new governor of the Netherlands, Philibert of Savoy, whom he knew to
be the most unscrupulous chieftain in Europe. These considerations
decided him to take advantage of the hermit-banker's communication.

A day was accordingly fixed, at which, under the guidance of this
newly-acquired ally, a surprise should be attempted by the French forces,
and the unsuspecting city of Douay given over to the pillage of a brutal
soldiery. The time appointed was the night of Epiphany, upon occasion of
which festival, it was thought that the inhabitants, overcome with sleep
and wassail, might be easily overpowered. (6th January, 1557.) The plot
was a good plot, but the Admiral of France was destined to be foiled by
an old woman. This person, apparently the only creature awake in the
town, perceived the danger, ran shrieking through the streets, alarmed
the citizens while it was yet time, and thus prevented the attack.
Coligny, disappointed in his plan, recompensed his soldiers by a sudden
onslaught upon Lens in Arthois, which he sacked and then levelled with
the ground. Such was the wretched condition of frontier cities, standing,
even in time of peace, with the ground undermined beneath them, and
existing every moment, as it were, upon the brink of explosion.

Hostilities having been thus fairly commenced, the French government was
in some embarrassment. The Duke of Guise, with the most available forces
of the kingdom, having crossed the Alps, it became necessary forthwith to
collect another army. The place of rendezvous appointed was Pierrepoint,
where an army of eighteen thousand infantry and five thousand horse were
assembled early in the spring. In the mean time, Philip finding the war
fairly afoot, had crossed to England for the purpose (exactly in
contravention of all his marriage stipulations) of cajoling his wife and
browbeating her ministers into a participation in his war with France.
This was easily accomplished. The English nation found themselves
accordingly engaged in a contest with which they had no concern, which,
as the event proved, was very much against their interests, and in which
the moving cause for their entanglement was the devotion of a weak, bad,
ferocious woman, for a husband who hated her. A herald sent from England
arrived in France, disguised, and was presented to King Henry at Rheims.
Here, dropping on one knee, he recited a list of complaints against his
majesty, on behalf of the English Queen, all of them fabricated or
exaggerated for the occasion, and none of them furnishing even a decorous
pretext for the war which was now formally declared in consequence. The
French monarch expressed his regret and surprise that the firm and
amicable relations secured by treaty between the two countries should
thus, without sufficient cause, be violated. In accepting the wager of
warfare thus forced upon him, he bade the herald, Norris, inform his
mistress that her messenger was treated with courtesy only because he
represented a lady, and that, had he come from a king, the language with
which he would have been greeted would have befitted the perfidy
manifested on the occasion. God would punish this shameless violation of
faith, and this wanton interruption to the friendship of two great
nations. With this the herald was dismissed from the royal presence, but
treated with great distinction, conducted to the hotel of the English
ambassador, and presented, on the part of the French sovereign with a
chain of gold.

Philip had despatched Ruy Gomez to Spain for the purpose of providing
ways and means, while he was himself occupied with the same task in
England. He stayed there three months. During this time, he "did more,"
says a Spanish contemporary, "than any one could have believed possible
with that proud and indomitable nation. He caused them to declare war
against France with fire and sword, by sea and land." Hostilities having
been thus chivalrously and formally established, the Queen sent an army
of eight thousand men, cavalry, infantry, and pioneers, who, "all clad in
blue uniform," commanded by Lords Pembroke and Clinton, with the three
sons of the Earl of Northumberland, and officered by many other scions of
England's aristocracy, disembarked at Calais, and shortly afterwards
joined the camp before Saint Quentin.

Philip meantime had left England, and with more bustle and activity than
was usual with him, had given directions for organizing at once a
considerable army. It was composed mainly of troops belonging to the
Netherlands, with the addition of some German auxiliaries. Thirty-five
thousand foot and twelve thousand horse had, by the middle of July,
advanced through the province of Namur, and were assembled at Givet under
the Duke of Savoy, who, as Governor-General of the Netherlands, held the
chief command. All the most eminent grandees of the provinces, Orange,
Aerschot, Berlaymont, Meghen, Brederode, were present with the troops,
but the life and soul of the army, upon this memorable occasion, was the
Count of Egmont.

Lamoral, Count of Egmont, Prince of Gavere, was now in the thirty-sixth
year of his age, in the very noon of that brilliant life which was
destined to be so soon and so fatally overshadowed. Not one of the dark
clouds, which were in the future to accumulate around him, had yet rolled
above his horizon. Young, noble, wealthy, handsome, valiant, he saw no
threatening phantom in the future, and caught eagerly at the golden
opportunity, which the present placed within his grasp, of winning fresh
laurels on a wider and more fruitful field than any in which he had
hitherto been a reaper. The campaign about to take place was likely to be
an imposing, if not an important one, and could not fail to be attractive
to a noble of so ardent and showy a character as Egmont. If there were no
lofty principles or extensive interests to be contended for, as there
certainly were not, there was yet much that was stately and exciting to
the imagination in the warfare which had been so deliberately and
pompously arranged. The contending armies, although of moderate size,
were composed of picked troops, and were commanded by the flower of
Europe's chivalry. Kings, princes, and the most illustrious paladins of
Christendom, were arming for the great tournament, to which they had been
summoned by herald and trumpet; and the Batavian hero, without a crown or
even a country, but with as lofty a lineage as many anointed sovereigns
could boast, was ambitious to distinguish himself in the proud array.

Upon the north-western edge of the narrow peninsula of North Holland,
washed by the stormy waters of the German Ocean, were the ancient castle,
town, and lordship, whence Egmont derived his family name, and the title
by which he was most familiarly known. He was supposed to trace his
descent, through a line of chivalrous champions and crusaders, up to the
pagan kings of the most ancient of existing Teutonic races. The eighth
century names of the Frisian Radbold and Adgild among his ancestors were
thought to denote the antiquity of a house whose lustre had been
increased in later times by the splendor of its alliances. His father,
united to Francoise de Luxemburg, Princess of Gavere, had acquired by
this marriage, and transmitted to his posterity, many of the proudest
titles and richest estates of Flanders. Of the three children who
survived him, the only daughter was afterwards united to the Count of
Vaudemont, and became mother of Louise de Vaudemont, queen of the French
monarch, Henry the Third.

Of his two sons, Charles, the elder, had died young and unmarried,
leaving all the estates and titles of the family to his brother. Lamoral,
born in 1522, was in early youth a page of the Emperor. When old enough
to bear arms he demanded and obtained permission to follow the career of
his adventurous sovereign. He served his apprenticeship as a soldier in
the stormy expedition to Barbary, where, in his nineteenth year, he
commanded a troop of light horse, and distinguished himself under the
Emperor's eye for his courage and devotion, doing the duty not only of a
gallant commander but of a hardy soldier. Returning, unscathed by the
war, flood, or tempest of that memorable enterprise, he reached his
country by the way of Corsica, Genoa, and Lorraine, and was three years
afterwards united (in the year 1545) to Sabina of Bavaria, sister of
Frederick, Elector Palatine. The nuptials had taken place at Spiers, and
few royal weddings could have been more brilliant. The Emperor, his
brother Ferdinand King of the Romans, with the Archduke Maximilian, all
the imperial electors, and a concourse of the principal nobles of the
empire, were present on the occasion been at the Emperor's side during
the unlucky siege of Metz; in 1554 he had been sent at the head of a
splendid embassy to England, to solicit for Philip the hand of Mary
Tudor, and had witnessed the marriage in Winchester Cathedral, the same
year. Although one branch of his house had, in past times, arrived at the
sovereignty of Gueldres, and another had acquired the great estates and
titles of Buren, which had recently passed, by intermarriage with the
heiress, into the possession of the Prince of Orange, yet the Prince of
Gavere, Count of Egmont, was the chief of a race which yielded to none of
the great Batavian or Flemish families in antiquity, wealth, or power.
Personally, he was distinguished for his bravery, and although he was not
yet the idol of the camp, which he was destined to become, nor had yet
commanded in chief on any important occasion, he was accounted one of the
five principal generals in the Spanish service. Eager for general
admiration, he was at the same time haughty and presumptuous, attempting
to combine the characters of an arrogant magnate and a popular chieftain.
Terrible and sudden in his wrath, he was yet of inordinate vanity, and
was easily led by those who understood his weakness. With a limited
education, and a slender capacity for all affairs except those relating
to the camp, he was destined to be as vacillating and incompetent as a
statesman, as he was prompt and fortunately audacious in the field. A
splendid soldier, his evil stars had destined him to tread, as a
politician, a dark and dangerous path, in which not even genius, caution,
and integrity could ensure success, but in which rashness alternating
with hesitation, and credulity with violence, could not fail to bring
ruin. Such was Count Egmont, as he took his place at the-head of the
king's cavalry in the summer of 1557.

The early operations of the Duke of Savoy were at first intended to
deceive the enemy. The army, after advancing as far into Picardy as the
town of Vervins, which they burned and pillaged, made a demonstration
with their whole force upon the city of Guise. This, however, was but a
feint, by which attention was directed and forces drawn off from Saint
Quentin, which was to be the real point of attack In the mean time, the
Constable of France, Montmorency, arrived upon the 28th July (1557), to
take command of the French troops. He was accompanied by the Marechal de
Saint Andre and by Admiral Coligny. The most illustrious names of France,
whether for station or valor, were in the officers' list of this select
army. Nevers and Montpensier, Enghien and Conde, Vendome and
Rochefoucauld, were already there, and now the Constable and the Admiral
came to add the strength of their experience and lofty reputation to
sustain the courage of the troops. The French were at Pierrepoint, a post
between Champagne and Picardy, and in its neighborhood. The Spanish army
was at Vervins, and threatening Guise. It had been the opinion in France
that the enemy's intention was to invade Champagne, and the Duc de
Nevers, governor of that province, had made a disposition of his forces
suitable for such a contingency. It was the conviction of Montmorency,
however, that Picardy was to be the quarter really attacked, and that
Saint Quentin, which was the most important point at which the enemy's
progress, by that route, towards Paris could be arrested, was in imminent
danger. The Constable's opinion was soon confirmed by advices received by
Coligny. The enemy's army, he was informed, after remaining three days
before Guise, had withdrawn from that point, and had invested Saint
Quentin with their whole force.

This wealthy and prosperous city stood upon an elevation rising from the
river Somme. It was surrounded by very extensive suburbs, ornamented with
orchards and gardens, and including within their limits large tracts of a
highly cultivated soil. Three sides of the place were covered by a lake,
thirty yards in width, very deep at some points, in others, rather
resembling a morass, and extending on the Flemish side a half mile beyond
the city. The inhabitants were thriving and industrious; many of the
manufacturers and merchants were very rich, for it was a place of much
traffic and commercial importance.

Teligny, son-in-law of the Admiral, was in the city with a detachment of
the Dauphin's regiment; Captain Brueuil was commandant of the town. Both
informed Coligny of the imminent peril in which they stood. They
represented the urgent necessity of immediate reinforcements both of men
and supplies. The city, as the Admiral well knew, was in no condition to
stand a siege by such an army, and dire were the consequences which would
follow the downfall of so important a place. It was still practicable,
they wrote, to introduce succor, but every day diminished the possibility
of affording effectual relief. Coligny was not the man to let the grass
grow under his feet, after such an appeal in behalf of the principal
place in his government. The safety of France was dependent upon that of
St. Quentin. The bulwark overthrown, Paris was within the next stride of
an adventurous enemy. The Admiral instantly set out, upon the 2d of
August, with strong reinforcements. It was too late. The English
auxiliaries, under Lords Pembroke, Clinton, and Grey, had, in the mean
time, effected their junction with the Duke of Savoy, and appeared in the
camp before St. Quentin. The route, by which it had been hoped that the
much needed succor could be introduced, was thus occupied and rendered
impracticable. The Admiral, however, in consequence of the urgent nature
of the letters received from Brueuil and Teligny, had outstripped, in his
anxiety, the movements of his troops. He reached the city, almost alone
and unattended. Notwithstanding the remonstrances of his officers, he had
listened to no voice save the desperate entreaties of the besieged
garrison, and had flown before his army. He now shut himself up in the
city, determined to effect its deliverance by means of his skill and
experience, or, at least, to share its fate. As the gates closed upon
Coligny, the road was blocked up for his advancing troops.

A few days were passed in making ineffectual sorties, ordered by Coligny
for the sake of reconnoitring the country, and of discovering the most
practicable means of introducing supplies. The Constable, meantime, who
had advanced with his army to La Fore, was not idle. He kept up daily
communications with the beleagured Admiral, and was determined, if
possible, to relieve the city. There was, however, a constant succession
of disappointments. Moreover, the brave but indiscreet Teligny, who
commanded during a temporary illness of the Admiral, saw fit, against
express orders, to make an imprudent sortie. He paid the penalty of his
rashness with his life. He was rescued by the Admiral in person, who, at
imminent hazard, brought back the unfortunate officer covered with
wounds, into the city, there to die at his father's feet, imploring
forgiveness for his disobedience. Meantime the garrison was daily growing
weaker. Coligny sent out of the city all useless consumers, quartered all
the women in the cathedral and other churches, where they were locked in,
lest their terror and their tears should weaken the courage of the
garrison; and did all in his power to strengthen the defences of the
city, and sustain the resolution of the inhabitants. Affairs were growing
desperate. It seemed plain that the important city must soon fall, and
with it most probably Paris. One of the suburbs was already in the hands
of the enemy. At last Coligny discovered a route by which he believed it
to be still possible to introduce reinforcements. He communicated the
results of his observations to the Constable. Upon one side of the city
the lake, or morass, was traversed by a few difficult and narrow
pathways, mostly under water, and by a running stream which could only be
passed in boats. The Constable, in consequence of this information
received from Coligny, set out from La Fere upon the 8th of August, with
four thousand infantry and two thousand horse. Halting his troops at the
village of Essigny, he advanced in person to the edge of the morass, in
order to reconnoitre the ground and prepare his plans. The result was a
determination to attempt the introduction of men and supplies into the
town by the mode suggested. Leaving his troops drawn up in battle array,
he returned to La Fere for the remainder of his army, and to complete his
preparations. Coligny in the mean time was to provide boats for crossing
the stream. Upon the 10th August, which was the festival of St. Laurence,
the Constable advanced with four pieces of heavy artillery, four
culverines, and four lighter pieces, and arrived at nine o'clock in the
morning near the Faubourg d'Isle, which was already in possession of the
Spanish troops. The whole army of the Constable consisted of twelve
thousand German, with fifteen companies of French infantry; making in all
some sixteen thousand foot, with five thousand cavalry in addition. The
Duke of Savoy's army lay upon the same side of the town, widely extended,
and stretching beyond the river and the morass. Montmorency's project was
to be executed in full view of the enemy. Fourteen companies of Spaniards
were stationed in the faubourg. Two companies had been pushed forward as
far as a water-mill, which lay in the pathway of the advancing Constable.
These soldiers stood their ground for a moment, but soon retreated, while
a cannonade was suddenly opened by the French upon the quarters of the
Duke of Savoy. The Duke's tent was torn to pieces, and he had barely time
to hurry on his cuirass, and to take refuge with Count Egmont. The
Constable, hastening to turn this temporary advantage to account at once,
commenced the transportation of his troops across the morass. The
enterprise was, however, not destined to be fortunate. The number of
boats which had been provided was very inadequate; moreover they were
very small, and each as it left the shore was consequently so crowded
with soldiers that it was in danger of being swamped. Several were
overturned, and the men perished. It was found also that the opposite
bank was steep and dangerous. Many who had crossed the river were unable
to effect a landing, while those who escaped drowning in the water lost
their way in the devious and impracticable paths, or perished miserably
in the treacherous quagmires. Very few effected their entrance into the
town, but among them was Andelot, brother of Coligny, with five hundred
followers. Meantime, a council of officers was held in Egmont's tent.
Opinions were undecided as to the course to be pursued under the
circumstances. Should an engagement be risked, or should the Constable,
who had but indifferently accomplished his project and had introduced but
an insignificant number of troops into the city, be allowed to withdraw
with the rest of his army? The fiery vehemence of Egmont carried all
before it. Here was an opportunity to measure arms at advantage with the
great captain of the age. To relinquish the prize, which the fortune of
war had now placed within reach of their valor, was a thought not to be
entertained. Here was the great Constable Montmorency, attended by
princes of the royal blood, the proudest of the nobility, the very crown
and flower of the chivalry of France, and followed by an army of her
bravest troops. On a desperate venture he had placed himself within their
grasp. Should he go thence alive and unmolested? The moral effect of
destroying such an army would be greater than if it were twice its actual
strength. It would be dealing a blow at the very heart of France, from
which she could not recover. Was the opportunity to be resigned without a
struggle of laying at the feet of Philip, in this his first campaign
since his accession to his father's realms, a prize worthy of the
proudest hour of the Emperor's reign? The eloquence of the impetuous
Batavian was irresistible, and it was determined to cut off the
Constable's retreat.

Three miles from the Faubourg d'Isle, to which that general had now
advanced, was a narrow pass or defile, between steep and closely hanging
hills. While advancing through this ravine in the morning, the Constable
had observed that the enemy might have it in their power to intercept his
return at that point. He had therefore left the Rhinegrave, with his
company of mounted carabineers, to guard the passage. Being ready to
commence his retreat, he now sent forward the Due de Nevers, with four
companies of cavalry to strengthen that important position, which he
feared might be inadequately guarded. The act of caution came too late.
This was the fatal point which the quick glance of Egmont had at once
detected. As Nevers reached the spot, two thousand of the enemy's cavalry
rode through and occupied the narrow passage. Inflamed by mortification
and despair, Nevers would have at once charged those troops, although
outnumbering his own by nearly, four to one. His officers restrained him
with difficulty, recalling to his memory the peremptory orders which he
had received from the Constable to guard the passage, but on no account
to hazard an engagement, until sustained by the body of the army. It was
a case in which rashness would have been the best discretion. The
headlong charge which the Duke had been about to make, might possibly
have cleared the path and have extricated the army, provided the
Constable had followed up the movement by a rapid advance upon his part.
As it was, the passage was soon blocked up by freshly advancing bodies of
Spanish and Flemish cavalry, while Nevers slowly and reluctantly fell
back upon the Prince of Conde, who was stationed with the light horse at
the mill where the first skirmish had taken place. They were soon joined
by the Constable, with the main body of the army. The whole French force
now commenced its retrograde movement. It was, however, but too evident
that they were enveloped. As they approached the fatal pass through which
lay their only road to La Fire, and which was now in complete possession
of the enemy, the signal of assault was given by Count Egmont. That
general himself, at the head of two thousand light horse, led the charge
upon the left flank. The other side was assaulted by the Dukes Eric and
Henry of Brunswick, each with a thousand heavy dragoons, sustained by
Count Horn, at the head of a regiment of mounted gendarmerie. Mansfeld,
Lalain, Hoogstraaten; and Vilain, at the same time made a furious attack
upon the front. The French cavalry wavered with the shock so vigorously
given. The camp followers, sutlers, and pedlers, panic-struck, at once
fled helter-skelter, and in their precipitate retreat, carried confusion
and dismay throughout all the ranks of the army. The rout was sudden and
total. The onset and the victory were simultaneous, Nevers riding through
a hollow with some companies of cavalry, in the hope of making a detour
and presenting a new front to the enemy, was overwhelmed at once by the
retreating French and their furious pursuers. The day was lost, retreat
hardly possible, yet, by a daring and desperate effort, the Duke,
accompanied by a handful of followers, cut his way through the enemy and
effected his escape. The cavalry had been broken at the first onset and
nearly destroyed. A portion of the infantry still held firm, and
attempted to continue their retreat. Some pieces of artillery, however,
now opened upon them, and before they reached Essigny, the whole army was
completely annihilated. The defeat was absolute. Half the French troops
actually engaged in the enterprise, lost their lives upon the field. The
remainder of the army was captured or utterly disorganized. When Nevers
reviewed, at Laon, the wreck of the Constable's whole force, he found
some thirteen hundred French and three hundred German cavalry, with four
companies of French infantry remaining out of fifteen, and four thousand
German foot remaining of twelve thousand. Of twenty-one or two thousand
remarkably fine and well-appointed troops, all but six thousand had been
killed or made prisoners within an hour. The Constable himself, with a
wound in the groin, was a captive. The Duke of Enghien, after behaving
with brilliant valor, and many times rallying the troops, was shot
through the body, and brought into the enemy's camp only to expire. The
Due de Montpensier, the Marshal de Saint Andre, the Due de Loggieville,
Prince Ludovic of Mantua, the Baron Corton, la Roche du Mayne, the
Rhinegrave, the Counts de Rochefoucauld, d'Aubigni, de Rochefort, all
were taken. The Due de Nevers, the Prince of Conde, with a few others,
escaped; although so absolute was the conviction that such an escape was
impossible, that it was not believed by the victorious army. When Nevers
sent a trumpet, after the battle, to the Duke of Savoy, for the purpose
of negotiating concerning the prisoners, the trumpeter was pronounced an
impostor, and the Duke's letter a forgery; nor was it till after the
whole field had been diligently searched for his dead body without
success, that Nevers could persuade the conquerors that he was still in
existence.

Of Philip's army but fifty lost their lives. Lewis of Brederode was
smothered in his armor; and the two counts Spiegelberg and Count Waldeck
were also killed; besides these, no officer of distinction fell. All the
French standards and all their artillery but two pieces were taken, and
placed before the King, who the next day came into the camp before Saint
Quentin. The prisoners of distinction were likewise presented to him in
long procession. Rarely had a monarch of Spain enjoyed a more signal
triumph than this which Philip now owed to the gallantry and promptness
of Count Egmont.

While the King stood reviewing the spoils of victory, a light horseman of
Don Henrico Manrique's regiment approached, and presented him with a
sword. "I am the man, may it please your Majesty," said the trooper, "who
took the Constable; here is his sword; may your Majesty be pleased to
give me something to eat in my house." "I promise it," replied Philip;
upon which the soldier kissed his Majesty's hand and retired. It was the
custom universally recognized in that day, that the king was the king's
captive, and the general the general's, but that the man, whether soldier
or officer, who took the commander-in-chief, was entitled to ten thousand
ducats. Upon this occasion the Constable was the prisoner of Philip,
supposed to command his own army in person. A certain Spanish Captain
Valenzuela, however, disputed the soldier's claim to the Constable's
sword. The trooper advanced at once to the Constable, who stood there
with the rest of the illustrious prisoners. "Your excellency is a
Christian," said he; "please to declare upon your conscience and the
faith of a cavalier, whether 't was I that took you prisoner. It need not
surprise your excellency that I am but a soldier, since with soldiers his
Majesty must wage his wars." "Certainly," replied the Constable, "you
took me and took my horse, and I gave you my sword. My word, however, I
pledged to Captain Valenzuela." It appearing, however, that the custom of
Spain did not recognize a pledge given to any one but the actual captor,
it was arranged that the soldier should give two thousand of his ten
thousand ducats to the captain. Thus the dispute ended.

Such was the brilliant victory of Saint Quentin, worthy to be placed in
the same list with the world-renowned combats of Creqy and Agincourt.
Like those battles, also, it derives its main interest from the personal
character of the leader, while it seems to have been hallowed by the
tender emotions which sprang from his subsequent fate. The victory was
but a happy move in a winning game. The players were kings, and the
people were stakes--not parties. It was a chivalrous display in a war
which was waged without honorable purpose, and in which no single lofty
sentiment was involved. The Flemish frontier was, however, saved for the
time from the misery which was now to be inflicted upon the French
border. This was sufficient to cause the victory to be hailed as
rapturously by the people as by the troops. From that day forth the name
of the brave Hollander was like the sound of a trumpet to the army.
"Egmont and Saint Quentin" rang through every mouth to the furthest
extremity of Philip's realms. A deadly blow was struck to the very heart
of France. The fruits of all the victories of Francis and Henry withered.
The battle, with others which were to follow it, won by the same hand,
were soon to compel the signature of the most disastrous treaty which had
ever disgraced the history of France.

The fame and power of the Constable faded--his misfortunes and captivity
fell like a blight upon the ancient glory of the house of
Montmorency--his enemies destroyed his influence and his
popularity--while the degradation of the kingdom was simultaneous with
the downfall of his illustrious name. On the other hand, the exultation
of Philip was as keen as his cold and stony nature would permit. The
magnificent palace-convent of the Escurial, dedicated to the saint on
whose festival the battle had been fought, and built in the shape of the
gridiron, on which that martyr had suffered, was soon afterwards erected
in pious commemoration of the event. Such was the celebration of the
victory. The reward reserved for the victor was to be recorded on a later
page of history.

The coldness and caution, not to say the pusillanimity of Philip,
prevented him from seizing the golden fruits of his triumph. Ferdinand
Gonzaga wished the blow to be followed up by an immediate march upon
Paris.--Such was also the feeling of all the distinguished soldiers of
the age. It was unquestionably the opinion, and would have been the deed,
of Charles, had he been on the field of Saint Quentin, crippled as he
was, in the place of his son. He could not conceal his rage and
mortification when he found that Paris had not fallen, and is said to
have refused to read the despatches which recorded that the event had not
been consummated. There was certainly little of the conqueror in Philip's
nature; nothing which would have led him to violate the safest principles
of strategy. He was not the man to follow up enthusiastically the blow
which had been struck; Saint Quentin, still untaken, although defended by
but eight hundred soldiers, could not be left behind him; Nevers was
still in his front, and although it was notorious that he commanded only
the wreck of an army, yet a new one might be collected, perhaps, in time
to embarrass the triumphant march to Paris. Out of his superabundant
discretion, accordingly, Philip refused to advance till Saint Quentin
should be reduced.

Although nearly driven to despair by the total overthrow of the French in
the recent action, Coligny still held bravely out, being well aware that
every day by which the siege could be protracted was of advantage to his
country. Again he made fresh attempts to introduce men into the city. A
fisherman showed him a submerged path, covered several feet deep with
water, through which he succeeded in bringing one hundred and fifty
unarmed and half-drowned soldiers into the place. His garrison consisted
barely of eight hundred men, but the siege was still sustained, mainly by
his courage and sagacity, and by the spirit of his brother Andelot. The
company of cavalry, belonging to the Dauphin's regiment, had behaved
badly, and even with cowardice, since the death of their commander
Teligny. The citizens were naturally weary and impatient of the siege.
Mining and countermining continued till the 21st August. A steady
cannonade was then maintained until the 27th. Upon that day, eleven
breaches having been made in the walls, a simultaneous assault was
ordered at four of them. The citizens were stationed upon the walls,
the soldiers in the breaches. There was a short but sanguinary contest,
the garrison resisting with uncommon bravery. Suddenly an entrance was
effected through a tower which had been thought sufficiently strong, and
which had been left unguarded. Coligny, rushing to the spot, engaged the
enemy almost single-handed. He was soon overpowered, being attended only
by four men and a page, was made a prisoner by a soldier named Francisco
Diaz, and conducted through one of the subterranean mines into the
presence of the Duke of Savoy, from whom the captor received ten thousand
ducats in exchange for the Admiral's sword. The fighting still continued
with great determination in the streets, the brave Andelot resisting to
the last. He was, however, at last overpowered, and taken prisoner.
Philip, who had, as usual, arrived in the trenches by noon, armed in
complete harness, with a page carrying his helmet, was met by the
intelligence that the city of Saint Quentin was his own.

To a horrible carnage succeeded a sack and a conflagration still more
horrible. In every house entered during the first day, every human being
was butchered. The sack lasted all that day and the whole of the
following, till the night of the 28th. There was not a soldier who did
not obtain an ample share of plunder, and some individuals succeeded in
getting possession of two, three, and even twelve thousand ducats each.
The women were not generally outraged, but they were stripped almost
entirely naked, lest they should conceal treasure which belonged to their
conquerors, and they were slashed in the face with knives, partly in
sport, partly as a punishment for not giving up property which was not in
their possession. The soldiers even cut off the arms of many among these
wretched women, and then turned them loose, maimed and naked, into the
blazing streets; for the town, on the 28th, was fired in a hundred
places, and was now one general conflagration. The streets were already
strewn with the corpses of the butchered garrison and citizens; while the
survivors were now burned in their houses. Human heads, limbs, and
trunks, were mingled among the bricks and rafters of the houses, which
were falling on every side. The fire lasted day and night, without an
attempt being made to extinguish it; while the soldiers dashed like
devils through flame and smoke in search of booty. Bearing lighted
torches, they descended into every subterrranean vault and receptacle, of
which there were many in the town, and in every one of which they hoped
to discover hidden treasure. The work of killing, plundering, and burning
lasted nearly three days and nights. The streets, meanwhile, were
encumbered with heaps of corpses, not a single one of which had been
buried since the capture of the town. The remains of nearly all the able
bodied male population, dismembered, gnawed by dogs or blackened by fire,
polluted the midsummer air meantime, the women had been again driven into
the cathedral, where they had housed during the siege, and where they now
crouched together in trembling expectation of their fate.' On the 29th
August, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Philip issued an order that
every woman, without an exception, should be driven out of the city into
the French territory. Saint Quentin, which seventy years before had been
a Flemish town, was to be re-annexed, and not a single man, woman, or
child who could speak the French language was to remain another hour in
the place. The tongues of the men had been effectually silenced. The
women, to the number of three thousand five hundred, were now compelled
to leave the cathedral and the city. Some were in a starving condition;
others had been desperately wounded; all, as they passed through the
ruinous streets of what had been their home, were compelled to tread upon
the unburied remains of their fathers, husbands, or brethren. To none of
these miserable creatures remained a living protector--hardly even a dead
body which could be recognized; and thus the ghastly procession of more
than three thousand women, many with gaping wounds in the face, many with
their arms cut off and festering, of all ranks and ages, some numbering
more than ninety years, bareheaded, with grey hair streaming upon their
shoulders; others with nursing infants in their arms, all escorted by a
company of heavy-armed troopers, left forever their native city. All made
the dismal journey upon foot, save that carts were allowed to transport
the children between the ages of two and six years. The desolation and
depopulation were now complete. "I wandered through the place, gazing at
all this," says a Spanish soldier who was present, and kept a diary of
all which occurred, "and it seemed to me that it was another destruction
of Jerusalem. What most struck me was to find not a single denizen of the
town left, who was or who dared to call himself French. How vain and
transitory, thought I, are the things of this world! Six days ago what
riches were in the city, and now remains not one stone upon another."

The expulsion of the women had been accomplished by the express command
of Philip, who moreover had made no effort to stay the work of carnage,
pillage, and conflagration. The pious King had not forgotten, however,
his duty to the saints. As soon as the fire had broken out, he had sent
to the cathedral, whence he had caused the body of Saint Quentin to be
removed and placed in the royal tent. Here an altar, was arranged, upon
one side of which was placed the coffin of that holy personage, and upon
the other the head of the "glorious Saint Gregory" (whoever that glorious
individual may have been in life), together with many other relics
brought from the church. Within the sacred enclosure many masses were
said daily, while all this devil's work was going on without. The saint
who had been buried for centuries was comfortably housed and guarded by
the monarch, while dogs were gnawing the carcases of the freshly-slain
men of Saint Quentin, and troopers were driving into perpetual exile its
desolate and mutilated women.

The most distinguished captives upon this occasion were, of course,
Coligny and his brother. Andelot was, however, fortunate enough to make
his escape that night under the edge of the tent in which he was
confined. The Admiral was taken to Antwerp. Here he lay for many weeks
sick with a fever. Upon his recovery, having no better pastime, he fell
to reading the Scriptures. The result was his conversion to Calvinism;
and the world shudders yet at the fate in which that conversion involved
him.

Saint Quentin being thus reduced, Philip was not more disposed to push
his fortune. The time was now wasted in the siege of several
comparatively unimportant places, so that the fruits of Egmont's valor
were not yet allowed to ripen. Early in September Le Catelet was taken.
On the 12th of the same month the citadel of Ham yielded, after receiving
two thousand shots from Philip's artillery, while Nojon, Chanly, and some
other places of less importance, were burned to the ground. After all
this smoke and fire upon the frontier, productive of but slender
consequences, Philip disbanded his army, and retired to Brussels. He
reached that city on the 12th October. The English returned to their own
country. The campaign of 1557 was closed without a material result, and
the victory of Saint Quentin remained for a season barren.

In the mean time the French were not idle. The army of the Constable had
been destroyed but the Duke de Guise, who had come post-haste from Italy
after hearing the news of Saint Quentin, was very willing to organize
another. He was burning with impatience both to retrieve his own
reputation, which had suffered some little damage by his recent Italian
campaign, and to profit by the captivity of his fallen rival the
Constable. During the time occupied by the languid and dilatory
proceedings of Philip in the autumn, the Duke had accordingly recruited
in France and Germany a considerable army. In January (1558) he was ready
to take the field. It had been determined in the French cabinet, however,
not to attempt to win back the places which they had lost in Picardy, but
to carry the war into the territory of the ally. It was fated that
England should bear all the losses, and Philip appropriate all the gain
and glory, which resulted from their united exertions. It was the war of
the Queen's husband, with which the Queen's people had no concern, but in
which the last trophies of the Black Prince were to be forfeited. On the
first January, 1558, the Duc de Guise appeared before Calais. The Marshal
Strozzi had previously made an expedition, in disguise, to examine the
place. The result of his examination was that the garrison was weak, and
that it relied too much upon the citadel. After a tremendous cannonade,
which lasted a week, and was heard in Antwerp, the city was taken by
assault. Thus the key to the great Norman portal of France, the
time-honored key which England had worn at her girdle since the eventful
day of Crecy, was at last taken from her. Calais had been originally won
after a siege which had lasted a twelvemonth, had been held two hundred
and ten years, and was now lost in seven days. Seven days more, and ten
thousand discharges from thirty-five great guns sufficed for the
reduction of Guines. Thus the last vestige of English dominion, the last
substantial pretext of the English sovereign to wear the title and the
lilies of France, was lost forever. King Henry visited Calais, which
after two centuries of estrangement had now become a French town again,
appointed Paul de Thermes governor of the place, and then returned to
Paris to celebrate soon afterwards the marriage of the Dauphin with the
niece of the Guises, Mary, Queen of Scots.

These events, together with the brief winter campaign of the Duke, which
had raised for an instant the drooping head of France, were destined
before long to give a new face to affairs, while it secured the
ascendancy of the Catholic party in the kingdom. Disastrous eclipse had
come over the house of Montmorency and Coligny, while the star of Guise,
brilliant with the conquest of Calais, now culminated to the zenith.

It was at this period that the memorable interview between the two
ecclesiastics, the Bishop of Arras and the Cardinal de Lorraine, took
place at Peronne. From this central point commenced the weaving of that
wide-spread scheme, in which the fate of millions was to be involved. The
Duchess Christina de Lorraine, cousin of Philip, had accompanied him to
Saint Quentin. Permission had been obtained by the Duc de Guise and his
brother, the Cardinal, to visit her at Peronne. The Duchess was
accompanied by the Bishop of Arras, and the consequence was a full and
secret negotiation between the two priests. It may be supposed that
Philip's short-lived military ardor had already exhausted itself. He had
mistaken his vocation, and already recognized the false position in which
he was placed. He was contending against the monarch in whom he might
find the surest ally against the arch enemy of both kingdoms, and of the
world. The French monarch held heresy in horror, while, for himself,
Philip had already decided upon his life's mission.

The crafty Bishop was more than a match for the vain and ambitious
Cardinal. That prelate was assured that Philip considered the captivity
of Coligny and Montmorency a special dispensation of Providence, while
the tutelar genius of France, notwithstanding the reverses sustained by
that kingdom, was still preserved. The Cardinal and his brother, it was
suggested, now held in their hands the destiny of the kingdom, and of
Europe. The interests of both nations, of religion, and of humanity, made
it imperative upon them to put an end to this unnatural war, in order
that the two monarchs might unite hand and heart for the extirpation of
heresy. That hydra-headed monster had already extended its coils through
France, while its pestilential breath was now wafted into Flanders from
the German as well as the French border. Philip placed full reliance upon
the wisdom and discretion of the Cardinal. It was necessary that these
negotiations should for the present remain a profound secret; but in the
mean time a peace ought to be concluded with as little delay as possible;
a result which, it was affirmed, was as heartily desired by Philip as it
could be by Henry. The Bishop was soon aware of the impression which his
artful suggestions had produced. The Cardinal, inspired by the flattery
thus freely administered, as well as by the promptings of his own
ambition, lent a willing ear to the Bishop's plans. Thus was laid the
foundation of a vast scheme, which time was to complete. A crusade with
the whole strength of the French and Spanish crowns, was resolved upon
against their own subjects. The Bishop's task was accomplished. The
Cardinal returned to France, determined to effect a peace with Spain. He
was convinced that the glory of his house was to be infinitely enhanced,
and its power impregnably established, by a cordial co-operation with
Philip in his dark schemes against religion and humanity. The
negotiations were kept, however, profoundly secret. A new campaign and
fresh humiliations were to precede the acceptance by France of the peace
which was thus proffered.

Hostile operations were renewed soon after the interview at Peronne. The
Duke of Guise, who had procured five thousand cavalry and fourteen
thousand infantry in Germany, now, at the desire of the King, undertook
an enterprise against Thionville, a city of importance and great strength
in Luxemburg, upon the river Moselle. It was defended by Peter de
Quarebbe, a gentleman of Louvain, with a garrison of eighteen hundred
men. On the 5th June, thirty-five pieces of artillery commenced the work;
the mining and countermining-continuing seventeen days; on the 22nd the
assault was made, and the garrison capitulated immediately afterwards. It
was a siege conducted in a regular and business-like way, but the details
possess no interest. It was, however, signalized by the death of one of
the eminent adventurers of the age, Marshal Strozzi. This brave, but
always unlucky soldier was slain by a musket ball while assisting the
Duke of Guise--whose arm was, at that instant, resting upon his
shoulder--to point a gun at the fortress.

After the fall of Thionville, the Due de Guise, for a short time,
contemplated the siege of the city of Luxemburg, but contented himself
with the reduction of the unimportant places of Vireton and Arlon. Here
he loitered seventeen days, making no exertions to follow up the success
which had attended him at the opening of the campaign. The good fortune
of the French was now neutralized by the same languor which had marked
the movements of Philip after the victory of Saint Quentin. The time,
which might have been usefully employed in following up his success, was
now wasted by the Duke in trivial business, or in absolute torpor. This
may have been the result of a treacherous understanding with Spain, and
the first fruits of the interview at Peronne. Whatever the cause,
however, the immediate consequences were disaster to the French nation,
and humiliation to the crown.

It had been the plan of the French cabinet that Marshal de Thermes, who,
upon the capture of Calais, had been appointed governor of the city,
should take advantage of his position as soon as possible. Having
assembled an army of some eight thousand foot and fifteen hundred horse,
partly Gascons and partly Germans, he was accordingly directed to ravage
the neighboring country, particularly the county of Saint Pol. In the
mean time, the Due de Guise, having reduced the cities on the southern
frontier, was to move in a northerly direction, make a junction with the
Marshal, and thus extend a barrier along the whole frontier of the
Netherlands.

De Therlries set forth from Calais, in the beginning of June, with his
newly-organized army. Passing by Gravelines and Bourbourg, he arrived
before Dunkerk on the 2d of July. The city, which was without a garrison,
opened negotiations, during the pendency of which it was taken by assault
and pillaged. The town of Saint Winochsberg shared the same fate. De
Thermes, who was a martyr to the gout, was obliged at this point
temporarily to resign the command to d'Estonteville, a ferocious soldier,
who led the predatory army as far as Niewport, burning, killing,
ravishing, plundering, as they went. Meantime Philip, who was at
Brussels, had directed the Duke of Savoy to oppose the Due de Guise with
an army which had been hastily collected and organized at Maubeuge, in
the province of Namur. He now desired, if possible, to attack and cut off
the forces of De Thermes before he should extend the hand to Guise, or
make good his retreat to Calais.

Flushed with victory over defenceless peasants, laden with the spoils of
sacked and burning towns, the army of De Thermes was already on its
homeward march. It was the moment for a sudden and daring blow. Whose arm
should deal it? What general in Philip's army possessed the requisite
promptness, and felicitous audacity; who, but the most brilliant of
cavalry officers, the bold and rapid hero of St. Quentin? Egmont, in
obedience to the King's command, threw himself at once into the field. He
hastily collected all the available forces in the neighborhood. These,
with drafts from the Duke of Savoy's army, and with detachments under
Marshal Bigonicourt from the garrisons of Saint Omer, Bethune, Aire, and
Bourbourg, soon amounted to ten thousand foot and two thousand horse. His
numbers were still further swollen by large bands of peasantry, both men
and women, maddened by their recent injuries, and thirsting for
vengeance. With these troops the energetic chieftain took up his position
directly in the path of the French army. Determined to destroy De Thermes
with all his force, or to sacrifice himself, he posted his army at
Gravelines, a small town lying near the sea-shore, and about midway
between Calais and Dunkerk. The French general was putting the finishing
touch to his expedition by completing the conflagration at Dunkerk, and
was moving homeward, when he became aware of the lion in his path.
Although suffering from severe sickness, he mounted his horse and
personally conducted his army to Gravelines. Here he found his progress
completely arrested. On that night, which was the 12th July, he held a
council of officers. It was determined to refuse the combat offered, and,
if possible, to escape at low tide along the sands toward Calais. The
next morning he crossed the river Aa, below Gravelines. Egmont, who was
not the man, on that occasion at least, to build a golden bridge for a
flying enemy, crossed the same stream just above the town, and drew up
his whole force in battle array. De Thermes could no longer avoid the
conflict thus resolutely forced upon him. Courage was now his only.
counsellor. Being not materially outnumbered by his adversaries, he had,
at least, an even chance of cutting his way through all obstacles, and of
saving his army and his treasure. The sea was on his right hand, the Aa
behind him, the enemy in front. He piled his baggage and wagons so as to
form a barricade upon his left, and placed his artillery, consisting of
four culverines and three falconeta, in front. Behind these he drew up
his cavalry, supported at each side by the Gascons, and placed his French
and German infantry in the rear.

Egmont, on the other hand, divided his cavalry into five squadrons. Three
of light horse were placed in advance for the first assault--the centre
commanded by himself, the two wings by Count Pontenals and Henrico
Henriquez. The black hussars of Lazarus Schwendi and the Flemish
gendarmes came next. Behind these was the infantry, divided into three
nations, Spanish, German, and Flemish, and respectively commanded by
Carvajal, Monchausen, and Bignicourt. Egmont, having characteristically
selected the post of danger in the very front of battle for himself,
could no longer restrain his impatience. "The foe is ours already," he
shouted; "follow me, all who love their fatherland:" With that he set
spurs to his horse, and having his own regiment well in hand, dashed upon
the enemy. The Gascons received the charge with coolness, and under cover
of a murderous fire from the artillery in front, which mowed down the
foremost ranks of their assailants-sustained the whole weight of the
first onset without flinching. Egmont's horse was shot under him at the
commencement of the action. Mounting another, he again cheered his
cavalry to the attack. The Gascons still maintained an unwavering front,
and fought with characteristic ferocity. The courage of despair inflamed
the French, the hope of a brilliant and conclusive victory excited the
Spaniards and Flemings. It was a wild, hand to hand conflict--general and
soldier, cavalier and pikeman, lancer and musketeer, mingled together in
one dark, confused, and struggling mass, foot to foot, breast to breast,
horse to horse-a fierce, tumultuous battle on the sands, worthy the
fitful pencil of the national painter, Wouvermans. For a long time it was
doubtful on which side victory was to incline, but at last ten English
vessels unexpectedly appeared in the offing, and ranging up soon
afterwards as close to the share as was possible, opened their fire upon
the still unbroken lines of the French. The ships were too distant, the
danger of injuring friend as well as foe too imminent, to allow of their
exerting any important influence upon the result. The spirit of the enemy
was broken, however, by this attack upon their seaward side, which they
had thought impregnable. At the same time, too, a detachment of German
cavalry which had been directed by Egmont to make their way under the
downs to the southward, now succeeded in turning their left flank.
Egmont, profiting by their confusion, charged them again with redoubled
vigor. The fate of the day was decided. The French cavalry wavered, broke
their ranks, and in their flight carried dismay throughout the whole
army. The rout was total; horse and foot; French, Gascon, and German fled
from the field together. Fifteen hundred fell in the action, as many more
were driven into the sea, while great numbers were torn to pieces by the
exasperated peasants, who now eagerly washed out their recent injuries in
the blood of the dispersed, wandering, and wounded soldiers. The army of
De Thermes was totally destroyed, and with it, the last hope of France
for an honorable and equal negotiation. She was now at Philip's feet, so
that this brilliant cavalry action, although it has been surpassed in
importance by many others, in respect to the numbers of the combatants
and the principles involved in the contest, was still, in regard to the
extent both of its immediate and its permanent results, one of the most
decisive and striking which have ever been fought. The French army
engaged was annihilated. Marshal de Thermes, with a wound in the head,
Senarpont, Annibault, Villefon, Morvilliers, Chanlis, and many others of
high rank were prisoners. The French monarch had not much heart to set
about the organization of another army; a task which he was now compelled
to undertake. He was soon obliged to make the best terms which he could,
and to consent to a treaty which was one of the most ruinous in the
archives of France.

The Marshal de Thermes was severely censured for having remained so long
at Dunkerk and in its neighborhood. He was condemned still more loudly
for not having at least effected his escape beyond Gravelines, during the
night which preceded the contest. With regard to the last charge,
however, it may well be doubted whether any nocturnal attempt would have
been likely to escape the vigilance of Egmont. With regard to his delay
at Dunkerk, it was asserted that he had been instructed to await in that
place the junction with the Due de Guise, which had been previously
arranged. But for the criminal and, then, inexplicable languor which
characterized that commander's movements, after the capture of
Thionville, the honor of France might still have been saved.

Whatever might have been the faults of De Thermes or of Guise, there
could be little doubt as to the merit of Egmont. Thus within eleven
months of the battle of Saint Quentin, had the Dutch hero gained another
victory so decisive as to settle the fate of the war, and to elevate his
sovereign to a position from which he might dictate the terms of a
triumphant peace. The opening scenes of Philip's reign were rendered as
brilliant as the proudest days of the Emperor's career, while the
provinces were enraptured with the prospect of early peace. To whom,
then, was the sacred debt of national and royal gratitude due but to
Lamoral of Egmont? His countrymen gladly recognized the claim. He became
the idol of the army; the familiar hero of ballad and story; the mirror
of chivalry, and the god of popular worship. Throughout the Netherlands
he was hailed as the right hand of the fatherland, the saviour of
Flanders from devastation and outrage, the protector of the nation, the
pillar of the throne.

The victor gained many friends by his victory, and one enemy. The
bitterness of that foe was likely, in the future, to outweigh all the
plaudits of his friends. The Duke of Alva had strongly advised against
giving battle to De Thermes. He depreciated the triumph after it had been
gained, by reflections upon the consequences which would have flowed, had
a defeat been suffered instead. He even held this language to Egmont
himself after his return to Brussels. The conqueror, flushed with his
glory, was not inclined to digest the criticism, nor what he considered
the venomous detraction of the Duke. More vain and arrogant than ever, he
treated his powerful Spanish rival with insolence, and answered his
observations with angry sarcasms, even in the presence of the King. Alva
was not likely to forget the altercation, nor to forgive the triumph.

There passed, naturally, much bitter censure and retort on both sides at
court, between the friends and adherents of Egmont and those who
sustained the party of his adversary. The battle of Gravelines was fought
over daily, amid increasing violence and recrimination, between Spaniard
and Fleming, and the old international hatred flamed more fiercely than
ever. Alva continued to censure the foolhardiness which had risked so
valuable an army on a single blow. Egmont's friends replied that it was
easy for foreigners, who had nothing at risk in the country, to look on
while the fields of the Netherlands were laid waste, and the homes and
hearths of an industrious population made desolate, by a brutal and
rapacious soldiery. They who dwelt in the Provinces would be ever
grateful to their preserver for the result. They had no eyes for the
picture which the Spanish party painted of an imaginary triumph of De
Thermos and its effects. However the envious might cavil, now that the
blow had been struck, the popular heart remained warm as ever, and
refused to throw down the idol which had so recently been set up.



1558-1559 [CHAPTER III.]

   Secret negotiations for peace--Two fresh armies assembled, but
   inactive--Negotiations at Cercamp--Death of Mary Tudor--Treaty of
   Cateau Cambresis--Death of Henry II.--Policy of Catharine de Medici
   --Revelations by Henry II. to the Prince of Orange--Funeral of
   Charles V. in Brussels--Universal joy in the Netherlands at the
   restoration of peace--Organization of the government by Philip, and
   preparations for his departure--Appointment of Margaret of Parma as
   Regent of the Netherlands--Three councils--The consulta--The
   stadholders of the different provinces--Dissatisfaction caused by
   the foreign troops--Assembly of the Estates at Ghent to receive the
   parting instructions and farewell of the King--Speech of the Bishop
   of Arras--Request for three millions--Fierce denunciation of heresy
   on the part of Philip--Strenuous enforcement of the edicts
   commanded--Reply by the States of Arthois--Unexpected conditions--
   Rage of the King--Similar conduct on the part of the other
   provinces--Remonstrance in the name of States--General against the
   foreign soldiery--Formal reply on the part of the crown--Departure
   of the King from the Netherlands--Autos--da--fe in Spain.

The battle of Gravelines had decided the question. The intrigues of the
two Cardinals at Peronne having been sustained by Egmont's victory, all
parties were ready for a peace. King Henry was weary of the losing game
which he had so long been playing, Philip was anxious to relieve himself
from his false position, and to concentrate his whole mind and the
strength of his kingdom upon his great enemy the Netherland heresy, while
the Duke of Savoy felt that the time had at last arrived when an adroit
diplomacy might stand him in stead, and place him in the enjoyment of
those rights which the sword had taken from him, and which his own sword
had done so much towards winning back. The sovereigns were inclined to
peace, and as there had never been a national principle or instinct or
interest involved in the dispute, it was very certain that peace would be
popular every where, upon whatever terms it might be concluded.

Montmorency and the Prince of Orange were respectively empowered to open
secret negotiations. The Constable entered upon the task with alacrity,
because he felt that every day of his captivity was alike prejudicial to
his own welfare and the interests of his country.--The Guises, who had
quarrelled with the Duchess de Valentinois (Diane de Poitiers), were not
yet powerful enough to resist the influence of the mistress; while,
rather to baffle them than from any loftier reasons, that interest was
exerted in behalf of immediate peace. The Cardinal de Lorraine had by no
means forgotten the eloquent arguments used by the Bishop of Arras; but
his brother, the Due de Guise, may be supposed to have desired some
little opportunity of redeeming the credit of the kingdom, and to have
delayed the negotiations until his valor could secure a less inglorious
termination to the war.

A fresh army had, in fact, been collected under his command, and was
already organized at Pierrepoint. At the same time, Philip had assembled
a large force, consisting of thirty thousand foot and fifteen thousand
cavalry, with which he had himself taken the field, encamping towards the
middle of August upon the banks of the river Anthies, near the border of
Picardy. King Henry, on the other hand, had already arrived in the camp
at Pierrepoint, and had reviewed as imposing an army as had ever been at
the disposal of a French monarch. When drawn up in battle array it
covered a league and a half of ground, while three hours were required to
make its circuit on horseback. All this martial display was only for
effect. The two kings, at the head of their great armies, stood looking
at each other while the negotiations for, peace were proceeding. An
unimportant skirmish or two at the out-posts, unattended with loss of
life, were the only military results of these great preparations. Early
in the autumn, all the troops were disbanded, while the commissioners of
both crowns met in open congress at the abbey of Cercamp, near Cambray,
by the middle of October. The envoys on the part of Philip were the
Prince of Orange, the Duke of Alva, the Bishop of Arras, Ruy Gomez de
Silva, the president Viglius; on that of the French monarch, the
Constable, the Marshal de Saint Andre, the Cardinal de Lorraine, the
Bishop of Orleans, and Claude l'Aubespine.

There were also envoys sent by the Queen of England, but as the dispute
concerning Calais was found to hamper the negotiations at Cercamp, the
English question was left to be settled by another congress, and was kept
entirely separate from the arrangements concluded between France and
Spain.

The death of Queen Mary, on the 17th November, caused a temporary
suspension of the proceedings. After the widower, however, had made a
fruitless effort to obtain the hand of her successor, and had been
unequivocally repulsed, the commissioners again met in February, 1559, at
Cateau Cambresis. The English difficulty was now arranged by separate
commissioners, and on the third of April a treaty between France and
Spain was concluded.

By this important convention, both kings bound themselves to maintain the
Catholic worship inviolate by all means in their power, and agreed that
an oecumenical council should at once assemble, to compose the religious
differences, and to extinguish the increasing heresy in both kingdoms.
Furthermore, it was arranged that the conquests made by each country
during the preceding eight years should be restored. Thus all the gains
of Francis and Henry were annulled by a single word, and the Duke of
Savoy converted, by a dash of the pen, from a landless soldier of fortune
into a sovereign again. He was to receive back all his estates, and was
moreover to marry Henry's sister Margaret, with a dowry of three hundred
thousand crowns. Philip, on the other hand, now a second time a widower,
was to espouse Henry's daughter Isabella, already betrothed to the Infant
Don Carlos, and to receive with her a dowry of four hundred thousand
crowns. The restitutions were to be commenced by Henry, and to be
completed within three months. Philip was to restore his conquests in the
course of a month afterwards.

Most of the powers of Europe were included by both parties in this
treaty: the Pope, the Emperor, all the Electors, the republics of Venice,
Genoa and Switzerland, the kingdoms of England, Scotland, Poland,
Denmark, Sweden; the duchies of Ferrara, Savoy and Parma, besides other
inferior principalities. Nearly all Christendom, in short, was embraced
in this most amicable compact, as if Philip were determined that,
henceforth and forever, Calvinists and Mahometans, Turks and Flemings,
should be his only enemies.

The King of France was to select four hostages from among Philip's
subjects, to accompany him to Paris as pledges for the execution of all
the terms of the treaty. The royal choice fell upon the Prince of Orange,
the Duke of Alva, the Duke of Aerschot, and the Count of Egmont.

Such was the treaty of Cateau Cambresis. Thus was a termination put to a
war between France and Spain, which had been so wantonly undertaken.

Marshal Monluc wrote that a treaty so disgraceful and disastrous had
never before been ratified by a French monarch. It would have been
difficult to point to any one more unfortunate upon her previous annals;
if any treaty can be called unfortunate, by which justice is done and
wrongs repaired, even under coercion. The accumulated plunder of years,
which was now disgorged by France, was equal in value to one third of
that kingdom. One hundred and ninety-eight fortified towns were
surrendered, making, with other places of greater or less importance, a
total estimated by some writers as high as four hundred. The principal
gainer was the Duke of Savoy, who, after so many years of
knight-errantry, had regained his duchy, and found himself the
brother-in-law of his ancient enemy.

The well-known tragedy by which the solemnities of this pacification were
abruptly concluded in Paris, bore with it an impressive moral. The
monarch who, in violation of his plighted word and against the interests
of his nation and the world, had entered precipitately into a causeless
war, now lost his life in fictitious combat at the celebration of peace.
On the tenth of July, Henry the Second died of the wound inflicted by
Montgomery in the tournament held eleven days before. Of this weak and
worthless prince, all that even his flatterers could favorably urge was
his great fondness for war, as if a sanguinary propensity, even when
unaccompanied by a spark of military talent, were of itself a virtue.
Yet, with his death the kingdom fell even into more pernicious hands, and
the fate of Christendom grew darker than ever. The dynasty of Diane de
Poitiers was succeeded by that of Catharine de Medici; the courtesan gave
place to the dowager; and France during the long and miserable period in
which she lay bleeding in the grasp of the Italian she-wolf and her
litter of cowardly and sanguinary princes--might even lament the days of
Henry and his Diana. Charles the Ninth, Henry the Third, Francis of
Alencon, last of the Valois race--how large a portion of the fearful debt
which has not yet been discharged by half a century of revolution and
massacre was of their accumulation.

The Duchess of Valentinois had quarrelled latterly with the house of
Guise, and was disposed to favor Montmorency. The King, who was but a
tool in her hands, might possibly have been induced, had he lived, to
regard Coligny and his friends with less aversion. This is, however,
extremely problematical, for it was Henry the Second who had concluded
that memorable arrangement with his royal brother of Spain, to arrange
for the Huguenot chiefs throughout both realms, a "Sicilian Vespers,"
upon the first favorable occasion. His death and the subsequent policy of
the Queen-Regent deferred the execution of the great scheme till fourteen
years later. Henry had lived long enough, however, after the conclusion
of the secret agreement to reveal it to one whose life was to be employed
in thwarting this foul conspiracy of monarchs against their subjects.
William of Orange, then a hostage for the execution of the treaty of
Cateau Cambresis, was the man with whom the King had the unfortunate
conception to confer on the subject of the plot. The Prince, who had
already gained the esteem of Charles the Fifth by his habitual
discretion, knew how to profit by the intelligence and to bide his time;
but his hostility to the policy of the French and Spanish courts was
perhaps dated from that hour.

Pending the peace negotiations, Philip had been called upon to mourn for
his wife and father. He did not affect grief for the death of Mary Tudor,
but he honored the Emperor's departure with stately obsequies at
Brussels. The ceremonies lasted two days (the 29th and 30th December,
1558). In the grand and elaborate procession which swept through the
streets upon the first day, the most conspicuous object was a ship
floating apparently upon the waves, and drawn by a band of Tritons who
disported at the bows. The masts, shrouds, and sails of the vessel were
black, it was covered with heraldic achievements, banners and emblematic
mementos of the Emperor's various expeditions, while the flags of Turks
and Moors trailed from her sides in the waves below. Three allegorical
personages composed the crew. Hope, "all clothyd in brown, with anker in
hand," stood at the prow; Faith, with sacramental chalice and red cross,
clad in white garment, with her face nailed "with white tiffany," sat on
a "stool of estate" before the mizen-mast; while Charity "in red, holding
in her hand a burning heart," was at the helm to navigate the vessel.
Hope, Faith, and Love were thought the most appropriate symbols for the
man who had invented the edicts, introduced the inquisition, and whose
last words, inscribed by a hand already trembling with death, had adjured
his son, by his love, allegiance, and hope of salvation, to deal to all
heretics the extreme rigor of the law, "without respect of persons and
without regard to any plea in their favor."

The rest of the procession, in which marched the Duke of Alva, the Prince
of Orange, and other great personages, carrying the sword, the globe, the
sceptre, and the "crown imperial," contained no emblems or imagery worthy
of being recorded. The next day the King, dressed in mourning and
attended by a solemn train of high officers and nobles, went again to the
church. A contemporary letter mentions a somewhat singular incident as
forming the concluding part of the ceremony. "And the service being
done," wrote Sir Richard Clough to Sir Thomas Gresham, "there went a
nobleman into the herse (so far as I codde understande, it was the Prince
of Orange), who, standing before the herse, struck with his hand upon the
chest and sayd, 'He is ded.' Then standing styli awhile, he sayd, 'He
shall remayn ded.' And 'then resting awhile, he struck again and sayd,
'He is ded, and there is another rysen up in his place greater than ever
he was.' Whereupon the Kynge's hoode was taken off and the Kynge went
home without his hoode."

If the mourning for the dead Emperor was but a mummery and a masquerade,
there was, however, heartiness and sincerity in the rejoicing which now
burst forth like a sudden illumination throughout the Netherlands, upon
the advent of peace. All was joy in the provinces, but at Antwerp, the
metropolis of the land, the enthusiasm was unbounded. Nine days were
devoted to festivities. Bells rang their merriest peals, artillery
thundered, beacons blazed, the splendid cathedral spire flamed nightly
with three hundred burning cresaets, the city was strewn with flowers and
decorated with triumphal arches, the Guilds of Rhetoric amazed the world
with their gorgeous processions, glittering dresses and bombastic
versification, the burghers all, from highest to humblest, were feasted
and made merry, wine flowed in the streets and oxen were roasted whole,
prizes on poles were climbed for, pigs were hunted blindfold, men and
women raced in sacks, and in short, for nine days long there was one
universal and spontaneous demonstration of hilarity in Antwerp and
throughout the provinces.

But with this merry humor of his subjects, the sovereign had but little
sympathy. There was nothing in his character or purposes which owed
affinity with any mood of this jocund and energetic people. Philip had
not made peace with all the world that the Netherlanders might climb on
poles or ring bells, or strew flowers in his path for a little holiday
time, and then return to their industrious avocations again. He had made
peace with all the world that he might be free to combat heresy; and this
arch enemy had taken up its strong hold in the provinces. The treaty of
Cateau Cambresis left him at liberty to devote himself to that great
enterprise. He had never loved the Netherlands, a residence in these
constitutional provinces was extremely irksome to him, and he was
therefore anxious to return to Spain. From the depths of his cabinet he
felt that he should be able to direct the enterprise he was resolved
upon, and that his presence in the Netherlands would be superfluous and
disagreeable.

The early part of the year 1559 was spent by Philip in organizing the
government of the provinces and in making the necessary preparations for
his departure. The Duke of Savoy, being restored to his duchy, had, of
course, no more leisure to act as Regent of the Netherlands, and it was
necessary, therefore, to fix upon his successor in this important post,
at once. There were several candidates. The Duchess Christina of Lorraine
had received many half promises of the appointment, which she was most
anxious to secure; the Emperor was even said to desire the nomination of
the Archduke Maximilian, a step which would have certainly argued more
magnanimity upon Philip's part than the world could give him credit for;
and besides these regal personages, the high nobles of the land,
especially Orange and Egmont, had hopes of obtaining the dignity. The
Prince of Orange, however, was too sagacious to deceive himself long, and
became satisfied very soon that no Netherlander was likely to be selected
for Regent. He therefore threw his influence in favor of the Duchess
Christina, whose daughter, at the suggestion of the Bishop of Arras, he
was desirous of obtaining in marriage. The King favored for a time, or
pretended to favor, both the appointment of Madame de Lorraine and the
marriage project of the Prince. Afterwards, however, and in a manner
which was accounted both sudden and mysterious, it appeared that the
Duchess and Orange had both been deceived, and that the King and Bishop
had decided in favor of another candidate, whose claims had not been
considered, before, very prominent. This was the Duchess Margaret of
Parma, natural daughter of Charles the Fifth. A brief sketch of this
important personage, so far as regards her previous career, is reserved
for the following chapter. For the present it is sufficient to state the
fact of the nomination. In order to afford a full view of Philip's
political arrangements before his final departure from the Netherlands,
we defer until the same chapter, an account of the persons who composed
the boards of council organized to assist the new Regent in the
government. These bodies themselves were three in number: a state and
privy council and one of finance. They were not new institutions, having
been originally established by the Emperor, and were now arranged by his
successor upon the same nominal basis upon which they had before existed.
The finance council, which had superintendence of all matters relating to
the royal domains and to the annual budgets of the government, was
presided over by Baron Berlaymont. The privy council, of which Viglius
was president, was composed of ten or twelve learned doctors, and was
especially entrusted with the control of matters relating to law,
pardons, and the general administration of justice. The state council,
which was far the most important of the three boards, was to superintend
all high affairs of government, war, treaties, foreign intercourse,
internal and interprovincial affairs. The members of this council were
the Bishop of Arras, Viglius, Berlaymont, the Prince of Orange, Count
Egmont, to which number were afterwards added the Seigneur de Glayon, the
Duke of Aerschot, and Count Horn. The last-named nobleman, who was
admiral of the provinces, had, for the, present, been appointed to
accompany the King to Spain, there to be specially entrusted with the
administration of affairs relating to the Netherlands. He was destined,
however, to return at the expiration of two years.

With the object, as it was thought, of curbing the power of the great
nobles, it had been arranged that the three councils should be entirely
distinct from each other, that the members of the state council should
have no participation in the affairs of the two other bodies; but, on the
other hand, that the finance and privy councillors, as well as the
Knights of the Fleece, should have access to the deliberations of the
state council. In the course of events, however, it soon became evident
that the real power of the government was exclusively in the hands of the
consulta, a committee of three members of the state council, by whose
deliberations the Regent was secretly instructed to be guided on all
important occasions. The three, Viglius, Berlaymont, and Arras, who
composed the secret conclave or cabinet, were in reality but one. The
Bishop of Arras was in all three, and the three together constituted only
the Bishop of Arras.

There was no especial governor or stadholder appointed for the province
of Brabant, where the Regent was to reside and to exercise executive
functions in person. The stadholders for the other provinces were, for
Flanders and Artois, the Count of Egmont; for Holland, Zeeland, and
Utrecht, the Prince of Orange; for Gueldres and Zutfen, the Count of
Meghen; for Friesland, Groningen and Overyssel, Count Aremberg; for
Hainault, Valenciennes and Cambray, the Marquis of Berghen; for Tournay
and Tournaisis, Baron Montigny; for Namur, Baron Berlaymont; for
Luxemburg, Count Mansfeld; for Ryssel, Douay and Orchies, the Baron
Coureires. All these stadholders were commanders-in-chief of the military
forces in their respective provinces. With the single exception of Count
Egmont, in whose province of Flanders the stadholders were excluded from
the administration of justice,--all were likewise supreme judges in the
civil and criminal tribunal. The military force of the Netherlands in
time of peace was small, for the provinces were jealous of the presence
of soldiery. The only standing army which then legally existed in the
Netherlands were the Bandes d'Ordonnance, a body of mounted
gendarmerie--amounting in all to three thousand men--which ranked among
the most accomplished and best disciplined cavalry of Europe. They were
divided into fourteen squadrons, each under the command of a stadholder,
or of a distinguished noble. Besides these troops, however, there still
remained in the provinces a foreign force amounting in the aggregate to
four thousand men. These soldiers were the remainder of those large
bodies which year after year had been quartered upon the Netherlands
during the constant warfare to which they had been exposed. Living upon
the substance of the country, paid out of its treasury, and as offensive
by their licentious and ribald habits of life as were the enemies against
whom they were enrolled, these troops had become an intolerable burthen
to the people. They were now disposed in different garrisons, nominally
to protect the frontier. As a firm peace, however, had now been concluded
between Spain and France, and as there was no pretext for compelling the
provinces to accept this protection, the presence of a foreign soldiery
strengthened a suspicion that they were to be used in the onslaught which
was preparing against the religious freedom and the political privileges
of the country. They were to be the nucleus of a larger army, it was
believed, by which the land was to be reduced to a state of servile
subjection to Spain. A low, constant, but generally unheeded murmur of
dissatisfaction and distrust upon this subject was already perceptible
throughout the Netherlands; a warning presage of the coming storm.

All the provinces were now convoked for the 7th of August (1559), at
Ghent, there to receive the parting communication and farewell of the
King. Previously to this day, however, Philip appeared in person upon
several solemn occasions, to impress upon the country the necessity of
attending to the great subject with which his mind was exclusively
occupied. He came before the great council of Mechlin, in order to
address that body with his own lips upon the necessity of supporting the
edicts to the letter, and of trampling out every vestige of heresy,
wherever it should appear, by the immediate immolation of all heretics,
whoever they might be. He likewise caused the estates of Flanders to be
privately assembled, that he might harangue them upon the same great
topic. In the latter part of July he proceeded to Ghent, where a great
concourse of nobles, citizens, and strangers had already assembled. Here,
in the last week of the month, the twenty-third chapter of the Golden
Fleece was held with much pomp, and with festivities which lasted three
days. The fourteen vacancies which existed were filled with the names of
various distinguished personages. With this last celebration the public
history of Philip the Good's ostentatious and ambitious order of
knighthood was closed. The subsequent nominations were made 'ex indultu
apostolico', and without the assembling of a chapter.

The estates having duly assembled upon the day prescribed, Philip,
attended by Margaret of Parma, the Duke of Savoy, and a stately retinue
of ambassadors and grandees, made his appearance before them. After the
customary ceremonies had been performed, the Bishop of Arras arose and
delivered, in the name of his sovereign, an elaborate address of
instructions and farewells. In this important harangue, the states were
informed that the King had convened them in order that they might be
informed of his intention of leaving the Netherlands immediately. He
would gladly have remained longer in his beloved provinces, had not
circumstances compelled his departure. His father had come hither for the
good of the country in the year 1543, and had never returned to Spain,
except to die.

Upon the King's accession to the sovereignty he had arranged a truce of
five years, which had been broken through by the faithlessness of France.
He had, therefore, been obliged, notwithstanding his anxiety to return to
a country where his presence was so much needed, to remain in the
provinces till he had conducted the new war to a triumphant close. In
doing this he had been solely governed by his intense love for the
Netherlands, and by his regard for their interests. All the money which
he had raised from their coffers had been spent for their protection.
Upon this account his Majesty expressed his confidence that the estates
would pay an earnest attention to the "Request" which had been laid
before them, the more so, as its amount, three millions of gold florins,
would all be expended for the good of the provinces. After his return to
Spain he hoped to be able to make a remittance. The Duke of Savoy, he
continued, being obliged, in consequence of the fortunate change in his
affairs, to resign the government of the Netherlands, and his own son,
Don Carlos, not yet being sufficiently advanced in years to succeed to
that important post, his Majesty had selected his sister, the Duchess
Margaret of Parma, daughter of the Emperor, as the most proper person for
Regent. As she had been born in the Netherlands, and had always
entertained a profound affection for the provinces, he felt a firm
confidence that she would prove faithful both to their interests and his
own. As at this moment many countries, and particularly the lands in the
immediate neighborhood, were greatly infested by various "new, reprobate,
and damnable sects;" as these sects, proceeding from the foul fiend,
father of discord, had not failed to keep those kingdoms in perpetual
dissension and misery, to the manifest displeasure of God Almighty; as
his Majesty was desirous to avert such terrible evils from his own
realms, according to his duty to the Lord God, who would demand reckoning
from him hereafter for the well-being of the provinces; as all experience
proved that change of religion ever brought desolation and confusion to
the commonweal; as low persons, beggars and vagabonds, under color of
religion, were accustomed to traverse the land for the purpose of plunder
and disturbance; as his Majesty was most desirous of following in the
footsteps of his lord and father; as it would be well remembered what the
Emperor had said to him upon the memorable occasion of his abdication;
therefore his Majesty had commanded the Regent Margaret of Parma, for the
sake of religion and the glory of God, accurately and exactly to cause to
be enforced the edicts and decrees made by his imperial Majesty, and
renewed by his present Majesty, for the extirpation of all sects and
heresies. All governors, councillors, and others having authority, were
also instructed to do their utmost to accomplish this great end.

The great object of the discourse was thus announced in the most
impressive manner, and with all that conventional rhetoric of which the
Bishop of Arras was considered a consummate master. Not a word was said
on the subject which was nearest the hearts of the Netherlanders--the
withdrawal of the Spanish troops.

   [Bentivoglio. Guerra di Fiandra, i. 9 (Opere, Parigi, 1648), gives
   a different report, which ends with a distinct promise on the part
   of the King to dismiss the troops as soon as possible: "--in segno
   di the spetialmente havrebbe quanto prima, a fatti uscire i presidij
   stranieri dalle fortezze a levata ogn' insolita contributione al
   paese." It is almost superfluous to state that the Cardinal is no
   authority for speeches, except, indeed, for those which were never
   made. Long orations by generals upon the battle-field, by royal
   personages in their cabinets, by conspirators in secret conclave,
   are reported by him with muck minuteness, and none can gainsay the
   accuracy with which these harangues, which never had any existence,
   except in the author's imagination, are placed before the reader.
   Bentivoglio's stately and graceful style, elegant descriptions, and
   general acquaintance with his subject will always make his works
   attractive, but the classic and conventional system of inventing
   long speeches for historical characters has fortunately gone out of
   fashion. It is very interesting to know what an important personage
   really did say or write upon remarkable occasions; but it is less
   instructive to be told what the historian thinks might have been a
   good speech or epistle for him to utter or indito.]

Not a hint was held out that a reduction of the taxation, under which the
provinces had so long been groaning, was likely to take place; but, on
the contrary, the King had demanded a new levy of considerable amount. A
few well-turned paragraphs were added on the subject of the
administration of justice--"without which the republic was a dead body
without a soul"--in the Bishop's most approved style, and the discourse
concluded with a fervent exhortation to the provinces to trample heresy
and heretics out of existence, and with the hope that the Lord God, in
such case, would bestow upon the Netherlands health and happiness.

After the address had been concluded, the deputies, according to ancient
form, requested permission to adjourn, that the representatives of each
province might deliberate among themselves on the point of granting or
withholding the Request for the three millions. On the following day they
again assembled in the presence of the King, for the purpose of returning
their separate answers to the propositions.

The address first read was that of the Estates of Artois. The chairman of
the deputies from that province read a series of resolutions, drawn up,
says a contemporary, "with that elegance which characterized all the
public acts of the Artesians; bearing witness to the vivacity of their
wits." The deputies spoke of the extreme affection which their province
had always borne to his Majesty and to the Emperor. They had proved it by
the constancy with which they had endured the calamities of war so long,
and they now cheerfully consented to the Request, so far as their
contingent went. They were willing to place at his Majesty's disposal,
not only the remains of their property, but even the last drop of their
blood. As the eloquent chairman reached this point in his discourse,
Philip, who was standing with his arm resting upon Egmont's shoulder,
listening eagerly to the Artesian address, looked upon the deputies of
the province with a smiling face, expressing by the unwonted benignity of
his countenance the satisfaction which he received from these loyal
expressions of affection, and this dutiful compliance with his Request.

The deputy, however, proceeded to an unexpected conclusion, by earnestly
entreating his Majesty, as a compensation for the readiness thus evinced
in the royal service, forthwith to order the departure of all foreign
troops then in the Netherlands. Their presence, it was added, was now
rendered completely superfluous by the ratification of the treaty of
peace so fortunately arranged with all the world.

At this sudden change in the deputy's language, the King, no longer
smiling, threw himself violently upon his chair of state, where he
remained, brooding with a gloomy countenance upon the language which had
been addressed to him. It was evident, said an eye-witness, that he was
deeply offended. He changed color frequently, so that all present "could
remark, from the working of his face, how much his mind was agitated."

The rest of the provinces were even more explicit than the deputies of
Artois. All had voted their contingents to the Request, but all had made
the withdrawal of the troops an express antecedent condition to the
payment of their respective quotas.

The King did not affect to conceal his rage at these conditions,
exclaiming bitterly to Count Egmont and other seignors near the throne
that it was very easy to estimate, by these proceedings, the value of the
protestations made by the provinces of their loyalty and affection.

Besides, however, the answers thus addressed by the separate states to
the royal address, a formal remonstrance had also been drawn up in the
name of the States General, and signed by the Prince of Orange, Count
Egmont, and many of the leading patricians of the Netherlands. This
document, which was formally presented to the King before the adjournment
of the assembly, represented the infamous "pillaging, insults, and
disorders" daily exercised by the foreign soldiery; stating that the
burthen had become intolerable, and that the inhabitants of Marienburg,
and of many other large towns and villages had absolutely abandoned their
homes rather than remain any longer exposed to such insolence and
oppression.

The king, already enraged, was furious at the presentation of this
petition. He arose from his seat, and rushed impetuously from the
assembly, demanding of the members as he went, whether he too, as a
Spaniard, was expected immediately to leave the land, and to resign all
authority over it. The Duke of Savoy made use of this last occasion in
which he appeared in public as Regent, violently to rebuke the estates
for the indignity thus offered to their sovereign.

It could not be forgotten, however, by nobles and burghers, who had not
yet been crushed by the long course of oppression which was in store for
them, that there had been a day when Philip's ancestors had been more
humble in their deportment in the face of the provincial authorities. His
great-grandfather, Maximilian, kept in durance by the citizens of Bruges;
his great-grandmother, Mary of Burgundy, with streaming eyes and
dishevelled hair, supplicating in the market-place for the lives of her
treacherous ambassadors, were wont to hold a less imperious language to
the delegates of the states.

This burst of ill temper on the part of the monarch was, however,
succeeded by a different humor. It was still thought advisable to
dissemble, and to return rather an expostulatory than a peremptory answer
to the remonstrance of the States General. Accordingly a paper of a
singular tone was, after the delay of a few days, sent into the assembly.
In this message it was stated that the King was not desirous of placing
strangers in the government--a fact which was proved by the appointment
of the Duchess Margaret; that the Spanish infantry was necessary to
protect the land from invasion; that the remnant of foreign troops only
amounted to three or four thousand men, who claimed considerable arrears
of pay, but that the amount due would be forwarded to them immediately
after his Majesty's return to Spain. It was suggested that the troops
would serve as an escort for Don Carlos when he should arrive in the
Netherlands, although the King would have been glad to carry them to
Spain in his fleet, had he known the wishes of the estates in time. He
would, however, pay for their support himself, although they were to act
solely for the good of the provinces. He observed, moreover, that he had
selected two seignors of the provinces, the Prince of Orange and Count
Egmont, to take command of these foreign troops, and he promised
faithfully that, in the course of three or four months at furthest, they
should all be withdrawn.

On the same day in which the estates had assembled at Ghent, Philip had
addressed an elaborate letter to the grand council of Mechlin, the
supreme court of the provinces, and to the various provincial councils
and tribunals of the whole country. The object of the communication was
to give his final orders on the subject of the edicts, and for the
execution of all heretics in the most universal and summary manner. He
gave stringent and unequivocal instructions that these decrees for
burning, strangling, and burying alive, should be fulfilled to the
letter. He ordered all judicial officers and magistrates "to be curious
to enquire on all sides as to the execution of the placards," stating his
intention that "the utmost rigor should be employed without any respect
of persons," and that not only the transgressors should be proceeded
against, but also the judges who should prove remiss in their prosecution
of heretics. He alluded to a false opinion which had gained currency that
the edicts were only intended against anabaptists. Correcting this error,
he stated that they were to be "enforced against all sectaries, without
any distinction or mercy, who might be spotted merely with the errors
introduced by Luther."

The King, notwithstanding the violent scenes in the assembly, took leave
of the estates at another meeting with apparent cordiality. His
dissatisfaction was sufficiently manifest, but it expressed itself
principally against individuals. His displeasure at the course pursued by
the leading nobles, particularly by the Prince of Orange, was already no
secret.

Philip, soon after the adjournment of the assembly, had completed the
preparations for his departure. At Middelburg he was met by the agreeable
intelligence that the Pope had consented to issue a bull for the creation
of the new bishoprics which he desired for the Netherlands.--This
important subject will be resumed in another chapter; for the present we
accompany the King to Flushing, whence the fleet was to set sail for
Spain. He was escorted thither by the Duchess Regent, the Duke of Savoy,
and by many of the most eminent personages of the provinces. Among others
William of Orange was in attendance to witness the final departure of the
King, and to pay him his farewell respects. As Philip was proceeding on
board the ship which was to bear him forever from the Netherlands, his
eyes lighted upon the Prince. His displeasure could no longer be
restrained. With angry face he turned upon him, and bitterly reproached
him for having thwarted all his plans by means of his secret intrigues.
William replied with humility that every thing which had taken place had
been done through the regular and natural movements of the states. Upon
this the King, boiling with rage, seized the Prince by the wrist, and
shaking it violently, exclaimed in Spanish, "No los estados, ma vos, vos,
vos!--Not the estates, but you, you, you!" repeating thrice the word vos,
which is as disrespectful and uncourteous in Spanish as "toi" in French.

After this severe and public insult, the Prince of Orange did not go on
board his Majesty's vessel, but contented himself with wishing Philip,
from the shore, a fortunate journey. It may be doubted, moreover, whether
he would not have made a sudden and compulsory voyage to Spain had he
ventured his person in the ship, and whether, under the circumstances, he
would have been likely to effect as speedy a return. His caution served
him then as it was destined to do on many future occasions, and Philip
left the Netherlands with this parting explosion of hatred against the
man who, as he perhaps instinctively felt, was destined to circumvent his
measures and resist his tyranny to the last.

The fleet, which consisted of ninety vessels, so well provisioned that,
among other matters, fifteen thousand capons were put on board, according
to the Antwerp chronicler, set sail upon the 26th August (1559), from
Flushing. The voyage proved tempestuous, so that much of the rich
tapestry and other merchandise which had been accumulated by Charles and
Philip was lost. Some of the vessels foundered; to save others it was
necessary to lighten the cargo, and "to enrobe the roaring waters with
the silks," for which the Netherlands were so famous; so that it was said
that Philip and his father had impoverished the earth only to enrich the
ocean. The fleet had been laden with much valuable property, because the
King had determined to fix for the future the wandering capital of his
dominions in Spain. Philip landed in safety, however, at Laredo, on the
8th September. His escape from imminent peril confirmed him in the great
purpose to which he had consecrated his existence. He believed himself to
have been reserved from shipwreck only because a mighty mission had been
confided to him, and lest his enthusiasm against heresy should languish,
his eyes were soon feasted, upon his arrival in his native country, with
the spectacle of an auto-da fe.

Early in January of this year the King being persuaded that it was
necessary every where to use additional means to check the alarming
spread of Lutheran opinions, had written to the Pope for authority to
increase, if that were possible, the stringency of the Spanish
inquisition. The pontiff, nothing loath, had accordingly issued a bull
directed to the inquisitor general, Valdez, by which he was instructed to
consign to the flames all prisoners whatever, even those who were not
accused of having "relapsed." Great preparations had been made to strike
terror into the hearts of heretics by a series of horrible exhibitions,
in the course of which the numerous victims, many of them persons of high
rank, distinguished learning, and exemplary lives, who had long been
languishing in the dungeons of the holy office, were to be consigned to
the flames. The first auto-da fe had been consummated at Valladolid on
the 21st May (1559), in the absence of the King, of course, but in the
presence of the royal family and the principal notabilities, civil,
ecclesiastical, and military. The Princess Regent, seated on her throne,
close to the scaffold, had held on high the holy sword. The Archbishop of
Seville, followed by the ministers of the inquisition and by the victims,
had arrived in solemn procession at the "cadahalso," where, after the
usual sermon in praise of the holy office and in denunciation of heresy,
he had administered the oath to the Intante, who had duly sworn upon the
crucifix to maintain forever the sacred inquisition and the apostolic
decrees. The Archbishop had then cried aloud, "So may God prosper your
Highnesses and your estates;" after which the men and women who formed
the object of the show had been cast into the flames.--[Cabrera]. It
being afterwards ascertained that the King himself would soon be enabled
to return to Spain, the next festival was reserved as a fitting
celebration for his arrival. Upon the 8th October, accordingly, another
auto-da fe took place at Valladolid. The King, with his sister and his
son, the high officers of state, the foreign ministers, and all the
nobility of the kingdom, were present, together with an immense concourse
of soldiery, clergy, and populace. The sermon was preached by the Bishop
of Cuenga. When it was finished, Inquisitor General Valdez cried with a
loud voice, "Oh God, make speed to help us!" The King then drew his
sword. Valdez, advancing to the platform upon which Philip was seated,
proceeded to read the protestation: "Your Majesty swears by the cross of
the sword, whereon your royal hand reposes, that you will give all
necessary favor to the holy office of the inquisition against heretics,
apostates, and those who favor them, and will denounce and inform against
all those who, to your royal knowledge, shall act or speak against the
faith." The King answered aloud, "I swear it," and signed the paper. The
oath was read to the whole assembly by an officer of the inquisition.
Thirteen distinguished victims were then burned before the monarch's
eyes, besides one body which a friendly death had snatched from the hands
of the holy office, and the effigy of another person who had been
condemned, although not yet tried or even apprehended. Among the
sufferers was Carlos de Sessa, a young noble of distinguished character
and abilities, who said to the King as he passed by the throne to the
stake, "How can you thus look on and permit me to be burned?" Philip then
made the memorable reply, carefully recorded by his historiographer and
panegyrist; "I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal, were he as
wicked as you."

In Seville, immediately afterwards, another auto-da fe was held, in which
fifty living heretics were burned, besides the bones of Doctor
Constantine Ponce de la Fuente, once the friend, chaplain, and almoner of
Philip's father. This learned and distinguished ecclesiastic had been
released from a dreadful dungeon by a fortunate fever. The holy office,
however, not content with punishing his corpse, wreaked also an impotent
and ludicrous malice upon his effigy. A stuffed figure, attired in his
robes and with its arms extended in the attitude which was habitual with
him in prayer, was placed upon the scaffold among the living victims, and
then cast into the flames, that bigotry might enjoy a fantastic triumph
over the grave.

Such were the religious ceremonies with which Philip celebrated his
escape from shipwreck, and his marriage with Isabella of France,
immediately afterwards solemnized. These human victims, chained and
burning at the stake, were the blazing torches which lighted the monarch
to his nuptial couch.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 5.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE DUCHESS MARGARET.
1559-1560 [CHAPTER I.]

   Biographical sketch and portrait of Margaret of Parma--The state
   council--Berlaymont--Viglius--Sketch of William the Silent--Portrait
   of Antony Perrenot, afterwards Cardinal Granvelle--General view of
   the political, social and religious condition of the Netherlands--
   Habits of the aristocracy--Emulation in extravagance--Pecuniary
   embarrassments--Sympathy for the Reformation, steadily increasing
   among the people, the true cause of the impending revolt--Measures
   of the government.--Edict of 1550 described--Papal Bulls granted to
   Philip for increasing the number of Bishops in the Netherlands--
   Necessity for retaining the Spanish troops to enforce the policy of
   persecution.

Margaret of Parma, newly appointed Regent of the Netherlands, was the
natural daughter of Charles the Fifth, and his eldest born child. Her
mother, of a respectable family called Van der Genst, in Oudenarde, had
been adopted and brought up by the distinguished house of Hoogstraaten.
Peculiar circumstances, not necessary to relate at length, had palliated
the fault to which Margaret owed her imperial origin, and gave the child
almost a legitimate claim upon its father's protection. The claim was
honorably acknowledged. Margaret was in her infancy placed by the Emperor
in the charge of his paternal aunt, Margaret of Savoy, then Regent of the
provinces. Upon the death of that princess, the child was entrusted to
the care of the Emperor's sister, Mary, Queen Dowager of Hungary, who had
succeeded to the government, and who occupied it until the abdication.
The huntress-queen communicated her tastes to her youthful niece, and
Margaret soon outrivalled her instructress. The ardor with which she
pursued the stag, and the courageous horsemanship which she always
displayed, proved her, too, no degenerate descendant of Mary of Burgundy.
Her education for the distinguished position in which she had somewhat
surreptitiously been placed was at least not neglected in this
particular. When, soon after the memorable sack of Rome, the Pope and the
Emperor had been reconciled, and it had been decided that the Medici
family should be elevated upon the ruins of Florentine liberty,
Margaret's hand was conferred in marriage upon the pontiff's nephew
Alexander. The wretched profligate who was thus selected to mate with the
Emperor's eldest born child and to appropriate the fair demesnes of the
Tuscan republic was nominally the offspring of Lorenzo de Medici by a
Moorish slave, although generally reputed a bastard of the Pope himself.
The nuptials were celebrated with great pomp at Naples, where the Emperor
rode at the tournament in the guise of a Moorish warrior. At Florence
splendid festivities had also been held, which were troubled with omens
believed to be highly unfavorable. It hardly needed, however,
preternatural appearances in heaven or on earth to proclaim the marriage
ill-starred which united a child of twelve years with a worn-out
debauchee of twenty-seven. Fortunately for Margaret, the funereal
portents proved true. Her husband, within the first year of their wedded
life, fell a victim to his own profligacy, and was assassinated by his
kinsman, Lorenzino de Medici. Cosmo, his successor in the tyranny of
Florence, was desirous of succeeding to the hand of Margaret, but the
politic Emperor, thinking that he had already done enough to conciliate
that house, was inclined to bind to his interests the family which now
occupied the papal throne. Margaret was accordingly a few years
afterwards united to Ottavio Farnese, nephew of Paul the Third. It was
still her fate to be unequally matched. Having while still a child been
wedded to a man of more than twice her years, she was now, at the age of
twenty, united to an immature youth of thirteen. She conceived so strong
an aversion to her new husband, that it became impossible for them to
live together in peace. Ottavio accordingly went to the wars, and in 1541
accompanied the Emperor in his memorable expedition to Barbary.

Rumors of disaster by battle and tempest reaching Europe before the
results of the expedition were accurately known, reports that the Emperor
had been lost in a storm, and that the young Ottavio had perished with
him, awakened remorse in the bosom of Margaret. It seemed to her that he
had been driven forth by domestic inclemency to fall a victim to the
elements. When, however, the truth became known, and it was ascertained
that her husband, although still living, was lying dangerously ill in the
charge of the Emperor, the repugnance which had been founded upon his
extreme youth changed to passionate fondness. His absence, and his
faithful military attendance upon her father, caused a revulsion in her
feelings, and awakened her admiration. When Ottavio, now created Duke of
Parma and Piacenza, returned to Rome, he was received by his wife with
open arms. Their union was soon blessed with twins, and but for a certain
imperiousness of disposition which Margaret had inherited from her
father, and which she was too apt to exercise even upon her husband, the
marriage would have been sufficiently fortunate.

Various considerations pointed her out to Philip as a suitable person for
the office of Regent, although there seemed some mystery about the
appointment which demanded explanation. It was thought that her birth
would make her acceptable to the people; but perhaps, the secret reason
with Philip was, that she alone of all other candidates would be amenable
to the control of the churchman in whose hand he intended placing the
real administration of the provinces. Moreover, her husband was very
desirous that the citadel of Piacenza, still garrisoned by Spanish
troops, should be surrendered to him. Philip was disposed to conciliate
the Duke, but unwilling to give up the fortress. He felt that Ottavio
would be flattered by the nomination of his wife to so important an
office, and be not too much dissatisfied at finding himself relieved for
a time from her imperious fondness. Her residence in the Netherlands
would guarantee domestic tranquillity to her husband, and peace in Italy
to the King. Margaret would be a hostage for the fidelity of the Duke,
who had, moreover, given his eldest son to Philip to be educated in his
service.

She was about thirty-seven years of age when she arrived in the
Netherlands, with the reputation of possessing high talents, and a proud
and energetic character. She was an enthusiastic Catholic, and had sat at
the feet of Loyola, who had been her confessor and spiritual guide. She
felt a greater horror for heretics than for any other species of
malefactors, and looked up to her father's bloody edicts as if they had
been special revelations from on high. She was most strenuous in her
observance of Roman rites, and was accustomed to wash the feet of twelve
virgins every holy week, and to endow them in marriage afterwards.--Her
acquirements, save that of the art of horsemanship, were not remarkable.

Carefully educated in the Machiavellian and Medicean school of politics,
she was versed in that "dissimulation," to which liberal Anglo-Saxons
give a shorter name, but which formed the main substance of statesmanship
at the court of Charles and Philip. In other respects her accomplishments
were but meagre, and she had little acquaintance with any language but
Italian. Her personal appearance, which was masculine, but not without a
certain grand and imperial fascination, harmonized with the opinion
generally entertained of her character. The famous moustache upon her
upper lips was supposed to indicate authority and virility of purpose, an
impression which was confirmed by the circumstance that she was liable to
severe attacks of gout, a disorder usually considered more appropriate to
the sterner sex.

Such were the previous career and public reputation of the Duchess
Margaret. It remains to be unfolded whether her character and endowments,
as exemplified in her new position, were to justify the choice of Philip.

The members of the state council, as already observed, were Berlaymont,
Viglius, Arras, Orange, and Egmont.

The first was, likewise, chief of the finance department. Most of the
Catholic writers described him as a noble of loyal and highly honorable
character. Those of the Protestant party, on the contrary, uniformly
denounced him as greedy, avaricious, and extremely sanguinary. That he
was a brave and devoted soldier, a bitter papist, and an inflexible
adherent to the royal cause, has never been disputed. The Baron himself,
with his four courageous and accomplished sons, were ever in the front
ranks to defend the crown against the nation. It must be confessed,
however, that fanatical loyalty loses most of the romance with which
genius and poetry have so often hallowed the sentiment, when the
"legitimate" prince for whom the sword is drawn is not only an alien in
tongue and blood, but filled with undisguised hatred for the land he
claims to rule.

Viglius van Aytta van Zuichem was a learned Frisian, born, according to
some writers, of "boors' degree, but having no inclination for boorish
work". According to other authorities, which the President himself
favored, he was of noble origin; but, whatever his race, it is certain
that whether gentle or simple, it derived its first and only historical
illustration from his remarkable talents and acquirements. These in early
youth were so great as to acquire the commendation of Erasmus. He had
studied in Louvain, Paris, and Padua, had refused the tutorship Philip
when that prince was still a child, and had afterwards filled a
professorship at Ingolstadt. After rejecting several offers of promotion
from the Emperor, he had at last accepted in 1542 a seat in the council
of Mechlin, of which body he had become president in 1545. He had been
one of the peace commissioners to France in 1558, and was now president
of the privy council, a member of the state council, and of the inner and
secret committee of that board, called the Consults. Much odium was
attached to his name for his share in the composition of the famous edict
of 1550. The rough draught was usually attributed to his pen, but he
complained bitterly, in letters written at this time, of injustice done
him in this respect, and maintained that he had endeavored, without
success, to induce the Emperor to mitigate the severity of the edict. One
does not feel very strongly inclined to accept his excuses, however, when
his general opinions on the subject of religion are remembered. He was
most bigoted in precept and practice. Religious liberty he regarded as
the most detestable and baleful of doctrines; heresy he denounced as the
most unpardonable of crimes.

From no man's mouth flowed more bitter or more elegant commonplaces than
from that of the learned president against those blackest of malefactors,
the men who claimed within their own walls the right to worship God
according to their own consciences. For a common person, not learned in
law or divinity, to enter into his closet, to shut the door, and to pray
to Him who seeth in secret, was, in his opinion, to open wide the gate of
destruction for all the land, and to bring in the Father of Evil at once
to fly away with the whole population, body and soul. "If every man,"
said he to Hopper, "is to believe what he likes in his own house, we
shall have hearth gods and tutelar divinities, again, the country will
swarm with a thousand errors and sects, and very few there will be, I
fear, who will allow themselves to be enclosed in the sheepfold of
Christ. I have ever considered this opinion," continued the president,
"the most pernicious of all. They who hold it have a contempt for all
religion, and are neither more nor less than atheists. This vague,
fireside liberty should be by every possible means extirpated; therefore
did Christ institute shepherds to drive his wandering sheep back into the
fold of the true Church; thus only can we guard the lambs against the
ravening wolves, and prevent their being carried away from the flock of
Christ to the flock of Belial. Liberty of religion, or of conscience, as
they call it, ought never to be tolerated."

This was the cant with which Viglius was ever ready to feed not only his
faithful Hopper, but all the world beside. The president was naturally
anxious that the fold of Christ should be entrusted to none but regular
shepherds, for he looked forward to taking one of the most lucrative
crooks into his own hand, when he should retire from his secular career.

It is now necessary to say a few introductory words concerning the man
who, from this time forth, begins to rise upon the history of his country
with daily increasing grandeur and influence. William of Nassau, Prince
of Orange, although still young in years, is already the central
personage about whom the events and the characters of the epoch most
naturally group themselves; destined as he is to become more and more
with each succeeding year the vivifying source of light, strength, and
national life to a whole people.

The Nassau family first emerges into distinct existence in the middle of
the eleventh century. It divides itself almost as soon as known into two
great branches. The elder remained in Germany, ascended the imperial
throne in the thirteenth century in the person of Adolph of Nassau and
gave to the country many electors, bishops, and generals. The younger and
more illustrious branch retained the modest property and petty
sovereignty of Nassau Dillenbourg, but at the same time transplanted
itself to the Netherlands, where it attained at an early period to great
power and large possessions. The ancestors of William, as Dukes of
Gueldres, had begun to exercise sovereignty in the provinces four
centuries before the advent of the house of Burgundy. That overshadowing
family afterwards numbered the Netherland Nassaus among its most stanch
and powerful adherents. Engelbert the Second was distinguished in the
turbulent councils and in the battle-fields of Charles the Bold, and was
afterwards the unwavering supporter of Maximilian, in court and camp.
Dying childless, he was succeeded by his brother John, whose two sons,
Henry and William, of Nassau, divided the great inheritance after their
father's death, William succeeded to the German estates, became a convert
to Protestantism, and introduced the Reformation into his dominions.
Henry, the eldest son, received the family possessions and titles in
Luxembourg, Brabant, Flanders and Holland, and distinguished himself as
much as his uncle Engelbert, in the service of the Burgundo-Austrian
house. The confidential friend of Charles the Fifth, whose governor he
had been in that Emperor's boyhood, he was ever his most efficient and
reliable adherent. It was he whose influence placed the imperial crown
upon the head of Charles. In 1515 he espoused Claudia de Chalons, sister
of Prince Philibert of Orange, "in order," as he wrote to his father, "to
be obedient to his imperial Majesty, to please the King of France, and
more particularly for the sake of his own honor and profit."

His son Rene de Nassau-Chalons succeeded Philibert. The little
principality of Orange, so pleasantly situated between Provence and
Dauphiny, but in such dangerous proximity to the seat of the "Babylonian
captivity" of the popes at Avignon, thus passed to the family of Nassau.
The title was of high antiquity. Already in the reign of Charlemagne,
Guillaume au Court-Nez, or "William with the Short Nose," had defended
the little--town of Orange against the assaults of the Saracens. The
interest and authority acquired in the demesnes thus preserved by his
valor became extensive, and in process of time hereditary in his race.
The principality became an absolute and free sovereignty, and had already
descended, in defiance of the Salic law, through the three distinct
families of Orange, Baux, and Chalons.

In 1544, Prince Rene died at the Emperor's feet in the trenches of Saint
Dizier. Having no legitimate children, he left all his titles and estates
to his cousin-german, William of Nassau, son of his father's brother
William, who thus at the age of eleven years became William the Ninth of
Orange. For this child, whom the future was to summon to such high
destinies and such heroic sacrifices, the past and present seemed to have
gathered riches and power together from many sources. He was the
descendant of the Othos, the Engelberts, and the Henries, of the
Netherlands, the representative of the Philiberts and the Renes of
France; the chief of a house, humbler in resources and position in
Germany, but still of high rank, and which had already done good service
to humanity by being among the first to embrace the great principles of
the Reformation.

His father, younger brother of the Emperor's friend Henry, was called
William the Rich. He was, however, only rich in children. Of these he had
five sons and seven daughters by his wife Juliana of Stolberg. She was a
person of most exemplary character and unaffected piety. She instilled
into the minds of all her children the elements of that devotional
sentiment which was her own striking characteristic, and it was destined
that the seed sown early should increase to an abundant harvest. Nothing
can be more tender or more touching than the letters which still exist
from her hand, written to her illustrious sons in hours of anxiety or
anguish, and to the last, recommending to them with as much earnest
simplicity as if they were still little children at her knee, to rely
always in the midst of the trials and dangers which were to beset their
paths through life, upon the great hand of God. Among the mothers of
great men, Juliana of Stolberg deserves a foremost place, and it is no
slight eulogy that she was worthy to have been the mother of William of
Orange and of Lewis, Adolphus, Henry, and John of Nassau.

At the age of eleven years, William having thus unexpectedly succeeded to
such great possessions, was sent from his father's roof to be educated in
Brussels. No destiny seemed to lie before the young prince but an
education at the Emperor's court, to be followed by military adventures,
embassies, viceroyalties, and a life of luxury and magnificence. At a
very early age he came, accordingly, as a page into the Emperor's family.
Charles recognized, with his customary quickness, the remarkable
character of the boy. At fifteen, William was the intimate, almost
confidential friend of the Emperor, who prided himself, above all other
gifts, on his power of reading and of using men. The youth was so
constant an attendant upon his imperial chief that even when interviews
with the highest personages, and upon the gravest affairs, were taking
place, Charles would never suffer him to be considered superfluous or
intrusive. There seemed to be no secrets which the Emperor held too high
for the comprehension or discretion of his page. His perceptive and
reflective faculties, naturally of remarkable keenness and depth, thus
acquired a precocious and extraordinary development. He was brought up
behind the curtain of that great stage where the world's dramas were
daily enacted. The machinery and the masks which produced the grand
delusions of history had no deceptions for him. Carefully to observe
men's actions, and silently to ponder upon their motives, was the
favorite occupation of the Prince during his apprenticeship at court. As
he advanced to man's estate, he was selected by the Emperor for the
highest duties. Charles, whose only merit, so far as the provinces were
concerned, was in having been born in Ghent, and that by an ignoble
accident, was glad to employ this representative of so many great
Netherland houses, in the defence of the land. Before the Prince was
twenty-one he was appointed general-in-chief of the army on the French
frontier, in the absence of the Duke of Savoy. The post was coveted by
many most distinguished soldiers: the Counts of Buren, Bossu, Lalaing,
Aremberg, Meghem, and particularly by Count Egmont; yet Charles showed
his extraordinary confidence in the Prince of Orange, by selecting him
for the station, although he had hardly reached maturity, and was
moreover absent in France. The young Prince acquitted himself of his high
command in a manner which justified his appointment.

It was the Prince's shoulder upon which the Emperor leaned at the
abdication; the Prince's hand which bore the imperial insignia of the
discrowned monarch to Ferdinand, at Augsburg. With these duties his
relations with Charles were ended, and those with Philip begun. He was
with the army during the hostilities which were soon after resumed in
Picardy; he was the secret negotiator of the preliminary arrangement with
France, soon afterwards confirmed by the triumphant treaty of April,
1559. He had conducted these initiatory conferences with the Constable
Montmorency and Marshal de Saint Andre with great sagacity, although
hardly a man in years, and by so doing he had laid Philip under deep
obligations. The King was so inexpressibly anxious for peace that he
would have been capable of conducting a treaty upon almost any terms. He
assured the Prince that "the greatest service he could render him in this
world was to make peace, and that he desired to have it at any price what
ever, so eager was he to return to Spain." To the envoy Suriano, Philip
had held the same language. "Oh, Ambassador," said he, "I wish peace on
any terms, and if the King of France had not sued for it, I would have
begged for it myself."

With such impatience on the part of the sovereign, it certainly
manifested diplomatic abilities of a high character in the Prince, that
the treaty negotiated by him amounted to a capitulation by France. He was
one of the hostages selected by Henry for the due execution of the
treaty, and while in France made that remarkable discovery which was to
color his life. While hunting with the King in the forest of Vincennes,
the Prince and Henry found themselves alone together, and separated from
the rest of the company. The French monarch's mind was full of the great
scheme which had just secretly been formed by Philip and himself, to
extirpate Protestantism by a general extirpation of Protestants. Philip
had been most anxious to conclude the public treaty with France, that he
might be the sooner able to negotiate that secret convention by which he
and his Most Christian Majesty were solemnly to bind themselves to
massacre all the converts to the new religion in France and the
Netherlands. This conspiracy of the two Kings against their subjects was
the matter nearest the hearts of both. The Duke of Alva, a fellow hostage
with William of Orange, was the plenipotentiary to conduct this more
important arrangement. The French monarch, somewhat imprudently imagining
that the Prince was also a party to the plot, opened the whole subject to
him without reserve. He complained of the constantly increasing numbers
of sectaries in his kingdom, and protested that his conscience would
never be easy, nor his state secure until his realm should be delivered
of "that accursed vermin." A civil revolution, under pretext of a
religious reformation, was his constant apprehension, particularly since
so many notable personages in the realm, and even princes of the blood,
were already tainted with heresy. Nevertheless, with the favor of heaven,
and the assistance of his son and brother Philip, he hoped soon to be
master of the rebels. The King then proceeded, with cynical minuteness,
to lay before his discreet companion the particulars of the royal plot,
and the manner in which all heretics, whether high or humble, were to be
discovered and massacred at the most convenient season. For the
furtherance of the scheme in the Netherlands, it was understood that the
Spanish regiments would be exceedingly efficient. The Prince, although
horror-struck and indignant at the royal revelations, held his peace, and
kept his countenance. The King was not aware that, in opening this
delicate negotiation to Alva's colleague and Philip's plenipotentiary, he
had given a warning of inestimable value to the man who had been born to
resist the machinations of Philip and of Alva. William of Orange earned
the surname of "the Silent," from the manner in which he received these
communications of Henry without revealing to the monarch, by word or
look, the enormous blunder which he had committed. His purpose was fixed
from that hour. A few days afterwards he obtained permission to visit the
Netherlands, where he took measures to excite, with all his influence,
the strongest and most general opposition to the continued presence of
the Spanish troops, of which forces, touch against his will, he had been,
in conjunction with Egmont, appointed chief. He already felt, in his own
language, that "an inquisition for the Netherlands had been, resolved
upon more cruel than that of Spain; since it would need but to look
askance at an image to be cast into the flames." Although having as yet
no spark of religious sympathy for the reformers, he could not, he said,
"but feel compassion for so many virtuous men and women thus devoted to
massacre," and he determined to save them if he could!' At the departure
of Philip he had received instructions, both patent and secret, for his
guidance as stadholder of Holland, Friesland, and Utrecht. He was ordered
"most expressly to correct and extirpate the sects reprobated by our Holy
Mother Church; to execute the edicts of his Imperial Majesty, renewed by
the King, with absolute rigor. He was to see that the judges carried out
the edicts, without infraction, alteration, or moderation, since they
were there to enforce, not to make or to discuss the law." In his secret
instructions he was informed that the execution of the edicts was to be
with all rigor, and without any respect of persons. He was also reminded
that, whereas some persons had imagined the severity of the law "to be
only intended against Anabaptists, on the contrary, the edicts were to be
enforced on Lutherans and all other sectaries without distinction."
Moreover, in one of his last interviews with Philip, the King had given
him the names of several "excellent persons suspected of the new
religion," and had commanded him to have them put to death. This,
however, he not only omitted to do, but on the contrary gave them
warning, so that they might effect their escape, "thinking it more
necessary to obey God than man."

William of Orange, at the departure of the King for Spain, was in his
twenty-seventh year. He was a widower; his first wife, Anne of Egmont,
having died in 1558, after seven years of wedlock. This lady, to whom he
had been united when they were both eighteen years of age, was the
daughter of the celebrated general, Count de Buren, and the greatest
heiress in the Netherlands. William had thus been faithful to the family
traditions, and had increased his possessions by a wealthy alliance. He
had two children, Philip and Mary. The marriage had been more amicable
than princely marriages arranged for convenience often prove. The letters
of the Prince to his wife indicate tenderness and contentment. At the
same time he was accused, at a later period, of "having murdered her with
a dagger." The ridiculous tale was not even credited by those who
reported it, but it is worth mentioning, as a proof that no calumny was
too senseless to be invented concerning the man whose character was from
that hour forth to be the mark of slander, and whose whole life was to be
its signal, although often unavailing, refutation.

Yet we are not to regard William of Orange, thus on the threshold of his
great career, by the light diffused from a somewhat later period. In no
historical character more remarkably than in his is the law of constant
development and progress illustrated. At twenty-six he is not the "pater
patriae," the great man struggling upward and onward against a host of
enemies and obstacles almost beyond human strength, and along the dark
and dangerous path leading through conflict, privation, and ceaseless
labor to no repose but death. On the contrary, his foot was hardly on the
first step of that difficult ascent which was to rise before him all his
lifetime. He was still among the primrose paths. He was rich, powerful,
of sovereign rank. He had only the germs within him of what was
thereafter to expand into moral and intellectual greatness. He had small
sympathy for the religious reformation, of which he was to be one of the
most distinguished champions. He was a Catholic, nominally, and in
outward observance. With doctrines he troubled himself but little. He had
given orders to enforce conformity to the ancient Church, not with
bloodshed, yet with comparative strictness, in his principality of
Orange. Beyond the compliance with rites and forms, thought indispensable
in those days to a personage of such high degree, he did not occupy
himself with theology. He was a Catholic, as Egmont and Horn, Berlaymont
and Mansfeld, Montigny and even Brederode, were Catholic. It was only
tanners, dyers and apostate priests who were Protestants at that day in
the Netherlands. His determination to protect a multitude of his harmless
inferiors from horrible deaths did not proceed from sympathy with their
religious sentiments, but merely from a generous and manly detestation of
murder. He carefully averted his mind from sacred matters. If indeed the
seed implanted by his pious parents were really the germ of his future
conversion to Protestantism, it must be confessed that it lay dormant a
long time. But his mind was in other pursuits. He was disposed for an
easy, joyous, luxurious, princely life. Banquets, masquerades,
tournaments, the chase, interspersed with the routine of official duties,
civil and military, seemed likely to fill out his life. His hospitality,
like his fortune, was almost regal. While the King and the foreign envoys
were still in the Netherlands, his house, the splendid Nassau palace of
Brussels, was ever open. He entertained for the monarch, who was, or who
imagined himself to be, too poor to discharge his own duties in this
respect, but he entertained at his own expense. This splendid household
was still continued. Twenty-four noblemen and eighteen pages of gentle
birth officiated regularly in his family. His establishment was on so
extensive a scale that upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were
dismissed, for the purpose of diminishing the family expenses, and there
was hardly a princely house in Germany which did not send cooks to learn
their business in so magnificent a kitchen. The reputation of his table
remained undiminished for years. We find at a later period, that Philip,
in the course of one of the nominal reconciliations which took place
several times between the monarch and William of Orange, wrote that, his
head cook being dead, he begged the Prince to "make him a present of his
chief cook, Master Herman, who was understood to be very skilful."

In this hospitable mansion, the feasting continued night and day. From
early morning till noon, the breakfast-tables were spread with wines and
luxurious viands in constant succession, to all comers and at every
moment.--The dinner and supper were daily banquets for a multitude of
guests. The highest nobles were not those alone who were entertained. Men
of lower degree were welcomed with a charming hospitality which made them
feel themselves at their ease. Contemporaries of all parties unite in
eulogizing the winning address and gentle manners of the Prince. "Never,"
says a most bitter Catholic historian, "did an arrogant or indiscreet
word fall from his lips. He, upon no occasion, manifested anger to his
servants, however much they might be in fault, but contented himself with
admonishing them graciously, without menace or insult. He had a gentle
and agreeable tongue, with which he could turn all the gentlemen at court
any way he liked. He was beloved and honored by the whole community." His
manner was graceful, familiar, caressing, and yet dignified. He had the
good breeding which comes from the heart, refined into an inexpressible
charm from his constant intercourse, almost from his cradle, with mankind
of all ranks.

It may be supposed that this train of living was attended with expense.
Moreover, he had various other establishments in town and country;
besides his almost royal residence in Brussels. He was ardently fond of
the chase, particularly of the knightly sport of falconry. In the country
he "consoled himself by taking every day a heron in the clouds." His
falconers alone cost him annually fifteen hundred florins, after he had
reduced their expenses to the lowest possible point. He was much in debt,
even at this early period and with his princely fortune. "We come of a
race," he wrote carelessly to his brother Louis, "who are somewhat bad
managers in our young days, but when we grow older, we do better, like
our late father: 'sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper et in
secula seculorum'. My greatest difficulty," he adds, "as usual, is on
account of the falconers."

His debts already amounted, according to Granvelle's statement, to
800,000 or 900,000 florins. He had embarrassed himself, not only through
his splendid extravagance, by which all the world about him were made to
partake of his wealth, but by accepting the high offices to which he had
been appointed. When general-in-chief on the frontier, his salary was
three hundred florins monthly; "not enough," as he said, "to pay the
servants in his tent," his necessary expenses being twenty-five hundred
florins, as appears by a letter to his wife. His embassy to carry the
crown to Ferdinand, and his subsequent residence as a hostage for the
treaty in Paris, were also very onerous, and he received no salary;
according to the economical system in this respect pursued by Charles and
Philip. In these two embassies or missions alone, together with the
entertainments offered by him to the court and to foreigners, after the
peace at Brussels, the Prince spent, according to his own estimate,
1,500,000 florins. He was, however, although deeply, not desperately
involved, and had already taken active measures to regulate and reduce
his establishment. His revenues were vast, both in his own right and in
that of his deceased wife. He had large claims upon the royal treasury
for service and expenditure. He had besides ample sums to receive from
the ransoms of the prisoners of St. Quentin and Gravelines, having served
in both campaigns. The amount to be received by individuals from this
source may be estimated from the fact that Count Horn, by no means one of
the most favored in the victorious armies, had received from Leonor
d'Orleans, Due de Loggieville, a ransom of eighty thousand crowns. The
sum due, if payment were enforced, from the prisoners assigned to Egmont,
Orange, and others, must have been very large. Granvelle estimated the
whole amount at two millions; adding, characteristically, "that this kind
of speculation was a practice" which our good old fathers, lovers of
virtue, would not have found laudable. In this the churchman was right,
but he might have added that the "lovers of virtue" would have found it
as little "laudable" for ecclesiastics to dispose of the sacred offices
in their gift, for carpets, tapestry, and annual payments of certain
percentages upon the cure of souls. If the profits respectively gained by
military and clerical speculators in that day should be compared, the
disadvantage would hardly be found to lie with those of the long robe.

Such, then, at the beginning of 1560, was William of Orange; a generous,
stately, magnificent, powerful grandee. As a military commander, he had
acquitted himself very creditably of highly important functions at an
early age. Nevertheless it was the opinion of many persons, that he was
of a timid temperament. He was even accused of having manifested an
unseemly panic at Philippeville, and of having only been restrained by
the expostulations of his officers, from abandoning both that fortress
and Charlemont to Admiral Coligny, who had made his appearance in the
neighborhood, merely at the head of a reconnoitring party. If the story
were true, it would be chiefly important as indicating that the Prince of
Orange was one of the many historical characters, originally of an
excitable and even timorous physical organization, whom moral courage and
a strong will have afterwards converted into dauntless heroes. Certain it
is that he was destined to confront open danger in every form, that his
path was to lead through perpetual ambush, yet that his cheerful
confidence and tranquil courage were to become not only unquestionable
but proverbial. It may be safely asserted, however, that the story was an
invention to be classed with those fictions which made him the murderer
of his first wife, a common conspirator against Philip's crown and
person, and a crafty malefactor in general, without a single virtue. It
must be remembered that even the terrible Alva, who lived in harness
almost from the cradle to the grave, was, so late as at this period,
censured for timidity, and had been accused in youth of flat cowardice.
He despised the insinuation, which for him had no meaning. There is no
doubt too that caution was a predominant characteristic of the Prince. It
was one of the chief sources of his greatness. At that period, perhaps at
any period, he would have been incapable of such brilliant and dashing
exploits as had made the name of Egmont so famous. It had even become a
proverb, "the counsel of Orange, the execution of Egmont," yet we shall
have occasion to see how far this physical promptness which had been so
felicitous upon the battle-field was likely to avail the hero of St.
Quentin in the great political combat which was approaching.

As to the talents of the Prince, there was no difference of opinion. His
enemies never contested the subtlety and breadth of his intellect, his
adroitness and capacity in conducting state affairs, his knowledge of
human nature, and the profoundness of his views. In many respects it must
be confessed that his surname of The Silent, like many similar
appellations, was a misnomer. William of Orange was neither "silent" nor
"taciturn," yet these are the epithets which will be forever associated
with the name of a man who, in private, was the most affable, cheerful,
and delightful of companions, and who on a thousand great public
occasions was to prove himself, both by pen and by speech, the most
eloquent man of his age. His mental accomplishments were considerable: He
had studied history with attention, and he spoke and wrote with facility
Latin, French, German, Flemish, and Spanish.

The man, however, in whose hands the administration of the Netherlands
was in reality placed, was Anthony Perrenot, then Bishop of Arras, soon
to be known by the more celebrated title of Cardinal Granvelle. He was
the chief of the Consults, or secret council of three, by whose
deliberations the Duchess Regent was to be governed. His father, Nicholas
Perrenot, of an obscure family in Burgundy, had been long the favorite
minister and man of business to the Emperor Charles. Anthony, the eldest
of thirteen children, was born in 1517. He was early distinguished for
his talents. He studied at Dole, Padua, Paris, and Louvain. At, the age
of twenty he spoke seven languages with perfect facility, while his
acquaintance with civil and ecclesiastical laws was considered
prodigious. At the age of twenty-three he became a canon of Liege
Cathedral. The necessary eight quarters of gentility produced upon that
occasion have accordingly been displayed by his panegyrists in triumphant
refutation of that theory which gave him a blacksmith for his
grandfather. At the same period, although he had not reached the
requisite age, the rich bishopric of Arras had already been prepared for
him by his father's care. Three years afterwards, in 1543, he
distinguished himself by a most learned and brilliant harangue before the
Council of Trent, by which display he so much charmed the Emperor, that
he created him councillor of state. A few years afterwards he rendered
the unscrupulous Charles still more valuable proofs of devotion and
dexterity by the part he played in the memorable imprisonment of the
Landgrave of Hesse and the Saxon Dukes. He was thereafter constantly
employed in embassies and other offices of trust and profit.

There was no doubt as to his profound and varied learning, nor as to his
natural quickness and dexterity. He was ready witted, smooth and fluent
of tongue, fertile in expedients, courageous, resolute. He thoroughly
understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors. He knew
how to govern under the appearance of obeying. He possessed exquisite
tact in appreciating the characters of those far above him in rank and
beneath him in intellect. He could accommodate himself with great
readiness to the idiosyncrasies of sovereigns. He was a chameleon to the
hand which fed him. In his intercourse with the King, he colored himself,
as it were, with the King's character. He was not himself, but Philip;
not the sullen, hesitating, confused Philip, however, but Philip endowed
with eloquence, readiness, facility. The King ever found himself
anticipated with the most delicate obsequiousness, beheld his struggling
ideas change into winged words without ceasing to be his own. No flattery
could be more adroit. The bishop accommodated himself to the King's
epistolary habits. The silver-tongued and ready debater substituted
protocols for conversation, in deference to a monarch who could not
speak. He corresponded with Philip, with Margaret of Parma, with every
one. He wrote folios to the Duchess when they were in the same palace. He
would write letters forty pages long to the King, and send off another
courier on the same day with two or three additional despatches of
identical date. Such prolixity enchanted the King, whose greediness for
business epistles was insatiable. The painstaking monarch toiled, pen in
hand, after his wonderful minister in vain. Philip was only fit to be the
bishop's clerk; yet he imagined himself to be the directing and governing
power. He scrawled apostilles in the margins to prove that he had read
with attention, and persuaded himself that he suggested when he scarcely
even comprehended. The bishop gave advice and issued instructions when he
seemed to be only receiving them. He was the substance while he affected
to be the shadow. These tactics were comparatively easy and likely to be
triumphant, so long as he had only to deal with inferior intellects like
those of Philip and Margaret. When he should be matched against political
genius and lofty character combined, it was possible that his resources
might not prove so all-sufficient.

His political principles were sharply defined in reality, but smoothed
over by a conventional and decorous benevolence of language, which
deceived vulgar minds. He was a strict absolutist. His deference to
arbitrary power was profound and slavish. God and "the master," as he
always called Philip, he professed to serve with equal humility. "It
seems to me," said he, in a letter of this epoch, "that I shall never be
able to fulfil the obligation of slave which I owe to your majesty, to
whom I am bound by so firm a chain;--at any rate, I shall never fail to
struggle for that end with sincerity."

As a matter of course, he was a firm opponent of the national rights of
the Netherlands, however artfully he disguised the sharp sword of violent
absolutism under a garland of flourishing phraseology. He had strenuously
warned Philip against assembling the States-general before his departure
for the sake of asking them for supplies. He earnestly deprecated
allowing the constitutional authorities any control over the expenditures
of the government, and averred that this practice under the Regent Mary
had been the cause of endless trouble. It may easily be supposed that
other rights were as little to his taste as the claim to vote the
subsidies, a privilege which was in reality indisputable. Men who stood
forth in defence of the provincial constitutions were, in his opinion,
mere demagogues and hypocrites; their only motive being to curry favor
with the populace. Yet these charters were, after all, sufficiently
limited. The natural rights of man were topics which had never been
broached. Man had only natural wrongs. None ventured to doubt that
sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God. The rights of the
Netherlands were special, not general; plural, not singular; liberties,
not liberty; "privileges," not maxims. They were practical, not
theoretical; historical, not philosophical. Still, such as they were,
they were facts, acquisitions. They had been purchased by the blood and
toil of brave ancestors; they amounted--however open to criticism upon
broad humanitarian grounds, of which few at that day had ever dreamed--to
a solid, substantial dyke against the arbitrary power which was ever
chafing and fretting to destroy its barriers. No men were more subtle or
more diligent in corroding the foundation of these bulwarks than the
disciples of Granvelle. Yet one would have thought it possible to
tolerate an amount of practical freedom so different from the wild,
social speculations which in later days, have made both tyrants and
reasonable lovers of our race tremble with apprehension. The
Netherlanders claimed, mainly, the right to vote the money which was
demanded in such enormous profusion from their painfully-acquired wealth;
they were also unwilling to be burned alive if they objected to
transubstantiation. Granvelle was most distinctly of an opposite opinion
upon both topics. He strenuously deprecated the interference of the
states with the subsidies, and it was by his advice that the remorseless
edict of 1550, the Emperor's ordinance of blood and fire, was re-enacted,
as the very first measure of Philip's reign. Such were his sentiments as
to national and popular rights by representation. For the people
itself--"that vile and mischievous animal called the people"--as he
expressed it, he entertained a cheerful contempt.

His aptitude for managing men was very great; his capacity for affairs
incontestable; but it must be always understood as the capacity for the
affairs of absolutism. He was a clever, scheming politician, an adroit
manager; it remained to be seen whether he had a claim to the character
of a statesman. His industry was enormous. He could write fifty letters a
day with his own hand. He could dictate to half a dozen amanuenses at
once, on as many different subjects, in as many different languages, and
send them all away exhausted.

He was already rich. His income from his see and other livings was
estimated, in 1557, at ten thousand dollars--[1885 approximation. The
decimal point more places to the right would in 2000 not be out of line.
D.W.]--; his property in ready money, "furniture, tapestry, and the
like," at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When it is considered
that, as compared with our times, these sums represent a revenue of a
hundred thousand, and a capital of two millions and a half in addition,
it may be safely asserted that the prelate had at least made a good
beginning. Besides his regular income, moreover, he had handsome receipts
from that simony which was reduced to a system, and which gave him a
liberal profit, generally in the shape of an annuity, upon every benefice
which he conferred. He was, however, by no means satisfied. His appetite
was as boundless as the sea; he was still a shameless mendicant of
pecuniary favors and lucrative offices. Already, in 1552, the Emperor had
roundly rebuked his greediness. "As to what you say of getting no
'merced' nor 'ayuda de costa,'" said he, "'tis merced and ayuda de costa
quite sufficient, when one has fat benefices, pensions, and salaries,
with which a man might manage to support himself." The bishop, however,
was not easily abashed, and he was at the epoch which now occupies us,
earnestly and successfully soliciting from Philip the lucrative abbey of
Saint Armand. Not that he would have accepted this preferment, "could the
abbey have been annexed to any of the new bishoprics;" on the contrary,
he assured the king that "to carry out so holy a work as the erection of
those new sees, he would willingly have contributed even out of his own
miserable pittance."

It not being considered expedient to confiscate the abbey to any
particular bishop, Philip accordingly presented it to the prelate of
Arras, together with a handsome sum of money in the shape of an "ayuda de
costa" beside. The thrifty bishop, who foresaw the advent of troublous
times in the Netherlands, however, took care in the letters by which he
sent his thanks, to instruct the King to secure the money upon crown
property in Arragon, Naples, and Sicily, as matters in the provinces were
beginning to look very precarious.

Such, at the commencement of the Duchess Margaret's administration, were
the characters and the previous histories of the persons into whose hands
the Netherlands were entrusted. None of them have been prejudged. We have
contented ourselves with stating the facts with regard to all, up to the
period at which we have arrived. Their characters have been sketched, not
according to subsequent developments, but as they appeared at the opening
of this important epoch.

The aspect of the country and its inhabitants offered many sharp
contrasts, and revealed many sources of future trouble.

The aristocracy of the Netherlands was excessively extravagant,
dissipated, and already considerably embarrassed in circumstances. It had
been the policy of the Emperor and of Philip to confer high offices,
civil, military, and diplomatic, upon the leading nobles, by which
enormous expenses were entailed upon them, without any corresponding
salaries. The case of Orange has been already alluded to, and there were
many other nobles less able to afford the expense, who had been indulged
with these ruinous honors. During the war, there had been, however, many
chances of bettering broken fortunes. Victory brought immense prizes to
the leading officers. The ransoms of so many illustrious prisoners as had
graced the triumphs of Saint Quentin and Gravelines had been extremely
profitable. These sources of wealth had now been cut off; yet, on the
departure of the King from the Netherlands, the luxury increased instead
of diminishing, "Instead of one court," said a contemporary, "you would
have said that there were fifty." Nothing could be more sumptuous than
the modes of life in Brussels. The household of Orange has been already
painted. That of Egmont was almost as magnificent. A rivalry in
hospitality and in display began among the highest nobles, and extended
to those less able to maintain themselves in the contest. During the war
there had been the valiant emulation of the battlefield; gentlemen had
vied with each other how best to illustrate an ancient name with deeds of
desperate valor, to repair the fortunes of a ruined house with the spoils
of war. They now sought to surpass each other in splendid extravagance.
It was an eager competition who should build the stateliest palaces, have
the greatest number of noble pages and gentlemen in waiting, the most
gorgeous liveries, the most hospitable tables, the most scientific cooks.
There was, also, much depravity as well as extravagance. The morals of
high society were loose. Gaming was practised to a frightful extent.
Drunkenness was a prevailing characteristic of the higher classes. Even
the Prince of Orange himself, at this period, although never addicted to
habitual excess, was extremely convivial in his tastes, tolerating scenes
and companions, not likely at a later day to find much favor in his
sight. "We kept Saint Martin's joyously," he wrote, at about this period,
to his brother, "and in the most jovial company. Brederode was one day in
such a state that I thought he would certainly die, but he has now got
over it." Count Brederode, soon afterwards to become so conspicuous in
the early scenes of the revolt, was, in truth, most notorious for his
performances in these banqueting scenes. He appeared to have vowed as
uncompromising hostility to cold water as to the inquisition, and always
denounced both with the same fierce and ludicrous vehemence. Their
constant connection with Germany at that period did not improve the
sobriety of the Netherlands' nobles. The aristocracy of that country, as
is well known, were most "potent at potting." "When the German finds
himself sober," said the bitter Badovaro, "he believes himself to be
ill." Gladly, since the peace, they had welcomed the opportunities
afforded for many a deep carouse with their Netherlands cousins. The
approaching marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Saxon princess--an
episode which will soon engage our attention--gave rise to tremendous
orgies. Count Schwartzburg, the Prince's brother-in-law, and one of the
negotiators of the marriage, found many occasions to strengthen the bonds
of harmony between the countries by indulgence of these common tastes. "I
have had many princes and counts at my table," he wrote to Orange, "where
a good deal more was drunk than eaten. The Rhinegrave's brother fell down
dead after drinking too much malvoisie; but we have had him balsamed and
sent home to his family."

These disorders among the higher ranks were in reality so extensive as to
justify the biting remark of the Venetian: "The gentlemen intoxicate
themselves every day," said he, "and the ladies also; but much less than
the men." His remarks as to the morality, in other respects, of both
sexes were equally sweeping, and not more complimentary.

If these were the characteristics of the most distinguished society, it
may be supposed that they were reproduced with more or less intensity
throughout all the more remote but concentric circles of life, as far as
the seductive splendor of the court could radiate. The lesser nobles
emulated the grandees, and vied with each other in splendid
establishments, banquets, masquerades, and equipages. The natural
consequences of such extravagance followed. Their estates were mortgaged,
deeply and more deeply; then, after a few years, sold to the merchants,
or rich advocates and other gentlemen of the robe, to whom they had been
pledged. The more closely ruin stared the victims in the face, the more
heedlessly did they plunge into excesses. "Such were the circumstances,"
moralizes a Catholic writer, "to which, at an earlier period, the affairs
of Catiline, Cethegus, Lentulus, and others of that faction had been
reduced, when they undertook to overthrow the Roman republic." Many of
the nobles being thus embarrassed, and some even desperate, in their
condition, it was thought that they were desirous of creating
disturbances in the commonwealth, that the payment of just debts might be
avoided, that their mortgaged lands might be wrested by main force from
the low-born individuals who had become possessed of them, that, in
particular, the rich abbey lands held by idle priests might be
appropriated to the use of impoverished gentlemen who could turn them to
so much better account. It is quite probable that interested motives such
as these were not entirely inactive among a comparatively small class of
gentlemen. The religious reformation in every land of Europe derived a
portion of its strength from the opportunity it afforded to potentates
and great nobles for helping themselves to Church property. No doubt many
Netherlanders thought that their fortunes might be improved at the
expense of the monks, and for the benefit of religion. Even without
apostasy from the mother Church, they looked with longing eyes on the
wealth of her favored and indolent children. They thought that the King
would do well to carve a round number of handsome military commanderies
out of the abbey lands, whose possessors should be bound to military
service after the ancient manner of fiefs, so that a splendid cavalry,
headed by the gentlemen of the country, should be ever ready to mount and
ride at the royal pleasure, in place of a horde of lazy epicureans,
telling beads and indulging themselves in luxurious vice.

Such views were entertained; such language often held. These
circumstances and sentiments had their influence among the causes which
produced the great revolt now impending. Care should be taken, however,
not to exaggerate that influence. It is a prodigious mistake to refer
this great historical event to sources so insufficient as the ambition of
a few great nobles, and the embarrassments of a larger number of needy
gentlemen. The Netherlands revolt was not an aristocratic, but a popular,
although certainly not a democratic movement. It was a great episode--the
longest, the darkest, the bloodiest, the most important episode in the
history of the religious reformation in Europe. The nobles so conspicuous
upon the surface at the outbreak, only drifted before a storm which they
neither caused nor controlled. Even the most powerful and the most
sagacious were tossed to and fro by the surge of great events, which, as
they rolled more and more tumultuously around them, seemed to become both
irresistible and unfathomable.

For the state of the people was very different from the condition of the
aristocracy. The period of martyrdom had lasted long and was to last
loner; but there were symptoms that it might one day be succeeded by a
more active stage of popular disease. The tumults of the Netherlands were
long in ripening; when the final outbreak came it would have been more
philosophical to enquire, not why it had occurred, but how it could have
been so long postponed. During the reign of Charles, the sixteenth
century had been advancing steadily in strength as the once omnipotent
Emperor lapsed into decrepitude. That extraordinary century had not
dawned upon the earth only to increase the strength of absolutism and
superstition. The new world had not been discovered, the ancient world
reconquered, the printing-press perfected, only that the inquisition
might reign undisturbed over the fairest portions of the earth, and
chartered hypocrisy fatten upon its richest lands. It was impossible that
the most energetic and quick-witted people of Europe should not feel
sympathy with the great effort made by Christendom to shake off the
incubus which had so long paralyzed her hands and brain. In the
Netherlands, where the attachment to Rome had never been intense, where
in the old times, the Bishops of Utrecht had been rather Ghibelline than
Guelph, where all the earlier sects of dissenters--Waldenses, Lollards,
Hussites--had found numerous converts and thousands of martyrs, it was
inevitable that there should be a response from the popular heart to the
deeper agitation which now reached to the very core of Christendom. In
those provinces, so industrious and energetic, the disgust was likely to
be most easily awakened for a system under which so many friars battened
in luxury upon the toils of others, contributing nothing to the taxation,
nor to the military defence of the country, exercising no productive
avocation, except their trade in indulgences, and squandering in taverns
and brothels the annual sums derived from their traffic in licences to
commit murder, incest, and every other crime known to humanity.

The people were numerous, industrious, accustomed for centuries to a
state of comparative civil freedom, and to a lively foreign trade, by
which their minds were saved from the stagnation of bigotry. It was
natural that they should begin to generalize, and to pass from the
concrete images presented them in the Flemish monasteries to the abstract
character of Rome itself. The Flemish, above all their other qualities,
were a commercial nation. Commerce was the mother of their freedom, so
far as they had acquired it, in civil matters. It was struggling to give
birth to a larger liberty, to freedom of conscience. The provinces were
situated in the very heart of Europe. The blood of a world-wide traffic
was daily coursing through the thousand arteries of that water-in-woven
territory. There was a mutual exchange between the Netherlands and all
the world; and ideas were as liberally interchanged as goods. Truth was
imported as freely as less precious merchandise. The psalms of Marot were
as current as the drugs of Molucca or the diamonds of Borneo. The
prohibitory measures of a despotic government could not annihilate this
intellectual trade, nor could bigotry devise an effective quarantine to
exclude the religious pest which lurked in every bale of merchandise, and
was wafted on every breeze from East and West.

The edicts of the Emperor had been endured, but not accepted. The
horrible persecution under which so many thousands had sunk had produced
its inevitable result. Fertilized by all this innocent blood, the soil of
the Netherlands became as a watered garden, in which liberty, civil and
religious, was to flourish perennially. The scaffold had its daily
victims, but did not make a single convert. The statistics of these
crimes will perhaps never be accurately adjusted, nor will it be
ascertained whether the famous estimate of Grotius was an exaggerated or
an inadequate calculation. Those who love horrible details may find ample
material. The chronicles contain the lists of these obscure martyrs; but
their names, hardly pronounced in their life-time, sound barbarously in
our ears, and will never ring through the trumpet of fame. Yet they were
men who dared and suffered as much as men can dare and suffer in this
world, and for the noblest cause which can inspire humanity. Fanatics
they certainly were not, if fanaticism consists in show, without
corresponding substance. For them all was terrible reality. The Emperor
and his edicts were realities, the axe, the stake were realities, and the
heroism with which men took each other by the hand and walked into the
flames, or with which women sang a song of triumph while the grave-digger
was shovelling the earth upon their living faces, was a reality also.

Thus, the people of the Netherlands were already pervaded, throughout the
whole extent of the country, with the expanding spirit of religious
reformation. It was inevitable that sooner or later an explosion was to
arrive. They were placed between two great countries, where the new
principles had already taken root. The Lutheranism of Germany and the
Calvinism of France had each its share in producing the Netherland
revolt, but a mistake is perhaps often made in estimating the relative
proportion of these several influences. The Reformation first entered the
provinces, not through the Augsburg, but the Huguenot gate. The fiery
field-preachers from the south of France first inflamed the excitable
hearts of the kindred population of the south-western Netherlands. The
Walloons were the first to rebel against and the first to reconcile
themselves with papal Rome, exactly as their Celtic ancestors, fifteen
centuries earlier, had been foremost in the revolt against imperial Rome,
and precipitate in their submission to her overshadowing power. The
Batavians, slower to be moved but more steadfast, retained the impulse
which they received from the same source which was already agitating
their "Welsh" compatriots. There were already French preachers at
Valenciennes and Tournay, to be followed, as we shall have occasion to
see, by many others. Without undervaluing the influence of the German
Churches, and particularly of the garrison-preaching of the German
military chaplains in the Netherlands, it may be safely asserted that the
early Reformers of the provinces were mainly Huguenots in their belief:
The Dutch Church became, accordingly, not Lutheran, but Calvinistic, and
the founder of the commonwealth hardly ceased to be a nominal Catholic
before he became an adherent to the same creed.

In the mean time, it is more natural to regard the great movement,
psychologically speaking, as a whole, whether it revealed itself in
France, Germany, the Netherlands, England, or Scotland. The policy of
governments, national character, individual interests, and other
collateral circumstances, modified the result; but the great cause was
the same; the source of all the movements was elemental, natural, and
single. The Reformation in Germany had been adjourned for half a century
by the Augsburg religious peace, just concluded. It was held in suspense
in France through the Macchiavellian policy which Catharine de Medici had
just adopted, and was for several years to prosecute, of balancing one
party against the other, so as to neutralize all power but her own. The
great contest was accordingly transferred to the Netherlands, to be
fought out for the rest of the century, while the whole of Christendom
were to look anxiously for the result. From the East and from the West
the clouds rolled away, leaving a comparatively bright and peaceful
atmosphere, only that they might concentrate themselves with portentous
blackness over the devoted soil of the Netherlands. In Germany, the
princes, not the people, had conquered Rome, and to the princes, not the
people, were secured the benefits of the victory--the spoils of churches,
and the right to worship according to conscience. The people had the
right to conform to their ruler's creed, or to depart from his land.
Still, as a matter of fact, many of the princes being Reformers, a large
mass of the population had acquired the privilege for their own
generation and that of their children to practise that religion which
they actually approved. This was a fact, and a more comfortable one than
the necessity of choosing between what they considered wicked idolatry
and the stake--the only election left to their Netherland brethren. In
France, the accidental splinter from Montgomery's lance had deferred the
Huguenot massacre for a dozen years. During the period in which the Queen
Regent was resolved to play her fast and loose policy, all the
persuasions of Philip and the arts of Alva were powerless to induce her
to carry out the scheme which Henry had revealed to Orange in the forest
of Vincennes. When the crime came at last, it was as blundering as it was
bloody; at once premeditated and accidental; the isolated execution of an
interregal conspiracy, existing for half a generation, yet exploding
without concert; a wholesale massacre, but a piecemeal plot.

The aristocracy and the masses being thus, from a variety of causes, in
this agitated and dangerous condition, what were the measures of the
government?

The edict of 1550 had been re-enacted immediately after Philip's
accession to sovereignty. It is necessary that the reader should be made
acquainted with some of the leading provisions of this famous document,
thus laid down above all the constitutions as the organic law of the
land. A few plain facts, entirely without rhetorical varnish, will prove
more impressive in this case than superfluous declamation. The American
will judge whether the wrongs inflicted by Laud and Charles upon his
Puritan ancestors were the severest which a people has had to undergo,
and whether the Dutch Republic does not track its source to the same
high, religious origin as that of our own commonwealth.

"No one," said the edict, "shall print, write, copy, keep, conceal, sell,
buy or give in churches, streets, or other places, any book or writing
made by Martin Luther, John Ecolampadius, Ulrich Zwinglius, Martin Bucer,
John Calvin, or other heretics reprobated by the Holy Church; nor break,
or otherwise injure the images of the holy virgin or canonized saints....
nor in his house hold conventicles, or illegal gatherings, or be present
at any such in which the adherents of the above-mentioned heretics teach,
baptize, and form conspiracies against the Holy Church and the general
welfare..... Moreover, we forbid," continues the edict, in name of the
sovereign, "all lay persons to converse or dispute concerning the Holy
Scriptures, openly or secretly, especially on any doubtful or difficult
matters, or to read, teach, or expound the Scriptures, unless they have
duly studied theology and been approved by some renowned university.....
or to preach secretly, or openly, or to entertain any of the opinions of
the above-mentioned heretics..... on pain, should anyone be found to have
contravened any of the points above-mentioned, as perturbators of our
state and of the general quiet, to be punished in the following manner."
And how were they to be punished? What was the penalty inflicted upon the
man or woman who owned a hymn-book, or who hazarded the opinion in
private, that Luther was not quite wrong in doubting the power of a monk
to sell for money the license to commit murder or incest; or upon the
parent, not being a Roman Catholic doctor of divinity, who should read
Christ's Sermon on the Mount to his children in his own parlor or shop?
How were crimes like these to be visited upon the transgressor? Was it by
reprimand, fine, imprisonment, banishment, or by branding on the
forehead, by the cropping of the ears or the slitting of nostrils, as was
practised upon the Puritan fathers of New England for their
nonconformity? It was by a sharper chastisement than any of these
methods. The Puritan fathers of the Dutch Republic had to struggle
against a darker doom. The edict went on to provide--

"That such perturbators of the general quiet are to be executed, to wit:
the men with the sword and the women to be buried alive, if they do not
persist in their errors; if they do persist in them, then they are to be
executed with fire; all their property in both cases being confiscated to
the crown."

Thus, the clemency of the sovereign permitted the repentant heretic to be
beheaded or buried, alive, instead of being burned.

The edict further provided against all misprision of heresy by making
those who failed to betray the suspected liable to the same punishment as
if suspected or convicted themselves: "we forbid," said the decree, "all
persons to lodge, entertain, furnish with food, fire, or clothing, or
otherwise to favor any one holden or notoriously suspected of being a
heretic; . . . and any one failing to denounce any such we ordain shall
be liable to the above-mentioned punishments."

The edict went on to provide, "that if any person, being not convicted of
heresy or error, but greatly suspected thereof, and therefore condemned
by the spiritual judge to abjure such heresy, or by the secular
magistrate to make public fine and reparation, shall again become
suspected or tainted with heresy--although it should not appear that
he has contravened or violated any one of our abovementioned
commands--nevertheless, we do will and ordain that such person shall be
considered as relapsed, and, as such, be punished with loss of life and
property, without any hope of moderation or mitigation of the
above-mentioned penalties."

Furthermore, it was decreed, that "the spiritual judges, desiring to
proceed against any one for the crime of heresy, shall request any of our
sovereign courts or provincial councils to appoint any one of their
college, or such other adjunct as the council shall select, to preside
over the proceedings to be instituted against the suspected. All who know
of any person tainted with heresy are required to denounce and give them
up to all judges, officers of the bishops, or others having authority on
the premises, on pain of being punished according to the pleasure of the
judge. Likewise, all shall be obliged, who know of any place where such
heretics keep themselves, to declare them to the authorities, on pain of
being held as accomplices, and punished as such heretics themselves would
be if apprehended."

In order to secure the greatest number of arrests by a direct appeal to
the most ignoble, but not the least powerful principle of human nature,
it was ordained "that the informer, in case of conviction, should be
entitled to one half the property of the accused, if not more than one
hundred pounds Flemish; if more, then ten per cent. of all such excess."

Treachery to one's friends was encouraged by the provision, "that if any
man being present at any secret conventicle, shall afterwards come
forward and betray his fellow-members of the congregation, he shall
receive full pardon."

In order that neither the good people of the Netherlands, nor the judges
and inquisitors should delude themselves with the notion that these
fanatic decrees were only intended to inspire terror, not for practical
execution, the sovereign continued to ordain--"to the end that the judges
and officers may have no reason, under pretext that the penalties are too
great and heavy and only devised to terrify delinquents, to punish them
less severely than they deserve--that the culprits be really punished by
the penalties above declared; forbidding all judges to alter or moderate
the penalties in any manner forbidding any one, of whatsoever condition,
to ask of us, or of any one having authority, to grant pardon, or to
present any petition in favor of such heretics, exiles, or fugitives, on
penalty of being declared forever incapable of civil and military office,
and of being, arbitrarily punished besides."

Such were the leading provisions of this famous edict, originally
promulgated in 1550 as a recapitulation and condensation of all the
previous ordinances of the Emperor upon religious subjects. By its style
and title it was a perpetual edict, and, according to one of its clauses,
was to be published forever, once in every six months, in every city and
village of the Netherlands. It had been promulgated at Augsburg, where
the Emperor was holding a diet, upon the 25th of September. Its severity
had so appalled the Dowager Queen of Hungary, that she had made a journey
to Augsburg expressly to procure a mitigation of some of its provisions.
The principal alteration which she was able to obtain of the Emperor was,
however, in the phraseology only. As a concession to popular, prejudice,
the words "spiritual judges" were substituted for "inquisitors" wherever
that expression had occurred in the original draft.

The edict had been re-enacted by the express advice of the Bishop of
Arras, immediately on the accession of Philip: The prelate knew the value
of the Emperor's name; he may have thought, also, that it would be
difficult to increase the sharpness of the ordinances. "I advised the
King," says Granvelle, in a letter written a few years later, "to make no
change in the placards, but to proclaim the text drawn up by the Emperor,
republishing the whole as the King's edict, with express insertion of the
phrase, 'Carolus,' etc. I recommended this lest men should calumniate his
Majesty as wishing to introduce novelties in the matter of religion."

This edict, containing the provisions which have been laid before the
reader, was now to be enforced with the utmost rigor; every official
personage, from the stadholders down, having received the most stringent
instructions to that effect, under Philip's own hand. This was the first
gift of Philip and of Granvelle to the Netherlands; of the monarch who
said of himself that he had always, "from the beginning of his
government, followed the path of clemency, according to his natural
disposition, so well known to all the world;" of the prelate who said of
himself, "that he had ever combated the opinion that any thing could be
accomplished by terror, death, and violence."

During the period of the French and Papal war, it has been seen that the
execution of these edicts had been permitted to slacken. It was now
resumed with redoubled fury. Moreover, a new measure had increased the
disaffection and dismay of the people, already sufficiently filled with
apprehension. As an additional security for the supremacy of the ancient
religion, it had been thought desirable that the number of bishops should
be increased. There were but four sees in the Netherlands, those of
Arras, Cambray, Tournay, and Utrecht. That of Utrecht was within the
archiepiscopate of Cologne; the other three were within that of Rheims.
It seemed proper that the prelates of the Netherlands should owe no
extraprovincial allegiance. It was likewise thought that three millions
of souls required more than four spiritual superintendents. At any rate,
whatever might be the interest of the flocks, it was certain that those
broad and fertile pastures would sustain more than the present number of
shepherds. The wealth of the religious houses in the provinces was very
great. The abbey of Afflighem alone had a revenue of fifty thousand
florins, and there were many others scarcely inferior in wealth. But
these institutions were comparatively independent both of King and Pope.
Electing their own superiors from time to time, in nowise desirous of any
change by which their ease might be disturbed and their riches
endangered, the honest friars were not likely to engage in any very
vigorous crusade against heresy, nor for the sake of introducing or
strengthening Spanish institutions, which they knew to be abominated by
the people, to take the risk, of driving all their disciples into revolt
and apostacy. Comforting themselves with an Erasmian philosophy, which
they thought best suited to the times, they were as little likely as the
Sage of Rotterdam himself would have been, to make martyrs of themselves
for the sake of extirpating Calvinism. The abbots and monks were, in
political matters, very much under the influence of the great nobles, in
whose company they occupied the benches of the upper house of the
States-general.

Doctor Francis Sonnius had been sent on a mission to the Pope, for the
purpose of representing the necessity of an increase in the episcopal
force of the Netherlands. Just as the King was taking his departure, the
commissioner arrived, bringing with him the Bull of Paul the Fourth,
dated May 18, 1559. This was afterwards confirmed by that of Pius the
Fourth, in January of the following year. The document stated that "Paul
the Fourth, slave of slaves, wishing to provide for the welfare of the
provinces and the eternal salvation of their inhabitants, had determined
to plant in that fruitful field several new bishoprics. The enemy of
mankind being abroad," said the Bull, "in so many forms at that
particular time, and the Netherlands, then under the sway of that beloved
son of his holiness, Philip the Catholic, being compassed about with
heretic and schismatic nations, it was believed that the eternal welfare
of the land was in great danger. At the period of the original
establishment of Cathedral churches, the provinces had been sparsely
peopled; they had now become filled to overflowing, so that the original
ecclesiastical arrangement did not suffice. The harvest was plentiful,
but the laborers were few."

In consideration of these and other reasons, three archbishoprics were
accordingly appointed. That of Mechlin was to be principal, under which
were constituted six bishoprics, those, namely, of Antwerp, Bois le Due,
Rurmond, Ghent, Bruges and Ypres. That of Cambray was second, with the
four subordinate dioceses of Tournay, Arras, Saint Omer and Namur. The
third archbishopric was that of Utrecht, with the five sees of Haarlem,
Middelburg, Leeuwarden, Groningen and Deventer.

The nomination to these important offices was granted to the King,
subject to confirmation by the Pope. Moreover, it was ordained by the
Bull that "each bishop should appoint nine additional prebendaries, who
were to assist him in the matter of the inquisition throughout his
bishopric, two of whom were themselves to be inquisitors."

To sustain these two great measures, through which Philip hoped once and
forever to extinguish the Netherland heresy, it was considered desirable
that the Spanish troops still remaining in the provinces, should be kept
there indefinitely.

The force was not large, amounting hardly to four thousand men, but they
were unscrupulous, and admirably disciplined. As the entering wedge, by
which a military and ecclesiastical despotism was eventually to be forced
into the very heart of the land, they were invaluable. The moral effect
to be hoped from the regular presence of a Spanish standing army during a
time of peace in the Netherlands could hardly be exaggerated. Philip was
therefore determined to employ every argument and subterfuge to detain
the troops.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     Ruinous honors
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 6.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1560-1561  [CHAPTER II.]

   Agitation in the Netherlands--The ancient charters resorted to as
   barriers against the measures of government--"Joyous entrance" of
   Brabant--Constitution of Holland--Growing unpopularity of Antony
   Perrenot, Archbishop of Mechlin--Opposition to the new bishoprics,
   by Orange, Egmont, and other influential nobles--Fury of the people
   at the continued presence of the foreign soldiery--Orange resigns
   the command of the legion--The troops recalled--Philip's personal
   attention to the details of persecution--Perrenot becomes Cardinal
   de Granvelle--All the power of government in his hands--His
   increasing unpopularity--Animosity and violence of Egmont towards
   the Cardinal--Relations between Orange and Granvelle--Ancient
   friendship gradually changing to enmity--Renewal of the magistracy
   at Antwerp--Quarrel between the Prince and Cardinal--Joint letter of
   Orange and Egmont to the King--Answer of the King--Indignation of
   Philip against Count Horn--Secret correspondence between the King
   and Cardinal--Remonstrances against the new bishoprics--Philip's
   private financial statements--Penury of the exchequer in Spain and
   in the provinces--Plan for debasing the coin--Marriage of William
   the Silent with the Princess of Lorraine circumvented--Negotiations
   for his matrimonial alliance with Princess Anna of Saxony--
   Correspondence between Granvelle and Philip upon the subject--
   Opposition of Landgrave Philip and of Philip the Second--Character
   and conduct of Elector Augustus--Mission of Count Schwartzburg--
   Communications of Orange to the King and to Duchess Margaret--
   Characteristic letter of Philip--Artful conduct of Granvelle and of
   the Regent--Visit of Orange to Dresden--Proposed "note" of Elector
   Augustus--Refusal of the Prince--Protest of the Landgrave against
   the marriage--Preparations for the wedding at Leipzig--Notarial
   instrument drawn up on the marriage day--Wedding ceremonies and
   festivities--Entrance of Granvelle into Mechlin as Archbishop--
   Compromise in Brabant between the abbeys and bishops.

The years 1560 and 1561 were mainly occupied with the agitation and
dismay produced by the causes set forth in the preceding chapter.

Against the arbitrary policy embodied in the edicts, the new bishoprics
and the foreign soldiery, the Netherlanders appealed to their ancient
constitutions. These charters were called "handvests" in the vernacular
Dutch and Flemish, because the sovereign made them fast with his hand. As
already stated, Philip had made them faster than any of the princes of
his house had ever done, so far as oath and signature could accomplish
that purpose, both as hereditary prince in 1549, and as monarch in 1555.
The reasons for the extensive and unconditional manner in which he swore
to support the provincial charters, have been already indicated.

Of these constitutions, that of Brabant, known by the title of the
'joyeuse entree, blyde inkomst', or blithe entrance, furnished the most
decisive barrier against the present wholesale tyranny. First and
foremost, the "joyous entry" provided "that the prince of the land should
not elevate the clerical state higher than of old has been customary and
by former princes settled; unless by consent of the other two estates,
the nobility and the cities."

Again; "the prince can prosecute no one of his subjects nor any foreign
resident, civilly or criminally, except in the ordinary and open courts
of justice in the province, where the accused may answer and defend
himself with the help of advocates."

Further; "the prince shall appoint no foreigners to office in Brabant."

Lastly; "should the prince, by force or otherwise, violate any of these
privileges, the inhabitants of Brabant, after regular protest entered,
are discharged of their oaths of allegiance, and as free, independent and
unbound people, may conduct themselves exactly as seems to them best."

Such were the leading features, so far as they regarded the points now at
issue, of that famous constitution which was so highly esteemed in the
Netherlands, that mothers came to the province in order to give birth to
their children, who might thus enjoy, as a birthright, the privileges of
Brabant. Yet the charters of the other provinces ought to have been as
effective against the arbitrary course of the government. "No foreigner,"
said the constitution of Holland, "is eligible as, councillor, financier,
magistrate, or member of a court. Justice can be administered only by the
ordinary tribunals and magistrates. The ancient laws and customs shall
remain inviolable. Should the prince infringe any of these provisions, no
one is bound to obey him."

These provisions, from the Brabant and Holland charters, are only cited
as illustrative of the general spirit of the provincial constitutions.
Nearly all the provinces possessed privileges equally ample, duly signed
and sealed. So far as ink and sealing wax could defend a land against
sword and fire, the Netherlands were impregnable against the edicts and
the renewed episcopal inquisition. Unfortunately, all history shows how
feeble are barriers of paper or lambskin, even when hallowed with a
monarch's oath, against the torrent of regal and ecclesiastical
absolutism. It was on the reception in the provinces of the new and
confirmatory Bull concerning the bishoprics, issued in January, 1560,
that the measure became known, and the dissatisfaction manifest. The
discontent was inevitable and universal. The ecclesiastical establishment
which was not to be enlarged or elevated but by consent of the estates,
was suddenly expanded into three archiepiscopates and fifteen bishoprics.
The administration of justice, which was only allowed in free and local
courts, distinct for each province, was to be placed, so far as regarded
the most important of human interests, in the, hands of bishops and their
creatures, many of them foreigners and most of them monks. The lives and
property of the whole population were to be at the mercy of these utterly
irresponsible conclaves. All classes were outraged. The nobles were
offended because ecclesiastics, perhaps foreign ecclesiastics, were to be
empowered to sit in the provincial estates and to control their
proceedings in place of easy, indolent, ignorant abbots and friars, who
had generally accepted the influence of the great seignors. The priests
were enraged because the religious houses were thus taken out of their
control and confiscated to a bench of bishops, usurping the places of
those superiors who had formally been elected by and among themselves.
The people were alarmed because the monasteries, although not respected
nor popular, were at least charitable and without ambition to exercise
ecclesiastical cruelty; while, on the other hand, by the new episcopal
arrangements, a force of thirty new inquisitors was added to the
apparatus for enforcing orthodoxy already established. The odium of the
measure was placed upon the head of that churchman, already appointed
Archbishop of Mechlin, and soon to be known as Cardinal Granvelle. From
this time forth, this prelate began to be regarded with a daily
increasing aversion. He was looked upon as the incarnation of all the
odious measures which had been devised; as the source of that policy of
absolutism which revealed itself more and more rapidly after the King's
departure from the country. It was for this reason that so much stress
was laid by popular clamor upon the clause prohibiting foreigners from
office. Granvelle was a Burgundian; his father had passed most of his
active life in Spain, while both he and his more distinguished son were
identified in the general mind with Spanish politics. To this prelate,
then, were ascribed the edicts, the new bishoprics, and the continued
presence of the foreign troops. The people were right as regarded the
first accusation. They were mistaken as to the other charges.

The King had not consulted Anthony Perrenot with regard to the creation
of the new bishoprics. The measure, which had been successively
contemplated by Philip "the Good," by Charles the Bold, and by the
Emperor Charles, had now been carried out by Philip the Second, without
the knowledge of the new Archbishop of Mechlin. The King had for once
been able to deceive the astuteness of the prelate, and had concealed
from him the intended arrangement, until the arrival of Sonnius with the
Bulls. Granvelle gave the reasons for this mystery with much simplicity.
"His Majesty knew," he said, "that I should oppose it, as it was more
honorable and lucrative to be one of four than one of eighteen." In fact,
according to his own statement, he lost money by becoming archbishop of
Mechlin, and ceasing to be Bishop of Arras. For these reasons he
declined, more than once, the proffered dignity, and at last only
accepted it from fear of giving offence to the King, and after having
secured compensation for his alleged losses. In the same letter (of 29th
May, 1560) in which he thanked Philip for conferring upon him the rich
abbey of Saint Armand, which he had solicited, in addition to the
"merced" in ready money, concerning the safe investment of which he had
already sent directions, he observed that he was now willing to accept
the archbishopric of Mechlin; notwithstanding the odium attached to the
measure, notwithstanding his feeble powers, and notwithstanding that,
during the life of the Bishop of Tournay, who was then in rude health, he
could only receive three thousand ducats of the revenue, giving up Arras
and gaining nothing in Mechlin; notwithstanding all this, and a thousand
other things besides, he assured his Majesty that, "since the royal
desire was so strong that he should accept, he would consider nothing so
difficult that he would not at least attempt it." Having made up his mind
to take the see and support the new arrangements, he was resolved that
his profits should be as large as possible. We have seen how he had
already been enabled to indemnify himself. We shall find him soon
afterwards importuning the King for the Abbey of Afflighem, the enormous
revenue of which the prelate thought would make another handsome addition
to the rewards of his sacrifices. At the same time, he was most anxious
that the people, and particularly the great nobles, should not ascribe
the new establishment to him, as they persisted in doing. "They say that
the episcopates were devised to gratify my ambition," he wrote to Philip
two years later; "whereas your Majesty knows how steadily I refused the
see of Mechlin, and that I only accepted it in order not to live in
idleness, doing nothing for God and your Majesty." He therefore
instructed Philip, on several occasions, to make it known to the
government of the Regent, to the seignors, and to the country generally,
that the measure had been arranged without his knowledge; that the
Marquis Berghen had known of it first, and that the prelate had, in
truth, been kept in the dark on the subject until the arrival of Sonnius
with the Bulls. The King, always docile to his minister, accordingly
wrote to the Duchess the statements required, in almost the exact
phraseology suggested; taking pains to repeat the declarations on several
occasions, both by letter and by word of mouth, to many influential
persons.

The people, however, persisted in identifying the Bishop with the scheme.
They saw that he was the head of the new institutions; that he was to
receive the lion's share of the confiscated abbeys, and that he was
foremost in defending and carrying through the measure, in spite of all
opposition. That opposition waxed daily more bitter, till the Cardinal,
notwithstanding that he characterised the arrangement to the King as "a
holy work," and warmly assured Secretary Perez that he would contribute
his fortune, his blood, and his life, to its success, was yet obliged to
exclaim in the bitterness of his spirit, "Would to God that the erection
of these new sees had never been thought of. Amen! Amen!"

Foremost in resistance was the Prince of Orange. Although a Catholic, he
had no relish for the horrible persecution which had been determined
upon. The new bishoprics he characterized afterwards as parts "of one
grand scheme for establishing the cruel inquisition of Spain; the said
bishops to serve as inquisitors, burners of bodies; and tyrants of
conscience: two prebendaries in each see being actually constituted
inquisitors." For this reason he omitted no remonstrance on the subject
to the Duchess, to Granvelle, and by direct letters to the King. His
efforts were seconded by Egmont, Berghen, and other influential nobles.
Even Berlaymont was at first disposed to side with the opposition, but
upon the argument used by the Duchess, that the bishoprics and prebends
would furnish excellent places for his sons and other members of the
aristocracy, he began warmly to support the measure. Most of the labor,
however, and all the odium, of the business fell upon the Bishop's
shoulders. There was still a large fund of loyalty left in the popular
mind, which not even forty years of the Emperor's dominion had consumed,
and which Philip was destined to draw upon as prodigally as if the
treasure had been inexhaustible. For these reasons it still seemed most
decorous to load all the hatred upon the minister's back, and to retain
the consolatory formula, that Philip was a prince, "clement, benign, and
debonair."

The Bishop, true to his habitual conviction, that words, with the people,
are much more important than things, was disposed to have the word
"inquisitor" taken out of the text of the new decree. He was anxious at
this juncture to make things pleasant, and he saw no reason why men
should be unnecessarily startled. If the inquisition could be practised,
and the heretics burned, he was in favor of its being done comfortably.
The word "inquisitor" was unpopular, almost indecent. It was better to
suppress the term and retain the thing. "People are afraid to speak of
the new bishoprics," he wrote to Perez, "on account of the clause
providing that of nine canons one shall be inquisitor. Hence people fear
the Spanish inquisition."--He, therefore, had written to the King to
suggest instead, that the canons or graduates should be obliged to assist
the Bishop, according as he might command. Those terms would suffice,
because, although not expressly stated, it was clear that the Bishop was
an ordinary inquisitor; but it was necessary to expunge words that gave
offence.

It was difficult, however, with all the Bishop's eloquence and dexterity,
to construct an agreeable inquisition. The people did not like it, in any
shape, and there were indications, not to be mistaken, that one day there
would be a storm which it would be beyond human power to assuage. At
present the people directed their indignation only upon a part of the
machinery devised for their oppression. The Spanish troops were
considered as a portion of the apparatus by which the new bishoprics and
the edicts were to be forced into execution. Moreover, men were, weary of
the insolence and the pillage which these mercenaries had so long
exercised in the land. When the King had been first requested to withdraw
them, we have seen that he had burst into a violent passion. He had
afterward dissembled. Promising, at last, that they should all be sent
from the country within three or four months after his departure, he had
determined to use every artifice to detain them in the provinces. He had
succeeded, by various subterfuges, in keeping them there fourteen months;
but it was at last evident that their presence would no longer be
tolerated. Towards the close of 1560 they were quartered in Walcheren and
Brill. The Zelanders, however, had become so exasperated by their
presence that they resolutely refused to lay a single hand upon the
dykes, which, as usual at that season, required great repairs. Rather
than see their native soil profaned any longer by these hated foreign
mercenaries, they would see it sunk forever in the ocean. They swore to
perish-men, women, and children together-in the waves, rather than endure
longer the outrages which the soldiery daily inflicted. Such was the
temper of the Zelanders that it was not thought wise to trifle with their
irritation. The Bishop felt that it was no longer practicable to detain
the troops, and that all the pretext devised by Philip and his government
had become ineffectual. In a session of the State Council, held on the
25th October, 1560, he represented in the strongest terms to the Regent
the necessity for the final departure of the troops. Viglius, who knew
the character of his countrymen, strenuously seconded the proposal.
Orange briefly but firmly expressed the same opinion, declining any
longer to serve as commander of the legion, an office which, in
conjunction with Egmont, he had accepted provisionally, with the best of
motives, and on the pledge of Philip that the soldiers should be
withdrawn. The Duchess urged that the order should at least be deferred
until the arrival of Count Egmont, then in Spain, but the proposition was
unanimously negatived.

Letters were accordingly written, in the name of the Regent, to the King.
It was stated that the measure could no longer be delayed, that the
provinces all agreed in this point, that so long as the foreigners
remained not a stiver should be paid into the treasury; that if they had
once set sail, the necessary amount for their arrears would be furnished
to the government; but that if they should return it was probable that
they would be resisted by the inhabitants with main force, and that they
would only be allowed to enter the cities through a breach in their wall.
It was urged, moreover, that three or four thousand Spaniards would not
be sufficient to coerce all the provinces, and that there was not money
enough in the royal exchequer to pay the wages of a single company of the
troops. "It cuts me to the heart," wrote the Bishop to Philip, "to see
the Spanish infantry leave us; but go they must. Would to God that we
could devise any pretext, as your Majesty desires, under which to keep
them here! We have tried all means humanly possible for retaining them,
but I see no way to do it without putting the provinces in manifest
danger of sudden revolt."

Fortunately for the dignity of the government, or for the repose of the
country, a respectable motive was found for employing the legion
elsewhere. The important loss which Spain had recently met with in the
capture of Zerby made a reinforcement necessary in the army engaged in
the Southern service. Thus, the disaster in Barbary at last relieved the
Netherlands of the pest which had afflicted them so long. For a brief
breathing space the country was cleared of foreign mercenaries.

The growing unpopularity of the royal government, still typified,
however, in the increasing hatred entertained for the Bishop, was not
materially diminished by the departure of the Spaniards. The edicts and
the bishoprics were still there, even if the soldiers were gone. The
churchman worked faithfully to accomplish his master's business. Philip,
on his side, was industrious to bring about the consummation of his
measures. Ever occupied with details, the monarch, from his palace in
Spain, sent frequent informations against the humblest individuals in the
Netherlands. It is curious to observe the minute reticulations of tyranny
which he had begun already to spin about a whole, people, while cold,
venomous, and patient he watched his victims from the centre of his web.
He forwarded particular details to the Duchess and Cardinal concerning a
variety of men and women, sending their names, ages, personal appearance,
occupations, and residence, together with directions for their immediate
immolation. Even the inquisitors of Seville were set to work to increase,
by means of their branches or agencies in the provinces, the royal
information on this all-important subject. "There are but few of us left
in the world," he moralized in a letter to the Bishop, "who care for
religion. 'Tis necessary, therefore, for us to take the greater heed for
Christianity. We must lose our all, if need be, in order to do our duty;
in fine," added he, with his usual tautology, "it is right that a man
should do his duty."

Granvelle--as he must now be called, for his elevation to the
cardinalship will be immediately alluded to--wrote to assure the King
that every pains would be taken to ferret out and execute the individuals
complained of. He bewailed, however, the want of heartiness on the part
of the Netherland inquisitors and judges. "I find," said he, "that all
judicial officers go into the matter of executing the edicts with
reluctance, which I believe is caused by their fear of displeasing the
populace. When they do act they do it but languidly, and when these
matters are not taken in hand with the necessary liveliness, the fruit
desired is not gathered. We do not fail to exhort and to command them to
do their work." He added that Viglius and Berlaymont displayed laudable
zeal, but that he could not say as much for the Council of Brabant. Those
councillors "were forever prating," said he, "of the constitutional
rights of their province, and deserved much less commendation."

The popularity of the churchman, not increased by these desperate
exertions to force an inhuman policy upon an unfortunate nation, received
likewise no addition from his new elevation in rank. During the latter
part of the year 1560, Margaret of Parma, who still entertained a
profound admiration of the prelate, and had not yet begun to chafe under
his smooth but imperious dominion, had been busy in preparing for him a
delightful surprise. Without either his knowledge or that of the King,
she had corresponded with the Pope, and succeeded in obtaining, as a
personal favor to herself, the Cardinal's hat for Anthony Perrenot. In
February, 1561, Cardinal Borromeo wrote to announce that the coveted
dignity had been bestowed. The Duchess hastened, with joyous alacrity, to
communicate the intelligence to the Bishop, but was extremely hurt to
find that he steadily refused to assume his new dignity, until he had
written to the King to announce the appointment, and to ask his
permission to accept the honor. The Duchess, justly wounded at his
refusal to accept from her hands the favor which she, and she only, had
obtained for him, endeavored in vain to overcome his pertinacity. She
represented that although Philip was not aware of the application or the
appointment, he was certain to regard it as an agreeable surprise. She
urged, moreover, that his temporary refusal would be misconstrued at
Rome, where it would certainly excite ridicule, and very possibly give
offence in the highest quarter. The Bishop was inexorable. He feared,
says his panegyrist, that he might one day be on worse terms than at
present with the Duchess, and that then she might reproach him with her
former benefits. He feared also that the King might, in consequence of
the step, not look with satisfaction upon him at some future period, when
he might stand in need of his favors. He wrote, accordingly, a most
characteristic letter to Philip, in which he informed him that he had
been honored with the Cardinal's hat. He observed that many persons were
already congratulating him, but that before he made any demonstration of
accepting or refusing, he waited for his Majesty's orders: upon his will
he wished ever to depend. He also had the coolness, under the
circumstances, to express his conviction that "it was his Majesty who had
secretly procured this favor from his Holiness."

The King received the information very graciously, observing in reply,
that although he had never made any suggestion of the kind, he had "often
thought upon the subject." The royal command was of course at once
transmitted, that the dignity should be accepted. By special favor,
moreover, the Pope dispensed the new Cardinal from the duty of going to
Rome in person, and despatched his chamberlain, Theophilus Friso, to
Brussels, with the red hat and tabbard.

The prelate, having thus reached the dignity to which he had long
aspired, did not grow more humble in his deportment, or less zealous in
the work through which he had already gained so much wealth and
preferment. His conduct with regard to the edicts and bishoprics had
already brought him into relations which were far from amicable with his
colleagues in the council. More and more he began to take the control of
affairs into his own hand. The consulta, or secret committee of the state
council, constituted the real government of the country. Here the most
important affairs were decided upon without the concurrence of the other
seignors, Orange, Egmont, and Glayon, who, at the same time, were held
responsible for the action of government. The Cardinal was smooth in
manner, plausible of speech, generally even-tempered, but he was
overbearing and blandly insolent. Accustomed to control royal personages,
under the garb of extreme obsequiousness, he began, in his intercourse
with those of less exalted rank, to omit a portion of the subserviency
while claiming a still more undisguised authority. To nobles like Egmont
and Orange, who looked down upon the son of Nicolas Perrenot and Nicola
Bonvalot as a person immeasurably beneath themselves in the social
hierarchy, this conduct was sufficiently irritating. The Cardinal, placed
as far above Philip, and even Margaret, in mental power as he was beneath
them in worldly station, found it comparatively easy to deal with them
amicably. With such a man as Egmont, it was impossible for the churchman
to maintain friendly relations. The Count, who notwithstanding his
romantic appearance, his brilliant exploits, and his interesting destiny,
was but a commonplace character, soon conceived a mortal aversion to
Granvelle. A rude soldier, entertaining no respect for science or
letters, ignorant and overbearing, he was not the man to submit to the
airs of superiority which pierced daily more and more decidedly through
the conventional exterior of the Cardinal. Granvelle, on the other hand,
entertained a gentle contempt for Egmont, which manifested itself in all
his private letters to the King, and was sufficiently obvious in his
deportment. There had also been distinct causes of animosity between
them. The governorship of Hesdin having become vacant, Egmont, backed by
Orange and other nobles, had demanded it for the Count de Roeulx, a
gentleman of the Croy family, who, as well as his father, had rendered
many important services to the crown. The appointment was, however,
bestowed, through Granvelle's influence, upon the Seigneur d'Helfault, a
gentleman of mediocre station and character, who was thought to possess
no claims whatever to the office. Egmont, moreover, desired the abbey of
Trulle for a poor relation of his own; but the Cardinal, to whom nothing
in this way ever came amiss, had already obtained the King's permission
to, appropriate the abbey to himself Egmont was now furious against the
prelate, and omitted no opportunity of expressing his aversion, both in
his presence and behind his back. On one occasion, at least, his wrath
exploded in something more than words. Exasperated by Granvelle's
polished insolence in reply to his own violent language, he drew his
dagger upon him in the presence of the Regent herself, "and," says a
contemporary, "would certainly have sent the Cardinal into the next world
had he not been forcibly restrained by the Prince of Orange and other
persons present, who warmly represented to him that such griefs were to
be settled by deliberate advice, not by choler." At the same time, while
scenes like these were occurring in the very bosom of the state council,
Granvelle, in his confidential letters to secretary Perez, asserted
warmly that all reports of a want of harmony between himself and the
other seignors and councillors were false, and that the best relations
existed among them all. It was not his intention, before it should be
necessary, to let the King doubt his ability to govern the counsel
according to the secret commission with which he had been invested.

His relations with Orange were longer in changing from friendship to open
hostility. In the Prince the Cardinal met his match. He found himself
confronted by an intellect as subtle, an experience as fertile in
expedients, a temper as even, and a disposition sometimes as haughty as
his own. He never affected to undervalue the mind of Orange. "'Tis a man
of profound genius, vast ambition--dangerous, acute, politic," he wrote
to the King at a very early period. The original relations between
himself and the Prince bad been very amicable. It hardly needed the
prelate's great penetration to be aware that the friendship of so exalted
a personage as the youthful heir to the principality of Orange, and to
the vast possessions of the Chalons-Nassau house in Burgundy and the
Netherlands, would be advantageous to the ambitious son of the Burgundian
Councillor Granvelle. The young man was the favorite of the Emperor from
boyhood; his high rank, and his remarkable talents marked him
indisputably for one of the foremost men of the coming reign. Therefore
it was politic in Perrenot to seize every opportunity of making himself
useful to the Prince. He busied himself with securing, so far as it might
be necessary to secure, the succession of William to his cousin's
principality. It seems somewhat ludicrous for a merit to be made not only
for Granvelle but for the Emperor, that the Prince should have been
allowed to take an inheritance which the will of Rene de Nassau most
unequivocally conferred, and which no living creature disputed. Yet,
because some of the crown lawyers had propounded the dogma that "the son
Of a heretic ought not to succeed," it was gravely stated as an immense
act of clemency upon the part of Charles the Fifth that he had not
confiscated the whole of the young Prince's heritage. In return
Granvelle's brother Jerome had obtained the governorship of the youth,
upon whose majority he had received an honorable military appointment
from his attached pupil. The prelate had afterwards recommended the
marriage with the Count de Buren's heiress, and had used his influence
with the Emperor to overcome certain objections entertained by Charles,
that the Prince, by this great accession of wealth, might be growing too
powerful. On the other hand, there were always many poor relations and
dependents of Granvelle, eager to be benefitted by Orange's patronage,
who lived in the Prince's household, or received handsome appointments
from his generosity. Thus, there had been great intimacy, founded upon
various benefits mutually conferred; for it could hardly be asserted that
the debt of friendship was wholly upon one side.

When Orange arrived in Brussels from a journey, he would go to the
bishop's before alighting at his own house. When the churchman visited
the Prince, he entered his bed-chamber without ceremony before he had
risen; for it was William's custom, through life, to receive intimate
acquaintances, and even to attend to important negotiations of state,
while still in bed.

The show of this intimacy had lasted longer than its substance. Granvelle
was the most politic of men, and the Prince had not served his
apprenticeship at the court of Charles the Fifth to lay himself bare
prematurely to the criticism or the animosity of the Cardinal with the
recklessness of Horn and Egmont. An explosion came at last, however, and
very soon after an exceedingly amicable correspondence between the two
upon the subject of an edict of religious amnesty which Orange was
preparing for his principality, and which Granvelle had recommended him
not to make too lenient. A few weeks after this, the Antwerp magistracy
was to be renewed. The Prince, as hereditary burgrave of that city, was
entitled to a large share of the appointing power in these political
arrangements, which at the moment were of great importance. The citizens
of Antwerp were in a state of excitement on the subject of the new
bishops. They openly, and in the event, successfully resisted the
installation of the new prelate for whom their city had been constituted
a diocese. The Prince was known to be opposed to the measure, and to the
whole system of ecclesiastical persecution. When the nominations for the
new magistracy came before the Regent, she disposed of the whole matter
in the secret consulta, without the knowledge, and in a manner opposed to
the views of Orange. He was then furnished with a list of the new
magistrates, and was informed that he had been selected as commissioner
along with Count Aremberg, to see that the appointments were carried into
effect. The indignation of the Prince was extreme. He had already taken
offence at some insolent expressions upon this topic, which the Cardinal
had permitted himself. He now sent back the commission to the Duchess,
adding, it was said, that he was not her lackey, and that she might send
some one else with her errands. The words were repeated in the state
council. There was a violent altercation--Orange vehemently resenting his
appointment merely to carry out decisions in which he claimed an original
voice. His ancestors, he said, had often changed the whole of the Antwerp
magistracy by their own authority. It was a little too much that this
matter, as well as every other state affair, should be controlled by the
secret committee of which the Cardinal was the chief. Granvelle, on his
side, was also in a rage. He flung from the council-chamber, summoned the
Chancellor of Brabant, and demanded, amid bitter execrations against
Orange, what common and obscure gentleman there might be, whom he could
appoint to execute the commission thus refused by the Prince and by
Aremberg. He vowed that in all important matters he would, on future
occasions, make use of nobles less inflated by pride, and more tractable
than such grand seignors. The chancellor tried in vain to appease the
churchman's wrath, representing that the city of Antwerp would be highly
offended at the turn things were taking, and offering his services to
induce the withdrawal, on the part of the Prince, of the language which
had given so much offence. The Cardinal was inexorable and peremptory. "I
will have nothing to do with the Prince, Master Chancellor," said he,
"and these are matters which concern you not." Thus the conversation
ended, and thus began the open state of hostilities between the great
nobles and the Cardinal, which had been brooding so long.

On the 23rd July, 1561, a few weeks after the scenes lately described,
the Count of Egmont and the Prince of Orange addressed a joint letter to
the King. They reminded him in this despatch that, they had originally
been reluctant to take office in the state council, on account of their
previous experience of the manner in which business had been conducted
during the administration of the Duke of Savoy. They had feared that
important matters of state might be transacted without their concurrence.
The King had, however, assured them, when in Zeland, that all affairs
would be uniformly treated in full council. If the contrary should ever
prove the case, he had desired them to give him information to that
effect, that he might instantly apply the remedy. They accordingly now
gave him that information. They were consulted upon small matters:
momentous affairs were decided upon in their absence. Still they would
not even now have complained had not Cardinal Granvelle declared that all
the members of the state council were to be held responsible for its
measures, whether they were present at its decisions or not. Not liking
such responsibility, they requested the King either to accept their
resignation or to give orders that all affairs should be communicated to
the whole board and deliberated upon by all the councillors.

In a private letter, written some weeks later (August 15), Egmont begged
secretary Erasso to assure the King that their joint letter had not been
dictated by passion, but by zeal for his service. It was impossible, he
said, to imagine the insolence of the Cardinal, nor to form an idea of
the absolute authority which he arrogated.

In truth, Granvelle, with all his keenness, could not see that Orange,
Egmont, Berghen, Montigny and the rest, were no longer pages and young
captains of cavalry, while he was the politician and the statesman. By
six or seven years the senior of Egmont, and by sixteen years of Orange,
he did not divest himself of the superciliousness of superior wisdom, not
unjust nor so irritating when they had all been boys. In his deportment
towards them, and in the whole tone of his private correspondence with
Philip, there was revealed, almost in spite of himself, an affectation of
authority, against which Egmont rebelled and which the Prince was not the
man to acknowledge. Philip answered the letter of the two nobles in his
usual procrastinating manner. The Count of Horn, who was about leaving
Spain (whither he had accompanied the King) for the Netherlands, would be
entrusted with the resolution which he should think proper to take upon
the subject suggested. In the mean time, he assured them that he did not
doubt their zeal in his service.

As to Count Horn, Granvelle had already prejudiced the King against him.
Horn and the Cardinal had never been friends. A brother of the prelate
had been an aspirant for the hand of the Admiral's sister, and had been
somewhat contemptuously rejected. Horn, a bold, vehement, and not very
good-tempered personage, had long kept no terms with Granvelle, and did
not pretend a friendship which he had never felt. Granvelle had just
written to instruct the King that Horn was opposed bitterly to that
measure which was nearest the King's heart--the new bishoprics. He had
been using strong language, according to the Cardinal, in opposition to
the scheme, while still in Spain. He therefore advised that his Majesty,
concealing, of course, the source of the information, and speaking as it
were out of the royal mind itself, should expostulate with the Admiral
upon the subject. Thus prompted, Philip was in no gracious humor when he
received Count Horn, then about to leave Madrid for the Netherlands, and
to take with him the King's promised answer to the communication of
Orange and Egmont. His Majesty had rarely been known to exhibit so much
anger towards any person as he manifested upon that occasion. After a few
words from the Admiral, in which he expressed his sympathy with the other
Netherland nobles, and his aversion to Granvelle, in general terms, and
in reply to Philip's interrogatories, the King fiercely interrupted him:
"What! miserable man!" he vociferated, "you all complain of this
Cardinal, and always in vague language. Not one of you, in spite of all
my questions, can give me a single reason for your dissatisfaction." With
this the royal wrath boiled over in such unequivocal terms that the
Admiral changed color, and was so confused with indignation and
astonishment, that he was scarcely able to find his way out of the room.

This was the commencement of Granvelle's long mortal combat with Egmont,
Horn, and Orange. This was the first answer which the seignors were to
receive to their remonstrances against the churchman's arrogance. Philip
was enraged that any opposition should be made to his coercive measures,
particularly to the new bishoprics, the "holy work" which the Cardinal
was ready, to "consecrate his fortune and his blood" to advance.
Granvelle fed his master's anger by constant communications as to the
efforts made by distinguished individuals to delay the execution of the
scheme. Assonville had informed him, he wrote, that much complaint had
been made on the subject by several gentlemen, at a supper of Count
Egmont's. It was said that the King ought to have consulted them all, and
the state councillors especially. The present nominees to the new
episcopates were good enough, but it would be found, they said, that very
improper personages would be afterwards appointed. The estates ought not
to permit the execution of the scheme. In short, continued Granvelle,
"there is the same kind of talk which brought about the recall of the
Spanish troops." A few months later, he wrote to inform Philip that a
petition against the new bishoprics was about to be drawn up by "the two
lords.". They had two motives; according to the Cardinal, for this
step--first, to let the King know that he could do nothing without their
permission; secondly, because in the states' assembly they were then the
cocks of the walk. They did not choose, therefore, that in the clerical
branch of the estates any body should be above the abbots, whom they
could frighten into doing whatever they chose. At the end, of the year,
Granvelle again wrote to instruct his sovereign how to reply to the
letter which was about to be addressed to him by the Prince of Orange and
the Marquis Berghen on the subject of the bishoprics. They would tell
him, he said, that the incorporation of the Brabant abbeys into the new
bishoprics was contrary to the constitution of the "joyful entrance."
Philip was, however, to make answer that he had consulted the
universities, and those learned in the laws, and had satisfied himself
that it was entirely constitutional. He was therefore advised to send his
command that the Prince and Marquis should use all their influence to
promote the success of the measure. Thus fortified, the King was enabled
not only to deal with the petition of the nobles, but also with the
deputies from the estates of Brabant, who arrived about this time at
Madrid. To these envoys, who asked for the appointment of royal
commissioners, with whom they might treat on the subject of the
bishoprics, the abbeys, and the "joyful entrance," the King answered
proudly, "that in matters which concerned the service of God, he was his
own commissioner." He afterwards, accordingly, recited to them, with
great accuracy, the lesson which he had privately received from the
ubiquitous Cardinal. Philip was determined that no remonstrance from
great nobles or from private citizens should interfere with the thorough
execution of the grand scheme on which he was resolved, and of which the
new bishoprics formed an important part. Opposition irritated him more
and more, till his hatred of the opponents became deadly; but it, at the
same time, confirmed him in his purpose. "'Tis no time to temporize," he
wrote to Granvelle; "we must inflict chastisement with full rigor and
severity. These rascals can only be made to do right through fear, and
not always even by that means."

At the same time, the royal finances did not admit of any very active
measures, at the moment, to enforce obedience to a policy which was
already so bitterly opposed. A rough estimate, made in the King's own
handwriting, of the resources and obligations of his exchequer, a kind of
balance sheet for the, years 1560 and 1561, drawn up much in the same
manner as that in which a simple individual would make a note of his
income and expenditure, gave but a dismal picture of his pecuniary,
condition. It served to show how intelligent a financier is despotism,
and how little available are the resources of a mighty empire when
regarded merely as private property, particularly when the owner chances
to have the vanity of attending to all details himself: "Twenty millions
of ducats," began the memorandum, "will be required to disengage my
revenues. But of this," added the King, with whimsical pathos for an
account-book, "we will not speak at present, as the matter is so entirely
impossible." He then proceeded to enter the various items of expense
which were to be met during the two years; such as so many millions due
to the Fuggers (the Rothschilds of the sixteenth century), so many to
merchants in Flanders, Seville, and other places, so much for Prince
Doria's galleys, so much for three years' pay due to his guards, so much
for his household expenditure, so much for the, tuition of Don Carlos,
and Don Juan d'Austria, so much for salaries of ambassadors and
councillors--mixing personal and state expenses, petty items and great
loans, in one singular jumble, but arriving at a total demand upon his
purse of ten million nine hundred and ninety thousand ducats.

To meet this expenditure he painfully enumerated the funds upon which he
could reckon for the two years. His ordinary rents and taxes being all
deeply pledged, he could only calculate from that source upon two hundred
thousand ducats. The Indian revenue, so called, was nearly spent; still
it might yield him four hundred and twenty thousand ducats. The
quicksilver mines would produce something, but so little as hardly to
require mentioning. As to the other mines, they were equally unworthy of
notice, being so very uncertain, and not doing as well as they were wont.
The licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America were put
down at fifty thousand ducats for the two years. The product of the
"crozada" and "cuarta," or money paid to him in small sums by
individuals, with the permission of his Holiness, for the liberty of
abstaining from the Church fasts, was estimated at five hundred thousand
ducats. These and a few more meagre items only sufficed to stretch his
income to a total of one million three hundred and thirty thousand far
the two years, against an expenditure calculated at near eleven millions.
"Thus, there are nine millions, less three thousand ducats, deficient,"
he concluded ruefully (and making a mistake in his figures in his own
favor of six hundred and sixty-three thousand besides), "which I may look
for in the sky, or try to raise by inventions already exhausted."

Thus, the man who owned all America and half of Europe could only raise a
million ducats a year from his estates. The possessor of all Peru and
Mexico could reckon on "nothing worth mentioning" from his mines, and
derived a precarious income mainly from permissions granted his subjects
to carry on the slave-trade and to eat meat on Fridays. This was
certainly a gloomy condition of affairs for a monarch on the threshold of
a war which was to outlast his own life and that of his children; a war
in which the mere army expenses were to be half a million florins
monthly, in which about seventy per cent. of the annual disbursements was
to be regularly embezzled or appropriated by the hands through which it
passed, and in which for every four men on paper, enrolled and paid for,
only one, according to the average, was brought into the field.

Granvelle, on the other hand, gave his master but little consolation from
the aspect of financial affairs in the provinces. He assured him that
"the government was often in such embarrassment as not to know where to
look for ten ducats." He complained bitterly that the states would meddle
with the administration of money matters, and were slow in the granting
of subsidies. The Cardinal felt especially outraged by the interference
of these bodies with the disbursement of the sums which they voted. It
has been seen that the states had already compelled the government to
withdraw the troops, much to the regret of Granvelle. They continued,
however, to be intractable on the subject of supplies. "These are very
vile things," he wrote to Philip, "this authority which they assume, this
audacity with which they say whatever they think proper; and these
impudent conditions which they affix to every proposition for subsidies."
The Cardinal protested that he had in vain attempted to convince them of
their error, but that they remained perverse.

It was probably at this time that the plan for debasing the coin,
suggested to Philip some time before by a skilful chemist named Malen,
and always much approved of both by himself and Ruy Gomez, recurred to
his mind. "Another and an extraordinary source of revenue, although
perhaps not a very honorable one," wrote Suriano, "has hitherto been kept
secret; and on account of differences of opinion between the King and his
confessor, has been discontinued." This source of revenue, it seemed, was
found in "a certain powder, of which one ounce mixed with six ounces of
quicksilver would make six ounces of silver." The composition was said to
stand the test of the hammer, but not of the fire. Partly in consequence
of theological scruples and partly on account of opposition from the
states, a project formed by the King to pay his army with this kind of
silver was reluctantly abandoned. The invention, however, was so very
agreeable to the King, and the inventor had received such liberal
rewards, that it was supposed, according to the envoy, that in time of
scarcity his Majesty would make use of such coin without reluctance.

It is necessary, before concluding this chapter, which relates the events
of the years 1560 and 1561, to allude to an important affair which
occupied much attention during the whole of this period. This is the
celebrated marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Princess Anna of
Saxony. By many superficial writers; a moving cause of the great
Netherland revolt was found in the connexion of the great chieftain with
this distinguished Lutheran house. One must have studied the characters
and the times to very little purpose, however, to believe it possible
that much influence could be exerted on the mind of William of Orange by
such natures as those of Anna of Saxony, or of her uncle the Elector
Augustus, surnamed "the Pious."

The Prince had become a widower in 1558, at the age of twenty-five.
Granvelle, who was said to have been influential in arranging his first
marriage, now proposed to him, after the year of mourning had expired, an
alliance with Mademoiselle Renee, daughter of the Duchess de Lorraine,
and granddaughter of Christiern the Third of Denmark, and his wife
Isabella, sister of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. Such a connexion, not
only with the royal house of Spain but with that of France--for, the
young Duke of Lorraine, brother of the lady, had espoused the daughter of
Henry the considered highly desirable by the Prince. Philip and the
Duchess Margaret of Parma both approved, or pretended to approve, the
match. At the same time the Dowager Duchess of Lorraine, mother of the
intended bride, was a candidate, and a very urgent one, for the Regency
of the Netherlands. Being a woman of restless ambition, and intriguing
character, she naturally saw in a man of William's station and talents a
most desirable ally in her present and future schemes. On the other hand,
Philip--who had made open protestation of his desire to connect the
Prince thus closely with his own blood, and had warmly recommended the
match to the young lady's mother--soon afterwards, while walking one day
with the Prince in the park at Brussels, announced to him that the
Duchess of Lorraine had declined his proposals. Such a result astonished
the Prince, who was on the best of terms with the mother, and had been
urging her appointment to the Regency with all his-influence, having
entirely withdrawn his own claims to that office. No satisfactory
explanation was ever given of this singular conclusion to a courtship,
begun with the apparent consent of all parties. It was hinted that the
young lady did not fancy the Prince; but, as it was not known that a word
had ever been exchanged between them, as the Prince, in appearance and
reputation, was one of the most brilliant cavaliers of the age, and as
the approval of the bride was not usually a matter of primary consequence
in such marriages of state, the mystery seemed to require a further
solution. The Prince suspected Granvelle and the King, who were believed
to have held mature and secret deliberation together, of insincerity. The
Bishop was said to have expressed the opinion, that although the
friendship he bore the Prince would induce him to urge the marriage, yet
his duty to his master made him think it questionable whether it were
right to advance a personage already placed so high by birth, wealth, and
popularity, still higher by so near an alliance with his Majesty's
family. The King, in consequence, secretly instructed the Duchess of
Lorraine to decline the proposal, while at the same time he continued
openly to advocate the connexion. The Prince is said to have discovered
this double dealing, and to have found in it the only reasonable
explanation of the whole transaction. Moreover, the Duchess of Lorraine,
finding herself equally duped, and her own ambitious scheme equally
foiled by her unscrupulous cousin--who now, to the surprise of every one,
appointed Margaret of Parma to be Regent, with the Bishop for her prime
minister--had as little reason to be satisfied with the combinations of
royal and ecclesiastical intrigue as the Prince of Orange himself. Soon
after this unsatisfactory mystification, William turned his attentions to
Germany. Anna of Saxony, daughter of the celebrated Elector Maurice,
lived at the court of her uncle, the Elector Augustus. A musket-ball,
perhaps a traitorous one, in an obscure action with Albert of
Brandenbourg, had closed the adventurous career of her father seven years
before. The young lady, who was thought to have inherited much of his
restless, stormy character, was sixteen years of age. She was far from
handsome, was somewhat deformed, and limped. Her marriage-portion was
deemed, for the times, an ample one; she had seventy thousand rix dollars
in hand, and the reversion of thirty thousand on the death of John
Frederic the Second, who had married her mother after the death of
Maurice. Her rank was accounted far higher in Germany than that of
William of Nassau, and in this respect, rather than for pecuniary
considerations, the marriage seemed a desirable one for him. The man who
held the great Nassau-Chalons property, together with the heritage of
Count Maximilian de Buren, could hardly have been tempted by 100,000
thalers. His own provision for the children who might spring from the
proposed marriage was to be a settlement of seventy thousand florins
annually. The fortune which permitted of such liberality was not one to
be very materially increased by a dowry which might seem enormous to many
of the pauper princes of Germany. "The bride's portion," says a
contemporary, "after all, scarcely paid for the banquets and magnificent
festivals which celebrated the marriage. When the wedding was paid for,
there was not a thaler remaining of the whole sum." Nothing, then, could
be more puerile than to accuse the Prince of mercenary motives in seeking
this alliance; an accusation, however, which did not fail to be brought.

There were difficulties on both sides to be arranged before this marriage
could take place. The bride was a Lutheran, the Prince was a Catholic.
With regard to the religion of Orange not the slightest doubt existed,
nor was any deception attempted. Granvelle himself gave the most entire
attestation of the Prince's orthodoxy. "This proposed marriage gives me
great pain," he wrote to Philip, "but I have never had reason to suspect
his principles." In another letter he observed that he wished the
marriage could be broken off; but that he hoped so much from the virtue
of the Prince that nothing could suffice to separate him from the true
religion. On the other side there was as little doubt as to his creed.
Old Landgrave Philip of Hesse, grandfather of the young lady, was
bitterly opposed to the match. "'Tis a papist," said he, "who goes to
mass, and eats no meat on fast days." He had no great objection to his
character, but insurmountable ones to his religion. "Old Count William,"
said he, "was an evangelical lord to his dying day. This man is a
papist!" The marriage, then, was to be a mixed marriage. It is necessary,
however, to beware of anachronisms upon the subject. Lutherans were not
yet formally denounced as heretics. On the contrary, it was exactly at
this epoch that the Pope was inviting the Protestant princes of Germany
to the Trent Council, where the schism was to be closed, and all the
erring lambs to be received again into the bosom of the fold. So far from
manifesting an outward hostility, the papal demeanor was conciliating.
The letters of invitation from the Pope to the princes were sent by a
legate, each commencing with the exordium, "To my beloved son," and were
all sent back to his Holiness, contemptuously, with the coarse jest for
answer, "We believe our mothers to have been honest women, and hope that
we had better fathers." The great council had not yet given its
decisions. Marriages were of continual occurrence, especially among
princes and potentates, between the adherents of Rome and of the new
religion. Even Philip had been most anxious to marry the Protestant
Elizabeth, whom, had she been a peasant, he would unquestionably have
burned, if in his power. Throughout Germany, also, especially in high
places, there was a disposition to cover up the religious controversy; to
abstain from disturbing the ashes where devastation still glowed, and was
one day to rekindle itself. It was exceedingly difficult for any man,
from the Archduke Maximilian down, to define his creed. A marriage,
therefore; between a man and woman of discordant views upon this topic
was not startling, although in general not considered desirable.

There were, however, especial reasons why this alliance should be
distasteful, both to Philip of Spain upon one side, and to the Landgrave
Philip of Hesse on the other. The bride was the daughter of the elector
Maurice. In that one name were concentrated nearly all the disasters,
disgrace, and disappointment of the Emperor's reign. It was Maurice who
had hunted the Emperor through the Tyrolean mountains; it was Maurice who
had compelled the peace of Passau; it was Maurice who had overthrown the
Catholic Church in Germany, it was Maurice who had frustrated Philip's
election as king of the Romans. If William of Orange must seek a wife
among the pagans, could no other bride be found for him than the daughter
of such a man?

Anna's grandfather, on the other hand, Landgrave Philip, was the
celebrated victim to the force and fraud of Charles the Fifth. He saw in
the proposed bridegroom, a youth who had been from childhood, the petted
page and confidant of the hated Emperor, to whom he owed his long
imprisonment. He saw in him too, the intimate friend and ally--for the
brooding quarrels of the state council were not yet patent to the
world--of the still more deeply detested Granvelle; the crafty priest
whose substitution of "einig" for "ewig" had inveigled him into that
terrible captivity. These considerations alone would have made him
unfriendly to the Prince, even had he not been a Catholic.

The Elector Augustus, however, uncle and guardian to the bride, was not
only well-disposed but eager for the marriage, and determined to overcome
all obstacles, including the opposition of the Landgrave, without whose
consent he was long pledged not to bestow the hand of Anna. For this
there were more than one reason. Augustus, who, in the words of one of
the most acute historical critics of our day, was "a Byzantine Emperor of
the lowest class, re-appearing in electoral hat and mantle," was not firm
in his rights to the dignity he held. He had inherited from his brother,
but his brother had dispossessed John Frederic. Maurice, when turning
against the Emperor, who had placed him in his cousin's seat, had not
thought it expedient to restore to the rightful owner the rank which he
himself owed to the violence of Charles. Those claims might be
revindicated, and Augustus be degraded in his turn, by a possible
marriage of the Princess Anna, with some turbulent or intriguing German
potentate. Out of the land she was less likely to give trouble. The
alliance, if not particularly desirable on the score of rank, was, in
other worldly respects, a most brilliant one for his niece. As for the
religious point, if he could overcome or circumvent the scruples of the
Landgrave, he foresaw little difficulty in conquering his own conscience.

The Prince of Orange, it is evident, was placed in such a position, that
it would be difficult for him to satisfy all parties. He intended that
the marriage, like all marriages among persons in high places at that
day, should be upon the "uti possidetis" principle, which was the
foundation of the religious peace of Germany. His wife, after marriage
and removal to the Netherlands, would "live Catholically;" she would be
considered as belonging to the same Church with her husband, was to give
no offence to the government, and bring no suspicion upon himself, by
violating any of the religious decencies. Further than this, William, who
at that day was an easy, indifferent Catholic, averse to papal
persecutions, but almost equally averse to long, puritanical prayers and
faces, taking far more pleasure in worldly matters than in ecclesiastical
controversies, was not disposed to advance in this thorny path. Having a
stern bigot to deal with, in Madrid, and another in Cassel, he soon
convinced himself that he was not likely entirely to satisfy either, and
thought it wiser simply to satisfy himself.

Early in 1560, Count Gunther de Schwartzburg, betrothed to the Prince's
sister Catharine, together with Colonel George Von Holl, were despatched
to Germany to open the marriage negotiations. They found the Elector
Augustus already ripe and anxious for the connexion. It was easy for the
envoys to satisfy all his requirements on the religious question. If, as
the Elector afterwards stated to the Landgrave, they really promised that
the young lady should be allowed to have an evangelical preacher in her
own apartments, together with the befitting sacraments, it is very
certain that they travelled a good way out of their instructions, for
such concessions were steadily refused by William in person. It is,
however, more probable that Augustus, whose slippery feet were disposed
to slide smoothly and swiftly over this dangerous ground, had represented
the Prince's communications under a favorable gloss of his own. At any
rate, nothing in the subsequent proceedings justified the conclusions
thus hastily formed.

The Landgrave Philip, from the beginning, manifested his repugnance to
the match. As soon as the proposition had been received by Augustus, that
potentate despatched Hans von Carlowitz to the grandfather at Cassel. The
Prince of Orange, it was represented, was young, handsome, wealthy, a
favorite of the Spanish monarch; the Princess Anna, on the other hand,
said her uncle was not likely to grow straighter or better proportioned
in body, nor was her crooked and perverse character likely to improve
with years. It was therefore desirable to find a settlement for her as
soon as possible. The Elector, however, would decide upon nothing without
the Landgrave's consent.

To this frank, and not very flattering statement, so far as the young
lady was concerned, the Landgrave answered stoutly and characteristically.
The Prince was a Spanish subject, he said, and would not be able to
protect Anna in her belief, who would sooner or later become a fugitive:
he was but a Count in Germany, and no fitting match for an Elector's
daughter; moreover, the lady herself ought to be consulted, who had not
even seen the Prince. If she were crooked in body, as the Elector stated,
it was a shame to expose her; to conceal it, however, was questionable, as
the Prince might complain afterwards that a straight princess had been
promised, and a crooked one fraudulently substituted,--and so on, though a
good deal more of such quaint casuistry, in which the Landgrave was
accomplished. The amount of his answer, however, to the marriage proposal
was an unequivocal negative, from which he never wavered.

In consequence of this opposition, the negotiations were for a time
suspended. Augustus implored the Prince not to abandon the project,
promising that every effort should be made to gain over the Landgrave,
hinting that the old man might "go to his long rest soon," and even
suggesting that if the worst came to the worst, he had bound himself to
do nothing without the knowledge of the Landgrave, but was not obliged to
wait for his consent.

On the other hand, the Prince had communicated to the King of Spain the
fact of the proposed marriage. He had also held many long conversations
with the Regent and with Granvelle. In all these interviews he had
uniformly used one language: his future wife was to "live as a Catholic,"
and if that point were not conceded, he would break off the negotiations.
He did not pretend that she was to abjure her Protestant faith. The
Duchess, in describing to Philip the conditions, as sketched to her by
the Prince, stated expressly that Augustus of Saxony was to consent that
his niece "should live Catholically after the marriage," but that it was
quite improbable that "before the nuptials she would be permitted to
abjure her errors, and receive necessary absolution, according to the
rules of the Church." The Duchess, while stating her full confidence in
the orthodoxy of the Prince, expressed at the same time her fears that
attempts might be made in the future by his new connexions "to pervert
him to their depraved opinions."

A silence of many months ensued on the part of the sovereign, during
which he was going through the laborious process of making up his mind,
or rather of having it made up for him by people a thousand miles off. In
the autumn Granvelle wrote to say that the Prince was very much surprised
to have been kept so long waiting for a definite reply to his
communications, made at the beginning of the year concerning his intended
marriage, and to learn at last that his Majesty had sent no answer, upon
the ground that the match had been broken off; the fact being, that the
negotiations were proceeding more earnestly than ever.

Nothing could be more helpless and more characteristic than the letter
which Philip sent, thus pushed for a decision. "You wrote me," said he,
"that you had hopes that this matter of the Prince's marriage would go no
further, and seeing that you did not write oftener on the subject, I
thought certainly that it had been terminated. This pleased me not a
little, because it was the best thing that could be done. Likewise,"
continued the most tautological of monarchs, "I was much pleased that it
should be done. Nevertheless;" he added, "if the marriage is to be
proceeded with, I really don't know what to say about it, except to refer
it to my sister, inasmuch as a person being upon the spot can see better
what can be done with regard to it; whether it be possible to prevent it,
or whether it be best, if there be no remedy, to give permission. But if
there be a remedy, it would be better to take it, because," concluded the
King, pathetically, "I don't see how the Prince could think of marrying
with the daughter of the man who did to his majesty, now in glory, that
which Duke Maurice did."

Armed with this luminous epistle, which, if it meant any thing, meant a
reluctant affirmation to the demand of the Prince for the royal consent,
the Regent and Granvelle proceeded to summon William of Orange, and to
catechise him in a manner most galling to the pride, and with a latitude
not at all justified by any reasonable interpretation of the royal
instructions. They even informed him that his Majesty had assembled
"certain persons learned in cases of conscience, and versed in theology,"
according to whose advice a final decision, not yet possible, would be
given at some future period. This assembly of learned conscience-keepers
and theologians had no existence save in the imaginations of Granvelle
and Margaret. The King's letter, blind and blundering as it was, gave the
Duchess the right to decide in the affirmative on her own responsibility;
yet fictions like these formed a part of the "dissimulation," which was
accounted profound statesmanship by the disciples of Machiavelli. The
Prince, however irritated, maintained his steadiness; assured the Regent
that the negotiation had advanced too far to be abandoned, and repeated
his assurance that the future Princess of Orange was to "live as a
Catholic."

In December, 1560, William made a visit to Dresden, where he was received
by the Elector with great cordiality. This visit was conclusive as to the
marriage. The appearance and accomplishments of the distinguished suitor
made a profound impression upon the lady. Her heart was carried by storm.
Finding, or fancying herself very desperately enamored of the proposed
bridegroom, she soon manifested as much eagerness for the marriage as did
her uncle, and expressed herself frequently with the violence which
belonged to her character. "What God had decreed," she said, "the Devil
should not hinder."

The Prince was said to have exhibited much diligence in his attention to
the services of the Protestant Church during his visit at Dreaden. As
that visit lasted, however, but ten or eleven days, there was no great
opportunity for shewing much zeal.

At the same period one William Knuttel was despatched by Orange on the
forlorn hope of gaining the old Landgrave's consent, without making any
vital concessions. "Will the Prince," asked the Landgrave, "permit my
granddaughter to have an evangelical preacher in the house?"--"No,"
answered Knuttel. "May she at least receive the sacrament of the Lord's
Supper in her own chamber, according to the Lutheran form?"--"No,"
answered Knuttel, "neither in Breda, nor any where else in the
Netherlands. If she imperatively requires such sacraments, she must go
over the border for them, to the nearest Protestant sovereign."

Upon the 14th April, 1561, the Elector, returning to the charge, caused a
little note to be drawn up on the religious point, which he forwarded, in
the hope that the Prince would copy and sign it. He added a promise that
the memorandum should never be made public to the signer's disadvantage.

At the same time he observed to Count Louis, verbally, "that he had been
satisfied with the declarations made by the Prince when in Dresden, upon
all points, except that concerning religion. He therefore felt obliged to
beg for a little agreement in writing.--"By no means! by no means!"
interrupted Louis promptly, at the very first word, "the Prince can give
your electoral highness no such assurance. 'T would be risking life,
honor, and fortune to do so, as your grace is well aware." The Elector
protested that the declaration, if signed, should never come into the
Spanish monarch's hands, and insisted upon sending it to the Prince.
Louis, in a letter to his brother, characterized the document as
"singular, prolix and artful," and strongly advised the Prince to have
nothing to do with it.

This note, which the Prince was thus requested to sign, and which his
brother Louis thus strenuously advised him not to sign, the Prince never
did sign. Its tenor was to the following effect:--The Princess, after
marriage, was, neither by menace nor persuasion; to be turned from the
true and pure Word of God, or the use of the sacrament according to the
doctrines of the Augsburg Confession. The Prince was to allow her to read
books written in accordance with the Augsburg Confession. The prince was
to permit her, as often, annually, as she required it, to go out of the
Netherlands to some place where she could receive the sacrament according
to the Augsburg Confession. In case she were in sickness or perils of
childbirth, the Prince, if necessary, would call to her an evangelical
preacher, who might administer to her the holy sacrament in her chamber.
The children who might spring from the marriage were to be instructed as
to the doctrines of the Augsburg Confession.

Even if executed, this celebrated memorandum would hardly have been at
variance with the declarations made by the Prince to the Spanish
government. He had never pretended that his bride was to become a
Catholic, but only to live as a Catholic. All that he had promised, or
was expected to promise, was that his wife should conform to the law in
the Netherlands. The paper, in a general way, recognized that law. In
case of absolute necessity, however, it was stipulated that the Princess
should have the advantage of private sacraments. This certainly would
have been a mortal offence in a Calvinist or Anabaptist, but for
Lutherans the practise had never been so strict. Moreover, the Prince
already repudiated the doctrines of the edicts, and rebelled against the
command to administer them within his government. A general promise,
therefore, made by him privately, in the sense of the memorandum drawn up
by the Elector, would have been neither hypocritical nor deceitful, but
worthy the man who looked over such grovelling heads as Granvelle and
Philip on the one side, or Augustus of Saxony on the other, and estimated
their religious pretences at exactly what they were worth. A formal
document, however, technically according all these demands made by the
Elector, would certainly be regarded by the Spanish government as a very
culpable instrument. The Prince never signed the note, but, as we shall
have occasion to state in its proper place, he gave a verbal declaration,
favorable to its tenor, but in very vague and brief terms, before a
notary, on the day of the marriage.

If the reader be of opinion that too much time has been expended upon the
elucidation of this point, he should remember that the character of a
great and good man is too precious a possession of history to be lightly
abandoned. It is of no great consequence to ascertain the precise creed
of Augustus of Saxony, or of his niece; it is of comparatively little
moment to fix the point at which William of Orange ceased to be an
honest, but liberal Catholic, and opened his heart to the light of the
Reformation; but it is of very grave interest that his name should be
cleared of the charge of deliberate fraud and hypocrisy. It has therefore
been thought necessary to prove conclusively that the Prince never gave,
in Dresden or Cassel, any assurance inconsistent with his assertions to
King and Cardinal. The whole tone of his language and demeanor on the
religious subject was exhibited in his reply to the Electress, who,
immediately after the marriage, entreated that he would not pervert her
niece from the paths of the true religion. "She shall not be troubled,"
said the Prince, "with such melancholy things. Instead of holy writ she
shall read 'Amadis de Gaule,' and such books of pastime which discourse
de amore; and instead of knitting and sewing she shall learn to dance a
galdiarde, and such courtoisies as are the mode of our country and
suitable to her rank."

The reply was careless, flippant, almost contemptuous. It is very certain
that William of Orange was not yet the "father William" he was destined
to become--grave, self-sacrificing, deeply religious, heroic; but it was
equally evident from this language that he had small sympathy, either in
public or private, with Lutheranism or theological controversy. Landgrave
William was not far from right when he added, in his quaint style, after
recalling this well-known reply, "Your grace will observe, therefore,
that when the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play."

So great was the excitement at the little court of Cassel, that many
Protestant princes and nobles declared that "they would sooner give their
daughters to a boor or a swineherd than to a Papist." The Landgrave was
equally vigorous in his protest, drawn up in due form on the 26th April,
1561. He was not used, he said, "to flatter or to tickle with a foxtail."
He was sorry if his language gave offense, nevertheless "the marriage was
odious, and that was enough." He had no especial objection to the Prince,
"who before the world was a brave and honorable man." He conceded that
his estates were large, although he hinted that his debts also were
ample; allowed that he lived in magnificent style, had even heard "of one
of his banquets, where all the table-cloths, plates, and every thing
else, were made of sugar," but thought he might be even a little too
extravagant; concluding, after a good deal of skimble-skamble of this
nature, with "protesting before God, the world, and all pious Christians,
that he was not responsible for the marriage, but only the Elector
Augustus and others, who therefore would one day have to render account
thereof to the Lord."

Meantime the wedding had been fixed to take place on Sunday, the 24th
August, 1561. This was St. Bartholomew's, a nuptial day which was not
destined to be a happy one in the sixteenth century. The Landgrave and
his family declined to be present at the wedding, but a large and
brilliant company were invited. The King of Spain sent a bill of exchange
to the Regent, that she might purchase a ring worth three thousand
crowns, as a present on his part to the bride. Beside this liberal
evidence that his opposition to the marriage was withdrawn, he authorized
his sister to appoint envoys from among the most distinguished nobles to
represent him on the occasion. The Baron de Montigny, accordingly, with a
brilliant company of gentlemen, was deputed by the Duchess, although she
declined sending all the governors of the provinces, according to the
request of the Prince. The marriage was to take place at Leipsic. A
slight picture of the wedding festivities, derived entirely from
unpublished sources, may give some insight into the manners and customs
of high life in Germany and the Netherlands at this epoch.

The Kings of Spain and Denmark were invited, and were represented by
special ambassadors. The Dukes of Brunswick, Lauenburg, Mecklenburg, the
Elector and Margraves of Brandenburg, the Archbishop of Cologne, the Duke
of Cleves, the Bishops of Naumburg, Meneburg, Meissen, with many other
potentates, accepted the invitations, and came generally in person, a few
only being represented by envoys. The town councils of Erfurt, Leipsic,
Magdeburg, and other cities, were also bidden. The bridegroom was
personally accompanied by his brothers John, Adolphus, and Louis; by the
Burens, the Leuchtenbergs, and various other distinguished personages.

As the electoral residence at Leipsic was not completely finished,
separate dwellings were arranged for each of the sovereign families
invited, in private houses, mostly on the market-place. Here they were to
be furnished with provisions by the Elector's officials, but they were to
cook for themselves. For this purpose all the princes had been requested
to bring their own cooks and butlers, together with their plate and
kitchen utensils. The sovereigns themselves were to dine daily with the
Elector at the town-house, but the attendants and suite were to take
their meals in their own lodgings. A brilliant collection of gentlemen
and pages, appointed by the Elector to wait at his table, were ordered to
assemble at Leipsic on the 22d, the guests having been all invited for
the 23d. Many regulations were given to these noble youths, that they
might discharge their duties with befitting decorum. Among other orders,
they received particular injunctions that they were to abstain from all
drinking among themselves, and from all riotous conduct whatever, while
the sovereigns and potentates should be at dinner. "It would be a
shameful indecency," it was urged, "if the great people sitting at table
should be unable to hear themselves talk on account of the screaming of
the attendants." This provision did not seem unreasonable. They were also
instructed that if invited to drink by any personage at the great tables
they were respectfully to decline the challenge, and to explain the cause
after the repast.

Particular arrangements were also made for the safety of the city.
Besides the regular guard of Leipsic, two hundred and twenty
arquebuseers, spearsmen, and halberdmen, were ordered from the
neighboring towns. These were to be all dressed in uniform; one arm, side
and leg in black, and the other in yellow, according to a painting
distributed beforehand to the various authorities. As a mounted patrole,
Leipsic had a regular force of two men. These were now increased to ten,
and received orders to ride with their lanterns up and down all the
streets and lanes, to accost all persons whom they might find abroad
without lights in their hands, to ask them their business in courteous
language, and at the same time to see generally to the peace and safety
of the town.

Fifty arquebuseers were appointed to protect the town-house, and a
burgher watch of six hundred was distributed in different quarters,
especially to guard against fire.

On Saturday, the day before the wedding, the guests had all arrived at
Leipsic, and the Prince of Orange, with his friends, at Meneburg. On
Sunday, the 24th August, the Elector at the head of his guests and
attendants, in splendid array, rode forth to receive the bridegroom. His
cavalcade numbered four thousand. William of Orange had arrived,
accompanied by one thousand mounted men. The whole troop now entered the
city together, escorting the Prince to the town-house. Here he
dismounted, and was received on the staircase by the Princess Anna,
attended by her ladies. She immediately afterwards withdrew to her
apartments.

It was at this point, between 4 and 5 P.M., that the Elector and
Electress, with the bride and bridegroom, accompanied also by the Dame
Sophia von Miltitz and the Councillors Hans von Ponika and Ubrich
Woltersdorff upon one side, and by Count John of Nassau and Heinrich von
Wiltberg upon the other, as witnesses, appeared before Wolf Seidel,
notary, in a corner room of the upper story of the town-house. One of the
councillors, on the part of the Elector, then addressed the bridegroom.
He observed that his highness would remember, no doubt, the contents of a
memorandum or billet, sent by the Elector on the 14th April of that year,
by the terms of which the Prince was to agree that he would, neither by
threat nor persuasion, prevent his future wife from continuing in the
Augsburg Confession; that he would allow her to go to places where she
might receive the Augsburg sacraments; that in case of extreme need she
should receive them in her chamber; and that the children who might
spring from the marriage should be instructed as to the Augsburg
doctrines. As, however, continued the councillor, his highness the Prince
of Orange has, for various reasons, declined giving any such agreement in
writing, as therefore it had been arranged that before the marriage
ceremony the Prince should, in the presence of the bride and of the other
witnesses, make a verbal promise on the subject, and as the parties were
now to be immediately united in marriage, therefore the Elector had no
doubt that the Prince would make no objection in presence of those
witnesses to give his consent to maintain the agreements comprised in the
memorandum or note. The note was then read. Thereupon, the Prince
answered verbally. "Gracious Elector; I remember the writing which you
sent me on the 14th April. All the point: just narrated by the Doctor
were contained in it. I now state to your highness that I will keep it
all as becomes a prince, and conform to it." Thereupon he gave the
Elector his hand.--

What now was the amount and meaning of this promise on the part of the
Prince? Almost nothing. He would conform to the demands of the Elector,
exactly as he had hitherto said he would conform to them. Taken in
connexion with his steady objections to sign and seal any instrument on
the subject--with his distinct refusal to the Landgrave (through Knuttel)
to allow the Princess an evangelical preacher or to receive the
sacraments in the Netherlands--with the vehement, formal, and public
protest, on the part of the Landgrave, against the marriage--with the
Prince's declarations to the Elector at Dresden, which were satisfactory
on all points save the religious point,--what meaning could this verbal
promise have, save that the Prince would do exactly as much with regard
to the religious question as he had always promised, and no more? This
was precisely what did happen. There was no pretence on the part of the
Elector, afterwards, that any other arrangement had been contemplated.
The Princess lived catholically from the moment of her marriage, exactly
as Orange had stated to the Duchess Margaret, and as the Elector knew
would be the case. The first and the following children born of the
marriage were baptized by Catholic priests, with very elaborate Catholic
ceremonies, and this with the full consent of the Elector, who sent
deputies and officiated as sponsor on one remarkable occasion.

Who, of all those guileless lambs then, Philip of Spain, the Elector of
Saxony, or Cardinal Granvelle, had been deceived by the language or
actions of the Prince? Not one. It may be boldly asserted that the
Prince, placed in a transition epoch, both of the age and of his own
character, surrounded by the most artful and intriguing personages known
to history, and involved in a network of most intricate and difficult
circumstances, acquitted himself in a manner as honorable as it was
prudent. It is difficult to regard the notarial instrument otherwise than
as a memorandum, filed rather by Augustus than by wise William, in order
to put upon record for his own justification, his repeated though
unsuccessful efforts to procure from the Prince a regularly signed,
sealed, and holographic act, upon the points stated in the famous note.

After the delay occasioned by these private formalities, the bridal
procession, headed by the court musicians, followed by the court
marshals, councillors, great officers of state, and the electoral family,
entered the grand hall of the town-house. The nuptial ceremony was then
performed by "the Superintendent Doctor Pfeffinger." Immediately
afterwards, and in the same hall, the bride and bridegroom were placed
publicly upon a splendid, gilded bed, with gold-embroidered curtains, the
Princess being conducted thither by the Elector and Electress. Confects
and spiced drinks were then served to them and to the assembled company.
After this ceremony they were conducted to their separate chambers, to
dress for dinner. Before they left the hall, however, Margrave Hans of
Brandenburg, on part of the Elector of Saxony, solemnly recommended the
bride to her husband, exhorting him to cherish her with faith and
affection, and "to leave her undisturbed in the recognized truth of the
holy gospel and the right use of the sacraments."

Five round tables were laid in the same hall immediately afterwards--each
accommodating ten guests. As soon as the first course of twenty-five
dishes had been put upon the chief table, the bride and bridegroom, the
Elector and Electress, the Spanish and Danish envoys and others, were
escorted to it, and the banquet began. During the repast, the Elector's
choir and all the other bands discoursed the "merriest and most ingenious
music." The noble vassals handed the water, the napkins, and the wine,
and every thing was conducted decorously and appropriately. As soon as
the dinner was brought to a close, the tables were cleared away, and the
ball began in the same apartment. Dances, previously arranged, were
performed, after which "confects and drinks" were again distributed, and
the bridal pair were then conducted to the nuptial chamber.

The wedding, according to the Lutheran custom of the epoch, had thus
taken place not in a church, but in a private dwelling; the hall of the
town-house, representing, on this occasion, the Elector's own saloons. On
the following morning, however, a procession was formed at seven o'clock
to conduct the newly-married couple to the church of St. Nicholas, there
to receive an additional exhortation and benediction. Two separate
companies of gentlemen, attended by a great number of "fifers, drummers,
and trumpeters," escorted the bride and the bridegroom, "twelve counts
wearing each a scarf of the Princess Anna's colors, with golden garlands
on their heads and lighted torches in their hands," preceding her to the
choir, where seats had been provided for the more illustrious portion of
the company. The church had been magnificently decked in tapestry, and,
as the company entered, a full orchestra performed several fine motettos.
After listening to a long address from Dr. Pfeffinger, and receiving a
blessing before the altar, the Prince and Princess of Orange returned,
with their attendant processions, to the town-house.

After dinner, upon the same and the three following days, a tournament
was held. The lists were on the market-place, on the side nearest the
town-house; the Electress and the other ladies looking down from balcony
and window to "rain influence and adjudge the prize." The chief hero of
these jousts, according to the accounts in the Archives, was the Elector
of Saxony. He "comported himself with such especial chivalry" that his
far-famed namesake and remote successor, Augustus the Strong, could
hardly have evinced more knightly prowess. On the first day he
encountered George Von Wiedebach, and unhorsed him so handsomely that the
discomfited cavalier's shoulder was dislocated. On the following day he
tilted with Michael von Denstedt, and was again victorious, hitting his
adversary full in the target, and "bearing him off over his horse's tail
so neatly, that the knight came down, heels over head, upon the earth."

On Wednesday, there was what was called the palliatourney. The Prince of
Orange, at the head of six bands, amounting in all to twenty-nine men;
the Margrave George of Brandenburg, with seven bands, comprising
thirty-four men, and the Elector Augustus, with one band of four men,
besides himself, all entered the lists. Lots were drawn for the "gate of
honor," and gained by the Margrave, who accordingly defended it with his
band. Twenty courses were then run between these champions and the Prince
of Orange, with his men. The Brandenburgs broke seven lances, the
Prince's party only six, so that Orange was obliged to leave the lists
discomfited. The ever-victorious Augustus then took the field, and ran
twenty courses against the defenders, breaking fourteen spears to the
Brandenburg's ten. The Margrave, thus defeated, surrendered the "gate of
honor" to the Elector, who maintained, it the rest of the day against all
comers. It is fair to suppose, although the fact is not recorded, that
the Elector's original band had received some reinforcement. Otherwise,
it would be difficult to account for these constant victories, except by
ascribing more than mortal strength, as well as valor, to Augustus and
his four champions. His party broke one hundred and fifty-six lances, of
which number the Elector himself broke thirty-eight and a half. He
received the first prize, but declined other guerdons adjudged to him.
The reward for the hardest hitting was conferred on Wolf Von Schonberg,
"who thrust Kurt Von Arnim clean out of the saddle, so that he fell
against the barriers."

On Thursday was the riding at the ring. The knights who partook of this
sport wore various strange garbs over their armor. Some were disguised as
hussars, some as miners, come as lansquenettes; others as Tartans,
pilgrims, fools, bird-catchers, hunters, monks; peasants, or Netherland
cuirassiers. Each party was attended by a party of musicians, attired in
similar costume. Moreover, Count Gunter Von Schwartzburg made, his
appearance in the lists, accompanied "by five remarkable giants of
wonderful proportions and appearance, very ludicrous to behold, who
performed all kind of odd antics on horseback."

The next day there was a foot tourney, followed in the evening by
"mummeries," or masquerades. These masques were repeated on the following
evening, and afforded great entertainment. The costumes were magnificent,
"with golden and pearl embroidery," the dances were very merry and
artistic, and the musicians, who formed a part of the company, exhibited
remarkable talent. These "mummeries" had been brought by William of
Orange from the Netherlands, at the express request of the Elector, on
the ground that such matters were much better understood in the provinces
than in Germany.

Such is a slight sketch of the revels by which this ill-fated Bartholomew
marriage was celebrated. While William of Orange was thus employed in
Germany, Granvelle seized the opportunity to make his entry into the city
of Mechlin, as archbishop; believing that such a step would be better
accomplished in the absence of the Prince from the country. The Cardinal
found no one in the city to welcome him. None of the great nobles were
there. "The people looked upon the procession with silent hatred. No man
cried, God bless him." He wrote to the King that he should push forward
the whole matter of the bishoprics as fast as possible, adding the
ridiculous assertion that the opposition came entirely from the nobility,
and that "if the seigniors did not talk so much, not a man of the people
would open his mouth on the subject."

The remonstrance offered by the three estates of Brabant against the
scheme had not influenced Philip. He had replied in a peremptory tone. He
had assured them that he had no intention of receding, and that the
province of Brabant ought to feel itself indebted to him for having given
them prelates instead of abbots to take care of their eternal interests,
and for having erected their religious houses into episcopates. The
abbeys made what resistance they could, but were soon fain to come to a
compromise with the bishops, who, according to the arrangement thus made,
were to receive a certain portion of the abbey revenues, while the
remainder was to belong to the institutions, together with a continuance
of their right to elect their own chiefs, subordinate, however, to the
approbation of the respective prelates of the diocese. Thus was the
episcopal matter settled in Brabant. In many of the other bishoprics the
new dignitaries were treated with disrespect, as they made their entrance
into their cities, while they experienced endless opposition and
annoyance on attempting to take possession of the revenue assigned to
them.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
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     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 7.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1561-1562  [CHAPTER III.]

   The inquisition the great cause of the revolt--The three varieties
   of the institution--The Spanish inquisition described--The Episcopal
   inquisition in the Netherlands--The Papal inquisition established in
   the provinces by Charles V.--His instructions to the inquisitors--
   They are renewed by Philip--Inquisitor Titelmann--Instances of his
   manner of proceeding--Spanish and Netherland inquisitions compared--
   Conduct of Granvelle--Faveau and Mallart condemned at Valenciennes--
   "Journee des maubrulea"--Severe measures at Valenciennes--Attack of
   the Rhetoric Clubs Upon Granvelle--Granvelle's insinuations against
   Egmont and Simon Renard--Timidity of Viglius--Universal hatred
   toward the Cardinal--Buffoonery of Brederode and Lumey--Courage of
   Granvelle--Philip taxes the Netherlands for the suppression of the
   Huguenots in France--Meeting of the Knights of the Fleece--Assembly
   at the house of Orange--Demand upon the estates for supplies--
   Montigny appointed envoy to Spain--Open and determined opposition to
   Granvelle--Secret representations by the Cardinal to Philip,
   concerning Egmont and other Seigniors--Line of conduct traced out
   for the King--Montigny's representations in Spain--Unsatisfactory
   result of his mission.

The great cause of the revolt which, within a few years, was to break
forth throughout the Netherlands; was the inquisition. It is almost
puerile to look further or deeper, when such a source of convulsion lies
at the very outset of any investigation. During the war there had been,
for reasons already indicated, an occasional pause in the religious
persecution. Philip had now returned to Spain, having arranged, with
great precision, a comprehensive scheme for exterminating that religious
belief which was already accepted by a very large portion of his
Netherland Subjects. From afar there rose upon the provinces the
prophetic vision of a coming evil still more terrible than any which had
yet oppressed them. As across the bright plains of Sicily, when the sun
is rising, the vast pyramidal shadow of Mount Etna is definitely and
visibly projected--the phantom of that ever-present enemy, which holds
fire and devastation in its bosom--so, in the morning hour of Philip's
reign, the shadow of the inquisition was cast from afar across those warm
and smiling provinces--a spectre menacing fiercer flames and wider
desolation than those which mere physical agencies could ever compass.

There has been a good deal of somewhat superfluous discussion concerning
the different kinds of inquisition. The distinction drawn between the
papal, the episcopal, and the Spanish inquisitions, did not, in the
sixteenth century, convince many unsophisticated minds of the merits of
the establishment in any of its shapes. However classified or entitled,
it was a machine for inquiring into a man's thoughts, and for burning him
if the result was not satisfactory.

The Spanish inquisition, strictly so called, that is to say, the modern
or later institution established by Pope Alexander the Sixth and
Ferdinand the Catholic, was doubtless invested with a more complete
apparatus for inflicting human misery, and for appalling human
imagination, than any of the other less artfully arranged inquisitions,
whether papal or episcopal. It had been originally devised for Jews or
Moors, whom the Christianity of the age did not regard as human beings,
but who could not be banished without depopulating certain districts. It
was soon, however, extended from pagans to heretics. The Dominican
Torquemada was the first Moloch to be placed upon this pedestal of blood
and fire, and from that day forward the "holy office" was almost
exclusively in the hands of that band of brothers. In the eighteen years
of Torquemada's administration; ten thousand two hundred and twenty
individuals were burned alive, and ninety-seven thousand three hundred
and twenty-one punished with infamy, confiscation of property, or
perpetual imprisonment, so that the total number of families destroyed by
this one friar alone amounted to one hundred and fourteen thousand four
hundred and one. In course of time the jurisdiction of the office was
extended. It taught the savages of India and America to shudder at the
name of Christianity. The fear of its introduction froze the earlier
heretics of Italy, France, and Ger many into orthodoxy. It was a court
owning allegiance to no temporal authority, superior to all other
tribunals. It was a bench of monks without appeal, having its familiars
in every house, diving into the secrets of every fireside, judging, and
executing its horrible decrees without responsibility. It condemned not
deeds, but thoughts. It affected to descend into individual conscience,
and to punish the crimes which it pretended to discover. Its process was
reduced to a horrible simplicity. It arrested on suspicion, tortured till
confession, and then punished by fire. Two witnesses, and those to
separate facts, were sufficient to consign the victim to a loathsome
dungeon. Here he was sparingly supplied with food, forbidden to speak, or
even to sing to which pastime it could hardly be thought he would feel
much inclination--and then left to himself, till famine and misery should
break his spirit. When that time was supposed to have arrived he was
examined. Did he confess, and forswear his heresy, whether actually
innocent or not, he might then assume the sacred shirt, and escape with
confiscation of all his property. Did he persist in the avowal of his
innocence, two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack.
He was informed of the testimony against him, but never confronted with
the witness. That accuser might be his son, father, or the wife of his
bosom, for all were enjoined, under the death penalty, to inform the
inquisitors of every suspicious word which might fall from their nearest
relatives. The indictment being thus supported, the prisoner was tried by
torture. The rack was the court of justice; the criminal's only advocate
was his fortitude--for the nominal counsellor, who was permitted no
communication with the prisoner, and was furnished neither with documents
nor with power to procure evidence, was a puppet, aggravating the
lawlessness of the proceedings by the mockery of legal forms: The torture
took place at midnight, in a gloomy dungeon, dimly, lighted by torches.
The victim--whether man, matron, or tender virgin--was stripped naked,
and stretched upon the wooden bench. Water, weights, fires, pulleys,
screws--all the apparatus by which the sinews could be strained without
cracking, the bones crushed without breaking, and the body racked
exquisitely without giving up its ghost, was now put into operation. The
executioner, enveloped in a black robe from head to foot, with his eyes
glaring at his victim through holes cut in the hood which muffled his
face, practised successively all the forms of torture which the devilish
ingenuity of the monks had invented. The imagination sickens when
striving to keep pace with these dreadful realities. Those who wish to
indulge their curiosity concerning the details of the system, may easily
satisfy themselves at the present day. The flood of light which has been
poured upon the subject more than justifies the horror and the rebellion
of the Netherlanders.

The period during which torture might be inflicted from day to day was
unlimited in duration. It could only be terminated by confession; so that
the scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack. Individuals have borne
the torture and the dungeon fifteen years, and have been burned at the
stake at last.

Execution followed confession, but the number of condemned prisoners was
allowed to accumulate, that a multitude of victims might grace each great
gala-day. The auto-da fe was a solemn festival. The monarch, the high
functionaries of the land, the reverend clergy, the populace regarded it
as an inspiring and delightful recreation. When the appointed morning
arrived, the victim was taken from his dungeon. He was then attired in a
yellow robe without sleeves, like a herald's coat, embroidered all over
with black figures of devils. A large conical paper mitre was placed upon
his head, upon which was represented a human being in the midst of
flames, surrounded by imps. His tongue was then painfully gagged, so that
he could neither open nor shut his mouth. After he was thus accoutred,
and just as he was leaving his cell, a breakfast, consisting of every
delicacy, was placed before him, and he was urged, with ironical
politeness, to satisfy his hunger. He was then led forth into the public
square. The procession was formed with great pomp. It was headed by the
little school children, who were immediately followed by the band of
prisoners, each attired in the horrible yet ludicrous manner described.
Then came the magistrates and nobility, the prelates and other
dignitaries of the Church: the holy inquisitors, with their officials and
familiars, followed, all on horseback, with the blood-red flag of the
"sacred office" waving above them, blazoned upon either side with the
portraits of Alexander and of Ferdinand, the pair of brothers who had
established the institution. After the procession came the rabble. When
all had reached the neighborhood of the scaffold, and had been arranged
in order, a sermon was preached to the assembled multitude. It was filled
with laudations of the inquisition, and with blasphemous revilings
against the condemned prisoners. Then the sentences were read to the
individual victims. Then the clergy chanted the fifty-first psalm, the
whole vast throng uniting in one tremendous miserere. If a priest
happened to be among the culprits, he was now stripped of the canonicals
which he had hitherto worn; while his hands, lips, and shaven crown were
scraped with a bit of glass, by which process the oil of his consecration
was supposed to be removed. He was then thrown into the common herd.
Those of the prisoners who were reconciled, and those whose execution was
not yet appointed, were now separated from the others. The rest were
compelled to mount a scaffold, where the executioner stood ready to
conduct them to the fire. The inquisitors then delivered them into his
hands, with an ironical request that he would deal with them tenderly,
and without blood-letting or injury. Those who remained steadfast to the
last were then burned at the stake; they who in the last extremity
renounced their faith were strangled before being thrown into the flames.
Such was the Spanish inquisition--technically--so called: It was,
according' to the biographer of Philip the Second, a "heavenly remedy, a
guardian angel of Paradise, a lions' den in which Daniel and other just
men could sustain no injury, but in which perverse sinners were torn to
pieces." It was a tribunal superior to all human law, without appeal, and
certainly owing no allegiance to the powers of earth or heaven. No rank,
high or humble, was safe from its jurisdiction. The royal family were not
sacred, nor, the pauper's hovel. Even death afforded no protection. The
holy office invaded the prince in his palace and the beggar in his
shroud. The corpses of dead heretics were mutilated and burned. The
inquisitors preyed upon carcases and rifled graves. A gorgeous festival
of the holy office had, as we have seen, welcomed Philip to his native
land. The news of these tremendous autos-da fe, in which so many
illustrious victims had been sacrificed before their sovereign's eyes,
had reached the Netherlands almost simultaneously with the bulls creating
the new bishoprics in the provinces. It was not likely that the measure
would be rendered more palatable by this intelligence of the royal
amusements.

The Spanish inquisition had never flourished in any soil but that of the
peninsula. It is possible that the King and Granvelle were sincere in
their protestations of entertaining no intention of introducing it into
the Netherlands, although the protestations of such men are entitled to
but little weight. The truth was, that the inquisition existed already in
the provinces. It was the main object of the government to confirm and
extend the institution. The episcopal inquisition, as we have already
seen, had been enlarged by the enormous increase in the number of
bishops, each of whom was to be head inquisitor in his diocese, with two
special inquisitors under him. With this apparatus and with the edicts,
as already described, it might seem that enough had already been done for
the suppression of heresy. But more had been done. A regular papal
inquisition also existed in the Netherlands. This establishment, like the
edicts, was the gift of Charles the Fifth. A word of introduction is here
again necessary--nor let the reader deem that too much time is devoted to
this painful subject. On the contrary, no definite idea can be formed as
to the character of the Netherland revolt without a thorough
understanding of this great cause--the religious persecution in which the
country had lived, breathed, and had its being, for half a century, and
in which, had the rebellion not broken out at last, the population must
have been either exterminated or entirely embruted. The few years which
are immediately to occupy us in the present and succeeding chapter,
present the country in a daily increasing ferment from the action of
causes which had existed long before, but which received an additional
stimulus as the policy of the new reign developed itself.

Previously to the accession of Charles V., it can not be said that an
inquisition had ever been established in the provinces. Isolated
instances to the contrary, adduced by the canonists who gave their advice
to Margaret of Parma, rather proved the absence than the existence of the
system. In the reign of Philip the Good, the vicar of the
inquisitor-general gave sentence against some heretics, who were burned
in Lille (1448). In 1459, Pierre Troussart, a Jacobin monk, condemned
many Waldenses, together with some leading citizens of Artois, accused of
sorcery and heresy. He did this, however, as inquisitor for the Bishop of
Arras, so that it was an act of episcopal, and not papal inquisition. In
general, when inquisitors were wanted in the provinces, it was necessary
to borrow them from France or Germany. The exigencies of persecution
making a domestic staff desirable, Charles the Fifth, in the year 1522,
applied to his ancient tutor, whom he had placed on the papal throne.

Charles had, however, already, in the previous year appointed Francis Van
der Hulst to be inquisitor-general for the Netherlands. This man, whom
Erasmus called a "wonderful enemy to learning," was also provided with a
coadjutor, Nicholas of Egmond by name, a Carmelite monk, who was
characterized by the same authority as "a madman armed with a sword." The
inquisitor-general received full powers to cite, arrest, imprison,
torture heretics without observing the ordinary forms of law, and to
cause his sentences to be executed without appeal. He was, however, in
pronouncing definite judgments, to take the advice of Laurens, president
of the grand council of Mechlin, a coarse, cruel and ignorant man, who
"hated learning with a more than deadly hatred," and who might certainly
be relied upon to sustain the severest judgments which the inquisitor
might fulminate. Adrian; accordingly, commissioned Van der Hulst to be
universal and general inquisitor for all the Netherlands. At the same
time it was expressly stated that his functions were not to supersede
those exercised by the bishops as inquisitors in their own sees. Thus the
papal inquisition was established in the provinces. Van der Hulst, a
person of infamous character, was not the man to render the institution
less odious than it was by its nature. Before he had fulfilled his duties
two years, however, he was degraded from his office by the Emperor for
having forged a document. In 1525, Buedens, Houseau and Coppin were
confirmed by Clement the Seventh as inquisitors in the room of Van der
Hulst. In 1531, Ruard Tapper and Michael Drutius were appointed by Paul
the Third, on the decease of Coppin, the other two remaining in office.
The powers of the papal inquisitors had been gradually extended, and they
were, by 1545, not only entirely independent of the episcopal
inquisition, but had acquired right of jurisdiction over bishops and
archbishops, whom they were empowered to arrest and imprison. They had
also received and exercised the privilege of appointing delegates, or
sub-inquisitors, on their own authority. Much of the work was, indeed,
performed by these officials, the most notorious of whom were Barbier, De
Monte, Titelmann, Fabry, Campo de Zon, and Stryen. In 1545, and again in
1550, a stringent set of instructions were drawn up by the Emperor for
the guidance of these papal inquisitors. A glance at their context shows
that the establishment was not intended to be an empty form.

They were empowered to inquire, proceed against, and chastise all
heretics, all persons suspected of heresy, and their protectors.
Accompanied by a notary, they were to collect written information
concerning every person in the provinces, "infected or vehemently
suspected." They were authorized to summon all subjects of his Majesty,
whatever their rank, quality, or station, and to compel them to give
evidence, or to communicate suspicions. They were to punish all who
pertinaciously refused such depositions with death. The Emperor commanded
his presidents, judges, sheriffs, and all other judicial and executive
officers to render all "assistance to the inquisitors and their familiars
in their holy and pious inquisition, whenever required so to do," on pain
of being punished as encouragers of heresy, that is to say, with death.
Whenever the inquisitors should be satisfied as to the heresy of any
individual, they were to order his arrest and detention by the judge of
the place, or by others arbitrarily to be selected by them. The judges or
persons thus chosen, were enjoined to fulfil the order, on pain of being
punished as protectors of heresy, that is to say, with death, by sword or
fire. If the prisoner were an ecclesiastic, the inquisitor was to deal
summarily with the case "without noise or form in the process--selecting
an imperial councillor to render the sentence of absolution or
condemnation." If the prisoner were a lay person, the inquisitor was to
order his punishment, according to the edicts, by the council of the
province. In case of lay persons suspected but not convicted of heresy,
the inquisitor was to proceed to their chastisement, "with the advice of
a counsellor or some other expert." In conclusion, the Emperor ordered
the "inquisitors to make it known that they were not doing their own
work, but that of Christ, and to persuade all persons of this fact." This
clause of their instructions seemed difficult of accomplishment, for no
reasonable person could doubt that Christ, had he re-appeared in human
form, would have been instantly crucified again, or burned alive in any
place within the dominions of Charles or Philip. The blasphemy with which
the name of Jesus was used by such men to sanctify all these nameless
horrors, is certainly not the least of their crimes.

In addition to these instructions, a special edict had been issued on the
26th April, 1550, according to which all judicial officers, at the
requisition of the inquisitors, were to render them all assistance in the
execution of their office, by arresting and detaining all persons
suspected of heresy, according to the instructions issued to said
inquisitors; and this, notwithstanding any privileges or charters to the
contrary. In short, the inquisitors were not subject to the civil
authority, but the civil authority to them. The imperial edict empowered
them "to chastise, degrade, denounce, and deliver over heretics to the
secular judges for punishment; to make use of gaols, and to make arrests,
without ordinary warrant, but merely with notice given to a single
counselor, who was obliged to give sentence according to their desire,
without application to the ordinary judge."

These instructions to the inquisitors had been renewed and confirmed by
Philip, in the very first month of his reign (28th Nov. 1555). As in the
case of the edicts, it had been thought desirable by Granvelle to make
use of the supposed magic of the Emperor's name to hallow the whole
machinery of persecution. The action of the system during the greater
part of the imperial period had been terrible. Suffered for a time to
languish during the French war, it had lately been renewed with
additional vigor. Among all the inquisitors, the name of Peter Titelmann
was now pre-eminent. He executed his infamous functions throughout
Flanders, Douay, and Tournay, the most thriving and populous portions of
the Netherlands, with a swiftness, precision, and even with a jocularity
which hardly seemed human. There was a kind of grim humor about the man.
The woman who, according to Lear's fool, was wont to thrust her live eels
into the hot paste, "rapping them o' the coxcombs with a stick and crying
reproachfully, Wantons, lie down!" had the spirit of a true inquisitor.
Even so dealt Titelmann with his heretics writhing on the rack or in the
flames. Cotemporary chronicles give a picture of him as of some grotesque
yet terrible goblin, careering through the country by night or day,
alone, on horseback, smiting the trembling peasants on the head with a
great club, spreading dismay far and wide, dragging suspected persons
from their firesides or their beds, and thrusting them into dungeons,
arresting, torturing, strangling, burning, with hardly the shadow of
warrant, information, or process.

The secular sheriff, familiarly called Red-Rod, from the color of his
wand of office, meeting this inquisitor Titelmann one day upon the high
road, thus wonderingly addressed him--"How can you venture to go about
alone, or at most with an attendant or two, arresting people on every
side, while I dare not attempt to execute my office, except at the head
of a strong force, armed in proof; and then only at the peril of my
life?"

"Ah! Red-Rod," answered Peter, jocosely, "you deal with bad people. I
have nothing to fear, for I seize only the innocent and virtuous, who
make no resistance, and let themselves be taken like lambs."

"Mighty well," said the other; "but if you arrest all the good people and
I all the bad, 'tis difficult to say who in the world is to escape
chastisement." The reply of the inquisitor has not been recorded, but
there is no doubt that he proceeded like a strong man to run his day's
course.

He was the most active of all the agents in the religious persecution at
the epoch of which we are now treating, but he had been inquisitor for
many years. The martyrology of the provinces reeks with his murders. He
burned men for idle words or suspected thoughts; he rarely waited,
according to his frank confession, for deeds. Hearing once that a certain
schoolmaster, named Geleyn de Muler, of Audenarde, "was addicted to
reading the Bible," he summoned the culprit before him and accused him of
heresy. The schoolmaster claimed, if he were guilty of any crime, to be
tried before the judges of his town. "You are my prisoner," said
Titelmann, "and are to answer me and none other." The inquisitor
proceeded accordingly to catechize him, and soon satisfied himself of the
schoolmaster's heresy. He commanded him to make immediate recantation.
The schoolmaster refused. "Do you not love your wife and children?" asked
the demoniac Titelmann. "God knows," answered the heretic, "that if the
whole world were of gold, and my own, I would give it all only to have
them with me, even had I to live on bread and water and in bondage." "You
have then," answered the inquisitor, "only to renounce the error of your
opinions."--"Neither for wife, children, nor all the world, can I
renounce my God and religious truth," answered the prisoner. Thereupon
Titelmann sentenced him to the stake. He was strangled and then thrown
into the flames.

At about the same-time, Thomas Calberg, tapestry weaver, of Tournay,
within the jurisdiction of this same inquisitor, was convicted of having
copied some hymns from a book printed in Geneva. He was burned alive.
Another man, whose name has perished, was hacked to death with seven
blows of a rusty sword, in presence of his wife, who was so
horror-stricken that she died on the spot before her husband. His crime,
to be sure, was anabaptism, the most deadly offence in the calendar. In
the same year, one Walter Kapell was burned at the stake for heretical
opinions. He was a man of some property, and beloved by the poor people
of Dixmuyde, in Flanders, where he resided, for his many charities. A
poor idiot, who had been often fed by his bounty, called out to the
inquisitor's subalterns, as they bound his patron to the stake, "ye are
bloody murderers; that man has done no wrong; but has given me bread to
eat." With these words, he cast himself headlong into the flames to
perish with his protector, but was with difficulty rescued by the
officers. A day or two afterwards, he made his way to the stake, where
the half-burnt skeleton of Walter Kapell still remained, took the body
upon his shoulders, and carried it through the streets to the house of
the chief burgomaster, where several other magistrates happened then to
be in session. Forcing his way into their presence, he laid his burthen
at their feet, crying, "There, murderers! ye have eaten his flesh, now
eat his bones!" It has not been recorded whether Titelmann sent him to
keep company with his friend in the next world. The fate of so obscure a
victim could hardly find room on the crowded pages of the Netherland
martyrdom.

This kind of work, which went on daily, did not increase the love of the
people for the inquisition or the edicts. It terrified many, but it
inspired more with that noble resistance to oppression, particularly to
religious oppression, which is the sublimest instinct of human nature.
Men confronted the terrible inquisitors with a courage equal to their
cruelty: At Tournay, one of the chief cities of Titelmann's district, and
almost before his eyes, one Bertrand le Blas, a velvet manufacturer,
committed what was held an almost incredible crime. Having begged his
wife and children to pray for a blessing upon what he was about to
undertake, he went on Christmas-day to the Cathedral of Tournay and
stationed himself near the altar. Having awaited the moment in which the
priest held on high the consecrated host, Le Blas then forced his way
through the crowd, snatched the wafer from the hands of the astonished
ecclesiastic, and broke it into bits, crying aloud, as he did so,
"Misguided men, do ye take this thing to be Jesus Christ, your Lord and
Saviour?" With these words, he threw the fragments on the ground and
trampled them with his feet.

   [Histoire des Martyrs, f. 356, exev.; apud Brandt, i. 171,172.
   It may be well supposed that this would be regarded as a crime of
   almost inconceivable magnitude. It was death even to refuse to
   kneel in the streets when the wafer was carried by. Thus, for
   example, a poor huckster, named Simon, at Bergen-op-Zoom, who
   neglected to prostrate himself before his booth at the passage of
   the host, was immediately burned. Instances of the same punishment
   for that offence might be multiplied. In this particular case, it
   is recorded that the sheriff who was present at the execution was so
   much affected by the courage and fervor of the simple-minded victim,
   that he went home, took to his bed, became delirious, crying
   constantly, Ah, Simon! Simon! and died miserably, "notwithstanding
   all that the monks could do to console him."]

The amazement and horror were so universal at such an appalling offence,
that not a finger was raised to arrest the criminal. Priests and
congregation were alike paralyzed, so that he would have found no
difficulty in making his escape. Ho did not stir, however; he had come to
the church determined to execute what he considered a sacred duty, and to
abide the consequences. After a time, he was apprehended. The inquisitor
demanded if he repented of what he had done. He protested, on the
contrary, that he gloried in the deed, and that he would die a hundred
deaths to rescue from such daily profanation the name of his Redeemer,
Christ. He was then put thrice to the torture, that he might be forced to
reveal his accomplices. It did not seem in human power for one man to
accomplish such a deed of darkness without confederates. Bertrand had
none, however, and could denounce none. A frantic sentence was then
devised as a feeble punishment for so much wickedness. He was dragged on
a hurdle, with his mouth closed with an iron gag, to the market-place.
Here his right hand and foot were burned and twisted off between two
red-hot irons. His tongue was then torn out by the roots, and because he
still endeavored to call upon the name of God, the iron gag was again
applied. With his arms and legs fastened together behind his back, he was
then hooked by the middle of his body to an iron chain, and made to swing
to and fro over a slow fire till he was entirely roasted. His life lasted
almost to the end of these ingenious tortures, but his fortitude lasted
as long as his life.

In the next year, Titelmann caused one Robert Ogier, of Ryssel, in
Flanders, to be arrested, together with his wife and two sons. Their
crime consisted in not going to mass, and in practising private worship
at home. They confessed the offence, for they protested that they could
not endure to see the profanation of their Saviour's name in the
idolatrous sacraments. They were asked what rites they practised in their
own house. One of the sons, a mere boy, answered, "We fall on our knees,
and pray to God that he may enlighten our hearts, and forgive our sins.
We pray for our sovereign, that his reign may be prosperous, and his life
peaceful. We also pray for the magistrates and others in authority, that
God may protect and preserve them all." The boy's simple eloquence drew
tears even from the eyes of some of his judges; for the inquisitor had
placed the case before the civil tribunal. The father and eldest son
were, however, condemned to the flames. "Oh God!" prayed the youth at the
stake, "Eternal Father, accept the sacrifice of our lives, in the name of
thy beloved Son."--"Thou liest, scoundrel!" fiercely interrupted a monk,
who was lighting the fire; "God is not your father; ye are the devil's
children." As the flames rose about them, the boy cried out once more,
"Look, my father, all heaven is opening, and I see ten hundred thousand
angels rejoicing over us. Let us be glad, for we are dying for the
truth."--"Thou liest! thou liest!" again screamed the monk; "all hell
is opening, and you see ten thousand devils thrusting you into eternal
fire." Eight days afterwards, the wife of Ogier and his other son were
burned; so that there was an end of that family.

Such are a few isolated specimens of the manner of proceeding in a single
district of the Netherlands. The inquisitor Titelmann certainly deserved
his terrible reputation. Men called him Saul the persecutor, and it was
well known that he had been originally tainted with the heresy which he
had, for so many years, been furiously chastising. At the epoch which now
engages our attention, he felt stimulated by the avowed policy of the
government to fresh exertions, by which all his previous achievements
should be cast into the shade. In one day he broke into a house in
Ryssel, seized John de Swarte, his wife and four children, together with
two newly-married couples, and two other persons, convicted them of
reading the Bible, and of praying in their own doors, and had them all
immediately burned.

Are these things related merely to excite superfluous horror? Are the
sufferings of these obscure Christians beneath the dignity of history? Is
it not better to deal with murder and oppression in the abstract, without
entering into trivial details? The answer is, that these things are the
history of the Netherlands at this epoch; that these hideous details
furnish the causes of that immense movement, out of which a great
republic was born and an ancient tyranny destroyed; and that Cardinal
Granvelle was ridiculous when he asserted that the people would not open
their mouths if the seigniors did not make such a noise. Because the
great lords "owed their very souls"--because convulsions might help to
pay their debts, and furnish forth their masquerades and
banquets--because the Prince of Orange was ambitious, and Egmont jealous
of the Cardinal--therefore superficial writers found it quite natural
that the country should be disturbed, although that "vile and mischievous
animal, the people," might have no objection to a continuance of the
system which had been at work so long. On the contrary, it was exactly
because the movement was a popular and a religious movement that it will
always retain its place among the most important events of history.
Dignified documents, state papers, solemn treaties, are often of no more
value than the lambskin on which they are engrossed. Ten thousand
nameless victims, in the cause of religious and civil freedom, may build
up great states and alter the aspect of whole continents.

The nobles, no doubt, were conspicuous, and it was well for the cause of
the right that, as in the early hours of English liberty, the crown and
mitre were opposed by the baron's sword and shield. Had all the seigniors
made common cause with Philip and Granvelle, instead of setting their
breasts against the inquisition, the cause of truth and liberty would
have been still more desperate. Nevertheless they were directed and
controlled, under Providence, by humbler, but more powerful agencies than
their own. The nobles were but the gilded hands on the outside of the
dial--the hour to strike was determined by the obscure but weighty
movements within.

Nor is it, perhaps, always better to rely upon abstract phraseology, to
produce a necessary impression. Upon some minds, declamation concerning
liberty of conscience and religious tyranny makes but a vague impression,
while an effect may be produced upon them, for example by a dry,
concrete, cynical entry in an account book, such as the following, taken
at hazard from the register of municipal expenses at Tournay, during the
years with which we are now occupied:

   "To Mr. Jacques Barra, executioner, for having tortured, twice, Jean
   de Lannoy, ten sous.

   "To the same, for having executed, by fire, said Lannoy, sixty sous.
   For having thrown his cinders into the river, eight sous."

This was the treatment to which thousands, and tens of thousands, had
been subjected in the provinces. Men, women, and children were burned,
and their "cinders" thrown away, for idle words against Rome, spoken
years before, for praying alone in their closets, for not kneeling to a
wafer when they met it in the streets, for thoughts to which they had
never given utterance, but which, on inquiry, they were too honest to
deny. Certainly with this work going on year after year in every city in
the Netherlands, and now set into renewed and vigorous action by a man
who wore a crown only that he might the better torture his
fellow-creatures, it was time that the very stones in the streets should
be moved to mutiny.

Thus it may be seen of how much value were the protestations of Philip
and of Granvelle, on which much stress has latterly been laid, that it
was not their intention to introduce the Spanish inquisition. With the
edicts and the Netherland inquisition, such as we have described them,
the step was hardly necessary.

In fact, the main difference between the two institutions consisted in
the greater efficiency of the Spanish in discovering such of its victims
as were disposed to deny their faith. Devised originally for more
timorous and less conscientious infidels who were often disposed to skulk
in obscure places and to renounce without really abandoning their errors,
it was provided with a set of venomous familiars who glided through every
chamber and coiled themselves at every fireside. The secret details of
each household in the realm being therefore known to the holy office and
to the monarch, no infidel or heretic could escape discovery. This
invisible machinery was less requisite for the Netherlands. There was
comparatively little difficulty in ferreting out the "vermin"--to use the
expression of a Walloon historian of that age--so that it was only
necessary to maintain in good working order the apparatus for destroying
the noxious creatures when unearthed. The heretics of the provinces
assembled at each other's houses to practise those rites described in
such simple language by Baldwin Ogier, and denounced under such horrible
penalties by the edicts. The inquisitorial system of Spain was hardly
necessary for men who had but little prudence in concealing, and no
inclination to disavow their creed. "It is quite a laughable matter,"
wrote Granvelle, who occasionally took a comic view of the inquisition,
"that the King should send us depositions made in Spain by which we are
to hunt for heretics here, as if we did not know of thousands already.
Would that I had as many doubloons of annual income," he added, "as there
are public and professed heretics in the provinces." No doubt the
inquisition was in such eyes a most desirable establishment. "To speak
without passion," says the Walloon, "the inquisition well administered is
a laudable institution, and not less necessary than all the other offices
of spirituality and temporality belonging both to the bishops and to the
commissioners of the Roman see." The papal and episcopal establishments,
in co-operation with the edicts, were enough, if thoroughly exercised and
completely extended. The edicts alone were sufficient. "The edicts and
the inquisition are one and the same thing," said the Prince of Orange.
The circumstance, that the civil authorities were not as entirely
superseded by the Netherland, as by the Spanish system, was rather a
difference of form than of fact. We have seen that the secular officers
of justice were at the command of the inquisitors. Sheriff, gaoler,
judge, and hangman, were all required, under the most terrible penalties,
to do their bidding. The reader knows what the edicts were. He knows also
the instructions to the corps of papal inquisitors, delivered by Charles
and Philip: He knows that Philip, both in person and by letter, had done
his utmost to sharpen those instructions, during the latter portion of
his sojourn in the Netherlands. Fourteen new bishops, each with two
special inquisitors under him, had also been appointed to carry out the
great work to which the sovereign had consecrated his existence. The
manner in which the hunters of heretics performed their office has been
exemplified by slightly sketching the career of a single one of the
sub-inquisitors, Peter Titelmann. The monarch and his minister scarcely
needed, therefore, to transplant the peninsular exotic. Why should they
do so? Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words, once
expressed the whole truth of the matter in a single sentence: "Wherefore
introduce the Spanish inquisition?" said he; "the inquisition of the
Netherlands is much more pitiless than that of Spain."

Such was the system of religious persecution commenced by Charles, and
perfected by Philip. The King could not claim the merit of the invention,
which justly belonged to the Emperor. At the same time, his
responsibility for the unutterable woe caused by the continuance of the
scheme is not a jot diminished. There was a time when the whole system
had fallen into comparative desuetude. It was utterly abhorrent to the
institutions and the manners of the Netherlanders. Even a great number of
the Catholics in the provinces were averse to it. Many of the leading
grandees, every one of whom was Catholic were foremost in denouncing its
continuance. In short, the inquisition had been partially endured, but
never accepted. Moreover, it had never been introduced into Luxemburg or
Groningen. In Gelderland it had been prohibited by the treaty through
which that province had been annexed to the emperor's dominions, and it
had been uniformly and successfully resisted in Brabant. Therefore,
although Philip, taking the artful advice of Granvelle, had sheltered
himself under the Emperor's name by re-enacting, word for word, his
decrees, and re-issuing his instructions, he can not be allowed any such
protection at the bar of history. Such a defence for crimes so enormous
is worse than futile. In truth, both father and son recognized
instinctively the intimate connexion between ideas of religious and of
civil freedom. "The authority of God and the supremacy of his Majesty"
was the formula used with perpetual iteration to sanction the constant
recourse to scaffold and funeral pile. Philip, bigoted in religion, and
fanatical in his creed of the absolute power of kings, identified himself
willingly with the Deity, that he might more easily punish crimes against
his own sacred person. Granvelle carefully sustained him in these
convictions, and fed his suspicions as to the motives of those who
opposed his measures. The minister constantly represented the great
seigniors as influenced by ambition and pride. They had only disapproved
of the new bishoprics, he insinuated, because they were angry that his
Majesty should dare to do anything without their concurrence, and because
their own influence in the states would be diminished. It was their
object, he said, to keep the King "in tutelage"--to make him a "shadow
and a cipher," while they should themselves exercise all authority in the
provinces. It is impossible to exaggerate the effect of such suggestions
upon the dull and gloomy mind to which they were addressed. It is easy,
however, to see that a minister with such views was likely to be as
congenial to his master as he was odious to the people. For already, in
the beginning of 1562, Granvelle was extremely unpopular. "The Cardinal
is hated of all men," wrote Sir Thomas Gresham. The great struggle
between him and the leading nobles had already commenced. The people
justly identified him with the whole infamous machinery of persecution,
which had either originated or warmly made his own. Viglius and
Berlaymont were his creatures. With the other members of the state
council, according to their solemn statement, already recorded, he did
not deign to consult, while he affected to hold them responsible for the
measures of the administration. Even the Regent herself complained that
the Cardinal took affairs quite out of her hands, and that he decided
upon many important matters without her cognizance. She already began to
feel herself the puppet which it had been intended she should become; she
already felt a diminution of the respectful attachment for the
ecclesiastic which had inspired her when she procured his red hat.

Granvelle was, however, most resolute in carrying out the intentions of
his master. We have seen how vigorously he had already set himself to the
inauguration of the new bishoprics, despite of opposition and obloquy. He
was now encouraging or rebuking the inquisitors in their "pious office"
throughout all the provinces. Notwithstanding his exertions, however,
heresy continued to spread. In the Walloon provinces the infection was
most prevalent, while judges and executioners were appalled by the
mutinous demonstrations which each successive sacrifice provoked. The
victims were cheered on their way to the scaffold. The hymns of Marot
were sung in the very faces of the inquisitors. Two ministers, Faveau and
Mallart, were particularly conspicuous at this moment at Valenciennes.
The governor of the province, Marquis Berghen, was constantly absent, for
he hated with his whole soul the system of persecution. For this
negligence Granvelle denounced him secretly and perpetually to Philip,
"The Marquis says openly," said the Cardinal, "that 'tis not right to
shed blood for matters of faith. With such men to aid us, your Majesty
can judge how much progress we can make." It was, however, important, in
Granvelle's opinion, that these two ministers at Valenciennes should be
at once put to death. They were avowed heretics, and they preached to
their disciples, although they certainly were not doctors of divinity.
Moreover, they were accused, most absurdly, no doubt, of pretending to
work miracles. It was said that, in presence of several witnesses, they
had undertaken to cast out devils; and they had been apprehended on an
accusation of this nature.

   ["Histoire des choses les plus memorables qui se sent passees en la
   ville et Compte de Valenciennes depuis le commencement des troubles
   des Pays-Bas sons le regne de Phil. II., jusqu' a l'annee 1621."--
   MS. (Collect. Gerard).--This is a contemporary manuscript belonging
   to the Gerard collection in the Royal Library at the Hague. Its
   author was a citizen of Valenciennes, and a personal witness of most
   of the events which he describes. He appears to have attained to a
   great age, as he minutely narrates, from personal observation, many
   scenes which occurred before 1566, and his work is continued till
   the year 1621. It is a mere sketch, without much literary merit,
   but containing many local anecdotes of interest. Its anonymous
   author was a very sincere Catholic.]

Their offence really consisted in reading the Bible to a few of their
friends. Granvelle sent Philibert de Bruxelles to Valenciennes to procure
their immediate condemnation and execution. He rebuked the judges and
inquisitors, he sent express orders to Marquis Berghen to repair at once
to the scene of his duties. The prisoners were condemned in the autumn of
1561. The magistrates were, however, afraid to carry the sentence into
effect. Granvelle did not cease to censure them for their pusillanimity,
and wrote almost daily letters, accusing the magistrates of being
themselves the cause of the tumults by which they were appalled. The
popular commotion was, however, not lightly to be braved. Six or seven
months long the culprits remained in confinement, while daily and nightly
the people crowded the streets, hurling threats and defiance at the
authorities, or pressed about the prison windows, encouraging their
beloved ministers, and promising to rescue them in case the attempt
should be made to fulfil the sentence. At last Granvelle sent down a
peremptory order to execute the culprits by fire. On the 27th of April,
1562, Faveau and Mallart were accordingly taken from their jail and
carried to the market-place, where arrangements had been made for burning
them. Simon Faveau, as the executioner was binding him to the stake,
uttered the invocation, "O! Eternal Father!" A woman in the crowd, at the
same instant, took off her shoe and threw it at the funeral pile. This
was a preconcerted signal. A movement was at once visible in the crowd.
Men in great numbers dashed upon the barriers which had been erected in
the square around the place of execution. Some seized the fagots, which
had been already lighted, and scattered them in every direction; some
tore up the pavements; others broke in pieces the barriers. The
executioners were prevented from carrying out the sentence, but the guard
were enabled, with great celerity and determination, to bring off the
culprits and to place them in their dungeon again. The authorities were
in doubt and dismay. The inquisitors were for putting the ministers to
death in prison, and hurling their heads upon the street. Evening
approached while the officials were still pondering. The people who had
been chanting the Psalms of David through the town, without having
decided what should be their course of action, at last determined to
rescue the victims. A vast throng, after much hesitation, accordingly
directed their steps to the prison. "You should have seen this vile
populace," says an eye-witness, "moving, pausing, recoiling, sweeping
forward, swaying to and fro like the waves of the sea when it is agitated
by contending winds." The attack was vigorous, the defence was weak--for
the authorities had expected no such fierce demonstration,
notwithstanding the menacing language which had been so often uttered.
The prisoners were rescued, and succeeded in making their escape from the
city. The day in which the execution had been thus prevented was called,
thenceforward, the "day of the ill-burned," (Journee des mau-brulez). One
of the ministers, however, Simon Faveau, not discouraged by this near
approach to martyrdom, persisted in his heretical labors, and was a few
years afterwards again apprehended. "He was then," says the chronicler,
cheerfully, "burned well and finally" in the same place whence he had
formerly been rescued. [Valenciennes MS.]

This desperate resistance to tyranny was for a moment successful,
because, notwithstanding the murmurs and menaces by which the storm had
been preceded, the authorities had not believed the people capable of
proceeding to such lengths. Had not the heretics--in the words of
Inquisitor Titelmann--allowed themselves, year after year, to be taken
and slaughtered like lambs? The consternation of the magistrates was soon
succeeded by anger. The government at Brussels was in a frenzy of rage
when informed of the occurrence. A bloody vengeance was instantly
prepared, to vindicate the insult to the inquisition. On the 29th of
April, detachments of Bossu's and of Berghen's "band of ordonnance" were
sent into Valenciennes, together with a company of the Duke of Aerschot's
regiment. The prisons were instantly filled to overflowing with men and
women arrested for actual or suspected participation in the tumult.
Orders had been sent down from the capital to make a short process and a
sharp execution for all the criminals. On the 16th of May, the slaughter
commenced. Some were burned at the stake, some were beheaded: the number
of victims was frightful. "Nothing was left undone by the magistrates,"
says an eyewitness, with great approbation, "which could serve for the
correction and amendment of the poor people." It was long before the
judges and hangmen rested from their labors. When at last the havoc was
complete, it might be supposed that a sufficient vengeance had been taken
for the "day of the ill-burned," and an adequate amount of "amendment"
provided for the "poor people."

Such scenes as these did not tend to increase the loyalty of the nation,
nor the popularity of the government. On Granvelle's head was poured a
daily increasing torrent of hatred. He was looked upon in the provinces
as the impersonation of that religious oppression which became every
moment more intolerable. The King and the Regent escaped much of the
odium which belonged to them, because the people chose to bestow all
their maledictions upon the Cardinal. There was, however, no great
injustice in this embodiment. Granvelle was the government. As the people
of that day were extremely reverent to royalty, they vented all their
rage upon the minister, while maintaining still a conventional respect
for the sovereign. The prelate had already become the constant butt of
the "Rhetoric Chambers." These popular clubs for the manufacture of
homespun poetry and street farces out of the raw material of public
sentiment, occupied the place which has been more effectively filled in
succeeding ages, and in free countries by the daily press. Before the
invention of that most tremendous weapon, which liberty has ever wielded
against tyranny, these humble but influential associations shared with
the pulpit the only power which existed of moving the passions or
directing the opinions of the people. They were eminently liberal in
their tendencies. The authors and the actors of their comedies, poems,
and pasquils were mostly artisans or tradesmen, belonging to the class
out of which proceeded the early victims, and the later soldiers of the
Reformation. Their bold farces and truculent satire had already effected
much in spreading among the people a detestation of Church abuses. They
were particularly severe upon monastic licentiousness. "These corrupt
comedians, called rhetoricians," says the Walloon contemporary already
cited, "afforded much amusement to the people." Always some poor little
nuns or honest monks were made a part of the farce. It seemed as if the
people could take no pleasure except in ridiculing God and the Church.
The people, however, persisted in the opinion that the ideas of a monk
and of God were not inseparable. Certainly the piety of the early
reformers was sufficiently fervent, and had been proved by the steadiness
with which they confronted torture and death, but they knew no measure in
the ridicule which they heaped upon the men by whom they were daily
murdered in droves. The rhetoric comedies were not admirable in an
aesthetic point of view, but they were wrathful and sincere. Therefore
they cost many thousand lives, but they sowed the seed of resistance to
religious tyranny, to spring up one day in a hundredfold harvest. It was
natural that the authorities should have long sought to suppress these
perambulating dramas. "There was at that tyme," wrote honest Richard
Clough to Sir Thomas Gresham, "syche playes (of Reteryke) played thet
hath cost many a 1000 man's lyves, for in these plays was the Word of God
first opened in thys country. Weche playes were and are forbidden moche
more strictly than any of the bookes of Martin Luther."

These rhetoricians were now particularly inflamed against Granvelle. They
were personally excited against him, because he had procured the
suppression of their religious dramas. "These rhetoricians who make
farces and street plays," wrote the Cardinal to Philip, "are particularly
angry with me, because two years ago I prevented them from ridiculing the
holy Scriptures." Nevertheless, these institutions continued to pursue
their opposition to the course of the government. Their uncouth gambols,
their awkward but stunning blows rendered daily service to the cause of
religious freedom. Upon the newly-appointed bishops they poured out an
endless succession of rhymes and rebuses, epigrams, caricatures and
extravaganzas. Poems were pasted upon the walls of every house, and
passed from hand to hand. Farces were enacted in every street; the odious
ecclesiastics figuring as the principal buffoons. These representations
gave so much offence, that renewed edicts were issued to suppress them.
The prohibition was resisted, and even ridiculed in many provinces,
particularly in Holland. The tyranny which was able to drown a nation in
blood and tears, was powerless to prevent them from laughing most
bitterly at their oppressors. The tanner, Cleon, was never belabored more
soundly by the wits of Athens, than the prelate by these Flemish
"rhetoricians." With infinitely less Attic salt, but with as much
heartiness as Aristophanes could have done, the popular rhymers gave the
minister ample opportunity to understand the position which he occupied
in the Netherlands. One day a petitioner placed a paper in his hand and
vanished. It contained some scurrilous verses upon himself, together with
a caricature of his person. In this he was represented as a hen seated
upon a pile of eggs, out of which he was hatching a brood of bishops.
Some of these were clipping the shell, some thrusting forth an arm, some
a leg, while others were running about with mitres on their heads, all
bearing whimsical resemblance to various prelates who had been
newly-appointed. Above the Cardinal's head the Devil was represented
hovering, with these words issuing from his mouth: "This is my beloved
Son, listen to him, my people."

There was another lampoon of a similar nature, which was so well
executed, that it especially excited Granvelle's anger. It was a rhymed
satire of a general nature, like the rest, but so delicate and so
stinging, that the Cardinal ascribed it to his old friend and present
enemy, Simon Renard. This man, a Burgundian by birth, and college
associate of Granvelle, had been befriended both by himself and his
father. Aided by their patronage and his own abilities, he had arrived at
distinguished posts; having been Spanish envoy both in France and
England, and one of the negotiators of the truce of Vaucelles. He had
latterly been disappointed in his ambition to become a councillor of
state, and had vowed vengeance upon the Cardinal, to whom he attributed
his ill success. He was certainly guilty of much ingratitude, for he had
been under early obligations to the man in whose side he now became a
perpetual thorn. It must be confessed, on the other hand, that Granvelle
repaid the enmity of his old associate with a malevolence equal to his
own, and if Renard did not lose his head as well as his political
station, it was not for want of sufficient insinuation on the part of the
minister. Especially did Granvelle denounce him to "the master" as the
perverter of Egmont, while he usually described that nobleman himself, as
weak, vain, "a friend of smoke," easily misguided, but in the main
well-intentioned and loyal. At the same time, with all these vague
commendations, he never omitted to supply the suspicious King with an
account of every fact or every rumor to the Count's discredit. In the
case of this particular satire, he informed Philip that he could swear it
came from the pen of Renard, although, for the sake of deception, the
rhetoric comedians had been employed. He described the production as
filled with "false, abominable, and infernal things," and as treating not
only himself, but the Pope and the whole ecclesiastical order with as
much contumely as could be showed in Germany. He then proceeded to
insinuate, in the subtle manner which was peculiarly his own, that Egmont
was a party to the publication of the pasquil. Renard visited at that
house, he said, and was received there on a much more intimate footing
than was becoming. Eight days before the satire was circulated, there had
been a conversation in Egmont's house, of a nature exactly similar to the
substance of the pamphlet. The man, in whose hands it was first seen,
continued Granvelle, was a sword cutler, a godson of the Count. This
person said that he had torn it from the gate of the city hall, but God
grant, prayed the Cardinal, that it was not he who had first posted it up
there. 'Tis said that Egmont and Mansfeld, he added, have sent many times
to the cutler to procure copies of the satire, all which augments the
suspicion against them.

With the nobles he was on no better terms than with the people. The great
seigniors, Orange, Egmont, Horn, and others, openly avowed their
hostility to him, and had already given their reasons to the King.
Mansfeld and his son at that time were both with the opposition. Aerschot
and Aremberg kept aloof from the league which was forming against the
prelate, but had small sympathy for his person. Even Berlaymont began to
listen to overtures from the leading nobles, who, among other
inducements, promised to supply his children with bishoprics. There were
none truly faithful and submissive to the Cardinal but such men as the
Prevot Morillon, who had received much advancement from him.

This distinguished pluralist was popularly called "double A, B, C," to
indicate that he had twice as many benefices as there were letters in the
alphabet. He had, however, no objection to more, and was faithful to the
dispensing power. The same course was pursued by Secretary Bave, Esquire
Bordey, and other expectants and dependents. Viglius, always remarkable
for his pusillanimity, was at this period already anxious to retire. The
erudite and opulent Frisian preferred a less tempestuous career. He was
in favor of the edicts, but he trembled at the uproar which their literal
execution was daily exciting, for he knew the temper of his countrymen.
On the other hand, he was too sagacious not to know the inevitable
consequence of opposition to the will of Philip. He was therefore most
eager to escape the dilemma. He was a scholar, and could find more
agreeable employment among his books. He had accumulated vast wealth, and
was desirous to retain it as long as possible. He had a learned head and
was anxious to keep it upon his shoulders. These simple objects could be
better attained in a life of privacy. The post of president of the privy
council and member of the "Consulta" was a dangerous one. He knew that
the King was sincere in his purposes. He foresaw that the people would
one day be terribly in earnest. Of ancient Frisian blood himself, he knew
that the, spirit of the ancient Batavians and Frisians had not wholly
deserted their descendants. He knew that they were not easily roused,
that they were patient, but that they would strike at last and would
endure. He urgently solicited the King to release him, and pleaded his
infirmities of body in excuse. Philip, however, would not listen to his
retirement, and made use of the most convincing arguments to induce him
to remain. Four hundred and fifty annual florins, secured by good
reclaimed swamps in Friesland, two thousand more in hand, with a promise
of still larger emoluments when the King should come to the Netherlands,
were reasons which the learned doctor honestly confessed himself unable
to resist. Fortified by these arguments, he remained at his post,
continued the avowed friend and adherent of Granvelle, and sustained with
magnanimity the invectives of nobles and people. To do him justice, he
did what he could to conciliate antagonists and to compromise principles.
If it had ever been possible to find the exact path between right and
wrong, the President would have found it, and walked in it with
respectability and complacency.

In the council, however, the Cardinal continued to carry it with a high
hand; turning his back on Orange and Egmont, and retiring with the
Duchess and President to consult, after every session. Proud and
important personages, like the Prince and Count, could ill brook such
insolence; moreover, they suspected the Cardinal of prejudicing the mind
of their sovereign against them. A report was very current, and obtained
almost universal belief, that Granvelle had expressly advised his Majesty
to take off the heads of at least half a dozen of the principal nobles in
the land. This was an error; "These two seigniors," wrote the Cardinal to
Philip, "have been informed that I have written to your Majesty, that you
will never be master of these provinces without taking off at least half
a dozen heads, and that because it would be difficult, on account of the
probable tumults which such a course would occasion, to do it here, your
Majesty means to call them to Spain and do it there. Your Majesty can
judge whether such a thing has ever entered my thoughts. I have laughed
at it as a ridiculous invention. This gross forgery is one of Renard's."
The Cardinal further stated to his Majesty that he had been informed by
these same nobles that the Duke of Alva, when a hostage for the treaty of
Cateau Cambresis, had negotiated an alliance between the crowns of France
and Spain for the extirpation of heresy by the sword. He added, that he
intended to deal with the nobles with all gentleness, and that he should
do his best to please them. The only thing which he could not yield was
the authority of his Majesty; to sustain that, he would sacrifice his
life, if necessary. At the same time Granvelle carefully impressed upon
the King the necessity of contradicting the report alluded to, a request
which he took care should also be made through the Regent in person. He
had already, both in his own person and in that of the Duchess, begged
for a formal denial, on the King's part, that there was any intention of
introducing the Spanish inquisition into the Netherlands, and that the
Cardinal had counselled, originally, the bishoprics. Thus instructed, the
King accordingly wrote to Margaret of Parma to furnish the required
contradictions. In so doing, he made a pithy remark. "The Cardinal had
not counselled the cutting off the half a dozen heads," said the monarch,
"but perhaps it would not be so bad to do it!" Time was to show whether
Philip was likely to profit by the hint conveyed in the Cardinal's
disclaimer, and whether the factor "half dozen" were to be used or not as
a simple multiplier in the terrible account preparing.

The contradictions, however sincere, were not believed by the persons
most interested. Nearly all the nobles continued to regard the Cardinal
with suspicion and aversion. Many of the ruder and more reckless class
vied with the rhetoricians and popular caricaturists in the practical
jests which they played off almost daily against the common foe.
Especially Count Brederode, "a madman, if there ever were one," as a
contemporary expressed himself, was most untiring in his efforts to make
Granvelle ridiculous. He went almost nightly to masquerades, dressed as a
cardinal or a monk; and as he was rarely known to be sober on these or
any other occasions, the wildness of his demonstrations may easily be
imagined. He was seconded on all these occasions by his cousin Robert de
la Marck, Seigneur de Lumey, a worthy descendant of the famous "Wild Boar
of Ardennes;" a man brave to temerity, but utterly depraved, licentious,
and sanguinary. These two men, both to be widely notorious, from their
prominence in many of the most striking scenes by which the great revolt
was ushered in, had vowed the most determined animosity to the Cardinal,
which was manifested in the reckless, buffooning way which belonged to
their characters. Besides the ecclesiastical costumes in which they
always attired themselves at their frequent festivities, they also wore
fog-tails in their hats instead of plumes. They decked their servants
also with the same ornaments; openly stating, that by these symbols they
meant to signify that the old fox Granvelle, and his cubs, Viglius,
Berlaymont, and the rest, should soon be hunted down by them, and the
brush placed in their hats as a trophy.

Moreover, there is no doubt that frequent threats of personal violence
were made against the Cardinal. Granvelle informed the King that his life
was continually menaced by, the nobles, but that he feared them little,
"for he believed them too prudent to attempt any thing of the kind."
There is no doubt, when his position with regard to the upper and lower
classes in the country is considered, that there was enough to alarm a
timid man; but Granvelle was constitutionally brave. He was accused of
wearing a secret shirt of mail, of living in perpetual trepidation, of
having gone on his knees to Egmont and Orange, of having sent Richardot,
Bishop of Arras, to intercede for him in the same humiliating manner with
Egmont. All these stories were fables. Bold as he was arrogant, he
affected at this time to look down with a forgiving contempt on the
animosity of the nobles. He passed much of his time alone, writing his
eternal dispatches to the King. He had a country-house, called La
Fontaine, surrounded by beautiful gardens, a little way outside the gates
of Brussels, where he generally resided, and whence, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his friends, he often returned to town, after sunset,
alone, or with but a few attendants. He avowed that he feared no attempts
at assassination, for, if the seigniors took his life, they would destroy
the best friend they ever had. This villa, where most of his plans were
matured and his state papers drawn up, was called by the people, in
derision of his supposed ancestry, "The Smithy." Here, as they believed,
was the anvil upon which the chains of their slavery were forging; here,
mostly deserted by those who had been his earlier, associates, he assumed
a philosophical demeanor which exasperated, without deceiving his
adversaries. Over the great gate of his house he had placed the marble
statue of a female. It held an empty wine-cup in one hand, and an urn of
flowing water in the other. The single word "Durate" was engraved upon
the pedestal. By the motto, which was his habitual device, he was
supposed, in this application, to signify that his power would outlast
that of the nobles, and that perennial and pure as living water, it would
flow tranquilly on, long after the wine of their life had been drunk to
the lees. The fiery extravagance of his adversaries, and the calm and
limpid moderation of his own character, thus symbolized, were supposed to
convey a moral lesson to the world. The hieroglyphics, thus interpreted,
were not relished by the nobles--all avoided his society, and declined
his invitations. He consoled himself with the company of the lesser
gentry,--a class which he now began to patronize, and which he urgently
recommended to the favor of the King,--hinting that military and civil
offices bestowed upon their inferiors would be a means of lowering the
pride of the grandees. He also affected to surround himself with even
humbler individuals. "It makes me laugh," he wrote to Philip, "to see the
great seigniors absenting themselves from my dinners; nevertheless, I can
always get plenty of guests at my table, gentlemen and councillors. I
sometimes invite even citizens, in order to gain their good will."

The Regent was well aware of the anger excited in the breasts of the
leading nobles by the cool manner in which they had been thrust out of
their share in the administration of affairs. She defended herself with
acrimony in her letters to the King, although a defence was hardly needed
in that quarter for implicit obedience to the royal commands. She
confessed her unwillingness to consult with her enemies.

She avowed her determination to conceal the secrets of the government
from those who were capable of abusing her confidence. She represented
that there were members of the council who would willingly take advantage
of the trepidation which she really felt, and which she should exhibit if
she expressed herself without reserve before them. For this reason she
confined herself, as Philip had always intended, exclusively to the
Consulta. It was not difficult to recognize the hand which wrote the
letter thus signed by Margaret of Parma.

Both nobles and people were at this moment irritated by another
circumstance. The civil war having again broken out in France, Philip,
according to the promise made by him to Catharine de Medici, when he took
her daughter in marriage, was called upon to assist the Catholic party
with auxiliaries. He sent three thousand infantry, accordingly, which he
had levied in Italy, as many more collected in Spain, and gave immediate
orders that the Duchess of Parma should despatch at least two thousand
cavalry, from the Netherlands. Great was the indignation in the council
when the commands were produced. Sore was the dismay of Margaret. It was
impossible to obey the King. The idea of sending the famous mounted
gendarmerie of the provinces to fight against the French Huguenots could
not be tolerated for an instant. The "bands of ordonnance" were very few
in number, and were to guard the frontier. They were purely for domestic
purposes. It formed no part of their duty to go upon crusades in foreign
lands; still less to take a share in a religious quarrel, and least of
all to assist a monarch against a nation. These views were so cogently
presented to the Duchess in council, that she saw the impossibility of
complying with her brother's commands. She wrote to Philip to that
effect. Meantime, another letter arrived out of Spain, chiding her delay,
and impatiently calling upon her to furnish the required cavalry at once.
The Duchess was in a dilemma. She feared to provoke another storm in the
council, for there was already sufficient wrangling there upon domestic
subjects. She knew it was impossible to obtain the consent, even of
Berlaymont and Viglius, to such an odious measure as the one proposed.
She was, however, in great trepidation at the peremptory tone of the
King's despatch. Under the advice of Granvelle, she had recourse to a
trick. A private and confidential letter of Philip was read to the
council, but with alterations suggested and interpolated by the Cardinal.
The King was represented as being furious at the delay, but as willing
that a sum of money should be furnished instead of the cavalry, as
originally required. This compromise, after considerable opposition, was
accepted. The Duchess wrote to Philip, explaining and apologizing for the
transaction. The King received the substitution with as good a grace as
could have been expected, and sent fifteen hundred troopers from Spain to
his Medicean mother-in-law, drawing upon the Duchess of Parma for the
money to pay their expenses. Thus was the industry of the Netherlands
taxed that the French might be persecuted by their own monarch.

The Regent had been forbidden, by her brother, to convoke the
states-general; a body which the Prince of Orange, sustained by Berghen,
Montigny, and other nobles, was desirous of having assembled. It may be
easily understood that Granvelle would take the best care that the royal
prohibition should be enforced. The Duchess, however, who, as already
hinted, was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable under the Cardinal's
dominion, was desirous of consulting some larger council than that with
which she held her daily deliberations. A meeting of the Knights of the
Fleece was accordingly summoned. They assembled in Brussels, in the month
of May, 1562. The learned Viglius addressed them in a long and eloquent
speech, in which he discussed the troubled and dangerous condition of the
provinces, alluded to some of its causes, and suggested various remedies.
It may be easily conceived, however, that the inquisition was not stated
among the causes, nor its suppression included among the remedies. A
discourse, in which the fundamental topic was thus conscientiously
omitted, was not likely, with all its concinnities, to make much
impression upon the disaffected knights, or to exert a soothing influence
upon the people. The orator was, however, delighted with his own
performance. He informs us, moreover, that the Duchess was equally
charmed, and that she protested she had never in her whole life heard any
thing more "delicate, more suitable, or more eloquent." The Prince of
Orange, however, did not sympathize with her admiration. The President's
elegant periods produced but little effect upon his mind. The meeting
adjourned, after a few additional words from the Duchess, in which she
begged the knights to ponder well the causes of the increasing
discontent, and to meet her again, prepared to announce what, in their
opinion, would be the course best adapted to maintain the honor of the
King, the safety of the provinces, and the glory of God.

Soon after the separation of the assembly, the Prince of Orange issued
invitations to most of the knights, to meet at his house for the purpose
of private deliberation. The President and Cardinal were not included in
these invitations. The meeting was, in fact, what we should call a
caucus, rather than a general gathering. Nevertheless, there were many of
the government party present--men who differed from the Prince, and were
inclined to support Granvelle. The meeting was a stormy one. Two subjects
were discussed. The first was the proposition of the Duchess, to
investigate the general causes of the popular dissatisfaction; the second
was an inquiry how it could be rendered practicable to discuss political
matters in future--a proceeding now impossible, in consequence of the
perverseness and arrogance of certain functionaries, and one which,
whenever attempted, always led to the same inevitable result. This direct
assault upon the Cardinal produced a furious debate. His enemies were
delighted with the opportunity of venting their long-suppressed spleen.
They indulged in savage invectives against the man whom they so sincerely
hated. His adherents, on the other hand--Bossu, Berlaymont,
Courieres--were as warm in his defence. They replied by indignant denials
of the charge against him, and by bitter insinuations against the Prince
of Orange. They charged him with nourishing the desire of being appointed
governor of Brabant, an office considered inseparable from the general
stadholderate of all the provinces. They protested for themselves that
they were actuated by no ambitious designs--that they were satisfied with
their own position, and not inspired by jealousy of personages more
powerful than themselves. It is obvious that such charges and
recriminations could excite no healing result, and that the lines between
Cardinalists and their opponents would be defined in consequence more
sharply than ever. The adjourned meeting of the Chevaliers of the Fleece
took place a few days afterwards. The Duchess exerted herself as much as
possible to reconcile the contending factions, without being able,
however, to apply the only remedy which could be effective. The man who
was already fast becoming the great statesman of the country knew that
the evil was beyond healing, unless by a change of purpose on the part of
the government. The Regent, on the other hand, who it must be confessed
never exhibited any remarkable proof of intellectual ability during the
period of her residence in the Netherlands, was often inspired by a
feeble and indefinite hope that the matter might be arranged by a
compromise between the views of conflicting parties. Unfortunately the
inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise.

Nothing of radical importance was accomplished by the Assembly of the
Fleece. It was decided that an application should be made to the
different states for a giant of money, and that, furthermore, a special
envoy should be despatched to Spain. It was supposed by the Duchess and
her advisers that more satisfactory information concerning the provinces
could be conveyed to Philip by word of mouth than by the most elaborate
epistles. The meeting was dissolved after these two measures had been
agreed upon. Doctor Viglius, upon whom devolved the duty of making the
report and petition to the states, proceeded to draw up the necessary
application. This he did with his customary elegance, and, as usual, very
much to his own satisfaction. On returning to his house, however, after
having discharged this duty, he was very much troubled at finding that a
large mulberry-tree; which stood in his garden, had been torn up by the
roots in a violent hurricane. The disaster was considered ominous by the
President, and he was accordingly less surprised than mortified when he
found, subsequently, that his demand upon the orders had remained as
fruitless as his ruined tree. The tempest which had swept his garden he
considered typical of the storm which was soon to rage through the land,
and he felt increased anxiety to reach a haven while it was yet
comparatively calm.

The estates rejected the request for supplies, on various grounds; among
others, that the civil war was drawing to a conclusion in France, and
that less danger was to be apprehended from that source than had lately
been the case. Thus, the "cup of bitterness," of which Granvelle had
already complained; was again commended to his lips, and there was more
reason than ever for the government to regret that the national
representatives had contracted the habit of meddling with financial
matters.

Florence de Montmorency, Seigneur de Montigny, was selected by the Regent
for the mission which had been decided upon for Spain. This gentleman was
brother to Count Horn, but possessed of higher talents and a more amiable
character than those of the Admiral. He was a warm friend of Orange, and
a bitter enemy to Granvelle. He was a sincere Catholic, but a determined
foe to the inquisition. His brother had declined to act as envoy. This
refusal can excite but little surprise, when Philip's wrath at their
parting interview is recalled, and when it is also remembered that the
new mission would necessarily lay bare fresh complaints against the
Cardinal, still more extensive than those which had produced the former
explosion of royal indignation. Montigny, likewise, would have preferred
to remain at home, but he was overruled. It had been written in his
destiny that he should go twice into the angry lion's den, and that he
should come forth once, alive.

Thus it has been shown that there was an open, avowed hostility on the
part of the grand seignors and most of the lesser nobility to the
Cardinal and his measures. The people fully and enthusiastically
sustained the Prince of Orange in his course. There was nothing underhand
in the opposition made to the government. The Netherlands did not
constitute an absolute monarchy. They did not even constitute a monarchy.
There was no king in the provinces. Philip was King of Spain, Naples,
Jerusalem, but he was only Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, Lord of
Friesland, hereditary chief, in short, under various titles, of seventeen
states, each one of which, although not republican, possessed
constitutions as sacred as, and much more ancient than, the Crown. The
resistance to the absolutism of Granvelle and Philip was, therefore,
logical, legal, constitutional. It was no cabal, no secret league, as the
Cardinal had the effrontery to term it, but a legitimate exercise of
powers which belonged of old to those who wielded them, and which only an
unrighteous innovation could destroy.

Granvelle's course was secret and subtle. During the whole course of the
proceedings which have just been described, he was; in daily confidential
correspondence with the King, besides being the actual author of the
multitudinous despatches which were sent with the signature of the
Duchess. He openly asserted his right to monopolize all the powers of the
Government; he did his utmost to force upon the reluctant and almost
rebellious people the odious measures which the King had resolved upon,
while in his secret letters he uniformly represented the nobles who
opposed him, as being influenced, not by an honest hatred of oppression
and attachment to ancient rights, but by resentment, and jealousy of
their own importance. He assumed, in his letters to his master, that the
absolutism already existed of right and in fact, which it was the
intention of Philip to establish. While he was depriving the nobles, the
states and the nation of their privileges, and even of their natural
rights (a slender heritage in those days), he assured the King that there
was an evident determination to reduce his authority to a cipher.

The estates, he wrote, had usurped the whole administration of the
finances, and had farmed it out to Antony Van Stralen and others, who
were making enormous profits in the business. "The seignors," he said,
"declare at their dinner parties that I wish to make them subject to the
absolute despotism of your Majesty. In point of fact, however, they
really exercise a great deal more power than the governors of particular
provinces ever did before; and it lacks but little that Madame and your
Majesty should become mere ciphers, while the grandees monopolize the
whole power. This," he continued, "is the principal motive of their
opposition to the new bishoprics. They were angry that your Majesty
should have dared to solicit such an arrangement at Rome, without, first
obtaining their consent. They wish to reduce your Majesty's authority to
so low a point that you can do nothing unless they desire it. Their
object is the destruction of the royal authority and of the
administration of justice, in order to avoid the payment of their debts;
telling their creditors constantly that they, have spent their all in
your Majesty's service, and that they have never received recompence or
salary. This they do to make your Majesty odious."

As a matter of course, he attributed the resistance on the part of the
great nobles, every man of whom was Catholic, to base motives. They were
mere demagogues, who refused to burn their fellow-creatures, not from any
natural repugnance to the task, but in order to gain favor with the
populace. "This talk about the inquisition," said he, "is all a pretext.
'Tis only to throw dust in the eyes of the vulgar, and to persuade them
into tumultuous demonstrations, while the real reason is, that they
choose that your Majesty should do nothing without their permission, and
through their hands."

He assumed sometimes, however, a tone of indulgence toward the
seignors--who formed the main topics of his letters--an affectation which
might, perhaps, have offended them almost as much as more open and
sincere denunciation. He could forgive offences against himself. It was
for Philip to decide as to their merits or crimes so far as the Crown was
concerned. His language often was befitting a wise man who was speaking
of very little children. "Assonleville has told me, as coming from
Egmont," he wrote, "that many of the nobles are dissatisfied with me;
hearing from Spain that I am endeavoring to prejudice your Majesty
against them." Certainly the tone of the Cardinal's daily letters would
have justified such suspicion, could the nobles have seen them. Granvelle
begged the King, however, to disabuse them upon this point. "Would to
God," said he, piously, "that they all would decide to sustain the
authority of your Majesty, and to procure such measures as tend to the
service of God and the security of the states. May I cease to exist if I
do not desire to render good service to the very least of these
gentlemen. Your Majesty knows that, when they do any thing for the
benefit of your service, I am never silent. Nevertheless, thus they are
constituted. I hope, however, that this flurry will blow over, and that
when your Majesty comes they will all be found to deserve rewards of
merit."

Of Egmont, especially, he often spoke in terms of vague, but somewhat
condescending commendation. He never manifested resentment in his
letters, although, as already stated, the Count had occasionally
indulged, not only in words, but in deeds of extreme violence against
him. But the Cardinal was too forgiving a Christian, or too keen a
politician not to pass by such offences, so long as there was a chance of
so great a noble's remaining or becoming his friend. He, accordingly,
described him, in general, as a man whose principles, in the main, were
good, but who was easily led by his own vanity and the perverse counsels
of others. He represented him as having been originally a warm supporter
of the new bishoprics, and as having expressed satisfaction that two of
them, those of Bruges and Ypres, should have been within his own
stadholderate. He regretted, however; to inform the King that the Count
was latterly growing lukewarm, perhaps from fear of finding himself
separated from the other nobles. On the whole, he was tractable enough,
said the Cardinal, if he were not easily persuaded by the vile; but one
day, perhaps, he might open his eyes again. Notwithstanding these vague
expressions of approbation, which Granvelle permitted himself in his
letters to Philip, he never failed to transmit to the monarch every fact,
every rumor, every inuendo which might prejudice the royal mind against
that nobleman or against any of the noblemen, whose characters he at the
same time protested he was most unwilling to injure.

It is true that he dealt mainly by insinuation, while he was apt to
conclude his statements with disclaimers upon his own part, and with
hopes of improvement in the conduct of the seignors. At this particular
point of time he furnished Philip with a long and most circumstantial
account of a treasonable correspondence which was thought to be going on
between the leading nobles and the future emperor, Maximilian. The
narrative was a good specimen of the masterly style of inuendo in which
the Cardinal excelled, and by which he was often enabled to convince his
master of the truth of certain statements while affecting to discredit
them. He had heard a story, he said, which he felt bound to communicate
to his Majesty, although he did not himself implicitly believe it. He
felt himself the more bound to speak upon the subject because it tallied
exactly with intelligence which he had received from another source. The
story was that one of these seigniors (the Cardinal did not know which,
for he had not yet thought proper to investigate the matter) had said
that rather than consent that the King should act in this matter of the
bishoprics against the privileges of Brabant, the nobles would elect for
their sovereign some other prince of the blood. This, said the Cardinal,
was perhaps a fantasy rather than an actual determination. Count Egmont,
to be sure, he said, was constantly exchanging letters with the King of
Bohemia (Maximilian), and it was supposed, therefore, that he was the
prince of the blood who was to be elected to govern the provinces. It was
determined that he should be chosen King of the Romans, by fair means or
by force, that he should assemble an army to attack the Netherlands, that
a corresponding movement should be made within the states, and that the
people should be made to rise, by giving them the reins in the matter of
religion. The Cardinal, after recounting all the particulars of this
fiction with great minuteness, added, with apparent frankness, that the
correspondence between Egmont and Maximilian did not astonish him,
because there had been much intimacy between them in the time of the late
Emperor. He did not feel convinced, therefore, from the frequency of the
letters exchanged, that there was a scheme to raise an army to attack the
provinces and to have him elected by force. On the contrary, Maximilian
could never accomplish such a scheme without the assistance of his
imperial father the Emperor, whom Granvelle was convinced would rather
die than be mixed up with such villany against Philip. Moreover, unless
the people should become still more corrupted by the bad counsels
constantly given them, the Cardinal did not believe that any of the great
nobles had the power to dispose in this way of the provinces at their
pleasure. Therefore, he concluded that the story was to be rejected as
improbable, although it had come to him directly from the house of the
said Count Egmont. It is remarkable that, at the commencement of his
narrative, the Cardinal had expressed his ignorance of the name of the
seignior who was hatching all this treason, while at the end of it he
gave a local habitation to the plot in the palace of Egmont. It is also
quite characteristic that he should add that, after all, he considered
that nobleman one of the most honest of all, if appearances did not
deceive.

It may be supposed, however, that all these details of a plot which was
quite imaginary, were likely to produce more effect upon a mind so narrow
and so suspicious as that of Philip, than could the vague assertions of
the Cardinal, that in spite of all, he would dare be sworn that he
thought the Count honest, and that men should be what they seemed.

Notwithstanding the conspiracy, which, according to Granvelle's letters,
had been formed against him, notwithstanding that his life was daily
threatened, he did not advise the King at this period to avenge him by
any public explosion of wrath. He remembered, he piously observed, that
vengeance belonged to God, and that He would repay. Therefore he passed
over insults meekly, because that comported best with his Majesty's
service. Therefore, too, he instructed Philip to make no demonstration at
that time, in order not to damage his own affairs. He advised him to
dissemble, and to pretend not to know what was going on in the provinces.
Knowing that his master looked to him daily for instructions, always
obeyed them with entire docility, and, in fact, could not move a step in
Netherland matters without them, he proceeded to dictate to him the terms
in which he was to write to the nobles, and especially laid down rules
for his guidance in his coming interviews with the Seigneur de Montigny.
Philip, whose only talent consisted in the capacity to learn such lessons
with laborious effort, was at this juncture particularly in need of
tuition. The Cardinal instructed him, accordingly, that he was to
disabuse all men of the impression that the Spanish inquisition was to be
introduced into the provinces. He was to write to the seigniors,
promising to pay them their arrears of salary; he was to exhort them to
do all in their power for the advancement of religion and maintenance of
the royal authority; and he was to suggest to them that, by his answer to
the Antwerp deputation, it was proved that there was no intention of
establishing the inquisition of Spain, under pretext of the new
bishoprics.

The King was, furthermore, to signify his desire that all the nobles
should exert themselves to efface this false impression from the popular
mind. He was also to express himself to the same effect concerning the
Spanish inquisition, the bishoprics, and the religious question, in the
public letters to Madame de Parma, which were to be read in full council.
The Cardinal also renewed his instructions to the King as to the manner
in which the Antwerp deputies were to be answered, by giving them,
namely, assurances that to transplant the Spanish inquisition into the
provinces would be as hopeless as to attempt its establishment in Naples.
He renewed his desire that Philip should contradict the story about the
half dozen heads, and he especially directed him to inform Montigny that
Berghen had known of the new bishoprics before the Cardinal. This, urged
Granvelle, was particularly necessary, because the seigniors were
irritated that so important a matter should have been decided upon
without their advice, and because the Marquis Berghen was now the "cock
of the opposition."

At about the same time, it was decided by Granvelle and the Regent, in
conjunction with the King, to sow distrust and jealousy among the nobles,
by giving greater "mercedes" to some than to others, although large sums
were really due to all. In particular, the attempt was made in this
paltry manner, to humiliate William of Orange. A considerable sum was
paid to Egmont, and a trifling one to the Prince, in consideration of
their large claims upon the treasury. Moreover the Duke of Aerschot was
selected as envoy to the Frankfort Diet, where the King of the Romans was
to be elected, with the express intention, as Margaret wrote to Philip,
of creating divisions among the nobles, as he had suggested. The Duchess
at the same time informed her brother that, according to, Berlaymont, the
Prince of Orange was revolving some great design, prejudicial to his
Majesty's service.

Philip, who already began to suspect that a man who thought so much must
be dangerous, was eager to find out the scheme over which William the
Silent was supposed to be brooding, and wrote for fresh intelligence to
the Duchess.

Neither Margaret nor the Cardinal, however, could discover any thing
against the Prince--who, meantime, although disappointed of the mission
to Frankfort, had gone to that city in his private capacity--saving that
he had been heard to say, "one day we shall be the stronger." Granvelle
and Madame de Parma both communicated this report upon the same day, but
this was all that they were able to discover of the latent plot.

In the autumn of this year (1562) Montigny made his visit to Spain, as
confidential envoy from the Regent. The King being fully prepared as to
the manner in which he was to deal with him, received the ambassador with
great cordiality. He informed him in the course of their interviews, that
Granvelle had never attempted to create prejudice against the nobles,
that he was incapable of the malice attributed to him, and that even were
it otherwise, his evil representations against other public servants
would produce no effect. The King furthermore protested that he had no
intention of introducing the Spanish inquisition into the Netherlands,
and that the new bishops were not intended as agents for such a design,
but had been appointed solely with a view of smoothing religious
difficulties in the provinces, and of leading his people back into the
fold of the faithful. He added, that as long ago as his visit to England
for the purpose of espousing Queen Mary, he had entertained the project
of the new episcopates, as the Marquis Berghen, with whom he had
conversed freely upon the subject, could bear witness. With regard to the
connexion of Granvelle with the scheme, he assured Montigny that the
Cardinal had not been previously consulted, but had first learned the
plan after the mission of Sonnius.

Such was the purport of the King's communications to the envoy, as
appears from memoranda in the royal handwriting and from the
correspondence of Margaret of Parma. Philip's exactness in conforming to
his instructions is sufficiently apparent, on comparing his statements
with the letters previously received from the omnipresent Cardinal.
Beyond the limits of those directions the King hardly hazarded a
syllable. He was merely the plenipotentiary of the Cardinal, as Montigny
was of the Regent. So long as Granvelle's power lasted, he was absolute
and infallible. Such, then, was the amount of satisfaction derived from
the mission of Montigny. There was to be no diminution of the religious
persecution, but the people were assured upon royal authority, that the
inquisition, by which they were daily burned and beheaded, could not be
logically denominated the Spanish inquisition. In addition to the
comfort, whatever it might be, which the nation could derive from this
statement, they were also consoled with the information that Granvelle
was not the inventor of the bishoprics. Although he had violently
supported the measure as soon as published, secretly denouncing as
traitors and demagogues, all those who lifted their voices against it,
although he was the originator of the renewed edicts, although he took,
daily, personal pains that this Netherland inquisition, "more pitiless
than the Spanish," should be enforced in its rigor, and although he, at
the last, opposed the slightest mitigation of its horrors, he was to be
represented to the nobles and the people as a man of mild and
unprejudiced character, incapable of injuring even his enemies. "I will
deal with the seigniors most blandly," the Cardinal had written to
Philip, "and will do them pleasure, even if they do not wish it, for the
sake of God and your Majesty." It was in this light, accordingly, that
Philip drew the picture of his favorite minister to the envoy. Montigny,
although somewhat influenced by the King's hypocritical assurances of
the, benignity with which he regarded the Netherlands, was, nevertheless,
not to be deceived by this flattering portraiture of a man whom he knew
so well and detested so cordially as he did Granvelle. Solicited by the
King, at their parting interview, to express his candid opinion as to the
causes of the dissatisfaction in the provinces, Montigny very frankly and
most imprudently gave vent to his private animosity towards the Cardinal.
He spoke of his licentiousness, greediness, ostentation, despotism, and
assured the monarch that nearly all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
entertained the same opinion concerning him. He then dilated upon the
general horror inspired by the inquisition and the great repugnance felt
to the establishment of the new episcopates. These three evils,
Granvelle, the inquisition, and the bishoprics, he maintained were the
real and sufficient causes of the increasing popular discontent. Time was
to reveal whether the open-hearted envoy was to escape punishment for his
frankness, and whether vengeance for these crimes against Granvelle and
Philip were to be left wholly, as the Cardinal had lately suggested, in
the hands of the Lord.

Montigny returned late in December. His report concerning the results of
his mission was made in the state council, and was received with great
indignation. The professions of benevolent intentions on the part of the
sovereign made no impression on the mind of Orange, who was already in
the habit of receiving secret information from Spain with regard to the
intentions of the government. He knew very well that the plot revealed to
him by Henry the Second in the wood of Vincennes was still the royal
program, so far as the Spanish monarch was concerned. Moreover, his anger
was heightened by information received from Montigny that the names of
Orange, Egmont and their adherents, were cited to him as he passed
through France as the avowed defenders of the Huguenots, in politics and
religion. The Prince, who was still a sincere Catholic, while he hated
the persecutions of the inquisition, was furious at the statement. A
violent scene occurred in the council. Orange openly denounced the report
as a new slander of Granvelle, while Margaret defended the Cardinal and
denied the accusation, but at the same time endeavored with the utmost
earnestness to reconcile the conflicting parties.

It had now become certain, however, that the government could no longer
be continued on its present footing. Either Granvelle or the seigniors
must succumb. The Prince of Orange was resolved that the Cardinal should
fall or that he would himself withdraw from all participation in the
affairs of government. In this decision he was sustained by Egmont, Horn,
Montigny, Berghen, and the other leading nobles.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Affecting to discredit them
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 8.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1563-1564 [CHAPTER IV.]

   Joint letter to Philip, from Orange, Egmont, and Horn--Egmont's
   quarrel with Aerschot and with Aremberg--Philip's answer to the
   three nobles--His instructions to the Duchess--Egmont declines the
   King's invitation to visit Spain--Second letter of the three
   seigniors--Mission of Armenteros--Letter of Alva--Secret letters of
   Granvelle to Philip--The Cardinal's insinuations and instructions--
   His complaints as to the lukewarmness of Berghen and Montigny in the
   cause of the inquisition--Anecdotes to their discredit privately
   chronicled by Granvelle--Supposed necessity for the King's presence
   in the provinces--Correspondence of Lazarus Schwendi--Approaching
   crisis--Anxiety of Granvelle to retire--Banquet of Caspar Schetz--
   Invention of the foolscap livery--Correspondence of the Duchess and
   of the Cardinal with Philip upon the subject--Entire withdrawal of
   the three seigniors from the state council--the King advises with
   Alva concerning the recall of Granvelle--Elaborate duplicity of
   Philip's arrangements--His secret note to the Cardinal--His
   dissembling letters to others--Departure of Granvelle from the
   Netherlands--Various opinions as to its cause--Ludicrous conduct of
   Brederode and Hoogstraaten--Fabulous statements in Granvelle's
   correspondence concerning his recall--Universal mystification--The
   Cardinal deceived by the King--Granvelle in retirement--His
   epicureanism--Fears in the provinces as to his return--Universal joy
   at his departure--Representations to his discredit made by the
   Duchess to Philip--Her hypocritical letters to the Cardinal--
   Masquerade at Count Mansfeld's--Chantonnay's advice to his brother--
   Review of Granvelle's administration and estimate of his character.

On the 11th March, 1563, Orange, Horn, and Egmont united in a remarkable
letter to the King. They said that as their longer "taciturnity" might
cause the ruin of his Majesty's affairs, they were at last compelled to
break silence. They hoped that the King would receive with benignity a
communication which was pure, frank, and free from all passion. The
leading personages of the province, they continued, having thoroughly
examined the nature and extent of Cardinal Granvelle's authority, had
arrived at the conclusion that every thing was in his hands. This
persuasion, they said, was rooted in the hearts of all his Majesty's
subjects, and particularly in their own, so deeply, that it could not be
eradicated as long as the Cardinal remained. The King was therefore
implored to consider the necessity of remedying the evil. The royal
affairs, it was affirmed, would never be successfully conducted so long
as they were entrusted to Granvelle, because he was so odious to so many
people. If the danger were not imminent, they should not feel obliged to
write to his Majesty with so much vehemence. It was, however, an affair
which allowed neither delay nor dissimulation. They therefore prayed the
King, if they had ever deserved credence in things of weight, to believe
them now. By so doing, his Majesty would avoid great mischief. Many grand
seigniors, governors, and others, had thought it necessary to give this
notice, in order that the King might prevent the ruin of the country. If,
however, his Majesty were willing, as they hoped, to avoid discontenting
all for the sake of satisfying one, it was possible that affairs might
yet prosper. That they might not be thought influenced by ambition or by
hope of private profit, the writers asked leave to retire from the state
council. Neither their reputation, they said, nor the interests of the
royal service would permit them to act with the Cardinal. They professed
themselves dutiful subjects and Catholic vassals. Had it not been for the
zeal of the leading seigniors, the nobility, and other well-disposed
persons, affairs would not at that moment be so tranquil; the common
people having been so much injured, and the manner of life pursued by the
Cardinal not being calculated to give more satisfaction than was afforded
by his unlimited authority. In conclusion, the writers begged his Majesty
not to throw the blame upon them, if mischance should follow the neglect
of this warning. This memorable letter was signed by Guillaume, de
Nassau, Lamoral d'Egmont, and Philippes de Montmorency (Count Horn). It
was despatched undercover to Charles de Tisnacq, a Belgian, and
procurator for the affairs of the Netherlands at Madrid, a man whose
relations with Count Egmont were of a friendly character. It was
impossible, however, to keep the matter a secret from the person most
interested. The Cardinal wrote to the King the day before the letter was
written, and many weeks before it was sent, to apprize him that it was
coming, and to instruct him as to the answer he was to make. Nearly all
the leading nobles and governors had adhered to the substance of the
letter, save the Duke of Aerschot, Count Aremberg, and Baron Berlaymont.
The Duke and Count had refused to join the league; violent scenes having
occurred upon the subject between them and the leaders of the opposition
party. Egmont, being with a large shooting party at Aerschot's country
place, Beaumont, had taken occasion to urge the Duke to join in the
general demonstration against the Cardinal, arguing the matter in the
rough, off-hand, reckless manner which was habitual with him. His
arguments offended the nobleman thus addressed, who was vain and
irascible. He replied by affirming that he was a friend to Egmont, but
would not have him for his master. He would have nothing to do, he said,
with their league against the Cardinal, who had never given him cause of
enmity. He had no disposition to dictate to the King as to his choice of
ministers, and his Majesty was quite right to select his servants at his
own pleasure. The Duke added that if the seigniors did not wish him for a
friend, it was a matter of indifference to him. Not one of them was his
superior; he had as large a band of noble followers and friends as the
best of them, and he had no disposition to accept the supremacy of any
nobleman in the land. The conversation carried on in this key soon became
a quarrel, and from words the two gentlemen would soon have come to
blows, but for the interposition of Aremberg and Robles, who were present
at the scene. The Duchess of Parma, narrating the occurrence to the King,
added that a duel had been the expected result of the affair, but that
the two nobles had eventually been reconciled. It was characteristic of
Aerschot that he continued afterward to associate with the nobles upon
friendly terms, while maintaining an increased intimacy with the
Cardinal.

The gentlemen who sent the letter were annoyed at the premature publicity
which it seemed to have attained. Orange had in vain solicited Count
Aremberg to join the league, and had quarrelled with him in consequence.
Egmont, in the presence of Madame de Parma, openly charged Aremberg with
having divulged the secret which had been confided to him. The Count
fiercely denied that he had uttered a syllable on the subject to a human
being; but added that any communication on his part would have been quite
superfluous, while Egmont and his friends were daily boasting of what
they were to accomplish. Egmont reiterated the charge of a breach of
faith by Aremberg. That nobleman replied by laying his hand upon his
sword, denouncing as liars all persons who should dare to charge him
again with such an offence, and offering to fight out the quarrel upon
the instant. Here, again, personal combat was, with much difficulty,
averted.

Egmont, rude, reckless, and indiscreet, was already making manifest that
he was more at home on a battle-field than in a political controversy
where prudence and knowledge of human nature were as requisite as
courage. He was at this period more liberal in his sentiments than at any
moment of his life. Inflamed by his hatred of Granvelle, and determined
to compass the overthrow of that minister, he conversed freely with all
kinds of people, sought popularity among the burghers, and descanted to
every one with much imprudence upon the necessity of union for the sake
of liberty and the national good. The Regent, while faithfully recording
in her despatches every thing of this nature which reached her ears,
expressed her astonishment at Egmont's course, because, as she had often
taken occasion to inform the King, she had always considered the Count
most sincerely attached to his Majesty's service.

Berlaymont, the only other noble of prominence who did not approve the
11th of March letter, was at this period attempting to "swim in two
waters," and, as usual in such cases, found it very difficult to keep
himself afloat. He had refused to join the league, but he stood aloof
from Granvelle. On a hope held out by the seigniors that his son should
be made Bishop of Liege, he had ceased during a whole year from visiting
the Cardinal, and had never spoken to him at the council-board.
Granvelle, in narrating these circumstances to the King, expressed the
opinion that Berlaymont, by thus attempting to please both parties, had
thoroughly discredited himself with both.

The famous epistle, although a most reasonable and manly statement of an
incontrovertible fact, was nevertheless a document which it required much
boldness to sign. The minister at that moment seemed omnipotent, and it
was obvious that the King was determined upon a course of political and
religious absolutism. It is, therefore, not surprising that, although
many sustained its principles, few were willing to affix their names to a
paper which might prove a death-warrant to the signers. Even Montigny and
Berghen, although they had been active in conducting the whole cabal, if
cabal it could be called, refused to subscribe the letter. Egmont and
Horn were men of reckless daring, but they were not keen-sighted enough
to perceive fully the consequences of their acts.

Orange was often accused by his enemies of timidity, but no man ever
doubted his profound capacity to look quite through the deeds of men. His
political foresight enabled him to measure the dangerous precipice which
they were deliberately approaching, while the abyss might perhaps be
shrouded to the vision of his companions. He was too tranquil of nature
to be hurried, by passions into a grave political step, which in cooler
moments he might regret. He resolutely, therefore, and with his eyes
open, placed himself in open and recorded enmity with the most powerful
and dangerous man in the whole Spanish realm, and incurred the resentment
of a King who never forgave. It may be safely averred that as much
courage was requisite thus to confront a cold and malignant despotism,
and to maintain afterwards, without flinching, during a whole lifetime,
the cause of national rights and liberty of conscience, as to head the
most brilliant charge of cavalry that ever made hero famous.

Philip answered the letter of the three nobles on the 6th June following.
In this reply, which was brief, he acknowledged the zeal and affection by
which the writers had been actuated. He suggested, nevertheless, that, as
they had mentioned no particular cause for adopting the advice contained
in their letter, it would be better that one of them should come to
Madrid to confer with him. Such matters, he said, could be better treated
by word of mouth. He might thus receive sufficient information to enable
him to form a decision, for, said he in conclusion, it was not his custom
to aggrieve any of his ministers without cause.

This was a fine phrase, but under the circumstances of its application,
quite ridiculous. There was no question of aggrieving the minister. The
letter of the three nobles was very simple. It consisted of a fact and a
deduction. The fact stated was, that the Cardinal was odious to all
classes of the nation. The deduction drawn was, that the government could
no longer be carried on by him without imminent danger of ruinous
convulsions. The fact was indisputable. The person most interested
confirmed it in his private letters. "'Tis said," wrote Granvelle to
Philip, "that grandees, nobles, and people, all abhor me, nor am I
surprised to find that grandees, nobles, and people are all openly
against me, since each and all have been invited to join in the league."
The Cardinal's reasons for the existence of the unpopularity, which he
admitted to the full, have no bearing upon the point in the letter. The
fact was relied upon to sustain a simple, although a momentous inference.
It was for Philip to decide upon the propriety of the deduction, and to
abide by the consequences of his resolution when taken. As usual,
however, the monarch was not capable of making up his mind. He knew very
well that the Cardinal was odious and infamous, because he was the
willing impersonation of the royal policy. Philip was, therefore,
logically called upon to abandon the policy or to sustain the minister.
He could make up his mind to do neither the one nor the other. In the
mean time a well-turned period of mock magnanimity had been furnished
him. This he accordingly transmitted as his first answer to a most
important communication upon a subject which, in the words of the
writers, "admitted neither of dissimulation nor delay." To deprive Philip
of dissimulation and delay, however, was to take away his all. They were
the two weapons with which he fought his long life's battle. They summed
up the whole of his intellectual resources. It was inevitable, therefore,
that he should at once have recourse to both on such an emergency as the
present one.

At the same time that he sent his answer to the nobles, he wrote an
explanatory letter to the Regent. He informed her that he had received
the communication of the three seigniors, but instructed her that she was
to appear to know nothing of the matter until Egmont should speak to her
upon the subject. He added that, although he had signified his wish to
the three nobles, that one of them, without specifying which, should come
to Madrid, he in reality desired that Egmont, who seemed the most
tractable of the three, should be the one deputed. The King added, that
his object was to divide the nobles, and to gain time.

It was certainly superfluous upon Philip's part to inform his sister that
his object was to gain time. Procrastination was always his first refuge,
as if the march of the world's events would pause indefinitely while he
sat in his cabinet and pondered. It was, however, sufficiently puerile to
recommend to his sister an affectation of ignorance on a subject
concerning which nobles had wrangled, and almost drawn their swords in
her presence. This, however, was the King's statesmanship when left to
his unaided exertions. Granvelle, who was both Philip and Margaret when
either had to address or to respond to the world at large, did not always
find it necessary to regulate the correspondence of his puppets between
themselves. In order more fully to divide the nobles, the King also
transmitted to Egmont a private note, in his own handwriting, expressing
his desire that he should visit Spain in person, that they might confer
together upon the whole subject.

These letters, as might be supposed, produced any thing but a
satisfactory effect. The discontent and rage of the gentlemen who had
written or sustained the 11th of March communication, was much increased.
The answer was, in truth, no answer at all. "'Tis a cold and bad reply,"
wrote Louis of Nassau, "to send after so long a delay. 'Tis easy to see
that the letter came from the Cardinal's smithy. In summa it is a vile
business, if the gentlemen are all to be governed by one person. I hope
to God his power will come soon to an end. Nevertheless," added Louis,
"the gentlemen are all wide awake, for they trust the red fellow not a
bit more than he deserves."

The reader has already seen that the letter was indeed "from the
Cardinal's smithy," Granvelle having instructed his master how to reply
to the seigniors before the communication had been despatched.

The Duchess wrote immediately to inform her brother that Egmont had
expressed himself willing enough to go to Spain, but had added that he
must first consult Orange and Horn. As soon as that step had been taken,
she had been informed that it was necessary for them to advise with all
the gentlemen who had sanctioned their letter. The Duchess had then tried
in vain to prevent such an assembly, but finding that, even if forbidden,
it would still take place, she had permitted the meeting in Brussels, as
she could better penetrate into their proceedings there, than if it
should be held at a distance. She added, that she should soon send her
secretary Armenteros to Spain, that the King might be thoroughly
acquainted with what was occurring.

Egmont soon afterwards wrote to Philip, declining to visit Spain
expressly on account of the Cardinal. He added, that he was ready to
undertake the journey, should the King command his presence for any other
object. The same decision was formally communicated to the Regent by
those Chevaliers of the Fleece who had approved the 11th of March
letter--Montigny; Berghen, Meghem, Mansfeld, Ligne, Hoogstraaten, Orange,
Egmont, and Horn. The Prince of Orange, speaking in the name of all,
informed her that they did not consider it consistent with their
reputation, nor with the interest of his Majesty, that any one of them
should make so long and troublesome a journey, in order to accuse the
Cardinal. For any other purpose, they all held themselves ready to go to
Spain at once. The Duchess expressed her regret at this resolution. The
Prince replied by affirming that, in all their proceedings, they had been
governed, not by hatred of Granvelle but by a sense of duty to his
Majesty. It was now, he added, for the King to pursue what course it
pleased him.

Four days after this interview with the Regent, Orange, Egmont, and Horn
addressed a second letter to the King. In this communication they stated
that they had consulted with all the gentlemen with whose approbation
their first letter had been written. As to the journey of one of them to
Spain,--as suggested, they pronounced it very dangerous for any seignior
to absent himself, in the condition of affairs which then existed. It was
not a sufficient cause to go thither on account of Granvelle. They
disclaimed any intention of making themselves parties to a process
against the Cardinal. They had thought that their simple, brief
announcement would have sufficed to induce his Majesty to employ that
personage in other places, where his talents would be more fruitful. As
to "aggrieving the Cardinal without cause," there was no question of
aggrieving him at all, but of relieving him of an office which could not
remain in his hands without disaster. As to "no particular cause having
been mentioned," they said the omission was from no lack of many such.
They had charged none, however, because, from their past services and
their fidelity to his Majesty, they expected to be believed on their
honor, without further witnesses or evidence. They had no intention of
making themselves accusers. They had purposely abstained from
specifications. If his Majesty should proceed to ampler information,
causes enough would be found. It was better, however, that they should be
furnished by others than by themselves. His Majesty would then find that
the public and general complaint was not without adequate motives. They
renewed their prayer to be excused from serving in the council of state,
in order that they might not be afterwards inculpated for the faults of
others. Feeling that the controversy between themselves and the Cardinal
de Granvelle in the state council produced no fruit for his Majesty's
affairs, they preferred to yield to him. In conclusion, they begged the
King to excuse the simplicity of their letters, the rather that they were
not by nature great orators, but more accustomed to do well than to speak
well, which was also more becoming to persons of their quality.

On the 4th of August, Count Horn also addressed a private letter to the
King, written in the same spirit as that which characterized the joint
letter just cited. He assured his Majesty that the Cardinal could render
no valuable service to the crown on account of the hatred which the whole
nation bore him, but that, as far as regarded the maintenance of the
ancient religion, all the nobles were willing to do their duty.

The Regent now despatched, according to promise, her private secretary,
Thomas de Armenteros, to Spain. His instructions, which were very
elaborate, showed that Granvelle was not mistaken when he charged her
with being entirely changed in regard to him, and when he addressed her a
reproachful letter, protesting his astonishment that his conduct had
become auspicious, and his inability to divine the cause of the weariness
and dissatisfaction which she manifested in regard to him.

Armenteros, a man of low, mercenary, and deceitful character, but a
favorite of the Regent, and already beginning to acquire that influence
over her mind which was soon to become so predominant, was no friend of
the Cardinal. It was not probable that he would diminish the effect of
that vague censure mingled with faint commendation, which characterized
Margaret's instructions by any laudatory suggestions of his own. He was
directed to speak in general terms of the advance of heresy, and the
increasing penury of the exchequer. He was to request two hundred
thousand crowns toward the lottery, which the Regent proposed to set up
as a financial scheme. He was to represent that the Duchess had tried,
unsuccessfully, every conceivable means of accommodating the quarrel
between the Cardinal and the seigniors. She recognized Granvelle's great
capacity, experience, zeal, and devotion--for all which qualities she
made much of him--while on the other hand she felt that it would be a
great inconvenience, and might cause a revolt of the country, were she to
retain him in the Netherlands against the will of the seigniors. These
motives had compelled her, the messenger was to add, to place both views
of the subject before the eyes of the King. Armenteros was, furthermore,
to narrate the circumstances of the interviews which had recently taken
place between herself and the leaders of the opposition party.

From the tenor of these instructions, it was sufficiently obvious that
Margaret of Parma was not anxious to retain the Cardinal, but that, on
the contrary, she was beginning already to feel alarm at the dangerous
position in which she found herself. A few days after the three nobles
had despatched their last letter to the King, they had handed her a
formal remonstrance. In this document they stated their conviction that
the country was on the high road to ruin, both as regarded his Majesty's
service and the common weal. The bare, the popular discontent daily
increasing, the fortresses on the frontier in a dilapidated condition. It
was to be apprehended daily that merchants and other inhabitants of the
provinces would be arrested in foreign countries, to satisfy the debts
owed by his Majesty. To provide against all these evils, but one course,
it was suggested, remained to the government--to summon the
states-general, and to rely upon their counsel and support. The nobles,
however, forbore to press this point, by reason of the prohibition which
the Regent had received from the King. They suggested, however, that such
an interdiction could have been dictated only by a distrust created
between his Majesty and the estates by persons having no love for either,
and who were determined to leave no resource by which the distress of the
country could be prevented. The nobles, therefore, begged her highness
not to take it amiss if, so long as the King was indisposed to make other
arrangements for the administration of the provinces, they should abstain
from appearing at the state council. They preferred to cause the shadow
at last to disappear, which they had so long personated. In conclusion,
however, they expressed their determination to do their duty in their
several governments, and to serve the Regent to the best of their
abilities.

After this remonstrance had been delivered, the Prince of Orange, Count
Horn, and Count Egmont abstained entirely from the sessions of the state
council. She was left alone with the Cardinal, whom she already hated,
and with his two shadows, Viglius and Berlaymont.

Armenteros, after a month spent on his journey, arrived in Spain, and was
soon admitted to an audience by Philip. In his first interview, which
lasted four hours, he read to the King all the statements and documents
with which he had come provided, and humbly requested a prompt decision.
Such a result was of course out of the question. Moreover, the Cortes of
Tarragon, which happened then to be in session, and which required the
royal attention, supplied the monarch with a fresh excuse for indulging
in his habitual vacillation. Meantime, by way of obtaining additional
counsel in so grave an emergency, he transmitted the letters of the
nobles, together with the other papers, to the Duke of Alva, and
requested his opinion on the subject. Alva replied with the roar of a
wild beast, "Every time," he wrote, "that I see the despatches of those
three Flemish seigniors my rage is so much excited that if I did not use
all possible efforts to restrain it, my sentiments would seem those of a
madman." After this splenitive exordium he proceeded to express the
opinion that all the hatred and complaints against the Cardinal had
arisen from his opposition to the convocation of the states-general. With
regard to persons who had so richly deserved such chastisement, he
recommended "that their heads should be taken off; but, until this could
be done, that the King should dissemble with them." He advised Philip not
to reply to their letters, but merely to intimate, through the Regent,
that their reasons for the course proposed by them did not seem
satisfactory. He did not prescribe this treatment of the case as "a true
remedy, but only as a palliative; because for the moment only weak
medicines could be employed, from which, however, but small effect could
be anticipated." As to recalling the Cardinal, "as they had the impudence
to propose to his Majesty," the Duke most decidedly advised against the
step. In the mean time, and before it should be practicable to proceed
"to that vigorous chastisement already indicated," he advised separating
the nobles as much as possible by administering flattery and deceitful
caresses to Egmont, who might be entrapped more easily than the others.

Here, at least, was a man who knew his own mind. Here was a servant who
could be relied upon to do his master's bidding whenever this master
should require his help. The vigorous explosion of wrath with which the
Duke thus responded to the first symptoms of what he regarded as
rebellion, gave a feeble intimation of the tone which he would assume
when that movement should have reached a more advanced stage. It might be
guessed what kind of remedies he would one day prescribe in place of the
"mild medicines" in which he so reluctantly acquiesced for the present.

While this had been the course pursued by the seigniors, the Regent and
the King, in regard to that all-absorbing subject of Netherland
politics--the straggle against Granvelle--the Cardinal, in his letters to
Philip, had been painting the situation by minute daily touches, in a
manner of which his pencil alone possessed the secret.

Still maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian, he
spoke of the nobles in a tone of gentle sorrow. He deprecated any rising
of the royal wrath in his behalf; he would continue to serve the
gentlemen, whether they would or no; he was most anxious lest any
considerations on his account should interfere with the King's decision
in regard to the course to be pursued in the Netherlands. At the same
time, notwithstanding these general professions of benevolence towards
the nobles, he represented them as broken spendthrifts, wishing to create
general confusion in order to escape from personal liabilities; as
conspirators who had placed themselves within the reach of the
attorney-general; as ambitious malcontents who were disposed to overthrow
the royal authority, and to substitute an aristocratic republic upon its
ruins. He would say nothing to prejudice the King's mind against these
gentlemen, but he took care to omit nothing which could possibly
accomplish that result. He described them as systematically opposed to
the policy which he knew lay nearest the King's heart, and as determined
to assassinate the faithful minister who was so resolutely carrying it
out, if his removal could be effected in no other way. He spoke of the
state of religion as becoming more and more unsatisfactory, and bewailed
the difficulty with which he could procure the burning of heretics;
difficulties originating in the reluctance of men from whose elevated
rank better things might have been expected.

As Granvelle is an important personage, as his character has been
alternately the subject of much censure and of more applause, and as the
epoch now described was the one in which the causes of the great
convulsion were rapidly germinating, it is absolutely necessary that the
reader should be placed in a position to study the main character, as
painted by his own hand; the hand in which were placed, at that moment,
the destinies of a mighty empire. It is the historian's duty, therefore,
to hang the picture of his administration fully in the light. At the
moment when the 11th of March letter was despatched, the Cardinal
represented Orange and Egmont as endeavoring by every method of menace or
blandishment to induce all the grand seigniors and petty nobles to join
in the league against himself. They had quarrelled with Aerschot and
Aremberg, they had more than half seduced Berlaymont, and they
stigmatized all who refused to enter into their league as cardinalists
and familiars of the inquisition. He protested that he should regard
their ill-will with indifference, were he not convinced that he was
himself only a pretext, and that their designs were really much deeper.
Since the return of Montigny, the seigniors had established a league
which that gentleman and his brother, Count Horn, had both joined. He
would say nothing concerning the defamatory letters and pamphlets of
which he was the constant object, for he wished no heed taken of matters
which concerned exclusively himself, Notwithstanding this disclaimer,
however, he rarely omitted to note the appearance of all such productions
for his Majesty's especial information. "It was better to calm men's
spirits," he said, "than to excite them." As to fostering quarrels among
the seigniors, as the King had recommended, that was hardly necessary,
for discord was fast sowing its own seeds. "It gave him much pain," he
said, with a Christian sigh, "to observe that such dissensions had
already arisen, and unfortunately on his account." He then proceeded
circumstantially to describe the quarrel between Aerschot and Egmont,
already narrated by the Regent, omitting in his statement no particular
which could make Egmont reprehensible in the royal eyes. He likewise
painted the quarrel between the same noble and Aremberg, to which he had
already alluded in previous letters to the King, adding that many
gentlemen, and even the more prudent part of the people, were
dissatisfied with the course of the grandees, and that he was taking
underhand but dexterous means to confirm them in such sentiments. He
instructed Philip how to reply to the letter addressed to him, but begged
his Majesty not to hesitate to sacrifice him if the interests of his
crown should seem to require it.

With regard to religious matters, he repeatedly deplored that,
notwithstanding his own exertions and those of Madame de Parma, things
were not going on as he desired, but, on the contrary, very badly. "For
the-love of God and the service of the holy religion," he cried out
fervently, "put your royal hand valiantly to the work, otherwise we have
only to exclaim, Help, Lord, for we perish!"

Having uttered this pious exhortation in the ear of a man who needed no
stimulant in the path of persecution, he proceeded to express his regrets
that the judges and other officers were not taking in hand the
chastisement of heresy with becoming vigor.

Yet, at that very moment Peter Titelmann was raging through Flanders,
tearing whole families out of bed and burning them to ashes, with such
utter disregard to all laws or forms as to provoke in the very next year
a solemn protest from the four estates of Flanders; and Titelmann was but
one of a dozen inquisitors.

Granvelle, however, could find little satisfaction in the exertions of
subordinates so long as men in high station were remiss in their duties.
The Marquis Berghen, he informed Philip, showed but little disposition to
put down heresy, in Valenciennes, while Montigny was equally remiss at
Tournay. They were often heard to say, to any who chose to listen, that
it was not right to inflict the punishment of death for matters of
religion. This sentiment, uttered in that age of blood and fire, and
crowning the memory of those unfortunate nobles with eternal honor, was
denounced by the churchman as criminal, and deserving of castigation. He
intimated, moreover, that these pretences of clemency were mere
hypocrisy, and that self-interest was at the bottom of their compassion.
"'Tis very black," said he, "when interest governs; but these men are a
in debt, so deeply that they owe their very souls. They are seeking every
means of escaping from their obligations, and are most desirous of
creating general confusion." As to the Prince of Orange, the Cardinal
asserted that he owed nine hundred thousand florins, and had hardly
twenty-five thousand a-year clear income, while he spent ninety thousand,
having counts; barons, and gentlemen in great numbers, in his household.
At this point, he suggested that it might be well to find employment for
some of these grandees in Spain and other dominions of his Majesty,
adding that perhaps Orange might accept the vice-royalty of Sicily.

Resuming the religious matter, a few weeks later, he expressed himself a
little more cheerfully, "We have made so much outcry," said he, "that at
last Marquis Berghen has been forced to burn a couple of heretics at
Valenciennes. Thus, it is obvious," moralized the Cardinal, "that if he
were really willing to apply the remedy in that place, much progress
might be made; but that we can do but little so long as he remains in the
government of the provinces and refuses to assist us." In a subsequent
letter, he again uttered com plaints against the Marquis and Montigny,
who were evermore his scapegoats and bugbears. Berghen will give us no
aid, he wrote, despite of all the letters we send him. He absents himself
for private and political reasons. Montigny has eaten meat in Lent, as
the Bishop of Tournay informs me. Both he and the Marquis say openly that
it is not right to shed blood for matters of faith, so that the King can
judge how much can be effected with such coadjutors. Berghen avoids the
persecution of heretics, wrote the Cardinal again, a month later, to
Secretary Perez. He has gone to Spa for his health, although those who
saw him last say he is fat and hearty.

Granvelle added, however, that they had at last "burned one more preacher
alive." The heretic, he stated, had feigned repentance to save his life,
but finding that, at any rate, his head would be cut off as a dogmatizer,
he retracted his recantation. "So," concluded the Cardinal, complacently,
"they burned him."

He chronicled the sayings and doings of the principal personages in the
Netherlands, for the instruction of the King, with great regularity,
insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence, and adding
charitable apologies, which he knew would have but small effect upon the
mind of his correspondent. Thus he sent an account of a "very secret
meeting" held by Orange, Egmont, Horn, Montigny and Berghen, at the abbey
of La Forest, near Brussels, adding, that he did not know what they had
been doing there, and was at loss what to suspect. He would be most
happy, he said, to put the best interpretation upon their actions, but he
could not help remembering with great sorrow the observation so recently
made by Orange to Montigny, that one day they should be stronger. Later
in the year, the Cardinal informed the King that the same nobles were
holding a conference at Weerdt, that he had not learned what had been
transacted there, but thought the affair very suspicious. Philip
immediately communicated the intelligence to Alva, together with an
expression of Granvelle's fears and of his own, that a popular outbreak
would be the consequence of the continued presence of the minister in the
Netherlands.

The Cardinal omitted nothing in the way of anecdote or inuendo, which
could injure the character of the leading nobles, with the exception,
perhaps, of Count Egmont. With this important personage, whose character
he well understood, he seemed determined, if possible, to maintain
friendly relations. There was a deep policy in this desire, to which we
shall advert hereafter. The other seigniors were described in general
terms as disposed to overthrow the royal authority. They were bent upon
Granvelle's downfall as the first step, because, that being accomplished,
the rest would follow as a matter of course. "They intend," said he, "to
reduce the state into the form of a republic, in which the King shall
have no power except to do their bidding." He added, that he saw with
regret so many German troops gathering on the borders; for he believed
them to be in the control of the disaffected nobles of the Netherlands.
Having made this grave insinuation, he proceeded in the same breath to
express his anger at a statement said to have been made by Orange and
Egmont, to the effect that he had charged them with intending to excite a
civil commotion, an idea, he added, which had never entered his head. In
the same paragraph, he poured into the most suspicious ear that ever
listened to a tale of treason, his conviction that the nobles were
planning a republic by the aid of foreign troops, and uttered a complaint
that these nobles had accused him of suspecting them. As for the Prince
of Orange, he was described as eternally boasting of his influence in
Germany, and the great things which he could effect by means of his
connexions there, "so that," added the Cardinal, "we hear no other song."

He had much to say concerning the projects of these grandees to abolish
all the councils, but that of state, of which body they intended to
obtain the entire control. Marquis Berghen was represented as being at
the bottom of all these intrigues. The general and evident intention was
to make a thorough change in the form of government. The Marquis meant to
command in every thing, and the Duchess would soon have nothing to do in
the provinces as regent for the King. In fact, Philip himself would be
equally powerless, "for," said the Cardinal, "they will have succeeded in
putting your Majesty completely under guardianship." He added, moreover,
that the seigniors, in order to gain favor with the people and with the
estates, had allowed them to acquire so much power, that they would
respond to any request for subsidies by a general popular revolt. "This
is the simple truth," said Granvelle, "and moreover, by the same process,
in a very few days there will likewise be no religion left in the land."
When the deputies of some of the states, a few weeks later, had been
irregularly convened in Brussels, for financial purposes, the Cardinal
informed the monarch that the nobles were endeavoring to conciliate their
good-will, by offering them a splendid series of festivities and
banquets.

He related various anecdotes which came to his ears from time to time,
all tending to excite suspicions as to the loyalty and orthodoxy of the
principal nobles. A gentleman coming from Burgundy had lately, as he
informed the King, been dining with the Prince of Orange, with whom Horn
and Montigny were then lodging. At table, Montigny called out in a very
loud voice to the strange cavalier, who was seated at a great distance
from him, to ask if there were many Huguenots in Burgundy. No, replied
the gentleman nor would they be permitted to exist there. "Then there can
be very few people of intelligence in that province," returned Montigny,
"for those who have any wit are mostly all Huguenots." The Prince of
Orange here endeavored to put a stop to the conversation, saying that the
Burgundians were very right to remain as they were; upon which Montigny
affirmed that he had heard masses enough lately to last him for three
months. These things may be jests, commented Granvelle, but they are very
bad ones; and 'tis evident that such a man is an improper instrument to
remedy the state of religious affairs in Tournay.

At another large party, the King was faithfully informed by the same
chronicler, that Marquis Berghen had been teasing the Duke of Aerschot
very maliciously, because he would not join the league. The Duke had
responded as he had formerly done to Egmont, that his Majesty was not to
receive laws from his vassals; adding that, for himself, he meant to
follow in the loyal track of his ancestors, fearing God and honoring the
king. In short, said Granvelle, he answered them with so much wisdom,
that although they had never a high opinion of his capacity, they were
silenced. This conversation had been going on before all the servants,
the Marquis being especially vociferous, although the room was quite full
of them. As soon as the cloth was removed, and while some of the lackies
still remained, Berghen had resumed the conversation. He said he was of
the same mind as his ancestor, John of Berghen, had been, who had once
told the King's grandfather, Philip the Fair, that if his Majesty was
bent on his own perdition, he had no disposition to ruin himself. If the
present monarch means to lose these provinces by governing them as he did
govern them, the Marquis affirmed that he had no wish to lose the little
property that he himself possessed in the country. "But if," argued the
Duke of Aerschot, "the King absolutely refuse to do what you demand of
him; what then?"--"Par la cordieu!" responded Berghen, in a rage, "we
will let him see!" whereupon all became silent.

Granvelle implored the King to keep these things entirely to himself;
adding that it was quite necessary for his Majesty to learn in this
manner what were the real dispositions of the gentlemen of the provinces.
It was also stated in the same letter, that a ruffian Genoese, who had
been ordered out of the Netherlands by the Regent, because of a homicide
he had committed, was kept at Weert, by Count Horn, for the purpose of
murdering the Cardinal.

He affirmed that he was not allowed to request the expulsion of the
assassin from the Count's house; but that he would take care,
nevertheless, that neither this ruffian nor any other, should accomplish
his purpose. A few weeks afterwards, expressing his joy at the
contradiction of a report that Philip had himself been assassinated,
Granvelle added; "I too, who am but a worm in comparison, am threatened
on so many sides, that many must consider me already dead. Nevertheless,
I will endeavor, with God's help, to live as long as I can, and if they
kill me, I hope they will not gain every thing." Yet, with characteristic
Jesuitism, the Cardinal could not refrain, even in the very letter in
which he detailed the rebellious demonstrations of Berghen, and the
murderous schemes of Horn, to protest that he did not say these things
"to prejudice his Majesty against any one, but only that it might be
known to what a height the impudence was rising." Certainly the King and
the ecclesiastic, like the Roman soothsayers, would have laughed in each
other's face, could they have met, over the hollowness of such
demonstrations. Granvelle's letters were filled, for the greater part,
with pictures of treason, stratagem, and bloody intentions, fabricated
mostly out of reports, table-talk, disjointed chat in the careless
freedom of domestic intercourse, while at the same time a margin was
always left to express his own wounded sense of the injurious suspicions
uttered against him by the various subjects of his letters. "God knows,"
said he to Perez, "that I always speak of them with respect, which is
more than they do of me. But God forgive them all. In times like these,
one must hold one's tongue. One must keep still, in order not to stir up
a hornet's nest."

In short, the Cardinal, little by little, during the last year of his
residence in the Netherlands, was enabled to spread a canvas before his
sovereign's eye, in which certain prominent figures, highly colored by
patiently accumulated touches, were represented as driving a whole
nation, against its own will, into manifest revolt. The estates and the
people, he said, were already tired of the proceedings of the nobles, and
those personages would find themselves very much mistaken in thinking
that men who had any thing to lose would follow them, when they began a
rebellion against his Majesty. On the whole, he was not desirous of
prolonging his own residence, although, to do him justice, he was not
influenced by fear. He thought or affected to think that the situation
was one of a factitious popular discontent, procured by the intrigues of
a few ambitious and impoverished Catilines and Cethegi, not a rising
rebellion such as the world had never seen, born of the slowly-awakened
wrath of, a whole people, after the martyrdom of many years. The remedy
that he recommended was that his Majesty should come in person to the
provinces. The monarch would cure the whole disorder as soon as he
appeared, said the Cardinal, by merely making the sign of the cross.
Whether, indeed, the rapidly-increasing cancer of national discontent
would prove a mere king's evil, to be healed by the royal touch, as many
persons besides Granvelle believed, was a point not doomed to be tested.
From that day forward Philip began to hold out hopes that he would come
to administer the desired remedy, but even then it was the opinion of
good judges that he would give millions rather than make his appearance
in the Netherlands. It was even the hope of William of Orange that the
King would visit the provinces. He expressed his desire, in a letter to
Lazarus Schwendi, that his sovereign should come in person, that he might
see whether it had been right to sow so much distrust between himself and
his loyal subjects. The Prince asserted that it was impossible for any
person not on the spot to imagine the falsehoods and calumnies circulated
by Granvelle and his friends, accusing Orange and his associates of
rebellion and heresy, in the most infamous manner in the world. He added,
in conclusion, that he could write no more, for the mere thought of the
manner in which the government of the Netherlands was carried on filled
him with disgust and rage. This letter, together with one in a similar
strain from Egmont, was transmitted by the valiant and highly
intellectual soldier to whom they were addressed, to the King of Spain,
with an entreaty that he would take warning from the bitter truths which
they contained. The Colonel, who was a most trusty friend of Orange,
wrote afterwards to Margaret of Parma in the same spirit, warmly urging
her to moderation in religious matters. This application highly enraged
Morillon, the Cardinal's most confidential dependent, who accordingly
conveyed the intelligence to his already departed chief, exclaiming in
his letter, "what does the ungrateful baboon mean by meddling with our
affairs? A pretty state of things, truly, if kings are to choose or
retain their ministers at the will of the people; little does he know of
the disasters which would be caused by a relaxation of the edicts." In
the same sense, the Cardinal, just before his departure, which was now
imminent, wrote to warn his sovereign of the seditious character of the
men who were then placing their breasts between the people and their
butchers. He assured Philip that upon the movement of those nobles
depended the whole existence of the country. It was time that they should
be made to open their eyes. They should be solicited in every way to
abandon their evil courses, since the liberty which they thought
themselves defending was but abject slavery; but subjection to a thousand
base and contemptible personages, and to that "vile animal called the
people."

It is sufficiently obvious, from the picture which we have now presented
of the respective attitudes of Granvelle, of the seigniors and of the
nation, during the whole of the year 1563, and the beginning of the
following year, that a crisis was fast approaching. Granvelle was, for
the moment, triumphant, Orange, Egmont, and Horn had abandoned the state
council, Philip could not yet make up his mind to yield to the storm, and
Alva howled defiance at the nobles and the whole people of the
Netherlands. Nevertheless, Margaret of Parma was utterly weary of the
minister, the Cardinal himself was most anxious to be gone, and the
nation--for there was a nation, however vile the animal might be--was
becoming daily more enraged at the presence of a man in whom, whether
justly or falsely, it beheld the incarnation of the religious oppression
under which they groaned. Meantime, at the close of the year, a new
incident came to add to the gravity of the situation. Caspar Schetz,
Baron of Grobbendonck, gave a Great dinner-party, in the month of
December, 1563. This personage, whose name was prominent for many years
in the public affairs of the nation, was one of the four brothers who
formed a very opulent and influential mercantile establishment.

He was the King's principal factor and financial agent. He was one of the
great pillars of the Bourse at Antwerp. He was likewise a tolerable
scholar, a detestable poet, an intriguing politician, and a corrupt
financier. He was regularly in the pay of Sir Thomas Gresham, to whom he
furnished secret information, for whom he procured differential favors,
and by whose government he was rewarded by gold chains and presents of
hard cash, bestowed as secretly as the equivalent was conveyed adroitly.
Nevertheless, although his venality was already more than suspected, and
although his peculation, during his long career became so extensive that
he was eventually prosecuted by government, and died before the process
was terminated, the lord of Grobbendonck was often employed in most
delicate negotiations, and, at the present epoch, was a man of much
importance in the Netherlands.

The treasurer-general accordingly gave his memorable banquet to a
distinguished party of noblemen. The conversation, during dinner, turned,
as was inevitable, upon the Cardinal. His ostentation, greediness,
insolence, were fully canvassed. The wine flowed freely as it always did
in those Flemish festivities--the brains of the proud and reckless
cavaliers became hot with excitement, while still the odious ecclesiastic
was the topic of their conversation, the object alternately of fierce
invective or of scornful mirth. The pompous display which he affected in
his equipages, liveries, and all the appurtenances of his household, had
frequently excited their derision, and now afforded fresh matter for
their ridicule. The customs of Germany, the simple habiliments in which
the retainers of the greatest houses were arrayed in that country, were
contrasted with the tinsel and glitter in which the prelate pranked
himself. It was proposed, by way of showing contempt for Granvelle, that
a livery should be forthwith invented, as different as possible from his
in general effect, and that all the gentlemen present should
indiscriminately adopt it for their own menials. Thus would the people
whom the Cardinal wished to dazzle with his finery learn to estimate such
gauds at their true value. It was determined that something extremely
plain, and in the German fashion, should be selected. At the same time,
the company, now thoroughly inflamed with wine, and possessed by the
spirit of mockery, determined that a symbol should be added to the
livery, by which the universal contempt for Granvelle should be
expressed. The proposition was hailed with acclamation, but who should
invent the hieroglyphical costume? All were reckless and ready enough,
but ingenuity of device was required. At last it was determined to decide
the question by hazard. Amid shouts of hilarity, the dice were thrown.
Those men were staking their lives, perhaps, upon the issue, but the
reflection gave only a keener zest to the game. Egmont won. It was the
most fatal victory which he had ever achieved, a more deadly prize even
than the trophies of St. Quentin and Gravelingen.

In a few days afterwards, the retainers of the house of Egmont surprised
Brussels by making their appearance in a new livery. Doublet and hose of
the coarsest grey, and long hanging sleeves, without gold or silver lace,
and having but a single ornament, comprised the whole costume. An emblem
which seemed to resemble a monk's cowl, or a fool's cap and bells, was
embroidered upon each sleeve. The device pointed at the Cardinal, as did,
by contrast, the affected coarseness of the dress. There was no doubt as
to the meaning of the hood, but they who saw in the symbol more
resemblance to the jester's cap, recalled certain biting expressions
which Granvelle had been accustomed to use. He had been wont, in the days
of his greatest insolence, to speak of the most eminent nobles as zanies,
lunatics, and buffoons. The embroidered fool's cap was supposed to typify
the gibe, and to remind the arrogant priest that a Brutus, as in the
olden time, might be found lurking in the costume of the fool. However
witty or appropriate the invention, the livery had an immense success.
According to agreement, the nobles who had dined with the treasurer
ordered it for all their servants. Never did a new dress become so soon
the fashion. The unpopularity of the minister assisted the quaintness of
the device. The fool's-cap livery became the rage. Never was such a run
upon the haberdashers, mercers, and tailors, since Brussels had been a
city. All the frieze-cloth in Brabant was exhausted. All the serge in
Flanders was clipped into monastic cowls. The Duchess at first laughed
with the rest, but the Cardinal took care that the king should be at once
informed upon the subject. The Regent was, perhaps, not extremely sorry
to see the man ridiculed whom she so cordially disliked, and, she
accepted the careless excuses made on the subject by Egmont and by Orange
without severe criticism. She wrote to her brother that, although the
gentlemen had been influenced by no evil intention, she had thought it
best to exhort them not to push the jest too far. Already, however, she
found that two thousand pairs, of sleeves had been made, and the most she
could obtain was that the fools' caps, or monks' hoods, should in future
be omitted from the livery. A change was accordingly made in the costume,
at about the time of the cardinal's departure.

A bundle of arrows, or in some instances a wheat-sheaf, was substituted
for the cowls. Various interpretations were placed upon this new emblem.
According to the nobles themselves, it denoted the union of all their
hearts in the King's service, while their enemies insinuated that it was
obviously a symbol of conspiracy. The costume thus amended was worn by
the gentlemen themselves, as well as by their servants. Egmont dined at
the Regent's table, after the Cardinal's departure, in a camlet doublet,
with hanging sleeves, and buttons stamped with the bundle of arrows.

For the present, the Cardinal affected to disapprove of the fashion only
from its rebellious tendency. The fools' caps and cowls, he meekly
observed to Philip, were the least part of the offence, for an injury to
himself could be easily forgiven. The wheat-sheaf and the arrow-bundles,
however, were very vile things, for they betokened and confirmed the
existence of a conspiracy, such as never could be tolerated by a prince
who had any regard for his own authority.

This incident of the livery occupied the public attention, and inflamed
the universal hatred during the later months of the minister's residence
in the country. Meantime the three seigniors had become very impatient at
receiving no answer to their letter. Margaret of Parma was urging her
brother to give them satisfaction, repeating to him their bitter
complaints that their characters and conduct were the subject of constant
misrepresentation to their sovereign, and picturing her own isolated
condition. She represented herself as entirely deprived of the support of
those great personages, who, despite her positive assurances to the
contrary, persisted in believing that they were held up to the King as
conspirators, and were in danger of being punished as traitors. Philip,
on his part, was conning Granvelle's despatches, filled with hints of
conspiracy, and holding counsel with Alva, who had already recommended
the taking off several heads for treason. The Prince of Orange, who
already had secret agents in the King's household, and was supplied with
copies of the most private papers in the palace, knew better than to be
deceived by the smooth representations of the Regent. Philip had,
however, at last begun secretly to yield. He asked Alva's advice whether
on the whole it would not be better to let the Cardinal leave the
Netherlands, at least for a time, on pretence of visiting his mother in
Burgundy, and to invite Count Egmont to Madrid, by way of striking one
link from the chain, as Granvelle had suggested. The Duke had replied
that he had no doubt of the increasing insolence of the three seigniors,
as depicted in the letters of the Duchess Margaret, nor of their
intention to make the Cardinal their first victim; it being the regular
principle in all revolts against the sovereign, to attack the chief
minister in the first place. He could not, however, persuade himself that
the King should yield and Granvelle be recalled. Nevertheless, if it were
to be done at all, he preferred that the Cardinal should go to Burgundy
without leave asked either of the Duchess or of Philip; and that he
should then write; declining to return, on the ground that his life was
not safe in the Netherlands.

After much hesitation, the monarch at last settled upon a plan, which
recommended itself through the extreme duplicity by which it was marked,
and the complicated system of small deceptions, which it consequently
required. The King, who was never so thoroughly happy or at home as when
elaborating the ingredients of a composite falsehood, now busily employed
himself in his cabinet. He measured off in various letters to the Regent,
to the three nobles, to Egmont alone, and to Granvelle, certain
proportionate parts of his whole plan, which; taken separately, were
intended to deceive, and did deceive nearly every person in the world,
not only in his own generation, but for three centuries afterwards, but
which arranged synthetically, as can now be done, in consequence of
modern revelations, formed one complete and considerable lie, the
observation of which furnishes the student with a lesson in the political
chemistry of those days, which was called Macchiavellian statesmanship.
The termination of the Granvelle regency is, moreover, most important,
not only for the grave and almost interminable results to which it led,
but for the illustration which it affords of the inmost characters of the
Cardinal and "his master."

The courier who was to take Philip's letters to the three nobles was
detained three weeks, in order to allow Armenteros, who was charged with
the more important and secret despatches for the Duchess and Granvelle to
reach Brussels first. All the letters, however, were ready at the same
time. The letter of instructions for Armenteros enjoined upon that envoy
to tell the Regent that the heretics were to be chastised with renewed
vigor, that she was to refuse to convoke the states-general under any
pretext, and that if hard pressed, she was to refer directly to the King.
With regard to Granvelle, the secretary was to state that his Majesty was
still deliberating, and that the Duchess would be informed as to the
decision when it should be made. He was to express the royal astonishment
that the seigniors should absent themselves from the state council, with
a peremptory intimation that they should immediately return to their
posts. As they had specified no particularities against the Cardinal, the
King would still reflect upon the subject.

He also wrote a private note to the Duchess, stating that he had not yet
sent the letters for the three nobles, because he wished that Armenteros
should arrive before their courier. He, however, enclosed two notes for
Egmont, of which Margaret was to deliver that one, which, in her opinion,
was, under the circumstances, the best. In one of these missives the King
cordially accepted, and in the other he politely declined Egmont's recent
offer to visit Spain. He also forwarded a private letter in his own
hand-writing to the Cardinal. Armenteros, who travelled but slowly on
account of the state of his health, arrived in Brussels towards the end
of February. Five or six days afterwards, on the 1st March, namely, the
courier arrived bringing the despatches for the seigniors. In his letter
to Orange, Egmont, and Horn, the King expressed his astonishment at their
resolution to abstain from the state council. Nevertheless, said he,
imperatively, fail not to return thither and to show how much more highly
you regard my service and the good of the country than any other
particularity whatever. As to Granvelle, continued Philip, since you will
not make any specifications, my intention is to think over the matter
longer, in order to arrange it as may seem most fitting.

This letter was dated February 19 (1564), nearly a month later therefore
than the secret letter to Granvelle, brought by Armenteros, although all
the despatches had been drawn up at the same time and formed parts of the
same plan. In this brief note to Granvelle, however, lay the heart of the
whole mystery.

"I have reflected much," wrote the King, "on all that you have written me
during these last few months, concerning the ill-will borne you by
certain personages. I notice also your suspicions that if a revolt breaks
out, they will commence with your person, thus taking occasion to proceed
from that point to the accomplishment of their ulterior designs. I have
particularly taken into consideration the notice received by you from the
curate of Saint Gudule, as well as that which you have learned concerning
the Genoese who is kept at Weert; all which has given me much anxiety as
well from my desire for the preservation of your life in which my service
is so deeply interested, as for the possible results if any thing should
happen to you, which God forbid. I have thought, therefore, that it would
be well, in order to give time and breathing space to the hatred and
rancor which those persons entertain towards you, and in order to see
what coarse they will take in preparing the necessary remedy, for the
provinces, for you to leave the country for some days, in order to visit
your mother, and this with the knowledge of the Duchess, my sister, and
with her permission, which you will request, and which I have written to
her that she must give, without allowing it to appear that you have
received orders to that effect from me. You will also beg her to write to
me requesting my approbation of what she is to do. By taking this course
neither my authority nor yours will suffer prejudice; and according to
the turn which things may take, measures may be taken for your return
when expedient, and for whatever else there may be to arrange."

Thus, in two words, Philip removed the unpopular minister forever. The
limitation of his absence had no meaning, and was intended to have none.
If there were not strength enough to keep the Cardinal in his place, it
was not probable that the more difficult task of reinstating him after
his fall would be very soon attempted. It, seemed, however, to be dealing
more tenderly with Granvelle's self-respect thus to leave a vague opening
for a possible return, than to send him an unconditional dismissal.

Thus, while the King refused to give any weight to the representations of
the nobles, and affected to be still deliberating whether or not he
should recall the Cardinal, he had in reality already recalled him. All
the minute directions according to which permission was to be asked of
the Duchess to take a step which had already been prescribed by the
monarch, and Philip's indulgence craved for obeying his own explicit
injunctions, were fulfilled to the letter.

As soon as the Cardinal received the royal order, he privately made
preparations for his departure. The Regent, on the other hand, delivered
to Count Egmont the one of Philip's two letters in which that gentleman's
visit was declined, the Duchess believing that, in the present position
of affairs, she should derive more assistance from him than from the rest
of the seigniors. As Granvelle, however, still delayed his departure,
even after the arrival of the second courier, she was again placed in a
situation of much perplexity. The three nobles considered Philip's letter
to them extremely "dry and laconic," and Orange absolutely refused to
comply with the order to re-enter the state council. At a session of that
body, on the 3d of March, where only Granvelle, Viglius, and Berlaymont
were present, Margaret narrated her fruitless attempts to persuade the
seigniors into obedience to the royal orders lately transmitted, and
asked their opinions. The extraordinary advice was then given, that "she
should let them champ the bit a little while longer, and afterwards see
what was to be done." Even at the last moment, the Cardinal, reluctant to
acknowledge himself beaten, although secretly desirous to retire, was
inclined for a parting struggle. The Duchess, however, being now armed
with the King's express commands, and having had enough of holding the
reins while such powerful and restive personages were "champing the bit,"
insisted privately that the Cardinal should make his immediate departure
known. Pasquinades and pamphlets were already appearing daily, each more
bitter than the other; the livery was spreading rapidly through all
classes of people, and the seigniors most distinctly refused to recede
from their determination of absenting themselves from the council so long
as Granvelle remained. There was no help for it; and on the 13th of March
the Cardinal took his departure. Notwithstanding the mystery of the whole
proceeding, however, William of Orange was not deceived. He felt certain
that the minister had been recalled, and thought it highly improbable
that he would ever be permitted to return. "Although the Cardinal talks
of coming back again soon," wrote the Prince to Schwartzburg, "we
nevertheless hope that, as he lied about his departure, so he will also
spare the truth in his present assertions." This was the general
conviction, so far as the question of the minister's compulsory retreat
was concerned, of all those who were in the habit of receiving their
information and their opinions from the Prince of Orange. Many even
thought that Granvelle had been recalled with indignity and much against
his will. "When the Cardinal," wrote Secretary Lorich to Count Louis,
"received the King's order to go, he growled like a bear, and kept
himself alone in his chamber for a time, making his preparations for
departure. He says he shall come back in two months, but some of us think
they will be two long months which will eat themselves up like money
borrowed of the Jews." A wag, moreover, posted a large placard upon the
door of Granvelle's palace in Brussels as soon as the minister's
departure was known, with the inscription, in large letters, "For sale,
immediately." In spite of the royal ingenuity, therefore, many shrewdly
suspected the real state of the case, although but very few actually knew
the truth.

The Cardinal left Brussels with a numerous suite, stately equipages, and
much parade. The Duchess provided him with her own mules and with a
sufficient escort, for the King had expressly enjoined that every care
should be taken against any murderous attack. There was no fear of such
assault, however, for all were sufficiently satisfied to see the minister
depart. Brederode and Count Hoogstraaten were standing together, looking
from the window of a house near the gate of Caudenberg, to feast their
eyes with the spectacle of their enemy's retreat. As soon as the Cardinal
had passed through that gate, on his way to Namur, the first stage of his
journey, they rushed into the street, got both upon one horse,
Hoogstraaten, who alone had boots on his legs, taking the saddle and
Brederode the croup, and galloped after the Cardinal, with the exultation
of school-boys. Thus mounted, they continued to escort the Cardinal on
his journey. At one time, they were so near his carriage, while it was
passing through a ravine, that they might have spoken to him from the
heights above, where they had paused to observe him; but they pulled the
capes of their cloaks over their faces and suffered him to pass
unchallenged. "But they are young folk," said the Cardinal, benignantly,
after relating all these particulars to the Duchess, "and one should pay
little regard to their actions." He added, that one of Egmont's gentlemen
dogged their party on the journey, lodging in the same inns with them,
apparently in the hope of learning something from their conversation or
proceedings. If that were the man's object, however, Granvelle expressed
the conviction that he was disappointed, as nothing could have been more
merry than the whole company, or more discreet than their conversation.

The Cardinal began at once to put into operation the system of deception,
as to his departure, which had been planned by Philip. The man who had
been ordered to leave the Netherlands by the King, and pushed into
immediate compliance with the royal command by the Duchess, proceeded to
address letters both to Philip and Margaret. He wrote from Namur to beg
the Regent that she would not fail to implore his Majesty graciously to
excuse his having absented himself for private reasons at that particular
moment. He wrote to Philip from Besancon, stating that his desire to
visit his mother, whom he had not seen for nineteen years, and his natal
soil, to which he had been a stranger during the same period, had induced
him to take advantage of his brother's journey to accompany him for a few
days into Burgundy. He had, therefore, he said, obtained the necessary
permission from the Duchess, who had kindly promised to write very
particularly by the first courier, to beg his Majesty's approval of the
liberty which they had both taken. He wrote from the same place to the
Regent again, saying that some of the nobles pretended to have learned
from Armenteros that the King had ordered the Cardinal to leave the
country and not to return; all which, he added, was a very false
Renardesque invention, at which he did nothing but laugh.

As a matter of course, his brother, in whose company he was about to
visit the mother whom he had not seen for the past nineteen years, was as
much mystified as the rest of the world. Chantonnay was not aware that
any thing but the alleged motives had occasioned the journey, nor did he
know that his brother would perhaps have omitted to visit their common
parent for nineteen years longer had he not received the royal order to
leave the Netherlands.

Philip, on the other side, had sustained his part, in the farce with much
ability. Viglius, Berlaymont, Morillon, and all the lesser cardinalists
were entirely taken in by the letters which were formally despatched to
the Duchess in reply to her own and the Cardinal's notification. "I can
not take it amiss," wrote the King, "that you have given leave of absence
to Cardinal de Granvelle, for two or three months, according to the
advices just received from you, that he may attend to some private
affairs of his own." As soon as these letters had been read in the
council, Viglius faithfully transmitted them to Granvelle for that
personage's enlightenment; adding his own innocent reflection, that "this
was very different language from that held by some people, that your most
illustrious lordship had retired by order of his Majesty." Morillon also
sent the Cardinal a copy of the same passage in the royal despatch,
saying, very wisely, "I wonder what they will all say now, since these
letters have been read in council." The Duchess, as in duty bound, denied
flatly, on all occasions, that Armenteros had brought any letters
recommending or ordering the minister's retreat. She conscientiously
displayed the letters of his Majesty, proving the contrary, and yet, said
Viglius, it was very hard to prevent people talking as they liked.
Granvelle omitted no occasion to mystify every one of his correspondents
on the subject, referring, of course, to the same royal letters which had
been written for public reading, expressly to corroborate these
statements. "You see by his Majesty's letters to Madame de Parma," said
he to Morillon, "how false is the report that the King had ordered me to
leave Flanders, and in what confusion those persons find themselves who
fabricated the story." It followed of necessity that he should carry out
his part in the royal program, but he accomplished his task so adroitly,
and with such redundancy of zeal, as to show his thorough sympathy with
the King's policy. He dissembled with better grace, even if the King did
it more naturally. Nobody was too insignificant to be deceived, nobody
too august. Emperor Ferdinand fared no better than "Esquire" Bordey.
"Some of those who hate me," he wrote to the potentate, "have circulated
the report that I had been turned out of the country, and was never to
return. This story has ended in smoke, since the letters written by his
Majesty to the Duchess of Parma on the subject of the leave of absence
which she had given me." Philip himself addressed a private letter to
Granvelle, of course that others might see it, in which he affected to
have just learned that the Cardinal had obtained permission from the
Regent "to make a visit to his mother, in order to arrange certain family
matters," and gravely gave his approbation to the step. At the same time
it was not possible for the King to resist the temptation of adding one
other stroke of dissimulation to his own share in the comedy. Granvelle
and Philip had deceived all the world, but Philip also deceived
Granvelle. The Cardinal made a mystery of his departure to Pollwiller,
Viglius, Morillon, to the Emperor, to his own brother, and also to the
King's secretary, Gonzalo Perez; but he was not aware that Perez, whom he
thought himself deceiving as ingeniously as he had done all the others,
had himself drawn up the letter of recall, which the King had afterwards
copied out in his own hand and marked "secret and confidential." Yet
Granvelle might have guessed that in such an emergency Philip would
hardly depend upon his own literary abilities.

Granvelle remained month after month in seclusion, doing his best to
philosophize. Already, during the latter period of his residence in the
Netherlands, he had lived in a comparative and forced solitude. His house
had been avoided by those power-worshippers whose faces are rarely turned
to the setting sun. He had, in consequence, already, before his
departure, begun to discourse on the beauties of retirement, the fatigues
of greatness, and the necessity of repose for men broken with the storms
of state. A great man was like a lake, he said, to which a thirsty
multitude habitually resorted till the waters were troubled, sullied, and
finally exhausted. Power looked more attractive in front than in the
retrospect. That which men possessed was ever of less value than that
which they hoped. In this fine strain of eloquent commonplace the falling
minister had already begun to moralize upon the vanity of human wishes.
When he was established at his charming retreat in Burgundy, he had full
leisure to pursue the theme. He remained in retirement till his beard
grew to his waist, having vowed, according to report, that he would not
shave till recalled to the Netherlands. If the report were true, said
some of the gentlemen in the provinces, it would be likely to grow to his
feet. He professed to wish himself blind and deaf that he might have no
knowledge of the world's events, described himself as buried in
literature, and fit for no business save to remain in his chamber,
fastened to his books, or occupied with private affairs and religious
exercises. He possessed a most charming residence at Orchamps, where he
spent a great portion of his time. In one of his letters to
Vice-Chancellor Seld, he described the beauties of this retreat with much
delicacy and vigor--"I am really not as badly off here," said he, "as I
should be in the Indies. I am in sweet places where I have wished for you
a thousand times, for I am certain that you would think them appropriate
for philosophy and worthy the habitation of the Muses. Here are beautiful
mountains, high as heaven, fertile on all their sides, wreathed with
vineyards, and rich with every fruit; here are rivers flowing through
charming valleys, the waters clear as crystal, filled with trout,
breaking into numberless cascades. Here are umbrageous groves, fertile
fields, lovely meadows; on the one aide great warmth, on the other aide
delectable coolness, despite the summer's heat. Nor is there any lack of
good company, friends, and relations, with, as you well know, the very
best wines in the world."

Thus it is obvious that the Cardinal was no ascetic. His hermitage
contained other appliances save those for study and devotion. His retired
life was, in fact, that of a voluptuary. His brother, Chantonnay,
reproached him with the sumptuousness and disorder of his establishment.
He lived in "good and joyous cheer." He professed to be thoroughly
satisfied with the course things had taken, knowing that God was above
all, and would take care of all. He avowed his determination to extract
pleasure and profit even from the ill will of his adversaries. "Behold my
philosophy," he cried, "to live joyously as possible, laughing at the
world, at passionate people, and at all their calumnies." It is evident
that his philosophy, if it had any real existence, was sufficiently
Epicurean. It was, however, mainly compounded of pretence, like his whole
nature and his whole life. Notwithstanding the mountains high as heaven,
the cool grottos, the trout, and the best Burgundy wines in the world,
concerning which he descanted so eloquently, he soon became in reality
most impatient of his compulsory seclusion. His pretence of "composing
himself as much as possible to tranquillity and repose" could deceive
none of the intimate associates to whom he addressed himself in that
edifying vein. While he affected to be blind and deaf to politics, he had
eyes and ears for nothing else. Worldly affairs were his element, and he
was shipwrecked upon the charming solitude which he affected to admire.
He was most anxious to return to the world again, but he had difficult
cards to play. His master was even more dubious than usual about
everything. Granvelle was ready to remain in Burgundy as long as Philip
chose that he should remain there. He was also ready to go to "India,
Peru, or into the fire," whenever his King should require any such
excursion, or to return to the Netherlands, confronting any danger which
might lie in his path. It is probable that he nourished for a long time a
hope that the storm would blow over in the provinces, and his resumption
of power become possible. William of Orange, although more than half
convinced that no attempt would be made to replace the minister, felt it
necessary to keep strict watch on his movements. "We must be on our
guard," said he, "and not be deceived. Perhaps they mean to put us
asleep, in order the better to execute their designs. For the present
things are peaceable, and all the world is rejoiced at the departure of
that good Cardinal." The Prince never committed the error of undervaluing
the talents of his great adversary, and he felt the necessity of being on
the alert in the present emergency. "'Tis a sly and cunning bird that we
are dealing with," said he, "one that sleeps neither day nor night if a
blow is to be dealt to us." Honest Brederode, after solacing himself with
the spectacle of his enemy's departure, soon began to suspect his return,
and to express himself on the subject, as usual, with ludicrous
vehemence. "They say the red fellow is back again," he wrote to Count
Louis, "and that Berlaymont has gone to meet him at Namur. The Devil
after the two would be a good chase." Nevertheless, the chances of that
return became daily fainter. Margaret of Parma hated the Cardinal with
great cordiality. She fell out of her servitude to him into far more
contemptible hands, but for a brief interval she seemed to take a delight
in the recovery of her freedom. According to Viglius, the court, after
Granvelle's departure, was like a school of boys and girls when the
pedagogue's back is turned. He was very bitter against the Duchess for
her manifest joy at emancipation. The poor President was treated with the
most marked disdain by Margaret, who also took pains to show her dislike
to all the cardinalists. Secretary Armenteros forbade Bordey, who was
Granvelle's cousin and dependent, from even speaking to him in public.
The Regent soon became more intimate with Orange and Egmont than she had
ever been with the Cardinal. She was made to see--and, seeing, she became
indignant--the cipher which she had really been during his
administration. "One can tell what's o'clock," wrote Morillon to the
fallen minister, "since she never writes to you nor mentions your name."
As to Armenteros, with whom Granvelle was still on friendly relations, he
was restless in his endeavors to keep the once-powerful priest from
rising again. Having already wormed himself into the confidence of the
Regent, he made a point of showing to the principal seigniors various
letters, in which she had been warned by the Cardinal to put no trust in
them. "That devil," said Armenteros, "thought he had got into Paradise
here; but he is gone, and we shall take care that he never returns." It
was soon thought highly probable that the King was but temporizing, and
that the voluntary departure of the minister had been a deception. Of
course nothing was accurately known upon the subject. Philip had taken
good care of that, but meantime the bets were very high that there would
be no restoration, with but few takers. Men thought if there had been any
royal favor remaining for the great man, that the Duchess would not be so
decided in her demeanor on the subject. They saw that she was scarlet
with indignation whenever the Cardinal's name was mentioned. They heard
her thank Heaven that she had but one son, because if she had had a
second he must have been an ecclesiastic, and as vile as priests always
were. They witnessed the daily contumely which she heaped upon poor
Viglius, both because he was a friend of Granvelle and was preparing in
his old age to take orders. The days were gone, indeed, when Margaret was
so filled with respectful affection for the prelate, that she could
secretly correspond with the Holy Father at Rome, and solicit the red hat
for the object of her veneration. She now wrote to Philip, stating that
she was better informed as to affairs in the Netherlands than she had
ever formerly been. She told her brother that all the views of Granvelle
and of his followers, Viglius with the rest, had tended to produce a
revolution which they hoped that Philip would find in full operation when
he should come to the Netherlands. It was their object, she said, to fish
in troubled waters, and, to attain that aim, they had ever pursued the
plan of gaining the exclusive control of all affairs. That was the reason
why they had ever opposed the convocation of the states-general. They
feared that their books would be read, and their frauds, injustice,
simony, and rapine discovered. This would be the result, if tranquillity
were restored to the country, and therefore they had done their best to
foment and maintain discord. The Duchess soon afterwards entertained her
royal brother with very detailed accounts of various acts of simony,
peculation, and embezzlement committed by Viglius, which the Cardinal had
aided and abetted, and by which he had profited.--[Correspondence de
Phil. II, i. 318-320.]--These revelations are inestimable in a historical
point of view. They do not raise our estimate of Margaret's character,
but they certainly give us a clear insight into the nature of the
Granvelle administration. At the same time it was characteristic of the
Duchess, that while she was thus painting the portrait of the Cardinal
for the private eye of his sovereign, she should address the banished
minister himself in a secret strain of condolence, and even of penitence.
She wrote to assure Granvelle that she repented extremely having adopted
the views of Orange. She promised that she would state publicly every
where that the Cardinal was an upright man, intact in his morals and his
administration, a most zealous and faithful servant of the King. She
added that she recognized the obligations she was under to him, and that
she loved him like a brother. She affirmed that if the Flemish seigniors
had induced her to cause the Cardinal to be deprived of the government,
she was already penitent, and that her fault deserved that the King, her
brother, should cut off her head, for having occasioned so great a
calamity.--["Memoires de Granvelle," tom. 33, p. 67.]

There was certainly discrepancy between the language thus used
simultaneously by the Duchess to Granvelle and to Philip, but Margaret
had been trained in the school of Macchiavelli, and had sat at the feet
of Loyola.

The Cardinal replied with equal suavity, protesting that such a letter
from the Duchess left him nothing more to desire, as it furnished him
with an "entire and perfect justification" of his conduct. He was aware
of her real sentiments, no doubt, but he was too politic to quarrel with
so important a personage as Philip's sister.

An incident which occurred a few months after the minister's departure
served, to show the general estimation in which he was held by all ranks
of Netherlanders. Count Mansfeld celebrated the baptism of his son,
Philip Octavian, by a splendid series of festivities at Luxemburg, the
capital of his government. Besides the tournaments and similar sports,
with which the upper classes of European society were accustomed at that
day to divert themselves, there was a grand masquerade, to which the
public were admitted as spectators. In this "mummery" the most successful
spectacle was that presented by a group arranged in obvious ridicule of
Granvelle. A figure dressed in Cardinal's costume, with the red hat upon
his head, came pacing through the arena upon horseback. Before him
marched a man attired like a hermit, with long white beard, telling his
beads upon a rosary, which he held ostentatiously in his hands. Behind
the mounted Cardinal came the Devil, attired in the usual guise
considered appropriate to the Prince of Darkness, who scourged both horse
and rider with a whip of fog-tails, causing them to scamper about the
lists in great trepidation, to the immense delight of the spectators. The
practical pun upon Simon Renard's name embodied in the fox-tail, with the
allusion to the effect of the manifold squibs perpetrated by that most
bitter and lively enemy upon Granvelle, were understood and relished by
the multitude. Nothing could be more hearty than the blows bestowed upon
the minister's representative, except the applause with which this
satire, composed of actual fustigation, was received. The humorous
spectacle absorbed all the interest of the masquerade, and was frequently
repeated. It seemed difficult to satisfy the general desire to witness a
thorough chastisement of the culprit.

The incident made a great noise in the country. The cardinalists felt
naturally very much enraged, but they were in a minority. No censure came
from the government at Brussels, and Mansfeld was then and for a long
time afterwards the main pillar of royal authority in the Netherlands. It
was sufficiently obvious that Granvelle, for the time at least, was
supported by no party of any influence.

Meantime he remained in his seclusion. His unpopularity did not, however,
decrease in his absence. More than a year after his departure, Berlaymont
said the nobles detested the Cardinal more than ever, and would eat him
alive if they caught him. The chance of his returning was dying gradually
out. At about the same period Chantonnay advised his brother to show his
teeth. He assured Granvelle that he was too quiet in his disgrace,
reminded him that princes had warm affections when they wished to make
use of people, but that when they could have them too cheaply, they
esteemed them but little; making no account of men whom they were
accustomed to see under their feet. He urged the Cardinal, in repeated
letters, to take heart again, to make himself formidable, and to rise
from his crouching attitude. All the world say, he remarked, that the
game is up between the King and yourself, and before long every one will
be laughing at you, and holding you for a dupe.

Stung or emboldened by these remonstrances, and weary of his retirement,
Granvelle at last abandoned all intention of returning to the
Netherlands, and towards the end of 1565, departed to Rome, where he
participated in the election of Pope Pius V. Five years afterwards he was
employed by Philip to negotiate the treaty between Spain, Rome, and
Venice against the Turk. He was afterwards Viceroy of Naples, and in
1575, he removed to Madrid, to take an active part in the management of
the public business, "the disorder of which," says the Abbe Boisot,
"could be no longer arrested by men of mediocre capacity." He died in
that city on the 21st September, 1586, at the age of seventy, and was
buried at Besancon.

We have dwelt at length on the administration of this remarkable
personage, because the period was one of vital importance in the history
of the Netherland commonwealth. The minister who deals with the country
at an epoch when civil war is imminent, has at least as heavy a
responsibility upon his head as the man who goes forth to confront the
armed and full-grown rebellion. All the causes out of which the great
revolt was born, were in violent operation during the epoch of
Granvelle's power. By the manner in which he comported himself in
presence of those dangerous and active elements of the coming
convulsions, must his character as a historical personage be measured.
His individuality had so much to do with the course of the government,
the powers placed in his hands were so vast, and his energy so untiring,
that it is difficult to exaggerate the importance of his influence upon
the destiny of the country which he was permitted to rule. It is for this
reason that we have been at great pains to present his picture, sketched
as it were by his own hand. A few general remarks are, however,
necessary. It is the historian's duty to fix upon one plain and definite
canvas the chameleon colors in which the subtle Cardinal produced his own
image. Almost any theory concerning his character might be laid down and
sustained by copious citations from his works; nay, the most opposite
conclusions as to his interior nature, may be often drawn from a single
one of his private and interminable letters. Embarked under his guidance,
it is often difficult to comprehend the point to which we are tending.
The oarsman's face beams upon us with serenity, but he looks in one
direction, and rows in the opposite course. Even thus it was three
centuries ago. Was it to be wondered at that many did not see the
precipice towards which the bark which held their all was gliding under
the same impulse?

No man has ever disputed Granvelle's talents. From friend and foe his
intellect has received the full measure of applause which it could ever
claim. No doubt his genius was of a rare and subtle kind. His great power
was essentially dramatic in its nature. He mastered the characters of the
men with whom he had to deal, and then assumed them. He practised this
art mainly upon personages of exalted station, for his scheme was to
govern the world by acquiring dominion over its anointed rulers. A smooth
and supple slave in appearance, but, in reality, while his power lasted,
the despot of his masters, he exercised boundless control by enacting
their parts with such fidelity that they were themselves deceived. It is
impossible not to admire the facility with which this accomplished
Proteus successively assumed the characters of Philip and of Margaret,
through all the complicated affairs and voluminous correspondence of his
government.

When envoys of high rank were to be despatched on confidential missions
to Spain, the Cardinal drew their instructions as the Duchess--threw
light upon their supposed motives in secret letters as the King's
sister--and answered their representations with ponderous wisdom as
Philip; transmitting despatches, letters and briefs for royal
conversations, in time to be thoroughly studied before the advent of the
ambassador. Whoever travelled from Brussels to Madrid in order to escape
the influence of the ubiquitous Cardinal, was sure to be confronted with
him in the inmost recesses of the King's cabinet as soon as he was
admitted to an audience. To converse with Philip or Margaret was but to
commune with Antony. The skill with which he played his game, seated
quietly in his luxurious villa, now stretching forth one long arm to move
the King at Madrid, now placing Margaret upon what square he liked, and
dealing with Bishops, Knight of the Fleece, and lesser dignitaries, the
Richardota, the Morillons, the Viglii and the Berlaymonts, with sole
reference to his own scheme of action, was truly of a nature to excite
our special wonder. His aptitude for affairs and his power to read
character were extraordinary; but it was necessary that the affairs
should be those of a despotism, and the characters of an inferior nature.
He could read Philip and Margaret, Egmont or Berlaymont, Alva or Viglius,
but he had no plummet to sound the depths of a mind like that of William
the Silent. His genius was adroit and subtle, but not profound. He aimed
at power by making the powerful subservient, but he had not the intellect
which deals in the daylight face to face with great events and great
minds. In the violent political struggle of which his administration
consisted, he was foiled and thrown by the superior strength of a man
whose warfare was open and manly, and who had no defence against the
poisoned weapons of his foe.

His literary accomplishments were very great. His fecundity was
prodigious, and he wrote at will in seven languages. 'This polyglot
facility was not in itself a very remarkable circumstance, for it grew
out of his necessary education and geographical position. Few men in that
age and region were limited to their mother tongue. The Prince of Orange,
who made no special pretence to learning, possessed at least five
languages. Egmont, who was accounted an ignorant man, was certainly
familiar with three. The Cardinal, however, wrote not only with ease, but
with remarkable elegance, vigor and vivacity, in whatever language he
chose to adopt. The style of his letters and other documents, regarded
simply as compositions, was inferior to that of no writer of the age. His
occasional orations, too, were esteemed models of smooth and flowing
rhetoric, at an epoch when the art of eloquence was not much cultivated.
Yet it must be allowed that beneath all the shallow but harmonious flow
of his periods, it would be idle to search for a grain of golden sand.
Not a single sterling, manly thought is to be found in all his
productions. If at times our admiration is excited with the appearance of
a gem of true philosophy, we are soon obliged to acknowledge, on closer
inspection, that we have been deceived by a false glitter. In retirement,
his solitude was not relieved by serious application to any branch of
knowledge. Devotion to science and to the advancement of learning, a
virtue which has changed the infamy of even baser natures than his into
glory, never dignified his seclusion. He had elegant tastes, he built
fine palaces, he collected paintings, and he discoursed of the fine arts
with the skill and eloquence of a practised connoisseur; but the nectared
fruits of divine philosophy were but harsh and crabbed to him.

His moral characteristics are even more difficult to seize than his
intellectual traits. It is a perplexing task to arrive at the intimate
interior structure of a nature which hardly had an interior. He did not
change, but he presented himself daily in different aspects. Certain
peculiarities he possessed, however, which were unquestionable. He was
always courageous, generally calm. Placed in the midst of a nation which
hated him, exposed to the furious opposition of the most powerful
adversaries, having hardly a friend, except the cowardly Viglius and the
pluralist Morillon, secretly betrayed by Margaret of Parma, insulted by
rude grandees, and threatened by midnight assassins, he never lost his
self-possession, his smooth arrogance, his fortitude. He was
constitutionally brave. He was not passionate in his resentments. To say
that he was forgiving by nature would be an immense error; but that he
could put aside vengeance at the dictate of policy is very certain. He
could temporize, even after the reception of what he esteemed grave
injuries, if the offenders were powerful. He never manifested rancor
against the Duchess. Even after his fall from power in the Netherlands,
he interceded with the Pope in favor of the principality of Orange, which
the pontiff was disposed to confiscate. The Prince was at that time as
good a Catholic as the Cardinal. He was apparently on good terms with his
sovereign, and seemed to have a prosperous career before him. He was not
a personage to be quarrelled with. At a later day, when the position of
that great man was most clearly defined to the world, the Cardinal's
ancient affection for his former friend and pupil did not prevent him
from suggesting the famous ban by which a price was set upon his head,
and his life placed in the hands of every assassin in Europe. It did not
prevent him from indulging in the jocularity of a fiend, when the news of
the first-fruits of that bounty upon murder reached his ears. It did not
prevent him from laughing merrily at the pain which his old friend must
have suffered, shot through the head and face with a musket-ball, and at
the mutilated aspect which his "handsome face must have presented to the
eyes of his apostate wife." It did not prevent him from stoutly
disbelieving and then refusing to be comforted, when the recovery of the
illustrious victim was announced. He could always dissemble without
entirely forgetting his grievances. Certainly, if he were the forgiving
Christian he pictured himself, it is passing strange to reflect upon the
ultimate fate of Egmont, Horn, Montigny, Berghen, Orange, and a host of
others, whose relations with him were inimical.

His extravagance was enormous, and his life luxurious. At the same time
he could leave his brother Champagny--a man, with all his faults, of a
noble nature, and with scarcely inferior talents to his own--to languish
for a long time in abject poverty; supported by the charity of an ancient
domestic. His greediness for wealth was proverbial. No benefice was too
large or too paltry to escape absorption, if placed within his possible
reach. Loaded with places and preferments, rolling in wealth, he
approached his sovereign with the whine of a mendicant. He talked of his
property as a "misery," when he asked for boons, and expressed his thanks
in the language of a slave when he received them. Having obtained the
abbey of St. Armand, he could hardly wait for the burial of the Bishop of
Tournay before claiming the vast revenues of Afflighem, assuring the King
as he did so that his annual income was but eighteen thousand crowns. At
the same time, while thus receiving or pursuing the vast rents of St.
Armand and Afflighem, he could seize the abbey of Trulle from the
expectant hands of poor dependents, and accept tapestries and hogsheads
of wine from Jacques Lequien and others, as a tax on the benefices which
he procured for them. Yet the man who, like his father before him, had so
long fattened on the public money, who at an early day had incurred the
Emperor's sharp reproof for his covetousness, whose family, beside all
these salaries and personal property, possessed already fragments of the
royal domain, in the shape of nineteen baronies and seigniories in
Burgundy, besides the county of Cantecroix and other estates in the
Netherlands, had the effrontery to affirm, "We have always rather
regarded the service of the master than our own particular profit."

In estimating the conduct of the minister, in relation to the provinces,
we are met upon the threshold by a swarm of vague assertions which are of
a nature to blind or distract the judgment. His character must be judged
as a whole, and by its general results, with a careful allowance for
contradictions and equivocations. Truth is clear and single, but the
lights are parti-colored and refracted in the prism of hypocrisy. The
great feature of his administration was a prolonged conflict between
himself and the leading seigniors of the Netherlands. The ground of the
combat was the religious question. Let the quarrel be turned or tortured
in any manner that human ingenuity can devise, it still remains
unquestionable that Granvelle's main object was to strengthen and to
extend the inquisition, that of his adversaries to overthrow the
institution. It followed, necessarily, that the ancient charters were to
be trampled in the dust before that tribunal could be triumphant. The
nobles, although all Catholics, defended the cause of the poor religious
martyrs, the privileges of the nation and the rights of their order. They
were conservatives, battling for the existence of certain great facts,
entirely consonant to any theory of justice and divine reason--for
ancient constitutions which had been purchased with blood and treasure.
"I will maintain," was the motto of William of Orange. Philip, bigoted
and absolute almost beyond comprehension, might perhaps have proved
impervious to any representations, even of Granvelle. Nevertheless, the
minister might have attempted the task, and the responsibility is heavy
upon the man who shared the power and directed the career, but who never
ceased to represent the generous resistance of individuals to frantic
cruelty, as offences against God and the King.

Yet extracts are drawn from his letters to prove that he considered the
Spaniards as "proud and usurping," that he indignantly denied ever having
been in favor of subjecting the Netherlands to the soldiers of that
nation; that he recommended the withdrawal of the foreign regiments, and
that he advised the King, when he came to the country, to bring with him
but few Spanish troops. It should, however, be remembered that he
employed, according to his own statements, every expedient which human
ingenuity could suggest to keep the foreign soldiers in the provinces,
that he "lamented to his inmost soul" their forced departure, and that he
did not consent to that measure until the people were in a tumult, and
the Zealanders threatening to lay the country under the ocean. "You may
judge of the means employed to excite the people," he wrote to Perez in
1563, "by the fact that a report is circulated that the Duke of Alva is
coming hither to tyrannize the provinces." Yet it appears by the
admissions of Del Ryo, one of Alva's blood council, that, "Cardinal
Granvelle expressly advised that an army of Spaniards should be sent to
the Netherlands, to maintain the obedience to his Majesty and the
Catholic religion," and that the Duke of Alva was appointed chief by the
advice of Cardinal Spinosa, and by that of Cardinal Granvelle, as,
appeared by many letters written at the time to his friends. By the same
confessions; it appeared that the course of policy thus distinctly
recommended by Granvelle, "was to place the country under a system of
government like that of Spain and Italy, and to reduce it entirely under
the council of Spain." When the terrible Duke started on his errand of
blood and fire, the Cardinal addressed him, a letter of fulsome flattery;
protesting "that all the world know that no person could be found so
appropriate as he, to be employed in an affair of such importance;"
urging him to advance with his army as rapidly as possible upon the
Netherlands, hoping that "the Duchess of Parma would not be allowed to
consent that any pardon or concession should be made to the cities, by
which the construction of fortresses would be interfered with, or the
revocation of the charters which had been forfeited, be prevented," and
giving him much advice as to the general measures to be adopted, and the
persons to be employed upon his arrival, in which number the infamous
Noircarmes was especially recommended. In a document found among his
papers, these same points, with others, were handled at considerable
length. The incorporation of the provinces into one kingdom, of which the
King was to be crowned absolute sovereign; the establishment of, a
universal law for the Catholic religion, care being taken not to call
that law inquisition, "because there was nothing so odious to the
northern nations as the word Spanish Inquisition, although the thing in
itself be most holy and just;" the abolition and annihilation of the
broad or general council in the cities, the only popular representation
in the country; the construction of many citadels and fortresses to be
garrisoned with Spaniards, Italians, and Germans. Such were the leading
features in that remarkable paper.

The manly and open opposition of the nobles was stigmatized as a cabal by
the offended priest. He repeatedly whispered in the royal ear that their
league was a treasonable conspiracy, which the Attorney-General ought to
prosecute; that the seigniors meant to subvert entirely the authority of
the Sovereign; that they meant to put their King under tutelage, to
compel him to obey all their commands, to choose another prince of the
blood for their chief, to establish a republic by the aid of foreign
troops. If such insinuations, distilled thus secretly into the ear of
Philip, who, like his predecessor, Dionysius, took pleasure in listening
daily to charges against his subjects and to the groans of his prisoners,
were not likely to engender a dangerous gangrene in the royal mind, it
would be difficult to indicate any course which would produce such a
result. Yet the Cardinal maintained that he had never done the gentlemen
ill service, but that "they were angry with him for wishing to sustain
the authority of the master." In almost every letter he expressed vague
generalities of excuse, or even approbation, while he chronicled each
daily fact which occurred to their discredit. The facts he particularly
implored the King to keep to himself, the vague laudation he as urgently
requested him to repeat to those interested. Perpetually dropping small
innuendos like pebbles into the depths of his master's suspicious soul,
he knew that at last the waters of bitterness would overflow, but he
turned an ever-smiling face upon those who were to be his victims. There
was ever something in his irony like the bland request of the inquisitor
to the executioner that he would deal with his prisoners gently. There
was about the same result in regard to such a prayer to be expected from
Philip as from the hangman. Even if his criticisms had been uniformly
indulgent, the position of the nobles and leading citizens thus subjected
to a constant but secret superintendence, would have been too galling to
be tolerated. They did not know, so precisely as we have learned after
three centuries, that all their idle words and careless gestures as well
as their graver proceedings, were kept in a noting book to be pored over
and conned by rote in the recesses of the royal cabinet and the royal
mind; but they suspected the espionage of the Cardinal, and they openly
charged him with his secret malignity.

The men who refused to burn their fellow-creatures for a difference in
religious opinion were stigmatized as demagogues; as ruined spendthrifts
who wished to escape from their liabilities in the midst of revolutionary
confusion; as disguised heretics who were waiting for a good opportunity
to reveal their true characters. Montigny, who, as a Montmorency, was
nearly allied to the Constable and Admiral of France, and was in
epistolary correspondence with those relatives, was held up as a
Huguenot; of course, therefore, in Philip's eye, the most monstrous of
malefactors.

Although no man could strew pious reflections and holy texts more
liberally, yet there was always an afterthought even in his most edifying
letters. A corner of the mask is occasionally lifted and the deadly face
of slow but abiding vengeance is revealed. "I know very well," he wrote,
soon after his fall, to Viglius, "that vengeance is the Lord's-God is my
witness that I pardon all the past." In the same letter, nevertheless, he
added, "My theology, however, does not teach me, that by enduring, one is
to enable one's enemies to commit even greater wrongs. If the royal
justice is not soon put into play, I shall be obliged to right myself.
This thing is going on too long-patience exhausted changes to fury. 'Tis
necessary that every man should assist himself as he can, and when I
choose to throw the game into confusion I shall do it perhaps more
notably than the others." A few weeks afterwards, writing to the same
correspondent, he observed, "We shall have to turn again, and rejoice
together. Whatever the King commands I shall do, even were I to march
into the fire, whatever happens, and without fear or respect for any
person I mean to remain the same man to the end--Durate;--and I have a
head that is hard enough when I do undertake any thing--'nec animism
despondeo'." Here, certainly, was significant foreshadowing of the
general wrath to come, and it was therefore of less consequence that the
portraits painted by him of Berghen, Horn, Montigny, and others, were so
rarely relieved by the more flattering tints which he occasionally
mingled with the sombre coloring of his other pictures. Especially with
regard to Count Egmont, his conduct was somewhat perplexing and, at first
sight, almost inscrutable. That nobleman had been most violent in
opposition to his course, had drawn a dagger upon him, had frequently
covered him with personal abuse, and had crowned his offensive conduct by
the invention of the memorable fool's-cap: livery. Yet the Cardinal
usually spoke of him with pity and gentle consideration, described him as
really well disposed in the main, as misled by others, as a "friend of
smoke," who might easily be gained by flattery and bribery. When there
was question of the Count's going to Madrid, the Cardinal renewed his
compliments with additional expression of eagerness that they should be
communicated to their object. Whence all this Christian meekness in the
author of the Ban against Orange and the eulogist of Alva? The true
explanation of this endurance on the part of the Cardinal lies in the
estimate which he had formed of Egmont's character. Granvelle had taken
the man's measure, and even he could not foresee the unparalleled cruelty
and dulness which were eventually to characterize Philip's conduct
towards him. On the contrary, there was every reason why the Cardinal
should see in the Count a personage whom brilliant services, illustrious
rank, and powerful connexions, had marked for a prosperous future. It was
even currently asserted that Philip was about to create him
Governor-General of the Netherlands, in order to detach him entirely from
Orange, and to bind him more closely to the Crown. He was, therefore, a
man to be forgiven. Nothing apparently but a suspicion of heresy could
damage the prospects of the great noble, and Egmont was orthodox beyond
all peradventure. He was even a bigot in the Catholic faith. He had
privately told the Duchess of Parma that he had always been desirous of
seeing the edicts thoroughly enforced; and he denounced as enemies all
those persons who charged him with ever having been in favor of
mitigating the System. He was reported, to be sure, at about the time of
Granvelle's departure from the Netherlands, to have said "post pocula,
that the quarrel was not with the Cardinal, but with the King, who was
administering the public affairs very badly, even in the matter of
religion." Such a bravado, however, uttered by a gentleman in his cups,
when flushed with a recent political triumph, could hardly outweigh in
the cautious calculations of Granvelle; distinct admissions in favor of
persecution. Egmont in truth stood in fear of the inquisition. The hero
of Gravelingen and St. Quentin actually trembled before Peter Titelmann.
Moreover, notwithstanding all that had past, he had experienced a change
in his sentiments in regard to the Cardinal. He frequently expressed the
opinion that, although his presence in the Netherlands was inadmissible,
he should be glad to see him Pope. He had expressed strong disapprobation
of the buffooning masquerade by which he had been ridiculed at the
Mansfeld christening party. When at Madrid he not only spoke well of
Granvelle himself; but would allow nothing disparaging concerning him to
be uttered in his presence. When, however, Egmont had fallen from favor,
and was already a prisoner, the Cardinal diligently exerted himself to
place under the King's eye what he considered the most damning evidence
of the Count's imaginary treason; a document with which the public
prosecutor had not been made acquainted.

Thus, it will be seen by this retrospect how difficult it is to seize all
the shifting subtleties of this remarkable character. His sophisms even,
when self-contradictory, are so adroit that they are often hard to parry.
He made a great merit to himself for not having originated the new
episcopates; but it should be remembered that he did his utmost to
enforce the measure, which was "so holy a scheme that he would sacrifice
for its success his fortune and his life." He refused the archbishopric
of Mechlin, but his motives for so doing were entirely sordid. His
revenues were for the moment diminished, while his personal distinction
was not, in his opinion, increased by the promotion. He refused to accept
it because "it was no addition to his dignity, as he was already Cardinal
and Bishop of Arras," but in this statement he committed an important
anachronism. He was not Cardinal when he refused the see of Mechlin;
having received the red hat upon February 26, 1561, and having already
accepted the archbishopric in May of the preceding year. He affirmed that
"no man would more resolutely defend the liberty and privileges of the
provinces than he would do," but he preferred being tyrannized by his
prince, to maintaining the joyful entrance. He complained of the
insolence of the states in meddling with the supplies; he denounced the
convocation of the representative bodies, by whose action alone, what
there was of "liberty and privilege" in the land could be guarded; he
recommended the entire abolition of the common councils in the cities. He
described himself as having always combated the opinion that "any thing
could be accomplished by terror, death and violence," yet he recommended
the mission of Alva, in whom "terror, death, and violence" were
incarnate. He was indignant that he should be accused of having advised
the introduction of the Spanish inquisition; but his reason was that the
term sounded disagreeably in northern ears, while the thing was most
commendable. He manifested much anxiety that the public should be
disabused of their fear of the Spanish inquisition, but he was the
indefatigable supporter of the Netherland inquisition, which Philip
declared with reason to be "the more pitiless institution" of the two. He
was the author, not of the edicts, but of their re-enactment, verbally
and literally, in all the horrid extent to which they had been carried by
Charles the Fifth; and had recommended the use of the Emperor's name to
sanctify the infernal scheme. He busied himself personally in the
execution of these horrible laws, even when judge and hangman slackened.
To the last he denounced all those "who should counsel his Majesty to
permit a moderation of the edicts," and warned the King that if he should
consent to the least mitigation of their provisions, things would go
worse in the provinces than in France. He was diligent in establishing
the reinforced episcopal inquisition side by side with these edicts, and
with the papal inquisition already in full operation. He omitted no
occasion of encouraging the industry of all these various branches in the
business of persecution. When at last the loud cry from the oppressed
inhabitants of Flanders was uttered in unanimous denunciation by the four
estates of that province of the infamous Titelmann, the Cardinal's voice,
from the depths of his luxurious solitude, was heard, not in sympathy
with the poor innocent wretches, who were daily dragged from their humble
homes to perish by sword and fire, but in pity for the inquisitor who was
doing the work of hell. "I deeply regret," he wrote to Viglius, "that the
states of Flanders should be pouting at inquisitor Titelmann. Truly he
has good zeal, although sometimes indiscreet and noisy; still he must be
supported, lest they put a bridle upon him, by which his authority will
be quite enervated." The reader who is acquainted with the personality of
Peter Titelmann can decide as to the real benignity of the joyous
epicurean who could thus commend and encourage such a monster of cruelty.

If popularity be a test of merit in a public man, it certainly could not
be claimed by the Cardinal. From the moment when Gresham declared him to
be "hated of all men," down to the period of his departure, the odium
resting upon him had been rapidly extending: He came to the country with
two grave accusations resting upon his name. The Emperor Maximilian
asserted that the Cardinal had attempted to take his life by poison, and
he persisted in the truth of the charge thus made by him, till the day of
his death. Another accusation was more generally credited. He was the
author of the memorable forgery by which the Landgrave Philip of Hesse
had been entrapped into his long imprisonment. His course in and towards
the Netherlands has been sufficiently examined. Not a single charge has
been made lightly, but only after careful sifting of evidence. Moreover
they are all sustained mainly from the criminal's own lips. Yet when the
secrecy of the Spanish cabinet and the Macchiavellian scheme of policy by
which the age was characterized are considered, it is not strange that
there should have been misunderstandings and contradictions with regard
to the man's character till a full light had been thrown upon it by the
disinterment of ancient documents. The word "Durate," which was the
Cardinals device, may well be inscribed upon his mask, which has at last
been torn aside, but which was formed of such durable materials, that it
has deceived the world for three centuries.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Dissimulation and delay
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 9.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1564-1565 [CHAPTER V.]

   Return of the three seigniors to the state council--Policy of
   Orange--Corrupt character of the government--Efforts of the Prince
   in favor of reform--Influence of Armenteros--Painful situation of
   Viglius--His anxiety to retire--Secret charges against him
   transmitted by the Duchess to Philip--Ominous signs of the times--
   Attention of Philip to the details of persecution--Execution of
   Fabricius, and tumult at Antwerp--Horrible cruelty towards the
   Protestants--Remonstrance of the Magistracy of Bruges and of the
   four Flemish estates against Titelmann--Obduracy of Philip--Council
   of Trent--Quarrel for precedence between the French and Spanish
   envoys--Order for the publication of the Trent decrees in the
   Netherlands--Opposition to the measure--Reluctance of the Duchess--
   Egmont accepts a mission to Spain--Violent debate in the council
   concerning his instructions--Remarkable speech of Orange--Apoplexy
   of Viglius--Temporary appointment of Hopper--Departure of Egmont--
   Disgraceful scene at Cambray--Character of the Archbishop--Egmont in
   Spain--Flattery and bribery--Council of Doctors--Vehement
   declarations of Philip--His instructions to Egmont at his departure
   --Proceedings of Orange in regard to his principality--Egmont's
   report to the state council concerning his mission--His vainglory--
   Renewed orders from Philip to continue the persecution--Indignation
   of Egmont--Habitual dissimulation of the King--Reproof of Egmont by
   Orange--Assembly of doctors in Brussels--Result of their
   deliberations transmitted to Philip--Universal excitement in the
   Netherlands--New punishment for heretics--Interview at Bayonne
   between Catharine de Medici and her daughter, the Queen of Spain--
   Mistaken views upon this subject--Diplomacy of Alva--Artful conduct
   of Catharine--Stringent letters from Philip to the Duchess with
   regard to the inquisition--Consternation of Margaret and of Viglius
   --New proclamation of the Edicts, the Inquisition, and the Council
   of Trent--Fury of the people--Resistance of the leading seigniors
   and of the Brabant Council--Brabant declared free of the
   inquisition--Prince Alexander of Parma betrothed to Donna Maria of
   Portugal--Her portrait--Expensive preparations for the nuptials--
   Assembly of the Golden Fleece--Oration of Viglius--Wedding of Prince
   Alexander.

The remainder of the year, in the spring of which the Cardinal had left
the Netherlands, was one of anarchy, confusion, and corruption. At first
there had been a sensation of relief.

Philip had exchanged letters of exceeding amity with Orange, Egmont, and
Horn. These three seigniors had written, immediately upon Granvelle's
retreat, to assure the King of their willingness to obey the royal
commands, and to resume their duties at the state council. They had,
however, assured the Duchess that the reappearance of the Cardinal in the
country would be the signal for their instantaneous withdrawal. They
appeared at the council daily, working with the utmost assiduity often
till late into the night. Orange had three great objects in view, by
attaining which the country, in his opinion, might yet be saved, and the
threatened convulsions averted. These were to convoke the states-general,
to moderate or abolish the edicts, and to suppress the council of finance
and the privy council, leaving only the council of state. The two first
of these points, if gained, would, of course, subvert the whole absolute
policy which Philip and Granvelle had enforced; it was, therefore, hardly
probable that any impression would be made upon the secret determination
of the government in these respects. As to the council of state, the
limited powers of that body, under the administration of the Cardinal,
had formed one of the principal complaints against that minister. The
justice and finance councils were sinks of iniquity. The most barefaced
depravity reigned supreme. A gangrene had spread through the whole
government. The public functionaries were notoriously and outrageously
venal. The administration of justice had been poisoned at the fountain,
and the people were unable to slake their daily thirst at the polluted
stream. There was no law but the law of the longest purse. The highest
dignitaries of Philip's appointment had become the most mercenary
hucksters who ever converted the divine temple of justice into a den of
thieves. Law was an article of merchandise, sold by judges to the highest
bidder. A poor customer could obtain nothing but stripes and
imprisonment, or, if tainted with suspicion of heresy, the fagot or the
sword, but for the rich every thing was attainable. Pardons for the most
atrocious crimes, passports, safe conducts, offices of trust and honor,
were disposed of at auction to the highest bidder. Against all this sea
of corruption did the brave William of Orange set his breast, undaunted
and unflinching. Of all the conspicuous men in the land, he was the only
one whose worst enemy had never hinted through the whole course of his
public career, that his hands had known contamination. His honor was ever
untarnished by even a breath of suspicion. The Cardinal could accuse him
of pecuniary embarrassment, by which a large proportion of his revenues
were necessarily diverted to the liquidation of his debts, but he could
not suggest that the Prince had ever freed himself from difficulties by
plunging his hands into the public treasury, when it might easily have
been opened to him.

It was soon, however, sufficiently obvious that as desperate a struggle
was to be made with the many-headed monster of general corruption as with
the Cardinal by whom it had been so long fed and governed. The Prince was
accused of ambition and intrigue. It was said that he was determined to
concentrate all the powers of government in the state council, which was
thus to become an omnipotent and irresponsible senate, while the King
would be reduced to the condition of a Venetian Doge. It was, of course,
suggested that it was the aim of Orange to govern the new Tribunal of
Ten. No doubt the Prince was ambitious. Birth, wealth, genius, and virtue
could not have been bestowed in such eminent degree on any man without
carrying with them the determination to assert their value. It was not
his wish so much as it was the necessary law of his being to impress
himself upon his age and to rule his fellow-men. But he practised no arts
to arrive at the supremacy which he felt must always belong to him, what
ever might be his nominal position in the political hierarchy. He was
already, although but just turned of thirty years, vastly changed from
the brilliant and careless grandee, as he stood at the hour of the
imperial abdication. He was becoming careworn in face, thin of figure,
sleepless of habit. The wrongs of which he was the daily witness, the
absolutism, the cruelty, the rottenness of the government, had marked his
face with premature furrows. "They say that the Prince is very sad,"
wrote Morillon to Granvelle; "and 'tis easy to read as much in his face.
They say he can not sleep." Truly might the monarch have taken warning
that here was a man who was dangerous, and who thought too much.
"Sleekheaded men, and such as slept o' nights," would have been more
eligible functionaries, no doubt, in the royal estimation, but, for a
brief period, the King was content to use, to watch, and to suspect the
man who was one day to be his great and invincible antagonist. He
continued assiduous at the council, and he did his best, by entertaining
nobles and citizens at his hospitable mansion, to cultivate good
relations with large numbers of his countrymen. He soon, however, had
become disgusted with the court. Egmont was more lenient to the foul
practices which prevailed there, and took almost a childish pleasure in
dining at the table of the Duchess, dressed, as were many of the younger
nobles, in short camlet doublet with the wheat-sheaf buttons.

The Prince felt more unwilling to compromise his personal dignity by
countenancing the flagitious proceedings and the contemptible supremacy
of Armenteros, and it was soon very obvious, therefore, that Egmont was a
greater favorite at court than Orange. At the same time the Count was
also diligently cultivating the good graces of the middle and lower
classes in Brussels, shooting with the burghers at the popinjay, calling
every man by his name, and assisting at jovial banquets in town-house or
guild-hall. The Prince, although at times a necessary partaker also in
these popular amusements, could find small cause for rejoicing in the
aspect of affairs. When his business led him to the palace, he was
sometimes forced to wait in the ante-chamber for an hour, while Secretary
Armenteros was engaged in private consultation with Margaret upon the
most important matters of administration. It could not be otherwise than
galling to the pride and offensive to the patriotism of the Prince, to
find great public transactions entrusted to such hands. Thomas de
Armenteros was a mere private secretary--a simple clerk. He had no right
to have cognizance of important affairs, which could only come before his
Majesty's sworn advisers. He was moreover an infamous peculator. He was
rolling up a fortune with great rapidity by his shameless traffic in
benefices, charges, offices, whether of church or state. His name of
Armenteros was popularly converted into Argenteros, in order to symbolize
the man who was made of public money. His confidential intimacy with the
Duchess procured for him also the name of "Madam's barber," in allusion
to the famous ornaments of Margaret's upper lip, and to the celebrated
influence enjoyed by the barbers of the Duke of Savoy, and of Louis the
Eleventh. This man sold dignities and places of high responsibility at
public auction. The Regent not only connived at these proceedings, which
would have been base enough, but she was full partner in the disgraceful
commerce. Through the agency of the Secretary, she, too, was amassing a
large private fortune. "The Duchess has gone into the business of vending
places to the highest bidders," said Morillon, "with the bit between her
teeth." The spectacle presented at the council-board was often
sufficiently repulsive not only to the cardinalists, who were treated
with elaborate insolence, but to all men who loved honor and justice, or
who felt an interest in the prosperity of government. There was nothing
majestic in the appearance of the Duchess, as she sat conversing apart
with Armenteros, whispering, pinching, giggling, or disputing, while
important affairs of state were debated, concerning which the Secretary
had no right to be informed. It was inevitable that Orange should be
offended to the utmost by such proceedings, although he was himself
treated with comparative respect. As for the ancient adherents of
Granvelle, the Bordeys, Baves, and Morillons, they were forbidden by the
favorite even to salute him in the streets. Berlaymont was treated by the
Duchess with studied insult. "What is the man talking about?" she would
ask with languid superciliousness, if he attempted to express his opinion
in the state-council. Viglius, whom Berlaymont accused of doing his best,
without success, to make his peace with the seigniors, was in even still
greater disgrace than his fellow-cardinalists. He longed, he said, to be
in Burgundy, drinking Granvelle's good wine. His patience under the daily
insults which he received from the government made him despicable in the
eyes of his own party. He was described by his friends as pusillanimous
to an incredible extent, timid from excess of riches, afraid of his own
shadow. He was becoming exceedingly pathetic, expressing frequently a
desire to depart and end his days in peace. His faithful Hopper sustained
and consoled him, but even Joachim could not soothe his sorrows when he
reflected that after all the work performed by himself and colleagues,
"they had only been beating the bush for others," while their own share
in the spoils had been withheld. Nothing could well be more contumelious
than Margaret's treatment of the learned Frisian. When other councillors
were summoned to a session at three o'clock, the President was invited at
four. It was quite impossible for him to have an audience of the Duchess
except in the presence of the inevitable Armenteras. He was not allowed
to open his mouth, even when he occasionally plucked up heart enough to
attempt the utterance of his opinions. His authority was completely dead.
Even if he essayed to combat the convocation of the states-general by the
arguments which the Duchess, at his suggestion, had often used for the
purpose, he was treated with the same indifference. "The poor President,"
wrote Granvelle to the King's chief secretary, Gonzalo Perez, "is afraid,
as I hear, to speak a word, and is made to write exactly what they tell
him." At the same time the poor President, thus maltreated and mortified,
had the vanity occasionally to imagine himself a bold and formidable
personage. The man whom his most intimate friends described as afraid of
his own shadow, described himself to Granvelle as one who went his own
gait, speaking his mind frankly upon every opportunity, and compelling
people to fear him a little, even if they did not love him. But the
Cardinal knew better than to believe in this magnanimous picture of the
doctor's fancy.

Viglius was anxious to retire, but unwilling to have the appearance of
being disgraced. He felt instinctively, although deceived as to the
actual facts, that his great patron had been defeated and banished. He
did not wish to be placed in the same position. He was desirous, as he
piously expressed himself, of withdrawing from the world, "that he might
balance his accounts with the Lord, before leaving the lodgings of life."
He was, however, disposed to please "the master" as well as the Lord. He
wished to have the royal permission to depart in peace. In his own lofty
language, he wished to be sprinkled on taking his leave "with the holy
water of the court." Moreover, he was fond of his salary, although he
disliked the sarcasms of the Duchess. Egmont and others had advised him
to abandon the office of President to Hopper, in order, as he was getting
feeble, to reserve his whole strength for the state-council. Viglius did
not at all relish the proposition. He said that by giving up the seals,
and with them the rank and salary which they conferred, he should become
a deposed saint. He had no inclination, as long as he remained on the
ground at all, to part with those emoluments and honors, and to be
converted merely into the "ass of the state-council." He had, however,
with the sagacity of an old navigator, already thrown out his anchor into
the best holding-ground during the storms which he foresaw were soon to
sweep the state. Before the close of the year which now occupies, the
learned doctor of laws had become a doctor of divinity also; and had
already secured, by so doing, the wealthy prebend of Saint Bavon of
Ghent. This would be a consolation in the loss of secular dignities, and
a recompence for the cold looks of the Duchess. He did not scruple to
ascribe the pointed dislike which Margaret manifested towards him to the
awe in which she stood of his stern integrity of character. The true
reason why Armenteros and the Duchess disliked him was because, in his
own words, "he was not of their mind with regard to lotteries, the sale
of offices, advancement to abbeys, and many other things of the kind, by
which they were in such a hurry to make their fortune." Upon another
occasion he observed, in a letter to Granvelle, that "all offices were
sold to the highest bidder, and that the cause of Margaret's resentment
against both the Cardinal and himself was, that they had so long
prevented her from making the profit which she was now doing from the
sale of benefices, offices, and other favors."

The Duchess, on her part, characterized the proceedings and policy, both
past and present, of the cardinalists as factious, corrupt, and selfish
in the last degree. She assured her brother that the simony, rapine, and
dishonesty of Granvelle, Viglius, and all their followers, had brought
affairs into the ruinous condition which was then but too apparent. They
were doing their best, she said, since the Cardinal's departure, to show,
by their sloth and opposition, that they were determined to allow nothing
to prosper in his absence. To quote her own vigorous expression to
Philip--"Viglius made her suffer the pains of hell." She described him as
perpetually resisting the course of the administration, and she threw out
dark suspicions, not only as to his honesty but his orthodoxy. Philip
lent a greedy ear to these scandalous hints concerning the late
omnipotent minister and his friends. It is an instructive lesson in human
history to look through the cloud of dissimulation in which the actors of
this remarkable epoch were ever enveloped, and to watch them all stabbing
fiercely at each other in the dark, with no regard to previous
friendship, or even present professions. It is edifying to see the
Cardinal, with all his genius and all his grimace, corresponding on
familiar terms with Armenteros, who was holding him up to obloquy upon
all occasions; to see Philip inclining his ear in pleased astonishment to
Margaret's disclosures concerning the Cardinal, whom he was at the very
instant assuring of his undiminished confidence; and to see Viglius, the
author of the edict of 1550, and the uniform opponent of any mitigation
in its horrors, silently becoming involved without the least suspicion of
the fact in the meshes of inquisitor Titelmann.

Upon Philip's eager solicitations for further disclosures, Margaret
accordingly informed her brother of additional facts communicated to her,
after oaths of secrecy had been exchanged, by Titelmann and his colleague
del Canto. They had assured her, she said, that there were grave doubts
touching the orthodoxy of Viglius. He had consorted with heretics during
a large portion of his life, and had put many suspicious persons into
office. As to his nepotism, simony, and fraud, there was no doubt at all.
He had richly provided all his friends and relations in Friesland with
benefices. He had become in his old age a priest and churchman, in order
to snatch the provostship of Saint Bavon, although his infirmities did
not allow him to say mass, or even to stand erect at the altar. The
inquisitors had further accused him of having stolen rings, jewels,
plate, linen, beds, tapestry, and other furniture, from the
establishment, all which property he had sent to Friesland, and of having
seized one hundred thousand florins in ready money which had belonged to
the last abbe--an act consequently of pure embezzlement. The Duchess
afterwards transmitted to Philip an inventory of the plundered property,
including the furniture of nine houses, and begged him to command Viglius
to make instant restitution. If there be truth in the homely proverb,
that in case of certain quarrels honest men recover their rights, it is
perhaps equally certain that when distinguished public personages attack
each other, historians may arrive at the truth. Here certainly are
edifying pictures of the corruption of the Spanish regency in the
Netherlands, painted by the President of the state-council, and of the
dishonesty of the President painted by the Regent.

A remarkable tumult occurred in October of this year, at Antwerp. A
Carmelite monk, Christopher Smith, commonly called Fabricius, had left a
monastery in Bruges, adopted the principles of the Reformation, and taken
to himself a wife. He had resided for a time in England; but, invited by
his friends, he had afterwards undertaken the dangerous charge of
gospel-teacher in the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands. He was,
however, soon betrayed to the authorities by a certain bonnet dealer,
popularly called Long Margaret, who had pretended, for the sake of
securing the informer's fee, to be a convert to his doctrines. He was
seized, and immediately put to the torture. He manfully refused to betray
any members of his congregation, as manfully avowed and maintained his
religious creed. He was condemned to the flames, and during the interval
which preceded his execution, he comforted his friends by letters of
advice, religious consolation and encouragement, which he wrote from his
dungeon. He sent a message to the woman who had betrayed him, assuring
her of his forgiveness, and exhorting her to repentance. His calmness,
wisdom, and gentleness excited the admiration of all. When; therefore,
this humble imitator of Christ was led through the streets of Antwerp to
the stake, the popular emotion was at once visible. To the multitude who
thronged about the executioners with threatening aspect, he addressed an
urgent remonstrance that they would not compromise their own safety by a
tumult in his cause. He invited all, however, to remain steadfast to the
great truth for which he was about to lay down his life. The crowd, as
they followed the procession of hangmen, halberdsmen, and magistrates,
sang the hundred and thirtieth psalm in full chorus. As the victim
arrived upon the market-place, he knelt upon the ground to pray, for the
last time. He was, however, rudely forced to rise by the executioner, who
immediately chained him to the stake, and fastened a leathern strap
around his throat. At this moment the popular indignation became
uncontrollable; stones were showered upon the magistrates and soldiers,
who, after a slight resistance, fled for their lives. The foremost of the
insurgents dashed into the enclosed arena, to rescue the prisoner. It was
too late. The executioner, even as he fled, had crushed the victim's head
with a sledge hammer, and pierced him through and through with a poniard.
Some of the bystanders maintained afterwards that his fingers and lips
were seen to move, as if in feeble prayer, for a little time longer,
until, as the fire mounted, he fell into the flames. For the remainder of
the day, after the fire had entirely smouldered to ashes, the charred and
half-consumed body of the victim remained on the market-place, a ghastly
spectacle to friend and foe. It was afterwards bound to a stone and cast
into the Scheld. Such was the doom of Christopher Fabricius, for having
preached Christianity in Antwerp. During the night an anonymous placard,
written with blood, was posted upon the wall of the town-house, stating
that there were men in the city who would signally avenge his murder.
Nothing was done, however, towards the accomplishment of the threat. The
King, when he received the intelligence of the transaction, was furious
with indignation, and wrote savage letters to his sister, commanding
instant vengeance to be taken upon all concerned in so foul a riot. As
one of the persons engaged had, however, been arrested and immediately
hanged, and as the rest had effected their escape, the affair was
suffered to drop.

The scenes of outrage, the frantic persecutions, were fast becoming too
horrible to be looked upon by Catholic or Calvinist. The prisons swarmed
with victims, the streets were thronged with processions to the stake.
The population of thriving cities, particularly in Flanders, were
maddened by the spectacle of so much barbarity inflicted, not upon
criminals, but usually upon men remarkable for propriety of conduct and
blameless lives. It was precisely at this epoch that the burgomasters,
senators, and council of the city of Bruges (all Catholics) humbly
represented to the Duchess Regent, that Peter Titelmann, inquisitor of
the Faith, against all forms of law, was daily exercising inquisition
among the inhabitants, not only against those suspected or accused of
heresy, but against all, however untainted their characters; that he was
daily citing before him whatever persons he liked, men or women,
compelling them by force to say whatever it pleased him; that he was
dragging people from their houses, and even from the sacred precincts of
the church; often in revenge for verbal injuries to himself, always under
pretext of heresy, and without form or legal warrant of any kind. They
therefore begged that he might be compelled to make use of preparatory
examinations with the co-operation of the senators of the city, to suffer
that witnesses should make their depositions without being intimidated by
menace, and to conduct all his subsequent proceedings according to legal
forms, which he had uniformly violated; publicly declaring that he would
conduct himself according to his own pleasure.

The four estates of Flanders having, in a solemn address to the King,
represented the same facts, concluded their brief but vigorous
description of Titelmann's enormities by calling upon Philip to suppress
these horrible practices, so manifestly in violation of the ancient
charters which he had sworn to support. It may be supposed that the
appeal to Philip would be more likely to call down a royal benediction
than the reproof solicited upon the inquisitor's head. In the privy
council, the petitions and remonstrances were read, and, in the words of
the President, "found to be in extremely bad taste." In the debate which
followed, Viglius and his friends recalled to the Duchess, in earnest
language, the decided will of the King, which had been so often
expressed. A faint representation was made, on the other hand, of the
dangerous consequences, in case the people were driven to a still deeper
despair. The result of the movement was but meagre. The Duchess announced
that she could do nothing in the matter of the request until further
information, but that meantime she had charged Titelmann to conduct
himself in his office "with discretion and modesty." The discretion and
modesty, however, never appeared in any modification of the inquisitor's
proceedings, and he continued unchecked in his infamous career until
death, which did not occur till several years afterwards. In truth,
Margaret was herself in mortal fear of this horrible personage. He
besieged her chamber door almost daily, before she had risen, insisting
upon audiences which, notwithstanding her repugnance to the man, she did
not dare to refuse. "May I perish," said Morillon, "if she does not stand
in exceeding awe of Titelmann." Under such circumstances, sustained by
the King in Spain, the Duchess in Brussels, the privy council, and by a
leading member of what had been thought the liberal party, it was not
difficult for the inquisition to maintain its ground, notwithstanding the
solemn protestations of the estates and the suppressed curses of the
people.

Philip, so far from having the least disposition to yield in the matter
of the great religious persecution, was more determined as to his course
than ever. He had already, as easy as August of this year, despatched
orders to the Duchess that the decrees of the Council of Trent should be
published and enforced throughout the Netherlands. The memorable quarrel
as to precedency between the French and Spanish delegates had given some
hopes of a different determination. Nevertheless, those persons who
imagined that, in consequence of this quarrel of etiquette, Philip would
slacken in his allegiance to the Church, were destined to be bitterly
mistaken. He informed his sister that, in the common cause of
Christianity, he should not be swayed by personal resentments.

How, indeed, could a different decision be expected? His envoy at Rome,
as well as his representatives at the council, had universally repudiated
all doubts as to the sanctity of its decrees. "To doubt the infallibility
of the council, as some have dared to do," said Francis de Vargas, "and
to think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all."
Nothing could so much disturb and scandalize the world as such a
sentiment. Therefore the Archbishop of Granada told, very properly, the
Bishop of Tortosa, that if he should express such an opinion in Spain,
they would burn him. These strenuous notions were shared by the King.
Therefore, although all Europe was on tip-toe with expectation to see how
Philip would avenge himself for the slight put upon his ambassador,
Philip disappointed all Europe.

In August, 1564, he wrote to the Duchess Regent, that the decrees were to
be proclaimed and enforced without delay. They related to three subjects,
the doctrines to be inculcated by the Church, the reformation of
ecclesiastical moral, and the education of the people. General police
regulations were issued at the same time, by which heretics were to be
excluded from all share in the usual conveniences of society, and were in
fact to be strictly excommunicated. Inns were to receive no guests,
schools no children, alms-houses no paupers, grave-yards no dead bodies,
unless guests, children, paupers, and dead bodies were furnished with the
most satisfactory proofs of orthodoxy. Midwives of unsuspected Romanism
were alone to exercise their functions, and were bound to give notice
within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred; the parish clerks
were as regularly to record every such addition to the population, and
the authorities to see that Catholic baptism was administered in each
case with the least possible delay. Births, deaths, and marriages could
only occur with validity under the shadow of the Church. No human being
could consider himself born or defunct unless provided with a priest's
certificate. The heretic was excluded, so far as ecclesiastical dogma
could exclude him, from the pale of humanity, from consecrated earth, and
from eternal salvation.

The decrees contained many provisions which not only conflicted with the
privileges of the provinces, but with the prerogatives of the sovereign.
For this reason many of the lords in council thought that at least the
proper exceptions should be made upon their promulgation. This was also
the opinion of the Duchess, but the King, by his letters of October, and
November (1564), expressly prohibited any alteration in the ordinances,
and transmitted a copy of the form according to which the canons had been
published in Spain, together with the expression of his desire that a
similar course should be followed in the Netherlands. Margaret of Parma
was in great embarrassment. It was evident that the publication could no
longer be deferred. Philip had issued his commands, but grave senators
and learned doctors of the university had advised strongly in favor of
the necessary exceptions. The extreme party, headed by Viglius, were in
favor of carrying out the royal decisions. They were overruled, and the
Duchess was induced to attempt a modification, if her brother's
permission could be obtained. The President expressed the opinion that
the decrees, even with the restrictions proposed, would "give no
contentment to the people, who, moreover, had no right to meddle with
theology." The excellent Viglius forgot, however, that theology had been
meddling altogether too much with the people to make it possible that the
public attention should be entirely averted from the subject. Men and
women who might be daily summoned to rack, stake, and scaffold, in the
course of these ecclesiastical arrangements, and whose births, deaths,
marriages, and position in the next world, were now to be formally
decided upon, could hardly be taxed with extreme indiscretion, if they
did meddle with the subject.

In the dilemma to which the Duchess was reduced, she again bethought
herself of a special mission to Spain. At the end of the year (1564), it
was determined that Egmont should be the envoy. Montigny excused himself
on account of private affairs; Marquis Berghen "because of his
indisposition and corpulence." There was a stormy debate in council after
Egmont had accepted the mission and immediately before his departure.
Viglius had been ordered to prepare the Count's instructions. Having
finished the rough draught, he laid it before the board. The paper was
conceived in general terms and might mean any thing or nothing. No
criticism upon its language was, however, offered until it came to the
turn of Orange to vote upon the document. Then, however, William the
Silent opened his lips, and poured forth a long and vehement discourse,
such as he rarely pronounced, but such as few except himself could utter.
There was no shuffling, no disguise, no timidity in his language. He took
the ground boldly that the time had arrived for speaking out. The object
of sending an envoy of high rank and European reputation like the Count
of Egmont, was to tell the King the truth. Let Philip know it now. Let
him be unequivocally informed that this whole machinery of placards and
scaffolds, of new bishops and old hangmen, of decrees, inquisitors, and
informers, must once and forever be abolished. Their day was over. The
Netherlands were free provinces, they were surrounded by free countries,
they were determined to vindicate their ancient privileges. Moreover, his
Majesty was to be plainly informed of the frightful corruption which made
the whole judicial and administrative system loathsome. The venality
which notoriously existed every where, on the bench, in the council
chamber, in all public offices, where purity was most essential, was
denounced by the Prince in scathing terms. He tore the mask from
individual faces, and openly charged the Chancellor of Brabant, Engelbert
Maas, with knavery and corruption. He insisted that the King should be
informed of the necessity of abolishing the two inferior councils, and of
enlarging the council of state by the admission of ten or twelve new
members selected for their patriotism, purity, and capacity. Above all,
it was necessary plainly to inform his Majesty that the canons of Trent,
spurned by the whole world, even by the Catholic princes of Germany,
could never be enforced in the Netherlands, and that it would be ruinous
to make the attempt. He proposed and insisted that the Count of Egmont
should be instructed accordingly. He avowed in conclusion that he was a
Catholic himself and intended to remain in the Faith, but that he could
not look on with pleasure when princes strove to govern the souls of men,
and to take away their liberty in matters of conscience and religion.

Here certainly was no daintiness of phraseology, and upon these leading
points, thus slightly indicated, William of Orange poured out his
eloquence, bearing conviction upon the tide of his rapid invective. His
speech lasted till seven in the evening, when the Duchess adjourned the
meeting. The council broke up, the Regent went to supper, but the effect
of the discourse upon nearly all the members was not to be mistaken.
Viglius was in a state of consternation, perplexity, and despair. He felt
satisfied that, with perhaps the exception of Berlaymont, all who had
listened or should afterwards listen to the powerful arguments of Orange,
would be inevitably seduced or bewildered. The President lay awake,
tossing and tumbling in his bed, recalling the Prince's oration, point by
point, and endeavoring, to answer it in order. It was important, he felt,
to obliterate the impression produced. Moreover, as we have often seen,
the learned Doctor valued himself upon his logic.

It was absolutely necessary, therefore, that in his reply, next day, his
eloquence should outshine that of his antagonist. The President thus
passed a feverish and uncomfortable night, pronouncing and listening to
imaginary harangues. With the dawn of day he arose and proceeded to dress
himself. The excitement of the previous evening and the subsequent
sleeplessness of his night had, however, been too much for his feeble and
slightly superannuated frame. Before he had finished his toilet, a stroke
of apoplexy stretched him senseless upon the floor. His servants, when
they soon afterwards entered the apartment, found him rigid, and to all
appearance dead. After a few days, however, he recovered his physical
senses in part, but his reason remained for a longer time shattered, and
was never perhaps fully restored to its original vigor.

This event made it necessary that his place in the council should be
supplied. Viglius had frequently expressed intentions of retiring, a
measure to which he could yet never fully make up his mind. His place was
now temporarily supplied by his friend and countryman, Joachim Hopper,
like himself a, Frisian doctor of ancient blood and extensive
acquirements, well versed in philosophy and jurisprudence; a professor of
Louvain and a member of the Mechlin council. He was likewise the original
founder and projector of Douay University, an institution which at
Philip's desire he had successfully organized in 1556, in order that a
French university might be furnished for Walloon youths, as a substitute
for the seductive and poisonous Paris. For the rest, Hopper was a mere
man of routine. He was often employed in private affairs by Philip,
without being entrusted with the secret at the bottom of them. His mind
was a confused one, and his style inexpressibly involved and tedious.
"Poor master Hopper," said Granvelle, "did not write the best French in
the world; may the Lord forgive him. He was learned in letters, but knew
very little of great affairs." His manners were as cringing as his
intellect was narrow. He never opposed the Duchess, so that his
colleagues always called him Councillor "Yes, Madam," and he did his best
to be friends with all the world.

In deference to the arguments of Orange, the instructions for Egmont were
accordingly considerably modified from the original draughts of Viglius.
As drawn up by the new President, they contained at least a few hints to
his Majesty as to the propriety of mitigating the edicts and extending
some mercy to his suffering people. The document was, however, not very
satisfactory to the Prince, nor did he perhaps rely very implicitly upon
the character of the envoy.

Egmont set forth upon his journey early in January (1565). He travelled
in great state. He was escorted as far as Cambray by several nobles of
his acquaintance, who improved the occasion by a series of tremendous
banquets during the Count's sojourn, which was protracted till the end of
January. The most noted of these gentlemen were Hoogstraaten, Brederode,
the younger Mansfeld, Culemburg, and Noircarmes. Before they parted with
the envoy, they drew up a paper which they signed with their blood, and
afterwards placed in the hands of his Countess. In this document they
promised, on account of their "inexpressible and very singular affection"
for Egmont, that if, during his mission to Spain, any evil should befal
him, they would, on their faith as gentlemen and cavaliers of honor, take
vengeance, therefore, upon the Cardinal Granvelle, or upon all who should
be the instigators thereof.

   [Green v. P., Archives, etc., i. 345, from Arnoldi, Hist. Denkwurd,
   p. 282., It is remarkable that after the return of the Count from.
   Spain, Hoogstraaten received this singular bond from the Countess,
   and gave it to Mansfeld, to be burned in his presence. Mansfeld,
   however, advised keeping it, on account of Noircarmes, whose
   signature was attached to the document, and whom he knew to be so
   false and deceitful a man that it might be well to have it within
   their power at some future day to reproach him therewith.--Ibid.
   It will be seen in the sequel that Noircarmes more than justified
   the opinion of Mansfeld, but that the subsequent career of Mansfeld
   himself did not entitle him to reproach any of Philip's noble
   hangmen.]

Wherever Brederode was, there, it was probable, would be much severe
carousing. Before the conclusion, accordingly, of the visit to Cambray,
that ancient city rang with the scandal created by a most uproarious
scene. A banquet was given to Egmont and his friends in the citadel.
Brederode, his cousin Lumey, and the other nobles from Brussels, were all
present. The Archbishop of Cambray, a man very odious to the liberal
party in the provinces, was also bidden to the feast. During the dinner,
this prelate, although treated with marked respect by Egmont, was the
object of much banter and coarse pleasantry by the ruder portion of the
guests. Especially these convivial gentlemen took infinite pains to
overload him with challenges to huge bumpers of wine; it being thought
very desirable, if possible; to place the Archbishop under the table.
This pleasantry was alternated with much rude sarcasm concerning the new
bishoprics. The conversation then fell upon other topics, among others,
naturally upon the mission of Count Egmont. Brederede observed that it
was a very hazardous matter to allow so eminent a personage to leave the
land at such a critical period. Should any thing happen to the Count, the
Netherlands would sustain an immense loss. The Archbishop, irritated by
the previous conversation, ironically requested the speaker to be
comforted, "because," said he, "it will always be easy to find a new
Egmont." Upon this, Brederode, beside himself with rage, cried out
vehemently, "Are we to tolerate such language from this priest?"
Gulemburg, too, turning upon the offender, observed, "Your observation
would be much more applicable to your own case. If you were to die, 't
would be easy to find five hundred of your merit, to replace you in the
see of Cambray." The conversation was, to say the least, becoming
personal. The Bishop, desirous of terminating this keen encounter of
wits, lifted a goblet full of wine and challenged Brederode to drink.
That gentleman declined the invitation. After the cloth had been removed,
the cup circulated more freely than ever. The revelry became fast and
furious. One of the younger gentlemen who was seated near the Bishop
snatched the bonnet of that dignitary from his head and placed it upon
his own. He then drained a bumper to his health, and passed the goblet
and the cap to his next neighbor. Both circulated till they reached the
Viscount of Ghent, who arose from his seat and respectfully restored the
cap to its owner. Brederode then took a large "cup of silver and gold,"
filled it to the brim, and drained it to the confusion of Cardinal
Granvelle; stigmatizing that departed minister, as he finished, by an
epithet of more vigor than decency. He then called upon all the company
to pledge him to the same toast, and denounced as cardinalists all those
who should refuse. The Archbishop, not having digested the affronts which
had been put upon him already, imprudently ventured himself once more
into the confusion, and tried to appeal to the reason of the company. He
might as well have addressed the crew of Comus. He gained nothing but
additional insult. Brederode advanced upon him with threatening gestures.
Egmont implored the prelate to retire, or at least not to take notice of
a nobleman so obviously beyond the control of his reason. The Bishop,
however, insisted--mingling reproof, menace; and somewhat imperious
demands--that the indecent Saturnalia should cease. It would have been
wiser for him to retire. Count Hoogstraaten, a young man and small of
stature, seized the gilt laver, in which the company had dipped their
fingers before seating themselves at table: "Be quiet, be quiet, little
man," said Egmont, soothingly, doing his best to restrain the tumult.
"Little man, indeed," responded the Count, wrathfully; "I would have you
to know that never did little man spring from my race." With those words
he hurled the basin, water, and all, at the head of the Archbishop.
Hoogstraaten had no doubt manifested his bravery before that day; he was
to display, on future occasions, a very remarkable degree of heroism; but
it must be confessed that the chivalry of the noble house of Lalaing was
not illustrated by this attack upon a priest. The Bishop was sprinkled by
the water, but not struck by the vessel. Young Mansfeld, ashamed of the
outrage, stepped forward to apologize for the conduct of his companions
and to soothe the insulted prelate. That personage, however, exasperated,
very naturally, to the highest point, pushed him rudely away, crying,
"Begone, begone! who is this boy that is preaching to me?" Whereupon,
Mansfeld, much irritated, lifted his hand towards the ecclesiastic, and
snapped his fingers contemptuously in his face. Some even said that he
pulled the archiepiscopal nose, others that he threatened his life with a
drawn dagger. Nothing could well have been more indecent or more cowardly
than the conduct of these nobles upon this occasion. Their intoxication,
together with the character of the victim, explained, but certainly could
not palliate the vulgarity of the exhibition. It was natural enough that
men like Brederode should find sport in this remarkable badgering of a
bishop, but we see with regret the part played by Hoogstraaten in the
disgraceful scene.

The prelate, at last, exclaiming that it appeared that he had been
invited only to be insulted, left the apartment, accompanied by
Noircarmes and the Viscount of Ghent, and threatening that all his
friends and relations should be charged with his vengeance. The next day
a reconciliation was effected, as well as such an arrangement was
possible, by the efforts of Egmont, who dined alone with the prelate. In
the evening, Hoogstraaten, Culemburg, and Brederode called upon the
Bishop, with whom they were closeted for, an hour, and the party
separated on nominal terms of friendship.

This scandalous scene; which had been enacted not only before many
guests, but in presence of a host of servants, made necessarily a great
sensation throughout the country. There could hardly be much difference
of opinion among respectable people as to the conduct of the noblemen who
had thus disgraced themselves. Even Brederode himself, who appeared to
have retained, as was natural, but a confused impression of the
transaction, seemed in the days which succeeded the celebrated banquet,
to be in doubt whether he and his friends had merited any great amount of
applause. He was, however, somewhat self-contradictory, although always
vehement in his assertions on the subject. At one time he
maintained--after dinner, of course--that he would have killed the
Archbishop if they had not been forcibly separated; at other moments he
denounced as liars all persons who should insinuate that he had committed
or contemplated any injury to that prelate; offering freely to fight any
man who disputed either of his two positions.

The whole scene was dramatized and represented in masquerade at a wedding
festival given by Councillor d'Assonleville, on the marriage of
Councillor Hopper's daughter, one of the principal parts being enacted by
a son of the President-judge of Artois. It may be supposed that if such
eminent personages, in close connexion with the government, took part in
such proceedings, the riot must have been considered of a very pardonable
nature. The truth was, that the Bishop was a cardinalist, and therefore
entirely out of favor with the administration. He was also a man of
treacherous, sanguinary character, and consequently detested by the
people. He had done his best to destroy heresy in Valenciennes by fire
and sword. "I will say one thing," said he in a letter to Granvelle,
which had been intercepted, "since the pot is uncovered, and the whole
cookery known, we had best push forward and make an end of all the
principal heretics, whether rich or poor, without regarding whether the
city will be entirely ruined by such a course. Such an opinion I should
declare openly were it not that we of the ecclesiastical profession are
accused of always crying out for blood." Such was the prelate's theory.
His practice may be inferred from a specimen of his proceedings which
occurred at a little later day. A citizen of Cambray, having been
converted to the Lutheran Confession, went to the Archbishop, and
requested permission to move out of the country, taking his property with
him. The petitioner having made his appearance in the forenoon, was
requested to call again after dinner, to receive his answer. The burgher
did so, and was received, not by the prelate, but by the executioner, who
immediately carried the Lutheran to the market-place, and cut off his
head. It is sufficiently evident that a minister of Christ, with such
propensities, could not excite any great sympathy, however deeply
affronted he might have been at a drinking party, so long as any
Christians remained in the land.

Egmont departed from Cambray upon the 30th January, his friends taking a
most affectionate farewell of him; and Brederode assuring him, with a
thousand oaths, that he would forsake God for his service. His reception
at Madrid was most brilliant. When he made his first appearance at the
palace, Philip rushed from his cabinet into the grand hall of reception,
and fell upon his neck, embracing him heartily before the Count had time
to drop upon his knee and kiss the royal hand. During the whole period of
his visit he dined frequently at the King's private table, an honor
rarely accorded by Philip, and was feasted and flattered by all the great
dignitaries of the court as never a subject of the Spanish crown had been
before. All vied with each other in heaping honors upon the man whom the
King was determined to honor.

Philip took him out to drive daily in his own coach, sent him to see the
wonders of the new Escorial, which he was building to commemorate the
battle of St. Quentin, and, although it was still winter, insisted upon
showing him the beauties of his retreat in the Segovian forest.
Granvelle's counsels as to the method by which the "friend of smoke" was
so easily to be gained, had not fallen unheeded in his royal pupil's
ears. The Count was lodged in the house of Ruy Gomez, who soon felt
himself able, according to previous assurances to that effect, contained
in a private letter of Armenteros, to persuade the envoy to any course
which Philip might command. Flattery without stint was administered. More
solid arguments to convince the Count that Philip was the most generous
and clement of princes were also employed with great effect. The royal
dues upon the estate of Gaasbecque, lately purchased by Egmont, were
remitted. A mortgage upon his Seigneurie of Ninove was discharged, and a
considerable sum of money presented to him in addition. Altogether, the
gifts which the ambassador received from the royal bounty amounted to one
hundred thousand crowns. Thus feasted, flattered, and laden with
presents, it must be admitted that the Count more than justified the
opinions expressed in the letter of Armenteros, that he was a man easily
governed by those who had credit with him. Egmont hardly broached the
public matters which had brought him to Madrid. Upon the subject of the
edicts, Philip certainly did not dissemble, however loudly the envoy may
have afterwards complained at Brussels. In truth, Egmont, intoxicated by
the incense offered to him at the Spanish court, was a different man from
Egmont in the Netherlands, subject to the calm but piercing glance and
the irresistible control of Orange. Philip gave him no reason to suppose
that he intended any change in the religious system of the provinces, at
least in any sense contemplated by the liberal party. On the contrary, a
council of doctors and ecclesiastics was summoned, at whose deliberations
the Count was invited to assist; on which occasion the King excited
general admiration by the fervor of his piety and the vehemence of his
ejaculations. Falling upon his knees before a crucifix, in the midst of
the assembly, he prayed that God would keep him perpetually in the same
mind, and protested that he would never call himself master of those who
denied the Lord God. Such an exhibition could leave but little doubt in
the minds of those who witnessed it as to the royal sentiments, nor did
Egmont make any effort to obtain any relaxation of those religious
edicts, which he had himself declared worthy of approbation, and fit to
be maintained. As to the question of enlarging the state-council, Philip
dismissed the subject with a few vague observations, which Egmont, not
very zealous on the subject at the moment, perhaps misunderstood. The
punishment of heretics by some new method, so as to secure the pains but
to take away the glories of martyrdom, was also slightly discussed, and
here again Egmont was so unfortunate as to misconceive the royal meaning,
and to interpret an additional refinement of cruelty into an expression
of clemency. On the whole, however, there was not much negotiation
between the monarch and the ambassador. When the Count spoke of business,
the King would speak to him of his daughters, and of his desire to see
them provided with brilliant marriages. As Egmont had eight girls,
besides two sons, it was natural that he should be pleased to find Philip
taking so much interest in looking out husbands for them. The King spoke
to him, as hardly could be avoided, of the famous fool's-cap livery. The
Count laughed the matter off as a jest, protesting that it was a mere
foolish freak, originating at the wine-table, and asseverating, with
warmth, that nothing disrespectful or disloyal to his Majesty had been
contemplated upon that or upon any other occasion. Had a single gentleman
uttered an undutiful word against the King, Egmont vowed he would have
stabbed him through and through upon the spot, had he been his own
brother. These warm protestations were answered by a gentle reprimand as
to the past by Philip, and with a firm caution as to the future. "Let it
be discontinued entirely, Count," said the King, as the two were driving
together in the royal carriage. Egmont expressed himself in handsome
terms concerning the Cardinal, in return for the wholesale approbation
quoted to him in regard to his own character, from the private letters of
that sagacious personage to his Majesty. Certainly, after all this, the
Count might suppose the affair of the livery forgiven. Thus amicably
passed the hours of that mission, the preliminaries for which had called
forth so much eloquence from the Prince of Orange and so nearly carried
off with apoplexy the President Viglius. On his departure Egmont received
a letter of instructions from Philip as to the report which he was to
make upon his arrival in Brussels, to the Duchess. After many things
personally flattering to himself, the envoy was directed to represent the
King as overwhelmed with incredible grief at hearing the progress made by
the heretics, but as immutably determined to permit no change of religion
within his dominions, even were he to die a thousand deaths in
consequence. The King, he was to state, requested the Duchess forthwith
to assemble an extraordinary session of the council, at which certain
bishops, theological doctors, and very orthodox lawyers, were to assist,
in which, under pretence of discussing the Council of Trent matter, it
was to be considered whether there could not be some new way devised for
executing heretics; not indeed one by which any deduction should be made
from their sufferings (which certainly was not the royal wish, nor likely
to be grateful to God or salutary to religion), but by which all hopes of
glory--that powerful incentive to their impiety--might be precluded. With
regard to any suggested alterations in the council of state, or in the
other two councils, the King was to be represented as unwilling to form
any decision until he should hear, at length, from the Duchess Regent
upon the subject.

Certainly here was a sufficient amount of plain speaking upon one great
subject, and very little encouragement with regard to the other. Yet
Egmont, who immediately after receiving these instructions set forth upon
his return to the Netherlands, manifested nothing but satisfaction.
Philip presented to him, as his travelling companion, the young Prince
Alexander of Parma, then about to make a visit to his mother in Brussels,
and recommended the youth, afterwards destined to play so prominent a
part in Flemish history, to his peculiar caret Egmont addressed a letter
to the King from Valladolid, in which he indulged in ecstasies concerning
the Escorial and the wood of Segovia, and declared that he was returning
to the Netherlands "the most contented man in the world."

He reached Brussels at the end of April. Upon the fifth of May he
appeared before the council, and proceeded to give an account of his
interview with the King, together with a statement of the royal
intentions and opinions. These were already sufficiently well known.
Letters, written after the envoy's departure, had arrived before him, in
which, while in the main presenting the same views as those contained in
the instructions to Egmont, Philip had expressed his decided prohibition
of the project to enlarge the state council and to suppress the authority
of the other two. Nevertheless, the Count made his report according to
the brief received at Madrid, and assured his hearers that the King was
all benignity, having nothing so much at heart as the temporal and
eternal welfare of the provinces. The siege of Malta, he stated, would
prevent the royal visit to the Netherlands for the moment, but it was
deferred only for a brief period. To remedy the deficiency in the
provincial exchequer, large remittances would be made immediately from
Spain. To provide for the increasing difficulties of the religious
question, a convocation of nine learned and saintly personages was
recommended, who should devise some new scheme by which the objections to
the present system of chastising heretics might be obviated.

It is hardly necessary to state that so meagre a result to the mission of
Egmont was not likely to inspire the hearts of Orange and his adherents
with much confidence. No immediate explosion of resentment, however,
occurred. The general aspect for a few days was peaceful. Egmont
manifested much contentment with the reception which he met with in
Spain, and described the King's friendly dispositions towards the leading
nobles in lively colors. He went to his government immediately after his
return, assembled the states of Artois, in the city of Arras, and
delivered the letters sent to that body by the King. He made a speech on
this occasion, informing the estates that his Majesty had given orders
that the edicts of the Emperor were to be enforced to the letter; adding
that he had told the King, freely, his own opinion upon the subject; in
order to dissuade him from that which others were warmly urging. He
described Philip as the most liberal and debonair of princes; his council
in Spain as cruel and sanguinary. Time was to show whether the epithets
thus applied to the advisers were not more applicable to the monarch than
the eulogies thus lavished by the blind and predestined victim. It will
also be perceived that this language, used before the estates of Artois,
varied materially from his observation to the Dowager Duchess of
Aerschot, denouncing as enemies the men who accused him of having
requested a moderation of the edicts. In truth, this most vacillating,
confused, and unfortunate of men perhaps scarcely comprehended the
purport of his recent negotiations in Spain, nor perceived the drift of
his daily remarks at home. He was, however, somewhat vainglorious
immediately after his return, and excessively attentive to business. "He
talks like a King," said Morillon, spitefully, "negotiates night and day,
and makes all bow before him." His house was more thronged with
petitioners, courtiers, and men of affairs, than even the palace of the
Duchess. He avowed frequently that he would devote his life and his
fortune to the accomplishment of the King's commands, and declared his
uncompromising hostility to all who should venture to oppose that loyal
determination.

It was but a very short time, however, before a total change was
distinctly perceptible in his demeanor. These halcyon days were soon
fled. The arrival of fresh letters from Spain gave a most unequivocal
evidence of the royal determination, if, indeed, any doubt could be
rationally entertained before. The most stringent instructions to keep
the whole machinery of persecution constantly at work were transmitted to
the Duchess, and aroused the indignation of Orange and his followers.
They avowed that they could no longer trust the royal word, since, so
soon after Egmont's departure, the King had written despatches so much at
variance with his language, as reported by the envoy. There was nothing,
they said, clement and debonair in these injunctions upon gentlemen of
their position and sentiments to devote their time to the encouragement
of hangmen and inquisitors. The Duchess was unable to pacify the nobles.
Egmont was beside himself with rage. With his usual recklessness and
wrath, he expressed himself at more than one session of the state council
in most unmeasured terms. His anger had been more inflamed by information
which he had received from the second son of Berlaymont, a young and
indiscreet lad, who had most unfortunately communicated many secrets
which he had learned from his father, but which were never intended for
Egmont's ear.

Philip's habitual dissimulation had thus produced much unnecessary
perplexity. It was his custom to carry on correspondence through the aid
of various secretaries, and it was his invariable practice to deceive
them all. Those who were upon the most confidential terms with the
monarch, were most sure to be duped upon all important occasions. It has
been seen that even the astute Granvelle could not escape this common lot
of all who believed their breasts the depositories of the royal secrets.
Upon this occasion, Gonzalo Perez and Ruy Gomez complained bitterly that
they had known nothing of the letters which had recently been despatched
from Valladolid, while Tisnacq and Courterville had been ignorant of the
communications forwarded by the hands of Egmont. They avowed that the
King created infinite trouble by thus treating his affairs in one way
with one set of councillors and in an opposite sense with the others,
thus dissembling with all, and added that Philip was now much astonished
at the dissatisfaction created in the provinces by the discrepancy
between the French letters brought by Egmont, and the Spanish letters
since despatched to the Duchess. As this was his regular manner of
transacting business, not only for the Netherlands, but for all his
dominions, they were of opinion that such confusion and dissatisfaction
might well be expected.

After all, however, notwithstanding the indignation of Egmont, it must be
confessed that he had been an easy dupe. He had been dazzled by royal
smiles, intoxicated by court incense, contaminated by yet baser bribes.
He had been turned from the path of honor and the companionship of the
wise and noble to do the work of those who were to compass his
destruction. The Prince of Orange reproached him to his face with having
forgotten, when in Spain, to represent the views of his associates and
the best interests of the country, while he had well remembered his own
private objects, and accepted the lavish bounty of the King. Egmont,
stung to the heart by the reproof, from one whom he honored and who
wished him well, became sad and sombre for a long time, abstained from
the court and from society, and expressed frequently the intention of
retiring to his estates. He was, however, much governed by his secretary,
the Seigneur de Bakerzeel, a man of restless, intriguing, and deceitful
character, who at this period exercised as great influence over the Count
as Armenteros continued to maintain over the Duchess, whose unpopularity
from that and other circumstances was daily increasing.

In obedience to the commands of the King, the canons of Trent had been
published. They were nominally enforced at Cambray, but a fierce
opposition was made by the clergy themselves to the innovation in
Mechlin, Utrecht, and many other places.

This matter, together with other more vitally important questions, came
before the assembly of bishops and doctors, which, according to Philip's
instructions, had been convoked by the Duchess. The opinion of the
learned theologians was, on the whole, that the views of the Trent
Council, with regard to reformation of ecclesiastical morals and popular
education, was sound. There was some discordancy between the clerical and
lay doctors upon other points. The seigniors, lawyers, and deputies from
the estates were all in favor of repealing the penalty of death for
heretical offences of any kind. President Viglius, with all the bishops
and doctors of divinity, including the prelates of St. Omer, Namur and
Ypres, and four theological professors from Louvain, stoutly maintained
the contrary opinion. The President especially, declared himself
vehemently in favor of the death punishment, and expressed much anger
against those who were in favor of its abolition. The Duchess, upon the
second day of the assembly, propounded formally the question, whether any
change was to be made in the chastisement of heretics. The Prince of
Orange, with Counts Horn and Egmont, had, however, declined to take part
in the discussions, on the ground that it was not his Majesty's intention
that state councillors should deliver their opinions before strangers,
but that persons from outside had been summoned to communicate their
advice to the Council. The seigniors having thus washed their hands of
the matter, the doctors came to a conclusion with great alacrity. It was
their unanimous opinion that it comported neither with the service of God
nor the common weal, to make any change in the punishment, except,
perhaps, in the case of extreme youth; but that, on the contrary,
heretics were only to be dealt with by retaining the edicts in their
rigor, and by courageously chastising the criminals. After sitting for
the greater part of six days, the bishops and doctors of divinity reduced
their sentiments to writing, and affixed their signatures to the
document. Upon the great point of the change suggested in the penalties
of heresy, it was declared that no alteration was advisable in the
edicts, which had been working so well for thirty-five years. At the same
time it was suggested that "some persons, in respect to their age and
quality, might be executed or punished more or less rigorously than
others; some by death, some by galley slavery, some by perpetual
banishment and entire confiscation of property." The possibility was also
admitted, of mitigating the punishment of those who, without being
heretics or sectaries, might bring themselves within the provisions of
the edicts, "through curiosity, nonchalance, or otherwise." Such
offenders, it was hinted, might be "whipped with rods, fined, banished,
or subjected to similar penalties of a lighter nature." It will be
perceived by this slight sketch of the advice thus offered to the Duchess
that these theologians were disposed very carefully to strain the mercy,
which they imagined possible in some cases, but which was to drop only
upon the heads of the just. Heretics were still to be dealt with, so far
as the bishops and presidents could affect their doom, with unmitigated
rigor.

When the assembly was over, the Duchess, thus put in possession of the
recorded wisdom of these special councillors, asked her constitutional
advisers what she was to do with it. Orange, Egmont, Horn, Mansfeld
replied, however, that it was not their affair, and that their opinion
had not been demanded by his Majesty in the premises. The Duchess
accordingly transmitted to Philip the conclusions of the assembly,
together with the reasons of the seigniors for refusing to take part in
its deliberations. The sentiments of Orange could hardly be doubtful,
however, nor his silence fail to give offense to the higher powers. He
contented himself for the time with keeping his eyes and ears open to the
course of events, but he watched well. He had "little leisure for amusing
himself," as Brederode suggested. That free-spoken individual looked upon
the proceedings of the theological assembly with profound disgust. "Your
letter," he wrote to Count Louis, "is full of those blackguards of
bishops and presidents. I would the race were extinct, like that of green
dogs. They will always combat with the arms which they have ever used,
remaining to the end avaricious, brutal, obstinate, ambitious, et cetera.
I leave you to supply the rest."

Thus, then, it was settled beyond peradventure that there was to be no
compromise with heresy. The King had willed it. The theologians had
advised it. The Duchess had proclaimed it. It was supposed that without
the axe, the fire, and the rack, the Catholic religion would be
extinguished, and that the whole population of the Netherlands would
embrace the Reformed Faith. This was the distinct declaration of Viglius,
in a private letter to Granvelle. "Many seek to abolish the chastisement
of heresy," said he; "if they gain this point, actum est de religione
Catholica; for as most of the people are ignorant fools, the heretics
will soon be the great majority, if by fear of punishment they are not
kept in the true path."

The uneasiness, the terror, the wrath of the people seemed rapidly
culminating to a crisis. Nothing was talked of but the edicts and the
inquisition. Nothing else entered into the minds of men. In the streets,
in the shops, in the taverns, in the fields; at market, at church, at
funerals, at weddings; in the noble's castle, at the farmer's fireside,
in the mechanic's garret, upon the merchants' exchange, there was but one
perpetual subject of shuddering conversation. It was better, men began to
whisper to each other, to die at once than to live in perpetual slavery.
It was better to fall with arms in hand than to be tortured and butchered
by the inquisition. Who could expect to contend with such a foe in the
dark?

They reproached the municipal authorities with lending themselves as
instruments to the institution. They asked magistrates and sheriffs how
far they would go in their defence before God's tribunal for the
slaughter of his creatures, if they could only answer the divine
arraignment by appealing to the edict of 1550. On the other hand, the
inquisitors were clamorous in abuse of the languor and the cowardice of
the secular authorities. They wearied the ear of the Duchess with
complaints of the difficulties which they encountered in the execution of
their functions--of the slight alacrity on the part of the various
officials to assist them in the discharge of their duties.
Notwithstanding the express command of his Majesty to that effect, they
experienced, they said, a constant deficiency of that cheerful
co-operation which they had the right to claim, and there was perpetual
discord in consequence. They had been empowered by papal and by royal
decree to make use of the gaols, the constables, the whole penal
machinery of each province; yet the officers often refused to act, and
had even dared to close the prisons. Nevertheless, it had been intended,
as fully appeared by the imperial and royal instructions to the
inquisitors, that their action through the medium of the provincial
authorities should be unrestrained. Not satisfied with these
representations to the Regent, the inquisitors had also made a direct
appeal to the King. Judocus Tiletanus and Michael de Bay addressed to
Philip a letter from Louvain. They represented to him that they were the
only two left of the five inquisitors-general appointed by the Pope for
all the Netherlands, the other three having been recently converted into
bishops. Daily complaints, they said, were reaching them of the
prodigious advance of heresy, but their own office was becoming so
odious, so calumniated, and exposed to so much resistance, that they
could not perform its duties without personal danger. They urgently
demanded from his Majesty, therefore, additional support and assistance.
Thus the Duchess, exposed at once to the rising wrath of a whole people
and to the shrill blasts of inquisitorial anger, was tossed to and fro,
as upon a stormy sea. The commands of the King, too explicit to be
tampered with, were obeyed. The theological assembly had met and given
advice. The Council of Trent was here and there enforced. The edicts were
republished and the inquisitors encouraged. Moreover, in accordance with
Philip's suggestion, orders were now given that the heretics should be
executed at midnight in their dungeons, by binding their heads between
their knees, and then slowly suffocating them in tubs of water. Secret
drowning was substituted for public burning, in order that the heretic's
crown of vainglory, which was thought to console him in his agony, might
never be placed upon his head.

In the course of the summer, Magaret wrote to her brother that the
popular frenzy was becoming more and more intense. The people were crying
aloud, she said, that the Spanish inquisition, or a worse than Spanish
inquisition, had been established among them by means of bishops and
ecclesiastics. She urged Philip to cause the instructions for the
inquisitors to be revised. Egmont, she said, was vehement in expressing
his dissatisfaction at the discrepancy between Philip's language to him
by word of mouth and that of the royal despatches on the religious
question. The other seigniors were even more indignant.

While the popular commotion in the Netherlands was thus fearfully
increasing, another circumstance came to add to the prevailing
discontent. The celebrated interview between Catharine de Medici and her
daughter, the Queen of Spain, occurred in the middle of the month of
June, at Bayonne. The darkest suspicions as to the results to humanity of
the plots to be engendered in this famous conference between the
representatives of France and Spain were universally entertained. These
suspicions were most reasonable, but they were nevertheless mistaken. The
plan for a concerted action to exterminate the heretics in both kingdoms
had, as it was perfectly well known, been formed long before this epoch.
It was also no secret that the Queen Regent of France had been desirous
of meeting her son-in-law in order to confer with him upon important
matters, face to face. Philip, however, had latterly been disinclined for
the personal interview with Catharine. As his wife was most anxious to
meet her mother, it was nevertheless finally arranged that Queen Isabella
should make the journey; but he excused himself, on account of the
multiplicity of his affairs, from accompanying her in the expedition. The
Duke of Alva was, accordingly, appointed to attend the Queen to Bayonne.
Both were secretly instructed by Philip to leave nothing undone in the
approaching interview toward obtaining the hearty co-operation of
Catharine de Medici in a general and formally-arranged scheme for the
simultaneous extermination of all heretics in the French and Spanish
dominions. Alva's conduct in this diplomatic commission was stealthy in
the extreme. His letters reveal a subtlety of contrivance and delicacy of
handling such as the world has not generally reckoned among his
characteristics. All his adroitness, as well as the tact of Queen
Isabella, by whose ability Alva declared himself to have been astounded,
proved quite powerless before the steady fencing of the wily Catharine.
The Queen Regent, whose skill the Duke, even while defeated, acknowledged
to his master, continued firm in her design to maintain her own power by
holding the balance between Guise and Montmorency, between Leaguer and
Huguenot. So long as her enemies could be employed in exterminating each
other, she was willing to defer the extermination of the Huguenots. The
great massacre of St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer.
Alva was, to be sure, much encouraged at first by the language of the
French princes and nobles who were present at Bayonne. Monluc protested
that "they might saw the Queen Dowager in two before she would become
Huguenot." Montpensier exclaimed that "he would be cut in pieces for
Philip's service--that the Spanish monarch was the only hope for France,"
and, embracing Alva with fervor, he affirmed that "if his body were to be
opened at that moment, the name of Philip would be found imprinted upon
his heart." The Duke, having no power to proceed to an autopsy, physical
or moral, of Montpensier's interior, was left somewhat in the dark,
notwithstanding these ejaculations. His first conversation with the
youthful King, however, soon dispelled his hopes. He found immediately,
in his own words, that Charles the Ninth "had been doctored." To take up
arms, for religious reasons, against his own subjects, the monarch
declared to be ruinous and improper. It was obvious to Alva that the
royal pupil had learned his lesson for that occasion. It was a pity for
humanity that the wisdom thus hypocritically taught him could not have
sunk into his heart. The Duke did his best to bring forward the plans and
wishes of his royal master, but without success. The Queen Regent
proposed a league of the two Kings and the Emperor against the Turk, and
wished to arrange various matrimonial alliances between the sons and
daughters of the three houses. Alva expressed the opinion that the
alliances were already close enough, while, on the contrary, a secret
league against the Protestants would make all three families the safer.
Catherine, however, was not to be turned from her position. She refused
even to admit that the Chancellor de l'Hospital was a Huguenot, to which
the Duke replied that she was the only person in her kingdom who held
that opinion. She expressed an intention of convoking an assembly of
doctors, and Alva ridiculed in his letters to Philip the affectation of
such a proceeding. In short, she made it sufficiently evident that the
hour for the united action of the French and Spanish sovereigns against
their subjects had not struck, so that the famous Bayonne conference was
terminated without a result. It seemed not the less certain, however, in
the general opinion of mankind, that all the particulars of a regular
plot had been definitely arranged upon this occasion, for the
extermination of the Protestants, and the error has been propagated by
historians of great celebrity of all parties, down to our own days. The
secret letters of Alva, however, leave no doubt as to the facts.

In the course of November, fresh letters from Philip arrived in the
Netherlands, confirming every thing which he had previously written. He
wrote personally to the inquisitors-general, Tiletanus and De Bay,
encouraging them, commending them, promising them his support, and urging
them not to be deterred by any consideration from thoroughly fulfilling
their duties. He wrote Peter Titelmann a letter, in which he applauded
the pains taken by that functionary to remedy the ills which religion was
suffering, assured him of his gratitude, exhorted him to continue in his
virtuous course, and avowed his determination to spare neither pains,
expense, nor even his own life, to sustain the Catholic Faith. To the
Duchess he wrote at great length, and in most unequivocal language. He
denied that what he had written from Valladolid was of different meaning
from the sense of the despatches by Egmont. With regard to certain
Anabaptist prisoners, concerning whose fate Margaret had requested his
opinion, he commanded their execution, adding that such was his will in
the case of all, whatever their quality, who could be caught. That which
the people said in the Netherlands touching the inquisition, he
pronounced extremely distasteful to him. That institution, which had
existed under his predecessors, he declared more necessary than ever; nor
would he suffer it to be discredited. He desired his sister to put no
faith in idle talk, as to the inconveniences likely to flow from the
rigor of the inquisition. Much greater inconveniences would be the result
if the inquisitors did not proceed with their labors, and the Duchess was
commanded to write to the secular judges, enjoining upon them to place no
obstacles in the path, but to afford all the assistance which might be
required.

To Egmont, the King wrote with his own hand, applauding much that was
contained in the recent decisions of the assembly of bishops and doctors
of divinity, and commanding the Count to assist in the execution of the
royal determination. In affairs of religion, Philip expressed the opinion
that dissimulation and weakness were entirely out of place.

When these decisive letters came before the state council, the
consternation was extreme. The Duchess had counted, in spite of her
inmost convictions, upon less peremptory instructions. The Prince of
Orange, the Count of Egmont, and the Admiral, were loud in their
denunciations of the royal policy. There was a violent and protracted
debate. The excitement spread at once to the, people. Inflammatory
hand-bills were circulated. Placards were posted every night upon the
doors of Orange, Egmont, and Horn, calling upon them to come forth boldly
as champions of the people and of liberty in religious matters. Banquets
were held daily at the houses of the nobility, in which the more ardent
and youthful of their order, with brains excited by wine and anger,
indulged in flaming invectives against the government, and interchanged
vows to protect each other and the cause of the oppressed provinces.
Meanwhile the privy council, to which body the Duchess had referred the
recent despatches from Madrid, made a report upon the whole subject to
the state council, during the month of November, sustaining the royal
views, and insisting upon the necessity of carrying them into effect. The
edicts and inquisition having been so vigorously insisted upon by the
King, nothing was to be done but to issue new proclamations throughout
the country, together with orders to bishops, councils, governors and
judges, that every care should be taken to enforce them to the full.

This report came before the state council, and was sustained by some of
its members. The Prince of Orange expressed the same uncompromising
hostility to the inquisition which he had always manifested, but observed
that the commands of the King were so precise and absolute, as to leave
no possibility of discussing that point. There was nothing to be done, he
said, but to obey, but he washed his hands of the fatal consequences
which he foresaw. There was no longer any middle course between obedience
and rebellion. This opinion, the soundness of which could scarcely be
disputed, was also sustained by Egmont and Horn.

Viglius, on the contrary, nervous, agitated, appalled, was now disposed
to temporize. He observed that if the seigniors feared such evil results,
it would be better to prevent, rather than to accelerate the danger which
would follow the proposed notification to the governors and municipal
authorities throughout the country, on the subject of the inquisition. To
make haste, was neither to fulfil the intentions nor to serve the
interests of the King, and it was desirable "to avoid emotion and
scandal." Upon these heads the President made a very long speech,
avowing, in conclusion, that if his Majesty should not find the course
proposed agreeable, he was ready to receive all the indignation upon his
own head.

Certainly, this position of the President was somewhat inconsistent with
his previous course. He had been most violent in his denunciations of all
who should interfere with the execution of the great edict of which he
had been the original draughtsman. He had recently been ferocious in
combating the opinion of those civilians in the assembly of doctors who
had advocated the abolition of the death penalty against heresy. He had
expressed with great energy his private opinion that the ancient religion
would perish if the machinery of persecution were taken away; yet he now
for the first time seemed to hear or to heed the outcry of a whole
nation, and to tremble at the sound. Now that the die had been cast, in
accordance with the counsels of his whole life, now that the royal
commands, often enigmatical and hesitating; were at last too distinct to
be misconstrued, and too peremptory to be tampered with--the president
imagined the possibility of delay. The health of the ancient Frisian had
but recently permitted him to resume his seat at the council board. His
presence there was but temporary, for he had received from Madrid the
acceptance of his resignation, accompanied with orders to discharge the
duties of President until the arrival of his successor, Charles de
Tisnacq. Thus, in his own language, the Duchess was still obliged to rely
for a season "upon her ancient Palinurus," a necessity far from agreeable
to her, for she had lost confidence in the pilot. It may be supposed that
he was anxious to smooth the troubled waters during the brief period in
which he was still to be exposed to their fury; but he poured out the oil
of his eloquence in vain. Nobody sustained his propositions. The Duchess,
although terrified at the probable consequences, felt the impossibility
of disobeying the deliberate decree of her brother. A proclamation was
accordingly prepared, by which it was ordered that the Council of Trent,
the edicts and the inquisition, should be published in every town and
village in the provinces, immediately, and once in six months forever
afterwards. The deed was done, and the Prince of Orange, stooping to the
ear of his next neighbor, as they sat at the council-board, whispered
that they were now about to witness the commencement of the most
extraordinary tragedy which had ever been enacted.

The prophecy was indeed a proof that the Prince could read the future,
but the sarcasm of the President, that the remark had been made in a tone
of exultation, was belied by every action of the prophet's life.

The fiat went forth. In the market-place of every town and village of the
Netherlands, the inquisition was again formally proclaimed. Every doubt
which had hitherto existed as to the intention of the government was
swept away. No argument was thenceforward to be permissible as to the
constitutionality of the edicts as to the compatibility of their
provisions with the privileges of the land. The cry of a people in its
agony ascended to Heaven. The decree was answered with a howl of
execration. The flames of popular frenzy arose lurid and threatening
above the house-tops of every town and village. The impending conflict
could no longer be mistaken. The awful tragedy which the great watchman
in the land had so long unceasingly predicted, was seen sweeping solemnly
and steadily onward. The superstitious eyes of the age saw supernatural
and ominous indications in the sky. Contending armies trampled the
clouds; blood dropped from heaven; the exterminating angel rode upon the
wind.

There was almost a cessation of the ordinary business of mankind.
Commerce was paralyzed. Antwerp shook as with an earthquake. A chasm
seemed to open, in which her prosperity and her very existence were to be
forever engulfed. The foreign merchants, manufacturers, and artisans fled
from her gates as if the plague were raging within them. Thriving cities
were likely soon to be depopulated. The metropolitan heart of the whole
country was almost motionless.

Men high in authority sympathized with the general indignation. The
Marquis Berghen, the younger Mansfeld, the Baron Montigny, openly refused
to enforce the edicts within their governments. Men of eminence inveighed
boldly and bitterly against the tyranny of the government, and counselled
disobedience. The Netherlanders, it was stoutly maintained, were not such
senseless brutes as to be ignorant of the mutual relation of prince and
people. They knew that the obligation of a king to his vassals was as
sacred as the duties of the subjects to the sovereign.

The four principal cities of Brabant first came forward in formal
denunciation of the outrage. An elaborate and conclusive document was
drawn up in their name, and presented to the Regent. It set forth that
the recent proclamation violated many articles in the "joyous entry."
That ancient constitution had circumscribed the power of the clergy, and
the jealousy had been felt in old times as much by the sovereign as the
people. No ecclesiastical tribunal had therefore been allowed, excepting
that of the Bishop of Cambray, whose jurisdiction was expressly confined
to three classes of cases--those growing out of marriages, testaments,
and mortmains.

It would be superfluous to discuss the point at the present day, whether
the directions to the inquisitors and the publication of the edicts
conflicted with the "joyous entrance." To take a man from his house and
burn him, after a brief preliminary examination, was clearly not to
follow the, letter and spirit of the Brabantine habeas corpus, by which
inviolability of domicile and regular trials were secured and sworn to by
the monarch; yet such had been the uniform practice of inquisitors
throughout the country. The petition of the four cities was referred by
the Regent to the council of Brabant. The chancellor, or president judge
of that tribunal was notoriously corrupt--a creature of the Spanish. His
efforts to sustain the policy of the administration however vain. The
Duchess ordered the archives of the province to be searched for
precedents, and the council to report upon the petition. The case was too
plain for argument or dogmatism, but the attempt was made to take refuge
in obscurity. The answer of the council was hesitating and equivocal. The
Duchess insisted upon a distinct and categorical answer to the four
cities. Thus pressed, the council of Brabant declared roundly that no
inquisition of any kind had ever existed, in the provinces. It was
impossible that any other answer could be given, but Viglius, with his
associates in the privy council, were extremely angry at the conclusion.
The concession was, however, made, notwithstanding the bad example which,
according to some persons, the victory thus obtained by so important a
province would afford to the people in the other parts of the country.
Brabant was declared free of the inquisition. Meanwhile the pamphlets,
handbills, pasquils, and other popular productions were multiplied. To
use a Flemish expression, they "snowed in the streets." They were nailed
nightly on all the great houses in Brussels. Patriots were called upon to
strike, speak, redress. Pungent lampoons, impassioned invectives, and
earnest remonstrances, were thrust into the hands of the Duchess. The
publications, as they appeared; were greedily devoured by the people. "We
are willing," it was said, in a remarkable letter to the King, "to die
for the Gospel, but we read therein 'Render unto Caesar that which is
Caesar's, and unto God that which is God's.' We thank God that our
enemies themselves are compelled to bear witness to our piety and
patience; so that it is a common saying--'He swears not; he is a
Protestant; he is neither a fornicator nor a drunkard; he is of the new
sect.' Yet, notwithstanding these testimonials to our character, no
manner of punishment has been forgotten by which we can possibly be
Chastised." This statement of the morality of the Puritans of the
Netherlands was the justification of martyrs--not the self-glorification
of Pharisees. The fact was incontrovertible. Their tenets were rigid, but
their lives were pure. They belonged generally to the middling and lower
classes. They were industrious artisans, who desired to live in the fear
of God and in honor of their King. They were protected by nobles and
gentlemen of high position, very many of whom came afterwards warmly to
espouse the creed which at first they had only generously defended. Their
whole character and position resembled, in many features, those of the
English Puritans, who, three quarters of a century afterwards, fled for
refuge to the Dutch Republic, and thence departed to establish the
American Republic. The difference was that the Netherlanders were exposed
to a longer persecution and a far more intense martyrdom.

Towards the end of the year (1565) which was closing in such universal
gloom; the contemporary chronicles are enlivened with a fitful gleam of
sunshine. The light enlivens only the more elevated regions of the
Flemish world, but it is pathetic to catch a glimpse of those nobles,
many of whose lives were to be so heroic, and whose destinies so tragic,
as amid the shadows projected by coming evil, they still found time for
the chivalrous festivals of their land and epoch. A splendid tournament
was held at the Chateau d'Antoing to celebrate the nuptials of Baron
Montigny with the daughter of Prince d'Espinoy. Orange, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten were the challengers, and maintained themselves victoriously
against all comers, Egmont and other distinguished knights being, among
the number.

Thus brilliantly and gaily moved the first hours of that marriage which
before six months had fled was to be so darkly terminated. The doom which
awaited the chivalrous bridegroom in the dungeon of Simancas was ere long
to be recorded in one of the foulest chapters of Philip's tyranny.

A still more elaborate marriage-festival, of which the hero was, at a
later day, to exercise a most decisive influence over the fortunes of the
land, was celebrated at Brussels before the close of the year. It will be
remembered that Alexander, Prince of Parma, had accompanied Egmont on his
return from Spain in the month of April. The Duchess had been delighted
with the appearance of her son, then twenty years of age, but already an
accomplished cavalier. She had expressed her especial pleasure in finding
him so thoroughly a Spaniard "in manner, costume, and conversation," that
it could not be supposed he had ever visited any other land, or spoken
any other tongue than that of Spain.

The nobles of the Flemish court did not participate in the mother's
enthusiasm. It could not be denied that he was a handsome and gallant
young prince; but his arrogance was so intolerable as to disgust even
those most disposed to pay homage to Margaret's son. He kept himself
mainly in haughty retirement, dined habitually alone in his own
apartments, and scarcely honored any of the gentlemen of the Netherlands
with his notice. Even Egmont, to whose care he had been especially
recommended by Philip, was slighted. If, occasionally, he honored one or
two of the seigniors with an invitation to his table, he sat alone in
solemn state at the head of the board, while the guests, to whom he
scarcely vouchsafed a syllable, were placed on stools without backs,
below the salt. Such insolence, it may be supposed, was sufficiently
galling to men of the proud character, but somewhat reckless demeanor,
which distinguished the Netherland aristocracy. After a short time they
held themselves aloof, thinking it sufficient to endure such airs from
Philip. The Duchess at first encouraged the young Prince in his
haughtiness, but soon became sad, as she witnessed its effects. It was
the universal opinion that the young Prince was a mere compound of pride
and emptiness. "There is nothing at all in the man," said Chantonnay.
Certainly the expression was not a fortunate one. Time was to show that
there was more in the man than in all the governors despatched
successively by Philip to the Netherlands; but the proof was to be
deferred to a later epoch. Meantime, his mother was occupied and
exceedingly perplexed with his approaching nuptials. He had been
affianced early in the year to the Princess Donna Maria of Portugal. It
was found necessary, therefore, to send a fleet of several vessels to
Lisbon, to fetch the bride to the Netherlands, the wedding being
appointed to take place in Brussels. This expense alone was considerable,
and the preparations for banquets, jousts, and other festivities, were
likewise undertaken on so magnificent a scale that the Duke, her husband,
was offended at Margaret's extravagance. The people, by whom she was not
beloved, commented bitterly on the prodigalities which they were
witnessing in a period of dearth and trouble. Many of the nobles mocked
at her perplexity. To crown the whole, the young Prince was so obliging
as to express the hope, in his mother's hearing, that the bridal fleet,
then on its way from Portugal, might sink with all it contained, to the
bottom of the sea.

The poor Duchess was infinitely chagrined by all these circumstances. The
"insane and outrageous expenses" in which the nuptials had involved her,
the rebukes of her husband, the sneers of the seigniors, the undutiful
epigrams of her son, the ridicule of the people, affected her spirits to
such a degree, harassed as she was with grave matters of state, that she
kept her rooms for days together, weeping, hour after hour, in the most
piteous manner. Her distress was the town talk; nevertheless, the fleet
arrived in the autumn, and brought the youthful Maria to the provinces.
This young lady, if the faithful historiographer of the Farnese house is
to be credited, was the paragon of princesses.

   [This princess, in her teens, might already exclaim, with the
   venerable Faustus:

          "Habe nun Philosophie
          Juristerei and Medicin
          Und leider ach: Theologie
          Durch studirt mit heissem Bemuhen," etc.

   The panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century were not
   accustomed to do their work by halves.--Strada.]

She was the daughter of Prince Edward, and granddaughter of John the
Third. She was young and beautiful; she could talk both Latin and Greek,
besides being well versed in philosophy, mathematics and theology. She
had the scriptures at her tongue's end, both the old dispensation and the
new, and could quote from the fathers with the promptness of a bishop.
She was so strictly orthodox that, on being compelled by stress of
weather to land in England, she declined all communication with Queen
Elizabeth, on account of her heresy. She was so eminently chaste that she
could neither read the sonnets of Petrarch, nor lean on the arm of a
gentleman. Her delicacy upon such points was, indeed, carried to such
excess, that upon one occasion when the ship which was bringing her to
the Netherlands was discovered to be burning, she rebuked a rude fellow
who came forward to save her life, assuring him that there was less
contamination in the touch of fire than in that of man. Fortunately, the
flames were extinguished, and the Phoenix of Portugal was permitted to
descend, unburned, upon the bleak shores of Flanders.

The occasion, notwithstanding the recent tears of the Duchess, and the
arrogance of the Prince, was the signal for much festivity among the
courtiers of Brussels. It was also the epoch from which movements of a
secret and important character were to be dated. The chevaliers of the
Fleece were assembled, and Viglius pronounced before them one of his most
classical orations. He had a good deal to say concerning the private
adventures of Saint Andrew, patron of the Order, and went into some
details of a conversation which that venerated personage had once held
with the proconsul Aegeas. The moral which he deduced from his narrative
was the necessity of union among the magnates for the maintenance of the
Catholic faith; the nobility and the Church being the two columns upon
which the whole social fabric reposed. It is to be feared that the
President became rather prosy upon the occasion. Perhaps his homily, like
those of the fictitious Archbishop of Granada, began to smack of the
apoplexy from which he had so recently escaped. Perhaps, the meeting
being one of hilarity, the younger nobles became restive under the
infliction of a very long and very solemn harangue. At any rate, as the
meeting broke up, there was a good dial of jesting on the subject. De
Hammes, commonly called "Toison d'Or," councillor and king-at-arms of the
Order, said that the President had been seeing visions and talking with
Saint Andrew in a dream. Marquis Berghen asked for the source whence he
had derived such intimate acquaintance with the ideas of the Saint. The
President took these remarks rather testily, and, from trifling, the
company became soon earnestly engaged in a warm discussion of the
agitating topics of the day. It soon became evident to Viglius that De
Hammer and others of his comrades had been dealing with dangerous things.
He began shrewdly to suspect that the popular heresy was rapidly
extending into higher regions; but it was not the President alone who
discovered how widely the contamination was spreading. The meeting, the
accidental small talk, which had passed so swiftly from gaiety to
gravity, the rapid exchange of ideas, and the free-masonry by which
intelligence upon forbidden topics had been mutually conveyed, became
events of historical importance. Interviews between nobles, who, in the
course of the festivities produced by the Montigny and Parma marriages,
had discovered that they entertained a secret similarity of sentiment
upon vital questions, became of frequent occurrence. The result to which
such conferences led will be narrated in the following chapter.

Meantime, upon the 11th November, 1565, the marriage of Prince Alexander
and Donna Maria was celebrated; with great solemnity, by the Archbishop
of Cambray, in the chapel of the court at Brussels. On the following
Sunday the wedding banquet was held in the great hall, where, ten years
previously, the memorable abdication of the bridegroom's imperial
grandfather had taken place.

The walls were again hung with the magnificent tapestry of Gideon, while
the Knights of the Fleece, with all the other grandees of the land, were
assembled to grace the spectacle. The King was represented by his envoy
in England, Don Guzman de Silva, who came to Brussels for the occasion,
and who had been selected for this duty because, according to Armenteros,
"he was endowed, beside his prudence, with so much witty gracefulness
with ladies in matters of pastime and entertainment." Early in the month
of December, a famous tournament was held in the great market-place of
Brussels, the Duke of Parma, the Duke of Aerschot, and Count Egmont being
judges of the jousts. Count Mansfeld was the challenger, assisted by his
son Charles, celebrated among the gentry of the land for his dexterity in
such sports. To Count Charles was awarded upon this occasion the silver
cup from the lady of the lists. Count Bossu received the prize for
breaking best his lances; the Seigneur de Beauvoir for the most splendid
entrance; Count Louis, of Nassau, for having borne himself most gallantly
in the melee. On the same evening the nobles, together with the bridal
pair, were entertained at a splendid supper, given by the city of
Brussels in the magnificent Hotel de Ville. On this occasion the prizes
gained at the tournament were distributed, amid the applause and hilarity
of all the revellers.

Thus, with banquet, tourney, and merry marriage bells, with gaiety
gilding the surface of society, while a deadly hatred to the inquisition
was eating into the heart of the nation, and while the fires of civil war
were already kindling, of which no living man was destined to witness the
extinction, ended the year 1565.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     English Puritans
     Habeas corpus
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 10.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
1855
1566 [CHAPTER VI.]

   Francis Junius--His sermon at Culemburg House--The Compromise--
   Portraits of Sainte Aldegonde, of Louis 'Nassau, of "Toison d'Or,"
   of Charles Mansfeld--Sketch of the Compromise--Attitude of Orange--
   His letter to the Duchess--Signers of the Compromise--Indiscretion
   of the confederates--Espionage over Philip by Orange--
   Dissatisfaction of the seigniors--Conduct of Egmont--Despair of the
   people--Emigration to England--Its effects--The request--Meeting at
   Breda and Hoogstraaten--Exaggerated statements concerning the
   Request in the state council--Hesitation of the Duchess--Assembly of
   notables--Debate concerning the Request and the inquisition--
   Character of Brederode--Arrival of the petitioners in Brussels--
   Presentation of the Request--Emotion of Margaret--Speech of
   Brederode--Sketch of the Request--Memorable sarcasm of Berlaymont--
   Deliberation in the state council--Apostille to the Request--Answer
   to the Apostille--Reply of the Duchess--Speech of D'Esquerdes--
   Response of Margaret--Memorable banquet at Culemburg House--Name of
   "the beggars" adopted--Orange, Egmont, and Horn break up the riotous
   meeting--Costume of "the beggars"--Brederode at Antwerp--Horrible
   execution at Oudenardo--Similar cruelties throughout the provinces--
   Project of "Moderation"--Religious views of Orange--His resignation
   of all his offices not accepted--The "Moderation" characterized--
   Egmont at Arras Debate on the "Moderation"--Vacillation of Egmont--
   Mission of Montigny and Berghen to Spain--Instructions to the
   envoys--Secret correspondence of Philip with the Pope concerning the
   Netherland inquisition and the edicts--Field-preaching in the
   provinces--Modet at Ghent--Other preachers characterized--Excitement
   at Tournay--Peter Gabriel at Harlem--Field--preaching near Antwerp--
   Embarrassment of the Regent--Excitement at Antwerp--Pensionary
   Wesenbeck sent to Brussels--Orange at Antwerp--His patriotic course
   --Misrepresentation of the Duchess--Intemperate zeal of Dr.
   Rythovius--Meeting at St. Trond--Conference at Duffel--Louis of
   Nassau deputed to the Regent--Unsatisfactory negotiations.

The most remarkable occurrence in the earlier part of the year 1556 was
the famous Compromise. This document, by which the signers pledged
themselves to oppose the inquisition, and to defend each other against
all consequences of such a resistance, was probably the work of Philip de
Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde. Much obscurity, however, rests upon the
origin of this league. Its foundations had already been laid in the
latter part of the preceding year. The nuptials of Parma with the
Portuguese princess had been the cause of much festivity, not only in
Brussels, but at Antwerp. The great commercial metropolis had celebrated
the occasion by a magnificent banquet. There had been triumphal arches,
wreaths of flowers, loyal speeches, generous sentiments, in the usual
profusion. The chief ornament of the dinner-table had been a magnificent
piece of confectionary, netting elaborately forth the mission of Count
Mansfeld with the fleet to Portugal to fetch the bride from her home,
with exquisitely finished figures in sugar--portraits, it is to be
presumed--of the principal personages as they appeared during the most
striking scenes of the history. At the very moment, however, of these
delectations, a meeting was held at Brussels of men whose minds were
occupied with sterner stuff than sugar-work. On the wedding-day of Parma,
Francis Junius, a dissenting minister then residing at Antwerp, was
invited to Brussels to preach a sermon in the house of Count Culemburg,
on the horse-market (now called Little Sablon), before a small assembly
of some twenty gentlemen.

This Francis Junius, born of a noble family in Bourges, was the pastor of
the secret French congregation of Huguenots at Antwerp. He was very
young, having arrived from Geneva, where he had been educated, to take
charge of the secret church, when but just turned of twenty years. He
was, however, already celebrated for his learning, his eloquence, and his
courage. Towards the end of 1565, it had already become known that Junius
was in secret understanding with Louis of Nassau, to prepare an address
to government on the subject of the inquisition and edicts. Orders were
given for his arrest.

A certain painter of Brussels affected conversion to the new religion,
that he might gain admission to the congregation, and afterwards earn the
reward of the informer. He played his part so well that he was permitted
to attend many meetings, in the course of which he sketched the portrait
of the preacher, and delivered it to the Duchess Regent, together with
minute statements as to his residence and daily habits. Nevertheless,
with all this assistance, the government could not succeed in laying
hands on him. He escaped to Breda, and continued his labors in spite of
persecution. The man's courage may be estimated from the fact that he
preached on one occasion a sermon, advocating the doctrines of the
reformed Church with his usual eloquence, in a room overlooking the
market-place, where, at the very, instant, the execution by fire of
several heretics was taking place, while the light from the flames in
which the brethren of their Faith were burning, was flickering through
the glass windows of the conventicle. Such was the man who preached a
sermon in Culemburg Palace on Parma's wedding-day. The nobles who
listened to him were occupied with grave discourse after conclusion of
the religious exercises. Junius took no part in their conversation, but
in his presence it was resolved that a league against the "barbarous and
violent inquisition" should be formed, and, that the confederates should
mutually bind themselves both within and without the Netherlands to this
great purpose. Junius, in giving this explicit statement; has not
mentioned the names of the nobles before whom he preached. It may be
inferred that some of them were the more ardent and the more respectable
among the somewhat miscellaneous band by whom the Compromise was
afterwards signed.

At about the same epoch, Louis of Nassau, Nicolas de Hammes, and certain
other gentlemen met at the baths of Spa. At this secret assembly, the
foundations of the Compromise were definitely laid. A document was
afterwards drawn up, which was circulated for signatures in the early
part of 1566. It is, therefore, a mistake to suppose that this memorable
paper was simultaneously signed and sworn to at any solemn scene like
that of the declaration of American Independence, or like some of the
subsequent transactions in the Netherland revolt, arranged purposely for
dramatic effect. Several copies of the Compromise were passed secretly
from hand to hand, and in the course of two months some two thousand
signatures had been obtained. The original copy bore but three names,
those of Brederode, Charles de Mansfeld, and Louis of Nassau. The
composition of the paper is usually ascribed to Sainte Aldegonde,
although the fact is not indisputable. At any rate, it is very certain
that he was one of the originators and main supporters of the famous
league. Sainte Aldegonde was one of the most accomplished men of his age.
He was of ancient nobility, as he proved by an abundance of historical
and heraldic evidence, in answer to a scurrilous pamphlet in which he had
been accused, among other delinquencies, of having sprung from plebeian
blood. Having established his "extraction from true and ancient gentlemen
of Savoy, paternally and maternally," he rebuked his assailants in manly
strain. "Even had it been that I was without nobility of birth," said he,
"I should be none the less or more a virtuous or honest man; nor can any
one reproach me with having failed in the point of honor or duty. What
greater folly than to boast of the virtue or gallantry of others, as do
many nobles who, having neither a grain of virtue in their souls nor a
drop of wisdom in their brains, are entirely useless to their country!
Yet there are such men, who, because their ancestors have done some
valorous deed, think themselves fit to direct the machinery of a whole
country, having from their youth learned nothing but to dance and to spin
like weathercocks with their heads as well as their heels." Certainly
Sainte Aldegonde had learned other lessons than these. He was one of the
many-sided men who recalled the symmetry of antique patriots. He was a
poet of much vigor and imagination; a prose writer whose style was
surpassed by that of none of his contemporaries, a diplomatist in whose
tact and delicacy William of Orange afterwards reposed in the most
difficult and important negotiations, an orator whose discourses on many
great public occasions attracted the attention of Europe, a soldier whose
bravery was to be attested afterwards on many a well-fought field, a
theologian so skilful in the polemics of divinity, that, as it will
hereafter appear, he was more than a match for a bench of bishops upon
their own ground, and a scholar so accomplished, that, besides speaking
and writing the classical and several modern languages with facility, he
had also translated for popular use the Psalms of David into vernacular
verse, and at a very late period of his life was requested by the
states-general of the republic to translate all the Scriptures, a work,
the fulfilment of which was prevented by his death. A passionate foe to
the inquisition and to all the abuses of the ancient Church, an ardent
defender of civil liberty, it must be admitted that he partook also of
the tyrannical spirit of Calvinism. He never rose to the lofty heights to
which the spirit of the great founder of the commonwealth was destined to
soar, but denounced the great principle of religious liberty for all
consciences as godless. He was now twenty-eight years of age, having been
born in the same year with his friend Louis of Nassau. His device, "Repos
ailleurs," finely typified the restless, agitated and laborious life to
which he was destined.

That other distinguished leader of the newly-formed league, Count Louis,
was a true knight of the olden time, the very mirror of chivalry. Gentle,
generous, pious; making use, in his tent before the battle, of the
prayers which his mother sent him from the home of his childhood,--yet
fiery in the field as an ancient crusader--doing the work of general and
soldier with desperate valor and against any numbers--cheerful and
steadfast under all reverses, witty and jocund in social intercourse,
animating with his unceasing spirits the graver and more foreboding soul
of his brother; he was the man to whom the eyes of the most ardent among
the Netherland Reformers were turned at this early epoch, the trusty
staff upon which the great Prince of Orange was to lean till it was
broken. As gay as Brederode, he was unstained by his vices, and exercised
a boundless influence over that reckless personage, who often protested
that he would "die a poor soldier at his feet." The career of Louis was
destined to be short, if reckoned by years, but if by events, it was to
attain almost a patriarchal length. At the age of nineteen he had taken
part in the battle of St. Quentin, and when once the war of freedom
opened, his sword was never to be sheathed. His days were filled with
life, and when he fell into his bloody but unknown grave, he was to leave
a name as distinguished for heroic valor and untiring energy as for
spotless integrity. He was small of stature, but well formed; athletic in
all knightly exercises, with agreeable features, a dark laughing eye,
close-clipped brown hair, and a peaked beard.

"Golden Fleece," as Nicholas de Hammes was universally denominated, was
the illegitimate scion of a noble house. He was one of the most active of
the early adherents to the league, kept the lists of signers in his
possession, and scoured the country daily to procure new confederates. At
the public preachings of the reformed religion, which soon after this
epoch broke forth throughout the Netherlands as by a common impulse, he
made himself conspicuous. He was accused of wearing, on such occasions,
the ensigns of the Fleece about his neck, in order to induce ignorant
people to believe that they might themselves legally follow, when they
perceived a member of that illustrious fraternity to be leading the way.
As De Hammer was only an official or servant of that Order, but not a
companion, the seduction of the lieges by such false pretenses was
reckoned among the most heinous of his offences. He was fierce in his
hostility to the government, and one of those fiery spirits whose
premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause of liberty, and disheartening
to the cautious patriotism of Orange. He was for smiting at once the
gigantic atrocity of the Spanish dominion, without waiting for the
forging of the weapons by which the blows were to be dealt. He forgot
that men and money were as necessary as wrath, in a contest with the most
tremendous despotism of the world. "They wish," he wrote to Count Louis,
"that we should meet these hungry wolves with remonstrances, using gentle
words, while they are burning and cutting off heads.--Be it so then. Let
us take the pen let them take the sword. For them deeds, for us words. We
shall weep, they will laugh. The Lord be praised for all; but I can not
write this without tears." This nervous language painted the situation
and the character of the writer.

As for Charles Mansfeld, he soon fell away from the league which he had
embraced originally with excessive ardor.

By the influence of the leaders many signatures were obtained during the
first two months of the year. The language of the document was such that
patriotic Catholics could sign it as honestly as Protestants. It
inveighed bitterly against the tyranny of "a heap of strangers," who,
influenced only by private avarice and ambition, were making use of an
affected zeal for the Catholic religion, to persuade the King into a
violation of his oaths. It denounced the refusal to mitigate the severity
of the edicts. It declared the inquisition, which it seemed the intention
of government to fix permanently upon them, as "iniquitous, contrary to
all laws, human and divine, surpassing the greatest barbarism which was
ever practised by tyrants, and as redounding to the dishonor of God and
to the total desolation of the country." The signers protested,
therefore, that "having a due regard to their duties as faithful vassals
of his Majesty, and especially, as noblemen--and in order not to be
deprived of their estates and their lives by those who, under pretext of
religion, wished to enrich themselves by plunder and murder," they had
bound themselves to each other by holy covenant and solemn oath to resist
the inquisition. They mutually promised to oppose it in every shape, open
or covert, under whatever mask, it might assume, whether bearing the name
of inquisition, placard, or edict, "and to extirpate and eradicate the
thing in any form, as the mother of all iniquity and disorder." They
protested before God and man, that they would attempt nothing to the
dishonor of the Lord or to the diminution of the King's grandeur,
majesty, or dominion. They declared, on the contrary, an honest purpose
to "maintain the monarch in his estate, and to suppress all seditious,
tumults, monopolies, and factions." They engaged to preserve their
confederation, thus formed, forever inviolable, and to permit none of its
members to be persecuted in any manner, in body or goods, by any
proceeding founded on the inquisition, the edicts, or the present league.

It will be seen therefore, that the Compromise was in its origin, a
covenant of nobles. It was directed against the foreign influence by
which the Netherlands were exclusively governed, and against the
inquisition, whether papal, episcopal, or by edict. There is no doubt
that the country was controlled entirely by Spanish masters, and that the
intention was to reduce the ancient liberty of the Netherlands into
subjection to a junta of foreigners sitting at Madrid. Nothing more
legitimate could be imagined than a constitutional resistance to such a
policy.

The Prince of Orange had not been consulted as to the formation of the
league. It was sufficiently obvious to its founders that his cautious
mind would find much to censure in the movement. His sentiments with
regard to the inquisition and the edicts were certainly known to all men.
In the beginning of this year, too, he had addressed a remarkable letter
to the Duchess, in answer to her written commands to cause the Council of
Trent, the inquisition, and the edicts, in accordance with the recent
commands of the King, to be published and enforced throughout his
government. Although his advice on the subject had not been asked, he
expressed his sense of obligation to speak his mind on the subject,
preferring the hazard of being censured for his remonstrance, to that of
incurring the suspicion of connivance at the desolation of the land by
his silence. He left the question of reformation in ecclesiastical morals
untouched, as not belonging to his vocation: As to the inquisition, he
most distinctly informed her highness that the hope which still lingered
in the popular mind of escaping the permanent establishment of that
institution, had alone prevented the utter depopulation of the country,
with entire subversion of its commercial and manufacturing industry. With
regard to the edicts, he temperately but forcibly expressed the opinion
that it was very hard to enforce those placards now in their rigor, when
the people were exasperated, and the misery universal, inasmuch as they
had frequently been modified on former occasions. The King, he said,
could gain nothing but difficulty for himself, and would be sure to lose
the affection of his subjects by renewing the edicts, strengthening the
inquisition, and proceeding to fresh executions, at a time when the
people, moved by the example of their neighbors, were naturally inclined
to novelty. Moreover, when by reason of the daily increasing prices of
grain a famine was impending over the land, no worse moment could be
chosen to enforce such a policy. In conclusion, he observed that he was
at all times desirous to obey the commands of his Majesty and her
Highness, and to discharge the duties of "a good Christian." The use of
the latter term is remarkable, as marking an epoch in the history of the
Prince's mind. A year before he would have said a good Catholic, but it
was during this year that his mind began to be thoroughly pervaded by
religious doubt, and that the great question of the Reformation forced
itself, not only as a political, but as a moral problem upon him, which
he felt that he could not much longer neglect instead of solving.

Such were the opinions of Orange. He could not, however, safely entrust
the sacred interests of a commonwealth to such hands as those of
Brederode--however deeply that enthusiastic personage might drink the
health of "Younker William," as he affectionately denominated the
Prince--or to "Golden Fleece," or to Charles Mansfeld, or to that younger
wild boar of Ardennes, Robert de la Marck. In his brother and in Sainte
Aldegonde he had confidence, but he did not exercise over them that
control which he afterwards acquired. His conduct towards the confederacy
was imitated in the main by the other great nobles. The covenanters never
expected to obtain the signatures of such men as Orange, Egmont, Horn,
Meghen, Berghen, or Montigny, nor were those eminent personages ever
accused of having signed the Compromise, although some of them were
afterwards charged with having protected those who did affix their names
to the document. The confederates were originally found among the lesser
nobles. Of these some were sincere Catholics, who loved the ancient
Church but hated the inquisition; some were fierce Calvinists or
determined Lutherans; some were troublous and adventurous spirits, men of
broken fortunes, extravagant habits, and boundless desires, who no doubt
thought that the broad lands of the Church, with their stately abbeys;
would furnish much more fitting homes and revenues for gallant gentlemen
than for lazy monks. All were young, few had any prudence or conduct, and
the history of the league more than justified the disapprobation of
Orange. The nobles thus banded together, achieved little by their
confederacy. They disgraced a great cause by their orgies, almost ruined
it by their inefficiency, and when the rope of sand which they had
twisted fell asunder, the people had gained nothing and the gentry had
almost lost the confidence of the nation. These remarks apply to the mass
of the confederates and to some of the leaders. Louis of Nassau and
Sainte Aldegonde were ever honored and trusted as they deserved.

Although the language of the Compromise spoke of the leaguers as nobles,
yet the document was circulated among burghers and merchants also, many
of whom, according to the satirical remark of a Netherland Catholic, may,
have been influenced by the desire of writing their names in such
aristocratic company, and some of whom were destined to expiate such
vainglory upon the scaffold.

With such associates, therefore, the profound and anxious mind of Orange
could have little in common. Confidence expanding as the numbers
increased, their audacity and turbulence grew with the growth of the
league. The language at their wild banquets was as hot as the wine which
confused their heads; yet the Prince knew that there was rarely a
festival in which there did not sit some calm, temperate Spaniard,
watching with quiet eye and cool brain the extravagant demeanor, and
listening with composure to the dangerous avowals or bravados of these
revellers, with the purpose of transmitting a record of their language or
demonstrations, to the inmost sanctuary of Philip's cabinet at Madrid.
The Prince knew, too, that the King was very sincere in his determination
to maintain the inquisition, however dilatory his proceedings might
appear. He was well aware that an armed force might be expected ere long
to support the royal edicts. Already the Prince had organized that system
of espionage upon Philip, by which the champion of his country was so
long able to circumvent its despot. The King left letters carefully
locked in his desk at night, and unseen hands had forwarded copies of
them to William of Orange before the morning. He left memoranda in his
pockets on retiring to bed, and exact transcripts of those papers found
their way, likewise, ere he rose, to the same watchman in the
Netherlands. No doubt that an inclination for political intrigue was a
prominent characteristic of the Prince, and a blemish upon the purity of
his moral nature. Yet the dissimulating policy of his age he had mastered
only that he might accomplish the noblest purposes to which a great and
good man can devote his life-the protection of the liberty and the
religion of a whole people against foreign tyranny. His intrigue served
his country, not a narrow personal ambition, and it was only by such arts
that he became Philip's master, instead of falling at once, like so many
great personages, a blind and infatuated victim. No doubt his purveyors
of secret information were often destined fearfully to atone for their
contraband commerce, but they who trade in treason must expect to pay the
penalty of their traffic.

Although, therefore, the great nobles held themselves aloof from the
confederacy, yet many of them gave unequivocal signs of their dissent
from the policy adopted by government. Marquis Berghen wrote to the
Duchess; resigning his posts, on the ground of his inability to execute
the intention of the King in the matter of religion. Meghen replied to
the same summons by a similar letter. Egmont assured her that he would
have placed his offices in the King's hands in Spain, could he have
foreseen that his Majesty would form such resolutions as had now been
proclaimed. The sentiments of Orange were avowed in the letter to which
we have already alluded. His opinions were shared by Montigny, Culemburg,
and many others. The Duchess was almost reduced to desperation. The
condition of the country was frightful. The most determined loyalists,
such as Berlaymont, Viglius and Hopper, advised her not to mention the
name of inquisition in a conference which she was obliged to hold with a
deputation from Antwerp. She feared, all feared, to pronounce the hated
word. She wrote despairing letters to Philip, describing the condition of
the land and her own agony in the gloomiest colors. Since the arrival of
the royal orders, she said, things had gone from bad to worse. The King
had been ill advised. It was useless to tell the people that the
inquisition had always existed in the provinces. They maintained that it
was a novelty; that the institution was a more rigorous one than the
Spanish Inquisition, which, said Margaret, "was most odious, as the King
knew." It was utterly impossible to carry the edicts into execution.
Nearly all the governors of provinces had told her plainly that they
would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders. Thus
bitterly did Margaret of Parma bewail the royal decree; not that she had
any sympathy for the victims, but because she felt the increasing danger
to the executioner. One of two things it was now necessary to decide
upon, concession or armed compulsion. Meantime, while Philip was slowly
and secretly making his levies, his sister, as well as his people, was on
the rack. Of all the seigniors, not one was placed in so painful a
position as Egmont. His military reputation and his popularity made him
too important a personage to be slighted, yet he was deeply mortified at
the lamentable mistake which he had committed. He now averred that he
would never take arms against the King, but that he would go where man
should never see him more.

Such was the condition of the nobles, greater and less. That of the
people could not well be worse. Famine reigned in the land. Emigration,
caused not by over population, but by persecution, was fast weakening the
country. It was no wonder that not only, foreign merchants should be
scared from the great commercial cities by the approaching disorders; but
that every industrious artisan who could find the means of escape should
seek refuge among strangers, wherever an asylum could be found. That
asylum was afforded by Protestant England, who received these intelligent
and unfortunate wanderers with cordiality, and learned with eagerness the
lessons in mechanical skill which they had to teach. Already thirty
thousand emigrant Netherlanders were established in Sandwich, Norwich,
and other places, assigned to them by Elizabeth. It had always, however,
been made a condition of the liberty granted to these foreigners for
practising their handiwork, that each house should employ at least one
English apprentice. "Thus," said a Walloon historian, splenetically, "by
this regulation, and by means of heavy duties on foreign manufactures,
have the English built up their own fabrics and prohibited those of the
Netherlands. Thus have they drawn over to their own country our skilful
artisans to practise their industry, not at home but abroad, and our poor
people are thus losing the means of earning their livelihood. Thus has
clothmaking, silk-making and the art of dyeing declined in this country,
and would have been quite extinguished but by our wise countervailing
edicts." The writer, who derived most of his materials and his wisdom
from the papers of Councillor d'Assonleville, could hardly doubt that the
persecution to which these industrious artisans, whose sufferings he
affected to deplore, had been subjected, must have had something to do
with their expatriation; but he preferred to ascribe it wholly to the
protective system adopted by England. In this he followed the opinion of
his preceptor. "For a long time," said Assonleville, "the Netherlands
have been the Indies to England; and as long as she has them, she needs
no other. The French try to surprise our fortresses and cities: the
English make war upon our wealth and upon the purses of the people."
Whatever the cause, however, the current of trade was already turned. The
cloth-making of England was already gaining preponderance over that of
the provinces. Vessels now went every week from Sandwich to Antwerp,
laden with silk, satin, and cloth, manufactured in England, while as many
but a few years before, had borne the Flemish fabrics of the same nature
from Antwerp to England.

It might be supposed by disinterested judges that persecution was at the
bottom of this change in commerce. The Prince of Orange estimated that up
to this period fifty thousand persons in the provinces had been put to
death in obedience to the edicts. He was a moderate man, and accustomed
to weigh his words. As a new impulse had been given to the system of
butchery--as it was now sufficiently plain that "if the father had
chastised his people with a scourge the son held a whip of scorpions" as
the edicts were to be enforced with renewed vigor--it was natural that
commerce and manufactures should make their escape out of a doomed land
as soon as possible, whatever system of tariffs might be adopted by
neighboring nations.

A new step had been resolved upon early in the month of March by the
confederates. A petition, or "Request," was drawn up, which was to be
presented to the Duchess Regent in a formal manner by a large number of
gentlemen belonging to the league. This movement was so grave, and likely
to be followed by such formidable results, that it seemed absolutely
necessary for Orange and his friends to take some previous cognizance of
it before it was finally arranged. The Prince had no power, nor was there
any reason why he should have the inclination, to prevent the measure,
but he felt it his duty to do what he could to control the vehemence of
the men who were moving so rashly forward, and to take from their
manifesto, as much as possible, the character of a menace.

For this end, a meeting ostensibly for social purposes and "good cheer"
was held, in the middle of March, at Breda, and afterwards adjourned to
Hoogstraaten. To these conferences Orange invited Egmont, Horn,
Hoogstraaten, Berghen, Meghen, Montigny, and other great nobles.
Brederode, Tholouse, Boxtel, and other members of the league, were also
present. The object of the Prince in thus assembling his own immediate
associates, governors of provinces and knights of the Fleece, as well as
some of the leading members of the league, was twofold. It had long been
his opinion that a temperate and loyal movement was still possible, by
which the impending convulsions might be averted. The line of policy
which he had marked out required the assent of the magnates of the land,
and looked towards the convocation of the states-general. It was natural
that he should indulge in the hope of being seconded by the men who were
in the same political and social station with himself. All, although
Catholics, hated the inquisition. As Viglius pathetically exclaimed,
"Saint Paul himself would have been unable to persuade these men that
good fruit was to be gathered from the inquisition in the cause of
religion." Saint Paul could hardly be expected to reappear on earth for
such a purpose. Meantime the arguments of the learned President had
proved powerless, either to convince the nobles that the institution was
laudable or to obtain from the Duchess a postponement in the publication
of the late decrees. The Prince of Orange, however, was not able to bring
his usual associates to his way of thinking. The violent purposes of the
leaguers excited the wrath of the more loyal nobles. Their intentions
were so dangerous, even in the estimation of the Prince himself, that he
felt it his duty to lay the whole subject before the Duchess, although he
was not opposed to the presentation of a modest and moderate Request.
Meghen was excessively indignant at the plan of the confederates, which
he pronounced an insult to the government, a treasonable attempt to
overawe the Duchess, by a "few wretched vagabonds." He swore that "he
would break every one of their heads, if the King would furnish him with
a couple of hundred thousand florins." Orange quietly rebuked this
truculent language, by assuring him both that such a process would be
more difficult than he thought, and that he would also find many men of
great respectability among the vagabonds.

The meeting separated at Hoogstraaten without any useful result, but it
was now incumbent upon the Prince, in his own judgment, to watch, and in
a measure to superintend, the proceedings of the confederates. By his
care the contemplated Request was much altered, and especially made more
gentle in its tone. Meghen separated himself thenceforth entirely from
Orange, and ranged himself exclusively upon the side of Government.
Egmont vacillated, as usual, satisfying neither the Prince nor the
Duchess.

Margaret of Parma was seated in her council chamber very soon after these
occurrences, attended both by Orange and Egmont, when the Count of Meghen
entered the apartment. With much precipitation, he begged that all
matters then before the board might be postponed, in order that he might
make an important announcement. He then stated that he had received
information from a gentleman on whose word he could rely, a very
affectionate servant of the King, but whose name he had promised not to
reveal, that a very extensive conspiracy of heretics and sectaries had
been formed, both within and without the Netherlands, that they had
already a force of thirty-five thousand men, foot and horse, ready for
action, that they were about to make a sudden invasion, and to plunder
the whole country, unless they immediately received a formal concession
of entire liberty of conscience, and that, within six or seven days,
fifteen hundred men-at-arms would make their appearance before her
Highness. These ridiculous exaggerations of the truth were confirmed by
Egmont, who said that he had received similar information from persons
whose names he was not at liberty to mention, but from whose statements
he could announce that some great tumult might be expected every day. He
added that there were among the confederates many who wished to change
their sovereign, and that the chieftains and captains of the conspiracy
were all appointed. The same nobleman also laid before the council a copy
of the Compromise, the terms of which famous document scarcely justified
the extravagant language with which it had been heralded. The Duchess was
astounded at these communications. She had already received, but probably
not yet read, a letter from the Prince of Orange upon the subject, in
which a moderate and plain statement of the actual facts was laid down,
which was now reiterated by the same personage by word of mouth. An
agitated and inconclusive debate followed, in which, however, it
sufficiently appeared, as the Duchess informed her brother, that one of
two things must be done without further delay. The time had arrived for
the government to take up arms, or to make concessions.

In one of the informal meetings of councillors, now held almost daily, on
the subject of the impending Request, Aremberg, Meghen, and Berlaymont
maintained that the door should be shut in the face of the petitioners
without taking any further notice of the petition. Berlaymont suggested
also, that if this course were not found advisable, the next best thing
would be to allow the confederates to enter the palace with their
Request, and then to cut them to pieces to the very last man, by means of
troops to be immediately ordered from the frontiers. Such sanguinary
projects were indignantly rebuked by Orange. He maintained that the
confederates were entitled to be treated with respect. Many of them, he
said, were his friends--some of them his relations--and there was no
reason for refusing to gentlemen of their rank, a right which belonged to
the poorest plebeian in the land. Egmont sustained these views of the
Prince as earnestly as he had on a previous occasion appeared to
countenance the more violent counsels of Meghen.

Meantime, as it was obvious that the demonstration on the part of the
confederacy was soon about to be made, the Duchess convened a grand
assembly of notables, in which not only all the state and privy
councillors, but all the governors and knights of the Fleece were to take
part. On the 28th of March, this assembly was held, at which the whole
subject of the Request, together with the proposed modifications of the
edicts and abolition of the inquisition, was discussed. The Duchess also
requested the advice of the meeting--whether it would not be best for her
to retire to some other city, like Mons, which she had selected as her
stronghold in case of extremity. The decision was that it would be a
high-handed proceeding to refuse the right of petition to a body of
gentlemen, many of them related to the greatest nobles in the land; but
it was resolved that they should be required to make their appearance
without arms. As to the contemplated flight of the Duchess, it was urged,
with much reason, that such a step would cast disgrace upon the
government, and that it would be a sufficiently precautionary measure to
strengthen the guards at the city gates--not to prevent the entrance of
the petitioners, but to see that they were unaccompanied by an armed
force. It had been decided that Count Brederode should present the
petition to the Duchess at the head of a deputation of about three
hundred gentlemen. The character of the nobleman thus placed foremost on
such an important occasion has been sufficiently made manifest. He had no
qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him as a leader
for a political party. It was to be seen that other attributes were
necessary to make a man useful in such a position, and the Count's
deficiencies soon became lamentably conspicuous. He was the lineal
descendant and representative of the old Sovereign Counts of Holland.
Five hundred years before his birth; his ancestor Sikko, younger brother
of Dirk the Third, had died, leaving two sons, one of whom was the first
Baron of Brederode. A descent of five centuries in unbroken male
succession from the original sovereigns of Holland, gave him a better
genealogical claim to the provinces than any which Philip of Spain could
assert through the usurping house of Burgundy. In the approaching tumults
he hoped for an opportunity of again asserting the ancient honors of his
name. He was a sworn foe to Spaniards and to "water of the fountain." But
a short time previously to this epoch he had written to Louis of Nassau,
then lying ill of a fever, in order gravely to remonstrate with him on
the necessity of substituting wine for water on all occasions, and it
will be seen in the sequel that the wine-cup was the great instrument on
which he relied for effecting the deliverance of the country. Although
"neither bachelor nor chancellor," as he expressed it, he was supposed to
be endowed with ready eloquence and mother wit. Even these gifts,
however, if he possessed them, were often found wanting on important
emergencies. Of his courage there was no question, but he was not
destined to the death either of a warrior or a martyr. Headlong, noisy,
debauched, but brave, kind-hearted and generous, he was a fitting
representative of his ancestors, the hard-fighting, hard-drinking,
crusading, free-booting sovereigns of Holland and Friesland, and would
himself have been more at home and more useful in the eleventh century
than in the sixteenth.

It was about six o'clock in the evening, on the third day of April
(1566), that the long-expected cavalcade at last entered Brussels. An
immense concourse of citizens of all ranks thronged around the noble
confederates as soon as they made their appearance. They were about two
hundred in number, all on horseback, with pistols in their holsters, and
Brederode, tall, athletic, and martial in his bearing, with handsome
features and fair curling locks upon his shoulders, seemed an appropriate
chieftain for that band of Batavian chivalry.

The procession was greeted with frequent demonstrations of applause as it
wheeled slowly through the city till it reached the mansion of Orange
Nassau. Here Brederode and Count Louis alighted, while the rest of the
company dispersed to different quarters of the town.

"They thought that I should not come to Brussels," said Brederode, as he
dismounted. "Very well, here I am; and perhaps I shall depart in a
different manner." In the Course of the next day, Counts Culemburg and
Van den Berg entered the city with one hundred other cavaliers.

On the morning of the fifth of April, the confederates were assembled at
the Culemburg mansion, which stood on the square called the Sabon, within
a few minutes' walk of the palace. A straight handsome street led from
the house along the summit of the hill, to the splendid residence of the
ancient Dukes of Brabant, then the abode of Duchess Margaret. At a little
before noon, the gentlemen came forth, marching on foot, two by two, to
the number of three hundred. Nearly all were young, many of them bore the
most ancient historical names of their country, every one was arrayed in
magnificent costume. It was regarded as ominous, that the man who led the
procession, Philip de Bailleul, was lame. The line was closed by
Brederode and Count Louis, who came last, walking arm in arm. An immense
crowd was collected in the square in front of the palace, to welcome the
men who were looked upon as the deliverers of the land from Spanish
tyranny, from the Cardinalists, and from the inquisition. They were
received with deafening huzzas and clappings of hands by the assembled
populace. As they entered the council chamber, passing through the great
hall, where ten years before the Emperor had given away his crowns, they
found the Emperor's daughter seated in the chair of state, and surrounded
by the highest personages of the country. The emotion of the Duchess was
evident, as the procession somewhat abruptly made its appearance; nor was
her agitation diminished as she observed among the petitioners many
relatives and, retainers of the Orange and Egmont houses, and saw
friendly glances of recognition exchanged between them and their chiefs.

As soon as all had entered the senate room, Brederode advanced, made a
low obeisance, and spoke a brief speech. He said that he had come thither
with his colleagues to present a humble petition to her Highness. He
alluded to the reports which had been rife, that they had contemplated
tumult, sedition, foreign conspiracies, and, what was more abominable
than all, a change of sovereign. He denounced such statements as
calumnies, begged the Duchess to name the men who had thus aspersed an
honorable and loyal company, and called upon her to inflict exemplary
punishment upon the slanderers. With these prefatory remarks he presented
the petition. The famous document was then read aloud.--Its tone was
sufficiently loyal, particularly in the preamble, which was filled with
protestations of devotion to both King and Duchess. After this
conventional introduction, however, the petitioners proceeded to state,
very plainly, that the recent resolutions of his Majesty, with regard to
the edict and the inquisition, were likely to produce a general
rebellion. They had hoped, they said, that a movement would be made by
the seigniors or by the estates, to remedy the evil by striking at its
cause, but they had waited in vain. The danger, on the other hand, was
augmenting every day, universal sedition was at the gate, and they had
therefore felt obliged to delay no longer, but come forward the first and
do their duty. They professed to do this with more freedom, because the
danger touched them very nearly. They were the most exposed to the
calamities which usually spring from civil commotions, for their, houses
and lands situate in the open fields, were exposed to the pillage of all
the world. Moreover there was not one of them, whatever his condition,
who was not liable at any moment to be executed under the edicts, at the
false complaint of the first man who wished to obtain his estate, and who
chose to denounce him to the inquisitor, at whose mercy were the lives
and property of all. They therefore begged the Duchess Regent to despatch
an envoy on their behalf, who should humbly implore his Majesty to
abolish the edicts. In the mean time they requested her Highness to order
a general surcease of the inquisition, and of all executions, until the
King's further pleasure was made known, and until new ordinances, made by
his Majesty with advice and consent of the states-general duly assembled,
should be established. The petition terminated as it had commenced, with
expressions of extreme respect and devoted loyalty.

The agitation of Duchess Margaret increased very perceptibly during the
reading of the paper. When it was finished, she remained for a few
minutes quite silent, with tears rolling down her cheeks. As soon as she
could overcome her excitement, she uttered a few words to the effect that
she would advise with her councillors and give the petitioners such
answer as should be found suitable. The confederates then passed out from
the council chamber into the grand hall; each individual, as he took his
departure, advancing towards the Duchess and making what was called the
"caracole," in token of reverence. There was thus ample time to
contemplate the whole company; and to count the numbers of the
deputation.

After this ceremony had been concluded, there was much earnest debate in.
the council. The Prince of Orange addressed a few words to the Duchess,
with the view of calming her irritation. He observed that the
confederates were no seditious rebels, but loyal gentlemen, well born,
well connected, and of honorable character. They had been influenced, he
said, by an honest desire to save their country from impending
danger--not by avarice or ambition. Egmont shrugged his shoulders, and
observed that it was necessary for him to leave the court for a season,
in order to make a visit to the baths of Aix, for an inflammation which
he had in the leg. It was then that Berlaymont, according to the account
which has been sanctioned by nearly every contemporary writer, whether
Catholic or Protestant, uttered the gibe which was destined to become
immortal, and to give a popular name to the confederacy. "What, Madam,"
he is reported to have cried in a passion, "is it possible that your
Highness can entertain fears of these beggars? (gueux). Is it not obvious
what manner of men they are? They have not had wisdom enough to manage
their own estates, and are they now to teach the King and your Highness
how to govern the country? By the living God, if my advice were taken,
their petition should have a cudgel for a commentary, and we would make
them go down the steps of the palace a great deal faster than they
mounted them."

The Count of Meghen was equally violent in his language. Aremberg was for
ordering "their reverences; the confederates," to, quit Brussels without
delay. The conversation, carried on in so violent a key, might not
unnaturally have been heard by such of the gentlemen as had not yet left
the grand hall adjoining the council chamber. The meeting of the council
was then adjourned for an hour or two, to meet again in the afternoon,
for the purpose of deciding deliberately upon the answer to be given to
the Request. Meanwhile, many of the confederates were swaggering about
the streets, talking very bravely of the scene which had just occurred,
and it is probable, boasting not a little of the effect which their
demonstration would produce. As they passed by the house of Berlaymont,
that nobleman, standing at his window in company with Count Aremberg, is
said to have repeated his jest. "There go our fine beggars again," said
he. "Look, I pray you, with what bravado they are passing before us!"

On the 6th of April, Brederode, attended by a large number of his
companions, again made his appearance at the palace. He then received the
petition, which was returned to him with an apostille or commentary to
this effect:--Her Highness would despatch an envoy for the purpose of
inducing his Majesty to grant the Request. Every thing worthy of the
King's unaffected (naive) and customary benignity might be expected as to
the result. The Duchess had already, with the assistance of the state and
privy councillors, Fleece knights and governors, commenced a project for
moderating the edicts, to be laid before the King. As her authority did
not allow her to suspend the inquisition and placards, she was confident
that the petitioners would be satisfied with the special application
about to be made to the King. Meantime, she would give orders to all
inquisitors, that they should proceed "modestly and discreetly" in their
office, so that no one would have cause to complain. Her Highness hoped
likewise that the gentlemen on their part would conduct themselves in a
loyal and satisfactory manner; thus proving that they had no intention to
make innovations in the ancient religion of the country.

Upon the next day but one, Monday, 8th of April, Brederode, attended by a
number of the confederates, again made his appearance at the palace, for
the purpose of delivering an answer to the Apostille. In this second
paper the confederates rendered thanks for the prompt reply which the
Duchess had given to their Request, expressed regrets that she did not
feel at liberty to suspend the inquisition, and declared their confidence
that she would at once give such orders to the inquisitors and
magistrates that prosecutions for religious matters should cease, until
the King's further pleasure should be declared. They professed themselves
desirous of maintaining whatever regulations should be thereafter
established by his Majesty, with the advice and consent of the
states-general, for the security of the ancient religion, and promised to
conduct themselves generally in such wise that her Highness would have
every reason to be satisfied with them. They, moreover, requested that
the Duchess would cause the Petition to be printed in authentic form by
the government printer.

The admission that the confederates would maintain the ancient religion
had been obtained, as Margaret informed her brother, through the
dexterous management of Hoogstraaten, without suspicion on the part of
the petitioners that the proposition for such a declaration came from
her.

The Duchess replied by word of mouth to the second address thus made to
her by the confederates, that she could not go beyond the Apostille which
she had put on record. She had already caused letters for the inquisitors
and magistrates to be drawn up. The minutes for those instructions should
be laid before the confederates by Count Hoogstraaten and Secretary
Berty. As for the printing of their petition, she was willing to grant
their demand, and would give orders to that effect.

The gentlemen having received this answer, retired into the great hall.
After a few minutes' consultation, however, they returned to the council
chamber, where the Seigneur d'Esquerdes, one of their number, addressed a
few parting words, in the name of his associates, to the Regent;
concluding with a request that she would declare, the confederates to
have done no act, and made no demonstration, inconsistent with their duty
and with a perfect respect for his Majesty.

To this demand the Duchess answered somewhat drily that she could not be
judge in such a cause. Time and their future deeds, she observed, could
only bear witness as to their purposes. As for declarations from her,
they must be satisfied with the Apostille which they had already
received.

With this response, somewhat more tart than agreeable, the nobles were
obliged to content themselves, and they accordingly took their leave.

It must be confessed that they had been disposed to slide rather
cavalierly over a good deal of ground towards the great object which they
had in view. Certainly the petitio principii was a main feature of their
logic. They had, in their second address, expressed perfect confidence as
to two very considerable concessions. The Duchess was practically to
suspend the inquisition, although she had declared herself without
authority for that purpose, The King, who claimed, de jure and de facto,
the whole legislative power, was thenceforth to make laws on religious
matters by and with the consent of the states-general. Certainly, these
ends were very laudable, and if a civil and religious revolution could
have been effected by a few gentlemen going to court in fine clothes to
present a petition, and by sitting down to a tremendous banquet
afterwards, Brederode and his associates were the men to accomplish the
task. Unfortunately, a sea of blood and long years of conflict lay
between the nation and the promised land, which for a moment seemed so
nearly within reach.

Meantime the next important step in Brederode's eyes was a dinner. He
accordingly invited the confederates to a magnificent repast which he had
ordered to be prepared in the Culemburg mansion. Three hundred guests sat
down, upon the 8th of April, to this luxurious banquet, which was
destined to become historical.

The board glittered with silver and gold. The wine circulated with more
than its usual rapidity among the band of noble Bacchanals, who were
never weary of drinking the healths of Brederode, of Orange, and of
Egmont. It was thought that the occasion imperiously demanded an
extraordinary carouse, and the political events of the past three days
lent an additional excitement to the wine. There was an earnest
discussion as to an appropriate name to be given to their confederacy.
Should they call themselves the "Society of Concord," the restorers of
lost liberty, or by what other attractive title should the league be
baptized? Brederode was, however, already prepared to settle the
question. He knew the value of a popular and original name; he possessed
the instinct by which adroit partisans in every age have been accustomed
to convert the reproachful epithets of their opponents into watchwords of
honor, and he had already made his preparations for a startling
theatrical effect. Suddenly, amid the din of voices, he arose, with all
his rhetorical powers at command: He recounted to the company the
observations which the Seigneur de Berlaymont was reported to have made
to the Duchess, upon the presentation of the Request, and the name which
he had thought fit to apply to them collectively. Most of the gentlemen
then heard the memorable sarcasm for the first time. Great was the
indignation of all that the state councillor should have dared to
stigmatize as beggars a band of gentlemen with the best blood of the land
in their veins. Brederode, on the contrary, smoothing their anger,
assured them with good humor that nothing could be more fortunate. "They
call us beggars!" said he; "let us accept the name. We will contend with
the inquisition, but remain loyal to the King, even till compelled to
wear the beggar's sack."

He then beckoned to one of his pages, who brought him a leathern wallet,
such as was worn at that day by professional mendicants, together with a
large wooden bowl, which also formed part of their regular appurtenances.
Brederode immediately hung the wallet around his neck, filled the bowl
with wine, lifted it with both hands, and drained it at a draught. "Long
live the beggars!" he cried, as he wiped his beard and set the bowl down.
"Vivent les gueulx." Then for the first time, from the lips of those
reckless nobles rose the famous, cry, which was so often to ring over
land and sea, amid blazing cities, on blood-stained decks, through the
smoke and carnage of many a stricken field. The humor of Brederode was
hailed with deafening shouts of applause. The Count then threw the wallet
around the neck of his nearest neighbor, and handed him the wooden bawl.
Each guest, in turn, donned the mendicant's knapsack. Pushing aside his
golden goblet, each filled the beggars' bowl to the brim, and drained it
to the beggars' health. Roars of laughter, and shouts of "Vivent les
gueulx" shook the walls of the stately mansion, as they were doomed never
to shake again. The shibboleth was invented. The conjuration which they
had been anxiously seeking was found. Their enemies had provided them
with a spell, which was to prove, in after days, potent enough to start a
spirit from palace or hovel, forest or wave, as the deeds of the "wild
beggars," the "wood beggars," and the "beggars of the sea" taught Philip
at last to understand the nation which he had driven to madness.

When the wallet and bowl had made the circuit of the table, they were
suspended to a pillar in the hall. Each of the company in succession then
threw some salt into his goblet, and, placing himself under these symbols
of the brotherhood, repeated a jingling distich, produced impromptu for
the occasion.

   By this salt, by this bread, by this wallet we swear,
   These beggars ne'er will change, though all the world should stare.

This ridiculous ceremony completed the rites by which the confederacy
received its name; but the banquet was by no means terminated. The uproar
became furious. The younger and more reckless nobles abandoned themselves
to revelry, which would have shamed heathen Saturnalia. They renewed to
each other, every moment, their vociferous oaths of fidelity to the
common cause, drained huge beakers to the beggars' health, turned their
caps and doublets inside out, danced upon chairs and tables. Several
addressed each other as Lord Abbot, or Reverend Prior, of this or that
religious institution, thus indicating the means by which some of them
hoped to mend their broken fortunes.

While the tumult was at its height, the Prince of Orange with Counts Horn
and Egmont entered the apartment. They had been dining quietly with
Mansfeld, who was confined to his house with an inflamed eye, and they
were on their way to the council chamber, where the sessions were now
prolonged nightly to a late hour. Knowing that Hoogstraaten, somewhat
against his will, had been induced to be present at the banquet, they had
come round by the way of Culemburg House, to induce him to retire. They
were also disposed, if possible, to abridge the festivities which their
influence would have been powerless to prevent.

These great nobles, as soon as they made their appearance, were
surrounded by a crew of "beggars," maddened and dripping with their,
recent baptism of wine, who compelled them to drink a cup amid shouts of
"Vivent le roi et les gueulx!" The meaning of this cry they of course
could not understand, for even those who had heard Berlaymont's
contemptuous remarks, might not remember the exact term which he had
used, and certainly could not be aware of the importance to which it had
just been elevated. As for Horn, he disliked and had long before
quarrelled with Brederode, had prevented many persons from signing the
Compromise, and, although a guest at that time of Orange, was in the
habit of retiring to bed before supper, to avoid the company of many who
frequented the house. Yet his presence for a few moments, with the best
intentions, at the conclusion of this famous banquet, was made one of the
most deadly charges which were afterwards drawn up against him by the
Crown. The three seigniors refused to be seated, and remained but for a
moment, "the length of a Miserere," taking with them Hoogstraaten as they
retired. They also prevailed upon the whole party to break up at the same
time, so that their presence had served at least to put a conclusion to
the disgraceful riot. When they arrived at the council chamber they
received the thanks of the Duchess for what they had done.

Such was the first movement made by the members of the Compromise. Was it
strange that Orange should feel little affinity with such companions? Had
he not reason to hesitate, if the sacred cause of civil and religious
liberty could only be maintained by these defenders and with such
assistance?

The "beggars" did not content themselves with the name alone of the
time-honored fraternity of Mendicants in which they had enrolled
themselves. Immediately after the Culemburg banquet, a costume for the
confederacy was decided upon.

These young gentlemen discarding gold lace and velvet, thought it
expedient to array themselves in doublets and hose of ashen grey, with
short cloaks of the same color, all of the coarsest materials. They
appeared in this guise in the streets, with common felt hats on their
heads, and beggars' pouches and bowls at their sides. They caused also
medals of lead and copper to be struck, bearing upon one side the head of
Philip; upon the reverse, two hands clasped within a wallet, with the
motto, "Faithful to the King, even to wearing the beggar's sack." These
badges they wore around their necks, or as buttons to their hats. As a
further distinction they shaved their beards close, excepting the
moustachios, which were left long and pendent in the Turkish
fashion,--that custom, as it seemed, being an additional characteristic
of Mendicants.

Very soon after these events the nobles of the league dispersed from the
capital to their various homes. Brederode rode out of Brussels at the
head of a band of cavaliers, who saluted the concourse of applauding
spectators with a discharge of their pistols. Forty-three gentlemen
accompanied him to Antwerp, where he halted for a night. The Duchess had
already sent notice to the magistrates of that city of his intended
visit, and warned them to have an eye upon his proceedings. "The great
beggar," as Hoogstraaten called him, conducted himself, however, with as
much propriety as could be expected. Four or five thousand of the
inhabitants thronged about the hotel where he had taken up his quarters.
He appeared at a window with his wooden bowl, filled with wine, in his
hands, and his wallet at his side. He assured the multitude that he was
ready to die to defend the good people of Antwerp and of all the
Netherlands against the edicts and the inquisition. Meantime he drank
their healths, and begged all who accepted the pledge to hold up their
hands. The populace, highly amused, held up and clapped their hands as
honest Brederode drained his bowl, and were soon afterwards persuaded to
retire in great good humor.

These proceedings were all chronicled and transmitted to Madrid. It was
also both publicly reported and secretly registered, that Brederode had
eaten capons and other meat at Antwerp, upon Good Friday, which happened
to be the, day of his visit to that city. He denied the charge, however;
with ludicrous vehemence. "They who have told Madame that we ate meat in
Antwerp," he wrote to Count Louis, "have lied wickedly and miserably,
twenty-four feet down in their throats." He added that his nephew,
Charles Mansfeld, who, notwithstanding the indignant prohibition of his
father, had assisted of the presentation of the Request, and was then in
his uncle's company at Antwerp, had ordered a capon, which Brederode had
countermanded. "They told me afterwards," said he, "that my nephew had
broiled a sausage in his chamber. I suppose that he thought himself in
Spain, where they allow themselves such dainties."

Let it not be thought that these trifles are beneath the dignity of
history. Matters like these filled the whole soul of Philip, swelled the
bills of indictment for thousands of higher and better men than
Brederode, and furnished occupation as well for secret correspondents and
spies as for the most dignified functionaries of Government. Capons or
sausages on Good Friday, the Psalms of Clement Marot, the Sermon on the
Mount in the vernacular, led to the rack, the gibbet, and the stake, but
ushered in a war against the inquisition which was to last for eighty
years. Brederode was not to be the hero of that party which he disgraced
by his buffoonery. Had he lived, he might, perhaps, like many of his
confederates, have redeemed, by his bravery in the field, a character
which his orgies had rendered despicable. He now left Antwerp for the
north of Holland, where, as he soon afterwards reported to Count Louis,
"the beggars were as numerous as the sands on the seashore."

His "nephew Charles," two months afterwards, obeyed his father's
injunction, and withdrew formally from the confederacy.

Meantime the rumor had gone abroad that the Request of the nobles had
already produced good fruit, that the edicts were to be mitigated, the
inquisition abolished, liberty of conscience eventually to prevail. "Upon
these reports," says a contemporary, "all the vermin of exiles and
fugitives for religion, as well as those who had kept in concealment,
began to lift up their heads and thrust forth their horns." It was known
that Margaret of Parma had ordered the inquisitors and magistrates to
conduct themselves "modestly and discreetly." It was known that the privy
council was hard at work upon the project for "moderating" the edicts.
Modestly and discreetly, Margaret of Parma, almost immediately after
giving these orders, and while the "moderation" was still in the hands of
the lawyers, informed her brother that she had given personal attention
to the case of a person who had snatched the holy wafer from the priest's
hand at Oudenarde. This "quidam," as she called him--for his name was
beneath the cognizance of an Emperor's bastard daughter--had by her
orders received rigorous and exemplary justice. And what was the
"rigorous and exemplary justice" thus inflicted upon the "quidam?" The
procurator of the neighboring city of Tournay has enabled us to answer.
The young man, who was a tapestry weaver, Hans Tiskaen by name, had, upon
the 30th May, thrown the holy wafer upon the ground. For this crime,
which was the same as that committed on Christmas-day of the previous
year by Bertrand le Blas, at Tournay, he now met with a similar although
not quite so severe a punishment. Having gone quietly home after doing
the deed, he was pursued, arrested, and upon the Saturday ensuing taken
to the market-place of Oudenarde. Here the right hand with which he had
committed the offence was cut off, and he was then fastened to the stake
and burned to death over a slow fire. He was fortunately not more than a
quarter of an hour in torment, but he persisted in his opinions, and
called on God for support to his last breath.

This homely tragedy was enacted at Oudenarde, the birth place of Duchess
Margaret. She was the daughter of the puissant Charles the Fifth, but her
mother was only the daughter of a citizen of Oudenarde; of a "quidam"
like the nameless weaver who had thus been burned by her express order.
It was not to be supposed, however, that the circumstance could operate
in so great a malefactor's favor. Moreover, at the same moment, she sent
orders that a like punishment should be inflicted upon another person
then in a Flemish prison, for the crime of anabaptism.

The privy council, assisted by thirteen knights of the Fleece, had been
hard at work, and the result of their wisdom was at last revealed in a
"moderation" consisting of fifty-three articles.

What now was the substance of those fifty-three articles, so painfully
elaborated by Viglius, so handsomely drawn up into shape by Councillor
d'Assonleville? Simply to substitute the halter for the fagot. After
elimination of all verbiage, this fact was the only residuum. It was most
distinctly laid down that all forms of religion except the Roman Catholic
were forbidden; that no public or secret conventicles were to be allowed;
that all heretical writings were to be suppressed; that all curious
inquiries into the Scriptures were to be prohibited. Persons who
infringed these regulations were divided into two classes--the misleaders
and the misled. There was an affectation of granting mercy to persons in
the second category, while death was denounced upon those composing the
first. It was merely an affectation; for the rambling statute was so open
in all its clauses, that the Juggernaut car of persecution could be
driven through the whole of them, whenever such a course should seem
expedient. Every man or woman in the Netherlands might be placed in the
list of the misleaders, at the discretion of the officials. The pretended
mercy to the misguided was a mere delusion.

The superintendents, preachers, teachers, ministers, sermon-makers,
deacons, and other officers, were to be executed with the halter, with
confiscation of their whole property. So much was very plain. Other
heretics, however, who would abjure their heresy before the bishop, might
be pardoned for the first offence, but if obstinate, were to be banished.
This seemed an indication of mercy, at least to the repentant criminals.
But who were these "other" heretics? All persons who discussed religious
matters were to be put to death. All persons, not having studied theology
at a "renowned university," who searched and expounded the Scriptures,
were to be put to death. All persons in whose houses any act of the
perverse religion should be committed, were to be put to death. All
persons who harbored or protected ministers and teachers of any sect,
were to be put to death. All the criminals thus carefully enumerated were
to be executed, whether repentant or not. If, however, they abjured their
errors, they were to be beheaded instead of being strangled. Thus it was
obvious that almost any heretic might be brought to the halter at a
moment's notice.

Strictly speaking, the idea of death by the halter or the axe was less
shocking to the imagination than that of being burned or buried alive. In
this respect, therefore, the edicts were softened by the proposed
"Moderation." It would, however, always be difficult to persuade any
considerable slumber of intelligent persons, that the infliction of a
violent death, by whatever process, on account of religious opinions, was
an act of clemency. The Netherlanders were, however, to be persuaded into
this belief. The draft of the new edict was ostentatiously called the
"Moderatie," or the "Moderation." It was very natural, therefore, that
the common people, by a quibble, which is the same in Flemish as in
English, should call the proposed "Moderation" the "Murderation." The
rough mother-wit of the people had already characterized and annihilated
the project, while dull formalists were carrying it through the
preliminary stages.

A vote in favor of the project having been obtained from the estates of
Artois, Hainault, and Flanders, the instructions for the envoys; Baron
Montigny and Marquis Berghen, were made out in conformity to the scheme.
Egmont had declined the mission, not having reason to congratulate
himself upon the diplomatic success of his visit to Spain in the
preceding year. The two nobles who consented to undertake the office were
persuaded into acceptance sorely against their will. They were aware that
their political conduct since the King's departure from the country had
not always been deemed satisfactory at Madrid, but they were, of course,
far from suspecting the true state of the royal mind. They were both as
sincere Catholics and as loyal gentlemen as Granvelle, but they were not
aware how continuously, during a long course of years, that personage had
represented them to Philip as renegades and rebels. They had maintained
the constitutional rights of the state, and they had declined to act as
executioners for the inquisition, but they were yet to learn that such
demonstrations amounted to high treason.

Montigny departed, on the 29th May, from Brussels. He left the bride to
whom he had been wedded amid scenes of festivity, the preceding
autumn--the unborn child who was never to behold its father's face. He
received warnings in Paris, by which he scorned to profit. The Spanish
ambassador in that city informed him that Philip's wrath at the recent
transactions in the Netherlands was high. He was most significantly
requested, by a leading personage in France, to feign illness, or to take
refuge in any expedient by which he might avoid the fulfilment of his
mission. Such hints had no effect in turning him from his course, and he
proceeded to Madrid, where he arrived on the 17th of June.

His colleague in the mission, Marquis Berghen, had been prevented from
setting forth at the same time, by an accident which, under the
circumstances, might almost seem ominous. Walking through the palace
park, in a place where some gentlemen were playing at pall-mall, he was
accidentally struck in the leg by a wooden ball. The injury, although
trifling, produced go much irritation and fever that he was confined to
his bed for several weeks. It was not until the 1st of July that he was
able to take his departure from Brussels. Both these unfortunate nobles
thus went forth to fulfil that dark and mysterious destiny from which the
veil of three centuries has but recently been removed.

Besides a long historical discourse, in eighteen chapters, delivered by
way of instruction to the envoys, Margaret sent a courier beforehand with
a variety of intelligence concerning the late events. Alonzo del Canto,
one of Philip's spies in the Netherlands, also wrote to inform the King
that the two ambassadors were the real authors of all the troubles then
existing in the country. Cardinal Granvelle, too, renewed his previous
statements in a confidential communication to his Majesty, adding that no
persons more appropriate could have been selected than Berghen and
Montigny, for they knew better than any one else the state of affairs in
which they had borne the principal part. Nevertheless, Montigny, upon his
arrival in Madrid on the 17th of June, was received by Philip with much
apparent cordiality, admitted immediately to an audience, and assured in
the strongest terms that there was no dissatisfaction in the royal mind
against the seigniors, whatever false reports might be circulated to that
effect. In other respects, the result of this and of his succeeding
interviews with the monarch was sufficiently meagre.

It could not well be otherwise. The mission of the envoys was an
elaborate farce to introduce a terrible tragedy. They were sent to
procure from Philip the abolition of the inquisition and the moderation
of the edicts. At the very moment, however, of all these legislative and
diplomatic arrangements, Margaret of Parma was in possession of secret
letters from Philip, which she was charged to deliver to the Archbishop
of Sorrento, papal nuncio at the imperial court, then on a special visit
to Brussels. This ecclesiastic had come to the Netherlands ostensibly to
confer with the Prince of Orange upon the affairs of his principality, to
remonstrate with Count Culemburg, and to take measures for the
reformation of the clergy. The real object of his mission, however, was
to devise means for strengthening the inquisition and suppressing heresy
in the provinces. Philip, at whose request he had come, had charged him
by no means to divulge the secret, as the King was anxious to have it
believed that the ostensible was the only business which the prelate had
to perform in the country. Margaret accordingly delivered to him the
private letters, in which Philip avowed his determination to maintain the
inquisition and the edicts in all their rigor, but enjoined profound
secrecy upon the subject. The Duchess, therefore, who knew the face of
the cards, must have thought it a superfluous task to continue the game,
which to Philip's cruel but procrastinating temperament was perhaps a
pleasurable excitement.

The scheme for mitigating the edicts by the substitution of strangling
for burning, was not destined therefore far much success either in Spain
or in the provinces; but the people by whom the next great movement was
made in the drama of the revolt, conducted themselves in a manner to
shame the sovereign who oppressed, and the riotous nobles who had
undertaken to protect their liberties.

At this very moment, in the early summer of 1566, many thousands of
burghers, merchants, peasants, and gentlemen, were seen mustering and
marching through the fields of every province, armed with arquebus,
javelin, pike and broadsword. For what purpose were these gatherings?
Only to hear sermons and to sing hymns in the open air, as it was
unlawful to profane the churches with such rites. This was the first
great popular phase of the Netherland rebellion. Notwithstanding the
edicts and the inquisition with their daily hecatombs, notwithstanding
the special publication at this time throughout the country by the
Duchess Regent that all the sanguinary statutes concerning religion were
in as great vigor as ever, notwithstanding that Margaret offered a reward
of seven hundred crowns to the man who would bring her a preacher--dead
or alive,--the popular thirst for the exercises of the reformed religion
could no longer be slaked at the obscure and hidden fountains where their
priests had so long privately ministered.

Partly emboldened by a temporary lull in the persecution, partly
encouraged by the presentation of the Request and by the events to which
it had given rise, the Reformers now came boldly forth from their lurking
places and held their religious meetings in the light of day. The
consciousness of numbers and of right had brought the conviction of
strength. The audacity of the Reformers was wonderful to the mind of
President Viglius, who could find no language strong enough with which to
characterize and to deplore such blasphemous conduct. The field-preaching
seemed in the eyes of government to spread with the rapidity of a
malignant pestilence. The miasma flew upon the wings of the wind. As
early as 1562, there had been public preaching in the neighborhood of
Ypres. The executions which followed, however, had for the time
suppressed the practice both in that place as well as throughout Flanders
and the rest of the provinces. It now broke forth as by one impulse from
one end of the country to the other. In the latter part of June, Hermann
Stryoker or Modet, a monk who had renounced his vows to become one of the
most popular preachers in the Reformed Church, addressed a congregation
of seven or eight thousand persons in the neighborhood of Ghent. Peter
Dathenus, another unfrocked monk, preached at various places in West
Flanders, with great effect. A man endowed with a violent, stormy
eloquence, intemperate as most zealots, he was then rendering better
services to the cause of the Reformation than he was destined to do at
later periods.

But apostate priests were not the only preachers. To the ineffable
disgust of the conservatives in Church and State, there were men with
little education, utterly devoid of Hebrew, of lowly station--hatters,
curriers, tanners, dyers, and the like, who began to preach also;
remembering, unseasonably perhaps, that the early disciples, selected by
the founder of Christianity, had not all been doctors of theology, with
diplomas from a "renowned university." But if the nature of such men were
subdued to what it worked in, that charge could not be brought against
ministers with the learning and accomplishments of Ambrose Wille,
Marnier, Guy de Bray, or Francis Junius, the man whom Scaliger called the
"greatest of all theologians since the days of the apostles." An
aristocratic sarcasm could not be levelled against Peregrine de la
Grange, of a noble family in Provence, with the fiery blood of southern
France in his veins, brave as his nation, learned, eloquent,
enthusiastic, who galloped to his field-preaching on horseback, and fired
a pistol-shot as a signal for his congregation to give attention.

On the 28th of June, 1566, at eleven o'clock at night, there was an
assemblage of six thousand people near Tournay, at the bridge of
Ernonville, to hear a sermon from Ambrose Wille, a man who had studied
theology in Geneva, at the feet of Calvin, and who now, with a special
price upon his head,--was preaching the doctrines he had learned. Two
days afterwards, ten thousand people assembled at the same spot, to hear
Peregrine de la Grange. Governor Moulbais thundered forth a proclamation
from the citadel, warning all men that the edicts were as rigorous as
ever, and that every man, woman, or child who went to these preachings,
was incurring the penalty of death. The people became only the more
ardent and excited. Upon Sunday, the seventh of July; twenty thousand
persons assembled at the same bridge to hear Ambrose Wille. One man in
three was armed. Some had arquebuses, others pistols, pikes, swords,
pitchforks, poniards, clubs. The preacher, for whose apprehension a fresh
reward had been offered, was escorted to his pulpit by a hundred mounted
troopers. He begged his audience not to be scared from the word of God by
menace; assured them that although but a poor preacher himself, he held a
divine commission; that he had no fear of death; that, should he fall,
there were many better than he to supply his place, and fifty thousand
men to avenge his murder.

The Duchess sent forth proclamations by hundreds. She ordered the instant
suppression of these armed assemblies and the arrest of the preachers.
But of what avail were proclamations against such numbers with weapons in
their hands. Why irritate to madness these hordes of enthusiasts, who
were now entirely pacific, and who marched back to the city, after
conclusion of divine service, with perfect decorum? All classes of the
population went eagerly to the sermons. The gentry of the place, the rich
merchants, the notables, as well as the humbler artisans and laborers,
all had received the infection. The professors of the Reformed religion
outnumbered the Catholics by five or six to one. On Sundays and other
holidays, during the hours of service, Tournay was literally emptied of
its inhabitants. The streets were as silent as if war or pestilence had
swept the place. The Duchess sent orders, but she sent no troops. The
trained-bands of the city, the cross-bow-men of St. Maurice, the archers
of St. Sebastian, the sword-players of St. Christopher, could not be
ordered from Tournay to suppress the preaching, for they had all gone to
the preaching themselves. How idle, therefore; to send peremptory orders
without a matchlock to enforce the command.

Throughout Flanders similar scenes were enacted. The meetings were
encampments, for the Reformers now came to their religious services armed
to the teeth, determined, if banished from the churches, to defend their
right to the fields. Barricades of upturned wagons, branches, and planks,
were thrown up around the camps. Strong guards of mounted men were
stationed at every avenue. Outlying scouts gave notice of approaching
danger, and guided the faithful into the enclosure. Pedlers and hawkers
plied the trade upon which the penalty of death was fixed, and sold the
forbidden hymn-books to all who chose to purchase. A strange and
contradictory spectacle! An army of criminals doing deeds which could
only be expiated at the stake; an entrenched rebellion, bearding the
government with pike, matchlock, javelin and barricade, and all for no
more deadly purpose than to listen to the precepts of the pacific Jesus.

Thus the preaching spread through the Walloon provinces to the northern
Netherlands. Towards the end of July, an apostate monk, of singular
eloquence, Peter Gabriel by name, was announced to preach at Overeen near
Harlem. This was the first field-meeting which had taken place in
Holland. The people were wild with enthusiasm; the authorities beside
themselves with apprehension. People from the country flocked into the
town by thousands. The other cities were deserted, Harlem was filled to
overflowing. Multitudes encamped upon the ground the night before. The
magistrates ordered the gates to be kept closed in the morning till long
after the usual hour. It was of no avail. Bolts and bars were but small
impediments to enthusiasts who had travelled so many miles on foot or
horseback to listen to a sermon. They climbed the walls, swam the moat
and thronged to the place of meeting long before the doors had been
opened. When these could no longer be kept closed without a conflict, for
which the magistrates were not prepared, the whole population poured out
of the city with a single impulse. Tens of thousands were assembled upon
the field. The bulwarks were erected as usual, the guards were posted,
the necessary precautions taken. But upon this occasion, and in that
region there was but little danger to be apprehended. The multitude of
Reformers made the edicts impossible, so long as no foreign troops were
there to enforce them. The congregation was encamped and arranged in an
orderly manner. The women, of whom there were many, were placed next the
pulpit, which, upon this occasion, was formed of a couple of spears
thrust into the earth, sustaining a cross-piece, against which the
preacher might lean his back. The services commenced with the singing of
a psalm by the whole vast assemblage. Clement Marot's verses, recently
translated by Dathenus, were then new and popular. The strains of the
monarch minstrel, chanted thus in their homely but nervous mother tongue
by a multitude who had but recently learned that all the poetry and
rapture of devotion were not irrevocably coffined with a buried language,
or immured in the precincts of a church, had never produced a more
elevating effect. No anthem from the world-renowned organ in that ancient
city ever awakened more lofty emotions than did those ten thousand human
voices ringing from the grassy meadows in that fervid midsummer noon.
When all was silent again, the preacher rose; a little, meagre man, who
looked as if he might rather melt away beneath the blazing sunshine of
July, than hold the multitude enchained four uninterrupted hours long, by
the magic of his tongue. His text was the 8th, 9th, and 10th verses of
the second chapter of Ephesians; and as the slender monk spoke to his
simple audience of God's grace, and of faith in Jesus, who had descended
from above to save the lowliest and the most abandoned, if they would put
their trust in Him, his hearers were alternately exalted with fervor or
melted into tears. He prayed for all conditions of men--for themselves,
their friends, their enemies, for the government which had persecuted
them, for the King whose face was turned upon them in anger. At times,
according to one who was present, not a dry eye was to be seen in the
crowd. When the minister had finished, he left his congregation abruptly,
for he had to travel all night in order to reach Alkmaar, where he was to
preach upon the following day.

By the middle of July the custom was established outside all the
principal cities. Camp-meetings were held in some places; as, for
instance, in the neighborhood of Antwerp, where the congregations
numbered often fifteen thousand and on some occasions were estimated at
between twenty and thirty thousand persons at a time; "very many of
them," said an eye-witness, "the best and wealthiest in the town."

The sect to which most of these worshippers belonged was that of Calvin.
In Antwerp there were Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anabaptists. The
Lutherans were the richest sect, but the Calvinists the most numerous and
enthusiastic. The Prince of Orange at this moment was strenuously opposed
both to Calvinism and Anabaptism, but inclining to Lutheranism. Political
reasons at this epoch doubtless influenced his mind in religious matters.
The aid of the Lutheran princes of Germany, who detested the doctrines of
Geneva, could hardly be relied upon for the Netherlanders, unless they
would adapt the Confession of Augsburg. The Prince knew that the Emperor,
although inclined to the Reformation, was bitterly averse to Calvinism,
and he was, therefore, desirous of healing the schism which existed in
the general Reformed Church. To accomplish this, however, would be to
gain a greater victory over the bigotry which was the prevailing
characteristic of the age than perhaps could be expected. The Prince,
from the first moment of his abandoning the ancient doctrines, was
disposed to make the attempt.

The Duchess ordered the magistrates of Antwerp to put down these
mass-meetings by means of the guild-militia. They replied that at an
earlier day such a course might have been practicable, but that the sects
had become quite too numerous for coercion. If the authorities were able
to prevent the exercises of the Reformed religion within the city, it
would be as successful a result as could be expected. To prevent the
preaching outside the walls, by means of the bourgher force, was an utter
impossibility. The dilatoriness of the Sovereign placed the Regent in a
frightful dilemma, but it was sufficiently obvious that the struggle
could not long be deferred. "There will soon be a hard nut to crack,"
wrote Count Louis. "The King will never grant the preaching; the people
will never give it up, if it cost them their necks. There's a hard puff
coming upon the country before long." The Duchess was not yet authorized
to levy troops, and she feared that if she commenced such operations, she
should perhaps offend the King, while she at the same time might provoke
the people into more effective military preparations than her own. She
felt that for one company levied by her, the sectaries could raise ten.
Moreover, she was entirely without money, even if she should otherwise
think it expedient to enrol an army. Meantime she did what she could with
"public prayers, processions, fasts, sermons, exhortations," and other
ecclesiastical machinery which she ordered the bishops to put in motion.
Her situation was indeed sufficiently alarming.

Egmont, whom many of the sectaries hoped to secure as their leader in
case of a civil war, showed no disposition to encourage such hopes, but
as little to take up arms against the people. He went to Flanders, where
the armed assemblages for field-preaching had become so numerous that a
force of thirty or forty thousand men might be set on foot almost at a
moment's warning, and where the conservatives, in a state of alarm,
desired the presence of their renowned governor. The people of Antwerp,
on their part, demanded William of Orange. The Prince, who was hereditary
burgrave of the city, had at first declined the invitation of the
magistracy. The Duchess united her request with the universal prayer of
the inhabitants. Events meantime had been thickening, and suspicion
increasing. Meghen had been in the city for several days, much to the
disgust of the Reformers, by whom he was hated. Aremberg was expected to
join him, and it was rumored that measures were secretly in progress
under the auspices of these two leading cardinalists, for introducing a
garrison, together with great store of ammunition, into the city. On the
other hand, the "great beggar," Brederode, had taken up his quarters also
in Antwerp; had been daily entertaining a crowd of roystering nobles at
his hotel, previously to a second political demonstration, which will
soon be described, and was constantly parading the street, followed by a
swarm of adherents in the beggar livery. The sincere Reformers were made
nearly as uncomfortable by the presence of their avowed friends, as by
that of Meghen and Aremberg, and earnestly desired to be rid of them all.
Long and anxious were the ponderings of the magistrates upon all these
subjects. It was determined, at last, to send a fresh deputation to
Brussels, requesting the Regent to order the departure of Meghen,
Aremberg, and Brederode from Antwerp; remonstrating with her against any
plan she might be supposed to entertain of sending mercenary troops into
the city; pledging the word of the senate to keep the peace, meanwhile,
by their regular force; and above all, imploring her once more, in the
most urgent terms, to send thither the burgrave, as the only man who was
capable of saving the city from the calamities into which it was so
likely to fall.

The Prince of Orange being thus urgently besought, both by the government
of Antwerp, the inhabitants of that city, and by the Regent herself, at
last consented to make the visit so earnestly demanded. On the 13th July,
he arrived in Antwerp. The whole city was alive with enthusiasm. Half its
population seemed to have come forth from the gates to bid him welcome,
lining the road for miles. The gate through which he was to pass, the
ramparts, the roofs of the houses were packed close, with expectant and
eager faces. At least thirty thousand persons had assembled to welcome
their guest. A long cavalcade of eminent citizens had come as far as
Berghen to meet him and to escort him into the city. Brederode, attended
by some of the noble confederates, rode at the head of the procession. As
they encountered the Prince, a discharge of pistol-shots was fired by way
of salute, which was the signal for a deafening shout from the assembled
multitude. The crowd thronged about the Prince as he advanced, calling
him their preserver, their father, their only hope. Wild shouts of
welcome rose upon every side, as he rode through the town, mingled with
occasional vociferations of "long life to the beggars." These party cries
were instantly and sharply rebuked by Orange, who expressed, in
Brederode's presence, the determination that he would make men unlearn
that mischievous watchword. He had, moreover, little relish at that time
for the tumultuous demonstrations of attachment to his person, which were
too fervid to be censured, but too unseasonable to be approved. When the
crowd had at last been made to understand that their huzzas were
distasteful to the Prince, most of the multitude consented to disperse,
feeling, however, a relief from impending danger in the presence of the
man to whom they instinctively looked as their natural protector.

The senators had come forth in a body to receive the burgrave and escort
him to the hotel prepared for him. Arrived there, he lost no time in
opening the business which had brought him to Antwerp. He held at once a
long consultation with the upper branch of the government. Afterwards,
day after day, he honestly, arduously, sagaciously labored to restore the
public tranquillity. He held repeated deliberations with every separate
portion of the little commonwealth, the senate, the council of ancients,
the corporation of ward-masters, the deans of trades. Nor did he confine
his communication to these organized political bodies alone. He had
frequent interviews with the officers of the military associations, with
the foreign merchant companies, with the guilds of "Rhetoric." The
chambers of the "Violet" and the "Marigold" were not too frivolous or
fantastic to be consulted by one who knew human nature and the
constitution of Netherland society so well as did the Prince. Night and
day he labored with all classes of citizens to bring about a better
understanding, and to establish mutual confidence. At last by his efforts
tranquillity was restored. The broad-council having been assembled, it
was decided that the exercise of the Reformed religion should be excluded
from the city, but silently tolerated in the suburbs, while an armed
force was to be kept constantly in readiness to suppress all attempts at
insurrection. The Prince had desired, that twelve hundred men should be
enlisted and paid by the city, so that at least a small number of
disciplined troops might be ready at a moment's warning; but he found it
impossible to carry the point with the council. The magistrates were
willing to hold themselves responsible for the peace of the city, but
they would have no mercenaries.

Thus, during the remainder of July and the early part of August, was
William of Orange strenuously occupied in doing what should have been the
Regent's work. He was still regarded both by the Duchess and by the
Calvinist party--although having the sympathies of neither,--as the only
man in the Netherlands who could control the rising tide of a national
revolt. He took care, said his enemies, that his conduct at Antwerp
should have every appearance of loyalty; but they insinuated that he was
a traitor from the beginning, who was insidiously fomenting the troubles
which he appeared to rebuke. No one doubted his genius, and all felt or
affected admiration at its display upon this critical occasion. "The
Prince of Orange is doing very great and notable services at Antwerp to
the King and to the country," said Assonleville. "That seignior is very
skilful in managing great affairs." Margaret of Parma wrote letters to
him fixed with the warmest gratitude, expressions of approbation, and of
wishes that he could both remain in Antwerp and return to assist her in
Brussels. Philip, too, with his own pen, addressed him a letter, in which
implicit confidence in the Prince's character was avowed, all suspicion
on the part of the Sovereign indignantly repudiated, earnest thanks for
his acceptance of the Antwerp mission uttered, and a distinct refusal
given to the earnest request made by Orange to resign his offices. The
Prince read or listened to all this commendation, and valued it exactly
at its proper worth. He knew it to be pure grimace. He was no more
deceived by it than if he had read the letter sent by Margaret to Philip,
a few weeks later, in which she expressed herself as "thoroughly aware
that it was the intention of Orange to take advantage of the impending
tumults, for the purpose of conquering the provinces and of dividing the
whole territory among himself and friends." Nothing could be more utterly
false than so vile and ridiculous a statement.

The course of the Prince had hitherto been, and was still, both
consistent and loyal. He was proceeding step by step to place the monarch
in the wrong, but the only art which he was using, was to plant himself
more firmly upon the right. It was in the monarch's power to convoke the
assembly of the states-general, so loudly demanded by the whole nation,
to abolish the inquisition, to renounce persecution, to accept the great
fact of the Reformation. To do so he must have ceased to be Philip. To
have faltered in attempting to bring him into that path, the Prince must
have ceased to be William of Orange. Had he succeeded, there would have
been no treason and no Republic of Holland. His conduct at the outbreak
of the Antwerp troubles was firm and sagacious. Even had his duty
required him to put down the public preaching with peremptory violence,
he had been furnished with no means to accomplish the purpose. The
rebellion, if it were one, was already full-grown. It could not be taken
by the throat and strangled with one hand, however firm.

A report that the High Sheriff of Brabant was collecting troops by
command of government, in order to attack the Reformers at their
field-preachings, went far to undo the work already accomplished by the
Prince. The assemblages swelled again from ten or twelve thousand to
twenty-five thousand, the men all providing themselves more thoroughly
with weapons than before. Soon afterwards, the intemperate zeal of
another individual, armed to the teeth--not, however, like the martial
sheriff and his forces, with arquebus and javelin, but with the still
more deadly weapons of polemical theology,--was very near causing a
general outbreak. A peaceful and not very numerous congregation were
listening to one of their preachers in a field outside the town. Suddenly
an unknown individual in plain clothes and with a pragmatical demeanor,
interrupted the discourse by giving a flat contradiction to some of the
doctrines advanced. The minister replied by a rebuke, and a reiteration
of the disputed sentiment.--The stranger, evidently versed in
ecclesiastical matters, volubly and warmly responded. The preacher, a man
of humble condition and moderate abilities, made as good show of argument
as he could, but was evidently no match for his antagonist. He was soon
vanquished in the wordy warfare. Well he might be, for it appeared that
the stranger was no less a personage than Peter Rythovius, a doctor of
divinity, a distinguished pedant of Louvain, a relation of a bishop and
himself a Church dignitary. This learned professor, quite at home in his
subject, was easily triumphant, while the poor dissenter, more accustomed
to elevate the hearts of his hearers than to perplex their heads, sank
prostrate and breathless under the storm of texts, glosses, and hard
Hebrew roots with which he was soon overwhelmed. The professor's triumph
was, however, but short-lived, for the simple-minded congregation, who
loved their teacher, were enraged that he should be thus confounded.
Without more ado, therefore, they laid violent hands upon the Quixotic
knight-errant of the Church, and so cudgelled and belabored him bodily
that he might perhaps have lost his life in the encounter had he not been
protected by the more respectable portion of the assembly. These persons,
highly disapproving the whole proceeding, forcibly rescued him from the
assailants, and carried him off to town, where the news of the incident
at once created an uproar. Here he was thrown into prison as a disturber
of the peace, but in reality that he might be personally secure. The next
day the Prince of Orange, after administering to him a severe rebuke for
his ill-timed exhibition of pedantry, released him from confinement, and
had him conveyed out of the city. "This theologian;" wrote the Prince to
Duchess Margaret, "would have done better, methinks, to stay at home; for
I suppose he had no especial orders to perform this piece of work."

Thus, so long as this great statesman could remain in the metropolis, his
temperate firmness prevented the explosion which had so long been
expected. His own government of Holland and Zeland, too, especially
demanded his care. The field-preaching had spread in that region with
prodigious rapidity. Armed assemblages, utterly beyond the power of the
civil authorities, were taking place daily in the neighborhood of
Amsterdam. Yet the Duchess could not allow him to visit his government in
the north. If he could be spared from Antwerp for a day, it was necessary
that he should aid her in a fresh complication with the confederated
nobles in the very midst, therefore, of his Antwerp labors, he had been
obliged, by Margaret's orders, to meet a committee at Duffel. For in this
same eventful month of July a great meeting was held by the members of
the Compromise at St. Trond, in the bishopric of Liege. They came
together on the thirteenth of the month, and remained assembled till the
beginning of August. It was a wild, tumultuous convention, numbering some
fifteen hundred cavaliers, each with his esquires and armed attendants; a
larger and more important gathering than had yet been held. Brederode and
Count Louis were the chieftains of the assembly, which, as may be
supposed from its composition and numbers, was likely to be neither very
orderly in its demonstrations nor wholesome in its results. It was an
ill-timed movement. The convention was too large for deliberation, too
riotous to inspire confidence. The nobles quartered themselves every
where in the taverns and the farm-houses of the neighborhood, while large
numbers encamped upon the open fields. There was a constant din of
revelry and uproar, mingled with wordy warfare, and an occasional
crossing of swords. It seemed rather like a congress of ancient, savage
Batavians, assembled in Teutonic fashion to choose a king amid hoarse
shouting, deep drinking, and the clash of spear and shield, than a
meeting for a lofty and earnest purpose, by their civilized descendants.
A crowd of spectators, landlopers, mendicants, daily aggregated
themselves to the aristocratic assembly, joining, with natural unction,
in the incessant shout of "Vivent les gueux!" It was impossible that so
soon after their baptism the self-styled beggars should repudiate all
connection with the time-honored fraternity in which they had enrolled
themselves.

The confederates discussed--if an exchange of vociferations could be
called discussion--principally two points: whether, in case they obtained
the original objects of their petition, they should pause or move still
further onward; and whether they should insist upon receiving some pledge
from the government, that no vengeance should be taken upon them for
their previous proceedings. Upon both questions, there was much vehemence
of argument and great difference of opinion. They, moreover, took two
very rash and very grave resolutions--to guarantee the people against all
violence on account of their creeds, and to engage a force of German
soldiery, four thousand horse and forty companies of infantry by, "wart
geld" or retaining wages. It was evident that these gentlemen were
disposed to go fast and far. If they had been ready in the spring to
receive their baptism of wine, the "beggars" were now eager for the
baptism of blood. At the same time it must be observed that the levies
which they proposed, not to make, but to have at command, were purely for
defence. In case the King, as it was thought probable, should visit the
Netherlands with fire and sword, then there would be a nucleus of
resistance already formed.

Upon the 18th July, the Prince of Orange, at the earnest request of the
Regent, met a committee of the confederated nobles at Duffel. Count
Egmont was associated with him in this duty. The conference was not very
satisfactory. The deputies from St. Trend, consisting of Brederode,
Culemburg, and others, exchanged with the two seigniors the old
arguments. It was urged upon the confederates, that they had made
themselves responsible for the public tranquillity so long as the Regent
should hold to her promise; that, as the Duchess had sent two
distinguished envoys to Madrid, in order to accomplish, if possible, the
wishes of the nobles, it was their duty to redeem their own pledges; that
armed assemblages ought to be suppressed by their efforts rather than
encouraged by their, example; and that, if they now exerted themselves
zealously to check, the tumults, the Duchess was ready to declare, in her
own-name and that of his Majesty, that the presentation of the Request
had been beneficial.

The nobles replied that the pledges had become a farce, that the Regent
was playing them false, that persecution was as fierce as ever, that the
"Moderation" was a mockery, that the letters recommending "modesty and
discretion" to the inquisitors had been mere waste paper, that a price
had been set upon the heads of the preachers as if they had been wild
beasts, that there were constant threats of invasions from Spain, that
the convocation of the states-general had been illegally deferred, that
the people had been driven to despair, and that it was the conduct of
government, not of the confederates, which had caused the Reformers to
throw off previous restraint and to come boldly forth by tens of
thousands into the fields, not to defy their King, but to worship their
God.

Such, in brief, was the conference of Duffel. In conclusion, a paper was
drawn up which Brederode carried back to the convention, and which it was
proposed to submit to the Duchess for her approval. At the end of the
month, Louis of Nassau was accordingly sent to Brussels, accompanied by
twelve associates, who were familiarly called his twelve apostles. Here
he laid before her Highness in council a statement, embodying the views
of the confederates. In this paper they asserted that they were ever
ready to mount and ride against a foreign foe, but that they would never
draw a sword against their innocent countrymen. They maintained that
their past conduct deserved commendation, and that in requiring letters
of safe conduct in the names both of the Duchess and of the
Fleece-knights, they were governed not by a disposition to ask for
pardon, but by a reluctance without such guarantees to enter into
stipulations touching the public tranquillity. If, however, they should
be assured that the intentions of the Regent were amicable and that there
was no design to take vengeance for the past--if, moreover, she were
willing to confide in the counsels of Horn, Egmont, and Orange, and to
take no important measure without their concurrence--if, above all, she
would convoke the states-general, then, and then only, were the
confederates willing to exert their energies to preserve peace, to
restrain popular impetuosity and banish universal despair.

So far Louis of Nassau and his twelve apostles. It must be confessed
that, whatever might be thought of the justice, there could be but one
opinion as to the boldness of these views. The Duchess was furious. If
the language held in April had been considered audacious, certainly this
new request was, in her own words, "still more bitter to the taste and
more difficult of digestion." She therefore answered in a very
unsatisfactory, haughty and ambiguous manner, reserving decision upon
their propositions till they had been discussed by the state council, and
intimating that they would also be laid before the Knights of the Fleece,
who were to hold a meeting upon the 26th of August.

There was some further conversation without any result. Esquerdes
complained that the confederates were the mark of constant calumny, and
demanded that the slanderers should be confronted with them and punished.
"I understand perfectly well," interrupted Margaret, "you wish to take
justice into your own hands and to be King yourself." It was further
intimated by these reckless gentlemen, that if they should be driven by
violence into measures of self-protection, they had already secured
friends in a certain country. The Duchess, probably astonished at the
frankness of this statement, is said to have demanded further
explanations. The confederates replied by observing that they had
resources both in the provinces and in Germany. The state council decided
that to accept the propositions of the confederates would be to establish
a triumvirate at once, and the Duchess wrote to her brother distinctly
advising against the acceptance of the proposal. The assembly at St.
Trond was then dissolved, having made violent demonstrations which were
not followed by beneficial results, and having laid itself open to
various suspicions, most of which were ill-founded, while some of them
were just.

Before giving the reader a brief account of the open and the secret
policy pursued by the government at Brussels and Madrid, in consequence
of these transactions, it is now necessary to allude to a startling
series of events, which at this point added to the complications of the
times, and exercised a fatal influence upon the situation of the
commonwealth.



1566 [CHAPTER VII.]

   Ecclesiastical architecture in the Netherlands--The image-breaking--
   Description of Antwerp Cathedral--Ceremony of the Ommegang--
   Precursory disturbances--Iconoclasts at Antwerp--Incidents of the
   image--breaking in various cities--Events at Tournay--Preaching of
   Wille--Disturbance by a little boy--Churches sacked at Tournay--
   Disinterment of Duke Adolphus of Gueldres--Iconoclasts defeated and
   massacred at Anchin--Bartholomew's Day at Valenciennes--General
   characteristics of the image-breaking--Testimony of contemporaries
   as to the honesty of the rioters--Consternation of the Duchess--
   Projected flight to Mons--Advice of Horn and other seigniors--
   Accord of 25th August.

The Netherlands possessed an extraordinary number of churches and
monasteries. Their exquisite architecture and elaborate decoration had
been the earliest indication of intellectual culture displayed in the
country. In the vast number of cities, towns, and villages which were
crowded upon that narrow territory, there had been, from circumstances
operating throughout Christendom, a great accumulation of ecclesiastical
wealth. The same causes can never exist again which at an early day
covered the soil of Europe with those magnificent creations of Christian
art. It was in these anonymous but entirely original achievements that
Gothic genius; awaking from its long sleep of the dark ages, first
expressed itself. The early poetry of the German races was hewn and
chiselled in atone. Around the steadfast principle of devotion then so
firmly rooted in the soil, clustered the graceful and vigorous emanations
of the newly-awakened mind. All that science could invent, all that art
could embody, all that mechanical ingenuity could dare, all that wealth
could lavish, whatever there was of human energy which was panting for
pacific utterance, wherever there stirred the vital principle which
instinctively strove to create and to adorn at an epoch when vulgar
violence and destructiveness were the general tendencies of humanity, all
gathered around these magnificent temples, as their aspiring pinnacles at
last pierced the mist which had so long brooded over the world.

There were many hundreds of churches, more or less remarkable, in the
Netherlands. Although a severe criticism might regret to find in these
particular productions of the great Germanic school a development of that
practical tendency which distinguished the Batavian and Flemish
branches,--although it might recognize a departure from that mystic
principle which, in its efforts to symbolize the strivings of humanity
towards the infinite object of worship above, had somewhat disregarded
the wants of the worshippers below,--although the spaces might be too
wide and the intercolumniations too empty, except for the convenience of
congregations; yet there were, nevertheless, many ecclesiastical
masterpieces, which could be regarded as very brilliant manifestations of
the Batavian and Belgic mind during the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Many were filled with paintings from a school which had
precedence in time and merit over its sister nurseries of art in Germany.
All were peopled with statues. All were filled with profusely-adorned
chapels, for the churches had been enriched generation after generation
by wealthy penitence, which had thus purchased absolution for crime and
smoothed a pathway to heaven.

And now, for the space of only six or seven summer days and nights, there
raged a storm by which all these treasures were destroyed. Nearly every
one of these temples was entirely rifled of its contents; not for the
purpose of plunder, but of destruction. Hardly a province or a town
escaped. Art must forever weep over this bereavement; Humanity must
regret that the reforming is thus always ready to degenerate into the
destructive principle; but it is impossible to censure very severely the
spirit which prompted the brutal, but not ferocious deed. Those statues,
associated as they were with the remorseless persecution which had so
long desolated the provinces, had ceased to be images. They had grown
human and hateful, so that the people arose and devoted them to
indiscriminate massacre.

No doubt the iconoclastic fury is to be regretted; for such treasures can
scarcely be renewed. The age for building and decorating great cathedrals
is past. Certainly, our own age, practical and benevolent, if less
poetical, should occupy itself with the present, and project itself into
the future. It should render glory to God rather by causing wealth to
fertilize the lowest valleys of humanity, than by rearing gorgeous
temples where paupers are to kneel. To clothe the naked, redeem the
criminal, feed the hungry, less by alms and homilies than by preventive
institutions and beneficent legislation; above all, by the diffusion of
national education, to lift a race upon a level of culture hardly
attained by a class in earlier times, is as lofty a task as to accumulate
piles of ecclesiastical splendor.

It would be tedious to recount in detail the events which characterized
the remarkable image-breaking in the Netherlands. As Antwerp was the
central point in these transactions, and as there was more wealth and
magnificence in the great cathedral of that city than in any church of
northern Europe, it is necessary to give a rapid outline of the events
which occurred there. From its exhibition in that place the spirit every
where will best be shown.

The Church of Our Lady, which Philip had so recently converted into a
cathedral, dated from the year 1124, although it may be more fairly
considered a work of the fourteenth century. Its college of canons had
been founded in another locality by Godfrey of Bouillon. The Brabantine
hero, who so romantically incarnates the religious poetry of his age, who
first mounted the walls of redeemed Jerusalem, and was its first
Christian monarch, but who refused to accept a golden diadem on the spot
where the Saviour had been crowned with thorns; the Fleming who lived and
was the epic which the great Italian, centuries afterwards; translated
into immortal verse, is thus fitly associated with the beautiful
architectural poem which was to grace his ancestral realms. The body of
the church, the interior and graceful perspectives of which were not
liable to the reproach brought against many Netherland churches, of
assimilating themselves already to the municipal palaces which they were
to suggest--was completed in the fourteenth century. The beautiful
facade, with its tower, was not completed till the year 1518. The
exquisite and daring spire, the gigantic stem upon which the consummate
flower of this architectural creation was to be at last unfolded, was a
plant of a whole century's growth. Rising to a height of nearly five
hundred feet, over a church of as many feet in length, it worthily
represented the upward tendency of Gothic architecture. Externally and
internally the cathedral was a true expression of the Christian principle
of devotion. Amid its vast accumulation of imagery, its endless
ornaments, its multiplicity of episodes, its infinite variety of details,
the central, maternal principle was ever visible. Every thing pointed
upwards, from the spire in the clouds to the arch which enshrined the
smallest sculptured saint in the chapels below. It was a sanctuary, not
like pagan temples, to enclose a visible deity, but an edifice where
mortals might worship an unseen Being in the realms above.

The church, placed in the centre of the city, with the noisy streets of
the busiest metropolis in Europe eddying around its walls, was a sacred
island in the tumultuous main. Through the perpetual twilight, tall
columnar trunks in thick profusion grew from a floor chequered with
prismatic lights and sepulchral shadows. Each shaft of the petrified
forest rose to a preternatural height, their many branches intermingling
in the space above, to form an impenetrable canopy. Foliage, flowers and
fruit of colossal luxuriance, strange birds, beasts, griffins and
chimeras in endless multitudes, the rank vegetation and the fantastic
zoology of a fresher or fabulous world, seemed to decorate and to animate
the serried trunks and pendant branches, while the shattering symphonies
or dying murmurs of the organ suggested the rushing of the wind through
the forest, now the full diapason of the storm and now the gentle cadence
of the evening breeze.

Internally, the whole church was rich beyond expression. All that opulent
devotion and inventive ingenuity could devise, in wood, bronze, marble,
silver, gold, precious jewelry, or blazing sacramental furniture, had
been profusely lavished. The penitential tears of centuries had incrusted
the whole interior with their glittering stalactites. Divided into five
naves, with external rows of chapels, but separated by no screens or
partitions, the great temple forming an imposing whole, the effect was
the more impressive, the vistas almost infinite in appearance. The
wealthy citizens, the twenty-seven guilds, the six military associations,
the rhythmical colleges, besides many other secular or religious
sodalities, had each their own chapels and altars. Tombs adorned with the
effigies of mailed crusaders and pious dames covered the floor, tattered
banners hung in the air, the escutcheons of the Golden Fleece, an order
typical of Flemish industry, but of which Emperors and Kings were proud
to be the chevaliers, decorated the columns. The vast and
beautifully-painted windows glowed with scriptural scenes, antique
portraits, homely allegories, painted in those brilliant and forgotten
colors which Art has not ceased to deplore. The daylight melting into
gloom or colored with fantastic brilliancy, priests in effulgent robes
chanting in unknown language, the sublime breathing of choral music, the
suffocating odors of myrrh and spikenard, suggestive of the oriental
scenery and imagery of Holy Writ, all combined to bewilder and exalt the
senses. The highest and humblest seemed to find themselves upon the same
level within those sacred precincts, where even the bloodstained criminal
was secure, and the arm of secular justice was paralyzed.

But the work of degeneration had commenced. The atmosphere of the
cathedral was no longer holy in the eyes of increasing multitudes. Better
the sanguinary rites of Belgic Druids, better the yell of slaughtered
victims from the "wild wood without mercy" of the pagan forefathers of
the nation, than this fantastic intermingling of divine music, glowing
colors, gorgeous ceremonies, with all the burning, beheading and
strangling work which had characterized the system of human sacrifice for
the past half-century.

Such was the church of Notre Dame at Antwerp. Thus indifferent or hostile
towards the architectural treasure were the inhabitants of a city, where
in a previous age the whole population would have risked their lives to
defend what they esteemed the pride and garland of their metropolis.

The Prince of Orange had been anxiously solicited by the Regent to attend
the conference at Duffel. After returning to Antwerp, he consented, in
consequence of the urgent entreaties of the senate, to delay his
departure until the 18th of August should be past. On the 13th of that
month he had agreed with the magistrates upon an ordinance, which was
accordingly published, and by which the preachings were restricted to the
fields. A deputation of merchants and others waited upon him with a
request to be permitted the exercises of the Reformed religion in the
city. This petition the Prince peremptorily refused, and the deputies, as
well as their constituents, acquiesced in the decision, "out of especial
regard and respect for his person." He, however, distinctly informed the
Duchess that it would be difficult or impossible to maintain such a
position long, and that his departure from the city would probably be
followed by an outbreak. He warned her that it was very imprudent for him
to leave Antwerp at that particular juncture. Nevertheless, the meeting
of the Fleece-knights seemed, in Margaret's opinion, imperatively to
require his presence in Brussels. She insisted by repeated letters that
he should leave Antwerp immediately.

Upon the 18th August, the great and time-honored ceremony of the Ommegang
occurred. Accordingly, the great procession, the principal object of
which was to conduct around the city a colossal image of the Virgin,
issued as usual from the door of the cathedral. The image, bedizened and
effulgent, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of her adorers, followed by
the guilds, the military associations, the rhetoricians, the religious
sodalities, all in glittering costume, bearing blazoned banners, and
marching triumphantly through the streets with sound of trumpet and beat
of drum. The pageant, solemn but noisy, was exactly such a show as was
most fitted at that moment to irritate Protestant minds and to lead to
mischief. No violent explosion of ill-feeling, however, took place. The
procession was followed by a rabble rout of scoffers, but they confined
themselves to words and insulting gestures. The image was incessantly
saluted, as she was borne along--the streets, with sneers, imprecations,
and the rudest, ribaldry. "Mayken! Mayken!" (little Mary) "your hour is
come. 'Tis your last promenade. The city is tired of you." Such were the
greetings which the representative of the Holy Virgin received from men
grown weary of antiquated mummery. A few missiles were thrown
occasionally at the procession as it passed through the city, but no
damage was inflicted. When the image was at last restored to its place,
and the pageant brought to a somewhat hurried conclusion, there seemed
cause for congratulation that no tumult had occurred.

On the following morning there was a large crowd collected in front of
the cathedral. The image, instead of standing in the centre of the
church, where, upon all former occasions, it had been accustomed during
the week succeeding the ceremony to receive congratulatory, visits, was
now ignominiously placed behind an iron railing within the choir. It had
been deemed imprudent to leave it exposed to sacrilegious hands. The
precaution excited derision. Many vagabonds of dangerous appearance, many
idle apprentices and ragged urchins were hanging for a long time about
the imprisoned image, peeping through the railings, and indulging in many
a brutal jest. "Mayken! Mayken!" they cried; "art thou terrified so soon?
Hast flown to thy nest so early? Dost think thyself beyond the reach of
mischief? Beware, Mayken! thine hour is fast approaching!" Others
thronged around the balustrade, shouting "Vivent les gueux!" and hoarsely
commanding the image to join in the beggars' cry. Then, leaving the spot,
the mob roamed idly about the magnificent church, sneering at the idols,
execrating the gorgeous ornaments, scoffing at crucifix and altar.

Presently one of the rabble, a ragged fellow of mechanical aspect, in a
tattered black doublet and an old straw hat, ascended the pulpit. Opening
a sacred volume which he found there, he began to deliver an
extemporaneous and coarse caricature of a monkish sermon. Some of the
bystanders applauded, some cried shame, some shouted "long live the
beggars!" some threw sticks and rubbish at the mountebank, some caught
him by the legs and strove to pull him from the place. He, on the other
hand, manfully maintained his ground, hurling back every missile,
struggling with his assailants, and continuing the while to pour forth a
malignant and obscene discourse. At last a young sailor, warm in the
Catholic Faith, and impulsive as mariners are prone to be, ascended the
pulpit from behind, sprang upon the mechanic, and flung him headlong down
the steps. The preacher grappled with his enemy as he fell, and both came
rolling to the ground. Neither was much injured, but a tumult ensued. A
pistol-shot was fired, and the sailor wounded in the arm. Daggers were
drawn, cudgels brandished, the bystanders taking part generally against
the sailor, while those who protected him were somewhat bruised and
belabored before they could convey him out of the church. Nothing more,
however, transpired that day, and the keepers of the cathedral were
enabled to expel the crowd and to close the doors for the night.

Information of this tumult was brought to the senate, then assembled in
the Hotel de Ville. That body was thrown into a state of great
perturbation. In losing the Prince of Orange, they seemed to have lost
their own brains, and the first measure which they took was to despatch a
messenger to implore his return. In the mean time, it was necessary that
they should do something for themselves. It was evident that a storm was
brewing. The pest which was sweeping so rapidly through the provinces
would soon be among them. Symptoms of the dreaded visitation were already
but too manifest. What precaution should: they take? Should they issue a
proclamation? Such documents had been too common of late, and had lost
their virtue. It was the time not to assert but to exercise authority.
Should they summon the ward-masters, and order the instant arming and
mustering of their respective companies? Should they assemble the
captains of the Military associations? Nothing better could have been
desired than such measures in cases of invasion or of ordinary tumult,
but who should say how deeply the poison had sunk into the body politic;
who should say with how much or how little alacrity the burgher militia
would obey the mandates of the magistracy? It would be better to issue no
proclamation unless they could enforce its provisions; it would be better
not to call out the citizen soldiery unless they were likely to prove
obedient. Should mercenary troops at this late hour be sent for? Would
not their appearance at this crisis rather inflame the rage than
intimidate the insolence of the sectaries? Never were magistrates in
greater perplexity. They knew not what course was likely to prove the
safest, and in their anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did
nothing at all. After a long and anxious consultation, the honest
burgomaster and his associates all went home to their beds, hoping that
the threatening flame of civil tumult would die out of itself, or perhaps
that their dreams would supply them with that wisdom which seemed denied
to their waking hours.

In the morning, as it was known that no precaution had been taken, the
audacity of the Reformers was naturally increased. Within the cathedral a
great crowd was at an early hour collected, whose savage looks and ragged
appearance denoted that the day and night were not likely to pass away so
peacefully as the last. The same taunts and imprecations were hurled at
the image of the Virgin; the same howling of the beggars' cry resounded
through the lofty arches. For a few hours, no act of violence was
committed, but the crowd increased. A few trifles, drifting, as usual,
before the event, seemed to indicate the approaching convulsion. A very
paltry old woman excited the image-breaking of Antwerp. She had for years
been accustomed to sit before the door of the cathedral with wax-tapers
and wafers, earning scanty subsistence from the profits of her meagre
trade, and by the small coins which she sometimes received in charity.
Some of the rabble began to chaffer with this ancient hucksteress. They
scoffed at her consecrated wares; they bandied with her ribald jests, of
which her public position had furnished her with a supply; they assured
her that the hour had come when her idolatrous traffic was to be forever
terminated, when she and her patroness, Mary, were to be given over to
destruction together. The old woman, enraged, answered threat with
threat, and gibe with gibe. Passing from words to deeds, she began to
catch from the ground every offensive missile or weapon which she could
find, and to lay about her in all directions. Her tormentors defended
themselves as they could. Having destroyed her whole stock-in-trade, they
provoked others to appear in her defence. The passers-by thronged to the
scene; the cathedral was soon filled to overflowing; a furious tumult was
already in progress.

Many persons fled in alarm to the town-house, carrying information of
this outbreak to the magistrates. John Van Immerzeel, Margrava of
Antwerp, was then holding communication with the senate, and awaiting the
arrival of the ward-masters, whom it had at last been thought expedient
to summon. Upon intelligence of this riot, which the militia, if
previously mustered, might have prevented, the senate determined to
proceed to the cathedral in a body, with the hope of quelling the mob by
the dignity of their presence. The margrave, who was the high executive
officer of the little commonwealth, marched down to the cathedral
accordingly, attended by the two burgomasters and all the senators. At
first their authority, solicitations, and personal influence, produced a
good effect. Some of those outside consented to retire, and the tumult
partially subsided within. As night, however, was fast approaching, many
of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening mass. They were informed
that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could
certainly dispense with their vespers.

Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral, it
was suggested to the senators that if, they should lead the way, the
populace would follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes. The
excellent magistrates took the advice, not caring, perhaps, to fulfil any
longer the dangerous but not dignified functions of police officers.
Before departing, they adopted the precaution of closing all the doors of
the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble still remaining
might have an opportunity to depart. It seemed not to occur to the
senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for
those without as an egress for those within. That unlooked-for event
happened, however. No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble
burst through the single door which had been left open, overpowered the
margrave, who, with a few attendants, had remained behind, vainly
endeavoring by threats and exhortations to appease the tumult, drove him
ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals wide open.
Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea. The whole of the cathedral
was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief. The
wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure a
few of its most precious possessions, retired. They carried the news to
the senators, who, accompanied by a few halberdmen, again ventured to
approach the spot. It was but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the
furious sounds which came from within the church, as if subterranean and
invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no human power could
withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene. Fearing
that the next attack would be upon the town-house, they hastened to
concentrate at that point their available forces, and left the stately
cathedral to its fate.

And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of
the church, the work of destruction commenced. Instead of evening mass
rose the fierce music of a psalm, yelled by a thousand angry voices. It
seemed the preconcerted signal for a general attack. A band of marauders
flew upon the image of the Virgin, dragged it forth from its receptacle,
plunged daggers into its inanimate body, tore off its jewelled and
embroidered garments, broke the whole figure into a thousand pieces, and
scattered the fragments along the floor. A wild shout succeeded, and then
the work which seemed delegated to a comparatively small number of the
assembled crowd, went on with incredible celerity. Some were armed with
axes, some with bludgeons, some with sledge-hammers; others brought
ladders, pulleys, ropes, and levers. Every statue was hurled from its
niche, every picture torn from the wall, every wonderfully-painted window
shivered to atoms, every ancient monument shattered, every sculptured
decoration, however inaccessible in appearance, hurled to the ground.
Indefatigably, audaciously,--endowed, as it seemed, with preternatural
strength and nimbleness, these furious iconoclasts clambered up the dizzy
heights, shrieking and chattering like malignant apes, as they tore off
in triumph the slowly-matured fruit of centuries. In a space of time
wonderfully brief, they had accomplished their task.

A colossal and magnificent group of the Saviour crucified between two
thieves adorned the principal altar. The statue of Christ was wrenched
from its place with ropes and pulleys, while the malefactors, with bitter
and blasphemous irony, were left on high, the only representatives of the
marble crowd which had been destroyed. A very beautiful piece of
architecture decorated the choir,--the "repository," as it was called, in
which the body of Christ was figuratively enshrined. This much-admired
work rested upon a single column, but rose, arch upon arch, pillar upon
pillar, to the height of three hundred feet, till quite lost in the vault
above. "It was now shattered into a million pieces." The statues, images,
pictures, ornaments, as they lay upon the ground, were broken with
sledge-hammers, hewn with axes, trampled, torn; and beaten into shreds. A
troop of harlots, snatching waxen tapers from the altars, stood around
the destroyers and lighted them at their work. Nothing escaped their
omnivorous rage. They desecrated seventy chapels, forced open all the
chests of treasure, covered their own squalid attire with the gorgeous
robes of the ecclesiastics, broke the sacred bread, poured out the
sacramental wine into golden chalices, quaffing huge draughts to the
beggars' health; burned all the splendid missals and manuscripts, and
smeared their shoes with the sacred oil, with which kings and prelates
had been anointed. It seemed that each of these malicious creatures must
have been endowed with the strength of a hundred giants. How else, in the
few brief hours of a midsummer night, could such a monstrous desecration
have been accomplished by a troop which, according to all accounts, was
not more than one hundred in number. There was a multitude of spectators,
as upon all such occasions, but the actual spoilers were very few.

The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck, but the
fury of the spoilers was excited, not appeased. Each seizing a burning
torch, the whole herd rushed from the cathedral, and swept howling
through the streets. "Long live the beggars!" resounded through the
sultry midnight air, as the ravenous pack flew to and fro, smiting every
image of the Virgin, every crucifix, every sculptured saint, every
Catholic symbol which they met with upon their path. All night long, they
roamed from one sacred edifice to another, thoroughly destroying as they
went. Before morning they had sacked thirty churches within the city
walls. They entered the monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries,
destroyed their altars, statues, pictures, and descending into the
cellars, broached every cask which they found there, pouring out in one
great flood all the ancient wine and ale with which those holy men had
been wont to solace their retirement from generation to generation. They
invaded the nunneries, whence the occupants, panic-stricken, fled for
refuge to the houses of their friends and kindred. The streets were
filled with monks and nuns, running this way and that, shrieking and
fluttering, to escape the claws of these fiendish Calvinists. The terror
was imaginary, for not the least remarkable feature in these transactions
was, that neither insult nor injury was offered to man or woman, and that
not a farthing's value of the immense amount of property destroyed, was
appropriated. It was a war not against the living, but against graven
images, nor was the sentiment which prompted the onslaught in the least
commingled with a desire of plunder. The principal citizens of Antwerp,
expecting every instant that the storm would be diverted from the
ecclesiastical edifices to private dwellings, and that robbery, rape, and
murder would follow sacrilege, remained all night expecting the attack,
and prepared to defend their hearths, even if the altars were profaned.
The precaution was needless. It was asserted by the Catholics that the
confederates and other opulent Protestants had organized this company of
profligates for the meagre pittance of ten stivers day. On the other
hand, it was believed by many that the Catholics had themselves plotted
the whole outrage in order to bring odium upon the Reformers. Both
statements were equally unfounded. The task was most thoroughly
performed, but it was prompted: by a furious fanaticism, not by baser
motives.

Two days and nights longer the havoc raged unchecked through all the
churches of Antwerp and the neighboring villages. Hardly a statue or
picture escaped destruction. Fortunately, the illustrious artist, whose
labors were destined in the next generation to enrich and ennoble the
city, Rubens, most profound of colorists, most dramatic--of artists;
whose profuse tropical genius seemed to flower the more luxuriantly, as
if the destruction wrought by brutal hands were to be compensated by the
creative energy of one, divine spirit, had not yet been born. Of the
treasures which existed the destruction was complete. Yet the rage was
directed exclusively against stocks and stones. Not a man was wounded nor
a woman outraged. Prisoners, indeed, who had been languishing hopelessly
in dungeons were liberated. A monk, who had been in the prison of the
Barefoot Monastery, for twelve years, recovered his freedom. Art was
trampled in the dust, but humanity deplored no victims.

These leading features characterized the movement every where. The
process was simultaneous and almost universal. It was difficult to say
where it began and where it ended. A few days in the midst of August
sufficed for the whole work. The number of churches desecrated has never
been counted. In the single province of Flanders, four hundred were
sacked. In Limburg, Luxemburg, and Namur, there was no image-breaking. In
Mechlin, seventy or eighty persons accomplished the work thoroughly, in
the very teeth of the grand council, and of an astonished magistracy.

In Tournay, a city distinguished for its ecclesiastical splendor, the
reform had been making great progress during the summer. At the same time
the hatred between the two religions had been growing more and more
intense. Trifles and serious matters alike fed the mutual animosity.

A tremendous outbreak had been nearly occasioned by an insignificant
incident. A Jesuit of some notoriety had been preaching a glowing
discourse in the pulpit of Notre Dane. He earnestly avowed his wish that
he were good enough to die for all his hearers. He proved to
demonstration that no man should shrink from torture or martyrdom in
order to sustain the ancient faith. As he was thus expatiating, his
fervid discourse was suddenly interrupted by three sharp, sudden blows,
of a very peculiar character, struck upon the great portal of the Church.
The priest, forgetting his love for martyrdom, turned pale and dropped
under the pulpit. Hurrying down the steps, he took refuge in the vestry,
locking and barring the door. The congregation shared in his panic: "The
beggars are coming," was the general cry. There was a horrible tumult,
which extended through the city as the congregation poured precipitately
out of the Cathedral, to escape a band of destroying and furious
Calvinists. Yet when the shock had a little subsided, it was discovered
that a small urchin was the cause of the whole tumult. Having been
bathing in the Scheldt, he had returned by way of the church with a
couple of bladders under his arm. He had struck these against the door of
the Cathedral, partly to dry them, partly from a love of mischief. Thus a
great uproar, in the course of which it had been feared that Toumay was
to be sacked and drenched in blood, had been caused by a little wanton
boy who had been swimming on bladders.

This comedy preceded by a few days only the actual disaster. On the 22d
of August the news reached Tournay that the churches in Antwerp, Ghent,
and many other places, had been sacked. There was an instantaneous
movement towards imitating the example on the same evening. Pasquier de
la Barre, procureur-general of the city, succeeded by much entreaty in
tranquillizing the people for the night. The "guard of terror" was set,
and hopes were entertained that the storm might blow over. The
expectation, was vain. At daybreak next day, the mob swept upon the
churches and stripped them to the very walls. Pictures, statues; organs,
ornaments, chalices of silver and gold, reliquaries, albs, chasubles,
copes, ciboriea, crosses, chandeliers, lamps; censers, all of richest
material, glittering with pearls, rubies, and other precious stones, were
scattered in heaps of ruin upon the ground.

As the Spoilers burrowed among the ancient tombs, they performed, in one
or two instances, acts of startling posthumous justice. The embalmed body
of Duke Adolphus of Gueldres, last of the Egmonts, who had reigned in
that province, was dragged from its sepulchre and recognized. Although it
had been there for ninety years, it was as uncorrupted, "Owing to the
excellent spices which had preserved it from decay," as upon the day of
burial. Thrown upon the marble floor of the church, it lay several days
exposed to the execrations of the multitude. The Duke had committed a
crime against his father, in consequence of which the province which had
been ruled by native races, had passed under the dominion of Charles the
Bold. Weary of waiting for the old Duke's inheritance, he had risen
against him in open rebellion. Dragging him from his bed at midnight in
the depth of winter, he had compelled the old man, with no covering but
his night gear, to walk with naked feet twenty-five miles over ice and
snow from Grave to Buren, while he himself performed the same journey in
his company on horseback. He had then thrown him into a dungeon beneath
the tower of Buren castle, and kept him a close prisoner for six months.

   [Memoires de Philippe de Comines (Loud. et Paris, 1747), liv. iv.
   194-196. In the Royal Gallery at Berlin is a startling picture by
   Rembrandt, in which the old Duke is represented looking out of the
   bars of his dungeon at his son, who is threatening him with uplifted
   hand and savage face. No subject could be imagined better adapted
   to the gloomy and sarcastic genius of that painter.]

At last, the Duke of Burgundy summoned the two before his council, and
proposed that Adolphus should allow his father 6000 florins annually,
with the title of Duke till his death. "He told us," said Comines, "that
he would sooner throw the old man head-foremost down a well and jump in
himself afterwards. His father had been Duke forty-four years, and it was
time for him to retire." Adolphus being thus intractable, had been kept
in prison till after the death of Charles the Bold. To the memorable
insurrection of Ghent, in the time of the Lady Mary, he owed his liberty.
The insurgent citizens took him from prison, and caused him to lead them
in their foray against Tournay. Beneath the walls of that city he was
slain, and buried under its cathedral. And now as if his offence had not
been sufficiently atoned for by the loss of his ancestral honors, his
captivity, and his death, the earth, after the lapse of nearly a century,
had cast him forth from her bosom. There, once more beneath the sunlight,
amid a ribald crew of a later generation which had still preserved the
memory of his sin, lay the body of the more than parricide, whom
"excellent spices" had thus preserved from corruption, only to be the
mark of scorn and demoniac laughter.

A large assemblage of rioters, growing in numbers as they advanced, swept
over the province of Tournay, after accomplishing the sack of the city
churches. Armed with halberds, hammers, and pitchforks, they carried on
the war, day after day, against the images. At the convent of
Marchiennes, considered by contemporaries the most beautiful abbey in all
the Netherlands, they halted to sing the ten commandments in Marot's
verse. Hardly had the vast chorus finished the precept against graven
images;

          Taiiler ne to feras imaige
          De quelque chose que ce soit,
          Sy bonneur luy fail on hommaige,
          Bon Dieu jalousie en recoit,

when the whole mob seemed seized with sudden madness. Without waiting to
complete the Psalm, they fastened upon the company of marble martyrs, as
if they had possessed sensibility to feel the blows inflicted. In an hour
they had laid the whole in ruins.

Having accomplished this deed, they swept on towards Anchin. Here,
however, they were confronted by the Seigneur de la Tour, who, at the
head of a small company of peasants, attacked the marauders and gained a
complete victory. Five or six hundred of them were slain, others were
drowned in the river and adjacent swamps, the rest were dispersed. It was
thus proved that a little more spirit upon the part of the orderly
portion of the inhabitants, might have brought about a different result
than the universal image-breaking.

In Valenciennes, "the tragedy," as an eye-witness calls it, was performed
upon Saint Bartholomew's day. It was, however, only a tragedy of statues.
Hardly as many senseless stones were victims as there were to be living
Huguenots sacrificed in a single city upon a Bartholomew which was fast
approaching. In the Valenciennes massacre, not a human being was injured.

Such in general outline and in certain individual details, was the
celebrated iconomachy of the Netherlands. The movement was a sudden
explosion of popular revenge against the symbols of that Church from
which the Reformers had been enduring such terrible persecution. It was
also an expression of the general sympathy for the doctrines which had
taken possession of the national heart. It was the depravation of that
instinct which had in the beginning of the summer drawn Calvinists and
Lutherans forth in armed bodies, twenty thousand strong, to worship God
in the open fields. The difference between the two phenomena was, that
the field-preaching was a crime committed by the whole mass of the
Reformers; men, women, and children confronting the penalties of death,
by a general determination, while the imagebreaking was the act of a
small portion of the populace. A hundred persons belonging to the lowest
order of society sufficed for the desecration of the Antwerp churches. It
was, said Orange, "a mere handful of rabble" who did the deed. Sir
Richard Clough saw ten or twelve persons entirely sack church after
church, while ten thousand spectators looked on, indifferent or
horror-struck. The bands of iconoclasts were of the lowest character, and
few in number. Perhaps the largest assemblage was that which ravaged the
province of Tournay, but this was so weak as to be entirely routed by a
small and determined force. The duty of repression devolved upon both
Catholics and Protestants. Neither party stirred. All seemed overcome
with special wonder as the tempest swept over the land.

The ministers of the Reformed religion, and the chiefs of the liberal
party, all denounced the image-breaking. Francis Junius bitterly
regretted such excesses. Ambrose Wille, pure of all participation in the
crime, stood up before ten thousand Reformers at Tournay--even while the
storm was raging in the neighboring cities, and, when many voices around
him were hoarsely commanding similar depravities to rebuke the outrages
by which a sacred cause was disgraced. The Prince of Orange, in his
private letters, deplored the riots, and stigmatized the perpetrators.
Even Brederode, while, as Suzerain of his city of Viane, he ordered the
images there to be quietly taken from the churches, characterized this
popular insurrection as insensate and flagitious. Many of the leading
confederates not only were offended with the proceedings, but, in their
eagerness to chastise the iconoclasts and to escape from a league of
which they were weary, began to take severe measures against the
Ministers and Reformers, of whom they had constituted themselves in April
the especial protectors.

The next remarkable characteristic of these tumults was the almost entire
abstinence of the rioters from personal outrage and from pillage. The
testimony of a very bitter, but honest Catholic at Valenciennes, is
remarkable upon this point. "Certain chroniclers," said he, "have greatly
mistaken the character of this image-breaking. It has been said that the
Calvinists killed a hundred priests in this city, cutting some of them
into pieces, and burning others over a slow fire. I remember very well
every thing which happened upon that abominable day, and I can affirm
that not a single priest was injured. The Huguenots took good care not to
injure in any way the living images." This was the case every where.
Catholic and Protestant writers agree that no deeds of violence were
committed against man or woman.

It would be also very easy to accumulate a vast weight of testimony as to
their forbearance from robbery. They destroyed for destruction's sake,
not for purposes of plunder.

Although belonging to the lowest classes of society, they left heaps of
jewellery, of gold and silver plate, of costly embroidery, lying unheeded
upon the ground. They felt instinctively that a great passion would be
contaminated by admixture with paltry motives. In Flanders a company of
rioters hanged one of their own number for stealing articles to the value
of five Shillings. In Valenciennes the iconoclasts were offered large
sums if they would refrain from desecrating the churches of that city,
but they rejected the proposal with disdain. The honest Catholic burgher
who recorded the fact, observed that he did so because of the many
misrepresentations on the subject, not because he wished to flatter
heresy and rebellion.

At Tournay, the greatest scrupulousness was observed upon this point. The
floor of the cathedral was strewn with "pearls and precious stones, with
chalices and reliquaries of silver and gold;" but the ministers of the
reformed religion, in company with the magistrates, came to the spot, and
found no difficulty, although utterly without power to prevent the storm,
in taking quiet possession of the wreck. "We had every thing of value,"
says Procureur-General De la Barre, "carefully inventoried, weighed,
locked in chests, and placed under a strict guard in the prison of the
Halle, to which one set of keys were given to the ministers, and another
to the magistrates." Who will dare to censure in very severe language
this havoc among stocks and stones in a land where so many living men and
women, of more value than many statues, had been slaughtered by the
inquisition, and where Alva's "Blood Tribunal" was so soon to eclipse
even that terrible institution in the number of its victims and the
amount of its confiscations?

Yet the effect of the riots was destined to be most disastrous for a time
to the reforming party. It furnished plausible excuses for many lukewarm
friends of their cause to withdraw from all connection with it. Egmont
denounced the proceedings as highly flagitious, and busied himself with
punishing the criminals in Flanders. The Regent was beside herself with
indignation and terror. Philip, when he heard the news, fell into a
paroxysm of frenzy. "It shall cost them dear!" he cried, as he tore his
beard for rage; "it shall cost them dear! I swear it by the soul of my
father!" The Reformation in the Netherlands, by the fury of these
fanatics, was thus made apparently to abandon the high ground upon which
it had stood in the early summer. The sublime spectacle of the
multitudinous field-preaching was sullied by the excesses of the
image-breaking. The religious war, before imminent, became inevitable.

Nevertheless, the first effect of the tumults was a temporary advantage
to the Reformers. A great concession was extorted from the fears of the
Duchess Regent, who was certainly placed in a terrible position. Her
conduct was not heroic, although she might be forgiven for trepidation.
Her treachery, however, under these trying circumstances was less venial.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 22nd of August, Orange, Egmont,
Horn, Hoogatraaten, Mansfeld, and others were summoned to the palace.
They found her already equipped for flight, surrounded by her
waiting-women, chamberlains and lackeys, while the mules and hackneys
stood harnessed in the court-yard, and her body-guard were prepared to
mount at a moment's notice. She announced her intention of retreating at
once to Mons, in which city, owing to Aerschot's care, she hoped to find
refuge against the fury of the rebellion then sweeping the country. Her
alarm was almost beyond control. She was certain that the storm was ready
to burst upon Brussels, and that every Catholic was about to be massacred
before her eyes. Aremberg, Berlaymont, and Noircarmes were with the
Duchess when the other seigniors arrived.

A part of the Duke of Aerschot's company had been ordered out to escort
the projected flight to Mons. Orange, Horn, Egmont, and Hoogstraaten
implored her to desist from her fatal resolution. They represented that
such a retreat before a mob would be the very means of ruining the
country. They denounced all persons who had counselled the scheme, as
enemies of his Majesty and herself. They protested their readiness to die
at her feet in her defence, but besought her not to abandon the post of
duty in the hour of peril. While they were thus anxiously debating,
Viglius entered the chamber. With tears streaming down her cheeks,
Margaret turned to the aged President, uttering fierce reproaches and
desponding lamentations. Viglius brought the news that the citizens had
taken possession of the gates, and were resolved not to permit her
departure from the city. He reminded her, according to the indispensable
practice of all wise counsellors, that he had been constantly predicting
this result. He, however, failed in administering much consolation, or in
suggesting any remedy. He was, in truth, in as great a panic as herself,
and it was, according to the statement of the Duchess, mainly in order to
save the President from threatened danger, that she eventually resolved
to make concessions. "Viglius," wrote Margaret to Philip, "is so much
afraid of being cut to pieces, that his timidity has become incredible."
Upon the warm assurance of Count Horn, that he would enable her to escape
from the city, should it become necessary, or would perish in the
attempt, a promise in which he was seconded by the rest of the seigniors,
she consented to remain for the day in her palace.--Mansfeld was
appointed captain-general of the city; Egmont, Horn, Orange, and the
others agreed to serve under his orders, and all went down together to
the townhouse. The magistrates were summoned, a general meeting of the
citizens was convened, and the announcement made of Mansfeld's
appointment, together with an earnest appeal to all honest men to support
the Government. The appeal was answered by a shout of unanimous
approbation, an enthusiastic promise to live or die with the Regent, and
the expression of a resolution to permit neither reformed preaching nor
image-breaking within the city.

Nevertheless, at seven o'clock in the evening, the Duchess again sent for
the seigniors. She informed them that she had received fresh and certain
information, that the churches were to be sacked that very night; that
Viglius, Berlaymont, and Aremberg were to be killed, and that herself and
Egmont were to be taken prisoners. She repeated many times that she had
been ill-advised, expressed bitter regret at having deferred her flight
from the city, and called upon those who had obstructed her plan, now to
fulfil their promises. Turning fiercely upon Count Horn, she uttered a
volley of reproaches upon his share in the transaction. "You are the
cause," said she, "that I am now in this position. Why do you not redeem
your pledge and enable me to leave the place at once." Horn replied that
he was ready to do so if she were resolved to stay no longer. He would at
the instant cut his way through the guard at the Caudenberg gate, and
bring her out in safety, or die in the effort. At the same time he
assured her that he gave no faith to the idle reports flying about the
city, reminded her that nobles, magistrates, and citizens were united in
her defence, and in brief used the, same arguments which had before been
used to pacify her alarm. The nobles were again successful in enforcing
their counsels, the Duchess was spared the ignominy and the disaster of a
retreat before an insurrection which was only directed against statues,
and the ecclesiastical treasures of Brussels were saved from sacrilege.

On the 25th August came the crowning act of what the Reformers considered
their most complete triumph, and the Regent her deepest degradation. It
was found necessary under the alarming aspect of affairs, that liberty of
worship, in places where it had been already established, should be
accorded to the new religion. Articles of agreement to this effect were
accordingly drawn up and exchanged between the Government and Lewis of
Nassau, attended by fifteen others of the confederacy. A corresponding
pledge was signed by them, that so long as the Regent was true to her
engagement, they would consider their previously existing league
annulled, and would assist cordially in every endeavor to maintain
tranquillity and support the authority of his Majesty. The important
Accord was then duly signed by the Duchess. It declared that the
inquisition was abolished, that his Majesty would soon issue a new
general edict, expressly and unequivocally protecting the nobles against
all evil consequences from past transactions, that they were to be
employed in the royal service, and that public preaching according to the
forms of the new religion was to be practised in places where it had
already taken place. Letters general were immediately despatched to the
senates of all the cities, proclaiming these articles of agreement and
ordering their execution. Thus for a fleeting moment there was a thrill
of joy throughout the Netherlands. The inquisition was thought forever
abolished, the era of religious reformation arrived.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All denounced the image-breaking
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Furious fanaticism
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1566, Complete:

     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     Affecting to discredit them
     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     All denounced the image-breaking
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Dissimulation and delay
     Divine right
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     English Puritans
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Furious fanaticism
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Habeas corpus
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     No one can testify but a householder
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Ruinous honors
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     Tanchelyn
     Taxation upon sin
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     Villagers, or villeins
     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]

   Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
   Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
   Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
   to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
   government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
   statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
   Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
   exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
   spirit--Agreement of 2d September--Horn at Tournay--Excavations in
   the Cathedral--Almost universal attendance at the preaching--
   Building of temples commenced--Difficult position of Horn--Preaching
   in the Clothiers' Hall--Horn recalled--Noircarmes at Tournay--
   Friendly correspondence of Margaret with Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
   Hoogstraaten--Her secret defamation of these persons.

Egmont in Flanders, Orange at Antwerp, Horn at Tournay; Hoogstraaten at
Mechlin, were exerting themselves to suppress insurrection and to avert
ruin. What, meanwhile, was the policy of the government? The secret
course pursued both at Brussels and at Madrid may be condensed into the
usual formula--dissimulation, procrastination, and again dissimulation.

It is at this point necessary to take a rapid survey of the open and the
secret proceedings of the King and his representatives from the moment at
which Berghen and Montigny arrived in Madrid. Those ill-fated gentlemen
had been received with apparent cordiality, and admitted to frequent, but
unmeaning, interviews with his Majesty. The current upon which they were
embarked was deep and treacherous, but it was smooth and very slow. They
assured the King that his letters, ordering the rigorous execution of the
inquisition and edicts, had engendered all the evils under which the
provinces were laboring. They told him that Spaniards and tools of
Spaniards had attempted to govern the country, to the exclusion of native
citizens and nobles, but that it would soon be found that Netherlanders
were not to be trodden upon like the abject inhabitants of Milan, Naples,
and Sicily. Such words as these struck with an unaccustomed sound upon
the royal ear, but the envoys, who were both Catholic and loyal, had no
idea, in thus expressing their opinions, according to their sense of
duty, and in obedience to the King's desire, upon the causes of the
discontent, that they were committing an act of high treason.

When the news of the public preaching reached Spain, there were almost
daily consultations at the grove of Segovia. The eminent personages who
composed the royal council were the Duke of Alva, the Count de Feria, Don
Antonio de Toledo, Don Juan Manrique de Lara, Ruy Gomez, Quixada,
Councillor Tisnacq, recently appointed President of the State Council,
and Councillor Hopper. Six Spaniards and two Netherlanders, one of whom,
too, a man of dull intellect and thoroughly subservient character, to
deal with the local affairs of the Netherlands in a time of intense
excitement! The instructions of the envoys had been to represent the
necessity of according three great points--abolition of the inquisition,
moderation of the edicts, according to the draft prepared in Brussels,
and an ample pardon for past transactions. There was much debate upon all
these propositions. Philip said little, but he listened attentively to
the long discourses in council, and he took an incredible quantity of
notes. It was the general opinion that this last demand on the part of
the Netherlanders was the fourth link in the chain of treason. The first
had been the cabal by which Granvelle had been expelled; the second, the
mission of Egmont, the main object of which had been to procure a
modification of the state council, in order to bring that body under the
control of a few haughty and rebellious nobles; the third had been the
presentation of the insolent and seditious Request; and now, to crown the
whole, came a proposition embodying the three points--abolition of the
inquisition, revocation of the edicts, and a pardon to criminals, for
whom death was the only sufficient punishment.

With regard to these three points, it was, after much wrangling, decided
to grant them under certain restrictions. To abolish the inquisition
would be to remove the only instrument by which the Church had been
accustomed to regulate the consciences and the doctrines of its subjects.
It would be equivalent to a concession of religious freedom, at least to
individuals within their own domiciles, than which no concession could be
more pernicious. Nevertheless, it might be advisable to permit the
temporary cessation of the papal inquisition, now that the episcopal
inquisition had been so much enlarged and strengthened in the
Netherlands, on the condition that this branch of the institution should
be maintained in energetic condition. With regard to the Moderation, it
was thought better to defer that matter till, the proposed visit of his
Majesty to the provinces. If, however, the Regent should think it
absolutely necessary to make a change, she must cause a new draft to be
made, as that which had been sent was not found admissible. Touching the
pardon general, it would be necessary to make many conditions and
restrictions before it could be granted. Provided these were sufficiently
minute to exclude all persons whom it might be found desirable to
chastise, the amnesty was possible. Otherwise it was quite out of the
question.

Meantime, Margaret of Parma had been urging her brother to come to a
decision, painting the distracted condition of the country in the
liveliest colors, and insisting, although perfectly aware of Philip's
private sentiments, upon a favorable decision as to the three points
demanded by the envoys. Especially she urged her incapacity to resist any
rebellion, and demanded succor of men and money in case the "Moderation"
were not accepted by his Majesty.

It was the last day of July before the King wrote at all, to communicate
his decisions upon the crisis which had occurred in the first week of
April. The disorder for which he had finally prepared a prescription had,
before his letter arrived, already passed through its subsequent stages
of the field-preaching and the image-breaking. Of course these fresh
symptoms would require much consultation, pondering, and note-taking
before they could be dealt with. In the mean time they would be
considered as not yet having happened. This was the masterly
procrastination of the sovereign, when his provinces were in a blaze.

His masterly dissimulation was employed in the direction suggested by his
councillors. Philip never originated a thought, nor laid down a plan, but
he was ever true to the falsehood of his nature, and was indefatigable in
following out the suggestions of others. No greater mistake can be made
than to ascribe talent to this plodding and pedantic monarch. The man's
intellect was contemptible, but malignity and duplicity, almost
superhuman; have effectually lifted his character out of the regions of
the common-place. He wrote accordingly to say that the pardon, under
certain conditions, might be granted, and that the papal inquisition
might cease--the bishops now being present in such numbers, "to take care
of their flocks," and the episcopal inquisition being, therefore
established upon so secure a basis. He added, that if a moderation of the
edicts were still desired, a new project might be sent to Madrid, as the
one brought by Berghen and Montigny was not satisfactory. In arranging
this wonderful scheme for composing the tumults of the country, which had
grown out of a determined rebellion to the inquisition in any form, he
followed not only the advice, but adopted the exact language of his
councillors.

Certainly, here was not much encouragement for patriotic hearts in the
Netherlands. A pardon, so restricted that none were likely to be forgiven
save those who had done no wrong; an episcopal inquisition stimulated to
renewed exertions, on the ground that the papal functionaries were to be
discharged; and a promise that, although the proposed Moderation of the
edicts seemed too mild for the monarch's acceptance, yet at some future
period another project would be matured for settling the matter to
universal satisfaction--such were the propositions of the Crown.
Nevertheless, Philip thought he had gone too far, even in administering
this meagre amount of mercy, and that he had been too frank in employing
so slender a deception, as in the scheme thus sketched. He therefore
summoned a notary, before whom, in presence of the Duke of Alva, the
Licentiate Menchaca and Dr. Velasco, he declared that, although he had
just authorized Margaret of Parma, by force of circumstances, to grant
pardon to all those who had been compromised in the late disturbances of
the Netherlands, yet as he had not done this spontaneously nor freely, he
did not consider himself bound by the authorization, but that, on the
contrary, he reserved his right to punish all the guilty, and
particularly those who had been the authors and encouragers of the
sedition.

So much for the pardon promised in his official correspondence.

With regard to the concessions, which he supposed himself to have made in
the matter of the inquisition and the edicts, he saved his conscience by
another process. Revoking with his right hand all which his left had been
doing, he had no sooner despatched his letters to the Duchess Regent than
he sent off another to his envoy at Rome. In this despatch he instructed
Requesens to inform the Pope as to the recent royal decisions upon the
three points, and to state that there had not been time to consult his
Holiness beforehand. Nevertheless, continued Philip "the prudent," it was
perhaps better thus, since the abolition could have no force, unless the
Pope, by whom the institution had been established, consented to its
suspension. This matter, however, was to be kept a profound secret. So
much for the inquisition matter. The papal institution, notwithstanding
the official letters, was to exist, unless the Pope chose to destroy it;
and his Holiness, as we have seen, had sent the Archbishop of Sorrento, a
few weeks before, to Brussels, for the purpose of concerting secret
measures for strengthening the "Holy Office" in the provinces.

With regard to the proposed moderation of the edicts, Philip informed
Pius the Fifth, through Requesens, that the project sent by the Duchess
not having been approved, orders had been transmitted for a new draft, in
which all the articles providing for the severe punishment of heretics
were to be retained, while alterations, to be agreed upon by the state
and privy councils, and the knights of the Fleece, were to be
adopted--certainly in no sense of clemency. On the contrary, the King
assured his Holiness, that if the severity of chastisement should be
mitigated the least in the world by the new articles, they would in no
case receive the royal approbation. Philip further implored the Pope "not
to be scandalized" with regard to the proposed pardon, as it would be by
no means extended to offenders against religion. All this was to be kept
entirely secret. The King added, that rather than permit the least
prejudice to the ancient religion, he would sacrifice all his states, and
lose a hundred lives if he had so many; for he would never consent to be
the sovereign of heretics. He said he would arrange the troubles of the
Netherlands, without violence, if possible, because forcible measures
would cause the entire destruction of the country. Nevertheless they
should be employed, if his purpose could be accomplished in no other way.
In that case the King would himself be the executor of his own design,
without allowing the peril which he should incur, nor the ruin of the
provinces, nor that of his other realms, to prevent him from doing all
which a Christian prince was bound to do, to maintain the Catholic
religion and the authority of the Holy See, as well as to testify his
personal regard for the reigning pontiff, whom he so much loved and
esteemed.

Here was plain speaking. Here were all the coming horrors distinctly
foreshadowed. Here was the truth told to the only being with whom Philip
ever was sincere. Yet even on this occasion, he permitted himself a
falsehood by which his Holiness was not deceived. Philip had no intention
of going to the Netherlands in person, and the Pope knew that he had
none. "I feel it in my bones," said Granvelle, mournfully, "that nobody
in Rome believes in his Majesty's journey to the provinces." From that
time forward, however, the King began to promise this visit, which was
held out as a panacea for every ill, and made to serve as an excuse for
constant delay.

It may well be supposed that if Philip's secret policy had been
thoroughly understood in the Netherlands, the outbreak would have come
sooner. On the receipt, however, of the public despatches from Madrid,
the administration in Brussels made great efforts to represent their
tenor as highly satisfactory. The papal inquisition was to be abolished,
a pardon was to be granted, a new moderation was to be arranged at some
indefinite period; what more would men have? Yet without seeing the face
of the cards, the people suspected the real truth, and Orange was
convinced of it. Viglius wrote that if the King did not make his intended
visit soon, he would come too late, and that every week more harm was
done by procrastination than could be repaired by months of labor and
perhaps by torrents of blood. What the precise process was, through which
Philip was to cure all disorders by his simple presence, the President
did not explain.

As for the measures propounded by the King after so long a delay, they
were of course worse than useless; for events had been marching while he
had been musing. The course suggested was, according to Viglius, but "a
plaster for a wound, but a drag-chain for the wheel." He urged that the
convocation of the states-general was the only remedy for the perils in
which the country was involved; unless the King should come in person. He
however expressed the hope that by general consultation some means would
be devised by which, if not a good, at least a less desperate aspect
would be given to public affairs, "so that the commonwealth, if fall it
must, might at least fall upon its feet like a cat, and break its legs
rather than its neck."

Notwithstanding this highly figurative view of the subject; and
notwithstanding the urgent representations of Duchess Margaret to her
brother, that nobles and people were all clamoring about the necessity of
convening the states general, Philip was true to his instincts on this as
on the other questions. He knew very well that the states-general of the
Netherlands and Spanish despotism were incompatible ideas, and he
recoiled from the idea of the assembly with infinite aversion. At the
same time a little wholesome deception could do no harm. He wrote to the
Duchess, therefore, that he was determined never to allow the
states-general to be convened. He forbade her to consent to the step
under any circumstances, but ordered her to keep his prohibition a
profound secret. He wished, he said, the people to think that it was only
for the moment that the convocation was forbidden, and that the Duchess
was expecting to receive the necessary permission at another time. It was
his desire, he distinctly stated, that the people should not despair of
obtaining the assembly, but he was resolved never to consent to the step,
for he knew very well what was meant by a meeting of the States-general.
Certainly after so ingenuous but secret a declaration from the disciple
of Macchiavelli, Margaret might well consider the arguments to be used
afterward by herself and others, in favor of the ardently desired
measure, as quite superfluous.

Such then was the policy secretly resolved upon by Philip; even before he
heard of the startling events which were afterwards to break upon him. He
would maintain the inquisition and the edicts; he would exterminate the
heretics, even if he lost all his realms and his own life in the cause;
he would never hear of the national representatives coming together. What
then were likely to be his emotions when he should be told of twenty
thousand armed heretics assembling at one spot, and fifteen thousand at
another, in almost every town in every province, to practice their
blasphemous rites; when he should be told of the whirlwind which had
swept all the ecclesiastical accumulations of ages out of existence; when
he should read Margaret's despairing letters, in which she acknowledged
that she had at last committed an act unworthy of God, of her King, and
of herself, in permitting liberty of worship to the renegades from the
ancient church!

The account given by the Duchess was in truth very dismal. She said that
grief consumed her soul and crimson suffused her cheeks while she related
the recent transactions. She took God to witness that she had resisted
long, that she had past many sleepless nights, that she had been wasted
with fever and grief. After this penitential preface she confessed that,
being a prisoner and almost besieged in her palace, sick in body and
soul, she had promised pardon and security to the confederates, with
liberty of holding assemblies to heretics in places where the practice
had already obtained. These concessions had been made valid until the
King by and with the consent of the states-general, should definitely
arrange the matter. She stated, however, that she had given her consent
to these two demands, not in the royal name, but in her own. The King was
not bound by her promise, and she expreesed the hope that he would have
no regard to any such obligation. She further implored her brother to
come forth as soon as possibe to avenge the injuries inflicted upon the
ancient church, adding, that if deprived of that consolation, she should
incontinently depart this life. That hope alone would prevent her death.

This was certainly strong language. She was also very explicit in her
representations of the influence which had been used by certain
personages to prevent the exercise of any authority upon her own part.
"Wherefore," said Margaret, "I eat my heart; and shall never have peace
till the arrival of your Majesty."

There was no doubt who those personages were who, as it was pretended,
had thus held the Duchess in bondage, and compelled her to grant these
infamous concessions. In her secret Italian letters, she furnished the
King with a tissue of most extravagant and improbable falsehoods,
supplied to her mainly by Noircarmes and Mansfeld, as to the course
pursued at this momentous crisis by Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten. They had all, she said, declared against God and against
religion.--Horn, at least, was for killing all the priests and monks in
the country, if full satisfaction were not given to the demands of the
heretics. Egmont had declared openly for the beggars, and was levying
troops in Germany. Orange had the firm intention of making himself master
of the whole country, and of dividing it among the other seigniors and
himself. The Prince had said that if she took refuge in Mons, as she had
proposed, they would instantly convoke the states-general, and take all
necessary measures. Egmont had held the same language, saying that he
would march at the head of forty thousand men to besiege her in that
city. All these seigniors, however, had avowed their determination to
prevent her flight, to assemble the estates, and to drag her by force
before the assembly, in order to compel her consent to every measure
which might be deemed expedient. Under all these circumstances, she had
been obliged to defer her retreat, and to make the concessions which had
overwhelmed her with disgrace.

With such infamous calumnies, utterly disproved by every fact in the
case, and unsupported by a tittle of evidence, save the hearsay reports
of a man like Noircarmes, did this "woman, nourished at Rome, in whom no
one could put confidence," dig the graves of men who were doing their
best to serve her.

Philip's rage at first hearing of the image-breaking has been indicated.
He was ill of an intermittent fever at the wood of Segovia when the news
arrived, and it may well be supposed that his wrath at these proceedings
was not likely to assuage his malady. Nevertheless, after the first burst
of indignation, he found relief in his usual deception. While slowly
maturing the most tremendous vengeance which anointed monarch ever
deliberately wreaked upon his people, he wrote to say, that it was "his
intention to treat his vassals and subjects in the provinces like a good
and clement prince, not to ruin them nor to put them into servitude, but
to exercise all humanity, sweetness, and grace, avoiding all harshness."
Such were the avowed intentions of the sovereign towards his people at
the moment when the terrible Alva, who was to be the exponent of all this
"humanity, sweetness, and grace," was already beginning the preparations
for his famous invasion of the Netherlands.

The essence of the compact agreed to upon the 23d August between the
confederates and the Regent, was that the preaching of the reformed
religion should be tolerated in places where it had previously to that
date been established. Upon this basis Egmont, Horn, Orange,
Hoogstraaten, and others, were directed once more to attempt the
pacification of the different provinces.

Egmont departed for his government of Flanders, and from that moment
vanished all his pretensions, which at best had been, slender enough, to
the character of a national chieftain. During the whole of the year his
course had been changeful. He had felt the influence of Orange; he had
generous instincts; he had much vanity; he had the pride of high rank;
which did not easily brook the domination of strangers, in a land which
he considered himself and his compeers entitled by their birth to rule.
At this juncture, however, particularly when in the company of
Noircarmes, Berlaymont, and Viglius, he expressed, notwithstanding their
calumnious misstatements, the deepest detestation of the heretics. He was
a fervent Catholic, and he regarded the image-breaking as an unpardon
able crime. "We must take up arms," said he, "sooner or later, to bring
these Reformers to reason, or they will end by laying down the law for
us." On the other hand, his anger would be often appeased by the grave
but gracious remonstrances of Orange. During a part of the summer, the
Reformers had been so strong in Flanders that upon a single day sixty
thousand armed men had been assembled at the different field-preachings
within that province. "All they needed was a Jacquemart, or a Philip van
Artevelde," says a Catholic, contemporary, "but they would have scorned
to march under the banner of a brewer; having dared to raise their eyes
for a chief, to the most illustrious warrior of his ages." No doubt, had
Egmont ever listened to these aspirations, he might have taken the field
against the government with an invincible force, seized the capital,
imprisoned the Regent, and mastered the whole country, which was entirely
defenceless, before Philip would have had time to write more than ten
despatches upon the subject.

These hopes of the Reformers, if hopes they could be called, were now
destined to be most bitterly disappointed. Egmont entered Flanders, not
as a chief of rebels--not as a wise pacificator, but as an unscrupulous
partisan of government, disposed to take summary vengeance on all
suspected persons who should fall in his way. He ordered numerous
executions of image-breakers and of other heretics. The whole province
was in a state of alarm; for, although he had not been furnished by the
Regent with a strong body of troops, yet the name of the conqueror at
Saint Quentin and Gravelines was worth many regiments. His severity was
excessive. His sanguinary exertions were ably seconded also by his
secretary Bakkerzeel, a man who exercised the greatest influence over his
chief, and who was now fiercely atoning for having signed the Compromise
by persecuting those whom that league had been formed to protect. "Amid
all the perplexities of the Duchess Regent," Says a Walloon historian,
"this virtuous princess was consoled by the exploits of Bakkerzeel,
gentleman in Count Egmont's service. On one occasion he hanged twenty
heretics, including a minister, at a single heat."

Such achievements as these by the hands or the orders of the
distinguished general who had been most absurdly held up as a possible
protector of the civil and religious liberties of the country, created
profound sensation. Flanders and Artois were filled with the wives and
children of suspected I thousands who had fled the country to escape the
wrath of Egmont. The cries and piteous lamentations of these unfortunate
creatures were heard on every side. Count Louis was earnestly implored to
intercede for the persecuted Reformers. "You who have been so nobly
gifted by Heaven, you who have good will and singular bounty written upon
your face," said Utenhove to Louis, "have the power to save these poor
victims from the throats of the ravenous wolves." The Count responded to
the appeal, and strove to soften the severity of Egmont, without,
however, producing any very signal effect. Flanders was soon pacified,
nor was that important province permitted to enjoy the benefits of the
agreement which had been extorted, from the Duchess. The preachings were
forbidden, and the ministers and congregations arrested and chastised,
even in places where the custom had been established previously to the
23d August. Certainly such vigorous exertions upon the part both of
master and man did not savor of treason to Philip, and hardly seemed to
indicate the final doom of Egmont and Bakkerzeel.

The course of Orange at Antwerp was consistent with his whole career. He
honestly came to arrange a pacification, but he knew that this end could
be gained only by loyally maintaining the Accord which had been signed
between the confederates and the Regent. He came back to the city on the
26th August, and found order partially re-established. The burghers
having at last become thoroughly alarmed, and the fury of the
image-breakers entirely appeased, it had been comparatively easy to
restore tranquillity. The tranquillity, however, rather restored itself,
and when the calm had succeeded to the tempest, the placid heads of the
burgomasters once, more emerged from the waves.

Three image-breakers, who had been taken in the act, were hanged by order
of the magistrates upon the 28th of August. The presence of Orange gave
them courage to achieve these executions which he could not prevent, as
the fifth article of the Accord enjoined the chastisement of the rioters.
The magistrates chose that the "chastisement" on this occasion should be
exemplary, and it was not in the power of Orange to interfere with the
regular government of the city when acting according to its laws. The
deed was not his, however, and he hastened, in order to obviate the
necessity of further violence, to prepare articles of agreement, upon the
basis of Margaret's concessions. Public preaching, according to the
Reformed religion, had already taken place within the city. Upon the 22d,
possession had been taken of at least three churches. The senate had
deputed pensionary Wesenbeck to expostulate with the ministers, for the
magistrates were at that moment not able to command. Taffin, the Walloon
preacher, had been tractable, and had agreed to postpone his exercises.
He furthermore had accompanied the pensionary to the cathedral, in order
to persuade Herman Modet that it would be better for him likewise to
defer his intended ministrations. They had found that eloquent enthusiast
already in the great church, burning with impatience to ascend upon the
ruins, and quite unable to resist the temptation of setting a Flemish
psalm and preaching a Flemish sermon within the walls which had for so
many centuries been vocal only to the Roman tongue and the Roman ritual.
All that he would concede to the entreaties of his colleague and of the
magistrate, was that his sermon should be short. In this, however, he had
overrated his powers of retention, for the sermon not only became a long
one, but he had preached another upon the afternoon of the same day. The
city of Antwerp, therefore, was clearly within the seventh clause of the
treaty of the 24th August, for preaching had taken place in the
cathedral, previously to the signing of that Accord.

Upon the 2d September, therefore, after many protracted interview with
the heads of the Reformed religion, the Prince drew up sixteen articles
of agreement between them, the magistrates and the government, which were
duly signed and exchanged. They were conceived in the true spirit of
statesmanship, and could the rulers of the land have elevated themselves
to the mental height of William de Nassau, had Philip been able of
comprehending such a mind, the Prince, who alone possessed the power in
those distracted times of governing the wills of all men, would have
enabled the monarch to transmit that beautiful cluster of provinces,
without the lose of a single jewel, to the inheritors of his crown.

If the Prince were playing a game, he played it honorably. To have
conceived the thought of religious toleration in an age of universal
dogmatism; to have labored to produce mutual respect among conflicting
opinions, at a period when many Dissenters were as bigoted as the
orthodox, and when most Reformers fiercely proclaimed not liberty for
every Christian doctrine, but only a new creed in place of all the
rest,--to have admitted the possibility of several roads, to heaven, when
zealots of all creeds would shut up all pathways but their own; if such
sentiments and purposes were sins, they would have been ill-exchanged for
the best virtues of the age. Yet, no doubt, this was his crying offence
in the opinion of many contemporaries. He was now becoming apostate from
the ancient Church, but he had long thought that Emperors, Kings, and
Popes had taken altogether too much care of men's souls in times past,
and had sent too many of them prematurely to their great account. He was
equally indisposed to grant full-powers for the same purpose to
Calvinists, Lutherans, or Anabaptists. "He censured the severity of our
theologians," said a Catholic contemporary, accumulating all the
religious offences of the Prince in a single paragraph, "because they
keep strictly the constitutions of the Church without conceding a single
point to their adversaries; he blamed the Calvinists as seditious and
unruly people, yet nevertheless had a horror for the imperial edicts
which condemned them to death; he said it was a cruel thing to take a
man's life for sustaining an erroneous opinion; in short, he fantasied in
his imagination a kind of religion, half Catholic, half Reformed, in
order to content all persons; a system which would have been adopted
could he have had his way." This picture, drawn by one of his most
brilliant and bitter enemies, excites our admiration while intended to
inspire aversion.

The articles of agreement at Antwerp thus promulgated assigned three
churches to the different sects of reformers, stipulated that no attempt
should be made by Catholics or Protestants to disturb the religious
worship of each other, and provided that neither by mutual taunts in
their sermons, nor by singing street ballads, together with improper
allusions and overt acts of hostility, should the good-fellowship which
ought to reign between brethren and fellow-citizens, even although
entertaining different opinions as to religious rites and doctrines, be
for the future interrupted.

This was the basis upon which the very brief religious peace, broken
almost as soon as established, was concluded by William of Orange, not
only at Antwerp, but at Utrecht, Amsterdam, and other principal cities
within his government. The Prince, however, notwithstanding his unwearied
exertions, had slender hopes of a peaceful result. He felt that the last
step taken by the Reformation had been off a precipice. He liked not such
rapid progress. He knew that the King would never forgive the
image-breaking. He felt that he would never recognize the Accord of the
24th August. Sir Thomas Gresham, who, as the representative of the
Protestant Queen of England in the great commercial metropolis of Europe,
was fully conversant with the turn things were taking, was already
advising some other place for the sale of English commodities. He gave
notice to his government that commerce would have no security at Antwerp
"in those brabbling times." He was on confidential terms with the Prince,
who invited him to dine upon the 4th September, and caused pensionary
Wesenbeck, who was also present, to read aloud the agreement which was
that day to be proclaimed at the town-house. Orange expressed himself,
however, very doubtfully as to the future prospects of the provinces, and
as to the probable temper of the King. "In all his talke," says Gresham,
"the Prince aside unto me, 'I know this will nothing contente the King!'"

While Egmont had been, thus busied in Flanders, and Orange at Antwerp,
Count Horn had been doing his best in the important city of Tournay. The
Admiral was not especially gifted with intellect, nor with the power of
managing men, but he went there with an honest purpose of seeing the
Accord executed, intending, if it should prove practicable, rather to
favor the Government than the Reformers. At the same time, for the
purpose of giving satisfaction to the members of "the religion," and of
manifesting his sincere desire for a pacification, he accepted lodgings
which had been prepared for him at the house of a Calvinist merchant in
the city, rather, than, take up his quarters with fierce old governor
Moulbais, in the citadel. This gave much offence to the Catholics; and
inspired the Reformers, with the hope of having their preaching inside
the town. To this privilege they were entitled, for the practice had
already been established there, previously to the 24th October.
Nevertheless, at first he was disposed to limit them, in accordance with
the wishes of the Duchess, to extra-mural exercises.

Upon his arrival, by a somewhat ominous conjuncture, he had supped with
some of the leading citizens in the hall of the "gehenna" or torture
room, certainly not a locality calculated to inspire a healthy appetite.
On the following Sunday he had been entertained with a great banquet, at
which all the principal burghers were present, held in a house on the
market-place. The festivities had been interrupted by a quarrel, which
had been taking place in the cathedral. Beneath the vaults of that
edifice, tradition said that a vast treasure was hidden, and the canons
had been known to boast that this buried wealth would be sufficient to
rebuild their temple more magnificently than ever, in case of its total
destruction. The Admiral had accordingly placed a strong guard in the
church as soon as he arrived, and commenced very extensive excavations in
search of this imaginary mine. The Regent informed her brother that the
Count was prosecuting this work with the view of appropriating whatever
might be found to his own benefit. As she knew that he was a ruined man,
there seemed no more satisfactory mode of accounting for these
proceedings. Horn had, however, expressly stated to her that every penny
which should come into his possession from that or any other source would
carefully be restored to the rightful owners. Nothing of consequence was
ever found to justify the golden legends of the monks, but in the mean
time the money-diggers gave great offence. The canons, naturally alarmed
for the safety of their fabulous treasure, had forced the guard, by
surreptitiously obtaining the countersign from a certain official of the
town. A quarrel ensued which ended in the appearance of this personage,
together with the commander of the military force on guard in the
cathedral, before the banqueting company. The Count, in the rough way
habitual with him, gave the culprit a sound rebuke for his intermeddling,
and threatened, in case the offence were repeated, to have him instantly
bound, gagged, and forwarded to Brussels for further punishment. The
matter thus satisfactorily adjusted, the banquet proceeded, the merchants
present being all delighted at seeing the said official, who was
exceedingly, unpopular, "so well huffed by the Count." The excavations
were continued for along time, until there seemed danger of destroying
the foundation of the church, but only a few bits of money were
discovered, with some other articles of small value.

Horn had taken his apartments in the city in order to be at hand to
suppress any tumults, and to inspire confidence in the people. He had
come to a city where five sixths of the inhabitants--were of the reformed
religion, and he did not, therefore, think it judicious to attempt
violently the suppression of their worship. Upon his arrival he had
issued a proclamation, ordering that all property which might have been
pillaged from the religious houses should be instantly restored to the
magistracy, under penalty that all who disobeyed the command should "be
forthwith strangled at the gibbet." Nothing was brought back, however,
for the simple reason that nothing had been stolen. There was, therefore,
no one to be strangled.

The next step was to publish the Accord of 24th August, and to signify
the intention of the Admiral to enforce its observance. The preachings
were as enthusiastically attended as ever, while the storm which had been
raging among the images had in the mean time been entirely allayed.
Congregations of fifteen thousand were still going to hear Ambrose Wille
in the suburbs, but they were very tranquil in their demeanor. It was
arranged between the Admiral and the leaders of the reformed
consistories, that three places, to be selected by Horn, should be
assigned for their places of worship. At these spots, which were outside
the walls, permission was given the Reformers to build meeting-houses. To
this arrangement the Duchess formally gave her consent.

Nicholas Taffin; councillor, in the name of the Reformers, made "a brave
and elegant harangue" before the magistrates, representing that, as on
the most moderate computation, three quarters of the population were
dissenters, as the Regent had ordered the construction of the new
temples, and as the Catholics retained possession of all the churches in
the city, it was no more than fair that the community should bear the
expense of the new buildings. It was indignantly replied, however, that
Catholics could not be expected to pay for the maintenance of heresy,
particularly when they had just been so much exasperated by the
image-breaking Councillor Taffin took nothing, therefore by his "brave
and elegant harangue," saving a small vote of forty livres.

The building was, however, immediately commenced. Many nobles and rich
citizens contributed to the work; some making donations in money; others
giving quantities of oaks, poplars, elms, and other timber trees, to be
used in the construction. The foundation of the first temple outside the
Ports de Cocquerel was immediately laid. Vast heaps of broken images and
other ornaments of the desecrated churches were most unwisely used for
this purpose, and the Catholics were exceedingly enraged at beholding
those male and female saints, who had for centuries been placed in such
"reverend and elevated positions," fallen so low as to be the
foundation-stones of temples whose builders denounced all those holy
things as idols.

As the autumn began to wane, the people were clamorous for permission to
have their preaching inside the city. The new buildings could not be
finished before the winter; but in the mean time the camp-meetings were
becoming, in the stormy seasons fast approaching, a very inconvenient
mode of worship. On the other hand, the Duchess was furious at the
proposition, and commanded Horn on no account to consent that the
interior of Tournay should be profaned by these heretical rites. It was
in vain that the Admiral represented the justice of the claim, as these
exercises had taken place in several of the city churches previously to
the Accord of the 24th of August.

That agreement had been made by the Duchess only to be broken. She had
already received money and the permission to make levies, and was fast
assuming a tone very different from the abject demeanor which had
characterized her in August. Count Horn had been used even as Egmont,
Orange and Hoogstraaten had been employed, in order that their personal
influence with the Reformers might be turned to account. The tools and
the work accomplished by them were to be thrown away at the most
convenient opportunity.

The Admiral was placed in a most intolerable position. An honest,
common-place, sullen kind of man, he had come to a city full of heretics,
to enforce concessions just made by the government to heresy. He soon
found himself watched, paltered with, suspected by the administration at
Brussels. Governor Moulbais in the citadel, who was nominally under his
authority, refused obedience to his orders, was evidently receiving
secret instructions from the Regent, and was determined to cannonade the
city into submission at a very early day. Horn required him to pledge
himself that no fresh troops should enter the castle. Moulbais swore he
would make no such promise to a living soul. The Admiral stormed with his
usual violence, expressed his regret that his brother Montigny had so bad
a lieutenant in the citadel, but could make no impression upon the
determined veteran, who knew, better than Horn, the game which was
preparing. Small reinforcements were daily arriving at the castle; the
soldiers of the garrison had been heard to boast "that they would soon
carve and eat the townsmen's flesh on their dressers," and all the good
effect from the Admiral's proclamation on arriving, had completely
vanished.

Horn complained bitterly of the situation in which he was placed. He knew
himself the mark of incessant and calumnious misrepresentation both at
Brussels and Madrid. He had been doing his best, at a momentous crisis,
to serve the government without violating its engagements, but he
declared himself to be neither theologian nor jurist, and incapable,
while suspected and unassisted, of performing a task which the most
learned doctors of the council would find impracticable. He would rather,
he bitterly exclaimed, endure a siege in any fortress by the Turks, than
be placed in such a position. He was doing all that he was capable of
doing, yet whatever he did was wrong. There was a great difference, he
said, between being in a place and talking about it at a distance.

In the middle of October he was recalled by the Duchess, whose letters
had been uniformly so ambiguous that he confessed he was quite unable to
divine their meaning. Before he left the city, he committed his most
unpardonable crime. Urged by the leaders of the reformed congregations to
permit their exercises in the Clothiers' Hall until their temples should
be finished, the Count accorded his consent provisionally, and subject to
revocation by the Regent, to whom the arrangement was immediately to be
communicated.

Horn departed, and the Reformers took instant possession of the hall. It
was found in a very dirty and disorderly condition, encumbered with
benches, scaffoldings, stakes, gibbets, and all the machinery used for
public executions upon the market-place. A vast body of men went to work
with a will; scrubbing, cleaning, whitewashing, and removing all the foul
lumber of the hall; singing in chorus, as they did so, the hymns of
Clement Marot. By dinner-time the place was ready. The pulpit and benches
for the congregation had taken the place of the gibbet timber. It is
difficult to comprehend that such work as this was a deadly crime.
Nevertheless, Horn, who was himself a sincere Catholic, had committed the
most mortal of all his offences against Philip and against God, by having
countenanced so flagitious a transaction.

The Admiral went to Brussels. Secretary de la Torre, a very second-rate
personage, was despatched to Tournay to convey the orders of the Regent.
Governor Moulbais, now in charge of affairs both civil and military, was
to prepare all things for the garrison, which was soon to be despatched
under Noircarmes. The Duchess had now arms in her hands, and her language
was bold. La Torre advised the Reformers to be wise "while the rod was
yet green and growing, lest it should be gathered for their backs; for it
was unbecoming is subjects to make bargains with their King." There was
hardly any decent pretext used in violating the Accord of the 24th
August, so soon as the government was strong enough to break it. It was
always said that the preachings suppressed, had not been established
previously to that arrangement; but the preachings had in reality
obtained almost every where, and were now universally abolished. The
ridiculous quibble was also used that, in the preachings other religious
exercises were not included, whereas it was notorious that they had never
been separated. It is, however, a gratuitous task, to unravel the
deceptions of tyranny when it hardly deigns to disguise itself. The
dissimulations which have resisted the influence of centuries are more
worthy of serious investigation, and of these the epoch offers us a
sufficient supply.

At the close of the year, the city of Tournay was completely subjugated
and the reformed religion suppressed. Upon the 2nd day of January, 1567,
the Seignior de Noircarmes arrived before the gates at the head of eleven
companies, with orders from Duchess Margaret to strengthen the garrison
and disarm the citizens. He gave the magistrates exactly one hour and a
half to decide whether they would submit without a murmur. He expressed
an intention of maintaining the Accord of 24th August; a ridiculous
affectation under the circumstances, as the event proved. The notables
were summoned, submission agreed upon, and within the prescribed time the
magistrates came before Noircarmes, with an unconditional acceptance of
his terms. That truculent personage told them, in reply, that they had
done wisely, for if they had delayed receiving the garrison a minute
longer, he would have instantly burned the city to ashes and put every
one of the inhabitants to the sword. He had been fully authorized to do
so, and subsequent events were to show, upon more than one dreadful
occasion, how capable Noircarmes would have been of fulfilling this
menace.

The soldiers, who had made a forced march all night, and who had been
firmly persuaded that the city would refuse the terms demanded, were
excessively disappointed at being obliged to forego the sack and pillage
upon which they had reckoned. Eight or nine hundred rascally peasants,
too, who had followed in the skirts of the regiments, each provided with
a great empty bag, which they expected to fill with booty which they
might purchase of the soldiers, or steal in the midst of the expected
carnage and rapine, shared the discontent of the soldiery, by whom they
were now driven ignominiously out of the town.

The citizens were immediately disarmed. All the fine weapons which they
had been obliged to purchase at their own expense, when they had been
arranged by the magistrates under eight banners, for defence of the city
against tumult and invasion, were taken from them; the most beautiful
cutlasses, carbines, poniards, and pistols, being divided by Noircarmes
among his officers. Thus Tournay was tranquillized.

During the whole of these proceedings in Flanders, and at Antwerp,
Tournay, and Mechlin, the conduct of the Duchess had been marked with
more than her usual treachery. She had been disavowing acts which the men
upon whom she relied in her utmost need had been doing by her authority;
she had been affecting to praise their conduct, while she was secretly
misrepresenting their actions and maligning their motives, and she had
been straining every nerve to make foreign levies, while attempting to
amuse the confederates and sectaries with an affectation of clemency.

When Orange complained that she had been censuring his proceedings at
Antwerp, and holding language unfavorable to his character, she protested
that she thoroughly approved his arrangements--excepting only the two
points of the intramural preachings and the permission to heretics of
other exercises than sermons--and that if she were displeased with him he
might be sure that she would rather tell him so than speak ill of him
behind his back. The Prince, who had been compelled by necessity, and
fully authorized by the terms of the "Accord", to grant those two points
which were the vital matter in his arrangements, answered very calmly,
that he was not so frivolous as to believe in her having used language to
his discredit had he not been quite certain of the fact, as he would soon
prove by evidence. Orange was not the man to be deceived as to the
position in which he stood, nor as to the character of those with whom he
dealt. Margaret wrote, however, in the same vein concerning him to
Hoogstmaten, affirming that nothing could be further from her intention
than to characterize the proceedings of "her cousin, the Prince of
Orange, as contrary to the service of his Majesty; knowing, as she did,
how constant had been his affection, and how diligent his actions, in the
cause of God and the King."

She also sent councillor d'Assonleville on a special mission to the
Prince, instructing that smooth personage to inform her said cousin of
Orange that he was and always had been "loved and cherished by his
Majesty, and that for herself she had ever loved him like a brother or a
child."

She wrote to Horn, approving of his conduct in the main, although in
obscure terms, and expressing great confidence in his zeal, loyalty, and
good intentions. She accorded the same praise to Hoogstraaten, while as
to Egmont she was perpetually reproaching him for the suspicions which he
seemed obstinately to entertain as to her disposition and that of Philip,
in regard to his conduct and character.

It has already been partly seen what were her private sentiments and
secret representations as to the career of the distinguished personages
thus encouraged and commended. Her pictures were painted in daily
darkening colors. She told her brother that Orange, Egmont, and Horn were
about to place themselves at the head of the confederates, who were to
take up arms and had been levying troops; that the Lutheran religion was
to be forcibly established, that the whole power of the government was to
be placed in the triumvirate thus created by those seigniors, and that
Philip was in reality to be excluded entirely from those provinces which
were his ancient patrimony. All this information she had obtained from
Mansfeld, at whom the nobles were constantly sneering as at a faithful
valet who would never receive his wages.

She also informed the King that the scheme for dividing the country was
already arranged: that Augustus of Saxony was to have Friesland and
Overyssel; Count Brederode, Holland; the Dukes of Cleves and Lorraine,
Gueldres; the King of France, Flanders, Artois, and Hainault, of which
territories Egmont was to be perpetual stadholder; the Prince of Orange,
Brabant; and so on indefinitely. A general massacre of all the Catholics
had been arranged by Orange, Horn, and Egmont, to commence as soon as the
King should put his foot on shipboard to come to the country. This last
remarkable fact Margaret reported to Philip, upon the respectable
authority of Noircarmes.

She apologized for having employed the service of these nobles, on the
ground of necessity. Their proceedings in Flanders, at Antwerp, Tournay,
Mechlin, had been highly reprehensible, and she had been obliged to
disavow them in the most important particulars. As for Egmont, she had
most unwillingly entrusted forces to his hands for the purpose of putting
down the Flemish sectaries. She had been afraid to show a want of
confidence in his character, but at the same time she believed that all
soldiers under Egmont's orders would be so many enemies to the king.
Notwithstanding his protestations of fidelity to the ancient religion and
to his Majesty, she feared that he was busied with some great plot
against God and the King. When we remember the ruthless manner in which
the unfortunate Count had actually been raging against the sectaries, and
the sanguinary proofs which he had been giving of his fidelity to "God
and the King," it seems almost incredible that Margaret could have
written down all these monstrous assertions.

The Duchess gave, moreover, repeated warnings to her brother, that the
nobles were in the habit of obtaining possession of all the
correspondence between Madrid and Brussels; and that they spent a vast
deal of money in order to read her own and Philip's most private letters.
She warned him therefore, to be upon his guard, for she believed that
almost all their despatches were read. Such being the cases and the tenor
of those documents being what we have seen it to be, her complaints as to
the incredulity of those seigniors to her affectionate protestations,
seem quite wonderful.



CHAPTER IX., Part 1., 1566

   Position of Orange--The interview at Dendermonde--The supposititious
   letters of Alava--Views of Egmont--Isolation of Orange--Conduct of
   Egmont and of Horn--Confederacy, of the nobles dissolved--Weak
   behavior of prominent personages----Watchfulness of Orange--
   Convocation of States General demanded--Pamphlet of Orange--City of
   Valenciennes refuses a garrison--Influence of La Grange and De Bray
   --City, declared in a state of siege--Invested by Noircarmes--
   Movements to relieve the place--Calvinists defeated at Lannoy and at
   Waterlots--Elation of the government--The siege pressed more
   closely--Cruelties practised upon the country people--Courage of the
   inhabitants--Remonstrance to the Knights of the Fleece--Conduct of
   Brederode--Orange at Amsterdam--New Oath demanded by Government--
   Orange refuses--He offers his resignation of all offices--Meeting at
   Breda--New "Request" of Brederode--He creates disturbances and
   levies troops in Antwerp--Conduct of Hoogstraaten--Plans of
   Brederode--Supposed connivance of Orange--Alarm at Brussels--
   Tholouse at Ostrawell--Brederode in Holland--De Beauvoir defeats
   Tholouse--Excitement at Antwerp--Determined conduct of Orange--Three
   days' tumult at Antwerp suppressed by the wisdom and courage of
   Orange.

It is necessary to allude to certain important events contemporaneous
with those recorded in the last chapter, that the reader may thoroughly
understand the position of the leading personages in this great drama at
the close of the year 1566.

The Prince of Orange had, as we have seen, bean exerting all his energies
faithfully to accomplish the pacification of the commercial metropolis,
upon the basis assented to beforehand by the Duchess. He had established
a temporary religious peace, by which alone at that crisis the gathering
tempest could be averted; but he had permitted the law to take its course
upon certain rioters, who had been regularly condemned by courts of
justice. He had worked day and night--notwithstanding immense obstacles,
calumnious misstatements, and conflicting opinions--to restore order out
of chaos; he had freely imperilled his own life--dashing into a
tumultuous mob on one occasion, wounding several with the halberd which
he snatched from one of his guard, and dispersing almost with his single
arm a dangerous and threatening insurrection--and he had remained in
Antwerp, at the pressing solicitations of the magistracy, who represented
that the lives of not a single ecclesiastic would be safe as soon as his
back was turned, and that all the merchants would forthwith depart from
the city. It was nevertheless necessary that he should make a personal
visit to his government of Holland, where similar disorders had been
prevailing, and where men of all ranks and parties were clamoring for
their stadholder.

Notwithstanding all his exertions however, he was thoroughly aware of the
position in which he stood towards the government. The sugared phrases of
Margaret, the deliberate commendation of the "benign and debonair"
Philip, produced no effect upon this statesman, who was accustomed to
look through and through men's actions to the core of their hearts. In
the hearts of Philip and Margaret he already saw treachery and revenge
indelibly imprinted. He had been especially indignant at the insult which
the Duchess Regent had put upon him, by sending Duke Eric of Brunswick
with an armed force into Holland in order to protect Gouda, Woerden, and
other places within the Prince's own government. He was thoroughly
conversant with the general tone in which the other seigniors and himself
were described to their sovereign. He, was already convinced that the
country was to be conquered by foreign mercenaries, and that his own
life, with these of many other nobles, was to be sacrificed. The moment
had arrived in which he was justified in looking about him for means of
defence, both for himself and his country, if the King should be so
insane as to carry out the purposes which the Prince suspected. The time
was fast approaching in which a statesman placed upon such an elevation
before the world as that which he occupied, would be obliged to choose
his part for life. To be the unscrupulous tool of tyranny, a rebel, or an
exile, was his necessary fate. To a man so prone to read the future, the
moment for his choice seemed already arrived. Moreover, he thought it
doubtful, and events were most signally to justify his doubts, whether he
could be accepted as the instrument of despotism, even were he inclined
to prostitute himself to such service. At this point, therefore,
undoubtedly began the treasonable thoughts of William the Silent, if it
be treason to attempt the protection of ancient and chartered liberties
against a foreign oppressor. He despatched a private envoy to Egmont,
representing the grave suspicions manifested by the Duchess in sending
Duke Eric into Holland, and proposing that means should be taken into
consideration for obviating the dangers with which the country was
menaced. Catholics as well as Protestants, he intimated, were to be
crushed in one universal conquest as soon as Philip had completed the
formidable preparations which he was making for invading the provinces.
For himself, he said, he would not remain in the land to witness the
utter desolation of the people, nor to fall an unresisting victim to the
vengeance which he foresaw. If, however, he might rely upon the
co-operation of Egmont and Horn, he was willing, with the advice of the
states-general, to risk preparations against the armed invasion of
Spaniards by which the country was to be reduced to slavery. It was
incumbent, however, upon men placed as they were, "not to let the grass
grow under their feet;" and the moment for action was fast approaching.

This was the scheme which Orange was willing to attempt. To make use of
his own influence and that of his friends, to interpose between a
sovereign insane with bigotry, and a people in a state of religious
frenzy, to resist brutal violence if need should be by force, and to
compel the sovereign to respect the charters which he had sworn to
maintain, and which were far more ancient than his sovereignty; so much
of treason did William of Orange already contemplate, for in no other way
could he be loyal to his country and his own honor.

Nothing came of this secret embassy, for Egmont's heart and fate were
already fixed. Before Orange departed, however; for the north, where his
presence in the Dutch provinces was now imperatively required, a
memorable interview took place at Dendermonde between Orange, Horn,
Egmont, Hoogstraaten, and Count Louis. The nature of this conference was
probably similar to that of the secret mission from Orange to Egmont just
recorded. It was not a long consultation. The gentlemen met at eleven
o'clock, and conversed until dinner was ready, which was between twelve
and one in the afternoon. They discussed the contents of a letter
recently received by Horn from his brother Montigny at Segovia, giving a
lively picture of Philip's fury at the recent events in the Netherlands,
and expressing the Baron's own astonishment and indignation that it had
been impossible for the seigniors to prevent such outrages as the public
preaching, the image-breaking and the Accord. They had also some
conversation concerning the dissatisfaction manifested by the Duchess at
the proceedings of Count Horn at Tournay, and they read a very remarkable
letter which had been furnished them, as having been written by the
Spanish envoy in Paris, Don Francis of Alava, to Margaret of Parma. This
letter was forged. At least the Regent, in her Italian correspondence,
asserted it to be fictitious, and in those secret letters to Philip she
usually told the truth. The astuteness of William of Orange had in this
instance been deceived. The striking fidelity, however, with which the
present and future policy of the government was sketched, the accuracy
with which many unborn events were foreshadowed, together with the minute
touches which gave an air of genuineness to the fictitious despatch,
might well deceive even so sagacious an observer as the Prince.

The letters alluded to the deep and long-settled hostility of Philip to
Orange, Horn, and Egmont, as to a fact entirely within the writer's
knowledge, and that of his correspondent, but urged upon the Duchess the
assumption of an extraordinary degree of apparent cordiality in her
intercourse with them. It was the King's intention to use them and to
destroy them, said the writer, and it was the Regent's duty to second the
design. "The tumults and troubles have not been without their secret
concurrence," said the supposititious Alava, "and your Highness may rest
assured that they will be the first upon whom his Majesty will seize, not
to confer benefits, but to chastise them as they deserve. Your Highness,
however, should show no symptom of displeasure, but should constantly
maintain in their minds the idea that his Majesty considers them as the
most faithful of his servants. While they are persuaded of this, they can
be more easily used, but when the time comes, they will be treated in
another manner. Your Highness may rest assured that his Majesty is not
less inclined than your Highness that they should receive the punishment
which they merit." The Duchess was furthermore recommended "to deal with
the three seigniors according to the example of the Spanish Governments
in its intercourse with the envoys, Bergen and Montigny, who are met with
a smiling face, but who are closely watched, and who will never be
permitted to leave Spain alive." The remainder of the letter alludes to
supposed engagements between France and Spain for the extirpation of
heresy, from which allusion to the generally accepted but mistaken notion
as to the Bayonne conference, a decided proof seems to be furnished that
the letter was not genuine. Great complaints, however, are made, as to
the conduct of the Queen Regent, who is described as "a certain lady well
known to her Highness, and as a person without faith, friendship, or
truth; the most consummate hypocrite in the world." After giving
instances of the duplicity manifested by Catherine de Medici, the writer
continues: "She sends her little black dwarf to me upon frequent errands,
in order that by means of this spy she may worm out my secrets. I am,
however, upon my guard, and flatter myself that I learn more from him
than she from me. She shall never be able to boast of having deceived a
Spaniard."

An extract or two from this very celebrated document seemed
indispensable, because of the great importance attached to it, both at
the Dendermonde Conference, and at the trials of Egmont and Horn. The
contemporary writers of Holland had no doubt of its genuineness, and what
is more remarkable, Strada, the historiographer of the Farnese family,
after quoting Margaret's denial of the authenticity of the letter, coolly
observes: "Whether this were only an invention of the conspirators, or
actually a despatch from Alava, I shall not decide. It is certain,
however, that the Duchess declared it to be false."

Certainly, as we read the epistles, and observe how profoundly the writer
seems to have sounded the deep guile of the Spanish Cabinet, and how
distinctly events, then far in the future, are indicated, we are tempted
to exclaim: "aut Alava, aut Diabolus;" either the envoy wrote the
despatch, or Orange. Who else could look into the future, and into
Philip's heart so unerringly?

As the charge has never been made, so far as we are aware, against the
Prince, it is superfluous to discuss the amount of immorality which
should belong to such a deception. A tendency to employ stratagem in his
warfare against Spain was, no doubt, a blemish upon his--high character.
Before he is condemned, however, in the Court of Conscience, the
ineffable wiles of the policy with which he had to combat must be
thoroughly scanned, as well as the pure and lofty purpose for which his
life's long battle was fought.

There was, doubtless, some conversation at Dendermonde on the propriety
or possibility of forcible resistance to a Spanish army, with which it
seemed probable that Philip was about to invade the provinces, and take
the lives of the leading nobles. Count Louis was in favor of making
provision in Germany for the accomplishment of this purpose. It is also
highly probable that the Prince may have encouraged the proposition. In
the sense of his former communication to Egmont, he may have reasoned on
the necessity of making levies to sustain the decisions of the
states-general against violence. There is, however, no proof of any such
fact. Egmont, at any rate, opposed the scheme, on the ground that "it was
wrong to entertain any such ill opinion of so good a king as Philip, that
he had never done any thing unjust towards his subjects, and that if any
one was in fear, he had better leave the country."

Egmont, moreover; doubted the authenticity of the letters from Alava, but
agreed to carry them to Brussels, and to lay them before the Regent. That
lady, when she saw them, warmly assured the Count that they were
inventions.

The Conference broke up after it had lasted an hour and a half. The
nobles then went to dinner, at which other persons appear to have been
present, and the celebrated Dendermonde meeting was brought to a close.
After the repast was finished, each of the five nobles mounted his horse,
and departed on his separate way.

From this time forth the position of, these leading seigniors became more
sharply defined. Orange was left in almost complete isolation. Without
the assistance of Egmont, any effective resistance to the impending
invasion from Spain seemed out of the question. The Count, however, had
taken his irrevocable and fatal resolution. After various oscillations
during the stormy period which had elapsed, his mind, notwithstanding all
the disturbing causes by which it had hitherto been partially influenced,
now pointed steadily to the point of loyalty. The guidance of that pole
star was to lead him to utter shipwreck. The unfortunate noble,
entrenched against all fear of Philip by the brazen wall of an easy
conscience; saw no fault in his past at which he should grow pale with
apprehension. Moreover, he was sanguine by nature, a Catholic in
religion, a royalist from habit and conviction. Henceforth he was
determined that his services to the crown should more than counterbalance
any idle speeches or insolent demonstrations of which he might have been
previously guilty.

Horn pursued a different course, but one which separated him also from
the Prince, while it led to the same fate which Egmont was blindly
pursuing.--The Admiral had committed no act of treason. On the contrary,
he had been doing his best, under most difficult circumstances, to avert
rebellion and save the interests of a most ungrateful sovereign. He was
now disposed to wrap himself in his virtue, to retreat from a court life,
for which he had never felt a vocation, and to resign all connection with
a government by which he felt himself very badly, treated. Moody,
wrathful, disappointed, ruined, and calumniated, he would no longer keep
terms with King or Duchess. He had griefs of long standing against the
whole of the royal family. He had never forgiven the Emperor for refusing
him, when young, the appointment of chamberlain. He had served Philip
long and faithfully, but he had never received a stiver of salary or
"merced," notwithstanding all his work as state councillor, as admiral,
as superintendent in Spain; while his younger brother had long been in
receipt of nine or ten thousand florins yearly. He had spent four hundred
thousand florins in the King's service; his estates were mortgaged to
their full value; he had been obliged to sell, his family plate. He had
done his best in Tourney to serve the Duchess, and he had averted the
"Sicilian vespers," which had been imminent at his arrival. He had saved
the Catholics from a general massacre, yet he heard nevertheless from
Montigny, that all his actions were distorted in Spain, and his motives
blackened. His heart no longer inclined him to continue in Philip's
service, even were he furnished with the means of doing so. He had
instructed his secretary, Alonzo de la Loo, whom he had despatched many
months previously to Madrid, that he was no longer to press his master's
claims for a "merced," but to signify that he abandoned all demands and
resigned all posts. He could turn hermit for the rest of his days, as
well as the Emperor Charles. If he had little, he could live upon little.
It was in this sense that he spoke to Margaret of Parma, to Assonleville,
to all around him. It was precisely in this strain and temper that he
wrote to Philip, indignantly defending his course at Tourney, protesting
against the tortuous conduct of the Duchess, and bluntly declaring that
he would treat no longer with ladies upon matters which concerned a man's
honor.

Thus, smarting under a sense of gross injustice, the Admiral expressed
himself in terms which Philip was not likely to forgive. He had
undertaken the pacification of Tournay, because it was Montigny's
government, and he had promised his services whenever they should be
requisite. Horn was a loyal and affectionate brother, and it is pathetic
to find him congratulating Montigny on being, after all, better off in
Spain than in the Netherlands. Neither loyalty nor the sincere
Catholicism for which Montigny at this period commended Horn in his
private letters, could save the two brothers from the doom which was now
fast approaching.

Thus Horn, blind as Egmont--not being aware that a single step beyond
implicit obedience had created an impassable gulf between Philip and
himself--resolved to meet his destiny in sullen retirement. Not an
entirely disinterested man, perhaps, but an honest one, as the world
went, mediocre in mind, but brave, generous, and direct of purpose,
goaded by the shafts of calumny, hunted down by the whole pack which
fawned upon power as it grew more powerful, he now retreated to his
"desert," as he called his ruined home at Weert, where he stood at bay,
growling defiance at the Regent, at Philip, at all the world.

Thus were the two prominent personages upon whose co-operation Orange had
hitherto endeavored to rely, entirely separated from him. The confederacy
of nobles, too, was dissolved, having accomplished little,
notwithstanding all its noisy demonstrations, and having lost all credit
with the people by the formal cessation of the Compromise in consequence
of the Accord of August. As a body, they had justified the sarcasm of
Hubert Languet, that "the confederated nobles had ruined their country by
their folly and incapacity." They had profaned a holy cause by indecent
orgies, compromised it by seditious demonstrations, abandoned it when
most in need of assistance. Bakkerzeel had distinguished himself by
hanging sectaries in Flanders. "Golden Fleece" de Hammes, after creating
great scandal in and about Antwerp, since the Accord, had ended by
accepting an artillery commission in the Emperor's army, together with
three hundred crowns for convoy from Duchess Margaret. Culemburg was
serving the cause of religious freedom by defacing the churches within
his ancestral domains, pulling down statues, dining in chapels and giving
the holy wafer to his parrot. Nothing could be more stupid than these
acts of irreverence, by which Catholics were offended and honest patriots
disgusted. Nothing could be more opposed to the sentiments of Orange,
whose first principle was abstinence by all denominations of Christians
from mutual insults. At the same time, it is somewhat revolting to
observe the indignation with which such offences were regarded by men of
the most abandoned character. Thus, Armenteros, whose name was synonymous
with government swindling, who had been rolling up money year after year,
by peculations, auctioneering of high posts in church and state, bribes,
and all kinds of picking and stealing, could not contain his horror as he
referred to wafers eaten by parrots, or "toasted on forks" by renegade
priests; and poured out his emotions on the subject into the faithful
bosom of Antonio Perez, the man with whose debaucheries, political
villanies, and deliberate murders all Europe was to ring.

No doubt there were many individuals in the confederacy for whom it was
reserved to render honorable service in the national cause. The names of
Louis Nassau, Mamix of St. Aldegonde, Bernard de Merode, were to be
written in golden letters in their country's rolls; but at this moment
they were impatient, inconsiderate, out of the control of Orange. Louis
was anxious for the King to come from Spain with his army, and for "the
bear dance to begin." Brederode, noisy, bawling, and absurd as ever, was
bringing ridicule upon the national cause by his buffoonery, and
endangering the whole people by his inadequate yet rebellious exertions.

What course was the Prince of Orange to adopt? He could find no one to
comprehend his views. He felt certain at the close of the year that the
purpose of the government was fixed. He made no secret of his
determination never to lend himself as an instrument for the contemplated
subjugation of the people. He had repeatedly resigned all his offices. He
was now determined that the resignation once for all should be accepted.
If he used dissimulation, it was because Philip's deception permitted no
man to be frank. If the sovereign constantly disavowed all hostile
purposes against his people, and manifested extreme affection for the men
whom he had already doomed to the scaffold, how could the Prince openly
denounce him? It was his duty to save his country and his friends from
impending ruin. He preserved, therefore, an attitude of watchfulness.
Philip, in the depth of his cabinet, was under a constant inspection by
the sleepless Prince. The sovereign assured his sister that her
apprehensions about their correspondence was groundless. He always locked
up his papers, and took the key with him. Nevertheless, the key was taken
out of his pocket and the papers read. Orange was accustomed to observe,
that men of leisure might occupy themselves with philosophical pursuits
and with the secrets of nature, but that it was his business to study the
hearts of kings. He knew the man and the woman with whom he had to deal.
We have seen enough of the policy secretly pursued by Philip and Margaret
to appreciate the accuracy with which the Prince, groping as it were in
the dark, had judged the whole situation. Had his friends taken his
warnings, they might have lived to render services against tyranny. Had
he imitated their example of false loyalty, there would have been one
additional victim, more illustrious than all the rest, and a whole
country hopelessly enslaved.

It is by keeping these considerations in view, that we can explain his
connection with such a man as Brederode. The enterprises of that noble,
of Tholouse, and others, and the resistance of Valenciennes, could hardly
have been prevented even by the opposition of the Prince. But why should
he take the field against men who, however rashly or ineffectually, were
endeavoring to oppose tyranny, when he knew himself already proscribed
and doomed by the tyrant? Such loyalty he left to Egmont. Till late in
the autumn, he had still believed in the possibility of convoking the
states-general, and of making preparations in Germany to enforce their
decrees.

The confederates and sectaries had boasted that they could easily raise
an army of sixty thousand men within the provinces,--that twelve hundred
thousand florins monthly would be furnished by the rich merchants of
Antwerp, and that it was ridiculous to suppose that the German
mercenaries enrolled by the Duchess in Saxony, Hesse, and other
Protestant countries, would ever render serious assistance against the
adherents of the reformed religion. Without placing much confidence in
such exaggerated statements, the Prince might well be justified in
believing himself strong enough, if backed by the confederacy, by Egmont,
and by his own boundless influence, both at Antwerp and in his own
government, to sustain the constituted authorities of the nation even
against a Spanish army, and to interpose with legitimate and irresistible
strength between the insane tyrant and the country which he was preparing
to crush. It was the opinion of the best informed Catholics that, if
Egmont should declare for the confederacy, he could take the field with
sixty thousand men, and make himself master of the whole country at a
blow. In conjunction with Orange, the moral and physical force would have
been invincible.

It was therefore not Orange alone, but the Catholics and Protestants
alike, the whole population of the country, and the Duchess Regent
herself, who desired the convocation of the estates. Notwithstanding
Philip's deliberate but secret determination never to assemble that body,
although the hope was ever to be held out that they should be convened,
Margaret had been most importunate that her brother should permit the
measure. "There was less danger," she felt herself compelled to say, "in
assembling than in not assembling the States; it was better to preserve
the Catholic religion for a part of the country, than to lose it
altogether." "The more it was delayed," she said, "the more ruinous and
desperate became the public affairs. If the measure were postponed much
longer, all Flanders, half Brabant, the whole of Holland, Zeland,
Gueldrea, Tournay, Lille, Mechlin, would be lost forever, without a
chance of ever restoring the ancient religion." The country, in short,
was "without faith, King, or law," and nothing worse could be apprehended
from any deliberation of the states-general. These being the opinions of
the Duchess, and according to her statement those of nearly all the good
Catholics in the country, it could hardly seem astonishing or treasonable
that the Prince should also be in favor of the measure.

As the Duchess grew stronger, however, and as the people, aghast at the
fate of Tournay and Valenciennes, began to lose courage, she saw less
reason for assembling the states. Orange, on the other hand, completely
deserted by Egmont and Horn, and having little confidence in the
characters of the ex-confederates, remained comparatively quiescent but
watchful.

At the close of the year, an important pamphlet from his hand was
circulated, in which his views as to the necessity of allowing some
degree of religious freedom were urged upon the royal government with his
usual sagacity of thought, moderation of language, and modesty in tone.
The man who had held the most important civil and military offices in the
country almost from boyhood, and who was looked up to by friend and foe
as the most important personage in the three millions of its inhabitants,
apologized for his "presumption" in coming forward publicly with his
advice. "I would not," he said, "in matters of such importance, affect to
be wiser or to make greater pretensions than my age or experience
warrants, yet seeing affairs in such perplexity, I will rather incur the
risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect that which I consider
my duty."

This, then, was the attitude of the principal personages in the
Netherlands, and the situation of affairs at the end of the eventful year
1566, the last year of peace which the men then living or their children
were to know. The government, weak at the commencement, was strong at the
close. The confederacy was broken and scattered. The Request, the beggar
banquets, the public preaching, the image-breaking, the Accord of August,
had been followed by reaction. Tournay had accepted its garrison. Egmont,
completely obedient to the crown, was compelling all the cities of
Flanders and Artois to receive soldiers sufficient to maintain implicit
obedience, and to extinguish all heretical demonstrations, so that the
Regent was at comparative leisure to effect the reduction of
Valenciennes.

This ancient city, in the province of Hainault, and on the frontier of
France, had been founded by the Emperor Valentinian, from whom it had
derived its name. Originally established by him as a city of refuge, it
had received the privilege of affording an asylum to debtors, to outlaws,
and even to murderers. This ancient right had been continued, under
certain modifications, even till the period with which we are now
occupied. Never, however, according to the government, had the right of
asylum, even in the wildest times, been so abused by the city before.
What were debtors, robbers, murderers, compared to heretics? yet these
worst enemies of their race swarmed in the rebellious city, practising
even now the foulest rites of Calvin, and obeying those most pestilential
of all preachers, Guido de Bray, and Peregrine de la Grange. The place
was the hot-bed of heresy and sedition, and it seemed to be agreed, as by
common accord, that the last struggle for what was called the new
religion, should take place beneath its walls.

Pleasantly situated in a fertile valley, provided with very strong
fortifications and very deep moats, Valenciennes, with the Scheld flowing
through its centre, and furnishing the means of laying the circumjacent
meadows under water, was considered in those days almost impregnable. The
city was summoned, almost at the same time as Tournay, to accept a
garrison. This demand of government was met by a peremptory refusal.
Noircarmes, towards the middle of December, ordered the magistrates to
send a deputation to confer with him at Conde. Pensionary Outreman
accordingly repaired to that neighboring city, accompanied by some of his
colleagues. This committee was not unfavorable to the demands of
government. The magistracies of the cities, generally, were far from
rebellious; but in the case of Valenciennes the real power at that moment
was with the Calvinist consistory, and the ministers. The deputies, after
their return from Conde, summoned the leading members of the reformed
religion, together with the preachers. It was urged that it was their
duty forthwith to use their influence in favor of the demand made by the
government upon the city.

"May I grow mute as a fish!" answered de la Grange, stoutly, "may the
tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, before I persuade my people to
accept a garrison of cruel mercenaries, by whom their rights of
conscience are to be trampled upon!"

Councillor Outreman reasoned with the fiery minister, that if he and his
colleague were afraid of their own lives, ample provision should be made
with government for their departure under safe conduct. La Grange replied
that he had no fears for himself, that the Lord would protect those who
preached and those who believed in his holy word, but that He would not
forgive them should they now bend their necks to His enemies.

It was soon very obvious that no arrangement could be made. The
magistrates could exert no authority, the preachers were all-powerful;
and the citizens, said a Catholic inhabitant of Valenciennes, "allowed
themselves to be led by their ministers like oxen." Upon the 17th
December, 1566, a proclamation was accordingly issued by the Duchess
Regent, declaring the city in a state of siege, and all its inhabitants
rebels. The crimes for which this penalty was denounced, were elaborately
set forth in the edict. Preaching according to the reformed religion had
been permitted in two or three churches, the sacrament according to the
Calvinistic manner had been publicly administered, together with a
renunciation by the communicants of their adhesion to the Catholic
Church, and now a rebellious refusal to receive the garrison sent to them
by the Duchess had been added to the list of their iniquities. For
offences like these the Regent deemed it her duty to forbid all
inhabitants of any city, village, or province of the Netherlands holding
communication with Valenciennes, buying or selling with its inhabitants,
or furnishing them with provisions; on pain of being considered
accomplices in their rebellion, and as such of being executed with the
halter.

The city was now invested by Noircarmes with all the troops which could
be spared. The confederates gave promises of assistance to the
beleaguered citizens, Orange privately encouraged them to holdout in
their legitimate refusal. Brederode and others busied themselves with
hostile demonstrations which were destined to remain barren; but in the
mean time the inhabitants had nothing to rely upon save their own stout
hearts and arms.

At first, the siege was sustained with a light heart. Frequent sallies
were made, smart skirmishes were ventured, in which the Huguenots, on the
testimony of a most bitter Catholic contemporary, conducted themselves
with the bravery of veteran troops, and as if they had done nothing all
their lives but fight; forays were made upon the monasteries of the
neighborhood for the purpose of procuring supplies, and the broken
statues of the dismantled churches were used to build a bridge across an
arm of the river, which was called in derision the Bridge of Idols.
Noircarmes and the six officers under him, who were thought to be
conducting their operations with languor, were christened the Seven
Sleepers. Gigantic spectacles, three feet in circumference, were planted
derisively upon the ramparts, in order that the artillery, which it was
said that the papists of Arras were sending, might be seen, as soon as it
should arrive. Councillor Outreman, who had left the city before the
siege, came into it again, on commission from Noircarmes. He was received
with contempt, his proposals on behalf of the government were answered
with outcries of fury; he was pelted with stones, and was very glad to
make his escape alive. The pulpits thundered with the valiant deeds of
Joshua, Judas Maccabeus, and other bible heroes. The miracles wrought in
their behalf served to encourage the enthusiasm of the people, while the
movements making at various points in the neighborhood encouraged a hope
of a general rising throughout the country.

Those hopes were destined to disappointment. There were large assemblages
made, to be sure, at two points. Nearly three thousand sectaries had been
collected at Lannoy under Pierre Comaille, who, having been a locksmith
and afterwards a Calvinist preacher, was now disposed to try his fortune
as a general. His band was, however, disorderly. Rustics armed with
pitchforks, young students and old soldiers out of employment, furnished
with rusty matchlocks, pikes and halberds, composed his force. A company
similar in character, and already amounting to some twelve hundred in
number, was collecting at Waterlots. It was hoped that an imposing array
would soon be assembled, and that the two bands, making a junction, would
then march to the relief of Valenciennes. It was boasted that in a very
short time, thirty thousand men would be in the field. There was even a
fear of some such result felt by the Catholics.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     1566, the last year of peace
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 13.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

1567 [CHAPTER IX., Part 2.]

   Calvinists defeated at Lannoy and at Waterlots--Elation of the
   government--The siege pressed more closely--Cruelties practised upon
   the country people--Courage of the inhabitants--Remonstrance to the
   Knights of the Fleece--Conduct of Brederode--Orange at Amsterdam--
   New Oath demanded by Government--Orange refuses--He offers his
   resignation of all offices--Meeting at Breda--New "Request" of
   Brederode--He creates disturbances and levies troops in Antwerp--
   Conduct of Hoogstraaten--Plans of Brederode--Supposed connivance of
   Orange--Alarm at Brussels--Tholouse at Ostrawell--Brederode in
   Holland--De Beauvoir defeats Tholouse--Excitement at Antwerp--
   Determined conduct of Orange--Three days' tumult at Antwerp
   suppressed by the wisdom and courage of Orange.

It was then that Noircarmes and his "seven sleepers" showed that they
were awake. Early in January, 1567, that fierce soldier, among whose
vices slothfulness was certainly never reckoned before or afterwards,
fell upon the locksmith's army at Zannoy, while the Seigneur de
Rassinghem attacked the force at Waterlots on the same day. Noircarmes
destroyed half his enemies at the very first charge. The ill-assorted
rabble fell asunder at once. The preacher fought well, but his
undisciplined force fled at the first sight of the enemy. Those who
carried arquebusses threw them down without a single discharge, that they
might run the faster. At least a thousand were soon stretched dead upon
the field; others were hunted into the river. Twenty-six hundred,
according to the Catholic accounts, were exterminated in an hour.

Rassinghem, on his part, with five or six hundred regulars, attacked
Teriel's force, numbering at least twice as many. Half of these were soon
cut to pieces and put to flight. Six hundred, however, who had seen some
service, took refuge in the cemetery of Waterlots. Here, from behind the
stone wall of the inclosure, they sustained the attack of the Catholics
with some spirit. The repose of the dead in the quiet country church-yard
was disturbed by the uproar of a most sanguinary conflict. The temporary
fort was soon carried, and the Huguenots retreated into the church. A
rattling arquebusade was poured in upon them as they struggled in the
narrow doorway. At least four hundred corpses were soon strewn among the
ancient graves. The rest were hunted, into the church, and from the
church into the belfry. A fire was then made in the steeple and kept up
till all were roasted or suffocated. Not a man escaped.

This was the issue in the first stricken field in the Netherlands, for
the cause of religious liberty. It must be confessed that it was not very
encouraging to the lovers of freedom. The partisans of government were
elated, in proportion to the apprehension which had been felt for the
result of this rising in the Walloon country. "These good hypocrites,"
wrote a correspondent of Orange, "are lifting up their heads like so many
dromedaries. They are becoming unmanageable with pride." The Duke of
Aerschot and Count Meghem gave great banquets in Brussels, where all the
good chevaliers drank deep in honor of the victory, and to the health of
his Majesty and Madame. "I saw Berlaymont just go by the window," wrote
Schwartz to the Prince. "He was coming from Aerschot's dinner with a face
as red as the Cardinal's new hat."

On the other hand, the citizens of Valenciennes were depressed in equal
measure with the exultation of their antagonists. There was no more talk
of seven sleepers now, no more lunettes stuck upon lances, to spy the
coming forces of the enemy. It was felt that the government was wide
awake, and that the city would soon see the impending horrors without
telescopes. The siege was pressed more closely. Noircarmes took up a
commanding position at Saint Armand, by which he was enabled to cut off
all communication between the city and the surrounding country. All the
villages in the neighborhood were pillaged; all the fields laid waste.
All the infamies which an insolent soldiery can inflict upon helpless
peasantry were daily enacted. Men and women who attempted any
communication--with the city, were murdered in cold blood by hundreds.
The villagers were plundered of their miserable possessions, children
were stripped naked in the midst of winter for the sake of the rags which
covered them; matrons and virgins were sold at public auction by the tap
of drum; sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires, to afford
amusement to the soldiers. In brief, the whole unmitigated curse which
military power inflamed by religious bigotry can embody, had descended
upon the heads of these unfortunate provincials who had dared to worship
God in Christian churches without a Roman ritual.

Meantime the city maintained, a stout heart still. The whole population
were arranged under different banners. The rich and poor alike took arms
to defend the walls which sheltered them. The town paupers were enrolled
in three companies, which bore the significant title of the "Tons-nulls"
or the "Stark-nakeds," and many was the fierce conflict delivered outside
the gates by men, who, in the words of a Catholic then in the city, might
rather be taken for "experienced veterans than for burghers and
artisans." At the same time, to the honor of Valenciennes, it must be
stated, upon the same incontestable authority, that not a Catholic in the
city was injured or insulted. The priests who had remained there were not
allowed to say mass, but they never met with an opprobrious word or look
from the people.

The inhabitants of the city called upon the confederates for assistance.
They also issued an address to the Knights of the Fleece; a paper which
narrated the story of their wrongs in pathetic and startling language.
They appealed to those puissant and illustrious chevaliers to prevent the
perpetration of the great wrong which was now impending over so many
innocent heads. "Wait not," they said, "till the thunderbolt has fallen,
till the deluge has overwhelmed us, till the fires already blazing have
laid the land in coals and ashes, till no other course be possible, but
to abandon the country in its desolation to foreign barbarity. Let the
cause of the oppressed come to your ears. So shall your conscience become
a shield of iron; so shall the happiness of a whole country witness
before the angels, of your truth to his Majesty, in the cause of his true
grandeur and glory."

These stirring appeals to an order of which Philip was chief, Viglius
chancellor, Egmont, Mansfeld, Aerschot, Berlaymont, and others,
chevaliers, were not likely to produce much effect. The city could rely
upon no assistance in those high quarters.

Meantime, however, the bold Brederode was attempting a very extensive
diversion, which, if successful, would have saved Valenciennes and the
whole country beside. That eccentric personage, during the autumn and
winter had been creating disturbances in various parts of the country.
Wherever he happened to be established, there came from the windows of
his apartments a sound of revelry and uproar. Suspicious characters in
various costumes thronged his door and dogged his footsteps. At the same
time the authorities felt themselves obliged to treat him with respect.
At Horn he had entertained many of the leading citizens at a great
banquet.--The-health-of-the-beggars had been drunk in mighty potations,
and their shibboleth had resounded through the house. In the midst of the
festivities, Brederode had suspended a beggar's-medal around the neck of
the burgomaster, who had consented to be his guest upon that occasion,
but who had no intention of enrolling himself in the fraternities of
actual or political mendicants. The excellent magistrate, however, was
near becoming a member of both. The emblem by which he had been
conspicuously adorned proved very embarrassing to him upon his recovery
from the effects of his orgies with the "great beggar," and he was
subsequently punished for his imprudence by the confiscation of half his
property.

Early in January, Brederode had stationed himself in his city of Viane.
There, in virtue of his seignorial rights, he had removed all statues and
other popish emblems from the churches, performing the operation,
however, with much quietness and decorum. He had also collected many
disorderly men at arms in this city, and had strengthened its
fortifications, to resist, as he said, the threatened attacks of Duke
Eric of Brunswick and his German mercenaries. A printing-press was
established in the place, whence satirical pamphlets, hymn-books, and
other pestiferous productions, were constantly issuing to the annoyance
of government. Many lawless and uproarious individuals enjoyed the
Count's hospitality. All the dregs and filth of the provinces, according
to Doctor Viglius, were accumulated at Viane as in a cesspool. Along the
placid banks of the Lech, on which river the city stands, the "hydra of
rebellion" lay ever coiled and threatening.

Brederode was supposed to be revolving vast schemes, both political and
military, and Margaret of Parma was kept in continual apprehension by the
bravado of this very noisy conspirator. She called upon William of
Orange, as usual, for assistance. The Prince, however, was very
ill-disposed to come to her relief. An extreme disgust for the policy of
the government already began to, characterize his public language. In the
autumn and winter he had done all that man could do for the safety of the
monarch's crown, and for the people's happiness. His services in Antwerp
have been recorded. As soon as he could tear himself from that city,
where the magistrates and all classes of citizens clung to him as to
their only saviour, he had hastened to tranquillize the provinces of
Holland, Zeland, and Utrecht. He had made arrangements in the principal
cities there upon the same basis which he had adopted in Antwerp, and to
which Margaret had consented in August. It was quite out of the question
to establish order without permitting the reformers, who constituted much
the larger portion of the population, to have liberty of religious
exercises at some places, not consecrated, within the cities.

At Amsterdam, for instance, as he informed the Duchess, there were swarms
of unlearned, barbarous people, mariners and the like, who could by no
means perceive the propriety of doing their preaching in the open
country, seeing that the open country, at that season, was quite under
water.--Margaret's gracious suggestion that, perhaps, something might be
done with boats, was also considered inadmissible. "I know not," said
Orange, "who could have advised your highness to make such a
proposition." He informed her, likewise; that the barbarous mariners had
a clear right to their preaching; for the custom had already been
established previously to the August treaty, at a place called the
"Lastadge," among the wharves. "In the name of God, then," wrote
Margaret; "let them continue to preach in the Lastadge." This being all
the barbarians wanted, an Accord, with the full consent of the Regent,
was drawn up at Amsterdam and the other northern cities. The Catholics
kept churches and cathedrals, but in the winter season, the greater part
of the population obtained permission to worship God upon dry land, in
warehouses and dock-yards.

Within a very few weeks, however, the whole arrangement was coolly
cancelled by the Duchess, her permission revoked, and peremptory
prohibition of all preaching within or without the walls proclaimed. The
government was growing stronger. Had not Noircarmes and Rassinghem cut to
pieces three or four thousand of these sectaries marching to battle under
parsons, locksmiths, and similar chieftains? Were not all lovers of good
government "erecting their heads like dromedaries?"

It may easily be comprehended that the Prince could not with complacency
permit himself to be thus perpetually stultified by a weak, false, and
imperious woman. She had repeatedly called upon him when she was appalled
at the tempest and sinking in the ocean; and she had as constantly
disavowed his deeds and reviled his character when she felt herself in
safety again. He had tranquillized the old Batavian provinces, where the
old Batavian spirit still lingered, by his personal influence and his
unwearied exertions. Men of all ranks and religions were grateful for his
labors. The Reformers had not gained much, but they were satisfied. The
Catholics retained their churches, their property, their consideration.
The states of Holland had voted him fifty thousand florins, as an
acknowledgment of his efforts in restoring peace. He had refused the
present. He was in debt, pressed for money, but he did not choose, as he
informed Philip, "that men should think his actions governed by motives
of avarice or particular interest, instead of the true affection which he
bore to his Majesty's service and the good of the country." Nevertheless,
his back was hardly turned before all his work was undone by the Regent.

A new and important step on the part of the government had now placed him
in an attitude of almost avowed rebellion. All functionaries, from
governors of provinces down to subalterns in the army, were required to
take a new oath of allegiance, "novum et hactenua inusitatum religionia
juramentum," as the Prince characterized it, which was, he said, quite
equal to the inquisition. Every man who bore his Majesty's commission was
ordered solemnly to pledge himself to obey the orders of government,
every where, and against every person, without limitation or
restriction.--Count Mansfeld, now "factotum at Brussels," had taken the
oath with great fervor. So had Aerachot, Berlaymont, Meghem, and, after a
little wavering, Egmont. Orange spurned the proposition. He had taken
oaths enough which he had never broken, nor intended now to break: He was
ready still to do every thing conducive to the real interest of the
monarch. Who dared do more was no true servant to the government, no true
lover of the country. He would never disgrace himself by a blind pledge,
through which he might be constrained to do acts detrimental, in his
opinion, to the safety of the crown, the happiness of the commonwealth,
and his own honor. The alternative presented he willingly embraced. He
renounced all his offices, and desired no longer to serve a government
whose policy he did not approve, a King by whom he was suspected.

His resignation was not accepted by the Duchess, who still made efforts
to retain the services of a man who was necessary to her administration.
She begged him, notwithstanding the purely defensive and watchful
attitude which he had now assumed, to take measures that Brederode should
abandon his mischievous courses. She also reproached the Prince with
having furnished that personage with artillery for his fortifications.
Orange answered, somewhat contemptuously, that he was not Brederode's
keeper, and had no occasion to meddle with his affairs. He had given him
three small field-pieces, promised long ago; not that he mentioned that
circumstance as an excuse for the donation. "Thank God," said he, "we
have always had the liberty in this country of making to friends or
relatives what presents we liked, and methinks that things have come to a
pretty pass when such trifles are scrutinized." Certainly, as Suzerain of
Viane, and threatened with invasion in his seignorial rights, the Count
might think himself justified in strengthening the bulwarks of his little
stronghold, and the Prince could hardly be deemed very seriously to
endanger the safety of the crown by the insignificant present which had
annoyed the Regent.

It is not so agreeable to contemplate the apparent intimacy which the
Prince accorded to so disreputable a character, but Orange was now in
hostility to the government, was convinced by evidence, whose accuracy
time was most signally to establish, that his own head, as well as many
others, were already doomed to the block, while the whole country was
devoted to abject servitude, and he was therefore disposed to look with
more indulgence upon the follies of those who were endeavoring, however
weakly and insanely, to avert the horrors which he foresaw. The time for
reasoning had passed. All that true wisdom and practical statesmanship
could suggest, he had already placed at the disposal of a woman who
stabbed him in the back even while she leaned upon his arm--of a king who
had already drawn his death warrant, while reproaching his "cousin of
Orange" for want of confidence in the royal friendship. Was he now to
attempt the subjugation of his country by interfering with the
proceedings of men whom he had no power to command, and who, at least,
were attempting to oppose tyranny? Even if he should do so, he was
perfectly aware of the reward, reserved for his loyalty. He liked not
such honors as he foresaw for all those who had ever interposed between
the monarch and his vengeance. For himself he had the liberation of a
country, the foundation of a free commonwealth to achieve. There was much
work for those hands before he should fall a victim to the crowned
assassin.

Early in February, Brederode, Hoogstraaten, Horn, and some other
gentlemen, visited the Prince at Breda. Here it is supposed the advice of
Orange was asked concerning the new movement contemplated by Brederode.
He was bent upon presenting a new petition to the Duchess with great
solemnity. There is no evidence to show that the Prince approved the
step, which must have seemed to him superfluous, if not puerile. He
probably regarded the matter with indifference. Brederode, however, who
was fond of making demonstrations, and thought himself endowed with a
genius for such work, wrote to the Regent for letters of safe conduct
that he might come to Brussels with his petition. The passports were
contemptuously refused. He then came to Antwerp, from which city he
forwarded the document to Brussels in a letter.

By this new Request, the exercise of the reformed religion was claimed as
a right, while the Duchess was summoned to disband the forces which she
had been collecting, and to maintain in good faith the "August" treaty.
These claims were somewhat bolder than those of the previous April,
although the liberal party was much weaker and the confederacy entirely
disbanded. Brederode, no doubt, thought it good generalship to throw the
last loaf of bread into the enemy's camp before the city should
surrender. His haughty tone was at once taken down by Margaret of Parma.
"She wondered," she said, "what manner of nobles these were, who, after
requesting, a year before, to be saved only from the inquisition, now
presumed to talk about preaching in the cities." The concessions of
August had always been odious, and were now canceled. "As for you and
your accomplices," she continued to the Count, "you will do well to go to
your homes at once without meddling with public affairs, for, in case of
disobedience, I shall deal with you as I shall deem expedient."

Brederode not easily abashed, disregarded the advice, and continued in
Antwerp. Here, accepting the answer of the Regent as a formal declaration
of hostilities, he busied himself in levying troops in and about the
city.

Orange had returned to Antwerp early in February. During his absence,
Hoogstraaten had acted as governor at the instance of the Prince and of
the Regent. During the winter that nobleman, who was very young and very
fiery, had carried matters with a high hand, whenever there had been the
least attempt at sedition. Liberal in principles, and the devoted friend
of Orange, he was disposed however to prove that the champions of
religious liberty were not the patrons of sedition. A riot occurring in
the cathedral, where a violent mob were engaged in defacing whatever was
left to deface in that church, and in heaping insults on the papists at
their worship, the little Count, who, says a Catholic contemporary, "had
the courage of a lion," dashed in among them, sword in hand, killed three
upon the spot, and, aided by his followers, succeeded in slaying,
wounding, or capturing all the rest. He had also tracked the ringleader
of the tumult to his lodging, where he had caused him to be arrested at
midnight, and hanged at once in his shirt without any form of trial. Such
rapid proceedings little resembled the calm and judicious moderation of
Orange upon all occasions, but they certainly might have sufficed to
convince Philip that all antagonists of the inquisition were not heretics
and outlaws. Upon the arrival of the Prince in Antwerp, it was considered
advisable that Hoogstraaten should remain associated with him in the
temporary government of the city.

During the month of February, Brederode remained in Antwerp, secretly
enrolling troops. It was probably his intention--if so desultory and
irresponsible an individual could be said to have an intention--to make
an attempt upon the Island of Walcheren. If such important cities as
Flushing and Middelburg could be gained, he thought it possible to
prevent the armed invasion now soon expected from Spain. Orange had sent
an officer to those cities, who was to reconnoitre their condition, and
to advise them against receiving a garrison from government without his
authority. So far he connived at Brederode's proceedings, as he had a
perfect right to do, for Walcheren was within what had been the Prince's
government, and he had no disposition that these cities should share the
fate of Tourney, Valenciennes, Bois le Duc, and other towns which had
already passed or were passing under the spears of foreign mercenaries.

It is also probable that he did not take any special pains to check the
enrolments of Brederode. The peace of Antwerp was not endangered, and to
the preservation of that city the Prince seemed now to limit himself. He
was hereditary burgrave of Antwerp, but officer of Philip's never more.
Despite the shrill demands of Duchess Margaret, therefore; the Prince did
not take very active measures by which the crown of Philip might be
secured. He, perhaps, looked upon the struggle almost with indifference.
Nevertheless, he issued a formal proclamation by which the Count's
enlistments were forbidden. Van der Aa, a gentleman who had been active
in making these levies, was compelled to leave the city. Brederode was
already gone to the north to busy himself with further enrolments.

In the mean time there had been much alarm in Brussels. Egmont, who
omitted no opportunity of manifesting his loyalty, offered to throw
himself at once into the Isle of Walcheren, for the purpose of dislodging
any rebels who might have effected an entrance. He collected accordingly
seven or eight hundred Walloon veterans, at his disposal in Flanders, in
the little port of Sas de Ghent, prepared at once to execute his
intention, "worthy," says a Catholic writer, "of his well-known courage
and magnanimity." The Duchess expressed gratitude for the Count's
devotion and loyalty, but his services in the sequel proved unnecessary.
The rebels, several boat-loads of whom had been cruising about in the
neighborhood of Flushing during the early part of March, had been refused
admittance into any of the ports on the island. They therefore sailed up
the Scheld, and landed at a little village called Ostrawell, at the
distance of somewhat more than a mile from Antwerp.

The commander of the expedition was Marnix of Tholouse, brother to Marnix
of Saint Aldegonde. This young nobleman, who had left college to fight
for the cause of religious liberty, was possessed of fine talents and
accomplishments. Like his illustrious brother, he was already a sincere
convert to the doctrines of the reformed Church. He had nothing, however,
but courage to recommend him as a leader in a military expedition. He was
a mere boy, utterly without experience in the field. His troops were raw
levies, vagabonds and outlaws.

Such as it was, however, his army was soon posted at Ostrawell in a
convenient position, and with considerable judgment. He had the Scheld
and its dykes in his rear, on his right and left the dykes and the
village. In front he threw up a breastwork and sunk a trench. Here then
was set up the standard of rebellion, and hither flocked daily many
malcontents from the country round. Within a few days three thousand men
were in his camp. On the other handy Brederode was busy in Holland, and
boasted of taking the field ere long with six thousand soldiers at the
very least. Together they would march to the relief of Valenciennes, and
dictate peace in Brussels.

It was obvious that this matter could not be allowed to go on. The
Duchess, with some trepidation, accepted the offer made by Philip de
Lannoy, Seigneur de Beauvoir, commander of her body-guard in Brussels, to
destroy this nest of rebels without delay. Half the whole number of these
soldiers was placed at his disposition, and Egmont supplied De Beauvoir
with four hundred of his veteran Walloons.

With a force numbering only eight hundred, but all picked men, the
intrepid officer undertook his enterprise, with great despatch and
secrecy. Upon the 12th March, the whole troop was sent off in small
parties, to avoid suspicion, and armed only with sword and dagger. Their
helmets, bucklers, arquebusses, corselets, spears, standards and drums,
were delivered to their officers, by whom they were conveyed noiselessly
to the place of rendezvous. Before daybreak, upon the following morning,
De Beauvoir met his soldiers at the abbey of Saint Bernard, within a
league of Antwerp. Here he gave them their arms, supplied them with
refreshments, and made them a brief speech. He instructed them that they
were to advance, with furled banners and without beat of drum, till
within sight of the enemy, that the foremost section was to deliver its
fire, retreat to the rear and load, to be followed by the next, which was
to do the same, and above all, that not an arquebus should be discharged
till the faces of the enemy could be distinguished.

The troop started. After a few minutes' march they were in full sight of
Ostrawell. They then displayed their flags and advanced upon the fort
with loud huzzas. Tholouse was as much taken by surprise as if they had
suddenly emerged from the bowels of the earth. He had been informed that
the government at Brussels was in extreme trepidation. When he first
heard the advancing trumpets and sudden shouts, he thought it a
detachment of Brederode's promised force. The cross on the banners soon
undeceived him. Nevertheless "like a brave and generous young gentleman
as he was," he lost no time in drawing up his men for action, implored
them to defend their breastworks, which were impregnable against so small
a force, and instructed them to wait patiently with their fire, till the
enemy were near enough to be marked.

These orders were disobeyed. The "young scholar," as De Beauvoir had
designated him, had no power to infuse his own spirit into his rabble
rout of followers. They were already panic-struck by the unexpected
appearance of the enemy. The Catholics came on with the coolness of
veterans, taking as deliberate aim as if it had been they, not their
enemies, who were behind breastworks. The troops of Tholouse fired
wildly, precipitately, quite over the heads of the assailants. Many of
the defenders were slain as fast as they showed themselves above their
bulwarks. The ditch was crossed, the breastwork carried at, a single
determined charge. The rebels made little resistance, but fled as soon as
the enemy entered their fort. It was a hunt, not a battle. Hundreds were
stretched dead in the camp; hundreds were driven into the Scheld; six or
eight hundred took refuge in a farm-house; but De Beauvoir's men set fire
to the building, and every rebel who had entered it was burned alive or
shot. No quarter was given. Hardly a man of the three thousand who had
held the fort escaped. The body of Tholouse was cut into a hundred
pieces. The Seigneur de Beauvoir had reason, in the brief letter which
gave an account of this exploit, to assure her Highness that there were
"some very valiant fellows in his little troop." Certainly they had
accomplished the enterprise entrusted to them with promptness, neatness,
and entire success. Of the great rebellious gathering, which every day
had seemed to grow more formidable, not a vestige was left.

This bloody drama had been enacted in full sight of Antwerp. The fight
had lasted from daybreak till ten o'clock in the forenoon, during the
whole of which period, the city ramparts looking towards Ostrawell, the
roofs of houses, the towers of churches had been swarming with eager
spectators. The sound of drum and trumpet, the rattle of musketry, the
shouts of victory, the despairing cries of the vanquished were heard by
thousands who deeply sympathized with the rebels thus enduring so
sanguinary a chastisement. In Antwerp there were forty thousand people
opposed to the Church of Rome. Of this number the greater proportion were
Calvinists, and of these Calvinists there were thousands looking down
from the battlements upon the disastrous fight.

The excitement soon became uncontrollable. Before ten o'clock vast
numbers of sectaries came pouring towards the Red Gate, which afforded
the readiest egress to the scene of action; the drawbridge of the
Ostrawell Gate having been destroyed the night before by command of
Orange. They came from every street and alley of the city. Some were
armed with lance, pike, or arquebus; some bore sledge-hammers; others had
the partisans, battle-axes, and huge two-handed swords of the previous
century; all were determined upon issuing forth to the rescue of their
friends in the fields outside the town. The wife of Tholouse, not yet
aware of her husband's death, although his defeat was obvious, flew from
street to street, calling upon the Calvinists to save or to avenge their
perishing brethren.

A terrible tumult prevailed. Ten thousand men were already up and in
arms.--It was then that the Prince of Orange, who was sometimes described
by his enemies as timid and pusillanimous by nature, showed the mettle he
was made of. His sense of duty no longer bade him defend the crown of
Philip--which thenceforth was to be entrusted to the hirelings of the
Inquisition--but the vast population of Antwerp, the women, the children,
and the enormous wealth of the richest Deity in the world had been
confided to his care, and he had accepted the responsibility. Mounting
his horse, he made his appearance instantly at the Red Gate, before as
formidable a mob as man has ever faced. He came there almost alone,
without guards. Hoogstraaten arrived soon afterwards with the same
intention. The Prince was received with howls of execration. A thousand
hoarse voices called him the Pope's servant, minister of Antichrist, and
lavished upon him many more epithets of the same nature. His life was in
imminent danger. A furious clothier levelled an arquebus full at his
breast. "Die, treacherous villain?" he cried; "thou who art the cause
that our brethren have perished thus miserably in yonder field." The
loaded weapon was struck away by another hand in the crowd, while the
Prince, neither daunted by the ferocious demonstrations against his life,
nor enraged by the virulent abuse to which he was subjected, continued
tranquilly, earnestly, imperatively to address the crowd. William of
Orange had that in his face and tongue "which men willingly call
master-authority." With what other talisman could he, without violence
and without soldiers, have quelled even for a moment ten thousand furious
Calvinists, armed, enraged against his person, and thirsting for
vengeance on Catholics. The postern of the Red Gate had already been
broken through before Orange and his colleague, Hoogstraaten, had
arrived. The most excited of the Calvinists were preparing to rush forth
upon the enemy at Ostrawell. The Prince, after he had gained the ear of
the multitude, urged that the battle was now over, that the reformers
were entirely cut to pieces, the enemy, retiring, and that a disorderly
and ill-armed mob would be unable to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
Many were persuaded to abandon the design. Five hundred of the most
violent, however, insisted upon leaving the gates, and the governors,
distinctly warning these zealots that their blood must be upon their own
heads, reluctantly permitted that number to issue from the city. The rest
of the mob, not appeased, but uncertain, and disposed to take vengeance
upon the Catholics within the walls, for the disaster which had been
occurring without, thronged tumultuously to the long, wide street, called
the Mere, situate in the very heart of the city.

Meantime the ardor of those who had sallied from the gate grew sensibly
cooler, when they found themselves in the open fields. De Beauvoir, whose
men, after the victory, had scattered in pursuit of the fugitives, now
heard the tumult in the city. Suspecting an attack, he rallied his
compact little army again for a fresh encounter. The last of the
vanquished Tholousians who had been captured; more fortunate than their
predecessors, had been spared for ransom. There were three hundred of
them; rather a dangerous number of prisoners for a force of eight
hundred, who were just going into another battle. De Beauvoir commanded
his soldiers, therefore, to shoot them all. This order having been
accomplished, the Catholics marched towards Antwerp, drums beating,
colors flying. The five hundred Calvinists, not liking their appearance,
and being in reality outnumbered, retreated within; the gates as hastily
as they had just issued from them. De Beauvoir advanced close to the city
moat, on the margin of which he planted the banners of the unfortunate
Tholouse, and sounded a trumpet of defiance. Finding that the citizens
had apparently no stomach for the fight, he removed his trophies, and
took his departure.

On the other hand, the tumult within the walls had again increased. The
Calvinists had been collecting in great numbers upon the Mere. This was a
large and splendid thoroughfare, rather an oblong market-place than a
street, filled with stately buildings, and communicating by various cross
streets with the Exchange and with many other public edifices. By an
early hour in the afternoon twelve or fifteen thousand Calvinists, all
armed and fighting men, had assembled upon the place. They had barricaded
the whole precinct with pavements and upturned wagons. They had already
broken into the arsenal and obtained many field-pieces, which were
planted at the entrance of every street and by-way. They had stormed the
city jail and liberated the prisoners, all of whom, grateful and
ferocious, came to swell the numbers who defended the stronghold on the
Mere. A tremendous mischief was afoot. Threats of pillaging the churches
and the houses of the Catholics, of sacking the whole opulent city, were
distinctly heard among this powerful mob, excited by religious
enthusiasm, but containing within one great heterogeneous mass the
elements of every crime which humanity can commit. The alarm throughout
the city was indescribable. The cries of women and children, as they
remained in trembling expectation of what the next hour might bring
forth, were, said one who heard them, "enough to soften the hardest
hearts."

Nevertheless the diligence and courage of the Prince kept pace with the
insurrection. He had caused the eight companies of guards enrolled in
September, to be mustered upon the square in front of the city hall, for
the protection of that building and of the magistracy. He had summoned
the senate of the city, the board of ancients, the deans of guilds, the
ward masters, to consult with him at the council-room. At the peril of
his life he had again gone before the angry mob in the Mere, advancing
against their cannon and their outcries, and compelling them to appoint
eight deputies to treat with him and the magistrates at the town-hall.
This done, quickly but deliberately he had drawn up six articles, to
which those deputies gave their assent, and in which the city government
cordially united. These articles provided that the keys of the city
should remain in the possession of the Prince and of Hoogstraaten, that
the watch should be held by burghers and soldiers together, that the
magistrates should permit the entrance of no garrison, and that the
citizens should be entrusted with the care of, the charters, especially
with that of the joyful entrance.

These arrangements, when laid before the assembly at the Mere by their
deputies, were not received with favor. The Calvinists demanded the keys
of the city. They did not choose to be locked up at the mercy of any man.
They had already threatened to blow the city hall into the air if the
keys were not delivered to them. They claimed that burghers, without
distinction of religion, instead of mercenary troops, should be allowed
to guard the market-place in front of the town-hall.

It was now nightfall, and no definite arrangement had been concluded.
Nevertheless, a temporary truce was made, by means of a concession as to
the guard. It was agreed that the burghers, Calvinists and Lutherans, as
well as Catholics, should be employed to protect the city. By subtlety,
however, the Calvinists detailed for that service, were posted not in the
town-house square, but on the ramparts and at the gates.

A night of dreadful expectation was passed. The army of fifteen thousand
mutineers remained encamped and barricaded on the Mere, with guns loaded
and artillery pointed. Fierce cries of "Long live the beggars,"--"Down
with the papists," and other significant watchwords, were heard all night
long, but no more serious outbreak occurred.

During the whole of the following day, the Calvinists remained in their
encampment, the Catholics and the city guardsmen at their posts near the
city hall. The Prince was occupied in the council-chamber from morning
till night with the municipal authorities, the deputies of "the
religion," and the guild officers, in framing a new treaty of peace.
Towards evening fifteen articles were agreed upon, which were to be
proposed forthwith to the insurgents, and in case of nonacceptance to be
enforced. The arrangement provided that there should be no garrison; that
the September contracts permitting the reformed worship at certain places
within the city should be maintained; that men of different parties
should refrain from mutual insults; that the two governors, the Prince
and Hoogstraaten, should keep the keys; that the city should be guarded
by both soldiers and citizens, without distinction of religious creed;
that a band of four hundred cavalry and a small flotilla of vessels of
war should be maintained for the defence of the place, and that the
expenses to be incurred should be levied upon all classes, clerical and
lay, Catholic and Reformed, without any exception.

It had been intended that the governors, accompanied by the magistrates,
should forthwith proceed to the Mere, for the purpose of laying these
terms before the insurgents. Night had, however, already arrived, and it
was understood that the ill-temper of the Calvinists had rather increased
than diminished, so that it was doubtful whether the arrangement would be
accepted. It was, therefore, necessary to await the issue of another day,
rather than to provoke a night battle in the streets.

During the night the Prince labored incessantly to provide against the
dangers of the morrow. The Calvinists had fiercely expressed their
disinclination to any reasonable arrangement. They had threatened,
without farther pause, to plunder the religious houses and the mansions
of all the wealthy Catholics, and to drive every papist out of town. They
had summoned the Lutherans to join with them in their revolt, and menaced
them, in case of refusal, with the same fate which awaited the Catholics.
The Prince, who was himself a Lutheran, not entirely free from the
universal prejudice against the Calvinists, whose sect he afterwards
embraced, was fully aware of the deplorable fact, that the enmity at that
day between Calvinists and Lutherans was as fierce as that between
Reformers and Catholics. He now made use of this feeling, and of his
influence with those of the Augsburg Confession, to save the city. During
the night he had interviews with the ministers and notable members of the
Lutheran churches, and induced them to form an alliance upon this
occasion with the Catholics and with all friends of order, against an
army of outlaws who were threatening to burn and sack the city. The
Lutherans, in the silence of night, took arms and encamped, to the number
of three or four thousand, upon the river side, in the neighborhood of
Saint Michael's cloister. The Prince also sent for the deans of all the
foreign mercantile associations--Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English,
Hanseatic, engaged their assistance also for the protection of the city,
and commanded them to remain in their armor at their respective
factories, ready to act at a moment's warning. It was agreed that they
should be informed at frequent intervals as to the progress of events.

On the morning of the 15th, the city of Antwerp presented a fearful
sight. Three distinct armies were arrayed at different points within its
walls. The Calvinists, fifteen thousand strong, lay in their encampment
on the Mere; the Lutherans, armed, and eager for action, were at St.
Michael's; the Catholics and the regulars of the city guard were posted
on the square. Between thirty-five and forty thousand men were up,
according to the most moderate computation. All parties were excited, and
eager for the fray. The fires of religious hatred burned fiercely in
every breast. Many malefactors and outlaws, who had found refuge in the
course of recent events at Antwerp, were in the ranks of the Calvinists,
profaning a sacred cause, and inspiring a fanatical party with bloody
resolutions. Papists, once and forever, were to be hunted down, even as
they had been for years pursuing Reformers. Let the men who had fed fat
on the spoils of plundered Christians be dealt with in like fashion. Let
their homes be sacked, their bodies given to the dogs--such were the
cries uttered by thousands of armed men.

On the other hand, the Lutherans, as angry and as rich as the Catholics,
saw in every Calvinist a murderer and a robber. They thirsted after their
blood; for the spirit of religious frenzy; the characteristic of the
century, can with difficulty be comprehended in our colder and more
sceptical age. There was every probability that a bloody battle was to be
fought that day in the streets of Antwerp--a general engagement, in the
course of which, whoever might be the victors, the city was sure to be
delivered over to fire, sack, and outrage. Such would have been the
result, according to the concurrent testimony of eye-witnesses, and
contemporary historians of every country and creed, but for the courage
and wisdom of one man. William of Orange knew what would be the
consequence of a battle, pent up within the walls of Antwerp. He foresaw
the horrible havoc which was to be expected, the desolation which would
be brought to every hearth in the city. "Never were men so desperate and
so willing to fight," said Sir Thomas Gresham, who had been expecting
every hour his summons to share in the conflict. If the Prince were
unable that morning to avert the impending calamity, no other power,
under heaven, could save Antwerp from destruction.

The articles prepared on the 14th had been already approved by those who
represented the Catholic and Lutheran interests. They were read early in
the morning to the troops assembled on the square and at St. Michael's,
and received with hearty cheers. It was now necessary that the Calvinists
should accept them, or that the quarrel should be fought out at once. At
ten o'clock, William of Orange, attended by his colleague, Hoogstraaten,
together with a committee of the municipal authorities, and followed by a
hundred troopers, rode to the Mere. They wore red scarfs over their
armor, as symbols by which all those who had united to put down the
insurrection were distinguished. The fifteen thousand Calvinists, fierce
and disorderly as ever, maintained a threatening aspect. Nevertheless,
the Prince was allowed to ride into the midst of the square. The articles
were then read aloud by his command, after which, with great composure,
he made a few observations. He pointed out that the arrangement offered
them was founded upon the September concessions, that the right of
worship was conceded, that the foreign garrison was forbidden, and that
nothing further could be justly demanded or honorably admitted. He told
them that a struggle upon their part would be hopeless, for the Catholics
and Lutherans, who were all agreed as to the justice of the treaty,
outnumbered them by nearly two to one. He, therefore, most earnestly and
affectionately adjured them to testify their acceptance to the peace
offered by repeating the words with which he should conclude. Then, with
a firm voice; the Prince exclaimed, "God Save the King!" It was the last
time that those words were ever heard from the lips of the man already
proscribed by Philip. The crowd of Calvinists hesitated an instant, and
then, unable to resist the tranquil influence, convinced by his
reasonable language, they raised one tremendous shout of "Vive le Roi!"

The deed was done, the peace accepted, the dreadful battle averted,
Antwerp saved. The deputies of the Calvinists now formally accepted and
signed the articles. Kind words were exchanged among the various classes
of fellow-citizens, who but an hour before had been thirsting for each
other's blood, the artillery and other weapons of war were restored to
the arsenals, Calvinists, Lutherans, and Catholics, all laid down their
arms, and the city, by three o'clock, was entirely quiet. Fifty thousand
armed men had been up, according to some estimates, yet, after three days
of dreadful expectation, not a single person had been injured, and the
tumult was now appeased.

The Prince had, in truth, used the mutual animosity of Protestant sects
to a good purpose; averting bloodshed by the very weapons with which the
battle was to have been waged. Had it been possible for a man like
William the Silent to occupy the throne where Philip the Prudent sat, how
different might have been the history of Spain and the fate of the
Netherlands. Gresham was right, however, in his conjecture that the
Regent and court would not "take the business well." Margaret of Parma
was incapable of comprehending such a mind as that of Orange, or of
appreciating its efforts. She was surrounded by unscrupulous and
mercenary soldiers, who hailed the coming civil war as the most
profitable of speculations. "Factotum" Mansfeld; the Counts Aremberg and
Meghem, the Duke of Aerschot, the Sanguinary Noircarmes, were already
counting their share in the coming confiscations. In the internecine
conflict approaching, there would be gold for the gathering, even if no
honorable laurels would wreath their swords. "Meghen with his regiment is
desolating the country," wrote William of Orange to the Landgrave of
Hesse, "and reducing many people to poverty. Aremberg is doing the same
in Friesland. They are only thinking how, under the pretext of religion,
they may grind the poor Christians, and grow rich and powerful upon their
estates and their blood."

The Seignior de Beauvoir wrote to the Duchess, claiming all the estates
of Tholouse, and of his brother St. Aldegonde, as his reward for the
Ostrawell victory, while Noircarmes was at this very moment to commence
at Valenciennes that career of murder and spoliation which, continued at
Mons a few years afterwards, was to load his name with infamy.

From such a Regent, surrounded by such councillors, was the work of
William de Nassau's hands to gain applause? What was it to them that
carnage and plunder had been spared in one of the richest and most
populous cities in Christendom? Were not carnage and plunder the very
elements in which they disported themselves? And what more dreadful
offence against God and Philip could be committed than to permit, as the
Prince had just permitted, the right of worship in a Christian land to
Calvinists and Lutherans? As a matter of course, therefore, Margaret of
Parma denounced the terms by which Antwerp had been saved as a "novel and
exorbitant capitulation," and had no intention of signifying her
approbation either to prince or magistrate.



1567 [CHAPTER X.]

   Egmont and Aerschot before Valenciennes--Severity of Egmont--
   Capitulation of the city--Escape and capture of the ministers--
   Execution of La Grange and De Bray--Horrible cruelty at
   Valenciennes--Effects of the reduction of Valenciennes--The Duchess
   at Antwerp--Armed invasion of the provinces decided upon in Spain--
   Appointment of Alva--Indignation of Margaret--Mission of De Billy--
   Pretended visit of Philip--Attempts of the Duchess to gain over
   Orange--Mission of Berty--Interview between Orange and Egmont at
   Willebroek--Orange's letters to Philip, to Egmont, and to Horn--
   Orange departs from the Netherlands--Philip's letter to Egmont--
   Secret intelligence received by Orange--La Torre's mission to
   Brederode--Brederode's departure and death--Death of Bergen--Despair
   in the provinces--Great emigration--Cruelties practised upon those
   of the new religion--Edict of 24th May--Wrath of the King.

Valenciennes, whose fate depended so closely upon the issue of these
various events, was now trembling to her fall. Noircarmes had been
drawing the lines more and more closely about the city, and by a
refinement of cruelty had compelled many Calvinists from Tournay to act
as pioneers in the trenches against their own brethren in Valenciennes.
After the defeat of Tholouse, and the consequent frustration of all
Brederode's arrangements to relieve the siege, the Duchess had sent a
fresh summons to Valenciennes, together with letters acquainting the
citizens with the results of the Ostrawell battle. The intelligence was
not believed. Egmont and Aerschot, however, to whom Margaret had
entrusted this last mission to the beleaguered town, roundly rebuked the
deputies who came to treat with them, for their insolence in daring to
doubt the word of the Regent. The two seigniors had established
themselves in the Chateau of Beusnage, at a league's distance from
Valenciennes. Here they received commissioners from the city, half of
whom were Catholics appointed by the magistrates, half Calvinists deputed
by the consistories. These envoys were informed that the Duchess would
pardon the city for its past offences, provided the gates should now be
opened, the garrison received, and a complete suppression of all religion
except that of Rome acquiesced in without a murmur. As nearly the whole
population was of the Calvinist faith, these terms could hardly be
thought favorable. It was, however, added, that fourteen days should be
allowed to the Reformers for the purpose of converting their property,
and retiring from the country.

The deputies, after conferring with their constituents in the, city,
returned on the following day with counter-propositions, which were not
more likely to find favor with the government. They offered to accept the
garrison, provided the soldiers should live at their own expense, without
any tax to the citizens for their board, lodging, or pay. They claimed
that all property which had been seized should be restored, all persons
accused of treason liberated. They demanded the unconditional revocation
of the edict by which the city had been declared rebellious, together
with a guarantee from the Knights of the Fleece and the state council
that the terms of the propose& treaty should be strictly observed.

As soon as these terms had been read to the two seigniors, the Duke of
Aerschot burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. He protested that
nothing could be more ludicrous than such propositions, worthy of a
conqueror dictating a peace, thus offered by a city closely beleaguered,
and entirely at the mercy of the enemy. The Duke's hilarity was not
shared by Egmont, who, on the contrary, fell into a furious passion. He
swore that the city should be burned about their ears, and that every one
of the inhabitants should be put to the sword for the insolent language
which they had thus dared to address to a most clement sovereign. He
ordered the trembling deputies instantly to return with this peremptory
rejection of their terms, and with his command that the proposals of
government should be accepted within three days' delay.

The commissioners fell upon their knees at Egmont's feet, and begged for
mercy. They implored him at least to send this imperious message by some
other hand than theirs, and to permit them to absent themselves from the
city. They should be torn limb from limb, they said, by the enraged
inhabitants, if they dared to present themselves with such instructions
before them. Egmont, however, assured them that they should be sent into
the city, bound hand and foot, if they did not instantly obey his orders.
The deputies, therefore, with heavy hearts, were fain to return home with
this bitter result to their negotiations. The, terms were rejected, as a
matter of course, but the gloomy forebodings of the commissioners, as to
their own fate at the hands of their fellow-citizens, were not fulfilled.

Instant measures were now taken to cannonade the city. Egmont, at the
hazard of his life, descended into the foss, to reconnoitre the works,
and to form an opinion as to the most eligible quarter at which to direct
the batteries. Having communicated the result of his investigations to
Noircarmes, he returned to report all these proceedings to the Regent at
Brussels. Certainly the Count had now separated himself far enough from
William of Orange, and was manifesting an energy in the cause of tyranny
which was sufficiently unscrupulous. Many people who had been deceived by
his more generous demonstrations in former times, tried to persuade
themselves that he was acting a part. Noircarmes, however--and no man was
more competent to decide the question distinctly--expressed his entire
confidence in Egmont's loyalty. Margaret had responded warmly to his
eulogies, had read with approbation secret letters from Egmont to
Noircarmes, and had expressed the utmost respect and affection for "the
Count." Egmont had also lost no time in writing to Philip, informing him
that he had selected the most eligible spot for battering down the
obstinate city of Valenciennes, regretting that he could not have had the
eight or ten military companies, now at his disposal, at an earlier day,
in which case he should have been able to suppress many tumults, but
congratulating his sovereign that the preachers were all fugitive, the
reformed religion suppressed, and the people disarmed. He assured the
King that he would neglect no effort to prevent any renewal of the
tumults, and expressed the hope that his Majesty would be satisfied with
his conduct, notwithstanding the calumnies of which the times were full.

Noircarmes meanwhile, had unmasked his batteries, and opened his fire
exactly according to Egmont's suggestions.

The artillery played first upon what was called the "White Tower," which
happened to bear this ancient, rhyming inscription:

       "When every man receives his own,
        And justice reigns for strong and weak,
        Perfect shall be this tower of stone,
        And all the dumb will learn to speak."

       "Quand chacun sera satisfaict,
        Et la justice regnera,
        Ce boulevard sera parfaict,
        Et--la muette parlera."--Valenciennes MS.

For some unknown reason, the rather insipid quatrain was tortured into a
baleful prophecy. It was considered very ominous that the battery should
be first opened against this Sibylline tower. The chimes, too, which had
been playing, all through the siege, the music of Marot's sacred songs,
happened that morning to be sounding forth from every belfry the
twenty-second psalm: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

It was Palm Sunday, 23d of March. The women and children were going
mournfully about the streets, bearing green branches in their hands, and
praying upon their knees, in every part of the city. Despair and
superstition had taken possession of citizens, who up to that period had
justified La Noue's assertion, that none could endure a siege like
Huguenots. As soon as the cannonading began, the spirit of the
inhabitants seemed to depart. The ministers exhorted their flocks in vain
as the tiles and chimneys began to topple into the streets, and the
concussions of the artillery were responded to by the universal wailing
of affrighted women.

Upon the very first day after the unmasking of the batteries, the city
sent to Noircarmes, offering almost an unconditional surrender. Not the
slightest breach had been effected--not the least danger of an assault
existed--yet the citizens, who had earned the respect of their
antagonists by the courageous manner in which they had sallied and
skirmished during the siege, now in despair at any hope of eventual
succor, and completely demoralized by the course of recent events outside
their walls, surrendered ignominiously, and at discretion. The only
stipulation agreed to by Noircarmes was, that the city should not be
sacked, and that the lives of the inhabitants should be spared.

This pledge was, however, only made to be broken. Noircarmes entered the
city and closed the gates. All the richest citizens, who of course were
deemed the most criminal, were instantly arrested. The soldiers, although
not permitted formally to sack the city, were quartered upon the
inhabitants, whom they robbed and murdered, according to the testimony of
a Catholic citizen, almost at their pleasure.

Michael Herlin, a very wealthy and distinguished burgher, was arrested
upon the first day. The two ministers, Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la
Grange, together with the son of Herlin, effected their escape by the
water-gate. Having taken refuge in a tavern at Saint Arnaud, they were
observed, as they sat at supper, by a peasant, who forthwith ran off to
the mayor of the borough with the intelligence that some individuals, who
looked like fugitives, had arrived at Saint Arnaud. One of them, said the
informer, was richly dressed; and wore a gold-hilted sword with velvet
scabbard. By the description, the mayor recognized Herlin the
younger,--and suspected his companions. They were all arrested, and sent
to Noircarmes. The two Herlins, father and son, were immediately
beheaded. Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la Grange were loaded with
chains, and thrown into a filthy dungeon, previously to their being
hanged. Here they were visited by the Countess de Roeulx, who was curious
to see how the Calvinists sustained themselves in their martyrdom. She
asked them how they could sleep, eat, or drink, when covered with such
heavy fetters. "The cause, and my good conscience," answered De Bray,
"make me eat, drink, and sleep better than those who are doing me wrong.
These shackles are more honorable to me than golden rings and chains.
They are more useful to me, and as I hear their clank, methinks I hear
the music of sweet voices and the tinkling of lutes."

This exultation never deserted these courageous enthusiasts. They
received their condemnation to death "as if it had been an invitation to
a marriage feast." They encouraged the friends who crowded their path to
the scaffold with exhortations to remain true in the Reformed faith. La
Grange, standing upon the ladder, proclaimed with a loud voice, that he
was slain for having preached the pure word of God to a Christian people
in a Christian land. De Bray, under the same gibbet; testified stoutly
that he, too, had committed that offence alone. He warned his friends to
obey the magistrates, and all others in authority, except in matters of
conscience; to abstain from sedition; but to obey the will of God. The
executioner threw him from the ladder while he was yet speaking. So ended
the lives of two eloquent, learned, and highly-gifted divines.

Many hundreds of victims were sacrificed in the unfortunate city. "There
were a great many other citizens strangled or beheaded," says an
aristocratic Catholic historian of the time, "but they were mostly
personages of little quality, whose names are quite unknown to
me."--[Pontus Payen]--The franchises of the city were all revoked. There
was a prodigious amount of property confiscated to the benefit of
Noircarmes and the rest of the "Seven Sleepers." Many Calvinists were
burned, others were hanged. "For--two whole years," says another
Catholic, who was a citizen of Valenciennes at the time, "there was,
scarcely a week in which several citizens were not executed and often a
great number were despatched at a time. All this gave so much alarm to
the good and innocent, that many quitted the city as fast as they could."
If the good and innocent happened to be rich, they might be sure that
Noircarmes would deem that a crime for which no goodness and innocence
could atone.

Upon the fate of Valenciennes had depended, as if by common agreement,
the whole destiny of the anti-Catholic party. "People had learned at
last," says another Walloon, "that the King had long arms, and that he
had not been enlisting soldiers to string beads. So they drew in their
horns and their evil tempers, meaning to put them forth again, should the
government not succeed at the siege of Valenciennes." The government had
succeeded, however, and the consternation was extreme, the general
submission immediate and even abject. "The capture of Valenciennes,"
wrote Noircarmes to Granvelle, "has worked a miracle. The other cities
all come forth to meet me, putting the rope around their own necks." No
opposition was offered any where. Tournay had been crushed; Valenciennes,
Bois le Duc, and all other important places, accepted their garrisons
without a murmur. Even Antwerp had made its last struggle, and as soon as
the back of Orange was turned, knelt down in the dust to receive its
bridle. The Prince had been able, by his courage and wisdom, to avert a
sanguinary conflict within its walls, but his personal presence alone
could guarantee any thing like religious liberty for the inhabitants, now
that the rest of the country was subdued. On the 26th April, sixteen
companies of infantry, under Count Mansfeld, entered the gates. On the
28th the Duchess made a visit to the city, where she was received with
respect, but where her eyes were shocked by that which she termed the
"abominable, sad, and hideous spectacle of the desolated churches."

To the eyes of all who loved their fatherland and their race, the sight
of a desolate country, with its ancient charters superseded by brute
force, its industrious population swarming from the land in droves, as if
the pestilence were raging, with gibbets and scaffolds erected in every
village, and with a Sickening and universal apprehension of still darker
disasters to follow, was a spectacle still more sad, hideous, and
abominable.

For it was now decided that the Duke of Alva, at the head of a Spanish
army, should forthwith take his departure for the Netherlands. A land
already subjugated was to be crushed, and every vestige of its ancient
liberties destroyed. The conquered provinces, once the abode of municipal
liberty, of science, art, and literature, and blessed with an unexampled
mercantile and manufacturing prosperity, were to be placed in absolute
subjection to the cabinet council at Madrid. A dull and malignant bigot,
assisted by a few Spanish grandees, and residing at the other extremity
of Europe, was thenceforth to exercise despotic authority over countries
which for centuries had enjoyed a local administration, and a system
nearly approaching to complete self-government. Such was the policy
devised by Granvelle and Spinosa, which the Duke of Alva, upon the 15th
April, had left Madrid to enforce.

It was very natural that Margaret of Parma should be indignant at being
thus superseded. She considered herself as having acquired much credit by
the manner in which the latter insurrectionary movements had been
suppressed, so soon as Philip, after his endless tergiversations, had
supplied her with arms and money. Therefore she wrote in a tone of great
asperity to her brother, expressing her discontent. She had always been
trammelled in her action, she said, by his restrictions upon her
authority. She complained that he had no regard for her reputation or her
peace of mind. Notwithstanding, all impediments and dangers, she had at
last settled the country, and now another person was to reap the honor.
She also despatched the Seigneur de Billy to Spain, for the purpose of
making verbal representations to his Majesty upon the inexpediency of
sending the Duke of Alva to the Netherlands at that juncture with a
Spanish army.

Margaret gained nothing, however, by her letters and her envoy, save a
round rebuke from Philip, who was not accustomed to brook the language of
remonstrance; even from his sister. His purpose was fixed. Absolute
submission was now to be rendered by all. "He was highly astonished and
dissatisfied," he said, "that she should dare to write to him with so
much passion, and in so resolute a manner. If she received no other
recompense, save the glory of having restored the service of God, she
ought to express her gratitude to the King for having given her the
opportunity of so doing."

The affectation of clement intentions was still maintained, together with
the empty pretence of the royal visit. Alva and his army were coming
merely to prepare the way for the King, who still represented himself as
"debonair and gentle, slow to anger, and averse from bloodshed."
Superficial people believed that the King was really coming, and hoped
wonders from his advent. The Duchess knew better. The Pope never believed
in it, Granvelle never believed in it, the Prince of Orange never
believed in it, Councillor d'Assonleville never believed in it. "His
Majesty," says the Walloon historian, who wrote from Assonleville's
papers, "had many imperative reasons for not coming. He was fond of
quiet, he was a great negotiator, distinguished for phlegm and modesty,
disinclined to long journeys, particularly to sea voyages, which were
very painful to him. Moreover, he was then building his Escorial with so
much taste and affection that it was impossible for him to leave home."
These excellent reasons sufficed to detain the monarch, in whose place a
general was appointed, who, it must be confessed, was neither phlegmatic
nor modest, and whose energies were quite equal to the work required.
There had in truth never been any thing in the King's project of visiting
the Netherlands but pretence.

On the other hand, the work of Orange for the time was finished. He had
saved Antwerp, he had done his best to maintain the liberties of the
country, the rights of conscience, and the royal authority, so far as
they were compatible with each other. The alternative had now been
distinctly forced upon every man, either to promise blind obedience or to
accept the position of a rebel. William of Orange had thus become a
rebel. He had been requested to sign the new oath, greedily taken by the
Mansfelds, the Berlaymont, the Aerachot, and the Egmonts, to obey every
order which he might receive, against every person and in every place,
without restriction or limitation,--and he had distinctly and repeatedly
declined the demand. He had again and again insisted upon resigning all
his offices. The Duchess, more and more anxious to gain over such an
influential personage to the cause of tyranny, had been most importunate
in her requisitions. "A man with so noble a heart," she wrote to the
Prince, "and with a descent from, such illustrious and loyal ancestors,
can surely not forget his duties to his Majesty and the country."

William of Orange knew his duty to both better than the Duchess could
understand. He answered this fresh summons by reminding her that he had
uniformly refused the new and extraordinary pledge required of him. He
had been true to his old oaths, and therefore no fresh pledge was
necessary. Moreover, a pledge without limitation he would never take. The
case might happen, he said, that he should be ordered to do things
contrary to his conscience, prejudicial to his Majesty's service, and in
violation of his oaths to maintain the laws of the country. He therefore
once more resigned all his offices, and signified his intention of
leaving the provinces.

Margaret had previously invited him to an interview at Brussels, which he
had declined, because he had discovered a conspiracy in that place to
"play him a trick." Assonleville had already been sent to him without
effect. He had refused to meet a deputation of Fleece Knights at Mechlin,
from the same suspicion of foul play. After the termination of the
Antwerp tumult, Orange again wrote to the Duchess, upon the 19th March,
repeating his refusal to take the oath, and stating that he considered
himself as at least suspended from all his functions, since she had
refused, upon the ground of incapacity, to accept his formal resignation.
Margaret now determined, by the advice of the state council, to send
Secretary Berty, provided with an ample letter of instructions, upon a
special mission to the Prince at Antwerp. That respectable functionary
performed his task with credit, going through the usual formalities, and
adducing the threadbare arguments in favor of the unlimited oath, with
much adroitness and decorum. He mildly pointed out the impropriety of
laying down such responsible posts as those which the Prince now occupied
at such a juncture. He alluded to the distress which the step must
occasion to the debonair sovereign.

William of Orange became somewhat impatient under the official lecture of
this secretary to the privy council, a mere man of sealing-wax and
protocols. The slender stock of platitudes with which he had come
provided was soon exhausted. His arguments shrivelled at once in the
scorn with which the Prince received them. The great statesman, who, it
was hoped, would be entrapped to ruin, dishonor, and death by such very
feeble artifices, asked indignantly whether it were really expected that
he should acknowledge himself perjured to his old obligations by now
signing new ones; that he should disgrace himself by an unlimited pledge
which might require him to break his oaths to the provincial statutes and
to the Emperor; that he should consent to administer the religious edicts
which he abhorred; that he should act as executioner of Christians on
account of their religious opinions, an office against which his soul
revolted; that he should bind himself by an unlimited promise which might
require, him to put his own wife to death, because she was a Lutheran?
Moreover, was it to be supposed that he would obey without restriction
any orders issued to him in his Majesty's name, when the King's
representative might be a person whose supremacy it ill became one of
his' race to acknowledge? Was William of Orange to receive absolute
commands from the Duke of Alva? Having mentioned that name with
indignation, the Prince became silent.

It was very obvious that no impression was to be made upon the man by
formalists. Poor Berty having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
through all its moods and tenses, returned to his green board in the
council-room with his proces verbal of the conference. Before he took his
leave, however, he prevailed upon Orange to hold an interview with the
Duke of Aerschot, Count Mansfeld, and Count Egmont.

This memorable meeting took place at Willebroek, a village midway between
Antwerp and Brussels, in the first week of April. The Duke of Aerschot
was prevented from attending, but Mansfeld and Egmont--accompanied by the
faithful Berty, to make another proces verbal--duly made their
appearance. The Prince had never felt much sympathy with Mansfeld, but a
tender and honest friendship had always existed between himself and
Egmont, notwithstanding the difference of their characters, the incessant
artifices employed by the Spanish court to separate them, and the
impassable chasm which now, existed between their respective positions
towards the government.

The same common-places of argument and rhetoric were now discussed
between Orange and the other three personages, the, Prince distinctly
stating, in conclusion, that he considered himself as discharged from all
his offices, and that he was about to leave the Netherlands for Germany.
The interview, had it been confined to such formal conversation, would
have but little historic interest. Egmont's choice had been made. Several
months before he had signified his determination to hold those for
enemies who should cease to conduct themselves as faithful vassals,
declared himself to be without fear that the country was to be placed in
the hands of Spaniards, and disavowed all intention, in any case
whatever, of taking arms against the King. His subsequent course, as we
have seen, had been entirely in conformity with these solemn
declarations. Nevertheless, the Prince, to whom they had been made,
thought it still possible to withdraw his friend from the precipice upon
which he stood, and to save him from his impending fate. His love for
Egmont had, in his own noble; and pathetic language, "struck its roots
too deeply into his heart" to permit him, in this their parting
interview, to neglect a last effort, even if this solemn warning were
destined to be disregarded.

By any reasonable construction of history, Philip was an unscrupulous
usurper, who was attempting to convert himself from a Duke of Brabant and
a Count of Holland into an absolute king. It was William who was
maintaining, Philip who was destroying; and the monarch who was thus
blasting the happiness of the provinces, and about to decimate their
population, was by the same process to undermine his own power forever,
and to divest himself of his richest inheritance. The man on whom he
might have leaned for support, had he been capable of comprehending his
character, and of understanding the age in which he had himself been
called upon to reign, was, through Philip's own insanity, converted into
the instrument by which his most valuable provinces were, to be taken
from him, and eventually re-organized into: an independent commonwealth.
Could a vision, like that imagined by the immortal dramatist for another
tyrant and murderer, have revealed the future to Philip, he, too, might
have beheld his victim, not crowned himself, but pointing to a line of
kings, even to some who 'two-fold balls and treble sceptres carried', and
smiling on them for his. But such considerations as these had no effect
upon the Prince of Orange. He knew himself already proscribed, and he
knew that the secret condemnation had extended to Egmont also. He was
anxious that his friend should prefer the privations of exile, with the
chance of becoming the champion of a struggling country, to the wretched
fate towards which his blind confidence was leading him. Even then it
seemed possible that the brave soldier, who had been recently defiling
his sword in the cause of tyranny, might be come mindful of his brighter
and earlier fame. Had Egmont been as true to his native land as, until
"the long divorce of steel fell on him," he was faithful to Philip, he
might yet have earned brighter laurels than those gained at St. Quentin
and Gravelines. Was he doomed to fall, he might find a glorious death
upon freedom's battle-field, in place of that darker departure then so
near him, which the prophetic language of Orange depicted, but which he
was too sanguine to fear. He spoke with confidence of the royal clemency.
"Alas, Egmont," answered the Prince, "the King's clemency, of which you
boast, will destroy you. Would that I might be deceived, but I foresee
too clearly that you are to be the bridge which the Spaniards will
destroy so soon as they have passed over it to invade our country." With
these last, solemn words he concluded his appeal to awaken the Count from
his fatal security. Then, as if persuaded that he was looking upon his
friend for the last time, William of Orange threw his arms around Egmont,
and held him for a moment in a close embrace. Tears fell from the eyes of
both at this parting moment--and then the brief scene of simple and lofty
pathos terminated--Egmont and Orange separated from each other, never to
meet again on earth.

A few days afterwards, Orange addressed a letter to Philip once more
resigning all his offices, and announcing his intention of departing from
the Netherlands for Germany. He added, that he should be always ready to
place himself and his property at the King's orders in every thing which
he believed conducive to the true service of his Majesty. The Prince had
already received a remarkable warning from old Landgrave Philip of Hesse,
who had not forgotten the insidious manner in which his own memorable
captivity had been brought about by the arts of Granvelle and of Alva.
"Let them not smear your mouths with honey," said the Landgrave. "If the
three seigniors, of whom the Duchess Margaret has had so much to say, are
invited to court by Alva, under pretext of friendly consultation, let
them be wary, and think twice ere they accept. I know the Duke of Alva
and the Spaniards, and how they dealt with me."

The Prince, before he departed, took a final leave of Horn and Egmont, by
letters, which, as if aware of the monumental character they were to
assume for posterity, he drew up in Latin. He desired, now that he was
turning his back upon the country, that those two nobles who had refused
to imitate, and had advised against his course, should remember that, he
was acting deliberately, conscientiously, and in pursuance of a
long-settled plan.

To Count Horn he declared himself unable to connive longer at the sins
daily committed against the country and his own conscience. He assured
him that the government had been accustoming the country to panniers, in
order that it might now accept patiently the saddle and bridle. For
himself, he said, his back was not strong enough for the weight already
imposed upon it, and he preferred to endure any calamity which might
happen to him in exile, rather than be compelled by those whom they had
all condemned to acquiesce in the object so long and steadily pursued.

He reminded Egmont, who had been urging him by letter to remain, that his
resolution had been deliberately taken, and long since communicated to
his friends. He could not, in conscience, take the oath required; nor
would he, now that all eyes were turned upon him, remain in the land, the
only recusant. He preferred to encounter all that could happen, rather
than attempt to please others by the sacrifice of liberty, of his
fatherland, of his own conscience. "I hope, therefore," said he to Egmont
in conclusion, "that you, after weighing my reasons, will not disapprove
my departure. The rest I leave to God, who will dispose of all as may
most conduce to the glory of his name. For yourself, I pray you to
believe that you have no more sincere friend than I am. My love for you
has struck such deep root into my heart, that it can be lessened by no
distance of time or place, and I pray you in return to maintain the same
feelings towards me which you have always cherished."

The Prince had left Antwerp upon the 11th April, and had written these
letters from Breda, upon the 13th of the same month. Upon the 22d, he
took his departure for Dillenburg, the ancestral seat of his family in
Germany, by the way of Grave and Cleves.

It was not to be supposed that this parting message would influence
Egmont's decision with regard to his own movements, when his
determination had not been shaken at his memorable interview with the
Prince. The Count's fate was sealed. Had he not been praised by
Noircarmes; had he not earned the hypocritical commendations of Duchess
Margaret; nay more, had he not just received a most affectionate letter
of, thanks and approbation from the King of Spain himself? This letter,
one of the most striking monuments of Philip's cold-blooded perfidy, was
dated the 26th of March. "I am pleased, my cousin," wrote the monarch to
Egmont, "that you have taken the new oath, not that I considered it at
all necessary so far as regards yourself, but for the example which you
have thus given to others, and which I hope they will all follow. I have
received not less pleasure in hearing of the excellent manner in which
you are doing your duty, the assistance you are rendering, and the offers
which you are making to my sister, for which I thank you, and request you
to continue in the same course."

The words were written by the royal hand which had already signed the
death-warrant of the man to whom they were addressed. Alva, who came
provided with full powers to carry out the great scheme resolved upon,
unrestrained by provincial laws or by the statutes of the Golden Fleece,
had left Madrid to embark for Carthagena, at the very moment when Egmont
was reading the royal letter. "The Spanish honey," to use once more old
Landgrave Philip's homely metaphor, had done its work, and the
unfortunate victim was already entrapped.

Count Horn remained in gloomy silence in his lair at Weert, awaiting the
hunters of men, already on their way. It seemed inconceivable that he,
too, who knew himself suspected and disliked, should have thus blinded
himself to his position. It will be seen, however, that the same perfidy
was to be employed to ensnare him which proved so successful with Egmont.

As for the Prince himself, he did not move too soon. Not long after his
arrival in Germany, Vandenesse, the King's private secretary, but
Orange's secret agent, wrote him word that he had read letters from the
King to Alva in which the Duke was instructed to "arrest the Prince as
soon as he could lay hands upon him, and not to let his trial last more
than twenty-four hours."

Brederode had remained at Viane, and afterwards at Amsterdam, since the
ill-starred expedition of Tholouse, which he had organized, but at which
he had not assisted. He had given much annoyance to the magistracy of
Amsterdam, and to all respectable persons, Calvinist or Catholic. He made
much mischief, but excited no hopes in the minds of reformers. He was
ever surrounded by a host of pot companions, swaggering nobles disguised
as sailors, bankrupt tradesmen, fugitives and outlaws of every
description, excellent people to drink the beggars' health and to bawl
the beggars' songs, but quite unfit for any serious enterprise. People of
substance were wary of him, for they had no confidence in his capacity,
and were afraid of his frequent demands for contributions to the
patriotic cause. He spent his time in the pleasure gardens, shooting at
the mark with arquebuss or crossbow, drinking with his comrades, and
shrieking "Vivent les gueux."

The Regent, determined to dislodge him, had sent Secretary La Torre to
him in March, with instructions that if Brederode refused to leave
Amsterdam, the magistracy were to call for assistance upon Count Meghem,
who had a regiment at Utrecht. This clause made it impossible for La
Torre to exhibit his instructions to Brederode. Upon his refusal, that
personage, although he knew the secretary as well as he knew his own
father, coolly informed him that he knew nothing about him; that he did
not consider him as respectable a person as he pretended to be; that he
did not believe a word of his having any commission from the Duchess, and
that he should therefore take no notice whatever of his demands. La Torre
answered meekly, that he was not so presumptuous, nor so destitute of
sense as to put himself into comparison with a, gentleman of Count
Brederode's quality, but that as he had served as secretary to the privy
council for twenty-three years, he had thought that he might be believed
upon his word. Hereupon La Tome drew up a formal protest, and Brederode
drew up another. La Torre made a proces verbal of their interview, while
Brederode stormed like a madman, and abused the Duchess for a capricious
and unreasonable tyrant. He ended by imprisoning La Torre for a day or
two, and seizing his papers. By a singular coincidence, these events took
place on the 13th, 24th, and 15th of March, the very days of the great
Antwerp tumult. The manner in which the Prince of Orange had been dealing
with forty or fifty thousand armed men, anxious to cut each other's
throats, while Brederode was thus occupied in browbeating a pragmatical
but decent old secretary, illustrated the difference in calibre of the
two men.

This was the Count's last exploit. He remained at Amsterdam some weeks
longer, but the events which succeeded changed the Hector into a faithful
vassal. Before the 12th of April, he wrote to Egmont, begging his
intercession with Margaret of Parma, and offering "carte blanche" as to
terms, if he might only be allowed to make his peace with government. It
was, however, somewhat late in the day for the "great beggar" to make his
submission. No terms were accorded him, but he was allowed by the Duchess
to enjoy his revenues provisionally, subject to the King's pleasure. Upon
the 25th April, he entertained a select circle of friends at his hotel in
Amsterdam, and then embarked at midnight for Embden. A numerous
procession of his adherents escorted him to the ship, bearing lighted
torches, and singing bacchanalian songs. He died within a year
afterwards, of disappointment and hard drinking, at Castle Hardenberg, in
Germany, after all his fretting and fury, and notwithstanding his
vehement protestations to die a poor soldier at the feet of Louis Nassau.

That "good chevalier and good Christian," as his brother affectionately
called him, was in Germany, girding himself for the manly work which
Providence had destined him to perform. The life of Brederode, who had
engaged in the early struggle, perhaps from the frivolous expectation of
hearing himself called Count of Holland, as his ancestors had been, had
contributed nothing to the cause of freedom, nor did his death occasion
regret. His disorderly band of followers dispersed in every direction
upon the departure of their chief. A vessel in which Batenburg, Galaina,
and other nobles, with their men-at-arms, were escaping towards a German
port, was carried into Harlingen, while those gentlemen, overpowered by
sleep and wassail, were unaware of their danger, and delivered over to
Count Meghem, by the treachery of their pilot. The soldiers, were
immediately hanged. The noblemen were reserved to grace the first great
scaffold which Alva was to erect upon the horse-market in Brussels.

The confederacy was entirely broken to pieces. Of the chieftains to whom
the people had been accustomed to look for support and encouragement,
some had rallied to the government, some were in exile, some were in
prison. Montigny, closely watched in Spain, was virtually a captive,
pining for the young bride to whom he had been wedded amid such brilliant
festivities but a few months before his departure, and for the child
which was never to look upon its father's face.

His colleague, Marquis Berghen, more fortunate, was already dead. The
excellent Viglius seized the opportunity to put in a good word for
Noircarmes, who had been grinding Tournay in the dust, and butchering the
inhabitants of Valenciennes. "We have heard of Berghen's death," wrote
the President to his faithful Joachim. "The Lord of Noircarmes, who has
been his substitute in the governorship of Hainault, has given a specimen
of what he can do. Although I have no private intimacy with that
nobleman, I can not help embracing him with all my benevolence.
Therefore, oh my Hopper, pray do your best to have him appointed
governor."

With the departure of Orange, a total eclipse seemed to come over the
Netherlands. The country was absolutely helpless, the popular heart cold
with apprehension. All persons at all implicated in the late troubles, or
suspected of heresy, fled from their homes. Fugitive soldiers were hunted
into rivers, cut to pieces in the fields, hanged, burned, or drowned,
like dogs, without quarter, and without remorse. The most industrious and
valuable part of the population left the land in droves. The tide swept
outwards with such rapidity that the Netherlands seemed fast becoming the
desolate waste which they had been before the Christian era. Throughout
the country, those Reformers who were unable to effect their escape
betook themselves to their old lurking-places. The new religion was
banished from all the cities, every conventicle was broken up by armed
men, the preachers and leading members were hanged, their disciples
beaten with rods, reduced to beggary, or imprisoned, even if they
sometimes escaped the scaffold. An incredible number, however, were
executed for religious causes. Hardly a village so small, says the
Antwerp chronicler,--[Meteren]--but that it could furnish one, two, or
three hundred victims to the executioner. The new churches were levelled
to the ground, and out of their timbers gallows were constructed. It was
thought an ingenious pleasantry to hang the Reformers upon the beams
under which they had hoped to worship God. The property of the fugitives
was confiscated. The beggars in name became beggars in reality. Many who
felt obliged to remain, and who loved their possessions better than their
creed, were suddenly converted into the most zealous of Catholics.
Persons who had for years not gone to mass, never omitted now their daily
and nightly visits to the churches. Persons who had never spoken to an
ecclesiastic but with contumely, now could not eat their dinners without
one at their table. Many who were suspected of having participated in
Calvinistic rites, were foremost and loudest in putting down and
denouncing all forms and shows of the reformation. The country was as
completely "pacified," to use the conqueror's expression, as Gaul had
been by Caesar.

The, Regent issued a fresh edict upon the 24th May, to refresh the
memories of those who might have forgotten previous statutes, which were,
however, not calculated to make men oblivious. By this new proclamation,
all ministers and teachers were sentenced to the gallows. All persons who
had suffered their houses to be used for religious purposes were
sentenced to the gallows. All parents or masters whose children or
servants had attended such meetings were sentenced to the gallows, while
the children and servants were only to be beaten with rods. All people
who sang hymns at the burial of their relations were sentenced to the
gallows. Parents who allowed their newly-born children to be baptized by
other hands than those of the Catholic priest were sentenced to the
gallows. The same punishment was denounced against the persons who should
christen the child or act as its sponsors. Schoolmasters who should teach
any error or false doctrine were likewise to be punished with death.
Those who infringed the statutes against the buying and selling of
religious books and songs were to receive the same doom; after the first
offence. All sneers or insults against priests and ecclesiastics were
also made capital crimes. Vagabonds, fugitives; apostates, runaway monks,
were ordered forthwith to depart from every city on pain of death. In all
cases confiscation of the whole property of the criminal was added to the
hanging.

This edict, says a contemporary historian, increased the fear of those
professing the new religion to such an extent that they left the country
"in great heaps." It became necessary, therefore, to issue a subsequent
proclamation forbidding all persons, whether foreigners or natives, to
leave the land or to send away their property, and prohibiting all
shipmasters, wagoners, and other agents of travel, from assisting in the
flight of such fugitives, all upon pain of death.

Yet will it be credited that the edict of 24th May, the provisions of
which have just been sketched, actually excited the wrath of Philip on
account of their clemency? He wrote to the Duchess, expressing the pain
and dissatisfaction which he felt, that an edict so indecent, so illegal,
so contrary to the Christian religion, should have been published.
Nothing, he said, could offend or distress him more deeply, than any
outrage whatever, even the slightest one, offered to God and to His Roman
Catholic Church. He therefore commanded his sister instantly to revoke
the edict. One might almost imagine from reading the King's letter that
Philip was at last appalled at the horrors committed in his name. Alas,
he was only indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang who ought
to have been burned, and that a few narrow and almost impossible
loopholes had been left through which those who had offended alight
effect their escape.

And thus, while the country is paralyzed with present and expected woe,
the swiftly advancing trumpets of the Spanish army resound from beyond
the Alps. The curtain is falling upon the prelude to the great tragedy
which the prophetic lips of Orange had foretold. When it is again lifted,
scenes of disaster and of bloodshed, battles, sieges, executions, deeds
of unfaltering but valiant tyranny, of superhuman and successful
resistance, of heroic self-sacrifice, fanatical courage and insane
cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right, will be revealed
in awful succession--a spectacle of human energy, human suffering, and
human strength to suffer, such as has not often been displayed upon the
stage of the world's events.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slender stock of platitudes
     The time for reasoning had passed
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 14.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855

1567 [Part III., ALVA, CHAPTER 1.]

   Continued dissensions in the Spanish cabinet--Ruy Gomez and Alva--
   Conquest of the Netherlands entrusted to the Duke--Birth, previous
   career and character of Alva--Organization of the invading army--
   Its march to the provinces--Complaints of Duchess Margaret--Alva
   receives deputations on the frontier--Interview between the Duke and
   Egmont--Reception of Alva by the Duchess of Parma--Circular letters
   to the cities requiring their acceptance of garrisons--Margaret's
   secret correspondence--Universal apprehension--Keys of the great
   cities demanded by Alva--Secret plans of the government, arranged
   before the Duke's departure--Arrest of Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
   others, determined upon--Stealthy course of the government towards
   them--Infatuation of Egmont--Warnings addressed to him by De Billy
   and others--Measures to entrap Count Horn--Banquet of the Grand
   Prior--The Grand Prior's warning to Egmont--Evil counsels of
   Noircarmes--Arrests of Egmont, Horn, Bakkerzeel and Straalen--
   Popular consternation--Petulant conduct of Duchess Margaret--
   Characteristic comments of Granvelle--His secret machinations and
   disclaimers--Berghen and Montigny--Last moments of Marquis Berghen--
   Perfidy of Ruy Gomez--Establishment of the "Blood-Council"--Its
   leading features--Insidious behavior of Viglius--Secret
   correspondence, concerning the President, between Philip and Alva--
   Members of the "Blood-Council"--Portraits of Vargas and Hessels--
   Mode of proceeding adopted by the council--Wholesale executions--
   Despair in the provinces--The resignation of Duchess Margaret
   accepted--Her departure from the Netherlands--Renewed civil war in
   France--Death of Montmorency--Auxiliary troops sent by Alva to
   France--Erection of Antwerp citadel--Description of the citadel.

The armed invasion of the Netherlands was the necessary consequence of
all which had gone before. That the inevitable result had been so long
deferred lay rather in the incomprehensible tardiness of Philip's
character than in the circumstances of the case. Never did a monarch hold
so steadfastly to a deadly purpose, or proceed so languidly and with so
much circumvolution to his goal. The mask of benignity, of possible
clemency, was now thrown off, but the delusion of his intended visit to
the provinces was still maintained. He assured the Regent that he should
be governed by her advice, and as she had made all needful preparations
to receive him in Zeland, that it would be in Zeland he should arrive.

The same two men among Philip's advisers were prominent as at an earlier
day--the Prince of Eboli and the Duke of Alva. They still represented
entirely opposite ideas, and in character, temper, and history, each was
the reverse of the other. The policy of the Prince was pacific and
temporizing; that of the Duke uncompromising and ferocious. Ruy Gomez was
disposed to prevent, if possible, the armed mission of Alva, and he now
openly counselled the King to fulfil his long-deferred promise, and to
make his appearance in person before his rebellious subjects. The
jealousy and hatred which existed between the Prince and the
Duke--between the man of peace and the man of wrath--were constantly
exploding, even in the presence of the King. The wrangling in the council
was incessant. Determined, if possible; to prevent the elevation of his
rival, the favorite was even for a moment disposed to ask for the command
of the army himself. There was something ludicrous in the notion, that a
man whose life had been pacific, and who trembled at the noise of arms,
should seek to supersede the terrible Alva, of whom his eulogists
asserted, with, Castilian exaggeration, that the very name of fear
inspired him with horror. But there was a limit beyond which the
influence of Anna de Mendoza and her husband did not extend. Philip was
not to be driven to the Netherlands against his will, nor to be prevented
from assigning the command of the army to the most appropriate man in
Europe for his purpose.

It was determined at last that the Netherland heresy should be conquered
by force of arms. The invasion resembled both a crusade against the
infidel, and a treasure-hunting foray into the auriferous Indies,
achievements by which Spanish chivalry had so often illustrated itself.
The banner of the cross was to be replanted upon the conquered
battlements of three hundred infidel cities, and a torrent of wealth,
richer than ever flowed from Mexican or Peruvian mines, was to flow into
the royal treasury from the perennial fountains of confiscation. Who so
fit to be the Tancred and the Pizarro of this bicolored expedition as the
Duke of Alva, the man who had been devoted from his earliest childhood,
and from his father's grave, to hostility against unbelievers, and who
had prophesied that treasure would flow in a stream, a yard deep, from
the Netherlands as soon as the heretics began to meet with their deserts.
An army of chosen troops was forthwith collected, by taking the four
legions, or terzios, of Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, and Lombardy, and
filling their places in Italy by fresh levies. About ten thousand picked
and veteran soldiers were thus obtained, of which the Duke of Alva was
appointed general-in-chief.

Ferdinando Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, was now in his sixtieth year.
He was the most successful and experienced general of Spain, or of
Europe. No man had studied more deeply, or practised more constantly, the
military science. In the most important of all arts at that epoch he was
the most consummate artist. In the only honorable profession of the age,
he was the most thorough and the most pedantic professor. Since the days
of Demetrius Poliorcetes, no man had besieged so many cities. Since the
days of Fabius Cunctator; no general had avoided so many battles, and no
soldier, courageous as he was, ever attained to a more sublime
indifference to calumny or depreciation. Having proved in his boyhood, at
Fontarabia, and in his maturity: at Muhlberg, that he could exhibit
heroism and headlong courage; when necessary, he could afford to look
with contempt upon the witless gibes which his enemies had occasionally
perpetrated at his expense. Conscious of holding his armies in his hand,
by the power of an unrivalled discipline, and the magic of a name
illustrated by a hundred triumphs, he, could bear with patience and
benevolence the murmurs of his soldiers when their battles were denied
them.

He was born in 1508, of a family which boasted, imperial descent. A
Palaeologus, brother of a Byzantine emperor, had conquered the city of
Toledo, and transmitted its appellation as a family name. The father of
Ferdinando, Don Garcia, had been slain on the isle of Gerbes, in battle
with the Moors, when his son was but four years of age. The child was
brought up by his grandfather, Don Frederic, and trained from his
tenderest infancy to arms. Hatred to the infidel, and a determination to
avenge his father's blood; crying to him from a foreign grave, were the
earliest of his instincts. As a youth he was distinguished for his
prowess. His maiden sword was fleshed at Fontarabia, where, although but
sixteen years of age, he was considered, by his constancy in hardship, by
his brilliant and desperate courage, and by the example of military
discipline which he afforded to the troops, to have contributed in no
small degree to the success of the Spanish arms.

In 1530, he accompanied the Emperor in his campaign against the Turk.
Charles, instinctively recognizing the merit of the youth who was
destined to be the life-long companion of his toils and glories,
distinguished him with his favor at the opening of his career. Young,
brave, and enthusiastic, Ferdinand de Toledo at this period was as
interesting a hero as ever illustrated the pages of Castilian romance.
His mad ride from Hungary to Spain and back again, accomplished in
seventeen days, for the sake of a brief visit to his newly-married wife,
is not the least attractive episode in the history of an existence which
was destined to be so dark and sanguinary. In 1535, he accompanied the
Emperor on his memorable expedition to Tunis. In 1546 and 1547 he was
generalissimo in the war against the Smalcaldian league. His most
brilliant feat of arms-perhaps the most brilliant exploit of the
Emperor's reign--was the passage of the Elbe and the battle of Muhlberg,
accomplished in spite of Maximilian's bitter and violent reproaches, and
the tremendous possibilities of a defeat. That battle had finished the
war. The gigantic and magnanimous John Frederic, surprised at his
devotions in the church, fled in dismay, leaving his boots behind him,
which for their superhuman size, were ridiculously said afterwards to be
treasured among the trophies of the Toledo house.

   [Hist. du Due d'Albe, i. 274. Brantome, Hom. Illust., etc.
   (ch. v.), says that one of the boots was "large enough to hold a
   camp bedstead," p. 11. I insert the anecdote only as a specimen of
   the manner in which similar absurdities, both of great and, of
   little consequence, are perpetuated by writers in every land and
   age. The armor of the noble-hearted and unfortunate John Frederic
   may still be seen in Dresden. Its size indicates a man very much
   above the average height, while the external length of the iron
   shoe, on-the contrary, is less than eleven inches.]

The rout was total. "I came, I saw, and God conquered," said the Emperor,
in pious parody of his immortal predecessor's epigram. Maximilian, with a
thousand apologies for his previous insults, embraced the heroic Don
Ferdinand over and over again, as, arrayed in a plain suit of blue armor,
unadorned save with streaks of his enemies' blood, he returned from
pursuit of the fugitives. So complete and so sudden was the victory, that
it was found impossible to account for it, save on the ground of
miraculous interposition. Like Joshua, in the vale of Ajalon, Don
Ferdinand was supposed to have commanded the sun to stand still for a
season, and to have been obeyed. Otherwise, how could the passage of the
river, which was only concluded at six in the evening, and the complete
overthrow of the Protestant forces, have all been accomplished within the
narrow space of an April twilight? The reply of the Duke to Henry the
Second of France, who questioned him subsequently upon the subject, is
well known. "Your Majesty, I was too much occupied that evening with what
was taking place on the earth beneath, to pay much heed to the evolutions
of the heavenly bodies." Spared as he had been by his good fortune from
taking any part in the Algerine expedition, or in witnessing the
ignominious retreat from Innspruck, he was obliged to submit to the
intercalation of the disastrous siege of Metz in the long history of his
successes. Doing the duty of a field-marshal and a sentinel, supporting
his army by his firmness and his discipline when nothing else could have
supported them, he was at last enabled, after half the hundred thousand
men with whom Charles had begun the siege had been sacrificed, to induce
his imperial master to raise the siege before the remaining fifty
thousand had been frozen or starved to death.

The culminating career of Alva seemed to have closed in the mist which
gathered around the setting star of the empire. Having accompanied Philip
to England in 1554, on his matrimonial-expedition, he was destined in the
following years, as viceroy and generalissimo of Italy, to be placed in a
series of false positions. A great captain engaged in a little war, the
champion of the cross in arms against the successor of St. Peter, he had
extricated himself, at last, with his usual adroitness, but with very
little glory. To him had been allotted the mortification, to another the
triumph. The lustre of his own name seemed to sink in the ocean while
that of a hated rival, with new spangled ore, suddenly "flamed in the
forehead of the morning sky." While he had been paltering with a dotard,
whom he was forbidden to crush, Egmont had struck down the chosen troops
of France, and conquered her most illustrious commanders. Here was the
unpardonable crime which could only be expiated by the blood of the
victor. Unfortunately for his rival, the time was now approaching when
the long-deferred revenge was to be satisfied.

On the whole, the Duke of Alva was inferior to no general of his age. As
a disciplinarian he was foremost in Spain, perhaps in Europe. A
spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood, and this was, perhaps,
in the eye of humanity, his principal virtue. Time and myself are two,
was a frequent observation of Philip, and his favorite general considered
the maxim as applicable to war as to politics. Such were his qualities as
a military commander. As a statesman, he had neither experience nor
talent. As a man his character was simple. He did not combine a great
variety of vices, but those which he had were colossal, and he possessed
no virtues. He was neither lustful nor intemperate, but his professed
eulogists admitted his enormous avarice, while the world has agreed that
such an amount of stealth and ferocity, of patient vindictiveness and
universal bloodthirstiness, were never found in a savage beast of the
forest, and but rarely in a human bosom. His history was now to show that
his previous thrift of human life was not derived from any love of his
kind. Personally he was stern and overbearing. As difficult of access as
Philip himself, he was even more haughty to those who were admitted to
his presence. He addressed every one with the depreciating second person
plural. Possessing the right of being covered in the presence of the
Spanish monarch, he had been with difficulty brought to renounce it
before the German Emperor. He was of an illustrious family; but his
territorial possessions were not extensive. His duchy was a small one,
furnishing him with not more than fourteen thousand crowns of annual
income, and with four hundred soldiers. He had, however, been a thrifty
financier all his life, never having been without a handsome sum of ready
money at interest. Ten years before his arrival in the Netherlands, he
was supposed to have already increased his income to forty thousand a
year by the proceeds of his investments at Antwerp. As already intimated,
his military character was sometimes profoundly misunderstood. He was
often considered rather a pedantic than a practical commander, more
capable to discourse of battles than to gain them. Notwithstanding that
his long life had been an, almost unbroken campaign, the ridiculous
accusation of timidity was frequently made against him. A gentleman at
the court of the Emperor Charles once addressed a letter to the Duke with
the title of "General of his Majesty's armies in the Duchy of Milan in
time of peace, and major-domo of the household in the time of war." It
was said that the lesson did the Duke good, but that he rewarded very
badly the nobleman who gave it, having subsequently caused his head to be
taken off. In general, however, Alva manifested a philosophical contempt
for the opinions expressed concerning his military fame, and was
especially disdainful of criticism expressed by his own soldiers.
"Recollect," said he, at a little later period, to Don John of Austria,
"that the first foes with whom one has to contend are one's own troops;
with their clamors for an engagement at this moment, and--their murmurs,
about results at another; with their 'I thought that the battle should be
fought;' or, 'it was my, opinion that the occasion ought not to be lost.'
Your highness will have opportunity enough to display valor, and will
never be weak enough to be conquered by the babble of soldiers."

In person he was tall, thin, erect, with a small head, a long visage,
lean yellow cheek, dark twinkling eyes, a dust complexion, black
bristling hair, and a long sable-silvered beard, descending in two waving
streams upon his breast.

Such being the design, the machinery was well selected. The best man in
Europe to lead the invading force was placed at the head of ten thousand
picked veterans. The privates in this exquisite little army, said the
enthusiastic connoisseur Brantome, who travelled post into Lorraine
expressly to see them on their march, all wore engraved or gilded armor,
and were in every respect equipped like captains. They were the first who
carried muskets, a weapon which very much astonished the Flemings when it
first rattled in their ears. The musketeers, he observed, might have been
mistaken, for princes, with such agreeable and graceful arrogance did
they present themselves. Each was attended by his servant or esquire, who
carried his piece for him, except in battle, and all were treated with
extreme deference by the rest of the army, as if they had been officers.
The four regiments of Lombardy, Sardinia, Sicily, and Naples, composed a
total of not quite nine thousand of the best foot soldiers in Europe.
They were commanded respectively by Don Sancho de Lodiono, Don Gonzalo de
Bracamonte, Julien Romero, and Alfonso de Ulloa, all distinguished and
experienced generals. The cavalry, amounting to about twelve hundred; was
under the command of the natural son of the Duke, Don Ferdinando de
Toledo, Prior of the Knights of St. John. Chiapin Vitelli, Marquis of
Cetona, who had served the King in many a campaign, was appointed
Marechal de camp, and Gabriel Cerbelloni was placed in command of the
artillery. On the way the Duke received, as a present from the Duke of
Savoy, the services of the distinguished engineer, Pacheco, or Paciotti,
whose name was to be associated with the most celebrated citadel of the
Netherlands; and whose dreadful fate was to be contemporaneous with the
earliest successes of the liberal party.

With an army thus perfect, on a small scale, in all its departments, and
furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes, as
regularly enrolled, disciplined, and distributed as the cavalry or the
artillery, the Duke embarked upon his momentous enterprise, on the 10th
of May, at Carthagena. Thirty-seven galleys, under command of Prince
Andrea Doria, brought the principal part of the force to Genoa, the Duke
being delayed a few days at Nice by an attack of fever. On the 2d of
June, the army was mustered at Alexandria de Palla, and ordered to
rendezvous again at San Ambrosio at the foot of the Alps. It was then
directed to make its way over Mount Cenis and through Savoy; Burgundy,
and Lorraine, by a regularly arranged triple movement. The second
division was each night to encamp on the spot which had been occupied
upon the previous night by the vanguard, and the rear was to place itself
on the following night in the camp of the corps de bataille. Thus coiling
itself along almost in a single line by slow and serpentine windings,
with a deliberate, deadly, venomous purpose, this army, which was to be
the instrument of Philip's long deferred vengeance, stole through narrow
mountain pass and tangled forest. So close and intricate were many of the
defiles through which the journey led them that, had one tithe of the
treason which they came to punish, ever existed, save in the diseased
imagination of their monarch, not one man would have been left to tell
the tale. Egmont, had he really been the traitor and the conspirator he
was assumed to be, might have easily organized the means of cutting off
the troops before they could have effected their entrance into the
country which they had doomed to destruction. His military experience,
his qualifications for a daring stroke, his great popularity, and the
intense hatred entertained for Alva, would have furnished him with a
sufficient machinery for the purpose.

Twelve days' march carried the army through Burgundy, twelve more through
Lorraine. During the whole of the journey they were closely accompanied
by a force of cavalry and infantry, ordered upon this service by the King
of France, who, for fear of exciting a fresh Huguenot demonstration, had
refused the Spaniards a passage through his dominions. This reconnoitring
army kept pace with them like their shadow, and watched all their
movements. A force of six thousand Swiss, equally alarmed and uneasy at
the progress of the troops, hovered likewise about their flanks, without,
however, offering any impediment to their advance. Before the middle of
August they had reached Thionville, on the Luxemburg frontier, having on
the last day marched a distance of two leagues through a forest, which
seemed expressly arranged to allow a small defensive force to embarrass
and destroy an invading army. No opposition, however, was attempted, and
the Spanish soldiers encamped at last within the territory of the
Netherlands, having accomplished their adventurous journey in entire
safety, and under perfect discipline.

The Duchess had in her secret letters to Philip continued to express her
disapprobation of the enterprise thus committed to Alva, She had bitterly
complained that now when the country had been pacified by her efforts,
another should be sent to reap all the glory, or perhaps to undo all that
she had so painfully and so successfully done. She stated to her brother,
in most unequivocal language, that the name of Alva was odious enough to
make the whole Spanish nation detested in the Netherlands. She could find
no language sufficiently strong to express her surprise that the King
should have decided upon a measure likely to be attended with such fatal
consequences without consulting her on the subject, and in opposition to
what had been her uniform advice. She also wrote personally to Alva,
imploring, commanding, and threatening, but with equally ill success. The
Duke knew too well who was sovereign of the Netherlands now; his master's
sister or himself. As to the effects of his armed invasion upon the
temper of the provinces, he was supremely indifferent. He came as a
conqueror not as a mediator. "I have tamed people of iron in my day,"
said he, contemptuously, "shall I not easily crush these men of butter?"

At Thionville he was, however, officially waited upon by Berlaymont and
Noircarmes, on the part of the Regent. He at this point, moreover, began
to receive deputations from various cities, bidding him a hollow and
trembling welcome, and deprecating his displeasure for any thing in the
past which might seem offensive. To all such embassies he replied in
vague and conventional language; saying, however, to his confidential
attendants: I am here, so much is certain, whether I am welcome or not is
to me a matter of little consequence. At Tirlemont, on the 22d August, he
was met by Count Egmont, who had ridden forth from Brussels to show him a
becoming respect, as the representative of his sovereign, The Count was
accompanied by several other noblemen, and brought to the Duke a present
of several beautiful horses. Alva received him, however, but coldly, for
he was unable at first to adjust the mask to his countenance as adroitly
as was necessary. Behold the greatest of all the heretics, he observed to
his attendants, as soon as the nobleman's presence was announced, and in
a voice loud enough for him to hear.

Even after they had exchanged salutations, he addressed several remarks
to him in a half jesting, half biting tone, saying among other things,
that his countship might have spared him the trouble of making this long
journey in his old age. There were other observations in a similar strain
which might have well aroused the suspicion of any man not determined,
like Egmont, to continue blind and deaf. After a brief interval, however,
Alva seems to have commanded himself. He passed his arm lovingly over
that stately neck, which he had already devoted to the block, and the
Count having resolved beforehand to place himself, if possible, upon
amicable terms with the new Viceroy--the two rode along side by side in
friendly conversation, followed by the regiment of infantry and three
companies of light horse, which belonged to the Duke's immediate command.
Alva, still attended by Egmont, rode soon afterwards through the Louvain
gate into Brussels, where they separated for a season. Lodgings had been
taken for the Duke at the house of a certain Madame de Jasse, in the
neighborhood of Egmont's palace. Leaving here the principal portion of
his attendants, the Captain-General, without alighting, forthwith
proceeded to the palace to pay his respects to the Duchess of Parma.

For three days the Regent had been deliberating with her council as to
the propriety of declining any visit from the man whose presence she
justly considered a disgrace and an insult to herself. This being the
reward of her eight years' devotion to her brother's commands; to be
superseded by a subject, and one too who came to carry out a policy which
she had urgently deprecated, it could hardly be expected of the Emperor's
daughter that she should graciously submit to the indignity, and receive
her successor with a smiling countenance. In consequence, however, of the
submissive language with which the Duke had addressed her in his recent
communications, offering with true Castilian but empty courtesy, to place
his guards, his army, and himself at her feet, she had consented to
receive his visit with or without his attendants.

On his appearance in the court-yard, a scene of violent altercation and
almost of bloodshed took place between his body-guard and the archers of
the Regent's household, who were at last, with difficulty, persuaded to
allow the mercenaries of the hated Captain-General to pass. Presenting
himself at three o'clock in the afternoon, after these not very
satisfactory preliminaries, in the bedchamber of the Duchess, where it
was her habit to grant confidential audiences, he met, as might easily be
supposed, with a chilling reception: The Duchess, standing motionless in
the centre of the apartment, attended by Berlaymont, the Duke of
Aerachot, and Count Egmont, acknowledged his salutations with calm
severity. Neither she nor any one of her attendants advanced a step to
meet him. The Duke took off his hat, but she, calmly recognizing his
right as a Spanish grandee, insisted upon his remaining covered. A stiff
and formal conversation of half an hour's duration then ensued, all
parties remaining upon their feet. The Duke, although respectful; found
it difficult to conceal his indignation and his haughty sense of
approaching triumph. Margaret was cold, stately, and forbidding,
disguising her rage and her mortification under a veil of imperial pride.
Alva, in a letter to Philip, describing the interview, assured his
Majesty that he had treated the Duchess with as much deference as he
could have shown to the Queen, but it is probable, from other
contemporaneous accounts, that an ill-disguised and even angry arrogance
was at times very visible in his demeanor. The state council had advised
the Duchess against receiving him until he had duly exhibited his powers.
This ceremony had been waived, but upon being questioned by the Duchess
at this interview as to their nature and extent, he is reported to have
coolly answered that he really did not exactly remember, but that he
would look them over, and send her information at his earliest
convenience.

The next day, however, his commission was duly exhibited.

In this document, which bore date 31st January, 1567, Philip appointed
him to be Captain-General "in correspondence with his Majesty's dear
sister of Parma, who was occupied with other matters belonging to the
government," begged the Duchess to co-operate with him and to command
obedience for him, and ordered all the cities of the Netherlands to
receive such garrisons as he should direct.

At the official interview between Alva and Madame de Parma, at which
these powers were produced, the necessary preliminary arrangements were
made regarding the Spanish troops, which were now to be immediately
quartered in the principal cities. The Duke, however, informed the Regent
that as these matters were not within her province, he should take the
liberty of arranging them with the authorities, without troubling her in
the matter, and would inform her of the result of his measures at their
next interview, which was to take place on the 26th August.

Circular letters signed by Philip, which Alva had brought with him, were
now despatched to the different municipal bodies of the country. In these
the cities were severally commanded to accept the garrisons, and to
provide for the armies whose active services the King hoped would not be
required, but which he had sent beforehand to prepare a peaceful entrance
for himself. He enjoined the most absolute obedience to the Duke of Alva
until his own arrival, which was to be almost immediate. These letters
were dated at Madrid on the 28th February, and were now accompanied by a
brief official circular, signed by Margaret of Parma, in which she
announced the arrival of her dear cousin of Alva, and demanded
unconditional submission to his authority.

Having thus complied with these demands of external and conventional
propriety, the indignant Duchess unbosomed herself, in her private
Italian letters to her brother, of the rage which had been hitherto
partially suppressed. She reiterated her profound regret that Philip had
not yet accepted the resignation which she had so recently and so
earnestly offered. She disclaimed all jealousy of the supreme powers now
conferred upon Alva, but thought that his Majesty might have allowed her
to leave the country before the Duke arrived with an authority which was
so extraordinary, as well as so humiliating to herself. Her honor might
thus have been saved. She was pained to perceive that she was like to
furnish a perpetual example to all others, who considering the manner in
which she had been treated by the King, would henceforth have but little
inducement to do their duty. At no time, on no occasion, could any person
ever render him such services as hers had been. For nine years she had
enjoyed not a moment of repose. If the King had shown her but little
gratitude, she was consoled by the thought that she had satisfied her
God, herself, and the world. She had compromised her health, perhaps her
life, and now that she had pacified the country, now that the King was
more absolute, more powerful than ever before, another was sent to enjoy
the fruit of her labors and her sufferings.

The Duchess made no secret of her indignation at being thus superseded
and as she considered the matter, outraged. She openly avowed her
displeasure. She was at times almost beside herself with rage. There was
universal sympathy with her emotions, for all hated the Duke, and
shuddered at the arrival of the Spaniards. The day of doom for all the
crimes which had ever been committed in the course of ages, seemed now to
have dawned upon the Netherlands. The sword which had so long been
hanging over them, seemed now about to descend. Throughout the provinces,
there was but one feeling of cold and hopeless dismay. Those who still
saw a possibility of effecting their escape from the fated land, swarmed
across the frontier. All foreign merchants deserted the great marts. The
cities became as still as if the plague-banner had been unfurled on every
house-top.

Meantime the Captain-General proceeded methodically with his work. He
distributed his troops through Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp, and other
principal cities. As a measure of necessity and mark of the last
humiliation, he required the municipalities to transfer their keys to his
keeping. The magistrates of Ghent humbly remonstrated against the
indignity, and Egmont was imprudent enough to make himself the
mouth-piece of their remonstrance, which, it is needless to add, was
unsuccessful. Meantime his own day of reckoning had arrived.

As already observed, the advent of Alva at the head of a foreign army was
the natural consequence of all which had gone before. The delusion of the
royal visit was still maintained, and the affectation of a possible
clemency still displayed, while the monarch sat quietly in his cabinet
without a remote intention of leaving Spain, and while the messengers of
his accumulated and long-concealed wrath were already descending upon
their prey. It was the deliberate intention of Philip, when the Duke was
despatched to the Netherlands, that all the leaders of the
anti-inquisition party, and all who had, at any time or in any way,
implicated themselves in opposition to the government, or in censure of
its proceedings, should be put to death. It was determined that the
provinces should be subjugated to the absolute domination of the council
of Spain, a small body of foreigners sitting at the other end of Europe,
a junta in which Netherlanders were to have no voice and exercise no
influence. The despotic government of the Spanish and Italian possessions
was to be extended to these Flemish territories, which were thus to be
converted into the helpless dependencies of a foreign and an absolute
crown. There was to be a re-organization of the inquisition, upon the
same footing claimed for it before the outbreak of the troubles, together
with a re-enactment and vigorous enforcement of the famous edicts against
heresy.

Such was the scheme recommended by Granvelle and Espinosa, and to be
executed by Alva. As part and parcel of this plan, it was also arranged
at secret meetings at the house of Espinosa, before the departure of the
Duke, that all the seigniors against whom the Duchess Margaret had made
so many complaints, especially the Prince of Orange, with the Counts
Egmont, Horn, and Hoogstraaten, should be immediately arrested and
brought to chastisement. The Marquis Berghen and the Baron Montigny,
being already in Spain, could be dealt with at pleasure. It was also
decided that the gentlemen implicated in the confederacy or compromise,
should at once be proceeded against for high treason, without any regard
to the promise of pardon granted by the Duchess.

The general features of the great project having been thus mapped out, a
few indispensable preliminaries were at once executed. In order that
Egmont, Horn, and other distinguished victims might not take alarm, and
thus escape the doom deliberately arranged for them, royal assurances
were despatched to the Netherlands, cheering their despondency and
dispelling their doubts. With his own hand Philip wrote the letter, full
of affection and confidence, to Egmont, to which allusion has already
been made. He wrote it after Alva had left Madrid upon his mission of
vengeance. The same stealthy measures were pursued with regard to others.
The Prince of Orange was not capable of falling into the royal trap,
however cautiously baited. Unfortunately he could not communicate his
wisdom to his friends.

It is difficult to comprehend so very sanguine a temperament as that to
which Egmont owed his destruction. It was not the Prince of Orange alone
who had prophesied his doom. Warnings had come to the Count from every
quarter, and they were now frequently repeated. Certainly he was not
without anxiety, but he had made his decision; determined to believe in
the royal word, and in the royal gratitude for his services rendered, not
only against Montmorency and De Thermes, but against the heretics of
Flanders. He was, however, much changed. He had grown prematurely old. At
forty-six years his hair was white, and he never slept without pistols
under his pillow. Nevertheless he affected, and sometimes felt, a
light-heartedness which surprised all around him. The Portuguese
gentleman Robles, Seigneur de Billy, who had returned early in the summer
from Spain; whither he had been sent upon a confidential mission by
Madame de Parma, is said to have made repeated communications to Egmont
as to the dangerous position in which he stood. Immediately after his
arrival in Brussels he had visited the Count, then confined to his house
by an injury caused by the fall of his horse. "Take care to get well very
fast," said De Billy, "for there are very bad stories told about you in
Spain." Egmont laughed heartily at the observation, as if, nothing could
well be more absurd than such a warning. His friend--for De Billy is said
to have felt a real attachment to the Count--persisted in his prophecies,
telling him that "birds in the field sang much more sweetly than those in
cages," and that he would do well to abandon the country before the
arrival of Alva.

These warnings were repeated almost daily by the same gentleman, and by
others, who were more and more astonished at Egmont's infatuation.
Nevertheless, he had disregarded their admonitions, and had gone forth to
meet the Duke at Tirlemont. Even then he might have seen, in the coldness
of his first reception, and in the disrespectful manner of the Spanish
soldiers, who not only did not at first salute him, but who murmured
audibly that he was a Lutheran and traitor, that he was not so great a
favorite with the government at Madrid as he desired to be.

After the first few moments, however, Alva's manner had changed, while
Chiappin Vitelli, Gabriel de Serbelloni, and other principal officers,
received the Count with great courtesy, even upon his first appearance.
The grand prior, Ferdinando de Toledo, natural son of the Duke, and
already a distinguished soldier, seems to have felt a warm and unaffected
friendship for Egmont, whose brilliant exploits in the field had excited
his youthful admiration, and of whose destruction he was, nevertheless,
compelled to be the unwilling instrument. For a few days, accordingly,
after the arrival of the new Governor-General all seemed to be going
smoothly. The grand prior and Egmont became exceedingly intimate, passing
their time together in banquets, masquerades, and play, as joyously as if
the merry days which had succeeded the treaty of Cateau Cambreais were
returned. The Duke, too, manifested the most friendly dispositions,
taking care to send him large presents of Spanish and Italian fruits,
received frequently by the government couriers.

Lapped in this fatal security, Egmont not only forgot his fears, but
unfortunately succeeded in inspiring Count Horn with a portion of his
confidence. That gentleman had still remained in his solitary mansion at
Weert, notwithstanding the artful means which had been used to lure him
from that "desert." It is singular that the very same person who,
according to a well-informed Catholic contemporary, had been most eager
to warn Egmont of his danger, had also been the foremost instrument for
effecting the capture of the Admiral. The Seigneur de Billy, on the day
after his arrival from Madrid, had written to Horn, telling him that the
King was highly pleased with his services and character. De Billy also
stated that he had been commissioned by Philip to express distinctly the
royal gratitude for the Count's conduct, adding that his Majesty was
about to visit the Netherlands in August, and would probably be preceded
or accompanied by Baron Montigny.

Alva and his son Don Ferdinando had soon afterwards addressed letters
from Gerverbiller (dated 26th and 27th July) to Count Horn, filled with
expressions of friendship and confidence. The Admiral, who had sent one
of his gentlemen to greet the Duke, now responded from Weert that he was
very sensible of the kindness manifested towards him, but that for
reasons which his secretary Alonzo de la Loo would more fully
communicate, he must for the present beg to be excused from a personal
visit to Brussels. The secretary was received by Alva with extreme
courtesy. The Duke expressed infinite pain that the King had not yet
rewarded Count Horn's services according to their merit, said that a year
before he had told his brother Montigny how very much he was the
Admiral's friend, and begged La Loo to tell his master that he should not
doubt the royal generosity and gratitude. The governor added, that if he
could see the Count in person he could tell him things which would please
him, and which would prove that he had not been forgotten by his friends.
La Loo had afterward a long conversation with the Duke's secretary
Albornoz, who assured him that his master had the greatest affection for
Count Horn, and that since his affairs were so much embarrassed, he might
easily be provided with the post of governor at Milan, or viceroy of
Naples, about to become vacant. The secretary added, that the Duke was
much hurt at receiving no visits from many distinguished nobles whose
faithful friend and servant he was, and that Count Horn ought to visit
Brussels, if not to treat of great affairs, at least to visit the
Captain-General as a friend. "After all this," said honest Alonzo, "I am
going immediately to Weert, to urge his lordship to yield to the Duke's
desires."

This scientific manoeuvring, joined to the urgent representations of
Egmont, at last produced its effect. The Admiral left his retirement at
Weert to fall into the pit which his enemies had been so skilfully
preparing at Brussels. On the night of the 8th September, Egmont received
another most significative and mysterious warning. A Spaniard, apparently
an officer of rank, came secretly into his house, and urged him solemnly
to effect his escape before the morrow. The Countess, who related the
story afterwards, always believed, without being certain, that the
mysterious visitor was Julian Romero, marechal de camp. Egmont, however,
continued as blindly confident as before.

On the following day, September 9th, the grand prior, Don Ferdinando,
gave a magnificent dinner, to which Egmont and Horn, together with
Noircarmes, the Viscount of Ghent, and many other noblemen were invited.
The banquet was enlivened by the music of Alva's own military band, which
the Duke sent to entertain the company. At three o'clock he sent a
message begging the gentlemen, after their dinner should be concluded, to
favor him with their company at his house (the maison de Jassey), as he
wished to consult them concerning the plan of the citadel, which he
proposed erecting at Antwerp.

At this moment, the grand prior who was seated next to Egmont, whispered
in his ear; "Leave this place, Signor Count, instantly; take the fleetest
horse in your stable and make your escape without a moment's delay."
Egmont, much troubled, and remembering the manifold prophecies and
admonitions which he had passed by unheeded, rose from the table and went
into the next room. He was followed by Noircarmes and two other
gentlemen, who had observed his agitation, and were curious as to its
cause. The Count repeated to them the mysterious words just whispered to
him by the grand prior, adding that he was determined to take the advice
without a moment's delay. "Ha! Count," exclaimed Noircarmes, "do not put
lightly such implicit confidence in this stranger who is counselling you
to your destruction. What will the Duke of Alva and all the Spaniards say
of such a precipitate flight? Will they not say that your Excellency has
fled from the consciousness of guilt? Will not your escape be construed
into a confession of high treason."

If these words were really spoken by Noircarmes; and that they were so,
we have the testimony of a Walloon gentleman in constant communication
with Egmont's friends and with the whole Catholic party, they furnish
another proof of the malignant and cruel character of the man. The advice
fixed forever the fate of the vacillating Egmont. He had risen from table
determined to take the advice of a noble-minded Spaniard, who had
adventured his life to save his friend. He now returned in obedience to
the counsel of a fellow-countryman, a Flemish noble, to treat the
well-meant warning with indifference, and to seat himself again at the
last banquet which he was ever to grace with his presence.

At four o'clock, the dinner being finished, Horn and Egmont, accompanied
by the other gentlemen, proceeded to the "Jassy" house, then occupied by
Alva, to take part in the deliberations proposed. They were received by
the Duke with great courtesy. The engineer, Pietro Urbino, soon appeared
and laid upon the table a large parchment containing the plan and
elevation of the citadel to be erected at Antwerp. A warm discussion upon
the subject soon arose, Egmont, Horn, Noircarmes and others, together
with the engineers Urbino and Pacheco, all taking part in the debate.
After a short time, the Duke of Alva left the apartment, on pretext of a
sudden indisposition, leaving the company still warmly engaged in their
argument. The council lasted till near seven in the evening. As it broke
up, Don Sancho d'Avila, captain of the Duke's guard, requested Egmont to
remain for a moment after the rest, as he had a communication to make to
him. After an insignificant remark or two, the Spanish officer, as soon
as the two were alone, requested Egmont to surrender his sword. The
Count, agitated, and notwithstanding every thing which had gone before,
still taken by surprise, scarcely knew what reply to make. Don Sancho
repeated that he had been commissioned to arrest him, and again demanded
his sword. At the same moment the doors of the adjacent apartment were
opened, and Egmont saw himself surrounded by a company of Spanish
musqueteers and halberdmen. Finding himself thus entrapped, he gave up
his sword, saying bitterly, as he did so, that it had at least rendered
some service to the King in times which were past. He was then conducted
to a chamber, in the upper story of the house, where his temporary prison
had been arranged. The windows were barricaded, the daylight excluded,
the whole apartment hung with black. Here he remained fourteen days (from
the 9th to 23d September). During this period, he was allowed no
communication with his friends. His room was lighted day and night with
candles, and he was served in strict silence by Spanish attendants, and
guarded by Spanish soldiers. The captain of the watch drew his curtain
every midnight, and aroused him from sleep that he might be identified by
the relieving officer.

Count Horn was arrested upon the same occasion by Captain Salinas, as he
was proceeding through the court-yard of the house, after the breaking up
of the council. He was confined in another chamber of the mansion, and
met with a precisely similar treatment to that experienced by Egmont.
Upon the 23d September, both were removed under a strong guard to the
castle of Ghent.

On this same day, two other important arrests, included and arranged in
the same program, had been successfully accomplished. Bakkerzeel, private
and confidential secretary of Egmont, and Antony Van Straalen, the rich
and influential burgomaster of Antwerp, were taken almost simultaneously.
At the request of Alva, the burgomaster had been invited by the Duchess
of Parma to repair on business to Brussels. He seemed to have feared an
ambuscade, for as he got into his coach to set forth upon the journey, he
was so muffed in a multiplicity of clothing, that he was scarcely to be
recognized. He was no sooner, however, in the open country and upon a
spot remote from human habitations, than he was suddenly beset by a band
of forty soldiers under command of Don Alberic Lodron and Don Sancho de
Lodrono. These officers had been watching his movements for many days.
The capture of Bakkerzeel was accomplished with equal adroitness at about
the same hour.

Alva, while he sat at the council board with Egmont and Horn, was
secretly informed that those important personages, Bakkerzeel and
Straalen, with the private secretary of the Admiral, Alonzo de la Loo, in
addition, had been thus successfully arrested. He could with difficulty
conceal his satisfaction, and left the apartment immediately that the
trap might be sprung upon the two principal victims of his treachery. He
had himself arranged all the details of these two important arrests,
while his natural son, the Prior Don Ferdinando, had been compelled to
superintend the proceedings. The plot had been an excellent plot, and was
accomplished as successfully as it bad been sagaciously conceived. None
but Spaniards had been employed in any part of the affair. Officers of
high rank in his Majesty's army had performed the part of spies and
policemen with much adroitness, nor was it to be expected that the duty
would seem a disgrace, when the Prior of the Knights of Saint John was
superintendent of the operations, when the Captain-General of the
Netherlands had arranged the whole plan, and when all, from subaltern to
viceroy, had received minute instructions as to the contemplated
treachery from the great chief of the Spanish police, who sat on the
throne of Castile and Aragon.

No sooner were these gentlemen in custody than the secretary Albornoz was
dispatched to the house of Count Horn, and to that of Bakkerzeel, where
all papers were immediately seized, inventoried, and placed in the hands
of the Duke. Thus, if amid the most secret communications of Egmont and
Horn or their correspondents, a single treasonable thought should be
lurking, it was to go hard but it might be twisted into a cord strong
enough to strangle them all.

The Duke wrote a triumphant letter to his Majesty that very night. He
apologized that these important captures had been deferred so long but,
stated that he had thought it desirable to secure all these leading
personages at a single stroke. He then narrated the masterly manner in
which the operations had been conducted. Certainly, when it is remembered
that the Duke had only reached Brussels upon the 23d August, and that the
two Counts were securely lodged in prison on the 9th of September, it
seemed a superfluous modesty upon his part thus to excuse himself for an
apparent delay. At any rate, in the eyes of the world and of posterity,
his zeal to carry out the bloody commands of his master was sufficiently
swift.

The consternation was universal throughout the provinces when the arrests
became known. Egmont's great popularity and distinguished services placed
him so high above the mass of citizens, and his attachment to the
Catholic religion was moreover so well known, as to make it obvious that
no man could now be safe, when men like him were in the power of Alva and
his myrmidons. The animosity to the Spaniards increased hourly. The
Duchess affected indignation at the arrest of the two nobles, although it
nowhere appears that she attempted a word in their defence, or lifted, at
any subsequent moment, a finger to save them. She was not anxious to wash
her hands of the blood of two innocent men; she was only offended that
they had been arrested without her permission. The Duke had, it is true,
sent Berlaymont and Mansfeld to give her information of the fact, as soon
as the capture had been made, with the plausible excuse that he preferred
to save her from all the responsibility and all the unpopularity of the
measure, Nothing, however, could appease her wrath at this and every
other indication of the contempt in which he appeared to hold the sister
of his sovereign. She complained of his conduct daily to every one who
was admitted to her presence. Herself oppressed by a sense of personal
indignity, she seemed for a moment to identify herself with the cause of
the oppressed provinces. She seemed to imagine herself the champion of
their liberties, and the Netherlanders, for a moments seemed to
participate in the delusion. Because she was indignant at the insolence
of the Duke of Alva to her self, the honest citizens began to give her
credit for a sympathy with their own wrongs. She expressed herself
determined to move about from one city to another, until the answer to
her demand for dismissal should arrive. She allowed her immediate
attendants to abuse the Spaniards in good set terms upon every occasion.
Even her private chaplain permitted himself, in preaching before her in
the palace chapel, to denounce the whole nation as a race of traitors and
ravishers, and for this offence was only reprimanded, much against her
will, by the Duchess, and ordered to retire for a season to his convent.
She did not attempt to disguise her dissatisfaction at every step which
had been taken by the Duke. In all this there was much petulance, but
very little dignity, while there was neither a spark of real sympathy for
the oppressed millions, nor a throb of genuine womanly emotion for the
impending fate of the two nobles. Her principal grief was that she had
pacified the provinces, and that another had now arrived to reap the
glory; but it was difficult, while the unburied bones of many heretics
were still hanging, by her decree, on the rafters of their own dismantled
churches, for her successfully to enact the part of a benignant and
merciful Regent. But it is very true that the horrors of the Duke's
administration have been propitious to the fame of Margaret, and perhaps
more so to that of Cardinal Granvelle. The faint and struggling rays of
humanity which occasionally illumined the course of their government,
were destined to be extinguished in a chaos so profound and dark, that
these last beams of light seemed clearer and more bountiful by the
contrast.

The Count of Hoogstraaten, who was on his way to Brussels, had, by good
fortune, injured his hand through the accidental discharge of a pistol.
Detained by this casualty at Cologne, he was informed, before his arrival
at the capital, of the arrest of his two distinguished friends, and
accepted the hint to betake himself at once to a place of Safety.

The loyalty of the elder Mansfeld was beyond dispute even by Alva. His
son Charles had, however, been imprudent, and, as we have seen, had even
affixed his name to the earliest copies of the Compromise. He had
retired, it is true, from all connexion with the confederates, but his
father knew well that the young Count's signature upon that famous
document would prove his death-warrant, were he found in the country. He
therefore had sent him into Germany before the arrival of the Duke.

The King's satisfaction was unbounded when he learned this important
achievement of Alva, and he wrote immediately to express his approbation
in the most extravagant terms. Cardinal Granvelle, on the contrary,
affected astonishment at a course which he had secretly counselled. He
assured his Majesty that he had never believed Egmont to entertain
sentiments opposed to the Catholic religion, nor to the interests of the
Crown, up to the period of his own departure from the Netherlands. He was
persuaded, he said, that the Count had been abused by others, although,
to be sure, the Cardinal had learned with regret what Egmont had written
on the occasion of the baptism of Count Hoogstraaten's child. As to the
other persons arrested, he said that no one regretted their fate. The
Cardinal added, that he was supposed to be himself the instigator of
these captures, but that he was not disturbed by that, or by other
imputations of a similar nature.

In conversation with those about him, he frequently expressed regret that
the Prince of Orange had been too crafty to be caught in the same net in
which his more simple companions were so inextricably entangled. Indeed,
on the first arrival of the news, that men of high rank had been arrested
in Brussels, the Cardinal eagerly inquired if the Taciturn had been
taken, for by that term he always characterized the Prince. Receiving a
negative reply, he expressed extreme disappointment, adding, that if
Orange had escaped, they had taken nobody; and that his capture would
have been more valuable than that of every man in the Netherlands.

Peter Titelmann, too, the famous inquisitor, who, retired from active
life, was then living upon Philip's bounty, and encouraged by friendly
letters from that monarch, expressed the same opinion. Having been
informed that Egmont and Horn had been captured, he eagerly inquired if
"wise William" had also been taken. He was, of course, answered in the
negative. "Then will our joy be but brief," he observed. "Woe unto us for
the wrath to come from Germany."

On the 12th of July, of this year, Philip wrote to Granvelle to inquire
the particulars of a letter which the Prince of Orange, according to a
previous communication of the Cardinal, had written to Egmont on the
occasion of the baptism of Count Hoogstraaten's child. On the 17th of
August, the Cardinal replied, by setting the King right as to the error
which he had committed. The letter, as he had already stated, was not
written by Orange, but by Egmont, and he expressed his astonishment that
Madame de Parma had not yet sent it to his Majesty. The Duchess must have
seen it, because her confessor had shown it to the person who was
Granvelle's informant. In this letter, the Cardinal continued, the
statement had been made by Egmont to the Prince of Orange that their
plots were discovered, that the King was making armaments, that they were
unable to resist him, and that therefore it had become necessary to
dissemble and to accommodate themselves as well as possible to the
present situation, while waiting for other circumstances under which to
accomplish their designs. Granvelle advised, moreover, that Straalen, who
had been privy to the letter, and perhaps the amanuensis, should be
forthwith arrested.

The Cardinal was determined not to let the matter sleep, notwithstanding
his protestation of a kindly feeling towards the imprisoned Count.
Against the statement that he knew of a letter which amounted to a full
confession of treason, out of Egmont's own mouth--a fact which, if
proved, and perhaps, if even insinuated, would be sufficient with Philip
to deprive Egmont of twenty thousand lives--against these constant
recommendations to his suspicious and sanguinary master, to ferret out
this document, if it were possible, it must be confessed that the
churchman's vague and hypocritical expressions on the side of mercy were
very little worth.

Certainly these seeds of suspicion did not fall upon a barren soil.
Philip immediately communicated the information thus received to the Duke
of Alva, charging him on repeated occasions to find out what was written,
either by Egmont or by Straalen, at Egmont's instigation, stating that
such a letter was written at the time of the Hoogstraaten baptism, that
it would probably illustrate the opinions of Egmont at that period, and
that the letter itself, which the confessor of Madame de Parma had once
had in his hands, ought, if possible, to be procured. Thus the very
language used by Granvelle to Philip was immediately repeated by the
monarch to his representative in the Netherlands, at the moment when all
Egmont's papers were in his possession, and when Egmont's private
secretary was undergoing the torture, in order that; secrets might be
wrenched from him which had never entered his brain. The fact that no
such letter was found, that the Duchess had never alluded to any such
document, and that neither a careful scrutiny of papers, nor the
application of the rack, could elicit any satisfactory information on the
subject, leads to the conclusion that no such treasonable paper had ever
existed, save in the imagination of the Cardinal. At any rate, it is no
more than just to hesitate before affixing a damning character to a
document, in the absence of any direct proof that there ever was such a
document at all. The confessor of Madame de Parma told another person,
who told the Cardinal, that either Count Egmont, or Burgomaster Straalen,
by command of Count Egmont, wrote to the Prince of Orange thus and so.
What evidence was this upon which to found a charge of high treason
against a man whom Granvelle affected to characterize as otherwise
neither opposed to the Catholic religion, nor to the true service of the
King? What vulpine kind of mercy was it on the part of the Cardinal,
while making such deadly insinuations, to recommend the imprisoned victim
to clemency?

The unfortunate envoys, Marquis Bergen and Baron Montigny, had remained
in Spain under close observation. Of those doomed victims who, in spite
of friendly remonstrances and of ominous warnings, had thus ventured into
the lion's den, no retreating footmarks were ever to be seen. Their fate,
now that Alva had at last been despatched to the Netherlands, seemed to
be sealed, and the Marquis Bergen, accepting the augury in its most evil
sense, immediately afterwards had sickened unto death. Whether it were
the sickness of hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair, or whether
it were a still more potent and unequivocal poison which came to the
relief of the unfortunate nobleman, will perhaps never be ascertained
with certainty. The secrets of those terrible prison-houses of Spain,
where even the eldest begotten son, and the wedded wife of the monarch,
were soon afterwards believed to have been the victims of his dark
revenge, can never perhaps be accurately known, until the grave gives up
its dead, and the buried crimes of centuries are revealed.

It was very soon after the departure of Alva's fleet from Carthagena,
that the Marquis Bergen felt his end approaching. He sent for the Prince
of Eboli, with whom he had always maintained intimate relations, and whom
he believed to be his disinterested friend. Relying upon his faithful
breast, and trusting to receive from his eyes alone the pious drops of
sympathy which he required, the dying noble poured out his long and last
complaint. He charged him to tell the man whom he would no longer call
his king, that he had ever been true and loyal, that the bitterness of
having been constantly suspected, when he was conscious of entire
fidelity, was a sharper sorrow than could be lightly believed, and that
he hoped the time would come when his own truth and the artifices of his
enemies would be brought to light. He closed his parting message by
predicting that after he had been long laid in the grave, the
impeachments against his character would be, at last, although too late,
retracted.

So spake the unhappy envoy, and his friend replied with words of
consolation. It is probable that he even ventured, in the King's name, to
grant him the liberty of returning to his home; the only remedy, as his
physicians had repeatedly stated, which could possibly be applied to his
disease. But the devilish hypocrisy of Philip, and the abject perfidy of
Eboli, at this juncture, almost surpass belief. The Prince came to press
the hand and to close the eyes of the dying man whom he called his
friend, having first carefully studied a billet of most minute and secret
instructions from his master as to the deportment he was to observe upon
this solemn occasion and afterwards. This paper, written in Philip's own
hand, had been delivered to Eboli on the very day of his visit to Bergen,
and bore the superscription that it was not to be read nor opened till
the messenger who brought it had left his presence. It directed the
Prince, if it should be evident Marquis was past recovery, to promise
him, in the King's name, the permission of returning to the Netherlands.
Should, however, a possibility of his surviving appear, Eboli was only to
hold out a hope that such permission might eventually be obtained. In
case of the death of Bergen, the Prince was immediately to confer with
the Grand Inquisitor and with the Count of Feria, upon the measures to be
taken for his obsequies. It might seem advisable, in that event to
exhibit the regret which the King and his ministers felt for his death,
and the great esteem in which they held the nobles of the Netherlands. At
the same time, Eboli was further instructed to confer with the same
personages as to the most efficient means for preventing the escape of
Baron Montigny; to keep a vigilant eye upon his movements, and to give
general directions to governors and to postmasters to intercept his
flight, should it be attempted. Finally, in case of Bergen's death, the
Prince was directed to despatch a special messenger, apparently on his
own responsibility, and as if in the absence and without the knowledge of
the King, to inform the Duchess of Parma of the event, and to urge her
immediately to take possession of the city of Bergen-op-Zoom, and of all
other property belonging to the Marquis, until it should be ascertained
whether it were not possible to convict him, after death, of treason, and
to confiscate his estates accordingly.

Such were the instructions of Philip to Eboli, and precisely in
accordance with the program, was the horrible comedy enacted at the
death-bed of the envoy. Three days after his parting interview with his
disinterested friend, the Marquis was a corpse.--Before his limbs were
cold, a messenger was on his way to Brussels, instructing the Regent to
sequestrate his property, and to arrest, upon suspicion of heresy, the
youthful kinsman and niece, who, by the will of the Marquis, were to be
united in marriage and to share his estate. The whole drama, beginning
with the death scene, was enacted according to order: Before the arrival
of Alva in the Netherlands, the property of the Marquis was in the hands
of the Government, awaiting the confiscation,--which was but for a brief
season delayed, while on the other hand, Baron Montigny, Bergen's
companion in doom, who was not, however, so easily to be carried off by
homesickness, was closely confined in the alcazar of Segovia, never to
leave a Spanish prison alive. There is something pathetic in the delusion
in which Montigny and his brother, the Count Horn, both indulged, each
believing that the other was out of harm's way, the one by his absence
from the Netherlands, the other by his absence from Spain, while both,
involved in the same meshes, were rapidly and surely approaching their
fate.

In the same despatch of the 9th September, in which the Duke communicated
to Philip the capture of Egmont and Horn, he announced to him his
determination to establish a new court for the trial of crimes committed
during the recent period of troubles. This wonderful tribunal was
accordingly created with the least possible delay. It was called the
Council of Troubles, but it soon acquired the terrible name, by which it
will be forever known in history, of the 'Blood-Council'. It superseded
all other institutions. Every court, from those of the municipal
magistracies up to the supreme councils of the provinces, were forbidden
to take cognizance in future of any cause growing out of the late
troubles. The council of state, although it was not formally disbanded,
fell into complete desuetude, its members being occasionally summoned
into Alva's private chambers in an irregular manner, while its principal
functions were usurped by the Blood-Council. Not only citizens of every
province, but the municipal bodies and even the sovereign provincial
estates themselves, were compelled to plead, like humble individuals,
before this new and extraordinary tribunal. It is unnecessary to allude
to the absolute violation which was thus committed of all charters, laws
and privileges, because the very creation of the council was a bold and
brutal proclamation that those laws and privileges were at an end. The
constitution or maternal principle of this suddenly erected court was of
a twofold nature. It defined and it punished the crime of treason. The
definitions, couched in eighteen articles, declared it to be treason to
have delivered or signed any petition against the new bishops, the
Inquisition, or the Edicts; to have tolerated public preaching under any
circumstances; to have omitted resistance to the image-breaking, to the
field-preaching, or to the presentation of the Request by the nobles, and
"either through sympathy or surprise" to have asserted that the King did
not possess the right to deprive all the provinces of their liberties, or
to have maintained that this present tribunal was bound to respect in any
manner any laws or any charters. In these brief and simple, but
comprehensive terms, was the crime of high treason defined. The
punishment was still more briefly, simply, and comprehensively stated,
for it was instant death in all cases. So well too did this new and
terrible engine perform its work, that in less than three months from the
time of its erection, eighteen hundred human beings had suffered death by
its summary proceedings; some of the highest, the noblest, and the most
virtuous in the land among the number; nor had it then manifested the
slightest indication of faltering in its dread career.

Yet, strange to say, this tremendous court, thus established upon the
ruins of all the ancient institutions of the country, had not been
provided with even a nominal authority from any source whatever. The King
had granted it no letters patent or charter, nor had even the Duke of
Alva thought it worth while to grant any commissions either in his own
name or as Captain-General, to any of the members composing the board.
The Blood-Council was merely an informal club, of which the Duke was
perpetual president, while the other members were all appointed by
himself.

Of these subordinate councillors, two had the right of voting, subject,
however, in all cases to his final decision, while the rest of the number
did not vote at all. It had not, therefore, in any sense, the character
of a judicial, legislative, or executive tribunal, but was purely a board
of advice by which the bloody labors of the duke were occasionally
lightened as to detail, while not a feather's weight of power or of
responsibility was removed from his shoulders. He reserved for himself
the final decision upon all causes which should come before the council,
and stated his motives for so doing with grim simplicity. "Two reasons,"
he wrote to the King, "have determined me thus to limit the power of the
tribunal; the first that, not knowing its members, I might be easily
deceived by them; the second, that the men of law only condemn for crimes
which are proved; whereas your Majesty knows that affairs of state are
governed by very different rules from the laws which they have here."

It being, therefore, the object of the Duke to compose a body of men who
would be of assistance to him in condemning for crimes which could not be
proved, and in slipping over statutes which were not to be recognized, it
must be confessed that he was not unfortunate in the appointments which
he made to the office of councillors. In this task of appointment he had
the assistance of the experienced Viglius. That learned jurisconsult,
with characteristic lubricity, had evaded the dangerous honor for
himself, but he nominated a number of persons from whom the Duke selected
his list. The sacerdotal robes which he had so recently and so "craftily"
assumed, furnished his own excuse, and in his letters to his faithful
Hopper he repeatedly congratulated himself upon his success in keeping
himself at a distance from so bloody and perilous a post.

It is impossible to look at the conduct of the distinguished Frisian at
this important juncture without contempt. Bent only upon saving himself,
his property, and his reputation, he did not hesitate to bend before the
"most illustrious Duke," as he always denominated him, with fulsome and
fawning homage. While he declined to dip his own fingers in the innocent
blood which was about to flow in torrents, he did not object to officiate
at the initiatory preliminaries of the great Netherland holocaust. His
decent and dainty demeanor seems even more offensive than the jocularity
of the real murderers. Conscious that no man knew the laws and customs of
the Netherlands better than himself, he had the humble effrontery to
observe that it was necessary for him at that moment silently to submit
his own unskilfulness to the superior judgment and knowledge of others.
Having at last been relieved from the stone of Sisyphus, which, as he
plaintively expressed himself, he had been rolling for twenty years;
having, by the arrival of Tisnacq, obtained his discharge as President of
the state council, he was yet not unwilling to retain the emoluments and
the rank of President of the privy council, although both offices had
become sinecures since the erection of the Council of Blood. Although his
life had been spent in administrative and judicial employments, he did
not blush upon a matter of constitutional law to defer to the authority
of such jurisconsults as the Duke of Alva and his two Spanish
bloodhounds, Vargas and Del Rio. He did not like, he observed, in his
confidential correspondence, to gainsay the Duke, when maintaining, that
in cases of treason, the privileges of Brabant were powerless, although
he mildly doubted whether the Brabantines would agree with the doctrine.
He often thought, he said, of remedies for restoring the prosperity of
the provinces, but in action he only assisted the Duke, to the best of
his abilities, in arranging the Blood-Council. He wished well to his
country, but he was more anxious for the favor of Alva. "I rejoice," said
he, in one of his letters, "that the most illustrious Duke has written to
the King in praise of my obsequiousness; when I am censured here for so
reverently cherishing him, it is a consolation that my services to the
King and to the governor are not unappreciated there." Indeed the Duke of
Alva, who had originally suspected the President's character, seemed at
last overcome by his indefatigable and cringing homage. He wrote to the
King, in whose good graces the learned Doctor was most anxious at that
portentous period to maintain himself, that the President was very
serviceable and diligent, and that he deserved to receive a crumb of
comfort from the royal hand. Philip, in consequence, wrote in one of his
letters a few lines of vague compliment, which could be shown to Viglius,
according to Alva's suggestion. It is, however, not a little
characteristic of the Spanish court and of the Spanish monarch, that, on
the very day before, he had sent to the Captain-General a few documents
of very different import. In order, as he said, that the Duke might be
ignorant of nothing which related to the Netherlands, he forwarded to him
copies of the letters written by Margaret of Parma from Brussels, three
years before. These letters, as it will be recollected, contained an
account of the secret investigations which the Duchess had made as to the
private character and opinions of Viglius--at the very moment when he
apparently stood highest in her confidence--and charged him with heresy,
swindling, and theft. Thus the painstaking and time-serving President,
with all his learning and experience, was successively the dupe of
Margaret and of Alva, whom he so obsequiously courted, and always of
Philip, whom he so feared and worshipped.

With his assistance, the list of blood-councillors was quickly completed.
No one who was offered the office refused it. Noircarmes and Berlaymont
accepted with very great eagerness. Several presidents and councillors of
the different provincial tribunals were appointed, but all the
Netherlanders were men of straw. Two Spaniards, Del Rio and Vargas, were
the only members who could vote; while their decisions, as already
stated, were subject to reversal by Alva. Del Rio was a man without
character or talent, a mere tool in the hands of his superiors, but Juan
de Vargas was a terrible reality.

No better man could have been found in Europe for the post to which he
was thus elevated. To shed human blood was, in his opinion, the only
important business and the only exhilarating pastime of life. His youth
had been stained with other crimes. He had been obliged to retire from
Spain, because of his violation of an orphan child to whom he was
guardian, but, in his manhood, he found no pleasure but in murder. He
executed Alva's bloody work with an industry which was almost superhuman,
and with a merriment which would have shamed a demon. His execrable jests
ring through the blood and smoke and death-cries of those days of
perpetual sacrifice. He was proud to be the double of the iron-hearted
Duke, and acted so uniformly in accordance with his views, that the right
of revision remained but nominal. There could be no possibility of
collision where the subaltern was only anxious to surpass an incomparable
superior. The figure of Vargas rises upon us through the mist of three
centuries with terrible distinctness. Even his barbarous grammar has not
been forgotten, and his crimes against syntax and against humanity have
acquired the same immortality. "Heretici fraxerunt templa, boni nihili
faxerunt contra, ergo debent omnes patibulare," was the comprehensive but
barbarous formula of a man who murdered the Latin language as ruthlessly
as he slaughtered his contemporaries.

Among the ciphers who composed the rest of the board, the Flemish
Councillor Hessels was the one whom the Duke most respected. He was not
without talent or learning, but the Duke only valued him for his cruelty.
Being allowed to take but little share in the deliberations, Hessels was
accustomed to doze away his afternoon hours at the council table, and
when awakened from his nap in order that he might express an opinion on
the case then before the court, was wont to rub his eyes and to call out
"Ad patibulum, ad patibulum," ("to the gallows with him, to the gallows
with him,") with great fervor, but in entire ignorance of the culprit's
name or the merits of the case. His wife, naturally disturbed that her
husband's waking and sleeping hours were alike absorbed with this
hangman's work, more than once ominously expressed her hope to him, that
he, whose head and heart were thus engrossed with the gibbet, might not
one day come to hang upon it himself; a gloomy prophecy which the Future
most terribly fulfilled.

The Council of Blood, thus constituted, held its first session on the
20th September, at the lodgings of Alva. Springing completely grown and
armed to the teeth from the head of its inventor, the new tribunal--at
the very outset in possession of all its vigor--forthwith began to
manifest a terrible activity in accomplishing the objects of its
existence. The councillors having been sworn to "eternal secrecy as to
any thing which should be transacted at the board, and having likewise
made oath to denounce any one of their number who should violate the
pledge," the court was considered as organized. Alva worked therein seven
hours daily. It may be believed that the subordinates were not spared,
and that their office proved no sinecure. Their labors, however, were not
encumbered by antiquated forms. As this supreme and only tribunal for all
the Netherlands had no commission or authority save the will of the
Captain-General, so it was also thought a matter of supererogation to
establish a set of rules and orders such as might be useful in less
independent courts. The forms of proceeding were brief and artless. There
was a rude organization by which a crowd of commissioners, acting as
inferior officers of the council, were spread over the provinces, whose
business was to collect information concerning all persons who might be
incriminated for participation in the recent troubles. The greatest
crime, however, was to be rich, and one which could be expiated by no
virtues, however signal. Alva was bent upon proving himself as
accomplished a financier as he was indisputably a consummate commander,
and he had promised his master an annual income of 500,000 ducats from
the confiscations which were to accompany the executions.

It was necessary that the blood torrent should flow at once through the
Netherlands, in order that the promised golden river, a yard deep,
according to his vaunt, should begin to irrigate the thirsty soil of
Spain. It is obvious, from the fundamental laws which were made to define
treason at the same moment in which they established the council, that
any man might be at any instant summoned to the court. Every man, whether
innocent or guilty, whether Papist or Protestant, felt his head shaking
on his shoulders. If he were wealthy, there seemed no remedy but flight,
which was now almost impossible, from the heavy penalties affixed by the
new edict upon all carriers, shipmasters, and wagoners, who should aid in
the escape of heretics.

A certain number of these commissioners were particularly instructed to
collect information as to the treason of Orange, Louis Nassau, Brederode,
Egmont, Horn, Culemberg, Vanden Berg, Bergen, and Montigny. Upon such
information the proceedings against those distinguished seigniors were to
be summarily instituted. Particular councillors of the Court of Blood
were charged with the arrangement of these important suits, but the
commissioners were to report in the first instance to the Duke himself,
who afterwards returned the paper into the hands of his subordinates.

With regard to the inferior and miscellaneous cases which were daily
brought in incredible profusion before the tribunal, the same
preliminaries were observed, by way of aping the proceedings in courts of
justice. Alva sent the cart-loads of information which were daily brought
to him, but which neither he nor any other man had time to read, to be
disposed of by the board of councillors. It was the duty of the different
subalterns, who, as already stated, had no right of voting, to prepare
reports upon the cases. Nothing could be more summary. Information was
lodged against a man, or against a hundred men, in one document. The Duke
sent the papers to the council, and the inferior councillors reported at
once to Vargas. If the report concluded with a recommendation of death to
the man, or the hundred men in question, Vargas instantly approved it,
and execution was done upon the man, or the hundred men, within
forty-eight hours. If the report had any other conclusion, it was
immediately sent back for revision, and the reporters were overwhelmed
with reproaches by the President.

Such being the method of operation, it may be supposed that the
councillors were not allowed to slacken in their terrible industry. The
register of every city, village, and hamlet throughout the Netherlands
showed the daily lists of men, women, and children thus sacrificed at the
shrine of the demon who had obtained the mastery over this unhappy land.
It was not often that an individual was of sufficient importance to be
tried--if trial it could be called--by himself. It was found more
expeditious to send them in batches to the furnace. Thus, for example, on
the 4th of January, eighty-four inhabitants of Valenciennes were
condemned; on another day, ninety-five miscellaneous individuals, from
different places in Flanders; on another, forty-six inhabitants of
Malines; on another, thirty-five persons from different localities, and
so on.

The evening of Shrovetide, a favorite holiday in the Netherlands,
afforded an occasion for arresting and carrying off a vast number of
doomed individuals at a single swoop. It was correctly supposed that the
burghers, filled with wine and wassail, to which perhaps the persecution
under which they lived lent an additional and horrible stimulus, might be
easily taken from their beds in great numbers, and be delivered over at
once to the council. The plot was ingenious, the net was spread
accordingly. Many of the doomed were, however, luckily warned of the
terrible termination which was impending over their festival, and
bestowed themselves in safety for a season. A prize of about five hundred
prisoners was all which rewarded the sagacity of the enterprise. It is
needless to add that they were all immediately executed. It is a
wearisome and odious task to ransack the mouldy records of three
centuries ago, in order to reproduce the obscure names of the thousands
who were thus sacrificed.. The dead have buried their dead, and are
forgotten. It is likewise hardly necessary to state that the proceedings
before the council were all 'ex parte', and that an information was
almost inevitably followed by a death-warrant. It sometimes happened even
that the zeal of the councillors outstripped the industry of the
commissioners. The sentences were occasionally in advance of the docket.
Thus upon one occasion a man's case was called for trial, but before the
investigation was commenced it was discovered that he had been already
executed. A cursory examination of the papers proved, moreover, as usual,
that the culprit had committed no crime. "No matter for that," said
Vargas, jocosely, "if he has died innocent, it will be all the better for
him when he takes his trial in the other world."

But, however the councillors might indulge in these gentle jests among
themselves, it was obvious that innocence was in reality impossible,
according to the rules which had been laid down regarding treason. The
practice was in accordance with the precept, and persons were daily
executed with senseless pretexts, which was worse than executions with no
pretexts at all. Thus Peter de Witt of Amsterdam was beheaded, because at
one of the tumults in that city he had persuaded a rioter not to fire
upon a magistrate. This was taken as sufficient proof that he was a man
in authority among the rebels, and he was accordingly put to death.
Madame Juriaen, who, in 1566, had struck with her slipper a little wooden
image of the Virgin, together with her maid-servant, who had witnessed
without denouncing the crime, were both drowned by the hangman in a
hogshead placed on the scaffold.

Death, even, did not in all cases place a criminal beyond the reach of
the executioner. Egbert Meynartzoon, a man of high official rank, had
been condemned, together with two colleagues, on an accusation of
collecting money in a Lutheran church. He died in prison of dropsy. The
sheriff was indignant with the physician, because, in spite of cordials
and strengthening prescriptions, the culprit had slipped through his
fingers before he had felt those of the hangman. He consoled himself by
placing the body on a chair, and having the dead man beheaded in company
with his colleagues.

Thus the whole country became a charnel-house; the deathbell tolled
hourly in every village; not a family but was called to mourn for its
dearest relatives, while the survivors stalked listlessly about, the
ghosts of their former selves, among the wrecks of their former homes.
The spirit of the nation, within a few months after the arrival of Alva,
seemed hopelessly broken. The blood of its best and bravest had already
stained the scaffold; the men to whom it bad been accustomed to look for
guidance and protection, were dead, in prison, or in exile. Submission
had ceased to be of any avail, flight was impossible, and the spirit of
vengeance had alighted at every fireside. The mourners went daily about
the streets, for there was hardly a house which had not been made
desolate. The scaffolds, the gallows, the funeral piles, which had been
sufficient in ordinary times, furnished now an entirely inadequate
machinery for the incessant executions. Columns and stakes in every
street, the door-posts of private houses, the fences in the fields were
laden with human carcasses, strangled, burned, beheaded. The orchards in
the country bore on many a tree the hideous fruit of human bodies.

Thus the Netherlands were crushed, and but for the stringency of the
tyranny which had now closed their gates, would have been depopulated.
The grass began to grow in the streets of those cities which had recently
nourished so many artisans. In all those great manufacturing and
industrial marts, where the tide of human life had throbbed so
vigorously, there now reigned the silence and the darkness of midnight.
It was at this time that the learned Viglius wrote to his friend Hopper,
that all venerated the prudence and gentleness of the Duke of Alva. Such
were among the first-fruits of that prudence and that gentleness.

The Duchess of Parma had been kept in a continued state of irritation.
She had not ceased for many months to demand her release from the odious
position of a cipher in a land where she had so lately been sovereign,
and she had at last obtained it. Philip transmitted his acceptance of her
resignation by the same courier who brought Alva's commission to be
governor-general in her place. The letters to the Duchess were full of
conventional compliments for her past services, accompanied, however,
with a less barren and more acceptable acknowledgment, in the shape of a
life income of 14,000 ducats instead of the 8000 hitherto enjoyed by her
Highness.

In addition to this liberal allowance, of which she was never to be
deprived, except upon receiving full payment of 140,000 ducats, she was
presented with 25,000 florins by the estates of Brabant, and with 30,000
by those of Flanders.

With these substantial tokens of the success of her nine years' fatigue
and intolerable anxiety, she at last took her departure from the
Netherlands, having communicated the dissolution of her connexion with
the provinces by a farewell letter to the Estates dated 9th December,
1567. Within a few weeks afterwards, escorted by the Duke of Alva across
the frontier of Brabant; attended by a considerable deputation of Flemish
nobility into Germany, and accompanied to her journey's end at Parma by
the Count and Countess of Mansfeld, she finally closed her eventful
career in the Netherlands.

The horrors of the succeeding administration proved beneficial to her
reputation. Upon the dark ground of succeeding years the lines which
recorded her history seemed written with letters of light. Yet her
conduct in the Netherlands offers but few points for approbation, and
many for indignant censure. That she was not entirely destitute of
feminine softness and sentiments of bounty, her parting despatch to her
brother proved. In that letter she recommended to him a course of
clemency and forgiveness, and reminded him that the nearer kings approach
to God in station, the more they should endeavor to imitate him in his
attributes of benignity. But the language of this farewell was more
tender than had been the spirit of her government. One looks in vain,
too, through the general atmosphere of kindness which pervades the
epistle; for a special recommendation of those distinguished and doomed
seigniors, whose attachment to her person and whose chivalrous and
conscientious endeavors to fulfil her own orders, had placed them upon
the edge of that precipice from which they were shortly to be hurled. The
men who had restrained her from covering herself with disgrace by a
precipitate retreat from the post of danger, and who had imperilled their
lives by obedience to her express instructions, had been long languishing
in solitary confinement, never to be terminated except by a traitor's
death--yet we search in vain for a kind word in their behalf.

Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out. The hollow truce
by which the Guise party and the Huguenots had partly pretended to
deceive each other was hastened to its end; among other causes, by the
march of Alva, to the Netherlands. The Huguenots had taken alarm, for
they recognized the fellowship which united their foes in all countries
against the Reformation, and Conde and Coligny knew too well that the
same influence which had brought Alva to Brussels would soon create an
exterminating army against their followers. Hostilities were resumed with
more bitterness than ever. The battle of St. Denis--fierce, fatal, but
indecisive--was fought. The octogenarian hero, Montmorency, fighting like
a foot soldier, refusing to yield his sword, and replying to the
respectful solicitations of his nearest enemy by dashing his teeth down
his throat with the butt-end of his pistol, the hero of so many battles,
whose defeat at St. Quintin had been the fatal point in his career, had
died at last in his armor, bravely but not gloriously, in conflict with
his own countrymen, led by his own heroic nephew. The military control of
the Catholic party was completely in the hand of the Guises; the
Chancellor de l'Hopital had abandoned the court after a last and futile
effort to reconcile contending factions, which no human power could
unite; the Huguenots had possessed themselves of Rochelle and of other
strong places, and, under the guidance of adroit statesmen and
accomplished generals, were pressing the Most Christian monarch hard in
the very heart of his kingdom.

As early as the middle of October, while still in Antwerp, Alva had
received several secret agents of the French monarch, then closely
beleaguered in his capital. Cardinal Lorraine offered to place several
strong places of France in the hands of the Spaniard, and Alva had
written to Philip that he was disposed to accept the offer, and to render
the service. The places thus held would be a guarantee for his expenses,
he said, while in case King Charles and his brother should die, "their
possession would enable Philip to assert his own claim to the French
crown in right of his wife, the Salic law being merely a pleasantry."

The Queen Dowager, adopting now a very different tone from that which
characterized her conversation at the Bayonne interview, wrote to Alva,
that, if for want of 2000 Spanish musketeers, which she requested him to
furnish, she should be obliged to succumb, she chose to disculpate
herself in advance before God and Christian princes for the peace which
she should be obliged to make. The Duke wrote to her in reply, that it
was much better to have a kingdom ruined in preserving it for God and the
king by war, than to have it kept entire without war, to the profit of
the devil and of his followers. He was also reported on another occasion
to have reminded her of the Spanish proverb--that the head of one salmon
is worth those of a hundred frogs. The hint, if it were really given, was
certainly destined to be acted upon.

The Duke not only furnished Catherine with advice, but with the
musketeers which she had solicited. Two thousand foot and fifteen hundred
horse, under the Count of Aremberg, attended by a choice band of the
Catholic nobility of the Netherlands, had joined the royal camp at Paris
before the end of the year, to take their part in the brief hostilities
by which the second treacherous peace was to be preceded.

Meantime, Alva was not unmindful of the business which had served as a
pretext in the arrest of the two Counts. The fortifications of the
principal cities were pushed on with great rapidity. The memorable
citadel of Antwerp in particular had already been commenced in October
under the superintendence of the celebrated engineers, Pacheco and
Gabriel de Cerbelloni. In a few months it was completed, at a cost of one
million four hundred thousand florins, of which sum the citizens, in
spite of their remonstrances, were compelled to contribute more than one
quarter. The sum of four hundred thousand florins was forced from the
burghers by a tax upon all hereditary property within the municipality.

Two thousand workmen were employed daily in the construction of this
important fortress, which was erected, as its position most plainly
manifested, not to protect, but to control the commercial capital of the
provinces. It stood at the edge of the city, only separated from its
walls by an open esplanade. It was the most perfect pentagon in Europe,
having one of its sides resting on the Scheld, two turned towards the
city, and two towards the open country. Five bastions, with walls of
hammered stone, connected by curtains of turf and masonry, surrounded by
walls measuring a league in circumference, and by an outer moat fed by
the Scheld, enclosed a spacious enceinte, where a little church with many
small lodging-houses, shaded by trees and shrubbery, nestled among the
bristling artillery, as if to mimic the appearance of a peaceful and
pastoral village. To four of the five bastions, the Captain-General, with
characteristic ostentation, gave his own names and titles. One was called
the Duke, the second Ferdinando, a third Toledo, a fourth Alva, while the
fifth was baptized with the name of the ill-fated engineer, Pacheco. The
Watergate was decorated with the escutcheon of Alva, surrounded by his
Golden Fleece collar, with its pendant lamb of God; a symbol of
blasphemous irony, which still remains upon the fortress, to recall the
image of the tyrant and murderer. Each bastion was honeycombed with
casemates and subterranean storehouses, and capable of containing within
its bowels a vast supply of provisions, munitions, and soldiers. Such was
the celebrated citadel built to tame the turbulent spirit of Antwerp, at
the cost of those whom it was to terrify and to insult.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Conde and Coligny
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     Time and myself are two



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 15.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1568 [CHAPTER II.]

   Orange, Count Louis, Hoogstraaten, and others, cited before the
   Blood-Council--Charges against them--Letter of Orange in reply--
   Position and sentiments of the Prince--Seizure of Count de Buren--
   Details of that transaction--Petitions to the Council from Louvain
   and other places--Sentence of death against the whole population of
   the Netherlands pronounced by the Spanish Inquisition and proclaimed
   by Philip--Cruel inventions against heretics--The Wild Beggars--
   Preliminary proceedings of the Council against Egmont and Horn--
   Interrogatories addressed to them in prison--Articles of accusation
   against them--Foreclosure of the cases--Pleas to the jurisdiction--
   Efforts by the Countesses Egmont and Horn, by many Knights of the
   Fleece, and by the Emperor, in favor of the prisoners--Answers of
   Alva and of Philip--Obsequious behavior of Viglius--Difficulties
   arising from the Golden Fleece statutes set aside--Particulars of
   the charges against Count Horn and of his defence--Articles of
   accusation against Egmont--Sketch of his reply--Reflections upon the
   two trials--Attitude of Orange--His published 'Justification'--His
   secret combinations--His commission to Count Louis--Large sums of
   money subscribed by the Nassau family, by Netherland refugees, and
   others--Great personal sacrifices made by the Prince--Quadruple
   scheme for invading the Netherlands--Defeat of the patriots under
   Cocqueville--Defeat of Millers--Invasion of Friesland by Count
   Louis--Measures of Alva to oppose him--Command of the royalists
   entreated to Aremberg and Meghem--The Duke's plan for the campaign--
   Skirmish at Dam--Detention of Meghem--Count Louis at Heiliger--Lee--
   Nature of the ground--Advance of Aremberg--Disposition of the
   patriot forces--Impatience of the Spanish troops to engage--Battle
   of Heiliger-Lee--Defeat and death of Aremberg--Death of Adolphus
   Nassau--Effects of the battle--Anger and severe measures of Alva--
   Eighteen nobles executed at Brussels--Sentence of death pronounced
   upon Egmont and Horn--The Bishop of Ypres sent to Egmont--Fruitless
   intercession by the prelate and the Countess--Egmont's last night in
   prison--The "grande place" at Brussels--Details concerning the
   execution of Egmont and Horn--Observation upon the characters of the
   two nobles--Destitute condition of Egmont's family.

Late in October, the Duke of Alva made his triumphant entry into the new
fortress. During his absence, which was to continue during the remainder
of the year, he had ordered the Secretary Courteville and the Councillor
del Rio to superintend the commission, which was then actually engaged in
collecting materials for the prosecutions to be instituted against the
Prince of Orange and the other nobles who had abandoned the country.
Accordingly, soon after his return, on the 19th of January, 1568, the
Prince, his brother Louis of Nassau, his brother-in-law, Count Van den
Berg, the Count Hoogstraaten, the Count Culemburg, and the Baron
Montigny, were summoned in the name of Alva to appear before the
Blood-Council, within thrice fourteen days from the date of the
proclamation, under pain of perpetual banishment with confiscation of
their estates. It is needless to say that these seigniors did not obey
the summons. They knew full well that their obedience would be rewarded
only by death.

The charges against the Prince of Orange, which were drawn up in ten
articles, stated, chiefly and briefly, that he had been, and was, the
head and front of the rebellion; that as soon as his Majesty had left the
Netherlands, he had begun his machinations to make himself master of the
country and to expel his sovereign by force, if he should attempt to
return to the provinces; that he had seduced his Majesty's subjects by
false pretences that the Spanish inquisition was about to be introduced;
that he had been the secret encourager and director of Brederode and the
confederated nobles; and that when sent to Antwerp, in the name of the
Regent, to put down the rebellion, he had encouraged heresy and accorded
freedom of religion to the Reformers.

The articles against Hoogstraaten and the other gentlemen mere of similar
tenor. It certainly was not a slender proof of the calm effrontery of the
government thus to see Alva's proclamation charging it as a crime upon
Orange that he had inveigled the lieges into revolt by a false assertion
that the inquisition was about to be established, when letters from the
Duke to Philip, and from Granvelle to Philip, dated upon nearly the same
day, advised the immediate restoration of the inquisition as soon as an
adequate number of executions had paved the way for the measure. It was
also a sufficient indication of a reckless despotism, that while the
Duchess, who had made the memorable Accord with the Religionists,
received a flattering letter of thanks and a farewell pension of fourteen
thousand ducats yearly, those who, by her orders, had acted upon that
treaty as the basis of their negotiations, were summoned to lay down
their heads upon the block.

The Prince replied to this summons by a brief and somewhat contemptuous
plea to the jurisdiction. As a Knight of the Fleece, as a member of the
Germanic Empire, as a sovereign prince in France, as a citizen of the
Netherlands, he rejected the authority of Alva and of his
self-constituted tribunal. His innocence he was willing to establish
before competent courts and righteous judges. As a Knight of the Fleece,
he said he could be tried only by his peers, the brethren of the Order,
and, for that purpose, he could be summoned only by the King as Head of
the Chapter, with the sanction of at least six of his fellow-knights. In
conclusion, he offered to appear before his Imperial Majesty, the
Electors, and other members of the Empire, or before the Knights of the
Golden Fleece. In the latter case, he claimed the right, under the
statutes of that order, to be placed while the trial was pending, not in
a solitary prison, as had been the fate of Egmont and of Horn, but under
the friendly charge and protection of the brethren themselves. The letter
was addressed to the procurator-general, and a duplicate was forwarded to
the Duke.

From the general tenor of the document, it is obvious both that the
Prince was not yet ready to throw down the gauntlet to his sovereign, nor
to proclaim his adhesion to the new religion: Of departing from the
Netherlands in the spring, he had said openly that he was still in
possession of sixty thousand florins yearly, and that he should commence
no hostilities against Philip, so long as he did not disturb him in his
honor or his estates. Far-seeing politician, if man ever were, he knew
the course whither matters were inevitably tending, but he knew how much
strength was derived from putting an adversary irretrievably in the
wrong. He still maintained an attitude of dignified respect towards the
monarch, while he hurled back with defiance the insolent summons of the
viceroy. Moreover, the period had not yet arrived for him to break
publicly with the ancient faith. Statesman, rather than religionist, at
this epoch, he was not disposed to affect a more complete conversion than
the one which he had experienced. He was, in truth, not for a new
doctrine, but for liberty of conscience. His mind was already expanding
beyond any dogmas of the age. The man whom his enemies stigmatized as
atheist and renegade, was really in favor of toleration, and therefore,
the more deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties.

Events, personal to himself, were rapidly to place him in a position from
which he might enter the combat with honor.

His character had already been attacked, his property threatened with
confiscation. His closest ties of family were now to be severed by the
hand of the tyrant. His eldest child, the Count de Buren, torn from his
protection, was to be carried into indefinite captivity in a foreign
land. It was a remarkable oversight, for a person of his sagacity, that,
upon his own departure from the provinces, he should leave his son, then
a boy of thirteen years, to pursue his studies at the college of Louvain.
Thus exposed to the power of the government, he was soon seized as a
hostage for the good behavior of the father. Granvelle appears to have
been the first to recommend the step in a secret letter to Philip, but
Alva scarcely needed prompting. Accordingly, upon the 13th of February,
1568, the Duke sent the Seignior de Chassy to Louvain, attended by four
officers and by twelve archers. He was furnished with a letter to the
Count de Buren, in which that young nobleman was requested to place
implicit confidence in the bearer of the despatch, and was informed that
the desire which his Majesty had to see him educated for his service, was
the cause of the communication which the Seignior de Chassy was about to
make.

That gentleman was, moreover, minutely instructed as to his method of
proceeding in this memorable case of kidnapping. He was to present the
letter to the young Count in presence of his tutor. He was to invite him
to Spain in the name of his Majesty. He was to assure him that his
Majesty's commands were solely with a view, to his own good, and that he
was not commissioned to arrest, but only to escort him. He was to allow
the Count to be accompanied only by two valets, two pages, a cook, and a
keeper of accounts. He was, however, to induce his tutor to accompany
him, at least to the Spanish frontier. He was to arrange that the second
day after his arrival at Louvain, the Count should set out for Antwerp,
where he was to lodge with Count Lodron, after which they were to proceed
to Flushing, whence they were to embark for Spain. At that city he was to
deliver the young Prince to the person whom he would find there,
commissioned for that purpose by the Duke. As soon as he had made the
first proposition at Louvain to the Count, he was, with the assistance of
his retinue, to keep the most strict watch over him day and night, but
without allowing the supervision to be perceived.

The plan was carried out admirably, and in strict accordance with the
program. It was fortunate, however, for the kidnappers, that the young
Prince proved favorably disposed to the plan. He accepted the invitation
of his captors with alacrity. He even wrote to thank the governor for his
friendly offices in his behalf. He received with boyish gratification the
festivities with which Lodron enlivened his brief sojourn at Antwerp, and
he set forth without reluctance for that gloomy and terrible land of
Spain, whence so rarely a Flemish traveller had returned. A changeling,
as it were, from his cradle, he seemed completely transformed by his
Spanish tuition, for he was educated and not sacrificed by Philip. When
he returned to the Netherlands, after a twenty years' residence in Spain,
it was difficult to detect in his gloomy brow, saturnine character, and
Jesuistical habits, a trace of the generous spirit which characterized
that race of heroes, the house of Orange-Nassau.

Philip had expressed some anxiety as to the consequences of this capture
upon the governments of Germany. Alva, however, re-assured his sovereign
upon that point, by reason of the extreme docility of the captive, and
the quiet manner in which the arrest had been conducted. At that
particular juncture, moreover, it would, have been difficult for the
government of the Netherlands to excite surprise any where, except by an
act of clemency. The president and the deputation of professors from the
university of Louvain waited upon Vargas, by whom, as acting president of
the Blood-Council, the arrest had nominally been made, with a
remonstrance that the measure was in gross violation of their statutes
and privileges. That personage, however, with his usual contempt both for
law and Latin, answered brutally, "Non curamus vestros privilegios," and
with this memorable answer, abruptly closed his interview with the
trembling pedants.

Petitions now poured into the council from all quarters, abject
recantations from terror-stricken municipalities, humble intercessions in
behalf of doomed and imprisoned victims. To a deputation of the
magistracy of Antwerp, who came with a prayer for mercy in behalf of some
of their most distinguished fellow-citizens, then in prison, the Duke
gave a most passionate and ferocious reply. He expressed his wonder that
the citizens of Antwerp, that hotbed of treason, should dare to approach
him in behalf of traitors and heretics. Let them look to it in future, he
continued, or he would hang every man in the whole city, to set an
example to the rest of the country; for his Majesty would rather the
whole land should become an uninhabited wilderness, than that a single
Dissenter should exist within its territory.

Events now marched with rapidity. The monarch seemed disposed literally
to execute the threat of his viceroy. Early in the year, the most sublime
sentence of death was promulgated which has ever been pronounced since
the creation of the world. The Roman tyrant wished that his enemies'
heads were all upon a single neck, that he might strike them off at a
blow; the inquisition assisted Philip to place the heads of all his
Netherland subjects upon a single neck for the same fell purpose. Upon
the 16th February, 1568, a sentence of the Holy Office condemned all the
inhabitants of the Netherlands to death as heretics. From this universal
doom only a few persons, especially named; were excepted. A proclamation
of the King, dated ten days later, confirmed this decree of the
inquisition, and ordered it to be carried into instant execution, without
regard to age, sex, or condition. This is probably the most concise
death-warrant that was ever framed. Three millions of people, men, women,
and children, were sentenced to the scaffold in: three lines; and, as it
was well known that these were not harmless thunders, like some bulls of
the Vatican, but serious and practical measures, which it was intended
should be enforced, the horror which they produced may be easily
imagined. It was hardly the purpose of Government to compel the absolute
completion of the wholesale plan in all its length and breadth, yet in
the horrible times upon which they had fallen, the Netherlanders might be
excused for believing that no measure was too monstrous to be fulfilled.
At any rate, it was certain that when all were condemned, any might at a
moment's warning be carried to the scaffold, and this was precisely the
course adopted by the authorities.

Under this universal decree the industry of the Blood-Council might, now
seem superfluous. Why should not these mock prosecutions be dispensed
with against individuals, now that a common sentence had swallowed the
whole population in one vast grave? Yet it may be supposed that if the
exertions of the commissioners and councillors served no other purpose,
they at least furnished the Government with valuable evidence as to the
relative wealth and other circumstances of the individual victims. The
leading thought of the Government being that persecution, judiciously
managed, might fructify into a golden harvest,--it was still desirable to
persevere in the cause in which already such bloody progress had been
made.

And under this new decree, the executions certainly did not slacken. Men
in the highest and the humblest positions were daily and hourly dragged
to the stake. Alva, in a single letter to Philip, coolly estimated the
number of executions which were to take place immediately after the
expiration of holy week, "at eight hundred heads." Many a citizen,
convicted of a hundred thousand florins and of no other crime, saw
himself suddenly tied to a horse's tail, with his hands fastened behind
him, and so dragged to the gallows. But although wealth was an
unpardonable sin, poverty proved rarely a protection. Reasons sufficient
could always be found for dooming the starveling laborer as well as the
opulent burgher. To avoid the disturbances created in the streets by the
frequent harangues or exhortations addressed to the bystanders by the
victims on their way to the scaffold, a new gag was invented. The tongue
of each prisoner was screwed into an iron ring, and then seared with a
hot iron. The swelling and inflammation which were the immediate result,
prevented the tongue from slipping through the ring, and of course
effectually precluded all possibility of speech.

Although the minds of men were not yet prepared for concentrated revolt
against the tyranny under which they were languishing, it was not
possible to suppress all sentiments of humanity, and to tread out every
spark of natural indignation.

Unfortunately, in the bewilderment and misery of this people, the first
development of a forcible and organized resistance was of a depraved and
malignant character. Extensive bands of marauders and highway robbers
sprang into existence, who called themselves the Wild Beggars, and who,
wearing the mask and the symbols of a revolutionary faction, committed
great excesses in many parts of the country, robbing, plundering, and
murdering. Their principal wrath was exercised against religious houses
and persons. Many monasteries were robbed, many clerical persons maimed
and maltreated. It became a habit to deprive priests of their noses or
ears, and to tie them to the tails of horses. This was the work of
ruffian gangs, whose very existence was engendered out of the social and
moral putrescence to which the country was reduced, and who were willing
to profit by the deep and universal hatred which was felt against
Catholics and monks. An edict thundered forth by Alva, authorizing and
commanding all persons to slay the wild beggars at sight, without trial
or hangman, was of comparatively slight avail. An armed force of veterans
actively scouring the country was more successful, and the freebooters
were, for a time, suppressed.

Meantime the Counts Egmont and Horn had been kept in rigorous confinement
at Ghent. Not a warrant had been read or drawn up for their arrest. Not a
single preliminary investigation, not the shadow of an information had
preceded the long imprisonment of two men so elevated in rank, so
distinguished in the public service. After the expiration of two months,
however, the Duke condescended to commence a mock process against them.
The councillors appointed to this work were Vargas and Del Rio, assisted
by Secretary Praets. These persons visited the Admiral on the 10th, 11th,
12th and 17th of November, and Count Egmont on the 12th, 13th, 14th, and
16th, of the same month; requiring them to respond to a long, confused,
and rambling collection of interrogatories. They were obliged to render
these replies in prison, unassisted by any advocates, on penalty of being
condemned 'in contumaciam'. The questions, awkwardly drawn up as they
seemed, were yet tortuously and cunningly arranged with a view of
entrapping the prisoners into self-contradiction. After this work had
been completed, all the papers by which they intended to justify their
answers were taken away from them. Previously, too, their houses and
those of their secretaries, Bakkerzeel and Alonzo de la Loo, had been
thoroughly ransacked, and every letter and document which could be found
placed in the hands of government. Bakkerzeel, moreover, as already
stated, had been repeatedly placed upon the rack, for the purpose of
extorting confessions which might implicate his master. These
preliminaries and precautionary steps having been taken, the Counts had
again been left to their solitude for two months longer. On the 10th
January, each was furnished with a copy of the declarations or
accusations filed against him by the procurator-general. To these
documents, drawn up respectively in sixty-three, and in ninety articles,
they were required, within five days' time, without the assistance of an
advocate, and without consultation with any human being, to deliver a
written answer, on pain, as before, of being proceeded against and
condemned by default.

This order was obeyed within nearly the prescribed period and here, it
may be said, their own participation in their trial ceased; while the
rest of the proceedings were buried in the deep bosom of the
Blood-Council. After their answers had been delivered, and not till then,
the prisoners were, by an additional mockery, permitted to employ
advocates. These advocates, however, were allowed only occasional
interviews with their clients, and always in the presence of certain
persons, especially deputed for that purpose by the Duke. They were also
allowed commissioners to collect evidence and take depositions, but
before the witnesses were ready, a purposely premature day, 8th of May,
was fixed upon for declaring the case closed, and not a single tittle of
their evidence, personal or documentary, was admitted.--Their advocates
petitioned for an exhibition of the evidence prepared by government, and
were refused. Thus, they were forbidden to use the testimony in their
favor, while that which was to be employed against them was kept secret.
Finally, the proceedings were formally concluded on the 1st of June, and
the papers laid before the Duke. The mass of matter relating to these two
monster processes was declared, three days afterwards to have been
examined--a physical impossibility in itself--and judgment was pronounced
upon the 4th of June. This issue was precipitated by the campaign of
Louis Nassau in Friesland, forming a aeries of important events which it
will be soon our duty to describe. It is previously necessary, however,
to add a few words in elucidation of the two mock trials which have been
thus briefly sketched.

The proceeding had been carried on, from first to last, under protest by
the prisoners, under a threat of contumacy on the part of the government.
Apart from the totally irresponsible and illegal character of the
tribunal before which they were summoned--the Blood-Council being a
private institution of Alva's without pretext or commission--these nobles
acknowledged the jurisdiction of but three courts. As Knights of the
Golden Fleece, both claimed the privilege of that Order to be tried by
its statutes. As a citizen and noble of Brabant, Egmont claimed the
protection of the "Joyeuse Entree," a constitution which had been sworn
to by Philip and his ancestors, and by Philip more amply, than by all his
ancestors. As a member and Count of the Holy Roman Empire, the Admiral
claimed to be tried by his peers, the electors and princes of the realm.

The Countess Egmont, since her husband's arrest, and the confiscation of
his estates before judgment, had been reduced to a life of poverty as
well as agony. With her eleven children, all of tender age, she had taken
refuge in a convent. Frantic with despair, more utterly desolate, and
more deeply wronged than high-born lady had often been before, she left
no stone unturned to save her husband from his fate, or at least to
obtain for him an impartial and competent tribunal. She addressed the
Duke of Alva, the King, the Emperor, her brother the Elector Palatine,
and many leading Knights of the Fleece. The Countess Dowager of Horn,
both whose sons now lay in the jaws of death, occupied herself also with
the most moving appeals to the same high personages. No pains were spared
to make the triple plea to the jurisdiction valid. The leading Knights of
the Fleece, Mansfeld, whose loyalty was unquestioned, and Hoogstraaten,
although himself an outlaw; called upon the King of Spain to protect the
statutes of the illustrious order of which he was the chief. The estates
of Brabant, upon the petition of Sabina, Countess Egmont, that they would
take to heart the privileges of the province, so that her husband might
enjoy that protection of which the meanest citizen in the land could not
be justly deprived, addressed a feeble and trembling protest to Alva, and
enclosed to him the lady's petition. The Emperor, on behalf of Count
Horn, wrote personally to Philip, to claim for him a trial before the
members of the realm.

It was all in vain. The conduct of Philip and his Viceroy coincided in
spirit with the honest brutality of Vargas. "Non curamus vestros
privilegios," summed up the whole of the proceedings. Non curamus vestros
privilegios had been the unanswerable reply to every constitutional
argument which had been made against tyranny since Philip mounted his
father's throne. It was now the only response deemed necessary to the
crowd of petitions in favor of the Counts, whether they proceeded from
sources humble or august. Personally, the King remained silent as the
grave. In writing to the Duke of Alva, he observed that "the Emperor, the
Dukes of Bavaria and Lorraine, the Duchess and the Duchess-dowager, had
written to him many times, and in the most pressing manner, in favor of
the Counts Horn and Egmont." He added, that he had made no reply to them,
nor to other Knights of the Fleece who had implored him to respect the
statutes of the order, and he begged Alva "to hasten the process as fast
as possible." To an earnest autograph letter, in which the Emperor, on
the 2nd of March, 1568, made a last effort to save the illustrious
prisoners, he replied, that "the whole world would at last approve his
conduct, but that, at any rate, he would not act differently, even if he
should risk the loss of the provinces, and if the sky should fall on his
head."

But little heed was paid to the remonstrances in behalf of the imperial
Courts, or the privileges of Brabant. These were but cobweb impediments
which, indeed, had long been brushed away. President Viglius was even
pathetic on the subject of Madame Egmont's petition to the council of
Brabant. It was so bitter, he said, that the Duke was slightly annoyed,
and took it ill that the royal servants in that council should have his
Majesty's interests so little at heart. It seemed indecent in the eyes of
the excellent Frisian, that a wife pleading for her husband, a mother for
her, eleven children, so soon to be fatherless, should indulge in strong
language!

The statutes of the Fleece were obstacles somewhat more serious. As,
however, Alva had come to the Netherlands pledged to accomplish the
destruction of these two nobles, as soon as he should lay his hands upon
them, it was only a question of form, and even that question was, after a
little reflection, unceremoniously put aside.

To the petitions in behalf of the two Counts, therefore, that they should
be placed in the friendly keeping of the Order, and be tried by its
statutes, the Duke replied, peremptorily, that he had undertaken the
cognizance of this affair by commission of his Majesty, as sovereign of
the land, not as head of the Golden Fleece, that he should carry it
through as it had been commenced, and that the Counts should discontinue
presentations of petitions upon this point.

In the embarrassment created by the stringent language of these statutes,
Doctor Viglius found an opportunity to make himself very useful. Alva had
been turning over the laws and regulations of the Order, but could find
no loophole. The President, however, came to his rescue, and announced it
as his legal opinion that the Governor need concern himself no further on
the subject, and that the code of the Fleece offered no legal impediment
to the process. Alva immediately wrote to communicate this opinion to
Philip, adding, with great satisfaction, that he should immediately make
it known to the brethren of the Order, a step which was the more
necessary because Egmont's advocate had been making great trouble with
these privileges, and had been protesting at every step of the
proceedings. In what manner the learned President argued these
troublesome statutes out of the way, has nowhere appeared; but he
completely reinstated himself in favor, and the King wrote to thank him
for his legal exertions.

It was now boldly declared that the statutes of the Fleece did not extend
to such crimes as those with which the prisoner were charged. Alva,
moreover, received an especial patent, ante-dated eight or nine months,
by which Philip empowered him to proceed against all persons implicated
in the troubles, and particularly against Knights of the Golden Fleece.

It is superfluous to observe that these were merely the arbitrary acts of
a despot. It is hardly necessary to criticise such proceedings. The
execution of the nobles had been settled before Alva left Spain. As they
were inhabitants of a constitutional country, it was necessary to stride
over the constitution. As they were Knights of the Fleece, it was
necessary to set aside the statutes of the Order. The Netherland
constitutions seemed so entirely annihilated already, that they could
hardly be considered obstacles; but the Order of the Fleece was an august
little republic of which Philip was the hereditary chief, of which
emperors, kings, and great seigniors were the citizens. Tyranny might be
embarrassed by such subtle and golden filaments as these, even while it
crashed through municipal charters as if they had been reeds and
bulrushes. Nevertheless, the King's course was taken. Although the
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth chapters of the Order expressly
provided for the trial and punishment of brethren who had been guilty of
rebellion, heresy, or treason; and although the eleventh chapter;
perpetual and immutable, of additions to that constitution by the Emperor
Charles, conferred on the Order exclusive jurisdiction over all crimes
whatever committed by the knights, yet it was coolly proclaimed by Alva,
that the crimes for which the Admiral and Egmont had been arrested, were
beyond the powers of the tribunal.

So much for the plea to the jurisdiction. It is hardly worth while to
look any further into proceedings which were initiated and brought to a
conclusion in the manner already narrated. Nevertheless, as they were
called a process, a single glance at the interior of that mass of
documents can hardly be superfluous.

The declaration against Count Horn; upon which, supported by invisible
witnesses, he was condemned, was in the nature of a narrative. It
consisted in a rehearsal of circumstances, some true and some fictitious,
with five inferences. These five inferences amounted to five crimes--high
treason, rebellion, conspiracy, misprision of treason, and breach of
trust. The proof of these crimes was evolved, in a dim and misty manner,
out of a purposely confused recital. No events, however, were
recapitulated which have not been described in the course of this
history. Setting out with a general statement, that the Admiral, the
Prince of Orange, Count Egmont, and other lords had organized a plot to
expel his Majesty from the Netherlands, and to divide the provinces among
themselves; the declaration afterwards proceeded to particulars. Ten of
its sixty-three articles were occupied with the Cardinal Granvelle, who,
by an absurd affectation, was never directly named, but called "a certain
personage--a principal personage--a grand personage, of his Majesty's
state council." None of the offences committed against him were
forgotten: the 11th of March letter, the fool's-cap, the livery, were
reproduced in the most violent colors, and the cabal against the minister
was quietly assumed to constitute treason against the monarch.

The Admiral, it was further charged, had advised and consented to the
fusion of the finance and privy councils with that of state, a measure
which was clearly treasonable. He had, moreover, held interviews with the
Prince of Orange, with Egmont, and other nobles, at Breda and at
Hoogstraaten, at which meetings the confederacy and the petition had been
engendered. That petition had been the cause of all the evils which had
swept the land. "It had scandalously injured the King, by affirming that
the inquisition was a tyranny to humanity, which was an infamous and
unworthy proposition." The confederacy, with his knowledge and
countenance, had enrolled 30,000 men. He had done nothing, any more than
Orange or Egmont, to prevent the presentation of the petition. In the
consultation at the state-council which ensued, both he and the Prince
were for leaving Brussels at once, while Count Egmont expressed an
intention of going to Aix to drink the waters. Yet Count Egmont's
appearance (proceeded this indictment against another individual)
exhibited not a single sign of sickness. The Admiral had, moreover, drank
the toast of "Vivent leg gueux" on various occasions, at the Culemberg
House banquet, at the private table of the Prince of Orange, at a supper
at the monastery of Saint Bernard's, at a dinner given by Burgomaster
Straalen. He had sanctioned the treaties with the rebels at Duffel, by
which he had clearly rendered himself guilty of high treason. He had held
an interview with Orange, Egmont, and Hoogstraaten, at Denremonde, for
the treasonable purpose of arranging a levy of troops to prevent his
Majesty's entrance into the Netherlands. He had refused to come to
Brussels at the request of the Duchess of Parma, when the rebels were
about to present the petition. He had written to his secretary that he
was thenceforth resolved to serve neither King nor Kaiser. He had
received from one Taffin, with marks of approbation, a paper, stating
that the assembling of the states-general was the only remedy for the
troubles in the land. He had, repeatedly affirmed that the inquisition
and edicts ought to be repealed.

On his arrival at Tournay in August, 1566, the people had cried "Vivent
les gueux;" a proof that he liked the cry. All his transactions at
Tournay, from first to last, had been criminal. He had tolerated Reformed
preaching, he had forbidden Catholics and Protestants to molest each
other, he had omitted to execute heretics, he had allowed the
religionists to erect an edifice for public worship outside the walls. He
had said, at the house of Prince Espinoy, that if the King should come
into the provinces with force, he would oppose him with 15,000 troops. He
had said, if his brother Montigny should be detained in Spain, he would
march to his rescue at the head of 50,000 men whom he had at his command.
He had on various occasions declared that "men should live according to
their consciences"--as if divine and human laws were dead, and men, like
wild beasts, were to follow all their lusts and desires. Lastly, he had
encouraged the rebellion in Valenciennes.

Of all these crimes and misdeeds the procurator declared himself
sufficiently informed, and the aforesaid defendant entirely, commonly,
and publicly defamed.

Wherefore, that officer terminated his declaration by claiming "that the
cause should be concluded summarily, and without figure or form of
process; and that therefore, by his Excellency or his sub-delegated
judges, the aforesaid defendant should be declared to have in diverse
ways committed high treason, should be degraded from his dignities, and
should be condemned to death, with confiscation of all his estates."

The Admiral, thus peremptorily summoned, within five days, without
assistance, without documents, and from the walls of a prison, to answer
to these charges, 'solos ex vinculis causam dicere', undertook his task
with the boldness of innocence. He protested, of course, to the
jurisdiction, and complained of the want of an advocate, not in order to
excuse any weakness in his defence, but only any inelegance in his
statement. He then proceeded flatly to deny some of the facts, to admit
others, and to repel the whole treasonable inference. His answer in all
essential respects was triumphant. Supported by the evidence which, alas
was not collected and published till after his death, it was impregnable.

He denied that he had ever plotted against his King, to whom he had ever
been attached, but admitted that he had desired the removal of Granvelle,
to whom he had always been hostile. He had, however, been an open and
avowed enemy to the Cardinal, and had been engaged in no secret
conspiracy against his character or against his life. He denied that the
livery (for which, however, he was not responsible) had been intended to
ridicule the Cardinal, but asserted that it was intended to afford an
example of economy to an extravagant nobility. He had met Orange and
Egmont at Breda and Hoogstraaten, and had been glad to do so, for he had
been long separated from them. These interviews, however, had been
social, not political, for good cheer and merry-making, not for
conspiracy and treason. He had never had any connection with the
confederacy; he had neither advised nor protected the petition, but, on
the contrary, after hearing of the contemplated movement, had written to
give notice thereof to the Duchess. He was in no manner allied, with
Brederode, but, on the contrary, for various reasons, was not upon
friendly terms with him. He had not entered his house since his return
from Spain. He had not been a party to the dinner at Culemburg House.
Upon that day he had dined with the Prince of Orange, with whom he was
lodging and, after dinner, they had both gone together to visit Mansfeld,
who was confined with an inflamed eye. There they had met Egmont, and the
three had proceeded together to Culemburg House in order to bring away
Hoogstraaten, whom the confederates had compelled to dine with them; and
also to warn the nobles not to commit themselves by extravagant and
suspicious excesses. They had remained in the house but a few minutes,
during which time the company had insisted upon their drinking a single
cup to the toast of "Vivent le roy et les gueux." They had then retired,
taking with them Hoogstraaten, and all thinking that they had rendered a
service to the government by their visit, instead of having made
themselves liable to a charge of treason. As to the cries of "Vivent les
gueux" at the tables of Orange, of the Abbot of Saint Bernard, and at
other places, those words had been uttered by simple, harmless fellows;
and as he considered, the table a place of freedom, he had not felt
himself justified in rebuking the manners of his associates,
particularly, in houses where he was himself but a guest. As for
committing treason at the Duffel meeting, he had not been there at all.

He thanked God that, at that epoch, he had been absent from Brussels, for
had he, as well as Orange and Egmont, been commissioned by the Duchess to
arrange those difficult matters, he should have considered it his duty to
do as they did. He had never thought of levying troops against his
Majesty. The Denremonde meeting had been held, to consult upon four
subjects: the affairs of Tournay; the intercepted letters of the French
ambassador, Alava; the letter of Montigny, in which he warned his brother
of the evil impression which the Netherland matters were making in Spain;
and the affairs of Antwerp, from which city the Prince of Orange found it
necessary at that moment to withdraw.--With regard to his absence from
Brussels, he stated that he had kept away from the Court because he was
ruined. He was deeply in debt, and so complete was his embarrassment,
that he had been unable in Antwerp to raise 1000 crowns upon his
property, even at an interest of one hundred per cent. So far from being
able to levy troops, he was hardly able to pay for his daily bread. With
regard to his transactions at Tournay, he had, throughout them all,
conformed himself to the instructions of Madame de Parma. As to the cry
of "Vivent les gueux," he should not have cared at that moment if the
populace had cried 'Vive Comte Horn', for his thoughts were then occupied
with more substantial matters. He had gone thither under a special
commission from the Duchess, and had acted under instructions daily
received by her own hand. He had, by her orders, effected a temporary
compromise between the two religious parties, on the basis of the Duffel
treaty. He had permitted the public preaching to continue, but had not
introduced it for the first time. He had allowed temples to be built
outside the gates, but it was by express command of Madame, as he could
prove by her letters. She had even reproved him before the council,
because the work had not been accomplished with sufficient despatch. With
regard to his alleged threat, that he would oppose the King's entrance
with 15,000 men, he answered, with astonishing simplicity, that he did
not remember making any such observation, but it was impossible for a man
to retain in his mind all the nonsense which he might occasionally utter.
The honest Admiral thought that his poverty, already pleaded, was so
notorious that the charge was not worthy of a serious answer. He also
treated the observation which he was charged with having made, relative
to his marching to Spain with 50,000 men to rescue Montigny as "frivolous
and ridiculous." He had no power to raise a hundred men. Moreover he had
rejoiced at Montigny's detention, for he had thought that to be out of
the Netherlands was to be out of harm's way. On the whole, he claimed
that in all those transactions of his which might be considered
anti-Catholic, he had been governed entirely by the instructions of the
Regent, and by her Accord with the nobles. That Accord, as she had
repeatedly stated to him, was to be kept sacred until his Majesty, by
advice of the states-general, should otherwise ordain.

Finally, he observed, that law was not his vocation. He was no
pettifogger, but he had endeavored loyally to conform himself to the
broad and general principles of honor, justice, and truth. In a very few
and simple words, he begged his judges to have regard to his deeds, and
to a life of loyal service. If he had erred occasionally in those times
of tumult, his intentions had ever been faithful and honorable.

The charges against Count Egmont were very similar to those against Count
Horn. The answers of both defendants were nearly identical.
Interrogations thus addressed to two different persons, as to
circumstances which had occurred long before, could not have been thus
separately, secretly, but simultaneously answered in language
substantially the same, had not that language been the words of truth.
Egmont was accused generally of plotting with others to expel the King
from the provinces, and to divide the territory among themselves. Through
a long series of ninety articles, he was accused of conspiring against
the character and life of Cardinal Granvelle. He was the inventor, it was
charged, of the fool's-cap livery. He had joined in the letters to the
King, demanding the prelate's removal. He had favored the fusion of the
three councils. He had maintained that the estates-general ought to be
forthwith assembled, that otherwise the debts of his Majesty and of the
country could never be paid, and that the provinces would go to the
French, to the Germans, or to the devil. He had asserted that he would
not be instrumental in burning forty or fifty thousand men, in order that
the inquisition and the edicts might be sustained. He had declared that
the edicts were rigorous. He had advised the Duchess, to moderate them,
and remove the inquisition, saying that these measures, with a pardon
general in addition, were the only means of quieting the country. He had
advised the formation of the confederacy, and promised to it his
protection and favor. He had counselled the presentation of the petition.
He had arranged all these matters, in consultation with the other nobles,
at the interviews at Breda and Hoogstraaten. He had refused the demand of
Madame de Parma, to take arms in her defence. He had expressed his
intention, at a most critical moment, of going to the baths of Aix for
his health, although his personal appearance gave no indication of any
malady whatever. He had countenanced and counselled the proceedings of
the rebel nobles at Saint Trond. He had made an accord with those of "the
religion" at Ghent, Bruges, and other places. He had advised the Duchess
to grant a pardon to those who had taken up arms. He had maintained, in
common with the Prince of Orange, at a session of the state council, that
if Madame should leave Brussels, they would assemble the states-general
of their own authority, and raise a force of forty thousand men. He had
plotted treason, and made arrangements for the levy of troops at the
interview at Denremonde, with Horn, Hoogstraaten, and the Prince of
Orange. He had taken under his protection on the 20th April, 1566, the
confederacy of the rebels; had promised that they should never be
molested, for the future, on account of the inquisition or the edicts,
and that so long as they kept within the terms of the Petition and the
Compromise, he would defend them with his own person. He had granted
liberty of preaching outside the walls in many cities within his
government. He had said repeatedly, that if the King desired to introduce
the inquisition into the Netherlands, he would sell all his property and
remove to another land; thus declaring with how much contempt and
detestation he regarded the said inquisition. He had winked at all the
proceedings of the sectaries. He had permitted the cry of "Vivent les
gueux" at his table. He had assisted at the banquet at Culemburg House.

These were the principal points in the interminable act of accusation.
Like the Admiral, Egmont admitted many of the facts, and flatly denied
the rest. He indignantly repelled the possibility of a treasonable
inference from any of, or all, his deeds. He had certainly desired the
removal of Granvelle, for he believed that the King's service would
profit by his recal. He replied, almost in the same terms as the Admiral
had done, to the charge concerning the livery, and asserted that its
principal object had been to set an example of economy. The fool's-cap
and bells had been changed to a bundle of arrows, in consequence of a
certain rumor which became rife in Brussels, and in obedience to an
ordinance of Madame de Parma. As to the assembling of the states-general,
the fusion of the councils, the moderation of the edicts, he had
certainly been in favor of these measures, which he considered to be
wholesome and lawful, not mischievous or treasonable. He had certainly
maintained that the edicts were rigorous, and had advised the Duchess,
under the perilous circumstances of the country, to grant a temporary
modification until the pleasure of his Majesty could be known. With
regard to the Compromise, he had advised all his friends to keep out of
it, and many in consequence had kept out of it. As to the presentation of
the petition, he had given Madame de Parma notice thereof, so soon as he
had heard that such a step was contemplated. He used the same language as
had been employed by Horn, with regard to the interview at Breda and
Hoogstraaten--that they had been meetings of "good cheer" and good
fellowship. He had always been at every moment at the command of the
Duchess, save when he had gone to Flanders and Artois to suppress the
tumults, according to her express orders. He had no connexion with the
meeting of the nobles at Saint Trond. He had gone to Duffel as special
envoy from the Duchess, to treat with certain plenipotentiaries appointed
at the Saint Trond meeting. He had strictly conformed to the letter of
instructions, drawn up by the Duchess, which would be found among his
papers, but he had never promised the nobles his personal aid or
protection. With regard to the Denremonde meeting, he gave almost exactly
the same account as Horn had given. The Prince, the Admiral, and himself,
had conversed between a quarter past eleven and dinner time, which was
twelve o'clock, on various matters, particularly upon the King's
dissatisfaction with recent events in the Netherlands, and upon a certain
letter from the ambassador Alava in Paris to the Duchess of Parma. He
had, however, expressed his opinion to Madame that the letter was a
forgery. He had permitted public preaching in certain cities, outside the
walls, where it had already been established, because this was in
accordance with the treaty which Madame had made at Duffel, which she had
ordered him honorably to maintain. He had certainly winked at the
religious exercises of the Reformers, because he had been expressly
commanded to do so, and because the government at that time was not
provided with troops to suppress the new religion by force. He related
the visit of Horn, Orange, and himself to Culemburg House, at the
memorable banquet, in almost the same words which the Admiral had used.
He had done all in his power to prevent Madame from leaving Brussels, in
which effort he had been successful, and from which much good had
resulted to the country. He had never recommended that a pardon should be
granted to those who had taken up arms, but on the contrary, had advised
their chastisement, as had appeared in his demeanor towards the rebels at
Osterwel, Tournay, and Valenciennes. He had never permitted the cry of
"Vivent les gueux" at his own table, nor encouraged it in his presence
any where else.

Such were the leading features in these memorable cases of what was
called high treason. Trial there was none. The tribunal was incompetent;
the prisoners were without advocates; the government evidence was
concealed; the testimony for the defence was excluded; and the cause was
finally decided before a thousandth part of its merits could have been
placed under the eyes of the judge who gave the sentence.

But it is almost puerile to speak of the matter in the terms usually
applicable to state trials. The case had been settled in Madrid long
before the arrest of the prisoners in Brussels. The sentence, signed by
Philip in blank, had been brought in Alva's portfolio from Spain. The
proceedings were a mockery, and, so far as any effect upon public opinion
was concerned, might as well have been omitted. If the gentlemen had been
shot in the court-yard of Jasse-house, by decree of a drum-head
court-martial, an hour after their arrest, the rights of the provinces
and the sentiments of humanity would not have been outraged more utterly.
Every constitutional and natural right was violated from first to last.
This certainly was not a novelty. Thousands of obscure individuals, whose
relations and friends were not upon thrones and in high places, but in
booths and cellars, and whose fate therefore did not send a shudder of
sympathy throughout Europe, had already been sacrificed by the Blood
tribunal. Still this great case presented a colossal emblem of the
condition in which the Netherlands were now gasping. It was a monumental
exhibition of the truth which thousands had already learned to their
cost, that law and justice were abrogated throughout the land. The
country was simply under martial law--the entire population under
sentence of death. The whole civil power was in Alva's hand; the whole
responsibility in Alva's breast. Neither the most ignoble nor the most
powerful could lift their heads in the sublime desolation which was
sweeping the country. This was now proved beyond peradventure. A
miserable cobbler or weaver might be hurried from his shop to the
scaffold, invoking the 'jus de non evocando' till he was gagged, but the
Emperor would not stoop from his throne, nor electors palatine and
powerful nobles rush to his rescue; but in behalf of these prisoners the
most august hands and voices of Christendom had been lifted up at the
foot of Philip's throne; and their supplications had proved as idle as
the millions of tears and death-cries which had beep shed or uttered in
the lowly places of the land. It was obvious; then, that all intercession
must thereafter be useless. Philip was fanatically impressed with his
mission. His viceroy was possessed by his loyalty as by a demon. In this
way alone, that conduct which can never be palliated may at least be
comprehended. It was Philip's enthusiasm to embody the wrath of God
against heretics. It was Alva's enthusiasm to embody the wrath of Philip.
Narrow-minded, isolated, seeing only that section of the world which was
visible through the loop-hole of the fortress in which Nature had
imprisoned him for life, placing his glory in unconditional obedience to
his superior, questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing, the
viceroy accomplished his work of hell with all the tranquillity of an
angel. An iron will, which clove through every obstacle; adamantine
fortitude, which sustained without flinching a mountain of responsibility
sufficient to crush a common nature, were qualities which, united to, his
fanatical obedience, made him a man for Philip's work such as could not
have been found again in the world.

The case, then, was tried before a tribunal which was not only
incompetent, under the laws of the land, but not even a court of justice
in any philosophical or legal sense. Constitutional and municipal law
were not more outraged in its creation, than all national and natural
maxims.

The reader who has followed step by step the career of the two
distinguished victims through the perilous days of Margaret's
administration, is sufficiently aware of the amount of treason with which
they are chargeable. It would be an insult to common sense for us to set
forth, in full, the injustice of their sentence. Both were guiltless
towards the crown; while the hands of one, on the contrary, were deeply
dyed in the blood of the people. This truth was so self-evident, that
even a member of the Blood-Council, Pierre Arsens, president of Artois,
addressed an elaborate memoir to the Duke of Alva, criticising the case
according to the rules of law, and maintaining that Egmont, instead of
deserving punishment, was entitled to a signal reward.

So much for the famous treason of Counts Egmont and Horn, so far as
regards the history of the proceedings and the merits of the case. The
last act of the tragedy was precipitated by occurrences which must be now
narrated.

The Prince of Orange had at last thrown down the gauntlet. Proscribed,
outlawed, with his Netherland property confiscated, and his eldest child
kidnapped, he saw sufficient personal justification for at last stepping
into the lists, the avowed champion of a nation's wrongs. Whether the
revolution was to be successful, or to be disastrously crushed; whether
its result would be to place him upon a throne or a scaffold, not even
he, the deep-revolving and taciturn politician, could possibly foresee.
The Reformation, in which he took both a political and a religious
interest, might prove a sufficient lever in his hands for the overthrow
of Spanish power in the Netherlands. The inquisition might roll back upon
his country and himself, crushing them forever. The chances seemed with
the inquisition. The Spaniards, under the first chieftain in Europe, were
encamped and entrenched in the provinces. The Huguenots had just made
their fatal peace in France, to the prophetic dissatisfaction of Coligny.
The leading men of liberal sentiments in the Netherlands were captive or
in exile. All were embarrassed by the confiscations which, in
anticipation of sentence, had severed the nerves of war. The country was
terror-stricken; paralyzed, motionless, abject, forswearing its
convictions, and imploring only life. At this moment William of Orange
reappeared upon the scene.

He replied to the act of condemnation, which had been pronounced against
him in default, by a published paper, of moderate length and great
eloquence. He had repeatedly offered to place himself, he said, upon
trial before a competent court. As a Knight of the Fleece, as a member of
the Holy Roman Empire, as a sovereign prince, he could acknowledge no
tribunal save the chapters of the knights or of the realm. The Emperor's
personal intercession with Philip had been employed in vain, to obtain
the adjudication of his case by either. It would be both death and
degradation on his part to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the infamous
Council of Blood. He scorned, he said, to plead his cause "before he knew
not what base knaves, not fit to be the valets of his companions and
himself."

He appealed therefore to the judgment of the world. He published not an
elaborate argument, but a condensed and scathing statement of the
outrages which had been practised upon him. He denied that he had been a
party to the Compromise. He denied that he had been concerned in the
Request, although he denounced with scorn the tyranny which could treat a
petition to government as an act of open war against the sovereign. He
spoke of Granvelle with unmeasured wrath. He maintained that his own
continuance in office had been desired by the cardinal, in order that his
personal popularity might protect the odious designs of the government.
The edicts, the inquisition, the persecution, the new bishoprics, had
been the causes of the tumults. He concluded with a burst of indignation
against Philip's conduct toward himself. The monarch had forgotten his
services and those of his valiant ancestors. He had robbed him of honor,
he had robbed him of his son--both dearer to him than life. By thus doing
he had degraded himself more than he had injured him, for he had broken
all his royal oaths and obligations.

The paper was published early in the summer of 1568. At about the same
time, the Count of Hoogstraaten published a similar reply to the act of
condemnation with which he had been visited. He defended himself mainly
upon the ground, that all the crimes of which he stood arraigned had been
committed in obedience to the literal instructions of the Duchess of
Parma, after her accord with the confederates.

The Prince now made the greatest possible exertions to raise funds and
troops. He had many meetings with influential individuals in Germany. The
Protestant princes, particularly the Landgrave of Hesse and the Elector
of Saxony, promised him assistance. He brought all his powers of
eloquence and of diplomacy to make friends for the cause which he had now
boldly espoused. The high-born Demosthenes electrified large assemblies
by his indignant invectives against the Spanish Philip. He excelled even
his royal antagonist in the industrious subtlety with which he began to
form a thousand combinations. Swift, secret, incapable of fatigue, this
powerful and patient intellect sped to and fro, disentangling the
perplexed skein where all had seemed so hopelessly confused, and
gradually unfolding broad schemes of a symmetrical and regenerated
polity. He had high correspondents and higher hopes in England. He was
already secretly or openly in league with half the sovereigns of Germany.
The Huguenots of France looked upon him as their friend, and on Louis of
Nassau as their inevitable chieftain, were Coligny destined to fall. He
was in league with all the exiled and outlawed nobles of the Netherlands.
By his orders recruits were daily enlisted, without sound of drum. He
granted a commission to his brother Louis, one of the most skilful and
audacious soldiers of the age, than whom the revolt could not have found
a more determined partisan, nor the Prince a more faithful lieutenant.

This commission, which was dated Dillenburg, 6th April, 1568, was a
somewhat startling document. It authorized the Count to levy troops and
wage war against Philip, strictly for Philip's good. The fiction of
loyalty certainly never went further. The Prince of Orange made known to
all "to whom those presents should come," that through the affection
which he bore the gracious King, he purposed to expel his Majesty's
forces from the Netherlands. "To show our love for the monarch and his
hereditary provinces," so ran the commission, "to prevent the desolation
hanging over the country by the ferocity of the Spaniards, to maintain
the privileges sworn to by his Majesty and his predecessors, to prevent
the extirpation of all religion by the edicts, and to save the sons and
daughters of the land from abject slavery, we have requested our dearly
beloved brother Louis Nassau to enrol as many troops as he shall think
necessary."

Van der Bergh, Hoogstraaten, and others, provided with similar powers,
were also actively engaged in levying troops; but the right hand of the
revolt was Count Louis, as his illustrious brother was its head and
heart. Two hundred thousand crowns was the sum which the Prince
considered absolutely necessary for organizing the army with which he
contemplated making an entrance into the Netherlands. Half this amount
had been produced by the cities of Antwerp, Amsterdam, Leyden, Harlem,
Middelburg, Flushing, and other towns, as well as by refugee merchants in
England. The other half was subscribed by individuals. The Prince himself
contributed 50,000 florins, Hoogstraaten 30,000, Louis of Nassau 10,000,
Culemberg 30,000, Van der Bergh 30,000, the Dowager-countess Horn 10,000,
and other persons in less proportion. Count John of Nassau also pledged
his estates to raise a large sum for the cause. The Prince himself sold
all his jewels, plate, tapestry, and other furniture, which were of
almost regal magnificence. Not an enthusiast, but a deliberate, cautious
man, he now staked his all upon the hazard, seemingly so desperate. The
splendor of his station has been sufficiently depicted. His luxury, his
fortune, his family, his life, his children, his honor, all were now
ventured, not with the recklessness of a gambler, but with the calm
conviction of a statesman.

A private and most audacious attempt to secure the person: of Alva and
the possession of Brussels had failed. He was soon, however, called upon
to employ all his energies against the open warfare which was now
commenced.

According to the plan of the Prince, the provinces were to be attacked
simultaneously, in three places, by his lieutenants, while he himself was
waiting in the neighborhood of Cleves, ready for a fourth assault. An
army of Huguenots and refugees was to enter Artois upon the frontier of
France; a second, under Hoogstraaten, was to operate between the Rhine
and the Meuse; while Louis of Nassau was to raise the standard of revolt
in Friesland.

The two first adventures were destined to be signally unsuccessful. A
force under Seigneur de Cocqueville, latest of all, took the field
towards the end of June. It entered the bailiwick of Hesdin in Artois,
was immediately driven across the frontier by the Count de Roeulx, and
cut to pieces at St. Valery by Marechal de Cossis, governor of Picardy.
This action was upon the 18th July. Of the 2500 men who composed the
expedition, scarce 300 escaped. The few Netherlanders who were taken
prisoners were given to the Spanish government, and, of course, hanged.

The force under the Seigneur de Villars was earlier under arms, and the
sooner defeated. This luckless gentleman, who had replaced the Count of
Hoogstraaten, crossed the frontier of Juliers; in the neighborhood of
Maestricht, by the 20th April. His force, infantry and cavalry, amounted
to nearly three thousand men. The object of the enterprise was to, raise
the country; and, if possible, to obtain a foothold by securing an
important city. Roermonde was the first point of attack, but the
attempts, both by stratagem and by force, to secure the town, were
fruitless. The citizens were not ripe for revolt, and refused the army
admittance. While the invaders were, therefore, endeavoring to fire the
gates, they were driven off by the approach of a Spanish force.

The Duke, so soon as the invasion was known to him, had acted with great
promptness. Don Sancho de Lodrono and Don Sancho de Avila, with five
vanderas of Spanish infantry, three companies of cavalry, and about three
hundred pikemen under Count Eberstein, a force amounting in all to about
1600 picked troops, had been at once despatched against Villars. The
rebel chieftain, abandoning his attempt upon Roermonde, advanced towards
Erkelens. Upon the 25th April, between Erkelens and Dalem, the Spaniards
came up with him, and gave him battle. Villars lost all his cavalry and
two vanderas of his infantry in the encounter. With the remainder of his
force, amounting to 1300 men, he effected his retreat in good order to
Dalem. Here he rapidly entrenched himself. At four in the afternoon,
Sancho de Lodrono, at the head of 600 infantry, reached the spot. He was
unable to restrain the impetuosity of his men, although the cavalry under
Avila, prevented by the difficult nature of the narrow path through which
the rebels had retreated, had not yet arrived. The enemy were two to one,
and were fortified; nevertheless, in half an hour the entrenchments were
carried, and almost every man in the patriot army put to the sword.
Villars himself, with a handful of soldiers, escaped into the town, but
was soon afterwards taken prisoner, with all his followers. He sullied
the cause in which he was engaged by a base confession of the designs
formed by the Prince of Orange--a treachery, however, which did not save
him from the scaffold. In the course of this day's work, the Spanish lost
twenty men, and the rebels nearly 200. This portion of the liberating
forces had been thus disastrously defeated on the eve of the entrance of
Count Louis into Friesland.

As early as the 22d April, Alva had been informed, by the
lieutenant-governor of that province, that the beggars were mustering in
great force in the neighborhood of Embden. It was evident that an
important enterprise was about to be attempted. Two days afterwards,
Louis of Nassau entered the provinces, attended by a small body of
troops. His banners blazed with patriotic inscriptions. 'Nunc aut
nunquam, Recuperare aut mori', were the watchwords of his desperate
adventure: "Freedom for fatherland and conscience" was the device which
was to draw thousands to his standard. On the western wolds of Frisia, he
surprised the castle of Wedde, a residence of the absent Aremberg,
stadholder of the province. Thence he advanced to Appingadam, or Dam, on
the tide waters of the Dollart. Here he was met by, his younger brother,
the gallant Adolphus, whose days were so nearly numbered, who brought
with him a small troop of horse. At Wedde, at Dam, and at Slochteren, the
standard was set up. At these three points there daily gathered armed
bodies of troops, voluntary adventurers, peasants with any rustic weapon
which they could find to their hand. Lieutenant-governor Groesbeck wrote
urgently to the Duke, that the beggars were hourly increasing in force;
that the leaders perfectly understood their game; that they kept their
plans a secret, but were fast seducing the heart of the country.

On the 4th May, Louis issued a summons to the magistracy of Groningen,
ordering them to send a deputation to confer with him at Dam. He was
prepared, he said, to show the commission with which he was provided. He
had not entered the country on a mere personal adventure, but had
received orders to raise a sufficient army. By the help of the eternal
God, he was determined, he said, to extirpate the detestable tyranny of
those savage persecutors who had shed so much Christian blood. He was
resolved to lift up the down-trod privileges, and, to protect the
fugitive, terror-stricken Christians and patriarchs of the country. If
the magistrates were disposed to receive him with friendship, it was
well. Otherwise, he should, with regret, feel himself obliged to proceed
against them, as enemies of his Majesty and of the common weal.

As the result of this summons, Louis received a moderate sum of money, on
condition of renouncing for the moment an attack upon the city. With this
temporary supply he was able to retain a larger number of the
adventurers; who were daily swarming around him.

In the mean time Alva was not idle. On the 30th April, he wrote to
Groesbeck, that he must take care not to be taken napping; that he must
keep his eyes well open until the arrival of succor, which was already on
the way. He then immediately ordered Count Aremberg, who had just
returned from France on conclusion of hostilities, to hasten to the seat
of war. Five vanderas of his own regiment; a small body of cavalry, and
Braccamonte's Sardinian legion, making in all a force of nearly 2500 men,
were ordered to follow him with the utmost expedition. Count Meghem,
stadholder of Gueldres, with five vanderas of infantry, three of light
horse, and some artillery, composing a total of about 1500 men, was
directed to co-operate with Aremberg. Upon this point the orders of the
Governor-general were explicit. It seemed impossible that the rabble rout
under Louis Nassau could stand a moment before nearly 4000 picked and
veteran troops, but the Duke was earnest in warning his generals not to
undervalue the enemy.

On the 7th May, Counts Meghem and Aremberg met and conferred at Arnheim,
on their way to Friesland. It was fully agreed between them, after having
heard full reports of the rising in that province, and of the temper
throughout the eastern Netherlands, that it would be rash to attempt any
separate enterprise. On the 11th, Aremberg reached Vollenhoven, where he
was laid up in his bed with the gout. Bodies of men, while he lay sick,
paraded hourly with fife and drum before his windows, and discharged
pistols and arquebuses across the ditch of the blockhouse where he was
quartered. On the 18th, Braccamonte, with his legion, arrived by water at
Harlingen. Not a moment more was lost. Aremberg, notwithstanding his
gout, which still confined him to a litter, started at once in pursuit of
the enemy. Passing through Groningen, he collected all the troops which
could be spared.. He also received six pieces of artillery. Six cannon,
which the lovers of harmony had baptized with the notes of the gamut,
'ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la', were placed at his disposal by the
authorities, and have acquired historical celebrity. It was, however,
ordained that when those musical pieces piped, the Spaniards were not to
dance. On the 22d, followed by his whole force, consisting of
Braccamonte's legion, his own four vanderas, and a troop of Germans, he
came in sight of the enemy at Dam. Louis of Nassau sent out a body of
arquebusiers, about one thousand strong, from the city. A sharp skirmish
ensued, but the beggars were driven into their entrenchments, with a loss
of twenty or thirty men, and nightfall terminated the contest.

It was beautiful to see, wrote Aremberg to Alva, how brisk and eager were
the Spaniards, notwithstanding the long march which they had that day
accomplished. Time was soon to show how easily immoderate, valor might
swell into a fault. Meantime, Aremberg quartered his troops in and about
Wittewerum Abbey, close to the little unwalled city of Dam.

On the other hand, Meghem, whose co-operation had been commanded by Alva,
and arranged personally with Aremberg a fortnight before, at Arnheim, had
been delayed in his movements. His troops, who had received no wages for
a long time had mutinied. A small sum of money, however, sent from
Brussels, quelled this untimely insubordination. Meghem then set forth to
effect his junction with his colleague, having assured the
Governor-general that the war would be ended in six days. The beggars had
not a stiver, he said, and must disband or be beaten to pieces as soon as
Aremberg and he had joined forces. Nevertheless he admitted that these
same "master-beggars," as he called them, might prove too many for either
general alone.

Alva, in reply, expressed his confidence that four or five thousand
choice troops of Spain would be enough to make a short war of it, but
nevertheless warned his officers of the dangers of overweening
confidence. He had been informed that the rebels had assumed the red
scarf of the Spanish uniform. He hoped the stratagem would not save them
from broken heads, but was unwilling that his Majesty's badge should be
altered.

He reiterated his commands that no enterprise should be undertaken,
except by the whole army in concert; and enjoined the generals
incontinently to hang and strangle all prisoners the moment they should
be taken.

Marching directly northward, Meghem reached Coeverden, some fifty miles
from Dam, on the night of the 22d. He had informed Aremberg that he might
expect him with his infantry and his light horse in the course of the
next day. On the following morning, the 23d, Aremberg wrote his last
letter to the Duke, promising to send a good account of the beggars
within a very few hours.

Louis of Nassau had broken up his camp at Dam about midnight. Falling
back, in a southerly direction, along the Wold-weg, or forest road, a
narrow causeway through a swampy district, he had taken up a position
some three leagues from his previous encampment. Near the monastery of
Heiliger Lee, or the "Holy Lion," he had chosen his ground. A little
money in hand, ample promises, and the hopes of booty, had effectually
terminated the mutiny, which had also broken out in his camp. Assured
that Meghem had not yet effected his junction with Aremberg, prepared to
strike, at last, a telling blow for freedom and fatherland, Louis awaited
the arrival of his eager foe.

His position was one of commanding strength and fortunate augury.
Heiliger Lee was a wooded eminence, artificially reared by Premonstrant
monks. It was the only rising ground in that vast extent of watery
pastures, enclosed by the Ems and Lippe--the "fallacious fields"
described by Tacitus. Here Hermann, first of Teutonic heroes, had dashed
out of existence three veteran legions of tyrant Rome. Here the spectre
of Varus, begrimed and gory, had risen from the morass to warn
Germanicus, who came to avenge him, that Gothic freedom was a dangerous
antagonist. And now, in the perpetual reproductions of history, another
German warrior occupied a spot of vantage in that same perilous region.
The tyranny with which he contended strove to be as universal as that of
Rome, and had stretched its wings of conquest into worlds of which the
Caesars had never dreamed. It was in arms, too, to crush not only the
rights of man, but the rights of God. The battle of freedom was to be
fought not only for fatherland, but for conscience. The cause was even
holier than that which had inspired the arm of Hermann.

Although the swamps of that distant age had been transformed into
fruitful pastures, yet the whole district was moist, deceitful, and
dangerous. The country was divided into squares, not by hedges but by
impassable ditches. Agricultural entrenchments had long made the country
almost impregnable, while its defences against the ocean rendered almost
as good service against a more implacable human foe.

Aremberg, leading his soldiers along the narrow causeway, in hot pursuit
of what they considered a rabble rout of fugitive beggars, soon reached
Winschoten. Here he became aware of the presence of his despicable foe.
Louis and Adolphus of Nassau, while sitting at dinner in the convent of
the "Holy Lion," had been warned by a friendly peasant of the approach of
the Spaniards. The opportune intelligence had given the patriot general
time to make his preparations. His earnest entreaties had made his troops
ashamed of their mutinous conduct on the preceding day, and they were now
both ready and willing to engage. The village was not far distant from
the abbey, and in the neighborhood of the abbey Louis of Nassau was now
posted. Behind him was a wood, on his left a hill of moderate elevation,
before him an extensive and swampy field. In the front of the field was a
causeway leading to the abbey. This was the road which Aremberg was to
traverse. On the plain which lay between the wood and the hill, the main
body of the beggars were drawn up. They were disposed in two squares or
squadrons, rather deep than wide, giving the idea of a less number than
they actually contained. The lesser square, in which were two thousand
eight hundred men, was partially sheltered by the hill. Both were flanked
by musketeers. On the brow of the hill was a large body of light armed
troops, the 'enfans perdus' of the army. The cavalry, amounting to not
more than three hundred men, was placed in front, facing the road along
which Aremberg was to arrive.

That road was bordered by a wood extending nearly to the front of the
hill. As Aremberg reached its verge, he brought out his artillery, and
opened a fire upon the body of light troops. The hill protected a large
part of the enemy's body from this attack. Finding the rebels so strong
in numbers and position, Aremberg was disposed only to skirmish. He knew
better than did his soldiers the treacherous nature of the ground in
front of the enemy. He saw that it was one of those districts where peat
had been taken out in large squares for fuel, and where a fallacious and
verdant scum upon the surface of deep pools simulated the turf that had
been removed. He saw that the battle-ground presented to him by his
sagacious enemy was one great sweep of traps and pitfalls. Before he
could carry the position, many men must necessarily be engulfed.

He paused for an instant. He was deficient in cavalry, having only
Martinengo's troop, hardly amounting to four hundred men. He was sure of
Meghem's arrival within twenty-four hours. If, then, he could keep the
rebels in check, without allowing them any opportunity to disperse, he
should be able, on the morrow, to cut them to pieces, according to the
plan agreed upon a fortnight before. But the Count had to contend with a
double obstacle. His soldiers were very hot, his enemy very cool. The
Spaniards, who had so easily driven a thousand musketeers from behind
their windmill, the evening before, who had seen the whole rebel force
decamp in hot haste on the very night of their arrival before Dam,
supposed themselves in full career of victory. Believing that the name
alone of the old legions had stricken terror to the hearts of the
beggars, and that no resistance was possible to Spanish arms, they
reviled their general for his caution. His reason for delay was theirs
for hurry. Why should Meghem's loitering and mutinous troops, arriving at
the eleventh hour, share in the triumph and the spoil? No man knew the
country better than Aremberg, a native of the Netherlands, the stadholder
of the province. Cowardly or heretical motives alone could sway him, if
he now held them back in the very hour of victory. Inflamed beyond
endurance by these taunts, feeling his pride of country touched to the
quick, and willing to show that a Netherlander would lead wherever
Spaniards dared to follow, Aremberg allowed himself to commit the grave
error for which he was so deeply to atone. Disregarding the dictates of
his own experience and the arrangements of his superior, he yielded to
the braggart humor of his soldiers, which he had not, like Alva, learned
to moderate or to despise.

In the mean, time, the body of light troops which had received the fire
from the musical pieces of Groningen was seen to waver. The artillery was
then brought beyond the cover of the wood, and pointed more fully upon
the two main squares of the enemy. A few shots told. Soon afterward the
'enfans perdus' retreated helter-skelter, entirely deserting their
position.

This apparent advantage, which was only a preconcerted stratagem, was too
much for the fiery Spaniards. They rushed merrily forward to attack the
stationary squares, their general being no longer able, to restrain their
impetuosity. In a moment the whole van-guard had plunged into the morass.
In a few minutes more they were all helplessly and hopelessly struggling
in the pools, while the musketeers of the enemy poured in a deadly fire
upon them, without wetting the soles of their own feet. The pikemen, too,
who composed the main body of the larger square, now charged upon all who
were extricating themselves from their entanglement, and drove them back
again to a muddy death. Simultaneously, the lesser patriot squadron,
which had so long been sheltered, emerged from the cover of the hill,
made a detour around its base, enveloped the rear-guard of the Spaniards
before they could advance to the succor of their perishing comrades, and
broke them to pieces almost instantly. Gonzalo de Braccamonte, the very
Spanish colonel who had been foremost in denunciation of Aremberg, for
his disposition to delay the contest, was now the first to fly. To his
bad conduct was ascribed the loss of the day. The anger of Alva was so
high, when he was informed of the incident, that he would have condemned
the officer to death but for the intercession of his friends and
countrymen. The rout was sudden and absolute. The foolhardiness of the
Spaniards had precipitated them into the pit which their enemies had dug.
The day, was lost. Nothing was left for Aremberg but to perish with
honor. Placing himself at the head of his handful of cavalry, he dashed
into the melee. The shock was sustained by young Adolphus of Nassau, at
the head of an equal number of riders. Each leader singled out the other.
They met as "captains of might" should do, in the very midst of the
affray. Aremberg, receiving and disregarding a pistol shot from his
adversary, laid Adolphus dead at his feet, with a bullet through his body
and a sabre cut on his head. Two troopers in immediate attendance upon
the young Count shared the same fate from the same hand. Shortly
afterward, the horse of Aremberg, wounded by a musket ball, fell to the
ground. A few devoted followers lifted the charger to his legs and the
bleeding rider to his saddle. They endeavored to bear their wounded
general from the scene of action. The horse staggered a few paces and
fell dead. Aremberg disengaged himself from his body, and walked a few
paces to the edge of a meadow near the road. Here, wounded in the action,
crippled by the disease which had so long tormented him, and scarcely
able to sustain longer the burthen of his armor, he calmly awaited his
fate. A troop of the enemy advanced soon afterwards, and Aremberg fell,
covered with wounds, fighting like a hero of Homer, single-handed,
against a battalion, with a courage worthy a better cause and a better
fate. The sword by which he received his final death-blow was that of the
Seigneur do Haultain. That officer having just seen his brother slain
before his eyes, forgot the respect due to unsuccessful chivalry.

The battle was scarcely finished when an advancing trumpet was heard. The
sound caused the victors to pause in their pursuit, and enabled a remnant
of the conquered Spaniards to escape. Meghem's force was thought to be
advancing. That general had indeed arrived, but he was alone. He had
reached Zuidlaren, a village some four leagues from the scene of action,
on the noon of that day. Here he had found a letter from Aremberg,
requesting him to hasten. He had done so. His troops, however, having
come from Coevorden that morning, were unable to accomplish so long a
march in addition. The Count, accompanied by a few attendants, reached
the neighborhood of Heiliger Lee only in time to meet with some of the
camp sutlers and other fugitives, from whom he learned the disastrous
news of the defeat. Finding that all was lost, he very properly returned
to Zuidlaren, from which place he made the best of his way to Groningen.
That important city, the key of Friesland, he was thus enabled to secure.
The troops which he brought, in addition to the four German vanderas of
Schaumburg, already quartered there, were sufficient to protect it
against the ill-equipped army of Louis Nassau.

The patriot leader had accomplished, after all, but a barren victory. He
had, to be sure, destroyed a number of Spaniards, amounting, according to
the different estimates, from five hundred to sixteen hundred men. He had
also broken up a small but veteran army. More than all, he had taught the
Netherlanders, by this triumphant termination to a stricken field, that
the choice troops of Spain were not invincible. But the moral effect of
the victory was the only permanent one. The Count's badly paid troops
could with difficulty be kept together. He had no sufficient artillery to
reduce the city whose possession would have proved so important to the
cause. Moreover, in common with the Prince of Orange and all his
brethren, he had been called to mourn for the young and chivalrous
Adolphus, whose life-blood had stained the laurels of this first patriot
victory. Having remained, and thus wasted the normal three days upon the
battle-field, Louis now sat down before Groningen, fortifying and
entrenching himself in a camp within cannonshot of the city.

On the 23rd we have seen that Aremberg had written, full of confidence,
to the Governor-general, promising soon to send him good news of the
beggars. On the 26th, Count Meghem wrote that, having spoken with a man
who had helped to place Aremberg in his coffin, he could hardly entertain
any farther doubt as to his fate.

The wrath of the Duke was even greater than his surprise. Like Augustus,
he called in vain on the dead commander for his legions, but prepared
himself to inflict a more rapid and more terrible vengeance than the
Roman's. Recognizing the gravity of his situation, he determined to take
the field in person, and to annihilate this insolent chieftain who had
dared not only to cope with, but to conquer his veteran regiments. But
before he could turn his back upon Brussels, many deeds were to be done.
His measures now followed each other in breathless succession,
fulminating and blasting at every stroke. On the 28th May, he issued an
edict, banishing, on pain of death, the Prince of Orange, Louis Nassau,
Hoogstraaten, Van den Berg, and others, with confiscation of all their
property. At the same time he razed the Culemburg Palace to the ground,
and erected a pillar upon its ruins, commemorating the accursed
conspiracy which had been engendered within its walls. On the 1st June,
eighteen prisoners of distinction, including the two barons Batenburg,
Maximilian Kock, Blois de Treslong and others, were executed upon the
Horse Market, in Brussels. In the vigorous language of Hoogstraaten, this
horrible tragedy was enacted directly before the windows of that "cruel
animal, Noircarmes," who, in company of his friend, Berlaymont, and the
rest of the Blood-Council, looked out upon the shocking spectacle. The
heads of the victims were exposed upon stakes, to which also their bodies
were fastened. Eleven of these victims were afterward deposited,
uncoffined, in unconsecrated ground; the other seven were left unburied
to moulder on the gibbet. On the 2d June, Villars, the leader in the
Daalem rising, suffered on the scaffold, with three others. On the 3d,
Counts Egmont and Horn were brought in a carriage from Ghent to Brussels,
guarded by ten companies of infantry and one of cavalry. They were then
lodged in the "Brood-huis" opposite the Town Hall, on the great square of
Brussels. On the 4th, Alva having, as he solemnly declared before God and
the world, examined thoroughly the mass of documents appertaining to
those two great prosecutions which had only been closed three days
before, pronounced sentence against the illustrious prisoners. These
documents of iniquity signed and sealed by the Duke, were sent to the
Blood-Council, where they were read by Secretary Praets. The signature of
Philip was not wanting, for the sentences had been drawn upon blanks
signed by the monarch, of which the Viceroy had brought a whole trunk
full from Spain. The sentence against Egmont declared very briefly that
the Duke of Alva, having read all the papers and evidence in the case,
had found the Count guilty of high treason. It was proved that Egmont had
united with the confederates; that he had been a party to the accursed
conspiracy of the Prince of Orange; that he had taken the rebel nobles
under his protection, and that he had betrayed the Government and the
Holy Catholic Church by his conduct in Flanders. Therefore the Duke
condemned him to be executed by the sword on the following day, and
decreed that his head should be placed on high in a public place, there
to remain until the Duke should otherwise direct. The sentence against
Count Horn was similar in language and purport.

That afternoon the Duke sent for the Bishop of Ypres, The prelate arrived
at dusk. As soon as he presented himself, Alva informed him of the
sentence which had just been pronounced, and ordered him to convey the
intelligence to the prisoners. He further charged him with the duty of
shriving the victims, and preparing their souls for death. The bishop
fell on his knees, aghast at the terrible decree. He implored the
Governor-General to have mercy upon the two unfortunate nobles. If their
lives could not be spared, he prayed him at any rate to grant delay. With
tears and earnest supplications the prelate endeavored to avert or to
postpone the doom which had been pronounced. It was in vain. The
sentence, inflexible as destiny, had been long before ordained. Its
execution had been but hastened by the temporary triumph of rebellion in
Friesland. Alva told the Bishop roughly that he had not been summoned to
give advice. Delay or pardon was alike impossible. He was to act as
confessor to the criminals, not as councillor to the Viceroy. The Bishop,
thus rebuked, withdrew to accomplish his melancholy mission. Meanwhile,
on the same evening, the miserable Countess of Egmont had been appalled
by rumors, too vague for belief, too terrible to be slighted. She was in
the chamber of Countess Aremberg, with whom she had come to condole for
the death of the Count, when the order for the immediate execution of her
own husband was announced to her. She hastened to the presence of the
Governor-General. The Princess Palatine, whose ancestors had been
emperors, remembered only that she was a wife and a mother. She fell at
the feet of the man who controlled the fate of her husband, and implored
his mercy in humble and submissive terms. The Duke, with calm and almost
incredible irony, reassured the Countess by the information that, on the
morrow, her husband was certainly to be released. With this ambiguous
phrase, worthy the paltering oracles of antiquity, the wretched woman was
obliged to withdraw. Too soon afterward the horrible truth of the words
was revealed to her--words of doom, which she had mistaken for
consolation.

An hour before midnight the Bishop of Ypres reached Egmont's prison. The
Count was confined in a chamber on the second story of the Brood-huis,
the mansion of the crossbowmen's guild, in that corner of the building
which rests on a narrow street running back from the great square. He was
aroused from his sleep by the approach of his visitor. Unable to speak,
but indicating by the expression of his features the occurrence of a
great misfortune, the Bishop, soon after his entrance, placed the paper
given to him by Alva in Egmont's hands. The unfortunate noble thus
suddenly received the information that his death-sentence had been
pronounced, and that its execution was fixed for the next morning. He
read the paper through without flinching, and expressed astonishment
rather than dismay at its tidings. Exceedingly sanguine by nature, he had
never believed, even after his nine months' imprisonment, in a fatal
termination to the difficulties in which he was involved. He was now
startled both at the sudden condemnation which had followed his lingering
trial, and at the speed with which his death was to fulfil the sentence.
He asked the Bishop, with many expressions of amazement, whether pardon
was impossible; whether delay at least might not be obtained? The prelate
answered by a faithful narrative of the conversation which had just
occurred between Alva and himself. Egmont, thus convinced of his
inevitable doom, then observed to his companion, with exquisite courtesy,
that, since he was to die, he rendered thanks both to God and to the Duke
that his last moments were to be consoled by so excellent a father
confessor.

Afterwards, with a natural burst of indignation, he exclaimed that it was
indeed a cruel and unjust sentence. He protested that he had never in his
whole life wronged his Majesty; certainly never so deeply as to deserve
such a punishment. All that he had done had been with loyal intentions.
The King's true interest had been his constant aim. Nevertheless, if he
had fallen into error, he prayed to God that his death might wipe away
his misdeeds, and that his name might not be dishonored, nor his children
brought to shame. His beloved wife and innocent children were to endure
misery enough by his death and the confiscation of his estates. It was at
least due to his long services that they should be spared further
suffering. He then asked his father confessor what advice he had to give
touching his present conduct. The Bishop replied by an exhortation, that
he should turn himself to God; that he should withdraw his thoughts
entirely from all earthly interests, and prepare himself for the world
beyond the grave. He accepted the advice, and kneeling before the Bishop,
confessed himself. He then asked to receive the sacrament, which the
Bishop administered, after the customary mass. Egmont asked what prayer
would be most appropriate at the hour of execution. His confessor replied
that there was none more befitting than the one which Jesus had taught
his disciples--Our Father, which art in heaven.

Some conversation ensued, in which the Count again expressed his
gratitude that his parting soul had been soothed by these pious and
friendly offices. By a revulsion of feeling, he then bewailed again the
sad fate of his wife and of his young children. The Bishop entreated him
anew to withdraw his mind from such harrowing reflections, and to give
himself entirely to God. Overwhelmed with grief, Egmont exclaimed with
natural and simple pathos--"Alas! how miserable and frail is our nature,
that, when we should think of God only, we are unable to shut out the
images of wife and children."

Recovering from his emotion, and having yet much time, he sat down and
wrote with perfect self-possession two letters, one to Philip and one to
Alva. The celebrated letter to the King was as follows:

   "SIRE,--I have learned, this evening, the sentence which your
   Majesty has been pleased to pronounce upon me. Although I have
   never had a thought, and believe myself never to have done a deed,
   which could tend to the prejudice of your Majesty's person or
   service, or to the detriment of our true ancient and Catholic
   religion, nevertheless I take patience to bear that which it has
   pleased the good God to send. If, during these troubles in the
   Netherlands, I have done or permitted aught which had a different
   appearance, it has been with the true and good intent to serve God
   and your Majesty, and the necessity of the times. Therefore, I pray
   your Majesty to forgive me, and to have compassion on my poor wife,
   my children, and my servants; having regard to my past services.
   In which hope I now commend myself to the mercy of God.

        "From Brussels,
          "Ready to die, this 5th June, 1568,
   "Your Majesty's very humble and loyal vassal and servant,
                       "LAMORAL D'EGMONT."

Having thus kissed the murderous hand which smote him, he handed the
letter, stamped rather with superfluous loyalty than with Christian
forgiveness, to the Bishop, with a request that he would forward it to
its destination, accompanied by a letter from his own hand. This duty the
Bishop solemnly promised to fulfil.

Facing all the details of his execution with the fortitude which belonged
to his character, he now took counsel with his confessor as to the
language proper for him to hold from the scaffold to the assembled
people. The Bishop, however, strongly dissuaded him from addressing the
multitude at all.

The persons farthest removed, urged the priest, would not hear the words,
while the Spanish troops in the immediate vicinity would not understand
them. It seemed, therefore, the part of wisdom and of dignity for him to
be silent, communing only with his God. The Count assented to this
reasoning, and abandoned his intention of saying a few farewell words to
the people, by many of whom he believed himself tenderly beloved. He now
made many preparations for the morrow, in order that his thoughts, in the
last moments, might not be distracted by mechanical details, cutting the
collar from his doublet and from his shirt with his own hands, in order
that those of the hangman might have no excuse for contaminating his
person. The rest of the night was passed in prayer and meditation.

Fewer circumstances concerning the last night of Count Horn's life have
been preserved. It is, however, well ascertained that the Admiral
received the sudden news of his condemnation with absolute composure. He
was assisted at his devotional exercises in prison by the curate of La
Chapelle.

During the night, the necessary preparations for the morning tragedy had
been made in the great square of Brussels. It was the intention of
government to strike terror to the heart of the people by the exhibition
of an impressive and appalling spectacle. The absolute and irresponsible
destiny which ruled them was to be made manifest by the immolation of
these two men, so elevated by rank, powerful connexion, and distinguished
service.

The effect would be heightened by the character of the, locality where
the gloomy show was to be presented. The great square of Brussels had
always a striking and theatrical aspect. Its architectural effects,
suggesting in some degree the meretricious union between Oriental and a
corrupt Grecian art, accomplished in the medieval midnight, have amazed
the eyes of many generations. The splendid Hotel de Ville, with its
daring spire and elaborate front, ornamented one side of the place;
directly opposite was the graceful but incoherent facade of the
Brood-huis, now the last earthly resting-place of the two distinguished
victims, while grouped around these principal buildings rose the
fantastic palaces of the Archers, Mariners, and of other guilds, with
their festooned walls and toppling gables bedizened profusely with
emblems, statues, and quaint decorations. The place had been alike the
scene of many a brilliant tournament and of many a bloody execution.
Gallant knights had contended within its precincts, while bright eyes
rained influence from all those picturesque balconies and decorated
windows. Martyrs to religious and to political liberty had, upon the same
spot, endured agonies which might have roused every stone of its pavement
to mutiny or softened them to pity. Here Egmont himself, in happier days,
had often borne away the prize of skill or of valor, the cynosure of
every eye; and hence, almost in the noon of a life illustrated by many
brilliant actions, he was to be sent, by the hand of tyranny, to his
great account.

On the morning of the 5th of June, three thousand Spanish troops were
drawn up in battle array around a scaffold which had been erected in the
centre of the square. Upon this scaffold, which was covered with black
cloth, were placed two velvet cushions, two iron spikes, and a small
table. Upon the table was a silver crucifix. The provost-marshal, Spelle,
sat on horseback below, with his red wand in his hand, little dreaming
that for him a darker doom was reserved than that of which he was now the
minister. The executioner was concealed beneath the draperies of the
scaffold.

At eleven o'clock, a company of Spanish soldiers, led by Julian Romero
and Captain Salinas, arrived at Egmont's chamber. The Count was ready for
them. They were about to bind his hands, but he warmly protested against
the indignity, and, opening the folds of his robe, showed them that he
had himself shorn off his collars, and made preparations for his death.
His request was granted. Egmont, with the Bishop at his side, then walked
with a steady step the short distance which separated him from the place
of execution. Julian Romero and the guard followed him. On his way, he
read aloud the fifty-first Psalm: "Hear my cry, O God, and give ear unto
my prayer!" He seemed to have selected these scriptural passages as a
proof that, notwithstanding the machinations of his enemies, and the
cruel punishment to which they had led him, loyalty to his sovereign was
as deeply rooted and as religious a sentiment in his bosom as devotion to
his God. "Thou wilt prolong the King's life; and his years as many
generations. He shall abide before God for ever! O prepare mercy and
truth which may preserve him." Such was the remarkable prayer of the
condemned traitor on his way to the block.

Having ascended the scaffold, he walked across it twice or thrice. He was
dressed in a tabard or robe of red damask, over which was thrown a short
black mantle, embroidered in gold. He had a black silk hat, with black
and white plumes, on his head, and held a handkerchief in his hand. As he
strode to and fro, he expressed a bitter regret that he had not been
permitted to die, sword in hand, fighting for his country and his king.
Sanguine to the last, he passionately asked Romero, whether the sentence
was really irrevocable, whether a pardon was not even then to be granted.
The marshal shrugged his shoulders, murmuring a negative reply. Upon
this, Egmont gnashed his teeth together, rather in rage than despair.
Shortly afterward commanding himself again, he threw aside his robe and
mantle, and took the badge of the Golden Fleece from his neck. Kneeling,
then, upon one of the cushions, he said the Lord's Prayer aloud, and
requested the Bishop, who knelt at his side, to repeat it thrice. After
this, the prelate gave him the silver crucifix to kiss, and then
pronounced his blessing upon him. This done, the Count rose again to his
feet, laid aside his hat and handkerchief, knelt again upon the cushion,
drew a little cap over his eyes, and, folding his hands together, cried
with a loud voice, "Lord, into Thy hands I commit my spirit." The
executioner then suddenly appeared, and severed his head from his
shoulders at a single blow.

A moment of shuddering silence succeeded the stroke. The whole vast
assembly seemed to have felt it in their own hearts. Tears fell from the
eyes even of the Spanish soldiery, for they knew and honored Egmont as a
valiant general. The French embassador, Mondoucet, looking upon the scene
from a secret place, whispered that he had now seen the head fall before
which France had twice trembled. Tears were even seen upon the iron cheek
of Alva, as, from a window in a house directly opposite the scaffold, he
looked out upon the scene.

A dark cloth was now quickly thrown over the body and the blood, and,
within a few minutes, the Admiral was seen advancing through the crowd.
His bald head was uncovered, his hands were unbound. He calmly saluted
such of his acquaintances as he chanced to recognize upon his path. Under
a black cloak, which he threw off when he had ascended the scaffold, he
wore a plain, dark doublet, and he did not, like Egmont, wear the
insignia of the Fleece. Casting his eyes upon the corpse, which lay
covered with the dark cloth, he asked if it were the body of Egmont.
Being answered in the affirmative, he muttered a few words in Spanish,
which were not distinctly audible. His attention was next caught by the
sight of his own coat of arms reversed, and he expressed anger at this
indignity to his escutcheon, protesting that he had not deserved the
insult. He then spoke a few words to the crowd below, wishing them
happiness, and begging them to pray for his soul. He did not kiss the
crucifix, but he knelt upon the scaffold to pray, and was assisted in his
devotions by the Bishop of Ypres. When they were concluded, he rose again
to his feet. Then drawing a Milan cap completely over his face, and
uttering, in Latin, the same invocation which Egmont had used, he
submitted his neck to the stroke.

Egmont had obtained, as a last favor, that his execution should precede
that of his friend. Deeming himself in part to blame for Horn's
reappearance in Brussels after the arrival of Alva, and for his, death,
which was the result, he wished to be spared the pang of seeing him dead.
Gemma Frisius, the astrologer who had cast the horoscope of Count Horn at
his birth, had come to him in the most solemn manner to warn him against
visiting Brussels. The Count had answered stoutly that he placed his
trust in God, and that, moreover, his friend Egmont was going thither
also, who had engaged that no worse fate should befal the one of them
than the other.

The heads of both sufferers were now exposed for two hours upon the iron
stakes. Their bodies, placed in coffins, remained during the same
interval upon the scaffold. Meantime, notwithstanding the presence of the
troops, the populace could not be restrained from tears and from
execrations. Many crowded about the scaffold, and dipped their
handkerchiefs in the blood, to be preserved afterwards as memorials of
the crime and as ensigns of revenge.

The bodies were afterwards delivered to their friends. A stately
procession of the guilds, accompanied by many of the clergy, conveyed
their coffins to the church of Saint Gudule. Thence the body of Egmont
was carried to the convent of Saint Clara, near the old Brussels gate,
where it was embalmed. His escutcheon and banners were hung upon the
outward wall of his residence, by order of the Countess. By command of
Alva they were immediately torn down. His remains were afterwards
conveyed to his city of Sottegem, in Flanders, where they were interred.
Count Horn was entombed at Kempen. The bodies had been removed from the
scaffold at two o'clock. The heads remained exposed between burning
torches for two hours longer. They were then taken down, enclosed in
boxes, and, as it was generally supposed, despatched to Madrid. The King
was thus enabled to look upon the dead faces of his victims without the
trouble of a journey to the provinces.

Thus died Philip Montmorency, Count of Horn, and Lamoral of Egmont,
Prince of Gaveren. The more intense sympathy which seemed to attach
itself to the fate of Egmont, rendered the misfortune of his companion in
arms and in death comparatively less interesting.

Egmont is a great historical figure, but he was certainly not a great
man. His execution remains an enduring monument not only of Philip's
cruelty and perfidy but of his dullness. The King had everything to hope
from Egmont and nothing to fear. Granvelle knew the man well, and, almost
to the last, could not believe in the possibility of so unparalleled a
blunder as that which was to make a victim, a martyr, and a popular idol
of a personage brave indeed, but incredibly vacillating and inordinately
vain, who, by a little management, might have been converted into a most
useful instrument for the royal purposes.

It is not necessary to recapitulate the events of Egmont's career. Step
by step we have studied his course, and at no single period have we
discovered even a germ of those elements which make the national
champion. His pride of order rendered him furious at the insolence of
Granvelle, and caused him to chafe under his dominion. His vanity of high
rank and of distinguished military service made him covet the highest
place under the Crown, while his hatred of those by whom he considered
himself defrauded of his claims, converted him into a malcontent. He had
no sympathy with the people, but he loved, as a grand Seignior, to be
looked up to and admired by a gaping crowd. He was an unwavering
Catholic, held sectaries in utter loathing, and, after the
image-breaking, took a positive pleasure in hanging ministers, together
with their congregations, and in pressing the besieged Christians of
Valenciennes to extremities. Upon more than one occasion he pronounced
his unequivocal approval of the infamous edicts, and he exerted himself
at times to enforce them within his province. The transitory impression
made upon his mind by the lofty nature of Orange was easily effaced in
Spain by court flattery and by royal bribes. Notwithstanding the
coldness, the rebuffs, and the repeated warnings which might have saved
him from destruction, nothing could turn him at last from the fanatic
loyalty towards which, after much wavering, his mind irrevocably pointed.
His voluntary humiliation as a general, a grandee, a Fleming, and a
Christian before the insolent Alva upon his first arrival, would move our
contempt were it not for the gentler emotions suggested by the infatuated
nobleman's doom. Upon the departure of Orange, Egmont was only too eager
to be employed by Philip in any work which the monarch could find for him
to do. Yet this was the man whom Philip chose, through the executioner's
sword, to convert into a popular idol, and whom Poetry has loved to
contemplate as a romantic champion of freedom.

As for Horn, details enough have likewise been given of his career to
enable the reader thoroughly to understand the man. He was a person of
mediocre abilities and thoroughly commonplace character. His high rank
and his tragic fate are all which make him interesting. He had little
love for court or people. Broken in fortunes, he passed his time mainly
in brooding over the ingratitude of Charles and Philip, and in
complaining bitterly of the disappointments to which their policy had
doomed him. He cared nothing for Cardinalists or confederates. He
disliked Brederode, he detested Granvelle. Gloomy and morose, he went to
bed, while the men who were called his fellow-conspirators were dining
and making merry in the same house with himself: He had as little
sympathy with the cry of "Vivent les gueux" as for that of "Vive le Roy."
The most interesting features in his character are his generosity toward
his absent brother and the manliness with which, as Montigny's
representative at Tournay, he chose rather to confront the anger of the
government, and to incur the deadly revenge of Philip, than make himself
the executioner of the harmless Christians in Tournay. In this regard,
his conduct is vastly more entitled to our respect than that of Egmont,
and he was certainly more deserving of reverence from the people, even
though deserted by all men while living, and left headless and solitary
in his coffin at Saint Gudule.

The hatred for Alva, which sprang from the graves of these illustrious
victims, waxed daily more intense. "Like things of another world," wrote
Hoogstraaten, "seem the cries, lamentations, and just compassion which
all the inhabitants of Brussels, noble or ignoble, feel for such
barbarous tyranny, while this Nero of an Alva is boasting that he will do
the same to all whom he lays his hands upon." No man believed that the
two nobles had committed a crime, and many were even disposed to acquit
Philip of his share in the judicial murder. The people ascribed the
execution solely to the personal jealousy of the Duke. They discoursed to
each other not only of the envy with which the Governor-general had
always regarded the military triumphs of his rival, but related that
Egmont had at different times won large sums of Alva at games of hazard,
and that he had moreover, on several occasions, carried off the prize
from the Duke in shooting at the popinjay. Nevertheless, in spite of all
these absurd rumors, there is no doubt that Philip and Alva must share
equally in the guilt of the transaction, and that the "chastisement" had
been arranged before Alva had departed from Spain.

The Countess Egmont remained at the convent of Cambre with her eleven
children, plunged in misery and in poverty. The Duke wrote to Philip,
that he doubted if there were so wretched a family in the world. He, at
the same time, congratulated his sovereign on the certainty that the more
intense the effects, the more fruitful would be the example of this great
execution. He stated that the Countess was considered a most saintly
woman, and that there had been scarcely a night in which, attended by her
daughters, she had not gone forth bare-footed to offer up prayers for her
husband in every church within the city. He added, that it was doubtful
whether they had money enough to buy themselves a supper that very night,
and he begged the King to allow them the means of supporting life. He
advised that the Countess should be placed, without delay in a Spanish
convent, where her daughters might at once take the veil, assuring his
Majesty that her dower was entirely inadequate to her support. Thus
humanely recommending his sovereign to bestow an alms on the family which
his own hand had reduced from a princely station to beggary, the Viceroy
proceeded to detail the recent events in Friesland, together with the
measures which he was about taking to avenge the defeat and death of
Count Aremberg.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 16.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855



1568 [CHAPTER III.]

   Preparations of the Duke against Count Louis--Precarious situation
   of Louis in Friesland--Timidity of the inhabitants--Alva in
   Friesland--Skirmishing near Groningen--Retreat of the patriots--
   Error committed by Louis--His position at Jemmingen--Mutinous
   demonstrations of his troops--Louis partially restores order--
   Attempt to destroy the dykes interrupted by the arrival of Alva's
   forces--Artful strategy of the Duke--Defeat of Count Louis and utter
   destruction of his army--Outrages committed by the Spaniards--Alva
   at Utrecht--Execution of Vrow van Diemen--Episode of Don Carlos--
   Fables concerning him and Queen Isabella--Mystery, concerning his
   death--Secret letters of Philip to the Pope--The one containing the
   truth of the transaction still concealed in the Vatican--Case
   against Philip as related by Mathieu, De Thou, and others--Testimony
   in the King's favor by the nuncio, the Venetian envoy, and others--
   Doubtful state of the question--Anecdotes concerning Don Carlos--His
   character.

Those measures were taken with the precision and promptness which marked
the Duke's character, when precision and promptness were desirable. There
had been a terrible energy in his every step, since the successful foray
of Louis Nassau. Having determined to take the field in person with
nearly all the Spanish veterans, he had at once acted upon the necessity
of making the capital secure, after his back should be turned. It was
impossible to leave three thousand choice troops to guard Count Egmont. A
less number seemed insufficient to prevent a rescue. He had, therefore,
no longer delayed the chastisement which had already been determined, but
which the events in the north had precipitated. Thus the only positive
result of Louis Nassau's victory was the execution of his imprisoned
friends.

The expedition under Aremberg had failed from two causes. The Spanish
force had been inadequate, and they had attacked the enemy at a
disadvantage. The imprudent attack was the result of the contempt with
which they had regarded their antagonist. These errors were not to be
repeated. Alva ordered Count Meghem, now commanding in the province of
Groningen, on no account to hazard hostilities until the game was sure.
He also immediately ordered large reinforcements to move forward to the
seat of war. The commanders intrusted with this duty were Duke Eric of
Brunswick, Chiappin Vitelli, Noircarmes, and Count de Roeulx. The
rendezvous for the whole force was Deventer, and here they all arrived on
the 10th July. On the same day the Duke of Alva himself entered Deventer,
to take command in person. On the evening of the 14th July he reached
Rolden, a village three leagues distant from Groningen, at the head of
three terzios of Spanish infantry, three companies of light horse, and a
troop of dragoons. His whole force in and about Groningen amounted to
fifteen thousand choice troops besides a large but uncertain number of
less disciplined soldiery.

Meantime, Louis of Nassau, since his victory, had accomplished nothing.
For this inactivity there was one sufficient excuse, the total want of
funds. His only revenue was the amount of black mail which he was able to
levy upon the inhabitants of the province. He repeated his determination
to treat them all as enemies, unless they furnished him with the means of
expelling their tyrants from the country. He obtained small sums in this
manner from time to time. The inhabitants were favorably disposed, but
they were timid and despairing. They saw no clear way towards the
accomplishment of the result concerning which Louis was so confident.
They knew that the terrible Alva was already on his way. They felt sure
of being pillaged by both parties, and of being hanged as rebels,
besides, as soon as the Governor-general should make his appearance.

Louis had, however, issued two formal proclamations for two especial
contributions. In these documents he had succinctly explained that the
houses of all recusants should be forthwith burned about their ears, and
in consequence of these peremptory measures, he had obtained some ten
thousand florins. Alva ordered counter-proclamations to be affixed to
church doors and other places, forbidding all persons to contribute to
these forced loans of the rebels, on penalty of paying twice as much to
the Spaniards, with arbitrary punishment in addition, after his arrival.
The miserable inhabitants, thus placed between two fires, had nothing for
it but to pay one-half of their property to support the rebellion in the
first place, with the prospect of giving the other half as a subsidy to
tyranny afterwards; while the gibbet stood at the end of the vista to
reward their liberality. Such was the horrible position of the peasantry
in this civil conflict. The weight of guilt thus accumulated upon the
crowned head which conceived, and upon the red right hand which wrought
all this misery, what human scales can measure?

With these precarious means of support, the army of Louis of Nassau, as
may easily be supposed, was anything but docile. After the victory of
Heiliger Lee there had seemed to his German mercenaries a probability of
extensive booty, which grew fainter as the slender fruit of that battle
became daily more apparent. The two abbots of Wittewerum and of Heiliger
Lee, who had followed Aremberg's train in order to be witnesses of his
victory, had been obliged to pay to the actual conqueror a heavy price
for the entertainment to which they had invited themselves, and these
sums, together with the amounts pressed from the reluctant estates, and
the forced contributions paid by luckless peasants, enabled him to keep
his straggling troops together a few weeks longer. Mutiny, however, was
constantly breaking out, and by the eloquent expostulations and vague
promises of the Count, was with difficulty suppressed.

He had, for a few weeks immediately succeeding the battle, distributed
his troops in three different stations. On the approach of the Duke,
however, he hastily concentrated his whole force at his own strongly
fortified camp, within half cannon shot of Groningen. His army, such as
it was, numbered from 10,000 to 12,000 men. Alva reached Groningen early
in the morning, and without pausing a moment, marched his troops directly
through the city. He then immediately occupied an entrenched and
fortified house, from which it was easy to inflict damage upon the camp.
This done, the Duke, with a few attendants, rode forward to reconnoitre
the enemy in person. He found him in a well fortified position, having
the river on his front, which served as a moat to his camp, and with a
deep trench three hundred yards beyond, in addition. Two wooden bridges
led across the river; each was commanded by a fortified house, in which
was a provision of pine torches, ready at a moment's warning, to set fire
to the bridges. Having thus satisfied himself, the Duke rode back to his
army, which had received strict orders not to lift a finger till his
return. He then despatched a small force of five hundred musketeers,
under Robles, to skirmish with the enemy, and, if possible, to draw them
from their trenches.

The troops of Louis, however, showed no greediness to engage. On the
contrary, it soon became evident that their dispositions were of an
opposite tendency. The Count himself, not at that moment trusting his
soldiery, who were in an extremely mutinous condition, was desirous of
falling back before his formidable antagonist. The Duke, faithful,
however, to his life-long principles, had no intentions of precipitating
the action in those difficult and swampy regions. The skirmishing,
therefore, continued for many hours, an additional force of 1000 men
being detailed from the Spanish army. The day was very sultry, however,
the enemy reluctant, and the whole action languid. At last, towards
evening, a large body, tempted beyond their trenches, engaged warmly with
the Spaniards. The combat lasted but a few minutes, the patriots were
soon routed, and fled precipitately back to their camp. The panic spread
with them, and the whole army was soon in retreat. On retiring, they had,
however, set fire to the bridges, and thus secured an advantage at the
outset of the chase. The Spaniards were no longer to be held. Vitelli
obtained permission to follow with 2000 additional troops. The fifteen
hundred who had already been engaged, charged furiously upon their
retreating foes. Some dashed across the blazing bridges, with their
garments and their very beards on fire. Others sprang into the river.
Neither fire nor water could check the fierce pursuit. The cavalry
dismounting, drove their horses into the stream, and clinging to their
tails, pricked the horses forward with their lances. Having thus been
dragged across, they joined their comrades in the mad chase along the
narrow dykes, and through the swampy and almost impassable country where
the rebels were seeking shelter. The approach of night, too soon
advancing, at last put an end to the hunt. The Duke with difficulty
recalled his men, and compelled them to restrain their eagerness until
the morrow. Three hundred of the patriots were left dead upon the field,
besides at least an equal number who perished in the river and canals.
The army of Louis was entirely routed, and the Duke considered it
virtually destroyed. He wrote to the state council that he should pursue
them the next day, but doubted whether he should find anybody to talk
with him. In this the Governor-general soon found himself delightfully
disappointed.

Five days later, the Duke arrived at Reyden, on the Ems. Owing to the
unfavorable disposition of the country people, who were willing to
protect the fugitives by false information to their pursuers, he was
still in doubt as to the position then occupied by the enemy. He had been
fearful that they would be found at this very village of Reyden. It was a
fatal error on the part of Count Louis that they were not. Had he made a
stand at this point, he might have held out a long time. The bridge which
here crossed the river would have afforded him a retreat into Germany at
any moment, and the place was easily to be defended in front. Thus he
might have maintained himself against his fierce but wary foe, while his
brother Orange, who was at Strasburg watching the progress of events, was
executing his own long-planned expedition into the heart of the
Netherlands. With Alva thus occupied in Friesland, the results of such an
invasion might have been prodigious. It was, however, not on the cards
for that campaign. The mutinous disposition of the mercenaries under his
command had filled Louis with doubt and disgust. Bold and sanguine, but
always too fiery and impatient, he saw not much possibility of paying his
troops any longer with promises. Perhaps he was not unwilling to place
them in a position where they would be obliged to fight or to perish. At
any rate, such was their present situation. Instead of halting at Reyden,
he had made his stand at Jemmingen, about four leagues distant from that
place, and a little further down the river. Alva discovered this
important fact soon after his arrival at Reyden, and could not conceal
his delight. Already exulting at the error made by his adversary, in
neglecting the important position which he now occupied himself, he was
doubly delighted at learning the nature of the place which he had in
preference selected. He saw that Louis had completely entrapped himself.

Jemmingen was a small town on the left bank of the Ems. The stream here
very broad and deep, is rather a tide inlet than a river, being but a
very few miles from the Dollart. This circular bay, or ocean chasm, the
result of the violent inundation of the 13th century, surrounds, with the
river, a narrow peninsula. In the corner of this peninsula, as in the
bottom of a sack, Louis had posted his army. His infantry, as usual, was
drawn up in two large squares, and still contained ten thousand men. The
rear rested upon the village, the river was upon his left; his meagre
force of cavalry upon the right. In front were two very deep trenches.
The narrow road, which formed the only entrance to his camp, was guarded
by a ravelin on each side, and by five pieces of artillery.

The Duke having reconnoitred the enemy in person, rode back, satisfied
that no escape was possible. The river was too deep and too wide for
swimming or wading, and there were but very few boats. Louis was shut up
between twelve thousand Spanish veterans and the river Ems. The rebel
army, although not insufficient in point of numbers, was in a state of
disorganization. They were furious for money and reluctant to fight. They
broke out into open mutiny upon the very verge of battle, and swore that
they would instantly disband, if the gold, which, as they believed, had
been recently brought into the camp, were not immediately distributed
among them. Such was the state of things on the eventful morning of the
21st July. All the expostulations of Count Louis seemed powerless. His
eloquence and his patience, both inferior to his valor, were soon
exhausted. He peremptorily, refused the money for which they clamored,
giving the most cogent of all reasons, an empty coffer. He demonstrated
plainly that they were in that moment to make their election, whether to
win a victory or to submit to a massacre. Neither flight nor surrender
was possible. They knew how much quarter they could expect from the
lances of the Spaniards or the waters of the Dollart. Their only chance
of salvation lay in their own swords. The instinct of self-preservation,
thus invoked, exerted a little of its natural effect.

Meantime, a work which had been too long neglected, was then, if
possible, to be performed. In that watery territory, the sea was only
held in check by artificial means. In a very short time, by the
demolition of a few dykes and the opening of a few sluices, the whole
country through which the Spaniards had to pass could be laid under
water. Believing it yet possible to enlist the ocean in his defence,
Louis, having partially reduced his soldiers to obedience, ordered a
strong detachment upon this important service. Seizing a spade, he
commenced the work himself, and then returned to set his army in battle
array. Two or three tide gates had been opened, two or three bridges had
been demolished, when Alva, riding in advance of his army, appeared
within a mile or two of Jemmingen. It was then eight o'clock in the
morning. The patriots redoubled their efforts. By ten o'clock the waters
were already knee high, and in some places as deep as to the waist. At
that hour, the advanced guard of the Spaniards arrived. Fifteen hundred
musketeers were immediately ordered forward by the Duke. They were
preceded by a company of mounted carabineers, attended by a small band of
volunteers of distinction. This little band threw themselves at once upon
the troops engaged in destroying the dykes. The rebels fled at the first
onset, and the Spaniards closed the gates. Feeling the full importance of
the moment, Count Louis ordered a large force of musketeers to recover
the position, and to complete the work of inundation. It was too late.
The little band of Spaniards held the post with consummate tenacity.
Charge after charge, volley after volley, from the overwhelming force
brought against them, failed to loosen the fierce grip with which they
held this key to the whole situation. Before they could be driven from
the dykes, their comrades arrived, when all their antagonists at once
made a hurried retreat to their camp.

Very much the same tactics were now employed by the Duke, as in the
engagement near Selwaert Abbey. He was resolved that this affair, also,
should be a hunt, not a battle; but foresaw that it was to be a more
successful one. There was no loophole of escape, so that after a little
successful baiting, the imprisoned victims would be forced to spring from
their lurking-place, to perish upon his spears. On his march from Reyden
that morning, he had taken care to occupy every farm-house, every
building of whatever description along the road, with his troops. He had
left a strong guard on the bridge at Reyden, and had thus closed
carefully every avenue. The same fifteen hundred musketeers were now
advanced further towards the camp. This small force, powerfully but
secretly sustained, was to feel the enemy; to skirmish with him, and to
draw him as soon as possible out of his trenches. The plan succeeded.
Gradually the engagements between them and the troops sent out by Count
Louis grew more earnest. Finding so insignificant a force opposed to
them, the mutinous rebels took courage. The work waged hot. Lodrono and
Romero, commanders of the musketeers, becoming alarmed, sent to the Duke
for reinforcements. He sent back word in reply, that if they were not
enough to damage the enemy, they could, at least, hold their own for the
present. So much he had a right to expect of Spanish soldiers. At any
rate, he should send no reinforcements.

Again they were more warmly pressed; again their messenger returned with
the same reply. A third time they send the most urgent entreaties for
succour. The Duke was still inexorable.

Meantime the result of this scientific angling approached. By noon the
rebels, not being able to see how large a portion of the Spanish army had
arrived, began to think the affair not so serious. Count Louis sent out a
reconnoitring party upon the river in a few boats. They returned without
having been able to discover any large force. It seemed probable,
therefore, that the inundation had been more successful in stopping their
advance than had been supposed. Louis, always too rash, inflamed his men
with temporary enthusiasm. Determined to cut their way out by one
vigorous movement, the whole army at last marched forth from their
entrenchments, with drums beating, colors flying; but already the
concealed reinforcements of their enemies were on the spot. The patriots
met with a warmer reception than they had expected. Their courage
evaporated. Hardly had they advanced three hundred yards, when the whole
body wavered and then retreated precipitately towards the encampment,
having scarcely exchanged a shot with the enemy. Count Louis, in a frenzy
of rage and despair, flew from rank to rank, in vain endeavouring to
rally his terror-stricken troops. It was hopeless. The battery which
guarded the road was entirely deserted. He rushed to the cannon himself,
and fired them all with his own hand. It was their first and last
discharge. His single arm, however bold, could not turn the tide of
battle, and he was swept backwards with his coward troops. In a moment
afterwards, Don Lope de Figueroa, who led the van of the Spaniards,
dashed upon the battery, and secured it, together with the ravelins.
Their own artillery was turned against the rebels, and the road was soon
swept. The Spaniards in large numbers now rushed through the trenches in
pursuit of the retreating foe. No resistance was offered, nor quarter
given. An impossible escape was all which was attempted. It was not a
battle, but a massacre. Many of the beggars in their flight threw down
their arms; all had forgotten their use. Their antagonists butchered them
in droves, while those who escaped the sword were hurled into the river.
Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels.

   [Letter of Alva to the Council of State. Correspondanee du Duc
   d'Albe, 158. The same letter is published in Igor, iv. 245, 246.
   All writers allow seven thousand to have been killed on the patriot
   side, and--the number of Spaniards slain is not estimated at more
   than eighty, even by the patriotic Meteren, 55. Compare Bor, iv.
   245-246; Herrera, av. 696; Hoofd, v, 176, and Mendoza, 72.]

The swift ebb-tide swept the hats of the perishing wretches in such
numbers down the stream, that the people at Embden knew the result of the
battle in an incredibly short period of time. The skirmishing had lasted
from ten o'clock till one, but the butchery continued much longer. It
took time to slaughter even unresisting victims. Large numbers obtained
refuge for the night upon an island in the river. At low water next day
the Spaniards waded to them, and slew every man. Many found concealment
in hovels, swamps, and thickets, so that the whole of the following day
was occupied in ferreting out and despatching them. There was so much to
be done, that there was work enough for all. "Not a soldier," says, with
great simplicity, a Spanish historian who fought in the battle, "not a
soldier, nor even a lad, who wished to share in the victory, but could
find somebody to wound, to kill, to burn, or to drown." The wounding,
killing, burning, drowning lasted two days, and very few escaped. The
landward pursuit extended for three or four leagues around, so that the
roads and pastures were covered with bodies, with corslets, and other
weapons. Count Louis himself stripped off his clothes, and made his
escape, when all was over, by swimming across the Ems. With the paltry
remnant of his troops he again took refuge in Germany.

The Spanish army, two days afterwards, marched back to Groningen. The
page which records their victorious campaign is foul with outrage and red
with blood. None of the horrors which accompany the passage of hostile
troops through a defenceless country were omitted. Maids and matrons were
ravished in multitudes; old men butchered in cold blood. As Alva
returned, with the rear-guard of his army, the whole sky was red with a
constant conflagration; the very earth seemed changed to ashes. Every
peasant's hovel, every farm-house, every village upon the road had been
burned to the ground. So gross and so extensive had been the outrage,
that the commander-in-chief felt it due to his dignity to hang some of
his own soldiers who had most distinguished themselves in this work. Thus
ended the campaign of Count Louis in Friesland. Thus signally and
terribly had the Duke of Alva vindicated the supremacy of Spanish
discipline and of his own military skill.

On his return to Groningen, the estates were summoned, and received a
severe lecture for their suspicious demeanour in regard to the rebellion.
In order more effectually to control both province and city, the
Governor-general ordered the construction of a strong fortress, which was
soon begun but never completed. Having thus furnished himself with a key
to this important and doubtful region, he returned by way of Amsterdam to
Utrecht. There he was met by his son Frederic with strong reinforcements.
The Duke reviewed his whole army, and found himself at the head of 30,000
infantry and 7,000 cavalry. Having fully subdued the province, he had no
occupation for such a force, but he improved the opportunity by cutting
off the head of an old woman in Utrecht. The Vrow van Diemen, eighteen
months previously, had given the preacher Arendsoon a night's lodging in
her house. The crime had, in fact, been committed by her son-in-law, who
dwelt under her roof, and who had himself, without her participation,
extended this dangerous hospitality to a heretic; but the old lady,
although a devout Catholic, was rich. Her execution would strike a
wholesome terror into the hearts of her neighbours. The confiscation of
her estates would bring a handsome sum into the government coffers. It
would be made manifest that the same hand which could destroy an army of
twelve thousand rebels at a blow could inflict as signal punishment on
the small delinquencies of obscure individuals. The old lady, who was
past eighty-four years of age, was placed in a chair upon the scaffold.
She met her death with heroism, and treated her murderers with contempt.
"I understand very well," she observed, "why my death is considered
necessary. The calf is fat and must be killed." To the executioner she
expressed a hope that his sword was sufficiently sharp, "as he was likely
to find her old neck very tough." With this grisly parody upon the
pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn, the courageous old gentlewoman
submitted to her fate.

The tragedy of Don Carlos does not strictly belong to our subject, which
is the rise of the Netherland commonwealth--not the decline of the
Spanish monarchy, nor the life of Philip the Second. The thread is but
slender which connects the unhappy young prince with the fortunes of the
northern republic. He was said, no doubt with truth, to desire the
government of Flanders. He was also supposed to be in secret
correspondence with the leaders of the revolt in the provinces. He
appeared, however, to possess very little of their confidence. His name
is only once mentioned by William of Orange, who said in a letter that
"the Prince of Spain had lately eaten sixteen pounds of fruit, including
four pounds of grapes at a single sitting, and had become ill in
consequence." The result was sufficiently natural, but it nowhere appears
that the royal youth, born to consume the fruits of the earth so largely,
had ever given the Netherlanders any other proof of his capacity to
govern them. There is no doubt that he was a most uncomfortable personage
at home, both to himself and to others, and that he hated his father'
very cordially. He was extremely incensed at the nomination of Alva to
the Netherlands, because he had hoped that either the King would go
thither or entrust the mission to him, in either of which events he
should be rid for a time of the paternal authority, or at least of the
paternal presence. It seems to be well ascertained that Carlos nourished
towards his father a hatred which might lead to criminal attempts, but
there is no proof that such attempts were ever made. As to the fabulous
amours of the Prince and the Queen, they had never any existence save in
the imagination of poets, who have chosen to find a source of sentimental
sorrow for the Infante in the arbitrary substitution of his father for
himself in the marriage contract with the daughter of Henry the Second.
As Carlos was but twelve or thirteen years of age when thus deprived of a
bride whom he had never seen, the foundation for a passionate regret was
but slight. It would hardly be a more absurd fantasy, had the poets
chosen to represent Philip's father, the Emperor Charles, repining in his
dotage for the loss of "bloody Mary," whom he had so handsomely ceded to
his son. Philip took a bad old woman to relieve his father; he took a
fair young princess at his son's expense; but similar changes in state
marriages were such matters of course, that no emotions were likely to be
created in consequence. There is no proof whatever, nor any reason to
surmise; that any love passages ever existed between Don Carlos and his
step-mother.

As to the process and the death of the Prince, the mystery has not yet
been removed, and the field is still open to conjecture. It seems a
thankless task to grope in the dark after the truth at a variety of
sources; when the truth really exists in tangible shape if profane hands
could be laid upon it. The secret is buried in the bosom of the Vatican.
Philip wrote two letters on the subject to Pius V. The contents of the
first (21st January, 1568) are known. He informed the pontiff that he had
been obliged to imprison his son, and promised that he would, in the
conduct of the affair, omit nothing which could be expected of a father
and of a just and prudent king. The second letter, in which he narrated,
or is supposed to have narrated, the whole course of the tragic
proceedings, down to the death and burial of the Prince, has never yet
been made public. There are hopes that this secret missive, after three
centuries of darkness, may soon see the light.--[I am assured by Mr.
Gachard that a copy of this important letter is confidently expected by
the Commission Royale d'Histoire.]

As Philip generally told the truth to the Pope, it is probable that the
secret, when once revealed, will contain the veritable solution of the
mystery. Till that moment arrives, it seems idle to attempt fathoming the
matter. Nevertheless, it may be well briefly to state the case as it
stands. As against the King, it rests upon no impregnable, but certainly
upon respectable authority. The Prince of Orange, in his famous Apology,
calls Philip the murderer of his wife and of his son, and says that there
was proof of the facts in France. He alludes to the violent death of
Carlos almost as if it were an indisputable truth. "As for Don Charles,"
he says, "was he not our future sovereign? And if the father could allege
against his son fit cause for death, was it not rather for us to judge
him than for three or four monks or inquisitors of Spain?"

The historian, P. Matthieu, relates that Philip assembled his council of
conscience; that they recommended mercy; that hereupon Philip gave the
matter to the inquisition, by which tribunal Carlos was declared a
heretic on account of his connexion with Protestants, and for his attempt
against his father's life was condemned to death, and that the sentence
was executed by four slaves, two holding the arms, one the feet, while
the fourth strangled him.

De Thou gives the following account of the transaction, having derived
many of his details from the oral communications of Louis de Foix:

Philip imagined that his son was about to escape from Spain, and to make
his way to the Netherlands. The King also believed himself in danger of
assassination from Carlos, his chief evidence being that the Prince
always carried pistols in the pockets of his loose breeches. As Carlos
wished always to be alone at night without any domestic in his chamber,
de Foix had arranged for him a set of pulleys, by means of which he could
open or shut his door without rising from his bed. He always slept with
two pistols and two drawn swords under his pillow, and had two loaded
arquebusses in a wardrobe close at hand. These remarkable precautions
would seem rather to indicate a profound fear of being himself
assassinated; but they were nevertheless supposed to justify Philip's
suspicions, that the Infante was meditating parricide. On Christmas eve,
however (1567), Don Carlos told his confessor that he had determined to
kill a man. The priest, in consequence, refused to admit him to the
communion. The Prince demanded, at least, a wafer which was not
consecrated, in order that he might seem to the people to be
participating in the sacrament. The confessor declined the proposal, and
immediately repairing to the King, narrated the whole story. Philip
exclaimed that he was himself the man whom the Prince intended to kill,
but that measures should be forthwith taken to prevent such a design. The
monarch then consulted the Holy Office of the inquisition, and the
resolution was taken to arrest his son. De Foix was compelled to alter
the pulleys of the door to the Prince's chamber in such a manner that it
could be opened without the usual noise, which was almost sure to awaken
him. At midnight, accordingly, Count Lerma entered the room so stealthily
that the arms were all, removed from the Prince's pillow and the
wardrobe, without awakening the sleeper. Philip, Ruy Gomez, the Duke de
Feria, and two other nobles, then noiselessly, crept into the apartment.
Carlos still slept so profoundly that it was necessary for Derma to shake
him violently by the arm before he could be aroused. Starting from his
sleep in the dead of night, and seeing his father thus accompanied,
before his bed, the Prince cried out that he was a dead man, and
earnestly besought the bystanders to make an end of him at once. Philip
assured him, however, that he was not come to kill him, but to chastise
him paternally, and to recall him to his duty. He then read him a serious
lecture, caused him to rise from his bed, took away his servants, and
placed him under guard. He was made to array himself in mourning
habiliments, and to sleep on a truckle bed. The Prince was in despair. He
soon made various attempts upon his own life. He threw himself into the
fire, but was rescued by his guards, with his clothes all in flames. He
passed several days without taking any food, and then ate so many patties
of minced meat that he nearly died of indigestion. He was also said to
have attempted to choke himself with a diamond, and to have been
prevented by his guard; to have filled his bed with ice; to have sat in
cold draughts; to have gone eleven days without food, the last method
being, as one would think, sufficiently thorough. Philip, therefore,
seeing his son thus desperate, consulted once more with the Holy Office,
and came to the decision that it was better to condemn him legitimately
to death than to permit him to die by his own hand. In order, however, to
save appearances, the order was secretly carried into execution. Don
Carlos was made to swallow poison in a bowl of broth, of which he died in
a few hours. This was at the commencement of his twenty-third year. The
death was concealed for several months, and was not made public till
after Alva's victory at Jemmingen.

Such was the account drawn up by de Thou from the oral communications of
de Foix, and from other sources not indicated. Certainly, such a
narrative is far from being entitled to implicit credence. The historian
was a contemporary, but he was not in Spain, and the engineer's testimony
is, of course, not entitled to much consideration on the subject of the
process and the execution (if there were an execution); although
conclusive as to matters which had been within his personal knowledge.
For the rest, all that it can be said to establish is the existence of
the general rumor, that Carlos came to his death by foul means and in
consequence of advice given by the inquisition.

On the other hand, in all the letters written at the period by persons in
Madrid most likely, from their position, to know the truth, not a
syllable has been found in confirmation of the violent death said to have
been suffered by Carlos. Secretary Erasso, the papal nuncio Castagna, the
Venetian envoy Cavalli, all express a conviction that the death of the
prince had been brought about by his own extravagant conduct and mental
excitement; by alternations of starving and voracious eating, by throwing
himself into the fire; by icing his bed, and by similar acts of
desperation. Nearly every writer alludes to the incident of the refusal
of the priest to admit Carlos to communion, upon the ground of his
confessed deadly hatred to an individual whom all supposed to be the
King. It was also universally believed that Carlos meant to kill his
father. The nuncio asked Spinosa (then president of Castile) if this
report were true. "If nothing more were to be feared," answered the
priest, "the King would protect himself by other measures," but the
matter was worse, if worse could be. The King, however, summoned all the
foreign diplomatic body and assured them that the story was false. After
his arrest, the Prince, according to Castagna, attempted various means of
suicide, abstaining, at last, many days from food, and dying in
consequence, "discoursing, upon his deathbed, gravely and like a man of
sense."

The historian Cabrera, official panegyrist of Philip the Second, speaks
of the death of Carlos as a natural one, but leaves a dark kind of
mystery about the symptoms of his disease. He states, that the Prince was
tried and condemned by a commission or junta, consisting of Spinosa, Ruy
Gomez, and the Licentiate Virviesca, but that he was carried off by an
illness, the nature of which he does not describe.

Llorente found nothing in the records of the Inquisition to prove that
the Holy Office had ever condemned the Prince or instituted any process
against him. He states that he was condemned by a commission, but that he
died of a sickness which supervened. It must be confessed that the
illness was a convenient one, and that such diseases are very apt to
attack individuals whom tyrants are disposed to remove from their path,
while desirous, at the same time, to save appearances. It would certainly
be presumptuous to accept implicitly the narrative of de Thou, which is
literally followed by Hoofd and by many modern writers. On the other
hand, it would be an exaggeration of historical scepticism to absolve
Philip from the murder of his son, solely upon negative testimony. The
people about court did not believe in the crime. They saw no proofs of
it. Of course they saw none. Philip would take good care that there
should be none if he had made up his mind that the death of the Prince
should be considered a natural one. And priori argument, which omits the
character of the suspected culprit, and the extraordinary circumstances
of time and place, is not satisfactory. Philip thoroughly understood the
business of secret midnight murder. We shall soon have occasion to relate
the elaborate and ingenious method by which the assassination of Montigny
was accomplished and kept a profound secret from the whole world, until
the letters of the royal assassin, after three centuries' repose, were
exhumed, and the foul mystery revealed. Philip was capable of any crime.
Moreover, in his letter to his aunt, Queen Catharine of Portugal, he
distinctly declares himself, like Abraham, prepared to go all lengths in
obedience to the Lord. "I have chosen in this matter," he said, "to make
the sacrifice to God of my own flesh and blood, and to prefer His service
and the universal welfare to all other human considerations." Whenever
the letter to Pius V. sees the light, it will appear whether the
sacrifice which the monarch thus made to his God proceeded beyond the
imprisonment and condemnation of his son, or was completed by the actual
immolation of the victim.

With regard to the Prince himself, it is very certain that, if he had
lived, the realms of the Spanish Crown would have numbered one tyrant
more. Carlos from his earliest youth, was remarkable for the ferocity of
his character. The Emperor Charles was highly pleased with him, then
about fourteen years of age, upon their first interview after the
abdication. He flattered himself that the lad had inherited his own
martial genius together with his name. Carlos took much interest in his
grandfather's account of his various battles, but when the flight from
Innspruck was narrated, he repeated many times, with much vehemence, that
he never would have fled; to which position he adhered, notwithstanding
all the arguments of the Emperor, and very much to his amusement. The
young Prince was always fond of soldiers, and listened eagerly to
discourses of war. He was in the habit also of recording the names of any
military persons who, according to custom, frequently made offers of
their services to the heir apparent, and of causing them to take a solemn
oath to keep their engagements. No other indications of warlike talent,
however, have been preserved concerning him. "He was crafty, ambitious,
cruel, violent," says the envoy Suriano, "a hater of buffoons, a lover of
soldiers." His natural cruelty seems to have been remarkable from his
boyhood. After his return from the chase, he was in the habit of cutting
the throats of hares and other animals, and of amusing himself with their
dying convulsions. He also frequently took pleasure in roasting them
alive. He once received a present of a very large snake from some person
who seemed to understand how to please this remarkable young prince.
After a time, however, the favorite reptile allowed itself to bite its
master's finger, whereupon Don Carlos immediately retaliated by biting
off its head.

He was excessively angry at the suggestion that the prince who was
expected to spring from his father's marriage with the English queen,
would one day reign over the Netherlands, and swore he would challenge
him to mortal combat in order to prevent such an infringement of his
rights. His father and grandfather were both highly diverted with this
manifestation of spirit, but it was not decreed that the world should
witness the execution of these fraternal intentions against the babe
which was never to be born.

Ferocity, in short, seems to have been the leading characteristic of the
unhappy Carlos. His preceptor, a man of learning and merit, who was
called "the honorable John", tried to mitigate this excessive ardor of
temperament by a course of Cicero de Officiis, which he read to him
daily. Neither the eloquence of Tully, however, nor the precepts of the
honorable John made the least impression upon this very savage nature. As
he grew older he did not grow wiser nor more gentle. He was prematurely
and grossly licentious. All the money which as a boy, he was allowed, he
spent upon women of low character, and when he was penniless, he gave
them his chains, his medals, even the clothes from his back. He took
pleasure in affronting respectable females when he met them in the
streets, insulting them by the coarsest language and gestures. Being
cruel, cunning, fierce and licentious, he seemed to combine many of the
worst qualities of a lunatic. That he probably was one is the best
defence which can be offered for his conduct. In attempting to offer
violence to a female, while he was at the university of Alcala, he fell
down a stone staircase, from which cause he was laid up for a long time
with a severely wounded head, and was supposed to have injured his brain.

The traits of ferocity recorded of him during his short life are so
numerous that humanity can hardly desire that it should have been
prolonged. A few drops of water having once fallen upon his head from a
window, as he passed through the street, he gave peremptory orders to his
guard to burn the house to the ground, and to put every one of its
inhabitants to the sword. The soldiers went forthwith to execute the
order, but more humane than their master, returned with the excuse that
the Holy Sacrament of the Viaticum had that moment been carried into the
house. This appeal to the superstition of the Prince successfully
suspended the execution of the crimes which his inconceivable malignity
had contemplated. On another occasion, a nobleman, who slept near his
chamber, failed to answer his bell on the instant. Springing upon his
dilatory attendant, as soon as he made his appearance, the Prince seized
him in his arms and was about to throw him from the window, when the
cries of the unfortunate chamberlain attracted attention, and procured a
rescue.

The Cardinal Espinoza had once accidentally detained at his palace an
actor who was to perform a favorite part by express command of Don
Carlos. Furious at this detention, the Prince took the priest by the
throat as soon as he presented himself at the palace, and plucking his
dagger from its sheath, swore, by the soul of his father, that he would
take his life on the spot. The grand inquisitor fell on his knees and
begged for mercy, but it is probable that the entrance of the King alone
saved his life.

There was often something ludicrous mingled with the atrocious in these
ungovernable explosions of wrath. Don Pedro Manuel, his chamberlain, had
once, by his command, ordered a pair of boots to be made for the Prince.
When brought home, they were, unfortunately, too tight. The Prince after
vainly endeavouring to pull them on, fell into a blazing passion. He
swore that it was the fault of Don Pedro, who always wore tight boots
himself, but he at the same time protested that his father was really at
the bottom of the affair. He gave the young nobleman a box on the ear for
thus conspiring with the King against his comfort, and then ordered the
boots to be chopped into little pieces, stewed and seasoned. Then sending
for the culprit shoemaker, he ordered him to eat his own boots, thus
converted into a pottage; and with this punishment the unfortunate
mechanic, who had thought his life forfeited, was sufficiently glad to
comply.

Even the puissant Alva could not escape his violence. Like all the men in
whom his father reposed confidence, the Duke was odious to the heir
apparent. Don Carlos detested him with the whole force of his little
soul. He hated him as only a virtuous person deserved to be hated by such
a ruffian. The heir apparent had taken the Netherlands under his
patronage. He had even formed the design of repairing secretly to the
provinces, and could not, therefore, disguise his wrath at the
appointment of the Duke. It is doubtful whether the country would have
benefited by the gratification of his wishes. It is possible that the
pranks of so malignant an ape might have been even more mischievous than
the concentrated and vigorous tyranny of an Alva. When the new
Captain-general called, before his departure, to pay his respects to the
Infante, the Duke seemed, to his surprise, to have suddenly entered the
den of a wild beast. Don Carlos sprang upon him with a howl of fury,
brandishing a dagger in his hand. He uttered reproaches at having been
defrauded of the Netherland government. He swore that Alva should never
accomplish his mission, nor leave his presence alive. He was proceeding
to make good the threat with his poniard, when the Duke closed with him.
A violent struggle succeeded. Both rolled together on the ground, the
Prince biting and striking like a demoniac, the Duke defending himself as
well as he was able, without attempting his adversary's life. Before the
combat was decided, the approach of many persons put an end to the
disgraceful scene. As decent a veil as possible was thrown over the
transaction, and the Duke departed on his mission. Before the end of the
year, the Prince was in the prison whence he never came forth alive.

The figure of Don Carlos was as misshapen as his mind. His head was
disproportionately large, his limbs were rickety, one shoulder was
higher, one leg longer than the other. With features resembling those of
his father, but with a swarthy instead of a fair complexion, with an
expression of countenance both fierce and foolish, and with a character
such as we have sketched it, upon the evidence of those who knew him
well, it is indeed strange that he should ever have been transformed by
the magic of poetry into a romantic hero. As cruel and cunning as his
father, as mad as his great-grandmother, he has left a name, which not
even his dark and mysterious fate can render interesting.



1568 [CHAPTER IV.]

   Continued and excessive barbarity of the government--Execution of
   Antony van Straalen, of "Red--Rod" Spelle--The Prince of Orange
   advised by his German friends to remain quiet--Heroic sentiments of
   Orange--His religious opinions--His efforts in favor of toleration--
   His fervent piety--His public correspondence with the Emperor--His
   "Justification," his "Warning," and other papers characterized--The
   Prince, with a considerable army, crosses the Rhine--Passage of the
   Meuse at Stochem--He offers battle to Alva--Determination of the
   Duke to avoid an engagement--Comparison of his present situation
   with his previous position in Friesland--Masterly tactics of the
   Duke--Skirmish on the Geta--Defeat of the Orangists--Death of
   Hoogstraaten--Junction with Genlis--Adherence of Alva to his
   original plan--The Prince crosses the frontier of France--
   Correspondence between Charles IX. and Orange--The patriot army
   disbanded at Strasburg--Comments by Granvelle upon the position of
   the Prince--Triumphant attitude of Alva--Festivities at Brussels--
   Colossal statue of Alva erected by himself in Antwerp citadel--
   Intercession of the Emperor with Philip--Memorial of six Electors to
   the Emperor--Mission of the Archduke Charles to Spain--His
   negotiations with Philip--Public and private correspondence between
   the King and Emperor--Duplicity of Maximilian--Abrupt conclusion to
   the intervention--Granvelle's suggestions to Philip concerning the
   treaty of Passau.

The Duke having thus crushed the project of Count Bouts, and quelled the
insurrection in Friesland, returned in triumph to Brussels. Far from
softened by the success of his arms, he renewed with fresh energy the
butchery which, for a brief season, had been suspended during his
brilliant campaign in the north. The altars again smoked with victims;
the hanging, burning, drowning, beheading, seemed destined to be the
perpetual course of his administration, so long as human bodies remained
on which his fanatical vengeance could be wreaked. Four men of eminence
were executed soon after his return to the capital. They had previously
suffered such intense punishment on the rack, that it was necessary to
carry them to the scaffold and bind them upon chairs, that they might be
beheaded. These four sufferers were a Frisian nobleman, named Galena, the
secretaries of Egmont and Horn, Bakkerzeel and La Loo, and the
distinguished burgomaster of Antwerp, Antony Van Straalen. The arrest of
the three last-mentioned individuals, simultaneously with that of the two
Counts, has been related in a previous chapter. In the case of Van
Straalen, the services rendered by him to the provinces during his long
and honorable career, had been so remarkable, that even the
Blood-Council, in sending his case to Alva for his sentence, were
inspired by a humane feeling. They felt so much compunction at the
impending fate of a man who, among other meritorious acts, had furnished
nearly all the funds for the brilliant campaign in Picardy, by which the
opening years of Philip's reign had been illustrated, as to hint at the
propriety of a pardon. But the recommendation to mercy, though it came
from the lips of tigers, dripping with human blood, fell unheeded on the
tyrant's ear. It seemed meet that the man who had supplied the nerves of
war in that unforgiven series of triumphs, should share the fate of the
hero who had won the laurels.

   [Bor, Cappella, Hoofd, ubi sup. The last words of the Burgomaster
   as he bowed his neck to the executioner's stroke were, "Voor wel
   gedaan, kwaclyk beloud,"--"For faithful service, evil recompense."
   --Cappella, 232.]

Hundreds of obscure martyrs now followed in the same path to another
world, where surely they deserved to find their recompense, if steadfast
adherence to their faith, and a tranquil trust in God amid tortures and
death too horrible to be related, had ever found favor above. The
"Red-Rod," as the provost of Brabant was popularly designated, was never
idle. He flew from village to village throughout the province, executing
the bloody behests of his masters with congenial alacrity. Nevertheless
his career was soon destined to close upon the same scaffold where he had
so long officiated. Partly from caprice, partly from an uncompromising
and fantastic sense of justice, his master now hanged the executioner
whose industry had been so untiring. The sentence which was affixed to
his breast, as he suffered, stated that he had been guilty of much
malpractice; that he had executed many persons without a warrant, and had
suffered many guilty persons for a bribe, to escape their doom. The
reader can judge which of the two clauses constituted the most sufficient
reason.

During all these triumphs of Alva, the Prince of Orange had not lost his
self-possession. One after another, each of his bold, skilfully-conceived
and carefully-prepared plans had failed. Villers had been entirely
discomfited at Dalhena, Cocqueville had been cut to pieces in Picardy,
and now the valiant and experienced Louis had met with an entire
overthrow in Friesland. The brief success of the patriots at Heiliger Zee
had been washed out in the blood-torrents of Jemmingen. Tyranny was more
triumphant, the provinces more timidly crouching, than ever. The friends
on whom William of Orange relied in Germany, never enthusiastic in his
cause, although many of them true-hearted and liberal, now grew cold and
anxious. For months long, his most faithful and affectionate allies, such
men as the Elector of Hesse and the Duke of Wirtemberg, as well as the
less trustworthy Augustus of Saxony, had earnestly expressed their
opinion that, under the circumstances, his best course was to sit still
and watch the course of events.

It was known that the Emperor had written an urgent letter to Philip on
the subject of his policy in the Netherlands in general, and concerning
the position of Orange in particular. All persons, from the Emperor down
to the pettiest potentate, seemed now of opinion that the Prince had
better pause; that he was, indeed, bound to wait the issue of that
remonstrance. "Your highness must sit still," said Landgrave William.
"Your highness must sit still," said Augustus of Saxony. "You must move
neither hand nor foot in the cause of the perishing provinces," said the
Emperor. "Not a soldier-horse, foot, or dragoon-shall be levied within
the Empire. If you violate the peace of the realm, and embroil us with
our excellent brother and cousin Philip, it is at your own peril. You
have nothing to do but to keep quiet and await his answer to our letter."
But the Prince knew how much effect his sitting still would produce upon
the cause of liberty and religion. He knew how much effect the Emperor's
letter was like to have upon the heart of Philip. He knew that the more
impenetrable the darkness now gathering over that land of doom which he
had devoted his life to defend, the more urgently was he forbidden to
turn his face away from it in its affliction. He knew that thousands of
human souls, nigh to perishing, were daily turning towards him as their
only hope on earth, and he was resolved, so long as he could dispense a
single ray of light, that his countenance should never be averted. It is
difficult to contemplate his character, at this period, without being
infected with a perhaps dangerous enthusiasm. It is not an easy task
coldly to analyse a nature which contained so much of the
self-sacrificing and the heroic, as well as of the adroit and the subtle;
and it is almost impossible to give utterance to the emotions which
naturally swell the heart at the contemplation of so much active virtue,
without rendering oneself liable to the charge of excessive admiration.
Through the mists of adversity, a human form may dilate into proportions
which are colossal and deceptive. Our judgment may thus, perhaps, be led
captive, but at any rate the sentiment excited is more healthful than
that inspired by the mere shedder of blood, by the merely selfish
conqueror. When the cause of the champion is that of human right against
tyranny, of political ind religious freedom against an all-engrossing and
absolute bigotry, it is still more difficult to restrain veneration
within legitimate bounds. To liberate the souls and bodies of millions,
to maintain for a generous people, who had well-nigh lost their all,
those free institutions which their ancestors had bequeathed, was a noble
task for any man. But here stood a Prince of ancient race, vast
possessions, imperial blood, one of the great ones of the earth, whose
pathway along the beaten track would have been smooth and successful, but
who was ready to pour out his wealth like water, and to coin his heart's
blood, drop by drop, in this virtuous but almost desperate cause. He felt
that of a man to whom so much had been entrusted, much was to be asked.
God had endowed him with an incisive and comprehensive genius,
unfaltering fortitude, and with the rank and fortune which enable a man
to employ his faculties, to the injury or the happiness of his fellows,
on the widest scale. The Prince felt the responsibility, and the world
was to learn the result.

It was about this time that a deep change came over his mind. Hitherto,
although nominally attached to the communion of the ancient Church, his
course of life and habits of mind had not led him to deal very earnestly
with things beyond the world. The severe duties, the grave character of
the cause to which his days were henceforth to be devoted, had already
led him to a closer inspection of the essential attributes of
Christianity. He was now enrolled for life as a soldier of the
Reformation. The Reformation was henceforth his fatherland, the sphere,
of his duty and his affection. The religious Reformers became his
brethren, whether in France, Germany, the Netherlands, or England. Yet
his mind had taken a higher flight than that of the most eminent
Reformers. His goal was not a new doctrine, but religious liberty. In an
age when to think was a crime, and when bigotry and a persecuting spirit
characterized Romanists and Lutherans, Calvinists and Zwinglians, he had
dared to announce freedom of conscience as the great object for which
noble natures should strive. In an age when toleration was a vice, he had
the manhood to cultivate it as a virtue. His parting advice to the
Reformers of the Netherlands, when he left them for a season in the
spring of 1567, was to sink all lesser differences in religious union.
Those of the Augsburg Confession and those of the Calvinistic Church, in
their own opinion as incapable of commingling as oil and water, were, in
his judgment, capable of friendly amalgamation. He appealed eloquently to
the good and influential of all parties to unite in one common cause
against oppression. Even while favoring daily more and more the cause of
the purified Church, and becoming daily more alive to the corruption of
Rome, he was yet willing to tolerate all forms of worship, and to leave
reason to combat error.

Without a particle of cant or fanaticism, he had become a deeply
religious man. Hitherto he had been only a man of the world and a
statesman, but from this time forth he began calmly to rely upon God's
providence in all the emergencies of his eventful life. His letters
written to his most confidential friends, to be read only by themselves,
and which have been gazed upon by no other eyes until after the lapse of
nearly three centuries, abundantly prove his sincere and simple trust.
This sentiment was not assumed for effect to delude others, but cherished
as a secret support for himself. His religion was not a cloak to his
designs, but a consolation in his disasters. In his letter of instruction
to his most confidential agent, John Bazius, while he declared himself
frankly in favor of the Protestant principles, he expressed his extreme
repugnance to the persecution of Catholics. "Should we obtain power over
any city or cities," he wrote, "let the communities of papists be as much
respected and protected as possible. Let them be overcome, not by
violence, but with gentle-mindedness and virtuous treatment." After the
terrible disaster at Jemmingen, he had written to Louis, consoling him,
in the most affectionate language, for the unfortunate result of his
campaign. Not a word of reproach escaped from him, although his brother
had conducted the operations in Friesland, after the battle of Heiliger
Lee, in a manner quite contrary to his own advice. He had counselled
against a battle, and had foretold a defeat; but after the battle had
been fought and a crushing defeat sustained, his language breathed only
unwavering submission to the will of God, and continued confidence in his
own courage. "You may be well assured, my brother," he wrote, "that I
have never felt anything more keenly than the pitiable misfortune which
has happened to you, for many reasons which you can easily imagine.
Moreover, it hinders us much in the levy which we are making, and has
greatly chilled the hearts of those who otherwise would have been ready
to give us assistance. Nevertheless, since it has thus pleased God, it is
necessary to have patience and to lose not courage; conforming ourselves
to His divine will, as for my part I have determined to do in everything
which may happen, still proceeding onward in our work with his Almighty
aid. 'Soevis tranquillus in undis', he was never more placid than when
the storm was wildest and the night darkest. He drew his consolations and
refreshed his courage at the never-failing fountains of Divine mercy.

"I go to-morrow," he wrote to the unworthy Anne of Saxony; "but when I
shall return, or when I shall see you, I cannot, on my honor, tell you
with certainty. I have resolved to place myself in the hands of the
Almighty, that he may guide me whither it is His good pleasure that I
should go. I see well enough that I am destined to pass this life in
misery and labor, with which I am well content, since it thus pleases the
Omnipotent, for I know that I have merited still greater chastisement. I
only implore Him graciously to send me strength to endure with patience."

Such language, in letters the most private, never meant to be seen by
other eyes than those to which they were addressed, gives touching
testimony to the sincere piety of his character. No man was ever more
devoted to a high purpose, no man had ever more right to imagine himself,
or less inclination to pronounce himself, entrusted with a divine
mission. There was nothing of the charlatan in his character. His nature
was true and steadfast. No narrow-minded usurper was ever more loyal to
his own aggrandisement than this large-hearted man to the cause of
oppressed humanity. Yet it was inevitable that baser minds should fail to
recognise his purity. While he exhausted his life for the emancipation of
a people, it was easy to ascribe all his struggles to the hope of
founding a dynasty. It was natural for grovelling natures to search in
the gross soil of self-interest for the sustaining roots of the tree
beneath whose branches a nation found its shelter. What could they
comprehend of living fountains and of heavenly dews?

In May, 1568, the Emperor Maximilian had formally issued a requisition to
the Prince of Orange to lay down his arms, and to desist from all levies
and machinations against the King of Spain and the peace of the realm.
This summons he was commanded to obey on pain of forfeiting all rights,
fiefs, privileges and endowments bestowed by imperial hands on himself or
his predecessors, and of incurring the heaviest disgrace, punishment, and
penalties of the Empire.

To this document the Prince replied in August, having paid in the
meantime but little heed to its precepts. Now that the Emperor, who at
first was benignant, had begun to frown on his undertaking, he did not
slacken in his own endeavours to set his army on foot. One by one, those
among the princes of the empire who had been most stanch in his cause,
and were still most friendly to his person, grew colder as tyranny became
stronger; but the ardor of the Prince was not more chilled by their
despair than by the overthrow at Jemmingen, which had been its cause. In
August, he answered the letter of the Emperor, respectfully but warmly.
He still denounced the tyranny of Alva and the arts of Granvelle with
that vigorous eloquence which was always at his command, while, as usual,
he maintained a show of almost exaggerated respect for their monarch. It
was not to be presumed, he said, that his Majesty, "a king debonair and
bountiful," had ever intended such cruelties as those which had been
rapidly retraced in the letter, but it was certain that the Duke of Alva
had committed them all of his own authority. He trusted, moreover, that
the Emperor, after he had read the "Justification" which the Prince had
recently published, would appreciate the reason for his taking up arms.
He hoped that his Majesty would now consider the resistance just,
Christian, and conformable to the public peace. He expressed the belief
that rather than interpose any hindrance, his Majesty would thenceforth
rather render assistance "to the poor and desolate Christians," even as
it was his Majesty's office and authority to be the last refuge of the
injured.

The "Justification against the false blame of his calumniators by the
Prince of Orange," to which the Prince thus referred, has been mentioned
in a previous chapter. This remarkable paper had been drawn up at the
advice of his friends, Landgrave William and Elector Augustus, but it was
not the only document which the Prince caused to be published at this
important epoch. He issued a formal declaration of war against the Duke
of Alva; he addressed a solemn and eloquent warning or proclamation to
all the inhabitants of the Netherlands. These documents are all extremely
important and interesting. Their phraseology shows the intentions and the
spirit by which the Prince was actuated on first engaging in the
struggle. Without the Prince and his efforts--at this juncture, there
would probably have never been a free Netherland commonwealth. It is
certain, likewise, that without an enthusiastic passion for civil and
religious liberty throughout the masses of the Netherland people, there
would have been no successful effort on the part of the Prince. He knew
his countrymen; while they, from highest to humblest, recognised in him
their saviour. There was, however, no pretence of a revolutionary
movement. The Prince came to maintain, not to overthrow. The freedom
which had been enjoyed in the provinces until the accession of the
Burgundian dynasty, it was his purpose to restore. The attitude which he
now assumed was a peculiar one in history. This defender of a people's
cause set up no revolutionary standard. In all his documents he paid
apparent reverence to the authority of the King. By a fiction, which was
not unphilosophical, he assumed that the monarch was incapable of the
crimes which he charged upon the Viceroy. Thus he did not assume the
character of a rebel in arms against his prince, but in his own capacity
of sovereign he levied troops and waged war against a satrap whom he
chose to consider false to his master's orders. In the interest of
Philip, assumed to be identical with the welfare of his people, he took
up arms against the tyrant who was sacrificing both. This mask of loyalty
would never save his head from the block, as he well knew, but some
spirits lofty as his own, might perhaps be influenced by a noble
sophistry, which sought to strengthen the cause of the people by
attributing virtue to the King.

And thus did the sovereign of an insignificant little principality stand
boldly forth to do battle with the most powerful monarch in the world. At
his own expense, and by almost superhuman exertions, he had assembled
nearly thirty thousand men. He now boldly proclaimed to the world, and
especially to the inhabitants of the provinces, his motives, his
purposes, and his hopes.

   "We, by God's grace Prince of Orange," said his declaration of 31st
   August, 1568, "salute all faithful subjects of his Majesty. To few
   people is it unknown that the Spaniards have for a long time sought
   to govern the land according to their pleasure. Abusing his
   Majesty's goodness, they have persuaded him to decree the
   introduction of the inquisition into the Netherlands. They well
   understood, that in case the Netherlanders could be made to tolerate
   its exercise, they would lose all protection to their liberty; that
   if they opposed its introduction, they would open those rich
   provinces as a vast field of plunder. We had hoped that his
   Majesty, taking the matter to heart, would have spared his
   hereditary provinces from such utter ruin. We have found our hopes
   futile. We are unable, by reason of our loyal service due to his
   Majesty, and of our true compassion for the faithful lieges, to look
   with tranquillity any longer at such murders, robberies, outrages,
   and agony. We are, moreover, certain that his Majesty has been
   badly informed upon Netherland matters. We take up arms, therefore,
   to oppose the violent tyranny of the Spaniards, by the help of the
   merciful God, who is the enemy of all bloodthirstiness. Cheerfully
   inclined to wager our life and all our worldly wealth on the cause,
   we have now, God be thanked, an excellent army of cavalry, infantry,
   and artillery, raised all at our own expense. We summon all loyal
   subjects of the Netherlands to come and help us. Let them take to
   heart the uttermost need of the country, the danger of perpetual
   slavery for themselves and their children, and of the entire
   overthrow of the Evangelical religion. Only when Alva's blood-
   thirstiness shall have been at last overpowered, can the provinces
   hope to recover their pure administration of justice, and a
   prosperous condition for their commonwealth."

In the "warning" or proclamation to all the inhabitants of the
Netherlands, the Prince expressed similar sentiments. He announced his
intention of expelling the Spaniards forever from the country. To
accomplish the mighty undertaking, money was necessary. He accordingly
called on his countrymen to contribute, the rich out of their abundance,
the poor even out of their poverty, to the furtherance of the cause. To
do this, while it was yet time, he solemnly warned them "before God, the
fatherland, and the world." After the title of this paper were cited the
28th, 29th, and 30th verses of the tenth chapter of Proverbs. The
favorite motto of the Prince, "pro lege, rege, grege," was also affixed
to the document.

These appeals had, however, but little effect. Of three hundred thousand
crowns, promised on behalf of leading nobles and merchants of the
Netherlands by Marcus Perez, but ten or twelve thousand came to hand. The
appeals to the gentlemen who had signed the Compromise, and to many
others who had, in times past, been favorable to the liberal party were
powerless. A poor Anabaptist preacher collected a small sum from a
refugee congregation on the outskirts of Holland, and brought it, at the
peril of his life, into the Prince's camp. It came from people, he said,
whose will was better than the gift. They never wished to be repaid, he
said, except by kindness, when the cause of reform should be triumphant
in the Netherlands. The Prince signed a receipt for the money, expressing
himself touched by this sympathy from these poor outcasts. In the course
of time, other contributions from similar sources, principally collected
by dissenting preachers, starving and persecuted church communities, were
received. The poverty-stricken exiles contributed far more, in
proportion, for the establishment of civil and religious liberty, than
the wealthy merchants or the haughty nobles.

Late in September, the Prince mustered his army in the province of
Treves, near the monastery of Romersdorf. His force amounted to nearly
thirty thousand men, of whom nine thousand were cavalry. Lumey, Count de
la Marek, now joined him at the head of a picked band of troopers; a
bold, ferocious partisan, descended from the celebrated Wild Boar of
Ardennes. Like Civilis, the ancient Batavian hero, he had sworn to leave
hair and beard unshorn till the liberation of the country was achieved,
or at least till the death of Egmont, whose blood relation he was, had
been avenged. It is probable that the fierce conduct of this chieftain,
and particularly the cruelties exercised upon monks and papists by his
troops, dishonored the cause more than their valor could advance it. But
in those stormy times such rude but incisive instruments were scarcely to
be neglected, and the name of Lumey was to be forever associated with
important triumphs of the liberal cause.

It was fated, however, that but few laurels should be won by the patriots
in this campaign. The Prince crossed the Rhine at Saint Feit, a village
belonging to himself. He descended along the banks as far as the
neighbourhood of Cologne. Then, after hovering in apparent uncertainty
about the territories of Juliers and Limburg, he suddenly, on a bright
moonlight night, crossed the Meuse with his whole army, in the
neighbourhood of Stochem. The operation was brilliantly effected. A
compact body of cavalry, according to the plan which had been more than
once adopted by Julius Caesar, was placed in the midst of the current,
under which shelter the whole army successfully forded the river. The
Meuse was more shallow than usual, but the water was as high as the
soldiers' necks. This feat was accomplished on the night and morning of
the 4th and 5th of October. It was considered so bold an achievement that
its fame spread far and wide. The Spaniards began to tremble at the
prowess of a Prince whom they had affected to despise. The very fact of
the passage was flatly contradicted. An unfortunate burgher at Amsterdam
was scourged at the whipping-post, because he mentioned it as matter of
common report. The Duke of Alva refused to credit the tale when it was
announced to him. "Is the army of the Prince of Orange a flock of wild
geese," he asked, "that it can fly over rivers like the Meuse?"
Nevertheless it was true. The outlawed, exiled Prince stood once more on
the borders of Brabant, with an army of disciplined troops at his back.
His banners bore patriotic inscriptions. "Pro Lege, Rege, Grege," was
emblazoned upon some. A pelican tearing her breast to nourish her young
with her life-blood was the pathetic emblem of others. It was his
determination to force or entice the Duke of Alva into a general
engagement. He was desirous to wipe out the disgrace of Jemmingen. Could
he plant his victorious standard thus in the very heart of the country,
he felt that thousands would rally around it. The country would rise
almost to a man, could he achieve a victory over the tyrant, flushed as
he was with victory, and sated with blood.

With banners flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding, with all the pomp
and defiance which an already victorious general could assume, Orange
marched into Brabant, and took up a position within six thousand paces of
Alva's encampment. His plan was at every hazard to dare or to decoy his
adversary into the chances of a stricken field. The Governor was
entrenched at a place called Keiserslager, which Julius Caesar had once
occupied. The city of Maestricht was in his immediate neighbourhood,
which was thus completely under his protection, while it furnished him
with supplies. The Prince sent to the Duke a herald, who was to propose
that all prisoners who might be taken in the coming campaign should be
exchanged instead of being executed. The herald, booted and spurred, even
as he had dismounted from his horse, was instantly hanged. This was the
significant answer to the mission of mercy. Alva held no parley with
rebels before a battle, nor gave quarter afterwards.

In the meantime, the Duke had carefully studied the whole position of
affairs, and had arrived at his conclusion. He was determined not to
fight. It was obvious that the Prince would offer battle eagerly,
ostentatiously, frequently, but the Governor was resolved never to accept
the combat. Once taken, his resolution was unalterable. He recognized the
important difference between his own attitude at present, and that in
which he had found himself during the past summer in Friesland. There a
battle had been necessary, now it was more expedient to overcome his
enemy by delay. In Friesland, the rebels had just achieved a victory over
the choice troops of Spain. Here they were suffering from the stigma of a
crushing defeat. Then, the army of Louis Nassau was swelling daily by
recruits, who poured in from all the country round. Now, neither peasant
nor noble dared lift a finger for the Prince. The army of Louis had been
sustained by the one which his brother was known to be preparing. If
their movements had not been checked, a junction would have been
effected. The armed revolt would then have assumed so formidable an
aspect, that rebellion would seem, even for the timid, a safer choice
than loyalty. The army of the Prince, on the contrary, was now the last
hope of the patriots: The three by which it had been preceded had been
successively and signally vanquished.

Friesland, again, was on the outskirts of the country. A defeat sustained
by the government there did not necessarily imperil the possession of the
provinces. Brabant, on the contrary, was the heart of the Netherlands.
Should the Prince achieve a decisive triumph then and there, he would be
master of the nation's fate. The Viceroy knew himself to be odious, and
he reigned by terror. The Prince was the object of the people's idolatry,
and they would rally round him if they dared. A victory gained by the
liberator over the tyrant, would destroy the terrible talisman of
invincibility by which Alva governed. The Duke had sufficiently
demonstrated his audacity in the tremendous chastisement which he had
inflicted upon the rebels under Louis. He could now afford to play that
scientific game of which he was so profound a master, without risking any
loss of respect or authority. He was no enthusiast. Although he doubtless
felt sufficiently confident of overcoming the Prince in a pitched battle,
he had not sufficient relish for the joys of contest to be willing to
risk even a remote possibility of defeat. His force, although composed of
veterans and of the best musketeers and pikemen in Europe, was still
somewhat inferior in numbers to that of his adversary. Against the twenty
thousand foot and eight thousand, horse of Orange, he could oppose only
fifteen or sixteen thousand foot and fifty-five hundred riders. Moreover,
the advantage which he had possessed in Friesland, a country only
favorable to infantry, in which he had been stronger than his opponent,
was now transferred to his new enemy. On the plains of Brabant, the
Prince's superiority in cavalry was sure to tell. The season of the year,
too, was an important element in the calculation. The winter alone would
soon disperse the bands of German mercenaries, whose expenses Orange was
not able to support, even while in active service. With unpaid wages and
disappointed hopes of plunder, the rebel army would disappear in a few
weeks as totally as if defeated in the open field. In brief, Orange by a
victory would gain new life and strength, while his defeat could no more
than anticipate, by a few weeks, the destruction of his army, already
inevitable. Alva, on the contrary, might lose the mastery of the
Netherlands if unfortunate, and would gain no solid advantage if
triumphant. The Prince had everything to hope, the Duke everything to
fear, from the result of a general action.

The plan, thus deliberately resolved upon, was accomplished with
faultless accuracy. As a work of art, the present campaign of Alva
against Orange was a more consummate masterpiece than the, more brilliant
and dashing expedition into Friesland. The Duke had resolved to hang upon
his adversary's skirts, to follow him move by move, to check him at every
turn, to harass him in a hundred ways, to foil all his enterprises, to
parry all his strokes, and finally to drive him out of the country, after
a totally barren campaign, when, as he felt certain, his ill-paid
hirelings would vanish in all directions, and leave their patriot Prince
a helpless and penniless adventurer. The scheme thus sagaciously
conceived, his adversary, with all his efforts, was unable to circumvent.

The campaign lasted little more than a month. Twenty-nine times the
Prince changed his encampment, and at every remove the Duke was still
behind him, as close and seemingly as impalpable as his shadow. Thrice
they were within cannon-shot of each other; twice without a single trench
or rampart between them. The country people refused the Prince supplies,
for they trembled at the vengeance of the Governor. Alva had caused the
irons to be removed from all the mills, so that not a bushel of corn
could be ground in the whole province. The country thus afforded but
little forage for the thirty thousand soldiers of the Prince. The troops,
already discontented, were clamorous for pay and plunder. During one
mutinous demonstration, the Prince's sword was shot from his side, and it
was with difficulty that a general outbreak was suppressed. The soldiery
were maddened and tantalized by the tactics of Alva. They found
themselves constantly in the presence of an enemy, who seemed to court a
battle at one moment and to vanish like a phantom at the next They felt
the winter approaching, and became daily more dissatisfied with the
irritating hardships to which they were exposed. Upon the night of the
5th and 6th of October the Prince had crossed the Meuse at Stochem.
Thence he had proceeded to Tongres, followed closely by the enemy's
force, who encamped in the immediate neighbourhood. From Tongres he had
moved to Saint Trond, still pursued and still baffled in the same
cautious manner. The skirmishing at the outposts was incessant, but the
main body was withdrawn as soon as there seemed a chance of its becoming
involved.

From Saint Trond, in the neighbourhood of which he had remained several
days, he advanced in a southerly direction towards Jodoigne. Count de
Genlis, with a reinforcement of French Huguenots, for which the Prince
had been waiting, had penetrated through the Ardennes, crossed the Meuse
at Charlemont, and was now intending a junction with him at Waveron. The
river Geta flowed between them. The Prince stationed a considerable force
upon a hill near the stream to protect the passage, and then proceeded
leisurely to send his army across the river. Count Hoogstraaten, with the
rear-guard, consisting of about three thousand men, were alone left upon
the hither bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who, as
usual, was encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army, but
Frederic with a force of four thousand men, were alone left on the hither
bank, in order to provoke or to tempt the enemy, who as usual, was
encamped very near. Alva refused to attack the main army but rapidly
detached his son, Don Fredrick, with a force of four thousand foot and
three thousand horse, to cut off the rear-guard. The movement was
effected in a masterly manner, the hill was taken, the three thousand
troops which had not passed the river were cut to pieces, and Vitelli
hastily despatched a gentleman named Barberini to implore the Duke to
advance with the main body, cross the river, and, once for all,
exterminate the rebels in a general combat. Alva, inflamed, not with
ardor for an impending triumph, but with rage, that his sagely-conceived
plans could not be comprehended even by his son and by his favorite
officers, answered the eager messenger with peremptory violence. "Go back
to Vitelli," he cried. "Is he, or am I, to command in this campaign? Tell
him not to suffer a single man to cross the river. Warn him against
sending any more envoys to advise a battle; for should you or any other
man dare to bring me another such message, I swear to you, by the head of
the King, that you go not hence alive."

With this decisive answer the messenger had nothing for it but to gallop
back with all haste, in order to participate in what might be left of the
butchery of Count Hoogstraaten's force, and to prevent Vitelli and Don
Frederic in their ill-timed ardor, from crossing the river. This was
properly effected, while in the meantime the whole rear-guard of the
patriots had been slaughtered. A hundred or two, the last who remained,
had made their escape from the field, and had taken refuge in a house in
the neighbourhood. The Spaniards set the buildings on fire, and standing
around with lifted lances, offered the fugitives the choice of being
consumed in the flames or of springing out upon their spears. Thus
entrapped some chose the one course, some the other. A few, to escape the
fury of the fire and the brutality of the Spaniards, stabbed themselves
with their own swords. Others embraced, and then killed each other, the
enemies from below looking on, as at a theatrical exhibition; now hissing
and now applauding, as the death struggles were more or less to their
taste. In a few minutes all the fugitives were dead. Nearly three
thousand of the patriots were slain in this combat, including those
burned or butchered after the battle was over. The Sieur de Louverwal was
taken prisoner, and soon afterwards beheaded in Brussels; but the
greatest misfortune sustained by the liberal party upon this occasion was
the death of Antony de Lalaing, Count of Hoogstraaten. This brave and
generous nobleman, the tried friend of the Prince of Orange, and his
colleague during the memorable scenes at Antwerp, was wounded in the foot
during the action, by an accidental discharge of his own pistol. The
injury, although apparently slight, caused his death in a few days. There
seemed a strange coincidence in his good and evil fortunes. A casual
wound in the hand from his own pistol while he was on his way to
Brussels, to greet Alva upon his first arrival, had saved him from the
scaffold. And now in his first pitched battle with the Duke, this
seemingly trifling injury in the foot was destined to terminate his
existence. Another peculiar circumstance had marked the event. At a gay
supper in the course of this campaign, Hoogstraaten had teased Count
Louis, in a rough, soldierly way, with his disaster at Jemmingen. He had
affected to believe that the retreat upon that occasion had been
unnecessary. "We have been now many days in the Netherlands;" said he,
"and we have seen nothing of the Spaniards but their backs."--"And when
the Duke does break loose," replied Louis, somewhat nettled, "I warrant
you will see their faces soon enough, and remember them for the rest of
your life." The half-jesting remark was thus destined to become a gloomy
prophecy.

This was the only important action daring the campaign. Its perfect
success did not warp Alva's purpose, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of
many of his officers, he remained firm in his resolution. After the
termination of the battle on the Geta, and the Duke's obstinate refusal
to pursue his advantage, the Baron de Chevreau dashed his pistol to the
ground, in his presence, exclaiming that the Duke would never fight. The
Governor smiled at the young man's chagrin, seemed even to approve his
enthusiasm, but reminded him that it was the business of an officer to
fight, of a general to conquer. If the victory were bloodless, so much
the better for all.

This action was fought on the 20th of October. A few days afterwards, the
Prince made his junction with Genlis at Waveren, a place about three
leagues from Louvain and from Brussels. This auxiliary force was,
however, insignificant. There were only five hundred cavalry and three
thousand foot, but so many women and children, that it seemed rather an
emigrating colony than an invading army. They arrived late. If they had
come earlier, it would have been of little consequence, for it had been
written that no laurels were to be gathered in that campaign. The
fraternal spirit which existed between the Reformers in all countries was
all which could be manifested upon the occasion. The Prince was
frustrated in his hopes of a general battle, still more bitterly
disappointed by the supineness of the country. Not a voice was raised to
welcome the deliverer. Not a single city opened its gates. All was
crouching, silent, abject. The rising, which perhaps would have been
universal had a brilliant victory been obtained, was, by the masterly
tactics of Alva, rendered an almost inconceivable idea. The mutinous
demonstrations in the Prince's camp became incessant; the soldiers were
discontented and weary. What the Duke had foretold was coming to pass,
for the Prince's army was already dissolving.

Genlis and the other French officers were desirous that the Prince should
abandon the Netherlands for the present, and come to the rescue of the
Huguenots, who had again renewed the religious war under Conde and
Coligny. The German soldiers, however would listen to no such proposal.
They had enlisted to fight the Duke of Alva in the Netherlands, and would
not hear of making war against Charles IX. in France. The Prince was
obliged to countermarch toward the Rhine. He recrossed the Geta, somewhat
to Alva's astonishment, and proceeded in the direction of the Meuse. The
autumn rains, however, had much swollen that river since his passage at
the beginning of the month, so that it could no longer be forded. He
approached the city of Liege, and summoned their Bishop, as he had done
on his entrance into the country, to grant a free passage to his troops.
The Bishop who stood in awe of Alva, and who had accepted his protection
again refused. The Prince had no time to parley. He was again obliged to
countermarch, and took his way along the high-road to France, still
watched and closely pursued by Alva, between whose troops and his own
daily skirmishes took place. At Le Quesnoy, the Prince gained a trifling
advantage over the Spaniards; at Cateau Cambresis he also obtained a
slight and easy-victory; but by the 17th of November the Duke of Alva had
entered Cateau Cambresis, and the Prince had crossed the frontier of
France.

The Marechal de Cosse, who was stationed on the boundary of France and
Flanders, now harassed the Prince by very similar tactics to those of
Alva. He was, however, too weak to inflict any serious damage, although
strong enough to create perpetual annoyance. He also sent a secretary to
the Prince, with a formal prohibition, in the name of Charles IX.,
against his entering the French territory with his troops.

Besides these negotiations, conducted by Secretary Favelles on the part
of Marechal de Cosse, the King, who was excessively alarmed, also
despatched the Marechal Gaspar de Schomberg on the same service. That
envoy accordingly addressed to the Prince a formal remonstrance in the
name of his sovereign. Charles IX., it was represented, found it very
strange that the Prince should thus enter the French territory. The King
was not aware that he had ever given him the least cause for hostile
proceedings, could not therefore take it in good part that the Prince
should thus enter France with a "large and puissant army;" because no
potentate, however humble, could tolerate such a proceeding, much less a
great and powerful monarch. Orange was therefore summoned to declare his
intentions, but was at the same, time informed, that if he merely desired
"to pass amiably through the country," and would give assurance, and
request permission to that, effect, under his hand and seal, his Majesty
would take all necessary measures to secure that amiable passage.

The Prince replied by a reference to the statements which he had already
made to Marechal de Cosse. He averred that he had not entered France with
evil intent, but rather with a desire to render very humble service to
his Majesty, so far as he could do so with a clear conscience.

Touching the King's inability to remember having given any occasion to
hostile proceedings on the part of the Prince, he replied that he would
pass that matter by. Although he could adduce many, various, and strong
reasons for violent measures, he was not so devoid of understanding as
not to recognize the futility of attempting anything, by his own personal
means, against so great and powerful a King, in comparison with whom he
was "but a petty companion."

"Since the true religion," continued Orange, "is a public and general
affair, which ought to be preferred to all private matters; since the
Prince, as a true Christian, is held by his honor and conscience to
procure, with all his strength, its advancement and establishment in
every place whatever; since, on the other hand, according to the edict
published in September last by his Majesty, attempts have been made to
force in their consciences all those who are of the Christian religion;
and since it has been determined to exterminate the pure word of God, and
the entire exercise thereof, and to permit no other religion than the
Roman Catholic, a thing very, prejudicial to the neighbouring nations
where there is a free exercise of the Christian religion, therefore the
Prince would put no faith in the assertions of his Majesty, that it was
not his Majesty's intentions to force the consciences of any one."

Having given this very deliberate and succinct contradiction to the
statements of the French King, the Prince proceeded to express his
sympathy for the oppressed Christians everywhere. He protested that he
would give them all the aid, comfort, counsel, and assistance that he was
able to give them. He asserted his conviction that the men who professed
the religion demanded nothing else than the glory of God and the
advancement of His word, while in all matters of civil polity they were
ready to render obedience to his Majesty. He added that all his doings
were governed by a Christian and affectionate regard for the King and his
subjects, whom his Majesty must be desirous of preserving from extreme
ruin. He averred, moreover, that if he should perceive any indication
that those of the religion were pursuing any other object than liberty of
conscience and security for life and property, he would not only withdraw
his assistance from them, but would use the whole strength of his army to
exterminate them. In conclusion, he begged the King to believe that the
work which the Prince had undertaken was a Christian work, and that his
intentions were good and friendly towards his Majesty.

   [This very eloquently written letter was dated Ciasonne, December
   3rd, 1568. It has never been published. It is in the Collection of
   MSS, Pivoen concernant, etc., Hague archives.]

It was, however, in vain that the Prince endeavoured to induce his army
to try the fortunes of the civil war in France. They had enlisted for the
Netherlands, the campaign was over, and they insisted upon being led back
to Germany. Schomberg, secretly instructed by the King of France, was
active in fomenting the discontent, and the Prince was forced to yield.
He led his army through Champagne and Lorraine to Strasburg, where they
were disbanded. All the money which the Prince had been able to collect
was paid them. He pawned all his camp equipage, his plate, his furniture.

What he could not pay in money he made up in promises, sacredly to be
fulfilled, when he should be restored to his possessions. He even
solemnly engaged, should he return from France alive, and be still unable
to pay their arrears of wages, to surrender his person to them as a
hostage for his debt.

Thus triumphantly for Alva, thus miserably for Orange, ended the
campaign. Thus hopelessly vanished the army to which so many proud hopes
had attached themselves. Eight thousand teen had been slain in paltry
encounters, thirty thousand were dispersed, not easily to be again
collected. All the funds which the Prince could command had been wasted
without producing a result. For the present, nothing seemed to afford a
ground of hope for the Netherlands, but the war of freedom had been
renewed in France. A band of twelve hundred mounted men-at-arms were
willing to follow the fortunes of the Prince. The three brothers
accordingly; William, Louis, and Henry--a lad of eighteen, who had
abandoned his studies at the university to obey the chivalrous instincts
of his race--set forth early in the following spring to join the banner
of Conde.

Cardinal Granvelle, who had never taken his eyes or thoughts from the
provinces during his residence at Rome, now expressed himself with
exultation. He had predicted, with cold malice, the immediate results of
the campaign, and was sanguine enough to believe the contest over, and
the Prince for ever crushed. In his letters to Philip he had taken due
notice of the compliments paid to him by Orange in his Justification, in
his Declaration, and in his letter to the Emperor. He had declined to
make any answer to the charges, in order to enrage the Prince the more.
He had expressed the opinion, however, that this publication of writings
was not the business of brave soldiers, but of cowards. He made the same
reflection upon the alleged intrigues by Orange to procure an embassy on
his own behalf from the Emperor to Philip--a mission which was sure to
end in smoke, while it would cost the Prince all credit, not only in
Germany but the Netherlands. He felt sure, he said, of the results of the
impending campaign. The Duke of Alva was a man upon whose administrative
prudence and military skill his sovereign could implicitly rely, nor was
there a person in the ranks of the rebels capable of, conducting an
enterprise of such moment. Least of all had the Prince of Orange
sufficient brains for carrying on such weighty affairs, according to the
opinion which he had formed of him during their long intercourse in
former days.

When the campaign had been decided, and the Prince had again become an
exile, Granvelle observed that it was now proved how incompetent he and
all his companions were to contend in military skill with the Duke of
Alva. With a cold sneer at motives which he assumed, as a matter of
course, to be purely selfish, he said that the Prince had not taken the
proper road to recover his property, and that he would now be much
embarrassed to satisfy his creditors. Thus must those ever fall, he
moralized, who would fly higher than they ought; adding, that henceforth
the Prince would have enough to do in taking care of madam his wife, if
she did not change soon in humor and character.

Meantime the Duke of Alva, having despatched from Cateau Cambresis a
brief account of the victorious termination of the campaign, returned in
triumph to Brussels. He had certainly amply vindicated his claim to be
considered the first warrior of the age. By his lieutenants he had
summarily and rapidly destroyed two of the armies sent against him; he
had annihilated in person the third, by a brilliantly successful battle,
in which he had lost seven men, and his enemies seven thousand; and he
had now, by consummate strategy, foiled the fourth and last under the
idolized champion of the Netherlands, and this so decisively that,
without losing a man, he had destroyed eight thousand rebels, and
scattered to the four winds the remaining twenty thousand. Such signal
results might well make even a meeker nature proud. Such vast and
fortunate efforts to fix for ever an impregnable military tyranny upon a
constitutional country, might cause a more modest despot to exult. It was
not wonderful that the haughty, and now apparently omnipotent Alva,
should almost assume the god. On his return to Brussels he instituted a
succession of triumphant festivals. The people were called upon to
rejoice and to be exceeding glad, to strew flowers in his path, to sing
Hosannas in his praise who came to them covered with the blood of those
who had striven in their defence. The holiday was duly called forth;
houses, where funeral hatchments for murdered inmates had been
perpetually suspended, were decked with garlands; the bells, which had
hardly once omitted their daily knell for the victims of an incredible
cruelty, now rang their merriest peals; and in the very square where so
lately Egmont and Horn, besides many other less distinguished martyrs,
had suffered an ignominious death, a gay tournament was held, day after
day, with all the insolent pomp which could make the exhibition most
galling.

But even these demonstrations of hilarity were not sufficient. The
conqueror and tamer of the Netherlands felt that a more personal and
palpable deification was necessary for his pride. When Germanicus had
achieved his last triumph over the ancient freedom of those generous
races whose descendants, but lately in possession of a better organized
liberty, Alva had been sent by the second and the worse Tiberius to
insult and to crush, the valiant but modest Roman erected his trophy upon
the plains of Idistavisus. "The army of Tiberius Caesar having subdued
the nations between the Rhine and the Elbe, dedicate this monument to
Mars, to Jupiter, and to Augustus." So ran the inscription of Germanicus,
without a word of allusion to his own name. The Duke of Alva, on his
return from the battle-fields of Brabant and Friesland, reared a colossal
statue of himself, and upon its pedestal caused these lines to be
engraved: "To Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, Governor of the
Netherlands under Philip the Second, for having extinguished sedition,
chastised rebellion, restored religion, secured justice, established
peace; to the King's most faithful minister this monument is erected."

   [Bor, iv. 257, 258. Meteren, 61. De Thou, v. 471-473, who saw it
   after it was overthrown, and who was "as much struck by the beauty
   of the work as by the insane pride of him who ordered it to be
   made."]

So pompous a eulogy, even if truthful and merited, would be sufficiently
inflated upon a tombstone raised to a dead chieftain by his bereaved
admirers. What shall we say of such false and fulsome tribute, not to a
god, not to the memory of departed greatness, but to a living, mortal
man, and offered not by his adorers but by himself? Certainly,
self-worship never went farther than in this remarkable monument, erected
in Alva's honor, by Alva's hands. The statue was colossal, and was placed
in the citadel of Antwerp. Its bronze was furnished by the cannon
captured at Jemmingen. It represented the Duke trampling upon a prostrate
figure with two heads, four arms, and one body. The two heads were
interpreted by some to represent Egmont and Horn, by others, the two
Nassaus, William and Louis. Others saw in them an allegorical presentment
of the nobles and commons of the Netherlands, or perhaps an impersonation
of the Compromise and the Request. Besides the chief inscription on the
pedestal, were sculptured various bas-reliefs; and the spectator, whose
admiration for the Governor-general was not satiated with the colossal
statue itself, was at liberty to find a fresh, personification of the
hero, either in a torch-bearing angel or a gentle shepherd. The work,
which had considerable esthetic merit, was executed by an artist named
Jacob Jongeling. It remained to astonish and disgust the Netherlanders
until it was thrown down and demolished by Alva's successor, Requesens.

It has already been observed that many princes of the Empire had, at
first warmly and afterwards, as the storm darkened around him, with less
earnestness, encouraged the efforts of Orange. They had, both privately
and officially, urged the subject upon the attention of the Emperor, and
had solicited his intercession with Philip. It was not an interposition
to save the Prince from chastisement, however the artful pen of Granvelle
might distort the facts. It was an address in behalf of religious liberty
for the Netherlands, made by those who had achieved it in their own
persons, and who were at last enjoying immunity from persecution. It was
an appeal which they who made it were bound to make, for the Netherland
commissioners had assisted at the consultations by which the Peace of
Passau had been wrung from the reluctant hand of Charles.

These applications, however, to the Emperor, and through him to the King
of Spain, had been, as we have seen, accompanied by perpetual advice to
the Prince of Orange, that he should "sit still." The Emperor had
espoused his cause with apparent frankness, so far as friendly mediation
went, but in the meantime had peremptorily commanded him to refrain from
levying war upon Alva, an injunction which the Prince had as peremptorily
declined to obey. The Emperor had even sent especial envoys to the Duke
and to the Prince, to induce them to lay down their arms, but without
effect. Orange knew which course was the more generous to his oppressed
country; to take up arms, now that hope had been converted into despair
by the furious tyranny of Alva, or to "sit still" and await the result of
the protocols about to be exchanged between king and kaiser. His arms had
been unsuccessful indeed, but had he attended the issue of this sluggish
diplomacy, it would have been even worse for the cause of freedom. The
sympathy of his best friends, at first fervent then lukewarm, had, as
disasters thickened around him, grown at last stone-cold. From the grave,
too, of Queen Isabella arose the most importunate phantom in his path.
The King of Spain was a widower again, and the Emperor among his sixteen
children had more than one marriageable daughter. To the titles of
"beloved cousin and brother-in-law," with which Philip had always been
greeted in the Imperial proclamations, the nearer and dearer one of
son-in-law was prospectively added.

The ties of wedlock were sacred in the traditions of the Habsburg house,
but still the intervention was nominally made. As early as August, 1568,
the Emperor's minister at Madrid had addressed a memorial to the King. He
had spoken in warm and strong language of the fate of Egmont and Horn,
and had reminded Philip that the executions which were constantly taking
place in the provinces were steadily advancing the Prince of Orange's
cause. On the 22nd September, 1568, the six electors had addressed a
formal memorial to the Emperor. They thanked him for his previous
interposition in favor of the Netherlands, painted in lively colors the
cruelty of Alva, and denounced the unheard-of rigor with which he had
massacred, not only many illustrious seigniors, but people of every
degree. Notwithstanding the repeated assurances given by the King to the
contrary, they reminded the Emperor, that the inquisition, as well as the
Council of Trent, had now been established in the Netherlands in full
vigor. They maintained that the provinces had been excluded from the
Augsburg religious peace, to which their claim was perfect. Nether
Germany was entitled to the same privileges as Upper Germany. They begged
the Emperor to make manifest his sentiments and their own. It was fitting
that his Catholic Majesty should be aware that the princes of the Empire
were united for the conservation of fatherland and of tranquillity. To
this end they placed in the Emperor's hands their estates, their
fortunes, and their lives.

Such was the language of that important appeal to the Emperor in behalf
of oppressed millions in the Netherlands, an appeal which Granvelle had
coldly characterized as an intrigue contrived by Orange to bring about
his own restoration to favor!

The Emperor, in answer, assured the electoral envoys that he had taken
the affair to heart, and had resolved to despatch his own brother, the
Archduke Charles, on a special mission to Spain.

Accordingly, on the 21st October, 1568, the Emperor presented his brother
with an ample letter of instructions. He was to recall to Philip's memory
the frequent exhortations made by the Emperor concerning the policy
pursued in the Netherlands. He was to mention the urgent interpellations
made to him by the electors and princes of the Empire in their recent
embassy. He was to state that the Emperor had recently deputed
commissioners to the Prince of Orange and the Duke of Alva, in order to
bring about, if possible, a suspension of arms. He was to represent that
the great number of men raised by the Prince of Orange in Germany, showed
the powerful support which he had found in the country. Under such
circumstances he was to show that it had been impossible for the Emperor
to decree the ban against him, as the Duke of Alva had demanded. The
Archduke was to request the King's consent to the reconciliation of
Orange, on honorable conditions. He was to demand the substitution of
clemency in for severity, and to insist on the recall of the foreign
soldiery from the Netherlands.

Furnished with this very warm and stringent letter, the Archduke arrived
in Madrid on the 10th December, 1568. A few days later he presented the
King with a copy of the instructions; those brave words upon which the
Prince of Orange was expected to rely instead of his own brave heart and
the stout arms of his followers. Philip having examined the letter,
expressed his astonishment that such propositions should be made to him,
and by the agency, too, of such a personage as the Archduke. He had
already addressed a letter to the Emperor, expressing his dissatisfaction
at the step now taken. He had been disturbed at the honor thus done to
the Prince of Orange, and at this interference with his own rights. It
was, in his opinion, an unheard-of proceeding thus to address a monarch
of his quality upon matters in which he could accept the law from no man.
He promised, however, that a written answer should be given to the letter
of instructions.

On the 20th of January, 1569, that answer was placed in the hands of the
Archduke. It was intimated that the paper was a public one, fit to be
laid by the Emperor, before the electors; but that the King had also
caused a confidential one to be prepared, in which his motives and
private griefs were indicated to Maximilian.

In the more public document, Philip observed that he had never considered
himself obliged to justify his conduct, in his own affairs, to others. He
thought, however, that his example of severity would have been received
with approbation by princes whose subjects he had thus taught obedience.
He could not admit that, on account of the treaties which constituted the
Netherlands a circle of the Empire, he was obliged to observe within
their limits the ordinances of the imperial diet. As to the matter of
religion, his principal solicitude, since his accession to the crown, had
been to maintain the Catholic faith throughout all his states. In things
sacred he could admit no compromise. The Church alone had the right to
prescribe rules to the faithful. As to the chastisement inflicted by him
upon the Netherland rebels, it would be found that he had not used rigor,
as had been charged against him, but, on the, contrary, great clemency
and gentleness. He had made no change in the government of the provinces,
certainly none in the edicts, the only statutes binding upon princes. He
had appointed the Duke of Alva to the regency, because it was his royal
will and pleasure so to appoint him. The Spanish soldiery were necessary
for the thorough chastisement of the rebels, and could not be at present
removed. As to the Prince of Orange, whose case seemed the principal
motive for this embassy, and in whose interest so much had been urged,
his crimes were so notorious that it was impossible even to attempt to
justify them. He had been, in effect, the author of all the conspiracies,
tumults, and seditious which had taken place in the Netherlands. All the
thefts, sacrileges, violations of temples, and other misdeeds of which
these provinces had been the theatre, were, with justice, to be imputed
to him. He had moreover, levied an army and invaded his Majesty's
territories. Crimes so enormous had closed the gate to all clemency.
Notwithstanding his respect for the intercession made by the Emperor and
the princes of the Empire, the King could not condescend to grant what
was now asked of him in regard to the Prince of Orange. As to a truce
between him and the Duke of Alva, his Imperial Majesty ought to reflect
upon the difference between a sovereign and his rebellious vassal, and
consider how indecent and how prejudicial to the King's honor such a
treaty must be esteemed.

So far the public letter, of which the Archduke was furnished with a
copy, both in Spanish and in Latin. The private memorandum was intended
for the Emperor's eyes alone and those of his envoy. In this paper the
King expressed himself with more warmth and in more decided language. He
was astonished, he said, that the Prince of Orange, in levying an army
for the purpose of invading the states of his natural sovereign, should
have received so much aid and comfort in Germany. It seemed incredible
that this could not have been prevented by imperial authority. He had
been pained that commissioners had been sent to the Prince. He regretted
such a demonstration in his favor as had now been made by the mission of
the Archduke to Madrid. That which, however, had caused the King the
deepest sorrow was, that his Imperial Majesty should wish to persuade him
in religious matters to proceed with mildness. The Emperor ought to be
aware that no human consideration, no regard for his realms, nothing in
the world which could be represented or risked, would cause him to swerve
by a single hair's breadth from his path in the matter of religion. This
path was the same throughout all his kingdoms. He had ever trod in it
faithfully, and he meant to keep in it perpetually. He would admit
neither counsel nor persuasion to the contrary, and should take it ill if
counsel or persuasion should be offered. He could not but consider the
terms of the instructions given to the Archduke as exceeding the limits
of amicable suggestion. They in effect amounted to a menace, and he was
astonished that a menace should be employed, because, with princes
constituted like himself, such means could have but little success.

On the 23rd of January, 1569, the Archduke presented the King with a
spirited reply to the public letter. It was couched in the spirit of the
instructions, and therefore need not be analysed at length. He did not
believe that his Imperial Majesty would admit any justification of the
course pursued in the Netherlands. The estates of the Empire would never
allow Philip's reasoning concerning the connexion of those countries with
the Empire, nor that they were independent, except in the particular
articles expressed in the treaty of Augsburg. In 1555, when Charles the
Fifth and King Ferdinand had settled the religious peace, they had been
assisted by envoys from the Netherlands. The princes of the Empire held
the ground, therefore, that the religious peace, which alone had saved a
vestige of Romanism in Germany, should of right extend to the provinces.
As to the Prince of Orange, the Archduke would have preferred to say
nothing more, but the orders of the Emperor did not allow him to be
silent. It was now necessary to put an end to this state of things in
Lower Germany. The princes of the Empire were becoming exasperated. He
recalled the dangers of the Smalcaldian war--the imminent peril in which
the Emperor had been placed by the act of a single elector. They who
believed that Flanders could be governed in the same manner as Italy and
Spain were greatly mistaken, and Charles the Fifth had always recognised
that error.

This was the sum and substance of the Archduke's mission to Madrid, so
far as its immediate objects were concerned. In the course, however, of
the interview between this personage and Philip, the King took occasion
to administer a rebuke to his Imperial Majesty for his general negligence
in religious matters. It was a matter which lay at his heart, he said,
that the Emperor, although, as he doubted not, a Christian and Catholic
prince, was from policy unaccustomed to make those exterior
demonstrations which matters of faith required. He therefore begged the
Archduke to urge this matter upon the attention of his Imperial Majesty.

The Emperor, despite this solemn mission, had become more than
indifferent before his envoy had reached Madrid. For this indifference
there were more reasons than one. When the instructions had been drawn
up, the death of the Queen of Spain had not been known in Vienna. The
Archduke had even been charged to inform Philip of the approaching
marriages of the two Archduchesses, that of Anne with the King of France,
and that of Isabella with the King of Portugal. A few days later,
however, the envoy received letters from the Emperor, authorizing him to
offer to the bereaved Philip the hand of the Archduchess Anne.

   [Herrera (lib. xv. 707) erroneously states that the Archduke was,
   at the outset, charged with these two commissions by the Emperor;
   namely, to negotiate the marriage of the Archduchess Anne with
   Philip, and to arrange the affairs of the Netherlands. On the
   contrary, he was empowered to offer Anne to the King of France,
   and had already imparted his instructions to that effect to Philip,
   before he received letters from Vienna, written after the death of
   Isabella had become known. At another interview, he presented this
   new matrimonial proposition to Philip. These facts are important,
   for they indicate how completely the objects of the embassy, the
   commencement of which was so pretentious, were cast aside, that a
   more advantageous marriage for one of the seven Austrian
   Archduchesses might be secured.--Compare Correspondance de Philippe]

The King replied to the Archduke, when this proposition was made, that if
he had regard only to his personal satisfaction, he should remain as he
was. As however he had now no son, he was glad that the proposition had
been made, and would see how the affair could be arranged with France.

Thus the ill success of Orange in Brabant, so disheartening to the German
princes most inclined to his cause, and still more the widowhood of
Philip, had brought a change over the views of Maximilian. On the 17th of
January, 1569, three days before his ambassador had entered upon his
negotiations, he had accordingly addressed an autograph letter to his
Catholic Majesty. In this epistle, by a few, cold lines, he entirely
annihilated any possible effect which might have been produced by the
apparent earnestness of his interposition in favor of the Netherlands. He
informed the King that the Archduke had been sent, not to vex him, but to
convince him of his friendship. He assured Philip that he should be
satisfied with his response, whatever it might be. He entreated only that
it might be drawn up in such terms that the princes and electors to whom
it must be shown, might not be inspired with suspicion.

The Archduke left Madrid on the 4th of March, 1569. He retired, well
pleased with the results of his mission, not because its ostensible
objects had been accomplished, for those had signally failed, but because
the King had made him a present of one hundred thousand ducats, and had
promised to espouse the Archduchess Anne. On the 26th of May, 1569, the
Emperor addressed a final reply to Philip, in which he expressly approved
the King's justification of his conduct. It was founded, he thought, in
reason and equity. Nevertheless, it could hardly be shown, as it was, to
the princes and electors, and he had therefore modified many points which
he thought might prove offensive.

Thus ended "in smoke," as Granvelle had foretold, the famous mission of
Archduke Charles. The Holy Roman Emperor withdrew from his pompous
intervention, abashed by a rebuke, but consoled by a promise. If it were
good to be guardian of religious freedom in Upper and Nether Germany, it
was better to be father-in-law to the King of Spain and both the Indies.
Hence the lame and abrupt conclusion.

Cardinal Granvelle had been very serviceable in this juncture. He had
written to Philip to assure him that, in his, opinion, the Netherlands
had no claim, under the transaction of Augsburg, to require the
observance within their territory of the decrees of the Empire. He added,
that Charles the Fifth had only agreed to the treaty of Passau to save
his brother Ferdinand from ruin; that he had only consented to it as
Emperor, and had neither directly nor indirectly included the Netherlands
within its provisions. He stated, moreover, that the Emperor had revoked
the treaty by an act which was never published, in consequence of the
earnest solicitations of Ferdinand.

It has been seen that the King had used this opinion of Granvelle in the
response presented to the Archduke. Although he did not condescend to an
argument, he had laid down the fact as if it were indisputable. He was
still more delighted to find that Charles had revoked the treaty of
Passau, and eagerly wrote to Granvelle to inquire where the secret
instrument was to be found. The Cardinal replied that it was probably
among his papers at Brussels, but that he doubted whether it would be
possible to find it in his absence. Whether such a document ever existed,
it is difficult to say. To perpetrate such a fraud would have been worthy
of Charles; to fable its perpetration not unworthy of the Cardinal. In
either case, the transaction was sufficiently high-handed and exceedingly
disgraceful.

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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 17.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1569-70 [CHAPTER V.]

   Quarrel between Alva and Queen Elizabeth of England--Spanish funds
   seized by the English government--Non-intercourse between England
   and the Netherlands--Stringent measures against heresy--Continued
   persecution--Individual cases--Present of hat and sword to Alva from
   the Pope--Determination of the Governor--general to establish a
   system of arbitrary taxation in the provinces--Assembly of estates
   at Brussels--Alva's decrees laid before them--The hundredth, tenth,
   and fifth pence--Opposition of Viglius to the project--Estates of
   various provinces give a reluctant consent--Determined resistance of
   Utrecht--The city and province cited before the Blood Council--
   Sentence of confiscation and disfranchisement against both--Appeal
   to the King--Difficulty of collecting the new tax--Commutation for
   two years--Projects for a pardon-general--Growing disfavour of the
   Duke--His desire to resign his post--Secret hostility between the
   Governor and Viglius--Altered sentiments of the President--Opinions
   expressed by Granvelle--The pardon pompously proclaimed by the Duke
   at Antwerp--Character of the amnesty--Dissatisfaction of the people
   with the act--Complaints of Alva to the King--Fortunes and fate of
   Baron Montigny in Spain--His confinement at Segovia--His attempt to
   escape--Its failure--His mock trial--His wife's appeal to Philip--
   His condemnation--His secret assassination determined upon--Its
   details, as carefully prescribed and superintended by the King--
   Terrible inundation throughout the Netherlands--Immense destruction
   of life and property in Friesland--Lowestein Castle taken by De
   Ruyter, by stratagem--Recapture of the place by the Spaniards--
   Desperate resistance and death of De Ruyter.

It was very soon after the Duke's return to Brussels that a quarrel
between himself and the Queen of England took place. It happened thus.
Certain vessels, bearing roving commissions from the Prince of Conde, had
chased into the ports of England some merchantmen coming from Spain with
supplies in specie for the Spanish army in the Netherlands. The trading
ships remained in harbor, not daring to leave for their destination,
while the privateers remained in a neighbouring port ready to pounce upon
them should they put to sea. The commanders of the merchant fleet
complained to the Spanish ambassador in London. The envoy laid the case
before the Queen. The Queen promised redress, and, almost as soon as the
promise had been made, seized upon all the specie in the vessels,
amounting to about eight hundred thousand dollars--[1885 exchange
rate]--and appropriated the whole to her own benefit. The pretext for
this proceeding was twofold. In the first place, she assured the
ambassador that she had taken the money into her possession in order that
it might be kept safe for her royal brother of Spain. In the second
place, she affirmed that the money did not belong to the Spanish
government at all, but that it was the property of certain Genoese
merchants, from whom, as she had a right to do, she had borrowed it for a
short period. Both these positions could hardly be correct, but either
furnished an excellent reason for appropriating the funds to her own use.

The Duke of Alva being very much in want of money, was furious when
informed of the circumstance. He immediately despatched Councillor
d'Assonleville with other commissioners on a special embassy to the Queen
of England. His envoys were refused an audience, and the Duke was taxed
with presumption in venturing, as if he had been a sovereign, to send a
legation to a crowned head. No satisfaction was given to Alva, but a
secret commissioner was despatched to Spain to discuss the subject there.
The wrath of Alva was not appeased by this contemptuous treatment.
Chagrined at the loss of his funds, and stung to the quick by a rebuke
which his arrogance had merited, he resorted to a high-handed measure. He
issued a proclamation commanding the personal arrest of every Englishman
within the territory of the Netherlands, and the seizure of every article
of property which could be found belonging to individuals of that nation.
The Queen retaliated by measures of the same severity against
Netherlanders in England. The Duke followed up his blow by a proclamation
(of March 31st, 1569), in which the grievance was detailed, and strict
non-intercourse with England enjoined. While the Queen and the Viceroy
were thus exchanging blows, the real sufferers were, of course, the
unfortunate Netherlanders. Between the upper and nether millstones of
Elizabeth's rapacity and Alva's arrogance, the poor remains of Flemish
prosperity were well nigh crushed out of existence. Proclamations and
commissions followed hard upon each other, but it was not till April
1573, that the matter was definitely arranged. Before that day arrived,
the commerce of the Netherlands had suffered, at the lowest computation,
a dead loss of two million florins, not a stiver of which was ever
reimbursed to the sufferers by the Spanish government.

Meantime, neither in the complacency of his triumph over William of
Orange, nor in the torrent of his wrath against the English Queen, did
the Duke for a moment lose sight of the chief end of his existence in the
Netherlands. The gibbet and the stake were loaded with their daily
victims. The records of the period are foul with the perpetually renewed
barbarities exercised against the new religion. To the magistrates of the
different cities were issued fresh instructions, by which all municipal
officers were to be guided in the discharge of their great duty. They
were especially enjoined by the Duke to take heed that Catholic midwives,
and none other, should be provided for every parish, duly sworn to give
notice within twenty-four hours of every birth which occurred, in order
that the curate might instantly proceed to baptism. They were also
ordered to appoint certain spies who should keep watch at every
administration of the sacraments, whether public or private, whether at
the altar or at death-beds, and who should report for exemplary
punishment (that is to say, death by fire) all persons who made derisive
or irreverential gestures, or who did not pay suitable honor to the said
Sacraments. Furthermore, in order that not even death itself should cheat
the tyrant of his prey, the same spies were to keep watch at the couch of
the dying, and to give immediate notice to government of all persons who
should dare to depart this life without previously receiving extreme
unction and the holy wafer. The estates of such culprits, it was
ordained, should be confiscated, and their bodies dragged to the public
place of execution.

An affecting case occurred in the north of Holland, early in this year,
which, for its peculiarity, deserves brief mention. A poor Anabaptist,
guilty of no crime but his fellowship with a persecuted sect, had been
condemned to death. He had made his escape, closely pursued by an officer
of justice, across a frozen lake. It was late in the winter, and the ice
had become unsound. It trembled and cracked beneath his footsteps, but he
reached the shore in safety. The officer was not so fortunate. The ice
gave way beneath him, and he sank into the lake, uttering a cry for
succor. There were none to hear him, except the fugitive whom he had been
hunting. Dirk Willemzoon, for so was the Anabaptist called, instinctively
obeying the dictates of a generous nature, returned, crossed the quaking
and dangerous ice, at the peril of his life, extended his hand to his
enemy, and saved him from certain death. Unfortunately for human nature,
it cannot be added that the generosity, of, the action was met by a
corresponding heroism. The officer was desirous, it is true, of avoiding
the responsibility of sacrificing the preserver of his life, but the
burgomaster of Asperen sternly reminded him to remember his oath. He
accordingly arrested the fugitive, who, on the 16th of May following, was
burned to death under the most lingering tortures.

Almost at the same time four clergymen, the eldest seventy years of age,
were executed at the Hague, after an imprisonment of three years. All
were of blameless lives, having committed no crime save that of having
favored the Reformation. As they were men of some local eminence, it was
determined that they should be executed with solemnity. They were
condemned to the flames, and as they were of the ecclesiastical
profession, it was necessary before execution that their personal
sanctity should be removed. Accordingly, on the 27th May, attired in the
gorgeous robes of high mass, they were brought before the Bishop of Bois
le Duc. The prelate; with a pair of scissors, cut a lock of hair from
each of their heads. He then scraped their crowns and the tips of their
fingers with a little silver knife very gently, and without inflicting
the least injury. The mystic oil of consecration was thus supposed to be
sufficiently removed. The prelate then proceeded to disrobe the victims,
saying to each one as he did so, "Eximo tibi vestem justitiae, quem
volens abjecisti;" to which the oldest pastor, Arent Dirkzoon, stoutly
replied, "imo vestem injustitiae." The bishop having thus completed the
solemn farce of desecration, delivered the prisoners to the Blood
Council, begging that they might be handled very gently. Three days
afterwards they were all executed at the stake, having, however, received
the indulgence of being strangled before being thrown into the flames.

It was precisely at this moment, while the agents of the Duke's
government were thus zealously enforcing his decrees, that a special
messenger arrived from the Pope, bringing as a present to Alva a jewelled
hat and sword. It was a gift rarely conferred by the Church, and never
save upon the highest dignitaries, or upon those who had merited her most
signal rewards by the most shining exploits in her defence. The Duke was
requested, in the autograph letter from his Holiness which accompanied
the presents, "to remember, when he put the hat upon his head, that he
was guarded with it as with a helmet of righteousness, and with the
shield of God's help, indicating the heavenly crown which was ready for
all princes who support the Holy Church and the Roman Catholic faith."
The motto on the sword ran as follows, "Accipe sanctum gladium, menus a
Deo in quo dejicies adversarios populi mei Israel."

The Viceroy of Philip, thus stimulated to persevere in his master's
precepts by the Vicegerent of Christ, was not likely to swerve from his
path, nor to flinch from his work. It was beyond the power of man's
ingenuity to add any fresh features of horror to the religious
persecution under which the provinces were groaning, but a new attack
could be made upon the poor remains of their wealth.

The Duke had been dissatisfied with the results of his financial
arrangements. The confiscation of banished and murdered heretics had not
proved the inexhaustible mine he had boasted. The stream of gold which
was to flow perennially into the Spanish coffers, soon ceased to flow at
all. This was inevitable. Confiscations must, of necessity, offer but a
precarious supply to any treasury. It was only the frenzy of an Alva
which could imagine it possible to derive a permanent revenue from such a
source. It was, however, not to be expected that this man, whose tyranny
amounted to insanity, could comprehend the intimate connection between
the interests of a people and those of its rulers, and he was determined
to exhibit; by still more fierce and ludicrous experiments, how easily a
great soldier may become a very paltry financier.

He had already informed his royal master that, after a very short time,
remittances would no longer be necessary from Spain to support the
expenses of the array and government in the Netherlands. He promised, on
the contrary, that at least two millions yearly should be furnished by
the provinces, over and above the cost of their administration, to enrich
the treasury at home. Another Peru had already been discovered by his
ingenuity, and one which was not dependent for its golden fertility on
the continuance of that heresy which it was his mission to extirpate. His
boast had been much ridiculed in Madrid, where he had more enemies than
friends, and he was consequently the more eager to convert it into
reality. Nettled by the laughter with which all his schemes of political
economy had been received at home, he was determined to show that his
creative statesmanship was no less worthy of homage than his indisputable
genius for destruction.

His scheme was nothing more than the substitution of an arbitrary system
of taxation by the Crown, for the legal and constitutional right of the
provinces to tax themselves. It was not a very original thought, but it
was certainly a bold one. For although a country so prostrate might
suffer the imposition of any fresh amount of tyranny, yet it was doubtful
whether she had sufficient strength remaining to bear the weight after it
had been imposed. It was certain, moreover, that the new system would
create a more general outcry than any which had been elicited even by the
religious persecution. There were many inhabitants who were earnest and
sincere Catholics, and who therefore considered themselves safe from the
hangman's hands, while there were none who could hope to escape the gripe
of the new tax-gatherers. Yet the Governor was not the man to be daunted
by the probable unpopularity of the measure. Courage he possessed in more
than mortal proportion. He seemed to have set himself to the task of
ascertaining the exact capacity of the country for wretchedness. He was
resolved accurately to gauge its width and its depth; to know how much of
physical and moral misery might be accumulated within its limits, before
it should be full to overflowing. Every man, woman, and child in the
country had been solemnly condemned to death; and arbitrary executions,
in pursuance of that sentence, had been daily taking place. Millions of
property had been confiscated; while the most fortunate and industrious,
as well as the bravest of the Netherlanders, were wandering penniless in
distant lands. Still the blows, however recklessly distributed, had not
struck every head. The inhabitants had been decimated, not annihilated,
and the productive energy of the country, which for centuries had
possessed so much vitality, was even yet not totally extinct. In the
wreck of their social happiness, in the utter overthrow of their
political freedom, they had still preserved the shadow, at least, of one
great bulwark against despotism. The king could impose no tax.

The "Joyeuse Entree" of Brabant, as well as the constitutions of
Flanders, Holland, Utrecht, and all the other provinces, expressly
prescribed the manner in which the requisite funds for government should
be raised. The sovereign or his stadholder was to appear before the
estates in person, and make his request for money. It was for the
estates, after consultation with their constituents, to decide whether or
not this petition (Bede) should be granted, and should a single branch
decline compliance, the monarch was to wait with patience for a more
favorable moment. Such had been the regular practice in the Netherlands,
nor had the reigning houses often had occasion to accuse the estates of
parsimony. It was, however, not wonderful that the Duke of Alva should be
impatient at the continued existence of this provincial privilege. A
country of condemned criminals, a nation whose universal neck might at
any moment be laid upon the block without ceremony, seemed hardly fit to
hold the purse-strings, and to dispense alms to its monarch. The Viceroy
was impatient at this arrogant vestige of constitutional liberty.
Moreover, although he had taken from the Netherlanders nearly all the
attributes of freemen, he was unwilling that they should enjoy the
principal privilege of slaves, that of being fed and guarded at their
master's expense. He had therefore summoned a general assembly of the
provincial estates in Brussels, and on the 20th of March, 1569, had
caused the following decrees to be laid before them.

A tax of the hundredth penny, or one per cent., was laid upon all
property, real and personal, to be collected instantly. This impost,
however, was not perpetual, but only to be paid once, unless, of course,
it should suit the same arbitrary power by which it was assessed to
require it a second time.

A tax of the twentieth penny; or five per cent., was laid upon every
transfer of real estate. This imposition was perpetual.

Thirdly, a tag of the tenth penny, or ten per cent., was assessed upon
every article of merchandise or personal-property, to be paid as often as
it should be sold. This tax was likewise to be perpetual.

The consternation in the assembly when these enormous propositions were
heard, can be easily imagined. People may differ about religious dogmas.
In the most bigoted persecutions there will always be many who, from
conscientious although misguided motives, heartily espouse the cause of
the bigot. Moreover, although resistance to tyranny in matters of faith,
is always the most ardent of struggles, and is supported by the most
sublime principle in our nature, yet all men are not of the sterner stuff
of which martyrs are fashioned. In questions relating to the world above;
many may be seduced from their convictions by interest, or forced into
apostasy by violence. Human nature is often malleable or fusible, where
religious interests are concerned, but in affairs material and financial
opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous.

The interests of commerce and manufacture, when brought into conflict
with those of religion, had often proved victorious in the Netherlands.
This new measure, however--this arbitrary and most prodigious system of
taxation, struck home to every fireside. No individual, however adroit or
time-serving, could parry the blow by which all were crushed.

It was most unanswerably maintained in the assembly, that this tenth and
twentieth penny would utterly destroy the trade and the manufactures of
the country. The hundredth penny, or the one per cent. assessment on all
property throughout the land, although a severe subsidy, might be borne
with for once. To pay, however, a twentieth part of the full value of a
house to the government as often as the house was sold, was a most
intolerable imposition. A house might be sold twenty times in a year, and
in the course, therefore, of the year be confiscated in its whole value.
It amounted either to a prohibition of all transfers of real estate, or
to an eventual surrender of its price.

As to the tenth penny upon articles of merchandise, to be paid by the
vendor at every sale, the scheme was monstrous. All trade and
manufactures must, of necessity, expire, at the very first attempt to put
it in execution. The same article might be sold ten times in a week, and
might therefore pay one hundred per cent. weekly. An article, moreover,
was frequently compounded of ten, different articles, each of which might
pay one hundred per cent., and therefore the manufactured article, if ten
times transferred, one thousand per cent. weekly. Quick transfers and
unfettered movements being the nerves and muscles of commerce, it was
impossible for it long to survive the paralysis of such a tax. The impost
could never be collected, and would only produce an entire prostration of
industry. It could by no possibility enrich the government.

The King could not derive wealth from the ruin of his subjects; yet to
establish such a system was the stern and absurd determination of the
Governor-general. The infantine simplicity of the effort seemed
incredible. The ignorance was as sublime as the tyranny. The most lucid
arguments and the most earnest remonstrances were all in vain. Too opaque
to be illumined by a flood of light, too hard to be melted by a nation's
tears, the Viceroy held calmly to his purpose. To the keen and vivid
representations of Viglius, who repeatedly exhibited all that was
oppressive and all that was impossible in the tax, he answered simply
that it was nothing more nor less than the Spanish "alcabala," and that
he derived 50,000 ducats yearly from its imposition in his own city of
Alva.

Viglius was upon this occasion in opposition to the Duke. It is but
justice to state that the learned jurisconsult manfully and repeatedly
confronted the wrath of his superior in many a furious discussion in
council upon the subject. He had never essayed to snatch one brand from
the burning out of the vast holocaust of religious persecution, but he
was roused at last by the threatened destruction of all the material
interests of the land. He confronted the tyrant with courage, sustained
perhaps by the knowledge that the proposed plan was not the King's, but
the Governor's. He knew that it was openly ridiculed in Madrid, and that
Philip, although he would probably never denounce it in terms, was
certainly not eager for its execution. The President enlarged upon the
difference which existed between the condition of a sparsely-peopled
country of herdsmen and laborers in Spain, and the densely-thronged and
bustling cities of the Netherlands. If the Duke collected 50,000 ducats
yearly from the alcabala in Alva, he could only offer him his
congratulations, but could not help assuring him that the tax would prove
an impossibility in the provinces. To his argument, that the impost would
fall with severity not upon the highest nor the lowest classes of
society, neither upon the great nobility and clergy nor on the rustic
population, but on the merchants and manufacturers, it was answered by
the President that it was not desirable to rob Saint Peter's altar in
order to build one to Saint Paul. It might have been simpler to suggest
that the consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all,
but the axiom was not so familiar three centuries ago as now.

Meantime, the report of the deputies to the assembly on their return to
their constituents had created the most intense excitement and alarm.
Petition after petition, report after report, poured in upon the
government. There was a cry of despair, and almost of defiance, which had
not been elicited by former agonies. To induce, however, a more favorable
disposition on the part of the Duke, the hundredth penny, once for all,
was conceded by the estates. The tenth and twentieth occasioned--severe
and protracted struggles, until the various assemblies of the patrimonial
provinces, one after another, exhausted, frightened, and hoping that no
serious effort would be made to collect the tax, consented, under certain
restrictions, to its imposition.--The principal conditions were a protest
against the legality of the proceeding, and the provision that the
consent of no province should be valid until that of all had been
obtained. Holland, too, was induced to give in its adhesion, although the
city of Amsterdam long withheld its consent; but the city and province of
Utrecht were inexorable. They offered a handsome sum in commutation,
increasing the sum first proposed from 70,000 to 200,000 florins, but
they resolutely refused to be saddled with this permanent tax. Their
stout resistance was destined to cost them dear. In the course of a few
months Alva, finding them still resolute in their refusal, quartered the
regiment of Lombardy upon them, and employed other coercive measures to
bring them to reason. The rude, insolent, unpaid and therefore
insubordinate soldiery were billeted in every house in the city, so that
the insults which the population were made to suffer by the intrusion of
these ruffians at their firesides would soon, it was thought, compel the
assent of the province to the tax. It was not so, however. The city and
the province remained stanch in their opposition. Accordingly, at the
close of the year (15th. December, 1569) the estates were summoned to
appear within fourteen days before the Blood Council. At the appointed
time the procureur-general was ready with an act of accusation,
accompanied, as was usually the case, with a simultaneous sentence of
condemnation. The indictment revived and recapitulated all previous
offences committed in the city and the province, particularly during the
troubles of 1566, and at the epoch of the treaty with Duchess Margaret.
The inhabitants and the magistrates, both in their individual and public
capacities, were condemned for heresy, rebellion, and misprision. The
city and province were accordingly pronounced guilty of high treason,
were deprived of all their charters, laws, privileges, freedoms, and
customs, and were declared to have forfeited all their property, real and
personal, together with all tolls, rents, excises, and imposts, the whole
being confiscated to the benefit of his Majesty.

The immediate execution of the sentence was, however, suspended, to allow
the estates opportunity to reply. An enormous mass of pleadings, replies,
replications, rejoinders, and apostilles was the result, which few eyes
were destined to read, and least of all those to whom they were nominally
addressed. They were of benefit to none save in the shape of fees which
they engendered to the gentlemen of the robe. It was six months, however,
before the case was closed. As there was no blood to be shed, a summary
process was not considered necessary. At last, on the 14th July, the
voluminous pile of documents was placed before Vargas. It was the first
time he had laid eyes upon them, and they were, moreover, written in a
language of which he did not understand a word. Such, however, was his
capacity for affairs, that a glance only at the outside of the case
enabled him to form his decision. Within half an hour afterwards, booted
and spurred, he was saying mass in the church of Saint Gudule, on his way
to pronounce sentence at Antwerp. That judgment was rendered the same
day, and confirmed the preceding act of condemnation. Vargas went to his
task as cheerfully as if it had been murder. The act of outlawry and
beggary was fulminated against the city and province, and a handsome
amount of misery for others, and of plunder for himself, was the result
of his promptness. Many thousand citizens were ruined, many millions of
property confiscated.

Thus was Utrecht deprived of all its ancient liberties, as a punishment
for having dared to maintain them. The clergy, too, of the province,
having invoked the bull "in Coena Domini," by which clerical property was
declared exempt from taxation, had excited the wrath of the Duke. To
wield so slight a bulrush against the man who had just been girded with
the consecrated and jewelled sword of the Pope, was indeed but a feeble
attempt at defence. Alva treated the Coena Domini with contempt, but he
imprisoned the printer who had dared to-republish it at this juncture.
Finding, moreover, that it had been put in press by the orders of no less
a person than Secretary La Torre, he threw that officer also into prison,
besides suspending him from his functions for a year.

The estates of the province and the magistracy of the city appealed to
his Majesty from the decision of the Duke. The case did not directly
concern the interests of religion, for although the heretical troubles of
1566 furnished the nominal motives of the condemnation, the resistance to
the tenth and twentieth penny was the real crime for which they were
suffering. The King, therefore, although far from clement, was not
extremely rigorous. He refused the object of the appeal, but he did not
put the envoys to death by whom it was brought to Madrid. This would have
certainly been the case in matters strictly religious, or even had the
commissioners arrived two years before, but even Philip believed,
perhaps, that for the moment almost enough innocent blood had been shed.
At any rate he suffered the legates from Utrecht to return, not with
their petition, granted, but at least with their heads upon their
shoulders. Early in the following year, the provinces still remaining
under martial law, all the Utrecht charters were taken into the
possession of government, and deposited in the castle of Vredenberg. It
was not till after the departure of Alva, that they were restored;
according to royal command, by the new governor, Requesens.

By the middle of the year 1569, Alva wrote to the King, with great
cheerfulness of tone, announcing that the estates of the provinces had
all consented to the tax. He congratulated his Majesty upon the fact that
this income might thenceforth be enjoyed in perpetuity, and that it would
bring at least two millions yearly into his coffers, over and above the
expenses of government. The hundredth penny, as he calculated, would
amount to at least five millions.

He was, however, very premature in his triumph, for the estates were not
long in withdrawing a concession which had either been wrung from them by
violence or filched from them by misrepresentation. Taking the ground
that the assent of all had been stipulated before that of any one should
be esteemed valid, every province now refused to enforce or to permit the
collection of the tenth or the twentieth penny within their limits. Dire
were the threatenings and the wrath of the Viceroy, painfully protracted
the renewed negotiations with the estates. At last, a compromise was
effected, and the final struggle postponed. Late in the summer it was
agreed that the provinces should pay two millions yearly for the two
following years, the term to expire in the month of August, 1571. Till
that period, therefore, there was comparative repose upon the subject.

The question of a general pardon had been agitated for more than a year,
both in Brussels and Madrid. Viglius, who knew his countrymen better than
the Viceroy knew them, had written frequently to his friend Hopper, on
the propriety of at once proclaiming an amnesty. There had also been many
conferences between himself and the Duke of Alva, and he had furnished
more than one draught for the proposed measure. The President knew full
well that the point had been reached beyond which the force of tyranny
could go no further. All additional pressure, he felt sure, could only
produce reaction, the effect of which might be to drive the Spaniards
from the Netherlands. There might then be another game to play. The heads
of those who had so assiduously served the government throughout its
terrible career might, in their turn, be brought to the block, and their
estates be made to enrich the Treasury. Moreover, there were symptoms
that Alva's favor was on the wane. The King had not been remarkably
struck with the merits of the new financial measures, and had expressed
much, anxiety lest the trade of the country should suffer. The Duke was
known to be desirous of his recal. His health was broken, he felt that he
was bitterly detested throughout the country, and he was certain that his
enemies at Madrid were fast undermining his credit. He seemed also to
have a dim suspicion that his mission was accomplished in the
Netherlands; that as much blood had been shed at present as the land
could easily absorb. He wrote urgently and even piteously to Philip, on
the subject of his return. "Were your Majesty only pleased to take me
from this country," he said, "I should esteem it as great a favor as if
your Majesty had given me life." He swore "by the soul of the Duchess,"
that he "would rather be cut into little pieces" than retire from his
post were his presence necessary, but he expressed the opinion that
through his exertions affairs had been placed in such train that they
were sure to roll on smoothly to the end of time. "At present, and for
the future," he wrote, "your Majesty is and will be more strictly obeyed
than any of your predecessors;" adding, with insane self-complacency,
"and all this has been accomplished without violence." He also assured
his Majesty as to the prosperous condition of financial affairs. His tax
was to work wonders. He had conversed with capitalists who had offered
him four millions yearly for the tenth penny, but he had refused, because
he estimated the product at a much higher figure. The hundredth penny
could not be rated lower than five millions. It was obvious, therefore,
that instead of remitting funds to the provinces, his Majesty would, for
the future, derive from them a steady and enormous income. Moreover, he
assured the King that there was at present no one to inspire anxiety from
within or without. The only great noble of note in the country was the
Duke of Aerschot, who was devoted to his Majesty, and who, moreover,
"amounted to very little," as the King well knew. As for the Prince of
Orange, he would have business enough in keeping out of the clutches of
his creditors. They had nothing to fear from Germany. England would do
nothing as long as Germany was quiet; and France was sunk too low to be
feared at all.

Such being the sentiments of the Duke, the King was already considering
the propriety of appointing his successor. All this was known to the
President. He felt instinctively that more clemency was to be expected
from that successor, whoever he might be; and he was satisfied,
therefore, that he would at least not be injuring his own position by
inclining at this late hour to the side of mercy. His opposition to the
tenth and twentieth penny had already established a breach between
himself and the Viceroy, but he felt secretly comforted by the reflection
that the King was probably on the same side with himself. Alva still
spoke of him, to be sure, both in public and private, with approbation;
taking occasion to commend him frequently, in his private letters, as a
servant upright and zealous, as a living register, without whose
universal knowledge of things and persons he should hardly know which way
to turn. The President, however, was growing weary of his own sycophancy.
He begged his friend Joachim to take his part, if his Excellency should
write unfavorably about his conduct to the King. He seemed to have
changed his views of the man concerning whose "prudence and gentleness"
he could once turn so many fine periods. He even expressed some anxiety
lest doubts should begin to be entertained as to the perfect clemency of
the King's character. "Here is so much confiscation and bloodshed going
on," said he, "that some taint of cruelty or avarice may chance to
bespatter the robe of his Majesty." He also confessed that he had
occasionally read in history of greater benignity than was now exercised
against the poor Netherlanders. Had the learned Frisian arrived at these
humane conclusions at a somewhat earlier day, it might perhaps have been
better for himself and for his fatherland. Had he served his country as
faithfully as he had served Time, and Philip, and Alva, his lands would
not have been so broad, nor his dignities so numerous, but he would not
have been obliged, in his old age; to exclaim, with whimsical petulance,
that "the faithful servant is always a perpetual ass."

It was now certain that an act of amnesty was in contemplation by the
King. Viglius had furnished several plans, which, however, had been so
much disfigured by the numerous exceptions suggested by Alva, that the
President could scarce recognize his work. Granvelle, too, had frequently
urged the pardon on the attention of Philip. The Cardinal was too astute
not to perceive that the time had arrived when a continued severity could
only defeat its own work. He felt that the country could not be rendered
more abject, the spirit of patriotism more apparently extinct. A show of
clemency, which would now cost nothing, and would mean nothing, might be
more effective than this profuse and wanton bloodshed.

He saw plainly that the brutality of Alva had already overshot the mark.
Too politic, however, openly to reprove so powerful a functionary, he
continued to speak of him and of his administration to Philip in terms of
exalted eulogy. He was a "sage seignior," a prudent governor, one on whom
his Majesty could entirely repose. He was a man of long experience,
trained all his life to affairs, and perfectly capable of giving a good
account of everything to which he turned his hands. He admitted, however,
to other correspondents, that the administration of the sage seignior, on
whom his Majesty could so implicitly rely, had at last "brought that
provinces into a deplorable condition."

Four different forms of pardon had been sent from Madrid, toward the
close of 1569. From these four the Duke was to select one, and carefully
to destroy the other three. It was not, however, till July of the
following year that the choice was made, and the Viceroy in readiness to
announce the pardon. On the 14th of that month a great festival was held
at Antwerp, for the purpose of solemnly proclaiming the long expected
amnesty. In the morning, the Duke, accompanied by a brilliant staff, and
by a long procession of clergy in their gorgeous robes, paraded through
the streets of the commercial capital, to offer up prayers and hear mass
in the cathedral. The Bishop of Arras then began a sermon upon the
blessings of mercy, with a running commentary upon the royal clemency
about to be exhibited. In the very outset, however, of his discourse, he
was seized with convulsions, which required his removal from the pulpit;
an incident which was not considered of felicitous augury. In the
afternoon, the Duke with his suite appeared upon the square in front of
the Town House. Here a large scaffolding or theatre had been erected. The
platform and the steps which led to it were covered with scarlet cloth. A
throne, covered with cloth of gold, was arranged in the most elevated
position for the Duke. On the steps immediately below him were placed two
of the most beautiful women in Antwerp, clad in allegorical garments to
represent righteousness and peace. The staircase and platform were lined
with officers, the square was beset with troops, and filled to its utmost
verge with an expectant crowd of citizens. Toward the close of a summer's
afternoon, the Duke wearing the famous hat and sword of the Pope, took
his seat on the throne with all the airs of royalty. After a few
preliminary ceremonies, a civil functionary, standing between two
heralds; then recited the long-expected act of grace. His reading,
however, was so indistinct, that few save the soldiers in the immediate
vicinity of the platform could hear a word of the document.

This effect was, perhaps, intentional. Certainly but little enthusiasm
could be expected from the crowd, had the text of the amnesty been heard.
It consisted of three parts--a recitation of the wrongs committed, a
statement of the terms of pardon, and a long list of exceptions. All the
sins of omission and commission, the heresy, the public preaching, the
image-breaking, the Compromise, the confederacy, the rebellion, were
painted in lively colors. Pardon, however, was offered to all those who
had not rendered themselves liable to positive impeachment, in case they
should make their peace with the Church before the expiration of two
months, and by confession and repentance obtain their absolution. The
exceptions, however, occupied the greater part of the document. When the
general act of condemnation had been fulminated by which all
Netherlanders were sentenced to death, the exceptions had been very few,
and all the individuals mentioned by name. In the act of pardon, the
exceptions comprehended so many classes of inhabitants, that it was
impossible for any individual to escape a place in, some one of the
categories, whenever it should please the government to take his life.
Expressly excluded from the benefit of the act were all ministers,
teachers, dogmatizers, and all who had favored and harbored such
dogmatizers and preachers; all those in the least degree implicated in
the image-breaking; all who had ever been individually suspected of
heresy or schism; all who had ever signed or favored the Compromise or
the Petition to the Regent; all those who had taken up arms, contributed
money, distributed tracts; all those in any manner chargeable with
misprision, or who had failed to denounce those guilty of heresy. All
persons, however, who were included in any of these classes of exceptions
might report themselves within six months, when, upon confession of their
crime, they might hope for a favorable consideration of their case.

Such, in brief, and stripped of its verbiage, was this amnesty for which
the Netherlands had so long been hoping. By its provisions, not a man or
woman was pardoned who had ever committed a fault. The innocent alone
were forgiven. Even they were not sure of mercy, unless they should
obtain full absolution from the Pope. More certainly than ever would the
accustomed rigor be dealt to all who had committed any of those positive
acts for which so many had already lost their heads. The clause by which
a possibility of pardon was hinted to such criminals, provided they would
confess and surrender, was justly regarded as a trap. No one was deceived
by it. No man, after the experience of the last three years; would
voluntarily thrust his head into the lion's mouth, in order to fix it
more firmly upon his shoulders. No man who had effected his escape was
likely to play informer against himself, in hope of obtaining a pardon
from which all but the most sincere and zealous Catholics were in reality
excepted.

The murmur and discontent were universal, therefore, as soon as the terms
of the act became known. Alva wrote to the King, to be sure, "that the
people were entirely satisfied, save only the demagogues, who could
tolerate no single exception from the amnesty; but he could neither
deceive his sovereign nor himself by such statements." Certainly, Philip
was totally disappointed in the effect which he had anticipated from the
measure. He had thought "it would stop the mouths of many people." On the
contrary, every mouth in the Netherlands became vociferous to denounce
the hypocrisy by which a new act of condemnation had been promulgated
under the name of a pardon. Viglius, who had drawn up an instrument of
much ampler clemency, was far from satisfied with the measure which had
been adopted. "Certainly," he wrote to his confidant, "a more benignant
measure was to be expected from so merciful a Prince. After four years
have past, to reserve for punishment and for execution all those who
during the tumult did not, through weakness of mind, render as much
service to government as brave men might have offered, is altogether
unexampled."

Alva could not long affect to believe in the people's satisfaction. He
soon wrote to the King, acknowledging that the impression produced by the
pardon was far from favorable. He attributed much evil effect to the
severe censure which was openly pronounced upon the act by members of the
government, both in Spain and the Netherlands. He complained that Hopper
had written to Viglius, that "the most severe of the four forms of pardon
transmitted had been selected;" the fact being, that the most lenient one
had been adopted. If this were so, whose imagination is powerful enough
to portray the three which had been burned, and which, although more
severe than the fierce document promulgated, were still entitled acts of
pardon? The Duke spoke bitterly of the manner in which influential
persons in Madrid had openly abominated the cruel form of amnesty which
had been decreed. His authority in the Netherlands was already
sufficiently weakened, he said, and such censure upon his actions from
head-quarters did not tend to improve it. "In truth," he added, almost
pathetically, "it is not wonderful that the whole nation should be
ill-disposed towards me, for I certainly have done nothing to make them
love me. At the same time, such language transmitted from Madrid does not
increase their tenderness."

In short, viewed as a measure by which government, without disarming
itself of its terrible powers, was to pacify the popular mind, the
amnesty was a failure. Viewed as a net, by which fresh victims should be
enticed to entangle themselves, who had already made their way into the
distant atmosphere of liberty, it was equally unsuccessful. A few very
obscure individuals made their appearance to claim the benefit of the
act, before the six months had expired. With these it was thought
expedient to deal gently; but no one was deceived by such clemency. As
the common people expressed themselves, the net was not spread on that
occasion for finches.

The wits of the Netherlands, seeking relief from their wretched condition
in a still more wretched quibble, transposed two letters of the word
Pardona, and re-baptized the new measure Pandora. The conceit was not
without meaning. The amnesty, descending from supernal regions, had been
ushered into the presence of mortals as a messenger laden with heavenly
gifts. The casket, when opened, had diffused curses instead of blessings.
There, however, the classical analogy ended, for it would have puzzled
all the pedants of Louvain to discover Hope lurking, under any disguise,
within the clauses of the pardon.

Very soon after the promulgation of this celebrated act, the new bride of
Philip, Anne of Austria, passed through the Netherlands, on her way to
Madrid. During her brief stay in Brussels, she granted an interview to
the Dowager Countess of Horn. That unhappy lady, having seen her eldest
son, the head of her illustrious house, so recently perish on the
scaffold, wished to make a last effort in behalf of the remaining one,
then closely confined in the prison of Segovia. The Archduchess solemnly
promised that his release should be the first boon which she would
request of her royal bridegroom, and the bereaved countess retired almost
with a hope.

A short digression must here be allowed, to narrate the remaining
fortunes of that son, the ill-starred Seigneur de Montigny. His mission
to Madrid in company of the Marquis Berghen has been related in a
previous volume. The last and most melancholy scene in the life of his
fellow envoy has been described in a recent chapter. After that ominous
event, Montigny became most anxious to effect his retreat from Spain. He
had been separated more than a year from his few months' bride. He was
not imprisoned, but he felt himself under the most rigid although secret
inspection. It was utterly impossible for him to obtain leave to return,
or to take his departure without permission. On one occasion, having left
the city accidentally for a ride on horseback to an adjoining village, he
found himself surrounded by an unexpected escort of forty troopers.
Still, however, the King retained a smiling mien. To Montigny's repeated
and urgent requests for dismissal, Philip graciously urged his desire for
a continuance of his visit. He was requested to remain in order to
accompany his sovereign upon that journey to the Netherlands which would
not be much longer delayed. In his impatience anything seemed preferable
to the state of suspense in which he was made to linger. He eagerly
offered, if he were accused or suspected of crime, to surrender himself
to imprisonment if he only could be brought to trial. Soon after Alva's
arrival in the Netherlands, the first part of this offer was accepted. No
sooner were the arrests of Egmont and Horn known in Madrid, than Montigny
was deprived of his liberty, and closely confined in the alcazar of
Segovia. Here he remained imprisoned for eight or nine months in a high
tower, with no attendant save a young page, Arthur de Munter, who had
accompanied him from the Netherlands. Eight men-at-arms were expressly
employed to watch over him and to prevent his escape.

One day towards the middle of July, 1568, a band of pilgrims, some of
them in Flemish attire, went through the streets of Segovia. They were
chanting, as was customary on such occasions, a low, monotonous song, in
which Montigny, who happened to be listening, suddenly recognized the
language of his fatherland. His surprise was still greater when, upon
paying closer attention, he distinguished the terrible meaning of the
song. The pretended pilgrims, having no other means of communication with
the prisoner, were singing for his information the tragic fates of his
brother, Count Horn, and of his friend, Count Egmont. Mingled with the
strain were warnings of his own approaching doom; if he were not able to
effect his escape before it should be too late. Thus by this friendly
masquerade did Montigny learn the fate of his brother, which otherwise,
in that land of terrible secrecy, might have been concealed from him for
ever.

The hint as to his own preservation was not lost upon him; and he at once
set about a plan of escape. He succeeded in gaining over to his interests
one of the eight soldiers by whom he was guarded, and he was thus enabled
to communicate with many of his own adherents without the prison walls.
His major-domo had previously been permitted to furnish his master's
table with provisions dressed by his own cook. A correspondence was now
carried on by means of letters concealed within the loaves of bread sent
daily to the prisoner. In the same way files were provided for sawing
through his window-bars. A very delicate ladder of ropes, by which he was
to effect his escape into the court below, was also transmitted. The plan
had been completely arranged. A certain Pole employed in the enterprise
was to be at Hernani, with horses in readiness to convey them to San
Sebastian. There a sloop had been engaged, and was waiting their arrival.
Montigny, accordingly, in a letter enclosed within a loaf of bread--the
last, as he hoped, which he should break in prison--was instructed, after
cutting off his beard and otherwise disguising his person, to execute his
plan and join his confederates at Hernani. Unfortunately, the major-domo
of Montigny was in love. Upon the eve of departure from Spain, his
farewell interview with his mistress was so much protracted that the care
of sending the bread was left to another. The substitute managed so
unskilfully that the loaf was brought to the commandant of the castle,
and not to the prisoner. The commandant broke the bread, discovered the
letter, and became master of the whole plot. All persons engaged in the
enterprise were immediately condemned to death, and the Spanish soldier
executed without delay. The others being considered, on account of their
loyalty to their master as deserving a commutation of punishment, were
sent to the galleys. The major-domo, whose ill-timed gallantry had thus
cost Montigny his liberty, received two hundred lashes in addition. All,
however, were eventually released from imprisonment.

The unfortunate gentleman was now kept in still closer confinement in his
lonely tower. As all his adherents had been disposed of, he could no
longer entertain a hope of escape. In the autumn of this year (1568) it
was thought expedient by Alva to bring his case formally before the Blood
Council. Montigny had committed no crime, but he was one of that band of
popular, nobles whose deaths had been long decreed. Letters were
accordingly sent to Spain, empowering certain functionaries there to
institute that preliminary examination, which, as usual, was to be the
only trial vouchsafed. A long list of interrogatories was addressed to
him on February 7th, 1569, in his prison at Segovia. A week afterwards,
he was again visited by the alcalde, who read over to him the answers
which he had made on the first occasion, and required him to confirm
them. He was then directed to send his procuration to certain persons in
the Netherlands, whom he might wish to appear in his behalf. Montigny
complied by sending several names, with a clause of substitution. All the
persons thus appointed, however, declined to act, unless they could be
furnished with a copy of the procuration, and with a statement of the
articles of accusation. This was positively refused by the Blood Council.
Seeing no possibility of rendering service to their friend by performing
any part in this mockery of justice, they refused to accept the
procuration. They could not defend a case when not only the testimony,
but even the charges against the accused were kept secret. An individual
was accordingly appointed by government to appear in the prisoner's
behalf.

Thus the forms of justice were observed, and Montigny, a close prisoner
in the tower of Segovia, was put upon trial for his life in Brussels.
Certainly nothing could exceed the irony of such a process. The advocate
had never seen his client, thousands of miles away, and was allowed to
hold no communication with him by letter. The proceedings were instituted
by a summons, addressed by the Duke of Alva to Madame de Montigny in
Brussels. That unhappy lady could only appeal to the King. "Convinced,"
she said, "that her husband was innocent of the charges brought against
him, she threw herself, overwhelmed and consumed by tears and misery, at
his Majesty's feet. She begged the King to remember the past services of
Montigny, her own youth, and that she had enjoyed his company but four
months. By all these considerations, and by the passion of Jesus Christ,
she adjured the monarch to pardon any faults which her husband might have
committed." The reader can easily judge how much effect such a tender
appeal was like to have upon the heart of Philip. From that rock; thus
feebly smitten, there flowed no fountain of mercy. It was not more
certain that Montigny's answers to the interrogatories addressed to him
had created a triumphant vindication of his course, than that such
vindication would be utterly powerless to save his life. The charges
preferred against him were similar to those which had brought Egmont and
Horn to the block, and it certainly created no ground of hope for him,
that he could prove himself even more innocent of suspicious conduct than
they had done. On the 4th March, 1570, accordingly, the Duke of Alva
pronounced sentence against him. The sentence declared that his head
should be cut off, and afterwards exposed to public view upon the head of
a pike. Upon the 18th March, 1570, the Duke addressed a requisitory
letter to the alcaldes, corregidors, and other judges of Castile,
empowering them to carry the sentence into execution.

On the arrival of this requisition there was a serious debate before the
King in council. It seemed to be the general opinion that there had been
almost severity enough in the Netherlands for the present. The spectacle
of the public execution of another distinguished personage, it was
thought, might now prove more irritating than salutary. The King was of
this opinion himself. It certainly did not occur to him or to his
advisers that this consideration should lead them to spare the life of an
innocent man. The doubts entertained as to the expediency of a fresh
murder were not allowed to benefit the prisoner, who, besides being a
loyal subject and a communicant of the ancient Church, was also clothed
in the white robes of an envoy, claiming not only justice but
hospitality, as the deputy of Philip's sister, Margaret of Parma. These
considerations probably never occurred to the mind of His Majesty. In
view, however, of the peculiar circumstances of the case, it was
unanimously agreed that there should be no more blood publicly shed. Most
of the councillors were in favor of slow poison. Montigny's meat and
drink, they said, should be daily drugged, so that he might die by little
and little. Philip, however, terminated these disquisitions by deciding
that the ends of justice would not thus be sufficiently answered. The
prisoner, he had resolved, should be regularly executed, but the deed
should be secret, and it should be publicly announced that he had died of
a fever.

This point having been settled; the King now set about the arrangement of
his plan with all that close attention to detail which marked his
character. The patient industry which, had God given him a human heart
and a love of right, might have made him a useful monarch, he now devoted
to a scheme of midnight murder with a tranquil sense of enjoyment which
seems almost incredible. There is no exaggeration in calling the deed a
murder, for it certainly was not sanctioned by any law, divine or human,
nor justified or excused by any of the circumstances which are supposed
to palliate homicide. Nor, when the elaborate and superfluous luxury of
arrangements made by Philip for the accomplishment of his design is
considered, can it be doubted that he found a positive pleasure in his
task. It would almost seem that he had become jealous of Alva's
achievements in the work of slaughter. He appeared willing to prove to
those immediately about him, that however capable might be the Viceroy of
conducting public executions on a grand and terrifying scale, there was
yet a certain delicacy of finish never attained by Alva in such business,
and which was all his Majesty's own. The King was resolved to make the
assassination of Montigny a masterpiece.

On the 17th August, 1570, he accordingly directed Don Eugenio de Peralta,
concierge of the fortress of Simancas, to repair to Segovia, and thence
to remove the Seigneur Montigny to Simancas. Here he was to be strictly
immured; yet was to be allowed at times to walk in the corridor adjoining
his chamber. On the 7th October following, the licentiate Don Alonzo de
Avellano, alcalde of Valladolid, was furnished with an order addressed by
the King to Don Eugenio de Peralta, requiring him to place the prisoner
in the hands of the said licentiate, who was charged with the execution
of Alva's sentence. This functionary had, moreover, been provided with a
minute letter of instructions, which had been drawn up according to the
King's directions, on the 1st October. In these royal instructions, it
was stated that, although the sentence was for a public execution, yet
the King had decided in favor of a private one within the walls of the
fortress. It was to be managed so that no one should suspect that
Montigny had been executed, but so that, on the contrary, it should be
universally said and believed that he had died a natural death. Very few
persons, all sworn and threatened into secrecy, were therefore to be
employed. Don Alonzo was to start immediately for Valladolid; which was
within two short leagues of Simancas. At that place he would communicate
with Don Eugenio, and arrange the mode, day, and hour of execution. He
would leave Valladolid on the evening before a holiday, late in the
afternoon, so as to arrive a little after dark at Simancas. He would take
with him a confidential notary, an executioner, and as few servants as
possible. Immediately upon his entrance to the fortress, he was to
communicate the sentence of death to Montigny, in presence of Don Eugenio
and of one or two other persons. He would then console him, in which task
he would be assisted by Don Eugenio. He would afterwards leave him with
the religious person who would be appointed for that purpose. That night
and the whole of the following day, which would be a festival, till after
midnight, would be allotted to Montigny, that he might have time to
confess, to receive the sacraments, to convert himself to God, and to
repent. Between one and two o'clock in the morning the execution was to
take place, in presence of the ecclesiastic, of Don Eugenio de Peralta,
of the notary, and of one or two other persons, who would be needed by
the executioner. The ecclesiastic was to be a wise and prudent person,
and to be informed how little confidence Montigny inspired in the article
of faith. If the prisoner should wish to make a will, it could not be
permitted. As all his property had been confiscated, he could dispose of
nothing. Should he, however, desire to make a memorial of the debts which
he would wish paid; he was to be allowed that liberty. It was, however,
to be stipulated that he was to make no allusion, in any memorial or
letter which he might write, to the execution which was about to take
place. He was to use the language of a man seriously ill, and who feels
himself at the point of death. By this infernal ingenuity it was proposed
to make the victim an accomplice in the plot, and to place a false
exculpation of his assassins in his dying lips. The execution having been
fulfilled, and the death having been announced with the dissimulation
prescribed, the burial was to take place in the church of Saint Saviour,
in Simancas. A moderate degree of pomp, such as befitted a person of
Montigny's quality, was to be allowed, and a decent tomb erected. A grand
mass was also to be celebrated, with a respectable number, "say seven
hundred," of lesser masses. As the servants of the defunct were few in
number, continued the frugal King, they might be provided each with a
suit of mourning. Having thus personally arranged all the details of this
secret work, from the reading of the sentence to the burial of the
prisoner; having settled not only the mode of his departure from life,
but of his passage through purgatory, the King despatched the agent on
his mission.

The royal program was faithfully enacted. Don Alonzo arrived at
Valladolid; and made his arrangements with Don Eugenio. It was agreed
that a paper, prepared by royal authority, and brought by Don Alonzo from
Madrid, should be thrown into the corridor of Montigny's prison. This
paper, written in Latin, ran as follows:

   "In the night, as I understand, there will be no chance for your
   escape. In the daytime there will be many; for you are then in
   charge of a single gouty guardian, no match in strength or speed for
   so vigorous a man as you. Make your escape from the 8th to the 12th
   of October, at any hour you can, and take the road contiguous to the
   castle gate through which you entered. You will find Robert and
   John, who will be ready with horses, and with everything necessary.
   May God favor your undertaking.--R. D. M."

The letter, thus designedly thrown into the corridor by one confederate,
was soon afterwards picked up by the other, who immediately taxed
Montigny with an attempt to escape. Notwithstanding the vehement
protestations of innocence naturally made by the prisoner, his pretended
project was made the pretext for a still closer imprisonment in the
"Bishop's Tower." A letter, written at Madrid, by Philip's orders, had
been brought by Don Alonzo to Simancas, narrating by anticipation these
circumstances, precisely as they had now occurred. It moreover stated
that Montigny, in consequence of his close confinement, had fallen
grievously ill, and that he would receive all the attention compatible
with his safe keeping. This letter, according to previous orders, was now
signed by Don Eugenio de Peralta, dated 10th October, 1570; and publicly
despatched to Philip. It was thus formally established that Montigny was
seriously ill. A physician, thoroughly instructed and sworn to secrecy,
was now ostentatiously admitted to the tower, bringing with him a vast
quantity of drugs. He duly circulated among the townspeople, on his
return, his opinion that the illustrious prisoner was afflicted with a
disorder from which it was almost impossible that he should recover.
Thus, thanks to Philip's masterly precautions, not a person in Madrid or
Simancas was ignorant that Montigny was dying of a fever, with the single
exception of the patient himself.

On Saturday, the 14th of October, at nightfall, Don Alonzo de Avellano,
accompanied by the prescribed individuals, including Fray Hernando del,
Castillo, an ecclesiastic of high reputation, made their appearance at
the prison of Simancas. At ten in the evening the announcement of the
sentence was made to Montigny. He was visibly agitated at the sudden
intelligence, for it was entirely unexpected by him. He had, on the
contrary, hoped much from the intercession of, the Queen, whose arrival
he had already learned. He soon recovered himself, however, and requested
to be left alone with the ecclesiastic. All the night and the following
day were passed in holy offices. He conducted himself with great
moderation, courage, and tranquillity. He protested his entire innocence
of any complicity with the Prince of Orange, or of any disloyal designs
or sentiments at any period of his life. He drew up a memorial,
expressing his strong attachment to every point of the Catholic faith,
from which he had never for an instant swerved. His whole demeanor was
noble, submissive, and Christian. "In every essential," said Fray
Hernando, "he conducted himself so well that we who remain may bear him
envy." He wrote a paper of instructions concerning his faithful and
bereaved dependents. He placed his signet ring, attached to a small gold
chain, in the hands of the ecclesiastic, to be by him transmitted to his
wife. Another ring, set with turquois, he sent to his mother-in-law, the
Princess Espinoy, from whom he had received it. About an hour after
midnight, on the morning, therefore, of the 16th of October, Fray
Hernando gave notice that the prisoner was ready to die. The alcalde Don
Alonzo then entered, accompanied by the executioner and the notary. The
sentence of Alva was now again recited, the alcalde adding that the King,
"out of his clemency and benignity," had substituted a secret for a
public execution. Montigny admitted that the judgment would be just and
the punishment lenient, if it were conceded that the charges against him
were true. His enemies, however, while he had been thus immured, had
possessed the power to accuse him as they listed. He ceased to speak, and
the executioner then came forward and strangled him. The alcalde, the
notary, and the executioner then immediately started for Valladolid, so
that no person next morning knew that they had been that night at
Simancas, nor could guess the dark deed which they had then and there
accomplished. The terrible, secret they were forbidden, on pain of death,
to reveal.

Montigny, immediately after his death, was clothed in the habit of Saint
Francis, in order to conceal the marks of strangulation. In the course of
the day the body was deposited, according to the King's previous orders,
in the church of Saint Saviour. Don Eugenio de Peralta, who superintended
the interment, uncovered the face of the defunct to prove his identity,
which was instantly recognised by many sorrowing servants. The next
morning the second letter, prepared by Philip long before, and brought by
Don Alonzo de Avellano to Simancas, received the date of 17th October,
1570, together with the signature of Don Eugenio de Peralta, keeper of
Simancas fortress, and was then publicly despatched to the King. It
stated that, notwithstanding the care given to the Seigneur de Montigny
in his severe illness by the physicians who had attended him, he had
continued to grow worse and worse until the previous morning between
three and four o'clock, when he had expired. The Fray Hernando del
Castillo, who had accidentally happened to be at Simancas, had performed
the holy offices, at the request of the deceased, who had died in so
catholic a frame of mind, that great hopes might be entertained of his
salvation. Although he possessed no property, yet his burial had been
conducted very respectably.

On the 3rd of November, 1570, these two letters, ostensibly written by
Don Eugenio de Peralta, were transmitted by Philip to the Duke of Alva.
They were to serve as evidence of the statement which the
Governor-General was now instructed to make, that the Seigneur de
Montigny had died a natural death in the fortress of Simancas. By the
same courier, the King likewise forwarded a secret memoir, containing the
exact history of the dark transaction, from which memoir the foregoing
account has been prepared. At the same time the Duke was instructed
publicly to exhibit the lying letters of Don Eugenio de Peralta, as
containing an authentic statement of the affair. The King observed,
moreover, in his letter, that there was not a person in Spain who doubted
that Montigny had died of a fever. He added that if the sentiments of the
deceased nobleman had been at all in conformity with his external
manifestations, according to the accounts received of his last moments,
it was to be hoped that God would have mercy upon his soul. The secretary
who copied the letter, took the liberty of adding, however, to this
paragraph the suggestion, that "if Montigny were really a heretic, the
devil, who always assists his children in such moments, would hardly have
failed him in his dying hour." Philip, displeased with this flippancy,
caused the passage to be erased. He even gave vent to his royal
indignation in a marginal note, to the effect that we should always
express favorable judgments concerning the dead--a pious sentiment always
dearer to writing masters than to historians. It seemed never to have
occurred however to this remarkable moralist, that it was quite as
reprehensible to strangle an innocent man as to speak ill of him after
his decease.

Thus perished Baron Montigny, four years after his arrival in Madrid as
Duchess Margaret's ambassador, and three years after the death of his
fellow-envoy Marquis Berghen. No apology is necessary for so detailed an
account of this dark and secret tragedy. The great transactions of a
reign are sometimes paltry things; great battles and great treaties,
after vast consumption of life and of breath, often leave the world where
they found it. The events which occupy many of the statelier pages of
history, and which have most lived in the mouths of men, frequently
contain but commonplace lessons of philosophy. It is perhaps otherwise
when, by the resuscitation of secret documents, over which the dust of
three centuries has gathered, we are enabled to study the internal
working of a system of perfect tyranny. Liberal institutions, republican
or constitutional governments, move in the daylight; we see their mode of
operation, feel the jar of their wheels, and are often needlessly alarmed
at their apparent tendencies. The reverse of the picture is not always so
easily attainable. When, therefore, we find a careful portrait of a
consummate tyrant, painted by his own hand, it is worth our while to
pause for a moment, that we may carefully peruse the lineaments.
Certainly, we shall afterwards not love liberty the less.

Towards the end of the year 1570, still another and a terrible misfortune
descended upon the Netherlands. It was now the hand of God which smote
the unhappy country, already so tortured by the cruelty of war. An
inundation, more tremendous than any which had yet been recorded in those
annals so prolific in such catastrophes, now swept the whole coast from
Flanders to Friesland. Not the memorable deluge of the thirteenth
century, out of which the Zuyder Zee was born; not that in which the
waters of the Dollart had closed for ever over the villages and churches
of Groningen; not one of those perpetually recurring floods by which the
inhabitants of the Netherlands, year after year, were recalled to an
anxious remembrance of the watery chaos out of which their fatherland had
been created, and into which it was in daily danger of resolving itself
again, had excited so much terror and caused so much destruction. A
continued and violent gale from the north-west had long been sweeping the
Atlantic waters into the North Sea, and had now piled them upon the
fragile coasts of the provinces. The dykes, tasked beyond their strength,
burst in every direction. The cities of Flanders, to a considerable
distance inland, were suddenly invaded by the waters of the ocean. The
whole narrow peninsula of North Holland was in imminent danger of being
swept away for ever. Between Amsterdam and Meyden, the great Diemer dyke
was broken through in twelve places. The Hand-bos, a bulwark formed of
oaken piles, fastened with metal clamps, moored with iron anchors, and
secured by gravel and granite, was snapped to pieces like packthread. The
"Sleeper," a dyke thus called, because it was usually left in repose by
the elements, except in great emergencies, alone held firm, and prevented
the consummation of the catastrophe. Still the ocean poured in upon the
land with terrible fury. Dort, Rotterdam, and many other cities were, for
a time, almost submerged. Along the coast, fishing vessels, and even
ships of larger size, were floated up into the country, where they
entangled themselves in groves and orchards, or beat to pieces the roofs
and walls of houses. The destruction of life and of property was enormous
throughout the maritime provinces, but in Friesland the desolation was
complete. There nearly all the dykes and sluices were dashed to
fragments; the country, far and-wide, converted into an angry sea. The
steeples and towers of inland cities became islands of the ocean.
Thousands of human beings were swept out of existence in a few hours.
Whole districts of territory, with all their villages, farms, and
churches, were rent from their places, borne along by the force of the
waves, sometimes to be lodged in another part of the country, sometimes
to be entirely engulfed. Multitudes of men, women, children, of horses,
oxen, sheep, and every domestic animal, were struggling in the waves in
every direction. Every boat, and every article which could serve as a
boat, were eagerly seized upon. Every house was inundated; even the
grave-yards gave up their dead. The living infant in his cradle, and the
long-buried corpse in his coffin, floated side by side. The ancient flood
seemed about to be renewed. Everywhere, upon the top of trees, upon the
steeples of churches, human beings were clustered, praying to God for
mercy, and to their fellow-men for assistance. As the storm at last was
subsiding, boats began to ply in every direction, saving those who were
still struggling in the water, picking fugitives from roofs and
tree-tops, and collecting the bodies of those already drowned. Colonel
Robles, Seigneur de Billy, formerly much hated for his Spanish or
Portuguese blood, made himself very active in this humane work. By his
exertions, and those of the troops belonging to Groningen, many lives
were rescued, and gratitude replaced the ancient animosity. It was
estimated that at least twenty thousand persons were destroyed in the
province of Friesland alone. Throughout the Netherlands, one hundred
thousand persons perished. The damage alone to property, the number of
animals engulfed in the sea, were almost incalculable.

These events took place on the 1st and 2nd November, 1570. The former
happened to be the day of All Saints, and the Spaniards maintained loudly
that the vengeance of Heaven had descended upon the abode of heretics.
The Netherlanders looked upon the catastrophe as ominous of still more
terrible misfortunes in store for them. They seemed doomed to destruction
by God and man. An overwhelming tyranny had long been chafing against
their constitutional bulwarks, only to sweep over them at last; and now
the resistless ocean, impatient of man's feeble barriers, had at last
risen to reclaim his prey. Nature, as if disposed to put to the blush the
feeble cruelty of man, had thus wrought more havoc in a few hours, than
bigotry, however active, could effect in many years.

Nearly at the close of this year (1570) an incident occurred,
illustrating the ferocious courage so often engendered in civil contests.
On the western verge of the Isle of Bommel, stood the castle of
Lowestein. The island is not in the sea. It is the narrow but important
territory which is enclosed between the Meuse and the Waal. The castle,
placed in a slender hook, at the junction of the two rivers, commanded
the two cities of Gorcum and Dorcum, and the whole navigation of the
waters. One evening, towards the end of December, four monks, wearing the
cowls and robes of Mendicant Grey Friars, demanded hospitality at the
castle gate. They were at once ushered into the presence of the
commandant, a brother of President Tisnacq. He was standing by the fire,
conversing with his wife. The foremost monk approaching him, asked
whether the castle held for the Duke of Alva or the Prince of Orange. The
castellian replied that he recognized no prince save Philip, King of
Spain. Thereupon the monk, who was no other than Herman de Ruyter, a
drover by trade, and a warm partisan of Orange, plucked a pistol from
beneath his robe, and shot the commandant through the head. The others,
taking advantage of the sudden panic, overcame all the resistance offered
by the feeble garrison, and made themselves masters of the place. In the
course of the next day they introduced into the castle four or five and
twenty men, with which force they diligently set themselves to fortify
the place, and secure themselves in its possession. A larger
reinforcement which they had reckoned upon, was detained by the floods
and frosts, which, for the moment, had made the roads and fivers alike
impracticable.

Don Roderigo de Toledo, governor of Bois le Duc, immediately despatched a
certain Captain Perea, at the head of two hundred soldiers, who were
joined on the way by a miscellaneous force of volunteers, to recover the
fortress as soon as possible. The castle, bathed on its outward walls by
the Waal and Meuse, and having two redoubts, defended by a double
interior foss, would have been difficult to take by assaults had the
number of the besieged been at all adequate to its defence. As matters
stood, however, the Spaniards, by battering a breach in the wall with
their cannon on the first day, and then escalading the inner works with
remarkable gallantry upon the second, found themselves masters of the
place within eight and forty hours of their first appearance before its
gates. Most of the defenders were either slain or captured alive. De
Ruyter alone had betaken himself to an inner hall of the castle, where he
stood at bay upon the threshold. Many Spaniards, one after another, as
they attempted to kill or to secure him, fell before his sword, which he
wielded with the strength of a giant. At last, overpowered by numbers,
and weakened by the loss of blood, he retreated slowly into the hall,
followed by many of his antagonists. Here, by an unexpected movement, he
applied a match to a train of powder, which he had previously laid along
the floor of the apartment. The explosion was instantaneous. The tower,
where the contest was taking place, sprang into the air, and De Ruyter
with his enemies shared a common doom. A part of the mangled remains of
this heroic but ferocious patriot were afterwards dug from the ruins of
the tower, and with impotent malice nailed upon the gallows at Bois le
Duc. Of his surviving companions, some were beheaded, some were broken on
the wheel, some were hung and quartered--all were executed.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 18.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1570 [CHAPTER VI.]

   Orange and Count Louis in France--Peace with the Huguenots--
   Coligny's memoir, presented by request to Charles IX., on the
   subject of invading the Netherlands--Secret correspondence of Orange
   organized by Paul Buys--Privateering commissions issued by the
   Prince--Regulations prescribed by him for the fleets thus created--
   Impoverished condition of the Prince--His fortitude--His personal
   sacrifices and privations--His generosity--Renewed contest between
   the Duke and the Estates on the subject of the tenth and twentieth
   pence--Violent disputes in the council--Firm opposition of Viglius--
   Edict commanding the immediate collection of the tax--Popular
   tumults--Viglius denounced by Alva--The Duke's fierce complaints to
   the King--Secret schemes of Philip against Queen Elizabeth of
   England--The Ridolphi plot to murder Elizabeth countenanced by
   Philip and Pius V.--The King's orders to Alva to further the plan--
   The Duke's remonstrances--Explosion of the plot--Obstinacy of
   Philip--Renewed complaints of Alva as to the imprudent service
   required of him--Other attempts of Philip to murder Elizabeth--Don
   John of Austria in the Levant----Battle of Lepanto--Slothfulness of
   Selim--Appointment of Medina Celi--Incessant wrangling in Brussels
   upon the tax--Persevering efforts of Orange--Contempt of Alva for
   the Prince--Proposed sentence of ignominy against his name--Sonoy's
   mission to Germany--Remarkable papers issued by the Prince--The
   "harangue"--Intense hatred for Alva entertained by the highest as
   well as lower orders--Visit of Francis de Alva to Brussels--His
   unfavourable report to the King--Querulous language of the Duke--
   Deputation to Spain--Universal revolt against the tax--Ferocity of
   Alva--Execution of eighteen tradesmen secretly ordered--Interrupted
   by the capture of Brill--Beggars of the sea--The younger Wild Boar
   of Ardennes--Reconciliation between the English government and that
   of Alva--The Netherland privateersmen ordered out of English ports--
   De la Marck's fleet before Brill--The town summoned to surrender--
   Commissioners sent out to the fleet--Flight of the magistrates and
   townspeople--Capture of the place--Indignation of Alva--Popular
   exultation in Brussels--Puns and Caricatures--Bossu ordered to
   recover the town of Brill--His defeat--His perfidious entrance into
   Rotterdam--Massacre in that city--Flushing revolutionized--
   Unsuccessful attempt of Governor de Bourgogne to recall the citizens
   to their obedience--Expedition under Treslong from Brill to assist
   the town of Flushing--Murder of Paccheco by the Patriots--Zeraerts
   appointed Governor of Walcheren by Orange.

While such had been the domestic events of the Netherlands during the
years 1569 and 1570, the Prince of Orange, although again a wanderer, had
never allowed himself to despair. During this whole period, the darkest
hour for himself and for his country, he was ever watchful. After
disbanding his troops at Strasburg, and after making the best
arrangements possible under the circumstances for the eventual payment of
their wages, he had joined the army which the Duke of Deux Ponts had been
raising in Germany to assist the cause of the Huguenots in France. The
Prince having been forced to acknowledge that, for the moment, all open
efforts in the Netherlands were likely to be fruitless, instinctively
turned his eyes towards the more favorable aspect of the Reformation in
France. It was inevitable that, while he was thus thrown for the time out
of his legitimate employment, he should be led to the battles of freedom
in a neighbouring land. The Duke of Deux Ponts, who felt his own military
skill hardly adequate to the task which he had assumed, was glad, as it
were, to put himself and his army under the orders of Orange.

Meantime the battle of Jamac had been fought; the Prince of Condo,
covered with wounds, and exclaiming that it was sweet to die for Christ
and country, had fallen from his saddle; the whole Huguenot army had been
routed by the royal forces under the nominal command of Anjou, and the
body of Conde, tied to the back of a she ass, had been paraded through
the streets of Jarnap in derision.

Affairs had already grown almost as black for the cause of freedom in
France as in the provinces. Shortly afterwards William of Orange, with a
band of twelve hundred horsemen, joined the banners of Coligny. His two
brothers accompanied him. Henry, the stripling, had left the university
to follow the fortunes of the Prince. The indomitable Louis, after seven
thousand of his army had been slain, had swum naked across the Ems,
exclaiming "that his courage, thank God, was as fresh and lively as
ever," and had lost not a moment in renewing his hostile schemes against
the Spanish government. In the meantime he had joined the Huguenots in
France. The battle of Moncontour had succeeded, Count Peter Mansfeld,
with five thousand troops sent by Alva, fighting on the side of the
royalists, and Louis Nassau on that of the Huguenots, atoning by the
steadiness and skill with which he covered the retreat, for his
intemperate courage, which had precipitated the action, and perhaps been
the main cause of Coligny's overthrow. The Prince of Orange, who had been
peremptorily called to the Netherlands in the beginning of the autumn,
was not present at the battle. Disguised as a peasant, with but five
attendants, and at great peril, he had crossed the enemy's lines,
traversed France, and arrived in Germany before the winter. Count Louis
remained with the Huguenots. So necessary did he seem to their cause, and
so dear had he become to their armies, that during the severe illness of
Coligny in the course of the following summer all eyes were turned upon
him as the inevitable successor of that great man, the only remaining
pillar of freedom in France.

Coligny recovered. The deadly peace between the Huguenots and the Court
succeeded. The Admiral, despite his sagacity and his suspicions, embarked
with his whole party upon that smooth and treacherous current which led
to the horrible catastrophe of Saint Bartholomew. To occupy his
attention, a formal engagement was made by the government to send succor
to the Netherlands. The Admiral was to lead the auxiliaries which were to
be despatched across the frontier to overthrow the tyrannical government
of Alva. Long and anxious were the colloquies held between Coligny and
the Royalists. The monarch requested a detailed opinion, in writing, from
the Admiral, on the most advisable plan for invading the Netherlands. The
result was the preparation of the celebrated memoir, under Coligny's
directions, by young De Mornay, Seigneur de Plessis. The document was
certainly not a paper of the highest order. It did not appeal to the
loftier instincts which kings or common mortals might be supposed to
possess. It summoned the monarch to the contest in the Netherlands that
the ancient injuries committed by Spain might be avenged. It invoked the
ghost of Isabella of France, foully murdered, as it was thought, by
Philip. It held out the prospect of re-annexing the fair provinces,
wrested from the King's ancestors by former Spanish sovereigns. It
painted the hazardous position of Philip; with the Moorish revolt gnawing
at the entrails of his kingdom, with the Turkish war consuming its
extremities, with the canker of rebellion corroding the very heart of the
Netherlands. It recalled, with exultation, the melancholy fact that the
only natural and healthy existence of the French was in a state of
war--that France, if not occupied with foreign campaigns, could not be
prevented from plunging its sword into its own vitals.

It indulged in refreshing reminiscences of those halcyon days, not long
gone by, when France, enjoying perfect tranquillity within its own
borders, was calmly and regularly carrying on its long wars beyond the
frontier.

In spite of this savage spirit, which modern documents, if they did not
scorn, would, at least have shrouded, the paper was nevertheless a
sagacious one; but the request for the memoir, and the many interviews on
the subject of the invasion, were only intended to deceive. They were but
the curtain which concealed the preparations for the dark tragedy which
was about to be enacted. Equally deceived, and more sanguine than ever,
Louis Nassau during this period was indefatigable in his attempts to gain
friends for his cause. He had repeated audiences of the King, to whose
court he had come in disguise. He made a strong and warm impression upon
Elizabeth's envoy at the French Court, Walsingham. It is probable that in
the Count's impetuosity to carry his point, he allowed more plausibility
to be given to certain projects for subdividing the Netherlands than his
brother would ever have sanctioned. The Prince was a total stranger to
these inchoate schemes. His work was to set his country free, and to
destroy the tyranny which had grown colossal. That employment was
sufficient for a lifetime, and there is no proof to be found that a
paltry and personal self-interest had even the lowest place among his
motives.

Meantime, in the autumn of 1569, Orange had again reached Germany. Paul
Buys, Pensionary of Leyden, had kept him constantly informed of the state
of affairs in the provinces. Through his means an extensive
correspondence was organized and maintained with leading persons in every
part of the Netherlands. The conventional terms by which different
matters and persons of importance were designated in these letters were
familiarly known to all friends of the cause, not only in the provinces,
but in France, England, Germany, and particularly in the great commercial
cities. The Prince, for example, was always designated as Martin
Willemzoon, the Duke of Alva as Master Powels van Alblas, the Queen of
England as Henry Philipzoon, the King of Denmark as Peter Peterson. The
twelve signs of the zodiac were used instead of the twelve months, and a
great variety of similar substitutions were adopted. Before his visit to
France, Orange had, moreover, issued commissions, in his capacity of
sovereign, to various seafaring persons, who were empowered to cruise
against Spanish commerce.

The "beggars of the sea," as these privateersmen designated themselves,
soon acquired as terrible a name as the wild beggars, or the forest
beggars; but the Prince, having had many conversations with Admiral
Coligny on the important benefits to be derived from the system, had
faithfully set himself to effect a reformation of its abuses after his
return from France. The Seigneur de Dolhain, who, like many other refugee
nobles, had acquired much distinction in this roving corsair life, had
for a season acted as Admiral for the Prince. He had, however, resolutely
declined to render any accounts of his various expeditions, and was now
deprived of his command in consequence. Gillain de Fiennes, Seigneur de
Lumbres, was appointed to succeed him. At the same time strict orders
were issued by Orange, forbidding all hostile measures against the
Emperor or any of the princes of the empire, against Sweden, Denmark,
England, or against any potentates who were protectors of the true
Christian religion. The Duke of Alva and his adherents were designated as
the only lawful antagonists. The Prince, moreover, gave minute
instructions as to the discipline to be observed in his fleet. The
articles of war were to be strictly enforced. Each commander was to
maintain a minister on board his ship, who was to preach God's word, and
to preserve Christian piety among the crew. No one was to exercise any
command in the fleet save native Netherlanders, unless thereto expressly
commissioned by the Prince of Orange. All prizes were to be divided and
distributed by a prescribed rule. No persons were to be received on
board, either as sailors or soldiers, save "folk of goad name and fame."
No man who had ever been punished of justice was to be admitted. Such
were the principal features in the organization of that infant navy
which, in course of this and the following centuries, was to achieve so
many triumphs, and to which a powerful and adventurous mercantile marine
had already led the way. "Of their ships," said Cardinal Bentivoglio,
"the Hollanders make houses, of their houses schools. Here they are born,
here educated, here they learn their profession. Their sailors, flying
from one pale to the other, practising their art wherever the sun
displays itself to mortals, become so skilful that they can scarcely be
equalled, certainly not surpassed; by any nation in the civilized world."

The Prince, however, on his return from France, had never been in so
forlorn a condition. "Orange is plainly perishing," said one of the
friends of the cause. Not only had he no funds to organize new levies,
but he was daily exposed to the most clamorously-urged claims, growing
out of the army which he had been recently obliged to disband. It had
been originally reported in the Netherlands that he had fallen in the
battle of Moncontour. "If he have really been taken off," wrote Viglius,
hardly daring to credit the great news, "we shall all of us have less
cause to tremble." After his actual return, however, lean and beggared,
with neither money nor credit, a mere threatening shadow without
substance or power, he seemed to justify the sarcasm of Granvelle. "Vana
sine viribus ira," quoted the Cardinal, and of a verity it seemed that
not a man was likely to stir in Germany in his behalf, now that so deep a
gloom had descended upon his cause. The obscure and the oppressed
throughout the provinces and Germany still freely contributed out of
their weakness and their poverty, and taxed themselves beyond their means
to assist enterprizes for the relief of the Netherlands. The great ones
of the earth, however, those on whom the Prince had relied; those to whom
he had given his heart; dukes, princes, and electors, in this fatal
change of his fortunes fell away like water.

Still his spirit was unbroken. His letters showed a perfect appreciation
of his situation, and of that to which his country was reduced; but they
never exhibited a trace of weakness or despair. A modest, but lofty
courage; a pious, but unaffected resignation, breathed through--every
document, public or private, which fell from his pen during this epoch.
He wrote to his brother John that he was quite willing to go, to
Frankfort, in order to give himself up as a hostage to his troops for the
payment of their arrears. At the same time he begged his brother to move
heaven and earth to raise at least one hundred thousand thalers. If he
could only furnish them with a month's pay, the soldiers would perhaps be
for a time contented. He gave directions also concerning the disposition
of what remained of his plate and furniture, the greater part of it
having been already sold and expended in the cause. He thought it would,
on the whole, be better to have the remainder sold, piece by piece, at
the fair. More money would be raised by that course than by a more
wholesale arrangement.

He was now obliged to attend personally to the most minute matters of
domestic economy. The man who been the mate of emperors, who was himself
a sovereign, had lived his life long in pomp and luxury, surrounded by
countless nobles, pages, men-at-arms, and menials, now calmly accepted
the position of an outlaw and an exile. He cheerfully fulfilled tasks
which had formerly devolved upon his grooms and valets. There was an
almost pathetic simplicity in the homely details of an existence which,
for the moment, had become so obscure and so desperate. "Send by the
bearer," he wrote, "the little hackney given me by the Admiral; send also
my two pair of trunk hose; one pair is at the tailor's to be mended, the
other, pair you will please order to be taken from the things which I
wore lately at Dillenburg. They lie on the table with my accoutrements.
If the little hackney be not in condition, please send the grey horse
with the cropped ears and tail."

He was always mindful, however, not only of the great cause to which he
had devoted himself, but of the wants experienced by individuals who had
done him service. He never forgot his friends. In the depth of his own
misery he remembered favors received from humble persons. "Send a little
cup, worth at least a hundred florins, to Hartmann Wolf," he wrote to his
brother; "you can take as much silver out of the coffer, in which there
is still some of my chapel service remaining."--"You will observe that
Affenstein is wanting a horse," he wrote on another occasion; "please
look him out one, and send it to me with the price. I will send you the
money. Since he has shown himself so willing in the cause, one ought to
do something for him."

The contest between the Duke and the estates, on the subject of the tenth
and twentieth penny had been for a season adjusted. The two years' term,
however, during which it had been arranged that the tax should be
commuted, was to expire in the autumn of 1571. Early therefore in this
year the disputes were renewed with greater acrimony than ever. The
estates felt satisfied that the King was less eager than the Viceroy.
Viglius was satisfied that the power of Alva was upon the wane. While the
King was not likely openly to rebuke his recent measures, it seemed not
improbable that the Governor's reiterated requests to be recalled might
be granted. Fortified by these considerations, the President, who had so
long been the supple tool of the tyrant, suddenly assumed the character
of a popular tribune. The wranglings, the contradictions, the
vituperations, the threatenings, now became incessant in the council. The
Duke found that he had exulted prematurely, when he announced to the King
the triumphant establishment, in perpetuity, of the lucrative tax. So far
from all the estates having given their consent, as he had maintained,
and as he had written to Philip, it now appeared that not one of those
bodies considered itself bound beyond its quota for the two years. This
was formally stated in the council by Berlaymont and other members. The
wrath of the Duke blazed forth at this announcement. He berated
Berlaymont for maintaining, or for allowing it to be maintained, that the
consent of the orders had ever been doubtful. He protested that they had
as unequivocally agreed to the perpetual imposition of the tag as he to
its commutation during two years. He declared, however, that he was sick
of quotas. The tax should now be collected forthwith, and Treasurer
Schetz was ordered to take his measures accordingly.

At a conference on the 29th May, the Duke asked Viglius for his opinion.
The President made a long reply, taking the ground that the consent of
the orders had been only conditional, and appealing to such members of
the finance council as were present to confirm his assertion. It was
confirmed by all. The Duke, in a passion, swore that those who dared
maintain such a statement should be chastised. Viglius replied that it
had always been the custom for councillors to declare their opinion, and
that they had never before been threatened with such consequences. If
such, however, were his Excellency's sentiments, councillors had better
stay at home, hold their tongues, and so avoid chastisement. The Duke,
controlling himself a little, apologized for this allusion to
chastisement, a menace which he disclaimed having intended with reference
to councillors whom he had always commended to the King, and of whom his
Majesty had so high an opinion. At a subsequent meeting the Duke took
Viglius aside, and assured him that he was quite of his own way of
thinking. For certain reasons, however, he expressed himself as unwilling
that the rest of the council should be aware of the change in his views.
He wished, he said, to dissemble. The astute President, for a moment,
could not imagine the Governor's drift. He afterwards perceived that the
object of this little piece of deception had been to close his mouth. The
Duke obviously conjectured that the President, lulled into security, by
this secret assurance, would be silent; that the other councillors,
believing the President to have adopted the Governor's views, would alter
their opinions; and that the opposition of the estates, thus losing its
support in the council, would likewise very soon be abandoned. The
President, however, was not to be entrapped by this falsehood. He
resolutely maintained his hostility to the tax, depending for his
security on the royal opinion, the popular feeling, and the judgment of
his colleagues.

The daily meetings of the board were almost entirely occupied by this
single subject. Although since the arrival of Alva the Council of Blood
had usurped nearly all the functions of the state and finance-councils,
yet there now seemed a disposition on the part of Alva to seek the
countenance, even while he spurned the authority, of other functionaries.
He found, however, neither sympathy nor obedience. The President stoutly
told him that he was endeavouring to swim against the stream, that the
tax was offensive to the people, and that the voice of the people was the
voice of God. On the last day of July, however, the Duke issued an edict,
by which summary collection of the tenth and twentieth pence was ordered.
The whole country was immediately in uproar. The estates of every
province, the assemblies of every city, met and remonstrated. The
merchants suspended all business, the petty dealers shut up their shops.
The people congregated together in masses, vowing resistance to the
illegal and cruel impost. Not a farthing was collected. The "seven stiver
people", spies of government, who for that paltry daily stipend were
employed to listen for treason in every tavern, in every huckster's
booth, in every alley of every city, were now quite unable to report all
the curses which were hourly heard uttered against the tyranny of the
Viceroy. Evidently, his power was declining. The councillors resisted
him, the common people almost defied him. A mercer to whom he was
indebted for thirty thousand florins' worth of goods, refused to open his
shop, lest the tax should be collected on his merchandize. The Duke
confiscated his debt, as the mercer had foreseen, but this being a
pecuniary sacrifice, seemed preferable to acquiescence in a measure so
vague and so boundless that it might easily absorb the whole property of
the country.

No man saluted the governor as he passed through the streets. Hardly an
attempt was made by the people to disguise their abhorrence of his
person: Alva, on his side, gave daily exhibitions of ungovernable fury.
At a council held on 25th September, 1571, he stated that the King had
ordered the immediate enforcement of the edict. Viglius observed that
there were many objections to its form. He also stoutly denied that the
estates had ever given their consent. Alva fiercely asked the President
if he had not himself once maintained that the consent had been granted!
Viglius replied that he had never made such an assertion. He had
mentioned the conditions and the implied promises on the part of
government, by which a partial consent had been extorted. He never could
have said that the consent had been accorded, for he had never believed
that it could be obtained. He had not proceeded far in his argument when
he was interrupted by the Duke--"But you said so, you said so, you said
so," cried the exasperated Governor, in a towering passion, repeating
many times this flat contradiction to the President's statements. Viglius
firmly stood his ground. Alva loudly denounced him for the little respect
he had manifested for his authority. He had hitherto done the President
good offices, he said, with his Majesty, but certainly should not feel
justified in concealing his recent and very unhandsome conduct.

Viglius replied that he had always reverently cherished the Governor, and
had endeavoured to merit his favor by diligent obsequiousness. He was
bound by his oath, however; to utter in council that which comported with
his own sentiments and his Majesty's interests. He had done this
heretofore in presence of Emperors, Kings, Queens, and Regents, and they
had not taken offence. He did not, at this hour, tremble for his grey
head, and hoped his Majesty would grant him a hearing before
condemnation. The firm attitude of the President increased the irritation
of the Viceroy. Observing that he knew the proper means of enforcing his
authority he dismissed the meeting.

Immediately afterwards, he received the visits of his son, Don Frederic
of Vargas, and other familiars. To these he recounted the scene which had
taken place, raving the while so ferociously against Viglius as to induce
the supposition that something serious was intended against him. The
report flew from mouth to mouth. The affair became the town talk, so
that, in the words of the President, it was soon discussed by every
barber and old woman in Brussels. His friends became alarmed for his
safety, while, at the same time, the citizens rejoiced that their cause
had found so powerful an advocate. Nothing, however, came of these
threats and these explosions. On the contrary, shortly afterwards the
Duke gave orders that the tenth penny should be remitted upon four great
articles-corn, meat, wine, and beer. It was also not to be levied upon
raw materials used in manufactures. Certainly, these were very important
concessions. Still the constitutional objections remained. Alva could not
be made to understand why the alcabala, which was raised without
difficulty in the little town of Alva, should encounter such fierce
opposition in the Netherlands. The estates, he informed the King, made a
great deal of trouble. They withheld their consent at command of their
satrap. The motive which influenced the leading men was not the interest
of factories or fisheries, but the fear that for the future they might
not be able to dictate the law to their sovereign. The people of that
country, he observed, had still the same character which had been
described by Julius Caesar.

The Duke, however, did not find much sympathy at Madrid. Courtiers and
councillors had long derided his schemes. As for the King, his mind was
occupied with more interesting matters. Philip lived but to enforce what
he chose to consider the will of God. While the duke was fighting this
battle with the Netherland constitutionalists, his master had engaged at
home in a secret but most comprehensive scheme. This was a plot to
assassinate Queen Elizabeth of England, and to liberate Mary Queen of
Scots, who was to be placed on the throne in her stead. This project, in
which was of course involved the reduction of England under the dominion
of the ancient Church, could not but prove attractive to Philip. It
included a conspiracy against a friendly sovereign, immense service to
the Church, and a murder. His passion for intrigue, his love of God, and
his hatred of man, would all be gratified at once. Thus, although the
Moorish revolt within the heart of his kingdom had hardly been
terminated--although his legions and his navies were at that instant
engaged in a contest of no ordinary importance with the Turkish
empire--although the Netherlands, still maintaining their hostility and
their hatred, required the flower of the Spanish army to compel their
submission, he did not hesitate to accept the dark adventure which was
offered to him by ignoble hands.

One Ridolfi, a Florentine, long resident in England, had been sent to the
Netherlands as secret agent of the Duke of Norfolk. Alva read his
character immediately, and denounced him to Philip as a loose, prating
creature, utterly unfit to be entrusted with affairs of importance.
Philip, however, thinking more of the plot than of his fellow-actors,
welcomed the agent of the conspiracy to Madrid, listened to his
disclosures attentively, and, without absolutely committing himself by
direct promises, dismissed him with many expressions of encouragement.

On the 12th of July, 1571, Philip wrote to the Duke of Alva, giving an
account of his interview with Roberto Ridolfi. The envoy, after relating
the sufferings of the Queen of Scotland, had laid before him a plan for
her liberation. If the Spanish monarch were willing to assist the Duke of
Norfolk and his friends, it would be easy to put upon Mary's head the
crown of England. She was then to intermarry with Norfolk. The kingdom of
England was again to acknowledge the authority of Rome, and the Catholic
religion to be everywhere restored. The most favorable moment for the
execution of the plan would be in August or September. As Queen Elizabeth
would at that season quit London for the country, an opportunity would be
easily found for seizing and murdering her. Pius V., to whom Ridolfi had
opened the whole matter, highly approved the scheme, and warmly urged
Philip's cooperation. Poor and ruined as he was himself; the Pope
protested that he was ready to sell his chalices, and even his own
vestments, to provide funds for the cause. Philip had replied that few
words were necessary to persuade him. His desire to see the enterprize
succeed was extreme, notwithstanding the difficulties by which it was
surrounded. He would reflect earnestly upon the subject, in the hope that
God, whose cause it was, would enlighten and assist him. Thus much he had
stated to Ridolfi, but he had informed his council afterwards that he was
determined to carry out the scheme by certain means of which the Duke
would soon be informed. The end proposed was to kill or to capture
Elizabeth, to set at liberty the Queen of Scotland, and to put upon her
head the crown of England. In this enterprize he instructed the Duke of
Alva secretly to assist, without however resorting to open hostilities in
his own name or in that of his sovereign. He desired to be informed how
many Spaniards the Duke could put at the disposition of the conspirators.
They had asked for six thousand arquebusiers for England, two thousand
for Scotland, two thousand for Ireland. Besides these troops, the Viceroy
was directed to provide immediately four thousand arquebuses and two
thousand corslets. For the expenses of the enterprize Philip would
immediately remit two hundred thousand crowns. Alva was instructed to
keep the affair a profound secret from his councillors. Even Hopper at
Madrid knew nothing of the matter, while the King had only expressed
himself in general terms to the nuncio and to Ridolfi, then already on
his way to the Netherlands. The King concluded his letter by saying, that
from what he had now written with his own hand, the Duke could infer how
much he had this affair at heart. It was unnecessary for him to say more,
persuaded as he was that the Duke would take as profound an interest in
it as himself.

Alva perceived all the rashness of the scheme, and felt how impossible it
would be for him to comply with Philip's orders. To send an army from the
Netherlands into England for the purpose of dethroning and killing a most
popular sovereign, and at the same time to preserve the most amicable
relations with the country, was rather a desperate undertaking. A force
of ten thousand Spaniards, under Chiappin Vitelli, and other favorite
officers of the Duke, would hardly prove a trifle to be overlooked, nor
would their operations be susceptible of very friendly explanations. The
Governor therefore, assured Philip that he "highly applauded his master
for his plot. He could not help rendering infinite thanks to God for
having made him vassal to such a Prince." He praised exceedingly the
resolution which his Majesty had taken. After this preamble, however, he
proceeded to pour cold water upon his sovereign's ardor. He decidedly
expressed the opinion that Philip should not proceed in such an
undertaking until at any rate the party of the Duke of Norfolk had
obtained possession of Elizabeth's person. Should the King declare
himself prematurely, he might be sure that the Venetians, breaking off
their alliance with him, would make their peace with the Turk; and that
Elizabeth would, perhaps, conclude that marriage with the Duke of Alencon
which now seemed but a pleasantry. Moreover, he expressed his want of
confidence in the Duke of Norfolk, whom he considered as a poor creature
with but little courage. He also expressed his doubts concerning the
prudence and capacity of Don Gueran de Espes, his Majesty's ambassador at
London.

It was not long before these machinations became known in England. The
Queen of Scots was guarded more closely than ever, the Duke of Norfolk
was arrested; yet Philip, whose share in the conspiracy had remained a
secret, was not discouraged by the absolute explosion of the whole
affair. He still held to an impossible purpose with a tenacity which
resembled fatuity. He avowed that his obligations in the sight of God
were so strict that he was still determined to proceed in the sacred
cause. He remitted, therefore, the promised funds to the Duke of Alva,
and urged him to act with proper secrecy and promptness.

The Viceroy was not a little perplexed by these remarkable instructions.
None but lunatics could continue to conspire, after the conspiracy had
been exposed and the conspirators arrested. Yet this was what his
Catholic Majesty expected of his Governor-General. Alva complained, not
unreasonably, of the contradictory demands to which he was subjected.

He was to cause no rupture with England, yet he was to send succor to an
imprisoned traitor; he was to keep all his operations secret from his
council, yet he was to send all his army out of the country, and to
organize an expensive campaign. He sneered: at the flippancy of Ridolfi,
who imagined that it was the work of a moment to seize the Queen of
England, to liberate the Queen of Scotland, to take possession of the
Tower of London, and to burn the fleet in the Thames. "Were your Majesty
and the Queen of England acting together," he observed, "it would be
impossible to execute the plan proposed by Ridolfi." The chief danger to
be apprehended was from France and Germany. Were those countries not to
interfere, he would undertake to make Philip sovereign of England before
the winter. Their opposition, however, was sufficient to make the
enterprise not only difficult, but impossible. He begged his, master not
to be precipitate in the; most important affair which had been negotiated
by man since Christ came upon earth. Nothing less, he said, than the
existence of the Christian faith was at stake, for, should his Majesty
fail in this undertaking, not one stone of the ancient religion would be
left upon another. He again warned the King of the contemptible
character, of Ridolfi, who had spoken of the affair so freely that it was
a common subject of discussion on the Bourse, at Antwerp, and he
reiterated, in all his letters his distrust of the parties prominently
engaged in the transaction.

Such was the general, tenor of the long despatches exchanged between the
King and the Duke of Alva upon this iniquitous scheme. The Duke showed
himself reluctant throughout the whole affair, although he certainly
never opposed his master's project by any arguments founded upon good
faith, Christian charity, or the sense of honor. To kill the Queen of
England, subvert the laws of her realm, burn her fleets, and butcher her
subjects, while the mask of amity and entire consideration was sedulously
preserved--all these projects were admitted to be strictly meritorious in
themselves, although objections were taken as to the time and mode of
execution.

Alva never positively refused to accept his share in the enterprise, but
he took care not to lift his finger till the catastrophe in England had
made all attempts futile. Philip, on the other hand, never positively
withdrew from the conspiracy, but, after an infinite deal of writing and
intriguing, concluded by leaving the whole affair in the hands of Alva.
The only sufferer for Philip's participation in the plot was the Spanish
envoy at London, Don Gueran de Espes. This gentleman was formally
dismissed by Queen Elizabeth, for having given treacherous and hostile
advice to the Duke of Alva and to Philip; but her Majesty at the same
time expressed the most profound consideration for her brother of Spain.

Towards the close of the same year, however (December, 1571); Alva sent
two other Italian assassins to England, bribed by the promise of vast
rewards, to attempt the life of Elizabeth, quietly, by poison or
otherwise. The envoy, Mondoucet, in apprizing the French monarch of this
scheme, added that the Duke was so ulcerated and annoyed by the discovery
of the previous enterprise, that nothing could exceed his rage. These
ruffians were not destined to success, but the attempts of the Duke upon
the Queen's life were renewed from time to time. Eighteen months later
(August, 1573), two Scotchmen, pensioners of Philip, came from Spain,
with secret orders to consult with Alva. They had accordingly much
negotiation with the Duke and his secretary, Albornoz. They boasted that
they could easily capture Elizabeth, but said that the King's purpose was
to kill her. The plan, wrote Mondoucet, was the same as it had been
before, namely, to murder the Queen of England, and to give her crown to
Mary of Scotland, who would thus be in their power, and whose son was to
be seized, and bestowed in marriage in such a way as to make them
perpetual masters of both kingdoms.

It does not belong to this history to discuss the merits, nor to narrate
the fortunes, of that bickering and fruitless alliance which had been
entered into at this period by Philip with Venice and the Holy See
against the Turk. The revolt of Granada had at last, after a two years'
struggle, been subdued, and the remnants of the romantic race which had
once swayed the Peninsula been swept into slavery. The Moors had
sustained the unequal conflict with a constancy not to have been expected
of so gentle a people. "If a nation meek as lambs could resist so
bravely," said the Prince of Orange, "what ought not to be expected of a
hardy people like the Netherlanders?" Don John of Austria having
concluded a series of somewhat inglorious forays against women, children,
and bed-ridden old men in Andalusia and Granada; had arrived, in August
of this year, at Naples, to take command of the combined fleet in the
Levant. The battle of Lepanto had been fought, but the quarrelsome and
contradictory conduct of the allies had rendered the splendid victory as
barren as the waves: upon which it had been won. It was no less true,
however, that the blunders of the infidels had previously enabled Philip
to extricate himself with better success from the dangers of the Moorish
revolt than might have been his fortune. Had the rebels succeeded in
holding Granada and the mountains of Andalusia, and had they been
supported, as they had a right to expect, by the forces of the Sultan, a
different aspect might have been given to the conflict, and one far less
triumphant for Spain. Had a prince of vigorous ambition and comprehensive
policy governed at that moment the Turkish empire; it would have cost
Philip a serious struggle to maintain himself in his hereditary
dominions. While he was plotting against the life and throne of
Elizabeth, he might have had cause to tremble for his own. Fortunately,
however, for his Catholic Majesty, Selim was satisfied to secure himself
in the possession of the Isle of Venus, with its fruitful vineyards. "To
shed the blood" of Cyprian vines, in which he was so enthusiastic a
connoisseur, was to him a more exhilarating occupation than to pursue,
amid carnage and hardships, the splendid dream of a re-established
Eastern caliphate.

On the 25th Sept. 1571, a commission of Governor-General of the
Netherlands was at last issued to John de la Cerda, Duke of Medina Coeli.
Philip, in compliance with the Duke's repeated requests, and perhaps not
entirely satisfied with the recent course of events in the provinces, had
at last, after great hesitation, consented to Alva's resignation. His
successor; however, was not immediately to take his departure, and in the
meantime the Duke was instructed to persevere in his faithful services.
These services had, for the present, reduced themselves to a perpetual
and not very triumphant altercation with his council, with the estates,
and with the people, on the subject of his abominable tax. He was
entirely alone. They who had stood unflinchingly at his side when the
only business of the administration was to burn heretics, turned their
backs upon him now that he had engaged in this desperate conflict with.
the whole money power of the country. The King was far from cordial in
his support, the councillors much too crafty to retain their hold upon
the wheel, to which they had only attached themselves in its ascent.
Viglius and Berlaymont; Noircarmes and Aerschot, opposed and almost
defied the man they now thought sinking, and kept the King constantly
informed of the vast distress which the financial measures of the Duke
were causing.

Quite, at the close of the year, an elaborate petition from the estates
of Brabant was read before the State Council. It contained a strong
remonstrance against the tenth penny. Its repeal was strongly urged, upon
the ground that its collection would involve the country in universal
ruin. Upon this, Alva burst forth in one of the violent explosions of
rage to which he was subject. The prosperity of the, Netherlands, he
protested, was not dearer to the inhabitants than to himself. He swore by
the cross, and by the most holy of holies, preserved in the church of
Saint Gudule, that had he been but a private individual, living in Spain,
he would, out of the love he bore the provinces, have rushed to their
defence had their safety been endangered. He felt therefore deeply
wounded that malevolent persons should thus insinuate that he had even
wished to injure the country, or to exercise tyranny over its citizens.
The tenth penny, he continued, was necessary to the defence of the land,
and was much preferable to quotas. It was highly improper that every man
in the rabble should know how much was contributed, because each
individual, learning the gross amount, would imagine that he, had paid it
all himself. In conclusion, he observed that, broken in health and
stricken in years as he felt himself, he was now most anxious to return,
and was daily looking with eagerness for the arrival of the Duke of
Medina Coeli.

During the course of this same year, the Prince of Orange had been
continuing his preparations. He had sent his agents to every place where
a hope was held out to him of obtaining support. Money was what he was
naturally most anxious to obtain from individuals; open and warlike
assistance what he demanded from governments. His funds, little by
little, were increasing, owing to the generosity of many obscure persons,
and to the daring exploits of the beggars of the sea. His mission,
however, to the northern courts had failed. His envoys had been received
in Sweden and Denmark with barren courtesy. The Duke of Alva, on the
other hand, never alluded to the Prince but with contempt; knowing not
that the ruined outlaw was slowly undermining the very ground beneath the
monarch's feet; dreaming not that the feeble strokes which he despised
were the opening blows of a century's conflict; foreseeing not that long
before its close the chastised province was to expand into a great
republic, and that the name of the outlaw was to become almost divine.

Granvelle had already recommended that the young Count de Buren should be
endowed with certain lands in Spain, in exchange for his hereditary
estates, in order that the name and fame of the rebel William should be
forever extinguished in the Netherlands. With the same view, a new
sentence against the Prince of Orange was now proposed by the Viceroy.
This was, to execute him solemnly in effigy, to drag his escutcheon
through the streets at the tails of horses, and after having broken it in
pieces, and thus cancelled his armorial bearings, to declare him and his
descendants, ignoble, infamous, and incapable of holding property or
estates. Could a leaf or two of future history have been unrolled to
King, Cardinal, and Governor, they might have found the destined fortune
of the illustrious rebel's house not exactly in accordance with the plan
of summary extinction thus laid down.

Not discouraged, the Prince continued to send his emissaries in every
direction. Diedrich Sonoy, his most trustworthy agent, who had been chief
of the legation to the Northern Courts, was now actively canvassing the
governments and peoples of, Germany with the same object. Several
remarkable papers from the hand of Orange were used upon this service. A
letter, drawn up and signed by his own hand, recited; in brief and
striking language, the history of his campaign in 1568, and of his
subsequent efforts in the sacred cause. It was now necessary, he said,
that others besides himself should partake of his sacrifices. This he
stated plainly and eloquently. The document was in truth a letter asking
arms for liberty. "For although all things," said the Prince, "are in the
hand of God, and although he has created all things out of nought, yet
hath he granted to different men different means, whereby, as with
various instruments, he accomplishes his, almighty purposes. Thereto hath
he endowed some with strength of body, others with worldly wealth, others
with still different gifts, all of which are to be used by their
possessors to His honor and glory, if they wish not to incur the curse of
the unworthy steward, who buried his talent in the earth. . . . . Now ye
may easily see," he continued, "that the Prince cannot carry out this
great work alone, having lost land, people, and goods, and having already
employed in the cause all which had remained to him, besides incurring
heavy obligations in addition."

Similar instructions were given to other agents, and a paper called the
Harangue, drawn up according to his suggestions, was also extensively
circulated. This document is important to all who are interested in his
history and character. He had not before issued a missive so stamped with
the warm, religious impress of the reforming party. Sadly, but without
despondency, the Harangue recalled the misfortunes of the past; and
depicted the gloom of the present. Earnestly, but not fanatically, it
stimulated hope and solicited aid for the future. "Although the appeals
made to the Prince," so ran a part of the document, "be of diverse
natures, and various in their recommendations, yet do they all tend to
the advancement of God's glory, and to the liberation of the fatherland.
This it is which enables him and those who think with him to endure
hunger; thirst, cold, heat, and all the misfortunes which Heaven may
send. . . . . . Our enemies spare neither their money nor their labor;
will ye be colder and duller than your foes? Let, then, each church
congregation set an example to the others. We read that King Saul, when
he would liberate the men of Jabez from the hands of Nahad, the Ammonite,
hewed a yoke of oxen in pieces, and sent them as tokens over all Israel,
saying, 'Ye who will not follow Saul and Samuel, with them shall be dealt
even as with these oxen. And the fear of the Lord came upon the people,
they came forth, and the men of Jabez were delivered.' Ye have here the
same warning, look to it, watch well ye that despise it, lest the wrath
of God, which the men of Israel by their speedy obedience escaped,
descend upon your heads. Ye may say that ye are banished men. 'Tis true:
but thereby are ye not stripped of all faculty of rendering service;
moreover, your assistance is asked for one who will restore ye to your
homes. Ye may say that ye have been robbed of all your goods; yet many of
you have still something remaining, and of that little ye should
contribute, each his mite. Ye say that you have given much already. 'Tis
true, but the enemy is again in the field; fierce for your subjugation,
sustained by the largess of his supporters. Will ye be less courageous,
less generous, than your foes."

These urgent appeals did not remain fruitless. The strength of the
Prince was slowly but steadily increasing. Meantime the abhorrence
 with which Alva was universally regarded had nearly reached to frenzy.
In the beginning of the year 1572, Don Francis de Alava, Philip's
ambassador in France, visited Brussels. He had already been enlightened
as to the consequences of the Duke's course by the immense immigration of
Netherland refugees to France, which he had witnessed with his own eyes.
On his journey towards Brussels he had been met near Cambray by
Noircarmes. Even that "cruel animal," as Hoogstraaten had called him,
the butcher of Tournay and Valenciennes, had at last been roused to
alarm, if not to pity, by the sufferings of the country. "The Duke will
never disabuse his mind of this filthy tenth penny," said he to Alava.
He sprang from his chair with great emotion as the ambassador alluded to
the flight of merchants and artisans from the provinces. "Senor Don
Francis," cried he, "there are ten thousand more who are on the point of
leaving the country, if the Governor does not pause in his career. God
grant that no disaster arise beyond human power to remedy."

The ambassador arrived in Brussels, and took up his lodgings in the
palace. Here he found the Duke just recovering from a fit of the gout, in
a state of mind sufficiently savage.  He became much excited as Don
Francis began to speak of the emigration, and he assured him that there
was gross deception on the subject. The envoy replied that he could not
be mistaken, for it was a matter which, so to speak, he had touched with
his own fingers, and seen with his own eyes. The Duke, persisting that
Don Francis had been abused and misinformed, turned the conversation to
other topics. Next day the ambassador received visits from Berlaymont and
his son, the Seigneur de Hierges. He was taken aside by each of them,
separately. "Thank God, you have come hither," said they, in nearly the
same words, "that you may fully comprehend the condition of the
provinces, and without delay admonish his Majesty of the impending
danger." All his visitors expressed the same sentiments. Don Frederic of
Toledo furnished the only exception, assuring the envoy that his father's
financial measures were opposed by Noircarmes and others, only because it
deprived them of their occupation and their influence. This dutiful
language, however, was to be expected in one of whom Secretary Albornoz
had written, that he was the greatest comfort to his father, and the most
divine genius ever known. It was unfortunately corroborated by no other
inhabitant of the country.

On the third day, Don Francis went to take his leave. The Duke begged him
to inform his Majesty of the impatience with which he was expecting the
arrival of his successor. He then informed his guest that they had
already begun to collect the tenth penny in Brabant, the most obstinate
of all the provinces. "What do you say to that, Don Francis?" he cried,
with exultation. Alava replied that he thought, none the less, that the
tax would encounter many obstacles, and begged him earnestly to reflect.
He assured him, moreover, that he should, without reserve, express his
opinions fully to the King. The Duke used the same language which Don
Frederic had held, concerning the motives of those who opposed the tax.
"It may be so," said Don Francis, "but at any rate, all have agreed to
sing to the same tune." A little startled, the Duke rejoined, "Do you
doubt that the cities will keep their promises? Depend upon it, I shall
find the means to compel them." "God grant it may be so," said Alava,
"but in my poor judgment you will have need of all your prudence and of
all your authority."

The ambassador did not wait till he could communicate with his sovereign
by word of mouth. He forwarded to Spain an ample account of his
observations and deductions. He painted to Philip in lively colors the
hatred entertained by all men for the Duke. The whole nation, he assured
his Majesty, united in one cry, "Let him begone, let him begone, let him
begone!" As for the imposition of the tenth penny, that, in the opinion
of Don Francis, was utterly impossible. He moreover warned his Majesty
that Alva was busy in forming secret alliances with the Catholic princes
of Europe, which would necessarily lead to defensive leagues among the
Protestants.

While thus, during the earlier part of the year 1572, the Prince of
Orange, discouraged by no defeats, was indefatigable in his exertions to
maintain the cause of liberty, and while at the same time the most stanch
supporters of arbitrary power were unanimous in denouncing to Philip the
insane conduct of his Viceroy, the letters of Alva himself were naturally
full of complaints and expostulations. It was in vain, he said, for him
to look for a confidential councillor, now that matters which he had
wished to be kept so profoundly secret that the very earth should not
hear of them, had been proclaimed aloud above the tiles of every
housetop. Nevertheless, he would be cut into little pieces but his
Majesty should be obeyed, while he remained alive to enforce the royal
commands. There were none who had been ever faithful but Berlaymont, he
said, and even he had been neutral in the affair of the tax. He had
rendered therein neither good nor bad offices, but, as his Majesty was
aware, Berlaymont was entirely ignorant of business, and "knew nothing
more than to be a good fellow." That being the case, he recommended
Hierges, son of the "good fellow," as a proper person to be governor of
Friesland.

The deputations appointed by the different provinces to confer personally
with the King received a reprimand upon their arrival, for having dared
to come to Spain without permission. Farther punishment, however, than
this rebuke was not inflicted. They were assured that the King was highly
displeased with their venturing to bring remonstrances against the tax,
but they were comforted with the assurance that his Majesty would take
the subject of their petition into consideration. Thus, the expectations
of Alva were disappointed, for the tenth penny was not formally
confirmed; and the hopes of the provinces frustrated, because it was not
distinctly disavowed.

Matters had reached another crisis in the provinces. "Had we money now,"
wrote the Prince of Orange, "we should, with the help of God, hope to
effect something. This is a time when, with even small sums, more can be
effected than at other seasons with ampler funds." The citizens were in
open revolt against the tax. In order that the tenth penny should not be
levied upon every sale of goods, the natural but desperate remedy was
adopted--no goods were sold at all.

Not only the wholesale commerce oh the provinces was suspended, but the
minute and indispensable traffic of daily life was entirely at a stand.
The shops were all shut. "The brewers," says a contemporary, "refused to
brew, the bakers to bake, the tapsters to tap." Multitudes, thrown
entirely out of employment, and wholly dependent upon charity, swarmed in
every city. The soldiery, furious for their pay, which Alva had for many
months neglected to furnish, grew daily more insolent; the citizens,
maddened by outrage and hardened by despair, became more and more
obstinate in their resistance; while the Duke, rendered inflexible by
opposition and insane by wrath, regarded the ruin which he had caused
with a malignant spirit which had long ceased to be human. "The disease
is gnawing at our vitals," wrote Viglius; "everybody is suffering for the
want of the necessaries of life. Multitudes are in extreme and hopeless
poverty. My interest in the welfare of the commonwealth," he continued,
"induces me to send these accounts to Spain. For myself, I fear nothing.
Broken by sickness and acute physical suffering, I should leave life
without regret."

The aspect of the capital was that of a city stricken with the plague.
Articles of the most absolute necessity could not be obtained. It was
impossible to buy bread, or meat, or beer. The tyrant, beside himself
with rage at being thus braved in his very lair, privately sent for
Master Carl, the executioner. In order to exhibit an unexpected and
salutary example, he had determined to hang eighteen of the leading
tradesmen of the city in the doors of their own shops, with the least
possible delay and without the slightest form of trial.

Master Carl was ordered, on the very night of his interview with the
Duke, to prepare eighteen strong cords, and eighteen ladders twelve feet
in length. By this simple arrangement, Alva was disposed to make manifest
on the morrow, to the burghers of Brussels, that justice was thenceforth
to be carried to every man's door. He supposed that the spectacle of a
dozen and a half of butchers and bakers suspended in front of the shops
which they had refused to open, would give a more effective stimulus to
trade than any to be expected from argument or proclamation. The hangman
was making ready his cords and ladders; Don Frederic of Toledo was
closeted with President Viglius, who, somewhat against his will, was
aroused at midnight to draw the warrants for these impromptu executions;
Alva was waiting with grim impatience for the dawn upon which the show
was to be exhibited, when an unforeseen event suddenly arrested the
homely tragedy. In the night arrived the intelligence that the town of
Brill had been captured. The Duke, feeling the full gravity of the
situation, postponed the chastisement which he had thus secretly planned
to a more convenient season, in order without an instant's hesitation to
avert the consequences of this new movement on the part of the rebels.
The seizure of Brill was the Deus ex machina which unexpectedly solved
both the inextricable knot of the situation and the hangman's noose.

Allusion has more than once been made to those formidable partisans of
the patriot cause, the marine outlaws. Cheated of half their birthright
by nature, and now driven forth from their narrow isthmus by tyranny, the
exiled Hollanders took to the ocean. Its boundless fields, long arable to
their industry, became fatally fruitful now that oppression was
transforming a peaceful seafaring people into a nation of corsairs.
Driven to outlawry and poverty, no doubt many Netherlanders plunged into
crime. The patriot party had long sine laid aside the respectful
deportment which had provoked the sarcasms of the loyalists. The beggars
of the sea asked their alms through the mouths of their cannon.
Unfortunately, they but too often made their demands upon both friend and
foe. Every ruined merchant, every banished lord, every reckless mariner,
who was willing to lay the commercial world under contribution to repair
his damaged fortunes, could, without much difficulty, be supplied with a
vessel and crew at some northern port, under color of cruising against
the Viceroy's government. Nor was the ostensible motive simply a pretext.
To make war upon Alva was the leading object of all these freebooters,
and they were usually furnished by the Prince of Orange, in his capacity
of sovereign, with letters of marque for that purpose. The Prince,
indeed, did his utmost to control and direct an evil which had inevitably
grown out of the horrors of the time. His Admiral, William de la Marck,
was however, incapable of comprehending the lofty purposes of his
superior. A wild, sanguinary, licentious noble, wearing his hair and
beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom, until the death of
his relative, Egmont, should have been expiated, a worthy descendant of
the Wild Boar of Ardennes, this hirsute and savage corsair seemed an
embodiment of vengeance. He had sworn to wreak upon Alva and upon popery
the deep revenge owed to them by the Netherland nobility, and in the
cruelties afterwards practised by him upon monks and priests, the Blood
Council learned that their example had made at least one ripe scholar
among the rebels. He was lying, at this epoch, with his fleet on the
southern coast of England, from which advantageous position he was now to
be ejected in a summary manner.

The negotiations between the Duke of Alva and Queen Elizabeth had already
assumed an amicable tone, and were fast ripening to an adjustment. It lay
by no means in that sovereign's disposition to involve herself at this
juncture in a war with Philip, and it was urged upon her government by
Alva's commissioners, that the continued countenance afforded by the
English people to the Netherland cruisers must inevitably lead to that
result. In the latter days of March, therefore, a sentence of virtual
excommunication was pronounced against De la Marck and his rovers. A
peremptory order of Elizabeth forbade any of her subjects to supply them
with meat, bread, or beer. The command being strictly complied with,
their farther stay was rendered impossible. Twenty-four vessels
accordingly, of various sizes, commanded by De la Marck, Treslong, Adam
van Harem, Brand, and Other distinguished seamen, set sail from Dover in
the very last days of March. Being almost in a state of starvation, these
adventurers were naturally anxious to supply themselves with food. They
determined to make a sudden foray upon the coasts of North Holland, and
accordingly steered for Enkbuizen, both because it was a rich sea-port
and because it contained many secret partisans of the Prince. On Palm
Sunday they captured two Spanish merchantmen. Soon afterwards, however,
the wind becoming contrary, they were unable to double the Helder or the
Texel, and on Tuesday, the 1st of April, having abandoned their original
intention, they dropped down towards Zealand, and entered the broad mouth
of the river Meuse. Between the town of Brill, upon the southern lip of
this estuary, and Naaslandsluis, about half a league distant, upon the
opposite aide, the squadron suddenly appeared at about two o'clock of an
April afternoon, to the great astonishment of the inhabitants of both
places. It seemed too large a fleet to be a mere collection of trading
vessels, nor did they appear to be Spanish ships. Peter Koppelstok, a
sagacious ferryman, informed the passengers whom he happened to be
conveying across the river, that the strangers were evidently the water
beggars. The dreaded name filled his hearers with consternation, and they
became eager to escape from so perilous a vicinity. Having duly landed
his customers, however, who hastened to spread the news of the impending
invasion, and to prepare for defence or flight, the stout ferryman, who
was secretly favorable to the cause of liberty, rowed boldly out to
inquire the destination and purposes of the fleet.

The vessel which he first hailed was that commanded by William de Blois,
Seigneur of Treslong. This adventurous noble, whose brother had been
executed by the Duke of Alva in 1568, had himself fought by the side of
Count Louis at Jemmingen, and although covered with wounds, had been one
of the few who escaped alive from that horrible carnage. During the
intervening period he had become one of the most famous rebels on the
ocean, and he had always been well known in Brill, where his father had
been governor for the King. He at once recognized Koppelstok, and
hastened with him on board the Admiral's ship, assuring De la Marck that
the ferryman was exactly the man for their purpose. It was absolutely
necessary that a landing should be effected, for the people were without
the necessaries of life. Captain Martin Brand had visited the ship of
Adam Van Haren, as soon as they had dropped anchor in the Meuse, begging
for food. "I gave him a cheese," said Adam, afterwards relating the
occurrence, "and assured him that it was the last article of food to be
found in the ship." The other vessels were equally destitute. Under the
circumstances, it was necessary to attempt a landing. Treslong,
therefore, who was really the hero of this memorable adventure, persuaded
De la Marck to send a message to the city of Brill, demanding its
surrender. This was a bold summons to be made by a handful of men, three
or four hundred at most, who were both metaphorically and literally
beggars. The city of Brill was not populous, but it was well walled and
fortified. It was moreover a most commodious port. Treslong gave his
signet ring to the fisherman, Koppelstok, and ordered him, thus
accredited as an envoy, to carry their summons to the magistracy.
Koppelstok, nothing loath, instantly rowed ashore, pushed through the
crowd of inhabitants, who overwhelmed him with questions, and made his
appearance in the town-house before the assembled magistrates. He
informed them that he had been sent by the Admiral of the fleet and by
Treslong, who was well known to them, to demand that two commissioners
should be sent out on the part of the city to confer with the patriots.
He was bidden, he said, to give assurance that the deputies would be
courteously treated. The only object of those who had sent him was to
free the land from the tenth penny, and to overthrow the tyranny of Alva
and his Spaniards. Hereupon he was asked by the magistrates, how large a
force De la Marck had under his command, To this question the ferryman
carelessly replied, that there might be some five thousand in all. This
enormous falsehood produced its effect upon the magistrates. There was
now no longer any inclination to resist the invader; the only question
discussed being whether to treat with them or to fly. On the whole, it
was decided to do both. With some difficulty, two deputies were found
sufficiently valiant to go forth to negotiate with the beggars, while in
their absence most of the leading burghers and functionaries made their
preparations for flight. The envoys were assured by De la Marck and
Treslong that no injury was intended to the citizens or to private
property, but that the overthrow of Alva's government was to be instantly
accomplished. Two hours were given to the magistrates in which to decide
whether or not they would surrender the town and accept the authority of
De la Marck as Admiral of the Prince of Orange. They employed the two
hours thus granted in making an ignominious escape. Their example was
followed by most of the townspeople. When the invaders, at the expiration
of the specified term, appeared under the walls of the city, they found a
few inhabitants of the lower class gazing at them from above, but
received no official communication from any source.

The whole rebel force was now divided into two parties, one of which
under Treslong made an attack upon the southern gate, while the other
commanded by the Admiral advanced upon the northern. Treslong after a
short struggle succeeded in forcing his entrance, and arrested, in doing
so, the governor of the city, just taking his departure. De la Marck and
his men made a bonfire at the northern gate, and then battered down the
half-burned portal with the end of an old mast. Thus rudely and rapidly
did the Netherland patriots conduct their first successful siege. The two
parties, not more perhaps than two hundred and fifty men in all, met
before sunset in the centre of the city, and the foundation of the Dutch
Republic was laid. The weary spirit of freedom, so long a fugitive over
earth and sea, had at last found a resting-place, which rude and even
ribald hands had prepared.

The panic created by the first appearance of the fleet had been so
extensive that hardly fifty citizens had remained in the town. The rest
had all escaped, with as much property as they could carry away. The
Admiral, in the name, of the Prince of Orange, as lawful stadholder of
Philip, took formal possession of an almost deserted city. No indignity
was offered to the inhabitants of either sex, but as soon, as the
conquerors were fairly established in the best houses of the place, the
inclination to plunder the churches could no longer be restrained. The
altars and images were all destroyed, the rich furniture and gorgeous
vestments appropriated to private use. Adam van Hare appeared on his
vessel's deck attired in a magnificent high mass chasuble. Treslong
thenceforth used no drinking cups in his cabin save the golden chalices
of the sacrament. Unfortunately, their hatred to popery was not confined
to such demonstrations. Thirteen unfortunate monks and priests, who had
been unable to effect their escape, were arrested and thrown into prison,
from whence they were taken a few days later, by order of the ferocious
Admiral, and executed under circumstances of great barbarity.

The news of this important exploit spread with great rapidity. Alva,
surprised at the very moment of venting his rage on the butchers and
grocers of Brussels, deferred this savage design in order to deal with
the new difficulty. He had certainly not expected such a result from the
ready compliance of queen Elizabeth with his request. His rage was
excessive; the triumph of the people, by whom he was cordially detested,
proportionably great. The punsters of Brussels were sure not to let such
an opportunity escape them, for the name of the captured town was
susceptible of a quibble, and the event had taken place upon All Fools'
Day.

          "On April's Fool's Day,
          Duke Alva's spectacles were stolen away,"

became a popular couplet. The word spectacles, in Flemish, as well as the
name of the suddenly surprised city, being Brill, this allusion to the
Duke's loss and implied purblindness was not destitute of ingenuity. A
caricature, too, was extensively circulated, representing De la Marck
stealing the Duke's spectacles from his nose, while the Governor was
supposed to be uttering his habitual expression whenever any intelligence
of importance was brought to him: 'No es nada, no es nada--'Tis nothing,
'tis nothing.

The Duke, however, lost not an instant in attempting to repair the
disaster. Count Bossu, who had acted as stadholder of Holland and
Zealand, under Alva's authority, since the Prince of Orange had resigned
that office, was ordered at once to recover the conquered sea-port, if
possible.

Hastily gathering a force of some ten companies from the garrison of
Utrecht, some of which very troops had recently and unluckily for
government, been removed from Brill to that city, the Count crossed the
Sluis to the island of Voorn upon Easter day, and sent a summons to the
rebel force to surrender Brill. The patriots being very few in number,
were at first afraid to venture outside the gates to attack the much
superior force of their invaders. A carpenter, however, who belonged to
the city, but had long been a partisan of Orange, dashed into the water
with his axe in his hand, and swimming to the Niewland sluice, hacked it
open with a few vigorous strokes. The sea poured in at once, making the
approach to the city upon the north side impossible: Bossu then led his
Spaniards along the Niewland dyke to the southern gate, where they were
received with a warm discharge of artillery, which completely staggered
them. Meantime Treslong and Robol had, in the most daring manner, rowed
out to the ships which had brought the enemy to the island, cut some
adrift, and set others on fire.

The Spaniards at the southern gate caught sight of their blazing vessels,
saw the sea rapidly rising over the dyke, became panic-struck at being
thus enclosed between fire and water, and dashed off in precipitate
retreat along the slippery causeway and through the slimy and turbid
waters, which were fast threatening to overwhelm them. Many were drowned
or smothered in their flight, but the greater portion of the force
effected their escape in the vessels which still remained within reach.
This danger averted, Admiral de la Marck summoned all the inhabitants, a
large number of whom had returned to the town after the capture had been
fairly established, and required them, as well as all the population of
the island, to take an oath of allegiance to the Prince of Orange as
stadholder for his Majesty.

The Prince had not been extremely satisfied with the enterprise of De la
Marck. He thought-it premature, and doubted whether it would be
practicable to hold the place, as he had not yet completed his
arrangements in Germany, nor assembled the force with which he intended
again to take the field. More than all, perhaps, he had little confidence
in the character of his Admiral. Orange was right in his estimate of De
la Marck. It had not been that rover's design either to take or to hold
the place; and after the descent had been made, the ships victualled, the
churches plundered, the booty secured, and a few monks murdered, he had
given orders for the burning of the town, and for the departure of the
fleet. The urgent solicitations of Treslong, however, prevailed, with
some difficulty, over De la Marck' original intentions. It is to that
bold and intelligent noble, therefore, more than to any other individual,
that the merit of laying this corner-stone of the Batavian commonwealth
belongs. The enterprise itself was an accident, but the quick eye of
Treslong saw the possibility of a permanent conquest, where his superior
dreamed of nothing beyond a piratical foray.

Meantime Bossu, baffled in his attempt upon Brill, took his way towards
Rotterdam. It was important that he should at least secure such other
cities as the recent success of the rebels might cause to waver in their
allegiance. He found the gates of Rotterdam closed. The authorities
refused to comply with his demand to admit a garrison for the King.
Professing perfect loyalty, the inhabitants very naturally refused to
admit a band of sanguinary Spaniards to enforce their obedience.
Compelled to parley, Bossu resorted to a perfidious stratagem. He
requested permission for his troops to pass through the city without
halting. This was granted by the magistrates, on condition that only a
corporal's command should be admitted at a time. To these terms the Count
affixed his hand and seal. With the admission, however, of the first
detachment, a violent onset was made upon the gate by the whole Spanish
force. The townspeople, not suspecting treachery, were not prepared to
make effective resistance. A stout smith, confronting the invaders at the
gate, almost singly, with his sledge-hammer, was stabbed to the heart by
Bossu with his own hand. The soldiers having thus gained admittance,
rushed through the streets, putting every man to death who offered the
slightest resistance. Within a few minutes four hundred citizens were
murdered. The fate of the women, abandoned now to the outrage of a brutal
soldiery, was worse than death. The capture of Rotterdam is infamous for
the same crimes which blacken the record of every Spanish triumph in the
Netherlands.

The important town of Flushing, on the Isle of Walcheren, was first to
vibrate with the patriotic impulse given by the success at Brill. The
Seigneur de Herpt, a warm partisan of Orange, excited the burghers
assembled in the market-place to drive the small remnant of the Spanish
garrison from the city. A little later upon the same day a considerable
reinforcement arrived before the walls. The Duke had determined, although
too late, to complete the fortress which had been commenced long before
to control the possession of this important position at the mouth of the
western Scheld. The troops who were to resume this too long intermitted
work arrived just in time to witness the expulsion of their comrades. De
Herpt easily persuaded the burghers that the die was cast, and that their
only hope lay in a resolute resistance. The people warmly acquiesced,
while a half-drunken, half-wined fellow in the crowd valiantly proposed,
in consideration of a pot of beer, to ascend the ramparts and to
discharge a couple of pieces of artillery at the Spanish ships. The offer
was accepted, and the vagabond merrily mounting the height, discharged
the guns. Strange to relate, the shot thus fired by a lunatic's hand put
the invading ships to flight. A sudden panic seized the Spaniards, the
whole fleet stood away at once in the direction of Middelburg, and were
soon out of sight.

The next day, however, Antony of Bourgoyne, governor under Alva for the
Island of Walcheren, made his appearance in Flushing. Having a high
opinion of his own oratorical powers, he came with the intention of
winning back with his rhetoric a city which the Spaniards had thus far
been unable to recover with their cannon. The great bell was rung, the
whole population assembled in the marketplace, and Antony, from the steps
of the town-house, delivered a long oration, assuring the burghers, among
other asseverations, that the King, who was the best natured prince in
all Christendom, would forget and forgive their offences if they returned
honestly to their duties.

The effect of the Governor's eloquence was much diminished, however, by
the interlocutory remarks, of De Herpt and a group of his adherents. They
reminded the people of the King's good nature, of his readiness to forget
and to forgive, as exemplified by the fate of Horn and Egmont, of Berghen
and Montigny, and by the daily and almost hourly decrees of the Blood
Council. Each well-rounded period of the Governor was greeted with
ironical cheers. The oration was unsuccessful. "Oh, citizens, citizens!"
cried at last the discomfited Antony, "ye know not what ye do. Your blood
be upon your own heads; the responsibility be upon your own hearts for
the fires which are to consume your cities and the desolation which is to
sweep your land!" The orator at this impressive point was interrupted,
and most unceremoniously hustled out of the city. The government remained
in the hands of the patriots.

The party, however, was not so strong in soldiers as in spirit. No
sooner, therefore, had they established their rebellion to Alva as an
incontrovertible fact, than they sent off emissaries to the Prince of
Orange, and to Admiral De la Marek at Brill. Finding that the inhabitants
of Flushing were willing to provide arms and ammunition, De la Marck
readily consented to send a small number of men, bold and experienced in
partisan warfare, of whom he had now collected a larger number than he
could well arm or maintain in his present position.

The detachment, two hundred in number, in three small vessels, set sail
accordingly from Brill for Flushing; and a wild crew they were, of
reckless adventurers under command of the bold Treslong. The expedition
seemed a fierce but whimsical masquerade. Every man in the little fleet
was attired in the gorgeous vestments of the plundered churches, in
gold-embroidered cassocks, glittering mass-garments, or the more sombre
cowls, and robes of Capuchin friars. So sped the early standard bearers
of that ferocious liberty which had sprung from the fires in which all
else for which men cherish their fatherland had been consumed. So swept
that resolute but fantastic band along the placid estuaries of Zealand,
waking the stagnant waters with their wild beggar songs and cries of
vengeance.

That vengeance found soon a distinguished object. Pacheco, the chief
engineer of Alva, who had accompanied the Duke in his march from Italy,
who had since earned a world-wide reputation as the architect of the
Antwerp citadel, had been just despatched in haste to Flushing to
complete the fortress whose construction had been so long delayed. Too
late for his work, too soon for his safety, the ill-fated engineer had
arrived almost at the same moment with Treslong and his crew. He had
stepped on shore, entirely ignorant of all which had transpired,
expecting to be treated with the respect due to the chief commandant of
the place, and to an officer high in the confidence of the
Governor-General. He found himself surrounded by an indignant and
threatening mob. The unfortunate Italian understood not a word of the
opprobrious language addressed to him, but he easily comprehended that
the authority of the Duke was overthrown. Observing De Ryk, a
distinguished partisan officer and privateersman of Amsterdam, whose
reputation for bravery and generosity was known, to him, he approached
him, and drawing a seal ring from his finger, kissed it, and handed it to
the rebel chieftain. By this dumbshow he gave him to understand that he
relied upon his honor for the treatment due to a gentleman. De Ryk
understood the appeal, and would willingly have assured him, at least, a
soldier's death, but he was powerless to do so. He arrested him, that he
might be protected from the fury of the rabble, but Treslong, who now
commanded in Flushing, was especially incensed against the founder of the
Antwerp citadel, and felt a ferocious desire to avenge his brother's
murder upon the body of his destroyer's favourite. Pacheco was condemned
to be hanged upon the very day of his arrival. Having been brought forth
from his prison, he begged hard but not abjectly for his life. He offered
a heavy ransom, but his enemies were greedy for blood, not for money. It
was, however, difficult to find an executioner. The city hangman was
absent, and the prejudice of the country and the age against the vile
profession had assuredly not been diminished during the five horrible
years of Alva's administration. Even a condemned murderer, who lay in the
town-gaol, refused to accept his life in recompence for performing the
office. It should never be said, he observed, that his mother had given
birth to a hangman. When told, however, that the intended victim was a
Spanish officer, the malefactor consented to the task with alacrity, on
condition that he might afterwards kill any man who taunted him with the
deed.

Arrived at the foot of the gallows, Pacheco complained bitterly of the
disgraceful death designed for him. He protested loudly that he came of a
house as noble as that of Egmont or Horn, and was entitled to as
honorable an execution as theirs had been. "The sword! the sword!" he
frantically exclaimed, as he struggled with those who guarded him. His
language was not understood, but the names of Egmont and Horn inflamed
still more highly the rage of the rabble, while his cry for the sword was
falsely interpreted by a rude fellow who had happened to possess himself
of Pacheco's rapier, at his capture, and who now paraded himself with it
at the gallows' foot. "Never fear for your sword, Seilor," cried this
ruffian; "your sword is safe enough, and in good hands. Up the ladder
with you, Senor; you have no further use for your sword."

Pacheco, thus outraged, submitted to his fate. He mounted the ladder with
a steady step, and was hanged between two other Spanish officers. So
perished miserably a brave soldier, and one of the most distinguished
engineers of his time; a man whose character and accomplishments had
certainly merited for him a better fate. But while we stigmatize as it
deserves the atrocious conduct of a few Netherland partisans, we should
remember who first unchained the demon of international hatred in this
unhappy land, nor should it ever be forgotten that the great leader of
the revolt, by word, proclamation, example, by entreaties, threats, and
condign punishment, constantly rebuked, and to a certain extent,
restrained the sanguinary spirit by which some of his followers disgraced
the noble cause which they had espoused.

Treslong did not long remain in command at Flushing. An officer, high in
the confidence of the Prince, Jerome van 't Zeraerts, now arrived at
Flushing, with a commission to be Lieutenant-Governor over the whole isle
of Walcheren. He was attended by a small band of French infantry, while
at nearly the same time the garrison was further strengthened by the
arrival of a large number of volunteers from England.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 19.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1572 [CHAPTER VII.]

   Municipal revolution throughout Holland and Zealand--Characteristics
   of the movement in various places--Sonoy commissioned by Orange as
   governor of North Holland--Theory of the provisional government--
   Instructions of the Prince to his officers--Oath prescribed--Clause
   of toleration--Surprise of Mons by Count Louis--Exertions of Antony
   Oliver--Details of the capture--Assembly of the citizens--Speeches
   of Genlis and of Count Louis--Effect of the various movements upon
   Alva--Don Frederic ordered to invest Mons--The Duke's impatience to
   retire--Arrival of Medina Coeli--His narrow escape--Capture of the
   Lisbon fleet--Affectation of cordiality between Alva and Medina--
   Concessions by King and Viceroy on the subject of the tenth penny--
   Estates of Holland assembled, by summons of Orange, at Dort--Appeals
   from the Prince to this congress for funds to pay his newly levied
   army--Theory of the provisional States' assembly--Source and nature
   of its authority--Speech of St. Aldegonde--Liberality of the estates
   and the provinces--Pledges exchanged between the Prince's
   representative and the Congress--Commission to De la Marck ratified
   --Virtual dictatorship of Orange--Limitation of his power by his own
   act--Count Louis at Mons--Reinforcements led from France by Genlis--
   Rashness of that officer--His total defeat--Orange again in the
   field--Rocrmond taken--Excesses of the patriot army--Proclamation of
   Orange, commanding respect to all personal and religious rights--His
   reply to the Emperor's summons--His progress in the Netherlands--
   Hopes entertained from France--Reinforcements under Coligny promised
   to Orange by Charles IX.--The Massacre of St. Bartholomew--The
   event characterized--Effect in England, in Rome, and in other parts
   of Europe--Excessive hilarity of Philip--Extravagant encomium
   bestowed by him upon Charles IX.--Order sent by Philip to put all
   French prisoners in the Netherlands to Death--Secret correspondence
   of Charles IX. with his envoy in the Netherlands--Exultation of the
   Spaniards before Mons--Alva urged by the French envoy, according to
   his master's commands, to put all the Frenchmen in Mons, and those
   already captured, to death--Effect of the massacre upon the Prince
   of Orange--Alva and Medina in the camp before Mons--Hopelessness of
   the Prince's scheme to obtain battle from Alva--Romero's encamisada
   --Narrow escape of the prince--Mutiny and dissolution of his army--
   His return to Holland--His steadfastness--Desperate position of
   Count Louis in Mons--Sentiments of Alva--Capitulation of Mons--
   Courteous reception of Count Louis by the Spanish generals--
   Hypocrisy of these demonstrations--Nature of the Mons capitulation--
   Horrible violation of its terms--Noircarmes at Mons--Establishment
   of a Blood Council in the city--Wholesale executions--Cruelty and
   cupidity of Noircarmes--Late discovery of the archives of these
   crimes--Return of the revolted cities of Brabant and Flanders to
   obedience--Sack of Mechlin by the Spaniards--Details of that event.

The example thus set by Brill and Flushing was rapidly followed. The
first half of the year 1572 was distinguished by a series of triumphs
rendered still more remarkable by the reverses which followed at its
close. Of a sudden, almost as it were by accident, a small but important
sea-port, the object for which the Prince had so long been hoping, was
secured. Instantly afterward, half the island of Walcheren renounced the
yoke of Alva, Next, Enkbuizen, the key to the Zuyder Zee, the principal
arsenal, and one of the first commercial cities in the Netherlands, rose
against the Spanish Admiral, and hung out the banner of Orange on its
ramparts. The revolution effected here was purely the work of the
people--of the mariners and burghers of the city. Moreover, the
magistracy was set aside and the government of Alva repudiated without
shedding one drop of blood, without a single wrong to person or property.
By the same spontaneous movement, nearly all the important cities of
Holland and Zealand raised the standard of him in whom they recognized
their deliverer. The revolution was accomplished under nearly similar
circumstances everywhere. With one fierce bound of enthusiasm the nation
shook off its chain. Oudewater, Dort, Harlem, Leyden, Gorcum,
Loewenstein, Gouda, Medenblik, Horn, Alkmaar, Edam, Monnikendam,
Purmerende, as well as Flushing, Veer, and Enkbuizen, all ranged
themselves under the government of Orange, as lawful stadholder for the
King.

Nor was it in Holland and Zealand alone that the beacon fires of freedom
were lighted. City after city in Gelderland, Overyssel, and the See of
Utrecht; all the important towns of Friesland, some sooner, some later,
some without a struggle, some after a short siege, some with resistance
by the functionaries of government, some by amicable compromise, accepted
the garrisons of the Prince, and formally recognized his authority. Out
of the chaos which a long and preternatural tyranny had produced, the
first struggling elements of a new and a better world began to appear. It
were superfluous to narrate the details which marked the sudden
restoration of liberty in these various groups of cities. Traits of
generosity marked the change of government in some, circumstances of
ferocity, disfigured the revolution in others. The island of Walcheren,
equally divided as it was between the two parties, was the scene of much
truculent and diabolical warfare. It is difficult to say whether the
mutual hatred of race or the animosity of religious difference proved the
deadlier venom. The combats were perpetual and sanguinary, the prisoners
on both sides instantly executed. On more than one occasion; men were
seen assisting to hang with their own hands and in cold blood their own
brothers, who had been taken prisoners in the enemy's ranks. When the
captives were too many to be hanged, they were tied back to back, two and
two, and thus hurled into the sea. The islanders found a fierce pleasure
in these acts of cruelty. A Spaniard had ceased to be human in their
eyes. On one occasion, a surgeon at Veer cut the heart from a Spanish
prisoner, nailed it on a vessel's prow; and invited the townsmen to come
and fasten their teeth in it, which many did with savage satisfaction.

In other parts of the country the revolution was, on the whole,
accomplished with comparative calmness. Even traits of generosity were
not uncommon. The burgomaster of Gonda, long the supple slave of Alva and
the Blood Council, fled for his life as the revolt broke forth in that
city. He took refuge in the house of a certain widow, and begged for a
place of concealment. The widow led him to a secret closet which served
as a pantry. "Shall I be secure there?" asked the fugitive functionary.
"O yes, sir Burgomaster," replied the widow, "'t was in that very place
that my husband lay concealed when you, accompanied by the officers of
justice, were searching the house, that you might bring him to the
scaffold for his religion. Enter the pantry, your worship; I will be
responsible for your safety." Thus faithfully did the humble widow of a
hunted and murdered Calvinist protect the life of the magistrate who had
brought desolation to her hearth.

Not all the conquests thus rapidly achieved in the cause of liberty were
destined to endure, nor were any to be, retained without a struggle. The
little northern cluster of republics which had now restored its honor to
the ancient Batavian name was destined, however, for a long and vigorous
life. From that bleak isthmus the light of freedom was to stream through
many years upon struggling humanity in Europe; a guiding pharos across a
stormy sea; and Harlem, Leyden, Alkmaar--names hallowed by deeds of
heroism such as have not often illustrated human annals, still breathe as
trumpet-tongued and perpetual a defiance to despotism as Marathon,
Thermopylae, or Salamis.

A new board of magistrates had been chosen in all the redeemed cities, by
popular election. They were required to take an oath of fidelity to the
King of Spain, and to the Prince of Orange as his stadholder; to promise
resistance to the Duke of Alva, the tenth penny, and the inquisition; to
support every man's freedom and the welfare of the country; to protect
widows, orphans, and miserable persons, and to maintain justice and
truth.

Diedrich Sonoy arrived on the 2nd June at Enkbuizen. He was provided by
the Prince with a commission, appointing him Lieutenant-Governor of North
Holland or Waterland. Thus, to combat the authority of Alva was set up
the authority of the King. The stadholderate over Holland and Zealand, to
which the Prince had been appointed in 1559, he now reassumed. Upon this
fiction reposed the whole provisional polity of the revolted Netherlands.
The government, as it gradually unfolded itself, from this epoch forward
until the declaration of independence and the absolute renunciation of
the Spanish sovereign power, will be sketched in a future chapter. The
people at first claimed not an iota more of freedom than was secured by
Philip's coronation oath. There was no pretence that Philip was not
sovereign, but there was a pretence and a determination to worship God
according to conscience, and to reclaim the ancient political "liberties"
of the land. So long as Alva reigned, the Blood Council, the inquisition,
and martial law, were the only codes or courts, and every charter slept.
To recover this practical liberty and these historical rights, and to
shake from their shoulders a most sanguinary government, was the purpose
of William and of the people. No revolutionary standard was displayed.

The written instructions given by the Prince to his Lieutenant Sonoy were
to "see that the Word of God was preached, without, however, suffering
any hindrance to the Roman Church in the exercise of its religion; to
restore fugitives and the banished for conscience sake, and to require of
all magistrates and officers of guilds and brotherhoods an oath of
fidelity." The Prince likewise prescribed the form of that oath,
repeating therein, to his eternal honor, the same strict prohibition of
intolerance. "Likewise," said the formula, "shall those of 'the religion'
offer no let or hindrance to the Roman churches."

The Prince was still in Germany, engaged in raising troops and providing
funds. He directed; however, the affairs of the insurgent provinces in
their minutest details, by virtue of the dictatorship inevitably forced
upon him both by circumstances and by the people. In the meantime; Louis
of Nassau, the Bayard of the Netherlands, performed a most unexpected and
brilliant exploit. He had been long in France, negotiating with the
leaders of the Huguenots, and, more secretly, with the court. He was
supposed by all the world to be still in that kingdom, when the startling
intelligence arrived that he had surprised and captured the important
city of Mons. This town, the capital of Hainault, situate in a fertile,
undulating, and beautiful country, protected by lofty walls, a triple
moat, and a strong citadel, was one of the most flourishing and elegant
places in the Netherlands. It was, moreover, from its vicinity to the
frontiers of France; a most important acquisition to the insurgent party.
The capture was thus accomplished. A native of Mons, one Antony Oliver, a
geographical painter, had insinuated himself into the confidence of Alva,
for whom he had prepared at different times some remarkably well-executed
maps of the country. Having occasion to visit France, he was employed by
the Duke to keep a watch upon the movements of Louis of Nassau, and to
make a report as to the progress of his intrigues with the court of
France. The painter, however, was only a spy in disguise, being in
reality devoted to the cause of freedom, and a correspondent of Orange
and his family. His communications with Louis, in Paris, had therefore a
far different result from the one anticipated by Alva. A large number of
adherents within the city of Mons had already been secured, and a plan
was now arranged between Count Louis, Genlis, De la Noue, and other
distinguished Huguenot chiefs, to be carried out with the assistance of
the brave and energetic artist.

On the 23rd of May, Oliver appeared at the gates of Mons, accompanied by
three wagons, ostensibly containing merchandise, but in reality laden
with arquebusses. These were secretly distributed among his confederates
in the city. In the course of the day Count Louis arrived in the
neighbourhood, accompanied by five hundred horsemen and a thousand foot
soldiers. This force he stationed in close concealment within the thick
forests between Maubeuge and Mons. Towards evening he sent twelve of the
most trusty and daring of his followers, disguised as wine merchants,
into the city. These individuals proceeded boldly to a public house,
ordered their supper, and while conversing with the landlord, carelessly
inquired at what hour next morning the city gates would be opened. They
were informed that the usual hour was four in the morning, but that a
trifling present to the porter would ensure admission, if they desired
it, at an earlier hour. They explained their inquiries by a statement
that they had some casks of wine which they wished to introduce into the
city before sunrise. Having obtained all the information which they
needed, they soon afterwards left the tavern. The next day they presented
themselves very early at the gate, which the porter, on promise of a
handsome "drink-penny," agreed to unlock. No sooner were the bolts
withdrawn, however, than he was struck dead, while about fifty dragoons
rode through the gate. The Count and his followers now galloped over the
city in the morning twilight, shouting "France! liberty! the town is
ours!" "The Prince is coming!" "Down with the tenth penny; down with the
murderous Alva!" So soon as a burgher showed his wondering face at the
window, they shot at him with their carbines. They made as much noise,
and conducted themselves as boldly as if they had been at least a
thousand strong.

Meantime, however, the streets remained empty; not one of their secret
confederates showing himself. Fifty men could surprise, but were too few
to keep possession of the city. The Count began to suspect a trap. As
daylight approached the alarm spread; the position of the little band was
critical. In his impetuosity, Louis had far outstripped his army, but
they had been directed to follow hard upon his footsteps, and he was
astonished that their arrival was so long delayed. The suspense becoming
intolerable, he rode out of the city in quest of his adherents, and found
them wandering in the woods, where they had completely lost their way.
Ordering each horseman to take a foot soldier on the crupper behind him,
he led them rapidly back to Mons. On the way they were encountered by La
Noue, "with the iron arm," and Genlis, who, meantime, had made an
unsuccessful attack to recover Valenciennes, which within a few hours had
been won and lost again. As they reached the gates of Mons, they found
themselves within a hair's breadth of being too late; their adherents had
not come forth; the citizens had been aroused; the gates were all fast
but one--and there the porter was quarrelling with a French soldier about
an arquebuss. The drawbridge across the moat was at the moment rising;
the last entrance was closing, when Guitoy de Chaumont, a French officer,
mounted on a light Spanish barb, sprang upon the bridge as it rose. His
weight caused it to sink again, the gate was forced, and Louis with all
his men rode triumphantly into the town.

The citizens were forthwith assembled by sound of bell in the
market-place. The clergy, the magistracy, and the general council were
all present. Genlis made the first speech, in which he disclaimed all
intention of making conquests in the interest of France. This pledge
having been given, Louis of Nassau next addressed the assembly: "The
magistrates," said he, "have not understoood my intentions. I protest
that I am no rebel to the King; I prove it by asking no new oaths from
any man. Remain bound by your old oaths of allegiance; let the
magistrates continue to exercise their functions--to administer justice.
I imagine that no person will suspect a brother of the Prince of Orange
capable of any design against the liberties of the country. As to the
Catholic religion, I take it under my very particular protection. You
will ask why I am in Mons at the head of an armed force: are any of you
ignorant of Alva's cruelties? The overthrow of this tyrant is as much the
interest of the King as of the people, therefore there is nothing in my
present conduct inconsistent with fidelity to his Majesty. Against Alva
alone I have taken up arms; 'tis to protect you against his fury that I
am here. It is to prevent the continuance of a general rebellion that I
make war upon him. The only proposition which I have to make to you is
this--I demand that you declare Alva de Toledo a traitor to the King, the
executioner of the people, an enemy to the country, unworthy of the
government, and hereby deprived of his authority."

The magistracy did not dare to accept so bold a proposition; the general
council, composing the more popular branch of the municipal government,
were comparatively inclined to favor Nassau, and many of its members
voted for the downfall of the tyrant. Nevertheless the demands of Count
Louis were rejected. His position thus became critical. The civic
authorities refused to, pay for his troops, who were, moreover, too few,
in number to resist the inevitable siege. The patriotism of the citizens
was not to be repressed, however, by the authority, of the magistrates;
many rich proprietors of the great cloth and silk manufactories, for
which Mons was famous, raised, and armed companies at their own expense;
many volunteer troops were also speedily organized and drilled, and the
fortifications were put in order. No attempt was made to force the
reformed religion upon the inhabitants, and even Catholics who were
discovered in secret correspondence with the enemy were treated with such
extreme gentleness by Nassau as to bring upon him severe reproaches from
many of his own party.

A large collection of ecclesiastical plate, jewellery, money, and other
valuables, which had been sent to the city for safe keeping from the
churches and convents of the provinces, was seized, and thus, with little
bloodshed and no violence; was the important city secured for the
insurgents. Three days afterwards, two thousand infantry, chiefly French,
arrived in the place. In the early part of the following month Louis was
still further strengthened by the arrival of thirteen hundred foot and
twelve hundred horsemen, under command of Count Montgomery, the
celebrated officer, whose spear at the tournament had proved fatal to
Henry the Second. Thus the Duke of Alva suddenly found himself exposed to
a tempest of revolution. One thunderbolt after another seemed descending
around him in breathless succession. Brill and Flushing had been already
lost; Middelburg was so closely invested that its fall seemed imminent,
and with it would go the whole island of Walcheren, the key to all the
Netherlands. In one morning he had heard of the revolt of Enkbuizen and
of the whole Waterland; two hours later came the news of the Valenciennes
rebellion, and next day the astonishing capture of Mons. One disaster
followed hard upon another. He could have sworn that the detested Louis
of Nassau, who had dealt this last and most fatal stroke, was at that
moment in Paris, safely watched by government emissaries; and now he had,
as it were, suddenly started out of the earth, to deprive him of this
important city, and to lay bare the whole frontier to the treacherous
attacks of faithless France. He refused to believe the intelligence when
it was first announced to him, and swore that he had certain information
that Count Louis had been seen playing in the tennis-court at Paris,
within so short a period as to make his presence in Hainault at that
moment impossible. Forced, at last, to admit the truth of the disastrous
news, he dashed his hat upon the ground in a fury, uttering imprecations
upon the Queen Dowager of France, to whose perfidious intrigues he
ascribed the success of the enterprise, and pledging himself to send her
Spanish thistles, enough in return for the Florentine lilies which she
had thus bestowed upon him.

In the midst of the perplexities thus thickening around him, the Duke
preserved his courage, if not his temper. Blinded, for a brief season, by
the rapid attacks made upon him, he had been uncertain whither to direct
his vengeance. This last blow in so vital a quarter determined him at
once. He forthwith despatched Don Frederic to undertake the siege of
Mons, and earnestly set about raising large reinforcements to his army.
Don Frederic took possession, without much opposition, of the Bethlehem
cloister in the immediate vicinity of the city, and with four thousand
troops began the investment in due form.

Alva had, for a long time, been most impatient to retire from the
provinces. Even he was capable of human emotions. Through the sevenfold
panoply of his pride he had been pierced by the sharpness of a nation's
curse. He was wearied with the unceasing execrations which assailed his
ears. "The hatred which the people bear me," said he, in a letter to
Philip, "because of the chastisement which it has been necessary for me
to inflict, although with all the moderation in the world, make all my
efforts vain. A successor will meet more sympathy and prove more useful."
On the 10th June, the Duke of Medina Coeli; with a fleet of more than
forty sail, arrived off Blankenburg, intending to enter the Scheld.
Julian Romero, with two thousand Spaniards, was also on board the fleet.
Nothing, of course, was known to the new comers of the altered condition
of affairs in the Netherlands, nor of the unwelcome reception which they
were like to meet in Flushing. A few of the lighter craft having been
taken by the patriot cruisers, the alarm was spread through all the
fleet. Medina Coeli, with a few transports, was enabled to effect his
escape to Sluys, whence he hastened to Brussels in a much less
ceremonious manner than he had originally contemplated. Twelve Biscayan
ships stood out to sea, descried a large Lisbon fleet, by a singular
coincidence, suddenly heaving in sight, changed their course again, and
with a favoring breeze bore boldly up the Hond; passed Flushing in spite
of a severe cannonade from the forts, and eventually made good their
entrance into Rammekens, whence the soldiery, about one-half of whom had
thus been saved, were transferred at a very critical moment to
Middelburg.

The great Lisbon fleet followed in the wake of the Biscayans, with much
inferior success. Totally ignorant of the revolution which had occurred
in the Ise of Walclieren, it obeyed the summons of the rebel fort to come
to anchor, and, with the exception of three or four, the vessels were all
taken. It was the richest booty which the insurgents had yet acquired by
sea or land. The fleet was laden with spices, money, jewellery, and the
richest merchandize. Five hundred thousand crowns of gold were taken, and
it was calculated that the plunder altogether would suffice to maintain
the war for two years at least. One thousand Spanish soldiers, and a good
amount of ammunition, were also captured. The unexpected condition of
affairs made a pause natural and almost necessary, before the government
could be decorously transferred. Medina Coeli with Spanish
grandiloquence, avowed his willingness to serve as a soldier, under a
general whom he so much venerated, while Alva ordered that, in all
respects, the same outward marks of respect should be paid to his
appointed successor as to himself. Beneath all this external ceremony,
however, much mutual malice was concealed.

Meantime, the Duke, who was literally "without a single real," was forced
at last to smother his pride in the matter of the tenth penny. On the
24th June, he summoned the estates of Holland to assemble on the 15th of
the ensuing month. In the missive issued for this purpose, he formally
agreed to abolish the whole tax, on condition that the estates-general of
the Netherlands would furnish him with a yearly supply of two millions of
florins. Almost at the same moment the King had dismissed the deputies of
the estates from Madrid, with the public assurance that the tax was to be
suspended, and a private intimation that it was not abolished in terms,
only in order to save the dignity of the Duke.

These healing measures came entirely too late. The estates of Holland
met, indeed, on the appointed day of July; but they assembled not in
obedience to Alva, but in consequence of a summons from William of
Orange. They met, too, not at the Hague, but at Dort, to take formal
measures for renouncing the authority of the Duke. The first congress of
the Netherland commonwealth still professed loyalty to the Crown, but was
determined to accept the policy of Orange without a question.

The Prince had again assembled an army in Germany, consisting of fifteen
thousand foot and seven thousand horse, besides a number of
Netherlanders, mostly Walloons, amounting to nearly three thousand more.
Before taking the field, however, it was necessary that he should
guarantee at least three months' pay to his troops. This he could no
longer do, except by giving bonds endorsed by certain cities of Holland
as his securities. He had accordingly addressed letters in his own name
to all the principal cities, fervently adjuring them to remember, at
last, what was due to him, to the fatherland, and to their own character.
"Let not a sum of gold," said he in one of these letters, "be so dear to
you, that for its sake you will sacrifice your lives, your wives, your
children, and all your descendants, to the latest generations; that you
will bring sin and shame upon yourselves, and destruction upon us who
have so heartily striven to assist you. Think what scorn you will incur
from foreign nations, what a crime you will commit against the. Lord God,
what a bloody yoke ye will impose forever upon yourselves and your
children, if you now seek for subterfuges; if you now prevent us from
taking the field with the troops which we have enlisted. On the other
hand, what inexpressible benefits you will confer on your country, if you
now help us to rescue that fatherland from the power of Spanish vultures
and wolves."

This and similar missives, circulated throughout the province of Holland,
produced a deep impression. In accordance with his suggestions, the
deputies from the nobility and from twelve cities of that province
assembled on the 15th July, at Dort. Strictly speaking, the estates or
government of Holland, the body which represented the whole people,
consisted of the nobler and six great cities. On this occasion, however,
Amsterdam being still in the power of the King, could send no deputies,
while, on the other hand, all the small towns were invited to send up
their representatives to the Congress. Eight accepted the proposal; the
rest declined to appoint delegates, partly from motives of economy,
partly from timidity.'

These estates were the legitimate representatives of the people, but they
had no legislative powers. The people had never pretended to sovereignty,
nor did they claim it now. The source from which the government of the
Netherlands was supposed to proceed was still the divine mandate. Even
now the estates silently conceded, as they had ever done, the supreme
legislative and executive functions to the land's master. Upon Philip of
Spain, as representative of Count Dirk the First of Holland, had
descended, through many tortuous channels, the divine effluence
originally supplied by Charles the Simple of France. That supernatural
power was not contested, but it was now ingeniously turned against the
sovereign. The King's authority was invoked against himself in the person
of the Prince of Orange, to whom, thirteen years before, a portion of
that divine right had been delegated. The estates of Holland met at Dort
on the 15th July, as representatives of the people; but they were
summoned by Orange, royally commissioned in 1559 as stadholder, and
therefore the supreme legislative and executive officer of certain
provinces. This was the theory of the provisional government. The Prince
represented the royal authority, the nobles represented both themselves
and the people of the open country, while the twelve cities represented
the whole body of burghers. Together, they were supposed to embody all
authority, both divine and human, which a congress could exercise. Thus
the whole movement was directed against Alva and against Count Bossu,
appointed stadholder by Alva in the place of Orange. Philip's name was
destined to figure for a long time, at the head of documents by which
monies were raised, troops levied, and taxes collected, all to be used in
deadly war against himself.

The estates were convened on the 15th July, when Paul Buys, pensionary of
Leyden, the tried and confidential friend of Orange, was elected Advocate
of Holland. The convention was then adjourned till the 18th, when Saint
Aldegonde made his appearance, with full powers to act provisionally in
behalf of his Highness.

The distinguished plenipotentiary delivered before the congress a long
and very effective harangue. He recalled the sacrifices and efforts of
the Prince during previous years. He adverted to the disastrous campaign
of 1568, in which the Prince had appeared full of high hope, at the head
of a gallant army, but had been obliged, after a short period, to retire,
because not a city had opened its gates nor a Netherlander lifted his
finger in the cause. Nevertheless, he had not lost courage nor closed his
heart; and now that, through the blessing of God, the eyes of men had
been opened, and so many cities had declared against the tyrant, the
Prince had found himself exposed to a bitter struggle. Although his own
fortunes had been ruined in the cause, he had been unable to resist the
daily flood of petitions which called upon him to come forward once more.
He had again importuned his relations and powerful friends; he had at
last set on foot a new and well-appointed army. The day of payment had
arrived. Over his own head impended perpetual shame, over the fatherland
perpetual woe, if the congress should now refuse the necessary supplies.
"Arouse ye, then," cried the orator, with fervor, "awaken your own zeal
and that of your sister cities. Seize Opportunity by the locks, who never
appeared fairer than she does to-day."

The impassioned eloquence of St. Aldegonde produced a profound
impression. The men who had obstinately refused the demands of Alva, now
unanimously resolved to pour forth their gold and their blood at the call
of Orange. "Truly," wrote the Duke, a little later, "it almost drives me
mad to see the difficulty with which your Majesty's supplies are
furnished, and the liberality with which the people place their lives and
fortunes at the disposal of this rebel." It seemed strange to the loyal
governor that men should support their liberator with greater alacrity
than that with which they served their destroyer! It was resolved that
the requisite amount should be at once raised, partly from the regular
imposts and current "requests," partly by loans from the rich, from the
clergy, from the guilds and brotherhoods, partly from superfluous church
ornaments and other costly luxuries. It was directed that subscriptions
should be immediately opened throughout the land, that gold and silver
plate, furniture, jewellery, and other expensive articles should be
received by voluntary contributions, for which inventories and receipts
should be given by the magistrates of each city, and that upon these
money should be raised, either by loan or sale. An enthusiastic and
liberal spirit prevailed. All seemed determined rather than pay the tenth
to Alva to pay the whole to the Prince.

The estates, furthermore, by unanimous resolution, declared that they
recognized the Prince as the King's lawful stadholder over Holland,
Zealand, Friesland, and Utrecht, and that they would use their influence
with the other provinces to procure his appointment as Protector of all
the Netherlands during the King's absence. His Highness was requested to
appoint an Admiral, on whom, with certain deputies from the Water-cities,
the conduct of the maritime war should devolve.

The conduct of the military operations by land was to be directed by
Dort, Leyden, and Enkbuizen, in conjunction with the Count de la Marck. A
pledge was likewise exchanged between the estates and the
pleni-potentiary, that neither party should enter into any treaty with
the King, except by full consent and co-operation of the other. With
regard to religion, it was firmly established, that the public exercises
of divine worship should be permitted not only to the Reformed Church,
but to the Roman Catholic--the clergy of both being protected from all
molestation.

After these proceedings, Count de la Marck made his appearance before the
assembly. His commission from Orange was read to the deputies, and by
them ratified. The Prince, in that document, authorized "his dear cousin"
to enlist troops, to accept the fealty of cities, to furnish them with
garrisons, to re-establish all the local laws, municipal rights, and
ancient privileges which had been suppressed. He was to maintain freedom
of religion, under penalty of death to those who infringed it; he was to
restore all confiscated property; he was, with advice of his council, to
continue in office such city magistrates as were favorable, and to remove
those adverse to the cause.

The Prince was, in reality, clothed with dictatorial and even regal
powers. This authority had been forced upon him by the prayers of the
people, but he manifested no eagerness as he partly accepted the onerous
station. He was provisionally the depositary of the whole sovereignty of
the northern provinces, but he cared much less for theories of government
than for ways and means. It was his object to release the country from
the tyrant who, five years long, had been burning and butchering the
people. It was his determination to drive out the foreign soldiery. To do
this, he must meet his enemy in the field. So little was he disposed to
strengthen his own individual power, that he voluntarily imposed limits
on himself, by an act, supplemental to the proceedings of the Congress of
Dort. In this important ordinance made by the Prince of Orange, as a
provisional form of government, he publicly announced "that he would do
and ordain nothing except by the advice of the estates, by reason that
they were best acquainted with the circumstances and the humours of the
inhabitants." He directed the estates to appoint receivers for all public
taxes, and ordained that all military officers should make oath of
fidelity to him, as stadholder, and to the estates of Holland, to be true
and obedient, in order to liberate the land from the Albanian and Spanish
tyranny, for the service of his royal Majesty as Count of Holland. The
provisional constitution, thus made by a sovereign prince and actual
dictator, was certainly as disinterested as it was sagacious.

Meanwhile the war had opened vigorously in Hainault. Louis of Nassau had
no sooner found himself in possession of Mons than he had despatched
Genlis to France, for those reinforcements which had been promised by
royal lips. On the other hand, Don Frederic held the city closely
beleaguered; sharp combats before the walls were of almost daily
occurrence, but it was obvious that Louis would be unable to maintain the
position into which he had so chivalrously thrown himself unless he
should soon receive important succor. The necessary reinforcements were
soon upon the way. Genlis had made good speed with his levy, and it was
soon announced that he was advancing into Hainault, with a force of
Huguenots, whose numbers report magnified to ten thousand veterans. Louis
despatched an earnest message to his confederate, to use extreme caution
in his approach. Above all things, he urged him, before attempting to
throw reinforcements into the city, to effect a junction with the Prince
of Orange, who had already crossed the Rhine with his new army.

Genlis, full of overweening confidence, and desirous of acquiring singly
the whole glory of relieving the city, disregarded this advice. His
rashness proved his ruin, and the temporary prostration of the cause of
freedom. Pushing rapidly forward across the French frontier, he arrived,
towards the middle of July, within two leagues of Mons. The Spaniards
were aware of his approach, and well prepared to frustrate his project.
On the 19th, he found himself upon a circular plain of about a league's
extent, surrounded with coppices and forests, and dotted with farm-houses
and kitchen gardens. Here he paused to send out a reconnoitring party.
The little detachment was, however, soon driven in, with the information
that Don Frederic of Toledo, with ten thousand men, was coming instantly
upon them. The Spanish force, in reality, numbered four thousand
infantry, and fifteen hundred cavalry; but three thousand half-armed
boors had been engaged by Don Frederic, to swell his apparent force. The
demonstration produced its effect, and no sooner had the first panic of
the intelligence been spread, than Noircarmes came charging upon them at
the head of his cavalry. The infantry arrived directly afterwards, and
the Huguenots were routed almost as soon as seen. It was a meeting rather
than a battle. The slaughter of the French was very great, while but an
insignificant number of the Spaniards fell. Chiappin Vitelli was the hero
of the day. It was to his masterly arrangements before the combat, and to
his animated exertions upon the field, that the victory was owing. Having
been severely wounded in the thigh but a few days previously, he caused
himself to be carried upon a litter in a recumbent position in front of
his troops, and was everywhere seen, encouraging their exertions, and
exposing himself, crippled as he was, to the whole brunt of the battle.
To him the victory nearly proved fatal; to Don Frederic it brought
increased renown. Vitelli's exertions, in his precarious condition,
brought on severe inflammation, under which he nearly succumbed, while
the son of Alva reaped extensive fame from the total overthrow of the
veteran Huguenots, due rather to his lieutenant and to Julian Romero.

The number of dead left by the French upon the plain amounted to at least
twelve hundred, but a much larger number was butchered in detail by the
peasantry, among whom they attempted to take refuge, and who had not yet
forgotten the barbarities inflicted by their countrymen in the previous
war. Many officers were taken prisoners, among whom was the
Commander-in-chief, Genlis.

That unfortunate gentleman was destined to atone for his rashness and
obstinacy with his life. He was carried to the castle of Antwerp, where,
sixteen months afterwards, he was secretly strangled by command of Alva,
who caused the report to be circulated that he had died a natural death.
About one hundred foot soldiers succeeded in making their entrance into
Mona, and this was all the succor which Count Louis was destined to
receive from France, upon which country he had built such lofty and such
reasonable hopes.

While this unfortunate event was occurring, the Prince had already put
his army in motion. On the 7th of July he had crossed the Rhine at
Duisburg, with fourteen thousand foot, seven thousand horse, enlisted in
Germany, besides a force of three thousand Walloons. On the 23rd of July,
he took the city of Roermond, after a sharp cannonade, at which place his
troops already began to disgrace the honorable cause in which they were
engaged, by imitating the cruelties and barbarities of their antagonists.
The persons and property of the burghers were, with a very few
exceptions, respected; but many priests and monks were put to death by
the soldiery under circumstances of great barbarity. The Prince, incensed
at such conduct, but being unable to exercise very stringent authority
over troops whose wages he was not yet able to pay in full, issued a
proclamation, denouncing such excesses, and commanding his followers,
upon pain of death, to respect the rights of all individuals, whether
Papist or Protestant, and to protect religious exercises both in Catholic
and Reformed churches.

It was hardly to be expected that the troops enlisted by the Prince in
the same great magazine of hireling soldiers, Germany, from whence the
Duke also derived his annual supplies, would be likely to differ very
much in their propensities from those enrolled under Spanish banners; yet
there was a vast contrast between the characters of the two commanders.
One leader inculcated the practice of robbery, rape, and murder, as a
duty, and issued distinct orders to butcher every mother's son in the
cities which he captured; the other restrained every excess to, the
utmost of his ability, protecting not only life and property, but even
the ancient religion.

The Emperor Maximilian had again issued his injunctions against the
military operations of Orange. Bound to the monarch of Spain by so many
family ties, being at once cousin, brother-in-law, and father-in-law of
Philip, it was difficult for him to maintain the attitude which became
him, as chief of that Empire to which the peace of Passau had assured
religious freedom. It had, however, been sufficiently proved that
remonstrances and intercessions addressed to Philip were but idle breath.
It had therefore become an insult to require pacific conduct from the
Prince on the ground of any past or future mediation. It was a still
grosser mockery to call upon him to discontinue hostilities because the
Netherlands were included in the Empire, and therefore protected by the
treaties of Passau and Augsburg. Well did the Prince reply to his
Imperial Majesty's summons in a temperate but cogent letter, in which he
addressed to him from his camp, that all intercessions had proved
fruitless, and that the only help for the Netherlands was the sword.

The Prince had been delayed for a month at Roermonde, because, as he
expressed it; "he had not a single sou," and because, in consequence, the
troops refused to advance into the Netherlands. Having at last been
furnished with the requisite guarantees from the Holland cities for three
months' pay, on the 27th of August, the day of the publication of his
letter to the Emperor, he crossed the Meuse and took his circuitous way
through Diest, Tirlemont, Sichem, Louvain, Mechlin, Termonde, Oudenarde,
Nivelles. Many cities and villages accepted his authority and admitted
his garrisons. Of these Mechlin was the most considerable, in which he
stationed a detachment of his troops. Its doom was sealed in that moment.
Alva could not forgive this act of patriotism on the part of a town which
had so recently excluded his own troops. "This is a direct permission of
God," he wrote, in the spirit of dire and revengeful prophecy, "for us to
punish her as she deserves, for the image-breaking and other misdeeds
done there in the time of Madame de Parma, which our Lord was not willing
to pass over without chastisement."

Meantime the Prince continued his advance. Louvain purchased its
neutrality for the time with sixteen thousand ducats; Brussels
obstinately refused to listen to him, and was too powerful to be forcibly
attacked at that juncture; other important cities, convinced by the
arguments and won by the eloquence of the various proclamations which he
scattered as he advanced, ranged themselves spontaneously and even
enthusiastically upon his side. How different world have been the result
of his campaign but for the unexpected earthquake which at that instant
was to appal Christendom, and to scatter all his well-matured plans and
legitimate hopes. His chief reliance, under Providence and his own strong
heart, had been upon French assistance. Although Genlis, by his
misconduct, had sacrificed his army and himself, yet the Prince as still
justly sanguine as to the policy of the French court. The papers which
had been found in the possession of Genlis by his conquerors all spoke
one language. "You would be struck with stupor," wrote Alva's secretary,
"could you see a letter which is now in my power, addressed by the King
of France to Louis of Nassau." In that letter the King had declared his
determination to employ all the forces which God had placed in his hands
to rescue the Netherlands from the oppression under which they were
groaning. In accordance with the whole spirit and language of the French
government, was the tone of Coligny in his correspondence with Orange.
The Admiral assured the Prince that there was no doubt as to the
earnestness of the royal intentions in behalf of the Netherlands, and
recommending extreme caution, announced his hope within a few days to
effect a junction with him at the head of twelve thousand French
arquebusiers, and at least three thousand cavalry. Well might the Prince
of Orange, strong, and soon to be strengthened, boast that the
Netherlands were free, and that Alva was in his power. He had a right to
be sanguine, for nothing less than a miracle could now destroy his
generous hopes--and, alas! the miracle took place; a miracle of perfidy
and bloodshed such as the world, familiar as it had ever been and was
still to be with massacre, had not yet witnessed. On the 11th of August,
Coligny had written thus hopefully of his movements towards the
Netherlands, sanctioned and aided by his King. A fortnight from that day
occurred the "Paris-wedding;" and the Admiral, with thousands of his
religious confederates, invited to confidence by superhuman treachery,
and lulled into security by the music of august marriage bells, was
suddenly butchered in the streets of Paris by royal and noble hands.

The Prince proceeded on his march, during which the heavy news had been
brought to him, but he felt convinced that, with the very arrival of the
awful tidings, the fate of that campaign was sealed, and the fall of Mons
inevitable. In his own language, he had been struck to the earth "with
the blow of a sledge-hammer,"--nor did the enemy draw a different augury
from the great event.

The crime was not committed with the connivance of the Spanish
government. On the contrary, the two courts were at the moment bitterly
hostile to each other. In the beginning of the summer, Charles IX. and
his advisers were as false to Philip, as at the end of it they were
treacherous to Coligny and Orange. The massacre of the Huguenots had not
even the merit of being a well-contrived and intelligently executed
scheme. We have seen how steadily, seven years before, Catharine de
Medici had rejected the advances of Alva towards the arrangement of a
general plan for the extermination of all heretics within France and the
Netherlands at the same moment. We have seen the disgust with which Alva
turned from the wretched young King at Bayonne, when he expressed the
opinion that to take arms against his own subjects was wholly out of the
question, and could only be followed by general ruin. "'Tis easy to see
that he has been tutored," wrote Alva to his master. Unfortunately, the
same mother; who had then instilled those lessons of hypocritical
benevolence, had now wrought upon her son's cowardly but ferocious nature
with a far different intent. The incomplete assassination of Coligny, the
dread of signal vengeance at the hands of the Huguenots, the necessity of
taking the lead in the internecine snuggle; were employed with Medicean
art, and with entire success. The King was lashed into a frenzy. Starting
to his feet, with a howl of rage and terror, "I agree to the scheme," he
cried, "provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France to reproach me
with the deed."

That night the slaughter commenced. The long premeditated crime was
executed in a panic, but the work was thoroughly done. The King, who a
few days before had written with his own hand to Louis of Nassau,
expressing his firm determination to sustain the Protestant cause both in
France and the Netherlands, who had employed the counsels of Coligny in
the arrangement, of his plans, and who had sent French troops, under
Genlis and La None, to assist their Calvinist brethren in Flanders, now
gave the signal for the general massacre of the Protestants, and with his
own hands, from his own palace windows, shot his subjects with his
arquebuss as if they had been wild beasts.

Between Sunday and Tuesday, according to one of the most moderate
calculations, five thousand Parisians of all ranks were murdered. Within
the whole kingdom, the number of victims was variously estimated at from
twenty-five thousand to one hundred thousand. The heart of Protestant
Europe, for an instant, stood still with horror. The Queen of England put
on mourning weeds, and spurned the apologies of the French envoy with
contempt. At Rome, on the contrary, the news of the massacre created a
joy beyond description. The Pope, accompanied by his cardinals, went
solemnly to the church of Saint Mark to render thanks to God for the
grace thus singularly vouchsafed to the Holy See and to all Christendom;
and a Te Deum was performed in presence of the same august assemblage.

But nothing could exceed the satisfaction which the event occasioned in
the mind of Philip the Second. There was an end now of all assistance
from the French government to the Netherland Protestants. "The news of
the events upon Saint Bartholomew's day," wrote the French envoy at
Madrid, Saint Goard, to Charles IX., "arrived on the 7th September. The
King, on receiving the intelligence, showed, contrary to his natural
custom, so much gaiety, that he seemed more delighted than with all the
good fortune or happy incidents which had ever before occurred to him. He
called all his familiars about him in order to assure them that your
Majesty was his good brother, and that no one else deserved the title of
Most Christian. He sent his secretary Cayas to me with his felicitations
upon the event, and with the information that he was just going to Saint
Jerome to render thanks to God, and to offer his prayers that your
Majesty might receive Divine support in this great affair. I went to see
him next morning, and as soon as I came into his presence he began to
laugh, and with demonstrations of extreme contentment, to praise your
Majesty as deserving your title of Most Christian, telling me there was
no King worthy to be your Majesty's companion, either for valor or
prudence. He praised the steadfast resolution and the long dissimulation
of so great an enterprise, which all the world would not be able to
comprehend."

"I thanked him," continued the embassador, "and I said that I thanked God
for enabling your Majesty to prove to his Master that his apprentice had
learned his trade, and deserved his title of most Christian King. I
added, that he ought to confess that he owed the preservation of the
Netherlands to your Majesty."

Nothing certainly could, in Philip's apprehension, be more delightful
than this most unexpected and most opportune intelligence. Charles IX.,
whose intrigues in the Netherlands he had long known, had now been
suddenly converted by this stupendous crime into his most powerful ally,
while at the same time the Protestants of Europe would learn that there
was still another crowned head in Christendom more deserving of
abhorrence than himself. He wrote immediately to Alva, expressing his
satisfaction that the King of France had disembarrassed himself of such
pernicious men, because he would now be obliged to cultivate the
friendship of Spain, neither the English Queen nor the German Protestants
being thenceforth capable of trusting him. He informed the Duke,
moreover, that the French envoy, Saint Goard, had been urging him to
command the immediate execution of Genlis and his companions, who had
been made prisoners, as well as all the Frenchmen who would be captured
in Mons; and that he fully concurred in the propriety of the measure.
"The sooner," said Philip, "these noxious plants are extirpated from the
earth, the less fear there is that a fresh crop will spring up." The
monarch therefore added, with his own hand, to the letter, "I desire that
if you have not already disembarrassed the world of them, you will do it
immediately, and inform me thereof, for I see no reason why it should be
deferred."

This is the demoniacal picture painted by the French ambassador, and by
Philip's own hand, of the Spanish monarch's joy that his "Most Christian"
brother had just murdered twenty-five thousand of his own subjects. In
this cold-blooded way, too, did his Catholic Majesty order the execution
of some thousand Huguenots additionally, in order more fully to carry out
his royal brother's plans; yet Philip could write of himself, "that all
the world recognized the gentleness of his nature and the mildness of his
intentions."

In truth, the advice thus given by Saint Goard on the subject of the
French prisoners in Alva's possessions, was a natural result of the Saint
Bartholomew. Here were officers and soldiers whom Charles IX. had himself
sent into the Netherlands to fight for the Protestant cause against
Philip and Alva. Already, the papers found upon them had placed him in
some embarrassment, and exposed his duplicity to the Spanish government,
before the great massacre had made such signal reparation for his
delinquency. He had ordered Mondoucet, his envoy in the Netherlands, to
use dissimulation to an unstinted amount, to continue his intrigues with
the Protestants, and to deny stoutly all proofs of such connivance. "I
see that the papers found upon Genlis;" he wrote twelve days before the
massacre, "have been put into the hands of Assonleville, and that they
know everything done by Genlis to have been committed with my consent."

   [These remarkable letters exchanged between Charles IX. and
   Mondoucet have recently been published by M. Emile Gachet (chef du
   bureau paleographique aux Archives de Belgique) from a manuscript
   discovered by him in the library at Rheims.--Compte Rendu de la Com.
   Roy. d'Hist., iv. 340, sqq.]

"Nevertheless, you will tell the Duke of Alva that these are lies
invented to excite suspicion against me. You will also give him
occasional information of the enemy's affairs, in order to make him
believe in your integrity. Even if he does not believe you, my purpose
will be answered, provided you do it dexterously. At the same time you
must keep up a constant communication with the Prince of Orange, taking
great care to prevent discovery of your intelligence with King."

Were not these masterstrokes of diplomacy worthy of a King whom his
mother, from boyhood upwards, had caused to study Macchiavelli's
"Prince," and who had thoroughly taken to heart the maxim, often repeated
in those days, that the "Science of reigning was the science of lying"?

The joy in the Spanish camp before Mons was unbounded. It was as if the
only bulwark between the Netherland rebels and total destruction had been
suddenly withdrawn. With anthems in Saint Gudule, with bonfires, festive
illuminations, roaring artillery, with trumpets also, and with shawms,
was the glorious holiday celebrated in court and camp, in honor of the
vast murder committed by the Most Christian King upon his Christian
subjects; nor was a moment lost in apprising the Huguenot soldiers shut
up with Louis of Nassau in the beleaguered city of the great catastrophe
which was to render all their valor fruitless. "'T was a punishment,"
said a Spanish soldier, who fought most courageously before Mons, and who
elaborately described the siege afterwards, "well worthy of a king whose
title is 'The Most Christian,' and it was still more honorable to inflict
it with his own hands as he did." Nor was the observation a pithy
sarcasm, but a frank expression of opinion, from a man celebrated alike
for the skill with which he handled both his sword and his pen.

The, French envoy in the Netherlands was, of course, immediately informed
by his sovereign of the great event: Charles IX. gave a very pithy
account of the transaction. "To prevent the success of the enterprise
planned by the Admiral," wrote the King on the 26th of August, with hands
yet reeking, and while the havoc throughout France was at its height, "I
have been obliged to permit the said Guises to rush upon the said
Admiral,--which they have done, the said Admiral having been killed and
all his adherents. A very great number of those belonging to the new
religion have also been massacred and cut to pieces. It is probable that
the fire thus kindled will spread through all the cities of my kingdom,
and that all those of the said religion will be made sure of." Not often,
certainly, in history, has a Christian king spoken thus calmly of
butchering his subjects while the work was proceeding all around him. It
is to be observed, moreover, that the usual excuse for such enormities,
religious fanaticism, can not be even suggested on this occasion.
Catharine, in times past had favored Huguenots as much as Catholics,
while Charles had been, up to the very moment of the crime, in strict
alliance with the heretics of both France and Flanders, and furthering
the schemes of Orange and Nassau. Nay, even at this very moment, and in
this very letter in which he gave the news of the massacre, he charged
his envoy still to maintain the closest but most secret intelligence with
the Prince of Orange; taking great care that the Duke of Alva should not
discover these relations. His motives were, of course, to prevent the
Prince from abandoning his designs, and from coming to make a disturbance
in France. The King, now that the deed was done, was most anxious to reap
all the fruits of his crime. "Now, M. de Mondoucet, it is necessary in
such affairs," he continued, "to have an eye to every possible
contingency. I know that this news will be most agreeable to the Duke of
Alva, for it is most favorable to his designs. At the same time, I don't
desire that he alone should gather the fruit. I don't choose that he
should, according to his excellent custom, conduct his affairs in such
wise as to throw the Prince of Orange upon my hands, besides sending back
to France Genlis and the other prisoners, as well as the French now shut
up in Mons."

This was a sufficiently plain hint, which Mondoucet could not well
misunderstand. "Observe the Duke's countenance carefully when you give
him this message," added the King, "and let me know his reply." In order,
however, that there might be no mistake about the matter, Charles wrote
again to his ambassador, five days afterwards, distinctly stating the
regret which he should feel if Alva should not take the city of Mons, or
if he should take it by composition. "Tell the Duke," said he, "that it
is most important for the service of his master and of God that those
Frenchmen and others in Mons should be cut in pieces." He wrote another
letter upon the name day, such was his anxiety upon the subject,
instructing the envoy to urge upon Alva the necessity of chastising those
rebels to the French crown. "If he tells you," continued Charles, "that
this is tacitly requiring him to put to death all the French prisoners
now in hand as well to cut in pieces every man in Mons, you will say to
him that this is exactly what he ought to do, and that he will be guilty
of a great wrong to Christianity if he does otherwise." Certainly, the
Duke, having been thus distinctly ordered, both by his own master and by
his Christian Majesty, to put every one of these Frenchmen to death, had
a sufficiency of royal warrant. Nevertheless, he was not able to execute
entirely these ferocious instructions. The prisoners already in his power
were not destined to escape, but the city of Mons, in his own language,
"proved to have sharper teeth than he supposed."

Mondoucet lost no time in placing before Alva the urgent necessity of
accomplishing the extensive and cold-blooded massacre thus proposed. "The
Duke has replied," wrote the envoy to his sovereign, "that he is
executing his prisoners every day, and that he has but a few left.
Nevertheless, for some reason which he does not mention, he is reserving
the principal noblemen and chiefs." He afterwards informed his master
that Genlis, Jumelles, and the other leaders, had engaged, if Alva would
grant them a reasonable ransom, to induce the French in Mons to leave the
city, but that the Duke, although his language was growing less
confident, still hoped to take the town by assault. "I have urged him,"
he added, "to put them all to death, assuring him that he would be
responsible for the consequences of a contrary course."--"Why does not
your Most Christian master," asked Alva, "order these Frenchmen in Mons
to come to him under oath to make no disturbance? Then my prisoners will
be at my discretion and I shall get my city."--"Because," answered the
envoy, "they will not trust his Most Christian Majesty, and will prefer
to die in Mons."--[Mondoucet to Charles IX., 15th September, 1572.]

This certainly was a most sensible reply, but it is instructive to
witness the cynicism with which the envoy accepts this position for his
master, while coldly recording the results of all these sanguinary
conversations.

Such was the condition of affairs when the Prince of Orange arrived at
Peronne, between Binche and the Duke of Alva's entrenchments. The
besieging army was rich in notabilities of elevated rank. Don Frederic of
Toledo had hitherto commanded, but on the 27th of August, the Dukes of
Medina Coeli and of Alva had arrived in the camp. Directly afterwards
came the warlike Archbishop of Cologne, at the head of two thousand
cavalry. There was but one chance for the Prince of Orange, and
experience had taught him, four years before, its slenderness. He might
still provoke his adversary into a pitched battle, and he relied upon God
for the result. In his own words, "he trusted ever that the great God of
armies was with him, and would fight in the midst of his forces." If so
long as Alva remained in his impregnable camp, it was impossible to
attack him, or to throw reinforcements into Mons. The Prince soon found,
too, that Alva was far too wise to hazard his position by a superfluous
combat. The Duke knew that the cavalry of the Prince was superior to his
own. He expressed himself entirely unwilling to play into the Prince's
hands, instead of winning the game which was no longer doubtful. The
Huguenot soldiers within Mons were in despair and mutiny; Louis of Nassau
lay in his bed consuming with a dangerous fever; Genlis was a prisoner,
and his army cut to pieces; Coligny was murdered, and Protestant France
paralyzed; the troops of Orange, enlisted but for three months, were
already rebellious, and sure to break into open insubordination when the
consequences of the Paris massacre should become entirely clear to them;
and there were, therefore, even more cogent reasons than in 1568, why
Alva should remain perfectly still, and see his enemy's cause founder
before his eyes. The valiant Archbishop of Cologne was most eager for the
fray. He rode daily at the Duke's side, with harness on his back and
pistols in his holsters, armed and attired like one of his own troopers,
and urging the Duke, with vehemence, to a pitched battle with the Prince.
The Duke commended, but did not yield to, the prelate's enthusiasm. "'Tis
a fine figure of a man, with his corslet and pistols," he wrote to
Philip, "and he shows great affection for your Majesty's service."

The issue of the campaign was inevitable. On the 11th September, Don
Frederic, with a force of four thousand picked men, established himself
at Saint Florian, a village near the Havre gate of the city, while the
Prince had encamped at Hermigny, within half a league of the same place,
whence he attempted to introduce reinforcements into the town. On the
night of the 11th and 12th, Don Frederic hazarded an encamisada upon the
enemy's camp, which proved eminently successful, and had nearly resulted
in the capture of the Prince himself. A chosen band of six hundred
arquebussers, attired, as was customary in these nocturnal expeditions,
with their shirts outside their armor, that they might recognize each
other in the darkness, were led by Julian Romero, within the lines of the
enemy. The sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised, and for a
moment powerless, while, for two hours long, from one o'clock in the
morning until three, the Spaniards butchered their foes, hardly aroused
from their sleep, ignorant by how small a force they had been thus
suddenly surprised, and unable in the confusion to distinguish between
friend and foe. The boldest, led by Julian in person, made at once for
the Prince's tent. His guards and himself were in profound sleep, but a
small spaniel, who always passed the night upon his bed, was a more
faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking furiously at the
sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's face with his
paws.--There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse which was
ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness, before his
enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his master of
the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a moment
later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's watchfulness,
William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of his country's
fortunes depended, would have been led within a week to an ignominious
death. To his dying day, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel of the
same race in his bed-chamber. The midnight slaughter still continued, but
the Spaniards in their fury, set fire to the tents. The glare of the
conflagration showed the Orangists by how paltry a force they had been
surprised. Before they could rally, however, Romero led off his
arquebusiers, every one of whom had at least killed his man. Six hundred
of the Prince's troops had been put to the sword, while many others were
burned in their beds, or drowned in the little rivulet which flowed
outside their camp. Only sixty Spaniards lost their lives.

This disaster did not alter the plans of the Prince, for those plans had
already been frustrated. The whole marrow of his enterprise had been
destroyed in an instant by the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. He
retreated to Wronne and Nivelles, an assassin, named Heist, a German, by
birth, but a French chevalier, following him secretly in his camp,
pledged to take his life for a large reward promised by Alva--an
enterprise not destined, however, to be successful. The soldiers flatly
refused to remain an hour longer in the field, or even to furnish an
escort for Count Louis, if, by chance, he could be brought out of the
town. The Prince was obliged to inform his brother of the desperate state
of his affairs, and to advise him to capitulate on the best terms which
he could make. With a heavy heart, he left the chivalrous Louis besieged
in the city which he had so gallantly captured, and took his way across
the Meuse towards the Rhine. A furious mutiny broke out among his troops.
His life was, with difficulty, saved from the brutal soldiery--infuriated
at his inability to pay them, except in the over-due securities of the
Holland cities--by the exertions of the officers who still regarded him
with veneration and affection. Crossing the Rhine at Orsoy, he disbanded
his army and betook himself, almost alone, to Holland.

Yet even in this hour of distress and defeat, the Prince seemed more
heroic than many a conqueror in his day of triumph. With all his hopes
blasted, with the whole fabric of his country's fortunes shattered by the
colossal crime of his royal ally, he never lost his confidence in himself
nor his unfaltering trust in God. All the cities which, but a few weeks
before, had so eagerly raised his standard, now fell off at once. He went
to Holland, the only province which remained true, and which still looked
up to him as its saviour, but he went thither expecting and prepared to
perish. "There I will make my sepulchre," was his simple and sublime
expression in a private letter to his brother.

He had advanced to the rescue of Louis, with city after city opening its
arms to receive him. He had expected to be joined on the march by
Coligny, at the head of a chosen army, and he was now obliged to leave
his brother to his fate, having the massacre of the Admiral and his
confederates substituted for their expected army of assistance, and with
every city and every province forsaking his cause as eagerly as they had
so lately embraced it. "It has pleased God," he said, "to take away every
hope which we could have founded upon man; the King has published that
the massacre was by his orders, and has forbidden all his subjects, upon
pain of death, to assist me; he has, moreover, sent succor to Alva. Had
it not been for this, we had been masters of the Duke, and should have
made him capitulate at our pleasure." Yet even then he was not cast down.

Nor was his political sagacity liable to impeachment by the extent to
which he had been thus deceived by the French court. "So far from being
reprehensible that I did not suspect such a crime," he said, "I should
rather be chargeable with malignity had I been capable of so sinister a
suspicion. 'Tis not an ordinary thing to conceal such enormous
deliberations under the plausible cover of a marriage festival."

Meanwhile, Count Louis lay confined to his couch with a burning fever.
His soldiers refused any longer to hold the city, now that the altered
intentions of Charles IX. were known and the forces of Orange withdrawn.
Alva offered the most honorable conditions, and it was therefore
impossible for the Count to make longer resistance. The city was so
important, and time was at that moment so valuable that the Duke was
willing to forego his vengeance upon the rebel whom he so cordially
detested, and to be satisfied with depriving, him of the prize which he
had seized with such audacity. "It would have afforded me sincere
pleasure," wrote the Duke, "over and above the benefit to God and your
Majesty, to have had the Count of Nassau in my power. I would overleap
every obstacle to seize him, such is the particular hatred which I bear
the man." Under, the circumstances, however, he acknowledged that the
result of the council of war could only be to grant liberal terms.

On the 19th September, accordingly, articles of capitulation were signed
between the distinguished De la None with three others on the one part,
and the Seigneur de Noircarmes and three others on the side of Spain. The
town was given over to Alva, but all the soldiers were to go out with
their weapons and property. Those of the townspeople who had borne arms
against his Majesty, and all who still held to the Reformed religion,
were to retire with the soldiery. The troops were to pledge themselves
not to serve in future against the Kings of France or Spain, but from
this provision Louis, with his English and German soldiers, was expressly
excepted, the Count indignantly repudiating the idea of such a pledge, or
of discontinuing his hostilities for an instant. It was also agreed that
convoys should be furnished, and hostages exchanged, for the due
observance of the terms of the treaty. The preliminaries having been thus
settled, the patriot forces abandoned the town.

Count Louis, rising from his sick bed, paid his respects in person to the
victorious generals, at their request. He was received in Alva's camp
with an extraordinary show of admiration and esteem. The Duke of Medina
Coeli overwhelmed him with courtesies and "basolomanos," while Don
Frederic assured him, in the high-flown language of Spanish compliment,
that there was nothing which he would not do to serve him, and that he
would take a greater pleasure in executing his slightest wish than if he
had been his next of kin.

As the Count next day, still suffering with fever, and attired in his
long dressing-gown, was taking his departure from the city, he ordered
his carriage to stop at the entrance to Don Frederic's quarters. That
general, who had been standing incognito near the door, gazing with
honest admiration at the hero of so many a hard-fought field, withdrew as
he approached, that he might not give the invalid the trouble of
alighting. Louis, however, recognising him, addressed him with the
Spanish salutation, "Perdone vuestra Senoria la pesedumbre," and paused
at the gate. Don Frederic, from politeness to his condition, did not
present himself, but sent an aid-de-camp to express his compliments and
good wishes. Having exchanged these courtesies, Louis left the city,
conveyed, as had been agreed upon, by a guard of Spanish troops. There
was a deep meaning in the respect with which the Spanish generals had
treated the rebel chieftain. Although the massacre of Saint Bartholomew
met with Alva's entire approbation, yet it was his cue to affect a holy
horror at the event, and he avowed that he would "rather cut off both his
hands than be guilty of such a deed"--as if those hangman's hands had the
right to protest against any murder, however wholesale. Count Louis
suspected at once, and soon afterwards thoroughly understood; the real
motives of the chivalrous treatment which he had received. He well knew
that these very men would have sent him to the scaffold; had he fallen
into their power, and he therefore estimated their courtesy at its proper
value.

It was distinctly stated, in the capitulation of the city, that all the
soldiers, as well as such of the inhabitants as had borne arms, should be
allowed to leave the city, with all their property. The rest of the
people, it was agreed, might remain without molestation to their persons
or estates. It has been the general opinion of historians that the
articles of this convention were maintained by the conquerors in good
faith. Never was a more signal error. The capitulation was made late at
night, on the 20th September, without the provision which Charles IX. had
hoped for: the massacre, namely, of De la None and his companions. As for
Genlis and those who had been taken prisoners at his defeat, their doom
had already been sealed. The city was evacuated on the 21st September:
Alva entered it upon the 24th. Most of the volunteers departed with the
garrison, but many who had, most unfortunately, prolonged their farewells
to their families, trusting to the word of the Spanish Captain Molinos,
were thrown into prison. Noircarmes the butcher of Valenciennes, now made
his appearance in Mons. As grand bailiff of Hainault, he came to the
place as one in authority, and his deeds were now to complete the infamy
which must for ever surround his name. In brutal violation of the terms
upon which the town had surrendered, he now set about the work of
massacre and pillage. A Commission of Troubles, in close imitation of the
famous Blood Council at Brussels, was established, the members of the
tribunal being appointed by Noircarmes, and all being inhabitants of the
town. The council commenced proceedings by condemning all the volunteers,
although expressly included .in the capitulation. Their wives and
children were all banished; their property all confiscated. On the 15th
December, the executions commenced. The intrepid De Leste, silk
manufacturer, who had commanded a band of volunteers, and sustained
during the siege the assaults of Alva's troops with remarkable courage at
a very critical moment, was one of the earliest victims. In consideration
"that he was a gentleman, and not among the most malicious," he was
executed by sword. "In respect that he heard the mass, and made a sweet
and Catholic end," it was allowed that he should be "buried in
consecrated earth." Many others followed in quick succession. Some were
beheaded, some were hanged, some were burned alive. All who had borne
arms or worked at the fortifications were, of course, put to death. Such
as refused to confess and receive the Catholic sacraments perished by
fire. A poor wretch, accused of having ridiculed these mysteries, had his
tongue torn out before being beheaded. A cobbler, named Blaise Bouzet,
was hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday. He was also accused of
going to the Protestant preachings for the sake of participating in the
alms distributed an these occasions, a crime for which many other paupers
were executed. An old man of sixty-two was sent to the scaffold for
having permitted his son to bear arms among the volunteers. At last, when
all pretexts were wanting to justify executions; the council assigned as
motives for its decrees an adhesion of heart on the part of the victims
to the cause of the insurgents, or to the doctrines of the Reformed
Church. Ten, twelve, twenty persons, were often hanged, burned, or
beheaded in a single day. Gibbets laden with mutilated bodies lined the
public highways,--while Noircarmes, by frightful expressions of
approbation, excited without ceasing the fury of his satellites. This
monster would perhaps, be less worthy of execration had he been governed
in these foul proceedings by fanatical bigotry or by political hatred;
but his motives were of the most sordid description. It was mainly to
acquire gold for himself that he ordained all this carnage. With the same
pen which signed the death-sentences of the richest victims, he drew
orders to his own benefit on their confiscated property. The lion's share
of the plunder was appropriated by himself. He desired the estate; of
Francois de Glarges, Seigneur d'Eslesmes. The gentleman had committed no
offence of any kind, and, moreover, lived beyond the French frontier.
Nevertheless, in contempt of international law, the neighbouring
territory was invaded, and d'Eslesmes dragged before the blood tribunal
of Mons. Noircarmes had drawn up beforehand, in his own handwriting, both
the terms of the accusation and of the sentence. The victim was innocent
and a Catholic, but he was rich. He confessed to have been twice at the
preaching, from curiosity, and to have omitted taking the sacrament at
the previous Easter. For these offences he was beheaded, and his
confiscated estate adjudged at an almost nominal price to the secretary
of Noircarmes, bidding for his master. "You can do me no greater
pleasure," wrote Noircarmes to the council, "than to make quick work with
all these rebels, and to proceed with the confiscation of their estates,
real and personal. Don't fail to put all those to the torture out of whom
anything can be got."

Notwithstanding the unexampled docility of the commissioners, they found
it difficult to extract from their redoubted chief a reasonable share in
the wages of blood. They did not scruple, therefore, to display their,
own infamy, and to enumerate their own crimes, in order to justify their
demand for higher salaries. "Consider," they said, in a petition to this
end, "consider closely, all that is odious in our office, and the great
number of banishments and of executions which we have pronounced among
all our own relations and friends."

It may be added, moreover, as a slight palliation for the enormous crimes
committed by these men, that, becoming at last weary of their business,
they urged Noircarmes to desist from the work of proscription. Longehaye,
one of the commissioners, even waited upon him personally, with a plea
for mercy in favor of "the poor people, even beggars, who, although
having borne arms during the siege, might then be pardoned." Noircarmes,
in a rage at the proposition, said that "if he did not know the
commissioners to be honest men, he should believe that their palms had
been oiled," and forbade any farther words on the subject. When Longehaye
still ventured to speak in favor of certain persons "who were very poor
and simple, not charged with duplicity, and good Catholics besides," he
fared no better. "Away with you!" cried Noircarmes in a great fury,
adding that he had already written to have execution done upon the whole
of them. "Whereupon," said poor blood-councillor Longehaye, in his letter
to his colleagues, "I retired, I leave you to guess how."

Thus the work went on day after day, month after month. Till the 27th
August of the following year (1573) the executioner never rested, and
when Requesens, successor to Alva, caused the prisons of Mons to be
opened, there were found still seventy-five individuals condemned to the
block, and awaiting their fate.

It is the most dreadful commentary upon the times in which these
transactions occurred, that they could sink so soon into oblivion. The
culprits took care to hide the records of their guilt, while succeeding
horrors, on a more extensive scale, at other places, effaced the memory
of all these comparatively obscure murders and spoliations. The
prosperity of Mons, one of the most flourishing and wealthy manufacturing
towns in the Netherlands, was annihilated, but there were so many cities
in the same condition that its misery was hardly remarkable.
Nevertheless, in our own days, the fall of a mouldering tower in the
ruined Chateau de Naast at last revealed the archives of all these
crimes. How the documents came to be placed there remains a mystery, but
they have at last been brought to light.

The Spaniards had thus recovered Mons, by which event the temporary
revolution throughout the whole Southern Netherlands was at an end. The
keys of that city unlocked the gates of every other in Brabant and
Flanders. The towns which had so lately embraced the authority of Orange
now hastened to disavow the Prince, and to return to their ancient,
hypocritical, and cowardly allegiance. The new oaths of fidelity were in
general accepted by Alva, but the beautiful archiepiscopal city of
Mechlin was selected for an example and a sacrifice.

There were heavy arrears due to the Spanish troops. To indemnify them,
and to make good his blasphemous prophecy of Divine chastisement for its
past misdeeds, Alva now abandoned this town to the licence of his
soldiery. By his command Don Frederic advanced to the gates and demanded
its surrender. He was answered by a few shots from the garrison. Those
cowardly troops, however, having thus plunged the city still more deeply
into the disgrace which, in Alva's eyes, they had incurred by receiving
rebels within their walls after having but just before refused admittance
to the Spanish forces, decamped during the night, and left the place
defenceless.

Early next morning there issued from the gates a solemn procession of
priests, with banner and crozier, followed by a long and suppliant throng
of citizens, who attempted by this demonstration to avert the wrath of
the victor. While the penitent psalms were resounding, the soldiers were
busily engaged in heaping dried branches and rubbish into the moat.
Before the religious exercises were concluded, thousands had forced the
gates or climbed the walls; and entered the city with a celerity which
only the hope of rapine could inspire. The sack instantly commenced. The
property of friend and foe, of Papist and Calvinist, was indiscriminately
rifled. Everything was dismantled and destroyed. "Hardly a nail," said a
Spaniard, writing soon afterwards from Brussels, "was left standing in
the walls." The troops seemed to imagine themselves in a Turkish town,
and wreaked the Divine vengeance which Alva had denounced upon the city
with an energy which met with his fervent applause.

Three days long the horrible scene continued, one day for the benefit of
the Spaniards, two more for that of the Walloons and Germans. All the
churches, monasteries, religious houses of every kind, were completely
sacked. Every valuable article which they contained, the ornaments of
altars, the reliquaries, chalices, embroidered curtains, and carpets of
velvet or damask, the golden robes of the priests, the repositories of
the host, the precious vessels of chrism and extreme unction, the rich
clothing and jewellery adorning the effigies of the Holy Virgin, all were
indiscriminately rifled by the Spanish soldiers. The holy wafers were
trampled underfoot, the sacramental wine was poured upon the ground, and,
in brief, all the horrors which had been committed by the iconoclasts in
their wildest moments, and for a thousandth part of which enormities
heretics had been burned in droves, were now repeated in Mechlin by the
especial soldiers of Christ, by Roman Catholics who had been sent to the
Netherlands to avenge the insults offered to the Roman Catholic faith.
The motive, too, which inspired the sacrilegious crew was not fanaticism,
but the, desire of plunder. The property of Romanists was taken as freely
as that of Calvinists, of which sect there were; indeed, but few in the
archiepiscopal city. Cardinal Granvelle's house was rifled. The pauper
funds deposited in the convents were not respected. The beds were taken
from beneath sick and dying women, whether lady abbess or hospital
patient, that the sacking might be torn to pieces in search of hidden
treasure.

The iconoclasts of 1566 had destroyed millions of property for the sake
of an idea, but they had appropriated nothing. Moreover, they had
scarcely injured a human being; confining their wrath to graven images.
The Spaniards at Mechlin spared neither man nor woman. The murders and
outrages would be incredible, were they not attested by most respectable
Catholic witnesses. Men were butchered in their houses, in the streets,
at the altars. Women were violated by hundreds in churches and in
grave-yards. Moreover, the deed had been as deliberately arranged as it
was thoroughly performed. It was sanctioned by the highest authority. Don
Frederic, Son of Alva, and General Noircarmes were both present at the
scene, and applications were in vain made to them that the havoc might be
stayed. "They were seen whispering to each other in the ear on their
arrival," says an eye-witness and a Catholic, "and it is well known that
the affair had been resolved upon the preceding day. The two continued
together as long as they remained in the city." The work was, in truth,
fully accomplished. The ultra-Catholic, Jean Richardot, member of the
Grand Council, and nephew of the Bishop of Arras, informed the State
Council that the sack of Mechlin had been so horrible that the poor and
unfortunate mothers had not a single morsel of bread to put in the mouths
of their children, who were dying before their eyes--so insane and cruel
had been the avarice of the plunderers. "He could say more," he added,
"if his hair did not stand on end, not only at recounting, but even at
remembering the scene."

Three days long the city was abandoned to that trinity of furies which
ever wait upon War's footsteps--Murder, Lust, and Rapine--under whose
promptings human beings become so much more terrible than the most
ferocious beasts. In his letter to his master, the Duke congratulated him
upon these foul proceedings as upon a pious deed well accomplished. He
thought it necessary, however; to excuse himself before the public in a
document, which justified the sack of Mechlin by its refusal to accept
his garrison a few months before, and by the shots which had been
discharged at his troops as they approached the city. For these offences,
and by his express order, the deed was done. Upon his head must the guilt
for ever rest.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Science of reigning was the science of lying



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 20.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855



1572-73 [CHAPTER VIII.]

   Affairs in Holland and Zealand--Siege of Tergoes by the patriots--
   Importance of the place--Difficulty of relieving it--Its position--
   Audacious plan for sending succor across the "Drowned Land"--
   Brilliant and successful expedition of Mondragon--The siege raised--
   Horrible sack of Zutphen--Base conduct of Count Van den Berg--
   Refusal of Naarden to surrender--Subsequent unsuccessful deputation
   to make terms with Don Frederic--Don Frederic before Naarden--
   Treachery of Romero--The Spaniards admitted--General massacre of the
   garrison and burghers--The city burned to the ground--Warm reception
   of Orange in Holland--Secret negotiations with the Estates--
   Desperate character of the struggle between Spain and the provinces
   --Don Frederic in Amsterdam--Plans for reducing Holland--Skirmish on
   the ice at Amsterdam--Preparation in Harlem for the expected siege--
   Description of the city--Early operations--Complete investment--
   Numbers of besiegers and besieged--Mutual barbarities--Determined
   repulse of the first assault--Failure of Batenburg's expedition--
   Cruelties in city and camp--Mining and countermining--Second assault
   victoriously repelled--Suffering and disease in Harlem--Disposition
   of Don Frederic to retire--Memorable rebuke by Alva--Efforts of
   Orange to relieve the place--Sonoy's expedition--Exploit of John
   Haring--Cruel execution of prisoners on both sides--Quiryn Dirkzoon
   and his family put to death in the city--Fleets upon the lake--
   Defeat of the patriot armada--Dreadful suffering and starvation in
   the city--Parley with the besiegers--Despair of the city--Appeal to
   Orange--Expedition under Batenburg to relieve the city--His defeat
   and death--Desperate condition of Harlem--Its surrender at
   discretion--Sanguinary executions--General massacre--Expense of the
   victory in blood and money--Joy of Philip at the news.

While thus Brabant and Flanders were scourged back to the chains which
they had so recently broken, the affairs of the Prince of Orange were not
improving in Zealand. Never was a twelvemonth so marked by contradictory
fortune, never were the promises of a spring followed by such blight and
disappointment in autumn than in the memorable year 1572. On the island
of Walcheren, Middelburg and Arnemuyde still held for the King--Campveer
and Flushing for the Prince of Orange. On the island of South Bevelaad,
the city of Goes or Tergoes was still stoutly defended by a small
garrison of Spanish troops. As long as the place held out, the city of
Middelburg could be maintained. Should that important city fall, the
Spaniards would lose all hold upon Walcheren and the province of Zealand.

Jerome de 't Zeraerts, a brave, faithful, but singularly unlucky officer,
commanded for the Prince in Walcheren. He had attempted by various
hastily planned expeditions to give employment to his turbulent soldiery,
but fortune had refused to smile upon his efforts. He had laid siege to
Middelburg and failed. He had attempted Tergoes and had been compelled
ingloriously to retreat. The citizens of Flushing, on his return, had
shut the gates of the town in his face, and far several days refused to
admit him or his troops. To retrieve this disgrace, which had sprung
rather from the insubordination of his followers and the dislike which
they bore his person than from any want of courage or conduct on his
part, he now assembled a force of seven thousand men, marched again to
Tergoes, and upon the 26th of August laid siege to the place in forma.
The garrison was very insufficient, and although they conducted
themselves with great bravery, it was soon evident that unless reinforced
they must yield. With their overthrow it was obvious that the Spaniards
would lose the important maritime province of Zealand, and the Duke
accordingly ordered D'Avila, who commanded in Antwerp, to throw succor
into Tergoes without delay. Attempts were made, by sea and by land, to
this effect, but were all unsuccessful. The Zealanders commanded the
waters with their fleet,--and were too much at home among those gulfs and
shallows not to be more than a match for their enemies. Baffled in their
attempt to relieve the town by water or by land, the Spaniards conceived
an amphibious scheme. Their plan led to one of the most brilliant feats
of arms which distinguishes the history of this war.

The Scheld, flowing past the city of Antwerp and separating the provinces
of Flanders and Brabant, opens wide its two arms in nearly opposite
directions, before it joins the sea. Between these two arms lie the isles
of Zealand, half floating upon, half submerged by the waves. The town of
Tergoes was the chief city of South Beveland, the most important part of
this archipelago, but South Beveland had not always been an island. Fifty
years before, a tempest, one of the most violent recorded in the stormy
annals of that exposed country, had overthrown all barriers, the waters
of the German Ocean, lashed by a succession of north winds, having been
driven upon the low coast of Zealand more rapidly than they could be
carried off through the narrow straits of Dover. The dykes of the island
had burst, the ocean had swept over the land, hundreds of villages had
been overwhelmed, and a tract of country torn from the province and
buried for ever beneath the sea. This "Drowned Land," as it is called,
now separated the island from the main. At low tide it was, however,
possible for experienced pilots to ford the estuary, which had usurped
the place of the land. The average depth was between four and five feet
at low water, while the tide rose and fell at least ten feet; the bottom
was muddy and treacherous, and it was moreover traversed by three living
streams or channels; always much too deep to be fordable.

Captain Plomaert, a Fleming of great experience and bravery, warmly
attached to the King's cause, conceived the plan of sending
reinforcements across this drowned district to the city of Tergoes.
Accompanied by two peasants of the country, well acquainted with the
track, he twice accomplished the dangerous and difficult passage; which,
from dry land to dry land, was nearly ten English miles in length. Having
thus satisfied himself as to the possibility of the enterprise, he laid
his plan before the Spanish colonel, Mondragon. That courageous veteran
eagerly embraced the proposal, examined the ground, and after
consultation with Sancho Avila, resolved in person to lead an expedition
along the path suggested by Plomaert. Three thousand picked men, a
thousand from each nation,--Spaniards, Walloons, and Germans, were
speedily and secretly assembled at Bergen op Zoom, from the neighbourhood
of which city, at a place called Aggier, it was necessary that the
expedition should set forth. A quantity of sacks were provided, in which
a supply of, biscuit and of powder was placed, one to be carried by each
soldier upon his head. Although it was already late in the autumn, the
weather was propitious; the troops, not yet informed: as to the secret
enterprise for which they had been selected, were all ready assembled at
the edge of the water, and Mondragon, who, notwithstanding his age, had
resolved upon heading the hazardous expedition, now briefly, on the
evening of the 20th October, explained to them the nature of the service.
His statement of the dangers which they were about to encounter, rather
inflamed than diminished their ardor. Their enthusiasm became unbounded,
as he described the importance of the city which they were about to save,
and alluded to the glory which would be won by those who thus
courageously came forward to its rescue. The time of about half ebb-tide
having arrived, the veteran,--preceded only by the guides and Plomaert,
plunged gaily into the waves, followed by his army, almost in single
file. The water was never lowed khan the breast, often higher than the
shoulder. The distance to the island, three and a half leagues at least,
was to be accomplished within at most, six hours, or the rising tide
would overwhelm them for ever. And thus, across the quaking and uncertain
slime, which often refused them a footing, that adventurous band, five
hours long, pursued their midnight march, sometimes swimming for their
lives, and always struggling with the waves which every instant
threatened to engulph them.

Before the tide had risen to more than half-flood, before the day had
dawned, the army set foot on dry land again, at the village of Irseken.
Of the whole three thousand, only nine unlucky individuals had been
drowned; so much had courage and discipline availed in that dark and
perilous passage through the very bottom of the sea. The Duke of Alva
might well pronounce it one of the most brilliant and original
achievements in the annals of war. The beacon fires were immediately
lighted upon the shore; as agreed upon, to inform Sancho d'Avila, who was
anxiously awaiting the result at Bergen op Zoom, of the safe arrival of
the troops. A brief repose was then allowed. At the approach of daylight,
they set forth from Irseken, which lay about four leagues from Tergoes.
The news that a Spanish army had thus arisen from the depths of the sea,
flew before them as they marched. The besieging force commanded the water
with their fleet, the land with their army; yet had these indomitable
Spaniards found a path which was neither land nor water, and had thus
stolen upon them in the silence of night. A panic preceded them as they
fell upon a foe much superior in number to their own force. It was
impossible for 't Zeraerts to induce his soldiers to offer resistance.
The patriot army fled precipitately and ignominiously to their ships,
hotly pursued by the Spaniards, who overtook and destroyed the whole of
their rearguard before they could embark. This done, the gallant little
garrison which had so successfully held the city, was reinforced with the
courageous veterans who had come to their relief his audacious project
thus brilliantly accomplished, the "good old Mondragon," as his soldiers
called him, returned to the province of Brabant.

After the capture of Mons and the sack of Mechlin, the Duke of Alva had
taken his way to Nimwegen, having despatched his son, Don Frederic, to
reduce the northern and eastern country, which was only too ready to
submit to the conqueror. Very little resistance was made by any of the
cities which had so recently, and--with such enthusiasm, embraced the
cause of Orange. Zutphen attempted a feeble opposition to the entrance of
the King's troops, and received a dreadful chastisement in consequence.
Alva sent orders to his son to leave not a single man alive in the city,
and to burn every house to the ground. The Duke's command was almost
literally obeyed. Don Frederic entered Zutphen, and without a moment's
warning put the whole garrison to the sword. The citizens next fell a
defenceless, prey; some being, stabbed in the streets, some hanged on the
trees which decorated the city, some stripped stark naked; and turned out
into the fields to freeze to death in the wintry night. As the work of
death became too fatiguing for the butchers, five hundred innocent
burghers were tied two and two, back to back, and drowned like dogs in
the river Yssel. A few stragglers who had contrived to elude pursuit at
first, were afterwards taken from their hiding places and hung upon the
gallows by the feet, some of which victims suffered four days and nights
of agony before death came to their relief. It is superfluous to add that
the outrages upon women were no less universal in Zutphen than they had
been in every city captured or occupied by the Spanish troops. These
horrors continued till scarcely chastity or life remained, throughout the
miserable city.

This attack and massacre had been so suddenly executed, that assistance
would hardly have been possible, even had there been disposition to
render it. There was; however, no such disposition. The whole country was
already cowering again, except the provinces of Holland and Zealand. No
one dared approach, even to learn what had occurred within the walls of
the town, for days after its doom had been accomplished. "A wail of agony
was heard above Zutphen last Sunday," wrote Count Nieuwenar, "a sound as
of a mighty massacre, but we know not what has taken place."

Count Van, den Bergh, another brother-in-law of Orange, proved himself
signally unworthy of the illustrious race to which he was allied. He had,
in the earlier part of the year, received the homage of the cities of
Gelderland and Overyssel, on behalf of the patriot Prince. He now basely
abandoned the field where he had endeavoured to gather laurels while the
sun of success had been shining. Having written from Kampen, whither he
had retired, that he meant to hold the city to the last gasp, he
immediately afterwards fled secretly and precipitately from the country.
In his flight he was plundered by his own people, while his wife, Mary of
Nassau, then far advanced in pregnancy, was left behind, disguised as a
peasant girl, in an obscure village.

With the flight of Van den Bergh, all the cities which, under his
guidance, had raised the standard of Orange, deserted the cause at once.
Friesland too, where Robles obtained a victory over six thousand
patriots, again submitted to the yoke. But if the ancient heart of the
free Frisians was beating thus feebly, there was still spirit left among
their brethren on the other side of the Zuyder Zee. It was not while
William of Orange was within her borders, nor while her sister provinces
had proved recreant to him, that Holland would follow their base example.
No rebellion being left, except in the north-western extremities of the
Netherlands, Don Frederic was ordered to proceed from Zutphen to
Amsterdam, thence to undertake the conquest of Holland. The little city
of Naarden, on the coast of the Zuyder Zee, lay in his path, and had not
yet formally submitted. On the 22nd of November a company of one hundred
troopers was sent to the city gates to demand its surrender. The small
garrison which had been left by the Prince was not disposed to resist,
but the spirit of the burghers was stouter than, their walls. They
answered the summons by a declaration that they had thus far held the
city for the King and the Prince of Orange, and, with God's help, would
continue so to do. As the horsemen departed with this reply, a lunatic,
called Adrian Krankhoeft, mounted the ramparts and, discharged a
culverine among them. No man was injured, but the words of defiance, and
the shot fired by a madman's hand, were destined to be fearfully
answered.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the place, which was at best far from
strong, and ill provided with arms, ammunition, or soldiers, despatched
importunate messages to Sonoy, and to ether patriot generals nearest to
them, soliciting reinforcements. Their messengers came back almost empty
handed. They brought a little powder and a great many promises, but not a
single man-at-arms, not a ducat, not a piece of artillery. The most
influential commanders, moreover, advised an honorable capitulation, if
it were still possible.

Thus baffled, the burghers of the little city found their proud position
quite untenable. They accordingly, on the 1st of December, despatched the
burgomaster and a senator to Amersfoort, to make terms, if possible, with
Don Frederic. When these envoys reached the place, they were refused
admission to the general's presence. The army had already been ordered to
move forward to Naarden, and they were directed to accompany the advance
guard, and to expect their reply at the gates of their own city. This
command was sufficiently ominous. The impression which it made upon them
was confirmed by the warning voices of their friends in Amersfoort, who
entreated them not to return to Naarden. The advice was not lost upon one
of the two envoys. After they had advanced a little distance on their
journey, the burgomaster Laurentszoon slid privately out of the sledge in
which they were travelling, leaving his cloak behind him. "Adieu; I think
I will not venture back to Naarden at present," said he, calmly, as he
abandoned his companion to his fate. The other, who could not so easily
desert his children, his wife, and his fellow-citizens, in the hour of
danger, went forward as calmly to share in their impending doom.

The army reached Bussem, half a league distant from Naarden, in the
evening. Here Don Frederic established his head quarters, and proceeded
to invest the city. Senator Gerrit was then directed to return to Naarden
and to bring out a more numerous deputation on the following morning,
duly empowered to surrender the place. The envoy accordingly returned
next day, accompanied by Lambert Hortensius, rector of a Latin academy,
together with four other citizens. Before this deputation had reached
Bussem, they were met by Julian Romero, who informed them that he was
commissioned to treat with them on the part of Don Frederic. He demanded
the keys of the city, and gave the deputation a solemn pledge that the
lives and property of all the inhabitants should be sacredly respected.
To attest this assurance Don Julian gave his hand three several times to
Lambert Hortensius. A soldier's word thus plighted, the commissioners,
without exchanging any written documents, surrendered the keys, and
immediately afterwards accompanied Romero into the city, who was soon
followed by five or six hundred musketeers.

To give these guests a hospitable reception, all the housewives of the
city at once set about preparations for a sumptuous feast, to which the
Spaniards did ample justice, while the colonel and his officers were
entertained by Senator Gerrit at his own house. As soon as this
conviviality had come to an end, Romero, accompanied by his host, walked
into the square. The great bell had been meantime ringing, and the
citizens had been summoned to assemble in the Gast Huis Church, then used
as a town hall. In the course of a few minutes five hundred had entered
the building, and stood quietly awaiting whatever measures might be
offered for their deliberation. Suddenly a priest, who had been pacing to
and fro before the church door, entered the building, and bade them all
prepare for death; but the announcement, the preparation, and the death,
were simultaneous. The door was flung open, and a band of armed Spaniards
rushed across the sacred threshold. They fired a single volley upon the
defenceless herd, and then sprang in upon them with sword and dagger. A
yell of despair arose as the miserable victims saw how hopelessly they
were engaged, and beheld the ferocious faces of their butchers. The
carnage within that narrow apace was compact and rapid. Within a few
minutes all were despatched, and among them Senator Gerrit, from whose
table the Spanish commander had but just risen. The church was then set
on fire, and the dead and dying were consumed to ashes together.

Inflamed but not satiated, the Spaniards then rushed into the streets,
thirsty for fresh horrors. The houses were all rifled of their contents,
and men were forced to carry the booty to the camp, who were then struck
dead as their reward. The town was then fired in every direction, that
the skulking citizens might be forced from their hiding-places. As fast
as they came forth they were put to death by their impatient foes. Some
were pierced with rapiers, some were chopped to pieces with axes, some
were surrounded in the blazing streets by troops of laughing soldiers,
intoxicated, not with wine but with blood, who tossed them to and fro
with their lances, and derived a wild amusement from their dying agonies.
Those who attempted resistance were crimped alive like fishes, and left
to gasp themselves to death in lingering torture. The soldiers becoming
more and more insane, as the foul work went on, opened the veins of some
of their victims, and drank their blood as if it were wine. Some of the
burghers were for a time spared, that they might witness the violation of
their wives and daughters, and were then butchered in company with these
still more unfortunate victims. Miracles of brutality were accomplished.
Neither church nor hearth was sacred: Men were slain, women outraged at
the altars, in the streets, in their blazing homes. The life of Lambert
Hortensius was spared, out of regard to his learning and genius, but he
hardly could thank his foes for the boon, for they struck his only son
dead, and tore his heart out before his father's eyes. Hardly any man or
woman survived, except by accident. A body of some hundred burghers made
their escape across the snow into the open country. They were, however,
overtaken, stripped stark naked, and hung upon the trees by the feet, to
freeze, or to perish by a more lingering death. Most of them soon died,
but twenty, who happened to be wealthy, succeeded, after enduring much
torture, in purchasing their lives of their inhuman persecutors. The
principal burgomaster, Heinrich Lambertszoon, was less fortunate. Known
to be affluent, he was tortured by exposing the soles of his feet to a
fire until they were almost consumed. On promise that his life should be
spared, he then agreed to pay a heavy ransom; but hardly had he furnished
the stipulated sum when, by express order of Don Frederic himself, he was
hanged in his own doorway, and his dissevered limbs afterwards nailed to
the gates of the city.

Nearly all the inhabitants of Naarden, soldiers and citizens, were thus
destroyed; and now Don Frederic issued peremptory orders that no one, on
pain of death, should give lodging or food to any fugitive. He likewise
forbade to the dead all that could now be forbidden them--a grave. Three
weeks long did these unburied bodies pollute the streets, nor could the
few wretched women who still cowered within such houses as had escaped
the flames ever wave from their lurking-places without treading upon the
festering remains of what had been their husbands, their fathers, or
their brethren. Such was the express command of him whom the flatterers
called the "most divine genius ever known." Shortly afterwards came an
order to dismantle the fortifications, which had certainly proved
sufficiently feeble in the hour of need, and to raze what was left of the
city from the surface of the earth. The work was faithfully accomplished,
and for a longtime Naarden ceased to exist.

Alva wrote, with his usual complacency in such cases, to his sovereign,
that "they had cut the throats of the burghers and all the garrison, and
that they had not left a mother's son alive." The statement was almost
literally correct, nor was the cant with which these bloodhounds
commented upon their crimes less odious than their guilt. "It was a
permission of God," said the Duke, "that these people should have
undertaken to defend a city, which was so weak that no other persons
would have attempted such a thing." Nor was the reflection of Mendoza
less pious. "The sack of Naarden," said that really brave and
accomplished cavalier, "was a chastisement which must be believed to have
taken place by express permission of a Divine Providence; a punishment
for having been the first of the Holland towns in which heresy built its
nest, whence it has taken flight to all the neighboring cities."

It is not without reluctance, but still with a stern determination, that
the historian--should faithfully record these transactions. To extenuate
would be base; to exaggerate impossible. It is good that the world should
not forget how much wrong has been endured by a single harmless nation at
the hands of despotism, and in the sacred name of God. There have been
tongues and pens enough to narrate the excesses of the people, bursting
from time to time out of slavery into madness. It is good, too, that
those crimes should be remembered, and freshly pondered; but it is
equally wholesome to study the opposite picture. Tyranny, ever young and
ever old, constantly reproducing herself with the same stony features,
with the same imposing mask which she has worn through all the ages, can
never be too minutely examined, especially when she paints her own
portrait, and when the secret history of her guilt is furnished by the
confessions of her lovers. The perusal of her traits will not make us
love popular liberty the less.

The history of Alva's administration in the Netherlands is one of those
pictures which strike us almost dumb with wonder. Why has the Almighty
suffered such crimes to be perpetrated in His sacred name? Was it
necessary that many generations should wade through this blood in order
to acquire for their descendants the blessings of civil and religious
freedom? Was it necessary that an Alva should ravage a peaceful nation
with sword and flame--that desolation should be spread over a happy land,
in order that the pure and heroic character of a William of Orange should
stand forth more conspicuously, like an antique statue of spotless marble
against a stormy sky?

After the army which the Prince had so unsuccessfully led to the relief
of Mons had been disbanded, he had himself repaired to Holland. He had
come to Kampen shortly before its defection from his cause. Thence he had
been escorted across the Zuyder Zee to Eukhuyzen. He came to that
province, the only one which through good and ill report remained
entirely faithful to him, not as a conqueror but as an unsuccessful,
proscribed man. But there were warm hearts beating within those cold
lagunes, and no conqueror returning from a brilliant series of victories
could have been received with more affectionate respect than William in
that darkest hour of the country's history. He had but seventy horsemen
at his back, all which remained of the twenty thousand troops which he
had a second time levied in Germany, and he felt that it would be at that
period hopeless for him to attempt the formation of a third army. He had
now come thither to share the fate of Holland, at least, if he could not
accomplish her liberation. He went from city to city, advising with the
magistracies and with the inhabitants, and arranging many matters
pertaining both to peace and war. At Harlem the States of the Provinces,
according to his request, had been assembled. The assembly begged him to
lay before them, if it were possible, any schemes and means which he
might have devised for further resistance to the Duke of Alva. Thus
solicited, the Prince, in a very secret session, unfolded his plans, and
satisfied them as to the future prospects of the cause. His speech has
nowhere been preserved. His strict injunctions as to secrecy, doubtless,
prevented or effaced any record of the session. It is probable, however,
that he entered more fully into the state of his negotiations with
England, and into the possibility of a resumption by Count Louis of his
private intercourse with the French court, than it was safe, publicly, to
divulge.

While the Prince had been thus occupied in preparing the stout-hearted
province for the last death-struggle with its foe, that mortal combat was
already fast approaching; for the aspect of the contest in the
Netherlands was not that of ordinary warfare. It was an encounter between
two principles, in their nature so hostile to each other that the
absolute destruction of one was the only, possible issue. As the fight
went on, each individual combatant seemed inspired by direct personal
malignity, and men found a pleasure in deeds of cruelty, from which
generations not educated to slaughter recoil with horror. To murder
defenceless prisoners; to drink, not metaphorically but literally, the
heart's blood of an enemy; to exercise a devilish ingenuity in inventions
of mutual torture, became not only a duty but a rapture. The Liberty of
the Netherlands had now been hunted to its lair. It had taken its last
refuge among the sands and thickets where its savage infancy had been
nurtured, and had now prepared itself to crush its tormentor in a last
embrace, or to die in the struggle.

After the conclusion of the sack and massacre of Naarden, Don Frederic
had hastened to Amsterdam, where the Duke was then quartered, that he
might receive the paternal benediction for his well-accomplished work.
The royal approbation was soon afterwards added to the applause of his
parent, and the Duke was warmly congratulated in a letter written by
Philip as soon as the murderous deed was known, that Don Frederic had so
plainly shown himself to be his father's son. There was now more work for
father and son. Amsterdam was the only point in Holland which held for
Alva, and from that point it was determined to recover the whole
province. The Prince of Orange was established in the southern district;
Diedrich Sonoy, his lieutenant, was stationed in North Holland. The
important city of Harlem lay between the two, at a spot where the whole
breadth of the territory, from sea to sea, was less than an hour's walk.
With the fall of that city the province would be cut in twain, the
rebellious forces utterly dissevered, and all further resistance, it was
thought, rendered impossible.

The inhabitants of Harlem felt their danger. Bossu, Alva's stadholder for
Holland, had formally announced the system hitherto pursued at Mechlin,
Zutphen, and Naarden, as the deliberate policy of the government. The
King's representative had formally proclaimed the extermination of man,
woman; and child in every city which opposed his authority, but the
promulgation and practice of such a system had an opposite effect to the
one intended. "The hearts of the Hollanders were rather steeled to
resistance than awed into submission by the fate of Naarden." A fortunate
event, too, was accepted as a lucky omen for the coming contest. A little
fleet of armed vessels, belonging to Holland, had been frozen up in the
neighbourhood of Amsterdam. Don Frederic on his arrival from Naarden,
despatched a body of picked men over the ice to attack the imprisoned
vessels. The crews had, however, fortified themselves by digging a wide
trench around the whole fleet, which thus became from the moment an
almost impregnable fortress. Out of this frozen citadel a strong band of
well-armed and skilful musketeers sallied forth upon skates as the
besieging force advanced. A rapid, brilliant, and slippery skirmish
succeeded, in which the Hollanders, so accustomed to such sports, easily
vanquished their antagonists, and drove them off the field, with the loss
of several hundred left dead upon the ice.

"'T was a thing never heard of before to-day," said Alva, "to see a body
of arquebusiers thus skirmishing upon a frozen sea." In the course of the
next four-and-twenty hours a flood and a rapid thaw released the vessels,
which all escaped to Enkhuyzen, while a frost, immediately and strangely
succeeding, made pursuit impossible.

The Spaniards were astonished at these novel manoeuvres upon the ice. It
is amusing to read their elaborate descriptions of the wonderful
appendages which had enabled the Hollanders to glide so glibly into
battle with a superior force, and so rapidly to glance away, after
achieving a signal triumph. Nevertheless, the Spaniards could never be
dismayed, and were always apt scholars, even if an enemy were the
teacher. Alva immediately ordered seven thousand pairs of skates, and his
soldiers soon learned to perform military evolutions with these new
accoutrements as audaciously, if not as adroitly, as the Hollanders.

A portion of the Harlem magistracy, notwithstanding the spirit which
pervaded the province, began to tremble as danger approached. They were
base enough to enter into secret negotiations with Alva, and to send
three of their own number to treat with the Duke at Amsterdam. One was
wise enough to remain with the enemy. The other two were arrested on
their return, and condemned, after an impartial trial, to death. For,
while these emissaries of a cowardly magistracy were absent, the stout
commandant of the little garrison, Ripperda, had assembled the citizens
and soldiers in the market-place. He warned them of the absolute
necessity to make a last effort for freedom. In startling colors he held
up to them the fate of Mechlin, of Zutphen, of Naarden, as a prophetic
mirror, in which they might read their own fate should they be base
enough to surrender the city. There was no composition possible, he
urged, with foes who were as false as they were sanguinary, and whose
foul passions were stimulated, not slaked, by the horrors with which they
had already feasted themselves.

Ripperda addressed men who could sympathize with his bold and lofty
sentiments. Soldiers and citizens cried out for defence instead of
surrender, as with one voice, for there were no abject spirits at Harlem,
save among the magistracy; and Saint Aldegonde, the faithful minister of
Orange, was soon sent to Harlem by the Prince to make a thorough change
in that body.

Harlem, over whose ruins the Spanish tyranny intended to make its
entrance into Holland, lay in the narrowest part of that narrow isthmus
which separates the Zuyder Zee from the German Ocean. The distance from
sea to sea is hardly five English miles across. Westerly from the city
extended a slender strip of land, once a morass, then a fruitful meadow;
maintained by unflagging fortitude in the very jaws of a stormy ocean.
Between the North Sea and the outer edge of this pasture surged those
wild and fantastic downs, heaped up by wind and wave in mimicry of
mountains; the long coils of that rope of sand, by which, plaited into
additional strength by the slenderest of bulrushes, the waves of the
North Sea were made to obey the command of man. On the opposite, or
eastern aide, Harlem looked towards Amsterdam. That already flourishing
city was distant but ten miles. The two cities were separated by an
expanse of inland water, and united by a slender causeway. The Harlem
Lake, formed less than a century before by the bursting of four lesser,
meres during a storm which had threatened to swallow the whole Peninsula,
extended itself on the south and east; a sea of limited dimensions, being
only fifteen feet in depth with seventy square miles of surface, but,
exposed as it lay to all the winds of heaven, often lashed into storms as
dangerous as those of the Atlantic. Beyond the lake, towards the north,
the waters of the Y nearly swept across the Peninsula. This inlet of the
Zuyder Zee was only separated from the Harlem mere by a slender thread of
land. Over this ran the causeway between the two sister cities, now so
unfortunately in arms against each other. Midway between the two, the
dyke was pierced and closed again with a system of sluice-works, which
when opened admitted the waters of the lake into those of the estuary,
and caused an inundation of the surrounding country.

The city was one of the largest and most beautiful in the Netherlands. It
was also one of the weakest.--The walls were of antique construction,
turreted, but not strong. The extent and feebleness of the defences made
a large garrison necessary, but unfortunately, the garrison was even
weaker than the walls. The city's main reliance was on the stout hearts
of the inhabitants. The streets were, for that day, spacious and regular;
the canals planted with limes and poplars. The ancient church of Saint
Bavon, a large imposing structure of brick, stood almost in the centre of
the place, the most prominent object, not only of the town but of the
province, visible over leagues of sea and of land more level than the
sea, and seeming to gather the whole quiet little city under its sacred
and protective wings. Its tall open-work leaden spire was surmounted by a
colossal crown, which an exalted imagination might have regarded as the
emblematic guerdon of martyrdom held aloft over the city, to reward its
heroism and its agony.

It was at once obvious that the watery expanse between Harlem and
Amsterdam would be the principal theatre of the operations about to
commence. The siege was soon begun. The fugitive burgomaster, De Fries,
had the effrontery, with the advice of Alva, to address a letter to the
citizens, urging them to surrender at discretion. The messenger was
hanged--a cruel but practical answer, which put an end to all further
traitorous communications. This was in the first week of December. On the
10th, Don Frederic, sent a strong detachment to capture the fort and
village of Sparendam, as an indispensable preliminary to the commencement
of the siege. A peasant having shown Zapata, the commander of the
expedition, a secret passage across the flooded and frozen meadows, the
Spaniards stormed the place gallantly, routed the whole garrison, killed
three hundred, and took possession of the works and village. Next day,
Don Frederic appeared before the walls of Harlem, and proceeded regularly
to invest the place. The misty weather favored his operations, nor did he
cease reinforcing himself; until at least thirty thousand men, including
fifteen hundred cavalry, had been encamped around the city. The Germans,
under Count Overstein, were stationed in a beautiful and extensive grove
of limes and beeches, which spread between the southern walls and the
shore of Harlem Lake. Don Frederic, with his Spaniards, took up a
position on the opposite side, at a place called the House of Kleef, the
ruins of which still remain. The Walloons, and other regiments were
distributed in different places, so as completely to encircle the town.

   [Pierre Sterlinckx: Eene come Waerachtige Beschryvinghe van alle
   Geschiedinissen, Anschlagen, Stormen, Schermutsingen oude Schieten
   voor de vroome Stadt Haerlem in Holland gheschicht, etc., etc.--
   Delft, 1574.--This is by far the best contemporary account of the
   famous siege. The author was a citizen of Antwerp, who kept a daily
   journal of the events as they occurred at Harlem. It is a dry, curt
   register of horrors, jotted down without passion or comment.--
   Compare Bor, vi. 422, 423; Meteren, iv. 79; Mendoza, viii. 174,
   175; Wagenaer, vad. Hist., vi. 413, 414.]

On the edge of the mere the Prince of Orange had already ordered a
cluster of forts to be erected, by which the command of its frozen
surface was at first secured for Harlem. In the course of the siege,
however, other forts were erected by Don Frederic, so that the aspect of
things suffered a change.

Against this immense force, nearly equal in number to that of the whole
population of the city, the garrison within the walls never amounted to
more than four thousand men. In the beginning it was much less numerous.
The same circumstances, however, which assisted the initiatory operations
of Don Frederic, were of advantage to the Harlemers. A dense frozen fog
hung continually over the surface of the lake. Covered by this curtain,
large supplies of men, provisions, and ammunition were daily introduced
into the city, notwithstanding all the efforts of the besieging force.
Sledges skimming over the ice, men, women, and even children, moving on
their skates as swiftly as the wind, all brought their contributions in
the course of the short dark days and long nights of December, in which
the wintry siege was opened.

The garrison at last numbered about one thousand pioneers or delvers,
three thousand fighting men, and about three hundred fighting women. The
last was a most efficient corps, all females of respectable character,
armed with sword, musket, and dagger. Their chief, Kenau Hasselaer, was a
widow of distinguished family and unblemished reputation, about
forty-seven years of age, who, at the head of her amazons, participated
in many of the most fiercely contested actions of the siege, both within
and without the walls. When such a spirit animated the maids and matrons
of the city, it might be expected that the men would hardly surrender the
place without a struggle. The Prince had assembled a force of three or
four thousand men at Leyden, which he sent before the middle of December
towards the city under the command of De la Marck. These troops were,
however, attacked on the way by a strong detachment under Bossu,
Noircarmes, and Romero. After a sharp, action in a heavy snow-storm, De
la Marek was completely routed. One thousand of his soldiers were cut to
pieces, and a large number carried off as prisoners to the gibbets, which
were already conspicuously erected in the Spanish camp, and which from
the commencement to the close of the siege were never bare of victims.
Among the captives was a gallant officer, Baptist van Trier, for whom De
la Marck in vain offered two thousand crowns and nineteen Spanish
prisoners. The proposition was refused with contempt. Van Trier was
hanged upon the gallows by one leg until he was dead, in return for which
barbarity the nineteen Spaniards were immediately gibbeted by De la
Marck. With this interchange of cruelties the siege may be said to have
opened.

Don Frederic had stationed himself in a position opposite to the gate of
the Cross, which was not very strong, but fortified by a ravelin.
Intending to make a very short siege of it, he established his batteries
immediately, and on the 18th, 19th, and 20th December directed a furious
cannonade against the Cross-gate, the St. John's-gate, and the curtain
between the two. Six hundred and eighty shots were discharged on the
first, and nearly as many on each of the two succeeding days. The walls
were much shattered, but men, women, and children worked night and day
within the city, repairing the breaches as fast as made. They brought
bags of sand; blocks of stone, cart-loads of earth from every quarter,
and they stripped the churches of all their statues, which they threw by
heaps into the gaps. If They sought thus a more practical advantage from
those sculptured saints than they could have gained by only imploring
their interposition. The fact, however, excited horror among the
besiegers. Men who were daily butchering their fellow-beings, and hanging
their prisoners in cold blood, affected to shudder at the enormity of the
offence thus exercised against graven images.

After three days' cannonade, the assault was ordered, Don Frederic only
intending a rapid massacre, to crown his achievements at--Zutphen and
Naarden. The place, he thought, would fall in a week, and after another
week of sacking, killing, and ravishing, he might sweep on to "pastures
new" until Holland was overwhelmed. Romero advanced to the breach,
followed by a numerous storming party, but met with a resistance which
astonished the Spaniards. The church bells rang the alarm throughout the
city, and the whole population swarmed to the walls. The besiegers were
encountered not only with sword and musket, but with every implement
which the burghers' hands could find. Heavy stones, boiling oil, live
coals, were hurled upon the heads of the soldiers; hoops, smeared with
pitch and set on fire, were dexterously thrown upon their necks. Even
Spanish courage and Spanish ferocity were obliged to shrink before the
steady determination of a whole population animated by a single spirit.
Romero lost an eye in the conflict, many officers were killed and
wounded, and three or four hundred soldiers left dead in the breach,
while only three or four of the townsmen lost their lives. The signal of
recall was reluctantly given, and the Spaniards abandoned the assault. Don
Frederic was now aware that Harlem would not fall at his feet at the
first sound of his trumpet. It was obvious that a siege must precede the
massacre. He gave orders therefore that the ravelin should be undermined,
and doubted not that, with a few days' delay, the place would be in his
hands.

Meantime, the Prince of Orange, from his head-quarters at Sassenheim, on
the southern extremity of the mere, made a fresh effort to throw succor
into the place. Two thousand men, with seven field-pieces, and many
wagon-loads of munitions, were sent forward under Batenburg. This officer
had replaced De la Marck, whom the Prince had at last deprived of his
commission. The reckless and unprincipled freebooter was no longer to
serve a cause which was more sullied by his barbarity than it could be
advanced by his desperate valor. Batenburg's expedition was, however, not
more successful than the one made by his predecessor. The troops, after
reaching the vicinity of the city, lost their way in the thick mists,
which almost perpetually enveloped the scene. Cannons were fired,
fog-bells were rung, and beacon fires were lighted on the ramparts, but
the party was irretrievably lost. The Spaniards fell upon them before
they could find their way to the city. Many were put to the sword, others
made their escape in different directions; a very few succeeded in
entering Harlem. Batenburg brought off a remnant of the forces, but all
the provisions so much needed were lost, and the little army entirely
destroyed.

De Koning, the second in command, was among the prisoners. The Spaniards
cut off his head and threw it over the walls into the city, with this
inscription: "This is the head of Captain de Koning, who is on his way
with reinforcements for the good city of Harlem." The citizens retorted
with a practical jest, which was still more barbarous. They cut off the
heads of eleven prisoners and put them into a barrel, which they threw
into the Spanish camp. A Label upon the barrel contained these words:
"Deliver these ten heads to Duke Alva in payment of his tenpenny tax,
with one additional head for interest." With such ghastly merriment did
besieged and besiegers vary the monotonous horror of that winter's siege.
As the sallies and skirmishes were of daily occurrence, there was a
constant supply of prisoners, upon whom both parties might exercise their
ingenuity, so that the gallows in camp or city was perpetually garnished.

Since the assault of the 21st December, Don Frederic had been making his
subterranean attack by regular approaches. As fast, however, as the
Spaniards mined, the citizens countermined. Spaniard and Netherlander met
daily in deadly combat within the bowels of the earth. Desperate and
frequent were the struggles within gangways so narrow that nothing but
daggers could be used, so obscure that the dim lanterns hardly lighted
the death-stroke. They seemed the conflicts, not of men but of evil
spirits. Nor were these hand-to-hand battles all. A shower of heads,
limbs, mutilated trunks, the mangled remains of hundreds of human beings,
often spouted from the earth as if from an invisible volcano. The mines
were sprung with unexampled frequency and determination. Still the
Spaniards toiled on with undiminished zeal, and still the besieged,
undismayed, delved below their works, and checked their advance by sword,
and spear, and horrible explosions.

The Prince of Orange, meanwhile, encouraged the citizens to persevere, by
frequent promises of assistance. His letters, written on extremely small
bits of paper; were sent into the town by carrier pigeons. On the 28th of
January he despatched a considerable supply of the two necessaries,
powder and bread, on one hundred and seventy sledges across the Harlem
Lake, together with four hundred veteran soldiers. The citizens continued
to contest the approaches to the ravelin before the Cross-gate, but it
had become obvious that they could not hold it long. Secretly,
steadfastly, and swiftly they had, therefore, during the long wintry
nights, been constructing a half moon of solid masonry on the inside of
the same portal. Old men, feeble women, tender children, united with the
able-bodied to accomplish this work, by which they hoped still to
maintain themselves after the ravelin had fallen:

On the 31st of January, after two or three days' cannonade against the
gates of the Cross and of Saint John, and the intervening curtains, Don
Frederic ordered a midnight assault. The walls had been much shattered,
part of the John's-gate was in ruins; the Spaniards mounted the breach in
great numbers; the city was almost taken by surprise; while the
Commander-in-chief, sure of victory, ordered the whole of his forces
under arms to cut off the population who were to stream panic-struck from
every issue. The attack was unexpected, but the forty or fifty sentinels
defended the walls while they sounded the alarm. The tocsin bells tolled,
and the citizens, whose sleep was not-apt to be heavy during that
perilous winter, soon manned the ramparts again. The daylight came upon
them while the fierce struggle was still at its height. The besieged, as
before, defended themselves with musket and rapier, with melted pitch,
with firebrands, with clubs and stones. Meantime, after morning prayers
in the Spanish camp, the trumpet for a general assault was sounded. A
tremendous onset was made upon the gate of the Cross, and the ravelin was
carried at last. The Spaniards poured into this fort, so long the object
of their attack, expecting instantly to sweep into the city with sword
and fire. As they mounted its wall they became for the first time aware
of the new and stronger fortification which had been secretly constructed
on the inner side. The reason why the ravelin had been at last conceded
was revealed. The half moon, whose existence they had not suspected, rose
before them bristling with cannon. A sharp fire was instantly opened upon
the besiegers, while at the same instant the ravelin, which the citizens
had undermined, blew up with a severe explosion, carrying into the air
all the soldiers who had just entered it so triumphantly. This was the
turning point. The retreat was sounded, and the Spaniards fled to their
camp, leaving at least three hundred dead beneath the walls. Thus was a
second assault, made by an overwhelming force and led by the most
accomplished generals of Spain, signally and gloriously repelled by the
plain burghers of Harlem.

It became now almost evident that the city could be taken neither by
regular approaches nor by sudden attack. It was therefore resolved that
it should be reduced by famine. Still, as the winter wore on, the immense
army without the walls were as great sufferers by that scourge as the
population within. The soldiers fell in heaps before the diseases
engendered by intense cold and insufficient food, for, as usual in such
sieges, these deaths far outnumbered those inflicted by the enemy's hand.
The sufferings inside the city necessarily increased day by day, the
whole population being put on a strict allowance of food. Their supplies
were daily diminishing, and with the approach of the spring and the
thawing of the ice on the lake, there was danger that they would be
entirely cut off. If the possession of the water were lost, they must
yield or starve; and they doubted whether the Prince would be able to
organize a fleet. The gaunt spectre of Famine already rose before them
with a menace which could not be misunderstood. In their misery they
longed for the assaults of the Spaniards, that they might look in the
face of a less formidable foe. They paraded the ramparts daily, with
drums beating, colors flying, taunting the besiegers to renewed attempts.
To inflame the religious animosity of their antagonists, they attired
themselves in the splendid, gold-embroidered vestments of the priests,
which they took from the churches, and moved about in mock procession,
bearing aloft images bedizened in ecclesiastical finery, relics, and
other symbols, sacred in Catholic eyes, which they afterwards hurled from
the ramparts, or broke, with derisive shouts, into a thousand fragments.

It was, however, at that season earnestly debated by the enemy whether or
not to raise the siege. Don Frederic was clearly of opinion that enough
had been done for the honor of the Spanish arms. He was wearied with
seeing his men perish helplessly around him, and considered the prize too
paltry for the lives it must cost. His father thought differently.
Perhaps he recalled the siege of Metz, and the unceasing regret with
which, as he believed, his imperial master had remembered the advice
received from him. At any rate the Duke now sent back Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, whom Don Frederic had despatched to Nimwegen, soliciting his
father's permission to raise the siege, with this reply: "Tell Don
Frederic," said Alva, "that if he be not decided to continue the siege
till the town be taken, I shall no longer consider him my son, whatever
my opinion may formerly have been. Should he fall in the siege, I will
myself take the field to maintain it, and when we have both perished, the
Duchess, my wife, shall come from Spain to do the same."

Such language was unequivocal, and hostilities were resumed as fiercely
as before. The besieged welcomed them with rapture, and, as usual, made
daily the most desperate sallies. In one outbreak the Harlemers, under
cover of a thick fog, marched up to the enemy's chief battery, and
attempted to spike the guns before his face. They were all slain at the
cannon's mouth, whither patriotism, not vainglory, had led them, and lay
dead around the battery, with their hammers and spikes in their hands.
The same spirit was daily manifested. As the spring advanced; the kine
went daily out of the gates to their peaceful pasture, notwithstanding,
all the turmoil within and around; nor was it possible for the Spaniards
to capture a single one of these creatures, without paying at least a
dozen soldiers as its price. "These citizens," wrote Don Frederic, "do as
much as the best soldiers in the world could do."

The frost broke up by the end of February. Count Bossu, who had been
building a fleet of small vessels in Amsterdam, soon afterwards succeeded
in entering the lake with a few gun-boats, through a breach which he had
made in the Overtoom, about half a league from that city. The possession
of the lake was already imperilled. The Prince, however, had not been
idle, and he, too, was soon ready to send his flotilla to the mere. At
the same time, the city of Amsterdam was in almost as hazardous a
position as Harlem. As the one on the lake, so did the other depend upon
its dyke for its supplies. Should that great artificial road which led to
Muyden and Utrecht be cut asunder, Amsterdam might be starved as soon as
Harlem. "Since I came into the world," wrote Alva, "I have never, been in
such anxiety. If they should succeed in cutting off the communication
along the dykes, we should have to raise the siege of Harlem, to
surrender, hands crossed, or to starve." Orange was fully aware of the
position of both places, but he was, as usual, sadly deficient in men and
means. He wrote imploringly to his friends in England, in France, in
Germany. He urged his brother Louis to bring a few soldiers, if it were
humanly possible. "The whole country longs for you," he wrote to Louis,
"as if you were the archangel Gabriel."

The Prince, however, did all that it was possible for man, so hampered,
to do. He was himself, while anxiously writing, hoping, and waiting for
supplies of troops from Germany or France, doing his best with such
volunteers as he could raise. He was still established at Sassenheim, on
the south of the city, while Sonoy with his slender forces was encamped
on the north. He now sent that general with as large a party as he could
muster to attack the Diemerdyk. His men entrenched themselves as strongly
as they could between the Diemer and the Y, at the same time opening the
sluices and breaking through the dyke. During the absence of their
commander, who had gone to Edam for reinforcements, they were attacked by
a large force from Amsterdam. A fierce amphibious contest took place,
partly in boats, partly on the slippery causeway, partly in the water,
resembling in character the frequent combats between the ancient
Batavians and Romans during the wars of Civilis. The patriots were
eventually overpowered.

Sonoy, who was on his way to their rescue, was frustrated in his design
by the unexpected faint-heartedness of the volunteers whom he had
enlisted at Edam. Braving a thousand perils, he advanced, almost
unattended, in his little vessel, but only to witness the overthrow and
expulsion of his band. It was too late for him singly to attempt to rally
the retreating troops. They had fought well, but had been forced to yield
before superior numbers, one individual of the little army having
performed prodigies of valor. John Haring, of Horn, had planted himself
entirely alone upon the dyke, where it was so narrow between the Y on the
one side and the Diemer Lake on the other, that two men could hardly
stand abreast. Here, armed with sword and shield, he had actually opposed
and held in check one thousand of the enemy, during a period long enough
to enable his own men, if they, had been willing, to rally, and
effectively to repel the attack. It was too late, the battle was too far
lost to be restored; but still the brave soldier held the post, till, by
his devotion, he had enabled all those of his compatriots who still
remained in the entrenchments to make good their retreat. He then plunged
into the sea, and, untouched by spear or bullet, effected his escape. Had
he been a Greek or a Roman, an Horatius or a Chabrias, his name would
have been famous in history--his statue erected in the market-place; for
the bold Dutchman on his dyke had manifested as much valor in a sacred
cause as the most classic heroes of antiquity.

This unsuccessful attempt to cut off the communication between Amsterdam
and the country strengthened the hopes of Alva. Several hundreds of the
patriots were killed or captured, and among the slain was Antony Oliver,
the painter, through whose agency Louis of Nassau had been introduced
into Mons. His head was cut off by two ensigns in Alva's service, who
received the price which had been set upon it of two thousand caroli. It
was then labelled with its owner's name, and thrown into the city of
Harlem. At the same time a new gibbet was erected in the Spanish camp
before the city, in a conspicuous situation, upon which all the prisoners
were hanged, some by the neck, some by the heels, in full view of their
countrymen. As usual, this especial act of cruelty excited the emulation
of the citizens. Two of the old board of magistrates, belonging to the
Spanish party, were still imprisoned at Harlem; together with seven other
persons, among whom was a priest and a boy of twelve years. They were now
condemned to the gallows. The wife of one of the ex-burgomasters and his
daughter, who was a beguin, went by his side as he was led to execution,
piously exhorting him to sustain with courage the execrations of the
populace and his ignominious doom. The rabble, irritated by such
boldness, were not satisfied with wreaking their vengeance on the
principal victims, but after the execution had taken place they hunted
the wife and daughter into the water, where they both perished. It is
right to record these instances of cruelty, sometimes perpetrated by the
patriots as well as by their oppressors--a cruelty rendered almost
inevitable by the incredible barbarity of the foreign invader. It was a
war of wolfish malignity. In the words of Mendoza, every man within and
without Harlem "seemed inspired by a spirit of special and personal
vengeance." The innocent blood poured out in Mechlin, Zutphen, Naarden,
and upon a thousand scaffolds, had been crying too long from the ground.
The Hollanders must have been more or less than men not to be sometimes
betrayed into acts which justice and reason must denounce. [No! It was as
evil for one side as the other. D.W.]

The singular mood which has been recorded of a high-spirited officer of
the garrison, Captain Corey, illustrated the horror with which such
scenes of carnage were regarded by noble natures. Of a gentle disposition
originally, but inflamed almost to insanity by a contemplation of Spanish
cruelty, he had taken up the profession of arms, to which he had a
natural repugnance. Brave to recklessness, he led his men on every daring
outbreak, on every perilous midnight adventure. Armed only with his
rapier, without defensive armor, he was ever found where the battle raged
most fiercely, and numerous were the victims who fell before his sword.
On returning, however, from such excursions, he invariably shut himself
in his quarters, took to his bed, and lay for days, sick with remorse,
and bitterly lamenting all that bloodshed in which he had so deeply
participated, and which a cruel fate seemed to render necessary. As the
gentle mood subsided, his frenzy would return, and again he would rush to
the field, to seek new havoc and fresh victims for his rage.

The combats before the walls were of almost daily occurrence. On the 25th
March, one thousand of the besieged made a brilliant sally, drove in all
the outposts of the enemy, burned three hundred tents, and captured seven
cannon, nine standards, and many wagon-loads of provisions, all which
they succeeded in bringing with them into the city.--Having thus
reinforced themselves, in a manner not often practised by the citizens of
a beleaguered town, in the very face of thirty thousand veterans--having
killed eight hundred of the enemy, which was nearly one for every man
engaged, while they lost but four of their own party--the Harlemers, on
their return, erected a trophy of funereal but exulting aspect. A mound
of earth was constructed upon the ramparts, in the form of a colossal
grave, in full view of the enemy's camp, and upon it were planted the
cannon and standards so gallantly won in the skirmish, with the taunting
inscription floating from the centre of the mound "Harlem is the
graveyard of the Spaniards."

Such were the characteristics of this famous siege during the winter and
early spring. Alva might well write to his sovereign, that "it was a war
such as never before was seen or heard of in any land on earth." Yet the
Duke had known near sixty years of warfare. He informed Philip that
"never was a place defended with such skill and bravery as Harlem, either
by rebels or by men fighting for their lawful Prince." Certainly his son
had discovered his mistake in asserting that the city would yield in a
week; while the father, after nearly six years' experience, had found
this "people of butter" less malleable than even those "iron people" whom
he boasted of having tamed. It was seen that neither the skies of Greece
or Italy, nor the sublime scenery of Switzerland, were necessary to
arouse the spirit of defiance to foreign oppression--a spirit which beat
as proudly among the wintry mists and the level meadows of Holland as it
had ever done under sunnier atmospheres and in more romantic lands.

Mendoza had accomplished his mission to Spain, and had returned with
supplies of money within six weeks from the date of his departure. Owing
to his representations and Alva's entreaties, Philip had, moreover,
ordered Requesens, governor of Milan, to send forward to the Netherlands
three veteran Spanish regiments, which were now more required at Harlem
than in Italy. While the land force had thus been strengthened, the fleet
upon the lake had also been largely increased. The Prince of Orange had,
on the other hand, provided more than a hundred sail of various
descriptions, so that the whole surface of the mere was now alive with
ships. Seafights and skirmishes took place almost daily, and it was
obvious that the life and death struggle was now to be fought upon the
water. So long as the Hollanders could hold or dispute the possession of
the lake, it was still possible to succor Harlem from time to time.
Should the Spaniards overcome the Prince's fleet, the city must
inevitably starve.

At last, on the 28th of May, a decisive engagement of the fleets took
place. The vessels grappled with each other, and there was a long,
fierce, hand-to-hand combat. Under Bossu were one hundred vessels; under
Martin Brand, admiral of the patriot fleet, nearly one hundred and fifty,
but of lesser dimensions. Batenhurg commanded the troops on board the
Dutch vessels. After a protracted conflict, in which several thousands
were killed, the victory was decided in favor of the Spaniards.
Twenty-two of the Prince's vessels being captured, and the rest totally
routed, Bossu swept across the lake in triumph. The forts belonging to
the patriots were immediately taken, and the Harlemers, with their
friends, entirely excluded from the lake.

This was the beginning of the end. Despair took possession of the city.
The whole population had been long subsisting upon an allowance of a
pound of bread to each man, and half-a-pound for each woman; but the
bread was now exhausted, the famine had already begun, and with the loss
of the lake starvation was close at their doors. They sent urgent
entreaties to, the Prince to attempt something in their behalf. Three
weeks more they assigned as the longest term during which they could
possibly hold out. He sent them word by carrier pigeons to endure yet a
little time, for he was assembling a force, and would still succeed in
furnishing them with supplies. Meantime, through the month of June the
sufferings of the inhabitants increased hourly. Ordinary food had long
since vanished. The population now subsisted on linseed and rape-seed; as
these supplies were exhausted they devoured cats, dogs, rats, and mice,
and when at last these unclean animals had been all consumed, they boiled
the hides of horses and oxen; they ate shoe-leather; they plucked the
nettles and grass from the graveyards, and the weeds which grew between
the stones of the pavement, that with such food they might still support
life a little longer, till the promised succor should arrive. Men, women,
and children fell dead by scores in the streets, perishing of pure
starvation, and the survivors had hardly the heart or the strength to
bury them out of their sight. They who yet lived seemed to flit like
shadows to and fro, envying those whose sufferings had already been
terminated by death.

Thus wore away the month of June. On the 1st of July the burghers
consented to a parley. Deputies were sent to confer with the besiegers,
but the negotiations were abruptly terminated, for no terms of compromise
were admitted by Don Frederic. On the 3rd a tremendous cannonade was
re-opened upon the city. One thousand and eight balls were
discharged--the most which had ever been thrown in one day, since the
commencement of the siege. The walls were severely shattered, but the
assault was not ordered, because the besiegers were assured that it was
physically impossible for the inhabitants to hold out many days longer. A
last letter, written in blood, was now despatched to the Prince of
Orange, stating the forlorn condition to which they were reduced. At the
same time, with the derision of despair, they flung into the hostile camp
the few loaves of bread which yet remained within the city walls. A day
or two later, a second and third parley were held, with no more
satisfactory result than had attended the first. A black flag was now
hoisted on the cathedral tower, the signal of despair to friend and foe,
but a pigeon soon afterwards flew into the town with a letter from the
Prince, begging them to maintain themselves two days longer, because
succor was approaching.

The Prince had indeed been doing all which, under the circumstances, was
possible. He assembled the citizens of Delft in the market-place, and
announced his intention of marching in person to the relief of the city,
in the face of the besieging army, if any troops could be obtained.
Soldiers there were none; but there was the deepest sympathy for Harlem
throughout its sister cities, Delft, Rotterdam, Gouda. A numerous mass of
burghers, many of them persons of station, all people of respectability,
volunteered to march to the rescue. The Prince highly disapproved of this
miscellaneous army, whose steadfastness he could not trust. As a soldier,
he knew that for such a momentous enterprise, enthusiasm could not supply
the place of experience. Nevertheless, as no regular troops could be had,
and as the emergency allowed no delay, he drew up a commission,
appointing Paulus Buys to be governor during his absence, and provisional
stadholder, should he fall in the expedition. Four thousand armed
volunteers, with six hundred mounted troopers, under Carlo de Noot, had
been assembled, and the Prince now placed himself at their head. There
was, however, a universal cry of remonstrance from the magistracies and
burghers of all the towns, and from the troops themselves, at this
project. They would not consent that a life so precious, so indispensable
to the existence of Holland, should be needlessly hazarded. It was
important to succor Harlem, but the Prince was of more value than many
cities. He at last reluctantly consented, therefore, to abandon the
command of the expedition to Baron Batenburg, the less willingly from the
want of confidence which he could not help feeling in the character of
the forces. On the 8th of July, at dusk, the expedition set forth from
Sassenheim. It numbered nearly five thousand men, who had with them four
hundred wagon-loads of provisions and seven field-pieces. Among the
volunteers, Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious in the history of
the Republic; marched in the ranks, with his musket on his shoulder. Such
was a sample of the spirit which pervaded the population of the province.

Batenburg came to a halt in the woods of Nordwyk, on the south aide of
the city, where he remained till midnight. All seemed still in the
enemy's camp. After prayers, he gave orders to push forward, hoping to
steal through the lines of his sleeping adversaries and accomplish the
relief by surprise. He was destined to be bitterly disappointed. His
plans and his numbers were thoroughly known to the Spaniards, two doves,
bearing letters which contained the details of the intended expedition,
having been shot and brought into Don Frederic's camp.

The citizens, it appeared, had broken through the curtain work on the
side where Batenburg was expected, in order that a sally might be made in
co-operation with the relieving force, as soon as it should appear.
Signal fires had been agreed upon, by which the besieged were to be made
aware of the approach of their friends. The Spanish Commander accordingly
ordered a mass of green branches, pitch, and straw, to be lighted
opposite to the gap in the city wall. Behind it he stationed five
thousand picked troops. Five thousand more, with a force of cavalry, were
placed in the neighbourhood of the downs, with orders to attack the
patriot army on the left. Six regiments, under Romero, were ordered to
move eastward, and assail their right. The dense mass of smoke concealed
the beacon lights displayed by Batenburg from the observation of the
townspeople, and hid the five thousand Spaniards from the advancing
Hollanders. As Batenburg emerged from the wood, he found himself attacked
by a force superior to his own, while a few minutes later he was entirely
enveloped by overwhelming numbers. The whole Spanish army was, indeed;
under arms, and had been expecting him for two days. The unfortunate
citizens alone were ignorant of his arrival. The noise of the conflict
they supposed to be a false alarm created by the Spaniards, to draw them
into their camp; and they declined a challenge which they were in no
condition to accept.

Batenburg was soon slain, and his troops utterly routed. The number
killed was variously estimated at from six hundred to two and even three
thousand. It is, at any rate, certain that the whole force was entirely
destroyed or dispersed, and the attempt to relieve the city completely
frustrated. The death of Batenburg was the less regretted, because he was
accused, probably with great injustice, of having been intoxicated at the
time of action, and therefore incapable of properly, conducting the
enterprise entrusted to him.

The Spaniards now cut off the nose and ears of a prisoner and sent him
into the city, to announce the news, while a few heads were also thrown
over the walls to confirm the intelligence. When this decisive overthrow
became known in Delft, there was even an outbreak of indignation against
Orange. According to a statement of Alva, which, however, is to be
received with great distrust, some of the populace wished to sack the
Prince's house, and offered him personal indignities. Certainly, if these
demonstrations were made, popular anger was never more senseless; but the
tale rests entirely, upon a vague assertion of the Duke, and is entirely,
at variance with every other contemporaneous account of these
transactions. It had now become absolutely, necessary, however, for the
heroic but wretched town to abandon itself to its fate. It was impossible
to attempt anything more in its behalf. The lake and its forts were in
the hands of the enemy, the best force which could be mustered to make
head against the besieging army had been cut to pieces, and the Prince of
Orange, with a heavy heart, now sent word that the burghers were to make
the best terms they could with the enemy.

The tidings of despair created a terrible commotion in the starving city.
There was no hope either in submission or resistance. Massacre or
starvation was the only alternative. But if there was no hope within the
walls, without there was still a soldier's death. For a moment the
garrison and the able-bodied citizens resolved to advance from the gates
in a solid column, to cut their way through the enemy's camp, or to
perish on the field. It was thought that the helpless and the infirm, who
would alone be left in the city, might be treated with indulgence after
the fighting men had all been slain. At any rate, by remaining the strong
could neither protect nor comfort them. As soon, however, as this resolve
was known, there was such wailing and outcry of women and children as
pierced the hearts of the soldiers and burghers, and caused them to
forego the project. They felt that it was cowardly not to die in their
presence. It was then determined to form all the females, the sick, the
aged, and the children, into a square, to surround them with all the
able-bodied men who still remained, and thus arrayed to fight their way
forth from the gates, and to conquer by the strength of despair, or at
least to perish all together.

These desperate projects, which the besieged were thought quite capable
of executing, were soon known in the Spanish camp. Don Frederic felt,
after what he had witnessed in the past seven months, that there was
nothing which the Harlemers could not do or dare. He feared lest they
should set fire to their city, and consume their houses, themselves, and
their children, to ashes together; and he was unwilling that the fruits
of his victory, purchased at such a vast expense, should be snatched from
his hand as he was about to gather them. A letter was accordingly, by his
order, sent to the magistracy and leading citizens, in the name of Count
Overstein, commander of the German forces in the besieging army. This
despatch invited a surrender at discretion, but contained the solemn
assurance that no punishment should be inflicted except upon those who,
in the judgment of the citizens themselves, had deserved it, and promised
ample forgiveness if the town should submit without further delay. At the
moment of sending this letter, Don Frederic was in possession of strict
orders from his father not to leave a man alive of the garrison,
excepting only the Germans, and to execute besides a large number of the
burghers. These commands he dared not disobey,--even if he had felt any
inclination to do so. In consequence of the semi-official letter of
Overstein, however, the city formally surrendered at discretion on the
12th July.

The great bell was tolled, and orders were issued that all arms in the
possession of the garrison or the inhabitants should be brought to the
town-house. The men were then ordered to assemble in the cloister of Zyl,
the women in the cathedral. On the same day, Don Frederic, accompanied by
Count Bossu and a numerous staff, rode into the city. The scene which met
his view might have moved a heart of stone. Everywhere was evidence of
the misery which had been so bravely endured during that seven months'
siege. The smouldering ruins of houses, which had been set on fire by
balls, the shattered fortifications, the felled trunks of trees, upturned
pavements, broken images and other materials for repairing gaps made by
the daily cannonade, strewn around in all directions, the skeletons of
unclean animals from which the flesh had been gnawed, the unburied bodies
of men and women who had fallen dead in the public thoroughfares--more
than all, the gaunt and emaciated forms of those who still survived, the
ghosts of their former, selves, all might have induced at least a doubt
whether the suffering inflicted already were not a sufficient punishment,
even for crimes so deep as heresy and schism. But this was far from being
the sentiment of Don Frederic. He seemed to read defiance as well as
despair in the sunken eyes which glared upon him as he entered the place,
and he took no thought of the pledge which he had informally but sacredly
given.

All the officers of the garrison were at once arrested. Some of them had
anticipated the sentence of their conqueror by a voluntary death. Captain
Bordet, a French officer of distinction, like Brutus, compelled his
servant to hold the sword upon which he fell, rather than yield himself
alive to the vengeance of the Spaniards. Traits of generosity were not
wanting. Instead of Peter Hasselaer, a young officer who had displayed
remarkable bravery throughout the siege, the Spaniards by. mistake
arrested his cousin Nicholas. The prisoner was suffering himself to be
led away to the inevitable scaffold without remonstrance, when Peter
Hasselaer pushed his way violently through the ranks of the captors. "If
you want Ensign Hasselaer, I am the man. Let this innocent person
depart," he cried. Before the sun set his head had fallen. All the
officers were taken to the House of Kleef, where they were immediately
executed.--Captain Ripperda, who had so heroically rebuked the craven
conduct of the magistracy, whose eloquence had inflamed the soldiers and
citizens to resistance, and whose skill and courage had sustained the
siege so long, was among the first to suffer. A natural son of Cardinal
Granvelle, who could have easily saved his life by proclaiming a
parentage which he loathed, and Lancelot Brederode, an illegitimate scion
of that ancient house, were also among these earliest victims.

The next day Alva came over to the camp. He rode about the place,
examining the condition of the fortifications from the outside, but
returned to Amsterdam without having entered the city. On the following
morning the massacre commenced. The plunder had been commuted for two
hundred and forty thousand guilders, which the citizens bound themselves
to pay in four instalments; but murder was an indispensable accompaniment
of victory, and admitted of no compromise. Moreover, Alva had already
expressed the determination to effect a general massacre upon this
occasion. The garrison, during the siege, had been reduced from four
thousand to eighteen hundred. Of these the Germans, six hundred in
number, were, by Alva's order, dismissed, on a pledge to serve no more
against the King. All the rest of the garrison were immediately
butchered, with at least as many citizens. Drummers went about the city
daily, proclaiming that all who harbored persons having, at any former
period, been fugitives, were immediately to give them up, on pain of
being instantly hanged themselves in their own doors. Upon these refugees
and upon the soldiery fell the brunt of the slaughter; although, from day
to day, reasons were perpetually discovered for putting to death every
individual at all distinguished by service, station, wealth, or liberal
principles; for the carnage could not be accomplished at once, but, with
all the industry and heartiness employed, was necessarily protracted
through several days. Five executioners, with their attendants, were kept
constantly at work; and when at last they were exhausted with fatigue, or
perhaps sickened with horror, three hundred wretches were tied two and
two, back to back, and drowned in the Harlem Lake.

At last, after twenty-three hundred human creatures had been murdered in
cold blood, within a city where so many thousands had previously perished
by violent or by lingering deaths; the blasphemous farce of a pardon was
enacted. Fifty-seven of the most prominent burghers of the place were,
however, excepted from the act of amnesty, and taken into custody as
security for the future good conduct of the other citizens. Of these
hostages some were soon executed, some died in prison, and all would have
been eventually sacrificed, had not the naval defeat of Bossu soon
afterwards enabled the Prince of Orange to rescue the remaining
prisoners. Ten thousand two hundred and fifty-six shots had been
discharged against the walls during the siege. Twelve thousand of the
besieging army had died of wounds or disease, during the seven months and
two days, between the, investment and the surrender. In the earlier part
of August, after the executions had been satisfactorily accomplished, Don
Frederic made his triumphal entry, and the first chapter in the invasion
of Holland was closed. Such was the memorable siege of Harlem, an event
in which we are called upon to wonder equally at human capacity to
inflict and to endure misery.

The Spaniards celebrated a victory, while in Utrecht they made an effigy
of the Prince of Orange, which they carried about in procession, broke
upon the wheel, and burned. It was, however, obvious, that if the
reduction of Harlem were a triumph, it was one which the conquerors might
well exchange for a defeat. At any rate, it was certain that the Spanish
empire was not strong enough to sustain many more such victories. If it
had required thirty thousand choice troops, among which were three
regiments called by Alva respectively, the "Invincibles," the
"Immortals," and the "None-such," to conquer the weakest city of Holland
in seven months, and with the loss of twelve thousand men; how many men,
how long a time, and how many deaths would it require to reduce the rest
of that little province? For, as the sack of Naarden had produced the
contrary effect from the one intended, inflaming rather than subduing the
spirit of Dutch resistance, so the long and glorious defence of Harlem,
notwithstanding its tragical termination, had only served to strain to
the highest pitch the hatred and patriotism of the other cities in the
province. Even the treasures of the New World were inadequate to pay for
the conquest of that little sand-bank. Within five years, twenty-five
millions of florins had been sent from Spain for war expenses in the
Netherlands.--Yet, this amount, with the addition of large sums annually
derived from confiscations, of five millions, at which the proceeds of
the hundredth penny was estimated, and the two millions yearly, for which
the tenth and twentieth pence had been compounded, was insufficient to
save the treasury from beggary and the unpaid troops from mutiny.

Nevertheless, for the moment the joy created was intense. Philip was
lying dangerously ill at the wood of Segovia, when the happy tidings of
the reduction of Harlem, with its accompanying butchery, arrived. The
account of all this misery, minutely detailed to him by Alva, acted like
magic. The blood of twenty-three hundred of his fellow-creatures--coldly
murdered, by his orders, in a single city--proved for the sanguinary
monarch the elixir of life: he drank and was refreshed. "The principal
medicine which has cured his Majesty," wrote Secretary Cayas from Madrid
to Alva, "is the joy caused to him by the good news which you have
communicated of the surrender of Harlem." In the height of his
exultation, the King forgot how much dissatisfaction he had recently felt
with the progress of events in the Netherlands; how much treasure had
been annually expended with an insufficient result. "Knowing your
necessity," continued Cayas, "his Majesty instantly sent for Doctor
Velasco, and ordered him to provide you with funds, if he had to descend
into the earth to dig for it." While such was the exultation of the
Spaniards, the Prince of Orange was neither dismayed nor despondent. As
usual, he trusted to a higher power than man. "I had hoped to send you
better news," he wrote, to Count Louis, "nevertheless, since it has
otherwise pleased the good God, we must conform ourselves to His divine
will. I take the same God to witness that I have done everything
according to my means, which was possible, to succor the city." A few
days later, writing in the same spirit, he informed his brother that the
Zealanders had succeeded in capturing the castle of Rammekens, on the
isle of Walcheren. "I hope," he said, "that this will reduce the pride of
our enemies, who, after the surrender of Harlem, have thought that they
were about to swallow us alive. I assure myself, however, that they will
find a very different piece of work from the one which they expect."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Three hundred fighting women
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 21.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
1573 [CHAPTER IX.]

   Position of Alva--Hatred entertained for him by elevated personages
   --Quarrels between him and Medina Coeli--Departure of the latter--
   Complaints to the King by each of the other--Attempts at
   conciliation addressed by government to the people of the
   Netherlands--Grotesque character of the address--Mutinous
   demonstration of the Spanish troops--Secret overtures to Orange--
   Obedience, with difficulty, restored by Alva--Commencement of the
   siege of Alkmaar--Sanguinary menaces of the Duke--Encouraging and
   enthusiastic language of the Prince--Preparations in Alkmaar for
   defence--The first assault steadily repulsed--Refusal of the
   soldiers to storm a second time--Expedition of the Carpenter-envoy--
   Orders of the Prince to flood the country--The Carpenter's
   despatches in the enemy's hands--Effect produced upon the Spaniards
   --The siege raised--Negotiations of Count Louis with France--
   Uneasiness and secret correspondence of the Duke--Convention with
   the English government--Objects pursued by Orange--Cruelty of De la
   Marck--His dismissal from office and subsequent death--Negotiations
   with France--Altered tone of the French court with regard to the St.
   Bartholomew--Ill effects of the crime upon the royal projects--
   Hypocrisy of the Spanish government--Letter of Louis to Charles IX.
   --Complaints of Charles IX.--Secret aspirations of that monarch and
   of Philip--Intrigues concerning the Polish election--Renewed
   negotiations between Schomberg and Count Louis, with consent of
   Orange--Conditions prescribed by the Prince--Articles of secret
   alliance--Remarkable letter of Count Louis to Charles IX.--
   Responsible and isolated situation of Orange--The "Address" and the
   "Epistle"--Religious sentiments of the Prince--Naval action on the
   Zuyder Zee--Captivity of Bossu and of Saint Aldegonde--Odious
   position of Alva--His unceasing cruelty--Execution of Uitenhoove--
   Fraud practised by Alva upon his creditors--Arrival of Requesens,
   the new Governor-General--Departure of Alva--Concluding remarks upon
   his administration.

For the sake of continuity in the narrative, the siege of Harlem has been
related until its conclusion. This great event constituted, moreover, the
principal stuff in Netherland, history, up to the middle of the year
1573. A few loose threads must be now taken up before we can proceed
farther.

Alva had for some time felt himself in a false and uncomfortable
position. While he continued to be the object of a popular hatred as
intense as ever glowed, he had gradually lost his hold upon those who, at
the outset of his career, had been loudest and lowest in their
demonstrations of respect. "Believe me," wrote Secretary Albornoz to
Secretary Cayas, "this people abhor our nation worse than they abhor the
Devil. As for the Duke of Alva, they foam at the mouth when they hear his
name." Viglius, although still maintaining smooth relations with the
Governor, had been, in reality, long since estranged from him. Even
Aerschot, far whom the Duke had long maintained an intimacy half
affectionate, half contemptuous, now began to treat him with a contumely
which it was difficult for so proud a stomach to digest.

But the main source of discomfort was doubtless the presence of Medina
Coeli. This was the perpetual thorn in his side, which no cunning could
extract. A successor who would not and could not succeed him, yet who
attended him as his shadow and his evil genius--a confidential colleague
who betrayed his confidence, mocked his projects, derided his authority,
and yet complained of ill treatment--a rival who was neither compeer nor
subaltern, and who affected to be his censor--a functionary of a purely
anomalous character, sheltering himself under his abnegation of an
authority which he had not dared to assume, and criticising measures
which he was not competent to grasp;--such was the Duke of Medina Coeli
in Alva's estimation.

The bickering between the two Dukes became unceasing and disgraceful. Of
course, each complained to the King, and each, according to his own
account, was a martyr to the other's tyranny, but the meekness manifested
by Alva; in all his relations with the new comer, was wonderful, if we
are to believe the accounts furnished by himself and by his confidential
secretary. On the other hand, Medina Coeli wrote to the King, complaining
of Alva in most unmitigated strains, and asserting that he was himself
never allowed to see any despatches, nor to have the slightest
information as to the policy of the government. He reproached, the Duke
with shrinking from personal participation in military operations, and
begged the royal forgiveness if he withdrew from a scene where he felt
himself to be superfluous.

Accordingly, towards the end of November, he took his departure, without
paying his respects. The Governor complained to the King of this
unceremonious proceeding, and assured His Majesty that never were
courtesy and gentleness so ill requited as his had been by this ingrate
and cankered Duke. "He told me," said Alva, "that if I did not stay in
the field, he would not remain with me in peaceful cities, and he asked
me if I intended to march into Holland with the troops which were to
winter there. I answered, that I should go wherever it was necessary,
even should I be obliged to swim through all the canals of Holland."
After giving these details, the Duke added, with great appearance of
candor and meekness, that he was certain Medina Coeli had only been
influenced by extreme zeal for His Majesty's service, and that, finding,
so little for him to do in the Netherlands, he had become dissatisfied
with his position.

Immediately after the fall of Harlem, another attempt was made by Alva to
win back the allegiance of the other cities by proclamations. It had
become obvious to the Governor that so determined a resistance on the
part of the first place besieged augured many long campaigns before the
whole province could be subdued. A circular was accordingly issued upon
the 26th July from Utrecht, and published immediately afterwards in all
the cities of the Netherlands. It was a paper of singular character,
commingling an affectation of almost ludicrous clemency, with honest and
hearty brutality. There was consequently something very grotesque about
the document. Philip, in the outset, was made to sustain towards his
undutiful subjects the characters of the brooding hen and the prodigal's
father; a range of impersonation hardly to be allowed him, even by the
most abject flattery. "Ye are well aware," thus ran the address, "that
the King has, over and over again, manifested his willingness to receive
his children, in however forlorn a condition the prodigals might return.
His Majesty assures you once more that your sins, however black they may
have been, shall be forgiven and forgotten in the plenitude of royal
kindness, if you repent and return in season to his Majesty's embrace.
Notwithstanding your manifold crimes, his Majesty still seeks, like a hen
calling her chickens, to gather you all under the parental wing. The King
hereby warns you once more, therefore, to place yourselves in his royal
hands, and not to wait for his rage, cruelty, and fury, and the approach
of his army."

The affectionate character of the address, already fading towards the end
of the preamble, soon changes to bitterness. The domestic maternal fowl
dilates into the sanguinary dragon as the address proceeds. "But if,"
continues the monarch, "ye disregard these offers of mercy, receiving
them with closed ears, as heretofore, then we warn you that there is no
rigor, nor cruelty, however great, which you are not to expect by laying
waste, starvation, and the sword, in such manner that nowhere shall
remain a relic of that which at present exists, but his Majesty will
strip bare and utterly depopulate the land, and cause it to be inhabited
again by strangers; since otherwise his Majesty could not believe that
the will of God and of his Majesty had been accomplished."

It is almost superfluous to add that this circular remained fruitless.
The royal wrath, thus blasphemously identifying itself with divine
vengeance, inspired no terror, the royal blandishments no affection.

The next point of attack was the city of Alkmaar, situate quite at the
termination of the Peninsula, among the lagunes and redeemed prairies of
North Holland. The Prince of Orange had already provided it with a small
garrison. The city had been summoned to surrender by the middle of July,
and had returned a bold refusal.--Meantime, the Spaniards had retired
from before the walls, while the surrender and chastisement of Harlem
occupied them during the next succeeding weeks. The month of August,
moreover, was mainly consumed by Alva in quelling a dangerous and
protracted mutiny, which broke out among the Spanish soldiers at
Harlem--between three and four thousand of them having been quartered
upon the ill-fated population of that city.

Unceasing misery was endured by the inhabitants at the hands of the
ferocious Spaniards, flushed with victory, mutinous for long arrears of
pay, and greedy for the booty which had been denied. At times, however,
the fury of the soldiery was more violently directed against their own
commanders than against the enemy. A project was even formed by the
malcontent troops to deliver Harlem into the hands of Orange. A party of
them, disguised as Baltic merchants, waited upon the Prince at Delft, and
were secretly admitted to his bedside before he had risen. They declared
to him that they were Spanish soldiers, who had compassion on his cause,
were dissatisfied with their own government, and were ready, upon receipt
of forty thousand guilders, to deliver the city into his hands. The
Prince took the matter into consideration, and promised to accept the
offer if he could raise the required sum. This, however, he found himself
unable to do within the stipulated time, and thus, for want of so paltry
a sum, the offer was of necessity declined.

Various were the excesses committed by the insubordinate troops in every
province in the Netherlands upon the long-suffering inhabitants.
"Nothing," wrote Alva, "had given him so much pain during his forty years
of service." He avowed his determination to go to Amsterdam in order to
offer himself as a hostage to the soldiery, if by so doing he could quell
the mutiny. He went to Amsterdam accordingly, where by his exertions,
ably seconded by those of the Marquis Vitelli, and by the payment of
thirty crowns to each soldier--fourteen on account of arrearages and
sixteen as his share in the Harlem compensation money--the rebellion was
appeased, and obedience restored.

There was now leisure for the General to devote his whole energies
against the little city of Alkmaar. On that bank and shoal, the extreme
verge of habitable earth, the spirit of Holland's Freedom stood at bay.
The grey towers of Egmont Castle and of Egmont Abbey rose between the
city and the sea, and there the troops sent by the Prince of Orange were
quartered during the very brief period in which the citizens wavered as
to receiving them. The die was soon cast, however, and the Prince's
garrison admitted. The Spaniards advanced, burned the village of Egmont
to the ground as soon as the patriots had left it, and on the 21st of
August Don Frederic, appearing before the walls, proceeded formally to
invest Allanaar. In a few days this had been so thoroughly accomplished
that, in Alva's language, "it was impossible for a sparrow to enter or go
out of the city." The odds were somewhat unequal. Sixteen thousand
veteran troops constituted the besieging force. Within the city were a
garrison of eight hundred soldiers, together with thirteen hundred
burghers, capable of bearing arms. The rest of the population consisted
of a very few refugees, besides the women and children. Two thousand one
hundred able-bodied men, of whom only about one-third were soldiers, to
resist sixteen thousand regulars.

Nor was there any doubt as to the fate which was reserved for them,
should they succumb. The Duke was vociferous at the ingratitude with
which his clemency had hitherto been requited. He complained bitterly of
the ill success which had attended his monitory circulars; reproached
himself with incredible vehemence, for his previous mildness, and
protested that, after having executed only twenty-three hundred persons
at the surrender of Harlem, besides a few additional burghers since, he
had met with no correspondent demonstrations of affection. He promised
himself, however, an ample compensation for all this ingratitude, in the
wholesale vengeance which he purposed to wreak upon Alkmaar. Already he
gloated in anticipation over the havoc which would soon be let loose
within those walls. Such ravings, if invented by the pen of fiction,
would seem a puerile caricature; proceeding, authentically, from his
own,--they still appear almost too exaggerated for belief. "If I take
Alkmaar," he wrote to Philip, "I am resolved not to leave a single
creature alive; the knife shall be put to every throat. Since the example
of Harlem has proved of no use, perhaps an example of cruelty will bring
the other cities to their senses."

He took occasion also to read a lecture to the party of conciliation in
Madrid, whose counsels, as he believed, his sovereign was beginning to
heed. Nothing, he maintained, could be more senseless than the idea of
pardon and clemency. This had been sufficiently proved by recent events.
It was easy for people at a distance to talk about gentleness, but those
upon the spot knew better. Gentleness had produced nothing, so far;
violence alone could succeed in future. "Let your Majesty," he said, "be
disabused of the impression, that with kindness anything can be done with
these people. Already have matters reached such a point that many of
those born in the country, who have hitherto advocated clemency, are now
undeceived, and acknowledge--their mistake. They are of opinion that not
a living soul should be left in Alkmaar, but that every individual should
be put to the sword." At the same time he took occasion, even in these
ferocious letters, which seem dripping with blood, to commend his own
natural benignity of disposition. "Your Majesty may be certain," he said,
"that no man on earth desires the path of clemency more than I do,
notwithstanding my particular hatred for heretics and traitors." It was
therefore with regret that he saw himself obliged to take the opposite
course, and to stifle all his gentler sentiments.

Upon Diedrich Sonoy, Lieutenant-Governor for Orange in the province of
North Holland, devolved the immediate responsibility of defending this
part of the country. As the storm rolled slowly up from the south, even
that experienced officer became uneasy at the unequal conflict impending.
He despatched a letter to his chief, giving a gloomy picture of his
position. All looked instinctively towards the Prince, as to a God in
their time of danger; all felt as if upon his genius and fortitude
depended the whole welfare of the fatherland. It was hoped, too, that
some resource had been provided in a secret foreign alliance. "If your
princely grace," wrote Sonoy, "have made a contract for assistance with
any powerful potentate, it is of the highest importance that it should be
known to all the cities, in order to put an end to the emigration, and to
console the people in their affliction."

The answer, of the Prince was full of lofty enthusiasm. He reprimanded
with gentle but earnest eloquence the despondency and little faith of his
lieutenant and other adherents. He had not expected, he said, that they
would have so soon forgotten their manly courage. They seemed to consider
the whole fate of the country attached to the city of Harlem. He took God
to witness that--he had spared no pains, and would willingly have spared
no drop of his blood to save that devoted city. "But as, notwithstanding
our efforts," he continued, "it has pleased God Almighty to dispose of
Harlem according to His divine will, shall we, therefore, deny and deride
His holy word? Has the strong arm of the Lord thereby grown weaker? Has
his Church therefore come to caught? You ask if I have entered into a
firm treaty with any great king or potentate, to which I answer, that
before I ever took up the cause of the oppressed Christians in these
provinces, I had entered into a close alliance with the King of kings;
and I am firmly convinced that all who put their trust in Him shall be
saved by His almighty hand. The God of armies will raise up armies for us
to do battle with our enemies sad His own." In conclusion, he stated his
preparations for attacking the enemy by sea as well as by land, and
encouraged his lieutenant and the citizens of the northern quarter to
maintain a bold front before the advancing foe.

And now, with the dismantled and desolate Harlem before their eyes, a
prophetic phantom, perhaps, of their own imminent fate, did the handful
of people shut up within Alkmaar prepare for the worst. Their main hope
lay in the friendly sea. The vast sluices called the Zyp, through which
an inundation of the whole northern province could be very soon effected,
were but a few miles distant. By opening these gates, and by piercing a
few dykes, the ocean might be made to fight for them. To obtain this
result, however, the consent of the inhabitants was requisite, as the
destruction of all the standing crops would be inevitable. The city was
so closely invested, that it was a matter of life and death to venture
forth, and it was difficult, therefore, to find an envoy for this
hazardous mission. At last, a carpenter in the city, Peter Van der Mey by
name, undertook the adventure, and was entrusted with letters to Sonoy,
to the Prince of Orange, and to the leading personages, in several cities
of the province: These papers were enclosed in a hollow walking-staff,
carefully made fast at the top.

Affairs soon approached a crisis within the beleaguered city. Daily
skirmishes, without decisive result; had taken place outside the walls.
At last, on the 18th of September, after a steady cannonade of nearly
twelve hours, Don Frederic, at three in the afternoon, ordered an
assault. Notwithstanding his seven months' experience at Harlem, he still
believed it certain that he should carry Alkmaar by storm. The attack
took place at once upon the Frisian gate and upon the red tower on the
opposite side. Two choice regiments, recently arrived from Lombardy; led
the onset, rending the air with their shouts, and confident of an easy
victory. They were sustained by what seemed an overwhelming force of
disciplined troops. Yet never, even in the recent history of Harlem, had
an attack been received by more dauntless breasts. Every living man was
on the walls. The storming parties were assailed with cannon, with
musketry, with pistols. Boiling water, pitch and oil, molten lead, and
unslaked lime, were poured upon them every moment. Hundreds of tarred and
burning hoops were skilfully quoited around the necks of the soldiers,
who struggled in vain to extricate themselves from these fiery ruffs,
while as fast as any of the invaders planted foot upon the breach, they
were confronted face to face with sword and dagger by the burghers, who
hurled them headlong into the moat below.

Thrice was the attack renewed with ever-increasing rage--thrice repulsed
with unflinching fortitude. The storm continued four hours long. During
all that period, not one of the defenders left his post, till he dropped
from it dead or wounded. The women and children, unscared by the balls
flying in every direction, or by the hand-to-hand conflicts on the
ramparts; passed steadily to and fro from the arsenals to the
fortifications, constantly supplying their fathers, husbands, and
brothers with powder and ball. Thus, every human being in the city that
could walk had become a soldier. At last darkness fell upon the scene.
The trumpet of recall was sounded, and the Spaniards, utterly discomfited,
retired from the walls, leaving at least one thousand dead in the
trenches, while only thirteen burghers and twenty-four of the garrison
lost their lives. Thus was Alkmaar preserved for a little longer--thus a
large and well-appointed army signally defeated by a handful of men
fighting for their firesides and altars. Ensign Solis, who had mounted
the breach for an instant, and miraculously escaped with life, after
having been hurled from the battlements, reported that he had seen
"neither helmet nor harness," as he looked down into the city: only some
plain-looking people, generally dressed like fishermen. Yet these
plain-looking fishermen had defeated the veterans of Alva.

The citizens felt encouraged by the results of that day's work. Moreover,
they already possessed such information concerning the condition of
affairs in the camp of the enemy as gave them additional confidence. A
Spaniard, named Jeronimo, had been taken prisoner and brought into the
city. On receiving a promise of pardon, he had revealed many secrets
concerning the position and intentions of the besieging army. It is
painful to add that the prisoner, notwithstanding his disclosures and the
promise under which they had been made, was treacherously executed. He
begged hard for his life as he was led to the gallows, offering fresh
revelations, which, however, after the ample communications already made,
were esteemed superfluous. Finding this of no avail, he promised his
captors, with perfect simplicity, to go down on his knees and worship the
Devil precisely as they did, if by so doing he might obtain mercy. It may
be supposed that such a proposition was not likely to gain additional
favor for him in the eyes of these rigid Calvinists, and the poor wretch
was accordingly hanged.

The day following the assault, a fresh cannonade was opened upon the
city. Seven hundred shots having been discharged, the attack was ordered.
It was in vain: neither threats nor entreaties could induce the
Spaniards, hitherto so indomitable, to mount the breach. The place seemed
to their imagination protected by more than mortal powers; otherwise how
was it possible that a few half-starved fishermen could already have so
triumphantly overthrown the time-honored legions of Spain. It was
thought, no doubt, that the Devil, whom they worshipped, would continue
to protect his children. Neither the entreaties nor the menaces of Don
Frederic were of any avail. Several soldiers allowed themselves to be run
through the body by their own officers, rather than advance to the walls;
and the assault was accordingly postponed to an indefinite period.

Meantime, as Governor Sonoy had opened many of the dykes, the land in the
neighbourhood of the camp was becoming plashy, although as yet the
threatened inundation had not taken place. The soldiers were already very
uncomfortable and very refractory. The carpenter-envoy had not been idle,
having, upon the 26th September, arrived at Sonoy's quarters, bearing
letters from the Prince of Orange. These despatches gave distinct
directions to Sonoy to flood the countlv at all risks; rather than allow
Alkmaar to, fall into the enemy's hands. The dykes and sluices were to be
protected by a strong guard, lest the peasants, in order to save their
crops, should repair or close them in the night-time. The letters of
Orange were copied, and, together with fresh communications from Sonoy,
delivered to the carpenter. A note on the margin of the Prince's letter,
directed the citizens to kindle four beacon fires in specified places, as
soon as it should prove necessary to resort to extreme measures. When
that moment should arrive, it was solemnly promised that an inundation
should be created which should sweep the whole Spanish army into the sea.
The work had, in fact, been commenced. The Zyp and other sluices had
already been opened, and a vast body of water, driven by a strong
north-west wind, had rushed in from the ocean. It needed only that two
great dykes should be pierced to render the deluge and the desolation
complete. The harvests were doomed to destruction, and a frightful loss
of property rendered inevitable, but, at any rate, the Spaniards, if this
last measure were taken, must fly or perish to a man.

This decisive blow having been thus ordered and promised; the carpenter
set forth towards the city. He was, however, not so successful in
accomplishing his entrance unmolested, as he had been in effecting his
departure. He narrowly escaped with his life in passing through the
enemy's lines, and while occupied in saving himself was so unlucky, or,
as it proved, so fortunate, as to lose the stick in which his despatches
were enclosed. He made good his entrance into the city, where, byword of
mouth, he encouraged his fellow-burghers as to the intentions of the
Prince and Sonoy. In the meantime his letters were laid before the
general of the besieging army. The resolution taken by Orange, of which
Don Frederic was thus unintentionally made aware, to flood the country
far and near, rather than fail to protect Alkmaar, made a profound
impression upon his mind. It was obvious that he was dealing with a
determined leader and with desperate men. His attempt to carry the place
by storm had signally failed, and he could not deceive himself as to the
temper and disposition of his troops ever since that repulse. When it
should become known that they were threatened with submersion in the
ocean, in addition to all the other horrors of war, he had reason to
believe that they would retire ignominiously from that remote and
desolate sand hook, where, by remaining, they could only find a watery
grave. These views having been discussed in a council of officers, the
result was reached that sufficient had been already accomplished for the
glory of Spanish arms. Neither honor nor loyalty, it was thought,
required that sixteen thousand soldiers should be sacrificed in a
contest, not with man but with the ocean.

On the 8th of October, accordingly, the siege, which had lasted seven
weeks, was raised, and Don Frederic rejoined his father in Amsterdam.
Ready to die in the last ditch, and to overwhelm both themselves and
their foes in a common catastrophe the Hollanders had at last compelled
their haughty enemy to fly from a position which he had so insolently
assumed.

These public transactions and military operations were not the only
important events which affected the fate of Holland and its sister
provinces at this juncture. The secret relations which had already been
renewed between Louis of Nassau, as plenipotentiary of his brother and
the French court, had for some time excited great uneasiness in the mind
of Alva. Count Louis was known to be as skilful a negotiator as he was
valiant and accomplished as a soldier. His frankness and boldness created
confidence. The "brave spirit in the loyal breast" inspired all his
dealing; his experience and quick perception of character prevented his
becoming a dupe of even the most adroit politicians, while his truth of
purpose made him incapable either of overreaching an ally or of betraying
a trust. His career indicated that diplomacy might be sometimes
successful, even although founded upon sincerity.

Alva secretly expressed to his sovereign much suspicion of France. He
reminded him that Charles IX.; during the early part of the preceding
year, had given the assurance that he was secretly dealing with Louis of
Nassau, only that he might induce the Count to pass over to Philip's
service. At the same time Charles had been doing all he could to succor
Moos, and had written the memorable letter which had fallen into Alva's
hands on the capture of Genlis, and which expressed such a fixed
determination to inflict a deadly blow upon the King, whom the writer was
thus endeavouring to cajole. All this the Governor recalled to the
recollection of his sovereign. In view of this increasing repugnance of
the English court, Alva recommended that fair words should be employed;
hinting, however, that it would be by no means necessary for his master
to consider himself very strictly bound by any such pledges to Elizabeth,
if they should happen to become inconveniently pressing. "A monarch's
promises," he delicately suggested, "were not to be considered so sacred
as those of humbler mortals. Not that the King should directly violate
his word, but at the same time," continued the Duke, "I have thought all
my life, and I have learned it from the Emperor, your Majesty's father,
that the negotiations of kings depend upon different principles from
those of us private gentlemen who walk the world; and in this manner I
always observed that your Majesty's father, who was, so great a gentleman
and so powerful a prince, conducted his affairs." The Governor took
occasion, likewise, to express his regrets at the awkward manner in which
the Ridolfi scheme had been managed. Had he been consulted at an earlier
day, the affair could have been treated much more delicately; as it was,
there could be little doubt but that the discovery of the plot had
prejudiced the mind of Elizabeth against Spain. "From that dust,"
concluded the Duke, "has resulted all this dirt." It could hardly be
matter of surprise, either to Philip or his Viceroy, that the discovery
by Elizabeth of a plot upon their parts to take her life and place the
crown upon the head of her hated rival, should have engendered unamiable
feelings in her bosom towards them. For the moment, however, Alva's
negotiations were apparently successful.

On the first of May, 1573, the articles of convention between England and
Spain, with regard to the Netherland difficulty, had been formally
published in Brussels. The Duke, in communicating the termination of
these arrangements, quietly recommended his master thenceforth to take
the English ministry into his pay. In particular he advised his Majesty
to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh, "who held the kingdom in
his hand; for it has always been my opinion," he continued, "that it was
an excellent practice for princes to give pensions to the ministers of
other potentates, and to keep those at home who took bribes from nobody."

On the other hand, the negotiations of Orange with the English court were
not yet successful, and he still found it almost impossible to raise the
requisite funds for carrying on the war. Certainly, his private letters
showed that neither he nor his brothers were self-seekers in their
negotiations. "You know;" said he in a letter to his brothers, "that my
intention has never been to seek my private advantage. I have only
aspired for the liberty of the country, in conscience and in polity,
which foreigners have sought to oppress. I have no other articles to
propose, save that religion, reformed according to the Word of God,
should be permitted, that then the commonwealth should be restored to its
ancient liberty, and, to that end, that the Spaniards and other soldiery
should be compelled to retire."

The restoration of civil and religious liberty, the, establishment of the
great principle of toleration in matters of conscience, constituted the
purpose to which his days and nights were devoted, his princely fortune
sacrificed, his life-blood risked. At the same time, his enforcement of
toleration to both religions excited calumny against him among the
bigoted adherents of both. By the Catholics he was accused of having
instigated the excesses which he had done everything in his power to
repress. The enormities of De la Marck, which had inspired the Prince's
indignation, were even laid at the door of him who had risked his life to
prevent and to chastise them. De la Marck had, indeed, more than
counterbalanced his great service in the taking of Brill, by his
subsequent cruelties. At last, Father Cornelius Musius, pastor of Saint
Agatha, at the age of seventy-two, a man highly esteemed by the Prince of
Orange, had been put to torture and death by this barbarian, under
circumstances of great atrocity. The horrid deed cost the Prince many
tears, aroused the indignation of the estates of Holland, and produced
the dismission of the perpetrator from their service. It was considered
expedient, however, in view of his past services, his powerful
connexions, and his troublesome character, that he should be induced
peaceably to leave the country.

It was long before the Prince and the estates could succeed in ridding
themselves of this encumbrance. He created several riots in different
parts of the province, and boasted, that he had many fine ships of war
and three thousand men devoted to him, by whose assistance he could make
the estates "dance after his pipe." At the beginning of the following
year (1574), he was at last compelled to leave the provinces, which he
never again troubled with his presence. Some years afterwards, he died of
the bite of a mad dog; an end not inappropriate to a man of so rabid a
disposition.

While the Prince was thus steadily striving for a lofty and generous
purpose, he was, of course, represented by his implacable enemies as a
man playing a game which, unfortunately for himself, was a losing one.
"That poor prince," said Granvelle, "has been ill advised. I doubt now
whether he will ever be able to make his peace, and I think we shall
rather try to get rid of him and his brother as if they were Turks. The
marriage with the daughter of Maurice, 'unde mala et quia ipse talis',
and his brothers have done him much harm. So have Schwendi and German
intimacies. I saw it all very plainly, but he did not choose to believe
me."

Ill-starred, worse counselled William of Orange! Had he but taken the
friendly Cardinal's advice, kept his hand from German marriages and his
feet from conventicles--had he assisted his sovereign in burning heretics
and hunting rebels, it would not then have become necessary "to treat him
like a Turk." This is unquestionable. It is equally so that there would
have been one great lamp the less in that strait and difficult pathway
which leads to the temple of true glory.

The main reliance of Orange was upon the secret negotiations which his
brother Louis was then renewing with the French government. The Prince
had felt an almost insurmountable repugnance towards entertaining any
relation with that blood-stained court, since the massacre of Saint
Bartholomew. But a new face had recently been put upon that transaction.
Instead of glorying, in their crime, the King and his mother now assumed
a tone of compunction, and averred that the deed had been unpremeditated;
that it had been the result of a panic or an ecstasy of fear inspired by
the suddenly discovered designs of the Huguenots; and that, in the
instinct of self-preservation, the King, with his family and immediate
friends, had plunged into a crime which they now bitterly lamented. The
French envoys at the different courts of Europe were directed to impress
this view upon the minds of the monarchs to whom they were accredited. It
was certainly a very different instruction from that which they had at
first received. Their cue had originally been to claim a full meed of
praise and thanksgiving in behalf of their sovereign for his meritorious
exploit. The salvos of artillery, the illuminations and rejoicings, the
solemn processions and masses by which the auspicious event had been
celebrated, mere yet fresh in the memory of men. The ambassadors were
sufficiently embarrassed by the distinct and determined approbation which
they had recently expressed. Although the King, by formal proclamation,
had assumed the whole responsibility, as he had notoriously been one of
the chief perpetrators of the deed, his agents were now to stultify
themselves and their monarch by representing, as a deplorable act of
frenzy, the massacre which they had already extolled to the echo as a
skilfully executed and entirely commendable achievement.

To humble the power of Spain, to obtain the hand of Queen Elizabeth for
the Duke d'Alencon, to establish an insidious kind of protectorate over
the Protestant princes of Germany, to obtain the throne of Poland for the
Duke of Anjou, and even to obtain the imperial crown for the house of
Valois--all these cherished projects seemed dashed to the ground by the
Paris massacre and the abhorrence which it had created. Charles and
Catharine were not slow to discover the false position in which they had
placed themselves, while the Spanish jocularity at the immense error
committed by France was visible enough through the assumed mask of holy
horror.

Philip and Alva listened with mischievous joy to the howl of execration
which swept through Christendom upon every wind. They rejoiced as
heartily in the humiliation of the malefactors as they did in the
perpetration of the crime. "Your Majesty," wrote Louis of Nassau, very
bluntly, to King Charles, "sees how the Spaniard, your mortal enemy,
feasts himself full with the desolation of your affairs; how he laughs,
to-split his sides, at your misfortunes. This massacre has enabled him to
weaken your Majesty more than he could have done by a war of thirty
years."

Before the year had revolved, Charles had become thoroughly convinced of
the fatal impression produced by the event. Bitter and almost abject were
his whinings at the Catholic King's desertion of his cause. "He knows
well," wrote Charles to Saint Goard, "that if he can terminate these
troubles and leave me alone in the dance, he will have leisure and means
to establish his authority, not only in the Netherlands but elsewhere;
and that he will render himself more grand and formidable than he has
ever been. This is the return they render for the good received from me,
which is such as every one knows."

Gaspar de Schomberg, the adroit and honorable agent of Charles in
Germany, had at a very early day warned his royal master of the ill
effect of the massacre upon all the schemes which he had been pursuing,
and especially upon those which referred to the crowns of the Empire and
of Poland. The first project was destined to be soon abandoned. It was
reserved neither for Charles nor Philip to divert the succession in
Germany from the numerous offspring of Maximilian; yet it is instructive
to observe the unprincipled avidity with which the prize was sought by
both. Each was willing to effect its purchase by abjuring what were
supposed his most cherished principles. Philip of Spain, whose mission
was to extirpate heresy throughout his realms, and who, in pursuance of
that mission, had already perpetrated more crimes, and waded more deeply
in the blood of his subjects, than monarch had often done before; Philip,
for whom his apologists have never found any defence, save that he
believed it his duty to God rather to depopulate his territories than to
permit a single heretic within their limits--now entered into secret
negotiations with the princes of the Empire. He pledged himself, if they
would confer the crown upon him, that he would withdraw the Spaniards
from the Netherlands; that he would tolerate in those provinces the
exercise of the Reformed religion; that he would recognize their union
with the rest of the German Empire, and their consequent claim to the
benefits of the Passau treaty; that he would restore the Prince of Orange
"and all his accomplices" to their former possessions, dignities, and
condition; and that he would cause to be observed, throughout every realm
incorporated with the Empire, all the edicts and ordinances which had
been constructed to secure religious freedom in Germany. In brief, Philip
was willing, in case the crown of Charlemagne should be promised him, to
undo the work of his life, to reinstate the arch-rebel whom he had hunted
and proscribed, and to bow before that Reformation whose disciples he had
so long burned, and butchered. So much extent and no more had that
religious, conviction by which he had for years had the effrontery to
excuse the enormities practised in the Netherlands. God would never
forgive him so long as one heretic remained unburned in the provinces;
yet give him the Imperial sceptre, and every heretic, without forswearing
his heresy, should be purged with hyssop and become whiter than snow.

Charles IX., too, although it was not possible for him to recall to life
the countless victims of the Parisian wedding, was yet ready to explain
those murders to the satisfaction of every unprejudiced mind. This had
become strictly necessary. Although the accession of either his Most
Christian or Most Catholic Majesty to the throne of the Caesars was a
most improbable event, yet the humbler elective, throne actually vacant
was indirectly in the gift of the same powers. It was possible that the
crown of Poland might be secured for the Duke of Anjou. That key unlocks
the complicated policy of this and the succeeding year. The Polish
election is the clue to the labyrinthian intrigues and royal
tergiversations during the period of the interregnum. Sigismund Augustus,
last of the Jagellons, had died on the 7th July; 1572. The prominent
candidates to succeed him were the Archduke Ernest, son of the Emperor,
and Henry of Anjou. The Prince of Orange was not forgotten. A strong
party were in favor of compassing his election, as the most signal
triumph which Protestantism could gain, but his ambition had not been
excited by the prospect of such a prize. His own work required all the
energies of all his life. His influence, however, was powerful, and
eagerly sought by the partisans of Anjou. The Lutherans and Moravians in
Poland were numerous, the Protestant party there and in Germany holding
the whole balance of the election in their hands.

It was difficult for the Prince to overcome his repugnance to the very
name of the man whose crime had at once made France desolate, and
blighted the fair prospects under which he and his brother had, the year
before, entered the Netherlands. Nevertheless; he was willing to listen
to the statements by which the King and his ministers endeavoured, not
entirely without success, to remove from their reputations, if not from
their souls; the guilt of deep design. It was something, that the
murderers now affected to expiate their offence in sackcloth and
ashes--it was something that, by favoring the pretensions of Anjou, and
by listening with indulgence to the repentance of Charles, the siege of
Rochelle could be terminated, the Huguenots restored to freedom of
conscience, and an alliance with a powerful nation established, by aid of
which the Netherlands might once more lift their heads. The French
government, deeply hostile to Spain, both from passion and policy, was
capable of rendering much assistance to the revolted provinces. "I
entreat you most humbly, my good master," wrote Schomberg to Charles IX.,
"to beware of allowing the electors to take into their heads that you are
favoring the affairs of the King of Spain in any manner whatsoever.
Commit against him no act of open hostility, if you think that imprudent;
but look sharp! if you do not wish to be thrown clean out of your saddle.
I should split with rage if I should see you, in consequence of the
wicked calumnies of your enemies, fail to secure the prize."

Orange was induced, therefore, to accept, however distrustfully, the
expression of a repentance which was to be accompanied with healing
measures. He allowed his brother Louis to resume negotiations with
Schomberg, in Germany. He drew up and transmitted to him the outlines of
a treaty which he was willing to make with Charles. The main conditions
of this arrangement illustrated the disinterested character of the man.
He stipulated that the King of France should immediately make peace with
his subjects, declaring expressly that he had been abused by those, who,
under pretext of his service, had sought their own profit at the price of
ruin to the crown and people. The King should make religion free. The
edict to that effect should be confirmed by all the parliaments and
estates of the kingdom, and such confirmations should be distributed
without reserve or deceit among all the princes of Germany. If his
Majesty were not inclined to make war for the liberation of the
Netherlands, he was to furnish the Prince of Orange with one hundred
thousand crowns at once, and every three months with another hundred
thousand. The Prince was to have liberty to raise one thousand cavalry
and seven thousand infantry in France. Every city or town in the
provinces which should be conquered by his arms, except in Holland or
Zealand, should be placed under the sceptre, and in the hands of the King
of France. The provinces of Holland and Zealand should also be placed
under his protection, but should be governed by their own gentlemen and
citizens. Perfect religious liberty and maintenance of the ancient
constitutions, privileges, and charters were to be guaranteed "without
any cavilling whatsoever." The Prince of Orange, or the estates of
Holland or Zealand, were to reimburse his Christian Majesty for the sums
which he was to advance. In this last clause was the only mention which
the Prince made of himself, excepting in the stipulation that he was to
be allowed a levy of troops in France. His only personal claims were to
enlist soldiers to fight the battles of freedom, and to pay their
expense, if it should not be provided for by the estates. At nearly the
same period, he furnished his secret envoys, Luinbres and Doctor
Taijaert, who were to proceed to Paris, with similar instructions.

The indefatigable exertions of Schomberg, and the almost passionate
explanations on the part of the court of France, at length produced their
effect. "You will constantly assure the princes," wrote the Duke of Anjou
to Schomberg, "that the things written, to you concerning that which had
happened in this kingdom are true; that the events occurred suddenly,
without having been in any manner premeditated; that neither the King nor
myself have ever had any intelligence with, the King of Spain, against
those of the religion, and that all is utter imposture which is daily
said on this subject to the princes."

Count Louis required peremptorily, however, that the royal repentance
should bring forth the fruit of salvation for the remaining victims. Out
of the nettles of these dangerous intrigues his fearless hand plucked the
"flower of safety" for his down-trodden cause. He demanded not words, but
deeds, or at least pledges. He maintained with the agents of Charles and
with the monarch himself the same hardy scepticism which was manifested
by the Huguenot deputies in their conferences with Catharine de Medicis.
"Is the word of a king," said the dowager to the commissioners, who were
insisting upon guarantees, "is the word of a king not sufficient?"--"No,
madam," replied one of them, "by Saint Bartholomew, no!" Count Louis told
Schomberg roundly, and repeated it many times, that he must have in a
very few days a categorical response, "not to consist in words alone, but
in deeds, and that he could not, and would not, risk for ever the honor
of his brother, nor the property; blood, and life of those poor people
who favored the cause."

On the 23rd March, 1573, Schomberg had an interview with Count Louis,
which lasted seven or eight hours. In that interview the enterprises of
the Count, "which," said Schomberg, "are assuredly grand and beautiful,"
were thoroughly discussed, and a series of conditions, drawn up partly in
the hand of one, partly in that of the other negotiator; definitely
agreed upon. These conditions were on the basis of a protectorate over
Holland and Zealand for the King of France, with sovereignty over the
other places to be acquired in the Netherlands. They were in strict
accordance with the articles furnished by the Prince of Orange. Liberty
of worship for those of both religions, sacred preservation of municipal
charters, and stipulation of certain annual subsidies on the part of
France, in case his Majesty should not take the field, were the principal
features.

Ten days later, Schomberg wrote to his master that the Count was willing
to use all the influence of his family to procure for Anjou the crown of
Poland, while Louis, having thus completed his negotiations with the
agent, addressed a long and earnest letter to the royal principal. This
remarkable despatch was stamped throughout with the impress of the
writer's frank and fearless character. "Thus diddest thou" has rarely
been addressed to anointed monarch in such unequivocal tones: The letter
painted the favorable position in which the king had been placed
previously to the fatal summer of 1572. The Queen of England was then
most amicably disposed towards him, and inclined to a yet closer
connexion with his family. The German princes were desirous to elect him
King of the Romans, a dignity for which his grandfather had so
fruitlessly contended. The Netherlanders, driven to despair by the
tyranny of their own sovereign, were eager to throw themselves into his
arms. All this had been owing to his edict of religious pacification. How
changed the picture now! Who now did reverence to a King so criminal and
so fallen? "Your Majesty to-day," said Louis, earnestly and plainly, "is
near to ruin. The State, crumbling on every side and almost abandoned, is
a prey to any one who wishes to seize upon it; the more so, because your
Majesty, having, by the late excess and by the wars previously made,
endeavoured to force men's consciences, is now so destitute, not only of
nobility and soldiery but of that which constitutes the strongest column
of the throne, the love and good wishes of the lieges, that your Majesty
resembles an ancient building propped up, day after, day, with piles, but
which it will be impossible long to prevent from falling to the earth."
Certainly, here were wholesome truths told in straightforward style.

The Count proceeded to remind the King of the joy which the "Spaniard,
his mortal enemy," had conceived from the desolation of his affairs,
being assured that he should, by the troubles in France, be enabled to
accomplish his own purposes without striking a blow. This, he observed,
had been the secret of the courtesy with which the writer himself had
been treated by the Duke of Alva at the surrender of Mons. Louis assured
the King, in continuation, that if he persevered in these oppressive
courses towards his subjects of the new religion, there was no hope for
him, and that his two brothers would, to no purpose, take their departure
for England, and, for Poland, leaving him with a difficult and dangerous
war upon his hands. So long as he maintained a hostile attitude towards
the Protestants in his own kingdom, his fair words would produce no
effect elsewhere. "We are beginning to be vexed," said the Count, "with
the manner of negotiation practised by France. Men do not proceed roundly
to business there, but angle with their dissimulation as with a hook."

He bluntly reminded the King of the deceit which he had practised towards
the Admiral--a sufficient reason why no reliance could in future be
placed upon his word. Signal vengeance on those concerned in the
attempted assassination of that great man had been promised, in the royal
letters to the Prince of Orange, just before St. Bartholomew. "Two days
afterwards," said Louis, "your Majesty took that vengeance, but in rather
ill fashion." It was certain that the King was surrounded by men who
desired to work his ruin, and who, for their own purposes, would cause
him to bathe still deeper than he had done before in the blood of his
subjects. This ruin his Majesty could still avert; by making peace in his
kingdom, and by ceasing to torment his poor subjects of the religion.

In conclusion, the Count, with a few simple but eloquent phrases, alluded
to the impossibility of chaining men's thoughts. The soul, being
immortal, was beyond the reach of kings. Conscience was not to be
conquered, nor the religious spirit imprisoned. This had been discovered
by the Emperor Charles, who had taken all the cities and great personages
of Germany captive, but who had nevertheless been unable to take religion
captive. "That is a sentiment," said Louis, "deeply rooted in the hearts
of men, which is not to be plucked out by force of arms. Let your
majesty, therefore not be deceived by the flattery of those who, like bad
physicians, keep their patients in ignorance of their disease, whence
comes their ruin."

It would be impossible, without insight into these private and most
important transactions, to penetrate the heart of the mystery which
enwrapped at this period the relations of the great powers with each
other. Enough has been seen to silence for ever the plea, often entered
in behalf of religious tyranny, that the tyrant acts in obedience to a
sincere conviction of duty; that, in performing his deeds of darkness, he
believes himself to be accomplishing the will of Heaven. Here we have
seen Philip, offering to restore the Prince of Orange, and to establish
freedom of religion in the Netherlands, if by such promises he can lay
hold of the Imperial diadem. Here also we have Charles IX. and his
mother--their hands reeking with the heretic-blood of St.
Bartholomew--making formal engagements with heretics to protect heresy
everywhere, if by such pledges the crown of the Jagellons and the hand of
Elizabeth can be secured.

While Louis was thus busily engaged in Germany, Orange was usually
established at Delft. He felt the want of his brother daily, for the
solitude of the Prince, in the midst of such fiery trials, amounted
almost to desolation. Not often have circumstances invested an individual
with so much responsibility and so little power. He was regarded as the
protector and father of the country, but from his own brains and his own
resources he was to furnish himself with the means of fulfilling those
high functions. He was anxious thoroughly to discharge the duties of a
dictatorship without grasping any more of its power than was
indispensable to his purpose. But he was alone on that little isthmus, in
single combat with the great Spanish monarchy. It was to him that all
eyes turned, during the infinite horrors of the Harlem sieges and in the
more prosperous leaguer of Alkmaar. What he could do he did. He devised
every possible means to succor Harlem, and was only restrained from going
personally to its rescue by the tears of the whole population of Holland.
By his decision and the spirit which he diffused through the country, the
people were lifted to a pitch of heroism by which Alkmaar was saved. Yet,
during all this harassing period, he had no one to lean upon but himself.
"Our affairs are in pretty good; condition in Holland and Zealand," he
wrote, "if I only had some aid. 'Tis impossible for me to support alone
so many labors, and the weight of such great affairs as come upon me
hourly--financial, military, political. I have no one to help me, not a
single man, wherefore I leave you to suppose in what trouble I find
myself."

For it was not alone the battles and sieges which furnished him with
occupation and filled him with anxiety. Alone, he directed in secret the
politics of the country, and, powerless and outlawed though he seemed,
was in daily correspondence not only with the estates of Holland and
Zealand, whose deliberations he guided, but with the principal
governments of Europe. The estates of the Netherlands, moreover, had been
formally assembled by Alva in September, at Brussels, to devise ways and
means for continuing the struggle. It seemed to the Prince a good
opportunity to make an appeal to the patriotism of the whole country. He
furnished the province of Holland, accordingly, with the outlines of an
address which was forthwith despatched in their own and his name, to the
general assembly of the Netherlands. The document was a nervous and rapid
review of the course of late events in the provinces, with a cogent
statement of the reasons which should influence them all to unite in the
common cause against the common enemy. It referred to the old affection
and true-heartedness with which they had formerly regarded each other,
and to the certainty that the inquisition would be for ever established
in the land, upon the ruins of all their ancient institutions, unless
they now united to overthrow it for ever. It demanded of the people, thus
assembled through their representatives, how they could endure the
tyranny, murders, and extortions of the Duke of Alva. The princes of
Flanders, Burgundy, Brabant, or Holland, had never made war or peace,
coined money, or exacted a stiver from the people without the consent of
the estates. How could the nation now consent to the daily impositions
which were practised? Had Amsterdam and Middelburg remained true; had
those important cities not allowed themselves to be seduced from the
cause of freedom, the northern provinces would have been impregnable.
"'Tis only by the Netherlands that the Netherlands are crushed," said the
appeal. "Whence has the Duke of Alva the power of which he boasts, but
from yourselves--from Netherland cities? Whence his ships, supplies,
money, weapons, soldiers? From the Netherland people. Why has poor
Netherland thus become degenerate and bastard? Whither has fled the noble
spirit of our brave forefathers, that never brooked the tyranny of
foreign nations, nor suffered a stranger even to hold office within our
borders? If the little province of Holland can thus hold at bay the power
of Spain, what could not all the Netherlands--Brabant, Flanders,
Friesland, and the rest united accomplish?" In conclusion, the
estates-general were earnestly adjured to come forward like brothers in
blood, and join hands with Holland, that together they might rescue the
fatherland and restore its ancient prosperity and bloom.

At almost the same time the Prince drew up and put in circulation one of
the most vigorous and impassioned productions which ever came from his
pen. It was entitled, an "Epistle, in form of supplication, to his royal
Majesty of Spain, from the Prince of Orange and the estates of Holland
and Zealand." The document produced a profound impression throughout
Christendom. It was a loyal appeal to the monarch's loyalty--a demand
that the land-privileges should be restored, and the Duke of Alva
removed. It contained a startling picture of his atrocities and the
nation's misery, and, with a few energetic strokes, demolished the
pretence that these sorrows had been caused by the people's guilt. In
this connexion the Prince alluded to those acts of condemnation which the
Governor-General had promulgated under the name of pardons, and treated
with scorn the hypothesis that any crimes had been committed for Alva to
forgive. "We take God and your Majesty to witness," said the epistle,
"that if we have done such misdeeds as are charged in the pardon, we
neither desire nor deserve the pardon. Like the most abject creatures
which crawl the earth, we will be content to atone for our misdeeds with
our lives. We will not murmur, O merciful King, if we be seized one after
another, and torn limb from limb, if it can be proved that we have
committed the crimes of which we have been accused."

After having thus set forth the tyranny of the government and the
innocence of the people, the Prince, in his own name and that of the
estates, announced the determination at which they had arrived. "The
tyrant," he continued, "would rather stain every river and brook with our
blood, and hang our bodies upon every tree in the country, than not feed
to the full his vengeance, and steep himself to the lips in our misery.
Therefore we have taken up arms against the Duke of Alva and his
adherents, to free ourselves, our wives and children, from his
blood-thirsty hands. If he prove too strong nor us, we will rather die an
honorable death and leave a praiseworthy fame, than bend our necks, and
reduce our dear fatherland to such slavery. Herein are all our cities
pledged to each other to stand every siege, to dare the utmost, to endure
every possible misery, yea, rather to set fire to all our homes, and be
consumed with them into ashes together, than ever submit to the decrees
of this cruel tyrant."

These were brave words, and destined to be bravely fulfilled, as the life
and death of the writer and the records of his country proved, from
generation unto generation. If we seek for the mainspring of the energy
which thus sustained the Prince in the unequal conflict to which he had
devoted his life, we shall find it in the one pervading principle of his
nature--confidence in God. He was the champion of the political rights of
his country, but before all he was the defender of its religion. Liberty
of conscience for his people was his first object. To establish Luther's
axiom, that thoughts are toll-free, was his determination. The Peace of
Passau, and far more than the Peace of Passau, was the goal for which he
was striving. Freedom of worship for all denominations, toleration for
all forms of faith, this was the great good in his philosophy. For
himself, he had now become a member of the Calvinist, or Reformed Church,
having delayed for a time his public adhesion to this communion, in order
not to give offence to the Lutherans and to the Emperor. He was never a
dogmatist, however, and he sought in Christianity for that which unites
rather than for that which separates Christians. In the course of October
he publicly joined the church at Dort.

The happy termination of the siege of Alkmaar was followed, three days
afterwards, by another signal success on the part of the patriots. Count
Bossu, who had constructed or collected a considerable fleet at
Amsterdam, had, early in October, sailed into the Zuyder Zee,
notwithstanding the sunken wrecks and other obstructions by which the
patriots had endeavored to render the passage of the Y impracticable. The
patriots of North Holland had, however, not been idle, and a fleet of
five-and-twenty vessels, under Admiral Dirkzoon, was soon cruising in the
same waters. A few skirmishes took place, but Bossu's ships, which were
larger, and provided with heavier cannon, were apparently not inclined
for the close quarters which the patriots sought. The Spanish Admiral,
Hollander as he was, knew the mettle of his countrymen in a close
encounter at sea, and preferred to trust to the calibre of his cannon. On
the 11th October, however, the whole patriot fleet, favored by a strong
easterly, breeze, bore down upon the Spanish armada, which, numbering now
thirty sail of all denominations, was lying off and on in the
neighbourhood of Horn and Enkhuyzen. After a short and general
engagement, nearly all the Spanish fleet retired with precipitation,
closely pursued by most of the patriot Dutch vessels. Five of the King's
ships were eventually taken, the rest effected their escape. Only the
Admiral remained, who scorned to yield, although his forces had thus
basely deserted him. His ship, the "Inquisition,"--for such was her
insolent appellation, was far the largest and best manned of both the
fleets. Most of the enemy had gone in pursuit of the fugitives, but four
vessels of inferior size had attacked the "Inquisition" at the
commencement of the action. Of these, one had soon been silenced, while
the other three had grappled themselves inextricably to her sides and
prow. The four drifted together, before wind and tide, a severe and
savage action going on incessantly, during which the navigation of the
ships was entirely abandoned. No scientific gunnery, no military or naval
tactics were displayed or required in such a conflict. It was a
life-and-death combat, such as always occurred when Spaniard and
Netherlander met, whether on land or water. Bossu and his men, armed in
bullet-proof coats of mail, stood with shield and sword on the deck of
the "Inquisition," ready to repel all attempts to board. The Hollander,
as usual, attacked with pitch hoops, boiling oil, and molten lead.
Repeatedly they effected their entrance to the Admiral's ship, and as
often they were repulsed and slain in heaps, or hurled into the sea. The
battle began at three in the afternoon, and continued without
intermission through the whole night. The vessels, drifting together,
struck on the shoal called the Nek, near Wydeness. In the heat of the
action the occurrence was hardly heeded. In the morning twilight, John
Haring, of Horn, the hero who had kept one thousand soldiers at bay upon
the Diemer dyke, clambered on board the "Inquisition" and hauled her
colors down. The gallant but premature achievement cost him his life. He
was shot through the body and died on the deck of the ship, which was not
quite ready to strike her flag. In the course of the forenoon, however,
it became obvious to Bossu that further resistance was idle. The ships
were aground near a hostile coast, his own fleet was hopelessly
dispersed, three quarters of his crew were dead or disabled, while the
vessels with which he was engaged were constantly recruited by boats from
the shore, which brought fresh men and ammunition, and removed their
killed and wounded. At eleven o'clock, Admiral Bossu surrendered, and
with three hundred prisoners was carried into Holland. Bossu was himself
imprisoned at Horn, in which city he was received, on his arrival, with
great demonstrations of popular hatred. The massacre of Rotterdam, due to
his cruelty and treachery, had not yet been forgotten or forgiven.

This victory, following so hard upon the triumph at Alkmaar, was as
gratifying to the patriots as it was galling to Alva. As his
administration drew to a close, it was marked by disaster and disgrace on
land and sea. The brilliant exploits by which he had struck terror into
the heart of the Netherlanders, at Jemmingen and in Brabant, had been
effaced by the valor of a handful of Hollanders, without discipline or
experience. To the patriots, the opportune capture of so considerable a
personage as the Admiral and Governor of the northern province was of
great advantage. Such of the hostages from Harlem as had not yet been
executed, now escaped with their lives. Moreover, Saint Aldegonde, the
eloquent patriot and confidential friend of Orange, who was taken
prisoner a few weeks later, in an action at Maeslands-luis, was preserved
from inevitable destruction by the same cause. The Prince hastened to
assure the Duke of Alva that the same measure would be dealt to Bossu as
should be meted to Saint Aldegonde. It was, therefore, impossible for the
Governor-General to execute his prisoner, and he was obliged to submit to
the vexation of seeing a leading rebel and heretic in his power, whom he
dared not strike. Both the distinguished prisoners eventually regained
their liberty.

The Duke was, doubtless, lower sunk in the estimation of all classes than
he had ever been before, during his long and generally successful life.
The reverses sustained by his army, the belief that his master had grown
cold towards him, the certainty that his career in the Netherlands was
closing without a satisfactory result, the natural weariness produced
upon men's minds by the contemplation of so monotonous and unmitigated a
tyranny during so many years, all contributed to diminish his reputation.
He felt himself odious alike to princes and to plebeians. With his
cabinet councillors he had long been upon unsatisfactory terms. President
Tisnacq had died early, in the summer, and Viglius, much against his
will, had been induced, provisionally, to supply his place. But there was
now hardly a pretence of friendship between the learned Frisian and the
Governor. Each cordially detested the other. Alva was weary of Flemish
and Frisian advisers, however subservient, and was anxious to fill the
whole council with Spaniards of the Vargas stamp. He had forced Viglius
once more into office, only that, by a little delay, he might expel him
and every Netherlander at the same moment. "Till this ancient set of
dogmatizers be removed," he wrote to Philip, "with Viglius, their chief,
who teaches them all their lessons, nothing will go right. 'Tis of no use
adding one or two Spaniards to fill vacancies; that is only pouring a
flask of good wine into a hogshead of vinegar; it changes to vinegar
likewise. Your Majesty will soon be able to reorganize the council at a
blow; so that Italians or Spaniards, as you choose, may entirely govern
the country."

Such being his private sentiments with regard to his confidential
advisers, it may be supposed that his intercourse with his council during
the year was not like to be amicable. Moreover, he had kept himself, for
the most part, at a distance from the seat of government. During the
military operations in Holland, his head-quarters had been at Amsterdam.
Here, as the year drew to its close, he had become as unpopular as in
Brussels. The time-serving and unpatriotic burghers, who, at the
beginning of the spring, set up his bust in their houses, and would give
large sums for his picture in little, now broke his images and tore his
portraits from their walls, for it was evident that the power of his name
was gone, both with prince and people. Yet, certainly, those fierce
demonstrations which had formerly surrounded his person with such an
atmosphere of terror had not slackened or become less frequent than
heretofore. He continued to prove that he could be barbarous, both on a
grand and a minute scale. Even as in preceding years, he could ordain
wholesale massacres with a breath, and superintend in person the
executions of individuals. This was illustrated, among other instances,
by the cruel fate of Uitenhoove. That unfortunate nobleman, who had been
taken prisoner in the course of the summer, was accused of having been
engaged in the capture of Brill, and was, therefore, condemned by the
Duke to be roasted to death before a slow fire. He was accordingly
fastened by a chain, a few feet in length, to a stake, around which the
fagots were lighted. Here he was kept in slow torture for a long time,
insulted by the gibes of the laughing Spaniards who surrounded him--until
the executioner and his assistants, more humane than their superior,
despatched the victim with their spears--a mitigation of punishment which
was ill received by Alva. The Governor had, however, no reason to remain
longer in Amsterdam. Harlem had fallen; Alkmaar was relieved; and
Leyden--destined in its second siege to furnish so signal a chapter to
the history of the war--was beleaguered, it was true, but, because known
to be imperfectly supplied, was to be reduced by blockade rather than by
active operations. Don Francis Valdez was accordingly left in command of
the siege, which, however, after no memorable occurrences, was raised, as
will soon be related.

The Duke had contracted in Amsterdam an enormous amount of debt, both
public and private. He accordingly, early in November, caused a
proclamation to be made throughout the city by sound of trumpet, that all
persons having demands upon him were to present their claims, in person,
upon a specified day. During the night preceding the day so appointed,
the Duke and his train very noiselessly took their departure, without
notice or beat of drum. By this masterly generalship his unhappy
creditors were foiled upon the very eve of their anticipated triumph; the
heavy accounts which had been contracted on the faith of the King and the
Governor, remained for the most part unpaid, and many opulent and
respectable families were reduced to beggary. Such was the consequence of
the unlimited confidence which they had reposed in the honor of their
tyrant.

On the 17th of November, Don Luis de Requesens y Cuniga, Grand Commander
of Saint Jago, the appointed successor of Alva, arrived in Brussels,
where he was received with great rejoicings. The Duke, on the same day,
wrote to the King, "kissing his feet" for thus relieving him of his
functions. There was, of course, a profuse interchange of courtesy
between the departing and the newly-arrived Governors. Alva was willing
to remain a little while, to assist his successor with his advice, but
preferred that the Grand Commander should immediately assume the reins of
office. To this Requesens, after much respectful reluctance, at length
consented. On the 29th of November he accordingly took the oaths, at
Brussels, as Lieutenant-Governor and Captain-General, in presence of the
Duke of Aerschot, Baron Berlaymont, the President of the Council, and
other functionaries.

On the 18th of December the Duke of Alva departed from the provinces for
ever. With his further career this history has no concern, and it is not
desirable to enlarge upon the personal biography of one whose name
certainly never excites pleasing emotions. He had kept his bed for the
greater part of the time during the last few weeks of his
government--partly on account of his gout, partly to avoid being seen in
his humiliation, but mainly, it was said, to escape the pressing demands
of his creditors. He expressed a fear of travelling homeward through
France, on the ground that he might very probably receive a shot out of a
window as he went by. He complained pathetically that, after all his
labors, he had not "gained the approbation of the King," while he had
incurred "the malevolence and universal hatred of every individual in the
country." Mondoucet, to whom he made the observation, was of the same
opinion; and informed his master that the Duke "had engendered such an
extraordinary hatred in the hearts of all persons in the land, that they
would have fireworks in honor of his departure if they dared."

On his journey from the Netherlands, he is said to have boasted that he
had caused eighteen thousand six hundred inhabitants of the provinces to
be executed during the period of his government. The number of those who
had perished by battle, siege, starvation, and massacre, defied
computation. The Duke was well received by his royal master, and remained
in favor until a new adventure of Don Frederic brought father and son
into disgrace. Having deceived and abandoned a maid of honor, he suddenly
espoused his cousins in order to avoid that reparation by marriage which
was demanded for his offence. In consequence, both the Duke and Don
Frederic were imprisoned and banished, nor was Alva released till a
general of experience was required for the conquest of Portugal. Thither,
as it were with fetters on his legs, he went. After having accomplished
the military enterprise entrusted to him, he fell into a lingering fever,
at the termination of which he was so much reduced that he was only kept
alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast. Such was the gentle
second childhood of the man who had almost literally been drinking blood
for seventy years. He died on the 12th December, 1582.

The preceding pages have been written in vain, if an elaborate estimate
be now required of his character. His picture has been painted, as far as
possible, by his own hand. His deeds, which are not disputed, and his
written words, illustrate his nature more fully than could be done by the
most eloquent pen. No attempt has been made to exaggerate his crimes, or
to extenuate his superior qualities. Virtues he had none, unless military
excellence be deemed, as by the Romans, a virtue. In war, both as a
science and a practical art, he excelled all the generals who were
opposed to him in the Netherlands, and he was inferior to no commander in
the world during the long and belligerent period to which his life
belonged. Louis of Nassau possessed high reputation throughout Europe as
a skilful and daring General. With raw volunteers he had overthrown an
army of Spanish regulars, led by a Netherland chieftain of fame and
experience; but when Alva took the field in person the scene was totally
changed. The Duke dealt him such a blow at Jemmingen as would have
disheartened for ever a less indomitable champion. Never had a defeat
been more absolute. The patriot army was dashed out of existence, almost
to a man, and its leader, naked and beggared, though not disheartened,
sent back into Germany to construct his force and his schemes anew.

Having thus flashed before the eyes of the country the full terrors of
his name, and vindicated the ancient military renown of his nation, the
Duke was at liberty to employ the consummate tactics, in which he could
have given instruction to all the world, against his most formidable
antagonist. The country, paralyzed with fear, looked anxiously but
supinely upon the scientific combat between the two great champions of
Despotism and Protestantism which succeeded. It was soon evident that the
conflict could terminate in but one way. The Prince had considerable
military abilities, and enthusiastic courage; he lost none of his
well-deserved reputation by the unfortunate issue of his campaign; he
measured himself in arms with the great commander of the age, and defied
him, day after day, in vain, to mortal combat; but it was equally certain
that the Duke's quiet game was, played in the most masterly manner. His
positions and his encampments were taken with faultless judgment, his
skirmishes wisely and coldly kept within the prescribed control, while
the inevitable dissolution of the opposing force took place exactly as he
had foreseen, and within the limits which he had predicted. Nor in the
disastrous commencement of the year 1572 did the Duke less signally
manifest his military genius. Assailed as he was at every point, with the
soil suddenly upheaving all around him, as by an earthquake, he did not
lose his firmness nor his perspicacity. Certainly, if he had not been so
soon assisted by that other earthquake, which on Saint Bartholomew's Day
caused all Christendom to tremble, and shattered the recent structure of
Protestant Freedom in the Netherlands, it might have been worse for his
reputation. With Mons safe, the Flemish frontier guarded; France
faithful, and thirty thousand men under the Prince of Orange in Brabant,
the heroic brothers might well believe that the Duke was "at their
mercy." The treason of Charles IX. "smote them as with a club," as the
Prince exclaimed in the bitterness of his spirit. Under the
circumstances, his second campaign was a predestined failure, and Alva
easily vanquished him by a renewed application of those dilatory arts
which he so well understood.

The Duke's military fame was unquestionable when he came to the
provinces, and both in stricken fields and in long campaigns, he showed
how thoroughly it had been deserved; yet he left the Netherlands a
baffled man. The Prince might be many times defeated, but he was not to
be conquered. As Alva penetrated into the heart of the ancient Batavian
land he found himself overmatched as he had never been before, even by
the most potent generals of his day. More audacious, more inventive, more
desperate than all the commanders of that or any other age, the spirit of
national freedom, now taught the oppressor that it was invincible; except
by annihilation. The same lesson had been read in the same thickets by
the Nervii to Julius Caesar, by the Batavians to the legions of
Vespasian; and now a loftier and a purer flame than that which inspired
the national struggles against Rome glowed within the breasts of the
descendants of the same people, and inspired them with the strength which
comes, from religious enthusiasm. More experienced, more subtle, more
politic than Hermann; more devoted, more patient, more magnanimous than
Civilis, and equal to either in valor and determination, William of
Orange was a worthy embodiment of the Christian, national resistance of
the German race to a foreign tyranny. Alva had entered the Netherlands to
deal with them as with conquered provinces. He found that the conquest
was still to be made, and he left the land without having accomplished
it. Through the sea of blood, the Hollanders felt that they were passing
to the promised land. More royal soldiers fell during the seven months'
siege of Harlem than the rebels had lost in the defeat of Jemmingen, and
in the famous campaign of Brabant. At Alkmaar the rolling waves of
insolent conquest were stayed, and the tide then ebbed for ever.

The accomplished soldier struggled hopelessly, with the wild and
passionate hatred which his tyranny had provoked. Neither his legions nor
his consummate strategy availed him against an entirely desperate people.
As a military commander, therefore, he gained, upon the whole, no
additional laurels during his long administration of the Netherlands. Of
all the other attributes to be expected in a man appointed to deal with a
free country, in a state of incipient rebellion, he manifested a signal
deficiency. As a financier, he exhibited a wonderful ignorance of the
first principles of political economy. No man before, ever gravely
proposed to establish confiscation as a permanent source of revenue to
the state; yet the annual product from the escheated property of
slaughtered heretics was regularly relied upon, during his
administration, to replenish the King's treasury, and to support the war
of extermination against the King's subjects. Nor did statesman ever
before expect a vast income from the commerce of a nation devoted to
almost universal massacre. During the daily decimation of the people's
lives, he thought a daily decimation of their industry possible. His
persecutions swept the land of those industrious classes which had made
it the rich and prosperous commonwealth it had been so lately; while, at
the same time, he found a "Peruvian mine," as he pretended, in the
imposition of a tenth penny upon every one of its commercial
transactions. He thought that a people, crippled as this had been by the
operations of the Blood Council; could pay ten per cent., not annually
but daily; not upon its income, but upon its capital; not once only, but
every time the value constituting the capital changed hands. He had
boasted that he should require no funds from Spain, but that, on the
contrary, he should make annual remittances to the royal treasury at
home, from the proceeds of his imposts and confiscations; yet,
notwithstanding these resources, and notwithstanding twenty-five millions
of gold in five years, sent by Philip from Madrid, the exchequer of the
provinces was barren and bankrupt when his successor arrived. Requesens
found neither a penny in the public treasury nor the means of raising
one.

As an administrator of the civil and judicial affairs of the country,
Alva at once reduced its institutions to a frightful simplicity. In the
place of the ancient laws of which the Netherlanders were so proud, he
substituted the Blood Council. This tribunal was even more arbitrary than
the Inquisition. Never was a simpler apparatus for tyranny devised, than
this great labor-saving machine. Never was so great a, quantity of murder
and robbery achieved with such despatch and regularity. Sentences,
executions, and confiscations, to an incredible extent, were turned out
daily with appalling precision. For this invention, Alva is alone
responsible. The tribunal and its councillors were the work and the
creatures of his hand, and faithfully did they accomplish the dark
purpose of their existence. Nor can it be urged, in extenuation of the
Governor's crimes, that he was but the blind and fanatically loyal slave
of his sovereign. A noble nature could not have contaminated itself with
such slaughter-house work, but might have sought to mitigate the royal
policy, without forswearing allegiance. A nature less rigid than iron,
would at least have manifested compunction, as it found itself converted
into a fleshless instrument of massacre. More decided than his master,
however, he seemed, by his promptness, to rebuke the dilatory genius of
Philip. The King seemed, at times, to loiter over his work, teasing and
tantalising his appetite for vengeance, before it should be gratified:
Alva, rapid and brutal, scorned such epicureanism. He strode with
gigantic steps over haughty statutes and popular constitutions; crushing
alike the magnates who claimed a bench of monarchs for their jury, and
the ignoble artisans who could appeal only to the laws of their land.
From the pompous and theatrical scaffolds of Egmont and Horn, to the
nineteen halters prepared by Master Karl, to hang up the chief bakers and
brewers of Brussels on their own thresholds--from the beheading of the
twenty nobles on the Horse-market, in the opening of the Governor's
career, to the roasting alive of Uitenhoove at its close-from the block
on which fell the honored head of Antony Straalen, to the obscure chair
in which the ancient gentlewoman of Amsterdam suffered death for an act
of vicarious mercy--from one year's end to another's--from the most
signal to the most squalid scenes of sacrifice, the eye and hand of the
great master directed, without weariness, the task imposed by the
sovereign.

No doubt the work of almost indiscriminate massacre had been duly mapped
out. Not often in history has a governor arrived to administer the
affairs of a province, where the whole population, three millions strong,
had been formally sentenced to death. As time wore on, however, he even
surpassed the bloody instructions which he had received. He waved aside
the recommendations of the Blood Council to mercy; he dissuaded the
monarch from attempting the path of clemency, which, for secret reasons,
Philip was inclined at one period to attempt. The Governor had, as he
assured the King, been using gentleness in vain, and he was now
determined to try what a little wholesome severity could effect. These
words were written immediately after the massacres at Harlem.

With all the bloodshed at Mons, and Naarden, and Mechlin, and by the
Council of Tumults, daily, for six years long, still crying from the
ground, he taxed himself with a misplaced and foolish tenderness to the
people. He assured the King that when Alkmaar should be taken, he would,
not spare a "living soul among its whole population;" and, as his parting
advice, he recommended that every city in the Netherlands should be
burned to the ground, except a few which could he occupied permanently by
the royal troops. On the whole, so finished a picture of a perfect and
absolute tyranny has rarely been presented to mankind by history, as in
Alva's administration of the Netherlands.

The tens of thousands in those miserable provinces who fell victims to
the gallows, the sword, the stake, the living grave, or to living
banishment, have never been counted; for those statistics of barbarity
are often effaced from human record. Enough, however, is known, and
enough has been recited in the preceding pages. No mode in which human
beings have ever caused their fellow-creatures to suffer, was omitted
from daily practice. Men, women, and children, old and young, nobles and
paupers, opulent burghers, hospital patients, lunatics, dead bodies, all
were indiscriminately made to furnish food for-the scaffold and the
stake. Men were tortured, beheaded, hanged by the neck and by the legs,
burned before slow fires, pinched to death with red hot tongs, broken
upon the wheel, starved, and flayed alive. Their skins stripped from the
living body, were stretched upon drums, to be beaten in the march of
their brethren to the gallows. The bodies of many who had died a natural
death were exhumed, and their festering remains hanged upon the gibbet,
on pretext that they had died without receiving the sacrament, but in
reality that their property might become the legitimate prey of the
treasury. Marriages of long standing were dissolved by order of
government, that rich heiresses might be married against their will to
foreigners whom they abhorred. Women and children were executed for the
crime of assisting their fugitive husbands and parents with a penny in
their utmost need, and even for consoling them with a letter, in their
exile. Such was the regular course of affairs as administered by the
Blood Council. The additional barbarities committed amid the sack and
ruin of those blazing and starving cities, are almost beyond belief;
unborn infants were torn from the living bodies of their mothers; women
and children were violated by thousands; and whole populations burned and
hacked to pieces by soldiers in every mode which cruelty, in its wanton
ingenuity, could devise. Such was the administration, of which Vargas
affirmed, at its close, that too much mercy, "nimia misericordia," had
been its ruin.

Even Philip, inspired by secret views, became wearied of the Governor,
who, at an early period, had already given offence by his arrogance. To
commemorate his victories, the Viceroy had erected a colossal statue, not
to his monarch, but to himself. To proclaim the royal pardon, he had
seated himself upon a golden throne. Such insolent airs could be ill
forgiven by the absolute King. Too cautious to provoke an open rupture,
he allowed the Governor, after he had done all his work, and more than
all his work, to retire without disgrace, but without a triumph. For the
sins of that administration, master and servant are in equal measure
responsible.

The character of the Duke of Alva, so far as the Netherlands are
concerned, seems almost like a caricature. As a creation of fiction, it
would seem grotesque: yet even that hardy, historical scepticism, which
delights in reversing the judgment of centuries, and in re-establishing
reputations long since degraded to the dust, must find it difficult to
alter this man's position. No historical decision is final; an appeal to
a more remote posterity, founded upon more accurate evidence, is always
valid; but when the verdict has been pronounced upon facts which are
undisputed, and upon testimony from the criminal's lips, there is little
chance of a reversal of the sentence. It is an affectation of
philosophical candor to extenuate vices which are not only avowed, but
claimed as virtues.

   [The time is past when it could be said that the cruelty of Alva, or
   the enormities of his administration, have been exaggerated by party
   violence. Human invention is incapable of outstripping the truth
   upon this subject. To attempt the defence of either the man or his
   measures at the present day is to convict oneself of an amount of
   ignorance or of bigotry against which history and argument are alike
   powerless. The publication of the Duke's letters in the
   correspondence of Simancas and in the Besancon papers, together with
   that compact mass of horror, long before the world under the title
   of "Sententien van Alva," in which a portion only of the sentences
   of death and banishment pronounced by him during his reign, have
   been copied from the official records--these in themselves would be
   a sufficient justification of all the charges ever brought by the
   most bitter contemporary of Holland or Flanders. If the
   investigator should remain sceptical, however, let him examine the
   "Registre des Condamnes et Bannia a Cause des Troubles des Pays
   Bas," in three, together with the Records of the "Conseil des
   Troubles," in forty-three folio volumes, in the Royal Archives at
   Brussels. After going through all these chronicles of iniquity, the
   most determined historic, doubter will probably throw up the case.]

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     We are beginning to be vexed



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, VOLUME 22.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE GRAND COMMANDER



PART IV.
1573-74 [CHAPTER I.]

   Previous career of Requesens--Philip's passion for detail--Apparent
   and real purposes of government--Universal desire for peace--
   Correspondence of leading royalists with Orange--Bankruptcy of the
   exchequer at Alva's departures--Expensive nature of the war--
   Pretence of mildness on the part of the Commander--His private
   views--Distress of Mondragon at Middelburg--Crippled condition of
   Holland--Orange's secret negotiations with France--St. Aldegonde's
   views in captivity--Expedition to relieve Middelburg--Counter
   preparations of Orange--Defeat of the expedition--Capitulation of
   Mondragon--Plans of Orange and his brothers--An army under Count
   Louis crosses the Rhine--Measures taken by Requesens--Manoeuvres of
   Avila and of Louis--The two armies in face at Mook--Battle of Mook-
   heath--Overthrow and death of Count Louis--The phantom battle--
   Character of Louis of Nassau--Painful uncertainty as to his fate--
   Periodical mutinies of the Spanish troops characterized--Mutiny
   after the battle of Mook--Antwerp attacked and occupied,--Insolent
   and oppressive conduct of the mutineers--Offers of Requesens
   refused--Mutiny in the citadel--Exploits of Salvatierra--Terms of
   composition--Soldiers' feast on the mere--Successful expedition of
   Admiral Boisot

The horrors of Alva's administration had caused men to look back with
fondness upon the milder and more vacillating tyranny of the Duchess
Margaret. From the same cause the advent of the Grand Commander was
hailed with pleasure and with a momentary gleam of hope. At any rate, it
was a relief that the man in whom an almost impossible perfection of
cruelty seemed embodied was at last to be withdrawn it was certain that
his successor, however ambitious of following in Alva's footsteps, would
never be able to rival the intensity and the unswerving directness of
purpose which it had been permitted to the Duke's nature to attain. The
new Governor-General was, doubtless, human, and it had been long since
the Netherlanders imagined anything in common between themselves and the
late Viceroy.

Apart from this hope, however, there was little encouragement to be
derived from anything positively known of the new functionary, or the
policy which he was to represent. Don Luis de Requesens and Cuniga, Grand
Commander of Castile and late Governor of Milan, was a man of mediocre
abilities, who possessed a reputation for moderation and sagacity which
he hardly deserved. His military prowess had been chiefly displayed in
the bloody and barren battle of Lepanto, where his conduct and counsel
were supposed to have contributed, in some measure, to the victorious
result. His administration at Milan had been characterized as firm and
moderate. Nevertheless, his character was regarded with anything but
favorable eyes in the Netherlands. Men told each other of his broken
faith to the Moors in Granada, and of his unpopularity in Milan, where,
notwithstanding his boasted moderation, he had, in reality, so oppressed
the people as to gain their deadly hatred. They complained, too, that it
was an insult to send, as Governor-General of the provinces, not a prince
of the blood, as used to be the case, but a simple "gentleman of cloak
and sword."

Any person, however, who represented the royal authority in the provinces
was under historical disadvantage. He was literally no more than an
actor, hardly even that. It was Philip's policy and pride to direct all
the machinery of his extensive empire, and to pull every string himself.
His puppets, however magnificently attired, moved only in obedience to
his impulse, and spoke no syllable but with his voice. Upon the table in
his cabinet was arranged all the business of his various realms, even to
the most minute particulars.

Plans, petty or vast, affecting the interests of empires and ages, or
bounded within the narrow limits of trivial and evanescent detail,
encumbered his memory and consumed his time. His ambition to do all the
work of his kingdoms was aided by an inconceivable greediness for labor.
He loved the routine of business, as some monarchs have loved war, as
others have loved pleasure. The object, alike paltry and impossible, of
this ambition, bespoke the narrow mind. His estates were regarded by him
as private property; measures affecting the temporal and eternal
interests of millions were regarded as domestic affairs, and the eye of
the master was considered the only one which could duly superintend these
estates and those interests. Much incapacity to govern was revealed in
this inordinate passion to administer. His mind, constantly fatigued by
petty labors, was never enabled to survey his wide domains from the
height of majesty.

In Alva, certainly, he had employed an unquestionable reality; but Alva,
by a fortunate coincidence of character, had seemed his second self. He
was now gone, however, and although the royal purpose had not altered,
the royal circumstances were changed. The moment had arrived when it was
thought that the mask and cothurn might again be assumed with effect;
when a grave and conventional personage might decorously make his
appearance to perform an interlude of clemency and moderation with
satisfactory results. Accordingly, the Great Commander, heralded by
rumors of amnesty, was commissioned to assume the government which Alva
had been permitted to resign.

It had been industriously circulated that a change of policy was
intended. It was even supposed by the more sanguine that the Duke had
retired in disgrace. A show of coldness was manifested towards him on his
return by the King, while Vargas, who had accompanied the Governor, was
peremptorily forbidden to appear within five leagues of the court. The
more discerning, however, perceived much affectation in this apparent
displeasure. Saint Goard, the keen observer of Philip's moods and
measures, wrote to his sovereign that he had narrowly observed the
countenances of both Philip and Alva; that he had informed himself as
thoroughly as possible with regard to the course of policy intended; that
he had arrived at the conclusion that the royal chagrin was but
dissimulation, intended to dispose the Netherlanders to thoughts of an
impossible peace, and that he considered the present merely a breathing
time, in which still more active preparations might be made for crushing
the rebellion. It was now evident to the world that the revolt had
reached a stage in which it could be terminated only by absolute conquest
or concession.

To conquer the people of the provinces, except by extermination, seemed
difficult--to judge by the seven years of execution, sieges and
campaigns, which had now passed without a definite result. It was,
therefore, thought expedient to employ concession. The new Governor
accordingly, in case the Netherlanders would abandon every object for
which they had been so heroically contending, was empowered to concede a
pardon. It was expressly enjoined upon him, however, that no conciliatory
measures should be adopted in which the King's absolute supremacy, and
the total prohibition of every form of worship but the Roman Catholic,
were not assumed as a basis. Now, as the people had been contending at
least ten years long for constitutional rights against prerogative, and
at least seven for liberty of conscience against papistry, it was easy to
foretell how much effect any negotiations thus commenced were likely to
produce.

Yet, no doubt, in the Netherlands there was a most earnest longing for
peace. The Catholic portion of the population were desirous of a
reconciliation with their brethren of the new religion. The universal
vengeance which had descended upon heresy had not struck the heretics
only. It was difficult to find a fireside, Protestant or Catholic, which
had not been made desolate by execution, banishment, or confiscation. The
common people and the grand seigniors were alike weary of the war. Not
only Aerschot and Viglius, but Noircarmes and Berlaymont, were desirous
that peace should be at last compassed upon liberal terms, and the Prince
of Orange fully and unconditionally pardoned. Even the Spanish commanders
had become disgusted with the monotonous butchery which had stained their
swords. Julian Romero; the fierce and unscrupulous soldier upon whose
head rested the guilt of the Naarden massacre, addressed several letters
to William of Orange, full of courtesy, and good wishes for a speedy
termination of the war, and for an entire reconciliation of the Prince
with his sovereign. Noircarmes also opened a correspondence with the
great leader of the revolt; and offered to do all in his power to restore
peace and prosperity to the country. The Prince answered the courtesy of
the Spaniard with equal, but barren, courtesy; for it was obvious that no
definite result could be derived from such informal negotiations. To
Noircarmes he responded in terms of gentle but grave rebuke, expressing
deep regret that a Netherland noble of such eminence, with so many others
of rank and authority, should so long have supported the King in his
tyranny. He, however, expressed his satisfaction that their eyes, however
late, had opened to the enormous iniquity which had been practised in the
country, and he accepted the offers of friendship as frankly as they had
been made. Not long afterwards, the Prince furnished his correspondent
with a proof of his sincerity, by forwarding to him two letters which had
been intercepted; from certain agents of government to Alva, in which
Noircarmes and others who had so long supported the King against their
own country, were spoken of in terms of menace and distrust. The Prince
accordingly warned his new correspondent that, in spite of all the proofs
of uncompromising loyalty which he had exhibited, he was yet moving upon
a dark and slippery-pathway, and might, even like Egmont and Horn, find a
scaffold-as the end and the reward of his career. So profound was that
abyss of dissimulation which constituted the royal policy, towards the
Netherlands, that the most unscrupulous partisans of government could
only see doubt and danger with regard to their future destiny, and were
sometimes only saved by an opportune death from disgrace and the
hangman's hands.

Such, then, were the sentiments of many eminent personages, even among
the most devoted loyalists. All longed for peace; many even definitely
expected it, upon the arrival of the Great Commander. Moreover, that
functionary discovered, at his first glance into the disorderly state of
the exchequer, that at least a short respite was desirable before
proceeding with the interminable measures of hostility against the
rebellion. If any man had been ever disposed to give Alva credit for
administrative ability, such delusion must have vanished at the spectacle
of confusion and bankruptcy which presented, itself at the termination of
his government. He resolutely declined to give his successor any
information whatever as to his financial position. So far from furnishing
a detailed statement, such as might naturally be expected upon so
momentous an occasion, he informed the Grand Commander that even a sketch
was entirely out of the question, and would require more time and labor
than he could then afford. He took his departure, accordingly, leaving
Requesens in profound ignorance as to his past accounts; an ignorance in
which it is probable that the Duke himself shared to the fullest extent.
His enemies stoutly maintained that, however loosely his accounts had
been kept, he had been very careful to make no mistakes against himself,
and that he had retired full of wealth, if not of honor, from his long
and terrible administration. His own letters, on the contrary, accused
the King of ingratitude, in permitting an old soldier to ruin himself,
not only in health but in fortune, for want of proper recompense during
an arduous administration. At any rate it is very certain that the
rebellion had already been an expensive matter to the Crown. The army in
the Netherlands numbered more than sixty-two thousand men, eight thousand
being Spaniards, the rest Walloons and Germans. Forty millions of dollars
had already been sunk, and it seemed probable that it would require
nearly the whole annual produce of the American mines to sustain the war.
The transatlantic gold and silver, disinterred from the depths where they
had been buried for ages, were employed, not to expand the current of a
healthy, life-giving commerce, but to be melted into blood. The sweat and
the tortures of the King's pagan subjects in the primeval forests of the
New World, were made subsidiary to the extermination of his Netherland
people, and the destruction of an ancient civilization. To this end had
Columbus discovered a hemisphere for Castile and Aragon, and the new
Indies revealed their hidden treasures?

Forty millions of ducats had been spent. Six and a half millions of
arrearages were due to the army, while its current expenses were six
hundred thousand a month. The military expenses alone of the Netherlands
were accordingly more than seven millions of dollars yearly, and the
mines of the New World produced, during the half century of Philip's
reign, an average of only eleven. Against this constantly increasing
deficit, there was not a stiver in the exchequer, nor the means of
raising one. The tenth penny had been long virtually extinct, and was
soon to be formally abolished. Confiscation had ceased to afford a
permanent revenue, and the estates obstinately refused to grant a dollar.
Such was the condition to which the unrelenting tyranny and the financial
experiments of Alva had reduced the country.

It was, therefore, obvious to Requesens that it would be useful at the
moment to hold out hopes of pardon and reconciliation. He saw, what he
had not at first comprehended, and what few bigoted supporters of
absolutism in any age have ever comprehended, that national enthusiasm,
when profound and general, makes a rebellion more expensive to the despot
than to the insurgents. "Before my arrival," wrote the Grand Commander to
his sovereign, "I did not understand how the rebels could maintain such
considerable fleets, while your Majesty could not support a single one.
It appears, however, that men who are fighting for their lives, their
firesides, their property, and their false religion, for their own cause,
in short, are contented to receive rations only, without receiving pay."
The moral which the new Governor drew from his correct diagnosis of the
prevailing disorder was, not that this national enthusiasm should be
respected, but that it should be deceived. He deceived no one but
himself, however. He censured Noircarmes and Romero for their
intermeddling, but held out hopes of a general pacification. He
repudiated the idea of any reconciliation between the King and the Prince
of Orange, but proposed at the same time a settlement of the revolt. He
had not yet learned that the revolt and William of Orange were one.
Although the Prince himself had repeatedly offered to withdraw for ever
from the country, if his absence would expedite a settlement satisfactory
to the provinces, there was not a patriot in the Netherlands who could
contemplate his departure without despair. Moreover, they all knew better
than did Requesens, the inevitable result of the pacific measures which
had been daily foreshadowed.

The appointment of the Grand Commander was in truth a desperate attempt
to deceive the Netherlanders. He approved distinctly and heartily of
Alva's policy, but wrote to the King that it was desirable to amuse the
people with the idea of another and a milder scheme. He affected to
believe, and perhaps really did believe, that the nation would accept the
destruction of all their institutions, provided that penitent heretics
were allowed to be reconciled to the Mother Church, and obstinate ones
permitted to go into perpetual exile, taking with them a small portion of
their worldly goods. For being willing to make this last and almost
incredible concession, he begged pardon sincerely of the King. If
censurable, he ought not, he thought, to be too severely blamed, for his
loyalty was known. The world was aware how often he had risked his life
for his Majesty, and how gladly and how many more times he was ready to
risk it in future. In his opinion, religion had, after all, but very
little to do with the troubles, and so he confidentially informed his
sovereign. Egmont and Horn had died Catholics, the people did not rise to
assist the Prince's invasion in 1568, and the new religion was only a
lever by which a few artful demagogues had attempted to overthrow the
King's authority.

Such views as these revealed the measures of the new Governor's capacity.
The people had really refused to rise in 1568, not because they were
without sympathy for Orange, but because they were paralyzed by their
fear of Alva. Since those days, however, the new religion had increased
and multiplied everywhere, in the blood which had rained upon it. It was
now difficult to find a Catholic in Holland and Zealand, who was not a
government agent. The Prince had been a moderate Catholic, in the opening
scenes of the rebellion, while he came forward as the champion of liberty
for all forms of Christianity. He had now become a convert to the new
religion without receding an inch from his position in favor of universal
toleration. The new religion was, therefore, not an instrument devised by
a faction, but had expanded into the atmosphere of the people's daily
life. Individuals might be executed for claiming to breathe it, but it
was itself impalpable to the attacks of despotism. Yet the Grand
Commander persuaded himself that religion had little or nothing to do
with the state of the Netherlands. Nothing more was necessary, he
thought; or affected to think, in order to restore tranquillity, than
once more to spread the net of a general amnesty.

The Duke of Alva knew better. That functionary, with whom, before his
departure from the provinces, Requesens had been commanded to confer,
distinctly stated his opinion that there was no use of talking about
pardon. Brutally, but candidly, he maintained that there was nothing to
be done but to continue the process of extermination. It was necessary,
he said, to reduce the country to a dead level of unresisting misery;
before an act of oblivion could be securely laid down as the foundation
of a new and permanent order of society. He had already given his advice
to his Majesty, that every town in the country should be burned to the
ground, except those which could be permanently occupied by the royal
troops. The King, however, in his access of clemency at the appointment
of a new administration, instructed the Grand Commander not to resort to
this measure unless it should become strictly necessary.--Such were the
opposite opinions of the old and new governors with regard to the pardon.
The learned Viglius sided with Alva, although manifestly against his
will. "It is both the Duke's opinion and my own," wrote the Commander,
"that Viglius does not dare to express his real opinion, and that he is
secretly desirous of an arrangement with the rebels." With a good deal of
inconsistency, the Governor was offended, not only with those who opposed
his plans, but with those who favored them. He was angry with Viglius,
who, at least nominally, disapproved of the pardon, and with Noircarmes,
Aerschot, and others, who manifested a wish for a pacification. Of the
chief characteristic ascribed to the people by Julius Caesar, namely,
that they forgot neither favors nor injuries, the second half only, in
the Grand Commander's opinion, had been retained. Not only did they never
forget injuries, but their memory, said he, was so good, that they
recollected many which they had never received.

On the whole, however, in the embarrassed condition of affairs, and while
waiting for further supplies, the Commander was secretly disposed to try
the effect of a pardon. The object was to deceive the people and to gain
time; for there was no intention of conceding liberty of conscience, of
withdrawing foreign troops, or of assembling the states-general. It was,
however, not possible to apply these hypocritical measures of
conciliation immediately. The war was in full career and could not be
arrested even in that wintry season. The patriots held Mondragon closely
besieged in Middelburg, the last point in the Isle of Walcheren which
held for the King. There was a considerable treasure in money and
merchandise shut up in that city; and, moreover, so deserving and
distinguished an officer as Mondragon could not be abandoned to his fate.
At the same time, famine was pressing him sorely, and, by the end of the
year, garrison and townspeople had nothing but rats, mice, dogs, cats,
and such repulsive substitutes for food, to support life withal. It was
necessary to take immediate measures to relieve the place.

On the other hand, the situation of the patriots was not very
encouraging. Their superiority on the sea was unquestionable, for the
Hollanders and Zealanders were the best sailors in the world, and they
asked of their country no payment for their blood, but thanks. The land
forces, however, were usually mercenaries, who were apt to mutiny at the
commencement of an action if, as was too often the case, their wages
could not be paid. Holland was entirely cut in twain by the loss of
Harlem and the leaguer of Leyden, no communication between the dissevered
portions being possible, except with difficulty and danger. The estates,
although they had done much for the cause, and were prepared to do much
more, were too apt to wrangle about economical details. They irritated
the Prince of Orange by huckstering about subsidies to a degree which his
proud and generous nature could hardly brook. He had strong hopes from
France. Louis of Nassau had held secret interviews with the Duke of
Alencon and the Duke of Anjou, now King of Poland, at Blamont. Alencon
had assured him secretly, affectionately, and warmly, that he would be as
sincere a friend to the cause as were his two royal brothers. The Count
had even received one hundred thousand livres in hand, as an earnest of
the favorable intentions of France, and was now busily engaged, at the
instance of the Prince, in levying an army in Germany for the relief of
Leyden and the rest of Holland, while William, on his part, was omitting
nothing, whether by representations to the estates or by secret foreign
missions and correspondence, to further the cause of the suffering
country.

At the same time, the Prince dreaded the effect--of the promised pardon.
He had reason to be distrustful of the general temper of the nation when
a man like Saint Aldegonde, the enlightened patriot and his own tried
friend, was influenced, by the discouraging and dangerous position in
which he found himself, to abandon the high ground upon which they had
both so long and so firmly stood: Saint Aldegonde had been held a strict
prisoner since his capture at Maeslandsluis, at the close of Alva's
administration.--It was, no doubt, a predicament attended with much keen
suffering and positive danger. It had hitherto been the uniform policy of
the government to kill all prisoners, of whatever rank. Accordingly, some
had been drowned, some had been hanged--some beheaded some poisoned in
their dungeons--all had been murdered. This had been Alva's course. The
Grand Commander also highly approved of the system, but the capture of
Count Bossu by the patriots had necessitated a suspension of such rigor.
It was certain that Bossu's head would fall as soon as Saint Aldegonde's,
the Prince having expressly warned the government of this inevitable
result. Notwithstanding that security, however, for his eventual
restoration to liberty, a Netherland rebel in a Spanish prison could
hardly feel himself at ease. There were so many foot-marks into the cave
and not a single one coming forth. Yet it was not singular, however, that
the Prince should read with regret the somewhat insincere casuistry with
which Saint Aldegonde sought to persuade himself and his
fellow-countrymen that a reconciliation with the monarch was desirable,
even upon unworthy terms. He was somewhat shocked that so valiant and
eloquent a supporter of the Reformation should coolly express his opinion
that the King would probably refuse liberty of conscience to the
Netherlanders, but would, no doubt, permit heretics to go into
banishment. "Perhaps, after we have gone into exile," added Saint
Aldegonde, almost with baseness, "God may give us an opportunity of doing
such good service to the King, that he will lend us a more favorable ear,
and, peradventure, permit our return to the country."

Certainly, such language was not becoming the pen which wrote the famous
Compromise. The Prince himself was, however, not to be induced, even by
the captivity and the remonstrances of so valued a friend, to swerve from
the path of duty. He still maintained, in public and private, that the
withdrawal of foreign troops from the provinces, the restoration of the
old constitutional privileges, and the entire freedom of conscience in
religious matters, were the indispensable conditions of any pacification.
It was plain to him that the Spaniards were not ready to grant these
conditions; but he felt confident that he should accomplish the release
of Saint Aldegonde without condescending to an ignominious peace.

The most pressing matter, upon the Great Commander's arrival, was
obviously to relieve the city of Middelburg. Mondragon, after so stanch a
defence, would soon be obliged to capitulate, unless he should promptly
receive supplies. Requesens, accordingly, collected seventy-five ships at
Bergen op Zoom; which were placed nominally under the command of Admiral
de Glimes, but in reality under that of Julian Romero. Another fleet of
thirty vessels had been assembled at Antwerp under Sancho d'Avila. Both,
amply freighted with provisions, were destined to make their way to
Middelburg by the two different passages of the Hondo and the Eastern
Scheld. On the other hand, the Prince of Orange had repaired to Flushing
to superintend the operations of Admiral Boisot, who already; in
obedience to his orders, had got a powerful squadron in readiness at that
place. Late in January, 1574, d'Avila arrived in the neighbourhood of
Flushing, where he awaited the arrival of Romero's fleet. United, the two
Commanders were to make a determined attempt to reinforce the starving
city of Middelburg. At the same time, Governor Requesens made his
appearance in person at Bergen op Zoom to expedite the departure of the
stronger fleet, but it was not the intention of the Prince of Orange to
allow this expedition to save the city. The Spanish generals, however
valiant, were to learn that their genius was not amphibious, and that the
Beggars of the Sea were still invincible on their own element, even if
their brethren of the land had occasionally quailed.

Admiral Boisot's fleet had already moved up the Scheld and taken a
position nearly opposite to Bergen op Zoom. On the 20th of January the
Prince of Orange, embarking from Zierick Zee, came to make them a visit
before the impending action. His galley, conspicuous for its elegant
decorations, was exposed for some time to the artillery of the fort, but
providentially escaped unharmed. He assembled all the officers of his
armada, and, in brief but eloquent language, reminded them how necessary
it was to the salvation of the whole country that they should prevent the
city of Middelburg--the key to the whole of Zealand, already upon the
point of falling into the hands of the patriots--from being now wrested
from their grasp. On the sea, at least, the Hollanders and Zealanders
were at home. The officers and men, with one accord, rent the air with
their cheers. They swore that they would shed every drop of blood in
their veins but they would sustain the Prince and the country; and they
solemnly vowed not only to serve, if necessary, without wages, but to
sacrifice all that they possessed in the world rather than abandon the
cause of their fatherland. Having by his presence and his language
aroused their valor to so high a pitch of enthusiasm, the Prince departed
for Delft, to make arrangements to drive the Spaniards from the siege of
Leyden.

On the 29th of January, the fleet of Romero sailed from Bergen, disposed
in three divisions, each numbering twenty-five vessels of different
sizes. As the Grand Commander stood on the dyke of Schakerloo to witness
the departure, a general salute was fired by the fleet in his honor, but
with most unfortunate augury. The discharge, by some accident, set fire
to the magazines of one of the ships, which blew up with a terrible
explosion, every soul on board perishing. The expedition, nevertheless,
continued its way. Opposite Romerswael, the fleet of Boisot awaited them,
drawn up in battle array. As an indication of the spirit which animated
this hardy race, it may be mentioned that Schot, captain of the
flag-ship, had been left on shore, dying of a pestilential fever. Admiral
Boisot had appointed a Flushinger, Klaaf Klaafzoon, in his place. Just
before the action, however, Schot, "scarcely able to blow a feather from
his mouth," staggered on board his ship, and claimed the command.

There was no disputing a precedency which he had risen from his death-bed
to vindicate. There was, however, a short discussion, as the enemy's
fleet approached, between these rival captains regarding the manner in
which the Spaniards should be received. Klaafzoon was of opinion that
most of the men should go below till after the enemy's first discharge.
Schot insisted that all should remain on deck, ready to grapple with the
Spanish fleet, and to board them without the least delay.

The sentiment of Schot prevailed, and all hands stood on deck, ready with
boarding-pikes and grappling-irons.

The first division of Romero came nearer, and delivered its first
broadside, when Schot and Klaafzoon both fell mortally wounded. Admiral
Boisot lost an eye, and many officers and sailors in the other vessels
were killed or wounded. This was, however, the first and last of the
cannonading. As many of Romero's vessels as could be grappled within the
narrow estuary found themselves locked in close embrace with their
enemies. A murderous hand-to-hand conflict succeeded. Battle-axe,
boarding-pike, pistol, and dagger were the weapons. Every man who yielded
himself a prisoner was instantly stabbed and tossed into the sea by the
remorseless Zealanders. Fighting only to kill, and not to plunder, they
did not even stop to take the gold chains which many Spaniards wore on
their necks. It had, however, been obvious from the beginning that the
Spanish fleet were not likely to achieve that triumph over the patriots
which was necessary before they could relieve Middelburg. The battle
continued a little longer; but after fifteen ships had been taken and
twelve hundred royalists slain, the remainder of the enemy's fleet
retreated into Bergen. Romero himself, whose ship had grounded, sprang
out of a port-hole and swam ashore, followed by such of his men as were
able to imitate him. He landed at the very feet of the Grand Commander,
who, wet and cold, had been standing all day upon the dyke of Schakerloo,
in the midst of a pouring rain, only to witness the total defeat of his
armada at last.

"I told your Excellency," said Romero, coolly, as he climbed, all
dripping, on the bank, "that I was a land-fighter and not a sailor. If
you were to give me the command of a hundred fleets, I believe that none
of them would fare better than this has done." The Governor and his
discomfited, but philosophical lieutenant, then returned to Bergen, and
thence to Brussels, acknowledging that the city of Middelburg must fall,
while Sancho d'Avila, hearing of the disaster which had befallen his
countrymen, brought his fleet, with the greatest expedition, back to
Antwerp. Thus the gallant Mondragon was abandoned to his fate.

That fate could no longer be protracted. The city of Middelburg had
reached and passed the starvation point. Still Mondragon was determined
not to yield at discretion, although very willing to capitulate. The
Prince of Orange, after the victory of Bergen, was desirous of an
unconditional surrender, believing it to be his right, and knowing that
he could not be supposed capable of practising upon Middelburg the
vengeance which had been wreaked on Naarden, Zutfen, and Harlem.
Mondragon, however, swore that he would set fire to the city in twenty
places, and perish with every soldier and burgher in the flames together,
rather than abandon himself to the enemy's mercy. The prince knew that
the brave Spaniard was entirely capable of executing his threat. He
granted honorable conditions, which, on the 18th February, were drawn up
in five articles, and signed. It was agreed that Mondragon and his troops
should leave the place, with their arms, ammunition, and all their
personal property. The citizens who remained were to take oath of
fidelity to the Prince, as stadholder for his Majesty, and were to pay
besides a subsidy of three hundred thousand florins. Mondragon was,
furthermore, to procure the discharge of Saint Aldegonde, and of four
other prisoners of rank, or, failing in the attempt, was to return within
two months, and constitute himself prisoner of war. The Catholic priests
were to take away from the city none of their property but their clothes.
In accordance with this capitulation, Mondragon, and those who wished to
accompany him, left the city on the 21st of February, and were conveyed
to the Flemish shore at Neuz. It will be seen in the sequel that the
Governor neither granted him the release of the five prisoners, nor
permitted him to return, according to his parole. A few days afterwards,
the Prince entered the city, re-organized the magistracy, received the
allegiance of the inhabitants, restored the ancient constitution, and
liberally remitted two-thirds of the sum in which they had been, mulcted.

The Spaniards had thus been successfully driven from the Isle of
Walcheren, leaving the Hollanders and Zealanders masters of the
sea-coast. Since the siege of Alkmaar had been raised, however, the enemy
had remained within the territory of Holland. Leyden was closely
invested, the country in a desperate condition, and all communication
between its different cities nearly suspended. It was comparatively easy
for the Prince of Orange to equip and man his fleets. The genius and
habits of the people made them at home upon the water, and inspired them
with a feeling of superiority to their adversaries. It was not so upon
land. Strong to resist, patient to suffer, the Hollanders, although
terrible in defence; had not the necessary discipline or experience to
meet the veteran legions of Spain, with confidence in the open field. To
raise the siege of Leyden, the main reliance of the Prince was upon Count
Louis, who was again in Germany. In the latter days of Alva's
administration, William had written to his brothers, urging them speedily
to arrange the details of a campaign, of which he forwarded them a
sketch. As soon as a sufficient force had been levied in Germany, an
attempt was to be made upon Maestricht. If that failed, Louis was to
cross the Meuse, in the neighbourhood of Stochem, make his way towards
the Prince's own city of Gertruidenberg, and thence make a junction with
his brother in the neighbourhood of Delft. They were then to take up a
position together between Harlem and Leyden. In that case it seemed
probable that the Spaniards would find themselves obliged to fight at a
great disadvantage, or to abandon the country. "In short," said the
Prince, "if this enterprise be arranged with due diligence and
discretion, I hold it as the only certain means for putting a speedy end
to the war, and for driving these devils of Spaniards out of the country,
before the Duke of Alva has time to raise another army to support them."

In pursuance of this plan, Louis had been actively engaged all the
earlier part of the winter in levying troops and raising supplies. He had
been assisted by the French princes with considerable sums of money, as
an earnest of what he was in future to expect from that source. He had
made an unsuccessful attempt to effect the capture of Requesens, on his
way to take the government of the Netherlands. He had then passed to the
frontier of France, where he had held his important interview with
Catharine de Medici and the Duke of Anjou, then on the point of departure
to ascend the throne of Poland. He had received liberal presents, and
still more liberal promises. Anjou had assured him that he would go as
far as any of the German princes in rendering active and sincere
assistance to the Protestant cause in the Netherlands. The Duc
d'Alencon--soon, in his brother's absence, to succeed to the
chieftainship of the new alliance between the "politiques" and the
Huguenots--had also pressed his hand, whispering in his ear, as he did
so, that the government of France now belonged to him, as it had recently
done to Anjou, and that the Prince might reckon upon his friendship with
entire security.

These fine words, which cost nothing when whispered in secret, were not
destined to fructify into a very rich harvest, for the mutual jealousy of
France and England, lest either should acquire ascendency in the
Netherlands, made both governments prodigal of promises, while the common
fear entertained by them of the power of Spain rendered both languid;
insincere, and mischievous allies. Count John, however; was indefatigable
in arranging the finances of the proposed expedition, and in levying
contributions among his numerous relatives and allies in Germany, while
Louis had profited by the occasion of Anjou's passage into Poland, to
acquire for himself two thousand German and French cavalry, who had
served to escort that Prince, and who, being now thrown out of
employment, were glad to have a job offered them by a general who was
thought to be in funds. Another thousand of cavalry and six thousand foot
were soon assembled from those ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary
warriors, the smaller German states. With these, towards the end of
February; Louis crossed the Rhine in a heavy snow-storm, and bent his
course towards Maestricht. All the three brothers of the Prince
accompanied this little army, besides Duke Christopher, son of the
elector Palatine.

Before the end of the month the army reached the Meuse, and encamped
within four miles of Maestricht; on the opposite side of the river. The
garrison, commanded by Montesdoca, was weak, but the news of the warlike
preparations in Germany had preceded the arrival of Count Louis.
Requesens, feeling the gravity of the occasion, had issued orders for an
immediate levy of eight thousand cavalry in Germany, with a proportionate
number of infantry. At the same time he had directed Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, with some companies of cavalry, then stationed in Breda, to
throw himself without delay into Maestricht. Don Sancho d'Avila was
entrusted with the general care of resisting the hostile expedition. That
general had forthwith collected all the troops which could be spared from
every town where they were stationed, had strengthened the cities of
Antwerp, Ghent, Nimweben, and Valenciennes, where there were known to be
many secret adherents of Orange; and with the remainder of his forces had
put himself in motion, to oppose the entrance of Louis into Brabant, and
his junction with his brother in Holland. Braccamonte had been despatched
to Leyden, in order instantly to draw off the forces which were besieging
the city. Thus Louis had already effected something of importance by the
very hews of his approach.

Meantime the Prince of Orange had raised six thousand infantry, whose
rendezvous was the Isle of Bommel. He was disappointed at the paucity of
the troops which Louis had been able to collect, but he sent messengers
immediately to him; with a statement of his own condition, and with
directions to join him in the Isle of Bommel, as soon as Maestricht
should be reduced. It was, however, not in the destiny of Louis to reduce
Maestricht. His expedition had been marked with disaster from the
beginning. A dark and threatening prophecy had, even before its
commencement, enwrapped Louis, his brethren, and his little army, in a
funeral pall. More than a thousand of his men had deserted before he
reached the Meuse. When he encamped, apposite Maestricht, he found the
river neither frozen nor open, the ice obstructing the navigation, but
being too weak for the weight of an army. While he was thus delayed and
embarrassed, Mendoza arrived in the city with reinforcements. It seemed
already necessary for Louis to abandon his hopes of Maestricht, but he
was at least desirous of crossing the river in that neighbourhood, in
order to effect his junction with the Prince at the earliest possible
moment. While the stream was still encumbered with ice, however, the
enemy removed all the boats. On, the 3rd of March, Avila arrived with a
large body of troops at Maestricht, and on the 18th Mendoza crossed the
river in the night, giving the patriots so severe an 'encamisada', that
seven hundred were killed, at the expense of only seven of his own party.
Harassed, but not dispirited by these disasters, Louis broke up his camp
on the 21st, and took a position farther down the river, at Fauquemont
and Gulpen, castles in the Duchy of Limburg. On the 3rd of April,
Braccamonite arrived at Maestricht, with twenty-five companies of
Spaniards and three of cavalry, while, on the same day Mondragon reached
the scene of action with his sixteen companies of veterans.

It was now obvious to Louis, not only that he should not take Maestricht,
but that his eventual junction with his brother was at least doubtful,
every soldier who could possibly be spared seeming in motion to oppose
his progress. He was, to be sure, not yet outnumbered, but the enemy was
increasing, and his own force diminishing daily. Moreover, the Spaniards
were highly disciplined and experienced troops; while his own soldiers
were mercenaries, already clamorous and insubordinate. On the 8th of
April he again shifted his encaampment, and took his course along the
right bank of the Meuse, between that river and the Rhine, in the
direction of Nimwegen. Avila promptly decided to follow him upon the
opposite bank of the Meuse, intending to throw himself between Louis and
the Prince of Orange, and by a rapid march to give the Count battle,
before he could join his brother. On the 8th of April, at early dawn,
Louis had left the neighbourhood of Maestricht, and on the 13th he
encamped at the village of Mook near the confines of Cleves. Sending out
his scouts, he learned to his vexation, that the enemy had outmarched
him, and were now within cannonshot. On the 13th, Avila had constructed a
bridge of boats, over which he had effected the passage of the Meuse with
his whole army, so that on the Count's arrival at Mook, he found the
enemy facing him, on the same side of the river, and directly in his
path. It was, therefore, obvious that, in this narrow space between the
Waal and the Meuse, where they were now all assembled, Louis must achieve
a victory, unaided, or abandon his expedition, and leave the Hollanders
to despair. He was distressed at the position in which he found himself,
for he had hoped to reduce Maestricht, and to join, his brother in
Holland. Together, they could, at least, have expelled the Spaniards from
that territory, in which case it was probable that a large part of the
population in the different provinces would have risen. According to
present aspects, the destiny of the country, for some time to come, was
likely to hang upon the issue of a battle which he had not planned, and
for which he was not fully prepared. Still he was not the man to be
disheartened; nor had he ever possessed the courage to refuse a battle
when: offered. Upon this occasion it would be difficult to retreat
without disaster and disgrace, but it was equally difficult to achieve a
victory. Thrust, as he was, like a wedge into the very heart of a hostile
country, he was obliged to force his way through, or to remain in his
enemy's power. Moreover, and worst of all, his troops were in a state of
mutiny for their wages. While he talked to them of honor, they howled to
him for money. It was the custom of these mercenaries to mutiny on the
eve of battle--of the Spaniards, after it had been fought. By the one
course, a victory was often lost which might have been achieved; by the
other, when won it was rendered fruitless.

Avila had chosen his place of battle with great skill. On the right bank
of the Meuse, upon a narrow plain which spread from the river to a chain
of hills within cannon-shot on the north, lay the little village of Mook.
The Spanish general knew that his adversary had the superiority in
cavalry, and that within this compressed apace it would not be possible
to derive much advantage from the circumstance.

On the 14th, both armies were drawn up in battle array at earliest dawn,
Louis having strengthened his position by a deep trench, which extended
from Mook, where he had stationed ten companies of infantry, which thus
rested on the village and the river. Next came the bulk of his infantry,
disposed in a single square. On their right was his cavalry, arranged in
four squadrons, as well as the narrow limits of the field would allow. A
small portion of them, for want of apace, were stationed on the hill
side.

Opposite, the forces of Don Sancho were drawn up in somewhat similar
fashion. Twenty-five companies of Spaniards were disposed in four bodies
of pikemen and musketeers; their right resting on the river. On their
left was the cavalry, disposed by Mendoza in the form of a half moon-the
horns garnished by two small bodies of sharpshooters. In the front ranks
of the cavalry were the mounted carabineers of Schenk; behind were the
Spanish dancers. The village of Mook lay between the two armies.

The skirmishing began at early dawn, with an attack upon the trench, and
continued some hours, without bringing on a general engagement. Towards
ten o'clock, Count Louis became impatient. All the trumpets of the
patriots now rang out a challenge to their adversaries, and the Spaniards
were just returning the defiance, and preparing a general onset, when the
Seigneur de Hierges and Baron Chevreaux arrived on the field. They
brought with them a reinforcement of more than a thousand men, and the
intelligence that Valdez was on his way with nearly five thousand more.
As he might be expected on the following morning, a short deliberation
was held as to the expediency of deferring the action. Count Louis was at
the head of six thousand foot and two thousand cavalry. Avila mustered
only four thousand infantry and not quite a thousand horse. This
inferiority would be changed on the morrow into an overwhelming
superiority. Meantime, it was well to remember the punishment endured by
Aremberg at Heiliger Lee, for not waiting till Meghen's arrival. This
prudent counsel was, however, very generally scouted, and by none more
loudly than by Hierges and Chevreaux, who had brought the intelligence.
It was thought that at this juncture nothing could be more indiscreet
than discretion. They had a wary and audacious general to deal with.
While they were waiting for their reinforcements, he was quite capable of
giving them the slip. He might thus effect the passage of the stream and
that union with his brother which--had been thus far so successfully
prevented. This reasoning prevailed, and the skirmishing at the trench
was renewed with redoubled vigour, an additional: force being sent
against it. After a short and fierce struggle it was carried, and the
Spaniards rushed into the village, but were soon dislodged by a larger
detachment of infantry, which Count Louis sent to the rescue. The battle
now became general at this point.

Nearly all the patriot infantry were employed to defend the post; nearly
all the Spanish infantry were ordered to assail it. The Spaniards,
dropping on their knees, according to custom, said a Paternoster and an
Ave Mary, and then rushed, in mass, to the attack. After a short but
sharp conflict, the trench was again carried, and the patriots completely
routed. Upon this, Count Louis charged with all his cavalry upon the
enemy's horse, which had hitherto remained motionless. With the first
shock the mounted arquebusiers of Schenk, constituting the vanguard, were
broken, and fled in all directions. So great was their panic, as Louis
drove them before him, that they never stopped till they had swum or been
drowned in the river; the survivors carrying the news to Grave and to
other cities that the royalists had been completely routed. This was,
however, very far from the truth. The patriot cavalry, mostly
carabineers, wheeled after the first discharge, and retired to reload
their pieces, but before they were ready for another attack, the Spanish
lancers and the German black troopers, who had all remained firm, set
upon them with great spirit: A fierce, bloody, and confused action
succeeded, in which the patriots were completely overthrown.

Count Louis, finding that the day was lost, and his army cut to pieces,
rallied around him a little band of troopers, among whom were his
brother, Count Henry, and Duke Christopher, and together they made a
final and desperate charge. It was the last that was ever seen of them on
earth. They all went down together, in the midst of the fight, and were
never heard of more. The battle terminated, as usual in those conflicts
of mutual hatred, in a horrible butchery, hardly any of the patriot army
being left to tell the tale of their disaster. At least four thousand
were killed, including those who were slain on the field, those who were
suffocated in the marshes or the river, and those who were burned in the
farm-houses where they had taken refuge. It was uncertain which of those
various modes of death had been the lot of Count Louis, his brother, and
his friend. The mystery was never solved. They had, probably, all died on
the field; but, stripped of their clothing, with their, faces trampled
upon by the hoofs of horses, it was not possible to distinguish them from
the less illustrious dead. It was the opinion of, many that they had been
drowned in the river; of others, that they had been burned.

   [Meteren, v. 91. Bor, vii. 491, 492. Hoofd, Bentivoglio, ubi
   sup. The Walloon historian, occasionally cited in these pages, has
   a more summary manner of accounting for the fate of these
   distinguished personages. According to his statement, the leaders
   of the Protestant forces dined and made merry at a convent in the
   neighbourhood upon Good Friday, five days before the battle, using
   the sacramental chalices at the banquet, and mixing consecrated
   wafers with their wine. As a punishment for this sacrilege, the
   army was utterly overthrown, and the Devil himself flew away with
   the chieftains, body and soul.]

There was a vague tale that Louis, bleeding but not killed, had struggled
forth from the heap of corpses where he had been thrown, had crept to
the, river-side, and, while washing his wounds, had been surprised and
butchered by a party of rustics. The story was not generally credited,
but no man knew, or was destined to learn, the truth.

A dark and fatal termination to this last enterprise of Count Louis had
been anticipated by many. In that superstitious age, when emperors and
princes daily investigated the future, by alchemy, by astrology, and by
books of fate, filled with formula; as gravely and precisely set forth as
algebraical equations; when men of every class, from monarch to peasant,
implicitly believed in supernatural portents and prophecies, it was not
singular that a somewhat striking appearance, observed in the sky some
weeks previously to the battle of Mookerheyde, should have inspired many
persons with a shuddering sense of impending evil.

Early in February five soldiers of the burgher guard at Utrecht, being on
their midnight watch, beheld in the sky above them the representation of
a furious battle. The sky was extremely dark, except directly over: their
heads; where, for a space equal in extent to the length of the city, and
in breadth to that of an ordinary chamber, two armies, in battle array,
were seen advancing upon each other. The one moved rapidly up from the
north-west, with banners waving; spears flashing, trumpets sounding;
accompanied by heavy artillery and by squadrons of cavalry. The other
came slowly forward from the southeast; as if from an entrenched camp, to
encounter their assailants. There was a fierce action for a few moments,
the shouts of the combatants, the heavy discharge of cannon, the rattle
of musketry; the tramp of heavy-aimed foot soldiers, the rush of cavalry,
being distinctly heard. The firmament trembled with the shock of the
contending hosts, and was lurid with the rapid discharges of their
artillery. After a short, fierce engagement, the north-western army was
beaten back in disorder, but rallied again, after a breathing-time,
formed again into solid column, and again advanced. Their foes, arrayed,
as the witnesses affirmed, in a square and closely serried grove of
spears' and muskets, again awaited the attack. Once more the aerial
cohorts closed upon each other, all the signs and sounds of a desperate
encounter being distinctly recognised by the eager witnesses. The
struggle seemed but short. The lances of the south-eastern army seemed to
snap "like hemp-stalks," while their firm columns all went down together
in mass, beneath the onset of their enemies. The overthrow was complete,
victors and vanquished had faded, the clear blue space, surrounded by
black clouds, was empty, when suddenly its whole extent, where the
conflict had so lately raged, was streaked with blood, flowing athwart
the sky in broad crimson streams; nor was it till the five witnesses had
fully watched and pondered over these portents that the vision entirely
vanished.

So impressed were the grave magistrates of Utrecht with the account given
next day by the sentinels, that a formal examination of the circumstances
was made, the deposition of each witness, under oath, duly recorded, and
a vast deal of consultation of soothsayers' books and other auguries
employed to elucidate the mystery. It was universally considered typical
of the anticipated battle between Count Louis and the Spaniards. When,
therefore, it was known that the patriots, moving from the south-east,
had arrived at Mookerheyde, and that their adversaries, crossing the
Meuse at Grave, had advanced upon them from the north-west, the result of
the battle was considered inevitable; the phantom battle of Utrecht its
infallible precursor.

Thus perished Louis of Nassau in the flower of his manhood, in the midst
of a career already crowded with events such as might suffice for a
century of ordinary existence. It is difficult to find in history a more
frank and loyal character. His life was noble; the elements of the heroic
and the genial so mixed in him that the imagination contemplates him,
after three centuries, with an almost affectionate interest. He was not a
great man. He was far from possessing the subtle genius or the expansive
views of his brother; but, called as he was to play a prominent part in
one of the most complicated and imposing dramas ever enacted by man, he,
nevertheless, always acquitted himself with honor. His direct, fearless
and energetic nature commanded alike the respect of friend and foe. As a
politician, a soldier, and a diplomatist, he was busy, bold, and true.
He, accomplished by sincerity what many thought could only be compassed
by trickery. Dealing often with the most adroit and most treacherous of
princes and statesmen, he frequently carried his point, and he never
stooped to flattery. From the time when, attended by his "twelve
disciples," he assumed the most prominent part in the negotiations with
Margaret of Parma, through all the various scenes of the revolution,
through, all the conferences with Spaniards, Italians, Huguenots.
Malcontents, Flemish councillors, or German princes, he was the
consistent and unflinching supporter of religious liberty and
constitutional law. The battle of Heiliger Lee and the capture of Mons
were his most signal triumphs, but the fruits of both were annihilated by
subsequent disaster. His headlong courage was his chief foible. The
French accused him of losing the battle of Moncontour by his impatience
to engage; yet they acknowledged that to his masterly conduct it was
owing that their retreat was effected in so successful, and even so
brilliant a manner. He was censured for rashness and precipitancy in this
last and fatal enterprise, but the reproach seems entirely without
foundation. The expedition as already stated, had been deliberately
arranged, with the full co-operation of his brother, and had been
preparing several months. That he was able to set no larger force on foot
than that which he led into Gueldres was not his fault. But for the
floating ice which barred his passage of the Meuse, he would have
surprised Maestricht; but for the mutiny, which rendered his mercenary
soldiers cowards, he might have defeated Avila at Mookerheyde. Had he
done so he would have joined his brother in the Isle of Bommel in
triumph; the Spaniards would, probably, have been expelled from Holland,
and Leyden saved the horrors of that memorable siege which she was soon
called, upon to endure. These results were not in his destiny. Providence
had decreed that he should perish in the midst of his usefulness; that
the Prince, in his death,'should lose the right hand which had been so
swift to execute his various plans, and the faithful fraternal heart
which had always responded so readily to every throb of his own.

In figure, he was below the middle height, but martial and noble in his
bearing. The expression of his countenance was lively; his manner frank
and engaging. All who knew him personally loved him, and he was the idol
of his gallant brethren: His mother always addressed him as her dearly
beloved, her heart's-cherished Louis. "You must come soon to me," she
wrote in the last year of his life, "for I have many matters to ask your
advice upon; and I thank you beforehand, for you have loved me as your
mother all the days of your life; for which may God Almighty have you in
his holy keeping."

It was the doom of this high-born, true-hearted dame to be called upon to
weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers. Count
Adolphus had already perished in his youth on the field of Heiliger Lee,
and now Louis and his young brother Henry, who had scarcely attained his
twenty-sixth year, and whose short life had been passed in that faithful
service to the cause of freedom which was the instinct of his race, had
both found a bloody and an unknown grave. Count John, who had already
done so much for the cause, was fortunately spared to do much more.
Although of the expedition, and expecting to participate in the battle,
he had, at the urgent solicitation of all the leaders, left the army for
a brief, season, in order to obtain at Cologne a supply of money, for the
mutinous troops: He had started upon this mission two days before the
action in which he, too, would otherwise have been sacrificed. The young
Duke Christopher, "optimm indolis et magnee spei adolescens," who had
perished on the same field, was sincerely mourned by the lovers of
freedom. His father, the Elector, found his consolation in the
Scriptures, and in the reflection that his son had died in the bed of
honor, fighting for the cause of God. "'T was better thus," said that
stern Calvinist, whose dearest wish was to "Calvinize the world," than to
have passed his time in idleness, "which is the Devil's pillow."

Vague rumors of the catastrophe had spread far and wide. It was soon
certain that Louis had been defeated, but, for a long time, conflicting
reports were in circulation as to the fate of the leaders. The Prince of
Orange, meanwhile, passed days of intense anxiety, expecting hourly to
hear from his brothers, listening to dark rumors, which he refused to
credit and could not contradict, and writing letters, day after day, long
after the eyes which should have read the friendly missives were closed.

The victory of the King's army at Mookerheyde had been rendered
comparatively barren by the mutiny which broke forth the day after the
battle. Three years' pay were due to the Spanish troops, and it was not
surprising that upon this occasion one of those periodic rebellions
should break forth, by which the royal cause was frequently so much
weakened, and the royal governors so intolerably perplexed. These
mutinies were of almost regular occurrence, and attended by as regular a
series of phenomena. The Spanish troops, living so far from their own
country, but surrounded by their women, and constantly increasing swarms
of children, constituted a locomotive city of considerable population,
permanently established on a foreign soil. It was a city walled in by
bayonets, and still further isolated from the people around by the
impassable moat of mutual hatred. It was a city obeying the articles of
war, governed by despotic authority, and yet occasionally revealing, in
full force, the irrepressible democratic element. At periods which could
almost be calculated, the military populace were wont to rise upon the
privileged classes, to deprive them of office and liberty, and to set up
in their place commanders of their own election. A governor-in-chief, a
sergeant-major, a board of councillors and various other functionaries,
were chosen by acclamation and universal suffrage. The Eletto, or chief
officer thus appointed, was clothed with supreme power, but forbidden to
exercise it. He was surrounded by councillors, who watched his every
motion, read all his correspondence, and assisted at all his conferences,
while the councillors were themselves narrowly watched by the commonalty.
These movements were, however, in general, marked by the most exemplary
order. Anarchy became a system of government; rebellion enacted and
enforced the strictest rules of discipline; theft, drunkenness, violence
to women, were severely punished. As soon as the mutiny broke forth, the
first object was to take possession of the nearest city, where the Eletto
was usually established in the town-house, and the soldiery quartered
upon the citizens. Nothing in the shape of food or lodging was too good
for these marauders. Men who had lived for years on camp rations--coarse
knaves who had held the plough till compelled to handle the musket, now
slept in fine linen, and demanded from the trembling burghers the
daintiest viands. They ate the land bare, like a swarm of locusts.
"Chickens and partridges," says the thrifty chronicler of Antwerp,
"capons and pheasants, hares and rabbits, two kinds of wines;--for
sauces, capers and olives, citrons and oranges, spices and sweetmeats;
wheaten bread for their dogs, and even wine, to wash the feet of their
horses;"--such was the entertainment demanded and obtained by the
mutinous troops. They were very willing both to enjoy the luxury of this
forage, and to induce the citizens, from weariness of affording compelled
hospitality, to submit to a taxation by which the military claims might
be liquidated.

A city thus occupied was at the mercy of a foreign soldiery, which had
renounced all authority but that of self-imposed laws. The King's
officers were degraded, perhaps murdered; while those chosen to supply
their places had only a nominal control. The Eletto, day by day,
proclaimed from the balcony of the town-house the latest rules and
regulations. If satisfactory, there was a clamor of applause; if
objectionable, they were rejected with a tempest of hisses, with
discharges of musketry; The Eletto did not govern: he was a dictator who
could not dictate, but could only register decrees. If too honest, too
firm, or too dull for his place, he was deprived of his office and
sometimes of his life. Another was chosen in his room, often to be
succeeded by a series of others, destined to the same fate. Such were the
main characteristics of those formidable mutinies, the result of the
unthriftiness and dishonesty by which the soldiery engaged in these
interminable hostilities were deprived of their dearly earned wages. The
expense of the war was bad enough at best, but when it is remembered that
of three or four dollars sent from Spain, or contributed by the provinces
for the support of the army, hardly one reached the pockets of the
soldier, the frightful expenditure which took place may be imagined. It
was not surprising that so much peculation should engender revolt.

The mutiny which broke out after the defeat of Count Louis was marked
with the most pronounced and inflammatory of these symptoms. Three years'
pay was due, to the Spaniards, who, having just achieved a signal
victory, were-disposed to reap its fruits, by fair means or by force. On
receiving nothing but promises, in answer to their clamorous demands,
they mutinied to a man, and crossed the Meuse to Grave, whence, after
accomplishing the usual elections, they took their course to Antwerp.
Being in such strong force, they determined to strike at the capital.
Rumour flew before them. Champagny, brother of Granvelle, and royal
governor of the city, wrote in haste to apprise Requesens of the
approaching danger. The Grand Commander, attended only by Vitelli,
repaired instantly to Antwerp. Champagny advised throwing up a
breastwork with bales of merchandize, upon the esplanade, between the
citadel and the town, for it was at this point, where the connection
between the fortifications of the castle and those of the city had never
been thoroughly completed, that the invasion might be expected. Requesens
hesitated. He trembled at a conflict with his own soldiery. If
successful, he could only be so by trampling upon the flower of his army.
If defeated, what would become of the King's authority, with rebellious
troops triumphant in rebellious provinces? Sorely perplexed, the
Commander, could think of no expedient. Not knowing what to do, he did
nothing. In the meantime, Champagny, who felt himself odious to the
soldiery, retreated to the Newtown, and barricaded himself, with a few
followers, in the house of the Baltic merchants.

On the 26th of April, the mutinous troops in perfect order, marched into
the city, effecting their entrance precisely at the weak point where they
had been expected. Numbering at least three thousand, they encamped on
the esplanade, where Requesens appeared before them alone on horseback,
and made them an oration. They listened with composure, but answered
briefly and with one accord, "Dineros y non palabras," dollars not
speeches. Requesens promised profusely, but the time was past for
promises. Hard Silver dollars would alone content an army which, after
three years of bloodshed and starvation, had at last taken the law into
their own hands. Requesens withdrew to consult the Broad Council of the
city. He was without money himself, but he demanded four hundred thousand
crowns of the city. This was at first refused, but the troops knew the
strength of their position, for these mutinies were never repressed, and
rarely punished. On this occasion the Commander was afraid to employ
force, and the burghers, after the army had been quartered upon them for
a time, would gladly pay a heavy ransom to be rid of their odious and
expensive guests. The mutineers foreseeing that the work might last a few
weeks, and determined to proceed leisurely; took possession of the great
square. The Eletto, with his staff of councillors, was quartered in the
town-house, while the soldiers distributed themselves among the houses of
the most opulent citizens, no one escaping a billet who was rich enough
to receive such company: bishop or burgomaster, margrave or merchant. The
most famous kitchens were naturally the most eagerly sought, and
sumptuous apartments, luxurious dishes, delicate wines, were daily
demanded. The burghers dared not refuse.

The six hundred Walloons, who had been previously quartered in the city,
were expelled, and for many days, the mutiny reigned paramount. Day after
day the magistracy, the heads of guilds, all the representatives of the
citizens were assembled in the Broad Council. The Governor-General
insisted on his demand of four hundred thousand crowns, representing,
with great justice, that the mutineers would remain in the city until
they had eaten and drunk to that amount, and that there would still be
the arrearages; for which the city would be obliged to raise the funds.
On the 9th of May, the authorities made an offer, which was duly
communicated to the Eletto. That functionary stood forth on a window-sill
of the town-house, and addressed the soldiery. He informed them that the
Grand Commander proposed to pay ten months' arrears in cash, five months
in silks and woollen cloths, and the balance in promises, to be fulfilled
within a few days. The terms were not considered satisfactory, and were
received with groans of derision. The Eletto, on the contrary, declared
them very liberal, and reminded the soldiers of the perilous condition in
which they stood, guilty to a man of high treason, with a rope around
every neck. It was well worth their while to accept the offer made them,
together with the absolute pardon for the past, by which it was
accompanied. For himself, he washed his hands of the consequences if the
offer were rejected. The soldiers answered by deposing the Eletto and
choosing another in his room.

Three days after, a mutiny broke out in the citadel--an unexampled
occurrence. The rebels ordered Sancho d'Avila, the commandant, to deliver
the keys of the fortress. He refused to surrender them but with his life.
They then contented themselves with compelling his lieutenant to leave
the citadel, and with sending their Eletto to confer with the Grand
Commander, as well as with the Eletto of the army. After accomplishing
his mission, he returned, accompanied by Chiappin Vitelli, as envoy of
the Governor-General. No sooner, however, had the Eletto set foot on the
drawbridge than he was attacked by Ensign Salvatierra of the Spanish
garrison, who stabbed him to the heart and threw him into the moat. The
ensign, who was renowned in the army for his ferocious courage, and who
wore embroidered upon his trunk hose the inscription, "El castigador de
los Flamencos," then rushed upon the Sergeant-major of the mutineers,
despatched him in the same way, and tossed him likewise into the moat.
These preliminaries being settled, a satisfactory arrangement was
negotiated between Vitelli and the rebellious garrison. Pardon for the
past, and payment upon the same terms as those offered in the city, were
accepted, and the mutiny of the citadel was quelled. It was, however,
necessary that Salvatierra should conceal himself for a long time, to
escape being torn to pieces by the incensed soldiery.

Meantime, affairs in the city were more difficult to adjust. The
mutineers raised an altar of chests and bales upon the public square, and
celebrated mass under the open sky, solemnly swearing to be true to each
other to the last. The scenes of carousing and merry-making were renewed
at the expense of the citizens, who were again exposed to nightly alarms
from the boisterous mirth and ceaseless mischief-making of the soldiers.
Before the end of the month; the Broad Council, exhausted by the incubus
which had afflicted them so many weeks, acceded to the demand of
Requesens. The four hundred thousand crowns were furnished, the Grand
Commander accepting them as a loan, and giving in return bonds duly
signed and countersigned, together with a mortgage upon all the royal
domains. The citizens received the documents, as a matter of form, but
they had handled such securities before, and valued them but slightly.
The mutineers now agreed to settle with the Governor-General, on
condition of receiving all their wages, either in cash or cloth, together
with a solemn promise of pardon for all their acts of insubordination.
This pledge was formally rendered with appropriate religious ceremonies,
by Requesens, in the cathedral. The payments were made directly
afterwards, and a great banquet was held on the same day, by the whole
mass of the soldiery, to celebrate the event. The feast took place on the
place of the Meer, and was a scene of furious revelry. The soldiers, more
thoughtless than children, had arrayed themselves in extemporaneous
costumes, cut from the cloth which they had at last received in payment
of their sufferings and their blood. Broadcloths, silks, satins, and
gold-embroidered brocades, worthy of a queen's wardrobe, were hung in
fantastic drapery around the sinewy forms and bronzed faces of the
soldiery, who, the day before, had been clothed in rags. The mirth was
fast and furious; and scarce was the banquet finished before every
drum-head became a gaming-table, around which gathered groups eager to
sacrifice in a moment their dearly-bought gold.

The fortunate or the prudent had not yet succeeded in entirely plundering
their companions, when the distant booming of cannon was heard from the
river. Instantly, accoutred as they were in their holiday and fantastic
costumes, the soldiers, no longer mutinous, were summoned from banquet
and gaming-table, and were ordered forth upon the dykes. The patriot
Admiral Boisot, who had so recently defeated the fleet of Bergen, under
the eyes of the Grand Commander, had unexpectedly sailed up the Scheld,
determined to destroy the, fleet of Antwerp, which upon that occasion had
escaped. Between, the forts of Lillo and Callao, he met with twenty-two
vessels under the command of Vice-Admiral Haemstede. After a short and
sharp action, he was completely victorious. Fourteen of the enemy's ships
were burned or sunk, with all their crews, and Admiral Haemstede was
taken prisoner. The soldiers opened a warm fire of musketry upon Boisot
from the dyke, to which he responded with his cannon. The distance of the
combatants, however, made the action unimportant; and the patriots
retired down the river, after achieving a complete victory. The Grand
Commander was farther than ever from obtaining that foothold on the sea,
which as he had informed his sovereign, was the only means by which the
Netherlands could be reduced.



1574 [CHAPTER II.]

   First siege of Leyden--Commencement of the second--Description of
   the city--Preparations for defence--Letters of Orange--Act of
   amnesty issued by Requesens--Its conditions--Its reception by the
   Hollanders--Correspondence of the Glippers--Sorties and fierce
   combats beneath the walls of Leyden--Position of the Prince--His
   project of relief Magnanimity of the people--Breaking of the dykes--
   Emotions in the city and the besieging camp--Letter of the Estates
   of Holland--Dangerous illness of the Prince--The "wild Zealanders"--
   Admiral Boisot commences his voyage--Sanguinary combat on the Land--
   Scheiding--Occupation of that dyke and of the Green Way--Pauses and
   Progress of the flotilla--The Prince visits the fleet--Horrible
   sufferings in the city--Speech of Van der Werf--Heroism of the
   inhabitants--The Admiral's letters--The storm--Advance of Boisot--
   Lammen fortress----An anxious night--Midnight retreat of the
   Spaniards--The Admiral enters the city--Thanksgiving in the great
   church The Prince in Leyden--Parting words of Valdez--Mutiny--Leyden
   University founded--The charter--Inauguration ceremonies.

The invasion of Louis of Nassau had, as already stated, effected the
raising of the first siege of Leyden. That leaguer had lasted from the
31st of October, 1573, to the 21st of March, 1574, when the soldiers were
summoned away to defend the frontier. By an extraordinary and culpable
carelessness, the citizens, neglecting the advice of the Prince, had not
taken advantage of the breathing time thus afforded them to victual the
city and strengthen the garrison. They seemed to reckon more confidently
upon the success of Count Louis than he had even done himself; for it was
very probable that, in case of his defeat, the siege would be instantly
resumed. This natural result was not long in following the battle of
Mookerheyde.

On the 26th of May, Valdez reappeared before the place, at the head of
eight thousand Walloons and Germans, and Leyden was now destined to pass
through a fiery ordeal. This city was one of the most beautiful in the
Netherlands. Placed in the midst of broad and fruitful pastures, which
had been reclaimed by the hand of industry from the bottom of the sea; it
was fringed with smiling villages, blooming gardens, fruitful Orchards.
The ancient and, at last, decrepit Rhine, flowing languidly towards its
sandy death-bed, had been multiplied into innumerable artificial
currents, by which the city was completely interlaced. These watery
streets were shaded by lime trees, poplars, and willows, and crossed by
one hundred and forty-five bridges, mostly of hammered stone. The houses
were elegant, the squares and streets spacious, airy and clean, the
churches and public edifices imposing, while the whole aspect, of the
place suggested thrift, industry, and comfort. Upon an artificial
elevation, in the centre of the city, rose a ruined tower of unknown
antiquity. By some it was considered to be of Roman origin, while others
preferred to regard it as a work of the Anglo-Saxon Hengist, raised to
commemorate his conquest of England.

   [Guicciardini, Descript. Holl, et Zelandire. Bor, vii. 502.
   Bentivoglio, viii. 151

            "Putatur Engistus Britanno
             Orbe redus posuisse victor," etc., etc.

   according to the celebrated poem of John Von der Does, the
   accomplished and valiant Commandant of the city. The tower, which
   is doubtless a Roman one, presents, at the present day, almost
   precisely the same appearance as that described by the
   contemporaneous historians of the siege. The verses of the
   Commandant show the opinion, that the Anglo-Saxon conquerors of
   Britain went from Holland, to have been a common one in the
   sixteenth century.]

Surrounded by fruit trees, and overgrown in the centre with oaks, it
afforded, from its mouldering battlements, a charming prospect over a
wide expanse of level country, with the spires of neighbouring cities
rising in every direction. It was from this commanding height, during the
long and terrible summer days which were approaching, that many an eye
was to be strained anxiously seaward, watching if yet the ocean had begun
to roll over the land.

Valdez lost no time in securing himself in the possession of
Maeslandsluis, Vlaardingen, and the Hague. Five hundred English, under
command of Colonel Edward Chester, abandoned the fortress of Valkenburg,
and fled towards Leyden. Refused admittance by the citizens, who now,
with reason, distrusted them, they surrendered to Valdez, and were
afterwards sent back to England. In the course of a few days, Leyden was
thoroughly invested, no less than sixty-two redoubts, some of them having
remained undestroyed from the previous siege, now girdling the city,
while the besiegers already numbered nearly eight thousand, a force to be
daily increased. On the other hand, there were no troops in the town,
save a small corps of "freebooters," and five companies of the burgher
guard. John Van der Does, Seigneur of Nordwyck, a gentleman of
distinguished family, but still more distinguished for his learning, his
poetical genius, and his valor, had accepted the office of military
commandant.

The main reliance of the city, under God, was on the stout hearts of its
inhabitants within the walls, and on, the sleepless energy of William the
Silent without. The Prince, hastening to comfort and encourage the
citizens, although he had been justly irritated by their negligence in
having omitted to provide more sufficiently against the emergency while
there had yet been time, now reminded them that they were not about to
contend for themselves alone, but that the fate of their country and of
unborn generations would, in all human probability, depend on the issue
about to be tried. Eternal glory would be their portion if they
manifested a courage worthy of their race and of the sacred cause of
religion and liberty. He implored them to hold out at least three months,
assuring them that he would, within that time, devise the means of their
deliverance. The citizens responded, courageously and confidently, to
these missives, and assured the Prince of their firm confidence in their
own fortitude and his exertions.

And truly they had a right to rely on that calm and unflinching soul, as
on a rock of adamant. All alone, without a being near him to consult, his
right arm struck from him by the death of Louis, with no brother left to
him but the untiring and faithful John, he prepared without delay for the
new task imposed upon him. France, since the defeat and death of Louis,
and the busy intrigues which had followed the accession of Henry III.,
had but small sympathy for the Netherlands. The English government,
relieved from the fear of France; was more cold and haughty than ever. An
Englishman employed by Requesens to assassinate the Prince of Orange, had
been arrested in Zealand, who impudently pretended that he had undertaken
to perform the same office for Count John, with the full consent and
privity of Queen Elizabeth. The provinces of Holland and Zealand were
stanch and true, but the inequality of the contest between a few brave
men, upon that handsbreadth of territory, and the powerful Spanish
Empire, seemed to render the issue hopeless.

Moreover, it was now thought expedient to publish the amnesty which had
been so long in preparation, and this time the trap was more liberally
baited. The pardon, which had: passed the seals upon the 8th of March,
was formally issue: by the Grand Commander on the 6th of June. By the
terms of this document the King invited all his erring and repentant
subjects, to return to his arms; and to accept a full forgiveness for
their past offences, upon the sole condition that they should once more
throw themselves upon the bosom of the Mother Church. There were but few
exceptions to the amnesty, a small number of individuals, all mentioned
by name, being alone excluded; but although these terms were ample, the
act was liable to a few stern objections. It was easier now for the
Hollanders to go to their graves than to mass, for the contest, in its
progress, had now entirely assumed the aspect of a religious war. Instead
of a limited number of heretics in a state which, although constitutional
was Catholic, there was now hardly a Papist to be found among the
natives. To accept the pardon then was to concede the victory, and the
Hollanders had not yet discovered that they were conquered. They were
resolved, too, not only to be conquered, but annihilated, before the
Roman Church should be re-established on their soil, to the entire
exclusion of the Reformed worship. They responded with steadfast
enthusiasm to the sentiment expressed by the Prince of Orange, after the
second siege of Leyden had been commenced; "As long as there is a living
man left in the country, we will contend for our liberty and our
religion." The single condition of the amnesty assumed, in a phrase; what
Spain had fruitlessly striven to establish by a hundred battles, and the
Hollanders had not faced their enemy on land and sea for seven years to
succumb to a phrase at last.

Moreover, the pardon came from the wrong direction. The malefactor
gravely extended forgiveness to his victims. Although the Hollanders had
not yet disembarrassed their minds of the supernatural theory of
government, and felt still the reverence of habit for regal divinity,
they naturally considered themselves outraged by the trick now played
before them. The man who had violated all his oaths, trampled upon all
their constitutional liberties, burned and sacked their cities,
confiscated their wealth, hanged, beheaded, burned, and buried alive
their innocent brethren, now came forward, not to implore, but to offer
forgiveness. Not in sackcloth, but in royal robes; not with ashes, but
with a diadem upon his head, did the murderer present himself vicariously
upon the scene of his crimes. It may be supposed that, even in the
sixteenth century, there were many minds which would revolt at such
blasphemy. Furthermore, even had the people of Holland been weak enough
to accept the pardon, it was impossible to believe that the promise would
be fulfilled. It was sufficiently known how much faith was likely to be
kept with heretics, notwithstanding that the act was fortified by a papal
Bull, dated on the 30th of April, by which Gregory XIII. promised
forgiveness to those Netherland sinners who duly repented and sought
absolution for their crimes, even although they had sinned more than
seven times seven.

For a moment the Prince had feared lest the pardon might produce some
effect upon men wearied by interminable suffering, but the event proved
him wrong. It was received with universal and absolute contempt. No man
came forward to take advantage of its conditions, save one brewer in
Utrecht, and the son of a refugee peddler from Leyden. With these
exceptions, the only ones recorded, Holland remained deaf to the royal
voice. The city of Leyden was equally cold to the messages of mercy,
which were especially addressed to its population by Valdez and his
agents. Certain Netherlanders, belonging to the King's party, and
familiarly called "Glippers," despatched from the camp many letters to
their rebellious acquaintances in the city. In these epistles the
citizens of Leyden were urgently and even pathetically exhorted to
submission by their loyal brethren, and were implored "to take pity upon
their poor old fathers, their daughters, and their wives." But the
burghers of Leyden thought that the best pity which they could show to
those poor old fathers, daughters, and wives, was to keep them from the
clutches of the Spanish soldiery; so they made no answer to the Glippers,
save by this single line, which they wrote on a sheet of paper, and
forwarded, like a letter, to Valdez:

     "Fistula dulce canit, volucrem cum decipit auceps."

According to the advice early given by the Prince of Orange, the citizens
had taken an account of their provisions of all kinds, including the live
stock. By the end of June, the city was placed on a strict allowance of
food, all the provisions being purchased by the authorities at an
equitable price. Half a pound of meat and half a pound of bread was
allotted to a full grown man, and to the rest, a due proportion. The city
being strictly invested, no communication, save by carrier pigeons, and
by a few swift and skilful messengers called jumpers, was possible.
Sorties and fierce combats were, however, of daily occurrence, and a
handsome bounty was offered to any man who brought into the city gates
the head of a Spaniard. The reward was paid many times, but the
population was becoming so excited and so apt, that the authorities felt
it dangerous to permit the continuance of these conflicts. Lest the city,
little by little, should lose its few disciplined defenders, it was now
proclaimed, by sound of church bell, that in future no man should leave
the gates.

The Prince had his head-quarters at Delft and at Rotterdam. Between those
two cities, an important fortress, called Polderwaert, secured him in the
control of the alluvial quadrangle, watered on two sides by the Yssel and
the Meuse. On the 29th June, the Spaniards, feeling its value, had made
an unsuccessful effort to carry this fort by storm. They had been beaten
off, with the loss of several hundred men, the Prince remaining in
possession of the position, from which alone he could hope to relieve
Leyden. He still held in his hand the keys with which he could unlock the
ocean gates and let the waters in upon the land, and he had long been
convinced that nothing could save the city but to break the dykes. Leyden
was not upon the sea, but he could send the sea to. Leyden, although an
army fit to encounter the besieging force under Valdez could not be
levied. The battle of Mookerheyde had, for the, present, quite settled
the question, of land relief, but it was possible to besiege the
besiegers, with the waves of the ocean. The Spaniards occupied the coast
from the Hague to Vlaardingen, but the dykes along the Meuse and Yssel
were in possession of the Prince. He determined, that these should be
pierced, while, at the same time, the great sluices at Rotterdam,
Schiedam, and Delftshaven should be opened. The damage to the fields,
villages, and growing crops would be enormous, but he felt that no other
course could rescue Leyden, and with it the whole of Holland from
destruction. His clear expositions and impassioned eloquence at last
overcame all resistance. By the middle of July the estates consented to
his plan, and its execution was immediately undertaken. "Better a drowned
land than a lost land," cried the patriots, with enthusiasm, as they
devoted their fertile fields to desolation. The enterprise for restoring
their territory, for a season, to the waves, from which it had been so
patiently rescued, was conducted with as much regularity as if it had
been a profitable undertaking. A capital was formally subscribed, for
which a certain number of bonds were issued, payable at a long date. In
addition to this preliminary fund, a monthly allowance of forty-five
guldens was voted by the estates, until the work should be completed, and
a large sum was contributed by the ladies of the land, who freely
furnished their plate, jewellery, and costly furniture to the furtherance
of the scheme.

Meantime, Valdez, on the 30th July; issued most urgent and ample offers
of pardon to the citizens, if they would consent to open their gates and
accept the King's authority, but his Overtures were received with silent
contempt, notwithstanding that the population was already approaching the
starvation point. Although not yet fully informed of the active measures
taken by the Prince, yet they still chose to rely upon his energy and
their own fortitude, rather than upon the honied words which had formerly
been heard at the gates of Harlem and of Naarden. On the 3rd of August,
the Prince; accompanied by Paul Buys, chief of the commission appointed
to execute the enterprise, went in person along the Yssel; as far as
Kappelle, and superintended the rupture of the dykes in sixteen places.
The gates at Schiedam and Rotterdam were, opened, and the ocean began to
pour over the land. While waiting for the waters to rise, provisions were
rapidly, collected, according to an edict of the Prince, in all the
principal towns of the neighbourhood, and some two hundred vessels, of
various sizes, had also been got ready at Rotterdam, Delftshaven, and
other ports.

The citizens of Leyden were, however, already becoming impatient, for
their bread was gone, and of its substitute malt cake, they had but
slender provision. On the 12th of August they received a letter from the
Prince, encouraging them to resistance, and assuring them of a speedy
relief, and on the 21st they addressed a despatch to him in reply,
stating that they had now fulfilled their original promise, for they had
held out two months with food, and another month without food. If not
soon assisted, human strength could do no more; their malt cake would
last but four days, and after that was gone, there was nothing left but
starvation. Upon the same day, however, they received a letter, dictated
by the Prince, who now lay in bed at Rotterdam with a violent fever,
assuring them that the dykes were all pierced, and that the water was
rising upon the "Land-Scheiding," the great outer barrier which separated
the city from the sea. He said nothing however of his own illness, which
would have cast a deep shadow over the joy which now broke forth among
the burghers.

The letter was read publicly in the market-place, and to increase the
cheerfulness, burgomaster Van der Werf, knowing the sensibility of his
countrymen to music, ordered the city musicians to perambulate the
streets, playing lively melodies and martial airs. Salvos of cannon were
likewise fired, and the starving city for a brief space put on the aspect
of a holiday, much to the astonishment of the besieging forces, who were
not yet aware of the Prince's efforts. They perceived very soon, however,
as the water everywhere about Leyden had risen to the depth of ten
inches, that they stood in a perilous position. It was no trifling danger
to be thus attacked by the waves of the ocean, which seemed about to obey
with docility the command of William the Silent. Valdez became anxious
and uncomfortable at the strange aspect of affairs, for the besieging
army was now in its turn beleaguered, and by a stronger power than man's.
He consulted with the most experienced of his officers, with the country
people, with the most distinguished among the Glippers, and derived
encouragement from their views concerning the Prince's plan. They
pronounced it utterly futile and hopeless: The Glippers knew the country
well, and ridiculed the desperate project in unmeasured terms.

Even in the city itself, a dull distrust had succeeded to the first vivid
gleam of hope, while the few royalists among the population boldly
taunted their fellow-citizens to their faces with the absurd vision of
relief which they had so fondly welcomed. "Go up to the tower, ye
Beggars," was the frequent and taunting cry, "go up to the tower, and
tell us if ye can see the ocean coming over the dry land to your
relief"--and day after day they did go, up to the ancient tower of
Hengist, with heavy heart and anxious eye, watching, hoping, praying,
fearing, and at last almost despairing of relief by God or man. On the
27th they addressed a desponding letter to the estates, complaining that
the city had been forgotten in, its utmost need, and on the same day a
prompt and warm-hearted reply was received, in which the citizens were
assured that every human effort was to be made for their relief.
"Rather," said the estates, "will we see our whole land and all our
possessions perish in the waves, than forsake thee, Leyden. We know full
well, moreover, that with Leyden, all Holland must perish also." They
excused themselves for not having more frequently written, upon the,
ground that the whole management of the measures for their relief had
been entrusted to the Prince, by whom alone all the details had been
administered, and all the correspondence conducted.

The fever of the Prince had, meanwhile, reached its height. He lay at
Rotterdam, utterly prostrate in body, and with mind agitated nearly to
delirium, by the perpetual and almost unassisted schemes which he was
constructing. Relief, not only for Leyden, but for the whole country, now
apparently sinking into the abyss, was the vision which he pursued as he
tossed upon his restless couch. Never was illness more unseasonable. His
attendants were in despair, for it was necessary that his mind should for
a time be spared the agitation of business. The physicians who attended
him agreed, as to his disorder, only in this, that it was the result of
mental fatigue and melancholy, and could be cured only by removing all
distressing and perplexing subjects from his thoughts, but all the
physicians in the world could not have succeeded in turning his attention
for an instant from the great cause of his country. Leyden lay, as it
were, anxious and despairing at his feet, and it was impossible for him
to close his ears to her cry. Therefore, from his sick bed he continued
to dictate; words of counsel and encouragement to the city; to Admiral
Boisot, commanding, the fleet, minute directions and precautions. Towards
the end of August a vague report had found its way into his sick chamber
that Leyden had fallen, and although he refused to credit the tale, yet
it served to harass his mind, and to heighten fever. Cornelius Van
Mierop, Receiver General of Holland, had occasion to visit him at
Rotterdam, and strange to relate, found the house almost deserted.
Penetrating, unattended, to the Prince's bed-chamber, he found him lying
quite alone. Inquiring what had become, of all his attendants, he was
answered by the Prince, in a very feeble voice, that he had sent them all
away. The Receiver-General seems, from this, to have rather hastily
arrived at the conclusion that the Prince's disorder was the pest, and
that his servants and friends had all deserted him from cowardice.

This was very far from being the case. His private secretary and his
maitre d'hotel watched, day and night, by his couch, and the best
physicians of the city were in constant attendance. By a singular
accident; all had been despatched on different errands, at the express
desire of their master, but there had never been a suspicion that his
disorder was the pest, or pestilential. Nerves of steel, and a frame of
adamant could alone have resisted the constant anxiety and the consuming
fatigue to which he had so long been exposed. His illness had been
aggravated by the, rumor of Leyden's fall, a fiction which Cornelius
Mierop was now enabled flatly to contradict. The Prince began to mend
from that hour. By the end of the first week of September, he wrote along
letter to his brother, assuring him of his convalescence, and expressing,
as usual; a calm confidence in the divine decrees--"God will ordain for
me," said he, "all which is necessary for my good and my salvation. He
will load me with no more afflictions than the fragility of this nature
can sustain."

The preparations for the relief of Leyden, which, notwithstanding his
exertions, had grown slack during his sickness, were now vigorously
resumed. On the 1st of September, Admiral Boisot arrived out of Zealand
with a small number of vessels, and with eight hundred veteran sailors. A
wild and ferocious crew were those eight hundred Zealanders. Scarred,
hacked, and even maimed, in the unceasing conflicts in which their lives
had passed; wearing crescents in their caps, with the inscription,
"Rather Turkish than Popish;" renowned far and wide, as much for their
ferocity as for their nautical skill; the appearance of these wildest of
the "Sea-beggars" was both eccentric and terrific. They were known never
to give nor to take quarter, for they went to mortal combat only, and had
sworn to spare neither noble nor simple, neither king, kaiser, nor pope,
should they fall into their power.

More than two hundred-vessels had been assembled, carrying generally ten
pieces of cannon, with from ten to eighteen oars, and manned with
twenty-five hundred veterans, experienced both on land and water. The
work was now undertaken in earnest. The distance from Leyden to the outer
dyke, over whose ruins the ocean had already been admitted, was nearly
fifteen miles. This reclaimed territory, however, was not maintained
against the sea by these external barriers alone. The flotilla made its
way with ease to the Land-Scheiding, a strong dyke within five miles of
Leyden, but here its progress was arrested. The approach to the city was
surrounded by many strong ramparts, one within the other, by which it was
defended against its ancient enemy, the ocean, precisely like the
circumvallations by means of which it was now assailed by its more recent
enemy, the Spaniard. To enable the fleet, however, to sail over the land;
it was necessary to break through this two fold series of defences.
Between the Land-Scheiding and Leyden were several dykes, which kept out
the water; upon the level, were many villages, together with a chain of
sixty-two forts, which completely occupied the land. All these Villages
and fortresses were held by the veteran, troops of the King; the
besieging force, being about four times as strong as that which was
coming to the rescue.

The Prince had given orders that the Land-Scheiding, which was still
one-and-a-half foot above water, should be taken possession of; at every
hazard. On the night of the 10th and 11th of September this was
accomplished; by surprise; and in a masterly manner. The few Spaniards
who had been stationed upon the dyke were all, despatched or driven off,
and the patriots fortified themselves upon it, without the loss of a man.
As the day dawned the Spaniards saw the fatal error which they had
committed in leaving thus bulwark so feebly defended, and from two
villages which stood close to the dyke, the troops now rushed
inconsiderable force to recover what they had lost. A hot action
succeeded, but the patriots had too securely established themselves. They
completely defeated the enemy, who retired, leaving hundreds of dead on
the field, and the patriots in complete possession of the Land-scheiding.
This first action was sanguinary and desperate. It gave a earnest of what
these people, who came to relieve; their brethren, by sacrificing their,
property and their lives; were determined to effect. It gave a revolting
proof, too, of the intense hatred which nerved their arms. A Zealander;
having struck down a Spaniard on the dyke, knelt on his bleeding enemy,
tore his heart from his bosom; fastened his teeth in it for an instant,
and then threw it to a dog, with the exclamation, "'Tis too bitter." The
Spanish heart was, however, rescued, and kept for years, with the marks
of the soldier's teeth upon it, a sad testimonial of the ferocity
engendered by this war for national existence.

The great dyke having been thus occupied, no time was lost in breaking it
through in several places, a work which was accomplished under the very
eyes of the enemy. The fleet sailed through the gaps, but, after their
passage had been effected in good order, the Admiral found, to his
surprise, that it was not the only rampart to be carried. The Prince had
been informed, by those who claimed to know, the country, that, when once
the Land-scheiding had been passed, the water would flood the country as
far as Leyden, but the "Green-way," another long dyke three-quarters of a
mile farther inward, now rose at least a foot above the water, to oppose
their further progress. Fortunately, by, a second and still more culpable
carelessness, this dyke had been left by the Spaniards in as unprotected
a state as the first had been, Promptly and audaciously Admiral Boisot
took possession of this barrier also, levelled it in many places, and
brought his flotilla, in triumph, over its ruins. Again, however, he was
doomed to disappointment. A large mere, called the Freshwater Lake, was
known to extend itself directly in his path about midway between the
Land-scheiding and the city. To this piece of water, into which he
expected to have instantly floated, his only passage lay through one deep
canal. The sea which had thus far borne him on, now diffusing itself over
a very wide surface, and under the influence of an adverse wind, had
become too shallow for his ships. The canal alone was deep enough, but it
led directly towards a bridge, strongly occupied by the enemy. Hostile
troops, moreover, to the amount of three thousand occupied both sides of
the canal. The bold Boisot, nevertheless, determined to force his
passage, if possible. Selecting a few of his strongest vessels, his
heaviest artillery, and his bravest sailors, he led the van himself, in a
desperate attempt to make his way to the mere. He opened a hot fire upon
the bridge, then converted into a fortress, while his men engaged in
hand-to-hand combat with a succession of skirmishers from the troops
along the canal. After losing a few men, and ascertaining the impregnable
position of the enemy, he was obliged to withdraw, defeated, and almost
despairing.

A week had elapsed since the great dyke had been pierced, and the
flotilla now lay motionless--in shallow water, having accomplished less
than two miles. The wind, too, was easterly, causing the sea rather to
sink than to rise. Everything wore a gloomy aspect, when, fortunately, on
the 18th, the wind shifted to the north-west, and for three days blew a
gale. The waters rose rapidly, and before the second day was closed the
armada was afloat again. Some fugitives from Zoetermeer village now
arrived, and informed the Admiral that, by making a detour to the right,
he could completely circumvent the bridge and the mere. They guided him,
accordingly, to a comparatively low dyke, which led between the villages
of Zoetermeer and Benthuyzen: A strong force of Spaniards was stationed
in each place, but, seized with a panic, instead of sallying to defend
the barrier, they fled inwardly towards Leyden, and halted at the village
of North Aa. It was natural that they should be amazed. Nothing is more
appalling to the imagination than the rising ocean tide, when man feels
himself within its power; and here were the waters, hourly deepening and
closing around them, devouring the earth beneath their feet, while on the
waves rode a flotilla, manned by a determined race; whose courage and
ferocity were known throughout the world. The Spanish soldiers, brave as
they were on land, were not sailors, and in the naval contests which had
taken place between them and the Hollanders had been almost invariably
defeated. It was not surprising, in these amphibious skirmishes, where
discipline was of little avail, and habitual audacity faltered at the
vague dangers which encompassed them, that the foreign troops should lose
their presence of mind.

Three barriers, one within the other, had now been passed, and the
flotilla, advancing with the advancing waves, and driving the enemy
steadily before it, was drawing nearer to the beleaguered city. As one
circle after another was passed, the besieging army found itself
compressed within a constantly contracting field. The "Ark of Delft," an
enormous vessel, with shot-proof bulwarks, and moved by paddle-wheels
turned by a crank, now arrived at Zoetermeer, and was soon followed by
the whole fleet. After a brief delay, sufficient to allow the few
remaining villagers to escape, both Zoetermeer and Benthuyzen, with the
fortifications, were set on fire, and abandoned to their fate. The blaze
lighted up the desolate and watery waste around, and was seen at Leyden,
where it was hailed as the beacon of hope. Without further impediment,
the armada proceeded to North Aa; the enemy retreating from this position
also, and flying to Zoeterwoude, a strongly fortified village but a mile
and three quarters from the city walls. It was now swarming with troops,
for the bulk of the besieging army had gradually been driven into a
narrow circle of forts, within the immediate neighbourhood of Leyden.
Besides Zoeterwoude, the two posts where they were principally
established were Lammen and Leyderdorp, each within three hundred rods of
the town. At Leyderdorp were the head-quarters of Valdez; Colonel Borgia
commanded in the very strong fortress of Lammen.

The fleet was, however, delayed at North Aa by another barrier, called
the "Kirk-way." The waters, too, spreading once more over a wider space,
and diminishing under an east wind, which had again arisen, no longer
permitted their progress, so that very soon the whole armada was stranded
anew. The, waters fell to the depth of nine inches; while the vessels
required eighteen and twenty. Day after day the fleet lay motionless
upon the shallow sea. Orange, rising from his sick bed as soon as he
could stand, now came on board the fleet. His presence diffused universal
joy; his words inspired his desponding army with fresh hope. He rebuked
the impatient spirits who, weary of their compulsory idleness, had shown
symptoms of ill-timed ferocity, and those eight hundred mad Zealanders,
so frantic in their hatred to the foreigners, who had so long profaned
their land, were as docile as children to the Prince. He reconnoitred the
whole ground, and issued orders for the immediate destruction of the
Kirkway, the last important barrier which separated the fleet from
Leyden. Then, after a long conference with Admiral Boisot, he returned to
Delft.

Meantime, the besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been
in a state of uncertainty for many days; being aware that the fleet had
set forth for their relief, but knowing full well the thousand obstacles
which it, had to surmount. They had guessed its progress by the
illumination from, the blazing villages; they had heard its salvos of
artillery, on its arrival at North Aa; but since then, all had been dark
and mournful again, hope and fear, in sickening alternation, distracting
every breast. They knew that the wind was unfavorable, and at the dawn of
each day every eye was turned wistfully to the vanes of the, steeples. So
long as the easterly breeze prevailed, they felt, as they anxiously stood
on towers and housetops; that they must look in vain for the welcome
ocean. Yet, while thus patiently waiting, they were literally starving;
for even the misery endured at Harlem had not reached that depth and
intensity of agony to which Leyden was now reduced. Bread, malt-cake,
horseflesh, had entirely disappeared; dogs, cats, rats, and other vermin,
were esteemed luxuries: A small number of cows, kept as long as possible,
for their milk, still remained; but a few were killed from day to day;
and distributed in minute proportions, hardly sufficient to support life
among the famishing population. Starving wretches swarmed daily around
the shambles where these cattle were slaughtered, contending for any
morsel which might fall, and lapping eagerly the blood as it ran along
the pavement; while the hides; chopped and boiled, were greedily
devoured. Women and children, all day long, were seen searching gutters
and dunghills for morsels of food, which they disputed fiercely with the
famishing dogs. The green leaves were stripped from the trees, every
living herb was converted into human food, but these expedients could not
avert starvation. The daily mortality was frightful infants starved to
death on the maternal breasts, which famine had parched and withered;
mothers dropped dead in the streets, with their dead children in their
arms. In many a house the watchmen, in their rounds, found a whole family
of corpses, father, mother, and children, side by side, for a disorder
called the plague, naturally engendered of hardship and famine, now came,
as if in kindness, to abridge the agony of the people. The pestilence
stalked at noonday through the city, and the doomed inhabitants fell like
grass beneath its scythe. From six thousand to eight thousand human
beings sank before this scourge alone, yet the people resolutely held
out--women and men mutually encouraging each other to resist the entrance
of their foreign foe--an evil more horrible than pest or famine.

The missives from Valdez, who saw more vividly than the besieged could
do, the uncertainty of his own position, now poured daily into the city,
the enemy becoming more prodigal of his vows, as he felt that the ocean
might yet save the victims from his grasp. The inhabitants, in their
ignorance, had gradually abandoned their hopes of relief, but they
spurned the summons to surrender. Leyden was sublime in its despair. A
few murmurs were, however, occasionally heard at the steadfastness of the
magistrates, and a dead body was placed at the door of the burgomaster,
as a silent witness against his inflexibility. A party of the more
faint-hearted even assailed the heroic Adrian Van der Werf with threats
and reproaches as he passed through the streets. A crowd had gathered
around him, as he reached a triangular place in the centre of the town,
into which many of the principal streets emptied themselves, and upon one
side of which stood the church of Saint Pancras, with its high brick
tower surmounted by two pointed turrets, and with two ancient lime trees
at its entrance. There stood the burgomaster, a tall, haggard, imposing
figure, with dark visage, and a tranquil but commanding eye. He waved his
broadleaved felt hat for silence, and then exclaimed, in language which
has been almost literally preserved, What would ye, my friends? Why do ye
murmur that we do not break our vows and surrender the city to the
Spaniards? a fate more horrible than the agony which she now endures. I
tell you I have made an oath to hold the city, and may God give me
strength to keep my oath! I can die but once; whether by your hands, the
enemy's, or by the hand of God. My own fate is indifferent to me, not so
that of the city intrusted to my care. I know that we shall starve if not
soon relieved; but starvation is preferable to the dishonored death which
is the only alternative. Your menaces move me not; my life is at your
disposal; here is my sword, plunge it into my breast, and divide my flesh
among you. Take my body to appease your hunger, but expect no surrender,
so long as I remain alive.

The words of the stout burgomaster inspired a new courage in the hearts
of those who heard him, and a shout of applause and defiance arose from
the famishing but enthusiastic crowd. They left the place, after
exchanging new vows of fidelity with their magistrate, and again ascended
tower and battlement to watch for the coming fleet. From the ramparts
they hurled renewed defiance at the enemy. "Ye call us rat-eaters and
dog-eaters," they cried, "and it is true. So long, then, as ye hear dog
bark or cat mew within the walls, ye may know that the city holds out.
And when all has perished but ourselves, be sure that we will each devour
our left arms, retaining our right to defend our women, our liberty, and
our religion, against the foreign tyrant. Should God, in his wrath, doom
us to destruction, and deny us all relief, even then will we maintain
ourselves for ever against your entrance. When the last hour has come,
with our own hands we will set fire to the city and perish, men, women,
and children together in the flames, rather than suffer our homes to be
polluted and our liberties to be crushed." Such words of defiance,
thundered daily from the battlements, sufficiently informed Valdez as to
his chance of conquering the city, either by force or fraud, but at the
same time, he felt comparatively relieved by the inactivity of Boisot's
fleet, which still lay stranded at North Aa. "As well," shouted the
Spaniards, derisively, to the citizens, "as well can the Prince of Orange
pluck the stars from the sky as bring the ocean to the walls of Leyden
for your relief."

On the 28th of September, a dove flew into the city, bringing a letter
from Admiral Boisot. In this despatch, the position of the fleet at North
Aa was described in encouraging terms, and the inhabitants were assured
that, in a very few days at furthest, the long-expected relief would
enter their gates. The letter was read publicly upon the market-place,
and the bells were rung for joy. Nevertheless, on the morrow, the vanes
pointed to the east, the waters, so far from rising, continued to sink,
and Admiral Boisot was almost in despair. He wrote to the Prince, that if
the spring-tide, now to be expected, should not, together with a strong
and favorable wind, come immediately to their relief, it would be in pain
to attempt anything further, and that the expedition would, of necessity,
be abandoned. The tempest came to their relief. A violent equinoctial
gale, on the night of the 1st and 2nd of October, came storming from the
north-west, shifting after a few hours full eight points, and then
blowing still more violently from the south-west. The waters of the North
Sea were piled in vast masses upon the southern coast of Holland, and
then dashed furiously landward, the ocean rising over the earth, and
sweeping with unrestrained power across the ruined dykes.

In the course of twenty-four hours, the fleet at North Aa, instead of
nine inches, had more than two feet of water. No time was lost. The
Kirk-way, which had been broken through according to the Prince's
instructions, was now completely overflowed, and the fleet sailed at
midnight, in the midst of the storm and darkness. A few sentinel vessels
of the enemy challenged them as they steadily rowed towards Zoeterwoude.
The answer was a flash from Boisot's cannon; lighting up the black waste
of waters. There was a fierce naval midnight battle; a strange spectacle
among the branches of those quiet orchards, and with the chimney stacks
of half-submerged farmhouses rising around the contending vessels. The
neighboring village of Zoeterwoude shook with the discharges of the
Zealanders' cannon, and the Spaniards assembled in that fortress knew
that the rebel Admiral was at last, afloat and on his course. The enemy's
vessels were soon sunk, their crews hurled into the waves. On went the
fleet, sweeping over the broad waters which lay between Zoeterwoude and
Zwieten. As they approached some shallows, which led into the great mere,
the Zealanders dashed into the sea, and with sheer strength shouldered
every vessel through. Two obstacles lay still in their path--the forts of
Zoeterwoude and Lammen, distant from the city five hundred and two
hundred and fifty yards respectively. Strong redoubts, both well supplied
with troops and artillery, they were likely to give a rough reception to
the light flotilla, but the panic; which had hitherto driven their foes
before the advancing patriots; had reached Zoeterwoude. Hardly was the
fleet in sight when the Spaniards in the early morning, poured out from
the fortress, and fled precipitately to the left, along a road which led
in a westerly direction towards the Hague. Their narrow path was rapidly
vanishing in the waves, and hundreds sank beneath the constantly
deepening and treacherous flood. The wild Zealanders, too, sprang from
their vessels upon the crumbling dyke and drove their retreating foes
into the sea. They hurled their harpoons at them, with an accuracy
acquired in many a polar chase; they plunged into the waves in the keen
pursuit, attacking them with boat-hook and dagger. The numbers who thus
fell beneath these corsairs, who neither gave nor took quarter, were
never counted, but probably not less than a thousand perished. The rest
effected their escape to the Hague.

The first fortress was thus seized, dismantled, set on fire, and passed,
and a few strokes of the oars brought the whole fleet close to Lammen.
This last obstacle rose formidable and frowning directly across their
path. Swarming as it was with soldiers, and bristling with artillery, it
seemed to defy the armada either to carry it by storm or to pass under
its guns into the city. It appeared that the enterprise was, after all,
to founder within sight of the long expecting and expected haven. Boisot
anchored his fleet within a respectful distance, and spent what remained
of the day in carefully reconnoitring the fort, which seemed only too
strong. In conjunction with Leyderdorp, the head-quarters of Valdez, a
mile and a half distant on the right, and within a mile of the city, it
seemed so insuperable an impediment that Boisot wrote in despondent tone
to the Prince of Orange. He announced his intention of carrying the fort,
if it were possible, on the following morning, but if obliged to retreat,
he observed, with something like despair, that there would be nothing for
it but to wait for another gale of wind. If the waters should rise
sufficiently to enable them to make a wide detour, it might be possible,
if, in the meantime, Leyden did not starve or surrender, to enter its
gates from the opposite side.

Meantime, the citizens had grown wild with expectation. A dove had been
despatched by Boisot, informing them of his precise position, and a
number of citizens accompanied the burgomaster, at nightfall, toward the
tower of Hengist. Yonder, cried the magistrate, stretching out his hand
towards Lammen, "yonder, behind that fort, are bread and meat, and
brethren in thousands. Shall all this be destroyed by the Spanish guns,
or shall we rush to the rescue of our friends?"--"We will tear the
fortress to fragments with our teeth and nails," was the reply, "before
the relief, so long expected, shall be wrested from us." It was resolved
that a sortie, in conjunction with the operations of Boisot, should be
made against Lammen with the earliest dawn. Night descended upon the
scene, a pitch dark night, full of anxiety to the Spaniards, to the
armada, to Leyden. Strange sights and sounds occurred at different
moments to bewilder the anxious sentinels. A long procession of lights
issuing from the fort was seen to flit across the black face of the
waters, in the dead of night, and the whole of the city wall, between the
Cow-gate and the Tower of Burgundy, fell with a loud crash. The
horror-struck citizens thought that the Spaniards were upon them at last;
the Spaniards imagined the noise to indicate, a desperate sortie of the
citizens. Everything was vague and mysterious.

Day dawned, at length, after the feverish, night, and, the Admiral
prepared for the assault. Within the fortress reigned a death-like
stillness, which inspired a sickening suspicion. Had the city, indeed,
been carried in the night; had the massacre already commenced; had all
this labor and audacity been expended in vain? Suddenly a man was
descried, wading breast-high through the water from Lammen towards the
fleet, while at the same time, one solitary boy was seen to wave his cap
from the summit of the fort. After a moment of doubt, the happy mystery
was solved. The Spaniards had fled, panic struck, during the darkness.
Their position would still have enabled them, with firmness, to frustrate
the enterprise of the patriots, but the hand of God, which had sent the
ocean and the tempest to the deliverance of Leyden, had struck her
enemies with terror likewise. The lights which had been seen moving
during the night were the lanterns of the retreating Spaniards, and the
boy who was now waving his triumphant signal from the battlements had
alone witnessed the spectacle. So confident was he in the conclusion to
which it led him, that he had volunteered at daybreak to go thither all
alone. The magistrates, fearing a trap, hesitated for a moment to believe
the truth, which soon, however, became quite evident. Valdez, flying
himself from Leyderdorp, had ordered Colonel Borgia to retire with all
his troops from Lammen. Thus, the Spaniards had retreated at the very
moment that an extraordinary accident had laid bare a whole side of the
city for their entrance. The noise of the wall, as it fell, only inspired
them with fresh alarm for they believed that the citizens had sallied
forth in the darkness, to aid the advancing flood in the work of
destruction. All obstacles being now removed, the fleet of Boisot swept
by Lammen, and entered the city on the morning of the 3rd of October.
Leyden was relieved.

The quays were lined with the famishing population, as the fleet rowed
through the canals, every human being who could stand, coming forth to
greet the preservers of the city. Bread was thrown from every vessel
among the crowd. The poor creatures who, for two months had tasted no
wholesome human food, and who had literally been living within the jaws
of death, snatched eagerly the blessed gift, at last too liberally
bestowed. Many choked themselves to death, in the greediness with which
they devoured their bread; others became ill with the effects of plenty
thus suddenly succeeding starvation; but these were isolated cases, a
repetition of which was prevented. The Admiral, stepping ashore, was
welcomed by the magistracy, and a solemn procession was immediately
formed. Magistrates and citizens, wild Zealanders, emaciated burgher
guards, sailors, soldiers, women, children, nearly every living person
within the walls, all repaired without delay to the great church, stout
Admiral Boisot leading the way. The starving and heroic city, which had
been so firm in its resistance to an earthly king, now bent itself in
humble gratitude before the King of kings. After prayers, the whole vast
congregation joined in the thanksgiving hymn. Thousands of voices raised
the-song, but few were able to carry it to its conclusion, for the
universal emotion, deepened by the music, became too full for utterance.
The hymn was abruptly suspended, while the multitude wept like children.
This scene of honest pathos terminated; the necessary measures for
distributing the food and for relieving the sick were taken by the
magistracy. A note dispatched to the Prince of Orange, was received by
him at two o'clock, as he sat in church at Delft. It was of a somewhat
different purport from that of the letter which he had received early in
the same day from Boisot; the letter in which the admiral had, informed
him that the success of the enterprise depended; after-all, upon the
desperate assault upon a nearly impregnable fort. The joy of the Prince
may be easily imagined, and so soon as the sermon was concluded; he
handed the letter just received to the minister, to be read to the
congregation. Thus, all participated in his joy, and united with him in
thanksgiving.

The next day, notwithstanding the urgent entreaties of his friends, who
were anxious lest his life should be endangered by breathing, in his
scarcely convalescent state; the air of the city where so many thousands
had been dying of the pestilence, the Prince repaired to Leyden. He, at
least, had never doubted his own or his country's fortitude. They could,
therefore, most sincerely congratulate each other, now that the victory
had been achieved. "If we are doomed to perish," he had said a little
before the commencement of the siege, "in the name of God, be it so! At
any rate, we shall have the honor to have done what no nation ever, did
before us, that of having defended and maintained ourselves, unaided, in
so small a country, against the tremendous efforts of such powerful
enemies. So long as the poor inhabitants here, though deserted by all the
world, hold firm, it will still cost the Spaniards the half of Spain, in
money and in men, before they can make an end of us."

The termination of the terrible siege of Leyden was a convincing proof to
the Spaniards that they had not yet made an end of the Hollanders. It
furnished, also, a sufficient presumption that until they had made an end
of them, even unto the last Hollander, there would never be an end of the
struggle in which they were engaged. It was a slender consolation to the
Governor-General, that his troops had been vanquished, not by the enemy,
but by the ocean. An enemy whom the ocean obeyed with such docility might
well be deemed invincible by man. In the head-quarters of Valdez, at
Leyderdorp, many plans of Leyden and the neighbourhood were found lying
in confusion about the room. Upon the table was a hurried farewell of
that General to the scenes of his, discomfiture, written in a Latin
worthy of Juan Vargas: "Vale civitas, valete castelli parvi, qui relicti
estis propter aquam et non per vim inimicorum!" In his precipitate
retreat before the advancing rebels, the Commander had but just found
time for this elegant effusion, and, for his parting instructions to
Colonel Borgia that the fortress of Lammen was to be forthwith abandoned.
These having been reduced to writing, Valdez had fled so speedily as to
give rise to much censure and more scandal. He was even accused of having
been bribed by the Hollanders to desert his post, a tale which many
repeated, and a few believed. On the 4th of October, the day following
that on which the relief of the city was effected, the wind shifted to
the north-east, and again blew a tempest. It was as if the waters, having
now done their work, had been rolled back to the ocean by an Omnipotent
hand, for in the course of a few days, the land was bare again, and the
work of reconstructing the dykes commenced.

After a brief interval of repose, Leyden had regained its former
position. The Prince, with advice of the estates, had granted the city,
as a reward for its sufferings, a ten days' annual fair, without tolls or
taxes, and as a further manifestation of the gratitude entertained by the
people of Holland and Zealand for the heroism of the citizens, it was
resolved that an academy or university should be forthwith established
within their walls. The University of Leyden, afterwards so illustrious,
was thus founded in the very darkest period of the country's struggle.

The university was endowed with a handsome revenue, principally derived
from the ancient abbey of Egmont, and was provided with a number of
professors, selected for their genius, learning, and piety among all the
most distinguished scholars of the Netherlands. The document by which the
institution was founded was certainly a masterpiece of ponderous irony,
for as the fiction of the King's sovereignty was still maintained, Philip
was gravely made to establish the university, as a reward to Leyden for
rebellion to himself. "Considering," said this wonderful charter, "that
during these present wearisome wars within our provinces of Holland and
Zealand, all good instruction of youth in the sciences and liberal arts
is likely to come into entire oblivion. . . . . Considering the
differences of religion--considering that we are inclined to gratify our
city of Leyden, with its burghers, on account of the heavy burthens
sustained by them during this war with such faithfulness--we have
resolved, after ripely deliberating with our dear cousin, William, Prince
of Orange, stadholder, to erect a free public school and university,"
etc., etc., etc. So ran the document establishing this famous academy,
all needful regulations for the government and police of the institution
being entrusted by Philip to his "above-mentioned dear cousin of Orange."

The university having been founded, endowed, and supplied with its,
teachers, it was solemnly consecrated in the following winter, and it is
agreeable to contemplate this scene of harmless pedantry, interposed, as
it was, between the acts of the longest and dreariest tragedy of modern
time. On the 5th of February, 1575, the city of Leyden, so lately the
victim of famine and pestilence, had crowned itself with flowers. At
seven in the morning, after a solemn religious celebration in the Church
of St. Peter, a grand procession was formed. It was preceded by a
military escort, consisting of the burgher militia and the five companies
of infantry stationed in the city. Then came, drawn by four horses, a
splendid triumphal chariot, on which sat a female figure, arrayed in
snow-white garments. This was the Holy Gospel. She was attended by the
Four Evangelists, who walked on foot at each side of her chariot. Next
followed Justice, with sword and scales, mounted; blindfold, upon a
unicorn, while those learned doctors, Julian, Papinian, Ulpian, and
Tribonian, rode on either side, attended by two lackeys and four men at
arms. After these came Medicine, on horseback, holding in one hand a
treatise of the healing art, in the other a garland of drugs. The
curative goddess rode between the four eminent physicians, Hippocrates,
Galen, Dioscorides, and Theophrastus, and was attended by two footmen and
four pike-bearers. Last of the allegorical personages came Minerva,
prancing in complete steel, with lance in rest, and bearing her Medusa
shield. Aristotle and Plato, Cicero and Virgil, all on horseback, with
attendants in antique armor at their back, surrounded the daughter of
Jupiter, while the city band, discoursing eloquent music from hautboy and
viol, came upon the heels of the allegory. Then followed the mace-bearers
and other officials, escorting the orator of the day, the newly-appointed
professors and doctors, the magistrates and dignitaries, and the body of
the citizens generally completing the procession.

Marshalled in this order, through triumphal arches, and over a pavement
strewed with flowers, the procession moved slowly up and down the
different streets, and along the quiet canals of the city. As it reached
the Nuns' Bridge, a barge of triumph, gorgeously decorated, came floating
slowly down the sluggish Rhine. Upon its deck, under a canopy enwreathed
with laurels and oranges, and adorned with tapestry, sat Apollo, attended
by the Nine Muses, all in classical costume; at the helm stood Neptune
with his trident. The Muses executed some beautiful concerted pieces;
Apollo twanged his lute. Having reached the landing-place, this
deputation from Parnassus stepped on shore, and stood awaiting the
arrival of the procession. Each professor, as he advanced, was gravely
embraced and kissed by Apollo and all the Nine Muses in turn, who greeted
their arrival besides with the recitation of an elegant Latin poem. This
classical ceremony terminated, the whole procession marched together to
the cloister of Saint Barbara, the place prepared for the new university,
where they listened to an eloquent oration by the Rev. Caspar Kolhas,
after which they partook of a magnificent banquet. With this memorable
feast, in the place where famine had so lately reigned, the ceremonies
were concluded.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, THE DUTCH REPUBLIC 1566-74, Complete

     1566, the last year of peace
     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Age when toleration was a vice
     An age when to think was a crime
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Business of an officer to fight, of a general to conquer
     Conde and Coligny
     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Cruelties exercised upon monks and papists
     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     For faithful service, evil recompense
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war
     Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     Science of reigning was the science of lying
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slender stock of platitudes
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     The time for reasoning had passed
     The calf is fat and must be killed
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass
     The tragedy of Don Carlos
     The illness was a convenient one
     Three hundred fighting women
     Time and myself are two
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     We are beginning to be vexed
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, VOLUME III.

By John Lothrop Motley

1855

1574-1576  [CHAPTER III.]

   Latter days of the Blood Council--Informal and insincere
   negotiations for peace--Characteristics of the negotiators and of
   their diplomatic correspondence--Dr. Junius--Secret conferences
   between Dr. Leoninus and Orange--Steadfastness of the Prince--
   Changes in the internal government of the northern provinces--
   Generosity and increasing power of the municipalities--Incipient
   jealousy in regard to Orange rebuked--His offer of resignation
   refused by the Estates--His elevation to almost unlimited power--
   Renewed mediation of Maximilian--Views and positions of the parties
   --Advice of Orange--Opening of negotiations at Breda--Propositions
   and counter-propositions--Adroitness of the plenipotentiaries on
   both sides--Insincere diplomacy and unsatisfactory results--Union of
   Holland and Zealand under the Prince of Orange--Act defining his
   powers--Charlotte de Bourbon--Character, fortunes, and fate of Anna
   of Saxony--Marriage of Orange with Mademoiselle de Bourbon--
   Indignation thereby excited--Horrible tortures inflicted upon
   Papists by Sonoy in North Holland--Oudewater and Schoonoven taken by
   Hierges--The isles of Zealand--A submarine expedition projected--
   Details of the adventure--Its entire success--Death of Chiappin
   Vitelli--Deliberations in Holland and Zealand concerning the
   renunciation of Philip's authority--Declaration at Delft--Doubts as
   to which of the Great Powers the sovereignty should be offered--
   Secret international relations--Mission to England--Unsatisfactory
   negotiations with Elizabeth--Position of the Grand Commander--Siege
   of Zieriekzee--Generosity of Count John--Desperate project of the
   Prince--Death and character of Requesens.

The Council of Troubles, or, as it will be for ever denominated in
history, the Council of Blood, still existed, although the Grand
Commander, upon his arrival in the Netherlands, had advised his sovereign
to consent to the immediate abolition of so odious an institution. Philip
accepting the advice of his governor and his cabinet, had accordingly
authorized him by a letter of the 10th of March, 1574, to take that step
if he continued to believe it advisable.

Requesens had made use of this permission to extort money from the
obedient portion of the provinces. An assembly of deputies was held at
Brussels on the 7th of June, 1574, and there was a tedious interchange of
protocols, reports, and remonstrances. The estates, not satisfied with
the extinction of a tribunal which had at last worn itself out by its own
violence, and had become inactive through lack of victims, insisted on
greater concessions. They demanded the departure of the Spanish troops,
the establishment of a council of Netherlanders in Spain for Netherland
affairs, the restoration to offices in the provinces of natives and
natives only; for these drawers of documents thought it possible, at that
epoch, to recover by pedantry what their brethren of Holland and Zealand
were maintaining with the sword. It was not the moment for historical
disquisition, citations from Solomon, nor chopping of logic; yet with
such lucubrations were reams of paper filled, and days and weeks
occupied. The result was what might have been expected. The Grand
Commander obtained but little money; the estates obtained none of their
demands; and the Blood Council remained, as it were, suspended in
mid-air. It continued to transact business at intervals during the
administration of Requesens, and at last, after nine years of existence,
was destroyed by the violent imprisonment of the Council of State at
Brussels. This event, however, belongs to a subsequent page of this
history.

Noircarmes had argued, from the tenor of Saint Aldegonde's letters, that
the Prince would be ready to accept his pardon upon almost any terms.
Noircarmes was now dead, but Saint Aldegonde still remained in prison,
very anxious for his release, and as well disposed as ever to render
services in any secret negotiation. It will be recollected that, at the
capitulation of Middelburg, it had been distinctly stipulated by the
Prince that Colonel Mondragon should at once effect the liberation of
Saint Aldegonde, with certain other prisoners, or himself return into
confinement. He had done neither the one nor the other. The patriots
still languished in prison, some of them being subjected to exceedingly
harsh treatment, but Mondragon, although repeatedly summoned as an
officer and a gentleman, by the Prince, to return to captivity, had been
forbidden by the Grand Commander to redeem his pledge.

Saint Aldegonde was now released from prison upon parole, and despatched
on a secret mission to the Prince and estates. As before, he was
instructed that two points were to be left untouched--the authority of
the King and the question of religion. Nothing could be more preposterous
than to commence a negotiation from which the two important points were
thus carefully eliminated. The King's authority and the question of
religion covered the whole ground upon which the Spaniards and the
Hollanders had been battling for six years, and were destined to battle
for three-quarters of a century longer. Yet, although other affairs might
be discussed, those two points were to be reserved for the more
conclusive arbitration of gunpowder. The result of negotiations upon such
a basis was easily to be foreseen. Breath, time, and paper were profusely
wasted and nothing gained. The Prince assured his friend, as he had done
secret agents previously sent to him, that he was himself ready to leave
the land, if by so doing he could confer upon it the blessing of peace;
but that all hopes of reaching a reasonable conclusion from the premises
established was futile. The envoy treated also with the estates, and
received from them in return an elaborate report, which was addressed
immediately to the King. The style of this paper was bold and blunt, its
substance bitter and indigestible. It informed Philip what he had heard
often enough before, that the Spaniards must go and the exiles come back,
the inquisition be abolished and the ancient privileges restored, the
Roman Catholic religion renounce its supremacy, and the Reformed religion
receive permission to exist unmolested, before he could call himself
master of that little hook of sand in the North Sea. With this paper,
which was entrusted to Saint Aldegonde, by him to be delivered to the
Grand Commander, who was, after reading it, to forward it to its
destination, the negotiator returned to his prison. Thence he did not
emerge again till the course of events released him, upon the 15th of
October, 1574.

This report was far from agreeable to the Governor, and it became the
object of a fresh correspondence between his confidential agent,
Champagny, and the learned and astute Junius de Jonge, representative of
the Prince of Orange and Governor of Yeere. The communication of De Jonge
consisted of a brief note and a long discourse. The note was sharp and
stinging, the discourse elaborate and somewhat pedantic. Unnecessarily
historical and unmercifully extended, it was yet bold, bitter, and
eloquent: The presence of foreigners was proved to have been, from the
beginning of Philip's reign, the curse of the country. Doctor Sonnius,
with his batch of bishops, had sowed the seed of the first disorder. A
prince, ruling in the Netherlands, had no right to turn a deaf ear to the
petitions of his subjects. If he did so, the Hollanders would tell him,
as the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian, that the potentate who had
no time to attend to the interests of his subjects, had not leisure
enough to be a sovereign. While Holland refused to bow its neck to the
Inquisition, the King of Spain dreaded the thunder and lightning of the
Pope. The Hollanders would, with pleasure, emancipate Philip from his own
thraldom, but it was absurd that he, who was himself a slave to another
potentate, should affect unlimited control over a free people. It was
Philip's councillors, not the Hollanders, who were his real enemies; for
it was they who held him in the subjection by which his power was
neutralized and his crown degraded.

It may be supposed that many long pages, conceived in this spirit and
expressed with great vigor, would hardly smooth the way for the more
official negotiations which were soon to take place, yet Doctor Junius
fairly and faithfully represented the sentiment of his nation.

Towards the close of the year, Doctor Elbertus Leoninus, professor of
Louvain, together with Hugo Bonte, ex-pensionary of Middelburg, was
commissioned by the Grand Commander to treat secretly with the Prince. He
was, however, not found very tractable when the commissioners opened the
subject of his own pardon and reconciliation with the King, and he
absolutely refused to treat at all except with the cooperation of the
estates. He, moreover, objected to the use of the word "pardon" on the
ground that he had never done anything requiring his Majesty's
forgiveness. If adversity should visit him, he cared but little for it;
he had lived long enough, he said, and should die with some glory,
regretting the disorders and oppressions which had taken place, but
conscious that it had not been in his power to remedy them. When reminded
by the commissioners of the King's power, he replied that he knew his
Majesty to be very mighty, but that there was a King more powerful
still--even God the Creator, who, as he humbly hoped, was upon his Side.

At a subsequent interview with Hugo Bonte, the Prince declared it almost
impossible for himself or the estates to hold any formal communication
with the Spanish government, as such communications were not safe. No
trust could be reposed either in safe conducts or hostages. Faith had
been too often broken by the administration. The promise made by the
Duchess of Parma to the nobles, and afterwards violated, the recent
treachery of Mondragon, the return of three exchanged prisoners from the
Hague, who died next day of poison administered before their release, the
frequent attempts upon his own life--all such constantly recurring crimes
made it doubtful, in the opinion of the Prince, whether it would be
possible to find commissioners to treat with his Majesty's government.
All would fear assassination, afterwards to be disavowed by the King and
pardoned by the Pope. After much conversation in this vein, the Prince
gave the Spanish agents warning that he might eventually be obliged to
seek the protection of some foreign power for the provinces. In this
connection he made use of the memorable metaphor, so often repeated
afterwards, that "the country was a beautiful damsel, who certainly did
not lack suitors able and willing to accept her and defend her against
the world." As to the matter of religion, he said he was willing to leave
it to be settled by the estates-general; but doubted whether anything
short of entire liberty of worship would ever satisfy the people.

Subsequently there were held other conferences, between the Prince and
Doctor Leoninus, with a similar result, all attempts proving fruitless to
induce him to abandon his position upon the subject of religion, or to
accept a pardon on any terms save the departure of the foreign troops,
the assembling of the estates-general, and entire freedom of religion.
Even if he were willing to concede the religious question himself, he
observed that it was idle to hope either from the estates or people a
hand's-breadth of concession upon that point. Leoninus was subsequently
admitted to a secret conferenc with the estates of Holland, where his
representations were firmly met by the same arguments as those already
used by the Prince.

These proceedings on the part of Saint Aldegonde, Champagny, Junius, and
Elbertus Leoninus extended through the whole summer and autumn of 1574,
and were not terminated until January of the following year.

Changes fast becoming necessary in the internal government of the
provinces, were also undertaken during this year. Hitherto the Prince had
exercised his power under the convenient fiction of the King's authority,
systematically conducting the rebellion in the name of his Majesty, and
as his Majesty's stadholder. By this process an immense power was lodged
in his hands; nothing less, indeed, than the supreme executive and
legislative functions of the land; while since the revolt had become, as
it were, perpetual, ample but anomalous functions had been additionally
thrust upon him by the estates and by the general voice of the people.

The two provinces, even while deprived of Harlem and Amsterdam, now
raised two hundred and ten thousand florins monthly, whereas Alva had
never been able to extract from Holland more than two hundred and
seventy-one thousand florins yearly. They paid all rather than pay a
tenth. In consequence of this liberality, the cities insensibly acquired
a greater influence in the government. The coming contest between the
centrifugal aristocratic principle, represented by these corporations,
and the central popular authority of the stadholder, was already
foreshadowed, but at first the estates were in perfect harmony with the
Prince. They even urged upon him more power than he desired, and declined
functions which he wished them to exercise. On the 7th of September,
1573, it had been formally proposed by the general council to confer a
regular and unlimited dictatorship upon him, but in the course of a year
from that time, the cities had begun to feel their increasing importance.
Moreover, while growing more ambitious, they became less liberal.

The Prince, dissatisfied with the conduct of the cities, brought the
whole subject before an assembly of the estates of Holland on the 20th
October, 1574. He stated the inconveniences produced by the anomalous
condition of the government. He complained that the common people had
often fallen into the error that the money raised for public purposes had
been levied for his benefit only, and that they had, therefore, been less
willing to contribute to the taxes. As the only remedy for these evils,
he tendered his resignation of all the powers with which he was clothed,
so that the estates might then take the government, which they could
exercise without conflict or control. For himself, he had never desired
power, except as a means of being useful to his country, and he did not
offer his resignation from unwillingness to stand by the cause, but from
a hearty desire to save it from disputes among its friends. He was ready,
now as ever, to shed the last drop of his blood to maintain the freedom
of the land.

This straightforward language produced an instantaneous effect. The
estates knew that they were dealing with a man whose life was governed by
lofty principles, and they felt that they were in danger of losing him
through their own selfishness and low ambition. They were embarrassed,
for they did not like to, relinquish the authority which they had begun
to relish, nor to accept the resignation of a man who was indispensable.
They felt that to give up William of Orange at that time was to accept
the Spanish yoke for ever. At an assembly held at Delft on the 12th of
November, 1574, they accordingly requested him "to continue in his
blessed government, with the council established near him," and for this
end, they formally offered to him, "under the name of Governor or Regent,"
absolute power, authority, and sovereign command. In particular, they
conferred on him the entire control of all the ships of war, hitherto
reserved to the different cities, together with the right to dispose of
all prizes and all monies raised for the support of fleets. They gave him
also unlimited power over the domains; they agreed that all magistracies,
militia bands, guilds, and communities, should make solemn oath to
contribute taxes and to receive garrisons, exactly as the Prince, with
his council, should ordain; but they made it a condition that the estates
should be convened and consulted upon requests, impositions, and upon all
changes in the governing body. It was also stipulated that the judges of
the supreme court and of the exchequer, with other high officers, should
be appointed by and with the consent of the estates.

The Prince expressed himself willing to accept the government upon these
terms. He, however, demanded an allowance of forty-five thousand florins
monthly for the army expenses and other current outlays. Here, however,
the estates refused their consent. In a mercantile spirit, unworthy the
occasion and the man with whom they were dealing, they endeavoured to
chaffer where they should have been only too willing to comply, and they
attempted to reduce the reasonable demand of the Prince to thirty
thousand florins. The Prince, who had poured out his own wealth so
lavishly in the cause--who, together with his brothers, particularly the
generous John of Nassau, had contributed all which they could raise by
mortgage, sales of jewellery and furniture, and by extensive loans,
subjecting themselves to constant embarrassment, and almost to penury,
felt himself outraged by the paltriness of this conduct. He expressed his
indignation, and denounced the niggardliness of the estates in the
strongest language, and declared that he would rather leave the country
for ever, with the maintenance of his own honor, than accept the
government upon such disgraceful terms. The estates, disturbed by his
vehemence, and struck with its justice, instantly, and without further
deliberation, consented to his demand. They granted the forty-five
thousand florins monthly, and the Prince assumed the government, thus
remodelled.

During the autumn and early winter of the year 1574, the Emperor
Maximilian had been actively exerting himself to bring about a
pacification of the Netherlands. He was certainly sincere, for an
excellent reason. "The Emperor maintains," said Saint Goard, French
ambassador at Madrid, "that if peace is not made with the Beggars, the
Empire will depart from the house of Austria, and that such is the
determination of the electors." On the other hand, if Philip were not
weary of the war, at any rate his means for carrying it on were
diminishing daily. Requesens could raise no money in the Netherlands; his
secretary wrote to Spain, that the exchequer was at its last gasp, and
the cabinet of Madrid was at its wits' end, and almost incapable of
raising ways and means. The peace party was obtaining the upper hand; the
fierce policy of Alva regarded with increasing disfavor. "The people
here," wrote Saint Goard from Madrid, "are completely desperate, whatever
pains they take to put a good face on the matter. They desire most
earnestly to treat, without losing their character." It seemed,
nevertheless, impossible for Philip to bend his neck. The hope of wearing
the Imperial crown had alone made his bigotry feasible. To less potent
influences it was adamant; and even now, with an impoverished exchequer,
and, after seven years of unsuccessful warfare, his purpose was not less
rigid than at first. "The Hollanders demand liberty of conscience," said
Saint Goard, "to which the King will never consent, or I am much
mistaken."

As for Orange, he was sincerely in favor of peace--but not a dishonorable
peace, in which should be renounced all the objects of the war. He was
far from sanguine on the subject, for he read the signs of the times and
the character of Philip too accurately to believe much more in the
success of the present than in that of the past efforts of Maximilian. He
was pleased that his brother-in-law, Count Schwartzburg, had been
selected as the Emperor's agent in the affair, but expressed his doubts
whether much good would come of the proposed negotiations. Remembering
the many traps which in times past had been set by Philip and his father,
he feared that the present transaction might likewise prove a snare. "We
have not forgotten the words I 'ewig' and 'einig' in the treaty with
Landgrave Philip," he wrote; "at the same time we beg to assure his
Imperial Majesty that we desire nothing more than a good peace, tending
to the glory of God, the service of the King of Spain, and the prosperity
of his subjects."

This was his language to his brother, in a letter which was meant to be
shown to the Emperor. In another, written on the same day, he explained
himself with more clearness, and stated his distrust with more energy.
There were no papists left, except a few ecclesiastics, he said; so much
had the number of the Reformers been augmented, through the singular
grace of God. It was out of the question to suppose, therefore, that a
measure, dooming all who were not Catholics to exile, could be
entertained. None would change their religion, and none would consent,
voluntarily, to abandon for ever their homes, friends, and property.
"Such a peace," he said, "would be poor and pitiable indeed."

These, then, were the sentiments of the party now about to negotiate. The
mediator was anxious for a settlement, because the interests of the
Imperial house required it. The King of Spain was desirous of peace, but
was unwilling to concede a hair. The Prince of Orange was equally anxious
to terminate the war, but was determined not to abandon the objects for
which it had been undertaken. A favorable result, therefore, seemed
hardly possible. A whole people claimed the liberty to stay at home and
practice the Protestant religion, while their King asserted the right to
banish them for ever, or to burn them if they remained. The parties
seemed too far apart to be brought together by the most elastic
compromise. The Prince addressed an earnest appeal to the assembly of
Holland, then in session at Dort, reminding them that, although peace was
desirable, it might be more dangerous than war, and entreating them,
therefore, to conclude no treaty which should be inconsistent with the
privileges of the country and their duty to God.

It was now resolved that all the votes of the assembly should consist of
five: one for the nobles and large cities of Holland, one for the estates
of Zealand, one for the small cities of Holland, one for the cities
Bommel and Buren, and the fifth for William of Orange. The Prince thus
effectually held in his hands three votes: his own, that of the small
cities, which through his means only had been admitted to the assembly,
and thirdly, that of Buren, the capital of his son's earldom. He thus
exercised a controlling influence over the coming deliberations. The ten
commissioners, who were appointed by the estates for the peace
negotiations, were all his friends. Among them were Saint Aldegonde, Paul
Buis, Charles Boisot, and Doctor Junius. The plenipotentiaries of the
Spanish government were Leoninus, the Seigneur de Rassinghem, Cornelius
Suis, and Arnold Sasbout.

The proceedings were opened at Breda upon the 3rd of March, 1575. The
royal commissioners took the initiative, requesting to be informed what
complaints the estates had to make, and offering to remove, if possible,
all grievances which they might be suffering. The states' commissioners
replied that they desired nothing, in the first place, but an answer to
the petition which they had already presented to the King. This was the
paper placed in the hands of Saint Aldegonde during the informal
negotiations of the preceding year. An answer was accordingly given, but
couched in such vague and general language as to be quite without
meaning. The estates then demanded a categorical reply to the two
principal demands in the petition, namely, the departure of the foreign
troops and the assembling of the states-general. They, were asked what
they understood by foreigners and by the assembly of states-general. They
replied that by foreigners they meant those who were not natives, and
particularly the Spaniards. By the estates-general they meant the same
body before which, in 1555, Charles had resigned his sovereignty to
Philip. The royal commissioners made an extremely unsatisfactory answer,
concluding with a request that all cities, fortresses, and castles, then
in the power of the estates, together with all their artillery and
vessels of war, should be delivered to the King. The Roman Catholic
worship, it was also distinctly stated, was to be re-established at once
exclusively throughout the Netherlands; those of the Reformed religion
receiving permission, for that time only, to convert their property into
cash within a certain time, and to depart the country.

Orange and the estates made answer on the 21st March. It could not be
called hard, they said, to require the withdrawal of the Spanish troops,
for this had been granted in 1559, for less imperious reasons. The
estates had, indeed, themselves made use of foreigners, but those
foreigners had never been allowed to participate in the government. With
regard to the assembly of the states-general, that body had always
enjoyed the right of advising with the Sovereign on the condition of the
country, and on general measures of government. Now it was only thought
necessary to summon them, in order that they might give their consent to
the King's "requests." Touching the delivery of cities and citadels,
artillery and ships, the proposition was, pronounced to resemble that
made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable--that the dogs should be
delivered up, as a preliminary to a lasting peace. It was unreasonable to
request the Hollanders to abandon their religion or their country. The
reproach of heresy was unjust, for they still held to the Catholic
Apostolic Church, wishing only to purify, it of its abuses. Moreover, it
was certainly more cruel to expel a whole population than to dismiss
three or four thousand Spaniards who for seven long years had been eating
their fill at the expense of the provinces. It would be impossible for
the exiles to dispose of their property, for all would, by the proposed
measure, be sellers, while there would be no purchasers.

The royal plenipotentiaries, making answer to this communication upon the
1st of April, signified a willingness that the Spanish soldiers should
depart, if the states would consent to disband their own foreign troops.
They were likewise in favor of assembling the states-general, but could
not permit any change in the religion of the country. His Majesty had
sworn to maintain the true worship at the moment of assuming the
sovereignty. The dissenters might, however, be allowed a period of six
months in which to leave the land, and eight or ten years for the sale of
their property. After the heretics had all departed, his Majesty did not
doubt that trade and manufactures would flourish again, along with the
old religion. As for the Spanish inquisition, there was not, and there
never had been, any intention of establishing it in the Netherlands.

No doubt there was something specious in this paper. It appeared to
contain considerable concessions. The Prince and estates had claimed the
departure of the Spaniards. It was now promised that they should depart.
They had demanded the assembling of the states-general. It was now
promised that they should assemble. They had denounced the inquisition.
It was now averred that the Spanish inquisition was not to be
established.

Nevertheless, the commissioners of the Prince were not deceived by such
artifices. There was no parity between the cases of the Spanish soldiery
and of the troops in service of the estates. To assemble the
estates-general was idle, if they were to be forbidden the settlement of
the great question at issue. With regard to the Spanish inquisition, it
mattered little whether the slaughter-house were called Spanish or
Flemish, or simply the Blood-Council. It was, however, necessary for the
states' commissioners to consider their reply very carefully; for the
royal plenipotentiaries had placed themselves upon specious grounds. It
was not enough to feel that the King's government was paltering with
them; it was likewise necessary for the states' agents to impress this
fact upon the people.

There was a pause in the deliberations. Meantime, Count Schwartzburg,
reluctantly accepting the conviction that the religious question was an
insurmountable obstacle to a peace, left the provinces for Germany. The
last propositions of the government plenipotentiaries had been discussed
in the councils of the various cities, so that the reply of the Prince,
and estates was delayed until the 1st of June. They admitted, in this
communication, that the offer to restore ancient privileges had an
agreeable sound; but regretted that if the whole population were to be
banished, there would be but few to derive advantage from the
restoration. If the King would put an end to religious persecution, he
would find as much loyalty in the provinces as his forefathers had found.
It was out of the question, they said, for the states to disarm and to
deliver up their strong places, before the Spanish soldiery had retired,
and before peace had been established. It was their wish to leave the
question of religion, together with all other disputed matters, to the
decision of the assembly. Were it possible, in the meantime, to devise
any effectual method for restraining hostilities, it would gladly be
embraced.

On the 8th of July, the royal commissioners inquired what guarantee the
states would be willing to give, that the decision of the general
assembly, whatever it might be, should be obeyed. The demand was answered
by another, in which the King's agents were questioned as to their own
guarantees. Hereupon it was stated that his Majesty would give his word
and sign manual, together with the word and signature of the Emperor into
the bargain. In exchange for these promises, the Prince and estates were
expected to give their own oaths and seals, together with a number of
hostages. Over and above this, they were requested to deliver up the
cities of Brill and Enkhuizen, Flushing and Arnemuyde. The disparity of
such guarantees was ridiculous. The royal word, even when strengthened by
the imperial promise, and confirmed by the autographs of Philip and
Maximilian, was not so solid a security, in the opinion of Netherlanders,
as to outweigh four cities in Holland and Zealand, with all their
population and wealth. To give collateral pledges and hostages upon one
side, while the King offered none, was to assign a superiority to the
royal word, over that of the Prince and the estates which there was no
disposition to recognize. Moreover, it was very cogently urged that to
give up the cities was to give as security for the contract, some of the
principal contracting parties.

This closed the negotiations. The provincial plenipotentiaries took their
leave by a paper dated 13th July, 1575, which recapitulated the main
incidents of the conference. They expressed their deep regret that his
Majesty should insist so firmly on the banishment of the Reformers, for
it was unjust to reserve the provinces to the sole use of a small number
of Catholics. They lamented that the proposition which had been made, to
refer the religious question to the estates, had neither been loyally
accepted, nor candidly refused. They inferred, therefore, that the object
of the royal government had, been to amuse the states, while tine was
thus gained for reducing the country into a slavery more abject than any
which had yet existed. On the other hand, the royal commissioners as
solemnly averred that the whole responsibility for the failure of the
negotiations belonged to the, estates.

It was the general opinion in the insurgent provinces that the government
had been insincere from the beginning, and had neither expected nor
desired to conclude a peace. It is probable, however, that Philip was
sincere; so far as it could be called sincerity to be willing to conclude
a peace, if the provinces would abandon the main objects of the war. With
his impoverished exchequer, and ruin threatening his whole empire, if
this mortal combat should be continued many years longer, he could have
no motive for further bloodshed, provided all heretics should consent to
abandon the country. As usual, however, he left his agents in the dark as
to his real intentions. Even Requesens was as much in doubt as to the
King's secret purposes as Margaret of Parma had ever been in former
times.

   [Compare the remarks of Groen v. Prinst., Archives, etc., v 259-
   262; Bor, viii. 606, 615; Meteren, v. 100; Hoofd, g. 410.--Count
   John of Nassau was distrustful and disdainful from the beginning.
   Against his brother's loyalty and the straightforward intentions of
   the estates, he felt that the whole force of the Macchiavelli system
   of policy would be brought to bear with great effect. He felt that
   the object of the King's party was to temporize, to confuse, and to
   deceive. He did not believe them capable of conceding the real
   object in dispute, but he feared lest they might obscure the
   judgment of the plain and well meaning people with whom they had to
   deal. Alluding to the constant attempts made to poison himself and
   his brother, he likens the pretended negotiations to Venetian drugs,
   by which eyesight, hearing, feeling, and intellect were destroyed.
   Under this pernicious influence, the luckless people would not
   perceive the fire burning around them, but would shrink at a
   rustling leaf. Not comprehending then the tendency of their own
   acts, they would "lay bare their own backs to the rod, and bring
   faggots for their own funeral pile."-Archives, etc., v. 131-137.]

Moreover, the Grand Commander and the government had, after all, made a
great mistake in their diplomacy. The estates of Brabant, although
strongly desirous that the Spanish troops should be withdrawn, were
equally stanch for the maintenance of the Catholic religion, and many of
the southern provinces entertained the same sentiments. Had the Governor,
therefore, taken the states' commissioners at their word, and left the
decision of the religious question to the general assembly, he might
perhaps have found the vote in his favor. In this case, it is certain
that the Prince of Orange and his party would have been placed in a very
awkward position.

The internal government of the insurgent provinces had remained upon the
footing which we have seen established in the autumn of 1574, but in the
course of this summer (1575), however, the foundation was laid for the
union of Holland and Zealand, under the authority of Orange. The selfish
principle of municipal aristocracy, which had tended to keep asunder
these various groups of cities, was now repressed by the energy of the
Prince and the strong determination of the people.

In April, 1575, certain articles of union between Holland and Zealand
were proposed, and six commissioners appointed to draw up an ordinance
for the government of the two provinces. This ordinance was accepted in
general assembly of both. It was in twenty articles. It declared that,
during the war the Prince as sovereign, should have absolute power in all
matters concerning the defence of the country. He was to appoint military
officers, high and low, establish and remove garrisons, punish offenders
against the laws of war. He was to regulate the expenditure of all money
voted by the estates. He was to maintain the law, in the King's name, as
Count of Holland, and to appoint all judicial officers upon nominations
by the estates. He was, at the usual times, to appoint and renew the
magistracies of the cities, according to their constitutions. He was to
protect the exercise of the Evangelical Reformed religion, and to
suppress the exercise of the Roman religion, without permitting, however,
that search should be made into the creed of any person. A deliberative
and executive council, by which the jealousy of the corporations had
intended to hamper his government, did not come into more than nominal
existence.

The articles of union having been agreed upon, the Prince, desiring an
unfettered expression of the national will, wished the ordinance to be
laid before the people in their primary assemblies. The estates, however,
were opposed to this democratic proceeding. They represented that it had
been customary to consult; after the city magistracies, only the captains
of companies and the deans of guilds on matters of government. The
Prince, yielding the point, the captains of companies and deans of guilds
accordingly alone united with the aristocratic boards in ratifying the
instrument by which his authority over the two united provinces was
established. On the 4th of June this first union was solemnized.

Upon the 11th of July, the Prince formally accepted the government. He,
however, made an essential change in a very important clause of the
ordinance. In place of the words, the "Roman religion," he insisted that
the words, "religion at variance with the Gospel," should be substituted
in the article by which he was enjoined to prohibit the exercise of such
religion. This alteration rebuked the bigotry which had already grown out
of the successful resistance to bigotry, and left the door open for a
general religious toleration.

Early in this year the Prince had despatched Saint Aldegonde on a private
mission to the Elector Palatine. During some of his visits to that
potentate he had seen at Heidelberg the Princess Charlotte of Bourbon.
That lady was daughter of the Due de Montpensier, the most ardent of the
Catholic Princes of France, and the one who at the conferences of Bayonne
had been most indignant at the Queen Dowager's hesitation to unite
heartily with the, schemes of Alva and Philip for the extermination of
the Huguenots. His daughter, a woman of beauty, intelligence, and virtue,
forced before the canonical age to take the religious vows, had been
placed in the convent of Joliarrs, of which she had become Abbess. Always
secretly inclined to the Reformed religion, she had fled secretly from
her cloister, in the year of horrors 1572, and had found refuge at the
court of the Elector Palatine, after which step her father refused to
receive her letters, to contribute a farthing to her support, or even to
acknowledge her claims upon him by a single line or message of affection.

Under these circumstances the outcast princess, who had arrived at the
years of maturity, might be considered her own mistress, and she was
neither morally nor legally bound, when her hand was sought in marriage
by the great champion of the Reformation, to ask the consent of a parent
who loathed her religion and denied her existence. The legality of the
divorce from Anne of Saxony had been settled by a full expression of the
ecclesiastical authority which she most respected;

   [Acte de, cinq Ministres du St. Evangile par lequel ils declarent le
   mariage du Prince d'Orange etre legitime.--Archives, etc., v. 216-
   226.]

the facts upon which the divorce had been founded having been proved
beyond peradventure.

Nothing, in truth, could well be more unfortunate in its results than the
famous Saxon marriage, the arrangements for which had occasioned so much
pondering to Philip, and so much diplomatic correspondence on the part of
high personages in Germany, the Netherlands, and Spain. Certainly, it was
of but little consequence to what church the unhappy Princess belonged,
and they must be lightly versed in history or in human nature who can
imagine these nuptials to have exercised any effect upon the religious or
political sentiments of Orange. The Princess was of a stormy,
ill-regulated nature; almost a lunatic from the beginning. The dislike
which succeeded to her fantastic fondness for the Prince, as well as her
general eccentricity, had soon become the talk of all the court at
Brussels. She would pass week after week without emerging from her
chamber, keeping the shutters closed and candles burning, day and night.
She quarrelled violently, with Countess Egmont for precedence, so that
the ludicrous contentions of the two ladies in antechambers and doorways
were the theme and the amusement of society. Her insolence, not only in
private but in public, towards her husband became intolerable: "I could
not do otherwise than bear it with sadness and patience," said the
Prince, with great magnanimity, "hoping that with age would come
improvement." Nevertheless, upon one occasion, at a supper party, she had
used such language in the presence of Count Horn and many other nobles,
"that all wondered that he could endure the abusive terms which she
applied to him."

When the clouds gathered about him, when he had become an exile and a
wanderer, her reproaches and her violence increased. The sacrifice of
their wealth, the mortgages and sales which he effected of his estates,
plate, jewels, and furniture, to raise money for the struggling country,
excited her bitter resentment. She separated herself from him by degrees,
and at last abandoned him altogether. Her temper became violent to
ferocity. She beat her servants with her hands and with clubs; she
threatened the lives of herself, of her attendants, of Count John of
Nassau, with knives and daggers, and indulged in habitual profanity and
blasphemy, uttering frightful curses upon all around. Her original
tendency to intemperance had so much increased, that she was often unable
to stand on her feet. A bottle of wine, holding more than a quart, in the
morning, and another in the evening, together with a pound of sugar, was
her usual allowance. She addressed letters to Alva complaining that her
husband had impoverished himself "in his good-for-nothing Beggar war,"
and begging the Duke to furnish her with a little ready money and with
the means of arriving at the possession of her dower.

An illicit connexion with a certain John Rubens, an exiled magistrate of
Antwerp, and father of the celebrated painter, completed the list of her
delinquencies, and justified the marriage of the Prince with Charlotte de
Bourbon. It was therefore determined by the Elector of Saxony and the
Landgrave William to remove her from the custody of the Nassaus. This
took place with infinite difficulty, at the close of the year 1575.
Already, in 1572; Augustus had proposed to the Landgrave that she should
be kept in solitary confinement, and that a minister should preach to her
daily through the grated aperture by which her, food was to be admitted.
The Landgrave remonstrated at so inhuman a proposition, which was,
however, carried into effect. The wretched Princess, now completely a
lunatic, was imprisoned in the electoral palace, in a chamber where the
windows were walled up and a small grating let into the upper part of the
door. Through this wicket came her food, as well as the words of the holy
man appointed to preach daily for her edification.

Two years long, she endured this terrible punishment, and died mad, on
the 18th of December, 1577. On the following day, she was buried in the
electoral tomb at Meissen; a pompous procession of "school children,
clergy, magistrates, nobility, and citizens" conducting her to that rest
of which she could no longer be deprived by the cruelty of man nor her
own violent temperament.

   [It can certainly be considered no violation of the sanctity of
   archives to make these slender allusions to a tale, the main
   features of which have already been published, not only by MM. Groan
   v. Prinsterer and Bakhuyzen, in Holland, but by the Saxon Professor
   Bottiger, in Germany. It is impossible to understand the character
   and career of Orange, and his relations with Germany, without a
   complete view of the Saxon marriage. The extracts from the
   "geomantic letters" of Elector Augustus, however, given in Bottiger
   (Hist. Taschenb. 1836, p. 169-173), with their furious attacks upon
   the Prince and upon Charlotte of Bourbon, seem to us too obscene to
   be admitted, even in a note to these pages, and in a foreign
   language.]

So far, therefore, as the character of Mademoiselle de Bourbon and the
legitimacy of her future offspring were concerned, she received ample
guarantees. For the rest, the Prince, in a simple letter, informed her
that he was already past his prime, having reached his forty-second year,
and that his fortune was encumbered not only with settlements for his,
children by previous marriages, but by debts contracted in the cause of
his oppressed country. A convention of doctors and bishops of France;
summoned by the Duc de Montpensier, afterwards confirmed the opinion that
the conventual vows of the Princess Charlotte had been conformable
neither to the laws of France nor to the canons of the Trent Council. She
was conducted to Brill by Saint Aldegonde, where she was received by her
bridegroom, to whom she was united on the 12th of June. The wedding
festival was held at Dort with much revelry and holiday making, "but
without dancing."

In this connexion, no doubt the Prince consulted his inclination only.
Eminently domestic in his habits, he required the relief of companionship
at home to the exhausting affairs which made up his life abroad. For
years he had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals,
with man or woman; it was natural, therefore, that he should contract
this marriage. It was equally natural that he should make many enemies by
so impolitic a match. The Elector Palatine, who was in place of guardian
to the bride, decidedly disapproved, although he was suspected of
favoring the alliance. The Landgrave of Hesse for a time was furious; the
Elector of Saxony absolutely delirious with rage. The Diet of the Empire
was to be held within a few weeks at Frankfort, where it was very certain
that the outraged and influential Elector would make his appearance,
overflowing with anger, and determined to revenge upon the cause of the
Netherland Reformation the injury which he had personally received. Even
the wise, considerate, affectionate brother, John of Nassau, considered
the marriage an act of madness. He did what he could, by argument and
entreaty, to dissuade the Prince from its completion; although he
afterwards voluntarily confessed that the Princess Charlotte had been
deeply calumniated, and was an inestimable treasure to his brother. The
French government made use of the circumstance to justify itself in a
still further alienation from the cause of the Prince than it had
hitherto manifested, but this was rather pretence than reality.

It was not in the nature of things, however, that the Saxon and Hessian
indignation could be easily allayed. The Landgrave was extremely violent.
"Truly, I cannot imagine," he wrote to the Elector of Saxony, "quo
consilio that wiseacre of an Aldegonde, and whosoever else has been
aiding and abetting, have undertaken this affair. Nam si pietatem
respicias, it is to be feared that, considering she is a Frenchwoman, a
nun, and moreover a fugitive nun, about whose chastity there has been
considerable question, the Prince has got out of the frying-pan into the
fire. Si formam it is not to be supposed that it was her beauty which
charmed him, since, without doubt, he must be rather frightened than
delighted, when he looks upon her. Si spem prolis, the Prince has
certainly only too many heirs already, and ought to wish that he had
neither wife nor children. Si amicitiam, it is not to be supposed, while
her father expresses himself in such threatening language with regard to
her, that there will be much cordiality of friendship on his part. Let
them look to it, then, lest it fare with them no better than with the
Admiral, at his Paris wedding; for those gentlemen can hardly forgive
such injuries, sine mercurio et arsenico sublimato."

The Elector of Saxony was frantic with choler, and almost ludicrous in
the vehemence of its expression. Count John was unceasing in his
exhortations to his brother to respect the sensitiveness of these
important personages, and to remember how much good and how much evil it
was in their power to compass, with regard to himself and to the great
cause of the Protestant religion. He reminded him, too, that the divorce
had not been, and would not be considered impregnable as to form, and
that much discomfort and detriment was likely to grow out of the whole
proceeding, for himself and his family. The Prince, however, was
immovable in his resolution, and from the whole tone of his
correspondence and deportment it was obvious that his marriage was one
rather of inclination than of policy. "I can assure you, my brother," he
wrote to Count John, "that my character has always tended to this--to
care neither for words nor menaces in any matter where I can act with a
clear conscience, and without doing injury to my neighbour. Truly, if I
had paid regard to the threats of princes, I should never have embarked
in so many dangerous affairs, contrary to the will of the King, my
master, in times past, and even to the advice of many of my relatives and
friends."

The evil consequences which had been foreseen were not slow to manifest
themselves. There was much discussion of the Prince's marriage at the
Diet of Frankfort, and there was even a proposition, formally to declare
the Calvinists excluded in Germany from the benefits of the Peace of
Passau. The Archduke Rudolph was soon afterwards elected King of the
Romans and of Bohemia, although hitherto, according to the policy of the
Prince of Orange, and in the expectation of benefit to the cause of the
Reformation in Germany and the Netherlands, there has been a strong
disposition to hold out hopes to Henry the Third, and to excite the fears
of Maximilian.

While these important affairs, public and private, had been occurring in
the south of Holland and in Germany, a very nefarious transaction had
disgraced the cause of the patriot party in the northern quarter.
Diedrich Sonoy, governor of that portion of Holland, a man of great
bravery but of extreme ferocity of character, had discovered an extensive
conspiracy among certain of the inhabitants, in aid of an approaching
Spanish invasion. Bands of land-loupers had been employed, according to
the intimation which he had received or affected to have received, to set
fire to villages and towns in every direction, to set up beacons, and to
conduct a series of signals by which the expeditions about to be
organized were to be furthered in their objects. The Governor, determined
to show that the Duke of Alva could not be more prompt nor more terrible
than himself, improvised, of his own authority, a tribunal in imitation
of the infamous Blood-Council. Fortunately for the character of the
country, Sonoy was not a Hollander, nor was the jurisdiction of this
newly established court allowed to extend beyond very narrow limits.
Eight vagabonds were, however, arrested and doomed to tortures the most
horrible, in order to extort from them confessions implicating persons of
higher position in the land than themselves. Seven, after a few turns of
the pulley and the screw, confessed all which they were expected to
confess, and accused all whom they were requested to accuse. The eighth
was firmer, and refused to testify to the guilt of certain respectable
householders, whose names he had, perhaps, never heard, and against whom
there was no shadow of evidence. He was, however, reduced by three hours
and a half of sharp torture to confess, entirely according to their
orders, so that accusations and evidence were thus obtained against
certain influential gentlemen of the province, whose only crime was a
secret adherence to the Catholic Faith.

The eight wretches who had been induced by promises of unconditional
pardon upon one hand, and by savage torture on the other, to bear this
false witness, were condemned to be burned alive, and on their way to the
stake, they all retracted the statements which had only been extorted
from them by the rack. Nevertheless, the individuals who had been thus
designated, were arrested. Charged with plotting a general conflagration
of the villages and farmhouses, in conjunction with an invasion by
Hierges and other Papist generals, they indignantly protested their
innocence; but two of them, a certain Kopp Corneliszoon, and his son,
Nanning Koppezoon, were selected to undergo the most cruel torture which
had yet been practised in the Netherlands. Sonoy, to his eternal shame,
was disposed to prove that human ingenuity to inflict human misery had
not been exhausted in the chambers of the Blood Council, for it was to be
shown that Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
in this diabolical science. Kopp, a man advanced in years, was tortured
during a whole day. On the following morning he was again brought to the
rack, but the old man was too weak to endure all the agony which his
tormentors had provided for him. Hardly had he been placed upon the bed
of torture than he calmly expired, to the great indignation of the
tribunal. "The Devil has broken his neck and carried him off to hell,"
cried they ferociously. "Nevertheless, that shall not prevent him from
being hung and quartered." This decree of impotent vengeance was
accordingly executed. The son of Kopp, however, Nanning Koppezoon, was a
man in the full vigor of his years. He bore with perfect fortitude a
series of incredible tortures, after which, with his body singed from
head to heel, and his feet almost entirely flayed, he was left for six
weeks to crawl about his dungeon on his knees. He was then brought back
to the torture-room, and again stretched upon the rack, while a large
earthen vessel, made for the purpose, was placed, inverted, upon his
naked body. A number of rats were introduced under this cover, and hot
coals were heaped upon the vessel, till the rats, rendered furious by the
heat, gnawed into the very bowels of the victim, in their agony to
escape.

   [Bor (viii. 628) conscientiously furnishes diagrams of the
   machinery by aid of which this devilish cruelty was inflicted. The
   rats were sent by the Governor himself.--Vide Letter of the
   Commissioners to Sonoy, apud Bor, viii. 640, 641. The whole letter
   is a wonderful monument of barbarity. The incredible tortures to
   which the poor creatures had been subjected are detailed in a
   business-like manner, as though the transactions were quite regular
   and laudable, The Commissioners conclude with pious wishes for the
   Governor's welfare: "Noble, wise, virtuous, and very discreet sir,"
   they say, "we have wished to apprise you of the foregoing, and we
   now pray that God Almighty may spare you in a happy, healthy and
   long-continued government"--It will be seen, however, that the wise,
   virtuous, and very discreet Governor, who thus caused his fellow-
   citizens bowels to be gnawed by rats, was not allowed to remain much
   longer in his "happy and healthy government"]

The holes thus torn in his bleeding flesh were filled with red-hot coals.
He was afterwards subjected to other tortures too foul to relate; nor was
it till he had endured all this agony, with a fortitude which seemed
supernatural, that he was at last discovered to be human. Scorched;
bitten, dislocated in every joint, sleepless, starving, perishing with
thirst, he was at last crushed into a false confession, by a promise of
absolute forgiveness. He admitted everything which was brought to his
charge, confessing a catalogue of contemplated burnings and beacon
firings of which he had never dreamed, and avowing himself in league with
other desperate Papists, still more dangerous than himself.

Notwithstanding the promises of pardon, Nanning was then condemned to
death. The sentence ordained that his heart should be torn from his
living bosom, and thrown in his face, after which his head was to be
taken off and exposed on the church steeple of his native village. His
body was then to be cut in four, and a quarter fastened upon different
towers of the city of Alkmaar, for it was that city, recently so famous
for its heroic resistance to the Spanish army, which was now sullied by
all this cold-blooded atrocity. When led to execution, the victim
recanted indignantly the confessions forced from him by weakness of body,
and exonerated the persons whom he had falsely accused. A certain
clergyman, named Jurian Epeszoon, endeavored by loud praying to drown his
voice, that the people might not rise with indignation, and the dying
prisoner with his last breath solemnly summoned this unworthy pastor of
Christ Jo meet him within three days before the judgment-seat of God. It
is a remarkable and authentic fact, that the clergyman thus summoned,
went home pensively from the place of execution, sickened immediately and
died upon the appointed day.

Notwithstanding this solemn recantation, the, persons accused were
arrested, and in their turn subjected to torture, but the affair now
reached the ears of Orange. His peremptory orders, with the universal
excitement produced in the neighbourhood, at last checked the course of
the outrage, and the accused persons were remanded to prison, where they
remained till liberated by the Pacification of Ghent. After their release
they commenced legal proceedings against Sonoy, with a view of
establishing their own innocence, and of bringing the inhuman functionary
to justice. The process languished, however, and was finally abandoned,
for the powerful Governor had rendered such eminent service in the cause
of liberty, that it was thought unwise to push him to extremity. It is no
impeachment upon the character of the Prince that these horrible crimes
were not prevented. It was impossible for him to be omnipresent. Neither
is it just to consider the tortures and death thus inflicted upon
innocent men an indelible stain upon the cause of liberty. They were the
crimes of an individual who had been useful, but who, like the Count De
la Marck, had now contaminated his hand with the blood of the guiltless.
The new tribunal never took root, and was abolished as soon as its
initiatory horrors were known.

On the 19th of July, Oudewater, entirely unprepared for such an event,
was besieged by Hierges, but the garrison and the population, although
weak, were brave. The town resisted eighteen days, and on the 7th of
August was carried by assault, after which the usual horrors were fully
practised, after which the garrison was put to the sword, and the
townspeople fared little better. Men, women, and children were murdered
in cold blood, or obliged to purchase their lives by heavy ransoms, while
matrons and maids were sold by auction to the soldiers at two or three
dollars each. Almost every house in the city was burned to the ground,
and these horrible but very customary scenes having been enacted, the
army of Hierges took its way to Schoonhoven. That city, not defending
itself, secured tolerable terms of capitulation, and surrendered on the
24th of August.

The Grand Commander had not yet given up the hope of naval assistance
from Spain, notwithstanding the abrupt termination to the last expedition
which had been organized. It was, however, necessary that a foothold
should be recovered upon the seaboard, before a descent from without
could be met with proper co-operation from the land forces withal; and he
was most anxious, therefore, to effect the reconquest of some portion of
Zealand. The island of Tholen was still Spanish, and had been so since
the memorable expedition of Mondragon to South Beveland. From this
interior portion of the archipelago the Governor now determined to
attempt an expedition against the outer and more important territory. The
three principal islands were Tholen; Duiveland, and Sehouwen. Tholen was
the first which detached itself from the continent. Neat, and separated
from it by a bay two leagues in width, was Duiveland, or the Isle of
Doves. Beyond, and parted by a narrower frith, was Schouwen, fronting
directly upon the ocean, fortified by its strong capital city;
Zieriekzee, and containing other villages of inferior consequence.

Requesens had been long revolving in his mind the means of possessing
himself of this important, island. He had caused to be constructed, a
numerous armada of boats and light vessels of various dimensions, and he
now came to Tholew to organize the expedition. His prospects were at
first not flattering, for the gulfs and estuaries swarmed with Zealand
vessels, manned by crews celebrated for their skill and audacity.
Traitors, however, from Zealand itself now came forward to teach the
Spanish Commander how to strike at the heart of their own country. These
refugees explained to Requesens that a narrow flat extended under the sea
from Philipsland, a small and uninhabited islet situate close to Tholen,
as far as the shore of Duiveland. Upon this submerged tongue of land the
water, during ebb-tide, was sufficiently shallow to be waded, and it
would therefore be possible for a determined band, under cover of the
night, to make the perilous passage. Once arrived at Duiveland, they
could more easily cross the intervening creek to Schouwen, which was not
so deep and only half as wide, so that a force thus, sent through these
dangerous shallows, might take possession of Duiveland and lay siege to
Zierickzee, in the very teeth of the Zealand fleet, which would be unable
to sail near enough to intercept their passage.

The Commander determined that the enterprise should be attempted. It was
not a novelty, because Mondragon, as we have seen, had already most
brilliantly conducted a very similar expedition. The present was,
however, a much more daring scheme. The other exploit, although
sufficiently hazardous, and entirely, successful, had been a victory
gained over the sea alone. It had been a surprise, and had been effected
without any opposition from human enemies. Here, however, they were to
deal, not only with the ocean and darkness, but with a watchful and
determined foe. The Zealanders were aware that the enterprise was in
contemplation, and their vessels lay about the contiguous waters in
considerable force. Nevertheless, the determination of the Grand
Commander was hailed with enthusiasm by his troops. Having satisfied
himself by personal experiment that the enterprise was possible, and that
therefore his brave soldiers could accomplish it, he decided that the
glory of the achievement should be fairly shared, as before, among the
different nations which served the King.

After completing his preparations, Requesens came to Tholen, at which
rendezvous were assembled three thousand infantry, partly Spaniards,
partly Germans, partly Walloons. Besides these, a picked corps of two
hundred sappers and miners was to accompany the expedition, in order that
no time might be lost in fortifying themselves as soon as they had seized
possession of Schouwen. Four hundred mounted troopers were, moreover,
stationed in the town of Tholen, while the little fleet, which had been
prepared at Antwerp; lay near that city ready to co-operate with the land
force as soon as they, should complete their enterprise. The Grand
Commander now divided the whole force into two parts: One half was to
remain in the boats, under the command of Mondragon; the other half,
accompanied by the two hundred pioneers, were to wade through the sea
from Philipsland to Duiveland and Schouwen. Each soldier of this
detachment was provided with a pair of shoes, two pounds of powder, and
rations for three days in a canvas bag suspended at his neck. The leader
of this expedition was Don Osorio d'Ulloa, an officer distinguished for
his experience and bravery.

On the night selected for the enterprise, that of the 27th September, the
moon was a day old in its fourth quarter, and rose a little before
twelve. It was low water at between four and five in the morning. The
Grand Commander, at the appointed hour of midnight, crossed to
Philipsland, and stood on the shore to watch the setting forth of the
little army. He addressed a short harangue to them, in which he
skillfully struck the chords of Spanish chivalry, and the national love
of glory, and was answered with loud and enthusiastic cheers. Don Osorio
d'Ulloa then stripped and plunged into the sea immediately after the
guides. He was followed by the Spaniards, after whom came the Germans and
then the Walloons. The two hundred sappers and miners came next, and Don
Gabriel Peralta, with his Spanish company; brought up the rear. It was a
wild night. Incessant lightning, alternately revealed and obscured the
progress of the midnight march through the black waters, as the anxious
Commander watched the expedition from the shore, but the soldiers were
quickly swallowed up in the gloom. As they advanced cautiously, two by
two, the daring adventurers found themselves soon nearly up to their
necks in the waves, while so narrow was the submerged bank along which
they were marching, that a misstep to the right or left was fatal.
Luckless individuals repeatedly sank to rise no more. Meantime, as the
sickly light, of the waning moon came forth at intervals through the
stormy clouds the soldiers could plainly perceive the files of Zealand
vessels through which they were to march, and which were anchored as
close to the flat as the water would allow. Some had recklessly stranded
themselves, in their eagerness to interrupt the passage, of the troops,
and the artillery played unceasingly from the larger vessels. Discharges
of musketry came continually from all, but the fitful lightning rendered
the aim difficult and the fire comparatively harmless while the Spaniards
were, moreover, protected, as to a large part of their bodies, by the
water in which they were immersed.

At times; they halted for breath, or to engage in fierce skirmishes with
their nearest assailants. Standing breast-high in the waves, and
surrounded at intervals by total darkness, they were yet able to pour an
occasional well-directed volley into the hostile ranks. The Zealanders,
however, did, not assail them with fire-arms alone. They transfixed some
with their fatal harpoons; they dragged others from the path with
boathooks; they beat out the brains of others with heavy flails. Many
were the mortal duels thus fought in the darkness, and, as it were, in
the bottom of the sea; many were the deeds of audacity which no eye was
to mark save those by whom they were achieved. Still, in spite of all
impediments and losses, the Spaniards steadily advanced. If other arms
proved less available, they were attached by the fierce taunts and
invectives of their often invisible foes who reviled them as water-dogs,
fetching and carrying for a master who despised them; as mercenaries who
coined their blood for gold, and were employed by tyrants for the basest
uses. If stung by these mocking voices, they turned in the darkness to
chastise their unseen tormentors, they were certain to be trampled upon
by their comrades, and to be pushed from their narrow pathway into the
depths of the sea. Thus many perished.

The night wore on, and the adventurers still fought it out manfully, but
very slowly, the main body of Spaniards, Germans, and Walloons, soon
after daylight, reaching the opposite shore, having sustained
considerable losses, but in perfect order. The pioneers were not so
fortunate. The tide rose over them before they could effect their
passage, and swept nearly every one away. The rearguard, under Peralta,
not surprised, like the pioneers, in the middle of their passage, by the
rising tide, but prevented, before it was too late; from advancing far
beyond the shore from which they had departed were fortunately enabled to
retrace their steps.

Don Osorio, at the head of the successful adventurers, now effected his
landing upon Duiveland. Reposing themselves but for an instant after this
unparalleled march through the water, of more than six hours, they took a
slight refreshment, prayed to the Virgin Mary and to Saint James, and
then prepared to meet their new enemies on land. Ten companies of French,
Scotch, and English auxiliaries lay in Duiveland, under the command of
Charles Van Boisot. Strange to relate, by an inexplicable accident, or by
treason, that general was slain by his own soldiers, at the moment when
the royal troops landed. The panic created by this event became intense,
as the enemy rose suddenly, as it were, out of the depths of the ocean to
attack them. They magnified the numbers of their assailants, and fled
terror-stricken in every direction. Same swam to the Zealand vessels
which lay in the neighbourhood; others took refuge in the forts which had
been constructed on the island; but these were soon carried by the
Spaniards, and the conquest of Duiveland was effected.

The enterprise was not yet completed, but the remainder was less
difficult and not nearly so hazardous, for the creek which separated
Duiveland from Schouwen was much narrower than the estuary which they had
just traversed. It was less than a league in width, but so encumbered by
rushes and briers that, although difficult to wade, it was not navigable
for vessels of any kind. This part of the expedition was accomplished
with equal resolution, so that, after a few hours' delay, the soldiers
stood upon the much-coveted island of Schouwen. Five companies of states'
troops, placed to oppose their landing, fled in the most cowardly manner
at the first discharge of the Spanish muskets, and took refuge in the
city of Zierickzee, which was soon afterwards beleaguered.

The troops has been disembarked upon Duiveland from the armada, which had
made its way to the scene of action, after having received, by signal,
information that the expedition through the water had been successful.
Brouwershaven, on the northern side of Schouwen, was immediately reduced,
but Bommenede resisted till the 25th of October, when it was at last
carried by assault, and delivered over to fire and sword. Of the whole
population and garrison not twenty were left alive. Siege was then laid
to Zierickzee, and Colonel Mondragon was left in charge of the
operations. Requesens himself came to Schouwen to give directions
concerning this important enterprise.

Chiapin Vitelli also came thither in the middle of the winter, and was so
much injured by a fall from his litter, while making the tour of the
island, that he died on shipboard during his return to Antwerp. This
officer had gained his laurels upon more than one occasion, his conduct
in the important action near Mons, in which the Huguenot force under
Genlis was defeated, having been particularly creditable. He was of a
distinguished Umbrian family, and had passed his life in camps, few of
the generals who had accompanied Alva to the Netherlands being better
known or more odious to the inhabitants. He was equally distinguished for
his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence. The last characteristic was
so remarkable that he was almost monstrous in his personal appearance.
His protuberant stomach was always supported in a bandage suspended from
his neck, yet in spite of this enormous impediment, he was personally
active on the battle-field, and performed more service, not only as a
commander but as a subaltern, than many a younger and lighter man.

The siege of Zierickzee was protracted till the following June, the city
holding out with firmness. Want of funds caused the operations to be,
conducted with languor, but the same cause prevented the Prince from
accomplishing its relief. Thus the expedition from Philipsland, the most
brilliant military exploit of the whole war, was attended with important
results. The communication between Walcheren and the rest of Zealand was
interrupted; the province cut in two; a foothold on the ocean; for a
brief interval at least, acquired by Spain. The Prince was inexpressibly
chagrined by these circumstances, and felt that the moment had arrived
when all honorable means were to be employed to obtain foreign
assistance. The Hollanders and Zealanders had fought the battles of
freedom alone hitherto, and had fought them well, but poverty was fast
rendering them incapable of sustaining much longer the unequal conflict.
Offers of men, whose wages the states were to furnish, were refused; as
worse than fruitless. Henry of Navarre, who perhaps deemed it possible to
acquire the sovereignty of the provinces by so barren a benefit, was
willing to send two or three thousand men, but not at his own expense.
The proposition was respectfully declined.

The Prince and his little country, were all alone. "Even if we should not
only see ourselves deserted by all the world, but also all the world
against us," he said, "we should not cease to defend ourselves even to
the last man. Knowing the justice of our cause, we repose, entirely in
the mercy of God." He determined, however, once more to have recourse to
the powerful of the earth, being disposed to test the truth of his
celebrated observation, that "there would be no lack of suitors for the
bride that he had to bestow." It was necessary, in short, to look the
great question of formally renouncing Philip directly in the face.

Hitherto the fiction of allegiance had been preserved, and, even by the
enemies of the Prince, it, was admitted: that it had been retained with
no disloyal intent. The time however, had come when it was necessary to
throw off allegiance, provided another could be found strong enough and
frank enough to accept the authority which Philip had forfeited. The
question was, naturally, between France and England; unless the provinces
could effect their re-admission into the body of the Germanic Empire.
Already in June the Prince had laid the proposition formally before the
states, "whether they should not negotiate with the Empire on the subject
of their admission, with maintenance of their own constitutions," but it
was understood that this plan was not to be carried out, if the
protection of the Empire could be obtained under easier conditions.

Nothing came of the proposition at that time. The nobles and the deputies
of South Holland now voted, in the beginning of the ensuing month, "that
it was their duty to abandon the King, as a tyrant who sought to oppress
and destroy his subjects; and that it behooved them to seek another
protector." This was while the Breda negotiations were still pending, but
when their inevitable result was very visible. There was still a
reluctance at taking the last and decisive step in the rebellion, so that
the semblance of loyalty was still retained; that ancient scabbard, in
which the sword might yet one day be sheathed. The proposition was not
adopted at the diet. A committee of nine was merely appointed to
deliberate with the Prince upon the "means of obtaining foreign
assistance, without accepting foreign authority, or severing their
connexion with his Majesty." The estates were, however, summoned a few
months later, by the Prince, to deliberate on this important matter at
Rotterdam. On the 1st of October he then formally proposed, either to
make terms with their enemy, and that the sooner the better, or else,
once for all, to separate entirely from the King of Spain, and to change
their sovereign, in order, with the assistance and under protection of
another Christian potentate, to maintain the provinces against their
enemies. Orange, moreover, expressed the opinion that upon so important a
subject it was decidedly incumbent upon them all to take the sense of the
city governments. The members for the various municipalities acquiesced
in the propriety of this suggestion, and resolved to consult their
constituents, while the deputies of the nobility also desired to consult
with their whole body. After an adjournment of a few days, the diet again
assembled at Delft, and it was then unanimously resolved by the nobles
and the cities, "that they would forsake the King and seek foreign
assistance; referring the choice to the Prince, who, in regard to the
government, was to take the opinion of the estates."

Thus, the great step was taken, by which two little provinces declared
themselves independent of their ancient master. That declaration,
although taken in the midst of doubt and darkness, was not destined to be
cancelled, and the germ of a new and powerful commonwealth was planted.
So little, however, did these republican fathers foresee their coming
republic, that the resolution to renounce one king was combined with a
proposition to ask for the authority of another. It was not imagined that
those two slender columns, which were all that had yet been raised of
the future stately peristyle, would be strong enough to stand alone. The
question now arose, to what foreign power application should be made. But
little hope was to be entertained from Germany, a state which existed
only in name, and France was still in a condition of religious and
intestine discord. The attitude of revolt maintained by the Duc d'Alencon
seemed to make it difficult and dangerous to enter into negotiations with
a country where the civil wars had assumed so complicated a character,
that loyal and useful alliance could hardly be made with any party. The
Queen of England, on the other hand; dreaded the wrath of Philip, by
which her perpetual dangers from the side of Scotland would be
aggravated, while she feared equally the extension of French authority in
the Netherlands, by which increase her neighbour would acquire an
overshadowing power. She was also ashamed openly to abandon the provinces
to their fate, for her realm was supposed to be a bulwark of the
Protestant religion. Afraid to affront Philip, afraid to refuse the suit
of the Netherlands, afraid to concede as aggrandizement to France, what
course was open to the English Queen. That which, politically and
personally, she loved the best--a course of barren coquetry. This the
Prince of Orange foresaw; and although not disposed to leave a stone
unturned in his efforts to find assistance for his country, he on the
whole rather inclined for France. He, however, better than any man, knew
how little cause there was for sanguine expectation from either source.

It was determined, in the name of his Highness and the estates, first to
send a mission to England, but there had already been negotiations this
year of an unpleasant character with that power. At the request of the
Spanish envoy, the foremost Netherland rebels, in number about fifty,
including by name the Prince of Orange, the Counts of Berg and Culemburg,
with Saint Aldegonde, Boisot, Junius, and others, had been formally
forbidden by Queen Elizabeth to enter her realm. The Prince had, in
consequence, sent Aldegonde and Junius on a secret mission to France, and
the Queen; jealous and anxious, had thereupon sent Daniel Rogers secretly
to the Prince. At the same tine she had sent an envoy to the Grand
Commander, counselling, conciliatory measures; and promising to send a
special mission to Spain with the offer of her mediation, but it was
suspected by those most in the confidence of the Spanish government at
Brussels, that there was a great deal of deception in these proceedings.
A truce for six months having now been established between the Duc
d'Alencon and his brother, it was supposed, that an alliance between
France and England, and perhaps between Alencon and Elizabeth, was on the
carpet, and that a kingdom of the Netherlands was to be the wedding
present of the bride to her husband. These fantasies derived additional
color from the fact that, while the Queen was expressing the most
amicable intentions towards Spain, and the greatest jealousy of France,
the English residents at Antwerp and other cities of the Netherlands, had
received private instructions to sell out their property as fast as
possible, and to retire from the country. On the whole, there was little
prospect either of a final answer, or of substantial assistance from the
Queen.

The envoys to England were Advocate Buis and Doctor Francis Maalzon,
nominated by the estates, and Saint Aldegonde, chief of the mission,
appointed by the Prince. They arrived in England at Christmas-tide.
Having represented to the Queen the result of the Breda negotiations,
they stated that the Prince and the estates, in despair of a secure
peace, had addressed themselves to her as an upright protector of the
Faith, and as a princess descended from the blood of Holland. This
allusion to the intermarriage of Edward III. of England with Philippa,
daughter of Count William III. of Hainault and Holland, would not, it was
hoped, be in vain. They furthermore offered to her Majesty, in case she
were willing powerfully to assist the states, the sovereignty over
Holland and Zealand, under certain conditions.

The Queen listened graciously to the envoys, and appointed commissioners
to treat with them on the subject. Meantime, Requesens sent Champagny to
England, to counteract the effect of this embassy of the estates, and to
beg the Queen to give no heed to the prayers of the rebels, to enter into
no negotiations with them, and to expel them at once from her kingdom.

The Queen gravely assured Champagny "that the envoys were no rebels, but
faithful subjects of his Majesty." There was certainly some effrontery in
such a statement, considering the solemn offer which had just been made
by the envoys. If to renounce allegiance to Philip and to propose the
sovereignty to Elizabeth did not constitute rebellion, it would be
difficult to define or to discover rebellion anywhere. The statement was
as honest, however, as the diplomatic grimace with which Champagny had
reminded Elizabeth of the ancient and unbroken friendship which had
always, existed between herself and his Catholic Majesty. The attempt of
Philip to procure her dethronement and assassination but a few years
before was, no doubt, thought too trifling a circumstance to have for a
moment interrupted those harmonious relations. Nothing came of the
negotiations on either side. The Queen coquetted, as was her custom. She
could not accept the offer of the estates; she could not say them nay.
She would not offend Philip; she would not abandon the provinces; she
would therefore negotiate--thus there was an infinite deal of diplomatic
nothing spun and unravelled, but the result was both to abandon the
provinces and to offend Philip.

In the first answer given by her commissioners to the states' envoys, it
was declared, "that her Majesty considered it too expensive to assume the
protection of both provinces." She was willing to protect them in name,
but she should confer the advantage exclusively on Walcheren in reality.
The defence of Holland must be maintained at the expense of the Prince
and the estates.

This was certainly not munificent, and the envoys insisted upon more
ample and liberal terms. The Queen declined, however, committing herself
beyond this niggardly and inadmissible offer. The states were not willing
to exchange the sovereignty over their country for so paltry a
concession. The Queen declared herself indisposed to go further, at least
before consulting parliament. The commissioners waited for the assembling
of parliament. She then refused to lay the matter before that body, and
forbade the Hollanders taking any steps for that purpose. It was evident
that she was disposed to trifle with the provinces, and had no idea of
encountering the open hostility of Philip. The envoys accordingly begged
for their passports. These were granted in April, 1576, with the
assurance on the part of her Majesty that "she would think more of the
offer made to her after she had done all in her power to bring about an
arrangement between the provinces and Philip."

After the result of the negotiations of Breda, it is difficult to imagine
what method she was likely to devise for accomplishing such a purpose.
The King was not more disposed than during the preceding summer to grant
liberty of religion, nor were the Hollanders more ready than they had
been before to renounce either their faith or their fatherland. The
envoys, on parting, made a strenuous effort to negotiate a loan, but the
frugal Queen considered the proposition quite inadmissible. She granted
them liberty to purchase arms and ammunition, and to levy a few soldiers
with their own money, and this was accordingly done to a limited extent.
As it was not difficult to hire soldiers or to buy gunpowder anywhere, in
that warlike age, provided the money were ready, the states had hardly
reason to consider themselves under deep obligation for this concession.
Yet this was the whole result of the embassy. Plenty of fine words had,
been bestowed, which might or might not have meaning, according to the
turns taken by coming events. Besides these cheap and empty civilities,
they received permission to defend Holland at their own expense; with the
privilege, of surrendering its sovereignty, if they liked, to Queen
Elizabeth-and this was all.

On the 19th of April, the envoys returned to their country, and laid
before the estates the meagre result of their negotiations. Very soon
afterwards, upon an informal suggestion from Henry III. and the Queen
Mother, that a more favorable result might be expected, if the same
applications were made to the Duc d'Alencon which had been received in so
unsatisfactory a manner by Elizabeth, commissioners were appointed to
France. It proved impossible, however, at that juncture, to proceed with
the negotiations, in consequence of the troubles occasioned by the
attitude of the Duke. The provinces were still, even as they had been
from the beginning, entirely alone.

Requesens was more than ever straitened for funds, wringing, with
increasing difficulty, a slender subsidy, from time to time, out of the
reluctant estates of Brabant, Flanders, and the other obedient provinces.
While he was still at Duiveland, the estates-general sent him a long
remonstrance against the misconduct of the soldiery, in answer to his
demand for supplies. "Oh, these estates! these estates!" cried the Grand
Commander, on receiving such vehement reproaches instead of his money;
"may the Lord deliver me from these estates!" Meantime, the important
siege of Zierickzee continued, and it was evident that the city must
fall. There was no money at the disposal of the Prince. Count John, who
was seriously embarrassed by reason of the great obligations in money
which he, with the rest of his family, had incurred on behalf of the
estates, had recently made application to the Prince for his influence
towards procuring him relief. He had forwarded an account of the great
advances made by himself and his brethren in money, plate, furniture, and
endorsements of various kinds, for which a partial reimbursement was
almost indispensable to save him from serious difficulties. The Prince,
however, unable to procure him any assistance, had been obliged him once
more to entreat him to display the generosity and the self-denial which
the country had never found wanting at his hands or at those of his
kindred. The appeal had not been, in vain, but the Count was obviously
not in a condition to effect anything more at that moment to relieve the
financial distress of the states. The exchequer was crippled.

   [The contributions of Holland and Zealand for war expenses amounted
   to one hundred and fifty thousand florins monthly. The pay of a
   captain was eighty florins monthly; that of a lieutenant, forty;
   that of a corporal, fifteen; that of a drummer, fifer, or Minister,
   twelve; that of a common soldier, seven and a half. A captain had
   also one hundred and fifty florins each month to distribute among
   the most meritorious of his company. Each soldier was likewise
   furnished with food; bedding, fire, light, and washing.--Renom de
   France MS, vol. ii. c. 46,]

Holland and Zealand were cut in twain by the occupation of Schouwen and
the approaching fall of its capital. Germany, England, France; all
refused to stretch out their hands to save the heroic but exhaustless
little provinces. It was at this moment that a desperate but sublime
resolution took possession of the Prince's mind. There seemed but one way
left to exclude the Spaniards for ever from Holland and Zealand, and to
rescue the inhabitants from impending ruin. The Prince had long brooded
over the scheme, and the hour seemed to have struck for its fulfilment.
His project was to collect all the vessels, of every description, which
could be obtained throughout the Netherlands. The whole population of the
two provinces, men, women, and children, together with all the moveable
property of the country, were then to be embarked on board this numerous
fleet, and to seek a new home beyond the seas. The windmills were then to
be burned, the dykes pierced, the sluices opened in every direction, and
the country restored for ever to the ocean, from which it had sprung.

It is difficult to say whether the resolution, if Providence had
permitted its fulfilment, would have been, on the whole, better or worse
for humanity and civilization. The ships which would have borne the
heroic Prince and his fortunes might have taken the direction of the
newly-discovered Western hemisphere. A religious colony, planted by a
commercial and liberty-loving race, in a virgin soil, and directed by
patrician but self-denying hands, might have preceded, by half a century,
the colony which a kindred race, impelled by similar motives, and under
somewhat similar circumstances and conditions, was destined to plant upon
the stern shores of New England. Had they directed their course to the
warm and fragrant islands of the East, an independent Christian
commonwealth might have arisen among those prolific regions, superior in
importance to any subsequent colony of Holland, cramped from its birth by
absolute subjection to a far distant metropolis.

The unexpected death of Requesens suddenly dispelled these schemes. The
siege of Zierickzee had occupied much of the Governor's attention, but he
had recently written to his sovereign, that its reduction was now
certain. He had added an urgent request for money, with a sufficient
supply of which he assured Philip that he should be able to bring the war
to an immediate conclusion. While waiting for these supplies, he had,
contrary to all law or reason, made an unsuccessful attempt to conquer
the post of Embden, in Germany. A mutiny had at about the same time,
broken out among his troops in Harlem, and he had furnished the citizens
with arms to defend themselves, giving free permission to use them
against the insurgent troops. By this means the mutiny had been quelled,
but a dangerous precedent established. Anxiety concerning this rebellion
is supposed to have hastened the Grand Commander's death. A violent fever
seized him on the 1st, and terminated his existence on the 5th of March,
in the fifty-first year of his life.

It is not necessary to review elaborately his career, the chief incidents
of which have been sufficiently described. Requesens was a man of high
position by birth and office, but a thoroughly commonplace personage. His
talents either for war or for civil employments were not above
mediocrity. His friends disputed whether he were greater in the field or
in the council, but it is certain that he was great in neither. His
bigotry was equal to that of Alva, but it was impossible to rival the
Duke in cruelty. Moreover, the condition of the country, after seven
years of torture under his predecessor, made it difficult for him, at the
time of his arrival, to imitate the severity which had made the name of
Alva infamous. The Blood Council had been retained throughout his
administration, but its occupation was gone, for want of food for its
ferocity. The obedient provinces had been purged of Protestants; while
crippled, too, by confiscation, they offered no field for further
extortion. From Holland and Zealand, whence Catholicism had been nearly
excluded, the King of Spain was nearly excluded also. The Blood Council
which, if set up in that country, would have executed every living
creature of its population, could only gaze from a distance at those who
would have been its victims. Requesens had been previously distinguished
in two fields of action: the Granada massacres and the carnage of
Lepanto. Upon both occasions he had been the military tutor of Don John
of Austria, by whom he was soon to be succeeded in the government of the
Netherlands. To the imperial bastard had been assigned the pre-eminence,
but it was thought that the Grand Commander had been entitled to a more
than equal share of the glory.

We have seen how much additional reputation was acquired by Requesens in
the provinces. The expedition against Duiveland and Schouwen, was, on the
whole, the most brilliant feat of arms during the war, and its success
reflects an undying lustre on the hardihood and discipline of the
Spanish, German, and Walloon soldiery. As an act of individual audacity
in a bad cause, it has rarely been equalled. It can hardly be said,
however, that the Grand Commander was entitled to any large measure of
praise for the success of the expedition. The plan was laid by Zealand
traitors. It was carried into execution by the devotion of the Spanish,
Walloon, and German troops; while Requesens was only a spectator of the
transaction. His sudden death arrested, for a moment, the ebb-tide in the
affairs of the Netherlands, which was fast leaving the country bare and
desolate, and was followed by a train of unforeseen transactions, which
it is now our duty to describe.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Volume
25.

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothop Motley
1855



CHAPTER IV.

   Assumption of affairs by the state council at Brussels--Hesitation
   at Madrid--Joachim Hopper--Mal-administration--Vigilance of Orange--
   The provinces drawn more closely together--Inequality of the
   conflict--Physical condition of Holland--New act of Union between
   Holland and Zealand--Authority of the Prince defined and enlarged--
   Provincial polity characterized--Generous sentiments of the Prince--
   His tolerant spirit--Letters from the King--Attitude of the great
   powers towards the Netherlands--Correspondence and policy of
   Elizabeth--Secret negotiations with France and Alencon--Confused and
   menacing aspect of Germany--Responsible, and laborious position of
   Orange--Attempt to relieve Zierickzee--Death of Admiral Boisot--
   Capitulation of the city upon honourable terms--Mutiny of the
   Spanish troops in Schouwen--General causes of discontent--Alarming
   increase of the mutiny--The rebel regiments enter Brabant--Fruitless
   attempts to pacify them--They take possession of Alost--Edicts,
   denouncing them, from the state council--Intense excitement in
   Brussels and Antwerp--Letters from Philip brought by Marquis Havre--
   The King's continued procrastination--Ruinous royal confirmation of
   the authority assumed by the state council--United and general
   resistance to foreign military oppression--The German troops and the
   Antwerp garrison, under Avila, join the revolt--Letter of Verdugo--
   A crisis approaching--Jerome de Roda in the citadel--The mutiny
   universal.

The death of Requesens, notwithstanding his four days' illness, occurred
so suddenly, that he had not had time to appoint his successor. Had he
exercised this privilege, which his patent conferred upon him, it was
supposed that he would have nominated Count Mansfeld to exercise the
functions of Governor-General, until the King should otherwise ordain.

In the absence of any definite arrangement, the Council of State,
according to a right which that body claimed from custom, assumed the
reins of government. Of the old board, there were none left but the Duke
of Aerschot, Count Berlaymont, and Viglins. To these were soon added,
however, by royal diploma, the Spaniard, Jerome de Roda, and the
Netherlanders, Assonleville, Baron Rassenghiem and Arnold Sasbout. Thus,
all the members, save one, of what had now become the executive body,
were natives of the country. Roda was accordingly looked askance upon by
his colleagues. He was regarded by Viglius as a man who desired to repeat
the part which had been played by Juan Vargas in the Blood Council, while
the other members, although stanch Catholics, were all of them
well-disposed to vindicate the claim of Netherland nobles to a share in
the government of the Netherlands.

For a time, therefore, the transfer of authority seemed to have been
smoothly accomplished. The Council of State conducted the administration
of the country. Peter Ernest Mansfeld was entrusted with the supreme
military command, including the government of Brussels; and the Spanish
commanders; although dissatisfied that any but a Spaniard should be thus
honored, were for a time quiescent. When the news reached Madrid, Philip
was extremely disconcerted. The death of Requesens excited his
indignation. He was angry with him, not for dying, but for dying at so
very inconvenient a moment. He had not yet fully decided either upon his
successor, or upon the policy to be enforced by his successor. There were
several candidates for the vacant post; there was a variety of opinions
in the cabinet as to the course of conduct to be adopted. In the
impossibility of instantly making up his mind upon this unexpected
emergency, Philip fell, as it were, into a long reverie, than which
nothing could be more inopportune. With a country in a state of
revolution and exasperation, the trance, which now seemed to come over
the government, was like to be followed by deadly effects. The stationary
policy, which the death of Requesens had occasioned, was allowed to
prolong itself indefinitely, and almost for the first time in his life,
Joachim Hopper was really consulted about the affairs of that department
over which he imagined himself, and was generally supposed by others, to
preside at Madrid. The creature of Viglius, having all the subserviency,
with none of the acuteness of his patron, he had been long employed as
chief of the Netherland bureau, while kept in profound ignorance of the
affairs which were transacted in his office. He was a privy councillor,
whose counsels were never heeded, a confidential servant in whom the King
reposed confidence, only on the ground that no man could reveal secrets
which he did not know. This deportment of the King's showed that he had
accurately measured the man, for Hopper was hardly competent for the
place of a chief clerk. He was unable to write clearly in any language,
because incapable of a fully developed thought upon any subject. It may
be supposed that nothing but an abortive policy, therefore, would be
produced upon the occasion thus suddenly offered. "'Tis a devout man,
that poor Master Hopper," said Granvelle, "but rather fitted for platonic
researches than for affairs of state."

It was a proof of this incompetency, that now, when really called upon
for advice in an emergency, he should recommend a continuance of the
interim. Certainly nothing worse could be devised. Granvelle recommended
a reappointment of the Duchess Margaret. Others suggested Duke Eric of
Brunswick, or an Archduke of the Austrian house; although the opinion
held by most of the influential councillors was in favor of Don John of
Austria. In the interests of Philip and his despotism, nothing, at any
rate, could be more fatal than delay. In the condition of affairs which
then existed, the worst or feeblest governor would have been better than
none at all. To leave a vacancy was to play directly into the hands of
Orange, for it was impossible that so skilful an adversary should not at
once perceive the fault, and profit by it to the utmost. It was strange
that Philip did not see the danger of inactivity at such a crisis.
Assuredly, indolence was never his vice, but on this occasion indecision
did the work of indolence. Unwittingly, the despot was assisting the
efforts of the liberator. Viglius saw the position of matters with his
customary keenness, and wondered at the blindness of Hopper and Philip.
At the last gasp of a life, which neither learning nor the accumulation
of worldly prizes and worldly pelf could redeem from intrinsic baseness,
the sagacious but not venerable old man saw that a chasm was daily
widening; in which the religion and the despotism which he loved might
soon be hopelessly swallowed. "The Prince of Orange and his Beggars do
not sleep," he cried, almost in anguish; "nor will they be quiet till
they have made use of this interregnum to do us some immense grievance."
Certainly the Prince of Orange did not sleep upon this nor any other
great occasion of his life. In his own vigorous language, used to
stimulate his friends in various parts of the country, he seized the
swift occasion by the forelock. He opened a fresh correspondence with
many leading gentlemen in Brussels and other places in the Netherlands;
persons of influence, who now, for the first time, showed a disposition
to side with their country against its tyrants. Hitherto the land had
been divided into two very unequal portions. Holland and Zealand were
devoted to the Prince; their whole population, with hardly an individual
exception, converted to the Reformed religion. The other fifteen
provinces were, on the whole, loyal to the King; while the old religion
had, of late years, taken root so rapidly again, that perhaps a moiety of
their population might be considered as Catholic. At the same time, the
reign of terror under Alva, the paler, but not less distinct tyranny of
Requesens, and the intolerable excesses of the foreign soldiery, by which
the government of foreigners was supported, had at last maddened all the
inhabitants of the seventeen provinces. Notwithstanding, therefore, the
fatal difference of religious opinion, they were all drawn into closer
relations with each other; to regain their ancient privileges, and to
expel the detested foreigners from the soil, being objects common to all.
The provinces were united in one great hatred and one great hope.

The Hollanders and Zealanders, under their heroic leader, had well nigh
accomplished both tasks, so far as those little provinces were concerned.
Never had a contest, however, seemed more hopeless at its commencement.
Cast a glance at the map. Look at Holland--not the Republic, with its
sister provinces beyond the Zuyder Zee--but Holland only, with the
Zealand archipelago. Look at that narrow tongue of half-submerged earth.
Who could suppose that upon that slender sand-bank, one hundred and
twenty miles in length, and varying in breadth from four miles to forty,
one man, backed by the population of a handful of cities, could do battle
nine years long with the master of two worlds, the "Dominator Of Asia,
Africa, and America"--the despot of the fairest realms of Europe--and
conquer him at last. Nor was William even entirely master of that narrow
shoal where clung the survivors of a great national shipwreck. North and
South Holland were cut in two by the loss of Harlem, while the enemy was
in possession of the natural capital of the little country, Amsterdam.
The Prince affirmed that the cause had suffered more from the disloyalty
of Amsterdam than from all the efforts of the enemy.

Moreover, the country was in a most desolate condition. It was almost
literally a sinking ship. The destruction of the bulwarks against the
ocean had been so extensive, in consequence of the voluntary inundations
which have been described in previous pages, and by reason of the general
neglect which more vital occupations had necessitated, that an enormous
outlay, both of labor and money, was now indispensable to save the
physical existence of the country. The labor and the money,
notwithstanding the crippled and impoverished condition of the nation,
were, however, freely contributed; a wonderful example of energy and
patient heroism was again exhibited. The dykes which had been swept away
in every direction were renewed at a vast expense. Moreover, the country,
in the course of recent events, had become almost swept bare of its
cattle, and it was necessary to pass a law forbidding, for a considerable
period, the slaughter of any animals, "oxen, cows, calves, sheep, or
poultry." It was, unfortunately, not possible to provide by law against
that extermination of the human population which had been decreed by
Philip and the Pope.

Such was the physical and moral condition of the provinces of Holland and
Zealand. The political constitution of both assumed, at this epoch, a
somewhat altered aspect. The union between the two states; effected in
June, 1575, required improvement. The administration of justice, the
conflicts of laws, and more particularly the levying of monies and troops
in equitable proportions, had not been adjusted with perfect smoothness.
The estates of the two provinces, assembled in congress at Delft,
concluded, therefore, a new act of union, which was duly signed upon the
25th of April, 1576. Those estates, consisting of the knights and nobles
of Holland, with the deputies from the cities and countships of Holland
and Zealand, had been duly summoned by the Prince of Orange. They as
fairly included all the political capacities, and furnished as copious a
representation of the national will, as could be expected, for it is
apparent upon every page of his history, that the Prince, upon all
occasions, chose to refer his policy to the approval and confirmation of
as large a portion of the people as any man in those days considered
capable or desirous of exercising political functions.

The new, union consisted of eighteen articles. It was established that
deputies from all the estates should meet, when summoned by the Prince of
Orange or otherwise, on penalty of fine, and at the risk of measures
binding upon them being passed by the rest of the Congress. Freshly
arising causes of litigation were to be referred to the Prince. Free
intercourse and traffic through the united provinces was guaranteed. The
confederates were mutually to assist each other in preventing all
injustice, wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy. The authority of
law and the pure administration of justice were mutually promised by the
contracting states. The common expenses were to be apportioned among the
different provinces, "as if they were all included in the republic of a
single city." Nine commissioners, appointed by the Prince on nomination
by the estates, were to sit permanently, as his advisers, and as
assessors and collectors of the taxes. The tenure of the union was from
six months to six months, with six weeks notice.

The framers of this compact having thus defined the general outlines of
the confederacy, declared that the government, thus constituted, should
be placed under a single head. They accordingly conferred supreme
authority on the Prince, defining his powers in eighteen articles. He was
declared chief commander by land and sea. He was to appoint all officers,
from generals to subalterns, and to pay them at his discretion. The whole
protection of the land was devolved upon him. He was to send garrisons or
troops into every city and village at his pleasure, without advice or
consent of the estates, magistrates of the cities, or any other persons
whatsoever. He was, in behalf of the King as Count of Holland and
Zealand, to cause justice to be administered by the supreme court. In the
same capacity he was to provide for vacancies in all political and
judicial offices of importance, choosing, with the advice of the estates,
one officer for each vacant post out of three candidates nominated to him
by that body. He was to appoint and renew, at the usual times, the
magistracies in the cities, according to the ancient constitutions. He
was to make changes in those boards, if necessary, at unusual times, with
consent of the majority of those representing the great council and
corpus of the said cities. He was to uphold the authority and
pre-eminence of all civil functionaries, and to prevent governors and
military officers from taking any cognizance of political or judicial
affairs. With regard to religion, he was to maintain the practice of the
Reformed Evangelical religion, and to cause to surcease the exercise of
all other religions contrary to the Gospel. He was, however, not to
permit that inquisition should be made into any man's belief or
conscience, or that any man by cause thereof should suffer trouble,
injury, or hindrance.

The league thus concluded was a confederation between a group of
virtually independent little republics. Each municipality, was, as it
were, a little sovereign, sending envoys to a congress to vote and to
sign as plenipotentiaries. The vote of each city was, therefore,
indivisible, and it mattered little, practically, whether there were one
deputy or several. The nobles represented not only their own order, but
were supposed to act also in behalf of the rural population. On the
whole, there was a tolerably fair representation of the whole nation. The
people were well and worthily represented in the government of each city,
and therefore equally so in the assembly of the estates. It was not till
later that the corporations, by the extinction of the popular element,
and by the usurpation of the right of self-election, were thoroughly
stiffened into fictitious personages which never died, and which were
never thoroughly alive.

At this epoch the provincial liberties, so far as they could maintain
themselves against Spanish despotism, were practical and substantial. The
government was a representative one, in which all those who had the
inclination possessed, in one mode or another, a voice. Although the
various members of the confederacy were locally and practically republics
or self-governed little commonwealths, the general government which they,
established was, in form, monarchical. The powers conferred upon Orange
constituted him a sovereign ad interim, for while the authority of the
Spanish monarch remained suspended, the Prince was invested, not only
with the whole executive and appointing power, but even with a very large
share in the legislative functions of the state.

The whole system was rather practical than theoretical, without any
accurate distribution of political powers. In living, energetic
communities, where the blood of the body politic circulates swiftly,
there is an inevitable tendency of the different organs to sympathize and
commingle more closely than a priori philosophy would allow. It is
usually more desirable than practicable to keep the executive,
legislative, and judicial departments entirely independent of each other.

Certainly, the Prince of Orange did not at that moment indulge in
speculations concerning the nature and origin of government. The Congress
of Delft had just clothed him with almost regal authority. In his hands
were the powers of war and peace, joint control of the magistracies and
courts of justice, absolute supremacy over the army and the fleets. It is
true that these attributes had been conferred upon him ad interim, but it
depended only upon himself to make the sovereignty personal and
permanent. He was so thoroughly absorbed in his work, however, that he
did not even see the diadem which he put aside. It was small matter to
him whether they called him stadholder or guardian, prince or king. He
was the father of his country and its defender. The people, from highest
to lowest, called him "Father William," and the title was enough for him.
The question with him was not what men should call him, but how he should
best accomplish his task.

So little was he inspired by the sentiment of self-elevation, that he was
anxiously seeking for a fitting person--strong, wise, and willing
enough--to exercise the sovereignty which was thrust upon himself, but
which he desired to exchange against an increased power to be actively
useful to his country. To expel the foreign oppressor; to strangle the
Inquisition; to maintain the ancient liberties of the nation; here was
labor enough for his own hands. The vulgar thought of carving a throne
out of the misfortunes of his country seems not to have entered his mind.
Upon one point, however, the Prince had been peremptory. He would have no
persecution of the opposite creed. He was requested to suppress the
Catholic religion, in terms. As we have seen, he caused the expression to
be exchanged for the words, "religion at variance with the Gospel." He
resolutely stood out against all meddling with men's consciences, or
inquiring into their thoughts. While smiting the Spanish Inquisition into
the dust, he would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place.
Earnestly a convert to the Reformed religion, but hating and denouncing
only what was corrupt in the ancient Church, he would not force men, with
fire and sword, to travel to heaven upon his own road. Thought should be
toll-free. Neither monk nor minister should burn, drown, or hang his
fellow-creatures, when argument or expostulation failed to redeem them
from error. It was no small virtue, in that age, to rise to such a
height. We know what Calvinists, Zwinglians, Lutherans, have done in the
Netherlands, in Germany, in Switzerland, and almost a century later in
New England. It is, therefore, with increased veneration that we regard
this large and truly catholic mind. His tolerance proceeded from no
indifference. No man can read his private writings, or form a thorough
acquaintance with his interior life, without recognizing him as a deeply
religious man. He had faith unfaltering in God. He had also faith in man
and love for his brethren. It was no wonder that in that age of religious
bigotry he should have been assaulted on both sides. While the Pope
excommunicated him as a heretic, and the King set a price upon his head
as a rebel, the fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless
man. Peter Dathenus, the unfrocked monk of Poperingen, shrieked out in
his pulpit that the "Prince of Orange cared nothing either for God or for
religion."

The death of Requesens had offered the first opening through which the
watchful Prince could hope to inflict a wound in the vital part of
Spanish authority in the Netherlands. The languor of Philip and the
procrastinating counsel of the dull Hopper unexpectedly widened the
opening. On the 24th of March letters were written by his Majesty to the
states-general, to the provincial estates, and to the courts of justice,
instructing them that, until further orders, they were all to obey the
Council of State. The King was confident that all would do their utmost
to assist that body in securing the holy Catholic Faith and the implicit
obedience of the country to its sovereign. He would, in the meantime,
occupy himself with the selection of a new Governor-General, who should
be of his family and blood. This uncertain and perilous condition of
things was watched with painful interest in neighbouring countries.

The fate of all nations was more or less involved in the development of
the great religious contest now waging in the Netherlands. England and
France watched each other's movements in the direction of the provinces
with intense jealousy. The Protestant Queen was the natural ally of the
struggling Reformers, but her despotic sentiments were averse to the
fostering of rebellion against the Lord's anointed. The thrifty Queen
looked with alarm at the prospect of large subsidies which would
undoubtedly be demanded of her. The jealous Queen could as ill brook the
presence of the French in the Netherlands as that of the Spaniards whom
they were to expel. She therefore embarrassed, as usual, the operations
of the Prince by a course of stale political coquetry. She wrote to him,
on the 18th of March, soon after the news of the Grand Commander's death,
saying that she could not yet accept the offer which had been made to
her, to take the provinces of Holland and Zealand under her safe keeping,
to assume, as Countess, the sovereignty over them, and to protect the
inhabitants against the alleged tyranny of the King of Spain. She was
unwilling to do so until she had made every effort to reconcile them with
that sovereign. Before the death of Requesens she had been intending to
send him an envoy, proposing a truce, for the purpose of negotiation.
This purpose she still retained. She should send commissioners to the
Council of State and to the new Governor, when he should arrive. She
should also send a special envoy to the King of Spain. She doubted not
that the King would take her advice, when he heard her speak in such
straightforward language. In the meantime, she hoped that they would
negotiate with no other powers.

This was not very satisfactory. The Queen rejected the offers to herself,
but begged that they might, by no means, be made to her rivals. The
expressed intention of softening the heart of Philip by the use of
straightforward language seemed but a sorry sarcasm. It was hardly worth
while to wait long for so improbable a result. Thus much for England at
that juncture. Not inimical, certainly; but over-cautious, ungenerous,
teasing, and perplexing, was the policy of the maiden Queen. With regard
to France, events there seemed to favor the hopes of Orange. On the 14th
of May, the "Peace of Monsieur," the treaty by which so ample but so
short-lived a triumph was achieved by the Huguenots, was signed at Paris.
Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured. Rights of worship,
rights of office, political and civil, religious enfranchisement, were
recovered, but not guaranteed. It seemed scarcely possible that the King
could be in earnest then, even if a Medicean Valois could ever be
otherwise than treacherous. It was almost, certain, therefore, that a
reaction would take place; but it is easier for us, three centuries after
the event, to mark the precise moment of reaction, than it was for the
most far-seeing contemporary to foretell how soon it would occur. In the
meantime, it was the Prince's cue to make use of this sunshine while it
lasted. Already, so soon as the union of 25th of April had been concluded
between Holland and Zealand, he had forced the estates to open
negotiations with France. The provinces, although desirous to confer
sovereignty upon him, were indisposed to renounce their old allegiance to
their King in order to place it at the disposal of a foreigner.
Nevertheless, a resolution, at the reiterated demands of Orange, was
passed by the estates, to proceed to the change of master, and, for that,
purpose, to treat with the King of France, his brother, or any other
foreign potentate, who would receive these provinces of Holland and
Zealand under his government and protection. Negotiations were
accordingly opened with the Duke-of-Anjou, the dilettante leader of the
Huguenots at that remarkable juncture. It was a pity that no better
champion could be looked for among the anointed of the earth than the
false, fickle, foolish Alencon, whose career, everywhere contemptible,
was nowhere so flagitious as in the Netherlands. By the fourteenth
article of the Peace of Paris, the Prince was reinstated and secured in
his principality of Orange; and his other possessions in France. The best
feeling; for the time being, was manifested between the French court and
the Reformation.

Thus much for England and France. As for Germany, the prospects of the
Netherlands were not flattering. The Reforming spirit had grown languid,
from various causes. The self-seeking motives of many Protestant princes
had disgusted the nobles. Was that the object of the bloody wars of
religion, that a few potentates should be enabled to enrich themselves by
confiscating the broad lands and accumulated treasures of the Church? Had
the creed of Luther been embraced only for such unworthy ends? These
suspicions chilled the ardor of thousands, particularly among the greater
ones of the land. Moreover, the discord among the Reformers themselves
waxed daily, and became more and more mischievous. Neither the people nor
their leaders could learn that, not a new doctrine, but a wise toleration
for all Christian doctrines was wanted. Of new doctrines there was no
lack. Lutherans, Calvinists, Flaccianists, Majorists, Adiaphorists,
Brantianists, Ubiquitists, swarmed and contended pell-mell. In this there
would have been small harm, if the Reformers had known what reformation
meant. But they could not invent or imagine toleration. All claimed the
privilege of persecuting. There were sagacious and honest men among the
great ones of the country, but they were but few. Wise William of Hesse
strove hard to effect a concordia among the jarring sects; Count John of
Nassau, though a passionate Calvinist, did no less; while the Elector of
Saxony, on the other hand, raging and roaring like a bull of Bashan, was
for sacrificing the interest of millions on the altar of his personal
spite. Cursed was his tribe if he forgave the Prince. He had done what he
could at the Diet of Ratisbon to exclude all Calvinists from a
participation in the religious peace of Germany, and he redoubled his
efforts to prevent the extension of any benefits to the Calvinists of the
Netherlands. These determinations had remained constant and intense.

On the whole, the political appearance of Germany was as menacing as that
of France seemed for a time favorable to the schemes of Orange. The
quarrels of the princes, and the daily widening schism between Lutherans
and Calvinists, seemed to bode little good to the cause of religious
freedom. The potentates were perplexed and at variance, the nobles
lukewarm and discontented. Among the people, although subdivided into
hostile factions, there was more life. Here, at least, were heartiness of
love and hate, enthusiastic conviction, earnestness and agitation. "The
true religion," wrote Count John, "is spreading daily among the common
men. Among the powerful, who think themselves highly learned, and who sit
in roses, it grows, alas, little. Here and there a Nicodemus or two may
be found, but things will hardly go better here than in France or the
Netherlands."

Thus, then, stood affairs in the neighbouring countries. The prospect was
black in Germany, more encouraging in France, dubious, or worse, in
England. More work, more anxiety, more desperate struggles than ever,
devolved upon the Prince. Secretary Brunynck wrote that his illustrious
chief was tolerably well in health, but so loaded with affairs, sorrows,
and travails, that, from morning till night, he had scarcely leisure to
breathe. Besides his multitudinous correspondence with the public bodies,
whose labors he habitually directed; with the various estates of the
provinces, which he was gradually moulding into an organised and general
resistance to the Spanish power; with public envoys and with secret
agents to foreign cabinets, all of whom received their instructions from
him alone; with individuals of eminence and influence, whom he was
eloquently urging to abandon their hostile position to their fatherland;
and to assist him in the great work which he was doing; besides these
numerous avocations, he was actively and anxiously engaged during the
spring of 1576, with the attempt to relieve the city of Zierickzee.

That important place, the capital of Schouwen, and the key to half
Zealand, had remained closely invested since the memorable expedition to
Duiveland. The Prince had passed much of his time in the neighbourhood,
during the month of May, in order to attend personally to the
contemplated relief, and to correspond daily with the beleaguered
garrison. At last, on the 25th of May, a vigorous effort was made to
throw in succor by sea. The brave Admiral Boisot, hero of the memorable
relief of Leyden, had charge of the expedition. Mondragon had surrounded
the shallow harbor with hulks and chains, and with a loose submerged dyke
of piles and rubbish. Against this obstacle Boisot drove his ship, the
'Red Lion,' with his customary audacity, but did not succeed in cutting
it through. His vessel, the largest of the feet, became entangled: he
was, at the same time, attacked from a distance by the besiegers. The
tide ebbed and left his ship aground, while the other vessels had been
beaten back by the enemy. Night approached; and there was no possibility
of accomplishing the enterprise. His ship was hopelessly stranded. With
the morning's sun his captivity was certain. Rather than fall into the
hands of his enemy, he sprang into the sea; followed by three hundred of
his companions, some of whom were fortunate enough to effect their
escape. The gallant Admiral swam a long time, sustained by a broken spar.
Night and darkness came on before assistance could be rendered, and he
perished. Thus died Louis Boisot, one of the most enterprising of the
early champions of Netherland freedom--one of the bravest precursors of
that race of heroes, the commanders of the Holland navy. The Prince
deplored his loss deeply, as that of a "valiant gentleman, and one well
affectioned to the common cause." His brother, Charles Boisot, as will be
remembered, had perished by treachery at the first landing of the Spanish
troops; after their perilous passage from Duiveland.--Thus both the
brethren had laid down their lives for their country, in this its outer
barrier, and in the hour of its utmost need. The fall of the beleaguered
town could no longer be deferred. The Spaniards were, at last, to receive
the prize of that romantic valor which had led them across the bottom of
the sea to attack the city. Nearly nine months had, however, elapsed
since that achievement; and the Grand Commander, by whose orders it had
been undertaken, had been four months in his grave. He was permitted to
see neither the long-delayed success which crowded the enterprise, nor
the procession of disasters and crimes which were to mark it as a most
fatal success.

On the 21st of June, 1576, Zierickzee, instructed by the Prince of Orange
to accept honorable terms, if offered, agreed to surrender. Mondragon,
whose soldiers were in a state of suffering, and ready to break out in
mutiny, was but too happy to grant an honorable capitulation. The
garrison were allowed to go out with their arms and personal baggage. The
citizens were permitted to retain or resume their privileges and
charters, on payment of two hundred thousand guldens. Of, sacking and
burning there was, on this occasion, fortunately, no question; but the
first half of the commutation money was to be paid in cash. There was but
little money in the impoverished little town, but mint-masters were
appointed by the: magistrates to take their seats at once an in the Hotel
de Ville. The citizens brought their spoons and silver dishes; one after
another, which were melted and coined into dollars and half-dollars,
until the payment was satisfactorily adjusted. Thus fell Zierickzee, to
the deep regret of the Prince. "Had we received the least succor in the
world from any side," he wrote; "the poor city should never have fallen.
I could get nothing from France or England, with all my efforts.
Nevertheless, we do not lose courage, but hope that, although abandoned
by all the world, the Lord God will extend His right hand over us."

The enemies were not destined to go farther. From their own hand now came
the blow which was to expel them from the soil which they had so long
polluted. No sooner was Zierickzee captured than a mutiny broke forth
among several companies of Spaniards and Walloons, belonging, to the army
in Schouwen. A large number of the most influential officers had gone to
Brussels, to make arrangements, if possible; for the payment of the
troops. In their absence there was more scope for the arguments of the
leading mutineers; arguments assuredly, not entirely destitute of justice
or logical precision. If ever laborers were worthy of their hire,
certainly it was the Spanish soldiery. Had they not done the work of
demons for nine years long? Could Philip or Alva have found in the wide
world men to execute their decrees with more unhesitating docility, with
more sympathizing eagerness? What obstacle had ever given them pause in
their career of duty? What element had they not braved? Had not they
fought within the bowels of the earth, beneath the depths of the sea,
within blazing cities, and upon fields of ice? Where was the work which
had been too dark and bloody for their performance? Had they not
slaughtered unarmed human beings by townfuls, at the word of command? Had
they not eaten the flesh, and drank the hearts' blood of their enemies?
Had they not stained the house of God with wholesale massacre? What altar
and what hearthstone had they not profaned? What fatigue, what danger,
what crime, had ever checked them for a moment? And for all this
obedience, labor, and bloodshed, were they not even to be paid such wages
as the commonest clown, who only tore the earth at home, received? Did
Philip believe that a few thousand Spaniards were to execute his sentence
of death against three millions of Netherlanders, and be cheated of their
pay at last?

It was in vain that arguments and expostulations were addressed to
soldiers who were suffering from want, and maddened by injustice. They
determined to take their cause into their own hand, as they had often
done before. By the 15th of July, the mutiny was general on the isle of
Schouwen. Promises were freely offered, both of pay and pardon; appeals
were made to their old sense of honor and loyalty; but they had had
enough of promises, of honor, and of work. What they wanted now were
shoes and jerkins, bread and meat, and money. Money they would have, and
that at once. The King of Spain was their debtor. The Netherlands
belonged to the King of Spain. They would therefore levy on the
Netherlands for payment of their debt. Certainly this was a logical
deduction. They knew by experience that this process had heretofore
excited more indignation in the minds of the Netherland people than in
that of their master. Moreover, at this juncture, they cared little for
their sovereign's displeasure, and not at all for that of the
Netherlanders. By the middle of July, then, the mutineers, now entirely
beyond control, held their officers imprisoned within their quarters at
Zierickzee. They even surrounded the house of Mondtagon, who had so often
led them to victory, calling upon him with threats and taunts to furnish
them with money. The veteran, roused to fury by their insubordination and
their taunts, sprang from his house into the midst of the throng. Baring
his breast before them, he fiercely invited and dared their utmost
violence. Of his life-blood, he told them bitterly, he was no niggard,
and it was at their disposal. His wealth, had he possessed any, would
have been equally theirs. Shamed into temporary respect, but not turned
from their purpose by the choler of their chief, they left him to
himself. Soon afterwards, having swept Schouwen island bare of every
thing which could be consumed, the mutineers swarmed out of Zealand into
Brabant, devouring as they went.

It was their purpose to hover for a time in the neighbourhood of the
capital, and either to force the Council of State to pay them their long
arrears, or else to seize and sack the richest city upon which they could
lay their hands. The compact, disciplined mass, rolled hither and
thither, with uncertainty of purpose, but with the same military
precision of movement which had always characterized these remarkable
mutinies. It gathered strength daily. The citizens of Brussels
contemplated with dismay the eccentric and threatening apparition. They
knew that rapine, murder, and all the worst evils which man can inflict
on his brethren were pent within it, and would soon descend. Yet, even
with all their past experience, did they not foresee the depth of woe
which was really impending. The mutineers had discarded such of their
officers as they could not compel to obedience, and had, as usual, chosen
their Eletto. Many straggling companies joined them as they swept to and
fro. They came to Herenthals, where they were met by Count Mansfeld, who
was deputed by the Council of State to treat with them, to appeal to
them; to pardon them, to offer, them everything but money. It may be
supposed that the success of the commander-in-chief was no better than
that of Mondragon and his subalterns. They laughed him to scorn when he
reminded them how their conduct was tarnishing the glory which they had
acquired by nine years of heroism. They answered with their former
cynicism, that glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach. They
had no use for it; they had more than enough of it. Give them money, or
give them a City, these were their last terms.

Sorrowfully and bodingly Mansfeld withdrew to consult again with the
State Council. The mutineers then made a demonstration upon Mechlin, but
that city having fortunately strengthened its garrison, was allowed to
escape. They then hovered for a time outside the walls of Brussels. At
Grimsberg, where they paused for a short period, they held a parley with
Captain Montesdocca, whom they received with fair words and specious
pretences. He returned to Brussels with the favourable tidings, and the
mutineers swarmed off to Assche. Thither Montesdoeca was again
despatched, with the expectation that he would be able to bring them to
terms, but they drove him off with jeers and threats, finding that he
brought neither money nor the mortgage of a populous city. The next day,
after a feint or two in a different direction, they made a sudden swoop
upon Alost, in Flanders. Here they had at last made their choice, and the
town was carried by storm. All the inhabitants who opposed them were
butchered, and the mutiny, at last established in a capital, was able to
treat with the State Council upon equal terms. They were now between two
and three thousand strong, disciplined, veteran troops, posted in a
strong and wealthy city. One hundred parishes belonged to the
jurisdiction of Alost, all of which were immediately laid under
contribution.

The excitement was now intense in Brussels. Anxiety and alarm had given
place to rage, and the whole population rose in arms to defend the
capital, which was felt to be in imminent danger. This spontaneous
courage of the burghers prevented the catastrophe, which was reserved for
a sister city. Meantime, the indignation and horror excited by the mutiny
were so universal that the Council of State could not withstand the
pressure. Even the women and children demanded daily in the streets that
the rebel soldiers should be declared outlaws. On the 26th of July,
accordingly, the King of Spain was made to pronounce, his Spaniards
traitors and murderers. All men were enjoined to slay one or all of them,
wherever they should be found; to refuse them bread, water, and fire, and
to assemble at sound of bell; in every city; whenever the magistrates
should order an assault upon them. A still more stringent edict was
issued on the 2nd of August; and so eagerly had these degrees been
expected, that they were published throughout Flanders and Brabant almost
as soon as issued. Hitherto the leading officers of the Spanish army had
kept aloof from the insurgents, and frowned upon their proceedings. The
Spanish member of the State Council, Jerome de Roda, had joined without
opposition in the edict. As, however, the mutiny gathered strength on the
outside, the indignation waxed daily within the capital. The citizens of
Brussels, one and all, stood to their arms. Not a man could enter or
leave without their permission. The Spaniards who were in the town,
whether soldiers or merchants, were regarded with suspicion and
abhorrence. The leading Spanish officers, Romero, Montesdocca, Verdugo,
and others, who had attempted to quell the mutiny, had been driven off
with threats and curses, their soldiers defying them and brandishing
their swords in their very faces. On the other hand, they were looked
upon with ill-will by the Netherlanders. The most prominent Spanish
personages in Brussels were kept in a state of half-imprisonment. Romero,
Roda, Verdugo, were believed to favor at heart the cause of their
rebellious troops, and the burghers of Brabant had come to consider all
the King's army in a state of rebellion. Believing the State Council
powerless to protect them from the impending storm, they regarded that
body with little respect, keeping it, as it were, in durance, while the
Spaniards were afraid to walk the streets of Brussels for fear of being
murdered. A retainer of Rods, who had ventured to defend the character
and conduct of his master before a number of excited citizens, was slain
on the spot.

In Antwerp, Champagny, brother of Granvelle, and governor of the city,
was disposed to cultivate friendly relations with the Prince of Orange.
Champagny hated the Spaniards, and the hatred seemed to establish enough
of sympathy between himself and the liberal party to authorize confidence
in him. The Prince dealt with him, but regarded him warily. Fifteen
companies of German troops, under Colonel Altaemst, were suspected of a
strong inclination to join the mutiny. They were withdrawn from Antwerp,
and in their room came Count Uberstein, with his regiment, who swore to
admit no suspicious person inside the gates, and in all things to obey
the orders of Champagny. In the citadel, however, matters were very
threatening. Sancho d'Avila, the governor, although he had not openly
joined the revolt, treated the edict of outlawry against the rebellious
soldiery with derision. He refused to publish a decree which he
proclaimed infamous, and which had been extorted, in his opinion, from an
impotent and trembling council. Even Champagny had not desired or dared
to publish the edict within the city. The reasons alleged were his fears
of irritating and alarming the foreign merchants, whose position was so
critical and friendship so important at that moment. On the other hand,
it was loudly and joyfully published in most other towns of Flanders and
Brabant. In Brussels there were two parties, one holding the decree too
audacious for his Majesty to pardon; the other clamoring for its
instantaneous fulfilment. By far the larger and more influential portion
of the population favored the measure, and wished the sentence of
outlawry and extermination to be extended at once against all Spaniards
and other foreigners in the service of the King. It seemed imprudent to
wait until all the regiments had formally accepted the mutiny, and
concentrated themselves into a single body.

At this juncture, on the last day of July, the Marquis off Havre, brother
to the Duke of Aerschot, arrived out of Spain. He was charged by the King
with conciliatory but unmeaning phrases to the estates. The occasion was
not a happy one. There never was a time when direct and vigorous action
had been more necessary. It was probably the King's desire then, as much
as it ever had been his desire at all, to make up the quarrel with his
provinces. He had been wearied with the policy which Alva had enforced,
and for which he endeavoured at that period to make the Duke appear
responsible. The barren clemency which the Grand Commander had been
instructed to affect, had deceived but few persons, and had produced but
small results. The King was, perhaps, really inclined at this juncture to
exercise clemency--that is to say he was willing to pardon his people for
having contended for their rights, provided they were now willing to
resign them for ever. So the Catholic religion and his own authority,
were exclusively and inviolably secured, he was willing to receive his
disobedient provinces into favor. To accomplish this end, however, he had
still no more fortunate conception than to take the advice of Hopper. A
soothing procrastination was the anodyne selected for the bitter pangs of
the body politic--a vague expression of royal benignity the styptic to be
applied to its mortal wounds. An interval of hesitation was to bridge
over the chasm between the provinces and their distant metropolis. "The
Marquis of Havre has been sent," said the King, "that he may expressly
witness to you of our good intentions, and of our desire, with the grace
of God, to bring about a pacification." Alas, it was well known whence
those pavements of good intentions had been taken, and whither they would
lead. They were not the material for a substantial road to
reconciliation. "His Majesty," said the Marquis; on delivering his report
to the State Council, "has long been pondering over all things necessary
to the peace of the land. His Majesty, like a very gracious and bountiful
Prince, has ever been disposed, in times past, to treat these, his
subjects, by the best and sweetest means." There being, however, room for
an opinion that so bountiful a prince might have discovered sweeter
means, by all this pondering, than to burn and gibbet his subjects by
thousands, it was thought proper to insinuate that his orders had been
hitherto misunderstood. Alva and Requesens had been unfaithful agents,
who did not know their business, but it was to be set right in future.
"As the good-will and meaning of his Majesty has, by no means been
followed," continued the envoy, "his Majesty has determined to send
Councillor Hopper, keeper of the privy seal, and myself, hitherwards, to
execute the resolutions of his Majesty." Two such personages as poor,
plodding, confused; time-serving Hopper, and flighty, talkative Havre,
whom even Requesens despised, and whom Don John, while shortly afterwards
recommending him for a state councillor, characterized, to Philip as "a
very great scoundrel;" would hardly be able, even if royally empowered,
to undo the work of two preceding administrations. Moreover, Councillor
Hopper, on further thoughts, was not despatched at all to the
Netherlands.

The provinces were, however, assured by the King's letters to the Brabant
estates, to the State Council, and other, public bodies, as well as by
the report of the Marquis, that efficacious remedies were preparing in
Madrid. The people were only too wait patiently till they should arrive.
The public had heard before of these nostrums, made up by the royal
prescriptions in Spain; and were not likely to accept them as a panacea
for their present complicated disorders. Never, in truth, had
conventional commonplace been applied more unseasonably. Here was a
general military mutiny flaming in the very centre of the land. Here had
the intense hatred of race, which for years had been gnawing at the heart
of the country, at last broken out into most malignant manifestation.
Here was nearly the whole native population of every province, from grand
seigneur to plebeian, from Catholic prelate to Anabaptist artisan,
exasperated alike by the excesses of six thousand foreign brigands, and
united by a common hatred, into a band of brethren. Here was a State
Council too feeble to exercise the authority which it had arrogated,
trembling between the wrath of its sovereign, the menacing cries of the
Brussels burghers, and the wild threats of the rebellious army; and held
virtually, captive in the capital which it was supposed to govern.

Certainly, the confirmation of the Council in its authority, for an
indefinite, even if for a brief period, was a most unlucky step at this
juncture. There were two parties in the provinces, but one was far the
most powerful upon the great point of the Spanish soldiery. A vast
majority were in favor of a declaration of outlawry against the whole
army, and it was thought desirable to improve the opportunity by getting
rid of them altogether. If the people could rise en masse, now that the
royal government was in abeyance, and, as it were, in the nation's hands,
the incubus might be cast off for ever. If any of the Spanish officers
had been sincere in their efforts to arrest the mutiny, the sincerity was
not believed. If any of the foreign regiments of the King appeared to
hesitate at joining the Alost crew, the hesitation was felt to be
temporary. Meantime, the important German regiments of Fugger,
Fronsberger, and Polwiller, with their colonels and other officers, had
openly joined the rebellion, while there was no doubt of the sentiments
of Sancho d'Avila and the troops under his command. Thus there were two
great rallying-places for the sedition, and the most important fortress
of the country, the key which unlocked the richest city in the world, was
in the hands of the mutineers. The commercial capital of Europe, filled
to the brim with accumulated treasures, and with the merchandize of every
clime; lay at the feet of this desperate band of brigands. The horrible
result was but too soon to be made manifest.

Meantime, in Brussels, the few Spaniards trembled for their lives. The
few officers shut up there were in imminent danger. "As the Devil does
not cease to do his work," wrote Colonel Verdugo, "he has put it into the
heads of the Brabanters to rebel, taking for a pretext the mutiny of the
Spaniards. The Brussels men have handled their weapons so well against
those who were placed there to protect them, that they have begun to kill
the Spaniards, threatening likewise the Council of State. Such is their
insolence, that they care no more for these great lords than for so many
varlets." The writer, who had taken refuge, together with Jerome de Roda
and other Spaniards, or "Hispaniolized" persons, in Antwerp citadel,
proceeded to sketch the preparations which were going on in Brussels, and
the counter measures which were making progress in Antwerp. "The states,"
he wrote, "are enrolling troops, saying 'tis to put down the mutiny; but
I assure you 'tis to attack the army indiscriminately. To prevent such a
villainous undertaking, troops of all nations are assembling here, in
order to march straight upon Brussels, there to enforce everything which
my lords of the State Council shall ordain." Events were obviously
hastening to a crisis--an explosion, before long, was inevitable. "I wish
I had my horses here," continued the Colonel, "and must beg you to send
them. I see a black cloud hanging over our heads. I fear that the
Brabantines will play the beasts so much, that they will have all the
soldiery at their throats."

Jerome de Roda had been fortunate enough to make his escape out of
Brussels, and now claimed to be sole Governor of the Netherlands, as the
only remaining representative of the State Council. His colleagues were
in durance at the capital. Their authority was derided. Although not yet
actually imprisoned, they were in reality bound hand and foot, and
compelled to take their orders either from the Brabant estates or from
the burghers of Brussels. It was not an illogical proceeding, therefore,
that Roda, under the shadow of the Antwerp citadel, should set up his own
person as all that remained of the outraged majesty of Spain. Till the
new Governor, Don Juan, should arrive, whose appointment the King had
already communicated to the government, and who might be expected in the
Netherlands before the close of the autumn, the solitary councillor
claimed to embody the whole Council. He caused a new seal to be struck--a
proceeding very unreasonably charged as forgery by the provincials--and
forthwith began to thunder forth proclamations and counter-proclamations
in the King's name and under the royal seal. It is difficult to see any
technical crime or mistake in such a course. As a Spaniard, and a
representative of his Majesty, he could hardly be expected to take any
other view of his duty. At any rate, being called upon to choose between
rebellious Netherlanders and mutinous Spaniards, he was not long in
making up his mind.

By the beginning of September the, mutiny was general. All the Spanish
army, from general to pioneer, were united. The most important German
troops had taken side with them. Sancho d'Avila held the citadel of
Antwerp, vowing vengeance, and holding open communication with the
soldiers at Alost. The Council of State remonstrated with him for his
disloyalty. He replied by referring to his long years of service, and by
reproving them for affecting an authority which their imprisonment
rendered ridiculous. The Spaniards were securely established. The various
citadels which had been built by Charles and Philip to curb the country
now effectually did their work. With the castles of Antwerp,
Valenciennes, Ghent, Utrecht, Culemburg, Viane, Alost, in the hands of
six thousand veteran Spaniards, the country seemed chained in every limb.
The foreigner's foot was on its neck. Brussels was almost the only
considerable town out of Holland and Zealand which was even temporarily
safe. The important city of Maestricht was held by a Spanish garrison,
while other capital towns and stations were in the power of the Walloon
and German mutineers. The depredations committed in the villages, the
open country, and the cities were incessant--the Spaniards treating every
Netherlander as their foe. Gentleman and peasant, Protestant and
Catholic, priest and layman, all were plundered, maltreated, outraged.
The indignation became daily more general and more intense. There were
frequent skirmishes between the soldiery and promiscuous bands of
peasants, citizens, and students; conflicts in which the Spaniards were
invariably victorious. What could such half-armed and wholly untrained
partisans effect against the bravest and most experienced troops in the
whole world? Such results only increased the general exasperation, while
they impressed upon the whole people the necessity of some great and
general effort to throw off the incubus.



1576-1577  [CHAPTER V.]

   Religious and political sympathies and antipathies in the seventeen
   provinces--Unanimous hatred for the foreign soldiery--Use made by
   the Prince of the mutiny--His correspondence--Necessity of Union
   enforced--A congress from nearly all the provinces meets at Ghent--
   Skirmishes between the foreign troops and partisan bands--Slaughter
   at Tisnacq--Suspicions entertained of the State-Council--Arrest of
   the State-Council--Siege of Ghent citadel--Assistance sent by
   Orange--Maestricht lost and regained--Wealthy and perilous condition
   of Antwerp--Preparations of the mutineers under the secret
   superintendence of Avila--Stupidity of Oberstein--Duplicity of Don
   Sancho--Reinforcements of Walloons under Havre, Egmont, and others,
   sent to for the expected assault of Antwerp--Governor Champagny's
   preparations the mutineers--Insubordination, incapacity, and
   negligence of all but him--Concentration of all the mutineers from
   different points, in the citadel--The attack--the panic--the flight
   --the massacre--the fire--the sack--and other details of the
   "Spanish Fury"--Statistics of murder and robbery--Letter of Orange
   to the states-general--Surrender of Ghent citadel--Conclusion of the
   "Ghent Pacification"--The treaty characterized--Forms of
   ratification--Fall of Zierickzee and recovery of Zealand.

Meantime, the Prince of Orange sat at Middelburg, watching the storm. The
position of Holland and Zealand with regard to the other fifteen
provinces was distinctly characterized. Upon certain points there was an
absolute sympathy, while upon others there was a grave and almost fatal
difference. It was the task of the Prince to deepen the sympathy, to
extinguish the difference.

In Holland and Zealand, there was a warm and nearly universal adhesion to
the Reformed religion, a passionate attachment to the ancient political
liberties. The Prince, although an earnest Calvinist himself, did all in
his power to check the growing spirit of intolerance toward the old
religion, omitted no opportunity of strengthening the attachment which
the people justly felt for their liberal institutions.

On the other hand, in most of the other provinces, the Catholic religion
had been regaining its ascendency. Even in 1574, the estates assembled at
Brussels declared to Requesens "that they would rather die the death than
see any change in their religion." That feeling had rather increased than
diminished. Although there was a strong party attached to the new faith,
there was perhaps a larger, certainly a more influential body, which
regarded the ancient Church with absolute fidelity. Owing partly to the
persecution which had, in the course of years, banished so many thousands
of families from the soil, partly to the coercion, which was more
stringent in the immediate presence of the Crown's representative, partly
to the stronger infusion of the Celtic element, which from the earliest
ages had always been so keenly alive to the more sensuous and splendid
manifestations of the devotional principle--owing to those and many other
causes, the old religion, despite of all the outrages which had been
committed in its name, still numbered a host of zealous adherents in the
fifteen provinces. Attempts against its sanctity were regarded with
jealous eyes. It was believed, and with reason, that there was a
disposition on the part of the Reformers to destroy it root and branch.
It was suspected that the same enginery of persecution would be employed
in its extirpation, should the opposite party gain the supremacy, which
the Papists had so long employed against the converts to the new
religion.

As to political convictions, the fifteen provinces differed much less
from their two sisters. There was a strong attachment to their old
constitutions; a general inclination to make use of the present crisis to
effect their restoration. At the same time, it had not come to be the
general conviction, as in Holland and Zealand, that the maintenance of
those liberties was incompatible with the continuance of Philip's
authority. There was, moreover, a strong aristocratic faction which was
by no means disposed to take a liberal view of government in general, and
regarded with apprehension the simultaneous advance of heretical notions
both in church and, state. Still there were, on the whole, the elements
of a controlling constitutional party throughout the fifteen provinces
The great bond of sympathy, however, between all the seventeen was their
common hatred to the foreign soldiery. Upon this deeply imbedded,
immovable fulcrum of an ancient national hatred, the sudden mutiny of the
whole Spanish army served as a lever of incalculable power. The Prince
seized it as from the hand of God. Thus armed, he proposed to himself the
task of upturning the mass of oppression under which the old liberties of
the country had so long been crushed. To effect this object, adroitness
was as requisite as courage. Expulsion of the foreign soldiery, union of
the seventeen provinces, a representative constitution, according to the
old charters, by the states-general, under an hereditary chief, a large
religious toleration, suppression of all inquisition into men's
consciences--these were the great objects to which the Prince now devoted
himself with renewed energy.

To bring about a general organization and a general union, much delicacy
of handling was necessary. The sentiment of extreme Catholicism and
Monarchism was not to be suddenly scared into opposition. The Prince,
therefore, in all his addresses and documents was careful to disclaim any
intention of disturbing the established religion, or of making any rash
political changes. "Let no man think," said he, to the authorities of
Brabant, "that, against the will of the estates, we desire to bring about
any change in religion. Let no one suspect us capable of prejudicing the
rights of any man. We have long since taken up arms to maintain a legal
and constitutional freedom, founded upon law. God forbid that we should
now attempt to introduce novelties, by which the face of liberty should
be defiled."

In a brief and very spirited letter to Count Lalain, a Catholic and a
loyalist, but a friend of his country and fervent hater of foreign
oppression, he thus appealed to his sense of chivalry and justice:
"Although the honorable house from which you spring," he said, "and the
virtue and courage of your ancestors have always impressed me with the
conviction that you would follow in their footsteps, yet am I glad to
have received proofs that my anticipations were correct. I cannot help,
therefore, entreating you to maintain the same high heart, and to
accomplish that which you have so worthily begun. Be not deluded by false
masks, mumming faces, and borrowed titles, which people assume for their
own profit, persuading others that the King's service consists in the
destruction of his subjects."

While thus careful to offend no man's religious convictions, to startle
no man's loyalty, he made skillful use of the general indignation felt
at, the atrocities of the mutinous army. This chord he struck boldly,
powerfully, passionately, for he felt sure of the depth and strength of
its vibrations. In his address to the estates of Gelderland, he used
vigorous language, inflaming and directing to a practical purpose the
just wrath which was felt in that, as in every other province. "I write
to warn you," he said, "to seize this present opportunity. Shake from
your necks the yoke of the godless Spanish tyranny, join yourselves at
once to the lovers of the fatherland, to the defenders of freedom.
According to the example of your own ancestors and ours, redeem for the
country its ancient laws, traditions, and privileges. Permit no longer,
to your shame and ours, a band of Spanish landloupers and other
foreigners, together with three or four self-seeking enemies of their own
land, to keep their feet upon our necks. Let them no longer, in the very
wantonness of tyranny, drive us about like a herd of cattle--like a gang
of well-tamed slaves."

Thus, day after day, in almost countless addresses to public bodies and
private individuals, he made use of the crisis to pile fresh fuel upon
the flames. At the same time, while thus fanning the general indignation,
he had the adroitness to point out that the people had already committed
themselves. He represented to them that the edict, by which they had
denounced his Majesty's veterans as outlaws, and had devoted them to the
indiscriminate destruction which such brigands deserved, was likely to
prove an unpardonable crime in the eyes of majesty. In short, they had
entered the torrent. If they would avoid being dashed over the precipice,
they must struggle manfully with the mad waves of civil war into which
they had plunged. "I beg you, with all affection," he said to the states
of Brabant, "to consider the danger in which you have placed yourselves.
You have to deal with the proudest and most overbearing race in the
world. For these qualities they are hated by all other nations. They are
even hateful to themselves. 'Tis a race which seeks to domineer
wheresoever it comes. It particularly declares its intention to crush and
to tyrannize you, my masters, and all the land. They have conquered you
already, as they boast, for the crime of lese-majesty has placed you at
their mercy. I tell you that your last act, by which you have declared
this army to be rebels, is decisive. You have armed and excited the whole
people against them, even to the peasants and the peasants' children, and
the insults and injuries thus received, however richly deserved and
dearly avenged, are all set down to your account. Therefore, 'tis
necessary for you to decide now, whether to be utterly ruined, yourselves
and your children, or to continue firmly the work which you have begun
boldly, and rather to die a hundred thousand deaths than to make a treaty
with them, which can only end in your ruin. Be assured that the measure
dealt to you will be ignominy as well as destruction. Let not your
leaders expect the honorable scaffolds of Counts Egmont and Horn. The
whipping-post and then the gibbet will be their certain fate."

Having by this and similar language, upon various occasions, sought to
impress upon his countrymen the gravity of the position, he led them to
seek the remedy in audacity and in union. He familiarized them with his
theory, that the legal, historical government of the provinces belonged
to the states-general, to a congress of nobles, clergy, and commons,
appointed from each of the seventeen provinces. He maintained, with
reason, that the government of the Netherlands was a representative
constitutional government, under the hereditary authority of the King. To
recover this constitution, to lift up these down-trodden rights, he set
before them most vividly the necessity of union, "'Tis impossible," he
said, "that a chariot should move evenly having its wheels unequally
proportioned; and so must a confederation be broken to pieces, if there
be not an equal obligation on all to tend to a common purpose." Union,
close, fraternal, such as became provinces of a common origin and with
similar laws, could alone save them from their fate. Union against a
common tyrant to save a common fatherland. Union; by which differences of
opinion should be tolerated, in order that a million of hearts should
beat for a common purpose, a million hands work out, invincibly, a common
salvation. "'Tis hardly necessary," he said "to use many words in
recommendation of union. Disunion has been the cause of all our woes.
There is no remedy, no hope, save in the bonds of friendship. Let all
particular disagreements be left to the decision of the states-general,
in order that with one heart and one will we may seek the disenthralment
of the fatherland from the tyranny of strangers."

The first step to a thorough union among all the provinces was the
arrangement of a closer connection between the now isolated states of
Holland and Zealand on the one side, and their fifteen sisters on the
other. The Prince professed the readiness of those states which he might
be said to represent in his single person, to draw as closely as possible
the bonds of fellowship. It was almost superfluous for him to promise his
own ready co-operation. "Nothing remains to us," said he, "but to discard
all jealousy and distrust. Let us, with a firm resolution and a common
accord, liberate these lands from the stranger. Hand to hand let us
accomplish a just and general peace. As for myself, I present to you,
with very, good affection, my person and all which I possess, assuring
you that I shall regard all my labors and pains in times which are past,
well bestowed, if God now grant me grace to see the desired end. That
this end will be reached, if you hold fast your resolution and take to
heart the means which God presents to you, I feel to be absolutely
certain."

Such were the tenor and the motives of the documents which he
scattered--broadcast at this crisis. They were addressed to the estates
of nearly every province. Those bodies were urgently implored to appoint
deputies to a general congress, at which a close and formal union between
Holland and Zealand with the other provinces might be effected. That
important measure secured, a general effort might, at the same time, be
made to expel the Spaniard from the soil. This done, the remaining
matters could be disposed of by the assembly of the estates-general. His
eloquence and energy were not without effect. In the course of the
autumn, deputies were appointed from the greater number of the provinces,
to confer with the representatives of Holland and Zealand, in a general
congress. The place appointed for the deliberations was the city of
Ghent. Here, by the middle of October, a large number of delegates were
already assembled.

Events were rapidly rolling together from every quarter, and accumulating
to a crisis. A congress--a rebellious congress, as the King might deem
it--was assembling at Ghent; the Spanish army, proscribed, lawless, and
terrible, was strengthening itself daily for some dark and mysterious
achievement; Don John of Austria, the King's natural brother, was
expected from Spain to assume the government, which the State Council was
too timid to wield and too loyal to resign, while, meantime, the whole
population of the Netherlands, with hardly an exception, was disposed to
see the great question of the foreign soldiery settled, before the chaos
then existing should be superseded by a more definite authority.
Everywhere, men of all ranks and occupations--the artisan in the city,
the peasant in the fields--were deserting their daily occupations to
furbish helmets, handle muskets, and learn the trade of war. Skirmishes,
sometimes severe and bloody, were of almost daily occurrence. In these
the Spaniards were invariably successful, for whatever may be said of
their cruelty and licentiousness, it cannot be disputed that their
prowess was worthy of their renown. Romantic valor, unflinching
fortitude, consummate skill, characterized them always. What could
half-armed artisans achieve in the open plain against such accomplished
foes? At Tisnacq, between Louvain and Tirlemont, a battle was attempted
by a large miscellaneous mass of students, peasantry, and burghers, led
by country squires. It soon changed to a carnage, in which the victims
were all on one side. A small number of veterans, headed by Vargas,
Mendoza, Tassis, and other chivalrous commanders, routed the
undisciplined thousands at a single charge. The rude militia threw away
their arms, and fled panic-struck in all directions, at the first sight
of their terrible foe. Two Spaniards lost their lives and two thousand
Netherlanders. It was natural that these consummate warriors should
despise such easily slaughtered victims. A single stroke of the iron
flail, and the chaff was scattered to the four winds; a single sweep of
the disciplined scythe, and countless acres were in an instant mown.
Nevertheless, although beaten constantly, the Netherlanders were not
conquered. Holland and Zealand had read the foe a lesson which he had not
forgotten, and although on the open fields, and against the less vigorous
population of the more central provinces, his triumphs had been easier,
yet it was obvious that the spirit of resistance to foreign oppression
was growing daily stronger, notwithstanding daily defeats.

Meantime, while these desultory but deadly combats were in daily
progress, the Council of State was looked upon with suspicion by the mass
of the population. That body, in which resided provisionally the powers
of government, was believed to be desirous of establishing relations with
the mutinous army. It was suspected of insidiously provoking the excesses
which it seemed to denounce. It was supposed to be secretly intriguing
with those whom its own edicts had outlawed. Its sympathies were
considered, Spanish. It was openly boasted by the Spanish army that,
before long, they would descend from their fastnesses upon Brussels, and
give the city to the sword. A shuddering sense of coming evil pervaded
the population, but no man could say where the blow would first be
struck. It was natural that the capital should be thought exposed to
imminent danger. At the same time, while every man who had hands was
disposed to bear arms to defend the city, the Council seemed paralyzed.
The capital was insufficiently garrisoned, yet troops were not enrolling
for its protection. The state councillors obviously omitted to provide
for defence, and it was supposed that they were secretly assisting the
attack. It was thought important, therefore, to disarm, or, at least, to
control this body which was impotent for protection, and seemed powerful
only for mischief. It was possible to make it as contemptible as it was
believed to be malicious.

An unexpected stroke was therefore suddenly levelled against the Council
in full session. On the 5th of September, the Seigneur de Heze, a young
gentleman of a bold, but unstable character, then entertaining close but
secret relations with the Prince of Orange, appeared before the doors of
the palace. He was attended by about five hundred troops, under the
immediate command of the Seigneur de Glimes, bailiff of Walloon Brabant.
He demanded admittance, in the name of the Brabant estates, to the
presence of the State Council, and was refused. The doors were closed and
bolted. Without further ceremony the soldiers produced iron bars brought
with them for the purpose, forced all the gates from the hinges, entered
the hall of session, and at a word from their commander, laid hands upon
the councillors, and made every one prisoner. The Duke of Aerschot,
President of the Council, who was then in close alliance with the Prince,
was not present at the meeting, but lay forewarned, at home, confined to
his couch by a sickness assumed for the occasion. Viglius, who rarely
participated in the deliberations of the board, being already afflicted
with the chronic malady under which he was ere long to succumb, also
escaped the fate of his fellow-senators. The others were carried into
confinement. Berlaymont and Mansfeld were imprisoned in the Brood-Huys,
where the last mortal hours of Egmont and Horn had been passed. Others
were kept strictly guarded in their own houses. After a few weeks, most
of them were liberated. Councillor Del Rio was, however, retained in
confinement, and sent to Holland, where he was subjected to a severe
examination by the Prince of Orange, touching his past career,
particularly concerning the doings of the famous Blood Council. The
others were set free, and even permitted to resume their functions, but
their dignity was gone, their authority annihilated. Thenceforth the
states of Brabant and the community of Brussels were to govern for an
interval, for it was in their name that the daring blow against the
Council had been struck. All individuals and bodies, however, although
not displeased with the result, clamorously disclaimed responsibility for
the deed. Men were appalled at the audacity of the transaction, and
dreaded the vengeance of the King: The Abbot Van Perch, one of the secret
instigators of the act, actually died of anxiety for its possible
consequences. There was a mystery concerning the affair. They in whose
name it had been accomplished, denied having given any authority to the
perpetrators. Men asked each other what unseen agency had been at work,
what secret spring had been adroitly touched. There is but little doubt,
however, that the veiled but skilful hand which directed the blow, was
the same which had so long been guiding the destiny of the Netherlands.

It had been settled that the congress was to hold its sessions in Ghent,
although the citadel commanding that city was held by the Spaniards. The
garrison was not very strong, and Mondragon, its commander, was absent in
Zealand, but the wife of the veteran ably supplied his place, and
stimulated the slender body of troops to hold out with heroism, under the
orders of his lieutenant, Avilos Maldonado. The mutineers, after having
accomplished their victory at Tisnacq, had been earnestly solicited to
come to the relief of this citadel. They had refused and returned to
Alost. Meantime, the siege was warmly pressed by the states. There being,
however, a deficiency of troops, application for assistance was formally
made to the Prince of Orange. Count Reulx, governor of Flanders;
commissioned the Seigneur d'Haussy, brother of Count Bossu, who, to
obtain the liberation of that long-imprisoned and distinguished nobleman,
was about visiting the Prince in Zealand, to make a request for an
auxiliary force. It was, however, stipulated that care should be taken
lest any prejudice should be done to the Roman Catholic religion or the
authority of the King. The Prince readily acceded to the request, and
agreed to comply with the conditions under which only it could be
accepted. He promised to send twenty-eight companies. In his letter
announcing this arrangement, he gave notice that his troops would receive
strict orders to do no injury to person or property, Catholic or
Protestant, ecclesiastic or lay, and to offer no obstruction to the Roman
religion or the royal dignity. He added, however, that it was not to be
taken amiss, if his soldiers were permitted to exercise their own
religious rites, and to sing their Protestant hymns within their own
quarters. He moreover, as security for the expense and trouble, demanded
the city of Sluys. The first detachment of troops, under command of
Colonel Vander Tympel, was, however, hardly on its way, before an alarm
was felt among the Catholic party at this practical alliance with the
rebel Prince. An envoy, named Ottingen, was despatched to Zealand,
bearing a letter from the estates of Hainault, Brabant, and Flanders,
countermanding the request for troops, and remonstrating categorically
upon the subject of religion and loyalty. Orange deemed such
tergiversation paltry, but controlled his anger. He answered the letter
in liberal terms, for he was determined that by no fault of his should
the great cause be endangered. He reassured the estates as to the
probable behaviour of his troops. Moreover, they had been already
admitted into the city, while the correspondence was proceeding. The
matter of the psalm-singing was finally arranged to the satisfaction of
both parties, and it was agreed that Niewport, instead of Sluys, should
be given to the Prince as security.

The siege of the citadel was now pressed vigorously, and the
deliberations of the congress were opened under the incessant roar of
cannon. While the attack was thus earnestly maintained upon the important
castle of Ghent, a courageous effort was made by the citizens of
Maestricht to wrest their city from the hands of the Spaniards. The
German garrison having been gained by the burghers, the combined force
rose upon the Spanish troops, and drove them from the city, Montesdocca,
the commander, was arrested and imprisoned, but the triumph was only
temporary. Don Francis d'Ayala, Montesdocca's lieutenant, made a stand,
with a few companies, in Wieck, a village on the opposite side of the
Meuse, and connected with the city by a massive bridge of stone. From
this point he sent information to other commanders in the neighbourhood.
Don Ferdinand de Toledo soon arrived with several hundred troops from
Dalem. The Spaniards, eager to wipe out the disgrace to their arms,
loudly demanded to be led back to the city. The head of the bridge,
however, over which they must pass, was defended by a strong battery, and
the citizens were seen clustering in great numbers to defend their
firesides against a foe whom they had once expelled. To advance across
the bridge seemed certain destruction to the little force. Even Spanish
bravery recoiled at so desperate an undertaking, but unscrupulous
ferocity supplied an expedient where courage was at fault. There were few
fighting men present among the population of Wieck, but there were many
females. Each soldier was commanded to seize a woman, and, placing her
before his own body, to advance across the bridge. The column, thus
bucklered, to the shame of Spanish chivalry, by female bosoms, moved in
good order toward the battery. The soldiers leveled their muskets with
steady aim over the shoulders or under the arms of the women whom they
thus held before them. On the other hand, the citizens dared not
discharge their cannon at their own townswomen, among whose numbers many
recognized mothers, sisters, or wives. The battery was soon taken, while
at the same time Alonzj Vargas, who had effected his entrance from the
land side by burning down the Brussels gate, now entered the city at the
head of a band of cavalry. Maestricht was recovered, and an
indiscriminate slaughter instantly avenged its temporary loss. The
plundering, stabbing, drowning, burning, ravishing; were so dreadful
that, in the words of a cotemporary historian, "the burghers who had
escaped the fight had reason to think themselves less fortunate than
those who had died with arms in their hands."

This was the lot of Maestricht on the 20th of October. It was
instinctively felt to be the precursor of fresh disasters. Vague,
incoherent, but widely disseminated rumors had long pointed to Antwerp
and its dangerous situation. The Spaniards, foiled in their views upon
Brussels, had recently avowed an intention of avenging themselves in the
commercial capital. They had waited long enough, and accumulated strength
enough. Such a trifling city as Alost could no longer content their
cupidity, but in Antwerp there was gold enough for the gathering. There
was reason for the fears of the inhabitants, for the greedy longing of
their enemy. Probably no city in Christendom could at that day vie with
Antwerp in wealth and splendor. Its merchants lived in regal pomp and
luxury. In its numerous, massive warehouses were the treasures of every
clime. Still serving as the main entrepot of the world's traffic, the
Brabantine capital was the centre of that commercial system which was
soon to be superseded by a larger international life. In the midst of the
miseries which had so long been raining upon the Netherlands, the stately
and egotistical city seemed to have taken stronger root and to flourish
more freshly than ever. It was not wonderful that its palaces and its
magazines, glittering with splendor and bursting with treasure, should
arouse the avidity of a reckless and famishing soldiery. Had not a
handful of warriors of their own race rifled the golden Indies? Had not
their fathers, few in number, strong in courage and discipline, revelled
in the plunder of a new world? Here were the Indies in a single city.
Here were gold and silver, pearls and diamonds, ready and portable; the
precious fruit dropping, ripened, from the bough. Was it to be tolerated
that base, pacific burghers should monopolize the treasure by which a
band of heroes might be enriched?

A sense of coming evil diffused itself through the atmosphere. The air
seemed lurid with the impending storm, for the situation was one of
peculiar horror. The wealthiest city in Christendom lay at the mercy of
the strongest fastness in the world; a castle which had been built to
curb, not to protect, the town. It was now inhabited by a band of
brigands, outlawed by government, strong in discipline, furious from
penury, reckless by habit, desperate in circumstance--a crew which feared
not God, nor man, nor Devil. The palpitating quarry lay expecting hourly
the swoop of its trained and pitiless enemy, for the rebellious soldiers
were now in a thorough state of discipline. Sancho d'Avila, castellan of
the citadel, was recognized as the chief of the whole mutiny, the army
and the mutiny being now one. The band, entrenched at Alost, were upon
the best possible understanding with their brethren in the citadel, and
accepted without hesitation the arrangements of their superior. On the
aide of the Scheld, opposite Antwerp, a fortification had been thrown up
by Don Sancho's orders, and held by Julian Romero. Lier, Breda, as well
as Alost, were likewise ready to throw their reinforcements into the
citadel at a moment's warning. At the signal of their chief, the united
bands might sweep from their impregnable castle with a single impulse.

The city cried aloud for help, for it had become obvious that an attack
might be hourly expected. Meantime an attempt, made by Don Sancho d'Avila
to tamper with the German troops stationed within the walls, was more
than partially, successful. The forces were commanded by Colonel Van Ende
and Count Oberatein. Van Ende, a crafty traitor to his country, desired
no better than to join the mutiny on so promising an occasion, and his
soldiers, shared his sentiments. Oberatein, a brave, but blundering
German, was drawn into the net of treachery by the adroitness of the
Spaniard and the effrontery of his comrade. On the night of the 29th of
October, half-bewildered and half-drunk, he signed a treaty with Sancho
d'Avilat and the three colonels--Fugger, Frondsberger, and Polwiller. By
this unlucky document, which was of course subscribed also by Van Ende,
it was agreed that the Antwerp burghers should be forthwith disarmed;
that their weapons should be sent into the citadel; that Oberstein should
hold the city at the disposition of Sancho d'Avila; that he should refuse
admittance to all troops which might be sent into the city, excepting by
command of Don Sancho, and that he should decline compliance with any
orders which he might receive from individuals calling themselves the
council of state, the states-general, or the estates of Brabant. This
treaty was signed, moreover; by Don Jeronimo de Rods, then established in
the citadel, and claiming to represent exclusively his Majesty's
government.

Hardly had this arrangement been concluded than the Count saw the trap
into which he had fallen. Without intending to do so, he had laid the
city at the mercy of its foe, but the only remedy which suggested itself
to his mind was an internal resolution not to keep his promises. The
burghers were suffered to retain their arms, while, on the other hand,
Don Sancho lost no time in despatching messages to Alost, to Lier, to
Breda, and even to Maestricht, that as large a force as possible might be
assembled for the purpose of breaking immediately the treaty of peace
which he had just concluded. Never was a solemn document, regarded with
such perfectly bad faith by all its signers as the accord, of the 29th of
October.

Three days afterwards, a large force of Walloons and Germans was
despatched from Brussels to the assistance of Antwerp. The command of
these troops was entrusted to the Marquis of Havre, whose brother, the
Duke of Aerschot; had been recently appointed chief superintendent of
military affairs by the deputies assembled at Ghent. The miscellaneous
duties comprehended under this rather vague denomination did not permit
the Duke to take charge of the expedition in person, and his younger
brother, a still more incompetent and unsubstantial character, was
accordingly appointed to the post. A number of young men, of high rank
but of lamentably low capacity, were associated with him. Foremost among
them was Philip, Count of Egmont, a youth who had inherited few of his
celebrated father's qualities, save personal courage and a love of
personal display. In character and general talents he was beneath
mediocrity. Beside these were the reckless but unstable De Heze, who had
executed the coup; d'etat against the State Council, De Berselen, De
Capres, D'Oyngies, and others, all vaguely desirous of achieving
distinction in those turbulent times, but few of them having any
political or religious convictions, and none of them possessing
experience or influence enough, to render them useful--at the impending
crisis.

On Friday morning, the 2nd of November, the troops appeared under the
walls of Antwerp. They consisted of twenty-three companies of infantry
and fourteen of cavalry, amounting to five thousand foot and twelve
hundred horse. They were nearly all Walloons, soldiers who had already
seen much active service, but unfortunately of a race warlike and fiery
indeed, but upon whose steadiness not much more dependence could be
placed at that day than in the age of Civilis. Champagny, brother of
Granvelle, was Governor of the city. He was a sincere Catholic, but a
still more sincere hater of the Spaniards. He saw in the mutiny a means
of accomplishing their expulsion, and had already offered to the Prince
of Orange his eager co-operation towards this result. In other matters
there could be but small sympathy between William the Silent and the
Cardinal's brother; but a common hatred united them, for a time at least,
in a common purpose.

When the troops first made their appearance before the walls, Champagny
was unwilling to grant them admittance. The addle-brained Oberstein had
confessed to him the enormous blunder which he had committed in his
midnight treaty, and at the same time ingenuously confessed his intention
of sending it to the winds. The enemy had extorted from his dulness or
his drunkenness a promise, which his mature and sober reason could not
consider binding. It is needless to say that Champagny rebuked him for
signing, and applauded him for breaking the treaty. At the same time its
ill effects were already seen in the dissensions which existed among the
German troops. Where all had been tampered with, and where the commanders
had set the example of infidelity, it would have been strange if all had
held firm. On the whole, however, Oberstein thought he could answer for
his own troops: Upon Van Ende's division, although the crafty colonel
dissembled his real intentions; very little reliance was placed. Thus
there was distraction within the walls. Among those whom the burghers had
been told to consider their defenders, there were probably many who were
ready to join with their mortal foes at a moment's warning. Under these
circumstances, Champagny hesitated about admitting these fresh troops
from Brussels. He feared lest the Germans, who knew themselves doubted,
might consider themselves doomed. He trembled, lest an irrepressible
outbreak should occur within the walls, rendering the immediate
destruction of the city by the Spaniards from without inevitable.
Moreover, he thought it more desirable that this auxiliary force should
be disposed at different points outside, in order to intercept the
passage of the numerous bodies of Spaniards and other mutineers, who from
various quarters would soon be on their way to the citadel. Havre,
however, was so peremptory, and the burghers were so importunate, that
Champagny was obliged to recede from his opposition before twenty-four
hours had elapsed. Unwilling to take the responsibility of a farther
refusal, he admitted the troops through the Burgherhout gate, on
Saturday, the 3rd of November, at ten o'clock in the morning.

The Marquis of Havre, as commander-in-chief, called a council of war. It
assembled at Count Oberstein's quarters, and consulted at first
concerning a bundle of intercepted letters which Havre had brought with
him. These constituted a correspondence between Sancho d'Avila with the
heads of the mutiny at Alost, and many other places. The letters were all
dated subsequently to Don Sancho's treaty with Oberstein, and contained
arrangements for an immediate concentration of the whole available
Spanish force at the citadel.

The treachery was so manifest, that Oberstein felt all self-reproach for
his own breach of faith to be superfluous. It was however evident that
the attack was to be immediately expected. What was to be done? All the
officers counselled the immediate erection of a bulwark on the side of
the city exposed to the castle, but there were no miners nor engineers.
Champagny, however, recommended a skilful and experienced engineer to
superintend; the work in the city; and pledged himself that burghers
enough would volunteer as miners. In less than an hour, ten or twelve
thousand persons, including multitudes of women of all ranks, were at
work upon the lines marked out by the engineer. A ditch and breast-work
extending from the gate of the Beguins to the street of the Abbey Saint
Michael, were soon in rapid progress. Meantime, the newly arrived troops,
with military insolence, claimed the privilege of quartering themselves
in the best houses which they could find. They already began to, insult
and annoy the citizens whom they had been sent to defend; nor were they
destined to atone, by their subsequent conduct in the face of the enemy,
for the brutality with which they treated their friends. Champagny,
however; was ill-disposed to brook their licentiousness. They had been
sent to protect the city and the homes of Antwerp from invasion. They
were not to establish themselves, at every fireside on their first
arrival. There was work enough for them out of doors, and they were to do
that work at once. He ordered them to prepare for a bivouac in, the
streets, and flew from house to house, sword in hand; driving forth the
intruders at imminent peril of his life. Meantime, a number of Italian
and Spanish merchants fled from the city, and took refuge in the castle.
The Walloon soldiers were for immediately plundering their houses, as if
plunder had been the object for which they had been sent to Antwerp. It
was several hours before Champagny, with all his energy, was able to
quell these disturbances.

In the course of the day, Oberstein received a letter from Don Sandra
d'Avila, calling solemnly upon him to fulfil his treaty of the 29th of
October. The German colonels from the citadel had, on the previous
afternoon, held a personal interview with Oberstein beneath the walls,
which had nearly ended in blows, and they had been obliged to save
themselves by flight from the anger of the Count's soldiers, enraged at
the deceit by which their leader had been so nearly entrapped. This
summons of ridiculous solemnity to keep a treaty which had already been
torn to shreds by both parties, Oberstein answered with defiance and
contempt. The reply was an immediate cannonade from the batteries of the
citadel; which made the position of those erecting the ramparts
excessively dangerous. The wall was strengthened with bales of
merchandise, casks of earth, upturned wagons, and similar bulky objects,
hastily piled together. In, some places it was sixteen feet high; in
others less than six. Night fell before the fortification was nearly
completed. Unfortunately it was bright moonlight. The cannon from the
fortress continued to play upon the half-finished works. The Walloons,
and at last the citizens, feared to lift their heads above their frail
rampart. The senators, whom Champagny had deputed to superintend the
progress of the enterprise, finding the men so indisposed, deserted their
posts. They promised themselves that, in the darkest hour of the
following night, the work should be thoroughly completed. Alas! all hours
of the coming night were destined to be dark enough, but in them was to
be done no manner of work for defence. On Champagny alone seemed devolved
an the labor and all the responsibility. He did his duty well, but he was
but one man. Alone, with a heart full of anxiety, he wandered up and down
all the night. With his own hands, assisted only by a few citizens and
his own servants, he planted all the cannon with which they were
provided, in the "Fencing Court," at a point where the battery might tell
upon the castle. Unfortunately, the troops from Brussels had brought no
artillery with them, and the means of defence against the strongest
fortress in Europe were meagre indeed. The rampart had been left very
weak at many vital points. A single upturned wagon was placed across the
entrance to the important street of the Beguins. This negligence was to
cost the city dear. At daybreak, there was a council held in Oberstein's
quarters. Nearly all Champagny's directions had been neglected. He had
desired that strong detachments should be posted during the night at
various places of Security on the outskirts of the town, for the troops
which were expected to arrive in small bodies at the citadel from various
parts, might have thus been cut off before reaching their destination.
Not even scouts had been stationed in sufficient numbers to obtain
information of what was occurring outside. A thick mist hung over the
city that eventful morning. Through its almost impenetrable veil, bodies
of men had been seen moving into the castle, and the tramp of cavalry had
been distinctly heard, and the troops of Romero, Vargas, Oliveira, and
Valdez had already arrived from Lier, Breda, Maestricht, and from the
forts on the Scheld.

The whole available force in the city was mustered without delay. Havre
had claimed for his post the defence of the lines opposite the citadel,
the place of responsibility and honor. Here the whole body of Walloons
were stationed, together with a few companies of Germans. The ramparts,
as stated, were far from impregnable, but it was hoped that this living
rampart of six thousand men, standing on their own soil, and in front of
the firesides and altars of their own countrymen; would prove a
sufficient bulwark even against Spanish fury. Unhappily, the living
barrier proved more frail than the feeble breastwork which the hands of
burghers and women had constructed. Six thousand men were disposed along
the side of the city opposite the fortress. The bulk of the German troops
was stationed at different points on the more central streets and
squares. The cavalry was posted on the opposite side of the city, along
the Horse-market, and fronting the "New-town." The stars were still in
the sky when Champagny got on horseback and rode through the streets,
calling on the burghers to arm and assemble at different points. The
principal places of rendezvous were the Cattlemarket and the Exchange. He
rode along the lines of the Walloon regiments, conversing with the
officers, Egmont, De Heze, and others, and encouraging the men, and went
again to the Fencing Court, where he pointed the cannon with his own
hand, and ordered their first discharge at the fortress. Thence he rode
to the end of the Beguin street, where he dismounted and walked out upon
the edge of the esplanade which stretched between the city and the
castle. On this battle-ground a combat was even then occurring between a
band of burghers and a reconnoitring party from the citadel. Champagny
saw with satisfaction that the Antwerpers were victorious. They were
skirmishing well with their disciplined foe, whom they at last beat back
to the citadel. His experienced eye saw, however, that the retreat was
only the signal for a general onslaught, which was soon to follow; and he
returned into the city to give the last directions.

At ten o'clock, a moving wood was descried, approaching the citadel from
the south-west. The whole body of the mutineers from Alost, wearing green
branches in their helmets--had arrived under command of their Eletto,
Navarrete. Nearly three thousand in number, they rushed into the castle,
having accomplished their march of twenty-four miles since three o'clock
in the morning. They were received with open arms. Sancho d'Avila ordered
food and refreshments to be laid before them, but they refused everything
but a draught of wine. They would dine in Paradise, they said, or sup in
Antwerp. Finding his allies in such spirit, Don Sancho would not balk
their humor. Since early morning, his own veterans had been eagerly
awaiting his signal, "straining upon the start." The troops of Romero,
Vargas, Valdez, were no less impatient. At about an hour before noon,
nearly every living man in the citadel was mustered for the attack,
hardly men enough being left behind to guard the gates. Five thousand
veteran foot soldiers, besides six hundred cavalry, armed to the teeth,
sallied from the portals of Alva's citadel. In the counterscarp they fell
upon their knees, to invoke, according to custom, the blessing of God
upon the Devil's work, which they were about to commit. The Bletto bore a
standard, one side of which was emblazoned with the crucified Saviour,
and the other with the Virgin Mary. The image of Him who said, "Love-your
enemies," and the gentle face of the Madonna, were to smile from heaven
upon deeds which might cause a shudder in the depths of hell. Their brief
orisons concluded, they swept forward to the city. Three thousand
Spaniards, under their Eletto, were to enter by the street of Saint
Michael; the Germans, and the remainder of the Spanish foot, commanded by
Romero, through that of Saint George. Champagny saw them coming, and
spoke a last word of encouragement to the Walloons. The next moment the
compact mass struck the barrier, as the thunderbolt descends from the
cloud. There was scarcely a struggle. The Walloons, not waiting to look
their enemy in the face, abandoned the posts which whey had themselves
claimed. The Spaniards crashed through the bulwark, as though it had been
a wall of glass. The Eletto was first to mount the rampart; the next
instant he was shot dead, while his followers, undismayed, sprang over
his body, and poured into the streets. The fatal gap, due to timidity and
carelessness, let in the destructive tide. Champagny, seeing that the
enemies had all crossed the barrier; leaped over a garden wall, passed
through a house into a narrow lane, and thence to the nearest station of
the German troops. Hastily collecting a small force, he led them in
person to the rescue. The Germans fought well, died well, but they could
not reanimate the courage of the Walloons, and all were now in full
retreat, pursued by the ferocious Spaniards. In vain Champagny stormed
among them; in vain he strove to rally their broken ranks. With his own
hand he seized a banner from a retreating ensign, and called upon the
nearest soldiers to make's stand against the foe. It was to bid the
flying clouds pause before the tempest. Torn, broken, aimless, the
scattered troops whirled through the streets before the pursuing wrath.
Champagny, not yet despairing, galloped hither and thither, calling upon
the burghers everywhere to rise in defence of their homes, nor did he
call in vain. They came forth from every place of rendezvous, from every
alley, from every house. They fought as men fight to defend their hearths
and altars, but what could individual devotion avail, against the
compact, disciplined, resistless mass of their foes? The order of defence
was broken, there was no system, no concert, no rallying point, no
authority. So soon as it was known that the Spaniards had crossed the
rampart, that its six thousand defenders were in full retreat, it was
inevitable that a panic should seize the city.

Their entrance once effected, the Spanish force had separated; according
to previous arrangement, into two divisions, one half charging up the
long street of Saint Michael, the other forcing its way through the
Street of Saint Joris. "Santiago, Santiago! Espana, Espana! a sangre, a
carne, a fuego, a Sacco!" Saint James, Spain, blood, flesh, fire,
sack!!--such were the hideous cries which rang through every quarter of
the city, as the savage horde advanced. Van Ende, with his German troops,
had been stationed by the Marquis of Havre to defend the Saint Joris
gate, but no sooner, did the Spaniards under Vargas present themselves,
than he deserted to them instantly with his whole force. United with the
Spanish cavalry, these traitorous defenders of Antwerp dashed in pursuit
of those who had only been fainthearted. Thus the burghers saw themselves
attacked by many of their friends, deserted by more. Whom were they to
trust? Nevertheless, Oberstein's Germans were brave and faithful,
resisting to the last, and dying every man in his harness. The tide of
battle flowed hither and thither, through every street and narrow lane.
It poured along the magnificent Place de Meer, where there was an
obstinate contest. In front of the famous Exchange, where in peaceful
hours, five thousand merchants met daily, to arrange the commercial
affairs of Christendom, there was a determined rally, a savage slaughter.
The citizens and faithful Germans, in this broader space, made a stand
against their pursuers. The tesselated marble pavement, the graceful,
cloister-like arcades ran red with blood. The ill-armed burghers faced
their enemies clad in complete panoply, but they could only die for their
homes. The massacre at this point was enormous, the resistance at last
overcome.

Meantime, the Spanish cavalry had cleft its way through the city. On the
side farthest removed from the: castle; along the Horse-market, opposite
the New-town, the states dragoons and the light horse of Beveren had been
posted, and the flying masses of pursuers and pursued swept at last
through this outer circle. Champagny was already there. He essayed, as
his last hope, to rally the cavalry for a final stand, but the effort was
fruitless. Already seized by the panic, they had attempted to rush from
the city through the gate of Eeker. It was locked; they then turned and
fled towards the Red-gate, where they were met face to face by Don Pedro
Tassis, who charged upon them with his dragoons. Retreat seemed hopeless.
A horseman in complete armor, with lance in rest, was seen to leap from
the parapet of the outer wall into the moat below, whence, still on
horseback, he escaped with life. Few were so fortunate. The confused mob
of fugitives and conquerors, Spaniards, Walloons, Germans, burghers,
struggling, shouting, striking, cursing, dying, swayed hither and thither
like a stormy sea. Along the spacious Horse-market, the fugitives fled
toward towards the quays. Many fell beneath the swords of the Spaniards,
numbers were trodden to death by the hoofs of horses, still greater
multitudes were hunted into the Scheld. Champagny, who had thought it
possible, even at the last moment, to make a stand in the Newtown, and to
fortify the Palace of the Hansa, saw himself deserted. With great daring
and presence of mind, he effected his escape to the fleet of the Prince
of Orange in the river. The Marquis of Havre, of whom no deeds of valor
on that eventful day have been recorded, was equally successful. The
unlucky Oberstein, attempting to leap into a boat, missed his footing,
and oppressed by the weight of his armor, was drowned.

Meantime, while the short November day was fast declining, the combat
still raged in the interior of the city. Various currents of conflict,
forcing their separate way through many streets, had at last mingled in
the Grande Place. Around this irregular, not very spacious square, stood
the gorgeous Hotel de Ville, and the tall, many storied, fantastically
gabled, richly decorated palaces of the guilds, Here a long struggle took
place. It was terminated for a time by the cavalry of Vargas, who,
arriving through the streets of Saint Joris, accompanied by the traitor
Van Ende, charged decisively into the melee. The masses were broken, but
multitudes of armed men found refuge in the buildings, and every house
became a fortress. From, every window and balcony a hot fire was poured
into the square, as, pent in a corner, the burghers stood at last at bay.
It was difficult to carry the houses by storm, but they were soon set on
fire. A large number of sutlers and other varlets had accompanied the
Spaniards from the citadel, bringing torches and kindling materials for
the express purpose of firing the town. With great dexterity, these means
were now applied, and in a brief interval, the City-hall, and other
edifices on the square were in flames. The conflagration spread with
rapidity, house after house, street after street, taking fire. Nearly a
thousand buildings, in the most splendid and wealthy quarter of the city,
were soon in a blaze, and multitudes of human beings were burned with
them. In the City-hall many were consumed, while others, leaped from the
windows to renew the combat below. The many tortuous, streets which led
down a slight descent from the rear of the Town house to the quays were
all one vast conflagration. On the other side, the magnificent cathedral,
separated from the Grande Place by a single row of buildings, was lighted
up, but not attacked by the flames. The tall spire cast its gigantic
shadow across the last desperate conflict. In the street called the Canal
au Sucre, immediately behind the Town-house, there was a fierce struggle,
a horrible massacre. A crowd of burghers; grave magistrates, and such of
the German soldiers as remained alive, still confronted the ferocious
Spaniards. There amid the flaming desolation, Goswyn Verreyck, the heroic
margrave of the city, fought with the energy of hatred and despair. The
burgomaster, Van der Meere, lay dead at his feet; senators, soldiers,
citizens, fell fast around him, and he sank at last upon a heap of slain.
With him effectual resistance ended. The remaining combatants were
butchered, or were slowly forced downward to perish in the Scheld. Women,
children, old men, were killed in countless numbers, and still, through
all this havoc, directly over the heads of the struggling throng,
suspended in mid-air above the din and smoke of the conflict, there
sounded, every half-quarter of every hour, as if in gentle mockery, from
the belfry of the cathedral, the tender and melodious chimes.

Never was there a more monstrous massacre, even in the blood-stained
history of the Netherlands. It was estimated that, in the course of this
and the two following days, not less than eight thousand human beings
were murdered. The Spaniards seemed to cast off even the vizard of
humanity. Hell seemed emptied of its fiends. Night fell upon the scene
before the soldiers were masters of the city; but worse horrors began
after the contest was ended. This army of brigands had come thither with
a definite, practical purpose, for it was not blood-thirst, nor lust, nor
revenge, which had impelled them, but it was avarice, greediness for
gold. For gold they had waded through all this blood and fire. Never had
men more simplicity of purpose, more directness in its execution. They
had conquered their India at last; its golden mines lay all before them,
and every sword should open a shaft. Riot and rape might be deferred;
even murder, though congenial to their taste, was only subsidiary to
their business. They had come to take possession of the city's wealth,
and they set themselves faithfully to accomplish their task. For gold,
infants were dashed out of existence in their mothers' arms; for gold,
parents were tortured in their children's presence; for gold, brides were
scourged to death before their husbands' eyes. Wherever, treasure was
suspected, every expedient which ingenuity; sharpened by greediness,
could suggest, was employed to-extort it from its possessors. The fire,
spreading more extensively and more rapidly than had been desired through
the wealthiest quarter of the city, had unfortunately devoured a vast
amount of property. Six millions, at least, had thus been swallowed; a
destruction by which no one had profited. There was, however, much left.
The strong boxes of the merchants, the gold, silver, and precious
jewelry, the velvets, satins, brocades, laces, and similar well
concentrated and portable plunder, were rapidly appropriated. So far the
course was plain and easy, but in private houses it was more difficult.
The cash, plate, and other valuables of individuals were not so easily
discovered. Torture was, therefore; at once employed to discover the
hidden treasures. After all had been, given, if the sum seemed too
little, the proprietors were brutally punished for their poverty or their
supposed dissimulation. A gentlewoman, named Fabry, with her aged mother
and other females of the family, had taken refuge in the cellar of her
mansion. As the day was drawing to a close, a band of plunderers entered,
who, after ransacking the house, descended to the cellarage. Finding the
door barred, they forced it open with gunpowder. The mother, who was
nearest the entrance, fell dead on the threshold. Stepping across her
mangled body, the brigands sprang upon her daughter, loudly demanding the
property which they believed to be concealed. They likewise insisted on
being informed where the master of the house had taken refuge.
Protestations of ignorance as to hidden treasure, or the whereabouts of
her husband, who, for aught she knew, was lying dead in the streets, were
of no avail. To make her more communicative, they hanged her on a beam in
the cellar, and after a few moments cut her down before life was extinct.
Still receiving no satisfactory reply, where a satisfactory reply was
impossible, they hanged her again. Again, after another brief interval
they gave her a second release, and a fresh interrogatory. This barbarity
they repeated several times, till they were satisfied that there was
nothing to be gained by it, while, on, the other hand, they were losing
much valuable time. Hoping to be more successful elsewhere, they left her
hanging for the last time, and trooped off to fresher fields. Strange to
relate, the person thus horribly tortured, survived. A servant in her
family, married to a Spanish soldier, providentially entered the house in
time to rescue her perishing mistress. She was restored to existence, but
never to reason. Her brain was hopelessly crazed, and she passed the
remainder of her life wandering about her house, or feebly digging in her
garden for the buried treasure which she had been thus fiercely solicited
to reveal.

A wedding-feast was rudely interrupted. Two young persons, neighbours of
opulent families, had been long betrothed, and the marriage day had been
fixed for Sunday, the fatal 4th of November. The guests were assembled,
the ceremony concluded, the nuptial banquet in progress, when the
horrible outcries in the streets proclaimed that the Spaniards had broken
loose. Hour after hour of trembling expectation succeeded. At last, a
thundering at the gate proclaimed the arrival of a band of brigands.
Preceded by their captain, a large number of soldiers forced their way
into the house, ransacking every chamber, no opposition being offered by
the family and friends, too few and powerless to cope with this band of
well-armed ruffians. Plate chests, wardrobes, desks, caskets of jewelry,
were freely offered, eagerly accepted, but not found sufficient, and to
make the luckless wretches furnish more than they possessed, the usual
brutalities were employed. The soldiers began by striking the bridegroom
dead. The bride fell shrieking into her mother's arms, whence she was
torn by the murderers, who immediately put the mother to death, and an
indiscriminate massacre then followed the fruitless attempt to obtain by
threats and torture treasure which did not exist. The bride, who was of
remarkable beauty, was carried off to the citadel. Maddened by this last
outrage, the father, who was the only man of the party left alive, rushed
upon the Spaniards. Wresting a sword from one of the crew, the old man
dealt with it so fiercely, that he stretched more than one enemy dead at
his feet, but it is needless to add that he was soon despatched.
Meantime, while the party were concluding the plunder of the mansion, the
bride was left in a lonely apartment of the fortress. Without wasting
time in fruitless lamentation, she resolved to quit the life which a few
hours had made so desolate. She had almost succeeded in hanging herself
with a massive gold chain which she wore, when her captor entered the
apartment. Inflamed, not with lust, but with avarice, excited not by her
charms, but by her jewelry; he rescued her from her perilous position. He
then took possession of her chain and the other trinkets with which her
wedding-dress was adorned, and caused her; to be entirely stripped of her
clothing. She was then scourged with rods till her beautiful body was
bathed in blood, and at last alone, naked, nearly mad, was sent back into
the city. Here the forlorn creature wandered up and down through the
blazing streets, among the heaps of dead and dying, till she was at last
put out of her misery by a gang of soldiers.

Such are a few isolated instances, accidentally preserved in their
details, of the general horrors inflicted on this occasion. Others
innumerable have sunk into oblivion. On the morning of the 5th of
November, Antwerp presented a ghastly sight. The magnificent marble
Town-house, celebrated as a "world's wonder," even in that age and
country, in which so much splendour was lavished on municipal palaces,
stood a blackened ruin--all but the walls destroyed, while its archives,
accounts, and other valuable contents, had perished. The more splendid
portion of the city had been consumed; at least five hundred palaces,
mostly of marble or hammered stone, being a smouldering mass of
destruction. The dead bodies of those fallen in the massacre were on
every side, in greatest profusion around the Place de Meer, among the
Gothic pillars of the Exchange, and in the streets near the Town-house.
The German soldiers lay in their armor, some with their heads burned from
their bodies, some with legs and arms consumed by the flames through
which they had fought. The Margrave Goswyn Verreyck, the burgomaster Van
der Meere, the magistrates Lancelot Van Urselen, Nicholas Van Boekholt,
and other leading citizens, lay among piles of less distinguished slain.
They remained unburied until the overseers of the poor, on whom the
living had then more importunate claims than the dead, were compelled by
Roda to bury them out of the pauper fund. The murderers were too thrifty
to be at funeral charges for their victims. The ceremony was not hastily
performed, for the number of corpses had not been completed. Two days
longer the havoc lasted in the city. Of all the crimes which men can
commit, whether from deliberate calculation or in the frenzy of passion,
hardly one was omitted, for riot, gaming, rape, which had been postponed
to the more stringent claims of robbery and murder, were now rapidly
added to the sum of atrocities. History has recorded the account
indelibly on her brazen tablets; it can be adjusted only at the
judgment-seat above.

Of all the deeds of darkness yet compassed in the Netherlands, this was
the worst. It was called The Spanish Fury, by which dread name it has
been known for ages. The city, which had been a world of wealth and
splendor, was changed to a charnel-house, and from that hour its
commercial prosperity was blasted. Other causes had silently girdled the
yet green and flourishing tree, but the Spanish Fury was the fire which
consumed it to ashes. Three thousand dead bodies were discovered in the
streets, as many more were estimated to have perished in the Scheld, and
nearly an equal number were burned or destroyed in other ways. Eight
thousand persons undoubtedly were put to death. Six millions of property
were destroyed by the fire, and at least as much more was obtained by the
Spaniards. In this enormous robbery no class of people was respected.
Foreign merchants, living under the express sanction and protection of
the Spanish monarch, were plundered with as little reserve as Flemings.
Ecclesiastics of the Roman Church were compelled to disgorge their wealth
as freely as Calvinists. The rich were made to contribute all their
abundance, and the poor what could be wrung from their poverty. Neither
paupers nor criminals were safe. Captain Caspar Ortis made a brilliant
speculation by taking possession of the Stein, or city prison, whence he
ransomed all the inmates who could find means to pay for their liberty.
Robbers, murderers, even Anabaptists, were thus again let loose. Rarely
has so small a band obtained in three days' robbery so large an amount of
wealth. Four or five millions divided among five thousand soldiers made
up for long arrearages, and the Spaniards had reason to congratulate
themselves upon having thus taken the duty of payment into their own
hands. It is true that the wages of iniquity were somewhat unequally
distributed, somewhat foolishly squandered. A private trooper was known
to lose ten thousand crowns in one day in a gambling transaction at the
Bourse, for the soldiers, being thus handsomely in funds, became desirous
of aping the despised and plundered merchants, and resorted daily to the
Exchange, like men accustomed to affairs. The dearly purchased gold was
thus lightly squandered by many, while others, more prudent, melted their
portion into sword-hilts, into scabbards, even into whole suits of armor,
darkened, by precaution, to appear made entirely of iron. The brocades,
laces, and jewelry of Antwerp merchants were converted into coats of mail
for their destroyers. The goldsmiths, however, thus obtained an
opportunity to outwit their plunderers, and mingled in the golden armor
which they were forced to furnish much more alloy than their employers
knew. A portion of the captured booty was thus surreptitiously redeemed.

In this Spanish Fury many more were massacred in Antwerp than in the
Saint Bartholomew at Paris. Almost as many living human beings were
dashed out of existence now as there had been statues destroyed in the
memorable image-breaking of Antwerp, ten years before, an event which had
sent such a thrill of horror through the heart of Catholic Christendom.
Yet the Netherlanders and the Protestants of Europe may be forgiven, if
they regarded this massacre of their brethren with as much execration as
had been bestowed upon that fury against stocks and stones. At least, the
image-breakers, had been actuated by an idea, and their hands were
polluted neither with blood nor rapine. Perhaps the Spaniards had been.
governed equally by religious fanaticism.--Might not they believe they
were meriting well of their Mother Church while they were thus
disencumbering infidels of their wealth and earth of its infidels? Had
not the Pope and his cardinals gone to church in solemn procession, to
render thanks unto God for the massacre of Paris? Had not cannon
thundered and beacons blazed to commemorate that auspicious event? Why
should not the Antwerp executioners claim equal commendation? Even if in
their delirium they had confounded friend with foe, Catholic with
Calvinist, and church property with lay, could they not point to an equal
number of dead bodies, and to an incredibly superior amount of plunder?

Marvellously few Spaniards were slain in these eventful days. Two hundred
killed is the largest number stated. The discrepancy seems monstrous, but
it is hardly more than often existed between the losses inflicted and
sustained by the Spaniards in such combats. Their prowess was equal to
their ferocity, and this was enough to make them seem endowed with
preterhuman powers. When it is remembered, also, that the burghers were
insufficiently armed, that many of their defenders turned against them,
that many thousands fled in the first moments of the encounter--and when
the effect of a sudden and awful panic is duly considered, the
discrepancy between the number of killed on the two sides will not seem
so astonishing.

A few officers of distinction were taken, alive and carried to the
castle. Among these were the Seigneur de Capres and young Count Egmont.
The councillor Jerome de Roda was lounging on a chair in an open gallery
when these two gentlemen were brought before him, and Capres was base
enough to make a low obeisance to the man who claimed to represent the
whole government of his Majesty. The worthy successor of Vargas replied
to his captive's greeting by a "kick in his stomach," adding, with a
brutality which his prototype might have envied, "Ah puto
tradidor,--whoreson traitor, let me have no salutations from such as
you." Young Egmont, who had been captured, fighting bravely at the head
of coward troops, by Julian Romero, who nine years before had stood on
his father's scaffold, regarded this brutal scene with haughty
indignation. This behaviour had more effect upon Roda than the suppleness
of Capres. "I am sorry for your misfortune, Count," said the councillor,
without however rising from his chair; "such is the lot of those who take
arms against their King." This was the unfortunate commencement of Philip
Egmont's career, which was destined to be inglorious, vacillating, base,
and on more than one occasion unlucky.

A shiver ran through the country as the news of the horrible crime was
spread, but it was a shiver of indignation, not of fear. Already the
negotiations at Ghent between the representatives of the Prince and of
Holland and Zealand with the deputies of the other provinces were in a
favorable train, and the effect of this event upon their counsels was
rather quickening than appalling. A letter from Jerome de Roda to the
King was intercepted, giving an account of the transaction. In that
document the senator gave the warmest praise to Sancho d'Avila, Julian
Romero, Alonzo de Vargas, Francis Verdugo, as well as to the German
colonels Fugger, Frondsberger, Polwiller, and others who had most exerted
themselves in the massacre. "I wish your Majesty much good of this
victory," concluded the councillor, "'tis a very great one, and the
damage to the city is enormous." This cynical view was not calculated to
produce a soothing effect on the exasperated minds of the people. On the
other hand, the estates of Brabant addressed an eloquent appeal to the
states-general, reciting their wrongs, and urging immediate action. "'Tis
notorious," said the remonstrants, "that Antwerp was but yesterday the
first and principal ornament of all Europe; the refuge of all the nations
of the world; the source and supply of countless treasure; the nurse of
all arts and industry; the protectress of the Roman Catholic religion;
the guardian of science and virtue; and, above all these preeminences;
more than faithful and obedient to her sovereign prince and lord. The
city is now changed to a gloomy cavern, filled with robbers and
murderers, enemies of God, the King, and all good subjects." They then
proceeded to recite the story of the massacre, whereof the memory shall
be abominable so long as the world stands, and concluded with an urgent
appeal for redress. They particularly suggested that an edict should
forthwith be passed, forbidding the alienation of property and the
exportation of goods in any form from Antwerp, together with concession
of the right to the proprietors of reclaiming their stolen property
summarily, whenever and wheresoever it might be found. In accordance with
these instructions, an edict was passed, but somewhat tardily, in the
hope of relieving some few of the evil consequences by which the Antwerp
Fury had been attended.

At about the same time the Prince of Orange addressed a remarkable letter
to the states-general then assembled at Ghent, urging them to hasten the
conclusion of the treaty. The news of the massacre, which furnished an
additional and most vivid illustration of the truth of his letter, had
not then reached him at Middelburg, but the earnestness of his views,
taken in connexion with this last dark deed, exerted a powerful and
indelible effect. The letter was a masterpiece, because it was necessary,
in his position, to inflame without alarming; to stimulate the feelings
which were in unison, without shocking those which, if aroused, might
prove discordant. Without; therefore, alluding in terms to the religious
question, he dwelt upon the necessity of union, firmness, and wariness.
If so much had been done by Holland and Zealand, how much more might be
hoped when all the provinces were united? "The principal flower of the
Spanish army has fallen," he said, "without having been able to conquer
one of those provinces from those whom they call, in mockery, poor
beggars; yet what is that handful of cities compared to all the provinces
which might join us in the quarrel?" He warned the states of the
necessity of showing a strong and united front; the King having been ever
led to consider the movement in the Netherlands a mere conspiracy of
individuals. "The King told me himself; in 1559," said Orange, "that if
the estates had no pillars to lean upon, they would not talk so loud." It
was, therefore, "necessary to show that prelates, abbots, monks,
seigniors, gentlemen, burghers, and peasants, the whole people in short,
now cried with one voice, and desired with one will. To such a
demonstration the King would not dare oppose himself. By thus preserving
a firm and united front, sinking all minor differences, they would,
moreover, inspire their friends and foreign princes with confidence. The
princes of Germany, the lords and gentlemen of France, the Queen of
England, although sympathizing with the misfortunes of the Netherlanders,
had been unable effectually to help them, so long as their disunion
prevented them from helping themselves; so long as even their appeal to
arms seemed merely a levy of bucklers, an emotion of the populace, which,
like a wave of the sea, rises and sinks again as soon as risen."

While thus exciting to union and firmness, he also took great pains to
instil the necessity of wariness. They were dealing with an artful foe.
Intercepted letters had already proved that the old dissimulation was
still to be employed; that while Don John of Austria was on his way, the
Netherlanders were to be lulled into confidence by glozing speeches. Roda
was provided by the King with a secret programme of instructions for the
new Governor's guidance and Don Sancho d'Avila, for his countenance to
the mutineers of Alost, had been applauded to the echo in Spain. Was not
this applause a frequent indication of the policy to be adopted by Don
John, and a thousand times more significative one than the unmeaning
phrases of barren benignity with which public documents might be crammed?
"The old tricks are again brought into service," said the Prince;
"therefore 'tis necessary to ascertain your veritable friends, to tear
off the painted masks from those who, under pretence-of not daring to
displease the King, are seeking to swim between two waters. 'Tis
necessary to have a touchstone; to sign a declaration in such wise that
you may know whom to trust, and whom to suspect."

The massacre at Antwerp and the eloquence of the Prince produced a most
quickening effect upon the Congress at Ghent. Their deliberations had
proceeded with decorum and earnestness, in the midst of the cannonading
against the citadel, and the fortress fell on the same day which saw the
conclusion of the treaty.

This important instrument, by which the sacrifices and exertions of the
Prince were, for a brief season, at least, rewarded, contained
twenty-five articles. The Prince of Orange, with the estates of Holland
and Zealand, on the one side, and the provinces signing, or thereafter to
sign the treaty, on the other, agreed that there should be a mutual
forgiving and forgetting, as regarded the past. They vowed a close and
faithful friendship for the future. They plighted a mutual promise to
expel the Spaniards from the Netherlands without delay. As soon as this
great deed should be done, there was to be a convocation of the
states-general, on the basis of that assembly before which the abdication
of the Emperor had taken place. By this congress, the affairs of religion
in Holland and Zealand should be regulated, as well as the surrender of
fortresses and other places belonging to his Majesty. There was to be
full liberty of communication and traffic between the citizens of the one
side and the other. It should not be legal, however, for those of Holland
and Zealand to attempt anything outside their own territory against the
Roman Catholic religion, nor for cause hereof to injure or irritate any
one, by deed or word. All the placards and edicts on the subject of
heresy, together with the criminal ordinances made by the Duke of Alva,
were suspended, until the states-general should otherwise ordain. The
Prince was to remain lieutenant, admiral, and general for his Majesty in
Holland, Zealand, and the associated places, till otherwise provided by
the states-general; after the departure of the Spaniards. The cities and
places included in the Prince's commission, but not yet acknowledging his
authority, should receive satisfaction from him, as to the point of
religion and other matters, before subscribing to the union. All
prisoners, and particularly the Comte de Bossu, should be released
without ransom. All estates and other property not already alienated
should be restored, all confiscations since 1566 being declared null and
void. The Countess Palatine, widow of Brederode, and Count de Buren, son
of the Prince of Orange, were expressly named in this provision. Prelates
and ecclesiastical persons; having property in Holland and Zealand,
should be reinstated, if possible; but in case of alienation, which was
likely to be generally the case; there should be reasonable compensation.
It was to be decided by the states-general whether the provinces should
discharge the debts incurred by the Prince of Orange in his two
campaigns. Provinces and cities should not have the benefit of this union
until they had signed the treaty, but they should be permitted to sign it
when they chose.

This memorable document was subscribed at Ghent, on the 8th of November,
by Saint Aldegonde, with eight other commissioners appointed by the
Prince of Orange and the estates of Holland on the one side, and by
Elbertus Leoninus and other deputies appointed by Brabant, Flanders,
Artois, Hainault, Valenciennes, Lille, Douay, Orchies, Namur, Tournay,
Utrecht, and Mechlin on the other side.

The arrangement was a masterpiece of diplomacy on the part of the Prince,
for it was as effectual a provision for the safety of the Reformed
religion as could be expected under the circumstances. It was much,
considering the change which had been wrought of late years in the
fifteen provinces, that they should consent to any treaty with their two
heretic sisters. It was much more that the Pacification should recognize
the new religion as the established creed of Holland and Zealand, while
at the same time the infamous edicts of Charles were formally abolished.
In the fifteen Catholic provinces, there was to be no prohibition of
private Reformed worship, and it might be naturally expected that with
time and the arrival of the banished religionists, a firmer stand would
be taken in favor of the Reformation. Meantime, the new religion was
formally established in two provinces, and tolerated, in secret, in the
other fifteen; the Inquisition was for ever abolished, and the whole
strength of the nation enlisted to expel the foreign soldiery from the
soil. This was the work of William the Silent, and the great Prince thus
saw the labor of years crowned with, at least, a momentary success. His
satisfaction was very great when it was announced to him, many days
before the exchange of the signatures, that the treaty had been
concluded. He was desirous that the Pacification should be referred for
approval, not to the municipal magistrates only, but to the people
itself. In all great emergencies, the man who, in his whole character,
least resembled a demagogue, either of antiquity or of modern times, was
eager for a fresh expression of the popular will. On this occasion,
however, the demand for approbation was superfluous. The whole country
thought with his thoughts, and spoke with his words, and the
Pacification, as soon as published, was received with a shout of joy.
Proclaimed in the marketplace of every city and village, it was ratified,
not by votes, but by hymns of thanksgiving, by triumphal music, by
thundering of cannon, and by the blaze of beacons, throughout the
Netherlands. Another event added to the satisfaction of the hour. The
country so recently, and by deeds of such remarkable audacity, conquered
by the Spaniards in the north, was recovered almost simultaneously with
the conclusion of the Ghent treaty. It was a natural consequence of the
great mutiny. The troops having entirely deserted Mondragon, it became
necessary for that officer to abandon Zierickzee, the city which had been
won with so much valor. In the beginning of November, the capital, and
with it the whole island of Schouwen, together with the rest of Zealand,
excepting Tholen, was recovered by Count Hohenlo, lieutenant-general of
the Prince of Orange, and acting according to his instructions.

Thus, on this particular point of time, many great events had been
crowded. At the very same moment Zealand had been redeemed, Antwerp
ruined, and the league of all the Netherlands against the Spaniards
concluded. It now became known that another and most important event had
occurred at the same instant. On the day before the Antwerp massacre,
four days before the publication of the Ghent treaty, a foreign cavalier,
attended by a Moorish slave and by six men-at-arms, rode into the streets
of Luxemburg. The cavalier was Don Ottavio Gonzaga, brother of the Prince
of Melfi. The Moorish slave was Don John of Austria, the son of the
Emperor, the conqueror of Granada, the hero of Lepanto. The new
Governor-general had traversed Spain and France in disguise with great
celerity, and in the romantic manner which belonged to his character. He
stood at last on the threshold of the Netherlands, but with all his speed
he had arrived a few days too late.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     A most fatal success
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 26

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



PART V.

DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA.
1576-1577  [CHAPTER I.]

   Birth and parentage of Don John--Barbara Blomberg--Early education
   and recognition by Philip--Brilliant military career--Campaign
   against the Moors--Battle of Lepanto--Extravagant ambition--Secret
   and rapid journey of the new Governor to the Netherlands--Contrast
   between Don John and William of Orange--Secret instructions of
   Philip and private purposes of the Governor--Cautious policy and
   correspondence of the Prince--Preliminary, negotiations with Don
   John at Luxemburg characterized--Union of Brussels--Resumption of
   negotiations with the Governor at Huy--The discussions analyzed and
   characterized--Influence of the new Emperor Rudolph II. and of his
   envoys--Treaty of Marche en Famine, or the Perpetual Edict, signed--
   Remarks upon that transaction--Views and efforts of Orange in
   opposition to the treaty--His letter, in name of Holland and
   Zealand, to the States-General--Anxiety of the royal government to
   gain over the Prince--Secret mission of Leoninus--His instructions
   from Don John--Fruitless attempts to corrupt the Prince--Secret
   correspondence between Don John and Orange--Don John at Louvain--His
   efforts to ingratiate himself with the Netherlanders--His incipient
   popularity--Departure of the Spanish troops--Duke of Aerschot
   appointed Governor of Antwerp citadel--His insincere character.

Don John of Austria was now in his thirty-second year, having been born
in Ratisbon on the 24th of February, 1545. His father was Charles the
Fifth, Emperor of Germany, King of Spain, Dominator of Asia, Africa, and
America; his mother was Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon.
Introduced to the Emperor, originally, that she might alleviate his
melancholy by her singing, she soon exhausted all that was harmonious in
her nature, for never was a more uncomfortable, unmanageable personage
than Barbara in her after life. Married to one Pyramus Kegell, who was
made a military commissary in the Netherlands, she was left a widow in
the beginning of Alva's administration. Placed under the especial
superintendence of the Duke, she became the torment of that warrior's
life. The terrible Governor, who could almost crush the heart out of a
nation of three millions, was unable to curb this single termagant.
Philip had expressly forbidden her to marry again, but Alva informed him
that she was surrounded by suitors. Philip had insisted that she should
go into a convent, but Alva, who, with great difficulty, had established
her quietly in Ghent, assured his master that she would break loose again
at the bare suggestion of a convent. Philip wished her to go to Spain,
sending her word that Don John was mortified by the life his mother was
leading, but she informed the Governor that she would be cut to pieces
before she would go to Spain. She had no objection to see her son, but
she knew too well how women were treated in that country. The Duke
complained most pathetically to his Majesty of the life they all led with
the ex-mistress of the Emperor. Never, he frequently observed, had woman
so terrible a head. She was obstinate, reckless, abominably extravagant.
She had been provided in Ghent with a handsome establishment: "with a
duenna, six other women, a major domo, two pages, one chaplain, an
almoner, and four men-servants," and this seemed a sufficiently liberal
scheme of life for the widow of a commissary. Moreover, a very ample
allowance had been made for the education of her only legitimate son,
Conrad, the other having perished by an accident on the day of his
father's death. While Don John of Austria was, gathering laurels in
Granada, his half-brother, Pyramus junior, had been ingloriously drowned
in a cistern at Ghent.

Barbara's expenses were exorbitant; her way of life scandalous. To send
her money, said Alva, was to throw it into the sea. In two days she would
have spent in dissipation and feasting any sums which the King might
choose to supply. The Duke, who feared nothing else in the world, stood
in mortal awe of the widow Kegell. "A terrible animal, indeed, is an
unbridled woman," wrote secretary Gayas, from Madrid, at the close of
Alva's administration for, notwithstanding every effort to entice, to
intimidate, and to kidnap her from the Netherlands, there she remained,
through all vicissitudes, even till the arrival of Don John. By his
persuasions or commands she was, at last, induced to accept an exile for
the remainder of her days, in Spain, but revenged herself by asserting.
that he was quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child; a
point, certainly, upon which her, authority might be thought conclusive.
Thus there was a double mystery about Don John. He might be the issue of
august parentage on one side; he was; possibly, sprung of most ignoble
blood. Base-born at best, he was not sure whether to look for the author
of his being in the halls of the Caesara or the booths of Ratisbon
mechanics.

   [Cabrera, xii. 1009. An absurd rumor had existed that Barbara
   Blomberg had only been employed to personate Don John's mother. She
   died at an estate called Arronjo de Molinos, four leagues from
   Madrid, some years after the death of Don John.]

Whatever might be the heart of the mystery, it is certain that it was
allowed to enwrap all the early life of Don John. The Emperor, who
certainly never doubted his responsibility for the infant's existence,
had him conveyed instantly to Spain, where he was delivered to Louis
Quixada, of the Imperial household, by whom he was brought up in great
retirement at Villa-garcia. Magdalen Ulloa, wife of Quixada, watched over
his infancy with maternal and magnanimous care, for her husband's extreme
solicitude for the infant's welfare had convinced her that he was its
father. On one occasion, when their house was in flames, Quixada rescued
the infant before he saved his wife, "although Magdalen knew herself to
be dearer to him than the apple of his eye." From that time forth she
altered her opinion, and believed the mysterious child to be of lofty
origin. The boy grew up full of beauty, grace, and agility, the leader of
all his companions in every hardy sport. Through the country round there
were none who could throw the javelin, break a lance, or ride at the ring
like little Juan Quixada. In taming unmanageable horses he was celebrated
for his audacity and skill. These accomplishments, however, were likely
to prove of but slender advantage in the ecclesiastical profession, to
which he had been destined by his Imperial father. The death of Charles
occurred before clerical studies had been commenced, and Philip, to whom
the secret had been confided at the close of the Emperor's life,
prolonged the delay thus interposed. Juan had already reached his
fourteenth year, when one day his supposed father Quixada invited him to
ride towards Valladolid to see the royal hunt. Two horses stood at the
door--a splendidly caparisoned charger and a common hackney. The boy
naturally mounted the humbler steed, and they set forth for the mountains
of Toro, but on hearing the bugles of the approaching huntsmen, Quixada
suddenly halted, and bade his youthful companion exchange horses with
himself. When this had been done, he seized the hand of the wondering boy
and kissing it respectfully, exclaimed, "Your Highness will be informed
as to the meaning of my conduct by his Majesty, who is even now
approaching." They had proceeded but a short distance before they
encountered the royal hunting party, when both Quixada and young Juan
dismounted, and bent the knee to their monarch. Philip, commanding the
boy to rise, asked him if he knew his father's name. Juan replied, with a
sigh, that he had at that moment lost the only father whom he had known,
for Quixada had just disowned him. "You have the same father as myself,"
cried the King; "the Emperor Charles was the august parent of us both."
Then tenderly embracing him, he commanded him to remount his horse, and
all returned together to Valladolid, Philip observing with a
sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal, that he had never brought
home such precious game from any hunt before.

This theatrical recognition of imperial descent was one among the many
romantic incidents of Don John's picturesque career, for his life was
never destined to know the commonplace. He now commenced his education,
in company with his two nephews, the Duchess Margaret's son, and Don
Carlos, Prince-royal of Spain. They were all of the same age, but the
superiority of Don John was soon recognized. It was not difficult to
surpass the limping, malicious, Carlos, either in physical graces or
intellectual accomplishments; but the graceful; urbane, and chivalrous
Alexander, destined afterwards to such wide celebrity, was a more
formidable rival, yet even the professed panegyrist of the Farnese
family, exalts the son of Barbara Blomberg over the grandson of Margaret
Van Geest.

Still destined for the clerical profession, Don John, at the age of
eighteen, to avoid compliance with Philip's commands, made his escape to
Barcelona. It was his intention to join the Maltese expedition. Recalled
peremptorily by Philip, he was for a short time in disgrace; but
afterwards made his peace with the monarch by denouncing some of the
mischievous schemes of Don Carlos. Between the Prince-royal and the
imperial bastard, there had always been a deep animosity, the Infante
having on one occasion saluted him with the most vigorous and offensive
appellation which his illegitimate birth could suggest. "Base-born or
not," returned Don John, "at any rate I had a better father than yours."
The words were probably reported to Philip and doubtless rankled in his
breast, but nothing appeared on the surface, and the youth rose rapidly
in favor. In his twenty-third year, he was appointed to the command of
the famous campaign against the insurgent Moors of Granada. Here he
reaped his first laurels, and acquired great military celebrity. It is
difficult to be dazzled by such glory. He commenced his operations by the
expulsion of nearly all the Moorish inhabitants of Granada, bed-ridden
men, women, and children, together, and the cruelty inflicted, the
sufferings patiently endured in that memorable deportation, were
enormous. But few of the many thousand exiles survived the horrid march,
those who were so unfortunate as to do so being sold into slavery by
their captors. Still a few Moors held out in their mountain fastnesses,
and two years long the rebellion of this handful made head against the,
power of Spain. Had their envoys to the Porte succeeded in their
negotiation, the throne of Philip might have trembled; but Selim hated
the Republic of Venice as much as he loved the wine of Cyprus. While the
Moors were gasping out their last breath in Granada and Ronda, the Turks
had wrested the island of Venus from the grasp of the haughty Republic
Fainagosta had fallen; thousands of Venetians had been butchered with a
ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed; the famous
General Bragadino had been flayed; stuffed, and sent hanging on the
yard-arm of a frigate; to Constantinople, as a present to the Commander
of the Faithful; and the mortgage of Catherine Cornaro, to the exclusion
of her husband's bastards, had been thus definitely cancelled. With such
practical enjoyments, Selim was indifferent to the splendid but shadowy
vision of the Occidental caliphate--yet the revolt of the Moors was only
terminated, after the departure of Don John, by the Duke of Arcos.

The war which the Sultan had avoided in the West, came to seek him in the
East. To lift the Crucifix against the Crescent, at the head of the
powerful but quarrelsome alliance between Venice, Spain, and Rome, Don
John arrived at Naples. He brought with him more than a hundred ships and
twenty-three thousand men, as the Spanish contingent:--Three months long
the hostile fleets had been cruising in the same waters without an
encounter; three more were wasted in barren manoeuvres. Neither Mussulman
nor Christian had much inclination for the conflict, the Turk fearing the
consequences of a defeat, by which gains already secured might be
forfeited; the allies being appalled at the possibility of their own
triumph. Nevertheless, the Ottomans manoeuvred themselves at last into
the gulf of Lepanto, the Christians manoeuvred themselves towards its
mouth as the foe was coming forth again. The conflict thus rendered
inevitable, both Turk and Christian became equally eager for the fray,
equally confident of, victory. Six hundred vessels of war met face to
face. Rarely in history had so gorgeous a scene of martial array been
witnessed. An October sun gilded the thousand beauties of an Ionian
landscape. Athens and Corinth were behind the combatants, the mountains
of Alexander's Macedon rose in the distance; the rock of Sappho and the
heights of Actium, were before their eyes. Since the day when the world
had been lost and won beneath that famous promontory, no such combat as
the one now approaching had been fought upon the waves. The chivalrous
young commander despatched energetic messages to his fellow chieftains,
and now that it was no longer possible to elude the encounter, the
martial ardor of the allies was kindled. The Venetian High-Admiral
replied with words of enthusiasm. Colonna, lieutenant of the league,
answered his chief in the language of St. Peter; "Though I die, yet will
I not deny thee."

The fleet was arranged in three divisions. The Ottomans, not drawn up in
crescent form, as usual, had the same triple disposition. Barbarigo and
the other Venetians commanded on the left, John Andrew Doria on the
right, while Don John himself and Colonna were in the centre, Crucifix in
hand, the High-Admiral rowed from ship to ship exhorting generals and
soldiers to show themselves worthy of a cause which he had persuaded
himself was holy. Fired by his eloquence and by the sight of the enemy,
his hearers answered with eager shouts, while Don John returned to his
ship; knelt upon the quarter-deck, and offered a prayer. He then ordered
the trumpets to sound the assault, commanded his sailing-master to lay
him alongside the Turkish Admiral, and the battle began. The Venetians,
who were first attacked, destroyed ship after ship of their assailants
after a close and obstinate contest, but Barliarigo fell dead ere the
sunset, with an arrow through his brain. Meantime the action, immediately
after the first onset, had become general. From noon till evening the
battle raged, with a carnage rarely recorded in history. Don John's own
ship lay yard-arm and yard-arm with the Turkish Admiral, and exposed to
the fire of seven large vessels besides. It was a day when personal,
audacity, not skilful tactics, was demanded, and the imperial bastard
showed the metal he was made of. The Turkish Admiral's ship was
destroyed, his head exposed from Don John's deck upon a pike, and the
trophy became the signal for a general panic and a complete victory. By
sunset the battle had been won.

Of nearly three hundred Turkish galleys, but fifty made their escape.
From twenty-five to thirty thousand Turks were slain, and perhaps ten
thousand Christians. The galley-slaves on both sides fought well, and the
only beneficial result of the victory was the liberation of several
thousand Christian captives. It is true that their liberty was purchased
with the lives of a nearly equal number of Christian soldiers, and by the
reduction to slavery of almost as many thousand Mussulmen, duly
distributed among the Christian victors. Many causes--contributed to this
splendid triumph. The Turkish ships, inferior in number, were also worse
manned than those of their adversaries; and their men were worse armed.
Every bullet of the Christians told on muslin turbans and embroidered
tunics, while the arrows of the Moslems fell harmless on the casques and
corslets of their foes. The Turks, too, had committed the fatal error of
fighting upon a lee shore. Having no sea room, and being repelled in
their first onset, many galleys were driven upon the rocks, to be
destroyed with all their crews.

   [Cabrera says that thirty thousand Turks were slain, ten thousand
   made prisoners, ten thousand Christians killed, and fifteen thousand
   Christian prisoners liberated, ix. 693. De Thou's estimate is
   twenty-five thousand Turks killed, three thousand prisoners, and ten
   thousand Christians killed, vi. 247. Brantome states the number of
   Turks killed at thirty thousand, without counting those who were
   drowned or who died afterwards of their wounds; six thousand
   prisoners, twelve thousand Christian prisoners liberated, and ten
   thousand Christians killed. Hoofd, vi. 214, gives the figures at
   twenty-five thousand Turks and ten thousand Christians slain. Bor,
   v. 354, makes a minute estimate, on the authority of Pietro
   Contareno, stating the number of Christians killed at seven thousand
   six hundred and fifty, that of Turks at twenty-five thousand one
   hundred and fifty, Turkish prisoners at three thousand eight hundred
   and forty-six, and Christians liberated at twelve thousand; giving
   the number of Turkish ships destroyed at eighty, captured fifty.
   According to the "Relation cierta y verdadera," (which was drawn up
   a few days after the action,) the number of Turks slain was thirty
   thousand and upwards, besides many prisoners, that of Christians
   killed was seven thousand, of Christian slaves liberated twelve
   thousand, of Ottoman ships taken or destroyed two hundred and
   thirty. Documentos Ineditos, iii. 249. Philip sent an express
   order, forbidding the ransoming of even the captive officers. The
   Turkish slaves were divided among the victors in the proportion of
   one-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice. The other
   booty was distributed on the same principle. Out of the Pope's
   share Don John received, as a present, one hundred and seventy-four
   slaves (Documentos Ineditos, iii. 229). Alexander of Parma
   received thirty slaves; Requesens thirty. To each general of
   infantry was assigned six slaves; to each colonel four; to each
   ship's captain one. The number of "slaves in chains" (esclavos de
   cadena) allotted to Philip was thirty-six hundred (Documentoa
   Ineditos, 257). Seven thousand two hundred Turkish slaves,
   therefore, at least, were divided among Christians. This number of
   wretches, who were not fortunate enough to die with their twenty-
   five thousand comrades, must be set off against the twelve thousand
   Christian slaves liberated, in the general settlement of the account
   with Humanity.]

But whatever the cause of the victory, its consequence was to spread the
name and fame of Don John of Austria throughout the world. Alva wrote,
with enthusiasm, to congratulate him; pronouncing the victory the most
brilliant one ever achieved by Christians, and Don John the greatest
general since the death of Julius Caesar. At the same time, with a
sarcastic fling at the erection of the Escorial, he advised Philip to
improve this new success in some more practical way than by building a
house for the Lord and a sepulchre for the dead. "If," said the Duke,
"the conquests of Spain be extended in consequence of this triumph, then,
indeed, will the Cherubim and Seraphim sing glory to God." A courier,
despatched post haste to Spain, bore the glorious news, together with
the, sacred, standard of the Prophet, the holy of holies, inscribed with
the name of Allah twenty-eight thousand nine hundred times, always kept
in Mecca during peace, and never since the conquest of Constantinople
lost in battle before. The King was at vespers in the Escorial. Entering
the sacred precincts, breathless, travel-stained, excited, the messenger
found Philip impassible as marble to the wondrous news. Not a muscle of
the royal visage was moved, not a syllable escaped the royal lips, save a
brief order to the clergy to continue the interrupted vespers. When the
service had been methodically concluded, the King made known the
intelligence and requested a Te Deum.

The youthful commander-in-chief obtained more than his full mead of
glory. No doubt he had fought with brilliant courage, yet in so close and
murderous a conflict, the valor of no single individual could decide the
day, and the result was due to the combined determination of all. Had Don
John remained at Naples, the issue might have easily been the same.
Barbarigo, who sealed the victory with his blood; Colonna, who celebrated
a solemn triumph on his return to Rome; Parma, Doria, Giustiniani,
Venieri, might each as well have claimed a monopoly of the glory, had not
the Pope, at Philip's entreaty, conferred the baton of command upon Don
John. The meagre result of the contest is as notorious as the victory.
While Constantinople was quivering with apprehension, the rival generals
were already wrangling with animosity. Had the Christian fleet advanced,
every soul would have fled from the capital, but Providence had ordained
otherwise, and Don John sailed westwardly with his ships. He made a
descent on the Barbary coast, captured Tunis, destroyed Biserta, and
brought King Amidas and his two sons prisoners to Italy. Ordered by
Philip to dismantle the fortifications of Tunis, he replied by repairing
them thoroughly, and by placing a strong garrison within the citadel.
Intoxicated with his glory, the young adventurer already demanded a
crown, and the Pope was disposed to proclaim him King of Tunis, for the
Queen of the Lybian seas was to be the capital of his Empire, the new
Carthage which he already dreamed.

Philip thought it time to interfere, for he felt that his own crown might
be insecure, with such a restless and ambitious spirit indulging in
possible and impossible chimeras. He removed John de Soto, who had been
Don John's chief councillor and emissary to the Pope, and substituted in
his place the celebrated and ill-starred Escovedo. The new secretary,
however, entered as heartily but secretly into all these romantic
schemes. Disappointed of the Empire which he had contemplated on the edge
of the African desert, the champion of the Cross turned to the cold
islands of the northern seas. There sighed, in captivity, the beauteous
Mary of Scotland, victim of the heretic Elizabeth. His susceptibility to
the charms of beauty--a characteristic as celebrated as his courage--was
excited, his chivalry aroused. What holier triumph for the conqueror of
the Saracens than the subjugation of these northern infidels? He would
dethrone the proud Elizabeth; he would liberate and espouse the Queen of
Scots, and together they would reign over, the two united realms. All
that the Pope could do with bulls and blessings, letters of
excommunication, and patents of investiture, he did with his whole heart.
Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland as soon as he
liked; all that was left to do was to conquer the kingdoms.

Meantime, while these schemes were flitting through his brain, and were
yet kept comparatively secret by the Pope, Escovedo, and himself, the
news reached him in Italy that he had been appointed Governor-General of
the Netherlands. Nothing could be more opportune. In the provinces were
ten thousand veteran Spaniards, ripe for adventure, hardened by years of
warfare, greedy for gold, audacious almost beyond humanity, the very
instruments for his scheme. The times were critical in the Netherlands,
it was true; yet he would soon pacify those paltry troubles, and then
sweep forward to his prize. Yet events were rushing forward with such
feverish rapidity, that he might be too late for his adventure. Many days
were lost in the necessary journey from Italy into Spain to receive the
final instructions of the King. The news from the provinces, grew more
and more threatening. With the impetuosity and romance of his
temperament, he selected his confidential friend Ottavio Gonzaga, six
men-at-arms, and an adroit and well-experienced Swiss courier who knew
every road of France. It was no light adventure for the Catholic
Governor-General of the Netherlands to traverse the kingdom at that
particular juncture. Staining his bright locks and fair face to the
complexion of a Moor, he started on his journey, attired as the servant
of Gonzaga. Arriving at Paris, after a rapid journey, he descended at a
hostelry opposite the residence of the Spanish ambassador, Don Diego de
Cuniga. After nightfall he had a secret interview with that functionary,
and learning, among other matters, that there was to be a great ball that
night at the Louvre, he determined to go thither in disguise. There,
notwithstanding his hurry, he had time to see and to become desperately
enamored of "that wonder of beauty," the fair and frail Margaret of
Valois, Queen of Navarre. Her subsequent visit to her young adorer at
Namur, to be recorded in a future page of this history, was destined to
mark the last turning point in his picturesque career. On his way to the
Netherlands he held a rapid interview with the Duke of Guise, to arrange
his schemes for the liberation and espousal of that noble's kinswoman,
the Scottish Queen; and on the 3rd of November he arrived at Luxemburg.

There stood the young conqueror of Lepanto, his brain full of schemes,
his heart full of hopes, on the threshhold of the Netherlands, at the
entrance to what he believed the most brilliant chapter of his
life--schemes, hopes, and visions--doomed speedily to fade before the
cold reality with which he was to be confronted. Throwing off his
disguise after reaching Luxemburg, the youthful paladin stood confessed.
His appearance was as romantic as his origin and his exploits. Every
contemporary chronicler, French, Spanish, Italian, Flemish, Roman, have
dwelt upon his personal beauty and the singular fascination of his
manner. Symmetrical features, blue eyes of great vivacity, and a
profusion of bright curling hair, were combined with a person not much
above middle height; but perfectly well proportioned. Owing to a natural
peculiarity of his head, the hair fell backward from the temples, and he
had acquired the habit of pushing it from his brows. The custom became a
fashion among the host of courtiers, who were but too happy to glass
themselves in so brilliant a mirror. As Charles the Fifth, on his journey
to Italy to assume the iron crown, had caused his hair to be clipped
close, as a remedy for the headaches with which, at that momentous epoch,
he was tormented, bringing thereby close shaven polls into extreme
fashion; so a mass of hair pushed backward from the temples, in the style
to which the name of John of Austria was appropriated, became the
prevailing mode wherever the favorite son of the Emperor appeared.

Such was the last crusader whom the annals of chivalry were to know; the
man who had humbled the crescent as it had not been humbled since the
days of the Tancreds, the Baldwins, the Plantagenets--yet, after all,
what was this brilliant adventurer when weighed against the tranquil
Christian champion whom he was to meet face to face? The contrast was
striking between the real and the romantic hero. Don John had pursued and
achieved glory through victories with which the world was ringing;
William was slowly compassing a country's emancipation through a series
of defeats. He moulded a commonwealth and united hearts with as much
contempt for danger as Don John had exhibited in scenes of slave driving
and carnage. Amid fields of blood, and through web's of tortuous
intrigue, the brave and subtle son of the Emperor pursued only his own
objects. Tawdry schemes of personal ambition, conquests for his own
benefit, impossible crowns for his own wearing, were the motives which
impelled, him, and the prizes which he sought. His existence was
feverish, fitful, and passionate. "Tranquil amid the raging billows,"
according to his favorite device, the father of his country waved aside
the diadem which for him had neither charms nor meaning. Their characters
were as contrasted as their persons. The curled-darling of chivalry
seemed a youth at thirty-one. Spare of figure, plain in apparel,
benignant, but haggard of countenance, with temples bared by anxiety as
much as by his helmet, earnest, almost devout in manner, in his own
words, "Calvus et Calvinists," William of Orange was an old man at
forty-three.

Perhaps there was as much good faith on the part of Don John, when he
arrived in Luxemburg, as could be expected of a man coming directly from
the cabinet of Philip. The King had secretly instructed him to conciliate
the provinces, but to concede nothing, for the Governor was only a new
incarnation of the insane paradox that benignity and the system of
Charles the Fifth were one. He was directed to restore the government, to
its state during the imperial epoch. Seventeen provinces, in two of which
the population were all dissenters, in all of which the principle of
mutual toleration had just been accepted by Catholics and Protestants,
were now to be brought back to the condition according to which all
Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive. So that the
Inquisition, the absolute authority of the monarch, and the exclusive
worship of the Roman Church were preserved intact, the King professed
himself desirous of "extinguishing the fires of rebellion, and of saving
the people from the last desperation." With these slight exceptions,
Philip was willing to be very benignant. "More than this," said he,
"cannot and ought not be conceded." To these brief but pregnant
instructions was added a morsel of advice, personal in its nature, but
very characteristic of the writer. Don John was recommended to take great
care of his soul, and also to be very cautious in the management of his
amours.

Thus counselled and secretly directed, the new Captain-General had been
dismissed to the unhappy Netherlands. The position, however, was
necessarily false. The man who was renowned for martial exploits, and
notoriously devoured by ambition, could hardly inspire deep confidence in
the pacific dispositions of the government. The crusader of Granada and
Lepanto, the champion of the ancient Church, was not likely to please the
rugged Zealanders who had let themselves be hacked to pieces rather than
say one Paternoster, and who had worn crescents in their caps at Leyden,
to prove their deeper hostility to the Pope than to the Turk. The
imperial bastard would derive but alight consideration from his paternal
blood, in a country where illegitimate birth was more unfavorably
regarded than in most other countries, and where a Brabantine edict,
recently issued in name of the King; deprived all political or civil
functionaries not born in wedlock; of their offices. Yet he had received
instructions, at his departure, to bring about a pacification, if
possible, always maintaining, however, the absolute authority of the
crown and the exclusive exercise of the Catholic religion. How the two
great points of his instructions were to be made entirely palatable, was
left to time and chance. There was a vague notion that with the new
Governor's fame, fascinating manners, and imperial parentage, he might
accomplish a result which neither fraud nor force--not the arts of
Granvelle, nor the atrocity of Alva, nor the licentiousness of a
buccaneering soldiery had been able to effect. As for Don John himself,
he came with no definite plans for the Netherlanders, but with very
daring projects of his own, and to pursue these misty visions was his
main business on arriving in the provinces. In the meantime he was
disposed to settle the Netherland difficulty in some showy, off-hand
fashion, which should cost him but little trouble, and occasion no
detriment to the cause of Papacy or absolutism. Unfortunately for these
rapid arrangements, William of Orange was in Zealand, and the
Pacification had just been signed at Ghent.

It was, naturally, with very little satisfaction that the Prince beheld
the arrival of Don John. His sagacious combinations would henceforth be
impeded, if not wholly frustrated. This he foresaw. He knew that there
could be no intention of making any arrangement in which Holland and
Zealand could be included. He was confident that any recognition of the
Reformed religion was as much out of the question now as ever. He doubted
not that there were many Catholic magnates, wavering politicians,
aspirants for royal favor, who would soon be ready to desert the cause
which had so recently been made a general cause, and who would soon be
undermining the work of their own hands. The Pacification of Ghent would
never be maintained in letter and spirit by the vicegerent of Philip; for
however its sense might be commented upon or perverted, the treaty, while
it recognized Catholicism as the state religion, conceded, to a certain
extent, liberty of conscience. An immense stride had been taken, by
abolishing the edicts, and prohibiting persecution. If that step were now
retraced, the new religion was doomed, and the liberties of Holland and
Zealand destroyed. "If they make an arrangement with Don John, it will be
for us of the religion to run," wrote the Prince to his brother, "for
their intention is to suffer no person of that faith to have a fixed
domicile in the Netherlands." It was, therefore, with a calm
determination to counteract and crush the policy of the youthful Governor
that William the Silent awaited his antagonist. Were Don John admitted to
confidence, the peace of Holland and Zealand was gone. Therefore it was
necessary to combat him both openly and secretly--by loud remonstrance
and by invisible stratagem. What chance had the impetuous and impatient
young hero in such an encounter with the foremost statesman of the age?
He had arrived, with all the self-confidence of a conqueror; he did not
know that he was to be played upon like a pipe--to be caught in meshes
spread by his own hands--to struggle blindly--to rage impotently--to die
ingloriously.

The Prince had lost no time in admonishing the states-general as to the
course which should now be pursued. He was of opinion that, upon their
conduct at this crisis depended the future destinies of the Netherlands.
"If we understand how to make proper use of the new Governor's arrival,"
said he, "it may prove very advantageous to us; if not, it will be the
commencement of our total ruin." The spirit of all his communications was
to infuse the distrust which he honestly felt, and which he certainly
took no pains to disguise; to impress upon his countrymen the importance
of improving the present emergency by the enlargement, instead of the
threatened contraction of their liberties, and to enforce with all his
energy the necessity of a firm union. He assured the estates that Don
John had been sent, in this simple manner, to the country, because the
King and cabinet had begun to despair of carrying their point by force.
At the same time he warned them that force would doubtless be replaced by
fraud. He expressed his conviction that so soon as Don John should attain
the ascendency which he had been sent to secure, the gentleness which now
smiled upon the surface would give place to the deadlier purposes which
lurked below. He went so far as distinctly to recommend the seizure of
Don John's person. By so doing, much bloodshed might be saved; for such
was the King's respect for the Emperor's son that their demands would be
granted rather than that his liberty should be permanently endangered. In
a very striking and elaborate letter which he addressed from Middelburg
to the estates-general, he insisted on the expediency of seizing the
present opportunity in order to secure and to expand their liberties, and
urged them to assert broadly the principle that the true historical
polity of the Netherlands was a representative, constitutional
government, Don John, on arriving at Luxemburg, had demanded hostages for
his own security, a measure which could not but strike the calmest
spectator as an infraction of all provincial rights. "He asks you to
disarm," continued William of Orange; "he invites you to furnish
hostages, but the time has been when the lord of the land came unarmed
and uncovered, before the estates-general, and swore to support the
constitutions before his own sovereignty could be recognized."

He reiterated his suspicions as to the honest intentions of the
government, and sought, as forcibly as possible, to infuse an equal
distrust into the minds of those he addressed. "Antwerp," said he, "once
the powerful and blooming, now the most forlorn and desolate city of
Christendom, suffered because she dared to exclude the King's troops. You
may be sure that you are all to have a place at the same banquet. We may
forget the past, but princes never forget, when the means of vengeance
are placed within their hands. Nature teaches them to arrive at their end
by fraud, when violence will not avail them. Like little children, they
whistle to the birds they would catch. Promises and pretences they will
furnish in plenty."

He urged them on no account to begin any negotiation with the Governor,
except on the basis of the immediate departure of the soldiery. "Make no
agreement with him; unless the Spanish and other foreign troops have been
sent away beforehand; beware, meantime, of disbanding your own, for that
were to put the knife into his hands to cut your own throats withal." He
then proceeded to sketch the out lines of a negotiation, such as he could
recommend. The plan was certainly sufficiently bold, and it could hardly
cause astonishment, if it were not immediately accepted by Don John; as
the basis of an arrangement. "Remember this is not play", said the
Prince, "and that you have to choose between the two, either total ruin
or manly self-defence. Don John must command the immediate departure of
the Spaniards. All our privileges must be revised, and an oath to
maintain them required. New councils of state and finance must be
appointed by the estates. The general assembly ought to have power to
come together twice or thrice yearly, and, indeed, as often as they
choose. The states-general must administer and regulate all affairs. The
citadels must be demolished everywhere. No troops ought to be enlisted,
nor garrisons established, without the consent of the estates."

In all the documents, whether public memorials or private letters, which
came at this period from the hand of the Prince, he assumed, as a matter
of course, that in any arrangement with the new Governor the Pacification
of Ghent was to be maintained. This, too, was the determination of almost
every man in the country. Don John, soon after his arrival at Luxemburg,
had despatched messengers to the states-general, informing them of his
arrival. It was not before the close of the month of November that the
negotiations seriously began. Provost Fonck, on the part of the Governor,
then informed them of Don John's intention to enter Namur, attended by
fifty mounted troopers. Permission, however, was resolutely refused, and
the burghers of Namur were forbidden to render oaths of fidelity until
the Governor should have complied with the preliminary demands of the
estates. To enunciate these demands categorically, a deputation of the
estates-general came to Luxemburg. These gentlemen were received with
courtesy by Don John, but their own demeanour was not conciliatory. A
dislike to the Spanish government; a disloyalty to the monarch with whose
brother and representative they were dealing, pierced through all their
language. On the other hand, the ardent temper of Don John was never slow
to take offence. One of the deputies proposed to the Governor, with great
coolness, that he should assume the government in his own name, and
renounce the authority of Philip. Were he willing to do so, the patriotic
gentleman pledged himself that the provinces would at once acknowledge
him as sovereign, and sustain his government. Don John, enraged at the
insult to his own loyalty which the proposition implied, drew his dagger
and rushed towards the offender. The deputy would, probably, have paid
for his audacity with his life had there not been by-standers enough to
prevent the catastrophe. This scene was an unsatisfactory prelude to the
opening negotiations.

On the 6th of December the deputies presented to the Governor at
Luxemburg a paper, containing their demands, drawn up in eight articles,
and their concessions in ten. The states insisted on the immediate
removal of the troops, with the understanding that they were never to
return, but without prohibition of their departure by sea; they demanded
the immediate release of all prisoners; they insisted on the maintenance
of the Ghent treaty, there being nothing therein which did not tend to
the furtherance of the Catholic religion; they claimed an act of amnesty;
they required the convocation of the states-general, on the basis of that
assembly before which took place the abdication of Charles the Fifth;
they demanded an oath, on the part of Don John, to maintain all the
charters and customs of the country.

Should these conditions be complied: with, the deputies consented on the
part of the estates, that he should be acknowledged as Governor, and that
the Catholic religion and the authority of his Majesty should be
maintained. They agreed that all foreign leagues should be renounced,
their own foreign soldiery disbanded, and a guard of honor, native
Netherlanders, such as his Majesty was contented with at his "Blythe
Entrance," provided. A truce of fifteen days, for negotiations, was
furthermore proposed.

Don John made answers to these propositions by adding a brief comment, as
apostille, upon each of the eighteen articles, in succession. He would
send away the troops, but, at the same time, the states must disband
their own. He declined engaging himself not to recall his foreign
soldiery, should necessity require their service. With regard to the
Ghent Pacification, he professed himself ready for a general peace
negotiation, on condition that the supremacy of the Catholic Church and
the authority of his Majesty were properly secured. He would settle upon
some act of amnesty after due consultation with the State Council. He was
willing that the states should be convoked in general assembly, provided
sufficient security were given him that nothing should be there
transacted prejudicial to the Catholic religion and the King's
sovereignty. As for their privileges, he would govern as had been done in
the time of his imperial father. He expressed his satisfaction with most
of the promises offered by the estates, particularly with their
expression in favor of the Church and of his Majesty's authority; the two
all-important points to secure which he had come thither unattended, at
the peril of his life, but he received their offer of a body-guard, by
which his hirelings were to be superseded, with very little gratitude. He
was on the point, he said, of advancing as far as Marche en Famine, and
should take with him as strong a guard as he considered necessary, and
composed of such troops as he had at hand. Nothing decisive came of this
first interview. The parties had taken the measures of their mutual
claims, and after a few days, fencing with apostilles, replies, and
rejoinders, they separated, their acrimony rather inflamed than appeased.

The departure of the troops and the Ghent treaty were the vital points in
the negotiation. The estates had originally been content that the troops
should go by sea. Their suspicions were, however, excited by the
pertinacity with which Don John held to this mode of removal. Although
they did not suspect the mysterious invasion of England, a project which
was the real reason why the Governor objected to their departure by land,
yet they soon became aware--that he had been secretly tampering with the
troops at every point. The effect of these secret negotiations with the
leading officers of the army was a general expression of their
unwillingness, on account of the lateness of the season, the difficult
and dangerous condition of the roads and mountain-passes, the plague in
Italy, and other pretexts, to undertake so long a journey by land. On the
other hand, the states, seeing the anxiety and the duplicity of Don John
upon this particular point, came to the resolution to thwart him at all
hazards, and insisted on the land journey. Too long a time, too much
money, too many ships would be necessary, they said, to forward so large
a force by sea, and in the meantime it would be necessary to permit them
to live for another indefinite period at the charge of the estates.

With regard to the Ghent Pacification, the estates, in the course of
December, procured: an express opinion from the eleven professors of
theology, and doctors utriusque juris of Louvain, that the treaty
contained nothing which conflicted with the supremacy of the Catholic
religion. The various bishops, deacons, abbots, and pastors of the
Netherlands made a similar decision. An elaborate paper, drawn, up by the
State-Council, at the request of the states-general, declared that there
was nothing in the Pacification derogatory to the supreme authority of
his Majesty. Thus fortified; with opinions which, it must be confessed,
were rather dogmatically than argumentatively drawn up, and which it
would have been difficult very logically to, defend, the states looked
forward confidently to the eventual acceptance by Don John of the terms
proposed. In the meantime, while there was still an indefinite pause in
the negotiations, a remarkable measure came to aid the efficacy of the
Ghent Pacification.

Early in January, 1577, the celebrated "Union of Brussels" was formed.
This important agreement was originally signed by eight leading
personages, the Abbot of Saint Gertrude, the Counts Lalain and Bossu, and
the Seigneur de Champagny being among the number. Its tenor was to engage
its signers to compass the immediate expulsion of the Spaniards and the
execution of the Ghent Pacification, to maintain the Catholic religion
and the King's authority, and to defend the fatherland and all its
constitutions. Its motive was to generalize the position assumed by the
Ghent treaty. The new act was to be signed, not by a few special deputies
alone, like a diplomatic convention, but by all the leading individuals
of all the provinces, in order to exhibit to Don John such an array of
united strength that he would find himself forced to submit to the
demands of the estates. The tenor, motive, and effect were all as had
been proposed and foreseen. The agreement to expel the Spaniards, under
the Catholic and loyal manifestations indicated, passed from hand to hand
through all the provinces. It soon received the signature and support of
all the respectability, wealth, and intelligence of the whole country.
Nobles, ecclesiastics, citizens, hastened to give to it their adhesion.
The states-general had sent it, by solemn resolution, to every province,
in order that every man might be forced to range himself either upon the
side of the fatherland or of despotism. Two copies of the signatures
procured in each province were ordered, of which one was to be deposited
in its archives, and the other forwarded to Brussels. In a short time,
every province, with the single exception of Luxemburg, had loaded the
document with signatures. This was a great step in advance. The Ghent
Pacification, which was in the nature of a treaty between the Prince and
the estates of Holland and Zealand on the one side, and a certain number
of provinces on the other, had only been signed by the envoys of the
contracting parties. Though received with deserved and universal
acclamation, it had not the authority of a popular document. This,
however, was the character studiously impressed upon the "Brussels
Union." The people, subdivided according to the various grades of their
social hierarchy, had been solemnly summoned to council, and had
deliberately recorded their conviction. No restraint had been put upon
their freedom of action, and there was hardly a difference of opinion as
to the necessity of the measure.

A rapid revolution in Friesland, Groningen, and the dependencies, had
recently restored that important country to the national party. The
Portuguese De Billy had been deprived of his authority as King's
stadholder, and Count Hoogstraaten's brother, Baron de Ville, afterwards
as Count Renneberg infamous for his, treason to the cause of liberty, had
been appointed by the estates in his room. In all this district the
"Union of Brussels" was eagerly signed by men of every degree. Holland
and Zealand, no less than the Catholic provinces of the south willingly
accepted the compromise which was thus laid down, and which was thought
to be not only an additional security for the past, not only a pillar
more for the maintenance of the Ghent Pacification, but also a sure
precursor of a closer union in the future. The Union of Brussels became,
in fact, the stepping-stone to the "Union of Utrecht," itself the
foundation-stone of a republic destined to endure more than two
centuries. On the other hand, this early union held the seed, of its own
destruction within itself. It was not surprising, however, that a strong
declaration in favor of the Catholic religion should be contained in a
document intended for circulation through all the provinces. The object
was to unite as large a force, and to make as striking a demonstration
before the eyes of the Governor General as was practicable under the
circumstances. The immediate purpose was answered, temporary union was
formed, but it was impossible that a permanent crystallization should
take place where so strong a dissolvent as the Catholic clause had been
admitted. In the sequel, therefore, the union fell asunder precisely at
this fatal flaw. The next union was that which definitely separated the
provinces into Protestant, and Catholic, into self-governing republics,
and the dependencies of a distant despotism. The immediate effect,
however, of the "Brussels Union" was to rally all lovers of the
fatherland and haters of a foreign tyranny upon one vital point--the
expulsion of the stranger from the land. The foot of the Spanish soldier
should no longer profane their soil. All men were forced to pronounce
themselves boldly and unequivocally, in order that the patriots might
stand shoulder to shoulder, and the traitors be held up to infamy. This
measure was in strict accordance with the advice given more than once by
the Prince of Orange, and was almost in literal fulfilment of the
Compromise, which he had sketched before the arrival of Don John.

The deliberations were soon resumed with the new Governor, the scene
being shifted from Luxemburg to Huy. Hither came a fresh deputation from
the states-general--many signers of the Brussels Union among them--and
were received by Don John with stately courtesy: They had, however, come,
determined to carry matters with a high and firm hand, being no longer
disposed to brook his imperious demeanour, nor to tolerate his dilatory
policy. It is not surprising, therefore, that the courtesy soon changed
to bitterness, and that attack and recrimination usurped the place of the
dignified but empty formalities which had characterized the interviews at
Luxemburg.

The envoys, particularly Sweveghem and Champagny, made no concealment of
their sentiments towards the Spanish soldiery and the Spanish nation, and
used a freedom of tone and language which the petulant soldier had not
been accustomed to hear. He complained, at the outset, that the
Netherlanders seemed new-born--that instead of bending the knee, they
seemed disposed to grasp the sceptre. Insolence had taken the place of
pliancy, and the former slave now applied the chain and whip to his
master. With such exacerbation of temper at the commencement of
negotiations, their progress was of necessity stormy and slow.

The envoys now addressed three concise questions to the Governor. Was he
satisfied that the Ghent Pacification contained nothing conflicting with
the Roman religion and the King's authority? If so, was he willing to
approve that treaty in all its articles? Was he ready to dismiss his
troops at once, and by land, the sea voyage being liable to too many
objections?

Don John answered these three questions--which, in reality, were but
three forms of a single question--upon the same day, the 24th of January.
His reply was as complex as the demand had been simple. It consisted of a
proposal in six articles, and a requisition in twenty-one, making in all
twenty-seven articles. Substantially he proposed to dismiss the foreign
troops--to effect a general pacification of the Netherlands--to govern on
the basis of the administration in his imperial father's reign--to
arrange affairs in and with regard to the assembly-general as the King
should judge to be fitting--to forgive and forget past offences--and to
release all prisoners. On the other hand he required the estates to pay
the troops before their departure, and to provide ships enough to
transport them, as the Spaniards did not choose to go by land, and as the
deputies, at Luxemburg had consented to their removal by sea.
Furthermore, he demanded that the states should dismiss their own troops.
He required ecclesiastical authority to prove the Ghent Pacification not
prejudicial to the Catholic religion; legal authority that it was not
detrimental to his Majesty's supremacy; and an oath from the
states-general to uphold both points inviolably, and to provide for their
maintenance in Holland and Zealand. He claimed the right to employ about
his person soldiers and civil functionaries of any nation he might
choose, and he exacted from the states a promise to prevent the Prince of
Orange from removing his son, Count van Buren, forcibly or fraudulently,
from his domicile in Spain.

The deputies were naturally indignant at this elaborate trifling. They
had, in reality, asked him but one question, and that a simple one--Would
he maintain the treaty of Ghent? Here were twenty-seven articles in
reply, and yet no answer to that question. They sat up all night,
preparing a violent protocol, by which the Governor's claims were to be
utterly demolished. Early in the morning, they waited upon his Highness,
presented the document, and at the same time asked him plainly, by word
of mouth, did he or did he not intend to uphold the treaty. Thus pressed
into a corner in presence of the deputies, the members of the State
Council who were in attendance from Brussels, and the envoys whom the
Emperor had recently sent to assist at these deliberations, the Governor
answered, No. He would not and could not maintain the treaty, because the
Spanish troops were in that instrument denounced as rebels, because he
would not consent to the release of Count Van Buren--and on account of
various other reasons not then specified. Hereupon ensued a fierce
debate, and all day long the altercation lasted, without a result being
reached. At ten o'clock in the evening, the deputies having previously
retired for a brief interval, returned with a protest that they were not
to be held responsible for the, termination of the proceedings, and that
they washed their hands of the bloodshed which might follow the rupture.
Upon reading this document; Don John fell into a blazing passion. He
vehemently denounced the deputies as traitors. He swore that men who came
to him thus prepared with ready-made protests in their pockets, were
rebels from the commencement, and had never intended any agreement with
him. His language and gestures expressed unbounded fury. He was weary of
their ways, he said. They had better look to themselves, for the King
would never leave their rebellion unpunished. He was ready to draw the
sword at once--not his own, but his Majesty's, and they might be sure
that the war which they were thus provoking, should be the fiercest ever,
waged. More abusive language in this strain was uttered, but it was not
heard with lamb-like submission. The day had gone by when the deputies of
the states-general were wont to quail before the wrath of vicarious
royalty. The fiery words of Don John were not oil to troubled water, but
a match to a mine. The passions of the deputies exploded in their turn,
and from hot words they had nearly come to hard blows. One of the
deputies replied with so much boldness and vehemence that the Governor,
seizing a heavy silver bell which stood on the table, was about to hurl
it at the offender's head, when an energetic and providential
interference on the part of the imperial envoys, prevented the unseemly
catastrophe.

The day thus unprofitably spent, had now come to its close, and the
deputies left the presence of Don John with tempers as inflamed as his
own. They were, therefore, somewhat surprised at being awakened in their
beds, after midnight, by a certain Father Trigoso, who came to them with
a conciliatory message from the Governor. While they were still rubbing
their eyes with sleep and astonishment, the Duke of Aerschot, the Bishop
of Liege, and several councillors of state, entered the room. These
personages brought the news that Don John had at last consented to
maintain the Pacification of Ghent, as would appear by a note written in
his own hand, which was then delivered. The billet was eagerly read, but
unfortunately did not fulfil the anticipations which had been excited. "I
agree," said Don John, "to approve the peace made between the states and
the Prince of Orange, on condition that nothing therein may seem
detrimental to the authority of his Majesty and the supremacy of the
Catholic religion, and also with reservation of the points mentioned in
my last communication."

Men who had gone to bed in a high state of indignation were not likely to
wake in much better humour, when suddenly aroused in their first nap, to
listen to such a message as this. It seemed only one piece of trifling
the more. The deputies had offered satisfactory opinions of divines and
jurisconsults, as to the two points specified which concerned the Ghent
treaty. It was natural, therefore, that this vague condition concerning
them, the determination of which was for the Governor's breast alone,
should be instantly rejected, and that the envoys should return to their
disturbed slumbers with an increase of ill-humour.

On the morrow, as the envoys, booted and spurred, were upon the point of
departure for Brussels, another communication was brought to them from
Don John. This time, the language of the Governor seemed more to the
purpose. "I agree," said he, "to maintain the peace concluded between the
states and the Prince of Orange, on condition of receiving from the
ecclesiastical authorities, and from the University of Louvain,
satisfactory assurance that the said treaty contains nothing derogatory
to the Catholic religion--and similar assurance from the State Council,
the Bishop of Liege, and the imperial envoys, that the treaty is in no
wise prejudicial to the authority of his Majesty." Here seemed, at last,
something definite. These conditions could be complied with. They had, in
fact, been already complied with. The assurances required as to the two
points had already been procured, as the deputies and as Don John well
knew. The Pacification of Ghent was, therefore, virtually admitted. The
deputies waited upon the Governor accordingly, and the conversation was
amicable. They vainly endeavoured, however, to obtain his consent to the
departure of the troops by land--the only point then left in dispute. Don
John, still clinging to his secret scheme, with which the sea voyage of
the troops was so closely connected, refused to concede. He reproached
the envoys, on the contrary, with their importunity in making a fresh
demand, just as he had conceded the Ghent treaty, upon his entire
responsibility and without instructions. Mentally resolving that this
point should still be wrung from the Governor, but not suspecting his
secret motives for resisting it so strenuously, the deputies took an
amicable farewell of the Governor, promising a favorable report upon the
proceedings, so soon as they should arrive in Brussels.

Don John, having conceded so much, was soon obliged to concede the whole.
The Emperor Rudolph had lately succeeded his father, Maximilian. The
deceased potentate, whose sentiments on the great subject of religious
toleration were so much in harmony with those entertained by the Prince
of Orange, had, on the whole, notwithstanding the ties of relationship
and considerations of policy, uniformly befriended the Netherlands, so
far as words and protestations could go, at the court of Philip. Active
co-operation; practical assistance, he had certainly not rendered. He had
unquestionably been too much inclined to accomplish the impossibility of
assisting the states without offending the King--an effort which, in the
homely language of Hans Jenitz; was "like wishing his skin washed without
being wet." He had even interposed many obstacles to the free action of
the Prince, as has been seen in the course of this history, but
nevertheless, the cause of the Netherlands, of religion, and of humanity
had much to lose by his death. His eldest son and successor, Rudolph the
second, was an ardent Catholic, whose relations with a proscribed prince
and a reformed population could hardly remain long in a satisfactory
state. The New Emperor had, however, received the secret envoys of Orange
with bounty, and was really desirous of accomplishing the pacification of
the provinces. His envoys had assisted at all the recent deliberations
between the estates and Don John, and their vivid remonstrances removed,
at this juncture, the last objection on the part of the Governor-General.
With a secret sigh, he deferred the darling and mysterious hope which had
lighted him to the Netherlands, and consented to the departure of the
troops by land.

All obstacles having been thus removed, the memorable treaty called the
Perpetual Edict was signed at Marche en Famine on the 12th, and at
Brussels on the 17th of February, 1577. This document, issued in the name
of the King, contained nineteen articles. It approved and ratified the
Peace of Ghent, in consideration that the prelates and clergy, with the
doctors 'utriusque juris' of Louvain, had decided that nothing in that
treaty conflicted either with the supremacy of the Catholic Church or the
authority of the King, but, on the contrary, that it advanced the
interests of both. It promised that the soldiery should depart "freely,
frankly, and without delay; by land, never to return except in case of
foreign war"--the Spaniards to set forth within forty days, the Germans
and others so soon as arrangements had been made by the states-general
for their payment. It settled that all prisoners, on both sides, should
be released, excepting the Count Van Buren, who was to be set free so
soon as the states-general having been convoked, the Prince of Orange
should have fulfilled the resolutions to be passed by that assembly. It
promised the maintenance of all the privileges, charters, and
constitutions of the Netherlands. It required of the states all oath to
maintain the Catholic religion. It recorded their agreement to disband
their troops. It settled that Don John should be received as
Governor-General, immediately upon the departure of the Spaniards,
Italians, and Burgundians from the provinces.

These were the main provisions of this famous treaty, which was confirmed
a few weeks afterwards by Philip, in a letter addressed to the states of
Brabant, and by an edict issued at Madrid. It will be seen that
everything required by the envoys of the states, at the commencement of
their negotiations, had been conceded by Don John. They had claimed the
departure of the troops, either by land or sea. He had resisted the
demand a long time, but had at last consented to despatch them by sea.
Their departure by land had then been insisted upon. This again he had
most reluctantly conceded. The ratification of the Ghent treaty, he had
peremptorily refused. He had come to the provinces, at the instant of its
conclusion, and had, of course, no instructions on the subject.
Nevertheless, slowly receding, he had agreed, under certain reservations,
to accept the treaty. Those reservations relating to the great points of
Catholic and royal supremacy, he insisted upon subjecting to his own
judgment alone. Again he was overruled. Most unwillingly he agreed to
accept, instead of his own conscientious conviction, the dogmas of the
State Council and of the Louvain doctors. Not seeing very clearly how a
treaty which abolished the edicts of Charles the Fifth and the ordinances
of Alva--which removed the religious question in Holland and Zealand from
the King's jurisdiction to that of the states-general--which had caused
persecution to surcease--had established toleration--and which moreover,
had confirmed the arch rebel and heretic of all the Netherlands in the
government of the two rebellious and heretic provinces, as stadholder for
the King--not seeing very clearly how such a treaty was "advantageous
rather than prejudicial to royal absolutism and an exclusive
Catholicism," he naturally hesitated at first.

The Governor had thus disconcerted the Prince of Orange, not by the
firmness of his resistance, but by the amplitude of his concessions. The
combinations of William the Silent were, for an instant, deranged. Had
the Prince expected such liberality, he would have placed his demands
upon a higher basis, for it is not probable that he contemplated or
desired a pacification. The Duke of Aerschot and the Bishop of Liege in
vain essayed to prevail upon his deputies at Marche en Famine, to sign
the agreement of the 27th January, upon which was founded the Perpetual
Edict. They refused to do so without consulting the Prince and the
estates. Meantime, the other commissioners forced the affair rapidly
forward. The states sent a deputation to the Prince to ask his opinion,
and signed the agreement before it was possible to receive his reply.
This was to treat him with little courtesy, if not absolutely with bad
faith. The Prince was disappointed and indignant. In truth, as appeared
from all his language and letters, he had no confidence in Don John. He
believed him a consummate hypocrite, and as deadly a foe to the
Netherlands as the Duke of Alva, or Philip himself. He had carefully
studied twenty-five intercepted letters from the King, the Governor,
Jerome de Roda, and others, placed recently in his hands by the Duke of
Aerschot, and had found much to confirm previous and induce fresh
suspicion. Only a few days previously to the signature of the treaty, he
had also intercepted other letters from influential personages, Alonzo de
Vargas and others, disclosing extensive designs to obtain possession of
the strong places in the country, and then to reduce the land to absolute
Subjection. He had assured the estates, therefore, that the deliberate
intention of the Government, throughout the whole negotiation, was to
deceive, whatever might be the public language of Don John and his
agents. He implored them, therefore, to, have "pity upon the poor
country," and to save the people from falling into the trap which was
laid for them. From first to last, he had expressed a deep and wise
distrust, and justified it by ample proofs. He was, with reason,
irritated, therefore, at the haste with which the states had concluded
the agreement with Don John--at the celerity with which, as he afterwards
expressed it, "they had rushed upon the boar-spear of that sanguinary
heart." He believed that everything had been signed and Sworn by the
Governor, with the mental reservation that such agreements were valid
only until he should repent having made them. He doubted the good faith
and the stability of the grand seigniors. He had never felt confidence in
the professions of the time-serving Aerschot, nor did he trust even the
brave Champagny, notwithstanding his services at the sack of Antwerp. He
was especially indignant that provision had been made, not for
demolishing but for restoring to his Majesty those hateful citadels,
nests of tyranny, by which the flourishing cities of the land were kept
in perpetual anxiety. Whether in the hands of King, nobles, or
magistrates, they were equally odious to him, and he had long since
determined that they should be razed to the ground. In short, he believed
that the estates had thrust their heads into the lion's mouth, and he
foresaw the most gloomy consequences from the treaty which had just been
concluded. He believed, to use his own language, "that the only
difference between Don John and Alva or Requesens was, that he was
younger and more foolish than his predecessors, less capable of
concealing his venom, more impatient, to dip his hands in blood."

In the Pacification of Ghent, the Prince had achieved the prize of his
life-long labors. He had banded a mass of provinces by the ties of a
common history, language, and customs, into a league against a foreign
tyranny. He had grappled Holland and Zealand to their sister provinces by
a common love for their ancient liberties, by a common hatred to a
Spanish soldiery. He had exorcised the evil demon of religious bigotry by
which the body politic had been possessed so many years; for the Ghent
treaty, largely interpreted, opened the door to universal toleration. In
the Perpetual Edict the Prince saw his work undone. Holland and Zealand
were again cut adrift from the other fifteen provinces, and war would
soon be let loose upon that devoted little territory. The article
stipulating the maintenance of the Ghent treaty he regarded as idle wind;
the solemn saws of the State Council and the quiddities from Louvain
being likely to prove but slender bulwarks against the returning tide of
tyranny. Either it was tacitly intended to tolerate the Reformed
religion, or to hunt it down. To argue that the Ghent treaty, loyally
interpreted, strengthened ecclesiastical or royal despotism, was to
contend that a maniac was more dangerous in fetters than when armed with
a sword; it was to be blind to the difference between a private
conventicle and a public scaffold. The Perpetual Edict, while affecting
to sustain the treaty, would necessarily destroy it at a blow, while
during the brief interval of repose, tyranny would have renewed its youth
like the eagles. Was it possible, then, for William of Orange to sustain
the Perpetual Edict, the compromise with Don John? Ten thousand ghosts
from the Lake of Harlem, from the famine and plague-stricken streets of
Leyden, from the smoking ruins of Antwerp, rose to warn him against such
a composition with a despotism as subtle as it was remorseless.

It was, therefore, not the policy of William of Orange, suspecting, as he
did, Don John, abhorring Philip, doubting the Netherland nobles,
confiding only in the mass of the citizens, to give his support to the
Perpetual Edict. He was not the more satisfied because the states had
concluded the arrangement without his sanction, and against his express,
advice. He refused to publish or recognize the treaty in Holland and
Zealand. A few weeks before, he had privately laid before the states of
Holland and Zealand a series of questions, in order to test their temper,
asking them, in particular, whether they were prepared to undertake a new
and sanguinary war for the sake of their religion, even although their
other privileges should be recognised by the new government, and a long
and earnest debate had ensued, of a satisfactory nature, although no
positive resolution was passed upon the subject.

As soon as the Perpetual Edict had been signed, the states-general had
sent to the Prince, requesting his opinion and demanding his sanction.
Orange, in the name of Holland and Zealand, instantly returned an
elaborate answer, taking grave exceptions to the whole tenor of the
Edict. He complained that the constitution of the land was violated,
because the ancient privilege of the states-general to assemble at their
pleasure, had been invaded, and because the laws of every province were
set at nought by the continued imprisonment of Count Van Buren, who had
committed no crime, and whose detention proved that no man, whatever
might be promised, could expect security for life or liberty. The
ratification of the Ghent treaty, it was insisted, was in no wise
distinct and categorical, but was made dependent on a crowd of deceitful
subterfuges. He inveighed bitterly against the stipulation in the Edict,
that the states should pay the wages of the soldiers, whom they had just
proclaimed to be knaves and rebels, and at whose hands they had suffered
such monstrous injuries. He denounced the cowardice which could permit
this band of hirelings to retire with so much jewelry, merchandize, and
plate, the result of their robberies. He expressed, however, in the name
of the two provinces, a willingness to sign the Edict, provided the
states-general would agree solemnly beforehand, in case the departure of
the Spaniards did not take place within the stipulated tune, to abstain
from all recognition of, or communication with, Don John, and themselves
to accomplish the removal of the troops by force of arms.

Such was the first and solemn manifesto made by the Prince in reply to
the Perpetual Edict; the states of Holland and Zealand uniting heart and
hand in all that he thought, wrote, and said. His private sentiments were
in strict accordance with the opinions thus publicly recorded. "Whatever
appearance Don John may assume to the contrary," wrote the Prince to his
brother, "'tis by no means his intention to maintain the Pacification,
and less still to cause the Spaniards to depart, with whom he keeps up
the most strict correspondence possible."

On the other hand, the Governor was most anxious to conciliate the
Prince. He was most earnest to win the friendship of the man without whom
every attempt to recover Holland and Zealand, and to re-establish royal
and ecclesiastical tyranny, he knew to be hopeless. "This is the pilot,"
wrote Don John to Philip, "who guides the bark. He alone can destroy or
save it. The greatest obstacles would be removed if he could be gained."
He had proposed, and Philip had approved the proposition, that the Count
Van Buren should be clothed with his father's dignities, on condition
that the Prince should himself retire into Germany. It was soon evident,
however, that such a proposition would meet with little favor, the office
of father of his country and protector of her liberties not being
transferable.

While at Louvain, whither he had gone after the publication of the
Perpetual Edict, Don John had conferred with the Duke of Aerschot, and
they had decided that it would be well to send Doctor Leoninus on a
private mission to the Prince. Previously to his departure on this
errand, the learned envoy had therefore a full conversation with the
Governor. He was charged to represent to the Prince the dangers to which
Don John had exposed himself in coming from Spain to effect the
pacification of the Netherlands. Leoninus was instructed to give
assurance that the treaty just concluded should be maintained, that the
Spaniards should depart, that all other promises should be inviolably
kept, and that the Governor would take up arms against all who should
oppose the fulfilment of his engagements. He was to represent that Don
John, in proof of his own fidelity, had placed himself in the power of
the states. He was to intimate to the Prince that an opportunity was now
offered him to do the crown a service, in recompence for which he would
obtain, not only pardon for his faults, but the favor of the monarch, and
all the honors which could be desired; that by so doing he would assure
the future prosperity of his family; that Don John would be his good
friend, and, as such; would do more for him than he could imagine. The
envoy was also to impress upon the Prince, that if he persisted in his
opposition every man's hand would be against him, and the ruin of his
house inevitable. He was to protest that Don John came but to forgive and
to forget, to restore the ancient government and the ancient prosperity,
so that, if it was for those objects the Prince had taken up arms, it was
now his duty to lay them down, and to do his utmost to maintain peace and
the Catholic religion. Finally, the envoy was to intimate that if he
chose to write to Don John, he might be sure to receive a satisfactory
answer. In these pacific instructions and friendly expressions, Don John
was sincere. "The name of your Majesty," said he, plainly, in giving an
account of this mission to the King, "is as much abhorred and despised in
the Netherlands as that of the Prince of Orange is loved and feared. I am
negotiating with him, and giving him every security, for I see that the
establishment of peace, as well as the maintenance of the Catholic
religion, and the obedience to your Majesty, depend now upon him. Things
have reached that pass that 'tis necessary to make a virtue of necessity.
If he lend an ear to my proposals, it will be only upon very advantageous
conditions, but to these it will be necessary to submit, rather than to
lose everything."

Don John was in earnest; unfortunately he was not aware that the Prince
was in earnest also. The crusader, who had sunk thirty thousand paynims
at a blow, and who was dreaming of the Queen of Scotland and the throne
of England, had not room in his mind to entertain the image of a patriot.
Royal favors, family prosperity, dignities, offices, orders, advantageous
conditions, these were the baits with which the Governor angled for
William of Orange. He did not comprehend that attachment to a
half-drowned land and to a despised religion, could possibly stand in the
way of those advantageous conditions and that brilliant future. He did
not imagine that the rebel, once assured not only of pardon but of
advancement, could hesitate to refuse the royal hand thus amicably
offered. Don John had not accurately measured his great antagonist.

The results of the successive missions which he despatched to the Prince
were destined to enlighten him. In the course of the first conversation
between Leoninus and the Prince at Middelburg, the envoy urged that Don
John had entered the Netherlands without troops, that he had placed
himself in the power of the Duke of Aerschot, that he had since come to
Louvain without any security but the promise of the citizens and of the
students; and that all these things proved the sincerity of his
intentions. He entreated the Prince not to let slip so favorable an
opportunity for placing his house above the reach of every unfavorable
chance, spoke to him of Marius, Sylla, Julius Caesar, and other promoters
of civil wars, and on retiring for the day, begged him to think gravely
on what he had thus suggested, and to pray that God might inspire him
with good resolutions.

Next day, William informed the envoy that, having prayed to God for
assistance, he was more than ever convinced of his obligation to lay the
whole matter before the states, whose servant he was. He added, that he
could not forget the deaths of Egmont and Horn, nor the manner in which
the promise made to the confederate nobles by the Duchess of Parma, had
been visited, nor the conduct of the French monarch towards Admiral
Coligny. He spoke of information which he had received from all quarters,
from Spain, France, and Italy, that there was a determination to make war
upon him and upon the states of Holland and Zealand. He added that they
were taking their measures in consequence, and that they were well aware
that a Papal nuncio had arrived in the Netherlands, to intrigue against
them. In the evening, the Prince complained that the estates had been so
precipitate in concluding their arrangement with Don John. He mentioned
several articles in the treaty which were calculated to excite distrust;
dwelling particularly on the engagement entered into by the estates to
maintain the Catholic religion. This article he declared to be in direct
contravention to the Ghent treaty, by which this point was left to the
decision of a future assembly of the estates-general. Leoninus essayed,
as well as he could, to dispute these positions. In their last interview,
the Prince persisted in his intention of laying the whole matter before
the states of Holland and Zealand. Not to do so, he said, would be to
expose himself to ruin on one side, and on the other, to the indignation
of those who might suspect him of betraying them. The envoy begged to be
informed if any hope could be entertained of a future arrangement. Orange
replied that he had no expectation of any, but advised Doctor Leoninus to
be present at Dort when the estates should assemble.

Notwithstanding the unfavorable result, of this mission, Don John did not
even yet despair of bending the stubborn character of the Prince. He
hoped that, if a personal interview between them could be arranged, he
should be able to remove many causes of suspicion from the mind of his
adversary. "In such times as these," wrote the Governor to Philip, "we
can make no election, nor do I see any remedy to preserve the state from
destruction, save to gain over this man, who has so much influence with
the nation." The Prince had, in truth, the whole game in his hands. There
was scarcely a living creature in Holland and Zealand who was not willing
to be bound by his decision in every emergency. Throughout the rest of
the provinces, the mass of the people looked up to him with absolute
confidence, the clergy and the prominent nobles respecting and fearing
him, even while they secretly attempted to thwart his designs. Possessing
dictatorial power in two provinces, vast influences in the other fifteen,
nothing could be easier for him than to betray his country. The time was
singularly propitious. The revengeful King was almost on his knees to the
denounced rebel. Everything was proffered: pardon, advancement, power. An
indefinite vista was opened. "You cannot imagine," said Don John, "how
much it will be within my ability to do for you." The Governor was
extremely anxious to purchase the only enemy whom Philip feared. The
Prince had nothing personally to gain by a continuance of the contest.
The ban, outlawry, degradation, pecuniary ruin, assassination,
martyrdom--these were the only guerdons he could anticipate. He had much
to lose: but yesterday loaded with dignities, surrounded by pomp and
luxury, with many children to inherit his worldly gear, could he not
recover all; and more than all, to-day? What service had he to render in
exchange? A mere nothing. He had but to abandon the convictions of a
lifetime, and to betray a million or two of hearts which trusted him.

As to the promises made by the Governor to rule the country with
gentleness, the Prince could not do otherwise than commend the intention,
even while distrusting the fulfilment. In his reply to the two letters of
Don John, he thanked his Highness, with what seemed a grave irony, for
the benign courtesy and signal honor which he had manifested to him, by
inviting him so humanely and so carefully to a tranquil life, wherein,
according to his Highness, consisted the perfection of felicity in this
mortal existence, and by promising him so liberally favor and grace. He
stated, however, with earnestness, that the promises in regard to the
pacification of the poor Netherland people were much more important. He
had ever expected, he said, beyond all comparison, the welfare and
security of the public before his own; "having always placed his
particular interests under his foot, even as he was still resolved to do,
as long as life should endure."

Thus did William of Orange receive the private advances made by the
government towards himself. Meantime, Don John of Austria came to
Louvain. Until the preliminary conditions of the Perpetual Edict had been
fulfilled, and the Spanish troops sent out of the country, he was not to
be received as Governor-General, but it seemed unbecoming for him to
remain longer upon the threshold of the provinces. He therefore advanced
into the heart of the country, trusting himself without troops to the
loyalty of the people, and manifesting a show of chivalrous confidence
which he was far from feeling. He was soon surrounded by courtiers,
time-servers, noble office-seekers. They who had kept themselves
invisible, so long as the issue of a perplexed negotiation seemed
doubtful, now became obsequious and inevitable as his shadow. One grand
seignior wanted a regiment, another a government, a third a chamberlain's
key; all wanted titles, ribbons, offices, livery, wages. Don John
distributed favors and promises with vast liberality. The object with
which Philip had sent him to the Netherlands, that he might conciliate
the hearts of its inhabitants by the personal graces which he had
inherited from his imperial father, seemed in a fair way of
accomplishment, for it was not only the venal applause of titled
sycophants that he strove to merit, but he mingled gaily and familiarly
with all classes of citizens. Everywhere his handsome face and charming
manner produced their natural effect. He dined and supped with the
magistrates in the Town-house, honored general banquets of the burghers
with his presence, and was affable and dignified, witty, fascinating, and
commanding, by turns. At Louvain, the five military guilds held a solemn
festival. The usual invitations were sent to the other societies, and to
all the martial brotherhoods, the country round. Gay and gaudy
processions, sumptuous banquets, military sports, rapidly succeeded each
other. Upon the day of the great trial of skill; all the high
functionaries of the land were, according to custom, invited, and the
Governor was graciously pleased to honor the solemnity with his presence.
Great was the joy of the multitude when Don John, complying with the
habit of imperial and princely personages in former days, enrolled
himself, cross-bow in hand, among the competitors. Greater still was the
enthusiasm, when the conqueror of Lepanto brought down the bird, and was
proclaimed king of the year, amid the tumultuous hilarity of the crowd.
According to custom, the captains of the guild suspended a golden
popinjay around the neck of his Highness, and placing themselves in
procession, followed him to the great church. Thence, after the customary
religious exercises, the multitude proceeded to the banquet, where the
health of the new king of the cross-bowmen was pledged in deep potations.
Long and loud was the merriment of this initiatory festival, to which
many feasts succeeded during those brief but halcyon days, for the
good-natured Netherlanders already believed in the blessed advent of
peace. They did not dream that the war, which had been consuming the
marrow of their commonwealth for ten flaming years, was but in its
infancy, and that neither they nor their children were destined to see
its close.

For the moment, however, all was hilarity at Louvain. The Governor, by
his engaging deportment, awoke many reminiscences of the once popular
Emperor. He expressed unbounded affection for the commonwealth, and
perfect confidence in the loyalty of the inhabitants. He promised to
maintain their liberties, and to restore their prosperity. Moreover, he
had just hit the popinjay with a skill which his imperial father might
have envied, and presided at burgher banquets with a grace which Charles
could have hardly matched. His personal graces, for the moment, took the
rank of virtues. "Such were the beauty and vivacity of his eyes," says
his privy councillor, Tassis, "that with a single glance he made all
hearts his own," yet, nevertheless, the predestined victim secretly felt
himself the object of a marksman who had no time for painted popinjays,
but who rarely missed his aim. "The whole country is at the devotion of
the Prince, and nearly every one of its inhabitants;" such was his secret
language to his royal brother, at the very moment of the exuberant
manifestations which preceded his own entrance to Brussels.

While the Governor still tarried at Louvain, his secretary, Escovedo, was
busily engaged in arranging the departure of the Spaniards, for,
notwithstanding his original reluctance and the suspicions of Orange, Don
John loyally intended to keep his promise. He even advanced twenty-seven
thousand florins towards the expense of their removal, but to raise the
whole amount required for transportation and arrears, was a difficult
matter. The estates were slow in providing the one hundred and fifty
thousand florins which they had stipulated to furnish. The King's credit,
moreover, was at a very low, ebb. His previous bonds had not been duly
honored, and there had even been instances of royal repudiation, which by
no means lightened the task of the financier, in effecting the new loans
required. Escovedo was very blunt in his language upon this topic, and
both Don John and himself urged punctuality in all future payments. They
entreated that the bills drawn in Philip's name upon Lombardy bankers,
and discounted at a heavy rate of interest, by the Fuggers of Antwerp,
might be duly provided for at maturity. "I earnestly beg," said Escovedo,
"that your Majesty will see to the payment of these bills, at all
events;" adding, with amusing simplicity, "this will be a means of
recovering your Majesty's credit, and as for my own; I don't care to lose
it, small though it be." Don John was even more solicitous. "For the love
of God, Sire," he wrote, "do not be delinquent now. You must reflect upon
the necessity of recovering your credit. If this receives now the final
blow, all will desert your Majesty, and the soldiers too will be driven
to desperation."

By dint of great diligence on the part of Escovedo, and through the
confidence reposed in his character, the necessary funds were raised in
the course of a few weeks. There was, however, a difficulty among the
officers, as to the right of commanding the army on the homeward march.
Don Alonzo de Vargas, as chief of the cavalry, was appointed to the post
by the Governor, but Valdez, Romero, and other veterans, indignantly
refused to serve under one whom they declared their inferior officer.
There was much altercation and heartburning, and an attempt was made to
compromise the matter by the appointment of Count Mansfeld to the chief
command. This was, however, only adding fuel to the flames. All were
dissatisfied with the superiority accorded to a foreigner, and Alonzo de
Vargas, especially offended, addressed most insolent language to the
Governor. Nevertheless, the arrangement was maintained, and the troops
finally took their departure from the country, in the latter days of
April. A vast concourse of citizens witnessed their departure, and could
hardly believe their eyes, as they saw this incubus at last rolling off,
by which the land had so many years been crushed. Their joy, although
extravagant, was, however, limited by the reflection that ten thousand
Germans still remained in the provinces, attached to the royal service,
and that there was even yet a possibility that the departure of the
Spaniards was a feint. In truth, Escovedo, although seconding the orders
of Don John, to procure the removal of these troops, did not scruple to
express his regret to the King, and his doubts as to the result. He had
been ever in hopes that an excuse might be found in the condition of
affairs in France, to justify the retention of the forces near that
frontier. He assured the King that he felt very doubtful as to what turn
matters might take, after the soldiers were gone, seeing the great
unruliness which even their presence had been insufficient completely to
check. He had hoped that they might be retained in the neighbourhood,
ready to seize the islands at the first opportunity. "For my part," he
wrote, "I care nothing for the occupation of places within the interior,
but the islands must be secured. To do this," he continued, with a
deceitful allusion to the secret projects of Don John, "is, in my
opinion, more difficult than to effect the scheme upon England. If the
one were accomplished, the other would be easily enough managed, and
would require but moderate means. Let not your Majesty suppose that I say
this as favoring the plan of Don John, for this I put entirely behind
me."

Notwithstanding these suspicions on the part of the people, this
reluctance on the part of then government, the troops readily took up
their line of march, and never paused till they reached Lombardy. Don
John wrote repeatedly to the King, warmly urging the claims of these
veterans, and of their distinguished officers, Romero, Avila, Valdez,
Montesdocca, Verdugo, Mondragon, and others, to his bountiful
consideration. They had departed in very ill humour, not having received
any recompense for their long and arduous services. Certainly, if
unflinching endurance, desperate valor, and congenial cruelty, could
atone in the monarch's eyes for the mutiny, which had at last compelled
their withdrawal, then were these laborers worthy of their hire. Don John
had pacified them by assurances that they should receive adequate rewards
on their arrival in Lombardy, and had urged the full satisfaction of
their claims and his promises in the strongest language. Although Don
Alonzo de Vargas had abused him "with-flying colors," as he expressed
himself, yet he hastened to intercede for him with the King in the most
affectionate terms. "His impatience has not surprised me," said the
Governor, "although I regret that he has been offended, far I love and
esteem him much. He has served many years with great distinction, and I
can certify that his character for purity and religion is something
extraordinary."

The first scene in the withdrawal of the troops had been the evacuation
of the citadel of Antwerp, and it had been decided that the command of
this most important fortress should be conferred upon the Duke of
Aerschot. His claims as commander-in-chief, under the authority of the
State Council, and as chief of the Catholic nobility, could hardly be
passed over, yet he was a man whom neither party trusted. He was too
visibly governed by interested motives. Arrogant where he felt secure of
his own, or doubtful as to another's position, he could be supple and
cringing when the relations changed. He refused an interview with William
of Orange before consulting with Don John, and solicited one afterwards
when he found that every effort was to be made to conciliate the Prince.
He was insolent to the Governor-General himself in February, and
respectful in March. He usurped the first place in the church, before Don
John had been acknowledged Governor, and was the first to go forth to
welcome him after the matter had been arranged. He made a scene of
virtuous indignation in the State Council, because he was accused of
place-hunting, but was diligent to secure an office of the highest
dignity which the Governor could bestow. Whatever may have been his
merits, it is certain that he inspired confidence neither in the
adherents of the King nor of the Prince; while he by turns professed the
warmest regard both to the one party and the other. Spaniards and
patriots, Protestants and Catholics, suspected the man at the same
moment, and ever attributed to his conduct a meaning which was the
reverse of the apparent. Such is often the judgment passed upon those who
fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets.

The Duke, however, was appointed Governor of the citadel. Sancho d'Avila,
the former constable, refused, with Castillian haughtiness, to surrender
the place to his successor, but appointed his lieutenant, Martin d'Oyo,
to perform that ceremony. Escovedo, standing upon the drawbridge with
Aerschot, administered the oath: "I, Philip, Duke of Aerschot," said the
new constable, "solemnly swear to hold this castle for the King, and for
no others." To which Escovedo added, "God help you, with all his angels,
if you keep your oath; if not, may the Devil carry you away, body and
soul." The few bystanders cried Amen; and with this hasty ceremony, the
keys were delivered, the prisoners, Egmont, Capres, Goignies, and others,
liberated, and the Spaniards ordered to march forth.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 27

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855
1577  [CHAPTER II.]

   Triumphal entrance of Don John into Brussels--Reverse of the picture
   --Analysis of the secret correspondence of Don John and Escovedo
   with Antonio Perez--Plots against the Governor's liberty--His
   desponding language and gloomy anticipations--Recommendation of
   severe measures--Position and principles of Orange and his family--
   His private views on the question of peace and war--His toleration
   to Catholics and Anabaptists censured by his friends--Death of
   Viglius--New mission from the Governor to Orange--Details of the
   Gertruydenberg conferences--Nature and results of these
   negotiations--Papers exchanged between the envoys and Orange--Peter
   Panis executed for heresy--Three parties in the Netherlands--
   Dissimulation of Don John--His dread of capture.

As already narrated, the soldiery had retired definitely from the country
at the end of April, after which Don John made his triumphal entrance
into Brussels on the 1st of May. It was long since so festive a May-day
had gladdened the hearts of Brabant. So much holiday magnificence had not
been seen in the Netherlands for years. A solemn procession of burghers,
preceded by six thousand troops, and garnished by the free companies of
archers and musketeers, in their picturesque costumes, escorted the young
prince along the streets of the capital. Don John was on horseback,
wrapped in a long green cloak, riding between the Bishop of Liege and the
Papal nuncio. He passed beneath countless triumphal arches. Banners waved
before him, on which the battle of Lepanto, and other striking scenes in
his life, were emblazoned. Minstrels sang verses, poets recited odes,
rhetoric clubs enacted fantastic dramas in his honor, as he rode along.
Young virgins crowned him with laurels. Fair women innumerable were
clustered at every window, roof, and balcony, their bright robes floating
like summer clouds above him. "Softly from those lovely clouds," says a
gallant chronicler, "descended the gentle rain of flowers." Garlands were
strewed before his feet, laurelled victory sat upon his brow. The same
conventional enthusiasm and decoration which had characterized the
holiday marches of a thousand conventional heroes were successfully
produced. The proceedings began with the church, and ended with the
banquet, the day was propitious, the populace pleased, and after a
brilliant festival, Don John of Austria saw himself Governor-General of
the provinces.

Three days afterwards, the customary oaths, to be kept with the customary
conscientiousness, were rendered at the Town House, and for a brief
moment all seemed smiling and serene.

There was a reverse to the picture. In truth, no language can describe
the hatred which Don John entertained for the Netherlands and all the
inhabitants. He had come to the country only as a stepping-stone to the
English throne, and he never spoke, in his private letters, of the
provinces or the people but in terms of abhorrence. He was in a "Babylon
of disgust," in a "Hell," surrounded by "drunkards," "wineskins,"
"scoundrels," and the like. From the moment of his arrival he had
strained every nerve to retain the Spanish troops, and to send them away
by sea when it should be no longer feasible to keep them. Escovedo shared
in the sentiments and entered fully into the schemes of his chief. The
plot, the secret enterprise, was the great cause of the advent of Don
John in the uncongenial clime of Flanders. It had been, therefore, highly
important, in his estimation, to set, as soon as possible, about the
accomplishment of this important business. He accordingly entered into
correspondence with Antonio Perez, the King's most confidential Secretary
of State at that period. That the Governor was plotting no treason is
sufficiently obvious from the context of his letters: At the same time,
with the expansiveness of his character, when he was dealing with one
whom he deemed has close and trusty friend, he occasionally made use of
expressions which might be made to seem equivocal. This was still more
the case with poor Escovedo. Devoted to his master, and depending most
implicitly upon the honor of Perez, he indulged in language which might
be tortured into a still more suspicious shape when the devilish arts of
Perez and the universal distrust of Philip were tending steadily to that
end. For Perez--on the whole, the boldest, deepest, and most unscrupulous
villain in that pit of duplicity, the Spanish court--was engaged at that
moment with Philip, in a plot to draw from Don John and Escovedo, by
means of this correspondence, the proofs of a treason which the King and
minister both desired to find. The letters from Spain were written with
this view--those from Flanders were interpreted to that end. Every
confidential letter received by Perez was immediately laid by him before
the King, every letter which the artful demon wrote was filled with hints
as to the danger of the King's learning the existence of the
correspondence, and with promises of profound secrecy upon his own part,
and was then immediately placed in Philip's hands, to receive his
comments and criticisms, before being copied and despatched to the
Netherlands. The minister was playing a bold, murderous, and treacherous
game, and played it in a masterly manner. Escovedo was lured to his
destruction, Don John was made to fret his heart away, and Philip--more
deceived than all--was betrayed in what he considered his affections, and
made the mere tool of a man as false as himself and infinitely more
accomplished.

Almost immediately after the arrival of Don John in the Netherlands; he
had begun to express the greatest impatience for Escovedo, who had not
been able to accompany his master upon his journey, but without whose
assistance the Governor could accomplish none of his undertakings. "Being
a man, not an angel, I cannot do all which I have to do," said he to
Perez, "without a single person in whom I can confide." He protested that
he could do no more than he was then doing. He went to bed at twelve and
rose at seven, without having an hour in the day in which to take his
food regularly; in consequence of all which he had already had three
fevers. He was plunged into a world of distrust. Every man suspected him,
and he had himself no confidence in a single individual throughout that
whole Babylon of disgusts. He observed to Perez that he was at liberty to
show his letters to the King, or to read them in the Council, as he meant
always to speak the truth in whatever he should write. He was sure that
Perez would do all for the best; and there is something touching in these
expressions of an honest purpose towards Philip, and of generous
confidence in Perez, while the two were thus artfully attempting to
inveigle him into damaging revelations. The Netherlanders certainly had
small cause to love or trust their new Governor, who very sincerely
detested and suspected them, but Philip had little reason to complain of
his brother. "Tell me if my letters are read in Council, and what his
Majesty says about them," he wrote; "and, above all, send money. I am
driven to desperation at finding myself sold to this people, utterly
unprovided as I am, and knowing the slow manner in which all affairs are
conducted in Spain."

He informed the King that there was but one man in the Netherlands, and
that he was called the Prince of Orange. To him everything was
communicated, with him everything was negotiated, opinions expressed by
him were implicitly followed. The Governor vividly described the
misgivings with which he had placed himself in the power of the states by
going to Louvain, and the reluctance with which he had consented to send
away the troops. After this concession, he complained that the insolence
of the states had increased. "They think that they can do and undo what
they like, now that I am at their mercy," he wrote to Philip.
"Nevertheless, I do what you command without regarding that I am sold,
and that I am in great danger of losing, my liberty, a loss which I dread
more than anything in the world, for I wish to remain justified before
God and men." He expressed, however, no hopes as to the result.
Disrespect and rudeness could be pushed no further than it had already
gone, while the Prince of Orange, the actual governor of the country,
considered his own preservation dependent upon maintaining things as they
then were. Don John, therefore, advised the King steadily to make
preparations for "a rude and terrible war," which was not to be avoided,
save by a miracle, and which ought not--to find him in this unprepared
state. He protested that it was impossible to exaggerate the boldness
which the people felt at seeing him thus defenseless. "They say
publicly," he continued, "that your Majesty is not to be feared, not
being capable of carrying on a war, and having consumed and exhausted
every resource. One of the greatest injuries ever inflicted upon us was
by Marquis Havre, who, after his return from Spain, went about publishing
everywhere the poverty of the royal exchequer. This has emboldened them
to rise, for they believe that, whatever the disposition, there is no
strength to chastise them. They see a proof of the correctness of their
reasoning in the absence of new levies, and in the heavy arrearages due
to the old troops."

He protested that he desired, at least, to be equal to the enemy, without
asking, as others had usually done, for double the amount of the hostile
force. He gave a glance at the foreign complications of the Netherlands,
telling Philip that the estates were intriguing both with France and
England. The English envoy had expressed much uneasiness at the possible
departure of the Spanish troops from the Netherlands by sea, coupling it
with a probable attempt to liberate the Queen of Scots. Don John, who had
come to the provinces for no other purpose, and whose soul had been full
of that romantic scheme, of course stoutly denied and ridiculed the idea.
"Such notions," he had said to the envoy, "were subjects for laughter. If
the troops were removed from the country, it was to strengthen his
Majesty's force in the Levant." Mr. Rogers, much comforted, had expressed
the warm friendship which Elizabeth entertained both for his Majesty and
his Majesty's representative; protestations which could hardly seem very
sincere, after the series of attempts at the Queen's life, undertaken so
recently by his Majesty and his Majesty's former representative.
Nevertheless, Don John had responded with great cordiality, had begged
for Elizabeth's portrait, and had expressed the intention, if affairs
went as he hoped, to go privately to England for the purpose of kissing
her royal hand. Don John further informed the King, upon the envoy's
authority, that Elizabeth had refused assistance to the estates, saying,
if she stirred it would be to render aid to Philip, especially if France
should meddle in the matter. As to France, the Governor advised Philip to
hold out hopes to Alencon of espousing the Infanta, but by no means ever
to fulfil such a promise, as the Duke, "besides being the shield of
heretics, was unscrupulously addicted to infamous vices."

A month later, Escovedo described the downfall of Don John's hopes and
his own in dismal language.--"You are aware," he wrote to Perez, "that a
throne--a chair with a canopy--is our intention and our appetite, and all
the rest is good for nothing. Having failed in our scheme, we are
desperate and like madmen. All is now weariness and death." Having
expressed himself in such desponding accents, he continued, a few days
afterwards, in the same lugubrious vein, "I am ready to hang myself,"
said he, "and I would have done it already, if it were not for keeping
myself as executioner for those who have done us so much harm. Ah, Senor
Antonio Perez!" he added, "what terrible pertinacity have those devils
shown in making us give up our plot. It seems as though Hell were opened
and had sent forth heaps of demons to oppose our schemes." After these
vigorous ejaculations he proceeded to inform his friend that the English
envoy and the estates, governed by the Prince of Orange, in whose power
were the much-coveted ships, had prevented the departure of the troops by
sea. "These devils complain of the expense," said he; "but we would
willingly swallow the cost if we could only get the ships." He then
described Don John as so cast down by his disappointment as to be fit for
nothing, and most desirous of quitting the Netherlands as soon as
possible. He had no disposition to govern these wineskins. Any one who
ruled in the provinces was obliged to do exactly what they ordered him to
do. Such rule was not to the taste of Don John. Without any comparison, a
woman would answer the purpose better than any man, and Escovedo
accordingly suggested the Empress Dowager, or Madame de Parma, or even
Madame de Lorraine. He further recommended that the Spanish troops, thus
forced to leave the Netherlands by land, should be employed against the
heretics in France. This would be a salve for the disgrace of removing
them. "It would be read in history," continued the Secretary, "that the
troops went to France in order to render assistance in a great religious
necessity; while, at the same time, they will be on hand to chastise
these drunkards, if necessary. To have the troops in France is almost as
well as to keep them here." He begged to be forgiven if he spoke
incoherently. 'T was no wonder that he should do so, for his reason had
been disordered by the blow which had been received. As for Don John, he
was dying to leave the country, and although the force was small for so
great a general, yet it would be well for him to lead these troops to
France in person. "It would sound well in history," said poor Escovedo,
who always thought of posterity, without ever dreaming that his own
private letters would be destined, after three centuries, to comment and
earnest investigation; "it would sound well in history, that Don John
went to restore, the French kingdom and to extirpate heretics, with six
thousand foot and two thousand horse. 'Tis a better employment, too, than
to govern such vile creatures as these."

If, however, all their plans should fail, the Secretary suggested to his
friend Antonio, that he must see and make courtiers of them. He suggested
that a strong administration might be formed in Spain, with Don John, the
Marquis de Los Velez, and the Duke of Sesa. "With such chiefs, and with
Anthony and John--[Viz., John of Escovedo and Antony Perez.]--for
acolytes," he was of opinion that much good work might be done, and that
Don John might become "the staff for his Majesty's old age." He implored
Perez, in the most urgent language, to procure Philip's consent that his
brother should leave the provinces. "Otherwise," said he, "we shall see
the destruction of the friend whom we so much love! He will become
seriously ill, and if so, good night to him! His body is too delicate."
Escovedo protested that he would rather die himself. "In the catastrophe
of Don John's death," he continued, "adieu the court, adieu the world!"
He would incontinently bury himself among the mountains of San Sebastian,
"preferring to dwell among wild animals than among courtiers." Escovedo,
accordingly, not urged by the most disinterested motives certainly, but
with as warm a friendship for his master as princes usually inspire,
proceeded to urge upon Perez the necessity of, aiding the man who was
able to help them. The first step was to get him out of the Netherlands.
That was his constant thought, by day and night. As it would hardly be
desirable for him to go alone, it seemed proper that Escovedo should,
upon some pretext, be first sent to Spain. Such a pretext would be easily
found, because, as Don John had accepted the government, "it would be
necessary for him to do all which the rascals bade him." After these
minute statements, the Secretary warned his correspondent of the
necessity of secrecy, adding that he especially feared "all the court
ladies, great and small, but that he in everything confided entirely in
Perez."

Nearly at the same time, Don John wrote to Perez in a similar tone. "Ah,
Senor Antonio," he exclaimed, "how certain is my disgrace and my
misfortune. Ruined is our enterprise, after so much labor and such
skilful management." He was to have commenced the work with the very
Spanish soldiers who were now to be sent off by land, and he had nothing
for it but to let them go, or to come to an open rupture with the states.
"The last, his conscience, his duty, and the time, alike forbade." He was
therefore obliged to submit to the ruin of his plans, and "could think of
nothing save to turn hermit, a condition in which a man's labors, being
spiritual, might not be entirely in vain." He was so overwhelmed by the
blow, he said, that he was constantly thinking of an anchorite's life.
That which he had been leading had become intolerable. He was not fitted
for the people of the Netherlands, nor they for him. Rather than stay
longer than was necessary in order to appoint his successor, there was no
resolution he might not take, even to leaving everything and coming upon
them when they least expected him, although he were to receive a bloody
punishment in consequence. He, too, suggested the Empress, who had all
the qualities which he lacked himself, or Madame de Parma, or Madame de
Lorraine, as each of them was more fit to govern the provinces than he
pretended to be. "The people," said he, plainly, "are beginning to abhor
me, and I abhor them already." He entreated Perez to get him out of the
country by fair means or foul, "per fas aut per nefas." His friends ought
to procure his liberation, if they wished to save him from the sin of
disobedience, and even of infamy. He expressed the most unbounded
confidence in the honor of his correspondent, adding that if nothing else
could procure his release, the letter might be shown to the King. In
general, the Governor was always willing that Perez should make what
changes he thought advisable in the letters for his Majesty, altering or
softening whatever seemed crude or harsh, provided always the main
point--that of procuring his recal--were steadily kept in view, in this,
said the Governor, vehemently, my life, my honor, and my soul are all at
stake; for as to the two first, I shall forfeit them both certainly, and,
in my desperate condition, I shall run great risk of losing the last.

On the other hand, Perez was profuse in his professions of friendship
both to Don John and to Escovedo; dilating in all his letters upon the
difficulty of approaching the King upon the subject of his brother's
recal, but giving occasional information that an incidental hint had been
ventured which might not remain without effect. All these letters, were,
however, laid before Philip, for his approval, before being despatched,
and the whole subject thoroughly and perpetually discussed between them,
about which Perez pretended that he hardly dared breathe a syllable to
his Majesty. He had done what he could, he said, while reading, piece by
piece, to the King, during a fit of the gout, the official despatches
from the Netherlands, to insinuate such of the arguments used by the
Governor and Escovedo as might seem admissible, but it was soon obvious
that no impression could be made upon the royal mind. Perez did not urge
the matter, therefore, "because," said he, "if the King should suspect
that we had any other object than his interests, we should all be lost."
Every effort should be made by Don John and all his friends to secure his
Majesty's entire confidence, since by that course more progress would be
made in their secret plans, than by proceedings concerning which the
Governor wrote "with such fury and anxiety of heart." Perez warned his
correspondent, therefore, most solemnly, against the danger of "striking
the blow without hitting the mark," and tried to persuade him that his
best interests required him to protract his residence in the provinces
for a longer period. He informed Don John that his disappointment as to
the English scheme had met with the warmest sympathy of the King, who had
wished his brother success. "I have sold to him, at as high a price as I
could," said Perez, "the magnanimity with which your Highness had
sacrificed, on that occasion, a private object to his service."

The minister held the same language, when writing, in a still more
intimate and expansive style, to Escovedo. "We must avoid, by a
thousand--leagues, the possibility of the King's thinking us influenced
by private motives," he observed; "for we know the King and the delicacy
of these matters. The only way to gain the good-will of the man is
carefully to accommodate ourselves to his tastes, and to have the
appearance of being occupied solely with his interests." The letter, like
all the rest, being submitted to "the man" in question before being sent,
was underlined by him at this paragraph and furnished with the following
annotation: "but you must enlarge upon the passage which I have
marked--say more, even if you are obliged to copy the letter, in order
that we may see the nature of the reply."

In another letter to Escovedo, Perez enlarged upon the impropriety, the
impossibility of Don John's leaving the Netherlands at that time. The
King was so resolute upon that point, he said, that 'twas out of the
question to suggest the matter. "We should, by so doing, only lose all
credit with him in other things. You know what a terrible man he is; if
he should once suspect us of having a private end in view, we should
entirely miss our mark." Especially the secretary was made acquainted
with the enormous error which would be committed by Don John in leaving
his post.

Perez "had ventured into the water" upon the subject, he said, by
praising the Governor warmly to his Majesty. The King had responded by a
hearty eulogium, adding that the greatest comfort in having such a
brother was, that he might be where his Majesty could not be. Therefore,
it was out of the question for Don John to leave the provinces. The
greatest tact was necessary, urged Perez, in dealing with the King. If he
should once "suspect that we have a private purpose, we are lost, and no
Demosthenes or Cicero would be able to influence him afterwards." Perez
begged that his ardent attachment to Don John might be represented in the
strongest colors to that high personage, who was to be assured that every
effort would be made to place him at the head of affairs in Spain,
according to the suggestion of Escovedo. "It would never do, however," he
continued, "to let our man see that we desire it, for then we should
never succeed. The only way to conquer him is to make him believe that
things are going on as he wishes, not as his Highness may desire, and
that we have none of us any will but the King's." Upon this passage the
"terrible man" made a brief annotation: "this paragraph does admirably,"
he said, adding, with characteristic tautology, "and what you say in it
is also excellent."

"Therefore," continued the minister, "God forbid, Master Escovedo, that
you should come hither now; for we should all be lost. In the English
matter, I assure you that his Majesty was extremely anxious that the plan
should succeed, either through the Pope, or otherwise. That puts me in
mind," added Perez, "to say, body of God! Senor Escovedo! how the devil
came you to send that courier to Rome about the English plot without
giving me warning?" He then proceeded to state that the papal nuncio in
Spain had been much troubled in mind upon the subject, and had sent for
him. "I went," said Perez, "and after he, had closed the door, and looked
through the keyhole to see that there were no listeners, he informed me
that he had received intelligence from the Pope as to the demands made by
Don John upon his Holiness for bulls, briefs, and money to assist him in
his English scheme, and that eighty thousand ducats had already been sent
to him in consequence." Perez added that the nuncio was very anxious to
know how the affair should best be communicated to the King, without
prejudice to his Highness. He had given him the requisite advice, he
continued, and had himself subsequently told the King that, no doubt,
letters had been written by Don John to his Majesty, communicating these
negotiations at Rome, but that probably the despatches had been
forgotten. Thus, giving himself the appearance of having smoothed the
matter with the King, Perez concluded with a practical suggestion of much
importance--the necessity, namely, of procuring the assassination of the
Prince of Orange as soon as possible. "Let it never be absent from your
mind," said he, "that a good occasion must be found for finishing Orange,
since, besides the service which will thus be rendered to our master, and
to the states, it will be worth something to ourselves."

No apology is necessary for laying a somewhat extensive analysis of this
secret correspondence before the reader. If there be any value in the
examples of history, certainly few chronicles can furnish a more
instructive moral. Here are a despotic king and his confidential minister
laying their heads together in one cabinet; the viceroy of the most
important provinces of the realm, with his secretary, deeply conferring
in another, not as to the manner of advancing the great interests, moral
or material, of the people over whom God has permitted them to rule, but
as to the best means of arranging conspiracies against the throne and
life of a neighboring sovereign, with the connivance and subsidies of the
Pope. In this scheme, and in this only, the high conspirators are agreed.
In every other respect, mutual suspicion and profound deceit characterize
the scene. The Governor is filled with inexpressible loathing for the
whole nation of "drunkards and wineskins" who are at the very moment
strewing flowers in his path, and deafening his ears with shouts of
welcome; the king, while expressing unbounded confidence in the viceroy,
is doing his utmost, through the agency of the subtlest intriguer in the
world, to inveigle him into confessions of treasonable schemes, and the
minister is filling reams of paper with protestations of affection for
the governor and secretary, with sneers at the character of the King, and
with instructions as to the best method of deceiving him, and then laying
the despatches before his Majesty for correction and enlargement. To
complete the picture, the monarch and his minister are seen urging the
necessity of murdering the foremost man of the age upon the very dupe
who, within a twelvemonth, was himself to be assassinated by the
self-same pair; while the arch-plotter who controls the strings of all
these complicated projects is equally false to King, Governor, and
Secretary, and is engaging all the others in these blind and tortuous
paths, for the accomplishment of his own secret and most ignoble aims.

In reply to the letters of Perez, Don John constantly expressed the
satisfaction and comfort which he derived from them in the midst of his
annoyances. "He was very disconsolate," he said, "to be in that hell, and
to be obliged to remain in it," now that the English plot had fallen to
the ground, but he would nevertheless take patience, and wait for a more
favorable conjuncture.

Escovedo expressed the opinion, however, notwithstanding all the
suggestions of Perez, that the presence of Don John in the provinces had
become entirely superfluous. "An old woman with her distaff," suggested
the Secretary, "would be more appropriate; for there would be nothing to
do, if the states had their way, save to sign everything which they
should command." If there should be war, his Highness would, of course,
not abandon his post; even if permitted to do so; but otherwise, nothing
could be gained by a prolonged residence. As to the scheme of
assassinating the Prince of Orange, Escovedo prayed Perez to believe him
incapable of negligence on the subject. "You know that the finishing of
Orange is very near my heart," wrote the poor dupe to the man by whom he
was himself so soon to be finished. "You may believe that I have never
forgotten it, and never will forget it, until it be done. Much, and very
much artifice is, however, necessary to accomplish this object. A proper
person to undertake a task fraught with such well-known danger, is hard
to find. Nevertheless, I will not withdraw my attention from the subject
till such a person be procured, and the deed be done."

A month later, Escovedo wrote that he was about to visit Spain. He
complained that he required rest in his old age, but that Perez could
judge how much rest he could get in such a condition of affairs. He was,
unfortunately, not aware, when he wrote, how soon his correspondent was
to give him a long repose. He said, too, that the pleasure of visiting
his home was counterbalanced by the necessity of travelling back to the
Netherlands; but he did not know that Perez was to spare him that
trouble, and to send him forth upon a much longer journey.

The Governor-General, had, in truth, not inspired the popular party or
its leader with confidence, nor did he place the least reliance upon
them. While at Louvain, he had complained that a conspiracy had been
formed against his life and liberty. Two French gentlemen, Bonnivet and
Bellangreville, had been arrested on suspicion of a conspiracy to secure
his person, and to carry him off a prisoner to Rochelle. Nothing came of
the examination which followed; the prisoners were released, and an
apology was sent by the states-general to the Duke of Alencon, as well
for the indignity which had been offered to two of his servants, as for
the suspicion which had been cast upon himself, Don John, however, was
not satisfied. He persisted in asserting the existence of the conspiracy,
and made no secret of his belief that the Prince of Orange was acquainted
with the arrangement. As may be supposed, nothing was discovered in the
course of the investigation to implicate that astute politician. The
Prince had indeed secretly recommended that the Governor should be taken
into custody on his first arrival, not for the purpose of assassination
or personal injury, but in order to extort better terms from Philip,
through the affection or respect which he might be supposed to entertain
for his brother. It will be remembered that unsuccessful attempts had
also been made to capture the Duke of Alva and the Commander Requesens.
Such achievements comported with the spirit of the age, and although it
is doubtful whether any well-concerted plot existed against the liberty
of the Governor, it is certain that he entertained no doubt on the
subject himself. In addition to these real or suspected designs, there
was an ever-present consciousness in the mind of Don John that the
enthusiasm which greeted his presence was hollow, that no real attachment
was felt for his person, that his fate was leading him into a false
position, that the hearts of the people were fixed upon another, and that
they were never to be won by himself. Instinctively he seemed to feel a
multitude of invisible threads twining into a snare around him, and the
courageous heart and the bounding strength became uneasily conscious of
the act in which they were to be held captive till life should be wasted
quite away.

The universal affection for the rebel Prince, and the hopeless
abandonment of the people to that deadliest of sins, the liberty of
conscience, were alike unquestionable. "They mean to remain free, sire,"
wrote Escovedo to Philip, "and to live as they please. To that end they
would be willing that the Turk should come to be master of the country.
By the road which they are travelling, however, it will be the Prince of
Orange--which comes to quite the same thing." At the same time, however,
it was hoped that something might be made of this liberty of conscience.
All were not equally sunk in the horrible superstition, and those who
were yet faithful to Church and King might be set against their besotted
brethren. Liberty of conscience might thus be turned to account. While
two great parties were "by the ears, and pulling out each other's hair,
all might perhaps be reduced together." His Majesty was warned,
nevertheless, to expect the worst, and to believe that the country could
only be cared with fire and blood. The position of the Governor was
painful and perplexing. "Don John," said Escovedo, "is thirty years old.
I promise your Majesty nothing, save that if he finds himself without
requisite assistance, he will take himself off when your Majesty is least
thinking of such a thing."

Nothing could be more melancholy than the tone of the Governor's letters.
He believed himself disliked, even in the midst of affectionate
demonstrations. He felt compelled to use moderate counsels, although he
considered moderation of no avail. He was chained to his post, even
though the post could, in his opinion, be more advantageously filled by
another. He would still endeavour to gain the affections of the people,
although he believed them hopelessly alienated. If patience would cure
the malady of the country, he professed himself capable of applying the
remedy, although the medicine had so far done but little good, and
although he had no very strong hopes as to its future effects. "Thus far,
however," said he, "I am but as one crying in the wilderness." He took
occasion to impress upon his Majesty, in very strong language, the
necessity of money. Secret agents, spies, and spies upon spies, were more
necessary than ever, and were very expensive portions of government
machinery. Never was money more wanted. Nothing could be more important
than, to attend faithfully to the financial suggestions of Escovedo, and
Don John, therefore, urged his Majesty, again and again, not to dishonor
their drafts. "Money is the gruel," said he, "with which we must cure
this sick man;" and he therefore prayed all those who wished well to his
efforts, to see that his Majesty did not fail him in this important
matter. Notwithstanding, however, the vigor of his efforts, and the
earnestness of his intentions, he gave but little hope to his Majesty of
any valuable fruit from the pacification just concluded. He saw the
Prince of Orange strengthening himself, "with great fury," in Holland and
Zealand; he knew that the Prince was backed by the Queen of England, who,
notwithstanding her promises to Philip and himself, had offered her
support to the rebels in case the proposed terms of peace were rejected
in Holland, and he felt that "nearly the whole people was at the devotion
of the Prince."

Don John felt more and more convinced, too, that a conspiracy was on foot
against his liberty. There were so many of the one party, and so few of
the other, that if he were once fairly "trussed," he affirmed that not a
man among the faithful would dare to budge an inch. He therefore informed
his Majesty that he was secretly meditating a retreat to some place of
security; judging very properly that, if he were still his own master, he
should be able to exert more influence over those who were still well
disposed, than if he should suffer himself to be taken captive. A
suppressed conviction that he could effect nothing, except with his
sword, pierced through all his more prudent reflections. He maintained
that, after all, there was no remedy for the body but to cut off the
diseased parts at once, and he therefore begged his Majesty for the means
of performing the operation handsomely. The general expressions which he
had previously used in favor of broths and mild treatment hardly tallied
with the severe amputation thus recommended. There was, in truth, a
constant struggle going on between the fierceness of his inclinations and
the shackles which had been imposed upon him. He already felt entirely
out of place, and although he scorned to fly from his post so long as it
seemed the post of danger, he was most anxious that the King should grant
him his dismissal, so soon as his presence should no longer be
imperiously required. He was sure that the people would never believe in
his Majesty's forgiveness until the man concerning whom they entertained
so much suspicion should be removed; for they saw in him only the
"thunderbolt of his Majesty's wrath." Orange and England confirmed their
suspicions, and sustained their malice. Should he be compelled, against
his will, to remain, he gave warning that he might do something which
would be matter of astonishment to everybody.

Meantime, the man in whose hands really lay the question of war and
peace, sat at Middelburg, watching the deep current of events as it
slowly flowed towards the precipice. The whole population of Holland and
Zealand hung on his words. In approaching the realms of William the
Silent, Don John felt that he had entered a charmed, circle, where the
talisman of his own illustrious name lost its power, where his valor was
paralyzed, and his sword rusted irrevocably in its sheath. "The people
here," he wrote, "are bewitched by the Prince of Orange. They love him,
they fear him, and wish to have him for their master. They inform him of
everything, and take no resolution without consulting him."

While William was thus directing and animating the whole nation with his
spirit, his immediate friends became more and more anxious concerning the
perils to which he was exposed. His mother, who had already seen her
youngest-born, Henry, her Adolphus, her chivalrous Louis, laid in their
bloody graves for the cause of conscience, was most solicitous for the
welfare of her "heart's-beloved lord and son," the Prince of Orange.
Nevertheless, the high-spirited old dame was even more alarmed at the
possibility of a peace in which that religious liberty for which so much
dear blood had been, poured forth should be inadequately secured. "My
heart longs for certain tidings from my lord," she wrote to William, "for
methinks the peace now in prospect will prove but an oppression for soul
and conscience. I trust my heart's dearly-beloved lord and son will be
supported by Divine grace to do nothing against God and his own soul's
salvation. 'Tis better to lose the temporal than the eternal." Thus wrote
the mother of William, and we can feel the sympathetic thrill which such
tender and lofty words awoke in his breast. His son, the ill-starred
Philip, now for ten years long a compulsory sojourner in Spain, was not
yet weaned from his affection for his noble parent, but sent messages of
affection to him whenever occasion offered, while a less commendable
proof of his filial affection he had lately afforded, at the expense of
the luckless captain of his Spanish guard. That officer having dared in
his presence to speak disrespectfully of his father, was suddenly seized
about the waist by the enraged young Count, hurled out of the window, and
killed stone-dead upon the spot. After this exhibition of his natural
feelings, the Spanish government thought it necessary to take more subtle
means to tame so turbulent a spirit. Unfortunately they proved
successful.

Count John of Nassau, too, was sorely pressed for money. Six hundred
thousand florins; at least, had been advanced by himself and brothers to
aid the cause of Netherland freedom. Louis and himself had,
unhesitatingly and immediately, turned into that sacred fund the hundred
thousand crowns which the King of France had presented them for their
personal use, for it was not the Prince of Orange alone who had
consecrated his wealth and his life to the cause, but the members of his
family, less immediately interested in the country, had thus furnished
what may well be called an enormous subsidy, and one most disproportioned
to their means. Not only had they given all the cash which they could
command by mortgaging their lands and rents, their plate and furniture,
but, in the words of Count John himself, "they had taken the chains and
jewels from the necks of their wives, their children, and their mother,
and had hawked them about, as if they had themselves been traders and
hucksters." And yet, even now, while stooping under this prodigious debt,
Count John asked not for present repayment. He only wrote to the Prince
to signify his extreme embarrassment, and to request some obligation or
recognition from the cities of Holland and Zealand, whence hitherto no
expression of gratitude or acknowledgment had proceeded.

The Prince consoled and assured, as best he could, his mother, son, wife,
and brother, even at the same moment that he comforted his people. He
also received at this time a second and more solemn embassy from Don
John. No sooner had the Governor exchanged oaths at Brussels, and been
acknowledged as the representative of his Majesty, than he hastened to
make another effort to conciliate the Prince. Don John saw before him
only a grand seignior of lofty birth and boundless influence, who had
placed himself towards the Crown in a false position, from which he might
even yet be rescued; for to sacrifice the whims of a reforming and
transitory religious fanaticism, which had spun itself for a moment about
so clear a brain, would, he thought, prove but a trifling task for so
experienced a politician as the Prince. William of Orange, on the other
hand, looked upon his young antagonist as the most brilliant
impersonation which had yet been seen of the foul spirit of persecution.

It will be necessary to follow, somewhat more in detail than is usually
desirable, the interchange of conversations, letters, and protocols, out
of which the brief but important administration of Don John was composed;
for it was exactly in such manifestations that the great fight was really
proceeding. Don John meant peace, wise William meant war, for he knew
that no other issue was possible. Peace, in reality, was war in its worst
shape. Peace would unchain every priestly tongue, and unsheath every
knightly sword in the fifteen provinces against little Holland and
Zealand. He had been able to bind all the provinces together by the
hastily forged chain of the Ghent treaty, and had done what he could to
strengthen that union by the principle of mutual religious respect. By
the arrival of Don John that work had been deranged. It had, however,
been impossible for the Prince thoroughly to infuse his own ideas on the
subject of toleration into the hearts of his nearest associates. He could
not hope to inspire his deadly enemies with a deeper sympathy. Was he not
himself the mark of obloquy among the Reformers, because of his leniency
to Catholics? Nay more, was not his intimate councillor, the accomplished
Saint Aldegonde, in despair because the Prince refused to exclude the
Anabaptists of Holland from the rights of citizenship? At the very moment
when William was straining every nerve to unite warring sects, and to
persuade men's hearts into a system by which their consciences were to be
laid open to God alone--at the moment when it was most necessary for the
very existence of the fatherland that Catholic and Protestant should
mingle their social and political relations, it was indeed a bitter
disappointment for him to see wise statesmen of his own creed unable to
rise to the idea of toleration. "The affair of the Anabaptists," wrote
Saint Aldegonde, "has been renewed. The Prince objects to exclude them
from citizenship. He answered me sharply, that their yea was equal to our
oath, and that we should not press this matter, unless we were willing to
confess that it was just for the Papists to compel us to a divine service
which was against our conscience." It seems hardly credible that this
sentence, containing so sublime a tribute to the character of the Prince,
should have been indited as a bitter censure, and that, too, by an
enlightened and accomplished Protestant. "In short," continued Saint
Aldegonde, with increasing vexation, "I don't see how we can accomplish
our wish in this matter. The Prince has uttered reproaches to me that our
clergy are striving to obtain a mastery over consciences. He praised
lately the saying of a monk who was not long ago here, that our pot had
not gone to the fire as often as that of our antagonists, but that when
the time came it would be black enough. In short, the Prince fears that
after a few centuries the clerical tyranny on both sides will stand in
this respect on the same footing."

Early in the month of May, Doctor Leoninus and Caspar Schetz, Seigneur de
Grobbendonck, had been sent on a mission from the states-general to the
Prince of Orange. While their negotiations were still pending, four
special envoys from Don John arrived at Middelburg. To this commission
was informally adjoined Leoninus, who had succeeded to the general
position of Viglius. Viglius was dead. Since the memorable arrest of the
State Council, he had not appeared on the scene of public affairs. The
house-arrest, to which he had been compelled by a revolutionary
committee, had been indefinitely prolonged by a higher power, and after a
protracted illness he had noiselessly disappeared from the stage of life.
There had been few more learned doctors of both laws than he. There had
been few more adroit politicians, considered from his point of view. His
punning device was "Vita mortalium vigilia," and he acted accordingly,
but with a narrow interpretation. His life had indeed been a vigil, but
it must be confessed that the vigils had been for Viglius.

   [Bor, x. 812. Meteren, vi. 120.--Another motto of his was, "En
   groot Jurist een booser Christ;" that is to say, A good lawyer is a
   bad Christian.--Unfortunately his own character did not give the lie
   satisfactorily to the device.]

The weatherbeaten Palinurus, as he loved to call himself, had conducted
his own argosy so warily that he had saved his whole cargo; and perished
in port at last, while others, not sailing by his compass, were still
tossed by the tempest.

The agents of Don John were the Duke of Aerschot, the Seigneur de
Hierges, Seigneur de Willerval, and Doctor Meetkercke, accompanied by
Doctor Andrew Gaill, one of the imperial commissioners. The two envoys
from the states-general, Leoninus and Schetz, being present at
Gertruydenberg were added to the deputation. An important conference took
place, the details of which have been somewhat minutely preserved. The
Prince of Orange, accompanied by Saint Aldegonde and four other
councillors, encountered the seven champions from Brussels in a long
debate, which was more like a passage of arms or a trial of skill than a
friendly colloquy with a pacific result in prospect; for it must be
remembered that the Prince of Orange did not mean peace. He had devised
the Pacification of Ghent as a union of the other provinces with Holland
and Zealand, against Philip. He did not intend that it should be
converted into a union of the other provinces with Philip, against
Holland and Zealand.

Meetkercke was the first to speak. He said that the Governor had
despatched them to the Prince, to express his good intentions, to
represent the fidelity with which his promises had thus far been
executed, and to entreat the Prince, together with the provinces of
Holland and Zealand, to unite with their sister provinces in common
allegiance to his Majesty. His Highness also proposed to advise with them
concerning the proper method of convoking the states-general. As soon as
Meetkercke had finished his observations, the Prince demanded that the
points and articles should be communicated to him in writing. Now this
was precisely what the envoys preferred to omit. It was easier, and far
more agreeable to expatiate in a general field of controversy,--than to
remain tethered to distinct points. It was particularly in these confused
conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere, that the volatile
word was thought preferable to the permanent letter. Already so many
watery lines had been traced, in the course of these fluctuating
negotiations, that a few additional records would be if necessary, as
rapidly effaced as the rest.

The commissioners, after whispering in each other's, ears for a few
minutes, refused to put down anything in writing. Protocols, they said,
only engendered confusion.

"No, no," said the .Prince, in reply, "we will have nothing except in
black and white. Otherwise things will be said on both sides, which will
afterwards be interpreted in different ways. Nay, it will be denied that
some important points have been discussed at all. We know that by
experience. Witness the solemn treaty of Ghent, which ye have tried to
make fruitless, under pretence that some points, arranged by word of
mouth, and not stated particularly in writing, had been intended in a
different sense from the obvious one. Governments given by royal
commission, for example; what point could be clearer? Nevertheless, ye
have hunted up glosses and cavils to obscure the intention of the
contracting parties. Ye have denied my authority over Utrecht, because
not mentioned expressly in the treaty of Ghent."

"But," said one of the envoys, interrupting at this point, "neither the
Council of State nor the Court of Mechlin consider Utrecht as belonging
to your Excellency's government."

"Neither the Council of State," replied the Prince, "nor the Court of
Mechlin have anything to do with the matter. 'Tis in my commission, and
all the world knows it." He added that instead of affairs being thrown
into confusion by being reduced to writing, he was of opinion, on the
contrary, that it was by that means alone they could be made perfectly
clear.

Leoninus replied, good naturedly, that there should be no difficulty upon
that score, and that writings should be exchanged. In the meantime,
however, he expressed the hope that the Prince would honor them with some
preliminary information as to the points in which he felt aggrieved, as
well as to the pledges which he and the states were inclined to demand.

"And what reason have we to hope," cried the Prince, "that your pledges,
if made; will be redeemed? That which was promised so solemnly at Ghent,
and ratified by Don John and his Majesty, has not been fulfilled."

"Of what particular point do you complain?" asked Schetz. "Wherein has
the Pacification been violated?"

Hereupon the Prince launched forth upon a flowing stream of invective. He
spoke to them of his son detained in distant captivity--of his own
property at Breda withheld--of a thousand confiscated estates--of
garrisons of German mercenaries--of ancient constitutions annihilated--of
the infamous edicts nominally suspended, but actually in full vigor. He
complained bitterly that the citadels, those nests and dens of tyranny,
were not yet demolished. "Ye accuse me of distrust," he cried; "but while
the castles of Antwerp, Ghent, Namur, and so many more are standing, 'tis
yourselves who show how utterly ye are without confidence in any
permanent and peaceful arrangement."

"And what," asked a deputy, smoothly, "is the point which touches you
most nearly? What is it that your Excellency most desires? By what means
will it be possible for the government fully to give you contentment?"

"I wish," he answered, simply, "the full execution of the Ghent
Pacification. If you regard the general welfare of the land, it is well,
and I thank you. If not, 'tis idle to make propositions, for I regard my
country's profit, not my own."

Afterwards, the Prince simply repeated his demand that the Ghent treaty
should be executed; adding, that after the states-general should have
been assembled, it would be time to propose the necessary articles for
mutual security.

Hereupon Doctor Leoninus observed that the assembly of the states-general
could hardly be without danger. He alluded to the vast number of persons
who would thus be convoked, to the great discrepancy of humors which
would thus be manifested. Many men would be present neither discreet nor
experienced. He therefore somewhat coolly suggested that it might be
better to obviate the necessity of holding any general assembly at all.
An amicable conference, for the sake of settling doubtful questions,
would render the convocation superfluous, and save the country from the
dangers by which the step would be attended. The Doctor concluded by
referring to the recent assemblies of France, the only result of which
had been fresh dissensions. It thus appeared that the proposition on the
part of Don John meant something very different from its apparent
signification. To advise with the Prince as to the proper method of
assembling the estates really meant, to advise with him as to the best
means of preventing any such assembly. Here, certainly, was a good reason
for the preference expressed by the deputies, in favor of amicable
discussions over formal protocols. It might not be so easy in a written
document to make the assembly, and the prevention of the assembly, appear
exactly the same thing.

The Prince replied that there was a wide difference between the condition
of France and of the Netherlands. Here, was one will and one intention.
There, were many factions, many partialities, many family intrigues.
Since it had been agreed by the Ghent treaty that certain points should
be provisionally maintained and others settled by a speedy convocation of
the states-general, the plainest course was to maintain the provisional
points, and to summon the states-general at once. This certainly was
concise and logical. It is doubtful, however, whether he were really as
anxious for the assembly-general as he appeared to be. Both parties were
fencing at each other, without any real intention of carrying their
points, for neither wished the convocation, while both affected an
eagerness for that event. The conversation proceeded.

"At least," said an envoy, "you can tell beforehand in what you are
aggrieved, and what you have to propose."

"We are aggrieved in nothing, and we have nothing to propose," answered
the Prince, "so long as you maintain the Pacification. We demand no other
pledge, and are willing to refer everything afterwards to the assembly."

"But," asked Schetz, "what security do you offer us that you will
yourselves maintain the Pacification?"

"We are not bound to give assurances," answered the Prince. "The
Pacification is itself an assurance. 'Tis a provisional arrangement, to
be maintained by both parties, until after the decision of the assembly.
The Pacification must therefore be maintained or disavowed. Choose
between the two. Only, if you mean still to acknowledge it, you must keep
its articles. This we mean to do, and if up to the present time you have
any complaint to make of our conduct, as we trust you have not, we are
ready to give you satisfaction."

"In short," said an envoy, "you mean, after we shall have placed in your
hands the government of Utrecht, Amsterdam: and other places, to deny us
any pledges on your part to maintain the Pacification."

"But," replied the Prince, "if we are already accomplishing the
Pacification, what more do you wish?"

"In this fashion," cried the others, "after having got all that you ask,
and having thus fortified yourselves more than you were ever fortified
before, you will make war upon us."

"War?" cried the Prince, "what are you afraid of? We are but a handful of
people; a worm compared to the King of Spain. Moreover, ye are fifteen
provinces to two. What have you to fear?"

"Ah," said Meetkercke, "we have seen what you could do, when you were
masters of the sea. Don't make yourselves out quite so little."

"But," said the Prince, "the Pacification of Ghent provides for all this.
Your deputies were perfectly satisfied with the guarantees it furnished.
As to making war upon you, 'tis a thing without foundation or appearance
of probability. Had you believed then that you had anything to fear, you
world not have forgotten to demand pledges enough. On the contrary, you
saw how roundly we were dealing with you then, honestly disgarnishing the
country, even before the peace had been concluded. For ourselves,
although we felt the right to demand guarantees, we would not do it, for
we were treating with you on terms of confidence. We declared expressly
that had we been dealing with the King, we should have exacted stricter
pledges. As to demanding them of us at the moment, 'tis nonsense. We have
neither the means of assailing you, nor do we deem it expedient to do
so."

"To say the truth," replied Schetz, "we are really confident that you
will not make war upon us. On the other hand, however, we see you
spreading your religion daily, instead of keeping it confined within your
provinces. What assurance do you give us that, after all your demand
shall have been accorded, you will make no innovation in religion."

"The assurance which we give you," answered the Prince, "is that we will
really accomplish the Pacification."

"But," persisted Schetz, "do you fairly, promise to submit to all which
the states-general shall ordain, as well on this point of religious
exercise in Holland and Zealand, as on all the others?"

This was a home thrust. The Prince parried it for a while. In his secret
thoughts he had no expectation or desire that the states-general,
summoned in a solemn manner by the Governor-General, on the basis of the
memorable assembly before which was enacted the grand ceremony of the
imperial abdication, would ever hold their session, and although he did
not anticipate the prohibition by such assembly, should it take place, of
the Reformed worship in Holland and Zealand, he did not intend to submit
to it, even should it be made.

"I cannot tell," said he, accordingly, in reply to the last question,
"for ye have yourselves already broken and violated the Pacification;
having made an accord with Don John without our consent, and having
already received him as Governor."

"So that you don't mean," replied Schetz, "to accept the decision of the
states?"

"I don't say that," returned the Prince, continuing to parry; "it is
possible that we might accept it; it is possible that we might not. We
are no longer in our entire rights, as we were at the time of our first
submission at Ghent."

"But we will make you whole," said Schetz.

"That you cannot do," replied the Prince, "for you have broken the
Pacification all to pieces. We have nothing, therefore, to expect from
the states, but to be condemned off-hand.

"You don't mean, then," repeated Schetz, "to submit to the estates
touching the exercise of religion?"

"No, we do not!" replied the Prince, driven into a corner at last, and
striking out in his turn. "We certainly do not. To tell you the truth, we
see that you intend our extirpation, and we don't mean to be extirpated."

"Ho!" said the Duke of Aerschot, "there is nobody who wishes that."

"Indeed, but you do," said the Prince. "We have submitted ourselves to
you in good faith, and you now would compel us and all the world to
maintain exclusively the Catholic religion. This cannot be done except by
extirpating us."

A long, learned, vehement discussion upon abstract points, between Saint
Aldegonde, Leoninus, and Doctor Gaill, then ensued, during which the
Prince, who had satisfied himself as to the result of the conference,
retired from the apartment. He afterwards had a private convention with
Schetz and Leoninus, in which he reproached them with their inclination
to reduce their fatherland to slavery. He also took occasion to remark to
Hiergea, that it was a duty to content the people; that whatever might be
accomplished for them was durable, whereas the will of kings was
perishing. He told the Duke of Aerschot that if Utrecht were not
restored, he would take it by force. He warned the Duke that to trust the
King was to risk his head. He, at least, would never repose confidence in
him, having been deceived too often. The King cherished the maxim,
'hereticis non est servanda fides;' as for himself he was 'calbo y
calbanista,' and meant to die so.

The formal interchange of documents soon afterwards took place. The
conversation thus held between the different parties shows, however, the
exact position of, affairs. There was no change in the intentions of
either; Reformers or Royalists. Philip and his representatives still
contended for two points, and claimed the praise of moderation that their
demands were so few in number. They were willing to concede everything,
save the unlimited authority of the King and the exclusive maintenance of
the Catholic religion. The Prince of Orange, on his side, claimed two
points also--the ancient constitutions of the country and religious
freedom. It was obvious enough that the contest was, the same in reality,
as it had ever been. No approximation had been made towards reconciling
absolutism with national liberty, persecution with toleration. The
Pacification of Ghent had been a step in advance. That Treaty opened the
door to civil and religious liberty, but it was an agreement among the
provinces, not a compact between the people and the monarch. By the
casuists of Brussels and the licentiates of Louvain, it had, to be sure,
been dogmatically pronounced orthodox, and had been confirmed by royal
edict. To believe, however, that his Catholic Majesty had faith in the
dogmas propounded, was as absurd as to believe in the dogmas themselves.
If the Ghent Pacification really had made no breach in royal and Roman
infallibility, then the efforts of Orange and the exultation of the
Reformers had indeed been idle.

The envoys accordingly, in obedience to their instructions, made a formal
statement to the Prince of Orange and the states of Holland and Zealand,
on the part of Don John. They alluded to the departure of the Spaniards,
as if that alone had fulfilled every duty and authorized every claim.
They therefore demanded the immediate publication in Holland and Zealand
of the Perpetual Edict. They insisted on the immediate discontinuance of
all hostile attempts to reduce Amsterdam to the jurisdiction of Orange;
required the Prince to abandon his pretensions to Utrecht, and denounced
the efforts making by him and his partisans to diffuse their heretical
doctrines through the other provinces. They observed, in conclusion, that
the general question of religion was not to be handled, because reserved
for the consideration of the states-general, according to the treaty of
Ghent.

The reply, delivered on the following day by the Prince of Orange and the
deputies, maintained that the Perpetual Edict was widely different from
the Pacification of Ghent, which it affected to uphold; that the promises
to abstain from all violation of the ancient constitutions had not been
kept; that the German troops had not been dismissed, that the property of
the Prince in the Netherlands and Burgundy had not been restored, that
his son was detained in captivity, that the government of Utrecht was
withheld from him, that the charters and constitution of the country,
instead of being extended, had been contracted, and that the Governor had
claimed the right to convoke the states-general at his pleasure, in
violation of the ancient right to assemble at their own. The document
further complained that the adherents of the Reformed religion were not
allowed to frequent the different provinces in freedom, according to the
stipulations of Ghent; that Don John, notwithstanding all these
short-comings, had been acknowledged as Governor-General, without the
consent of the Prince; that he was surrounded with a train of Spaniards
Italians, and other foreigners--Gonzaga, Escovedo, and the like--as well
as by renegade Netherlanders like Tassis, by whom he was unduly
influenced against the country and the people, and by whom a "back door
was held constantly open" to the admission of evils innumerable. Finally,
it was asserted that, by means of this last act of union, a new form of
inquisition had been introduced, and one which was much more cruel than
the old system; inasmuch as the Spanish Inquisition did not take
information against men: except upon suspicion, whereas, by the new
process, all the world would be examined as to their conscience and
religion, under pretence of maintaining the union.

Such was the result of this second mission to the Prince of Orange on the
part of the Governor-General. Don John never sent another. The swords
were now fairly measured between the antagonists, and the scabbard was
soon to be thrown away. A few weeks afterwards, the Governor wrote to
Philip that there was nothing in the world which William of Orange so
much abhorred as his Majesty; adding, with Castillian exaggeration, that
if the Prince could drink the King's blood he would do so with great
pleasure.

Don John, being thus seated in the saddle, had a moment's leisure to look
around him. It was but a moment, for he had small confidence in the
aspect of affairs, but one of his first acts after assuming the
government afforded a proof of the interpretation which he had adopted of
the Ghent Pacification. An edict was issued, addressed to all bishops,
"heretic-masters," and provincial councils, commanding the strict
enforcement of the Canons of Trent, and other ecclesiastical decrees.
These authorities were summoned instantly to take increased heed, of the
flocks under their charge, "and to protect them from the ravening wolves
which were seeking to devour them."

The measure bore instant fruit. A wretched tailor of Mechlin, Peter Penis
by name, an honest man, but a heretic, was arrested upon the charge of
having preached or exhorted at a meeting in that city. He confessed that
he had been present at the meeting, but denied that he had preached. He
was then required to denounce the others who had been present, and the
men who had actually officiated. He refused, and was condemned to death.
The Prince of Orange, while the process was pending, wrote an earnest
letter to the Council of Mechlin, imploring them not now to rekindle the
fires of religious persecution. His appeal was in vain. The poor tailor
was beheaded at Mechlin on the 15th of June, the Conqueror of Lepanto
being present at the execution, and adding dignity to the scene. Thus, at
the moment when William of Orange was protecting the Anabaptists of
Middelburg in their rights of citizenship, even while they refused its
obligations, the son of the Emperor was dipping his hands in the blood of
a poor wretch who had done no harm but to listen to a prayer without
denouncing the preacher. The most intimate friends of the Prince were
offended with his liberality. The imperial shade of Don John's father
might have risen to approve the son who had so dutifully revived his
bloody edicts and his ruthless policy.

Three parties were now fairly in existence: the nobles, who hated the
Spaniards, but who were disposed to hold themselves aloof from the
people; the adherents of Don John, commonly called "Johanists;" and the
partisans of the Prince of Orange--for William the Silent had always felt
the necessity of leaning for support on something more substantial than
the court party, a reed shaken by the wind, and failing always when most
relied upon. His efforts were constant to elevate the middle class, to
build up a strong third party which should unite much of the substantial
wealth and intelligence of the land, drawing constantly from the people,
and deriving strength from national enthusiasm--a party which should
include nearly all the political capacity of the country; and his efforts
were successful. No doubt the Governor and his Secretary were right when
they said the people of the Netherlands were inclined to brook the Turk
as easily as the Spaniard for their master, and that their hearts were in
reality devoted to the Prince of Orange.

As to the grandees, they were mostly of those who "sought to swim between
two waters," according to the Prince's expression. There were but few
unswerving supporters of the Spanish rule, like the Berlaymont and the
Tassis families. The rest veered daily with the veering wind. Aerschot,
the great chief of the Catholic party, was but a cringing courtier, false
and fawning both to Don John and the Prince. He sought to play a leading
part in a great epoch; he only distinguished himself by courting and
betraying all parties, and being thrown away by all. His son and brother
were hardly more respectable. The Prince knew how little dependence could
be placed on such allies, even although they had signed and sworn the
Ghent Pacification. He was also aware how little it was the intention of
the Governor to be bound by that famous Treaty. The Spanish troops had
been, indeed, disbanded, but there were still, between ten and fifteen
thousand German mercenaries in the service of the King; these were
stationed in different important places, and held firm possession of the
citadels. The great keys of the country were still in the hands of the
Spaniards. Aerschot, indeed, governed the castle of Antwerp, in room of
Sancho d'Avila, but how much more friendly would Aerschot be than Avila,
when interest prompted him to sustain Don John against the Prince?

Meanwhile; the estates, according to their contract, were straining every
nerve to raise the requisite sum for the payment of the German troops.
Equitable offers were made, by which the soldiers were to receive a
certain proportion of the arrears due to them in merchandize, and the
remainder in cash. The arrangement was rejected, at the secret instance
of Don John. While the Governor affected an ingenuous desire to aid the
estates in their efforts to free themselves from the remaining portion of
this incumbrance, he was secretly tampering with the leading German
officers, in order to prevent their acceptance of any offered terms. He
persuaded these military chiefs that a conspiracy existed, by which they
were not only to be deprived of their wages but of their lives. He warned
them to heed no promises, to accept no terms. Convincing them that he,
and he only, was their friend, he arranged secret plans by which they
should assist him in taking the fortresses of the country into still more
secure possession, for he was not more inclined to trust to the Aerschots
and the Havres than was the Prince himself.

The Governor lived in considerable danger, and in still greater dread of
capture, if not of assassination. His imagination, excited by endless
tales of ambush and half-discovered conspiracies, saw armed soldiers
behind every bush; a pitfall in every street. Had not the redoubtable
Alva been nearly made a captive? Did not Louis of Nassau nearly entrap
the Grand Commander? No doubt the Prince of Orange was desirous of
accomplishing a feat by which he would be placed in regard to Philip on
the vantage ground which the King had obtained by his seizure of Count
Van Buren, nor did Don John need for warnings coming from sources far
from obscure. In May, the Viscount De Gand had forced his way to his
bedside in the dead of night; and wakening him from his sleep, had
assured him, with great solemnity, that his life was not worth a pin's
purchase if he remained in Brussels. He was aware, he said, of a
conspiracy by which both his liberty and his life were endangered, and
assured him that in immediate flight lay his only safety.

The Governor fled to Mechlin, where the same warnings were soon
afterwards renewed, for the solemn sacrifice of Peter Panis, the poor
preaching tailor of that city, had not been enough to strike terror to
the hearts of all the Netherlanders. One day, toward the end of June, the
Duke of Aerschot, riding out with Don John, gave him a circumstantial
account of plots, old and new, whose existence he had discovered or
invented, and he showed a copy of a secret letter, written by the Prince
of Orange to the estates, recommending the forcible seizure of his
Highness. It is true that the Duke was, at that period and for long
after, upon terms of the most "fraternal friendship" with the Prince, and
was in the habit of signing himself "his very affectionate brother and
cordial friend to serve him," yet this did not prevent him from
accomplishing what he deemed his duty, in secretly denouncing his plans,
It is also true that he, at the same time, gave the Prince private
information concerning the government, and sent him intercepted letters
from his enemies, thus easing his conscience on both sides, and trimming
his sails to every wind which might blow. The Duke now, however, reminded
his Highness of the contumely with which he had been treated at Brussels,
of the insolent threats with which the citizens had pursued his servants
and secretaries even to the very door of his palace. He assured him that
the same feeling existed at Mechlin, and that neither himself nor family
were much safer there than in the capital, a plot being fully organized
for securing his person. The conspirators, he said, were openly supported
by a large political party who called themselves anti-Johanists, and who
clothed themselves in symbolic costume, as had been done by the
disaffected in the days of Cardinal Granvelle. He assured the Governor
that nearly all the members of the states-general were implicated in
these schemes. "And what becomes, then, of their promises?" asked Don
John. "That for their promises!" cried the Duke, snapping his fingers;
"no man in the land feels bound by engagements now." The Governor
demanded the object of the states in thus seeking to deprive him of his
liberty. The Duke informed him that it was to hold him in captivity until
they had compelled him to sign every paper which they chose to lay before
him. Such things had been done in the Netherlands in former days, the
Duke observed, as he proceeded to narrate how a predecessor of his
Highness and a prince of the land, after having been compelled to sign
innumerable documents, had been, in conclusion, tossed out of the windows
of his own palace, with all his retinue, to perish upon the pikes of an
insurgent mob below. The Governor protested that it did not become the
son of Charles the Fifth and the representative of his Catholic Majesty
to hear such intimations a second time. After his return, he brooded over
what had been said to him for a few days, and he then broke up his
establishment at Mechlin, selling off his superfluous furniture and even
the wine in his cellars. Thus showing that his absence, both from
Brussels and Mechlin, was to be a prolonged one, he took advantage of an
unforeseen occurrence again to remove his residence.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 28

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER III.

   The city of Namur--Margaret of Valois--Her intrigues in Hainault in
   favour of Alencon--Her reception by Don John at Namur--Festivities
   in her, honor--Seizure of Namur citadel by Don John--Plan for
   seizing that of Antwerp--Letter of the estates to Philip, sent by
   Escovedo--Fortunes and fate of Escovedo in Madrid--Repairing of
   dykes--The Prince's visit to Holland--His letter to the estates--
   general on the subject of Namur citadel--His visit to Utrecht--
   Correspondence and commissioners between Don John and the estates--
   Acrimonious and passionate character of these colloquies--Attempt of
   Treslong upon Antwerp citadel frustrated by De Bourse--Fortunate
   panic of the German mercenaries--Antwerp evacuated by the foreign
   troops--Renewed correspondence--Audacity of the Governor's demands--
   Letters of Escovedo and others intercepted--Private schemes of Don
   John not understood by the estates--His letter to the Empress
   Dowager--More correspondence with the estates--Painful and false
   position of the Governor--Demolition, in part, of Antwerp citadel,
   and of other fortresses by the patriots Statue of Alva--Letter of
   estates-general to the King.

There were few cities of the Netherlands more picturesque in situation,
more trimly built, and more opulent of aspect than the little city of
Namur. Seated at the confluence of the Sombre with the Meuse, and
throwing over each river a bridge of solid but graceful structure, it lay
in the lap of a most fruitful valley. Abroad crescent-shaped plain,
fringed by the rapid Meuse, and enclosed by gently rolling hills
cultivated to their crests, or by abrupt precipices of limestone crowned
with verdure, was divided by numerous hedgerows, and dotted all over with
corn-fields, vineyards, and flower gardens. Many eyes have gazed with
delight upon that well-known and most lovely valley, and many torrents of
blood have mingled with those glancing waters since that long buried and
most sanguinary age which forms our theme; and still placid as ever is
the valley, brightly as ever flows the stream. Even now, as in that
vanished, but never-forgotten time, nestles the little city in the angle
of the two rivers; still directly over its head seems to hang in mid-air
the massive and frowning fortress, like the gigantic helmet-in the
fiction, as if ready to crush the pigmy town below.

It was this famous citadel, crowning an abrupt precipice five hundred
feet above the river's bed, and placed near the frontier of France, which
made the city so important, and which had now attracted Don John's
attention in this hour of his perplexity. The unexpected visit of a
celebrated personage, furnished him with the pretext which he desired.
The beautiful Margaret of Valois, Queen of Navarre, was proceeding to the
baths of Spa, to drink the waters. Her health was as perfect as her
beauty, but she was flying from a husband whom she hated, to advance the
interest of a brother whom she loved with a more than sisterly
fondness--for the worthless Duke of Alencon was one of the many
competitors for the Netherland government; the correspondence between
himself and his brother with Orange and his agents being still continued.
The hollow truce with the Huguenots in France had, however, been again
succeeded by war. Henry of Valois had already commenced operations in
Gascony against Henry of Navarre, whom he hated, almost as cordially as
Margaret herself could do, and the Duke of Alencon was besieging Issoire.
Meantime, the beautiful Queen came to mingle he golden thread of her
feminine intrigues with the dark woof of the Netherland destinies.

Few spirits have been more subtle, few faces so fatal as hers. True child
of the Medicean mother, worthy sister of Charles, Henry; and
Francis--princes for ever infamous in the annals of France--she possessed
more beauty and wit than Mary of Scotland, more learning and
accomplishments than Elizabeth of England. In the blaze of her beauty,
according to the inflated language of her most determined worshiper, the
wings of all rivals were melted. Heaven required to be raised higher and
earth made wider, before a full sweep could be given to her own majestic
flight. We are further informed that she was a Minerva for eloquence,
that she composed matchless poems which she sang most exquisitely to the
sound of her lute, and that her familiar letters were so full of genius,
that "poor Cicero" was but a fool to her in the same branch of
composition. The world has shuddered for ages at the dark tragedy of her
nuptials. Was it strange that hatred, incest, murder, should follow in
the train of a wedding thus hideously solemnized?

Don John, as in his Moorish disguise he had looked upon her perfections,
had felt in danger of becoming really the slave he personated--"her
beauty is more divine than human," he had cried, "but fitter to destroy
men's souls than to bless them;" and now the enchantress was on her way
to his dominions. Her road led through Namur to Liege, and gallantry
required that he should meet her as she passed. Attended by a select band
of gentlemen and a few horsemen of his body-guard, the Governor came to
Namur.

Meantime the Queen crossed the frontier, and was courteously received at
Cambray. The bishop-of the loyal house of Berlaymont--was a stanch
supporter of the King, and although a Fleming, was Spanish to the core.
On him the cajolery of the beautiful Queen was first essayed, but was
found powerless. The prelate gave her a magnificent ball, but resisted
her blandishments. He retired with the appearance of the confections, but
the governor of the citadel, the Seigneur d'Inchy remained, with whom
Margaret was more successful. She found him a cordial hater of Spain, a
favorer of France, and very impatient under the authority of the bishop.
He obtained permission to accompany the royal visitor a few stages of her
journey, and returned to Cambray, her willing slave; holding the castle
in future, neither for king nor bishop, but for Margaret's brother,
Alencon, alone. At Mons she was received with great state by the Count
Lalain, who was governor of Hainault, while his Countess governed him. A
week of festivities graced the advent of the Queen, during which period
the hearts of both Lalain and his wife were completely subjugated. They
agreed that Flanders had been too long separated from the parental France
to which it of right belonged. The Count was a stanch Catholic, but he
hated Spain. He was a relative of Egmont, and anxious to avenge his
death, but he was no lover of the people, and was jealous of Orange.
Moreover, his wife had become entirely fascinated by the designing.
Queen. So warm a friendship had sprung up between the two fair ladies as
to make it indispensable that Flanders and Hainault should be annexed to
France. The Count promised to hold his whole government at the service of
Alencon, and recommended that an attempt should be made to gain over the
incorruptible Governor of Cambray. Margaret did not inform him that she
had already turned that functionary round her finger, but she urged
Lalain and his wife to seduce him from his allegiance, if possible.

The Count, with a retinue of mounted men, then accompanied her on her way
towards Namur, but turned as the distant tramp of Don John's cavalcade
was heard approaching, for it was not desirable for Lalain, at that
moment, to find himself face to face with the Governor. Don John stood a
moment awaiting the arrival of the Queen. He did not dream of her
political intrigues, nor see in the fair form approaching him one mortal
enemy the more. Margaret travelled in a splendid litter with gilt
pillars, lined with scarlet velvet, and entirely enclosed in glass, which
was followed by those of the Princess de la Roche sur Yon, and of Madame
de Tournon. After these came ten ladies of honor on horseback, and six
chariots filled with female domestics. These, with the guards and other
attendants, made up the retinue. On meeting the Queen's litter, Don John
sprang from his horse and presented his greetings. The Queen returned his
salutation, in the French fashion, by offering her cheek to his embrace,
extending the same favor to the Duke of Aerschot and the Marquis of
Havre. The cavaliers then remounted and escorted the Queen to Namur, Don
John riding by the side of the litter and conversing with her all the
way. It was late in the evening when the procession arrived in the city.
The streets had, however, been brilliantly illuminated; houses and shops,
though it was near midnight, being in a blaze of light. Don John
believing that no attentions could be so acceptable at that hour as to
provide for the repose of his guest, conducted the Queen at once to the
lodgings prepared for her. Margaret was astonished at the magnificence of
the apartments into which she was ushered. A spacious and stately hall,
most gorgeously furnished, opened into a series of chambers and cabinets,
worthy, in their appointments, of a royal palace. The tent and bed
coverings prepared for the Queen were exquisitely embroidered in
needlework with scenes representing the battle of Lepanto. The great hall
was hung with gorgeous tapestry of satin and velvet, ornamented with
columns of raised silver work, and with many figures in antique costume,
of the same massive embroidery. The rest of the furniture was also of
satin, velvet, cloth of gold, and brocade. The Queen was dazzled with so
much magnificence, and one of the courtiers could not help expressing
astonishment at the splendor of the apartments and decorations, which, as
he observed to the Duke of Aerschot; seemed more appropriate to the
palace of a powerful monarch than to the apartments of a young bachelor
prince. The Duke replied by explaining that the expensive embroidery
which they saw was the result, not of extravagance, but of valor and
generosity. After the battle of Lepanto, Don John had restored the two
sons, who had been taken prisoners, of a powerful Turkish bashaw. The
father; in gratitude had sent this magnificent tapestry as a present to
the conqueror, and Don John had received it, at Milan; in which city,
celebrated for the taste of its upholsterers; it had been arranged for
furniture.

The next morning a grand mass with military music was performed, followed
by a sumptuous banquet in the grand hall. Don John and the Queen sat at a
table three feet apart from the rest, and Ottavio Gonzaga served them
wine upon his knees. After the banquet came, as usual; the ball, the
festivities continuing till late in the night, and Don John scarcely
quitting his fair guest for a moment. The next afternoon, a festival had
been arranged upon an island in the river. The company embarked upon the
Meuse, in a fleet of gaily-scarfed; and painted vessels, many of which
were filled with musicians. Margaret reclined in her gilded barge, under
a richly embroidered canopy. A fairer and falser Queen than "Egypt," had
bewitched the famous youth who had triumphed not, lost the world, beneath
the heights of Actium. The revellers landed on the island, where the
banquet was already spread within a spacious bower of ivy, and beneath
umbrageous elms. The dance upon the sward was protracted to a late hour,
and the summer stars had been long in the sky when the company returned
to their barges.

Don John, more than ever enthralled by the bride of St. Bartholomew, knew
not that her sole purpose in visiting his dominion had been to corrupt
his servants and to undermine his authority. His own purpose, however,
had been less to pay court to the Queen than to make, use of her presence
to cover his own designs. That purpose he proceeded instantly to execute.
The Queen next morning pursued her voyage by the river to Liege, and
scarcely had she floated out of his sight than he sprang upon his horse
and, accompanied by a few trusty attendants, galloped out of the gate and
across the bridge which led to the citadel. He had already despatched the
loyal Berlaymont, with his four equally loyal sons, the Seigneurs de
Meghen, Floyon, Hierges, and Haultepenne to that fortress. These
gentlemen had informed the castellan that the Governor was about to ride
forth hunting, and that it would be proper to offer him the hospitalities
of the castle as he passed on his way. A considerable number of armed men
had been concealed in the woods and thickets of the neighbourhood. The
Seigneur de Froymont, suspecting nothing, acceded to the propriety of the
suggestion made by the Berlaymonts. Meantime, with a blast of his horn,
Don John appeared at the castle gate. He entered the fortress with the
castellan, while one of the gentlemen watched outside, as the ambushed
soldiers came toiling up the precipice. When all was ready the gentleman
returned to the hall, and made a signal to Don John, as he sat at
breakfast with the constable. The Governor sprang from the table and drew
his sword; Berlaymont and his four sons drew their pistols, while at the
same instant, the soldiers entered. Don John, exclaiming that this was
the first day of his government, commanded the castellan to surrender. De
Froymont, taken by surprise, and hardly understanding this very
melo-dramatic attack upon a citadel by its own lawful governor, made not
much difficulty in complying. He was then turned out of doors, along with
his garrison, mostly feeble old men and invalids. The newly arrived
soldiers took their places, at command of the Governor, and the
stronghold of Namur was his own.

There was little doubt that the representative of Philip had a perfect
right to possess himself of any fortress within his government; there
could be as little that the sudden stratagem by which he had thus made
himself master of this citadel would prove offensive to the estates,
while it could hardly be agreeable to the King; and yet it is not certain
that he could have accomplished his purpose in any other way. Moreover,
the achievement was one of a projected series by which he meant to
re-vindicate his dwindling authority. He was weary of playing the
hypocrite, and convinced that he and his monarch were both abhorred by
the Netherlanders. Peace was impossible--war was forbidden him. Reduced
almost to a nullity by the Prince of Orange, it was time for him to make
a stand, and in this impregnable fastness his position at least was a
good one. Many months before, the Prince of Orange had expressed his
anxious desire that this most important town and citadel should be
secured-for the estates. "You know," he had written to Bossu in December,
"the evil and the dismay which the loss of the city and fortress of Namur
would occasion to us. Let me beseech you that all possible care be taken
to preserve them." Nevertheless, their preservation had been entrusted to
a feeble-minded old constable, at the head of a handful of cripples.

We know how intense had been the solicitude of the Prince, not only to
secure but to destroy these citadels, "nests of tyranny," which had been
built by despots to crush, not protect, the towns at their feet. These
precautions had been neglected, and the consequences were displaying
themselves, for the castle of Namur was not the only one of which Don
John felt himself secure. Although the Duke of Aerschot seemed so very
much his humble servant, the Governor did not trust him, and wished to
see the citadel of Antwerp in more unquestionable keeping. He had
therefore withdrawn, not only the Duke, but his son, the Prince of
Chimay, commander of the castle in his father's absence, from that
important post, and insisted upon their accompanying him to Namur. So
gallant a courtier as Aerschot could hardly refuse to pay his homage to
so illustrious a princess as Margaret of Valois, while during the absence
of the Duke and Prince the keys of Antwerp-citadel had been, at the
command of Don John, placed in the keeping of the Seigneur de Treslong,
an unscrupulous and devoted royalist. The celebrated Colonel Van Ende,
whose participation, at the head of his German cavalry, in the terrible
sack of that city, which he had been ordered to defend, has been
narrated, was commanded to return to Antwerp. He was to present himself
openly to the city authorities, but he was secretly directed by the
Governor-General to act in co-operation with the Colonels Fugger,
Frondsberger, and Polwiller, who commanded the forces already stationed
in the city. These distinguished officers had been all summer in secret
correspondence with Don John, for they were the instruments with which he
meant by a bold stroke to recover his almost lost authority. While he had
seemed to be seconding the efforts of the states-general to pay off and
disband these mercenaries, nothing had in reality been farther from his
thoughts; and the time had now come when his secret plans were to be
executed, according to the agreement between himself and the German
colonels. He wrote to them, accordingly, to delay no longer the
accomplishment of the deed--that deed being the seizure of Antwerp
citadel, as he had already successfully mastered that of Namur. The Duke
of Aerschot, his brother, and son, were in his power, and could do
nothing to prevent the co-operation of the colonels in the city with
Treslong in the castle; so that the Governor would thus be enabled,
laying his head tranquilly upon "the pillow of the Antwerp citadel,"
according to the reproachful expression subsequently used by the estates,
to await the progress of events.

The current of his adventurous career was not, however, destined to run
thus smoothly. It is true that the estates had not yet entirely lost
their confidence in his character; but the seizure of Namur, and the
attempt upon Antwerp, together with the contents of the intercepted
letters written by himself and Escovedo to Philip, to Perez, to the
Empress, to the Colonels Frondsberger and Fugger, were soon destined to
open their eyes. In the meantime, almost exactly at the moment when Don
John was executing his enterprise against Namur, Escovedo had taken an
affectionate farewell of the estates at Brussels for it had been thought
necessary, as already intimated, both for the apparent interests and the
secret projects of Don John; that the Secretary should make a visit to
Spain. At the command of the Governor-General he had offered to take
charge of any communication for his Majesty which the estates might be
disposed to entrust to him, and they had accordingly addressed a long
epistle to the King, in which they gave ample expression to their
indignation and their woe. They remonstrated with the King concerning the
continued presence of the German mercenaries, whose knives were ever at
their throats, whose plunder and insolence impoverished and tortured the
people. They reminded him of the vast sums which the provinces had
contributed in times past to the support of government, and they begged
assistance from his bounty now. They recalled to his vision the
melancholy spectacle of Antwerp, but lately the "nurse of Europe, the
fairest flower in his royal garland, the foremost and noblest city of the
earth, now quite desolate and forlorn," and with additional instructions
to Escovedo, that he should not fail, in his verbal communications, to
represent the evil consequences of the course hitherto pursued by his
Majesty's governors in the Netherlands, they dismissed him with good
wishes, and with "crowns for convoy" in his purse to the amount of a
revenue of two thousand yearly. His secret correspondence was intercepted
and made known a few weeks after his departure for that terrible Spain
whence so few travellers returned.

For a moment we follow him thither. With a single word in anticipation,
concerning the causes and the consummation of this celebrated murder,
which was delayed till the following year, the unfortunate Escovedo may
be dismissed from these pages. It has been seen how artfully Antonio
Perez, Secretary of State, paramour of Princess Eboli, and ruling
councillor at that day of Philip, had fostered in the King's mind the
most extravagant suspicions as to the schemes of Don John, and of his
confidential secretary. He had represented it as their fixed and secret
intention, after Don John should be finally established on the throne of
England, to attack Philip himself in Spain, and to deprive him of his
crown, Escovedo being represented as the prime instigator and controller
of this astounding plot, which lunatics only could have engendered, and
which probably never had existence.

No proof of the wild design was offered. The language which Escovedo was
accused by Perez of having held previously to his departure for
Flanders--that it was the intention of Don John and himself to fortify
the rock of Mogio, with which, and with the command of the city of
Santander, they could make themselves masters of Spain after having
obtained possession of England,--is too absurd to have been uttered by a
man of Escovedo's capacity. Certainly, had Perez been provided with the
least scrap of writing from the hands of Don John or Escovedo which could
be tortured into evidence upon this point, it would have been
forthcoming, and would have rendered such fictitious hearsay superfluous.
Perez in connivance with Philip, had been systematically conducting his
correspondence with Don John and Escovedo, in order to elicit some
evidence of the imputed scheme. "'T was the only way," said Perez to
Philip, "to make them unbare their bosoms to the sword."--"I am quite of
the same opinion," replied Philip to Perez, "for, according to my
theology, you would do your duty neither to God nor the world, unless you
did as you are doing." Yet the excellent pair of conspirators at Madrid
could wring no damning proofs from the lips of the supposititious
conspirators in Flanders, save that Don John, after Escovedo's arrival in
Madrid, wrote, impatiently and frequently, to demand that he should be
sent back, together with the money which he had gone to Spain to procure.
"Money, more money, and Escovedo," wrote the Governor, and Philip was
quite willing to accept this most natural exclamation as evidence of his
brother's designs against his crown. Out of these shreds and patches--the
plot against England, the Pope's bull, the desire expressed by Don John
to march into France as a simple adventurer, with a few thousand men at
his back--Perez, according to his own statement, drew up a protocol,
afterwards formally approved by Philip, which concluded with the
necessity of taking Escovedo's life, instantly but privately, and by
poison. The Marquis de Los Velos, to whom the memorial was submitted for
his advice, averred that if the death-bed wafer were in his own lips, he
should vote for the death of the culprit. Philip had already jumped to
the same conclusion; Perez joyfully undertook the business, having
received carte blanche from the King, and thus the unfortunate secretary
was doomed. Immediately after the arrival of Escovedo in Madrid, he
addressed a letter to the King. Philip filed it away among other
despatches, with this annotation: "the 'avant courier' has arrived--it is
necessary to make great haste, and to despatch him before he murders us."

The King, having been thus artfully inflamed against his brother and his
unfortunate secretary, became clamorous for the blood of Escovedo. At the
same time, that personage, soon after his return to Spain, was shocked by
the discovery of the amour of Perez with the Princess Eboli. He
considered it his duty, both towards the deceased Prince and the living
King, to protest against this perfidy. He threatened to denounce to the
King, who seemed the only person about the court ignorant of the affair,
this double treason of his mistress and his minister. Perez and Anna of
Eboli, furious at Escovedo's insolence, and anxious lest he should
execute his menace determined to disembarrass themselves of so meddlesome
a person. Philip's rage against Don John was accordingly turned to
account, and Perez received the King's secret orders to procure
Escovedo's assassination. Thus an imaginary conspiracy of Don John
against, the crown of Philip was the pretext, the fears and rage of Eboli
and her paramour were the substantial reason, for the crime now
projected.

The details of the murder were arranged and executed by Perez, but it
must be confessed in justice to Philip, with much inferior nicety to that
of his, own performances in the same field. Many persons were privy to
the plot. There was much blundering, there was great public scandal in
Madrid, and no one ever had a reasonable doubt as to the instigators and
the actual perpetrators of the crime. Two attempts to poison Escovedo
were made by Perez, at his own table, through the agency of Antonio
Enriquez, a confidential servant or page. Both were unsuccessful. A third
was equally so, but suspicions were aroused. A female slave in the
household of Escovedo, was in consequence arrested, and immediately
hanged in the public square, for a pretended attempt to murder her
master. A few days afterwards (on the 31st of March, 1578) the deed was
accomplished at nightfall in the streets of Madrid, by six conspirators.
They consisted of the majordomo of Perez, a page in his household, the
page's brother from the country, an ex-scullion from the royal kitchens,
Juan Rubio by name, who had been the unsuccessful agent in the poisoning
scheme, together with two professional bravos, hired for the occasion. It
was Insausti, one of this last-mentioned couple, who despatched Escovedo
with a single stab, the others aiding and abetting, or keeping watch in
the neighbourhood.

The murderers effected their escape, and made their report to Perez, who
for the sake of appearances, was upon a visit in the country. Suspicion
soon tracked the real culprits, who were above the reach of justice; nor,
as to the motives which had prompted the murders, were many ignorant,
save only the murderer himself. Philip had ordered the, assassination;
but he was profoundly deceived as to the causes of its accomplishment. He
was the dupe of a subtler villain than himself, and thought himself
sacrificing a conspirator against his crown, while he had really only
crushed a poor creature who had been but too solicitous for what he
thought his master's honor.

The assassins were, of course, protected from prosecution, and duly
recompensed. Miguel Bosque, the country boy, received one hundred crowns
in gold, paid by a clerk of Perez. Mesa, one of the bravos, was rewarded
with a gold chain, fifty doubloons of eight, and a silver cup, besides
receiving from the fair hand of Princess Eboli herself a certificate as
under-steward upon her estates. The second bravo, Insausti, who had done
the deed, the page Enriquez, and the scullion, were all appointed ensigns
in his Majesty's army, with twenty gold crowns of annual pension besides.
Their commissions were signed by Philip on the 19th of April, 1578. Such
were the wages of murder at that day in Spain; gold chains, silver cups,
doubloons, annuities, and commissions in the army! The reward of
fidelity, as in poor Escovedo's case, was oftener the stiletto. Was it
astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?

With the subsequent career of Antonio Perez--his famous process, his
banishment, his intrigues, his innuendos, his long exile, and his
miserable death, this history has no concern. We return from our brief
digression.

Before narrating the issue of the plot against Antwerp citadel, it is
necessary to recur for a moment to the Prince of Orange. In the deeds and
the written words of that one man are comprised nearly all the history of
the Reformation in the Netherlands--nearly the whole progress of the
infant Republic. The rest, during this period, is made up of the
plottings and counter-plottings, the mutual wranglings and recriminations
of Don John and the estates.

In the brief breathing-space now afforded them, the inhabitants of
Holland and Zealand had been employing themselves in the extensive
repairs of their vast system of dykes. These barriers, which protected
their country against the ocean, but which their own hands had destroyed
to preserve themselves against tyranny, were now thoroughly
reconstructed, at a great expense, the Prince everywhere encouraging the
people with his presence, directing them by his experience, inspiring
them with his energy. The task accomplished was stupendous and worthy,
says a contemporary, of eternal memory.

At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour through the
little provinces, honoring every city with a brief visit. The spontaneous
homage which went up to him from every heart was pathetic and simple.
There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, no banners, no
theatrical pageantry nothing but the choral anthem from thousands of
grateful hearts. "Father William has come! Father William has come!"
cried men, women, and children to each other, when the news of his
arrival in town or village was announced. He was a patriarch visiting his
children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate displaying himself to
his admirers. Happy were they who heard his voice, happier they who
touched his hands, for his words were full of tenderness, his hand was
offered to all. There were none so humble as to be forbidden to approach
him, none so ignorant as not to know his deeds. All knew that to combat
in their cause he had descended from princely station, from luxurious
ease, to the position of a proscribed and almost beggared outlaw. For
them he had impoverished himself and his family, mortgaged his estates,
stripped himself of jewels, furniture, almost of food and raiment.
Through his exertions the Spaniards had been banished from their little
territory, the Inquisition crushed within their borders, nearly all the
sister provinces but yesterday banded into a common cause.

He found time, notwithstanding congratulating crowds who thronged his
footsteps, to direct the labors of the states-general, who still looked
more than ever to his guidance, as their relations with Don John became
more complicated and unsatisfactory. In a letter addressed to them, on
the 20th of June from Harlem, he warned them most eloquently to hold to
the Ghent Pacification as to their anchor in the storm. He assured them,
if it was, torn from them, that their destruction was inevitable. He
reminded them that hitherto they had got but the shadow, not the
substance of the Treaty; that they had been robbed of that which was to
have been its chief fruit--union among themselves. He and his brothers,
with their labor, their wealth, and their blood, had laid down the bridge
over which the country had stepped to the Pacification of Ghent. It was
for the nation to maintain what had been so painfully won; yet he
proclaimed to them that the government were not acting in good faith,
that secret, preparations were making to annihilate the authority of the
states; to restore the edicts, to put strangers into high places, and to
set up again the scaffold and the whole machinery of persecution.

In consequence of the seizure of Namur Castle, and the accusations made
by Don John against Orange, in order to justify that act, the Prince had
already despatched Taffin and Saint Aldegonde to the states-general with
a commission to declare his sentiments upon the subject. He addressed,
moreover, to the same body a letter full of sincere and simple eloquence.
"The Seigneur Don John," said he, "has accused me of violating the peace,
and of countenancing attempts against his life, and in endeavouring to
persuade you into joining him in a declaration of war against me and
against Holland and Zealand; but I pray you, most affectionately, to
remember our mutual and solemn obligations to maintain the treaty of
Ghent." He entreated the states, therefore, to beware of the artifices
employed to seduce them from the only path which led to the tranquillity
of their common country, and her true splendor and prosperity. "I believe
there is not one of you," he continued, "who can doubt me, if he will
weigh carefully all my actions, and consider closely the course which I
am pursuing and have always pursued. Let all these be confronted with the
conduct of Don John, and any man will perceive that all my views of
happiness, both for my country and myself, imply a peaceable enjoyment of
the union, joined with the legitimate restoration of our liberties, to
which all good patriots aspire, and towards which all my designs have
ever tended. As all the grandeur of Don John, on the contrary, consists
in war, as there is nothing which he so much abhors as repose, as he has
given ample proof of these inclinations in all his designs and
enterprises, both before and after the Treaty of Marche en Famine, both
within the country and beyond its borders, as it is most manifest that
his purpose is, and ever has been, to embroil us with our neighbours of
England and Scotland in new dissensions, as it must be evident to every
one of you that his pretended accusations against me are but colors and
shadows to embellish and to shroud his own desire for war, his appetite
for vengeance, and his hatred not only to me but to yourselves, and as
his determination is, in the words of Escovedo, to chastise some of us by
means of the rest, and to excite the jealousy of one portion of the
country against the other--therefore, gentlemen, do I most affectionately
exhort you to found your decision, as to these matters, not upon words
but upon actions. Examine carefully my conduct in the points concerning
which the charges are made; listen attentively to what my envoys will
communicate to you in my behalf; and then, having compared it with all
the proceedings of Seigneur Don John, you will be able to form a
resolution worthy the rank which you occupy, and befitting your
obligations to the whole people, of whom you have been chosen chiefs and
protectors, by God and by men. Put away all considerations which might
obscure your clear eye-sight; maintain with magnanimity, and like men,
the safety of yourselves, your wives, your children, your estates, your
liberties; see that this poor people, whose eyes are fixed upon you, does
not perish; preserve them from the greediness of those who would grow
great at your expense; guard them from the yoke of miserable servitude;
let not all our posterity lament that, by our pusillanimity, they have
lost the liberties which our ancestors had conquered for them, and
bequeathed to them as well as to us, and that they have been subjugated
by the proud tyranny of strangers.

"Trusting," said the Prince, in conclusion, "that you will accord faith
and attention to my envoys, I will only add an expression of my sincere
determination to employ myself incessantly in your service, and for the
welfare of the whole people, without sparing any means in my power, nor
my life itself."

The vigilant Prince was indeed not slow to take advantage of the
Governor's false move. While in reality intending peace, if it were
possible, Don John had thrown down the gauntlet; while affecting to deal
openly and manfully, like a warrior and an emperor's son, he had involved
himself in petty stratagems and transparent intrigues, by all which he
had gained nothing but the character of a plotter, whose word could not
be trusted. Saint Aldegonde expressed the hope that the seizure of Namur
Castle would open the eyes of the people, and certainly the Prince did
his best to sharpen their vision.

While in North Holland, William of Orange received an urgent invitation
from the magistracy and community of Utrecht to visit that city. His
authority, belonging to him under his ancient commission, had not yet
been recognized over that province, but there was no doubt that the
contemplated convention of "satisfaction" was soon to be; arranged, for
his friends there were numerous and influential. His princess, Charlotte
de Bourbon, who accompanied him on his tour, trembled at the danger to
which her husband would expose himself by venturing thus boldly into a
territory which might be full of his enemies, but the Prince determined
to trust the loyalty of a province which he hoped would be soon his own.
With anxious forebodings, the Princess followed her husband to the
ancient episcopal city. As they entered its gates, where an immense
concourse was waiting to receive him, a shot passed through the carriage
window, and struck the Prince upon the breast. The affrighted lady threw
her arms about his neck; shrieking that they were betrayed, but the
Prince, perceiving that the supposed shot was but a wad from one of the
cannon, which were still roaring their welcome to him, soon succeeded in
calming her fears. The carriage passed lowly through the streets,
attended by the vociferous greetings of the multitude; for the whole
population had come forth to do him honor. Women and children clustered
upon every roof and balcony, but a painful incident again marred the
tranquillity of the occasion. An apothecary's child, a little girl of ten
years, leaning eagerly from a lofty balcony, lost her balance and fell to
the ground, directly before the horses of the Prince's carriage. She was
killed stone dead by the fall. The procession stopped; the Prince
alighted, lifted the little corpse in his arms, and delivered it, with
gentle words and looks of consolation, to the unhappy parents. The day
seemed marked with evil omens, which were fortunately destined to prove
fallacious. The citizens of Utrecht became more than ever inclined to
accept the dominion of the Prince, whom they honored and whom they
already regarded as their natural chief. They entertained him with
banquets and festivities during his brief visit, and it was certain
before he took his departure that the treaty of "Satisfaction" would not
be long delayed. It was drawn up, accordingly, in the autumn of the same
year, upon the basis of that accepted by Harlem and Amsterdam--a basis
wide enough to support both religions, with a nominal supremacy to the
ancient Church.

Meantime, much fruitless correspondence had taken place between Don John
and the states Envoys; despatched by the two parties to each other, had
indulged in bitterness and recrimination. As soon as the Governor, had
taken: possession of Namur Castle, he had sent the Seigneur, de
Rassinghem to the states-general. That gentleman carried with him copies
of two anonymous letters, received by Don John upon the 19th and 21st of
July, 1577, in which a conspiracy against his life and liberty was
revealed. It was believed by the Governor that Count Lalain, who had
secretly invited him to a conference, had laid an ambush for him. It was
known that the country was full of disbanded soldiers, and the Governor
asserted confidently that numbers of desperadoes were lying in wait for
him in every village alehouse of Hainault and Flanders. He called on the
states to ferret out these conspirators, and to inflict condign
punishment upon their more guilty chiefs; he required that the soldiers,
as well as the citizens, should be disarmed at Brussels and throughout
Brabant, and he justified his seizure of Namur, upon the general ground
that his life was no longer safe, except in a fortress.

In reply to the letter of the Governor, which was dated the 24th of July,
the states despatched Marolles, Archdeacon of Ypres, and the Seigneur de
Bresse, to Namur, with a special mission to enter into the whole subject
of these grievances. These gentlemen, professing the utmost devotion to
the cause of his Majesty's authority and the Catholic religion, expressed
doubts as to the existence of the supposed conspiracy. They demanded that
Don John should denounce the culprits, if any such were known, in order
that proper chastisement might be instantly inflicted. The conversation
which ensued was certainly unsatisfactory. The Governor used lofty and
somewhat threatening language, assuring Marolles that he was at that
moment in possession, not only of Namur but of Antwerp citadel; and the
deputies accordingly departed, having accomplished very little by their
journey. Their backs were scarcely turned, when Don John, on his part,
immediately appointed another commission, consisting of Rassinghem and
Grobbendonck, to travel from Namur to Brussels. These envoys carried a
long letter of grievances, enclosing a short list of demands. The letter
reiterated his complaints about conspiracies, and his protestations of
sincerity. It was full of censure upon the Prince of Orange; stigmatized
his intrigues to obtain possession of Amsterdam without a proper
"Satisfaction," and of Utrecht, to which he had no claim at all. It
maintained that the Hollanders and Zealanders were bent upon utterly
exterminating the Catholic religion, and that they avowed publicly their
intention to refuse obedience to the assembly-general, should it decree
the maintenance of the ancient worship only. His chief demands were that
the states should send him a list of persons qualified to be members of
the general assembly, that he might see whether there were not
individuals among them whom he might choose to reject. He further
required that, if the Prince of Orange did not instantly fulfil the
treaty of Ghent, the states should cease to hold any communication with
him. He also summoned the states to provide him forthwith with a suitable
body-guard.

To these demands and complaints, the estates replied by a string of
resolutions. They made their usual protestations of attachment to his
Majesty and the Catholic faith, and they granted willingly a foot-guard
of three hundred archers. They, however, stoutly denied the Governor's
right to make eliminations in their lists of deputies, because, from time
immemorial, these representatives had been chosen by the clergy, nobles,
cities, and boroughs. The names might change daily, nor were there any
suspicious ones among them, but it was a matter with which the Governor
had no concern. They promised that every effort should be made to bring
about the execution of the treaty by the Prince of Orange. They begged
Don John; however, to abandon the citadel of Namur, and gave him to
understand that his secret practices had been discovered, a large packet
of letters having recently been intercepted in the neighbourhood of
Bourdeaux, and sent to the Prince of Orange. Among them were some of the
despatches of Don John and Escovedo, to his Majesty and to Antonio Perez,
to which allusion has already been made.

Count Bossu, De Bresse, and Meetkercke were the envoys deputed to convey
these resolutions to Namur. They had a long and bitter conversation with
Don John, who complained, more furiously than ever of the conspiracies
against his person, and of the intrigues of Orange. He insisted that this
arch-traitor had been sowing the seed of his damnable doctrines broadcast
through the Netherlands; that the earth was groaning with a daily
ripening harvest of rebellion and heresy. It was time, he cried, for the
states to abandon the Prince, and rally round their King. Patience had
been exhausted. He had himself done all, and more than could have been
demanded. He had faithfully executed the Ghent Pacification, but his
conduct had neither elicited gratitude nor inspired confidence.

The deputies replied, that to the due execution of the Ghent treaty it
was necessary that he should disband the German troops, assemble the
states-general, and carry out their resolutions. Until these things, now
undone, had been accomplished, he had no right to plead his faithful
fulfilment of the Pacification. After much conversation--in which the
same grievances were repeated, the same statements produced and
contradicted, the same demands urged and evaded, and the same menaces
exchanged as upon former occasions--the deputies returned to Brussels.

Immediately after their departure, Don John learned the result of his
project upon Antwerp Castle. It will be remembered that he had withdrawn
Aerschot, under pretext of requiring his company on the visit to Queen
Margaret, and that he had substituted Treslong, an unscrupulous partisan
of his own, in the government of the citadel. The temporary commander
soon found, however, that he had undertaken more than he could perform.
The troops under Van Ende were refused admittance into the town, although
permission to quarter them there had been requested by the
Governor-General. The 'authorities had been assured that the troops were
necessary for the protection of their city, but the magistrates had
learned, but too recently, the nature of the protection which Van Ende,
with his mercenaries, would afford. A detachment of states troops under
De Yers, Champagny's nephew, encountered the regiment of Van Ende, and
put it to flight with considerable loss. At the same time, an officer in
the garrison of the citadel itself, Captain De Bours, undertook secretly
to carry the fortress for the estates. His operations were secret and
rapid. The Seigneur de Liedekerke had succeeded Champagny in the
government of the city. This appointment had been brought about by the
agency of the Greffier Martini, a warm partisan of Orange. The new
Governor was known to be very much the Prince's friend, and believed to
be at heart a convert to the Reformed religion. With Martini and
Liedekerke, De Bours arranged his plot. He was supplied with a large sum
of money, readily furnished in secret by the leading mercantile houses of
the city. These funds were successfully invested in gaining over the
garrison, only one company holding firm for Treslong. The rest, as that
officer himself informed Don John, were ready at any moment "to take him
by the throat."

On the 1st of August, the day firmed upon in concert with the Governor
and Greffier, he was, in fact, taken by the throat. There was but a brief
combat, the issue of which became accidentally doubtful in the city. The
white-plumed hat of De Bours had been struck from his head in the
struggle, and had fallen into the foss. Floating out into the river, it
had been recognized by the scouts sent out by the personages most
interested, and the information was quickly brought to Liedekerke, who
was lying concealed in the house of Martini, awaiting the result. Their
dismay was great, but Martini, having more confidence than the Governor,
sallied forth to learn the whole truth. Scarcely had he got into the
streets than he heard a welcome cry, "The Beggars have the castle! the
Beggars have the castle!" shouted a hundred voices. He soon met a
lieutenant coming straight from the fortress, who related to him the
whole affair. Learning that De Bours was completely victorious, and that
Treslong was a prisoner, Martini hastened with the important intelligence
to his own home, where Liedekerke lay concealed. That functionary now
repaired to the citadel, whither the magistrates, the leading citizens,
and the chief merchants were instantly summoned. The castle was carried,
but the city was already trembling with apprehension lest the German
mercenaries quartered within its walls, should rise with indignation or
panic, and repeat the horrid tragedy of The Antwerp Fury.

In truth, there seemed danger of such a catastrophe. The secret
correspondence of Don John with the colonels was already discovered, and
it was seen how warmly he had impressed upon the men with whom he had
been tampering, "that the die was cast," and that all their art was
necessary to make it turn up successfully. The castle was carried, but
what would become of the city? A brief and eager consultation terminated
in an immediate offer of three hundred thousand crowns by the leading
merchants. This money was to be employed in amicably satisfying, if
possible, the German soldiers, who had meanwhile actually come to arms,
and were assembled in the Place de Meer. Feeling unsafe; however, in this
locality, their colonels had led them into the new town. Here, having
barricaded themselves with gun-carriages, bales, and boxes, they awaited,
instead of initiating, the events which the day might bring forth. A
deputation soon arrived with a white flag from the castle, and
commissioners were appointed by the commanding officers of the soldiery.
The offer was made to pay over the arrears of their wages, at least to a
very large amount, on condition that the troops should forthwith and for
ever evacuate the city. One hundred and fifty thousand crowns were
offered on the nail. The merchants stood on the bridge leading from the
old town-to the new, in full sight of the soldiers. They held in their
hands their purses, filled with the glittering gold. The soldiers were
frantic with the opportunity, and swore that they would have their
officers' lives, if the tempting and unexpected offer should be declined.
Nevertheless, the commissioners went to and fro, ever finding something
to alter or arrange. In truth, the merchants had agreed to furnish; if
necessary, three hundred thousand Browns; but the thrifty negotiators
were disposed, if diplomacy could do it, to save the moiety of that sum.
Day began to sink, ere the bargain was completed, when suddenly sails
were descried in the distance, and presently a large fleet of war
vessels, with, banner and pennon flying before a favoring breeze; came
sailing up the Scheld. It was a squadron of the Prince's ships, under
command of Admiral Haultain. He had been sent against Tholen, but, having
received secret intelligence, had, with happy audacity, seized the
opportunity of striking a blow in the cause which he had served so
faithfully. A shot or two fired from the vessels among the barricades had
a quickening effect. A sudden and astounding panic seized the soldiers.
"The Beggars are coming! the Beggars are coming!" they yelled in dismay;
for the deeds of the ocean-beggars had not become less appalling since
the memorable siege of Leyden. The merchants still stood on the bridge
with their purses in their hand. The envoys from the castle still waved
their white flags. It was too late. The horror inspired by the wild
Zealanders overpowered the hope of wages, extinguished all confidence in
the friendship of the citizens. The mercenaries, yielding to a violent
paroxysm of fear, fled hither and thither, panting, doubling, skulking,
like wolves before the hounds. Their flight was ludicrous. Without
staying to accept the money which the merchants were actually offering,
without packing up their own property, in many cases even throwing away
their arms, they fled, helter skelter, some plunging into the Scheid,
some skimming along the dykes, some rushing across the open fields. A
portion of them under Colonel Fugger, afterwards shut themselves up in
Bergen op Zoom, where they were at once besieged by Champagny, and were
soon glad to compromise the matter by surrendering their colonel and
laying down their arms. The remainder retreated to Breda, where they held
out for two months, and were at length overcome by a neat stratagem of
Orange. A captain, being known to be in the employment of Don John, was
arrested on his way to Breda. Carefully sewed up in his waistband was
found a letter, of a finger's breadth, written in cipher, and sealed with
the Governor-General's seal. Colonel Frondsberger, commanding in Breda,
was in this missive earnestly solicited to hold out two months longer,
within which time a certain relief was promised. In place of this letter,
deciphered with much difficulty, a new one was substituted, which the
celebrated printer, William Sylvius, of Antwerp, prepared with great
adroitness, adding the signature and seal of Don John. In this
counterfeit epistle; the Colonel was directed to do the best he could for
himself, by reason that Don John was himself besieged, and unable to
render him assistance. The same captain who had brought the real letter
was bribed to deliver the counterfeit. This task he faithfully performed,
spreading the fictitious intelligence besides, with such ardor through
the town, that the troops rose upon their leader, and surrendered him
with the city and their own arms, into the custody of the estates. Such
was the result of the attempt by Don John to secure the citadel--of
Antwerp. Not only was the fortress carried for the estates, but the city
itself, for the first time in twelve years, was relieved from a foreign
soldiery.

The rage and disappointment of the Governor-General were excessive. He
had boasted to Marolles a day too soon. The prize which he thought
already in his grasp had slipped through his fingers, while an
interminable list of demands which he dreamed not of, and which were
likely to make him bankrupt, were brought to his door. To the states, not
himself, the triumph seemed for the moment decreed. The "dice" had taken
a run against him, notwithstanding his pains in loading and throwing.
Nevertheless, he did not yet despair of revenge. "These rebels," he wrote
to the Empress-dowager, his sister, "think that fortune is all smiles for
them now, and that all is ruin for me. The wretches are growing proud
enough, and forget that their chastisement, some fine morning, will yet
arrive."

On the 7th of August he addressed another long letter to the estates.
This document was accompanied, as usual, by certain demands, drawn up
categorically in twenty-three articles. The estates considered his terms
hard and strange, for in their opinion it was themselves, not the
Governor, who were masters of the situation. Nevertheless, he seemed
inclined to treat as if he had gained, not missed, the citadel of
Antwerp; as if the troops with whom he had tampered were mustered in the
field, not shut up in distant towns, and already at the mercy of the
states party. The Governor demanded that all the forces of the country
should be placed under his own immediate control; that Count Bossu, or
some other person nominated by himself, should be appointed to the
government of Friesland; that the people of Brabant and Flanders should
set themselves instantly to hunting, catching, and chastising all vagrant
heretics and preachers. He required, in particular, that Saint Aldegonde
and Theron, those most mischievous rebels, should be prohibited from
setting their foot in any city of the Netherlands. He insisted that the
community of Brussels should lay down their arms, and resume their
ordinary handicrafts. He demanded that the Prince of Orange should be
made to execute the Ghent treaty; to suppress the exercise of the
Reformed religion in Harlem, Schoonhoven, and other places; to withdraw
his armed vessels from their threatening stations, and to restore
Nieuport, unjustly detained by him. Should the Prince persist in his
obstinacy, Don John summoned them to take arms against him, and to
support their lawful Governor. He, moreover, required the immediate
restitution of Antwerp citadel, and the release of Treslong from prison.

Although, regarded from the Spanish point of view, such demands might
seem reasonable, it was also natural that their audacity should astonish
the estates. That the man who had violated so openly the Ghent treaty
should rebuke the Prince for his default--that the man who had tampered
with the German mercenaries until they were on the point of making
another Antwerp Fury, should now claim the command over them and all
other troops--that the man who had attempted to gain Antwerp citadel by a
base stratagem should now coolly demand its restoration, seemed to them
the perfection of insolence. The baffled conspirator boldly claimed the
prize which was to have rewarded a successful perfidy. At the very moment
when the Escovedo letters and the correspondence with the German colonels
had been laid before their eyes, it was a little too much that the
double-dealing bastard of the double-dealing Emperor should read them a
lecture upon sincerity. It was certain that the perplexed, and outwitted
warrior had placed himself at last in a very false position. The Prince
of Orange, with his usual adroitness, made the most of his adversary's
false moves. Don John had only succeeded in digging a pitfall for
himself. His stratagems against Namur and Antwerp had produced him no
fruit, saving the character, which his antagonist now fully succeeded in
establishing for him, of an unscrupulous and artful schemer. This
reputation was enhanced by the discovery of the intercepted letters, and
by the ingenuity and eagerness with which they were turned to account
against him by the Prince, by Saint Aldegonde, and all the anti-Catholic
party. The true key to his reluctance against despatching the troops by
land, the states had not obtained. They did not dream of his romantic
designs upon England, and were therefore excusable in attributing a still
deeper perfidy to his arrangements.

Even had he been sent to the Netherlands in the full possession of his
faculties, he would have been no match in political combinations for his
powerful antagonists. Hoodwinked and fettered, suspected by his master,
baffled, bewildered, irritated by his adversary, what could he do but
plunge from one difficulty to another and oscillate between extravagant
menace, and desponding concession, until his hopes and life were wasted
quite away. His instructions came from Philip through Perez, and that
most profound dissembler, as we have seen, systematically deceived the
Governor, with the view of eliciting treasonable matters, Philip wishing,
if possible, to obtain proofs of Don John's secret designs against his
own crown. Thus every letter from Spain was filled with false information
and with lying persuasions. No doubt the Governor considered himself
entitled to wear a crown, and meant to win it, if not in Africa, then in
England, or wherever fate might look propitiously upon him. He was of the
stuff of which crusaders and dynasty founders had been made, at a
somewhat earlier epoch. Who could have conquered the holy sepulchre, or
wrested a crown from its lawful wearer, whether in Italy, Muscovy, the
Orient, or in the British Ultima Thule, more bravely than this imperial
bastard, this valiant and romantic adventurer? Unfortunately, he came a
few centuries too late. The days when dynasties were founded, and
European thrones appropriated by a few foreign freebooters, had passed,
and had not yet returned. He had come to the Netherlands desirous of
smoothing over difficulties and of making a peaceful termination to that
rebellion a steppingstone to his English throne. He was doomed to a
profound disappointment, a broken heart, and a premature grave, instead
of the glittering baubles which he pursued. Already he found himself
bitterly deceived in his hopes. The obstinate Netherlanders would not
love him, notwithstanding the good wishes he had manifested. They would
not even love the King of Spain, notwithstanding the blessings which his
Majesty was declared to have heaped upon them. On the contrary, they
persisted in wasting their perverse affections upon the pestilent Prince
of Orange. That heretic was leading them to destruction, for he was
showing them the road to liberty, and nothing, in the eyes of the
Governor, could be more pitiable than to behold an innocent people
setting forth upon such a journey. "In truth," said he, bitterly, in his
memorable letter to his sister the Empress, "they are willing to
recognize neither God nor king. They pretend to liberty in all things: so
that 'tis a great pity to see how they are going on; to see the impudence
and disrespect with which they repay his Majesty for the favors which he
has shown them, and me for the labors, indignities, and dangers which I
have undergone for their sakes."

Nothing, indeed, in the Governor's opinion, could surpass the insolence
of the Netherlanders, save their ingratitude. That was the serpent's
tooth which was ever wounding the clement King and his indignant brother.
It seemed so bitter to meet with thanklessness, after seven years of Alva
and three of Requesens; after the labors of the Blood Council, the
massacres of Naarden, Zutphen, and Harlem, the siege of Leyden, and the
Fury of Antwerp. "Little profit there has been," said the Governor to his
sister, "or is like to be from all the good which we have done to these
bad people. In short, they love and obey in all things the most perverse
and heretic tyrant and rebel in the whole world, which is this damned
Prince of Orange, while, on the contrary, without fear of God or shame
before men, they abhor and dishonor the name and commandments of their
natural sovereign." Therefore, with a doubting spirit, and almost with a
broken heart, had the warrior shut himself up in Namur Castle, to await
the progress of events, and to escape from the snares of his enemies.
"God knows how much I desire to avoid extremities," said he, "but I know
not what to do with men who show themselves so obstinately rebellious."

Thus pathetically Don John bewailed his fate. The nation had turned from
God, from Philip, from himself; yet he still sat in his castle,
determined to save them from destruction and his own hands from
bloodshed, if such an issue were yet possible. Nor was he entirely
deserted, for among the faithless a few were faithful still. Although the
people were in open revolt, there was still a handful of nobles resolved
to do their duty towards their God and King. "This little band," said the
Governor, "has accompanied me hither, like gentlemen and chevaliers of
honor." Brave Berlaymont and his four sons were loyal to the last, but
others of this limited number of gentlemen and chevaliers of honor were
already deserting him. As soon as the result of the enterprise against
Antwerp citadel was known, and the storm was gathering most darkly over
the royal cause, Aerschot and Havre were first to spread their wings and
flutter away in search of a more congenial atmosphere. In September, the
Duke was again as he had always professed himself to be, with some
important interval of exception--"the affectionate brother and cordial
friend of the Prince of Orange."

The letter addressed by Don John to the states upon the 7th of August,
had not yet been answered. Feeling, soon afterwards, more sensible of his
position, and perhaps less inflamed with indignation; he addressed
another communication to them, upon the 13th of the same month. In this
epistle he expressed an extreme desire for peace, and a hearty desire to
be relieved, if possible, from his most painful situation. He protested,
before God and man, that his intentions were most honest, and that he
abhorred war more than anything else in the world. He averred that, if
his person was as odious to them as it seemed, he was only too ready to
leave the land, as soon as the King should appoint his successor. He
reminded them that the question of peace or war lay not with himself, but
with them; and that the world would denounce as guilty those with whom
rested the responsibility. He concluded with an observation which, in its
humility, seemed sufficiently ironical, that if they had quite finished
the perusal of the despatches from Madrid to his address, which they had
intercepted, he should be thankful for an opportunity of reading them
himself. He expressed a hope, therefore, that they would be forwarded to
Namur.

This letter was answered at considerable length, upon the second day. The
states made their customary protestations of attachment to his Majesty,
their fidelity to the Catholic church, their determination to maintain
both the Ghent treaty and the Perpetual Edict. They denied all
responsibility for the present disastrous condition of the relations
between themselves and government, having disbanded nearly all their own
troops, while the Governor had been strengthening his forces up to the
period of his retreat into Namur. He protested, indeed, friendship and a
sincere desire for peace, but the intercepted letters of Escovedo and his
own had revealed to them the evil counsels to which he had been
listening, and the intrigues which he had been conducting. They left it
to his conscience whether they could reasonably believe, after the
perusal of these documents, that it was his intention to maintain the
Ghent treaty, or any treaty; and whether they were not justified in their
resort to the natural right of self-defence.

Don John was already fully aware of the desperate error which he had
committed. In seizing Namur and attempting Antwerp, he had thrown down
the gauntlet. Wishing peace, he had, in a panic of rage and anxiety;
declared and enacted war. The bridge was broken behind him, the ships
burned, a gulf opened, a return to peace rendered almost impossible. Yet
it is painful to observe the almost passionate longings which at times
seemed to possess him for accommodating the quarrel, together with his
absolute incapacity to appreciate his position. The Prince was
triumphant; the Governor in a trap. Moreover, it was a trap which he had
not only entered voluntarily, but which he had set himself; he had played
into the Prince's hands, and was frantic to see his adversary tranquilly
winning the game. It was almost melancholy to observe the gradation of
his tone from haughty indignation to dismal concession. In an elaborate
letter which he addressed "to the particular states, bishops,
councillors, and cities of the Netherlands," he protested as to the
innocence of his intentions, and complained bitterly of the calumnies
circulated to his discredit by the Prince of Orange. He denied any
intention of recalling the troops which he had dismissed, except in case
of absolute necessity: He affirmed that his Majesty sincerely desired
peace. He averred that the country was either against the King, against
the Catholic religion, against himself, or against all three together. He
bitterly asked what further concessions were required. Had he not done
all he had ever promised? Had he not discharged the Spaniards, placed the
castles in the hands of natives, restored the privileges, submitted to
insults and indecencies? Yet, in spite of all which had passed, he
declared his readiness to resign, if another prince or princess of the
blood more acceptable to them could be appointed. The letter to the
states was followed by a proposition for a cessation of hostilities, and
for the appointment of a commission to devise means for faithfully
executing the Ghent treaty. This proposition was renewed, a few days
later, together with an offer for an exchange of hostages.

It was not difficult for the estates to answer the letters of the
Governor. Indeed, there was but little lack of argument on either side
throughout this unhappy controversy. It is dismal to contemplate the
interminable exchange of protocols, declarations, demands, apostilles,
replications and rejoinders, which made up the substance of Don John's
administration. Never was chivalrous crusader so out of place. It was not
a soldier that was then required for Philip's exigency, but a scribe.
Instead of the famous sword of Lepanto, the "barbarous pen" of Hopperus
had been much more suitable for the work required. Scribbling Joachim in
a war-galley, yard-arm and yard-arm with the Turkish capitan pacha, could
have hardly felt less at ease than did the brilliant warrior thus
condemned to scrawl and dissemble. While marching from concession to
concession, he found the states conceiving daily more distrust, and
making daily deeper encroachments. Moreover, his deeds up to the time
when he seemed desirous to retrace his steps had certainly been, at the
least, equivocal. Therefore, it was natural for the estates, in reply to
the questions in his letter, to observe that he had indeed dismissed the
Spaniards, but that he had tampered with and retained the Germans; that
he had indeed placed the citadels in the hands of natives, but that he
had tried his best to wrest them away again; that he had indeed professed
anxiety for peace, but that his intercepted letters proved his
preparations for war. Already there were rumors of Spanish troops
returning in small detachments out of France. Already the Governor was
known to be enrolling fresh mercenaries to supply the place of those whom
he had unsuccessfully endeavoured to gain to his standard. As early as
the 26th of July, in fact, the Marquis d'Ayamonte in Milan, and Don Juan
de Idiaquez in Genoa, had received letters from Don John of Austria,
stating that, as the provinces had proved false to their engagements, he
would no longer be held by his own, and intimating his desire that the
veteran troops which had but so recently been dismissed from Flanders,
should forthwith return. Soon afterwards, Alexander Farnese, Prince of
Parma, received instructions from the King to superintend these
movements, and to carry the aid of his own already distinguished military
genius to his uncle in the Netherlands.

On the other hand, the states felt their strength daily more sensibly.
Guided, as usual, by Orange, they had already assumed a tone in their
correspondence which must have seemed often disloyal, and sometimes
positively insulting, to the Governor. They even answered his hints of
resignation in favor of some other prince of the blood, by expressing
their hopes that his successor, if a member of the royal house at all,
would at least be a legitimate one. This was a severe thrust at the
haughty chieftain, whose imperial airs rarely betrayed any consciousness
of Barbara Blomberg and the bend sinister on his shield. He was made to
understand, through the medium of Brabantine bluntness, that more
importance was attached to the marriage, ceremony in the Netherlands than
he seemed to imagine. The categorical demands made by the estates seemed
even more indigestible than such collateral affronts; for they had now
formally affirmed the views of Orange as to the constitutional government
of the provinces. In their letter of 26th August, they expressed their
willingness, notwithstanding the past delinquencies of the Governor, to
yield him their, confidence again; but at the same time; they enumerated
conditions which, with his education and views, could hardly seem to him
admissible. They required him to disband all the soldiers in his service,
to send the Germans instantly out of the country, to dismiss every
foreigner from office, whether civil or military, and to renounce his
secret league with the Duke of Guise. They insisted that he should
thenceforth govern only with the advice and consent of the State Council,
that he should execute that which should by a majority of votes be
ordained there, that neither measures nor despatches should be binding or
authentic unless drawn up at that board. These certainly were views of
administration which, even if consonant with a sound historical view of
the Netherland constitutions, hardly tallied with his monarch's
instructions, his own opinions, or the practice under Alva and Requesens,
but the country was still in a state of revolution, and the party of the
Prince was gaining the upper hand.

It was the determination of that great statesman, according to that which
he considered the legitimate practice of the government, to restore the
administration to the State Council, which executive body ought of right
to be appointed by the states-general. In the states-general, as in the
states-particular, a constant care was to be taken towards strengthening
the most popular element, the "community" of each city, the aggregate,
that is to say, of its guild-representatives and its admitted burghers.
This was, in the opinion of the Prince, the true theory of the
government--republican in all but form--under the hereditary protection,
not the despotic authority, of a family, whose rights were now nearly
forfeited. It was a great step in advance that these views should come to
be thus formally announced, not in Holland and Zealand only, but by the
deputies of the states-general, although such a doctrine, to the proud
stomach of Don John, seemed sufficiently repulsive. Not less so was the
cool intimation with which the paper concluded, that if he should execute
his threat of resigning, the country would bear his loss with fortitude,
coupled as was that statement with a declaration that, until his
successor should be appointed, the State Council would consider itself
charged ad interim with the government. In the meantime, the Governor was
requested not to calumniate the estates to foreign governments, as he had
so recently done in his intercepted letter to the Empress-dowager.

Upon receiving this letter, "Don John," says a faithful old chronicler,
"found that the cranes had invited the frog to dinner." In truth, the
illustrious soldier was never very successful in his efforts, for which
his enemies gave him credit, to piece out the skin of the lion with that
of the fox. He now felt himself exposed and outwitted, while he did not
feel conscious of any very dark design. He answered the letter of the
states by a long communication, dated from Namur Castle, 28th of August.
In style, he was comparatively temperate, but the justification which he
attempted of his past conduct was not very happy. He noticed the three
different points which formed the leading articles of the accusation
brought against him, the matter, namely, of the intercepted letters, of
the intrigues with the German colonels, and the seizure of Namur. He did
not deny the authorship of the letters, but contented himself with a
reference to their date, as if its priority to his installation as
Governor furnished a sufficient palliation of the bad faith which the
letters revealed. As to the despatches of Escovedo, he denied
responsibility for any statements or opinions which they might contain.
As the Secretary, however, was known to be his most confidential friend,
this attempt to shuffle off his own complicity was held to be both lame
and unhandsome. As for the correspondence with the colonels, his defence
was hardly more successful, and rested upon a general recrimination upon
the Prince of Orange. As that personage was agitating and turbulent, it
was not possible, the Governor urged, that he should himself remain
quiet. It was out of his power to execute the treaty and the edict, in
the face of a notorious omission on the part of his adversary to enforce
the one or to publish the other. It comported neither with his dignity
nor his safety to lay down his weapons while the Prince and his adherents
were arming. He should have placed himself "in a very foolish position,"
had he allowed himself unarmed to be dictated to by the armed. In defence
of himself on the third point, the seizure of Namur Castle, he recounted
the various circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted. He
laid particular stress upon the dramatic manner in which the Vicomte De
Gand had drawn his curtains at the dead of night; he narrated at great
length the ominous warning which he had likewise received from the Duke
of Aerschot in Brussels, and concluded with a circumstantial account of
the ambush which he believed to have been laid for him by Count De
Lalain. The letter concluded with a hope for an arrangement of
difficulties, not yet admitted by the Governor to be insurmountable, and
with a request for a formal conference, accompanied by an exchange of
hostages.

While this correspondence was proceeding between Namur and Brussels, an
event was occurring in Antwerp which gave much satisfaction to Orange.
The Spanish Fury, and the recent unsuccessful attempt of Don John to
master the famous citadel, had determined the authorities to take the
counsel which the Prince had so often given in vain, and the fortress of
Antwerp was at length razed to the ground, on the side towards the
city.--It would be more correct to say that it was not the authorities,
but the city itself which rose at last and threw off the saddle by which
it had so long been galled. More than ten thousand persons were
constantly at work, morning, noon, and night, until the demolition was
accomplished. Grave magistrates, great nobles, fair ladies, citizens and
their wives, beggars and their children, all wrought together pell-mell.
All were anxious to have a hand in destroying the nest where so many
murders had been hatched, whence so much desolation had flown. The task
was not a long one for workmen so much in earnest, and the fortress was
soon laid low in the quarter where it could be injurious to the
inhabitants. As the work proceeded, the old statue of Alva was discovered
in a forgotten crypt, where it had lain since it had been thrown down by
the order of Requesens. Amid the destruction of the fortress, the
gigantic phantom of its founder seemed to start suddenly from the gloom,
but the apparition added fresh fuel to the rage of the people. The image
of the execrated Governor was fastened upon with as much fierceness as if
the bronze effigy could feel their blows, or comprehend their wrath. It
was brought forth from its dark hiding-place into the daylight. Thousands
of hands were ready to drag it through the streets for universal
inspection and outrage. A thousand sledge-hammers were ready to dash it
to pieces, with a slight portion, at least, of the satisfaction with
which those who wielded them would have dealt the same blows upon the
head of the tyrant himself. It was soon reduced to a shapeless mass.
Small portions were carried away and preserved for generations in
families as heirlooms of hatred. The bulk was melted again and
reconverted, by a most natural metamorphosis, into the cannon from which
it had originally sprung.

The razing of the Antwerp citadel set an example which was followed in
other places; the castle of Ghent, in particular, being immediately
levelled, amid demonstrations of universal enthusiasm. Meantime, the
correspondence between Don John and the estates at Brussels dragged its
slow length along, while at the same time, two elaborate letters were
addressed to the King, on the 24th of August and the 8th of September, by
the estates-general of the Netherlands. These documents, which were long
and able, gave a vigorous representation of past evils and of the present
complication of disorders under which the commonwealth was laboring. They
asked, as usual, for a royal remedy; and expressed their doubts whether
there could be any sincere reconciliation so long as the present
Governor, whose duplicity and insolence they represented in a very strong
light, should remain in office. Should his Majesty, however, prefer to
continue Don John in the government, they signified their willingness, in
consideration of his natural good qualities, to make the best of the
matter. Should, however, the estrangement between themselves and the
Governor seem irremediable, they begged that another and a legitimate
prince of the blood might be appointed in his place.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Perfection of insolence
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 29

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER IV.

   Orange invited to visit Brussels--His correspondence upon the
   subject with the estates--general--Triumphant journey of the Prince
   to the capital----Stop put by him to the negotiations with Don John
   --New and stringent demands made upon the Governor--His indignation
   --Open rupture--Intrigue of Netherland grandees with Archduke
   Matthias--Policy of Orange--Attitude of Queen Elizabeth--Flight of
   Matthias from Vienna--Anxiety of Elizabeth--Adroitness of the
   Prince--The office of Reward--Election of Orange to that dignity--
   His complaints against the great nobles--Aerschot Governor of
   Flanders--A storm brewing in Ghent--Ryhove and Imbize--Blood-
   Councillor Hessels--Arrogance of the aristocratic party in Flanders
   --Ryhove's secret interview with Orange--Outbreak at Ghent--Arrest
   of Aerschot, Hessels, and others of the reactionary party--The Duke
   liberated at demand of Orange--The Prince's visit to Ghent--
   Rhetorical demonstrations--The new Brussels Union characterized--
   Treaty with England--Articles by which Matthias is nominally
   constituted Governor-General--His inauguration at Brussels--
   Brilliant and fantastic ceremonies--Letter of Don John to the
   Emperor--His anger with England--An army collecting--Arrival of
   Alexander Farnese--Injudicious distribution of offices in the
   States' army--The States' army fall back upon Gemblours, followed by
   Don John--Tremendous overthrow of the patriots--Wonderful disparity
   in the respective losses of the two armies.

While these matters were in progress, an important movement was made by
the estates-general. The Prince of Orange was formally and urgently
invited to come to Brussels to aid them with his counsel and presence.
The condemned traitor had not set foot in the capital for eleven years.
We have narrated the circumstance of his departure, while the advancing
trumpets of Alva's army were almost heard in the distance. His memorable
and warning interview with Egmont has been described. Since that period,
although his spirit had always been manifesting itself in the capital
like an actual presence; although he had been the magnet towards which
the states throughout all their, oscillations had involuntarily vibrated,
yet he had been ever invisible. He had been summoned by the Blood Council
to stand his trial, and had been condemned to death by default. He
answered the summons by a defiance, and the condemnation by two
campaigns, unsuccessful in appearance, but which had in reality
prostrated the authority of the sovereign.

Since that period, the representative of royalty had sued the condemned
traitor for forgiveness. The haughty brother of Philip had almost gone
upon his knees, that the Prince might name his terms, and accept the
proffered hand of majesty.

The Prince had refused, not from contumely, but from distrust. He had
spurned the supplications, as he had defied the proscription of the King.
There could be no friendship between the destroyer and the protector of a
people. Had the Prince desired only the reversal of his death-sentence,
and the infinite aggrandizement of his family, we have seen how
completely he had held these issues in his power. Never had it been more
easy, plausible, tempting, for a proscribed patriot to turn his back upon
an almost sinking cause. We have seen how his brave and subtle Batavian
prototype, Civilis, dealt with the representative of Roman despotism. The
possible or impossible Netherland Republic of the first century of our
era had been reluctantly abandoned, but the modern Civilis had justly
more confidence in his people.

And now again the scene was changed. The son of the Emperor, the King's
brother, was virtually beleaguered; the proscribed rebel had arrived at
victory through a long series of defeats. The nation everywhere
acknowledged him master, and was in undisguised revolt against the
anointed sovereign. The great nobles, who hated Philip on the one hand,
and the Reformed religion on the other, were obliged, in obedience to the
dictates of a people with whom they had little sympathy, to accept the
ascendency of the Calvinist Prince, of whom they were profoundly jealous.
Even the fleeting and incapable Aerschot was obliged to simulate
adhesion; even the brave Champagny, cordial hater of Spaniards, but most
devotedly Catholic, "the chiefest man of wysedome and stomach at that
tyme in Brussels," so envoy Wilson wrote to Burghley, had become
"Brabantized," as his brother Granvelle expressed himself, and was one of
the commissioners to invite the great rebel to Brussels. The other envoys
were the Abbot of Saint Gertrude, Dr. Leoninus, and the Seigneur de
Liesvelt. These gentlemen, on arriving at Gertruydenberg, presented a
brief but very important memorial to the Prince. In that document they
informed him that the states-general, knowing how efficacious would be
his presence, by reason of his singular prudence, experience, and love
for the welfare and repose of the country, had unanimously united in a
supplication that he would incontinently transport himself to the city of
Brussels, there to advise with them concerning the necessities of the
land; but, as the principal calumny employed by their adversaries was
that all the provinces and leading personages intended to change both
sovereign and religion, at the instigation of his Excellency, it was
desirable to disprove such fictions. They therefore very earnestly
requested the Prince to make some contrary demonstration, by which it
might be manifest to all that his Excellency, together with the estates
of Holland and Zealand, intended faithfully to keep what they had
promised. They prayed, therefore, that the Prince, permitting the
exercise of the Roman Catholic religion in the places which had recently
accepted his authority, would also allow its exercise in Holland and
Zealand. They begged, further, that he would promise by a new and
authentic act, that the provinces of Holland and Zealand, would not
suffer the said exercise to be impugned, or any new worship to be
introduced, in the other provinces of the Netherlands.

This letter might almost be regarded as a trap, set by the Catholic
nobles. Certainly the Ghent Pacification forbade the Reformed religion in
form, and as certainly, winked at its exercise in fact. The proof was,
that the new worship was spreading everywhere, that the exiles for
conscience' sake were returning in swarms, and that the synod of the
Reformed churches, lately held at Dort, had been, publicly attended by
the ministers and deacons of numerous dissenting churches established in
many different, places throughout all the provinces. The pressure of the
edicts, the horror of the inquisition being removed, the down-trodden
religion had sprung from the earth more freshly than ever.

The Prince was not likely to fall into the trap, if a trap had really
been intended. He answered the envoys loyally, but with distinct
reservations. He did not even accept the invitation, save on condition
that his visit to Brussels should be expressly authorized by Holland and
Zealand. Notwithstanding his desire once more to behold his dear country,
and to enjoy the good company of his best friends and brothers, he felt
it his duty to communicate beforehand with the states of those two
provinces, between which, and himself there had been such close and
reciprocal obligations, such long-tried and faithful affection. He
therefore begged to refer the question to the assembly of the said
provinces about to be held at Gouda, where, in point of fact, the
permission for his journey was, not without considerable difficulty, a
few days afterwards obtained.

With regard to the more difficult requests addressed to him in the
memorial, he professed generally his intention to execute the treaty of
Ghent. He observed, however, that the point of permitting the exercise of
the Roman Catholic religion in Holland and Zealand regarded principally
the estates of these provinces, which had contracted for no innovation in
this matter, at least till the assembling of the states-general. He
therefore suggested that he neither could, nor ought to, permit any
innovation, without the knowledge and consent of those estates. As to
promising by authentic act, that neither he nor the two provinces would
suffer the exercise of the Catholic religion to be in any wise impugned
in the rest of the Netherlands, the Prince expressed himself content to
promise that, according to the said Ghent Pacification, they would suffer
no attempt to be made against the public repose or against the Catholic
worship. He added that, as he had no intention of usurping any
superiority over the states-general assembled at Brussels, he was content
to leave the settlement of this point to their free-will and wisdom,
engaging himself neither to offer nor permit any hindrance to their
operations.

With this answer the deputies are said to have been well pleased. If they
were so, it must be confessed that they were thankful for small favors.
They had asked to have the Catholic religion introduced into Holland and
Zealand. The Prince had simply referred them to the estates of these
provinces. They had asked him to guarantee that the exercise of the
Reformed religion should not be "procured" in the rest of the country. He
had merely promised that the Catholic worship should not be prevented.
The difference between the terms of the request and the reply was
sufficiently wide.

The consent to his journey was with difficulty accorded by the estates of
Holland and Zealand, and his wife, with many tears and anxious
forebodings, beheld him depart for a capital where the heads of his brave
and powerful friends had fallen, and where still lurked so many of his
deadly foes. During his absence, prayers were offered daily for his
safety in all the churches of Holland and Zealand, by command of the
estates.

He arrived at Antwerp on the 17th of September, and was received with
extraordinary enthusiasm. The Prince, who had gone forth alone, without
even a bodyguard, had the whole population of the great city for his
buckler. Here he spent five days, observing, with many a sigh, the
melancholy changes which had taken place in the long interval of his
absence. The recent traces of the horrible "Fury," the blackened walls of
the Hotel de Ville, the prostrate ruins of the marble streets, which he
had known as the most imposing in Europe, could be hardly atoned for in
his eyes even by the more grateful spectacle of the dismantled fortress.

On the 23rd of September he was attended by a vast concourse of citizens
to the new canal which led to Brussels, where three barges were in
waiting for himself and suite. In one a banquet was spread; in the
second, adorned with emblematic devices and draped with the banners of
the seventeen provinces, he was to perform the brief journey; while the
third had been filled by the inevitable rhetoric societies, with all the
wonders of their dramatic and plastic ingenuity. Rarely had such a
complication of vices and virtues, of crushed dragons, victorious
archangels, broken fetters, and resurgent nationalities, been seen
before, within the limits of a single canal boat. The affection was,
however, sincere, and the spirit noble, even though the taste which
presided at these remonstrations may have been somewhat pedantic.

The Prince was met several miles before the gates of Brussels by a
procession of nearly half the inhabitants of the city, and thus escorted,
he entered the capital in the afternoon of the 23rd of September. It was
the proudest day of his life. The representatives of all the provinces,
supported by the most undeniable fervor of the united Netherland people,
greeted "Father William." Perplexed, discordant, hating, fearing,
doubting, they could believe nothing, respect nothing, love nothing, save
the "tranquil" Prince. His presence at that moment in Brussels was the
triumph of the people and of religious toleration. He meant to make use
of the crisis to extend and to secure popular rights, and to establish
the supremacy of the states-general under the nominal sovereignty of some
Prince, who was yet to be selected, while the executive body was to be a
state-council, appointed by the states-general. So far as appears, he had
not decided as to the future protector, but he had resolved that it
should be neither himself nor Philip of Spain. The outlaw came to
Brussels prepared at last to trample out a sovereignty which had worked
its own forfeiture. So far as he had made any election within his breast,
his choice inclined to the miserable Duke of Anjou; a prince whom he
never came to know as posterity has known him, but whom he at least
learned to despise. Thus far the worthless and paltry intriguer still
wore the heroic mask, deceiving even such far seeing politicians as Saint
Aldegonde and the Prince.

William's first act was to put a stop to the negotiations already on foot
with Don John. He intended that they should lead to war, because peace
was impossible, except a peace for which civil and religious liberty
would be bartered, for it was idle, in his opinion, to expect the
maintenance by the Spanish Governor of the Ghent Pacification, whatever
promises might be extorted from his fears. A deputation, in the name of
the states, had already been sent with fresh propositions to Don John, at
Namur. The envoys were Caspar Schetz and the Bishop of Bruges. They had
nearly come to an amicable convention with the Governor, the terms of
which had been sent to the states-general for approval, at the very
moment of the Prince's arrival in Brussels. Orange, with great
promptness, prevented the ratification of these terms, which the estates
had in reality already voted to accept. New articles were added to those
which had originally been laid before Don John. It was now stipulated
that the Ghent treaty and the Perpetual Edict should be maintained. The
Governor was required forthwith to abandon Namur Castle, and to dismiss
the German troops. He was to give up the other citadels and strong
places, and to disband all the soldiers in his service. He was to command
the governors of every province to prohibit the entrance of all foreign
levies. He was forthwith to release captives, restore confiscated
property, and reinstate officers who had been removed; leaving the
details of such restorations to the council of Mechlin and the other
provincial tribunals. He was to engage that the Count Van Buren should be
set free within two months. He was himself, while waiting for the
appointment of his successor, to take up his residence in Luxemburg, and
while there, he was to be governed entirely by the decision of the State
Council, expressed by a majority of its members. Furthermore, and as not
the least stinging of these sharp requisitions, the Queen of England--she
who had been the secret ally of Orange, and whose crown the Governor had
secretly meant to appropriate--was to be included in the treaty.

It could hardly excite surprise that Don John, receiving these insolent
propositions at the very moment in which he heard of the triumphant
entrance into Brussels of the Prince, should be filled with rage and
mortification. Never was champion of the Cross thus braved by infidels
before. The Ghent treaty, according to the Orange interpretation, that is
to say, heresy made legitimate, was to be the law of the land. His
Majesty was to surrender--colors and cannon--to his revolted subjects.
The royal authority was to be superseded by that of a State Council,
appointed by the states-general, at the dictation of the Prince. The
Governor-General himself, brother of his Catholic Majesty, was to sit
quietly with folded arms in Luxemburg, while the arch-heretic and rebel
reigned supreme in Brussels. It was too much to expect that the choleric
soldier would be content with what he could not help regarding as a
dishonorable capitulation. The arrangement seemed to him about as
reasonable as it would have been to invite Sultan Selim to the Escorial,
and to send Philip to reside at Bayonne. He could not but regard the
whole proposition as an insolent declaration of war. He was right. It was
a declaration of war; as much so as if proclaimed by trump of herald. How
could Don John refuse the wager of battle thus haughtily proffered?

Smooth Schetz, Lord of Grobbendonck, and his episcopal colleague, in vain
attempted to calm the Governor's wrath, which now flamed forth, in
defiance of all considerations.

They endeavored, without success, to palliate the presence of Orange, and
the circumstances of his reception, for it was not probable that their
eloquence would bring the Governor to look at the subject with their
eyes. Three days were agreed upon for the suspension of hostilities, and
Don John was highly indignant that the estates would grant no longer a
truce. The refusal was, however, reasonable enough on their part, for
they were aware that veteran Spaniards and Italians were constantly
returning to him, and that he was daily strengthening his position. The
envoys returned to Brussels, to give an account of the Governor's rage,
which they could not declare to be unnatural, and to assist in
preparations for the war, which was now deemed inevitable. Don John,
leaving a strong garrison in the citadel of Namur, from which place he,
despatched a final communication to the estates-general, dated the 2nd of
October, retired to Luxemburg. In this letter, without exactly uttering
defiance, he unequivocally accepted the hostilities which had been
pressed upon him, and answered their hollow professions of attachment to
the Catholic religion and his Majesty's authority, by denouncing their
obvious intentions to trample upon both. He gave them, in short, to
understand that he perceived their intentions, and meant them to
comprehend his own.

Thus the quarrel was brought to an issue, and Don John saw with grim
complacency, that the pen was at last to be superseded by the sword. A
remarkable pamphlet was now published, in seven different languages,
Latin, French, Flemish, German, Italian, Spanish; and English, containing
a succinct account of the proceedings between the Governor and the
estates, together with copies of the intercepted letters of Don John and
Escovedo to the King, to Perez, to the German colonels, and to the
Empress. This work, composed and published by order of the
estates-general, was transmitted with an accompanying address to every
potentate in Christendom. It was soon afterwards followed by a
counter-statement, prepared by order of Don John, and containing his
account of the same matters, with his recriminations against the conduct
of the estates.

Another important movement had, meanwhile, been made by the third party
in this complicated game. The Catholic nobles, jealous of the growing
influence of Orange, and indignant at the expanding power of the people,
had opened secret negotiations with the Archduke Matthias, then a mild,
easy-tempered youth of twenty, brother of the reigning emperor, Rudolph.
After the matter had been discussed some time in secret, it was resolved,
towards the end of September, to send a messenger to Vienna, privately
inviting the young Prince to Brussels, but much to the surprise of these
nobles, it was discovered that some fifteen or sixteen of the grandees of
the land, among them Aerschot, Havre, Champagny, De Ville, Lalain, De
Heze, and others, had already taken .the initiative in the matter. On the
26th of August, the Seigneur de Maalsteede had set forth, by their
appointment, for Vienna. There is no doubt that this step originated in
jealousy felt towards Orange, but at the same time it is certain that
several of the leaders in the enterprise were still his friends. Some,
like Champagny, and De Heze, were honestly so; others, like Aerschot,
Havrd, and De Ville, always traitors in heart to the national cause,
loyal to nothing but their own advancement, were still apparently upon
the best terms with him. Moreover, it is certain that he had been made
aware of the scheme, at least, before the arrival of the Archduke in the
Netherlands, for the Marquis Havre, on his way to England, as special
envoy from the estates, had a conference with him at Gertruydenberg. This
was in the middle of September, and before his departure for Brussels.
Naturally, the proposition seemed, at first, anything but agreeable; but
the Marquis represented himself afterwards as having at last induced the
Prince to look upon it with more favorable eyes. Nevertheless, the step
had been taken before the consultation was held; nor was it the first
time that the advice, of Orange had been asked concerning the adoption of
a measure after the measure had been adopted.

Whatever may have been his original sentiments upon the subject; however,
he was always less apt to complain of irrevocable events than quick to
reconcile them with his own combinations, and it was soon to be
discovered that the new stumbling-block which his opponents had placed in
his path, could be converted into an additional stepping-stone towards
his goal. Meanwhile, the secret invitation to the Archduke was regarded
by the people and by foreign spectators as a plot devised by his enemies.
Davison, envoy from Queen Elizabeth, was then in Brussels, and informed
his royal mistress, whose sentiments and sympathies were unequivocally in
favor of Orange, of the intrigues against the Prince. The efforts of
England were naturally to counteract the schemes of all who interfered
with his policy, the Queen especially, with her customary sagacity,
foreseeing the probable inclination of the Catholic nobles towards the
protectorate of Alencon. She did not feel certain as to the precise plans
of Orange, and there was no course better adapted to draw her from barren
coquetry into positive engagements; than to arouse her jealousy of the
French influence in the provinces. At this moment, she manifested the
warmest friendship for the Prince.

Costly presents were transmitted by her to his wife; among others, an
ornament, of which a sculptured lizard formed a part. The Princess, in a
graceful letter to her husband, desiring that her acknowledgments should
be presented to her English Majesty, accepted the present as
significative. "Tis the fabled virtue of the lizard (she said) to awaken
sleepers whom a serpent is about to sting. You are the lizard, and the
Netherlands the sleepers,--pray Heaven they may escape the serpent's
bite." The Prince was well aware, therefore, of the plots which were
weaving against him. He had small faith in the great nobles, whom he
trusted "as he would adders fanged," and relied only upon the
communities, upon the mass of burghers. They deserved his confidence, and
watched over his safety with jealous care. On one occasion, when he was
engaged at the State Council till a late hour, the citizens conceived so
much alarm, that a large number of them spontaneously armed themselves,
and repaired to the palace. The Prince, informed of the circumstance,
threw open a window and addressed them, thanking them for their
friendship and assuring them of his safety. They were not satisfied,
however, to leave him alone, but remained under arms below till the
session was terminated, when they escorted him with affectionate respect
to his own hotel.

The secret envoy arrived in Vienna, and excited the ambition of the
youthful Matthias. It must be confessed that the offer could hardly be a
very tempting one, and it excites our surprise that the Archduke should
have thought the adventure worth the seeking. A most anomalous position
in the Netherlands was offered to him by a slender and irresponsible
faction of Netherlanders. There was a triple prospect before him: that of
a hopeless intrigue against the first politician in Europe, a mortal
combat with the most renowned conqueror of the age, a deadly feud with
the most powerful and revengeful monarch in the world. Into this
threefold enterprise he was about to plunge without any adequate
resources, for the Archduke possessed no experience, power, or wealth. He
brought, therefore, no strength to a cause which was itself feeble. He
could hope for no protection, nor inspire any confidence. Nevertheless,
he had courage, pliability, and a turn for political adventure. Visions
of the discomfited Philip conferring the hand of his daughter, with the
Netherlands as her dowry, upon the enterprising youth who, at this
juncture, should succeed in overturning the Spanish authority in that
country, were conjured up by those who originated the plot, and he was
weak enough to consider such absurdities plausible, and to set forth at
once to take possession of this castle in the air.

On the evening of October 3rd, 1577, he retired to rest at eight o'clock
feigning extreme drowsiness. After waiting till his brother, Maximilian,
who slept in another bed in the same chamber, was asleep, he slipped from
his couch and from the room in his night apparel, without even putting on
his slippers. He was soon after provided by the companions of his flight
with the disguise of a servant, arrayed in which, with his face
blackened, he made his escape by midnight from Vienna, but it is doubtful
whether Rudolph were as ignorant as he affected to be of the scheme.

   [It was the opinion of Languet that the Emperor affected ignorance
   of the plot at its commencement, that he afterwards affected an
   original connivance, and that he was equally disingenuous in both
   pretences.]

The Archduke arrived at Cologne, attended only by two gentlemen and a few
servants. The Governor was beside himself with fury; the Queen of England
was indignant; the Prince only, against whom the measure was mainly
directed, preserved his usual tranquillity.

Secretary Walsingham, as soon as the news reached England, sent for
Meetkercke, colleague of Marquis Havre in the mission from the estates.
He informed that functionary of the great perplexity and excitement
which, according to information received from the English resident,
Davison, were then prevailing in Brussels, on account of the approach of
the Archduke. Some, he said, were for receiving him at one place, some at
another; others were in favor of forbidding his entrance altogether.
Things had been sufficiently complicated before, without this additional
cause of confusion. Don John was strengthening himself daily, through the
secret agency of the Duke of Guise and his party. His warlike genius was
well known, as well as the experience of the soldiers who were fast
rallying under his banner. On the other hand, the Duke of Alencon had
come to La Fere, and was also raising troops, while to oppose this crowd
of rival enemies, to deal with this host of impending disasters, there
was but one man in the Netherlands. On the Prince of Orange alone could
the distracted states rely. To his prudence and valor only could the
Queen look with hopeful eyes. The Secretary proceeded to inform the
envoy, therefore, that her Majesty would feel herself compelled to
withdraw all succor from the states if the Prince of Orange were deprived
of his leadership; for it was upon that leadership only that she had
relied for obtaining a successful result. She was quite indisposed to
encounter indefinite risk with an impossibility of profit.

Meetkercke replied to the Secretary by observing, that the great nobles
of the land had been unanimous in desiring a new Governor-General at this
juncture. They had thought Matthias, with a strong Council of State,
composed of native Netherlanders, to control him, likely to prove a
serviceable candidate for the post. They had reason to believe that,
after he should be received, the Emperor would be reconciled to the
measure, and that by his intercession the King of Spain would be likewise
induced to acquiesce. He alluded, moreover, to the conference between the
Marquis of Havre and Orange at Gertruydenberg, and quoted the opinion of
the Prince that it would be unwise, after the invitation had been given,
to insult the Archduke and his whole imperial house, by beating him with
indignity upon his arrival. It was inevitable, said the envoy, that
differences of opinion should exist in large assemblies, but according to
information which he had recently received from Marquis Havre, then in
Brussels, affairs had already become smooth again. At the conclusion of
the conference, Walsingham repeated emphatically that the only condition
upon which the Queen would continue her succor to the Netherlands was,
that the Prince should be forthwith appointed Lieutenant-General for the
Archduke.

The immediate result of this movement was, that Matthias was received at
Antwerp by Orange at the head of two thousand cavalry, and attended by a
vast concourse of inhabitants. Had the Prince chosen a contrary course,
the Archduke might have been compelled to return, somewhat ridiculously,
to Vienna; but, at the same time, the anger of the Emperor and of all
Germany would have been aroused against Orange and the cause he served.
Had the Prince, on the contrary, abandoned the field himself, and
returned to Holland, he would have left the game in the hands of his
adversaries. Ever since he had made what his brother John called that
"dangerous gallows journey" to Brussels, his influence had been
culminating daily, and the jealousy of the great nobles rising as
rapidly. Had he now allowed himself to be driven from his post, he would
have exactly fulfilled their object. By remaining, he counteracted their
schemes.

By taking Matthias wholly into his own possession, he obtained one piece
the more in the great game which he was playing against his antagonist in
the Escorial. By making adroit use of events as they arose, he made the
very waves which were to sink him, carry his great cause triumphantly
onward.

The first result of the invitation to Matthias was the election of Orange
as Ruward of Brabant. This office was one of great historical dignity,
but somewhat anomalous in its functions. The province of Brabant, having
no special governor, was usually considered under the immediate
superintendence of the Governor-General. As the capital of Brabant was
the residence of that functionary, no inconvenience from this course had
been felt since the accession of the house of Burgundy. At present,
however, the condition of affairs was so peculiar--the seat of government
being empty without having been permanently vacated--that a special
opportunity was offered for conferring both honor and power on the
Prince. A Ruward was not exactly dictator, although his authority was
universal. He was not exactly protector, nor governor, nor stadholder.
His functions were unlimited as to time--therefore superior to those of
an ancient dictator; they were commonly conferred on the natural heir to
the sovereignty--therefore more lofty than those of ordinary stadholders.
The individuals who had previously held the office in the Netherlands had
usually reigned afterwards in their own right. Duke Albert, of the
Bavarian line; for example, had been Ruward of Hainault and Holland, for
thirty years, during the insanity of his brother, and on the death of
Duke William had succeeded to his title. Philip of Burgundy had declared
himself Ruward of Brabant in 1425, and had shortly afterwards deprived
Jacqueline of all her titles and appropriated them to himself. In the one
case the regent, in the second case the usurper, had become reigning
prince. Thus the movement of the jealous nobles against the Prince had
for its first effect his immediate appointment to an office whose chief
characteristic was, that it conducted to sovereignty.

The election was accomplished thus. The "members," or estates of
Brussels, together with the deans, guilds, and other of the principal
citizens of Antwerp, addressed a request to the states of Brabant, that
William of Orange should be appointed Ruward, and after long deliberation
the measure was carried. The unsolicited honor was then solemnly offered
to him. He refused, and was only, after repeated and urgent entreaties,
induced to accept the office. The matter was then referred to the
states-general, who confirmed the dignity, after some demur, and with the
condition that it might be superseded by the appointment of a
governor-general. He was finally confirmed as Ruward on the 22d of
October, to the boundless satisfaction of the people, who celebrated the
event by a solemn holiday in Antwerp, Brussels, and other cities. His
friends, inspired by the intrigues of his enemies, had thus elevated the
Prince to almost unlimited power; while a strong expression in favor of
his government had been elicited from the most important ally of the
Netherlands-England. It soon rested with himself only to assume the
government of Flanders, having been elected stadholder, not once only,
but many times, by the four estates of that important province, and
having as constantly refused the dignity. With Holland and Zealand
devoted to him, Brabant and Flanders formally under his government, the
Netherland capital lavishing testimonials of affection upon him, and the
mass of the people almost worshipping him, it would not have been
difficult for the Prince to play a game as selfish as it had hitherto
been close and skilful. He might have proved to the grand seigniors that
their suspicions were just, by assuming a crown which they had been
intriguing to push from his brows. Certainly the nobles deserved their
defeat. They had done their best to circumvent Orange, in all ways and at
all times. They had paid their court to power when it was most powerful,
and had sought to swim on the popular tide when it was rising. He avenged
himself upon their perfidy only by serving his country more faithfully
than ever, but it was natural that he should be indignant at the conduct
of these gentlemen, "children of good houses," (in his own words,) "issue
of worthy, sires," whose fathers, at least, he had ever loved and
honored.

"They serve the Duke of Alva and the Grand Commander like varlets," he
cried; "they make war upon me to the knife. Afterwards they treat with
me, they reconcile themselves with me, they are sworn foes of the
Spaniard. Don John arrives, and they follow him; they intrigue for my
ruin. Don John fails in his enterprise upon Antwerp citadel; they quit
him incontinently and call upon me. No sooner do I come than, against
their oath and without previous communication with the states or myself,
they call upon the Archduke Matthias. Are the waves of the sea more
inconstant--is Euripus more uncertain than the counsels of such men?"

While these events were occurring at Brussels and Antwerp, a scene of a
different nature was enacting at Ghent. The Duke of Aerschot had recently
been appointed to the government of Flanders by the State Council, but
the choice was exceedingly distasteful to a large number of the
inhabitants. Although, since the defeat of Don John's party in Antwerp,
Aerschot had again become "the affectionate brother" of Orange, yet he
was known to be the head of the cabal which had brought Matthias from
Vienna. Flanders, moreover, swarmed with converts to the Reformed
religion, and the Duke's strict Romanism was well known. The people,
therefore, who hated the Pope and adored the Prince, were furious at the
appointment of the new governor, but by dint of profuse promises
regarding the instant restoration of privileges and charters which had
long lain dormant, the friends of Aerschot succeeded in preparing the way
for his installation.

On the 20th of October, attended by twenty-three companies of infantry
and three hundred horse, he came to Ghent. That famous place was still
one of the most powerful and turbulent towns in Europe. Although
diminished in importance since the commercial decline which had been the
inevitable result of Philip's bloody government, it, was still swarming
with a vigorous and dangerous population and it had not forgotten the
days when the iron tongue of Roland could call eighty thousand fighting
men to the city banner. Even now, twenty thousand were secretly pledged
to rise at the bidding of certain chieftains resident among them; noble
by birth, warmly attached to the Reformed religion, and devoted to
Orange. These gentlemen were perfectly conscious that a reaction was to
be attempted in favor of Don John and of Catholicism, through the agency
of the newly-appointed governor of Flanders. Aerschot was trusted or
respected by neither party. The only difference in the estimates formed
of him was, that some considered him a deep and dangerous traitor; others
that he was rather foolish than malicious, and more likely to ruin a good
cause than to advance the interests of a bad one. The leaders of the
popular party at Ghent believed him dangerous. They felt certain that it
was the deeply laid design of the Catholic nobles foiled as they had been
in the objects with which they had brought Matthias from Vienna, and
enraged as they were that the only result of that movement had been to
establish the power of Orange upon a firmer basis--to set up an opposing
influence in Ghent. Flanders, in the possession of the Catholics, was to
weigh up Brabant, with its recent tendencies to toleration. Aerschot was
to counteract the schemes of Orange. Matthias was to be withdrawn from
the influence of the great heretic, and be yet compelled to play the part
set down for him by those who had placed him upon the stage. A large
portion, no doubt, of the schemes here suggested, was in agitation, but
the actors were hardly equal to the drama which they were attempting. The
intrigue was, however, to be frustrated at once by the hand of Orange,
acting as it often did from beneath a cloud.

Of all the chieftains possessing influence with the inhabitants of Ghent,
two young nobles, named Ryhove and Imbize, were the most conspicuous.
Both were of ancient descent and broken fortunes, both were passionately
attached to the Prince, both were inspired with an intense hatred for all
that was Catholic or Spanish. They had travelled further on the reforming
path than many had done in that day, and might even be called democratic
in their notions. Their heads were filled with visions of Greece and
Rome; the praise of republics was ever on their lips; and they avowed to
their intimate associates that it was already feasible to compose a
commonwealth like that of the Swiss Cantons out of the seventeen
Netherlands. They were regarded as dreamers by some, as desperadoes by
others. Few had confidence in their capacity or their purity; but Orange,
who knew mankind, recognized in them useful instruments for any hazardous
enterprise. They delighted in stratagems and sudden feats of arms.
Audacious and cruel by temperament, they were ever most happy in becoming
a portion of the desolation which popular tumults engender.

There were several excited meetings of the four estates of Flanders
immediately after the arrival of the Duke of Aerschot in Ghent. His
coming had been preceded by extensive promises, but it soon became
obvious that their fulfilment was to be indefinitely deferred. There was
a stormy session on the 27th of October, many of the clergy and nobility
being present, and comparatively few members of the third estate. Very
violent speeches were made, and threats openly uttered, that the
privileges, about which so much noise had been heard, would be rather
curtailed than enlarged under the new administration. At the same
session, the commission of Aerschot was formally presented by Champagny
and Sweveghem, deputed by the State Council for that purpose. Champagny
was in a somewhat anomalous position. There was much doubt in men's minds
concerning him. He had seemed lately the friend of Orange, but he was
certainly the brother of Granvelle. His splendid but fruitless services
during the Antwerp Fury had not been forgotten, but he was known to be a
determined Catholic. He was a hater of Spaniards, but no lover of popular
liberty. The nature of his sentiments towards Orange was perhaps unjustly
suspected. At any rate, two or three days after the events which now
occupy our attention, he wrote him a private letter, in which he assured
him of his attachment. In reference to the complaints, of the Prince,
that he had not been seconded as he ought to have been, he said,
moreover, that he could solemnly swear never to have seen a single
individual who did not hold the Prince in admiration, and who was not
affectionately devoted to him, not only, by public profession, but by
private sentiment.

There was little doubt entertained as to the opinions held by the rest of
the aristocratic party, then commencing their manoeuvres in Ghent. Their
sentiments were uttered with sufficient distinctness in this remarkable
session.

Hessels, the old Blood Councillor, was then resident in Ghent; where he
discharged high governmental functions. It was he, as it will be
remembered, who habitually fell asleep at that horrible council board,
and could only start from his naps to-shout "ad patibulum," while the
other murderers had found their work less narcotic. A letter from Hessels
to Count de Reux, late royal governor of Flanders, was at the present
juncture intercepted. Perhaps it was invented, but genuine or fictitious,
it was circulated extensively among the popular leaders, and had the
effect of proving Madame de Hessels a true prophet. It precipitated the
revolution in Flanders, and soon afterwards cost the Councillor his life.
"We have already brought many notable magistrates of Flanders over to the
aide of his Highness Don John," wrote Hessels. "We hope, after the Duke
of Aerschot is governor; that we shall fully carry out the intentions of
his Majesty and the plans of his Highness. We shall also know how to
circumvent the scandalous heretic with all his adherents and followers."

Certainly, if this letter were true, it was high time for the friends of
the "scandalous heretic" to look about them. If it were a forgery, which
is highly probable, it was ingeniously imagined, and did the work of
truth. The revolutionary party, being in a small minority in the
assembly, were advised by their leaders to bow before the storm. They did
so, and the bluster of the reactionary party grew louder as they marked
the apparent discomfiture of their foes. They openly asserted that the
men who were clamoring for privileges should obtain nothing but halters.
The buried charters should never be resuscitated; but the spirit of the
dead Emperor, who had once put a rope around the necks of the insolent
Ghenters, still lived in that of his son. There was no lack of
denunciation. Don John and the Duke of Aerschot would soon bring the
turbulent burghers to their senses, and there would then be an end to
this renewed clamor about musty parchments. Much indignation was secretly
excited in the assembly by such menaces. Without doors the subterranean
flames spread rapidly, but no tumult occurred that night. Before the
session was over, Ryhove left the city, pretending a visit to Tournay. No
sooner had he left the gates, however, than he turned his horse's head in
the opposite direction, and rode off post haste to Antwerp. There he had
a conference with William of Orange, and painted in lively colors the
alarming position of affairs. "And what do you mean to do in the matter?"
asked the Prince, rather drily. Ryhove was somewhat disconcerted. He had
expected a violent explosion; well as he knew the tranquil personage whom
he was addressing. "I know no better counsel," he replied, at length,
"than to take the Duke, with his bishops, councillors, lords, and the
whole nest of them, by the throat, and thrust them all out together."

"Rather a desperate undertaking, however?" said the Prince; carelessly,
but interrogatively.

"I know no other remedy," answered Ryhove; "I would rather make the
attempt, relying upon God alone, and die like a man if needful, than live
in eternal slavery. Like an ancient Roman," continued the young
republican noble, in somewhat bombastic vein, "I am ready to wager my
life, where my fatherland's welfare is at stake."

"Bold words!" said the Prince, looking gravely at Ryhove; "but upon what
force do you rely for your undertaking?"

"If I can obtain no assistance from your Excellency," was the reply, "I
shall throw myself on the mass of the citizens. I can arouse them in the
name of their ancient liberties, which must be redeemed now or never."

The Prince, believing probably that the scheme, if scheme there were, was
but a wild one, felt little inclination to compromise himself with the
young conspirator. He told him he could do nothing at present, and saying
that he must at least sleep upon the matter, dismissed him for the night.
Next morning, at daybreak, Ryhove was again closeted with him. The Prince
asked his sanguine partisan if he were still determined to carry out his
project, with no more definite support than he had indicated? Ryhove
assured him, in reply, that he meant to do so; or to die in the attempt.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders, and soon afterwards seemed to fall
into a reverie. Ryhove continued talking, but it was soon obvious that
his Highness was not listening; and he therefore took his leave somewhat
abruptly. Hardly had he left the house, however, when the Prince
despatched Saint Aldegonde in search of him. That gentleman, proceeding
to his hotel, walked straight into the apartment of Ryhove, and commenced
a conversation with a person whom he found there, but to his surprise he
soon discovered, experienced politician though he was, that he had made
an egregious blunder. He had opened a dangerous secret to an entire
stranger, and Ryhove coming into the apartment a few minutes afterwards,
was naturally surprised to find the Prince's chief councillor in close
conversation about the plot with Van Rooyen, the burgomaster of
Denremonde. The Flemish noble, however, always prompt in emergencies,
drew his rapier, and assured the astonished burgomaster that he would
either have his life on the instant, or his oath never to reveal a
syllable of what he had heard. That functionary, who had neither desired
the young noble's confidence, nor contemplated the honor of being run
through the body as a consequence of receiving it, was somewhat aghast at
the rapid manner in which these gentlemen transacted business. He
willingly gave the required pledge, and was permitted to depart.

The effect of the conference between Saint Aldegonde and Ryhove was to
convince the young partisan that the Prince would neither openly
countenance his project, nor be extremely vexed should it prove
successful. In short, while, as in the case of the arrest of the State
Council, the subordinates were left to appear the principals in the
transactions, the persons most intimate with William of Orange were
allowed to form satisfactory opinions as to his wishes, and to serve as
instruments to his ends. "Vive qui vince!" cried Saint-Aldegonde,
encouragingly, to Ryhove, shaking hands with him at parting. The
conspirator immediately mounted, and rode off towards Ghent. During his
absence there had been much turbulence, but no decided outbreak, in that
city. Imbize had accosted the Duke of Aerschot in the street, and
demanded when and how he intended to proclaim the restoration of the
ancient charters. The haughty Duke had endeavoured to shake off his
importunate questioner, while Imbize persisted, with increasing audacity,
till Aerschot lost his temper at last: "Charters, charters!" he cried in
a rage; "you shall learn soon, ye that are thus howling for charters,
that we have still the old means of making you dumb, with a rope on your
throats. I tell you this--were you ever so much hounded on by the Prince
of Orange."

The violence of the new governor excited the wrath of Imbize. He broke
from him abruptly, and rushed to a rendezvous of his confederates, every
man of whom was ready for a desperate venture. Groups of excited people
were seen vociferating in different places. A drum was heard to rattle
from time to time. Nevertheless, the rising tumult seemed to subside
again after a season, owing partly to the exertions of the magistrates,
partly to the absence of Ryhove. At four in the afternoon that gentleman
entered the town, and riding directly to the head-quarters of the
conspiracy, was incensed to hear that the work, which had begun so
bravely, had been allowed to cool. "Tis a time," he cried, "for
vigilance. If we sleep now, we shall be dead in our beds before morning.
Better to fan the fire which has begun to blaze in the people's heart.
Better to gather the fruit while it is ripe. Let us go forward, each with
his followers, and I pledge myself to lead the way. Let us scuttle the
old ship of slavery; let us hunt the Spanish Inquisition, once for all,
to the hell from whence it came!"

"There spoke the voice of a man!" cried the Flemish captain, Mieghem, one
of the chief conspirators; "lead on, Ryhove, I swear to follow you as far
as our legs will carry us." Thus encouraged, Ryhove, rushed about the
city, calling upon the people everywhere to rise. They rose almost to a
man. Arming and mustering at different points, according to previous
arrangements, a vast number assembled by toll of bell, after nightfall,
on the public square, whence, under command of Ryhove, they swept to the
residence of Aerschot at Saint Bavon. The guards, seeing the fierce mob
approaching, brandishing spears and waving, torches, had scarce time to
close the gates; as the people loudly demanded entrance and the delivery
to them of the Governor. Both claims were refused. "Let us burn the birds
in their nests," cried Ryhove, without hesitation. Pitch, light wood, and
other combustibles, were brought at his command, and in a few moments the
palace would have been in flames, had not Aerschot, seeing that the
insurgents were in earnest, capitulated. As soon as the gates were open,
the foremost of the mob rushed upon him, and would have torn him limb
from limb, had not Ryhove resolutely interfered, and twice protected the
life of the governor, at the peril of his own. The Duke was then made a
prisoner, and, under a strong guard, was conveyed, still in his
night-gown, and bare-footed, to the mansion of Ryhove. All the other
leading members of the Catholic party were captured, the arrests
proceeding till a late hour in the night. Rassinghem, Sweveghem, Fisch,
De la Porta, and other prominent members of the Flemish estates or
council, were secured, but Champagny was allowed to make his escape. The
Bishops of Bruges and Ypres were less fortunate. Blood-councillor
Hessels, whose letter--genuine or counterfeited--had been so instrumental
in hastening this outbreak, was most carefully guarded, and to him and to
Senator Fisch the personal consequences of that night's work were to be
very tragic.

Thus audaciously, successfully, and hitherto without bloodshed, was the
anti-Catholic revolution commenced in Flanders. The event was the first
of a long and most signal series. The deed was done. The provisional
government was established, at the head of which was placed Ryhove, to
whom oaths of allegiance were rendered, subject to the future
arrangements of the states-general and Orange: On the 9th of November,
the nobles, notables, and community of Ghent published an address, in
which they elaborately defended the revolution which had been effected
and the arrests which had taken place; while the Catholic party, with
Aerschot at its head, was declared to be secretly in league with Don John
to bring back the Spanish troops, to overthrow the Prince of Orange, to
deprive him of the protectorate of Brabant, to set at nought the Ghent
treaty, and to suppress the Reformed religion.

The effect of this sudden rising of the popular party was prodigious
throughout the Netherlands. At the same time, the audacity of such
extreme proceedings could hardly be countenanced by any considerable
party in the states-general. Champagny wrote to the Prince of Orange
that, even if the letter of Hessels were genuine, it proved nothing
against Aerschot, and he urged the necessity of suppressing such scene of
licence immediately, through the influence of those who could command the
passions of the mob. Otherwise, he affirmed that all legitimate forms of
justice would disappear, and that it would be easy to set the bloodhounds
upon any game whatever. Saint Aldegonde wrote to the Prince, that it
would be a great point, but a very difficult one, to justify the Ghent
transaction; for there was little doubt that the Hessels letter was a
forgery. It was therefore as well, no doubt, that the Prince had not
decidedly committed himself to Ryhove's plot; and thus deprived himself
of the right to interfere afterwards, according to what seemed the claims
of justice and sound policy.

He now sent Arend Van Dorp to Ghent, to remonstrate with the leaders of
the insurrection upon the violence of their measures, and to demand the
liberation of the prisoners--a request which was only complied with in
the case of Aerschot. That nobleman was liberated on the 14th of
November, under the condition that he would solemnly pledge himself to
forget and forgive the treatment which he had received, but the other
prisoners were retained in custody for a much longer period. A few weeks
afterwards, the Prince of Orange visited Ghent, at the earnest request of
the four estates of Flanders, and it was hoped that his presence would
contribute to the restoration of tranquillity.

This visit was naturally honored by a brilliant display of "rhetorical"
spectacles and tableaux vivants; for nothing could exceed the passion of
the Netherlanders of that century for apologues and charades. In allegory
they found an ever-present comforter in their deepest afflictions. The
prince was escorted from the Town-gate to the Jacob's church amid a blaze
of tar-barrels and torches, although it was mid-day, where a splendid
exhibition had been arranged by that sovereign guild of rhetoric, "Jesus
with the Balsam Flower." The drama was called Judas Maccabaeus, in
compliment to the Prince. In the centre of the stage stood the Hebrew
patriot, in full armor, symbolizing the illustrious guest doing battle
for his country. He was attended by the three estates of the country,
ingeniously personified by a single individual, who wore the velvet
bonnet of a noble, the cassock of a priest, end the breeches of a
burgher. Groups of allegorical personages were drawn up on the right and
left;--Courage, Patriotism, Freedom, Mercy, Diligence, and other
estimable qualities upon one side, were balanced by Murder, Rapine,
Treason, and the rest of the sisterhood of Crime on the other. The
Inquisition was represented as a lean and hungry hag. The "Ghent
Pacification" was dressed in cramoisy satin, and wore a city on her head
for a turban; while; tied to her apron-strings were Catholicism and
Protestantism, bound in a loving embrace by a chain of seventeen links,
which she was forging upon an anvil. Under the anvil was an individual in
complete harness, engaged in eating his heart; this was Discord. In front
of the scene stood History and Rhetoric, attired as "triumphant maidens,
in white garments," each with a laurel crown and a burning torch. These
personages, after holding a rhymed dialogue between themselves, filled
with wonderful conceits and quibbles, addressed the Prince of Orange and
Maccabaeus, one after the other, in a great quantity of very detestable
verses.

After much changing of scenes and groups, and an enormous quantity of
Flemish-woven poetry, the "Ghent Peace" came forward, leading a lion in
one hand, and holding a heart of pure gold in the other. The heart, upon
which was inscribed Sinceritas, was then presented to the real Prince, as
he sat "reposing after the spectacle," and perhaps slightly yawning, the
gift being accompanied by another tremendous discharge of complimentary
verses. After this, William of Orange was permitted to proceed towards
the lodgings provided for him, but the magistrates and notables met him
upon the threshold, and the pensionary made him a long oration. Even
after the Prince was fairly housed, he had not escaped the fangs of
allegory; for, while he sat at supper refreshing his exhausted frame
after so much personification and metaphor, a symbolical personage,
attired to represent the town corporation made his appearance, and poured
upon him a long and particularly dull heroic poem. Fortunately, this
episode closed the labors of the day.

On the 7th of December, 1577, the states-general formally declared that
Don John was no longer Stadholder, Governor, nor Captain-General, but an
infractor of the peace which he had sworn to maintain, and an enemy of
the fatherland. All natives of the country who should show him favor or
assistance were declared rebels and traitors; and by a separate edict,
issued the same day, it was ordained that an inventory of the estates of
such persons should forthwith be taken.

Thus the war, which had for a brief period been suspended during the
angry, tortuous, and hopeless negotiations which succeeded the arrival of
Don John, was once more to be let loose. To this point had tended all the
policy of Orange-faithful as ever to the proverb with which he had broken
off the Breda conferences, "that war was preferable to a doubtful peace."
Even, however, as his policy had pointed to a war as the necessary
forerunner of a solid peace with Spain, so had his efforts already
advanced the cause of internal religious concord within the provinces
themselves. On the 10th of December, a new act of union was signed at
Brussels, by which those of the Roman Church and those who had retired
from that communion bound themselves to respect and to protect each other
with mutual guarantees against all enemies whatsoever. Here was a step
beyond the Ghent Pacification, and in the same direction. The first
treaty tacitly introduced toleration by suppressing the right of
persecution, but the new union placed the Reformed religion on a level
with the old. This was the result of the Prince's efforts; and, in truth,
there was no lack of eagerness among these professors of a faith which
had been so long under ban, to take advantage of his presence. Out of
dark alleys, remote thickets, subterranean conventicles, where the
dissenters had so long been trembling for their lives, the oppressed now
came forth into the light of day. They indulged openly in those forms of
worship which persecution had affected to regard with as much holy horror
as the Badahuennan or Hercynian mysteries of Celtic ages could inspire,
and they worshipped boldly the common God of Catholic and Puritan, in the
words most consonant to their tastes, without dreading the gibbet as an
inevitable result of their audacity.

In truth, the time had arrived for bringing the northern and southern,
the Celtic and German, the Protestant and Catholic, hearts together, or
else for acquiescing in their perpetual divorce. If the sentiment of
nationality, the cause of a common fatherland, could now overcome the
attachment to a particular form of worship--if a common danger and a
common destiny could now teach the great lesson of mutual toleration, it
might yet be possible to create a united Netherland, and defy for ever
the power of Spain. Since the Union of Brussels, of January, 1577, the
internal cancer of religious discord had again begun to corrode the body
politic. The Pacification of Ghent had found the door open to religious
toleration. It had not opened, but had left it open. The union of
Brussels had closed the door again. Contrary to the hopes of the Prince
of Orange and of the patriots who followed in his track, the sanction
given to the Roman religion had animated the Catholics to fresh arrogance
and fresh persecution. In the course of a few months, the only fruits of
the new union, from which so much had been hoped, were to be seen in
imprisonments, confiscations, banishments, executions. The Perpetual
Edict, by which the fifteen provinces had united in acknowledging Don
John while the Protestant stronghold of Holland and Zealand had been
placed in a state of isolation by the wise distrust of Orange, had
widened the breach between Catholics and Protestants. The subsequent
conduct of Don John had confirmed the suspicions and demonstrated the
sagacity of the Prince. The seizure of Namur and the open hostility
avowed by the Governor once more forced the provinces together. The
suppressed flames of nationality burst forth again. Catholic and
Protestant, Fleming and Hollander, instinctively approached each other,
and felt the necessity of standing once more shoulder to shoulder in
defence of their common rights. The Prince of Orange was called for by
the unanimous cry of the whole country. He came to Brussels. His first
step, as already narrated, was to break off negotiations which had been
already ratified by the votes of the states-general. The measure was
reconsidered, under pretence of adding certain amendments. Those
amendments were the unconditional articles of surrender proposed for Don
John's signature on the 25th of September--articles which could only
elicit words of defiance from his lips.

Thus far the Prince's object was accomplished. A treacherous peace, which
would have ensured destruction, was averted, but a new obstacle to the
development of his broad and energetic schemes arose in the intrigue
which brought the Archduke from Vienna. The cabals of Orange's secret
enemies were again thwarted with the same adroitness to which his avowed
antagonists were forced to succumb. Matthias was made the exponent of the
new policy, the standard-bearer of the new union which the Prince now
succeeded in establishing; for his next step was immediately to impress
upon the provinces which had thus united in casting down the gauntlet to
a common enemy the necessity of uniting in a permanent league. One
province was already lost by the fall of Namur. The bonds of a permanent
union for the other sixteen could be constructed of but one
material--religious toleration, and for a moment, the genius of Orange,
always so far beyond his age, succeeded in raising the mass of his
countrymen to the elevation upon which he had so long stood alone.

The "new or nearer Union of Brussels" was signed on the 10th of December,
eleven months after the formation of the first union. This was the third
and, unfortunately, the last confederation of all the Netherlands. The
original records have been lost, but it is known that the measure was
accepted unanimously in the estates-general as soon as presented. The
leading Catholic nobles were with the army, but a deputation, sent to the
camp, returned with their signatures and hearty approval; with the
signatures and approval of such determined Catholics as the Lalains,
Meluns, Egmont, and La Motte. If such men could unite for the sake of the
fatherland in an act of religious toleration, what lofty hopes for the
future was not the Prince justified in forming; for it was the Prince
alone who accomplished this victory of reason over passion. As a
monument, not only of his genius, but of the elevated aspirations of a
whole people in an age of intolerance, the "closer Union of Brussels"
deserves especial place in the history of human progress. Unfortunately,
it was destined to a brief existence. The battle of Gemblours was its
death-blow, and before the end of a month, the union thus hopefully
constructed was shattered for ever. The Netherland people was never
united again. By the Union of Utrecht, seven states subsequently rescued
their existence, and lived to construct a powerful republic. The rest
were destined to remain for centuries in the condition of provinces to a
distant metropolis, to be shifted about as make-weights in political
balances, and only in our own age to come into the honorable rank of
independent constitutional states.

The Prince had, moreover, strengthened himself for the coming struggle by
an alliance with England. The thrifty but politic Queen, fearing the
result of the secret practices of Alencon--whom Orange, as she suspected,
still kept in reserve to be played off, in case of need, against Matthias
and Don John--had at last consented to a treaty of alliance and subsidy.
On the 7th of January, 1578, the Marquis Havre, envoy from the estates,
concluded an arrangement in London, by which the Queen was to lend them
her credit--in other words, to endorse their obligations, to the amount
of one hundred thousand pounds sterling. The money was to be raised
wherever the states might be able to negotiate the bills, and her
liability was to cease within a year. She was likewise to be collaterally
secured by pledges from certain cities in the Netherlands. This amount
was certainly not colossal, while the conditions were sufficiently
parsimonious. At the same time a beginning was made, and the principle of
subsidy was established. The Queen, furthermore, agreed to send five
thousand infantry and one thousand cavalry to the provinces, under the
command of an officer of high rank, who was to have a seat and vote in
the Netherland Council of State. These troops were to be paid by the
provinces, but furnished by the Queen. The estates were to form no treaty
without her knowledge, nor undertake any movement of importance without
her consent. In case she should be herself attacked by any foreign power,
the provinces were to assist her to the same extent as the amount of aid
now afforded to themselves; and in case of a naval war, with a fleet of
at least forty ships. It had already been arranged that the appointment
of the Prince of Orange as Lieutenant-General for Matthias was a 'sine
qua non' in any treaty of assistance with England. Soon after the
conclusion of this convention, Sir Thomas Wilkes was despatched on a
special mission to Spain, and Mr. Leyton sent to confer privately with
Don John. It was not probable, however, that the diplomatic skill of
either would make this new arrangement palatable to Philip or his
Governor.

Within a few days after their signature of this important treaty, the
Prince had, at length, wholly succeeded in conquering the conflicting
passions in the states-general, and in reconciling them, to a certain
extent, with each other. The closer union had been accepted, and now
thirty articles, which had been prepared under his superintendence, and
had already on the 17th of December been accepted by Matthias, were
established as the fundamental terms, according to which the Archduke was
to be received as Governor-General. No power whatever was accorded to the
young man, who had come so far with eager and ambitious views. As the
Prince had neither solicited nor desired a visit which had, on the
contrary, been the result of hostile machinations, the Archduke could
hardly complain that the power accorded him was but shadowy, and that his
presence was rendered superfluous. It was not surprising that the common
people gave him the name of Greffier, or registering clerk to the Prince;
for his functions were almost limited to the signing of acts which were
countersigned by Orange. According to the stipulations of the Queen of
England, and the views of the whole popular party, the Prince remained
Ruward of Brabant, notwithstanding the appointment of a nominal
Governor-General, by whom his own duties were to be superseded.

The articles which were laid down as the basis upon which the Archduke
was to be accepted; composed an ample representative constitution, by
which all the legislative and many of the executive powers of government
were bestowed upon the states-general or upon the council by them to be
elected. To avoid remaining in the condition of a people thus left
without a head, the states declared themselves willing to accept Matthias
as Governor-General, on condition of the King's subsequent approbation,
and upon the general basis of the Ghent treaty. The Archduke, moreover,
was to take an oath of allegiance to the King and to the states-general
at the same time. He was to govern the land by the advice of a state
council, the members of which were to be appointed by the states-general,
and were "to be native Netherlanders, true patriots; and neither
ambitious nor greedy." In all matters discussed before the state council,
a majority of votes was to decide. The Governor-General, with his Council
of State, should conclude nothing concerning the common affairs of the
nation--such as requests, loans, treaties of peace or declarations of
war, alliances or confederacies with foreign nations--without the consent
of the states-general. He was to issue no edict or ordinance, and
introduce no law, without the consent of the same body duly assembled,
and representing each individual province. A majority of the members was
declared necessary to a quorum of the council. All acts and despatches
were to be drawn up by a member of the board. The states-general were to
assemble when, where, and as often as, and remain in session as long as,
they might think it expedient. At the request of any individual province,
concerning matters about which a convention of the generality was
customary, the other states should be bound to assemble without waiting
for directions from the Governor-General. The estates of each particular
province were to assemble at their pleasure. The governor and council,
with advice of the states-general, were to appoint all the principal
military officers. Troops were to be enrolled and garrisons established
by and with the consent of the states. Governors of provinces were to be
appointed by the Governor-General, with advice of his council, and with
the consent of the estates of the province interested. All military
affairs were to be conducted during war by the governor, with advice of
his council, while the estates were to have absolute control over the
levying and expenditure of the common funds of the country.

It is sufficiently plain from this brief summary, that the powers thus
conferred upon Matthias alone, were absolutely null, while those which he
might exercise in conjunction with the state council, were not much more
extensive. The actual force of the government--legislative, executive,
and, administrative--was lodged in the general assembly, while no
authority was left to the King, except the nominal right to approve these
revolutionary proceedings, according to the statement in the preamble.
Such a reservation in favor of his Majesty seemed a superfluous sarcasm.
It was furthermore resolved that the Prince of Orange should be appointed
Lieutenant-General for Matthias, and be continued in his office of
Ruward. This constitution, drawn up under the superintendence of the
Prince, had been already accepted by Matthias, while still at Antwerp,
and upon the 18th of January, 1578, the ceremony of his inauguration took
place.

It was the third triumphal procession which Brussels had witnessed within
nine months. It was also the most brilliant of all; for the burghers, as
if to make amends to the Archduke for the actual nullity to which he had
been reduced, seemed resolved to raise him to the seventh heaven of
allegory. By the rhetorical guilds he was regarded as the most brilliant
constellation of virtues which had yet shone above the Flemish horizon. A
brilliant cavalcade, headed by Orange, accompanied by Count John of
Nassau, the Prince de Chimay and other notables, met him at Vilvoorde,
and escorted him to the city gate. On an open field, outside the town,
Count Bossu had arranged a review of troops, concluding with a
sham-fight, which, in the words of a classical contemporary, seemed as
"bloody a rencontre as that between Duke Miltiades of Athens and King
Darius upon the plains of Attics." The procession entered the Louvain
gate, through a splendid triumphal arch, filled with a band of invisible
musicians. "I believe that Orpheus had never played so melodiously on his
harp," says the same authority, "nor Apollo on his lyre, nor Pan on his
lute, as the city waits then performed." On entering the gates, Matthias
was at once delivered over to the hands of mythology, the burghers and
rhetoricians taking possession of their illustrious captive, and being
determined to outdo themselves in demonstrations of welcome. The
representatives of the "nine nations" of Brussels met him in the
Ritter-street, followed by a gorgeous retinue. Although it was mid-day,
all bore flaming torches. Although it was January, the streets were
strewed with flowers. The houses were festooned with garlands, and hung
with brilliant silks and velvets. The streets were thronged with
spectators, and encumbered with triumphal arches. On the Grande Place
always the central scene in Brussels, whether for comedies, or
tournaments, or executions, the principal dramatic effects had been
accumulated. The splendid front of the Hotel de Ville was wreathed with
scarfs and banners; its windows and balconies, as well as those of the
picturesque houses which formed the square, were crowded with
gaily-dressed women. Upon the area of the place, twenty-four theatres had
been erected, where a aeries of magnificent living pictures were
represented by the most beautiful young females that could be found in
the city. All were attired in brocades, embroideries, and cloth of gold.
The subjects of the tableaux vivants were, of course, most classic, for
the Netherlanders were nothing, if not allegorical; yet, as spectacles,
provided by burghers and artisans for the amusement of their
fellow-citizens, they certainly proved a considerable culture in the
people who could thus be amused. All the groups were artistically
arranged. Upon one theatre stood Juno with her peacock, presenting
Matthias with the city of Brussels, which she held, beautifully modelled,
in her hand. Upon another, Cybele gave him the keys, Reason handed him a
bridle, Hebe a basket of flowers, Wisdom a looking-glass and two law
books, Diligence a pair of spurs; while Constancy, Magnanimity, Prudence,
and other virtues, furnished him with a helmet; corslet, spear, and
shield. Upon other theatres, Bellona presented him with several
men-at-arms, tied in a bundle; Fame gave him her trumpet, and Glory her
crown. Upon one stage Quintus Curtius, on horseback, was seen plunging
into the yawning abyss; upon six others Scipio Africanus was exhibited,
as he appeared in the most picturesque moments of his career. The
beardless Archduke had never achieved anything, save his nocturnal escape
from Vienna in his night-gown; but the honest Flemings chose to regard
him as a re-incarnation of those two eminent Romans. Carried away by
their own learning, they already looked upon him as a myth; and such
indeed he was destined to remain throughout his Netherland career. After
surveying all these wonders, Matthias was led up the hill again to the
ducal palace, where, after hearing speeches and odes till he was
exhausted, he was at last allowed to eat his supper and go to bed.

Meantime the citizens feasted in the streets. Bonfires were blazing
everywhere, at which the people roasted "geese, pigs, capons, partridges,
and chickens," while upon all sides were the merriest piping and dancing.
Of a sudden, a fiery dragon was seen flying through the air. It poised
for a while over the heads of the revelling crowd in the Grande Place,
and then burst with a prodigious explosion, sending forth rockets and
other fireworks in every direction. This exhibition, then a new one, so
frightened the people, that they all took to their heels, "as if a
thousand soldiers had assaulted them," tumbling over each other in great
confusion, and so dispersing to their homes.

The next day Matthias took the oaths as Governor-General, to support the
new constitution, while the Prince of Orange was sworn in as
Lieutenant-General and Governor of Brabant. Upon the next a splendid
banquet was given them in the grand ball of the Hotel de Ville, by the
states-general, and when the cloth was removed, Rhetoric made her last
and most ingenious demonstration, through the famous guild of "Mary with
the Flower Garland."

Two individuals--the one attired as a respectable burgher; the other as a
clerical personage in gown and bands-made their appearance upon a stage,
opposite the seats of their Highnesses, and pronounced a long dialogue in
rhyme. One of the speakers rejoiced in the appellation of the "Desiring
Heart," the other was called "Common Comfort." Common Sense might have
been more to the purpose, but appeared to have no part in the play.
Desiring Heart, being of an inquisitive disposition, propounded a series
of puzzling questions, mythological in their nature, which seemed like
classical conundrums, having reference, mainly, to the proceedings of
Venus, Neptune, Juno, and other divinities. They appeared to have little
to do with Matthias or the matter in hand, but Common Comfort knew
better. That clerical personage, accordingly, in a handsome allowance of
rhymes, informed his despairing colleague that everything would end well;
that Jupiter, Diana, Venus, and the rest of them would all do their duty,
and that Belgica would be relieved from all her woes, at the advent of a
certain individual. Whereupon cried Desiring Heart,

          Oh Common Comfort who is he?
          His name, and of what family?

To which Comfort responded by mentioning the Archduke, in a poetical and
highly-complimentary strain, with handsome allusions to the inevitable
Quintus Curtius and Scipio Africanus. The concluding words of the speech
were not spoken, but were taken as the cue for a splendid charade; the
long-suffering Scipio again making his appearance, in company with
Alexander and Hannibal; the group typifying the future government of
Matthias. After each of these, heroic individuals had spouted a hundred
lines or so, the play was terminated, and Rhetoric took her departure.
The company had remained at table during this long representation, and
now the dessert was served, consisting of a "richly triumphant banquet of
confectionary, marmalade, and all kinds of genteelnesses in sugar."

Meanwhile, Don John sat chafing and almost frenzied with rage at Namur.
Certainly he had reasons enough for losing his temper. Never since the
days of Maximilian had king's brother been so bearded by rebels. The
Cross was humbled in the dust, the royal authority openly derided, his
Majesty's representative locked up in a fortress, while "the accursed
Prince of Orange" reigned supreme in Brussels, with an imperial Archduke
for his private secretary.

The Governor addressed a long, private, and most bitter letter to the
Emperor, for the purpose of setting himself right in the opinion of that
potentate, and of giving him certain hints as to what was expected of the
imperial court by Philip and himself. He expressed confidence that the
imperial commissioners would have some effect in bringing about the
pacification of the Netherlands, and protested his own strong desire for
such a result, provided always that the two great points of the Catholic
religion and his Majesty's authority were preserved intact. "In the hope
that those articles would be maintained," said he, "I have emptied cities
and important places of their garrisons, when I might easily have kept
the soldiers, and with the soldiers the places, against all the world,
instead of consigning them to the care of men who at this hour have arms
in their hand against their natural prince." He declared vehemently that
in all his conduct, since his arrival in the provinces, he had been
governed exclusively by the interests of Philip, an object which he
should steadily pursue to the end. He urged, too, that the Emperor, being
of the same house as Philip, and therefore more obliged than all others
to sustain his quarrel, would do well to espouse his cause with all the
warmth possible. "The forgetfulness by vassals," said Don John, "of the
obedience due to their sovereign is so dangerous, that all princes and
potentates, even those at the moment exempt from trouble; should assist
in preparing the remedy, in order that their subjects also may not take
it into their heads to do the like, liberty being a contagious disease,
which goes on infecting one neighbour after another, if the cure be not
promptly applied." It was, he averred, a desperate state of things for
monarchs, when subjects having obtained such concessions as the
Netherlanders had obtained, nevertheless loved him and obeyed him so
little. They showed, but too clearly, that the causes alleged by them had
been but pretexts, in order to effect designs, long ago conceived, to
overthrow the ancient constitution of the country, and to live
thenceforward in unbridled liberty. So many indecent acts had been
committed prejudicial to religion and to his Majesty's grandeur, that the
Governor avowed his, determination to have no farther communication with
the provinces without fresh commands to that effect. He begged the
Emperor to pay no heed to what the states said, but to observe what they
did. He assured him that nothing could be more senseless than the reports
that Philip and his Governor-General in the Netherlands were negotiating
with France, for the purpose of alienating the provinces from the
Austrian crown. Philip, being chief of the family, and sovereign of the
Netherlands, could not commit the absurdity of giving away his own
property to other people, nor would Don John choose to be an instrument
in so foolish a transaction. The Governor entreated the Emperor,
therefore, to consider such fables as the invention of malcontents and
traitors, of whom there were no lack at his court, and to remember that
nothing was more necessary for the preservation of the greatness of his
family than to cultivate the best relations with all its members.
"Therefore," said he, with an absurd affectation of candor, "although I
make no doubt whatever that the expedition hitherwards of the Archduke
Matthias has been made with the best intentions; nevertheless, many are
of opinion that it would have been better altogether omitted. If the
Archduke," he continued, with hardly dissembled irony, "be desirous of
taking charge of his Majesty's affairs, it would be preferable to employ
himself in the customary manner. Your Majesty would do a laudable action
by recalling him from this place, according to your Majesty's promise to
me to that effect." In conclusion, Don John complained that difficulties
had been placed in his way for making levies of troops in the Empire,
while every facility had been afforded to the rebels. He therefore
urgently insisted that so unnatural and unjust a condition of affairs
should be remedied.

Don John was not sorry in his heart that the crisis was at last come. His
chain was broken. His wrath exploded in his first interview with Leyton,
the English envoy, whom Queen Elizabeth had despatched to calm, if
possible, his inevitable anger at her recent treaty with the states. He
knew nothing of England, he said, nor of France, nor of the Emperor. His
Catholic Majesty had commissioned him now to make war upon these
rebellious provinces. He would do it with all his heart. As for the
Emperor, he would unchain the Turks upon him for his perfidy. As for the
burghers of Brussels, they would soon feel his vengeance.

It was very obvious that these were not idle threats. War had again
broken loose throughout these doomed provinces. A small but
well-appointed army had been rapidly collecting under the banner of Don
John at Luxemburg, Peter Ernest Mansfeld had brought many well-trained
troops from France, and Prince Alexander of Parma had arrived with
several choice and veteran regiments of Italy and Spain. The old
schoolfellow, playmate and comrade of Don John, was shocked-on his
arrival, to witness the attenuated frame and care-worn features of his
uncle. The son of Charles the Fifth, the hero of Lepanto, seemed even to
have lost the air of majesty which was so natural to him, for petty
insults, perpetual crosses, seemed to have left their squalid traces upon
his features. Nevertheless, the crusader was alive again, at the notes of
warlike preparations which now resounded throughout the land.

On the 25th of January he issued a proclamation, couched in three
languages--French, German, and Flemish. He declared in this document that
he had not come to enslave the provinces, but to protect them. At the
same time he meant to re-establish his Majesty's authority, and the
down-trod religion of Rome. He summoned all citizens and all soldiers
throughout the provinces to join his banners, offering them pardon for
their past offences, and protection against heretics and rebels. This
declaration was the natural consequence of the exchange of defiances
which had already taken place, and it was evident also that the angry
manifesto was soon to be followed up by vigorous blows. The army of Don
John already numbered more than twenty thousand well-seasoned and
disciplined veterans. He was himself the most illustrious chieftain in
Europe. He was surrounded by lieutenants of the most brilliant
reputation. Alexander of Parma, who had fought with distinction at
Lepanto, was already recognised as possessing that signal military genius
which was soon to stamp him as the first soldier of his age, while
Mansfeld, Mondragon, Mendoza, and other distinguished officers, who had
already won so much fame in the Netherlands, had now returned to the
scene of their former achievements.

On the other hand, the military affairs of the states were in confusion.
Troops in nearly equal numbers to those of the royal army had been
assembled, but the chief offices had been bestowed, by a mistaken policy,
upon the great nobles. Already the jealousy of Orange, entertained by
their whole order was painfully apparent. Notwithstanding the signal
popularity which had made his appointment as Lieutenant-general
inevitable it was not easy for him always to vindicate his authority over
captious and rival magnates. He had every wish to conciliate the
affections of men whom he could not in his heart respect, and he went as
far in gratifying their ambition as comported with his own dignity;
perhaps farther than was consistent with the national interests. He was
still willing to trust Lalain, of whose good affection to the country he
felt sure. Re had even been desirous of declining the office of
Lieutenant-General, in order to avoid giving that nobleman the least
occasion to think "that he would do him, or any other gentleman of the
army, prejudice in any single matter in the world." This magnanimity had,
not been repaid with corresponding confidence. We have already seen that
Lalain had been secretly in the interest of Anjou ever since his wife and
himself had lost their hearts to Margaret of Navarre; yet the Count was
chief commander of the infantry in the states' army then assembled.
Robert Melun, Vicomte de Gand, was commander of the cavalry, but he had
recently been private envoy from Don John to the English Queen. Both
these gentlemen, together with Pardieu De la Motte, general of the
artillery, were voluntarily absent from the forces, under pretext of
celebrating the wedding of the Seigneur De Bersel with the niece and
heiress of the unfortunate Marquis of Bergen. The ghost of that
ill-starred noble might almost have seemed to rise at the nuptial banquet
of his heiress, to warn the traitors of the signal and bloody massacre
which their treachery was soon to occasion. Philip Egmont, eldest son of
the famous Lamoral, was with the army, as was the Seigneur de Heze, hero
of the State Council's arrest, and the unstable Havre. But little was to
be hoped from such leaders. Indeed, the affairs of the states continued
to be in as perplexed a condition as that which honest John of Nassau had
described some weeks before. "There were very few patriots," he had said,
"but plenty of priests, with no lack of inexperienced lads--some looking
for distinction, and others for pelf."

The two armies had been mustered in the latter days of January. The Pope
had issued a bull for the benefit of Don John, precisely similar to those
formerly employed in the crusades against the Saracens. Authority was
given him to levy contributions upon ecclesiastical property, while full
absolution, at the hour of death, for all crimes committed during a whole
lifetime, was proclaimed to those who should now join the standard of the
Cross. There was at least no concealment. The Crescent-wearing Zealanders
had been taken at their word, and the whole nation of Netherlanders were
formally banned as unbelievers. The forces of Don John were mustered at
Marche in Luxemburg; those of the states in a plain within a few miles of
Namur. Both armies were nearly equal in number, amounting to nearly
twenty thousand each, including a force of two thousand cavalry on each
side. It had been the original intention of the patriots to attack Don
John in Namur. Having learned, however, that he purposed marching forth
himself to offer battle, they decided to fall back upon Gemblours, which
was nine miles distant from that city. On the last day of January, they
accordingly broke up their camp at Saint Martius, before dawn, and
marched towards Gemblours. The chief commander was De Goignies, an old
soldier of Charles the Fifth, who had also fought at Saint Quintin. The
states' army was disposed in three divisions. The van consisted of the
infantry regiments of De Heze and Montigny, flanked by a protective body
of light horse. The centre, composed of the Walloon and German regiments,
with a few companies of French, and thirteen companies of Scotch and
English under Colonel Balfour, was commanded by two most distinguished
officers, Bossu and Champagny. The rear, which, of course, was the post
of responsibility and honor, comprised all the heavy cavalry, and was
commanded by Philip Egmont and Lumey de la Marck. The Marquis Havre and
the General-in-chief, Goignies, rode to and fro, as the army proceeded,
each attended by his staff. The troops of Don John broke up from before
Namur with the earliest dawn, and marched in pursuit of the retiring foe.
In front was nearly the whole of the cavalry-carabineers, lancers, and
heavy dragoons. The centre, arranged in two squares, consisted chiefly of
Spanish infantry, with a lesser number of Germans. In the rear came the
Walloons, marching also in a square, and protecting the baggage and
ammunition. Charles Mansfeld had been left behind with a reserved force,
stationed on the Meuse; Ottavio Gonzaga commanded in front, Ernest
Mansfeld brought up the rear; while in the centre rode Don John himself,
attended by the Prince of Parma. Over his head streamed the
crucifix-emblazoned banner, with its memorable inscription--In hoc signo
vici Turcos, in hoc Haereticos vincam.

Small detachments of cavalry had been sent forward; under Olivera and
Acosta, to scour the roads and forests, and to disturb all ambuscades
which might have been prepared. From some stragglers captured by these
officers, the plans of the retreating generals were learned. The winter's
day was not far advanced, when the rearward columns of the states' army
were descried in the distance. Don John, making a selection of some six
hundred cavalry, all picked men, with a thousand infantry, divided the
whole into two bodies, which he placed under command of Gonzaga and the
famous old Christopher Mondragon. These officers received orders to hang
on the rear of the enemy, to harass him, and to do him all possible
damage consistent with the possibility of avoiding a general engagement,
until the main army under Parma and Don John should arrive. The orders
were at first strictly obeyed. As the skirmishing grew hotter, however,
Goazaga observed that a spirited cavalry officer, named Perotti, had
already advanced, with a handful of men, much further within the reach of
the hostile forces than was deemed expedient. He sent hastily to recall
the too eager chieftain. The order, delivered in a tone more peremptory
than agreeable, was flatly disobeyed. "Tell Ottavio Gonzaga," said
Perotti, "that I never yet turned my back on the enemy, nor shall I now
begin. Moreover, were I ever so much inclined to do so, retreat is
impossible." The retiring army was then proceeding along the borders of a
deep ravine, filled with mire and water, and as broad and more dangerous
than a river. In the midst of the skirmishing, Alexander of Parma rode up
to reconnoitre. He saw at once that the columns of the enemy were
marching unsteadily to avoid being precipitated into this creek. He
observed the waving of their spears, the general confusion of their
ranks, and was quick to take advantage of the fortunate moment. Pointing
out to the officers about him the opportunity thus offered of attacking
the retiring army unawares in flank, he assembled, with great rapidity,
the foremost companies of cavalry already detached from the main body.
Mounting a fresh and powerful horse, which Camillo Monte held in
readiness for him, he signified his intention of dashing through the
dangerous ravine, and dealing a stroke where it was least expected, "Tell
Don John of Austria," he cried to an officer whom he sent back to the
Commander-in-chief, "that Alexander of Parma has plunged into the abyss,
to perish there, or to come-forth again victorious."

The sudden thought was executed with lightning-like celerity. In an
instant the bold rider was already struggling through the dangerous
swamp; in another, his powerful charger had carried him across. Halting
for a few minutes, lance in rest, till his troops had also forced their
passage, gained the level ground unperceived, and sufficiently breathed
their horses, he drew up his little force in a compact column. Then, with
a few words of encouragement, he launched them at the foe. The violent
and entirely unexpected shock was even more successful than the Prince
had anticipated. The hostile cavalry reeled and fell into hopeless
confusion, Egmont in vain striving to rally them to resistance. That name
had lost its magic. Goignies also attempted, without success, to restore
order among the panic-struck ranks. The sudden conception of Parma,
executed as suddenly and in so brilliant a manner, had been decisive.
Assaulted in flank and rear at the same moment, and already in temporary
confusion, the cavalry of the enemy turned their backs and fled. The
centre of the states' army thus left exposed, was now warmly attacked by
Parma. It had, moreover, been already thrown into disorder by the retreat
of its own horse, as they charged through them in rapid and disgraceful
panic. The whole army bloke to pieces at once, and so great was the
trepidation, that the conquered troops had hardly courage to run away.
They were utterly incapable of combat. Not a blow was struck by the
fugitives. Hardly a man in the Spanish ranks was wounded; while, in the
course of an hour and a half, the whole force of the enemy was
exterminated. It is impossible to state with accuracy the exact numbers
slain. Some accounts spoke of ten thousand killed, or captive, with
absolutely no loss on the royal side. Moreover, this slaughter was
effected, not by the army under Don John, but by so small a fragment of
it, that some historians have even set down the whole number of royalists
engaged at the commencement of the action, at six hundred, increased
afterwards to twelve hundred. By this calculation, each Spaniard engaged
must have killed ten enemies with his own hand; and that within an hour
and a half's space! Other historians more wisely omit the exact
statistics of the massacre, and allow that a very few--ten or eleven, at
most--were slain within the Spanish ranks. This, however, is the utmost
that is claimed by even the Netherland historians, and it is, at any
rate, certain that the whole states' army was annihilated.

Rarely had a more brilliant exploit been performed by a handful of
cavalry. To the distinguished Alexander of Parma, who improvised so
striking and complete a victory out of a fortuitous circumstance,
belonged the whole credit of the day, for his quick eye detected a
passing weakness of the enemy, and turned it to terrible account with the
promptness which comes from genius alone. A whole army was overthrown.
Everything belonging to the enemy fell into the hands of the Spaniards.
Thirty-four standards, many field-pieces, much camp equipage, and
ammunition, besides some seven or eight thousand dead bodies, and six
hundred living prisoners, were the spoils of that winter's day. Of the
captives, some were soon afterwards hurled off the bridge at Namur, and
drowned like dogs in the Meuse, while the rest were all hanged, none
escaping with life. Don John's clemency was not superior to that of his
sanguinary predecessors.

And so another proof was added--if proofs were still necessary of Spanish
prowess. The Netherlanders may be pardoned if their foes seemed to them
supernatural, and almost invulnerable. How else could these enormous
successes be accounted for? How else could thousands fall before the
Spanish swords, while hardly a single Spanish corpse told of effectual
resistance? At Jemmingen, Alva had lost seven soldiers, and slain seven
thousand; in the Antwerp Fury, two hundred Spaniards, at most, had
fallen, while eight thousand burghers and states' troops had been
butchered; and now at Gemblours, six, seven, eight, ten--Heaven knew how
many--thousand had been exterminated, and hardly a single Spaniard had
been slain! Undoubtedly, the first reason for this result was the
superiority of the Spanish soldiers. They were the boldest, the best
disciplined, the most experienced in the world. Their audacity,
promptness, and ferocity made them almost invincible. In this particular
action, at least half the army of Don John was composed of Spanish or
Spanish-Italian veterans. Moreover, they were commanded by the most
renowned captains of the age--by Don John himself, and Alexander of
Parma, sustained by such veterans as Mondragon, the hero of the memorable
submarine expeditions; Mendoza, the accomplished cavalry officer,
diplomatist, and historian; and Mansfeld, of whom Don John had himself
written to the King that his Majesty had not another officer of such
account in all the Netherlands. Such officers as these, besides Gonzaga,
Camillo Monte, Mucio Pagano, at the head of such troops as fought that
day under the banner of the Cross, might go far in accounting for this
last and most tremendous victory of the Inquisition. On the other hand,
although Bossu and Champagny were with the states' army, yet their hearts
were hardly with the cause. Both had long been loyal, and had earned many
laurels against the rebels, while Champagny was still devoutly a Papist,
and wavered painfully between his hatred to heresy and to Spain. Egmont
and De Heze were raw, unpractised lads, in whom genius did not come to
supply the place of experience. The Commander, De Goignies, was a
veteran, but a veteran who had never gained much glory, and the chiefs of
the cavalry, infantry, and artillery, were absent at the Brussels
wedding. The news of this additional massacre inflicted upon a nation,
for which Berghen and Montigny had laid down their lives, was the nuptial
benediction for Berghen's heiress; for it was to the chief wedding guests
upon, that occasion that the disaster was justly attributed. The rank and
file of the states' army were mainly mercenaries, with whom the hope of
plunder was the prevailing motive; the chief commanders were absent;
while those officers who were with the troops were neither heartily
friendly to their own flag nor sufficiently experienced to make it
respected.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Absurd affectation of candor
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     Judas Maccabaeus
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     Superfluous sarcasm



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 30

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER V.

   Towns taken by Don John--Wrath excited against the aristocratic
   party by the recent defeat--Attempts upon Amsterdam--"Satisfaction"
   of Amsterdam and its effects--De Selles sent with royal letters from
   Spain--Terms offered by Philip--Proclamation of Don John--
   Correspondence between de Selles and the States-General--Between the
   King and the Governor-General--New forces raised by the States--St.
   Aldegonde at the Diet--Municipal revolution in Amsterdam--The
   Prince's letter on the subject of the Anabaptists of Middelburg--
   The two armies inactive--De la None--Action at Rijnemants--John
   Casimir--Perverse politics of Queen Elizabeth--Alencon in the
   Netherlands--Portrait of the Duke--Orange's position in regard to
   him--Avowed and supposed policy of the French court--Anger of
   Elizabeth--Terms arranged between Alencon and the Estates--Renewed
   negotiations with Don John--Severe terms offered him--Interview of
   the English envoys with the Governor--Despondency of Don John--
   Orange's attempts to enforce a religious peace--His isolation in
   sentiment--The malcontent party--Count John Governor of Gelderland
   --Proposed form of religious peace--Proclamation to that effect by
   Orange, in Antwerp--A petition in favor of the Roman Church
   presented by Champagny and other Catholic nobles to the States--
   General--Consequent commotion in Brussels--Champagny and others
   imprisoned--Indolence and poverty of the two armies--Illness and
   melancholy of Don John--His letters to Doria, to Mendoza, and to the
   King--Death of Don John--Suspicions of poison--Pompous burial--
   Removal of his body to Spain--Concluding remarks upon his character.

Don John having thus vindicated his own military fame and the amazing
superiority of the Spanish arms, followed up his victory by the rapid
reduction of many towns of second-rate importance Louvain, Judoigne,
Tirlemont, Aerschot, Bauvignes, Sichem, Nivelle, Roeux, Soignies, Binch,
Beaumont, Walcourt, Tviaubeuge, and Chimay, either submitted to their
conqueror, or were taken after short sieges. The usual atrocities were
inflicted upon the unfortunate inhabitants of towns where resistance was
attempted. The commandant of Sichem was hanged out of his own window,
along with several chief burghers and officers, while the garrison was
put to the sword, and the bodies cast into the Denver. The only crime
committed by these unfortunates was to have ventured a blow or two in
behalf of the firesides which they were employed to protect.

In Brussels, on the other hand, there was less consternation excited by
these events than boundless rage against the aristocratic party, for the
defeat of Gemblours was attributed, with justice, to the intrigues and
the incapacity of the Catholic magnates. It was with difficulty that
Orange, going about by night from house to house, from street to street,
succeeded in calming the indignation of the people, and in preventing
them from sweeping in a mass to the residence of the leading nobles, in
order to inflict summary vengeance on the traitors. All looked to the
Prince as their only saviour, not a thought nor a word being wasted upon
Matthias. Not a voice was raised in the assembly to vindicate the secret
proceedings of the Catholic party, nor to oppose the measures which the
Prince might suggest. The terrible disaster had taught the necessity of
union. All parties heartily joined in the necessary steps to place the
capital in a state of complete defence, and to assemble forthwith new
troops to take the place of the army just annihilated. The victor gained
nothing by his victory, in comparison with the profit acquired by the
states through their common misfortune. Nor were all the towns which had
recently fallen into the hands of Don John at all comparable in
importance to the city of Amsterdam, which now, by a most timely
arrangement, furnished a rich compensation to the national party for the
disaster of Gemblours.

Since the conclusion of the Ghent Pacification, it had been the most
earnest wish of the Prince, and of Holland and Zealand, to recover
possession of this most important city. The wish was naturally shared by
every true patriot in the states-general. It had, however, been extremely
difficult to arrange the terms of the "Satisfaction." Every fresh attempt
at an amicable compromise was wrecked upon the obstinate bigotry of the
leading civic authorities. They would make no agreement to accept the
authority of Orange, except, as Saint Aldegonde expressed himself; upon
terms which would enable them "to govern their governor." The influence
of the monks, who were resident in large numbers within the city, and of
the magistrates, who were all stanch Catholics, had been hitherto
sufficient to outweigh the efforts made by the large masses of the
Reformed religionists composing the bulk of the population. It was,
however, impossible to allow Amsterdam to remain in this isolated and
hostile attitude to the rest of Holland. The Prince, having promised to
use no coercion, and loyally adhering to his pledge, had only with
extreme difficulty restrained the violence of the Hollanders and
Zealanders, who were determined, by fair means or foul, to restore the
capital city to its natural place within his stadholderate. He had been
obliged, on various occasions, particularly on the 21st of October of the
preceding year, to address a most decided and peremptory letter to the
estates of Holland and Zealand, forbidding the employment of hostile
measures against Amsterdam. His commands had been reluctantly, partially,
and only temporarily obeyed. The states desisted from their scheme of
reducing the city by famine, but they did not the less encourage the
secret and unofficial expeditions which were daily set on foot to
accomplish the annexation by a sudden enterprise.

Late in November, a desperate attempt had been made by Colonel Helling,
in conjunction with Governor Sonoy, to carry the city by surprise. The
force which the adventurer collected for the purpose was inadequate, and
his plans were unskilfully arranged. He was himself slain in the streets,
at the very commencement of the action; whereupon, in the quaint language
of the contemporary chronicler, "the hearts of his soldiers sank in their
shoes," and they evacuated the city with much greater rapidity than they
had entered it. The Prince was indignant at these violent measures, which
retarded rather than advanced the desired consummation. At the same time
it was an evil of immense magnitude--this anomalous condition of his
capital. Ceaseless schemes were concerted by the municipal and clerical
conspirators within its walls, and various attempts were known, at
different times, to have been contemplated by Don John, to inflict a
home-thrust upon the provinces of Holland and Zealand at the most
vulnerable and vital point. The "Satisfaction" accepted by Utrecht, in
the autumn of 1577, had, however, paved the way for the recovery of
Amsterdam; so that upon February the 8th, 1578, certain deputies from
Utrecht succeeded at last in arranging terms, which were accepted by the
sister city. The basis of the treaty was, as usual, the nominal supremacy
of the Catholic religion, with toleration for the Reformed worship. The
necessary effect would be, as in Harlem, Utrecht, and other places, to
establish the new religion upon an entire equality with the old. It was
arranged that no congregations were to be disturbed in their religious
exercises in the places respectively assigned to them. Those of the
Reformed faith were to celebrate their worship without the walls. They
were, however, to enjoy the right of burying their dead within these
precincts, and it is singular how much importance was attached at that
day to a custom, at which the common sentiment and the common sense of
modern times revolt. "To bury our dead within our own cities is a right
hardly to be denied to a dog," said the Prince of Orange; and accordingly
this right was amply secured by the new Satisfaction of Amsterdam. It
was, however, stipulated that the funerals should be modest, and attended
by no more than twenty-four persons at once. The treaty was hailed with
boundless joy in Holland and Zealand, while countless benedictions were
invoked upon the "blessed peace-makers," as the Utrecht deputies walked
through the streets of Amsterdam. There is no doubt that the triumph thus
achieved by the national party far counterbalanced the Governor-General's
victory at Gemblours.

Meantime, the Seigneur de Selles, brother of the deceased Noircarmes, had
arrived from Spain. He was the special bearer of a letter from the King
to the states-general, written in reply to their communications of the
24th of August and 8th of September of the previous year. The tone of the
royal despatch was very affectionate, the substance such as entirely to
justify the whole policy of Orange. It was obvious that the penetrating
and steadfast statesman had been correct in refusing to be moved to the
right or the left by the specious language of Philip's former letters, or
by the apparent frankness of Don John. No doubt the Governor had been
sincere in his desire for peace, but the Prince knew very well his
incapacity to confer that blessing. The Prince knew--what no man else
appeared fully to comprehend at that epoch--that the mortal combat
between the Inquisition and the Reformation was already fully engaged.
The great battle between divine reason and right divine, on which the
interests of unborn generations were hanging, was to be fought out,
before the eyes of all Christendom, on the plain of the Netherlands.

Orange was willing to lay down his arms if he could receive security for
the Reformed worship. He had no desire to exterminate the ancient
religion, but he meant also to protect the new against extermination.
Such security, he felt, would never be granted, and he had therefore
resolutely refused to hearken to Don John, for he was sure that peace
with him was impossible. The letters now produced by De Selles confirmed
his positions completely. The King said not a word concerning the
appointment of a new governor-general, but boldly insisted upon the
necessity of maintaining the two cardinal points--his royal supremacy,
and the Catholic religion upon the basis adopted by his father, the
Emperor Charles the Fifth.

This was the whole substance of his communication: the supremacy of
royalty and of papacy as in the time of Charles the Fifth. These
cabalistic words were repeated twice in the brief letter to the estates.
They were repeated five times in the instructions furnished by his
Majesty to De Selles. The letter and the instructions indeed contained
nothing else. Two simples were offered for the cure of the body politic,
racked by the fever and convulsion of ten horrible years--two simples
which the patient could hardly be so unreasonable as to reject--unlimited
despotism and religious persecution. The whole matter lay in a nut-shell,
but it was a nut-shell which enclosed the flaming edicts of Charles the
Fifth, with their scaffolds, gibbets, racks, and funeral piles. The
Prince and the states-general spurned such pacific overtures, and
preferred rather to gird themselves for the combat.

That there might be no mistake about the matter, Don John, immediately
after receiving the letter, issued a proclamation to enforce the King's
command. He mentioned it as an acknowledged fact that the states-general
had long ago sworn the maintenance of the two points of royal and
Catholic supremacy, according to the practice under the Emperor Charles.
The states instantly published an indignant rejoinder, affirming the
indisputable truth, that they had sworn to the maintenance of the Ghent
Pacification, and proclaiming the assertion of Don John an infamous
falsehood. It was an outrage upon common sense, they said, that the Ghent
treaty could be tortured into sanctioning the placards and the
Inquisition, evils which that sacred instrument had been expressly
intended to crush.

A letter was then formally addressed to his Majesty, in the name of the
Archduke Matthias--and of the estates, demanding the recall of Don John
and the, maintenance of the Ghent Pacification. De Seller, in reply, sent
a brief, deprecatory paper, enclosing a note from Don John, which the
envoy acknowledged might seem somewhat harsh in its expressions. The
letter contained, indeed, a sufficiently fierce and peremptory summons to
the states to obey the King's commands with regard to the system of
Charles the Fifth, according to their previous agreement, together with a
violent declaration of the Governor's displeasure that they had dared to
solicit the aid of foreign princes. On the 18th of February came a
proposition from De Seller that the Prince, of Orange should place
himself in the hands of Don John, while the Prince of Parma, alone and
without arms, would come before the assembly, to negotiate with them upon
these matters. The reply returned by the states-general to this absurd
suggestion expressed their regret that the son of the Duchess Margaret
should have taken part with the enemy of the Netherlanders, complained of
the bull by which the Pope had invited war against them as if they had
been Saracens, repeated their most unanswerable argument--that the Ghent
Pacification had established a system directly the reverse of that which
existed under Charles the Fifth--and affirmed their resolution never more
to submit to Spanish armies, executioners, edicts, or inquisitions, and
never more to return to the principles of the Emperor and of Alva. To
this diplomatic correspondence succeeded a war of words and of pamphlets,
some of them very inflammatory and very eloquent. Meantime, the
preparations for active hostilities were proceeding daily. The Prince of
Orange, through his envoys in England, had arranged for subsidies in the
coming campaign, and for troops which were to be led to the Netherlands,
under Duke Casimir of the palatinate. He sent commissioners through the
provinces to raise the respective contributions agreed upon, besides an
extraordinary quota of four hundred thousand guilders monthly. He also
negotiated a loan of a hundred and twenty thousand guilders from the
citizens of Antwerp. Many new taxes were imposed by his direction, both
upon income and upon consumption. By his advice, however, and with the
consent of the states-general, the provinces of Holland and Zealand held
no community of burthens with the other provinces, but of their own free
will contributed more than the sums for which they would have been
assessed. Mr. Leyton, who was about to return from his unsuccessful
mission from Elizabeth to Don John, was requested by the states-general
to convey to her Majesty a faithful report of the recent correspondence,
and especially of the language held by the Governor-General. He was also
urged to use his influence with the Queen, to the end that her promises
of assistance might be speedily fulfilled.

Troops were rapidly enrolled, and again, by the same honest but mistaken
policy, the chief offices were conferred upon the great nobles--Aerschot,
Champagny, Bossu, Egmont, Lalain, the Viscount of Ghent, Baron de Ville,
and many others, most of whom were to desert the cause in the hour of its
need. On the other hand, Don John was proceeding with his military
preparations upon an extensive scale. The King had recently furnished him
with one million nine hundred thousand dollars, and had promised to
provide him with two hundred thousand more, monthly. With these funds his
Majesty estimated that an army of thirty thousand foot, sixteen thousand
cavalry, and thirty pieces of artillery, could be levied and kept on
foot. If more remittances should prove to be necessary, it was promised
that they should be forthcoming.

This was the result of many earnest remonstrances made by the Governor
concerning the dilatory policy of the King. Wearied with being constantly
ordered "to blow hot and cold with the same, breath," he had insisted
that his Majesty should select the hot or the cold, and furnish him with
the means of enforcing the choice. For himself, Don John assured his
brother that the hottest measures were most to his taste, and most
suitable to the occasion. Fire and sword could alone save the royal
authority, for all the provinces had "abandoned themselves, body and
soul, to the greatest heretic and tyrant that prince ever had for
vassal." Unceasing had been the complaints and entreaties of the
Captain-General, called forth by the apathy or irresolution of Philip. It
was--only by assuring him that the Netherlands actually belonged to
Orange, that the monarch could be aroused. "His they are; and none
other's," said the Governor, dolefully. The King had accordingly sent
back De Billy, Don John's envoy; with decided injunctions to use force
and energy to put down the revolt at once, and with an intimation that
funds might be henceforth more regularly depended upon, as the Indian
fleets were expected in July. Philip also advised his brother to employ a
portion of his money in purchasing the governors and principal persons
who controlled the cities and other strong places belonging to the
states.

Meantime, Don John thundered forth a manifesto which had been recently
prepared in Madrid, by which the estates, both general and particular,
were ordered forthwith to separate, and forbidden to assemble again,
except by especial licence. All commissions, civil or military, granted
by states' authority, were moreover annulled, together with a general
prohibition of any act of obedience to such functionaries, and of
contribution to any imposts which might be levied by their authority.
Such thunders were now comparatively harmless, for the states had taken
their course, and were busily engaged, both at home and abroad, in arming
for the conflict. Saint Aldegonde was deputed to attend the Imperial
diet, then in session at Worms, where he delivered an oration, which was
very celebrated in its day as a composition, but, which can hardly be
said to have produced much practical effect. The current was setting hard
in Germany against the Reformed religion and against the Netherland
cause, the Augsburg Confessionists showing hardly more sympathy with
Dutch Calvinists than with Spanish Papists.

Envoys from Don John also attended the diet, and requested Saint
Aldegonde to furnish them with a copy of his oration. This he declined to
do. While in Germany, Saint Aldegonde was informed by John Casimir that
Duke Charles of Sweden, had been solicited to furnish certain ships of
war for a contemplated operation against Amsterdam. The Duke had himself
given information of this plot to the Prince Palatine. It was therefore
natural that Saint Aldegonde should forthwith despatch the intelligence
to his friends in the Netherlands, warning them of the dangers still to
be apprehended from the machinations of the Catholic agents and
functionaries in Amsterdam; for although the Reformation had made rapid
progress in that important city since the conclusion of the Satisfaction,
yet the magistracy remained Catholic.

William Bardez, son of a former high-sheriff, a warm partisan of Orange
and of the "religion," had already determined to overthrow that
magistracy and to expel the friars who infested the city. The recent
information despatched by Saint Aldegonde confirmed him in his purpose.
There had been much wrangling between the Popish functionaries and those
of the Reformed religion concerning the constitution of the burgher
guard. The Calvinists could feel no security for their own lives, or the
repose of the commonwealth of Holland, unless they were themselves
allowed a full participation in the government of those important bands.
They were, moreover, dissatisfied with the assignment which had been made
of the churchyards to the members of their communion. These causes of
discord had maintained a general irritation among the body of the
inhabitants, and were now used as pretexts by Bardez for his design. He
knew the city to be ripe for the overthrow of the magistracy, and he had
arranged with Governor Sonoy to be furnished with a sufficient number of
well-tried soldiers, who were to be concealed in the houses of the
confederates. A large number of citizens were also ready to appear at his
bidding with arms in their hands.

On the 24th of May, he wrote to Sonoy, begging him to hold himself in
readiness, as all was prepared within the city. At the same time, he
requested the governor to send him forthwith a "morion and a buckler of
proof;" for, he intended to see the matter fairly through. Sonoy answered
encouragingly, and sent him the armor, as directed. On the 28th of May,
Bardez, with four confederates, went to the council-room, to remonstrate
with the senate concerning the grievances which had been so often
discussed. At about mid-day, one of the confederates, upon leaving the
council-room, stepped out for a moment upon the balcony, which looked
towards the public square. Standing there for a moment, he gravely
removed his hat, and then as gravely replaced it upon his head. This was
a preconcerted signal. At the next instant a sailor was seen to rush
across the square, waving a flag in both hands. "All ye who love the
Prince of Orange, take heart and follow me!" he shouted. In a moment the
square was alive. Soldiers and armed citizens suddenly sprang forth, as
if from the bowels of the earth. Bardez led a strong force directly into
the council-chamber, and arrested every one of the astonished
magistrates. At the same time, his confederates had scoured the town and
taken every friar in the city into custody. Monks and senators were then
marched solemnly down towards the quay, where a vessel was in readiness
to receive them. "To the gallows with them--to the gallows with them!"
shouted the populace, as they passed along. "To the gibbet, whither they
have brought many a good fellow before his time!" Such were the openly,
expressed desires of their fellow-citizens, as these dignitaries and holy
men proceeded to what they believed their doom. Although treated
respectfully by those who guarded them, they were filled with
trepidation, for they believed the execrations of the populace the
harbingers of their fate. As they entered the vessel, they felt convinced
that a watery death had been substituted for the gibbet. Poor old
Heinrich Dirckzoon, ex-burgomaster, pathetically rejected a couple of
clean shirts which his careful wife had sent him by the hands of the
housemaid. "Take them away; take them home again," said the rueful
burgomaster; "I shall never need clean shirts again in this world." He
entertained no doubt that it was the intention of his captors to scuttle
the vessel as soon as they had put a little out to sea, and so to leave
them to their fate. No such tragic end was contemplated, however, and, in
fact, never was a complete municipal revolution accomplished in so
good-natured and jocose a manner. The Catholic magistrates and friars
escaped with their fright. They were simply turned out of town, and
forbidden, for their lives, ever to come back again. After the vessel had
proceeded a little distance from the city, they were all landed high and
dry upon a dyke, and so left unharmed within the open country.

A new board of magistrates, of which stout William Bardez was one, was
soon appointed; the train-bands were reorganized, and the churches thrown
open to the Reformed worship--to the exclusion, at first, of the
Catholics. This was certainly contrary to the Ghent treaty, and to the
recent Satisfaction; it was also highly repugnant to the opinions of
Orange. After a short time, accordingly, the Catholics were again allowed
access to the churches, but the tables had now been turned for ever in
the capital of Holland, and the Reformation was an established fact
throughout that little province.

Similar events occurring upon the following day at Harlem, accompanied
with some bloodshed--for which, however, the perpetrator was punished
with death--opened the great church of that city to the Reformed
congregations, and closed them for a time to the Catholics.

Thus, the cause of the new religion was triumphant in Holland and
Zealand, while it was advancing with rapid strides through the other
provinces. Public preaching was of daily occurrence everywhere. On a
single Sunday; fifteen different ministers of the Reformed religion
preached in different places in Antwerp. "Do you think this can be put
down?" said Orange to the remonstrating burgomaster of that city. "'Tis
for you to repress it," said the functionary, "I grant your Highness full
power to do so." "And do you think," replied the Prince, "that I can do
at this late moment, what the Duke of Alva was unable to accomplish in
the very plenitude of his power?" At the same time, the Prince of Orange
was more than ever disposed to rebuke his own Church for practising
persecution in her turn. Again he lifted his commanding voice in behalf
of the Anabaptists of Middelburg. He reminded the magistrates of that
city that these peaceful burghers were always perfectly willing to bear
their part in all the common burthens, that their word was as good as
their oath, and that as to the matter of military service, although their
principles forbade them to bear arms, they had ever been ready to provide
and pay for substitutes. "We declare to you therefore," said he, "that
you have no right to trouble yourselves with any man's conscience, so
long as nothing is done to cause private harm or public scandal. We
therefore expressly ordain that you desist from molesting these Baptists,
from offering hindrance to their handicraft and daily trade, by which
they can earn bread for their wives and children, and that you permit
them henceforth to open their shops and to do their work, according to
the custom of former days. Beware, therefore, of disobedience and of
resistance to the ordinance which we now establish."

Meantime, the armies on both sides had been assembled, and had been
moving towards each other. Don John was at the head of nearly thirty
thousand troops, including a large proportion of Spanish and Italian
veterans. The states' army hardly numbered eighteen thousand foot and two
thousand cavalry, under the famous Francois de la None, surnamed Bras de
Fer, who had been recently appointed Marechal de Camp, and, under Count
Bossu, commander-in-chief. The muster-place of the provincial forces was
in the plains between Herenthals and Lier. At this point they expected to
be reinforced by Duke Casimir, who had been, since the early part of the
summer, in the country of Zutfen, but who was still remaining there
inglorious and inactive, until he could be furnished with the requisite
advance-money to his troops. Don John was determined if possible, to
defeat the states army, before Duke Casimir, with his twelve thousand
Germans, should effect his juncture with Bossu. The Governor therefore
crossed the Demer, near Aerschot, towards the end of July, and offered
battle, day after day, to the enemy. A series of indecisive skirmishes
was the result, in the last of which, near Rijnemants, on the first day
of August, the royalists were worsted and obliged to retire, after a
desultory action of nearly eight hours, leaving a thousand dead upon the
field.  Their offer of "double or quits," the following morning was
steadily refused by Bossu, who, secure within his intrenchments, was not
to be induced at that moment to encounter the chances of a general
engagement. For this he was severely blamed by the more violent of the
national party.

His patriotism, which was of such recent origin, was vehemently
suspected; and his death, which occurred not long afterwards, was
supposed to have alone prevented his deserting the states to fight again
under Spanish colours. These suspicions were probably unjust. Bossu's
truth of character had been as universally recognized as was his signal
bravery. If he refused upon this occasion a general battle, those who
reflected upon the usual results to the patriot banner of such
engagements, might confess, perhaps, that one disaster the more had been
avoided. Don John, finding it impossible to accomplish his purpose, and
to achieve another Gemblours victory, fell back again to the
neighbourhood of Namur.

The states' forces remained waiting for the long-promised succor of John
Casimir. It was the 26th of August, however, before the Duke led his
twelve thousand men to the neighbourhood of Mechlin, where Bossu was
encamped. This young prince possessed neither the ability nor the
generosity which were requisite for the heroic part which he was
ambitious to perform in the Netherland drama. He was inspired by a vague
idea of personal aggrandizement, although he professed at the same time
the utmost deference to William of Orange. He expressed the hope that he
and the Prince "should be but two heads under one hat;" but he would have
done well to ask himself whether his own contribution to this partnership
of brains would very much enrich the silent statesman. Orange himself
regarded him with respectful contempt, and considered his interference
with Netherland matters but as an additional element of mischief. The
Duke's right hand man, however, Peter Peutterich, the "equestrian
doctor"--as Sir Philip Sydney called him--equally skilful with the sword
as with the pen, had succeeded, while on a mission to England, in
acquiring the Queen's favor for his master. To Casimir, therefore, had
been entrusted the command of the levies, and the principal expenditure
of the subsidies which she had placed at the disposition of the states.
Upon Casimir she relied, as a counterweight to the Duke of Alencon, who,
as she knew, had already entered the provinces at the secret solicitation
of a large faction among the nobles. She had as much confidence as ever
in Orange, but she imagined herself to be strengthening his cause by
providing him with such a lieutenant. Casimir's immediate friends had but
little respect for his abilities. His father-in-law, Augustus of Saxony,
did not approve his expedition. The Landgrave William, to whom he wrote
for counsel, answered, in his quaint manner, that it was always difficult
for one friend to advise another in three matters--to wit, in taking a
wife, going to sea, and going to war; but that, nevertheless, despite the
ancient proverb, he would assume the responsibility of warning Casimir
not to plunge into what he was pleased to call the "'confusum chaos' of
Netherland politics." The Duke felt no inclination, however, to take the
advice which he had solicited. He had been stung by the sarcasm which
Alva had once uttered, that the German potentates carried plenty of
lions, dragons, eagles, and griffins on their shields; but that these
ferocious animals were not given to biting or scratching. He was
therefore disposed, once for all, to show that the teeth and claws of
German princes could still be dangerous. Unfortunately, he was destined
to add a fresh element of confusion to the chaos, and to furnish rather a
proof than a refutation of the correctness of Alva's gibe.

This was the hero who was now thrust, head and shoulders as it were, into
the entangled affairs of the Netherlanders, and it was Elizabeth of
England, more than ever alarmed at the schemes of Alencon, who had pushed
forward this Protestant champion, notwithstanding the disinclination of
Orange.

The Queen was right in her uneasiness respecting the French prince. The
Catholic nobles, relying upon the strong feeling still rife throughout
the Walloon country against the Reformed religion, and inflamed more than
ever by their repugnance to Orange, whose genius threw them so completely
into the shade, had already drawn closer to the Duke. The same influences
were at work to introduce Alencon, which had formerly been employed to
bring Matthias from Vienna. Now that the Archduke, who was to have been
the rival, had become the dependent of William, they turned their
attention to the son of Catherine de Medici, Orange himself having always
kept the Duke in reserve, as an instrument to overcome the political
coquetry of Elizabeth. That great Princess never manifested less
greatness than in her earlier and most tormenting connexion with the
Netherlands. Having allured them for years with bright but changeful
face, she still looked coldly down upon the desolate sea where they were
drifting She had promised much; her performance had been nothing. Her
jealousy of French influence had at length been turned to account; a
subsidy and a levy extorted from her fears. Her ministers and prominent
advisers were one and all in favor of an open and generous support to the
provinces. Walsingham, Burleigh, Knollys, Davidson, Sidney, Leicester,
Fleetwood, Wilson, all desired that she should frankly espouse their
cause. A bold policy they believed to be the only prudent one in this
case; yet the Queen considered it sagacious to despatch envoys both to
Philip and to Don John, as if after what they knew of her secret
practices, such missions could effect any useful purpose. Better,
therefore, in the opinion of the honest and intrepid statesmen of
England, to throw down the gauntlet at once in the cause of the oppressed
than to shuffle and palter until the dreaded rival should cross the
frontier. A French Netherlands they considered even mere dangerous than a
Spanish, and Elizabeth partook of their sentiments, although incapable of
their promptness. With the perverseness which was the chief blot upon her
character, she was pleased that the Duke should be still a dangler for
her hand, even while she was intriguing against his political hopes. She
listened with undisguised rapture to his proposal of love, while she was
secretly thwarting the plans of his ambition.

Meanwhile, Alencon had arrived at Mons, and we have seen already the
feminine adroitness with which his sister of Navarre had prepared his
entrance. Not in vain had she cajoled the commandant of Cambray citadel;
not idly had she led captive the hearts of Lalain and his Countess, thus
securing the important province of Hainault for the Duke. Don John might,
indeed, gnash his teeth with rage, as he marked the result of all the
feasting and flattery, the piping and dancing at Namur.

Francis Duke of Alencon, and since the accession of his brother Henry to
the French throne--Duke of Anjou was, upon the whole, the most despicable
personage who had ever entered the Netherlands. His previous career at
home had, been so flagrantly false that he had forfeited the esteem of
every honest man in Europe, Catholic or Lutheran, Huguenot or Malcontent.
The world has long known his character. History will always retain him as
an example, to show mankind the amount of mischief which may be
perpetrated by a prince, ferocious without courage, ambitious without
talent, and bigoted without opinions. Incapable of religious convictions
himself, he had alternately aspired to be a commander of Catholic and of
Huguenot zealots, and he had acquired nothing by his vacillating course,
save the entire contempt of all parties and of both religions. Scared
from the aide of Navarre and Conde by the menacing attitude of the
"league," fearing to forfeit the succession to the throne, unless he made
his peace with the court, he had recently resumed his place among the
Catholic commanders. Nothing was easier for him than to return
shamelessly to a party which he had shamelessly deserted, save perhaps to
betray it again, should his interest prompt him to do so, on the morrow.
Since the peace of 1576, it had been evident that the Protestants could
not count upon his friendship, and he had soon afterwards been placed at
the head of the army which was besieging the Huguenots of Issoire. He
sought to atone for having commanded the troops of the new religion by
the barbarity with which he now persecuted its votaries. When Issoire
fell into his hands, the luckless city was spared none of the misery
which can be inflicted by a brutal and frenzied soldiery. Its men were
butchered, its females outraged; its property plundered with a
thoroughness which rivalled the Netherland practice of Alva, or Frederic
Toledo, or Julian Romero. The town was sacked and burned to ashes by
furious Catholics, under the command of Francis Alencon,--almost at the
very moment when his fair sister, Margaret, was preparing the way in the
Netherlands for the fresh treason--which he already meditated to the
Catholic cause. The treaty of Bergerac, signed in the autumn of 1577,
again restored a semblance of repose to France, and again afforded an
opportunity for Alencon to change his politics, and what he called his
religion. Reeking with the blood of the Protestants of Issoire, he was
now at leisure to renew his dalliance with the Queen of Protestant
England, and to resume his correspondence with the great-chieftain of the
Reformation in the Netherlands.

It is perhaps an impeachment upon the perspicacity of Orange, that he
could tolerate this mischievous and worthless "son of France," even for
the grave reasons which influenced him. Nevertheless, it must be
remembered that he only intended to keep him in reserve, for the purpose
of irritating the jealousy and quickening the friendship of the English
Queen. Those who see anything tortuous in such politics must beware of
judging the intriguing age of Philip and Catherine de' Medici by the
higher standard of later, and possibly more candid times. It would have
been puerile for a man of William the Silent's resources, to allow
himself to be outwitted by the intrigues of all the courts and cabinets
in Europe. Moreover, it must be remembered that, if he alone could guide
himself and his country through the perplexing labyrinth in which they
were involved; it was because he held in his hand the clue of an honest
purpose. His position in regard to the Duke of Alencon, had now become
sufficiently complicated, for the tiger that he had led in a chain had
been secretly unloosed by those who meant mischief. In the autumn of the
previous year, the aristocratic and Catholic party in the states-general
had opened their communications with a prince, by whom they hoped to be
indemnified for their previous defeat.

The ill effects of Elizabeth's coquetry too plainly manifested themselves
at last, and Alencon had now a foothold in the Netherlands. Precipitated
by the intrigues of the party which had always been either openly or
secretly hostile to Orange, his advent could no longer be delayed. It
only remained for the Prince to make himself his master, as he had
already subdued each previous rival. This he accomplished with his
customary adroitness. It was soon obvious, even to so dull and so base a
nature as that of the Duke, that it was his best policy to continue to
cultivate so powerful a friendship. It cost him little to crouch, but
events were fatally, to prove at a later day, that there are natures too
malignant to be trusted or to be tamed. For the present, however, Alencon
professed the most friendly sentiments towards the Prince. Solicited by
so ardent and considerable a faction, the Duke was no longer to be
withheld from trying the venture, and if, he could not effect his
entrance by fair means, was determined to do so by force.--He would
obtrude his assistance, if it were declined. He would do his best to
dismember the provinces, if only a portion of them would accept his
proffered friendship. Under these circumstances, as the Prince could no
longer exclude him from the country, it became necessary to accept his
friendship, and to hold him in control. The Duke had formally offered his
assistance to the states-general, directly after the defeat of Gemblours,
and early in July had made his appearance in Mons. Hence he despatched
his envoys, Des Pruneaux and Rochefort, to deal with the States-general
and with Orange, while he treated Matthias with contempt, and declared
that he had no intention to negotiate with him. The Archduke burst into
tears when informed of this slight; and feebly expressed a wish that
succor might be found in Germany which would render this French alliance
unnecessary. It was not the first nor the last mortification which the
future Emperor was to undergo. The Prince was addressed with
distinguished consideration; Des Pruneaux protesting that he desired but
three things--the glory of his master, the glory of God, and the glory of
William of Orange.

The French King was naturally supposed to be privy to his brother's
schemes, for it was thought ridiculous to suggest that Henry's own troops
could be led by his own brother, on this foreign expedition, without his
connivance. At the same time, private letters, written by him at this
epoch, expressed disapprobation of the schemes of Alencon, and jealousy
of his aggrandizement. It was, perhaps, difficult to decide as to the
precise views of a monarch who was too weak to form opinions for himself,
and too false to maintain those with which he had been furnished by
others. With the Medicean mother it was different, and it was she who was
believed to be at the bottom of the intrigue. There was even a vague idea
that the Spanish Sovereign himself might be privy to the plot, and that a
possible marriage between Alencon and the Infanta might be on the cards.
In truth, however, Philip felt himself outraged by the whole proceedings.
He resolutely refused to accept the excuses proffered by the French
court, or to doubt the complicity of the Queen Dowager, who, it was well
known, governed all her sons. She had, to be sure, thought proper to read
the envoys of the states-general a lecture upon the impropriety of
subjects opposing the commands of their lawful Prince, but such artifices
were thought too transparent to deceive. Granvelle scouted the idea of
her being ignorant of Anjou's scheme, or opposed to its success. As for
William of Hesse, while he bewailed more than ever the luckless plunge
into "confusum chaos" which Casimir had taken, he unhesitatingly
expressed his conviction that the invasion of Alencon was a master-piece
of Catherine. The whole responsibility of the transaction he divided, in
truth, between the Dowager and the comet, which just then hung over the
world, filling the soul of the excellent Landgrave with dismal
apprehension.

The Queen of England was highly incensed by the actual occurrence of the
invasion which she had so long dreaded. She was loud in her denunciations
of the danger and dishonor which would be the result to the provinces of
this French alliance. She threatened not only to withdraw herself from
their cause, but even to take arms against a commonwealth which had dared
to accept Alencon for its master. She had originally agreed to furnish
one hundred thousand pounds by way of loan. This assistance had been
afterwards commuted into a levy of three thousand foot and-two thousand
horse, to be added to the forces of John Casimir, and to be placed under
his command. It had been stipulated; also, that the Palatine should have
the rank and pay of an English general-in-chief, and be considered as the
Queen's lieutenant. The money had been furnished and the troops enrolled.
So much had been already bestowed, and could not be recalled, but it was
not probable that, in her present humor, the Queen would be induced to
add to her favors.

The Prince, obliged by the necessity of the case, had prescribed the
terms and the title under which Alencon should be accepted. Upon the 13th
of August the Duke's envoy concluded a convention in twenty-three
articles; which were afterwards subscribed by the Duke himself, at Mons,
upon the twentieth of the same month. The substance of this arrangement
was that Alencon should lend his assistance to the provinces against the
intolerable tyranny of the Spaniards and the unjustifiable military
invasion of Don John. He was, moreover, to bring into the field ten
thousand foot and two thousand horse for three months. After the
expiration of this term, his forces might be reduced to three thousand
foot and five hundred horse. The states were to confer upon him the title
of "Defender of the Liberty of the Netherlands against the Tyranny of the
Spaniards and their adherents." He was to undertake no hostilities
against Queen Elizabeth. The states were to aid him, whenever it should
become necessary, with the same amount of force with which he now
assisted them. He was to submit himself contentedly to the civil
government of the country, in everything regarding its internal polity.
He was to make no special contracts or treaties with any cities or
provinces of the Netherlands. Should the states-general accept another
prince as sovereign, the Duke was to be preferred to all others, upon
conditions afterwards to be arranged. All cities which might be conquered
within the territory of the united provinces were to belong to the
states. Such places not in that territory, as should voluntarily
surrender, were to be apportioned, by equal division, between the Duke
and the states. The Duke was to bring no foreign troops but French into
the provinces. The month of August was reserved, during which the states
were, if possible, to make a composition with Don John.

These articles were certainly drawn up with skill. A high-sounding but
barren title, which gratified the Duke's vanity and signified nothing,
had been conferred upon him, while at the same time he was forbidden to
make conquests or contracts, and was obliged to submit himself to the
civil government of the country: in short, he was to obey the Prince of
Orange in all things--and so here was another plot of the Prince's
enemies neutralized. Thus, for the present at least, had the position of
Anjou been defined.

As the month of August, during which it was agreed that negotiations with
the Governor-General should remain open, had already half expired,
certain articles, drawn up by the states-general, were at once laid
before Don John. Lord Cobham and Sir Francis Walsingham were then in the
Netherlands, having been sent by Elizabeth for the purpose of effecting a
pacification of the estates with the Governor, if possible. They had also
explained--so far as an explanation was possible--the assistance which
the English government had rendered to the rebels, upon the ground that
the French invasion could be prevented in no other way. This somewhat
lame apology had been passed over in silence rather than accepted by Don
John. In the same interview the envoys made an equally unsuccessful
effort to induce the acceptance by the Governor of the terms offered by
the states. A further proposition, on their part, for an "Interim," upon
the plan attempted by Charles the Fifth in Germany, previously to the
Peace of Passau, met with no more favor than it merited, for certainly
that name--which became so odious in Germany that cats and dogs were
called "Interim" by the common people, in derision--was hardly a potent
word to conjure with, at that moment, in the Netherlands. They then
expressed their intention of retiring to England, much grieved at the
result of their mission. The Governor replied that they might do as they
liked, but that he, at least, had done all in his power to bring about a
peace, and that the King had been equally pacific in his intentions. He
then asked the envoys what they themselves thought of the terms proposed.
"Indeed, they are too hard, your Highness," answered Walsingham, "but
'tis only by pure menace that we have extorted them from the states,
unfavorable though they, seem."

"Then you may tell them," replied the Governor, "to keep their offers to
themselves. Such terms will go but little way in any negotiation with
me."

The envoys shrugged their shoulders.

"What is your own opinion on the whole affair?" resumed Don John.
"Perhaps your advice may yet help me to a better conclusion."

The envoys continued silent and pensive.

"We can only answer," said Walsingham, at length, "by imitating the
physician, who would prescribe no medicine until he was quite sure that
the patient was ready to swallow it. 'Tis no use wasting counsel or
drugs."

The reply was not satisfactory, but the envoys had convinced themselves
that the sword was the only surgical instrument likely to find favor at
that juncture. Don John referred, in vague terms, to his peaceable
inclinations, but protested that there was no treating with so unbridled
a people as the Netherlanders. The ambassadors soon afterwards took their
leave. After this conference, which was on the 24th of August, 1578,
Walsingham and Cobham addressed a letter to the states-general, deploring
the disingenuous and procrastinating conduct of the Governor, and begging
that the failure to effect a pacification might not be imputed to them.
They then returned to England.

The Imperial envoy, Count Schwartzburg, at whose urgent solicitation this
renewed attempt at a composition had been made, was most desirous that
the Governor should accept the articles. They formed, indeed, the basis
of a liberal, constitutional, representative government, in which the
Spanish monarch was to retain only a strictly limited sovereignty. The
proposed convention required Don John, with all his troops and adherents,
forthwith to leave the land after giving up all strongholds and cities in
his possession. It provided that the Archduke Matthias should remain as
Governor general, under the conditions according to which he had been
originally accepted. It left the question of religious worship to the
decision of the states-general. It provided for the release of all
prisoners, the return of all exiles, the restoration of all confiscated
property. It stipulated that upon the death or departure of Matthias, his
Majesty was not to appoint a governor-general without the consent of the
states-general.

When Count Schwartzburg waited upon the Governor with these astonishing
propositions--which Walsingham might well call somewhat hard--he found
him less disposed to explode with wrath than he had been in previous
conferences. Already the spirit of the impetuous young soldier was
broken, both by the ill health which was rapidly undermining his
constitution and by the helpless condition in which he had been left
while contending with the great rebellion. He had soldiers, but no money
to pay them withal; he had no means of upholding that supremacy of crown
and church which he was so vigorously instructed to maintain; and he was
heartily wearied of fulminating edicts which he had no power to enforce.
He had repeatedly solicited his recal, and was growing daily more
impatient that his dismissal did not arrive. Moreover, the horrible news
of Escovedo's assassination had sickened him to the soul. The deed had
flashed a sudden light into the abyss of dark duplicity in which his own
fate was suspended. His most intimate and confidential friend had been
murdered by royal command, while he was himself abandoned by Philip,
exposed to insult, left destitute of defence. No money was forthcoming,
in spite of constant importunities and perpetual promises. Plenty of
words were sent him; he complained, as if he possessed the art of
extracting gold from them, or as if war could be carried on with words
alone.

Being in so desponding a mood, he declined entering into any controversy
with regard to the new propositions, which, however, he characterized as
most iniquitous. He stated merely that his Majesty had determined to
refer the Netherland matters to the arbitration of the Emperor; that the
Duke de Terra Nova would soon be empowered to treat upon the subject at
the imperial court; and that, in the meantime, he was himself most
anxiously awaiting his recal.

A synod of the Reformed churches had been held, during the month of June,
at Dort. There they had laid down a platform of their principles of
church government in one hundred and one articles. In the same month, the
leading members of the Reformed Church had drawn up an ably reasoned
address to Matthias and the Council of State on the subject of a general
peace of religion for the provinces.

William of Orange did his utmost to improve the opportunity. He sketched
a system of provisional toleration, which he caused to be signed by the
Archduke Matthias, and which, at least for a season, was to establish
religious freedom. The brave; tranquil, solitary man still held his track
across the raging waves, shedding as much light as one clear human soul
could dispense; yet the dim lantern, so far in advance, was swallowed in
the mist, ere those who sailed in his wake could shape their course by
his example. No man understood him. Not even his nearest friends
comprehended his views, nor saw that he strove to establish not freedom
for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience. Saint Aldegonde complained
that the Prince would not persecute the Anabaptists, Peter Dathenus
denounced him as an atheist, while even Count John; the only one left of
his valiant and generous brothers, opposed the religious peace--except
where the advantage was on the side of the new religion. Where the
Catholics had been effectually put down, as in Holland and Zealand,
honest John saw so reason for allowing them to lift themselves up again.
In the Popish provinces, on the other hand, he was for a religious peace.
In this bigoted spirit he was followed by too many of the Reforming mass,
while, on their part, the Walloons were already banding themselves
together in the more southern provinces, under the name of Malcontents.
Stigmatized by the Calvinists as "Paternoster Jacks," they were daily
drawing closer their alliance with Alencon; and weakening the bands which
united them with their Protestant brethren. Count John had at length
become a permanent functionary in the Netherlands. Urgently solicited by
the leaders and the great multitude of the Reformers, he had long been
unwilling to abandon his home, and to neglect the private affairs which
his devotion to the Netherland cause had thrown into great confusion. The
Landgrave, too, whose advice he had asked, had strongly urged him not to
"dip his fingers into the olla podrida." The future of the provinces was,
in his opinion, so big with disaster, that the past, with all its
horrors; under Alva and Requesens, had only furnished the "preludia" of
that which was to ensue. For these desperate views his main reason, as
usual, was the comet; that mischievous luminary still continuing to cast
a lurid glare across the Landgrave's path. Notwithstanding these direful
warnings from a prince of the Reformation, notwithstanding the "olla
podrida" and the "comet," Count John had nevertheless accepted the office
of Governor of Gelderland, to which he had been elected by the estates of
that province on the 11th of March. That important bulwark of Holland,
Zealand, and Utrecht on the one side, and of Groningen and Friesland on
the other--the main buttress, in short, of the nascent republic, was now
in hands which would defend it to the last.

As soon as the discussion came up in the states-general on the subject of
the Dort petitions, Orange requested that every member who had formed his
opinions should express them fully and frankly. All wished, however, to
be guided and governed by the sentiments of the Prince. Not a man spoke,
save to demand their leader's views, and to express adhesion in advance
to the course which his wisdom might suggest. The result was a projected
convention, a draft for a religious peace, which, if definitely
established, would have healed many wounds and averted much calamity. It
was not, however, destined to be accepted at that time by the states of
the different provinces where it was brought up for discussion; and
several changes were made, both of form and substance, before the system
was adopted at all. Meantime, for the important city of Antwerp, where
religious broils were again on the point of breaking out, the Prince
preferred a provisional arrangement, which he forthwith carried into
execution. A proclamation, in the name of the Archduke Matthias and of
the State Council, assigned five special places in the city where the
members of the "pretended Reformed religion" should have liberty to
exercise their religious worship, with preaching, singing, and the
sacraments. The churchyards of the parochial churches were to be opened
for the burial of their dead, but the funerals were to be unaccompanied
with exhortation, or any public demonstration which might excite
disturbance. The adherents of one religion were forbidden to disturb, to
insult, or in any way to interfere with the: solemnities of the other.
All were to abstain from mutual jeerings--by pictures, ballads, books, or
otherwise--and from all injuries to ecclesiastical property. Every man,
of whatever religion, was to be permitted entrance to the churches of
either religion, and when there, all were to conform to the regulations
of the church with modesty and respect. Those of the new religion were to
take oaths of obedience to the authorities, and to abstain from meddling
with the secular administration of affairs. Preachers of both religions
were forbidden to preach out of doors, or to make use of language tending
to sedition. All were to bind themselves to assist the magistrates in
quelling riots, and in sustaining the civil government.

This example of religious peace, together with the active correspondence
thus occasioned with the different state assemblies, excited the jealousy
of the Catholic leaders and of the Walloon population. Champagny, who
despite his admirable qualities and brilliant services, was still unable
to place himself on the same platform of toleration with Orange, now
undertook a decided movement against the policy of the Prince. Catholic
to the core, he drew up a petition, remonstrating most vigorously against
the draft for a religions peace, then in circulation through the
provinces. To this petition he procured many signatures among the more
ardent Catholic nobles. De Heze, De Glimes, and others of the same stamp,
were willing enough to follow the lead of so distinguished a chieftain.
The remonstrance was addressed to the Archduke, the Prince of Orange, the
State Council, and the States-general, and called upon them all to abide
by their solemn promises to permit no schism in the ancient Church.
Should the exercise of the new religion be allowed, the petitioners
insisted that the godless licentiousness of the Netherlands would excite
the contempt of all peoples and potentates. They suggested, in
conclusion, that all the principal cities of France--and in particular
the city of Paris--had kept themselves clear of the exercise of the new
religion, and that repose and prosperity had been the result.

This petition was carried with considerable solemnity by Champagny,
attended by many of his confederates, to the Hotel-de Ville, and
presented to the magistracy of Brussels. These functionaries were
requested to deliver it forthwith to the Archduke and Council. The
magistrates demurred. A discussion ensued, which grew warmer and warmer
as it proceeded. The younger nobles permitted themselves abusive
language, which the civic dignitaries would not brook. The session was
dissolved, and the magistrates, still followed by the petitioners, came
forth into the street. The confederates, more inflamed than ever,
continued to vociferate and to threaten. A crowd soon collected in the
square. The citizens were naturally curious to know why their senators
were thus browbeaten and insulted by a party of insolent young Catholic
nobles. The old politician at their head, who, in spite of many services,
was not considered a friend to the nation, inspired them with distrust.
Being informed of the presentation of the petition, the multitude loudly
demanded that the document should be read. This was immediately done. The
general drift of the remonstrance was anything but acceptable, but the
allusion to Paris, at the close, excited a tempest of indignation.
"Paris! Paris! Saint Bartholomew! Saint Bartholomew! Are we to have Paris
weddings in Brussels also?" howled the mob, as is often the case,
extracting but a single idea, and that a wrong one; from the public
lecture which had just been made. "Are we to have a Paris massacre, a
Paris blood-bath here in the Netherland capital? God forbid! God forbid!
Away with the conspirators! Down with the Papists!"

It was easily represented to the inflamed imaginations of the populace
that a Brussels Saint Bartholomew had been organized, and that Champagny,
who stood there before them, was its originator and manager. The
ungrateful Netherlanders forgot the heroism with which the old soldier
had arranged the defence of Antwerp against the "Spanish Fury" but two
years before. They heard only the instigations of his enemies; they
remembered only that he was the hated Granvelle's brother; they believed
only that there was a plot by which, in some utterly incomprehensible
manner, they were all to be immediately engaged in cutting each others
throats and throwing each other out of the windows, as had been done half
a dozen years before in Paris. Such was the mischievous intention
ascribed to a petition, which Champagny and his friends had as much right
to offer--however narrow and mistaken their, opinions might now be
considered--as had the, synod of Dort to present their remonstrances.
Never was a more malignant or more stupid perversion of a simple and not
very alarming phrase. No allusion had been made to Saint Bartholomew, but
all its horrors were supposed to be concealed in the sentence which
referred to Paris. The nobles were arrested on the spot and hurried to
prison, with the exception of Champagny, who made his escape at first,
and lay concealed for several days. He was, however, finally ferreted out
of his hiding-place and carried off to Ghent. There he was thrown into
strict confinement, being treated in all respects as the accomplice of
Aerschot and the other nobles who had been arrested in the time of
Ryhove's revolution. Certainly, this conduct towards a brave and generous
gentleman was ill calculated to increase general sympathy for the cause,
or to merit the approbation of Orange. There was, however, a strong
prejudice against Champagny. His brother Granvelle had never been
forgotten by the Netherlanders, and, was still regarded as their most
untiring foe, while Champagny was supposed to be in close league with the
Cardinal. In these views the people were entirely wrong.

While these events were taking place in Brussels and Antwerp, the two
armies of the states and of Don John were indolently watching each other.
The sinews of war had been cut upon both sides. Both parties were cramped
by the most abject poverty. The troops under Bossu and Casimir, in the
camp sear Mechlin, were already discontented, for want of pay. The one
hundred thousand pounds of Elizabeth had already been spent, and it was
not probable that the offended Queen would soon furnish another subsidy.
The states could with difficulty extort anything like the assessed quotas
from the different provinces. The Duke of Alencon was still at Mons, from
which place he had issued a violent proclamation of war against Don
John--a manifesto which had, however, not been followed up by very
vigorous demonstrations. Don John himself was in his fortified camp at
Bouge, within a league of Namur, but the here was consuming with mental
and with bodily fever. He was, as it were, besieged. He was left entirely
without funds, while his royal brother obstinately refused compliance
with his earnest demands to be recalled, and coldly neglected his
importunities for pecuniary assistance.

Compelled to carry on a war against an armed rebellion with such gold
only as could be extracted from loyal swords; stung to the heart by the
suspicion of which he felt himself the object at home, and by the hatred
with which he was regarded in the provinces; outraged in his inmost
feelings by the murder of Escovedo; foiled, outwitted, reduced to a
political nullity by the masterly tactics of the "odious heretic of
heretics" to whom he had originally offered his patronage and the royal
forgiveness, the high-spirited soldier was an object to excite the
tenderness even of religious and political opponents. Wearied with the
turmoil of camps without battle and of cabinets without counsel, he
sighed for repose, even if it could be found only in a cloister or the
grave. "I rejoice to see by your letter," he wrote, pathetically, to John
Andrew Doria, at Genoa, "that your life is flowing on with such calmness,
while the world around me is so tumultuously agitated. I consider you
most fortunate that you are passing the remainder of your days for God
and yourself; that you are not forced to put yourself perpetually in the
scales of the world's events, nor to venture yourself daily on its
hazardous games." He proceeded to inform his friend of his own painful
situation, surrounded by innumerable enemies, without means of holding
out more than three months, and cut off from all assistance by a
government which could not see that if the present chance were lost all
was lost. He declared it impossible for him to fight in the position to
which he was reduced, pressed as he was within half a mile of the point
which he had always considered as his last refuge. He stated also that
the French were strengthening themselves in Hainault, under Alencon, and
that the King of France was in readiness to break in through Burgundy,
should his brother obtain a firm foothold in the provinces. "I have
besought his Majesty over and over again," he continued, "to send to me
his orders; if they come they shall be executed, unless they arrive too
late. They have cut of our hands and we have now nothing for it but to
stretch forth our heads also to the axe. I grieve to trouble you with my
sorrows, but I trust to your sympathy as a man and a friend. I hope that
you will remember me in your prayers, for you can put your trust where,
in former days, I never could place my own."

The dying crusader wrote another letter, in the same mournful strain, to
another intimate friend, Don Pedro Mendoza, Spanish envoy in Genoa. It
was dated upon the same day from his camp near Namur, and repeated the
statement that the King of France was ready to invade the Netherlands, so
soon as Alencon should prepare an opening. "His Majesty," continued Don
John, "is resolved upon nothing; at least, I am kept in ignorance of his
intentions. Our life is doled out to us here by moments. I cry aloud, but
it profits me little. Matters will soon be disposed, through our
negligence, exactly as the Devil would best wish them. It is plain that
we are left here to pine away till our last breath. God direct us all as
He may see fit; in His hands are all things."

Four days later he wrote to the King, stating that he was confined to his
chamber with a fever, by which he was already as much reduced as if he
had been ill for a month. "I assure your Majesty," said he "that the work
here is enough to destroy any constitution and any life." He reminded
Philip how often he had been warned by him as to the insidious practices
of the French. Those prophecies had now become facts. The French had
entered the country, while some of the inhabitants were frightened,
others disaffected. Don John declared himself in a dilemma. With his
small force, hardly enough to make head against the enemy immediately in
front, and to protect the places which required guarding, 'twas
impossible for him to leave his position to attack the enemy in Burgundy.
If he remained stationary, the communications were cut off through which
his money and supplies reached him. "Thus I remain," said he, "perplexed
and confused, desiring, more than life, some decision on your Majesty's
part, for which I have implored so many times." He urged the King most
vehemently to send him instructions as to the course to be pursued,
adding that it wounded him to the soul to find them so long delayed. He
begged to be informed whether he was to attack the enemy in Burgundy,
whether he should await where he then was the succor of his Majesty, or
whether he was to fight, and if so with which of his enemies: in fine,
what he was to do; because, losing or winning, he meant to conform to his
Majesty's will. He felt deeply pained, he said, at being disgraced and
abandoned by the King, having served him, both as a brother, and a man,
with love and faith and heartiness. "Our lives," said he, "are at stake
upon this game, and all we wish is to lose them honorably." He begged the
King to send a special envoy to France, with remonstrances on the subject
of Alencon, and another to the Pope to ask for the Duke's
excommunication. He protested that he would give his blood rather than
occasion so much annoyance to the King, but that he felt it his duty to
tell the naked truth. The pest was ravaging his little army. Twelve
hundred were now in hospital, besides those nursed in private houses, and
he had no means or money to remedy the evil. Moreover, the enemy, seeing
that they were not opposed in the open field, had cut off the passage
into Liege by the Meuse, and had advanced to Nivelles and Chimay for the
sake of communications with France, by the same river.

Ten days after these pathetic passages had been written, the writer was
dead. Since the assassination of Escovedo, a consuming melancholy had
settled upon his spirits, and a burning fever came, in the month of
September, to destroy his physical strength. The house where he lay was a
hovel, the only chamber of which had been long used as a pigeon-house.
This wretched garret was cleansed, as well as it could be of its filth,
and hung with tapestry emblazoned with armorial bearings. In that dovecot
the hero of Lepanto was destined to expire. During the last few, days of
his illness, he was delirious. Tossing upon his uneasy couch, he again
arranged in imagination, the combinations of great battles, again shouted
his orders to rushing squadrons, and listened with brightening eye to the
trumpet of victory. Reason returned, however, before the hour of death,
and permitted him, the opportunity to make the dispositions rendered
necessary by his condition. He appointed his nephew, Alexander of Parma,
who had been watching assiduously over his deathbed, to succeed him,
provisionally, in the command of the army and in his other dignities,
received the last sacraments with composure, and tranquilly breathed his
last upon the first day of October, the month which, since the battle of
Lepanto, he had always considered a festive and a fortunate one.

It was inevitable that suspicion of poison should be at once excited by
his decease. Those suspicions have been never set at rest, and never
proved. Two Englishmen, Ratcliff and Gray by name, had been arrested and
executed on a charge of having been employed by Secretary Walsingham to
assassinate the Governor. The charge was doubtless an infamous falsehood;
but had Philip, who was suspected of being the real criminal, really
compassed the death of his brother, it was none the less probable that an
innocent victim or two would be executed, to save appearances. Now that
time has unveiled to us many mysteries, now that we have learned from
Philip's own lips and those of his accomplices the exact manner in which
Montigny and Escovedo were put to death, the world will hardly be very
charitable with regard to other imputations. It was vehemently suspected
that Don John had been murdered by the command of Philip; but no such
fact was ever proved.

The body, when opened that it might be embalmed, was supposed to offer
evidence of poison. The heart was dry, the other internal organs were
likewise so desiccated as to crumble when touched, and the general color
of the interior was of a blackish brown, as if it had been singed.
Various persona were mentioned as the probable criminals; various motives
assigned for the commission of the deed. Nevertheless, it must be
admitted that there were causes, which were undisputed, for his death,
sufficient to render a search for the more mysterious ones comparatively
superfluous. A disorder called the pest was raging in his camp, and had
carried off a thousand of his soldiers within a few days, while his
mental sufferings had been acute enough to turn his heart to ashes.
Disappointed, tormented by friend and foe, suspected, insulted, broken
spirited, it was not strange that he should prove an easy victim to a
pestilent disorder before which many stronger men were daily falling.

On the third day after his decease, the funeral rites were celebrated. A
dispute between the Spaniards, Germans, and Netherlanders in the army
arose, each claiming precedence in the ceremony, on account of superior
national propinquity to the illustrious deceased. All were, in truth,
equally near to him, for different reasons, and it was arranged that all
should share equally in the obsequies. The corpse disembowelled and
embalmed, was laid upon a couch of state. The hero was clad in complete
armor; his swords helmet, and steel gauntlets lying at his feet, a
coronet, blazing with precious stones, upon his head, the jewelled chain
and insignia of the Golden Fleece about his neck, and perfumed gloves
upon his hands. Thus royally and martially arrayed, he was placed upon
his bier and borne forth from the house where he had died, by the
gentlemen of his bedchamber. From them he was received by the colonels of
the regiments stationed next his own quarters. These chiefs, followed by
their troops with inverted arms and mined drums, escorted the body to the
next station, where it was received by the commanding officers of other
national regiments, to be again transmitted to those of the third. Thus
by soldiers of the three nations, it was successively conducted to the
gates of Namur, where it was received by the civic authorities. The
pall-bearers, old Peter Ernest Mansfeld, Ottavio Gonzaga, the Marquis de
Villa Franca, and the Count de Reux, then bore it to the church, where it
was deposited until the royal orders should be received from Spain. The
heart of the hero was permanently buried beneath the pavement of the
little church, and a monumental inscription, prepared by Alexander
Farnese, still indicates the spot where that lion heart returned to dust.

It had been Don John's dying request to Philip that his remains might be
buried in the Escorial by the side of his imperial father, and the prayer
being granted, the royal order in due time arrived for the transportation
of the corpse to Spain. Permission had been asked and given for the
passage of a small number of Spanish troops through France. The thrifty
king had, however, made no allusion to the fact that those soldiers were
to bear with them the mortal remains of Lepanto's hero, for he was
disposed to save the expense which a public transportation of the body
and the exchange of pompous courtesies with the authorities of every town
upon the long journey would occasion. The corpse was accordingly divided
into three parts, and packed in three separate bags; and thus the
different portions, to save weight, being suspended at the saddle-bows of
different troopers, the body of the conqueror was conveyed to its distant
resting-place.

     "Expende Hannibalem: quot libras in duce summo
     Invenies?". . . . . . . . . .

Thus irreverently, almost blasphemously, the disjointed relics of the
great warrior were hurried through France; France, which the romantic
Saracen slave had traversed but two short years before, filled with high
hopes, and pursuing extravagant visions. It has been recorded by classic
historians, that the different fragments, after their arrival in Spain,
were re-united, and fastened together with wire; that the body was then
stuffed, attired in magnificent habiliments, placed upon its feet, and
supported by a martial staff, and that thus prepared for a royal
interview, the mortal remains of Don John were presented to his Most
Catholic Majesty. Philip is said to have manifested emotion at sight of
the hideous spectre--for hideous and spectral, despite of jewels,
balsams, and brocades, must have been that unburied corpse, aping life in
attitude and vestment, but standing there only to assert its privilege of
descending into the tomb. The claim was granted, and Don John of Austria
at last found repose by the side of his imperial father.

A sufficient estimate of his character has been apparent in the course of
the narrative. Dying before he had quite completed his thirty-third year,
he excites pity and admiration almost as much as censure. His military
career was a blaze of glory. Commanding in the Moorish wars at
twenty-three, and in the Turkish campaigns at twenty-six, he had achieved
a matchless renown before he had emerged from early youth; but his sun
was destined to go down at noon. He found neither splendor nor power in
the Netherlands, where he was deserted by his king and crushed by the
superior genius of the Prince of Orange. Although he vindicated his
martial skill at Gemblours, the victory was fruitless. It was but the
solitary sprig of the tiger from his jungle, and after that striking
conflict his life was ended in darkness and obscurity. Possessing
military genius of a high order, with extraordinary personal bravery, he
was the last of the paladins and the crusaders. His accomplishments were
also considerable, and he spoke Italian, German, French, and Spanish with
fluency. His beauty was remarkable; his personal fascinations
acknowledged by either sex; but as a commander of men, excepting upon the
battle-field, he possessed little genius. His ambition was the ambition
of a knight-errant, an adventurer, a Norman pirate; it was a personal and
tawdry ambition. Vague and contradictory dreams of crowns, of royal
marriages, of extemporized dynasties, floated ever before him; but he was
himself always the hero of his own romance. He sought a throne in Africa
or in Britain; he dreamed of espousing Mary of Scotland at the expense of
Elizabeth, and was even thought to aspire secretly to the hand of the
great English Queen herself. Thus, crusader and bigot as he was, he was
willing to be reconciled with heresy, if heresy could furnish him with a
throne.

It is superfluous to state that he was no match, by mental endowments,
for William of Orange; but even had he been so, the moral standard by
which each measured himself placed the Conqueror far below the Father of
a people. It must be admitted that Don John is entitled to but small
credit for his political achievements in the Netherlands. He was
incapable of perceiving that the great contest between the Reformation
and the Inquisition could never be amicably arranged in those provinces,
and that the character of William of Orange was neither to be softened by
royal smiles, nor perverted by appeals to sordid interests. It would have
been perhaps impossible for him, with his education and temperament, to
have embraced what seems to us the right cause, but it ought, at least,
to have been in his power to read the character of his antagonist, and to
estimate his own position with something like accuracy. He may be
forgiven that he did not succeed in reconciling hostile parties, when his
only plan to accomplish such a purpose was the extermination of the most
considerable faction; but although it was not to be expected that he
would look on the provinces with the eyes of William the Silent, he might
have comprehended that the Netherland chieftain was neither to be
purchased nor cajoled. The only system by which the two religions could
live together in peace had been discovered by the Prince; but toleration,
in the eyes of Catholics, and of many Protestants, was still thought the
deadliest heresy of all.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 31

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



PART VI.

ALEXANDER OF PARMA
1578-1584.



CHAPTER I.

   Birth, education, marriage, and youthful character of Alexander
   Farnese--His private adventures--Exploits at Lepanto and at
   Gemblours--He succeeds to the government--Personal appearance and
   characteristics--Aspect of affairs--Internal dissensions--Anjou at
   Mons--John Casimir's intrigues at Ghent--Anjou disbands his
   soldiers--The Netherlands ravaged by various foreign troops--Anarchy
   and confusion in Ghent--Imbize and Ryhove--Fate of Hessels and
   Visch--New Pacification drawn up by Orange--Representations of Queen
   Elizabeth--Remonstrance of Brussels Riots and image-breaking in
   Ghent--Displeasure of Orange--His presence implored at Ghent, where
   he establishes a Religious Peace--Painful situation of John Casimir
   --Sharp rebukes of Elizabeth--He takes his departure--His troops
   apply to Farnese, who allows them to leave the country--Anjou's
   departure and manifesto--Elizabeth's letters to the states-general
   with regard to him--Complimentary addresses by the Estates to the
   Duke--Death of Bossu--Calumnies against Orange--Venality of the
   malcontent grandees--La Motte's treason--Intrigues of the Prior of
   Renty--Saint Aldegonde at Arras--The Prior of St. Vaast's exertions
   --Opposition of the clergy in the Walloon provinces to the taxation
   of the general government--Triangular contest--Municipal revolution
   in Arras led by Gosson and others--Counter-revolution--Rapid trials
   and executions--"Reconciliation" of the malcontent chieftains--
   Secret treaty of Mount St. Eloi: Mischief made by the Prior of
   Renty--His accusations against the reconciled lords--Vengeance taken
   upon him--Counter movement by the liberal party--Union of Utrecht--
   The Act analyzed and characterized.

A fifth governor now stood in the place which had been successively
vacated by Margaret of Parma, by Alva, by the Grand Commander, and by Don
John of Austria. Of all the eminent personages to whom Philip had
confided the reins of that most difficult and dangerous administration,
the man who was now to rule was by far the ablest and the best fitted for
his post. If there were living charioteer skilful enough to guide the
wheels of state, whirling now more dizzily than ever through "confusum
chaos," Alexander Farnese was the charioteer to guide--his hand the only
one which could control.

He was now in his thirty-third year--his uncle Don John, his cousin Don
Carlos, and himself, having all been born within a few months of each
other. His father was Ottavio Farnese, the faithful lieutenant of Charles
the Fifth, and grandson of Pope Paul the Third; his mother was Margaret
of Parma, first Regent of the Netherlands after the departure of Philip
from the provinces. He was one of the twins by which the reunion of
Margaret and her youthful husband had been blessed, and the only one that
survived. His great-grandfather, Paul, whose secular name of Alexander he
had received, had placed his hand upon the new-born infant's head, and
prophesied that he would grow up to become a mighty warrior. The boy,
from his earliest years, seemed destined to verify the prediction. Though
apt enough at his studies, he turned with impatience from his literary
tutors to military exercises and the hardiest sports. The din of arms
surrounded his cradle. The trophies of Ottavio, returning victorious from
beyond the Alps, had dazzled the eyes of his infancy, and when but six
years of age he had witnessed the siege of his native Parma, and its
vigorous defence by his martial father. When Philip was in the
Netherlands--in the years immediately succeeding the abdication of the
Emperor--he had received the boy from his parents as a hostage for their
friendship. Although but eleven years of age, Alexander had begged
earnestly to be allowed to serve as a volunteer on the memorable day of
Saint Quentin, and had wept bitterly when the amazed monarch refused his
request.--His education had been, completed at Alcala, and at Madrid,
under the immediate supervision of his royal uncle, and in the
companionship of the Infante Carlos and the brilliant Don John. The
imperial bastard was alone able to surpass, or even to equal the Italian
prince in all martial and manly pursuits. Both were equally devoted to
the chase and to the tournay; both longed impatiently for the period when
the irksome routine of monkish pedantry, and the fictitious combats which
formed their main recreation, should be exchanged for the substantial
delights of war. At the age of twenty he had been affianced to Maria of
Portugal; daughter of Prince Edward, granddaughter of King Emanuel, and
his nuptials with that peerless princess were; as we have seen,
celebrated soon afterwards with much pomp in Brussels. Sons and daughters
were born to him in due time, during his subsequent residence in Parma.
Here, however, the fiery and impatient spirit of the future illustrious
commander was doomed for a time to fret under restraint, and to corrode
in distasteful repose. His father, still in the vigor of his years,
governing the family duchies of Parma and Piacenza, Alexander had no
occupation in the brief period of peace which then existed. The martial
spirit, pining for a wide and lofty sphere of action, in which alone its
energies could be fitly exercised, now sought delight in the pursuits of
the duellist and gladiator. Nightly did the hereditary prince of the land
perambulate the streets of his capital, disguised, well armed, alone, or
with a single confidential attendant. Every chance passenger of martial
aspect whom he encountered in the midnight streets was forced to stand
and measure swords with an unknown, almost unseen but most redoubtable
foe, and many were the single combats which he thus enjoyed, so long as
his incognito was preserved. Especially, it was his wont to seek and defy
every gentleman whose skill or bravery had ever been commended in his
hearing: At last, upon one occasion it was his fortune to encounter a
certain Count Torelli, whose reputation as a swordsman and duellist was
well established in Parma. The blades were joined, and the fierce combat
had already been engaged in the darkness, when the torch of an accidental
passenger gashed full in the face of Alexander. Torelli, recognising thus
suddenly his antagonist, dropped his sword and implored forgiveness, for
the wily Italian was too keen not to perceive that even if the death of
neither combatant should be the result of the fray, his own position was,
in every event, a false one. Victory would ensure him the hatred, defeat
the contempt of his future sovereign. The unsatisfactory issue and
subsequent notoriety of this encounter put a termination to these
midnight joys of Alexander, and for a season he felt obliged to assume
more pacific habits, and to solace himself with the society of that
"phoenix of Portugal," who had so long sat brooding on his domestic
hearth.

At last the holy league was formed, the new and last crusade proclaimed,
his uncle and bosom friend appointed to the command of the united troops
of Rome, Spain, and Venice. He could no longer be restrained. Disdaining
the pleadings of his mother and of his spouse, he extorted permission
from Philip, and flew to the seat of war in the Levant. Don John received
him with open arms, just before the famous action of Lepanto, and gave
him an, excellent position in the very front of the battle, with the
command of several Genoese galleys. Alexander's exploits on that eventful
day seemed those of a fabulous hero of romance. He laid his galley
alongside of the treasure-ship of the Turkish fleet, a vessel, on account
of its importance, doubly manned and armed. Impatient that the Crescent
was not lowered, after a few broadsides, he sprang on board the enemy
alone, waving an immense two-handed sword--his usual weapon--and mowing a
passage right and left through the hostile ranks for the warriors who
tardily followed the footsteps of their vehement chief. Mustapha Bey, the
treasurer and commander of the ship, fell before his sword, besides many
others, whom he hardly saw or counted. The galley was soon his own, as
well as another, which came to the rescue of the treasure-ship only to
share its defeat. The booty which Alexander's crew secured was
prodigious, individual soldiers obtaining two and three thousand ducats
each. Don John received his nephew after the battle with commendations,
not, however, unmingled with censure. The successful result alone had
justified such insane and desperate conduct, for had he been slain or
overcome, said the commander-in-chief, there would have been few to
applaud his temerity. Alexander gaily replied by assuring his uncle that
he had felt sustained by a more than mortal confidence, the prayers which
his saintly wife was incessantly offering in his behalf since he went to
the wars being a sufficient support and shield in even greater danger
than he had yet confronted.

This was Alexander's first campaign, nor was he permitted to reap any
more glory for a few succeeding years. At last, Philip was disposed to
send both his mother and himself to the Netherlands; removing Don John
from the rack where he had been enduring such slow torture. Granvelle's
intercession proved fruitless with the Duchess, but Alexander was all
eagerness to go where blows were passing current, and he gladly led the
reinforcements which were sent to Don John at the close of the year 1577.
He had reached Luxemburg, on the 18th of December of that year, in time,
as we have seen, to participate, and, in fact, to take the lead in the
signal victory of Gemblours. He had been struck with the fatal change
which disappointment and anxiety had wrought upon the beautiful and
haughty features of his illustrious kinsman. He had since closed his eyes
in the camp, and erected a marble tablet over his heart in the little
church. He now governed in his stead.

His personal appearance corresponded with his character. He had the head
of a gladiator, round; compact, combative, with something alert and
snake-like in its movements. The black, closely-shorn hair was erect and
bristling. The forehead was lofty and narrow. The features were,
handsome, the nose regularly aquiline, the eyes well opened, dark
piercing, but with something dangerous and sinister in their expression.
There was an habitual look askance; as of a man seeking to parry or
inflict a mortal blow--the look of a swordsman and professional fighter.
The lower part of the face was swallowed in a bushy beard; the mouth and
chin being quite invisible. He was of middle stature, well formed, and
graceful in person, princely in demeanor, sumptuous and stately in
apparel. His high ruff of point lace, his badge of the Golden Fleece, his
gold-inlaid Milan armor, marked him at once as one of high degree. On the
field of battle he possessed the rare gift of inspiring his soldiers with
his own impetuous and chivalrous courage. He ever led the way upon the
most dangerous and desperate ventures, and, like his uncle and his
imperial grandfather, well knew how to reward the devotion of his
readiest followers with a poniard, a feather, a riband, a jewel, taken
with his own hands from his own attire.

His military, abilities--now for the first time to be largely called into
employment--were unquestionably superior to those of Don John; whose name
had been surrounded with such splendor by the World-renowned battle of
Lepanto. Moreover, he possessed far greater power for governing men,
whether in camp or cabinet. Less attractive and fascinating, he was more
commanding than his kinsman. Decorous and self-poised, he was only
passionate before the enemy, but he rarely permitted a disrespectful look
or word to escape condign and deliberate chastisement. He was no schemer
or dreamer. He was no knight errant. He would not have crossed seas and
mountains to rescue a captive queen, nor have sought to place her crown
on his own head as a reward for his heroism. He had a single and
concentrated kind of character. He knew precisely the work which Philip
required, and felt himself to be precisely the workman that had so long
been wanted. Cool, incisive, fearless, artful, he united the unscrupulous
audacity of a condottiere with the wily patience of a Jesuit. He could
coil unperceived through unsuspected paths, could strike suddenly, sting
mortally. He came prepared, not only to smite the Netherlanders in the
open field, but to cope with them in tortuous policy; to outwatch and
outweary them in the game to which his impatient predecessor had fallen a
baked victim. He possessed the art and the patience--as time was to
prove--not only to undermine their most impregnable cities, but to delve
below the intrigues of their most accomplished politicians. To circumvent
at once both their negotiators and their men-at-arms was his appointed
task. Had it not been for the courage, the vigilance, and the superior
intellect of a single antagonist, the whole of the Netherlands would have
shared the fate which was reserved for the more southern portion. Had the
life of William of Orange been prolonged, perhaps the evil genius of the
Netherlands might have still been exorcised throughout the whole extent
of the country. As for religion, Alexander Farnese was, of course,
strictly Catholic, regarding all seceders from Romanism as mere heathen
dogs. Not that he practically troubled himself much with sacred
matters--for, during the life-time of his wife, he had cavalierly thrown
the whole burden of his personal salvation upon her saintly shoulders.
She had now flown to higher spheres, but Alexander was, perhaps, willing
to rely upon her continued intercessions in his behalf. The life of a
bravo in time of peace--the deliberate project in war to exterminate
whole cities full of innocent people, who had different notions on the
subject of image-worship and ecclesiastical ceremonies from those
entertained at Rome, did not seem to him at all incompatible with the
precepts of Jesus. Hanging, drowning, burning and butchering heretics
were the legitimate deductions of his theology. He was no casuist nor
pretender to holiness: but in those days every man was devout, and
Alexander looked with honest horror upon the impiety of the heretics,
whom he persecuted and massacred. He attended mass regularly--in the
winter mornings by torch-light--and would as soon have foregone his daily
tennis as his religious exercises. Romanism was the creed of his caste.
It was the religion of princes and gentlemen of high degree. As for
Lutheranism, Zwinglism, Calvinism, and similar systems, they were but the
fantastic rites of weavers, brewers, and the like--an ignoble herd whose
presumption in entitling themselves Christian, while rejecting the Pope;
called for their instant extermination. His personal habits were
extremely temperate. He was accustomed to say that he ate only to support
life; and he rarely finished a dinner without having risen three or four
times from table to attend to some public business which, in his opinion,
ought not to be deferred.

His previous connections in the Netherlands were of use to him, and he
knew how to turn them to immediate account. The great nobles, who had
been uniformly actuated by jealousy of the Prince of Orange, who had been
baffled in their intrigue with Matthias, whose half-blown designs upon
Anjou had already been nipped in the bud, were now peculiarly in a
position to listen to the wily tongue of Alexander Farnese. The
Montignys, the La Mottes, the Meluns, the Egmonts, the Aerschots, the
Havres, foiled and doubly foiled in all their small intrigues and their
base ambition, were ready to sacrifice their country to the man they
hated, and to the ancient religion which they thought that they loved.
The Malcontents ravaging the land of Hainault and threatening Ghent, the
"Paternoster Jacks" who were only waiting for a favorable opportunity and
a good bargain to make their peace with Spain, were the very instruments
which Parma most desired to use at this opening stage of his career. The
position of affairs was far more favorable for him than it had been for
Don John when he first succeeded to power. On the whole, there seemed a
bright prospect of success. It seemed quite possible that it would be in
Parma's power to reduce, at last, this chronic rebellion, and to
reestablish the absolute supremacy of Church and King. The pledges of the
Ghent treaty had been broken, while in the unions of Brussels which had
succeeded, the fatal religious cause had turned the instrument of peace
into a sword. The "religion-peace" which had been proclaimed at Antwerp
had hardly found favor anywhere. As the provinces, for an instant, had
seemingly got the better of their foe, they turned madly upon each other,
and the fires of religious discord, which had been extinguished by the
common exertions of a whole race trembling for the destruction of their
fatherland, were now re-lighted with a thousand brands plucked from the
sacred domestic hearth. Fathers and children, brothers and sisters,
husbands and wives, were beginning to wrangle, and were prepared to
persecute. Catholic and Protestant, during the momentary relief from
pressure, forgot their voluntary and most blessed Pacification, to renew
their internecine feuds. The banished Reformers, who had swarmed back in
droves at the tidings of peace and good-will to all men, found themselves
bitterly disappointed. They were exposed in the Walloon provinces to the
persecutions of the Malcontents, in the Frisian regions to the still
powerful coercion of the royal stadholders.

Persecution begat counter-persecution. The city of Ghent became the
centre of a system of insurrection, by which all the laws of God and man
were outraged under the pretence of establishing a larger liberty in
civil and religious matters. It was at Ghent that the opening scenes, in
Parma's administration took place. Of the high-born suitors for the
Netherland bride, two were still watching each other with jealous eyes.
Anjou was at Mons, which city he had secretly but unsuccessfully
attempted to master for, his, own purposes. John Casimir was at Ghent,
fomenting an insurrection which he had neither skill to guide, nor
intelligence to comprehend. There was a talk of making him Count of
Flanders,--and his paltry ambition was dazzled by the glittering prize.
Anjou, who meant to be Count of Flanders himself, as well as Duke or
Count of all the other Netherlands, was highly indignant at this report,
which he chose to consider true. He wrote to the estates to express his
indignation. He wrote to Ghent to offer his mediation between the
burghers and the Malcontents. Casimir wanted money for his troops. He
obtained a liberal supply, but he wanted more. Meantime, the mercenaries
were expatiating on their own account throughout the southern provinces;
eating up every green leaf, robbing and pillaging, where robbery and
pillage had gone so often that hardly anything was left for rapine. Thus
dealt the soldiers in the open country, while their master at Ghent was
plunging into the complicated intrigues spread over that unfortunate city
by the most mischievous demagogues that ever polluted a sacred cause.
Well had Cardinal Granvelle, his enemy, William of Hesse, his friend and
kinsman, understood the character of John Casimir. Robbery and pillage
were his achievements, to make chaos more confounded was his destiny.
Anjou--disgusted with the temporary favor accorded to a rival whom he
affected to despise--disbanded his troops in dudgeon, and prepared to
retire to France. Several thousand of these mercenaries took service
immediately with the Malcontents under Montigny, thus swelling the ranks
of the deadliest foes to that land over which Anjou had assumed the title
of protector. The states' army, meanwhile, had been rapidly dissolving.
There were hardly men enough left to make a demonstration in the field,
or properly to garrison the more important towns. The unhappy provinces,
torn by civil and religious dissensions, were overrun by hordes of unpaid
soldiers of all nations, creeds, and tongues-Spaniards, Italians,
Burgundians, Walloons, Germans, Scotch and English; some who came to
attack and others to protect, but who all achieved nothing and agreed in
nothing save to maltreat and to outrage the defenceless peasantry and
denizens of the smaller towns. The contemporary chronicles are full of
harrowing domestic tragedies, in which the actors are always the insolent
foreign soldiery and their desperate victims.

Ghent energetic, opulent, powerful, passionate, unruly Ghent--was now the
focus of discord, the centre from whence radiated not the light and
warmth of reasonable and intelligent liberty, but the bale-fires of
murderous licence and savage anarchy. The second city of the Netherlands,
one of the wealthiest and most powerful cities of Christendom, it had
been its fate so often to overstep the bounds of reason and moderation in
its devotion to freedom, so often to incur ignominious chastisement from
power which its own excesses had made more powerful, that its name was
already becoming a bye-word. It now, most fatally and for ever, was to
misunderstand its true position. The Prince of Orange, the great
architect of his country's fortunes, would have made it the keystone of
the arch which he was laboring to construct. Had he been allowed to
perfect his plan, the structure might have endured for ages, a perpetual
bulwark against, tyranny and wrong. The temporary and slender frame by
which the great artist had supported his arch while still unfinished, was
plucked away by rude and ribald hands; the keystone plunged into the
abyss, to be lost for ever, and the great work of Orange remained a
fragment from its commencement. The acts of demagogues, the conservative
disgust at licence, the jealousy of rival nobles, the venality of
military leaders, threw daily fresh stumbling-blocks in his heroic path.
It was not six months after the advent of Farnese to power, before that
bold and subtle chieftain had seized the double-edged sword of religious
dissension as firmly as he had grasped his celebrated brand when he
boarded the galley of Muatapha Bey, and the Netherlands were cut in
twain, to be re-united nevermore. The separate treaty of the Walloon
provinces was soon destined to separate the Celtic and Romanesque
elements from the Batavian and Frisian portion of a nationality, which;
thoroughly fused in all its parts, would have formed as admirable a
compound of fire and endurance as history has ever seen.

Meantime, the grass was growing and the cattle were grazing in the
streets of Ghent, where once the tramp of workmen going to and from their
labor was like the movement of a mighty army. The great majority of the
burghers were of the Reformed religion, and disposed to make effectual
resistance to the Malcontents, led by the disaffected nobles. The city,
considering itself the natural head of all the southern country, was
indignant that the Walloon provinces should dare to reassert that
supremacy of Romanism which had been so effectually suppressed, and to
admit the possibility of friendly relations with a sovereign who had been
virtually disowned. There were two parties, however, in Ghent. Both were
led by men of abandoned and dangerous character. Imbize, the worse of the
two demagogues, was inconstant, cruel, cowardly, and treacherous, but
possessed of eloquence and a talent for intrigue. Ryhove was a bolder
ruffian--wrathful, bitter, and unscrupulous. Imbize was at the time
opposed to Orange, disliking his moderation, and trembling at his
firmness. Ryhove considered himself the friend of the Prince. We have
seen that he had consulted him previously to his memorable attack upon
Aerschot, in the autumn of the preceding year, and we know the result of
that conference.

The Prince, with the slight dissimulation which belonged less to his
character than to his theory of politics, and which was perhaps not to be
avoided, in that age of intrigue, by any man who would govern his
fellow-men, whether for good or evil, had winked at a project which he
would not openly approve. He was not thoroughly acquainted, however, with
the desperate character of the man, for he would have scorned an
instrument so thoroughly base as Ryhove subsequently proved. The violence
of that personage on the occasion of the arrest of Aerschot and his
colleagues was mildness compared with the deed with which he now
disgraced the cause of freedom. He had been ordered out from Ghent to
oppose a force of Malcontents which was gathering in the neighbourhood of
Courtray; but he swore that he would not leave the gates so long as two
of the gentlemen whom he had arrested on the twenty-eighth of the
previous October, and who yet remained in captivity, were still alive.
These two prisoners were ex-procurator Visch and Blood-Councillor
Hessels. Hessels, it seemed, had avowed undying hostility to Ryhove for
the injury sustained at his hands, and he had sworn, "by his grey beard,"
that the ruffian should yet hang for the outrage. Ryhove, not feeling
very safe in the position of affairs which then existed, and knowing that
he could neither trust Imbize, who had formerly been his friend, nor the
imprisoned nobles, who had ever been his implacable enemies, was resolved
to make himself safe in one quarter at least, before he set forth against
the Malcontents. Accordingly, Hessels and Visch, as they sat together in
their prison, at chess, upon the 4th of October, 1578, were suddenly
summoned to leave the house, and to enter a carriage which stood at the
door. A force of armed men brought the order, and were sufficiently
strong to enforce it. The prisoners obeyed, and the coach soon rolled
slowly through the streets, left the Courtray gate, and proceeded a short
distance along the road towards that city.

After a few minutes a halt was made. Ryhove then made his appearance at
the carriage-window, and announced to the astonished prisoners that, they
were forthwith to be hanged upon a tree which stood by the road-side. He
proceeded to taunt the aged Hessels with his threat against himself, and
with his vow "by his grey beard." "Such grey beard shalt thou never live
thyself to wear, ruffian," cried Hessels, stoutly-furious rather than
terrified at the suddenness of his doom. "There thou liest, false
traitor!" roared Ryhove in reply; and to prove the falsehood, he
straightway tore out a handful of the old man's beard, and fastened it
upon his own cap like a plume. His action was imitated by several of his
companions, who cut for themselves locks from the same grey beard, and
decorated themselves as their leader had done. This preliminary ceremony
having been concluded, the two aged prisoners were forthwith hanged on a
tree, without-the least pretence of trial or even sentence.

Such was the end of the famous councillor who had been wont to shout "ad
patibulum" in his sleep. It was cruel that the fair face of civil liberty
showing itself after years of total eclipse, should be insulted by such
bloody deeds on the part of her votaries. It was sad that the crimes of
men like Imbize and Ryhove should have cost more to the cause of
religious and political freedom than the lives of twenty thousand such
ruffians were worth. But for the influence of demagogues like these,
counteracting the lofty efforts and pure life of Orange, the separation
might never have occurred between the two portions of the Netherlands.
The Prince had not power enough, however, nor the nascent commonwealth
sufficient consistency, to repress the disorganizing tendency of a
fanatical Romanism on the one side, and a retaliatory and cruel
ochlocracy on the other.

Such events, with the hatred growing daily more intense between the
Walloons and the Ghenters, made it highly important that some kind of an
accord should be concluded, if possible. In the country, the Malcontents,
under pretence of protecting the Catholic clergy, were daily abusing and
plundering the people, while in Ghent the clergy were maltreated, the
cloisters pillaged, under the pretence of maintaining liberty. In this
emergency the eyes of all honest men turned naturally to Orange.

Deputies went to and fro between Antwerp and Ghent, Three points were
laid down by the Prince as indispensable to any arrangement--firstly,
that the Catholic clergy should be allowed the free use of their
property; secondly, that they should not be disturbed in the exercise of
their religion; thirdly, that the gentlemen kept in prison since the
memorable twenty-eighth of October should be released. If these points
should be granted, the Archduke Matthias, the states-general, and the
Prince of Orange would agree to drive off the Walloon soldiery, and to
defend Ghent against all injury. The two first points were granted, upon
condition that sufficient guarantees should be established for the safety
of the Reformed religion. The third was rejected, but it was agreed that
the prisoners, Champagny, Sweveghem, and the rest--who, after the horrid
fate of Hessels and Visch, might be supposed to be sufficiently anxious
as to their own doom--should have legal trial, and be defended in the
meantime from outrage.

On the 3rd of November, 1578, a formal act of acceptance of these terms
was signed at Antwerp. At the same time, there was murmuring at Ghent,
the extravagant portion of the liberal party averring that they had no
intention of establishing the "religious peace" when they agreed not to
molest the Catholics. On the 11th of November, the Prince of Orange sent
messengers to Ghent in the name of the Archduke and the states-general,
summoning the authorities to a faithful execution of the act of
acceptance. Upon the same day the English envoy, Davidson, made an
energetic representation to the same magistrates, declaring that the
conduct of the Ghenters was exciting regret throughout the world, and
affording a proof that it was their object to protract, not suppress, the
civil war which had so long been raging. Such proceedings, he observed,
created doubts whether they were willing to obey any law or any
magistracy. As, however, it might be supposed that the presence of John
Casimir in Ghent at that juncture was authorized by Queen
Elizabeth--inasmuch as it was known that he had received a subsidy from
her--the envoy took occasion to declare that her Majesty entirely
disavowed his proceedings. He observed further that, in the opinion of
her Majesty, it was still possible to maintain peace by conforming to the
counsels of the Prince of Orange and of the states-general. This,
however, could be done only by establishing the three points which he had
laid down. Her Majesty likewise warned the Ghenters that their conduct
would soon compel her to abandon the country's cause altogether, and, in
conclusion, she requested, with characteristic thriftiness, to be
immediately furnished with a city bond for forty-five thousand pounds
sterling.

Two days afterwards, envoys arrived from Brussels to remonstrate, in
their turn, with the sister city, and to save her, if possible, from the
madness which had seized upon her. They recalled to the memory of the
magistrates the frequent and wise counsels of the Prince of Orange. He
had declared that he knew of no means to avert the impending desolation
of the fatherland save union of all the provinces and obedience to the
general government. His own reputation, and the honor of his house, he
felt now to be at stake; for, by reason of the offices which he now held,
he had been ceaselessly calumniated as the author of all the crimes which
had been committed at Ghent. Against these calumnies he had avowed his
intention of publishing his defence. After thus citing the opinion of the
Prince, the envoys implored the magistrates to accept the religious peace
which he had proposed, and to liberate the prisoners as he had demanded.
For their own part, they declared that the inhabitants of Brussels would
never desert him; for, next to God, there was no one who understood their
cause so entirely, or who could point out the remedy so intelligently.

Thus reasoned the envoys from the states-general and from Brussels, but
even while they were reasoning, a fresh tumult occurred at Ghent. The
people had been inflamed by demagogues, and by the insane howlings of
Peter Dathenus, the unfrocked monk of Poperingen, who had been the
servant and minister both of the Pope and of Orange, and who now hated
each with equal fervor. The populace, under these influences, rose in its
wrath upon the Catholics, smote all their images into fragments,
destroyed all their altar pictures, robbed them of much valuable
property, and turned all the Papists themselves out of the city. The riot
was so furious that it seemed, says a chronicler, as if all the
inhabitants had gone raving mad. The drums beat the alarm, the
magistrates went forth to expostulate, but no commands were heeded till
the work of destruction had been accomplished, when the tumult expired at
last by its own limitation.

Affairs seemed more threatening than ever. Nothing more excited the
indignation of the Prince of Orange than such senseless iconomachy. In
fact, he had at one time procured an enactment by the Ghent authorities,
making it a crime punishable with death. He was of Luther's opinion, that
idol-worship was to be eradicated from the heart, and that then the idols
in the churches would fall of themselves. He felt too with Landgrave
William, that "the destruction of such worthless idols was ever avenged
by torrents of good human blood." Therefore it may be well supposed that
this fresh act of senseless violence, in the very teeth of his
remonstrances, in the very presence of his envoys, met with his stern
disapprobation. He was on the point of publishing his defence against the
calumnies which his toleration had drawn upon him from both Catholic and
Calvinist. He was deeply revolving the question, whether it were not
better to turn his back at once upon a country which seemed so incapable
of comprehending his high purposes, or seconding his virtuous efforts.
From both projects he was dissuaded; and although bitterly wronged by
both friend and foe, although, feeling that even in his own Holland,
there were whispers against his purity, since his favorable inclinations
towards Anjou had become the general topic, yet he still preserved his
majestic tranquillity, and smiled at the arrows which fell harmless at
his feet. "I admire his wisdom, daily more and more," cried Hubert
Languet; "I see those who profess themselves his friends causing him more
annoyance than his foes; while, nevertheless, he ever remains true to
himself, is driven by no tempests from his equanimity, nor provoked by
repeated injuries to immoderate action."

The Prince had that year been chosen unanimously by the four "members" of
Flanders to be governor of that province, but had again declined the
office. The inhabitants, notwithstanding the furious transactions at
Ghent, professed attachment to his person, and respect for his authority.
He was implored to go to the city. His presence, and that alone, would
restore the burghers to their reason, but the task was not a grateful
one. It was also not unattended with danger; although this was a
consideration which never influenced him, from the commencement of his
career to its close. Imbize and his crew were capable of resorting to any
extremity or any ambush; to destroy the man whom they feared and hated.
The presence of John Casimir was an additional complication; for Orange,
while he despised the man, was unwilling to offend his friends. Moreover,
Casimir had professed a willingness to assist the cause, and to, defer to
the better judgment of the Prince: He had brought an army into the field,
with which, however, he had accomplished nothing except a thorough
pillaging of the peasantry, while, at the same time, he was loud in his
demands upon the states to pay his soldiers' wages. The soldiers of the
different armies who now overran the country, indeed, vied with each
other in extravagant insolence. "Their outrages are most execrable,"
wrote Marquis Havre; "they demand the most exquisite food, and drink
Champagne and Burgundy by the bucketfull." Nevertheless, on the 4th of
December, the Prince came to Ghent. He held constant and anxious
conferences with the magistrates. He was closeted daily with John
Casimir, whose vanity and extravagance of temper he managed with his
usual skill. He even dined with Imbue, and thus, by smoothing
difficulties and reconciling angry passions, he succeeded at last in
obtaining the consent of all to a religious peace, which was published on
the 27th of December, 1578. It contained the same provisions as those of
the project prepared and proposed during the previous summer throughout
the Netherlands. Exercise of both religions was established; mutual
insults and irritations--whether by word, book, picture, song, or
gesture--were prohibited, under severe penalties, while all persons were
sworn to protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life. The
Catholics, by virtue of this accord, re-entered into possession of their
churches and cloisters, but nothing could be obtained in favor of the
imprisoned gentlemen.

The Walloons and Malcontents were now summoned to lay down their arms;
but, as might be supposed, they expressed dissatisfaction with the
religious peace, proclaiming it hostile to the Ghent treaty and the
Brussels union. In short, nothing would satisfy them but total
suppression of the Reformed religion; as nothing would content Imbize and
his faction but the absolute extermination of Romanism. A strong man
might well seem powerless in the midst of such obstinate and worthless
fanatics.

The arrival of the Prince in Ghent was, on the whole, a relief to John
Casimir. As usual, this addle-brained individual had plunged headlong
into difficulties, out of which he was unable to extricate himself. He
knew not what to do, or which way to turn. He had tampered with Imbue and
his crew, but he had found that they were not the men for a person of his
quality to deal with. He had brought a large army into the field, and had
not a stiver in his coffers. He felt bitterly the truth of the
Landgrave's warning--"that 'twas better to have thirty thousand devils at
one's back than thirty thousand German troopers, with no money to give
them;" it being possible to pay the devils with the sign of the cross,
while the soldiers could be discharged only with money or hard knocks.
Queen Elizabeth, too, under whose patronage he had made this most
inglorious campaign, was incessant in her reproofs, and importunate in
her demands for reimbursement. She wrote to him personally, upbraiding
him with his high pretensions and his shortcomings. His visit to Ghent,
so entirely unjustified and mischievous; his failure to effect that
junction of his army with the states' force under Bossu, by which the
royal army was to have been surprised and annihilated; his having given
reason to the common people to suspect her Majesty and the Prince of
Orange of collusion with his designs, and of a disposition to seek their
private advantage and not the general good of the whole Netherlands; the
imminent danger, which he had aggravated, that the Walloon provinces,
actuated by such suspicions, would fall away from the "generality" and
seek a private accord with Parma; these and similar sins of omission and
commission were sharply and shrewishly set forth in the Queen's epistle.
'Twas not for such marauding and intriguing work that she had appointed
him her lieutenant, and furnished him with troops and subsidies. She
begged him forthwith to amend his ways, for the sake of his name and
fame, which were sufficiently soiled in the places where his soldiers had
been plundering the country which they came to protect.

The Queen sent Daniel Rogers with instructions of similar import to the
states-general, repeatedly and expressly disavowing Casimir's proceedings
and censuring his character. She also warmly insisted on her bonds. In
short, never was unlucky prince more soundly berated by his superiors,
more thoroughly disgraced by his followers. In this contemptible
situation had Casimir placed himself by his rash ambition to prove before
the world that German princes could bite and scratch like griffins and
tigers as well as carry them in their shields. From this position Orange
partly rescued him. He made his peace with the states-general. He
smoothed matters with the extravagant Reformers, and he even extorted
from the authorities of Ghent the forty-five thousand pounds bond, on
which Elizabeth had insisted with such obduracy. Casimir repaid these
favors of the Prince in the coin with which narrow minds and jealous
tempers are apt to discharge such obligations--ingratitude. The
friendship which he openly manifested at first grew almost immediately
cool. Soon afterwards he left Ghent and departed for Germany, leaving
behind him a long and tedious remonstrance, addressed to the
states-general, in which document he narrated the history of his
exploits, and endeavored to vindicate the purity of his character. He
concluded this very tedious and superfluous manifesto by observing
that--for reasons which he thought proper to give at considerable
length--he felt himself "neither too useful nor too agreeable to the
provinces." As he had been informed, he said, that the states-general had
requested the Queen of England to procure his departure, he had resolved,
in order to spare her and them inconvenience, to return of his own
accord, "leaving the issue of the war in the high and mighty hand of
God."

The estates answered this remonstrance with words of unlimited courtesy;
expressing themselves "obliged to all eternity" for his services, and
holding out vague hopes that the monies which he demanded on behalf of
his troops should ere long be forthcoming.

Casimir having already answered Queen Elizabeth's reproachful letter by
throwing the blame of his apparent misconduct upon the states-general,
and having promised soon to appear before her Majesty in person, tarried
accordingly but a brief season in Germany, and then repaired to England.
Here he was feasted, flattered, caressed, and invested with the order of
the Garter. Pleased with royal blandishments, and highly enjoying the
splendid hospitalities of England he quite forgot the "thirty thousand
devils" whom he had left running loose in the Netherlands, while these
wild soldiers, on their part, being absolutely in a starving
condition--for there was little left for booty in a land which had been
so often plundered--now had the effrontery to apply to the Prince of
Parma for payment of their wages. Alexander Farnese laughed heartily at
the proposition, which he considered an excellent jest. It seemed in
truth, a jest, although but a sorry one. Parma replied to the messenger
of Maurice of Saxony who had made the proposition, that the Germans must
be mad to ask him for money, instead of offering to pay him, a heavy sum
for permission to leave the country. Nevertheless, he was willing to be
so far indulgent as to furnish them with passports, provided they
departed from the Netherlands instantly. Should they interpose the least
delay, he would set upon them without further preface, and he gave them
notice, with the arrogance becoming a Spanish general; that the courier
was already waiting to report to Spain the number of them left alive
after the encounter. Thus deserted by their chief, and hectored by the
enemy, the mercenaries, who had little stomach for fight without wages,
accepted the passports proffered by Parma. They revenged themselves for
the harsh treatment which they had received from Casimir and from the
states-general, by singing, everywhere as they retreated, a doggerel
ballad--half Flemish, half German--in which their wrongs were expressed
with uncouth vigor.

Casimir received the news of the departure of his ragged soldiery on the
very day which witnessed his investment with the Garter by the fair hands
of Elizabeth herself.  A few days afterwards he left England, accompanied
by an escort of lords and gentlemen, especially appointed for that
purpose by the Queen. He landed in Flushing, where he was received with
distinguished hospitality, by order of the Prince of Orange, and on the
14th of February, 1579, he passed through Utrecht. Here he conversed
freely at his lodgings in the "German House" on the subject of his
vagabond troops, whose final adventures and departure seemed to afford
him considerable amusement; and he, moreover, diverted his company by
singing, after supper, a few verses of the ballad already mentioned.

   O, have you been in Brabant, fighting for the states?
   O, have you brought back anything except your broken pates?
   O, I have been in Brabant, myself and all my mates.
   We'll go no more to Brabant, unless our brains were addle,
   We're coming home on foot, we went there in the saddle;
   For there's neither gold nor glory got, in fighting for the states.

The Duke of Anjou, meantime, after disbanding his troops, had lingered
for a while near the frontier. Upon taking his final departure, he sent
his resident minister, Des Pruneaux, with a long communication to the
states-general, complaining that they had not published their contract
with himself, nor fulfilled its conditions. He excused, as well as he
could, the awkward fact that his disbanded troops had taken refuge with
the Walloons, and he affected to place his own departure upon the ground
of urgent political business in France, to arrange which his royal
brother had required his immediate attendance. He furthermore most
hypocritically expressed a desire for a speedy reconciliation of the
provinces with their sovereign, and a resolution that--although for their
sake he had made himself a foe to his Catholic Majesty--he would still
interpose no obstacle to so desirable a result.

To such shallow discourse the states answered with infinite urbanity, for
it was the determination of Orange not to make enemies, at that juncture,
of France and England in the same breath. They had foes enough already,
and it seemed obvious at that moment, to all persons most observant of
the course of affairs, that a matrimonial alliance was soon to unite the
two crowns. The probability of Anjou's marriage with Elizabeth was, in
truth, a leading motive with Orange for his close alliance with the Duke.
The political structure, according to which he had selected the French
Prince as protector of the Netherlands, was sagaciously planned; but
unfortunately its foundation was the shifting sandbank of female and
royal coquetry. Those who judge only by the result, will be quick to
censure a policy which might have had very different issue. They who
place themselves in the period anterior to Anjou's visit to England, will
admit that it was hardly human not to be deceived by the apolitical
aspects of that moment. The Queen, moreover, took pains to upbraid the
states-general, by letter, with their disrespect and ingratitude towards
the Duke of Anjou--behaviour with which he had been "justly scandalized."
For her own part, she assured them of her extreme displeasure at learning
that such a course of conduct had been held with a view to her especial
contentment--"as if the person of Monsieur, son of France, brother of the
King, were disagreeable to her, or as if she wished him ill;" whereas, on
the contrary, they would best satisfy her wishes by showing him all the
courtesy to which his high degree and his eminent services entitled him.

The estates, even before receiving this letter, had, however, acted in
its spirit. They had addressed elaborate apologies and unlimited
professions to the Duke. They thanked him heartily for his achievements,
expressed unbounded regret at his departure, with sincere hopes for his
speedy return, and promised "eternal remembrance" of his heroic virtues.
They assured him, moreover, that should the first of the following March
arrive without bringing with it an honorable peace with his Catholic
Majesty, they should then feel themselves compelled to declare that the
King had forfeited his right to the sovereignty of these provinces. In
this case they concluded that, as the inhabitants would be then absolved
from their allegiance to the Spanish monarch, it would then be in their
power to treat with his Highness of Anjou concerning the sovereignty,
according to the contract already existing.

These assurances were ample, but the states, knowing the vanity of the
man, offered other inducements, some of which seemed sufficiently
puerile. They promised that "his statue, in copper, should be placed in
the public squares of Antwerp and Brussels, for the eternal admiration of
posterity," and that a "crown of olive-leaves should be presented to him
every year." The Duke--not inexorable to such courteous
solicitations--was willing to achieve both immortality and power by
continuing his friendly relations with the states, and he answered
accordingly in the most courteous terms. The result of this interchange
of civilities it will be soon our duty to narrate.

At the close of the year the Count of Bossu died, much to the regret of
the Prince of Orange, whose party--since his release from prison by
virtue of the Ghent treaty--he had warmly espoused. "We are in the
deepest distress in the world," wrote the Prince to his brother, three
days before the Count's death, "for the dangerous malady of M. de Bossu.
Certainly, the country has much to lose in his death, but I hope that God
will not so much afflict us." Yet the calumniators of the day did not
scruple to circulate, nor the royalist chroniclers to perpetuate, the
most senseless and infamous fables on the subject of this nobleman's
death. He died of poison, they said, administered to him "in oysters," by
command of the Prince of Orange, who had likewise made a point of
standing over him on his death-bed, for the express purpose of sneering
at the Catholic ceremonies by which his dying agonies were solaced. Such
were the tales which grave historians have recorded concerning the death
of Maximilian of Bossu, who owed so much to the Prince. The command of
the states' army, a yearly pension of five thousand florins, granted at
the especial request of Orange but a few months before, and the profound
words of regret in the private letter jest cited, are a sufficient answer
to such slanders.

The personal courage and profound military science of Parma were
invaluable to the royal cause; but his subtle, unscrupulous, and
subterranean combinations of policy were even more fruitful at this
period. No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly or
practised it more skillfully. He bought a politician, or a general, or a
grandee, or a regiment of infantry, usually at the cheapest price at
which those articles could be purchased, and always with the utmost
delicacy with which such traffic could be conducted. Men conveyed
themselves to government for a definite price--fixed accurately in
florins and groats, in places and pensions--while a decent gossamer of
conventional phraseology was ever allowed to float over the nakedness of
unblushing treason. Men high in station, illustrious by ancestry,
brilliant in valor, huckstered themselves, and swindled a confiding
country for as ignoble motives as ever led counterfeiters or bravoes to
the gallows, but they were dealt with in public as if actuated only by
the loftiest principles. Behind their ancient shields, ostentatiously
emblazoned with fidelity to church and king, they thrust forth their
itching palms with the mendicity which would be hardly credible, were it
not attested by the monuments more perennial than brass, of their own
letters and recorded conversations.

Already, before the accession of Parma to power, the true way to dissever
the provinces had been indicated by the famous treason of the Seigneur de
la Motte. This nobleman commanded a regiment in the service of the
states-general, and was Governor of Gravelines. On promise of forgiveness
for all past disloyalty, of being continued in the same military posts
under Philip which he then held for the patriots, and of a "merced" large
enough to satisfy his most avaricious dreams, he went over to the royal
government. The negotiation was conducted by Alonzo Curiel, financial
agent of the King, and was not very nicely handled. The paymaster,
looking at the affair purely as a money transaction--which in truth it
was--had been disposed to drive rather too hard a bargain. He offered
only fifty thousand crowns for La Motte and his friend Baron Montigny,
and assured his government that those gentlemen, with the soldiers under
their command, were very dear at the price. La Motte higgled very hard
for more, and talked pathetically of his services and his wounds--for he
had been a most distinguished and courageous campaigner--but Alonzo was
implacable. Moreover, one Robert Bien-Aime, Prior of Renty, was present
at all the conferences. This ecclesiastic was a busy intriguer, but not
very adroit. He was disposed to make himself useful to government, for he
had set his heart upon putting the mitre of Saint Omer upon his head, and
he had accordingly composed a very ingenious libel upon the Prince of
Orange, in which production, "although the Prior did not pretend to be
Apelles or Lysippus," he hoped that the Governor-General would recognize
a portrait colored to the life. This accomplished artist was, however,
not so successful as he was picturesque and industrious. He was
inordinately vain of his services, thinking himself, said Alonzo,
splenetically, worthy to be carried in a procession like a little saint,
and as he had a busy brain, but an unruly tongue, it will be seen that he
possessed a remarkable faculty of making himself unpleasant. This was not
the way to earn his bishopric. La Motte, through the candid
communications of the Prior, found himself the subject of mockery in
Parma's camp and cabinet, where treachery to one's country and party was
not, it seemed, regarded as one of the loftier virtues, however
convenient it might be at the moment to the royal cause. The Prior
intimated especially that Ottavio Gonzaga had indulged in many sarcastic
remarks at La Motte's expense. The brave but venal warrior, highly
incensed at thus learning the manner in which his conduct was estimated
by men of such high rank in the royal service, was near breaking off the
bargain. He was eventually secured, however, by still larger offers--Don
John allowing him three hundred florins a month, presenting him with the
two best horses in his stable, and sending him an open form, which he was
to fill out in the most stringent language which he could devise, binding
the government to the payment of an ample and entirely satisfactory
"merced." Thus La Motte's bargain was completed a crime which, if it had
only entailed the loss of the troops under his command, and the
possession of Gravelines, would have been of no great historic
importance. It was, however, the first blow of a vast and carefully
sharpened treason, by which the country was soon to be cut in twain for
ever--the first in a series of bargains by which the noblest names of the
Netherlands were to be contaminated with bribery and fraud.

While the negotiations with La Notte were in progress, the government of
the states-general at Brussels had sent Saint Aldegonde to Arras. The
states of Artois, then assembled in that city, had made much difficulty
in acceding to an assessment of seven thousand florins laid upon them by
the central authority. The occasion was skillfully made use of by the
agents of the royal party to weaken the allegiance of the province, and
of its sister Walloon provinces, to the patriot cause. Saint Aldegonde
made his speech before the assembly, taking the ground boldly, that the
war was made for liberty of conscience and of fatherland, and that all
were bound, whether Catholic or Protestant, to contribute to the sacred
fund. The vote passed, but it was provided that a moiety of the
assessment should be paid by the ecclesiastical branch, and the
stipulation excited a tremendous uproar. The clerical bench regarded the
tax as both a robbery and an affront. "We came nearly to knife-playing,"
said the most distinguished priest in the assembly, "and if we had done
so, the ecclesiastics would not have been the first to cry enough." They
all withdrew in a rage, and held a private consultation upon "these
exorbitant and more than Turkish demands." John Sarrasin, Prior of Saint
Yaast, the keenest, boldest, and most indefatigable of the royal
partisans of that epoch, made them an artful harangue. This man--a better
politician than the other prior--was playing for a mitre too, and could
use his cards better. He was soon to become the most invaluable agent in
the great treason preparing. No one could, be more delicate, noiseless,
or unscrupulous, and he was soon recognized both by Governor-General and
King as the individual above all others to whom the re-establishment of
the royal authority over the Walloon provinces was owing. With the shoes
of swiftness on his feet, the coat of darkness on his back, and the
wishing purse in his hand, he sped silently and invisibly from one great
Malcontent chieftain to another, buying up centurions, and captains, and
common soldiers; circumventing Orangists, Ghent democrats, Anjou
partisans; weaving a thousand intrigues, ventilating a hundred hostile
mines, and passing unharmed through the most serious dangers and the most
formidable obstacles. Eloquent, too, at a pinch, he always understood his
audience, and upon this occasion unsheathed the most incisive, if not the
most brilliant weapon which could be used in the debate. It was most
expensive to be patriotic, he said, while silver was to be saved, and
gold to be earned by being loyal. They ought to keep their money to
defend themselves, not give it to the Prince of Orange, who would only
put it into his private pocket on pretence of public necessities. The
Ruward would soon be slinking back to his lair, he observed, and leave
them all in the fangs of their enemies. Meantime, it was better to rush
into the embrace of a bountiful king, who was still holding forth his
arms to them. They were approaching a precipice, said the Prior; they
were entering a labyrinth; and not only was the "sempiternal loss of body
and soul impending over them, but their property was to be taken also,
and the cat to be thrown against their legs." By this sudden descent into
a very common proverbial expression, Sarrasin meant to intimate that they
were getting themselves into a difficult position, in which they were
sure to reap both danger and responsibility.

The harangue had much effect upon his hearers, who were now more than
ever determined to rebel against the government which they had so
recently accepted, preferring, in the words of the Prior, "to be
maltreated by their prince, rather than to be barbarously tyrannized over
by a heretic." So much anger had been excited in celestial minds by a
demand of thirty-five hundred florins.

Saint Aldegonde was entertained in the evening at a great banquet,
followed by a theological controversy, in which John Sarrasin complained
that "he had been attacked upon his own dunghill." Next day the
distinguished patriot departed on a canvassing tour among the principal
cities; the indefatigable monk employing the interval of his absence in
aggravating the hostility of the Artesian orders to the pecuniary demands
of the general government. He was assisted in his task by a peremptory
order which came down from Brussels, ordering, in the name of Matthias, a
levy upon the ecclesiastical property, "rings, jewels, and reliquaries,"
unless the clerical contribution should be forthcoming. The rage of the
bench was now intense, and by the time of Saint Aldegonde's return a
general opposition had been organized. The envoy met with a chilling
reception; there were no banquets anymore--no discussions of any kind. To
his demands for money, "he got a fine nihil," said Saint Vaast; and as
for polemics, the only conclusive argument for the country would be, as
he was informed on the same authority, the "finishing of Orange and of
his minister along with him." More than once had the Prior intimated to
government--as so many had done before him--that to "despatch Orange,
author of all the troubles," was the best preliminary to any political
arrangement. From Philip and his Governor-General, down to the humblest
partisan, this conviction had been daily strengthening. The knife or
bullet of an assassin was the one thing needful to put an end to this
incarnated rebellion.

Thus matters grew worse and worse in Artois. The Prior, busier than ever
in his schemes, was one day arrested along with other royal emissaries,
kept fifteen days "in a stinking cellar, where the scullion washed the
dishes," and then sent to Antwerp to be examined by the states-general.
He behaved with great firmness, although he had good reason to tremble
for his neck. Interrogated by Leoninus on the part of the central
government, he boldly avowed that these pecuniary demands upon the
Walloon estates, and particularly upon their ecclesiastical branches,
would never be tolerated. "In Alva's time," said Sarrasin, "men were
flayed, but not shorn." Those who were more attached to their skin than
their fleece might have thought the practice in the good old times of the
Duke still more objectionable. Such was not the opinion of the Prior and
the rest of his order. After an unsatisfactory examination and a brief
duresse, the busy ecclesiastic was released; and as his secret labors had
not been detected, he resumed them after his return more ardently than
ever.

A triangular intrigue was now fairly established in the Walloon country.
The Duke of Alencon's head-quarters were at Mons; the rallying-point of
the royalist faction was with La Motte at Gravelines; while the
ostensible leader of the states' party, Viscount Ghent, was governor of
Artois, and supposed to be supreme in Arras. La Motte was provided by
government with a large fund of secret-service money, and was instructed
to be very liberal in his bribes to men of distinction; having a tender
regard, however, to the excessive demands of this nature now daily made
upon the royal purse. The "little Count," as the Prior called Lalain,
together with his brother, Baron Montigny, were considered highly
desirable acquisitions for government, if they could be gained. It was
thought, however, that they had the "fleur-de-lys imprinted too deeply
upon their hearts," for the effect produced upon Lalain, governor of
Hainault, by Margaret of Valois, had not yet been effaced. His brother
also had been disposed to favor the French prince, but his mind was more
open to conviction. A few private conferences with La Motte, and a course
of ecclesiastical tuition from the Prior--whose golden opinions had
irresistible resonance--soon wrought a change in the Malcontent
chieftain's mind. Other leading seigniors were secretly dealt with in the
same manner. Lalain, Heze, Havre, Capres, Egmont, and even the Viscount
of Ghent, all seriously inclined their ears to the charmer, and looked
longingly and lovingly as the wily Prior rolled in his tangles before
them--"to mischief swift." Few had yet declared themselves; but of the
grandees who commanded large bodies of troops, and whose influence with
their order was paramount, none were safe for the patriot cause
throughout the Walloon country.

The nobles and ecclesiastics were ready to join hands in support of
church and king, but in the city of Arras, the capital of the whole
country, there was a strong Orange and liberal party. Gosson, a man of
great wealth, one of the most distinguished advocates in the Netherlands,
and possessing the gift of popular eloquence to a remarkable degree, was
the leader of this burgess faction. In the earlier days of Parma's
administration, just as a thorough union of the Walloon provinces in
favor of the royal government had nearly been formed, these Orangists of
Arras risked a daring stroke. Inflamed by the harangues of Gosson, and
supported by five hundred foot soldiers and fifty troopers under one
Captain Ambrose, they rose against the city magistracy, whose sentiments
were unequivocally for Parma, and thrust them all into prison. They then
constituted a new board of fifteen, some Catholics and some Protestants,
but all patriots, of whom Gosson was chief. The stroke took the town by
surprise; and was for a moment successful. Meantime, they depended upon
assistance from Brussels. The royal and ecclesiastical party was,
however, not so easily defeated, and an old soldier, named Bourgeois,
loudly denounced Captain Ambrose, the general of the revolutionary
movement, as a vile coward, and affirmed that with thirty good
men-at-arms he would undertake to pound the whole rebel army to powder--"
a pack of scarecrows," he said, "who were not worth as many owls for
military purposes."

Three days after the imprisonment of the magistracy, a strong Catholic
rally was made in their behalf in the Fishmarket, the ubiquitous Prior of
Saint Vaast flitting about among the Malcontents, blithe and busy as
usual when storms were brewing. Matthew Doucet, of the revolutionary
faction--a man both martial and pacific in his pursuits, being eminent
both as a gingerbread baker and a swordplayer--swore he would have the
little monk's life if he had to take him from the very horns of the
altar; but the Prior had braved sharper threats than these. Moreover, the
grand altar would have been the last place to look fox him on that
occasion. While Gosson was making a tremendous speech in favor of
conscience and fatherland at the Hotel de Ville, practical John Sarrasin,
purse in hand, had challenged the rebel general, Ambrose to private
combat. In half an hour, that warrior was routed, and fled from the field
at the head of his scarecrows, for there was no resisting the power
before which the Montignys and the La Mottes had succumbed. Eloquent
Gosson was left to his fate. Having the Catholic magistracy in durance,
and with nobody to guard them, he felt, as was well observed by an
ill-natured contemporary, like a man holding a wolf by the ears, equally
afraid to let go or to retain his grasp.

His dilemma was soon terminated. While he was deliberating with his
colleagues--Mordacq, an old campaigner, Crugeot, Bertoul, and
others--whether to stand or, fly, the drums and trumpets of the advancing
royalists were heard. In another instant the Hotel de Ville was swarming
with men-at-arms, headed by Bourgeois, the veteran who had expressed so
alighting an opinion as to the prowess of Captain Ambrose. The tables
were turned, the miniature revolution was at an end, the
counter-revolution effected. Gosson and his confederates escaped out of a
back door, but were soon afterwards arrested. Next morning, Baron Capres,
the great Malcontent seignior, who was stationed with his regiment in the
neighbourhood, and who had long been secretly coquetting with the Prior
and Parma, marched into the city at the head of a strong detachment, and
straightway proceeded to erect a very tall gibbet in front of the Hotel
de Ville. This looked practical in the eyes of the liberated and
reinstated magistrates, and Gosson, Crugeot, and the rest were summoned
at once before them. The advocate thought, perhaps, with a sigh, that his
judges, so recently his prisoners, might have been the fruit for another
gallowstree, had he planted it when the ground was his own; but taking
heart of grace, he encouraged his colleagues--now his fellow-culprits.
Crugeot, undismayed, made his appearance before the tribunal, arrayed in
a corslet of proof, with a golden hilted sword, a scarf embroidered with
pearls and gold, and a hat bravely plumaged with white, blue, and, orange
feathers--the colors of William the Silent--of all which finery he was
stripped, however, as soon as he entered the court.

The process was rapid. A summons from Brussels was expected every hour
from the general government, ordering the cases to be brought before the
federal tribunal; and as the Walloon provinces were not yet ready for
open revolt, the order would be an inconvenient one. Hence the necessity
for haste. The superior court of Artois, to which an appeal from the
magistrates lay, immediately held a session in another chamber of the
Hotel de Ville while the lower court was trying the prisoners, and
Bertoul, Crugeot, Mordacq, with several others, were condemned in a few
hours to the gibbet. They were invited to appeal, if they chose, to the
council of Artois, but hearing that the court was sitting next door, so
that there was no chance of a rescue in the streets, they declared
themselves satisfied with the sentence. Gosson had not been tried, his
case being reserved for the morrow.

Meantime, the short autumnal day had drawn to a close. A wild, stormy,
rainy night then set in, but still the royalist party--citizens and
soldiers intermingled--all armed to the teeth, and uttering fierce cries,
while the whole scene was fitfully illuminated with the glare of
flambeaux and blazing tar-barrels, kept watch in the open square around
the city hall. A series of terrible Rembrandt-like nightpieces
succeeded--grim, fantastic, and gory. Bertoul, an old man, who for years
had so surely felt himself predestined to his present doom that he had
kept a gibbet in his own house to accustom himself to the sight of the
machine, was led forth the first, and hanged at ten in the evening. He
was a good man, of perfectly blameless life, a sincere Catholic, but a
warm partisan of Orange.

Valentine de Mordacq, an old soldier, came from the Hotel de Ville to the
gallows at midnight. As he stood on the ladder, amid the flaming torches,
he broke forth into furious execrations, wagging his long white beard to
and fro, making hideous grimaces, and cursing the hard fate which, after
many dangers on the battle-field and in beleaguered cities, had left him
to such a death. The cord strangled his curses. Crugeot was executed at
three in the morning, having obtained a few hours' respite in order to
make his preparations, which he accordingly occupied himself in doing as
tranquilly as if he had been setting forth upon an agreeable journey. He
looked like a phantom, according to eye-witnesses, as he stood under the
gibbet, making a most pious and, Catholic address to the crowd.

The whole of the following day was devoted to the trial of Gosson. He was
condemned at nightfall, and heard by appeal before the superior court
directly afterwards. At midnight, of the 25th of October, 1578, he was
condemned to lose his head, the execution to take place without delay.
The city guards and the infantry under Capres still bivouacked upon the
square; the howling storm still continued, but the glare of fagots and
torches made the place as light as day. The ancient advocate, with
haggard eyes and features distorted by wrath, walking between the sheriff
and a Franciscan monk, advanced through the long lane of halberdiers, in
the grand hall of the Town House, and thence emerged upon the scaffold
erected before the door. He shook his fists with rage at the released
magistrates, so lately his prisoners, exclaiming that to his misplaced
mercy it was owing that his head, instead of their own, was to be placed
upon the block. He bitterly reproached the citizens for their cowardice
in shrinking from dealing a blow for their fatherland, and in behalf of
one who had so faithfully served them. The clerk of the court then read
the sentence amid a silence so profound that every syllable he uttered,
and, every sigh and ejaculation of the victim were distinctly heard in
the most remote corner of the square. Gosson then, exclaiming that he was
murdered without cause, knelt upon the scaffold. His head fell while an
angry imprecation was still upon his lips.

Several other persons of lesser note were hanged daring the week-among
others, Matthew Doucet, the truculent man of gingerbread, whose rage had
been so judiciously but so unsuccessfully directed against the Prior of
Saint Vaast. Captain Ambrose, too, did not live long to enjoy the price
of his treachery. He was arrested very soon afterwards by the states'
government in Antwerp, put to the torture, hanged and quartered. In
troublous times like those, when honest men found it difficult to keep
their heads upon their shoulders, rogues were apt to meet their deserts,
unless they had the advantage of lofty lineage and elevated position.

     "Ille crucem sceleris pretium tulit, hic diadema."

This municipal revolution and counter-revolution, obscure though they
seem, were in reality of very grave importance. This was the last blow
struck for freedom in the Walloon country. The failure of the movement
made that scission of the Netherlands certain, which has endured till our
days, for the influence of the ecclesiastics in the states of Artois and
Hainault, together with the military power of the Malcontent grandees,
whom Parma and John Sarrasin had purchased, could no longer be resisted.
The liberty of the Celtic provinces was sold, and a few high-born
traitors received the price. Before the end of the year (1578) Montigny
had signified to the Duke of Alencon that a prince who avowed himself too
poor to pay for soldiers was no master for him. The Baron, therefore,
came, to an understanding with La Motte and Sarrasin, acting for
Alexander Farnese, and received the command of the infantry in the
Walloon provinces, a merced of four thousand crowns a year, together with
as large a slice of La Motte's hundred thousand florins for himself and
soldiers, as that officer could be induced to part with.

Baron Capres, whom Sarrasin--being especially enjoined to purchase
him--had, in his own language, "sweated blood and water" to secure, at
last agreed to reconcile himself with the King's party upon condition of
receiving the government-general of Artois, together with the particular
government of Hesdin--very lucrative offices, which the Viscount of Ghent
then held by commission of the states-general. That politic personage,
however, whose disinclination to desert the liberty party which had
clothed him with such high functions, was apparently so marked that the
Prior had caused an ambush to be laid both for him and the Marquis Havre,
in-order to obtain bodily possession of two such powerful enemies, now,
at the last moment, displayed his true colors. He consented to reconcile
himself also, on condition of receiving the royal appointment to the same
government which he then held from the patriot authorities, together with
the title of Marquis de Richebourg, the command of all the cavalry in the
royalist provinces, and certain rewards in money besides. By holding
himself at a high mark, and keeping at a distance, he had obtained his
price. Capres, for whom Philip, at Parma's suggestion, had sent the
commission as governor of Artois and of Hesdin, was obliged to renounce
those offices, notwithstanding his earlier "reconciliation," and the
"blood and water" of John Sarrasin. Ghent was not even contented with
these guerdons, but insisted upon the command of all the cavalry,
including the band of ordnance which, with handsome salary, had been
assigned to Lalain as a part of the wages for his treason, while the
"little Count"--fiery as his small and belligerent cousin whose exploits
have been recorded in the earlier pages of this history--boldly taxed
Parma and the King with cheating him out of his promised reward, in order
to please a noble whose services had been less valuable than those of the
Lalain family. Having thus obtained the lion's share, due, as he thought,
to his well known courage and military talents, as well as to the
powerful family influence, which he wielded--his brother, the Prince of
Espinoy, hereditary seneschal of Hainault, having likewise rallied to the
King's party--Ghent jocosely intimated to Parma his intention of helping
himself to the two best horses in the Prince's stables in exchange for
those lost at Gemblours, in which disastrous action he had commanded the
cavalry for the states. He also sent two terriers to Farnese, hoping that
they would "prove more useful than beautiful." The Prince might have
thought, perhaps, as much of the Viscount's treason.

John Sarrasin, the all-accomplished Prior, as the reward of his
exertions, received from Philip the abbey of Saint Vaast, the richest and
most powerful ecclesiastical establishment in the Netherlands. At a
subsequent period his grateful Sovereign created him Archbishop of
Cambray.

Thus the "troubles of Arras"--as they were called--terminated. Gosson the
respected, wealthy, eloquent, and virtuous advocate; together with his
colleagues--all Catholics, but at the same time patriots and
liberals--died the death of felons for their unfortunate attempt to save
their fatherland from an ecclesiastical and venal conspiracy; while the
actors in the plot, having all performed well their parts, received their
full meed of prizes and applause.

The private treaty by which the Walloon provinces of Artois, Hainault,
Lille, Douay, and Orchies, united themselves in a separate league was
signed upon the 6th of January, 1579; but the final arrangements for the
reconciliation of the Malcontent nobles and their soldiers were not
completed until April 6th, upon which day a secret paper was signed at
Mount Saint Eloi.

The secret current of the intrigue had not, however, flowed on with
perfect smoothness until this placid termination. On the contrary, here
had been much bickering, heart-burning, and mutual suspicions and
recriminations. There had been violent wranglings among the claimants of
the royal rewards. Lalain and Capres were not the only Malcontents who
had cause to complain of being cheated of the promised largess. Montigny,
in whose favor Parma had distinctly commanded La Motte to be liberal of
the King's secret-service money, furiously charged the Governor of
Gravelines with having received a large supply of gold from Spain, and of
"locking the rascal counters from his friends," so that Parma was obliged
to quiet the Baron, and many other barons in the same predicament, out of
his own purse. All complained bitterly, too, that the King, whose
promises had been so profuse to the nobles while the reconciliation was
pending, turned a deaf ear to their petitions and left their letters
unanswered; after the deed was accomplished.

The unlucky Prior of Renty, whose disclosures to La Motte concerning the
Spanish sarcasms upon his venality, had so nearly caused the preliminary
negotiation with that seignior to fail, was the cause of still further
mischief through the interception of Alonzo Curiel's private letters.
Such revelations of corruption, and of contempt on the part of the
corrupters, were eagerly turned to account by the states' government. A
special messenger was despatched to Montigny with the intercepted
correspondence, accompanied by an earnest prayer that he would not
contaminate his sword and his noble name by subserviency to men who
despised even while they purchased traitors. That noble, both confounded
and exasperated, was for a moment inclined to listen to the voice of
honor and patriotism, but reflection and solitude induced him to pocket
up his wrongs and his "merced" together. The states-general also sent the
correspondence to the Walloon provincial authorities, with an eloquent
address, begging them to study well the pitiful part which La Motte had
enacted in the private comedy then performing, and to behold as in a
mirror their own position, if they did not recede ere it was too late.

The only important effect produced by the discovery was upon the Prior of
Renty himself. Ottavio Gonzaga, the intimate friend of Don John, and now
high in the confidence of Parma, wrote to La Motte, indignantly denying
the truth of Bien Aime's tattle, and affirming that not a word had ever
been uttered by himself or by any gentleman in his presence to the
disparagement of the Governor of Gravelines. He added that if the Prior
had worn another coat, and were of quality equal to his own, he would
have made him eat his words or a few inches of steel. In the same
vehement terms he addressed a letter to Bien Aime himself. Very soon
afterwards, notwithstanding his coat and his quality, that unfortunate
ecclesiastic found himself beset one dark night by two soldiers, who left
him, severely wounded and bleeding nearly to death upon the high road,
but escaping with life, he wrote to Parma, recounting his wrongs and the
"sword-thrust in his left thigh," and made a demand for a merced.

The Prior recovered from this difficulty only to fall into another, by
publishing what he called an apologue, in which he charged that the
reconciled nobles were equally false to the royal and to the rebel
government, and that, although "the fatted calf had been killed for them,
after they had so long been feeding with perverse heretical pigs," they
were, in truth, as mutinous as ever, being bent upon establishing an
oligarchy in the Netherlands, and dividing the territory among
themselves, to the exclusion of the sovereign. This naturally excited the
wrath of the Viscount and others. The Seigneur d'Auberlieu, in a letter
written in what the writer himself called the "gross style of a
gendarme," charged the Prior with maligning honorable lords and--in the
favorite colloquial phrase of the day--with attempting "to throw the cat
against their legs." The real crime of the meddling priest, however, was
to have let that troublesome animal out of the bag. He was accordingly
waylaid again, and thrown into prison by Count Lalain. While in durance
he published an abject apology for his apologue, explaining that his
allusions to "returned prodigals," "heretic swine," and to "Sodom and
Gomorrah," had been entirely misconstrued. He was, however, retained in
custody until Parma ordered his release on the ground that the punishment
had been already sufficient for the offence. He then requested to be
appointed Bishop of Saint Omer, that see being vacant. Parma advised the
King by no means to grant the request--the Prior being neither endowed
with the proper age nor discretion for such a dignity--but to bestow some
lesser reward, in money or otherwise, upon the discomfited ecclesiastic,
who had rendered so many services and incurred so many dangers.

The states-general and the whole national party regarded, with prophetic
dismay, the approaching dismemberment of their common country. They sent
deputation on deputation to the Walloon states, to warn them of their
danger, and to avert, if possible, the fatal measure. Meantime, as by the
already accomplished movement, the "generality" was fast disappearing,
and was indeed but the shadow of its former self, it seemed necessary to
make a vigorous effort to restore something like unity to the struggling
country. The Ghent Pacification had been their outer wall, ample enough
and strong enough to enclose and to protect all the provinces. Treachery
and religious fanaticism had undermined the bulwark almost as soon as
reared. The whole beleaguered country was in danger of becoming utterly
exposed to a foe who grew daily more threatening. As in besieged cities,
a sudden breastwork is thrown up internally, when the outward defences
are crumbling--so the energy of Orange had been silently preparing the
Union of Utrecht, as a temporary defence until the foe should be beaten
back, and there should be time to decide on their future course of
action.

During the whole month of December, an active correspondence had been
carried on by the Prince and his brother John with various agents in
Gelderland, Friesland, and Groningen, as well as with influential
personages in the more central provinces and cities. Gelderland, the
natural bulwark to Holland and Zealand, commanding the four great rivers
of the country, had been fortunately placed under the government of the
trusty John of Nassau, that province being warmly in favor of a closer
union with its sister provinces, and particularly with those more nearly
allied to itself in religion and in language.

Already, in December (1578), Count John, in behalf of his brother, had
laid before the states of Holland and Zealand, assembled at Gorcum, the
project of a new union with "Gelderland, Ghent, Friesland, Utrecht,
Overyssel, and Groningen." The proposition had been favorably
entertained, and commissioners had been appointed to confer with other
commissioners at Utrecht, whenever they should be summoned by Count John.
The Prince, with the silence and caution which belonged to his whole
policy, chose not to be the ostensible mover in the plan himself. He did
not choose to startle unnecessarily the Archduke Matthias--the cipher who
had been placed by his side, whose sudden subtraction would occasion more
loss than his presence had conferred benefit. He did not choose to be
cried out upon as infringing the Ghent Pacification, although the whole
world knew that treaty to be hopelessly annulled. For these and many
other weighty motives, he proposed that the new Union should be the
apparent work of other hands, and only offered to him and to the country,
when nearly completed. January, the deputies of Gelderland and Zutfelt,
with Count John, stadholder of these provinces, at their head, met with
the deputies of Holland, Zealand, and the provinces between the Ems and
the Lauwers, early in January, 1579, and on the 23rd of that month,
without waiting longer for the deputies of the other provinces, they
agreed provisionally upon a treaty of union which was published
afterwards on the 29th, from the Town House of Utrecht.

This memorable document--which is ever regarded as the foundation of the
Netherland Republic--contained twenty-six articles.

The preamble stated the object of the union. It was to strengthen, not to
forsake the Ghent Pacification, already nearly annihilated by the force
of foreign soldiery. For this purpose, and in order more conveniently to
defend themselves against their foes, the deputies of Gelderland, Zutfen,
Holland, Zealand, Utrecht, and the Frisian provinces, thought it
desirable to form a still closer union. The contracting provinces agreed
to remain eternally united, as if they were but one province. At the same
time, it was understood that each was to retain its particular
privileges, liberties, laudable and traditionary customs, and other laws.
The cities, corporations, and inhabitants of every province were to be
guaranteed as to their ancient constitutions. Disputes concerning these
various statutes and customs were to be decided by the usual tribunals,
by "good men," or by amicable compromise. The provinces, by virtue of the
Union, were to defend each other "with life, goods, and blood," against
all force brought against them in the King's name or behalf. They were
also to defend each other against all foreign or domestic potentates,
provinces, or cities, provided such defence were controlled by the
"generality" of the union. For the expense occasioned by the protection
of the provinces, certain imposts and excises were to be equally assessed
and collected. No truce or peace was to be concluded, no war commenced,
no impost established affecting the "generality," but by unanimous advice
and consent of the provinces. Upon other matters the majority was to
decide; the votes being taken in the manner then customary in the
assembly of states-general. In case of difficulty in coming to a
unanimous vote when required, the matter was to be referred to the
stadholders then in office. In case of their inability to agree, they
were to appoint arbitrators, by whose decision the parties were to be
governed. None of the united provinces, or of their cities or
corporations, were to make treaties with other potentates or states,
without consent of their confederates. If neighbouring princes,
provinces, or cities, wished to enter into this confederacy, they were to
be received by the unanimous consent of the united provinces. A common
currency was to be established for the confederacy. In the matter of
divine worship, Holland and Zealand were to conduct themselves as they
should think proper. The other provinces of the union, however, were
either to conform to the religious peace already laid down by Archduke
Matthias and his council, or to make such other arrangements as each
province should for itself consider appropriate for the maintenance of
its internal tranquillity--provided always that every individual should
remain free in his religion, and that no man should be molested or
questioned on the subject of divine worship, as had been already
established by the Ghent Pacification. As a certain dispute arose
concerning the meaning of this important clause, an additional paragraph
was inserted a few days afterwards. In this it was stated that there was
no intention of excluding from the confederacy any province or city which
was wholly Catholic, or in which the number of the Reformed was not
sufficiently large to entitle them, by the religious peace, to public
worship. On the contrary, the intention was to admit them, provided they
obeyed the articles of union, and conducted themselves as good patriots;
it being intended that no province or city should interfere with another
in the matter of divine service. Disputes between two provinces were to
be decided by the others, or--in case the generality were concerned--by
the provisions of the ninth article.

The confederates were to assemble at Utrecht whenever summoned by those
commissioned for that purpose. A majority of votes was to decide on
matters then brought before them, even in case of the absence of some
members of the confederacy, who might, however, send written proxies.
Additions or amendments to these articles could only be made by unanimous
consent. The articles were to be signed by the stadholders, magistrates,
and principal officers of each province and city, and by all the
train-bands, fraternities, and sodalities which might exist in the cities
or villages of the union.

Such were the simple provisions of that instrument which became the
foundation of the powerful Commonwealth of the United Netherlands. On the
day when it was concluded, there were present deputies from five
provinces only. Count John of Nassau signed first, as stadholder of
Gelderland and Zutfen. His signature was followed by those of four
deputies from that double province; and the envoys of Holland, Zealand,
Utrecht and the Frisian provinces, then signed the document.

The Prince himself, although in reality the principal director of the
movement, delayed appending his signature until May the 3rd, 1579. Herein
he was actuated by the reasons already stated, and by the hope which he
still entertained that a wider union might be established, with Matthias
for its nominal chief. His enemies, as usual, attributed this patriotic
delay to baser motives. They accused him of a desire to assume the
governor-generalship himself, to the exclusion of the Archduke--an
insinuation which the states of Holland took occasion formally to
denounce as a calumny. For those who have studied the character and
history of the man, a defence against such slander is superfluous.
Matthias was but the shadow, Orange the substance. The Archduke had been
accepted only to obviate the evil effects of a political intrigue, and
with the express condition that the Prince should be his
lieutenant-general in name, his master in fact. Directly after his
departure in the following year, the Prince's authority, which nominally
departed also, was re-established in his own person, and by express act
of the states-general.

The Union of Utrecht was the foundation-stone of the Netherland Republic;
but the framers of the confederacy did not intend the establishment of a
Republic, or of an independent commonwealth of any kind. They had not
forsworn the Spanish monarch. It was not yet their intention to forswear
him. Certainly the act of union contained no allusion to such an
important step. On the contrary, in the brief preamble they expressly
stated their intention to strengthen the Ghent Pacification, and the
Ghent Pacification acknowledged obedience to the King. They intended no
political innovation of any kind. They expressly accepted matters as they
were. All statutes, charters, and privileges of provinces, cities, or
corporations were to remain untouched. They intended to form neither an
independent state nor an independent federal system. No doubt the formal
renunciation of allegiance, which was to follow within two years, was
contemplated by many as a future probability; but it could not be
foreseen with certainty.

The simple act of union was not regarded as the constitution of a
commonwealth. Its object was a single one--defence against a foreign
oppressor. The contracting parties bound themselves together to spend all
their treasure and all their blood in expelling the foreign soldiery from
their soil. To accomplish this purpose, they carefully abstained from
intermeddling with internal politics and with religion. Every man was to
worship God according to the dictates of his conscience. Every
combination of citizens, from the provincial states down to the humblest
rhetoric club, was to retain its ancient constitution. The establishment
of a Republic, which lasted two centuries, which threw a girdle of rich
dependencies entirely round the globe, and which attained so remarkable a
height of commercial prosperity and political influence, was the result
of the Utrecht Union; but, it was not a premeditated result. A state,
single towards the rest of the world, a unit in its external relations,
while permitting internally a variety of sovereignties and
institutions--in many respects the prototype of our own much more
extensive and powerful union--was destined to spring from the act thus
signed by the envoys of five provinces. Those envoys were acting,
however, under the pressure of extreme necessity, and for what was
believed an evanescent purpose. The future confederacy was not to
resemble the system of the German empire, for it was to acknowledge no
single head. It was to differ from the Achaian league, in the far
inferior amount of power which it permitted to its general assembly, and
in the consequently greater proportion of sovereign attributes which were
retained by the individual states. It was, on the other hand, to furnish
a closer and more intimate bond than that of the Swiss confederacy, which
was only a union for defence and external purposes, of cantons otherwise
independent. It was, finally, to differ from the American federal
commonwealth in the great feature that it was to be merely a confederacy
of sovereignties, not a representative Republic. Its foundation was a
compact, not a constitution. The contracting parties were states and
corporations, who considered themselves as representing small
nationalities 'dejure et de facto', and as succeeding to the supreme
power at the very instant in which allegiance to the Spanish monarch was
renounced. The general assembly was a collection of diplomatic envoys,
bound by instructions from independent states. The voting was not by
heads, but by states. The deputies were not representatives of the
people, but of the states; for the people of the United States of the
Netherlands never assembled--as did the people of the United States of
America two centuries later--to lay down a constitution, by which they
granted a generous amount of power to the union, while they reserved
enough of sovereign attributes to secure that local self-government which
is the life-blood of liberty.

The Union of Utrecht; narrowed as it was to the nether portion of that
country which, as a whole, might have formed a commonwealth so much more
powerful, was in origin a proof of this lamentable want of patriotism.
Could the jealousy of great nobles, the rancour of religious differences,
the Catholic bigotry of the Walloon population, on the one side,
contending with the democratic insanity of the Ghent populace on the
other, have been restrained within bounds by the moderate counsels of
William of Orange, it would have been possible to unite seventeen
provinces instead of seven, and to save many long and blighting years of
civil war.

The Utrecht Union was, however, of inestimable value. It was time for
some step to be taken, if anarchy were not to reign until the inquisition
and absolutism were restored. Already, out of Chaos and Night, the coming
Republic was assuming substance and form. The union, if it created
nothing else, at least constructed a league against a foreign foe whose
armed masses were pouring faster and faster into the territory of the
provinces. Farther than this it did not propose to go. It maintained what
it found. It guaranteed religious liberty, and accepted the civil and
political constitutions already in existence. Meantime, the defects of
those constitutions, although visible and sensible, had not grown to the
large proportions which they were destined to attain.

Thus by the Union of Utrecht on the one hand, and the fast approaching
reconciliation of the Walloon provinces on the other, the work of
decomposition and of construction went Land in hand.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Throw the cat against their legs
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 32

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER II.

   Parma's feint upon Antwerp--He invests Maestricht--Deputation and
   letters from the states-general, from Brussels, and from Parma, to
   the Walloon provinces--Active negotiations by Orange and by Farnese
   --Walloon envoys in Parma's camp before Maestricht--Festivities--The
   Treaty of Reconciliation--Rejoicings of the royalist party--Comedy
   enacted at the Paris theatres--Religious tumults in Antwerp,
   Utrecht, and other cities--Religious Peace enforced by Orange--
   Philip Egmont's unsuccessful attempt upon Brussels--Siege of
   Maestricht--Failure at the Tongres gate--Mining and countermining--
   Partial destruction of the Tongres ravelin--Simultaneous attack upon
   the Tongres and Bolls-le-Duo gates--The Spaniards repulsed with
   great loss--Gradual encroachments of the besiegers--Bloody contests
   --The town taken--Horrible massacre--Triumphal entrance and solemn
   thanksgiving--Calumnious attacks upon Orange--Renewed troubles in
   Ghent--Imbue and Dathenus--The presence of the Prince solicited--
   Coup d'etat of Imbue--Order restored, and Imbue expelled by Orange

The political movements in both directions were to be hastened by the
military operations of the opening season. On the night of the 2nd of
March, 1579, the Prince of Parma made a demonstration against Antwerp. A
body of three thousand Scotch and English, lying at Borgerhout, was
rapidly driven in, and a warm skirmish ensued, directly under the walls
of the city. The Prince of Orange, with the Archduke Matthias, being in
Antwerp at the time, remained on the fortifications; superintending the
action, and Parma was obliged to retire after an hour or two of sharp
fighting, with a loss of four hundred men. This demonstration was,
however, only a feint. His real design was upon Maestricht; before which
important city he appeared in great force, ten days afterwards, when he
was least expected.

Well fortified, surrounded by a broad and deep moat; built upon both
sides of the Meuse, upon the right bank of which river, however, the
portion of the town was so inconsiderable that it was merely called the
village of Wyk, this key to the German gate of the Netherlands was,
unfortunately, in brave but feeble hands. The garrison was hardly one
thousand strong; the trained bands of burghers amounted to twelve hundred
more; while between three and four thousand peasants; who had taken
refuge within the city walls, did excellent service as sappers and
miners. Parma, on the other hand, had appeared before the walls with
twenty thousand men; to which number he received constant reinforcements.
The Bishop of Liege, too, had sent him four thousand pioneers--a most
important service; for mining and countermining was to decide the fate of
Maestricht.

Early in January the royalists had surprised the strong chateau of
Carpen, in the neighbourhood of the city, upon which occasion the
garrison were all hanged by moonlight on the trees in the orchard. The
commandant shared their fate; and it is a curious fact that he had,
precisely a year previously, hanged the royalist captain, Blomaert, on
the same spot, who, with the rope around his neck, had foretold a like
doom to his destroyer.

The Prince of Orange, feeling the danger of Maestricht, lost no time in
warning the states to the necessary measures, imploring them "not to fall
asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation," while meantime Parma threw
two bridges over the Meuse, above and below the city, and then invested
the place so closely that all communication was absolutely suspended.
Letters could pass to and fro only at extreme peril to the messengers,
and all possibility of reinforcing the city at the moment was cut off.

While this eventful siege was proceeding, the negotiations with the
Walloons were ripening. The siege and the conferences went hand in hand.
Besides the secret arrangements already described for the separation of
the Walloon provinces, there had been much earnest and eloquent
remonstrance on the part of the states-general and of Orange--many solemn
embassies and public appeals. As usual, the Pacification of Ghent was the
two-sided shield which hung between the parties to cover or to justify
the blows which each dealt at the other. There is no doubt as to the real
opinion entertained concerning that famous treaty by the royal party.
"Through the peace of Ghent," said Saint Vaast, "all our woes have been
brought upon us." La Motte informed Parma that it was necessary to
pretend a respect for the Pacification, however, on account of its
popularity, but that it was well understood by the leaders of the Walloon
movement, that the intention was to restore the system of Charles the
Fifth. Parma signified his consent to make use of that treaty as a basis,
"provided always it were interpreted healthily, and not dislocated by
cavillations and sinister interpolations, as had been done by the Prince
of Orange." The Malcontent generals of the Walloon troops were
inexpressibly anxious lest the cause of religion should be endangered;
but the arguments by which Parma convinced those military casuists as to
the compatibility of the Ghent peace with sound doctrine have already
been exhibited. The influence of the reconciled nobles was brought to
bear with fatal effect upon the states of Artois, Hainault, and of a
portion of French Flanders. The Gallic element in their blood, and an
intense attachment to the Roman ceremonial, which distinguished the
Walloon population from their Batavian brethren, were used successfully
by the wily Parma to destroy the unity of the revolted Netherlands.
Moreover, the King offered good terms. The monarch, feeling safe on the
religious point, was willing to make liberal promises upon the political
questions. In truth, the great grievance of which the Walloons complained
was the insolence and intolerable outrages of the foreign soldiers. This,
they said, had alone made them malcontent. It was; therefore, obviously
the cue of Parma to promise the immediate departure of the troops. This
could be done the more easily, as he had no intention of keeping the
promise.

Meantime the efforts of Orange, and of the states-general, where his
influence was still paramount, were unceasing to counteract the policy of
Parma. A deputation was appointed by the generality to visit the estates
of the Walloon provinces. Another was sent by the authorities of
Brussels. The Marquis of Havre, with several colleagues on behalf of the
states-general, waited upon the Viscount of Ghent, by whom they were
received with extreme insolence. He glared upon them, without moving, as
they were admitted to his presence; "looking like a dead man, from whom
the soul had entirely departed." Recovering afterwards from this stony
trance of indignation, he demanded a sight of their instructions. This
they courteously refused, as they were accredited not to him, but to the
states of Artois. At this he fell into a violent passion, and threatened
them with signal chastisement for daring to come thither with so
treasonable a purpose. In short, according to their own expression; he
treated them "as if they had been rogues and vagabonds." The Marquis of
Havre, high-born though he was, had been sufficiently used to such
conduct. The man who had successively served and betrayed every party,
who had been the obsequious friend and the avowed enemy of Don John
within the same fortnight, and who had been able to swallow and inwardly
digest many an insult from that fiery warrior, was even fain to brook the
insolence of Robert Melun.

The papers which the deputation had brought were finally laid before the
states of Artois, and received replies as prompt and bitter as the
addresses were earnest and eloquent. The Walloons, when summoned to hold
to that aegis of national unity, the Ghent peace, replied that it was not
they, but the heretic portion of the states-general, who were for dashing
it to the ground. The Ghent treaty was never intended to impair the
supremacy of the Catholic religion, said those provinces, which were
already on the point of separating for ever from the rest. The Ghent
treaty was intended expressly to destroy the inquisition and the
placards, answered the national-party. Moreover, the "very marrow of that
treaty" was the-departure of the foreign soldiers, who were even then
overrunning the land. The Walloons answered that Alexander had expressly
conceded the withdrawal of the troops. "Believe not the fluting and the
piping of the crafty foe," urged the patriots. "Promises are made
profusely enough--but only to lure you to perdition. Your enemies allow
you to slake your hunger and thirst with this idle hope of the troops'
departure, but you are still in fetters, although the chain be of Spanish
pinchbeck, which you mistake for gold." "'Tis not we," cried the
Walloons, "who wish to separate from the generality; 'tis the generality
which separates from us. We had rather die the death than not maintain
the union. In the very same breath, however, they boasted of the
excellent terms which the monarch was offering, and of their strong
inclination to accept them." "Kings, struggling to recover a lost
authority, always promise golden mountains and every sort of miracles,"
replied the patriots; but the warning was uttered in vain.

Meantime the deputation from the city of Brussels arrived on the 28th of
March at Mons, in Hainault, where they were received with great courtesy
by Count de Lalain, governor of the province. The enthusiasm with which
he had espoused the cause of Queen Margaret and her brother Anjou had
cooled, but the Count received the Brussels envoys with a kindness in
marked contrast with the brutality of Melun. He made many fine
speeches--protesting his attachment to, the union, for which he was ready
to shed the last drop of his blood--entertained the deputies at dinner,
proposed toasts to the prosperity of the united provinces, and dismissed
his guests at last with many flowery professions. After dancing
attendance for a few days, however, upon the estates of the Walloon
provinces, both sets of deputies were warned to take their instant
departure as mischief-makers and rebels. They returned, accordingly, to
Brussels, bringing the written answers which the estates had vouchsafed
to send.

The states-general, too, inspired by William of Orange, addressed a
solemn appeal to their sister provinces, thus about to abjure the bonds
of relationship for ever. It seemed right, once for all, to grapple with
the Ghent Pacification for the last time, and to strike a final blow in
defence of that large statesmanlike interpretation, which alone could
make the treaty live. This was done eloquently and logically. The
Walloons were reminded that at the epoch of the Ghent peace the number of
Reformers outside of Holland and Zealand was supposed small. Now the new
religion had spread its roots through the whole land, and innumerable
multitudes desired its exercise. If Holland and Zealand chose to
reestablish the Catholic worship within their borders, they could
manifestly do so without violating the treaty of Ghent. Why then was it
not competent to other provinces, with equal allegiance to the treaty, to
sanction the Reformed religion within their limits?

Parma, on his part, publicly invited the states-general, by letter, to
sustain the Ghent treaty by accepting the terms offered to the Walloons,
and by restoring the system of the Emperor Charles, of very lofty memory.
To this superfluous invitation the states-general replied, on the 19th of
March, that it had been the system of the Emperor Charles; of lofty
memory, to maintain the supremacy of Catholicism and of Majesty in the
Netherlands by burning Netherlanders--a custom which the states, with
common accord, had thought it desirable to do away with.

In various fervently-written appeals by Orange, by the states-general,
and by other bodies, the wavering provinces were warned against
seduction. They were reminded that the Prince of Parma was using this
minor negotiation "as a second string to his bow;" that nothing could be
more puerile than to suppose the Spaniards capable, after securing
Maestricht, of sending away their troops thus "deserting the bride in the
midst of the honeymoon." They expressed astonishment at being invited to
abandon the great and general treaty which had been made upon the theatre
of the whole world by the intervention of the principal princes of
Christendom, in order to partake in underhand negotiation with the
commissioners of Parma-men, "who, it would not be denied, were felons and
traitors." They warned their brethren not to embark on the enemy's ships
in the dark, for that, while chaffering as to the price of the voyage,
they would find that the false pilots had hoisted sail and borne them
away in the night. In vain would they then seek to reach the shore again.
The example of La Motte and others, "bird-limed with Spanish gold,"
should be salutary for all-men who were now driven forward with a whip,
laughed to scorn by their new masters, and forced to drink the bitter
draught of humiliation along with the sweet poison of bribery. They were
warned to study well the intercepted letters of Curiel, in order fully to
fathom the deep designs and secret contempt of the enemy.

Such having been the result of the negotiations between the
states-general and the Walloon provinces, a strong deputation now went
forth from those provinces, towards the end of April, to hold a final
colloquy with Parma, then already busied with the investment of
Maestricht. They were met upon the road with great ceremony, and escorted
into the presence of Farnese with drum, trumpet, and flaunting banners.
He received them with stately affability, in a magnificently decorated
pavilion, carelessly inviting them to a repast, which he called an
afternoon's lunch, but which proved a most sumptuous and splendidly
appointed entertainment. This "trifling foolish banquet" finished, the
deputies were escorted, with great military parade, to the lodgings which
had been provided for them in a neighbouring village. During the period
of their visit, all the chief officers of the army and the household were
directed to entertain the Walloons with showy festivals, dinners,
suppers, dances, and carousals of all kinds. At one of the most brilliant
of these revels--a magnificent ball, to which all the matrons and maids
of the whole country round had been bidden--the Prince of Parma himself
unexpectedly made his appearance. He gently rebuked the entertainers for
indulging in such splendid hospitality without, at least, permitting him
to partake of it. Charmingly affable to the ladies assembled in the
ball-room, courteous, but slightly reserved, towards the Walloon envoys,
he excited the admiration of all by the splendid decorum of his manners.
As he moved through the halls, modulating his steps in grave cadence to
the music, the dignity and grace of his deportment seemed truly majestic;
but when he actually danced a measure himself the enthusiasm was at its
height. They should, indeed, be rustics, cried the Walloon envoys in a
breath, not to give the hand of fellowship at once to a Prince so
condescending and amiable. The exclamation seemed to embody the general
wish, and to foreshadow a speedy conclusion.

Very soon afterwards a preliminary accord was signed between the King's
government and the Walloon provinces. The provisions on his Majesty's
part were sufficiently liberal. The religious question furnishing no
obstacle, it was comparatively easy for Philip to appear benignant. It
was stipulated that the provincial privileges should be respected; that a
member of the King's own family, legitimately born, should always be
Governor-General, and that the foreign troops should be immediately
withdrawn. The official exchange and ratification of this treaty were
delayed till the 4th of the following September, but the news that, the
reconciliation had been definitely settled soon spread through the
country. The Catholics were elated, the patriots dismayed. Orange-the
"Prince of Darkness," as the Walloons of the day were fond of calling
him--still unwilling to despair, reluctant to accept this dismemberment,
which he foresaw was to be a perpetual one, of his beloved country,
addressed the most passionate and solemn adjurations to the Walloon
provinces, and to their military chieftains. He offered all his children
as hostages for his good faith in keeping sacredly any covenant which his
Catholic countrymen might be willing to close with him. It was in vain.
The step was irretrievably taken; religious bigotry, patrician jealousy,
and wholesale bribery, had severed the Netherlands in twain for ever. The
friends of Romanism, the enemies of civil and religious liberty, exulted
from one end of Christendom to the other, and it was recognized that
Parma had, indeed, achieved a victory which although bloodless, was as
important to the cause of absolutism as any which even his sword was
likely to achieve.

The joy of the Catholic party in Paris manifested itself in a variety of
ways. At the principal theatre an uncouth pantomime was exhibited, in
which his Catholic Majesty was introduced upon the stage, leading by a
halter a sleek cow, typifying the Netherlands. The animal by a sudden
effort, broke the cord, and capered wildly about. Alexander of Parma
hastened to fasten the fragments together, while sundry personages,
representing the states-general, seized her by the horns, some leaping
upon her back, others calling upon the bystanders to assist in holding
the restive beast. The Emperor, the King of France, and the Queen of
England--which last personage was observed now to smile upon one party,
now to affect deep sympathy with the other--remained stationary; but the
Duke of Alencon rushed upon the stage, and caught the cow by the tail.
The Prince of Orange and Hans Casimir then appeared with a bucket, and
set themselves busily to milk her, when Alexander again seized the
halter. The cow gave a plunge, upset the pail, prostrated Casimir with
one kick and Orange with another, and then followed Parma with docility
as he led her back to Philip. This seems not very "admirable fooling,"
but it was highly relished by the polite Parisians of the sixteenth
century, and has been thought worthy of record by classical historians.

The Walloon accord was an auspicious prelude, in the eyes of the friends
of absolutism, to the negotiations which were opened in the month of May,
at Cologne. Before sketching, as rapidly as possible, those celebrated
but barren conferences, it is necessary, for the sake of unity in the
narrative, to cast a glance at certain synchronical events in different
parts of the Netherlands.

The success attained by the Catholic party in the Walloon negotiations
had caused a corresponding bitterness in the hearts of the Reformers
throughout the country. As usual, bitterness had begot bitterness;
intolerance engendered intolerance. On the 28th of May, 1579, as the
Catholics of Antwerp were celebrating the Ommegang--the same festival
which had been the exciting cause of the memorable tumults of the year
sixty-five--the irritation of the populace could not be repressed. The
mob rose in its wrath to put down these demonstrations--which, taken in
connection with recent events, seemed ill-timed and insolent--of a
religion whose votaries then formed but a small minority of the Antwerp
citizens. There was a great tumult. Two persons were killed. The Archduke
Matthias, who was himself in the Cathedral of Notre Dame assisting at the
ceremony, was in danger of his life. The well known cry of "paapen uit"
(out with the papists) resounded through the streets, and the priests and
monks were all hustled out of town amid a tempest of execrations. Orange
did his utmost to quell the mutiny, nor were his efforts fruitless--for
the uproar, although seditious and disgraceful, was hardly sanguinary.
Next day the Prince summoned the magistracy, the Monday council, the
guild officers, with all the chief municipal functionaries, and expressed
his indignation in decided terms. He protested that if such tumults,
originating in that very spirit of intolerance which he most deplored,
could not be repressed for the future, he was determined to resign his
offices, and no longer to affect authority in a city where his counsels
were derided. The magistrates, alarmed at his threats, and sympathizing
with his anger, implored him not to desert them, protesting that if he
should resign his offices, they would instantly lay down their, own. An
ordinance was then drawn up and immediately, proclaimed at the Town
House, permitting the Catholics to re-enter the city, and to enjoy the
privileges of religious worship. At the same time, it was announced that
a new draft of a religious peace would be forthwith issued for the
adoption of every city.

A similar tumult, arising from the same cause, at Utrecht, was attended
with the like result. On the other hand, the city of Brussels was
astonished by a feeble and unsuccessful attempts at treason, made by a
youth who bore an illustrious name. Philip, Count of Egmont, eldest son
of the unfortunate Lamoral, had command of a regiment in the service of
the states. He had, besides, a small body of cavalry in immediate
attendance upon his person. He had for some time felt inclined--like the
Lalains, Meluns, La Mottes, and others to reconcile himself with the
Crown, and he wisely thought that the terms accorded to him would be more
liberal if he could bring the capital of Brabant with him as a peace
offering to his Majesty. His residence was in Brussels. His regiment was
stationed outside the gates, but in the immediate neighbourhood of the
city. On the morning of the 4th of June he despatched his troopers--as
had been frequently his custom--on various errands into the country. On
their return, after having summoned the regiment, they easily mastered
and butchered the guard at the gate through which they had re-entered,
supplying their place with men from their own ranks. The Egmont regiment
then came marching through the gate in good order--Count Philip at their
head--and proceeded to station themselves upon the Grande Place in the
centre of the city. All this was at dawn of day. The burghers, who looked
forth from their houses, were astounded and perplexed by this movement at
so unwonted an hour, and hastened to seize their weapons. Egmont sent a
detachment to take possession of the palace. He was too late. Colonel Van
der Tympel, commandant of the city, had been beforehand with him, had got
his troops under arms, and now secured the rebellious detachment.
Meantime, the alarm had spread. Armed burghers came from every house, and
barricades were hastily thrown up across every one of the narrow streets
leading to the square. Every issue was closed. Not a man of Egmont's
adherents--if he indeed had adherents among the townsmen--dared to show
his face. The young traitor and his whole regiment, drawn up on the
Grande Place, were completely entrapped. He had not taken Brussels, but
assuredly Brussels had taken him. All day long he was kept in his
self-elected prison and pillory, bursting with rage and shame. His
soldiers, who were without meat or drink, became insolent and uproarious,
and he was doomed also to hear the bitter and well-merited taunts of the
towns-people. A thousand stinging gibes, suggested by his name and the
locality, were mercilessly launched upon him. He was asked if he came
thither to seek his father's head. He was reminded that the morrow was
the anniversary of that father's murder upon that very spot--by those
with whom the son would now make his treasonable peace. He was bidden to
tear up but a few stones from the pavement beneath his feet, that the
hero's blood might cry out against him from the very ground.

Tears of shame and fury sprang from the young man's eyes as he listened
to these biting sarcasms, but the night closed upon that memorable
square, and still the Count was a prisoner. Eleven years before, the
summer stars had looked down upon a more dense array of armed men within
that place. The preparations for the pompous and dramatic execution,
which on the morrow was to startle all Europe, had been carried out in
the midst of a hushed and overawed population; and now, on the very
anniversary of the midnight in which that scaffold had risen, should not
the grand spectre of the victim have started from the grave to chide his
traitorous son?

Thus for a whole day and night was the baffled conspirator compelled to
remain in the ignominious position which he had selected for himself. On
the morning of the 5th of June he was permitted to depart, by a somewhat
inexplicable indulgence, together with all his followers. He rode out of
the gate at early dawn, contemptible and crest-fallen, at the head of his
regiment of traitors, and shortly afterwards--pillaging and levying black
mail as he went--made his way to Montigny's quarters.

It might have seemed natural, after such an exhibition, that Philip
Egmont should accept his character of renegade, and confess his intention
of reconciling himself with the murderers of his father. On the contrary,
he addressed a letter to the magistracy of Brussels, denying with
vehemence "any intention of joining the party of the pernicious
Spaniards," warmly protesting his zeal and affection for the states, and
denouncing the "perverse inventors of these calumnies against him as the
worst enemies of the poor afflicted country." The magistrates replied by
expressing their inability to comprehend how the Count, who had suffered
villainous wrongs from the Spaniards, such as he could never sufficiently
deplore or avenge, should ever be willing to enslave himself, to those
tyrants. Nevertheless, exactly at the moment of this correspondence,
Egmont was in close negotiation with Spain, having fifteen days before
the date of his letter to the Brussels senate, conveyed to Parma his
resolution to "embrace the cause of his Majesty and the ancient
religion"--an intention which he vaunted himself to have proved "by
cutting the throats of three companies of states' soldiers at Nivelle,
Grandmont, and Ninove." Parma had already written to communicate the
intelligence to the King, and to beg encouragement for the Count. In
September, the monarch wrote a letter to Egmont, full of gratitude and
promises, to which the Count replied by expressing lively gratification
that his Majesty was pleased with his little services, by avowing
profound attachment to Church and King, and by asking eagerly for money,
together with the government of Alost. He soon became singularly
importunate for rewards and promotion, demanding, among other posts, the
command of the "band of ordnance," which had been his father's. Parma, in
reply, was prodigal of promises, reminding the young noble "that he was
serving a sovereign who well knew how to reward the distinguished
exploits of his subjects." Such was the language of Philip the Second and
his Governor to the son of the headless hero of Saint Quentin; such was
the fawning obsequiousness with which Egmont could kiss that royal hand
reeking with his father's blood.

Meanwhile the siege of Maestricht had been advancing with steady
precision. To military minds of that epoch--perhaps of later ages--this
achievement of Parma seemed a masterpiece of art. The city commanded the
Upper Meuse, and was the gate into Germany. It contained thirty-four
thousand inhabitants. An army, numbering almost as many Souls, was
brought against it; and the number of deaths by which its capture was at
last effected, was probably equal to that of a moiety of the population.
To the technical mind, the siege no doubt seemed a beautiful creation of
human intelligence. To the honest student of history, to the lover of
human progress, such a manifestation of intellect seems a sufficiently
sad exhibition. Given, a city with strong walls and towers, a slender
garrison and a devoted population on one side; a consummate chieftain on
the other, with an army of veterans at his back, no interruption to fear,
and a long season to work in; it would not seem to an unsophisticated
mind a very lofty exploit for the soldier to carry the city at the end of
four months' hard labor.

The investment of Maestricht was commenced upon the 12th of March, 1579.
In the city, besides the population, there were two thousand peasants,
both men and women, a garrison of one thousand soldiers; and a trained
burgher guard; numbering about twelve hundred. The name of the military
commandant was Melchior. Sebastian Tappin, a Lorraine officer of much
experience and bravery, was next in command, and was, in truth, the
principal director of the operations. He had been despatched thither by
the Prince of Orange, to serve under La None, who was to have commanded
in Maestricht, but had been unable to enter the city. Feeling that the
siege was to be a close one, and knowing how much depended upon the
issue, Sebastian lost no time in making every needful preparation for
coming events. The walls were strengthened everywhere; shafts were sunk,
preparatory to the countermining operations which were soon to become
necessary; the moat was deepened and cleared, and the forts near the
gates were put in thorough repair. On the other hand, Alexander had
encircled the city, and had thrown two bridges, well fortified, across
the river. There were six gates to the town, each provided with ravelins,
and there was a doubt in what direction the first attack should be made.
Opinions wavered between the gate of Bois-le-Duc, next the river, and
that of Tongres on the south-western side, but it was finally decided to
attempt the gate of Tongres.

Over against that point the platforms were accordingly constructed, and
after a heavy cannonade from forty-six great guns continued for several
days, it was thought, by the 25th of March, that an impression had been
made upon the city. A portion of the brick curtain had crumbled, but
through the breach was seen a massive terreplein, well moated, which,
after six thousand shots already delivered on the outer wall--still
remained uninjured. It was recognized that the gate of Tongres was not
the most assailable, but rather the strongest portion of the defences,
and Alexander therefore determined to shift his batteries to the gate of
Bois-le-Duc. At the same time, the attempt upon that of Tongres was to be
varied, but not abandoned. Four thousand miners, who had passed half
their lives in burrowing for coal in that anthracite region, had been
furnished by the Bishop of Liege, and this force was now set to their
subterranean work. A mine having been opened at a distance, the besiegers
slowly worked their way towards the Tongres gate, while at the same time
the more ostensible operations were in the opposite direction. The
besieged had their miners also, for the peasants in the city had been
used to work with mattock and pickaxe. The women, too, enrolled
themselves into companies, chose their officers--or "mine-mistresses," as
they were called--and did good service daily in the caverns of the earth.
Thus a whole army of gnomes were noiselessly at work to destroy and
defend the beleaguered city. The mine advanced towards the gate; the
besieged delved deeper, and intersected it with a transverse excavation,
and the contending forces met daily, in deadly encounter, within these
sepulchral gangways. Many stratagems were, mutually employed. The
citizens secretly constructed a dam across the Spanish mine, and then
deluged their foe with hogsheads of boiling water. Hundreds were thus
scalded to death. They heaped branches and light fagots in the hostile
mine, set fire to the pile, and blew thick volumes of smoke along the
passage with organ-bellows brought from the churches for the purpose.
Many were thus suffocated. The discomfited besiegers abandoned the mine
where they had met with such able countermining, and sunk another shaft,
at midnight, in secret, at a long distance from the Tongres gate. Still
towards that point, however, they burrowed in the darkness; guiding
themselves to their destination with magnet, plumbline and level, as the
mariner crosses the trackless ocean with compass and chart. They worked
their way, unobstructed, till they arrived at their subterranean port,
directly beneath the doomed ravelin. Here they constructed a spacious
chamber, supporting it with columns, and making all their architectural
arrangements with as much precision and elegance as if their object had
been purely esthetic. Coffers full of powder, to an enormous amount, were
then placed in every direction across the floor, the train was laid, and
Parma informed that all was ready. Alexander, having already arrayed the
troops destined for the assault, then proceeded in person to the mouth of
the shaft, and gave orders to spring the mine. The explosion was
prodigious; a part of the tower fell with the concussion, and the moat
was choked with heaps of rubbish. The assailants sprang across the
passage thus afforded, and mastered the ruined portion of the fort. They
were met in the breach, however, by the unflinching defenders of the
city, and, after a fierce combat of some hours, were obliged to retire;
remaining masters, however, of the moat, and of the ruined portion of the
ravelin. This was upon the 3rd of April.

Five days afterwards, a general assault was ordered. A new mine having
been already constructed towards the Tongres ravelin, and a faithful
cannonade having been kept up for a fortnight against the Bois-le-Duc
gate, it was thought advisable to attack at both points at once. On the
8th of April, accordingly, after uniting in prayer, and listening to a
speech from Alexander Farnese, the great mass of the Spanish army
advanced to the breach. The moat had been rendered practicable in many
places by the heaps of rubbish with which it had been encumbered, and by
the fagots and earth with which it had been filled by the besiegers. The
action at the Bois-le-Duc gate was exceedingly warm. The tried veterans
of Spain, Italy, and Burgundy, were met face to face by the burghers of
Maestricht, together with their wives and children. All were armed to the
teeth, and fought with what seemed superhuman valor. The women, fierce as
tigresses defending their young, swarmed to the walls, and fought in the
foremost rank. They threw pails of boiling water on the besiegers, they
hurled firebrands in their faces; they quoited blazing pitch-hoops with,
unerring dexterity about their necks. The rustics too, armed with their
ponderous flails, worked as cheerfully at this bloody harvesting as if
thrashing their corn at home. Heartily did they winnow the ranks of the
royalists who came to butcher them, and thick and fast fell the invaders,
fighting bravely, but baffled by these novel weapons used by peasant and
woman, coming to the aid of the sword; spear, and musket of trained
soldiery. More than a thousand had fallen at the Bois-le-Duc gate, and
still fresh besiegers mounted the breach, only to be beaten back, or to
add to the mangled heap of the slain. At the Tongres gate, meanwhile, the
assault had fared no better. A herald had been despatched thither in hot
haste, to shout at the top of his lungs, "Santiago! Santiago! the
Lombards have the gate of Bois-le-Duc!" while the same stratagem was
employed to persuade the invaders on the other side of the town that
their comrades had forced the gate of Tongres. The soldiers, animated by
this fiction, and advancing with fury against the famous ravelin; which
had been but partly destroyed, were received with a broadside from the
great guns of the unshattered portion, and by a rattling discharge of
musketry from the walls. They wavered a little. At the same instant the
new mine--which was to have been sprung between the ravelin and the gate,
but which had been secretly countermined by the townspeople, exploded
with a horrible concussion, at a moment least expected by the besiegers.
Five hundred royalists were blown into the air. Ortiz, a Spanish captain
of engineers, who had been inspecting the excavations, was thrown up
bodily from the subterranean depth. He fell back again instantly into the
same cavern, and was buried by the returning shower of earth which had
spouted from the mine. Forty-five years afterwards, in digging for the
foundations of a new wall, his skeleton was found. Clad in complete
armor, the helmet and cuirass still sound, with his gold chain around his
neck, and his mattock and pickaxe at his feet, the soldier lay
unmutilated, seeming almost capable of resuming his part in the same war
which--even after his half century's sleep--was still ravaging the land.

Five hundred of the Spaniards, perished by the explosion, but none of the
defenders were injured, for they, had been prepared. Recovering from the
momentary panic, the besiegers again rushed to the attack. The battle
raged. Six hundred and seventy officers, commissioned or
non-commissioned, had already fallen, more than half mortally wounded.
Four thousand royalists, horribly mutilated, lay on the ground. It was
time that the day's work should be finished, for Maastricht was not to be
carried upon that occasion. The best and bravest of the surviving
officers besought Parma to put an end to the carnage by recalling the
troops; but the gladiator heart of the commander was heated, not
softened, by the savage spectacle. "Go back to the breach," he cried,
"and tell the soldiers that Alexander is coming to lead them into the
city in triumph, or to perish with his comrades." He rushed forward with
the fury which had marked him when he boarded Mustapha's galley at
Lepanto; but all the generals who were near him threw themselves upon his
path, and implored him to desist from such insensate rashness. Their
expostulations would have probably been in vain, had not his confidential
friend, Serbelloni, interposed with something like paternal authority,
reminding him of the strict commands contained in his Majesty's recent
letters, that the Governor-General, to whom so much was entrusted, should
refrain, on pain of the royal displeasure, from exposing his life like a
common fighter.

Alexander reluctantly gave the signal of recall at last, and accepted the
defeat. For the future he determined to rely more upon the sapper and
miner, and less upon the superiority of veterans to townsmen and rustics
in open fight. Sure to carry the city at last, according to line and
rule, determined to pass the whole summer beneath the walls, rather than
abandon his purpose, he calmly proceeded to complete his
circumvallations. A chain of eleven forts upon the left, and five upon
the right side of the Meuse, the whole connected by a continuous wall,
afforded him perfect security against interruptions, and allowed him to
continue the siege at leisure. His numerous army was well housed and
amply supplied, and he had built a strong and populous city in order to
destroy another. Relief was impossible. But a few thousand men were now
required to defend Farnese's improvised town, while the bulk of his army
could be marched at any moment against an advancing foe. A force of seven
thousand, painfully collected by the Prince of Orange, moved towards the
place, under command of Hohenlo and John of Nassau, but struck with
wonder at what they saw, the leaders recognized the hopelessness of
attempting relief. Maestricht was surrounded by a second Maestricht.

The efforts of Orange were now necessarily directed towards obtaining, if
possible, a truce of a few weeks from the negotiators at Cologne. Parma
was too crafty, however, to allow Terranova to consent, and as the Duke
disclaimed any power over the direct question of peace and war, the siege
proceeded. The gates of Bois-le-Duc and Tongres having thus far resisted
the force brought against them, the scene was changed to the gate of
Brussels. This adjoined that of Tongres, was farthest from the river, and
faced westwardly towards the open country. Here the besieged had
constructed an additional ravelin, which they had christened, in
derision, "Parma," and against which the batteries of Parma were now
brought to bear. Alexander erected a platform of great extent and
strength directly opposite the new work, and after a severe and constant
cannonade from this elevation, followed by a bloody action, the "Parma"
fort was carried. One thousand, at least, of the defenders fell, as,
forced gradually from one defence to another, they saw the triple walls
of their ravelin crumble successively before their eyes. The tower was
absolutely annihilated before they abandoned its ruins, and retired
within their last defences. Alexander being now master of the fosa and
the defences of the Brussels gate, drew up a large force on both aides of
that portal, along the margin of the moat, and began mining beneath the
inner wall of the city.

Meantime, the garrison had been reduced to four hundred soldiers, nearly
all of whom were wounded: wearied and driven to despair, these soldiers
were willing to treat. The townspeople, however, answered the proposition
with a shout of fury, and protested that they would destroy the garrison
with their own hands if such an insinuation were repeated. Sebastian
Tappin, too, encouraged them with the hope of speedy relief, and held out
to them the wretched consequences of trusting to the mercy of their foes.
The garrison took heart again, while that of the burghers and their wives
had, never faltered. Their main hope now was in a fortification which
they had been constructing inside the Brussels gate--a demilune of
considerable strength. Behind it was a breastwork of turf and masonry, to
serve as a last bulwark when every other defence should be forced. The
whole had been surrounded by a foss thirty feet in depth, and the
besiegers, as they mounted upon the breaches which they had at last
effected in the outer curtain, near the Brussels gate, saw for the first
time this new fortification.

The general condition of the defences, and the disposition of the
inhabitants, had been revealed to Alexander by a deserter from the town.
Against this last fortress the last efforts of the foe were now directed.
Alexander ordered a bridge to be thrown across the city moat. As it was
sixty feet wide and as many deep, and lay directly beneath the guns of
the new demilune, the enterprise was sufficiently hazardous. Alexander
led the way in person, with a mallet in one hand and a mattockin the
other. Two men fell dead instantly, one on his right hand and his left,
while he calmly commenced, in his own person, the driving of the first
piles for the bridge. His soldiers fell fast around him. Count Berlaymont
was shot dead, many officers of distinction were killed or wounded, but
no soldier dared recoil while their chieftain wrought amid the bullets
like a common pioneer. Alexander, unharmed, as by a miracle, never left
the spot till the bridge had been constructed, and till ten great guns
had been carried across it, and pointed against the demilune. The battery
was opened, the mines previously excavated were sprung, a part of the
demilune was blown into the air, and the assailants sprang into the
breach. Again a furious hand-to-hand conflict succeeded; again, after an
obstinate resistance, the townspeople were forced to yield. Slowly
abandoning the shattered fort, they retired behind the breastwork in its
rear--their innermost and last defence. To this barrier they clung as to
a spar in shipwreck, and here at last they stood at bay, prepared dearly
to sell their lives.

The breastwork, being still strong, was not attempted upon that day. The
assailants were recalled, and in the mean time a herald was sent by
Parma, highly applauding the courage of the defenders, and begging them
to surrender at discretion. They answered the messenger with words of
haughty defiance, and, rushing in a mass to the breastwork, began with
spade, pickax, and trowel, to add to its strength. Here all the
able-bodied men of the town took up their permanent position, and here
they ate, drank, and slept upon their posts, while their food was brought
to them by the women and children.

A little letter, "written in a fine neat handwriting," now mysteriously
arrived in the city, encouraging them in the name of the Archduke and the
Prince of Orange, and assuring them of relief within fourteen days. A
brief animation was thus produced, attended by a corresponding languor
upon the part of the besiegers, for Alexander had been lying ill with a
fever since the day when the demilune had been carried. From his sick bed
he rebuked his officers severely that a temporary breastwork, huddled
together by boors and burghers in the midst of a siege, should prove an
insurmountable obstacle to men who had carried everything before them.
The morrow was the festival of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and it was
meet that so sacred a day should be hallowed by a Christian and Apostolic
victory. Saint Peter would be there with, his keys to open the gate;
Saint Paul would lead them to battle with his invincible sword. Orders
were given accordingly, and the assault was assigned for the following
morning.

Meantime, the guards were strengthened and commanded to be more than
usually watchful. The injunction had a remarkable effect. At the dead of
night, a soldier of the watch was going his rounds on the outside of the
breastwork, listening, if perchance he might catch, as was not unusual, a
portion of the conversation among the beleaguered burghers within. Prying
about on every side, he at last discovered a chink in the wall, the
result, doubtless, of the last cannonade, and hitherto overlooked. He
enlarged the gap with his fingers, and finally made an opening wide
enough to admit his person. He crept boldly through, and looked around in
the clear starlight. The sentinels were all slumbering at their posts. He
advanced stealthily in the dusky streets. Not a watchman was going his
rounds. Soldiers, burghers, children, women, exhausted by incessant
fatigue, were all asleep. Not a footfall was heard; not a whisper broke
the silence; it seemed a city of the dead. The soldier crept back through
the crevice, and hastened to apprise his superiors of his adventure.

Alexander, forthwith instructed as to the condition of the city, at once
ordered the assault, and the last wall was suddenly stormed before the
morning broke. The soldiers forced their way through the breach or sprang
over the breastwork, and surprised at last--in its sleep--the city which
had so long and vigorously defended itself. The burghers, startled from
their slumber, bewildered, unprepared, found themselves engaged in
unequal conflict with alert and savage foes. The battle, as usual when
Netherland towns were surprised by Philip's soldiers, soon changed to a
massacre. The townspeople rushed hither and thither, but there was
neither escape, nor means of resisting an enemy who now poured into the
town by thousands upon thousands. An indiscriminate slaughter succeeded:
Women, old men, and children, had all been combatants; and all,
therefore, had incurred the vengeance of the conquerors. A cry of agony
arose which was distinctly heard at the distance of a league. Mothers
took their infants in their arms, and threw themselves by hundreds into
the Meuse--and against women the blood-thirst of the assailants was
especially directed. Females who had fought daily in the trenches, who
had delved in mines and mustered on the battlements, had unsexed
themselves in the opinion of those whose comrades they had helped to
destroy. It was nothing that they had laid aside the weakness of women in
order to defend all that was holy and dear to them on earth. It was
sufficient that many a Spanish, Burgundian, or Italian mercenary had died
by their hands. Women were pursued from house to house, and hurled from
roof and window. They were hunted into the river; they were torn limb
from limb in the streets. Men and children fared no better; but the heart
sickens at the oft-repeated tale. Horrors, alas, were commonplaces in the
Netherlands. Cruelty too monstrous for description, too vast to be
believed by a mind not familiar with the outrages practised by the
soldiers of Spain and Italy upon their heretic fellow-creatures, were now
committed afresh in the streets of Maestricht.

On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered. The
massacre lasted two days longer; nor would it be an exaggerated estimate,
if we assume that the amount of victims upon the two last days was equal
to half the number sacrificed on the first. It was said that not four
hundred citizens were left alive after the termination of the siege.
These soon wandered away, their places being supplied by a rabble rout of
Walloon sutlers and vagabonds. Maestricht was depopulated as well as
captured. The booty obtained after the massacre was very large, for the
city had been very thriving, its cloth manufacture extensive and
important. Sebastian Tappin, the heroic defender of the place, had been
shot through the shoulder at the taking of the Parma ravelin, and had
been afterwards severely injured at the capture of the demilune. At the
fall of the city he was mortally wounded, and carried a prisoner to the
hostile camp, only to expire. The governor, Swartsenberg, also lost his
life.

Alexander, on the contrary, was raised from his sick bed with the joyful
tidings of victory, and as soon as he could be moved, made his appearance
in the city. Seated in a splendid chair of state, borne aloft on the
shoulders of his veterans, with a golden canopy above his head to protect
him from the summer's sun, attended by the officers of his staff, who
were decked by his special command in, their gayest trappings, escorted
by his body-guard, followed by his "plumed troops," to the number of
twenty thousand, surrounded by all the vanities of war, the hero made his
stately entrance into the town. His way led through deserted streets of
shattered houses. The pavement ran red with blood. Headless corpses,
mangled limbs--an obscene mass of wretchedness and corruption, were
spread on every side, and tainted the summer air. Through the thriving
city which, in the course of four months Alexander had converted into a
slaughter-house and a solitude, the pompous procession took its course to
the church of Saint Servais. Here humble thanks were offered to the. God
of Love, and to Jesus of Nazareth, for this new victory. Especially was
gratitude expressed to the Apostles Paul and Peter; upon whose festival,
and by whose sword and key the crowning mercy had been accomplished,--and
by whose special agency eight thousand heretics now lay unburied in the
streets. These acts of piety performed, the triumphal procession returned
to the camp, where, soon afterwards, the joyful news of Alexander
Farnese's entire convalescence was proclaimed.

The Prince of Orange, as usual, was blamed for the tragical termination
to this long drama. All that one man could do, he had done to awaken his
countrymen to the importance of the siege. He had repeatedly brought the
subject solemnly before the assembly, and implored for Maestricht, almost
upon his knees. Lukewarm and parsimonious, the states had responded to
his eloquent appeals with wrangling addressee and insufficient votes.
With a special subsidy obtained in April and May, he had organized the
slight attempt at relief, which was all which he had been empowered to
make, but which proved entirely unsuccessful. Now that the massacre to be
averted was accomplished, men were loud in reproof, who had been silent,
and passive while there was yet time to speak and to work. It was the
Prince, they said, who had delivered so many thousands of his
fellow-countrymen to, butchery. To save himself, they insinuated he was
now plotting to deliver the land into the power of the treacherous
Frenchman, and he alone, they asserted, was the insuperable obstacle to
an honorable peace with Spain.

A letter, brought by an unknown messenger, was laid before the states'
assembly, in full session, and sent to the clerk's table, to be read
aloud. After the first few sentences, that functionary faltered in his
recital. Several members also peremptorily ordered him to stop; for the
letter proved to be a violent and calumnious libel upon Orange, together
with a strong appeal in favor of the peace propositions then under debate
at Cologne. The Prince alone, of all the assembly, preserving his
tranquillity, ordered the document to be brought to him, and forthwith
read it aloud himself, from beginning to end. Afterwards, he took
occasion to express his mind concerning the ceaseless calumnies of which
he was the mark. He especially alluded to the oft-repeated accusation
that he was the only obstacle to peace, and repeated that he was ready at
that moment to leave the land, and to close his lips for ever, if by so
doing he could benefit his country, and restore her to honorable repose.
The outcry, with the protestations of attachment and confidence which at
once broke from the assembly, convinced him, however, that he was deeply
rooted in the hearts of all patriotic Netherlanders, and that it was
beyond the power of slanderers to loosen his hold upon their affection.

Meantime, his efforts had again and again been demanded to restore order
in that abode of anarchy, the city of Ghent. After his visit during the
previous winter, and the consequent departure of John Casimir to the
palatinate, the pacific arrangements made by the Prince had for a short
time held good. Early in March, however, that master of misrule, John van
Imbize, had once more excited the populace to sedition. Again the
property of Catholics, clerical and lay, was plundered; again the persons
of Catholics, of every degree, were maltreated. The magistrates, with
first senator Imbize at their head, rather encouraged than rebuked the
disorder; but Orange, as soon as he received official intelligence of the
event, hastened to address them in the words of earnest warning and
wisdom. He allowed that the inhabitants of the province had reason to be
discontented with the presence and the misconduct of the Walloon
soldiery. He granted that violence and the menaces of a foreign tyranny
made it difficult for honest burghers to gain a livelihood. At the same
time he expressed astonishment that reasonable men should seek a remedy
for such evils in tumults which would necessarily bring utter destruction
upon the land. "It was," he observed, "as if a patient should from
impatience, tear the bandages from his wounds, and, like a maniac,
instead of allowing himself to be cured, plunge a dagger into his own
heart."

These exhortations exerted a wholesome effect for a moment, but matters
soon went from bad to worse. Imbize, fearing the influence of the Prince,
indulged in open-mouthed abuse of a man whose character he was unable
even to comprehend, He accused him of intriguing with France for his own
benefit, of being a Papist in disguise, of desiring to establish what he
called a "religious peace," merely to restore Roman idolatry. In all
these insane ravings, the demagogue was most ably seconded by the
ex-monk. Incessant and unlicensed were the invectives hurled by Peter
Dathenus from his pulpit upon William the Silent's head. He denounced
him--as he had often done before--as an atheist in heart; as a man who
changed his religion as easily as his garments; as a man who knew no God
but state expediency, which was the idol of his worship; a mere
politician who would tear his shirt from his back and throw it in the
fire, if he thought it were tainted with religion.

Such witless but vehement denunciation from a preacher who was both
popular and comparatively sincere, could, not but affect the imagination
of the weaker portion of his, healers. The faction of Imbize became
triumphant. Ryhove--the ruffian whose hands were stained with the recent
blood of Visch and Hessels--rather did damage than service to the cause
of order. He opposed himself to the demagogue who was prating daily of
Greece, Rome, and Geneva, while his clerical associate was denouncing
William of Orange, but he opposed himself in vain. An attempt to secure
the person of Imbize failed, but by the influence of Ryhove, however, a
messenger was despatched to Antwerp in the name of a considerable portion
of the community of Ghent. The counsel and the presence of the man to
whom all hearts in every part of the Netherlands instinctively turned in
the hour of need, were once more invoked.

The Prince again addressed them in language which none but he could
employ with such effect. He told them that his life, passed in service
and sacrifice, ought to witness sufficiently for his fidelity.
Nevertheless, he thought it necessary--in view of the calumnies which
were circulated--to repeat once more his sentiment that no treaty of
peace, war, or alliance, ought to be negotiated, save with the consent of
the people. His course in Holland and Zealand had proved, he said, his
willingness always to consult the wishes of his countrymen. As for the
matter of religion it was almost incredible that there should be any who
doubted the zeal which he bore the religion for which he had suffered so
much. "I desire," he continued, fervently, "that men should compare that
which has been done by my accusers during ten years past with that which
I have done. In that which touches the true advancement of religion, I
will yield to no man. They who so boldly accuse me have no liberty of
speech, save that which has been acquired for them by the blood of my
kindred, by my labors, and my excessive expenditures. To me they owe it
that they dare speak at all." This letter, (which was dated on the 24th
of July, 1579) contained an assurance that the writer was about to visit
Ghent.

On the following day, Imbize executed a coup d'etat. Having a body of
near two thousand soldiers at his disposal, he suddenly secured the
persons of all the magistrates and other notable individuals not friendly
to his policy, and then, in violation of all law, set up a new board of
eighteen irresponsible functionaries, according to a list prepared by
himself alone. This was his way of enforcing the democratic liberty of
Greece, Rome, and Geneva, which was so near to his heart. A proclamation,
in fourteen articles, was forthwith issued, justifying this arbitrary
proceeding. It was declared that the object of the somewhat irregular
measure "was to prevent the establishment of the religious peace, which
was merely a method of replanting uprooted papistry and the extirpated
tyranny of Spain." Although the arrangement's had not been made in strict
accordance with formal usage and ceremony, yet they were defended upon
the ground that it had been impossible, by other means, to maintain their
ancient liberties and their religious freedom. At the same time a
pamphlet, already prepared for the occasion by Dathenus, was extensively
circulated. In this production the arbitrary revolution effected by a
demagogue was defended with effrontery, while the character, of Orange,
was loaded with customary abuse. To prevent the traitor from coming to
Ghent, and establishing what he called his religious peace, these
irregular measures, it was urged, had been wisely taken.

Such were the efforts of John Imbize--such the calumnies of Peter
Dathenus--in order to counteract the patriotic endeavors of the Prince;
but neither the ruffianism of John nor the libels of Peter were destined
upon this occasion to be successful. William the Silent treated the
slanders of the scolding monk with dignified contempt. "Having been
informed," said he to the magistrates of Ghent, "that Master Peter
Dathenns has been denouncing me as a man without religion or fidelity,
and full of ambition, with other propositions hardly becoming his cloth;
I do not think it worth while to answer more at this time than that I
willingly refer myself to the judgment of all who know me."

The Prince came to Ghent, great as had been the efforts of Imbize and his
partisans to prevent his coming. His presence was like magic. The
demagogue and his whole flock vanished like unclean birds at the first
rays of the sun. Imbize dared not look the Father of his country in the
face. Orange rebuked the populace in the strong and indignant language
that public and private virtue, energy, and a high purpose enabled such a
leader of the people to use. He at once set aside the board of
eighteen--the Grecian-Roman-Genevese establishment of Imbize--and
remained in the city until the regular election, in conformity with the
privileges, had taken place. Imbize, who had shrunk at his approach, was
meantime discovered by his own companions. He had stolen forth secretly
on the night before the Prince's arrival, and was found cowering in the
cabin of a vessel, half dead with fear, by an ale-house keeper who had
been his warm partisan. "No Skulking," cried the honest friend; seizing
the tribune of the people by the shoulder; "no sailing away in the
night-time. You have got us all into this bog, and must come back, and
abide the issue with your supporters."

In this collapsed state was the windy demagogue, who had filled half
Flanders with his sound and fury, conveyed before the patriot Prince. He
met with grave and bitter rebukes, but felt sufficiently relieved when
allowed to depart unharmed. Judging of his probable doom by the usual
practice of himself and his fellows in similar cases, he had anticipated
nothing short of the gibbet. That punishment, however, was to be
inflicted at a later period, by other hands, and not until he had added
treason to his country and a shameless recantation of all his violent
professions in favor of civil and religious liberty to the list of his
crimes. On the present occasion he was permitted to go free. In company
with his clerical companion, Peter Dathenus, he fled to the abode of his
excellent friend, John Casimir, who received both with open arms, and
allowed them each a pension.

Order being thus again restored in Ghent by the exertions of the Prince,
when no other human hand could have dispelled the anarchy which seemed to
reign supreme, William the Silent, having accepted the government of
Flanders, which had again and again been urged upon him, now returned to
Antwerp.



CHAPTER III.

   The Cologne conferences--Intentions of the parties--Preliminary
   attempt by government to purchase the Prince of Orange--Offer and
   rejection of various articles among the plenipotentiaries--Departure
   of the imperial commissionere--Ultimatum of the States compared with
   that of the royal government--Barren negotiations terminated--
   Treason of De Bours, Governor of Mechlin--Liberal theories
   concerning the nature of government--Abjuration of Philip imminent--
   Self-denial of Orange--Attitude of Germany--of England--Marriage
   negotiations between Elizabeth and Anjou--Orange favors the election
   of the Duke as sovereign--Address and speeches of the Prince--
   Parsimony and interprovincial jealousy rebuked----Secret
   correspondence of Count Renneberg with the royal government--
   His treason at Groningen.

Since the beginning of May, the Cologne negotiations had been dragging
their slow length along. Few persons believed that any good was likely to
result from these stately and ponderous conferences; yet men were so
weary of war, so desirous that a termination might be put to the atrophy
under which the country was languishing, that many an eager glance was
turned towards the place where the august assembly was holding its
protracted session. Certainly, if wisdom were to be found in mitred
heads--if the power to heal angry passions and to settle the conflicting
claims of prerogative and conscience were to be looked for among men of
lofty station, then the Cologne conferences ought to have made the rough
places smooth and the crooked paths straight throughout all Christendom.
There was the Archbishop of Rossano, afterwards Pope Urban VII, as
plenipotentiary from Rome; there was Charles of Aragon, Duke of
Terranova, supported by five councillors, as ambassador from his Catholic
Majesty; there were the Duke of Aerschot, the Abbot of Saint Gertrude,
the Abbot of Marolles, Doctor Bucho Aytta, Caspar Schetz, Lord of
Grobbendonck, that learned Frisian, Aggeus van Albada, with seven other
wise men, as envoys from the states-general: There were their Serene
Highnesses the Elector and Archbishops of Cologne and Treves, with the
Bishop of Wurtzburg. There was also a numerous embassy from his Imperial
Majesty, with Count Otto de Schwartzenburg at its head.

Here then were holiness, serenity, dignity, law, and learning in
abundance. Here was a pope 'in posse', with archbishops, princes, dukes,
jurisconsults, and doctors of divinity 'in esse', sufficient to remodel a
world, if worlds were to be remodelled by such instruments. If protocols,
replications, annotations, apostilles, could heal a bleeding country,
here were the physicians to furnish those drugs in unlimited profusion.
If reams of paper, scrawled over with barbarous technicalities, could
smother and bury a quarrel which had its origin in the mutual antagonism
of human elements, here were the men to scribble unflinchingly, till the
reams were piled to a pyramid. If the same idea presented in many aspects
could acquire additional life, here were the word-mongers who, could
clothe one shivering thought in a hundred thousand garments, till it
attained all the majesty which decoration could impart. In truth, the
envoys came from Spain, Rome, and Vienna, provided with but two ideas.
Was it not a diplomatic masterpiece, that from this frugal store they
could contrive to eke out seven mortal months of negotiation? Two
ideas--the supremacy of his Majesty's prerogative, the exclusive exercise
of the Roman Catholic religion--these were the be-all and the end-all of
their commission. Upon these two strings they were to harp, at least till
the walls of Maestricht had fallen. The envoys did their duty well; they
were sent to enact a solemn comedy, and in the most stately manner did
they walk through their several parts. Not that the King was belligerent;
on, the contrary, he was heartily weary of the war. Prerogative was
weary--Romanism was weary--Conscience was weary--the Spirit of Freedom
was weary but the Prince of Orange was not weary. Blood and treasure had
been pouring forth so profusely during twelve flaming years, that all but
that one tranquil spirit were beginning to flag.

At the same time, neither party had more disposition to concede than
stomach to fight. Certainly the royal party had no inclination to yield.
The King had granted easy terms to the Walloons, because upon the one
great point of religion there was, no dispute, and upon the others there
was no intention of keeping faith. With regard to the present
negotiation, it was desirable to gain a little time. It was thought
probable that the religious difference, judiciously managed at this
juncture, might be used to effect a permanent severance of the provinces
so lately banded together in a common union. "To, divide them," wrote
Tassis, in a very confidential letter, "no better method can be found
than to amuse them with this peace negotiation. Some are ready for a
pacification from their desire of repose, some from their fear of war,
some from the differences which exist among themselves, and which it is
especially important to keep alive." Above all things, it was desirable
to maintain the religious distraction till Maestricht had been taken.
That siege was the key to the whole situation. If the separate Walloon
accord could be quietly made in a corner, while Parma was battering that
stronghold on the Meuse, and while decorous negotiation was smoothly
holding its course on the Rhine, much disorganization, it was hoped,
would be handsomely accomplished before the end of the year.

"As for a suspension of arms," wrote Alexander to Terranova, on the 21st
of May, "the longer 'tis deferred the better. With regard to Maestricht,
everything depends upon it that we possess, or desire to possess. Truly,
if the Prince of Orange can relieve the city he will do it. If he does
so, neither will this expedition of ours, nor any other expedition, be
brought to a good end. As soon as men are aware that our affairs are
looking badly, they will come again to a true union, and all will join
together, in hope to accomplish their boasts." Therefore, it was natural
that the peace-wrights of Cologne should industriously ply their task.

It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust, after its three
centuries' repose. A rapid sketch of the course of the proceedings, with
an indication of the spirit which animated the contending parties, will
be all that is necessary. They came and they separated with precisely
opposite views. "The desires of Terranova and of the estates," says the
royalist, Tassis, "were diametrically contrary, to each other. The King
wished that the exercise of the Roman Catholic religion should be
exclusively established, and the absolute prerogative preserved in its
integrity." On the other hand, the provinces desired their charters and a
religious' peace. In these perpetual lines and curves ran the
asymptotical negotiation from beginning to end--and so it might have run
for two centuries, without hope of coincidence. Neither party was yet
vanquished. The freshly united provinces were no readier now than before
to admit that the Holy Office formed part of their national institutions.
The despotic faction was not prepared to renounce that establishment.
Foiled, but not disheartened, sat the Inquisition, like a beldame, upon
the border, impotently threatening the land whence she had been for ever
excluded; while industrious as the Parcae, distaff in hand, sat, in
Cologne, the inexorable three--Spain, the Empire, and Rome--grimly,
spinning and severing the web of mortal destinies.

The first step in the proceedings had been a secret one. If by any means
the Prince of Orange could be detached from his party--if by bribery,
however enormous, he could be induced--to abandon a tottering cause, and
depart for the land of his birth--he was distinctly but indirectly given
to understand that he had but to name his terms. We have seen the issue
of similar propositions made by Don John of Austria. Probably there was
no man living who would care to make distinct application of this
dishonorable nature to the Father of his country. The Aerschots, the
Meluns, the Lalains, and a swarm of other nobles, had their price, and
were easily transferable from one to another, but it was not easy to make
a direct offer to William of Orange. They knew--as he said shortly
afterwards in his famous Apology--that "neither for property nor for
life, neither for wife nor for children, would he mix in his cup a single
drop of treason." Nevertheless, he was distinctly given to understand
that "there was nothing he could demand for himself personally that would
not be granted." All his confiscated property, restoration of his
imprisoned son, liberty of worship for himself, payment of all his debts,
reimbursement of all his past expenses, and anything else which he could
desire, were all placed within his reach. If he chose to retire into
another land, his son might be placed in possession of all his cities,
estates, and dignities, and himself indemnified in Germany; with a
million of money over and above as a gratuity. The imperial envoy, Count
Schwartzenburg, pledged his personal honor and reputation that every
promise which might be made to the Prince should be most sacredly
fulfilled.

It was all in vain. The indirect applications of the imperial
commissioners made to his servants and his nearest relations were
entirely unsuccessful. The Prince was not to be drawn into a negotiation
in his own name or for his own benefit. If the estates were satisfied, he
was satisfied. He wanted no conditions but theirs; "nor would he
directly, or indirectly," he said, "separate himself from the cause on
which hung all his evil or felicity." He knew that it was the object of
the enemy to deprive the country of its head, and no inducements were
sufficient to make him a party to the plot. At the same time, he was
unwilling to be an obstacle, in his own person, to the conclusion of an
honorable peace. He would resign his offices which he held at the
solicitation of the whole country, if thus a negotiation were likely to
be more successful. "The Prince of Parma and the disunited provinces,"
said he to the states-general, "affect to consider this war as one waged
against me and in my name--as if the question alone concerned the name
and person of the general. If it be so, I beg you to consider whether it
is not because I have been ever faithful to the land. Nevertheless, if I
am an obstacle, I am ready to remove it. If you, therefore, in order to
deprive the enemy of every right to inculpate us, think proper to choose
another head and conductor of your affairs, I promise you to serve and to
be obedient to him with all my heart. Thus shall we leave the enemy no
standing-place to work dissensions among us." Such was his language to
friend and foe, and here, at least, was one man in history whom kings
were not rich enough to purchase.

On the 18th of May, the states' envoys at Cologne presented fourteen
articles, demanding freedom of religion and the ancient political
charters. Religion, they said, was to be referred; not to man, but to
God. To him the King was subject as well as the people. Both King and
people--"and by people was meant every individual in the land"--were
bound to serve God according to their conscience.

The imperial envoys found such language extremely reprehensible, and
promptly refused, as umpires, to entertain the fourteen articles. Others
drawn up by Terranova and colleagues, embodying the claims of the royal
and Roman party, were then solemnly presented, and as promptly rejected.
Then the imperial umpires came forward with two bundles of
proposisitions--approved beforehand by the Spanish plenipotentiaries. In
the political bundle; obedience due to the King was insisted upon, "as in
the time of the Emperor Charles." The religious category declared that
"the Roman religion--all others excluded--should thenceforth be exercised
in all the provinces." Both these categories were considered more
objectionable by the states' envoys than the terms of Terranova, and
astonishment was expressed that "mention should again be made of the
edicts--as if blood enough had not been shed already in the cause of
religion."

The Netherland envoys likewise gave the imperial commissioners distinctly
to understand that--in case peace were not soon made--"the states would
forthwith declare the King fallen from his sovereignty;" would for ever
dispense the people from their oaths of allegiance to him, and would
probably accept the Duke of Anjou in his place. The states-general, to
which body the imperial propositions had been sent, also rejected the
articles in a logical and historical argument of unmerciful length.

An appeal secretly made by the imperial and Spanish commissioners, from
the states' envoys to the states themselves, and even to the people of
the various provinces, had excited the anger of the plenipotentiaries.
They complained loudly of this violation of all diplomatic etiquette, and
the answer of the states-general, fully confirming the views of their
ambassadors, did not diminish their wrath.

On the 13th of November, 1579, the states' envoys were invited into the
council chamber of the imperial commissioners, to hear the last solemn
commonplaces of those departing, functionaries. Seven months long they
had been waiting in vain, they said, for the states' envoys to accede to
moderate demands. Patience was now exhausted. Moreover, their mediatory
views had been the subject of bitter lampooning throughout the country,
while the authorities of many cities had publicly declared that all the
inhabitants would rather, die the death than accept such terms. The
peace-makers, accordingly, with endless protestations as to, their own
purity, wisdom, and benevolence, left the whole "in the hands of God and
the parties concerned."

The reply to this elaborate farewell was curt and somewhat crusty. "Had
they known," said the states' envoys, "that their transparencies and
worthinesses had no better intention, and the Duke of Terranova no ampler
commission, the whole matter might have been despatched, not in six
months, but in six days."

Thus ended the conferences, and the imperial commissioners departed.
Nevertheless, Schwartzenburg remained yet a little time at Cologne, while
five of the states' envoys also protracted their stay, in order to make
their private peace with the King. It is hardly necessary to observe that
the chief of these penitents was the Duke of Aerschot. The ultimatum of
the states was deposited by the departing envoys with Schwartzenburg, and
a comparison of its terms with those offered by the imperial mediators,
as the best which could be obtained from Spain, shows the hopelessness of
the pretended negotiation. Departure of the foreign troops, restitution
of all confiscated property, unequivocal recognition of the Ghent treaty
and the perpetual edict, appointment to office of none but natives, oaths
of allegiance to the King and the states-general, exercise of the
Reformed religion and of the Confession of Augsburg in all places where
it was then publicly practised: such were the main demands of the patriot
party.

In the secret instructions furnished by the states to their envoys, they
were told to urge upon his Majesty the absolute necessity, if he wished
to retain the provinces, of winking at the exercise of the Reformed and
the Augsburg creeds. "The new religion had taken too deep root," it was
urged, "ever to be torn forth, save with the destruction of the whole
country."

Thus, after seven dreary months of negotiation, after protocols and
memoranda in ten thousand folia, the august diplomatists had travelled
round to the points from which they had severally started. On the one
side, unlimited prerogative and exclusive Catholicism; on the other,
constitutional liberty, with freedom of conscience for Catholic and
Protestant alike: these were the claims which each party announced at the
commencement, and to which they held with equal firmness at the close of
the conferences.

The congress had been expensive. Though not much had been accomplished
for the political or religious advancement of mankind, there had been
much excellent eating and drinking at Cologne during the seven months.
Those drouthy deliberations had needed moistening. The Bishop of
Wurtzburg had consumed "eighty hogsheads of Rhenish wine and twenty great
casks of beer." The expense of the states' envoys were twenty-four
thousand guldens. The Archbishop of Cologne had expended forty thousand
thalers. The deliberations were, on the whole, excessively detrimental to
the cause of the provinces, "and a great personage" wrote to the
states-general, that the King had been influenced by no motive save to
cause dissension. This was an exaggeration, for his Majesty would have
been well pleased to receive the whole of the country on the same terms
which had been accepted by the Walloons. Meantime, those southern
provinces had made their separate treaty, and the Netherlands were
permanently dissevered. Maestricht had fallen. Disunion and dismay had
taken possession of the country.

During the course of the year other severe misfortunes had happened to
the states. Treachery, even among the men who had done good service to
the cause of freedom, was daily showing her hateful visage. Not only the
great chieftains who had led the Malcontent Walloon party, with the
fickle Aerschot and the wavering Havre besides, had made their separate
reconciliation with Parma, but the epidemic treason had mastered such
bold partisans as the Seigneur de Bours, the man whose services in
rescuing the citadel of Antwerp had been so courageous and valuable. He
was governor of Mechlin; Count Renneberg was governor of Friesland. Both
were trusted implicitly by Orange and by the estates; both were on the
eve of repaying the confidence reposed in them by the most venal treason.

It was already known that Parma had tampered with De Bours; but Renneberg
was still unsuspected. "The Prince," wrote Count John, "is deserted by
all the noblemen; save the stadholder of Friesland and myself, and has no
man else in whom he can repose confidence." The brothers were doomed to
be rudely awakened from the repose with regard to Renneberg, but
previously the treason of a less important functionary was to cause a
considerable but less lasting injury to the national party.

In Mechlin was a Carmelite friar, of audacious character and great
eloquence; a man who, "with his sweet, poisonous tongue, could ever
persuade the people to do his bidding." This dangerous monk, Peter Lupus,
or Peter Wolf, by name, had formed the design of restoring Mechlin to the
Prince of Parma, and of obtaining the bishopric of Namur as the reward of
his services. To this end he had obtained a complete mastery over the
intellect of the bold but unprincipled De Bours. A correspondence was
immediately opened between Parma and the governor, and troops were
secretly admitted into the city. The Prince of Orange, in the name of the
Archduke and the estates, in vain endeavoured to recall the infatuated
governor to his duty. In vain he conjured him, by letter after letter, to
be true to his own bright fame so nobly earned. An old friend of De
Bours, and like himself a Catholic, was also employed to remonstrate with
him. This gentleman, De Fromont by name, wrote him many letters; but De
Bours expressed his surprise that Fromont, whom he had always considered
a good Catholic and a virtuous gentleman, should wish to force him into a
connection with the Prince of Orange and his heretic supporters. He
protested that his mind was quite made up, and that he had been
guaranteed by Parma not only the post which he now held, but even still
farther advancement.

De Fromont reminded him, in reply, of the frequent revolutions of
fortune's wheel, and warned him that the advancement of which he boasted
would probably be an entire degradation. He bitterly recalled to the
remembrance of the new zealot for Romanism his former earnest efforts to
establish Calvinism. He reproached him, too, with having melted up the
silver images of the Mechlin churches, including even the renowned shrine
of Saint Rombout, which the Prince of Orange had always respected. "I
don't say how much you took of that plunder for your own share,"
continued the indignant De Fromont, "for the very children cry it in your
ears as you walk the streets. 'Tis known that if God himself had been
changed into gold you would have put him in your pocket."

This was plain language, but as just as it was plain. The famous shrine
of Saint Rombout--valued at seventy thousand guldens, of silver gilt, and
enriched with precious stones--had been held sacred alike by the
fanatical iconoclasts and the greedy Spaniards who had successively held
the city. It had now been melted up, and appropriated by Peter Lupin; the
Carmelite, and De Bours, the Catholic convert, whose mouths were full of
devotion to the ancient Church and of horror for heresy.

The efforts of Orange and of the states were unavailing. De Bours
surrendered the city, and fled to Parma, who received him with
cordiality, gave him five thousand florins--the price promised for his
treason, besides a regiment of infantry--but expressed surprise that he
should have reached the camp alive. His subsequent career was short, and
he met his death two years afterwards, in the trenches before Tournay.
The archiepiscopal city was thus transferred to the royal party, but the
gallant Van der Tympel, governor of Brussels, retook it by surprise
within six months of its acquisition by Parma, and once more restored it
to the jurisdiction of the states. Peter Lupus, the Carmelite, armed to
the teeth, and fighting fiercely at the head of the royalists, was slain
in the street, and thus forfeited his chance for the mitre of Namur.

During the weary progress of the Cologne negotiations, the Prince had not
been idle, and should this august and slow-moving congress be
unsuccessful in restoring peace, the provinces were pledged to an act of
abjuration. They would then be entirely without a head. The idea of a
nominal Republic was broached by none. The contest had not been one of
theory, but of facts; for the war had not been for revolution, but for
conservation, so far as political rights were concerned. In religion, the
provinces had advanced from one step to another, till they now claimed
the largest liberty--freedom of conscience--for all. Religion, they held,
was God's affair, not man's, in which neither people nor king had power
over each other, but in which both were subject to God alone. In politics
it was different. Hereditary sovereignty was acknowledged as a fact, but
at the same time, the spirit of freedom was already learning its
appropriate language. It already claimed boldly the natural right of
mankind to be governed according to the laws of reason and of divine
justice. If a prince were a shepherd, it was at least lawful to deprive
him of his crook when he butchered the flock which he had been appointed
to protect.

"What reason is there," said the states-general, "why the provinces
should suffer themselves to be continually oppressed by their sovereign,
with robbings, burnings, stranglings, and murderings? Why, being thus
oppressed, should they still give their sovereign--exactly as if he were
well conducting himself--the honor and title of lord of the land?" On the
other hand, if hereditary rule were an established fact, so also were
ancient charters. To maintain, not to overthrow, the political compact,
was the purpose of the states. "Je maintiendrai" was the motto of
Orange's escutcheon. That a compact existed between prince and people,
and that the sovereign held office only on condition of doing his duty,
were startling truths which men were beginning, not to whisper to each
other in secret, but to proclaim in the market-place. "'Tis well known to
all," said the famous Declaration of Independence, two years afterwards,
"that if a prince is appointed by God over the land, 'tis to protect them
from harm, even as a shepherd to the guardianship of his flock. The
subjects are not appointed by God for the behoof of the prince, but the
prince for his subjects, without whom he is no prince. Should he violate
the laws, he is to be forsaken by his meanest subject, and to be
recognized no longer as prince."

William of Orange always recognized these truths, but his scheme of
government contemplated a permanent chief, and as it was becoming obvious
that the Spanish sovereign would soon be abjured, it was necessary to fix
upon a substitute. "As to governing these provinces in the form of a
republic," said he, speaking for the states-general, "those who know the
condition, privileges, and ordinances of the country, can easily
understand that 'tis hardly possible to dispense with a head or
superintendent." At the same time, he plainly intimated that this "head
or superintendent" was to be, not a monarch--a one-ruler--but merely the
hereditary chief magistrate of a free commonwealth.

Where was this hereditary chief magistrate to be found? His own claims he
absolutely withdrew. The office was within his grasp, and he might easily
have constituted himself sovereign of all the Netherlands. Perhaps it
would have been better at that time had he advanced his claims and
accepted the sovereignty which Philip had forfeited. As he did not
believe in the possibility of a republic, he might honestly have taken
into his own hands the sceptre which he considered indispensable. His
self-abnegation was, however, absolute. Not only did he decline
sovereignty, but he repeatedly avowed his readiness to, lay down all the
offices which he held, if a more useful substitute could be found. "Let
no man think," said he, in a remarkable speech to the states-general,"
that my good-will is in any degree changed or diminished. I agree to
obey--as the least of the lords or gentlemen of the land could
do--whatever person it may, please you to select. You have but to command
my services wheresoever they are most wanted; to guard a province or a
single city, or in any capacity in which I may be found most useful. I
promise to do my duty, with all my strength and skill, as God and my
conscience are witnesses that I have done it hitherto."

The negotiations pointed to a speedy abjuration of Philip; the Republic
was contemplated by none; the Prince of Orange absolutely refused to
stretch forth his own hand; who then was to receive the sceptre which was
so soon to be bestowed? A German Prince--had been tried--in a somewhat
abnormal position--but had certainly manifested small capacity for aiding
the provinces. Nothing could well be more insignificant than the figure
of Matthias; and, moreover, his imperial brother was anything but
favorably disposed. It was necessary to manage Rudolph. To treat the
Archduke with indignity, now that he had been partly established in the
Netherlands, would be to incur the Emperor's enmity. His friendship,
however, could hardly be secured by any advancement bestowed upon his
brother; for Rudolph's services against prerogative and the Pope were in
no case to be expected. Nor was there much hope from the Protestant
princes of Germany. The day had passed for generous sympathy with those
engaged in the great struggle which Martin Luther had commenced. The
present generation of German Protestants were more inclined to put down
the Calvinistic schism at home than to save it from oppression abroad.
Men were more disposed to wrangle over the thrice-gnawed bones of
ecclesiastical casuistry, than to assist their brethren in the field. "I
know not," said Gaultherus, "whether the calamity of the Netherlands, or
the more than bestial stupidity of the Germans, be most deplorable. To
the insane contests on theological abstractions we owe it that many are
ready to breathe blood and slaughter against their own brethren. The
hatred of the Lutherans has reached that point that they can rather
tolerate Papists than ourselves."

In England, there was much sympathy for the provinces and there--although
the form of government was still arbitrary--the instincts for civil and
religious freedom, which have ever characterized the Anglo-Saxon race,
were not to be repressed. Upon many a battle-field for liberty in the
Netherlands, "men whose limbs were made in England" were found contending
for the right. The blood and treasure of Englishmen flowed freely in the
cause of their relatives by religion and race, but these were the efforts
of individuals. Hitherto but little assistance had been rendered by the
English Queen, who had, on the contrary, almost distracted the provinces
by her fast-and-loose policy, both towards them and towards Anjou. The
political rivalry between that Prince and herself in the Netherlands had,
however, now given place to the memorable love-passage from which
important results were expected, and it was thought certain that
Elizabeth would view with satisfaction any dignity conferred upon her
lover.

Orange had a right to form this opinion. At the same time, it is well
known that the chief councillors of Elizabeth--while they were all in
favor of assisting the provinces--looked with anything but satisfaction
upon the Anjou marriage. "The Duke," wrote Davidson to Walsingham in
July, 1579, "seeks, forsooth, under a pretext of marriage with her
Highness, the rather to espouse the Low Countries--the chief ground and
object of his pretended love, howsoever it be disguised." The envoy
believed both Elizabeth and the provinces in danger of taking unto
themselves a very bad master. "Is there any means," he added, "so apt to
sound the very bottom of our estate, and to hinder and breake the neck of
all such good purpose as the necessity of the tyme shall set abroch?"

The provinces of Holland and Zealand, notwithstanding the love they bore
to William of Orange, could never be persuaded by his arguments into
favoring Anjou. Indeed, it was rather on account of the love they bore
the Prince--whom they were determined to have for their sovereign--that
they refused to listen to any persuasion in favor of his rival, although
coming from his own lips. The states-general, in a report to the states
of Holland, drawn up under the superintendence of the Prince, brought
forward all the usual arguments for accepting the French duke, in case
the abjuration should take place. They urged the contract with Anjou (of
August 13th, 1578), the great expenses he had already incurred in their
behalf; the danger of offending him; the possibility that in such case he
would ally himself with Spain; the prospect that, in consequence of such
a result, there would be three enemies in the field against them--the
Walloons, the Spaniards, and the French, all whose forces would
eventually be turned upon Holland and Zealand alone. It was represented
that the selection of Anjou would, on the other hand, secure the
friendship of France--an alliance which would inspire both the Emperor
and the Spanish monarch with fear; for they could not contemplate without
jealousy a possible incorporation of the provinces with that kingdom.
Moreover, the geographical situation of France made its friendship
inexpressibly desirable. The states of Holland and Zealand were,
therefore, earnestly invited to send deputies to an assembly of the
states-general, in order to conclude measures touching the declaration of
independence to be made against the King, and concerning the election of
the Duke of Anjou.

The official communications by speech or writing of Orange to the
different corporations and assemblies, were at this period of enormous
extent. He was moved to frequent anger by the parsimony, the
inter-provincial jealousy, the dull perception of the different estates,
and he often expressed his wrath in unequivocal language. He dealt
roundly with all public bodies. His eloquence was distinguished by a
bold, uncompromising, truth-telling spirit, whether the words might prove
palatable or bitter to his audience. His language rebuked his hearers
more frequently than it caressed them, for he felt it impossible, at all
times, to consult both the humors and the high interests of the people,
and he had no hesitation, as guardian of popular liberty, in denouncing
the popular vices by which it was endangered.

By both great parties, he complained, his shortcomings were all noted,
the good which he had accomplished passed over in silence.

   [Letter to the States-general, August, 1579, apud Bor, xiv. 97,
   sqq. This was the opinion frequently expressed by Languet: "Cherish
   the friendship of the Prince, I beseech you," he writes to Sir
   Philip Sydney, "for there is no man like him in all Christendom.
   Nevertheless, his is the lot of all men of prudence--to be censured
   by all parties. The people complain that he despises them; the
   nobility declare that it is their order which he hates; and this is
   as sensible as if you were to tell me that you were the son of a
   clown."]

He solemnly protested that he desired, out of his whole heart, the
advancement of that religion which he publicly professed, and with God's
blessing, hoped to profess to the end of his life, but nevertheless, he
reminded the states that he had sworn, upon taking office as
Lieutenant-General, to keep "all the subjects of the land equally under
his protection," and that he had kept his oath. He rebuked the parsimony
which placed the accepted chief of the provinces in a sordid and
contemptible position. "The Archduke has been compelled," said he, in
August, to the states-general, "to break up housekeeping, for want of
means. How shameful and disreputable for the country, if he should be
compelled, for very poverty, to leave the land!" He offered to lay down
all the power with which he had himself been clothed, but insisted, if he
were to continue in office, upon being provided with, larger means of
being useful. "'Twas impossible," he said, "for him to serve longer on
the same footing as heretofore; finding himself without power or
authority, without means, without troops, without money, without
obedience." He reminded the states-general that the enemy--under pretext
of peace negotiations--were ever circulating calumnious statements to the
effect that he was personally the only obstacle to peace. The real object
of these hopeless conferences was to sow dissension through the land, to
set burgher against burgher, house against house. As in Italy, Guelphs
and Ghibellines--as in Florence, the Neri and Bianchi--as in Holland, the
Hooks and Cabbeljaws had, by their unfortunate quarrels, armed fellow
countrymen and families against each other--so also, nothing was so
powerful as religious difference to set friend against friend, father
against son, husband against wife.

He warned the States against the peace propositions of the enemy. Spain
had no intention to concede, but was resolved to extirpate. For himself;
he had certainly everything to lose by continued war. His magnificent
estates were withheld, and--added he with simplicity--there is no man who
does not desire to enjoy his own. The liberation of his son, too, from
his foreign captivity, was, after the glory of God and the welfare of the
fatherland, the dearest object of his heart. Moreover, he was himself
approaching the decline of life. Twelve years he had spent in perpetual
anxiety and labor for the cause. As he approached old age, he had
sufficient reason to desire repose. Nevertheless, considering the great
multitude of people who were leaning upon him, he should account himself
disgraced if, for the sake of his own private advantage, he were to
recommend a peace which was not perfectly secure. As regarded his own
personal interests, he could easily place himself beyond danger--yet it
would be otherwise with the people. The existence of the religion which,
through the mercy of God he professed, would be sacrificed, and countless
multitudes of innocent men would, by his act, be thrown bodily into the
hands of the blood-thirsty inquisitors who, in times past, had murdered
so many persons, and so utterly desolated the land. In regard to the
ceaseless insinuations against his character which men uttered "over
their tables and in the streets," he observed philosophically, that
"mankind were naturally inclined to calumny, particularly against those
who exercised government over them. His life was the best answer to those
slanders. Being overwhelmed with debt, he should doubtless do better in a
personal point of view to accept the excellent and profitable offers
which were daily made to him by the enemy." He might be justified in such
a course, when it was remembered how many had deserted him and forsworn
their religion. Nevertheless, he had ever refused, and should ever refuse
to listen to offers by which only his own personal interests were
secured. As to the defence of the country, he had thus far done all in
his power, with the small resources placed at his command. He was urged
by the "nearer-united states" to retain the poet of Lieutenant-General.
He was ready to consent. He was, however, not willing to hold office a
moment, unless he had power to compel cities to accept garrisons, to
enforce the collection of needful supplies throughout the provinces, and
in general to do everything which he judged necessary for the best
interests of the country.

Three councils were now established--one to be in attendance upon the
Archduke and the Prince of Orange, the two others to reside respectively
in Flanders and in Utrecht. They were to be appointed by Matthias and the
Prince, upon a double nomination from the estates of the united
provinces. Their decisions were to be made according to a majority of
votes,--and there was to be no secret cabinet behind and above their
deliberations. It was long, however, before these councils were put into
working order. The fatal jealousy of the provincial authorities, the,
small ambition of local magistrates, interposed daily obstacles to the
vigorous march of the generality. Never was jealousy more mischievous,
never circumspection more misapplied. It was not a land nor a crisis in
which there was peril of centralization: Local municipal government was
in truth the only force left. There was no possibility of its being
merged in a central authority which did not exist. The country was
without a centre. There was small chance of apoplexy where there was no
head. The danger lay in the mutual repulsiveness of these atoms of
sovereignty--in the centrifugal tendencies which were fast resolving a
nebulous commonwealth into chaos. Disunion and dissension would soon
bring about a more fatal centralization--that of absorption in a distant
despotism.

At the end of November, 1579, Orange made another remarkable speech in
the states-general at Antwerp. He handled the usual topics with his
customary vigor, and with that grace and warmth of delivery which always
made his eloquence so persuasive and impressive. He spoke of the
countless calumnies against himself, the chaffering niggardliness of the
provinces, the slender result produced by his repeated warnings. He told
them bluntly the great cause of all their troubles. It was the absence of
a broad patriotism; it was the narrow power grudged rather than given to
the deputies who sat in the general assembly. They were mere envoys, tied
by instructions. They were powerless to act, except after tedious
reference to the will of their masters, the provincial boards. The
deputies of the Union came thither, he said, as advocates of their
provinces or their cities, not as councillors of a commonwealth--and
sought to further those narrow interests, even at the risk of destruction
to their sister states. The contributions, he complained, were assessed
unequally, and expended selfishly. Upon this occasion, as upon all
occasions, he again challenged inquiry into the purity of his government,
demanded chastisement, if any act of mal-administration on his part could
be found, and repeated his anxious desire either to be relieved from his
functions, or to be furnished with the means of discharging them with
efficiency.

On the 12th of December, 1579, he again made a powerful speech in the
states-general. Upon the 9th of January 1580, following, he made an
elaborate address upon the state of the country, urging the necessity of
raising instantly a considerable army of good and experienced soldiers.
He fixed the indispensable number of such a force at twelve thousand
foot, four thousand horse, and at least twelve hundred pioneers. "Weigh
well the matters," said he, in conclusion; "which I have thus urged, and
which are of the most extreme necessity. Men in their utmost need are
daily coming to me for refuge, as if I held power over all things in my
hand." At the same time he complained that by reason of the dilatoriness
of the states, he was prevented from alleviating misery when he knew the
remedy to be within reach. "I beg you, however, my masters," he
continued, "to believe that this address of mine is no simple discourse.
'Tis a faithful presentment of matters which, if not reformed, will cause
the speedy and absolute ruin of the land. Whatever betide, however, I
pray you to hold yourselves assured, that with God's help, I am
determined to live with you or to die with you."

Early in the year 1580, the Prince was doomed to a bitter disappointment,
and the provinces to a severe loss, in the treason of Count Renneberg,
governor of Friesland. This young noble was of the great Lalain family.
He was a younger brother of: Anthony, Count of Hoogstraaten--the
unwavering friend of Orange. He had been brought up in the family of his
cousin, the Count de Lalain, governor of Hainault, and had inherited the
title of Renneberg from an uncle, who was a dignitary of the church. For
more than a year there had been suspicions of his fidelity. He was
supposed to have been tampered with by the Duke of Terranova, on the
first arrival of that functionary in the Netherlands. Nevertheless, the
Prince of Orange was unwilling to listen to the whispers against him.
Being himself the mark of calumny, and having a tender remembrance of the
elder brother, he persisted in reposing confidence in a man who was in
reality unworthy of his friendship. George Lalain, therefore, remained
stadholder of Friesland and Drenthe, and in possession of the capital
city, Groningen.

The rumors concerning him proved correct. In November, 1579, he entered
into a formal treaty with Terranova, by which he was to receive--as the
price of "the virtuous resolution which he contemplated"--the sum of ten
thousand crowns in hand, a further sum of ten thousand crowns within
three months, and a yearly pension of ten thousand florins. Moreover, his
barony of Ville was to be erected into a marquisate, and he was to
receive the order of the Golden Fleece at the first vacancy. He was
likewise to be continued in the same offices under the King which he now
held from the estates. The bill of sale, by which he agreed with a
certain Quislain le Bailly to transfer himself to Spain, fixed these
terms with the technical scrupulousness of any other mercantile
transaction. Renneberg sold himself as one would sell a yoke of oxen, and
his motives were no whit nobler than the cynical contract would indicate.
"See you not," said he in a private letter to a friend, "that this whole
work is brewed by the Nassaus for the sake of their own greatness, and
that they are everywhere provided with the very best crumbs. They are to
be stadholders of the principal provinces; we are to content ourselves
with Overyssel and Drente. Therefore I have thought it best to make my
peace with the King, from whom more benefits are to be got."

Jealousy and selfishness; then, were the motives of his "virtuous
resolution." He had another, perhaps a nobler incentive. He was in love
with the Countess Meghen, widow of Lancelot Berlaymont, and it was
privately stipulated that the influence of his Majesty's government
should be employed to bring about his marriage with the lady. The treaty,
however, which Renneberg had made with Quislain le Bailly was not
immediately carried out. Early in February, 1580, his sister and evil
genius, Cornelia Lalain, wife of Baron Monceau, made him a visit at
Groningen. She implored him not to give over his soul to perdition by
oppressing the Holy Church. She also appealed to his family pride, which
should keep him, she said, from the contamination of companionship with
"base-born weavers and furriers." She was of opinion that to contaminate
his high-born fingers with base bribes were a lower degradation. The
pension, the crowns in hand, the marquisate, the collar of the Golden
Fleece, were all held before his eyes again. He was persuaded, moreover,
that the fair hand of the wealthy widow would be the crowning prize of
his treason, but in this he was destined to disappointment. The Countess
was reserved for a more brilliant and a more bitter fate. She was to
espouse a man of higher rank, but more worthless character, also a
traitor to the cause of freedom, to which she was herself devoted, and
who was even accused of attempting her life in her old age, in order to
supply her place with a younger rival.

The artful eloquence of Cornelia de Lalain did its work, and Renneberg
entered into correspondence with Parma. It is singular with how much
indulgence his conduct and character were regarded both before and
subsequently to his treason. There was something attractive about the
man. In an age when many German and Netherland nobles were given to
drunkenness and debauchery, and were distinguished rather for coarseness
of manner and brutality of intellect than for refinement or learning,
Count Renneberg, on the contrary, was an elegant and accomplished
gentleman--the Sydney of his country in all but loyalty of character. He
was a classical scholar, a votary of music and poetry, a graceful
troubadour, and a valiant knight. He was "sweet and lovely of
conversation," generous and bountiful by nature. With so many good gifts,
it was a thousand pities that the gift of truth had been denied him.
Never did treason look more amiable, but it was treason of the blackest
die. He was treacherous, in the hour of her utmost need, to the country
which had trusted him. He was treacherous to the great man who had leaned
upon his truth, when all others had abandoned him. He was treacherous
from the most sordid of motives jealousy of his friend and love of place
and pelf; but his subsequent remorse and his early death have cast a veil
over the blackness of his crime.

While Cornelia de Lalain was in Groningen, Orange was in Holland.
Intercepted letters left no doubt of the plot, and it was agreed that the
Prince, then on his way to Amsterdam, should summon the Count to an
interview. Renneberg's trouble at the proximity of Orange could not be
suppressed. He felt that he could never look his friend in the face
again. His plans were not ripe; it was desirable to dissemble for a
season longer; but how could he meet that tranquil eye which "looked
quite through the deeds of men?" It was obvious to Renneberg that his
deed was to be done forthwith, if he would escape discomfiture. The
Prince would soon be in Groningen, and his presence would dispel the
plots which had been secretly constructed.

On the evening of March the 3rd, 1580, the Count entertained a large
number of the most distinguished families of the place at a ball and
banquet. At the supper-table, Hildebrand, chief burgomaster of the city,
bluntly interrogated his host concerning the calumnious reports which
were in circulation, expressing the hope that there was no truth in these
inventions of his enemies. Thus summoned, Renneberg, seizing the hands of
Hildebrand in both his own, exclaimed, "Oh; my father! you whom I esteem
as my father, can you suspect me of such guilt? I pray you, trust me, and
fear me not!"

With this he restored the burgomaster and all the other guests to
confidence. The feast and dance proceeded, while Renneberg was quietly
arranging his plot. During the night all the leading patriots were taken
out of their beds, and carried to prison, notice being at the same time
given to the secret adherents of Renneberg. Before dawn, a numerous mob
of boatmen and vagrants, well armed, appeared upon the public square.
They bore torches and standards, and amazed the quiet little city with
their shouts. The place was formally taken into possession, cannon were
planted in front of the Town House to command the principal streets, and
barricades erected at various important points. Just at daylight,
Renneberg himself, in complete armor, rode into the square, and it was
observed that he looked ghastly as a corpse. He was followed by thirty
troopers, armed like himself, from head to foot. "Stand by me now," he
cried to the assembled throng; "fail me not at this moment, for now I am
for the first time your stadholder."

While he was speaking, a few citizens of the highest class forced their
way through the throng and addressed the mob in tones of authority. They
were evidently magisterial persons endeavoring to quell the riot. As they
advanced, one of Renneberg's men-at-arms discharged his carabine at the
foremost gentleman, who was no other than burgomaster Hildebrand. He fell
dead at the feet of the stadholder--of the man who had clasped his hands
a few hours before, called him father, and implored him to entertain no
suspicions of his honor. The death of this distinguished gentleman
created a panic, during which Renneberg addressed his adherents, and
stimulated them to atone by their future zeal in the King's service for
their former delinquency. A few days afterwards the city was formally
reunited to the royal government; but the Count's measures had been
precipitated to such an extent, that he was unable to carry the province
with him, as he had hoped. On the contrary, although he had secured the
city, he had secured nothing else. He was immediately beleaguered by the
states' force in the province under the command of Barthold Entes,
Hohenlo, and Philip Louis Nassau, and it was necessary to send for
immediate assistance from Parma.

The Prince of Orange, being thus bitterly disappointed by the treachery
of his friend, and foiled in his attempt to avert the immediate
consequences, continued his interrupted journey to Amsterdam. Here he was
received with unbounded enthusiasm.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     The disunited provinces
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 33

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER IV.

   Captivity of La Noue--Cruel propositions of Philip--Siege of
   Groningen--Death of Barthold Enter--His character--Hohenlo commands
   in the north--His incompetence--He is defeated on Hardenberg Heath--
   Petty operations--Isolation of Orange--Dissatisfaction and departure
   of Count John--Remonstrance of Archduke Matthias--Embassy to Anjou--
   Holland and Zealand offer the sovereignty to Orange--Conquest of
   Portugal--Granvelle proposes the Ban against the Prince--It is
   published--The document analyzed--The Apology of Orange analyzed and
   characterized--Siege of Steenwyk by Renneberg--Forgeries--Siege
   relieved--Death of Renneberg--Institution of the "land-Council"--
   Duchess of Parma sent to the Netherlands--Anger of Alexander--
   Prohibition of Catholic worship in Antwerp, Utrecht, and elsewhere--
   Declaration of Independence by the United Provinces--Negotiations
   with Anjou--The sovereignty of Holland and Zealand provisionally
   accepted by Orange--Tripartition of the Netherlands--Power of the
   Prince described--Act of Abjuration analyzed--Philosophy of
   Netherland politics.--Views of the government compact--Acquiescence
   by the people in the action of the estates--Departure of Archduke
   Matthias.

The war continued in a languid and desultory manner in different parts of
the country. At an action near Ingelmunster, the brave and accomplished
De la Noue was made prisoner. This was a severe loss to the states, a
cruel blow to Orange, for he was not only one of the most experienced
soldiers, but one of the most accomplished writers of his age. His pen
was as celebrated as his sword. In exchange for the illustrious Frenchman
the states in vain offered Count Egmont, who had been made prisoner a few
weeks before, and De Belles, who was captured shortly afterwards. Parma
answered contemptuously, that he would not give a lion for two sheep.
Even Champagny was offered in addition, but without success.  Parma had
written to Philip, immediately upon the capture, that, were it not for
Egmont, Seller, and others, then in the power of Oranges he should order
the execution of La Noue. Under the circumstances, however, he had begged
to be in formed as to his Majesty's pleasure, and in the meantime had
placed the prisoner in the castle of Limburg, under charge of De Billy.

   [Strada, d. 2, iii. 155, 156. Parma is said to have hinted to
   Philip that De Billy would willingly undertake, the private
   assassination of La Noue.--Popeliniere, Hist. des Pays Bas; 1556-
   1584.]

His Majesty, of course, never signified his pleasure, and the illustrious
soldier remained for five years in a loathsome dungeon more befitting a
condemned malefactor than a prisoner of war. It was in the donjon keep of
the castle, lighted only by an aperture in the roof, and was therefore
exposed to the rain and all inclemencies of the sky, while rats, toads,
and other vermin housed in the miry floor. Here this distinguished
personage, Francis with the Iron Arm, whom all Frenchmen, Catholic or
Huguenot, admired far his genius, bravery, and purity of character,
passed five years of close confinement. The government was most anxious
to take his life, but the captivity of Egmont and others prevented the
accomplishment of their wishes. During this long period, the wife and
numerous friends of La Noue were unwearied in, their efforts to effect
his ransom or exchange, but none of the prisoners in the hands of the
patriots were considered a fair equivalent. The hideous proposition was
even made by Philip the Second to La Noue, that he should receive his
liberty if he would permit his eyes to be put out, as a preliminary
condition. The fact is attested by several letters written by La Noue to
his wife. The prisoner, wearied, shattered in health, and sighing for air
and liberty, was disposed and even anxious to accept the infamous offer,
and discussed the matter philosophically in his letters. That lady,
however, horror-struck at the suggestion, implored him to reject the
condition, which he accordingly consented to do. At last, in June, 1585,
he was exchanged, on extremely rigorous terms, for Egmont. During his
captivity in this vile dungeon, he composed not only his famous political
and military discourses, but several other works, among the rest;
Annotations upon Plutarch and upon the Histories of Guicciardini.

The siege of Groningen proceeded, and Parma ordered some forces under
Martin Schenck to advance to its relief. On the other hand, the meagre
states' forces under Sonoy, Hohenlo, Entes, and Count John of Nassau's
young son, William Louis, had not yet made much impression upon the city.
There was little military skill to atone for the feebleness of the
assailing army, although there was plenty of rude valor. Barthold Entes,
a man of desperate character, was impatient at the dilatoriness of the
proceedings. After having been in disgrace with the states, since the
downfall of his friend and patron, the Count De la Marck, he had recently
succeeded to a regiment in place of Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a
homicide or two." On the 17th of May, he had been dining at Rolda, in
company with Hohenlo and the young Count of Nassau. Returning to the
trenches in a state of wild intoxication, he accosted a knot of superior
officers, informing them that they were but boys, and that he would show
them how to carry the faubourg of Groningen on the instant. He was
answered that the faubourg, being walled and moated, could be taken only
by escalade or battery. Laughing loudly, he rushed forward toward the
counterscarp, waving his sword, and brandishing on his left arm the cover
of a butter firkin, which he had taken instead of his buckler. He had
advanced, however, but a step, when a bullet from the faubourg pierced
his brain, and he fell dead without a word.

So perished one of the wild founders of the Netherland commonwealth--one
of the little band of reckless adventurers who had captured the town of
Brill in 1572, and thus laid the foundation stone of a great republic,
which was to dictate its laws to the empire of Charles the Fifth. He was
in some sort a type. His character was emblematical of the worst side of
the liberating movement. Desperate, lawless, ferocious--a robber on land,
a pirate by sea--he had rendered great service in the cause of his
fatherland, and had done it much disgrace. By the evil deeds of men like
himself, the fair face of liberty had been profaned at its first
appearance. Born of a respectable family, he had been noted, when a
student in this very Groningen where he had now found his grave, for the
youthful profligacy of his character. After dissipating his partrimony,
he had taken to the sea, the legalized piracy of the mortal struggle with
Spain offering a welcome refuge to spendthrifts like himself. In common
with many a banished noble of ancient birth and broken fortunes, the
riotous student became a successful corsair, and it is probable that his
prizes were made as well among the friends as the enemies of his country.
He amassed in a short time one hundred thousand crowns--no contemptible
fortune in those days. He assisted La Marck in the memorable attack upon
Brill, but behaved badly and took to flight when Mondragon made his
memorable expedition to relieve Tergoes. He had subsequently been
imprisoned, with La Marck for insubordination, and during his confinement
had dissipated a large part of his fortune. In 1574, after the violation
of the Ghent treaty, he had returned to, his piratical pursuits, and
having prospered again as rapidly as he had done during his former
cruises, had been glad to exchange the ocean for more honorable service
on shore. The result was the tragic yet almost ludicrous termination
which we have narrated. He left a handsome property, the result of his
various piracies, or, according to the usual euphemism, prizes. He often
expressed regret at the number of traders whom he had cast into the sea,
complaining, in particular, of one victim whom he had thrown overboard,
who would never sink, but who for years long ever floated in his wake,
and stared him in the face whenever he looked over his vessel's side. A
gambler, a profligate, a pirate, he had yet rendered service to the cause
of freedom, and his name--sullying the purer and nobler ones of other
founders of the commonwealth--"is enrolled in the capitol."

Count Philip Hohenlo, upon whom now, devolved the, entire responsibility
of the Groningen siege and of the Friesland operations, was only a few
degrees superior to this northern corsair. A noble of high degree, nearly
connected with the Nassau family, sprung of the best blood in Germany,
handsome and dignified in appearance, he was, in reality only a debauchee
and a drunkard. Personal bravery was his main qualification for a
general; a virtue which he shared with many of his meanest soldiers. He
had never learned the art of war, nor had he the least ambition to
acquire it. Devoted to his pleasures, he depraved those under his
command, and injured the cause for which he was contending. Nothing but
defeat and disgrace were expected by the purer patriots from such
guidance. "The benediction of God," wrote Albada, "cannot be hoped for
under this chieftain, who by life and manners is fitter to drive swine
than to govern pious and honorable men."

The event justified the prophecy. After a few trifling operations before
Groningen, Hohenlo was summoned to the neighbourhood of Coewerden, by the
reported arrival of Martin Schenck, at the head of a considerable force.
On the 15th of June, the Count marched all night and a part of the follow
morning, in search of the enemy. He came up with them upon Hardenberg
Heath, in a broiling summer forenoon. His men were jaded by the forced
march, overcame with the heat, tormented with thirst, and unable to
procure even a drop of water. The royalists were fresh so that the result
of the contest was easily to be foreseen. Hohenlo's army was annihilated
in an hour's time, the whole population fled out of Coewerden, the siege
of Groningen was raised; Renneberg was set free to resume his operations
on a larger scale, and the fate of all the north-eastern provinces was
once more swinging in the wind. The boors of Drenthe and Friesland rose
again. They had already mustered in the field at an earlier season of the
year, in considerable force. Calling themselves "the desperates," and
bearing on their standard an eggshell with the yolk running out--to
indicate that, having lost the meat they were yet ready to fight for the
shell--they had swept through the open country, pillaging and burning.
Hohenlo had defeated them in two enchanters, slain a large number of
their forces, and reduced them for a time to tranquillity. His late
overthrow once more set them loose. Renneberg, always apt to be
over-elated in prosperity, as he was unduly dejected in adversity, now
assumed all the airs of a conqueror. He had hardly eight thousand men
under his orders, but his strength lay in the weakness of his
adversaries. A small war now succeeded, with small generals, small
armies, small campaigns, small sieges. For the time, the Prince of Orange
was even obliged to content himself with such a general as Hohenlo. As
usual, he was almost alone. "Donec eris felix," said he, emphatically--

             "multos numerabis amicos,
        Tempera cum erunt nubila, nullus erit,"

and he was this summer doomed to a still harder deprivation by the final
departure of his brother John from the Netherlands.

The Count had been wearied out by petty miseries. His stadholderate of
Gelderland had overwhelmed him with annoyance, for throughout the
north-eastern provinces there was neither system nor subordination. The
magistrates could exercise no authority over an army which they did not
pay, or a people whom they did not protect. There were endless
quarrels between the various boards of municipal and provincial
government--particularly concerning contributions and expenditures.

   [When the extraordinary generosity of the Count himself; and the
   altogether unexampled sacrifices of the Prince are taken into
   account, it may well be supposed that the patience of the brothers
   would be sorely tried by the parsimony of the states. It appears by
   a document laid before the states-general in the winter of 1580-
   1581, that the Count had himself advanced to Orange 570,000 florins
   in the cause. The total of money spent by the Prince himself for
   the sake of Netherland liberty was 2,200,000. These vast sums had
   been raised in various ways and from various personages. His
   estates were deeply hypothecated, and his creditors so troublesome,
   that, in his own language, he was unable to attend properly to
   public affairs, so frequent and so threatening were the applications
   made upon him for payment. Day by day he felt the necessity
   advancing more closely upon him of placing himself personally in the
   hands of his creditors and making over his estates to their mercy
   until the uttermost farthing should be paid. In his two campaigns
   against Alva (1568 and 1572) he had spent 1,050,000 florins. He
   owed the Elector Palatine 150,000 florins, the Landgrave 60,000,
   Count John 670,000, and other sums to other individuals.]

During this wrangling, the country was exposed to the forces of Parma, to
the private efforts of the Malcontents, to the unpaid soldiery of the
states, to the armed and rebellious peasantry. Little heed was paid to
the admonitions of Count John, who was of a hotter temper than was the
tranquil Prince. The stadholder gave way to fits of passion at the
meanness and the insolence to which he was constantly exposed. He readily
recognized his infirmity, and confessed himself unable to accommodate his
irascibility to the "humores" of the inhabitants. There was often
sufficient cause for his petulance. Never had praetor of a province a
more penurious civil list. "The baker has given notice," wrote Count
John, in November, "that he will supply no more bread after to-morrow,
unless he is paid." The states would furnish no money to pay the, bill.
It was no better with the butcher. "The cook has often no meat to roast,"
said the Count, in the same letter, "so that we are often obliged to go
supperless to bed." His lodgings were a half-roofed, half-finished,
unfurnished barrack, where the stadholder passed his winter days and
evenings in a small, dark, freezing-cold chamber, often without
fire-wood. Such circumstances were certainly not calculated to excite
envy. When in addition to such wretched parsimony, it is remembered that
the Count was perpetually worried by the quarrels of the provincial
authorities with each other and with himself, he may be forgiven for
becoming thoroughly exhausted at last. He was growing "grey and grizzled"
with perpetual perplexity. He had been fed with annoyance, as if--to use
his own homely expression--"he had eaten it with a spoon." Having already
loaded himself with a debt of six hundred thousand florins, which he had
spent in the states' service, and having struggled manfully against the
petty tortures of his situation, he cannot be severely censured for
relinquishing his post. The affairs of his own Countship were in great
confusion. His children--boys and girls--were many, and needed their
fathers' guidance, while the eldest, William Louis, was already in arms
for the-Netherlands, following the instincts of his race. Distinguished
for a rash valor, which had already gained the rebuke of his father and
the applause of his comrades, he had commenced his long and glorious
career by receiving a severe wound at Coewerden, which caused him to halt
for life. Leaving so worthy a representative, the Count was more
justified in his departure.

His wife, too, had died in his absence, and household affairs required
his attention. It must be confessed, however, that if the memory of his
deceased spouse had its claims, the selection of her successor was still
more prominent among his anxieties. The worthy gentleman had been
supernaturally directed as to his second choice, ere that choice seemed
necessary, for before the news of his wife's death had reached him, the
Count dreamed that he was already united in second nuptials to the fair
Cunigunda, daughter of the deceased Elector Palatine--a vision which was
repeated many times. On the morrow he learned, to his amazement, that he
was a widower, and entertained no doubt that he had been specially
directed towards the princess seen in his slumbers, whom he had never
seen in life. His friends were in favor of his marrying the Electress
Dowager, rather than her daughter, whose years numbered less than half
his own. The honest Count, however, "after ripe consideration," decidedly
preferred the maid to the widow. "I confess," he said, with much gravity,
"that the marriage with the old Electress, in respect of her God-fearing
disposition, her piety, her virtue, and the like, would be much more
advisable. Moreover, as she hath borne her cross, and knows how to deal
with gentlemen, so much the better would it be for me. Nevertheless,
inasmuch as she has already had two husbands, is of a tolerable age, and
is taller of stature than myself, my inclination is less towards her than
towards her daughter."

For these various considerations, Count John, notwithstanding the
remonstrances of his brother, definitely laid down his government of
Gelderland, and quitted the Netherlands about midsummer. Enough had not
been done, in the opinion of the Prince, so long as aught remained to do,
and he could not bear that his brother should desert the country in the
hour of its darkness, or doubt the Almighty when his hand was veiled in
clouds. "One must do one's best," said he, "and believe that when such
misfortunes happen, God desires to prove us. If He sees that we do not
lose our courage, He will assuredly help us. Had we thought otherwise, we
should never have pierced the dykes on a memorable occasion, for it was
an uncertain thing and a great sorrow for the poor people; yet did God
bless the undertaking. He will bless us still, for his arm hath not been
shortened."

On the 22nd of July, 1580, the Archduke Matthias, being fully aware of
the general tendency of affairs, summoned a meeting of the generality in
Antwerp. He did not make his appearance before the assembly, but
requested that a deputation might wait upon him at his lodgings, and to
this committee he unfolded his griefs. He expressed his hope that the
states were not--in violation of the laws of God and man--about to throw
themselves into the arms of a foreign prince. He reminded them of their
duty to the holy Catholic religion to the illustrious house of Austria,
while he also pathetically called their attention to the necessities of
his own household, and hoped that they would, at least, provide for the
arrears due to his domestics.

The states-general replied with courtesy as to the personal claims of the
Archduke. For the rest, they took higher grounds, and the coming
declaration of independence already pierced through the studied decorum
of their language. They defended their negotiation with Anjou on the
ground of necessity, averring that the King of Spain had proved
inexorable to all intercession, while, through the intrigues of their
bitterest enemies, they had been entirely forsaken by the Empire.

Soon afterwards, a special legation, with Saint Aldegonde at its head,
was despatched to France to consult with the Duke of Anjou, and settled
terms of agreement with him by the treaty of Plessis les Tours (on the
29th of September, 1580), afterwards definitely ratified by the
convention of Bordeaux, signed on the 23rd of the following January.

The states of Holland and Zealand, however, kept entirely aloof from this
transaction, being from the beginning opposed to the choice of Anjou.
From the first to the last, they would have no master but Orange, and to
him, therefore, this year they formally offered the sovereignty of their
provinces; but they offered it in vain.

The conquest of Portugal had effected a diversion in the affairs of the
Netherlands. It was but a transitory one. The provinces found the hopes
which they had built upon the necessity of Spain for large supplies in
the peninsula--to their own consequent relief--soon changed into fears,
for the rapid success of Alva in Portugal gave his master additional
power to oppress the heretics of the north. Henry, the Cardinal King, had
died in 1580, after succeeding to the youthful adventurer, Don Sebastian,
slain during his chivalrous African campaign (4th of August, 1578). The
contest for the succession which opened upon the death of the aged
monarch was brief, and in fifty-eight days, the bastard Antonio, Philip's
only formidable competitor, had been utterly defeated and driven forth to
lurk, like 'a hunted wild beast, among rugged mountain caverns, with a
price of a hundred thousand crowns upon his head. In the course of the
succeeding year, Philip received homage at Lisbon as King of Portugal.
From the moment of this conquest, he was more disposed, and more at
leisure than ever, to vent his wrath against the Netherlands, and against
the man whom he considered the incarnation of their revolt.

Cardinal Granvelle had ever whispered in the King's ear the expediency of
taking off the Prince by assassination. It has been seen how subtly
distilled, and how patiently hoarded, was this priest's venom against
individuals, until the time arrived when he could administer the poison
with effect. His hatred of Orange was intense and of ancient date. He was
of opinion, too, that the Prince might be scared from the post of duty,
even if the assassin's hand were not able to reach his heart. He was in
favor of publicly setting a price upon his head-thinking that if the
attention of all the murderers in the world were thus directed towards
the illustrious victim, the Prince would tremble at the dangers which
surrounded him. "A sum of money would be well employed in this way," said
the Cardinal, "and, as the Prince of Orange is a vile coward, fear alone
will throw him into confusion." Again, a few months later, renewing the
subject, he observed, "'twould be well to offer a reward of thirty or
forty thousand crowns to any one who will deliver the Prince, dead or
alive; since from very fear of it--as he is pusillanimous--it would not
be unlikely that he should die of his own accord."

It was insulting even to Philip's intelligence to insinuate that the
Prince would shrink before danger, or die of fear. Had Orange ever been
inclined to bombast, he might have answered the churchman's calumny, as
Caesar the soothsayer's warning:--

       "-----------------Danger knows full well
        That Caesar is more dangerous than he--"

and in truth, Philip had long trembled on his throne before the genius of
the man who had foiled Spain's boldest generals and wiliest statesmen.
The King, accepting the priest's advice, resolved to fulminate a ban
against the Prince, and to set a price upon his head. "It will be well,"
wrote Philip to Parma, "to offer thirty thousand crowns or so to any one
who will deliver him dead or alive. Thus the country may be rid of a man
so pernicious; or at any rate he will be held in perpetual fear, and
therefore prevented from executing leisurely his designs."

In accordance with these suggestions and these hopes, the famous ban was
accordingly drawn up, and dated on the 15th of March, 1580. It was,
however, not formally published in the Netherlands until the month of
June of the same year.

This edict will remain the most lasting monument to the memory of
Cardinal Granvelle. It will be read when all his other state-papers and
epistles--able as they incontestably are--shall have passed into
oblivion. No panegyric of friend, no palliating magnanimity of foe, can
roll away this rock of infamy from his tomb. It was by Cardinal Granvelle
and by Philip that a price was set upon the head of the foremost man of
his age, as if he had been a savage beast, and that admission into the
ranks of Spain's haughty nobility was made the additional bribe to tempt
the assassin.

The ban consisted of a preliminary narrative to justify the penalty with
which it was concluded. It referred to the favors conferred by Philip and
his father upon the Prince; to his-signal ingratitude and dissimulation.
It accused him of originating the Request, the image-breaking, and the
public preaching. It censured his marriage with an abbess--even during
the lifetime of his wife; alluded to his campaigns against Alva, to his
rebellion in Holland, and to the horrible massacres committed by
Spaniards in that province--the necessary consequences of his treason. It
accused him of introducing liberty of conscience, of procuring his own
appointment as Ruward, of violating the Ghent treaty, of foiling the,
efforts of Don John, and of frustrating the counsels of the Cologne
commissioners by his perpetual distrust. It charged him with a
newly-organized conspiracy, in the erection of the Utrecht Union; and for
these and similar crimes--set forth, with involutions, slow, spiral, and
cautious as the head and front of the indictment was direct and
deadly--it denounced the chastisement due to the "wretched hypocrite" who
had committed such offences.

"For these causes," concluded the ban, "we declare him traitor and
miscreant, enemy of ourselves and of the country. As such we banish him
perpetually from all our realms, forbidding all our subjects, of whatever
quality, to communicate with him openly or privately--to administer to
him victuals, drink, fire, or other necessaries. We allow all to injure
him in property or life. We expose the, said William Nassau, as an enemy
of the human-race--giving his property to all who may; seize it. And if
anyone of our subjects or any stranger should be found sufficiently
generous of heart to rid us of this pest, delivering him to us, alive or
dead, or taking his life, we will cause to be furnished to him
immediately after the deed shall have been done, the sum of twenty-five
thousand crowns; in gold. If he have committed any crime, however
heinous, we promise to pardon him; and if he be not already noble, we
will ennoble him for his valor."

Such was the celebrated ban against the Prince of Orange. It was answered
before the end of the year by the memorable "Apology of the Prince of
Orange" one of the moat startling documents in history. No defiance was
ever thundered forth in the face of a despot in more terrible tones. It
had become sufficiently manifest to the royal party that the Prince was
not to be purchased by "millions of money," or by unlimited family
advancement--not to be cajoled by flattery or offers of illustrious
friendship. It had been decided, therefore, to terrify him into retreat,
or to remove him by murder. The Government had been thoroughly convinced
that the only way to finish the revolt, was to "finish Orange," according
to the ancient advice of Antonio Perez. The mask was thrown off. It had
been decided to forbid the Prince bread, water, fire, and shelter; to
give his wealth to the fisc, his heart to the assassin, his soul, as it
was hoped, to the Father of Evil. The rupture being thus complete, it was
right that the "wretched hypocrite" should answer ban with ban, royal
denunciation with sublime scorn. He had ill-deserved, however, the title
of hypocrite, he said. When the friend of government, he had warned them
that by their complicated and perpetual persecutions they were twisting
the rope of their own ruin. Was that hypocrisy? Since becoming their
enemy, there had likewise been little hypocrisy found in him--unless it
were hypocrisy to make open war upon government, to take their cities, to
expel their armies from the country.

The proscribed rebel, towering to a moral and even social superiority
over the man who affected to be his master by right divine, swept down
upon his antagonist with crushing effect. He repudiated the idea of a
king in the Netherlands. The word might be legitimate in Castillo, or
Naples, or the Indies, but the provinces knew no such title. Philip had
inherited in those countries only the power of Duke or Count--a power
closely limited by constitutions more ancient than his birthright. Orange
was no rebel then--Philip no legitimate monarch. Even were the Prince
rebellious, it was no more than Philip's ancestor, Albert of Austria, had
been towards his anointed sovereign, Emperor Adolphus of Nassau, ancestor
of William. The ties of allegiance and conventional authority being,
severed, it had become idle for the King to affect superiority of lineage
to the man whose family had occupied illustrious stations when the
Habsburgs were obscure squires in Switzerland, and had ruled as sovereign
in the Netherlands before that overshadowing house had ever been named.

But whatever the hereditary claims of Philip in the country, he had
forfeited them by the violation of his oaths, by his tyrannical
suppression of the charters of the land; while by his personal crimes he
had lost all pretension to sit in judgment upon his fellow man. Was a
people not justified in rising against authority when all their laws had
been trodden under foot, "not once only, but a million of times?"--and
was William of Orange, lawful husband of the virtuous Charlotte de
Bourbon, to be denounced for moral delinquency by a lascivious,
incestuous, adulterous, and murderous king? With horrible distinctness he
laid before the monarch all the crimes of which he believed him guilty,
and having thus told Philip to his beard, "thus diddest thou," he had a
withering word for the priest who stood at his back. "Tell me," he cried,
"by whose command Cardinal Granvelle administered poison to the Emperor
Maximilian? I know what the Emperor told me, and how much fear he felt
afterwards for the King and for all Spaniards."

He ridiculed the effrontery of men like Philip and Granvelle; in charging
"distrust" upon others, when it was the very atmosphere of their own
existence. He proclaimed that sentiment to be the only salvation for the
country. He reminded Philip of the words which his namesake of Macedon--a
schoolboy in tyranny, compared to himself--had heard from the lips of
Demosthenes--that the strongest fortress of a free people against a
tyrant was distrust. That sentiment, worthy of eternal memory, the Prince
declared that he had taken from the "divine philippic," to engrave upon
the heart, of the nation, and he prayed God that he might be more readily
believed than the great orator had been by his people.

He treated with scorn the price set upon his head, ridiculing this
project to terrify him, for its want of novelty, and asking the monarch
if he supposed the rebel ignorant of the various bargains which had
frequently been made before with cutthroats and poisoners to take away
his life. "I am in the hand of God," said William of Orange; "my worldly
goods and my life have been long since dedicated to His service. He will
dispose of them as seems best for His glory and my salvation."

On the contrary, however, if it could be demonstrated, or even hoped,
that his absence would benefit the cause of the country, he proclaimed
himself ready to go into exile.

"Would to God," said he, in conclusion, that my perpetual banishment, or
even my death, could bring you a true deliverance from so many
calamities. Oh, how consoling would be such banishment--how sweet such a
death! For why have I exposed my property? Was it that I might enrich
myself? Why have I lost my brothers? Was it that I might find new; ones?
Why have I left my son so long a prisoner? Can you give me another? Why
have I put my life so often in, danger? What reward, can I hope after my
long services, and the almost total wreck, of my earthly fortunes, if not
the prize, of having acquired, perhaps at the expense of my life, your
liberty?--If then, my masters, if you judge that my absence or my death
can serve you, behold me ready to obey. Command me--send me to the ends
of the earth--I will obey. Here is my head, over which no prince, no
monarch, has power but yourselves. Dispose of it for your good, for the
preservation of your Republic, but if you judge that the moderate amount
of experience and industry which is in me, if you judge that the
remainder of my property and of my life can yet be of service to you, I
dedicate them afresh to you and to the country."

His motto--most appropriate to his life and character--"Je maintiendrai,"
was the concluding phrase of the document. His arms and signature were
also formally appended, and the Apology, translated into most modern
languages, was sent, to nearly every potentate in Christendom. It had
been previously, on the 13th of December, 1580, read before the assembly
of the united states at Delft, and approved as cordially as the ban was
indignantly denounced.

During the remainder of the year 1580, and the half of the following
year, the seat of hostilities was mainly in the northeast-Parma, while
waiting the arrival of fresh troops, being inactive. The operations, like
the armies and the generals, were petty. Hohenlo was opposed to
Renneberg. After a few insignificant victories, the latter laid siege to
Steenwyk, a city in itself of no great importance, but the key to the
province of Drenthe. The garrison consisted of six hundred soldiers, and
half as many trained burghers. Renneberg, having six thousand foot and
twelve hundred horse, summoned the place to surrender, but was answered
with defiance. Captain Cornput, who had escaped from Groningen, after
unsuccessfully warning the citizens of Renneberg's meditated treason,
commanded in Steenwyk, and his courage and cheerfulness sustained the
population of the city during a close winter siege. Tumultuous mobs in
the streets demanding that the place should be given over ere it was too
late, he denounced to their faces as "flocks of gabbling geese," unworthy
the attention of brave men. To a butcher who, with the instinct of his
craft, begged to be informed what the population were to eat when the
meat was all gone, he coolly observed, "We will eat you, villain, first
of all, when the time comes; so go home and rest assured that you, at
least, are not to die of starvation."

With such rough but cheerful admonitions did the honest soldier, at the
head of his little handful, sustain the courage of the beleaguered city.
Meantime Renneberg pressed it hard. He bombarded it with red-hot balls, a
new invention introduced five years before by Stephen Bathor, King of
Poland, at the siege of Dantzig. Many houses were consumed, but still
Cornput and the citizens held firm. As the winter advanced, and the
succor which had been promised still remained in the distance, Renneberg
began to pelt the city with sarcasms, which, it was hoped, might prove
more effective than the red-hot balls. He sent a herald to know if the
citizens had eaten all their horses yet; a question which was answered by
an ostentatious display of sixty starving hacks--all that could be
mustered-upon the heights. He sent them on another occasion, a short
letter, which ran as follows:

"MOST HONORABLE, MOST STEADFAST,--As, during the present frost, you have
but little exercise in the trenches--as you cannot pass your time in
twirling your finger-rings, seeing that they have all been sold to pay
your soldiers' wages--as you have nothing to rub your teeth upon, nor to
scour your stomachs withal, and as, nevertheless, you require something
if only to occupy your minds, I send you the enclosed letter, in hope it
may yield amusement.--January 15, 1581."

The enclosure was a letter from the Prince of Orange to the Duke of
Anjou, which, as it was pretended, had been intercepted. It was a clumsy
forgery, but it answered the purpose of more skilful counterfeiting, at a
period when political and religious enmity obscured men's judgment. "As
to the point of religion," the Prince was made to observe, for example,
to his illustrious correspondent, "that is all plain and clear. No
sovereign who hopes to come to any great advancement ought to consider
religion, or hold it in regard. Your Highness, by means of the garrisons,
and fortresses, will be easily master of the principal cities in Flanders
and Brabant, even if the citizens were opposed to you. Afterwards you
will compel them without difficulty to any religion which may seem most
conducive to the interests of your Highness."

Odious and cynical as was the whole tone of the letter, it was
extensively circulated. There were always natures base and brutal enough
to accept the calumny and to make it current among kindred souls. It may
be doubted whether Renneberg attached faith to the document; but it was
natural that he should take a malicious satisfaction in spreading this
libel against the man whose perpetual scorn he had so recently earned.
Nothing was more common than such forgeries, and at that very moment a
letter, executed with equal grossness, was passing from hand to hand,
which purported to be from the Count himself to Parma. History has less
interest in contradicting the calumnies against a man like Renneberg. The
fictitious epistle of Orange, however, was so often republished, and the
copies so carefully distributed, that the Prince had thought it important
to add an express repudiation of its authorship, by way of appendix to
his famous Apology. He took the occasion to say, that if a particle of
proof could be brought that he had written the letter, or any letter
resembling it, he would forthwith leave the Netherlands, never to show
his face there again.

Notwithstanding this well known denial, however, Renneberg thought it
facetious to send the letter into Steenvayk, where it produced but small
effect upon the minds' of the burghers. Meantime, they had received
intimation that succor was on its way. Hollow balls containing letters
were shot into the town, bringing the welcome intelligence that the
English colonel, John Norris, with six thousand states' troops, would
soon make his appearance for their relief, and the brave Cornput added
his cheerful exhortations to heighten the satisfaction thus produced. A
day or two afterwards, three quails were caught in the public square, and
the commandant improved the circumstance by many quaint homilies. The
number three, he observed, was typical of the Holy Trinity, which had
thus come symbolically to their relief. The Lord had sustained the
fainting Israelites with quails. The number three indicated three weeks,
within which time the promised succor was sure to arrive. Accordingly,
upon the 22nd of February, 1581, at the expiration of the third week,
Norris succeeded in victualling the town, the merry and steadfast Cornput
was established as a true prophet, and Count Renneberg abandoned the
siege in despair.

The subsequent career of that unhappy nobleman was brief. On the 19th of
July his troops were signally defeated by Sonny--and Norris, the fugitive
royalists retreating into Groningen at the very moment when their
general, who had been prevented by illness from commanding them, was
receiving the last sacraments. Remorse, shame, and disappointment had
literally brought Renneberg to his grave.

"His treason," says a contemporary, "was a nail in his coffin, and on his
deathbed he bitterly bemoaned his crime. 'Groningen! Groningen!' would
that I had never seen thy walls!" he cried repeatedly in his last hours.
He refused to see his sister, whose insidious counsels had combined with
his own evil passions to make him a traitor; and he died on the 23rd of
July, 1581, repentant and submissive. His heart, after his decease, was
found "shrivelled to the dimensions of a walnut," a circumstance
attributed to poison by some, to remorse by others. His regrets; his
early death, and his many attractive qualities, combined to: save his
character from universal denunciation, and his name, although indelibly
stained by treason, was ever mentioned with pity rather than with rancor.

Great changes, destined to be perpetual, were steadily preparing in the
internal condition of the provinces. A preliminary measure of an
important character had been taken early this year by the assembly of the
united provinces held in the month of January at Delft. This was the
establishment of a general executive council. The constitution of the
board was arranged on the 13th of the month, and was embraced in eighteen
articles. The number of councillors was fixed at thirty, all to be native
Netherlanders; a certain proportion to be appointed from each province by
its estates. The advice and consent of this body as to treaties with
foreign powers were to be indispensable, but they were not to interfere
with the rights and duties of the states-general, nor to interpose any
obstacle to the arrangements with the Duke of Anjou.

While this additional machine for the self-government of the provinces
was in the course of creation; the Spanish monarch, on the other hand,
had made another effort to recover the authority which he felt slipping
from his grasp. Philip was in Portugal, preparing for his coronation in,
that, new kingdom--an event to be nearly contemporaneous with his
deposition from the Netherland sovereignty, so solemnly conferred upon
him a quarter of a century before in Brussels; but although thus distant,
he was confident that he could more wisely govern the Netherlands than
the inhabitants could do, and unwilling as ever to confide in the
abilities of those to whom he had delegated his authority. Provided; as
he unquestionably was at that moment, with a more energetic
representative than any who had before exercised the functions of royal
governor in the provinces, he was still disposed to harass, to doubt, and
to interfere. With the additional cares of the Portuguese Conquest upon
his hands, he felt as irresistibly impelled as ever to superintend the
minute details of provincial administration. To do this was impossible.
It was, however, not impossible, by attempting to do it, to produce much
mischief. "It gives me pain," wrote Granvelle, "to see his Majesty
working as before--choosing to understand everything and to do
everything. By this course, as I have often said before, he really
accomplishes much less." The King had, moreover, recently committed the
profound error of sending the Duchess Margaret of Parma to the
Netherlands again. He had the fatuity to believe her memory so tenderly
cherished in the provinces as to ensure a burst of loyalty at her
reappearance, while the irritation which he thus created in the breast of
her son he affected to disregard. The event was what might have been
foreseen. The Netherlanders were very moderately excited by the arrival
of their former regent, but the Prince of Parma was furious. His mother
actually arrived at Namur in the month of August, 1580, to assume the
civil administration of the provinces,--and he was himself, according to
the King's request, to continue in the command of the army. Any one who
had known human nature at all, would have recognized that Alexander
Farnese was not the man to be put into leading strings. A sovereign who
was possessed of any administrative sagacity, would have seen the
absurdity of taking the reins of government at that crisis from the hands
of a most determined and energetic man, to confide them to the keeping of
a woman. A king who was willing to reflect upon the consequences of his
own acts, must have foreseen the scandal likely to result from an open
quarrel for precedence between such a mother and son. Margaret of Parma
was instantly informed, however, by Alexander, that a divided authority
like that proposed was entirely out of the question. Both offered to
resign; but Alexander was unflinching in his determination to retain all
the power or none. The Duchess, as docile to her son after her arrival as
she had been to the King on undertaking the journey, and feeling herself
unequal to the task imposed upon her, implored Philip's permission to
withdraw, almost as soon as she had reached her destination. Granvelle's
opinion was likewise opposed to this interference with the administration
of Alexander, and the King at last suffered himself to be overruled. By
the end of the year 1581, letters arrived confirming the Prince of Parma
in his government, but requesting the Duchess of Parma to remain,
privately in the Netherlands. She accordingly continued to reside there
under an assumed name until the autumn of 1583, when she was at last
permitted to return to Italy.

During the summer of 1581, the same spirit of persecution which had
inspired the Catholics to inflict such infinite misery upon those of the
Reformed faith in the Netherlands, began to manifest itself in overt acts
against the Papists by those who had at last obtained political.
ascendency over them. Edicts were published in Antwerp, in Utrecht, and
in different cities of Holland, suspending the exercise of the Roman
worship. These statutes were certainly a long way removed in horror from
those memorable placards which sentenced the Reformers by thousands to
the axe; the cord, and the stake, but it was still melancholy to see the
persecuted becoming persecutors in their turn. They were excited to these
stringent measures by the noisy zeal of certain Dominican monks in
Brussels, whose extravagant discourses were daily inflaming the passions
of the Catholics to a dangerous degree. The authorities of the city
accordingly thought it necessary to suspend, by proclamation, the public
exercise of the ancient religion, assigning, as their principal reason
for this prohibition, the shocking jugglery by which simple-minded
persons were constantly deceived. They alluded particularly to the
practice of working miracles by means of relics, pieces of the holy
cross, bones of saints, and the perspiration of statues. They charged
that bits of lath were daily exhibited as fragments of the cross; that
the bones of dogs and monkeys were held up for adoration as those of
saints; and that oil was poured habitually into holes drilled in the
heads of statues, that the populace might believe in their miraculous
sweating. For these reasons, and to avoid the tumult and possible
bloodshed to which the disgust excited by such charlatanry might give
rise, the Roman Catholic worship was suspended until the country should
be restored to greater tranquillity. Similar causes led to similar
proclamations in other cities. The Prince of Orange lamented the
intolerant spirit thus showing itself among those who had been its
martyrs, but it was not possible at that moment to keep it absolutely
under control.

A most important change was now to take place in his condition, a most
vital measure was to be consummated by the provinces. The step, which
could never be retraced was, after long hesitation, finally taken upon
the 26th of July, 1581, upon which day the united provinces, assembled at
the Hague, solemnly declared their independence of Philip, and renounced
their allegiance for ever.

This act was accomplished with the deliberation due to its gravity. At
the same time it left the country in a very divided condition. This was
inevitable. The Prince had done all that one man could do to hold the
Netherlands together and unite them perpetually into one body politic,
and perhaps, if he had been inspired by a keener personal ambition, this
task might have been accomplished.--The seventeen provinces might have
accepted his dominion, but they would agree to that of no other
sovereign. Providence had not decreed that the country, after its long
agony, should give birth to a single and perfect commonwealth. The
Walloon provinces had already fallen off from the cause, notwithstanding
the entreaties of the Prince. The other Netherlands, after long and
tedious negotiation with Anjou, had at last consented to his supremacy,
but from this arrangement Holland and Zealand held themselves aloof. By a
somewhat anomalous proceeding, they sent deputies along with those of the
other provinces, to the conferences with the Duke, but it was expressly
understood that they would never accept him as sovereign. They were
willing to contract with him and with their sister provinces--over which
he was soon to exercise authority--a firm and perpetual league, but as to
their own chief, their hearts were fixed. The Prince of Orange should be
their lord and master, and none other. It lay only in his self-denying
character that he had not been clothed with this dignity long before. He
had, however, persisted in the hope that all the provinces might be
brought to acknowledge the Duke of Anjou as their sovereign, under
conditions which constituted a free commonwealth with an hereditary
chief, and in this hope he had constantly refused concession to the
wishes of the northern provinces. He in reality exercised sovereign power
over nearly the whole population, of the Netherlands. Already in 1580, at
the assembly held in April, the states of Holland had formally requested
him to assume the full sovereignty over them, with the title of Count of
Holland and Zealand forfeited by Philip. He had not consented, and the
proceedings had been kept comparatively secret. As the negotiations with
Anjou advanced, and as the corresponding abjuration of Philip was more
decisively indicated, the consent of the Prince to this request was more
warmly urged. As it was evident that the provinces thus bent upon placing
him at their head, could by no possibility be induced to accept the
sovereignty of Anjou--as, moreover; the act of renunciation of Philip
could no longer be deferred, the Prince of Orange reluctantly and
provisionally accepted the supreme power over Holland and Zealand. This
arrangement was finally accomplished upon the 24th of July, 1581, and the
act of abjuration took place two days afterwards. The offer of the
sovereignty over the other united provinces had been accepted by Anjou
six months before.

Thus, the Netherlands were divided into three portions--the reconciled
provinces, the united provinces under Anjou, and the northern provinces
under Orange; the last division forming the germ, already nearly
developed, of the coming republic. The constitution, or catalogue of
conditions, by which the sovereignty accorded to Anjou was reduced to
such narrow limits as to be little more than a nominal authority, while
the power remained in the hands of the representative body of the
provinces, will be described, somewhat later, together with the
inauguration of the Duke. For the present it is necessary that the reader
should fully understand the relative position of the Prince and of the
northern provinces. The memorable act of renunciation--the Netherland
declaration of independence--will then be briefly explained.

On the 29th of March, 1580, a resolution passed the assembly of Holland
and Zealand never to make peace or enter into any negotiations with the
King of Spain on the basis of his sovereignty. The same resolution
provided that his name--hitherto used in all public acts--should be for
ever discarded, that his seal should be broken, and that the name and
seal of the Prince of Orange should be substituted in all commissions and
public documents. At almost the same time the states of Utrecht passed a
similar resolution. These offers were, however, not accepted, and the
affair was preserved profoundly secret. On the 5th of July, 1581, "the
knights, nobles, and cities of Holland and Zealand," again, in an urgent
and solemn manner, requested the Prince to accept the "entire authority
as sovereign and chief of the land, as long as the war should continue."
This limitation as to time was inserted most reluctantly by the states,
and because it was perfectly well understood that without it the Prince
would not accept the sovereignty at all. The act by which this dignity
was offered, conferred full power to command all forces by land and sea,
to appoint all military officers, and to conduct all warlike operations,
without the control or advice of any person whatsoever. It authorized
him, with consent of the states, to appoint all financial and judicial
officers, created him the supreme executive chief, and fountain of
justice and pardon, and directed him "to maintain the exercise only of
the Reformed evangelical religion, without, however, permitting that
inquiries should be made into any man's belief or conscience, or that any
injury or hindrance should be offered to any man on account of his
religion."

The sovereignty thus pressingly offered, and thus limited as to time, was
finally accepted by William of Orange, according to a formal act dated at
the Hague, 5th of July, 1581, but it will be perceived that no powers
were conferred by this new instrument beyond those already exercised by
the Prince. It was, as it were, a formal continuance of the functions
which he had exercised since 1576 as the King's stadholder, according to
his old commission of 1555, although a vast, difference existed in
reality. The King's name was now discarded and his sovereignty disowned,
while the proscribed rebel stood in his place, exercising supreme
functions, not vicariously, but in his own name. The limitation as to
time was, moreover, soon afterwards secretly, and without the knowledge
of Orange, cancelled by the states. They were determined that the Prince
should be their sovereign--if they could make him so--for the term of his
life.

The offer having thus been made and accepted upon the 5th of July, oaths
of allegiance and fidelity were exchanged between the Prince and the
estates upon the 24th of the same month. In these solemnities, the
states, as representing the provinces, declared that because the King of
Spain, contrary to his oath as Count of Holland and Zealand, had not only
not protected these provinces, but had sought with all his might to
reduce them to eternal slavery, it had been found necessary to forsake
him. They therefore proclaimed every inhabitant absolved from allegiance,
while at the same time, in the name of the population, they swore
fidelity to the Prince of Orange, as representing the supreme authority.

Two days afterwards, upon the 26th of July, 1581, the memorable
declaration of independence was issued by the deputies of the united
provinces, then solemnly assembled at the Hague. It was called the Act of
Abjuration. It deposed Philip from his sovereignty, but was not the
proclamation of a new form of government, for the united provinces were
not ready to dispense with an hereditary chief. Unluckily, they had
already provided themselves with a very bad one to succeed Philip in the
dominion over most of their territory, while the northern provinces were
fortunate enough and wise enough to take the Father of the country for
their supreme magistrate.

The document by which the provinces renounced their allegiance was not
the most felicitous of their state papers. It was too prolix and
technical. Its style had more of the formal phraseology of legal
documents than befitted this great appeal to the whole world and to all
time. Nevertheless, this is but matter of taste. The Netherlanders were
so eminently a law-abiding people, that, like the American patriots of
the eighteenth century, they on most occasions preferred punctilious
precision to florid declamation. They chose to conduct their revolt
according to law. At the same time, while thus decently wrapping herself
in conventional garments, the spirit of Liberty revealed none the less
her majestic proportions.

At the very outset of the Abjuration, these fathers of the Republic laid
down wholesome truths, which at that time seemed startling blasphemies in
the ears of Christendom. "All mankind know," said the preamble, "that a
prince is appointed by God to cherish his subjects, even as a shepherd to
guard his sheep. When, therefore, the prince--does not fulfil his duty as
protector; when he oppresses his subjects, destroys their ancient
liberties, and treats them as slaves, he is to be considered, not a
prince, but a tyrant. As such, the estates of the land may lawfully and
reasonably depose him, and elect another in his room."

Having enunciated these maxims, the estates proceeded to apply them to
their own case, and certainly never was an ampler justification for
renouncing a prince since princes were first instituted. The states ran
through the history of the past quarter of a century, patiently
accumulating a load of charges against the monarch, a tithe of which
would have furnished cause for his dethronement. Without passion or
exaggeration, they told the world their wrongs. The picture was not
highly colored. On the contrary, it was rather a feeble than a striking
portrait of the monstrous iniquity which had so long been established
over them. Nevertheless, they went through the narrative conscientiously
and earnestly. They spoke of the King's early determination to govern the
Netherlands, not by natives but by Spaniards; to treat them not as
constitutional countries, but as conquered provinces; to regard the
inhabitants not as liege subjects, but as enemies; above all, to
supersede their ancient liberty by the Spanish Inquisition, and they
alluded to the first great step in this scheme--the creation of the new
bishoprics, each with its staff of inquisitors.

They noticed the memorable Petition, the mission of Berghen and Montigny,
their imprisonment and taking off, in violation of all national law, even
that which had ever been held sacred by the most cruel and tyrannical
princes. They sketched the history of Alva's administration; his
entrapping the most eminent nobles by false promises, and delivering them
to the executioner; his countless sentences of death, outlawry, and
confiscation; his erection of citadels to curb, his imposition of the
tenth and twentieth penny to exhaust the land; his Blood Council and its
achievements; and the immeasurable, woe produced by hanging, burning,
banishing, and plundering, during his seven years of residence. They
adverted to the Grand Commander, as having been sent, not to improve the
condition of the country, but to pursue the same course of tyranny by
more concealed ways. They spoke of the horrible mutiny which broke forth
at his death; of the Antwerp Fury; of the express approbation rendered to
that great outrage by the King, who had not only praised the crime, but
promised to recompense the criminals. They alluded to Don John of Austria
and his duplicity; to his pretended confirmation of the Ghent treaty; to
his attempts to divide the country against itself; to the Escovedo
policy; to the intrigues with the German regiments. They touched upon the
Cologne negotiations, and the fruitless attempt of the patriots upon that
occasion to procure freedom of religion, while the object of the
royalists was only to distract and divide the nation. Finally, they
commented with sorrow and despair upon that last and crowning measure of
tyranny--the ban against the Prince of Orange.

They calmly observed, after this recital, that they were sufficiently
justified in forsaking a sovereign who for more than twenty years had
forsaken them. Obeying the law of nature--desirous of maintaining the
rights, charters, and liberties of their fatherland--determined to escape
from slavery to Spaniards--and making known their decision to the world,
they declared the King of Spain deposed from his sovereignty, and
proclaimed that they should recognize thenceforth neither his title nor
jurisdiction. Three days afterwards, on the 29th of July, the assembly
adopted a formula, by which all persons were to be required to signify
their abjuration.

Such were the forms by which the united provinces threw off their
allegiance to Spain, and ipso facto established a republic, which was to
flourish for two centuries. This result, however, was not exactly
foreseen by the congress which deposed Philip. The fathers of the
commonwealth did not baptize it by the name of Republic. They did not
contemplate a change in their form of government. They had neither an
aristocracy nor a democracy in their thoughts. Like the actors in our own
great national drama, these Netherland patriots were struggling to
sustain, not to overthrow; unlike them, they claimed no theoretical
freedom for humanity--promulgated no doctrine of popular sovereignty:
they insisted merely on the fulfilment of actual contracts, signed
sealed, and sworn to by many successive sovereigns. Acting, upon the
principle that government should be for the benefit of the governed, and
in conformity to the dictates of reason and justice, they examined the
facts by those divine lights, and discovered cause to discard their
ruler. They did not object to being ruled. They were satisfied with their
historical institutions, and preferred the mixture of hereditary
sovereignty with popular representation, to which they were accustomed.
They did not devise an a priori constitution. Philip having violated the
law of reason and the statutes of the land, was deposed, and a new chief
magistrate was to be elected in his stead. This was popular sovereignty
in fact, but not in words. The deposition and election could be legally
justified only by the inherent right of the people to depose and to
elect; yet the provinces, in their Declaration of Independence, spoke of
the divine right of kings, even while dethroning, by popular right, their
own King!

So also, in the instructions given by the states to their envoys charged
to justify the abjuration before the Imperial diet held at Augsburg,
twelve months later, the highest ground was claimed for the popular right
to elect or depose the sovereign, while at the same time, kings were
spoken of as "appointed by God." It is true that they were described, in
the same clause, as "chosen by the people"--which was, perhaps, as exact
a concurrence in the maxim of Vox populi, vox Dei, as the boldest
democrat of the day could demand. In truth, a more democratic course
would have defeated its own ends. The murderous and mischievous pranks of
Imbize, Ryhove, and such demagogues, at Ghent and elsewhere, with their
wild theories of what they called Grecian, Roman, and Helvetian
republicanism, had inflicted damage enough on the cause of freedom, and
had paved the road for the return of royal despotism. The senators
assembled at the Hague gave more moderate instructions to their delegates
at Augsburg. They were to place the King's tenure upon contract--not an
implied one, but a contract as literal as the lease of a farm. The house
of Austria, they were to maintain, had come into the possession of the
seventeen Netherlands upon certain express conditions, and with the
understanding that its possession was to cease with the first condition
broken. It was a question of law and fact, not of royal or popular right.
They were to take the ground, not only that the contract had been
violated, but that the foundation of perpetual justice upon which it
rested; had likewise been undermined. It was time to vindicate both
written charters and general principles. "God has given absolute power to
no mortal man," said Saint Aldegonde, "to do his own will against all
laws and all reason." "The contracts which the King has broken are no
pedantic fantasies," said the estates, "but laws planted by nature in the
universal heart of mankind, and expressly acquiesced in by prince and
people." All men, at least, who speak the English tongue, will accept the
conclusion of the provinces, that when laws which protected the citizen
against arbitrary imprisonment and guaranteed him a trial in his own
province--which forbade the appointment of foreigners to high
office--which secured the property of the citizen from taxation, except
by the representative body--which forbade intermeddling on the part of
the sovereign with the conscience of the subject in religious
matters--when such laws had been subverted by blood tribunals, where
drowsy judges sentenced thousands to stake and scaffold without a hearing
by excommunication, confiscation, banishment-by hanging, beheading,
burning, to such enormous extent and with such terrible monotony that the
executioner's sword came to be looked upon as the only symbol of
justice--then surely it might be said, without exaggeration, that the
complaints of the Netherlanders were "no pedantic fantasies," and that
the King had ceased to perform his functions as dispenser of God's
justice.

The Netherlanders dealt with facts. They possessed a body of laws,
monuments of their national progress, by which as good a share of
individual liberty was secured to the citizen as was then enjoyed in any
country of the world. Their institutions admitted of great improvement,
no doubt; but it was natural that a people so circumstanced should be
unwilling to exchange their condition for the vassalage of "Moors or
Indians."

At the same time it may be doubted whether the instinct for political
freedom only would have sustained them in the long contest, and whether
the bonds which united them to the Spanish Crown would have been broken,
had it not been for the stronger passion for religious liberty, by which
so large a portion of the people was animated. Boldly as the united
states of the Netherlands laid down their political maxima, the quarrel
might perhaps have been healed if the religious question had admitted of
a peaceable solution. Philip's bigotry amounting to frenzy, and the
Netherlanders of "the religion" being willing, in their own words, "to
die the death" rather than abandon the Reformed faith, there was upon
this point no longer room for hope. In the act of abjuration, however, it
was thought necessary to give offence to no class of the inhabitants, but
to lay down such principles only as enlightened Catholics would not
oppose. All parties abhorred the Inquisition, and hatred to that
institution is ever prominent among the causes assigned for the
deposition of the monarch. "Under pretence of maintaining the Roman
religion," said the estates, "the King has sought by evil means to bring
into operation the whole strength of the placards and of the
Inquisition--the first and true cause of all our miseries."

Without making any assault upon the Roman Catholic faith, the authors of
the great act by which Philip was for ever expelled from the Netherlands
showed plainly enough that religious persecution had driven them at last
to extremity. At the same time, they were willing--for the sake of
conciliating all classes of their countrymen--to bring the political
causes of discontent into the foreground, and to use discreet language
upon the religious question.

Such, then, being the spirit which prompted the provinces upon this great
occasion, it may be asked who were the men who signed a document of such
importance? In whose-name and by what authority did they act against the
sovereign? The signers of the declaration of independence acted in the
name and by the authority of the Netherlands people. The estates were the
constitutional representatives of that people. The statesmen of that day
discovering, upon cold analysis of facts, that Philip's sovereignty was,
legally forfeited; formally proclaimed that forfeiture. Then inquiring
what had become of the sovereignty, they found it not in the mass of the
people, but in the representative body, which actually personated the
people. The estates of the different provinces--consisting of the
knights, nobles, and burgesses of each--sent, accordingly, their deputies
to the general assembly at the Hague; and by this congress the decree of
abjuration was issued. It did, not occur to any one to summon the people
in their primary assemblies, nor would the people of that day, have
comprehended the objects of such a summons. They were accustomed to the
action of the estates, and those bodies represented as large a number of
political capacities as could be expected of assemblies chosen then upon
general principles. The hour had not arrived for more profound analysis
of the social compact. Philip was accordingly deposed justly, legally
formally justly, because it had become necessary to abjur a monarch who
was determined not only to oppress; but to exterminate his people;
legally, because he had habitually violated the constitutions which he
had sworn to support; formally, because the act was done in the name of
the people, by the body historically representing the people.

What, then, was the condition of the nation, after this great step had
been taken? It stood, as it were, with its sovereignty in its hand,
dividing it into two portions, and offering it, thus separated, to two
distinct individuals. The sovereignty of Holland and Zealand had been
reluctantly accepted by Orange. The sovereignty of the united provinces
had been offered to Anjou, but the terms of agreement with that Duke had
not yet been ratified. The movement was therefore triple, consisting of
an abjuration and of two separate elections of hereditary chiefs; these
two elections being accomplished in the same manner, by the
representative bodies respectively of the united provinces, and of
Holland and Zealand. Neither the abjuration nor the elections were acted
upon beforehand by the communities, the train-bands, or the guilds of the
cities--all represented, in fact, by the magistrates and councils of
each; nor by the peasantry of the open country--all supposed to be
represented by the knights and nobles. All classes of individuals,
however; arranged in various political or military combinations, gave
their acquiescence afterwards, together with their oaths of allegiance.
The people approved the important steps taken by their representatives.

Without a direct intention on the part of the people or its leaders to
establish a republic, the Republic established itself. Providence did not
permit the whole country, so full of wealth intelligence, healthy
political action--so stocked with powerful cities and an energetic
population, to be combined into one free and prosperous commonwealth. The
factious ambition of a few grandees, the cynical venality of many nobles,
the frenzy of the Ghent democracy, the spirit of religious intolerance,
the consummate military and political genius of Alexander Farnese, the
exaggerated self-abnegation and the tragic fate of Orange, all united to
dissever this group of flourishing and kindred provinces.

The want of personal ambition on the part of William the Silent inflicted
perhaps a serious damage upon his country. He believed a single chief
requisite for the united states; he might have been, but always refused
to become that chief; and yet he has been held up for centuries by many
writers as a conspirator and a self-seeking intriguer. "It seems to me,"
said he, with equal pathos and truth, upon one occasion, "that I was born
in this bad planet that all which I do might be misinterpreted." The
people worshipped him, and there was many an occasion when his election
would have been carried with enthusiasm. "These provinces," said John of
Nassau, "are coming very unwillingly into the arrangement with the Duke
of Alencon, The majority feel much more inclined to elect the Prince, who
is daily, and without intermission, implored to give his consent. His
Grace, however, will in no wise agree to this; not because he fears the
consequences, such as loss of property or increased danger, for therein
he is plunged as deeply as he ever could be;--on the contrary, if he
considered only the interests of his race and the grandeur of his house,
he could expect nothing but increase of honor, gold, and gear, with all
other prosperity. He refuses only on this account that it may not be
thought that, instead of religious freedom for the country, he has been
seeking a kingdom for himself and his own private advancement. Moreover,
he believes that the connexion with France will be of more benefit to the
country and to Christianity than if a peace should be made with Spain, or
than if he should himself accept the sovereignty, as he is desired to
do."

The unfortunate negotiations with Anjou, to which no man was more opposed
than Count John, proceeded therefore. In the meantime, the sovereignty
over the united provinces was provisionally held by the national council,
and, at the urgent solicitation of the states-general, by the Prince. The
Archduke Matthias, whose functions were most unceremoniously brought to
an end by the transactions which we have been recording, took his leave
of the states, and departed in the month of October. Brought to the
country a beardless boy, by the intrigues of a faction who wished to use
him as a tool against William of Orange, he had quietly submitted, on the
contrary, to serve as the instrument of that great statesman. His
personality during his residence was null, and he had to expiate, by many
a petty mortification, by many a bitter tear, the boyish ambition which
brought him to the Netherlands. He had certainly had ample leisure to
repent the haste with which he had got out of his warm bed in Vienna to
take his bootless journey to Brussels. Nevertheless, in a country where
so much baseness, cruelty, and treachery was habitually practised by men
of high position, as was the case in the Netherlands; it is something in
favor of Matthias that he had not been base, or cruel, or treacherous.
The states voted him, on his departure, a pension of fifty thousand
guldens annually, which was probably not paid with exemplary regularity.



CHAPTER V.

   Policy of electing Anjou as sovereign--Commode et incommode--Views
   of Orange--Opinions at the French Court,--Anjou relieves Cambray--
   Parma besieges Tourney--Brave defence by the Princess of Espinoy--
   Honorable capitulation--Anjou's courtship in England--The Duke's
   arrival in the Netherlands--Portrait of Anjou--Festivities in
   Flushing--Inauguration at Antwerp--The conditions or articles
   subscribed to by the Duke--Attempt upon the life of Orange--The
   assassin's papers--Confession of Venero--Gaspar Anastro--His escape
   --Execution of Venero and Zimmermann--Precarious condition of the
   Prince--His recovery--Death of the Princess--Premature letters of
   Parma--Further negotiations with Orange as to the sovereignty of
   Holland and Zealand--Character of the revised Constitution--
   Comparison of the positions of the Prince before and after his
   acceptance of the countship.

Thus it was arranged that, for the--present, at least, the Prince should
exercise sovereignty over Holland and Zealand; although he had himself
used his utmost exertions to induce those provinces to join the rest of
the United Netherlands in the proposed election of Anjou. This, however,
they sternly refused to do. There was also a great disinclination felt by
many in the other states to this hazardous offer of their allegiance, and
it was the personal influence of Orange that eventually carried the
measure through. Looking at the position of affairs and at the character
of Anjou, as they appear to us now, it seems difficult to account for the
Prince's policy. It is so natural to judge only by the result, that we
are ready to censure statesmen for consequences which beforehand might
seem utterly incredible, and for reading falsely human characters whose
entire development only a late posterity has had full opportunity to
appreciate. Still, one would think that Anjou had been sufficiently known
to inspire distrust.

There was but little, too, in the aspect of the French court to encourage
hopes of valuable assistance from that quarter. It was urged, not without
reason, that the French were as likely to become as dangerous as the
Spaniards; that they would prove nearer and more troublesome masters;
that France intended the incorporation of the Netherlands into her own
kingdom; that the provinces would therefore be dispersed for ever from
the German Empire; and that it was as well to hold to the tyrant under
whom they had been born, as to give themselves voluntarily to another of
their own making. In short, it was maintained, in homely language, that
"France and Spain were both under one coverlid." It might have been added
that only extreme misery could make the provinces take either bedfellow.
Moreover, it was asserted, with reason, that Anjou would be a very
expensive master, for his luxurious and extravagant habits were
notorious--that he was a man in whom no confidence could be placed, and
one who would grasp at arbitrary power by any means which might present
themselves. Above all, it was urged that he was not of the true religion,
that he hated the professors of that faith in his heart, and that it was
extremely unwise for men whose dearest interests were their religious
ones, to elect a sovereign of opposite creed to their own. To these
plausible views the Prince of Orange and those who acted with him, had,
however; sufficient answers. The Netherlands had waited long enough for
assistance from other quarters. Germany would not lift a finger in the
cause; on the contrary, the whole of Germany, whether Protestant or
Catholic, was either openly or covertly hostile. It was madness to wait
till assistance came to them from unseen sources. It was time for them to
assist themselves, and to take the best they could get; for when men were
starving they could not afford to be dainty. They might be bound, hand
and foot, they might be overwhelmed a thousand times before they would
receive succor from Germany, or from any land but France. Under the
circumstances in which they found themselves, hope delayed was but a cold
and meagre consolation.

"To speak plainly," said Orange, "asking us to wait is very much as if
you should keep a man three days without any food in the expectation of a
magnificent banquet, should persuade him to refuse bread, and at the end
of three days should tell him that the banquet was not ready, but that a
still better one was in preparation. Would it not be better, then, that
the poor man, to avoid starvation, should wait no longer, but accept
bread wherever he might find it? Such is our case at present."

It was in this vein that he ever wrote and spoke: The Netherlands were to
rely upon their own exertions, and to procure the best alliance, together
with the most efficient protection possible. They were not strong enough
to cope singlehanded with their powerful tyrant, but they were strong
enough if they used the instruments which Heaven offered. It was not
trusting but tempting Providence to wait supinely, instead of grasping
boldly at the means of rescue within reach. It became the character of
brave men to act, not to expect. "Otherwise," said the Prince, "we may
climb to the top of trees, like the Anabaptists of Munster, and expect
God's assistance to drop from the clouds." It is only by listening to
these arguments so often repeated, that we can comprehend the policy of
Orange at thin period. "God has said that he would furnish the ravens
with food, and the lions with their prey," said he; "but the birds and
the lions do not, therefore, sit in their nests and their lairs waiting
for their food to descend from heaven, but they seek it where it is to be
found." So also, at a later day, when events seemed to have justified the
distrust so, generally felt in Anjou, the Prince; nevertheless, held
similar language. "I do not," said he, calumniate those who tell us to
put our trust in God. That is my opinion also. But it is trusting God to
use the means which he places in our hands, and to ask that his blessings
may come upon them.

There was a feeling entertained by the more sanguine that the French King
would heartily assist the Netherlands, after his brother should be fairly
installed. He had expressly written to that effect, assuring Anjou that
he would help him with all his strength, and would enter into close
alliance with those Netherlands which should accept him as prince and
sovereign. In another and more private letter to the Duke, the King
promised to assist his brother, "even to his last shirt." There is no
doubt that it was the policy of the statesmen of France to assist the
Netherlands, while the "mignons" of the worthless King were of a contrary
opinion. Many of them were secret partizans of Spain; and found it more
agreeable to receive the secret pay of Philip than to assist his revolted
provinces. They found it easy to excite the jealousy of the monarch
against his brother--a passion which proved more effective than the more
lofty ambition of annexing the Low Countries, according to the secret
promptings of many French politicians. As for the Queen Mother, she was
fierce in her determination to see fulfilled in this way the famous
prediction of Nostradamus. Three of her sons had successively worn the
crown of France. That she might be "the mother of four kings," without
laying a third child in the tomb, she was greedy for this proffered
sovereignty to her youngest and favorite son. This well-known desire of
Catherine de Medici was duly insisted upon by the advocates of the
election; for her influence, it was urged, would bring the whole power of
France to support the Netherlands.

At any rate, France could not be worse--could hardly be so bad--as their
present tyranny. "Better the government of the Gaul, though suspect and
dangerous," said Everard Reyd, "than the truculent dominion of the
Spaniard. Even thus will the partridge fly to the hand of man, to escape
the talons of the hawk." As for the individual character of Anjou, proper
means would be taken, urged the advocates of his sovereignty, to keep him
in check, for it was intended so closely to limit the power conferred
upon him, that it would be only supreme in name. The Netherlands were to
be, in reality, a republic, of which Anjou was to be a kind of Italian or
Frisian podesta. "The Duke is not to act according to his pleasure," said
one of the negotiators, in a private letter to Count John; "we shall take
care to provide a good muzzle for him." How conscientiously the "muzzle"
was prepared, will appear from the articles by which the states soon
afterwards accepted the new sovereign. How basely he contrived to slip
the muzzle--in what cruel and cowardly fashion he bathed his fangs in the
blood of the flock committed to him, will also but too soon appear.

As for the religious objection to Anjou, on which more stress was laid
than upon any other, the answer was equally ready. Orange professed
himself "not theologian enough" to go into the subtleties brought
forward. As it was intended to establish most firmly a religious peace,
with entire tolerance for all creeds, he did not think it absolutely
essential to require a prince of the Reformed faith. It was bigotry to
dictate to the sovereign, when full liberty in religious matters was
claimed for the subject. Orange was known to be a zealous professor of
the Reformed worship himself; but he did not therefore reject political
assistance, even though offered by a not very enthusiastic member of the
ancient Church.

"If the priest and the Levite pass us by when we are fallen among
thieves," said he, with much aptness and some bitterness, "shall we
reject the aid proffered by the Samaritan, because he is of a different
faith from the worthy fathers who have left us to perish?" In short, it
was observed with perfect truth that Philip had been removed, not because
he was a Catholic, but because he was a tyrant; not because his faith was
different from that of his subjects, but because he was resolved to
exterminate all men whose religion differed from his own. It was not,
therefore, inconsistent to choose another Catholic for a sovereign, if
proper guarantees could be obtained that he would protect and not oppress
the Reformed churches. "If the Duke have the same designs as the King,"
said Saint Aldegonde, "it would be a great piece of folly to change one
tyrant and persecutor for another. If, on the contrary, instead of
oppressing our liberties, he will maintain them, and in place of
extirpating the disciples of the true religion, he will protect them,
then are all the reasons of our opponents without vigor."

By midsummer the Duke of Anjou made his appearance in the western part of
the Netherlands. The Prince of Parma had recently come before Cambray
with the intention of reducing that important city. On the arrival of
Anjou, however, at the head of five thousand cavalry--nearly all of them
gentlemen of high degree, serving as volunteers--and of twelve thousand
infantry, Alexander raised the siege precipitately, and retired towards
Tournay. Anjou victualled the city, strengthened the garrison, and then,
as his cavalry had only enlisted for a summer's amusement, and could no
longer be held together, he disbanded his forces. The bulk of the
infantry took service for the states under the Prince of Espinoy,
governor of Tournay. The Duke himself, finding that, notwithstanding the
treaty of Plessis les Tours and the present showy demonstration upon his
part, the states were not yet prepared to render him formal allegiance,
and being, moreover, in the heyday of what was universally considered his
prosperous courtship of Queen Elizabeth, soon afterwards took his
departure for England.

Parma; being thus relieved of his interference, soon afterwards laid
siege to the important city of Tournay. The Prince of Espinoy was absent
with the army in the north, but the Princess commanded in his absence.
She fulfilled her duty in a manner worthy of the house from which she
sprang, for the blood of Count Horn was in her veins. The daughter of
Mary, de Montmorency, the admiral's sister, answered the summons of Parma
to surrender at discretion with defiance. The garrison was encouraged by
her steadfastness. The Princess appeared daily among her troops,
superintending the defences, and personally directing the officers.
During one of the assaults, she is said, but perhaps erroneously; to have
been wounded in the arm, notwithstanding which she refused to retire.

The siege lasted two months. Meantime, it became impossible for Orange
and the estates, notwithstanding their efforts, to raise a sufficient
force to drive Parma from his entrenchments. The city was becoming
gradually and surely undermined from without, while at the same time the
insidious art of a Dominican friar, Father Gery by name, had been as
surely sapping the fidelity of the garrison from within. An open revolt
of the Catholic population being on the point of taking place, it became
impossible any longer to hold the city. Those of the Reformed faith
insisted that the place should be surrendered; and the Princess, being
thus deserted by all parties, made an honorable capitulation with Parma.
She herself, with all her garrison, was allowed to retire with personal
property, and with all the honors of war, while the sack of the city was
commuted for one hundred thousand crowns, levied upon the inhabitants:
The Princess, on leaving the gates, was received with such a shout of
applause from the royal army that she seemed less like a defeated
commander than a conqueror. Upon the 30th November, Parma accordingly
entered the place which he had been besieging since the 1st of October.

By the end of the autumn, the Prince of Orange, more than ever
dissatisfied with the anarchical condition of affairs, and with the
obstinate jealousy and parsimony of the different provinces, again
summoned the country in the most earnest language to provide for the
general defence, and to take measures for the inauguration of Anjou. He
painted in sombre colors the prospect which lay before them, if nothing
was done to arrest the progress of the internal disorders and of the
external foe, whose forces were steadily augmenting: Had the provinces
followed his advice, instead of quarreling among themselves, they would
have had a powerful army on foot to second the efforts of Anjou, and
subsequently to save Tournay. They had remained supine and stolid, even
while the cannonading against these beautiful cities was in their very
ears. No man seemed to think himself interested in public affair, save
when his own province or village was directly attacked. The general
interests of the commonwealth were forgotten, in local jealousy. Had it
been otherwise, the enemy would have long since been driven over the
Meuse. "When money," continued the Prince, "is asked for to carry on the
war, men answer as if they were talking with the dead Emperor. To say,
however, that they will pay no more, is as much as to declare that they
will give up their land and their religion both. I say this, not because
I have any desire to put my hands into the common purse. You well know
that I have never touched the public money, but it is important that you
should feel that there is no war in the country except the one which
concerns you all."

The states, thus shamed and stimulated, set themselves in earnest to obey
the mandates of the Prince, and sent a special mission to England, to
arrange with the Duke of Anjou for his formal installation as sovereign.
Saint Aldegonde and other commissioners were already there. It was the
memorable epoch in the Anjou wooing, when the rings were exchanged
between Elizabeth and the Duke, and when the world thought that the
nuptials were on the point of being celebrated. Saint Aldegonde wrote to
the Prince of Orange on the 22nd of November, that the marriage had been
finally settled upon that day. Throughout the Netherlands, the auspicious
tidings were greeted with bonfires, illuminations, and cannonading, and
the measures for hailing the Prince, thus highly favored by so great a
Queen, as sovereign master of the provinces, were pushed forward with
great energy.

Nevertheless, the marriage ended in smoke. There were plenty of tournays,
pageants, and banquets; a profusion of nuptial festivities, in short,
where nothing was omitted but the nuptials. By the end of January, 1582,
the Duke was no nearer the goal than upon his arrival three months
before. Acceding, therefore, to the wishes of the Netherland envoys, he
prepared for a visit to their country, where the ceremony of his joyful
entrance as Duke of Brabant and sovereign of the other provinces was to
take place. No open rupture with Elizabeth occurred. On the contrary, the
Queen accompanied the Duke, with a numerous and stately retinue, as far
as Canterbury, and sent a most brilliant train of her greatest nobles and
gentlemen to escort him to the Netherlands, communicating at the same
time, by special letter, her wishes to the estates-general, that he
should be treated with as much honor "as if he were her second self."

On the 10th of February, fifteen large vessels cast anchor at Flushing.
The Duke of Anjou, attended by the Earl of Leicester, the Lords Hunsdon,
Willoughby, Sheffield, Howard, Sir Philip Sidney, and many other
personages of high rank and reputation, landed from this fleet. He was
greeted on his arrival by the Prince of Orange, who, with the Prince of
Espinoy and a large deputation of the states-general, had been for some
days waiting to welcome him. The man whom the Netherlands had chosen for
their new master stood on the shores of Zealand. Francis Hercules, Son of
France, Duke of Alencon and Anjou, was at that time just twenty-eight
years of age; yet not even his flatterers, or his "minions," of whom he
had as regular a train as his royal brother, could claim for him the
external graces of youth or of princely dignity. He was below the middle
height, puny and ill-shaped. His hair and eyes were brown, his face was
seamed with the small-pox, his skin covered with blotches, his nose so
swollen and distorted that it seemed to be double. This prominent feature
did not escape the sarcasms of his countrymen, who, among other gibes,
were wont to observe that the man who always wore two faces, might be
expected to have two noses also. It was thought that his revolting
appearance was the principal reason for the rupture of the English
marriage, and it was in vain that his supporters maintained that if he
could forgive her age, she might, in return, excuse his ugliness. It
seemed that there was a point of hideousness beyond which even royal
princes could not descend with impunity, and the only wonder seemed that
Elizabeth, with the handsome Robert Dudley ever at her feet, could even
tolerate the addresses of Francis Valois.

His intellect was by no means contemptible. He was not without a certain
quickness of apprehension and vivacity of expression which passed
current, among his admirers for wit and wisdom. Even the experienced.
Saint Aldegonde was deceived in his character, and described him after an
hour and half's interview, as a Prince overflowing with bounty,
intelligence, and sincerity. That such men as Saint Aldegonde and the
Prince of Orange should be at fault in their judgment, is evidence not so
much of their want of discernment, as of the difference between the
general reputation of the Duke at that period, and that which has been
eventually established for him in history. Moreover, subsequent events
were to exhibit the utter baseness of his character more signally than it
had been displayed during his previous career, however vacillating. No
more ignoble yet more dangerous creature had yet been loosed upon the
devoted soil of the Netherlands. Not one of the personages who had
hitherto figured in the long drama of the revolt had enacted so sorry a
part. Ambitious but trivial, enterprising but cowardly, an intriguer and
a dupe, without religious convictions or political principles, save that
he was willing to accept any creed or any system which might advance his
own schemes, he was the most unfit protector for a people who, whether
wrong or right; were at least in earnest, and who were accustomed to
regard truth as one of the virtues. He was certainly not deficient in
self-esteem. With a figure which was insignificant, and a countenance
which was repulsive, he had hoped to efface the impression made upon
Elizabeth's imagination by the handsomest man in Europe. With a
commonplace capacity, and with a narrow political education, he intended
to circumvent the most profound statesman of his age. And there, upon the
pier at Flushing, he stood between them both; between the magnificent
Leicester, whom he had thought to outshine, and the silent Prince of
Orange, whom he was determined to outwit. Posterity has long been aware
how far he succeeded in the one and the other attempt.

The Duke's arrival was greeted with the roar of artillery, the ringing of
bells, and the acclamations of a large concourse of the inhabitants;
suitable speeches were made by the magistrates of the town, the deputies
of Zealand, and other functionaries, and a stately banquet was provided,
so remarkable "for its sugar-work and other delicacies, as to entirely
astonish the French and English lords who partook thereof." The Duke
visited Middelburg, where he was received with great state, and to the
authorities of which he expressed his gratification at finding two such
stately cities situate so close to each other on one little island.

On the 17th of February, he set sail for Antwerp. A fleet of fifty-four
vessels, covered with flags and streamers, conveyed him and his retinue,
together with the large deputation which had welcomed him at Flushing, to
the great commercial metropolis. He stepped on shore at Kiel within a
bowshot of the city--for, like other Dukes of Brabant, he was not to
enter Antwerp until he had taken the oaths to respect the
constitution--and the ceremony of inauguration was to take place outside
the walls. A large platform had been erected for this purpose, commanding
a view of the stately city, with its bristling fortifications and shady
groves. A throne, covered with velvet and gold, was prepared, and here
the Duke took his seat, surrounded by a brilliant throng, including many
of the most distinguished personages in Europe.

It was a bright winter's morning. The gaily bannered fleet lay
conspicuous in the river, while an enormous concourse of people were
thronging from all sides to greet the new sovereign. Twenty thousand
burgher troops, in bright uniforms, surrounded the platform, upon the
tapestried floor of which stood the magistrates of Antwerp, the leading
members of the Brabant estates, with the Prince of Orange at their head,
together with many other great functionaries. The magnificence everywhere
displayed, and especially the splendid costumes of the military
companies, excited the profound astonishment of the French, who exclaimed
that every soldier seemed a captain, and who regarded with vexation their
own inferior equipments.

Andrew Hesaels, 'doctor utriusque juris', delivered a salutatory oration,
in which, among other flights of eloquence, he expressed the hope of the
provinces that the Duke, with the beams of his greatness, wisdom, and
magnanimity, would disipate all the mists, fogs, and other exhalations
which were pernicious to their national prosperity, and that he would
bring back the sunlight of their ancient glory.

Anjou answered these compliments with equal courtesy, and had much to say
of his willingness to shed every drop of his blood in defence of the
Brabant liberties; but it might have damped the enthusiasm of the moment
could the curtain of the not very distant future have been lifted. The
audience, listening to these promises, might have seen that it was not so
much his blood as theirs which he was disposed to shed, and less, too, in
defence than in violation of those same liberties which he was swearing
to protect.

Orator Hessels then read aloud the articles of the Joyous Entry, in the
Flemish language, and the Duke was asked if he required any explanations
of that celebrated constitution. He replied that he had thoroughly
studied its provisions, with the assistance of the Prince of Orange,
during his voyage from Flushing, and was quite prepared to swear to
maintain them. The oaths, according to the antique custom, were then
administered. Afterwards, the ducal hat and the velvet mantle, lined with
ermine, were brought, the Prince of Orange assisting his Highness to
assume this historical costume of the Brabant dukes, and saying to him,
as he fastened the button at the throat, "I must secure this robe so
firmly, my lord, that no man may ever tear it from your shoulders."

Thus arrayed in his garment of sovereignty, Anjou was compelled to listen
to another oration from, the pensionary of Antwerp, John Van der Werken.
He then exchanged oaths with the magistrates of the city, and received
the keys, which he returned for safe-keeping to the burgomaster.
Meanwhile the trumpets sounded, largess of gold and silver coins was
scattered among the people, and the heralds cried aloud, "Long live the
Duke of Brabant."

A procession was then formed to escort the new Duke to his commercial
capital. A stately and striking procession it was. The Hanseatic
merchants in ancient German attires the English merchants in long velvet
cassocks, the heralds is their quaint costume, the long train of civic
militia with full, bands of music, the chief functionaries of city and
province in their black mantles and gold chains, all marching under
emblematical standards or time-honored blazons, followed each other in
dignified order. Then came the Duke himself on a white Barbary horse,
caparisoned with cloth of gold. He was surrounded with English, French,
and Netherland grandees, many of them of world-wide reputation. There was
the stately Leicester; Sir Philip Sidney, the mirror of chivalry; the
gaunt and imposing form of William the Silent; his son; Count Maurice of
Nassau, destined to be the first captain of his age, then a handsome,
dark-eyed lad of fifteen; the Dauphin of Auvergne; the Marechal de Biron
and his sons; the Prince of Espinoy; the Lords Sheffield; Willoughby,
Howard; Hunsdon, and many others of high degree and distinguished
reputation. The ancient guilds of the crossbow-men; and archers of
Brabant, splendidly accoutred; formed the bodyguard of the Duke, while
his French cavaliers, the life-guardsmen of the Prince of Orange, and the
troops of they line; followed in great numbers, their glittering uniforms
all, gaily intermingled, "like the flowers de luce upon a royal mantle!"
The procession, thus gorgeous and gay, was terminated by, a dismal group
of three hundred malefactors, marching in fetters, and imploring pardon
of the Duke, a boon which was to be granted at evening. Great torches,
although it was high noon were burning along the road, at intervals of
four or five feet, in a continuous line reaching from the platform at
Kiel to the portal of Saint Joris, through which the entrance to the city
was to be made.

Inside the gate a stupendous allegory was awaiting the approach of the
new sovereign. A huge gilded car, crowded with those emblematical and
highly bedizened personages so dear to the Netherlanders, obstructed the
advance of the procession. All the virtues seemed to have come out for an
airing in one chariot, and were now waiting to offer their homage to
Francis Hercules Valois. Religion in "red satin," holding the gospel in
her hand, was supported by Justice, "in orange velvet," armed with blade
and beam. Prudence and Fortitude embraced each other near a column
enwreathed by serpents "with their tails in their ears to typify deafness
to flattery," while Patriotism as a pelican, and Patience as a brooding
hen, looked benignantly upon the scene. This greeting duly acknowledged,
the procession advanced into the city. The streets were lined with troops
and with citizens; the balconies were filled with fair women; "the very
gables," says an enthusiastic contemporary, "seemed to laugh with ladies'
eyes." The market-place was filled with waxen torches and with blazing
tar barrels, while in its centre stood the giant Antigonus--founder of
the city thirteen hundred years before the Christian era--the fabulous
personage who was accustomed to throw the right hands of all smuggling
merchants into the Scheld. This colossal individual, attired in a
"surcoat of sky-blue," and holding a banner emblazoned with the arms of
Spain, turned its head as the Duke entered the square, saluted the new
sovereign, and then dropping the Spanish scutcheon upon the ground,
raised aloft another bearing the arms of Anjou.

And thus, amid exuberant outpouring of confidence, another lord and
master had made his triumphal entrance into the Netherlands. Alas how
often had this sanguine people greeted with similar acclamations the
advent of their betrayers and their tyrants! How soon were they to
discover that the man whom they were thus receiving with the warmest
enthusiasm was the most treacherous tyrant of all.

It was nightfall before the procession at last reached the palace of
Saint Michael, which had been fitted up for the temporary reception of
the Duke. The next day was devoted to speech-making; various deputations
waiting upon the new Duke of Brabant with congratulatory addresses. The
Grand Pensionary delivered a pompous oration upon a platform hung with
sky-blue silk, and carpeted with cloth of gold. A committee of the German
and French Reformed Churches made a long harangue, in which they
expressed the hope that the Lord would make the Duke "as valiant as
David, as wise as Solomon, and as pious as Hezekiah." A Roman Catholic
deputation informed his Highness that for eight months the members of the
Ancient Church had been forbidden all religious exercises, saving
baptism, marriage, visitation of the sick, and burials. A promise was
therefore made that this prohibition, which had been the result of the
disturbances recorded in a preceding chapter, should be immediately
modified, and on the 15th of March, accordingly, it was arranged, by
command of the magistrates, that all Catholics should have permission to
attend public worship, according to the ancient ceremonial, in the church
of Saint Michael, which had been originally designated for the use of the
new Duke of Brabant. It was, however, stipulated that all who desired to
partake of this privilege should take the oath of abjuration beforehand,
and go to the church without arms.

Here then had been oaths enough, orations enough, compliments enough, to
make any agreement steadfast, so far as windy suspirations could furnish
a solid foundation for the social compact. Bells, trumpets, and the
brazen throats of men and of cannons had made a sufficient din, torches
and tar-barrels had made a sufficient glare, to confirm--so far as noise
and blazing pitch could confirm--the decorous proceedings of church and
town-house, but time was soon to show the value of such demonstrations.
Meantime, the "muzzle" had been fastened with solemnity and accepted with
docility. The terms of the treaty concluded at Plessis lea Tours and
Bordeaux were made public. The Duke had subscribed to twenty-seven
articles; which made as stringent and sensible a constitutional compact
as could be desired by any Netherland patriot. These articles, taken in
connection with the ancient charters which they expressly upheld, left to
the new sovereign no vestige of arbitrary power. He was merely the
hereditary president of a representative republic. He was to be Duke,
Count, Margrave, or Seignior of the different provinces on the same terms
which his predecessors had accepted. He was to transmit the dignities to
his children. If there were more than one child, the provinces were to
select one of the number for their sovereign. He was to maintain all the
ancient privileges, charters, statutes, and customs, and to forfeit his
sovereignty at the first violation. He was to assemble the states-general
at least once a year. He was always to reside in the Netherlands. He was
to permit none but natives to hold office. His right of appointment to
all important posts was limited to a selection from three candidates, to
be proposed by the estates of the province concerned, at each vacancy. He
was to maintain "the Religion" and the religious peace in the same state
in which they then were, or as should afterwards be ordained by the
estates of each province, without making any innovation on his own part.
Holland and Zealand were to remain as they were, both in the matter of
religion and otherwise. His Highness was not to permit that any one
should be examined or molested in his house, or otherwise, in the matter
or under pretext of religion. He was to procure the assistance of the
King of France for the Netherlands. He was to maintain a perfect and a
perpetual league, offensive and defensive, between that kingdom and the
provinces; without; however, permitting any incorporation of territory.
He was to carry on the war against Spain with his own means and those
furnished by his royal brother, in addition to a yearly, contribution by
the estates of two million four hundred thousand guldens. He was to
dismiss all troops at command of the states-general. He was to make no
treaty with Spain without their consent.

It would be superfluous to point out the great difference between the
notions entertained upon international law in the sixteenth century and
in our own. A state of nominal peace existed between Spain, France and
England; yet here was the brother of the French monarch, at the head of
French troops, and attended by the grandees of England solemnly accepting
the sovereignty over the revolted provinces of Spain. It is also curious
to observe that the constitutional compact, by which the new sovereign of
the Netherlands was admitted to the government, would have been
repudiated as revolutionary and republican by the monarchs of France or
England, if an attempt had been made to apply it to their own realms, for
the ancient charters--which in reality constituted a republican form of
government--had all been re-established by the agreement with Anjou. The
first-fruits of the ban now began to display themselves. Sunday, 18th of
March, 1582, was the birthday of the Duke of Anjou, and a great festival
had been arranged, accordingly, for the evening, at the palace of Saint
Michael, the Prince of Orange as well as all the great French lords being
of course invited. The Prince dined, as usual, at his house in the
neighbourhood of the citadel, in company with the Counts Hohenlo and
Laval, and the two distinguished French commissioners, Bonnivet and Des
Pruneaux. Young Maurice of Nassau, and two nephews of the Prince, sons of
his brother John, were also present at table. During dinner the
conversation was animated, many stories being related of the cruelties
which had been practised by the Spaniards in the provinces. On rising
from the table, Orange led the way from the dining room to his own
apartments, showing the noblemen in his company as he passed along, a
piece of tapestry upon which some Spanish soldiers were represented. At
this moment, as he stood upon the threshold of the ante-chamber, a youth
of small stature, vulgar mien, and pale dark complexion, appeared from
among the servants and offered him a petition. He took the paper, and as
he did so, the stranger suddenly drew a pistol and discharged it at the
head of the Prince. The ball entered the neck under the right ear, passed
through the roof of the mouth, and came out under the left jaw-bone,
carrying with it two teeth. The pistol had been held so near, that the
hair and beard of the Prince were set on fire by the discharge. He
remained standing, but blinded, stunned, and for a moment entirely
ignorant of what had occurred. As he afterwards observed, he thought
perhaps that a part of the house had suddenly fallen. Finding very soon
that his hair and beard were burning, he comprehended what had occurred;
and called out quickly, "Do not kill him--I forgive him my death!" and
turning to the French noblemen present, he added, "Alas! what a faithful
servant does his Highness lose in me!"

These were his first words, spoken when, as all believed, he had been
mortally wounded. The, message of mercy came, however, too late; for two
of the gentlemen present, by an irresistible impulse, had run the
assassin through with their rapiers. The halberdiers rushed upon him
immediately after wards, so that he fell pierced in thirty-two vital
places. The Prince, supported by his friends, walked to his chamber,
where he was put to bed, while the surgeons examined and bandaged the
wound. It was most dangerous in appearance, but a very strange
circumstance gave more hope than could otherwise have been entertained.
The flame from the pistol had been so close that it had actually
cauterized the wound inflicted by the ball. But for this, it was supposed
that the flow of blood from the veins which had been shot through would
have proved fatal before the wound could be dressed. The Prince, after
the first shock, had recovered full possession of his senses, and
believing himself to be dying, he expressed the most unaffected sympathy
for the condition in which the Duke of Anjou would be placed by his
death. "Alas, poor Prince!" he cried frequently; "alas, what troubles
will now beset thee!" The surgeons enjoined and implored his silence, as
speaking might cause the wound to prove immediately fatal. He complied,
but wrote incessantly. As long as his heart could beat, it was impossible
for him not to be occupied with his country.

Lion Petit, a trusty Captain of the city guard, forced his way to the
chamber, it being, absolutely necessary, said the honest burgher, for him
to see with his own eyes that the Prince was living, and report the fact
to the townspeople otherwise, so great was the excitement, it was
impossible to say what might be the result. It was in fact believed that
the Prince was already dead, and it was whispered that he had been
assassinated by the order of Anjou. This horrible suspicion was flying
through the city, and producing a fierce exasperation, as men talked of
the murder of Coligny, of Saint Bartholomew, of the murderous
propensities of the Valois race. Had the attempt taken place in the
evening, at the birth-night banquet of Anjou, a horrible massacre would
have been the inevitable issue. As it happened, however, circumstances
soon, occurred to remove, the suspicion from the French, and to indicate
the origin of the crime. Meantime, Captain Petit was urged by the Prince,
in writing, to go forth instantly with the news that he yet survived, but
to implore the people, in case God should call him to Himself, to hold
him in kind remembrance, to make no tumult, and to serve the Duke
obediently and faithfully.

Meantime, the youthful Maurice of Nassau was giving proof of that cool
determination which already marked his character. It was natural that a
boy of fifteen should be somewhat agitated at seeing such a father shot
through the head before his eyes. His situation was rendered doubly grave
by the suspicions which were instantly engendered as to the probable
origin of the attempt. It was already whispered in the hall that the
gentlemen who had been so officious in slaying the assassin, were his
accomplices, who--upon the principle that dead men would tell no
tales--were disposed, now that the deed was done, to preclude
inconvenient revelations as to their own share in the crime. Maurice,
notwithstanding these causes for perturbation, and despite his grief at
his father's probable death, remained steadily by the body of the
murderer. He was determined, if possible, to unravel the plot, and he
waited to possess himself of all papers and other articles which might be
found upon the person of the deceased.

A scrupulous search was at once made by the attendants, and everything
placed in the young Count's own hands. This done, Maurice expressed a
doubt lest some of the villain's accomplices might attempt to take the
articles from him, whereupon a faithful old servant of his father came
forward, who with an emphatic expression of the importance of securing
such important documents, took his young master under his cloak, and led
him to a retired apartment of the house. Here, after a rapid examination,
it was found that the papers were all in Spanish, written by Spaniards to
Spaniards, so that it was obvious that the conspiracy, if one there were,
was not a French conspiracy. The servant, therefore, advised Maurice to
go to his father, while he would himself instantly descend to the hall
with this important intelligence. Count Hohenlo had, from the instant of
the murder, ordered the doors to be fastened, and had permitted no one to
enter or to leave the apartment without his permission. The information
now brought by the servant as to the character of the papers caused great
relief to the minds of all; for, till that moment, suspicion had even
lighted upon men who were the firm friends of the Prince.

Saint Aldegonde, who had meantime arrived, now proceeded, in company of
the other gentlemen, to examine the papers and other articles taken from
the assassin. The pistol with which he had done the deed was lying upon
the floor; a naked poniard, which he would probably have used also, had
his thumb not been blown off by the discharge of the pistol, was found in
his trunk hose. In his pockets were an Agnus Dei, a taper of green wax,
two bits of hareskin, two dried toads--which were supposed to be
sorcerer's charms--a, crucifix, a Jesuit catechism, a prayer-book, a
pocket-book containing two Spanish bills of exchange--one for two
thousand, and one for eight hundred and seventy-seven crowns--and a set
of writing tablets. These last were covered with vows and pious
invocations, in reference to the murderous affair which the writer had in
hand. He had addressed fervent prayers to the "Virgin Mary, to the Angel
Gabriel, to the Saviour, and to the Saviour's Son as if," says the
Antwerp chronicler, with simplicity, "the Lord Jesus had a son"--that
they might all use their intercession with the Almighty towards the
certain and safe accomplishment of the contemplated deed. Should he come
off successful and unharmed, he solemnly vowed to fast a week on bread
and water. Furthermore, he promised to Christ a "new coat of costly
pattern;" to the Mother of God, at Guadalupe, a new gown; to Our Lady of
Montserrat, a crown, a gown, and a lamp; and so on through along list of
similar presents thus contemplated for various Shrines. The poor
fanatical fool had been taught by deeper villains than himself that his
pistol was to rid the world of a tyrant, and to open his own pathway to
Heaven, if his career should be cut short on earth. To prevent so
undesirable a catastrophe to himself, however, his most natural
conception had been to bribe the whole heavenly host, from the Virgin
Mary downwards, for he had been taught that absolution for murder was to
be bought and sold like other merchandise. He had also been persuaded
that, after accomplishing the deed, he would become invisible.

Saint Aldegonde hastened to lay the result of this examination before the
Duke of Anjou. Information was likewise instantly conveyed to the
magistrates at the Town House, and these measures were successful in
restoring confidence throughout the city as to the intentions of the new
government. Anjou immediately convened the State Council, issued a
summons for an early meeting of the states-general, and published a
proclamation that all persons having information to give concerning the
crime which had just been committed, should come instantly forward, upon
pain of death. The body of the assassin was forthwith exposed upon the
public square, and was soon recognized as that of one Juan Jaureguy, a
servant in the employ of Gaspar d'Anastro, a Spanish merchant of Antwerp.
The letters and bills of exchange had also, on nearer examination at the
Town House, implicated Anastro in the affair. His house was immediately
searched, but the merchant had taken his departure, upon the previous
Tuesday, under pretext of pressing affairs at Calais. His cashier,
Venero, and a Dominican friar, named Antony Zimmermann, both inmates of
his family, were, however, arrested upon suspicion. On the following day
the watch stationed at the gate carried the foreign post-bags, as soon as
they arrived, to the magistracy, when letters were found from Anastro to
Venero, which made the affair quite plain. After they had been thoroughly
studied, they were shown to Venero, who, seeing himself thus completely
ruined, asked for pen and ink, and wrote a full confession.

It appeared that the crime was purely a commercial speculation on the
part of Anastro. That merchant, being on the verge of bankruptcy, had
entered with Philip into a mutual contract, which the King had signed
with his hand and sealed with his seal, and according to which Anastro,
within a certain period, was to take the life of William of Orange, and
for so doing was to receive eighty thousand ducats, and the cross of
Santiago. To be a knight companion of Spain's proudest order of chivalry
was the guerdon, over and above the eighty thousand pieces of silver,
which Spain's monarch promised the murderer, if he should succeed. As for
Anastro himself, he was too frugal and too wary to risk his own life, or
to lose much of the premium. With, tears streaming down his cheeks, he
painted to his faithful cashier the picture which his master would
present, when men should point at him and say, "Behold yon bankrupt!"
protesting, therefore, that he would murder Orange and secure the reward,
or perish in the attempt. Saying this, he again shed many tears. Venero,
seeing his master thus disconsolate, wept bitterly likewise; and begged
him not to risk his own precious life. After this pathetic commingling of
their grief, the merchant and his book-keeper became more composed, and
it was at last concerted between them that John Jaureguy should be
entrusted with the job. Anastro had intended--as he said in a letter
afterwards intercepted--"to accomplish the deed with his own hand; but,
as God had probably reserved him for other things, and particularly to be
of service to his very affectionate friends, he had thought best to
entrust the execution of the design to his servant." The price paid by
the master to the man, for the work, seems to have been but two thousand
eight hundred and seventy-seven crowns. The cowardly and crafty principal
escaped. He had gone post haste to Dunkirk, pretending that the sudden
death of his agent in Calais required his immediate presence in that
city. Governor Sweveseel, of Dunkirk, sent an orderly to get a passport
for him from La Motte, commanding at Gravelingen. Anastro being on
tenter-hooks lest the news should arrive that the projected murder had
been consummated before he had crossed the border, testified extravagant
joy on the arrival of the passport, and gave the messenger who brought it
thirty pistoles. Such conduct naturally excited a vague suspicion in the
mind of the governor, but the merchant's character was good, and he had
brought pressing letters from Admiral Treslong. Sweveseel did not dare to
arrest him without cause, and he neither knew that any crime had been
committed; nor that the man before him was the criminal. Two hours after
the traveller's departure, the news arrived of the deed, together with
orders to arrest Anastro, but it was too late. The merchant had found
refuge within the lines of Parma.

Meanwhile, the Prince lay in a most critical condition. Believing that
his end was fast approaching; he dictated letters to the states-general,
entreating them to continue in their obedience to the Duke, than whom he
affirmed that he knew no better prince for the government of the
provinces. These letters were despatched by Saint Aldegonde to the
assembly, from which body a deputation, in obedience to the wishes of
Orange, was sent to Anjou, with expressions of condolence and fidelity.

On Wednesday a solemn fast was held, according to proclamation, in
Antwerp, all work and all amusements being prohibited, and special
prayers commanded in all the churches for the recovery of the Prince.
"Never, within men's memory," says an account published at the moment, in
Antwerp, "had such crowds been seen in the churches, nor so many tears
been shed."

The process against Venero and Zimmermann was rapidly carried through,
for both had made a full confession of their share in the crime. The
Prince had enjoined from his sick bed, however, that the case should be
conducted with strict regard to justice, and, when the execution could no
longer be deferred, he had sent a written request, by the hands of Saint
Aldegonde, that they should be put to death in the least painful manner.
The request was complied with, but there can be no doubt that the
criminals, had it not been made, would have expiated their offence by the
most lingering tortures. Owing to the intercession of the man who was to
have been their victim, they were strangled, before being quartered, upon
a scaffold erected in the market-place, opposite the Town House. This
execution took place on Wednesday, the 28th of March.

The Prince, meanwhile, was thought to be mending, and thanksgivings began
to be mingled with the prayers offered almost every hour in the churches;
but for eighteen days he lay in a most precarious state. His wife hardly
left his bedside, and his sister, Catharine Countess of Schwartzburg, was
indefatigable in her attentions. The Duke of Anjou visited him daily, and
expressed the most filial anxiety for his recovery, but the hopes, which
had been gradually growing stronger, were on the 5th of April exchanged
for the deepest apprehensions. Upon that day the cicatrix by which the
flow of blood from the neck had been prevented, almost from the first
infliction of the wound, fell off.  The veins poured forth a vast
quantity of blood; it seemed impossible to check the haemorrhage, and all
hope appeared to vanish. The Prince resigned himself to his fate, and
bade his children "good night for ever," saying calmly, "it is now all
over with me."

It was difficult, without suffocating the patient, to fasten a bandage
tightly enough to staunch the wound, but Leonardo Botalli, of Asti, body
physician of Anjou, was nevertheless fortunate enough to devise a simple
mechanical expedient, which proved successful. By his advice; a
succession of attendants, relieving each other day and night, prevented
the flow of blood by keeping the orifice of the wound slightly but firmly
compressed with the thumb. After a period of anxious expectation, the
wound again closed; and by the end of the month the Prince was
convalescent. On the 2nd of May he went to offer thanksgiving in the
Great Cathedral, amid the joyful sobs of a vast and most earnest throng.

The Prince, was saved, but unhappily the murderer had yet found an
illustrious victim. The Princess of Orange; Charlotte de Bourbon--the
devoted wife who for seven years, had so faithfully shared his joys and
sorrows--lay already on her death-bed. Exhausted by anxiety, long
watching; and the alternations of hope and fear during the first eighteen
days, she had been prostrated by despair at the renewed haemorrhage. A
violent fever seized her, under which she sank on the 5th of May, three
days after the solemn thanksgiving for her husband's recovery. The
Prince, who loved her tenderly, was in great danger of relapse upon the
sad event, which, although not sudden, had not been anticipated. She was
laid in her grave on the 9th of May, amid the lamentations of the whole
country, for her virtues were universally known and cherished. She was a
woman of rare intelligence, accomplishment, and gentleness of
disposition; whose only offence had been to break, by her marriage, the
Church vows to which she had been forced in her childhood, but which had
been pronounced illegal by competent authority, both ecclesiastical and
lay. For this, and for the contrast which her virtues afforded to the
vices of her predecessor, she was the mark of calumny and insult. These
attacks, however, had cast no shadow upon the serenity of her married
life, and so long as she lived she was the trusted companion and consoler
of her husband. "His Highness," wrote Count John in 1580, "is in
excellent health, and, in spite of adversity, incredible labor,
perplexity, and dangers, is in such good spirits that, it makes me happy
to witness it. No doubt a chief reason is the consolation he derives from
the pious and highly-intelligent wife whom, the Lord has given him--a
woman who ever conforms to his wishes, and is inexpressibly dear to him."

The Princess left six daughters--Louisa Juliana, Elizabeth, Catharina
Belgica, Flandrina, Charlotta Brabantica, and Emilia Secunda.

Parma received the first intelligence of the attempt from the mouth of
Anastro himself, who assured him that the deed had been entirely
successful, and claimed the promised reward.

Alexander, in consequence, addressed circular letters to the authorities
of Antwerp, Brussels, Bruges, and other cities, calling upon them, now
that they had been relieved of their tyrant and their betrayer, to return
again to the path of their duty and to the ever open arms of their lawful
monarch. These letters were premature. On the other hand, the states of
Holland and Zealand remained in permanent session, awaiting with extreme
anxiety the result of the Prince's wound. "With the death of his
Excellency, if God should please to take him to himself," said the
magistracy of Leyden, "in the death of the Prince we all foresee our own
death." It was, in truth, an anxious moment, and the revulsion of feeling
consequent on his recovery was proportionately intense.

In consequence of the excitement produced by this event, it was no longer
possible for the Prince to decline accepting the countship of Holland and
Zealand, which he had refused absolutely two years before, and which he
had again rejected, except for a limited period, in the year 1581. It was
well understood, as appears by the treaty with Anjou, and afterwards
formally arranged, "that the Duke was never, to claim sovereignty over
Holland and Zealand," and the offer of the sovereign countship of Holland
was again made to the Prince of Orange in most urgent terms. It will be
recollected that he had accepted the sovereignty on the 5th of July,
1581, only for the term of the war. In a letter, dated Bruges, 14th of
August, 1582, he accepted the dignity without limitation. This offer and
acceptance, however, constituted but the preliminaries, for it was
further necessary that the letters of "Renversal" should be drawn up,
that they should be formally delivered, and that a new constitution
should be laid down, and confirmed by mutual oaths. After these steps had
been taken, the ceremonious inauguration or rendering of homage was to be
celebrated.

All these measures were duly arranged, except the last. The installation
of the new Count of Holland was prevented by his death, and the northern
provinces remained a Republic, not only in fact but in name.

In political matters; the basis of the new constitution was the "Great
Privilege" of the Lady Mary, the Magna Charta of the country. That
memorable monument in the history of the Netherlands and of municipal
progress had, been overthrown by Mary's son, with the forced acquiescence
of the states, and it was therefore stipulated by the new article, that
even such laws and privileges as had fallen into disuse should be
revived. It was furthermore provided that the little state should be a
free Countship, and should thus silently sever its connexion with the
Empire.

With regard to the position of the Prince, as hereditary chief of the
little commonwealth, his actual power was rather diminished than
increased by his new dignity. What was his position at the moment? He was
sovereign during the war, on the general basis of the authority
originally bestowed upon him by the King's commission of stadholder. In
1581, his Majesty had been abjured and the stadholder had become
sovereign. He held in his hands the supreme power, legislative, judicial,
executive. The Counts of Holland--and Philip as their successor--were the
great fountains of that triple stream. Concessions and exceptions had
become so extensive; no doubt, that the provincial charters constituted a
vast body of "liberties" by which the whole country was reasonably well
supplied. At the same time, all the power not expressly granted away
remained in the breast of the Count. If ambition, then, had been
William's ruling principle, he had exchanged substance for shadow, for
the new state now constituted was a free commonwealth--a republic in all
but name.

By the new constitution he ceased to be the source of governmental life,
or to derive his own authority from above by right divine. The sacred oil
which had flowed from Charles the Simple's beard was dried up. Orange's
sovereignty was from the estates; as legal representatives of the people;
and, instead of exercising all the powers not otherwise granted away, he
was content with those especially conferred upon him. He could neither
declare war nor conclude peace without the co-operation of the
representative body. The appointing power was scrupulously limited.
Judges, magistrates, governors, sheriffs, provincial and municipal
officers, were to be nominated by the local authorities or by the
estates, on the triple principle. From these triple nominations he had
only the right of selection by advice and consent of his council. He was
expressly enjoined to see that the law was carried to every man's door,
without any distinction of persons; to submit himself to its behests, to
watch against all impedimenta to the even flow of justice, to prevent
false imprisonments, and to secure trials for every accused person by the
local tribunals. This was certainly little in accordance with the
arbitrary practice of the past quarter of a century.

With respect to the great principle of taxation, stricter bonds even were
provided than those which already existed. Not only the right of taxation
remained with the states, but the Count was to see that, except for war
purposes, every impost was levied by a unanimous vote. He was expressly
forbidden to tamper with the currency. As executive head, save in his
capacity as Commander-in-chief by land or sea, the new sovereign was, in
short, strictly limited by self-imposed laws. It had rested with him to
dictate or to accept a constitution. He had in his memorable letter of
August, 1582, from Bruges, laid down generally the articles prepared at
Plessia and Bourdeaux, for Anjou-together with all applicable provisions
of the Joyous Entry of Brabant--as the outlines of the constitution for
the little commonwealth then forming in the north. To these provisions he
was willing to add any others which, after ripe deliberation, might be
thought beneficial to the country.

Thus limited were his executive functions. As to his judicial authority
it had ceased to exist. The Count of Holland was now the guardian of the
laws, but the judges were to administer them. He held the sword of
justice to protect and to execute, while the scales were left in the
hands which had learned to weigh and to measure.

As to the Count's legislative authority, it had become coordinate with,
if not subordinate to, that of the representative body. He was strictly
prohibited from interfering with the right of the separate or the general
states to assemble as often as they should think proper; and he was also
forbidden to summon them outside their own territory. This was one
immense step in the progress of representative liberty, and the next was
equally important. It was now formally stipulated that the estates were
to deliberate upon all measures which "concerned justice and polity," and
that no change was to be made--that is to say, no new law was to pass
without their consent as well as that of the council. Thus, the principle
was established of two legislative chambers, with the right, but not the
exclusive right, of initiation on the part of government, and in the
sixteenth century one would hardly look for broader views of civil
liberty and representative government. The foundation of a free
commonwealth was thus securely laid, which had William lived, would have
been a representative monarchy, but which his death converted into a
federal republic. It was necessary for the sake of unity to give a
connected outline of these proceedings with regard to the sovereignty of
Orange. The formal inauguration, only remained, and this, as will be
seen, was for ever interrupted.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Natural to judge only by the result
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     Unduly dejected in adversity



MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 34

THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC

By John Lothrop Motley
1855



CHAPTER VI.

   Parma recals the foreign troops--Siege of Oudenarde--Coolness of
   Alexander--Capture of the city and of Nineve--Inauguration of Anjou
   at Ghent--Attempt upon his life and that of Orange--Lamoral Egmont's
   implication in the plot--Parma's unsuccessful attack upon Ghent--
   Secret plans of Anjou--Dunkirk, Ostend, and other towns surprised by
   his adherents--Failure at Bruges--Suspicions at Antwerp--Duplicity
   of Anjou--The "French Fury"--Details of that transaction--
   Discomfiture and disgrace of the Duke--His subsequent effrontery--
   His letters to the magistracy of Antwerp, to, the Estates, and to
   Orange--Extensive correspondence between Anjou and the, French Court
   with Orange and the Estates--Difficult position of the Prince--His
   policy--Remarkable letter to the States-general--Provisional
   arrangement with Anjou--Marriage of the Archbishop of Cologne--
   Marriage of Orange with Louisa de Coligny--Movements in Holland,
   Brabant, Flanders, and other provinces, to induce the Prince to
   accept sovereignty over the whole country--His steady refusal--
   Treason of Van den Berg in Gueldres--Intrigues of Prince Chimay and
   Imbize in Flanders--Counter efforts of Orange and the patriot party
   --Fate of Imbize--Reconciliation of Bruges--Death of Anjou

During the course of the year 1582, the military operations on both sides
had been languid and desultory, the Prince of Parma, not having a large
force at his command, being comparatively inactive. In consequence,
however, of the treaty concluded between the United states and Anjou,
Parma had persuaded the Walloon provinces that it had now become
absolutely necessary for them to permit the entrance of fresh Italian and
Spanish troops. This, then, was the end of the famous provision against
foreign soldiery in the Walloon treaty of reconciliation. The Abbot of
Saint Vaast was immediately despatched on a special mission to Spain, and
the troops, by midsummer, had already begun to pour, into the
Netherlands.

In the meantime, Farnese, while awaiting these reinforcements, had not
been idle, but had been quietly picking up several important cities.
Early in the spring he had laid siege to Oudenarde, a place of
considerable importance upon the Scheld, and celebrated as the birthplace
of his grandmother, Margaret van Geest. The burghers were obstinate; the
defence was protracted; the sorties were bold; the skirmishes frequent
and sanguinary: Alexander commanded personally in the trenches,
encouraging his men by his example, and often working with the mattock,
or handling a spear in the assault, Like a private pioneer or soldier.
Towards the end of the siege, he scarcely ever left the scene of
operation, and he took his meals near the outer defences, that he might
lose no opportunity of superintending the labors of his troops. One day
his dinner was laid for himself and staff in the open air, close to the
entrenchment. He was himself engaged in planting a battery against a weak
point in the city wall, and would on no account withdraw for all instant.
The tablecloth was stretched over a number of drum-heads, placed close
together, and several, nobles of distinction--Aremberg, Montigny,
Richebourg, La Motte, and others, were his guests at dinner. Hardly had
the repast commenced, when a ball came flying over the table, taking off
the head of a, young Walloon officer who was sitting near Parma, and, who
was earnestly requesting a foremost place in the morrow's assault. A
portion of his skull struck out the eye of another gentleman present. A
second ball from the town fortifications, equally well directed,
destroyed two more of the guests as they sat at the banquet--one a German
captain, the other the Judge-Advocate-General. The blood and brains of
these unfortunate individuals were strewn over the festive board, and the
others all started to their feet, having little appetite left for their
dinner. Alexander alone remained in his seat, manifesting no
discomposure. Quietly ordering the attendants to remove the dead bodies,
and to bring a clean tablecloth, he insisted that his guests should
resume their places at the banquet which had been interrupted in such
ghastly fashion. He stated with very determined aspect that he could not
allow the heretic burghers of Oudenarde the triumph of frightening him
from his dinner, or from the post of danger. The other gentlemen could,
of course, do no less than imitate the impassibility of their chief, and
the repast was accordingly concluded without further interruption. Not
long afterwards, the city, close pressed by so determined a commander,
accepted terms, which were more favorable by reason of the respect which
Alexander chose to render to his mother's birthplace. The pillage was
commuted for thirty thousand, crowns, and on the 5th of July the place
was surrendered to Parma almost under the very eyes of Anjou, who was
making a demonstration of relieving the siege.

Ninove, a citadel then belonging to the Egmont family, was next reduced.
Here, too, the defence was more obstinate than could have been expected
from the importance of the place, and as the autumn advanced, Parma's
troops were nearly starved in their trenches, from the insufficient
supplies furnished them. They had eaten no meat but horseflesh for weeks,
and even that was gone. The cavalry horses were all consumed, and even
the chargers of the officers were not respected. An aid-de-camp of Parma
fastened his steed one day at the door of the Prince's tent, while he
entered to receive his commander's instructions. When he came out again,
a few minutes afterwards, he found nothing but the saddle and bridle
hanging where he had fastened the horse. Remonstrance was useless, for
the animal had already been cut into quarters, and the only satisfaction
offered to the aid-de-camp was in the shape of a steak. The famine was
long familiarly known as the "Ninove starvation," but notwithstanding
this obstacle, the place was eventually surrendered.

An attempt upon Lochum, an important city, in Gelderland, was
unsuccessful, the place being relieved by the Duke of Anjou's forces, and
Parma's troops forced to abandon the siege. At Steenwyk, the royal arms
were more successful, Colonel Tassis, conducted by a treacherous Frisian
peasant, having surprised the city which had so, long and so manfully
sustained itself against Renneberg during the preceding winter. With this
event the active operations under Parma closed for the year. By the end
of the autumn, however, he had the satisfaction of numbering, under his
command, full sixty thousand well-appointed and disciplined troops,
including the large reinforcements recently despatched: from Spain and
Italy. The monthly expense of this army-half of which was required for
garrison duty, leaving only the other moiety for field Operations--was
estimated at six hundred and fifty thousand florins. The forces under
Anjou and the united provinces were also largely increased, so that the
marrow of the land was again in fair way of being thoroughly exhausted by
its defenders and its foes.

The incidents of Anjou's administration, meantime, during the year 1582,
had been few and of no great importance. After the pompous and elaborate
"homage-making" at Antwerp, he had, in the month of July, been formally
accepted, by writing, as Duke of Guelders and Lord of Friesland. In the
same month he had been ceremoniously, inaugurated at Bruges as Count of
Flanders--an occasion upon which the Prince of Orange had been present.
In that ancient and stately city there had been, accordingly, much
marching about under triumphal arches, much cannonading and haranguing,
much symbol work of suns dispelling fogs, with other cheerful emblems,
much decoration of ducal shoulders with velvet robes lined with weasel
skin, much blazing of tar-barrels and torches. In the midst of this
event, an attempt was made upon the lives both of Orange and Anjou. An
Italian, named Basa, and a Spaniard, called Salseda, were detected in a
scheme to administer poison to both princes, and when arrested, confessed
that they had been hired by the Prince of Parma to compass this double
assassination. Basa destroyed himself in prison. His body was, however,
gibbeted, with an inscription that he had attempted, at the instigation
of Parma, to take the lives of Orange and Anjou. Salseda, less fortunate,
was sent to Paris, where he was found guilty, and executed by being torn
to pieces by four horses. Sad to relate, Lamoral Egmont, younger son and
namesake of the great general, was intimate with Salseda, and implicated
in this base design. His mother, on her death-bed, had especially
recommended the youth to the kindly care of Orange. The Prince had ever
recognized the claim, manifesting uniform tenderness for the son of his
ill-started friend; and now the youthful Lamoral--as if the name of
Egmont had not been sufficiently contaminated by the elder brother's
treason at Brussels--had become the comrade of hired conspirators against
his guardian's life. The affair was hushed up, but the story was current
and generally believed that Egmont had himself undertaken to destroy the
Prince at his own table by means of poison which he kept concealed in a
ring. Saint Aldegonde was to have been taken off in the same way, and a
hollow ring filled with poison was said to have been found in Egmont's
lodgings.

The young noble was imprisoned; his guilt was far from doubtful; but the
powerful intercessions of Orange himself, combined with Egmont's near
relationship to the French Queen saved his life, and he was permitted,
after a brief captivity, to take his departure for France.

The Duke of Anjou, a month later, was received with equal pomp, in the
city of Ghent. Here the ceremonies were interrupted in another manner.
The Prince of Parma, at the head of a few regiments of Walloons, making
an attack on a body of troops by which Anjou had been escorted into
Flanders, the troops retreated in good order, and without much loss,
under the walls of Ghent, where a long and sharp action took place, much
to the disadvantage of Parma, The Prince, of Orange and the Duke; of
Anjou were on the city walls during the whole skirmish giving orders and
superintending the movements of their troops, and at nightfall Parma was
forced, to retire, leaving a large number of dead behind him.

The 15th day of December, in this year was celebrated according to the
new ordinance of Gregory the Thirteenth--as Christmas. It was the
occasion of more than usual merry-making among the Catholics of Antwerp,
who had procured, during the preceding summer, a renewed right of public
worship from Anjou and the estates. Many nobles of high rank came from
France, to pay their homage to the new Duke of Brabant. They secretly
expressed their disgust, however, at the close constitutional bonds in
which they found their own future sovereign imprisoned by the provinces.
They thought it far beneath the dignity of the "Son of France" to play
the secondary part of titular Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, Lord of
Friesland, and the like, while the whole power of government was lodged
with the states. They whispered that it was time to take measures for the
incorporation of the Netherlands into France, and they persuaded the
false and fickle Anjou that there would never be any hope of his royal
brother's assistance, except upon the understanding that the blood and
treasure of Frenchmen were to be spent to increase the power, not of
upstart and independent provinces, but of the French crown.

They struck the basest chords of the Duke's base nature by awakening his
jealousy of Orange. His whole soul vibrated to the appeal. He already
hated the man by whose superior intellect he was overawed, and by whose
pure character he was shamed. He stoutly but secretly swore that he would
assert his own rights; and that he would no longer serve as a shadow, a
statue, a zero, a Matthias. It is needless to add, that neither in his
own judgment nor in that of his mignons, were the constitutional articles
which he had recently sworn to support, or the solemn treaty which he had
signed and sealed at Bordeaux, to furnish any obstacles to his seizure of
unlimited power, whenever the design could be cleverly accomplished. He
rested not, day or night, in the elaboration of his plan.

Early in January, 1583, he sent one night for several of his intimate
associates, to consult with him after he had retired to bed. He
complained of the insolence of the states, of the importunity of the
council which they had forced upon him, of the insufficient sums which
they furnished both for him and his troops, of the daily insults offered
to the Catholic religion. He protested that he should consider himself
disgraced in the eyes of all Christendom, should he longer consent to
occupy his present ignoble position. But two ways were open to him, he
observed; either to retire altogether from the Nether lands, or to
maintain his authority with the strong hand, as became a prince. The
first course would cover him with disgrace. It was therefore necessary
for him to adopt the other. He then unfolded his plan to his confidential
friends, La Fougere, De Fazy, Palette, the sons of Marechal Biron, and
others. Upon the same day, if possible, he was determined to take
possession, with his own troops, of the principal cities in Flanders.
Dunkirk, Dixmuyde, Denremonde, Bruges, Ghent, Vilvoorde, Alost, and other
important places, were to be simultaneously invaded, under pretext of
quieting tumults artfully created and encouraged between the burghers and
the garrisons, while Antwerp was reserved for his own especial
enterprise. That important capital he would carry by surprise at the same
moment in which the other cities were to be secured by his lieutenants.

The plot was pronounced an excellent one by the friends around his
bed--all of them eager for Catholic supremacy, for the establishment of
the right divine on the part of France to the Netherlands, and for their
share in the sacking of so many wealthy cities at once. These worthless
mignons applauded their weak master to the echo; whereupon the Duke
leaped from his bed, and kneeling on the floor in his night-gown, raised
his eyes and his clasped hands to heaven, and piously invoked the
blessing of the Almighty upon the project which he had thus announced. He
added the solemn assurance that; if favored with success in his
undertaking, he would abstain in future from all unchastity, and forego
the irregular habits by which his youth had been stained. Having thus
bribed the Deity, and received the encouragement of his flatterers, the
Duke got into bed again. His next care was to remove the Seigneur du
Plessis, whom he had observed to be often in colloquy with the Prince of
Orange, his suspicious and guilty imagination finding nothing but
mischief to himself in the conjunction of two such natures. He therefore
dismissed Du Plessis, under pretext of a special mission to his sister,
Margaret of Navarre; but in reality, that he might rid himself of the
presence of an intelligent and honorable countryman.

On the a 15th January, 1583, the day fixed for the execution of the plot,
the French commandant of Dunkirk, Captain Chamois, skillfully took
advantage of a slight quarrel between the citizens and the garrison, to
secure that important frontier town. The same means were employed
simultaneously, with similar results, at Ostend, Dixmuyde, Denremonde,
Alost, and Vilvoorde, but there was a fatal delay at one important city.
La Fougere, who had been with Chamois at Dunkirk, was arrested on his way
to Bruges by some patriotic citizens who had got wind of what had just
been occurring in the other cities, so that when Palette, the provost of
Anjou, and Colonel la Rebours, at the head of fifteen hundred French
troops, appeared before the gates, entrance was flatly refused. De
Grijse, burgomaster of Bruges, encouraged his fellow townsmen by words
and stout action, to resist the nefarious project then on foot against
religious liberty and free government, in favor of a new foreign tyranny.
He spoke to men who could sympathize with, and second his courageous
resolution, and the delay of twenty-four hours, during which the burghers
had time to take the alarm, saved the city. The whole population was on
the alert, and the baffled Frenchmen were forced to retire from the
gates, to avoid being torn to pieces by the citizens whom they had
intended to surprise.

At Antwerp, meanwhile, the Duke of Anjou had been rapidly maturing his
plan, under pretext of a contemplated enterprise against the city of
Endhoven, having concentrated what he esteemed a sufficient number of
French troops at Borgerhout, a village close to the walls of Antwerp.

On the 16th of January, suspicion was aroused in the city. A man in a
mask entered the main guard-house in the night, mysteriously gave warning
that a great crime was in contemplation, and vanished before he could be
arrested. His accent proved him to be a Frenchman. Strange rumors flew
about the streets. A vague uneasiness pervaded the whole population as to
the intention of their new master, but nothing was definitely known, for
of course there was entire ignorance of the events which were just
occurring in other cities. The colonels and captains of the burgher guard
came to consult the Prince of Orange. He avowed the most entire
confidence in the Duke of Anjou, but, at the same time; recommended that
the chains should be drawn, the lanterns hung out, and the drawbridge
raised an hour earlier than usual, and that other precautions; customary
in the expectation of an attack, should be duly taken. He likewise sent
the Burgomaster of the interior, Dr. Alostanus, to the Duke of Anjou, in
order to communicate the suspicions created in the minds of the city
authorities by the recent movements of troops.

Anjou, thus addressed, protested in the most solemn manner that nothing
was farther from his thoughts than any secret enterprise against Antwerp.
He was willing, according to the figure of speech which he had always
ready upon every emergency, "to shed every drop of his blood in her
defence." He swore that he would signally punish all those who had dared
to invent such calumnies against himself and his faithful Frenchmen,
declaring earnestly, at the same time, that the troops had only been
assembled in the regular course of their duty. As the Duke was so loud
and so fervent; as he, moreover, made no objections to the precautionary
measures which had been taken; as the burgomaster thought, moreover, that
the public attention thus aroused would render all evil designs futile,
even if any had been entertained; it was thought that the city might
sleep in security for that night at least.

On the following, morning, as vague suspicions were still entertained by
many influential persons, a deputation of magistrates and militia
officers waited upon the Duke, the Prince of Orange--although
himself still feeling a confidence which seems now almost
inexplicable--consenting to accompany them. The Duke was more vehement
than ever in his protestations of loyalty to his recent oaths, as well as
of deep affection for the Netherlands--for Brabant in particular, and for
Antwerp most of all, and he made use of all his vivacity to persuade the
Prince, the burgomasters, and the colonels, that they had deeply wronged
him by such unjust suspicions. His assertions were accepted as sincere,
and the deputation withdrew, Anjou having first solemnly promised--at the
suggestion of Orange--not to leave the city during the whole day, in
order that unnecessary suspicion might be prevented.

This pledge the Duke proceeded to violate almost as soon as made. Orange
returned with confidence to his own house, which was close to the
citadel, and therefore far removed from the proposed point of attack, but
he had hardly arrived there when he received a visit from the Duke's
private secretary, Quinsay, who invited him to accompany his Highness on
a visit to the camp. Orange declined the request, and sent an earnest
prayer to the Duke not to leave the city that morning. The Duke dined as
usual at noon. While at dinner he received a letter; was observed to turn
pale on reading it, and to conceal it hastily in a muff which he wore on
his left arm. The repast finished, the Duke ordered his horse. The animal
was restive, and so, strenuously resisted being mounted that, although it
was his usual charger; it was exchanged for another. This second horse
started in such a flurry that the Duke lost his cloak, and almost his
seat. He maintained his self-possession, however, and placing himself at
the head of his bodyguard and some troopers, numbering in all three
hundred mounted men, rode out of the palace-yard towards the Kipdorp
gate.

This portal opened on the road towards Borgerhout, where his troops were
stationed, and at the present day bears the name of that village: It is
on the side of the city farthest removed from and exactly opposite the
river. The town was very quiet, the streets almost deserted; for it was
one o'clock, the universal dinner-hour, and all suspicion had been
disarmed by the energetic protestations of the Duke. The guard at the
gate looked listlessly upon the cavalcade as it approached, but as soon
as Anjou had crossed the first drawbridge, he rose in his stirrups and
waved his hand. "There is your city, my lads," said he to the troopers
behind him; "go and take possession of it!"

At the same time he set spurs to his horse, and galloped off towards the
camp at Borgerhout. Instantly afterwards; a gentleman of his suite, Count
Bochepot, affected to have broken his leg through the plunging of his
horse, a circumstance by which he had been violently pressed, against the
wall as he entered the gate. Kaiser, the commanding officer at the
guard-house, stepped kindly forward to render him assistance, and his
reward was a desperate thrust from the Frenchman's rapier. As he wore a
steel cuirass, he fortunately escaped with a slight wound.

The expression, "broken leg," was the watch-word, for at one and the same
instant, the troopers and guardsmen of Anjou set upon the burgher watch
at the gate, and butchered every man. A sufficient force was left to
protect the entrance thus easily mastered, while the rest of the
Frenchmen entered the town at full gallop, shrieking "Ville gaignee,
ville gaignee! vive la messe! vive le Due d'Anjou!" They were followed by
their comrades from the camp outside, who now poured into the town at the
preconcerted signal, at least six hundred cavalry and three thousand
musketeers, all perfectly appointed, entering Antwerp at once. From the
Kipdorp gate two main arteries--the streets called the Kipdorp and the
Meer--led quite through the heart of the city, towards the townhouse and
the river beyond. Along these great thoroughfares the French soldiers
advanced at a rapid pace; the cavalry clattering furiously in the van,
shouting "Ville gaignee, ville gaignee! vive la messe, vive la messe!
tue, tue, tue!"

The burghers coming to door and window to look for the cause of all this
disturbance, were saluted with volleys of musketry. They were for a
moment astonished, but not appalled, for at first they believed it to be
merely an accidental tumult. Observing, however, that the soldiers,
meeting with but little effective resistance, were dispersing into
dwellings and warehouses, particularly into the shops of the goldsmiths
and lapidaries, the citizens remembered the dark suspicions which had
been so rife, and many recalled to mind that distinguished French
officers had during, the last few days been carefully examining the
treasures of the jewellers, under pretext of purchasing, but, as it now
appeared, with intent to rob intelligently.

The burghers, taking this rapid view of their position, flew instantly to
arms. Chains and barricades were stretched across the streets; the
trumpets sounded through the city; the municipal guards swarmed to the
rescue. An effective rally was made, as usual, at the Bourse, whither a
large detachment of the invaders had forced their way. Inhabitants of all
classes and conditions, noble and simple, Catholic and Protestant, gave
each other the hand, and swore to die at each other's side in defence of
the city against the treacherous strangers. The gathering was rapid and
enthusiastic. Gentlemen came with lance and cuirass, burghers with musket
and bandoleer, artisans with axe, mallet, and other implements of their
trade. A bold baker, standing by his oven-stark naked, according to the
custom of bakers at that day--rushed to the street as the sound of the
tumult reached his ear. With his heavy bread shovel, which he still held
in his hand, he dealt a French cavalry, officer, just riding and
screaming by, such a hearty blow that he fell dead from his horse. The
baker seized the officer's sword, sprang all unattired as he was, upon
his steed, and careered furiously through the streets, encouraging his
countrymen everywhere to the attack, and dealing dismay through the ranks
of the enemy. His services in that eventful hour were so signal that he
was publicly thanked afterwards by the magistrates for his services, and
rewarded with a pension of three hundred florins for life.

The invaders had been forced from the Bourse, while another portion of
them had penetrated as far as the Market-place. The resistance which they
encountered became every instant more formidable, and Fervacques, a
leading French officer, who was captured on the occasion, acknowledged
that no regular troops could have fought more bravely than did these
stalwart burghers. Women and children mounted to roof and window, whence
they hurled, not only tiles and chimney pots, but tables, ponderous
chairs, and other bulky articles, upon the heads of the assailants, while
such citizens as had used all their bullets, loaded their pieces with the
silver buttons from their doublets, or twisted gold and silver coins with
their teeth into ammunition. With a population so resolute, the four
thousand invaders, however audacious, soon found themselves swallowed up.
The city had closed over them like water, and within an hour nearly a
third of their whole number had been slain. Very few of the burghers had
perished, and fresh numbers were constantly advancing to the attack. The
Frenchmen, blinded, staggering, beaten, attempted to retreat. Many threw
themselves from the fortifications into the moat. The rest of the
survivors struggled through the streets--falling in large numbers at
every step-towards the point at which they had so lately entered the
city. Here at the Kipdorp gate was a ghastly spectacle, the slain being
piled up in the narrow passage full ten feet high, while some of the
heap, not quite dead, were striving to extricate a hand or foot, and
others feebly thrust forth their heads to gain a mouthful of air.

From the outside, some of Anjou's officers were attempting to climb over
this mass of bodies in order to enter the city; from the interior, the
baffled and fugitive remnant of their comrades were attempting to force
their passage through the same horrible barrier; while many dropped at,
every instant upon the heap of slain, under the blows of the unrelenting
burghers. On the other hand, Count Rochepot himself, to whom the
principal command of the enterprise had been entrusted by Anjou, stood
directly in the path of his fugitive soldiers, not only bitterly
upbraiding them with their cowardice, but actually slaying ten or twelve
of them with his own hands, as the most effectual mode of preventing
their retreat. Hardly an hour had elapsed from the time when the Duke of
Anjou first rode out of the Kipdorp gate, before nearly the whole of the
force which he had sent to accomplish his base design was either dead or
captive. Two hundred and fifty nobles of high rank and illustrious name
were killed; recognized at once as they lay in the streets by their
magnificent costume. A larger number of the gallant chivalry of France
had been sacrificed--as Anjou confessed--in this treacherous and most
shameful enterprise, than had often fallen upon noble and honorable
fields. Nearly two thousand of the rank and file had perished, and the
rest were prisoners. It was at first asserted that exactly fifteen
hundred and eighty-three Frenchmen had fallen, but this was only because
this number happened to be the date of the year, to which the lovers of
marvellous coincidences struggled very hard to make the returns of the
dead correspond. Less than one hundred burghers lost their lives.

Anjou, as he looked on at a distance, was bitterly reproached for his
treason by several of the high-minded gentlemen about his person, to whom
he had not dared to confide his plot. The Duke of Montpensier protested
vehemently that he washed his hands of the whole transaction, whatever
might be the issue. He was responsible for the honor of an illustrious
house, which should never be stained, he said, if he could prevent it,
with such foul deeds. The same language was held by Laval, by
Rochefoucauld, and by the Marechal de Biron, the last gentleman, whose
two sons were engaged in the vile enterprise, bitterly cursing the Duke
to his face, as he rode through the gate after revealing his secret
undertaking.

Meanwhile, Anjou, in addition to the punishment of hearing these
reproaches from men of honor, was the victim of a rapid and violent
fluctuation of feeling. Hope, fear, triumph, doubt, remorse, alternately
swayed him. As he saw the fugitives leaping from the walls, he shouted
exultingly, without accurately discerning what manner of men they were,
that the city was his, that four thousand of his brave soldiers were
there, and were hurling the burghers from the battlements. On being made
afterwards aware of his error, he was proportionably depressed; and when
it was obvious at last that the result of the enterprise was an absolute
and disgraceful failure, together with a complete exposure of his
treachery, he fairly mounted his horse, and fled conscience-stricken from
the scene.

The attack had been so unexpected, in consequence of the credence that
had been rendered by Orange and the magistracy to the solemn
protestations of the Duke, that it had been naturally out of any one's
power to prevent the catastrophe. The Prince was lodged in apart of the
town remote from the original scene of action, and it does not appear
that information had reached him that anything unusual was occurring,
until the affair was approaching its termination. Then there was little
for him to do. He hastened, however, to the scene, and mounting the
ramparts, persuaded the citizens to cease cannonading the discomfited and
retiring foe. He felt the full gravity of the situation, and the
necessity of diminishing the rancor of the inhabitants against their
treacherous allies, if such a result were yet possible. The burghers had
done their duty, and it certainly would have been neither in his power
nor his inclination to protect the French marauders from expulsion and
castigation.

Such was the termination of the French Fury, and it seems sufficiently
strange that it should have been so much less disastrous to Antwerp than
was the Spanish Fury of 1576, to which men could still scarcely allude
without a shudder. One would have thought the French more likely to prove
successful in their enterprise than the Spaniards in theirs. The
Spaniards were enemies against whom the city had long been on its guard.
The French were friends in whose sincerity a somewhat shaken confidence
had just been restored. When the Spanish attack was made, a large force
of defenders was drawn up in battle array behind freshly strengthened
fortifications. When the French entered at leisure through a scarcely
guarded gate, the whole population and garrison of the town were quietly
eating their dinners. The numbers of the invading forces on the two
occasions did not materially differ; but at the time of the French Fury
there was not a large force of regular troops under veteran generals to
resist the attack. Perhaps this was the main reason for the result, which
seems at first almost inexplicable. For protection against the Spanish
invasion, the burghers relied on mercenaries, some of whom proved
treacherous, while the rest became panic-struck. On the present occasion
the burghers relied on themselves. Moreover, the French committed the
great error of despising their enemy. Recollecting the ease with which
the Spaniards had ravished the city, they believed that they had nothing
to do but to enter and take possession. Instead of repressing their
greediness, as the Spaniards had done, until they had overcome
resistance, they dispersed almost immediately into by-streets, and
entered warehouses to search for plunder. They seemed actuated by a fear
that they should not have time to rifle the city before additional troops
should be sent by Anjou to share in the spoil. They were less used to the
sacking of Netherland cities than were the Spaniards, whom long practice
had made perfect in the art of methodically butchering a population at
first, before attention should be diverted to plundering, and
supplementary outrages. At any rate, whatever the causes, it is certain
that the panic, which upon such occasions generally decides the fate of
the day, seized upon the invaders and not upon the invaded, almost from
the very first. As soon as the marauders faltered in their purpose and
wished to retreat, it was all over with them. Returning was worse than
advance, and it was the almost inevitable result that hardly a man
escaped death or capture.

The Duke retreated the same day in the direction of Denremonde, and on
his way met with another misfortune, by which an additional number of his
troops lost their lives. A dyke was cut by the Mechlin citizens to impede
his march, and the swollen waters of the Dill, liberated and flowing
across the country which he was to traverse, produced such an inundation,
that at least a thousand of his followers were drowned.

As soon as he had established himself in a camp near Berghem, he opened a
correspondence with the Prince of Orange, and with the authorities of
Antwerp. His language was marked by wonderful effrontery. He found
himself and soldiers suffering for want of food; he remembered that he
had left much plate and valuable furniture in Antwerp; and he was
therefore desirous that the citizens, whom he had so basely outraged,
should at once send him supplies and restore his property. He also
reclaimed the prisoners who still remained in the city, and to obtain all
this he applied to the man whom he had bitterly deceived, and whose life
would have been sacrificed by the Duke, had the enterprise succeeded.

It had been his intention to sack the city, to re-establish exclusively
the Roman Catholic worship, to trample upon the constitution which he had
so recently sworn to maintain, to deprive Orange, by force, of the
Renversal by which the Duke recognized the Prince as sovereign of
Holland; Zealand; and Utrecht, yet notwithstanding that his treason
had-been enacted in broad daylight, and in a most deliberate manner, he
had the audacity to ascribe the recent tragic occurrences to chance. He
had the farther originality to speak of himself as an aggrieved person,
who had rendered great services to the Netherlands, and who had only met
with ingratitude in return. His envoys, Messieurs Landmater and
Escolieres, despatched on the very day of the French Fury to the
burgomasters and senate of Antwerp, were instructed to remind those
magistrates that the Duke had repeatedly exposed his life in the cause of
the Netherlands. The affronts, they were to add, which he had received,
and the approaching ruin of the country, which he foresaw, had so altered
his excellent nature, as to engender the present calamity, which he
infinitely regretted. Nevertheless, the senate was to be assured that his
affection for the commonwealth was still so strong, as to induce a desire
on his part to be informed what course was now to be pursued with, regard
to him. Information upon that important point was therefore to be
requested, while at the same time the liberation of the prisoners at
Antwerp, and the restaration of the Duke's furniture and papers, were to
be urgently demanded.

Letters of similar, import were also despatched by the Duke to the states
of the Union, while to the Prince of Orange; his application was brief
but brazen. "You know well,--my cousin," said he "the just and frequent
causes of offence which this people has given me. The insults which I,
this morning experienced cut me so deeply to the heart that they are the
only reasons of the misfortune which has happened today. Nevertheless, to
those who desire my friendship I shall show equal friendship and
affection. Herein I shall follow the counsel you have uniformly given me,
since I know it comes from one who has always loved me. Therefore I beg
that you will kindly bring it to pass, that I may obtain some decision,
and that no injury may be inflicted upon my people. Otherwise the land
shall pay for it dearly."

To these appeals, neither the Prince nor the authorities of Antwerp
answered immediately in their own names. A general consultation was,
however, immediately held with the estates-general, and an answer
forthwith despatched to the Duke by the hands of his envoys. It was
agreed to liberate the prisoners, to restore the furniture, and to send a
special deputation for the purpose of making further arrangements with
the Duke by word of mouth, and for this deputation his Highness was
requested to furnish a safe conduct.

Anjou was overjoyed when he received this amicable communication.
Relieved for a time from his fears as to the result of his crime, he
already assumed a higher ground. He not only spoke to the states in a
paternal tone, which was sufficiently ludicrous, but he had actually the
coolness to assure them of his forgiveness. "He felt hurt," he said,
"that they should deem a safe conduct necessary for the deputation which
they proposed to send. If they thought that he had reason on account of
the past, to feel offended, he begged them to believe that he had
forgotten it all, and that he had buried the past in its ashes, even as
if it had never been." He furthermore begged them--and this seemed the
greatest insult of all--"in future to trust to his word, and to believe
that if any thing should be attempted to their disadvantage, he would be
the very first to offer himself for their protection."

It will be observed that in his first letters the Duke had not affected
to deny his agency in the outrage--an agency so flagrant that all
subterfuge seemed superfluous. He in fact avowed that the attempt had
been made by his command, but sought to palliate the crime on the ground
that it had been the result of the ill-treatment which he had experienced
from the states. "The affronts which I have received," said he, both to
the magistrates of Antwerp and to Orange, "have engendered the present
calamity." So also, in a letter written at the same time to his brother,
Henry the Third, he observed that "the indignities which were put upon
him, and the manifest intention of the states to make a Matthias of him,
had been the cause of the catastrophe."

He now, however, ventured a step farther. Presuming upon the indulgence
which he had already experienced; and bravely assuming the tone of
injured innocence, he ascribed the enterprise partly to accident, and
partly to the insubordination of his troops. This was the ground which he
adopted in his interviews with the states' commissioners. So also, in a
letter addressed to Van der Tympel, commandant of Brussels, in which he
begged for supplies for his troops, he described the recent invasion of
Antwerp as entirely unexpected by himself, and beyond his control. He had
been intending, he said, to leave the city and to join his army. A tumult
had accidentally arisen between his soldiers and the guard at the gate.
Other troops rushing in from without, had joined in the affray, so that
to, his great sorrow, an extensive disorder had arisen. He manifested the
same Christian inclination to forgive, however, which he had before
exhibited. He observed that "good men would never grow cold in his
regard, or find his affection diminished." He assured Van der Tympel, in
particular, of his ancient goodwill, as he knew him to be a lover of the
common weal.

In his original communications he had been both cringing and threatening
but, at least, he had not denied truths which were plain as daylight. His
new position considerably damaged his cause. This forgiving spirit on the
part of the malefactor was a little more than the states could bear,
disposed as they felt, from policy, to be indulgent, and to smooth over
the crime as gently as possible. The negotiations were interrupted, and
the authorities of Antwerp published a brief and spirited defence of
their own conduct. They denied that any affront or want of respect on
their part could have provoked the outrage of which the Duke had been
guilty. They severely handled his self-contradiction, in ascribing
originally the recent attempt to his just vengeance for past injuries,
and in afterwards imputing it to accident or sudden mutiny, while they
cited the simultaneous attempts at Bruges, Denremonde, Alost, Digmuyde,
Newport, Ostend, Vilvoorde, and Dunkirk, as a series of damning proofs of
a deliberate design.

The publication of such plain facts did not advance the negotiations when
resumed. High and harsh words were interchanged between his Highness and
the commissioners, Anjou complaining, as usual, of affronts and
indignities, but when pushed home for particulars, taking refuge in
equivocation. "He did not wish," he said, "to re-open wounds which had
been partially healed." He also affected benignity, and wishing to
forgive and to forget, he offered some articles as the basis of a fresh
agreement. Of these it is sufficient to state that they were entirely
different from the terms of the Bordeaux treaty, and that they were
rejected as quite inadmissible.

He wrote again to the Prince of Orange, invoking his influence to bring
about an arrangement. The Prince, justly indignant at the recent
treachery and the present insolence of the man whom he had so profoundly
trusted, but feeling certain that the welfare of the country depended at
present upon avoiding, if possible, a political catastrophe, answered the
Duke in plain, firm, mournful, and appropriate language. He had ever
manifested to his Highness, he said, the most uniform and sincere
friendship. He had, therefore, the right to tell him that affairs were
now so changed that his greatness and glory had departed. Those men in
the Netherlands, who, but yesterday, had been willing to die at the feet
of his Highness, were now so exasperated that they avowedly preferred an
open enemy to a treacherous protector. He had hoped, he said, that after
what had happened in so many cities at the same moment, his Highness
would have been pleased to give the deputies a different and a more
becoming answer. He had hoped for some response which might lead to an
arrangement. He, however, stated frankly, that the articles transmitted
by his Highness were so unreasonable that no man in the land would dare
open his mouth to recommend them. His Highness, by this proceeding, had
much deepened the distrust. He warned the Duke accordingly, that he was
not taking the right course to reinstate himself in a position of honor
and glory, and he begged him, therefore, to adopt more appropriate means.
Such a step was now demanded of him, not only by the country, but by all
Christendom.

This moderate but heartfelt appeal to the better nature of the Duke, if
he had a better nature, met with no immediate response.

While matters were in this condition, a special envoy arrived out of
France, despatched by the King and Queen-mother, on the first reception
of the recent intelligence from Antwerp. M. de Mirambeau, the ambassador,
whose son had been killed in the Fury, brought letters of credence to the
states of the; Union and to the Prince of Orange. He delivered also a
short confidential note, written in her own hand, from Catherine de
Medici to the Prince, to the following effect:

"My COUSIN,--The King, my son, and myself, send you Monsieur de
Mirambeau, to prove to you that we do not believe--for we esteem you an
honorable man--that you would manifest ingratitude to my son, and to
those who have followed him for the welfare of your country. We feel that
you have too much affection for one who has the support of so powerful a
prince as the King of France, as to play him so base a trick. Until I
learn the truth, I shall not renounce the good hope which I have always
indulged--that you would never have invited my son to your country,
without intending to serve him faithfully. As long as you do this, you
may ever reckon on the support of all who belong to him.

               "Your good Cousin,

                       "CATHERINE."

It would have been very difficult to extract much information or much
comfort from this wily epistle. The menace was sufficiently plain, the
promise disagreeably vague. Moreover, a letter from the same Catherine de
Medici, had been recently found in a casket at the Duke's lodgings in
Antwerp. In that communication, she had distinctly advised her son to
re-establish the Roman Catholic religion, assuring him that by so doing,
he would be enabled to marry the Infanta of Spain. Nevertheless, the
Prince, convinced that it was his duty to bridge over the deep and fatal
chasm which had opened between the French Prince and the provinces, if an
honorable reconciliation were possible, did not attach an undue
importance either to the stimulating or to the upbraiding portion of the
communication from Catherine. He was most anxious to avert the chaos
which he saw returning. He knew that while the tempers of Rudolph, of the
English Queen, and of the Protestant princes of Germany, and the internal
condition of the Netherlands remained the same, it were madness to
provoke the government of France, and thus gain an additional enemy,
while losing their only friend. He did not renounce the hope of forming
all the Netherlands--excepting of course the Walloon provinces already
reconciled to Philip--into one independent commonwealth, freed for ever
from Spanish tyranny. A dynasty from a foreign house he was willing to
accept, but only on condition that the new royal line should become
naturalized in the Netherlands, should, conform itself to the strict
constitutional compact established, and should employ only natives in the
administration of Netherland affairs. Notwithstanding, therefore, the
recent treachery of Anjou, he was willing to treat with him upon the
ancient basis. The dilemma was a very desperate one, for whatever might
be his course, it was impossible that it should escape censure. Even at
this day, it is difficult to decide what might have been the result of
openly braving the French government, and expelling Anjou. The Prince of
Parma--subtle, vigilant, prompt with word and blow--was waiting most
anxiously to take advantage of every false step of his adversary. The
provinces had been already summoned in most eloquent language, to take
warning by the recent fate of Antwerp, and to learn by the manifestation
just made by Anjou, of his real intentions; that their only salvation lay
in a return to the King's arms. Anjou himself, as devoid of shame as of
honor, was secretly holding interviews with Parma's agents, Acosta and
Flaminio Carnero, at the very moment when he was alternately expressing
to the states his resentment that they dared to doubt his truth, or
magnanimously extending to them his pardon for their suspicions. He was
writing letters full of injured innocence to Orange and to the states,
while secretly cavilling over the terms of the treaty by which he was to
sell himself to Spain. Scruples as to enacting so base a part did not
trouble the "Son of France." He did not hesitate at playing this doubly
and trebly false game with the provinces, but he was anxious to drive the
best possible bargain for himself with Parma. He, offered to restore
Dunkirk, Dixmuyde, and the other cities which he had so recently filched
from the states, and to enter into a strict alliance with Philip; but he
claimed that certain Netherland cities on the French frontier, should be
made over to him in exchange. He required; likewise; ample protection for
his retreat from a country which was likely to be sufficiently
exasperated. Parma and his agents smiled, of course, at such exorbitant
terms.  Nevertheless, it was necessary to deal cautiously with a man who,
although but a poor baffled rogue to-day, might to-morrow be seated on
the throne of France. While they were all secretly haggling over the
terms of the bargain, the Prince of Orange discovered the intrigue. It
convinced him of the necessity of closing with a man whose baseness was
so profound, but whose position made his enmity, on the whole, more
dangerous than his friendship. Anjou, backed by so astute and
unscrupulous a politician as Parma, was not to be trifled with. The
feeling of doubt and anxiety was spreading daily through the country:
many men, hitherto firm, were already wavering, while at the same time
the Prince had no confidence in the power of any of the states, save
those of Holland and Utrecht; to maintain a resolute attitude of
defiance, if not assisted from without.

He therefore endeavored to repair the breach, if possible, and thus save
the Union. Mirambeau, in his conferences with the estates, suggested, on
his part, all that words could effect. He expressed the hope that the
estates would use their discretion "in compounding some sweet and
friendly medicine" for the present disorder; and that they would not
judge the Duke too harshly for a fault which he assured them did not come
from his natural disposition. He warned them that the enemy would be
quick to take advantage of the present occasion to bring about, if
possible, their destruction, and he added that he was commissioned to
wait upon the Duke of Anjou, in order to assure him that, however
alienated he might then be from the Netherlands, his Majesty was
determined to effect an entire reconciliation.

The envoy conferred also with the Prince of Orange, and urged him most
earnestly to use his efforts to heal the rupture. The Prince, inspired by
the sentiments already indicated, spoke with perfect sincerity. His
Highness, he said, had never known a more faithful and zealous friend
than himself, He had begun to lose his own credit with the people by
reason of the earnestness with which he had ever advocated the Duke's
cause, and he could not flatter himself that his recommendation would now
be of any advantage to his Highness. It would be more injurious than his
silence. Nevertheless, he was willing to make use of all the influence
which was left to him for the purpose of bringing about a reconciliation,
provided that the Duke were acting in good faith. If his Highness were
now sincerely desirous of conforming to the original treaty, and willing
to atone for the faults committed by him on the same day in so many
cities--offences which could not be excused upon the ground of any
affronts which he might have received from the citizens of Antwerp--it
might even now be possible to find a remedy for the past. He very bluntly
told the envoy, however, that the frivolous excuses offered by the Duke
caused more bitterness than if he had openly acknowledged his fault. It
were better, he said, to express contrition, than to excuse himself by
laying blame on those to whom no blame belonged, but who, on the
contrary, had ever shown themselves faithful servants of his Highness.

The estates of the Union, being in great perplexity as to their proper
course, now applied formally, as they always did in times of danger and
doubt, to the Prince, for a public expression of his views. Somewhat
reluctantly, he complied with their wishes in one of the most admirable
of his state papers.

He told the states-that he felt some hesitation in expressing his views.
The blame of the general ill success was always laid upon his shoulders;
as if the chances of war could be controlled even by a great potentate
with ample means at his disposal. As for himself, with so little actual
power that he could never have a single city provided with what he
thought a sufficient garrison, it could not be expected that he could
command fortune. His advice, he said, was always asked, but ever judged
good or evil according to the result, as if the issue were in any hands
but God's. It did not seem advisable for a man of his condition and
years, who had so often felt the barb of calumny's tongue, to place his
honor, again in the judgment scale of mankind, particularly as he was
likely to incur fresh censure for another man's crime. Nevertheless, he
was willing, for the love he bore the land, once more to encounter this
danger.

He then rapidly reviewed the circumstances which had led to the election
of Anjou, and reminded the estates that they had employed sufficient time
to deliberate concerning that transaction. He recalled to their
remembrance his frequent assurances of support and sympathy if they would
provide any other means of self-protection than the treaty with the
French Prince. He thought it, therefore, unjust, now that calamity had
sprung from the measure, to ascribe the blame entirely to him, even had
the injury been greater than the one actually sustained. He was far from
palliating the crime, or from denying that the Duke's rights under the
Treaty of Bordeaux had been utterly forfeited. He was now asked what was
to be done. Of three courses, he said, one must be taken: they must make
their peace with the King, or consent to a reconciliation with Anjou, or
use all the strength which God had given them to resist, single-handed,
the enemy. With regard to the first point, he resumed the argument as to
the hopelessness of a satisfactory arrangement with the monarch of Spain.
The recent reconciliation of the Walloon provinces and its shameful
infraction by Parma in the immediate recall of large masses of Spanish and
Italian troops, showed too plainly the value of all solemn stipulations
with his Catholic Majesty. Moreover, the time was unpropitious. It was
idle to look, after what had recently occurred, for even fair promises.
It was madness then to incur the enmity of two such powers at once. The
French could do the Netherlands more harm as enemies than the Spaniards.
The Spaniards would be more dangerous as friends, for in cases of a
treaty with Philip the Inquisition would be established in the place of a
religious peace. For these reasons the Prince declared himself entirely
opposed to any negotiations with the Crown of Spain.

As to the second point, he admitted that Anjou had gained little honor by
his recent course; and that it would be a mistake on their part to
stumble a second time over the same stone. He foresaw, nevertheless, that
the Duke--irritated as he was by the loss of so many of his nobles, and
by the downfall of all his hopes in the Netherlands--would be likely to
inflict great injuries upon their cause. Two powerful nations like France
and Spain would be too much to have on their hands at once. How much
danger, too, would be incurred by braving at once the open wrath of the
French King, and, the secret displeasure of the English Queen. She had
warmly recommended the Duke of Anjou. She had said--that honors to him
were rendered to herself; and she was now entirely opposed to their
keeping the present quarrel alive. If France became their enemy, the road
was at once opened through that kingdom for Spain. The estates were to
ponder well whether they possessed the means to carry on such a double
war without assistance. They were likewise to remember how many cities
still remained in the hands of Anjou, and their possible fate if the Duke
were pushed to extremity.

The third point was then handled with vigor. He reminded the states of
the perpetual difficulty of raising armies, of collecting money to pay
for troops, of inducing cities to accept proper garrisons, of
establishing a council which could make itself respected. He alluded
briefly and bitterly to the perpetual quarrels of the states among
themselves; to their mutual jealousy; to their obstinate parsimony; to
their jealousy of the general government; to their apathy and inertness
before impending ruin. He would not calumniate those, he said, who
counselled trust in God. That was his sentiment also: To attempt great
affairs, however, and, through avarice, to-withhold sufficient means, was
not trusting, but tempting God.--On the contrary, it was trusting God to
use the means which He offered to their hands.

With regard, then, to the three points, he rejected the first.
Reconciliation with the King of Spain was impossible. For his own part,
he would much prefer the third course. He had always been in favor of
their maintaining independence by their own means and the assistance of
the Almighty. He was obliged, however, in sadness; to confess that the
narrow feeling of individual state rights, the general tendency to
disunion, and the constant wrangling, had made this course a hopeless
one. There remained, therefore, only the second, and they must effect an
honorable reconciliation with Anjou. Whatever might be their decision,
however, it was meet that it should be a speedy one. Not an hour was to
be lost. Many fair churches of God, in Anjou's power, were trembling on
the issue, and religious and political liberty was more at stake than
ever. In conclusion, the Prince again expressed his determination,
whatever might be their decision, to devote the rest of his days to the
services of his country.

The result of these representations by the Prince--of frequent letters
from Queen Elizabeth, urging a reconciliation--and of the professions
made by the Duke and the French envoys, was a provisional arrangement,
signed on the 26th and 28th of March. According to the terms of this
accord, the Duke was to receive thirty thousand florins for his troops,
and to surrender the cities still in his power. The French prisoners were
to be liberated, the Duke's property at Antwerp was to be restored, and
the Duke himself was to await at Dunkirk the arrival of plenipotentiaries
to treat with him as to a new and perpetual arrangement.

The negotiations, however, were languid. The quarrel was healed on the
surface, but confidence so recently and violently uprooted was slow to
revive. On the 28th of June, the Duke of Anjou left Dunkirk for Paris,
never to return to the Netherlands, but he exchanged on his departure
affectionate letters with the Prince and the estates. M. des Pruneaux
remained as his representative, and it was understood that the
arrangements for re-installing him as soon as possible in the sovereignty
which he had so basely forfeited, were to be pushed forward with
earnestness.

In the spring of the same year, Gerard Truchses, Archbishop of Cologne,
who had lost his see for the love of Agnes Mansfeld, whom he had espoused
in defiance of the Pope; took refuge with the Prince of Orange at Delft.
A civil war in Germany broke forth, the Protestant princes undertaking to
support the Archbishop, in opposition to Ernest of Bavaria, who had been
appointed in his place. The Palatine, John Casimir, thought it necessary
to mount and ride as usual. Making his appearance at the head of a
hastily collected force, and prepared for another plunge into chaos, he
suddenly heard, however, of his elder brother's death at Heidelberg.
Leaving his men, as was his habit, to shift for themselves, and Baron
Truchses, the Archbishop's brother, to fall into the hands of the enemy,
he disappeared from the scene with great rapidity, in order that his own
interests in the palatinate and in the guardianship of the young
palatines might not suffer by his absence.

At this time, too, on the 12th of April, the Prince of Orange was
married, for the fourth time, to Louisa, widow of the Seigneur de
Teligny, and daughter of the illustrious Coligny.

In the course of the summer, the states of Holland and Zealand, always
bitterly opposed to the connection with Anjou, and more than ever
dissatisfied with the resumption of negotiations since the Antwerp
catastrophe, sent a committee to the Prince in order to persuade him to
set his face against the whole proceedings. They delivered at the same
time a formal remonstrance, in writing (25th of August, 1583), in which
they explained how odious the arrangement with the Duke had ever been to
them. They expressed the opinion that even the wisest might be sometimes
mistaken, and that the Prince had been bitterly deceived by Anjou and by
the French court. They besought him to rely upon the assistance of the
Almighty, and upon the exertions of the nation, and they again hinted at
the propriety of his accepting that supreme sovereignty over all the
united provinces which would be so gladly conferred, while, for their own
parts, they voluntarily offered largely to increase the sums annually
contributed to the common defence.

Very soon afterwards, in August, 1583, the states of the united provinces
assembled at Middelburg formally offered the general government--which
under the circumstances was the general sovereignty--to the Prince,
warmly urging his acceptance of the dignity. He manifested, however, the
same reluctance which he had always expressed, demanding that the project
should beforehand be laid before the councils of all the large cities,
and before the estates of certain provinces which had not been
represented at the Middelburg diet. He also made use of the occasion to
urge the necessity of providing more generously for the army expenses and
other general disbursements. As to ambitious views, he was a stranger to
them, and his language at this moment was as patriotic and self-denying
as at any previous period. He expressed his thanks to the estates for
this renewed proof of their confidence in his character, and this
additional approbation of his course,--a sentiment which he was always
ready "as a good patriot to justify by his most faithful service." He
reminded them, however, that he was no great monarch, having in his own
hands the means to help and the power to liberate them; and that even
were he in possession of all which God had once given him, he should be
far from strong enough to resist, single-handed, their powerful enemy.
All that was left to him, he said, was an "honest and moderate experience
in affairs." With this he was ever ready to serve them to the utmost; but
they knew very well that the means to make that experience available were
to be drawn from the country itself. With modest simplicity, he observed
that he had been at work fifteen or sixteen years, doing his best, with
the grace of God, to secure the freedom of the fatherland and to resist
tyranny of conscience; that he alone--assisted by his brothers and some
friends and relatives--had borne the whole burthen in the beginning, and
that he had afterwards been helped by the states of Holland and Zealand,
so that he could not but render thanks to God for His great mercy in thus
granting His blessing to so humble an instrument, and thus restoring so
many beautiful provinces to their ancient freedom and to the true
religion. The Prince protested that this result was already a sufficient
reward for his labors--a great consolation in his sufferings. He had
hoped, he said, that the estates, "taking into consideration his
long-continued labors, would have been willing to excuse him from a new
load of cares, and would have granted him some little rest in his already
advanced age;" that they would have selected "some other person more
fitted for the labor, whom he would himself faithfully promise to assist
to the best of his abilities, rendering him willing obedience
proportionate to the authority conferred upon him."

Like all other attempts to induce the acceptance, by the Prince, of
supreme authority, this effort proved ineffectual, from the obstinate
unwillingness of his hand to receive the proffered sceptre.

In connection with this movement, and at about the same epoch, Jacob
Swerius, member of the Brabant Council, with other deputies, waited upon
Orange, and formally tendered him the sovereign dukedom of Brabant,
forfeited and vacant by the late crime of Anjou. The Prince, however,
resolutely refused to accept the dignity, assuring the committee that he
had not the means to afford the country as much protection as they had a
right to expect from their sovereign. He added that "he would never give
the King of Spain the right-to say that the Prince of Orange had been
actuated by no other motives in his career than the hope of
self-aggrandizement, and the desire to deprive his Majesty of the
provinces in order to appropriate them to himself."

Accordingly, firmly refusing to heed the overtures of the United States,
and of Holland in particular, he continued to further the
re-establishment of Anjou--a measure in which, as he deliberately
believed, lay the only chance of union and in dependence.

The Prince of Parma, meantime, had not been idle. He had been unable to
induce the provinces to listen to his wiles, and to rush to the embrace
of the monarch whose arms he described as ever open to the repentant. He
had, however, been busily occupied in the course of the summer in taking
up many of the towns which the treason of Anjou had laid open to his
attacks.

Eindhoven, Diest, Dunkirk, Newport, and other places, were successively
surrendered to royalist generals. On the 22nd of September, 1583, the
city of Zutfen, too, was surprised by Colonel Tassis, on the fall of
which most important place, the treason of Orange's brother-in-law, Count
Van den Berg, governor of Gueldres, was revealed. His fidelity had been
long suspected, particularly by Count John of Nassau, but always
earnestly vouched for by his wife and by his sons. On the capture of
Zutfen, however, a document was found and made public, by which Van den
Berg bound himself to deliver the principal cities of Gueldres and
Zutfen, beginning with Zutfen itself, into the hands of Parma, on
condition of receiving the pardon and friendship of the King.

Not much better could have been expected of Van den Berg. His
pusillanimous retreat from his post in Alva's time will be recollected;
and it is certain that the Prince had never placed implicit confidence in
his character. Nevertheless, it was the fate of this great man to be
often deceived by the friends whom he trusted, although never to be
outwitted by his enemies. Van den Berg was arrested, on the 15th of
November, carried to the Hague, examined and imprisoned for a time in
Delftshaven. After a time he was, however, liberated, when he instantly,
with all his sons, took service under the King.

While treason was thus favoring the royal arms in the north, the same
powerful element, to which so much of the Netherland misfortunes had
always been owing was busy in Flanders.

Towards the end of the year 1583, the Prince of Chimay, eldest son of the
Duke of Aerschot, had been elected governor of that province. This noble
was as unstable in character, as vain, as unscrupulous, and as ambitious
as his father and uncle. He had been originally desirous of espousing the
eldest daughter of the Prince of Orange, afterwards the Countess of
Hohenlo, but the Duchess of Aerschot was too strict a Catholic to consent
to the marriage, and her son was afterwards united to the Countess of
Meghem, widow of Lan celot Berlaymont.

As affairs seemed going on prosperously for the states in the beginning,
of this year, the Prince of Chimay had affected a strong inclination for
the Reformed religion, and as governor of Bruges, he had appointed many
members of that Church to important offices, to the exclusion of
Catholics. By so decided a course, he acquired the confidence of the
patriot party and at the end of the year he became governor of Flanders.
No sooner was he installed in this post, than he opened a private
correspondence with Parma, for it was his intention to make his peace
with the King, and to purchase pardon and advancement by the brilliant
service which he now undertook, of restoring this important province to
the royal authority. In the arrangement of his plans he was assisted by
Champagny, who, as will be recollected, had long been a prisoner in
Ghent, but whose confinement was not so strict as to prevent frequent
intercourse with his friends without. Champagny was indeed believed to be
the life of the whole intrigue. The plot was, however, forwarded by
Imbize, the roaring demagogue whose republicanism could never reconcile
itself with what he esteemed the aristocratic policy of Orange, and whose
stern puritanism could be satisfied with nothing short of a general
extermination of Catholics. This man, after having been allowed to
depart, infamous and contemptible, from the city which he had endangered,
now ventured after five years, to return, and to engage in fresh schemes
which were even more criminal than his previous enterprises. The
uncompromising foe to Romanism, the advocate of Grecian and Genevan
democracy, now allied himself with Champagny and with Chimay, to effect a
surrender of Flanders to Philip and to the Inquisition. He succeeded in
getting himself elected chief senator in Ghent, and forthwith began to
use all his influence to further the secret plot. The joint efforts and
intrigues of Parma, Champagny, Chimay, and Imbize, were near being
successful. Early, in the spring of 1584 a formal resolution was passed
by the government of Ghent, to open negotiations with Parma. Hostages
were accordingly exchanged, and a truce of three weeks was agreed upon,
during which an animated correspondence was maintained between the
authorities of Ghent and the Prince of Chimay on the one side, and the
United States-general, the magistracy of Antwerp, the states of Brabant,
and other important bodies on the other.

The friends of the Union and of liberty used all their eloquence to
arrest the city of Ghent in its course, and to save the province of
Flanders from accepting the proposed arrangement with Parma. The people
of Ghent were reminded that the chief promoter of this new negotiation
was Champagny, a man who owed a deep debt of hatred to their city, for
the long, and as he believed, the unjust confinement which he had endured
within its walls. Moreover, he was the brother of Granvelle, source of
all their woes. To take counsel with Champagny, was to come within reach
of a deadly foe, for "he who confesses himself to a wolf," said the
burgomasters of Antwerp, "will get wolf's absolution." The Flemings were
warned by all their correspondents that it was puerile to hope for faith
in Philip; a monarch whose first principle was, that promises to heretics
were void. They were entreated to pay no heed to the "sweet singing of
the royalists," who just then affected to disapprove of the practice
adopted by the Spanish Inquisition, that they might more surely separate
them from their friends. "Imitate not," said the magistrates of Brussels,
"the foolish sheep who made with the wolves a treaty of perpetual amity,
from which the faithful dogs were to be excluded." It was affirmed--and
the truth was certainly beyond peradventure--that religious liberty was
dead at the moment when the treaty with Parma should be signed. "To look
for political privilege or evangelical liberty," said the Antwerp
authorities, "in any arrangement with the Spaniards, is to look for light
in darkness, for fire in water." "Philip is himself the slave of the
Inquisition," said the states-general, "and has but one great purpose in
life--to cherish the institution everywhere, and particularly in the
Netherlands. Before Margaret of Parma's time, one hundred thousand
Netherlanders had been burned or strangled, and Alva had spent seven
years in butchering and torturing many thousands more." The magistrates
of Brussells used similar expressions. "The King of Spain," said they to
their brethren of Ghent, "is fastened to the Inquisition. Yea, he is so
much in its power, that even if he desired, he is unable to maintain his
promises." The Prince of Orange too, was indefatigable in public and
private efforts to counteract the machinations of Parma and the Spanish
party in Ghent. He saw with horror the progress which the political
decomposition of that most important commonwealth was making, for he
considered the city the keystone to the union of the provinces, for he
felt with a prophetic instinct that its loss would entail that of all the
southern provinces, and make a united and independent Netherland state
impossible. Already in the summer of 1583, he addressed a letter full of
wisdom and of warning to the authorities of Ghent, a letter in which he
set fully before them the iniquity and stupidity of their proceedings,
while at the same time he expressed himself with so much dexterity and
caution as to avoid giving offence, by accusations which he made, as it
were, hypothetically, when, in truth, they were real ones.

These remonstrances were not fruitless, and the authorities and citizens
of Ghent once more paused ere they stepped from the precipice. While they
were thus wavering, the whole negotiation with Parma was abruptly brought
to a close by a new incident, the demagogue Imbize having been discovered
in a secret attempt to obtain possession of the city of Denremonde, and
deliver it to Parma. The old acquaintance, ally, and enemy of Imbize, the
Seigneur de Ryhove, was commandant of the city, and information was
privately conveyed to him of the design, before there had been time for
its accomplishment. Ryhove, being thoroughly on his guard, arrested his
old comrade, who was shortly afterwards brought to trial, and executed at
Ghent. John van Imbize had returned to the city from which the
contemptuous mercy of Orange had permitted him formerly to depart, only
to expiate fresh turbulence and fresh treason by a felon's death.
Meanwhile the citizens: of Ghent; thus warned by word and deed, passed an
earnest resolution to have no more intercourse with Parma, but to abide
faithfully by the union. Their example was followed by the other Flemish
cities, excepting, unfortunately, Bruges, for that important town, being
entirely in the power of Chimay, was now surrendered by him to the royal
government. On the 20th of May, 1584, Baron Montigny, on the part of
Parma, signed an accord with the Prince of Chimay, by which the city was
restored to his Majesty, and by which all inhabitants not willing to
abide by the Roman Catholic religion were permitted to leave the land.
The Prince was received with favor by Parma, on conclusion of the
transaction, and subsequently met with advancement from the King, while
the Princess, who had embraced the Reformed religion, retired to Holland.

The only other city of importance gained on this occasion by the
government was Ypres, which had been long besieged, and was, soon
afterwards forced to yield. The new Bishop, on taking possession,
resorted to instant measures for cleansing a place which had been so long
in the hands of the infidels, and as the first step in this purification,
the bodies of many heretics who had been buried for years were taken from
their graves, and publicly hanged in their coffins. All living adherents
to the Reformed religion were instantly expelled from the place.

Ghent and the rest of Flanders were, for the time, saved from the power
of Spain, the inhabitants being confirmed in their resolution of
sustaining their union with the other provinces by the news from France.
Early in the spring the negotiations between Anjou and the states-general
had been earnestly renewed, and Junius, Mouillerie, and. Asseliers, had
been despatched on a special mission to France, for the purpose of
arranging a treaty with the Duke. On the 19th of April, 1584, they
arrived in Delft, on their return, bringing warm letters from the French
court, full of promises to assist the Netherlands; and it was understood
that a constitution, upon the basis of the original arrangement of
Bordeaux, would be accepted by the Duke. These arrangements were,
however, for ever terminated by the death of Anjou, who had been ill
during the whole course of the negotiations. On the 10th of June, 1584,
he expired at Chateau Thierry, in great torture, sweating blood from
every pore, and under circumstances which, as usual, suggested strong
suspicions of poison.



CHAPTER VII.

   Various attempts upon the life of Orange--Delft--Mansion of the
   Prince described--Francis Guion or Balthazar Girard--His
   antecedents--His correspondence and interviews with Parma and with
   d'Assonleville--His employment in France--His return to Delft and
   interview with Orange--The crime--The confession--The punishment--
   The consequences--Concluding remarks.

It has been seen that the Ban against the Prince of Orange had not been
hitherto without fruits, for although unsuccessful, the efforts to take
his life and earn the promised guerdon had been incessant. The attempt of
Jaureguy, at Antwerp, of Salseda and Baza at Bruges, have been related,
and in March, 1583, moreover, one Pietro Dordogno was executed in Antwerp
for endeavoring to assassinate the Prince. Before his death, he confessed
that he had come from Spain solely for the purpose, and that he had
conferred with La Motte, governor of Gravelines, as to the best means of
accomplishing his design. In April, 1584, Hans Hanzoon, a merchant of
Flushing, had been executed for attempting to destroy the Prince by means
of gunpowder, concealed under his house in that city, and under his seat
in the church. He confessed that he had deliberately formed the intention
of performing the deed, and that he had discussed the details of the
enterprise with the Spanish ambassador in Paris. At about the same time,
one Le Goth, a captive French officer, had been applied to by the Marquis
de Richebourg, on the part of Alexander of Parma, to attempt the murder
of the Prince. Le Goth had consented, saying that nothing could be more
easily done; and that he would undertake to poison him in a dish of eels,
of which he knew him to be particularly fond. The Frenchman was liberated
with this understanding; but being very much the friend of Orange,
straightway told him the whole story, and remained ever afterwards a
faithful servant of the states. It is to be presumed that he excused the
treachery to which he owed his escape from prison on the ground that
faith was no more to be kept with murderers than with heretics. Thus
within two years there had been five distinct attempts to assassinate the
Prince, all of them, with the privity of the Spanish government. A sixth
was soon to follow.

In the summer of 1584, William of Orange was residing at Delft, where his
wife, Louisa de Coligny, had given birth, in the preceding winter, to a
son, afterwards the celebrated stadholder, Frederic Henry. The child had
received these names from his two godfathers, the Kings of Denmark and of
Navarre, and his baptism had been celebrated with much rejoicing on the
12th of June, in the place of his birth.

It was a quiet, cheerful, yet somewhat drowsy little city, that ancient
burgh of Delft. The placid canals by which it was intersected in every
direction were all planted with whispering, umbrageous rows of limes and
poplars, and along these watery highways the traffic of the place glided
so noiselessly that the town seemed the abode of silence and
tranquillity. The streets were clean and airy, the houses well built, the
whole aspect of the place thriving.

One of the principal thoroughfares was called the old Delftstreet. It was
shaded on both sides by lime trees, which in that midsummer season
covered the surface of the canal which flowed between them with their
light and fragrant blossoms. On one side of this street was the "old
kirk," a plain, antique structure of brick, with lancet windows, and with
a tall, slender tower, which inclined, at a very considerable angle,
towards a house upon the other side of the canal. That house was the
mansion of William the Silent. It stood directly opposite the church,
being separated by a spacious courtyard from the street, while the
stables and other offices in the rear extended to the city wall. A narrow
lane, opening out of Delft-street, ran along the side of the house and
court, in the direction of the ramparts. The house was a plain,
two-storied edifice of brick, with red-tiled roof, and had formerly been
a cloister dedicated to Saint Agatha, the last prior of which had been
hanged by the furious Lumey de la Merck.

The news of Anjou's death had been brought to Delft by a special
messenger from the French court. On Sunday morning, the 8th of July,
1584, the Prince of Orange, having read the despatches before leaving his
bed, caused the man who had brought them to be summoned, that he might
give some particular details by word of mouth concerning the last illness
of the Duke. The courier was accordingly admitted to the Prince's
bed-chamber, and proved to be one Francis Guion, as he called himself.
This man had, early in the spring, claimed and received the protection of
Orange, on the ground of being the son of a Protestant at Besancon, who
had suffered death for--his religion, and of his own ardent attachment to
the Reformed faith. A pious, psalm-singing, thoroughly Calvinistic youth
he seemed to be having a bible or a hymn-book under his arm whenever he
walked the street, and most exemplary in his attendance at sermon and
lecture. For, the rest, a singularly unobtrusive personage, twenty-seven
years of age, low of stature, meagre, mean-visaged, muddy complexioned,
and altogether a man of no account--quite insignificant in the eyes of
all who looked upon him. If there were one opinion in which the few who
had taken the trouble to think of the puny, somewhat shambling stranger
from Burgundy at all coincided, it was that he was inoffensive but quite
incapable of any important business. He seemed well educated, claimed to
be of respectable parentage and had considerable facility of speech, when
any person could be found who thought it worth while to listen to him;
but on the whole he attracted little attention.

Nevertheless, this insignificant frame locked up a desperate and daring
character; this mild and inoffensive nature had gone pregnant seven years
with a terrible crime, whose birth could not much longer be retarded.
Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of a martyred Calvinist, was in reality
Balthazar Gerard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father and mother were
still living at Villefans in Burgundy. Before reaching man's estate, he
had formed the design of murdering the Prince of Orange, "who, so long as
he lived, seemed like to remain a rebel against the Catholic King, and to
make every effort to disturb the repose of the Roman Catholic Apostolic
religion."

When but twenty years of age, he had struck his dagger with all his might
into a door, exclaiming, as he did so, "Would that the blow had been in
the heart of Orange!" For this he was rebuked by a bystander, who told
him it was not for him to kill princes, and that it was not desirable to
destroy so good a captain as the Prince, who, after all, might one day
reconcile himself with the King.

As soon as the Ban against Orange was published, Balthazar, more anxious
than ever to execute his long-cherished design, left Dole and came to
Luxemburg. Here he learned that the deed had already been done by John
Jaureguy. He received this intelligence at first with a sensation of
relief, was glad to be excused from putting himself in danger, and
believing the Prince dead, took service as clerk with one John Duprel,
secretary to Count Mansfeld, governor of Luxemburg. Ere long, the ill
success of Jaureguy's attempt becoming known, the "inveterate
determination" of Gerard aroused itself more fiercely than ever. He
accordingly took models of Mansfeld's official seals in wax, in order
that he might make use of them as an acceptable offering to the Orange
party, whose confidence he meant to gain.

Various circumstances detained him, however. A sum of money was stolen,
and he was forced to stay till it was found, for fear of being arrested
as the thief. Then his cousin and employer fell sick, and Gerard was
obliged to wait for his recovery. At last, in March, 1584, "the weather,
as he said, appearing to be fine," Balthazar left Luxemburg and came to
Treves. While there, he confided his scheme to the regent of the Jesuit
college--a "red-haired man" whose name has not been preserved. That
dignitary expressed high approbation of the plan, gave Gerard his
blessing, and promised him that, if his life should be sacrificed in
achieving his purpose, he should be enrolled among the martyrs. Another
Jesuit, however, in the same college, with whom he likewise communicated,
held very different language, making great efforts to turn the young man
from his design, on the ground of the inconveniences which might arise
from the forging of Mansfeld's seals--adding, that neither he nor any of
the Jesuits liked to meddle with such affairs, but advising that the
whole matter should be laid before the Prince of Parma. It does not
appear that this personage, "an excellent man and a learned," attempted
to dissuade the young man from his project by arguments, drawn from any
supposed criminality in the assassination itself, or from any danger,
temporal or eternal, to which the perpetrator might expose himself.

Not influenced, as it appears, except on one point, by the advice of this
second ghostly confessor, Balthazar came to Tournay, and held council
with a third--the celebrated Franciscan, Father Gery--by whom he was much
comforted and strengthened in his determination. His next step was to lay
the project before Parma, as the "excellent and learned" Jesuit at Treves
had advised. This he did by a letter, drawn up with much care, and which
he evidently thought well of as a composition. One copy of this letter he
deposited with the guardian of the Franciscan convent at Tournay; the
other he presented with his own hand to the Prince of Parma. "The
vassal," said he, "ought always to prefer justice and the will of the
king to his own life." That being the case, he expressed his astonishment
that no man had yet been found to execute the sentence against William of
Nassau, "except the gentle Biscayan, since defunct." To accomplish the
task, Balthazar observed, very judiciously, that it was necessary to have
access, to the person of the Prince--wherein consisted the difficulty.
Those who had that advantage, he continued, were therefore bound to
extirpate the pest at once, without obliging his Majesty to send to Rome
for a chevalier, because not one of them was willing to precipitate
himself into the venomous gulf, which by its contagion infected and
killed the souls and bodies, of all poor abused subjects, exposed to its
influence. Gerard avowed himself to have been so long goaded and
stimulated by these considerations--so extremely nettled with displeasure
and bitterness at seeing the obstinate wretch still escaping his just
judgment--as to have formed the design of baiting a trap for the fox,
hoping thus to gain access to him, and to take him unawares. He
added--without explaining the nature of the trap and the bait--that he
deemed it his duty to lay the subject before the most serene Prince of
Parma, protesting at the same time that he did not contemplate the
exploit for the sake of the reward mentioned in the sentence, and that he
preferred trusting in that regard to the immense liberality of his
Majesty.

Parma had long been looking for a good man to murder Orange, feeling--as
Philip, Granvelle, and all former governors of the Netherlands had
felt--that this was the only means of saving the royal authority in any
part of the provinces. Many unsatisfactory assassins had presented
themselves from time to time, and Alexander had paid money in hand to
various individuals--Italians, Spaniards, Lorrainers; Scotchmen,
Englishmen, who had generally spent the sums received without attempting
the job. Others were supposed to be still engaged in the enterprise; and
at that moment there were four persons--each unknown to the others, and
of different nations--in the city of Delft, seeking to compass
the death of William the Silent. Shag-eared, military, hirsute
ruffians--ex-captains of free companies and such marauders--were daily
offering their services; there was no lack of them, and they had done but
little. How should Parma, seeing this obscures undersized, thin-bearded,
runaway clerk before him, expect pith and energy from him? He thought him
quite unfit for an enterprise of moment, and declared as much to his
secret councillors and to the King.

He soon dismissed him, after receiving his letters; and it may be
supposed that the bombastic style of that epistle would not efface the
unfavorable impression produced by Balthazar's exterior. The
representations of Haultepenne and others induced him so far to modify
his views as to send his confidential councillor, d'Assonleville, to the
stranger, in order to learn the details of the scheme. Assonleville had
accordingly an interview with Gerard, in which he requested the young man
to draw up a statement of his plan in writing, and this was done upon the
11th of April, 1584.

In this letter Gerard explained his plan of introducing himself to the
notice of Orange, at Delft, as the son of an executed Calvinist; as
himself warmly, though secretly, devoted to the Reformed faith, and as
desirous, therefore, of placing himself in the Prince's service, in order
to avoid the insolence of the Papists. Having gained the confidence of
those about the Prince, he would suggest to them the great use which
might be made of Mansfeld's signet in forging passports for spies and
other persons whom it might be desirous to send into the territory of the
royalists. "With these or similar feints and frivolities," continued
Gerard, "he should soon obtain access to the person of the said Nassau,"
repeating his protestation that nothing had moved him to his enterprise
"save the good zeal which he bore to the faith and true religion guarded
by the Holy Mother Church Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman, and to the
service of his Majesty." He begged pardon for having purloined the
impressions of the seals--a turpitude which he would never have
committed, but would sooner have suffered a thousand deaths, except for
the great end in view. He particularly wished forgiveness for that crime
before going to his task, "in order that he might confess, and receive
the holy communion at the coming Easter, without scruples of conscience."
He likewise begged the Prince of Parma to obtain for him absolution from
his Holiness for this crime of pilfering--the more so "as he was about to
keep company for some time with heretics and atheists, and in some sort
to conform himself to their customs."

From the general tone of the letters of Gerard, he might be set down at
once as a simple, religious fanatic, who felt sure that, in executing the
command of Philip publicly issued to all the murderers of Europe, he was
meriting well of God and his King. There is no doubt that he was an
exalted enthusiast, but not purely an enthusiast. The man's character
offers more than one point of interest, as a psychological phenomenon. He
had convinced himself that the work which he had in hand was eminently
meritorious, and he was utterly without fear of consequences. He was,
however, by no means so disinterested as he chose to represent himself in
letters which, as he instinctively felt, were to be of perennial
interest. On the contrary, in his interviews with Assonleville, he urged
that he was a poor fellow, and that he had undertaken this enterprise in
order to acquire property--to make himself rich--and that he depended
upon the Prince of Parma's influence in obtaining the reward promised by
the Ban to the individual who should put Orange to death.

This second letter decided Parma so far that he authorized Assonleville
to encourage the young man in his attempt, and to promise that the reward
should be given to him in case of success, and to his heirs in the event
of his death. Assonleville, in the second interview, accordingly made
known these assurances in the strongest manner to Gerard, warning him, at
the same time, on no account; if arrested, to inculpate the Prince of
Parma. The councillor, while thus exhorting the stranger, according to
Alexander's commands, confined himself, however, to generalities,
refusing even to advance fifty crowns, which Balthazar had begged from
the Governor-General in order to provide for the necessary expenses of
his project. Parma had made similar advances too often to men who had
promised to assassinate the Prince and had then done little, and he was
resolute in his refusal to this new adventurer, of whom he expected
absolutely nothing. Gerard, notwithstanding this rebuff, was not
disheartened. "I will provide myself out of my own purse," said he to
Assonleville, "and within six weeks you will hear of me."--"Go forth, my
son," said Assonleville, paternally, upon this spirited reply, "and if
you succeed in your enterprise, the King will fulfil all his promises,
and you will gain an immortal name beside."

The "inveterate deliberation," thus thoroughly matured, Gerard now
proceeded to carry into effect. He came to Delft; obtained a hearing of
Millers, the clergyman and intimate friend of Orange, showed him the
Mansfeld seals, and was, somewhat against his will, sent to France, to
exhibit them to Marechal Biron, who, it was thought, was soon to be
appointed governor of Cambray. Through Orange's recommendation, the
Burgundian was received into the suite of Noel de Caron, Seigneur de
Schoneval, then setting forth on a special mission to the Duke of Anjou.
While in France, Gerard could rest neither by day nor night, so tormented
was he by the desire of accomplishing his project, and at length he
obtained permission, upon the death of the Duke, to carry this important
intelligence to the Prince of Orange. The despatches having been
entrusted to him, he travelled posthaste to Delft, and, to his
astonishment, the letters had hardly been delivered before he was
summoned in person to the chamber of the Prince. Here was an opportunity
such as he had never dared to hope for. The arch-enemy to the Church and
to the human race, whose death, would confer upon his destroyer wealth
and nobility in this world, besides a crown of glory in the next, lay
unarmed, alone, in bed, before the man who had thirsted seven long years
for his blood.

Balthazar could scarcely control his emotions sufficiently to answer the
questions which the Prince addressed to him concerning the death of
Anjou, but Orange, deeply engaged with the despatches, and with the
reflections which their deeply-important contents suggested, did not
observe the countenance of the humble Calvinist exile, who had been
recently recommended to his patronage by Millers. Gerard, had, moreover,
made no preparation for an interview so entirely unexpected, had come
unarmed, and had formed no plan for escape. He was obliged to forego his
prey when most within his reach, and after communicating all the
information which the Prince required, he was dismissed from the chamber.

It was Sunday morning, and the bells were tolling for church. Upon
leaving the house he loitered about the courtyard, furtively examining
the premises, so that a sergeant of halberdiers asked him why he was
waiting there. Balthazar meekly replied that he was desirous of attending
divine worship in the church opposite, but added, pointing to, his shabby
and travel-stained attire, that, without at least a new pair of shoes and
stockings, he was unfit to join the congregation. Insignificant as ever,
the small, pious, dusty stranger excited no suspicion in the mind of the
good-natured sergeant. He forthwith spoke of the wants of Gerard to an
officer, by whom they were communicated to Orange himself, and the Prince
instantly ordered a sum of money to be given him. Thus Balthazar obtained
from William's charity what Parma's thrift had denied--a fund for
carrying out his purpose.

Next morning, with the money thus procured he purchased a pair of
pistols, or small carabines, from a soldier, chaffering long about the
price because the vender could not supply a particular kind of chopped
bullets or slugs which he desired. Before the sunset of the following day
that soldier had stabbed himself to the heart, and died despairing, on
hearing for what purpose the pistols had been bought.

On Tuesday, the 10th of July, 1584, at about half-past twelve, the
Prince, with his wife on his arm, and followed by the ladies and
gentlemen of his family, was going to the dining-room. William the Silent
was dressed upon that day, according to his usual custom, in very plain
fashion. He wore a wide-leaved, loosely-shaped hat of dark felt; with a
silken cord round the crown-such as had been worn by the Beggars in the
early days of the revolt. A high ruff encircled his neck, from which also
depended one of the Beggar's medals, with the motto, "Fideles au roy
jusqu'a la besace," while a loose surcoat of grey frieze cloth, over a
tawny leather doublet, with wide, slashed underclothes completed his
costume. Gerard presented himself at the doorway, and demanded a
passport. The Princess, struck with the pale and agitated countenance of
the man, anxiously questioned her husband concerning the stranger. The
Prince carelessly observed that "it was merely a person who came for a
passport," ordering, at the same time, a secretary forthwith to prepare
one. The Princess, still not relieved, observed in an under-tone that
"she had never seen so villainous a countenance." Orange, however, not at
all impressed with the appearance of Gerard, conducted himself at table
with his usual cheerfulness, conversing much with the burgomaster of
Leewarden, the only guest present at the family dinner, concerning the
political and religious aspects of Friesland. At two o'clock the company
rose from table. The Prince led the way, intending to pass to his private
apartments above. The dining-room, which was on the ground floor, opened
into a little square vestibule, which communicated, through an arched
passageway, with the main entrance into the court-yard. This vestibule
was also directly at the foot of the wooden staircase leading to the next
floor, and was scarcely six feet in width. Upon its left side, as one
approached the stairway, was an, obscure arch, sunk deep in the wall, and
completely in the shadow of the door. Behind this arch a portal opened to
the narrow lane at the side of the house. The stairs themselves were
completely lighted by a large window, half way up the flight. The Prince
came from the dining-room, and began leisurely to ascend. He had only
reached the second stair, when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and,
standing within a foot or two of him, discharged a pistol full at his
heart. Three balls entered his body, one of which, passing quite through
him, struck with violence against the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed
in French, as he felt the wound, "O my God; have mercy upon my soul! O my
God, have mercy upon this poor people."

These were the last words he ever spoke, save that when his sister,
Catherine of Schwartzburg, immediately afterwards asked him if he
commended his soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered, "Yes." His
master of the horse, Jacob van Maldere, had caught him in his arms as the
fatal shot was fired. The Prince was then placed on the stairs for an
instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was afterwards laid upon
a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes, he breathed his last
in the arms of his wife and sister.

The murderer succeeded in making his escape through the side door, and
sped swiftly up the narrow lane. He had almost reached the ramparts, from
which he intended to spring into the moat, when he stumbled over a heap
of rubbish. As he rose, he was seized by several pages and halberdiers,
who had pursued him from the house. He had dropped his pistols upon the
spot where he had committed the crime, and upon his person were found a
couple, of bladders, provided with apiece of pipe with which he had
intended to assist himself across the moat, beyond which a horse was
waiting for him. He made no effort to deny his identity, but boldly
avowed himself and his deed. He was brought back to the house, where he
immediately underwent a preliminary examination before the city
magistrates. He was afterwards subjected to excruciating tortures; for
the fury against the wretch who had destroyed the Father of the country
was uncontrollable, and William the Silent was no longer alive to
intercede--as he had often done before--in behalf of those who assailed
his life.

The organization of Balthazar Gerard would furnish a subject of profound
study, both for the physiologist and the metaphysician. Neither wholly a
fanatic, nor entirely a ruffian, he combined the most dangerous elements
of both characters. In his puny body and mean exterior were enclosed
considerable mental powers and accomplishments, a daring ambition, and a
courage almost superhuman. Yet those qualities led him only to form upon
the threshold of life a deliberate determination to achieve greatness by
the assassin's trade. The rewards held out by the Ban, combining with his
religious bigotry and his passion for distinction, fixed all his energies
with patient concentration upon the one great purpose for which he seemed
to have been born, and after seven years' preparation, he had at last
fulfilled his design.

Upon being interrogated by the magistrates, he manifested neither despair
nor contrition, but rather a quiet exultation. "Like David," he said, "he
had slain Goliath of Gath."

When falsely informed that his victim was not dead, he showed no
credulity or disappointment. He had discharged three poisoned balls into
the Prince's stomach, and he knew that death must have already ensued. He
expressed regret, however, that the resistance of the halberdiers had
prevented him from using his second pistol, and avowed that if he were a
thousand leagues away he would return in order to do the deed again, if
possible. He deliberately wrote a detailed confession of his crime, and
of the motives and manner of its commission, taking care, however, not to
implicate Parma in the transaction. After sustaining day after day the
most horrible tortures, he subsequently related his interviews with
Assonleville and with the president of the Jesuit college at Treves
adding that he had been influenced in his work by the assurance of
obtaining the rewards promised by the Ban. During the intervals of repose
from the rack he conversed with ease, and even eloquence, answering all
questions addressed to him with apparent sincerity. His constancy in
suffering so astounded his judges that they believed him supported by
witchcraft. "Ecce homo!" he exclaimed, from time to time, with insane
blasphemy, as he raised his blood-streaming head from the bench. In order
to destroy the charm which seemed to render him insensible to pain, they
sent for the shirt of a hospital patient, supposed to be a sorcerer. When
clothed in this garment, however, Balthazar was none the less superior to
the arts of the tormentors, enduring all their inflictions, according to
an eye-witness, "without once exclaiming, Ah me!" and avowing that he
would repeat his enterprise, if possible, were he to die a thousand
deaths in consequence. Some of those present refused to believe that he
was a man at all. Others asked him how long since he had sold himself to
the Devil? to which he replied, mildly, that he had no acquaintance
whatever with the Devil. He thanked the judges politely for the food
which he received in prison, and promised to recompense them for the
favor. Upon being asked how that was possible, he replied; that he would
serve as their advocate in Paradise.

The sentence pronounced against the assassin was execrable--a crime
against the memory of the great man whom it professed to avenge. It was
decreed that the right hand of Gerard should be burned off with a red-hot
iron, that his flesh should be torn from his bones with pincers in six
different places, that he should be quartered and disembowelled alive,
that his heart should be torn from his bosom and flung in his face, and
that, finally, his head should be taken off. Not even his horrible crime,
with its endless consequences, nor the natural frenzy of indignation
which it had excited, could justify this savage decree, to rebuke which
the murdered hero might have almost risen from the sleep of death. The
sentence was literally executed on the 14th of July, the criminal
supporting its horrors with the same astonishing fortitude. So calm were
his nerves, crippled and half roasted as he was ere he mounted the
scaffold, that when one of the executioners was slightly injured in the
ear by the flying from the handle of the hammer with which he was
breaking the fatal pistol in pieces, as the first step in the
execution--a circumstance which produced a general laugh in the crowd--a
smile was observed upon Balthazar's face in sympathy with the general
hilarity. His lips were seen to move up to the moment when his heart was
thrown in his face--"Then," said a looker-on, "he gave up the ghost."

The reward promised by Philip to the man who should murder Orange was
paid to the heirs of Gerard. Parma informed his sovereign that the "poor
man" had been executed, but that his father and mother were still living;
to whom he recommended the payment of that "merced" which "the laudable
and generous deed had so well deserved." This was accordingly done, and
the excellent parents, ennobled and enriched by the crime of their son,
received instead of the twenty-five thousand crowns promised in the Ban,
the three seignories of Lievremont, Hostal, and Dampmartin in the Franche
Comte, and took their place at once among the landed aristocracy. Thus
the bounty of the Prince had furnished the weapon by which his life was
destroyed, and his estates supplied the fund out of which the assassin's
family received the price of blood. At a later day, when the unfortunate
eldest son of Orange returned from Spain after twenty-seven years'
absence, a changeling and a Spaniard, the restoration of those very
estates was offered to him by Philip the Second, provided he would
continue to pay a fixed proportion of their rents to the family of his
father's murderer. The education which Philip William had received, under
the King's auspices, had however, not entirely destroyed all his human
feelings, and he rejected the proposal with scorn. The estates remained
with the Gerard family, and the patents of nobility which they had
received were used to justify their exemption from certain taxes, until
the union of Franche Comte, with France, when a French governor tore the
documents in pieces and trampled them under foot.

William of Orange, at the period of his death, was aged fifty-one years
and sixteen days. He left twelve children. By his first wife, Anne of
Egmont, he had one son, Philip, and one daughter, Mary, afterwards
married to Count Hohenlo. By his second wife, Anna of Saxony; he had one
son, the celebrated Maurice of Nassau, and two daughters, Anna, married
afterwards to her cousin, Count William Louis, and Emilie, who espoused
the Pretender of Portugal, Prince Emanuel. By Charlotte of Bourbon, his
third wife, he had six daughters; and by his fourth, Louisa de Coligny,
one son, Frederic William, afterwards stadholder of the Republic in her
most palmy days. The Prince was entombed on the 3rd of August, at Delft,
amid the tears of a whole nation. Never was a more extensive, unaffected,
and legitimate sorrow felt at the death of any human being.

The life and labors of Orange had established the emancipated
common-wealth upon a secure foundation, but his death rendered the union
of all the Netherlands into one republic hopeless. The efforts of the
Malcontent nobles, the religious discord, the consummate ability, both
political and military, of Parma, all combined with the lamentable loss
of William the Silent to separate for ever the southern and Catholic
provinces from the northern confederacy. So long as the Prince remained
alive, he was the Father of the whole country; the Netherlands--saving
only the two Walloon provinces--constituting a whole. Notwithstanding the
spirit of faction and the blight of the long civil war, there was at
least one country; or the hope of a country, one strong heart, one
guiding head, for the patriotic party throughout the land. Philip and
Granvelle were right in their estimate of the advantage to be derived
from the Prince's death, in believing that an assassin's hand could
achieve more than all the wiles which Spanish or Italian statesmanship
could teach, or all the armies which Spain or Italy could muster. The
pistol of the insignificant Gerard destroyed the possibility of a united
Netherland state, while during the life of William there was union in the
policy, unity in the history of the country.

In the following year, Antwerp, hitherto the centre around which all the
national interests and historical events group themselves, fell before
the scientific efforts of Parma. The city which had so long been the
freest, as well as the most opulent, capital in Europe, sank for ever to
the position of a provincial town. With its fall, combined with other
circumstances, which it is not necessary to narrate in anticipation, the
final separation of the Netherlands was completed. On the other hand, at
the death of Orange, whose formal inauguration as sovereign Count had not
yet taken place, the states of Holland and Zealand reassumed the
Sovereignty. The commonwealth which William had liberated for ever from
Spanish tyranny continued to exist as a great and flourishing republic
during, more than two centuries, under the successive stadholderates of
his sons and descendants.

His life gave existence to an independent country--his death defined its
limits. Had he lived twenty years longer, it is probable that the seven
provinces would have been seventeen; and that the Spanish title would
have been for ever extinguished both in Nether Germany and Celtic Gaul.
Although there was to be the length of two human generations more of
warfare ere Spain acknowledged the new government, yet before the
termination of that period the United States had become the first naval
power and one of the most considerable commonwealths in the world; while
the civil and religious liberty, the political independence of the land,
together with the total expulsion of the ancient foreign tyranny from the
soil, had been achieved ere the eyes of William were closed. The republic
existed, in fact, from the moment of the abjuration in 1581.

The most important features of the polity which thus assumed a prominent
organization have been already indicated. There was no revolution, no
radical change. The ancient rugged tree of Netherland liberty--with its
moss-grown trunk, gnarled branches, and deep-reaching roots--which had
been slowly growing for ages, was still full of sap, and was to deposit
for centuries longer its annual rings of consolidated and concentric
strength. Though lopped of some luxuriant boughs, it was sound at the
core, and destined for a still larger life than even in the healthiest
moments of its mediveval existence.

The history of the rise of the Netherland Republic has been at the same
time the biography of William the Silent. This, while it gives unity to
the narrative, renders an elaborate description of his character
superfluous. That life was a noble Christian epic; inspired with one
great purpose from its commencement to its close; the stream flowing ever
from one fountain with expanding fulness, but retaining all its original
pity. A few general observations are all which are necessary by way of
conclusion.

In person, Orange was above the middle height, perfectly well made and
sinewy, but rather spare than stout. His eyes, hair, beard, and
complexion were brown. His head was small, symmetrically-shaped,
combining the alertness and compactness characteristic of the soldier;
with the capacious brow furrowed prematurely with the horizontal lines of
thought, denoting the statesman and the sage. His physical appearance
was, therefore, in harmony, with his organization, which was of antique
model. Of his moral qualities, the most prominent was his piety. He was
more than anything else a religious man. From his trust in God, he ever
derived support and consolation in the darkest hours. Implicitly relying
upon Almighty wisdom and goodness, he looked danger in the face with a
constant smile, and endured incessant labors and trials with a serenity
which seemed more than human. While, however, his soul was full of piety,
it was tolerant of error. Sincerely and deliberately himself a convert to
the Reformed Church, he was ready to extend freedom of worship to
Catholics on the one hand, and to Anabaptists on the other, for no man
ever felt more keenly than he, that the Reformer who becomes in his turn
a bigot is doubly odious.

His firmness was allied to his piety. His constancy in bearing the whole
weight of struggle as unequal as men have ever undertaken, was the theme
of admiration even to his enemies. The rock in the ocean, "tranquil amid
raging billows," was the favorite emblem by which his friends expressed,
their sense of his firmness. From the time when, as a hostage in France,
he first discovered the plan of Philip to plant the Inquisition in the
Netherlands, up to the last moment of his life, he never faltered in his
determination to resist that iniquitous scheme. This resistance was the
labor of his life. To exclude the Inquisition; to maintain the ancient
liberties of his country, was the task which he appointed to himself
when a youth of three-and-twenty. Never speaking a word concerning a
heavenly mission, never deluding himself or others with the usual
phraseology of enthusiasts, he accomplished the task, through danger,
amid toils, and with sacrifices such as few men have ever been able to
make on their country's altar; for the disinterested benevolence of the
man was as prominent as his fortitude. A prince of high rank, and, with
royal revenues, he stripped himself of station, wealth, almost at times
of the common necessaries of life, and became, in his country's cause,
nearly a beggar as well as an outlaw. Nor was he forced into his career
by an accidental impulse from which there was no recovery. Retreat was
ever open to him. Not only pardon but advancement was urged upon him
again and again. Officially and privately, directly and circuitously, his
confiscated estates, together with indefinite and boundless favors in
addition, were offered to him on every great occasion. On the arrival of
Don John, at the Breda negotiations, at the Cologne conferences, we have
seen how calmly these offers were waved aside, as if their rejection was
so simple that it hardly required many words for its signification, yet
he had mortgaged his estates so deeply that his heirs hesitated at
accepting their inheritance, for fear it should involve them in debt. Ten
years after his death, the account between his executors and his brother
John amounted to one million four hundred thousand florins--due to the
Count, secured by various pledges of real and personal property; and it
was finally settled upon this basis. He was besides largely indebted to
every one of his powerful relatives, so that the payment of the
incumbrances upon his estate very nearly justified the fears of his
children. While on the one hand, therefore, he poured out these enormous
sums like water, and firmly refused a hearing to the tempting offers of
the royal government, upon the other hand he proved the disinterested
nature of his services by declining, year after year, the sovereignty
over the provinces; and by only accepting, in the last days of his life,
when refusal had become almost impossible, the limited, constitutional
supremacy over that portion of them which now makes the realm of his
descendants. He lived and died, not for himself, but for his country:
"God pity this poor people!" were his dying words.

His intellectual faculties were various and of the highest order. He had
the exact, practical, and combining qualities which make the great
commander, and his friends claimed that, in military genius, he was
second to no captain in Europe. This was, no doubt, an exaggeration of
partial attachment, but it is certain that the Emperor Charles had an
exalted opinion of his capacity for the field. His fortification of
Philippeville and Charlemont, in the face of the enemy his passage of the
Meuse in Alva's sight--his unfortunate but well-ordered campaign against
that general--his sublime plan of relief, projected and successfully
directed at last from his sick bed, for the besieged city of Leyden--will
always remain monuments of his practical military skill.

Of the soldier's great virtues--constancy in disaster, devotion to duty,
hopefulness in defeat--no man ever possessed a larger share. He arrived,
through a series of reverses, at a perfect victory. He planted a free
commonwealth under the very battery of the Inquisition, in defiance of
the most powerful empire existing. He was therefore a conqueror in the
loftiest sense, for he conquered liberty and a national existence for a
whole people. The contest was long, and he fell in the struggle, but the
victory was to the dead hero, not to the living monarch. It is to be
remembered, too, that he always wrought with inferior instruments. His
troops were usually mercenaries, who were but too apt to mutiny upon the
eve of battle, while he was opposed by the most formidable veterans of
Europe, commanded successively by the first captains of the age. That,
with no lieutenant of eminent valor or experience, save only his brother
Louis, and with none at all after that chieftain's death, William of
Orange should succeed in baffling the efforts of Alva, Requesens, Don
John of Austria, and Alexander Farnese--men whose names are among the
most brilliant in the military annals of the world--is in itself,
sufficient evidence of his warlike ability. At the period of his death he
had reduced the number of obedient provinces to two; only Artois and
Hainault acknowledging Philip, while the other fifteen were in open
revolt, the greater part having solemnly forsworn their sovereign.

The supremacy of his political genius was entirely beyond question. He
was the first statesman of the age. The quickness of his perception was
only equalled by the caution which enabled him to mature the results of
his observations. His knowledge of human nature was profound. He governed
the passions and sentiments of a great nation as if they had been but the
keys and chords of one vast instrument; and his hand rarely failed to
evoke harmony even out of the wildest storms. The turbulent city of
Ghent, which could obey no other master, which even the haughty Emperor
could only crush without controlling, was ever responsive to the
master-hand of Orange. His presence scared away Imbize and his bat-like
crew, confounded the schemes of John Casimir, frustrated the wiles of
Prince Chimay, and while he lived, Ghent was what it ought always to have
remained, the bulwark, as it had been the cradle, of popular liberty.
After his death it became its tomb.

Ghent, saved thrice by the policy, the eloquence, the self-sacrifices of
Orange, fell within three months of his murder into the hands of Parma.
The loss of this most important city, followed in the next year by the
downfall of Antwerp, sealed the fate of the Southern Netherlands. Had the
Prince lived, how different might have been the country's fate! If seven
provinces could dilate, in so brief a space, into the powerful
commonwealth which the Republic soon became, what might not have been
achieved by the united seventeen; a confederacy which would have united
the adamantine vigor of the Batavian and Frisian races with the subtler,
more delicate, and more graceful national elements in which the genius of
the Frank, the Roman, and the Romanized Celt were so intimately blended.
As long as the Father of the country lived, such a union was possible.
His power of managing men was so unquestionable, that there was always a
hope, even in the darkest hour, for men felt implicit reliance, as well
on his intellectual resources as on his integrity.

This power of dealing with his fellow-men he manifested in the various
ways in which it has been usually exhibited by statesmen. He possessed a
ready eloquence--sometimes impassioned, oftener argumentative, always
rational. His influence over his audience was unexampled in the annals of
that country or age; yet he never condescended to flatter the people. He
never followed the nation, but always led her in the path of duty and of
honor, and was much more prone to rebuke the vices than to pander to the
passions of his hearers. He never failed to administer ample chastisement
to parsimony, to jealousy, to insubordination, to intolerance, to
infidelity, wherever it was due, nor feared to confront the states or the
people in their most angry hours, and to tell them the truth to their
faces. This commanding position he alone could stand upon, for his
countrymen knew the generosity which had sacrificed his all for them, the
self-denial which had eluded rather than sought political advancement,
whether from king or people, and the untiring devotion which had
consecrated a whole life to toil and danger in the cause of their
emancipation. While, therefore, he was ever ready to rebuke, and always
too honest to flatter, he at the same time possessed the eloquence which
could convince or persuade. He knew how to reach both the mind and the
heart of his hearers. His orations, whether extemporaneous or
prepared--his written messages to the states-general, to the provincial
authorities, to the municipal bodies--his private correspondence with men
of all ranks, from emperors and kings down to secretaries, and even
children--all show an easy flow of language, a fulness of thought, a
power of expression rare in that age, a fund of historical allusion, a
considerable power of imagination, a warmth of sentiment, a breadth of
view, a directness of purpose--a range of qualities, in short, which
would in themselves have stamped him as one of the master-minds of his
century, had there been no other monument to his memory than the remains
of his spoken or written eloquence. The bulk of his performances in this
department was prodigious. Not even Philip was more industrious in the
cabinet. Not even Granvelle held a more facile pen. He wrote and spoke
equally well in French German, or Flemish; and he possessed, besides;
Spanish, Italian, Latin. The weight of his correspondence alone would
have almost sufficed for the common industry of a lifetime, and although
many volumes of his speeches and, letters have been published, there
remain in the various archives of the Netherlands and Germany many
documents from his hand which will probably never see the light. If the
capacity for unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause be the
measure of human greatness, few minds could be compared to the "large
composition" of this man. The efforts made to destroy the Netherlands by
the most laborious and painstaking of tyrants were counteracted by the
industry of the most indefatigable of patriots.

Thus his eloquence, oral or written, gave him almost boundless power over
his countrymen. He possessed, also, a rare perception of human character,
together with an iron memory which never lost a face, a place, or an
event, once seen or known. He read the minds even the faces of men, like
printed books. No man could overreach him, excepting only those to whom
he gave his heart. He might be mistaken where he had confided, never
where he had been distrustful or indifferent. He was deceived by
Renneberg, by his brother-in-law Van den Berg, by the Duke of Anjou. Had
it been possible for his brother Louis or his brother John to have proved
false, he might have been deceived by them. He was never outwitted by
Philip, or Granvelle, or Don John, or Alexander of Parma. Anna of Saxony
was false to him; and entered into correspondence with the royal
governors and with the King of Spain; Charlotte of Bourbon or Louisa de
Coligny might have done the same had it been possible for their natures
also to descend to such depths of guile.

As for the Aerschots, the Havres, the Chimays, he was never influenced
either by their blandishments or their plots. He was willing to use them
when their interest made them friendly, or to crush them when their
intrigues against his policy rendered them dangerous. The adroitness with
which he converted their schemes in behalf of Matthias, of Don John, of
Anjou, into so many additional weapons for his own cause, can never be
too often studied. It is instructive to observe the wiles of the
Macchiavelian school employed by a master of the craft, to frustrate, not
to advance, a knavish purpose. This character, in a great measure, marked
his whole policy. He was profoundly skilled in the subtleties of Italian
statesmanship, which he had learned as a youth at the Imperial court, and
which he employed in his manhood in the service, not of tyranny, but of
liberty. He fought the Inquisition with its own weapons. He dealt with
Philip on his own ground. He excavated the earth beneath the King's feet
by a more subtle process than that practised by the most fraudulent
monarch that ever governed the Spanish empire, and Philip, chain-mailed
as he was in complicated wiles, was pierced to the quick by a keener
policy than his own.

Ten years long the King placed daily his most secret letters in hands
which regularly transmitted copies of the correspondence to the Prince of
Orange, together with a key to the ciphers and every other illustration
which might be required. Thus the secrets of the King were always as well
known to Orange as to himself; and the Prince being as prompt as Philip
was hesitating, the schemes could often be frustrated before their
execution had been commenced. The crime of the unfortunate clerk, John de
Castillo, was discovered in the autumn of the year 1581, and he was torn
to pieces by four horses. Perhaps his treason to the monarch whose bread
he was eating, while he received a regular salary from the King's most
determined foe, deserved even this horrible punishment, but casuists must
determine how much guilt attaches to the Prince for his share in the
transaction. This history is not the eulogy of Orange, although, in
discussing his character, it is difficult to avoid the monotony of
panegyric. Judged by a severe moral standard, it cannot be called
virtuous or honorable to suborn treachery or any other crime, even to
accomplish a lofty purpose; yet the universal practice of mankind in all
ages has tolerated the artifices of war, and no people has ever engaged
in a holier or more mortal contest than did the Netherlands in their
great struggle with Spain. Orange possessed the rare quality of caution,
a characteristic by which he was distinguished from his youth. At fifteen
he was the confidential counsellor, as at twenty-one he became the
general-in-chief, to the most politic, as well as the most warlike
potentate of his age, and if he at times indulged in wiles which modern
statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns, he ever held in his
hand the clue of an honorable purpose to guide him through the tortuous
labyrinth.

It is difficult to find any other characteristic deserving of grave
censure, but his enemies have adopted a simpler process. They have been
able to find few flaws in his nature, and therefore have denounced it in
gross. It is not that his character was here and there defective, but
that the eternal jewel was false. The patriotism was counterfeit; the
self-abnegation and the generosity were counterfeit. He was governed only
by ambition--by a desire of personal advancement. They never attempted to
deny his talents, his industry, his vast sacrifices of wealth and
station; but they ridiculed the idea that he could have been inspired by
any but unworthy motives. God alone knows the heart of man. He alone can
unweave the tangled skein of human motives, and detect the hidden springs
of human action, but as far as can be judged by a careful observation of
undisputed facts, and by a diligent collation of public and private
documents, it would seem that no man--not even Washington--has ever been
inspired by a purer patriotism. At any rate, the charge of ambition and
self-seeking can only be answered by a reference to the whole picture
which these volumes have attempted to portray. The words, the deeds of
the man are there. As much as possible, his inmost soul is revealed in
his confidential letters, and he who looks in a right spirit will hardly
fail to find what he desires.

Whether originally of a timid temperament or not, he was certainly
possessed of perfect courage at last. In siege and battle--in the deadly
air of pestilential cities--in the long exhaustion of mind and body which
comes from unduly protracted labor and anxiety--amid the countless
conspiracies of assassins--he was daily exposed to death in every shape.
Within two years, five different attempts against his life had been
discovered. Rank and fortune were offered to any malefactor who would
compass the murder. He had already been shot through the head, and almost
mortally wounded. Under such circumstances even a brave man might have
seen a pitfall at every step, a dagger in every hand, and poison in every
cup. On the contrary, he was ever cheerful, and hardly took more
precaution than usual. "God in his mercy," said he, with unaffected
simplicity, "will maintain my innocence and my honor during my life and
in future ages. As to my fortune and my life, I have dedicated both, long
since, to His service. He will do therewith what pleases Him for His
glory and my salvation." Thus his suspicions were not even excited by the
ominous face of Gerard, when he first presented himself at the
dining-room door. The Prince laughed off his wife's prophetic
apprehension at the sight of his murderer, and was as cheerful as usual
to the last.

He possessed, too, that which to the heathen philosopher seemed the
greatest good--the sound mind in the sound body. His physical frame was
after death found so perfect that a long life might have been in store
for him, notwithstanding all which he had endured. The desperate illness
of 1574, the frightful gunshot wound inflicted by Jaureguy in 1582, had
left no traces. The physicians pronounced that his body presented an
aspect of perfect health. His temperament was cheerful. At table, the
pleasures of which, in moderation, were his only relaxation, he was
always animated and merry, and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly
intentional. In the darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a
serenity which he was far from feeling, so that his apparent gaiety at
momentous epochs was even censured by dullards, who could not comprehend
its philosophy, nor applaud the flippancy of William the Silent.

He went through life bearing the load of a people's sorrows upon his
shoulders with a smiling face. Their name was the last word upon his
lips, save the simple affirmative, with which the soldier who had been
battling for the right all his lifetime, commended his soul in dying "to
his great captain, Christ." The people were grateful and affectionate,
for they trusted the character of their "Father William," and not all the
clouds which calumny could collect ever dimmed to their eyes the radiance
of that lofty mind to which they were accustomed, in their darkest
calamities, to look for light. As long as he lived, he was the
guiding-star of a whole brave nation, and when he died the little
children cried in the streets.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Bribed the Deity
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Writing letters full of injured innocence

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1574-84

     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     A most fatal success
     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     Absurd affectation of candor
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Bribed the Deity
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Judas Maccabaeus
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Natural to judge only by the result
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Perfection of insolence
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Superfluous sarcasm
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     The disunited provinces
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Throw the cat against their legs
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all
     Unduly dejected in adversity
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience
     Writing letters full of injured innocence



     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1584, Complete:

     1566, the last year of peace
     A country disinherited by nature of its rights
     A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
     A good lawyer is a bad Christian
     A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
     A common hatred united them, for a time at least
     A most fatal success
     Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
     Absurd affectation of candor
     Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
     Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
     Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
     Affecting to discredit them
     Age when toleration was a vice
     Agreements were valid only until he should repent
     All offices were sold to the highest bidder
     All denounced the image-breaking
     All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
     All the majesty which decoration could impart
     All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
     All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
     All claimed the privilege of persecuting
     Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
     Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
     Amuse them with this peace negotiation
     An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
     An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
     An age when to think was a crime
     Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
     Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
     Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
     Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
     Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
     Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
     Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
     As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
     As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
     Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
     Attacking the authority of the pope
     Attempting to swim in two waters
     Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
     Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
     Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
     Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
     Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
     Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
     Believed in the blessed advent of peace
     Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
     Bishop is a consecrated pirate
     Blessing of God upon the Devil's work
     Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
     Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
     Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
     Bribed the Deity
     Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
     Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
     Business of an officer to fight, of a general to conquer
     Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
     Character of brave men to act, not to expect
     Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
     Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
     Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
     Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
     Conde and Coligny
     Condemning all heretics to death
     Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
     Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
     Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
     Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
     Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
     Country would bear his loss with fortitude
     Courage of despair inflamed the French
     Craft meaning, simply, strength
     Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
     Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
     Criminals buying Paradise for money
     Cruelties exercised upon monks and papists
     Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
     Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
     Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
     Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
     Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
     Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
     Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
     Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
     Difference between liberties and liberty
     Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
     Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
     Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
     Dissimulation and delay
     Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
     Divine right
     Don John of Austria
     Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
     Drank of the water in which, he had washed
     Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
     Eight thousand human beings were murdered
     Endure every hardship but hunger
     English Puritans
     Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
     Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
     Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
     Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
     Erasmus encourages the bold friar
     Erasmus of Rotterdam
     Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
     Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
     Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
     Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
     Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
     Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
     Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
     Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
     Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
     Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
     Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
     Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
     Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
     Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
     Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
     For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
     For faithful service, evil recompense
     For women to lament, for men to remember
     Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
     Force clerical--the power of clerks
     Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
     Furious fanaticism
     Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
     Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
     Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
     German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
     Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
     God has given absolute power to no mortal man
     God Save the King! It was the last time
     Govern under the appearance of obeying
     Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
     Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
     Great science of political equilibrium
     Great error of despising their enemy
     Great battles often leave the world where they found it
     Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
     Habeas corpus
     Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
     Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
     Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
     Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
     Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
     He did his best to be friends with all the world
     He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
     He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
     He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
     He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
     He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
     He had omitted to execute heretics
     Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
     His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
     His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
     History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
     Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
     Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
     Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
     Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
     Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
     I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
     I regard my country's profit, not my own
     If he had little, he could live upon little
     Imagined, and did the work of truth
     In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
     In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
     Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
     Indecision did the work of indolence
     Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
     Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
     Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
     Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
     Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
     Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
     Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
     Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
     Inventing long speeches for historical characters
     It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
     Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
     Judas Maccabaeus
     July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
     King set a price upon his head as a rebel
     King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
     Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
     Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
     Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
     Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
     Licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America
     Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
     Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
     Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
     Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
     Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
     Look through the cloud of dissimulation
     Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
     Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
     Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
     Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
     Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
     Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
     Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
     Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
     Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
     Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
     Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
     Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
     Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
     More accustomed to do well than to speak well
     More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
     Natural to judge only by the result
     Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
     Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
     Neither ambitious nor greedy
     No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
     No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
     No law but the law of the longest purse
     No calumny was too senseless to be invented
     No one can testify but a householder
     No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
     No authority over an army which they did not pay
     Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
     Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
     Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
     Not to let the grass grow under their feet
     Not so successful as he was picturesque
     Not upon words but upon actions
     Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
     Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
     Notre Dame at Antwerp
     Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
     Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
     Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
     Often much tyranny in democracy
     Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
     On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
     One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
     One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
     Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
     Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war
     Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
     Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
     Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
     Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
     Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
     Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
     Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn
     Paying their passage through, purgatory
     Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
     Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
     Perfection of insolence
     Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
     Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
     Petty passion for contemptible details
     Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
     Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands
     Plundering the country which they came to protect
     Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
     Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
     Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
     Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
     Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
     Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
     Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
     Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
     Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
     Procrastination was always his first refuge
     Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
     Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
     Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
     Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
     Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
     Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
     Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
     Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
     Rashness alternating with hesitation
     Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
     Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
     Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
     Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
     Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
     Repentant females to be buried alive
     Repentant males to be executed with the sword
     Republic, which lasted two centuries
     Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
     Revocable benefices or feuds
     Ruinous honors
     Saint Bartholomew's day
     Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
     Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
     Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
     Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
     Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
     Science of reigning was the science of lying
     Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
     Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
     Sent them word by carrier pigeons
     Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
     Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels
     Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
     She knew too well how women were treated in that country
     Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
     Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
     Slender stock of platitudes
     So much responsibility and so little power
     Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
     Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
     Sonnets of Petrarch
     Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
     Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
     St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
     St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
     Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
     Superfluous sarcasm
     Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
     Tanchelyn
     Taxation upon sin
     Taxes upon income and upon consumption
     Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
     That vile and mischievous animal called the people
     The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
     The Gaul was singularly unchaste
     The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
     The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
     The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
     The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder
     The disunited provinces
     The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass
     The time for reasoning had passed
     The perpetual reproductions of history
     The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
     The illness was a convenient one
     The calf is fat and must be killed
     The tragedy of Don Carlos
     There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
     These human victims, chained and burning at the stake
     They could not invent or imagine toleration
     They had at last burned one more preacher alive
     Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
     Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
     Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
     Three hundred fighting women
     Throw the cat against their legs
     Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
     Time and myself are two
     To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all
     To hear the last solemn commonplaces
     To prefer poverty to the wealth attendant upon trade
     Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all
     Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
     Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
     Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack
     Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
     Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
     Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
     Unduly dejected in adversity
     Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
     Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
     Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
     Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity
     Villagers, or villeins
     Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter
     Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?
     We believe our mothers to have been honest women
     We are beginning to be vexed
     Wealth was an unpardonable sin
     Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers
     When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
     Who loved their possessions better than their creed
     William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
     Wiser simply to satisfy himself
     Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery
     Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought
     Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden
     Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience
     Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders
     Writing letters full of injured innocence



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS, 1584-1609, Complete

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce


Volume I.


By John Lothrop Motley



PREFACE.

The indulgence with which the History of the Rise of the Dutch Republic
was received has encouraged me to prosecute my task with renewed
industry.

A single word seems necessary to explain the somewhat increased
proportions which the present work has assumed over the original design.
The intimate connection which was formed between the Kingdom of England
and the Republic of Holland, immediately after the death of William the
Silent, rendered the history and the fate of the two commonwealths for a
season almost identical. The years of anxiety and suspense during which
the great Spanish project for subjugating England and reconquering the
Netherlands, by the same invasion, was slowly matured, were of deepest
import for the future destiny of those two countries, and for the cause
of national liberty. The deep-laid conspiracy of Spain and Rome against
human rights deserves to be patiently examined, for it is one of the
great lessons of history. The crisis was long and doubtful, and the
health--perhaps the existence--of England and Holland, and, with them,
of a great part of Christendom, was on the issue.

History has few so fruitful examples of the dangers which come from
superstition and despotism, and the blessings which flow from the
maintenance of religious and political freedom, as those afforded by the
struggle between England and Holland on the one side, and Spain and Rome
on the other, during the epoch which I have attempted to describe. It is
for this reason that I have thought it necessary to reveal, as minutely
as possible, the secret details of this conspiracy of king and priest
against the people, and to show how it was baffled at last by the strong
self-helping energy of two free nations combined.

The period occupied by these two volumes is therefore a short one, when
counted by years, for it begins in 1584 and ends with the commencement of
1590. When estimated by the significance of events and their results for
future ages, it will perhaps be deemed worthy of the close examination
which it has received. With the year 1588 the crisis was past; England
was safe, and the new Dutch commonwealth was thoroughly organized. It is
my design, in two additional volumes, which, with the two now published,
will complete the present work, to carry the history of the Republic down
to the Synod of Dort. After this epoch the Thirty Years' War broke out in
Germany; and it is my wish, at a future day, to retrace the history of
that eventful struggle, and to combine with it the civil and military
events in Holland, down to the epoch when the Thirty Years' War and the
Eighty Years' War of the Netherlands were both brought to a close by the
Peace of Westphalia.

The materials for the volumes now offered to the public were so abundant
that it was almost impossible to condense them into smaller compass
without doing injustice to the subject. It was desirable to throw full
light on these prominent points of the history, while the law of
historical perspective will allow long stretches of shadow in the
succeeding portions, in which less important objects may be more slightly
indicated. That I may not be thought capable of abusing the reader's
confidence by inventing conversations, speeches, or letters, I would take
this opportunity of stating--although I have repeated the remark in the
foot-notes--that no personage in these pages is made to write or speak
any words save those which, on the best historical evidence, he is known
to have written or spoken.

A brief allusion to my sources of information will not seem superfluous:
I have carefully studied all the leading contemporary chronicles and
pamphlets of Holland, Flanders, Spain, France, Germany, and England; but,
as the authorities are always indicated in the notes, it is unnecessary
to give a list of them here. But by far my most valuable materials are
entirely unpublished ones.

The archives of England are especially rich for the history of the
sixteenth century; and it will be seen, in the course of the narrative,
how largely I have drawn from those mines of historical wealth, the State
Paper Office and the MS. department of the British Museum. Although both
these great national depositories are in admirable order, it is to be
regretted that they are not all embraced in one collection, as much
trouble might then be spared to the historical student, who is now
obliged to pass frequently from the one place to the other, in order to,
find different portions of the same correspondence.

From the royal archives of Holland I have obtained many most important,
entirely unpublished documents, by the aid of which I have endeavoured to
verify, to illustrate, or sometimes to correct, the recitals of the elder
national chroniclers; and I have derived the greatest profit from the
invaluable series of Archives and Correspondence of the Orange-Nassau
Family, given to the world by M. Groen van Prinsterer. I desire to renew
to that distinguished gentleman, and to that eminent scholar M. Bakhuyzen
van den Brink, the expression of my gratitude for their constant kindness
and advice during my residence at the Hague. Nothing can exceed the
courtesy which has been extended to me in Holland, and I am deeply
grateful for the indulgence with which my efforts to illustrate the
history of the country have been received where that history is best
known.

I have also been much aided by the study of a portion of the Archives of
Simancas, the originals of which are in the Archives de l'Empire in
Paris, and which were most liberally laid before me through the kindness
of M. le Comte de La Borde.

I have, further; enjoyed an inestimable advantage in the perusal of the
whole correspondence between Philip II., his ministers, and governors,
relating to the affairs of the Netherlands, from the epoch at which this
work commences down to that monarch's death. Copies of this
correspondence have been carefully made from the originals at Simancas by
order of the Belgian Government, under the superintendence of the eminent
archivist M. Gachard, who has already published a synopsis or abridgment
of a portion of it in a French translation. The translation and
abridgment of so large a mass of papers, however, must necessarily occupy
many years, and it may be long, therefore, before the whole of the
correspondence--and particularly that portion of it relating to the epoch
occupied by these volumes sees the light. It was, therefore, of the
greatest importance for me to see the documents themselves unabridged and
untranslated. This privilege has been accorded me, and I desire to
express my thanks to his Excellency M. van de Weyer, the distinguished
representative of Belgium at the English Court, to whose friendly offices
I am mainly indebted for the satisfaction of my wishes in this respect. A
letter from him to his Excellency M. Rogier, Minister of the Interior in
Belgium--who likewise took the most courteous interest in promoting my
views--obtained for me the permission thoroughly to study this
correspondence; and I passed several months in Brussels, occupied with
reading the whole of it from the year 1584 to the end of the reign of
Philip II.

I was thus saved a long visit to the Archives of Simancas, for it would
be impossible conscientiously to write the history of the epoch without a
thorough examination of the correspondence of the King and his ministers.
I venture to hope, therefore--whatever judgment may be passed upon my own
labours--that this work may be thought to possess an intrinsic value; for
the various materials of which it is composed are original, and--so far
as I am aware--have not been made use of by any historical writer.

I would take this opportunity to repeat my thanks to M. Gachard,
Archivist of the kingdom of Belgium, for the uniform courtesy and
kindness which I have received at his-hands, and to bear my testimony to
the skill and critical accuracy with which he has illustrated so many
passages of Belgian and Spanish history.

31, HERTFORD-STREET, MAY-FAIR, November llth 1860.



THE UNITED NETHERLANDS.



CHAPTER I.

   Murder of Orange--Extension of Protestantism--Vast Power of Spain--
   Religious Origin of the Revolt--Disposal of the Sovereignty--Courage
   of the Estates of Holland--Children of William the Silent--
   Provisional Council of State--Firm attitude of Holland and Zeeland--
   Weakness of Flanders--Fall of Ghent--Adroitness of Alexander
   Farnese.

WILLIAM THE SILENT, Prince of Orange, had been murdered on the 10th of
July, 1584. It is difficult to imagine a more universal disaster than the
one thus brought about by the hand of a single obscure fanatic. For
nearly twenty years the character of the Prince had been expanding
steadily as the difficulties of his situation increased. Habit,
necessity, and the natural gifts of the man, had combined to invest him
at last with an authority which seemed more than human. There was such
general confidence in his sagacity, courage, and purity, that the nation
had come to think with his brain and to act with his hand. It was natural
that, for an instant, there should be a feeling as of absolute and
helpless paralysis.

Whatever his technical attributes in the polity of the Netherlands--and
it would be difficult to define them with perfect accuracy--there is no
doubt that he stood there, the head of a commonwealth, in an attitude
such as had been maintained by but few of the kings, or chiefs, or high
priests of history. Assassination, a regular and almost indispensable
portion of the working machinery of Philip's government, had produced, in
this instance, after repeated disappointments, the result at last which
had been so anxiously desired. The ban of the Pope and the offered gold
of the King had accomplished a victory greater than any yet achieved by
the armies of Spain, brilliant as had been their triumphs on the
blood-stained soil of the Netherlands.

Had that "exceeding proud, neat, and spruce" Doctor of Laws, William
Parry, who had been busying himself at about the same time with his
memorable project against the Queen of England, proved as successful as
Balthazar Gerard, the fate of Christendom would have been still darker.
Fortunately, that member of Parliament had made the discovery in
time--not for himself, but for Elizabeth--that the "Lord was better
pleased with adverbs than nouns;" the well-known result being that the
traitor was hanged and the Sovereign saved.

Yet such was the condition of Europe at that day. A small, dull, elderly,
imperfectly-educated, patient, plodding invalid, with white hair and
protruding under jaw, and dreary visage, was sitting day after day;
seldom speaking, never smiling, seven or eight hours out of every
twenty-four, at a writing table covered with heaps of interminable
despatches, in a cabinet far away beyond the seas and mountains, in the
very heart of Spain. A clerk or two, noiselessly opening and shutting the
door, from time to time, fetching fresh bundles of letters and taking
away others--all written and composed by secretaries or high
functionaries--and all to be scrawled over in the margin by the diligent
old man in a big schoolboy's hand and style--if ever schoolboy, even in
the sixteenth century, could write so illegibly or express himself so
awkwardly; couriers in the court-yard arriving from or departing for the
uttermost parts of earth-Asia, Africa America, Europe-to fetch and carry
these interminable epistles which contained the irresponsible commands of
this one individual, and were freighted with the doom and destiny of
countless millions of the world's inhabitants--such was the system of
government against which the Netherlands had protested and revolted. It
was a system under which their fields had been made desolate, their
cities burned and pillaged, their men hanged, burned, drowned, or hacked
to pieces; their women subjected to every outrage; and to put an end to
which they had been devoting their treasure and their blood for nearly
the length of one generation. It was a system, too, which, among other
results, had just brought about the death of the foremost statesman of
Europe, and had nearly effected simultaneously the murder of the most
eminent sovereign in the world. The industrious Philip, safe and tranquil
in the depths of the Escorial, saying his prayers three times a day with
exemplary regularity, had just sent three bullets through the body of
William the Silent at his dining-room door in Delft. "Had it only been
done two years earlier," observed the patient old man, "much trouble
might have been spared me; but 'tis better late than never." Sir Edward
Stafford, English envoy in Paris, wrote to his government--so soon as the
news of the murder reached him--that, according to his information out of
the Spanish minister's own house, "the same practice that had been
executed upon the Prince of Orange, there were practisers more than two
or three about to execute upon her Majesty, and that within two months."
Without vouching for the absolute accuracy of this intelligence, he
implored the Queen to be more upon her guard than ever. "For there is no
doubt," said the envoy, "that she is a chief mark to shoot at; and seeing
that there were men cunning enough to inchant a man and to encourage him
to kill the Prince of Orange, in the midst of Holland, and that there was
a knave found desperate enough to do it, we must think hereafter that
anything may be done. Therefore God preserve her Majesty."

Invisible as the Grand Lama of Thibet, clothed with power as extensive
and absolute as had ever been wielded by the most imperial Caesar, Philip
the Prudent, as he grew older and feebler in mind and body seemed to
become more gluttonous of work, more ambitious to extend his sceptre over
lands which he had never seen or dreamed of seeing, more fixed in his
determination to annihilate that monster Protestantism, which it had been
the business of his life to combat, more eager to put to death every
human creature, whether anointed monarch or humble artizan, that defended
heresy or opposed his progress to universal empire.

If this enormous power, this fabulous labour, had, been wielded or
performed with a beneficent intention; if the man who seriously regarded
himself as the owner of a third of the globe, with the inhabitants
thereof, had attempted to deal with these extensive estates inherited
from his ancestors with the honest intention of a thrifty landlord, an
intelligent slave-owner, it would have yet been possible for a little
longer to smile at the delusion, and endure the practice.

But there was another old man, who lived in another palace in another
remote land, who, in his capacity of representative of Saint Peter,
claimed to dispose of all the kingdoms of the earth--and had been willing
to bestow them upon the man who would go down and worship him. Philip
stood enfeoffed, by divine decree, of all America, the East Indies, the
whole Spanish Peninsula, the better portion of Italy, the seventeen
Netherlands, and many other possessions far and near; and he contemplated
annexing to this extensive property the kingdoms of France, of England,
and Ireland. The Holy League, maintained by the sword of Guise, the
pope's ban, Spanish ducats, Italian condottieri, and German mercenaries,
was to exterminate heresy and establish the Spanish dominion in France.
The same machinery, aided by the pistol or poniard of the assassin, was
to substitute for English protestantism and England's queen the Roman
Catholic religion and a foreign sovereign. "The holy league," said
Duplessis-Mornay, one of the noblest characters of the age, "has destined
us all to the name sacrifice. The ambition of the Spaniard, which has
overleaped so many lands and seas, thinks nothing inaccessible."

The Netherland revolt had therefore assumed world-wide proportions. Had
it been merely the rebellion of provinces against a sovereign, the
importance of the struggle would have been more local and temporary. But
the period was one in which the geographical land-marks of countries were
almost removed. The dividing-line ran through every state, city, and
almost every family. There was a country which believed in the absolute
power of the church to dictate the relations between man and his Maker,
and to utterly exterminate all who disputed that position. There was
another country which protested against that doctrine, and claimed,
theoretically or practically, a liberty of conscience. The territory of
these countries was mapped out by no visible lines, but the inhabitants
of each, whether resident in France, Germany, England, or Flanders,
recognised a relationship which took its root in deeper differences than
those of race or language. It was not entirely a question of doctrine or
dogma. A large portion of the world had become tired of the antiquated
delusion of a papal supremacy over every land, and had recorded its
determination, once for all, to have done with it. The transition to
freedom of conscience became a necessary step, sooner or later to be
taken. To establish the principle of toleration for all religions was an
inevitable consequence of the Dutch revolt; although thus far, perhaps
only one conspicuous man in advance of his age had boldly announced that
doctrine and had died in its defence. But a great true thought never
dies--though long buried in the earth--and the day was to come, after
long years, when the seed was to ripen into a harvest of civil and
religious emancipation, and when the very word toleration was to sound
like an insult and an absurdity.

A vast responsibility rested upon the head of a monarch, placed as Philip
II. found himself, at this great dividing point in modern history. To
judge him, or any man in such a position, simply from his own point of
view, is weak and illogical. History judges the man according to its
point of view. It condemns or applauds the point of view itself. The
point of view of a malefactor is not to excuse robbery and murder. Nor is
the spirit of the age to be pleaded in defence of the evil-doer at a time
when mortals were divided into almost equal troops. The age of Philip II.
was also the age of William of Orange and his four brethren, of Sainte
Aldegonde, of Olden-Barneveldt, of Duplessis-Mornay, La Noue, Coligny, of
Luther, Melancthon, and Calvin, Walsingham, Sidney, Raleigh, Queen
Elizabeth, of Michael Montaigne, and William Shakspeare. It was not an
age of blindness, but of glorious light. If the man whom the Maker of the
Universe had permitted to be born to such boundless functions, chose to
put out his own eyes that he might grope along his great pathway of duty
in perpetual darkness, by his deeds he must be judged. The King perhaps
firmly believed that the heretics of the Netherlands, of France, or of
England, could escape eternal perdition only by being extirpated from the
earth by fire and sword, and therefore; perhaps, felt it his duty to
devote his life to their extermination. But he believed, still more
firmly, that his own political authority, throughout his dominions, and
his road to almost universal empire, lay over the bodies of those
heretics. Three centuries have nearly past since this memorable epoch;
and the world knows the fate of the states which accepted the dogma which
it was Philip's life-work to enforce, and of those who protested against
the system. The Spanish and Italian Peninsulas have had a different
history from that which records the career of France, Prussia, the Dutch
Commonwealth, the British Empire, the Transatlantic Republic.

Yet the contest between those Seven meagre Provinces upon the sand-banks
of the North Sea, and--the great Spanish Empire, seemed at the moment
with which we are now occupied a sufficiently desperate one. Throw a
glance upon the map of Europe. Look at the broad magnificent Spanish
Peninsula, stretching across eight degrees of latitude and ten of
longitude, commanding the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, with a genial
climate, warmed in winter by the vast furnace of Africa, and protected
from the scorching heats of summer by shady mountain and forest, and
temperate breezes from either ocean. A generous southern territory,
flowing with wine and oil, and all the richest gifts of a bountiful
nature-splendid cities--the new and daily expanding Madrid, rich in the
trophies of the most artistic period of the modern world--Cadiz, as
populous at that day as London, seated by the straits where the ancient
and modern systems of traffic were blending like the mingling of the two
oceans--Granada, the ancient wealthy seat of the fallen Moors--Toledo,
Valladolid, and Lisbon, chief city of the recently-conquered kingdom of
Portugal, counting, with its suburbs, a larger population than any city,
excepting Paris, in Europe, the mother of distant colonies, and the
capital of the rapidly-developing traffic with both the Indies--these
were some of the treasures of Spain herself. But she possessed Sicily
also, the better portion of Italy, and important dependencies in Africa,
while the famous maritime discoveries of the age had all enured to her
aggrandizement. The world seemed suddenly to have expanded its wings from
East to West, only to bear the fortunate Spanish Empire to the most dizzy
heights of wealth and power. The most accomplished generals, the most
disciplined and daring infantry the world has ever known, the
best-equipped and most extensive navy, royal and mercantile, of the age,
were at the absolute command of the sovereign. Such was Spain.

Turn now to the north-western corner of Europe. A morsel of territory,
attached by a slight sand-hook to the continent, and half-submerged by
the stormy waters of the German Ocean--this was Holland. A rude climate,
with long, dark, rigorous, winters, and brief summers, a territory, the
mere wash of three great rivers, which had fertilized happier portions of
Europe only to desolate and overwhelm this less-favoured land, a soil so
ungrateful, that if the whole of its four hundred thousand acres of
arable land had been sowed with grain, it could not feed the labourers
alone, and a population largely estimated at one million of souls--these
were the characteristics of the Province which already had begun to give
its name to the new commonwealth. The isles of Zeeland--entangled in the
coils of deep slow-moving rivers, or combating the ocean without--and the
ancient episcopate of Utrecht, formed the only other Provinces that had
quite shaken off the foreign yoke. In Friesland, the important city of
Groningen was still held for the King, while Bois-le-Duc, Zutphen,
besides other places in Gelderland and North Brabant, also in possession
of the royalists, made the position of those provinces precarious.

The limit of the Spanish or "obedient" Provinces, on the one hand, and of
the United Provinces on the other, cannot, therefore, be briefly and
distinctly stated. The memorable treason--or, as it was called, the
"reconciliation" of the Walloon Provinces in the year 1583-4--had placed
the Provinces of Hainault, Arthois, Douay, with the flourishing cities
Arran, Valenciennes, Lille, Tournay, and others--all Celtic Flanders, in
short-in the grasp of Spain. Cambray was still held by the French
governor, Seigneur de Balagny, who had taken advantage of the Duke of
Anjou's treachery to the States, to establish himself in an unrecognized
but practical petty sovereignty, in defiance both of France and Spain;
while East Flanders and South Brabant still remained a disputed
territory, and the immediate field of contest. With these limitations, it
may be assumed, for general purposes, that the territory of the United
States was that of the modern Kingdom of the Netherlands, while the
obedient Provinces occupied what is now the territory of Belgium.

Such, then, were the combatants in the great eighty years' war for civil
and religious liberty; sixteen of which had now passed away. On the one
side, one of the most powerful and, populous world-empires of history,
then in the zenith of its prosperity; on the other hand, a slender group
of cities, governed by merchants and artisans, and planted precariously
upon a meagre, unstable soil. A million and a half of souls against the
autocrat of a third part of the known world. The contest seemed as
desperate as the cause was certainly sacred; but it had ceased to be a
local contest. For the history which is to occupy us in these volumes is
not exclusively the history of Holland. It is the story of the great
combat between despotism, sacerdotal and regal, and the spirit of
rational human liberty. The tragedy opened in the Netherlands, and its
main scenes were long enacted there; but as the ambition of Spain
expanded, and as the resistance to the principle which she represented
became more general, other nations were, of necessity, involved in the
struggle. There came to be one country, the citizens of which were the
Leaguers; and another country, whose inhabitants were Protestants. And in
this lay the distinction between freedom and absolutism. The religious
question swallowed all the others. There was never a period in the early
history of the Dutch revolt when the Provinces would not have returned to
their obedience, could they have been assured of enjoying liberty of
conscience or religious peace; nor was there ever a single moment in
Philip II.'s life in which he wavered in his fixed determination never to
listen to such a claim. The quarrel was in its nature irreconcilable and
eternal as the warfare between wrong and right; and the establishment of
a comparative civil liberty in Europe and America was the result of the
religious war of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The struggle
lasted eighty years, but the prize was worth the contest.

The object of the war between the Netherlands and Spain was not,
therefore, primarily, a rebellion against established authority for the
maintenance of civil rights. To preserve these rights was secondary. The
first cause was religion. The Provinces had been fighting for years
against the Inquisition. Had they not taken arms, the Inquisition would
have been established in the Netherlands, and very probably in England,
and England might have become in its turn a Province of the Spanish
Empire.

The death of William the Silent produced a sudden change in the political
arrangements of the liberated Netherlands. During the year 1583, the
United Provinces had elected Francis, Duke of Anjou, to be Duke of
Brabant and sovereign of the whole country, under certain constitutional
provisions enumerated in articles of solemn compact. That compact had
been grossly violated. The Duke had made a treacherous attempt to possess
himself of absolute power and to seize several important cities. He had
been signally defeated in Antwerp, and obliged to leave the country,
covered with ignominy. The States had then consulted William of Orange as
to the course to be taken in the emergency. The Prince had told them that
their choice was triple. They might reconcile themselves with Spain, and
abandon the contest for religious liberty which they had so long been
waging; they might reconcile themselves with Anjou, notwithstanding that
he had so utterly forfeited all claims to their consideration; or they
might fight the matter out with Spain single-handed. The last course was,
in his opinion, the most eligible one, and he was ready to sacrifice his
life to its furtherance. It was, however, indispensable, should that
policy be adopted, that much larger supplies should be voted than had
hitherto been raised, and, in general, that a much more extensive and
elevated spirit of patriotism should manifest itself than had hitherto
been displayed.

It was, on the whole, decided to make a second arrangement with the Duke
of Anjou, Queen Elizabeth warmly urging that course. At the same time,
however, that articles of agreement were drawn up for the installation of
Anjou as sovereign of the United Provinces, the Prince had himself
consented to accept the title of Count of Holland, under an ample
constitutional charter, dictated by his own lips. Neither Anjou nor
Orange lived to be inaugurated into the offices thus bestowed upon them.
The Duke died at Chateau-Thierry on the 10th June, and the Prince was
assassinated a month later at Delft.

What now was the political position of the United Provinces at this
juncture? The sovereignty which had been held by the Estates, ready to be
conferred respectively upon Anjou and Orange, remained in the hands of
the Estates. There was no opposition to this theory. No more enlarged
view of the social compact had yet been taken. The people, as such,
claimed no sovereignty. Had any champion claimed it for them they would
hardly have understood him. The nation dealt with facts. After abjuring
Philip in 1581--an act which had been accomplished by the Estates--the
same Estates in general assembly had exercised sovereign power, and had
twice disposed of that sovereign power by electing a hereditary ruler.
Their right and their power to do this had been disputed by none, save by
the deposed monarch in Spain. Having the sovereignty to dispose of, it
seemed logical that the Estates might keep it, if so inclined. They did
keep it, but only in trust. While Orange lived, he might often have been
elected sovereign of all the Provinces, could he have been induced to
consent. After his death, the Estates retained, ex necessitate, the
sovereignty; and it will soon be related what they intended to do with
it. One thing is very certain, that neither Orange, while he lived, nor
the Estates, after his death, were actuated in their policy by personal
ambition. It will be seen that the first object of the Estates was to
dispossess themselves of the sovereignty which had again fallen into
their hands.

What were the Estates? Without, at the present moment, any farther
inquiries into that constitutional system which had been long
consolidating itself, and was destined to exist upon a firmer basis for
centuries longer, it will be sufficient to observe, that the great
characteristic of the Netherland government was the municipality.

Each Province contained a large number of cities, which were governed by
a board of magistrates, varying in number from twenty to forty. This
college, called the Vroedschap (Assembly of Sages), consisted of the most
notable citizens, and was a self-electing body--a close corporation--the
members being appointed for life, from the citizens at large. Whenever
vacancies occurred from death or loss of citizenship, the college chose
new members--sometimes immediately, sometimes by means of a double or
triple selection of names, the choice of one from among which was offered
to the stadtholder of the province. This functionary was appointed by the
Count, as he was called, whether Duke of Bavaria or of Burgundy, Emperor,
or King. After the abjuration of Philip, the governors were appointed by
the Estates of each Province.

The Sage-Men chose annually a board of senators, or schepens, whose
functions were mainly judicial; and there were generally two, and
sometimes three, burgomasters, appointed in the same way. This was the
popular branch of the Estates. But, besides this body of representatives,
were the nobles, men of ancient lineage and large possessions, who had
exercised, according to the general feudal law of Europe, high, low, and
intermediate jurisdiction upon their estates, and had long been
recognized as an integral part of the body politic, having the right to
appear, through delegates of their order, in the provincial and in the
general assemblies.

Regarded as a machine for bringing the most decided political capacities
into the administration of public affairs, and for organising the most
practical opposition to the system of religious tyranny, the Netherland
constitution was a healthy, and, for the age, an enlightened one. The
officeholders, it is obvious, were not greedy for the spoils of office;
for it was, unfortunately, often the case that their necessary expenses
in the service of the state were not defrayed. The people raised enormous
contributions for carrying on the war; but they could not afford to be
extremely generous to their faithful servants.

Thus constituted was the commonwealth upon the death of William the
Silent. The gloom produced by that event was tragical. Never in human
history was a more poignant and universal sorrow for the death of any
individual. The despair was, for a brief season, absolute; but it was
soon succeeded by more lofty sentiments. It seemed, after they had laid
their hero in the tomb, as though his spirit still hovered above the
nation which he had loved so well, and was inspiring it with a portion of
his own energy and wisdom.

Even on the very day of the murder, the Estates of Holland, then sitting
at Delft, passed a resolution "to maintain the good cause, with God's
help, to the uttermost, without sparing gold or blood." This decree was
communicated to Admiral de Warmont, to Count Hohenlo, to William Lewis of
Nassau, and to other commanders by land and sea. At the same time, the
sixteen members--for no greater number happened to be present at the
session--addressed letters to their absent colleagues, informing them of
the calamity which had befallen them, summoning them at once to
conference, and urging an immediate convocation of the Estates of all the
Provinces in General Assembly. They also addressed strong letters of
encouragement, mingled with manly condolence, upon the common affliction,
to prominent military and naval commanders and civil functionaries,
begging them to "bear themselves manfully and valiantly, without
faltering in the least on account of the great misfortune which had
occurred, or allowing themselves to be seduced by any one from the union
of the States." Among these sixteen were Van Zuylen, Van Nyvelt, the
Seigneur de Warmont, the Advocate of Holland, Paul Buys, Joost de Menin,
and John van Olden-Barneveldt. A noble example was thus set at once to
their fellow citizens by these their representatives--a manful step taken
forward in the path where Orange had so long been leading.

The next movement, after the last solemn obsequies had been rendered to
the Prince was to provide for the immediate wants of his family. For the
man who had gone into the revolt with almost royal revenues, left his
estate so embarrassed that his carpets, tapestries, household linen--nay,
even his silver spoons, and the very clothes of his wardrobe were
disposed of at auction for the benefit of his creditors. He left eleven
children--a son and daughter by the first wife, a son and daughter by
Anna of Saxony, six daughters by Charlotte of Bourbon, and an infant,
Frederic Henry, born six months before his death. The eldest son, Philip
William, had been a captive in Spain for seventeen years, having been
kidnapped from school, in Leyden, in the year 1567. He had already become
so thoroughly Hispaniolized under the masterly treatment of the King and
the Jesuits, that even his face had lost all resemblance to the type of
his heroic family, and had acquired a sinister, gloomy, forbidding
expression, most painful to contemplate. All of good that he had retained
was a reverence for his father's name--a sentiment which he had
manifested to an extravagant extent on a memorable occasion in Madrid, by
throwing out of window, and killing on the spot a Spanish officer who had
dared to mention the great Prince with insult.

The next son was Maurice, then seventeen years of age, a handsome youth,
with dark blue eyes, well-chiselled features, and full red lips, who had
already manifested a courage and concentration of character beyond his
years. The son of William the Silent, the grandson of Maurice of Saxony,
whom he resembled in visage and character, he was summoned by every drop
of blood in his veins to do life-long battle with the spirit of Spanish
absolutism, and he was already girding himself for his life's work. He
assumed at once for his device a fallen oak, with a young sapling
springing from its root. His motto, "Tandem fit surculus arbor," "the
twig shall yet become a tree"--was to be nobly justified by his career.

The remaining son, then a six months' child, was also destined to high
fortunes, and to win an enduring name in his country's history. For the
present he remained with his mother, the noble Louisa de Coligny, who had
thus seen, at long intervals, her father and two husbands fall victims to
the Spanish policy; for it is as certain that Philip knew beforehand, and
testified his approbation of, the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as that he
was the murderer of Orange.

The Estates of Holland implored the widowed Princess to remain in their
territority, settling a liberal allowance upon herself and her child, and
she fixed her residence at Leyden.

But her position was most melancholy. Married in youth to the Seigneur de
Teligny, a young noble of distinguished qualities, she had soon become
both a widow and an orphan in the dread night of St. Bartholomew. She had
made her own escape to Switzerland; and ten years afterwards she had
united herself in marriage with the Prince of Orange. At the age of
thirty-two, she now found herself desolate and wretched in a foreign
land, where she had never felt thoroughly at home. The widow and children
of William the Silent were almost without the necessaries of life. "I
hardly know," wrote the Princess to her brother-in-law, Count John, "how
the children and I are to maintain ourselves according to the honour of
the house. May God provide for us in his bounty, and certainly we have
much need of it." Accustomed to the more luxurious civilisation of
France, she had been amused rather than annoyed, when, on her first
arrival in Holland for her nuptials, she found herself making the journey
from Rotterdam to Delft in an open cart without springs, instead of the
well-balanced coaches to which she had been used, arriving, as might have
been expected, "much bruised and shaken." Such had become the primitive
simplicity of William the Silent's household. But on his death, in
embarrassed circumstances, it was still more straightened. She had no
cause either to love Leyden, for, after the assassination of her husband,
a brutal preacher, Hakkius by name, had seized that opportunity for
denouncing the French marriage, and the sumptuous christening of the
infant in January, as the deeds which had provoked the wrath of God and
righteous chastisement. To remain there in her widowhood, with that six
months' child, "sole pledge of her dead lord, her consolation and only
pleasure," as she pathetically expressed herself, was sufficiently
painful, and she had been inclined to fix her residence in Flushing, in
the edifice which had belonged to her husband, as Marquis of Vere. She
had been persuaded, however, to remain in Holland, although "complaining,
at first, somewhat of the unkindness of the people."

A small well-formed woman, with delicate features, exquisite complexion,
and very beautiful dark eyes, that seemed in after-years, as they looked
from beneath her coif, to be dim with unshed tears; with remarkable
powers of mind, angelic sweetness of disposition, a winning manner, and a
gentle voice, Louisa de Coligny became soon dear to the rough Hollanders,
and was ever a disinterested and valuable monitress both to her own child
and to his elder brother Maurice.

Very soon afterwards the States General established a State Council, as a
provisional executive board, for the term of three months, for the
Provinces of Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Friesland, and such parts of
Flanders and Brabant as still remained in the Union. At the head of this
body was placed young Maurice, who accepted the responsible position,
after three days' deliberation. The young man had been completing his
education, with a liberal allowance from Holland and Zeeland, at the
University of Leyden; and such had been their tender care for the child
of so many hopes, that the Estates had given particular and solemn
warning, by resolution, to his governor during the previous summer, on no
account to allow him to approach the sea-shore, lest he should be
kidnapped by the Prince of Parma, who had then some war-vessels cruising
on the coast.

The salary of Maurice was now fixed at thirty thousand florins a year,
while each of the councillors was allowed fifteen hundred annually, out
of which stipend he was to support at least one servant; without making
any claim for travelling or other incidental expenses.

The Council consisted of three members from Brabant, two from Flanders,
four from Holland, three from Zeeland, two from Utrecht, one from
Mechlin, and three from Friesland--eighteen in all. They were empowered
and enjoined to levy troops by land and sea, and to appoint naval and
military officers; to establish courts of admiralty, to expend the moneys
voted by the States, to maintain the ancient privileges of the country,
and to see that all troops in service of the Provinces made oath of
fidelity to the Union. Diplomatic relations, questions of peace and war,
the treaty-making power, were not entrusted to the Council, without the
knowledge and consent of the States General, which body was to be
convoked twice a year by the State Council.

Thus the Provinces in the hour of danger and darkness were true to
themselves, and were far from giving way to a despondency which under the
circumstances would not have been unnatural.

For the waves of bitterness were rolling far and wide around them. A
medal, struck in Holland at this period, represented a dismasted hulk
reeling through the tempest. The motto, "incertum quo fate ferent" (who
knows whither fate is sweeping her?) expressed most vividly the ship
wrecked condition of the country. Alexander of Parma, the most
accomplished general and one of the most adroit statesmen of the age, was
swift to take advantage of the calamity which had now befallen the
rebellious Provinces. Had he been better provided with men and money, the
cause of the States might have seemed hopeless. He addressed many letters
to the States General, to the magistracies of various cities, and to
individuals, affecting to consider that with the death of Orange had died
all authority, as well as all motive for continuing the contest with
Spain. He offered easy terms of reconciliation with the discarded
monarch--always reserving, however, as a matter of course, the religious
question--for it was as well known to the States as to Parma that there
was no hope of Philip making concessions upon that important point.

In Holland and Zeeland the Prince's blandishments were of no avail. His
letters received in various towns of those Provinces, offered, said one
who saw them, "almost every thing they would have or demand, even till
they should repent." But the bait was not taken. Individuals and
municipalities were alike stanch, remembering well that faith was not to
be kept with heretics. The example was followed by the Estates of other
Provinces, and all sent in to the General Assembly, soon in session at
Delft, "their absolute and irrevocable authority to their deputies to
stand to that which they, the said States General, should dispose of as
to their persons, goods and country; a resolution and agreement which
never concurred before among them, to this day, in what age or government
soever."

It was decreed that no motion of agreement "with the tyrant of Spain"
should be entertained either publicly or privately, "under pain to be
reputed ill patriots." It was also enacted in the city of Dort that any
man that brought letter or message from the enemy to any private person
"should be forthwith hanged." This was expeditious and business-like. The
same city likewise took the lead in recording its determination by public
act, and proclaiming it by sound of trumpet, "to live and die in the
cause now undertaken."

In Flanders and Brabant the spirit was less noble. Those Provinces were
nearly lost already. Bruges seconded Parma's efforts to induce its
sister-city Ghent to imitate its own baseness in surrendering without a
struggle; and that powerful, turbulent, but most anarchical little
commonwealth was but too ready to listen to the voice of the tempter.
"The ducats of Spain, Madam, are trotting about in such fashion," wrote
envoy Des Pruneaux to Catherine de Medici, "that they have vanquished a
great quantity of courages. Your Majesties, too, must employ money if you
wish to advance one step." No man knew better than Parma how to employ
such golden rhetoric to win back a wavering rebel to his loyalty, but he
was not always provided with a sufficient store of those practical
arguments.

He was, moreover, not strong in the field, although he was far superior
to the States at this contingency. He had, besides his garrisons,
something above 18,000 men. The Provinces had hardly 3000 foot and 2500
horse, and these were mostly lying in the neighbourhood of Zutphen.
Alexander was threatening at the same time Ghent, Dendermonde, Mechlin,
Brussels, and Antwerp. These five powerful cities lie in a narrow circle,
at distances varying from six miles to thirty, and are, as it were,
strung together upon the Scheldt, by which river, or its tributary, the
Senne, they are all threaded. It would have been impossible for Parma,
with 100,000 men at his back, to undertake a regular and simultaneous
siege of these important places. His purpose was to isolate them from
each other and from the rest of the country, by obtaining the control of
the great river, and so to reduce them by famine. The scheme was a
masterly one, but even the consummate ability of Farnese would have
proved inadequate to the undertaking, had not the preliminary
assassination of Orange made the task comparatively easy. Treason,
faint-heartedness, jealousy, were the fatal allies that the
Governor-General had reckoned upon, and with reason, in the council-rooms
of these cities. The terms he offered were liberal. Pardon, permission
for soldiers to retreat with technical honour, liberty to choose between
apostacy to the reformed religion or exile, with a period of two years
granted to the conscientious for the winding up of their affairs; these
were the conditions, which seemed flattering, now that the well-known
voice which had so often silenced the Flemish palterers and intriguers
was for ever hushed.

Upon the 17th August (1584) Dendermonde surrendered, and no lives were
taken save those of two preachers, one of whom was hanged, while the
other was drowned. Upon the 7th September Vilvoorde capitulated, by which
event the water-communication between Brussels and Antwerp was cut off.
Ghent, now thoroughly disheartened, treated with Parma likewise; and upon
the 17th September made its reconciliation with the King. The surrender
of so strong and important a place was as disastrous to the cause of the
patriots as it was disgraceful to the citizens themselves. It was,
however, the result of an intrigue which had been long spinning, although
the thread had been abruptly, and, as it was hoped, conclusively, severed
several months before. During the early part of the year, after the
reconciliation of Bruges with the King--an event brought about by the
duplicity and adroitness of Prince Chimay--the same machinery had been
diligently and almost successfully employed to produce a like result in
Ghent. Champagny, brother of the famous Cardinal Granvelle, had been
under arrest for six years in that city. His imprisonment was not a
strict one however; and he avenged himself for what he considered very
unjust treatment at the hands of the patriots, by completely abandoning a
cause which he had once begun to favour. A man of singular ability,
courage, and energy, distinguished both for military and diplomatic
services, he was a formidable enemy to the party from which he was now
for ever estranged. As early as April of this year, secret emissaries of
Parma, dealing with Champagny in his nominal prison, and with the
disaffected burghers at large, had been on the point of effecting an
arrangement with the royal governor. The negotiation had been suddenly
brought to a close by the discovery of a flagrant attempt by Imbue, one
of the secret adherents of the King, to sell the city of Dendermonde, of
which he was governor, to Parma. For this crime he had been brought to
Ghent for trial, and then publicly beheaded. The incident came in aid of
the eloquence of Orange, who, up to the latest moment of his life, had
been most urgent in his appeals to the patriotic hearts of Ghent, not to
abandon the great cause of the union and of liberty. William the Silent
knew full well, that after the withdrawal of the great keystone-city of
Ghent, the chasm between the Celtic-Catholic and the Flemish-Calvinist
Netherlands could hardly be bridged again. Orange was now dead. The
negotiations with France, too, on which those of the Ghenters who still
held true to the national cause had fastened their hopes, had previously
been brought to a stand-still by the death of Anjou; and Champagny,
notwithstanding the disaster to Imbize, became more active than ever. A
private agent, whom the municipal government had despatched to the French
court for assistance, was not more successful than his character and
course of conduct would have seemed to warrant; for during his residence
in Paris, he had been always drunk, and generally abusive. This was not
good diplomacy, particularly on the part of an agent from a weak
municipality to a haughty and most undecided government.

"They found at this court," wrote Stafford to Walsingham, "great fault
with his manner of dealing that was sent from Gaunt. He was scarce sober
from one end of the week to the other, and stood so much on his tiptoes
to have present answer within three days, or else that they of Gaunt
could tell where to bestow themselves. They sent him away after keeping
him three weeks, and he went off in great dudgeon, swearing by yea and
nay that he will make report thereafter."

Accordingly, they of Ghent did bestow themselves very soon thereafter
upon the King of Spain. The terms were considered liberal, but there was,
of course, no thought of conceding the great object for which the
patriots were contending--religious liberty. The municipal
privileges--such as they might prove to be worth under the interpretation
of a royal governor and beneath the guns of a citadel filled with Spanish
troops--were to be guaranteed; those of the inhabitants who did not
choose to go to mass were allowed two years to wind up their affairs
before going into perpetual exile, provided they behaved themselves
"without scandal;" while on the other hand, the King's authority as Count
of Flanders was to be fully recognised, and all the dispossessed monks
and abbots to be restored to their property.

Accordingly, Champagny was rewarded for his exertions by being released
from prison and receiving the appointment of governor of the city: and,
after a very brief interval, about one-half of the population, the most
enterprising of its merchants and manufacturers, the most industrious of
its artizans, emigrated to Holland and Zeeland. The noble city of
Ghent--then as large as Paris, thoroughly surrounded with moats, and
fortified with bulwarks, ravelins, and counterscarps, constructed of
earth, during the previous two years, at great expense, and provided with
bread and meat, powder and shot, enough to last a year--was ignominiously
surrendered. The population, already a very reduced and slender one for
the great extent of the place and its former importance, had been
estimated at 70,000. The number of houses was 35,000, so that as the
inhabitants were soon farther reduced to one-half, there remained but one
individual to each house. On the other hand, the twenty-five monasteries
and convents in the town were repeopled--with how much advantage as a
set-off to the thousands of spinners and weavers who had wandered away,
and who in the flourishing days of Ghent had sent gangs of workmen
through the streets "whose tramp was like that of an army"--may be
sufficiently estimated by the result.

The fall of Brussels was deferred till March, and that of Mechlin (19th
July, 1585) and of Antwerp (19th August, 1585), till Midsummer of the
following year; but, the surrender of Ghent (10th March 1585)
foreshadowed the fate of Flanders and Brabant. Ostend and Sluys, however,
were still in the hands of the patriots, and with them the control of the
whole Flemish coast. The command of the sea was destined to remain for
centuries with the new republic.

The Prince of Parma, thus encouraged by the great success of his
intrigues, was determined to achieve still greater triumphs with his
arms, and steadily proceeded with his large design of closing the
Scheldt--and bringing about the fall of Antwerp. The details of that
siege-one of the most brilliant military operations of the age and one of
the most memorable in its results--will be given, as a connected whole,
in a subsequent series of chapters. For the present, it will be better
for the reader who wishes a clear view of European politics at this
epoch, and of the position of the Netherlands, to give his attention to
the web of diplomatic negotiation and court-intrigue which had been
slowly spreading over the leading states of Christendom, and in which the
fate of the world was involved. If diplomatic adroitness consists mainly
in the power to deceive, never were more adroit diplomatists than those
of the sixteenth century. It would, however, be absurd to deny them a
various range of abilities; and the history of no other age can show more
subtle, comprehensive, indefatigable--but, it must also be added, often
unscrupulous--intellects engaged in the great game of politics in which
the highest interests of millions were the stakes, than were those of
several leading minds in England, France, Germany, and Spain. With such
statesmen the burgher-diplomatists of the new-born commonwealth had to
measure themselves; and the result was to show whether or not they could
hold their own in the cabinet as on the field,

For the present, however, the new state was unconscious of its latent
importance, The new-risen republic remained for a season nebulous, and
ready to unsphere itself so soon as the relative attraction of other
great powers should determine its absorption. By the death of Anjou and
of Orange the United Netherlands had became a sovereign state, an
independent republic; but they stood with that sovereignty in their
hands, offering it alternately, not to the highest bidder, but to the
power that would be willing to accept their allegiance, on the sole
condition of assisting them in the maintenance of their religious
freedom.



CHAPTER II.

   Relations of the Republic to France--Queen's Severity towards
   Catholics and Calvinists--Relative Positions of England and France--
   Timidity of Germany--Apathy of Protestant Germany--Indignation of
   the Netherlanders--Henry III. of France--The King and his Minions--
   Henry of Guise--Henry of Navarre--Power of France--Embassy of the
   States to France--Ignominious position of the Envoys--Views of the
   French Huguenots--Efforts to procure Annexation--Success of Des
   Pruneaux.

The Prince of Orange had always favoured a French policy. He had ever
felt a stronger reliance upon the support of France than upon that of any
other power. This was not unreasonable, and so long as he lived, the
tendency of the Netherlands had been in that direction. It had never been
the wish of England to acquire the sovereignty of the Provinces. In
France on the contrary, the Queen Dowager, Catharine de' Medici had
always coveted that sovereignty for her darling Francis of Alencon; and
the design had been favoured, so far as any policy could be favoured, by
the impotent monarch who occupied the French throne.

The religion of the United Netherlands was Calvinistic. There were also
many Anabaptists in the country. The Queen of England hated Anabaptists,
Calvinists, and other sectarians, and banished them from her realms on
pain of imprisonment and confiscation of property. As firmly opposed as
was her father to the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, she felt much of
the paternal reluctance to accept the spirit of the Reformation. Henry
Tudor hanged the men who believed in the Pope, and burnt alive those who
disbelieved in transubstantiation, auricular confession, and the other
'Six Articles.' His daughter, whatever her secret religious convictions,
was stanch in her resistance to Rome, and too enlightened a monarch not
to see wherein the greatness and glory of England were to be found; but
she had no thought of tolerating liberty of conscience. All opposed to
the Church of England, whether Papists or Puritans, were denounced as
heretics, and as such imprisoned or banished. "To allow churches with
contrary rites and ceremonies," said Elizabeth, "were nothing else but to
sow religion out of religion, to distract good men's minds, to cherish
factious men's humours, to disturb religion and commonwealth, and mingle
divine and human things; which were a thing in deed evil, in example
worst of all; to our own subjects hurtful, and to themselves--to whom it
is granted, neither greatly commodious, nor yet at all safe."--[Camden]
The words were addressed, it is true, to Papists, but there is very
little doubt that Anabaptists or any other heretics would have received a
similar reply, had they, too, ventured to demand the right of public
worship. It may even be said that the Romanists in the earlier days of
Elizabeth's reign fared better than the Calvinists. The Queen neither
banished nor imprisoned the Catholics. She did not enter their houses to
disturb their private religious ceremonies, or to inquire into their
consciences. This was milder treatment than the burning alive, burying
alive, hanging, and drowning, which had been dealt out to the English and
the Netherland heretics by Philip and by Mary, but it was not the spirit
which William the Silent had been wont to manifest in his measures
towards Anabaptists and Papists alike. Moreover, the Prince could hardly
forget that of the nine thousand four hundred Catholic ecclesiastics who
held benefices at the death of Queen Mary, all had renounced the Pope on
the accession of Queen Elizabeth, and acknowledged her as the head of the
church, saving only one hundred and eighty-nine individuals. In the
hearts of the nine thousand two hundred and eleven others, it might be
thought perhaps that some tenderness for the religion from which they had
so suddenly been converted, might linger, while it could hardly be hoped
that they would seek to inculcate in the minds of their flocks or of
their sovereign any connivance with the doctrines of Geneva.

When, at a later period, the plotting of Catholics, suborned by the Pope
and Philip, against the throne and person of the Queen, made more
rigorous measures necessary; when it was thought indispensable to execute
as traitors those Roman seedlings--seminary priests and their
disciples--who went about preaching to the Queen's subjects the duty of
carrying out the bull by which the Bishop of Rome had deposed and
excommunicated their sovereign, and that "it was a meritorious act to
kill such princes as were excommunicate," even then, the men who preached
and practised treason and murder experienced no severer treatment than
that which other "heretics" had met with at the Queen's hands. Jesuits
and Popish priests were, by Act of Parliament, ordered to depart the
realm within forty days. Those who should afterwards return to the
kingdom were to be held guilty of high treason. Students in the foreign
seminaries were commanded to return within six months and recant, or be
held guilty of high treason. Parents and guardians supplying money to
such students abroad were to incur the penalty of a preamunire--perpetual
exile, namely, with loss of all their goods.

Many seminary priests and others were annually executed in England under
these laws, throughout the Queen's reign, but nominally at least they
were hanged not as Papists, but as traitors; not because they taught
transubstantiation, ecclesiastical celibacy, auricular confession, or
even Papal supremacy, but because they taught treason and murder--because
they preached the necessity of killing the Queen. It was not so easy,
however, to defend or even comprehend the banishment and imprisonment of
those who without conspiring against the Queen's life or throne, desired
to see the Church of England reformed according to the Church of Geneva.
Yet there is no doubt that many sectaries experienced much inhuman
treatment for such delinquency, both in the early and the later years of
Elizabeth's reign.

There was another consideration, which had its due weight in this
balance, and that was the respective succession to the throne in the two
kingdoms of France and England. Mary Stuart, the Catholic, the niece of
the Guises, emblem and exponent of all that was most Roman in Europe, the
sworn friend of Philip, the mortal foe to all heresy, was the legitimate
successor to Elizabeth. Although that sovereign had ever refused to
recognize that claim; holding that to confirm Mary in the succession was
to "lay her own winding sheet before her eyes, yea, to make her, own
grave, while she liveth and looketh on;" and although the unfortunate
claimant of two thrones was a prisoner in her enemy's hands, yet, so long
as she lived, there was little security for Protestantism, even in
Elizabeth's lifetime, and less still in case of her sudden death. On the
other hand, not only were the various politico-religious forces of France
kept in equilibrium by their action upon each other--so that it was
reasonable to believe that the House of Valois, however Catholic itself,
would be always compelled by the fast-expanding strength of French
Calvinism, to observe faithfully a compact to tolerate the Netherland
churches--but, upon the death of Henry III. the crown would be
legitimately placed upon the head of the great champion and chief of the
Huguenots, Henry of Navarre.

It was not unnatural, therefore, that the Prince of Orange, a Calvinist
himself, should expect more sympathy with the Netherland reformers in
France than in England. A large proportion of the population of that
kingdom, including an influential part of the nobility, was of the
Huguenot persuasion, and the religious peace, established by royal edict,
had endured so long, that the reformers of France and the Netherlands had
begun to believe in the royal clemency, and to confide in the royal word.
Orange did not live to see the actual formation of the Holy League, and
could only guess at its secrets.

Moreover, it should be remembered that France at that day was a more
formidable state than England, a more dangerous enemy, and, as it was
believed, a more efficient protector. The England of the period, glorious
as it was for its own and all future ages, was, not the great British
Empire of to-day. On the contrary, it was what would now be considered,
statistically speaking, a rather petty power. The England of Elizabeth,
Walsingham, Burghley, Drake, and Raleigh, of Spenser and Shakspeare,
hardly numbered a larger population than now dwells in its capital and
immediate suburbs. It had neither standing army nor considerable royal
navy. It was full of conspirators, daring and unscrupulous, loyal to none
save to Mary of Scotland, Philip of Spain, and the Pope of Rome, and
untiring in their efforts to bring about a general rebellion. With
Ireland at its side, nominally a subject province, but in a state of
chronic insurrection--a perpetual hot-bed for Spanish conspiracy and
stratagem; with Scotland at its back, a foreign country, with half its
population exasperated enemies of England, and the rest but doubtful
friends, and with the legitimate sovereign of that country, "the daughter
of debate, who discord still did sow,"--[Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth.]--a
prisoner in Elizabeth's hands, the central point around which treason was
constantly crystallizing itself, it was not strange that with the known
views of the Queen on the subject of the reformed Dutch religion, England
should seem less desirable as a protector for the Netherlands than the
neighbouring kingdom of France.

Elizabeth was a great sovereign, whose genius Orange always appreciated,
in a comparatively feeble realm. Henry of Valois was the contemptible
monarch of a powerful state, and might be led by others to produce
incalculable mischief or considerable good. Notwithstanding the massacre
of St. Bartholomew, therefore, and the more recent "French fury" of
Antwerp, Orange had been willing to countenance fresh negociations with
France.

Elizabeth, too, it should never be forgotten, was, if not over generous,
at least consistent and loyal in her policy towards the Provinces. She
was not precisely jealous of France, as has been unjustly intimated on
distinguished authority, for she strongly advocated the renewed offer of
the sovereignty to Anjou, after his memorable expulsion from the
Provinces. At that period, moreover, not only her own love-coquetries
with Anjou were over, but he was endeavouring with all his might, though
in secret, to make a match with the younger Infanta of Spain. Elizabeth
furthered the negociation with France, both publicly and privately. It
will soon be narrated how those negociations prospered.

If then England were out of the, question, where, except in France,
should the Netherlanders, not deeming themselves capable of standing
alone, seek for protection and support?

We have seen the extensive and almost ubiquitous power of Spain. Where
she did not command as sovereign, she was almost equally formidable as an
ally. The Emperor of Germany was the nephew and the brother-in-law of
Philip, and a strict Catholic besides. Little aid was to be expected from
him or the lands under his control for the cause of the Netherland
revolt. Rudolph hated his brother-in-law, but lived in mortal fear of
him. He was also in perpetual dread of the Grand Turk. That formidable
potentate, not then the "sick man" whose precarious condition and
territorial inheritance cause so much anxiety in modern days, was, it is
true, sufficiently occupied for the moment in Persia, and had been
sustaining there a series of sanguinary defeats. He was all the more
anxious to remain upon good terms with Philip, and had recently sent him
a complimentary embassy, together with some rather choice presents, among
which were "four lions, twelve unicorns, and two horses coloured white,
black, and blue." Notwithstanding these pacific manifestations towards
the West, however, and in spite of the truce with the German Empire which
the Turk had just renewed for nine years,--Rudolph and his servants still
trembled at every report from the East.

"He is much deceived," wrote Busbecq, Rudolph's ambassador in Paris, "who
doubts that the Turk has sought any thing by this long Persian war, but
to protect his back, and prepare the way, after subduing that enemy, to
the extermination of all Christendom, and that he will then, with all his
might, wage an unequal warfare with us, in which the existence of the
Empire will be at stake."

The envoy expressed, at the same period, however, still greater awe of
Spain. "It is to no one," he wrote, "endowed with good judgment, in the
least obscure, that the Spanish nation, greedy of empire, will never be
quiet, even with their great power, but will seek for the dominion of the
rest of Christendom. How much remains beyond what they have already
acquired? Afterwards, there will soon be no liberty, no dignity, for
other princes and republics. That single nation will be arbiter of all
things, than which nothing can be more miserable, nothing more degrading.
It cannot be doubted that all kings, princes, and states, whose safety or
dignity is dear to them, would willingly associate in arms to extinguish
the common conflagration. The death of the Catholic king would seem the
great opportunity 'miscendis rebus'."

Unfortunately neither Busbecq's master nor any other king or prince
manifested any of this commendable alacrity to "take up arms against the
conflagration." Germany was in a shiver at every breeze from East or
West-trembling alike before Philip and Amurath. The Papists were making
rapid progress, the land being undermined by the steady and stealthy
encroachments of the Jesuits. Lord Burghley sent many copies of his
pamphlet, in Latin, French, and Italian, against the Seminaries, to
Gebhard Truchsess; and the deposed archbishop made himself busy in
translating that wholesome production into German, and in dispersing it
"all Germany over." The work, setting duly forth "that the executions of
priests in England were not for religion but for treason," was
"marvellously liked" in the Netherlands. "In uttering the truth," said
Herle, "'tis likely to do great good;" and he added, that Duke Augustus
of Saxony "did now see so far into the sect of Jesuits, and to their
inward mischiefs, as to become their open enemy, and to make friends
against them in the Empire."

The love of Truchsess for Agnes Mansfeld had created disaster not only
for himself but for Germany. The whole electorate of Cologne had become
the constant seat of partisan warfare, and the resort of organised bands
of brigands. Villages were burned and rifled, highways infested, cities
threatened, and the whole country subjected to perpetual black mail
(brandschatzung)--fire-insurance levied by the incendiaries in person--by
the supporters of the rival bishops. Truchsess had fled to Delft, where
he had been countenanced and supported by Orange. Two cities still held
for him, Rheinberg and Neuss. On the other hand, his rival, Ernest of
Bavaria; supported by Philip II., and the occasional guest of Alexander
of Parma, had not yet succeeded in establishing a strong foothold in the
territory. Two pauper archbishops, without men or means of their own,
were thus pushed forward and back, like puppets, by the contending
highwaymen on either side; while robbery and murder, under the name of
Protestantism or Catholicism, were for a time the only motive or result
of the contest.

Thus along the Rhine, as well as the Maas and the Scheldt, the fires of
civil war were ever burning. Deeper within the heart of Germany, there
was more tranquillity; but it was the tranquillity rather of paralysis
than of health. A fearful account was slowly accumulating, which was
evidently to be settled only by one of the most horrible wars which
history has ever recorded. Meantime there was apathy where there should
have been enthusiasm; parsimony and cowardice where generous and combined
effort were more necessary than ever; sloth without security. The
Protestant princes, growing fat and contented on the spoils of the
church, lent but a deaf ear to the moans of Truchsess, forgetting that
their neighbour's blazing roof was likely soon to fire their own. "They
understand better, 'proximus sum egomet mild'," wrote Lord Willoughby
from Kronenburg, "than they have learned, 'humani nihid a me alienum
puto'. These German princes continue still in their lethargy, careless of
the state of others, and dreaming of their ubiquity, and some of them, it
is thought, inclining to be Spanish or Popish more of late than
heretofore."

The beggared archbishop, more forlorn than ever since the death of his
great patron, cried woe from his resting-place in Delft, upon Protestant
Germany. His tones seemed almost prophetic of the thirty years' wrath to
blaze forth in the next generation. "Courage is wanting to the people
throughout Germany," he wrote to William Lewis of Nassau. "We are
becoming the laughing-stock of the nations. Make sheep of yourselves, and
the wolf will eat you. We shall find our destruction in our immoderate
desire for peace. Spain is making a Papistical league in Germany.
Therefore is Assonleville despatched thither, and that's the reason why
our trash of priests are so insolent in the empire. 'Tis astonishing how
they are triumphing on all sides. God will smite them. Thou dear God!
What are our evangelists about in Germany? Asleep on both ears. 'Dormiunt
in utramque aurem'. I doubt they will be suddenly enough awakened one
day, and the cry will be, 'Who'd have thought it?' Then they will be for
getting oil for the lamp, for shutting the stable-door when the steed is
stolen," and so on, with a string of homely proverbs worthy of Sancho
Panza, or landgrave William of Hesse.

In truth, one of the most painful features is the general aspect of
affairs was the coldness of the German Protestants towards the
Netherlands. The enmity between Lutherans and Calvinists was almost as
fatal as that between Protestants and Papists. There was even a talk, at
a little later period, of excluding those of the "reformed" church from
the benefits of the peace of Passau. The princes had got the Augsburg
confession and the abbey-lands into the bargain; the peasants had got the
Augsburg confession without the abbey-lands, and were to believe exactly
what their masters believed. This was the German-Lutheran
sixteenth-century idea of religious freedom. Neither prince nor peasant
stirred in behalf of the struggling Christians in the United Provinces,
battling, year after year, knee-deep in blood, amid blazing cities and
inundated fields, breast to breast with the yellow jerkined pikemen of
Spain and Italy, with the axe and the faggot and the rack of the Holy
Inquisition distinctly visible behind them. Such were the realities which
occupied the Netherlanders in those days, not watery beams of theological
moonshine, fantastical catechism-making, intermingled with scenes of riot
and wantonness, which drove old John of Nassau half frantic; with
banquetting and guzzling, drinking and devouring, with unchristian
flaunting and wastefulness of apparel, with extravagant and wanton
dancing, and other lewd abominations; all which, the firm old reformer
prophesied, would lead to the destruction of Germany.

For the mass, slow moving but apparently irresistible, of Spanish and
papistical absolutism was gradually closing over Christendom. The
Netherlands were the wedge by which alone the solid bulk could be riven
asunder. It was the cause of German, of French, of English liberty, for
which the Provinces were contending. It was not surprising that they were
bitter, getting nothing in their hour of distress from the land of Luther
but dogmas and Augsburg catechisms instead of money and gunpowder, and
seeing German reiters galloping daily to reinforce the army of Parma in
exchange for Spanish ducats.

Brave old La Noue, with the iron arm, noblest of Frenchmen and
Huguenots--who had just spent five years in Spanish bondage, writing
military discourses in a reeking dungeon, filled with toads and vermin,
after fighting the battle of liberty for a life-time, and with his brave
son already in the Netherlands emulating his father's valour on the same
field--denounced at a little later day, the lukewarmness of Protestant
Germany with whimsical vehemence:--"I am astounded," he cried, "that
these princes are not ashamed of themselves; doing nothing while they see
the oppressed cut to pieces at their gates. When will God grant me grace
to place me among those who are doing their duty, and afar from those who
do nothing, and who ought to know that the cause is a common one. If I am
ever caught dancing the German cotillon, or playing the German flute, or
eating pike with German sauce, I hope it may be flung in my teeth."

The great league of the Pope and Philip was steadily consolidating
itself, and there were but gloomy prospects for the counter-league in
Germany. There was no hope but in England and France. For the reasons
already indicated, the Prince of Orange, taking counsel with the Estates,
had resolved to try the French policy once more. The balance of power in
Europe, which no man in Christendom so well understood as he, was to be
established by maintaining (he thought) the equilibrium between France
and Spain. In the antagonism of those two great realms lay the only hope
for Dutch or European liberty. Notwithstanding the treason of Anjou,
therefore, it had been decided to renew negociations with that Prince. On
the death of the Duke, the envoys of the States were accordingly
instructed to make the offer to King Henry III. which had been intended
for his brother. That proposition was the sovereignty of all the
Netherlands, save Holland and Zeeland, under a constitution maintaining
the reformed religion and the ancient laws and privileges of the
respective provinces.

But the death of Francis of Anjou had brought about a considerable change
in French policy. It was now more sharply defined than ever, a
right-angled triangle of almost mathematical precision. The three Henrys
and their partizans divided the realm into three hostile
camps--threatening each other in simulated peace since the treaty of
Fleig (1580), which had put an end to the "lover's war" of the preceding
year,--Henry of Valois, Henry of Guise, and Henry of Navarre.

Henry III., last of the Valois line, was now thirty-three years of age.
Less than king, less even than man, he was one of those unfortunate
personages who seem as if born to make the idea of royalty ridiculous,
and to test the capacity of mankind to eat and drink humiliation as if it
were wholesome food. It proved how deeply engraved in men's minds of that
century was the necessity of kingship, when the hardy Netherlanders, who
had abjured one tyrant, and had been fighting a generation long rather
than return to him, were now willing to accept the sovereignty of a thing
like Henry of Valois.

He had not been born without natural gifts, such as Heaven rarely denies
to prince or peasant; but the courage which he once possessed had been
exhausted on the field of Moncontour, his manhood had been left behind
him at Venice, and such wit as Heaven had endowed him withal was now
expended in darting viperous epigrams at court-ladies whom he was only
capable of dishonouring by calumny, and whose charms he burned to
outrival in the estimation of his minions. For the monarch of France was
not unfrequently pleased to attire himself like a woman and a harlot.
With silken flounces, jewelled stomacher, and painted face, with pearls
of great price adorning his bared neck and breast, and satin-slippered
feet, of whose delicate shape and size he was justly vain, it was his
delight to pass his days and nights in a ceaseless round of gorgeous
festivals, tourneys, processions; masquerades, banquets, and balls, the
cost of which glittering frivolities caused the popular burthen and the
popular execration to grow, from day to day, more intolerable and more
audible. Surrounded by a gang of "minions," the most debauched and the
most desperate of France, whose bedizened dresses exhaled perfumes
throughout Paris, and whose sanguinary encounters dyed every street in
blood, Henry lived a life of what he called pleasure, careless of what
might come after, for he was the last of his race. The fortunes of his
minions rose higher and higher, as their crimes rendered them more and
more estimable in the eyes of a King who took a woman's pride in the
valour of such champions to his weakness, and more odious to a people
whose miserable homes were made even more miserable, that the coffers of
a few court-favourites might be filled: Now sauntering, full-dressed, in
the public promenades, with ghastly little death's heads strung upon his
sumptuous garments, and fragments of human bones dangling among his
orders of knighthood--playing at cup and ball as he walked, and followed
by a few select courtiers who gravely pursued the same exciting
occupation--now presiding like a queen of beauty at a tournament to
assign the prize of valour, and now, by the advice of his mother, going
about the streets in robes of penitence, telling his beads as he went,
that the populace might be edified by his piety, and solemnly offering up
prayers in the churches that the blessing of an heir might be vouchsafed
to him,--Henry of Valois seemed straining every nerve in order to bring
himself and his great office into contempt.

As orthodox as he was profligate, he hated the Huguenots, who sought his
protection and who could have saved his throne, as cordially as he loved
the Jesuits, who passed their lives in secret plottings against his
authority and his person, or in fierce denunciations from the Paris
pulpits against his manifold crimes. Next to an exquisite and sanguinary
fop, he dearly loved a monk. The presence of a friar, he said, exerted as
agreeable an effect upon his mind as the most delicate and gentle
tickling could produce upon his body; and he was destined to have a
fuller dose of that charming presence than he coveted.

His party--for he was but the nominal chief of a faction, 'tanquam unus
ex nobis'--was the party in possession--the office-holders' party; the
spoilsmen, whose purpose was to rob the exchequer and to enrich
themselves. His minions--for the favourites were called by no other
name--were even more hated, because less despised than the King. Attired
in cloth of gold--for silk and satin were grown too coarse a material for
them--with their little velvet porringer-caps stuck on the sides of their
heads, with their long hair stiff with pomatum, and their heads set
inside a well-starched ruff a foot wide, "like St. John's head in a
charger," as a splenetic contemporary observed, with a nimbus of musk and
violet-powder enveloping them as they passed before vulgar mortals, these
rapacious and insolent courtiers were the impersonation of extortion and
oppression to the Parisian populace. They were supposed, not unjustly, to
pass their lives in dancing, blasphemy, dueling, dicing, and intrigue, in
following the King about like hounds, fawning at his feet, and showing
their teeth to all besides; and for virtues such as these they were
rewarded by the highest offices in church, camp, and state, while new
taxes and imposts were invented almost daily to feed their avarice and
supply their extravagance. France, doomed to feel the beak and talons of
these harpies in its entrails, impoverished by a government that robbed
her at home while it humiliated her abroad, struggled vainly in its
misery, and was now on the verge of another series of internecine
combats--civil war seeming the only alternative to a voluptuous and
licentious peace.

"We all stood here at gaze," wrote ambassador Stafford to Walsingham,
"looking for some great matter to come of this sudden journey to Lyons;
but, as far as men can find, 'parturient montes', for there hath been
nothing but dancing and banquetting from one house to another, bravery in
apparel, glittering like the sun." He, mentioned that the Duke of
Epernon's horse, taking fright at a red cloak, had backed over a
precipice, breaking his own neck, while his master's shoulder merely was
put out of joint. At the same time the Duke of Joyeuse, coming over Mount
Cenis, on his return from Savoy, had broken his wrist. The people, he
said, would rather they had both broken their necks "than any other
joint, the King having racked the nation for their sakes, as he
hath-done." Stafford expressed much compassion for the French in the
plight in which they found themselves. "Unhappy people!" he cried, "to
have such a King, who seeketh nothing but to impoverish them to enrich a
couple, and who careth not what cometh after his death, so that he may
rove on while he liveth, and careth neither for doing his own estate good
nor his neighbour's state harm." Sir Edward added, however, in a
philosophizing vein, worthy of Corporal Nym, that, "seeing we cannot be
so happy as to have a King to concur with us to do us any good, yet we
are happy to have one that his humour serveth him not to concur with
others to do us harm; and 'tis a wisdom for us to follow these humours,
that we may keep him still in that humour, and from hearkening to others
that may egg him on to worse."

It was a dark hour for France, and rarely has a great nation been reduced
to a lower level by a feeble and abandoned government than she was at
that moment under the distaff of Henry III. Society was corrupted to its
core. "There is no more truth, no more justice, no more mercy," moaned
President L'Etoile. "To slander, to lie, to rob, to wench, to steal; all
things are permitted save to do right and to speak the truth." Impiety
the most cynical, debauchery the most unveiled, public and unpunished
homicides, private murders by what was called magic, by poison, by hired
assassins, crimes natural, unnatural, and preternatural, were the common
characteristics of the time. All posts and charges were venal. Great
offices of justice were sold to the highest bidder, and that which was
thus purchased by wholesale was retailed in the same fashion. Unhappy the
pauper client who dreamed of justice at the hands of law. The great
ecclesiastical benefices were equally matter of merchandise, and married
men, women, unborn children, enjoyed revenues as dignitaries of the
church. Infants came into the world, it was said, like the mitre-fish,
stamped with the emblems of place.

"'Twas impossible," said L'Etoile, "to find a crab so tortuous and
backsliding as the government."

This was the aspect of the first of the three factions in France. Such
was the Henry at its head, the representative of royalty.

Henry with the Scar, Duke of Guise, the well-known chief of the house of
Lorraine, was the chief of the extreme papistical party. He was now
thirty-four years of age, tall, stately, with a dark, martial face and
dangerous eyes, which Antonio Moro loved to paint; a physiognomy made
still more expressive by the arquebus-shot which had damaged his left
cheek at the fight near Chateau-Thierry and gained him his name of
Balafre. Although one of the most turbulent and restless plotters of that
plotting age, he was yet thought more slow and heavy in character than
subtle, Teutonic rather than Italian. He was the idol of the Parisian
burghers. The grocers, the market-men, the members of the arquebus and
crossbow clubs, all doated on him. The fishwomen worshipped him as a god.
He was the defender of the good old religion under which Paris and the
other cities of France had thriven, the uncompromising opponent of the
new-fangled doctrines which western clothiers, and dyers, and
tapestry-workers, had adopted, and which the nobles of the
mountain-country, the penniless chevaliers of Bearn and Gascony and
Guienne, were ceaselessly taking the field and plunging France into
misery and bloodshed to support. But for the Balafre and Madam League--as
the great Spanish Catholic conspiracy against the liberties of France,
and of England, and of all Europe, was affectionately termed by the Paris
populace--honest Catholics would fare no better in France than they did
in England, where, as it was well known, they were every day subjected to
fearful tortures: The shopwindows were filled with coloured engravings,
representing, in exaggerated fashion, the sufferings of the English
Catholics under bloody Elizabeth, or Jezebel, as she was called; and as
the gaping burghers stopped to ponder over these works of art, there were
ever present, as if by accident, some persons of superior information who
would condescendingly explain the various pictures, pointing out with a
long stick the phenomena most worthy of notice. These caricatures proving
highly successful, and being suppressed by order of government, they were
repeated upon canvas on a larger scale, in still more conspicuous
situations, as if in contempt of the royal authority, which sullied
itself by compromise with Calvinism! The pulpits, meanwhile, thundered
denunciations on the one hand against the weak and wicked King, who
worshipped idols, and who sacrificed the dearly-earned pittance of his
subjects to feed the insolent pomp of his pampered favourites; and on the
other, upon the arch-heretic, the arch-apostate, the Bearnese Huguenot,
who, after the death of the reigning monarch, would have the effrontery
to claim his throne, and to introduce into France the persecutions and
the horrors under which unhappy England was already groaning.

The scarce-concealed instigator of these assaults upon the royal and upon
the Huguenot faction was, of course, the Duke of Guise,--the man whose
most signal achievement had been the Massacre of St. Bartholomew--all the
preliminary details of that transaction having been arranged by his
skill. So long as Charles IX. was living, the Balafre had created the
confusion which was his element, by entertaining and fomenting the
perpetual intrigues of Anjou and Alencon against their brother; while the
altercations between them and the Queen Mother and the furious madman who
then sat upon the throne, had been the cause of sufficient disorder and
calamity for France. On the death of Charles IX. Guise had sought the
intimacy of Henry of Navarre, that by his means he might frustrate the
hopes of Alencon for the succession. During the early period of the
Bearnese's residence at the French court the two had been inseparable,
living together, going to the same festivals, tournaments, and
masquerades, and even sleeping in the same bed. "My master," was ever
Guise's address to Henry; "my gossip," the young King of Navarre's reply.
But the crafty Bearnese had made use of the intimacy only to read the
secrets of the Balafre's heart; and on Navarre's flight from the court,
and his return to Huguenotism, Guise knew that he had been played upon by
a subtler spirit than his own. The simulated affection was now changed
into undisguised hatred. Moreover, by the death of Alencon, Navarre now
stood next the throne, and Guise's plots became still more extensive and
more open as his own ambition to usurp the crown on the death of the
childless Henry III. became more fervid.

Thus, by artfully inflaming the populace of Paris, and through his
organized bands of confederates--that of all the large towns of France,
against the Huguenots and their chief, by appeals to the religious
sentiment; and at the same time by stimulating the disgust and
indignation of the tax-payers everywhere at the imposts and heavy
burthens which the boundless extravagance of the court engendered, Guise
paved the way for the advancement of the great League which he
represented. The other two political divisions were ingeniously
represented as mere insolent factions, while his own was the true
national and patriotic party, by which alone the ancient religion and the
cherished institutions of France could be preserved.

And the great chief of this national patriotic party was not Henry of
Guise, but the industrious old man who sat writing despatches in the
depths of the Escorial. Spanish counsels, Spanish promises, Spanish
ducats--these were the real machinery by which the plots of Guise against
the peace of France and of Europe were supported. Madam League was simply
Philip II. Nothing was written, officially or unofficially, to the French
government by the Spanish court that was not at the same time
communicated to "Mucio"--as the Duke of Guise was denominated in the
secret correspondence of Philip, and Mucio was in Philip's pay, his
confidential agent, spy, and confederate, long before the actual
existence of the League was generally suspected.

The Queen-Mother, Catharine de' Medici, played into the Duke's hands.
Throughout the whole period of her widowhood, having been accustomed to
govern her sons, she had, in a certain sense, been used to govern the
kingdom. By sowing dissensions among her own children, by inflaming party
against party, by watching with care the oscillations of France--so than
none of the great divisions should obtain preponderance--by alternately
caressing and massacring the Huguenots, by cajoling or confronting
Philip, by keeping, as she boasted, a spy in every family that possessed
the annual income of two thousand livres, by making herself the head of
an organized system of harlotry, by which the soldiers and politicians of
France were inveigled, their secrets faithfully revealed to her by her
well-disciplined maids of honour, by surrounding her unfortunate sons
with temptation from earliest youth, and plunging them by cold
calculation into deepest debauchery, that their enervated faculties might
be ever forced to rely in political affairs on the maternal counsel, and
to abandon the administration to the maternal will; such were the arts by
which Catharine had maintained her influence, and a great country been
governed for a generation--Machiavellian state-craft blended with the
more simple wiles of a procuress.

Now that Alencon was dead, and Henry III. hopeless of issue, it was her
determination that the children of her daughter, the Duchess of Lorraine,
should succeed to the throne. The matter was discussed as if the throne
were already vacant, and Guise and the Queen-Mother, if they agreed in
nothing else, were both cordial in their detestation of Henry of Navarre.
The Duke affected to support the schemes in favour of his relatives, the
Princes of Lorraine, while he secretly informed the Spanish court that
this policy was only a pretence. He was not likely, he said, to advance
the interests of the younger branch of a house of which he was himself
the chief, nor were their backs equal to the burthen. It was necessary to
amuse the old queen, but he was profoundly of opinion that the only
sovereign for France, upon the death of Henry, was Philip II. himself.
This was the Duke's plan of arriving, by means of Spanish assistance, at
the throne of France; and such was Henry le Balafre, chief of the League.

And the other Henry, the Huguenot, the Bearnese, Henry of Bourbon, Henry
of Navarre, the chieftain of the Gascon chivalry, the king errant, the
hope and the darling of the oppressed Protestants in every land--of him
it is scarce needful to say a single word. At his very name a figure
seems to leap forth from the mist of three centuries, instinct with ruddy
vigorous life. Such was the intense vitality of the Bearnese prince, that
even now he seems more thoroughly alive and recognizable than half the
actual personages who are fretting their hour upon the stage.

We see, at once, a man of moderate stature, light, sinewy, and strong; a
face browned with continual exposure; small, mirthful, yet commanding
blue eyes, glittering from beneath an arching brow, and prominent
cheekbones; a long hawk's nose, almost resting upon a salient chin, a
pendent moustache, and a thick, brown, curly beard, prematurely grizzled;
we see the mien of frank authority and magnificent good humour, we hear
the ready sallies of the shrewd Gascon mother-wit, we feel the
electricity which flashes out of him, and sets all hearts around him on
fire, when the trumpet sounds to battle. The headlong desperate charge,
the snow-white plume waving where the fire is hottest, the large capacity
for enjoyment of the man, rioting without affectation in the 'certaminis
gaudia', the insane gallop, after the combat, to lay its trophies at the
feet of the Cynthia of the minute, and thus to forfeit its fruits; all
are as familiar to us as if the seven distinct wars, the hundred pitched
battles, the two hundred sieges; in which the Bearnese was personally
present, had been occurrences of our own day.

He at least was both king and man, if the monarch who occupied the throne
was neither. He was the man to prove, too, for the instruction of the
patient letter-writer of the Escorial, that the crown of France was to be
won with foot in stirrup and carbine in hand, rather than to be caught by
the weaving and casting of the most intricate nets of diplomatic
intrigue, though thoroughly weighted with Mexican gold.

The King of Navarre was now thirty-one years old; for the three Henrys
were nearly of the same age. The first indications of his existence had
been recognized amid the cannon and trumpets of a camp in Picardy, and
his mother had sung a gay Bearnese song as he was coming into the world
at Pau. Thus, said his grandfather, Henry of Navarre, thou shalt not bear
to us a morose and sulky child. The good king, without a kingdom, taking
the child, as soon as born, in the lappel of his dressing-gown, had
brushed his infant lips with a clove of garlic, and moistened them with a
drop of generous Gascon wine. Thus, said the grandfather again, shall the
boy be both merry and bold. There was something mythologically prophetic
in the incidents of his birth.

The best part of Navarre had been long since appropriated by Ferdinand of
Aragon. In France there reigned a young and warlike sovereign with four
healthy boys. But the new-born infant had inherited the lilies of France
from St. Louis, and a later ancestor had added to the escutcheon the
motto "Espoir." His grandfather believed that the boy was born to revenge
upon Spain the wrongs of the House of Albret, and Henry's nature seemed
ever pervaded with Robert of Clermont's device.

The same sensible grandfather, having different views on the subject of
education from those manifested by Catherine de Medici towards her
children, had the boy taught to run about bare-headed and bare-footed,
like a peasant, among the mountains and rocks of Bearn, till he became as
rugged as a young bear, and as nimble as a kid. Black bread, and beef,
and garlic, were his simple fare; and he was taught by his mother and his
grandfather to hate lies and liars, and to read the Bible.

When he was fifteen, the third religious war broke out. Both his father
and grandfather were dead. His mother, who had openly professed the
reformed faith, since the death of her husband, who hated it, brought her
boy to the camp at Rochelle, where he was received as the chief of the
Huguenots. His culture was not extensive. He had learned to speak the
truth, to ride, to shoot, to do with little sleep and less food. He could
also construe a little Latin, and had read a few military treatises; but
the mighty hours of an eventful life were now to take him by the hand,
and to teach him much good and much evil, as they bore him onward. He now
saw military treatises expounded practically by professors, like his
uncle Condo, and Admiral Coligny, and Lewis Nassau, in such lecture-rooms
as Laudun, and Jarnac, and Montcontour, and never was apter scholar.

The peace of Arnay-le-Duc succeeded, and then the fatal Bartholomew
marriage with the Messalina of Valois. The faith taught in the mountains
of Bearn was no buckler against the demand of "the mass or death,"
thundered at his breast by the lunatic Charles, as he pointed to
thousands of massacred Huguenots. Henry yielded to such conclusive
arguments, and became a Catholic. Four years of court imprisonment
succeeded, and the young King of Navarre, though proof to the artifices
of his gossip Guise, was not adamant to the temptations spread for him by
Catherine de' Medici. In the harem entertained for him in the Louvre many
pitfalls entrapped him; and he became a stock-performer in the state
comedies and tragedies of that plotting age.

A silken web of palace-politics, palace-diplomacy, palace revolutions,
enveloped him. Schemes and counter-schemes, stratagems and conspiracies,
assassinations and poisonings; all the state-machinery which worked so
exquisitely in fair ladies' chambers, to spread havoc and desolation over
a kingdom, were displayed before his eyes. Now campaigning with one royal
brother against Huguenots, now fighting with another on their side, now
solicited by the Queen-Mother to attempt the life of her son, now
implored by Henry III. to assassinate his brother, the Bearnese, as fresh
antagonisms, affinities; combinations, were developed, detected,
neutralized almost daily, became rapidly an adept in Medicean
state-chemistry. Charles IX. in his grave, Henry III. on the throne,
Alencon in the Huguenot camp--Henry at last made his escape. The brief
war and peace of Monsieur succeeded, and the King of Navarre formally
abjured the Catholic creed. The parties were now sharply defined. Guise
mounted upon the League, Henry astride upon the Reformation, were
prepared to do battle to the death. The temporary "war of the amorous"
was followed by the peace of Fleix.

Four years of peace again; four fat years of wantonness and riot
preceding fourteen hungry famine-stricken years of bloodiest civil war.
The voluptuousness and infamy of the Louvre were almost paralleled in
vice, if not in splendour, by the miniature court at Pau. Henry's Spartan
grandfather would scarce have approved the courses of the youth, whose
education he had commenced on so simple a scale. For Margaret of Valois,
hating her husband, and living in most undisguised and promiscuous
infidelity to him, had profited by her mother's lessons. A seraglio of
maids of honour ministered to Henry's pleasures, and were carefully
instructed that the peace and war of the kingdom were playthings in their
hands. While at Paris royalty was hopelessly sinking in a poisonous
marsh, there was danger that even the hardy nature of the Bearnese would
be mortally enervated by the atmosphere in which he lived.

The unhappy Henry III., baited by the Guises, worried by Alencon and his
mother, implored the King of Navarre to return to Paris and the Catholic
faith. M. de Segur, chief of Navarre's council, who had been won over
during a visit to the capital, where he had made the discovery that
"Henry III. was an angel, and his ministers devils," came back to Pau,
urging his master's acceptance of the royal invitation. Henry wavered.
Bold D'Aubigne, stanchest of Huguenots, and of his friends, next day
privately showed Segur a palace-window opening on a very steep precipice
over the Bayae, and cheerfully assured him that he should be flung from
it did he not instantly reverse his proceedings, and give his master
different advice. If I am not able to do the deed myself, said D'Aubigne,
here are a dozen more to help me. The chief of the council cast a glance
behind him, saw a number of grim Puritan soldiers, with their hats
plucked down upon their brows, looking very serious; so made his bow, and
quite changed his line of conduct.

At about the same time, Philip II. confidentially offered Henry of
Navarre four hundred thousand crowns in hand, and twelve hundred thousand
yearly, if he would consent to make war upon Henry III. Mucio, or the
Duke of Guise, being still in Philip's pay, the combination of Leaguers
and Huguenots against the unfortunate Valois would, it was thought, be a
good triangular contest.

But Henry--no longer the unsophisticated youth who had been used to run
barefoot among the cliffs of Coarasse--was grown too crafty a politician
to be entangled by Spanish or Medicean wiles. The Duke of Anjou was now
dead. Of all the princes who had stood between him and the throne, there
was none remaining save the helpless, childless, superannuated youth, who
was its present occupant. The King of Navarre was legitimate heir to the
crown of France. "Espoir" was now in letters of light upon his shield,
but he knew that his path to greatness led through manifold dangers, and
that it was only at the head of his Huguenot chivalry that he could cut
his way. He was the leader of the nobles of Gascony, and Dauphins, and
Guienne, in their mountain fastnesses, of the weavers, cutlers, and
artizans, in their thriving manufacturing and trading towns. It was not
Spanish gold, but carbines and cutlasses, bows and bills, which could
bring him to the throne of his ancestors.

And thus he stood the chieftain of that great austere party of Huguenots,
the men who went on, their knees before the battle, beating their breasts
with their iron gauntlets, and singing in full chorus a psalm of David,
before smiting the Philistines hip and thigh.

Their chieftain, scarcely their representative--fit to lead his Puritans
on the battle-field, was hardly a model for them elsewhere. Yet, though
profligate in one respect, he was temperate in every other. In food,
wine, and sleep, he was always moderate. Subtle and crafty in
self-defence, he retained something of his old love of truth, of his
hatred for liars. Hardly generous perhaps, he was a friend of justice,
while economy in a wandering King, like himself, was a necessary virtue,
of which France one day was to feel the beneficent action. Reckless and
headlong in appearance, he was in truth the most careful of men. On the
religious question, most cautious of all, he always left the door open
behind him, disclaimed all bigotry of opinion, and earnestly implored the
Papists to seek, not his destruction, but his instruction. Yet prudent as
he was by nature in every other regard, he was all his life the slave of
one woman or another, and it was by good luck rather than by sagacity
that he did not repeatedly forfeit the fruits of his courage and conduct,
in obedience to his master-passion.

Always open to conviction on the subject of his faith, he repudiated the
appellation of heretic. A creed, he said, was not to be changed like a
shirt, but only on due deliberation, and under special advice. In his
secret heart he probably regarded the two religions as his chargers, and
was ready to mount alternately the one or the other, as each seemed the
more likely to bear him safely in the battle. The Bearnese was no
Puritan, but he was most true to himself and to his own advancement. His
highest principle of action was to reach his goal, and to that principle
he was ever loyal. Feeling, too, that it was the interest of France that
he should succeed, he was even inspired--compared with others on the
stage--by an almost lofty patriotism.

Amiable by nature and by habit, he had preserved the most unimpaired
good-humour throughout the horrible years which succeeded St.
Bartholomew, during which he carried his life in his hand, and learned
not to wear his heart upon his sleeve. Without gratitude, without
resentment, without fear, without remorse, entirely arbitrary, yet with
the capacity to use all men's judgments; without convictions, save in
regard to his dynastic interests, he possessed all the qualities,
necessary to success. He knew how to use his enemies. He knew how to use
his friends, to abuse them, and to throw them away. He refused to
assassinate Francis Alencon at the bidding of Henry III., but he
attempted to procure the murder of the truest of his own friends, one of
the noblest characters of the age--whose breast showed twelve scars
received in his services--Agrippa D'Aubigne, because the honest soldier
had refused to become his pimp--a service the King had implored upon his
knees.

Beneath the mask of perpetual careless good-humour, lurked the keenest
eye, a subtle, restless, widely combining brain, and an iron will. Native
sagacity had been tempered into consummate elasticity by the fiery
atmosphere in which feebler natures had been dissolved. His wit was as
flashing and as quickly unsheathed as his sword. Desperate, apparently
reckless temerity on the battle-field was deliberately indulged in, that
the world might be brought to recognise a hero and chieftain in a King.
The do-nothings of the Merovingian line had been succeeded by the Pepins;
to the effete Carlovingians had come a Capet; to the impotent Valois
should come a worthier descendant of St. Louis. This was shrewd Gascon
calculation, aided by constitutional fearlessness. When despatch-writing,
invisible Philips, stargazing Rudolphs, and petticoated Henrys, sat upon
the thrones of Europe, it was wholesome to show the world that there was
a King left who could move about in the bustle and business of the age,
and could charge as well as most soldiers at the head of his cavalry;
that there was one more sovereign fit to reign over men, besides the
glorious Virgin who governed England.

Thus courageous, crafty, far-seeing, consistent, untiring, imperturbable,
he was born to command, and had a right to reign. He had need of the
throne, and the throne had still more need of him.

This then was the third Henry, representative of the third side of the
triangle, the reformers of the kingdom.

And before this bubbling cauldron of France, where intrigues, foreign and
domestic, conflicting ambitions, stratagems, and hopes, were whirling in
never-ceasing tumult, was it strange if the plain Netherland envoys
should stand somewhat aghast?

Yet it was necessary that they should ponder well the aspect of affairs;
for all their hopes, the very existence of themselves and of their
religion, depended upon the organization which should come of this chaos.

It must be remembered, however, that those statesmen--even the wisest or
the best-informed of them--could not take so correct a view of France and
its politics as it is possible for us, after the lapse of three
centuries, to do. The interior leagues, subterranean schemes, conflicting
factions, could only be guessed at; nor could the immediate future be
predicted, even by such far-seeing politicians as William of Orange; at a
distance, or Henry of Navarre, upon the spot.

It was obvious to the Netherlanders that France, although torn by
faction, was a great and powerful realm. There had now been, with the
brief exception of the lovers' war in 1580, a religious peace of eight
years' duration. The Huguenots had enjoyed tranquil exercise of their
worship during that period, and they expressed perfect confidence in the
good faith of the King. That the cities were inordinately taxed to supply
the luxury of the court could hardly be unknown to the Netherlanders.
Nevertheless they knew that the kingdom was the richest and most populous
of Christendom, after that of Spain. Its capital, already called by
contemporaries the "compendium of the world," was described by travellers
as "stupendous in extent and miraculous for its numbers." It was even
said to contain eight hundred thousand souls; and although, its actual
population did not probably exceed three hundred and twenty thousand, yet
this was more than double the number of London's inhabitants, and thrice
as many as Antwerp could then boast, now that a great proportion of its
foreign denizens had been scared away. Paris was at least by one hundred
thousand more populous than any city of Europe, except perhaps the remote
and barbarous Moscow, while the secondary cities of France, Rouen in the
north, Lyons in the centre, and Marseilles in the south, almost equalled
in size, business, wealth, and numbers, the capitals of other countries.
In the whole kingdom were probably ten or twelve millions of inhabitants,
nearly as many as in Spain, without her colonies, and perhaps three times
the number that dwelt in England.

In a military point of view, too, the alliance of France was most
valuable to the contiguous Netherlands. A few regiments of French troops,
under the command of one of their experienced Marshals, could block up
the Spaniards in the Walloon Provinces, effectually stop their operations
against Ghent, Antwerp, and the other great cities of Flanders and
Brabant, and, with the combined action of the United Provinces on the
north, so surround and cripple the forces of Parma, as to reduce the
power of Philip, after a few vigorous and well-concerted blows, to an
absolute nullity in, the Low Countries. As this result was of as vital
importance to the real interests of France and of Europe, whether
Protestant or Catholic, as it was to the Provinces, and as the French
government had privately manifested a strong desire to oppose the
progress of Spain towards universal empire, it was not surprising that
the States General, not feeling capable of standing alone, should make
their application to France. This they had done with the knowledge and
concurrence of the English government. What lay upon the surface the
Netherland statesmen saw and pondered well. What lurked beneath, they
surmised as shrewdly as they could, but it was impossible, with plummet
and fathom-line ever in hand, to sound the way with perfect accuracy,
where the quicksands were ever shifting, and the depth or shallowness of
the course perpetually varying. It was not easy to discover the
intentions of a government which did not know its own intentions, and
whose changing policy was controlled by so many hidden currents.

Moreover, as already indicated, the envoys and those whom they
represented had not the same means of arriving at a result as are granted
to us. Thanks to the liberality of many modern governments of Europe, the
archives where the state-secrets of the buried centuries have so long
mouldered, are now open to the student of history. To him who has
patience and industry many mysteries are thus revealed, which no
political sagacity or critical acumen could have divined. He leans over
the shoulder of Philip the Second at his writing-table, as the King
spells patiently out, with cipher-key in hand, the most concealed
hieroglyphics of Parma or Guise or Mendoza. He reads the secret thoughts
of "Fabius,"--[The name usually assigned to Philip himself in the
Paris-Simancas Correspondence.]--as that cunctative Roman scrawls his
marginal apostilles on each despatch; he pries into all the stratagems of
Camillus, Hortensius, Mucius, Julius, Tullius, and the rest of those
ancient heroes who lent their names to the diplomatic masqueraders of the
16th century; he enters the cabinet of the deeply-pondering Burghley, and
takes from the most private drawer the memoranda which record that
minister's unutterable doubtings; he pulls from the dressing-gown folds
of the stealthy, softly-gliding Walsingham the last secret which he has
picked from the Emperor's pigeon-holes, or the Pope's pocket, and which,
not Hatton, nor Buckhurst, nor Leicester, nor the Lord Treasurer, is to
see; nobody but Elizabeth herself; he sits invisible at the most secret
councils of the Nassaus and Barneveldt and Buys, or pores with Farnese
over coming victories, and vast schemes of universal conquest; he reads
the latest bit of scandal, the minutest characteristic of king or
minister, chronicled by the gossiping Venetians for the edification of
the Forty; and, after all this prying and eavesdropping, having seen the
cross-purposes, the bribings, the windings, the fencings in the dark, he
is not surprised, if those who were systematically deceived did not
always arrive at correct conclusions.

Noel de Caron, Seigneur de Schoneval, had been agent of the States at the
French court at the time of the death of the Duke of Anjou. Upon the
occurrence of that event, La Mouillerie and Asseliers were deputed by the
Provinces to King Henry III., in order to offer him the sovereignty,
which they had intended to confer upon his brother. Meantime that
brother, just before his death, and with the privity of Henry, had been
negotiating for a marriage with the younger daughter of Philip II.--an
arrangement somewhat incompatible with his contemporaneous scheme to
assume the sovereignty of Philip's revolted Provinces. An attempt had
been made at the same time to conciliate the Duke of Savoy, and invite
him to the French court; but the Duc de Joyeuse, then on his return from
Turin, was bringing the news, not only that the match with Anjou was not
favored--which, as Anjou was dead, was of no great consequence--but that
the Duke of Savoy was himself to espouse the Infanta, and was therefore
compelled to decline the invitation to Paris, for fear of offending his
father-in-law. Other matters were in progress, to be afterwards
indicated, very much interfering with the negotiations of the Netherland
envoys.

When La Mouillerie and Asseliers arrived at Rouen, on their road from
Dieppe to Paris, they received a peremptory order from the Queen-Mother
to proceed no farther. This prohibition was brought by an unofficial
personage, and was delivered, not to them, but to Des Pruneaux, French
envoy to the States General, who had accompanied the envoys to France.

After three weeks' time, during which they "kept themselves continually
concealed in Rouen," there arrived in that city a young nephew of
Secretary Brulart, who brought letters empowering him to hear what they
had in charge for the King. The envoys, not much flattered by such
cavalier treatment on the part of him to, whom they were offering a
crown, determined to digest the affront as they best might, and, to save
time, opened the whole business to this subordinate stripling. He
received from them accordingly an ample memoir to be laid before his
Majesty, and departed by the post the same night. Then they waited ten
days longer, concealed as if they had been thieves or spies, rather than
the representatives of a friendly power, on a more than friendly errand.

At last, on the 24th July 1854, after the deputies had been thus shut up
a whole month, Secretary Brulart himself arrived from Fontainebleau.

He stated that the King sent his royal thanks to the States for the offer
which they had made him, and to the deputies in particular for taking the
trouble of so long a journey; but that he did not find his realm in
condition to undertake a foreign war so inopportunely. In every other
regard, his Majesty offered the States "all possible favours and
pleasures."

Certainly, after having been thus kept in prison for a month, the
ambassadors had small cause to be contented with this very cold
communication. To be forbidden the royal presence, and to be turned out
of the country without even an official and accredited answer to a
communication in which they had offered the sovereignty of their
fatherland, was not flattering to their dignity. "We little thought,"
said they to Brulart, after a brief consultation among themselves, "to
receive such a reply as this. It displeases us infinitely that his
Majesty will not do us the honour to grant us an audience. We must take
the liberty of saying, that 'tis treating the States, our masters, with
too much contempt. Who ever heard before of refusing audience to public
personages? Kings often grant audience to mere letter-carriers. Even the
King of Spain never refused a hearing to the deputies from the
Netherlands when they came to Spain to complain of his own government.
The States General have sent envoys to many other kinds and princes, and
they have instantly granted audience in every case. His Majesty, too, has
been very ill-informed of the contracts which we formerly made with the
Duke of Anjou, and therefore a personal interview is the more necessary."
As the envoys were obstinate on the point of Paris, Brulart said "that
the King, although he should himself be at Lyons, would not prevent any
one from going to the capital on his own private affairs; but would
unquestionably take it very ill if, they should visit that city in a
public manner, and as deputies."

Des Pruneaux professed himself "very grievous at this result, and
desirous of a hundred deaths in consequence."

They stated that they should be ready within a month to bring an army of
3,000 horse and 13,000 foot into the field for the relief of Ghent,
besides their military operations against Zutphen; and that the enemy had
recently been ignominiously defeated in his attack upon Fort Lille, and
had lost 2,000 of his best soldiers.

Here were encouraging facts; and it certainly was worth the while of the
French sovereign to pause a moment before rejecting without a hearing,
the offer of such powerful and conveniently-situated provinces.

Des Pruneaux, a man of probity and earnestness, but perhaps of
insufficient ability to deal with such grave matters as now fell almost
entirely upon his shoulders, soon afterwards obtained audience of the
King. Being most sincerely in favour of the annexation of the Netherlands
to France, and feeling that now or never was the opportunity of bringing
it about, he persuaded the King to send him back to the Provinces, in
order to continue the negotiation directly with the States General. The
timidity and procrastination of the court could be overcome no further.

The two Dutch envoys, who had stolen secretly to Paris, were indulged in
a most barren and unmeaning interview with the Queen-Mother. Before their
departure from France, however, they had the advantage of much
conversation with leading members of the royal council, of the
parliaments of Paris and Rouen, and also with various persons professing
the reformed religion. They endeavoured thus to inform themselves, as
well as they could, why the King made so much difficulty in accepting
their propositions, and whether, and by what means, his Majesty could be
induced to make war in their behalf upon the King of Spain.

They were informed that, should Holland and Zeeland unite with the rest
of the Netherlands, the King "without any doubt would undertake the cause
most earnestly." His councillors, also--even those who had been most
active in dissuading his Majesty from such a policy--would then be
unanimous in supporting the annexation of the Provinces and the war with
Spain. In such a contingency, with the potent assistance of Holland and
Zeeland, the King would have little difficulty, within a very short time,
in chasing every single Spaniard out of the Netherlands. To further this
end, many leading personages in France avowed to the envoys their
determination "to venture their lives and their fortunes, and to use all
the influence which they possessed at court."

The same persons expressed their conviction that the King, once satisfied
by the Provinces as to conditions and reasons, would cheerfully go into
the war, without being deterred by any apprehension as to the power of
Spain. It was, however, fitting that each Province should chaffer as
little as possible about details, but should give his Majesty every
reasonable advantage. They should remember that they were dealing with "a
great, powerful monarch, who was putting his realm in jeopardy, and not
with a Duke of Anjou, who had every thing to gain and nothing to lose."

All the Huguenots, with whom the envoys conversed, were excessively
sanguine. Could the King be once brought they said, to promise the
Netherlands his protection, there was not the least fear but that he
would keep his word. He would use all the means within his power; "yea,
he would take the crown from his head," rather than turn back. Although
reluctant to commence a war with so powerful a sovereign, having once
promised his help, he would keep his pledge to the utmost, "for he was a
King of his word," and had never broken and would never break his faith
with those of the reformed religion.

Thus spoke the leading Huguenots of France, in confidential communication
with the Netherland envoys, not many months before the famous edict of
extermination, published at Nemours.

At that moment the reformers were full of confidence; not foreseeing the
long procession of battles and sieges which was soon to sweep through the
land. Notwithstanding the urgency of the Papists for their extirpation,
they extolled loudly the liberty of religious worship which Calvinists,
as well as Catholics, were enjoying in France, and pointed to the fact
that the adherents of both religions were well received at court, and
that they shared equally in offices of trust and dignity throughout the
kingdom.

The Netherland envoys themselves bore testimony to the undisturbed
tranquillity and harmony in which the professors of both religions were
living and worshipping side by side "without reproach or quarrel" in all
the great cities which they had visited. They expressed the conviction
that the same toleration would be extended to all the Provinces when
under French dominion; and, so far as their ancient constitutions and
privileges were concerned, they were assured that the King of France
would respect and maintain them with as much fidelity as the States could
possibly desire.

Des Pruneaux, accompanied by the two States' envoys, departed forthwith
for the Netherlands. On the 24th August, 1584 he delivered a discourse
before the States General, in which he disclosed, in very general terms,
the expectations of Henry III., and intimated very clearly that the
different Provinces were to lose no time in making an unconditional offer
to that monarch. With regard to Holland and Zeeland he observed that he
was provided with a special commission to those Estates. It was not long
before one Province after the other came to the conclusion to offer the
sovereignty to the King without written conditions, but with a general
understanding that their religious freedom and their ancient
constitutions were to be sacredly respected. Meantime, Des Pruneaux made
his appearance in Holland and Zeeland, and declared the King's intentions
of espousing the cause of the States, and of accepting the sovereignty of
all the Provinces. He distinctly observed, however, that it was as
sovereign, not as protector, that his Majesty must be recognised in
Holland and Zeeland, as well as in the rest of the country.

Upon this grave question there was much debate and much difference of
opinion. Holland and Zeeland had never contemplated the possibility of
accepting any foreign sovereignty, and the opponents of the present
scheme were loud and angry, but very reasonable in their remarks.

The French, they said, were no respecters of privileges nor of persons.
The Duke of Anjou had deceived William of Orange and betrayed the
Provinces. Could they hope to see farther than that wisest and most
experienced prince? Had not the stout hearts of the Antwerp burghers
proved a stronger defence to Brabant liberties than the "joyous entry" on
the dread day of the "French fury," it would have fared ill then and for
ever with the cause of freedom and religion in the Netherlands. The King
of France was a Papist, a Jesuit. He was incapable of keeping his
pledges. Should they make the arrangement now proposed and confer the
sovereignty upon him, he would forthwith make peace with Spain, and
transfer the Provinces back to that crown in exchange for the duchy of
Milan, which France had ever coveted. The Netherlands, after a quarter of
a century of fighting in defence of their hearths and altars, would find
themselves handed over again, bound and fettered, to the tender mercies
of the Spanish Inquisition.

The Kings of France and of Spain always acted in concert, for religion
was the most potent of bonds. Witness the sacrifice of thousands of
French soldiers to Alva by their own sovereign at Mons, witness the fate
of Genlis, witness the bloody night of St. Bartholomew, witness the
Antwerp fury. Men cited and relied upon the advice of William of Orange
as to this negotiation with France. But Orange never dreamed of going so
far as now proposed. He was ever careful to keep the Provinces of Holland
and Zeeland safe from every foreign master. That spot was to be holy
ground. Not out of personal ambition. God forbid that they, should accuse
his memory of any such impurity, but because he wished one safe refuge
for the spirit of freedom.

Many years long they had held out by land and sea against the Spaniards,
and should they now, because this Des Pruneaux shrugged his shoulders, be
so alarmed as to open the door to the same Spaniard wearing the disguise
of a Frenchman?

Prince Maurice also made a brief representation to the States' Assembly
of Holland, in which, without distinctly opposing the negotiation with
France, he warned them not to proceed too hastily with so grave a matter.
He reminded them how far they had gone in the presentation of the
sovereignty to his late father, and requested them, in their dealings
with France, not to forget his interests and those of his family. He
reminded them of the position of that family, overladen with debt
contracted in their service alone. He concluded by offering most
affectionately his service in any way in which he, young and
inexperienced as he knew himself to be, might be thought useful; as he
was long since resolved to devote his life to the welfare of his country.

These passionate appeals were answered with equal vehemence by those who
had made up their minds to try the chances of the French sovereignty. Des
Pruneaux, meanwhile, was travelling from province to province, and from
city to city, using the arguments which have already been sufficiently
indicated, and urging a speedy compliance with the French King's
propositions. At the same time, in accordance with his instructions, he
was very cautious to confine himself to generalities, and to avoid
hampering his royal master with the restrictions which had proved so
irksome to the Duke of Anjou.

"The States General demanded a copy of my speech," he wrote the day after
that harangue had been delivered, "but I only gave them a brief outline;
extending myself [25th August, 1584] as little as I possibly could,
according to the intention and command of your Majesty. When I got here,
I found them without hope of our assistance, and terribly agitated by the
partizans of Spain. There was some danger of their going over in a panic
to the enemy. They are now much changed again, and the Spanish partizans
are beginning to lose their tongues. I invite them, if they intend to
address your Majesty, to proceed as they ought towards a veritably grand
monarch, without hunting up any of their old quibbles, or reservations of
provinces, or any thing else which could inspire suspicion. I have sent
into Gelderland and Friesland, for I find I must stay here in Holland and
Zeeland myself. These two provinces are the gates and ramparts through
which we must enter. 'Tis, in my opinion, what could be called superb, to
command all the sea, thus subject to the crown of France. And France,
too, with assistance of this country, will command the land as well. They
are much astonished here, however, that I communicate nothing of the
intention of your Majesty. They say that if your Majesty does not accept
this offer of their country, your Majesty puts the rope around their
necks."

The French envoy was more and more struck with the brilliancy of the
prize offered to his master. "If the King gets these Provinces," said he
to Catharine, "'t will be the most splendid inheritance which Prince has
ever conquered."

In a very few weeks the assiduity of the envoy and of the French party
was successful. All the other provinces had very soon repeated the offer
which they had previously made through Asseliers and La Mouillerie. By
the beginning of October the opposition of Holland was vanquished. The
estates of that Province--three cities excepted, however--determined "to
request England and France to assume a joint protectorate over the
Netherlands. In case the King of France should refuse this proposition,
they were then ready to receive him as prince and master, with knowledge
and consent of the Queen of England, and on such conditions as the United
States should approve."

Immediately afterwards, the General Assembly of all the States determined
to offer the sovereignty to King Henry "on conditions to be afterwards
settled."

Des Pruneaux, thus triumphant, received a gold chain of the value of two
thousand florins, and departed before the end of October for France.

The departure of the solemn embassy to that country, for the purpose of
offering the sovereignty to the King, was delayed till the beginning of
January. Meantime it is necessary to cast a glance at the position of
England in relation to these important transactions.

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     Pauper client who dreamed of justice at the hands of law
     Seem as if born to make the idea of royalty ridiculous
     Shutting the stable-door when the steed is stolen
     String of homely proverbs worthy of Sancho Panza
     The very word toleration was to sound like an insult
     There was apathy where there should have been enthusiasm
     Tranquillity rather of paralysis than of health
     Write so illegibly or express himself so awkwardly



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, 1584-1585



CHAPTER III.

   Policy of England--Schemes of the Pretender of Portugal--Hesitation
   of the French Court--Secret Wishes of France--Contradictory Views as
   to the Opinions of Netherlanders--Their Love for England and
   Elizabeth--Prominent Statesmen of the Provinces--Roger Williams the
   Welshman Views of Walsingham, Burghley, and the Queen--An Embassy to
   Holland decided upon--Davison at the Hague--Cautious and Secret
   Measures of Burghley--Consequent Dissatisfaction of Walsingham--
   English and Dutch Suspicion of France--Increasing Affection of
   Holland for England.

The policy of England towards the Provinces had been somewhat hesitating,
but it had not been disloyal. It was almost inevitable that there should
be timidity in the councils of Elizabeth, when so grave a question as
that of confronting the vast power of Spain was forcing itself day by day
more distinctly upon the consideration of herself and her statesmen. It
was very clear, now that Orange was dead, that some new and decided step
would be taken. Elizabeth was in favour of combined action by the French
and English governments, in behalf of the Netherlands--a joint
protectorate of the Provinces, until such time as adequate concessions on
the religious question could be obtained from Spain. She was unwilling to
plunge into the peril and expense of a war with the strongest power in
the world. She disliked the necessity under which she should be placed of
making repeated applications to her parliament, and of thus fostering the
political importance of the Commons; she was reluctant to encourage
rebellious subjects in another land, however just the cause of their
revolt. She felt herself vulnerable in Ireland and on the Scottish
border. Nevertheless, the Spanish power was becoming so preponderant,
that if the Netherlands were conquered, she could never feel a moment's
security within her own territory. If the Provinces were annexed to
France, on the other hand, she could not contemplate with complacency the
increased power thus placed in the hands of the treacherous and
jesuitical house of Valois.

The path of the Queen was thickly strewed with peril: her advisers were
shrewd, far-seeing, patriotic, but some of them were perhaps over
cautious. The time had, however, arrived when the danger was to be faced,
if the whole balance of power in Europe were not to come to an end, and
weak states, like England and the Netherlands, to submit to the tyranny
of an overwhelming absolutism. The instinct of the English sovereign, of
English statesmen, of the English nation, taught them that the cause of
the Netherlands was their own. Nevertheless, they were inclined to look
on yet a little longer, although the part of spectator had become an
impossible one. The policy of the English government was not treacherous,
although it was timid. That of the French court was both the one and the
other, and it would have been better both for England and the Provinces,
had they more justly appreciated the character of Catharine de' Medici
and her son.

The first covert negotiations between Henry and the States had caused
much anxiety among the foreign envoys in France. Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, who had recently returned from Spain after his compulsory
retreat from his post of English ambassador, was now established in
Paris, as representative of Philip. He succeeded Tasais--a Netherlander
by birth, and one of the ablest diplomatists in the Spanish service--and
his house soon became the focus of intrigue against the government to
which he was accredited--the very head-quarters of the League. His salary
was large, his way of living magnificent, his insolence intolerable.

"Tassis is gone to the Netherlands," wrote envoy Busbecq to the Emperor,
"and thence is to proceed to Spain. Don Bernardino has arrived in his
place. If it be the duty of a good ambassador to expend largely, it would
be difficult to find a better one than he; for they say 'tis his
intention to spend sixteen thousand dollars yearly in his embassy. I
would that all things were in correspondence; and that he were not in
other respects so inferior to Tassis."

It is, however, very certain that Mendoza was not only a brave soldier,
but a man of very considerable capacity in civil affairs, although his
inordinate arrogance interfered most seriously with his skill as a
negotiator. He was, of course, watching with much fierceness the progress
of these underhand proceedings between the French court and the
rebellious subjects of his master, and using threats and expostulations
in great profusion. "Mucio," too, the great stipendiary of Philip, was
becoming daily more dangerous, and the adherents of the League were
multiplying with great celerity.

The pretender of Portugal, Don Antonio, prior of Crato, was also in
Paris; and it was the policy of both the French and the English
governments to protect his person, and to make use of him as a rod over
the head of Philip. Having escaped, after the most severe sufferings, in
the mountains of Spain, where he had been tracked like a wild beast, with
a price of thirty thousand crowns placed upon his head, he was now most
anxious to stir the governments of Europe into espousing his cause, and
into attacking Spain through the recently acquired kingdom of Portugal.
Meantime, he was very desirous of some active employment, to keep himself
from starving, and conceived the notion, that it would be an excellent
thing for the Netherlands and himself, were he to make good to them the
loss of William the Silent.

"Don Antonio," wrote Stafford, "made a motion to me yesterday, to move
her Majesty, that now upon the Prince of Orange's death, as it is a
necessary thing for them to have a governor and head, and him to be at
her Majesty's devotion, if her Majesty would be at the means to work it
for him, she should be assured nobody should be more faithfully tied in
devotion to her than he. Truly you would pity the poor man's case, who is
almost next door to starving in effect."

A starving condition being, however, not the only requisite in a governor
and head to replace the Prince of Orange, nothing came of this motion.
Don Antonio remained in Paris, in a pitiable plight, and very much
environed by dangers; for the Duke of Guise and his brother had
undertaken to deliver him into the hands of Philip the Second, or those
of his ministers, before the feast of St. John of the coming year. Fifty
thousand dollars were to be the reward of this piece of work, combined
with other services; "and the sooner they set about it the better," said
Philip, writing a few months later, "for the longer they delay it, the
less easy will they find it."'

The money was never earned, however, and meantime Don Antonio made
himself as useful as he could, in picking up information for Sir Edward
Stafford and the other opponents of Spanish policy in Paris.

The English envoy was much embarrassed by the position of affairs. He
felt sure that the French monarch would never dare to enter the lists
against the king of Spain, yet he was accurately informed of the secret
negotiations with the Netherlands, while in the dark as to the ultimate
intentions of his own government.

"I was never set to school so much," he wrote to Walsingham (27th July,
1584), "as I have been to decipher the cause of the deputies of the Low
Countries coming hither, the offers that they made the King here, and the
King's manner of dealing with them!"

He expressed great jealousy at the mystery which enveloped the whole
transaction; and much annoyance with Noel de Caron, who "kept very
secret, and was angry at the motion," when he endeavoured to discover the
business in which they were engaged. Yet he had the magnanimity to
request Walsingham not to mention the fact to the Queen, lest she should
be thereby prejudiced against the States.

"For my part," said he, "I would be glad in any thing to further them,
rather than to hinder them--though they do not deserve it--yet for the
good the helping them at this time may bring ourselves."

Meantime, the deputies went away from France, and the King went to Lyons,
where he had hoped to meet both the Duke of Savoy and the King of
Navarre. But Joyeuse, who had been received at Chambery with "great
triumphs and tourneys," brought back only a broken wrist, without
bringing the Duke of Savoy; that potentate sending word that the "King of
Spain had done him the honour to give him his daughter, and that it was
not fit for him to do any thing that might bring jealousy."

Henry of Navarre also, as we have seen, declined the invitation sent him,
M. de Segur not feeling disposed for the sudden flight out of window
suggested by Agrippa D' Aubigne; so that, on the whole, the King and his
mother, with all the court, returned from Lyons in marvellous ill humour.

"The King storms greatly," said Stafford, "and is in a great dump." It
was less practicable than ever to discover the intentions of the
government; for although it was now very certain that active exertions
were making by Des Pruneaux in the Provinces, it was not believed by the
most sagacious that a serious resolution against Spain had been taken in
France. There was even a talk of a double matrimonial alliance, at that
very moment, between the two courts.

"It is for certain here said," wrote Stafford, "that the King of Spain
doth presently marry the dowager of France, and 'tis thought that if the
King of Spain marry, he will not live a year. Whensoever the marriage
be," added the envoy, "I would to God the effect were true, for if it be
not by some such handy work of God, I am afraid things will not go so
well as I could wish."

There was a lull on the surface of affairs, and it was not easy to sound
the depths of unseen combinations and intrigues.

There was also considerable delay in the appointment and the arrival of
the new deputies from the Netherlands; and Stafford was as doubtful as
ever as to the intentions of his own government.

"They look daily here for the States," he wrote to Walsingham (29th Dec.
1584), "and I pray that I may hear from you as soon as you may, what
course I shall take when they be here, either hot or cold or lukewarm in
the matter, and in what sort I shall behave myself. Some badly affected
have gone about to put into the King's head, that they never meant to
offer the sovereignty, which, though the King be not thoroughly persuaded
of, yet so much is won by this means that the King hearkeneth to see the
end, and then to believe as he seeth cause, and in the meantime to speak
no more of any such matter than if it had never been moved."

While his Majesty was thus hearkening in order to see more, according to
Sir Edward's somewhat Hibernian mode of expressing himself, and keeping
silent that he might see the better, it was more difficult than ever for
the envoy to know what course to pursue. Some persons went so far as to
suggest that the whole negotiation was a mere phantasmagoria devised by
Queen Elizabeth--her purpose being to breed a quarrel between Henry and
Philip for her own benefit; and "then, seeing them together by the ears,
as her accustomed manner was, to let them go alone, and sit still to look
on."

The King did not appear to be much affected by these insinuations against
Elizabeth; but the doubt and the delay were very harrassing. "I would to
God," wrote the English envoy, "that if the States mean to do anything
here with the King, and if her. Majesty and the council think it fit,
they would delay no time, but go roundly either to an agreement or to a
breach with the King. Otherwise, as the matter now sleepeth, so it will
die, for the King must be taken in his humour when he begins to nibble at
any bait, for else he will come away, and never bite a full bite while he
liveth."

There is no doubt that the bait, at which Henry nibbled with much
avidity, was the maritime part of the Netherlands. Holland and Zeeland in
the possession of either England or Spain, was a perpetual inconvenience
to France. The King, or rather the Queen-Mother and her advisers--for
Henry himself hardly indulged in any profound reflections on
state-affairs,--desired and had made a sine qua non of those Provinces.
It had been the French policy, from the beginning, to delay matters, in
order to make the States feel the peril of their position to the full.

"The King, differing and temporising," wrote Herle to the Queen, "would
have them fall into that necessity and danger, as that they should offer
unto him simply the possession of all their estates. Otherwise, they were
to see, as in a glass, their evident and hasty ruin."

Even before the death of Orange, Henry had been determined, if possible,
to obtain possession of the island of Walcheren, which controlled the
whole country. "To give him that," said Herle, "would be to turn the hot
end of the poker towards themselves, and put the cold part in the King's
hand. He had accordingly made a secret offer to William of Orange,
through the Princess, of two millions of livres in ready money, or, if he
preferred it, one hundred thousand livres yearly of perpetual
inheritance, if he would secure to him the island of Walcheren. In that
case he promised to declare war upon the King of Spain, to confirm to the
States their privileges, and to guarantee to the Prince the earldoms of
Holland and Zeeland, with all his other lands and titles."

It is superfluous to say that such offers were only regarded by the
Prince as an affront. It was, however, so necessary, in his opinion; to
maintain the cause of the reformed churches in France, and to keep up the
antagonism between that country and Spain, that the French policy was not
abandoned, although the court was always held in suspicion.

But on the death of William, there was a strong reaction against France
and in favour of England. Paul Buys, one of the ablest statesmen of the
Netherlands, Advocate of Holland, and a confidential friend of William
the Silent up to the time of his death, now became the leader of the
English party, and employed his most strenuous efforts against the French
treaty-having "seen the scope of that court."

With regard to the other leading personages, there was a strong
inclination in favour of Queen Elizabeth, whose commanding character
inspired great respect. At the same time warmer sentiments of adhesion
seem to have been expressed towards the French court, by the same
individuals, than the, mere language of compliment justified.

Thus, the widowed Princess of Orange was described by Des Pruneaux to his
sovereign, as "very desolate, but nevertheless doing all in her power to
advance his interests; the Count Maurice, of gentle hopes, as also most
desirous of remaining his Majesty's humble servant, while Elector
Truchsess was said to be employing himself, in the same cause, with very
great affection."

A French statesman resident in the Provinces, whose name has not been
preserved, but who was evidently on intimate terms with many eminent
Netherlanders, declared that Maurice, "who had a mind entirely French,
deplored infinitely the misfortunes of France, and regretted that all the
Provinces could not be annexed to so fair a kingdom. I do assure you," he
added, "that he is in no wise English."

Of Count Hohenlo, general-in-chief of the States' army under Prince
Maurice, and afterwards his brother-in-law, the same gentleman spoke with
even greater confidence. "Count d'Oloc," said he (for by that ridiculous
transformation of his name the German general was known to French and
English), "with whom I have passed three weeks on board the fleet of the
States, is now wholly French, and does not love the English at all. The
very first time I saw him, he protested twice or thrice, in presence of
members of the States General and of the State Council, that if he had no
Frenchmen he could never carry on the war. He made more account," he
said, "of two thousand French than of six thousand others, English, or
Germans."

Yet all these distinguished persons--the widowed Princess of Orange,
Count Maurice, ex-elector Truchsess, Count Holenlo--were described to
Queen Elizabeth by her confidential agent, then employed in the
Provinces, as entirely at that sovereign's devotion.

"Count Maurice holds nothing of the French, nor esteems them," said
Herle, "but humbly desired me to signify unto your Majesty that he had in
his mind and determination faithfully vowed his service to your Majesty,
which should be continued in his actions with all duty, and sealed with
his blood; for he knew how much his father and the cause were beholden
ever to your Highness's goodness."

The Princess, together with her sister-in-law Countess Schwartzenburg,
and the young daughters of the late Prince were described on the same
occasion "as recommending their service unto her Majesty with a most
tender affection, as to a lady of all ladies." "Especially," said Herle,
"did the two Princesses in most humble and wise sort, express a certain
fervent devotion towards your Majesty."

Elector Truchsess was spoken of as "a prince well qualified and greatly
devoted to her Majesty; who, after many grave and sincere words had of
her Majesty's virtue, calling her 'la fille unique de Dieu, and le bien
heureuse Princesse', desired of God that he might do her service as she
merited."

And, finally, Count Hollock--who seemed to "be reformed in sundry things,
if it hold" (a delicate allusion to the Count's propensity for strong
potations), was said "to desire humbly to be known for one that would
obey the commandment of her Majesty more than of any earthly prince
living besides."

There can be no doubt that there was a strong party in favour of an
appeal to England rather than to France. The Netherlanders were too
shrewd a people not to recognize the difference between the king of a
great realm, who painted his face and wore satin petticoats, and the
woman who entertained ambassadors, each in his own language, on gravest
affairs of state, who matched in her wit and wisdom the deepest or the
most sparkling intellects of her council, who made extemporaneous Latin
orations to her universities, and who rode on horseback among her
generals along the lines of her troops in battle-array, and yet was only
the unmarried queen of a petty and turbulent state.

"The reverend respect that is borne to your Majesty throughout these
countries is great," said William Herle. They would have thrown
themselves into her arms, heart and soul, had they been cordially
extended at that moment of their distress; but she was coy, hesitating,
and, for reasons already sufficiently indicated, although not so
conclusive as they seemed, disposed to temporize and to await the issue
of the negotiations between the Provinces and France.

In Holland and Zeeland especially, there was an enthusiastic feeling in
favour of the English alliance. "They recommend themselves," said Herleo
"throughout the country in their consultations and assemblies, as also in
their common and private speeches, to the Queen of England's only favour
and goodness, whom they call their saviour, and the Princess of greatest
perfection in wisdom and sincerity that ever governed. Notwithstanding
their treaty now on foot by their deputies with France, they are not more
disposed to be governed by the French than to be tyrannized over by the
Spaniard; concluding it to be alike; and even 'commutare non sortem sed
servitutem'."

Paul Buys was indefatigable in his exertions against the treaty with
France, and in stimulating the enthusiasm for England and Elizabeth. He
expressed sincere and unaffected devotion to the Queen on all occasions,
and promised that no negotiations should take place, however secret and
confidential, that were not laid before her Majesty. "He has the chief
administration among the States," said Herle, "and to his credit and
dexterity they attribute the despatch of most things. He showed unto me
the state of the enemy throughout the provinces, and of the negotiation
in France, whereof he had no opinion at all of success, nor any will of
his own part but to please the Prince of Orange in his life-time."

It will be seen in the sequel whether or not the views of this
experienced and able statesman were lucid and comprehensive. It will also
be seen whether his strenuous exertions in favour of the English alliance
were rewarded as bountifully as they deserved, by those most indebted to
him.

Meantime he was busily employed in making the English government
acquainted with the capacity, disposition, and general plans of the
Netherlanders.

"They have certain other things in consultation amongst the States to
determine of," wrote Herle, "which they were sworn not to reveal to any,
but Buys protested that nothing should pass but to your liking and
surety, and the same to be altered and disposed as should seem good to
your Highness's own authority; affirming to me sincerely that Holland and
Zeeland, with the rest of the provinces, for the estimation they had of
your high virtue and temperancy, would yield themselves absolutely to
your Majesty and crown for ever, or to none other (their liberties only
reserved), whereof you should have immediate possession, without
reservation of place or privilege."

The important point of the capability of the Provinces to defend
themselves, about which Elizabeth was most anxious to be informed, was
also fully elucidated by the Advocate. "The means should be such,
proceeding from the Provinces," said he, "as your Majesty might defend
your interest therein with facility against the whole world." He then
indicated a plan, which had been proposed by the States of Brabant to the
States General, according to which they were to keep on foot an army of
15,000 foot and 5000 horse, with which they should be able, "to expulse
the enemy and to reconquer their towns and country lost, within three
months." Of this army they hoped to induce the Queen to furnish 5000
English footmen and 500 horse, to be paid monthly by a treasurer of her
own; and for the assistance thus to be furnished they proposed to give
Ostend and Sluys as pledge of payment. According to this scheme the
elector palatine, John Casimir, had promised to furnish, equip, and pay
2000 cavalry, taking the town of Maestricht and the country of Limburg,
when freed from the enemy, in pawn for his disbursements; while Antwerp
and Brabant had agreed to supply 300,000 crowns in ready money for
immediate use. Many powerful politicians opposed this policy, however,
and urged reliance upon France, "so that this course seemed to be lame in
many parts."--[Letter of Herle].

Agents had already been sent both to England and France, to procure, if
possible, a levy of troops for immediate necessity. The attempt was
unsuccessful in France, but the Dutch community of the reformed religion
in London subscribed nine thousand and five florins. This sum, with other
contributions, proved sufficient to set Morgan's regiment on foot, which
soon after began to arrive in the Netherlands by companies. "But if it
were all here at once," said Stephen Le Sieur, "'t would be but a
breakfast for the enemy."

The agent for the matter in England was De Griyse, formerly bailiff of
Bruges; and although tolerably successful in his mission, he was not
thought competent for so important a post, nor officially authorised for
the undertaking. While procuring this assistance in English troops he had
been very urgent with the Queen to further the negotiations between the
States and France; and Paul Buys was offended with him as a
mischief-maker and an intriguer. He complained of him as having "thrust
himself in, to deal and intermeddle in the affairs of the Low Countries
unavowed," and desired that he might be closely looked after.

After the Advocate, the next most important statesman in the provinces
was, perhaps, Meetkerk, President of the High Court of Flanders, a man of
much learning, sincerity, and earnestness of character; having had great
experience in the diplomatic service of the country on many important
occasions. "He stands second in reputation here," said Herle, "and both
Buys and he have one special care in all practises that are discovered,
to examine how near anything may concern your person or kingdom, whereof
they will advertise as matter shall fall out in importance."

John van Olden-Barneveldt, afterwards so conspicuous in the history of
the country, was rather inclined, at this period, to favour the French
party; a policy which was strenuously furthered by Villiers and by Sainte
Aldegonde.

Besides the information furnished to the English government, as to the
state of feeling and resources of the Netherlands, by Buys, Meetkerk, and
William Herle, Walsingham relied much upon the experienced eye and the
keen biting humour of Roger Williams.

A frank open-hearted Welshman, with no fortune but his sword, but as true
as its steel, he had done the States much important service in the
hard-fighting days of Grand Commander Requesens and of Don John of
Austria. With a shrewd Welsh head under his iron morion, and a stout
Welsh heart under his tawny doublet, he had gained little but hard knocks
and a dozen wounds in his campaigning, and had but recently been
ransomed, rather grudgingly by his government, from a Spanish prison in
Brabant. He was suffering in health from its effects, but was still more
distressed in mind, from his sagacious reading of the signs of the times.
Fearing that England was growing lukewarm, and the Provinces desperate,
he was beginning to find himself out of work, and was already casting
about him for other employment. Poor, honest, and proud, he had
repeatedly declined to enter the Spanish service. Bribes, such as at a
little later period were sufficient to sully conspicuous reputations and
noble names, among his countrymen in better circumstances than his own,
had been freely but unsuccessfully offered him. To serve under any but
the English or States' flag in the Provinces he scorned; and he thought
the opportunity fast slipping away there for taking the Papistical party
in Europe handsomely by the beard. He had done much manful work in the
Netherlands, and was destined to do much more; but he was now
discontented, and thought himself slighted. In more remote regions of the
world, the, thrifty soldier thought that there might be as good
harvesting for his sword as in the thrice-trampled stubble of Flanders.

"I would refuse no hazard that is possible to be done in the Queen's
service," he said to Walsingham; "but I do persuade myself she makes no
account of me. Had it not been for the duty that nature bound me towards
her and my country, I needed not to have been in that case that I am in.
Perhaps I could have fingered more pistoles than Mr. Newell, the late
Latiner, and had better usage and pension of the Spaniards than he. Some
can tell that I refused large offers, in the misery of Alost, of the
Prince of Parma. Last of all, Verdugo offered me very fair, being in
Loccum, to quit the States' service, and accept theirs, without treachery
or betraying of place or man."

Not feeling inclined to teach Latin in Spain, like the late Mr. Newell,
or to violate oaths and surrender fortresses, like brave soldiers of
fortune whose deeds will be afterwards chronicled, he was disposed to
cultivate the "acquaintance of divers Pollacks," from which he had
received invitations. "Find I nothing there," said he, "Duke Matthias has
promised me courtesy if I would serve in Hungary. If not, I will offer
service to one of the Turk's bashaws against the Persians."

Fortunately, work was found for the trusty Welshman in the old fields.
His brave honest face often reappeared; his sharp sensible tongue uttered
much sage counsel; and his ready sword did various solid service, in
leaguer, battle-field, and martial debate, in Flanders, Holland, Spain,
and France.

For the present, he was casting his keen glances upon the negotiations in
progress, and cavilling at the general policy which seemed predominant.

He believed that the object of the French was to trifle with the States,
to protract interminably their negotiations, to prevent the English
government from getting any hold upon the Provinces, and then to leave
them to their fate.

He advised Walsingham to advance men and money, upon the security of
Sluys and Ostend.

"I dare venture my life," said he, with much energy, "that were Norris,
Bingham, Yorke, or Carlisle, in those ports, he would keep them during
the Spanish King's life."

But the true way to attack Spain--a method soon afterwards to be carried
into such brilliant effect by the naval heroes of England and the
Netherlands--the long-sighted Welshman now indicated; a combined attack,
namely, by sea upon the colonial possessions of Philip.

"I dare be bound," said he, "if you join with Treslong, the States
Admiral, and send off, both, three-score sail into his Indies, we will
force him to retire from conquering further, and to be contented to let
other princes live as well as he."

In particular, Williams urged rapid action, and there is little doubt,
that had the counsels of prompt, quick-witted, ready-handed soldiers like
himself, and those who thought with him, been taken; had the stealthy but
quick-darting policy of Walsingham prevailed over the solemn and stately
but somewhat ponderous proceedings of Burghley, both Ghent and Antwerp
might have been saved, the trifling and treacherous diplomacy of
Catharine de' Medici neutralized, and an altogether more fortunate aspect
given at once to the state of Protestant affairs.

"If you mean to do anything," said he, "it is more than time now. If you
will send some man of credit about it, will it please your honour, I will
go with him, because I know the humour of the people, and am acquainted
with a number of the best. I shall be able to show him a number of their
dealings, as well with the French as in other affairs, and perhaps will
find means to send messengers to Ghent, and to other places, better than
the States; for the message of one soldier is better than twenty boors."

It was ultimately decided--as will soon be related--to send a man of
credit to the Provinces. Meantime, the policy of England continued to be
expectant and dilatory, and Advocate Buys, after having in vain attempted
to conquer the French influence, and bring about the annexation of the
Provinces to England, threw down his office in disgust, and retired for a
time from the contest. He even contemplated for a moment taking service
in Denmark, but renounced the notion of abandoning his country, and he
will accordingly be found, at a later period, conspicuous in public
affairs.

The deliberations in the English councils were grave and anxious, for it
became daily more obvious that the Netherland question was the hinge upon
which the, whole fate of Christendom was slowly turning. To allow the
provinces to fall back again into the grasp of Philip, was to offer
England herself as a last sacrifice to the Spanish Inquisition. This was
felt by all the statesmen in the land; but some of them, more than the
rest, had a vivid perception of the danger, and of the necessity of
dealing with it at once.

To the prophetic eye of Walsingham, the mists of the future at times were
lifted; and the countless sails of the invincible Armada, wafting
defiance and destruction to England, became dimly visible. He felt that
the great Netherland bulwark of Protestantism and liberty was to be
defended at all hazards, and that the death-grapple could not long be
deferred.

Burghley, deeply pondering, but less determined, was still disposed to
look on and to temporize.

The Queen, far-seeing and anxious, but somewhat hesitating, still clung
to the idea of a joint protectorate. She knew that the reestablishment of
Spanish authority in the Low Countries would be fatal to England, but she
was not yet prepared to throw down the gauntlet to Philip. She felt that
the proposed annexation of the Provinces to France would be almost as
formidable; yet she could not resolve, frankly and fearlessly, to assume,
the burthen of their protection. Under the inspiration of Burghley, she
was therefore willing to encourage the Netherlanders underhand;
preventing them at every hazard from slackening in their determined
hostility to Spain; discountenancing, without absolutely forbidding,
their proposed absorption by France; intimating, without promising, an
ultimate and effectual assistance from herself. Meantime, with something
of feline and feminine duplicity, by which the sex of the great sovereign
would so often manifest itself in the most momentous affairs, she would
watch and wait, teasing the Provinces, dallying with the danger, not
quite prepared as yet to abandon the prize to Henry or Philip, or to
seize it herself.

The situation was rapidly tending to become an impossible one.

Late in October a grave conference was held council, "upon the question
whether her Majesty should presently relieve the States of the Low
Countries."

It was shown, upon one side, that the "perils to the Queen and to the
realm were great, if the King of Spain should recover Holland and
Zeeland, as he had the other countries, for lack of succour in seasonable
time, either by the French King or the Queen's Majesty."

On the other side, the great difficulties in the way of effectual
assistance by England, were "fully remembered."

"But in the end, and upon comparison made," said Lord Burghley, summing
up, "betwixt the perils on the one part, and the difficulties on the
other," it was concluded that the Queen would be obliged to succumb to
the power of Spain, and the liberties of England be hopelessly lost, if
Philip were then allowed to carry out his designs, and if the Provinces
should be left without succour at his mercy.

A "wise person" was accordingly to be sent into Holland; first, to
ascertain whether the Provinces had come to an actual agreement with the
King of France, and, if such should prove to be the case, to enquire
whether that sovereign had pledged himself to declare war upon Philip. In
this event, the wise person was to express her Majesty's satisfaction
that the Provinces were thus to be "relieved from the tyranny of the King
of Spain."

On the other hand, if it should appear that no such conclusive
arrangements had been made, and that the Provinces were likely to fall
again victims to the "Spanish tyranny," her Majesty would then "strain
herself as far as, with preservation of her own estate, she might, to
succour them at this time."

The agent was then to ascertain "what conditions the Provinces would
require" upon the matter of succour, and, if the terms seemed reasonable,
he would assure them that "they should not be left to the cruelties of
the Spaniards."

And further, the wise person, "being pressed to answer, might by
conference of speeches and persuasions provoke them to offer to the Queen
the ports of Flushing and Middelburg and the Brill, wherein she meant not
to claim any property, but to hold them as gages for her expenses, and
for performances of their covenants."

He was also to make minute inquiries as to the pecuniary resources of the
Provinces, the monthly sums which they would be able to contribute, the
number of troops and of ships of war that they would pledge themselves to
maintain. These investigations were very important, because the Queen,
although very well disposed to succour them, "so nevertheless she was to
consider how her power might be extended, without ruin or manifest peril
to her own estate."

It was also resolved, in the same conference, that a preliminary step of
great urgency was to "procure a good peace with the King of Scots."
Whatever the expense of bringing about such a pacification might be, it
was certain that a "great deal more would be expended in defending the
realm against Scotland," while England was engaged in hostilities with
Spain. Otherwise, it was argued that her Majesty would be "so impeached
by Scotland in favour of the King of Spain, that her action against that
King would be greatly weakened."

Other measures necessary to be taken in view of the Spanish war were also
discussed. The ex-elector of Cologne, "a man of great account in
Germany," was to be assisted with money to make head against his rival
supported by the troops of Philip.

Duke Casimir of the Palatinate was to be solicited to make a diversion in
Gelderland.

The King of France was to be reminded of his treaty with England for
mutual assistance in case of the invasion by a foreign power of either
realm, and to be informed "not only of the intentions of the Spaniards to
invade England, upon their conquest of the Netherlands, but of their
actual invasion of Ireland."

It was "to be devised how the King of Navarre and Don Antonio of
Portugal, for their respective titles, might be induced to offend and
occupy the King of Spain, whereby to diminish his forces bent upon the
Low Countries."

It was also decided that Parliament should be immediately summoned, in
which, besides the request of a subsidy, many other necessary, provisions
should be made for her Majesty's safety.

"The conclusions of the whole," said Lord Burghley, with much
earnestness, "was this. Although her Majesty should hereby enter into a
war presently, yet were she better to do it now, while she may make the
same out of her realm, having the help of the people of Holland, and
before the King of Spain shall have consummated his conquests in those
countries, whereby he shall be so provoked with pride, solicited by the
Pope, and tempted by the Queen's own subjects, and shall be so strong by
sea, and so free from all other actions and quarrels,--yea, shall be so
formidable to all the rest of Christendom, as that her Majesty shall no
wise be able, with her own power, nor with aid of any other, neither by
sea nor land, to withstand his attempts, but shall be forced to give
place to his insatiable malice, which is most terrible to be thought of,
but miserable to suffer."

Thus did the Lord Treasurer wisely, eloquently, and well, describe the
danger by which England was environed. Through the shield of Holland the
spear was aimed full at the heart of England. But was it a moment to
linger? Was that buckler to be suffered to fall to the ground, or to be
raised only upon the arm of a doubtful and treacherous friend? Was it an
hour when the protection of Protestantism and of European liberty against
Spain was to be entrusted to the hand of a feeble and priest-ridden
Valois? Was it wise to indulge any longer in doubtings and dreamings, and
in yet a little more folding of the arms to sleep, while that insatiable
malice, so terrible to be thought of, so miserable to feel, was bowing
hourly more formidable, and approaching nearer and nearer?

Early in December, William Davison, gentleman-in-ordinary of her
Majesty's household, arrived at the Hague; a man painstaking, earnest,
and zealous, but who was fated, on more than one great occasion, to be
made a scape-goat for the delinquencies of greater personages than
himself.

He had audience of the States General on the 8th December. He then
informed that body that the Queen had heard, with, sorrowful heart, of
the great misfortunes which the United Provinces had sustained since the
death of the Prince of Orange; the many cities which they had lost, and
the disastrous aspect of the common cause. Moved by the affection which
she had always borne the country, and anxious for its preservation, she
had ordered her ambassador Stafford to request the King of France to
undertake, jointly with herself, the defence of the provinces against the
king of Spain. Not till very lately, however, had that envoy succeeded in
obtaining an audience, and he had then received "a very cold answer." It
being obvious to her Majesty, therefore, that the French government
intended to protract these matters indefinitely, Davison informed the
States that she had commissioned him to offer them "all possible
assistance, to enquire into the state of the country, and to investigate
the proper means of making that assistance most useful." He accordingly
requested the appointment of a committee to confer with him upon the
subject; and declared that the Queen did not desire to make herself
mistress of the Provinces, but only to be informed how she best could aid
their cause.

A committee was accordingly appointed, and a long series of somewhat
concealed negotiations was commenced. As the deputies were upon the eve
of their departure for France, to offer the sovereignty of the Provinces
to Henry, these proceedings were necessarily confused, dilatory, and at
tines contradictory.

After the arrival of the deputies in France, the cunctative policy
inspired by the Lord Treasurer was continued by England. The delusion of
a joint protectorate was still clung to by the Queen, although the
conduct of France was becoming very ambiguous, and suspicion growing
darker as to the ultimate and secret purport of the negotiations in
progress.

The anxiety and jealousy of Elizabeth were becoming keener than ever. If
the offers to the King were unlimited; he would accept them, and would
thus become as dangerous as Philip. If they were unsatisfactory, he would
turn his back upon the Provinces, and leave them a prey to Philip. Still
she would not yet renounce the hope of bringing the French King over to
an ingenuous course of action. It was thought, too, that something might
be done with the great malcontent nobles of Flanders, whose defection
from the national cause had been so disastrous, but who had been much
influenced in their course, it was thought, by their jealousy of William
the Silent.

Now that the Prince was dead, it was thought probable that the Arschots,
and Havres, Chimays, and Lalaings, might arouse themselves to more
patriotic views than they had manifested when they espoused the cause of
Spain.

It would be desirable to excite their jealousy of French influence, and,
at the same time, to inspire throughout the popular mind the fear of
another tyranny almost as absolute as that of Spain. "And if it be
objected," said Burghley, "that except they shall admit the French King
to the absolute dominion, he will not aid them, and they, for lack of
succour, be forced to yield to the Spaniard, it may be answered that
rather than they should be wholly subjected to the French, or overcome by
the Spaniard, her Majesty would yield unto them as much as, with
preservation of her estate, and defence of her own country, might be
demanded."

The real object kept in view by the Queen's government was, in short, to
obtain for the Provinces and for the general cause of liberty the
greatest possible amount of assistance from Henry, and to allow him to
acquire in return the least possible amount of power. The end proposed
was a reasonable one, but the means employed savoured too much of
intrigue.

"It may be easily made probable to the States," said the Lord Treasurer,
"that the government of the French is likely to prove as cumbersome and
perilous as that of the Spaniards; and likewise it may probably be
doubted how the French will keep touch and covenants with them, when any
opportunity shall be offered to break them; so that her Majesty thinketh
no good can be looked for to those countries by yielding this large
authority to the French. If they shall continue their title by this grant
to be absolute lords, there is no end, for a long time, to be expected of
this war; and, contrariwise, if they break off, there is an end of any
good composition with the King of Spain."

Shivering and shrinking, but still wading in deeper and deeper, inch by
inch, the cautious minister was fast finding himself too far advanced to
retreat. He was rarely decided, however, and never lucid; and least of
all in emergencies, when decision and lucidity would have been more
valuable than any other qualities.

Deeply doubting, painfully balancing, he at times drove the unfortunate
Davison almost distraught. Puzzled himself and still more puzzling to
others, he rarely permitted the Netherlanders, or even his own agents, to
perceive his drift. It was fair enough, perhaps, to circumvent the French
government by its own arts, but the Netherlanders meanwhile were in
danger of sinking into despair.

"Thus," wrote the Lord Treasurer to the envoy, "I have discoursed to you
of these uncertainties and difficulties, things not unknown to yourself,
but now being imparted to you by her Majesty's commandment, you are, by
your wisdom, to consider with whom to deal for the stay of this French
course, and yet, so to use it (as near as you may) that they of the
French faction there be not able to charge you therewith, by-advertising
into France. For it hath already appeared, by some speeches past between
our ambassador there and Des Pruneaux, that you are had in some jealousy
as a hinderer of this French course, and at work for her Majesty to have
some entrance and partage in that country. Nevertheless our ambassador;
by his answer, hath satisfied them to think the contrary."

They must have been easily satisfied, if they knew as much of the
dealings of her Majesty's government as the reader already knows. To
inspire doubt of the French, to insinuate the probability of their not
"keeping touch and covenant," to represent their rule as "cumbersome and
perilous," was wholesome conduct enough towards the Netherlanders--and
still more so, had it been accompanied with frank offers of
assistance--but it was certainly somewhat to "hinder the courses of the
French."

But in truth all parties were engaged for a season in a round game of
deception, in which nobody was deceived.

Walsingham was impatient, almost indignant at this puerility. "Your
doings, no doubt of it," he wrote to Davison, "are observed by the French
faction, and therefore you cannot proceed so closely but it will be
espied. Howsoever it be, seeing direction groweth from hence, we cannot
but blame ourselves, if the effects thereof do not fall out to our
liking."

That sagacious statesman was too well informed, and too much accustomed
to penetrate the designs of his antagonists, to expect anything from the
present intrigues.

To loiter thus, when mortal blows should be struck, was to give the
Spanish government exactly that of which it was always most
gluttonous--time; and the Netherlanders had none of it to spare. "With
time and myself, there are two of us," was Philip II.'s favourite
observation; and the Prince of Parma was at this moment sorely perplexed
by the parsimony and the hesitations of his own government, by which his
large, swift and most creative genius was so often hampered.

Thus the Spanish soldiers, deep in the trenches, went with bare legs and
empty stomachs in January; and the Dutchmen, among their broken dykes,
were up to their ears in mud and water; and German mercenaries, in the
obedient Provinces, were burning the peasants' houses in order to sell
the iron to buy food withal; while grave-visaged statesmen, in
comfortable cabinets, wagged their long white beards at each other from a
distance, and exchanged grimaces and protocols which nobody heeded.

Walsingham was weary of this solemn trifling. "I conclude," said he to
Davison, "that her Majesty--with reverence be it spoken--is ill advised,
to direct you in a course that is like to work so great peril. I know you
will do your best endeavour to keep all things upright, and yet it is
hard--the disease being now come to this state, or, as the physicians
term it, crisis--to carry yourself in such sort, but that it will, I
fear, breed a dangerous alteration in the cause."

He denounced with impatience, almost with indignation, the insincerity
and injustice of these intolerable hesitations. "Sorry am I," said he,
"to see the course that is taken in this weighty cause, for we will
neither help those poor countries ourselves, nor yet suffer others to do
it. I am not ignorant that in time to come the annexing of these
countries to the crown of France may prove prejudicial to England, but if
France refuse to deal with them, and the rather for that we shall
minister some cause of impediment by a kind of dealing underhand, then
shall they be forced to return into the hands of Spain, which is like to
breed such a present peril towards her Majesty's self, as never a wise
man that seeth it, and loveth her, but lamenteth it from the bottom of
his heart."

Walsingham had made up his mind that it was England, not France, that
should take up the cause of the Provinces, and defend them at every
hazard. He had been overruled, and the Queen's government had decided to
watch the course of the French negotiation, doing what it could,
underhand, to prevent that negotiation from being successful. The
Secretary did not approve of this disingenuous course. At the same time
he had no faith in the good intentions of the French court.

"I could wish," said he, "that the French King were carried with that
honourable mind into the defence of these countries that her Majesty is,
but France has not been used to do things for God's sake; neither do they
mean to use our advice or assistance in making of the bargain. For they
still hold a jealous conceit that when Spain and they are together by the
ears, we will seek underhand to work our own peace." Walsingham,
therefore, earnestly deprecated the attitude provisionally maintained by
England.

Meantime, early in January, (Jan. 3, 1585) the deputation from the
Provinces had arrived in France. The progress of their 1585 negotiation
will soon be related, but, before its result was known, a general
dissatisfaction had already manifested itself in the Netherlands. The
factitious enthusiasm which had been created in favour of France, as well
as the prejudice against England, began to die out. It became probable in
the opinion of those most accustomed to read the signs of the times, that
the French court was acting in connivance with Philip, and that the
negotiation was only intended to amuse the Netherlanders, to circumvent
the English, and to gain time both for France and Spain. It was not
believed that the character of Henry or the policy of his mother was
likely to the cause of any substantial aid to the cause of civil liberty
or Protestant principles.

"They look for no better fruit from the commission to France," wrote
Davison, who surveyed the general state of affairs with much keenness and
breadth of vision, "than a dallying entertainment of the time, neither
leaving them utterly hopeless, nor at full liberty to seek for relief
elsewhere, especially in England, or else some pleasing motion of peace,
wherein the French King will offer his mediation with Spain. Meantime the
people, wearied with the troubles, charges, and hazard of the war, shall
be rocked asleep, the provision for their defence neglected, some
Provinces nearest the danger seduced, the rest by their defection
astonished, and the enemy by their decay and confusions, strengthened.
This is the scope whereto the doings of the French King, not without
intelligence with the Spanish sovereign, doth aim, whatever is
pretended."

There was a wide conviction that the French King was dealing falsely with
the Provinces. It seemed certain that he must be inspired by intense
jealousy of England, and that he was unlikely, for the sake of those
whose "religion, popular liberty, and rebellion against their sovereign,"
he could not but disapprove, to allow Queen Elizabeth to steal a march
upon him, and "make her own market with Spain to his cost and
disadvantage."

In short, it was suspected--whether justly or not will be presently
shown--that Henry III. "was seeking to blear the eyes of the world, as
his brother Charles did before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew." As the
letters received from the Dutch envoys in France became less and less
encouraging, and as the Queen was informed by her ambassador in Paris of
the tergiversations in Paris, she became the more anxious lest the States
should be driven to despair. She therefore wrote to Davison, instructing
him "to nourish in them underhand some hope--as a thing proceeding from
himself--that though France should reject them, yet she would not abandon
them."

He was directed to find out, by circuitous means, what towns they would
offer to her as security for any advances she might be induced to make,
and to ascertain the amount of monthly contributions towards the support
of the war that they were still capable of furnishing. She was beginning
to look with dismay at the expatriation of wealthy merchants and
manufacturers going so rapidly forward, now that Ghent had fallen and
Brussels and Antwerp were in such imminent peril. She feared that, while
so much valuable time had been thrown away, the Provinces had become too
much impoverished to do their own part in their own defence; and she was
seriously alarmed at rumours which had become prevalent of a popular
disposition towards treating for a peace at any price with Spain. It soon
became evident that these rumours were utterly without foundation, but
the other reasons for Elizabeth's anxiety were sufficiently valid.

On the whole, the feeling in favour of England was rapidly gaining
ground. In Holland especially there was general indignation against the
French party. The letters of the deputies occasioned "murmur and mislike"
of most persons, who noted them to contain "more ample report of
ceremonies and compliments than solid argument of comfort."

Sir Edward Stafford, who looked with great penetration into the heart of
the mysterious proceedings at Paris, assured his government that no
better result was to be looked for, "after long dalliance and
entertainment, than either a flat refusal or such a masked embracing of
their cause, as would rather tend to the increasing of their miseries and
confusion than relief for their declining estate." While "reposing upon a
broken reed," they were, he thought, "neglecting other means more
expedient for their necessities."

This was already the universal opinion in Holland. Men now remembered,
with bitterness, the treachery of the Duke of Anjou, which they had been
striving so hard to forget, but which less than two years ago had nearly
proved fatal to the cause of liberty in the Provinces. A committee of the
States had an interview with the Queen's envoy at the Hague; implored her
Majesty through him not to abandon their cause; expressed unlimited
regret for the course which had been pursued, and avowed a determination
"to pluck their heads out of the collar," so soon as the opportunity
should offer.

They stated, moreover, that they had been directed by the assembly to lay
before him the instructions for the envoys to France, and the articles
proposed for the acceptance of the King. The envoy knew his business
better than not to have secretly provided himself with copies of these
documents, which he had already laid before his own government.

He affected, however, to feel hurt that he had been thus kept in
ignorance of papers which he really knew by heart. "After some pretended
quarrel," said he, "for their not acquainting me therewith sooner, I did
accept them, as if. I had before neither seen nor heard of them."

This then was the aspect of affairs in the provinces during the absence
of the deputies in France. It is now necessary to shift the scene to that
country.



CHAPTER IV.

   Reception of the Dutch Envoys at the Louvre--Ignominious Result of
   the Embassy--Secret Influences at work--Bargaining between the
   French and Spanish Courts--Claims of Catharine de' Medici upon
   Portugal--Letters of Henry and Catharine--Secret Proposal by France
   to invade England--States' Mission to Henry of Navarre--Subsidies
   of Philip to Guise--Treaty of Joinville--Philip's Share in the
   League denied by Parma--Philip in reality its Chief--Manifesto of
   the League--Attitude of Henry III. and of Navarre--The League
   demands a Royal Decree--Designs of France and Spain against England
   --Secret Interview of Mendoza and Villeroy--Complaints of English
   Persecution--Edict of Nemours--Excommunication of Navarre and his
   Reply.

The King, notwithstanding his apparent reluctance, had, in Sir Edward
Stafford's language, "nibbled at the bait." He had, however, not been
secured at the first attempt, and now a second effort was to be made,
under what were supposed to be most favourable circumstances. In
accordance with his own instructions, his envoy, Des Pruneaux, had been
busily employed in the States, arranging the terms of a treaty which
should be entirely satisfactory. It had been laid down as an
indispensable condition that Holland and Zeeland should unite in the
offer of sovereignty, and, after the expenditure of much eloquence,
diplomacy, and money, Holland and Zeeland had given their consent. The
court had been for some time anxious and impatient for the arrival of the
deputies. Early in December, Des Pruneaux wrote from Paris to Count
Maurice, urging with some asperity, the necessity of immediate action.

"When I left you," he said, "I thought that performance would follow
promises. I have been a little ashamed, as the time passed by, to hear
nothing of the deputies, nor of any excuse on the subject. It would seem
as though God had bandaged the eyes of those who have so much cause to
know their own adversity."

To the States his language was still more insolent. "Excuse me,
Gentlemen," he said, "if I tell you that I blush at hearing nothing from
you. I shall have the shame and you the damage. I regret much the capture
of De Teligny, and other losses which are occasioned by your delays and
want of resolution."

Thus did the French court, which a few months before had imprisoned, and
then almost ignominiously dismissed the envoys who came to offer the
sovereignty of the Provinces, now rebuke the governments which had ever
since been strenuously engaged in removing all obstacles to the entire
fulfillment of the King's demands. The States were just despatching a
solemn embassy to renew that offer, with hardly any limitation as to
terms.

The envoys arrived on January 3rd, 1585, at Boulogne, after a stormy
voyage from Brielle. Yet it seems incredible to relate, that, after all
the ignominy heaped upon the last, there was nothing but solemn trifling
in reserve for the present legation; although the object of both
embassies was to offer a crown. The deputies were, however, not kept in
prison, upon this occasion, nor treated like thieves or spies. They were
admirably lodged, with plenty of cooks and lacqueys to minister to them;
they fared sumptuously every day, at Henry's expense, and, after they had
been six weeks in the kingdom, they at last succeeded in obtaining their
first audience.

On the 13th February the King sent five "very splendid, richly-gilded,
court-coach-waggons" to bring the envoys to the palace. At one o'clock
they arrived at the Louvre, and were ushered through four magnificent
antechambers into the royal cabinet. The apartments through which they
passed swarmed with the foremost nobles, court-functionaries, and ladies
of France, in blazing gala costume, who all greeted the envoys with
demonstrations of extreme respect: The halls and corridors were lined
with archers, halbardiers, Swiss guards, and grooms "besmeared with
gold," and it was thought that all this rustle of fine feathers would be
somewhat startling to the barbarous republicans, fresh from the fens of
Holland.

Henry received them in his cabinet, where he was accompanied only by the
Duke of Joyeuse--his foremost and bravest "minion"--by the Count of
Bouscaige, M. de Valette, and the Count of Chateau Vieux.

The most Christian King was neatly dressed, in white satin doublet and
hose, and well-starched ruff, with a short cloak on his shoulders, a
little velvet cap on the side of his head, his long locks duly perfumed
and curled, his sword at his side, and a little basket, full of puppies,
suspended from his neck by a broad ribbon. He held himself stiff and
motionless, although his face smiled a good-humoured welcome to the
ambassadors; and he moved neither foot, hand, nor head, as they advanced.

Chancellor Leoninus, the most experienced, eloquent, and tedious of men,
now made an interminable oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in
facts; and the King made a short and benignant reply, according to the
hallowed formula in such cases provided. And then there was a
presentation to the Queen, and to the Queen-Mother, when Leoninus was
more prolix than before, and Catharine even more affectionate than her
son; and there were consultations with Chiverny and Villeroy, and Brulart
and Pruneaux, and great banquets at the royal expense, and bales of
protocols, and drafts of articles, and conditions and programmes and
apostilles by the hundred weight, and at last articles of annexation were
presented by the envoys, and Pruneaux looked at and pronounced them "too
raw and imperative," and the envoys took them home again, and dressed
them and cooked them till there was no substance left in them; for
whereas the envoys originally offered the crown of their country to
France, on condition that no religion but the reformed religion should be
tolerated there, no appointments made but by the States, and no security
offered for advances to be made by the Christian King, save the hearts
and oaths of his new subjects--so they now ended by proposing the
sovereignty unconditionally, almost abjectly; and, after the expiration
of nearly three months, even these terms were absolutely refused, and the
deputies were graciously permitted to go home as they came. The
annexation and sovereignty were definitely declined. Henry regretted and
sighed, Catharine de' Medici wept--for tears were ever at her
command--Chancellor Chiverny and Secretary Brulart wept likewise, and
Pruneaux was overcome with emotion at the parting interview of the
ambassadors with the court, in which they were allowed a last opportunity
for expressing what was called their gratitude.

And then, on the lath March, M. d'Oignon came to them, and presented, on
the part of the King, to each of the envoys a gold chain weighing
twenty-one ounces and two grains.

Des Pruneaux, too--Des Pruneaux who had spent the previous summer in the
Netherlands, who had travelled from province to province, from city to
city, at the King's command, offering boundless assistance, if they would
unanimously offer their sovereignty; who had vanquished by his
importunity the resistance of the stern Hollanders, the last of all the
Netherlanders to yield to the royal blandishments--Des Pruneaux, who had
"blushed"--Des Pruneaux who had wept--now thought proper to assume an
airy tone, half encouragement, half condolence.

"Man proposes, gentlemen," said he "but God disposes. We are frequently
called on to observe that things have a great variety of times and terms.
Many a man is refused by a woman twice, who succeeds the third time," and
so on, with which wholesome apothegms Des Pruneaux faded away then and
for ever from the page of Netherland history.

In a few days afterwards the envoys took shipping at Dieppe, and arrived
early in April at the Hague.

And thus terminated the negotiation of the States with France.

It had been a scene of elaborate trifling on the King's part from
beginning to end. Yet the few grains of wheat which have thus been
extracted from the mountains of diplomatic chaff so long mouldering in
national storehouses, contain, however dry and tasteless, still something
for human nourishment. It is something to comprehend the ineffable
meanness of the hands which then could hold the destiny of mighty
empires. Here had been offered a magnificent prize to France; a great
extent of frontier in the quarter where expansion was most desirable, a
protective network of towns and fortresses on the side most vulnerable,
flourishing, cities on the sea-coast where the marine traffic was most
lucrative, the sovereignty of a large population, the most bustling,
enterprising, and hardy in Europe--a nation destined in a few short years
to become the first naval and commercial power in the world--all this was
laid at the feet of Henry Valois and Catharine de' Medici, and rejected.

The envoys, with their predecessors, had wasted eight months of most
precious time; they had heard and made orations, they had read and
written protocols, they had witnessed banquets, masquerades, and revels
of stupendous frivolity, in honour of the English Garter, brought
solemnly to the Valois by Lord Derby, accompanied by one hundred
gentlemen "marvellously, sumptuously, and richly accoutred," during that
dreadful winter when the inhabitants of Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin--to
save which splendid cities and to annex them to France, was a main object
of the solemn embassy from the Netherlands--were eating rats, and cats,
and dogs, and the weeds from the pavements, and the grass from the
churchyards; and were finding themselves more closely pressed than ever
by the relentless genius of Farnese; and in exchange for all these losses
and all this humiliation, the ambassadors now returned to their
constituents, bringing an account of Chiverny's magnificent banquets and
long orations, of the smiles of Henry III., the tears of Catharine de'
Medici, the regrets of M. des Pruneaux, besides sixteen gold chains, each
weighing twenty-one ounces and two grains.

It is worth while to go for a moment behind the scene; We have seen the
actors, with mask and cothurn and tinsel crown, playing their well-conned
parts upon the stage. Let us hear them threaten, and whimper, and chaffer
among themselves.

So soon as it was intimated that Henry III. was about to grant the
Netherland, envoys an audience, the wrath of ambassador Mendoza was
kindled. That magniloquent Spaniard instantly claimed an interview with
the King, before whom, according to the statement of his colleagues,
doing their best to pry into these secrets, he blustered and bounced, and
was more fantastical in his insolence than even Spanish envoy had ever
been before.

"He went presently to court," so Walsingham was informed by Stafford,
"and dealt very passionately with the King and Queen-Mother to deny them
audience, who being greatly offended with his presumptuous and malapert
manner of proceeding, the King did in choler and with some sharp
speeches, let him plainly understand that he was an absolute king, bound
to yield account of his doings to no man, and that it was lawful for him
to give access to any man within his own realm. The Queen-Mother answered
him likewise very roundly, whereupon he departed for the time, very much
discontented."

Brave words, on both sides, if they had ever been spoken, or if there had
been any action corresponding to their spirit.

But, in truth, from the beginning, Henry and his mother saw in the
Netherland embassy only the means of turning a dishonest penny. Since the
disastrous retreat of Anjou from the Provinces, the city of Cambray had
remained in the hands of the Seigneur de Balagny, placed there by the
duke. The citadel, garrisoned by French troops, it was not the intention
of Catharine de' Medici to restore to Philip, and a truce on the subject
had been arranged provisionally for a year. Philip, taking Parma's advice
to prevent the French court, if possible, from "fomenting the Netherland
rebellion," had authorized the Prince to conclude that truce, as if done
on his own responsibility, and not by royal order. Meantime, Balagny was
gradually swelling into a petty potentate, on his own account, making
himself very troublesome to the Prince of Parma, and requiring a great
deal of watching. Cambray was however apparently acquired for France.

But, besides this acquisition, there was another way of earning something
solid, by turning this Netherland matter handsomely to account. Philip
II. had recently conquered Portugal. Among the many pretensions to that
crown, those of Catherine de' Medici had been put forward, but had been
little heeded. The claim went back more than three hundred years, and to
establish its validity would have been to convert the peaceable
possession of a long line of sovereigns into usurpation. To ascend to
Alphonso III. was like fetching, as it was said, a claim from Evander's
grandmother. Nevertheless, ever since Philip had been upon the Portuguese
throne, Catherine had been watching the opportunity, not of unseating
that sovereign, but of converting her claim into money.

The Netherland embassy seemed to offer the coveted opportunity. There
was, therefore, quite as much warmth at the outset, on the part of
Mendoza, in that first interview after the arrival of the deputies, as
had been represented. There was however less dignity and more cunning on
the part of Henry and Catherine than was at all suspected. Even before
that conference the King had been impatiently expecting overtures from
the Spanish envoy, and had been disappointed. "He told me," said Henry,
"that he would make proposals so soon as Tassis should be gone, but he
has done nothing yet. He said to Gondi that all he meant was to get the
truce of Cambray accomplished. I hope, however, that my brother, the King
of Spain, will do what is right in regard to madam my mother's
pretensions. 'Tis likely that he will be now incited thereto, seeing that
the deputies of all the Netherland provinces are at present in my
kingdom, to offer me carte blanche. I shall hear what they have to say,
and do exactly what the good of my own affairs shall seem to require. The
Queen of England, too, has been very pressing and urgent with me for
several months on this subject. I shall hear, too, what she has to say,
and I presume, if the King of Spain will now disclose himself, and do
promptly what he ought, that we may set Christendom at rest."

Henry then instructed his ambassador in Spain to keep his eyes wide open,
in order to penetrate the schemes of Philip, and to this end ordered him
an increase of salary by a third, that he might follow that monarch on
his journey to Arragon.

Meanwhile Mendoza had audience of his Majesty. "He made a very pressing
remonstrance," said the King, "concerning the arrival of these deputies,
urging me to send them back at once; denouncing them as disobedient
rebels and heretics. I replied that my kingdom was free, and that I
should hear from them all that they had to say, because I could not
abandon madam my mother in her pretensions, not only for the filial
obedience which I owe her, but because I am her only heir. Mendoza
replied that he should go and make the same remonstrance to the
Queen-Mother, which he accordingly did, and she will herself write you
what passed between them. If they do not act up to their duty down there
I know how to take my revenge upon them."

This is the King's own statement--his veriest words--and he was surely
best aware of what occurred between himself and Mendoza, under their four
eyes only. The ambassador is not represented as extremely insolent, but
only pressing; and certainly there is little left of the fine periods on
Henry's part about listening to the cry of the oppressed, or preventing
the rays of his ancestors' diadem from growing pale, with which
contemporary chronicles are filled.

There was not one word of the advancement and glory of the French nation;
not a hint of the fame to be acquired by a magnificent expansion of
territory, still less of the duty to deal generously or even honestly
with an oppressed people, who in good faith were seeking an asylum in
exchange for offered sovereignty, not a syllable upon liberty of
conscience, of religious or civil rights; nothing but a petty and
exclusive care for the interests of his mother's pocket, and of his own
as his mother's heir. This farthing-candle was alone to guide the steps
of "the high and mighty King," whose reputation was perpetually
represented as so precious to him in all the conferences between his
ministers and the Netherland deputies. Was it possible for those envoys
to imagine the almost invisible meanness of such childish tricks?

The Queen-Mother was still more explicit and unblushing throughout the
whole affair.

"The ambassador of Spain," she said, "has made the most beautiful
remonstrances he could think of about these deputies from the
Netherlands. All his talk, however, cannot persuade me to anything else
save to increase my desire to have reparation for the wrong that has been
done me in regard to my claims upon Portugal, which I am determined to
pursue by every means within my power. Nevertheless I have told Don
Bernardino that I should always be ready to embrace any course likely to
bring about a peaceful conclusion. He then entered into a discussion of
my rights, which, he said, were not thought in Spain to be founded in
justice. But when I explained to him the principal points (of which I
possess all the pieces of evidence and justification), he hardly knew
what to say, save that he was astounded that I had remained so long
without speaking of my claims. In reply, I told him ingenuously the
truth."

The truth which the ingenuous Catharine thus revealed was, in brief, that
all her predecessors had been minors, women, and persons in situations
not to make their rights valid. Finding herself more highly placed, she
had advanced her claims, which had been so fully recognized in Portugal,
that she had been received as Infanta of the kingdom. All pretensions to
the throne being now through women only, hers were the best of any. At
all this Don Bernardino expressed profound astonishment, and promised to
send a full account to his master of "the infinite words" which had
passed between them at this interview!

"I desire," said Catharine, "that the Lord King of Spain should open his
mind frankly and promptly upon the recompense which he is willing to make
me for Portugal, in order that things may pass rather with gentleness
than otherwise."

It was expecting a great deal to look for frankness and promptness from
the Lord King of Spain, but the Queen-Mother considered that the
Netherland envoys had put a whip into her hand. She was also determined
to bring Philip up to the point, without showing her own game. "I will
never say," said Catharine--ingenuous no longer--"I will never say how
much I ask, but, on the contrary, I shall wait for him to make the offer.
I expect it to be reasonable, because he has seen fit to seize and occupy
that which I declare to be my property."

This is the explanation of all the languor and trifling of the French
court in the Netherland negotiation. A deep, constant, unseen current was
running counter to all the movement which appeared upon the surface. The
tergiversations of the Spanish cabinet in the Portugal matter were the
cause of the shufflings of the French ministers on the subject of the
Provinces.

"I know well," said Henry a few days later, "that the people down there,
and their ambassador here, are leading us on with words, as far as they
can, with regard to the recompense of madam my mother for her claims upon
Portugal. But they had better remember (and I think they will), that out
of the offers which these sixteen deputies of the Netherlands are
bringing me--and I believe it to be carte blanche--I shall be able to pay
myself. 'Twill be better to come promptly to a good bargain and a brief
conclusion, than to spin the matter out longer."

"Don Bernardino," said the Queen-Mother on the same day, "has been
keeping us up to this hour in hopes of a good offer, but 'tis to be
feared, for the good of Christendom, that 'twill be too late. The
deputies are come, bringing carte blanche. Nevertheless, if the King of
Spain is willing to be reasonable, and that instantly, it will be well,
and it would seem as if God had been pleased to place this means in our
hands."

After the conferences had been fairly got under way between the French
government and the envoys, the demands upon Philip for a good bargain and
a handsome offer became still more pressing.

"I have given audience to the deputies from the Provinces," wrote Henry,
"and the Queen-Mother has done the same. Chancellor Chiverny, Villequier,
Bellievre, and Brulart, will now confer with them from day today. I now
tell you that it will be well, before things go any farther, for the King
of Spain to come to reason about the pretensions of madam mother. This
will be a means of establishing the repose of Christendom. I shall be
very willing to concur in such an arrangement, if I saw any approximation
to it on the part of the King or his ministers. But I fear they will
delay too long, and so you had better tell them. Push them to the point
as much as possible, without letting them suspect that I have been
writing about it, for that would make them rather draw back than come
forward."

At the same time, during this alternate threatening and coaxing between
the French and the Spanish court, and in the midst of all the solemn and
tedious protocolling of the ministry and the Dutch envoys, there was a
most sincere and affectionate intercourse maintained between Henry III.
and the Prince of Parma. The Spanish Governor-General was assured that
nothing but the warmest regard was entertained for him and his master on
the part of the French court. Parma had replied, however, that so many
French troops had in times past crossed the frontier to assist the
rebels, that he hardly knew what to think. He expressed the hope, now
that the Duke of Anjou was dead, that his Christian Majesty would not
countenance the rebellion, but manifest his good-will.

"How can your Highness doubt it," said Malpierre, Henry's envoy, "for his
Majesty has given proof enough of his good will, having prevented all
enterprises in this regard, and preferred to have his own subjects cut
into pieces rather than that they should carry out their designs. Had his
Majesty been willing merely to connive at these undertakings, 'tis
probable that the affairs of your highness would not have succeeded so
well as they have done."

With regard to England, also, the conduct of Henry and his mother in
these negotiations was marked by the same unfathomable duplicity. There
was an appearance of cordiality on the surface; but there was deep
plotting, and bargaining, and even deadly hostility lurking below. We
have seen the efforts which Elizabeth's government had been making to
counteract the policy which offered the sovereignty of the provinces to
the French monarch. At the same time there was at least a loyal
disposition upon the Queen's part to assist the Netherlands, in
concurrence with Henry. The demeanour of Burghley and his colleagues was
frankness itself, compared with the secret schemings of the Valois; for
at least peace and good-will between the "triumvirate" of France, England
and the Netherlands, was intended, as the true means of resisting the
predominant influence of Spain.

Yet very soon after the solemn reception by Henry of the garter brought
by Lord Derby, and in the midst of the negotiations between the French
court and the United Provinces, the French king was not only attempting
to barter the sovereignty offered him by the Netherlanders against a
handsome recompense for the Portugal claim, but he was actually proposing
to the King of Spain to join with him in an invasion of England! Even
Philip himself must have admired and respected such a complication of
villany on the part of his most Christian brother. He was, however, not
disposed to put any confidence in his schemes.

"With regard to the attempt against England," wrote Philip to Mendoza,
"you must keep your eyes open--you must look at the danger of letting
them, before they have got rid of their rivals and reduced their
heretics, go out of their own house and kingdom, and thus of being made
fools of when they think of coming back again. Let them first exterminate
the heretics of France, and then we will look after those of England;
because 'tis more important to finish those who are near than those afar
off. Perhaps the Queen-Mother proposes this invasion in order to proceed
more feebly with matters in her own kingdom; and thus Mucio (Duke of
Guise) and his friends will not have so safe a game, and must take heed
lest they be deceived."

Thus it is obvious that Henry and Catharine intended, on the whole, to
deceive the English and the Netherlanders, and to get as good a bargain
and as safe a friendship from Philip as could be manufactured out of the
materials placed in the French King's hands by the United Provinces.
Elizabeth honestly wished well to the States, but allowed Burghley and
those who acted with him to flatter themselves with the chimera that
Henry could be induced to protect the Netherlands without assuming the
sovereignty of that commonwealth. The Provinces were fighting for their
existence, unconscious of their latent strength, and willing to trust to
France or to England, if they could only save themselves from being
swallowed by Spain. As for Spain itself, that country was more practised
in duplicity even than the government of the Medici-Valois, and was of
course more than a match at the game of deception for the franker
politicians of England and Holland.

The King of Navarre had meanwhile been looking on at a distance. Too keen
an observer, too subtle a reasoner to doubt the secret source of the
movements then agitating France to its centre, he was yet unable to
foresee the turn that all these intrigues were about to take. He could
hardly doubt that Spain was playing a dark and desperate game with the
unfortunate Henry III.; for, as we have seen, he had himself not long
before received a secret and liberal offer from Philip II., if he would
agree to make war upon the King. But the Bearnese was not the man to play
into the hands of Spain, nor could he imagine the possibility of the
Valois or even of his mother taking so suicidal a course.

After the Netherland deputies had received their final dismissal from the
King, they sent Calvart, who had been secretary to their embassy, on a
secret mission to Henry of Navarre, then resident at Chartres.

The envoy communicated to the Huguenot chief the meagre result of the
long negotiation with the French court. Henry bade him be of good cheer,
and assured him of his best wishes for their cause. He expressed the
opinion that the King of France would now either attempt to overcome the
Guise faction by gentle means, or at once make war upon them. The Bishop
of Acqs had strongly recommended the French monarch to send the King of
Navarre, with a strong force, to the assistance of the Netherlands,
urging the point with much fervid eloquence and solid argument. Henry for
a moment had seemed impressed, but such a vigorous proceeding was of
course entirely beyond his strength, and he had sunk back into his
effeminate languor so soon as the bold bishop's back was turned.

The Bearnese had naturally conceived but little hope that such a scheme
would be carried into effect; but he assured Calvart, that nothing could
give him greater delight than to mount and ride in such a cause.

"Notwithstanding," said the Bearnese, "that the villanous intentions of
the Guises are becoming plainer and plainer, and that they are obviously
supplied with Spanish dollars, I shall send a special envoy to the most
Christian King, and, although 'tis somewhat late, implore him to throw
his weight into the scale, in order to redeem your country from its
misery. Meantime be of good heart, and defend as you have done your
hearths, your liberty, and the honour of God."

He advised the States unhesitatingly to continue their confidence in the
French King, and to keep him informed of their plans and movements;
expressing the opinion that these very intrigues of the Guise party would
soon justify or even force Henry III. openly to assist the Netherlands.

So far, at that very moment, was so sharp a politician as the Bearnese
from suspecting the secret schemes of Henry of Valois. Calvart urged the
King of Navarre to assist the States at that moment with some slight
subsidy. Antwerp was in such imminent danger as to fill the hearts of all
true patriots with dismay; and a timely succour, even if a slender one,
might be of inestimable value.

Henry expressed profound regret that his own means were so limited, and
his own position so dangerous, as to make it difficult for him to
manifest in broad daylight the full affection which he bore the
Provinces.

"To my sorrow," said he, "your proposition is made in the midst of such
dark and stormy weather, that those who have clearest sight are unable to
see to what issue these troubles of France are tending."

Nevertheless, with much generosity and manliness, he promised Calvart to
send two thousand soldiers, at his own charges, to the Provinces without
delay; and authorised that envoy to consult with his agent at the court
of the French King, in order to obtain the royal permission for the
troops to cross the frontier.

The crownless and almost houseless King had thus, at a single interview,
and in exchange for nothing but good wishes, granted what the most
Christian monarch of France had refused, after months of negotiation, and
with sovereignty as the purchase-money. The envoy, well pleased, sped as
swiftly as possible to Paris; but, as may easily be imagined, Henry of
Valois forbade the movement contemplated by Henry of Navarre.

"His Majesty," said Villeroy, secretary of state, "sees no occasion, in
so weighty a business, thus suddenly to change his mind; the less so,
because he hopes to be able ere long to smooth over these troubles which
have begun in France. Should the King either openly or secretly assist
the Netherlands or allow them to be assisted, 'twould be a reason for all
the Catholics now sustaining his Majesty's party to go over to the Guise
faction. The Provinces must remain firm, and make no pacification with
the enemy. Meantime the Queen of England is the only one to whom God has
given means to afford you succour. One of these days, when the proper
time comes, his Majesty will assist her in affording you relief."

Calvart, after this conference with the King of Navarre, and subsequently
with the government, entertained a lingering hope that the French King
meant to assist the Provinces. "I know well who is the author of these
troubles," said the unhappy monarch, who never once mentioned the name of
Guise in all those conferences, "but, if God grant me life, I will give
him as good as he sends, and make him rue his conduct."

They were not aware after how many strange vacillations Henry was one day
to wreak this threatened vengeance. As for Navarre, he remained upon the
watch, good humoured as ever, more merry and hopeful as the tempest grew
blacker; manifesting the most frank and friendly sentiments towards the
Provinces, and writing to Queen Elizabeth in the chivalrous style so dear
to the heart of that sovereign, that he desired nothing better than to be
her "servant and captain-general against the common enemy."

But, indeed, the French King was not so well informed as he imagined
himself to be of the authorship of these troubles. Mucio, upon whose head
he thus threatened vengeance, was but the instrument. The concealed hand
that was directing all these odious intrigues, and lighting these flames
of civil war which were so long to make France a scene of desolation, was
that of the industrious letter-writer in the Escorial. That which Henry
of Navarre shrewdly suspected, when he talked of the Spanish dollars in
the Balafre's pocket, that which was dimly visible to the Bishop of Acqs
when he told Henry III. that the "Tagus had emptied itself into the Seine
and Loire, and that the gold of Mexico was flowing into the royal
cabinet," was much more certain than they supposed.

Philip, in truth, was neglecting his own most pressing interests that he
might direct all his energies towards entertaining civil war in France.
That France should remain internally at peace was contrary to all his
plans. He had therefore long kept Guise and his brother, the Cardinal de
Lorraine, in his pay, and he had been spending large sums of money to
bribe many of the most considerable functionaries in the kingdom.

The most important enterprises in the Netherlands were allowed to
languish, that these subterranean operations of the "prudent" monarch of
Spain should be pushed forward. The most brilliant and original genius
that Philip had the good fortune to have at his disposal, the genius of
Alexander Farnese, was cramped and irritated almost to madness, by the
fetters imposed upon it, by the sluggish yet obstinate nature of him it
was bound to obey. Farnese was at that moment engaged in a most arduous
military undertaking, that famous siege of Antwerp, the details of which
will be related in future chapters, yet he was never furnished with men
or money enough to ensure success to a much more ordinary operation. His
complaints, subdued but intense, fell almost unheeded on his master's
ear. He had not "ten dollars at his command," his cavalry horses were all
dead of hunger or had been eaten by their riders, who were starving to
death themselves, his army had dwindled to a "handful," yet he still held
on to his purpose, in spite of famine, the desperate efforts of
indefatigable enemies, and all the perils and privations of a deadly
winter. He, too, was kept for a long time in profound ignorance of
Philip's designs.

Meantime, while the Spanish soldiers were starving in Flanders, Philip's
dollars were employed by Mucio and his adherents in enlisting troops in
Switzerland and Germany, in order to carry on the civil war in France.
The French king was held systematically up to ridicule or detestation in
every village-pulpit in his own kingdom, while the sister of Mucio, the
Duchess of Montpensier, carried the scissors at her girdle, with which
she threatened to provide Henry with a third crown, in addition to those
of France and Poland, which he had disgraced--the coronal tonsure of a
monk. The convent should be, it was intimated, the eventual fate of the
modern Childeric, but meantime it was more important than ever to
supersede the ultimate pretensions of Henry of Navarre. To prevent that
heretic of heretics, who was not to be bought with Spanish gold, from
ever reigning, was the first object of Philip and Mucio.

Accordingly, on the last day of the year 1584, a secret treaty had been
signed at Joinville between Henry of Guise and his brother the Duc de
Mayenne, holding the proxies of their brother the Cardinal and those of
their uncles, Aumale and Elbeuf, on the one part, and John Baptist Tassis
and Commander Moreo, on the other, as representatives of Philip. This
transaction, sufficiently well known now to the most superficial student
of history, was a profound mystery then, so far as regarded the action of
the Spanish king. It was not a secret, however, that the papistical party
did not intend that the Bearnese prince should ever come to the throne,
and the matter of the succession was discussed, precisely as if the
throne had been vacant.

It was decided that Charles, paternal uncle to Henry of Navarre, commonly
called the Cardinal Bourbon, should be considered successor to the crown,
in place of Henry, whose claim was forfeited by heresy. Moreover, a great
deal of superfluous money and learning was expended in ordering some
elaborate legal arguments to be prepared by venal jurisconsults, proving
not only that the uncle ought to succeed before the nephew, but that
neither the one nor the other had any claim to succeed at all. The pea
having thus been employed to do the work which the sword alone could
accomplish, the poor old Cardinal was now formally established by the
Guise faction as presumptive heir to the crown.

A man of straw, a superannuated court-dangler, a credulous trifler, but
an earnest Papist as his brother Antony had been, sixty-six years old,
and feeble beyond his years, who, his life long, had never achieved one
manly action, and had now one foot in the grave; this was the puppet
placed in the saddle to run a tilt against the Bearnese, the man with
foot ever in the stirrup, with sword rarely in its sheath.

The contracting parties at Joinville agreed that the Cardinal should
succeed on the death of the reigning king, and that no heretic should
ever ascend the throne, or hold the meanest office in the kingdom. They
agreed further that all heretics should be "exterminated" without
distinction throughout France and the Netherlands. In order to procure
the necessary reforms among the clergy, the council of Trent was to be
fully carried into effect. Philip pledged himself to furnish at least
fifty thousand crowns monthly, for the advancement of this Holy League,
as it was denominated, and as much more as should prove necessary. The
sums advanced were to be repaid by the Cardinal on his succeeding to the
throne. All the great officers of the crown, lords and gentlemen, cities,
chapters, and universities, all Catholics, in short, in the kingdom, were
deemed to be included in the league. If any foreign Catholic prince
desired to enter the union, he should be admitted with the consent of
both parties. Neither his Catholic majesty nor the confederated princes
should treat with the most Christian King, either directly or indirectly.
The compact was to remain strictly secret--one copy of it being sent to
Philip, while the other was to be retained by Cardinal Bourbon and his
fellow leaguers.

And now--in accordance with this program--Philip proceeded stealthily and
industriously to further the schemes of Mucio, to the exclusion of more
urgent business. Noiseless and secret himself, and delighting in clothing
so much as to glide, as it were, throughout Europe, wrapped in the mantle
of invisibility, he was perpetually provoked by the noise, the bombast,
and the bustle, which his less prudent confederates permitted themselves.
While Philip for a long time hesitated to confide the secret of the
League to Parma, whom it most imported to understand these schemes of his
master, the confederates were openly boasting of the assistance which
they were to derive from Parma's cooperation. Even when the Prince had at
last been informed as to the state of affairs, he stoutly denied the
facts of which the leaguers made their vaunt; thus giving to Mucio and
his friends a lesson in dissimulation."

"Things have now arrived at a point," wrote Philip to Tassis, 15th March,
1585, "that this matter of the League cannot and ought not to be
concealed from those who have a right to know it. Therefore you must
speak clearly to the Prince of Parma, informing him of the whole scheme,
and enjoining the utmost secrecy. You must concert with him as to the
best means of rendering aid to this cause, after having apprised him of
the points which regarded him, and also that of the security of Cardinal
de Bourbon, in case of necessity."

The Prince was anything but pleased, in the midst of his anxiety and his
almost superhuman labour in the Antwerp siege, to be distracted,
impoverished, and weakened, in order to carry out these schemes against
France; but he kept the secret manfully.

To Malpierre, the French envoy in Brussels--for there was the closest
diplomatic communication between Henry III. and Philip, while each was
tampering with the rebellious subjects of the other--to Malpierre Parma
flatly contradicted all complicity on the part of the Spanish King or
himself with the Holy League, of which he knew Philip to be the
originator and the chief.

"If I complain to the Prince of Parma," said the envoy, "of the companies
going from Flanders to assist the League, he will make me no other reply
than that which the President has done--that there is nothing at all in
it--until they are fairly arrived in France. The President (Richardot)
said that if the Catholic King belonged to the League, as they insinuate,
his Majesty would declare the fact openly."

And a few days later, the Prince himself averred, as Malpierre had
anticipated, that "as to any intention on the part of himself or his
Catholic Majesty, to send succour to the League, according to the boast
of these gentlemen, he had never thought of such a thing, nor had
received any order on the subject from his master. If the King intended
to do anything of the kind, he would do it openly. He protested that he
had never seen anything, or known anything of the League."

Here was a man who knew how to keep a secret, and who had no scruples in
the matter of dissimulation, however enraged he might be at seeing men
and money diverted from his own masterly combinations in order to carry
out these schemes of his master.

Mucio, on the contrary, was imprudent and inclined to boast. His contempt
for Henry III, made him blind to the dangers to be apprehended from Henry
of Navarre. He did little, but talked a great deal.

Philip was very anxious that the work should be done both secretly and
thoroughly. "Let the business be finished before Saint John's day," said
he to Tassis, when sending fifty thousand dollars for the use of the
brothers Guise. "Tell Iniquez to warn them not to be sluggish. Let them
not begin in a lukewarm manner, but promise them plenty of assistance
from me, if they conduct themselves properly. Let them beware of
wavering, or of falling into plans of conciliation. If they do their
duty, I will do mine."

But the Guise faction moved slowly despite of Philip's secret promptings.
The truth is, that the means proposed by the Spanish monarch were
ludicrously inadequate to his plans, and it was idle to suppose that the
world was to be turned upside down for his benefit, at the very low price
which he was prepared to pay.

Nothing less than to exterminate all the heretics in Christendom, to
place himself on the thrones of France and of England, and to extinguish
the last spark of rebellion in the Netherlands, was his secret thought,
and yet it was very difficult to get fifty thousand dollars from him from
month to month. Procrastinating and indolent himself, he was for ever
rebuking the torpid movements of the Guises.

"Let Mucio set his game well at the outset," said he; "let him lay the
axe to the root of the tree, for to be wasting time fruitlessly is
sharpening the knife for himself."

This was almost prophetic. When after so much talking and tampering,
there began to be recrimination among the leaguers, Philip was very angry
with his subordinate.

"Here is Mucio," said he, "trying to throw the blame of all the
difficulties, which have arisen, upon us. Not hastening, not keeping his
secret, letting the execution of the enterprise grow cold, and lending an
ear to suggestions about peace, without being sure of its conclusion, he
has turned his followers into cowards, discredited his cause, and given
the King of France opportunity to strengthen his force and improve his
party. These are all very palpable things. I am willing to continue my
friendship for them, but not, if, while they accept it, they permit
themselves to complain, instead of manifesting gratitude."

On the whole, however, the affairs of the League seemed prosperous. There
was doubtless too much display among the confederates, but there was a
growing uneasiness among the royalists. Cardinal Bourbon, discarding his
ecclesiastical robes and scarlet stockings, paraded himself daily in
public, clothed in military costume, with all the airs of royalty. Many
persons thought him mad. On the other hand, Epergnon, the haughty
minion-in-chief, who governed Henry III., and insulted all the world, was
becoming almost polite.

"The progress of the League," said Busbecq, "is teaching the Duc d'
Epergnon manners. 'Tis a youth of such insolence, that without uncovering
he would talk with men of royal descent, while they were bareheaded. 'Tis
a common jest now that he has found out where his hat is."

Thus, for a long time, a network of secret political combinations had
been stretching itself over Christendom. There were great movements of
troops throughout Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, slowly
concentrating themselves upon France; yet, on the whole, the great mass
of the populations, the men and women who were to pay, to fight, to
starve, to be trampled upon, to be outraged, to be plundered, to be
burned out of houses and home, to bleed, and to die, were merely
ignorant, gaping spectators. That there was something very grave in
prospect was obvious, but exactly what was impending they knew no more
than the generation yet unborn. Very noiselessly had the patient manager
who sat in the Escorial been making preparations for that European
tragedy in which most of the actors had such fatal parts assigned them,
and of which few of the spectators of its opening scenes were doomed to
witness the conclusion. A shifting and glancing of lights, a vision of
vanishing feet, a trampling and bustling of unseen crowds, movements of
concealed machinery, a few incoherent words, much noise and confusion
vague and incomprehensible, till at last the tinkling of a small bell,
and a glimpse of the modest manager stealing away as the curtain was
rising--such was the spectacle presented at Midsummer 1585,

And in truth the opening picture was effective. Sixteen black-robed,
long-bearded Netherland envoys stalking away, discomfited and indignant
upon one side; Catharine de' Medici on the other, regarding them with a
sneer, painfully contorted into a pathetic smile; Henry the King, robed
in a sack of penitence, trembling and hesitating, leaning on the arm of
Epergnon, but quailing even under the protection of that mighty
swordsman; Mucio, careering, truncheon in hand, in full panoply, upon his
war-horse, waving forward a mingled mass of German lanzknechts, Swiss
musketeers, and Lorraine pikemen; the redoubtable Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, in front, frowning and ferocious, with his drawn sword in his
hand; Elizabeth of England, in the back ground, with the white-bearded
Burghley and the monastic Walsingham, all surveying the scene with eyes
of deepest meaning; and, somewhat aside, but in full view, silent, calm,
and imperturbably good-humoured, the bold Bearnese, standing with a
mischievous but prophetic smile glittering through his blue eyes and
curly beard--thus grouped were the personages of the drama in the
introductory scenes.

The course of public events which succeeded the departure of the
Netherland deputies is sufficiently well known. The secret negotiations
and intrigues, however, by which those external facts were preceded or
accompanied rest mainly in dusty archives, and it was therefore necessary
to dwell somewhat at length upon them in the preceding pages.

The treaty of Joinville was signed on the last day of the year 1584.

We have seen the real nature of the interview of Ambassador Mendoza with
Henry III. and his mother, which took place early in January, 1585.
Immediately after that conference, Don Bernardino betook himself to the
Duke of Guise, and lost no time in stimulating his confederate to prompt
but secret action.

The Netherland envoys had their last audience on the 18th March, and
their departure and disappointment was the signal for the general
exhibition and explosion. The great civil war began, and the man who
refused to annex the Netherlands to the French kingdom soon ceased to be
regarded as a king.

On the 31st March, the heir presumptive, just manufactured by the Guises,
sent forth his manifesto. Cardinal Bourbon, by this document, declared
that for twenty-four years past no proper measures had been taken to
extirpate the heresy by which France was infested. There was no natural
heir to the King. Those who claimed to succeed at his death had deprived
themselves, by heresy, of their rights. Should they gain their ends, the
ancient religion would be abolished throughout the kingdom, as it had
been in England, and Catholics be subjected to the same frightful
tortures which they were experiencing there. New men, admitted to the
confidence of the crown, clothed with the highest honours, and laden with
enormous emoluments, had excluded the ancient and honoured functionaries
of the state, who had been obliged to sell out their offices to these
upstart successors. These new favourites had seized the finances of the
kingdom, all of which were now collected into the private coffers of the
King, and shared by him with his courtiers. The people were groaning
under new taxes invented every day, yet they knew nothing of the
distribution of the public treasure, while the King himself was so
impoverished as to be unable to discharge his daily debts. Meantime these
new advisers of the crown had renewed to the Protestants of the kingdom
the religious privileges of which they had so justly been deprived, yet
the religious peace which had followed had not brought with it the
promised diminution of the popular burthens. Never had the nation been so
heavily taxed or reduced to such profound misery. For these reasons, he,
Cardinal Bourbon, with other princes of the blood, peers, gentlemen,
cities, and universities, had solemnly bound themselves by oath to
extirpate heresy down to the last root, and to save the people from the
dreadful load under which they were languishing. It was for this that
they had taken up arms, and till that purpose was accomplished they would
never lay them down.

The paper concluded with the hope that his Majesty would not take these
warlike demonstrations amiss; and a copy of the document was placed in
the royal hands.

It was very obvious to the most superficial observer, that the manifesto
was directed almost as much against the reigning sovereign as against
Henry of Navarre. The adherents of the Guise faction, and especially
certain theologians in their employ, had taken very bold grounds upon the
relations between king and subjects, and had made the public very
familiar with their doctrines. It was a duty, they said, "to depose a
prince who did not discharge his duty. Authority ill regulated was
robbery, and it was as absurd to call him a king who knew not how to
govern, as it was to take a blind man for a guide, or to believe that a
statue could influence the movements of living men."

Yet to the faction, inspired by such rebellious sentiments, and which was
thundering in his face such tremendous denunciations, the unhappy Henry
could not find a single royal or manly word of reply. He threw himself on
his knees, when, if ever, he should have assumed an attitude of command.
He answered the insolence of the men, who were parading their contempt
for his authority, by humble excuses, and supplications for pardon. He
threw his crown in the dust before their feet, as if such humility would
induce them to place it again upon his head. He abandoned the minions who
had been his pride, his joy, and his defence, and deprecated, with an
abject whimper, all responsibility for the unmeasured ambition and the
insatiable rapacity of a few private individuals. He conjured the
party-leaders, who had hurled defiance in his face, to lay down their
arms, and promised that they should find in his wisdom and bounty more
than all the advantages which they were seeking to obtain by war.

Henry of Navarre answered in a different strain. The gauntlet had at last
been thrown down to him, and he came forward to take it up; not
insolently nor carelessly, but with the cold courtesy of a Christian
knight and valiant gentleman. He denied the charge of heresy. He avowed
detestation of all doctrines contrary to the Word of God, to the decrees
of the Fathers of the Church, or condemned by the Councils.

The errors and abuses which had from time to time crept into the church,
had long demanded, in the opinion of all pious persons, some measures of
reform. After many bloody wars, no better remedy had been discovered to
arrest the cause of these dire religious troubles, whether in France or
Germany, than to permit all men to obey the dictates of their own
conscience. The Protestants had thus obtained in France many edicts by
which the peace of the kingdom had been secured. He could not himself be
denounced as a heretic, for he had always held himself ready to receive
instruction, and to be set right where he had erred. To call him
"relapsed" was an outrage. Were it true, he were indeed unworthy of the
crown, but the world knew that his change at the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew had been made under duresse, and that he had returned to the
reformed faith when he had recovered his liberty. Religious toleration
had been the object of his life. In what the tyranny of the popes and the
violence of the Spaniards had left him of his kingdom of Navarre,
Catholics and Protestants enjoyed a perfect religious liberty. No man had
the right, therefore, to denounce him as an enemy of the church, or a
disturber of the public repose, for he had ever been willing to accept
all propositions of peace which left the rights of conscience protected.

He was a Frenchman, a prince of France, a living member of the kingdom;
feeling with its pains, and bleeding with its wounds. They who denounced
him were alien to France, factitious portions of her body, feeling no
suffering, even should she be consuming with living fire. The Leaguers
were the friends and the servants of the Spaniards, while he had been
born the enemy, and with too good reason, of the whole Spanish race.

"Let the name of Papist and of Huguenot," he said, "be heard no more
among us. Those terms were buried in the edict of peace. Let us speak
only of Frenchmen and of Spaniards. It is the counter-league which we
must all unite to form, the natural union of the head with all its
members."

Finally, to save the shedding of so much innocent blood, to spare all the
countless miseries of civil war, he implored the royal permission to
terminate this quarrel in person, by single combat with the Duke of
Guise, one to one, two to two, or in as large a number as might be
desired, and upon any spot within or without the kingdom that should be
assigned. "The Duke of Guise," said Henry of Navarre, "cannot but accept
my challenge as an honour, coming as it does from a prince infinitely his
superior in rank; and thus, may God defend the right."

This paper, drawn up by the illustrious Duplessis-Mornay, who was to have
been the second of the King of Navarre in the proposed duel, was signed
10 June 1585.

The unfortunate Henry III., not so dull as to doubt that the true object
of the Guise party was to reduce him to insignificance, and to open their
own way to the throne, was too impotent of purpose to follow the dictates
which his wisest counsellors urged and his own reason approved. His
choice had lain between open hostility with his Spanish enemy and a more
terrible combat with that implacable foe wearing the mask of friendship.
He had refused to annex to his crown the rich and powerful Netherlands,
from dread of a foreign war; and he was now about to accept for himself
and kingdom all the horrors of a civil contest, in which his avowed
antagonist was the first captain of the age, and his nominal allies the
stipendiaries of Philip II.

Villeroy, his prime minister, and Catharine de' Medici, his mother, had
both devoted him to disgrace and ruin. The deputies from the Netherlands
had been dismissed, and now, notwithstanding the festivities and
exuberant demonstrations of friendship with which the Earl of Derby's
splendid embassy had been greeted, it became necessary to bind Henry hand
and foot to the conspirators, who had sworn the destruction of that
Queen, as well as his own, and the extirpation of heresy and heretics in
every realm of Christendom.

On the 9th June the league demanded a royal decree, forbidding the
practice of all religion but the Roman Catholic, on pain of death. In
vain had the clear-sighted Bishop of Acqs uttered his eloquent warnings.
Despite such timely counsels, which he was capable at once of
appreciating and of neglecting, Henry followed slavishly the advice of
those whom he knew in his heart to be his foes, and authorised the great
conspiracy against Elizabeth, against Protestantism, and against himself.

On the 5th June Villeroy had expressed a wish for a very secret interview
with Mendoza, on the subject of the invasion of England.

"It needed not this overture," said that magniloquent Spaniard, "to
engender in a person of my talents, and with the heart of a Mendoza,
venom enough for vengeance. I could not more desire than I did already to
assist in so holy a work; nor could I aspire to greater honour than would
be gained in uniting those crowns (of France and Spain) in strict
friendship, for the purpose of extirpating heresy throughout Europe, and
of chastising the Queen of England--whose abominations I am never likely
to forget, having had them so long before my eyes--and of satisfying my
just resentment for the injuries she has inflicted on myself. It was on
this subject," continued the ambassador, "that Monsieur de Villeroy
wished a secret interview with me, pledging himself--if your Majesty
would deign to unite yourself with this King, and to aid him with your
forces--to a successful result."

Mendoza accordingly expressed a willingness to meet the ingenuous
Secretary of State--who had so recently been assisting at the banquets
and rejoicings with Lord Derby and his companions, which had so much
enlivened the French capital--and assured him that his most Catholic
Majesty would be only too glad to draw closer the bonds of friendship
with the most Christian King, for the service of God and the glory of his
Church.

The next day the envoy and the Secretary of State met, very secretly, in
the house of the Signor Gondi. Villeroy commenced his harangue by an
allusion to the current opinion, that Mendoza had arrived in France with
a torch in his hand, to light the fires of civil war in that kingdom, as
he had recently done in England.

"I do not believe," replied Mendoza, "that discreet and prudent persons
in France attribute my actions to any such motives. As for the ignorant
people of the kingdom, they do not appal me, although they evidently
imagine that I have imbibed, during my residence in England, something of
the spirit of the enchanter Merlin, that, by signs and cabalistic words
alone, I am thought capable of producing such commotions."

After this preliminary flourish the envoy proceeded to complain bitterly
of the most Christian King and his mother, who, after the propositions
which they had made him, when on his way to Spain, had, since his return,
become so very cold and dry towards him. And on this theme he enlarged
for some time.

Villeroy replied, by complaining, in his turn, about the dealings of the
most Catholic King, with the leaguers and the rebels of France; and
Mendoza rejoined by an intimation that harping upon past grievances and
suspicions was hardly the way to bring about harmony in present matters.

Struck with the justice of this remark, the French Secretary of State
entered at once upon business. He made a very long speech upon the
tyranny which "that Englishwoman" was anew inflicting upon the Catholics
in her kingdom, upon the offences which she had committed against the
King of Spain, and against the King of France and his brothers, and upon
the aliment which she had been yielding to the civil war in the
Netherlands and in France for so many years. He then said that if Mendoza
would declare with sincerity, and "without any of the duplicity of a
minister"--that Philip would league himself with Henry for the purpose of
invading England, in order to reduce the three kingdoms to the Catholic
faith, and to place their crowns on the head of the Queen of Scotland, to
whom they of right belonged; then that the King, his master, was most
ready to join in so holy an enterprise. He begged Mendoza to say with
what number of troops the invasion could be made; whether Philip could
send any from Flanders or from Spain; how many it would be well to send
from France, and under what chieftain; in what manner it would be best to
communicate with his most Catholic Majesty; whether it were desirable to
despatch a secret envoy to him, and of what quality such agent ought to
be. He also observed that the most Christian King could not himself speak
to Mendoza on the subject before having communicated the matter to the
Queen-Mother, but expressed a wish that a special carrier might be
forthwith despatched to Spain; for he might be sure that, on an affair of
such weight, he would not have permitted himself to reveal the secret
wishes of his master, except by his commands.

Mendoza replied, by enlarging with much enthusiasm on the facility with
which England could be conquered by the combined power of France and
Spain. If it were not a very difficult matter before--even with the
jealousy between the two crowns--how much less so, now that they could
join their fleets and armies; now that the arming by the one prince would
not inspire the other with suspicion; now that they would be certain of
finding safe harbour in each other's kingdoms, in case of unfavourable
weather and head-winds, and that they could arrange from what ports to
sail, in what direction, and under what commanders. He disapproved,
however, of sending a special messenger to Spain, on the ground of
wishing to keep the matter entirely secret, but in reality--as he
informed Philip--because he chose to keep the management in his own
hands; because he could always let slip Mucio upon them, in case they
should play him false; because he feared that the leaking out of the
secret might discourage the Leaguers, and because he felt that the bolder
and more lively were the Cardinal of Bourbon and his confederates, the
stronger was the party of the King, his master, and the more intimidated
and dispirited would be the mind and the forces of the most Christian
King. "And this is precisely the point," said the diplomatist, "at which
a minister of your Majesty should aim at this season."

Thus the civil war in France--an indispensable part of Philip's
policy--was to be maintained at all hazards; and although the ambassador
was of opinion that the most Christian King was sincere in his
proposition to invade England, it would never do to allow any interval of
tranquillity to the wretched subjects of that Christian King.

"I cannot doubt," said Mendoza, "that the making of this proposal to me
with so much warmth was the especial persuasion of God, who, hearing the
groans of the Catholics of England, so cruelly afflicted, wished to force
the French King and his minister to feel, in the necessity which
surrounds them, that the offending Him, by impeding the grandeur of your
Majesty, would be their total ruin, and that their only salvation is to
unite in sincerity and truth with your Majesty for the destruction of the
heretics."

Therefore, although judging from the nature of the French--he might
imagine that they were attempting to put him to sleep, Mendoza, on the
whole, expressed a conviction that the King was in earnest, having
arrived at the conclusion that he could only get rid of the Guise faction
by sending them over to England. "Seeing that he cannot possibly
eradicate the war from his kingdom," said the envoy, "because of the
boldness with which the Leaguers maintain it, with the strong assistance
of your Majesty, he has determined to embrace with much fervour, and
without any deception at all, the enterprise against England, as the only
remedy to quiet his own dominions. The subjugation of those three
kingdoms, in order to restore them to their rightful owner, is a purpose
so holy, just, and worthy of your Majesty, and one which you have had so
constantly in view, that it is superfluous for me to enlarge upon the
subject. Your Majesty knows that its effects will be the tranquillity and
preservation of all your realms. The reasons for making the attempt, even
without the aid of France, become demonstrations now that she is
unanimously in favour of the scheme. The most Christian King is
resolutely bent--so far as I can comprehend the intrigues of Villeroy--to
carry out this project on the foundation of a treaty with the Guise
party. It will not take much time, therefore, to put down the heretics
here; nor will it consume much more to conquer England with the armies of
two such powerful Princes. The power of that island is of little moment,
there being no disciplined forces to oppose us, even if they were all
unanimous in its defence; how much less then, with so many Catholics to
assist the invaders, seeing them so powerful. If your Majesty, on account
of your Netherlands, is not afraid of putting arms into the hands of the
Guise family in France, there need be less objection to sending one of
that house into England, particularly as you will send forces of your own
into that kingdom, by the reduction of which the affairs of Flanders will
be secured. To effect the pacification of the Netherlands the sooner, it
would be desirable to conquer England as early as October."

Having thus sufficiently enlarged upon the sincerity of the French King
and his prime minister, in their dark projects against a friendly power,
and upon the ease with which that friendly power could be subjected, the
ambassador begged for a reply from his royal master without delay. He
would be careful, meantime, to keep the civil war alive in France--thus
verifying the poetical portrait of himself, the truth of which he had
just been so indignantly and rhetorically denying--but it was desirable
that the French should believe that this civil war was not Philip's sole
object. He concluded by drawing his master's attention to the sufferings
of the English Catholics. "I cannot refrain," he said, "from placing
before your eyes the terrible persecutions which the Catholics are
suffering in England; the blood of the martyrs flowing in so many kinds
of torments; the groans of the prisoners, of the widows and orphans; the
general oppression and servitude, which is the greatest ever endured by a
people of God, under any tyrant whatever. Your Majesty, into whose hands
God is now pleased to place the means, so long desired, of extirpating
and totally destroying the heresies of our time, can alone liberate them
from their bondage."

The picture of these kings, prime ministers, and ambassadors, thus
plotting treason, stratagem, and massacre, is a dark and dreary one. The
description of English sufferings for conscience' sake, under the
Protestant Elizabeth, is even more painful; for it had unfortunately too
much, of truth, although as wilfully darkened and exaggerated as could be
done by religious hatred and Spanish bombast. The Queen was surrounded by
legions of deadly enemies. Spain, the Pope, the League, were united in
one perpetual conspiracy against her; and they relied on the cooperation
of those subjects of hers whom her own cruelty was converting into
traitors.

We read with a shudder these gloomy secrets of conspiracy and wholesale
murder, which make up the diplomatic history of the sixteenth century,
and we cease to wonder that a woman, feeling herself so continually the
mark at which all the tyrants and assassins of Europe were
aiming--although not possessing perhaps the evidences of her peril so
completely as they have been revealed to us--should come to consider
every English Papist as a traitor and an assassin. It was unfortunate
that she was not able to rise beyond the vile instincts of the age, and
by a magnanimous and sublime toleration, to convert her secret enemies
into loyal subjects.

And now Henry of Valois was to choose between league and counter-league,
between Henry of Guise and Henry of Navarre, between France and Spain.
The whole chivalry of Gascony and Guienne, the vast swarm of industrious
and hardy Huguenot artisans, the Netherland rebels, the great English
Queen, stood ready to support the cause of French nationality, and of all
nationalities, against a threatening world-empire, of religious liberty
against sacerdotal absolutism, and the crown of a King, whose only merit
had hitherto been to acquiesce in a religious toleration dictated to him
by others, against those who derided his authority and insulted his
person. The bold knight-errant of Christendom, the champion to the
utterance against Spain, stood there with lance in rest, and the King
scarcely hesitated.

The League, gliding so long unheeded, now reared its crest in the very
palace of France, and full in the monarch's face. With a single shudder
the victim fell into its coils.

The choice was made. On the 18th of July (1585) the edict of Nemours was
published, revoking all previous edicts by which religious peace had been
secured. Death and confiscation of property were now proclaimed as the
penalty of practising any religious rites save those of the Roman
Catholic Church. Six months were allowed to the Nonconformists to put
their affairs in order, after which they were to make public profession
of the Catholic religion, with regular attendance upon its ceremonies, or
else go into perpetual exile. To remain in France without abjuring heresy
was thenceforth a mortal crime, to be expiated upon the gallows. As a
matter of course, all Huguenots were instantaneously incapacitated from
public office, the mixed chambers of justice were abolished, and the
cautionary towns were to be restored. On the other hand, the Guise
faction were to receive certain cities into their possession, as pledges
that this sanguinary edict should be fulfilled.

Thus did Henry III. abjectly kiss the hand which smote him. His mother,
having since the death of Anjou no further interest in affecting to
favour the Huguenots, had arranged the basis of this treaty with the
Spanish party. And now the unfortunate King had gone solemnly down to the
Parliament of Paris, to be present at the registration of the edict. The
counsellors and presidents were all assembled, and as they sat there in
their crimson robes, they seemed, to the excited imagination of those who
loved their country, like embodiments of the impending and most
sanguinary tragedy. As the monarch left the parliament-house a faint cry
of 'God save the King' was heard in the street. Henry hung his head, for
it was long since that cry had met his ears, and he knew that it was a
false and languid demonstration which had been paid for by the Leaguers.

And thus was the compact signed--an unequal compact. Madam League was on
horseback, armed in proof, said a contemporary; the King was on foot, and
dressed in a shirt of penitence. The alliance was not an auspicious one.
Not peace, but a firebrand--'facem, non pacem'--had the King held forth
to his subjects.

When the news came to Henry of Navarre that the King had really
promulgated this fatal edict, he remained for a time, with amazement and
sorrow, leaning heavily upon a table, with his face in his right hand.
When he raised his head again--so he afterwards asserted--one side of his
moustachio had turned white.

Meantime Gregory XIII., who had always refused to sanction the League,
was dead, and Cardinal Peretti, under the name of Sixtus V., now reigned
in his place. Born of an illustrious house, as he said--for it was a
house without a roof--this monk of humble origin was of inordinate
ambition. Feigning a humility which was but the cloak to his pride, he
was in reality as grasping, self-seeking, and revengeful, as he seemed
gentle and devout. It was inevitable that a pontiff of this character
should seize the opportunity offered him to mimic Hildebrand, and to
brandish on high the thunderbolts of the Church.

With a flaming prelude concerning the omnipotence delegated by Almighty
God to St. Peter and his successors--an authority infinitely superior to
all earthly powers--the decrees of which were irresistible alike by the
highest and the meanest, and which hurled misguided princes from their
thrones into the abyss, like children of Beelzebub, the Pope proceeded to
fulminate his sentence of excommunication against those children of
wrath, Henry of Navarre and Henry of Conde. They were denounced as
heretics, relapsed, and enemies of God (28th Aug.1585). The King was
declared dispossessed of his principality of Bearne, and of what remained
to him of Navarre. He was stripped of all dignities, privileges, and
property, and especially proclaimed incapable of ever ascending the
throne of France.

The Bearnese replied by a clever political squib. A terse and spirited
paper found its way to Rome, and was soon affixed, to the statutes of
Pasquin and Marforio, and in other public places of that city, and even
to the gates of the papal palace. Without going beyond his own doors, his
Holiness had the opportunity of reading, to his profound amazement, that
Mr. Sixtus, calling himself Pope, had foully and maliciously lied in
calling the King of Navarre a heretic. This Henry offered to prove before
any free council legitimately chosen. If the Pope refused to submit to
such decision, he was himself no better than excommunicate and
Antichrist, and the King of Navarre thereby declared mortal and perpetual
war upon him. The ancient kings of France had known how to chastise the
insolence of former popes, and he hoped, when he ascended the throne, to
take vengeance on Mr. Sixtus for the insult thus offered to all the kings
of Christendom--and so on, in a vein which showed the Bearnese to be a
man rather amused than blasted by these papal fireworks.

Sixtus V., though imperious, was far from being dull. He knew how to
appreciate a man when he found one, and he rather admired the cheerful
attitude maintained by Navarre, as he tossed back the thunderbolts. He
often spoke afterwards of Henry with genuine admiration, and declared
that in all the world he knew but two persons fit to wear a crown--Henry
of Navarre and Elizabeth of England. "'Twas pity," he said, "that both
should be heretics."

And thus the fires of civil war had been lighted throughout Christendom,
and the monarch of France had thrown himself head foremost into the
flames.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Hibernian mode of expressing himself
     His inordinate arrogance
     His insolence intolerable
     Humility which was but the cloak to his pride
     Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it
     Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts
     Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived
     Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself
     With something of feline and feminine duplicity
     'Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History of The United Netherlands, 1585

Alexander Farnese, The Duke of Parma



CHAPTER V., Part 1.

   Position and Character of Farnese--Preparations for Antwerp Siege--
   Its Characteristics--Foresight of William the Silent--Sainte
   Aldegonde, the Burgomaster--Anarchy in Antwerp--Character of Sainte
   Aldegonde--Admiral Treslong--Justinus de Nassau--Hohenlo--Opposition
   to the Plan of Orange--Liefkenshoek--Head--Quarters of Parma at
   Kalloo--Difficulty of supplying the City--Results of not piercing
   the Dykes--Preliminaries of the Siege--Successes of the Spaniards--
   Energy of Farnese with Sword and Pen--His Correspondence with the
   Antwerpers--Progress of the Bridge--Impoverished Condition of Parma
   --Patriots attempt Bois-le-Duc--Their Misconduct--Failure of the
   Enterprise--The Scheldt Bridge completed--Description of the
   Structure

The negotiations between France and the Netherlands have been massed, in
order to present a connected and distinct view of the relative attitude
of the different countries of Europe. The conferences and diplomatic
protocolling had resulted in nothing positive; but it is very necessary
for the reader to understand the negative effects of all this
dissimulation and palace-politics upon the destiny of the new
commonwealth, and upon Christendom at large. The League had now achieved
a great triumph; the King of France had virtually abdicated, and it was
now requisite for the King of Navarre, the Netherlands, and Queen
Elizabeth, to draw more closely together than before, if the last hope of
forming a counter-league were not to be abandoned. The next step in
political combination was therefore a solemn embassy of the
States-General to England. Before detailing those negotiations, however,
it is proper to direct attention to the external public events which had
been unrolling themselves in the Provinces, contemporaneously with the
secret history which has been detailed in the preceding chapters.

By presenting in their natural groupings various distinct occurrences,
rather than by detailing them in strict chronological order, a clearer
view of the whole picture will be furnished than could be done by
intermingling personages, transactions, and scenery, according to the
arbitrary command of Time alone.

The Netherlands, by the death of Orange, had been left without a head. On
the other hand, the Spanish party had never been so fortunate in their
chief at any period since the destiny of the two nations had been blended
with each other. Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, was a general and a
politician, whose character had been steadily ripening since he came into
the command of the country. He was now thirty-seven years of age--with
the experience of a sexagenarian. No longer the impetuous, arbitrary,
hot-headed youth, whose intelligence and courage hardly atoned for his
insolent manner and stormy career, he had become pensive, modest, almost
gentle. His genius was rapid in conception, patient in combination,
fertile in expedients, adamantine in the endurance or suffering; for
never did a heroic general and a noble army of veterans manifest more
military virtue in the support of an infamous cause than did Parma and
his handful of Italians and Spaniards. That which they considered to be
their duty they performed. The work before them they did with all their
might.

Alexander had vanquished the rebellion in the Celtic provinces, by the
masterly diplomacy and liberal bribery which have been related in a
former work. Artois, Hainault, Douay, Orchies, with the rich cities of
Lille, Tournay, Valenciennes, Arras, and other important places, were now
the property of Philip. These unhappy and misguided lands, however, were
already reaping the reward of their treason. Beggared, trampled upon,
plundered, despised, they were at once the prey of the Spaniards, and the
cause that their sister-states, which still held out, were placed in more
desperate condition than ever. They were also, even in their abject
plight, made still more forlorn by the forays of Balagny, who continued
in command of Cambray. Catharine de' Medici claimed that city as her
property, by will of the Duke of Anjou. A strange title--founded upon the
treason and cowardice of her favourite son--but one which, for a time,
was made good by the possession maintained by Balagny. That usurper
meantime, with a shrewd eye to his own interests, pronounced the truce of
Cambray, which was soon afterwards arranged, from year to year, by
permission of Philip, as a "most excellent milch-cow;" and he continued
to fill his pails at the expense of the "reconciled" provinces, till they
were thoroughly exhausted.

This large south-western section of the Netherlands being thus
permanently re-annexed to the Spanish crown, while Holland, Zeeland, and
the other provinces, already constituting the new Dutch republic, were
more obstinate in their hatred of Philip than ever, there remained the
rich and fertile territory of Flanders and Brabant as the great
debateable land. Here were the royal and political capital, Brussels, the
commercial capital, Antwerp, with Mechlin, Dendermonde, Vilvoorde, and
other places of inferior importance, all to be struggled for to the
death. With the subjection of this district the last bulwark between the
new commonwealth and the old empire would be overthrown, and Spain and
Holland would then meet face to face.

If there had ever been a time when every nerve in Protestant Christendom
should be strained to weld all those provinces together into one great
commonwealth, as a bulwark for European liberty, rather than to allow
them to be broken into stepping-stones, over which absolutism could
stride across France and Holland into England, that moment had arrived.
Every sacrifice should have been cheerfully made by all Netherlanders,
the uttermost possible subsidies and auxiliaries should have been
furnished by all the friends of civil and religious liberty in every land
to save Flanders and Brabant from their impending fate.

No man felt more keenly the importance of the business in which he was
engaged than Parma. He knew his work exactly, and he meant to execute it
thoroughly. Antwerp was the hinge on which the fate of the whole country,
perhaps of all Christendom, was to turn. "If we get Antwerp," said the
Spanish soldiers--so frequently that the expression passed into a
proverb--"you shall all go to mass with us; if you save Antwerp, we will
all go to conventicle with you."

Alexander rose with the difficulty and responsibility of his situation.
His vivid, almost poetic intellect formed its schemes with perfect
distinctness. Every episode in his great and, as he himself termed it,
his "heroic enterprise," was traced out beforehand with the tranquil
vision of creative genius; and he was prepared to convert his conceptions
into reality, with the aid of an iron nature that never knew fatigue or
fear.

But the obstacles were many. Alexander's master sat in his cabinet with
his head full of Mucio, Don Antonio, and Queen Elizabeth; while Alexander
himself was left neglected, almost forgotten. His army was shrinking to a
nullity. The demands upon him were enormous, his finances delusive,
almost exhausted. To drain an ocean dry he had nothing but a sieve. What
was his position? He could bring into the field perhaps eight or ten
thousand men over and above the necessary garrisons. He had before him
Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin, Ghent, Dendermonde, and other powerful
places, which he was to subjugate. Here was a problem not easy of
solution. Given an army of eight thousand, more or less, to reduce
therewith in the least possible time, half-a-dozen cities; each
containing fifteen or twenty thousand men able to bear arms. To besiege
these places in form was obviously a mere chimera. Assault, battery, and
surprises--these were all out of the question.

Yet Alexander was never more truly heroic than in this position of vast
entanglement. Untiring, uncomplaining, thoughtful of others, prodigal of
himself, generous, modest, brave; with so much intellect and so much
devotion to what he considered his duty, he deserved to be a patriot and
a champion of the right, rather than an instrument of despotism.

And thus he paused for a moment--with much work already accomplished, but
his hardest life-task before him; still in the noon of manhood, a fine
martial figure, standing, spear in hand, full in the sunlight, though all
the scene around him was wrapped in gloom--a noble, commanding shape,
entitled to the admiration which the energetic display of great powers,
however unscrupulous, must always command. A dark, meridional
physiognomy, a quick; alert, imposing head; jet black, close-clipped
hair; a bold eagle's face, with full, bright, restless eye; a man rarely
reposing, always ready, never alarmed; living in the saddle, with harness
on his back--such was the Prince of Parma; matured and mellowed, but
still unharmed by time.

The cities of Flanders and Brabant he determined to reduce by gaining
command of the Scheldt. The five principal ones Ghent, Dendermonde,
Mechlin, Brussels Antwerp, lie narrow circle, at distances from each
other varying from five miles to thirty, and are all strung together by
the great Netherland river or its tributaries. His plan was immensely
furthered by the success of Balthasar Gerard, an ally whom Alexander had
despised and distrusted, even while he employed him. The assassination of
Orange was better to Parma than forty thousand men. A crowd of allies
instantly started up for him, in the shape of treason, faintheartedness,
envy, jealousy, insubordination, within the walls of every beleaguered
city. Alexander knew well how to deal with those auxiliaries. Letters,
artfully concocted, full of conciliation and of promise, were circulated
in every council-room, in almost every house.

The surrender of Ghent--brought about by the governor's eloquence, aided
by the golden arguments which he knew so well how to advance--had by the
middle of September (19th Sept. 1584), put him in possession of West
Flanders, with the important exception of the coast. Dendermonde
capitulated at a still earlier day; while the fall of Brussels, which
held out till many persons had been starved to death, was deferred till
the 10th March of the following year, and that of Mechlin till midsummer.

The details of the military or political operations, by which the
reduction of most of these places were effected, possess but little
interest. The siege of Antwerp, however, was one of the most striking
events of the age; and although the change in military tactics and the
progress of science may have rendered this leaguer of less technical
importance than it possessed in the sixteenth century, yet the
illustration that it affords of the splendid abilities of Parma, of the
most cultivated mode of warfare in use at that period, and of the
internal politics by which the country was then regulated, make it
necessary to dwell upon the details of an episode which must ever possess
enduring interest.

It is agreeable to reflect, too, that the fame of the general is not
polluted with the wholesale butchery, which has stained the reputation of
other Spanish commanders so indelibly. There was no killing for the mere
love of slaughter. With but few exceptions, there was no murder in cold
blood; and the many lives that were laid down upon those watery dykes
were sacrificed at least in bold, open combat; in a contest, the ruling
spirits of which were patriotism, or at least honour.

It is instructive, too, to observe the diligence and accuracy with which
the best lights of the age were brought to bear upon the great problem
which Parma had undertaken to solve. All the science then at command was
applied both by the Prince and by his burgher antagonists to the
advancement of their ends. Hydrostatics, hydraulics, engineering,
navigation, gunnery, pyrotechnics, mining, geometry, were summoned as
broadly, vigorously, and intelligently to the destruction or preservation
of a trembling city, as they have ever been, in more commercial days, to
advance a financial or manufacturing purpose. Land converted into water,
and water into land, castles built upon the breast of rapid streams,
rivers turned from their beds and taught new courses; the distant ocean
driven across ancient bulwarks, mines dug below the sea, and canals made
to percolate obscene morasses--which the red hand of war, by the very
act, converted into blooming gardens--a mighty stream bridged and
mastered in the very teeth of winter, floating ice-bergs, ocean-tides,
and an alert and desperate foe, ever ready with fleets and armies and
batteries--such were the materials of which the great spectacle was
composed; a spectacle which enchained the attention of Europe for seven
months, and on the result of which, it was thought, depended the fate of
all the Netherlands, and perhaps of all Christendom.

Antwerp, then the commercial centre of the Netherlands and of Europe,
stands upon the Scheldt. The river, flowing straight, broad, and full
along the verge of the city, subtends the arc into which the place
arranges itself as it falls back from the shore. Two thousand ships of
the largest capacity then known might easily find room in its ample
harbours. The stream, nearly half a mile in width, and sixty feet in
depth, with a tidal rise and fall of eleven feet, moves, for a few miles,
in a broad and steady current between the provinces of Brabant and
Flanders. Then, dividing itself into many ample estuaries, and gathering
up the level isles of Zeeland into its bosom, it seems to sweep out with
them into the northern ocean. Here, at the junction of the river and the
sea, lay the perpetual hope of Antwerp, for in all these creeks and
currents swarmed the fleets of the Zeelanders, that hardy and amphibious
race, with which few soldiers or mariners could successfully contend, on
land or water.

Even from the beginning of the year 1584 Parma had been from time to time
threatening Antwerp. The victim instinctively felt that its enemy was
poising and hovering over head, although he still delayed to strike.
Early in the summer Sainte Aldegonde, Recorder Martini, and other
official personages, were at Delft, upon the occasion of the christening
ceremonies of Frederic Henry, youngest child of Orange. The Prince, at
that moment, was aware of the plans of Parma, and held a long
conversation with his friends upon the measures which he desired to see
immediately undertaken. Unmindful of his usual hospitality, he insisted
that these gentlemen should immediately leave for Antwerp. Alexander
Farnese, he assured them, had taken the firm determination to possess
himself of that place, without further delay. He had privately signified
his purpose of laying the axe at once to the root of the tree, believing
that with the fall of the commercial capital the infant confederacy of
the United States would fall likewise. In order to accomplish this
object, he would forthwith attempt to make himself master of the banks of
the Scheldt, and would even throw a bridge across the stream, if his
plans were not instantly circumvented.

William of Orange then briefly indicated his plan; adding that he had no
fears for the result; and assuring his friends, who expressed much
anxiety on the subject, that if Parma really did attempt the siege of
Antwerp it should be his ruin. The plan was perfectly simple. The city
stood upon a river. It was practicable, although extremely hazardous, for
the enemy to bridge that river, and by so doing ultimately to reduce the
place. But the ocean could not be bridged; and it was quite possible to
convert Antwerp, for a season, into an ocean-port. Standing alone upon an
island, with the sea flowing around it, and with full and free marine
communication with Zeeland and Holland, it might safely bid defiance to
the land-forces, even of so great a commander as Parma. To the
furtherance of this great measure of defence, it was necessary to destroy
certain bulwarks, the chief of (10th June, 1584) which was called the
Blaw-garen Dyke; and Sainte Aldegonde was therefore requested to return
to the city, in order to cause this task to be executed without delay.

Nothing could be more judicious than this advice. The low lands along the
Scheldt were protected against marine encroachments, and the river itself
was confined to its bed, by a magnificent system of dykes, which extended
along its edge towards the ocean, in parallel lines. Other barriers of a
similar nature ran in oblique directions, through the wide open pasture
lands, which they maintained in green fertility, against the
ever-threatening sea. The Blaw-garen, to which the prince mainly alluded,
was connected with the great dyke upon the right bank of the Scheldt.
Between this and the city, another bulwark called the Kowenstyn Dyke,
crossed the country at right angles to the river, and joined the other
two at a point, not very far from Lillo, where the States had a strong
fortress.

The country in this neighbourhood was low, spongy, full of creeks, small
meres, and the old bed of the Scheldt. Orange, therefore, made it very
clear, that by piercing the great dyke just described, such a vast body
of water would be made to pour over the land as to submerge the Kowenstyn
also, the only other obstacle in the passage of fleets from Zeeland to
Antwerp. The city would then be connected with the sea and its islands,
by so vast an expanse of navigable water, that any attempt on Parma's
part to cut off supplies and succour would be hopeless. Antwerp would
laugh the idea of famine to scorn; and although this immunity would be
purchased by the sacrifice of a large amount of agricultural territory
the price so paid was but a slender one, when the existence of the
capital, and with it perhaps of the whole confederacy was at stake.

Sainte Aldegonde and Martini suggested, that, as there would be some
opposition to the measure proposed, it might be as well to make a similar
attempt on the Flemish side, in preference, by breaking through the dykes
in the neighbourhood of Saftingen. Orange replied, by demonstrating that
the land in the region which he had indicated was of a character to
ensure success, while in the other direction there were certain very
unfavourable circumstances which rendered the issue doubtful. The result
was destined to prove the sagacity of the Prince, for it will be shown in
the sequel, that the Saftingen plan, afterwards really carried out, was
rather advantageous than detrimental to the enemy's projects.

Sainte Aldegonde, accordingly, yielded to the arguments and entreaties of
his friend, and repaired without delay to Antwerp.

The advice of William the Silent--as will soon be related--was not acted
upon; and, within a few weeks after it had been given, he was in his
grave. Nowhere was his loss more severely felt than in Antwerp. It
seemed, said a contemporary, that with his death had died all authority.
The Prince was the only head which the many-membered body of that very
democratic city ever spontaneously obeyed. Antwerp was a small
republic--in time of peace intelligently and successfully
administered--which in the season of a great foreign war, amid plagues,
tumults, famine, and internal rebellion, required the firm hand and the
clear brain of a single chief. That brain and hand had been possessed by
Orange alone.

Before his death he had desired that Sainte Aldegonde should accept the
office of burgomaster of the city. Nominally, the position was not so
elevated as were many of the posts which that distinguished patriot had
filled. In reality, it was as responsible and arduous a place as could be
offered to any man's acceptance throughout the country. Sainte Aldegonde
consented, not without some reluctance. He felt that there was odium to
be incurred; he knew that much would be expected of him, and that his
means would be limited. His powers would be liable to a constant and
various restraint. His measures were sure to be the subject of perpetual
cavil. If the city were besieged, there were nearly one hundred thousand
mouths to feed, and nearly one hundred thousand tongues to dispute about
furnishing the food.

For the government of Antwerp had been degenerating from a well-organised
municipal republicanism into anarchy. The clashing of the various bodies
exercising power had become incessant and intolerable. The burgomaster
was charged with the chief executive authority, both for peace and war.
Nevertheless he had but a single vote in the board of magistrates, where
a majority decided. Moreover, he could not always attend the sessions,
because he was also member of the council of Brabant. Important measures
might therefore be decided by the magistracy, not only against his
judgment, but without his knowledge. Then there was a variety of boards
or colleges, all arrogating concurrent--which in truth was
conflicting-authority. There was the board of militia-colonels, which
claimed great powers. Here, too, the burgomaster was nominally the chief,
but he might be voted down by a majority, and of course was often absent.
Then there were sixteen captains who came into the colonels' sessions
whenever they liked, and had their word to say upon all subjects
broached. If they were refused a hearing, they were backed by eighty
other captains, who were ready at any moment to carry every disputed
point before the "broadcouncil."

There were a college of ward-masters, a college of select men, a college
of deacons, a college of ammunition, of fortification, of ship-building,
all claiming equal authority, and all wrangling among themselves; and
there was a college of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all the
rest together.

Once a week there was a session of the board or general council. Dire was
the hissing and confusion, as the hydra heads of the multitudinous
government were laid together. Heads of colleges, presidents of chambers,
militia-chieftains; magistrates, ward-masters, deans of fishmongers, of
tailors, gardeners, butchers, all met together pell-mell; and there was
no predominant authority. This was not a convenient working machinery for
a city threatened with a siege by the first captain of the age. Moreover
there was a deficiency of regular troops: The burgher-militia were well
trained and courageous, but not distinguished for their docility. There
was also a regiment of English under Colonel Morgan, a soldier of great
experience, and much respected; but, as Stephen Le Sieur said, "this
force, unless seconded with more, was but a breakfast for the enemy."
Unfortunately, too, the insubordination, which was so ripe in the city,
seemed to affect these auxiliaries. A mutiny broke out among the English
troops. Many deserted to Parma, some escaped to England, and it was not
until Morgan had beheaded Captain Lee and Captain Powell, that discipline
could be restored.

And into this scene of wild and deafening confusion came Philip de
Marnix, Lord of Sainte Aldegonde.

There were few more brilliant characters than he in all Christendom. He
was a man, of a most rare and versatile genius. Educated in Geneva at the
very feet of Calvin, he had drunk, like mother's milk, the strong and
bitter waters of the stern reformer's, creed; but he had in after life
attempted, although hardly with success, to lift himself to the height of
a general religious toleration. He had also been trained in the severe
and thorough literary culture which characterised that rigid school. He
was a scholar, ripe and rare; no holiday trifler in the gardens of
learning. He spoke and wrote Latin like his native tongue. He could
compose poignant Greek epigrams. He was so familiar with Hebrew, that he
had rendered the Psalms of David out of the original into flowing Flemish
verse, for the use of the reformed churches. That he possessed the modern
tongues of civilized Europe, Spanish, Italian, French, and German, was a
matter of course. He was a profound jurisconsult, capable of holding
debate against all competitors upon any point of theory or practice of
law, civil, municipal, international. He was a learned theologian, and
had often proved himself a match for the doctors, bishops, or rabbin of
Europe, in highest argument of dogma, creed, or tradition. He was a
practised diplomatist, constantly employed in delicate and difficult
negotiations by William the Silent, who ever admired his genius,
cherished his friendship, and relied upon his character. He was an
eloquent orator, whose memorable harangue, beyond all his other efforts,
at the diet of Worms, had made the German princes hang their heads with
shame, when, taking a broad and philosophical view of the Netherland
matter, he had shown that it was the great question of Europe; that
Nether Germany was all Germany; that Protestantism could not be
unravelled into shreds; that there was but one cause in Christendom--that
of absolutism against national liberty, Papacy against the reform; and
that the seventeen Provinces were to be assisted in building themselves
into an eternal barrier against Spain, or that the "burning mark of shame
would be branded upon the forehead of Germany;" that the war, in short,
was to be met by her on the threshold; or else that it would come to seek
her at home--a prophecy which the horrible Thirty Years' War was in after
time most signally to verify.

He was a poet of vigour and originality, for he had accomplished what has
been achieved by few; he had composed a national hymn, whose strophes, as
soon as heard, struck a chord in every Netherland heart, and for three
centuries long have rung like a clarion wherever the Netherland tongue is
spoken. "Wilhelmus van Nassouwe," regarded simply as a literary
composition, has many of the qualities which an ode demands; an
electrical touch upon the sentiments, a throb of patriotism, sympathetic
tenderness, a dash of indignation, with rhythmical harmony and graceful
expression; and thus it has rung from millions of lips, from generation
to generation.

He was a soldier, courageous, untiring, prompt in action, useful in
council, and had distinguished himself in many a hard-fought field. Taken
prisoner in the sanguinary skirmish at Maaslandssluys, he had been
confined a year, and, for more than three months, had never laid his
head, as he declared, upon the pillow without commending his soul as for
the last time to his Maker, expecting daily the order for his immediate
execution, and escaping his doom only because William the Silent
proclaimed that the proudest head among the Spanish prisoners should fall
to avenge his death; so that he was ultimately exchanged against the
veteran Mondragon.

From the incipient stages of the revolt he had been foremost among the
patriots. He was supposed to be the author of the famous "Compromise of
the Nobles," that earliest and most conspicuous of the state-papers of
the republic, and of many other important political documents; and he had
contributed to general literature many works of European celebrity, of
which the 'Roman Bee-Hive' was the most universally known.

Scholar, theologian, diplomatist, swordsman, orator, poet, pamphleteer,
he had genius for all things, and was eminent in all. He was even famous
for his dancing, and had composed an intelligent and philosophical
treatise upon the value of that amusement, as an agent of civilisation,
and as a counteractor of the grosser pleasures of the table to which
Upper and Nether Germans were too much addicted.

Of ancient Savoyard extraction, and something of a southern nature, he
had been born in Brussels, and was national to the heart's core.

A man of interesting, sympathetic presence; of a physiognomy where many
of the attaching and attractive qualities of his nature revealed
themselves; with crisp curling hair, surmounting a tall, expansive
forehead--full of benevolence, idealism, and quick perceptions; broad,
brown, melancholy eyes, overflowing with tenderness; a lean and haggard
cheek, a rugged Flemish nose; a thin flexible mouth; a slender moustache,
and a peaked and meagre beard; so appeared Sainte Aldegonde in the
forty-seventh year of his age, when he came to command in Antwerp.

Yet after all--many-sided, accomplished, courageous, energetic, as he
was--it may be doubted whether he was the man for the hour or the post.
He was too impressionable; he had too much of the temperament of genius.
Without being fickle, he had, besides his versatility of intellect, a
character which had much facility in turning; not, indeed, in the breeze
of self-interest, but because he seemed placed in so high and clear an
atmosphere of thought that he was often acted upon and swayed by subtle
and invisible influences. At any rate his conduct was sometimes
inexplicable. He had been strangely fascinated by the ignoble Duke of
Anjou, and, in the sequel, it will be found that he was destined to
experience other magnetic or magical impulses, which were once thought
suspicious, and have remained mysterious even to the present day.

He was imaginative. He was capable of broad and boundless hopes. He was
sometimes prone to deep despair. His nature was exquisitely tempered; too
fine and polished a blade to be wielded among those hydra-heads by which
he was, now surrounded; and for which the stunning sledgehammer of
arbitrary force was sometimes necessary.

He was perhaps deficient in that gift, which no training and no culture
can bestow, and which comes from above alone by birth-right divine--that
which men willingly call master, authority; the effluence which came so
naturally from the tranquil eyes of William the Silent.

Nevertheless, Sainte Aldegonde was prepared to do his best, and all his
best was to be tasked to the utmost. His position was rendered still more
difficult by the unruly nature of some of his coordinates.

"From the first day to the last," said one who lived in Antwerp during
the siege, "the mistakes committed in the city were incredible." It had
long been obvious that a siege was contemplated by Parma. A liberal sum
of money had been voted by the States-General, of which Holland and
Zeeland contributed a very large proportion (two hundred thousand
florins); the city itself voted another large subsidy, and an order was
issued to purchase at once and import into the city at least a year's
supply of every kind of provisions of life and munitions of war.

William de Blois, Lord of Treslong, Admiral of Holland and Zeeland, was
requested to carry out this order, and superintend the victualling of
Antwerp. But Treslong at once became troublesome. He was one of the old
"beggars of the sea," a leader in the wild band who had taken possession
of the Brill, in the teeth of Alva, and so laid the foundation of the
republic. An impetuous noble, of wealthy family, high connections, and
refractory temper--a daring sailor, ever ready for any rash adventure,
but possessed of a very moderate share of prudence or administrative
ability, he fell into loose and lawless courses on the death of Orange,
whose firm hand was needed to control him. The French negotiation had
excited his profound disgust, and knowing Sainte Aldegonde to be heart
and soul in favour of that alliance, he was in no haste whatever to carry
out his orders with regard to Antwerp. He had also an insignificant
quarrel with President Meetkerk. The Prince of Parma--ever on the watch
for such opportunities--was soon informed of the Admiral's discontent,
and had long been acquainted with his turbulent character. Alexander at
once began to inflame his jealousy and soothe his vanity by letters and
messengers, urging upon him the propriety of reconciling himself with the
King, and promising him large rewards and magnificent employments in the
royal service. Even the splendid insignia of the Golden Fleece were
dangled before his eyes. It is certain that the bold Hollander was not
seduced by these visions, but there is no doubt that he listened to the
voice of the tempter. He unquestionably neglected his duty. Week after
week he remained, at Ostend, sneering at the French and quaffing huge
draughts in honour of Queen Elizabeth. At last, after much time had
elapsed, he agreed to victual Antwerp if he could be furnished with
thirty krom-stevens,--a peculiar kind of vessel, not to be found in
Zeeland. The krom-stevens were sent to him from Holland. Then, hearing
that his negligence had been censured by the States-General, he became
more obstinate than ever, and went up and down proclaiming that if people
made themselves disagreeable to him he would do that which should make
all the women and children in the Netherlands shriek and tremble. What
this nameless horror was to be he never divulged, but meantime he went
down to Middelburg, and swore that not a boat-load of corn should go up
to Antwerp until two members of the magistracy, whom he considered
unpleasant, had been dismissed from their office. Wearied with all this
bluster, and imbued with grave suspicion as to his motives, the States at
last rose upon their High Admiral and threw him into prison. He was
accused of many high crimes and misdemeanours, and, it was thought, would
be tried for his life. He was suspected and even openly accused of having
been tampered with by Spain, but there was at any rate a deficiency of
proof.

"Treslong is apprehended," wrote Davison to Burghley, "and, is charged to
have been the cause that the fleet passed not up to Antwerp. He is
suspected to have otherwise forgotten himself, but whether justly or not
will appear by his trial. Meantime he is kept in the common prison of
Middelburg, a treatment which it is thought they would not offer him if
they had not somewhat of importance against him."

He was subsequently released at the intercession of Queen Elizabeth, and
passed some time in England. He was afterwards put upon trial, but no
accuser appearing to sustain the charges against him, he was eventually
released. He never received a command in the navy again, but the very
rich sinecures of Grand Falconer and Chief Forester of Holland were
bestowed upon him, and he appears to have ended his days in peace and
plenty.

He was succeeded in the post of Admiral of Holland and Zeeland by
Justinus de Nassau, natural son of William the Silent, a young man of
much promise but of little experience.

General Count Hohenlo, too, lieutenant for young Maurice, and virtual
commander-in-chief of the States' forces, was apt to give much trouble. A
German noble, of ancient descent and princely rank; brave to temerity,
making a jest of danger; and riding into a foray as if to a merry-making;
often furiously intoxicated, and always turbulent and uncertain; a
handsome, dissipated cavalier, with long curls floating over his
shoulders, an imposing aristocratic face, and a graceful, athletic
figure, he needed some cool brain and steady hand to guide him--valuable
as he was to fulfil any daring project but was hardly willing to accept
the authority of a burgomaster. While the young Maurice yet needed
tutelage, while "the sapling was growing into the tree," Hohenlo was a
dangerous chieftain and a most disorderly lieutenant.

With such municipal machinery and such coadjutors had Sainte Aldegonde to
deal, while, meantime, the delusive French negociation was dragging its
slow length along, and while Parma was noiselessly and patiently
proceeding with his preparations.

The burgomaster--for Sainte Aldegonde, in whom vulgar ambition was not a
foible, had refused the dignity and title of Margrave of Antwerp, which
had been tendered him--had neglected no effort towards carrying into
effect the advice of Orange, given almost with his latest breath. The
manner in which that advice was received furnished a striking
illustration of the defective machinery which has been pourtrayed.

Upon his return from Delft, Sainte Aldegonde had summoned a meeting of
the magistracy of Antwerp. He laid before the board the information
communicated by Orange as to Parma's intentions. He also explained the
scheme proposed for their frustration, and urged the measures indicated
with so much earnestness that his fellow-magistrates were convinced. The
order was passed for piercing the Blauw-garen Dyke, and Sainte Aldegonde,
with some engineers, was requested to view the locality, and to take
order for the immediate fulfilment of the plan.

Unfortunately there were many other boards in session besides that of the
Schepens, many other motives at work besides those of patriotism. The
guild of butchers held a meeting, so soon as the plan suggested was
known, and resolved with all their strength to oppose its execution.

The butchers were indeed furious. Twelve thousand oxen grazed annually
upon the pastures which were about to be submerged, and it was
represented as unreasonable that all this good flesh and blood should be
sacrificed. At a meeting of the magistrates on the following day, sixteen
butchers, delegates from their guild, made their appearance, hoarse with
indignation. They represented the vast damage which would be inflicted
upon the estates of many private individuals by the proposed inundation,
by this sudden conversion of teeming meadows, fertile farms, thriving
homesteads, prolific orchards, into sandy desolation. Above all they
depicted, in glowing colours and with natural pathos, the vast
destruction of beef which was imminent, and they urged--with some show of
reason--that if Parma were really about to reduce Antwerp by famine, his
scheme certainly would not be obstructed by the premature annihilation of
these wholesome supplies.

That the Scheldt could be, closed in any manner was, however, they said,
a preposterous conception. That it could be bridged was the dream of a
lunatic. Even if it were possible to construct a bridge, and probable
that the Zeelanders and Antwerpers would look on with folded arms while
the work proceeded, the fabric, when completed, would be at the mercy of
the ice-floods of the winter and the enormous power of the ocean-tides.
The Prince of Orange himself, on a former occasion, when Antwerp was
Spanish, had attempted to close the river with rafts, sunken piles, and
other obstructions, but the whole had been swept away, like a dam of
bulrushes, by the first descent of the ice-blocks of winter. It was
witless to believe that Parma contemplated any such measure, and utterly
monstrous to believe in its success.

Thus far the butchers. Soon afterwards came sixteen colonels of militia,
as representatives of their branch of the multiform government. These
personages, attended by many officers of inferior degree, sustained the
position of the butchers with many voluble and vehement arguments. Not
the least convincing of their conclusions was the assurance that it would
be idle for the authorities to attempt the destruction of the dyke,
seeing that the municipal soldiery itself would prevent the measure by
main force, at all hazards, and without regard to their own or others'
lives.

The violence of this opposition, and the fear of a serious internecine
conflict at so critical a juncture, proved fatal to the project. Much
precious time was lost, and when at last the inhabitants of the city
awoke from their delusion, it was to find that repentance, as usual, had
come many hours too late.

For Parma had been acting while his antagonists had been wrangling. He
was hampered in his means, but he was assisted by what now seems the
incredible supineness of the Netherlanders. Even Sainte Aldegonde did not
believe in the possibility of erecting the bridge; not a man in Antwerp
seemed to believe it. "The preparations," said one who lived in the city,
"went on before our very noses, and every one was ridiculing the Spanish
commander's folly."

A very great error was, moreover, committed in abandoning Herenthals to
the enemy. The city of Antwerp governed Brabant, and it would have been
far better for the authorities of the commercial capital to succour this
small but important city, and, by so doing, to protract for a long time
their own defence. Mondragon saw and rejoiced over the mistake. "Now 'tis
easy to see that the Prince of Orange is dead," said the veteran, as he
took possession, in the Icing's name, of the forsaken Herenthals.

Early in the summer, Parma's operations had been, of necessity,
desultory. He had sprinkled forts up and down the Scheldt, and had
gradually been gaining control of the navigation upon that river. Thus
Ghent and Dendermonde, Vilvoorde, Brussels, and Antwerp, had each been
isolated, and all prevented from rendering mutual assistance. Below
Antwerp, however, was to be the scene of the great struggle. Here, within
nine miles of the city, were two forts belonging to the States, on
opposite sides of the stream, Lille, and Liefkenshoek. It was important
for the Spanish commander to gain possession of both; before commencing
his contemplated bridge.

Unfortunately for the States, the fortifications of Liefkenshoek, on the
Flemish side of the river, had not been entirely completed. Eight hundred
men lay within it, under Colonel John Pettin of Arras, an old patriotic
officer of much experience. Parma, after reconnoitring the place in
person, despatched the famous Viscount of Ghent--now called Marquis of
Roubaix and Richebourg--to carry it by assault. The Marquis sent one
hundred men from his Walloon legion, under two officers, in whom he had
confidence, to attempt a surprise, with orders, if not successful, to
return without delay. They were successful. The one hundred gained
entrance into the fort at a point where the defences had not been put
into sufficient repair.

They were immediately followed by Richebourg, at the head of his
regiment. The day was a fatal one. It was the 10th July, 1584 and William
of Orange was falling at Delft by the hand of Balthazar Gerard.
Liefkenshoek was carried at a blow. Of the eight hundred patriots in the
place, scarcely a man escaped. Four hundred were put to the sword, the
others were hunted into the river, when nearly all were drowned. Of the
royalists a single man was killed, and two or three more were wounded.
"Our Lord was pleased," wrote Parma piously to Philip, that we "should
cut the throats of four hundred of them in a single instant, and that a
great many more should be killed upon the dykes; so that I believe very
few to have escaped with life. We lost one man, besides two or three
wounded." A few were taken prisoners, and among them was the commander
John Pettin. He was at once brought before Richebourg, who was standing
in the presence of the Prince of Parma. The Marquis drew his sword,
walked calmly up to the captured Colonel, and ran him through the body.
Pettin fell dead upon the spot. The Prince was displeased. "Too much
choler, Marquis, too much choler,"--said he reprovingly. "Troppa colera,
Signor Marchese, a questa." But Richebourg knew better. He had, while
still Viscount of Ghent, carried on a year previously a parallel intrigue
with the royalists and the patriots. The Prince of Parma had bid highest
for his services, and had, accordingly, found him a most effectual
instrument in completing the reduction of the Walloon Provinces. The
Prince was not aware, however, that his brave but venal ally had, at the
very same moment, been secretly treating with William of Orange; and as
it so happened that Colonel Pettin had been the agent in the unsuccessful
negotiation, it was possible that his duplicity would now be exposed. The
Marquis had, therefore, been prompt to place his old confederate in the
condition wherein men tell no tales, and if contemporary chronicles did
not bely him, it was not the first time that he had been guilty of such
cold-blooded murder. The choler had not been superfluous.

The fortress of Lille was garrisoned by the Antwerp volunteers, called
the "Young Bachelors." Teligny, the brave son of the illustrious
"Iron-armed" La None, commanded in chief: and he had, besides the
militia, a company of French under Captain Gascoigne, and four hundred
Scotchmen under Colonel Morgan--perhaps two thousand men in all.

Mondragon, hero of the famous submarine expeditions of Philipsland and
Zierickzee, was ordered by Parma to take the place at every hazard. With
five thousand men--a large proportion of the Spanish effective force at
that moment--the veteran placed himself before the fort, taking
possession, of the beautiful country-house and farm of Lille, where he
planted his batteries, and commenced a regular cannonade. The place was
stronger than Liefkenshoek, however, and Teligny thoroughly comprehended
the importance of maintaining it for the States. Mondragon dug mines, and
Teligny countermined. The Spanish daily cannonade was cheerfully
responded to by the besieged, and by the time Mondragon had shot away
fifty thousand pounds of powder, he found that he had made no impression
upon the fortress, while the number of his troops had been diminishing
with great rapidity. Mondragon was not so impetuous as he had been on
many former occasions. He never ventured an assault. At last Teligny made
a sortie at the head of a considerable force. A warm action succeeded, at
the conclusion of which, without a decided advantage on either side, the
sluice-gate in the fortress was opened, and the torrent of the Scheldt,
swollen by a high tide, was suddenly poured upon the Spaniards. Assailed
at once by the fire from the Lillo batteries, and by the waters of the
river, they were forced to a rapid retreat. This they effected with great
loss, but with signal courage; struggling breast high in the waves, and
bearing off their field-pieces in their arms in the very face of the
enemy.

Three weeks long Mondragon had been before Fort Lille, and two thousand
of his soldiers had been slain in the trenches. The attempt was now
abandoned. Parma directed permanent batteries to be established at
Lillo-house, at Oordam, and at other places along the river, and
proceeded quietly with his carefully-matured plan for closing the river.

His own camp was in the neighbourhood of the villages of Beveren, Kalloo,
and Borght. Of the ten thousand foot and seventeen hundred horse, which
composed at the moment his whole army, about one-half lay with him, while
the remainder were with Count Peter Ernest Mansfield, in the
neighbourhood of Stabroek. Thus the Prince occupied a position on the
left bank of the Scheldt, nearly opposite Antwerp, while Mansfield was
stationed upon the right bank, and ten miles farther down the river. From
a point in the neighbourhood of Kalloo, Alexander intended to throw a
fortified bridge to the opposite shore. When completed, all traffic up
the river from Zeeland would be cut off; and as the country on the
land-side; abut Antwerp, had been now reduced, the city would be
effectually isolated. If the Prince could hold his bridge until famine
should break the resistance of the burghers, Antwerp would fall into his
hands.

His head-quarters were at Kalloo, and this obscure spot soon underwent a
strange transformation. A drowsy placid little village--with a modest
parish spire peeping above a clump of poplars, and with half a dozen
cottages, with storks nests on their roofs, sprinkled here and there
among pastures and orchards--suddenly saw itself changed as it were into
a thriving bustling town; for, saving the white tents which dotted the
green turf in every direction, the aspect of the scene was, for a time,
almost pacific. It was as if, some great manufacturing enterprise had
been set on foot, and the world had suddenly awoke to the hidden
capabilities of the situation.

A great dockyard and arsenal suddenly revealed themselves--rising like an
exhalation--where ship-builders, armourers, blacksmiths, joiners,
carpenters, caulkers, gravers, were hard at work all day long. The din
and hum of what seemed a peaceful industry were unceasing. From Kalloo,
Parma dug a canal twelve miles long to a place called Steeken, hundreds
of pioneers being kept constantly at work with pick and spade till it was
completed. Through this artificial channel--so soon as Ghent and
Dendermonde had fallen--came floats of timber, fleets of boats laden with
provisions of life and munitions of death, building-materials, and every
other requisite for the great undertaking, all to be disembarked at
Kalloo. The object was a temporary and destructive one, but it remains a
monument of the great general's energy and a useful public improvement.
The amelioration of the fenny and barren soil, called the Waesland, is
dated from that epoch; and the spot in Europe which is the most prolific,
and which nourishes the largest proportion of inhabitants to the square
mile, is precisely the long dreary swamp which the Prince thus drained
for military purposes, and converted into a garden. Drusus and Corbulo,
in the days of the Roman Empire, had done the same good service for their
barbarian foes.

At Kalloo itself, all the shipwrights, cutlers, masons, brass-founders,
rope-makers, anchor-forgers, sailors, boatmen, of Flanders and Brabant,
with a herd of bakers, brewers, and butchers, were congregated by express
order of Parma. In the little church itself the main workshop was
established, and all day long, week after week, month after month, the
sound of saw and hammer, adze and plane, the rattle of machinery, the cry
of sentinels, the cheers of mariners, resounded, where but lately had
been heard nothing save the drowsy homily and the devout hymn of rustic
worship.

Nevertheless the summer and autumn wore on, and still the bridge was
hardly commenced. The navigation of the river--although impeded and
rendered dangerous by the forts which Parma held along the banks--was
still open; and, so long as the price of corn in Antwerp remained three
or four times as high as the sum for which it could be purchased in
Holland and Zeeland, there were plenty of daredevil skippers ready to
bring cargoes. Fleets of fly-boats, convoyed by armed vessels, were
perpetually running the gauntlet. Sharp actions on shore between the
forts of the patriots and those of Parma, which were all intermingled
promiscuously along the banks, and amphibious and most bloody encounters
on ship-board, dyke, and in the stream itself, between the wild
Zeelanders and the fierce pikemen of Italy and Spain, were of repeated
occurrence. Many a lagging craft fell into the enemy's hands, when, as a
matter of course, the men, women, and children, on board, were horribly
mutilated by the Spaniards, and were then sent drifting in their boat
with the tide--their arms, legs, and ears lopped off up to the city, in
order that--the dangerous nature of this provision-trade might be fully
illustrated.

Yet that traffic still went on. It would have continued until Antwerp had
been victualled for more than a year, had not the city authorities, in
the plentitude of their wisdom, thought proper to issue orders for its
regulation. On the 25th October (1584) a census was taken, when the
number of persons inside the walls was found to be ninety thousand. For
this population it was estimated that 300,000 veertell, or about 900,000
bushels of corn, would be required annually. The grain was coming in very
fast, notwithstanding the perilous nature of the trade; for wheat could
be bought in Holland for fifty florins the last, or about fifteen pence
sterling the bushel, while it was worth five or six florins the veertel,
or about four shillings the bushel, in Antwerp.

The magistrates now committed a folly more stupendous than it seemed
possible for human creatures, under such circumstances, to compass. They
established a maximum upon corn. The skippers who had run their cargoes
through the gauntlet, all the way from Flushing to Antwerp, found on
their arrival, that, instead of being rewarded, according to the natural
laws of demand and supply, they were required to exchange their wheat,
rye, butter, and beef, against the exact sum which the Board of Schepens
thought proper to consider a reasonable remuneration. Moreover, in order
to prevent the accumulation of provisions in private magazines, it was
enacted, that all consumers of grain should be compelled to make their
purchases directly from the ships. These two measures were almost as
fatal as the preservation of the Blaw-garen Dyke, in the interest of the
butchers. Winter and famine were staring the city in the face, and the
maximum now stood sentinel against the gate, to prevent the admission of
food. The traffic ceased without a struggle. Parma himself could not have
better arranged the blockade.

Meantime a vast and almost general inundation had taken place. The aspect
of the country for many miles around was strange and desolate. The
sluices had been opened in the neighbourhood of Saftingen, on, the
Flemish side, so that all the way from Hulst the waters were out, and
flowed nearly to the gates of Antwerp. A wide and shallow sea rolled over
the fertile plains, while church-steeples, the tops of lofty trees, and
here and there the turrets of a castle, scarcely lifted themselves above
the black waters; the peasants' houses, the granges, whole rural
villages, having entirely disappeared. The high grounds of Doel, of
Kalloo, and Beveren, where Alexander was established, remained out of
reach of the flood. Far below, on the opposite side of the river, other
sluices had been opened, and the sea had burst over the wide, level
plain. The villages of Wilmerdonk, Orderen, Ekeren, were changed to
islands in the ocean, while all the other hamlets, for miles around, were
utterly submerged.

Still, however, the Blaw-garen Dyke and its companion the Kowenstyn
remained obstinately above the waters, forming a present and more fatal
obstruction to the communication between Antwerp and Zeeland than would
be furnished even by the threatened and secretly-advancing bridge across
the Scheldt. Had Orange's prudent advice been taken, the city had been
safe. Over the prostrate dykes, whose destruction he had so warmly urged,
the ocean would have rolled quite to the gates of Antwerp, and it would
have been as easy to bridge the North Sea as to control the free
navigation of the patriots over so wide a surface.

When it was too late, the butchers, and colonels, and captains, became
penitent enough. An order was passed, by acclamation, in November, to do
what Orange had recommended in June. It was decreed that the Blaw-garen
and the Kowenstyn should be pierced. Alas, the hour had long gone by.
Alexander of Parma was not the man to undertake the construction of a
bridge across the river, at a vast expense, and at the same time to
permit the destruction of the already existing barrier. There had been a
time for such a deed. The Seigneur de Kowenstyn, who had a castle and
manor on and near the dyke which bore his name, had repeatedly urged upon
the Antwerp magistracy the propriety of piercing this bulwark, even after
their refusal to destroy the outer barrier. Sainte Aldegonde, who
vehemently urged the measure, protested that his hair had stood on end,
when he found, after repeated entreaty, that the project was rejected.
The Seigneur de Kowenstyn, disgusted and indignant, forswore his
patriotism, and went over to Parma. The dyke fell into the hands of the
enemy. And now from Stabroek, where old Mansfeid lay with his army, all
the way across the flooded country, ran the great bulwark, strengthened
with new palisade-work and block-houses, bristling with Spanish cannon,
pike, and arquebus, even to the bank of the Scheldt, in the immediate
vicinity of Fort Lille. At the angle of its junction with the main dyke
of the river's bank, a strong fortress called Holy Cross (Santa Cruz) had
been constructed. That fortress and the whole line of the Kowenstyn were
held in the iron grip of Mondragon. To wrench it from him would be no
child's play. Five new strong redoubts upon the dyke, and five or six
thousand Spaniards established there, made the enterprise more formidable
than it would have been in June. It had been better to sacrifice the
twelve thousand oxen. Twelve thousand Hollanders might now be
slaughtered, and still the dyke remain above the waves.

Here was the key to the fate of Antwerp.

On the other hand, the opening of the Saftingen Sluice had done Parma's
work for him. Even there, too, Orange had been prophetic. Kalloo was high
and dry, but Alexander had experienced some difficulty in bringing a
fleet of thirty vessels, laden with cannon and other valuable materials,
from Ghent along the Scheldt, into his encampment, because it was
necessary for them, before reaching their destination, to pass in front
of Antwerp. The inundation, together with a rupture in the Dyke of
Borght, furnished him with a watery road; over which his fleet completely
avoided the city, and came in triumph to Kalloo.

Sainte Aldegonde, much provoked by this masterly movement on the part of
Parma, had followed the little squadron closely with some armed vessels
from the city. A sharp action had succeeded, in which the burgomaster,
not being properly sustained by the Zeeland ships on which he relied, had
been defeated. Admiral Jacob Jacobzoon behaved with so little spirit on
the occasion that he acquired with the Antwerp populace the name of
"Run-away Jacob," "Koppen gaet loppen;" and Sainte Aldegonde declared,
that, but for his cowardice, the fleet of Parma would have fallen into
their hands. The burgomaster himself narrowly escaped becoming a
prisoner, and owed his safety only to the swiftness of his barge, which
was called the "Flying Devil."

The patriots, in order to counteract similar enterprises in future, now
erected a sconce, which they called Fort Teligny; upon the ruptured dyke
of Borght, directly in front of the Borght blockhouse, belonging to the
Spaniards, and just opposite Fort Hoboken. Here, in this narrow passage,
close under the walls of Antwerp, where friends and foes were brought
closely, face to face, was the scene of many a sanguinary skirmish, from
the commencement of the siege until its close.

Still the bridge was believed to be a mere fable, a chimaera. Parma, men
said, had become a lunatic from pride. It was as easy to make the
Netherlands submit to the yoke of the Inquisition as to put a bridle on
the Scheldt. Its depth; breadth, the ice-floods of a northern winter, the
neighbourhood of the Zeeland fleets, the activity of the Antwerp
authorities, all were pledges that the attempt would be signally
frustrated.

And they should have been pledges--more than enough. Unfortunately,
however, there was dissension within, and no chieftain in the field, no
sage in the council, of sufficient authority to sustain the whole burthen
of the war, and to direct all the energies of the commonwealth. Orange
was dead. His son, one day to become the most illustrious military
commander in Europe, was a boy of seventeen, nominally captain-general,
but in reality but a youthful apprentice to his art. Hohenlo was wild,
wilful, and obstinate. Young William Lewis Nassau, already a soldier of
marked abilities, was fully occupied in Friesland, where he was
stadholder, and where he had quite enough to do in making head against
the Spanish governor and general, the veteran Verdugo: Military
operations against Zutphen distracted the attention of the States, which
should have been fixed upon Antwerp.

Admiral Treslong, as we have seen, was refractory, the cause of great
delinquency on the part of the fleets, and of infinite disaster to the
commonwealth. More than all, the French negotiation was betraying the
States into indolence and hesitation; and creating a schism between the
leading politicians of the country. Several thousand French troops, under
Monsieur d'Allaynes, were daily expected, but never arrived; and thus,
while English and French partisans were plotting and counter-plotting,
while a delusive diplomacy was usurping the place of lansquenettes and
gun-boats--the only possible agents at that moment to preserve
Antwerp--the bridge of Parma was slowly advancing. Before the winter had
closed in, the preparatory palisades had been finished.

Between Kalloo and Ordam, upon the opposite side, a sandbar had been
discovered in the river's bed, which diminished the depth of the stream,
and rendered the pile-driving comparatively easy. The breadth of the
Scheldt at this passage was twenty-four hundred feet; its depth, sixty
feet. Upon the Flemish side, near Kalloo, a strong fort was erected,
called Saint Mary, in honour of the blessed Virgin, to whom the whole
siege of Antwerp had been dedicated from the beginning. On the opposite
bank was a similar fort, flamed Philip, for the King. From each of these
two points, thus fortified, a framework of heavy timber, supported upon
huge piles, had been carried so far into the stream on either side that
the distance between the ends had at last been reduced to thirteen
hundred feet. The breadth of the roadway--formed of strong sleepers
firmly bound together--was twelve feet, along which block-houses of great
thickness were placed to defend the whole against assault.

Thus far the work had been comparatively easy. To bridge the remaining
open portion of the river, however, where its current was deepest and
strongest, and where the action of tide, tempest, and icebergs, would be
most formidable, seemed a desperate undertaking; for as the enterprise
advanced, this narrow open space became the scene of daily amphibious
encounters between the soldiers and sailors of Parma and the forces of
the States. Unfortunately for the patriots, it was only skirmishing. Had
a strong, concerted attack, in large force, from Holland and Zeeland
below and from the city above, been agreed upon, there was hardly a
period, until very late in the winter, when it might not have had the
best chances of success. With a vigorous commander against him, Parma,
weak in men, and at his wits' end for money, might, in a few hours, have
seen the labour of several months hopelessly annihilated. On the other
hand, the Prince was ably seconded by his lieutenant, Marquis Richebourg,
to whom had been delegated the immediate superintendence of the
bridge-building in its minutest details. He was never idle. Audacious,
indefatigable, ubiquitous, he at least atoned by energy and brilliant
courage for his famous treason of the preceding year, while his striking
and now rapidly approaching doom upon the very scene of his present
labours, made him appear to have been building a magnificent though
fleeting monument to his own memory.

Sainte Aldegonde, shut up in Antwerp, and hampered by dissension within
and obstinate jealousy without the walls, did all in his power to
frustrate the enemy's enterprise and animate the patriots. Through the
whole of the autumn and early winter, he had urged the States of Holland
and Zeeland to make use of the long winter nights, when moonless and
stormy, to attempt the destruction of Parma's undertaking, but the fatal
influences already indicated were more efficient against Antwerp than
even the genius of Farnese; and nothing came of the burgomaster's
entreaties save desultory skirmishing and unsuccessful enterprises. An
especial misfortune happened in one of these midnight undertakings.
Teligny ventured forth in a row-barge, with scarcely any companions, to
notify the Zeelanders of a contemplated movement, in which their
co-operation was desired. It was proposed that the Antwerp troops should
make a fictitious demonstration upon Fort Ordam, while at the same moment
the States' troops from Fort Lillo should make an assault upon the forts
on Kowenstyn Dyke; and in this important enterprise the Zeeland vessels
were requested to assist. But the brave Teligny nearly forfeited his life
by his rashness, and his services were, for a long time, lost to the
cause of liberty. It had been better to send a less valuable officer upon
such hazardous yet subordinate service. The drip of his oars was heard in
the darkness. He was pursued by a number of armed barges, attacked,
wounded severely in the shoulder, and captured. He threw his letters
overboard, but they were fished out of the water, carried to Parma, and
deciphered, so that the projected attack upon the Kowenstyn was
discovered, and, of necessity, deferred. As for Teligny, he was taken, as
a most valuable prize, into the enemy's camp, and was soon afterwards
thrust into prison at Tournay, where he remained six years--one year
longer than the period which his illustrious father had been obliged to
consume in the infamous dungeon at Mons. Few disasters could have been
more keenly felt by the States than the loss of this brilliant and
devoted French chieftain, who, young as he was, had already become very
dear to the republic; and Sainte Aldegonde was severely blamed for
sending so eminent a personage on that dangerous expedition, and for
sending him, too, with an insufficient convoy.

Still Alexander felt uncertain as to the result. He was determined to
secure Antwerp, but he yet thought it possible to secure it by
negotiation. The enigmatical policy maintained by France perplexed him;
for it did not seem possible that so much apparent solemnity and
earnestness were destined to lead to an impotent and infamous conclusion.
He was left, too, for a long time in ignorance of his own master's secret
schemes, he was at liberty to guess, and to guess only, as to the
projects of the league, he was without adequate means to carry out to a
certain triumph his magnificent enterprise, and he was in constant alarm
lest he should be suddenly assailed by an overwhelming French force. Had
a man sat upon the throne of Henry III., at that moment, Parma's
bridge-making and dyke-fortifying skilful as they were--would have been
all in vain. Meantime, in uncertainty as to the great issue, but resolved
to hold firmly to his purpose, he made repeated conciliatory offers to
the States with one hand, while he steadily prosecuted his aggressive
schemes with the other.

Parma had become really gentle, almost affectionate, towards the
Netherlanders. He had not the disposition of an Alva to smite and to
blast, to exterminate the rebels and heretics with fire and sword, with
the axe, the rack, and the gallows. Provided they would renounce the
great object of the contest, he seemed really desirous that they should
escape further chastisement; but to admit the worship of God according to
the reformed creed, was with him an inconceivable idea. To do so was both
unrighteous and impolitic. He had been brought up to believe that mankind
could be saved from eternal perdition only by believing in the
infallibility of the Bishop of Rome; that the only keys to eternal
paradise were in the hands of St. Peter's representative. Moreover, he
instinctively felt that within this religious liberty which the
Netherlanders claimed was hidden the germ of civil liberty; and though no
bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, it was necessary to destroy it at
once; for of course the idea of civil liberty could not enter the brain
of the brilliant general of Philip II.

On the 13th of November he addressed a letter to the magistracy and
broad-council of Antwerp. He asserted that the instigators of the
rebellion were not seeking to further the common weal, but their own
private ends. Especially had this been the ruling motive with the prince
of Orange and the Duke of Anjou, both of whom God had removed from the
world, in order to manifest to the States their own weakness, and the
omnipotence of Philip, whose, prosperity the Lord was constantly
increasing. It was now more than time for the authorities of the country
to have regard for themselves, and for the miseries of the poor people.
The affection Which he had always felt for the Provinces from which he
had himself sprung and the favours which he had received from them in his
youth, had often moved him to propose measures, which, before God and his
conscience, he believed adequate to the restoration of peace. But his
letters had been concealed or falsely interpreted by the late Prince of
Orange, who had sought nothing but to spread desolation over the land,
and to shed the blood of the innocent. He now wrote once more, and for
the last time, in all fervour and earnestness, to implore them to take
compassion on their own wives and children and forlorn fatherland, to
turn their eyes backward on the peace and prosperity which they had
formerly enjoyed when obedient to his Majesty, and to cast a glance
around them upon the miseries which were so universal since the
rebellion. He exhorted them to close their ears to the insidious tongues
of those who were leading them into delusion as to the benevolence and
paternal sweetness of their natural lord and master, which were even now
so boundless that he did not hesitate once more to offer them his entire
forgiveness. If they chose to negotiate, they would find everything
granted that with right and reason could be proposed. The Prince
concluded by declaring that he made these advances not from any doubt as
to the successful issue of the military operations in which he was
engaged, but simply out of paternal anxiety for the happiness of the
Provinces. Did they remain obstinate, their ultimate conditions would be
rendered still more severe, and themselves, not he, would be responsible
for the misery and the bloodshed to ensue.

Ten days afterwards, the magistrates, thus addressed--after communication
with the broad-council--answered Parma's. 23rd Nov., letter manfully,
copiously, and with the customary but superfluous historical sketch. They
begged leave to entertain a doubt as to the paternal sweetness of a king
who had dealt so long in racks and gibbets. With Parma's own mother, as
they told the Prince, the Netherlanders had once made a treaty, by which
the right to worship God according to their consciences had been secured;
yet for maintaining that treaty they had been devoted to indiscriminate
destruction, and their land made desolate with fire and sword. Men had
been massacred by thousands, who had never been heard in their own
defence, and who had never been accused of any crime, "save that they had
assembled together in the name of God, to pray to Him through their only
mediator and advocate Jesus Christ, according to His command."

The axis of the revolt was the religious question; and it was impossible
to hope anything from a monarch who was himself a slave of the
Inquisition, and who had less independence of action than that enjoyed by
Jews and Turks, according to the express permission of the Pope.
Therefore they informed Parma that they had done with Philip for ever,
and that in consequence of the extraordinary wisdom, justice, and
moderation, of the French King, they had offered him the sovereignty of
their land, and had implored his protection.

They paid a tribute to the character of Farnese, who after gaining
infinite glory in arms, had manifested so much gentleness and disposition
to conciliate. They doubted not that he would, if he possessed the power,
have guided the royal councils to better and more generous results, and
protested that they would not have delayed to throw themselves into his
arms, had they been assured that he was authorized to admit that which
alone could form the basis of a successful negotiation--religious
freedom. They would in such case have been willing to close with him,
without talking about other conditions than such as his Highness in his
discretion and sweetness might think reasonable.

Moreover, as they observed in conclusion, they were precluded, by their
present relations with France, from entering into any other negotiation;
nor could they listen to any such proposals without deserving to be
stigmatized as the most lewd, blasphemous, and thankless mortals, that
ever cumbered the earth.

Being under equal obligations both to the Union and to France, they
announced that Parma's overtures would be laid before the French
government and the assembly of the States-General.

A day was to come, perhaps, when it would hardly seem lewdness and
blasphemy for the Netherlanders to doubt the extraordinary justice and
wisdom of the French King. Meantime, it cannot be denied that they were
at least loyal to their own engagements, and long-suffering where they
had trusted and given their hearts.

Parma replied by another letter, dated December 3rd. He assured the
citizens that Henry III. was far too discreet, and much too good a friend
to Philip II., to countenance this rebellion. If he were to take up their
quarrel, however, the King of Spain had a thousand means of foiling all
his attempts. As to the religious question--which they affirmed to be the
sole cause of the war--he was not inclined to waste words upon that
subject; nevertheless, so far as he in his simplicity could understand
the true nature of a Christian, he could not believe that it comported
with the doctrines of Jesus, whom they called their only mediator, nor
with the dictates of conscience, to take up arms against their lawful
king, nor to burn, rob, plunder, pierce dykes, overwhelm their
fatherland, and reduce all things to misery and chaos, in the name of
religion.

Thus moralizing and dogmatizing, the Prince concluded his letter, and so
the correspondence terminated. This last despatch was communicated at
once both to the States-General and to the French government, and
remained unanswered. Soon afterwards the Netherlands and England, France
and Spain, were engaged in that vast game of delusion which has been
described in the preceding chapters. Meantime both Antwerp and Parma
remained among the deluded, and were left to fight out their battle on
their own resources.

Having found it impossible to subdue Antwerp by his rhetoric, Alexander
proceeded with his bridge. It is impossible not to admire the steadiness
and ingenuity with which the Prince persisted in his plans, the courage
with which he bore up against the parsimony and neglect of his sovereign,
the compassionate tenderness which he manifested for his patient little
army. So much intellectual energy commands enthusiasm, while the
supineness on the other side sometimes excites indignation. There is even
a danger of being entrapped into sympathy with tyranny, when the cause of
tyranny is maintained by genius; and of being surprised into indifference
for human liberty, when the sacred interests of liberty are endangered by
self-interest, perverseness, and folly.

Even Sainte Aldegonde did not believe that the bridge could be completed.
His fears were that the city would be ruined rather by the cessation of
its commerce than by want of daily food. Already, after the capture of
Liefkenshoek and the death of Orange, the panic among commercial people
had been so intense that seventy or eighty merchants, representing the
most wealthy mercantile firms in Antwerp, made their escape from the
place, as if it had been smitten with pestilence, or were already in the
hands of Parma. All such refugees were ordered to return on peril of
forfeiting their property. Few came back, however, for they had found
means of converting and transferring their funds to other more secure
places, despite the threatened confiscation. It was insinuated that
Holland and Zeeland were indifferent to the fate of Antwerp, because in
the sequel the commercial cities of those Provinces succeeded to the vast
traffic and the boundless wealth which had been forfeited by the
Brabantine capital. The charge was an unjust one. At the very
commencement of the siege the States of Holland voted two hundred
thousand florins for its relief; and, moreover, these wealthy refugees
were positively denied admittance into the territory of the United
States, and were thus forced to settle in Germany or England. This
cessation of traffic was that which principally excited the anxiety of
Aldegonde. He could not bring himself to believe in the possibility of a
blockade, by an army of eight or ten thousand men, of a great and wealthy
city, where at least twenty thousand citizens were capable of bearing
arms. Had he thoroughly understood the deprivations under which Alexander
was labouring, perhaps he would have been even more confident as to the
result.

"With regard to the affair of the river Scheldt," wrote Parma to Philip,
"I should like to send your Majesty a drawing of the whole scheme; for
the work is too vast to be explained by letters. The more I examine it,
the more astonished I am that it should have been conducted to this
point; so many forts, dykes, canals, new inventions, machinery, and
engines, have been necessarily required."

He then proceeded to enlighten the King--as he never failed to do in all
his letters--as to his own impoverished, almost helpless condition.
Money, money, men! This was his constant cry. All would be in vain, he
said, if he were thus neglected. "'Tis necessary," said he, "for your
Majesty fully to comprehend, that henceforth the enterprise is your own.
I have done my work faithfully thus far; it is now for your Majesty to
take it thoroughly to heart; and embrace it with the warmth with which an
affair involving so much of your own interests deserves to be embraced."

He avowed that without full confidence in his sovereign's sympathy he
would never have conceived the project. "I confess that the enterprise is
great," he said, "and that by many it will be considered rash. Certainly
I should not have undertaken it, had I not felt certain of your Majesty's
full support."

But he was already in danger of being forced to abandon the whole
scheme--although so nearly carried into effect--for want of funds. "The
million promised," he wrote, "has arrived in bits and morsels, and with
so many ceremonies, that I haven't ten crowns at my disposal. How I am to
maintain even this handful of soldiers--for the army is diminished to
such a mere handful that it would astonish your Majesty--I am unable to
imagine. It would move you to witness their condition. They have suffered
as much as is humanly possible."

Many of the troops, indeed, were deserting, and making their escape,
beggared and desperate, into France, where, with natural injustice, they
denounced their General, whose whole heart was occupied with their
miseries, for the delinquency of his master, whose mind was full of other
schemes.

"There past this way many Spanish soldiers," wrote Stafford from Paris,
"so poor and naked as I ever saw any. There have been within this
fortnight two hundred at a time in this town, who report the extremity of
want of victuals in their camp, and that they have been twenty-four
months without pay. They exclaim greatly upon the Prince of Parma.
Mendoza seeks to convey them away, and to get money for them by all means
he can."

Stafford urged upon his government the propriety of being at least as
negligent as Philip had showed himself to be of the Spaniards. By
prohibiting supplies to the besieging army, England might contribute,
negatively, if not otherwise, to the relief of Antwerp. "There is no
place," he wrote to Walsingham, "whence the Spaniards are so thoroughly
victualled as from us. English boats go by sixteen and seventeen into
Dunkirk, well laden with provisions."

This was certainly not in accordance with the interests nor the
benevolent professions of the English ministers.

These supplies were not to be regularly depended upon however. They were
likewise not to be had without paying a heavy price for them, and the
Prince had no money in his coffer. He lived from hand to mouth, and was
obliged to borrow from every private individual who had anything to lend.
Merchants, nobles, official personages, were all obliged to assist in
eking out the scanty pittance allowed by the sovereign.

"The million is all gone," wrote Parma to his master; "some to Verdugo in
Friesland; some to repay the advances of Marquis Richebourg and other
gentlemen. There is not a farthing for the garrisons. I can't go on a
month longer, and, if not supplied, I shall be obliged to abandon the
work. I have not money enough to pay my sailors, joiners, carpenters, and
other mechanics, from week to week, and they will all leave me in the
lurch, if I leave them unpaid. I have no resource but to rely on your
Majesty. Otherwise the enterprise must wholly fail."

In case it did fail, the Prince wiped his hands of the responsibility. He
certainly had the right to do so.

One of the main sources of supply was the city of Hertogenbosch, or
Bois-le-Duc. It was one of the four chief cities of Brabant, and still
held for the King, although many towns in its immediate neighbourhood had
espoused the cause of the republic. The States had long been anxious to
effect a diversion for the relief of Antwerp, by making an attack on
Bois-le-Duc. Could they carry the place, Parma would be almost inevitably
compelled to abandon the siege in which he was at present engaged, and he
could moreover spare no troops for its defence. Bois-le-Duc was a
populous, wealthy, thriving town, situate on the Deeze, two leagues above
its confluence with the Meuse, and about twelve leagues from Antwerp. It
derived its name of `Duke's Wood' from a magnificent park and forest,
once the favourite resort and residence of the old Dukes of Brabant, of
which some beautiful vestiges still remained. It was a handsome
well-built city, with two thousand houses of the better class, besides
more humble tenements. Its citizens were celebrated for their courage and
belligerent skill, both on foot and on horseback. They were said to
retain more of the antique Belgic ferocity which Caesar had celebrated
than that which had descended to most of their kinsmen. The place was,
moreover, the seat of many prosperous manufactures. Its clothiers sent
the products of their looms over all Christendom, and its linen and
cutlery were equally renowned.

It would be a most fortunate blow in the cause of freedom to secure so,
thriving and conspicuous a town, situated thus in the heart of what
seemed the natural territory of the United States; and, by so doing, to
render nugatory the mighty preparations of Parma against Antwerp.
Moreover, it was known that there was no Spanish or other garrison within
its walls, so that there was no opposition to be feared, except from the
warlike nature of the citizens.

Count Hohenlo was entrusted, early in January, with this important
enterprise. He accordingly collected a force of four thousand infantry,
together with two hundred mounted lancers; having previously
reconnoitered the ground. He relied very much, for the success of the
undertaking, on Captain Kleerhagen, a Brussels nobleman, whose wife was a
native of Bois-le-Duc, and who was thoroughly familiar with the locality.
One dark winter's night, Kleerhagen, with fifty picked soldiers, advanced
to the Antwerp gate of Bois-le-Duc, while Hohenlo, with his whole force,
lay in ambuscade as near as possible to the city.

Between the drawbridge and the portcullis were two small guard-houses,
which, very carelessly, had been left empty. Kleerhagen, with his fifty
followers, successfully climbed into these lurking-places, where they
quietly ensconced themselves for the night. At eight o'clock of the
following morning (20th January) the guards of the gate drew up the
portcullis, and reconnoitered. At the same instant, the ambushed fifty
sprang from their concealment, put them to the sword, and made themselves
masters of the gate. None of the night-watch escaped with life, save one
poor old invalided citizen, whose business had been to draw up the
portcullis, and who was severely wounded, and left for dead. The fifty
immediately summoned all of Rohenlo's ambuscade that were within hearing,
and then, without waiting for them, entered the town pell-mell in the
best of spirits, and shouting victory! victory! till they were hoarse. A
single corporal, with two men, was left to guard the entrance. Meantime,
the old wounded gate-opener, bleeding and crippled, crept into a dark
corner, and laid himself down, unnoticed, to die.

Soon afterwards Hohenlo galloped into the town, clad in complete armour,
his long curls floating in the wind, with about two hundred troopers
clattering behind him, closely followed by five hundred pike-men on foot.

Very brutally, foolishly, and characteristically, he had promised his
followers the sacking of the city so soon as it should be taken. They
accordingly set about the sacking, before it was taken. Hardly had the
five or six hundred effected their entrance, than throwing off all
control, they dispersed through the principal streets, and began bursting
open the doors of the most opulent households. The cries of "victory!"
"gained city!" "down with the Spaniards!" resounded on all sides. Many of
the citizens, panic-struck, fled from their homes, which they thus
abandoned to pillage, while, meantime, the loud shouts of the assailants
reached the ears of the sergeant and his two companies who had been left
in charge of the gate. Fearing that they should be cheated of their
rightful share in the plunder, they at once abandoned their post, and set
forth after their comrades, as fast as their legs could carry them.

Now it so chanced--although there was no garrison in the town--that forty
Burgundian and Italian lancers, with about thirty foot-soldiers, had come
in the day before to escort a train of merchandise. The Seigneur de
Haultepenne, governor of Breda, a famous royalist commander--son of old
Count Berlaymont, who first gave the name of "beggars" to the
patriots-had accompanied them in the expedition. The little troop were
already about to mount their horses to depart, when they became aware of
the sudden tumult. Elmont, governor of the city, had also flown to the
rescue, and had endeavoured to rally the burghers. Not unmindful of their
ancient warlike fame, they had obeyed his entreaties. Elmont, with a
strong party of armed citizens, joined himself to Haultepenne's little
band of lancers. They fired a few shots at straggling parties of
plunderers, and pursued others up some narrow streets. They were but an
handful in comparison with the number of the patriots, who had gained
entrance to the city. They were, however, compact, united, and resolute.
The assailants were scattered, disorderly, and bent only upon plunder.
When attacked by an armed and regular band, they were amazed. They had
been told that there was no garrison; and behold a choice phalanx of
Spanish lancers, led on by one of the most famous of Philip's Netherland
chieftains. They thought themselves betrayed by Kleerhagen, entrapped
into a deliberately arranged ambush. There was a panic. The soldiers,
dispersed and doubtful, could not be rallied. Hohenlo, seeing that
nothing was to be done with his five hundred, galloped furiously out of
the gate, to bring in the rest of his troops who had remained outside the
walls. The prize of the wealthy city of Bois-le-Duc was too tempting to
be lightly abandoned; but he had much better have thought of making
himself master of it himself before he should present it as a prey to his
followers.

During his absence the panic spread. The States' troops, bewildered,
astonished, vigorously assaulted, turned their backs upon their enemies,
and fled helter-skelter towards the gates, through which they had first
gained admittance. But unfortunately for them, so soon as the corporal
had left his position, the wounded old gate-opener, in a dying condition,
had crawled forth on his hands and knees from a dark hole in the tower,
cut, with a pocket-knife, the ropes of the portcullis, and then given up
the ghost. Most effective was that blow struck by a dead man's hand. Down
came the portcullis. The flying plunderers were entrapped. Close behind
them came the excited burghers--their antique Belgic ferocity now fully
aroused--firing away with carbine and matchlock, dealing about them with
bludgeon and cutlass, and led merrily on by Haultepenne and Elmont armed
in proof, at the head of their squadron of lancers. The unfortunate
patriots had risen very early in the morning only to shear the wolf. Some
were cut to pieces in the streets; others climbed the walls, and threw
themselves head foremost into the moat. Many were drowned, and but a very
few effected their escape. Justinus de Nassau. sprang over the parapet,
and succeeded in swimming the ditch. Kleerhagen, driven into the Holy
Cross tower, ascended to its .roof, leaped, all accoutred as he was, into
the river, and with the assistance of a Scotch soldier, came safe to
land. Ferdinand Truchsess, brother of the ex-elector of Cologne, was
killed. Four or five hundred of the assailants--nearly all who had
entered the city--were slain, and about fifty of the burghers.

Hohenlo soon came back, with Colonel Ysselstein, and two thousand fresh
troops. But their noses, says a contemporary, grew a hundred feet long
with surprise when they saw the gate shut in their faces. It might have
occurred to the Count, when he rushed out of the town for reinforcements,
that it would be as well to replace the guard, which--as he must have
seen--had abandoned their post.

Cursing his folly, he returned, mavellously discomfited, and deservedly
censured, to Gertruydenberg. And thus had a most important enterprise;
which had nearly been splendidly successful, ended in disaster and
disgrace. To the recklessness of the general, to the cupidity which he
had himself awakened in his followers, was the failure alone to be
attributed. Had he taken possession of the city with a firm grasp at the
head of his four thousand men, nothing could have resisted him;
Haultepenne, and his insignificant force, would have been dead, or his
prisoners; the basis of Parma's magnificent operations would have been
withdrawn; Antwerp would have been saved.

"Infinite gratitude," wrote Parma to Philip, "should be rendered to the
Lord. Great thanks are also due to Haultepenne. Had the rebels succeeded
in their enterprise against Bolduc, I should have been compelled to
abandon the siege of Antwerp. The town; by its strength and situation, is
of infinite importance for the reduction both of that place and of
Brussels, and the rebels in possession of Bolduc would have cut off my
supplies."

The Prince recommended Haultepenne most warmly to the King as deserving
of a rich "merced." The true hero of the day, however--at least the chief
agent in the victory was the poor, crushed, nameless victim who had cut
the ropes of the portcullis at the Antwerp gate.

Hohenlo was deeply stung by the disgrace which he had incurred. For a
time he sought oblivion in hard drinking; but--brave and energetic,
though reckless--he soon became desirous of retrieving his reputation by
more successful enterprises. There was no lack of work, and assuredly his
hands were rarely idle.

"Hollach (Hohenlo) is gone from hence on Friday last," wrote Davison to
Walsingham, "he will do what he may to recover his reputation lost in the
attempt, of Bois-le-Duc; which, for the grief and trouble he hath
conceived thereof, hath for the time greatly altered him."

Meantime the turbulent Scheldt, lashed by the storms of winter, was
becoming a more formidable enemy to Parma's great enterprise than the
military demonstrations of his enemies, or the famine which was making
such havoc, with his little army. The ocean-tides were rolling huge
ice-blocks up and down, which beat against his palisade with the noise of
thunder, and seemed to threaten its immediate destruction. But the work
stood firm. The piles supporting the piers, which had been thrust out
from each bank into the stream, had been driven fifty feet into the
river's bed, and did their duty well. But in the space between, twelve
hundred and forty feet in width, the current was too deep for
pile-driving and a permanent bridge was to be established upon boats. And
that bridge was to be laid across the icy and tempestuous flood, in the
depth of winter, in the teeth of a watchful enemy, with the probability
of an immediate invasion from France, where the rebel envoys were known
to be negotiating on express invitation of the King--by half-naked,
half-starving soldiers and sailors, unpaid for years, and for the sake of
a master who seemed to have forgotten their existence.

"Thank God," wrote Alexander, "the palisade stands firm in spite of the
ice. Now with the favour of the Lord, we shall soon get the fruit we have
been hoping, if your Majesty is not wanting in that to which your
grandeur, your great Christianity, your own interests, oblige you. In
truth 'tis a great and heroic work, worthy the great power of your
Majesty." "For my own part," he continued, "I have done what depended
upon me. From your own royal hand must emanate the rest;--men, namely,
sufficient to maintain the posts, and money enough to support them
there."

He expressed himself in the strongest language concerning the danger to
the royal cause from the weak and gradually sinking condition of the
army. Even without the French intrigues with the rebels, concerning
which, in his ignorance of the exact state of affairs, he expressed much
anxiety, it would be impossible, he said, to save the royal cause without
men and money.

"I have spared myself," said the Prince, "neither day nor night. Let not
your Majesty impute the blame to me if we fail. Verdugo also is uttering
a perpetual cry out of Friesland for men--men and money."

Yet, notwithstanding all these obstacles, the bridge was finished at
last. On the 25th February, (1585) the day sacred to Saint Matthew, and
of fortunate augury to the Emperor Charles, father of Philip and
grandfather of Alexander, the Scheldt was closed.

As already stated, from Fort Saint Mary on the Kalloo side, and from Fort
Philip, not far from Ordain on the Brabant shore of the Scheldt, strong
structures, supported upon piers, had been projected, reaching,
respectively, five hundred feet into the stream. These two opposite ends
were now connected by a permanent bridge of boats. There were thirty-two
of these barges, each of them sixty-two feet in length and twelve in
breadth, the spaces between each couple being twenty-two feet wide, and
all being bound together, stem, stern, and midships, by quadruple hawsers
and chains. Each boat was anchored at stem and stern with loose cables.
Strong timbers, with cross rafters, were placed upon the boats, upon
which heavy frame-work the planked pathway was laid down. A thick parapet
of closely-fitting beams was erected along both the outer edges of the
whole fabric. Thus a continuous and well-fortified bridge, two thousand
four hundred feet in length, was stretched at last from shore to shore.
Each of the thirty-two boats on which the central portion of the
structure reposed, was a small fortress provided with two heavy pieces of
artillery, pointing, the one up, the other down the stream, and manned by
thirty-two soldiers and four sailors, defended by a breastwork formed of
gabions of great thickness.

The forts of Saint Philip and St. Mary, at either end of the bridge, had
each ten great guns, and both were filled with soldiers. In front of each
fort, moreover, was stationed a fleet of twenty armed vessels, carrying
heavy pieces of artillery; ten anchored at the angle towards Antwerp, and
as many looking down the river. One hundred and seventy great guns,
including the armaments of the boats under the bridge of the armada and
the forts, protected the whole structure, pointing up and down the
stream.

But, besides these batteries, an additional precaution had been taken. On
each side, above and below the bridge, at a moderate distance--a bow
shot--was anchored a heavy, raft floating upon empty barrels. Each raft
was composed of heavy timbers, bound together in bunches of three, the
spaces between being connected by ships' masts and lighter spar-work, and
with a tooth-like projection along the whole outer edge, formed of strong
rafters, pointed and armed with sharp prongs and hooks of iron. Thus a
serried phalanx, as it were, of spears stood ever on guard to protect the
precious inner structure. Vessels coming from Zeeland or Antwerp, and the
floating ice-masses, which were almost as formidable, were obliged to
make their first attack upon these dangerous outer defences. Each raft;
floating in the middle of the stream, extended twelve hundred, and
fifty-two feet across, thus protecting the whole of the bridge of boats
and a portion of that resting upon piles.

Such was the famous bridge of Parma. The magnificent undertaking has been
advantageously compared with the celebrated Rhine-bridge of Julius
Caesar. When it is remembered; however; that the Roman work was performed
in summer, across a river only half as broad as the Scheldt, free from
the disturbing, action of the tides; and flowing through an unresisting
country; while the whole character of the structure; intended only to,
serve for the single passage of an army, was far inferior to the massive
solidity of Parma's bridge; it seems not unreasonable to assign the
superiority to the general who had surmounted all the obstacles of a
northern winter, vehement ebb and flow from the sea, and enterprising and
desperate enemies at every point.

When the citizens, at last, looked upon the completed fabric, converted
from the "dream," which they had pronounced it to be, into a terrible
reality; when they saw the shining array of Spanish and Italian legions
marching and counter-marching upon their new road; and trampling, as it
were; the turbulent river beneath their feet; when they witnessed the
solemn military spectacle with which the Governor-General celebrated his
success, amid peals of cannon and shouts of triumph from his army, they
bitterly bewailed their own folly. Yet even then they could hardly
believe that the work had been accomplished by human agency, but they
loudly protested that invisible demons had been summoned to plan and
perfect this fatal and preter-human work. They were wrong. There had been
but one demon--one clear, lofty intelligence, inspiring a steady and
untiring hand. The demon was the intellect of Alexander Farnese; but it
had been assisted in its labour by the hundred devils of envy,
covetousness, jealousy, selfishness, distrust, and discord, that had
housed, not, in his camp, but in the ranks of those who were contending
for their hearths and altars.

And thus had the Prince arrived at success in spite of every obstacle. He
took a just pride in the achievement, yet he knew by how many dangers he
was still surrounded, and he felt hurt at his sovereign's neglect. "The
enterprise at Antwerp," he wrote to Philip on the day the bridge was
completed, "is so great and heroic that to celebrate it would require me
to speak more at large than I like, to do, for fear of being tedious to
your Majesty. What I will say, is that the labours and difficulties have
been every day so, great, that if your Majesty knew them, you would
estimate, what we have done more highly than-you do; and not forget us so
utterly, leaving us to die of hunger."

He considered the fabric in itself almost impregnable, provided he were
furnished with the means to maintain what he had so painfully
constructed.

"The whole is in such condition," said he, "that in opinion of all
competent military judges it would stand though all Holland and Zeeland
should come to destroy our, palisades. Their attacks must be made at
immense danger, and disadvantage, so severely can we play upon them with
our artillery and musketry. Every boat is, garnished with the most dainty
captains and soldiers, so that if the enemy should attempt to assail us
now, they would come back with broken heads."

Yet in the midst of his apparent triumph he had, at times, almost despair
in his heart. He felt really at the last gasp. His troops had dwindled to
the mere shadow of an army, and they were forced to live almost upon air.
The cavalry had nearly vanished. The garrisons in the different cities
were starving. The burghers had no food for the soldiers nor for
themselves. "As for the rest of the troops," said Alexander, "they are
stationed where they have nothing to subsist upon, save salt water and
the dykes, and if the Lord does not grant a miracle, succour, even if
sent by your Majesty, will arrive too late." He assured his master, that
he could not go on more than five or six days longer, that he had been
feeding his soldiers for a long time from hand to mouth, and that it
would soon be impossible for him to keep his troops together. If he did
not disband them they would run away.

His pictures were most dismal, his supplications for money very moving
but he never alluded to himself. All his anxiety, all his tenderness,
were for his soldiers. "They must have food," he said: "'Tis impossible
to sustain them any longer by driblets, as I have done for a long time.
Yet how can I do it without money? And I have none at all, nor do I see
where to get a single florin."

But these revelations were made only to his master's most secret ear. His
letters, deciphered after three centuries, alone make manifest the almost
desperate condition in which the apparently triumphant general was
placed, and the facility with which his antagonists, had they been well
guided and faithful to themselves, might have driven him into the sea.

But to those adversaries he maintained an attitude of serene and smiling
triumph. A spy, sent from the city to obtain intelligence for the anxious
burghers, had gained admission into his lines, was captured and brought
before the Prince. He expected, of course, to be immediately hanged. On
the contrary, Alexander gave orders that he should be conducted over
every part of the encampment. The forts, the palisades, the bridge, were
all to be carefully exhibited and explained to him as if he had been a
friendly visitor entitled to every information. He was requested to count
the pieces of artillery in the forts, on the bridge, in the armada. After
thoroughly studying the scene he was then dismissed with a safe-conduct
to the city.

"Go back to those who sent you," said the Prince. "Convey to them the
information in quest of which you came. Apprize them of every thing which
you have inspected, counted, heard explained. Tell them further, that the
siege will never be abandoned, and that this bridge will be my sepulcher
or my pathway into Antwerp."

And now the aspect of the scene was indeed portentous. The chimera had
become a very visible bristling reality. There stood the bridge which the
citizens had ridiculed while it was growing before their faces. There
scowled the Kowenstyn--black with cannon, covered all over with
fortresses which the butchers had so sedulously preserved. From Parma's
camp at Beveren and Kalloo a great fortified road led across the river
and along the fatal dyke all the way to the entrenchments at Stabroek,
where Mansfeld's army lay. Grim Mondragon held the "holy cross" and the
whole Kowenstyn in his own iron grasp. A chain of forts, built and
occupied by the contending hosts of the patriots and the Spaniards, were
closely packed together along both banks of the Scheldt, nine miles long
from Antwerp to Lillo, and interchanged perpetual cannonades. The country
all around, once fertile as a garden, had been changed into a wild and
wintry sea where swarms of gun-boats and other armed vessels manoeuvred
and contended with each other over submerged villages and orchards, and
among half-drowned turrets and steeples. Yet there rose the great
bulwark--whose early destruction would have made all this desolation a
blessing--unbroken and obstinate; a perpetual obstacle to communication
between Antwerp and Zeeland. The very spirit of the murdered Prince of
Orange seemed to rise sadly and reproachfully out of the waste of waters,
as if to rebuke the men who had been so deaf to his solemn warnings.

Brussels, too, wearied and worn, its heart sick with hope deferred, now
fell into despair as the futile result of the French negotiation became
apparent. The stately and opulent city had long been in a most abject
condition. Many of its inhabitants attempted to escape from the horrors
of starving by flying from its walls. Of the fugitives, the men were
either scourged back by the Spaniards into the city, or hanged up along
the road-side. The women were treated, leniently, even playfully, for it
was thought an excellent jest to cut off the petticoats of the
unfortunate starving creatures up to their knees, and then command them
to go back and starve at home with their friends and fellow-citizens. A
great many persons literally died of hunger. Matrons with large families
poisoned their children and themselves to avoid the more terrible death
by starving. At last, when Vilvoorde was taken, when the baseness of the
French King was thoroughly understood, when Parma's bridge was completed
and the Scheldt bridled, Brussels capitulated on as favourable terms as
could well have been expected.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     College of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all
     Military virtue in the support of an infamous cause
     Not distinguished for their docility
     Repentance, as usual, had come many hours too late



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, 1585

Alexander Farnese, The Duke of Parma



CHAPTER V., Part 2.

   Position of Alexander and his Army--La Motte attempts in vain
   Ostend--Patriots gain Liefkenshoek--Projects of Gianibelli--Alarm on
   the Bridge--The Fire Ships--The Explosion--Its Results--Death of the
   Viscount of Ghent--Perpetual Anxiety of Farnese--Impoverished State
   of the Spaniards--Intended Attack of the Kowenstyn--Second Attack of
   the Kowenstyn--A Landing effected--A sharp Combat--The Dyke pierced
   --Rally of the Spaniards--Parma comes to the Rescue--Fierce Struggle
   on the Dyke--The Spaniards successful--Premature Triumph at Antwerp
   --Defeat of the Patriots--The Ship War's End--Despair of the Citizens

Notwithstanding these triumphs, Parma was much inconvenienced by not
possessing the sea-coast of Flanders. Ostend was a perpetual
stumbling-block to him. He therefore assented, with pleasure to a
proposition made by La Motte, one of the most experienced and courageous
of the Walloon royalist, commanders, to attempt the place by surprise.
And La Motte; at the first blow; was more than half successful.

On the night of the 29th March, (1585) with two thousand foot and twelve
hundred cavalry, he carried the whole of the old port of Ostend. Leaving
a Walloon officer, in whom he had confidence, to guard the position
already gained, he went back in person for reinforcements. During his
advance, the same ill luck attended his enterprise which had blasted
Hohenlo's achievement at Bois-le-Duc. The soldiers he left behind him
deserted their posts for the sake of rifling the town. The officer in
command, instead of keeping them to their duty, joined in the chase. The
citizens roused themselves, attacked their invaders, killed many of them,
and put the rest to flight. When La Motte returned; he found the panic
general. His whole force, including the fresh soldiers just brought to
the rescue, were beside themselves with fear. He killed several with his
own hand, but the troops were not to be rallied. His quick triumph was
changed into an absolute defeat.

Parma, furious at the ignominious result of a plan from which so much had
been expected, ordered the Walloon captain, from whose delinquency so
much disaster had resulted, to be forthwith hanged. "Such villainy," said
he, "must never go unpunished."

It was impossible for the Prince to send a second expedition to attempt
the reduction of Ostend, for the patriots were at last arousing
themselves to the necessity of exertion. It was very obvious--now that
the bridge had been built, and the Kowenstyn fortified--that one or the
other was to be destroyed, or Antwerp abandoned to its fate.

The patriots had been sleeping, as it were, all the winter, hugging the
delusive dream of French sovereignty and French assistance. No language
can exaggerate the deadly effects from the slow poison of that
negotiation. At any rate, the negotiation was now concluded. The dream
was dispelled. Antwerp must now fall, or a decisive blow must be struck
by the patriots themselves, and a telling blow had been secretly and
maturely meditated. Certain preparatory steps were however necessary.

The fort of Liefkenshoek, "darling's corner," was a most important post.
The patriots had never ceased to regret that precious possession, lost,
as we have seen, in so tragical a manner on the very day of Orange's
death. Fort Lillo, exactly opposite, on the Brabant shore of the Scheldt,
had always been securely held by them; and was their strongest position.
Were both places in their power, the navigation of the river, at least as
far as the bridge, would be comparatively secure.

A sudden dash was made upon Liefkenshoek. A number of armed vessels
sailed up from Zeeland, under command of Justinus de Nassau. They were
assisted from Fort Lillo by a detachment headed by Count Hohenlo. These
two officers were desirous of retrieving the reputation which they had
lost at Bois-le-Duc. They were successful, and the "darling" fort was
carried at a blow. After a brief cannonade, the patriots made a breach,
effected a landing, and sprang over the ramparts. The Walloons and
Spaniards fled in dismay; many of them were killed in the fort, and along
the dykes; others were hurled into the Scheldt. The victors followed up
their success by reducing, with equal impetuosity, the fort of Saint
Anthony, situate in the neighbourhood farther down the river. They thus
gained entire command of all the high ground, which remained in that
quarter above the inundation, and was called the Doel.

The dyke, on which Liefkenshoek stood, led up the river towards Kalloo,
distant less than a league. There were Parma's head-quarters and the
famous bridge. But at Fort Saint Mary; where the Flemish head of that
bridge rested, the dyke was broken. Upon that broken end the commanders
of the expedition against Liefkenshoek were ordered to throw up an
entrenchment, without loss of a moment, so soon as they should have
gained the fortresses which they were ordered first to assault. Sainte
Aldegonde had given urgent written directions to this effect. From a
redoubt situated thus, in the very face of Saint Mary's, that position,
the palisade-work, the whole bridge, might be battered with all the
artillery that could be brought from Zeeland.

But Parma was beforehand with them. Notwithstanding his rage and
mortification that Spanish soldiers should have ignominiously lost the
important fortress which Richebourg had conquered so brilliantly nine
months before, he was not the man to spend time in unavailing regrets.
His quick eye instantly, detected the flaw which might soon be fatal. In
the very same night of the loss of Liefkenshoek, he sent as strong a
party as could be spared, with plenty of sappers and miners, in
flat-bottomed boats across from Kalloo. As the morning dawned, an
improvised fortress, with the Spanish flag waving above its bulwarks,
stood on the broken end of the dyke. That done, he ordered one of the two
captains who had commanded in Liefkenshoek and Saint Anthony to be
beheaded on the same dyke. The other was dismissed with ignominy. Ostend
was, of course, given up; "but it was not a small matter," said Parma,
"to fortify ourselves that very night upon the ruptured place, and so
prevent the rebels from doing it, which would have been very
mal-a-propos."

Nevertheless, the rebels had achieved a considerable success; and now or
never the telling blow, long meditated, was to be struck.

There lived in Antwerp a subtle Mantuan, Gianibelli by name, who had
married and been long settled in the city. He had made himself busy with
various schemes for victualling the place. He had especially urged upon
the authorities, at an early period of the siege, the propriety of making
large purchases of corn and storing it in magazines at a time when
famine-price had by no means been reached. But the leading men had then
their heads full of a great ship, or floating castle, which they were
building, and which they had pompously named the 'War's End,' 'Fin de la
Guerre.' We shall hear something of this phenomenon at a later period.
Meanwhile, Gianibelli, who knew something of shipbuilding, as he did of
most other useful matters, ridiculed the design, which was likely to
cost, in itself before completion, as much money as would keep the city
in bread for a third of a year.

Gianibelli was no patriot. He was purely a man of science and of great
acquirements, who was looked upon by the ignorant populace alternately as
a dreamer and a wizard. He was as indifferent to the cause of freedom as
of despotism, but he had a great love for chemistry. He was also a
profound mechanician, second to no man of his age in theoretic and
practical engineering.

He had gone from Italy to Spain that he might offer his services to
Philip, and give him the benefit of many original and ingenious
inventions. Forced to dance attendance, day after day, among sneering
courtiers and insolent placemen, and to submit to the criticism of
practical sages and philosophers of routine, while, he was constantly
denied an opportunity of explaining his projects, the quick-tempered
Italian had gone away at last, indignant. He had then vowed revenge upon
the dulness by which his genius had been slighted, and had sworn that the
next time the Spaniards heard the name of the man whom they had dared to
deride, they should hear it with tears.

He now laid before the senate of Antwerp a plan for some vessels likely
to prove more effective than the gigantic 'War's End,' which he had
prophesied would prove a failure. With these he pledged himself to
destroy the bridge. He demanded three ships which he had selected from
the city fleet; the 'Orange,' the 'Post,' and the 'Golden Lion,'
measuring, respectively, one hundred and fifty, three hundred and fifty,
and five hundred tons. Besides these, he wished sixty flat-bottomed
scows, which he proposed to send down the river, partially submerged,
disposed in the shape of a half moon, with innumerable anchors and
grapnel's thrusting themselves out of the water at every point. This
machine was intended to operate against the raft.

Ignorance and incredulity did their work, as usual, and Gianbelli's
request was refused. As a quarter-measure, nevertheless, he was allowed
to take two smaller vessels of seventy and eighty tons. The Italian was
disgusted with parsimony upon so momentous an occasion, but he at the
same time determined, even with these slender materials, to give an
exhibition of his power.

Not all his the glory, however, of the ingenious project. Associated with
him were two skilful artizans of Antwerp; a clockmaker named Bory, and a
mechanician named Timmerman--but Gianibelli was the chief and
superintendent of the whole daring enterprise.

He gave to his two ships the cheerful names of the 'Fortune' and the
'Hope,' and set himself energetically to justify their titles by their
efficiency. They were to be marine volcanos, which, drifting down the
river with tide, were to deal destruction where the Spaniards themselves
most secure.

In the hold of each vessel, along the whole length, was laid down a solid
flooring of brick and mortar, one foot thick and five feet wide. Upon
this was built a chamber of marble mason-work, forty feet long, three and
a half feet broad, as many high, and with side-walks [walls? D.W.] five
feet in thickness.

This was the crater. It was filled with seven thousand of gunpowder, of a
kind superior to anything known, and prepared by Gianibelli himself. It
was covered with a roof, six feet in thickness, formed of blue
tombstones, placed edgewise. Over this crater, rose a hollow cone, or
pyramid, made of heavy marble slabs, and filled with mill-stones, cannon
balls, blocks of marble, chain-shot, iron hooks, plough-coulters, and
every dangerous missile that could be imagined. The spaces between the
mine and the sides of each ship were likewise filled with paving stones,
iron-bound stakes, harpoons, and other projectiles. The whole fabric was
then covered by a smooth light flooring of planks and brick-work, upon
which was a pile of wood: This was to be lighted at the proper time, in
order that the two vessels might present the appearance of simple
fire-ships, intended only to excite a conflagration of the bridge. On the
'Fortune' a slow match, very carefully prepared, communicated with the
submerged mine, which was to explode at a nicely-calculated moment. The
eruption of the other floating volcano was to be regulated by an
ingenious piece of clock-work, by which, at the appointed time, fire,
struck from a flint, was to inflame the hidden mass of gunpowder below.

In addition to these two infernal machines, or "hell-burners," as they
were called, a fleet of thirty-two smaller vessels was prepared. Covered
with tar, turpentine, rosin, and filled with inflammable and combustible
materials, these barks were to be sent from Antwerp down the river in
detachments of eight every half hour with the ebb tide. The object was to
clear the way, if possible, of the raft, and to occupy the attention of
the Spaniards, until the 'Fortune' and the `Hope' should come down upon
the bridge.

The 5th April, (1885) being the day following that on which the
successful assault upon Liefkenshoek and Saint Anthony had taken place,
was fixed for the descent of the fire-ships. So soon as it should be
dark, the thirty-two lesser burning-vessels, under the direction of
Admiral Jacob Jacobzoon, were to be sent forth from the neighborhood of
the 'Boor's Sconce'--a fort close to the city walls--in accordance with
the Italian's plan. "Run-a-way Jacob," however, or "Koppen Loppen," had
earned no new laurels which could throw into the shade that opprobrious
appellation. He was not one of Holland's naval heroes, but, on the whole,
a very incompetent officer; exactly the man to damage the best concerted
scheme which the genius of others could invent. Accordingly,
Koppen-Loppen began with a grave mistake. Instead of allowing the
precursory fire-ships to drift down the stream, at the regular intervals
agreed upon, he despatched them all rapidly, and helter skelter, one
after another, as fast as they could be set forth on their career. Not
long afterwards, he sent the two "hellburners," the 'Fortune' and the
'Hope,' directly in their wake. Thus the whole fiery fleet had set forth,
almost at once, upon its fatal voyage.

It was known to Parma that preparations for an attack were making at
Antwerp, but as to the nature of the danger he was necessarily in the
dark. He was anticipating an invasion by a fleet from the city in
combination with a squadron of Zeelanders coming up from below. So soon
as the first vessels, therefore, with their trains not yet lighted, were
discovered bearing down from the city, he was confirmed in his
conjecture. His drama and trumpets instantly called to arms, and the
whole body of his troops was mustered upon the bridge; the palisades, and
in the nearest forts. Thus the preparations to avoid or to contend with
the danger, were leading the Spaniards into the very jaws of destruction.
Alexander, after crossing and recrossing the river, giving minute
directions for repelling the expected assault, finally stationed himself
in the block-house at the point of junction, on the Flemish aide, between
the palisade and the bridge of boats. He was surrounded by a group of
superior officers, among whom Richebourg, Billy, Gaetano, Cessis, and the
Englishman Sir Rowland Yorke, were conspicuous.

It was a dark, mild evening of early spring. As the fleet of vessels
dropped slowly down the river, they suddenly became luminous, each ship
flaming out of the darkness, a phantom of living fire. The very waves of
the Scheldt seemed glowing with the conflagration, while its banks were
lighted up with a preternatural glare. It was a wild, pompous, theatrical
spectacle. The array of soldiers on both aides the river, along the dykes
and upon the bridge, with banners waving, and spear and cuirass glancing
in the lurid light; the demon fleet, guided by no human hand, wrapped in
flames, and flitting through the darkness, with irregular movement; but
portentous aspect, at the caprice of wind and tide; the death-like
silence of expectation, which had succeeded the sound of trumpet and the
shouts of the soldiers; and the weird glow which had supplanted the
darkness-all combined with the sense of imminent and mysterious danger to
excite and oppress the imagination.

Presently, the Spaniards, as they gazed from the bridge, began to take
heart again. One after another, many of the lesser vessels drifted
blindly against the raft, where they entangled themselves among the hooks
and gigantic spearheads, and burned slowly out without causing any
extensive conflagration. Others grounded on the banks of the river,
before reaching their destination. Some sank in the stream.

Last of all came the two infernal ships, swaying unsteadily with the
current; the pilots of course, as they neared the bridge, having
noiselessly effected their escape in the skiffs. The slight fire upon the
deck scarcely illuminated the dark phantom-like hulls. Both were carried
by the current clear of the raft, which, by a great error of judgment, as
it now appeared, on the part of the builders, had only been made to
protect the floating portion of the bridge. The 'Fortune' came first,
staggering inside the raft, and then lurching clumsily against the dyke,
and grounding near Kalloo, without touching the bridge. There was a
moment's pause of expectation. At last the slow match upon the deck
burned out, and there was a faint and partial explosion, by which little
or no damage was produced.

Parma instantly called for volunteers to board the mysterious vessel. The
desperate expedition was headed by the bold Roland York, a Londoner, of
whom one day there was more to be heard in Netherland history. The party
sprang into the deserted and now harmless volcano, extinguishing the
slight fires that were smouldering on the deck, and thrusting spears and
long poles into the hidden recesses of the hold. There was, however,
little time to pursue these perilous investigations, and the party soon
made their escape to the bridge.

The troops of Parma, crowding on the palisade, and looking over the
parapets, now began to greet the exhibition with peals of derisive
laughter. It was but child's play, they thought, to threaten a Spanish
army, and a general like Alexander Farnese, with such paltry fire-works
as these. Nevertheless all eyes were anxiously fixed upon the remaining
fire-ship, or "hell-burner," the 'Hope,' which had now drifted very near
the place of its destination. Tearing her way between the raft and the
shore, she struck heavily against the bridge on the Kalloo side, close to
the block-house at the commencement of the floating portion of the
bridge. A thin wreath of smoke was seen curling over a slight and
smouldering fire upon her deck.

Marquis Richebourg, standing on the bridge, laughed loudly at the
apparently impotent conclusion of the whole adventure. It was his last
laugh on earth. A number of soldiers, at Parma's summons, instantly
sprang on board this second mysterious vessel, and occupied themselves,
as the party on board the 'Fortune' had done, in extinguishing, the
flames, and in endeavoring to ascertain the nature of the machine.
Richebourg boldly directed from the bridge their hazardous experiments.

At the same moment a certain ensign De Vega, who stood near the Prince of
Parma, close to the block-house, approached him with vehement entreaties
that he should retire. Alexander refused to stir from the spot, being
anxious to learn the result of these investigations. Vega, moved by some
instinctive and irresistible apprehension, fell upon his knees, and
plucking the General earnestly by the cloak, implored him with such
passionate words and gestures to leave the place, that the Prince
reluctantly yielded.

It was not a moment too soon. The clockwork had been better adjusted than
the slow match in the 'Fortune.' Scarcely had Alexander reached the
entrance of Saint Mary's Fort, at the end of the bridge, when a horrible
explosion was heard. The 'Hope' disappeared, together with the men who
had boarded her, and the block-house, against which she had struck, with
all its garrison, while a large portion of the bridge, with all the
troops stationed upon it, had vanished into air. It was the work of a
single instant. The Scheldt yawned to its lowest depth, and then cast its
waters across the dykes, deep into the forts, and far over the land. The
earth shook as with the throb of a volcano. A wild glare lighted up the
scene for one moment, and was then succeeded by pitchy darkness. Houses
were toppled down miles away, and not a living thing, even in remote
places, could keep its feet. The air was filled with a rain of
plough-shares, grave-stones, and marble balls, intermixed with the heads,
limbs, and bodies, of what had been human beings. Slabs of granite,
vomited by the flaming ship, were found afterwards at a league's
distance, and buried deep in the earth. A thousand soldiers were
destroyed in a second of time; many of them being torn to shreds, beyond
even the semblance of humanity.

Richebourg disappeared, and was not found until several days later, when
his body was discovered; doubled around an iron chain, which hung from
one of the bridge-boats in the centre of the river. The veteran Robles,
Seigneur de Billy, a Portuguese officer of eminent service and high
military rank, was also destroyed. Months afterwards, his body was
discovered adhering to the timber-work of the bridge, upon the ultimate
removal of that structure, and was only recognized by a peculiar gold
chain which he habitually wore. Parma himself was thrown to the ground,
stunned by a blow on the shoulder from a flying stake. The page, who was
behind him, carrying his helmet, fell dead without a wound, killed by the
concussion of the air.

Several strange and less tragical incidents occurred. The Viscomte de
Bruxelles was blown out of a boat on the Flemish side, and descended safe
and, sound into another in the centre of the stream. Captain Tucci, clad
in complete armour, was whirled out of a fort, shot perpendicularly into
the air, and then fell back into the river. Being of a cool temperament,
a good swimmer, and very pious, he skilfully divested himself of cuirass
and helmet, recommended himself to the Blessed Virgin, and swam safely
ashore. Another young officer of Parma's body-guard, Francois de Liege by
name, standing on the Kalloo end of the bridge, rose like a feather into
the clouds, and, flying quite across the river, alighted on the opposite
bank with no further harm than a contused shoulder. He imagined himself
(he said afterwards) to have been changed into a cannon-ball, as he
rushed through the pitchy atmosphere, propelled by a blast of
irresistible fury.

   [The chief authorities used in the foregoing account of this famous
   enterprise are those already cited on a previous page, viz.: the MS.
   Letters of the Prince of Parma in the Archives of Simancas; Bor, ii.
   596, 597; Strada, H. 334 seq.; Meteren, xii. 223; Hoofd Vervolgh,
   91; Baudartii Polemographia, ii. 24-27; Bentivoglio, etc., I have
   not thought it necessary to cite them step by step; for all the
   accounts, with some inevitable and unimportant discrepancies, agree
   with each other. The most copious details are to be found in Strada
   and in Bor.]

It had been agreed that Admiral Jacobzoon should, immediately after the
explosion of the fire-ships, send an eight-oared barge to ascertain the
amount of damage. If a breach had been effected, and a passage up to the
city opened, he was to fire a rocket. At this signal, the fleet stationed
at Lillo, carrying a heavy armament, laden with provisions enough to
relieve Antwerp from all anxiety, and ready to sail on the instant, was
at once to force its way up the river.

The deed was done. A breach, two hundred feet in width was made. Had the
most skilful pilot in Zeeland held the helm of the 'Hope,' with a choice
crew obedient to his orders, he could not have guided her more carefully
than she had been directed by wind and tide. Avoiding the raft which lay
in her way, she had, as it were, with the intelligence of a living
creature, fulfilled the wishes of the daring genius that had created her;
and laid herself alongside the bridge, exactly at the most telling point.
She had then destroyed herself, precisely at the right moment. All the
effects, and more than all, that had been predicted by the Mantuan wizard
had come to pass. The famous bridge was cleft through and through, and a
thousand picked men--Parma's very "daintiest"--were blown out of
existence. The Governor-General himself was lying stark and stiff upon
the bridge which he said should be his triumphal monument or his tomb.
His most distinguished officers were dead, and all the survivors were
dumb and blind with astonishment at the unheard of, convulsion. The
passage was open for the fleet, and the fleet, lay below with sails
spread, and oars in the rowlocks, only waiting for the signal to bear up
at once to the scene of action, to smite out of existence all that
remained of the splendid structure, and to carry relief and triumph into
Antwerp.

Not a soul slept in the city. The explosion had shook its walls, and
thousands of people thronged the streets, their hearts beating high with
expectation. It was a moment of exquisite triumph. The 'Hope,' word of
happy augury, had not been relied upon in vain, and Parma's seven months
of patient labour had been annihilated in a moment. Sainte Aldegonde and
Gianibelli stood in the 'Boors' Sconce' on the edge of the river. They
had felt and heard the explosion, and they were now straining their eyes
through the darkness to mark the flight of the welcome rocket.

That rocket never rose. And it is enough, even after the lapse of three
centuries, to cause a pang in every heart that beats for human liberty to
think of the bitter disappointment which crushed these great and
legitimate hopes. The cause lay in the incompetency and cowardice of the
man who had been so unfortunately entrusted with a share in a noble
enterprise.

Admiral Jacobzoon, paralyzed by the explosion, which announced his own
triumph, sent off the barge, but did not wait for its return. The
boatmen, too, appalled by the sights and sounds which they had witnessed,
and by the murky darkness which encompassed them, did not venture near
the scene of action, but, after rowing for a short interval hither and
thither, came back with the lying report that nothing had been
accomplished, and that the bridge remained unbroken. Sainte Aldegonde and
Gianibelli were beside themselves with rage, as they surmised the
imbecility of the Admiral, and devoted him in their hearts to the
gallows, which he certainly deserved. The wrath of the keen Italian may
be conceived, now that his ingenious and entirely successful scheme was
thus rendered fruitless by the blunders of the incompetent Fleming.

On the other side, there was a man whom no danger could appall. Alexander
had been thought dead, and the dismay among his followers was universal.
He was known to have been standing an instant before the explosion on the
very block-house where the 'Hope' had struck. After the first terrible
moments had passed, his soldiers found their general lying, as if in a
trance, on the threshold of St. Mary's Fort, his drawn sword in his hand,
with Cessis embracing his knees, and Gaetano extended at his side,
stunned with a blow upon the head.

Recovering from his swoon, Parma was the first to spring to his feet.
Sword in hand, he rushed at once upon the bridge to mark the extent of
the disaster. The admirable structure, the result of so much patient and
intelligent energy, was fearfully shattered; the bridge, the river, and
the shore, strewed with the mangled bodies of his soldiers. He expected,
as a matter of certainty, that the fleet from below would instantly force
its passage, destroy, the remainder of his troops-stunned as they were
with the sudden catastrophe complete the demolition of the bridge, and
then make its way to Antwerp, with ample reinforcements and supplies. And
Alexander saw that the expedition would be successful. Momently expecting
the attack, he maintained his courage and semblance of cheerfulness, with
despair in his heart.

His winter's work seemed annihilated, and it was probable that he should
be obliged to raise the siege. Nevertheless, he passed in person from
rank to rank, from post to post, seeing that the wounded were provided
for, encouraging those that remained unhurt, and endeavouring to infuse a
portion of his own courage into the survivors of his panic-stricken army.

Nor was he entirely unsuccessful, as the night wore on and the expected
assault was still delayed. Without further loss of time, he employed his
men to collect the drifting boats, timber, and spar-work, and to make a
hasty and temporary restoration--in semblance at least--of the ruined
portion of his bridge. And thus he employed himself steadily all the
night, although expecting every instant to hear the first broadside of
the Zeeland cannon. When morning broke, and it became obvious that the
patriots were unable or unwilling to follow up their own success, the
Governor-General felt as secure as ever. He at once set about the
thorough repairs of his great work, and--before he could be again
molested--had made good the damage which it had sustained.

It was not till three days afterwards that the truth was known in
Antwerp. Hohenlo then sent down a messenger, who swam, under the bridge,
ascertained the exact state of affairs, and returned, when it was too
late, with the first intelligence of the triumph which had been won and
lost. The disappointment and mortification were almost intolerable. And
thus had. Run-a-way Jacob, 'Koppen Loppen,' blasted the hopes of so many
wiser and braver spirits than his own.

The loss to Parma and to the royalist cause in Marquis Richebourg, was
very great. The death of De Billy, who was a faithful, experienced, and
courageous general, was also much lamented. "The misfortune from their
death," said Parma, "is not to be exaggerated. Each was ever ready to do
his duty in your Majesty's service, and to save me much fatigue in all my
various affairs. Nevertheless," continued the Prince, with great piety,
"we give the Lord thanks for all, and take as a favour everything which
comes from His hand."

Alexander had indeed reason to deplore the loss of Robert de Melun,
Viscount of Ghent, Marquis of Roubaix and Richebourg. He was a most
valuable officer. His wealth was great. It had been recently largely
increased by the confiscation of his elder brother's estates for his
benefit, a measure which at Parma's intercession had been accorded by the
King. That brother was the patriotic Prince of Espinoy, whom we have
recently seen heading the legation of the States to France. And
Richebourg was grateful to Alexander, for besides these fraternal spoils,
he had received two marquisates through his great patron, in addition to
the highest military offices. Insolent, overbearing, truculent to all the
world, to Parma he was ever docile, affectionate, watchful, obsequious. A
man who knew not fatigue, nor fear, nor remorse, nor natural affection,
who could patiently superintend all the details of a great military work,
or manage a vast political intrigue by alternations of browbeating and
bribery, or lead a forlorn hope, or murder a prisoner in cold blood, or
leap into the blazing crater of what seemed a marine volcano, the Marquis
of Richebourg had ever made himself most actively and unscrupulously
useful to his master. Especially had he rendered invaluable services in
the reduction, of the Walloon Provinces, and in the bridging of the
Scheldt, the two crowning triumphs of Alexander's life. He had now passed
from the scene where he had played so energetic and dazzling a part, and
lay doubled round an iron cable beneath the current of the restless
river.

And in this eventful night, Parma, as always, had been true to himself
and to his sovereign. "We expected," said he, "that the rebels would
instantly attack us on all sides after the explosion. But all remained so
astonished by the unheard-of accident, that very few understood what was
going on. It seemed better that I--notwithstanding the risk of letting
myself be seen--should encourage the people not to run away. I did so,
and remedied matters a little but not so much as that--if the enemy had
then attacked us--we should not have been in the very greatest risk and
peril. I did not fail to do what I am obliged to do, and always hope to
do; but I say no more of what passed, or what was done by myself, because
it does not become me to speak of these things."

Notwithstanding this discomfiture, the patriots kept up heart, and were
incessantly making demonstrations against Parma's works. Their
proceedings against the bridge, although energetic enough to keep the
Spanish commander in a state of perpetual anxiety, were never so
efficient however as on the memorable occasion when the Mantuan engineer
and the Dutch watchmaker had exhausted all their ingenuity. Nevertheless,
the rebel barks swarmed all over the submerged territory, now threatening
this post, and now that, and effecting their retreat at pleasure; for
nearly the whole of Parma's little armada was stationed at the two
extremities of his bridge. Many fire-ships were sent down from time to
time, but Alexander had organized a systematic patrol of a few
sentry-boats, armed with scythes and hooks, which rowed up and down in
front of the rafts, and protected them against invasion.

Some little effect was occasionally produced, but there was on the whole
more anxiety excited than damage actually inflicted. The perturbation of
spirit among the Spaniards when any of these 'demon fine-ships,' as they
called them, appeared bearing down upon their bridge, was excessive. It
could not be forgotten, that the `Hope' had sent into space a thousand of
the best soldiers of the little army within one moment of time.

Such rapid proceedings had naturally left an uneasy impression on the
minds of the survivors. The fatigue of watching was enormous. Hardly an
officer or soldier among the besieging forces knew what it was to sleep.
There was a perpetual exchanging of signals and beacon-fires and rockets
among the patriots--not a day or night, when a concerted attack by the
Antwerpers from above, and the Hollanders from below, with gun-boats and
fire-ships, and floating mines, and other devil's enginry, was not
expected.

"We are always upon the alert," wrote Parma, "with arms in our hands.
Every one must mount guard, myself as well as the rest, almost every
night, and the better part of every day."

He was quite aware that something was ever in preparation; and the
nameless, almost sickening apprehension which existed among
his stout-hearted veterans, was a proof that the Mantuan's
genius--notwithstanding the disappointment as to the great result--had
not been exercised entirely in vain. The image of the Antwerp devil-ships
imprinted itself indelibly upon the Spanish mind, as of something
preternatural, with which human valour could only contend at a
disadvantage; and a day was not very far distant--one of the memorable
days of the world's history, big with the fate of England, Spain,
Holland, and all Christendom--when the sight of a half-dozen blazing
vessels, and the cry of "the Antwerp fireships," was to decide the issue
of a most momentous enterprise. The blow struck by the obscure Italian
against Antwerp bridge, although ineffective then, was to be most
sensibly felt after a few years had passed, upon a wider field.

Meantime the uneasiness and the watchfulness in the biesieging army were
very exhausting. "They are never idle in the city," wrote Parma. "They
are perpetually proving their obstinacy and pertinacity by their
industrious genius and the machines which they devise. Every day we are
expecting some new invention. On our side we endeavour to counteract
their efforts by every human means in our power. Nevertheless, I confess
that our merely human intellect is not competent to penetrate the designs
of their diabolical genius. Certainly, most wonderful and extraordinary
things have been exhibited, such as the oldest soldiers here have never
before witnessed."

Moreover, Alexander saw himself growing weaker and weaker. His force had
dwindled to a mere phantom of an army. His soldiers, ill-fed,
half-clothed, unpaid, were fearfully overworked. He was obliged to
concentrate all the troops at his disposal around Antwerp. Diversions
against Ostend, operations in Friesland and Gelderland, although most
desirable, had thus been rendered quite impossible.

"I have recalled my cavalry and infantry from Ostend," he wrote, "and Don
Juan de Manrique has fortunately arrived in Stabroek with a thousand good
German folk. The commissary-general of the cavalry has come in, too, with
a good lot of the troops that had been encamped in the open country.
Nevertheless, we remain wretchedly weak--quite insufficient to attempt
what ought to be done. If the enemy were more in force, or if the French
wished to make trouble, your Majesty would see how important it had been
to provide in time against such contingencies. And although our
neighbours, crestfallen, and rushing upon their own destruction, leave us
in quiet, we are not without plenty of work. It would be of inestimable
advantage to make diversions in Gelderland and Friesland, because, in
that case, the Hollanders, seeing the enemy so near their own borders,
would be obliged to withdraw their assistance from Antwerp. 'Tis pity to
see how few Spaniards your Majesty has left, and how diminished is our
army. Now, also, is the time to expect sickness, and this affair of
Antwerp is obviously stretching out into large proportions. Unless soon
reinforced, we must inevitably go to destruction. I implore your Majesty
to ponder the matter well, and not to defer the remedy."

His Majesty was sure to ponder the matter well, if that had been all.
Philip was good at pondering; but it was equally certain that the remedy
would be deferred. Meantime Alexander and his starving but heroic little
army were left to fight their battles as they could.

His complaints were incessant, most reasonable, but unavailing. With all
the forces he could muster, by withdrawing from the neighbourhood of
Ghent, Brussels, Vilvoorde, and from all the garrisons, every man that
could be spared, he had not strength enough to guard his own posts. To
attempt to win back the important forts recently captured by the rebels
on the Doel, was quite out of the question. The pictures he painted of
his army were indeed most dismal.

The Spaniards were so reduced by sickness that it was pitiful to see
them. The Italians were not in much better condition, nor the Germans.
"As for the Walloons," said he, "they are deserting, as they always do.
In truth, one of my principal dangers is that the French civil wars are
now tempting my soldiers across the frontier; the country there is so
much richer, and offers so much more for the plundering."

During the few weeks which immediately followed them famous descent of
the 'Hope' and the 'Fortune,' there had accordingly been made a variety
of less elaborate, but apparently mischievous, efforts against the
bridge. On the whole, however, the object was rather to deceive and amuse
the royalists, by keeping their attention fixed in that quarter, while a
great attack was, in reality, preparing against the Kowenstyn. That
strong barrier, as repeatedly stated, was even a more formidable obstacle
than the bridge to the communication between the beleagured city and
their allies upon the outside. Its capture and demolition, even at this
late period, would open the navigation to all the fleets of Zeeland.

In the undertaking of the 5th of April all had been accomplished that
human ingenuity could devise; yet the triumph had been snatched away even
at the very moment when it was complete. A determined and vigorous effort
was soon to be made upon the Kowenstyn, in the very face of Parma; for it
now seemed obvious that the true crisis was to come upon that fatal dyke.
The great bulwark was three miles long. It reached from Stabroek in
Brabant, near which village Mansfeld's troops were encamped, across the
inundated country, up to the line of the Scheldt. Thence, along the
river-dyke, and across the bridge to Kalloo and Beveren, where Parma's
forces lay, was a continuous fortified road some three leagues in length;
so that the two divisions of the besieging army, lying four leagues
apart, were all connected by this important line.

Could the Kowenstyn be pierced, the water, now divided by that great
bulwark into two vast lakes, would flow together in one continuous sea.
Moreover the Scheldt, it was thought, would, in that case, return to its
own cannel through Brabant, deserting its present bed, and thus leaving
the famous bridge high and dry. A wide sheet of navigable water would
then roll between Antwerp and the Zeeland coasts, and Parma's bridge, the
result of seven months' labour, would become as useless as a child's
broken toy.

Alexander had thoroughly comprehended the necessity of maintaining the
Kowenstyn. All that it was possible to do with the meagre forces at his
disposal, he had done. He had fringed both its margins, along its whole
length, with a breastwork of closely-driven stakes. He had strengthened
the whole body of the dyke with timber-work and piles. Upon its
river-end, just at the junction with the great Scheldt dyke, a strong
fortress, called the Holy Cross, had been constructed, which was under
the special command of Mondragon. Besides this, three other forts had
been built, at intervals of about a mile, upon the dyke. The one nearest
to Mondragon was placed at the Kowenstyn manor-house, and was called
Saint James. This was entrusted to Camillo Bourbon del Monte, an Italian
officer, who boasted the blood royal of France in his veins, and was
disposed on all occasions to vindicate that proud pedigree by his deeds.
The next fort was Saint George's, sometimes called the Black Sconce. It
had been built by La Motte, but it was now in command of the Spanish
officer, Benites. The third was entitled the Fort of the Palisades,
because it had been necessary to support it by a stockade-work in the
water, there being absolutely not earth enough to hold the structure. It
was placed in the charge of Captain Gamboa. These little castles had been
created, as it were, out of water and upon water, and under a hot fire
from the enemy's forts and fleets, which gave the pioneers no repose.

"'Twas very hard work," said Parma, "our soldiers are so exposed during
their labour, the rebels playing upon them perpetually from their
musket-proof vessels. They fill the submerged land with their boats,
skimming everywhere as they like, while we have none at all. We have been
obliged to build these three forts with neither material nor space;
making land enough for the foundation by bringing thither bundles of
hurdles and of earth. The fatigue and anxiety are incredible. Not a man
can sleep at night; not an officer nor soldier but is perpetually
mounting guard. But they are animated to their hard work by seeing that I
share in it, like one of themselves. We have now got the dyke into good
order, so far as to be able to give them a warm reception, whenever they
choose to come."

Quite at the farther or land end of the Kowenstyn, was another fort,
called the Stabroek, which commanded and raked the whole dyke, and was in
the neighbourhood of Mansfeld's head-quarters.

Placed as were these little citadels upon a slender, and--at brief
distance--invisible thread of land, with the dark waters rolling around
them far and near, they presented an insubstantial dream-like aspect,
seeming rather like castles floating between air and ocean than actual
fortifications--a deceptive mirage rather than reality. There was nothing
imaginary, however, in the work which they were to perform.

A series of attacks, some serious, others fictitious, had been made, from
time to time, upon both bridge and dyke; but Alexander was unable to
inspire his soldiers with his own watchfulness. Upon the 7th of May a
more determined attempt was made upon the Kowenstyn, by the fleet from
Lillo. Hohenlo and Colonel Ysselstein conducted the enterprise. The
sentinels at the point selected--having recently been so often threatened
by an enemy, who most frequently made a rapid retreat, as to have grown
weary and indifferent-were surprised, at dawn of day, and put to the
sword. "If the truth must be told," said Parma, "the sentries were sound
asleep." Five hundred Zeelanders, with a strong party of sappers and
miners, fairly established themselves upon the dyke, between St. George's
and Fort Palisade. The attack, although spirited at its commencement, was
doomed to be unsuccessful. A co-operation, agreed upon by the fleet from
Antwerp, failed through a misunderstanding. Sainte Aldegonde had
stationed certain members of the munition-chamber in the cathedral tower,
with orders to discharge three rockets, when they should perceive a
beacon-fire which he should light in Fort Tholouse. The watchmen mistook
an accidental camp-fire in the neighbourhood for the preconcerted signal,
and sent up the rockets. Hohenlo understanding, accordingly, that the
expedition was on the point of starting from Antwerp, hastened to perform
his portion of the work, and sailed up from Lillo. He did his duty
faithfully and well, and established himself upon the dyke, but found
himself alone and without sufficient force to maintain his position. The
Antwerp fleet never sailed. It was even whispered that the delinquency
was rather intended than accidental; the Antwerpers being supposed
desirous to ascertain the result of Hohenlo's attempt before coming forth
to share his fate. Such was the opinion expressed by Farnese in his
letters to Philip, but it seems probable that he was mistaken. Whatever
the cause, however, the fact of the Zeelanders' discomfiture was certain.
The St. George battery and that of the Palisade were opened at once upon
them, the balls came plunging among the sappers and miners before they
had time to throw up many spade-fulls of earth, and the whole party were
soon dead or driven from the dyke. The survivors effected their retreat
as they best could, leaving four of their ships behind them and three or
four hundred men.

"Forty rebels lay dead on the dyke," said Parma, "and one hundred and
fifty more, at least, were drowned. The enemy confess a much larger loss
than the number I state, but I am not a friend of giving details larger
than my ascertained facts; nor do I know how many were killed in the
boats."

This enterprise was but a prelude, however, to the great undertaking
which had now been thoroughly matured. Upon the 26th May, another and
most determined attack was to be made upon the Kowenstyn, by the
Antwerpers and Hollanders acting in concert. This time, it was to be
hoped, there would be no misconception of signals. "It was a
determination," said Parma, "so daring and desperate that there was no
substantial reason why we should believe they would carry it out; but
they were at last solemnly resolved to die or to effect their purpose."

Two hundred ships in all had been got ready, part of them under Hohenlo
and Justinus de Nassau, to sail up from Zeeland; the others to advance
from Antwerp under Sainte Aldegonde. Their destination was the Kowenstyn
Dyke. Some of the vessels were laden with provisions, others with
gabions, hurdles, branches, sacks of sand and of wool, and with other
materials for the rapid throwing up of fortifications.

It was two o'clock, half an hour before the chill dawn of a May morning,
Sunday, the 26th of the month. The pale sight of a waning moon was
faintly perceptible in the sky. Suddenly the sentinels upon the
Kowenstyn--this time not asleep--descried, as they looked towards Lillo,
four fiery apparitions gliding towards them across the waves. The alarm
was given, and soon afterwards the Spaniards began to muster, somewhat
reluctantly, upon the dyke, filled as they always were with the
mysterious dread which those demon-vessels never failed to inspire.

The fire-ships floated slowly nearer, and at last struck heavily against
the stockade-work. There, covered with tar, pitch, rosin, and gunpowder,
they flamed, flared, and exploded, during a brief period, with much
vigour, and then burned harmlessly out. One of the objects for which they
had been sent--to set fire to the palisade--was not accomplished. The
other was gained; for the enemy, expecting another volcanic shower of
tombstones and plough-coulters, and remembering the recent fate of their
comrades on the bridge, had retired shuddering into the forts. Meantime,
in the glare of these vast torches, a great swarm of gunboats and other
vessels, skimming across the leaden-coloured waters, was seen gradually
approaching the dyke. It was the fleet of Hohenlo and Justinus de Nassau,
who had been sailing and rowing since ten o'clock of the preceding night.
The burning ships lighted them on their way, while it had scared the
Spaniards from their posts.

The boats ran ashore in the mile-long space between forts St. George and
the Palisade, and a party of Zeelanders, Admiral Haultain, governor of
Walcheren, at their head, sprang upon the dyke. Meantime, however, the
royalists, finding that the fire-ships had come to so innocent an end,
had rallied and emerged from their forts. Haultain and his Zeelanders, by
the time they had fairly mounted the dyke, found themselves in the iron
embrace of several hundred Spaniards. After a brief fierce struggle, face
to face, and at push of pike, the patriots reeled backward down the bank,
and took refuge in their boats. Admiral Haultain slipped as he left the
shore, missed a rope's end which was thrown to him, fell into the water,
and, borne down by the weight of his armour, was drowned. The enemy,
pursuing them, sprang to the waist in the ooze on the edge of the dyke,
and continued the contest. The boats opened a hot fire, and there was a
severe skirmish for many minutes, with no certain result. It was,
however, beginning to go hard with the Zeelanders, when, just at the
critical moment, a cheer from the other side of the dyke was heard, and
the Antwerp fleet was seen coming swiftly to the rescue. The Spaniards,
taken between the two bands of assailants, were at a disadvantage, and it
was impossible to prevent the landing of these fresh antagonists. The
Antwerpers sprang ashore. Among the foremost was Sainte Aldegonde, poet,
orator, hymn-book maker, burgomaster, lawyer, polemical divine--now armed
to the teeth and cheering on his men, in the very thickest of the fight.
The diversion was successful, and Sainte Aldegonde gallantly drove the
Spaniards quite off the field. The whole combined force from Antwerp and
Zeeland now effected their landing. Three thousand men occupied all the
space between Fort George and the Palisade.

With Sainte Aldegonde came the unlucky Koppen Loppen, and all that could
be spared of the English and Scotch troops in Antwerp, under Balfour and
Morgan. With Hohenlo and Justinus de Nassau came Reinier Kant, who had
just succeeded Paul Buys as Advocate of Holland. Besides these came two
other men, side by side, perhaps in the same boat, of whom the world was
like to hear much, from that time forward, and whose names are to be most
solemnly linked together, so long as Netherland history shall endure;
one, a fair-faced flaxen-haired boy of eighteen, the other a
square-visaged, heavy-browed man of forty--Prince Maurice and John of
Olden-Barneveldt. The statesman had been foremost to urge the claim of
William the Silent's son upon the stadholderate of Holland and Zeeland,
and had been, as it were, the youth's political guardian. He had himself
borne arms more than once before, having shouldered his matchlock under
Batenburg, and marched on that officer's spirited but disastrous
expedition for the relief of Haarlem. But this was the life of those
Dutch rebels. Quill-driving, law-expounding, speech-making, diplomatic
missions, were intermingled with very practical business in besieged
towns or open fields, with Italian musketeers and Spanish pikemen. And
here, too, young Maurice was taking his first solid lesson in the art of
which he was one day to be so distinguished a professor. It was a sharp
beginning. Upon this ribband of earth, scarce six paces in breadth, with
miles of deep water on both sides--a position recently fortified by the
first general of the age, and held by the famous infantry of Spain and
Italy--there was likely to be no prentice-work.

To assault such a position was in truth, as Alexander had declared it to
be, a most daring and desperate resolution on the part of the States.
"Soldiers, citizens, and all," said Parma, "they are obstinate as dogs to
try their fortune."

With wool-sacks, sand-bags, hurdles, planks, and other materials brought
with them, the patriots now rapidly entrenched themselves in the position
so brilliantly gained; while, without deferring for an instant the great
purpose which they had come to effect, the sappers and miners fastened
upon the ironbound soil of the dyke, tearing it with pick, mattock, and
shovel, digging, delving, and throwing up the earth around them, busy as
human beavers, instinctively engaged in a most congenial task.

But the beavers did not toil unmolested. The large and determined force
of Antwerpers and English, Hollanders and Zeelanders, guarded the
fortifications as they were rapidly rising, and the pioneers as they were
so manfully delving; but the enemy was not idle. From Fort Saint James,
next beyond Saint George, Camillo del Monte led a strong party to the
rescue. There was a tremendous action, foot to foot, breast to breast,
with pike and pistol, sword and dagger. Never since the beginning of the
war had there been harder fighting than now upon that narrow isthmus.
"'Twas an affair of most brave obstinacy on both sides," said Parma, who
rarely used strong language. "Soldiers, citizens, and all--they were like
mad bulldogs." Hollanders, Italians, Scotchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen,
fell thick and fast. The contest was about the entrenchments before they
were completed, and especially around the sappers and miners, in whose
picks and shovels lay the whole fate of Antwerp. Many of the
dyke-breakers were digging their own graves, and rolled, one after
another, into the breach which they were so obstinately creating. Upon
that slender thread of land the hopes of many thousands were hanging. To
tear it asunder, to roll the ocean-waves up to Antwerp, and thus to
snatch the great city triumphantly from the grasp of Philip--to
accomplish this, the three thousand had come forth that May morning. To
prevent it, to hold firmly that great treasure entrusted to them, was the
determination of the Spaniards. And so, closely pent and packed,
discharging their carbines into each other's faces, rolling, coiled
together, down the slimy sides of the dyke into the black waters,
struggling to and fro, while the cannon from the rebel fleet and from the
royal forts mingled their roar with the sharp crack of the musketry,
Catholics and patriots contended for an hour, while still, through all
the confusion and uproar, the miners dug and delved.

At last the patriots were victorious. They made good their entrenchments,
drove the Spaniards, after much slaughter, back to the fort of Saint
George on the one side, and of the Palisade on the other, and cleared the
whole space between the two points. The centre of the dyke was theirs;
the great Kowenstyn, the only key by which the gates of Antwerp could be
unlocked, was in the deliverers' hands. They pursued their victory, and
attacked the Palisade Fort. Gamboa, its commandant, was severely wounded;
many other officers dead or dying; the outworks were in the hands of the
Hollanders; the slender piles on which the fortress rested in the water
were rudely shaken; the victory was almost complete.

And now there was a tremendous cheer of triumph. The beavers had done
their work, the barrier was bitten through and through, the salt water
rushed like a river through the ruptured dyke. A few moments later, and a
Zeeland barge, freighted with provisions, floated triumphantly into the
waters beyond, now no longer an inland sea. The deed was done--the
victory achieved. Nothing more was necessary than to secure it, to tear
the fatal barrier to fragments, to bury it, for its whole length, beneath
the waves. Then, after the isthmus had been utterly submerged, when the
Scheldt was rolled back into its ancient bed, when Parma's famous bridge
had become useless, when the maritime communication between Antwerp and
Holland had been thoroughly established, the Spaniards would have nothing
left for it but to drown like rats in their entrenchments or to abandon
the siege in despair. All this was in the hands of the patriots. The
Kowenstyn was theirs. The Spaniards were driven from the field, the
batteries of their forts silenced. For a long period the rebels were
unmolested, and felt themselves secure.

"We remained thus some three hours," says Captain James, an English
officer who fought in the action, and described it in rough, soldierly
fashion to Walsingham the same day, "thinking all things to be secure."
Yet in the very supreme moment of victory, the leaders, both of the
Hollanders and of the Antwerpers, proved themselves incompetent to their
position. With deep regret it must be admitted, that not only the
reckless Hohenlo, but the all-accomplished Sainte Aldegonde, committed
the gravest error. In the hour of danger, both had comported themselves
with perfect courage and conduct. In the instant of triumph, they gave
way to puerile exultation. With a celerity as censurable as it seems
incredible, both these commanders sprang into the first barge which had
thus floated across the dyke, in order that they might, in person, carry
the news of the victory to Antwerp, and set all the bells ringing and the
bonfires blazing. They took with them Ferrante Spinola, a
mortally-wounded Italian officer of rank, as a trophy of their battle,
and a boatload of beef and flour, as an earnest of the approaching
relief.

While the conquerors were thus gone to enjoy their triumph, the
conquered, though perplexed and silenced, were not yet disposed to accept
their defeat. They were even ignorant that they were conquered. They had
been forced to abandon the field, and the patriots had entrenched
themselves upon the dyke, but neither Fort Saint George nor the Palisade
had been carried, although the latter was in imminent danger.

Old Count Peter Ernest Mansfeld--a grizzled veteran, who had passed his
childhood, youth, manhood, and old age, under fire--commanded at the
land-end of the dyke, in the fortress of Stabroek, in which neighbourhood
his whole division was stationed. Seeing how the day was going, he called
a council of war. The patriots had gained a large section of the dyke. So
much was certain. Could they succeed in utterly demolishing that bulwark
in the course of the day? If so, how were they to be dislodged before
their work was perfected? It was difficult to assault their position.
Three thousand Hollanders, Antwerpers, Englishmen--"mad bulldogs all," as
Parma called them--showing their teeth very mischievously, with one
hundred and sixty Zeeland vessels throwing in their broadsides from both
margins of the dyke, were a formidable company to face.

"Oh for one half hour of Alexander in the field!" sighed one of the
Spanish officers in council. But Alexander was more than four leagues
away, and it was doubtful whether he even knew of the fatal occurrence.
Yet how to send him a messenger. Who could reach him through that valley
of death? Would it not be better to wait till nightfall? Under the cover
of darkness something might be attempted, which in the daylight would be
hopeless. There was much anxiety, and much difference of opinion had been
expressed, when Camillo Capizucca, colonel of the Italian Legion,
obtained a hearing. A man bold in words as in deeds, he vehemently
denounced the pusillanimity which would wait either for Parma or for
nightfall. "What difference will it make," he asked, "whether we defer
our action until either darkness or the General arrives? In each case we
give the enemy time enough to destroy the dyke, and thoroughly to relieve
the city. That done, what good can be accomplished by our arms? Then our
disheartened soldiers will either shrink from a fruitless combat or march
to certain death." Having thus, very warmly but very sagaciously, defined
the position in which all were placed, he proceeded to declare that he
claimed, neither for himself nor for his legion, any superiority over the
rest of the army. He knew not that the Italians were more to be relied
upon than others in the time of danger, but this he did know, that no man
in the world was so devoted as he was to the Prince of Parma. To show
that devotion by waiting with folded arms behind a wall until the Prince
should arrive to extricate his followers, was not in his constitution. He
claimed the right to lead his Italians against the enemy at once--in the
front rank, if others chose to follow; alone, if the rest preferred to
wait till a better leader should arrive.

The words of the Italian colonel sent a thrill through all who heard him.
Next in command under Capizucca was his camp-marshal, an officer who bore
the illustrious name of Piccolomini--father of the Duke Ottavio, of whom
so much was to be heard at a later day throughout the fell scenes of that
portion of the eighty years' tragedy now enacting, which was to be called
the Thirty Years' War of Germany. The camp-marshal warmly seconded the
proposition of his colonel. Mansfeld, pleased with such enthusiasm among
his officers, yielded to their wishes, which were, in truth, his own. Six
companies of the Italian Legion were in his encampment while the
remainder were stationed, far away, upon the bridge, under command of his
son, Count Charles. Early in the morning, before the passage across the
dyke had been closed the veteran condottiere, pricking his ears as he
snuffed the battle from afar, had contrived to send a message to his son.

"Charles, my boy," were his words, "to-day we must either beat them or
burst."

Old Peter Ernest felt that the long-expected, long-deferred assault was
to be made that morning in full force, and that it was necessary for the
royalists, on both bridge and dyke, to hold their own. Piccolomini now
drew up three hundred of his Italians, picked veterans all, and led them
in marching order to Mansfeld. That general at the same moment, received
another small but unexpected reinforcement. A portion of the Spanish
Legion, which had long been that of Pedro Pacchi, lay at the extreme
verge of the Stabroek encampment, several miles away. Aroused by the
distant cannonading, and suspecting what had occurred, Don Juan d'Aquila,
the colonel in command, marched without a moment's delay to Mansfeld's
head-quarters, at the head of all the force he could muster--about two
hundred strong. With him came Cardona, Gonzales de Castro, Toralva, and
other distinguished officers. As they arrived, Capizucca was just setting
forth for the field. There arose a dispute for precedence between the
Italians and the Spaniards. Capizucca had first demanded the privilege of
leading what seemed a forlorn hope, and was unwilling to yield his claim
to the new comer. On the other hand, the Spaniards were not disposed to
follow where they felt entitled to lead. The quarrel was growing warm,
when Aquila, seizing his Italian rival by the hand, protested that it was
not a moment for friends to wrangle for precedence.

"Shoulder to shoulder," said he, "let us go into this business, and let
our blows rather fall on our enemies' heads than upon each other's." This
terminated the altercation. The Italians and Spaniards--in battle array
as they were--all dropped on their knees, offered a brief prayer to the
Holy Virgin, and then, in the best possible spirits, set forth along the
dyke. Next to fort Stabroek--whence they issued--was the Palisade Fort,
nearly a mile removed, which the patriots had nearly carried, and between
which and St. George, another mile farther on, their whole force was
established.

The troops under Capizucca and Aquila soon reached the Palisade, and
attacked the besiegers, while the garrison, cheered by the unexpected
relief, made a vigorous sortie. There was a brief sharp contest, in which
many were killed on both sides; but at last the patriots fell back upon
their own entrenchments, and the fort was saved. Its name was instantly
changed to Fort Victory, and the royalists then prepared to charge the
fortified camp of the rebels, in the centre of which the dyke-cutting
operations were still in progress. At the same moment, from the opposite
end of the bulwark, a cry was heard along the whole line of the dyke.
From Fort Holy Cross, at the Scheldt end, the welcome intelligence was
suddenly communicated--as if by a magnetic impulse--that Alexander was in
the field!

It was true. Having been up half the night, as usual, keeping watch along
his bridge, where he was ever expecting a fatal attack, he had retired
for a few hours' rest in his camp at Beveren. Aroused at day-break by the
roar of the cannon, he had hastily thrown on his armour, mounted his
horse, and, at the head of two hundred pikemen, set forth for the scene
of action. Detained on the bridge by a detachment of the Antwerp fleet,
which had been ordered to make a diversion in that quarter, he had, after
beating off their vessels with his boat-artillery, and charging Count
Charles Mansfeld to heed well the brief injunction of old Peter Ernest,
made all the haste he could to the Kowenstyn. Arriving at Fort Holy
Cross, he learned from Mondragon how the day was going. Three thousand
rebels, he learned, were established on the dyke, Fort Palisade was
tottering, a fleet from both sides was cannonading the Spanish
entrenchments, the salt water was flowing across the breach already made.
His seven months' work, it seemed, had come to nought. The navigation was
already open from the sea to Antwerp, the Lowenstyn was in the rebels'
hands. But Alexander was not prone to premature despair. "I arrived,"
said he to Philip in a letter written on the same evening, "at the very
nick of time." A less hopeful person might have thought that he had
arrived several hours too late. Having brought with him every man that
could be spared from Beveren and from the bridge, he now ordered Camillo
del Monte to transport some additional pieces of artillery from Holy
Cross and from Saint James to Fort Saint Georg. At the same time a sharp
cannonade was to be maintained upon the rebel fleet from all the forts.

Mondragon, with a hundred musketeers and pikemen, was sent forward
likewise as expeditiously as possible to Saint George. No one could be
more alert. The battered veteran, hero of some of the most remarkable
military adventures that history has ever recorded,' fought his way on
foot, in the midst of the fray, like a young ensign who had his first
laurels to win. And, in truth, the day was not one for cunning
manoeuvres, directed, at a distance, by a skillful tactician. It was a
brisk close contest, hand to hand and eye to eye--a Homeric encounter, in
which the chieftains were to prove a right to command by their personal
prowess. Alexander, descending suddenly--dramatically, as it were--when
the battle seemed lost--like a deity from the clouds-was to justify, by
the strength of his arm, the enthusiasm which his name always awakened.
Having, at a glance, taken in the whole situation, he made his brief
arrangements, going from rank to rank, and disposing his troops in the
most effective manner. He said but few words, but his voice had always a
telling effect.

"The man who refuses, this day, to follow me," he said, "has never had
regard to his own honour, nor has God's cause or the King's ever been
dear to his heart."

His disheartened Spaniards and Italians--roused as by a magic
trumpet--eagerly demanded to be led against the rebels. And now from each
end of the dyke, the royalists were advancing toward the central position
occupied by the patriots. While Capizucca and Aquila were occupied at
Fort Victory, Parma was steadily cutting his way from Holy Cross to Saint
George. On foot, armed with sword and shield, and in coat of mail, and
marching at the head of his men along the dyke, surrounded by Bevilacqua,
Bentivoglio, Manriquez, Sforza, and other officers of historic name and
distinguished courage, now upon the summit of the causeway, now on its
shelving banks, now breast-high in the waters, through which lay the
perilous path, contending at every inch with the scattered bands of the
patriots, who slowly retired to their entrenched camp, and with the
Antwerp and Zeeland vessels, whose balls tore through the royalist ranks,
the General at last reached Saint George. On the preservation of that
post depended the whole fortune of the day, for Parma had already
received the welcome intelligence that the Palisade--now Fort
Victory--had been regained. He instantly ordered an outer breast-work of
wool-sacks and sand-bags to be thrown up in front of Saint George, and
planted a battery to play point-blank at the enemy's entrenchments. Here
the final issue was to be made.

The patriots and Spaniards were thus all enclosed in the mile-long space
between St. George and the Palisade. Upon that narrow strip of earth,
scarce six paces in width, more than five thousand men met in mortal
combat--a narrow arena for so many gladiators, hemmed in on both sides by
the sea. The patriots had, with solemn ceremony, before starting upon
their enterprise, vowed to destroy the dyke and relieve Antwerp, or to
perish in the attempt. They were true to their vow. Not the ancient
Batavians or Nervii had ever manifested more tenacity against the Roman
legions than did their descendants against the far-famed Spanish infantry
upon this fatal day. The fight on the Kowenstyn was to be long remembered
in the military annals of Spain and Holland. Never, since the curtain
first rose upon the great Netherland tragedy, had there been a fiercer
encounter. Flinching was impossible. There was scant room for the play of
pike and dagger, and, close packed as were the combatants, the dead could
hardly fall to the ground. It was a mile-long series of separate mortal
duels, and the oozy dyke was soon slippery with blood.

From both sides, under Capizucca and Aquila on the one band, and under
Alexander on the other, the entrenchments of the patriots were at last
assaulted, and as the royalists fell thick and fast beneath the
breast-work which they were storming, their comrades clambered upon their
bodies, and attempted, from such vantage-ground, to effect an entrance.
Three times the invaders were beaten back with heavy loss, and after each
repulse the attack was renewed with fresh vigour, while within the
entrenchments the pioneers still plied the pick and shovel, undismayed by
the uproar around them.

A fourth assault, vigorously made, was cheerfully repelled by the
Antwerpers and Hollanders, clustering behind their breast-works, and
looking steadily into their enemies' eyes. Captain Heraugiere--of whom
more was to be heard one day--had led two hundred men into action, and
now found himself at the head of only thirteen. The loss had been as
severe among many other patriot companies, as well as in the Spanish
ranks, and again the pikemen of Spain and Italy faltered before the iron
visages and cordial blows of the Hollanders.

This work had lasted a good hour and a half, when at last, on the fifth
assault, a wild and mysterious apparition renewed the enthusiasm of the
Spaniards. The figure of the dead commander of the old Spanish Legion,
Don Pedro Pacchi, who had fallen a few months before at the siege of
Dendermonde was seen charging in front of his regiment, clad in his
well-known armour, and using the gestures which had been habitual with
him in life. No satisfactory explanation was ever made of this singular
delusion, but it was general throughout the ranks, and in that
superstitious age was as effective as truth. The wavering Spaniards
rallied once more under the guidance of their phantom leader, and again
charged the breast-work of the patriots. Toralva, mounting upon the back
of one of his soldiers, was first to vault into the entrenchments. At the
next instant he lay desperately wounded on the ground, but was close
followed by Capizucca, sustained by a determined band. The entrenchment
was carried, but the furious conflict still continued. At nearly the same
moment, however, several of the patriot vessels were observed to cast off
their moorings, and to be drifting away from the dyke. A large number of
the rest had been disabled by the hot fire, which by Alexander's
judicious orders had been directed upon the fleet. The ebbing tide left
no choice to the commander of the others but to retreat or to remain and
fall into the enemy's hands, should he gain the day. Had they risked the
dangerous alternative, it might have ensured the triumph of the whole
enterprise, while their actual decision proved most disastrous in the
end.

"We have conquered," cried Alexander, stretching his arm towards the
receding waters. "The sea deserts the impious heretics. Strike from them
now their last hope, and cut off their retreat to the departing ships."
The Spaniards were not slow to perceive their advantage, while the
courage of the patriots at last began to ebb with the tide. The day was
lost. In the hour of transitory triumph the leaders of the expedition had
turned their backs on their followers, and now, after so much heroism had
been exhibited, fortune too had averted her face. The grim resistance
changed to desperate panic, and a mad chase began along the blood-stained
dyke. Some were slain with spear and bullet, others were hunted into the
sea, many were smothered in the ooze along the edge of the embankment.
The fugitives, making their way to the retreating vessels, were pursued
by the Spaniards, who swam after them, with their swords in their teeth,
and engaged them in mortal combat in the midst of the waves.

"And so we cut all their throats," said Parma, "the rebels on every side
remaining at our mercy, and I having no doubt that my soldiers would
avenge the loss of their friends."

The English and the Scotch, under Balfour and Morgan, were the very last
to abandon the position which they had held so manfully seven hours long.
Honest Captain James, who fought to the last, and described the action
the same night in the fewest possible words, was of opinion that the
fleet had moved away only to obtain a better position. "They put off to
have more room to play on the enemy," said he; "but the Hollanders and
Zeelanders, seeing the enemy come on so hotly, and thinking our galleys
would leave them, abandoned their string. The Scots, seeing them to
retire, left their string. The enemy pursued very hotly; the Englishmen
stood to repulse, and are put most to the sword. In this shameful retreat
there were slain or drowned to the number of two thousand." The blunt
Englishman was justly indignant that an enterprise, so nearly successful,
had been ruined by the desertion of its chiefs. "We had cut the dyke in
three places," said he; "but left it most shamefully for want of
commandment."

Poor Koppen Loppen--whose blunders on former occasions had caused so much
disaster--was now fortunate enough to expiate them by a soldier's death.
Admiral Haultain had, as we have seen, been drowned at the commencement
of the action. Justinus de Nassau, at its close, was more successful in
his retreat to the ships. He, too, sprang into the water when the
overthrow was absolute; but, alighting in some shallows, was able to
conceal himself among weeds and waterlilies till he had divested himself
of his armour, when he made his escape by swimming to a boat, which
conveyed him to Lillo. Roelke van Deest, an officer of some note, was so
horribly wounded in the face, that he was obliged to wear a mask for the
remainder of his life.

Parma, overjoyed at his victory, embraced Capizucca before the whole
army, with warm expressions of admiration for his conduct. Both the
Italian colonel and his Spanish rival Aquila were earnestly recommended
to Philip for reward and promotion. The wounded Toralva was carried to
Alexander's own quarters, and placed in Alexander's own bed, where he
remained till his recovery, and was then presented--a distinction which
he much valued--with the armour which the Prince had worn on the day of
the battle. Parma himself, so soon as the action was concluded, went with
his chief officers straight from the field to the little village-church
of Stabroek, where he fell upon his knees and offered up fervent thanks
for his victory. He next set about repairing the ruptured dyke, damaged
in many places but not hopelessly ruined, and for this purpose the bodies
of the rebels, among other materials, were cast by hundreds into the
ditches which their own hands had dug.

Thus ended the eight hours' fight on the Kowenstyn. "The feast lasted
from seven to eight hours," said Parma, "with the most brave obstinacy on
both sides that has been seen for many a long day." A thousand royalists
were killed and twice as many patriots, and the issue of the conflict was
most uncertain up to the very last.

"Our loss is greater than I wish it was," wrote Alexander to Philip: "It
was a very close thing, and I have never been more anxious in my life as
to the result for your Majesty's service. The whole fate of the battle
was hanging all the time by a thread." More than ever were reinforcements
necessary, and it was only by a miracle that the victory had at last been
gained with such slender resources. "'Tis a large, long, laborious,
expensive, and most perilous war," said Parma, when urging the claims of
Capizucca and Aquila, "for we have to fight every minute; and there are
no castles and other rewards, so that if soldiers are not to have
promotion, they will lose their spirit." Thirty-two of the rebel vessels
grounded, and fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who took from them
many excellent pieces of artillery. The result was most conclusive and
most disheartening for the patriots.

Meantime--as we have seen--Hohenlo and Sainte Aldegonde had reached
Antwerp in breathless haste to announce their triumph. They had been met
on the quay by groups of excited citizens, who eagerly questioned the two
generals arriving thus covered with laurels from the field of battle, and
drank with delight all the details of the victory. The poor dying Spinola
was exhibited in triumph, the boat-load of breadstuffs received with
satisfaction, and vast preparations were made to receive, on wharves and
in storehouses, the plentiful supplies about to arrive. Beacons and
bonfires were lighted, the bells from all the steeples rang their
merriest peals, cannon thundered in triumph not only in Antwerp itself,
but subsequently at Amsterdam and other more distant cities. In due time
a magnificent banquet was spread in the town-house to greet the
conquering Hohenlo. Immense gratification was expressed by those of the
reformed religion; dire threats were uttered against the Catholics. Some
were for hanging them all out of hand, others for throwing them into the
Scheldt; the most moderate proposed packing them all out of town so soon
as the siege should be raised--an event which could not now be delayed
many days longer.

Hohenlo, placed on high at the head of the banquet-table, assumed the
very god of war. Beside and near him sat the loveliest dames of Antwerp,
rewarding his bravery with their brightest smiles. The Count drained huge
goblets to their health, to the success of the patriots, and to the
confusion of the royalists, while, as he still drank and feasted, the
trumpet, kettle-drum, and cymbal, and merry peal of bell without, did
honour to his triumph. So gay and gallant was the victor, that he
announced another banquet on the following day, still further to
celebrate the happy release of Antwerp, and invited the fair ladies
around him again to grace the board. It is recorded that the gentlewoman
next him responded with a sigh, that, if her presentiments were just, the
morrow would scarcely be so joyful as the present day had been, and that
she doubted whether the triumph were not premature.

Hardly had she spoken when sinister sounds were heard in the streets. The
first few stragglers, survivors of the deadly fight, had arrived with the
fatal news that all was lost, the dyke regained, the Spaniards
victorious, the whole band of patriots cut to pieces. A few
frightfully-wounded and dying sufferers were brought into the
banqueting-hall. Hohenlo sprang from the feast--interrupted in so ghastly
a manner--pursued by shouts and hisses. Howls of execration, saluted him
in the streets, and he was obliged to conceal himself for a time, to
escape the fury of the populace.

On the other hand, Parma was, not unnaturally, overjoyed at the
successful issue to the combat, and expressed himself on the subject in
language of (for him) unusual exultation. "To-day, Sunday, 26th of June,"
said he, in a letter to Philip, despatched by special courier on the very
same night, "the Lord has been pleased to grant to your Majesty a great
and most signal victory. In this conjuncture of so great importance it
may be easily conceived that the best results that can be desired will be
obtained if your Majesty is now ready to do what is needful. I
congratulate your Majesty very many times on this occasion, and I desire
to render infinite thanks to Divine Providence."

He afterwards proceeded, in a rapid and hurried manner, to give his
Majesty the outlines of the battle, mentioning, with great encomium,
Capizucca and Aquila, Mondragon and Vasto, with many other officers, and
recommending them for reward and promotion; praising, in short, heartily
and earnestly, all who had contributed to the victory, except himself, to
whose personal exertions it was chiefly due. "As for good odd Mansfeld,"
said he, "he bore himself like the man he is, and he deserves that your
Majesty should send him a particular mark of your royal approbation,
writing to him yourself pleasantly in Spanish, which is that which will
be most highly esteemed by him." Alexander hinted also that Philip would
do well to bestow upon Mansfeld the countship of Biart, as a reward for
his long years of faithful service!

This action on the Kowenstyn terminated the effective resistance of
Antwerp. A few days before, the monster-vessel, in the construction of
which so much time and money had been consumed, had at last been set
afloat. She had been called the War's End, and, so far as Antwerp was
concerned, the fates that presided over her birth seemed to have been
paltering in a double sense when the ominous name was conferred. She was
larger than anything previously known in naval architecture; she had four
masts and three helms. Her bulwarks were ten feet thick; her tops were
musket-proof. She had twenty guns of largest size, besides many other
pieces of artillery of lesser calibre, the lower tier of which was almost
at the water's level. She was to carry one thousand men, and she was so
supported on corks and barrels as to be sure to float under any
circumstances. Thus she was a great swimming fortress which could not be
sunk, and was impervious to shot. Unluckily, however, in spite of her
four masts and three helms, she would neither sail nor steer, and she
proved but a great, unmanageable and very ridiculous tub, fully
justifying all the sarcasms that had been launched upon her during the
period of her construction, which had been almost as long as the siege
itself.

The Spaniards called her the Bugaboo--a monster to scare children withal.
The patriots christened her the Elephant, the Antwerp Folly, the Lost
Penny, with many similar appellations. A small army might have been
maintained for a month, they said, on the money she had cost, or the
whole city kept in bread for three months. At last, late in May, a few
days before the battle of the Kowenstyn, she set forth from Antwerp,
across the submerged land, upon her expedition to sweep all the Spanish
forts out of existence, and to bring the war to its end. She came to her
own end very briefly, for, after drifting helplessly about for an hour,
she stuck fast in the sand in the neighbourhood of Ordam, while the crew
and soldiers made their escape, and came back to the city to share in the
ridicule which, from first to last, had attached itself to the
monster-ship.

Two days after the Kowenstyn affair, Alexander sent an expedition under
Count Charles Mansfeld to take possession of the great Bugaboo. The boat,
in which were Count Charles, Count Aremberg, his brother de Barbancon,
and other noble volunteers, met with an accident: a keg of gun powder
accidentally exploding, blowing Aremberg into the water, whence he
escaped unharmed by swimming, and frightfully damaging Mansfeld in the
face. This indirect mischief--the only injury ever inflicted by the War's
End upon the enemy--did not prevent the rest of the party in the boats
from taking possession of the ship, and bringing her in triumph to the
Prince of Parma. After being thoroughly examined and heartily laughed at
by the Spaniards, she was broken up--her cannon, munitions, and other
valuable materials, being taken from her--and then there was an end of
the War's End.

This useless expenditure-against the judgment and entreaties of many
leading personages--was but a type of the difficulties with which Sainte
Aldegonde had been obliged to contend from the first day of the siege to
the last. Every one in the city had felt himself called on to express an
opinion as to the proper measures for defence. Diversity of humours,
popular license, anarchy, did not constitute the best government for a
city beleagured by Alexander Farnese. We have seen the deadly injury
inflicted upon the cause at the outset by the brutality of the butchers,
and the manful struggle which Sainte Aldegonde had maintained against
their cupidity and that of their friends. He had dealt with the thousand
difficulties which rose up around him from day to day, but his best
intentions were perpetually misconstrued, his most strenuous exertions
steadily foiled. It was a city where there was much love of money, and
where commerce--always timid by nature, particularly when controlled by
alien residents--was often the cause of almost abject cowardice.

From time to time there had been threatening demonstrations made against
the burgomaster, who, by protracting the resistance of Antwerp, was
bringing about the absolute destruction of a worldwide trade, and the
downfall of the most opulent capital in Christendom. There were also many
popular riots--very easily inflamed by the Catholic portion of the
inhabitants--for bread. "Bread, bread, or peace!" was hoarsely shouted by
ill-looking mischievous crowds, that dogged the steps and besieged the
doors of Sainte Aldegonde; but the burgomaster had done his best by
eloquence of tongue and personal courage, both against mobs and against
the enemy, to inspire the mass of his fellow-citizens with his own
generous spirit. He had relied for a long time on the negotiation with
France, and it would be difficult to exaggerate the disastrous effects
produced by the treachery of the Valois court. The historian Le Petit, a
resident of Antwerp at the time of the siege, had been despatched on
secret mission to Paris, and had communicated to the States' deputies
Sainte Aldegonde's earnest adjurations that they should obtain, if
possible, before it should be too late, an auxiliary force and a
pecuniary subsidy. An immediate assistance, even if slight, might be
sufficient to prevent Antwerp and its sister cities from falling into the
hands of the enemy. On that messenger's return, the burgomaster, much
encouraged by his report, had made many eloquent speeches in the senate,
and for a long time sustained the sinking spirits of the citizens.

The irritating termination to the triumph actually achieved against the
bridge, and the tragical result to the great enterprise against the
Kowenstyn, had now thoroughly broken the heart of Antwerp. For the last
catastrophe Sainte Aldegonde himself was highly censurable, although the
chief portion of the blame rested on the head of Hohenlo. Nevertheless
the States of Holland were yet true to the cause of the Union and of
liberty. Notwithstanding their heavy expenditures, and their own loss of
men, they urged warmly and earnestly the continuance of the resistance,
and promised, within at latest three months' time, to raise an army of
twelve thousand foot and seven thousand horse, with which they pledged
themselves to relieve the city, or to perish in the endeavour. At the
same time, the legation, which had been sent to England to offer the
sovereignty to Queen Elizabeth, sent encouraging despatches to Antwerp,
assuring the authorities that arrangements for an auxiliary force had
been effected; while Elizabeth herself wrote earnestly upon the subject
with her own hand.

"I am informed," said that Princess, "that through the closing of the
Scheldt you are likely to enter into a treaty with the Prince of Parma,
the issue of which is very much to be doubted, so far as the maintenance
of your privileges is concerned. Remembering the warm friendship which
has ever existed between this crown and the house of Burgundy, in the
realms of which you are an important member, and considering that my
subjects engaged in commerce have always met with more privilege and
comity in the Netherlands than in any other country, I have resolved to
send you at once, assistance, comfort, and aid. The details of the plan
will be stated by your envoys; but be assured that by me you will never
be forsaken or neglected."

The negotiations with Queen Elizabeth--most important for the
Netherlands, for England, and for the destinies of Europe--which
succeeded the futile diplomatic transactions with France, will be laid
before the reader in a subsequent chapter. It is proper that they should
be massed by themselves, so that the eye can comprehend at a single
glance their whole progress and aspect, as revealed both by public and
official, and by secret and hitherto unpublished records. Meantime, so
far as regards Antwerp, those negotiations had been too deliberately
conducted for the hasty and impatient temper of the citizens.

The spirit of the commercial metropolis, long flagging, seemed at last
broken. Despair was taking possession of all hearts. The common people
did nothing but complain, the magistrates did nothing but wrangle. In the
broad council the debates and dissensions were discouraging and endless.
Six of the eight militia-colonels were for holding out at all hazards,
while a majority of the eighty captains were for capitulation. The
populace was tumultuous and threatening, demanding peace and bread at any
price. Holland sent promises in abundance, and Holland was sincere; but
there had been much disappointment, and there was now infinite
bitterness. It seemed obvious that a crisis was fast approaching,
and--unless immediate aid should come from Holland or from England--that
a surrender was inevitable. La None, after five years' imprisonment, had
at last been exchanged against Count Philip Egmont. That noble, chief of
an ancient house, cousin of the Queen of France, was mortified at being
ransomed against a simple Huguenot gentleman--even though that gentleman
was the illustrious "iron-armed" La Noue--but he preferred to sacrifice
his dignity for the sake of his liberty. He was still more annoyed that
one hundred thousand crowns as security were exacted from La Noue--for
which the King of Navarre became bondsman--that he would never again bear
arms in the Netherlands except in obedience to the French monarch, while
no such pledges were required of himself. La None visited the Prince of
Parma at Antwerp, to take leave, and was received with the courtesy due
to his high character and great distinction. Alexander took pleasure in
showing him all his fortifications, and explaining to him the whole
system of the siege, and La Noue was filled with honest amazement. He
declared afterwards that the works were superb and impregnable; and that
if he had been on the outside at the head of twelve thousand troops, he
should have felt obliged to renounce the idea of relieving the city.
"Antwerp cannot escape you," confessed the veteran Huguenot, "but must
soon fall into your hands. And when you enter, I would counsel you to
hang up your sword at its gate, and let its capture be the crowning
trophy in your list of victories."

"You are right," answered Parma, "and many of my friends have given me
the same advice; but how am I to retire, engaged as I am for life in the
service of my King?"

Such was the opinion of La None, a man whose love for the reformed
religion and for civil liberty can be as little doubted as his competency
to form an opinion upon great military subjects. As little could he be
suspected just coming as he did from an infamous prison, whence he had
been at one time invited by Philip II. to emerge, on condition of
allowing his eyes to be put out--of any partiality for that monarch or
his representative.

Moreover, although the States of Holland and the English government were
earnestly desirous of relieving the city, and were encouraging the
patriots with well-founded promises, the Zeeland authorities were
lukewarm. The officers of the Zeeland navy, from which so much was
expected, were at last discouraged. They drew up, signed, and delivered
to Admiral Justinus de Nassau, a formal opinion to the effect that the
Scheldt had now so many dry and dangerous places, and that the tranquil
summer-nights--so different from those long, stormy ones of winter--were
so short as to allow of no attempt by water likely to be successful to
relieve the city.

Here certainly was much to discourage, and Sainte Aldegonde was at length
discouraged. He felt that the last hope of saving Antwerp was gone, and
with it all possibility of maintaining the existence of a United
Netherland commonwealth. The Walloon Provinces were lost already; Ghent,
Brussels, Mechlin, had also capitulated, and, with the fall of Antwerp,
Flanders and Brabant must fall. There would be no barrier left even to
save Holland itself. Despair entered the heart of the burgomaster, and he
listened too soon to its treacherous voice. Yet while he thought a free
national state no longer a possibility, he imagined it practicable to
secure religious liberty by negotiation with Philip II. He abandoned with
a sigh one of the two great objects for which he had struggled side by
side with Orange for twenty years, but he thought it possible to secure
the other. His purpose was now to obtain a favourable capitulation for
Antwerp, and at the same time to bring about the submission of Holland,
Zeeland, and the other United Provinces, to the King of Spain. Here
certainly was a great change of face on the part of one so conspicuous,
and hitherto so consistent, in the ranks of Netherland patriots, and it
is therefore necessary, in order thoroughly to estimate both the man and
the crisis, to follow carefully his steps through the secret path of
negotiation into which he now entered, and in which the Antwerp drama was
to find its conclusion. In these transactions, the chief actors are, on
the one side, the Prince of Parma, as representative of absolutism and
the Papacy; on the other, Sainte Aldegonde, who had passed his life as
the champion of the Reformation.

No doubt the pressure upon the burgomaster was very great. Tumults were
of daily occurrence. Crowds of rioters beset his door with cries of
denunciations and demands for bread. A large and turbulent mob upon one
occasion took possession of the horse-market, and treated him with
personal indignity and violence, when he undertook to disperse them. On
the other hand, Parma had been holding out hopes of pardon with more
reasonable conditions than could well be expected, and had, with a good
deal of art, taken advantage of several trivial circumstances to inspire
the burghers with confidence in his good-will. Thus, an infirm old lady
in the city happened to imagine herself so dependent upon asses milk as
to have sent her purveyor out of the city, at the peril of his life, to
procure a supply from the neighbourhood. The young man was captured,
brought to Alexander, from whose hands he very naturally expected the
punishment of a spy. The prince, however, presented him, not only with
his liberty, but with a she-ass; and loaded the animal with partridges
and capons, as a present for the invalid. The magistrates, hearing of the
incident, and not choosing to be outdone in courtesy, sent back a
waggon-load of old wine and remarkable confectionary as an offering to
Alexander, and with this interchange of dainties led the way to the
amenities of diplomacy.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Courage and semblance of cheerfulness, with despair in his heart
     Demanding peace and bread at any price
     Not a friend of giving details larger than my ascertained facts



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, v41, 1584

Alexander Farnese, The Duke of Parma



CHAPTER V., Part 3.

   Sainte Aldegonde discouraged--His Critical Position--His
   Negotiations with the Enemy--Correspondence with Richardot--
   Commotion in the City--Interview of Marnix with Parma--Suspicious
   Conduct of Marnix--Deputation to the Prince--Oration of Marnix--
   Private Views of Parma--Capitulation of Antwerp--Mistakes of Marnix
   --Philip on the Religious Question--Triumphal Entrance of Alexander--
   Rebuilding of the Citadel--Gratification of Philip--Note on Sainte
   Aldegonde

Sainte Aldegonde's position had become a painful one. The net had been
drawn closely about the city. The bridge seemed impregnable, the great
Kowenstyn was irrecoverably in the hands of the enemy, and now all the
lesser forts in the immediate vicinity of Antwerp-Borght, Hoboken,
Cantecroix, Stralen, Berghen, and the rest--had likewise fallen into his
grasp. An account of grain, taken on the 1st of June, gave an average of
a pound a-head for a month long, or half a pound for two months. This was
not the famine-point, according to the standard which had once been
established in Leyden; but the courage of the burghers had been rapidly
oozing away, under the pressure of their recent disappointments. It
seemed obvious to the burgomaster, that the time for yielding had
arrived.

"I had maintained the city," he said, "for a long period, without any
excessive tumult or great effusion of blood--a city where there was such
a multitude of inhabitants, mostly merchants or artisans deprived of all
their traffic, stripped of their manufactures, destitute of all
commodities and means of living. I had done this in the midst of a great
diversity of humours and opinions, a vast popular license, a confused
anarchy, among a great number of commanders, most of them inexperienced
in war; with very little authority of my own, with slender forces of
ships, soldiers, and sailors; with alight appearance of support from king
or prince without, or of military garrison within; and under all these
circumstances I exerted myself to do my uttermost duty in preserving the
city, both in regard to its internal government, and by force of arms by
land and sea, without sparing myself in any labour or peril.

"I know very well that there are many persons, who, finding themselves
quite at their ease, and far away from the hard blows that are passing,
are pleased to exhibit their wisdom by sitting in judgment upon others,
founding their decision only upon the results. But I demand to be judged
by equity and reason, when passion has been set aside. I claim that my
honour shall be protected against my calumniators; for all should
remember that I am not the first man, nor shall I be the last, that has
been blamed unjustly. All persons employed in public affairs are subject
to such hazards, but I submit myself to Him who knows all hearts, and who
governs all. I take Him to witness that in the affair of Antwerp, as in
all my other actions since my earliest youth, I have most sincerely
sought His glory and the, welfare of His poor people, without regard to
my own private interests."

For it is not alone the fate of Antwerp that is here to be recorded. The
fame of Sainte Aldegonde was now seriously compromised. The character of
a great man must always be closely scanned and scrutinised; protected, if
needful, against calumny, but always unflinchingly held up to the light.
Names illustrious by genius and virtue are History's most precious
treasures, faithfully to be guarded by her, jealously to be watched; but
it is always a misfortune when her eyes are deceived by a glitter which
is not genuine.

Sainte Aldegonde was a man of unquestionable genius. His character had
ever been beyond the reproach of self-seeking or ignoble ambition. He had
multiplied himself into a thousand forms to serve the cause of the United
Netherland States, and the services so rendered had been brilliant and
frequent. A great change in his conduct and policy was now approaching,
and it is therefore the more necessary to examine closely at this epoch
his attitude and his character.

Early in June, Richardot, president of the council of Artois, addressed a
letter to Sainte Aldegonde, by command of Alexander of Parma, suggesting
a secret interview between the burgomaster and the Prince.

On the 8th of June, Sainte Aldegonde replied, in favourable terms, as to
the interview; but observed, that, as he was an official personage, it
was necessary for him to communicate the project to the magistracy of the
city. He expressed likewise the hope that Parma would embrace the present
opportunity for making a general treaty with all the Provinces. A special
accord with Antwerp, leaving out Holland and Zeeland, would, he said,
lead to the utter desolation of that city, and to the destruction of its
commerce and manufactures, while the occasion now presented itself to the
Prince of "winning praise and immortal glory by bringing back all the
country to a voluntary and prompt obedience to his Majesty." He proposed,
that, instead of his coming alone, there should be a number of deputies
sent from Antwerp to confer with Alexander.

On the 11th June, Richardot replied by expressing, his own regrets and
those of the Prince, that the interview could not have been with the
burgomaster alone, but acknowledging the weight of his reasons, and
acquiescing in the proposition to send a larger deputation. Three days
afterwards, Sainte Aldegonde, on private consultation with some
confidential personages, changed his ground; announced his preference for
a private interview, under four eyes, with Parma; and requested that a
passport might be sent. The passport was accordingly forwarded the same
day, with an expression of Alexander's gratification, and with the offer,
on the part of Richardot, to come himself to Antwerp as hostage during
the absence of the burgomaster in Parma's camp at Beveren.

Sainte Aldegonde was accordingly about to start on the following day
(16th of June), but meantime the affair had got wind. A secret interview,
thus projected, was regarded by the citizens as extremely suspicious.
There was much bitter insinuation against the burgomaster--many violent
demonstrations. "Aldegonde, they say, is going to see Parma," said one of
the burghers, "which gives much dissatisfaction, because, 'tis feared
that he will make a treaty according to the appetite and pleasure of his
Highness, having been gained over to the royal cause by money. He says
that it would be a misfortune to send a large number of burghers. Last
Sunday (16th June) there was a meeting of the broad council. The
preachers came into the assembly and so animated the citizens by
demonstrations of their religion, that all rushed from the council-house,
crying with loud voices that they did not desire peace but war."

This desire was a healthy and a reasonable one; but, unfortunately, the
Antwerpers had not always been so vigorous or so united in their
resistance to Parma. At present, however, they were very furious, so soon
as the secret purpose of Sainte Aldegonde became generally known. The
proposed capitulation, which great mobs had been for weeks long savagely
demanding at the hands of the burgomaster, was now ascribed to the
burgomaster's unblushing corruption. He had obviously, they thought, been
purchased by Spanish ducats to do what he had hitherto been so steadily
refusing. A certain Van Werne had gone from Antwerp into Holland a few
days before upon his own private affairs, with a safe-conduct from Parma.
Sainte Aldegonde had not communicated to him the project then on foot,
but he had permitted him to seek a secret interview with Count Mansfeld.
If that were granted, Van Werne was to hint that in case the Provinces
could promise themselves a religious peace it would be possible, in the
opinion of Sainte Aldegonde, to induce Holland and Zealand and all the
rest of the United Provinces, to return to their obedience. Van Werne, on
his return to Antwerp, divulged these secret negotiations, and so put a
stop to Sainte Aldegonde's scheme of going alone to Parma. "This has
given a bad suspicion to the people," wrote the burgomaster to Richardot,
"so much so that I fear to have trouble. The broad council has been in
session, but I don't know what has taken place there, and I do not dare
to ask."

Sainte Aldegonde's motive, as avowed by himself, for seeking a private
interview, was because he had received no answer to the main point in his
first letter, as to the proposition for a general accord. In order
therefore to make the deliberations more rapid, he had been disposed to
discuss that preliminary question in secret. "But now," said he to
Richardot, "as the affair had been too much divulged, as well by diverse
reports and writings sown about, very inopportunely, as by the arrival of
M. Van Werne, I have not found it practicable to set out upon my road,
without communication with the members of the government. This has been
done, however, not in the way of consultation, but as the announcement of
a thing already resolved upon."

He proceeded to state, that great difficulties had arisen, exactly as he
had foreseen. The magistrates would not hear of a general accord, and it
was therefore necessary that a delay should be interposed before it would
be possible for him to come. He begged Richardot to persuade Alexander,
that he was not trifling with him. "It is not," said he, "from lightness,
or any other passion, that I am retarding this affair. I will do all in
my power to obtain leave to make a journey to the camp of his Highness,
at whatever price it may cost and I hope before long to arrive at my
object. If I fail, it must be ascribed to the humours of the people; for
my anxiety to restore all the Provinces to obedience to his Majesty is
extreme."

Richardot, in reply, the next day, expressed regret, without
astonishment, on the part of Alexander and himself, at the intelligence
thus received. People had such difference of humour, he said, and all men
were not equally capable of reason. Nevertheless the citizens were warned
not to misconstrue Parma's gentleness, because he was determined to die,
with his whole army, rather than not take Antwerp. "As for the King,"
said Richardot, "he will lay down all his crowns sooner than abandon this
enterprise." Van Werne was represented as free from blame, and sincerely
desirous of peace. Richardot had only stated to him, in general terms,
that letters had been received from Sainte Aldegonde, expressing an
opinion in favour of peace. As for the royalists, they were quite
innocent of the reports and writings that had so inopportunely been
circulated in the city. It was desirable, however, that the negotiation
should not too long be deferred, for otherwise Antwerp might perish,
before a general accord with Holland and Zeeland could be made. He begged
Sainte Aldegonde to banish all anxiety as to Parma's sentiments towards
himself or the community. "Put yourself, Sir, quite at your ease," said
he. "His Highness is in no respects dissatisfied with you, nor prone to
conceive any indignation against this poor people." He assured the
burgomaster that he was not suspected of lightness, nor of a wish to
delay matters, but he expressed solicitude with regard to the threatening
demonstrations which had been made against him in Antwerp. "For," said
he, "popular governments are full of a thousand hazards, and it would be
infinitely painful to me, if you should come to harm."

Thus it would appear that it was Sainte Aldegonde who was chiefly anxious
to effect the reconciliation of Holland and Zeeland with the King. The
initiative of this project to include all the United Provinces in one
scheme with the reduction of Antwerp came originally from him, and was
opposed, at the outset, by the magistrates of that city, by the Prince of
Parma and his councillors, and, by the States of Holland and Zeeland. The
demonstrations on the part of the preachers, the municipal authorities,
and the burghers, against Sainte Aldegonde and his plan for a secret
interview, so soon as it was divulged, made it impossible to carry that
project into effect.

"Aldegonde, who governs Antwerp," wrote Parma to Philip, "was
endeavouring, eight days ago, to bring about some kind of negotiation for
an accord. He manifested a desire to come hither for the sake of a
personal interview with me, which I permitted. It was to have taken place
last Sunday, 16th of this month, but by reason of a certain popular
tumult, which arose out of these circumstances, it has been necessary to
defer the meeting."

There was much disappointment felt by the royalist at this unsatisfactory
result. "These bravadoes and impertinent demonstrations on the part of
some of your people," wrote Richardot, ten days later, "will be the
destruction of the whole country, and will convert the Prince's
gentleness into anger. 'Tis these good and zealous patriots, trusting to
a little favourable breeze that blew for a few days past, who have been
the cause of all this disturbance, and who are ruining their miserable
country--miserable, I say, for having produced such abortions as
themselves."

Notwithstanding what had passed, however, Richardot intimated that
Alexander was still ready to negotiate. "And if you, Sir," he concluded,
in his letter to Aldegonde, "concerning whom many of our friends have at
present a sinister opinion, as if your object was to circumvent us, are
willing to proceed roundly and frankly, as I myself firmly believe that
you will do, we may yet hope for a favourable issue."

Thus the burgomaster was already the object of suspicion to both parties.
The Antwerpers denounced him as having been purchased by Spanish gold;
the royalists accused him of intending to overreach the King. It was not
probable therefore that all were correct in their conjectures.

At last it was arranged that deputies should be appointed by the broad
council to commence a negotiation with Parma. Sainte Aldegonde informed
Richardot, that he would (5th July, 1585) accompany them, if his affairs
should permit. He protested his sincerity and frankness throughout the
whole affair. "They try to calumniate me," he said, "as much on one side
as on the other, but I will overcome by my innocence all the malice of my
slanderers. If his Highness should be pleased to grant us some liberty
for our religion, I dare to promise such faithful service as will give
very great satisfaction."

Four days later, Sainte Aldegonde himself, together with M. de Duffel, M.
de Schoonhoven, and Adrian Hesselt, came to Parma's camp at Beveren, as
deputies on the part of the Antwerp authorities. They were courteously
received by the Prince, and remained three days as his guests. During the
period of this visit, the terms of a capitulation were thoroughly
discussed, between Alexander and his councillors upon one part, and the
four deputies on the other. The envoys endeavoured, with all the
arguments at their command, to obtain the consent of the Prince to three
preliminary points which they laid down as indispensable. Religious
liberty must be granted, the citadel must not be reconstructed, a foreign
garrison must not be admitted; they said. As it was the firm intention of
the King, however, not to make the slightest concession on any one of
these points, the discussion was not a very profitable one. Besides the
public interviews at which all the negotiators were present, there was a
private conference between Parma and Sainte Aldegonde which lasted more
than four hours, in which each did his best to enforce his opinions upon
the other. The burgomaster endeavoured to persuade the Prince with all
the eloquence for which he was so renowned, that the hearts not of the
Antwerpers only, but of the Hollanders and Zeelanders, were easily to be
won at that moment. Give them religious liberty, and attempt to govern
them by gentleness rather than by Spanish garrisons, and the road was
plain to a complete reconciliation of all the Provinces with his Majesty.

Alexander, who knew his master to be inexorable upon these three points,
was courteous but peremptory in his statements. He recommended that the
rebels should take into consideration their own declining strength, the
inexhaustible resources of the King, the impossibility of obtaining
succour from France, and the perplexing dilatoriness of England, rather
than waste their time in idle expectations of a change in the Spanish
policy. He also intimated, obliquely but very plainly, to Sainte
Aldegonde, that his own fortune would be made, and that he had everything
to hope from his Majesty's bounty, if he were now willing to make himself
useful in carrying into effect the royal plans.

The Prince urged these views with so much eloquence, that he seemed, in
his own words, to have been directly inspired by the Lord for this
special occasion! Sainte Aldegonde, too, was signally impressed by
Alexander's language, and thoroughly fascinated-magnetized, as it
were--by his character. He subsequently declared, that he had often
conversed familiarly with many eloquent personages, but that he had never
known a man more powerful or persuasive than the Prince of Parma. He
could honestly say of him--as Hasdrubal had said of Scipio--that Farnese
was even more admirable when seen face to face, than he had seemed when
one only heard of his glorious achievements.

"The burgomaster and three deputies," wrote Parma to Philip, "were here
until the 12th July. We discussed (30th July, 1585) the points and form
of a capitulation, and they have gone back thoroughly satisfied. Sainte
Aldegonde especially was much pleased with the long interview which he
had with me, alone, and which lasted more than three hours. I told him,
as well as my weakness and suffering from the tertian fever permitted,
all that God inspired me to say on our behalf."

Nevertheless, if Sainte Aldegonde and his colleagues went away thoroughly
satisfied, they had reason, soon after their return, to become thoroughly
dejected. The magistrates and burghers would not listen to a proposition
to abandon the three points, however strongly urged to do so by arguments
drawn from the necessity of the situation, and by representations of
Parma's benignity. As for the burgomaster, he became the target for
calumny, so soon as his three hours' private interview became known; and
the citizens loudly declared that his head ought to be cut off, and sent
in a bag, as a present, to Philip, in order that the traitor might meet
the sovereign with whom he sought a reconciliation, face to face, as soon
as possible.

The deputies, immediately after their return, made their report to the
magistrates, as likewise to the colonels and captains, and to the deans
of guilds. Next day, although it was Sunday, there was a session of the
broad council, and Sainte Aldegonde made a long address, in which--as he
stated in a letter to Richardot--he related everything that had passed in
his private conversation with Alexander. An answer was promised to Parma
on the following Tuesday, but the burgomaster spoke very discouragingly
as to the probability of an accord.

"The joy with which our return was greeted," he said, "was followed by a
general disappointment and sadness, so soon as the result was known. The
want of a religious toleration, as well as the refusal to concede on the
other two points, has not a little altered the hearts of all, even of the
Catholics. A citadel and a garrison are considered ruin and desolation to
a great commercial city. I have done what I can to urge the acceptance of
such conditions as the Prince is willing to give, and have spoken in
general terms of his benign intentions. The citizens still desire peace.
Had his Highness been willing to take both religions under his
protection, he might have won all hearts, and very soon all the other
Provinces would have returned to their obedience, while the clemency and
magnanimity of his Majesty would thus have been rendered admirable
throughout the world."

The power to form an accurate conception as to the nature of Philip and
of other personages with whom he was dealing, and as to the general signs
of his times, seems to have been wanting in the character of the gifted
Aldegonde. He had been dazzled by the personal presence of Parma, and he
now spoke of Philip II., as if his tyranny over the Netherlands--which
for twenty years had been one horrible and uniform whole--were the
accidental result of circumstances, not the necessary expression of his
individual character, and might be easily changed at will--as if Nero, at
a moment's warning, might transform himself into Trajan. It is true that
the innermost soul of the Spanish king could by no possibility be
displayed to any contemporary, as it reveals itself, after three
centuries, to those who study the record of his most secret thoughts;
but, at any rate, it would seem that his career had been sufficiently
consistent, to manifest the amount of "clemency and magnanimity" which he
might be expected to exercise.

"Had his Majesty," wrote Sainte Aldegonde, "been willing, since the year
sixty-six, to pursue a course of toleration, the memory of his reign
would have been sacred to all posterity, with an immortal praise of
sapience, benignity, and sovereign felicity."

This might be true, but nevertheless a tolerating Philip, in the year
1585, ought to have seemed to Sainte Aldegonde an impossible idea.

"The emperors," continued the burgomaster, "who immediately succeeded
Tiberius were the cause of the wisdom which displayed itself in the good
Trajan--also a Spaniard--and in Antoninus, Verus, and the rest: If you
think that this city, by the banishment of a certain number of persons,
will be content to abandon the profession of the reformed faith, you are
much mistaken. You will see, with time, that the exile of this religion
will be accompanied by a depopulation and a sorrowful ruin and desolation
of this flourishing city. But this will be as it pleases God. Meantime I
shall not fail to make all possible exertions to induce the citizens to
consent to a reconciliation with his Majesty. The broad council will soon
give their answer, and then we shall send a deputation. We shall invite
Holland and Zeeland to join with us, but there is little hope of their
consent."

Certainly there was little hope of their consent. Sainte Aldegonde was
now occupied in bringing about the capitulation of Antwerp, without any
provision for religious liberty--a concession which Parma had most
distinctly refused--and it was not probable that Holland and Zeeland,
after twenty years of hard fighting, and with an immediate prospect of
assistance from England--could now be induced to resign the great object
of the contest without further struggle.

It was not until a month had elapsed that the authorities of Antwerp sent
their propositions to the Prince of Parma. On the 12th August, however,
Sainte Aldegonde, accompanied by the same three gentlemen who had been
employed on the first mission, and by seventeen others besides, proceeded
with safe-conduct to the camp at Beveren. Here they were received with
great urbanity, and hospitably entertained by Alexander, who received
their formal draft of articles for a capitulation, and referred it to be
reported upon to Richardot, Pamel, and Vanden Burgh. Meantime there were
many long speeches and several conferences, sometimes between all the
twenty-one envoys and the Prince together; on other occasions, more
secret ones, at which only Aldegonde and one or two of his colleagues
were present. It had been obvious, from the date of the first interview,
in the preceding month, that the negotiation would be of no avail until
the government of Antwerp was prepared to abandon all the conditions
which they had originally announced as indispensable. Alexander had not
much disposition and no authority whatever to make concessions.

"So far as I can understand," Parma had written on the 30th July, "they
are very far from a conclusion. They have most exorbitant ideas, talking
of some kind of liberty of conscience, besides refusing on any account to
accept of garrisons, and having many reasons to allege on such subjects."

The discussions, therefore, after the deputies had at last arrived,
though courteously conducted, could scarcely be satisfactory to both
parties. "The articles were thoroughly deliberated upon," wrote
Alexander, "by all the deputies, nor did I fail to have private
conferences with Aldegonde, that most skilful and practised lawyer and
politician, as well as with two or three of the others. I did all in my
power to bring them to a thorough recognition of their errors, and to
produce a confidence in his Majesty's clemency, in order that they might
concede what was needful for the interests of the Catholic religion and
the security of the city. They heard all I had to say without
exasperating themselves, and without interposing any strong objections,
except in the matter of religion, and, still more, in the matter of the
citadel and the garrison. Aldegonde took much pains to persuade me that
it would be ruinous for a great, opulent, commercial city to submit to a
foreign military force. Even if compelled by necessity to submit now, the
inhabitants would soon be compelled by the same necessity to abandon the
place entirely, and to leave in ruins one of the most splendid and
powerful cities in the world, and in this opinion Catholics and heretics
unanimously concurred. The deputies protested, with one accord, that so
pernicious and abominable a thing as a citadel and garrison could not
even be proposed to their constituents. I answered, that, so long as the
rebellion of Holland and Zeeland lasted, it would be necessary for your
Majesty to make sure of Antwerp, by one or the other of those means, but
promised that the city should be relieved of the incumbrance so soon as
those islands should be reduced.

"Sainte Aldegonde was not discouraged by this statement, but in the hope
of convincing others, or with the wish of showing that he had tried his
best, desired that I would hear him before the council of state. I
granted the request, and Sainte Aldegonde then made another long and very
elegant oration, intended to divert me from my resolution."

It must be confessed--if the reports, which have come down to us of that
long and elegant oration be correct--that the enthusiasm of the
burgomaster for Alexander was rapidly degenerating into idolatry.

"We are not here, O invincible Prince," he said, "that we may excuse, by
an anxious legation, the long defence which we have made of our homes.
Who could have feared any danger to the most powerful city in the
Netherlands from so moderate a besieging force? You would yourself have
rather wished for, than approved of, a greater facility on our part, for
the brave cannot love the timid. We knew the number of your troops, we
had discovered the famine in your camp, we were aware of the paucity of
your ships, we had heard of the quarrels in your army, we were expecting
daily to hear of a general mutiny among your soldiers. Were we to believe
that with ten or eleven thousand men you would be able to block up the
city by land and water, to reduce the open country of Brabant, to cut off
all aid as well from the neighbouring towns as from the powerful
provinces of Holland and Zeeland, to oppose, without a navy, the whole
strength of our fleets, directed against the dyke? Truly, if you had been
at the head of fifty thousand soldiers, and every soldier had possessed
one hundred hands, it would have seemed impossible for you to meet so
many emergencies in so many places, and under so many distractions. What
you have done we now believe possible to do, only because we see that it
has been done. You have subjugated the Scheldt, and forced it to bear its
bridge, notwithstanding the strength of its current, the fury of the
ocean-tides, the tremendous power of the icebergs, the perpetual
conflicts with our fleets. We destroyed your bridge, with great slaughter
of your troops. Rendered more courageous by that slaughter, you restored
that mighty work. We assaulted the great dyke, pierced it through and
through, and opened a path for our ships. You drove us off when victors,
repaired the ruined bulwark, and again closed to us the avenue of relief.
What machine was there that we did not employ? what miracles of fire did
we not invent? what fleets and floating cidadels did we not put in
motion? All that genius, audacity, and art, could teach us we have
executed, calling to our assistance water, earth, heaven, and hell
itself. Yet with all these efforts, with all this enginry, we have not
only failed to drive you from our walls, but we have seen you gaining
victories over other cities at the same time. You have done a thing, O
Prince, than which there is nothing greater either in ancient or modern
story. It has often occurred, while a general was besieging one city that
he lost another situate farther off. But you, while besieging Antwerp,
have reduced simultaneously Dendermonde, Ghent, Nymegen, Brussels, and
Mechlin."

All this, and much more, with florid rhetoric, the burgomaster pronounced
in honour of Farnese, and the eulogy was entirely deserved. It was hardly
becoming, however, for such lips, at such a moment, to sound the praise
of him whose victory had just decided the downfall of religious liberty,
and of the national independence of the Netherlands. His colleagues
certainly must have winced, as they listened to commendations so lavishly
bestowed upon the representative of Philip, and it is not surprising that
Sainte Aldegonde's growing unpopularity should, from that hour, have
rapidly increased. To abandon the whole object of the siege, when
resistance seemed hopeless, was perhaps pardonable, but to offer such
lip-homage to the conqueror was surely transgressing the bounds of
decorum.

His conclusion, too, might to Alexander seem as insolent as the whole
tenor of his address had been humble; for, after pronouncing this solemn
eulogy upon the conqueror, he calmly proposed that the prize of the
contest should be transferred to the conquered.

"So long as liberty of religion, and immunity from citadel and garrison
can be relied upon," he said, "so long will Antwerp remain the most
splendid and flourishing city in Christendom; but desolation will ensue
if the contrary policy is to prevail."

But it was very certain that liberty of religion, as well as immunity
from citadel and garrison, were quite out of the question. Philip and
Parma had long been inexorably resolved upon all the three points.

"After the burgomaster had finished his oration," wrote Alexander to his
sovereign, "I discussed the matter with him in private, very distinctly
and minutely."

The religious point was soon given up, Sainte Aldegonde finding it waste
of breath to say anything more about freedom of conscience. A suggestion
was however made on the subject of the garrison, which the prince
accepted, because it contained a condition which it would be easy to
evade.

"Aldegonde proposed," said Parma, "that a garrison might be admissible if
I made my entrance into the city merely with infantry and cavalry of
nations which were acceptable--Walloons, namely, and Germans--and in no
greater numbers than sufficient for a body-guard. I accepted, because, in
substance, this would amount to a garrison, and because, also, after the
magistrates shall have been changed, I shall have no difficulty in making
myself master of the people, continuing the garrison, and rebuilding the
citadel."

The Prince proceeded to give his reasons why he was willing to accept the
capitulation on what he considered so favourable terms to the besieged.
Autumn was approaching. Already the fury of the storms had driven vessels
clean over the dykes; the rebels in Holland and Zeeland were preparing
their fleets--augmented by many new ships of war and fire-machines--for
another desperate attack upon the Palisades, in which there was great
possibility of their succeeding; an auxiliary force from England was soon
expected; so that, in view of all these circumstances, he had resolved to
throw himself at his Majesty's feet and implore his clemency. "If this
people of Antwerp, as the head, is gained," said he, "there will be
tranquillity in all the members."

These reasons were certainly conclusive; nor is it easy to believe, that,
under the circumstances thus succinctly stated by Alexander, it would
have been impossible for the patriots to hold out until the promised
succour from Holland and from England should arrive. In point of fact,
the bridge could not have stood the winter which actually ensued; for it
was the repeatedly expressed opinion of the Spanish officers in Antwerp,
that the icebergs which then filled the Scheldt must inevitably have
shattered twenty bridges to fragments, had there been so many. It
certainly was superfluous for the Prince to make excuses to Philip for
accepting the proposed capitulation. All the prizes of victory had been
thoroughly secured, unless pillage, massacre, and rape, which had been
the regular accompaniments of Alva's victories, were to be reckoned among
the indispensable trophies of a Spanish triumph.

Nevertheless, the dearth in the city had been well concealed from the
enemy; for, three days after the surrender, not a loaf of bread was to be
had for any money in all Antwerp, and Alexander declared that he would
never have granted such easy conditions had he been aware of the real
condition of affairs.

The articles of capitulation agreed upon between Parma and the deputies
were brought before the broad council on the 9th August. There was much
opposition to them, as many magistrates and other influential personages
entertained sanguine expectations from the English negotiation, and were
beginning to rely with confidence upon the promises of Queen Elizabeth.
The debate was waxing warm, when some of the councillors, looking out of
window of the great hall, perceived that a violent mob had collected in
the streets. Furious cries for bread were uttered, and some
meagre-looking individuals were thrust forward to indicate the famine
which was prevailing, and the necessity of concluding the treaty without
further delay. Thus the municipal government was perpetually exposed to
democratic violence, excited by diametrically opposite influences.
Sometimes the burgomaster was denounced for having sold himself and his
country to the Spaniards, and was assailed with execrations for being
willing to conclude a sudden and disgraceful peace. At other moments he
was accused of forging letters containing promises of succour from the
Queen of England and from the authorities of Holland, in order to
protract the lingering tortures of the war. Upon this occasion the
peace-mob carried its point. The councillors, looking out of window,
rushed into the hall with direful accounts of the popular ferocity; the
magistrates and colonels who had been warmest in opposition suddenly
changed their tone, and the whole body of the broad council accepted the
articles of capitulation by a unanimous vote.

The window was instantly thrown open, and the decision publicly
announced. The populace, wild with delight, rushed through the streets,
tearing down the arms of the Duke of Anjou, which had remained above the
public edifices since the period of that personage's temporary residence
in the Netherlands, and substituting, with wonderful celerity, the
escutcheon of Philip the Second. Thus suddenly could an Antwerp mob pass
from democratic insolence to intense loyalty.

The articles, on the whole, were as liberal as could have been expected.
The only hope for Antwerp and for a great commonwealth of all the
Netherlands was in holding out, even to the last gasp, until England and
Holland, now united, had time to relieve the city. This was,
unquestionably, possible. Had Antwerp possessed the spirit of Leyden, had
William of Orange been alive, that Spanish escutcheon, now raised with
such indecent haste, might have never been seen again on the outside wall
of any Netherland edifice. Belgium would have become at once a
constituent portion of a great independent national realm, instead of
languishing until our own century, the dependency of a distant and a
foreign metropolis. Nevertheless, as the Antwerpers were not disposed to
make themselves martyrs, it was something that they escaped the nameless
horrors which had often alighted upon cities subjected to an enraged
soldiery. It redounds to the eternal honour of Alexander Farnese--when
the fate of Naarden and Haarlem and Maestricht, in the days of Alva, and
of Antwerp itself in the horrible "Spanish fury," is remembered--that
there were no scenes of violence and outrage in the populous and wealthy
city, which was at length at his mercy after having defied him so long.

Civil and religious liberty were trampled in the dust, commerce and
manufactures were destroyed, the most valuable portion of the citizens
sent into hopeless exile, but the remaining inhabitants were not
butchered in cold blood.

The treaty was signed on the 17th August. Antwerp was to return to its
obedience. There was to be an entire amnesty and oblivion for the past,
without a single exception. Royalist absentees were to be reinstated in
their possessions. Monasteries, churches, and the King's domains were to
be restored to their former proprietors. The inhabitants of the city were
to practise nothing but the Catholic religion. Those who refused to
conform were allowed to remain two years for the purpose of winding up
their affairs and selling out their property, provided that during that
period they lived "without scandal towards the ancient religion"--a very
vague and unsatisfactory condition. All prisoners were to be released
excepting Teligny. Four hundred thousand florins were to be paid by the
authorities as a fine. The patriot garrison was to leave the city with
arms and baggage and all the honours of war.

This capitulation gave more satisfaction to the hungry portion of the
Antwerpers than to the patriot party of the Netherlands. Sainte Aldegonde
was vehemently and unsparingly denounced as a venal traitor. It is
certain, whatever his motives, that his attitude had completely changed.
For it was not Antwerp alone that he had reconciled or was endeavouring
to reconcile with the King of Spain, but Holland and Zeeland as well, and
all the other independent Provinces. The ancient champion of the patriot
army, the earliest signer of the 'Compromise,' the bosom friend of
William the Silent, the author of the 'Wilhelmus' national song, now
avowed his conviction, in a published defence of his conduct against the
calumnious attacks upon it, "that it was impossible, with a clear
conscience, for subjects, under any circumstances, to take up arms
against Philip, their king." Certainly if he had always entertained that
opinion he must have suffered many pangs of remorse during his twenty
years of active and illustrious rebellion. He now made himself secretly
active in promoting the schemes of Parma and in counteracting the
negotiation with England. He flattered himself, with an infatuation which
it is difficult to comprehend, that it would be possible to obtain
religious liberty for the revolting Provinces, although he had consented
to its sacrifice in Antwerp. It is true that he had not the privilege of
reading Philip's secret letters to Parma, but what was there in the
character of the King--what intimation had ever been given by the
Governor-General--to induce a belief in even the possibility of such a
concession?

Whatever Sainte Aldegonde's opinions, it is certain that Philip had no
intention of changing his own policy. He at first suspected the
burgomaster of a wish to protract the negotiations for a perfidious
purpose.

"Necessity has forced Antwerp," he wrote on the 17th of August--the very
day on which the capitulation was actually signed--"to enter into
negotiation. I understand the artifice of Aldegonde in seeking to prolong
and make difficult the whole affair, under pretext of treating for the
reduction of Holland and Zeeland at the same time. It was therefore very
adroit in you to defeat this joint scheme at once, and urge the Antwerp
matter by itself, at the same time not shutting the door on the others.
With the prudence and dexterity with which this business has thus far
been managed I am thoroughly satisfied."

The King also expressed his gratification at hearing from Parma that the
demand for religious liberty in the Netherlands would soon be abandoned.

"In spite of the vehemence," he said, "which they manifest in the
religious matter, desiring some kind of liberty, they will in the end, as
you say they will, content themselves with what the other cities, which
have returned to obedience, have obtained. This must be done in all cases
without flinching, and without permitting any modification."

What "had been obtained" by Brussels, Mechlin, Ghent, was well known. The
heretics had obtained the choice of renouncing their religion or of going
into perpetual exile, and this was to be the case "without flinching" in
Holland and Zeeland, if those provinces chose to return to obedience. Yet
Sainte Aldegonde deluded himself with the thought of a religious peace.

In another and very important letter of the same date Philip laid down
his policy very distinctly. The Prince of Parma, by no means such a bigot
as his master, had hinted at the possibility of tolerating the reformed
religion in the places recovered from the rebels, sub silentio, for a
period not defined, and long enough for the heretics to awake from their
errors.

"You have got an expression of opinion, I see," wrote the King to
Alexander, "of some grave men of wisdom and conscience, that the
limitation of time, during which the heretics may live without scandal,
may be left undefined; but I feel very keenly the danger of such a
proposition. With regard to Holland and Zeeland, or any other provinces
or towns, the first step must be for them to receive and maintain alone
the exercise of the Catholic religion, and to subject themselves to the
Roman church, without tolerating the exercise of any other religion, in
city, village, farm-house, or building thereto destined in the fields, or
in any place whatsoever; and in this regulation there is to be no flaw,
no change, no concession by convention or otherwise of a religious peace,
or anything of the sort. They are all to embrace the Roman Catholic
religion, and the exercise of that is alone to be permitted."

This certainly was distinct enough, and nothing had been ever said in
public to induce a belief in any modification of the principles on which
Philip had uniformly acted. That monarch considered himself born to
suppress heresy, and he had certainly been carrying out this work during
his whole lifetime.

The King was willing, however, as Alexander had intimated in his
negotiations with Antwerp, and previously in the capitulation of
Brussels, Ghent, and other places, that there should be an absence of
investigation into the private chambers of the heretics, during the
period allotted them for choosing between the Papacy and exile.

"It may be permitted," said Philip, "to abstain from inquiring as to what
the heretics are doing within their own doors, in a private way, without
scandal, or any public exhibition of their rites during a fixed time. But
this connivance, and the abstaining from executing the heretics, or from
chastising them, even although they may be living very circumspectly, is
to be expressed in very vague terms."

Being most anxious to provide against a second crop of heretics to
succeed the first, which he was determined to uproot, he took pains to
enjoin with his own hand upon Parma the necessity of putting in Catholic
schoolmasters and mistresses to the exclusion of reformed teachers into
all the seminaries of the recovered Provinces, in order that all the boys
and girls might grow up in thorough orthodoxy.

Yet this was the man from whom Sainte Aldegonde imagined the possibility
of obtaining a religious peace.

Ten days after the capitulation, Parma made his triumphal entrance into
Antwerp; but, according to his agreement, he spared the citizens the
presence of the Spanish and Italian soldiers, the military procession
being composed of the Germans and Walloons. Escorted by his body-guard,
and surrounded by a knot of magnates and veterans, among whom the Duke of
Arschot, the Prince of Chimay, the Counts Mansfeld, Egmont, and Aremberg,
were conspicuous, Alexander proceeded towards the captured city. He was
met at the Keyser Gate by a triumphal chariot of gorgeous workmanship, in
which sat the fair nymph Antwerpia, magnificently bedizened, and
accompanied by a group of beautiful maidens. Antwerpia welcomed the
conqueror with a kiss, recited a poem in his honour, and bestowed upon
him the keys of the city, one of which was in gold. This the Prince
immediately fastened to the chain around his neck, from which was
suspended the lamb of the golden fleece, with which order he had just
been, amid great pomp and ceremony, invested.

On the public square called the Mere, the Genoese merchants had erected
two rostral columns, each surmounted by a colossal image, representing
respectively Alexander of Macedon and Alexander of Parma. Before the
house of Portugal was an enormous phoenix, expanding her wings quite
across the street; while, in other parts of the town, the procession was
met by ships of war, elephants, dromedaries, whales, dragons, and other
triumphal phenomena. In the market-place were seven statues in copper,
personifying the seven planets, together with an eighth representing
Bacchus; and perhaps there were good mythological reasons why the god of
wine, together with so large a portion of our solar system, should be
done in copper by Jacob Jongeling, to honour the triumph of Alexander,
although the key to the enigma has been lost.

The cathedral had been thoroughly fumigated with frankincense, and
besprinkled with holy water, to purify the sacred precincts from their
recent pollution by the reformed rites; and the Protestant pulpits which
had been placed there, had been soundly beaten with rods, and then burned
to ashes. The procession entered within its walls, where a magnificent Te
Deum was performed, and then, after much cannon-firing, bell-ringing,
torch-light exhibition, and other pyrotechnics, the Prince made his way
at last to the palace provided for him. The glittering display, by which
the royalists celebrated their triumph, lasted three days' long, the city
being thronged from all the country round with eager and frivolous
spectators, who were never wearied with examining the wonders of the
bridge and the forts, and with gazing at the tragic memorials which still
remained of the fight on the Kowenstyn.

During this interval, the Spanish and Italian soldiery, not willing to be
outdone in demonstrations of respect to their chief, nor defrauded of
their rightful claim to a holiday amused themselves with preparing a
demonstration of a novel character. The bridge, which, as it was well
known, was to be destroyed within a very few days, was adorned with
triumphal arches, and decked with trees and flowering plants; its roadway
was strewed with branches; and the palisades, parapets, and forts, were
garnished with wreaths, emblems, and poetical inscriptions in honour of
the Prince. The soldiers themselves, attired in verdurous garments of
foliage and flower-work, their swart faces adorned with roses and lilies,
paraded the bridge and the dyke in fantastic procession with clash of
cymbal and flourish of trumpet, dancing, singing, and discharging their
carbines, in all the delirium of triumph. Nor was a suitable termination
to the festival wanting, for Alexander, pleased with the genial character
of these demonstrations, repaired himself to the bridge, where he was
received with shouts of rapture by his army, thus whimsically converted
into a horde of fauns and satyrs. Afterwards, a magnificent banquet was
served to the soldiers upon the bridge. The whole extent of its surface,
from the Flemish to the Brabant shore--the scene so lately of deadly
combat, and of the midnight havoc caused by infernal enginery--was
changed, as if by the stroke of a wand, into a picture of sylvan and
Arcadian merry-making, and spread with tables laden with delicate viands.
Here sat that host of war--bronzed figures, banqueting at their ease,
their heads crowned with flowers, while the highest magnates of the army,
humouring them in their masquerade, served them with dainties, and filled
their goblets with wine.

After these festivities had been concluded, Parma set himself to
practical business. There had been a great opposition, during the
discussion of the articles of capitulation to the reconstruction of the
famous citadel. That fortress had been always considered, not as a
defence of the place against a foreign enemy, but as an instrument to
curb the burghers themselves beneath a hostile power. The city
magistrates, however, as well as the dean and chief officers in all the
guilds and fraternities, were at once changed by Parma--Catholics being
uniformly substituted for heretics. In consequence, it was not difficult
to bring about a change of opinion in the broad council. It is true that
neither Papists nor Calvinists regarded with much satisfaction the
prospect of military violence being substituted for civic rule, but in
the first effusion of loyalty, and in the triumph of the ancient
religion, they forgot the absolute ruin to which their own action was now
condemning their city. Champagny, who had once covered himself with glory
by his heroic though unsuccessful efforts to save Antwerp from the
dreadful "Spanish fury" which had descended from that very citadel, was
now appointed governor of the town, and devoted himself to the
reconstruction of the hated fortress. "Champagny has particularly aided
me," wrote Parma, "with his rhetoric and clever management, and has
brought the broad council itself to propose that the citadel should be
rebuilt. It will therefore be done, as by the burghers themselves,
without your Majesty or myself appearing to desire it."

This was, in truth, a triumph of "rhetoric and clever management," nor
could a city well abase itself more completely, kneeling thus cheerfully
at its conqueror's feet, and requesting permission to put the yoke upon
its own neck. "The erection of the castle has thus been determined upon,"
said Parma, "and I am supposed to know nothing of the resolution."

A little later he observed that they, were "working away most furiously
at the citadel, and that within a month it would be stronger than it ever
had been before."

The building went on, indeed, with astonishing celerity, the fortress
rising out of its ruins almost as rapidly, under the hands of the
royalists, as it had been demolished, but a few years before, by the
patriots. The old foundations still remained, and blocks of houses, which
had been constructed out of its ruins, were thrown down that the
materials might be again employed in its restoration.

The citizens, impoverished and wretched, humbly demanded that the expense
of building the citadel might be in part defrayed by the four hundred
thousand florins in which they had been mulcted by the capitulation. "I
don't marvel at this," said Parma, "for certainly the poor city is most
forlorn and poverty-stricken, the heretics having all left it." It was
not long before it was very satisfactorily established, that the presence
of those same heretics and liberty of conscience for all men, were
indispensable conditions for the prosperity of the great capital. Its
downfall was instantaneous. The merchants and industrious artisans all
wandered away from the place which had been the seat of a world-wide
traffic. Civilisation and commerce departed, and in their stead were the
citadel and the Jesuits. By express command of Philip, that order,
banished so recently, was reinstated in Antwerp, as well as throughout
the obedient provinces; and all the schools and colleges were placed
under its especial care. No children could be thenceforth instructed
except by the lips of those fathers. Here was a curb more efficacious
even than the citadel. That fortress was at first garrisoned with
Walloons and Germans. "I have not yet induced the citizens," said Parma,
"to accept a Spanish garrison, nor am I surprised; so many of them
remembering past events (alluding to the 'Spanish fury,' but not
mentioning it by name), and observing the frequent mutinies at the
present time. Before long, I expect, however, to make the Spaniards as
acceptable and agreeable as the inhabitants of the country themselves."

It may easily be supposed that Philip was pleased with the triumphs that
had thus been achieved. He was even grateful, or affected to be grateful,
to him who had achieved them. He awarded great praise to Alexander for
his exertions, on the memorable occasions of the attack upon the bridge,
and the battle of the Kowenstyn; but censured him affectionately for so
rashly exposing his life. "I have no words," he said, "to render the
thanks which are merited for all that you have been doing. I recommend
you earnestly however to have a care for the security of your person, for
that is of more consequence than all the rest."

After the news of the reduction of the city, he again expressed
gratification, but in rather cold language. "From such obstinate people,"
said he, "not more could be extracted than has been extracted; therefore
the capitulation is satisfactory." What more he wished to extract it
would be difficult to say, for certainly the marrow had been extracted
from the bones, and the dead city was thenceforth left to moulder under
the blight of a foreign garrison and an army of Jesuits. "Perhaps
religious affairs will improve before long," said Philip. They did
improve very soon, as he understood the meaning of improvement. A
solitude of religion soon brought with it a solitude in every other
regard, and Antwerp became a desert, as Sainte Aldegonde had foretold
would be the case.

The King had been by no means so calm, however, when the intelligence of
the capitulation first reached him at Madrid. On the contrary, his oldest
courtiers had never seen him exhibit such marks of hilarity.

When he first heard of the glorious victory at Lepanto, his countenance
had remained impassive, and he had continued in the chapel at the
devotional exercises which the messenger from Don John had interrupted.
Only when the news of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew first reached him,
had he displayed an amount of cheerfulness equal to that which he
manifested at the fall of Antwerp. "Never," said Granvelle, "had the King
been so radiant with joy as when he held in his hand the despatches which
announced the capitulation." The letters were brought to him after he had
retired to rest, but his delight was so great that he could not remain in
his bed. Rushing from his chamber, so soon as he had read them, to that
of his dearly-beloved daughter, Clara Isabella, he knocked loudly at the
door, and screaming through the keyhole the three words, "Antwerp is
ours," returned precipitately again to his own apartment.

It was the general opinion in Spain, that the capture of this city had
terminated the resistance of the Netherlands. Holland and Zeeland would,
it was thought, accept with very little hesitation the terms which Parma
had been offering, through the agency of Sainte Aldegonde; and, with the
reduction of those two provinces, the Spanish dominion over the whole
country would of course become absolute. Secretary Idiaquez observed, on
drawing up instructions for Carlo Coloma, a Spanish financier then
departing on special mission for the Provinces, that he would soon come
back to Spain, for the Prince of Parma was just putting an end to the
whole Belgic war.

Time was to show whether Holland and Zeeland were as malleable as
Antwerp, and whether there would not be a battle or two more to fight
before that Belgic war would come to its end. Meantime Antwerp was
securely fettered, while the spirit of commerce--to which its unexampled
prosperity had been due--now took its flight to the lands where civil and
religious liberty had found a home.

              =====================================

NOTE on MARNIX DE SAINTE ALDEGONDE.

As every illustration of the career and character of this eminent
personage excites constant interest in the Netherlands, I have here
thrown together, in the form of an Appendix, many important and entirely
unpublished details, drawn mainly from the Archives of Simancas, and from
the State Paper Office and British Museum in London.

The ex-burgomaster seemed determined to counteract the policy of those
Netherlanders who wished to offer the sovereignty of the Provinces to the
English Queen. He had been earnestly in favour of annexation to France,
for his sympathies and feelings were eminently French. He had never been
a friend to England, and he was soon aware that a strong feeling of
indignation--whether just or unjust--existed against him both in that
country and in the Netherlands, on account of the surrender of Antwerp.

"I have had large conference with Villiers," wrote Sir John Norris to
Walsingham, "he condemneth Ste. Aldegonde's doings, but will impute it to
fear and not to malice. Ste. Aldegonde, notwithstanding that he was
forbidden to come to Holland, and laid for at the fleet, yet stole
secretly to Dort, where they say he is staid, but I doubt he will be
heard speak, and then assuredly he will do great hurt."

It was most certainly Sainte Aldegonde's determination, so soon as the
capitulation of Antwerp had been resolved upon, to do his utmost to
restore all the independent Provinces to their ancient allegiance. Rather
Spanish than English was his settled resolution. Liberty of religion, if
possible--that was his cherished wish--but still more ardently, perhaps,
did he desire to prevent the country from falling into the hands of
Elizabeth.

"The Prince of Parma hath conceived such an assured hope of the fidelity
of Aldegonde," wrote one of Walsingham's agents, Richard Tomson, "in
reducing the Provinces, yet enemies, into a perfect subjection, that the
Spaniards are so well persuaded of the man as if he had never been
against them. They say, about the middle of this month, he departed for
Zeeland and Holland, to prosecute the effect of his promises, and I am
the more induced to believe that he is become altogether Spanish, for
that the common bruit goeth that he hastened the surrendering of the town
of Antwerp, after he had intelligence of the coming of the English
succours."

There was naturally much indignation felt in the independent Provinces,
against all who had been thought instrumental in bringing about the
reduction of the great cities of Flanders. Famars, governor of Mechlin,
Van den Tympel, governor of Brussels, Martini, who had been active in
effecting the capitulation of Antwerp, were all arrested in Holland.
"From all that I can hear," said Parma, "it is likely that they will be
very severely handled, which is the reason why Ste. Aldegonde, although
he sent his wife and children to Holland, has not ventured thither
himself: It appears that they threaten him there, but he means now to go,
under pretext of demanding to justify himself from the imputations
against him. Although he tells me freely that, without some amplification
of the concessions hitherto made on the point of religion, he hopes for
no good result, yet I trust that he will do good offices in the meantime,
in spite of the difficulties which obstruct his efforts. On my part,
every exertion will be made, and not without hope of some fruit, if not
before, at least after, these people have become as tired of the English
as they were of the French."

Of this mutual ill-feeling between the English and the burgomaster, there
can be no doubt whatever. The Queen's government was fully aware of his
efforts to counteract its negotiation with the Netherlands, and to bring
about their reconciliation with Spain. When the Earl of Leicester--as
will soon be related--arrived in the Provinces, he was not long in
comprehending his attitude and his influence.

"I wrote somewhat of Sir Aldegonde in putting his case," wrote Leicester,
"but this is certain, I have the copy of his very letters sent hither to
practise the peace not two days before I came, and this day one hath told
me that loves him well, that he hates our countrymen unrecoverably. I am
sorry for it."

On the other hand, the Queen was very indignant with the man whom she
looked upon as the paid agent of Spain. She considered him a renegade,
the more dangerous because his previous services had been so illustrious.
"Her Majesty's mislike towards Ste. Aldegonde continueth," wrote
Walsingham to Leicester, "and she taketh offence that he was not
restrained of his liberty by your Lordship's order." It is unquestionable
that the exburgomaster intended to do his best towards effecting the
reconciliation of all the Provinces with Spain; and it is equally certain
that the King had offered to pay him well, if he proved successful in his
endeavours. There is no proof, however, and no probability that Sainte
Aldegonde ever accepted or ever intended to accept the proffered bribe.
On the contrary, his whole recorded career ought to disprove the
supposition. Yet it is painful, to find him, at this crisis, assiduous in
his attempts to undo the great work of his own life, and still more
distressing to find that great rewards were distinctly offered to him for
such service. Immense promises had been frequently made no doubt to
William the Silent; nor could any public man, in such times, be so pure
that an attempt to tamper with him might not be made: but when the
personage, thus solicited, was evidently acting in the interests of the
tempters, it is not surprising that he should become the object of grave
suspicion.

"It does not seem to me bad," wrote Philip to Parma, "this negotiation
which you have commenced with Ste. Aldegonde, in order to gain him, and
thus to employ his services in bringing about a reduction of the islands
(Holland and Zeeland). In exchange for this work, any thing which you
think proper to offer to him as a reward, will be capital well invested;
but it must not be given until the job is done."

But the job was hard to do, and Sainte Aldegonde cared nothing for the
offered bribe. He was, however, most strangely confident of being able to
overcome, on the one hand, the opposition of Holland and Zeeland to the
hated authority of Spain, and, on the other, the intense abhorrence
entertained by Philip to liberty of conscience.

Soon after the capitulation, he applied for a passport to visit those two
Provinces. Permission to come was refused him. Honest men from Antwerp,
he was informed, would be always welcome, but there was no room for him.
There was, however--or Parma persuaded himself that there was--a
considerable party in those countries in favour of reconciliation with
Spain. If the ex-burgomaster could gain a hearing, it was thought
probable that his eloquence would prove very effective.

"We have been making efforts to bring about negotiations with Holland and
Zeeland," wrote Alexander to Philip. "Gelderland and Overyssel likewise
show signs of good disposition, but I have not soldiers enough to animate
the good and terrify the bad. As for Holland and Zeeland, there is a
strong inclination on the part of the people to a reconciliation, if some
concession could be made on the religious question, but the governors
oppose it, because they are perverse, and are relying on assistance from
England. Could this religious concession be made, an arrangement could,
without doubt, be accomplished, and more quickly than people think.
Nevertheless, in such a delicate matter, I am obliged to await your
Majesty's exact instructions and ultimatum."

He then proceeded to define exactly the position and intentions of the
burgomaster.

"The government of Holland and Zeeland," he said, "have refused a
passport to Ste. Aldegonde, and express dissatisfaction with him for
having surrendered Antwerp so soon. They know that he has much credit
with the people and with the ministers of the sects, and they are in much
fear of him because he is inclined for peace, which is against their
interests. They are, therefore, endeavouring to counteract my
negotiations with him. These have been, thus far, only in general terms.
I have sought to induce him to perform the offices required, without
giving him reason to expect any concession as to the exercise of
religion. He persuades himself that, in the end, there will be some
satisfaction obtained upon this point, and, under this impression he
considers the peace as good as concluded, there remaining no doubt as to
other matters. He has sent his wife to Zeeland, and is himself going to
Germany, where, as he says, he will do all the good service that he can.
He hopes that very shortly the Provinces will not only invite, but
implore him to come to them; in which case, he promises me to perform
miracles."

Alexander then proceeded to pay a distinct tribute to Sainte Aldegonde's
motives; and, when it is remembered that the statement thus made is
contained in a secret despatch, in cipher, to the King, it may be assumed
to convey the sincere opinion of the man most qualified to judge
correctly as to this calumniated person's character.

"Ste. Aldegonde offers me wonders," he said, "and I have promised him
that he shall be recompensed very largely; yet, although he is poor, I do
not find him influenced by mercenary or selfish considerations, but only
very set in opinions regarding his religion."

The Prince had however no doubt of Sainte Aldegonde's sincerity, for
sincerity was a leading characteristic of the man. His word, once given,
was sacred, and he had given his word to do his best towards effecting a
reconciliation of the Provinces with Spain, and frustrating the efforts
of England. "Through the agency of Ste. Aldegonde and that of others"
wrote Parma, "I shall watch, day and night, to bring about a reduction of
Holland and Zeeland, if humanly possible. I am quite persuaded that they
will soon be sick of the English, who are now arriving, broken down,
without arms or money, and obviously incapable of holding out very long.
Doubtless, however, this English alliance, and the determination of the
Queen to do her utmost against us, complicates matters, and assists the
government of Holland and Zeeland in opposing the inclinations of their
people."

Nothing ever came of these intended negotiations. The miracles were never
wrought, and even had Sainte Aldegonde been as venal as he was suspected
of being--which we have thus proof positive that he was not--he never
could have obtained the recompense, which, according to Philip's thrifty
policy, was not to be paid until it had been earned. Sainte Aldegonde's
hands were clean. It is pity that we cannot render the same tribute to
his political consistency of character. It is also certain that he
remained--not without reason--for a long time under a cloud. He became
the object of unbounded and reckless calumny. Antwerp had fallen, and the
necessary consequence of its reduction was the complete and permanent
prostration of its commerce and manufactures. These were transferred to
the new, free, national, independent, and prosperous commonwealth that
had risen in the "islands" which Parma and Sainte Aldegonde had vainly
hoped to restore to their ancient servitude. In a very few years after
the subjugation of Antwerp, it appeared by statistical documents that
nearly all the manufactures of linen, coarse and fine cloths, serges,
fustians, tapestry, gold-embroidery, arms-work, silks, and velvets, had
been transplanted to the towns of Holland and Zeeland, which were
flourishing and thriving, while the Flemish and Brabantine cities had
become mere dens of thieves and beggars. It was in the mistaken hope of
averting this catastrophe--as melancholy as it was inevitable and in
despair of seeing all the Netherlands united, unless united in slavery,
and in deep-rooted distrust of the designs and policy of England, that
this statesman, once so distinguished, had listened to the insidious
tongue of Parma. He had sought to effect a general reconciliation with
Spain, and the only result of his efforts was a blight upon his own
illustrious name.

He published a defence of his conduct, and a detailed account of the
famous siege. His apology, at the time, was not considered conclusive,
but his narrative remains one of the clearest and most trustworthy
sources for the history of these important transactions. He was never
brought to trial, but he discovered, with bitterness, that he had
committed a fatal error, and that his political influence had passed
away. He addressed numerous private epistles to eminent persons,
indignantly denying the imputations against his character, and demanding
an investigation. Among other letters he observed in one to Count
Hohenlo, that he was astonished and grieved to find that all his faithful
labours and sufferings in the cause of his fatherland had been forgotten
in an hour. In place of praise and gratitude, he had reaped nothing but
censure and calumny; because men ever judged, not by the merits, but by
the issue. That common people should be so unjust, he said, was not to be
wondered at, but of men like Hohenlo be had hoped better things. He
asserted that he had saved Antwerp from another "Spanish fury," and from
impending destruction--a city in which there was not a single regular
soldier, and in which his personal authority was so slight that he was
unable to count the number of his masters. If a man had ever performed a
service to his country, he claimed to have done so in this capitulation.
Nevertheless, he declared that he was the same Philip Marnix, earnestly
devoted to the service of God, the true religion, and the fatherland;
although he avowed himself weary of the war, and of this perpetual
offering of the Netherland sovereignty to foreign potentates. He was now
going, he said, to his estates in Zeeland; there to turn farmer again;
renouncing public affairs, in the administration of which he had
experienced so much ingratitude from his countrymen. Count Maurice and
the States of Holland and Zeeland wrote to him, however, in very plain
language, describing the public indignation as so strong as to make it
unsafe for him to visit the country.

The Netherlands and England--so soon as they were united in policy--were,
not without reason, indignant with the man who had made such strenuous
efforts to prevent that union. The English were, in truth, deeply
offended. He had systematically opposed their schemes, and to his
prejudice against their country, and distrust of their intentions, they
attributed the fall of Antwerp. Envoy Davison, after his return to
Holland, on the conclusion of the English treaty, at once expressed his
suspicions of the ex-burgomaster, and the great dangers to be apprehended
from his presence in the free States. "Here is some working underhand,"
said he to Walsingham, "to draw hither Sainte Aldegonde, under a pretext
of his justification, which--as it has hitherto been denied him--so is
the sequel suspected, if he should obtain it before they were well
settled here, betwixt her Majesty and them, considering the manifold
presumptions that the subject of his journey should be little profitable
or advantageous to the state of these poor countries, as tending, at the
best, to the propounding of some general reconcilement." It was certainly
not without substantial grounds that the English and Hollanders, after
concluding their articles of alliance, felt uneasy at the possibility of
finding their plans reversed by the intrigues of a man whom they knew to
be a mediator between Spain and her revolted Provinces, and whom they
suspected of being a venal agent of the Catholic King. It was given out
that Philip had been induced to promise liberty of religion, in case of
reconciliation. We have seen that Parma was at heart in favour of such a
course, and that he was very desirous of inducing Marnix to believe in
the possibility of obtaining such a boon, however certain the Prince had
been made by the King's secret letters, that such a belief was a
delusion. "Martini hath been examined," wrote Davison, "who confesseth
both for himself and others, to become hither by direction of the Prince
of Parma and intelligence of Sainte Aldegonde, from whom he was first
addressed by Villiers and afterwards to others for advice and assistance.
That the scope of this direction was to induce them here to hearken to a
peace, wherein the Prince of Parma promiseth them toleration of religion,
although he confesseth yet to have no absolute power in that behalf, but
hath written thereof to the King expressly, and holdeth himself assured
thereof by the first post, as I have likewise been advertised from
Rowland York, which if it had been propounded openly here before things
had been concluded with her Majesty, and order taken for her assurance,
your honour can judge what confusion it must of necessity have brought
forth."

At last, when Marnix had become convinced that the toleration would not
arrive "by the very next mail from Spain," and that, in truth, such a
blessing was not to be expected through the post-office at all, he felt
an inward consciousness of the mistake which he had committed. Too
credulously had he inclined his ear to the voice of Parma; too
obstinately had he steeled his heart against Elizabeth, and he was now
the more anxious to clear himself at least from the charges of corruption
so clamorously made against him by Holland and by England. Conscious of
no fault more censurable than credulity and prejudice, feeling that his
long fidelity to the reformed religion ought to be a defence for him
against his calumniators, he was desirous both to clear his own honour,
and to do at least a tardy justice to England. He felt confident that
loyal natures, like those of Davison and his colleagues at home, would
recognize his own loyalty. He trusted, not without cause, to English
honour, and coming to his manor-house of Zoubourg, near Flushing, he
addressed a letter to the ambassador of Elizabeth, in which the strong
desire to vindicate his aspersed integrity is quite manifest.

"I am very joyous," said he, "that coming hither in order to justify
myself against the false and malignant imputations with which they charge
me, I have learned your arrival here on the part of her Majesty, as well
as the soon expected coming of the Earl of Leicester. I see, in truth,
that the Lord God is just, and never abandons his own. I have never
spared myself in the service of my country, and I would have sacrificed
my life, a thousand times, had it been possible, in her cause. Now, I am
receiving for all this a guerdon of blame and calumny, which is cast upon
me in order to cover up faults which have been committed by others in
past days. I hope, however, to come soon to give you welcome, and to
speak more particularly to you of all these things. Meantime demanding my
justification before these gentlemen, who ought to have known me better
than to have added faith to such villanous imputations, I will entreat
you that my definite justification, or condemnation, if I have merited
it, may be reserved till the arrival of Lord Leicester."

This certainly was not the language of a culprit, Nevertheless, his words
did not immediately make a deep impression on the hearts of those who
heard him. He had come secretly to his house at Zoubourg, having
previously published his memorable apology; and in accordance with the
wishes of the English government, he was immediately confined to his own
house. Confidence in the intention of a statesman, who had at least
committed such grave errors of judgment, and who had been so deeply
suspected of darker faults, was not likely very soon to revive. So far
from shrinking from an investigation which would have been dangerous,
even to his life, had the charges against his honour been founded in
fact, he boldly demanded to be confronted with his accusers, in order
that he might explain his conduct before all the world. "Sir,
yesternight, at the shutting of the gates," wrote Davison to Walsingham,
transmitting the little note from Marnix, which has just been cited--"I
was advertised that Ste. Aldegonde was not an hour before secretly landed
at the head on the other side the Rammekens, and come to his house at
Zoubourg, having prepared his way by an apology, newly published in his
defence, whereof I have as yet recovered one only copy, which herewith I
send your honour. This day, whilst I was at dinner, he sent his son unto
me, with a few lines, whereof I send you the copy, advertising me of his
arrival (which he knew I understood before), together with the desire he
had to see me, and speak with me, if the States, before whom he was to
come to purge himself of the crimes wherewith he stood, as he with,
unjustly charged, would vouchsafe him so much liberty. The same morning,
the council of Zeeland, taking knowledge of his arrival, sent unto him
the pensioner of Middelburgh and this town, to sound the causes of his
coming, and to will him, in their behalf, to keep his house, and to
forbear all meddling by word or writing, with any whatsoever, till they
should further advise and determine in his cause. In defence thereof, he
fell into large and particular discourse with the deputies, accusing his
enemies of malice and untruth, offering himself to any trial, and to
abide what punishment the laws should lay upon him, if he were found
guilty of the crimes imputed to him. Touching the cause of his coming, he
pretended and protested that he had no other end than his simple
justification, preferring any hazard he might incur thereby, to his
honour and good fame." As to the great question at issue, Marnix had at
last become conscious that he had been a victim to Spanish dissimulation,
and that Alexander Fainese was in reality quite powerless to make that
concession of religious liberty, without which a reconciliation between
Holland and Philip was impossible. "Whereas," said Davison, "it was
supposed that Ste. Aldegonde had commission from the Prince of Parma to
make some offer of peace, he assured them of the contrary as a thing
which neither the Prince had any power to yield unto with the surety of
religion, or himself would, in conscience, persuade without it; with a
number of other particularities in his excuse; amongst the rest, allowing
and commending in his speech, the course they had taken with her Majesty,
as the only safe way of deliverance for these afflicted
countries--letting them understand how much the news thereof--specially
since the entry of our garrison into this place (which before they would
in no sort believe), hath troubled the enemy, who doth what he may to
suppress the bruit thereof, and yet comforteth himself with the hope that
between the factions and partialities nourished by his industry, and
musters among the towns, especially in Holland and Zeeland (where he is
persuaded to find some pliable to a reconcilement) and the disorders and
misgovernment of our people, there will be yet occasion offered him to
make his profit and advantage. I find that the gentleman hath here many
friends indifferently persuaded of his innocency, notwithstanding the
closing up of his apology doth make but little for him. Howsoever it be,
it falleth out the better that the treaty with her Majesty is finished,
and the cautionary towns assured before his coming, which, if he be ill
affected, will I hope either reform his judgment or restrain his will. I
will not forget to do the best I can to sift and decipher him yet more
narrowly and particularly."

Thus, while the scales had at length fallen from the eyes of Marnix, it
was not strange that the confidence which he now began to entertain in
the policy of England, should not be met, at the outset, with a
corresponding sentiment on the part of the statesman by whom that policy
was regulated. "Howsoever Ste. Aldegonde would seem to purge himself,"
said Davison, "it is suspected that his end is dangerous. I have done
what I may to restrain him, so nevertheless as it may not seem to come
from me." And again--"Ste. Aldegonde," he wrote, "contimieth still our
neighbor at his house between this and Middelburg; yet unmolested. He
findeth many favourers, and, I fear, doth no good offices. He desireth to
be reserved till the coming of my Lord of Leicester, before whom he
pretends a desired trial."

This covert demeanour on the part of the ambassador was in accordance
with, the wishes of his government. It was thought necessary that Sainte
Aldegonde should be kept under arrest until the arrival of the Earl, but
deemed preferable that the restraint should proceed from the action of
the States rather than from the order of the Queen. Davison was
fulfilling orders in attempting, by underhand means, to deprive Marnix,
for a time, of his liberty. "Let him, I pray you, remain in good safety
in any wise," wrote Leicester, who was uneasy at the thought of so
influential, and, as he thought, so ill-affected a person being at large,
but at the same time disposed to look dispassionately upon his past
conduct, and to do justice, according to the results of an investigation.
"It is thought meet," wrote Walsingham to Davison, "that you should do
your best endeavour to procure that Ste. Aldegonde may be restrained,
which in mine opinion were fit to be handled in such sort, as the
restraint might rather proceed from themselves than by your solicitation.
And yet rather than he should remain at liberty to practise underhand,
whereof you seem to stand in great doubt, it is thought meet that you
should make yourself a partizan, to seek by all the means that you may to
have him restrained under the guard of some well affected patriot until
the Earl's coming, at what time his cause may receive examination."

This was, however, a result somewhat difficult to accomplish; for twenty
years of noble service in the cause of liberty had not been utterly in
vain, and there were many magnanimous spirits to sympathize with a great
man struggling thus in the meshes of calumny. That the man who challenged
rather than shunned investigation, should be thrown into prison, as if he
were a detected felon upon the point of absconding, seemed a heartless
and superfluous precaution. Yet Davison and others still feared the man
whom they felt obliged to regard as a baffled intriguer. "Touching the
restraint of Ste. Aldegonde," wrote Davison to Lord Burghley, "which I
had order from Mr. Secretary to procure underhand, I find the difficulty
will be great in regard of his many friends and favourers, preoccupied
with some opinion of his innocence, although I have travailled with
divers of them underhand, and am promised that some order shall be taken
in that behalf, which I think will be harder to execute as long as Count
Maurice is here. For Ste. Aldegonde's affection, I find continual matter
to suspect it inclined to a peace, and that as one notably prejudging our
scope and proceeding in this cause, doth lie in wait for an occasion to
set it forward, being, as it seems, fed with a hope of 'telle quelle
liberte de conscience,' which the Prince of Parma and others of his
council have, as he confesseth, earnestly solicited at the King's hands.
This appeareth, in truth, the only apt and easy way for them to prevail
both against religion and the liberty of these poor countries, having
thereby once recovered the authority which must necessarily follow a
peace, to renew and alter the magistrates of the particular towns, which,
being at their devotion, may turn, as we say, all upside down, and so in
an instant being under their servitude, if not wholly, at the least in a
great part of the country, leaving so much the less to do about the rest,
a thing confessed and looked for of all men of any judgment here, if the
drift of our peace-makers may take effect."

Sainte Aldegonde had been cured of his suspicions of England, and at last
the purity of his own character shone through the mists.

One winter's morning, two days after Christmas, 1585, Colonel Morgan, an
ingenuous Welshman, whom we have seen doing much hard fighting on
Kowenstyn Dyke, and at other places, and who now commanded the garrison
at Flushing, was taking a walk outside the gates, and inhaling the salt
breezes from the ocean. While thus engaged he met a gentleman coming
along, staff in hand, at a brisk pace towards the town, who soon proved
to be no other than the distinguished and deeply suspected Sainte
Aldegonde. The two got at once into conversation. "He began," said
Morgan, "by cunning insinuations, to wade into matters of state, and at
the last fell to touching the principal points, to wit, her Majesty's
entrance into the cause now in hand, which, quoth he, was an action of
high importance, considering how much it behoved her to go through the
same, as well in regard of the hope that thereby was given to the
distressed people of these parts, as also in consideration of that worthy
personage whom she hath here placed, whose estate and credit may not be
suffered to quail, but must be upholden as becometh the lieutenant of
such a princess as her Majesty."

"The opportunity thus offered," continued honest Morgan, "and the way
opened by himself, I thought good to discourse with him to the full,
partly to see the end and drift of his induced talk, and consequently to
touch his quick in the suspected cause of Antwerp." And thus, word for
word, taken down faithfully the same day, proceeded the dialogue that
wintry morning, near three centuries ago. From that simple
record--mouldering unseen and unthought of for ages, beneath piles of
official dust--the forms of the illustrious Fleming and the bold Welsh
colonel, seem to start, for a brief moment, out of the three hundred
years of sleep which have succeeded their energetic existence upon earth.
And so, with the bleak winds of December whistling over the breakers of
the North Sea, the two discoursed together, as they paced along the
coast.

Morgan.--"I charge you with your want of confidence in her Majesty's
promised aid. 'Twas a thing of no small moment had it been embraced when
it was first most graciously offered."

Sainte Aldegonde.--"I left not her prince-like purpose unknown to the
States, who too coldly and carelessly passed over the benefit thereof,
until it was too late to put the same in practice. For my own part, I
acknowledge that indeed I thought some further advice would either alter
or at least detract from the accomplishment of her determination. I
thought this the rather because she had so long been wedded to peace, and
I supposed it impossible to divorce her from so sweet a spouse. But, set
it down that she were resolute, yet the sickness of Antwerp was so
dangerous, as it was to be doubted the patient would be dead before the
physician could come. I protest that the state of the town was much worse
than was known to any but myself and some few private persons. The want
of victuals was far greater than they durst bewray, fearing lest the
common people, perceiving the plague of famine to be at hand, would
rather grow desperate than patiently expect some happy event. For as they
were many in number, so were they wonderfully divided: some being
Martinists, some Papists, some neither the one nor the other, but
generally given to be factious, so that the horror at home was equal to
the hazard abroad."

Morgan.--"But you forget the motion made by the martial men for putting
out of the town such as were simple artificers, with women and children,
mouths that consumed meat, but stood in no stead for defence."

Sainte Aldegonde.--"Alas, alas! would you have had me guilty of the
slaughter of so many innocents, whose lives were committed to my charge,
as well as the best? Or might I have answered my God when those massacred
creatures should have stood up against me, that the hope of Antwerp's
deliverance was purchased with the blood of so many simple souls? No, no.
I should have found my conscience such a hell and continual worm as the
gnawing thereof would have been more painful and bitter than the
possession of the whole world would have been pleasant."

Morgan continued to press the various points which had created suspicion
as to the character and motives of Marnix, and point by point Marnix
answered his antagonist, impressing him, armed as he had been in
distrust, with an irresistible conviction as to the loftiness of the
nature which had been so much calumniated.

Sainte Aldegonde (with vehemence).--"I do assure you, in conclusion, that
I have solemnly vowed service and duty to her Majesty, which I am ready
to perform where and when it may best like her to use the same. I will
add moreover that I have oftentimes determined to pass into England to
make my own purgation, yet fearing lest her Highness would mislike so
bold a resolution, I have checked that purpose with a resolution to tarry
the Lord's leisure, until some better opportunity might answer my desire.
For since I know not how I stand in her grace, unwilling I am to attempt
her presence without permission; but might it please her to command my
attendance, I should not only most joyfully accomplish the same, but also
satisfy her of and in all such matters as I stand charged with, and
afterwards spend life, land, and goods, to witness my duty towards her
Highness."

Morgan.--"I tell you plainly, that if you are in heart the same man that
you seem outwardly to be, I doubt not but her Majesty might easily be
persuaded to conceive a gracious opinion of you. For mine own part, I
will surely advertise Sir Francis Walsingham of as much matter as this
present conference hath ministered.

"Hereof," said the Colonel--when, according to his promise, faithfully
recording the conversation in all its details for Mr. Secretary's
benefit, "he seemed not only content but most glad. Therefore I beseech
your honour to vouchsafe some few lines herein, that I may return him
some part of your mind. I have already written thereof to Sir Philip
Sidney, lord governor of Flushing, with request that his Excellency the
Earl of Leicester may presently be made acquainted with the cause."

Indeed the brave Welshman was thoroughly converted from his suspicions by
the earnest language and sympathetic presence of the fallen statesman.
This result of the conference was creditable to the ingenuous character
of both personages.

"Thus did he," wrote Morgan to Sir Francis, "from point to point, answer
all objections from the first to the last, and that in such sound and
substantial manner, with a strong show of truth, as I think his very
enemies, having heard his tale, would be satisfied. And truly, Sir, as
heretofore I have thought hardly of him, being led by a superficial
judgment of things as they stood in outward appearance; so now, having
pierced deep, and weighed causes by a sounder and more deliberate
consideration, I find myself somewhat changed in conceit--not so much
carried away by the sweetness of his speech, as confirmed by the force of
his religious profession, wherein he remaineth constant, without
wavering--an argument of great strength to set him free from treacherous
attempts; but as I am herein least able and most unworthy to yield any
censure, much less to give advice, so I leave the man and the matter to
your honour's opinion. Only (your graver judgment reserved) thus I think,
that it were good either to employ him as a friend, or as an enemy to
remove him farther from us, being a man of such action as the world
knoweth he is. And to conclude," added Morgan, "this was the upshot
between us."

Nevertheless, he remained in this obscurity for a long period. When,
towards the close of the year 1585, the English government was
established in Holland, he was the object of constant suspicion.

"Here is Aldegonde," wrote Sir Philip Sidney to Lord Leicester from
Flushing, "a man greatly suspected, but by no man charged. He lives
restrained to his own house, and for aught I can find, deals with
nothing, only desiring to have his cause wholly referred to your
Lordship, and therefore, with the best heed I can to his proceedings, I
will leave him to his clearing or condemning, when your Lordship shall
hear him."

In another letter, Sir Philip again spoke of Sainte Aldegonde as "one of
whom he kept a good opinion, and yet a suspicious eye."

Leicester himself was excessively anxious on the subject, deeply fearing
the designs of a man whom he deemed so mischievous, and being earnestly
desirous that he should not elude the chastisement which he seemed to
deserve.

"Touching Ste. Aldegonde," he wrote to Davison, "I grieve that he is at
his house without good guard. I do earnestly pray you to move such as
have power presently to commit a guard about him, for I know he is a
dangerous and a bold man, and presumes yet to carry all, for he hath made
many promises to the Prince of Parma. I would he were in Fort Rammekyns,
or else that Mr. Russell had charge of him, with a recommendation from me
to Russell to look well to him till I shall arrive. You must have been so
commanded in this from her Majesty, for she thinks he is in close and
safe guard. If he is not, look for a turn of all things, for he hath
friends, I know."

But very soon after his arrival, the Earl, on examining into the matter,
saw fit to change his opinions and his language. Persuaded, in spite of
his previous convictions, even as the honest Welsh colonel had been, of
the upright character of the man, and feeling sure that a change had come
over the feelings of Marnix himself in regard to the English alliance,
Leicester at once interested himself in removing the prejudices
entertained towards him by the Queen.

"Now a few words for Ste. Aldegonde," said he in his earliest despatches
from Holland; "I will beseech her Majesty to stay her judgment till I
write next. If the man be as he now seemeth, it were pity to lose him,
for he is indeed marvellously friended. Her Majesty will think, I know,
that I am easily pacified or led in such a matter, but I trust so to deal
as she shall give me thanks. Once if he do offer service it is sure
enough, for he is esteemed that way above all the men in this country for
his word, if he give it. His worst enemies here procure me to win him,
for sure, just matter for his life there is none. He would fain come into
England, so far is he come already, and doth extol her Majesty for this
work of hers to heaven, and confesseth, till now an angel could not make
him believe it."

Here certainly was a noble tribute paid unconsciously, as it were, to the
character of the maligned statesman. "Above all the men in the country
for his word, if he give it." What wonder that Orange had leaned upon
him, that Alexander had sought to gain him, and how much does it add to
our bitter regret that his prejudices against England should not have
been removed until too late for Antwerp and for his own usefulness. Had
his good angel really been present to make him believe in that "work of
her Majesty," when his ear was open to the seductions of Parma, the
destiny of Belgium and his own subsequent career might have been more
fortunate than they became.

The Queen was slow to return from her prejudices. She believed--not
without reason--that the opposition of Ste. Aldegonde to her policy had
been disastrous to the cause both of England and the Netherlands; and it
had been her desire that he should be imprisoned, and tried for his life.
Her councillors came gradually to take a more favourable view of the
case, and to be moved by the pathetic attitude of the man who had once
been so conspicuous.

"I did acquaint Sir Christopher Hatton," wrote Walsingham to Leicester,
"with the letter which Ste. Aldegonde wrote to your Lordship, which,
carrying a true picture of an afflicted mind, cannot but move an honest
heart, weighing the rare parts the gentleman is endowed withal, to pity
his distressed estate, and, to procure him relief and comfort, which Mr.
Vice-Chamberlain (Hatton) bath promised on his part to perform. I thought
good to send Ste. Aldegonde's letter unto the Lord Treasurer (Burghley),
who heretofore has carried a hard conceit of the gentleman, hoping that
the view of his letter will breed some remorse towards him. I have also
prayed his Lordship, if he see cause, to acquaint her Majesty with the
said letter."

But his high public career was closed. He lived down calumny; and put his
enemies to shame, but the fatal error which he had committed, in taking
the side of Spain rather than of England at so momentous a crisis, could
never be repaired. He regained the good opinion of the most virtuous and
eminent personages in Europe, but in the noon of life he voluntarily
withdrew from public affairs. The circumstances just detailed had made
him impossible as a political leader, and it was equally impossible for
him to play a secondary part. He occasionally consented to be employed in
special diplomatic missions, but the serious avocations of his life now
became theological and literary. He sought--in his own words--to
penetrate himself still more deeply than ever with the spirit of the
reformation, and to imbue the minds of the young with that deep love for
the reformed religion which had been the guiding thought of his own
career. He often spoke with a sigh of his compulsory exile from the field
where he had been so conspicuous all his lifetime; he bitterly lamented
the vanished dream of the great national union between Belgium and
Holland, which had flattered his youth and his manhood; and he sometimes
alluded with bitterness to the calumny which had crippled him of his
usefulness. He might have played a distinguished part in that powerful
commonwealth which was so steadily and splendidly arising out of the
lagunes of Zeeland and Holland, but destiny and calumny and his own error
had decided otherwise.

"From the depth of my exile--" he said, "for I am resolved to retire, I
know not where, into Germany, perhaps into Sarmatia, I shall look from
afar upon the calamities of my country. That which to me is most mournful
is no longer to be able to assist my fatherland by my counsels and my
actions." He did not go into exile, but remained chiefly at his mansion
of Zoubourg, occupied with agriculture and with profound study. Many
noble works conspicuous in the literature of the epoch--were the results
of his learned leisure; and the name of Marnix of Sainte Aldegonde will
be always as dear to the lovers of science and letters as to the
believers in civil and religious liberty. At the request of the States of
Holland he undertook, in 1593, a translation of the Scriptures from the
original, and he was at the same time deeply engaged with a History of
Christianity, which he intended for his literary master-piece. The man
whose sword had done knightly service on many a battle-field for freedom,
whose tongue had controlled mobs and senates, courts and councils, whose
subtle spirit had metamorphosed itself into a thousand shapes to do
battle with the genius of tyranny, now quenched the feverish agitation of
his youth and manhood in Hebrew and classical lore. A grand and noble
figure always: most pathetic when thus redeeming by vigorous but solitary
and melancholy hard labor, the political error which had condemned him to
retirement. To work, ever to work, was the primary law of his nature.
Repose in the other world, "Repos ailleurs" was the device which he
assumed in earliest youth, and to which he was faithful all his days.

A great and good man whose life had been brim-full of noble deeds, and
who had been led astray from the path, not of virtue, but of sound
policy, by his own prejudices and by the fascination of an intellect even
more brilliant than his own, he at least enjoyed in his retirement
whatever good may come from hearty and genuine labor, and from the high
regard entertained for him by the noblest spirits among his
contemporaries.

"They tell me," said La Noue, "that the Seigneur de Ste. Aldegonde has
been suspected by the Hollanders and the English. I am deeply grieved,
for 'tis a personage worthy to be employed. I have always known him to be
a zealous friend of his religion and his country, and I will bear him
this testimony, that his hands and his heart are clean. Had it been
otherwise, I must have known it. His example has made me regret the less
the promise I was obliged to make, never to bear arms again in the
Netherlands. For I have thought that since this man, who has so much
credit and authority among your people, after having done his duty well,
has not failed to be calumniated and ejected from service, what would
they have done with me, who am a stranger, had I continued in their
employment? The consul Terentius Varro lost, by his fault, the battle of
Canna; nevertheless, when he returned to Rome, offering the remainder of
his life in the cause of his Republic reduced to extremity, he was not
rejected, but well received, because he hoped well for the country. It is
not to be imputed as blame to Ste. Aldegonde that he lost Antwerp, for he
surrendered when it could not be saved. What I now say is drawn from me
by the compassion I feel when persons of merit suffer without cause at
the hands of their fellow citizens. In these terrible tempests, as it is
a duty rigorously to punish the betrayers of their country, even so it is
an obligation upon us to honor good patriots, and to support them in
venial errors, that we may all encourage each other to do the right."

Strange too as it may now seem to us, a reconciliation of the Netherlands
with Philip was not thought an impossibility by other experienced and
sagacious patriots, besides Marnix. Even Olden-Barneveld, on taking
office as Holland's Advocate, at this period, made it a condition that
his service was to last only until the reunion of the Provinces with
Spain.

There was another illustrious personage in a foreign land who ever
rendered homage to the character of the retired Netherland statesman.
Amid the desolation of France, Duplessis Mornay often solaced himself by
distant communion with that kindred and sympathizing spirit.

"Plunged in public annoyances," he wrote to Sainte Aldegonde, "I find no
consolation, except in conference with the good, and among the good I
hold you for one of the best. With such men I had rather sigh profoundly
than laugh heartily with others. In particular, Sir, do me the honor to
love me, and believe that I honor you singularly. Impart to me something
from your solitude, for I consider your deserts to be more fruitful and
fertile than our most cultivated habitations. As for me, think of me as
of a man drowning in the anxieties of the time, but desirous, if
possible, of swimming to solitude."

Thus solitary, yet thus befriended,--remote from public employment, yet
ever employed, doing his daily work with all his soul and strength,
Marnix passed the fifteen years yet remaining to him. Death surprised him
at last, at Leyden, in the year 1598, while steadily laboring upon his
Flemish translation of the Old Testament, and upon the great political,
theological, controversial, and satirical work on the differences of
religion, which remains the most stately, though unfinished, monument of
his literary genius. At the age of sixty he went at last to the repose
which he had denied to himself on earth. "Repos ailleurs."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Honor good patriots, and to support them in venial errors
     Possible to do, only because we see that it has been done
     Repose in the other world, "Repos ailleurs"
     Soldiers enough to animate the good and terrify the bad
     To work, ever to work, was the primary law of his nature
     When persons of merit suffer without cause



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 42, 1585



CHAPTER VI., Part 1.

   Policy of England--Diplomatic Coquetry--Dutch Envoys in England--
   Conference of Ortel and Walsingham--Interview with Leicester--
   Private Audience of the Queen--Letters of the States--General--
   Ill Effects of Gilpin's Despatch--Close Bargaining of the Queen and
   States--Guarantees required by England--England's comparative
   Weakness--The English characterised--Paul Hentzner--The Envoys in
   London--Their Characters--Olden-Barneveldt described--Reception at
   Greenwich--Speech of Menin--Reply of the Queen--Memorial of the
   Envoys--Discussions with the Ministers--Second Speech of the Queen
   --Third Speech of the Queen

England as we have seen--had carefully watched the negotiations between
France and the Netherlands. Although she had--upon the whole, for that
intriguing age--been loyal in her bearing towards both parties, she was
perhaps not entirely displeased with the result. As her cherished
triumvirate was out of the question, it was quite obvious that, now or
never, she must come forward to prevent the Provinces from falling back
into the hands of Spain. The future was plainly enough foreshadowed, and
it was already probable, in case of a prolonged resistance on the part of
Holland, that Philip would undertake the reduction of his rebellious
subjects by a preliminary conquest of England. It was therefore quite
certain that the expense and danger of assisting the Netherlands must
devolve upon herself, but, at the same time it was a consolation that her
powerful next-door neighbour was not to be made still more powerful by
the annexation to his own dominion of those important territories.

Accordingly, so soon as the deputies in France had received their
definite and somewhat ignominious repulse from Henry III. and his mother,
the English government lost no time in intimating to the States that they
were not to be left without an ally. Queen Elizabeth was however
resolutely averse from assuming that sovereignty which she was not
unwilling to see offered for her acceptance; and her accredited envoy at
the Hague, besides other more secret agents, were as busily employed in
the spring of 1585--as Des Pruneaux had been the previous winter on the
part of France--to bring about an application, by solemn embassy, for her
assistance.

There was, however, a difference of view, from the outset, between the
leading politicians of the Netherlands and the English Queen. The
Hollanders were extremely desirous of becoming her subjects; for the
United States, although they had already formed themselves into an
independent republic, were quite ignorant of their latent powers. The
leading personages of the country--those who were soon to become the
foremost statesmen of the new commonwealth--were already shrinking from
the anarchy which was deemed inseparable from a non-regal form of
government, and were seeking protection for and against the people under
a foreign sceptre. On the other hand, they were indisposed to mortgage
large and important fortified towns, such as Flushing, Brill, and others,
for the repayment of the subsidies which Elizabeth might be induced to
advance. They preferred to pay in sovereignty rather than in money. The
Queen, on the contrary, preferred money to sovereignty, and was not at
all inclined to sacrifice economy to ambition. Intending to drive a hard
bargain with the States, whose cause was her own, and whose demands for
aid she; had secretly prompted, she meant to grant a certain number of
soldiers for as brief a period as possible, serving at her expense, and
to take for such outlay a most ample security in the shape of cautionary
towns.

Too intelligent a politician not to feel the absolute necessity of at
last coming into the field to help the Netherlanders to fight her own
battle, she was still willing, for a season longer, to wear the mask of
coyness and coquetry, which she thought most adapted to irritate the
Netherlanders into a full compliance with her wishes. Her advisers in the
Provinces were inclined to take the same view. It seemed obvious, after
the failure in France, that those countries must now become either
English or Spanish; yet Elizabeth, knowing the risk of their falling
back, from desperation, into the arms of her rival, allowed them to
remain for a season on the edge of destruction--which would probably have
been her ruin also--in the hope of bringing them to her feet on her own
terms. There was something of feminine art in this policy, and it was not
without the success which often attends such insincere manoeuvres. At the
same time, as the statesmen of the republic knew that it was the Queen's
affair, when so near a neighbour's roof was blazing, they entertained
little doubt of ultimately obtaining her alliance. It was pity--in so
grave an emergency--that a little frankness could not have been
substituted for a good deal of superfluous diplomacy.

Gilpin, a highly intelligent agent of the English government in Zeeland,
kept Sir Francis Walsingham thoroughly informed of the sentiments
entertained by the people of that province towards England. Mixing
habitually with the most influential politicians, he was able to render
material assistance to the English council in the diplomatic game which
had been commenced, and on which a no less important stake than the crown
of England was to be hazarded.

"In conference," he said, "with particular persons that bear any rule or
credit, I find a great inclination towards her Majesty, joined
notwithstanding with a kind of coldness. They allege that matters of such
importance are to be maturely and thoroughly pondered, while some of them
harp upon the old string, as if her Majesty, for the security of her own
estate, was to have the more care of theirs here."

He was also very careful to insinuate the expediency of diplomatic
coquetry into the mind of a Princess who needed no such prompting. "The
less by outward appearance," said he, "this people shall perceive that
her Majesty can be contented to take the protection of them upon her, the
forwarder they will be to seek and send unto her, and the larger
conditions in treaty may be required. For if they see it to come from
herself, then do they persuade themselves that it is for the greater
security of our own country and her Highness to fear the King of Spain's
greatness. But if they become seekers unto her Majesty, and if they may,
by outward show, deem that she accounteth not of the said King's might,
but able and sufficient to defend her own realms, then verily I think
they may be brought to whatsoever points her Majesty may desire."

Certainly it was an age of intrigue, in which nothing seemed worth
getting at all unless it could be got by underhand means, and in which it
was thought impossible for two parties to a bargain to meet together
except as antagonists, who believed that one could not derive a profit
from the transaction unless the other had been overreached. This was
neither good morality nor sound diplomacy, and the result of such
trifling was much loss of time and great disaster. In accordance with
this crafty system, the agent expressed the opinion that it would "be
good and requisite for the English government somewhat to temporise," and
to dally for a season longer, in order to see what measures the States
would take to defend themselves, and how much ability and resources they
would show for belligerent purposes. If the Queen were too eager, the
Provinces would become jealous, "yielding, as it were, their power, and
yet keeping the rudder in their own hands."

At the same time Gilpin was favourably impressed with the character both
of the country and the nation, soon to be placed in such important
relations with England. "This people," he said, "is such as by fair means
they will be won to yield and grant any reasonable motion or demand. What
these islands of Zeeland are her Majesty and all my lords of her council
do know. Yet for their government thus much I must write; that during
these troubles it never was better than now. They draw, in a manner, one
line, long and carefully in their resolution; but the same once taken and
promises made, they would perform them to the uttermost."

Such then was the character of the people, for no man was better enabled
to form an opinion on the subject than was Gilpin. Had it not been as
well, then, for Englishmen--who were themselves in that age, as in every
other, apt to "perform to the uttermost promises once taken and made,"
and to respect those endowed with the same wholesome characteristic--to
strike hands at once in a cause which was so vital to both nations?

So soon as the definite refusal of Henry III, was known in England,
Leicester and Walsingham wrote at once to the Netherlands. The Earl
already saw shining through the distance a brilliant prize for his own
ambition, although he was too haughty, perhaps too magnanimous, but
certainly far too crafty, to suffer such sentiments as yet to pierce to
the surface.

"Mr. Davison," he wrote, "you shall perceive by Mr. Secretary's letters
how the French have dealt with these people. They are well enough served;
but yet I think, if they will heartily and earnestly seek it, the Lord
hath appointed them a far better defence. But you must so use the matter
as that they must seek their own good, although we shall be partakers
thereof also. They may now, if they will effectually and liberally deal,
bring themselves to a better end than ever France would have brought
them."

At that moment there were two diplomatic agents from the States resident
in England--Jacques de Gryze; whom Paul Buys had formerly described as
having thrust himself head and shoulders into the matter without proper
authority, and Joachim Ortel, a most experienced and intelligent man,
speaking and writing English like a native, and thoroughly conversant
with English habits and character. So soon as the despatches from France
arrived, Walsingham, 18th March, 1585, sent for Ortel, and the two held a
long conference.

Walsingham.--"We have just received letters from Lord Derby and Sir
Edward Stafford, dated the 13th March. They inform us that your
deputies--contrary to all expectation and to the great hopes that had
been hold out to them--have received, last Sunday, their definite answer
from the King of France. He tells them, that, considering the present
condition of his kingdom, he is unable to undertake the protection of the
Netherlands; but says that if they like, and if the Queen of England be
willing to second his motion, he is disposed to send a mission of
mediation to Spain for the purpose of begging the King to take the
condition of the provinces to heart, and bringing about some honourable
composition, and so forth, and so forth.

"Moreover the King of France has sent Monsieur de Bellievre to Lord Derby
and Mr. Stafford, and Bellievre has made those envoys a long oration. He
explained to them all about the original treaty between the States and
Monsieur, the King's brother, and what had taken place from that day to
this, concluding, after many allegations and divers reasons, that the
King could not trouble himself with the provinces at present; but hoped
her Majesty would make the best of it, and not be offended with him.

"The ambassadors say further, that they have had an interview with your
deputies, who are excessively provoked at this most unexpected answer
from the King, and are making loud complaints, being all determined to
take themselves off as fast as possible. The ambassadors have recommended
that some of the number should come home by the way of England."

Ortel.--"It seems necessary to take active measures at once, and to leave
no duty undone in this matter. It will be advisable to confer, so soon as
may be, with some of the principal counsellors of her Majesty, and
recommend to them most earnestly the present condition of the provinces.
They know the affectionate confidence which the States entertain towards
England, and must now, remembering the sentiments of goodwill which they
have expressed towards the Netherlands, be willing to employ their
efforts with her Majesty in this emergency."

Walsingham (with much show of vexation).--"This conduct on the part of
the French court has been most pernicious. Your envoys have been delayed,
fed with idle hopes, and then disgracefully sent away, so that the best
part of the year has been consumed, and it will be most difficult now, in
a great hurry, to get together a sufficient force of horse and foot folk,
with other necessaries in abundance. On the contrary, the enemy, who knew
from the first what result was to be expected in France, has been doing
his best to be beforehand with you in the field: add, moreover, that this
French negotiation has given other princes a bad taste in their mouths.
This is the case with her Majesty. The Queen is, not without reason,
annoyed that the States have not only despised her friendly and
good-hearted offers, but have all along been endeavouring to embark her
in this war, for the defence of the Provinces, which would have cost her
several millions, without offering to her the slightest security. On the
contrary, others, enemies of the religion, who are not to be depended
upon--who had never deserved well of the States or assisted them in their
need, as she has done--have received this large offer of sovereignty
without any reserve whatever."

Ortel (not suffering himself to be disconcerted at this unjust and
somewhat insidious attack).--"That which has been transacted with France
was not done except with the express approbation and full foreknowledge
of her Majesty, so far back as the lifetime of his Excellency (William of
Orange), of high and laudable memory. Things had already gone so far, and
the Provinces had agreed so entirely together, as to make it inexpedient
to bring about a separation in policy. It was our duty to hold together,
and, once for all, thoroughly to understand what the King of France,
after such manifold presentations through Monsieur Des Pruneaulx and
others, and in various letters of his own, finally intended to do. At the
same time, notwithstanding these negotiations, we had always an especial
eye upon her Majesty. We felt a hopeful confidence that she would never
desert us, leaving us without aid or counsel, but would consider that
these affairs do not concern the Provinces alone or even especially, but
are just as deeply important to her and to all other princes of the
religion."

After this dialogue, with much more conversation of a similar character,
the Secretary and the envoy set themselves frankly and manfully to work.
It was agreed between them that every effort should be made with the
leading members of the Council to induce the Queen "in this terrible
conjuncture, not to forsake the Provinces, but to extend good counsel and
prompt assistance to them in their present embarrassments."

There was, however, so much business in Parliament just then, that it was
impossible to obtain immediately the desired interviews.

On the 20th, Ortel and De Gryze had another interview with Walsingham at
the Palace of Greenwich. The Secretary expressed the warmest and most
sincere affection for the Provinces, and advised that one of the two
envoys should set forth at once for home in order to declare to the
States, without loss of time, her Majesty's good inclination to assume
the protection of the land, together with the maintenance of the reformed
religion and the ancient privileges. Not that she was seeking her own
profit, or wished to obtain that sovereignty which had just been offered
to another of the contrary religion, but in order to make manifest her
affectionate solicitude to preserve the Protestant faith and to support
her old allies and neighbours. Nevertheless, as she could not assume this
protectorate without embarking in a dangerous war with the King of Spain,
in which she would not only be obliged to spend the blood of her
subjects, but also at least two millions of gold, there was the more
reason that the States should give her certain cities as security. Those
cities would be held by certain of her gentlemen, nominated thereto, of
quality, credit, and religion, at the head of good, true, and well-paid
garrisons, who should make oath never to surrender them to the King of
Spain or to any one else without consent of the States. The Provinces
were also reciprocally to bind themselves by oath to make no treaty with
the King, without the advice and approval of her Majesty. It was likewise
thoroughly to be understood that such cautionary towns should be restored
to the States so soon as payment should be made of all moneys advanced
during the war.

Next day the envoys had an interview with the Earl of Leicester, whom
they found as amicably disposed towards their cause as Secretary
Walsingham had been. "Her Majesty," said the Earl, "is excessively
indignant with the King of France, that he should so long have abused the
Provinces, and at last have dismissed their deputies so contemptuously.
Nevertheless," he continued, "'tis all your own fault to have placed your
hopes so entirely upon him as to entirely forget other princes, and more
especially her Majesty. Notwithstanding all that has passed, however, I
find her fully determined to maintain the cause of the Provinces. For my
own part, I am ready to stake my life, estates, and reputation, upon this
issue, and to stand side by side with other gentlemen in persuading her
Majesty to do her utmost for the assistance of your country."

He intimated however, as Walsingham had done, that the matter of
cautionary towns would prove an indispensable condition, and recommended
that one of the two envoys should proceed homeward at once, in order to
procure, as speedily as possible, the appointment of an embassy for that
purpose to her Majesty. "They must bring full powers," said the Earl, "to
give her the necessary guarantees, and make a formal demand for
protection; for it would be unbecoming, and against her reputation, to be
obliged to present herself, unsought by the other party."

In conclusion, after many strong expressions of good-will, Leicester
promised to meet them next day at court, where he would address the Queen
personally on the subject, and see that they spoke with her as well.
Meantime he sent one of his principal gentlemen to keep company with the
envoys, and make himself useful to them. This personage, being "of good
quality and a member of Parliament," gave them much useful information,
assuring them that there was a strong feeling in England in favour of the
Netherlands, and that the matter had been very vigorously taken up in the
national legislature. That assembly had been strongly encouraging her
Majesty boldly to assume the protectorate, and had manifested a
willingness to assist her with the needful. "And if," said he, "one
subsidy should not be enough, she shall have three, four, five, or six,
or as much as may be necessary."

The same day, the envoys had an interview with Lord Treasurer Burghley,
who held the same language as Walsingham and Leicester had done. "The
Queen, to his knowledge," he said, "was quite ready to assume the
protectorate; but it was necessary that it should be formally offered,
with the necessary guarantees, and that without further loss of time."

On the 22nd March, according to agreement, Ortel and De Gryze went to the
court at Greenwich. While waiting there for the Queen, who had ridden out
into the country, they had more conversation with Walsingham, whom they
found even more energetically disposed in their favour than ever, and who
assured them that her Majesty was quite ready to assume the protectorate
so soon as offered. "Within a month," he said, "after the signing of a
treaty, the troops would be on the spot, under command of such a
personage of quality and religion as would be highly satisfactory." While
they were talking, the Queen rode into the court-yard, accompanied by the
Earl of Leicester and other gentlemen. Very soon afterwards the envoys
were summoned to her presence, and allowed to recommend the affairs of
the Provinces to her consideration. She lamented the situation of their
country, and in a few words expressed her inclination to render
assistance, provided the States would manifest full confidence in her.
They replied by offering to take instant measures to gratify all her
demands, so soon as those demands should be made known; and the Queen
finding herself surrounded by so many gentlemen and by a crowd of people,
appointed them accordingly to come to her private apartments the same
afternoon.

At that interview none were present save Walsingham and Lord Chamberlain
Howard. The Queen showed herself "extraordinarily resolute" to take up
the affairs of the Provinces. "She had always been sure," she said, "that
the French negotiation would have no other issue than the one which they
had just seen. She was fully aware what a powerful enemy she was about to
make--one who could easily create mischief for her in Scotland and
Ireland; but she was nevertheless resolved, if the States chose to deal
with her frankly and generously, to take them under her protection. She
assured the envoys that if a deputation with full powers and reasonable
conditions should be immediately sent to her, she would not delay and
dally with them, as had been the case in France, but would despatch them
back again at the speediest, and would make her good inclination manifest
by deeds as well as words. As she was hazarding her treasure together
with the blood and repose of her subjects, she was not at liberty to do
this except on receipt of proper securities."

Accordingly De Gryze went to the Provinces, provided with complimentary
and affectionate letters from the Queen, while Ortel remained in England.
So far all was plain and above-board; and Walsingham, who, from the
first, had been warmly in favour of taking up the Netherland cause, was
relieved by being able to write in straightforward language. Stealthy and
subtle, where the object was to get within the guard of an enemy who
menaced a mortal blow, he was, both by nature and policy, disposed to
deal frankly with those he called his friends.

"Monsieur de Gryze repaireth presently," he wrote to Davison, "to try if
he can induce the States to send their deputies hither, furnished with
more ample instructions than they had to treat with the French King,
considering that her Majesty carryeth another manner of princely
disposition than that sovereign. Meanwhile, for that she doubteth lest in
this hard estate of their affairs, and the distrust they have conceived
to be relieved from hence, they should from despair throw themselves into
the course of Spain, her pleasure therefore is--though by Burnham I sent
you directions to put them in comfort of relief, only as of
yourself--that you shall now, as it were, in her name, if you see cause
sufficient, assure some of the aptest instruments that you shall make
choice of for that purpose, that her Majesty, rather than that they
should perish, will be content to take them under her protection."

He added that it was indispensable for the States, upon their part, to
offer "such sufficient cautions and assurances as she might in reason
demand."

Matters were so well managed that by the 22nd April the States-General
addressed a letter to the Queen, in which they notified her, that the
desired deputation was on the point of setting forth. "Recognizing," they
said, "that there is no prince or potentate to whom they are more obliged
than they are to your Majesty, we are about to request you very humbly to
accept the sovereignty of these Provinces, and the people of the same for
your very humble vassals and subjects." They added that, as the necessity
of the case was great, they hoped the Queen would send, so soon as might
be, a force of four or five thousand men for the purpose of relieving the
siege of Antwerp.

A similar letter was despatched by the same courier to the Earl of
Leicester.

On the 1st of May, Ortel had audience of the Queen, to deliver the
letters from the States-General. He found that despatches, very
encouraging and agreeable in their tenor, had also just arrived from
Davison. The Queen was in good humour. She took the letter from Ortel,
read it attentively, and paused a good while. Then she assured him that
her good affection towards the Provinces was not in the least changed,
and that she thanked the States for the confidence in her that they were
manifesting. "It is unnecessary," said the Queen, "for me to repeat over
and over again sentiments which I have so plainly declared. You are to
assure the States that they shall never be disappointed in the trust that
they have reposed in my good intentions. Let them deal with me sincerely,
and without holding open any back-door. Not that I am seeking the
sovereignty of the Provinces, for I wish only to maintain their
privileges and ancient liberties, and to defend them in this regard
against all the world. Let them ripely consider, then, with what fidelity
I am espousing their cause, and how, without fear of any one, I am
arousing most powerful enemies."

Ortel had afterwards an interview with Leicester, in which the Earl
assured him that her Majesty had not in the least changed in her
sentiments towards the Provinces. "For myself," said he, "I am ready, if
her Majesty choose to make use of me, to go over there in person, and to
place life, property, and all the assistance I can gain from my friends,
upon the issue. Yea, with so good a heart, that I pray the Lord may be
good to me, only so far as I serve faithfully in this cause." He added a
warning that the deputies to be appointed should come with absolute
powers, in order that her Majesty's bountiful intentions might not be
retarded by their own fault.

Ortel then visited Walsingham at his house, Barn-Elms, where he was
confined by illness. Sir Francis assured the envoy that he would use
every effort, by letter to her Majesty and by verbal instructions to his
son-in-law, Sir Philip Sidney, to further the success of the negotiation,
and that he deeply regretted his enforced absence from the court on so
important an occasion.

Matters were proceeding most favourably, and the all-important point of
sending an auxiliary force of Englishmen to the relief of Antwerp--before
it should be too late, and in advance of the final conclusion of the
treaty between the countries-had been nearly conceded. Just at that
moment, however, "as ill-luck would have it," said Ortel, "came a letter
from Gilpin. I don't think he meant it in malice, but the effect was most
pernicious. He sent the information that a new attack was to be made by
the 10th May upon the Kowenstyn, that it was sure to be successful, and
that the siege of Antwerp was as good as raised. So Lord Burghley
informed me, in presence of Lord Leicester, that her Majesty was
determined to await the issue of this enterprise. It was quite too late
to get troops in readiness; to co-operate with the States' army, so soon
as the 10th May, and as Antwerp was so sure to be relieved, there was no
pressing necessity for haste. I uttered most bitter complaints to these
lords and to other counsellors of the Queen, that she should thus draw
back, on account of a letter from a single individual, without paying
sufficient heed to the despatches from the States-General, who certainly
knew their own affairs and their own necessities better than any one else
could do, but her Majesty sticks firm to her resolution."

Here were immense mistakes committed on all sides. The premature shooting
up of those three rockets from the cathedral-tower, on the unlucky 10th
May, had thus not only ruined the first assault against the Kowenstyn,
but also the second and the more promising adventure. Had the four
thousand bold Englishmen there enlisted, and who could have reached the
Provinces in time to cooperate in that great enterprise, have stood side
by side with the Hollanders, the Zeelanders, and the Antwerpers, upon
that fatal dyke, it is almost a certainty that Antwerp would have been
relieved, and the whole of Flanders and Brabant permanently annexed to
the independent commonwealth, which would have thus assumed at once most
imposing proportions.

It was a great blunder of Sainte Aldegonde to station in the cathedral,
on so important an occasion, watchmen in whose judgment he could not
thoroughly rely. It was a blunder in Gilpin, intelligent as he generally
showed himself, to write in such sanguine style before the event. But it
was the greatest blunder of all for Queen Elizabeth to suspend her
cooperation at the very instant when, as the result showed, it was likely
to prove most successful. It was a chapter of blunders from first to
last, but the most fatal of all the errors was the one thus prompted by
the great Queen's most traitorous characteristic, her obstinate
parsimony.

And now began a series of sharp chafferings on both sides, not very much
to the credit of either party. The kingdom of England, and the rebellious
Provinces of Spain, were drawn to each other by an irresistible law of
political attraction. Their absorption into each other seemed natural and
almost inevitable; and the weight of the strong Protestant organism, had
it been thus completed, might have balanced the great Catholic League
which was clustering about Spain.

It was unfortunate that the two governments of England and the
Netherlands should now assume the attitude of traders driving a hard
bargain with each other, rather than that of two important commonwealths,
upon whose action, at that momentous epoch, the weal and wo of
Christendom was hanging. It is quite true that the danger to England was
great, but that danger in any event was to be confronted--Philip was to
be defied, and, by assuming the cause of the Provinces to be her own,
which it unquestionably was, Elizabeth was taking the diadem from her
head--as the King of Sweden well observed--and adventuring it upon the
doubtful chance of war. Would it not have been better then--her mind
being once made up--promptly to accept all the benefits, as well as all
the hazards, of the bold game to which she was of necessity a party? But
she could not yet believe in the incredible meanness of Henry III. "I
asked her Majesty" (3rd May, 1585), said Ortel, "whether, in view of
these vast preparations in France, it did not behove her to be most
circumspect and upon her guard. For, in the opinion of many men,
everything showed one great scheme already laid down--a general
conspiracy throughout Christendom against the reformed religion. She
answered me, that thus far she could not perceive this to be the case;
'nor could she believe,' she said, 'that the King of France could be so
faint-hearted as to submit to such injuries from the Guises.'"

Time was very soon to show the nature of that unhappy monarch with regard
to injuries, and to prove to Elizabeth the error she had committed in
doubting his faint-heartedness. Meanwhile, time was passing, and the
Netherlands were shivering in the storm. They, needed the open sunshine
which her caution kept too long behind the clouds. For it was now
enjoined upon Walsingham to manifest a coldness upon the part of the
English government towards the States. Davison was to be allowed to
return; "but," said Sir Francis, "her Majesty would not have you
accompany the commissioners who are coming from the Low Countries; but to
come over, either before them or after them, lest it be thought they come
over by her Majesty's procurement."

As if they were not coming over by her Majesty's most especial
procurement, and as if it would matter to Philip--the union once made
between England and Holland--whether the invitation to that union came
first from the one party or the other!

"I am retired for my health from the court to mine own house," said
Walsingham, "but I find those in whose judgment her Majesty reposeth
greatest trust so coldly affected unto the cause, as I have no great hope
of the matter; and yet, for that the hearts of princes are in the hands
of God, who both can will and dispose them at his pleasure, I would be
loath to hinder the repair of the commissioners."

Here certainly, had the sun gone most suddenly into a cloud. Sir Francis
would be loath to advise the commissioners to stay at home, but he
obviously thought them coming on as bootless an errand as that which had
taken their colleagues so recently into France.

The cause of the trouble was Flushing. Hence the tears, and the coldness,
and the scoldings, on the part of the imperious and the economical Queen.
Flushing was the patrimony--a large portion of that which was left to
him--of Count Maurice. It was deeply mortgaged for the payment of the
debts of William the Silent, but his son Maurice, so long as the elder
brother Philip William remained a captive in Spain, wrote himself Marquis
of Flushing and Kampveer, and derived both revenue and importance from
his rights in that important town. The States of Zeeland, while desirous
of a political fusion of the two countries, were averse from the prospect
of converting, by exception, their commercial, capital into an English
city, the remainder of the Provinces remaining meanwhile upon their
ancient footing. The negociations on the subject caused a most ill-timed
delay. The States finding the English government cooling, affected to
grow tepid themselves. This was the true mercantile system, perhaps, for
managing a transaction most thriftily, but frankness and promptness would
have been more statesmanlike at such a juncture.

"I am sorry to understand," wrote Walsingham, "that the States are not
yet grown to a full resolution for the delivering of the town of Flushing
into her Majesty's hands. The Queen finding the people of that island so
wavering and inconstant, besides that they can hardly, after the so long
enjoying a popular liberty, bear a regal authority, would be loath to
embark herself into so dangerous a war without some sufficient caution
received from them. It is also greatly to be doubted, that if, by
practice and corruption, that town might be recovered by the Spaniards,
it would put all the rest of the country in peril. I find her Majesty, in
case that town may be gotten, fully resolved to receive them into her
protection, so as it may also be made probable unto her that the promised
three hundred thousand guilders the month will be duly paid."

A day or two after writing this letter, Walsingham sent one afternoon, in
a great hurry, for Ortel, and informed him very secretly, that, according
to information just received, the deputies from the States were coming
without sufficient authority in regard to this very matter. Thus all the
good intentions of the English government were likely to be frustrated,
and the Provinces to be reduced to direful extremity.

"What can we possibly advise her Majesty to do?" asked Walsingham, "since
you are not willing to put confidence in her intentions. You are trying
to bring her into a public war, in which she is to risk her treasure and
the blood of her subjects against the greatest potentates of the world,
and you hesitate meantime at giving her such security as is required for
the very defence of the Provinces themselves. The deputies are coming
hither to offer the sovereignty to her Majesty, as was recently done in
France, or, if that should not prove acceptable, they are to ask
assistance in men and money upon a mere 'taliter qualiter' guaranty.
That's not the way. And there are plenty of ill-disposed persons here to
take advantage of this position of affairs to ruin the interest of the
Provinces now placed on so good a footing. Moreover, in this perpetual
sending of despatches back and forth, much precious time is consumed; and
this is exactly what our enemies most desire."

In accordance with Walsingham's urgent suggestions, Ortel wrote at once
to his constituents, imploring them to remedy this matter. Do not allow,"
he said, any, more time to be wasted. Let us not painfully, build a wall
only to knock our own heads against it, to the dismay of our friends and
the gratification of our enemies."

It was at last arranged that an important blank should be left in the
articles to be brought by the deputies, upon which vacant place the names
of certain cautionary towns, afterwards to be agreed upon, were to be
inscribed by common consent.

Meantime the English ministers were busy in preparing to receive the
commissioners, and to bring the Netherland matter handsomely before the
legislature.

The integrity, the caution, the thrift, the hesitation, which
characterized Elizabeth's government, were well pourtrayed in the
habitual language of the Lord Treasurer, chief minister of a third-rate
kingdom now called on to play a first-rate part, thoroughly acquainted
with the moral and intellectual power of the nation whose policy he
directed, and prophetically conscious of the great destinies which were
opening upon her horizon. Lord Burghley could hardly be censured--least
of all ridiculed--for the patient and somewhat timid attributes of his
nature: The ineffable ponderings, which might now be ludicrous, on the
part of a minister of the British Empire, with two hundred millions of
subjects and near a hundred millions of revenue, were almost inevitable
in a man guiding a realm of four millions of people with half a million
of income.

It was, on the whole, a strange negotiation, this between England and
Holland. A commonwealth had arisen, but was unconscious of the strength
which it was to find in the principle of states' union, and of religious
equality. It sought, on the contrary, to exchange its federal sovereignty
for provincial dependence, and to imitate, to a certain extent, the very
intolerance by which it had been driven into revolt. It was not unnatural
that the Netherlanders should hate the Roman Catholic religion, in the
name of which they had endured such infinite tortures, but it is,
nevertheless, painful to observe that they requested Queen Elizabeth,
whom they styled defender, not of "the faith" but of the "reformed
religion," to exclude from the Provinces, in case she accepted the
sovereignty, the exercise of all religious rites except those belonging
to the reformed church. They, however, expressly provided against
inquisition into conscience. Private houses were to be sacred, the,
papists free within their own walls, but the churches were to be closed
to those of the ancient faith. This was not so bad as to hang, burn,
drown, and bury alive nonconformists, as had been done by Philip and the
holy inquisition in the name of the church of Rome; nor is it very
surprising that the horrible past should have caused that church to be
regarded with sentiments of such deep-rooted hostility as to make the
Hollanders shudder at the idea of its re-establishment. Yet, no doubt, it
was idle for either Holland or England, at that day, to talk of a
reconciliation with Rome. A step had separated them, but it was a step
from a precipice. No human power could bridge the chasm. The steep
contrast between the league and the counter-league, between the systems
of Philip and Mucio, and that of Elizabeth and Olden-Barneveld, ran
through the whole world of thought, action, and life.

But still the negociation between Holland and England was a strange one.
Holland wished to give herself entirely, and England feared to accept.
Elizabeth, in place of sovereignty, wanted mortgages; while Holland was
afraid to give a part, although offering the whole. There was no great
inequality between the two countries. Both were instinctively conscious,
perhaps, of standing on the edge of a vast expansion. Both felt that they
were about to stretch their wings suddenly for a flight over the whole
earth. Yet each was a very inferior power, in comparison with the great
empires of the past or those which then existed.

It is difficult, without a strong effort of the imagination, to reduce
the English empire to the slender proportions which belonged to her in
the days of Elizabeth. That epoch was full of light and life. The
constellations which have for centuries been shining in the English
firmament were then human creatures walking English earth. The captains,
statesmen, corsairs, merchant-adventurers, poets, dramatists, the great
Queen herself, the Cecils, Raleigh, Walsingham, Drake, Hawkins, Gilbert,
Howard, Willoughby, the Norrises, Essex, Leicester, Sidney, Spenser,
Shakspeare and the lesser but brilliant lights which surrounded him; such
were the men who lifted England upon an elevation to which she was not
yet entitled by her material grandeur. At last she had done with Rome,
and her expansion dated from that moment.

Holland and England, by the very condition of their existence, were sworn
foes to Philip. Elizabeth stood excommunicated of the Pope. There was
hardly a month in which intelligence was not sent by English agents out
of the Netherlands and France, that assassins, hired by Philip, were
making their way to England to attempt the life of the Queen. The
Netherlanders were rebels to the Spanish monarch, and they stood, one and
all, under death-sentence by Rome. The alliance was inevitable and
wholesome. Elizabeth was, however, consistently opposed to the acceptance
of a new sovereignty. England was a weak power. Ireland was at her side
in a state of chronic rebellion--a stepping-stone for Spain in its
already foreshadowed invasion. Scotland was at her back with a strong
party of Catholics, stipendiaries of Philip, encouraged by the Guises and
periodically inflamed to enthusiasm by the hope of rescuing Mary Stuart
from her imprisonment, bringing her rival's head to the block, and
elevating the long-suffering martyr upon the throne of all the British
Islands. And in the midst of England itself, conspiracies were weaving
every day. The mortal duel between the two queens was slowly approaching
its termination. In the fatal form of Mary was embodied everything most
perilous to England's glory and to England's Queen. Mary Stuart meant
absolutism at home, subjection to Rome and Spain abroad. The uncle Guises
were stipendiaries of Philip, Philip was the slave of the Pope. Mucio had
frightened the unlucky Henry III. into submission, and there was no
health nor hope in France. For England, Mary Stuart embodied the possible
relapse into sloth, dependence, barbarism. For Elizabeth, Mary Stuart
embodied sedition, conspiracy, rebellion, battle, murder, and sudden
death.

It was not to be wondered at that the Queen thus situated should be
cautious, when about throwing down the gauntlet to the greatest powers of
the earth. Yet the commissioners from the United States were now on their
way to England to propose the throwing of that gauntlet. What now was
that England?

Its population was, perhaps, not greater than the numbers which dwell
to-day within its capital and immediate suburbs. Its revenue was perhaps
equal to the sixtieth part of the annual interest on the present national
debt. Single, highly-favoured individuals, not only in England but in
other countries cis-and trans-Atlantic, enjoy incomes equal to more than
half the amount of Elizabeth's annual budget. London, then containing
perhaps one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, was hardly so
imposing a town as Antwerp, and was inferior in most material respects to
Paris and Lisbon. Forty-two hundred children were born every year within
its precincts, and the deaths were nearly as many. In plague years, which
were only too frequent, as many as twenty and even thirty thousand people
had been annually swept away.

At the present epoch there are seventeen hundred births every week, and
about one thousand deaths.

It is instructive to throw a glance at the character of the English
people as it appeared to intelligent foreigners at that day; for the
various parts of the world were not then so closely blended, nor did
national colours and characteristics flow so liquidly into each other, as
is the case in these days of intimate juxta-position.

"The English are a very clever, handsome, and well-made people," says a
learned Antwerp historian and merchant, who had resided a long time in
London, "but, like all islanders, by nature weak and tender. They are
generally fair, particularly the women, who all--even to the peasant
women--protect their complexions from the sun with fans and veils, as
only the stately gentlewomen do in Germany and the Netherlands. As a
people they are stout-hearted, vehement, eager, cruel in war, zealous in
attack, little fearing: death; not revengeful, but fickle, presumptuous,
rash, boastful, deceitful, very suspicious, especially of strangers, whom
they despise. They are full of courteous and hypocritical gestures and
words, which they consider to imply good manners, civility, and wisdom.
They are well spoken, and very hospitable. They feed well, eating much
meat, which-owing to the rainy climate and the ranker character of the
grass--is not so firm and succulent as the meat of France and the
Netherlands. The people are not so laborious as the French and
Hollanders, preferring to lead an indolent life, like the Spaniards. The
most difficult and ingenious of the handicrafts are in the hands of
foreigners, as is the case with the lazy inhabitants of Spain. They feed
many sheep, with fine wool, from which, two hundred years ago, they
learned to make cloth. They keep many idle servants, and many wild
animals for their pleasure, instead of cultivating the sail. They have
many ships, but they do not even catch fish enough for their own
consumption, but purchase of their neighbours. They dress very elegantly.
Their costume is light and costly, but they are very changeable and
capricious, altering their fashions every year, both the men and the
women. When they go away from home, riding or travelling, they always
wear their best clothes, contrary to the habit of other nations. The
English language is broken Dutch, mixed with French and British terms and
words, but with a lighter pronunciation. They do not speak from the
chest, like the Germans, but prattle only with the tongue."

Here are few statistical facts, but certainly it is curious to see how
many national traits thus photographed by a contemporary, have quite
vanished, and have been exchanged for their very opposites. Certainly the
last physiological criticism of all would indicate as great a national
metamorphosis, during the last three centuries, as is offered by many
other of the writer's observations.

"With regard to the women," continues the same authority, "they are
entirely in the power of the men, except in matters of life and death,
yet they are not kept so closely and strictly as in Spain and elsewhere.
They are not locked up, but have free management of their household, like
the Netherlanders and their other neighbours. They are gay in their
clothing, taking well their ease, leaving house-work to the
servant-maids, and are fond of sitting, finely-dressed, before their
doors to see the passers-by and to be seen of them. In all banquets and
dinner-parties they have the most honour, sitting at the upper end of the
board, and being served first.

"Their time is spent in riding, lounging, card-playing, and making merry
with their gossips at child-bearings, christenings, churchings, and
buryings; and all this conduct the men wink at, because such are the
customs of the land. They much commend however the industry and careful
habits of the German and Netherland women, who do the work which in
England devolves upon the men. Hence, England is called the paradise of
married women, for the unmarried girls are kept much more strictly than
upon the continent. The women are, handsome, white, dressy, modest;
although they go freely about the streets without bonnet, hood, or veil;
but lately learned to cover their faces with a silken mask or vizard with
a plumage of feathers, for they change their fashions every year, to the
astonishment of many."

Paul Hentzner, a tourist from Germany at precisely the same epoch,
touches with equal minuteness on English characteristics. It may be
observed, that, with some discrepancies, there is also much similarity,
in the views of the two critics.

"The English," says the whimsical Paul, are serious, like the Germans,
lovers of show, liking to be followed, wherever they go, by troops of
servants, who wear their master's arms, in silver, fastened to their left
sleeves, and are justly ridiculed for wearing tails hanging down their
backs. They excel in dancing and music, for they are active and lively,
although they are of thicker build than the Germans. They cut their hair
close on the forehead, letting it hang down on either side. They are good
sailors, and better pirates, cunning, treacherous, thievish. Three
hundred and upwards are hanged annually in London. Hawking is the
favourite sport of the nobility. The English are more polite in eating
than the French, devouring less bread, but more meat, which they roast in
perfection. They put a great deal of sugar in their drink. Their beds are
covered with tapestry, even those of farmers. They are powerful in the
field, successful against their enemies, impatient of anything like
slavery, vastly fond of great ear-filling noises, such as cannon-firing,
drum-beating, and bell-ringing; so that it is very common for a number of
them, when they have got a cup too much in their heads, to go up to some
belfry, and ring the bells for an hour together, for the sake of the
amusement. If they see a foreigner very well made or particularly
handsome, they will say "'tis pity he is not an Englishman."

It is also somewhat amusing, at the present day, to find a German
elaborately explaining to his countrymen the mysteries of
tobacco-smoking, as they appeared to his unsophisticated eyes in England.
"At the theatres and everywhere else," says the traveller, "the English
are constantly smoking tobacco in the following manner. They have pipes,
made on purpose, of clay. At the further end of these is a bowl. Into the
bowl they put the herb, and then setting fire to it, they draw the smoke
into their mouths, which they puff out again through their nostrils, like
funnels," and so on; conscientious explanations which a German tourist of
our own times might think it superfluous to offer to his compatriots.

It is also instructive to read that the light-fingered gentry of the
metropolis were nearly as adroit in their calling as they are at present,
after three additional centuries of development for their delicate craft;
for the learned Tobias Salander, the travelling companion of Paul
Hentzner, finding himself at a Lord Mayor's Show, was eased of his purse,
containing nine crowns, as skilfully as the feat could have been done by
the best pickpocket of the nineteenth century, much to that learned
person's discomfiture.

Into such an England and among such English the Netherland envoys had now
been despatched on their most important errand.

After twice putting back, through stress of weather, the commissioners,
early in July, arrived at London, and were "lodged and very worshipfully
appointed at charges of her Majesty in the Clothworkers' Hall in
Pynchon-lane, near Tower-street." About the Tower and its faubourgs the
buildings were stated to be as elegant as they were in the city itself,
although this was hardly very extravagant commendation. From this
district a single street led along the river's strand to Westminster,
where were the old and new palaces, the famous hall and abbey, the
Parliament chambers, and the bridge to Southwark, built of stone, with
twenty arches, sixty feet high, and with rows of shops and
dwelling-houses on both its sides. Thence, along the broad and beautiful
river, were dotted here and there many stately mansions and villas,
residences of bishops and nobles, extending farther and farther west as
the city melted rapidly into the country. London itself was a town lying
high upon a hill--the hill of Lud--and consisted of a coil of narrow,
tortuous, unseemly streets, each with a black, noisome rivulet running
through its centre, and with rows of three-storied, leaden-roofed houses,
built of timber-work filled in with lime, with many gables, and with the
upper stories overhanging and darkening the basements. There were one
hundred and twenty-one churches, small and large, the most conspicuous of
which was the Cathedral. Old Saint Paul's was not a very magnificent
edifice--but it was an extremely large one, for it was seven hundred and
twenty feet long, one hundred and thirty broad, and had a massive
quadrangular tower, two hundred and sixty feet high. Upon this tower had
stood a timber-steeple, rising, to a height of five hundred and
thirty-four feet from the ground, but it had been struck by lightning in
the year 1561, and consumed to the stone-work.

The Queen's favourite residence was Greenwich Palace, the place of her
birth, and to this mansion, on the 9th of July, the Netherland envoys
were conveyed, in royal barges, from the neighbourhood of Pynchon-lane,
for their first audience.

The deputation was a strong one. There was Falck of Zeeland, a man of
consummate adroitness, perhaps not of as satisfactory integrity; "a
shrewd fellow and a fine," as Lord Leicester soon afterwards
characterised him. There was Menin, pensionary of Dort, an eloquent and
accomplished orator, and employed on this occasion as chief spokesman of
the legation--"a deeper man, and, I think, an honester," said the same
personage, adding, with an eye to business, "and he is but poor, which
you must consider, but with great secrecy." There was Paul Buys, whom we
have met with before; keen, subtle, somewhat loose of life, very
passionate, a most most energetic and valuable friend to England, a
determined foe to France, who had resigned the important post of
Holland's Advocate, when the mission offering sovereignty to Henry III.
had been resolved upon, and who had since that period been most
influential in procuring the present triumph of the English policy.
Through his exertions the Province of Holland had been induced at an
early moment to furnish the most ample instructions to the commissioners
for the satisfaction of Queen Elizabeth in the great matter of the
mortgages. "Judge if this Paul Buys has done his work well," said a
French agent in the Netherlands, who, despite the infamous conduct of his
government towards the Provinces, was doing his best to frustrate the
subsequent negotiation with England, "and whether or no he has Holland
under his thumb." The same individual had conceived hopes from Falck of
Zeeland. That Province, in which lay the great bone of contention between
the Queen and the States--the important town of Flushing--was much slower
than Holland to agree to the English policy. It is to be feared that
Falck was not the most ingenuous and disinterested politician that could
be found even in an age not distinguished for frankness or purity; for
even while setting forth upon the mission to Elizabeth, he was still
clingihg, or affecting to cling, to the wretched delusion of French
assistance. "I regret infinitely," said Falck to the French agent just
mentioned, "that I am employed in this affair, and that it is necessary
in our present straits to have recourse to England. There is--so to
speak--not a person in our Province that is inclined that way, all
recognizing very well that France is much more salutary for us, besides
that we all bear her a certain affection. Indeed, if I were assured that
the King still felt any goodwill towards us, I would so manage matters
that neither the Queen of England, nor any other prince whatever except
his most Christian-Majesty should take a bite at this country, at least
at this Province, and with that view, while waiting for news from France,
I will keep things in suspense, and spin them out as long as it is
possible to do."

The news from France happened soon to be very conclusive, and it then
became difficult even for Falek to believe--after intelligence received
of the accord between Henry III. and the Guises--that his Christian
Majesty, would be inclined for a bite at the Netherlands. This duplicity
on the part of so leading a personage furnishes a key to much of the
apparent dilatoriness on the part of the English government: It has been
seen that Elizabeth, up to the last moment, could not fairly comprehend
the ineffable meanness of the French monarch. She told Ortel that she saw
no reason to believe in that great Catholic conspiracy against herself
and against all Protestantism which was so soon to be made public by the
King's edict of July, promulgated at the very instant of the arrival in
England of the Netherland envoys. Then that dread fiat had gone forth,
the most determined favourer of the French alliance could no longer admit
its possibility, and Falck became the more open to that peculiar line of
argument which Leicester had suggested with regard to one of the other
deputies. "I will do my best," wrote Walsingham, "to procure that Paul
Buys and Falck shall receive underhand some reward."

Besides Menin, Falck, and Buys, were Noel de Caron, an experienced
diplomatist; the poet-soldier, Van der Does; heroic defender of Leyden;
De Gryze, Hersolte, Francis Maalzoon, and three legal Frisians of pith
and substance, Feitsma, Aisma, and Jongema; a dozen Dutchmen together--as
muscular champions as ever little republic sent forth to wrestle with all
comers in the slippery ring of diplomacy. For it was instinctively felt
that here were conclusions to be tried with a nation of deep, solid
thinkers, who were aware that a great crisis in the world's history had
occurred, and would put forth their most substantial men to deal with it:
Burghley and Walsingham, the great Queen herself, were no feather-weights
like the frivolous Henry III., and his minions. It was pity, however,
that the discussions about to ensue presented from the outset rather the
aspect of a hard hitting encounter of antagonists than that of a frank
and friendly congress between two great parties whose interests were
identical.

Since the death of William the Silent, there was no one individual in the
Netherlands to impersonate the great struggle of the Provinces with Spain
and Rome, and to concentrate upon his own head a poetical, dramatic, and
yet most legitimate interest. The great purpose of the present history
must be found in its illustration of the creative power of civil and
religious freedom. Here was a little republic, just born into the world,
suddenly bereft of its tutelary saint, left to its own resources, yet
already instinct with healthy vigorous life, and playing its difficult
part among friends and enemies with audacity, self-reliance, and success.
To a certain extent its achievements were anonymous, but a great
principle manifested itself through a series of noble deeds. Statesmen,
soldiers, patriots, came forward on all sides to do the work which was to
be done, and those who were brought into closest contact with the
commonwealth acknowledged in strongest language the signal ability with
which, self-guided, she steered her course. Nevertheless, there was at
this moment one Netherlander, the chief of the present mission to
England, already the foremost statesman of his country, whose name will
not soon be effaced from the record of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. That man was John of Olden-Barneveld.

He was now in his thirty-eighth year, having been born at Amersfoot on
the 14th of September, 1547. He bore an imposing name, for the
Olden-Barnevelds of Gelderland were a race of unquestionable and antique
nobility. His enemies, however, questioned his right to the descent which
he claimed. They did not dispute that the great grandfather, Class van
Olden-Barneveld, was of distinguished lineage and allied to many
illustrious houses, but they denied that Class was really the great
grandfather of John. John's father, Gerritt, they said, was a nameless
outcast, a felon, a murderer, who had escaped the punishment due to his
crimes, but had dragged out a miserable existence in the downs, burrowing
like a rabbit in the sand. They had also much to say in disparagement of
all John's connections. Not only was his father a murderer, but his wife,
whom he had married for money, was the child of a most horrible incest,
his sisters were prostitutes, his sons and brothers were debauchees and
drunkards, and, in short, never had a distinguished man a more
uncomfortable and discreditable family-circle than that which surrounded
Barneveld, if the report of his enemies was to be believed. Yet it is
agreeable to reflect that, with all the venom which they had such power
of secreting, these malignant tongues had been unable to destroy the
reputation of the man himself. John's character was honourable and
upright, his intellectual power not disputed even by those who at a later
period hated him the most bitterly. He had been a profound and
indefatigable student from his earliest youth. He had read law at Leyden,
in France, at Heidelberg. Here, in the head-quarters of German Calvinism,
his youthful mind had long pondered the dread themes of foreknowledge,
judgment absolute, free will, and predestination: To believe it worth the
while of a rational and intelligent Deity to create annually several
millions of thinking beings, who were to struggle for a brief period on
earth, and to consume in perpetual brimstone afterwards, while others
were predestined to endless enjoyment, seemed to him an indifferent
exchange for a faith in the purgatory and paradise of Rome. Perplexed in
the extreme, the youthful John bethought himself of an inscription over
the gateway of his famous but questionable great grandfather's house at
Amersfort--'nil scire tutissima fides.' He resolved thenceforth to adopt
a system of ignorance upon matters beyond the flaming walls of the world;
to do the work before him manfully and faithfully while he walked the
earth, and to trust that a benevolent Creator would devote neither him
nor any other man to eternal hellfire. For this most offensive doctrine
he was howled at by the strictly pious, while he earned still deeper
opprobrium by daring to advocate religious toleration: In face of the
endless horrors inflicted by the Spanish Inquisition upon his native
land, he had the hardihood--although a determined Protestant himself--to
claim for Roman Catholics the right to exercise their religion in the
free States on equal terms with those of the reformed faith. "Anyone,"
said his enemies, "could smell what that meant who had not a wooden
nose." In brief, he was a liberal Christian, both in theory and practice,
and he nobly confronted in consequence the wrath of bigots on both sides.
At a later period the most zealous Calvinists called him Pope John, and
the opinions to which he was to owe such appellations had already been
formed in his mind.

After completing his very thorough legal studies, he had practised as an
advocate in Holland and Zeeland. An early defender of civil and religious
freedom, he had been brought at an early day into contact with William
the Silent, who recognized his ability. He had borne a snap-hance on his
shoulder as a volunteer in the memorable attempt to relieve Haarlem, and
was one of the few survivors of that bloody night. He had stood outside
the walls of Leyden in company of the Prince of Orange when that
magnificent destruction of the dykes had taken place by which the city
had been saved from the fate impending over it. At a still more recent
period we have seen him landing from the gun-boats upon the Kowenstyn, on
the fatal 26th May. These military adventures were, however, but brief
and accidental episodes in his career, which was that of a statesman and
diplomatist. As pensionary of Rotterdam, he was constantly a member of
the General Assembly, and had already begun to guide the policy of the
new commonwealth. His experience was considerable, and he was now in the
high noon of his vigour and his usefulness.

He was a man of noble and imposing presence, with thick hair pushed from
a broad forehead rising dome-like above a square and massive face; a
strong deeply-coloured physiognomy, with shaggy brow, a chill blue eye,
not winning but commanding, high cheek bones, a solid, somewhat scornful
nose, a firm mouth and chin, enveloped in a copious brown beard; the
whole head not unfitly framed in the stiff formal ruff of the period; and
the tall stately figure well draped in magisterial robes of velvet and
sable--such was John of Olden-Barneveld.

The Commissioners thus described arrived at Greenwich Stairs, and were at
once ushered into the palace, a residence which had been much enlarged
and decorated by Henry VIII.

They were received with stately ceremony. The presence-chamber was hung
with Gobelin tapestry, its floor strewn with rushes. Fifty-gentlemen
pensioners, with gilt battle-ages, and a throng of 'buffetiers', or
beef-eaters, in that quaint old-world garb which has survived so many
centuries, were in attendance, while the counsellors of the Queen, in
their robes of state, waited around the throne.

There, in close skull-cap and dark flowing gown, was the subtle,
monastic-looking Walsingham, with long, grave, melancholy face and
Spanish eyes. There too, white staff in hand, was Lord High Treasurer
Burghley, then sixty-five years of age, with serene blue eye, large,
smooth, pale, scarce-wrinkled face and forehead; seeming, with his
placid, symmetrical features, and great velvet bonnet, under which such
silver hairs as remained were soberly tucked away, and with his long dark
robes which swept the ground, more like a dignified gentlewoman than a
statesman, but for the wintery beard which lay like a snow-drift on his
ancient breast.

The Queen was then in the fifty-third year of her age, and considered
herself in the full bloom of her beauty. Her, garments were of satin and
velvet, with fringes of pearl as big as beans. A small gold crown was
upon her head, and her red hair, throughout its multiplicity of curls,
blazed with diamonds and emeralds. Her forehead was tall, her face long,
her complexion fair, her eyes small, dark, and glittering, her nose high
and hooked, her lips thin, her teeth black, her bosom white and liberally
exposed. As she passed through the ante-chamber to the presence-hall,
supplicants presented petitions upon their knees. Wherever she glanced,
all prostrated themselves on the ground. The cry of "Long live Queen
Elizabeth" was spontaneous and perpetual; the reply; "I thank you, my
good people," was constant and cordial. She spoke to various foreigners
in their respective languages, being mistress, besides the Latin and
Greek, of French, Spanish, Italian, and German. As the Commissioners were
presented to her by Lord Buckhurst it was observed that she was
perpetually gloving and ungloving, as if to attract attention to her
hand, which was esteemed a wonder of beauty. She spoke French with purity
and elegance, but with a drawling, somewhat affected accent, saying "Paar
maa foi; paar le Dieeu vivaant," and so forth, in a style which was
ridiculed by Parisians, as she sometimes, to her extreme annoyance,
discovered.

Joos de Menin, pensionary of Dort, in the name of all the envoys, made an
elaborate address. He expressed the gratitude which the States
entertained for her past kindness, and particularly for the good offices
rendered by Ambassador Davison after the death of the Prince of Orange,
and for the deep regret expressed by her Majesty for their disappointment
in the hopes they had founded upon France.

"Since the death of the Prince of Orange," he said, "the States have lost
many important cities, and now, for the preservation of their existence,
they have need of a prince and sovereign lord to defend them against the
tyranny and iniquitous oppression of the Spaniards and their adherents,
who are more and more determined utterly to destroy their country, and
reduce the poor people to a perpetual slavery worse than that of Indians,
under the insupportable and detestable yoke of the Spanish Inquisition.
We have felt a confidence that your Majesty will not choose to see us
perish at the hands of the enemy against whom we have been obliged to
sustain this long and cruel war. That war we have undertaken in order to
preserve for the poor people their liberty, laws, and franchises,
together with the exercise of the true Christian religion, of which your
Majesty bears rightfully the title of defender, and against which the
enemy and his allies have made so many leagues and devised so many
ambushes and stratagems, besides organizing every day so many plots
against the life of your Majesty and the safety of your realms--schemes
which thus far the good God has averted for the good of Christianity and
the maintenance of His churches. For these reasons, Madam, the States
have taken a firm resolution to have recourse to your Majesty, seeing
that it is an ordinary thing for all oppressed nations to apply in their
calamity to neighbouring princes, and especially to such as are endowed
with piety, justice, magnanimity, and other kingly virtues. For this
reason we have been deputed to offer to your Majesty the sovereignty over
these Provinces, under certain good and equitable conditions, having
reference chiefly to the maintenance of the reformed religion and of our
ancient liberties and customs. And although, in the course of these long
and continued wars, the enemy has obtained possession of many cities and
strong places within our couniry, nevertheless the Provinces of Holland,
Zeeland, Utrecht, and Friesland, are, thank God, still entire. And in
those lands are many large and stately cities, beautiful and deep rivers,
admirable seaports, from which your Majesty and your successors can
derive much good fruit and commodity, of which it is scarcely, necessary
to make a long recital. This point, however, beyond the rest, merits a
special consideration; namely, that the conjunction of those Provinces of
Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, and Friesland, together with the cities of
Sluys and Ostend, with the kingdoms of your Majesty, carries with it the
absolute empire of the great ocean, and consequently an assurance of
perpetual felicity for your subjects. We therefore humbly entreat you to
agree to our conditions, to accept the sovereign seignory of these
Provinces, and consequently to receive the people of the same as your
very humble and obedient subjects, under the perpetual safeguard of your
crown--a people certainly as faithful and loving towards their princes
and sovereign lords, to speak without boasting, as any in all
Christendom.

"So doing, Madam, you will preserve many beautiful churches which it has
pleased God to raise up in these lands, now much afflicted and shaken,
and you will deliver this country and people--before the iniquitous
invasion of the Spaniards, so rich and flourishing by the great Commodity
of the sea, their ports and rivers, their commerce and manufactures, for
all which they have such natural advantages--from ruin and perpetual
slavery of body and soul. This will be a truly excellent work, agreeable
to God, profitable to Christianity, worthy of immortal praise, and
comporting with the heroic virtues of your Majesty, and ensuring the
prosperity of your country and people. With this we present to your
Majesty our articles and conditions, and pray that the King of Kings may
preserve you from all your enemies and ever have you in His holy
keeping."

The Queen listened intently and very courteously to the delivery of this
address, and then made answer in French to this effect:--"Gentlemen,--Had
I a thousand tongues I should not be able to express my obligation to you
for the great and handsome offers which you have just made. I firmly
believe that this proceeds from the true zeal, devotion, and affection,
which you have always borne me, and I am certain that you have ever
preferred me to all the princes and potentates in the world. Even when
you selected the late Duke of Anjou, who was so dear to me, and to whose
soul I hope that God has been merciful, I know that you would sooner have
offered your country to me if I had desired that you should do so.
Certainly I esteem it a great thing that you wish to be governed by me,
and I feel so much obliged to you in consequence that I will never
abandon you, but, on the contrary, assist you till the last sigh of my
life. I know very well that your princes have treated you ill, and that
the Spaniards are endeavouring to ruin you entirely; but I will come to
your aid, and I will consider what I can do, consistently with my honour,
in regard to the articles which you have brought me. They shall be
examined by the members of my council, and I promise that I will not keep
you three or four months, for I know very well that your affairs require
haste, and that they will become ruinous if you are not assisted. It is
not my custom to procrastinate, and upon this occasion I shall not dally,
as others have done, but let you have my answer very soon."

Certainly, if the Provinces needed a king, which they had most
unequivocally declared to be the case, they might have wandered the whole
earth over, and, had it been possible, searched through the whole range
of history, before finding a monarch with a more kingly spirit than the
great Queen to whom they had at last had recourse.

Unfortunately, she was resolute in her refusal to accept the offered
sovereignty. The first interview terminated with this exchange of
addresses, and the deputies departed in their barges for their lodgings
in Pynchon-lane.

The next two days were past in perpetual conferences, generally at Lord
Burghley's house, between the envoys and the lords of the council, in
which the acceptance of the sovereignty was vehemently urged on the part
of the Netherlanders, and steadily declined in the name of her Majesty.

"Her Highness," said Burghley, "cannot be induced, by any writing or
harangue that you can make, to accept the principality or proprietorship
as sovereign, and it will therefore be labour lost for you to exhibit any
writing for the purpose of changing her intention. It will be better to
content yourselves with her Majesty's consent to assist you, and to take
you under her protection."

Nevertheless, two days afterwards, a writing was exhibited, drawn up by
Menin, in which another elaborate effort was made to alter the Queen's
determination. This anxiety, on the part of men already the principal
personages in a republic, to merge the independent existence of their
commonwealth in another and a foreign political organism, proved, at any
rate; that they were influenced by patriotic motives alone. It is also
instructive to observe the intense language with which the necessity of a
central paramount sovereignty for all the Provinces, and the
inconveniences of the separate States' right principle were urged by a
deputation, at the head of which stood Olden-Barneveld. "Although it is
not becoming in us," said they, "to enquire into your Majesty's motives
for refusing the sovereignty of our country, nevertheless, we cannot help
observing that your consent would be most profitable, as well to your
Majesty, and your successors, as to the Provinces themselves. By your
acceptance of the sovereignty the two peoples would be, as it were,
united in one body. This would cause a fraternal benevolence between
them, and a single reverence, love, and obedience to your Majesty.--The
two peoples being thus under the government of the same sovereign prince,
the intrigues and practices which the enemy could attempt with persons
under a separate subjection, would of necessity surcease. Moreover, those
Provinces are all distinct duchies, counties, seignories, governed by
their own magistrates, laws, and ordinances; each by itself, without any
authority or command to be exercised by one Province over another. To
this end they have need of a supreme power and of one sovereign prince or
seignor, who may command all equally, having a constant regard to the
public weal--considered as a generality, and not with regard to the
profit of the one or the other individual Province--and, causing promptly
and universally to be executed such ordinances as may be made in the
matter of war or police, according to various emergencies. Each Province,
on the contrary, retaining its sovereignty over its own inhabitants,
obedience will not be so promptly and completely rendered to the commands
of the lieutenant-general of your Majesty, and many, a good enterprise
and opportunity, will be lost. Where there is not a single authority it
is always found that one party endeavours to usurp power over another, or
to escape doing his duty so thoroughly as the others. And this has
notoriously been the case in the matter of contributions, imposts, and
similar matters."

Thus much, and more of similar argument, logically urged, made it
sufficiently evident that twenty years of revolt and of hard fighting
against one king, had not destroyed in the minds of the leading
Netherlanders their conviction of the necessity of kingship. If the new
commonwealth was likely to remain a republic, it was, at that moment at
any rate, because they could not find a king. Certainly they did their
best to annex themselves to England, and to become loyal subjects of
England's Elizabeth. But the Queen, besides other objections to the
course proposed by the Provinces, thought that she could do a better
thing in the way of mortgages. In this, perhaps, there was something of
the penny-wise policy, which sprang from one great defect in her
character. At any rate much mischief was done by the mercantile spirit
which dictated the hard chaffering on both sides the Channel at this
important juncture; for during this tedious flint-paring, Antwerp, which
might have been saved, was falling into the hands of Philip. It should
never be forgotten, however, that the Queen had no standing army, and but
a small revenue. The men to be sent from England to the Netherland wars
were first to be levied wherever it was possible to find them. In truth,
many were pressed in the various wards of London, furnished with red
coats and matchlocks at the expense of the citizens, and so despatched,
helter-skelter, in small squads as opportunity offered. General Sir John
Norris was already superintending these operations, by command of the
Queen, before the present formal negotiation with the States had begun.

Subsequently to the 11th July, on which day the second address had been
made to Elizabeth, the envoys had many conferences with Leicester,
Burghley, Walsingham, and other councillors, without making much
progress. There was perpetual wrangling about figures and securities.

"What terms will you pledge for the repayment of the monies to be
advanced?" asked Burghley and Walsingham.

"But if her Majesty takes the sovereignty," answered the deputies, "there
will be no question of guarantees. The Queen will possess our whole land,
and there will be no need of any repayment."

"And we have told you over and over again," said the Lord Treasurer,
"that her Majesty will never think of accepting the sovereignty. She will
assist you in money and men, and must be repaid to the last farthing when
the war is over; and, until that period, must have solid pledges in the
shape of a town in each Province."

Then came interrogatories as to the amount of troops and funds to be
raised respectively by the Queen and the States for the common cause. The
Provinces wished her Majesty to pay one-third of the whole expense, while
her Majesty was reluctant to pay one-quarter. The States wished a
permanent force to be kept on foot in the Netherlands of thirteen
thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry for the field, and
twenty-three thousand for garrisons. The councillors thought the last
item too much. Then there were queries as to the expense of maintaining a
force in the Provinces. The envoys reckoned one pound sterling, or ten
florins, a month for the pay of each foot soldier, including officers;
and for the cavalry, three times as much. This seemed reasonable, and the
answers to the inquiries touching the expense of the war-vessels and
sailors were equally satisfactory. Nevertheless it was difficult to bring
the Queen up to the line to which the envoys had been limited by their
instructions. Five thousand foot and one thousand horse serving at the
Queen's expense till the war should be concluded, over and above the
garrisons for such cautionary towns as should be agreed upon; this was
considered, by the States, the minimum. The Queen held out for giving
only four thousand foot and four hundred horse, and for deducting the
garrisons even from this slender force. As guarantee for the expense thus
to be incurred, she required that Flushing and Brill should be placed in
her hands. Moreover the position of Antwerp complicated the negotiation.
Elizabeth, fully sensible of the importance of preserving that great
capital, offered four thousand soldiers to serve until that city should
be relieved, requiring repayment within three months after the object
should have been accomplished. As special guarantee for such repayment
she required Sluys and Ostend. This was sharp bargaining, but, at any
rate, the envoys knew that the Queen, though cavilling to the ninth-part
of a hair, was no trifler, and that she meant to perform whatever she
should promise.

There was another exchange of speeches at the Palace of Nonesuch, on the
5th August; and the position of affairs and the respective attitudes of
the Queen and envoys were plainly characterized by the language then
employed.

After an exordium about the cruelty of the Spanish tyranny and the
enormous expense entailed by the war upon the Netherlands, Menin, who, as
usual, was the spokesman, alluded to the difficulty which the States at
last felt in maintaining themselves.

"Five thousand foot and one thousand horse," he said, "over and above the
maintenance of garrisons in the towns to be pledged as security to your
Majesty, seemed the very least amount of succour that would be probably
obtained from your royal bounty. Considering the great demonstrations of
affection and promises of support, made as well by your Majesty's own
letters as by the mouth of your ambassador Davison, and by our envoys De
Gryse and Ortel, who have all declared publicly that your Majesty would
never forsake us, the States sent us their deputies to this country in
full confidence that such reasonable demands as we had been authorized to
make would be satisfied."

The speaker then proceeded to declare that the offer made by the royal
councillors of four thousand foot and four hundred horse, to serve during
the war, together with a special force of four thousand for the relief of
Antwerp, to be paid for within three months after the siege should be
raised, against a concession of the cities of Flushing, Brill, Sluys, and
Ostend, did not come within the limitations of the States-General. They
therefore begged the Queen to enlarge her offer to the number of five
thousand foot and one thousand horse, or at least to allow the envoys to
conclude the treaty provisionally, and subject to approval of their
constituents.

So soon as Menin had concluded his address, her Majesty instantly
replied, with much earnestness and fluency of language.

"Gentlemen," she said, "I will answer you upon the first point, because
it touches my honour. You say that I promised you, both by letters and
through my agent Davison, and also by my own lips, to assist you and
never to abandon you, and that this had moved you to come to me at
present. Very well, masters, do you not think I am assisting you when I
am sending you four thousand foot and four hundred horse to serve during
the war? Certainly, I think yes; and I say frankly that I have never been
wanting to my word. No man shall ever say, with truth, that the Queen of
England had at any time and ever so slightly failed in her promises,
whether to the mightiest monarch, to republics, to gentlemen, or even to
private persons of the humblest condition. Am I, then, in your opinion,
forsaking you when I send you English blood, which I love, and which is
my own blood, and which I am bound to defend? It seems to me, no. For my
part I tell you again that I will never forsake you.

"'Sed de modo?' That is matter for agreement. You are aware, gentlemen,
that I have storms to fear from many quarters--from France, Scotland,
Ireland, and within my own kingdom. What would be said if I looked only
on one side, and if on that side I employed all my resources. No, I will
give my subjects no cause for murmuring. I know that my counsellors
desire to manage matters with prudence; 'sed aetatem habeo', and you are
to believe, that, of my own motion, I have resolved not to extend my
offer of assistance, at present, beyond the amount already stated. But I
don't say that at another time I may not be able to do more for you. For
my intention is never to abandon your cause, always to assist you, and
never more to suffer any foreign nation to have dominion over you.

"It is true that you present me with two places in each of your
Provinces. I thank you for them infinitely, and certainly it is a great
offer. But it will be said instantly, the Queen of England wishes to
embrace and devour everything; while, on the contrary, I only wish to
render you assistance. I believe, in truth, that if other monarchs should
have this offer, they would not allow such an opportunity to escape. I do
not let it slip because of fears that I entertain for any prince
whatever. For to think that I am not aware--doing what I am doing--that I
am embarking in a war against the King of Spain, is a great mistake. I
know very well that the succour which I am affording you will offend him
as much as if I should do a great deal more. But what care I? Let him
begin, I will answer him. For my part, I say again, that never did fear
enter my heart. We must all die once. I know very well that many princes
are my enemies, and are seeking my ruin; and that where malice is joined
with force, malice often arrives at its ends. But I am not so feeble a
princess that I have not the means and the will to defend myself against
them all. They are seeking to take my life, but it troubles me not. He
who is on high has defended me until this hour, and will keep me still,
for in Him do I trust.

"As to the other point, you say that your powers are not extensive enough
to allow your acceptance of the offer I make you. Nevertheless, if I am
not mistaken, I have remarked in passing--for princes look very close to
words--that you would be content if I would give you money in place of
men, and that your powers speak only of demanding a certain proportion of
infantry and another of cavalry. I believe this would be, as you say, an
equivalent, 'secundum quod'. But I say this only because you govern
yourselves so precisely by the measure of your instructions. Nevertheless
I don't wish to contest these points with you. For very often 'dum Romae
disputatur Saguntum perit.' Nevertheless, it would be well for you to
decide; and, in any event, I do not think it good that you should all
take your departure, but that, on the contrary, you should leave some of
your number here. Otherwise it would at once be said that all was broken
off, and that I had chosen to nothing for you; and with this the bad
would comfort themselves, and the good would be much discouraged.

"Touching the last point of your demand--according to which you desire a
personage of quality--I know, gentlemen, that you do not always agree
very well among yourselves, and that it would be good for you to have
some one to effect such agreement. For this reason I have always
intended, so soon as we should have made our treaty, to send a lord of
name and authority to reside with you, to assist you in governing, and to
aid, with his advice, in the better direction of your affairs.

"Would to God that Antwerp were relieved! Certainly I should be very
glad, and very well content to lose all that I am now expending if that
city could be saved. I hope, nevertheless, if it can hold out six weeks
longer, that we shall see something good. Already the two thousand men of
General Norris have crossed, or are crossing, every day by companies. I
will hasten the rest as much as possible; and I assure you, gentlemen,
that I will spare no diligence. Nevertheless you may, if you choose,
retire with my council, and see if together you can come to some good
conclusion."

Thus spoke Elizabeth, like the wise, courageous, and very parsimonious
princess that she was. Alas, it was too true, that Saguntum was perishing
while the higgling went on at Rome. Had those two thousand under Sir John
Norris and the rest of the four thousand but gone a few weeks earlier,
how much happier might have been the result!

Nevertheless, it was thought in England that Antwerp would still hold
out; and, meantime, a treaty for its relief, in combination with another
for permanent assistance to the Provinces, was agreed upon between the
envoys and the lords of council.

On the 12th August, Menin presented himself at Nonesuch at the head of
his colleagues, and, in a formal speech, announced the arrangement which
had thus been entered into, subject to the approval of the States. Again
Elizabeth, whose "tongue," in the homely phrase of the Netherlanders,
"was wonderfully well hung," replied with energy and ready eloquence.

"You see, gentlemen," she said, "that I have opened the door; that I am
embarking once for all with you in a war against the King of Spain. Very
well, I am not anxious about the matter. I hope that God will aid us, and
that we shall strike a good blow in your cause. Nevertheless, I pray you,
with all my heart, and by the affection you bear me, to treat my soldiers
well; for they are my own Englishmen, whom I love as I do myself.
Certainly it would be a great cruelty, if you should treat them ill,
since they are about to hazard their lives so freely in your defence, and
I am sure that my request in this regard will be received by you as it
deserves.

"In the next place, as you know that I am sending, as commander of these
English troops, an honest gentleman, who deserves most highly for his
experience in arms, so I am also informed that you have on your side a
gentleman of great valour. I pray you, therefore, that good care be taken
lest there be misunderstanding between these two, which might prevent
them from agreeing well together, when great exploits of war are to be
taken in hand. For if that should happen--which God forbid--my succour
would be rendered quite useless to you. I name Count Hohenlo, because him
alone have I heard mentioned. But I pray you to make the same
recommendation to all the colonels and gentlemen in your army; for I
should be infinitely sad, if misadventures should arise from such a
cause, for your interest and my honour are both at stake.

"In the third place, I beg you, at your return, to make a favourable
report of me, and to thank the States, in my behalf, for their great
offers, which I esteem so highly as to be unable to express my thanks.
Tell them that I shall remember them for ever. I consider it a great
honour, that from the commencement, you have ever been so faithful to me,
and that with such great constancy you have preferred me to all other
princes, and have chosen me for your Queen. And chiefly do I thank the
gentlemen of Holland and Zeeland, who, as I have been informed, were the
first who so singularly loved me. And so on my own part I will have a
special care of them, and will do my best to uphold them by every
possible means, as I will do all the rest who have put their trust in me.
But I name Holland and Zeeland more especially, because they have been so
constant and faithful in their efforts to assist the rest in shaking off
the yoke of the enemy.

"Finally, gentlemen, I beg you to assure the States that I do not decline
the sovereignty of your country from any dread of the King of Spain. For
I take God to witness that I fear him not; and I hope, with the blessing
of God, to make such demonstrations against him, that men shall say the
Queen of England does not fear the Spaniards."

Elizabeth then smote herself upon the breast, and cried, with great
energy, "'Illa que virgo viri;' and is it not quite the same to you, even
if I do not assume the sovereignty, since I intend to protect you, and
since therefore the effects will be the same? It is true that the
sovereignty would serve to enhance my grandeur, but I am content to do
without it, if you, upon your own part, will only do your duty.

"For myself, I promise you, in truth, that so long as I live, and even to
my last sigh, I will never forsake you. Go home and tell this boldly to
the States which sent you hither."

Menin then replied with fresh expressions of thanks and compliments, and
requested, in conclusion, that her Majesty would be pleased to send, as
soon as possible, a personage of quality to the Netherlands.

"Gentlemen," replied Elizabeth, "I intend to do this, so soon as our
treaty shall be ratified, for, in contrary case, the King of Spain,
seeing your government continue on its present footing, would do nothing
but laugh at us. Certainly I do not mean this year to provide him with so
fine a banquet."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Anarchy which was deemed inseparable from a non-regal form
     Dismay of our friends and the gratification of our enemies
     Her teeth black, her bosom white and liberally exposed (Eliz.)
     Holland was afraid to give a part, although offering the whole
     Resolved thenceforth to adopt a system of ignorance
     Say "'tis pity he is not an Englishman"
     Seeking protection for and against the people
     Three hundred and upwards are hanged annually in London
     We must all die once
     Wrath of bigots on both sides



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 43, 1585



CHAPTER VI., Part 2.

   Sir John Norris sent to Holland--Parsimony of Elizabeth--Energy of
   Davison--Protracted Negotiations--Friendly Sentiments of Count
   Maurice--Letters from him and Louisa de Coligny--Davison vexed by
   the Queen's Caprice--Dissatisfaction of Leicester--His vehement
   Complaints--The Queen's Avarice--Perplexity of Davison--Manifesto
   of Elizabeth--Sir Philip Sidney--His Arrival at Flushing.

The envoys were then dismissed, and soon afterwards a portion of the
deputation took their departure from the Netherlands with the proposed
treaty. It was however, as we know, quite too late for Saguntum. Two days
after the signing of the treaty, the remaining envoys were at the palace
of Nonesuch, in conference with the Earl of Leicester, when a gentleman
rushed suddenly into the apartment, exclaiming with great manifestations
of anger:

"Antwerp has fallen! A treaty has been signed with the Prince of Parma.
Aldegonde is the author of it all. He is the culprit, who has betrayed
us;" with many more expressions of vehement denunciation.

The Queen was disappointed, but stood firm. She had been slow in taking
her resolution, but she was unflinching when her mind was made up.
Instead of retreating from her, position, now that it became doubly
dangerous, she advanced several steps nearer towards her allies. For it
was obvious, if more precious time should be lost, that Holland and
Zeeland would share the fate of Antwerp. Already the belief, that, with
the loss of that city, all had been lost, was spreading both in the
Provinces and in England, and Elizabeth felt that the time had indeed
come to confront the danger.

Meantime the intrigues of the enemy in the independent Provinces were
rife. Blunt Roger Williams wrote in very plain language to Walsingham, a
very few days after the capitulation of Antwerp:

"If her Majesty means to have Holland and Zeeland," said he, "she must
resolve presently. Aldegonde hath promised the enemy to bring them to
compound. Here arrived already his ministers which knew all his dealings
about Antwerp from first to last. Count Maurice is governed altogether by
Villiers, and Villiers was never worse for the English than at this hour.
To be short, the people say in general, they will accept a peace, unless
her Majesty do sovereign them presently. All the men of war will be at
her Highness' devotion, if they be in credit in time. What you do, it
must be done presently, for I do assure your honour there is large offers
presented unto them by the enemies. If her Majesty deals not roundly and
resolutely with them now, it will be too late two months hence."

Her Majesty meant to deal roundly and resolutely. Her troops had already
gone in considerable numbers. She wrote encouraging letters with her own
hand to the States, imploring them not to falter now, even though the
great city had fallen. She had long since promised never to desert them,
and she was, if possible, more determined than ever to redeem her pledge.
She especially recommended to their consideration General Norris,
commander of the forces that had been despatched to the relief of
Antwerp.

A most accomplished officer, sprung of a house renowned for its romantic
valour, Sir John was the second of the six sons of Lord Norris of Rycot,
all soldiers of high reputation, "chickens of Mars," as an old writer
expressed himself. "Such a bunch of brethren for eminent achievement,"
said he, "was never seen. So great their states and stomachs that they
often jostled with others." Elizabeth called their mother, "her own
crow;" and the darkness of her hair and visage was thought not unbecoming
to her martial issue, by whom it had been inherited. Daughter of Lord
Williams of Tame, who had been keeper of the Tower in the time of
Elizabeth's imprisonment, she had been affectionate and serviceable to
the Princess in the hour of her distress, and had been rewarded with her
favour in the days of her grandeur. We shall often meet this crow-black
Norris, and his younger brother Sir Edward--the most daring soldiers of
their time, posters of sea and land--wherever the buffeting was closest,
or adventure the wildest on ship-board or shore, for they were men who
combined much of the knight-errantry of a vanishing age with the more
practical and expansive spirit of adventure that characterized the new
epoch.

Nor was he a stranger in the Netherlands. "The gentleman to whom we have
committed the government of the forces going to the relief of Antwerp,"
said Elizabeth, "has already given you such proofs of his affection by
the good services he has rendered you, that without recommendation on our
part, he should stand already recommended. Nevertheless, in respect for
his quality, the house from which he is descended, and the valour which
he has manifested in your own country, we desire to tell you that we hold
him dear, and that he deserves also to be dear to you."

When the fall of Antwerp was certain, the Queen sent Davison, who had
been for a brief period in England, back again to his post. "We have
learned," she said in the letter which she sent by that envoy; "with very
great regret of the surrender of Antwerp. Fearing lest some apprehension
should take possession of the people's mind in consequence, and that some
dangerous change might ensue, we send you our faithful and well-beloved
Davison to represent to you how much we have your affairs at heart, and
to say that we are determined to forget nothing that may be necessary to
your preservation. Assure yourselves that we shall never fail to
accomplish all that he may promise you in our behalf."

Yet, notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, the thorough
discussion that had taken place of the whole matter, and the enormous
loss which had resulted from the money-saving insanity upon both sides,
even then the busy devil of petty economy was not quite exorcised.
Several precious weeks were wasted in renewed chafferings. The Queen was
willing that the permanent force should now be raised to five thousand
foot and one thousand horse--the additional sixteen, hundred men being
taken from the Antwerp relieving-force--but she insisted that the
garrisons for the cautionary towns should be squeezed out of this general
contingent. The States, on the contrary, were determined to screw these
garrisons out of her grip, as an additional subsidy. Each party
complained with reason of the other's closeness. No doubt the states were
shrewd bargainers, but it would have been difficult for the sharpest
Hollander that ever sent a cargo of herrings to Cadiz, to force open
Elizabeth's beautiful hand when she chose to shut it close. Walsingham
and Leicester were alternately driven to despair by the covetousness of
the one party or the other.

It was still uncertain what "personage of quality" was to go to the
Netherlands in the Queen's name, to help govern the country. Leicester
had professed his readiness to risk his life, estates, and reputation, in
the cause, and the States particularly desired his appointment. "The name
of your Excellency is so very agreeable to this people," said they in a
letter to the Earl, "as to give promise of a brief and happy end to this
grievous and almost immortal war." The Queen was, or affected to be,
still undecided as to the appointment. While waiting week after week for
the ratifications of the treaty from Holland, affairs were looking gloomy
at home, and her Majesty was growing very uncertain in her temper.

"I see not her Majesty disposed to use the service of the Earl of
Leicester," wrote Walsingham. "I suppose the lot of government will light
on Lord Gray. I would to God the ability of his purse were answerable to
his sufficiency otherwise." This was certainly a most essential
deficiency on the part of Lord Gray, and it will soon be seen that the
personage of quality to be selected as chief in the arduous and
honourable enterprise now on foot, would be obliged to rely quite as much
on that same ability of purse as upon the sufficiency of his brain or
arm. The Queen did not mean to send her favourite forth to purchase
anything but honour in the Netherlands; and it was not the Provinces only
that were likely to struggle against her parsimony. Yet that parsimony
sprang from a nobler motive than the mere love of pelf. Dangers
encompassed her on every side, and while husbanding her own exchequer,
she was saving her subjects' resources. "Here we are but book-worms,"
said Walsingham, "yet from sundry quarters we hear of great practices
against this poor crown. The revolt in Scotland is greatly feared, and
that out of hand."

Scotland, France, Spain, these were dangerous enemies and neighbours to a
maiden Queen, who had a rebellious Ireland to deal with on one side the
channel, and Alexander of Parma on the other.

Davison experienced great inconvenience and annoyance before the definite
arrangements could be made. There is no doubt that the Spanish party had
made great progress since the fall of Antwerp. Roger Williams was right
in advising the Queen to deal "roundly and resolutely" with the States,
and to "sovereign them presently."

They had need of being sovereigned, for it must be confessed that the
self-government which prevailed at that moment was very like no
government. The death of Orange, the treachery of Henry III., the
triumphs of Parma, disastrous facts, treading rapidly upon each other,
had produced a not very unnatural effect. The peace-at-any-price party
was struggling hard for the ascendancy, and the Spanish partizans were
doing their best to hold up to suspicion the sharp practice of the
English Queen. She was even accused of underhand dealing with Spain, to
the disadvantage of the Provinces; so much had slander, anarchy, and
despair, been able to effect. The States were reluctant to sign those
articles with Elizabeth which were absolutely necessary to their
salvation.

"In how doubtful and uncertain terms I found things at my coming hither,"
wrote Davison to Burghley, "how thwarted and delayed since for a
resolution, and with what conditions, and for what reasons I have been
finally drawn to conclude with them as I have done, your Lordship may
perceive by that I have written to Mr. Secretary. The chief difficulty
has rested upon the point of entertaining the garrisons within the towns
of assurance, over and besides the five thousand footmen and one thousand
horse."

This, as Davison proceeded to observe, was considered a 'sine qua non' by
the States, so that, under the perilous circumstances in which both
countries were placed, he had felt it his duty to go forward as far as
possible to meet their demands. Davison always did his work veraciously,
thoroughly, and resolutely; and it was seldom that his advice, in all
matters pertaining to Netherland matters, did not prove the very best
that could be offered. No man knew better than he the interests and the
temper of both countries.

The imperious Elizabeth was not fond of being thwarted, least of all by
any thing savouring of the democratic principle, and already there was
much friction between the Tudor spirit of absolutism and the rough
"mechanical" nature with which it was to ally itself in the Netherlands.
The economical Elizabeth was not pleased at being overreached in a
bargain; and, at a moment when she thought herself doing a magnanimous
act, she was vexed at the cavilling with which her generosity was
received. "'Tis a manner of proceeding," said Walsingham, "not to be
allowed of, and may very well be termed mechanical, considering that her
Majesty seeketh no interest in that country--as Monsieur and the French
King did--but only their good and benefit, without regard had of the
expenses of her treasure and the hazard of her subjects' lives; besides
throwing herself into a present war for their sakes with the greatest
prince and potentate in Europe. But seeing the government of those
countries resteth in the hands of merchants and advocates--the one
regarding profit, the other standing upon vantage of quirks--there is no
better fruit to be looked to from them."

Yet it was, after all, no quirk in those merchants and advocates to urge
that the Queen was not going to war with the great potentate for their
sakes alone. To Elizabeth's honour, she did thoroughly comprehend that
the war of the Netherlands was the war of England, of Protestantism, and
of European liberty, and that she could no longer, without courting her
own destruction, defer taking a part in active military operations. It
was no quirk, then, but solid reasoning, for the States to regard the
subject in the same light. Holland and England were embarked in one boat,
and were to sink or swim together. It was waste of time to wrangle so
fiercely over pounds and shillings, but the fault was not to be
exclusively imputed to the one side or the other. There were bitter
recriminations, particularly on the part of Elizabeth, for it was not
safe to touch too closely either the pride or the pocket of that frugal
and despotic heroine. "The two thousand pounds promised by the States to
Norris upon the muster of the two thousand volunteers," said Walsingham,
"were not paid. Her Majesty is not a little offended therewith, seeing
how little care they have to yield her satisfaction, which she imputeth
to proceed rather from contempt, than from necessity. If it should fall
out, however, to be such as by them is pretended, then doth she conceive
her bargain to be very ill made, to join her fortune with so weak and
broken an estate." Already there were indications that the innocent might
be made to suffer for the short-comings of the real culprits; nor would
it be, the first time, or by any means the last, for Davison to appear in
the character of a scape-goat.

"Surely, sir," continued Mr. Secretary, "it is a thing greatly to be
feared that the contributions they will yield will fall not more true in
paper than in payment; which if it should so happen, it would turn some
to blame, whereof you among others are to bear your part."

And thus the months of September and of October wore away, and the
ratifications of the treaty had not arrived from the Netherlands.
Elizabeth became furious, and those of the Netherland deputation who had
remained in England were at their wits' end to appease her choler. No
news arrived for many weeks. Those were not the days of steam and
magnetic telegraphs--inventions by which the nature of man and the aspect
of history seem altered--and the Queen had nothing for it but to fret,
and the envoys to concert with her ministers expedients to mitigate her
spleen. Towards the end of the month, the commissioners chartered a
vessel which they despatched for news to Holland. On his way across the
sea the captain was hailed on the 28th October by a boat, in which one
Hans Wyghans was leisurely proceeding to England with Netherland
despatches dated on the 5th of the same month. This was the freshest
intelligence that had yet been received.

So soon as the envoys were put in possession of the documents, they
obtained an audience of the Queen. This was the last day of October.
Elizabeth read her letters, and listened to the apologies made by the
deputies for the delay with anything but a benignant countenance. Then,
with much vehemence of language, and manifestations of ill-temper, she
expressed her displeasure at the dilatoriness of the States. Having sent
so many troops, and so many gentlemen of quality, she had considered the
whole affair concluded.

"I have been unhandsomely treated," she said, "and not as comports with a
prince of my quality. My inclination for your support--because you show
yourselves unworthy of so great benefits--will be entirely destroyed,
unless you deal with me and mine more worthily for the future than you
have done in the past. Through my great and especial affection for your
welfare, I had ordered the Earl of Leicester to proceed to the
Netherlands, and conduct your affairs; a man of such quality as all the
world knows, and one whom I love, as if he were my own brother. He was
getting himself ready in all diligence, putting himself in many perils
through the practices of the enemy, and if I should have reason to
believe that he would not be respected there according to his due, I
should be indeed offended. He and many others are not going thither to
advance their own affairs, to make themselves rich, or because they have
not means enough to live magnificently at home. They proceed to the
Netherlands from pure affection for your cause. This is the case, too,
with many other of my subjects, all dear to me, and of much worth. For I
have sent a fine heap of folk thither--in all, with those his Excellency
is taking with him, not under ten thousand soldiers of the English
nation. This is no small succour, and no little unbaring of this realm of
mine, threatened as it is with war from many quarters. Yet I am seeking
no sovereignty, nor anything else prejudicial to the freedom of your
country. I wish only, in your utmost need, to help you out of this
lamentable war, to maintain for you liberty of conscience, and to see
that law and justice are preserved."

All this, and more, with great eagerness of expression and gesture, was
urged by the Queen, much to the discomfiture of the envoys. In vain they
attempted to modify and to explain. Their faltering excuses were swept
rapidly away upon the current of royal wrath; until at last Elizabeth
stormed herself into exhaustion and comparative tranquillity. She then
dismissed them with an assurance that her goodwill towards the States was
not diminished, as would be found to be the case, did they not continue
to prove themselves unworthy of her favour that a permanent force of five
thousand foot and one thousand horse should serve in the Provinces at the
Queen's expense; and that the cities of Flushing and Brill should be
placed in her Majesty's hands until the entire reimbursement of the debt
thus incurred by the States. Elizabeth also--at last overcoming her
reluctance--agreed that the force necessary to garrison these towns
should form an additional contingent, instead of being deducted from the
general auxiliary force.

Count Maurice of Nassau had been confirmed by the States of Holland and
Zeeland as permanent stadholder of those provinces. This measure excited
some suspicion on the part of Leicester, who, as it was now understood,
was the "personage of quality" to be sent to the Netherlands as
representative of the Queen's authority. "Touching the election of Count
Maurice," said the Earl, "I hope it will be no impairing of the authority
heretofore allotted to me, for if it will be, I shall tarry but awhile."

Nothing, however, could be more frank or chivalrously devoted than the
language of Maurice to the Queen. "Madam, if I have ever had occasion,"
he wrote, "to thank God for his benefits, I confess that it was when,
receiving in all humility the letters with which it pleased your Majesty
to honour me, I learned that the great disaster of my lord and father's
death had not diminished the debonaire affection and favour which it has
always pleased your Majesty to manifest to my father's house. It has been
likewise grateful to me to learn that your Majesty, surrounded by so many
great and important affairs, had been pleased to approve the command
which the States-General have conferred upon me. I am indeed grieved that
my actions cannot correspond with the ardent desire which I feel to serve
your Majesty and these Provinces, for which I hope that my extreme youth
will be accepted as an excuse. And although I find myself feeble enough
for the charge thus imposed upon me, yet God will assist my efforts to
supply by diligence and sincere intention the defect of the other
qualities requisite for my thorough discharge of my duty to the
contentment of your Majesty. To fulfil these obligations, which are
growing greater day by day, I trust to prove by my actions that I will
never spare either my labour or life."

When it was found that the important town of Flushing was required as
part of the guaranty to the Queen, Maurice, as hereditary seignor and
proprietor of the place--during the captivity of his elder brother in
Spain--signified his concurrence in the transfer, together with the most
friendly feelings towards the Earl of Leicester, and to Sir Philip
Sidney, appointed English governor of the town. He wrote to Davison, whom
he called "one of the best and most certain friends that the house of
Nassau possessed in England," begging that he would recommend the
interests of the family to the Queen, "whose favour could do more than
anything else in the world towards maintaining what remained of the
dignity of their house." After solemn deliberation with his step-mother,
Louisa de Coligny, and the other members of his family, he made a formal
announcement of adhesion on the part of the House of Nassau to the
arrangements concluded with the English government, and asked the
benediction of God upon the treaty. While renouncing, for the moment, any
compensation for his consent to the pledging of Flushing his "patrimonial
property, and a place of such great importance"--he expressed a
confidence that the long services of his father, as well as those which
he himself hoped to render, would meet in time with "condign
recognition." He requested the Earl of Leicester to consider the
friendship which had existed between himself and the late Prince of
Orange, as an hereditary affection to be continued to the children, and
he entreated the Earl to do him the honour in future to hold him as a
son, and to extend to him counsel and authority; declaring, on his part,
that he should ever deem it an honour to be allowed to call him father.
And in order still more strongly to confirm his friendship, he begged Sir
Philip Sidney to consider him as his brother, and as his companion in
arms, promising upon his own part the most faithful friendship. In the
name of Louisa de Coligny, and of his whole family, he also particularly
recommended to the Queen the interests of the eldest brother of the
house, Philip William, "who had been so long and so iniquitously detained
captive in Spain," and begged that, in case prisoners of war of high rank
should fall into the hands of the English commanders, they might be
employed as a means of effecting the liberation of that much-injured
Prince. He likewise desired the friendly offices of the Queen to protect
the principality of Orange against the possible designs of the French
monarch, and intimated that occasions might arise in which the
confiscated estates of the family in Burgundy might be recovered through
the influence of the Swiss cantons, particularly those of the Grisons and
of Berne.

And, in conclusion, in case the Queen should please--as both Count
Maurice and the Princess of Orange desired with all their hearts--to
assume the sovereignty of these Provinces, she was especially entreated
graciously to observe those suggestions regarding the interests of the
House of Nassau, which had been made in the articles of the treaty.

Thus the path had been smoothed, mainly through the indefatigable energy
of Davison. Yet that envoy was not able to give satisfaction to his
imperious and somewhat whimsical mistress, whose zeal seemed to cool in
proportion to the readiness with which the obstacles to her wishes were
removed. Davison was, with reason, discontented. He had done more than
any other man either in England or the Provinces, to bring about a hearty
cooperation in the common cause, and to allay mutual heart-burnings and
suspicions. He had also, owing to the negligence of the English treasurer
for the Netherlands, and the niggardliness of Elizabeth, been placed in a
position, of great financial embarrassment. His situation was very
irksome.

"I mused at the sentence you sent me," he wrote, "for I know no cause her
Majesty hath to shrink at her charges hitherto. The treasure she hath yet
disbursed here is not above five or six thousand pounds, besides that
which I have been obliged to take up for the saving of her honour, and
necessity of her service, in danger otherwise of some notable disgrace. I
will not, for shame, say how I have been left here to myself."

The delay in the formal appointment of Leicester, and, more particularly,
of the governors for the cautionary towns, was the cause of great
confusion and anarchy in the transitional condition of the country. "The
burden I am driven to sustain," said Davison, "doth utterly weary me. If
Sir Philip Sidney were here, and if my Lord of Leicester follow not all
the sooner, I would use her Majesty's liberty to return home. If her
Majesty think me worthy the reputation of a poor, honest, and loyal
servant, I have that contents me. For the rest, I wish

     'Vivere sine invidia, mollesque inglorius annos
     Egigere, amicitias et mihi jungere pares.'"

There was something almost prophetic in the tone which this faithful
public servant--to whom, on more than one occasion, such hard measure was
to be dealt--habitually adopted in his private letters and conversation.
He did his work, but he had not his reward; and he was already weary of
place without power, and industry without recognition.

"For mine own particular," he said, "I will say with the poet,

     'Crede mihi, bene qui latuit bene vixit,
     Et intra fortunam debet quisque manere suam.'"

For, notwithstanding the avidity with which Elizabeth had sought the
cautionary towns, and the fierceness with which she had censured the
tardiness of the States, she seemed now half inclined to drop the prize
which she had so much coveted, and to imitate the very languor which she
had so lately rebuked. "She hath what she desired," said Davison, "and
might yet have more, if this content her not. Howsoever you value the
places at home, they are esteemed here, by such as know them best, no
little increase to her Majesty's honour, surety, and greatness, if she be
as careful to keep them as happy in getting them. Of this, our cold
beginning doth already make me jealous."

Sagacious and resolute Princess as she was, she showed something of
feminine caprice upon this grave occasion. Not Davison alone, but her
most confidential ministers and favourites at home, were perplexed and
provoked by her misplaced political coquetries. But while the alternation
of her hot and cold fits drove her most devoted courtiers out of
patience, there was one symptom that remained invariable throughout all
her paroxysms, the rigidity with which her hand was locked. Walsingham,
stealthy enough when an advantage was to be gained by subtlety, was
manful and determined in his dealings with his friends; and he had more
than once been offended with Elizabeth's want of frankness in these
transactions.

"I find you grieved, and not without cause," he wrote to Davison, "in
respect to the over thwart proceedings as well there as here. The
disorders in those countries would be easily redressed if we could take a
thoroughly resolute course here--a matter that men may rather pray for
than hope for. It is very doubtful whether the action now in hand will be
accompanied by very hard success, unless they of the country there may be
drawn to bear the greatest part of the burden of the wars."

And now the great favourite of all had received the appointment which he
coveted. The Earl of Leicester was to be Commander-in-Chief of her
Majesty's forces in the Netherlands, and representative of her authority
in those countries, whatever that office might prove to be. The nature of
his post was anomalous from the beginning. It was environed with
difficulties, not the least irritating of which proceeded from the
captious spirit of the Queen. The Earl was to proceed in great pomp to
Holland, but the pomp was to be prepared mainly at his own expense.
Besides the auxiliary forces that had been shipped during the latter
period of the year, Leicester was raising a force of lancers, from four
to eight hundred in number; but to pay for that levy he was forced to
mortgage his own property, while the Queen not only refused to advance
ready money, but declined endorsing his bills.

It must be confessed that the Earl's courtship of Elizabeth was anything
at that moment but a gentle dalliance. In those thorny regions of finance
were no beds of asphodel or amaranthine bowers. There was no talk but of
troopers, saltpetre, and sulphur, of books of assurance, and bills of
exchange; and the aspect of Elizabeth, when the budget was under
discussion, must effectually have neutralized for the time any very
tender sentiment. The sharpness with which she clipped Leicester's
authority, when authority was indispensable to his dignity, and the heavy
demands upon his resources that were the result of her avarice, were
obstacles more than enough to the calm fruition of his triumphs. He had
succeeded, in appearance at least, in the great object of his ambition,
this appointment to the Netherlands; but the appointment was no sinecure,
and least of all a promising pecuniary speculation. Elizabeth had told
the envoys, with reason, that she was not sending forth that man--whom
she loved as a brother--in order that he might make himself rich. On the
contrary, the Earl seemed likely to make himself comparatively poor
before he got to the Provinces, while his political power, at the moment,
did not seem of more hopeful growth.

Leicester had been determined and consistent in this great enterprize
from the beginning. He felt intensely the importance of the crisis. He
saw that the time had come for swift and uncompromising action, and the
impatience with which he bore the fetters imposed upon him may be easily
conceived.

"The cause is such," he wrote to Walsingham, "that I had as lief be dead
as be in the case I shall be in if this restraint hold for taking the
oath there, or if some more authority be not granted than I see her
Majesty would I should have. I trust you all will hold hard for this, or
else banish me England withal. I have sent you the books to be signed by
her Majesty. I beseech you return them with all haste, for I get no money
till they be under seal."

But her Majesty would not put them under her seal, much to the
favourite's discomfiture.

"Your letter yieldeth but cold answer," he wrote, two days afterwards.
"Above all things yet that her Majesty doth stick at, I marvel most at
her refusal to sign my book of assurance; for there passeth nothing in
the earth against her profit by that act, nor any good to me but to
satisfy the creditors, who were more scrupulous than needs. I did
complain to her of those who did refuse to lend me money, and she was
greatly offended with them. But if her Majesty were to stay this, if I
were half seas over, I must of necessity come back again, for I may not
go without money. I beseech, if the matter be refused by her, bestow a
post on me to Harwich. I lie this night at Sir John Peters', and but for
this doubt I had been to-morrow at Harwich. I pray God make you all that
be counsellors plain and direct to the furtherance of all good service
for her Majesty and the realm; and if it be the will of God to plague us
that go, and you that tarry, for our sins, yet let us not be negligent to
seek to please the Lord."

The Earl was not negligent at any rate in seeking to please the Queen,
but she was singularly hard to please. She had never been so uncertain in
her humours as at this important crisis. She knew, and had publicly
stated as much, that she was "embarking in a war with the greatest
potentate in Europe;" yet now that the voyage had fairly commenced, and
the waves were rolling around her, she seemed anxious to put back to the
shore. For there was even a whisper of peace-negotiations, than which
nothing could have been more ill-timed. "I perceive by your message,"
said Leicester to Walsingham, "that your peace with Spain will go fast
on, but this is not the way." Unquestionably it was not the way, and the
whisper was, for the moment at least, suppressed. Meanwhile Leicester had
reached Harwich, but the post "bestowed on him," contained, as usual, but
cold comfort. He was resolved, however, to go manfully forward, and do
the work before him, until the enterprise should prove wholly
impracticable. It is by the light afforded by the secret never-published
correspondence of the period with which we are now occupied, that the
true characteristics of Elizabeth, the Earl of Leicester, and other
prominent personages, must be scanned, and the study is most important,
for it was by those characteristics, in combination with other human
elements embodied in distant parts of Christendom, that the destiny of
the world was determined. In that age, more than in our own perhaps, the
influence of the individual was widely and intensely felt. Historical
chymistry is only rendered possible by a detection of the subtle
emanations, which it was supposed would for ever elude analysis, but
which survive in those secret, frequently ciphered intercommunications.
Philip II., William of Orange, Queen Elizabeth, Alexander Farnese, Robert
Dudley, never dreamed--when disclosing their inmost thoughts to their
trusted friends at momentous epochs--that the day would come on earth
when those secrets would be no longer hid from the patient enquirer after
truth. Well for those whose reputations before the judgment-seat of
history appear even comparatively pure, after impartial comparison of
their motives with their deeds.

"For mine own part, Mr. Secretary," wrote Leicester, "I am resolved to do
that which shall be fit for a poor man's honour, and honestly to obey her
Majesty's commandment. Let the rest fall out to others, it shall not
concern me. I mean to assemble myself to the camp, where my authority
must wholly lie, and will there do that which in good reason and duty I
shall be bound to do. I am sorry that her Majesty doth deal in this sort,
and if content to overthrow so willingly her own cause. If there can be
means to salve this sore, I will. If not,--I tell you what shall become
of me, as truly as God lives."

Yet it is remarkable, that, in spite of this dark intimation, the Earl,
after all, did not state what was to become of him if the sore was not
salved. He was, however, explicit enough as to the causes of his grief,
and very vehement in its manifestations. "Another matter which shall
concern me deeply," he said, "and all the subjects there, is now by you
to be carefully considered, which is--money. I find that the money is
already gone, and this now given to the treasurer will do no more than
pay to the end of the month. I beseech you look to it, for by the Lord! I
will bear no more so miserable burdens; for if I have no money to pay
them, let them come home, or what else. I will not starve them, nor stay
them. There was never gentleman nor general so sent out as I am; and if
neither Queen nor council care to help it, but leave men desperate, as I
see men shall be, that inconvenience will follow which I trust in the
Lord I shall be free of."

He then used language about himself, singularly resembling the
phraseology employed by Elizabeth concerning him, when she was scolding
the Netherland commissioners for the dilatoriness and parsimony of the
States.

"For mine own part," he said, "I have taken upon me this voyage, not as a
desperate nor forlorn man, but as one as well contented with his place
and calling at home as any subject was ever. My cause was not, nor is,
any other than the Lord's and the Queen's. If the Queen fail, yet must I
trust in the Lord, and on Him, I see, I am wholly to depend. I can say no
more, but pray to God that her Majesty never send General again as I am
sent. And yet I will do what I can for her and my country."

The Earl had raised a choice body of lancers to accompany him to the
Netherlands, but the expense of the levy had come mainly upon his own
purse. The Queen had advanced five thousand pounds, which was much less
than the requisite amount, while for the balance required, as well as for
other necessary expenses, she obstinately declined to furnish Leicester
with funds, even refusing him, at last, a temporary loan. She violently
accused him of cheating her, reclaimed money which he had wrung from her
on good security, and when he had repaid the sum, objected to give him a
discharge. As for receiving anything by way of salary, that was quite out
of the question. At that moment he would have been only too happy to be
reimbursed for what he was already out of pocket. Whether Elizabeth loved
Leicester as a brother, or better than a brother, may be a historical
question, but it is no question at all that she loved money better than
she did Leicester. Unhappy the man, whether foe or favourite, who had
pecuniary transactions with her Highness.

"I am sorry," said the Earl, "that her Majesty hath so hard a conceit of
me, that I should go about to cozen her, as though I had got a fee simple
from her, and had it not before, or that I had not had her full release
for payment of the money I borrowed. I pray God, any that did put such
scruple in her, have not deceived her more than I have done. I thank God
I have a clear conscience for deceiving her, and for money matters. I
think I may justly say I have been the only cause of more gain to her
coffers than all her chequer-men have been. But so is the hap of some,
that all they do is nothing, and others that do nothing, do all, and have
all the thanks. But I would this were all the grief I carry with me; but
God is my comfort, and on Him I cast all, for there is no surety in this
world beside. What hope of help can I have, finding her Majesty so strait
with myself as she is? I did trust that--the cause being hers and this
realm's--if I could have gotten no money of her merchants, she would not
have refused to have lent money on so easy prized land as mine, to have
been gainer and no loser by it. Her Majesty, I see, will make trial of me
how I love her, and what will discourage me from her service. But
resolved am I that no worldly respect shall draw me back from my faithful
discharge of my duty towards her, though she shall show to hate me, as it
goeth very near; for I find no love or favour at all. And I pray you to
remember that I have not had one penny of her Majesty towards all these
charges of mine--not one penny-and, by all truth, I have already laid out
above five thousand pounds. Her Majesty appointed eight thousand pounds
for the levy, which was after the rate of four hundred horse, and, upon
my fidelity, there is shipped, of horse of service, eight hundred, so
that there ought eight thousand more to have been paid me. No general
that ever went that was not paid to the uttermost of these things before
he went, but had cash for his provision, which her Majesty would not
allow me--not one groat. Well, let all this go, it is like I shall be the
last shall bear this, and some must suffer for the people. Good Mr.
Secretary, let her Majesty know this, for I deserve God-a-mercy, at the
least."

Leicester, to do him justice, was thoroughly alive to the importance of
the Crisis. On political principle, at any rate, he was a firm supporter
of Protestantism, and even of Puritanism; a form of religion which
Elizabeth detested, and in which, with keen instinct, she detected a
mutinous element against the divine right of kings. The Earl was quite
convinced of the absolute necessity that England should take up the
Netherland matter most vigorously, on pain of being herself destroyed.
All the most sagacious counsellors of Elizabeth were day by day more and
more confirmed in this opinion, and were inclined heartily to support the
new Lieutenant-General. As for Leicester himself, while fully conscious
of his own merits, and of his firm intent to do his duty, he was also
grateful to those who were willing to befriend him in his arduous
enterprise.

"I have received a letter from my Lord Willoughby," he said, "to my
seeming, as wise a letter as I have read a great while, and not unfit for
her Majesty's sight. I pray God open her eyes, that they may behold her
present estate indeed, and the wonderful means that God doth offer unto
her. If she lose these opportunities, who can look for other but
dishonour and destruction? My Lord Treasurer hath also written me a most
hearty and comfortable letter touching this voyage, not only in showing
the importance of it, both for her Majesty's own safety and the realm's,
but that the whole state of religion doth depend thereon, and therefore
doth faithfully promise his whole and best assistance for the supply of
all wants. I was not a little glad to receive such a letter from him at
this time."

And from on board the 'Amity,' ready to set sail, he expressed his thanks
to Burghley, at finding him so "earnestly bent for the good supply and
maintenance of us poor men sent in her Majesty's service and our
country's."

As for Walsingham, earnestly a defender of the Netherland cause from the
beginning, he was wearied and disgusted with fighting against the Queen's
parsimony and caprice. "He is utterly discouraged," said Leicester to
Burghley, "to deal any more in these causes. I pray God your Lordship
grow not so too; for then all will to the ground; on my poor side
especially."

And to Sir Francis himself, he wrote, even as his vessel was casting off
her moorings:--"I am sorry, Mr. Secretary," he said, "to find you so
discouraged, and that her Majesty doth deem you so partial. And yet my
suits to her Majesty have not of late been so many nor great, while the
greatest, I am sure, are for her Majesty's own service. For my part, I
will discharge my duty as far as my poor ability and capacity shall
serve, and if I shall not have her gracious and princely support and
supply, the lack will be to us, for the present, but the shame and
dishonour will be hers."

And with these parting words the Earl committed himself to the December
seas.

Davison had been meantime doing his best to prepare the way in the
Netherlands for the reception of the English administration. What man
could do, without money and without authority, he had done. The governors
for Flushing and the Brill, Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Thomas Cecil,
eldest son of Lord Burghley, had been appointed, but had not arrived.
Their coming was anxiously looked for, as during the interval the
condition of the garrisons was deplorable. The English treasurer--by some
unaccountable and unpardonable negligence, for which it is to be feared
the Queen was herself to blame--was not upon the spot, and Davison was
driven out of his wits to devise expedients to save the soldiers from
starving.

"Your Lordship has seen by my former letters," wrote the Ambassador to
Burghley from Flushing, "what shift I have been driven to for the relief
of this garrison here, left 'a l'abandon;' without which means they had
all fallen into wild and shameful disorder, to her Majesty's great
disgrace and overthrow of her service. I am compelled, unless I would see
the poor men famish, and her Majesty dishonoured, to try my poor credit
for them."

General Sir John Norris was in the Betuwe, threatening Nvymegen, a town
which he found "not so flexible as he had hoped;" and, as he had but two
thousand men, while Alexander Farnese was thought to be marching upon him
with ten thousand, his position caused great anxiety. Meantime, his
brother, Sir Edward, a hot-headed and somewhat wilful young man, who
"thought that all was too little for him," was giving the sober Davison a
good deal of trouble. He had got himself into a quarrel, both with that
envoy and with Roger Williams, by claiming the right to control military
matters in Flushing until the arrival of Sidney. "If Sir Thomas and Sir
Philip," said Davison, "do not make choice of more discreet, staid, and
expert commanders than those thrust into these places by Mr. Norris, they
will do themselves a great deal of worry, and her Majesty a great deal of
hurt."

As might naturally be expected, the lamentable condition of the English
soldiers, unpaid and starving--according to the report of the Queen's
envoy himself--exercised anything but a salutary influence upon the minds
of the Netherlanders and perpetually fed the hopes of the Spanish
partizans that a composition with Philip and Parma would yet take place.
On the other hand, the States had been far more liberal in raising funds
than the Queen had shown herself to be, and were somewhat indignant at
being perpetually taunted with parsimony by her agents. Davison was
offended by the injustice of Norris in this regard. "The complaints which
the General hath made of the States to her Majesty," said he, "are
without cause, and I think, when your Lordship shall examine it well, you
will find it no little sum they have already disbursed unto him for their
part. Wherein, nevertheless, if they had been looked into, they were
somewhat the more excusable, considering how ill our people at her
Majesty's entertainment were satisfied hitherto--a thing that doth much
prejudice her reputation, and hurt her service."

At last, however, the die had been cast. The Queen, although rejecting
the proposed sovereignty of the Netherlands, had espoused their cause, by
solemn treaty of alliance, and thereby had thrown down the gauntlet to
Spain. She deemed it necessary, therefore, out of respect for the
opinions of mankind, to issue a manifesto of her motives to the world.
The document was published, simultaneously in Dutch, French, English, and
Italian.

In this solemn state-paper she spoke of the responsibility of princes to
the Almighty, of the ancient friendship between England and the
Netherlands, of the cruelty and tyranny of the Spaniards, of their
violation of the liberties of the Provinces, of their hanging, beheading,
banishing without law and against justice, in the space of a few months,
so many of the highest nobles in the land. Although in the beginning of
the cruel persecution, the pretext had been the maintenance of the
Catholic religion, yet it was affirmed they had not failed to exercise
their barbarity upon Catholics also, and even upon ecclesiastics. Of the
principal persons put to death, no one, it was asserted, had been more
devoted to the ancient church than was the brave Count Egmont, who, for
his famous victories in the service of Spain, could never be forgotten in
veracious history any more than could be the cruelty of his execution.

The land had been made desolate, continued the Queen, with fire, sword,
famine, and murder. These misfortunes had ever been bitterly deplored by
friendly nations, and none could more truly regret such sufferings than
did the English, the oldest allies, and familiar neighbours of the
Provinces, who had been as close to them in the olden time by community
of connexion and language, as man and wife. She declared that she had
frequently, by amicable embassies, warned her brother of Spain--speaking
to him like a good, dear sister and neighbour--that unless he restrained
the cruelty of his governors and their soldiers, he was sure to force his
Provinces into allegiance to some other power. She expressed the danger
in which she should be placed if the Spaniards succeeded in establishing
their absolute government in the Netherlands, from which position their
attacks upon England would be incessant. She spoke of the enterprise
favoured and set on foot by the Pope and by Spain, against the kingdom of
Ireland. She alluded to the dismissal of the Spanish envoy, Don
Bernardino de Mendoza, who had been treated by her with great regard for
a long time, but who had been afterwards discovered in league with
certain ill-disposed and seditious subjects of hers, and with publicly
condemned traitors. That envoy had arranged a plot according to which, as
appeared by his secret despatches, an invasion of England by a force of
men, coming partly from Spain, and partly from the Netherlands, might be
successfully managed, and he had even noted down the necessary number of
ships and men, with various other details. Some of the conspirators had
fled, she observed, and were now consorting with Mendoza, who, after his
expulsion from England, had been appointed ambassador in Paris; while
some had been arrested, and had confessed the plot. So soon as this envoy
had been discovered to be the chief of a rebellion and projected
invasion, the Queen had requested him, she said, to leave the kingdom
within a reasonable time, as one who was the object of deadly hatred to
the English people. She had then sent an agent to Spain, in order to
explain the whole transaction. That agent had not been allowed even to
deliver despatches to the King.

When the French had sought, at a previous period, to establish their
authority in Scotland, even as the Spaniards had attempted to do in the
Netherlands, and through the enormous ambition of the House of Guise, to
undertake the invasion of her kingdom, she had frustrated their plots,
even as she meant to suppress these Spanish conspiracies. She spoke of
the Prince of Parma as more disposed by nature to mercy and humanity,
than preceding governors had been, but as unable to restrain the
blood-thirstiness of Spaniards, increased by long indulgence. She avowed,
in assuming the protection of the Netherlands, and in sending her troops
to those countries, but three objects: peace, founded upon the
recognition of religious freedom in the Provinces, restoration of their
ancient political liberties, and security for England. Never could there
be tranquillity, for her own realm until these neighbouring countries
were tranquil. These were her ends and aims, despite all that slanderous
tongues might invent. The world, she observed, was overflowing with
blasphemous libels, calumnies, scandalous pamphlets; for never had the
Devil been so busy in supplying evil tongues with venom against the
professors of the Christian religion.

She added that in a pamphlet, ascribed to the Archbishop of Milan, just
published, she had been accused of ingratitude to the King of Spain, and
of plots to take the life of Alexander Farnese. In answer to the first
charge, she willingly acknowledged her obligations to the King of Spain
during the reign of her sister. She pronounced it, however, an absolute
falsehood that he had ever saved her life, as if she had ever been
condemned to death. She likewise denied earnestly the charge regarding
the Prince of Parma. She protested herself incapable of such a crime,
besides declaring that he had never given her offence. On the contrary,
he was a man whom she had ever honoured for the rare qualities that she
had noted in him, and for which he had deservedly acquired a high
reputation.

Such, in brief analysis, was the memorable Declaration of Elizabeth in
favour of the Netherlands--a document which was a hardly disguised
proclamation of war against Philip. In no age of the world could an
unequivocal agreement to assist rebellious subjects, with men and money,
against their sovereign, be considered otherwise than as a hostile
demonstration. The King of Spain so regarded the movement, and forthwith
issued a decree, ordering the seizure of all English as well as all
Netherland vessels within his ports, together with the arrest of persons,
and confiscation of property.

Subsequently to the publication of the Queen's memorial, and before the
departure of the Earl of Leicester, Sir Philip Sidney, having received
his appointment, together with the rank of general of cavalry, arrived in
the Isle of Walcheren, as governor of Flushing, at the head of a portion
of the English contingent.

It is impossible not to contemplate with affection so radiant a figure,
shining through the cold mists of that Zeeland winter, and that distant
and disastrous epoch. There is hardly a character in history upon which
the imagination can dwell with more unalloyed delight. Not in romantic
fiction was there ever created a more attractive incarnation of martial
valour, poetic genius, and purity of heart. If the mocking spirit of the
soldier of Lepanto could "smile chivalry away," the name alone of his
English contemporary is potent enough to conjure it back again, so long
as humanity is alive to the nobler impulses.

"I cannot pass him over in silence," says a dusty chronicler, "that
glorious star, that lively pattern of virtue, and the lovely joy of all
the learned sort. It was God's will that he should be born into the
world, even to show unto our age a sample of ancient virtue." The
descendant of an ancient Norman race, and allied to many of the proudest
nobles in England, Sidney himself was but a commoner, a private
individual, a soldier of fortune. He was now in his thirty second year,
and should have been foremost among the states men of Elizabeth, had it
not been, according to Lord Bacon, a maxim of the Cecils, that "able men
should be by design and of purpose suppressed." Whatever of truth there
may have been in the bitter remark, it is certainly strange that a man so
gifted as Sidney--of whom his father-in-law Walsingham had declared, that
"although he had influence in all countries, and a hand upon all affairs,
his Philip did far overshoot him with his own bow"--should have passed so
much of his life in retirement, or in comparatively insignificant
employments. The Queen, as he himself observed, was most apt to interpret
everything to his disadvantage. Among those who knew him well, there
seems never to have been a dissenting voice. His father, Sir Henry
Sidney, lord-deputy of Ireland, and president of Wales, a states man of
accomplishments and experience, called him "lumen familiae suae," and
said of him, with pardonable pride, "that he had the most virtues which
he had ever found in any man; that he was the very formular that all
well-disposed young gentlemen do form their manners and life by."

The learned Hubert Languet, companion of Melancthon, tried friend of
William the Silent, was his fervent admirer and correspondent. The great
Prince of Orange held him in high esteem, and sent word to Queen
Elizabeth, that having himself been an actor in the most important
affairs of Europe, and acquainted with her foremost men, he could "pledge
his credit that her Majesty had one of the ripest and greatest
councillors of state in Sir Philip Sidney that lived in Europe."

The incidents of his brief and brilliant life, up to his arrival upon the
fatal soil of the Netherlands, are too well known to need recalling.
Adorned with the best culture that, in a learned age, could be obtained
in the best seminaries of his native country, where, during childhood and
youth, he had been distinguished for a "lovely and familiar gravity
beyond his years," he rapidly acquired the admiration of his comrades and
the esteem of all his teachers.

Travelling for three years, he made the acquaintance and gained the
personal regard of such opposite characters as Charles IX. of France,
Henry of Navarre, Don John of Austria, and William of Orange, and
perfected his accomplishments by residence and study, alternately, in
courts, camps, and learned universities. He was in Paris during the
memorable days of August, 1572, and narrowly escaped perishing in the St.
Bartholomew Massacre. On his return, he was, for a brief period, the idol
of the English court, which, it was said, "was maimed without his
company." At the age of twenty-one he was appointed special envoy to
Vienna, ostensibly for the purpose of congratulating the Emperor Rudolph
upon his accession, but in reality that he might take the opportunity of
sounding the secret purposes of the Protestant princes of Germany, in
regard to the great contest of the age. In this mission, young as he was,
he acquitted himself, not only to the satisfaction, but to the admiration
of Walsingham, certainly a master himself in that occult science, the
diplomacy of the sixteenth century. "There hath not been," said he, "any
gentleman, I am sure, that hath gone through so honourable a charge with
as great commendations as he."

When the memorable marriage-project of Queen Elizabeth with Anjou seemed
about to take effect, he denounced the scheme in a most spirited and
candid letter, addressed to her Majesty; nor is it recorded that the
Queen was offended with his frankness. Indeed we are informed that
"although he found a sweet stream of sovereign humours in that
well-tempered lady to run against him, yet found he safety in herself
against that selfness which appeared to threaten him in her." Whatever
this might mean, translated out of euphuism into English, it is certain
that his conduct was regarded with small favour by the court-grandees, by
whom "worth, duty, and justice, were looked upon with no other eyes than
Lamia's."

The difficulty of swimming against that sweet stream of sovereign humours
in the well-tempered Elizabeth, was aggravated by his quarrel, at this
period, with the magnificent Oxford. A dispute at a tennis-court, where
many courtiers and foreigners were looking on, proceeded rapidly from one
extremity to another. The Earl commanded Sir Philip to leave the place.
Sir Philip responded, that if he were of a mind that he should go, he
himself was of a mind that he should remain; adding that if he had
entreated, where he had no right to command, he might have done more than
"with the scourge of fury."--"This answer," says Fulke Greville, in a
style worthy of Don Adriano de Armado, "did, like a bellows, blowing up
the sparks of excess already kindled, make my lord scornfully call Sir
Philip by the name of puppy. In which progress of heat, as the tempest
grew more and more vehement within, so did their hearts breathe out their
perturbations in a more loud and shrill accent;" and so on; but the
impending duel was the next day forbidden by express command of her
Majesty. Sidney, not feeling the full force of the royal homily upon the
necessity of great deference from gentlemen to their superiors in rank,
in order to protect all orders from the insults of plebeians, soon
afterwards retired from the court. To his sylvan seclusion the world owes
the pastoral and chivalrous romance of the 'Arcadia' and to the pompous
Earl, in consequence, an emotion of gratitude. Nevertheless, it was in
him to do, rather than to write, and humanity seems defrauded, when
forced to accept the 'Arcadia,' the `Defence of Poesy,' and the
'Astrophel and Stella,' in discharge of its claims upon so great and pure
a soul.

Notwithstanding this disagreeable affair, and despite the memorable
letter against Anjou, Sir Philip suddenly flashes upon us again, as one
of the four challengers in a tournament to honour the Duke's presence in
England. A vision of him in blue gilded armour--with horses caparisoned
in cloth of gold, pearl-embroidered, attended by pages in cloth of
silver, Venetian hose, laced hats, and by gentlemen, yeomen, and
trumpeters, in yellow velvet cassocks, buskins, and feathers--as one of
"the four fostered children of virtuous desire" (to wit, Anjou) storming
"the castle of perfect Beauty" (to wit, Queen Elizabeth, aetatis 47)
rises out of the cloud-dusts of ancient chronicle for a moment, and then
vanishes into air again.

     "Having that day his hand, his horse, his lance,
      Guided so well that they attained the prize
      Both in the judgment of our English eyes,
     But of some sent by that sweet enemy, France,"

as he chivalrously sings, he soon afterwards felt inclined for wider
fields of honourable adventure. It was impossible that knight-errant so
true should not feel keenest sympathy with an oppressed people struggling
against such odds, as the Netherlanders were doing in their contest with
Spain. So soon as the treaty with England was arranged, it was his
ambition to take part in the dark and dangerous enterprise, and, being
son-in-law to Walsingham and nephew to Leicester, he had a right to
believe that his talents and character would, on this occasion, be
recognised. But, like his "very friend," Lord Willoughby, he was "not of
the genus Reptilia, and could neither creep nor crouch," and he failed,
as usual, to win his way to the Queen's favour. The governorship of
Flushing was denied him, and, stung to the heart by such neglect, he
determined to seek his fortune beyond the seas.

"Sir Philip hath taken a very hard resolution," wrote Walsingham to
Davison, "to accompany Sir Francis Drake in this voyage, moved thereto
for that he saw her Majesty disposed to commit the charge of Flushing
unto some other; which he reputed would fall out greatly to his disgrace,
to see another preferred before him, both for birth and judgment inferior
unto him. The despair thereof and the disgrace that he doubted he should
receive have carried him into a different course."

The Queen, however, relenting at last, interfered to frustrate his
design. Having thus balked his ambition in the Indian seas, she felt
pledged to offer him the employment which he had originally solicited,
and she accordingly conferred upon him the governorship of Flushing, with
the rank of general of horse, under the Earl of Leicester. In the latter
part of November, he cast anchor, in the midst of a violent storm, at
Rammekins, and thence came to the city of his government. Young, and
looking even younger than his years--"not only of an excellent wit, but
extremely beautiful of face"--with delicately chiselled Anglo-Norman
features, smooth fair cheek, a faint moustache, blue eyes, and a mass of
amber-coloured hair; such was the author of 'Arcadia' and the governor of
Flushing.

And thus an Anglo-Norman representative of ancient race had come back to
the home of his ancestors. Scholar, poet, knight-errant, finished
gentleman, he aptly typified the result of seven centuries of
civilization upon the wild Danish pirate. For among those very quicksands
of storm-beaten Walachria that wondrous Normandy first came into
existence whose wings were to sweep over all the high places of
Christendom. Out of these creeks, lagunes, and almost inaccessible
sandbanks, those bold freebooters sailed forth on their forays against
England, France, and other adjacent countries, and here they brought and
buried the booty of many a wild adventure. Here, at a later day, Rollo
the Dane had that memorable dream of leprosy, the cure of which was the
conversion of North Gaul into Normandy, of Pagans into Christians, and
the subsequent conquest of every throne in Christendom from Ultima Thule
to Byzantium. And now the descendant of those early freebooters had come
back to the spot, at a moment when a wider and even more imperial swoop
was to be made by their modern representatives. For the sea-kings of the
sixteenth century--the Drakes, Hawkinses, Frobishers, Raleighs,
Cavendishes--the De Moors, Heemskerks, Barendts--all sprung of the old
pirate-lineage, whether called Englanders or Hollanders, and instinct
with the same hereditary love of adventure, were about to wrestle with
ancient tyrannies, to explore the most inaccessible regions, and to
establish new commonwealths in worlds undreamed of by their ancestors--to
accomplish, in short, more wondrous feats than had been attempted by the
Knuts, and Rollos, Rurics, Ropers, and Tancreds, of an earlier age.

The place which Sidney was appointed to govern was one of great military
and commercial importance. Flushing was the key to the navigation of the
North Seas, ever since the disastrous storm of a century before, in which
a great trading city on the outermost verge of the island had been
swallowed bodily by the ocean. The Emperor had so thoroughly recognized
its value, as to make special mention of the necessity for its
preservation, in his private instructions to Philip, and now the Queen of
England had confided it to one who was competent to appreciate and to
defend the prize. "How great a jewel this place (Flushing) is to the
crown of England," wrote Sidney to his Uncle Leicester, "and to the
Queen's safety, I need not now write it to your lordship, who knows it so
well. Yet I must needs say, the better I know it, the more I find the
preciousness of it."

He did not enter into his government, however, with much pomp and
circumstance, but came afoot into Flushing in the midst of winter and
foul weather. "Driven to land at Rammekins," said he, "because the wind
began to rise in such sort as from thence our mariners durst not enter
the town, I came with as dirty a walk as ever poor governor entered his
charge withal." But he was cordially welcomed, nor did he arrive by any
means too soon.

"I find the people very glad of our coming," he said, "and promise myself
as much surety in keeping this town, as popular good-will, gotten by
light hopes, and by as slight conceits, may breed; for indeed the
garrison is far too weak to command by authority, which is pity . . . . I
think, truly, that if my coming had been longer delayed, some alteration
would have followed; for the truth is, this people is weary of war, and
if they do not see such a course taken as may be likely to defend them,
they will in a sudden give over the cause. . . . All will be lost if
government be not presently used."

He expressed much anxiety for the arrival of his uncle, with which
sentiments he assured the Earl that the Netherlanders fully sympathized.
"Your Lordship's coming," he said, "is as much longed for as Messias is
of the Jews. It is indeed most necessary that your Lordship make great
speed to reform both the Dutch and English abuses."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Able men should be by design and of purpose suppressed
     He did his work, but he had not his reward
     Matter that men may rather pray for than hope for
     Not of the genus Reptilia, and could neither creep nor crouch
     Others that do nothing, do all, and have all the thanks
     Peace-at-any-price party
     The busy devil of petty economy
     Thought that all was too little for him
     Weary of place without power



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 44, 1585-1586



CHAPTER VII., Part 1.

   The Earl of Leicester--His Triumphal Entrance into Holland--English
   Spies about him--Importance of Holland to England--Spanish Schemes
   for invading England--Letter of the Grand Commander--Perilous
   Position of England--True Nature of the Contest--wealth and Strength
   of the Provinces--Power of the Dutch and English People--Affection
   of the Hollanders for the Queen--Secret Purposes of Leicester--
   Wretched condition of English Troops--The Nassaus and Hohenlo--The
   Earl's Opinion of them--Clerk and Killigrew--Interview with the
   States Government General offered to the Earl--Discussions on the
   Subject--The Earl accepts the Office--His Ambition and Mistakes--His
   Installation at the Hague--Intimations of the Queen's Displeasure--
   Deprecatory Letters of Leicester--Davison's Mission to England--
   Queen's Anger and Jealousy--Her angry Letters to the Earl and the
   States--Arrival of Davison--Stormy Interview with the Queen--The
   second one is calmer--Queen's Wrath somewhat mitigated--Mission of
   Heneago to the States--Shirley sent to England by the Earl--His
   Interview with Elizabeth

At last the Earl of Leicester came. Embarking at Harwich, with a fleet of
fifty ships, and attended "by the flower and chief gallants of
England"--the Lords Sheffield, Willoughby, North, Burroughs, Sir Gervase
Clifton, Sir William Russell, Sir Robert Sidney, and others among the
number--the new lieutenant-general of the English forces in the
Netherlands arrived on the 19th December, 1585, at Flushing.

His nephew, Sir Philip Sidney, and Count Maurice of Nassau, with a body
of troops and a great procession of civil functionaries; were in
readiness to receive him, and to escort him to the lodgings prepared for
him.

Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was then fifty-four years of age. There
are few personages in English history whose adventures, real or
fictitious, have been made more familiar to the world than his have been,
or whose individuality has been presented in more picturesque fashion, by
chronicle, tragedy, or romance. Born in the same day of the month and
hour of the day with the Queen, but two years before her birth, the
supposed synastry of their destinies might partly account, in that age of
astrological superstition, for the influence which he perpetually
exerted. They had, moreover, been fellow-prisoners together, in the
commencement of the reign of Mary, and it is possible that he may have
been the medium through which the indulgent expressions of Philip II.
were conveyed to the Princess Elizabeth.

His grandfather, John Dudley, that "caterpillar of the commonwealth," who
lost his head in the first year of Henry VIII. as a reward for the grist
which he brought to the mill of Henry VII.; his father, the mighty Duke
of Northumberland, who rose out of the wreck of an obscure and ruined
family to almost regal power, only to perish, like his predecessor, upon
the scaffold, had bequeathed him nothing save rapacity, ambition, and the
genius to succeed. But Elizabeth seemed to ascend the throne only to
bestow gifts upon her favourite. Baronies and earldoms, stars and
garters, manors and monopolies, castles and forests, church livings and
college chancellorships, advowsons and sinecures, emoluments and
dignities, the most copious and the most exalted, were conferred upon him
in breathless succession. Wine, oil, currants, velvets, ecclesiastical
benefices, university headships, licences to preach, to teach, to ride,
to sail, to pick and to steal, all brought "grist to his mill." His
grandfather, "the horse leach and shearer," never filled his coffers more
rapidly than did Lord Robert, the fortunate courtier. Of his early
wedlock with the ill-starred Amy Robsart, of his nuptial projects with
the Queen, of his subsequent marriages and mock-marriages with Douglas
Sheffield and Lettice of Essex, of his plottings, poisonings, imaginary
or otherwise, of his countless intrigues, amatory and political--of that
luxuriant, creeping, flaunting, all-pervading existence which struck its
fibres into the mould, and coiled itself through the whole fabric, of
Elizabeth's life and reign--of all this the world has long known too much
to render a repetition needful here. The inmost nature and the secret
deeds of a man placed so high by wealth and station, can be seen but
darkly through the glass of contemporary record. There was no tribunal to
sit upon his guilt. A grandee could be judged only when no longer a
favourite, and the infatuation of Elizabeth for Leicester terminated only
with his life. He stood now upon the soil of the Netherlands in the
character of a "Messiah," yet he has been charged with crimes sufficient
to send twenty humbler malefactors to the gibbet. "I think," said a most
malignant arraigner of the man, in a published pamphlet, "that the Earl
of Leicester hath more blood lying upon his head at this day, crying for
vengeance, than ever had private man before, were he never so wicked."

Certainly the mass of misdemeanours and infamies hurled at the head of
the favourite by that "green-coated Jesuit," father Parsons, under the
title of 'Leycester's Commonwealth,' were never accepted as literal
verities; yet the value of the precept, to calumniate boldly, with the
certainty that much of the calumny would last for ever, was never better
illustrated than in the case of Robert Dudley. Besides the lesser
delinquencies of filling his purse by the sale of honours and dignities,
by violent ejectments from land, fraudulent titles, rapacious enclosures
of commons, by taking bribes for matters of justice, grace, and
supplication to the royal authority, he was accused of forging various
letters to the Queen, often to ruin his political adversaries, and of
plottings to entrap them into conspiracies, playing first the comrade and
then the informer. The list of his murders and attempts to murder was
almost endless. "His lordship hath a special fortune," saith the Jesuit,
"that when he desireth any woman's favour, whatsoever person standeth in
his way hath the luck to die quickly." He was said to have poisoned Alice
Drayton, Lady Lennox, Lord Sussex, Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, Lord
Sheffield, whose widow he married and then poisoned, Lord Essex, whose
widow he also married, and intended to poison, but who was said to have
subsequently poisoned him--besides murders or schemes for murder of
various other individuals, both French and English. "He was a rare artist
in poison," said Sir Robert Naunton, and certainly not Caesar Borgia, nor
his father or sister, was more accomplished in that difficult profession
than was Dudley, if half the charges against him could be believed.
Fortunately for his fame, many of them were proved to be false. Sir Henry
Sidney, lord deputy of Ireland, at the time of the death of Lord Essex,
having caused a diligent inquiry to be made into that dark affair, wrote
to the council that it was usual for the Earl to fall into a bloody flux
when disturbed in his mind, and that his body when opened showed no signs
of poison. It is true that Sir Henry, although an honourable man, was
Leicester's brother-in-law, and that perhaps an autopsy was not conducted
at that day in Ireland on very scientific principles.

His participation in the strange death of his first wife was a matter of
current belief among his contemporaries. "He is infamed by the death of
his wife," said Burghley, and the tale has since become so interwoven
with classic and legendary fiction, as well as with more authentic
history, that the phantom of the murdered Amy Robsart is sure to arise at
every mention of the Earl's name. Yet a coroner's inquest--as appears
from his own secret correspondence with his relative and agent at
Cumnor--was immediately and persistently demanded by Dudley. A jury was
impaneled--every man of them a stranger to him, and some of them
enemies. Antony Forster, Appleyard, and Arthur Robsart, brother-in-law
and brother of the lady, were present, according to Dudley's special
request; "and if more of her friends could have been sent," said he, "I
would have sent them;" but with all their minuteness of inquiry, "they
could find," wrote Blount, "no presumptions of evil," although he
expressed a suspicion that "some of the jurymen were sorry that they
could not." That the unfortunate lady was killed by a fall down stairs
was all that could be made of it by a coroner's inquest, rather hostile
than otherwise, and urged to rigorous investigation by the supposed
culprit himself. Nevertheless, the calumny has endured for three
centuries, and is likely to survive as many more.

Whatever crimes Dudley may have committed in the course of his career,
there is no doubt whatever that he was the most abused man in Europe. He
had been deeply wounded by the Jesuit's artful publication, in which all
the misdeeds with which he was falsely or justly charged were drawn up in
awful array, in a form half colloquial, half judicial. "You had better
give some contentment to my Lord Leicester," wrote the French envoy from
London to his government, "on account of the bitter feelings excited in
him by these villainous books lately written against him."

The Earl himself ascribed these calumnies to the Jesuits, to the Guise
faction, and particularly to--the Queen of Scots. He was said, in
consequence, to have vowed an eternal hatred to that most unfortunate and
most intriguing Princess. "Leicester has lately told a friend," wrote
Charles Paget, "that he will persecute you to the uttermost, for that he
supposeth your Majesty to be privy to the setting forth of the book
against him." Nevertheless, calumniated or innocent he was at least
triumphant over calumny. Nothing could shake his hold upon Elizabeth's
affections. The Queen scorned but resented the malignant attacks upon the
reputation of her favourite. She declared "before God and in her
conscience, that she knew the libels against him to be most scandalous,
and such as none but an incarnate devil himself could dream to be true."
His power, founded not upon genius nor virtue, but upon woman's caprice,
shone serenely above the gulf where there had been so many shipwrecks. "I
am now passing into another world," said Sussex, upon his death-bed, to
his friends, "and I must leave you to your fortunes; but beware of the
gipsy, or he will be too hard for you. You know not the beast so well as
I do."

The "gipsy," as he had been called from his dark complexion, had been
renowned in youth for the beauty of his person, being "tall and
singularly well-featured, of a sweet aspect, but high foreheaded, which
was of no discommendation," according to Naunton. The Queen, who had the
passion of her father for tall and proper men, was easier won by
externals, from her youth even to the days of her dotage, than befitted
so very sagacious a personage. Chamberlains, squires of the body,
carvers, cup-bearers, gentlemen-ushers, porters, could obtain neither
place nor favour at court, unless distinguished for stature, strength, or
extraordinary activity. To lose a tooth had been known to cause the loss
of a place, and the excellent constitution of leg which helped Sir
Christopher Hatton into the chancellorship, was not more remarkable
perhaps than the success of similar endowments in other contemporaries.
Leicester, although stately and imposing, had passed his summer solstice.
A big bulky man, with a long red face, a bald head, a defiant somewhat
sinister eye, a high nose, and a little torrent of foam-white curly
beard, he was still magnificent in costume. Rustling in satin and
feathers, with jewels in his ears, and his velvet toque stuck as airily
as ever upon the side of his head, he amazed the honest Hollanders, who
had been used to less gorgeous chieftains.

"Every body is wondering at the great magnificence and splendour of his
clothes," said the plain chronicler of Utrecht. For, not much more than a
year before, Fulke Greville had met at Delft a man whose external
adornments were simpler; a somewhat slip-shod personage, whom he thus
pourtrayed: "His uppermost garment was a gown," said the euphuistic
Fulke, "yet such as, I confidently affirm, a mean-born student of our
Inns of Court would not have been well disposed to walk the streets in.
Unbuttoned his doublet was, and of like precious matter and form to the
other. His waistcoat, which showed itself under it, not unlike the best
sort of those woollen knit ones which our ordinary barge-watermen row us
in. His company about him, the burgesses of that beerbrewing town. No
external sign of degree could have discovered the inequality of his worth
or estate from that multitude. Nevertheless, upon conversing with him,
there was an outward passage of inward greatness."

Of a certainty there must have been an outward passage of inward
greatness about him; for the individual in unbuttoned doublet and
bargeman's waistcoat, was no other than William the Silent. A different
kind of leader had now descended among those rebels, yet it would be a
great mistake to deny the capacity or vigorous intentions of the
magnificent Earl, who certainly was like to find himself in a more
difficult and responsible situation than any he had yet occupied.

And now began a triumphal progress through the land, with a series of
mighty banquets and festivities, in which no man could play a better part
than Leicester. From Flushing he came to Middelburg, where, upon
Christmas eve (according to the new reckoning), there was an
entertainment, every dish of which has been duly chronicled. Pigs served
on their feet, pheasants in their feathers, and baked swans with their
necks thrust through gigantic pie-crust; crystal castles of confectionery
with silver streams flowing at their base, and fair virgins leaning from
the battlements, looking for their new English champion, "wine in
abundance, variety of all sorts, and wonderful welcomes "--such was the
bill of fare. The next day the Lieutenant-General returned the compliment
to the magistrates of Middelburg with a tremendous feast. Then came an
interlude of unexpected famine; for as the Earl sailed with his suite in
a fleet of two hundred vessels for Dort--a voyage of not many hours'
usual duration--there descended a mighty frozen fog upon the waters, and
they lay five whole days and nights in their ships, almost starved with
hunger and cold--offering in vain a "pound of silver for a pound of
bread." Emerging at last from this dismal predicament, he landed at Dort,
and so went to Rotterdam and Delft, everywhere making his way through
lines of musketeers and civic functionaries, amid roaring cannon, pealing
bells, burning cressets, blazing tar-barrels, fiery winged dragons,
wreaths of flowers, and Latin orations.

The farther he went the braver seemed the country, and the better beloved
his. Lordship. Nothing was left undone, in the language of ancient
chronicle, to fill the bellies and the heads of the whole company. At the
close of the year he came to the Hague, where the festivities were
unusually magnificent. A fleet of barges was sent to escort him. Peter,
James, and John, met him upon the shore, while the Saviour appeared
walking upon the waves, and ordered his disciples to cast their nets, and
to present the fish to his Excellency. Farther on, he was confronted by
Mars and Bellona, who recited Latin odes in his honour. Seven beautiful
damsels upon a stage, representing the United States, offered him golden
keys; seven others equally beautiful, embodying the seven sciences,
presented him with garlands, while an enthusiastic barber adorned his
shop with seven score of copper basins, with a wax-light in each,
together with a rose, and a Latin posy in praise of Queen Elizabeth. Then
there were tiltings in the water between champions mounted upon whales,
and other monsters of the deep-representatives of siege, famine,
pestilence, and murder--the whole interspersed with fireworks, poetry,
charades, and Matthias, nor Anjou, nor King Philip, nor the Emperor
Charles, in their triumphal progresses, had been received with more
spontaneous or more magnificent demonstrations. Never had the living
pictures been more startling, the allegories more incomprehensible, the
banquets more elaborate, the orations more tedious. Beside himself with
rapture, Leicester almost assumed the God. In Delft, a city which he
described as "another London almost for beauty and fairness," he is said
so far to have forgotten himself as to declare that his family had--in
the person of Lady Jane Grey, his father, and brother--been unjustly
deprived of the crown of England; an indiscretion which caused a shudder
in all who heard him. It was also very dangerous for the
Lieutenant-General to exceed the bounds of becoming modesty at that
momentous epoch. His power, as we shall soon have occasion to observe,
was anomalous, and he was surrounded by enemies. He was not only to
grapple with a rapidly developing opposition in the States, but he was
surrounded with masked enemies, whom he had brought with him from
England. Every act and word of his were liable to closest scrutiny, and
likely to be turned against him. For it was most characteristic of that
intriguing age, that even the astute Walsingham, who had an eye and an
ear at every key-hole in Europe, was himself under closest domestic
inspection. There was one Poley, a trusted servant of Lady Sidney, then
living in the house of her father Walsingham, during Sir Philip's
absence, who was in close communication with Lord Montjoy's brother,
Blount, then high in favour of Queen Elizabeth--"whose grandmother she
might be for his age and hers"--and with another brother Christopher
Blount, at that moment in confidential attendance upon Lord Leicester in
Holland. Now Poley, and both the Blounts, were, in reality, Papists, and
in intimate correspondence with the agents of the Queen of Scots, both at
home and abroad, although "forced to fawn upon Leicester, to see if they
might thereby live quiet." They had a secret "alphabet," or cipher, among
them, and protested warmly, that they "honoured the ground whereon Queen
Mary trod better than Leicester with all his generation; and that they
felt bound to serve her who was the only saint living on the earth."

It may be well understood then that the Earl's position was a slippery
one, and that great assumption might be unsafe. "He taketh the matter
upon him," wrote Morgan to the Queen of Scots, "as though he were an
absolute king; but he hath many personages about him of good place out of
England, the best number whereof desire nothing more than his confusion.
Some of them be gone with him to avoid the persecution for religion in
England. My poor advice and labour shall not be wanting to give Leicester
all dishonour, which will fall upon him in the end with shame enough;
though for the present he be very strong." Many of these personages of
good place, and enjoying "charge and credit" with the Earl had very
serious plans in their heads. Some of them meant "for the service of God,
and the advantage of the King of Spain, to further the delivery of some
notable towns in Holland and Zeeland to the said King and his ministers,"
and we are like to hear of these individuals again.

Meantime, the Earl of Leicester was at the Hague. Why was he there? What
was his work? Why had Elizabeth done such violence to her affection as to
part with her favourite-in-chief; and so far overcome her thrift, as to
furnish forth, rather meagrely to be sure, that little army of
Englishmen? Why had the flower of England's chivalry set foot upon that
dark and bloody ground where there seemed so much disaster to encounter,
and so little glory to reap? Why had England thrown herself so heroically
into the breach, just as the last bulwarks were falling which protected
Holland from the overwhelming onslaught of Spain? It was because Holland
was the threshold of England; because the two countries were one by
danger and by destiny; because the naval expedition from Spain against
England was already secretly preparing; because the deposed tyrant of
Spain intended the Provinces, when again subjugated, as a steppingstone
to the conquest of England; because the naval and military forces of
Holland--her numerous ships, her hardy mariners, her vast wealth, her
commodious sea-ports, close to the English coast--if made Spanish
property would render Philip invincible by sea and land; and because the
downfall of Holland and of Protestantism would be death to Elizabeth, and
annihilation to England.

There was little doubt on the subject in the minds of those engaged in
this expedition. All felt most keenly the importance of the game, in
which the Queen was staking her crown, and England its national
existence.

"I pray God," said Wilford, an officer much in Walsingham's confidence,
"that I live not to see this enterprise quail, and with it the utter
subversion of religion throughout all Christendom. It may be I may be
judged to be afraid of my own shadow. God grant it be so. But if her
Majesty had not taken the helm in hand, and my Lord of Leicester sent
over, this country had been gone ere this. . . . This war doth defend
England. Who is he that will refuse to spend his life and living in it?
If her Majesty consume twenty thousand men in the cause, the experimented
men that will remain will double that strength to the realm."

This same Wilford commanded a company in Ostend, and was employed by
Leicester in examining the defences of that important place. He often
sent information to the Secretary, "troubling him with the rude stile of
a poor soldier, being driven to scribble in haste." He reiterated, in
more than one letter, the opinion, that twenty thousand men consumed in
the war would be a saving in the end, and his own determination--although
he had intended retiring from the military profession--to spend not only
his life in the cause, but also the poor living that God had given him.
"Her Highness hath now entered into it," he said; "the fire is kindled;
whosoever suffers it to go out, it will grow dangerous to that side. The
whole state of religion is in question, and the realm of England also, if
this action quail. God grant we never live to see that doleful day. Her
Majesty hath such footing now in these parts, as I judge it impossible
for the King to weary her out, if every man will put to the work his
helping hand, whereby it may be lustily followed, and the war not
suffered to cool. The freehold of England will be worth but little, if
this action quail, and therefore I wish no subject to spare his purse
towards it."

Spain moved slowly. Philip the Prudent was not sudden or rash, but his
whole life had proved, and was to prove, him inflexible in his purposes,
and patient in his attempts to carry them into effect, even when the
purposes had become chimerical, and the execution impossible. Before the
fall of Antwerp he had matured his scheme for the invasion of England, in
most of its details--a necessary part of which was of course the
reduction of Holland and Zeeland. "Surely no danger nor fear of any
attempt can grow to England," wrote Wilford, "so long as we can hold this
country good." But never was honest soldier more mistaken than he, when
he added:--"The Papists will make her Highness afraid of a great fleet
now preparing in Spain. We hear it also, but it is only a scare-crow to
cool the enterprise here."

It was no scare-crow. On the very day on which Wilford was thus writing
to Walsingham, Philip the Second was writing to Alexander Farnese. "The
English," he said, "with their troops having gained a footing in the
islands (Holland and Zeeland) give me much anxiety. The English Catholics
are imploring me with much importunity to relieve them from the
persecution they are suffering. When you sent me a plan, with the coasts,
soundings, quicksands, and ports of England, you said that the enterprise
of invading that country should be deferred till we had reduced the
isles; that, having them, we could much more conveniently attack England;
or that at least we should wait till we had got Antwerp. As the city is
now taken, I want your advice now about the invasion of England. To cut
the root of the evils constantly growing up there, both for God's service
and mine, is desirable. So many evils will thus be remedied, which would
not be by only warring with the islands. It would be an uncertain and
expensive war to go to sea for the purpose of chastising the insolent
English corsairs, however much they deserve chastisement. I charge you to
be secret, to give the matter your deepest attention, and to let me have
your opinions at once." Philip then added a postscript, in his own hand,
concerning the importance of acquiring a sea-port in Holland, as a basis
of operations against England. "Without a port," he said, "we can do
nothing whatever."

A few weeks later, the Grand Commander of Castile, by Philip's orders,
and upon subsequent information received from the Prince of Parma, drew
up an elaborate scheme for the invasion of England, and for the
government of that country afterwards; a program according to which the
King was to shape his course for a long time to come. The plot was an
excellent plot. Nothing could be more artistic, more satisfactory to the
prudent monarch; but time was to show whether there might not be some
difficulty in the way of its satisfactory development.

"The enterprise," said the Commander, "ought certainly to be undertaken
as serving the cause of the Lord. From the Pope we must endeavour to
extract a promise of the largest aid we can get for the time when the
enterprise can be undertaken. We must not declare that time however, in
order to keep the thing a secret, and because perhaps thus more will be
promised, under the impression that it will never take effect. He added
that the work could not well be attempted before August or September of
the following year; the only fear of such delay being that the French
could hardly be kept during all that time in a state of revolt." For this
was a uniform portion of the great scheme. France was to be kept, at
Philip's expense, in a state of perpetual civil war; its every city and
village to be the scene of unceasing conflict and bloodshed--subjects in
arms against king, and family against family; and the Netherlands were to
be ravaged with fire and sword; all this in order that the path might be
prepared for Spanish soldiers into the homes of England. So much of
misery to the whole human race was it in the power of one painstaking
elderly valetudinarian to inflict, by never for an instant neglecting the
business of his life.

Troops and vessels for the English invasion ought, in the Commander's
opinion, to be collected in Flanders, under colour of an enterprise
against Holland and Zeeland, while the armada to be assembled in Spain,
of galleons, galeazas, and galleys, should be ostensibly for an
expedition to the Indies.

Then, after the conquest, came arrangements for the government of
England. Should Philip administer his new kingdom by a viceroy, or should
he appoint a king out of his own family? On the whole the chances for the
Prince of Parma seemed the best of any. "We must liberate the Queen of
Scotland," said the Grand Commander, "and marry her to some one or
another, both in order to put her out of love with her son, and to
conciliate her devoted adherents. Of course the husband should be one of
your Majesty's nephews, and none could be so appropriate as the Prince of
Parma, that great captain, whom his talents, and the part he has to bear
in the business, especially indicate for that honour."

Then there was a difficulty about the possible issue of such a marriage.
The Farneses claimed Portugal; so that children sprung from the
bloodroyal of England blended with that of Parma, might choose to make
those pretensions valid. But the objection was promptly solved by the
Commander:--"The Queen of Scotland is sure to have no children," he said.

That matter being adjusted, Parma's probable attitude as King of England
was examined. It was true his ambition might cause occasional uneasiness,
but then he might make himself still more unpleasant in the Netherlands.
"If your Majesty suspects him," said the Commander, "which, after all, is
unfair, seeing the way, in which he has been conducting himself--it is to
be remembered that in Flanders are similar circumstances and
opportunities, and that he is well armed, much beloved in the country,
and that the natives are of various humours. The English plan will
furnish an honourable departure for him out of the Provinces; and the
principle of loyal obligation will have much influence over so chivalrous
a knight as he, when he is once placed on the English throne. Moreover,
as he will be new there, he will have need of your Majesty's favour to
maintain himself, and there will accordingly be good correspondence with
Holland and the Islands. Thus your Majesty can put the Infanta and her
husband into full possession of all the Netherlands; having provided them
with so excellent a neighbour in England, and one so closely bound and
allied to them. Then, as he is to have no English children" (we have seen
that the Commander had settled that point) "he will be a very good
mediator to arrange adoptions, especially if you make good provision for
his son Rainuccio in Italy. The reasons in favour of this plan being so
much stronger than those against it, it would be well that your Majesty
should write clearly to the Prince of Parma, directing him to conduct the
enterprise" (the English invasion), "and to give him the first offer for
this marriage (with Queen Mary) if he likes the scheme. If not, he had
better mention which of the Archdukes should be substituted in his
place."

There happened to be no lack of archdukes at that period for anything
comfortable that might offer--such as a throne in England, Holland, or
France--and the Austrian House was not remarkable for refusing convenient
marriages; but the immediate future only could show whether Alexander I.
of the House of Farnese was to reign in England, or whether the next king
of that country was to be called Matthias, Maximilian, or Ernest of
Hapsburg.

Meantime the Grand Commander was of opinion that the invasion-project was
to be pushed forward as rapidly and as secretly as possible; because,
before any one of Philip's nephews could place himself upon the English
throne, it was first necessary to remove Elizabeth from that position.
Before disposing of the kingdom, the preliminary step of conquering it
was necessary. Afterwards it would be desirable, without wasting more
time than was requisite, to return with a large portion of the invading
force out of England, in order to complete the conquest of Holland. For
after all, England was to be subjugated only as a portion of one general
scheme; the main features of which were the reannexation of Holland and
"the islands," and the acquisition of unlimited control upon the seas.

Thus the invasion of England was no "scarecrow," as Wilford imagined, but
a scheme already thoroughly matured. If Holland and Zeeland should
meantime fall into the hands of Philip, it was no exaggeration on that
soldier's part to observe that the "freehold of England would be worth
but little."

To oppose this formidable array against the liberties of Europe stood
Elizabeth Tudor and the Dutch Republic. For the Queen, however arbitrary
her nature, fitly embodied much of the nobler elements in the expanding
English national character. She felt instinctively that her reliance in
the impending death-grapple was upon the popular principle, the national
sentiment, both in her own country and in Holland. That principle and
that sentiment were symbolized in the Netherland revolt; and England,
although under a somewhat despotic rule, was already fully pervaded with
the instinct of self-government. The people held the purse and the sword.

No tyranny could be permanently established so long as the sovereign was
obliged to come every year before Parliament to ask for subsidies; so
long as all the citizens and yeomen of England had weapons in their
possession, and were carefully trained to use them; so long, in short, as
the militia was the only army, and private adventurers or trading
companies created and controlled the only navy. War, colonization,
conquest, traffic, formed a joint business and a private speculation. If
there were danger that England, yielding to purely mercantile habits of
thought and action, might degenerate from the more martial standard to
which she had been accustomed, there might be virtue in that Netherland
enterprise, which was now to call forth all her energies. The Provinces
would be a seminary for English soldiers.

"There can be no doubt of our driving the enemy out of the country
through famine and excessive charges," said the plain-spoken English
soldier already quoted, who came out with Leicester, "if every one of us
will put our minds to go forward without making a miserable gain by the
wars. A man may see, by this little progress journey, what this long
peace hath wrought in us. We are weary of the war before we come where it
groweth, such a danger hath this long peace brought us into. This is, and
will be, in my opinion, a most fit school and nursery to nourish soldiers
to be able to keep and defend our country hereafter, if men will follow
it."

Wilford was vehement in denouncing the mercantile tendencies of his
countrymen, and returned frequently to that point in his communications
with Walsingham and other statesmen. "God hath stirred up this action,"
he repeated again, "to be a school to breed up soldiers to defend the
freedom of England, which through these long times of peace and quietness
is brought into a most dangerous estate, if it should be attempted. Our
delicacy is such that we are already weary, yet this journey is naught in
respect to the misery and hardship that soldiers must and do endure."

He was right in his estimate of the effect likely to be produced by the
war upon the military habits of Englishmen; for there can be no doubt
that the organization and discipline of English troops was in anything
but a satisfactory state at that period. There was certainly vast room
for improvement. Nevertheless he was wrong in his views of the leading
tendencies of his age. Holland and England, self-helping, self-moving,
were already inaugurating a new era in the history of the world. The
spirit of commercial maritime enterprise--then expanding rapidly into
large proportions--was to be matched against the religious and knightly
enthusiasm which had accomplished such wonders in an age that was passing
away. Spain still personified, and had ever personified, chivalry,
loyalty, piety; but its chivalry, loyalty, and piety, were now in a
corrupted condition. The form was hollow, and the sacred spark had fled.
In Holland and England intelligent enterprise had not yet degenerated
into mere greed for material prosperity. The love of danger, the thirst
for adventure, the thrilling sense of personal responsibility and human
dignity--not the base love for land and lucre--were the governing
sentiments which led those bold Dutch and English rovers to
circumnavigate the world in cockle-shells, and to beard the most potent
monarch on the earth, both at home and abroad, with a handful of
volunteers.

This then was the contest, and this the machinery by which it was to be
maintained. A struggle for national independence, liberty of conscience,
freedom of the seas, against sacerdotal and world-absorbing tyranny; a
mortal combat of the splendid infantry of Spain and Italy, the
professional reiters of Germany, the floating castles of a world-empire,
with the militiamen and mercantile-marine of England and Holland united.
Holland had been engaged twenty years long in the conflict. England had
thus far escaped it; but there was no doubt, and could be none, that her
time had come. She must fight the battle of Protestantism on sea and
shore, shoulder to shoulder, with the Netherlanders, or await the
conqueror's foot on her own soil.

What now was the disposition and what the means of the Provinces to do
their part in the contest? If the twain as Holland wished, had become of
one flesh, would England have been the loser? Was it quite sure that
Elizabeth--had she even accepted the less compromising title which she
refused--would not have been quite as much the protected as the
"protectress?"

It is very certain that the English, on their arrival in the Provinces,
were singularly impressed by the opulent and stately appearance of the
country and its inhabitants. Notwithstanding the tremendous war which the
Hollanders had been waging against Spain for twenty years, their commerce
had continued to thrive, and their resources to increase. Leicester was
in a state of constant rapture at the magnificence which surrounded him,
from his first entrance into the country. Notwithstanding the admiration
expressed by the Hollanders for the individual sumptuousness of the
Lieutenant-General; his followers, on their part, were startled by the
general luxury of their new allies. "The realm is rich and full of men,"
said Wilford, "the sums men exceed in apparel would bear the brunt of
this war;" and again, "if the excess used in sumptuous apparel were only
abated, and that we could convert the same to these wars, it would stop a
great gap."

The favourable view taken by the English as to the resources and
inclination of the Netherland commonwealth was universal. "The general
wish and desire of these countrymen," wrote Sir Thomas Shirley, "is that
the amity begun between England and this nation may be everlasting, and
there is not any of our company of judgment but wish the same. For all
they that see the goodliness and stateliness of these towns, strengthened
both with fortification and natural situation, all able to defend
themselves with their own abilities, must needs think it too fair a prey
to be let pass, and a thing most worthy to be embraced."

Leicester, whose enthusiasm continued to increase as rapidly as the
Queen's zeal seemed to be cooling, was most anxious lest the
short-comings of his own Government should work irreparable evil. "I pray
you, my lord," he wrote to Burghley, "forget not us poor exiles; if you
do, God must and will forget you. And great pity it were that so noble
provinces and goodly havens, with such infinite ships and mariners,
should not be always as they may now easily be, at the assured devotion
of England. In my opinion he can neither love Queen nor country that
would not wish and further it should be so. And seeing her Majesty is
thus far entered into the cause, and that these people comfort themselves
in full hope of her favour, it were a sin and a shame it should not be
handled accordingly, both for honour and surety."

Sir John Conway, who accompanied the Earl through the whole of his
"progress journey," was quite as much struck as he by the flourishing
aspect and English proclivities of the Provinces. "The countries which we
have passed," he said, "are fertile in their nature; the towns, cities,
buildings, of snore state and beauty, to such as have travelled other
countries, than any they have ever seen. The people the most industrious
by all means to live that be in the world, and, no doubt, passing rich.
They outwardly show themselves of good heart, zeal, and loyalty, towards
the Queen our mistress. There is no doubt that the general number of them
had rather come under her Majesty's regiment, than to continue under the
States and burgomasters of their country. The impositions which they lay
in defence of their State is wonderful. If her Highness proceed in this
beginning, she may retain these parts hers, with their good love, and her
great glory and gain. I would she might as perfectly see the whole
country, towns, profits, and pleasures thereof, in a glass, as she may
her own face; I do then assure myself she would with careful
consideration receive them, and not allow of any man's reason to the
contrary . . . . The country is worthy any prince in the world, the
people do reverence the Queen, and in love of her do so believe that the
Grace of Leicester is by God and her sent among them for her good. And
they believe in him for the redemption of their bodies, as they do in God
for their souls. I dare pawn my soul, that if her Majesty will allow him
the just and rightful mean to manage this cause, that he will so handle
the manner and matter as shall highly both please and profit her Majesty,
and increase her country, and his own honour."

Lord North, who held a high command in the auxiliary force, spoke also
with great enthusiasm. "Had your Lordship seen," he wrote to Burghley,
"with what thankful hearts these countries receive all her Majesty's
subjects, what multitudes of people they be, what stately cities and
buildings they have, how notably fortified by art, how strong by nature,
flow fertile the whole country, and how wealthy it is, you would, I know,
praise the Lord that opened your lips to undertake this enterprise, the
continuance and good success whereof will eternise her Majesty, beautify
her crown, with the most shipping, with the most populous and wealthy
countries, that ever prince added to his kingdom, or that is or can be
found in Europe. I lack wit, good my Lord, to dilate this matter."

Leicester, better informed than some of those in his employment,
entertained strong suspicions concerning Philip's intentions with regard
to England; but he felt sure that the only way to laugh at a Spanish
invasion was to make Holland and England as nearly one as it was possible
to do.

"No doubt that the King of Spain's preparations by sea be great," he,
said; "but I know that all that he and his friends can make are not able
to match with her Majesty's forces, if it please her to use the means
that God hath given her. But besides her own, if she need; I will
undertake to furnish her from hence, upon two months' warning, a navy for
strong and tall ships, with their furniture and mariners, that the King
of Spain, and all that he can make, shall not be able to encounter with
them. I think the bruit of his preparations is made the greater to
terrify her Majesty and this country people. But, thanked be God, her
Majesty hath little cause to fear him. And in this country they esteem no
more of his power by sea than I do of six fisher-boats off Rye."

Thus suggestive is it to peep occasionally behind the curtain. In the
calm cabinet of the Escorial, Philip and his comendador mayor are laying
their heads together, preparing the invasion of England; making
arrangements for King Alexander's coronation in that island, and--like
sensible, farsighted persons as they are--even settling the succession to
the throne after Alexander's death, instead of carelessly leaving such
distant details to chance, or subsequent consideration. On the other
hand, plain Dutch sea-captains, grim beggars of the sea, and the like,
denizens of a free commonwealth and of the boundless ocean-men who are at
home on blue water, and who have burned gunpowder against those
prodigious slave-rowed galleys of Spain--together with their new allies,
the dauntless mariners of England--who at this very moment are "singeing
the King of Spain's beard," as it had never been singed before--are not
so much awestruck with the famous preparations for invasion as was
perhaps to be expected. There may be a delay, after all, before Parma can
be got safely established in London, and Elizabeth in Orcus, and before
the blood-tribunal of the Inquisition can substitute its sway for that of
the "most noble, wise, and learned United States." Certainly, Philip the
Prudent would have been startled, difficult as he was to astonish, could
he have known that those rebel Hollanders of his made no more account of
his slowly-preparing invincible armada than of six fisher-boats off Rye.
Time alone could show where confidence had been best placed. Meantime it
was certain, that it well behoved Holland and England to hold hard
together, nor let "that enterprise quail."

The famous expedition of Sir Francis Drake was the commencement of a
revelation. "That is the string," said Leicester, "that touches the King
indeed." It was soon to be made known to the world that the ocean was not
a Spanish Lake, nor both the Indies the private property of Philip.
"While the riches of the Indies continue," said Leicester, "he thinketh
he will be able to weary out all other princes; and I know, by good
means, that he more feareth this action of Sir Francis than he ever did
anything that has been attempted against him." With these continued
assaults upon the golden treasure-houses of Spain, and by a determined
effort to maintain the still more important stronghold which had been
wrested from her in the Netherlands, England might still be safe. "This
country is so full of ships and mariners," said Leicester, "so abundant
in wealth, and in the means to make money, that, had it but stood
neutral, what an aid had her Majesty been deprived of. But if it had been
the enemy's also, I leave it to your consideration what had been likely
to ensue. These people do now honour and love her Majesty in marvellous
sort."

There was but one feeling on this most important subject among the
English who went to the Netherlands. All held the same language. The
question was plainly presented to England whether she would secure to
herself the great bulwark of her defence, or place it in the hands of her
mortal foe? How could there be doubt or supineness on such a momentous
subject? "Surely, my Lord," wrote Richard Cavendish to Burghley, "if you
saw the wealth, the strength, the shipping, and abundance of mariners,
whereof these countries stand furnished, your heart would quake to think
that so hateful an enemy as Spain should again be furnished with such
instruments; and the Spaniards themselves do nothing doubt upon the hope
of the consequence hereof, to assure themselves of the certain ruin of
her Majesty and the whole estate."

And yet at the very outset of Leicester's administration, there was a
whisper of peace-overtures to Spain, secretly made by Elizabeth in her
own behalf, and in that of the Provinces. We shall have soon occasion to
examine into the truth of these rumours, which, whether originating in
truth or falsehood, were most pernicious in their effects. The Hollanders
were determined never to return to slavery again, so long as they could
fire a shot in their own defence. They earnestly wished English
cooperation, but it was the cooperation of English matchlocks and English
cutlasses, not English protocols and apostilles. It was military, not
diplomatic machinery that they required. If they could make up their
minds to submit to Philip and the Inquisition again, Philip and the Holy
office were but too ready to receive the erring penitents to their
embrace without a go-between.

It was war, not peace, therefore, that Holland meant by the English
alliance. It was war, not peace, that Philip intended. It was war, not
peace, that Elizabeth's most trusty counsellors knew to be inevitable.
There was also, as we have shown, no doubt whatever as to the good
disposition, and the great power of the republic to bear its share in the
common cause. The enthusiasm of the Hollanders was excessive. "There was
such a noise, both in Delft, Rotterdam, and Dort," said Leicester, "in
crying 'God save the Queen!' as if she had been in Cheapside." Her own
subjects could not be more loyal than were the citizens and yeomen of
Holland. "The members of the States dare not but be Queen Elizabeth's,"
continued the Earl, "for by the living God! if there should fall but the
least unkindness through their default, the people would kill them. All
sorts of people, from highest to lowest, assure themselves, now that they
have her Majesty's good countenance, to beat all the Spaniards out of
their country. Never was there people in such jollity as these be. I
could be content to lose a limb, could her Majesty see these countries
and towns as I have done." He was in truth excessively elated, and had
already, in imagination, vanquished Alexander Farnese, and eclipsed the
fame of William the Silent. "They will serve under me," he observed,
"with a better will than ever they served under the Prince of Orange. Yet
they loved him well, but they never hoped of the liberty of this country
till now."

Thus the English government had every reason to be satisfied with the
aspect of its affairs in the Netherlands. But the nature of the Earl's
authority was indefinite. The Queen had refused the sovereignty and the
protectorate. She had also distinctly and peremptorily forbidden
Leicester to assume any office or title that might seem at variance with
such a refusal on her part. Yet it is certain that, from the very first,
he had contemplated some slight disobedience to these prohibitions. "What
government is requisite"--wrote he in a secret memorandum of "things most
necessary to understand"--"to be appointed to him that shall be their
governor? First, that he have as much authority as the Prince of Orange,
or any other governor or captain-general, hath had heretofore." Now the
Prince of Orange hath been stadholder of each of the United Provinces,
governor-general, commander-in-chief, count of Holland in prospect, and
sovereign, if he had so willed it. It would doubtless have been most
desirable for the country, in its confused condition, had there been a
person competent to wield, and willing to accept, the authority once
exercised by William I. But it was also certain that this was exactly the
authority which Elizabeth had forbidden Leicester to assume. Yet it is
difficult to understand what position the Queen intended that her
favourite should maintain, nor how he was to carry out her instructions,
while submitting to her prohibitions. He was directed to cause the
confused government of the Provinces to be redressed, and a better form
of polity to be established. He was ordered, in particular, to procure a
radical change in the constitution, by causing the deputies to the
General Assembly to be empowered to decide upon important matters,
without, as had always been the custom, making direct reference to the
assemblies of the separate Provinces. He was instructed to bring about,
in some indefinite way, a complete reform in financial matters, by
compelling the States-General to raise money by liberal taxation,
according to the "advice of her Majesty, delivered unto them by her
lieutenant."

And how was this radical change in the institutions of the Provinces to
be made by an English earl, whose only authority was that of
commander-in-chief over five thousand half-starved, unpaid,
utterly-forlorn English troops?

The Netherland envoys in England, in their parting advice, most
distinctly urged him "to hale authority with the first, to declare
himself chief head and governor-general" of the whole country,--for it
was a political head that was wanted in order to restore unity of
action--not an additional general, where there were already generals in
plenty. Sir John Norris, valiant, courageous, experienced--even if not,
as Walsingham observed, a "religious soldier," nor learned in anything
"but a kind of licentious and corrupt government"--was not likely to
require the assistance of the new lieutenant-general in field operations
nor could the army be brought into a state of thorough discipline and
efficiency by the magic of Leicester's name. The rank and file of the
English army--not the commanders-needed strengthening. The soldiers
required shoes and stockings, bread and meat, and for these articles
there were not the necessary funds, nor would the title of
Lieutenant-General supply the deficiency. The little auxiliary force was,
in truth, in a condition most pitiable to behold: it was difficult to say
whether the soldiers who had been already for a considerable period in
the Netherlands, or those who had been recently levied in the purlieus of
London, were in the most unpromising plight. The beggarly state in which
Elizabeth had been willing that her troops should go forth to the wars
was a sin and a disgrace. Well might her Lieutenant-General say that her
"poor subjects were no better than abjects." There were few effective
companies remaining of the old force. "There is but a small number of the
first bands left," said Sir John Conway, "and those so pitiful and unable
ever to serve again, as I leave to speak further of theirs, to avoid
grief to your heart. A monstrous fault there hath been somewhere."

Leicester took a manful and sagacious course at starting. Those who had
no stomach for the fight were ordered to depart. The chaplain gave them
sermons; the Lieutenant-General, on St. Stephen's day, made them a "pithy
and honourable" oration, and those who had the wish or the means to buy
themselves out of the adventure, were allowed to do so: for the Earl was
much disgusted with the raw material out of which he was expected to
manufacture serviceable troops. Swaggering ruffians from the disreputable
haunts of London, cockney apprentices, brokendown tapsters, discarded
serving men; the Bardolphs and Pistols, Mouldys, Warts, and the
like--more at home in tavern-brawls or in dark lanes than on the
battle-field--were not the men to be entrusted with the honour of England
at a momentous crisis. He spoke with grief and shame of the worthless
character and condition of the English youths sent over to the
Netherlands. "Believe me," said he, "you will all repent the cockney kind
of bringing up at this day of young men. They be gone hence with shame
enough, and too many, that I will warrant, will make as many frays with
bludgeons and bucklers as any in London shall do; but such shall never
have credit with me again. Our simplest men in show have been our best
men, and your gallant blood and ruffian men the worst of all others."

Much winnowed, as it was, the small force might in time become more
effective; and the Earl spent freely of his own substance to supply the
wants of his followers, and to atone for the avarice of his sovereign.
The picture painted however by muster-master Digger of the plumed troops
that had thus come forth to maintain the honour of England and the cause
of liberty, was anything but imposing. None knew better than Digges their
squalid and slovenly condition, or was more anxious to effect a
reformation therein. "A very wise, stout fellow he is," said the Earl,
"and very careful to serve thoroughly her Majesty." Leicester relied much
upon his efforts. "There is good hope," said the muster-master, "that his
excellency will shortly establish such good order for the government and
training of our nation, that these weak, bad-furnished, ill-armed, and
worse-trained bands, thus rawly left unto him, shall within a few months
prove as well armed, trained, complete, gallant companies as shall be
found elsewhere in Europe." The damage they were likely to inflict upon
the enemy seemed very problematical, until they should have been improved
by some wholesome ball-practice. "They are so unskilful," said Digger,
"that if they should be carried to the field no better trained than yet
they are, they would prove much more dangerous to their own leaders and
companies than any ways serviceable on their enemies. The hard and
miserable estate of the soldiers generally, excepting officers, hath been
such, as by the confessions of the captains themselves, they have been
offered by many of their soldiers thirty and forty pounds a piece to be
dismissed and sent away; whereby I doubt not the flower of the pressed
English bands are gone, and the remnant supplied with such paddy persons
as commonly, in voluntary procurements, men are glad to accept."

Even after the expiration of four months the condition of the paddy
persons continued most destitute. The English soldiers became mere
barefoot starving beggars in the streets, as had never been the case in
the worst of times, when the States were their paymasters. The little
money brought from the treasury by the Earl, and the large sums which he
had contributed out of his own pocket, had been spent in settling, and
not fully settling, old scores. "Let me entreat you," wrote Leicester to
Walsingham, "to be a mean to her Majesty, that the poor soldiers be not
beaten for my sake. There came no penny of treasure over since my coming
hither. That which then came was most part due before it came. There is
much still due. They cannot get a penny, their credit is spent, they
perish for want of victuals and clothing in great numbers. The whole are
ready to mutiny. They cannot be gotten out to service, because they
cannot discharge the debts they owe in the places where they are. I have
let of my own more than I may spare."--"There was no soldier yet able to
buy himself a pair of hose," said the Earl again, "and it is too, too
great shame to see how they go, and it kills their hearts to show
themselves among men."

There was no one to dispute the Earl's claims. The Nassau family was
desperately poor, and its chief, young Maurice, although he had been
elected stadholder of Holland and Zeeland, had every disposition--as Sir
Philip upon his arrival in Flushing immediately informed his uncle--to
submit to the authority of the new governor. Louisa de Coligny, widow of
William the Silent, was most anxious for the English alliance, through
which alone she believed that the fallen fortunes of the family could be
raised. It was thus only, she thought, that the vengeance for which she
thirsted upon the murderers of her father and her husband could be
obtained. "We see now," she wrote to Walsingham, in a fiercer strain than
would seem to comport with so gentle a nature--deeply wronged as the
daughter of Coligny and the wife of Orange had been by Papists--"we see
now the effects of our God's promises. He knows when it pleases Him to
avenge the blood of His own; and I confess that I feel most keenly the
joy which is shared in by the whole Church of God. There is none that has
received more wrong from these murderers than I have done, and I esteem
myself happy in the midst of my miseries that God has permitted me to see
some vengeance. These beginnings make me hope that I shall see yet more,
which will be not less useful to the good, both in your country and in
these isles."

There was no disguise as to the impoverished condition to which the
Nassau family had been reduced by the self-devotion of its chief. They
were obliged to ask alms of England, until the "sapling should become a
tree."--"Since it is the will of God," wrote the Princess to Davison, "I
am not ashamed to declare the necessity of our house, for it is in His
cause that it has fallen. I pray you, Sir, therefore to do me and these
children the favour to employ your thoughts in this regard." If there had
been any strong French proclivities on their part--as had been so warmly
asserted--they were likely to disappear. Villiers, who had been a
confidential friend of William the Silent, and a strong favourer of
France, in vain endeavoured to keep alive the ancient sentiments towards
that country, although he was thought to be really endeavouring to bring
about a submission of the Nassaus to Spain. "This Villiers," said
Leicester, "is a most vile traitorous knave, and doth abuse a young
nobleman here extremely, the Count Maurice. For all his religion, he is a
more earnest persuader secretly to have him yield to a reconciliation
than Sainte Aldegonde was. He shall not tarry ten days neither in Holland
nor Zeeland. He is greatly hated here of all sorts, and it shall go hard
but I will win the young Count."

As for Hohenlo, whatever his opinions might once have been regarding the
comparative merits of Frenchmen and Englishmen, he was now warmly in
favour of England, and expressed an intention of putting an end to the
Villiers' influence by simply drowning Villiers. The announcement of this
summary process towards the counsellor was not untinged with rudeness
towards the pupil. "The young Count," said Leicester, "by Villiers'
means, was not willing to have Flushing rendered, which the Count Hollock
perceiving, told the Count Maurice, in a great rage, that if he took any
course than that of the Queen of England, and swore by no beggars, he
would drown his priest in the haven before his face, and turn himself and
his mother-in-law out of their house there, and thereupon went with Mr.
Davison to the delivery of it." Certainly, if Hohenlo permitted himself
such startling demonstrations towards the son and widow of William the
Silent, it must have been after his habitual potations had been of the
deepest. Nevertheless it was satisfactory for the new chieftain to know
that the influence of so vehement a partisan was secured for England. The
Count's zeal deserved gratitude upon Leicester's part, and Leicester was
grateful. "This man must be cherished," said the Earl; "he is sound and
faithful, and hath indeed all the chief holds in his hands, and at his
commandment. Ye shall do well to procure him a letter of thanks, taking
knowledge in general of his good-will to her Majesty. He is a right
Almayn in manner and fashion, free of his purse and of his drink, yet do
I wish him her Majesty's pensioner before any prince in Germany, for he
loves her and is able to serve her, and doth desire to be known her
servant. He hath been laboured by his nearest kinsfolk and friends in
Germany to have left the States and to have the King of Spain's pension
and very great reward; but he would not. I trust her Majesty will accept
of his offer to be her servant during his life, being indeed a very noble
soldier." The Earl was indeed inclined to take so cheerful view of
matters as to believe that he should even effect a reform in the noble
soldier's most unpleasant characteristic. "Hollock is a wise gallant
gentleman," he said, "and very well esteemed. He hath only one fault,
which is drinking; but good hope that he will amend it. Some make me
believe that I shall be able to do much with him, and I mean to do my
best, for I see no man that knows all these countries, and the people of
all sorts, like him, and this fault overthrows all."

Accordingly, so long as Maurice continued under the tutelage of this
uproarious cavalier--who, at a later day, was to become his
brother-in-law-he was not likely to interfere with Leicester's authority.
The character of the young Count was developing slowly. More than his
father had ever done, he deserved the character of the taciturn. A quiet
keen observer of men and things, not demonstrative nor talkative, nor
much given to writing--a modest, calm, deeply-reflecting student of
military and mathematical science--he was not at that moment deeply
inspired by political ambition. He was perhaps more desirous of raising
the fallen fortunes of his house than of securing the independence of his
country. Even at that early age, however, his mind was not easy to read,
and his character was somewhat of a puzzle to those who studied it. "I
see him much discontented with the States," said Leicester; "he hath a
sullen deep wit. The young gentleman is yet to be won only to her
Majesty, I perceive, of his own inclination. The house is marvellous poor
and little regarded by the States, and if they get anything it is like to
be by her Majesty, which should be altogether, and she may easily, do for
him to win him sure. I will undertake it." Yet the Earl was ever anxious
about some of the influences which surrounded Maurice, for he thought him
more easily guided than he wished him to be by any others but himself.
"He stands upon making and marring," he said, "as he meets with good
counsel." And at another time he observed, "The young gentleman hath a
solemn sly wit; but, in troth, if any be to be doubted toward the King of
Spain, it is he and his counsellors, for they have been altogether, so
far, French, and so far in mislike with England as they cannot almost
hide it."

And there was still another member of the house of Nassau who was already
an honour to his illustrious race. Count William Lewis, hardly more than
a boy in years, had already served many campaigns, and had been
desperately wounded in the cause for which so much of the heroic blood of
his race had been shed. Of the five Nassau brethren, his father Count
John was the sole survivor, and as devoted as ever to the cause of
Netherland liberty. The other four had already laid down their lives in
its defence. And William Lewis, was worthy to be the nephew of William
and Lewis, Henry and Adolphus, and the son of John. Not at all a
beautiful or romantic hero in appearance, but an odd-looking little man,
with a round bullet-head, close-clipped hair, a small, twinkling,
sagacious eye, rugged, somewhat puffy features screwed whimsically awry,
with several prominent warts dotting, without ornamenting, all that was
visible of a face which was buried up to the ears in a furzy thicket of
yellow-brown beard, the tough young stadholder of Friesland, in his iron
corslet, and halting upon his maimed leg, had come forth with other
notable personages to the Hague.

He wished to do honour heartily and freely to Queen Elizabeth and her
representative. And Leicester was favourably impressed with his new
acquaintance. "Here is another little fellow," he said, "as little as may
be, but one of the gravest and wisest young men that ever I spake withal;
it is the Count Guilliam of Nassau. He governs Friesland; I would every
Province had such another."

Thus, upon the great question which presented itself upon the very
threshold--the nature and extent of the authority to be exercised by
Leicester--the most influential Netherlanders were in favour of a large
and liberal interpretation of his powers. The envoys in England, the
Nassau family Hohenlo, the prominent members of the States, such as the
shrewd, plausible Menin, the "honest and painful" Falk, and the
chancellor of Gelderland--"that very great, wise, old man Leoninus," as
Leicester called him,--were all desirous that he should assume an
absolute governor-generalship over the whole country. This was a grave
and a delicate matter, and needed to be severely scanned, without delay.
But besides the natives, there were two Englishmen--together with
ambassador Davison--who were his official advisers. Bartholomew Clerk,
LL.D., and Sir Henry Killigrew had been appointed by the Queen to be
members of the council of the United States, according to the provisions
of the August treaty. The learned Bartholomew hardly seemed equal to his
responsible position among those long-headed Dutch politicians. Philip
Sidney--the only blemish in whose character was an intolerable tendency
to puns--observed that "Doctor Clerk was of those clerks that are not
always the wisest, and so my lord too late was finding him." The Earl
himself, who never undervalued the intellect of the Netherlanders whom he
came to govern, anticipated but small assistance from the English
civilian. "I find no great stuff in my little colleague," he said,
"nothing that I looked for. It is a pity you have no more of his
profession, able men to serve. This man hath good will, and a pretty
scholar's wit; but he is too little for these big fellows, as heavy as
her Majesty thinks them to be. I would she had but one or two, such as
the worst of half a score be here." The other English statecounsellor
seemed more promising. "I have one here," said the Earl, "in whom I take
no small comfort; that is little Hal Killigrew. I assure you, my lord, he
is a notable servant, and more in him than ever I heretofore thought of
him, though I always knew him to be an honest man and an able."

But of all the men that stood by Leicester's side, the most faithful,
devoted, sagacious, experienced, and sincere of his counsellors, English
or Flemish, was envoy Davison. It is important to note exactly the
opinion that had been formed of him by those most competent to judge,
before events in which he was called on to play a prominent and
responsible though secondary part, had placed him in a somewhat false
position.

"Mr. Davison," wrote Sidney, "is here very careful in her Majesty's
causes, and in your Lordship's. He takes great pains and goes to great
charges for it." The Earl himself was always vehement in his praise. "Mr.
Davison," said he at another time, "has dealt most painfully and
chargeably in her Majesty's service here, and you shall find him as
sufficiently able to deliver the whole state of this country as any man
that ever was in it, acquainted with all sorts here that are men of
dealing. Surely, my Lord, you shall do a good deed that he may be
remembered with her Majesty's gracious consideration, for his being here
has been very chargeable, having kept a very good countenance, and a very
good table, all his abode here, and of such credit with all the chief
sort, as I know no stranger in any place hath the like. As I am a suitor
to you to be his good friend to her Majesty, so I must heartily pray you,
good my Lord, to procure his coming hither shortly to me again, for I
know not almost how to do without him. I confess it is a wrong to the
gentleman, and I protest before God, if it were for mine own particular
respect, I would not require it for L5000. But your Lordship doth little
think how greatly I have to do, as also how needful for her Majesty's
service his being here will, be. Wherefore, good my Lord, if it may not
offend her Majesty, be a mean for this my request, for her own service'
sake wholly."

Such were the personages who surrounded the Earl on his arrival in the
Netherlands, and such their sentiments respecting the position that it
was desirable for him to assume. But there was one very important fact.
He had studiously concealed from Davison that the Queen had peremptorily
and distinctly forbidden his accepting the office of governor-general. It
seemed reasonable, if he came thither at all, that he should come in that
elevated capacity. The Staten wished it. The Earl ardently longed for it.
The ambassador, who knew more of Netherland politics and Netherland
humours than any man did, approved of it. The interests of both England
and Holland seemed to require it. No one but Leicester knew that her
Majesty had forbidden it.

Accordingly, no sooner had the bell-ringing, cannon-explosions, bonfires,
and charades, come to an end, and the Earl got fairly housed in the
Hague, than the States took the affair of government seriously in hand.

On the 9th January, Chancellor Leoninus and Paul Buys waited upon
Davison, and requested a copy of the commission granted by the Queen to
the Earl. The copy was refused, but the commission was read; by which it
appeared that he had received absolute command over her Majesty's forces
in the Netherlands by land and sea, together with authority to send for
all gentlemen and other personages out of England that he might think
useful to him. On the 10th the States passed a resolution to offer him
the governor-generalship over all the Provinces. On the same day another
committee waited upon his "Excellency"--as the States chose to denominate
the Earl, much to the subsequent wrath of the Queen--and made an
appointment for the whole body to wait upon him the following morning.

Upon that day accordingly--New Year's Day, by the English reckoning, 11th
January by the New Style--the deputies of all the States at an early hour
came to his lodgings, with much pomp, preceded by a herald and
trumpeters. Leicester, not expecting them quite so soon, was in his
dressing-room, getting ready for the solemn audience, when, somewhat to
his dismay, a flourish of trumpets announced the arrival of the whole
body in his principal hall of audience. Hastening his preparations as
much as possible, he descended to that apartment, and was instantly
saluted by a flourish of rhetoric still more formidable; for that "very
great, and wise old Leoninus," forthwith began an oration, which promised
to be of portentous length and serious meaning. The Earl was slightly
flustered, when, fortunately; some one whispered in his ear that they had
come to offer him the much-coveted prize of the stadholderate-general.
Thereupon he made bold to interrupt the flow of the chancellor's
eloquence in its first outpourings. "As this is a very private matter,"
said he, "it will be better to treat of it in a more private place I pray
you therefore to come into my chamber, where these things may be more
conveniently discussed."

"You hear what my Lord says," cried Leoninus, turning to his companions;
"we are to withdraw into his chamber."

Accordingly they withdrew, accompanied by the Earl, and by five or six
select counsellors, among whom were Davison and Dr. Clerk. Then the
chancellor once more commenced his harangue, and went handsomely through
the usual forms of compliment, first to the Queen, and then to her
representative, concluding with an earnest request that the
Earl--although her Majesty had declined the sovereignty "would take the
name and place of absolute governor and general of all their forces and
soldiers, with the disposition of their whole revenues and taxes."

So soon as the oration was concluded, Leicester; who did not speak
French, directed Davison to reply in that language.

The envoy accordingly, in name of the Earl, expressed the deepest
gratitude for this mark of the affection and confidence of the
States-General towards the Queen. He assured them that the step thus
taken by them would be the cause of still more favour and affection on
the part of her Majesty, who would unquestionably, from day to day,
augment the succour that she was extending to the Provinces in order to
relieve men from their misery. For himself, the Earl protested that he
could never sufficiently recompense the States for the honour which had
thus been conferred upon him, even if he should live one hundred lives.
Although he felt himself quite unable to sustain the weight of so great
an office, yet he declared that they might repose with full confidence on
his integrity and good intentions. Nevertheless, as the authority thus
offered to him was very arduous, and as the subject required deep
deliberation, he requested that the proposition should be reduced to
writing, and delivered into his hands. He might then come to a conclusion
thereupon, most conducive to the glory of God and the welfare of the
land.

Three days afterwards, 14th January, the offer, drawn up formally in
writing, was presented to envoy Davison, according to the request of
Leicester. Three days latter, 17th January, his Excellency having
deliberated upon the proposition, requested a committee of conference.
The conference took place the same day, and there was some discussion
upon matters of detail, principally relating to the matter of
contributions. The Earl, according to the report of the committee,
manifested no repugnance to the acceptance of the office, provided these
points could be satisfactorily adjusted. He seemed, on the contrary,
impatient, rather than reluctant; for, on the day following the
conference, he sent his secretary Gilpin with a somewhat importunate
message. "His Excellency was surprised," said the secretary, "that the
States were so long in coming to a resolution on the matters suggested by
him in relation to the offer of the government-general; nor could his
Excellency imagine the cause of the delay."

For, in truth, the delay was caused by an excessive, rather than a
deficient, appetite for power on the part of his Excellency. The States,
while conferring what they called the "absolute" government, by which it
afterwards appeared that they meant absolute, in regard to time, not to
function--were very properly desirous of retaining a wholesome control
over that government by means of the state-council. They wished not only
to establish such a council, as a check upon the authority of the new
governor, but to share with him at least in the appointment of the
members who were to compose the board. But the aristocratic Earl was
already restive under the thought of any restraint--most of all the
restraint of individuals belonging to what he considered the humbler
classes.

"Cousin, my lord ambassador," said he to Davison, "among your sober
companions be it always remembered, I beseech you, that your cousin have
no other alliance but with gentle blood. By no means consent that he be
linked in faster bonds than their absolute grant may yield him a free and
honourable government, to be able to do such service as shall be meet for
an honest man to perform in such a calling, which of itself is very
noble. But yet it is not more to be embraced, if I were to be led in
alliance by such keepers as will sooner draw my nose from the right scent
of the chace, than to lead my feet in the true pace to pursue the game I
desire to reach. Consider, I pray you, therefore, what is to be done, and
how unfit it will be in respect of my poor self, and how unacceptable to
her Majesty, and how advantageous to enemies that will seek holes in my
coat, if I should take so great a name upon me, and so little power. They
challenge acceptation already, and I challenge their absolute grant and
offer to me, before they spoke of any instructions; for so it was when
Leoninus first spoke to me with them all on New Years Day, as you
heard--offering in his speech all manner of absolute authority. If it
please them to confirm this, without restraining instructions, I will
willingly serve the States, or else, with such advising instructions as
the Dowager of Hungary had."

This was explicit enough, and Davison, who always acted for Leicester in
the negotiations with the States, could certainly have no doubt as to the
desires of the Earl, on the subject of "absolute" authority. He did
accordingly what he could to bring the States to his Excellency's way of
thinking; nor was he unsuccessful.

On the 22nd January, a committee of conference was sent by the States to
Leyden, in which city Leicester was making a brief visit. They were
instructed to procure his consent, if possible, to the appointment, by
the States themselves, of a council consisting of members from each
Province. If they could not obtain this concession, they were directed to
insist as earnestly as possible upon their right to present a double.
list of candidates, from which he was to make nominations. And if the one
and the other proposition should be refused, the States were then to
agree that his Excellency should freely choose and appoint a council of
state, consisting of native residents from every Province, for the period
of one year. The committee was further authorised to arrange the
commission for the governor, in accordance with these points; and to draw
up a set of instructions for the state-council, to the satisfaction of
his Excellency. The committee was also empowered to conclude the matter
at once, without further reference to the States.

Certainly a committee thus instructed was likely to be sufficiently
pliant. It had need to be, in order to bend to the humour of his
Excellency, which was already becoming imperious. The adulation which he
had received; the triumphal marches, the Latin orations, the flowers
strewn in his path, had produced their effect, and the Earl was almost
inclined to assume the airs of royalty. The committee waited upon him at
Leyden. He affected a reluctance to accept the "absolute" government, but
his coyness could not deceive such experienced statesmen as the "wise old
Leoliinus," or Menin, Maalzoon, Florin Thin, or Aitzma, who composed the
deputation. It was obvious enough to them that it was not a King Log that
had descended among them, but it was not a moment for complaining. The
governor elect insisted, of course, that the two Englishmen, according to
the treaty with her Majesty, should be members of, the council. He also,
at once, nominated Leoninus, Meetkerk, Brederode, Falck, and Paul Buys,
to the same office; thinking, no doubt, that these were five keepers--if
keepers he must have--who would not draw his nose off the scent, nor
prevent his reaching the game he hunted, whatever that game might be. It
was reserved for the future, however, to show, whether, the five were
like to hunt in company with him as harmoniously as he hoped. As to the
other counsellors, he expressed a willingness that candidates should be
proposed for him, as to whose qualifications he would make up his mind at
leisure.

This matter being satisfactorily adjusted-and certainly unless the game
pursued by the Earl was a crown royal, he ought to have been satisfied
with his success--the States received a letter from their committee at
Leyden, informing them that his Excellency, after some previous
protestations, had accepted the government (24th January, 1586).

It was agreed that he should be inaugurated Governor-General of the
United Provinces of Gelderland and Zutphen, Flanders, Holland, Zeeland,
Utrecht, Friesland, and all others in confederacy with them. He was to
have supreme military command by land and sea. He was to exercise supreme
authority in matters civil and political, according to the customs
prevalent in the reign of the Emperor Charles V. All officers, political,
civil, legal, were to be appointed by him out of a double or triple
nomination made by the States of the Provinces in which vacancies might
occur. The States-General were to assemble whenever and wherever he
should summon them. They were also--as were the States of each separate
Province--competent to meet together by their own appointment. The
Governor-General was to receive an oath of fidelity from the States, and
himself to swear the maintenance of the ancient laws, customs, and
privileges of the country.

The deed was done. In vain had an emissary of the French court been
exerting his utmost to prevent the consummation of this close alliance.
For the wretched government of Henry III., while abasing itself before
Philip II., and offering the fair cities and fertile plains of France as
a sacrifice to that insatiable ambition which wore the mask of religious
bigotry, was most anxious that Holland and England should not escape the
meshes by which it was itself enveloped. The agent at the Hague came
nominally upon some mercantile affairs, but in reality, according to
Leicester, "to impeach the States from binding themselves to her
Majesty." But he was informed that there was then no leisure for his
affairs; "for the States would attend to the service of the Queen of
England, before all princes in the world." The agent did not feel
complimented by the coolness of this reception; yet it was reasonable
enough, certainly, that the Hollanders should remember with bitterness
the contumely, which they had experienced the previous year in France.
The emissary was; however, much disgusted. "The fellow," said Leicester,
"took it in such snuff, that he came proudly to the States and offered
his letters, saying; 'Now I trust you have done all your sacrifices to
the Queen of England, and may yield me some leisure to read my masters
letters.'"--"But they so shook him, up," continued the Earl, "for naming
her Majesty in scorn--as they took it--that they hurled him his letters;
and bid him content himself;" and so on, much to the agent's
discomfiture, who retired in greater "snuff" than ever.

So much for the French influence. And now Leicester had done exactly what
the most imperious woman in the world, whose favour was the breath of his
life, had expressly forbidden him to do. The step having been taken, the
prize so tempting to his ambition having been snatched, and the policy
which had governed the united action of the States and himself seeming so
sound, what ought he to have done in order to avert the tempest which he
must have foreseen? Surely a man who knew so much of woman's nature and
of Elizabeth's nature as he did, ought to have attempted to conciliate
her affections, after having so deeply wounded her pride. He knew his
power. Besides the graces of his person and manner--which few women, once
impressed by them, could ever forget--he possessed the most insidious and
flattering eloquence, and, in absence, his pen was as wily as his tongue.
For the Earl was imbued with the very genius of courtship. None was
better skilled than he in the phrases of rapturous devotion, which were
music to the ear both of the woman and the Queen; and he knew his royal
mistress too well not to be aware that the language of passionate
idolatry, however extravagant, had rarely fallen unheeded upon her soul.
It was strange therefore, that in this emergency, he should not at once
throw himself upon her compassion without any mediator. Yet, on the
contrary, he committed the monstrous error of entrusting his defence to
envoy Davison, whom he determined to despatch at once with instructions
to the Queen, and towards whom he committed the grave offence of
concealing from him her previous prohibitions. But how could the Earl
fail to perceive that it was the woman, not the Queen, whom he should
have implored for pardon; that it was Robert Dudley, not William Davison,
who ought to have sued upon his knees. This whole matter of the
Netherland sovereignty and the Leicester stadholderate, forms a strange
psychological study, which deserves and requires some minuteness of
attention; for it was by the characteristics of these eminent personages
that the current history was deeply stamped.

Certainly, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, the first letter
conveying intelligence so likely to pique the pride of Elizabeth, should
have been a letter from Leicester. On the contrary, it proved to be a
dull formal epistle from the States.

And here again the assistance of the indispensable Davison was considered
necessary. On the 3rd February the ambassador--having announced his
intention of going to England, by command of his Excellency, so soon as
the Earl should have been inaugurated, for the purpose of explaining all
these important transactions to her Majesty--waited upon the States with
the request that they should prepare as speedily as might be their letter
to the Queen, with other necessary documents, to be entrusted to his
care. He also suggested that the draft or minute of their proposed
epistle should be submitted to him for advice--"because the humours of
her Majesty were best known to him."

Now the humours of her Majesty were best known to Leicester of all men in
the whole world, and it is inconceivable that he should have allowed so
many days and weeks to pass without taking these humours properly into
account. But the Earl's head was slightly turned by his sudden and
unexpected success. The game that he had been pursuing had fallen into
his grasp, almost at the very start, and it is not astonishing that he
should have been somewhat absorbed in the enjoyment of his victory.

Three days later (6th February) the minute of a letter to Elizabeth,
drawn up by Menin, was submitted to the ambassador; eight days after that
(14th February) Mr. Davison took leave of the States, and set forth for
the Brill on his way to England; and three or four days later yet, he was
still in that sea-port, waiting for a favourable wind. Thus from the 11th
January, N.S., upon which day the first offer of the absolute government
had been made to Leicester, nearly forty days had elapsed, during which
long period the disobedient Earl had not sent one line, private or
official, to her Majesty on this most important subject. And when at last
the Queen was to receive information of her favourite's delinquency, it
was not to be in his well-known handwriting and accompanied by his
penitent tears and written caresses, but to be laid before her with all
the formality of parchment and sealingwax, in the stilted diplomatic
jargon of those "highly-mighty, very learned, wise, and very foreseeing
gentlemen, my lords the States-General." Nothing could have been managed
with less adroitness.

Meantime, not heeding the storm gathering beyond the narrow seas, the new
governor was enjoying the full sunshine of power. On the 4th February the
ceremony of his inauguration took place, with great pomp and ceremony at
the Hague.

The beautiful, placid, village-capital of Holland wore much the same
aspect at that day as now. Clean, quiet, spacious streets, shaded with
rows of whispering poplars and umbrageous limes, broad sleepy
canals--those liquid highways alone; which glided in phantom silence the
bustle, and traffic, and countless cares of a stirring population--quaint
toppling houses, with tower and gable; ancient brick churches, with
slender spire and musical chimes; thatched cottages on the outskirts,
with stork-nests on the roofs--the whole without fortification save the
watery defences which enclosed it with long-drawn lines on every side;
such was the Count's park, or 's Graven Haage, in English called the
Hague.

It was embowered and almost buried out of sight by vast groves of oaks
and beeches. Ancient Badahuennan forests of sanguinary Druids, the "wild
wood without mercy" of Saxon savages, where, at a later period, sovereign
Dirks and Florences, in long succession of centuries, had ridden abroad
with lance in rest, or hawk on fist; or under whose boughs, in still
nearer days, the gentle Jacqueline had pondered and wept over her
sorrows, stretched out in every direction between the city and the
neighbouring sea. In the heart of the place stood the ancient palace of
the counts, built in the thirteenth century by William II. of Holland,
King of the Romans, with massive brick walls, cylindrical turrets,
pointed gable and rose-shaped windows, and with spacious coup-yard,
enclosed by feudal moat, drawbridge, and portcullis.

In the great banqueting-hall of the ancient palace, whose cedarn-roof of
magnificent timber-work, brought by crusading counts from the Holy Land,
had rung with the echoes of many a gigantic revel in the days of
chivalry--an apartment one hundred and fifty feet long and forty feet
high--there had been arranged an elevated platform, with a splendid chair
of state for the "absolute" governor, and with a great profusion of
gilding and velvet tapestry, hangings, gilt emblems, complimentary
devices, lions, unicorns, and other imposing appurtenances. Prince
Maurice, and all the members of his house, the States-General in full
costume, and all the great functionaries, civil and military, were
assembled. There was an elaborate harangue by orator Menin, in which it
was proved; by copious citations from Holy Writ and from ancient
chronicle, that the Lord never forsakes His own; so that now, when the
Provinces were at their last gasp by the death of Orange and the loss of
Antwerp, the Queen of England and the Earl of Leicester had suddenly
descended, as if from Heaven; to their rescue. Then the oaths of mutual
fidelity were exchanged between the governor and the States, and, in
conclusion, Dr. Bartholomew Clerk ventured to measure himself with the
"big fellows," by pronouncing an oration which seemed to command
universal approbation. And thus the Earl was duly installed
Governor-General of the United States of the Netherlands.

But already the first mutterings of the storm were audible. A bird in the
air had whispered to the Queen that her favourite was inclined to
disobedience. "Some flying tale hath been told me here," wrote Leicester
to Walsingham, "that her Majesty should mislike my name of Excellency.
But if I had delighted, or would have received titles, I refused a title
higher than Excellency, as Mr. Davison, if you ask him, will tell you;
and that I, my own self, refused most earnestly that, and, if I might
have done it, this also." Certainly, if the Queen objected to this common
form of address, which had always been bestowed upon Leicester, as he
himself observed, ever since she had made him an earl, it might be
supposed that her wrath would mount high when she should hear of him as
absolute governor-general. It is also difficult to say what higher title
he had refused, for certainly the records show that he had refused
nothing, in the way of power and dignity, that it was possible for him to
obtain.

But very soon afterwards arrived authentic intelligence that the Queen
had been informed of the proposition made on New Year's-Day (O.S.), and
that, although she could not imagine the possibility of his accepting,
she was indignant that he had not peremptorily rejected the offer.

"As to the proposal made to you," wrote Burghley, "by the mouth of
Leoninus, her Majesty hath been informed that you had thanked them in her
name, and alledged that there was no such thing in the contract, and that
therefore you could not accept nor knew how to answer the same."

Now this information was obviously far from correct, although it had been
furnished by the Earl himself to Burghley. We have seen that Leicester
had by no means rejected, but very gratefully entertained, the
proposition as soon as made. Nevertheless the Queen was dissatisfied,
even without suspecting that she had been directly disobeyed. "Her
Majesty," continued the Lord-Treasurer; "is much offended with this
proceeding. She allows not that you should give them thanks, but findeth
it very strange that you did not plainly declare to them that they did
well know how often her Majesty had refused to have any one for her take
any such government there, and that she had always so answered
peremptorily. Therefore there might be some suspicion conceived that by
offering on their part, and refusal on hers, some further mischief might
be secretly hidden by some odd person's device to the hurt of the cause.
But in that your Lordship did not flatly say to them that yourself did
know her Majesty's mind therein, that she never meant, in this sort, to
take the absolute government, she is offended considering, as she saith,
that none knew her determination therein better than yourself. For at
your going hence, she did peremptorily charge you not to accept any such
title and office; and therefore her straight commandment now is that you
shall not accept the same, for she will never assent thereto, nor avow
you with any such title."

If Elizabeth was so wrathful, even while supposing that the offer had
been gratefully declined, what were likely to be her emotions when she
should be informed that it had been gratefully accepted. The Earl already
began to tremble at the probable consequences of his mal-adroitness.
Grave was the error he had committed in getting himself made
governor-general against orders; graver still, perhaps fatal, the blunder
of not being swift to confess his fault, and cry for pardon, before other
tongues should have time to aggravate his offence. Yet even now he shrank
from addressing the Queen in person, but hoped to conjure the rising
storm by means of the magic wand of the Lord-Treasurer. He implored his
friend's interposition to shield him in the emergency, and begged that at
least her Majesty and the lords of council would suspend their judgment
until Mr. Davison should deliver those messages and explanations with
which, fully freighted, he was about to set sail from the Brill.

"If my reasons seem to your wisdoms," said he, "other than such as might
well move a true and a faithful careful man to her Majesty to do as I
have done, I do desire, for my mistaking offence, to bear the burden of
it; to be disavowed with all displeasure and disgrace; a matter of as
great reproach and grief as ever can happen to any man." He begged that
another person might be sent as soon as possible in his place-protesting,
however, by his faith in Christ, that he had done only what he was bound
to do by his regard for her Majesty's service--and that when he set foot
in the country he had no more expected to be made Governor of the
Netherlands than to be made King of Spain. Certainly he had been paying
dear for the honour, if honour it was, and he had not intended on setting
forth for the Provinces to ruin himself, for the sake of an empty title.
His motives--and he was honest, when he so avowed them--were motives of
state at least as much as of self-advancement. "I have no cause," he
said, "to have played the fool thus far for myself; first, to have her
Majesty's displeasure, which no kingdom in the world could make me
willingly deserve; next, to undo myself in my later days; to consume all
that should have kept me all my life in one half year. But I must thank
God for all, and am most heartily grieved at her Majesty's heavy
displeasure. I neither desire to live, nor to see my country with it."

And at this bitter thought, he began to sigh like furnace, and to shed
the big tears of penitence.

"For if I have not done her Majesty good service at this time," he said,
"I shall never hope to do her any, but will withdraw me into some
out-corner of the world, where I will languish out the rest of my few-too
many-days, praying ever for her Majesty's long and prosperous life, and
with this only comfort to live an exile, that this disgrace hath happened
for no other cause but for my mere regard for her Majesty's estate."

Having painted this dismal picture of the probable termination to his
career--not in the hope of melting Burghley but of touching the heart of
Elizabeth--he proceeded to argue the point in question with much logic
and sagacity. He had satisfied himself on his arrival in the Provinces,
that, if he did not take the governor-generalship some other person
would; and that it certainly was for the interest of her Majesty that her
devoted servant, rather than an indifferent person, should be placed in
that important position. He maintained that the Queen had intimated, to
him, in private, her willingness that he should accept the office in
question provided the proposition should come from the States and not
from her; he reasoned that the double nature of his functions--being
general and counsellor for her, as well as general and counsellor for the
Provinces--made his acceptance of the authority conferred on him almost
indispensable; that for him to be merely commander over five thousand
English troops, when an abler soldier than himself, Sir John Norris, was
at their head, was hardly worthy her Majesty's service or himself, and
that in reality the Queen had lost nothing, by his appointment, but had
gained much benefit and honour by thus having the whole command of the
Provinces, of their forces by land and sea, of their towns and treasures,
with knowledge of all their secrets of state.

Then, relapsing into a vein of tender but reproachful melancholy, he
observed, that, if it had been any man but himself that had done as he
had done, he would have been thanked, not censured. "But such is now my
wretched case," he said, "as for my faithful, true, and loving heart to
her Majesty and my country, I have utterly undone myself. For favour, I
have disgrace; for reward, utter spoil and ruin. But if this taking upon
me the name of governor is so evil taken as it hath deserved dishonour,
discredit, disfavour, with all griefs that may be laid upon a man, I must
receive it as deserved of God and not of my Queen, whom I have reverenced
with all humility, and whom I have loved with all fidelity."

This was the true way, no doubt, to reach the heart of Elizabeth, and
Leicester had always plenty of such shafts in his quiver. Unfortunately
he had delayed too long, and even now he dared not take a direct aim. He
feared to write to the Queen herself, thinking that his so doing, "while
she had such conceipts of him, would only trouble her," and he therefore
continued to employ the Lord-Treasurer and Mr. Secretary as his
mediators. Thus he committed error upon error.

Meantime, as if there had not been procrastination enough, Davison was
loitering at the Brill, detained by wind and weather. Two days after the
letter, just cited, had been despatched to Walsingham, Leicester sent an
impatient message to the envoy. "I am heartily sorry, with all my heart,"
he said, "to hear of your long stay at Brill, the wind serving so fair as
it hath done these two days. I would have laid any wager that you had
been in England ere this. I pray you make haste, lest our cause take too
great a prejudice there ere you come, although I cannot fear it, because
it is so good and honest. I pray you imagine in what care I dwell till I
shall hear from you, albeit some way very resolute."

Thus it was obvious that he had no secret despair of his cause when it
should be thoroughly laid before the Queen. The wonder was that he had
added the offence of long silence to the sin of disobedience. Davison had
sailed, however, before the receipt of the Earl's letter. He had been
furnished with careful instructions upon the subject of his mission. He
was to show how eager the States had been to have Leicester for their
absolute governor--which was perfectly true--and how anxious the Earl had
been to decline the proffered honour--which was certainly false, if
contemporary record and the minutes of the States-General are to be
believed. He was to sketch the general confusion which had descended upon
the country, the quarrelling of politicians, and the discontent of
officers and soldiers, from out of all which chaos one of two results was
sure to arise: the erection of a single chieftain, or a reconciliation of
the Provinces with Spain. That it would be impossible for the Earl to
exercise the double functions with which he was charged--of general of
her Majesty's forces, and general and chief counsellor of the States--if
any other man than himself should be appointed governor; was obvious. It
was equally plain that the Provinces could only be kept at her Majesty's
disposition by choosing the course which, at their own suggestion, had
been adopted. The offer of the government by the States, and its
acceptance by the Earl, were the logical consequence of the step which
the Queen had already taken. It was thus only that England could retain
her hold upon the country, and even upon the cautionary towns. As to a
reconciliation of the Provinces with Spain--which would have been the
probable result of Leicester's rejection of the proposition made by the
Stateait was unnecessary to do more than allude to such a catastrophe. No
one but a madman could doubt that, in such an event, the subjugation of
England was almost certain.

But before the arrival of the ambassador, the Queen had been thoroughly
informed as to the whole extent of the Earl's delinquency. Dire was the
result. The wintry gales which had been lashing the North Sea, and
preventing the unfortunate Davison from setting forth on his disastrous
mission, were nothing to the tempest of royal wrath which had been
shaking the court-world to its centre. The Queen had been swearing most
fearfully ever since she read the news, which Leicester had not dared to
communicate directly, to herself. No one was allowed to speak a word in
extenuation of the favourite's offence. Burghley, who lifted up his voice
somewhat feebly to appease her wrath, was bid, with a curse, to hold his
peace. So he took to his bed-partly from prudence, partly from gout--and
thus sheltered himself for a season from the peltings of the storm.
Walsingham, more manful, stood to his post, but could not gain a hearing.
It was the culprit that should have spoken, and spoken in time. "Why, why
did you not write yourself?" was the plaintive cry of all the Earl's
friends, from highest to humblest. "But write to her now," they
exclaimed, "at any rate; and, above all, send her a present, a
love-gift." "Lay out two or three hundred crowns in some rare thing, for
a token to her Majesty," said Christopher Hatton.

Strange that his colleagues and his rivals should have been obliged to
advise Leicester upon the proper course to pursue; that they--not
himself--should have been the first to perceive that it was the enraged
woman, even more than the offended sovereign, who was to be propitiated
and soothed. In truth, all the woman had been aroused in Elizabeth's
bosom. She was displeased that her favourite should derive power and
splendour from any source but her own bounty. She was furious that his
wife, whom she hated, was about to share in his honours. For the
mischievous tongues of court-ladies had been collecting or fabricating
many unpleasant rumours. A swarm of idle but piquant stories had been
buzzing about the Queen's ears, and stinging her into a frenzy of
jealousy. The Countess--it was said--was on the point of setting forth
for the Netherlands, to join the Earl, with a train of courtiers and
ladies, coaches and side-saddles, such as were never seen before--where
the two were about to establish themselves in conjugal felicity, as well
as almost royal state. What a prospect for the jealous and imperious
sovereign! "Coaches and side-saddles! She would show the upstarts that
there was one Queen, and that her name was Elizabeth, and that there was
no court but hers." And so she continued to storm and swear, and threaten
unutterable vengeance, till all her courtiers quaked in their shoes.

Thomas Dudley, however, warmly contradicted the report, declaring, of his
own knowledge, that the Countess had no wish to go to the Provinces, nor
the Earl any intention of receiving her there. This information was at
once conveyed to the Queen, "and," said Dudley, "it did greatly pacify
her stomach." His friends did what they could to maintain the governor's
cause; but Burghley, Walsingham, Hatton, and the rest of them, were all
"at their wits end," and were nearly distraught at the delay in Davison's
arrival. Meantime the Queen's stomach was not so much pacified but that
she was determined to humiliate the Earl with the least possible delay.
Having waited sufficiently long for his explanations, she now appointed
Sir Thomas Heneage as special commissioner to the States, without waiting
any longer. Her wrath vented itself at once in the preamble to the
instructions for this agent.

"Whereas," she said, "we have been given to understand that the Earl of
Leicester hath in a very contemptuous sort--contrary to our express
commandment given unto him by ourself, accepted of an offer of a more
absolute government made by the States unto him, than was agreed on
between us and their commissioners--which kind of contemptible manner of
proceeding giveth the world just cause to think that there is not that
reverent respect carried towards us by our subjects as in duty
appertaineth; especially seeing so notorious a contempt committed by one
whom we have raised up and yielded in the eye of the world, even from the
beginning of our reign, as great portion of our favour as ever subject
enjoyed at any prince's hands; we therefore, holding nothing dearer than
our honour, and considering that no one thing could more touch our
reputation than to induce so open and public a faction of a prince, and
work a greater reproach than contempt at a subject's hand, without
reparation of our honour, have found it necessary to send you unto him,
as well to charge him with the said contempt, as also to execute such
other things as we think meet to be done, for the justifying of ourselves
to the world, as the repairing of the indignity cast upon us by his
undutiful manner of proceeding towards us. . . . And for that we find
ourselves also not well dealt withal by the States, in that they have
pressed the said Earl, without our assent or privity, to accept of a more
absolute government than was agreed on between us and their
commissioners, we have also thought meet that you shall charge them
therewith, according to the directions hereafter ensuing. And to the end
there may be no delay used in the execution of that which we think meet
to be presently done, you shall charge the said States, even as they
tender the continuance of our good-will towards them, to proceed to the
speedy execution of our request."

After this trumpet-like preamble it may be supposed that the blast which
followed would be piercing and shrill. The instructions, in truth,
consisted in wild, scornful flourishes upon one theme. The word contempt
had occurred five times in the brief preamble. It was repeated in almost
every line of the instructions.

"You shall let the Earl" (our cousin no longer) "understand," said the
Queen, "how highly and justly we are offended with his acceptation of the
government, which we do repute to be a very great and strange contempt,
least looked for at our hands, being, as he is, a creature of our own."
His omission to acquaint her by letter with the causes moving him "so
contemptuously to break" her commandment, his delay in sending Davison
"to answer the said contempt," had much "aggravated the fault," although
the Queen protested herself unable to imagine any "excuse for so manifest
a contempt." The States were to be informed that she "held it strange"
that "this creature of her own" should have been pressed by them to
"commit so notorious a contempt" against her, both on account of this
very exhibition of contempt on Leicester's part, and because they thereby
"shewed themselves to have a very slender and weak conceit of her
judgment, by pressing a minister of hers to accept that which she had
refused, as: though her long experience in government had not taught her
to discover what was fit to do in matters of state." As the result of
such a proceeding would be to disgrace her in the eyes of mankind, by
inducing an opinion that her published solemn declaration on this great
subject had been intended to abuse the, world, he was directed--in order
to remove the hard conceit justly to be taken by the world, "in
consideration of the said contempt,"--to make a public and open
resignation of the government in the place where he had accepted the
same.

Thus it had been made obvious to the unlucky "creature of her own," that
the Queen did not easily digest "contempt." Nevertheless these
instructions to Heneage were gentle, compared with the fierce billet
which she addressed directly to the Earl: It was brief, too, as the posy
of a ring; and thus it ran: "To my Lord of Leicester, from the Queen, by
Sir Thomas Heneage. How contemptuously we conceive ourself to have been
used by you, you shall by this bearer understand, whom we have expressly
sent unto you to charge you withal. We could never have imagined, had we
not seen it fall out in experience, that a man raised up by ourself, and
extraordinarily favoured by us above any other subject of this land,
would have, in so contemptible a sort, broken our commandment, in a cause
that so greatly toucheth us in honour; whereof, although you have showed
yourself to make but little account, in most undutiful a sort, you may
not therefore think that we have so little care of the reparation thereof
as we mind to pass so great a wrong in silence unredressed. And therefore
our express pleasure and commandment is, that--all delays and excuses
laid apart--you do presently, upon the duty of your allegiance, obey and
fulfil whatsoever the bearer hereof shall direct you to do in our name.
Whereof fail not, as you will answer the contrary at your uttermost
peril."

Here was no billing and cooing, certainly, but a terse, biting
phraseology, about which there could be no misconception.

By the same messenger the Queen also sent a formal letter to the
States-General; the epistle--'mutatis mutandis'--being also addressed to
the state-council.

In this document her Majesty expressed her great surprise that Leicester
should have accepted their offer of the absolute government, "both for
police and war," when she had so expressly rejected it herself. "To tell
the truth," she observed, "you seem to have treated us with very little
respect, and put a too manifest insult upon us, in presenting anew to one
of, our subjects the same proposition which we had already declined,
without at least waiting for our answer whether we should like it or no;
as if we had not sense enough to be able to decide upon what we ought to
accept or refuse." She proceeded to express her dissatisfaction with the
course pursued, because so repugnant to her published declaration, in
which she had stated to the world her intention of aiding the Provinces,
without meddling in the least with the sovereignty of the country. "The
contrary would now be believed," she said, "at least by those who take
the liberty of censuring, according to their pleasure, the actions of
princes." Thus her honour was at stake. She signified her will,
therefore, that, in order to convince the world of her sincerity, the
authority conferred should be revoked, and that "the Earl," whom she had
decided to recall very soon, should, during his brief residence there,
only exercise the power agreed upon by the original contract. She warmly
reiterated her intention, however, of observing inviolably the promise of
assistance which she had given to the States. "And if," she said, "any
malicious or turbulent spirits should endeavour, perchance, to persuade
the people that this our refusal proceeds from lack of affection or
honest disposition to assist you--instead of being founded only on
respect for our honour, which is dearer to us than life--we beg you, by
every possible means, to shut their mouths, and prevent their pernicious
designs."

Thus, heavily laden with the royal wrath, Heneage was on the point of
leaving London for the Netherlands, on the very day upon which Davison
arrived, charged with deprecatory missives from that country. After his
long detention he had a short passage, crossing from the Brill to Margate
in a single night. Coming immediately to London, he sent to Walsingham to
inquire which way the wind was blowing at court, but received a somewhat
discouraging reply. "Your long detention by his Lordship," said the
Secretary, "has wounded the whole cause;" adding, that he thought her
Majesty would not speak with him. On the other hand, it seemed
indispensable for him to go to the court, because if the Queen should
hear of his arrival before he had presented himself, she was likely to be
more angry than ever.

So, the same afternoon, Davison waited upon Walsingham, and found him in
a state of despondency. "She takes his Lordship's acceptance of the,
government most haynously," said Sir Francis, "and has resolved to send
Sir Thomas Heneage at once, with orders for him to resign the office. She
has been threatening you and Sir Philip Sidney, whom she considers the
chief actors and persuaders in the matter, according to information
received from some persons about my Lord of Leicester."

Davison protested himself amazed at the Secretary's discourse, and at
once took great pains to show the reasons by which all parties had been
influenced in the matter of the government. He declared roundly that if
the Queen should carry out her present intentions, the Earl would be most
unworthily disgraced, the cause utterly overthrown, the Queen's honour
perpetually stained, and that her kingdom would incur great disaster.

Directly after this brief conversation, Walsingham went up stairs to the
Queen, while Davison proceeded to the apartments of Sir Christopher
Hatton. Thence he was soon summoned to the royal presence, and found that
he had not been misinformed as to the temper of her Majesty. The Queen
was indeed in a passion, and began swearing at Davison so soon as he got
into the chamber; abusing Leicester for having accepted the offer of the
States, against her many times repeated commandment, and the ambassador
for not having opposed his course. The thing had been done, she said, in
contempt of her, as if her consent had been of no consequence, or as if
the matter in no way concerned her.

So soon as she paused to take breath, the envoy modestly, but firmly,
appealed to her reason, that she would at any rate lend him a patient and
favourable ear, in which case he doubted not that she would form a more
favourable opinion of the case than she had hitherto done: He then
entered into a long discourse upon the state of the Netherlands before
the arrival of Leicester, the inclination in many quarters for a peace,
the "despair that any sound and good fruit would grow of her Majesty's
cold beginning," the general unpopularity of the States' government, the
"corruption, partiality, and confusion," which were visible everywhere,
the perilous condition of the whole cause, and the absolute necessity of
some immediate reform.

"It was necessary," said Davison, "that some one person of wisdom and
authority should take the helm. Among the Netherlanders none was
qualified for such a charge. Lord Maurice is a child, poor, and of but
little respect among them. Elector Truchsess, Count Hohenlo, Meurs, and
the rest, strangers and incapable of the burden. These considerations
influenced the States to the step which had been taken; without which all
the rest of her benevolence was to little purpose." Although the contract
between the commissioners and the Queen had not literally provided for
such an arrangement, yet it had always been contemplated by the States,
who had left themselves without a head until the arrival of the Earl.

"Under one pretext or another," continued the envoy, "my Lord of
Leicester had long delayed to satisfy them,"--(and in so stating he went
somewhat further in defence of his absent friend than the facts would
warrant), "for he neither flatly refused it, nor was willing to accept,
until your Majesty's pleasure should be known." Certainly the records
show no reservation of his acceptance until the Queen had been consulted;
but the defence by Davison of the offending Earl was so much the more
courageous.

"At length, wearied by their importunity, moved with their reasons, and
compelled by necessity, he thought it better to take the course he did,"
proceeded the diplomatist, "for otherwise he must have been an
eye-witness of the dismemberment of the whole country, which could not be
kept together but by a reposed hope in her Majesty's found favour, which
had been utterly despaired of by his refusal. He thought it better by
accepting to increase the honour, profit; and surety, of her Majesty, and
the good of the cause, than, by refusing, to utterly hazard the one, and
overthrow the other."

To all this and more, well and warmly urged by Davison; the Queen
listened by fits and starts, often interrupting his discourse by violent
abuse of Leicester, accusing him of contempt for her, charging him with
thinking more of his own particular greatness than of her honour and
service, and then "digressing into old griefs," said the envoy, "too long
and tedious to write." She vehemently denounced Davison also for
dereliction of duty in not opposing the measure; but he manfully declared
that he never deemed so meanly of her Majesty or of his Lordship as to
suppose that she would send him, or that he would go to the Provinces,
merely, "to take command of the relics of Mr. Norris's worn and decayed
troops." Such a change, protested Davison, was utterly unworthy a person
of the Earl's quality, and utterly unsuited to the necessity of the time
and state.

But Davison went farther in defence of Leicester. He had been present at
many of the conferences with the Netherland envoys during the preceding
summer in England, and he now told the Queen stoutly to her face that she
herself, or at any rate one of her chief counsellors, in her hearing and
his, had expressed her royal determination not to prevent the acceptance
of whatever authority the states might choose to confer, by any one whom
she might choose to send. She had declined to accept it in person, but
she had been willing that it should be wielded by her deputy; and this
remembrance of his had been confirmed by that of one of the commissioners
since their return. She had never--Davison maintained--sent him one
single line having any bearing on the subject. Under such circumstances,
"I might have been accused of madness,", said he, "to have dissuaded an
action in my poor opinion so necessary and expedient for your Majesty's
honour, surety, and greatness." If it were to do over again, he avowed,
and "were his opinion demanded, he could give no other advice than that
which he had given, having received no contrary, commandment from her
Highness."

And so ended the first evening's long and vehement debate, and Davison
departed, "leaving her," as he said, "much qualified, though in many
points unsatisfied." She had however, absolutely refused to receive a
letter from Leicester, with which he had been charged, but which, in her
opinion, had better have been written two months before.

The next day, it seemed, after all, that Heneage was to be despatched,
"in great heat," upon his mission. Davison accordingly requested an
immediate audience. So soon as admitted to the presence he burst into
tears, and implored the Queen to pause before she should inflict the
contemplated disgrace on one whom she had hitherto so highly esteemed,
and, by so doing, dishonour herself and imperil both countries. But the
Queen was more furious than ever that morning, returning at every pause
in the envoy's discourse to harp upon the one string--"How dared he come
to such a decision without at least imparting it to me?"--and so on, as
so many times before. And again Davison, with all the eloquence and with
every soothing art he had at command; essayed to pour oil upon the waves.
Nor was he entirely unsuccessful; for presently the Queen became so calm
again that he ventured once more to present the rejected letter of the
Earl. She broke the seal, and at sight of the well-known handwriting she
became still more gentle; and so soon as she had read the first of her
favourite's honied phrases she thrust the precious document into her
pocket, in order to read it afterwards, as Davison observed, at her
leisure.

The opening thus successfully made, and the envoy having thus, "by many
insinuations," prepared her to lend him a "more patient and willing ear
than she had vouchsafed before," he again entered into a skilful and
impassioned argument to show the entire wisdom of the course pursued by
the Earl.

It is unnecessary to repeat the conversation. Since to say that no man
could have more eloquently and faithfully supported an absent friend
under difficulties than Davison now defended the Earl. The line of
argument is already familiar to the reader, and, in truth, the Queen had
nothing to reply, save to insist upon the governor's delinquency in
maintaining so long and inexplicable a silence. And--at this thought, in
spite of the envoy's eloquence, she went off again in a paroxysm of
anger, abusing the Earl, and deeply censuring Davison for his "peremptory
and partial dealing."

"I had conceived a better opinion of you," she said, "and I had intended
more good to you than I now find you worthy of."

"I humbly thank your Highness," replied the ambassador, "but I take
yourself to witness that I have never affected or sought any such grace
at your hands. And if your Majesty persists in the dangerous course on
which you are now entering, I only pray your leave, in recompense for all
my travails, to retire myself home, where I may spend the rest of my life
in praying for you, whom Salvation itself is not able to save, if these
purposes are continued. Henceforth, Madam, he is to be deemed happiest
who is least interested in the public service."

And so ended the second day's debate. The next day the Lord-Treasurer,
who, according to Davison, employed himself diligently--as did also
Walsingham and Hatton--in dissuading the Queen from the violent measures
which she had resolved upon, effected so much of a change as to procure
the insertion of those qualifying clauses in Heneage's instructions which
had been previously disallowed. The open and public disgrace of the Earl,
which was to have been peremptorily demanded, was now to be deferred, if
such a measure seemed detrimental to the public service. Her Majesty,
however, protested herself as deeply offended as ever, although she had
consented to address a brief, somewhat mysterious, but benignant letter
of compliment to the States.

Soon after this Davison retired for a few days from the court, having
previously written to the Earl that "the heat of her Majesty's offence to
his Lordship was abating every day somewhat, and that she was disposed
both to hear and to speak more temperately of him."

He implored him accordingly to a "more diligent entertaining of her by
wise letters and messages, wherein his slackness hitherto appeared to
have bred a great part of this unkindness." He observed also that the
"traffic of peace was still going on underhand; but whether to use it as
a second string to our bow, if the first should fail, or of any settled
inclination thereunto, he could not affirm."

Meantime Sir Thomas Heneage was despatched on his mission to the Staten,
despite all the arguments and expostulations of Walsingham, Burghley,
Hatton, and Davison. All the Queen's counsellors were unequivocally in
favour of sustaining Leicester; and Heneage was not a little embarrassed
as to the proper method of conducting the affair. Everything, in truth,
was in a most confused condition. He hardly understood to what power he
was accredited. "Heneage writes even now unto me," said Walsingham to
Davison, "that he cannot yet receive any information who be the States,
which he thinketh will be a great maimer unto him in his negotiation. I
have told him that it is an assembly much like that of our burgesses that
represent the State, and that my Lord of Leicester may cause some of them
to meet together, unto whom he may deliver his letters and messages."
Thus the new envoy was to request the culprit to summon the very assembly
by which his downfall and disgrace were to be solemnized, as formally as
had been so recently his elevation to the height of power. The prospect
was not an agreeable one, and the less so because of his general want of
familiarity with the constitutional forms of the country he was about to
visit. Davison accordingly, at the request of Sir Francis, furnished
Heneage with much valuable information and advice upon the subject.

Thus provided with information, forewarned of danger, furnished with a
double set of letters from the Queen to the States--the first expressed
in language of extreme exasperation, the others couched in almost
affectionate terms--and laden with messages brimfull of wrathful
denunciation from her Majesty to one who was notoriously her Majesty's
dearly-beloved, Sir Thomas Heneage set forth on his mission. These were
perilous times for the Davisons and the Heneages, when even Leicesters
and Burghleys were scarcely secure.

Meantime the fair weather at court could not be depended upon from one
day to another, and the clouds were perpetually returning after the rain.

"Since my second and third day's audience," said Davison, "the storms I
met with at my arrival have overblown and abated daily. On Saturday again
she fell into some new heat, which lasted not long. This day I was myself
at the court, and found her in reasonable good terms, though she will not
yet seem satisfied to me either with the matter or manner of your
proceeding, notwithstanding all the labour I have taken in that behalf.
Yet I find not her Majesty altogether so sharp as some men look, though
her favour has outwardly cooled in respect both of this action and of our
plain proceeding with her here in defence thereof."

The poor Countess--whose imaginary exodus, with the long procession of
coaches and side-saddles, had excited so much ire--found herself in a
most distressing position. "I have not seen my Lady these ten or twelve
days," said Davison. "To-morrow I hope to do my duty towards her. I found
her greatly troubled with tempestuous news she received from court, but
somewhat comforted when she understood how I had proceeded with her
Majesty . . . . But these passions overblown, I hope her Majesty will
have a gracious regard both towards myself and the cause."

But the passions seemed not likely to blow over so soon as was desirable.
Leicester's brother the Earl of Warwick took a most gloomy view of the
whole transaction, and hoarser than the raven's was his boding tone.

"Well, our mistress's extreme rage doth increase rather than diminish,"
he wrote, "and she giveth out great threatening words against you.
Therefore make the best assurance you can for yourself, and trust not her
oath, for that her malice is great and unquenchable in the wisest of
their opinions here, and as for other friendships, as far as I can learn,
it is as doubtful as the other. Wherefore, my good brother, repose your
whole trust in God, and He will defend you in despite of all your
enemies. And let this be a great comfort to you, and so it is likewise to
myself and all your assured friends, and that is, that you were never so
honoured and loved in your life amongst all good people as you are at
this day, only for dealing so nobly and wisely in this action as you have
done; so that, whatsoever cometh of it, you have done your part. I praise
God from my heart for it. Once again, have great care of yourself, I mean
for your safety, and if she will needs revoke you, to the overthrowing of
the cause, if I were as you, if I could not be assured there, I would go
to the farthest part of Christendom rather than ever come into England
again. Take heed whom you trust, for that you have some false boys about
you."

And the false boys were busy enough, and seemed likely to triumph in the
result of their schemes. For a glance into the secret correspondence of
Mary of Scotland has already revealed the Earl to us constantly
surrounded by men in masks. Many of those nearest his person, and of
highest credit out of England, were his deadly foes, sworn to compass his
dishonour, his confusion, and eventually his death, and in correspondence
with his most powerful adversaries at home and abroad. Certainly his path
was slippery and perilous along those icy summits of power, and he had
need to look well to his footsteps.

Before Heneage had arrived in the Netherlands, Sir Thomas Shirley,
despatched by Leicester to England with a commission to procure supplies
for the famishing soldiers, and, if possible, to mitigate the Queen's
wrath, had, been admitted more than once to her Majesty's presence. He
had fought the Earl's battle as manfully as Davison had done, and, like
that envoy, had received nothing in exchange for his plausible arguments
but bitter words and big oaths. Eight days after his arrival he was
introduced by Hatton into the privy chamber, and at the moment of his
entrance was received with a volley of execrations.

"I did expressly and peremptorily forbid his acceptance of the absolute
government, in the hearing of divers of my council," said the Queen.

Shirley.--"The necessity of the case was imminent, your Highness. It was
his Lordship's intent to do all for your Majesty's service. Those
countries did expect him as a governor at his first landing, and the
States durst do no other than satisfy the people also with that opinion.
The people's mislike of their present government is such and so great as
that the name of States is grown odious amongst them. Therefore the
States, doubting the furious rage of the people, conferred the authority
upon his Lordship with incessant suit to him to receive it.
Notwithstanding this, however, he did deny it until he saw plainly both
confusion and ruin of that country if he should refuse. On the other
hand, when he had seen into their estates, his lordship found great
profit and commodity like to come unto your Majesty by your acceptance of
it. Your Highness may now have garrisons of English in as many towns as
pleaseth you, without any more charge than you are now at. Nor can any
peace be made with Spain at any time hereafter, but through you: and by
you. Your Majesty should remember, likewise, that if a man of another
nation had been chosen governor it might have wrought great danger.
Moreover it would have been an indignity that your lieutenant-general
should of necessity be under him that so should have been elected.
Finally, this is a stop to any other that may affect the place of
government there."

Queen (who has manifested many signs of impatience during this
discourse).--"Your speech is all in vain. His Lordship's proceeding is
sufficient to make me infamous to all princes, having protested the
contrary, as I have done, in a book which is translated into divers and
sundry languages. His Lordship, being my servant, a creature of my own,
ought not, in duty towards me, have entered into this course without my
knowledge and good allowance."

Shirley.--"But the world hath conceived a high judgment of your Majesty's
great wisdom and providence; shown by your assailing the King of Spain at
one time both in the Low Countries and also by Sir Francis Drake. I do
assure myself that the same judgment which did first cause you to take
this in hand must continue a certain knowledge in your Majesty that one
of these actions must needs stand much better by the other. If Sir
Frances do prosper, then all is well. And though he should not prosper,
yet this hold that his Lordship hath taken for you on the Low Countries
must always assure an honourable peace at your Highness's pleasure. I
beseech your Majesty to remember that to the King of Spain the government
of his Lordship is no greater matter than if he were but your
lieutenant-general there; but the voyage of Sir Francis is of much
greater offence than all."

Queen (interrupting).--"I can very well answer for Sir Francis. Moreover,
if need be, the gentleman careth not if I should disavow him."

Shirley.--"Even so standeth my Lord, if your disavowing of him may also
stand with your Highness's favour towards him. Nevertheless; should this
bruit of your mislike of his Lordship's authority there come unto the
ears of those people; being a nation both sudden and suspicious, and
having been heretofore used to stratagem--I fear it may work some strange
notion in them, considering that, at this time, there is an increase of
taxation raised upon them, the bestowing whereof perchance they know not
of. His Lordship's giving; up of the government may leave them altogether
without government, and in worse case than they were ever in before. For
now the authority of the States is dissolved, and his Lordship's
government is the only thing that holdeth them together. I do beseech
your Highness, then, to consider well of it, and if there be any private
cause for which you take grief against his Lordship, nevertheless, to
have regard unto the public cause, and to have a care of your own safety,
which in many wise men's opinions, standeth much upon the good
maintenance and upholding of this matter."

Queen.--"I believe nothing of, what you say concerning the dissolving of
the authority of the States. I know well enough that the States do remain
states still. I mean not to do harm to the cause, but only to reform that
which his Lordship hath done beyond his warrant from me."

And with this the Queen swept suddenly from the apartment. Sir Thomas, at
different stages of the conversation, had in vain besought her to accept
a letter from the Earl which had been entrusted to his care. She
obstinately refused to touch it. Shirley had even had recourse to
stratagem: affecting ignorance on many points concerning which the Queen
desired information, and suggesting that doubtless she would find those
matters fully explained in his Lordship's letter. The artifice was in
vain, and the discussion was, on the whole, unsatisfactory. Yet there is
no doubt that the Queen had had the worst of the argument, and she was
far too sagacious a politician not to feel the weight of that which had
been urged so often in defence of the course pursued. But it was with her
partly a matter of temper and offended pride, perhaps even of wounded
affection.

On the following morning Shirley saw the Queen walking in the garden of
the palace, and made bold to accost her. Thinking, as he said, "to test
her affection to Lord Leicester by another means," the artful Sir Thomas
stepped up to her, and observed that his Lordship was seriously ill. "It
is feared," he said, "that the Earl is again attacked by the disease of
which Dr. Goodrowse did once cure him. Wherefore his Lordship is now a
humble suitor to your Highness that it would please you to spare
Goodrowse, and give him leave to go thither for some time."

The Queen was instantly touched.

"Certainly--with all my heart, with all my heart, he shall have him," she
replied, "and sorry I am that his Lordship hath that need of him."

"And indeed," returned sly Sir Thomas, "your Highness is a very gracious
prince, who are pleased not to suffer his Lordship to perish in health,
though otherwise you remain deeply offended with him."

"You know my mind," returned Elizabeth, now all the queen again, and
perhaps suspecting the trick; "I may not endure that any man should alter
my commission and the authority that I gave him, upon his own fancies and
without me."

With this she instantly summoned one of her gentlemen, in order to break
off the interview, fearing that Shirley was about to enter again upon a
discussion of the whole subject, and again to attempt the delivery of the
Earl's letter.

In all this there was much of superannuated coquetry, no doubt, and much
of Tudor despotism, but there was also a strong infusion of artifice. For
it will soon be necessary to direct attention to certain secret
transactions of an important nature in which the Queen was engaged, and
which were even hidden from the all-seeing eye of Walsingham--although
shrewdly suspected both by that statesman and by Leicester--but which
were most influential in modifying her policy at that moment towards the
Netherlands.

There could be no doubt, however, of the stanch and strenuous manner in
which the delinquent Earl was supported by his confidential messengers
and by some of his fellow-councillors. His true friends were urgent that
the great cause in which he was engaged should be forwarded sincerely and
without delay. Shirley had been sent for money; but to draw money from
Elizabeth was like coining her life-blood, drachma by drachma.

"Your Lordship is like to have but a poor supply of money at this time,"
said Sir Thomas. "To be plain with you, I fear she groweth weary of the
charge, and will hardly be brought to deal thoroughly in the action."

He was also more explicit than he might have been--had he been better
informed as to the disposition of the chief personages of the court,
concerning whose temper the absent Earl was naturally anxious. Hatton was
most in favour at the moment, and it was through Hatton that the
communications upon Netherland matters passed; "for," said Shirley, "she
will hardly endure Mr. Secretary (Walsingham) to speak unto her therein."

"And truly, my Lord," he continued, "as Mr. Secretary is a noble, good,
and true friend unto you, so doth Mr. Vice-Chamberlain show himself an
honourable, true, and faithful gentleman, and doth carefully and most
like a good friend for your Lordship."

And thus very succinctly and graphically had the envoy painted the
situation to his principal. "Your Lordship now sees things just as they
stand," he moralized. "Your Lordship is exceeding wise. You know the
Queen and her nature best of any man. You know all men here. Your
Lordship can judge the sequel by this that you see: only this I must tell
your Lordship, I perceive that fears and doubts from thence are like to
work better effects here than comforts and assurance. I think it my part
to send your Lordship this as it is, rather than to be silent."

And with these rather ominous insinuations the envoy concluded for the
time his narrative.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Intolerable tendency to puns
     New Years Day in England, 11th January by the New Style
     Peace and quietness is brought into a most dangerous estate



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 45, 1586



CHAPTER VII., Part 2.

   Leicester's Letters to his Friends--Paltry Conduct of the Earl to
   Davison--He excuses himself at Davison's Expense--His Letter to
   Burghley--Effect of the Queen's Letters to the States--Suspicion and
   Discontent in Holland--States excuse their Conduct to the Queen--
   Leicester discredited in Holland--Evil Consequences to Holland and
   England--Magic: Effect of a Letter from Leicester--The Queen
   appeased--Her Letters to the States and the Earl--She permits the
   granted Authority----Unhappy Results of the Queen's Course--Her
   variable Moods--She attempts to deceive Walsingham--Her Injustice to
   Heneage--His Perplexity and Distress--Humiliating Position of
   Leicester--His melancholy Letters to the Queen--He receives a little
   Consolation--And writes more cheerfully--The Queen is more
   benignant--The States less contented than the Earl--His Quarrels
   with them begin.

While these storms were blowing and "overblowing" in England, Leicester
remained greatly embarrassed and anxious in Holland. He had sown the wind
more extensively than he had dreamed of when accepting the government,
and he was now awaiting, with much trepidation, the usual harvest: And we
have seen that it was rapidly ripening. Meantime, the good which he had
really effected in the Provinces by the course he had taken was likely to
be neutralized by the sinister rumours as to his impending disgrace,
while the enemy was proportionally encouraged. "I understand credibly,"
he said, "that the Prince of Parma feels himself in great jollity that
her Majesty doth rather mislike than allow of our doings here, which; if
it be true, let her be sure her own sweet self shall first smart."

Moreover; the English troops were, as we have seen, mere shoeless,
shivering, starving vagabonds. The Earl had generously advanced very
large sums of money from his own pocket to relieve their necessity. The
States, on the other hand, had voluntarily increased the monthly
contribution of 200,000 florins, to which their contract with Elizabeth
obliged them, and were more disposed than ever they had been since the
death of Orange to proceed vigorously and harmoniously against the common
enemy of Christendom. Under such circumstances it may well be imagined
that there was cause on Leicester's part for deep mortification at the
tragical turn which the Queen's temper seemed to be taking.

"I know not," he said, "how her Majesty doth mean to dispose of me. It
hath grieved me more than I can express that for faithful and good
service she should so deeply conceive against me. God knows with what
mind I have served her Highness, and perhaps some others might have
failed. Yet she is neither tied one jot by covenant or promise by me in
any way, nor at one groat the more charges, but myself two or three
thousand pounds sterling more than now is like to be well spent. I will
desire no partial speech in my favour. If my doings be ill for her
Majesty and the realm, let me feel the smart of it. The cause is now well
forward; let not her majesty suffer it to quail. If you will have it
proceed to good effect, send away Sir William Pelham with all the haste
you can. I mean not to complain, but with so weighty a cause as this is,
few men have been so weakly assisted. Her Majesty hath far better choice
for my place, and with any that may succeed me let Sir William Pelham be
first that may come. I speak from my soul for her Majesty's service. I am
for myself upon an hour's warning to obey her good pleasure."

Thus far the Earl had maintained his dignity. He had yielded to the
solicitations of the States, and had thereby exceeded his commission, and
gratified his ambition, but he had in no wise forfeited his self-respect.
But--so soon as the first unquestionable intelligence of the passion to
which the Queen had given way at his misdoings reached him--he began to
whimper, The straightforward tone which Davison had adopted in his
interviews with Elizabeth, and the firmness with which he had defended
the cause of his absent friend, at a moment when he had plunged himself
into disgrace, was worthy of applause. He deserved at least a word of
honest thanks.

Ignoble however was the demeanor of the Earl towards the man--for whom he
had but recently been unable to invent eulogies sufficiently warm--so
soon as he conceived the possibility of sacrificing his friend as the
scape-goat for his own fault. An honest schoolboy would have scorned to
leave thus in the lurch a comrade who had been fighting his battles so
honestly.

"How earnest I was," he wrote to the lords of the council, 9th March,
1586, "not only to acquaint her Majesty, but immediately upon the first
motion made by the States, to send Mr. Davison over to her with letters,
I doubt not but he will truly affirm for me; yea, and how far against my
will it was, notwithstanding any reasons delivered me, that he and others
persisted in, to have me accept first of this place. . . . The
extremity of the case, and my being persuaded that Mr. Davison might have
better satisfied her Majesty, than I perceive he can, caused, me-neither
arrogantly nor contemptuously, but even merely and faithfully--to do her
Majesty the best service."

He acknowledged, certainly, that Davison had been influenced by honest
motives, although his importunities had been the real cause of the Earl's
neglect of his own obligations. But he protested that he had himself,
only erred through an excessive pliancy to the will of others. "My
yielding was my own fault," he admitted, "whatsoever his persuasions; but
far from a contemptuous heart, or else God pluck out both heart and
bowels with utter shame."

So soon as Sir Thomas Heneage had presented himself, and revealed the
full extent of the Queen's wrath, the Earl's disposition to cast the
whole crime on the shoulders of Davison became quite undisguised.

"I thank you for your letters," wrote Leicester to Walsingham, "though
you can send me no comfort. Her Majesty doth deal hardly to believe so
ill of me. It is true I faulted, but she doth not consider what
commodities she hath withal, and herself no way engaged for it, as Mr.
Davison might have better declared it, if it had pleased him. And I must
thank him only for my blame, and so he will confess to you, for, I
protest before God, no necessity here could have made me leave her
Majesty unacquainted with the cause before I would have accepted of it,
but only his so earnest pressing me with his faithfull assured promise to
discharge me, however her Majesty should take it. For you all see there
she had no other cause to be offended but this, and, by the Lord, he was
the only cause; albeit it is no sufficient allegation, being as I am . .
. . . He had, I think, saved all to have told her, as he promised me. But
now it is laid upon me, God send the cause to take no harm, my grief must
be the less.

"How far Mr. Heneage's commission shall deface me I know not. He is wary
to observe his commission, and I consent withal. I know the time will be
her Majesty will be sorry for it. In the meantime I am too, too weary of
the high dignity. I would that any that could serve her Majesty were
placed in it, and I to sit down with all my losses."

In more manful strain he then alluded to the sufferings of his army.
"Whatsoever become of me," he said, "give me leave to speak for the poor
soldiers. If they be not better maintained, being in this strange
country, there will be neither good service done, nor be without great
dishonour to her Majesty. . . . Well, you see the wants, and it is one
cause that will glad me to be rid of this heavy high calling, and wish me
at my poor cottage again, if any I shall find. But let her Majesty pay
them well, and appoint such a man as Sir William Pelham to govern them,
and she never wan more honour than these men here will do, I am
persuaded."

That the Earl was warmly urged by all most conversant with Netherland
politics to assume the government was a fact admitted by all. That he
manifested rather eagerness than reluctance on the subject, and that his
only hesitation arose from the proposed restraints upon the power, not
from scruples about accepting the power, are facts upon record. There is
nothing save his own assertion to show any backwardness on his part to
snatch the coveted prize; and that assertion was flatly denied by
Davison, and was indeed refuted by every circumstance in the case. It is
certain that he had concealed from Davison the previous prohibitions of
the Queen. He could anticipate much better than could Davison, therefore,
the probable indignation of the Queen. It is strange then that he should
have shut his eyes to it so wilfully, and stranger still that he should
have relied on the envoy's eloquence instead of his own to mitigate that
emotion. Had he placed his defence simply upon its true basis, the
necessity of the case, and the impossibility of carrying out the Queen's
intentions in any other way, it would be difficult to censure him; but
that he should seek to screen himself by laying the whole blame on a
subordinate, was enough to make any honest man who heard him hang his
head. "I meant not to do it, but Davison told me to do it, please your
Majesty, and if there was naughtiness in it, he said he would make it all
right with your Majesty." Such, reduced to its simplest expression, was
the defence of the magnificent Earl of Leicester.

And as he had gone cringing and whining to his royal mistress, so it was
natural that he should be brutal and blustering to his friend.

"By your means," said he, "I have fallen into her Majesty's deep
displeasure . . . . If you had delivered to her the truth of my
dealing, her Highness never could have conceived, as I perceive she doth
. . . . Nor doth her Majesty know how hardly I was drawn to accept this
place before I had acquainted her--as to which you promised you would not
only give her full satisfaction, but would, procure me great thanks. . . .
You did chiefly persuade me to take this charge upon me . . . . You
can remember how many treaties you and others had with the States, before
I agreed; for all yours and their persuasion to take it. . . . You
gave me assurance to satisfy her Majesty, but I see not that you have
done anything . . . . I did not hide from you the doubt I had of her
Majesty's ill taking it . . . . You chiefly brought me into it . . . .
and it could no way have been heavy to you, though you had told the
uttermost of your own doing, as you faithfully promised you would . . . .
I did very unwillingly come into the matter, doubting that to fall out
which is come to pass . . . . and it doth so fall out by your negligent
carelessness, whereof I many hundred times told you that you would both
mar the goodness of the matter, and breed me her Majesty's displeasure.
. . . Thus fare you well, and except your embassages have better
success, I shall have no cause to commend them."

And so was the unfortunate Davison ground into finest dust between the
upper and lower millstones of royal wrath and loyal subserviency.

Meantime the other special envoy had made his appearance in the
Netherlands; the other go-between between the incensed Queen and the
backsliding favourite. It has already been made sufficiently obvious, by
the sketch given of his instructions, that his mission was a delicate
one. In obedience to those instructions, Heneage accordingly made his
appearance before the council, and, in Leicester's presence, delivered to
them the severe and biting reprimand which Elizabeth had chosen to
inflict upon the States and upon the governor. The envoy performed his
ungracious task as daintily, as he could, and after preliminary
consultation with Leicester; but the proud Earl was deeply mortified."
The fourteenth day of this month of March," said he, "Sir Thomas Heneage
delivered a very sharp letter from her Majesty to the council of estate,
besides his message--myself being, present, for so was her Majesty's
pleasure, as he said, and I do think he did but as he was commanded. How
great a grief it must be to an honest heart and a true, faithful servant,
before his own face, to a company of very wise and grave counsellors, who
had conceived a marvellous opinion before of my credit with her Majesty,
to be charged now with a manifest and wilful contempt! Matter enough to
have broken any man's heart, that looked rather for thanks, as God doth
know I did when I first heard of Mr. Heneage's arrival--I must say to
your Lordship, for discharge of my duty, I can be no fit man to serve
here--my disgrace is too great--protesting to you that since that day I
cannot find it in my heart to come into that place, where, by my own
sufferings torn, I was made to be thought so lewd a person."

He then comforted himself--as he had a right to do--with the reflection
that this disgrace inflicted was more than he deserved, and that such
would be the opinion of those by whom he was surrounded.

"Albeit one thing," he said, "did greatly comfort me, that they all best
knew the wrong was great I had, and that her Majesty was very wrongfully
informed of the state of my cause. I doubt not but they can and will
discharge me, howsoever they shall satisfy her Majesty. And as I would
rather wish for death than justly to deserve her displeasure; so, good my
Lord, this disgrace not coming for any ill service to her, pray procure
me a speedy resolution, that I may go hide me and pray for her. My heart
is broken, though thus far I can quiet myself, that I know I have done
her Majesty as faithful and good service in these countries as ever she
had done her since she was Queen of England . . . . Under correction,
my good Lord, I have had Halifax law--to be condemned first and inquired
upon after. I pray God that no man find this measure that I have done,
and deserved no worse."

He defended himself--as Davison had already defended him--upon the
necessities of the case.

"I, a poor gentleman," he said, "who have wholly depended upon herself
alone--and now, being commanded to a service of the greatest importance
that ever her Majesty employed any servant in, and finding the occasion
so serving me, and the necessity of time such as would not permit such
delays, flatly seeing that if that opportunity were lost, the like again
for her service and the good of the realm was never, to be looked for,
presuming upon the favour of my prince, as many servants have done,
exceeding somewhat thereupon, rather than breaking any part of my
commission, taking upon me a place whereby I found these whole countries
could be held at her best devotion, without binding her Majesty to any
such matter as she had forbidden to the States before finding, I say,
both the time and opportunity to serve, and no lack but to trust to her
gracious acceptation, I now feel that how good, how honourable, how
profitable soever it be, it is turned to a worse part than if I had
broken all her commissions and commandments, to the greatest harm, and
dishonour, and danger, that may be imagined against her person, state,
and dignity."

He protested, not without a show of reason, that he was like to be worse
punished "for well-doing than any man that had committed a most heinous
or traitorous offence," and he maintained that if he had not accepted the
government, as he had done, "the whole State had been gone and wholly
lost." All this--as we have seen--had already been stoutly urged by
Davison, in the very face of the tempest, but with no result, except to
gain the, enmity of both parties to the quarrel. The ungrateful Leicester
now expressed confidence that the second go-between would be more adroit
than the first had proved. "The causes why," said he, "Mr. Davison could
have told--no man better--but Mr. Heneage can now tell, who hath sought
to the uttermost the bottom of all things. I will stand to his report,
whether glory or vain desire of title caused me to step one foot forward
in the matter. My place was great enough and high enough before, with
much less trouble than by this, besides the great indignation of her
Majesty . . . . If I had overslipt the good occasion then in danger, I
had been worthy to be hanged, and to be taken for a most lewd servant to
her Majesty, and a dishonest wretch to my country."

But diligently as Heneage had sought to the bottom of all things, he had
not gained the approbation of Sidney. Sir Philip thought that the new man
had only ill botched a piece of work that had been most awkwardly
contrived from the beginning. "Sir Thomas Heneage," said he, "hath with
as much honesty, in my opinion done as much hurt as any man this
twelve-month hath done with naughtiness. But I hope in God, when her
Majesty finds the truth of things, her graciousness will not utterly,
overthrow a cause so behooveful and costly unto her."

He briefly warned the government that most disastrous effects were likely
to ensue, if the Earl should be publicly disgraced, and the recent action
of the States reversed. The penny-wise economy, too, of the Queen, was
rapidly proving a most ruinous extravagance. "I only cry for Flushing;"
said Sidney, "but, unless the monies be sent over, there will some
terrible accident follow, particularly to the cautionary towns, if her
Majesty mean to have them cautions."

The effect produced by the first explosion of the Queen's wrath was
indeed one of universal suspicion and distrust. The greatest care had
been taken, however, that the affair should be delicately handled, for
Heneage, while, doing as much hurt by honesty as, others by naughtiness,
had modified his course as much as he dared in deference to the opinions
of the Earl himself, and that of his English counsellors. The great
culprit himself, assisted by his two lawyers, Clerk and Killigrew--had
himself drawn the bill of his own indictment. The letters of the Queen to
the States, to the council, and to the Earl himself, were, of necessity,
delivered, but the reprimand which Heneage had been instructed to
fulminate was made as harmless as possible. It was arranged that he
should make a speech before the council; but abstain from a protocol. The
oration was duly pronounced, and it was, of necessity, stinging.
Otherwise the disobedience to the Queen, would have been flagrant. But
the pain inflicted was to disappear with the first castigation. The
humiliation was to be public and solemn, but it was not to be placed on
perpetual record.

"We thought best," said Leicester, Heneage, Clerk, and Killigrew--"In
according to her Majesty's secret instructions--to take that course which
might least endanger the weak estate of the Provinces--that is to say, to
utter so much in words as we hoped might satisfy her excellent Majesty's
expectation, and yet leave them nothing in writing to confirm that which
was secretly spread in many places to the hindrance of the good course of
settling these affairs. Which speech, after Sir Thomas Heneage had
devised, and we both perused and allowed, he, by our consent and advice,
pronounced to the council of state. This we did think needful--especially
because every one of the council that was present at the reading of her
Majesty's first letters, was of the full mind, that if her Majesty should
again show the least mislike of the present government, or should not by
her next letters confirm it, they, were all undone--for that every man
would cast with himself which way to make his peace."

Thus adroitly had the "poor gentleman, who could not find it in his heart
to come again into the place, where--by his own sufferings torn--he was
made to appear so lewd a person"--provided that there should remain no
trace of that lewdness and of his sovereign's displeasure, upon the
record of the States. It was not long, too, before the Earl was enabled
to surmount his mortification; but the end was not yet.

The universal suspicion, consequent on these proceedings, grew most
painful. It pointed to one invariable quarter. It was believed by all
that the Queen was privately treating for peace, and that the transaction
was kept a secret not only from the States but from her own most trusted
counsellors also. It would be difficult to exaggerate the pernicious
effects of this suspicion. Whether it was a well-grounded one or not,
will be shown in a subsequent chapter, but there is no doubt that the
vigour of the enterprise was thus sapped at a most critical moment. The
Provinces had never been more heartily banded together since the fatal
10th of July, 1584, than they were in the early spring of 1586. They were
rapidly organizing their own army, and, if the Queen had manifested more
sympathy with her own starving troops, the united Englishmen and
Hollanders would have been invincible even by Alexander Farnese.

Moreover, they had sent out nine war-vessels to cruise off the Cape Verd
Islands for the homeward-bound Spanish treasure fleet from America, with
orders, if they missed it, to proceed to the West Indies; so that, said
Leicester, "the King of Spain will have enough to do between these men
and Drake." All parties had united in conferring a generous amount of
power upon the Earl, who was, in truth, stadholder-general, under grant
from the States--and both Leicester and the Provinces themselves were
eager and earnest for the war. In war alone lay the salvation of England
and Holland. Peace was an impossibility. It seemed to the most
experienced statesmen of both countries even an absurdity. It may well be
imagined, therefore, that the idea of an underhand negotiation by
Elizabeth would cause a frenzy in the Netherlands. In Leicester's
opinion, nothing short of a general massacre of the English would be the
probable consequence. "No doubt," said he, "the very way it is to put us
all to the sword here. For mine own part it would be happiest for me,
though I wish and trust to lose my life in better sort."

Champagny, however, was giving out mysterious hints that the King of
Spain could have peace with England when he wished for it. Sir Thomas
Cecil, son of Lord Burghley, on whose countenance the States especially
relied, was returning on sick-leave from his government of the Brill, and
this sudden departure of so eminent a personage, joined with the public
disavowal of the recent transaction between Leicester and the Provinces,
was producing a general and most sickening apprehension as to the Queen's
good faith. The Earl did not fail to urge these matters most warmly on
the consideration of the English council, setting forth that the States
were stanch for the war, but that they would be beforehand with her if
she attempted by underhand means to compass a peace. "If these men once
smell any such matter," wrote Leicester to Burghley, "be you sure they
will soon come before you, to the utter overthrow of her Majesty and
state for ever."

The Earl was suspecting the "false boys," by whom he was surrounded,
although it was impossible for him to perceive, as we have been enabled
to do, the wide-spread and intricate meshes by which he was enveloped.
"Your Papists in England," said he, "have sent over word to some in this
company, that all that they ever hoped for is come to pass; that my Lord
of Leicester shall be called away in greatest indignation with her
Majesty, and to confirm this of Champagny, I have myself seen a letter
that her Majesty is in hand with a secret peace. God forbid! for if it be
so, her Majesty, her realm, and we, are all undone."

The feeling in the Provinces was still sincerely loyal towards England.
"These men," said Leicester, "yet honour and most dearly love her
Majesty, and hardly, I know, will be brought to believe ill of her any
way." Nevertheless these rumours, to the discredit of her good faith,
were doing infinite harm; while the Earl, although keeping his eyes and
ears wide open, was anxious not to compromise himself any further with
his sovereign, by appearing himself to suspect her of duplicity. "Good,
my Lord," he besought Burghley, "do not let her Majesty know of this
concerning Champagny as coming from me, for she will think it is done for
my own cause, which, by the Lord God, it is not, but even on the
necessity of the case for her own safety, and the realm, and us all. Good
my Lord, as you will do any good in the matter, let not her Majesty
understand any piece of it to come from me."

The States-General, on the 25th March, N.S., addressed a respectful
letter to the Queen, in reply to her vehement chidings. They expressed
their deep regret that her Majesty should be so offended with the
election of the Earl of Leicester as absolute governor.

They confessed that she had just cause of displeasure, but hoped that
when she should be informed of the whole matter she would rest better
satisfied with their proceedings. They stated that the authority was the
same which had been previously bestowed upon governors-general; observing
that by the word "absolute," which had been used in designation of that
authority, nothing more had been intended than to give to the Earl full
power to execute his commission, while the sovereignty of the country was
reserved to the people. This commission, they said, could not be without
danger revoked. And therefore they most humbly besought her Majesty to
approve what had been done, and to remember its conformity with her own
advice to them, that a multitude of heads, whereby confusion in the
government is bred, should be avoided.

Leicester, upon the same occasion, addressed a letter to Burghley and
Walsingham, expressing himself as became a crushed and contrite man,
never more to raise his drooping head again, but warmly and manfully
urging upon the attention of the English government--for the honour and
interest of the Queen herself--"the miserable state of the poor
soldiers." The necessity of immediate remittances in order to keep them
from starving, was most imperious. For himself, he was smothering his
wretchedness until he should learn her Majesty's final decision, as to
what was to become of him. "Meantime," said he, "I carry my grief inward,
and will proceed till her Majesty's full pleasure come with as little
discouragement to the cause as I can. I pray God her Majesty may do that
may be best for herself. For my own part my, heart is broken, but not by
the enemy."

There is no doubt that the public disgrace thus inflicted upon the
broken-hearted governor, and the severe censure administered to the
States by the Queen were both ill-timed and undeserved. Whatever his
disingenuousness towards Davison, whatever his disobedience to Elizabeth,
however ambitious his own secret motives may, have been, there is no
doubt at all that thus far he had borne himself well in his great office.

Richard Cavendish--than whom few had better opportunities of
judging--spoke in strong language on the subject. "It is a thing almost
incredible," said he, "that the care and diligence of any, one man living
could, in so small time; have so much repaired so disjointed and loose an
estate as my Lord found this country, in. But lest he should swell in
pride of that his good success, your Lordship knoweth that God hath so
tempered the cause with the construction thereof, as may well hold him in
good consideration of human things." He alluded with bitterness--as did
all men in the Netherlands who were not open or disguised Papists--to the
fatal rumours concerning the peace-negotiation in connection with the
recall of Leicester. "There be here advertisements of most fearful
instance," he said, "namely, that Champagny doth not spare most liberally
to bruit abroad that he hath in his hands the conditions of peace offered
by her Majesty unto the King his master, and that it is in his power to
conclude at pleasure--which fearful and mischievous plot, if in time it
be not met withal by some notable encounter, it cannot but prove the root
of great ruin."

The "false boys" about Leicester were indefatigable in spreading these
rumours, and in taking advantage--with the assistance of the Papists in
the obedient Provinces and in England--of the disgraced condition in
which the Queen had placed the favourite. Most galling to the haughty
Earl--most damaging to the cause of England, Holland, and, liberty--were
the tales to his discredit, which circulated on the Bourse at Antwerp,
Middelburg, Amsterdam, and in all the other commercial centres. The most
influential bankers and merchants, were assured--by a thousand
chattering--but as it were invisible--tongues, that the Queen had for a
long time disliked Leicester; that he was a man of no account among the
statesmen of England; that he was a beggar and a bankrupt; that, if he
had waited two months longer, he would have made his appearance in the
Provinces with one man and one boy for his followers; that the Queen had
sent him thither to be rid of him; that she never intended him to have
more authority than Sir John Norris had; that she could not abide the
bestowing the title of Excellency upon him, and that she had not
disguised her fury at his elevation to the post of governor-general.

All who attempted a refutation of these statements were asked, with a
sneer, whether her Majesty had ever written a line to him, or in
commendation of him, since his arrival. Minute inquiries were made by the
Dutch merchants of their commercial correspondents, both in their own
country and in England, as to Leicester's real condition and character.
at home. What was his rank, they asked, what his ability, what: his
influence at court? Why, if he were really of so high quality as had been
reported, was he thus neglected, and at last disgraced? Had he any landed
property in England? Had he really ever held any other office but that of
master of the horse? "And then," asked one particular busy body, who made
himself very unpleasant on the Amsterdam Exchange, "why has her Majesty
forbidden all noblemen and gentlemen from coming hither, as was the case
at the beginning? Is it because she is hearkening to a peace? And if it
be so, quoth he, we are well handled; for if her Majesty hath sent a
disgraced man to amuse us, while she is secretly working a peace for
herself, when we--on the contrary--had broken off all our negotiations,
upon confidence of her Majesty's goodness; such conduct will be
remembered to the end of the world, and the Hollanders will never abide
the name of England again."

On such a bed of nettles there was small chance of repose for the
governor. Some of the rumours were even more stinging. So
incomprehensible did it seem that the proud sovereign of England should
send over her subjects to starve or beg in the streets of Flushing and
Ostend, that it was darkly intimated that Leicester had embezzled the
funds, which, no doubt, had been remitted for the poor soldiers. This was
the most cruel blow of all. The Earl had been put to enormous charges.
His household at the Hague cost him a thousand pounds a month. He had
been paying and furnishing five hundred and fifty men out of his own
purse. He had also a choice regiment of cavalry, numbering seven hundred
and fifty horse; three hundred and fifty of which number were over and
above those allowed for by the Queen, and were entirely at his expense.
He was most liberal in making presents of money to every gentleman in his
employment. He had deeply mortgaged his estates in order to provide for
these heavy demands upon him, and professed his willingness "to spend
more, if he might have got any more money for his land that was left;"
and in the face of such unquestionable facts--much to the credit
certainly of his generosity--he was accused of swindling a Queen whom
neither Jew nor Gentile had ever yet been sharp enough to swindle; while
he was in reality plunging forward in a course of reckless extravagance
in order to obviate the fatal effects of her penuriousness.

Yet these sinister reports were beginning to have a poisonous effect.
Already an alteration of mien was perceptible in the States-General.
"Some buzzing there is amongst them," said Leicester, "whatsoever it be.
They begin to deal very strangely within these few days." Moreover the
industry of the Poleys, Blunts, and Pagets, had turned these unfavourable
circumstances to such good account that a mutiny had been near breaking
out among the English troops. "And, before the Lord I speak it," said the
Earl, "I am sure some of these good towns had been gone ere this, but for
my money. As for the States, I warrant you, they see day at a little
hole. God doth know what a forward and a joyful country here was within a
month. God send her Majesty to recover it so again, and to take care of
it, on the condition she send me after Sir Francis Drake to the Indies,
my service here being no more acceptable."

Such was the aspect of affairs in the Provinces after the first explosion
of the Queen's anger had become known. Meanwhile the court-weather was
very changeable in England, being sometimes serene, sometimes
cloudy,--always treacherous.

Mr. Vavasour, sent by the Earl with despatches to her Majesty and the
council, had met with a sufficiently benignant reception. She accepted
the letters, which, however, owing to a bad cold with a defluxion in the
eyes, she was unable at once to read; but she talked ambiguously with the
messenger. Yavasour took pains to show the immediate necessity of sending
supplies, so that the armies in the Netherlands might take the field at
the, earliest possible moment. "And what," said she, "if a peace should
come in the mean time?"

"If your Majesty desireth a convenient peace," replied Vavasour, "to take
the field is the readiest way to obtain it; for as yet the King of Spain
hath had no reason to fear you. He is daily expecting that your own
slackness may give your Majesty an overthrow. Moreover, the Spaniards are
soldiers, and are not to be moved by-shadows."

But the Queen had no ears for these remonstrances, and no disposition to
open her coffers. A warrant for twenty-four thousand pounds had been
signed by her at the end of the month of March, and was about to be sent,
when Vavasour arrived; but it was not possible for him, although assisted
by the eloquence of Walsingham and Burghley, to obtain an enlargement of
the pittance. "The storms are overblown," said Walsingham, "but I fear
your Lordship shall receive very scarce measure from hence. You will not
believe how the sparing humour doth increase upon us."

Nor were the storms so thoroughly overblown but that there were not daily
indications of returning foul weather. Accordingly--after a conference
with Vavasour--Burghley, and Walsingham had an interview with the Queen,
in which the Lord Treasurer used bold and strong language. He protested
to her that he was bound, both by his duty to himself and his oath as her
councillor, to declare that the course she was holding to Lord Leicester
was most dangerous to her own honour, interest and safety. If she
intended to continue in this line of conduct, he begged to resign his
office of Lord Treasurer; wishing; before God and man, to wash his bands
of the shame and peril which he saw could not be avoided. The Queen,
astonished at the audacity of Burghley's attitude and language, hardly
knew whether to chide him for his presumption or to listen to his
arguments. She did both. She taxed him with insolence in daring to
address her so roundly, and then finding he was speaking even in
'amaritudine animae' and out of a clear conscience, she became calm
again, and intimated a disposition to qualify her anger against the
absent Earl.

Next day, to their sorrow, the two councillors found that the Queen had
again changed her mind--"as one that had been by some adverse counsel
seduced." She expressed the opinion that affairs would do well enough in
the Netherlands, even though Leicester were displaced. A conference
followed between Walsingham, Hatton, and Burghley, and then the three
went again to her Majesty. They assured her that if she did not take
immediate steps to satisfy the States and the people of the Provinces,
she would lose those countries and her own honour at the same time; and
that then they would prove a source of danger to her instead of
protection and glory. At this she was greatly troubled, and agreed to do
anything they might advise consistently with her honour. It was then
agreed that Leicester should be continued in the government which he had
accepted until the matter should be further considered, and letters to
that effect were at once written. Then came messenger from Sir Thomas
Heneage, bringing despatches from that envoy, and a second and most secret
one from the Earl himself. Burghley took the precious letter which the
favourite had addressed to his royal mistress, and had occasion to
observe its magical effect. Walsingham and the Lord Treasurer had been
right in so earnestly remonstrating with him on his previous silence.

"She read your letter," said Burghley, "and, in very truth, I found her
princely heart touched with favourable interpretation of your actions;
affirming them to be only offensive to her, in that she was not made
privy to them; not now misliking that you had the authority."

Such, at fifty-three, was Elizabeth Tudor. A gentle whisper of idolatry
from the lips of the man she loved, and she was wax in his hands. Where
now were the vehement protestations of horror that her public declaration
of principles and motives had been set at nought? Where now were her
vociferous denunciations of the States, her shrill invectives against
Leicester, her big oaths, and all the 'hysterica passio,' which had sent
poor Lord Burghley to bed with the gout, and inspired the soul of
Walsingham with dismal forebodings? Her anger had dissolved into a shower
of tenderness, and if her parsimony still remained it was because that
could only vanish when she too should cease to be.

And thus, for a moment, the grave diplomatic difference between the crown
of England and their high mightinesses the United States--upon the
solution of which the fate of Christendom was hanging--seemed to shrink
to the dimensions of a lovers' quarrel. Was it not strange that the
letter had been so long delayed?

Davison had exhausted argument in defence of the acceptance by the Earl
of the authority conferred by the States and had gained nothing by his
eloquence, save abuse from the Queen, and acrimonious censure from the
Earl. He had deeply offended both by pleading the cause of the erring
favourite, when the favourite should have spoken for himself. "Poor Mr.
Davison," said Walsingham, "doth take it very grievously that your
Lordship should conceive so hardly of him as you do. I find the conceit
of your Lordship's disfavour hath greatly dejected him. But at such time
as he arrived her Majesty was so incensed, as all the arguments and
orators in the world could not have wrought any satisfaction."

But now a little billet-doux had done what all the orators in the world
could not do. The arguments remained the same, but the Queen no longer
"misliked that Leicester should have the authority." It was natural that
the Lord Treasurer should express his satisfaction at this auspicious
result.

"I did commend her princely nature," he said, "in allowing your good
intention, and excusing you of any spot of evil meaning; and I thought
good to hasten her resolution, which you must now take to come from a
favourable good mistress. You must strive with your nature to throw over
your shoulder that which is past."

Sir Walter Raleigh, too, who had been "falsely and pestilently"
represented to the Earl as an enemy, rather than what he really was, a
most ardent favourer of the Netherland cause, wrote at once to
congratulate him on the change in her Majesty's demeanour. "The Queen is
in very good terms with you now," he said, "and, thanks be to God, well
pacified, and you are again her 'sweet Robin.'"

Sir Walter wished to be himself the bearer of the comforting despatches
to Leicester, on the ground that he had been represented as an "ill
instrument against him," and in order that he might justify himself
against the charge, with his own lips. The Queen, however, while
professing to make use of Shirley as the messenger, bade Walsingham
declare to the Earl, upon her honour, that Raleigh had done good offices
for him, and that, in the time of her anger, he had been as earnest in
his defence as the best friend could be. It would have been--singular,
indeed, had it been otherwise. "Your Lordship," said Sir Walter, "doth
well understand my affection toward Spain, and how I have consumed the
best part of my fortune, hating the tyrannous prosperity of that state.
It were strange and monstrous that I should now become an enemy to my
country and conscience. All that I have desired at your Lordship's hands
is that you will evermore deal directly with me in all matters--of
suspect doubleness, and so ever esteem me as you shall find me deserving
good or bad. In the mean time, let no poetical scribe work your Lordship
by any device to doubt that I am a hollow or cold servant to the action."

It was now agreed that letters should be drawn, up authorizing Leicester
to continue in the office which he held, until the state-council should
devise some modification in his commission. As it seemed, however, very
improbable that the board would devise anything of the kind, Burghley
expressed the belief that the country was like to continue in the Earl's
government without any change whatever. The Lord Treasurer was also of
opinion that the Queen's letters to Leicester would convey as much
comfort as he had received discomfort; although he admitted that there
was a great difference: The former letters he knew had deeply wounded his
heart, while the new ones could not suddenly sink so low as the wound.

The despatch to the States-General was benignant, elaborate, slightly
diffuse. The Queen's letter to 'sweet Robin' was caressing, but
argumentative.

"It is always thought," said she, "in the opinion of the world, a hard
bargain when both parties are losers, and so doth fall out in the case
between us two. You, as we hear, are greatly grieved in respect of the
great displeasure you find we have conceived against you. We are no less
grieved that a subject of ours of that quality that you are, a creature
of our own, and one that hath always received an extraordinary portion of
our favour above all our subjects, even from the beginning of our reign,
should deal so carelessly, not to say contemptuously, as to give the
world just cause to think that we are had in contempt by him that ought
most to respect and reverence us, which, we do assure you, hath wrought
as great grief in us as anyone thing that ever happened unto us.

"We are persuaded that you, that have so long known us, cannot think that
ever we could have been drawn to have taken so hard a course therein had
we not been provoked by an extraordinary cause. But for that your grieved
and wounded mind hath more need of comfort than reproof, who, we are
persuaded, though the act of contempt can no ways be excused, had no
other meaning and intent than to advance our service, we think meet to
forbear to dwell upon a matter wherein we ourselves do find so little
comfort, assuring you that whosoever professeth to love you best taketh
not more comfort of your well doing, or discomfort of your evil doing
than ourself."

After this affectionate preface she proceeded to intimate her desire that
the Earl should take the matter as nearly as possible into his own hands.
It was her wish that he should retain the authority of absolute governor,
but--if it could be so arranged--that he should dispense with the title,
retaining only that of her lieutenant-general. It was not her intention
however, to create any confusion or trouble in the Provinces, and she was
therefore willing that the government should remain upon precisely the
same footing as that on which it then stood, until circumstances should
permit the change of title which she suggested. And the whole matter was
referred to the wisdom of Leicester, who was to advise with Heneage and
such others as he liked to consult, although it was expressly stated that
the present arrangement was to be considered a provisional and not a
final one.

Until this soothing intelligence could arrive in the Netherlands the
suspicions concerning the underhand negotiations with Spain grew daily
more rife, and the discredit cast upon the Earl more embarrassing. The
private letters which passed between the Earl's enemies in Holland and in
England contained matter more damaging to himself and to the cause which
he had at heart than the more public reports of modern days can
disseminate, which, being patent to all, can be more easily contradicted.
Leicester incessantly warned his colleagues of her Majesty's council
against the malignant manufacturers of intelligence. "I pray you, my
Lords, as you are wise," said he, "beware of them all. You shall find
them here to be shrewd pick-thinks, and hardly worth the hearkening
unto."

He complained bitterly of the disgrace that was heaped upon him, both
publicly and privately, and of the evil consequences which were sure to
follow from the course pursued. "Never was man so villanously handled by
letters out of England as I have been," said he, "not only advertising
her Majesty's great dislike with me before this my coming over, but that
I was an odious man in England, and so long as I tarried here that no
help was to be looked for, that her Majesty would send no more men or
money, and that I was used here but for a time till a peace were
concluded between her Majesty and the Prince of Parma. What the
continuance of a man's discredit thus will turn out is to be thought of,
for better I were a thousand times displaced than that her Majesty's
great advantage of so notable Provinces should be hindered."

As to the peace-negotiations--which, however cunningly managed, could not
remain entirely concealed--the Earl declared them to be as idle as they
were disingenuous. "I will boldly pronounce that all the peace you can
make in the world, leaving these countries," said he to Burghley, "will
never prove other than a fair spring for a few days, to be all over
blasted with a hard storm after." Two days later her Majesty's comforting
letters arrived, and the Earl began to raise his drooping head. Heneage,
too, was much relieved, but he was, at the same time, not a little
perplexed. It was not so easy to undo all the mischief created by the
Queen's petulance. The "scorpion's sting"--as her Majesty expressed
herself--might be balsamed, but the poison had spread far beyond the
original wound.

"The letters just brought in," wrote Heneage to Burghley, "have well
relieved a most noble and sufficient servant, but I fear they will not
restore the much-repaired wrecks of these far-decayed noble countries
into the same state I found them in. A loose, disordered, and unknit
state needs no shaking, but propping. A subtle and fearful kind of
people--should not be made more distrustful, but assured." He then
expressed annoyance at the fault already found with him, and surely if
ever man had cause to complain of reproof administered him, in quick
succession; for not obeying contradictory directions following upon each
other as quickly, that man was Sir Thomas Heneage. He had been, as he
thought, over cautious in administering the rebuke to the Earl's
arrogance, which he had been expressly sent over to administer but
scarcely had he accomplished his task, with as much delicacy as he could
devise, when he found himself censured;--not for dilatoriness, but for
haste. "Fault I perceive," said he to Burghley, "is found in me, not by
your Lordship, but by some other, that I did not stay proceeding if I
found the public cause might take hurt. It is true I had good warrant for
the manner, the, place, and the persons, but, for the matter none, for
done it must be. Her Majesty's offence must be declared. Yet if I did not
all I possibly could to uphold the cause, and to keep the tottering cause
upon the wheels, I deserve no thanks, but reproof."

Certainly, when the blasts of royal rage are remembered, by which the
envoy had been, as it were, blown out of England into Holland, it is
astonishing to find his actions censured for undue precipitancy. But it
was not the, first, nor was it likely to be the last time, for
comparatively subordinate agents in Elizabeth's government to be,
distressed by, contradictory commands, when the sovereign did not know or
did not chose to make known, her own mind on important occasions. "Well,
my Lord," said plaintive Sir Thomas, "wiser men may serve more pleasingly
and happily, but never shall any serve her Majesty more, faithfully and
heartily. And so I cannot be persuaded her Majesty thinketh; for from
herself I find nothing but most sweet and--gracious, favour, though by
others' censures I may gather otherwise of her judgment; which I confess,
doth cumber me."

He was destined to be cumbered more than once before these negotiations
should be concluded; but meantime; there was a brief gleam of sunshine.
The English friends of Leicester in the Netherlands were enchanted with
the sudden change in the Queen's humour; and to Lord Burghley, who was
not, in reality, the most stanch of the absent Earl's defenders, they
poured themselves out in profuse and somewhat superfluous gratitude.

Cavendish, in strains exultant, was sure that Burghley's children,
grand-children, and remotest posterity, would rejoice that their great
ancestor, in such a time of need had been "found and felt to be indeed a
'pater patria,' a good-father to a happy land." And, although unwilling
to "stir up the old Adam" in his Lordship's soul, he yet took the liberty
of comparing the Lord Treasurer, in his old and declining years with Mary
Magdalen; assuring him, that for ever after; when the tale of the
preservation of the Church of God, of her Majesty; and of the Netherland
cause; which were all one, should be told; his name and well-doing would
be held in memory also.

And truly there was much of honest and generous enthusiasm, even if
couched in language somewhat startling to the ears of a colder and more
material age; in the hearts of these noble volunteers. They were fighting
the cause of England, of the Netherland republic, and of human liberty;
with a valour worthy the best days of English' chivalry, against manifold
obstacles, and they were certainly; not too often cheered by the beams of
royal favour.

It was a pity that a dark cloud was so soon again to sweep over the
scene: For the temper of Elizabeth at this important juncture seemed as
capricious: as the: April weather in which the scenes were enacting. We
have seen the genial warmth of her letters and messages to Leicester, to
Heneage,--to the States-General; on the first of the month. Nevertheless
it was hardly three weeks after they had been despatched when Walsingham
and Burghley found, her Majesty one morning a towering passion, because,
the Earl had not already laid down the government. The Lord Treasurer
ventured to remonstrate, but was bid to bold his tongue. Ever variable
and mutable as woman, Elizabeth was perplexing and baffling to her
counsellors, at this epoch, beyond all divination. The "sparing humour"
was increasing fearfully, and she thought it would be easier for her to
slip out of the whole expensive enterprise, provided Leicester were
merely her lieutenant-general, and not stadholder for the Provinces.
Moreover the secret negotiations for peace were producing a deleterious
effect upon her mind. Upon this subject, the Queen and Burghley,
notwithstanding his resemblance to Mary Magdalen, were better informed
than the Secretary, whom, however, it had been impossible wholly to
deceive. The man who could read secrets so far removed as the Vatican,
was not to be blinded to intrigues going on before his face. The Queen,
without revealing more than she could help, had been obliged to admit
that informal transactions were pending, but had authorised the Secretary
to assure the United States that no treaty would be made without their
knowledge and full concurrence. "She doth think," wrote Walsingham to
Leicester, "that you should, if you shall see no cause to the contrary,
acquaint the council of state there that certain overtures of peace are
daily made unto her, but that she meaneth not to proceed therein without
their good liking and privity, being persuaded that there can no peace be
made profitable or sure for her that shall not also stand with their
safety; and she doth acknowledge hers to be so linked with theirs as
nothing can fall out to their prejudice, but she must be partaker of
their harm."

This communication was dated on the 21st April, exactly three weeks after
the Queen's letter to Heneage, in which she had spoken of the "malicious
bruits" concerning the pretended peace-negotiations; and the Secretary
was now confirming, by her order, what she had then stated under her own
hand, that she would "do nothing that might concern them without their
own knowledge and good liking."

And surely nothing could be more reasonable. Even if the strict letter of
the August treaty between the Queen and the States did not provide
against any separate negotiations by the one party without the knowledge
of the other, there could be no doubt at all that its spirit absolutely
forbade the clandestine conclusion of a peace with Spain by England
alone, or by the Netherlands alone, and that such an arrangement would be
disingenuous, if not positively dishonourable.

Nevertheless it would almost seem that Elizabeth had been taking
advantage of the day when she was writing her letter to Heneage on the
1st of April. Never was painstaking envoy more elaborately trifled with.
On the 26th of the month--and only five days after the communication by
Walsingham just noticed--the Queen was furious that any admission should
have been made to the States of their right to participate with her in
peace-negotiations.

"We find that Sir Thomas Heneage," said she to Leicester, "hath gone
further--in assuring the States that we would make no peace without their
privity and assent--than he had commission; for that our direction
was--if our meaning had been well set down, and not mistaken by our
Secretary--that they should have been only let understand that in any
treaty that might pass between us and Spain, they might be well assured
we would have no less care of their safety than of our own." Secretary
Walsingham was not likely to mistake her Majesty's directions in this or
any other important affair of state. Moreover, it so happened that the
Queen had, in her own letter to Heneage, made the same statement which
she now chose to disavow. She had often a convenient way of making
herself misunderstood, when she thought it desirable to shift
responsibility from her own shoulders upon those of others; but upon this
occasion she had been sufficiently explicit. Nevertheless, a scape-goat
was necessary, and unhappy the subordinate who happened to be within her
Majesty's reach when a vicarious sacrifice was to be made. Sir Francis
Walsingham was not a man to be brow-beaten or hood-winked, but Heneage
was doomed to absorb a fearful amount of royal wrath.

"What phlegmatical reasons soever were made you," wrote the Queen, who
but three weeks before had been so gentle and affectionate to her,
ambassador, "how happeneth it that you will not remember, that when a man
hath faulted and committed by abettors thereto, neither the one nor the
other will willingly make their own retreat. Jesus! what availeth wit,
when it fails the owner at greatest need? Do that you are bidden, and
leave your considerations for your own affairs. For in some things you
had clear commandment, which you did not, and in others none, and did. We
princes be wary enough of our bargains. Think you I will be bound by your
own speech to make no peace for mine own matters without their consent?
It is enough that I injure not their country nor themselves in making
peace for them without their consent. I am assured of your dutiful
thoughts, but I am utterly at squares with this childish dealing."

Blasted by this thunderbolt falling upon his head out of serenest sky,
the sad. Sir. Thomas remained, for a time, in a state of political
annihilation. 'Sweet Robin' meanwhile, though stunned, was
unscathed--thanks to the convenient conductor at his side. For, in
Elizabeth's court, mediocrity was not always golden, nor was it usually
the loftiest mountains that the lightnings smote. The Earl was deceived
by his royal mistress, kept in the dark as to important transactions,
left to provide for his famishing' soldiers as he best might; but the,
Queen at that moment, though angry, was not disposed, to trample upon
him. Now that his heart was known to be broken, and his sole object in
life to be retirement to remote regions--India or elsewhere--there to
languish out the brief remainder of his days in prayers for Elizabeth's
happiness, Elizabeth was not inclined very bitterly to upbraid him. She
had too recently been employing herself in binding up his broken heart,
and pouring balm into the "scorpion's sting," to be willing so soon to
deprive him of those alleviations.

Her tone--was however no longer benignant, and her directions were
extremely peremptory. On the 1st of April she had congratulated
Leicester, Heneage, the States, and all the world, that her secret
commands had been staid, and that the ruin which would have followed,
had, those decrees been executed according to her first violent wish, was
fortunately averted. Heneage was even censured, not by herself, but by
courtiers in her confidence, and with her concurrence, for being over
hasty in going before the state-council, as he had done, with her
messages and commands. On the 26th of April she expressed astonishment
that Heneage had dared to be so dilatory, and that the title of governor
had not been laid down by Leicester "out of hand." She marvelled greatly,
and found it very strange that "ministers in matters of moment should
presume to do things of their own head without direction." She
accordingly gave orders that there should be no more dallying, but that
the Earl should immediately hold a conference with the state-council in
order to arrange a modification in his commission. It was her pleasure
that he should retain all the authority granted to him by the States, but
as already intimated by her, that he should abandon the title of
"absolute governor," and retain only that of her lieutenant-general.

Was it strange that Heneage, placed in so responsible a situation, and
with the fate of England, of Holland, and perhaps of all Christendom,
hanging in great measure upon this delicate negotiation, should be amazed
at such contradictory orders, and grieved by such inconsistent censures?

"To tell you my griefs and my lacks," said he to Walsingham, "would
little please you or help me. Therefore I will say nothing, but think
there was never man in so great a service received so little comfort and
so contrarious directions. But 'Dominus est adjutor in tribulationibus.'
If it be possible, let me receive some certain direction, in following
which I shall not offend her Majesty, what good or hurt soever I do
besides."

This certainly seemed a loyal and reasonable request, yet it was not one
likely to be granted. Sir Thomas, perplexed, puzzled, blindfolded, and
brow-beaten, always endeavoring to obey orders, when he could comprehend
them, and always hectored and lectured whether he obeyed them or
not--ruined in purse by the expenses, of a mission on which he had been
sent without adequate salary--appalled at the disaffection waging more
formidable every hour in Provinces which were recently so loyal to her
Majesty, but which were now pervaded by a suspicion that there was
double-dealing upon her part became quite sick of his life. He fell
seriously ill, and was disappointed, when, after a time, the physicians
declared him convalescent. For when when he rose from his sick-bed, it
was only to plunge once more, without a clue, into the labyrinth where he
seemed to be losing his reason. "It is not long," said he to Walsingham,
"since I looked to have written you no more letters, my extremity was so
great. . . But God's will is best, otherwise I could have liked better to
have cumbered the earth no longer, where I find myself contemned, and
which I find no reason to see will be the better in the wearing . . . It
were better for her Majesty's service that the directions which come were
not contrarious one to another, and that those you would have serve might
know what is meant, else they cannot but much deceive you, as well as
displease you."

Public opinion concerning the political morality of the English court was
not gratifying, nor was it rendered more favourable by these recent
transactions. "I fear," said Heneage, "that the world will judge what
Champagny wrote in one of his letters out of England (which I have lately
seen) to be over true. His words be these, 'Et de vray, c'est le plus
fascheux et le plus incertain negocier de ceste court, que je pense soit
au monde.'" And so "basting," as he said, "with a weak body and a willing
mind; to do, he feared, no good work," he set forth from Middelburgh to
rejoin Leicester at Arnheim, in order to obey, as well as he could, the
Queen's latest directions.

But before he could set to work there came more "contrarious" orders. The
last instructions, both to Leicester and himself, were that the Earl
should resign the post of governor absolute "out of hand," and the Queen
had been vehement in denouncing any delay on such an occasion. He was now
informed, that, after consulting with Leicester and with the
state-council, he was to return to England with the result of such
deliberations. It could afterwards be decided how the Earl could retain
all the authority of governor absolute, while bearing only the title of
the Queen's lieutenant general. "For her meaning is not," said
Walsingham, "that his Lord ship should presently give it over, for she
foreseeth in her princely judgment that his giving over the government
upon a sudden, and leaving those countries without a head or director,
cannot but breed a most dangerous alteration there." The secretary
therefore stated the royal wish at present to be that the "renunciation
of the title" should be delayed till Heneage could visit England, and
subsequently return to Holland with her Majesty's further directions.
Even the astute Walsingham was himself puzzled, however, while conveying
these ambiguous orders; and he confessed that he was doubtful whether he
had rightly comprehended the Queen's intentions. Burghley, however, was
better at guessing riddles than he was, and so Heneage was advised to
rely chiefly upon Burghley.

But Heneage had now ceased to be interested in any enigmas that might be
propounded by the English court, nor could he find comfort, as Walsingham
had recommended he should do, in railing. "I wish I could follow your
counsel," he said, "but sure the uttering of my choler doth little ease
my grief or help my case."

He rebuked, however, the inconsistency and the tergiversations of the
government with a good deal of dignity. "This certainly shall I tell her
Majesty," he said, "if I live to see her, that except a more constant
course be taken with this inconstant people, it is not the blaming of her
ministers will advance her Highness's service, or better the state of
things. And shall I tell you what they now say here of us--I fear not
without some cause--even as Lipsius wrote of the French, 'De Gallis
quidem enigmata veniunt, non veniunt, volunt, holunt, audent, timent,
omnia, ancipiti metu, suspensa et suspecta.' God grant better, and ever
keep you and help me."

He announced to Burghley that he was about to attend a meeting of the
state-council the next day, for the purpose of a conference on these
matters at Arnheim, and that he would then set forth for England to
report proceedings to her Majesty. He supposed, on the whole, that this
was what was expected of him, but acknowledged it hopeless to fathom the
royal intentions. Yet if he went wrong, he was always, sure to make
mischief, and though innocent, to be held accountable for others'
mistakes. "Every prick I make," said he, "is made a gash; and to follow
the words of my directions from England is not enough, except I likewise
see into your minds. And surely mine eyesight is not so good. But I will
pray to God for his help herein. With all the wit I have, I will use all
the care I can--first, to satisfy her Majesty, as God knoweth I have ever
most desired; then, not to hurt this cause, but that I despair of."
Leicester, as maybe supposed, had been much discomfited and perplexed
during the course of these contradictory and perverse directions. There
is no doubt whatever that his position bad been made discreditable and
almost ridiculous, while he was really doing his best, and spending large
sums out of his private fortune to advance the true interests of the
Queen. He had become a suspected man in the Netherlands, having been, in
the beginning of the year, almost adored as a Messiah. He had submitted
to the humiliation which had been imposed upon him, of being himself the
medium to convey to the council the severe expressions of the Queen's
displeasure at the joint action of the States-General and himself. He had
been comforted by the affectionate expressions with which that explosion
of feminine and royal wrath had been succeeded. He was now again
distressed by the peremptory command to do what was a disgrace to him,
and an irreparable detriment to the cause, yet he was humble and
submissive, and only begged to be allowed, as a remedy for all his
anguish, to return to the sunlight of Elizabeth's presence. He felt that
her course; if persisted in, would lead to the destruction of the
Netherland commonwealth, and eventually to the downfall of England; and
that the Provinces, believing themselves deceived by the Queen; were
ready to revolt against an authority to which, but a short time before,
they were so devotedly loyal Nevertheless, he only wished to know what
his sovereign's commands distinctly were, in order to set himself to
their fulfilment. He had come from the camp before Nymegen in order to
attend the conference with the state-council at Arnheim, and he would
then be ready and anxious to, despatch Heneage to England, to learn her
Majesty's final determination.

He protested to the Queen that he had come upon this arduous and perilous
service only, because he, considered her throne in danger, and that this
was the only means of preserving it; that, in accepting the absolute
government, he had been free from all ambitious motives, but deeply
impressed with the idea that only by so doing could he conduct the
enterprise entrusted to him to the desired consummation; and he declared
with great fervour that no advancement to high office could compensate
him for this enforced absence from her. To be sent back even in disgrace
would still be a boon to him, for he should cease to be an exile from her
sight. He knew that his enemies had been busy in defaming him, while he
had been no longer there to defend himself, but his conscience acquitted
him of any thought which was not for her happiness and glory. "Yet
grievous it is to me," said he in, a tone of tender reproach, "that
having left all--yea, all that may be imagined--for you, you have left me
for very little, even to the uttermost of all hard fortune. For what have
I, unhappy man, to do here either with cause or country but for you?"

He stated boldly that his services had not been ineffective, that the
enemy had never been in worse plight than now, that he had lost at least
five thousand men in divers overthrows, and that, on the other hand, the
people and towns of the Seven Provinces had been safely preserved. "Since
my arrival," he said, "God hath blessed the action which you have taken
in hand, and committed to the charge of me your poor unhappy servant. I
have good cause to say somewhat for myself, for that I think I have as
few friends to speak for me as any man."

Nevertheless--as he warmly protested--his only wish was to return; for
the country in which he had lost her favour, which was more precious than
life, had become odious to him.

The most lowly office in her presence was more to be coveted than the
possession of unlimited power away from her. It was by these tender and
soft insinuations, as the Earl knew full well, that he was sure to obtain
what he really coveted--her sanction for retaining the absolute
government in the Provinces. And most artfully did he strike the key.

"Most dear and gracious Lady," he cried, "my care and service here do
breed me nothing but grief and unhappiness. I have never had your
Majesty's good favour since I came into this charge--a matter that from
my first beholding your eyes hath been most dear unto me above all
earthly treasures. Never shall I love that place or like that soil which
shall cause the lack of it. Most gracious Lady, consider my long, true,
and faithful heart toward you. Let not this unfortunate place here
bereave me of that which, above all the world, I esteem there, which is
your favodr and your presence. I see my service is not acceptable, but
rather more and more disliketh you. Here I can do your Majesty no
service; there I can do you some, at the least rub your horse's heels--a
service which shall be much more welcome to me than this, with all that
these men may give me. I do, humbly and from my heart, prostrate at your
feet, beg this grace at your sacred hands, that you will be pleased to
let me return to my home-service, with your favour, let the revocation be
used in what sort shall please and like you. But if ever spark of favour
was in your Majesty toward your old servant, let me obtain this my humble
suit; protesting before the Majesty of all Majesties, that there was no
cause under Heaven but his and yours, even for your own special and
particular cause, I say, could have made me take this absent journey from
you in hand. If your Majesty shall refuse me this, I shall think all
grace clean gone from me, and I know: my days will not be long."

She must melt at this, thought 'sweet Robin' to himself; and meantime
accompanied by Heneage; he proceeded with the conferences in the
state-council-chamber touching the modification of the title and the
confirmation of his authority. This, so far as Walsingham could divine,
and Burghley fathom, was the present intention of the Queen. He averred
that he had ever sought most painfully to conform his conduct to her
instructions as fast as they were received, and that he should continue
so to do. On the whole it was decided by the conference to let matters
stand as, they were for a little longer, and until: after Heneage should
have time once more to go and come. "The same manner of proceeding that
was is now," said Leicester, "Your pleasure is declared to the council
here as you have willed it. How it will fall out again in your Majesty's
construction, the Lord knoweth."

Leicester might be forgiven for referring to higher powers, for any
possible interpretation of her Majesty's changing humour; but meantime;
while Sir. Thomas was getting ready, for his expedition to England, the
Earl's heart was somewhat gladdened by more gracious messages from the
Queen. The alternation of emotions would however prove too much for him,
he feared, and he was reluctant to open his heart to so unwonted a tenant
as joy.

"But that my fear is such, most dear and gracious Lady," he said, "as my
unfortunate destiny will hardly permit; whilst I remain here; any
good-acceptation of so simple a service as, mine, I should, greatly
rejoice and comfort myself with the hope of your Majesty's most
prayed-for favour. But of late, being by your own sacred hand lifted even
up into Heaven with joy of your favour, I was bye and bye without any new
desert or offence at all, cast down and down: again into the depth of all
grief. God doth know, my dear and dread Sovereign, that after I first
received your resolute pleasure by Sir Thomas Heneage, I made neither
stop nor stay nor any excuse to be rid of this place, and to satisfy your
command. . . . So much I mislike this place and fortune of mine; as I
desire nothing in the world so much, as to be delivered, with your
favours from all charge here, fearing still some new cross of your
displeasure to fall upon me, trembling continually with the fear thereof,
in such sort as till I may be fully confirmed in my new regeneration of
your wonted favour I cannot receive that true comfort which doth
appertain to so great a hope. Yet I will not only acknowledge with all
humbleness and dutiful thanks the exceeding joy these last blessed lines
brought to my long-wearied heart, but will, with all true loyal
affection, attend that further joy from your sweet self which may
utterly, extinguish all consuming fear away."

Poor Heneage--who likewise received a kind word or two after having been
so capriciously and petulantly dealt with was less extravagant in his
expressions of gratitude. "The Queen hath sent me a paper-plaister which
must please for a time," he said. "God Almighty bless her Majesty ever,
and best direct her." He was on the point of starting for England, the
bearer of the States' urgent entreaties that Leicester might retain the,
government, and of despatches; announcing the recent success of the
allies before Grave. "God prospereth the action in these countries beyond
all expectation," he said, "which all amongst you will not be over glad
of, for somewhat I know." The intrigues of Grafigni, Champagny, and
Bodman, with Croft, Burghley, and the others were not so profound a
secret as they could wish.

The tone adopted by Leicester has been made manifest in his letters to
the Queen. He had held the same language of weariness and dissatisfaction
in his communications to his friends. He would not keep the office, he
avowed, if they should give him "all Holland and Zeeland, with all their
appurtenances," and he was ready to resign at any moment. He was not
"ceremonious for reputation," he said, but he gave warning that the
Netherlanders would grow desperate if they found her Majesty dealing
weakly or carelessly with them. As for himself he had already had enough
of government. "I am weary, Mr. Secretary," he plaintively exclaimed,
"indeed I am weary; but neither of pains nor travail. My ill hap that I
can please her Majesty no better hath quite discouraged me."

He had recently, however--as we have seen--received some comfort, and he
was still further encouraged, upon the eve of Heneage's departure, by
receiving another affectionate epistle from the Queen. Amends seemed at
last to be offered for her long and angry silence, and the Earl was
deeply grateful.

"If it hath not been, my most dear and gracious Lady," said he in reply,
"no small comfort to your poor old servant to receive but one line of
your blessed hand-writing in many months, for the relief of a most
grieved, wounded heart, how far more exceeding joy must it be, in the
midst of all sorrow, to receive from the same sacred hand so many
comfortable lines as my good friend Mr. George hath at once brought me.
Pardon me, my sweet Lady, if they cause me to forget myself. Only this I
do say, with most humble dutiful thanks, that the scope of all my service
hath ever been to content and please you; and if I may do that, then is
all sacrifice, either of life or whatsoever, well offered for you."

The matter of the government absolute having been so fully discussed
during the preceding four months, and the last opinions of the
state-council having been so lucidly expounded in the despatches to be
carried by Heneage to England, the matter might be considered as
exhausted. Leicester contented himself, therefore, with once more calling
her Majesty's attention to the fact that if he had not himself accepted
the office thus conferred upon him by the States, it would have been
bestowed upon some other personage. It would hardly have comported with
her dignity, if Count Maurice of Nassau, or Count William, or Count
Moeurs, had been appointed governor absolute, for in that case the Earl,
as general of the auxiliary English force, would have been subject to the
authority of the chieftain thus selected. It was impossible, as the
state-council had very plainly shown, for Leicester to exercise supreme
authority, while merely holding the military office of her Majesty's
lieutenant-general. The authority of governor or stadholder could only be
derived from the supreme power of the country. If her Majesty had chosen
to accept the sovereignty, as the States had ever desired, the requisite
authority could then have been derived from her, as from the original
fountain. As she had resolutely refused that offer however, his authority
was necessarily to be drawn from the States-General, or else the Queen
must content herself with seeing him serve as an English military
officer, only subject to the orders of the supreme power, wherever that
power might reside. In short, Elizabeth's wish that her general might be
clothed with the privileges of her viceroy, while she declined herself to
be the sovereign, was illogical, and could not be complied with.

Very soon after inditing these last epistles to the Provinces, the Queen
became more reasonable on the subject; and an elaborate communication was
soon received by the state-council, in which the royal acquiescence was
signified to the latest propositions of the States. The various topics,
suggested in previous despatches from Leicester and from the council,
were reviewed, and the whole subject was suddenly placed in a somewhat
different light from that in which it seemed to have been previously
regarded by her Majesty. She alluded to the excuse, offered by the
state-council, which had been drawn from the necessity of the case, and
from their "great liking for her cousin of Leicester," although in
violation of the original contract. "As you acknowledge, however," she
said, "that therein you were justly to be blamed, and do crave pardon for
the same, we cannot, upon this acknowledgment of your fault, but remove
our former dislike."

Nevertheless it would now seem that her "mistake" had proceeded, not from
the excess, but from the insufficiency of the powers conferred upon the
Earl, and she complained, accordingly, that they had given him shadow
rather than substance.

Simultaneously with this royal communication, came a joint letter to
Leicester, from Burghley, Walsingham; and Hatton, depicting the long and
strenuous conflict which they had maintained in his behalf with the
rapidly varying inclinations of the Queen. They expressed a warm sympathy
with the difficulties of his position, and spoke in strong terms of the
necessity that the Netherlands and England should work heartily together.
For otherwise, they said, "the cause will fall, the enemy will rise, and
we must stagger." Notwithstanding the secret negotiations with the enemy,
which Leicester and Walsingham suspected, and which will be more fully
examined in a subsequent chapter, they held a language on that subject,
which in the Secretary's mouth at least was sincere. "Whatsoever speeches
be blown abroad of parleys of peace," they said, "all will be but smoke,
yea fire will follow."

They excused themselves for their previous and enforced silence by the
fact that they had been unable to communicate any tidings but messages of
distress, but they now congratulated the Earl that her Majesty, as he
would see by her letter to the council, was firmly resolved, not only to
countenance his governorship, but to sustain him in the most thorough
manner. It would be therefore quite out of the question for them to
listen to his earnest propositions to be recalled.

Moreover, the Lord Treasurer had already apprized Leicester that Heneage
had safely arrived in England, that he, had made his report to the Queen,
and that her Majesty was "very well contented with him and his mission."
It may be easily believed that the Earl would feel a sensation of relief,
if not of triumph, at this termination to the embarrassments under which
he had been labouring ever since, he listened to the oration of the wise
Leoninus upon New Years' Day. At last the Queen had formally acquiesced
in the action of the States, and in his acceptance of their offer. He now
saw himself undisputed "governor absolute," having been six months long a
suspected, discredited, almost disgraced man. It was natural that he
should express himself cheerfully.

"My great comfort received, oh my most gracious Lady," he said, "by your
most favourable lines written by your own sacred hand, I did most humbly
acknowledge by my former letter; albeit I can no way make testimony of
enough of the great joy I took thereby. And seeing my wounded heart is by
this means almost made whole, I do pray unto God that either I may never
feel the like again from you, or not be suffered to live, rather than I
should fall again into those torments of your displeasure. Most gracious
Queen, I beseech you, therefore, make perfect that which you have begun.
Let not the common danger, nor any ill, incident to the place I serve you
in, be accompanied with greater troubles and fears indeed than all the
horrors of death can bring me. My strong hope doth now so assure me, as I
have almost won the battle against despair, and I do arm myself with as
many of those wonted comfortable conceits as may confirm my new revived
spirits, reposing myself evermore under the shadow of those blessed beams
that must yield the only nourishment to this disease."

But however nourishing the shade of those blessed beams might prove to
Leicester's disease, it was not so easy to bring about a very sunny
condition in the Provinces. It was easier for Elizabeth to mend the
broken heart of the governor than to repair the damage which had been
caused to the commonwealth by her caprice and her deceit. The dispute
concerning the government absolute had died away, but the authority of
the Earl had got a "crack in it" which never could be handsomely made
whole. The States, during the long period of Leicester's
discredit--feeling more and more doubtful as to the secret intentions of
Elizabeth--disappointed in the condition of the auxiliary troops and in
the amount of supplies furnished from England, and, above all, having had
time to regret their delegation of a power which they began to find
agreeable to exercise with their own hands, became indisposed to entrust
the Earl with the administration and full inspection of their resources.
To the enthusiasm which had greeted the first arrival of Elizabeth's
representative had succeeded a jealous, carping, suspicious sentiment.
The two hundred thousand florins monthly were paid, according to the
original agreement, but the four hundred thousand of extra service-money
subsequently voted were withheld, and withheld expressly on account of
Heneage's original mission to disgrace the governor."

"The late return of Sir Thomas Heneage," said Lord North, "hath put such
busses in their heads, as they march forward with leaden heels and
doubtful hearts."

In truth, through the discredit cast by the Queen upon the Earl in this
important affair, the supreme authority was forced back into the hands of
the States, at the very moment when they had most freely divested
themselves of power. After the Queen had become more reasonable, it was
too late to induce them to part, a second time, so freely with the
immediate control of their own affairs. Leicester had become, to a
certain extent, disgraced and disliked by the Estates. He thought
himself, by the necessity of the case, forced to appeal to the people
against their legal representatives, and thus the foundation of a
nominally democratic party, in opposition to the municipal one, was
already laid. Nothing could be more unfortunate at that juncture; for we
shall, in future, find the Earl in perpetual opposition to the most
distinguished statesmen in the Provinces; to the very men indeed who had
been most influential in offering the sovereignty to England, and in
placing him in the position which he had so much coveted. No sooner
therefore had he been confirmed by Elizabeth in that high office than his
arrogance broke forth, and the quarrels between himself and the
representative body became incessant.

"I stand now in somewhat better terms than I did," said he; "I was not in
case till of late to deal roundly with them as I have now done. I have
established a chamber of finances, against some of their wills, whereby I
doubt not to procure great benefit to increase our ability for payments
hereafter. The people I find still best devoted to her Majesty, though of
late many lewd practices have been used to withdraw their good wills. But
it will not be; they still pray God that her Majesty may be their
sovereign. She should then see what a contribution they will all bring
forth. But to the States they will never return, which will breed some
great mischief, there is such mislike of the States universally. I would
your Lordship had seen the case I had lived in among them these four
months, especially after her Majesty's mislike was found. You would then
marvel to see how I have waded, as I have done, through no small
obstacles, without help, counsel, or assistance."

Thus the part which he felt at last called upon to enact was that
of an aristocratic demagogue, in perpetual conflict with the
burgher-representative body.

It is now necessary to lift a corner of the curtain, by which some
international--or rather interpalatial--intrigues were concealed, as much
as possible, even from the piercing eyes of Walsingham. The Secretary
was, however, quite aware--despite the pains taken to deceive him--of the
nature of the plots and of the somewhat ignoble character of the actors
concerned in them.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A hard bargain when both parties are losers
     Condemned first and inquired upon after
     Disordered, and unknit state needs no shaking, but propping
     Upper and lower millstones of royal wrath and loyal subserviency
     Uttering of my choler doth little ease my grief or help my case



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History of the United Netherlands, Volume 46, 1586



CHAPTER VIII.

   Forlorn Condition of Flanders--Parma's secret Negotiations with the
   Queen--Grafigni and Bodman--Their Dealings with English Counsellors
   --Duplicity of Farnese--Secret Offers of the English Peace-Party--
   Letters and Intrigues of De Loo--Drake's Victories and their Effect
   --Parma's Perplexity and Anxiety--He is relieved by the News from
   England--Queen's secret Letters to Parma--His Letters and
   Instructions to Bodman--Bodman's secret Transactions at Greenwich--
   Walsingham detects and exposes the Plot--The Intriguers baffled--
   Queen's Letter to Parma and his to the King--Unlucky Results of the
   Peace--Intrigues--Unhandsome Treatment of Leicester--Indignation of
   the Earl and Walsingham--Secret Letter of Parma to Philip--Invasion
   of England recommended--Details of the Project.

Alexander Farnese and his heroic little army had been left by their
sovereign in as destitute a condition as that in which Lord Leicester and
his unfortunate "paddy persons" had found themselves since their arrival
in the Netherlands. These mortal men were but the weapons to be used and
broken in the hands of the two great sovereigns, already pitted against
each other in mortal combat. That the distant invisible potentate, the
work of whose life was to do his best to destroy all European
nationality, all civil and religious freedom, should be careless of the
instruments by which his purpose was to be effected, was but natural. It
is painful to reflect that the great champion of liberty and of
Protestantism was almost equally indifferent to the welfare of the human
creatures enlisted in her cause. Spaniards and Italians, English and
Irish, went half naked and half starving through the whole inclement
winter, and perished of pestilence in droves, after confronting the less
formidable dangers of battlefield and leaguer. Manfully and
sympathetically did the Earl of Leicester--while whining in absurd
hyperbole over the angry demeanour of his sovereign towards
himself-represent the imperative duty of an English government to succour
English troops.

Alexander Farnese was equally plain-spoken to a sovereign with whom
plain-speaking was a crime. In bold, almost scornful language, the Prince
represented to Philip the sufferings and destitution of the little band
of heroes, by whom that magnificent military enterprise, the conquest of
Antwerp, had just been effected. "God will be weary of working miracles
for us," he cried, "and nothing but miracles can save the troops from
starving." There was no question of paying them their wages, there was no
pretence at keeping them reasonably provided with lodging and clothing,
but he asserted the undeniable proposition that they "could not pass
their lives without eating," and he implored his sovereign to send at
least money enough to buy the soldiers shoes. To go foodless and barefoot
without complaining, on the frozen swamps of Flanders, in January, was
more than was to be expected from Spaniards and Italians. The country
itself was eaten bare. The obedient Provinces had reaped absolute ruin as
the reward of their obedience. Bruges, Ghent, and the other cities of
Brabant and Flanders, once so opulent and powerful, had become mere dens
of thieves and paupers. Agriculture, commerce, manufactures--all were
dead. The condition of Antwerp was most tragical. The city, which had
been so recently the commercial centre of the earth, was reduced to
absolute beggary. Its world-wide traffic was abruptly terminated, for the
mouth of its great river was controlled by Flushing, and Flushing was in
the firm grasp of Sir Philip Sidney, as governor for the English Queen.
Merchants and bankers, who had lately been possessed of enormous
resources, were stripped of all. Such of the industrial classes as could
leave the place had wandered away to Holland and England. There was no
industry possible, for there was no market for the products of industry.
Antwerp was hemmed in by the enemy on every side, surrounded by royal
troops in a condition of open mutiny, cut off from the ocean, deprived of
daily bread, and yet obliged to contribute out of its poverty to the
maintenance of the Spanish soldiers, who were there for its destruction.
Its burghers, compelled to furnish four hundred thousand florins, as the
price of their capitulation, and at least six hundred thousand more for
the repairs of the dykes, the destruction of which, too long deferred,
had only spread desolation over the country without saving the city, and
over and above all forced to rebuild, at their own expense, that fatal
citadel, by which their liberty and lives were to be perpetually
endangered, might now regret at leisure that they had not been as
stedfast during their siege as had been the heroic inhabitants of Leyden
in their time of trial, twelve years before. Obedient Antwerp was, in
truth, most forlorn. But there was one consolation for her and for
Philip, one bright spot in the else universal gloom. The ecclesiastics
assured Parma, that, notwithstanding the frightful diminution in the
population of the city, they had confessed and absolved more persons that
Easter than they had ever done since the commencement of the revolt.
Great was Philip's joy in consequence. "You cannot imagine my
satisfaction," he wrote, "at the news you give me concerning last
Easter."

With a ruined country, starving and mutinous troops, a bankrupt
exchequer, and a desperate and pauper population, Alexander Farnese was
not unwilling to gain time by simulated negotiations for peace. It was
strange, however, that so sagacious a monarch as the Queen of England
should suppose it for her interest to grant at that moment the very delay
which was deemed most desirable by her antagonist.

Yet it was not wounded affection alone, nor insulted pride, nor startled
parsimony, that had carried the fury of the Queen to such a height on the
occasion of Leicester's elevation to absolute government. It was still
more, because the step was thought likely to interfere with the progress
of those negotiations into which the Queen had allowed herself to be
drawn.

A certain Grafigni--a Genoese merchant residing much in London and in
Antwerp, a meddling, intrusive, and irresponsible kind of individual,
whose occupation was gone with the cessation of Flemish trade--had
recently made his appearance as a volunteer diplomatist. The principal
reason for accepting or rather for winking at his services, seemed to be
the possibility of disavowing him, on both sides, whenever it should be
thought advisable. He had a partner or colleague, too, named Bodman, who
seemed a not much more creditable negotiator than himself. The chief
director of the intrigue was, however, Champagny, brother of Cardinal
Granvelle, restored to the King's favour and disposed to atone by his
exuberant loyalty for his heroic patriotism on a former and most
memorable occasion. Andrea de Loo, another subordinate politician, was
likewise employed at various stages of the negotiation.

It will soon be perceived that the part enacted by Burghley, Hatton,
Croft, and other counsellors, and even by the Queen herself, was not a
model of ingenuousness towards the absent Leicester and the
States-General. The gentlemen sent at various times to and from the Earl
and her Majesty's government; Davison, Shirley, Vavasor, Heneage, and the
rest--had all expressed themselves in the strongest language concerning
the good faith and the friendliness of the Lord-Treasurer and the
Vice-Chamberlain, but they were not so well informed as they would have
been, had they seen the private letters of Parma to Philip II.

Walsingham, although kept in the dark as much as it was possible,
discovered from time to time the mysterious practices of his political
antagonists, and warned the Queen of the danger and dishonour she was
bringing upon herself. Elizabeth, when thus boldly charged, equivocated
and stormed alternately. She authorized Walsingham to communicate the
secrets--which he had thus surprised--to the States-General, and then
denied having given any such orders.

In truth, Walsingham was only entrusted with such portions of the
negotiations as he had been able, by his own astuteness, to divine; and
as he was very much a friend to the Provinces and to Leicester, he never
failed to keep them instructed, to the best of his ability. It must be
confessed, however, that the shuffling and paltering among great men and
little men, at that period, forms a somewhat painful subject of
contemplation at the present day.

Grafigni having some merchandise to convey from Antwerp to London, went
early in the year to the Prince of Parma, at Brussels, in order to
procure a passport. They entered into some conversation upon the misery
of the country, and particularly concerning the troubles to which the
unfortunate merchants had been exposed. Alexander expressed much sympathy
with the commercial community, and a strong desire that the ancient
friendship between his master and the Queen of England might be restored.
Grafigni assured the Prince--as the result of his own observation in
England--that the Queen participated in those pacific sentiments: "You
are going to England," replied the Prince, "and you may say to the
ministers of her Majesty, that, after my allegiance to my King, I am most
favourably and affectionately inclined towards her. If it pleases them
that I, as Alexander Farnese, should attempt to bring about an accord,
and if our commissioners could be assured of a hearing in England, I
would take care that everything should be conducted with due regard to
the honour and reputation of her Majesty."

Grafigni then asked for a written letter of credence. "That cannot be,"
replied Alexander; "but if you return to me I shall believe your report,
and then a proper person can be sent, with authority from the King to
treat with her Majesty."

Grafigni proceeded to England, and had an interview with Lord Cobham. A
few days later that nobleman gave the merchant a general assurance that
the Queen had always felt a strong inclination to maintain firm
friendship with the House of Burgundy. Nevertheless, as he proceeded to
state, the bad policy of the King's ministers, and the enterprises
against her Majesty, had compelled her to provide for her own security
and that of her realm by remedies differing in spirit from that good
inclination. Being however a Christian princess, willing to leave
vengeance to the Lord and disposed to avoid bloodshed, she was ready to
lend her ear to a negotiation for peace, if it were likely to be a
sincere and secure one. Especially she was pleased that his Highness of
Parma should act as mediator of such a treaty, as she considered him a
most just and honourable prince in all his promises and actions. Her
Majesty would accordingly hold herself in readiness to receive the
honourable commissioners alluded to, feeling sure that every step taken
by his Highness would comport with her honour and safety.

At about the same time the other partner in this diplomatic enterprise,
William Bodman, communicated to Alexander, the result of his observations
in England. He stated that Lords Burghley, Buckhurst, and Cobham, Sir
Christopher Hatton, and Comptroller Croft, were secretly desirous of
peace with Spain and that they had seized the recent opportunity of her
pique against the Earl of Leicester to urge forward these underhand
negotiations. Some progress had been made; but as no accredited
commissioner arrived from the Prince of Parma, and as Leicester was
continually writing earnest letters against peace, the efforts of these
counsellors had slackened. Bodman found them all, on his arrival, anxious
as he said, "to get their necks out of the matter;" declaring everything
which had been done to be pure matter of accident, entirely without the
concurrence of the Queen, and each seeking to outrival the other in the
good graces of her Majesty. Grafigni informed Bodman, however, that Lord
Cobham was quite to be depended upon in the affair, and would deal with
him privately, while Lord Burghley would correspond with Andrea de Loo at
Antwerp. Moreover, the servant of Comptroller Croft would direct Bodman
as to his course, and would give him daily instructions.

Now it so happened that this servant of Croft, Norris by name, was a
Papist, a man of bad character, and formerly a spy of the Duke of Anjou.
"If your Lordship or myself should use such instruments as this," wrote
Walsingham to Leicester, "I know we should bear no small reproach; but it
is the good hap of hollow and doubtful men to be best thought of." Bodman
thought the lords of the peace-faction and their adherents not
sufficiently strong to oppose the other party with success. He assured
Farnese that almost all the gentlemen and the common people of England
stood ready to risk their fortunes and to go in person to the field to
maintain the cause of the Queen and religious liberty; and that the
chance of peace was desperate unless something should turn the tide, such
as, for example, the defeat of Drake, or an invasion by Philip of Ireland
or Scotland.

As it so happened that Drake was just then engaged in a magnificent
career of victory, sweeping the Spanish Main and startling the nearest
and the most remote possessions of the King with English prowess, his
defeat was not one of the cards to be relied on by the peace-party in the
somewhat deceptive game which they had commenced. Yet, strange to say,
they used, or attempted to use, those splendid triumphs as if they had
been disasters.

Meantime there was an active but very secret correspondence between Lord
Cobham, Lord Burghley, Sir James Croft, and various subordinate
personages in England, on the one side, and Champagny, President
Richardot, La Motte, governor of Gravelines, Andrea de Loo, Grafigni, and
other men in the obedient Provinces, more or less in Alexander's
confidence, on the other side. Each party was desirous of forcing or
wheedling the antagonist to show his hand. "You were employed to take
soundings off the English coast in the Duke of Norfolk's time," said
Cobham to La Motte: "you remember the Duke's fate. Nevertheless, her
Majesty hates war, and it only depends on the King to have a firm and
lasting peace."

"You must tell Lord Cobham," said Richardot to La Motte, "that you are
not at liberty to go into a correspondence, until assured of the
intentions of Queen Elizabeth. Her Majesty ought to speak first, in order
to make her good-will manifest," and so on.

"The 'friend' can confer with you," said Richardot to Champagny; "but his
Highness is not to appear to know anything at all about it. The Queen
must signify her intentions."

"You answered Champagny correctly," said Burghley to De Loo, "as to what
I said last winter concerning her Majesty's wishes in regard to a
pacification. The Netherlands must be compelled to return to obedience to
the King; but their ancient privileges are to be maintained. You omitted,
however, to say a word about toleration, in the Provinces, of the
reformed religion. But I said then, as I say now, that this is a
condition indispensable to peace."

This was a somewhat important omission on the part of De Loo, and gives
the measure of his conscientiousness or his capacity as a negotiator.
Certainly for the Lord-Treasurer of England to offer, on the part of her
Majesty, to bring about the reduction of her allies under the yoke which
they had thrown off without her assistance, and this without leave asked
of them, and with no provision for the great principle of religious
liberty, which was the cause of the revolt, was a most flagitious
trifling with the honour of Elizabeth and of England. Certainly the more
this mysterious correspondence is examined, the more conclusive is the
justification of the vague and instinctive jealousy felt by Leicester and
the States-General as to English diplomacy during the winter and spring
of 1586.

Burghley summoned De Loo, accordingly, to recall to his memory all that
had been privately said to him on the necessity of protecting the
reformed religion in the Provinces. If a peace were to be perpetual,
toleration was indispensable, he observed, and her Majesty was said to
desire this condition most earnestly.

The Lord-Treasurer also made the not unreasonable suggestion, that, in
case of a pacification, it would be necessary to provide that English
subjects--peaceful traders, mariners, and the like--should no longer be
shut up in the Inquisition prisons of Spain and Portugal, and there
starved to death, as, with great multitudes, had already been the case.

Meantime Alexander, while encouraging and directing all these underhand
measures, was carefully impressing upon his master that he was not, in
the least degree; bound by any such negotiations. "Queen Elizabeth," he
correctly observed to Philip, "is a woman: she is also by no means fond
of expense. The kingdom, accustomed to repose, is already weary of war
therefore, they are all pacifically inclined." "It has been intimated to
me," he said, "that if I would send a properly qualified person, who
should declare that your Majesty had not absolutely forbidden the coming
of Lord Leicester, such an agent would be well received, and perhaps the
Earl would be recalled." Alexander then proceeded, with the coolness
befitting a trusted governor of Philip II., to comment upon the course
which he was pursuing. He could at any time denounce the negotiations
which he was secretly prompting. Meantime immense advantages could be
obtained by the deception practised upon an enemy whose own object was to
deceive.

The deliberate treachery of the scheme was cynically enlarged upon, and
its possible results mathematically calculated:

Philip was to proceed with the invasion while Alexander was going on with
the negotiation. If, meanwhile, they could receive back Holland and
Zeeland from the hands of England, that would be an immense success. The
Prince intimated a doubt, however, as to so fortunate a result, because,
in dealing with heretics and persons of similar quality, nothing but
trickery was to be expected. The chief good to be hoped for was to "chill
the Queen in her plots, leagues, and alliances," and during the chill, to
carry forward their own great design. To slacken not a whit in their
preparations, to "put the Queen to sleep," and, above all, not to leave
the French for a moment unoccupied with internal dissensions and civil
war; such was the game of the King and the governor, as expounded between
themselves.

President Richardot, at the same time, stated to Cardinal Granvelle that
the English desire for peace was considered certain at Brussels. Grafigni
had informed the Prince of Parma and his counsellors that the Queen was
most amicably disposed, and that there would be no trouble on the point
of religion, her Majesty not wishing to obtain more than she would
herself be willing to grant. "In this," said Richardot, "there is both
hard and soft;" for knowing that the Spanish game was deception, pure and
simple, the excellent President could not bring himself to suspect a
possible grain of good faith in the English intentions. Much anxiety was
perpetually felt in the French quarter, her Majesty's government being
supposed to be secretly preparing an invasion of the obedient Netherlands
across the French frontier, in combination, not with the Bearnese, but
with Henry III. So much in the dark were even the most astute
politicians. "I can't feel satisfied in this French matter," said the
President: "we mustn't tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh."
Moreover, there was no self-deception nor self-tickling possible as to
the unmitigated misery of the obedient Netherlands. Famine was a more
formidable foe than Frenchmen, Hollanders, and Englishmen combined; so
that Richardot avowed that the "negotiation would be indeed holy," if it
would restore Holland and Zeeland to the King without fighting. The
prospect seemed on the whole rather dismal to loyal Netherlanders like
the old leaguing, intriguing, Hispamolized president of the privy
council. "I confess," said he plaintively, "that England needs
chastisement; but I don't see how we are to give it to her. Only let us
secure Holland and Zeeland, and then we shall always find a stick
whenever we like to beat the dog."

Meantime Andrea de Loo had been bustling and buzzing about the ears of
the chief counsellors at the English court during all the early spring.
Most busily he had been endeavouring to efface the prevalent suspicion
that Philip and Alexander were only trifling by these informal
negotiations. We have just seen whether or not there was ground for that
suspicion. De Loo, being importunate, however--"as he usually was,"
according to his own statement--obtained in Burghley's hand a
confirmation, by order of the Queen, of De Loo's--letter of the 26th
December. The matter of religion gave the worthy merchant much
difficulty, and he begged Lord Buckhurst, the Lord Treasurer, and many
other counsellors, not to allow this point of toleration to ruin the
whole affair; "for," said he, "his Majesty will never permit any exercise
of the reformed religion."

At last Buckhurst sent for him, and in presence of Comptroller Croft,
gave him information that he had brought the Queen to this conclusion:
firstly, that she would be satisfied with as great a proportion of
religious toleration for Holland, Zeeland, and the other United
Provinces, as his Majesty could concede with safety to his conscience and
his honour; secondly, that she required an act of amnesty; thirdly, that
she claimed reimbursement by Philip for the money advanced by her to the
States.

Certainly a more wonderful claim was never made than this--a demand upon
an absolute monarch for indemnity for expenses incurred in fomenting a
rebellion of his own subjects. The measure of toleration proposed for the
Provinces--the conscience, namely, of the greatest bigot ever born into
the world--was likely to prove as satisfactory as the claim for damages
propounded by the most parsimonious sovereign in Christendom. It was,
however, stipulated that the nonconformists of Holland and Zeeland, who
should be forced into exile, were to have their property administered by
papist trustees; and further, that the Spanish inquisition was not to be
established in the Netherlands. Philip could hardly demand better terms
than these last, after a career of victory. That they should be offered
now by Elizabeth was hardly compatible with good faith to the States.

On account of Lord Burghley's gout, it was suggested that the negotiators
had better meet in England, as it would be necessary for him to take the
lead in the matters and as he was but an indifferent traveller. Thus,
according to De Loo, the Queen was willing to hand over the United
Provinces to Philip, and to toss religious toleration to the winds, if
she could only get back the seventy thousand pounds--more or less--which
she had invested in an unpromising speculation. A few weeks later, and at
almost the very moment when Elizabeth had so suddenly overturned
her last vial of wrath upon the discomfited Heneage for having
communicated--according to her express command--the fact of the pending
negotiations to the Netherland States; at that very instant Parma was
writing secretly, and in cipher, to Philip. His communication--could Sir
Thomas have read it--might have partly explained her Majesty's rage.

Parma had heard, he said, through Bodman, from Comptroller Croft, that
the Queen would willingly receive a proper envoy. It was very easy to
see, he observed, that the English counsellors were seeking every means
of entering into communication with Spain, and that they were doing so
with the participation of the Queen! Lord-Treasurer Burghley and
Comptroller Croft had expressed surprise that the Prince had not yet sent
a secret agent to her Majesty, under pretext of demanding explanations
concerning Lord Leicester's presence in the Provinces, but in reality to
treat for peace. Such an agent, it had been intimated, would be well
received. The Lord-Treasurer and the Comptroller would do all in their
power to advance the negotiation, so that, with their aid and with the
pacific inclination of the Queen, the measures proposed in favour of
Leicester would be suspended, and perhaps the Earl himself and all the
English would be recalled.

The Queen was further represented as taking great pains to excuse both
the expedition of Sir Francis Drake to the Indies, and the mission of
Leicester to the Provinces. She was said to throw the whole blame of
these enterprises upon Walsingham and other ill-intentioned personages,
and to avow that she now understood matters better; so that, if Parma
would at once send an envoy, peace would, without question, soon be made.

Parma had expressed his gratification at these hopeful dispositions on
the part of Burghley and Croft, and held out hopes of sending an agent to
treat with them, if not directly with her Majesty. For some time
past--according to the Prince--the English government had not seemed to
be honestly seconding the Earl of Leicester, nor to correspond with his
desires. "This makes me think," he said, "that the counsellors
before-mentioned, being his rivals, are trying to trip him up."

In such a caballing, prevaricating age, it is difficult to know which of
all the plotters and counterplotters engaged in these intrigues could
accomplish the greatest amount of what--for the sake of diluting in nine
syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in one--was then
called diplomatic dissimulation. It is to be feared, notwithstanding her
frequent and vociferous denials, that the robes of the "imperial
votaress" were not so unsullied as could be wished. We know how loudly
Leicester had complained--we have seen how clearly Walsingham could
convict; but Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute: for an
absolute sovereign, even without resorting to Philip's syllogisms of axe
and faggot, was apt in the sixteenth century to have the best of an
argument with private individuals.

The secret statements of Parma-made, not for public effect, but for the
purpose of furnishing his master with the most accurate information he
could gather as to English policy--are certainly entitled to
consideration. They were doubtless founded upon the statements of
individuals rejoicing in no very elevated character; but those
individuals had no motive to deceive their patron. If they clashed with
the vehement declarations of very eminent personages, it must be
admitted, on the other hand, that they were singularly in accordance with
the silent eloquence of important and mysterious events.

As to Alexander Farnese--without deciding the question whether Elizabeth
and Burghley were deceiving Walsingham and Leicester, or only trying to
delude Philip and himself--he had no hesitation, of course, on his part,
in recommending to Philip the employment of unlimited dissimulation.
Nothing could be more ingenuous than the intercourse between the King and
his confidential advisers. It was perfectly understood among them that
they were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion. Only let them
be false, and it was impossible to be wholly wrong; but grave mistakes
might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity. It was no question
at all, therefore, that it was Parma's duty to delude Elizabeth and
Burghley. Alexander's course was plain. He informed his master that he
would keep these difficulties alive as much as it was possible. In order
to "put them all to sleep with regard to the great enterprise of the
invasion," he would send back Bodman to Burghley and Croft, and thus keep
this unofficial negotiation upon its legs. The King was quite
uncommitted, and could always disavow what had been done. Meanwhile he
was gaining, and his adversaries losing, much precious time. "If by this
course," said Parma, "we can induce the English to hand over to us the
places which they hold in Holland and Zeeland, that will be a great
triumph." Accordingly he urged the King not to slacken, in the least, his
preparations for invasion, and, above all, to have a care that the French
were kept entangled and embarrassed among themselves, which was a most
substantial point.

Meantime Europe was ringing with the American successes of the bold
corsair Drake. San Domingo, Porto Rico, Santiago, Cartliagena, Florida,
were sacked and destroyed, and the supplies drawn so steadily from the
oppression of the Western World to maintain Spanish tyranny in Europe,
were for a time extinguished. Parma was appalled at these triumphs of the
Sea-King--"a fearful man to the King of Spain"--as Lord Burghley well
observed. The Spanish troops were starving in Flanders, all Flanders
itself was starving, and Philip, as usual, had sent but insignificant
remittances to save his perishing soldiers. Parma had already exhausted
his credit. Money was most difficult to obtain in such a forlorn country;
and now the few rich merchants and bankers of Antwerp that were left
looked very black at these crushing news from America. "They are drawing
their purse-strings very tight," said Alexander, "and will make no
accommodation. The most contemplative of them ponder much over this
success of Drake, and think that your Majesty will forget our matters
here altogether." For this reason he informed the King that it would be
advisable to drop all further negotiation with England for the time, as
it was hardly probable that, with such advantages gained by the Queen,
she would be inclined to proceed in the path which had been just secretly
opened. Moreover, the Prince was in a state of alarm as to the intentions
of France. Mendoza and Tassis had given him to understand that a very
good feeling prevailed between the court of Henry and of Elizabeth, and
that the French were likely to come to a pacification among themselves.
In this the Spanish envoys were hardly anticipating so great an effect as
we have seen that they had the right to do from their own indefatigable
exertions; for, thanks to their zeal, backed by the moderate subsidies
furnished by their master, the civil war in France already seemed likely
to be as enduring as that of the Netherlands. But Parma--still quite in
the dark as to French politics--was haunted by the vision of seventy
thousand foot and six thousand horses ready to be let slip upon him at
any, moment, out of a pacified and harmonious France; while he had
nothing but a few starving and crippled regiments to withstand such an
invasion. When all these events should have taken place, and France, in
alliance with England, should have formally declared war against Spain,
Alexander protested that he should have learned nothing new.

The Prince was somewhat mistaken as to political affairs; but his doubts
concerning his neighbours, blended with the forlorn condition of himself
and army, about which there was no doubt at all, showed the exigencies of
his situation. In the midst of such embarrassments it is impossible not
to admire his heroism as a military chieftain, and his singular
adroitness as a diplomatist. He had painted for his sovereign a most
faithful and horrible portrait of the obedient Provinces. The soil was
untilled; the manufactories had all stopped; trade had ceased to exist.
It was a pity only to look upon the raggedness of his soldiers. No
language could describe the misery of the reconciled Provinces--Artois,
Hainault, Flanders. The condition of Bruges would melt the hardest heart;
other cities were no better; Antwerp was utterly ruined; its inhabitants
were all starving. The famine throughout the obedient Netherlands was
such as had not been known for a century. The whole country had been
picked bare by the troops, and the plough was not put into the ground.
Deputations were constantly with him from Bruges, Dendermonde,
Bois-le-Duc, Brussels, Antwerp, Nymegen, proving to him by the most
palpable evidence that the whole population of those cities had almost
literally nothing to eat. He had nothing, however, but exhortations to
patience to feed them withal. He was left without a groat even to save
his soldiers from starving, and he wildly and bitterly, day after day,
implored his sovereign for aid. These pictures are not the sketches of a
historian striving for effect, but literal transcripts from the most
secret revelations of the Prince himself to his sovereign. On the other
hand, although Leicester's complaints of the destitution of the English
troops in the republic were almost as bitter, yet the condition of the
United Provinces was comparatively healthy. Trade, external and internal,
was increasing daily. Distant commercial and military expeditions were
fitted out, manufactures were prosperous, and the war of independence was
gradually becoming--strange to say--a source of prosperity to the new
commonwealth.

Philip--being now less alarmed than his nephew concerning French affairs,
and not feeling so keenly the misery of the obedient Provinces, or the
wants of the Spanish army--sent to Alexander six hundred thousand ducats,
by way of Genoa. In the letter submitted by his secretary recording this
remittance, the King made, however, a characteristic marginal note:--"See
if it will not be as well to tell him something concerning the two
hundred thousand ducats to be deducted for Mucio, for fear of more
mischief, if the Prince should expect the whole six hundred thousand."

Accordingly Mucio got the two hundred thousand. One-third of the meagre
supply destined for the relief of the King's starving and valiant little
army in the Netherlands was cut off to go into the pockets of the
intriguing Duke of Guise. "We must keep the French," said Philip, "in a
state of confusion at home, and feed their civil war. We must not allow
them to come to a general peace, which would be destruction for the
Catholics. I know you will put a good face on the matter; and, after all,
'tis in the interest of the Netherlands. Moreover, the money shall be
immediately refunded."

Alexander was more likely to make a wry face, notwithstanding his views
of the necessity of fomenting the rebellion against the House of Valois.
Certainly if a monarch intended to conquer such countries as France,
England, and Holland, without stirring from his easy chair in the
Escorial, it would have been at least as well--so Alexander thought--to
invest a little more capital in the speculation. No monarch ever dreamed
of arriving at universal empire with less personal fatigue or exposure,
or at a cheaper rate, than did Philip II. His only fatigue was at his
writing-table. But even here his merit was of a subordinate description.
He sat a great while at a time. He had a genius for sitting; but he now
wrote few letters himself. A dozen words or so, scrawled in hieroglyphics
at the top, bottom, or along the margin of the interminable despatches of
his secretaries, contained the suggestions, more or less luminous, which
arose in his mind concerning public affairs. But he held firmly to his
purpose: He had devoted his life to the extermination of Protestantism,
to the conquest of France and England, to the subjugation of Holland.
These were vast schemes. A King who should succeed in such enterprises,
by his personal courage and genius, at the head of his armies, or by
consummate diplomacy, or by a masterly system of finance-husbanding and
concentrating the resources of his almost boundless realms--might be in
truth commended for capacity. Hitherto however Philip's triumph had
seemed problematical; and perhaps something more would be necessary than
letters to Parma, and paltry remittances to Mucio, notwithstanding
Alexander's splendid but local victories in Flanders.

Parma, although in reality almost at bay, concealed his despair, and
accomplished wonders in the field. The military events during the spring
and summer of 1586 will be sketched in a subsequent chapter. For the
present it is necessary to combine into a complete whole the subterranean
negotiations between Brussels and England.

Much to his surprise and gratification, Parma found that the peace-party
were not inclined to change their views in consequence of the triumphs of
Drake. He soon informed the King that--according to Champagny and
Bodman--the Lord Treasurer, the Comptroller, Lord Cobham, and Sir
Christopher Hatton, were more pacific than they had ever been. These four
were represented by Grafigni as secretly in league against Leicester and
Walsingham, and very anxious to bring about a reconciliation between the
crowns of England and Spain. The merchant-diplomatist, according to his
own statement, was expressly sent by Queen Elizabeth to the prince of
Parma, although without letter of credence or signed instructions, but
with the full knowledge and approbation of the four counsellors just
mentioned. He assured Alexander that the Queen and the majority of her
council felt a strong desire for peace, and had manifested much
repentance for what had been done. They had explained their proceedings
by the necessity of self-defence. They had avowed--in case they should be
made sure of peace--that they should, not with reluctance and against
their will, but, on the contrary, with the utmost alacrity and at once,
surrender to the King of Spain the territory which they possessed in the
Netherlands, and especially the fortified towns in Holland and Zeeland;
for the English object had never been conquest. Parma had also been
informed of the Queen's strong desire that he should be employed as
negotiator, on account of her great confidence in his sincerity. They had
expressed much satisfaction on hearing that he was about to send an agent
to England, and had protested themselves rejoiced at Drake's triumphs,
only because of their hope that a peace with Spain would thus be rendered
the easier of accomplishment. They were much afraid, according to
Grafigni, of Philip's power, and dreaded a Spanish invasion of their
country, in conjunction with the Pope. They were now extremely anxious
that Parma--as he himself informed the King--should send an agent of good
capacity, in great secrecy, to England.

The Comptroller had said that he had pledged himself to such a result,
and if it failed, that they would probably cut off his head. The four
counsellors were excessively solicitous for the negotiation, and each of
them was expecting to gain favour by advancing it to the best of his
ability.

Parma hinted at the possibility that all these professions were false,
and that the English were only intending to keep the King from the
contemplated invasion. At the same time he drew Philip's attention to the
fact that Burghley and his party had most evidently been doing everything
in their power to obstruct Leicester's progress in the Netherlands and to
keep back the reinforcements of troops and money which he so much
required.

No doubt these communications of Parma to the King were made upon the
faith of an agent not over-scrupulous, and of no elevated or recognised
rank in diplomacy. It must be borne in mind, however, that he had been
made use of by both parties; perhaps because it would be easy to throw
off, and discredit, him whenever such a step should be convenient; and
that, on the other hand, coming fresh from Burghley and the rest into the
presence of the keen-eyed Farnese, he would hardly invent for his
employer a budget of falsehoods. That man must have been a subtle
negotiator who could outwit such a statesman as Burghley--and the other
counsellors of Elizabeth, and a bold one who could dare to trifle on a
momentous occasion with Alexander of Parma.

Leicester thought Burghley very much his friend, and so thought Davison
and Heneage; and the Lord-Treasurer had, in truth, stood stoutly by the
Earl in the affair of the absolute governorship;--"a matter more severe
and cumbersome to him and others," said Burghley, "than any whatsoever
since he was a counsellor." But there is no doubt that these negotiations
were going forward all the spring and summer, that they were most
detrimental to Leicester's success, and that they were kept--so far as it
was possible--a profound secret from him, from Walsingham, and from the
States-General. Nothing was told them except what their own astuteness
had discovered beforehand; and the game of the counsellors--so far as
their attitude towards Leicester and Walsingham was concerned--seems both
disingenuous and impolitic.

Parma, it was to be feared, was more than a match for the English
governor-general in the field; and it was certainly hopeless for poor old
Comptroller Croft, even though backed by the sagacious Burghley, to
accomplish so great an amount of dissimulation in a year as the Spanish
cabinet, without effort, could compass in a week. Nor were they
attempting to do so. It is probable that England was acting towards
Philip in much better faith than he deserved, or than Parma believed; but
it is hardly to be wondered at that Leicester should think himself
injured by being kept perpetually in the dark.

Elizabeth was very impatient at not receiving direct letters from Parma,
and her anxiety on the subject explains much of her caprice during the
quarrel about the governor-generalahip. Many persons in the Netherlands
thought those violent scenes a farce, and a farce that had been arranged
with Leicester beforehand. In this they were mistaken; for an examination
of the secret correspondence of the period reveals the motives--which to
contemporaries were hidden--of many strange transactions. The Queen was,
no doubt, extremely anxious, and with cause, at the tempest slowly
gathering over her head; but the more the dangers thickened, the more was
her own official language to those in high places befitting the sovereign
of England.

She expressed her surprise to Farnese that he had not written to her on
the subject of the Grafigni and Bodman affair. The first, she said, was
justified in all which he had narrated, save in his assertion that she
had sent him. The other had not obtained audience, because he had not
come provided with any credentials, direct or indirect. Having now
understood from Andrea de Loo and the Seigneur de Champagny that Parma
had the power to conclude a peace, which he seemed very much to desire,
she observed that it was not necessary for him to be so chary in
explaining the basis of the proposed negotiations. It was better to enter
into a straightforward path, than by ambiguous words to spin out to great
length matters which princes should at once conclude.

"Do not suppose," said the Queen, "that I am seeking what belongs to
others. God forbid. I seek only that which is mine own. But be sure that
I will take good heed of the sword which threatens me with destruction,
nor think that I am so craven-spirited as to endure a wrong, or to place
myself at the mercy of my enemy. Every week I see advertisements and
letters from Spain that this year shall witness the downfall of England;
for the Spaniards--like the hunter who divided, with great liberality,
among his friends the body and limbs of the wolf, before it had been
killed--have partitioned this kingdom and that of Ireland before the
conquest has been effected. But my royal heart is no whit appalled by
such threats. I trust, with the help of the Divine hand--which has thus
far miraculously preserved me--to smite all these braggart powers into
the dust, and to preserve my honour, and the kingdoms which He has given
me for my heritage.

"Nevertheless, if you have authority to enter upon and to conclude this
negotiation, you will find my ears open to hear your propositions; and I
tell you further, if a peace is to be made, that I wish you to be the
mediator thereof. Such is the affection I bear you, notwithstanding that
some letters, written by your own hand, might easily have effaced such
sentiments from my mind."

Soon afterwards, Bodman was again despatched to England, Grafigni being
already there. He was provided with unsigned instructions, according to
which he was to say that the Prince, having heard of the Queen's good
intentions, had despatched him and Grafigni to her court. They were to
listen to any suggestions made by the Queen to her ministers; but they
were to do nothing but listen. If the counsellors should enter into their
grievances against his Majesty, and ask for explanations, the agents were
to say that they had no authority or instructions to speak for so great
and Christian a monarch. Thus they were to cut the thread of any such
discourse, or any other observations not to the purpose.

Silence, in short, was recommended, first and last, as the one great
business of their mission; and it was unlucky that men whose talent for
taciturnity was thus signally relied upon should be somewhat remarkable
for loquacity. Grafigni was also the bearer of a letter from Alexander to
the Queen--of which Bodman received a copy--but it was strictly enjoined
upon them to keep the letter, their instructions, and the objects of
their journey, a secret from all the world.

The letter of the Prince consisted mainly of complimentary flourishes. He
had heard, he said, all that Agostino Grafigni had communicated, and he
now begged her Majesty to let him understand the course which it was
proper to take; assuring her of his gratitude for her good opinion
touching his sincerity, and his desire to save the effusion of blood, and
so on; concluding of course with expressions of most profound
consideration and devotion.

Early in July Bodman arrived in London. He found Grafigni in very low
spirits. He had been with Lord Cobham, and was much disappointed with his
reception, for Cobham--angry that Grafigni had brought no commission from
the King--had refused to receive Parma's letter to the Queen, and had
expressed annoyance that Bodman should be employed on this mission,
having heard that lie was very ill-tempered and passionate. The same
evening, he had been sent for by Lord Burghley--who had accepted the
letter for her Majesty without saying a word--and on the following
morning, he had been taken to task, by several counsellors, on the ground
that the Prince, in that communication, had stated that the Queen had
expressed a desire for peace.

It has just been shown that there was no such intimation at all in the
letter; but as neither Grafigni nor Bodman had read the epistle itself,
but only the copy furnished them, they could merely say that such an
assertion; if made by the Prince, had been founded on no statement of
theirs. Bodman consoled his colleague, as well as he could, by assurances
that when the letter was fairly produced, their vindication would be
complete, and Grafigni, upon that point, was comforted. He was, however,
very doleful in general, and complained bitterly of Burghley and the
other English counsellors. He said that they had forced him, against his
will, to make this journey to Brussels, that they had offered him
presents, that they would leave him no rest in his own house, but had
made him neglect all his private business, and caused him a great loss of
time and money, in order that he might serve them. They had manifested
the strongest desire that Parma should open this communication, and had
led him to expect a very large recompense for his share in the
transaction. "And now," said Grafigni to his colleague, with great
bitterness, "I find no faith nor honour in them at all. They don't keep
their word, and every one of them is trying to slide out of the very
business, in which each was, but the other day, striving to outrival the
other, in order that it might be brought to a satisfactory conclusion."

After exploding in this way to Bodman, he went back to Cobham, and
protested, with angry vehemence, that Parma had never written such a word
to the Queen, and that so it would prove, if the letter were produced.

Next day, Bodman was sent for to Greenwich, where her Majesty was, as
usual, residing. A secret pavilion was indicated to him, where he was to
stay until sunset. When that time arrived, Lord Cobham's secretary came
with great mystery, and begged the emissary to follow him, but at a
considerable distance, towards the apartments of Lord Burghley in the
palace. Arriving there, they found the Lord Treasurer accompanied by
Cobham and Croft. Burghley instantly opened the interview by a defence of
the Queen's policy in sending troops to the Netherlands, and in espousing
their cause, and then the conversation proceeded to the immediate matter
in hand.

Bodman (after listening respectfully to the Lord-Treasurer's
observations).--"His Highness has, however, been extremely surprised that
my Lord Leicester should take an oath, as governor-general of the King's
Provinces. He is shocked likewise by the great demonstrations of
hostility on the part of her Majesty."

Burghley.--"The oath was indispensable. The Queen was obliged to tolerate
the step on account of the great urgency of the States to have a head.
But her Majesty has commanded us to meet you on this occasion, in order
to hear what you have to communicate on the part of the Prince of Parma."

Bodman (after a profusion of complimentary phrases).--"I have no
commission to say anything. I am only instructed to listen to anything
that may be said to me, and that her Majesty may be pleased to command."

Burghley.--"'Tis very discreet to begin thus. But time is pressing, and
it is necessary to be brief. We beg you therefore to communicate, without
further preface, that which you have been charged to say."

Bodman.--"I can only repeat to your Lordship, that I have been charged to
say nothing."

After this Barmecide feast of diplomacy, to partake of which it seemed
hardly necessary that the guests should have previously attired
themselves in such garments of mystery, the parties separated for the
night.

In spite of their care, it would seem that the Argus-eyed Walsingham had
been able to see after sunset; for, the next evening--after Bodman had
been introduced with the same precautions to the same company, in the
same place--Burghley, before a word had been spoken, sent for Sir
Francis.

Bodman was profoundly astonished, for he had been expressly informed that
Walsingham was to know nothing of the transaction. The Secretary of State
could not so easily be outwitted, however, and he was soon seated at the
table, surveying the scene, with his grave melancholy eyes, which had
looked quite through the whole paltry intrigue.

Burghley.--"Her Majesty has commanded us to assemble together, in order
that, in my presence, it may be made clear that she did not commence this
negotiation. Let Grafigni be summoned."

Grafigni immediately made his appearance.

Burghley.--"You will please to explain how you came to enter into this
business."

Grafigni.--"The first time I went to the States, it was on my private
affairs; I had no order from any one to treat with the Prince of Parma.
His Highness, having accidentally heard, however, that I resided in
England, expressed a wish to see me. I had an interview with the Prince.
I told him, out of my own head, that the Queen had a strong inclination
to hear propositions of peace, and that--as some of her counsellors were
of the same opinion--I believed that if his Highness should send a
negotiator, some good would be effected. The Prince replied that he felt
by no means sure of such a result; but that, if I should come back from
England, sent by the Queen or her council, he would then despatch a
person with a commission to treat of peace. This statement, together with
other matters that had passed between us, was afterwards drawn up in
writing by command of his Highness."

Burghley.--"Who bade you say, after your second return to Brussels, that
you came on the part of the Queen? For you well know that her Majesty did
not send you."

Grafigni.--"I never said so. I stated that my Lord Cobham had set down in
writing what I was to say to the Prince of Parma. It will never appear
that I represented the Queen as desiring peace. I said that her Majesty
would lend her ears to peace. Bodman knows this too; and he has a copy of
the letter of his Highness."

Walsingham to Bodman.--"Have you the copy still?"

Bodman.--"Yes, Mr. Secretary."

Walsingham.--"Please to produce it, in order that this matter may be
sifted to the bottom."

Bodman.--"I supplicate your Lorships to pardon me, but indeed that cannot
be. My instructions forbid my showing the letter."

Walsingham (rising).--"I will forthwith go to her Majesty, and fetch the
original." A pause. Mr. Secretary returns in a few minutes, having
obtained the document, which the Queen, up to that time, had kept by her,
without showing it to any one.

Walsingham (after reading the letter attentively, and aloud).--"There is
not such a word, as that her Majesty is desirous of peace, in the whole
paper."

Burghley (taking the letter, and slowly construing it out of Italian into
English).--"It would seem that his Highness hath written this, assuming
that the Signor Grafigni came from the Queen, although he had received
his instructions from my Lord Cobham. It is plain, however, that the
negotiation was commenced accidentally."

Comptroller Croft (nervously, and with the air of a man fearful of
getting into trouble).--"You know very well, Mr. Bodman, that my servant
came to Dunkirk only to buy and truck away horses; and that you then, by
chance, entered into talk with him, about the best means of procuring a
peace between the two kingdoms. My servant told you of the good feeling
that prevailed in England. You promised to write on the subject to the
Prince, and I immediately informed the Lord-Treasurer of the whole
transaction."

Burghley.--"That is quite true."

Croft.--"My servant subsequently returned to the Provinces in order to
learn what the Prince might have said on the subject."

Bodman (with immense politeness, but very decidedly).--"Pardon me, Mr.
Comptroller; but, in this matter, I must speak the truth, even if the
honour and life of my father were on the issue. I declare that your
servant Norris came to me, directly commissioned for that purpose by
yourself, and informed me from you, and upon your authority, that if I
would solicit the Prince of Parma to send a secret agent to England, a
peace would be at once negotiated. Your servant entreated me to go to his
Highness at Brussels. I refused, but agreed to consider the proposition.
After the lapse of several days, the servant returned to make further
enquiries. I told him that the Prince had come to no decision. Norris
continued to press the matter. I excused myself. He then solicited and
obtained from me a letter of introduction to De Loo, the secretary of his
Highness. Armed with this, he went to Brussels and had an interview--as I
found, four days later--with the Prince. In consequence of the
representations of Norris, those of Signor Grafigni, and those by way of
Antwerp, his Highness determined to send me to England."

Burghley to Croft.--"Did you order your servant to speak with Andrea de
Loo?"

Croft.--"I cannot deny it."

Burghley.--"The fellow seems to have travelled a good way out of his
commission. His master sends him to buy horses, and he commences a
peace-negotiation between two kingdoms. It would be well he were
chastised. As regards the Antwerp matter, too, we have had many letters,
and I have, seen one from the Seigneur de Champagny, the same effect as
that of all the rest."

Walsingham.--"I see not to what end his Highness of Parma has sent Mr.
Bodman hither. The Prince avows that he hath no commission from Spain."

Bodman.--"His Highness was anxious to know what was her Majesty's
pleasure. So soon as that should be known, the Prince could obtain ample
authority. He would never have proceeded so far without meaning a good
end."

Walsingham.--"Very like. I dare say that his Highness will obtain the
commission. Meantime, as Prince of Parma, he writes these letters, and
assists his sovereign perhaps more than he doth ourselves."

Here the interview terminated. A few days later, Bodman had another
conversation with Burghley and Cobham. Reluctantly, at their urgent
request, he set down in writing all that he had said concerning his
mission.

The Lord Treasurer said that the Queen and her counsellors were "ready to
embrace peace when it was treated of sincerely." Meantime the Queen had
learned that the Prince had been sending letters to the cautionary towns
in Holland and Zeeland, stating that her Majesty was about to surrender
them to the King of Spain. These were tricks to make mischief, and were
very detrimental to the Queen.

Bodman replied that these were merely the idle stories of quidnuncs; and
that the Prince and all his counsellors were dealing with the utmost
sincerity.

Burghley answered that he had intercepted the very letters, and had them
in his possession.

A week afterwards, Bodman saw Walsingham alone, and was informed by him
that the Queen had written an answer to Parma's letter, and that
negotiations for the future were to be carried on in the usual form, or
not at all. Walsingham, having thus got the better of his rivals, and
delved below their mines, dismissed the agent with brief courtesy.
Afterwards the discomfited Mr. Comptroller wished a private interview
with Bodman. Bodman refused to speak with him except in presence of Lord
Cobham. This Croft refused. In the same way Bodman contrived to get rid,
as he said, of Lord Burghley and Lord Cobham, declining to speak with
either of them alone. Soon afterwards he returned to the Provinces!

The Queen's letter to Parma was somewhat caustic. It was obviously
composed through the inspiration of Walsingham rather than that of
Burghley. The letter, brought by a certain Grafigni and a certain Bodman,
she said, was a very strange one, and written under a delusion. It was a
very grave error, that, in her name, without her knowledge, contrary to
her disposition, and to the prejudice of her honour, such a person as
this Grafigni, or any one like him, should have the audacity to commence
such a business, as if she had, by messages to the Prince, sought a
treaty with his King, who had so often returned evil for her good.
Grafigni, after representing the contrary to his Highness, had now denied
in presence of her counsellors having received any commission from the
Queen. She also briefly gave the result of Bodman's interviews with
Burghley and the others, just narrated. That agent had intimated that
Parma would procure authority to treat for peace, if assured that the
Queen would lend her ear to any propositions.

She replied by referring to her published declarations, as showing her
powerful motives for interfering in these affairs. It was her purpose to
save her own realm and to rescue her ancient neighbours from misery and
from slavery. To this end she should still direct her actions,
notwithstanding the sinister rumours which had been spread that she was
inclined to peace before providing for the security and liberty of her
allies. She was determined never to separate their cause from her own.
Propositions tending to the security of herself and of her neighbours
would always be favourably received.

Parma, on his part, informed his master that there could be no doubt that
the Queen and the majority of her council abhorred the war, and that
already much had been gained by the fictitious negotiation.
Lord-Treasurer Burghley had been interposing endless delays and
difficulties in the way of every measure proposed for the relief of Lord
Leicester, and the assistance rendered him had been most lukewarm.
Meantime the Prince had been able, he said, to achieve much success in
the field, and the English had done nothing to prevent it. Since the
return of Grafigni and Bodman, however, it was obvious that the English
government had disowned these non-commissioned diplomatists. The whole
negotiation and all the negotiators were now discredited, but there was
no doubt that there had been a strong desire to treat, and great
disappointment at the result. Grafigni and Andrea de Loo had been
publishing everywhere in Antwerp that England would consider the peace as
made, so soon as his Majesty should be willing to accept any
propositions.

His Majesty, meanwhile, sat in his cabinet, without the slightest
intention of making or accepting any propositions save those that were
impossible. He smiled benignantly at his nephew's dissimulation and at
the good results which it had already produced. He approved of gaining
time, he said, by fictitious negotiations and by the use of a mercantile
agent; for, no doubt, such a course would prevent the proper succours
from being sent to the Earl of Leicester. If the English would hand over
to him the cautionary towns held by them in Holland and Zeeland, promise
no longer to infest the seas, the Indies, and the Isles, with their
corsairs, and guarantee the complete obedience to their King and
submission to the holy Catholic Church of the rebellious Provinces,
perhaps something might be done with them; but, on the whole, he was
inclined to think that they had been influenced by knavish and deceitful
motives from the beginning. He enjoined it upon Parma, therefore, to
proceed with equal knavery--taking care, however, not to injure his
reputation--and to enter into negotiations wherever occasion might serve,
in order to put the English off their guard and to keep back the
reinforcements so imperatively required by Leicester.

And the reinforcements were indeed kept back. Had Burghley and Croft been
in the pay of Philip II. they could hardly have served him better than
they had been doing by the course pursued. Here then is the explanation
of the shortcomings of the English government towards Leicester and the
States during the memorable spring and summer of 1586. No money, no
soldiers, when most important operations in the field were required. The
first general of the age was to be opposed by a man who had certainly
never gained many laurels as a military chieftain, but who was brave and
confident, and who, had he been faithfully supported by the government
which sent him to the Netherlands, would have had his antagonist at a
great disadvantage. Alexander had scarcely eight thousand effective men.
Famine, pestilence, poverty, mutiny, beset and almost paralyzed him.
Language could not exaggerate the absolute destitution of the country.
Only miracles could save the King's cause, as Farnese repeatedly
observed. A sharp vigorous campaign, heartily carried on against him by
Leicester and Hohenlo, with plenty of troops and money at command, would
have brought the heroic champion of Catholicism to the ground. He was
hemmed in upon all sides; he was cut off from the sea; he stood as it
were in a narrowing circle, surrounded by increasing dangers. His own
veterans, maddened by misery, stung by their King's ingratitude, naked,
starving, ferocious, were turning against him. Mucio, like his evil
genius, was spiriting away his supplies just as they were reaching his
hands; a threatening tempest seemed rolling up from France; the whole
population of the Provinces which he had "reconciled"--a million of
paupers--were crying to him for bread; great commercial cities, suddenly
blasted and converted into dens of thieves and beggars, were cursing the
royal author of their ruin, and uttering wild threats against his
vicegerent; there seemed, in truth, nothing left for Alexander but to
plunge headlong into destruction, when, lo! Mr. Comptroller Croft,
advancing out of the clouds, like a propitious divinity, disguised in the
garb of a foe--and the scene was changed.

The feeble old man, with his shufing, horse-trucking servant, ex-spy of
Monsieur, had accomplished more work for Philip and Alexander than many
regiments of Spaniards and Walloons could have done. The arm of Leicester
was paralyzed upon the very threshold of success. The picture of these
palace-intrigues has been presented with minute elaboration, because,
however petty and barren in appearance, they were in reality prolific of
grave results. A series of victories by Parma was substituted for the
possible triumphs of Elizabeth and the States.

The dissimulation of the Spanish court was fathomless. The secret
correspondence of the times reveals to us that its only purpose was to
deceive the Queen and her counsellors, and to gain time to prepare the
grand invasion of England and subjugation of Holland--that double purpose
which Philip could only abandon with life. There was never a thought, on
his part, of honest negotiation. On the other hand, the Queen was
sincere; Burghley and Hatton and Cobham were sincere; Croft was sincere,
so far as Spain was concerned. At least they had been sincere. In the
private and doleful dialogues between Bodman and Grafigni which we have
just been overhearing, these intriguers spoke the truth, for they could
have no wish to deceive each other, and no fear of eaves-droppers not to
be born till centuries afterwards. These conversations have revealed to
us that the Lord Treasurer and three of his colleagues had been secretly
doing their best to cripple Leicester, to stop the supplies for the
Netherlands, and to patch up a hurried and unsatisfactory, if not a
disgraceful peace; and this, with the concurrence of her Majesty. After
their plots had been discovered by the vigilant Secretary of State, there
was a disposition to discredit the humbler instruments in the cabal.
Elizabeth was not desirous of peace. Far from it. She was qualmish at the
very suggestion. Dire was her wrath against Bodman, De Loo, Graafigni,
and the rest, at their misrepresentations on the subject. But she would
"lend her ear." And that royal ear was lent, and almost fatal was the
distillment poured into its porches. The pith and marrow of the great
Netherland enterprise was sapped by the slow poison of the ill-timed
negotiation. The fruit of Drake's splendid triumphs in America was
blighted by it. The stout heart of the vainglorious but courageous
Leicester was sickened by it, while, meantime, the maturing of the great
armada-scheme, by which the destruction of England was to be
accomplished, was furthered, through the unlimited procrastination so
precious to the heart of Philip.

Fortunately the subtle Walsingham was there upon the watch to administer
the remedy before it was quite too late; and to him England and the
Netherlands were under lasting obligations. While Alexander and Philip
suspected a purpose on the part of the English government to deceive
them, they could not help observing that the Earl of Leicester was both
deserted and deceived. Yet it had been impossible for the peace-party in
the government wholly to conceal their designs, when such prating fellows
as Grafigni and De Loo were employed in what was intended to be a secret
negotiation. In vain did the friends of Leicester in the Netherlands
endeavour to account for the neglect with which he was treated, and for
the destitution of his army. Hopelessly did they attempt to counteract
those "advertisements of most fearful instance," as Richard Cavendish
expressed himself, which were circulating everywhere.

Thanks to the babbling of the very men, whose chief instructions had been
to hold their tongues, and to listen with all their ears, the secret
negotiations between Parma and the English counsellors became the
town-talk at Antwerp, the Hague, Amsterdam, Brussels, London. It is true
that it was impossible to know what was actually said and done; but that
there was something doing concerning which Leicester was not to be
informed was certain. Grafigni, during one of his visits to the obedient
provinces, brought a brace of greyhounds and a couple of horses from
England, as a present to Alexander, and he perpetually went about,
bragging to every one of important negotiations which he was conducting,
and of his intimacy with great personages in both countries. Leicester,
on the other hand, was kept in the dark. To him Grafigni made no
communications, but he once sent him a dish of plums, "which," said the
Earl, with superfluous energy, "I will boldly say to you, by the living
God, is all that I have ever had since I came into these countries." When
it is remembered that Leicester had spent many thousand pounds in the
Netherland cause, that he had deeply mortgaged his property in order to
provide more funds, that he had never received a penny of salary from the
Queen, that his soldiers were "ragged and torn like rogues-pity to see
them," and were left without the means of supporting life; that he had
been neglected, deceived, humiliated, until he was forced to describe
himself as a "forlorn man set upon a forlorn hope," it must be conceded
that Grafigni's present of a dish of plums could hardly be sufficient to
make him very happy.

From time to time he was enlightened by Sir Francis, who occasionally
forced his adversaries' hands, and who always faithfully informed the
Earl of everything he could discover. "We are so greedy of a peace, in
respect of the charges of the wars," he wrote in April, "as in the
procuring thereof we weigh neither honour nor safety. Somewhat here is
adealing underhand, wherein there is great care taken that I should not
be made acquainted withal." But with all their great care, the
conspirators, as it has been seen, were sometimes outwitted by the
Secretary, and, when put to the blush, were forced to take him into
half-confidence. "Your Lordship may see," he wrote, after getting
possession of Parma's letter to the Queen, and unravelling Croft's
intrigues, "what effects are wrought by such weak ministers. They that
have been the employers of them are ashamed of the matter."

Unutterable was the amazement, as we have seen, of Bodman and Grafigni
when they had suddenly found themselves confronted in Burghley's private
apartments in Greenwich Palace, whither they had been conducted so
mysteriously after dark from the secret pavilion--by the grave Secretary
of State, whom they had been so anxious to deceive; and great was the
embarrassment of Croft and Cobham, and even of the imperturbable
Burghley.

And thus patiently did Walsingham pick his course, plummet in hand,
through the mists and along the quicksands, and faithfully did he hold
out signals to his comrade embarked on the same dangerous voyage. As for
the Earl himself, he was shocked at the short-sighted policy of his
mistress, mortified by the neglect to which he was exposed, disappointed
in his ambitious schemes. Vehemently and judiciously he insisted upon the
necessity of vigorous field operations throughout the spring and summer
thus frittered away in frivolous negotiations. He was for peace, if a
lasting and honourable peace could be procured; but he insisted that the
only road to such a result was through a "good sharp war." His troops were
mutinous for want of pay, so that he had been obliged to have a few of
them executed, although he protested that he would rather have "gone a
thousand miles a-foot" than have done so; and he was crippled by his
government at exactly the time when his great adversary's condition was
most forlorn. Was it strange that the proud Earl should be fretting his
heart away when such golden chances were eluding his grasp? He would
"creep upon the ground," he said, as far as his hands and knees would
carry him, to have a good peace for her Majesty, but his care was to have
a peace indeed, and not a show of it. It was the cue of Holland and
England to fight before they could expect to deal upon favourable terms
with their enemy. He was quick enough to see that his false colleagues at
home were playing into the enemy's hands. Victory was what was wanted;
victory the Earl pledged himself, if properly seconded, to obtain; and,
braggart though he was, it is by no means impossible that he might have
redeemed his pledge. "If her Majesty will use her advantage," he said,
"she shall bring the King, and especially this Prince of Parma, to seek
peace in other sort than by way of merchants." Of courage and confidence
the governor had no lack. Whether he was capable of outgeneralling
Alexander Farnese or no, will be better seen, perhaps, in subsequent
chapters; but there is no doubt that he was reasonable enough in
thinking, at that juncture, that a hard campaign rather than a
"merchant's brokerage" was required to obtain an honourable peace. Lofty,
indeed, was the scorn of the aristocratic Leicester that "merchants and
pedlars should be paltering in so weighty a cause," and daring to send
him a dish of plums when he was hoping half a dozen regiments from the
Queen; and a sorry business, in truth, the pedlars had made of it.

Never had there been a more delusive diplomacy, and it was natural that
the lieutenant-general abroad and the statesman at home should be sad and
indignant, seeing England drifting to utter shipwreck while pursuing that
phantom of a pacific haven. Had Walsingham and himself tampered with the
enemy, as some counsellors he could name had done, Leicester asserted
that the gallows would be thought too good for them; and yet he hoped he
might be hanged if the whole Spanish faction in England could procure for
the Queen a peace fit for her to accept.

Certainly it was quite impossible for the Spanish-faction to bring about
a peace. No human power could bring it about. Even if England had been
willing and able to surrender Holland, bound hand and foot, to Philip,
even then she could only have obtained a hollow armistice. Philip had
sworn in his inmost soul the conquest of England and the dethronement of
Elizabeth. His heart was fixed. It was only by the subjugation of England
that he hoped to recover the Netherlands. England was to be his
stepping-stone to Holland. The invasion was slowly but steadily maturing,
and nothing could have diverted the King from his great purpose. In the
very midst of all these plots and counterplots, Bodmans and Grafignis,
English geldings and Irish greyhounds, dishes of plums and autograph
letters of her Majesty and his Highness, the Prince was deliberately
discussing all the details of the invasion, which, as it was then hoped,
would be ready by the autumn of the year 1586. Although he had sent a
special agent to Philip, who was to state by word of mouth that which it
was deemed unsafe to write, yet Alexander, perpetually urged by his
master, went at last more fully into particulars than he had ever
ventured to do before; and this too at the very moment when Elizabeth was
most seriously "lending her ear" to negotiation, and most vehemently
expressing her wrath at Sir Thomas Heneage for dealing candidly with the
States-General.

The Prince observed that when, two or three years before, he had sent his
master an account of the coasts, anchoring-places, and harbours of
England, he had then expressed the opinion that the conquest of England
was an enterprise worthy of the grandeur and Christianity of his Majesty,
and not so difficult as to be considered altogether impossible. To make
himself absolutely master of the business, however, he had then thought
that the King should have no associates in the scheme, and should make no
account of the inhabitants of England. Since that time the project had
become more difficult of accomplishment, because it was now a stale and
common topic of conversation everywhere--in Italy, Germany, and
France--so that there could be little doubt that rumours on the subject
were daily reaching the ears of Queen Elizabeth and of every one in her
kingdom. Hence she had made a strict alliance with Sweden, Denmark, the
Protestant princes of Germany, and even with the Turks and the French.
Nevertheless, in spite of these obstacles, the King, placing his royal
hand to the work, might well accomplish the task; for the favour of the
Lord, whose cause it was, would be sure to give him success.

Being so Christian and Catholic a king, Philip naturally desired to
extend the area of the holy church, and to come to the relief of so many
poor innocent martyrs in England, crying aloud before the Lord for help.
Moreover Elizabeth had fomented rebellion in the King's Provinces for a
long time secretly, and now, since the fall of Antwerp, and just as
Holland and Zeeland were falling into his grasp, openly.

Thus, in secret and in public, she had done the very worst she could do;
and it was very clear that the Lord, for her sins; had deprived her of
understanding, in order that his Majesty might be the instrument of that
chastisement which she so fully deserved. A monarch of such great
prudence, valour, and talent as Philip, could now give all the world to
understand that those who dared to lose a just and decorous respect for
him, as this good lady had done, would receive such chastisement as royal
power guided by prudent counsel could inflict. Parma assured his
sovereign, that, if the conquest of England were effected, that of the
Netherlands would be finished with much facility and brevity; but that
otherwise, on account of the situation, strength and obstinacy of those
people, it would be a very long, perilous, and at best doubtful business.

"Three points," he said, "were most vital to the invasion of
England--secrecy, maintenance of the civil war in France, and judicious
arrangement of matters in the Provinces."

The French, if unoccupied at home, would be sure to make the enterprise
so dangerous as to become almost impossible; for it might be laid down as
a general maxim that that nation, jealous of Philip's power, had always
done and would always do what it could to counteract his purposes.

With regard to the Netherlands, it would be desirable to leave a good
number of troops in those countries--at least as many as were then
stationed there--besides the garrisons, and also to hold many German and
Swiss mercenaries in "wartgeld." It would be further desirable that
Alexander should take most of the personages of quality and sufficiency
in the Provinces over with him to England, in order that they should not
make mischief in his absence.

With regard to the point of secrecy, that was, in Parma's opinion, the
most important of all. All leagues must become more or less public,
particularly those contrived at or with Rome. Such being the case, the
Queen of England would be well aware of the Spanish projects, and,
besides her militia at home, would levy German infantry and cavalry, and
provide plenty of vessels, relying therein upon Holland and Zeeland,
where ships and sailors were in such abundance. Moreover, the English and
the Netherlanders knew the coasts, currents, tides, shallows, quicksands,
ports, better than did the pilots of any fleets that the King could send
thither. Thus, having his back assured, the enemy would meet them in
front at a disadvantage. Although, notwithstanding this inequality, the
enemy would be beaten, yet if the engagement should be warm, the
Spaniards would receive an amount of damage which could not fail to be
inconvenient, particularly as they would be obliged to land their troops,
and to give battle to those who would be watching their landing. Moreover
the English would be provided with cavalry, of which his Majesty's forces
would have very little, on account of the difficulty of its embarkation.

The obedient Netherlands would be the proper place in which to organize
the whole expedition. There the regiments could be filled up, provisions
collected, the best way of effecting the passage ascertained, and the
force largely increased without exciting suspicion; but with regard to
the fleet, there were no ports there capacious enough for large vessels.
Antwerp had ceased to be a seaport; but a large number of flat-bottomed
barges, hoys, and other barks, more suitable for transporting soldiers,
could be assembled in Dunkirk, Gravelines, and Newport, which, with some
five-and-twenty larger vessels, would be sufficient to accompany the
fleet.

The Queen, knowing that there were no large ships, nor ports to hold them
in the obedient Provinces, would be unauspicious, if no greater levies
seemed to be making than the exigencies of the Netherlands might
apparently require.

The flat-bottomed boats, drawing two or three feet of water, would be
more appropriate than ships of war drawing twenty feet. The passage
across, in favourable weather, might occupy from eight to twelve hours.

The number of troops for the invading force should be thirty thousand
infantry, besides five hundred light troopers, with saddles, bridles, and
lances, but without horses, because, in Alexander's opinion, it would be
easier to mount them in England. Of these thirty thousand there should be
six thousand Spaniards, six thousand Italians, six thousand Walloons,
nine thousand Germans, and three thousand Burgundians.

Much money would be required; at least three hundred thousand dollars the
month for the new force, besides the regular one hundred and fifty
thousand for the ordinary provision in the Netherlands; and this ordinary
provision would be more necessary than ever, because a mutiny breaking
forth in the time of the invasion would be destruction to the Spaniards
both in England and in the Provinces.

The most appropriate part of the coast for a landing would, in
Alexander's opinion, be between Dover and Margate, because the Spaniards,
having no footing in Holland and Zeeland, were obliged to make their
starting-point in Flanders. The country about Dover was described by
Parma as populous, well-wooded, and much divided by hedges; advantageous
for infantry, and not requiring a larger amount of cavalry than the small
force at his disposal, while the people there were domestic in their
habits, rich, and therefore less warlike, less trained to arms, and more
engrossed by their occupations and their comfortable ways of life.
Therefore, although some encounters would take place, yet after the
commanders of the invading troops had given distinct and clear orders, it
would be necessary to leave the rest in the, "hands of God who governs
all things, and from whose bounty and mercy it was to be hoped that He
would favour a cause so eminently holy, just, and His own."

It would be necessary to make immediately for London, which city, not
being fortified, would be very easily taken. This point gained, the whole
framework of the business might be considered as well put together. If
the Queen should fly--as, being a woman, she probably would
do--everything would be left in such confusion, as, with the blessing of
God, it might soon be considered that the holy and heroic work had been
accomplished: Her Majesty, it was suggested, would probably make her
escape in a boat before she could be captured; but the conquest would be
nevertheless effected. Although, doubtless, some English troops might be
got together to return and try their fortune, yet it would be quite
useless; for the invaders would have already planted themselves upon the
soil, and then, by means of frequent excursions and forays hither and
thither about the island, all other places of importance would be gained,
and the prosperous and fortunate termination of the adventure assured.

As, however, everything was to be provided for, so, in case the secret
could not be preserved, it would be necessary for Philip, under pretext
of defending himself against the English and French corsairs, to send a
large armada to sea, as doubtless the Queen would take the same measure.
If the King should prefer, however, notwithstanding Alexander's advice to
the contrary, to have confederates in the enterprise,--then, the matter
being public, it would be necessary to prepare a larger and stronger
fleet than any which Elizabeth, with the assistance of her French and
Netherland allies, could oppose to him. That fleet should be well
provided with vast stores of provisions, sufficient to enable the
invading force, independently of forage, to occupy three or four places
in England at once, as the enemy would be able to come from various towns
and strong places to attack them.

As for the proper season for the expedition, it would be advisable to
select the month of October of the current year, because the English
barns would then be full of wheat and other forage, and the earth would
have been sown for the next year--points of such extreme importance, that
if the plan could not be executed at that time, it would be as well to
defer it until the following October.

The Prince recommended that the negotiations with the League should be
kept spinning, without allowing them to come to a definite conclusion;
because there would be no lack of difficulties perpetually offering
themselves, and the more intricate and involved the policy of France, the
better it would be for the interests of Spain. Alexander expressed the
utmost confidence that his Majesty, with his powerful arm, would overcome
all obstacles in the path of his great project, and would show the world
that he "could do a little more than what was possible." He also assured
his master, in adding in this most extravagant language, of his personal
devotion, that it was unnecessary for him to offer his services in this
particular enterprise, because, ever since his birth, he had dedicated
and consecrated himself to execute his royal commands.

He further advised that old Peter Ernest Mansfeld should be left
commander-in-chief of the forces in the Netherlands during his own
absence in England. "Mansfeld was an honourable cavalier," he said, "and
a faithful servant of the King;" and although somewhat ill-conditioned at
times, yet he had essential good qualities, and was the only general fit
to be trusted alone.

The reader, having thus been permitted to read the inmost thoughts of
Philip and Alexander, and to study their secret plans for conquering
England in October, while their frivolous yet mischievous negotiations
with the Queen had been going on from April to June, will be better able
than before to judge whether Leicester were right or no in doubting if a
good peace could be obtained by a "merchant's brokerage."

And now, after examining these pictures of inter-aulic politics and
back-stairs diplomacy, which represent so large and characteristic a
phasis of European history during the year 1586, we must throw a glance
at the external, more stirring, but not more significant public events
which were taking place during the same period.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Could do a little more than what was possible
     Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute
     He sat a great while at a time. He had a genius for sitting
     Mistakes might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity
     Nine syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in on
     They were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion
     We mustn't tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS OF THE HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS
1584-86

     A hard bargain when both parties are losers
     Able men should be by design and of purpose suppressed
     Anarchy which was deemed inseparable from a non-regal form
     College of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all
     Condemned first and inquired upon after
     Could do a little more than what was possible
     Courage and semblance of cheerfulness, with despair in his heart
     Demanding peace and bread at any price
     Diplomatic adroitness consists mainly in the power to deceive
     Dismay of our friends and the gratification of our enemies
     Disordered, and unknit state needs no shaking, but propping
     Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute
     Enmity between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Find our destruction in our immoderate desire for peace
     German-Lutheran sixteenth-century idea of religious freedom
     He sat a great while at a time. He had a genius for sitting
     He did his work, but he had not his reward
     Her teeth black, her bosom white and liberally exposed (Eliz.)
     Hibernian mode of expressing himself
     His inordinate arrogance
     His insolence intolerable
     Holland was afraid to give a part, although offering the whole
     Honor good patriots, and to support them in venial errors
     Humility which was but the cloak to his pride
     Intentions of a government which did not know its own intentions
     Intolerable tendency to puns
     Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it
     Lord was better pleased with adverbs than nouns
     Make sheep of yourselves, and the wolf will eat you
     Matter that men may rather pray for than hope for
     Military virtue in the support of an infamous cause
     Mistakes might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity
     Necessity of kingship
     Neighbour's blazing roof was likely soon to fire their own
     New Years Day in England, 11th January by the New Style
     Nine syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in on
     Nor is the spirit of the age to be pleaded in defence
     Not a friend of giving details larger than my ascertained facts
     Not of the genus Reptilia, and could neither creep nor crouch
     Not distinguished for their docility
     Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts
     Others that do nothing, do all, and have all the thanks
     Pauper client who dreamed of justice at the hands of law
     Peace and quietness is brought into a most dangerous estate
     Peace-at-any-price party
     Possible to do, only because we see that it has been done
     Repentance, as usual, had come many hours too late
     Repose in the other world, "Repos ailleurs"
     Resolved thenceforth to adopt a system of ignorance
     Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived
     Seeking protection for and against the people
     Seem as if born to make the idea of royalty ridiculous
     Shutting the stable-door when the steed is stolen
     Soldiers enough to animate the good and terrify the bad
     String of homely proverbs worthy of Sancho Panza
     The very word toleration was to sound like an insult
     The busy devil of petty economy
     There was apathy where there should have been enthusiasm
     They were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion
     Thought that all was too little for him
     Three hundred and upwards are hanged annually in London
     Tis pity he is not an Englishman
     To work, ever to work, was the primary law of his nature
     Tranquillity rather of paralysis than of health
     Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics
     Upper and lower millstones of royal wrath and loyal subserviency
     Uttering of my choler doth little ease my grief or help my case
     Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself
     We must all die once
     We mustn't tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh
     Weary of place without power
     When persons of merit suffer without cause
     With something of feline and feminine duplicity
     Wrath of bigots on both sides
     Write so illegibly or express himself so awkwardly



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS From the Death of William the Silent to
the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

Volume II.

By John Lothrop Motley

MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 60

History of the United Netherlands, 1586



CHAPTER IX.

   Military Plans in the Netherlands--The Elector and Electorate of
   Cologne--Martin Schenk--His Career before serving the States--
   Franeker University founded--Parma attempts Grave--Battle on the
   Meuse--Success and Vainglory of Leicester--St. George's Day
   triumphantly kept at Utrecht--Parma not so much appalled as it was
   thought--He besieges and reduces Grave--And is Master of the Meuse--
   Leicester's Rage at the Surrender of Grave--His Revenge--Parma on
   the Rhine--He besieges aid assaults Neusz--Horrible Fate of the
   Garrison and City--Which Leicester was unable to relieve--Asel
   surprised by Maurice and Sidney--The Zeeland Regiment given to
   Sidney--Condition of the Irish and English Troops--Leicester takes
   the Field--He reduces Doesburg--He lays siege to Zutphen--Which
   Parma prepares to relieve--The English intercept the Convoy--Battle
   of Warnsfeld--Sir Philip Sidney wounded--Results of the Encounter--
   Death of Sidney at Arnheim--Gallantry of Edward Stanley.

Five great rivers hold the Netherland territory in their coils. Three are
but slightly separated--the Yssel, Waal, and ancient Rhine, while the
Scheldt and, Meuse are spread more widely asunder. Along each of these
streams were various fortified cities, the possession of which, in those
days, when modern fortification was in its infancy, implied the control
of the surrounding country. The lower part of all the rivers, where they
mingled with the sea and became wide estuaries, belonged to the Republic,
for the coasts and the ocean were in the hands of the Hollanders and
English. Above, the various strong places were alternately in the hands
of the Spaniards and of the patriots. Thus Antwerp, with the other
Scheldt cities, had fallen into Parma's power, but Flushing, which
controlled them all, was held by Philip Sidney for the Queen and States.
On the Meuse, Maastricht and Roermond were Spanish, but Yenloo, Grave,
Meghem, and other towns, held for the commonwealth. On the Waal, the town
of Nymegen had, through the dexterity of Martin Schenk, been recently
transferred to the royalists, while the rest of that river's course was
true to the republic. The Rhine, strictly so called, from its entrance
into Netherland, belonged to the rebels. Upon its elder branch, the
Yssel, Zutphen was in Parma's hands, while, a little below, Deventer had
been recently and adroitly saved by Leicester and Count Meurs from
falling into the same dangerous grasp.

Thus the triple Rhine, after it had crossed the German frontier, belonged
mainly, although not exclusively, to the States. But on the edge of the
Batavian territory, the ancient river, just before dividing itself into
its three branches, flowed through a debatable country which was even
more desolate and forlorn, if possible, than the land of the obedient
Provinces.

This unfortunate district was the archi-episcopal electorate of Cologne.
The city of Cologne itself, Neusz, and Rheinberg, on the river, Werll and
other places in Westphalia and the whole country around, were endangered,
invaded, ravaged, and the inhabitants plundered, murdered, and subjected
to every imaginable outrage, by rival bands of highwaymen, enlisted in
the support of the two rival bishops--beggars, outcasts, but high-born
and learned churchmen both--who disputed the electorate.

At the commencement of the year a portion of the bishopric was still in
the control of the deposed Protestant elector Gebhard Truchsess, assisted
of course by the English and the States. The city of Cologne was held by
the Catholic elector, Ernest of Bavaria, bishop of Liege; but Neusz and
Rheinberg were in the hands of the Dutch republic.

The military operations of the year were, accordingly, along the Meuse,
where the main object of Parma was to wrest Grave From the Netherlands;
along the Waal, where, on the other hand, the patriots wished to recover
Nymegen; on the Yssel, where they desired to obtain the possession of
Zutphen; and in the Cologne electorate, where the Spaniards meant, if
possible, to transfer Neusz and Rheinberg from Truchsess to Elector
Ernest. To clear the course of these streams, and especially to set free
that debatable portion of the river-territory which hemmed him in from
neutral Germany, and cut off the supplies from his starving troops, was
the immediate design of Alexander Farnese.

Nothing could be more desolate than the condition of the electorate. Ever
since Gebhard Truchsess had renounced the communion of the Catholic
Church for the love of Agnes Mansfeld, and so gained a wife and lost his
principality, he had been a dependant upon the impoverished Nassaus, or a
supplicant for alms to the thrifty Elizabeth. The Queen was frequently
implored by Leicester, without much effect, to send the ex-elector a few
hundred pounds to keep him from starving, as "he had not one groat to
live upon," and, a little later, he was employed as a go-between, and
almost a spy, by the Earl, in his quarrels with the patrician party
rapidly forming against him in the States.

At Godesberg--the romantic ruins of which stronghold the traveller still
regards with interest, placed as it is in the midst of that enchanting
region where Drachenfels looks down on the crumbling tower of Roland and
the convent of Nonnenwerth--the unfortunate Gebhard had sustained a
conclusive defeat. A small, melancholy man, accomplished, religious,
learned, "very poor but very wise," comely, but of mean stature,
altogether an unlucky and forlorn individual, he was not, after all, in
very much inferior plight to that in which his rival, the Bavarian
bishop, had found himself. Prince Ernest, archbishop of Liege and
Cologne, a hangeron of his brother, who sought to shake him off, and a
stipendiary of Philip, who was a worse paymaster than Elizabeth, had a
sorry life of it, notwithstanding his nominal possession of the see. He
was forced to go, disguised and in secret, to the Prince of Parma at
Brussels, to ask for assistance, and to mention, with lacrymose
vehemence, that both his brother and himself had determined to renounce
the episcopate, unless the forces of the Spanish King could be employed
to recover the cities on the Rhine. If Neusz and Rheinberg were not
wrested from the rebels; Cologne itself would soon be gone. Ernest
represented most eloquently to Alexander, that if the protestant
archbishop were reinstated in the ancient see, it would be a most
perilous result for the ancient church throughout all northern Europe.
Parma kept the wandering prelate for a few days in his palace in
Brussels, and then dismissed him, disguised and on foot, in the dusk of
the evening, through the park-gate. He encouraged him with hopes of
assistance, he represented to his sovereign the importance of preserving
the Rhenish territory to Bishop Ernest and to Catholicism, but hinted
that the declared intention of the Bavarian to resign the dignity, was
probably a trick, because the archi-episcopate was no such very bad thing
after all.

The archi-episcopate might be no very bad thing, but it was a most
uncomfortable place of residence, at the moment, for prince or peasant.
Overrun by hordes of brigands, and crushed almost out of existence by
that most deadly of all systems of taxations, the 'brandschatzung,' it
was fast becoming a mere den of thieves. The 'brandschatzung' had no name
in English, but it was the well-known impost, levied by roving
commanders, and even by respectable generals of all nations. A hamlet,
cluster of farm-houses, country district, or wealthy city, in order to
escape being burned and ravaged, as the penalty of having fallen into a
conqueror's hands, paid a heavy sum of ready money on the nail at command
of the conqueror. The free companions of the sixteenth century drove a
lucrative business in this particular branch of industry; and when to
this was added the more direct profits derived from actual plunder, sack,
and ransoming, it was natural that a large fortune was often the result
to the thrifty and persevering commander of free lances.

Of all the professors of this comprehensive art, the terrible Martin
Schenk was preeminent; and he was now ravaging the Cologne territory,
having recently passed again to the service of the States. Immediately
connected with the chief military events of the period which now occupies
us, he was also the very archetype of the marauders whose existence was
characteristic of the epoch. Born in 1549 of an ancient and noble family
of Gelderland, Martin Schenk had inherited no property but a sword.
Serving for a brief term as page to the Seigneur of Ysselstein, he
joined, while yet a youth, the banner of William of Orange, at the head
of two men-at-arms. The humble knight-errant, with his brace of squires,
was received with courtesy by the Prince and the Estates, but he soon
quarrelled with his patrons. There was a castle of Blyenbeek, belonging
to his cousin, which he chose to consider his rightful property, because
he was of the same race, and because it was a convenient and productive
estate and residence, The courts had different views of public law, and
supported the ousted cousin. Martin shut himself up in the castle, and
having recently committed a rather discreditable homicide, which still
further increased his unpopularity with the patriots, he made overtures
to Parma. Alexander was glad to enlist so bold a soldier on his side, and
assisted Schenk in his besieged stronghold. For years afterwards, his
services under the King's banner were most brilliant, and he rose to the
highest military command, while his coffers, meantime, were rapidly
filling with the results of his robberies and 'brandschatzungs.' "'Tis a
most courageous fellow," said Parma, "but rather a desperate highwayman
than a valiant soldier."  Martin's couple of lances had expanded into a
corps of free companions, the most truculent, the most obedient, the most
rapacious in Christendom. Never were freebooters more formidable to the
world at large, or more docile to their chief, than were the followers of
General Schenk. Never was a more finished captain of highwaymen. He was a
man who was never sober, yet who never smiled. His habitual intoxication
seemed only to increase both his audacity and his taciturnity, without
disturbing his reason. He was incapable of fear, of fatigue, of remorse.
He could remain for days and nights without dismounting-eating, drinking,
and sleeping in the saddle; so that to this terrible centaur his horse
seemed actually a part of himself. His soldiers followed him about like
hounds, and were treated by him like hounds. He habitually scourged them,
often took with his own hand the lives of such as displeased him, and had
been known to cause individuals of them to jump from the top of church
steeples at his command; yet the pack were ever stanch to his orders, for
they knew that he always led them where the game was plenty. While
serving under Parma he had twice most brilliantly defeated Hohenlo. At
the battle of Hardenberg Heath he had completely outgeneralled that
distinguished chieftain, slaying fifteen hundred of his soldiers at the
expense of only fifty or sixty of his own. By this triumph he had
preserved the important city of Groningen for Philip, during an
additional quarter of a century, and had been received in that city with
rapture. Several startling years of victory and rapine he had thus run
through as a royalist partisan. He became the terror and the scourge of
his native Gelderland, and he was covered with wounds received in the
King's service. He had been twice captured and held for ransom. Twice he
had effected his escape. He had recently gained the city of Nymegen. He
was the most formidable, the most unscrupulous, the most audacious
Netherlander that wore Philip's colours; but he had received small public
reward for his services, and the wealth which he earned on the high-road
did not suffice for his ambition. He had been deeply disgusted, when, at
the death of Count Renneberg, Verdugo, a former stable-boy of Mansfeld, a
Spaniard who had risen from the humblest rank to be a colonel and
general, had been made governor of Friesland. He had smothered his
resentment for a time however, but had sworn within himself to desert at
the most favourable opportunity. At last, after he had brilliantly saved
the city of Breda from falling into the hands of the patriots, he was
more enraged than he had ever been before, when Haultepenne, of the house
of Berlapmont, was made governor of that place in his stead.

On the 25th of May, 1585, at an hour after midnight, he had a secret
interview with Count Meurs, stadholder for the States of Gelderland, and
agreed to transfer his mercenary allegiance to the republic. He made good
terms. He was to be lieutenant-governor of Gelderland, and he was to have
rank as marshal of the camp in the States' army, with a salary of twelve
hundred and fifty guilders a month. He agreed to resign his famous castle
of Blyenbeek, but was to be reimbursed with estates in Holland and
Zeeland, of the annual value of four thousand florins.

After this treaty, Martin and his free lances served the States
faithfully, and became sworn foes to Parma and the King. He gave and took
no quarter, and his men, if captured, "paid their ransom with their
heads." He ceased to be the scourge of Gelderland, but he became the
terror of the electorate. Early in 1586, accompanied by Herman Kloet, the
young and daring Dutch commandant of Neusz, he had swept down into the
Westphalian country, at the head of five hundred foot and five hundred
horse. On the 18th of March he captured the city of Werll by a neat
stratagem. The citizens, hemmed in on all sides by marauders, were in
want of many necessaries of life, among other things, of salt. Martin
had, from time to time, sent some of his soldiers into the place,
disguised as boors from the neighbourhood, and carrying bags of that
article. A pacific trading intercourse had thus been established between
the burghers within and the banditti without the gates. Agreeable
relations were formed within the walls, and a party of townsmen had
agreed to cooperate with the followers of Schenk. One morning a train of
waggons laden with soldiers neatly covered with salt, made their
appearance at the gate. At the same time a fire broke out most
opportunely within the town. The citizens busily employed themselves in
extinguishing the flames. The salted soldiers, after passing through the
gateway, sprang from the waggons, and mastered the watch. The town was.
carried at a blow. Some of the inhabitants were massacred as a warning to
the rest; others were taken prisoners and held for ransom; a few, more
fortunate, made their escape to the citadel. That fortress was stormed in
vain, but the city was thoroughly sacked. Every house was rifled of its
contents. Meantime Haultepenne collected a force of nearly four thousand
men, boors, citizens, and soldiers, and came to besiege Schenk in the
town, while, at the same time, attacks were made upon him from the
castle. It was impossible for him to hold the city, but he had completely
robbed it of every thing valuable. Accordingly he loaded a train of
waggons with his booty, took with him thirty of the magistrates as
hostages, with other wealthy citizens, and marching in good order against
Haultepenne, completely routed him, killing a number variously estimated
at from five hundred to two thousand, and effected his retreat,
desperately wounded in the thigh, but triumphant, and laden with the
spoils to Venlo on the Meuse, of which city he was governor.

"Surely this is a noble fellow, a worthy fellow," exclaimed Leicester,
who was filled with admiration at the bold marauder's progress, and vowed
that he was "the only soldier in truth that they had, for he was never
idle, and had succeeded hitherto very happily."

And thus, at every point of the doomed territory of the little
commonwealth, the natural atmosphere in which the inhabitants existed was
one of blood and rapine. Yet during the very slight lull, which was
interposed in the winter of 1585-6 to the eternal clang of arms in
Friesland, the Estates of that Province, to their lasting honour, founded
the university of Franeker. A dozen years before, the famous institution
at Leyden had been established, as a reward to the burghers for their
heroic defence of the city. And now this new proof was given of the love
of Netherlanders, even in the midst of their misery and their warfare,
for the more humane arts. The new college was well endowed from ancient
churchlands, and not only was the education made nearly gratuitous, while
handsome salaries were provided for the professors, but provision was
made by which the, poorer scholars could be fed and boarded at a very
moderate expense. There was a table provided at an annual cost to the
student of but fifty florins, and a second and third table at the very
low price of forty and thirty florins respectively. Thus the sum to be
paid by the poorer class of scholars for a year's maintenance was less
than three pounds sterling a year [1855 exchange rate D.W.]. The voice
with which this infant seminary of the Muses first made itself heard
above the din of war was but feeble, but the institution was destined to
thrive, and to endow the world, for many successive generations, with the
golden fruits of science and genius.

Early in the spring, the war was seriously taken in hand by Farnese. It
has already been seen that the republic had been almost entirely driven
out of Flanders and Brabant. The Estates, however, still held Grave,
Megem, Batenburg, and Venlo upon the Meuse. That river formed, as it
were, a perfect circle of protection for the whole Province of Brabant,
and Farnese determined to make himself master of this great natural moat.
Afterwards, he meant to possess himself of the Rhine, flowing in a
parallel course, about twenty-five miles further to the east. In order to
gain and hold the Meuse, the first step was to reduce the city of Grave.
That town, upon the left or Brabant bank, was strongly fortified on its
land-side, where it was surrounded by low and fertile pastures, while,
upon the other, it depended upon its natural Toss, the river. It was,
according to Lord North and the Earl of Leicester, the "strongest town in
all the Low Countries, though but a little one."

Baron Hemart, a young Gueldrian noble, of small experience in military
affairs, commanded in the city, his garrison being eight hundred
soldiers, and about one thousand burgher guard. As early as January,
Farnese had ordered Count Mansfeld to lay siege to the place. Five forts
had accordingly been constructed, above and below the town, upon the left
bank of the river, while a bridge of boats thrown across the stream led
to a fortified camp on the opposite side. Mansfeld, Mondragon, Bobadil,
Aquila, and other distinguished veterans in Philip's service, were
engaged in the enterprise. A few unimportant skirmishes between Schenk
and the Spaniards had taken place, but the city was already hard pressed,
and, by the series of forts which environed it, was cut off from its
supplies. It was highly important, therefore, that Grave should be
relieved, with the least possible delay.

Early in Easter week, a force of three thousand men, under Hohenlo and
Sir John Norris, was accordingly despatched by Leicester, with orders, at
every hazard, to throw reinforcements and provisions into the place. They
took possession, at once, of a stone sconce, called the Mill-Fort, which
was guarded by fifty men, mostly boors of the country. These were nearly
all hanged for "using malicious words," and for "railing against Queen
Elizabeth," and--a sufficient number of men being left to maintain the
fort--the whole relieving force marched with great difficulty--for the
river was rapidly rising, and flooding the country--along the right bank
of the Meuse, taking possession of Batenburg and Ravenstein castles, as
they went. A force of four or five hundred Englishmen was then pushed
forward to a point almost exactly opposite Grave, and within an English
mile of the head of the bridge constructed by the Spaniards. Here, in the
night of Easter Tuesday, they rapidly formed an entrenched camp, upon the
dyke along the river, and, although molested by some armed vessels,
succeeded in establishing themselves in a most important position.

On the morning of Easter Wednesday, April 16, Mansfeld, perceiving that
the enemy had thus stolen a march upon him, ordered one thousand picked
troops, all Spaniards, under Aquila, Casco and other veterans, to assault
this advanced post. A reserve of two thousand was placed in readiness to
support the attack. The Spaniards slowly crossed the bridge, which was
swaying very dangerously with the current, and then charged the
entrenched camp at a run. A quarrel between the different regiments as to
the right of precedence precipitated the attack, before the reserve,
consisting of some picked companies of Mondragon's veterans, had been
able to arrive. Coming in breathless and fatigued, the first assailants
were readily repulsed in their first onset. Aquila then opportunely made
his appearance, and the attack was renewed with great vigour: The
defenders of the camp yielded at the third charge and fled in dismay,
while the Spaniards, leaping the barriers, scattered hither and thither
in the ardour of pursuit. The routed Englishmen fled swiftly along the
oozy dyke, in hopes of joining the main body of the relieving party, who
were expected to advance, with the dawn, from their position six miles
farther down the river. Two miles long the chace lasted, and it seemed
probable that the fugitives would be overtaken and destroyed, when, at
last, from behind a line of mounds which stretched towards Batenburg and
had masked their approach, appeared Count Hohenlo and Sir John Norris, at
the head of twenty-five hundred Englishmen and Hollanders. This force,
advanced as rapidly as the slippery ground and the fatigue of a two
hours' march would permit to the rescue of their friends, while the
retreating English rallied, turned upon their pursuers, and drove them
back over the path along which they had just been charging in the full
career of victory. The fortune of the day was changed, and in a few
minutes Hohenlo and Norris would have crossed the river and entered
Grave, when the Spanish companies of Bobadil and other commanders were
seen marching along the quaking bridge.

Three thousand men on each side now met at push of pike on the bank of
the Meuse. The rain-was pouring in torrents, the wind was blowing a gale,
the stream was rapidly rising, and threatening to overwhelm its shores.
By a tacit and mutual consent, both armies paused for a few moments in
full view of each other. After this brief interval they closed again,
breast to breast, in sharp and steady conflict. The ground, slippery with
rain and with blood, which was soon flowing almost as fast as the rain,
afforded an unsteady footing to the combatants. They staggered like
drunken men, fell upon their knees, or upon their backs, and still,
kneeling or rolling prostrate, maintained the deadly conflict. For the
space of an hour and a half the fierce encounter of human passion
outmastered the fury of the elements. Norris and Hohenlo fought at the
head of their columns, like paladins of old. The Englishman was wounded
in the mouth and breast, the Count was seen to gallop past one thousand
musketeers and caliver-men of the enemy, and to escape unscathed. But as
the strength of the soldiers exhausted itself, the violence of the
tempest increased. The floods of rain and the blasts of the hurricane at
last terminated the affray. The Spaniards, fairly conquered, were
compelled to a retreat, lest the rapidly rising river should sweep away
the frail and trembling bridge, over which they had passed to their
unsuccessful assault. The English and Netherlanders remained masters of
the field. The rising flood, too, which was fast converting the meadows
into a lake, was as useful to the conquerors as it was damaging to the
Spaniards.

In the course of the few following days, a large number of boats was
despatched before the very eyes of Parma, from Batenburg into Grave;
Hohenlo, who had "most desperately adventured his person" throughout the
whole affair, entering the town himself.

A force of five hundred men, together with provisions enough to last a
year, was thrown into the city, and the course of the Meuse was,
apparently, secured to the republic. In this important action about one
hundred and fifty Dutch and English were killed, and probably four
hundred Spaniards, including several distinguished officers.

The Earl of Leicester was incredibly elated so soon as the success of
this enterprise was known. "Oh that her Majesty knew," he cried, "how
easy a match now she hath with the King of Spain, and what millions of
aficted people she hath relieved in these, countries. This summer, this
summer, I say, would make an end to her immortal glory." He was no friend
to his countryman, the gallant Sir John Norris--whom, however, he could
not help applauding on this occasion,--but he was in raptures with
Hohenlo. Next to God, he assured the Queen's government that the victory
was owing to the Count. "He is both a valiant man and a wise man, and the
painfullest that ever I knew," he said; adding--as a secret--that "five
hundred Englishmen of the best Flemish training had flatly and shamefully
run away," when the fight had been renewed by Hohenlo and Norris. He
recommended that her Majesty should, send her picture to the Count, worth
two hundred pounds, which he would value at more than one thousand pounds
in money, and he added that "for her sake the Count had greatly left his
drinking."

As for the Prince of Parma, Leicester looked upon him as conclusively
beaten. He spoke of him as "marvellously appalled" by this overthrow of
his forces; but he assured the government that if the Prince's "choler
should press him to seek revenge," he should soon be driven out of the
country. The Earl would follow him "at an inch," and effectually
frustrate all his undertakings. "If the Spaniard have such a May as he
has had an April," said Lord North, "it will put water in his wine."

Meantime, as St. George's Day was approaching, and as the Earl was fond
of banquets and ceremonies, it was thought desirable to hold a great
triumphal feast at Utrecht. His journey to that city from the Hague was a
triumphal procession. In all the towns through which he passed he was
entertained with military display, pompous harangues, interludes, dumb
shows, and allegories. At Amsterdam--a city which he compared to Venice
for situation and splendour, and where one thousand ships were constantly
lying--he was received with "sundry great whales and other fishes of
hugeness," that gambolled about his vessel, and convoyed him to the
shore. These monsters of the deep presented him to the burgomaster and
magistrates who were awaiting him on the quay. The burgomaster made him a
Latin oration, to which Dr. Bartholomew Clerk responded, and then the
Earl was ushered to the grand square, upon which, in his honour, a
magnificent living picture was exhibited, in which he figured as Moses,
at the head of the Israelites, smiting the Philistines hip and thigh.
After much mighty banqueting in Amsterdam, as in the other cities, the
governor-general came to Utrecht. Through the streets of this antique and
most picturesque city flows the palsied current of the Rhine, and every
barge and bridge were decorated with the flowers of spring. Upon this
spot, where, eight centuries before the Anglo-Saxon, Willebrod had first
astonished the wild Frisians with the pacific doctrines of Jesus, and had
been stoned to death as his reward, stood now a more arrogant
representative of English piety. The balconies were crowded with fair
women, and decorated with scarves and banners. From the Earl's
residence--the ancient palace of the Knights of Rhodes--to the cathedral,
the way was lined with a double row of burgher guards, wearing red roses
on their arms, and apparelled in the splendid uniforms for which the
Netherlanders were celebrated. Trumpeters in scarlet and silver, barons,
knights, and great officers, in cloth of gold and silks of all colours;
the young Earl of Essex, whose career was to be so romantic, and whose
fate so tragic; those two ominous personages, the deposed little
archbishop-elector of Cologne, with his melancholy face, and the unlucky
Don Antonio, Pretender of Portugal, for whom, dead or alive, thirty
thousand crowns and a dukedom were perpetually offered by Philip II.;
young Maurice of Nassau, the future controller of European destinies;
great counsellors of state, gentlemen, guardsmen, and portcullis-herald,
with the coat of arms of Elizabeth, rode in solemn procession along. Then
great Leicester himself, "most princelike in the robes of his order,"
guarded by a troop of burghers, and by his own fifty halberd-men in
scarlet cloaks trimmed with white and purple velvet, pranced gorgeously
by.

The ancient cathedral, built on the spot where Saint Willebrod had once
ministered, with its light, tapering, brick tower, three hundred and
sixty feet in height, its exquisitely mullioned windows, and its
elegantly foliaged columns, soon received the glittering throng. Hence,
after due religious ceremonies, and an English sermon from Master
Knewstubs, Leicester's chaplain, was a solemn march back again to the
palace, where a stupendous banquet was already laid in the great hall.

On the dais at the upper end of the table, blazing with plate and
crystal, stood the royal chair, with the Queen's plate and knife and fork
before it, exactly as if she had been present, while Leicester's trencher
and stool were set respectfully quite at the edge of the board. In the
neighbourhood of this post of honour sat Count Maurice, the Elector, the
Pretender, and many illustrious English personages, with the fair Agnes
Mansfeld, Princess Chimay, the daughters of William the Silent, and other
dames of high degree.

Before the covers were removed, came limping up to the dais grim-visaged
Martin Schenk, freshly wounded, but triumphant, from the sack of Werll,
and black John Norris, scarcely cured of the spearwounds in his face and
breast received at the relief of Grave. The sword of knighthood was laid
upon the shoulder of each hero, by the Earl of Leicester, as her
Majesty's vicegerent; and then the ushers marshalled the mighty feast.
Meats in the shape of lions, tigers, dragons, and leopards, flanked by
peacocks, swans, pheasants, and turkeys "in their natural feathers as in
their greatest pride," disappeared, course after course, sonorous metal
blowing meanwhile the most triumphant airs. After the banquet came
dancing, vaulting, tumbling; together with the "forces of Hercules, which
gave great delight to the strangers," after which the company separated
until evensong.

Then again, "great was the feast," says the chronicler,--a mighty supper
following hard upon the gigantic dinner. After this there was tilting at
the barriers, the young Earl of Essex and other knights bearing
themselves more chivalrously than would seem to comport with so much
eating and drinking. Then, horrible to relate, came another "most
sumptuous banquet of sugar-meates for the men-at-arms and the ladies,"
after which, it being now midnight, the Lord of Leicester bade the whole
company good rest, and the men-at-arms and ladies took their leave.

But while all this chivalrous banqueting and holiday-making was in hand,
the Prince of Parma was in reality not quite so much "appalled" by the
relief of Grave as his antagonist had imagined. The Earl, flushed with
the success of Hohenlo, already believed himself master of the country,
and assured his government, that, if he should be reasonably well
supplied, he would have Antwerp back again and Bruges besides before mid
June. Never, said he, was "the Prince of Parma so dejected nor so
melancholy since he came into these countries, nor so far out of
courage." And it is quite true that Alexander had reason to be
discouraged. He had but eight or nine thousand men, and no money to pay
even this little force. The soldiers were perishing daily, and nearly all
the survivors were described by their chief, as sick or maimed. The
famine in the obedient Provinces was universal, the whole population was
desperate with hunger; and the merchants, frightened by Drake's
successes, and appalled by the ruin all around them, drew their
purse-strings inexorably. "I know not to what saint to devote myself,"
said Alexander. He had been compelled, by the movement before Grave, to
withdraw Haultepenne from the projected enterprise against Neusz, and he
was quite aware of the cheerful view which Leicester was inclined to take
of their relative positions. "The English think they are going to do
great things," said he; "and consider themselves masters of the field."

Nevertheless, on the 11th May, the dejected melancholy man had left
Brussels, and joined his little army, consisting of three thousand
Spaniards and five thousand of all other nations. His veterans, though
unpaid; ragged, and half-starved were in raptures to, have their idolized
commander among them again, and vowed that under his guidance there was
nothing which they could not accomplish. The King's honour, his own, that
of the army, all were pledged to take the city. On the success of, that
enterprise, he said, depended all his past conquests, and every hope for
the future. Leicester and the, English, whom he called the head and body
of the rebel forces, were equally pledged to relieve the place, and were
bent upon meeting him in the field. The Earl had taken some forts in the
Batavia--Betuwe; or "good meadow," which he pronounced as fertile and
about as large as Herefordshire,--and was now threatening Nymegen, a city
which had been gained for Philip by the last effort of Schenk, on the
royalist side. He was now observing Alexander's demonstrations against
Grave; but, after the recent success in victualling that place, he felt a
just confidence in its security.

On the 31st May the trenches were commenced, and on the 5th June the
batteries were opened. The work went rapidly forward when Farnese was in
the field. "The Prince of Parma doth batter it like a Prince," said Lord
North, admiring the enemy with the enthusiasm of an honest soldier: On
the 6th of June, as Alexander rode through the camp to reconnoitre,
previous to an attack. A well-directed cannon ball carried away the
hinder half, of his horse. The Prince fell to the ground, and, for a
moment, dismay was in the Spanish ranks. At the next instant, though
somewhat bruised, he was on his feet again, and, having found the breach
sufficiently promising, he determined on the assault.

As a preliminary measure, he wished to occupy a tower which had been
battered nearly to ruins, situate near the river. Captain de Solis was
ordered, with sixty veterans, to take possession of this tower, and to
"have a look at the countenance of the enemy, without amusing himself
with anything else." The tower was soon secured, but Solis, in
disobedience to his written instructions led his men against the ravelin,
which was still in a state of perfect defence. A musket-ball soon
stretched him dead beneath the wall, and his followers, still attempting
to enter the impracticable breach, were repelled by a shower of stones
and blazing pitch-hoops. Hot sand; too, poured from sieves and baskets,
insinuated itself within the armour of the Spaniards, and occasioned such
exquisite suffering, that many threw themselves into the river to allay
the pain. Emerging refreshed, but confused, they attempted in vain to
renew the onset. Several of the little band were slain, the assault was
quite unsuccessful, and the trumpet sounded a recal. So completely
discomfited were the Spaniards by this repulse, and so thoroughly at
their ease were the besieged, that a soldier let himself down from the
ramparts of the town for the sake of plundering the body of Captain
Solis, who was richly dressed, and, having accomplished this feat, was
quietly helped back again by his comrades from above.

To the surprise of the besiegers, however, on the very next morning came
a request from the governor of the city, Baron Hemart, to negotiate for a
surrender. Alexander was, naturally, but too glad to grant easy terms,
and upon the 7th of June the garrison left the town with colours
displayed and drums beating, and the Prince of Parma marched into it, at
the head of his troops. He found a year's provision there for six
thousand men, while, at the same time, the walls had suffered so little,
that he must have been obliged to wait long for a practicable breach.

"There was no good reason even for women to have surrendered the place,"
exclaimed Leicester, when he heard the news. And the Earl had cause to be
enraged at such a result. He had received a letter only the day before,
signed by Hemart himself and by all the officers in Grave, asserting
their determination and ability to hold the place for a good five months,
or for an indefinite period, and until they should be relieved. And
indeed all the officers, with three exceptions, had protested against the
base surrender. But at the bottom of the catastrophe--of the disastrous
loss of the city and the utter ruin of young Hemart--was a woman. The
governor was governed by his mistress, a lady of good family in the
place, but of Spanish inclinations, and she, for some mysterious reasons,
had persuaded him thus voluntarily to capitulate.

Parma lost no time, however, in exulting over his success. Upon the same
day the towns of Megen and Batenburg surrendered to him, and immediately
afterwards siege was laid to Venlo, a town of importance, lying thirty
miles farther up the Meuse. The wife and family of Martin Schenk were in
the city, together with two hundred horses, and from forty to one hundred
thousand crowns in money, plate; and furniture belonging to him.

That bold partisan, accompanied by the mad Welshman, Roger Williams, at
the head of one hundred and thirty English lances and thirty of Schenk's
men, made a wild nocturnal attempt to cut their way through the besieging
force, and penetrate to the city. They passed through the enemy's lines,
killed all the corps-de-garde, and many Spanish troopers--the terrible
Martin's own hand being most effective in this midnight slaughter--and
reached the very door of Parma's tent, where they killed his secretary
and many of his guards. It was even reported; and generally believed,
that Farnese himself had been in imminent danger, that Schenk had fired
his pistol at him unsuccessfully, and had then struck him on the head
with its butt-end, and that the Prince had only saved his life by leaping
from his horse, and scrambling through a ditch. But these seem to have
been fables. The alarm at last became general, the dawn of a summer's day
was fast approaching; the drums beat to arms, and the bold marauders were
obliged to effect their retreat, as they best might, hotly pursued by
near two thousand men. Having slain many of, the Spanish army, and lost
nearly half their own number, they at last obtained shelter in
Wachtendonk.

Soon afterwards the place capitulated without waiting for a battery, upon
moderate terms. Schenk's wife was sent away (28 June 1586) courteously
with her family, in a coach and four, and with as much "apparel" as might
be carried with her. His property was confiscated, for "no fair wars
could be made with him."

Thus, within a few weeks after taking the field, the "dejected,
melancholy" man, who was so "out of courage," and the soldiers who were
so "marvellously beginning to run away"--according to the Earl of
Leicester--had swept their enemy from every town on the Meuse. That river
was now, throughout its whole course, in the power of the Spaniards. The
Province of Brabant became thoroughly guarded again by its foes, and the
enemy's road was opened into the northern Provinces.

Leicester, meantime, had not distinguished himself. It must be confessed
that he had been sadly out-generalled. The man who had talked of
following the enemy inch by inch, and who had pledged himself not only to
protect Grave, and any other place that might be attacked, but even to
recover Antwerp and Bruges within a few weeks, had wasted the time in
very desultory operations. After the St. George feasting, Knewstub
sermons, and forces of Hercules, were all finished, the Earl had taken
the field with five thousand foot and fifteen hundred horse. His
intention was to clear the Yssel; by getting possession of Doesburg and
Zutphen, but, hearing of Parma's demonstrations upon Grave, he abandoned
the contemplated siege of those cities, and came to Arnheim. He then
crossed the Rhine into the Isle of Batavia, and thence, after taking a
few sconces of inferior importance--while Schenk, meanwhile, was building
on the Island of Gravenweert, at the bifurcation of the Rhine and Waal,
the sconce so celebrated a century later as 'Schenk's Fort'
(Schenkenschans)---he was preparing to pass the Waal in order to attack
Farnese, when he heard to his astonishment, of the surrender of Grave.

He could therefore--to his chagrin--no longer save that important city,
but he could, at least, cut off the head of the culprit. Leicester was in
Bommel when he heard of Baron Hemart's faint-heartedness or treachery,
and his wrath was extravagant in proportion to the exultation with which
his previous success had inspired him. He breathed nothing but revenge
against the coward and the traitor, who had delivered up the town in
"such lewd and beastly sort."

"I will never depart hence," he said, "till by the goodness of God I be
satisfied someway of this villain's treachery." There could be little
doubt that Hemart deserved punishment. There could be as little that
Leicester would mete it out to him in ample measure. "The lewd villain
who gave up Grave," said he, "and the captains as deep in fault as
himself, shall all suffer together."

Hemart came boldly to meet him. "The honest man came to me at Bommel,"
said Leicester, and he assured the government that it was in the hope of
persuading the magistrates of that and other towns to imitate his own
treachery.

But the magistrates straightway delivered the culprit to the
governor-general, who immediately placed him under arrest. A
court-martial was summoned, 26th of June, at Utrecht, consisting of
Hohenlo, Essex, and other distinguished officers. They found that the
conduct of the prisoner merited death, but left it to the Earl to decide
whether various extenuating circumstances did not justify a pardon.
Hohenlo and Norris exerted themselves to procure a mitigation of the
young man's sentence, and they excited thereby the governor's deep
indignation. Norris, according to Leicester, was in love with the
culprit's aunt, and was therefore especially desirous of saving his life.
Moreover, much use was made of the discredit which had been thrown by the
Queen on the Earl's authority, and it was openly maintained, that, being
no longer governor-general, he had no authority to order execution upon a
Netherland officer.

The favourable circumstances urged in the case, were, that Hemart was a
young man, without experience in military matters, and that he had been
overcome by the supplications and outcries of the women, panic-struck
after the first assault. There were no direct proofs of treachery, or
even of personal cowardice. He begged hard for a pardon, not on account
of his life, but for the sake of his reputation. He earnestly implored
permission to serve under the Queen of England, as a private soldier,
without pay, on land or sea, for as many years as she should specify, and
to be selected for the most dangerous employments, in order that, before
he died, he might wipe out the disgrace, which, through his fault, in an
hour of weakness, had come upon an ancient and honourable house. Much
interest was made for him--his family connection being powerful--and a
general impression prevailing that he had erred through folly rather than
deep guilt. But Leicester beating himself upon the breast--as he was wont
when excited--swore that there should be no pardon for such a traitor.
The States of Holland and Zeeland, likewise, were decidedly in favour of
a severe example.

Hemart was accordingly led to the scaffold on the 28th June. He spoke to
the people with great calmness, and, in two languages, French and
Flemish, declared that he was guiltless of treachery, but that the terror
and tears of the women, in an hour of panic, had made a coward of him. He
was beheaded, standing. The two captains, Du Ban and Koeboekum, who had
also been condemned, suffered with him. A third captain, likewise
convicted, was, "for very just cause,", pardoned by Leicester. The Earl
persisted in believing that Hemart had surrendered the city as part of a
deliberate plan, and affirmed that in such a time, when men had come to
think no more of giving up a town than of abandoning a house, it was
highly necessary to afford an example to traitors and satisfaction to the
people. And the people were thoroughly satisfied, according to the
governor, and only expressed their regret that three or four members of
the States-General could not have their heads cut off as well, being as
arrant knaves as Henlart; "and so I think they be," added Leicester.

Parma having thus made himself master of the Meuse, lost no time in
making a demonstration upon the parallel course of the Rhine, thirty
miles farther east. Schenk, Kloet; and other partisans, kept that portion
of the archi-episcopate and of Westphalia in a state of perpetual
commotion. Early in the, preceding year, Count de Meurs had, by a
fortunate stratagem, captured the town of Neusz for the deposed elector,
and Herman Kloet, a young and most determined Geldrian soldier, now
commanded in the place.

The Elector Ernest had made a visit in disguise to the camp of Parma, and
had represented the necessity of recovering the city. It had become the
stronghold of heretics, rebels, and banditti. The Rhine was in their
hands, and with it the perpetual power of disturbing the loyal
Netherlands. It was as much the interest of his Catholic Majesty as that
of the Archbishop that Neusz should be restored to its lawful owner.
Parma had felt the force of this reasoning, and had early in the year
sent Haultepenne to invest the city. He had been obliged to recall that
commander during the siege of Grave. The place being reduced, Alexander,
before the grass could grow beneath his feet advanced to the Rhine in
person. Early in July he appeared before the walls of Neusz with eight
thousand foot and two thousand horse. The garrison under Kloet numbered
scarcely more than sixteen hundred effective soldiers, all Netherlanders
and Germans, none being English.

The city is twenty-miles below Cologne. It was so well fortified that a
century before it had stood a year's siege from the famous Charles the
Bold, who, after all, had been obliged to retire. It had also resisted
the strenuous efforts of Charles the Fifth; and was now stronger than it
ever had been. It was thoroughly well provisioned, so that it was safe
enough "if those within it," said Leicester, "be men." The Earl expressed
the opinion, however, that "those fellows were not good to defend towns,
unless the besiegers were obliged to swim to the attack." The issue was
to show whether the sarcasm were just or not. Meantime the town was
considered by the governor-general to be secure, "unless towns were to be
had for the asking."

Neusz is not immediately upon the Rhine, but that river, which sweeps
away in a north-easterly direction from the walls, throws out an arm
which completely encircles the town. A part of the place, cut into an
island by the Erpt, was strengthened by two redoubts. This island was
abandoned, as being too weak to hold, and the Spaniards took possession
of it immediately. There were various preliminary and sanguinary sorties
and skirmishes, during which the Spaniards after having been once driven
from the island, again occupied that position. Archbishop Ernest came
into the camp, and, before proceeding to a cannonade, Parma offered to
the city certain terms of capitulation, which were approved by that
prelate. Kloet replied to this proposal, that he was wedded to the town
and to his honour, which were as one. These he was incapable of
sacrificing, but his life he was ready to lay down. There was, through
some misapprehension, a delay in reporting this answer to Farnese.
Meantime that general became impatient, and advanced to the battery of
the Italian regiment. Pretending to be a plenipotentiary from the
commander-in-chief, he expostulated in a loud voice at the slowness of
their counsels. Hardly had he begun to speak, when a shower of balls
rattled about him. His own soldiers were terrified at his danger, and a
cry arose in the town that "Holofernese"--as the Flemings and Germans
were accustomed to nickname Farnese--was dead. Strange to relate, he was
quite unharmed, and walked back to his tent with dignified slowness and a
very frowning face. It was said that this breach of truce had been begun
by the Spaniards, who had fired first, and had been immediately answered
by the town. This was hotly denied, and Parma sent Colonel Tasais with a
flag of truce to the commander, to rebuke and to desire an explanation of
this dishonourable conduct.

The answer given, or imagined, was that Commander Kloet had been sound
asleep, but that he now much regretted this untoward accident. The
explanation was received with derision, for it seemed hardly probable
that so young and energetic a soldier would take the opportunity to
refresh himself with slumber at a moment when a treaty for the
capitulation of a city under his charge was under discussion. This
terminated the negotiation.

A few days afterwards, the feast of St James was celebrated in the
Spanish camp, with bonfires and other demonstrations of hilarity. The
townsmen are said to have desecrated the same holiday by roasting alive
in the market-place two unfortunate soldiers, who had been captured in a
sortie a few days before; besides burning the body of the holy Saint
Quirinus, with other holy relics. The detestable deed was to be most
horribly avenged.

A steady cannonade from forty-five great guns was kept up from 2 A.M. of
July 15 until the dawn of the following day; the cannoneers--being all
provided with milk and vinegar to cool the pieces. At daybreak the
assault was ordered. Eight separate attacks were made with the usual
impetuosity of Spaniards, and were steadily repulsed.

At the ninth, the outer wall was carried, and the Spaniards shouting
"Santiago" poured over it, bearing back all resistance. An Italian Knight
of the Sepulchre, Cesar Guidiccioni by name, and a Spanish ensign, one
Alphonao de Mesa, with his colours in one hand and a ladder in the other,
each claimed the honour of having first mounted the breach. Both being
deemed equally worthy of reward, Parma, after the city had been won, took
from his own cap a sprig of jewels and a golden wheat-ear ornamented with
a gem, which he had himself worn in place of a plume, and thus presented
each with a brilliant token of his regard. The wall was then strengthened
against the inner line of fortification, and all night long a desperate
conflict was maintained in the dark upon the narrow space between the two
barriers. Before daylight Kloet, who then, as always, had led his men in
the moat desperate adventures, was carried into the town, wounded in five
places, and with his leg almost severed at the thigh. "'Tis the bravest
man," said the enthusiastic Lord North, "that was ever heard of in the
world."--"He is but a boy," said Alexander Farnese, "but a commander of
extraordinary capacity and valour."

Early in the morning, when this mishap was known, an officer was sent to
the camp of the besiegers to treat. The soldiers received him with
furious laughter, and denied him access to the general. "Commander Kloet
had waked from his nap at a wrong time," they said, "and the Prince of
Parma was now sound asleep, in his turn." There was no possibility of
commencing a negotiation. The Spaniards, heated by the conflict, maddened
by opposition, and inspired by the desire to sack a wealthy city,
overpowered all resistance. "My little soldiers were not to be
restrained," said Farnese, and so compelling a reluctant consent on the
part of the commander-in-chief to an assault, the Italian and Spanish
legions poured into the town at two opposite gates; which were no longer
strong enough to withstand the enemy. The two streams met in the heart of
the place, and swept every living thing in their, path out of existence.
The garrison was butchered to a man, and subsequently many of the
inhabitants--men, women, and children-also, although the women; to the
honour of Alexander, had been at first secured from harm in some of the
churches, where they had been ordered to take refuge. The first blast of
indignation was against the commandant of the place. Alexander, who had
admired, his courage, was not unfavourably disposed towards him, but
Archbishop Ernest vehemently, demanded his immediate death, as a personal
favour to himself. As the churchman was nominally sovereign of the city
although in reality a beggarly dependant on Philip's alms, Farnese felt
bound to comply. The manner in which it was at first supposed that the
Bishop's Christian request had; been complied, with, sent a shudder
through every-heart in the Netherlands. "They took Kloet, wounded as he
was," said Lord North, "and first strangled, him, then smeared him with
pitch, and burnt him with gunpowder; thus, with their holiness, they,
made a tragical end of an heroical service. It is wondered that the
Prince would suffer so great an outrage to be done to so noble a soldier,
who did but his duty."

But this was an error. A Jesuit priest was sent to the house of the
commandant, for a humane effort was thought necessary in order to save
the soul of the man whose life was forfeited for the crime of defending
his city. The culprit was found lying in bed. His wife, a woman of
remarkable beauty, with her sister, was in attendance upon him. The
spectacle of those two fair women, nursing a wounded soldier fallen upon
the field of honour, might have softened devils with sympathy. But the
Jesuit was closely followed by a band of soldiers, who, notwithstanding
the supplications of the women, and the demand of Kloet to be indulged
with a soldier's death, tied a rope round the commandant's necks dragged
him from his bed, and hanged him from his own window. The Calvinist
clergyman, Fosserus of Oppenheim, the deacons of the congregation, two
military officers, and--said Parma--"forty other rascals," were murdered
in the same way at the same time. The bodies remained at the window till
they were devoured by the flames, which soon consumed the house. For a
vast conflagration, caused none knew whether by accident, by the despair
of the inhabitants; by the previous, arrangements of the commandant, by
the latest-arrived bands of the besiegers enraged that the Italians and
Spaniards had been beforehand with them in the spoils, or--as Farnese
more maturely believed--by the special agency of the Almighty, offended
with the burning of Saint Quirinus,--now came to complete the horror of
the scene. Three-quarters of the town were at once in a blaze. The
churches, where the affrighted women had been cowering during the sack
and slaughter, were soon on fire, and now, amid the crash of falling
houses and the uproar of the drunken soldiery, those unhappy victims were
seen flitting along the flaming streets; seeking refuge against the fury
of the elements in the more horrible cruelty of man. The fire lasted all
day and night, and not one stone would have been left upon another, had
not the body of a second saint, saved on a former occasion from the
heretics by the piety of a citizen, been fortunately deposited in his
house. At this point the conflagration was stayed--for the flames refused
to consume these holy relics--but almost the whole of the town was
destroyed, while at least four thousand people, citizens and soldiers,
had perished by sword or fire.

Three hundred survivors of the garrison took refuge in a tower. Its base
was surrounded, and, after brief parley, they descended as prisoners. The
Prince and Haultepenne attempted in vain to protect them against the fury
of the soldiers, and every man of them was instantly put to death.

The next day, Alexander gave orders that the wife and sister of the
commandant should be protected--for they had escaped, as if by miracle,
from all the horrors of that day and night--and sent, under escort, to
their friends! Neusz had nearly ceased to exist, for according to
contemporaneous accounts, but eight houses had escaped destruction.

And the reflection was most painful to Leicester and to every generous
Englishman or Netherlander in the country, that this important city and
its heroic defenders might have been preserved, but for want of harmony
and want of money. Twice had the Earl got together a force of four
thousand men for the relief of the place, and twice had he been obliged
to disband them again for the lack of funds to set them in the field.

He had pawned his plate and other valuables, exhausted his credit, and
had nothing for it but to wait for the Queen's tardy remittances, and to
wrangle with the States; for the leaders of that body were unwilling to
accord large supplies to a man who had become personally suspected by
them, and was the representative of a deeply-suspected government.
Meanwhile, one-third at least of the money which really found its way
from time to time out of England, was filched from the "poor starved
wretches," as Leicester called his soldiers, by the dishonesty of Norris,
uncle of Sir John and army-treasurer. This man was growing so rich on his
peculations, on his commissions, and on his profits from paying the
troops in a depreciated coin, that Leicester declared the whole revenue
of his own landed estates in England to be less than that functionary's
annual income. Thus it was difficult to say whether the "ragged rogues"
of Elizabeth or the maimed and neglected soldiers of Philip were in the
more pitiable plight.

The only consolation in the recent reduction of Neusz was to be found in
the fact that Parma had only gained a position, for the town had ceased
to exist; and in the fiction that he had paid for his triumph by the loss
of six thousand soldiers, killed and wounded. In reality not more than
five hundred of Farnese's army lost their lives, and although the town,
excepting some churches, had certainly been destroyed; yet the Prince was
now master of the Rhine as far as Cologne, and of the Meuse as far as
Grave. The famine which pressed so sorely upon him, might now be
relieved, and his military communications with Germany be considered
secure.

The conqueror now turned his attention to Rheinberg, twenty-five miles
farther down the river.

Sir Philip Sidney had not been well satisfied by the comparative idleness
in which, from these various circumstances; he had been compelled to
remain. Early in the spring he had been desirous of making an attack upon
Flanders by capturing the town of Steenberg. The faithful Roger Williams
had strongly seconded the proposal. "We wish to show your Excellency,"
said he to Leicester, "that we are not sound asleep." The Welshman was
not likely to be accused of somnolence, but on this occasion Sidney and
himself had been overruled. At a later moment, and during the siege of
Neusz, Sir Philip had the satisfaction of making a successful foray into
Flanders.

The expedition had been planned by Prince Maurice of Nassau, and was his.
earliest military achievement. He proposed carrying by surprise, the city
of Axel, a well-built, strongly-fortified town on the south-western edge
of the great Scheldt estuary, and very important from its position. Its
acquisition would make the hold of the patriots and the English upon
Sluys and Ostend more secure, and give them many opportunities of
annoying the enemy in Flanders.

Early in July, Maurice wrote to the Earl of Leicester, communicating the
particulars of his scheme, but begging that the affair might be "very
secretly handled," and kept from every one but Sidney. Leicester
accordingly sent his nephew to Maurice that they might consult together
upon the enterprise, and make sure "that there was no ill intent, there
being so much treachery in the world." Sidney found no treachery in young
Maurice, but only, a noble and intelligent love of adventure, and the two
arranged their plans in harmony.

Leicester, then, in order to deceive the enemy, came to Bergen-op-Zoom,
with five hundred men, where he remained two days, not sleeping a wink,
as he averred, during the whole time. In the night of Tuesday, 16th of
July, the five hundred English soldiers were despatched by water, under
charge of Lord Willoughby, "who," said the Earl, "would needs go with
them." Young Hatton, too, son of Sir Christopher, also volunteered on the
service, "as his first nursling." Sidney had, five hundred of his own
Zeeland regiment in readiness, and the rendezvous was upon the broad
waters of the Scheldt, opposite Flushing. The plan was neatly carried
out, and the united flotilla, in a dark, calm, midsummer's night, rowed
across the smooth estuary and landed at Ter Neuse, about a league from
Axel. Here they were joined by Maurice with some Netherland companies,
and the united troops, between two and three thousand strong, marched at
once to the place proposed. Before two in the morning they had reached
Axel, but found the moat very deep. Forty soldiers immediately plunged
in, however, carrying their ladders with them, swam across, scaled the
rampart, killed, the guard, whom they found asleep in their beds, and
opened the gates for their comrades. The whole force then marched in, the
Dutch companies under Colonel Pyion being first, Lord Willoughby's men
being second, and Sir Philip with his Zeelanders bringing up the rear.
The garrison, between five and six hundred in number, though surprised,
resisted gallantly, and were all put to the sword. Of the invaders, not a
single man lost his life. Sidney most generously rewarded from his own
purse the adventurous soldiers who had swum the moat; and it was to his
care and intelligence that the success of Prince Maurice's scheme was
generally attributed. The achievement was hailed with great satisfaction,
and it somewhat raised the drooping spirits of the patriots after their
severe losses at Grave and Venlo. "This victory hath happened in good
time," wrote Thomas Cecil to his father, "and hath made us somewhat to
lift up our heads." A garrison of eight hundred, under Colonel Pyron, was
left in Axel, and the dykes around were then pierced. Upwards of two
millions' worth of property in grass, cattle, corn, was thus immediately
destroyed in the territory of the obedient Netherlands.

After an unsuccessful attempt to surprise Gravelines, the governor of
which place, the veteran La Motte, was not so easily taken napping; Sir
Philip having gained much reputation by this conquest of Axel, then
joined the main body of the army, under Leicester, at Arnheim.

Yet, after all, Sir Philip had not grown in favour with her Majesty
during his service in the Low Countries. He had also been disappointed in
the government of Zeeland, to which post his uncle had destined him. The
cause of Leicester's ambition had been frustrated by the policy of
Barneveld and Buys, in pursuance of which Count or Prince Maurice--as he
was now purposely designated, in order that his rank might surpass that
of the Earl--had become stadholder and captain general both of Holland
and Zeeland. The Earl had given his nephew, however, the colonelcy of the
Zeeland regiment, vacant by the death of Admiral Haultain on the
Kowenstyn Dyke. This promotion had excited much anger among the high
officers in the Netherlands who, at the instigation of Count Hohenlo, had
presented a remonstrance upon the subject to the governor-general. It had
always been the custom, they said, with the late Prince of Orange, to
confer promotion according to seniority, without regard to social rank,
and they were therefore unwilling that a young foreigner, who had just
entered the service; should thus be advanced over the heads of veterans
who had been campaigning there so many weary years. At the same time the
gentlemen who signed the paper protested to Sir Philip, in another
letter, "with all the same hands," that they had no personal feeling
towards him, but, on the contrary, that they wished him all honour.

Young Maurice himself had always manifested the most friendly feelings
toward Sidney, although influenced in his action by the statesmen who
were already organizing a powerful opposition to Leicester. "Count
Maurice showed himself constantly, kind in the matter of the regiment,"
said Sir Philip, "but Mr. Paul Buss has so many busses in his head, such
as you shall find he will be to God and man about one pitch. Happy is the
communication of them that join in the fear of God." Hohenlo, too, or
Hollock, as he was called by the French and English, was much governed by
Buys and Olden-Barneveld. Reckless and daring, but loose of life and
uncertain of purpose, he was most dangerous, unless under safe guidance.
Roger Williams--who vowed that but for the love he bore to Sidney and
Leicester, he would not remain ten days in the Netherlands--was much
disgusted by Hohenlo's conduct in regard to the Zeeland regiment. "'Tis a
mutinous request of Hollock," said he, "that strangers should not command
Netherlanders. He and his Alemaynes are farther born from Zeeland than
Sir Philip is. Either you must make Hollock assured to you, or you must
disgrace him. If he will not be yours, I will show you means to
disinherit him of all his commands at small danger. What service doth he,
Count Solms, Count Overatein, with their Almaynes, but spend treasure and
consume great contributions?"

It was, very natural that the chivalrous Sidney, who had come to the
Netherlands to win glory in the field, should be desirous of posts that
would bring danger and distinction with them. He was not there merely
that he might govern Flushing, important as it was, particularly as the
garrison was, according to his statement, about as able to maintain the
town, "as the Tower was to answer for London." He disapproved of his
wife's inclination to join him in Holland, for he was likely--so he wrote
to her father, Walsingham--"to run such a course as would not be fit for
any of the feminine gender." He had been, however; grieved to the heart,
by the spectacle which was perpetually exhibited of the Queen's
parsimony, and of the consequent suffering of the soldiers. Twelve or
fifteen thousand Englishmen were serving in the Netherlands--more than
two thirds of them in her Majesty's immediate employment. No troops had
ever fought better, or more honourably maintained the ancient glory of
England. But rarely had more ragged and wretched warriors been seen than
they, after a few months' campaigning.

The Irish Kernes--some fifteen hundred of whom were among the
auxiliaries--were better off, for they habitually dispensed with
clothing; an apron from waist to knee being the only protection of these
wild Kelts, who fought with the valour, and nearly, in the costume of
Homeric heroes. Fearing nothing, needing nothing, sparing nothing, they
stalked about the fens of Zeeland upon their long stilts, or leaped
across running rivers, scaling ramparts, robbing the highways, burning,
butchering, and maltreating the villages and their inhabitants, with as
little regard for the laws of Christian warfare as for those of civilized
costume.

Other soldiers, more sophisticated as to apparel, were less at their
ease. The generous Sidney spent all his means, and loaded himself with
debt, in order to relieve the necessities of the poor soldiers. He
protested that if the Queen would not pay her troops, she would lose her
troops, but that no living man should say the fault was in him. "What
relief I can do them I will," he wrote to his father-in-law; "I will
spare no danger, if occasion serves. I am sure that no creature shall lay
injustice to my charge."

Very soon it was discovered that the starving troops had to contend not
only with the Queen's niggardliness but with the dishonesty of her
agents. Treasurer Norris was constantly accused by Leicester and Sidney
of gross peculation. Five per cent., according to Sir Philip, was lost to
the Zeeland soldiers in every payment, "and God knows," he said, "they
want no such hindrance, being scarce able to keep life with their entire
pay. Truly it is but poor increase to her Majesty, considering what loss
it is to the miserable soldier." Discipline and endurance were sure to be
sacrificed, in the end, to such short-sighted economy. "When soldiers,"
said Sidney, "grow to despair, and give up towns, then it is too late to
buy with hundred thousands what might have been saved with a trifle."

This plain dealing, on the part of Sidney, was anything but agreeable to
the Queen, who was far from feeling regret that his high-soaring
expectations had been somewhat blighted in the Provinces. He often
expressed his mortification that her Majesty was disposed to interpret
everything to, his disadvantage. "I understand," said he, "that I am
called ambitious, and very proud at home, but certainly, if they knew my
heart, they would not altogether so judge me." Elizabeth had taken part
with Hohenlo against Sir Philip in the matter of the Zeeland regiment,
and in this perhaps she was not entirely to be blamed. But she inveighed
needlessly against his ambitious seeking of the office, and--as
Walsingham observed--"she was very apt, upon every light occasion, to
find fault with him." It is probable that his complaints against the army
treasurer, and his manful defence of the "miserable soldiers," more than
counterbalanced, in the Queen's estimation, his chivalry in the field.

Nevertheless he had now the satisfaction of having gained an important
city in Flanders; and on subsequently joining the army under his uncle,
he indulged the hope of earning still greater distinction.

Martin Schenk had meanwhile been successfully defending Rheinberg, for
several weeks, against Parma's forces. It was necessary, however, that
Leicester, notwithstanding the impoverished condition of his troops,
should make some diversion, while his formidable antagonist was thus
carrying all before him.

He assembled, accordingly, in the month of August, all the troops that
could be brought into the field, and reviewed them, with much ceremony,
in the neighbourhood of Arnheim. His army--barely numbered seven thousand
foot and two thousand horse, but he gave out, very extensively, that he
had fourteen thousand under his command, and he was moreover expecting a
force of three thousand reiters, and as many pikemen recently levied in
Germany. Lord Essex was general of the cavalry, Sir William Pelham--a
distinguished soldier, who had recently arrived out of England, after the
most urgent solicitations to the Queen, for that end, by Leicester--was
lord-marshal of the camp, and Sir John Norris was colonel-general of the
infantry.

After the parade, two sermons were preached upon the hillside
to the soldiers, and then there was a council of war: It was
decided--notwithstanding the Earl's announcement of his intentions to
attack Parma in person--that the condition of the army did not warrant
such an enterprise. It was thought better to lay siege to Zutphen. This
step, if successful, would place in the power of the republic and her
ally a city of great importance and strength. In every event the attempt
would probably compel Farnese to raise the siege of Berg.

Leicester, accordingly, with "his brave troop of able and likely
men"--five thousand of the infantry being English--advanced as far as
Doesburg. This city, seated at the confluence of the ancient canal of
Drusus and the Yssel, five miles above Zutphen, it was necessary, as a
preliminary measure, to secure. It was not a very strong place, being
rather slightly walled with brick, and with a foss drawing not more than
three feet of water. By the 30th August it had been completely invested.

On the same night, at ten o'clock, Sir William Pelham, came to the Earl
to tell him "what beastly pioneers the Dutchmen were." Leicester
accordingly determined, notwithstanding the lord-marshal's entreaties, to
proceed to the trenches in person. There being but faint light, the two
lost their way, and soon found themselves nearly, at the gate of the
town. Here, while groping about in the dark; and trying to effect their
retreat, they were saluted with a shot, which struck Sir William in the
stomach. For an instant; thinking himself mortally injured, he expressed
his satisfaction that he had been, between the commander-in-chief and the
blow, and made other "comfortable and resolute speeches." Very
fortunately, however, it proved that the marshal was not seriously hurt,
and, after a few days, he was about his work as usual, although
obliged--as the Earl of Leicester expressed it--"to carry a bullet in his
belly as long as he should live."

Roger Williams, too, that valiant adventurer--"but no, more valiant than
wise, and worth his weight in gold," according to the appreciative
Leicester--was shot through the arm. For the dare-devil Welshman, much to
the Earl's regret, persisted in running up and down the trenches "with a
great plume of feathers in his gilt morion," and in otherwise making a
very conspicuous mark of himself "within pointblank of a caliver."

Notwithstanding these mishaps, however, the siege went successfully
forward. Upon the 2nd September the Earl began to batter, and after a
brisk cannonade, from dawn till two in the afternoon, he had considerably
damaged the wall in two places. One of the breaches was eighty feet wide,
the other half as large, but the besieged had stuffed them full of beds,
tubs, logs of wood, boards, and "such like trash," by means whereof the
ascent was not so easy as it seemed. The soldiers were excessively eager
for the assault. Sir John Norris came to Leicester to receive his orders
as to the command of the attacking party.

The Earl referred the matter to him. "There is no man," answered Sir
John, "fitter for that purpose than myself; for I am colonel-general of
the infantry."

But Leicester, not willing to indulge so unreasonable a proposal, replied
that he would reserve him for service of less hazard and greater
importance. Norris being, as usual, "satis prodigus magnae animae," was
out of humour at the refusal, and ascribed it to the Earl's persistent
hostility to him and his family. It was then arranged that the assault
upon the principal breach should be led by younger officers, to be
supported by Sir John and other veterans. The other breach was assigned
to the Dutch and Scotch-black Norris scowling at them the while with
jealous eyes; fearing that they might get the start of the English party,
and be first to enter the town. A party of noble volunteers clustered
about Sir John-Lord Burgh, Sir Thomas Cecil, Sir Philip Sidney, and his
brother Robert among the rest--most impatient for the signal. The race
was obviously to be a sharp one. The governor-general forbade these
violent demonstrations, but Lord Burgh, "in a most vehement passion,
waived the countermand," and his insubordination was very generally
imitated. Before the signal was given, however, Leicester sent a trumpet
to summon the town to surrender, and could with difficulty restrain his
soldiers till the answer should be returned. To the universal
disappointment, the garrison agreed to surrender. Norris himself then
stepped forward to the breach, and cried aloud the terms, lest the
returning herald, who had been sent back by Leicester, should offer too
favourable a capitulation. It was arranged that the soldiers should
retire without arms, with white wands in their hands--the officers
remaining prisoners--and that the burghers, their lives, and property,
should be at Leicester's disposal. The Earl gave most peremptory orders
that persons and goods should be respected, but his commands were dis
obeyed. Sir William Stanley's men committed frightful disorders, and
thoroughly, rifled the town."

"And because," said Norris, "I found fault herewith, Sir William began to
quarrel with me, hath braved me extremely, refuseth to take any direction
from me, and although I have sought for redress, yet it is proceeded in
so coldly, that he taketh encouragement rather to increase the quarrel
than to leave it."

Notwithstanding therefore the decree of Leicester, the expostulations and
anger of Norris, and the energetic efforts of Lord Essex and other
generals, who went about smiting the marauders on the head, the soldiers
sacked the city, and committed various disorders, in spite of the
capitulation.

Doesburg having been thus reduced, the Earl now proceeded toward the more
important city which he had determined to besiege. Zutphen, or South-Fen,
an antique town of wealth and elegance, was the capital of the old
Landgraves of Zutphen. It is situate on the right bank of the Yssel, that
branch of the Rhine which flows between Gelderland and Overyssel into the
Zuyder-Zee.

The ancient river, broad, deep, and languid, glides through a plain of
almost boundless extent, till it loses itself in the flat and misty
horizon. On the other side of the stream, in the district called the
Veluwe, or bad meadow, were three sconces, one of them of remarkable
strength. An island between the city and the shore was likewise well
fortified. On the landward side the town was protected by a wall and moat
sufficiently strong in those infant days of artillery. Near the
hospital-gate, on the east, was an external fortress guarding the road to
Warnsfeld. This was a small village, with a solitary slender
church-spire, shooting up above a cluster of neat one-storied houses. It
was about an English mile from Zutphen, in the midst of a wide, low,
somewhat fenny plain, which, in winter, became so completely a lake, that
peasants were not unfrequently drowned in attempting to pass from the
city to the village. In summer, the vague expanse of country was fertile
and cheerful of aspect. Long rows of poplars marking the straight
highways, clumps of pollard willows scattered around the little meres,
snug farm-houses, with kitchen-gardens and brilliant flower-patches
dotting the level plain, verdant pastures sweeping off into seemingly
infinite distance, where the innumerable cattle seemed to swarm like
insects, wind-mills swinging their arms in all directions, like
protective giants, to save the country from inundation, the lagging sail
of market-boats shining through rows of orchard trees--all gave to the
environs of Zutphen a tranquil and domestic charm.

Deventer and Kampen, the two other places on the river, were in the hands
of the States. It was, therefore, desirable for the English and the
patriots, by gaining possession of Zutphen, to obtain control of the
Yssel; driven, as they had been, from the Meuse and Rhine.

Sir John Norris, by Leicester's direction, took possession of a small
rising-ground, called 'Gibbet Dill' on the land-side; where he
established a fortified camp, and proceeded to invest the city. With him
were Count Lewis William of Nassau, and Sir Philip Sidney, while the Earl
himself, crossing the Yssel on a bridge of boats which he had
constructed, reserved for himself the reduction of the forts upon the
Veluwe side.

Farnese, meantime, was not idle; and Leicester's calculations proved
correct. So soon as the Prince was informed of this important
demonstration of the enemy he broke up--after brief debate with his
officers--his camp before Rheinberg, and came to Wesel. At this place he
built a bridge over the Rhine, and fortified it with two block-houses.
These he placed under command of Claude Berlot, who was ordered to watch
strictly all communication up the river with the city of Rheinberg, which
he thus kept in a partially beleaguered state. Alexander then advanced
rapidly by way of Groll and Burik, both which places he took possession
of, to the neighbourhood of Zutphen. He was determined, at every hazard,
to relieve that important city; and although, after leaving necessary
detachments on the, way; he had but five thousand men under his command,
besides fifteen hundred under Verdugo--making sixty-five hundred in
all--he had decided that the necessity of the case, and his own honour;
required him to seek the enemy, and to leave, as he said, the issue with
the God of battles, whose cause it was.

Tassis, lieutenant-governor of Gelderland, was ordered into the city with
two cornets of horse and six hundred foot. As large a number, had already
been stationed there. Verdugo, who had been awaiting the arrival of the
Prince at Borkelo, a dozen miles from Zutphen, with four hundred foot and
two hundred horse, now likewise entered the city.

On the night of 29th August Alexander himself entered Zutphen for the
purpose of encouraging the garrison by promise of-relief, and of
ascertaining the position of the enemy by personal observation. His
presence as it always did, inspired the soldiers with enthusiasm, so that
they could with difficulty be restrained from rushing forth to assault
the besiegers. In regard to the enemy he found that Gibbet Hill was still
occupied by Sir John Norris, "the best soldier, in his opinion, that they
had," who had entrenched himself very strongly, and was supposed to have
thirty-five hundred men under his command. His position seemed quite
impregnable. The rest of the English were on the other side of the river,
and Alexander observed, with satisfaction, that they had abandoned a
small redoubt, near the leper-house, outside the Loor-Gate, through which
the reinforcements must enter the city. The Prince determined to profit
by this mistake, and to seize the opportunity thus afforded of sending
those much needed supplies. During the night the enemy were found to be
throwing up works "most furiously," and skirmishing parties were sent out
of the town to annoy them. In the darkness nothing of consequence was
effected, but a Scotch officer was captured, who informed the Spanish
commander that the enemy was fifteen thousand strong--a number which was
nearly double that of Leicester's actual force. In the morning Alexander
returned to his camp at Borkelo--leaving Tassis in command of the Veluwe
Forts, and Verdugo in the city itself--and he at once made rapid work in
collecting victuals. He had soon wheat and other supplies in readiness,
sufficient to feed four thousand mouths for three months, and these he
determined to send into the city immediately, and at every hazard.

The great convoy which was now to be despatched required great care and a
powerful escort. Twenty-five hundred musketeers and pikemen, of whom one
thousand were Spaniards, and six hundred cavalry, Epirotes; Spaniards,
and Italians, under Hannibal Gonzaga, George Crescia, Bentivoglio, Sesa,
and others, were accordingly detailed for this expedition. The Marquis
del Vasto, to whom was entrusted the chief command, was ordered to march
from Borkelo at midnight on Wednesday, October 1 (St. Nov.) [N.S.]. It
was calculated that he would reach a certain hillock not far from
Warnsfeld by dawn of day. Here he was to pause, and send forward an
officer towards the town, communicating his arrival, and requesting the
cooperation of Verdugo, who was to make a sortie with one thousand men,
according to Alexander's previous arrangements. The plan was successfully
carried out. The Marquis arrived by daybreak at the spot indicated, and
despatched Captain de Vega who contrived to send intelligence of the
fact. A trooper, whom Parma had himself sent to Verdugo with earlier
information of the movement, had been captured on the way. Leicester had
therefore been apprized, at an early moment, of the Prince's intentions,
but he was not aware that the convoy would be accompanied by so strong a
force as had really been detailed.

He had accordingly ordered Sir John Norris, who commanded on the outside
of the town near the road which the Spaniards must traverse, to place an
ambuscade in his way. Sir John, always ready for adventurous enterprises,
took a body of two hundred cavalry, all picked men, and ordered Sir
William Stanley, with three hundred pikemen, to follow. A much stronger
force of infantry was held in reserve and readiness, but it was not
thought that it would be required. The ambuscade was successfully placed,
before the dawn of Thursday morning, in the neighbourhood of Warnsfeld
church. On the other hand, the Earl of Leicester himself, anxious as to
the result, came across the river just at daybreak. He was accompanied by
the chief gentlemen in his camp, who could never be restrained when blows
were passing current.

The business that morning was a commonplace and practical though an
important, one--to "impeach" a convoy of wheat and barley, butter,
cheese, and beef--but the names of those noble and knightly volunteers,
familiar throughout Christendom, sound like the roll-call for some
chivalrous tournament. There were Essex and Audley, Stanley, Pelham,
Russell, both the Sidneys, all the Norrises, men whose valour had been.
proved on many a hard-fought battle-field. There, too, was the famous
hero of British ballad whose name was so often to ring on the plains of
the Netherlands--

          "The brave Lord Willoughby,
          Of courage fierce and fell,
          Who would not give one inch of way
          For all the devils in hell."

Twenty such volunteers as these sat on horseback that morning around the
stately Earl of Leicester. It seemed an incredible extravagance to send a
handful of such heroes against an army.

But the English commander-in-chief had been listening to the insidious
tongue of Roland York--that bold, plausible, unscrupulous partisan,
already twice a renegade, of whom more was ere long to be heard in the
Netherlands and England. Of the man's courage there could be no doubt,
and he was about to fight that morning in the front rank at the head of
his company. But he had, for some mysterious reason, been bent upon
persuading the Earl that the Spaniards were no match for Englishmen at a
hand-to-hand contest. When they could ride freely up and down, he said,
and use their lances as they liked, they were formidable. But the English
were stronger men, better riders, better mounted, and better armed. The
Spaniards hated helmets and proof armour, while the English trooper, in
casque, cuirass, and greaves, was a living fortress impregnable to
Spanish or Italian light horsemen. And Leicester seemed almost convinced
by his reasoning.

It was five o'clock of a chill autumn morning. It was time for day to
break, but the fog was so thick that a man at the distance of five yards
was quite invisible. The creaking of waggon-wheels and the measured tramp
of soldiers soon became faintly audible however to Sir John Norris and
his five hundred as they sat there in the mist. Presently came galloping
forward in hot haste those nobles and gentlemen, with their esquires,
fifty men in all--Sidney, Willoughby, and the rest--whom Leicester had no
longer been able to restrain from taking part in the adventure.

A force of infantry, the amount of which cannot be satisfactorily
ascertained, had been ordered by the Earl to cross the bridge at a later
moment. Sidney's cornet of horse was then in Deventer, to which place it
had been sent in order to assist in quelling an anticipated revolt, so
that he came, like most of his companions, as a private volunteer and
knight-errant.

The arrival of the expected convoy was soon more distinctly heard, but no
scouts or outposts had been stationed to give timely notice, of the
enemy's movements. Suddenly the fog, which had shrouded the scene so
closely, rolled away like a curtain, and in the full light of an October
morning the Englishmen found themselves face to face with a compact body
of more than three thousand men. The Marquis del Vasto rode at the head
of the forces surrounded by a band of mounted arquebus men. The cavalry,
under the famous Epirote chief George Crescia, Hannibal Gonzaga,
Bentivoglio, Sesa, Conti, and other distinguished commanders, followed;
the columns of pikemen and musketeers lined the, hedge-rows on both sides
the causeway; while between them the long train of waggons came slowly
along under their protection. The whole force had got in motion after
having sent notice of their arrival to Verdugo, who, with one or two
thousand men, was expected to sally forth almost immediately from the
city-gate.

There was but brief time for deliberation. Notwithstanding the tremendous
odds there was no thought of retreat. Black Norris called to Sir William
Stanley, with whom he had been at variance so lately at Doesburg.

"There hath been ill-blood between us," he said. "Let us be friends
together this day, and die side by side, if need be, in her Majesty's
cause."

"If you see me not serve my prince with faithful courage now," replied
Stanley, "account, me for ever a coward. Living or dying I will stand err
lie by you in friendship."

As they were speaking these words the young Earl of Essex, general of the
horse, cried to his, handful of troopers:

"Follow me, good fellows, for the honour of England and of England's
Queen!"

As he spoke he dashed, lance in rest, upon the enemy's cavalry, overthrew
the foremost man, horse and rider, shivered his own spear to splinters,
and then, swinging his cartel-axe, rode merrily forward. His whole little
troop, compact, as an arrow-head, flew with an irresistible shock against
the opposing columns, pierced clean through them, and scattered them in
all directions. At the very first charge one hundred English horsemen
drove the Spanish and Albanian cavalry back upon the musketeers and
pikemen. Wheeling with rapidity, they retired before a volley of
musket-shot, by which many horses and a few riders were killed; and then
formed again to renew the attack. Sir Philip Sidney, an coming to the
field, having met Sir William Pelham, the veteran lord marshal, lightly
armed, had with chivalrous extravagance thrown off his own cuishes, and
now rode to the battle with no armour but his cuirass. At the second
charge his horse was shot under him, but, mounting another, he was seen
everywhere, in the thick of the fight, behaving himself with a gallantry
which extorted admiration even from the enemy.

For the battle was a series of personal encounters in which high officers
were doing the work of private, soldiers. Lord North, who had been lying
"bed-rid" with a musket-shot in the leg, had got himself put on
horseback, and with "one boot on and one boot off," bore himself, "most
lustily" through the whole affair. "I desire that her Majesty may know;"
he said, "that I live but to, serve her. A better barony than I have
could not hire the Lord North to live, on meaner terms." Sir William
Russell laid about him with his curtel-axe to such purpose that the
Spaniards pronounced him a devil and not a man. "Wherever," said an
eye-witness, "he saw five or six of the enemy together; thither would he,
and with his hard knocks soon separated their friendship." Lord
Willoughby encountered George Crescia, general of the famed Albanian
cavalry, unhorsed him at the first shock, and rolled him into the ditch.
"I yield me thy prisoner," called out the Epirote in French, "for thou
art a 'preux chevalier;'" while Willoughby, trusting to his captive's
word, galloped onward, and with him the rest of the little troop, till
they seemed swallowed up by the superior numbers of the enemy. His horse
was shot under him, his basses were torn from his legs, and he was nearly
taken a prisoner, but fought his way back with incredible strength and
good fortune. Sir William Stanley's horse had seven bullets in him, but
bore his rider unhurt to the end of the battle. Leicester declared Sir
William and "old Reads" to be "worth their, weight in pearl."

Hannibal Gonzaga, leader of the Spanish cavalry, fell mortally wounded a
The Marquis del Vasto, commander of the expedition, nearly met the same
fate. An Englishman was just cleaving his head with a battle-axe, when a
Spaniard transfixed the soldier with his pike. The most obstinate
struggle took place about the train of waggons. The teamsters had fled in
the beginning of the action, but the English and Spanish soldiers,
struggling with the horses, and pulling them forward and backward, tried
in vain to get exclusive possession of the convoy which was the cause of
the action. The carts at last forced their way slowly nearer and nearer
to the town, while the combat still went on, warm as ever, between the
hostile squadrons. The action, lasted an hour and a half, and again and
again the Spanish horsemen wavered and broke before the handful of
English, and fell back upon their musketeers. Sir Philip Sidney, in the
last charge, rode quite through the enemy's ranks till he came upon their
entrenchments, when a musket-ball from the camp struck him upon the
thigh, three inches above the knee. Although desperately wounded in a
part which should have been protected by the cuishes which he had thrown
aside, he was not inclined to leave the field; but his own horse had been
shot under him at the-beginning of the action, and the one upon which he
was now mounted became too restive for him, thus crippled, to control. He
turned reluctantly away, and rode a mile and a half back to the
entrenchments, suffering extreme pain, for his leg was dreadfully
shattered. As he past along the edge of the battle-field his attendants
brought him a bottle of water to quench his raging thirst. At, that
moment a wounded English soldier, "who had eaten his last at the same
feast," looked up wistfully, in his face, when Sidney instantly handed
him the flask, exclaiming, "Thy necessity is even greater than mine." He
then pledged his dying comrade in a draught, and was soon afterwards met
by his uncle. "Oh, Philip," cried Leicester, in despair, "I am truly
grieved to see thee in this plight." But Sidney comforted him with manful
words, and assured him that death was sweet in the cause of his Queen and
country. Sir William Russell, too, all blood-stained from the fight,
threw his arms around his friend, wept like a child, and kissing his
hand, exclaimed, "Oh! noble Sir Philip, never did man attain hurt so
honourably or serve so valiantly as you." Sir William Pelham declared
"that Sidney's noble courage in the face of our enemies had won him a
name of continuing honour."

The wounded gentleman was borne back to the camp, and thence in a barge
to Arnheim. The fight was over. Sir John Norris bade Lord Leicester "be
merry, for," said he, "you have had the honourablest day. A handful of
men has driven the enemy three times to retreat." But, in truth, it was
now time for the English to retire in their turn. Their reserve never
arrived. The whole force engaged against the thirty-five hundred
Spaniards had never exceeded two hundred and fifty horse and three
hundred foot, and of this number the chief work had beer done by the
fifty or sixty volunteers and their followers. The heroism which had been
displayed was fruitless, except as a proof--and so Leicester wrote to the
Palatine John Casimir--"that Spaniards were not invincible." Two thousand
men now sallied from the Loor Gate under Verdugo and Tassis, to join the
force under Vasto, and the English were forced to retreat. The whole
convoy was then carried into the city, and the Spaniards remained masters
of the field.

Thirteen troopers and twenty-two foot soldiers; upon the English side,
were killed. The enemy lost perhaps two hundred men. They were thrice
turned from their position, and thrice routed, but they succeeded at last
in their attempt to carry their convoy into Zutphen. Upon that day, and
the succeeding ones, the town was completely victualled. Very little,
therefore, save honour, was gained by the display of English valour
against overwhelming numbers; five hundred against, near, four thousand.
Never in the whole course of the war had there been such fighting, for
the troops upon both sides were picked men and veterans. For a long time
afterwards it was the custom of Spaniards and Netherlanders, in
characterising a hardly-contested action, to call it as warm as the fight
at Zutphen.

"I think I may call it," said Leicester, "the most notable encounter that
hath been in our age, and it will remain to our posterity famous."

Nevertheless it is probable that the encounter would have been forgotten
by posterity but for the melancholy close upon that field to Sidney's
bright career. And perhaps the Queen of England had as much reason to
blush for the incompetency of her general and favourite as to be proud.
of the heroism displayed by her officers and soldiers.

"There were too many indeed at this skirmish of the better sort," said
Leicester; "only a two hundred and fifty horse, and most of them the best
of this camp, and unawares to me. I was offended when I knew it, but
could not fetch them back; but since they all so well escaped (save my
dear nephew), I would not for ten thousand pounds but they had been
there, since they have all won that honour they have. Your Lordship never
heard of such desperate charges as they gave upon the enemies in the face
of their muskets."

He described Sidney's wound as "very dangerous, the bone being broken in
pieces;" but said that the surgeons were in good hope. "I pray God to
save his life," said the Earl, "and I care not how lame he be." Sir
Philip was carried to Arnheim, where the best surgeons were immediately
in attendance upon him. He submitted to their examination and the pain
which they inflicted, with great cheerfulness, although himself persuaded
that his wound was mortal. For many days the result was doubtful,
and messages were sent day by day to England that he was
convalescent--intelligence which was hailed by the Queen and people as a
matter not of private but of public rejoicing. He soon began to fail,
however. Count Hohenlo was badly wounded a few days later before the
great fort of Zutphen. A musket-ball entered his mouth; and passed
through his cheek, carrying off a jewel which hung in his ear.
Notwithstanding his own critical condition, however, Hohenlo sent his
surgeon, Adrian van den Spiegel, a man of great skill, to wait upon Sir
Philip, but Adrian soon felt that the case was hopeless. Meantime fever
and gangrene attacked the Count himself; and those in attendance upon
him, fearing for his life, sent for his surgeon. Leicester refused to
allow Adrian to depart, and Hohenlo very generously acquiescing in the
decree, but, also requiring the surgeon's personal care, caused himself
to be transported in a litter to Arnheim.

Sidney was first to recognise the symptoms of mortification, which made a
fatal result inevitable. His demeanour during his sickness and upon his
death-bed was as beautiful as his life. He discoursed with his friends
concerning the immortality of the soul, comparing the doctrines of Plato
and of other ancient philosophers, whose writings were so familiar to
him, with the revelations of Scripture and with the dictates of natural
religion. He made his will with minute and elaborate provisions, leaving
bequests, remembrances, and rings, to all his friends. Then he indulged
himself with music, and listened particularly to a strange song which he
had himself composed during his illness, and which he had entitled 'La
Cuisse rompue.' He took leave of the friends around him with perfect
calmness; saying to his brother Robert, "Love my memory. Cherish my
friends. Above all, govern your will and affections by the will and word
of your Creator; in me beholding the end of this world with all her
vanities."

And thus this gentle and heroic spirit took its flight.

Parma, after thoroughly victualling Zutphen, turned his attention to the
German levies which Leicester was expecting under the care of Count
Meurs. "If the enemy is reinforced by these six thousand fresh troops,"
said Alexander; "it will make him master of the field." And well he might
hold this opinion, for, in the meagre state of both the Spanish and the
liberating armies, the addition of three thousand fresh reiters and as
many infantry would be enough to turn the scale. The Duke of Parma--for,
since the recent death of his father, Farnese had succeeded to his
title--determined in person to seek the German troops, and to destroy
them if possible. But they never gave him the chance. Their muster-place
was Bremen, but when they heard that the terrible 'Holofernese' was in
pursuit of them, and that the commencement of their service would be a
pitched battle with his Spaniards and Italians, they broke up and
scattered about the country. Soon afterwards the Duke tried another
method of effectually dispersing them, in case they still retained a wish
to fulfil their engagement with Leicester. He sent a messenger to treat
with them, and in consequence two of their rittmeisters; paid him a
visit. He offered to give them higher pay, and "ready money in place of
tricks and promises." The mercenary heroes listened very favourably to
his proposals, although they had already received--besides the tricks and
promises--at least one hundred thousand florins out of the States'
treasury.

After proceeding thus far in the negotiation, however, Parma concluded,
as the season was so far advanced, that it was sufficient to have
dispersed them, and to have deprived the English and patriots of their
services. So he gave the two majors a gold chain a-piece, and they went
their way thoroughly satisfied. "I have got them away from the enemy for
this year," said Alexander; "and this I hold to be one of the best
services that has been rendered for many a long day to your Majesty."

During the period which intervened between the action at Warnsfeld and
the death of Sidney, the siege-operations before Zutphen had been
continued. The city, strongly garrisoned and well supplied with
provisions, as it had been by Parma's care, remained impregnable; but the
sconces beyond the river and upon the island fell into Leicester's hands.
The great fortress which commanded the Veluwe, and which was strong
enough to have resisted Count Hohenlo on a former, occasion for nearly a
whole year, was the scene of much hard fighting. It was gained at last by
the signal valour of Edward Stanley, lieutenant to Sir William. That
officer, at the commencement of an assault upon a not very practicable
breach, sprang at the long pike of a Spanish soldier, who was endeavoring
to thrust him from the wall, and seized it with both hands. The Spaniard
struggled to maintain his hold of the weapon, Stanley to wrest it from
his grasp. A dozen other soldiers broke their pikes upon his cuirass or
shot at him with their muskets. Conspicuous by his dress, being all in
yellow but his corslet, he was in full sight of Leicester and of fire
thousand men. The earth was so shifty and sandy that the soldiers who
were to follow him were not able to climb the wall. Still Stanley grasped
his adversary's pike, but, suddenly changing his plan, he allowed the
Spaniard to lift him from the ground. Then, assisting himself with his
feet against the wall, he, much to the astonishment of the spectators,
scrambled quite over the parapet, and dashed sword in hand among the
defenders of the fort. Had he been endowed with a hundred lives it seemed
impossible for him to escape death. But his followers, stimulated by his
example, made ladders for themselves of each others' shoulders, clambered
at last with great exertion over the broken wall, overpowered the
garrison, and made themselves masters of the sconce. Leicester,
transported with enthusiasm for this noble deed of daring, knighted
Edward Stanley upon the spot, besides presenting him next day with forty
pounds in gold and an annuity of one hundred marks, sterling for life.
"Since I was born, I did never see any man behave himself as he did,"
said the Earl. "I shall never forget it, if I live a thousand year, and
he shall have a part of my living for it as long as I live."

The occupation of these forts terminated the military operations of the
year, for the rainy season, precursor of the winter, had now set in.
Leicester, leaving Sir William Stanley, with twelve hundred English and
Irish horse, in command of Deventer; Sir John Burrowes, with one thousand
men, in Doesburg; and Sir Robert Yorke, with one thousand more, in the
great sconce before Zutphen; took his departure for the Hague. Zutphen
seemed so surrounded as to authorize the governor to expect ere long its
capitulation. Nevertheless, the results of the campaign had not been
encouraging. The States had lost ground, having been driven from the
Meuse and Rhine, while they had with difficulty maintained themselves on
the Flemish coast and upon the Yssel.

It is now necessary to glance at the internal politics of the Republic
during the period of Leicester's administration and to explain the
position in which he found himself at the close of the year.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     And thus this gentle and heroic spirit took its flight
     Five great rivers hold the Netherland territory in their coils
     High officers were doing the work of private, soldiers
     I did never see any man behave himself as he did
     There is no man fitter for that purpose than myself



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History of the United Netherlands, Volume 49, 1586



CHAPTER X.

   Should Elizabeth accept the Sovereignty?--The Effects of her Anger--
   Quarrels between the Earl and the Staten--The Earl's three
   Counsellors--Leicester's Finance--Chamber--Discontent of the
   Mercantile Classes--Paul Buys and the Opposition--Been Insight of
   Paul Buys--Truchsess becomes a Spy upon him--Intrigues of Buys with
   Denmark--His Imprisonment--The Earl's Unpopularity--His Quarrels
   with the States--And with the Norrises--His Counsellors Wilkes and
   Clerke--Letter from the Queen to Leicester--A Supper Party at
   Hohenlo's--A drunken Quarrel--Hohenlo's Assault upon Edward Norris--
   Ill Effects of the Riot.

The brief period of sunshine had been swiftly followed by storms. The
Governor Absolute had, from the outset, been placed in a false position.
Before he came to the Netherlands the Queen had refused the sovereignty.
Perhaps it was wise in her to decline so magnificent an offer; yet
certainly her acceptance would have been perfectly honourable. The
constituted authorities of the Provinces formally made the proposition.
There is no doubt whatever that the whole population ardently desired to
become her subjects. So far as the Netherlands were concerned, then, she
would have been fully justified in extending her sceptre over a free
people, who, under no compulsion and without any, diplomatic chicane, had
selected her for their hereditary chief. So far as regarded England, the
annexation to that country of a continental cluster of states, inhabited
by a race closely allied to it by blood, religion, and the instinct for
political freedom, seemed, on the whole, desirable.

In a financial point of view, England would certainly lose nothing by the
union. The resources of the Provinces were at leant equal to her own. We
have seen the astonishment which the wealth and strength of the
Netherlands excited in their English visitors. They were amazed by the
evidences of commercial and manufacturing prosperity, by the spectacle of
luxury and advanced culture, which met them on every side. Had the
Queen--as it had been generally supposed--desired to learn whether the
Provinces were able and willing to pay the expenses of their own defence
before she should definitely decide on, their offer of sovereignty, she
was soon thoroughly enlightened upon the subject. Her confidential agents
all--held one language. If she would only, accept the sovereignty, the
amount which the Provinces would pay was in a manner boundless. She was
assured that the revenue of her own hereditary realm was much inferior to
that of the possessions thus offered to her sway.

In regard to constitutional polity, the condition of the Netherlands was
at least, as satisfactory as that of England. The great amount of civil
freedom enjoyed by those countries--although perhaps an objection--in the
eyes of Elizabeth Tudor--should certainly have been a recommendation to
her liberty-loving subjects. The question of defence had been
satisfactorily answered. The Provinces, if an integral part of the
English empire, could protect themselves, and would become an additional
element of strength--not a troublesome encumbrance.

The difference of language was far, less than that which already existed
between the English and their Irish fellow-subjects, while it was
counterbalanced by sympathy, instead of being aggravated by mutual
hostility in the matter of religion.

With regard to the great question of abstract sovereignty, it was
certainly impolitic for an absolute monarch to recognize the right of a
nation to repudiate its natural allegiance. But Elizabeth had already
countenanced that step by assisting the rebellion against Philip. To
allow the rebels to transfer their obedience from the King of Spain to
herself was only another step in the same direction. The Queen, should
she annex the Provinces, would certainly be accused by the world of
ambition; but the ambition was a noble one, if, by thus consenting to the
urgent solicitations of a free people, she extended the region of civil
and religious liberty, and raised up a permanent bulwark against
sacerdotal and royal absolutism.

A war between herself and Spain was inevitable if she accepted the
sovereignty, but peace had been already rendered impossible by the treaty
of alliance. It is true that the Queen imagined the possibility of
combining her engagements towards the States with a conciliatory attitude
towards their ancient master, but it was here that she committed the
gravest error. The negotiations of Parma and his sovereign with the
English court were a masterpiece of deceit on the part of Spain. We have
shown, by the secret correspondence, and we shall in the sequel make it
still clearer, that Philip only intended to amuse his antagonists; that
he had already prepared his plan for the conquest of England, down to the
minutest details; that the idea of tolerating religious liberty had never
entered his mind; and that his fixed purpose was not only thoroughly to
chastise the Dutch rebels, but to deprive the heretic Queen who had
fostered their rebellion both of throne and life. So far as regarded the
Spanish King, then, the quarrel between him and Elizabeth was already
mortal; while in a religious, moral, political, and financial point of
view, it would be difficult to show that it was wrong, or imprudent for
England to accept the sovereignty over his ancient subjects. The cause of
human, freedom seemed likely to gain by the step, for the States did not
consider themselves strong enough to maintain the independent republic
which had already risen.

It might be a question whether, on the whole, Elizabeth made a mistake in
declining the sovereignty. She was certainly wrong, however, in wishing
the lieutenant-general of her six thousand auxiliary troops to be
clothed, as such, with vice-regal powers. The States-General, in a moment
of enthusiasm, appointed him governor absolute, and placed in his hands,
not only the command of the forces, but the entire control of their
revenues, imposts, and customs, together with the appointment of civil
and military officers. Such an amount of power could only be delegated by
the sovereign. Elizabeth had refused the sovereignty: it then rested with
the States. They only, therefore, were competent to confer the power
which Elizabeth wished her favourite to exercise simply as her
lieutenant-general.

Her wrathful and vituperative language damaged her cause and that of the
Netherlands more severely than can now be accurately estimated. The Earl
was placed at once in a false, a humiliating, almost a ridiculous
position. The authority which the States had thus a second time offered
to England was a second time and most scornfully thrust back upon them.
Elizabeth was indignant that "her own man" should clothe himself in the
supreme attributes which she had refused. The States were forced by the
violence of the Queen to take the authority into their own hands again,
and Leicester was looked upon as a disgraced man.

Then came the neglect with which the Earl was treated by her Majesty and
her ill-timed parsimony towards the cause. No letters to him in four
months, no remittances for the English troops, not a penny of salary for
him. The whole expense of the war was thrown for the time upon their
hands, and the English soldiers seemed only a few thousand starving,
naked, dying vagrants, an incumbrance instead of an aid.

The States, in their turn, drew the purse-strings. The two hundred
thousand florins monthly were paid. The four hundred thousand florins
which had been voted as an additional supply were for a time held back,
as Leicester expressly stated, because of the discredit which had been
thrown upon him from home.

   [Strangely enough, Elizabeth was under the impression that the extra
   grant of 400,000 florins (L40,000) for four months was four hundred
   thousand pounds sterling. "The rest that was granted by the States,
   as extraordinary to levy an army, which was 400,000 florins, not
   pounds, as I hear your Majesty taketh it. It is forty thousand
   pounds, and to be paid In March, April, May, and June last," &c.
   Leicester to the Queen, 11 Oct. 1586. (S. P. Office MS.)]

The military operations were crippled for want of funds, but more fatal
than everything else were the secret negotiations for peace. Subordinate
individuals, like Grafigni and De Loo, went up and down, bringing
presents out of England for Alexander Farnese, and bragging that Parma
and themselves could have peace whenever they liked to make it, and
affirming that Leicester's opinions were of no account whatever.
Elizabeth's coldness to the Earl and to the Netherlands was affirmed to
be the Prince of Parma's sheet-anchor; while meantime a house was
ostentatiously prepared in Brussels by their direction for the reception
of an English ambassador, who was every moment expected to arrive. Under
such circumstances it was in, vain for the governor-general to protest
that the accounts of secret negotiations were false, and quite natural
that the States should lose their confidence in the Queen. An unfriendly
and suspicious attitude towards her representative was a necessary
result, and the demonstrations against the common enemy became still more
languid. But for these underhand dealings, Grave, Venlo, and Neusz, might
have been saved, and the current 'of the Meuse and Rhine have remained in
the hands of the patriots.

The Earl was industrious, generous, and desirous of playing well his
part. His personal courage was undoubted, and, in the opinion of his
admirers--themselves, some of them, men of large military experience--his
ability as a commander was of a high order. The valour displayed by the
English nobles and gentlemen who accompanied him was magnificent, worthy
the descendants of the victors at Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt; and the
good behaviour of their followers--with a few rare exceptions--had been
equally signal. But now the army was dwindling to a ghastly array of
scarecrows, and the recruits, as they came from England, were appalled by
the spectacle presented by their predecessors. "Our old ragged rogues
here have so discouraged our new men," said Leicester; "as I protest to
you they look like dead men." Out of eleven hundred freshly-arrived
Englishmen, five hundred ran away in two days. Some were caught and
hanged, and all seemed to prefer hanging to remaining in the service,
while the Earl declared that he would be hanged as well rather than again
undertake such a charge without being assured payment for his troops
beforehand!

The valour of Sidney and Essex, Willoughby and Pelham, Roger Williams and
Martin Schenk, was set at nought by such untoward circumstances. Had not
Philip also left his army to starve and Alexander Farnese to work
miracles, it would have fared still worse with Holland and England, and
with the cause of civil and religious liberty in the year 1586.

The States having resumed, as much as possible; their former authority,
were on very unsatisfactory terms with the governor-general. Before long,
it was impossible for the, twenty or thirty individuals called the States
to be in the same town with the man whom, at the commencement of the,
year, they had greeted so warmly. The hatred between the Leicester
faction and the municipalities became intense, for the foundation of the
two great parties which were long to divide the Netherland commonwealth
was already laid. The mercantile patrician interest, embodied in the
states of Holland and Zeeland and inclined to a large toleration in the
matter of religion, which afterwards took the form of Arminianism, was
opposed by a strict Calvinist party, which desired to subject the
political commonwealth to the reformed church; which nevertheless
indulged in very democratic views of the social compact; and which was
controlled by a few refugees from Flanders and Brabant, who had succeeded
in obtaining the confidence of Leicester.

Thus the Earl was the nominal head of the Calvinist democratic party;
while young Maurice of Nassau; stadholder of Holland and Zeeland, and
guided by Barneveld, Buys, and other leading statesmen of these
Provinces; was in an attitude precisely the reverse of the one which he
was destined at a later and equally memorable epoch to assume. The chiefs
of the faction which had now succeeded in gaining the confidence of
Leicester were Reingault, Burgrave, and Deventer, all refugees.

The laws of Holland and of the other United States were very strict on
the subject of citizenship, and no one but a native was competent to hold
office in each Province. Doubtless, such regulations were
narrow-spirited; but to fly in the face of them was the act of a despot,
and this is what Leicester did. Reingault was a Fleming. He was a
bankrupt merchant, who had been taken into the protection of Lamoral
Egmont, and by that nobleman recommended to Granvelle for an office under
the Cardinal's government. The refusal of this favour was one of the
original causes of Egmont's hostility to Granvelle. Reingault
subsequently entered the service of the Cardinal, however, and rewarded
the kindness of his former benefactor by great exertions in finding, or
inventing, evidence to justify the execution of that unfortunate
nobleman. He was afterwards much employed by the Duke of Alva and by the
Grand Commander Requesens; but after the pacification of Ghent he had
been completely thrown out of service. He had recently, in a subordinate
capacity, accompanied the legations of the States to France and to
England, and had now contrived to ingratiate himself with the Earl of
Leicester. He affected great zeal for the Calvinistic religion--an
exhibition which, in the old servant of Granvelle and Alva, was far from
edifying--and would employ no man or maid-servant in his household until
their religious principles had been thoroughly examined by one or two
clergymen. In brief, he was one of those, who, according to a homely
Flemish proverb, are wont to hang their piety on the bell-rope; but, with
the exception of this brief interlude in his career, he lived and died a
Papist.

Gerard Proninck, called Deventer, was a respectable inhabitant of
Bois-le-Duc, who had left that city after it had again become subject to
the authority of Spain. He was of decent life and conversation, but a
restless and ambitious demagogue. As a Brabantine, he was unfit for
office; and yet, through Leicester's influence and the intrigues of the
democratic party, he obtained the appointment of burgomaster in the city
of Utrecht. The States-General, however, always refused to allow him to
appear at their sessions as representative of that city.

Daniel de Burgrave was a Flemish mechanic, who, by the exertion of much
energy and talent, had risen to the poet of procureur-general of
Flanders. After the conquest of the principal portion of that Province by
Parma, he had made himself useful to the English governor-general in
various ways, and particularly as a linguist. He spoke English--a tongue
with which few Netherlanders of that day were familiar--and as the Earl
knew no other, except (very imperfectly) Italian, he found his services
in speaking and writing a variety of languages very convenient. He was
the governor's private secretary, and, of course, had no entrance to the
council of state, but he was accused of frequently thrusting himself into
their hall of sessions, where, under pretence of arranging the Earl's
table, or portfolio, or papers, he was much addicted to whispering into
his master's ear, listening to conversation,--to eaves-dropping; in
short, and general intrusiveness.

"A most faithful, honest servant is Burgrave," said Leicester; "a
substantial, wise man. 'Tis as sufficient a man as ever I met withal of
any nation; very well learned, exceeding wise, and sincere in religion. I
cannot commend the man too much. He is the only comfort I have had of any
of this nation."

These three personages were the leaders of the Leicester faction. They
had much, influence with all the refugees from Flanders, Brabant, and the
Walloon Provinces. In Utrecht, especially, where the Earl mainly resided,
their intrigues were very successful. Deventer was appointed, as already
stated, to the important post of burgomaster; many, of the influential
citizens were banished, without cause or, trial; the upper branch of the
municipal government, consisting of the clerical delegates of the
colleges, was in an arbitrary manner abolished; and, finally, the
absolute sovereignty of, the Province, without condition, was offered to
the Queen, of England.

Leicester was now determined to carry out one of the great objects which
the Queen had in view when she sent him to the Netherlands. She desired
thoroughly to ascertain the financial resources of the Provinces, and
their capacity to defend themselves. It was supposed by the States, and
hoped by the Earl and by a majority of the Netherland people, that she
would, in case the results were satisfactory, accept, after all, the
sovereignty. She certainly was not to be blamed that she wished to make
this most important investigation, but it was her own fault that any new
machinery had been rendered necessary. The whole control of the finances
had, in the beginning of the year, been placed in the Earl's hands, and
it was only by her violently depriving him of his credit and of the
confidence of the country that he had not retained it. He now established
a finance-chamber, under the chief control of Reingault, who promised him
mountains of money, and who was to be chief treasurer. Paul Buys was
appointed by Leicester to fill a subordinate position in the new council.
He spurned the offer with great indignation, saying that Reingault was
not fit to be his clerk, and that he was not likely himself, therefore,
to accept a humble post under the administration of such an individual.
This scornful refusal filled to the full the hatred of Leicester against
the ex-Advocate of Holland.

The mercantile interest at once took the alarm, because it was supposed
that the finance-chamber, was intended to crush the merchants. Early in
April an Act had been passed by the state-council, prohibiting commerce
with the Spanish possessions. The embargo was intended to injure the
obedient Provinces and their sovereign, but it was shown that its effect
would be to blast the commerce of Holland. It forbade the exportation
from the republic not only of all provisions and munitions of war, but of
all goods and merchandize whatever, to Spain, Portugal, the Spanish
Netherlands, or any other of Philip's territories, either in Dutch or
neutral vessel. It would certainly seem, at first sight, that such an act
was reasonable, although the result would really be, not to deprive the
enemy of supplies, but to throw the whole Baltic trade into the hands of
the Bremen, Hamburg, and "Osterling" merchants. Leicester expected to
derive a considerable revenue by granting passports and licenses to such
neutral traders, but the edict became so unpopular that it was never
thoroughly enforced, and was before long rescinded.

The odium of the measure was thrown upon the governor-general, yet he had
in truth opposed it in the state-council, and was influential in
procuring its repeal.

Another important Act had been directed against the mercantile interest,
and excited much general discontent. The Netherlands wished the staple of
the English cloth manufacture to be removed from Emden--the petty,
sovereign of which place was the humble servant of Spain--to Amsterdam or
Delft. The desire was certainly, natural, and the Dutch merchants sent a
committee to confer with Leicester. He was much impressed with their
views, and with the sagacity of their chairman, one Mylward, "a wise
fellow and well languaged, an ancient man and very, religious," as the
Earl pronounced him to be.

Notwithstanding the wisdom however, of this well-languaged fellow, the
Queen, for some strange reason, could not be induced to change the staple
from Emden, although it was shown that the public revenue of the
Netherlands would gain twenty thousand pounds a year by the measure. "All
Holland will cry out for it," said Leicester; "but I had rather they
cried than that England should weep."

Thus the mercantile community, and especially the patrician families of
Holland and Zeeland, all engaged in trade, became more and more hostile
to the governor-general and to his financial trio, who were soon almost
as unpopular as the famous Consults of Cardinal Granvelle had been. It
was the custom of the States to consider the men who surrounded the Earl
as needy and unprincipled renegades and adventurers. It was the policy of
his advisers to represent the merchants and the States--which mainly
consisted of, or were controlled by merchants--as a body of corrupt,
selfish, greedy money-getters.

The calumnies put in circulation against the States by Reingault and his
associates grew at last so outrageous, and the prejudice created in the
mind of Leicester and his immediate English adherents so intense, that it
was rendered necessary for the States, of Holland and Zeeland to write to
their agent Ortell in London, that he might forestall the effect of these
perpetual misrepresentations on her Majesty's government. Leicester, on
the other hand, under the inspiration; of his artful advisers, was
vehement in his entreaties that Ortell should be sent away from England.

The ablest and busiest of the opposition-party, the "nimblest head" in
the States-General was the ex-Advocate of Holland; Paul Buys. This man
was then the foremost statesman in, the Netherlands. He had been the
firmest friend to the English alliance; he had resigned his office when
the States were-offering the sovereignty to France, and had been on the
point of taking service in Denmark. He had afterwards been prominent in
the legation which offered the sovereignty to Elizabeth, and, for a long
time, had been the most firm, earnest, and eloquent advocate of the
English policy. Leicester had originally courted him, caressed him,
especially recommended him to the Queen's favour, given him money--as he
said, "two hundred pounds sterling thick at a time"--and openly
pronounced him to be "in ability above all men." "No man hath ever sought
a man," he said, "as I have sought P. B."

The period of their friendship was, however, very brief. Before many
weeks had passed there was no vituperative epithet that Leicester was not
in the daily habit of bestowing upon Paul. The Earl's vocabulary of abuse
was not a limited one, but he exhausted it on the head of the Advocate.
He lacked at last words and breath to utter what was like him. He
pronounced his former friend "a very dangerous man, altogether hated of
the people and the States;"--"a lewd sinner, nursled in revolutions; a
most covetous, bribing fellow, caring for nothing but to bear the sway
and grow rich;"--"a man who had played many parts, both lewd and
audacious;"--"a very knave, a traitor to his country;"--"the most
ungrateful wretch alive, a hater of the Queen and of all the English; a
most unthankful man to her Majesty; a practiser to make himself rich and
great, and nobody else;"--"among all villains the greatest;"--"a
bolsterer of all papists and ill men, a dissembler, a devil, an atheist,"
a "most naughty man, and a most notorious drunkard in the worst degree."

Where the Earl hated, his hatred was apt to be deadly, and he was
determined, if possible, to have the life of the detested Paul. "You
shall see I will do well enough with him, and that shortly," he said. "I
will course him as he was not so this twenty year. I will warrant him
hanged and one or two of his fellows, but you must not tell your shirt of
this yet;" and when he was congratulating the government on his having at
length procured the execution of Captain Hemart, the surrenderer of
Grave, he added, pithily, "and you shall hear that Mr. P. B. shall
follow."

Yet the Earl's real griefs against Buys may be easily summed up. The lewd
sinner, nursled in revolutions, had detected the secret policy of the
Queen's government, and was therefore perpetually denouncing the
intrigues going on with Spain. He complained that her Majesty was tired
of having engaged in the Netherland enterprise; he declared that she
would be glad to get fairly out of it; that her reluctance to spend a
farthing more in the cause than she was obliged to do was hourly
increasing upon her; that she was deceiving and misleading the
States-General; and that she was hankering after a peace. He said that
the Earl had a secret intention to possess himself of certain towns in
Holland, in which case the whole question of peace and war would be in
the hands of the Queen, who would also have it thus in her power to
reimburse herself at once for all expenses that she had incurred.

It would be difficult to show that there was anything very calumnious in
these charges, which, no doubt, Paul was in the habit of making. As to
the economical tendencies of her Majesty, sufficient evidence has been
given already from Leicester's private letters. "Rather than spend one
hundred pounds," said Walsingham, "she can be content to be deceived of
five thousand." That she had been concealing from the Staten, from
Walsingham, from Leicester, during the whole summer, her secret
negotiations with Spain, has also been made apparent. That she was
disgusted with the enterprise in which she had embarked, Walsingham,
Burghley, Hatton, and all the other statesmen of England, most abundantly
testified. Whether Leicester had really an intention to possess himself
of certain cities in Holland--a charge made by Paul Buys, and denounced
as especially slanderous by the Earl--may better appear from his own
private statements.

"This I will do," he wrote to the Queen, "and I hope not to fail of it,
to get into my hands three or four most principal places in North
Holland; which will be such a strength and assurance for your Majesty, as
you shall see you shall both rule these men and make war or peace as you
list, always provided--whatsoever you hear, or is--part not with the
Brill; and having these places in your hands, whatsoever should chance to
these countries, your Majesty, I will warrant sure enough to make what
peace you will in an hour, and to have your debts and charges readily
answered." At a somewhat later moment it will be seen what came of these
secret designs. For the present, Leicester was very angry with Paul for
daring to suspect him of such treachery.

The Earl complained, too, that the influence of Buys with Hohenlo and
young Maurice of Nassau was most pernicious. Hohenlo had formerly stood
high in Leicester's opinion. He was a "plain, faithful soldier, a most
valiant gentleman," and he was still more important, because about to
marry Mary of Nassau; eldest slaughter, of William the Silent, and
coheiress with Philip William, to the Buren property. But he had been
tampered with by the intriguing Paul Buys, and had then wished to resign
his office under Leicester. Being pressed for reasons, he had "grown
solemn," and withdrawn himself almost entirely.

Maurice; with his "solemn, sly wit," also gave the Earl much trouble,
saying little; but thinking much, and listening to the insidious Paul. He
"stood much on making or marring," so Leicester thought, "as he met with
good counsel." He had formerly been on intimate terms with the
governor-general, who affected to call him his son; but he had
subsequently kept aloof, and in three months had not come near him. The
Earl thought that money might do much, and was anxious for Sir Francis
Drake to come home from the Indies with millions of gold, that the Queen
might make both Hohenlo and Maurice a handsome present before it should
be too late.

Meantime he did what he could with Elector Truchsess to lure them back
again. That forlorn little prelate was now poorer and more wretched than
ever. He was becoming paralytic, though young, and his heart was broken
through want. Leicester, always generous as the sun, gave him money, four
thousand florins at a time, and was most earnest that the Queen should
put him on her pension list. "His wisdom, his behaviour, his languages,
his person," said the Earl, "all would like her well. He is in great
melancholy for his town of Neusz, and for his poverty, having a very
noble mind. If, he be lost, her Majesty had better lose a hundred
thousand pounds."

The melancholy Truchsess now became a spy and a go-between. He insinuated
himself into the confidence of Paul Buys, wormed his secrets from him,
and then communicated them to Hohenlo and to Leicester; "but he did it
very wisely," said the Earl, "so that he was not mistrusted." The
governor always affected, in order to screen the elector from suspicion,
to obtain his information from persons in Utrecht; and he had indeed many
spies in that city; who diligently reported Paul's table-talk.
Nevertheless, that "noble gentleman, the elector," said Leicester, "hath
dealt most deeply with him, to seek out the bottom." As the ex-Advocate
of Holland was very communicative in his cups, and very bitter against
the governor-general, there was soon such a fund of information collected
on the subject by various eaves-droppers, that Leicester was in hopes of
very soon hanging Mr. Paul Buys, as we have already seen.

The burthen of the charges against the culprit was his statement that the
Provinces would be gone if her Majesty did not declare herself,
vigorously and generously, in their favour; but, as this was the
perpetual cry of Leicester himself, there seemed hardly hanging matter in
that. That noble gentleman, the elector, however, had nearly saved the
hangman his trouble, having so dealt with Hohenlo as to "bring him into
as good a mind as ever he was;" and the first fruits of this good mind
were, that the honest Count--a man of prompt dealings--walked straight to
Paul's house in order to kill him on the spot. Something fortunately
prevented the execution of this plan; but for a time at least the
energetic Count continued to be "governed greatly" by the ex-archbishop,
and "did impart wholly unto him his most secret heart."

Thus the "deep wise Truxy," as Leicester called him, continued to earn
golden opinions, and followed up his conversion of Hohenlo by undertaking
to "bring Maurice into tune again also," and the young Prince was soon on
better terms with his "affectionate father" than he had ever been before.
Paul Buys was not so easily put down, however, nor the two magnates so
thoroughly gained over. Before the end of the season Maurice stood in his
old position, the nominal head of the Holland or patrician party, chief
of the opposition to Leicester, while Hohenlo had become more bitter than
ever against the Earl. The quarrel between himself and Edward Norris, to
which allusion will soon be made, tended to increase the dissatisfaction,
although he singularly misunderstood Leicester's sentiments throughout
the whole affair. Hohenlo recovered of his wound before Zutphen; but, on
his recovery, was more malcontent than ever. The Earl was obliged at last
to confess that "he was a very dangerous man, inconstant, envious; and
hateful to all our nation, and a very traitor to the cause. There is no
dealing to win him," he added, "I have sought it to my cost. His best
friends tell me he is not to be trusted."

Meantime that lewd sinner, the indefatigable Paul, was plotting
desperately--so Leicester said and believed--to transfer the sovereignty
of the Provinces to the King of Denmark. Buys, who was privately of
opinion that the States required an absolute head, "though it were but an
onion's head," and that they would thankfully continue under Leicester as
governor absolute if Elizabeth would accept the sovereignty, had made up
his mind that the Queen would never take that step. He was therefore
disposed to offer the crown to the King of Denmark, and was believed to
have brought Maurice--who was to espouse that King's daughter--to the
same way of thinking. Young Count Rantzan, son of a distinguished Danish
statesman, made a visit to the Netherlands in order to confer with Buys.
Paul was also anxious to be appointed envoy to Denmark, ostensibly to
arrange for the two thousand cavalry, which the King had long before
promised for the assistance of the Provinces, but in reality, to examine
the details of this new project; and Leicester represented to the Queen
very earnestly how powerful the Danish monarch would become, thus
rendered master of the narrow seas, and how formidable to England.

In the midst of these plottings, real or supposed, a party of armed men,
one fine summer's morning, suddenly entered Paul's bedroom as he lay
asleep at the house of the burgomaster, seized his papers, and threw him:
into prison in the wine-cellar of the town-house. "Oh my papers, oh my
papers!" cried the unfortunate politician, according to Leicester's
statement, "the Queen of England will for ever hate me." The Earl
disavowed all, participation in the arrest; but he was not believed. He
declared himself not sorry that the measure had been taken, and promised
that he would not "be hasty to release him," not doubting that "he would
be found faulty enough." Leicester maintained that there was stuff enough
discovered to cost Paul his head; but he never lost his head, nor was
anything treasonable or criminal ever found against him. The intrigue
with Denmark--never proved--and commenced, if undertaken at all, in utter
despair of Elizabeth's accepting the sovereignty, was the gravest charge.
He remained, however, six months in prison, and at the beginning of 1587
was released, without trial or accusation, at the request of the English
Queen.

The States could hardly be blamed for their opposition to the Earl's
administration, for he had thrown himself completely into the arms of a
faction, whose object was to vilipend and traduce them, and it was now
difficult for him to recover the functions of which the Queen had
deprived him. "The government they had given from themselves to me stuck
in their stomachs always," he said. Thus on the one side, the States
were, "growing more stately than ever," and were-always "jumbling
underhand," while the aristocratic Earl, on, his part, was resolute not
to be put down by "churls and tinkers." He was sure that the people were
with him, and that, "having always been governed by some prince, they,
never did nor could consent to be ruled by bakers, brewers, and hired
advocates. I know they hate them," said this high-born tribune of the
people. He was much disgusted with the many-headed chimaera, the
monstrous republic, with which he found himself in such unceasing
conflict, and was disposed to take a manful stand. "I have been fain of
late," he said, "to set the better leg foremost, to handle some of my
masters somewhat plainly; for they thought I would droop; and whatsoever
becomes of me, you shall hear I will keep my reputation, or die for it."

But one great accusation, made against the churls and tinkers, and bakers
and hired advocates, and Mr. Paul Buys at their head, was that they were
liberal towards the Papists. They were willing that Catholics should
remain in the country and exercise the rights of citizens, provided they,
conducted themselves like good citizens. For this toleration--a lesson
which statesmen like Buys and Barneveld had learned in the school of
William the Silent--the opposition-party were denounced as bolsterers of
Papists, and Papists themselves at heart, and "worshippers of idolatrous
idols."

From words, too, the government of Leicester passed to acts. Seventy
papists were banished from the city of Utrecht at the time of the arrest
of Buys. The Queen had constantly enforced upon Leicester the importance
of dealing justly with the Catholics in the Netherlands, on the ground
that they might be as good patriots and were as much interested in the
welfare of their country as were the Protestants; and he was especially
enjoined "not to meddle in matters of religion." This wholesome advice it
would have been quite impossible for the Earl, under the guidance of
Reingault, Burgrave, and Stephen Perret, to carry out. He protested that
he should have liked to treat Papists and Calvinists "with indifference,"
but that it had proved impossible; that the Catholics were perpetually
plotting with the Spanish faction, and that no towns were safe except
those in which Papists had been excluded from office. "They love the Pope
above all," he said, "and the Prince of Parma hath continual intelligence
with them." Nor was it Catholics alone who gave the governor trouble. He
was likewise very busy in putting down other denominations that differed
from the Calvinists. "Your Majesty will not believe," he said, "the
number of sects that are in most towns; especially Anabaptists, Families
of Love, Georgians; and I know not what. The godly and good ministers
were molested by them in many places, and ready to give over; and even
such diversities grew among magistrates in towns, being caused by some
sedition-sowers here." It is however, satisfactory to reflect that the
anabaptists and families of love, although discouraged and frowned upon,
were not burned alive, buried alive, drowned in dungeons, and roasted at
slow fires, as had been the case with them and with every other species
of Protestants, by thousands and tens of thousands, so long as Charles V.
and Philip II. had ruled the territory of that commonwealth. Humanity had
acquired something by the war which the Netherlanders had been waging for
twenty years, and no man or woman was ever put to death for religious
causes after the establishment of the republic.

With his hands thus full of business, it was difficult for the Earl to
obey the Queen's command not to meddle in religious matters; for he was
not of the stature of William the Silent, and could not comprehend that
the great lesson taught by the sixteenth century was that men were not to
meddle with men in matters of religion.

But besides his especial nightmare--Mr. Paul Buys--the governor-general
had a whole set of incubi in the Norris family. Probably no two persons
ever detested each other more cordially than did Leicester and Sir John
Norris. Sir John had been commander of the forces in the Netherlands
before Leicester's arrival, and was unquestionably a man of larger
experience than the Earl. He had, however, as Walsingham complained,
acquired by his services in "countries where neither discipline military
nor religion carried any sway," a very rude and licentious kind of
government. "Would to God," said the secretary, "that, with his value and
courage, he carried the mind and reputation of a religious soldier." But
that was past praying for. Sir John was proud, untractable, turbulent,
very difficult to manage. He hated Leicester, and was furious with Sir
William Pelham, whom Leicester had made marshal of the camp. He
complained, not unjustly, that from the first place in the army, which he
had occupied in the Netherlands, he had been reduced to the fifth. The
governor-general--who chose to call Sir John the son of his ancient
enemy, the Earl of Sussex--often denounced him in good set terms. "His
brother Edward is as ill as he," he said, "but John is right the late
Earl of Sussex' son; he will so dissemble and crouch, and so cunningly
carry his doings, as no man living would imagine that there were half the
malice or vindictive mind that plainly his words prove to be." Leicester
accused him of constant insubordination, insolence, and malice,
complained of being traduced by him everywhere in the Netherlands and in
England, and declared that he was followed about by "a pack of lewd
audacious fellows," whom the Earl vowed he would hang, one and all,
before he had done with them. He swore openly, in presence of all his
camp, that he would hang Sir John likewise; so that both the brothers,
who had never been afraid of anything since they had been born into the
world, affected to be in danger of their lives.

The Norrises were on bad terms with many officers--with Sir William
Pelham of course, with "old Reade," Lord North, Roger Williams, Hohenlo,
Essex, and other nobles--but with Sir Philip Sidney, the gentle and
chivalrous, they were friends. Sir John had quarrelled in former
times--according to Leicester--with Hohenlo and even with the "good and
brave" La None, of the iron arm; "for his pride," said the Earl, "was the
spirit of the devil." The governor complained every day of his malignity,
and vowed that he "neither regarded the cause of God, nor of his prince,
nor country."

He consorted chiefly with Sir Thomas Cecil, governor of Brill, son of
Lord Burghley, and therefore no friend to Leicester; but the Earl
protested that "Master Thomas should bear small rule," so long as he was
himself governor-general. "Now I have Pelham and Stanley, we shall do
well enough," he said, "though my young master would countenance him. I
will be master while I remain here, will they, nill they."

Edward Norris, brother of Sir John, gave the governor almost as much
trouble as he; but the treasurer Norris, uncle to them both, was, if
possible, more odious to him than all. He was--if half Leicester's
accusations are to be believed--a most infamous peculator. One-third of
the money sent by the Queen for the soldiers stuck in his fingers. He
paid them their wretched four-pence a-day in depreciated coin, so that
for their "naughty money they could get but naughty ware." Never was such
"fleecing of poor soldiers," said Leicester.

On the other hand, Sir John maintained that his uncle's accounts were
always ready for examination, and earnestly begged the home-government
not to condemn that functionary without a hearing. For himself, he
complained that he was uniformly kept in the background, left in
ignorance of important enterprises, and sent on difficult duty with
inadequate forces. It was believed that Leicester's course was inspired
by envy, lest any military triumph that might be gained should redound to
the glory of Sir John, one of the first commanders of the age, rather
than to that of the governor-general. He was perpetually thwarted,
crossed, calumniated, subjected to coarse and indecent insults, even from
such brave men as Lord North and Roger Williams, and in the very presence
of the commander-in-chief, so that his talents were of no avail, and he
was most anxious to be gone from the country.

Thus with the tremendous opposition formed to his government in the
States-General, the incessant bickerings with the Norrises, the
peculations of the treasurer, the secret negotiations with Spain, and the
impossibility of obtaining money from home for himself or for his
starving little army, the Earl was in anything but a comfortable
position. He was severely censured in England; but he doubted, with much
reason, whether there were many who would take his office, and spend
twenty thousand pounds sterling out of their own pockets, as he had done.
The Earl was generous and brave as man could be, full of wit, quick of
apprehension; but inordinately vain, arrogant, and withal easily led by
designing persons. He stood up manfully for the cause in which he was
embarked, and was most strenuous in his demands for money. "Personally he
cared," he said, "not sixpence for his post; but would give five thousand
sixpences, and six thousand shillings beside, to be rid of it;" but it
was contrary to his dignity to "stand bucking with the States" for his
salary. "Is it reason," he asked, "that I, being sent from so great a
prince as our sovereign is, must come to strangers to beg my
entertainment: If they are to pay me, why is there no remembrance made of
it by her Majesty's letters, or some of the lords?"

The Earl and those around him perpetually and vehemently urged upon the
Queen to reconsider her decision, and accept the sovereignty of the
Provinces at once. There was no other remedy for the distracted state of
the country--no other safeguard for England. The Netherland people
anxiously, eagerly desired it. Her Majesty was adored by all the
inhabitants, who would gladly hang the fellows called the States. Lord
North was of this opinion--so was Cavendish. Leicester had always held
it. "Sure I am," he said, "there is but one way for our safety, and that
is, that her Majesty may take that upon her which I fear she will not."
Thomas Wilkes, who now made his appearance on the scene, held the same
language. This distinguished civilian had been sent by the Queen, early
in August, to look into the state of Netherland affairs. Leicester having
expressly urged the importance of selecting as wise a politician as could
be found--because the best man in England would hardly be found a match
for the dullards and drunkards, as it was the fashion there to call the
Dutch statesmen--had selected Wilkes. After fulfilling this important
special mission, he was immediately afterwards to return to the
Netherlands as English member of the state-council, at forty shillings
a-day, in the place of "little Hal Killigrew," whom Leicester pronounced
a "quicker and stouter fellow" than he had at first taken him for,
although he had always thought well of him. The other English counsellor,
Dr. Bartholomew Clerk, was to remain, and the Earl declared that he too,
whom he had formerly undervalued, and thought to have "little stuff in
him," was now "increasing greatly in understanding." But notwithstanding
this intellectual progress, poor Bartholomew, who was no beginner, was
most anxious to retire. He was a man of peace, a professor, a doctor of
laws, fonder of the learned leisure and the trim gardens of England than
of the scenes which now surrounded him. "I beseech your good Lordship to
consider," he dismally observed to Burghley, "what a hard case it is for
a man that these fifteen years hath had vitam sedentariam, unworthily in
a place judicial, always in his long robe, and who, twenty-four years
since, was a public reader in the University (and therefore cannot be
young), to come now among guns and drums, tumbling up and down, day and
night, over waters and banks, dykes and ditches, upon every occasion that
falleth out; hearing many insolences with silence, bearing many hard
measures with patience--a course most different from my nature, and most
unmeet for him that hath ever professed learning."

Wilkes was of sterner stuff. Always ready to follow the camp and to face
the guns and drums with equanimity, and endowed beside with keen
political insight, he was more competent than most men to unravel the
confused skein of Netherland politics. He soon found that the Queen's
secret negotiations with Spain, and the general distrust of her
intentions in regard to the Provinces, were like to have fatal
consequences. Both he and Leicester painted the anxiety of the Netherland
people as to the intention of her Majesty in vivid colours.

The Queen could not make up her mind--in the very midst of the Greenwich
secret conferences, already described--to accept the Netherland
sovereignty. "She gathereth from your letter," wrote Walsingham, "that
the only salve for this sore is to make herself proprietary of the
country, and to put in such an army as may be able to make head to the
enemy. These two things being so contrary to her Majesty's
disposition--the one, for that it breedeth a doubt of a perpetual war,
the other, for that it requireth an increase of charges--do marvellously
distract her, and make her repent that ever she entered into the action."

Upon the great subject of the sovereignty, therefore, she was unable to
adopt the resolution so much desired by Leicester and by the people of
the Provinces; but she answered the Earl's communications concerning
Maurice and Hohenlo, Sir John Norris and the treasurer, in characteristic
but affectionate language. And thus she wrote:

"Rob, I am afraid you will suppose, by my wandering writings, that a
midsummer's moon hath taken large possession of my brains this month; but
you must needs take things as they come in my head, though order be left
behind me. When I remember your request to have a discreet and honest man
that may carry my mind, and see how all goes there, I have chosen this
bearer (Thomas Wilkes), whom you know and have made good trial of. I have
fraught him full of my conceipts of those country matters, and imparted
what way I mind to take and what is fit for you to use. I am sure you can
credit him, and so I will be short with these few notes. First, that
Count Maurice and Count Hollock (Hohenlo) find themselves trusted of you,
esteemed of me, and to be carefully regarded, if ever peace should
happen, and of that assure them on my word, that yet never deceived any.
And for Norris and other captains that voluntarily, without commandment,
have many years ventured their lives and won our nation honour and
themselves fame, let them not be discouraged by any means, neither by
new-come men nor by old trained soldiers elsewhere. If there be fault in
using of soldiers, or making of profit by them, let them hear of it
without open shame, and doubt not I will well chasten them therefore. It
frets me not a little that the poor soldiers that hourly venture life
should want their due, that well deserve rather reward; and look, in whom
the fault may truly be proved, let them smart therefore. And if the
treasurer be found untrue or negligent, according to desert he shall be
used. But you know my old wont, that love not to discharge from office
without desert. God forbid! I pray you let this bearer know what may be
learned herein, and for the treasure I have joined Sir Thomas Shirley to
see all this money discharged in due sort, where it needeth and behoveth.

"Now will I end, that do imagine I talk still with you, and therefore
loathly say farewell one hundred thousand times; though ever I pray God
bless you from all harm, and save you from all foes. With my million and
legion of thanks for all your pains and cares,

             "As you know ever the same,

                            "E. R.

"P. S. Let Wilkes see that he is acceptable to you. If anything there be
that W. shall desire answer of be such as you would have but me to know,
write it to myself. You know I can keep both others' counsel and mine
own. Mistrust not that anything you would have kept shall be disclosed by
me, for although this bearer ask many things, yet you may answer him such
as you shall think meet, and write to me the rest."

Thus, not even her favourite Leicester's misrepresentations could make
the Queen forget her ancient friendship for "her own crow;" but meantime
the relations between that "bunch of brethren," black Norris and the
rest, and Pelham, Hollock, and other high officers in Leicester's army,
had grown worse than ever.

One August evening there was a supper-party at Count Hollock's quarters
in Gertruydenberg. A military foray into Brabant had just taken place,
under the lead of the Count, and of the Lord Marshal, Sir William Pelham.
The marshal had requested Lord Willoughby, with his troop of horse and
five hundred foot, to join in the enterprise, but, as usual, particular
pains had been taken that Sir John Norris should know nothing of the
affair. Pelham and Hollock--who was "greatly in love with Mr.
Pelham"--had invited several other gentlemen high in Leicester's
confidence to accompany the expedition; and, among the rest, Sir Philip
Sidney, telling him that he "should see some good service." Sidney came
accordingly, in great haste, from Flushing, bringing along with him
Edward Norris--that hot-headed young man, who, according to Leicester,
"greatly governed his elder brother"--but they arrived at Gertruydenberg
too late. The foray was over, and the party--"having burned a village,
and killed some boors"--were on their return. Sidney, not perhaps much
regretting the loss of his share in this rather inglorious shooting
party, went down to the water-side, accompanied by Captain Norris, to
meet Hollock and the other commanders.

As the Count stepped on shore he scowled ominously, and looked very much
out of temper.

"What has come to Hollock?" whispered Captain Patton, a Scotchman, to
Sidney. "Has he a quarrel with any of the party? Look at his face! He
means mischief to somebody."

But Sidney was equally amazed at the sudden change in the German
general's countenance, and as unable to explain it.

Soon afterwards, the whole party, Hollock, Lewis William of Nassau, Lord
Carew, Lord Essex, Lord Willoughby, both the Sidneys, Roger Williams,
Pelham, Edward Norris, and the rest, went to the Count's lodgings, where
they supped, and afterwards set themselves seriously to drinking.

Norris soon perceived that he was no welcome guest; for he was not--like
Sidney--a stranger to the deep animosity which had long existed between
Sir John Norris and Sir William Pelham and his friends. The carouse was a
tremendous one, as usually was the case where Hollock was the Amphitryon,
and, as the potations grew deeper, an intention became evident on the
part of some of the company to behave unhandsomely to Norris.

For a time the young Captain ostentatiously restrained himself, very much
after the fashion of those meek individuals who lay their swords on the
tavern-table, with "God grant I may have no need of thee!" The custom was
then prevalent at banquets for the revellers to pledge each other in
rotation, each draining a great cup, and exacting the same feat from his
neighbour, who then emptied his goblet as a challenge to his next
comrade.

The Lord Marshal took a beaker, and called out to Edward Norris. "I drink
to the health of my Lord Norris, and of my lady; your mother." So saying,
he emptied his glass.

The young man did not accept the pledge.

"Your Lordship knows," he said somewhat sullenly, "that I am not wont to
drink deep. Mr. Sidney there can tell you that, for my health's sake, I
have drank no wine these eight days. If your Lordship desires the
pleasure of seeing me drunk, I am not of the same mind. I pray you at
least to take a smaller glass."

Sir William insisted on the pledge. Norris then, in no very good humour,
emptied his cup to the Earl of Essex.

Essex responded by draining a goblet to Count Hollock.

"A Norris's father," said the young Earl; as he pledged the Count, who
was already very drunk, and looking blacker than ever.

"An 'orse's father--an 'orse's father!" growled' Hollock; "I never drink
to horses, nor to their fathers either:" and with this wonderful
witticism he declined the pledge.

Essex explained that the toast was Lord Norris, father of the Captain;
but the Count refused to understand, and held fiercely, and with damnable
iteration, to his jest.

The Earl repeated his explanation several times with no better success.
Norris meanwhile sat swelling with wrath, but said nothing.

Again the Lord Marshal took the same great glass, and emptied it to the
young Captain.

Norris, not knowing exactly what course to take, placed the glass at the
side of his plate, and glared grimly at Sir William.

Pelham was furious. Reaching over the table, he shoved the glass towards
Norris with an angry gesture.

"Take your glass, Captain Norris," he cried; "and if you have a mind to
jest, seek other companions. I am not to be trifled with; therefore, I
say, pledge me at once."

"Your Lordship shall not force me to drink more wine than I list,"
returned the other. "It is your pleasure to take advantage of your
military rank. Were we both at home, you would be glad to be my
companion."

Norris was hard beset, and although his language was studiously moderate,
it was not surprising that his manner should be somewhat insolent. The
veteran Lord Marshal, on the other hand, had distinguished himself on
many battle-fields, but his deportment at this banqueting-table was not
much to his credit. He paused a moment, and Norris, too, held his peace,
thinking that his enemy would desist.

It was but for a moment.

"Captain Norris," cried Pelham, "I bid you pledge me without more ado.
Neither you nor your best friends shall use me as you list. I am better
born than you and your brother, the colonel-general, and the whole of
you."

"I warn you to say nothing disrespectful against my brother," replied the
Captain. "As for yourself, I know how to respect your age and superior
rank."

"Drink, drink, drink!" roared the old Marshal. "I tell you I am better
born than the best of you. I have advanced you all too, and you know it;
therefore drink to me."

Sir William was as logical as men in their cups are prone to be.

"Indeed, you have behaved well to my brother Thomas," answered Norris,
suddenly becoming very courteous, "and for this I have ever loved your
Lordship, and would, do you any service."

"Well, then," said the Marshal, becoming tender in his turn, "forget what
hath past this night, and do as you would have done before."

"Very well said, indeed!" cried Sir Philip Sidney, trying to help the
natter into the smoother channel towards which it was tending.

Norris, seeing that the eyes of the whole company were upon them; took
the glass accordingly, and rose to his feet.

"My Lord Marshal," he said, "you have done me more wrong this night than
you can easily make satisfaction for. But I am unwilling that any trouble
or offence should grow through me. Therefore once more I pledge you."

He raised the cup to his lips. At that instant Hollock, to whom nothing
had been said, and who had spoken no word since his happy remark about
the horse's father, suddenly indulged in a more practical jest; and
seizing the heavy gilt cover of a silver vase, hurled it at the head of
Norris. It struck him full on the forehead, cutting him to the bone. The
Captain, stunned for a moment, fell back in his chair, with the blood
running down his eyes and face. The Count, always a man of few words, but
prompt in action, now drew his dagger, and strode forward, with the
intention of despatching him upon the spot. Sir Philip Sidney threw his
arms around Hollock, however, and, with the assistance of others in the
company, succeeded in dragging him from the room. The affair was over in
a few seconds.

Norris, coming back to consciousness, sat for a moment as one amazed,
rubbing the blood out of his eyes; then rose from the table to seek his
adversary; but he was gone.

Soon afterwards he went to his lodgings. The next morning he was advised
to leave the town as speedily as possible; for as it was under the
government of Hollock, and filled with his soldiers, he was warned that
his life would not be safe there an hour. Accordingly he went to his
boat, accompanied only by his man and his page, and so departed with his
broken head, breathing vengeance against Hollock, Pelham, Leicester, and
the whole crew, by whom he had been thus abused.

The next evening there was another tremendous carouse at the Count's,
and, says the reporter of the preceding scene, "they were all on such
good terms, that not one of the company had falling band or ruff left
about his neck. All were clean torn away, and yet there was no blood
drawn."

Edward Norris--so soon as might be afterwards--sent a cartel to the
Count, demanding mortal combat with sword and dagger. Sir Philip Sidney
bore the message. Sir John Norris, of course warmly and violently
espoused the cause of his brother, and was naturally more incensed
against the Lord Marshal than ever, for Sir William Pelham was considered
the cause of the whole affray. "Even if the quarrel is to be excused by
drink," said an eye-witness, "'tis but a slender defence for my Lord to
excuse himself by his cups; and often drink doth bewray men's humours and
unmask their malice. Certainly the Count Hollock thought to have done a
pleasure to the company in killing him."

Nothing could be more ill-timed than this quarrel, or more vexatious to
Leicester. The Count--although considering himself excessively injured at
being challenged by a simple captain and an untitled gentleman, whom he
had attempted to murder--consented to waive his privilege, and grant the
meeting.

Leicester interposed, however, to delay, and, if possible, to patch up
the affair. They were on the eve of active military operations, and it
was most vexatious for the commander-in-chief to see, as he said, "the
quarrel with the enemy changed to private revenge among ourselves." The
intended duel did not take place; for various influential personages
succeeded in deferring the meeting. Then came the battle of Zutphen.

Sidney fell, and Hollock was dangerously wounded in the attack which was
soon afterwards made upon the fort. He was still pressed to afford the
promised satisfaction, however, and agreed to do so whenever he should
rise from his bed.

Strange to say, the Count considered Leicester, throughout the whole
business, to have taken part against him.

Yet there is no doubt whatever that the Earl--who detested the Norrises,
and was fonder of Pelham than of any man living--uniformly narrated the
story most unjustly, to the discredit of the young Captain. He considered
him extremely troublesome, represented him as always quarrelling with
some one--with Colonel Morgan, Roger Williams, old Reade, and all the
rest--while the Lord Marshal, on the contrary, was depicted as the
mildest of men. "This I must say," he observed, "that all present, except
my two nephews (the Sidneys), who are not here yet, declare the greatest
fault to be in Edward Norris, and that he did most arrogantly use the
Marshal."

It is plain, however, that the old Marshal, under the influence of wine,
was at least quite as much to blame as the young Captain; and Sir Philip
Sidney sufficiently showed his sense of the matter by being the bearer of
Edward Norris's cartel. After Sidney's death, Sir John Norris, in his
letter of condolence to Walsingham for the death of his illustrious
son-in-law, expressed the deeper regret at his loss because Sir Philip's
opinion had been that the Norrises were wronged. Hollock had conducted
himself like a lunatic, but this he was apt to do whether in his cups or
not. He was always for killing some one or another on the slightest
provocation, and, while the dog-star of 1586 was raging, it was not his
fault if he had not already despatched both Edward Norris and the
objectionable "Mr. P. B."

For these energetic demonstrations against Leicester's enemies he
considered himself entitled to the Earl's eternal gratitude, and was
deeply disgusted at his apparent coldness. The governor was driven almost
to despair by these quarrels.

His colonel-general, his lord marshal, his lieutenant-general, were all
at daggers drawn. "Would God I were rid of this place!" he exclaimed.
"What man living would go to the field and have his officers divided
almost into mortal quarrel? One blow but by any of their lackeys brings
us altogether by the ears."

It was clear that there was not room enough on the Netherland soil for
the Earl of Leicester and the brothers Norris. The queen, while
apparently siding with the Earl, intimated to Sir John that she did not
disapprove his conduct, that she should probably recall him to England,
and that she should send him back to the Provinces after the Earl had
left that country.

Such had been the position of the governor-general towards the Queen,
towards the States-General, and towards his own countrymen, during the
year 1586.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Are wont to hang their piety on the bell-rope
     Arminianism
     As logical as men in their cups are prone to be
     Tolerating religious liberty had never entered his mind



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 50, 1586



CHAPTER. XI

   Drake in the Netherlands--Good Results of his Visit--The Babington
   Conspiracy--Leicester decides to visit England--Exchange of parting
   Compliments.

Late in the autumn of the same year an Englishman arrived in the
Netherlands, bearer of despatches from the Queen. He had been entrusted
by her Majesty with a special mission to the States-General, and he had
soon an interview with that assembly at the Hague.

He was a small man, apparently forty-five years of age, of a fair but
somewhat weather-stained complexion, with light-brown, closely-curling
hair, an expansive forehead, a clear blue eye, rather commonplace
features, a thin, brown, pointed beard, and a slight moustache. Though
low of stature, he was broad-chested, with well-knit limbs. His hands,
which were small and nervous, were brown and callous with the marks of
toil. There was something in his brow and glance not to be mistaken, and
which men willingly call master; yet he did not seem, to have sprung of
the born magnates of the earth. He wore a heavy gold chain about his
neck, and it might be observed that upon the light full sleeves of his
slashed doublet the image of a small ship on a terrestrial globe was
curiously and many times embroidered.

It was not the first time that he had visited the Netherlands. Thirty
years before the man had been apprentice on board a small lugger, which
traded between the English coast and the ports of Zeeland. Emerging in
early boyhood from his parental mansion--an old boat, turned bottom
upwards on a sandy down he had naturally taken to the sea, and his
master, dying childless not long afterwards, bequeathed to him the
lugger. But in time his spirit, too much confined by coasting in the
narrow seas, had taken a bolder flight. He had risked his hard-earned
savings in a voyage with the old slave-trader, John Hawkins--whose
exertions, in what was then considered an honourable and useful vocation,
had been rewarded by Queen Elizabeth with her special favour, and with a
coat of arms, the crest whereof was a negro's head, proper, chained--but
the lad's first and last enterprise in this field was unfortunate.
Captured by Spaniards, and only escaping with life, he determined to
revenge himself on the whole Spanish nation; and this was considered a
most legitimate proceeding according to the "sea divinity" in which he,
had been schooled. His subsequent expeditions against the Spanish
possessions in the West Indies were eminently successful, and soon the
name of Francis Drake rang through the world, and startled Philip in the
depths of his Escorial. The first Englishman, and the second of any
nation, he then ploughed his memorable "furrow round the earth," carrying
amazement and, destruction to the Spaniards as he sailed, and after three
years brought to the Queen treasure enough, as it was asserted, to
maintain a war with the Spanish King for seven years, and to pay himself
and companions, and the merchant-adventurers who had participated in his
enterprise, forty-seven pounds sterling for every pound invested in the
voyage. The speculation had been a fortunate one both, for himself and
for the kingdom.

The terrible Sea-King was one of the great types of the sixteenth
century. The self-helping private adventurer, in his little vessel the
'Golden Hind,' one hundred tons burthen, had waged successful war against
a mighty empire, and had shown England how to humble Philip. When he
again set foot on his native soil he was followed by admiring crowds, and
became the favourite hero of romance and ballad; for it was not the
ignoble pursuit of gold alone, through toil and peril, which had endeared
his name to the nation. The popular instinct recognized that the true
means had been found at last for rescuing England and Protestantism from
the overshadowing empire of Spain. The Queen visited him in his 'Golden
Hind,' and gave him the honour of knighthood.

The treaty between the United Netherlands and England had been followed
by an embargo upon English vessels, persons, and property, in the ports
of Spain; and after five years of unwonted repose, the privateersman
again set forth with twenty-five small vessels--of which five or six only
were armed--under his command, conjoined with that of General Carlisle.
This time the voyage was undertaken with full permission and assistance
of the Queen who, however, intended to disavow him, if she should find
such a step convenient. This was the expedition in which Philip Sidney
had desired to take part. The Queen watched its result with intense
anxiety, for the fate of her Netherland adventure was thought to be
hanging on the issue. "Upon Drake's voyage, in very truth, dependeth the
life and death of the cause, according to man's judgment," said
Walsingham.

The issue was encouraging, even, if the voyage--as a mercantile
speculation--proved not so brilliant as the previous enterprises of Sir
Francis had been. He returned in the midsummer of 1586, having captured
and brandschatzed St. Domingo and Carthagena; and burned St. Augustine.
"A fearful man to the King of Spain is Sir Francis Drake," said Lord
Burghley. Nevertheless, the Queen and the Lord-Treasurer--as we have
shown by the secret conferences at Greenwich--had, notwithstanding these
successes, expressed a more earnest desire for peace than ever.

A simple, sea-faring Englishman, with half-a-dozen miserable little
vessels, had carried terror, into the Spanish possessions all over the
earth: but even then the great Queen had not learned to rely on the
valour of her volunteers against her most formidable enemy.

Drake was, however, bent on another enterprise. The preparations for
Philip's great fleet had been going steadily forward in Lisbon, Cadiz,
and other ports of Spain and Portugal, and, despite assurances to the
contrary, there was a growing belief that England was to be invaded. To
destroy those ships before the monarch's face, would be, indeed, to
"singe his beard." But whose arm was daring enough for such a stroke?
Whose but that of the Devonshire skipper who had already accomplished so
much?

And so Sir Francis, "a man true to his word, merciful to those under him,
and hating nothing so much as idleness," had come to the Netherlands to
talk over his project with the States-General, and with the Dutch
merchants and sea-captains. His visit was not unfruitful. As a body the
assembly did nothing; but they recommended that in every maritime city of
Holland and Zeeland one or two ships should be got ready, to participate
in all the future enterprises of Sir Francis and his comrades.

The martial spirit of volunteer sailors, and the keen instinct of
mercantile speculation, were relied upon--exactly as in England--to
furnish men, ships, and money, for these daring and profitable
adventures. The foundation of a still more intimate connection between
England and Holland was laid, and thenceforth Dutchmen and Englishmen
fought side by side, on land and sea, wherever a blow was to be struck in
the cause of human freedom against despotic Spain.

The famous Babington conspiracy, discovered by Walsingham's "travail and
cost," had come to convince the Queen and her counsellors--if further
proof were not superfluous--that her throne and life were both
incompatible with Philip's deep designs, and that to keep that monarch
out of the Netherlands, was as vital to her as to keep him out of
England. "She is forced by this discovery to countenance the cause by all
outward means she may," said Walsingham, "for it appeareth unto her most
plain, that unless she had entered into the action, she had been utterly
undone, and that if she do not prosecute the same she cannot continue."
The Secretary had sent Leicester information at an early day of the great
secret, begging his friend to "make the letter a heretic after he had
read the same," and expressing the opinion that "the matter, if well
handled, would break the neck of all dangerous practices during her
Majesty's reign."

The tragedy of Mary Stuart--a sad but inevitable portion of the vast
drama in which the emancipation of England and Holland, and, through
them, of half Christendom, was accomplished--approached its catastrophe;
and Leicester could not restrain his anxiety for her immediate execution.
He reminded Walsingham that the great seal had been put upon a warrant
for her execution for a less crime seventeen years before, on the
occasion of the Northumberland and Westmorland rebellion. "For who can
warrant these villains from her," he said, "if that person live, or shall
live any time? God forbid! And be you all stout and resolute in this
speedy execution, or be condemned of all the world for ever. It is most.
certain, if you will have your Majesty safe, it must be done, for justice
doth crave it beside policy." His own personal safety was deeply
compromised. "Your Lordship and I," wrote Burghley, "were very great
motes in the traitors' eyes; for your Lordship there and I here should
first, about one time, have been killed. Of your Lordship they thought
rather of poisoning than slaying. After us two gone, they purposed her
Majesty's death."

But on this great affair of state the Earl was not swayed by such
personal considerations. He honestly thought--as did all the statesmen
who governed England--that English liberty, the very existence of the
English commonwealth, was impossible so long as Mary Stuart lived. Under
these circumstances he was not impatient, for a time at least, to leave
the Netherlands. His administration had not been very successful. He had
been led away by his own vanity, and by the flattery of artful
demagogues, but the immense obstacles with which he had to contend in the
Queen's wavering policy, and in the rivalry of both English and Dutch
politicians have been amply exhibited. That he had been generous,
courageous, and zealous, could not be denied; and, on the whole, he had
accomplished as much in the field as could have been expected of him with
such meagre forces, and so barren an exchequer.

It must be confessed, however, that his leaving the Netherlands at that
moment was a most unfortunate step, both for his own reputation and for
the security of the Provinces. Party-spirit was running high, and a
political revolution was much to be dreaded in so grave a position of
affairs, both in England and Holland. The arrangements--and particularly
the secret arrangements which he made at his departure--were the most
fatal measures of all; but these will be described in the following
chapter.

On the 31st October; the Earl announced to the state-council his
intention of returning to England, stating, as the cause of this sudden
determination, that he had been summoned to attend the parliament then
sitting in Westminster. Wilkes, who was of course present, having now
succeeded Killigrew as one of the two English members, observed that "the
States and council used but slender entreaty to his Excellency for his
stay and countenance there among them, whereat his Excellency and we that
were of the council for her Majesty did not a little marvel."

Some weeks later, however, upon the 21st November, Leicester summoned
Barneveld, and five other of the States General, to discuss the necessary
measures for his departure, when those gentlemen remonstrated very
earnestly upon the step, pleading the danger and confusion of affairs
which must necessarily ensue. The Earl declared that he was not retiring
from the country because he was offended, although he had many causes for
offence: and he then alluded to the, Navigation Act, to the establishment
council, and spoke of the finance of Burgrave and Reingault, for his
employment of which individuals so much obloquy had been heaped upon his,
head. Burgrave he pronounced, as usual, a substantial, wise, faithful,
religious personage, entitled to fullest confidence; while Reingault--who
had been thrown into prison by the States on charges of fraud,
peculation, and sedition--he declared to be a great financier, who had
promised, on penalty of his head, to bring "great sums into the treasury
for carrying on the war, without any burthen to the community." Had he
been able to do this, he had certainly claim to be considered the
greatest of financiers; but the promised "mountains of gold" were never
discovered, and Reingault was now awaiting his trial.

The deputies replied that the concessions upon the Navigation Act had
satisfied the country, but that Reingault was a known instrument of the
Spaniards, and Burgrave a mischief-making demagogue, who consorted with
malignants, and sent slanderous reports concerning the States and the
country to her Majesty. They had in consequence felt obliged to write
private despatches to envoy Ortel in England, not because they suspected
the Earl, but in order to counteract the calumnies of his chief advisers.
They had urged the agent to bring the imprisonment of Paul Buys before
her Majesty, but for that transaction Leicester boldly disclaimed all
responsibility.

It was agreed between the Earl and the deputies that, during his absence,
the whole government, civil and military, should devolve upon the
state-council, and that Sir John Norris should remain in command of the
English forces.

Two days afterwards Leicester, who knew very well that a legation was
about to proceed to England, without any previous concurrence on his
part, summoned a committee of the States-General, together with
Barneveld, into the state-council. Counsellor Wilkes on his behalf then
made a speech, in which he observed that more ample communications on the
part of the States were to be expected. They had in previous colloquies
touched upon comparatively unimportant matters, but he now begged to be
informed why these commissioners were proceeding to England, and what was
the nature of their instructions. Why did not they formally offer the
sovereignty of the Provinces to the Queen without conditions? That step
had already been taken by Utrecht.

The deputies conferred apart for a little while, and then replied that
the proposition made by Utrecht was notoriously factious, illegal, and
altogether futile. Without the sanction of all the United States, of what
value was the declaration of Utrecht? Moreover the charter of that
province had been recklessly violated, its government overthrown, and its
leading citizens banished. The action of the Province under such
circumstances was not deserving of comment; but should it appear that her
Majesty was desirous of assuming the sovereignty of the Provinces upon
reasonable conditions, the States of Holland and of Zeeland would not be
found backward in the business.

Leicester proposed that Prince Maurice of Nassau should go with him to
England, as nominal chief of the embassy, and some of the deputies
favoured the suggestion. It was however, vigorously and successfully
opposed by Barneveld, who urged that to leave the country without a head
in such a dangerous position of affairs, would be an act of madness.
Leicester was much annoyed when informed of this decision. He was
suspected of a design, during his absence, of converting Maurice entirely
to his own way of thinking. If unsuccessful, it was believed by the
Advocate and by many others that the Earl would cause the young Prince to
be detained in England as long as Philip William, his brother, had been
kept in Spain. He observed peevishly that he knew how it had all been
brought about.

Words, of course, and handsome compliments were exchanged between the
Governor and the States-General on his departure. He protested that he
had never pursued any private ends during his administration, but had
ever sought to promote the good of the country and the glory of the
Queen, and that he had spent three hundred thousand florins of his own
money in the brief period of his residence there.

The Advocate, on part of the States, assured him that they were all aware
that in the friendship of England lay their only chance of salvation, but
that united action was the sole means by which that salvation could be
effected, and the one which had enabled the late Prince of Orange to
maintain a contest unequalled by anything recorded in history. There was
also much disquisition on the subject of finance--the Advocate observing
that the States now raised as much in a month as the Provinces in the
time of the Emperor used to levy in a year--and expressed the hope that
the Queen would increase her contingent to ten thousand foot, and two
thousand horse. He repudiated, in the name of the States-General and his
own, the possibility of peace-negotiations; deprecated any allusion to
the subject as fatal to their religion, their liberty, their very
existence, and equally disastrous to England and to Protestantism, and
implored the Earl, therefore, to use all his influence in opposition to
any pacific overtures to or from Spain.

On the 24th November, acts were drawn up and signed by the Earl,
according to which the supreme government of the United Netherlands was
formally committed to the state-council during his absence. Decrees were
to be pronounced in the name of his Excellency, and countersigned by
Maurice of Nassau.

On the following day, Leicester, being somewhat indisposed, requested a
deputation of the States-General to wait upon him in his own house. This
was done, and a formal and affectionate farewell was then read to him by
his secretary, Mr. Atye. It was responded to in complimentary fashion by
Advocate Barneveld, who again took occasion at this parting interview to
impress upon the governor the utter impossibility, in his own opinion and
that of the other deputies, of reconciling the Provinces with Spain.

Leicester received from the States--as a magnificent parting present--a
silver gilt vase "as tall as a man," and then departed for Flushing to
take shipping for England.



CHAPTER XII.

   Ill-timed Interregnum in the Provinces--Firmness of the English and
   Dutch People--Factions during Leicester's Government--Democratic
   Theories of the Leicestriana--Suspicions as to the Earl's Designs--
   Extreme Views of the Calvinists--Political Ambition of the Church--
   Antagonism of the Church and States--The States inclined to
   Tolerance--Desolation of the Obedient Provinces--Pauperism and
   Famine--Prosperity of the Republic--The Year of Expectation.

It was not unnatural that the Queen should desire the presence of her
favourite at that momentous epoch, when the dread question, "aut fer aut
feri," had at last demanded its definite solution. It was inevitable,
too, that Leicester should feel great anxiety to be upon the spot where
the great tragedy, so full of fate to all Christendom, and in which his
own fortunes were so closely involved, was to be enacted. But it was most
cruel to the Netherlands--whose well-being was nearly as important to
Elizabeth as that of her own realm--to plunge them into anarchy at such a
moment. Yet this was the necessary result of the sudden retirement of
Leicester.

He did not resign his government. He did not bind himself to return. The
question of sovereignty was still unsettled, for it was still hoped by a
large and influential party, that the English Queen would accept the
proposed annexation. It was yet doubtful, whether, during the period of
abeyance, the States-General or the States-Provincial, each within their
separate sphere, were entitled to supreme authority. Meantime, as if here
were not already sufficient elements of dissension and doubt, came a
sudden and indefinite interregnum, a provisional, an abnormal, and an
impotent government. To the state-council was deputed the executive
authority. But the state-council was a creature of the States-General,
acting in concert with the governor-general, and having no actual life of
its own. It was a board of consultation, not of decision, for it could
neither enact its own decrees nor interpose a veto upon the decrees of
the governor.

Certainly the selection of Leicester to fill so important a post had not
been a very fortunate one; and the enthusiasm which had greeted him, "as
if he had been a Messiah," on his arrival, had very rapidly dwindled
away, as his personal character became known. The leading politicians of
the country had already been aware of the error which they had committed
in clothing with almost sovereign powers the delegate of one who had
refused the sovereignty. They, were too adroit to neglect the
opportunity, which her Majesty's anger offered them, of repairing what
they considered their blunder. When at last the quarrel, which looked so
much like a lovers' quarrel, between Elizabeth and 'Sweet Robin,' had
been appeased to the satisfaction of Robin, his royal mistress became
more angry with the States for circumscribing than she had before been
for their exaggeration of his authority. Hence the implacable hatred of
Leicester to Paul Buys and Barneveld.

Those two statesmen, for eloquence, learning, readiness, administrative
faculty, surpassed by few who have ever wielded the destinies of free
commonwealths, were fully equal to the task thrown upon their hands by
the progress of events. That task was no slight one, for it was to the
leading statesmen of Holland and England, sustained by the indomitable
resistance to despotism almost universal in the English and Dutch
nations, that the liberty of Europe was entrusted at that, momentous
epoch. Whether united under one crown, as the Netherlands ardently
desired, or closely allied for aggression and defence, the two peoples
were bound indissolubly together. The clouds were rolling up from the
fatal south, blacker and more portentous than ever; the artificial
equilibrium of forces, by which the fate of France was kept in suspense,
was obviously growing every day more uncertain; but the prolonged and
awful interval before the tempest should burst over the lands of freedom
and Protestantism, gave at least time for the prudent to prepare. The
Armada was growing every day in the ports of Spain and Portugal, and
Walsingham doubted, as little as did Buys or Barneveld, toward what
shores that invasion was to be directed. England was to be conquered in
order that the rebellious Netherlands might be reduced; and 'Mucio' was
to be let slip upon the unhappy Henry III. so soon as it was thought
probable that the Bearnese and the Valois had sufficiently exhausted each
other. Philip was to reign in Paris, Amsterdam, London, and Edinburgh,
without stirring from the Escorial. An excellent programme, had there not
been some English gentlemen, some subtle secretaries of state, some
Devonshire skippers, some Dutch advocates and merchants, some Zeeland
fly-boatsmen, and six million men, women, and children, on the two sides
of the North Sea, who had the power of expressing their thoughts rather
bluntly than otherwise, in different dialects of old Anglo-Saxon speech.

Certainly it would be unjust and ungracious to disparage the heroism of
the great Queen when the hour of danger really came, nor would it be
legitimate for us, who can scan that momentous year of expectation, 1587,
by the light of subsequent events and of secret contemporaneous record,
to censure or even sharply to criticise the royal hankering for peace,
when peace had really become impossible. But as we shall have occasion to
examine rather closely the secrets of the Spanish, French, English, and
Dutch councils, during this epoch, we are likely to find, perhaps, that
at least as great a debt is due to the English and Dutch people, in mass,
for the preservation of European liberty at that disastrous epoch as to
any sovereign, general, or statesman.

For it was in the great waters of the sixteenth century that the nations
whose eyes were open, discovered the fountain of perpetual youth, while
others, who were blind, passed rapidly onward to decrepitude. England
was, in many respects, a despotism so far as regarded governmental forms;
and no doubt the Catholics were treated with greater rigour than could be
justified even by the perpetual and most dangerous machinations of the
seminary priests and their instigators against the throne and life of
Elizabeth. The word liberty was never musical in Tudor ears, yet
Englishmen had blunt tongues and sharp weapons which rarely rusted for
want of use. In the presence of a parliament, and the absence of a
standing army, a people accustomed to read the Bible in the vernacular,
to handle great questions of religion and government freely, and to bear
arms at will, was most formidable to despotism. There was an advance on
the olden time. A Francis Drake, a John Hawkins, a Roger Williams, might
have been sold, under the Plantagenets, like an ox or an ass. A 'female
villain' in the reign of Henry III. could have been purchased for
eighteen shillings--hardly the price of a fatted pig, and not one-third
the value of an ambling palfrey--and a male villain, such an one as could
in Elizabeth's reign circumnavigate the globe in his own ship, or take
imperial field-marshals by the beard, was worth but two or three pounds
sterling in the market. Here was progress in three centuries, for the
villains were now become admirals and generals in England and Holland,
and constituted the main stay of these two little commonwealths, while
the commanders who governed the 'invincible' fleets and armies of
omnipotent Spain, were all cousins of emperors, or grandees of bluest
blood. Perhaps the system of the reformation would not prove the least
effective in the impending crisis.

It was most important, then, that these two nations should be united in
council, and should stand shoulder to shoulder as their great enemy
advanced. But this was precisely what had been rendered almost impossible
by the course of events during Leicester's year of administration, and by
his sudden but not final retirement at its close. The two great national
parties which had gradually been forming, had remained in a fluid state
during the presence of the governor-general. During his absence they
gradually hardened into the forms which they were destined to retain for
centuries. In the history of civil liberty, these incessant contests,
these oral and written disquisitions, these sharp concussions of opinion,
and the still harder blows, which, unfortunately, were dealt on a few
occasions by the combatants upon each other, make the year 1587 a
memorable one. The great questions of the origin of government, the
balance of dynastic forces, the distribution of powers, were dealt with
by the ablest heads, both Dutch and English, that could be employed in
the service of the kingdom and republic. It was a war of protocols,
arguments, orations, rejoinders, apostilles, and pamphlets; very
wholesome for the cause of free institutions and the intellectual
progress of mankind. The reader may perhaps be surprised to see with how
much vigour and boldness the grave questions which underlie all polity,
were handled so many years before the days of Russell and Sidney, of
Montesquieu and Locke, Franklin, Jefferson, Rousseau, and Voltaire; and
he may be even more astonished to find exceedingly democratic doctrines
propounded, if not believed in, by trained statesmen of the Elizabethan
school. He will be also apt to wonder that a more fitting time could not
be found for such philosophical debate than the epoch at which both the
kingdom and the republic were called upon to strain every sinew against
the most formidable and aggressive despotism that the world had known
since the fall of the Roman Empire.

The great dividing-line between the two parties, that of Leicester and
that of Holland, which controlled the action of the States-General, was
the question of sovereignty. After the declaration of independence and
the repudiation of Philip, to whom did the sovereignty belong? To the
people, said the Leicestrians. To the States-General and the
States-Provincial, as legitimate representatives of the people, said the
Holland party. Without looking for the moment more closely into this
question, which we shall soon find ably discussed by the most acute
reasoners of the time, it is only important at present to make a
preliminary reflection. The Earl of Leicester, of all men is the world,
would seem to have been precluded by his own action, and by the action of
his Queen, from taking ground against the States. It was the States who,
by solemn embassy, had offered the sovereignty to Elizabeth. She had not
accepted the offer, but she had deliberated on the subject, and certainly
she had never expressed a doubt whether or not the offer had been legally
made. By the States, too, that governor-generalship had been conferred
upon the Earl, which had been so thankfully and eagerly accepted. It was
strange, then, that he should deny the existence of the power whence his
own authority was derived. If the States were not sovereigns of the
Netherlands, he certainly was nothing. He was but general of a few
thousand English troops.

The Leicester party, then, proclaimed extreme democratic principles as to
the origin of government and the sovereignty of the people. They sought
to strengthen and to make almost absolute the executive authority of
their chief, on the ground that such was the popular will; and they
denounced with great acrimony the insolence of the upstart members of the
States, half a dozen traders, hired advocates, churls, tinkers, and the
like--as Leicester was fond of designating the men who opposed him--in
assuming these airs of sovereignty.

This might, perhaps, be philosophical doctrine, had its supporters not
forgotten that there had never been any pretence at an expression of the
national will, except through the mouths of the States. The
States-General and the States-Provincial, without any usurpation, but as
a matter of fact and of great political convenience, had, during fifteen
years, exercised the authority which had fallen from Philip's hands. The
people hitherto had acquiesced in their action, and certainly there had
not yet been any call for a popular convention, or any other device to
ascertain the popular will. It was also difficult to imagine what was the
exact entity of this abstraction called the "people" by men who expressed
such extreme contempt for "merchants, advocates, town-orators, churls,
tinkers, and base mechanic men, born not to command but to obey." Who
were the people when the educated classes and the working classes were
thus carefully eliminated? Hardly the simple peasantry--the boors--who
tilled the soil. At that day the agricultural labourers less than all
others dreamed of popular sovereignty, and more than all others submitted
to the mild authority of the States. According to the theory of the
Netherland constitutions, they were supposed--and they had themselves not
yet discovered the fallacies to which such doctrines could lead--to be
represented by the nobles and country-squires who maintained in the
States of each Province the general farming interests of the republic.
Moreover, the number of agricultural peasants was comparatively small.
The lower classes were rather accustomed to plough the sea than the land,
and their harvests were reaped from that element, which to Hollanders and
Zeelanders was less capricious than the solid earth. Almost every
inhabitant of those sea-born territories was, in one sense or another, a
mariner; for every highway was a canal; the soil was percolated by rivers
and estuaries, pools and meres; the fisheries were the nurseries in which
still more daring navigators rapidly learned their trade, and every child
took naturally to the ocean as to its legitimate home.

The "people," therefore, thus enthroned by the Leicestrians over all the
inhabitants of the country, appeared to many eyes rather a misty
abstraction, and its claim of absolute sovereignty a doctrine almost as
fantastic as that of the divine right of kings. The Netherlanders were,
on the whole, a law-abiding people, preferring to conduct even a
revolution according to precedent, very much attached to ancient usages
and traditions, valuing the liberties, as they called them, which they
had wrested from what had been superior force, with their own right
hands, preferring facts to theories, and feeling competent to deal with
tyrants in the concrete rather than to annihilate tyranny in the abstract
by a bold and generalizing phraseology. Moreover the opponents of the
Leicester party complained that the principal use to which this newly
discovered "people" had been applied, was to confer its absolute
sovereignty unconditionally upon one man. The people was to be sovereign
in order that it might immediately abdicate in favour of the Earl.

Utrecht, the capital of the Leicestrians, had already been deprived of
its constitution. The magistracy was, according to law, changed every
year. A list of candidates was furnished by the retiring board, an equal
number of names was added by the governor of the Province, and from the
catalogue thus composed the governor with his council selected the new
magistrates for the year. But De Villiers, the governor of the Province,
had been made a prisoner by the enemy in the last campaign; Count Moeurs
had been appointed provisional stadholder by the States; and, during his
temporary absence on public affairs, the Leicestrians had seized upon the
government, excluded all the ancient magistrates, banished many leading
citizens from the town, and installed an entirely new board, with Gerard
Proninck, called Deventer, for chief burgomaster, who was a Brabantine
refugee just arrived in the Province, and not eligible to office until
after ten years' residence.

It was not unnatural that the Netherlanders, who remembered the scenes of
bloodshed and disorder produced by the memorable attempt of the Duke of
Anjou to obtain possession of Antwerp and other cities, should be
suspicious of Leicester. Anjou, too, had been called to the Provinces by
the voluntary action of the States. He too had been hailed as a Messiah
and a deliverer. In him too had unlimited confidence been reposed, and he
had repaid their affection and their gratitude by a desperate attempt to
obtain the control of their chief cities by the armed hand, and thus to
constitute himself absolute sovereign of the Netherlands. The inhabitants
had, after a bloody contest, averted the intended massacre and the
impending tyranny; but it was not astonishing that--so very, few years
having elapsed since those tragical events--they should be inclined to
scan severely the actions of the man who had already obtained by
unconstitutional means the mastery of a most important city, and was
supposed to harbour designs upon all the cities.

No, doubt it was a most illiberal and unwise policy for the inhabitants
of the independent States to exclude from office the wanderers, for
conscience' sake, from the obedient Provinces. They should have been
welcomed heart and hand by those who were their brethren in religion and
in the love of freedom. Moreover, it was notorious that Hohenlo,
lieutenant-general under Maurice of Nassau, was a German, and that by the
treaty with England, two foreigners sat in the state council, while the
army swarmed with English, Irish, end German officers in high command.
Nevertheless, violently to subvert the constitution of a Province, and to
place in posts of high responsibility men who were ineligible--some whose
characters were suspicious, and some who were known to be dangerous, and
to banish large numbers of respectable burghers--was the act of a despot.

Besides their democratic doctrines, the Leicestrians proclaimed and
encouraged an exclusive and rigid Calvinism.

It would certainly be unjust and futile to detract from the vast debt
which the republic owed to the Geneva Church. The reformation had entered
the Netherlands by the Walloon gate. The earliest and most eloquent
preachers, the most impassioned converts, the sublimest martyrs, had
lived, preached, fought, suffered, and died with the precepts of Calvin
in their hearts. The fire which had consumed the last vestige of royal
and sacerdotal despotism throughout the independent republic, had been
lighted by the hands of Calvinists.

Throughout the blood-stained soil of France, too, the men who were
fighting the same great battle as were the Netherlanders against Philip
II. and the Inquisition, the valiant cavaliers of Dauphiny and Provence,
knelt on the ground, before the battle, smote their iron breasts with
their mailed hands, uttered a Calvinistic prayer, sang a psalm of Marot,
and then charged upon Guise, or upon Joyeuse, under the white plume of
the Bearnese. And it was on the Calvinist weavers and clothiers of
Rochelle that the great Prince relied in the hour of danger as much as on
his mountain chivalry. In England too, the seeds of liberty, wrapped up
in Calvinism and hoarded through many trying years, were at last destined
to float over land and sea, and to bear large harvests of temperate
freedom for great commonwealths, which were still unborn. Nevertheless
there was a growing aversion in many parts of the States for the rigid
and intolerant spirit of the reformed religion. There were many men in
Holland who had already imbibed the true lesson--the only, one worth
learning of the reformation--liberty of thought; but toleration in the
eyes of the extreme Calvinistic party was as great a vice as it could be
in the estimation of Papists. To a favoured few of other habits of
thought, it had come to be regarded as a virtue; but the day was still
far distant when men were to scorn the very word toleration as an insult
to the dignity of man; as if for any human being or set of human beings,
in caste, class, synod, or church, the right could even in imagination be
conceded of controlling the consciences of their fellow-creatures.

But it was progress for the sixteenth century that there were
individuals, and prominent individuals, who dared to proclaim liberty of
conscience for all. William of Orange was a Calvinist, sincere and rigid,
but he denounced all oppression of religion, and opened wide the doors of
the Commonwealth to Papists, Lutherans, and Anabaptists alike. The Earl
of Leicester was a Calvinist, most rigid in tenet, most edifying of
conversation, the acknowledged head of the Puritan party of England, but
he was intolerant and was influenced only by the most intolerant of his
sect. Certainly it would have required great magnanimity upon his part to
assume a friendly demeanour towards the Papists. It is easier for us, in
more favoured ages, to rise to the heights of philosophical abstraction,
than for a man, placed as was Leicester, in the front rank of a mighty
battle, in which the triumph of either religion seemed to require the
bodily annihilation of all its adversaries. He believed that the success
of a Catholic conspiracy against the life of Elizabeth or of a Spanish
invasion of England, would raise Mary to the throne and consign himself
to the scaffold. He believed that the subjugation of the independent
Netherlands would place the Spaniards instantly in England, and he
frequently received information, true or false, of Popish plots that were
ever hatching in various parts of the Provinces against the English
Queen. It was not surprising, therefore, although it was unwise, that he
should incline his ear most seriously to those who counselled severe
measures not only against Papists, but against those who were not
persecutors of Papists, and that he should allow himself to be guided by
adventurers, who wore the mask of religion only that they might plunder
the exchequer and rob upon the highway.

Under the administration of this extreme party, therefore, the Papists
were maltreated, disfranchised, banished, and plundered. The distribution
of the heavy war-taxes, more than two-thirds of which were raised in
Holland only, was confided to foreigners, and regulated mainly at
Utrecht, where not one-tenth part of the same revenue was collected. This
naturally excited the wrath of the merchants and manufacturers of Holland
and the other Provinces, who liked not that these hard-earned and
lavishly-paid subsidies should be meddled with by any but the cleanest
hands.

The clergy, too, arrogated a direct influence in political affairs. Their
demonstrations were opposed by the anti-Leicestrians, who cared not to
see a Geneva theocracy in the place of the vanished Papacy. They had as
little reverence in secular affairs for Calvinistic deacons as for the
college of cardinals, and would as soon accept the infallibility of
Sixtus V. as that of Herman Modet. The reformed clergy who had
dispossessed and confiscated the property of the ancient ecclesiastics
who once held a constitutional place in the Estates of Utrecht--although
many of those individuals were now married and had embraced the reformed
religion who had demolished, and sold at public auction, for 12,300
florins, the time-honoured cathedral where the earliest Christians of the
Netherlands had worshipped, and St. Willibrod had ministered, were
roundly rebuked, on more than one occasion, by the blunt matters beyond
their sphere.

The party of the States-General, as opposed to the Leicester party, was
guided by the statesmen of Holland. At a somewhat later period was formed
the States-right party, which claimed sovereignty for each Province, and
by necessary consequence the hegemony throughout the confederacy, for
Holland. At present the doctrine maintained was that the sovereignty
forfeited by Philip had naturally devolved upon the States-General. The
statesmen of this party repudiated the calumny that it had therefore
lapsed into the hands of half a dozen mechanics and men of low degree.
The States of each Province were, they maintained, composed of nobles and
country-gentlemen, as representing the agricultural interest, and of
deputies from the 'vroedschappen,' or municipal governments, of every
city and smallest town.

Such men as Adrian Van der Werff, the heroic burgomaster of Leyden during
its famous siege, John Van der Does, statesman, orator, soldier, poet,
Adolphus Meetkerke, judge, financier, politician, Carl Roorda, Noel de
Carom diplomatist of most signal ability, Floris Thin, Paul Buys, and
Olden-Barneveld, with many others, who would have done honour to the
legislative assemblies and national councils in any country or any age,
were constantly returned as members of the different vroedschaps in the
commonwealth.

So far from its being true then that half a dozen ignorant mechanics had
usurped the sovereignty of the Provinces, after the abjuration of the
Spanish King, it may be asserted in general terms, that of the eight
hundred thousand inhabitants of Holland at least eight hundred persons
were always engaged in the administration of public affairs, that these
individuals were perpetually exchanged for others, and that those whose
names became most prominent in the politics of the day were remarkable
for thorough education, high talents, and eloquence with tongue and pen.
It was acknowledged by the leading statesmen of England and France, on
repeated occasions throughout the sixteenth century, that the
diplomatists and statesmen of the Netherlands were even more than a match
for any politicians who were destined to encounter them, and the profound
respect which Leicester expressed for these solid statesmen, these
"substantial, wise, well-languaged" men, these "big fellows," so soon as
he came in contact with them, and before he began to hate them for
outwitting him, has already appeared. They were generally men of the
people, born without any of the accidents of fortune; but, the leaders
had studied in the common schools, and later in the noble universities of
a land where to be learned and eloquent was fast becoming almost as great
an honour as to be wealthy or high born.

The executive, the legislative, and the judiciary departments were more
carefully and scientifically separated than could perhaps have been
expected in that age. The lesser municipal courts, in which city-senators
presided, were subordinate to the supreme court of Holland, whose
officers were appointed by the stadholders and council; the supplies were
in the hands of the States-Provincial, and the supreme administrative
authority was confided to a stadholder appointed by the states.

The States-General were constituted of similar materials to those of
which the States-Provincial were constructed, and the same individuals
were generally prominent in both. They were deputies appointed by the
Provincial Estates, were in truth rather more like diplomatic envoys than
senators, were generally bound very strictly by instructions, and were
often obliged, by the jealousy springing from the States-right principle,
to refer to their constituents, on questions when the times demanded a
sudden decision, and when the necessary delay was inconvenient and
dangerous.

In religious matters, the States-party, to their honour, already leaned
to a wide toleration. Not only Catholics were not burned, but they were
not banished, and very large numbers remained in the territory, and were
quite undisturbed in religious matters, within their own doors. There
were even men employed in public affairs who were suspected of papistical
tendencies, although their hostility, to Spain and their attachment to
their native land could not fairly be disputed. The leaders of the
States-party had a rooted aversion to any political influence on the part
of the clergy of any denomination whatever. Disposed to be lenient to all
forms of worship, they were disinclined to an established church, but
still more opposed to allowing church-influence in secular affairs. As a
matter of course, political men with such bold views in religious matters
were bitterly assailed by their rigid opponents. Barneveld, with his "nil
scire tutissima fides," was denounced as a disguised Catholic or an
infidel, and as for Paul Buys, he was a "bolsterer of Papists, an
atheist, a devil," as it has long since been made manifest.

Nevertheless these men believed that they understood the spirit of their
country and of the age. In encouragement to an expanding commerce, the
elevation and education of the masses, the toleration of all creeds, and
a wide distribution of political functions and rights, they looked for
the salvation of their nascent republic from destruction, and the
maintenance of the true interests of the people. They were still loyal to
Queen Elizabeth, and desirous that she should accept the sovereignty of
the Provinces. But they were determined that the sovereignty should be a
constitutional one, founded upon and limited by the time-honoured laws
and traditions of their commonwealth; for they recognised the value of a
free republic with an hereditary chief, however anomalous it might in
theory appear. They knew that in Utrecht the Leicestrian party were about
to offer the Queen the sovereignty of their Province, without conditions,
but they were determined that neither Queen Elizabeth nor any other
monarch should ever reign in the Netherlands, except under conditions to
be very accurately defined and well secured.

Thus, contrasted, then, were the two great parties in the Netherlands, at
the conclusion of Leicester's first year of administration. It may easily
be understood that it was not an auspicious moment to leave the country
without a chief.

The strength of the States-party lay in Holland, Zeeland, Friesland. The
main stay of the democratic or Leicester faction was in the city of
Utrecht, but the Earl had many partizans in Gelderland, Friesland, and in
Overyssel, the capital of which Province, the wealthy and thriving
Deventer, second only in the republic to Amsterdam for commercial and
political importance, had been but recently secured for the Provinces by
the vigorous measures of Sir William Pelham.

The condition of the republic and of the Spanish Provinces was, at that
moment, most signally contrasted. If the effects of despotism and of
liberty could ever be exhibited at a single glance, it was certainly only
necessary to look for a moment at the picture of the obedient and of the
rebel Netherlands.

Since the fall of Antwerp, the desolation of Brabant, Flanders, and of
the Walloon territories had become complete. The King had recovered the
great commercial capital, but its commerce was gone. The Scheldt, which,
till recently, had been the chief mercantile river in the world, had
become as barren as if its fountains had suddenly dried up. It was as if
it no longer flowed to the ocean, for its mouth was controlled by
Flushing. Thus Antwerp was imprisoned and paralyzed. Its docks and
basins, where 2500 ships had once been counted, were empty, grass was
growing in its streets, its industrious population had vanished, and the
Jesuits had returned in swarms. And the same spectacle was presented by
Ghent, Bruges, Valenciennes, Tournay, and those other fair cities, which
had once been types of vigorous industry and tumultuous life. The
sea-coast was in the hands of two rising commercial powers, the great and
free commonwealths of the future. Those powers were acting in concert,
and commanding the traffic of the world, while the obedient Provinces
were excluded from all foreign intercourse and all markets, as the result
of their obedience. Commerce, manufactures, agriculture; were dying
lingering deaths. The thrifty farms, orchards, and gardens, which had
been a proverb and wonder of industry were becoming wildernesses. The
demand for their produce by the opulent and thriving cities, which had
been the workshops of the world, was gone. Foraging bands of Spanish and
Italian mercenaries had succeeded to the famous tramp of the artizans and
mechanics, which had often been likened to an army, but these new
customers were less profitable to the gardeners and farmers. The
clothiers, the fullers, the tapestry-workers, the weavers, the cutlers,
had all wandered away, and the cities of Holland, Friesland, and of
England, were growing skilful and rich by the lessons and the industry of
the exiles to whom they afforded a home. There were villages and small
towns in the Spanish Netherlands that had been literally depopulated.
Large districts of country had gone to waste, and cane-brakes and squalid
morasses usurped the place of yellow harvest-fields. The fog, the wild
boar, and the wolf, infested the abandoned homes of the peasantry;
children could not walk in safety in the neighbourhood even of the larger
cities; wolves littered their young in the deserted farm-houses; two
hundred persons, in the winter of 1586-7, were devoured by wild beasts in
the outskirts of Ghent. Such of the remaining labourers and artizans as
had not been converted into soldiers, found their most profitable
employment as brigands, so that the portion of the population spared by
war and emigration was assisting the enemy in preying upon their native
country. Brandschatzung, burglary, highway-robbery, and murder, had
become the chief branches of industry among the working classes. Nobles
and wealthy burghers had been changed to paupers and mendicants. Many a
family of ancient lineage, and once of large possessions, could be seen
begging their bread, at the dusk of evening, in the streets of great
cities, where they had once exercised luxurious hospitality; and they
often begged in vain.

For while such was the forlorn aspect of the country--and the portrait,
faithfully sketched from many contemporary pictures, has not been
exaggerated in any of its dark details--a great famine smote the land
with its additional scourge. The whole population, soldiers and brigands,
Spaniards and Flemings, beggars and workmen, were in danger of perishing
together. Where the want of employment had been so great as to cause a
rapid depopulation, where the demand for labour had almost entirely
ceased, it was a necessary result, that during the process, prices should
be low, even in the presence of foreign soldiery, and despite the
inflamed' profits, which such capitalists as remained required, by way
not only of profit but insurance, in such troublous times. Accordingly,
for the last year or two, the price of rye at Antwerp and Brussels had
been one florin for the veertel (three bushels) of one hundred and twenty
pounds; that of wheat, about one-third of a florin more. Five pounds of
rye, therefore, were worth, one penny sterling, reckoning, as was then
usual, two shillings to the florin. A pound weight of wheat was worth
about one farthing. Yet this was forty-one years after the discovery of
the mines of Potosi (A.D. 1545), and full sixteen years after the epoch;
from which is dated that rapid fall in the value of silver, which in the
course of seventy years, caused the average price of corn and of all
other commodities, to be tripled or even quadrupled. At that very moment
the average cost of wheat in England was sixty-four shillings the
quarter, or about seven and sixpence sterling the bushel, and in the
markets of Holland, which in truth regulated all others, the same prices
prevailed. A bushel of wheat in England was equal therefore to eight
bushels in Brussels.

Thus the silver mines, which were the Spanish King's property, had
produced their effect everywhere more signally than within the obedient
Provinces. The South American specie found its way to Philip's coffers,
thence to the paymasters of his troops in Flanders, and thence to the
commercial centres of Holland and England. Those countries, first to feel
and obey the favourable expanding impulse of the age, were moving surely
and steadily on before it to greatness. Prices were rising with
unexampled rapidity, the precious metals were comparatively a drug, a
world-wide commerce, such as had never been dreamed of, had become an
every-day concern, the arts and sciences and a most generous culture in
famous schools and universities, which had been founded in the midst of
tumult and bloodshed, characterized the republic, and the golden age of
English poetry, which was to make the Elizabethan era famous through all
time, had already begun.

In the Spanish Netherlands the newly-found treasure served to pay the
only labourers required in a subjugated and almost deserted country, the
pikemen of Spain and Italy, and the reiters of Germany. Prices could not
sustain themselves in the face of depopulation. Where there was no
security for property, no home-market, no foreign intercourse, industrial
pursuits had become almost impossible. The small demand for labour had
caused it, as it were, to disappear, altogether. All men had become
beggars, brigands, or soldiers. A temporary reaction followed. There were
no producers. Suddenly it was discovered that no corn had been planted,
and that there was no harvest. A famine was the inevitable result. Prices
then rose with most frightful rapidity. The veertel of rye, which in the
previous year had been worth one florin at Brussels and Antwerp, rose in
the winter of 1586-7 to twenty, twenty-two, and even twenty-four florins;
and wheat advanced from one and one-third florin to thirty-two florins
the veertel. Other articles were proportionally increased in
market-value; but it is worthy of remark that mutton was quoted in the
midst of the famine at nine stuyvers (a little more than ninepence
sterling) the pound, and beef at fivepence, while a single cod-fish sold
for twenty-two florins. Thus wheat was worth sixpence sterling the pound
weight (reckoning the veertel of one hundred and twenty pounds at thirty
florins), which was a penny more than the price of a pound of beef; while
an ordinary fish was equal in value to one hundred and six pounds of
beef. No better evidence could be given that the obedient Provinces were
relapsing into barbarism, than that the only agricultural industry then
practised was to allow what flocks and herds were remaining to graze at
will over the ruined farms and gardens, and that their fishermen were
excluded from the sea.

The evil cured itself, however, and, before the expiration of another
year, prices were again at their previous level. The land was
sufficiently cultivated to furnish the necessaries of life for a
diminishing population, and the supply of labour was more than enough,
for the languishing demand. Wheat was again at tenpence the bushel, and
other commodities valued in like proportion, and far below the
market-prices in Holland and England.

On the other, hand, the prosperity of the republic was rapidly
increasing. Notwithstanding the war, which had beer raging for a
terrible quarter of a century without any interruption, population was
increasing, property rapidly advancing in value, labour in active demand.
Famine was impossible to a state which commanded the ocean. No corn grew
in Holland and Zeeland, but their ports were the granary of the world.
The fisheries were a mine of wealth almost equal to the famous Potosi,
with which the commercial world was then ringing. Their commerce with the
Baltic nations was enormous. In one month eight hundred vessels left
their havens for the eastern ports alone. There was also no doubt
whatever--and the circumstance was a source of constant complaint and of
frequent ineffective legislation--that the rebellious Provinces were
driving a most profitable trade with Spain and the Spanish possessions,
in spite of their revolutionary war. The mines of Peru and Mexico were as
fertile for the Hollanders and Zeelanders as for the Spaniards
themselves. The war paid for the war, one hundred large frigates were
constantly cruising along the coasts to protect the fast-growing traffic,
and an army of twenty thousand foot soldiers and two thousand cavalry
were maintained on land. There were more ships and sailors at that moment
in Holland and Zeeland than in the whole kingdom of England.

While the sea-ports were thus rapidly increasing in importance, the towns
in the interior were advancing as steadily. The woollen manufacture, the
tapestry, the embroideries of Gelderland, and Friesland, and Overyssel,
were becoming as famous as had been those of Tournay, Ypres, Brussels,
and Valenciennes. The emigration from the obedient Provinces and from
other countries was very great. It was difficult to obtain lodgings in
the principal cities; new houses, new streets, new towns, were rising
every day. The single Province of Holland furnished regularly, for
war-expenses alone, two millions of florins (two hundred thousand pounds)
a year, besides frequent extraordinary grants for the same purpose, yet
the burthen imposed upon the vigorous young commonwealth seemed only to
make it the more elastic. "The coming generations may see," says a
contemporary historian, "the fortifications erected at that epoch in the
cities, the costly and magnificent havens, the docks, the great extension
of the cities; for truly the war had become a great benediction to the
inhabitants." Such a prosperous commonwealth as this was not a prize to
be lightly thrown away. There is no doubt whatever that a large majority
of the inhabitants, and of the States by whom the people were
represented, ardently and affectionately desired to be annexed to the
English crown. Leicester had become unpopular, but Elizabeth was adored,
and there was nothing unreasonable in the desire entertained by the
Provinces of retaining their ancient constitutions, and of transferring
their allegiance to the English Queen.

But the English Queen could not resolve to take the step. Although the
great tragedy which was swiftly approaching its inevitable catastrophe,
the execution of the Scottish Queen, was to make peace with Philip
impossible--even if it were imaginable before--Elizabeth, during the year
1587, was earnestly bent on peace. This will be made manifest in
subsequent pages, by an examination of the secret correspondence of the
court. Her most sagacious statesmen disapproved her course, opposed it,
and were often overruled, although never convinced; for her imperious
will would have its way.

The States-General loathed the very name of peace with Spain. The people
loathed it. All knew that peace with Spain meant the exchange of a
thriving prosperous commonwealth, with freedom of religion,
constitutional liberty, and self-government, for provincial subjection to
the inquisition and to despotism: To dream of any concession from Philip
on the religious point was ridiculous. There was a mirror ever held up
before their eyes by the obedient Provinces, in which they might see
their own image, should, they too return to obedience. And there was
never a pretence, on the part of any honest adviser of Queen Elizabeth in
the Netherlands, whether Englishman or Hollander, that the idea of
peace-negotiation could be tolerated for a moment by States or people.
Yet the sum of the Queen's policy, for the year 1587, may be summed up in
one word--peace; peace for the Provinces, peace for herself, with their
implacable enemy.

In France, during the same year of expectation, we shall see the long
prologue to the tragic and memorable 1588 slowly enacting; the same
triangular contest between the three Henrys and their partizans still
proceeding. We shall see the misguided and wretched Valois lamenting over
his victories, and rejoicing over his defeats; forced into hollow
alliance with his deadly enemy; arrayed in arms against his only
protector and the true champion of the realm; and struggling vainly in
the toils of his own mother and his own secretary of state, leagued with
his most powerful foes. We shall see 'Mucio,' with one 'hand extended in
mock friendship toward the King, and with the other thrust backward to
grasp the purse of 300,000 crowns held forth to aid his
fellow-conspirator's dark designs against their common victim; and the
Bearnese, ever with lance in rest, victorious over the wrong antagonist,
foiled of the fruits of victory, proclaiming himself the English Queen's
devoted knight, but railing at her parsimony; always in the saddle,
always triumphant, always a beggar, always in love, always cheerful, and
always confident to outwit the Guises and Philip, Parma and the Pope.

And in Spain we shall have occasion to look over the King's shoulder, as
he sits at his study-table, in his most sacred retirement; and we shall
find his policy for the year 1587 summed up in two words--invasion of
England. Sincerely and ardently as Elizabeth meant peace with Philip,
just so sincerely did Philip intend war with England, and the
dethronement and destruction of the Queen. To this great design all
others were now subservient, and it was mainly on account of this
determination that there was sufficient leisure in the republic for the
Leicestrians and the States-General to fight out so thoroughly their
party-contests.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Acknowledged head of the Puritan party of England (Leicester)
     Geneva theocracy in the place of the vanished Papacy
     Hankering for peace, when peace had really become impossible
     Hating nothing so much as idleness
     Mirror ever held up before their eyes by the obedient Provinces
     Rigid and intolerant spirit of the reformed religion
     Scorn the very word toleration as an insult
     The word liberty was never musical in Tudor ears



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 51, 1587



CHAPTER XIII.

   Barneveld's Influence in the Provinces--Unpopularity of Leicester
   intrigues--of his Servants--Gossip of his Secretary--
   Its mischievous Effects--The Quarrel of Norris and Hollock--
   The Earl's Participation in the Affair--His increased Animosity to
   Norris--Seizure of Deventer--Stanley appointed its Governor--York
   and Stanley--Leicester's secret Instructions--Wilkes remonstrates
   with Stanley--Stanley's Insolence and Equivocation--Painful Rumours
   as to him and York--Duplicity of York--Stanley's Banquet at
   Deventer--He surrenders the City to Tassis--Terms of the Bargain--
   Feeble Defence of Stanley's Conduct--Subsequent Fate of Stanley and
   York--Betrayal of Gelder to Parma--These Treasons cast Odium on the
   English--Miserable Plight of the English Troops--Honesty and Energy
   of Wilkes--Indignant Discussion in the Assembly.

The government had not been laid down by Leicester on his departure. It
had been provisionally delegated, as already mentioned to the
state-council. In this body-consisting of eighteen persons--originally
appointed by the Earl, on nomination by the States, several members were
friendly to the governor, and others were violently opposed to him. The
Staten of Holland, by whom the action of the States-General was mainly
controlled, were influenced in their action by Buys and Barneveld. Young
Maurice of Nassau, nineteen years of age, was stadholder of Holland and
Zeeland. A florid complexioned, fair-haired young man, of
sanguine-bilious temperament; reserved, quiet, reflective, singularly
self-possessed; meriting at that time, more than his father had ever
done, the appellation of the taciturn; discreet, sober, studious. "Count
Maurice saith but little, but I cannot tell what he thinketh," wrote
Leicester's eaves-dropper-in-chiefs. Mathematics, fortification, the
science of war--these were his daily pursuits. "The sapling was to become
the tree," and meantime the youth was preparing for the great destiny
which he felt, lay before him. To ponder over the works and the daring
conceptions of Stevinus, to build up and to batter the wooden blocks of
mimic citadels; to arrange in countless combinations, great armies of
pewter soldiers; these were the occupations of his leisure-hours. Yet he
was hardly suspected of bearing within him the germs of the great
military commander. "Small desire hath Count Maurice to follow the wars,"
said one who fancied himself an acute observer at exactly this epoch.
"And whereas it might be supposed that in respect to his birth and place,
he would affect the chief military command in these countries, it is
found by experience had of his humour, that there is no chance of his
entering into competition with the others." A modest young man, who could
bide his time--but who, meanwhile, under the guidance of his elders, was
doing his best, both in field and cabinet, to learn the great lessons of
the age--he had already enjoyed much solid practical instruction, under
such a desperate fighter as Hohenlo, and under so profound a statesman as
Barneveld. For at this epoch Olden-Barneveld was the preceptor, almost
the political patron of Maurice, and Maurice, the official head of the
Holland party, was the declared opponent of the democratic-Calvinist
organization. It is not necessary, at this early moment, to foreshadow
the changes which time was to bring. Meantime it would be seen, perhaps
ere long, whether or no, it would be his humour to follow the wars. As to
his prudent and dignified deportment there was little doubt. "Count
Maurice behaveth himself very discreetly all this while," wrote one, who
did not love him, to Leicester, who loved him less: "He cometh every day
to the council, keeping no company with Count Hollock, nor with any of
them all, and never drinks himself full with any of them, as they do
every day among themselves."

Certainly the most profitable intercourse that Maurice could enjoy with
Hohenlo was upon the battle-field. In winter-quarters, that
hard-fighting, hard-drinking, and most turbulent chieftain, was not the
best Mentor for a youth whose destiny pointed him out as the leader of a
free commonwealth. After the campaigns were over--if they ever could be
over--the Count and other nobles from the same country were too apt to
indulge in those mighty potations, which were rather characteristic of
their nation and the age.

"Since your Excellency's departure," wrote Leicester's secretary, "there
hath been among the Dutch Counts nothing but dancing and drinking, to the
grief of all this people; which foresee that there can come no good of
it. Specially Count Hollock, who hath been drunk almost a fortnight
together."

Leicester had rendered himself unpopular with the States-General, and
with all the leading politicians and generals; yet, at that moment, he
had deeply mortgaged his English estates in order to raise
funds to expend in the Netherland cause. Thirty thousand pounds
sterling--according to his own statement--he was already out of pocket,
and, unless the Queen would advance him the means to redeem his property;
his broad lands were to be brought to the hammer. But it was the Queen,
not the States-General, who owed the money; for the Earl had advanced
these sums as a portion of the royal contingent. Five hundred and sixty
thousand pounds sterling had been the cost of one year's war during the
English governor's administration; and of this sum one hundred and forty
thousand had been paid by England. There was a portion of the sum, over
and above their monthly levies; for which the States had contracted a
debt, and they were extremely desirous to obtain, at that moment, an
additional loan of fifty thousand pounds from Elizabeth; a favour
which--Elizabeth was very firmly determined not to grant. It was this
terror at the expense into which the Netherland war was plunging her,
which made the English sovereign so desirous for peace, and filled the
anxious mind of Walsingham with the most painful forebodings.

Leicester, in spite of his good qualities--such as they were--had not
that most necessary gift for a man in his position, the art of making
friends. No man made so many enemies. He was an excellent hater, and few
men have been more cordially hated in return. He was imperious, insolent,
hot-tempered. He could brook no equal. He had also the fatal defect of
enjoying the flattery, of his inferiors in station. Adroit intriguers
burned incense to him as a god, and employed him as their tool. And now
he had mortally offended Hohenlo, and Buys, and Barneveld, while he hated
Sir John Norris with a most passionate hatred. Wilkes, the English
representative, was already a special object of his aversion. The
unvarnished statements made by the stiff counsellor, of the expense of
the past year's administration, and the various errors committed, had
inspired Leicester with such ferocious resentment, that the friends of
Wilkes trembled for his life.

   ["It is generally bruited here," wrote Henry Smith to his brother-
   in-law Wilkes, "of a most heavy displeasure conceived by my Lord of
   Leicester against you, and it is said to be so great as that he hath
   protested to be revenged of you; and to procure you the more
   enemies, it is said he hath revealed to my Lord Treasurer, and
   Secretary Davison some injurious speeches (which I cannot report)
   you should have used of them to him at your last being with him.
   Furthermore some of the said Lord's secretaries have reported here
   that it were good for you never to return hither, or, if their Lord
   be appointed to go over again, it will be too hot for you to tarry
   there. These things thus coming to the ears of your friends have
   stricken a great fear and grief into the minds of such as love you,
   lest the wonderful force and authority of this man being bent
   against you, should do you hurt, while there is none to answer for
   you." Smith to Wilkes, 26 Jan. 1587. (S. P. Office MS.)]

Cordiality between the governor-general and Count Maurice had become
impossible. As for Willoughby and Sir William Pelham, they were both
friendly to him, but Willoughby was a magnificent cavalry officer, who
detested politics, and cared little for the Netherlands, except as the
best battle-field in Europe, and the old marshal of the camp--the only
man that Leicester ever loved--was growing feeble in health, was broken
down by debt, and hardly possessed, or wished for, any general influence.

Besides Deventer of Utrecht, then, on whom, the Earl chiefly relied
during his, absence, there were none to support him cordially, except two
or three members of the state-council. "Madame de Brederode hath sent
unto you a kind of rose," said his intelligencer, "which you have asked
for, and beseeches you to command anything she has in her garden, or
whatsoever. M. Meetkerke, M. Brederode, and Mr. Dorius, wish your return
with all, their hearts. For the rest I cannot tell, and will not swear.
But Mr. Barneveld is not your very great friend, whereof I can write no
more at this time."

This certainly was a small proportion out of a council of eighteen, when
all the leading politicians of the country were in avowed hostility to
the governor. And thus the Earl was, at this most important crisis, to
depend upon the subtle and dangerous Deventer, and upon two inferior
personages, the "fellow Junius" and a non-descript, whom Hohenlo
characterized as a "long lean Englishman, with a little black beard."
This meagre individual however seems to have been of somewhat doubtful
nationality. He called himself Otheman, claimed to be a Frenchman, had
lived much in England, wrote with great fluency and spirit, both in
French and English, but was said, in reality, to be named Robert Dale.

It was not the best policy for the representative of the English Queen to
trust to such counsellors at a moment when the elements of strife between
Holland and England were actively at work; and when the safety, almost
the existence, of the two commonwealths depended upon their acting
cordially in concert. "Overyssel, Utrecht, Friesland, and Gelderland,
have agreed to renew the offer of sovereignty to her Majesty," said
Leicester. "I shall be able to make a better report of their love and
good inclination than I can of Holland." It was thought very desirable by
the English government that this great demonstration should be made once
more, whatever might be the ultimate decision of her Majesty upon so
momentous a measure. It seemed proper that a solemn embassy should once
more proceed to England in order to confer with Elizabeth; but there was
much delay in regard to the step, and much indignation, in consequence,
on the part of the Earl. The opposition came, of course, from the
Barneveld party. "They are in no great haste to offer the sovereignty,"
said Wilkes. "First some towns of Holland made bones thereat, and now
they say that Zeeland is not resolved."

The nature and the causes of the opposition offered by Barneveld and the
States of Holland have been sufficiently explained. Buys, maddened by his
long and unjustifiable imprisonment, had just been released by the
express desire of Hohenlo; and that unruly chieftain, who guided the
German and Dutch magnates; such as Moeurs and Overstein, and who even
much influenced Maurice and his cousin Count Lewis William, was himself
governed by Barneveld. It would have been far from impossible for
Leicester, even then, to conciliate the whole party. It was highly
desirable that he should do so, for not one of the Provinces where he
boasted his strength was quite secure for England. Count Moeurs, a potent
and wealthy noble, was governor of Utrecht and Gelderland, and he had
already begun to favour the party in Holland which claimed for that
Province a legal jurisdiction over the whole ancient episcopate. Under
these circumstances common prudence would have suggested that as good an
understanding as possible might be kept up with the Dutch and German
counts, and that the breach might not be rendered quite irreparable.

Yet, as if there had not been administrative blunders enough committed in
one year, the unlucky lean Englishman, with the black beard, who was the
Earl's chief representative, contrived--almost before his master's back
was turned--to draw upon himself the wrath of all the fine ladies in
Holland. That this should be the direful spring of unutterable disasters,
social and political, was easy to foretell.

Just before the governor's departure Otheman came to pay his farewell
respects, and receive his last commands. He found Leicester seated at
chess with Sir Francis Drake.

"I do leave you here, my poor Otheman," said the Earl, "but so soon as I
leave you I know very well that nobody will give you a good look."

"Your Excellency was a true prophet," wrote the secretary a few weeks
later, "for, my good Lord, I have been in as great danger of my life as
ever man was. I have been hunted at Delft from house to house, and then
besieged in my lodgings four or five hours, as though I had been the
greatest thief, murderer, and traitor in the land."

And why was the unfortunate Otheman thus hunted to his lair? Because he
had chosen to indulge in 'scandalum magnatum,' and had thereby excited
the frenzy of all the great nobles whom it was most important for the
English party to conciliate.

There had been gossip about the Princess of Chimay and one Calvaert, who
lived in her house, much against the advice of all her best friends. One
day she complained bitterly to Master Otheman of the spiteful ways of the
world.

"I protest," said she, "that I am the unhappiest lady upon earth to have
my name thus called in question."

So said Otheman, in order to comfort her: "Your Highness is aware that
such things are said of all. I am sure I hear every day plenty of
speeches about lords and ladies, queens and princesses. You have little
cause to trouble yourself for such matters, being known to live honestly,
and like a good Christian lady. Your Highness is not the only lady spoken
of."

The Princess listened with attention.

"Think of the stories about the Queen of England and my Lord of
Leicester!" said Otheman, with infinite tact. "No person is exempted from
the tongues of evil, speakers; but virtuous and godly men do put all such
foolish matter under their feet. Then there is the Countess of Hoeurs,
how much evil talk does one hear about her!"

The Princess seemed still more interested and even excited; and the
adroit Otheman having thus, as he imagined, very successfully smoothed
away her anger, went off to have a little more harmless gossip about the
Princess and the Countess, with Madame de Meetkerke, who had sent
Leicester the rose from her garden.

But, no sooner, had he gone, than away went her Highness to Madame de
Moeurs, "a marvellous wise and well-spoken gentlewoman and a grave," and
informed her and the Count, with some trifling exaggeration, that the
vile Englishman, secretary to the odious Leicester, had just been there,
abusing and calumniating the Countess in most lewd and abominable
fashion. He had also, she protested, used "very evil speeches of all the
ladies in the country." For her own part the Princess avowed her
determination to have him instantly murdered. Count Moeurs was quite of
the same mind, and desired nothing better than to be one of his
executioners. Accordingly, the next Sunday, when the babbling secretary
had gone down to Delft to hear the French sermon, a select party,
consisting of Moeurs, Lewis William of Nassau, Count Overstein, and
others, set forth for that city, laid violent hands on the culprit, and
brought him bodily before Princess Chimay. There, being called upon to
explain his innuendos, he fell into much trepidation, and gave the names
of several English captains, whom he supposed to be at that time in
England. "For if I had denied the whole matter," said he, "they would
have given me the lie, and used me according to their evil mind." Upon
this they relented, and released their prisoner, but, the next day they
made another attack upon him, hunted him from house to house, through the
whole city of Delft, and at last drove him to earth in his own lodgings,
where they kept him besieged several hours. Through the intercession of
Wilkes and the authority of the council of state, to which body he
succeeded in conveying information of his dangerous predicament, he was,
in his own language, "miraculously preserved," although remaining still
in daily danger of his life. "I pray God keep me hereafter from the anger
of a woman," he exclaimed, "quia non est ira supra iram mulieris."

He was immediately examined before the council, and succeeded in clearing
and justifying himself to the satisfaction of his friends. His part was
afterwards taken by the councillors, by all the preachers and godly men,
and by the university of Leyden. But it was well understood that the blow
and the affront had been levelled at the English governor and the English
nation.

"All your friends do see," said Otheman, "that this disgrace is not meant
so much to me as to your Excellency; the Dutch Earls having used such
speeches unto me, and against all law, custom, and reason, used such
violence to me, that your Excellency shall wonder to hear of it."

Now the Princess Chimay, besides being of honourable character, was a
sincere and exemplary member of the Calvinist church, and well inclined
to the Leicestrians. She was daughter of Count Meghem, one of the
earliest victims of Philip II., in the long tragedy of Netherland
independence, and widow of Lancelot Berlaymont. Count Moeurs was governor
of Utrecht, and by no means, up to that time, a thorough supporter of the
Holland party; but thenceforward he went off most abruptly from the party
of England, became hand and glove with Hohenlo, accepted the influence of
Barneveld, and did his best to wrest the city of Utrecht from English
authority. Such was the effect of the secretary's harmless gossip.

"I thought Count Moeurs and his wife better friends to your Excellency
than I do see them to be," said Otheman afterwards. "But he doth now
disgrace the English nation many ways in his speeches--saying that they
are no soldiers, that they do no good to this country, and that these
Englishmen that are at Arnheim have an intent to sell and betray the town
to the enemy."

But the disgraceful squabble between Hohenlo and Edward Norris had been
more unlucky for Leicester than any other incident during the year, for
its result was to turn the hatred of both parties against himself. Yet
the Earl of all men, was originally least to blame for the transaction.
It has been seen that Sir Philip Sidney had borne Norris's cartel to
Hohenlo, very soon after the outrage had been committed. The Count had
promised satisfaction, but meantime was desperately wounded in the attack
on Fort Zutphen. Leicester afterwards did his best to keep Edward Norris
employed in distant places, for he was quite aware that Hohenlo, as
lieutenant-general and count of the empire, would consider himself
aggrieved at being called to the field by a simple English captain,
however deeply he might have injured him. The governor accordingly
induced the Queen to recall the young man to England, and invited
him--much as he disliked his whole race--to accompany him on his
departure for that country.

The Captain then consulted with his brother Sir John, regarding the
pending dispute with Hohenlo. His brother advised that the Count should
be summoned to keep his promise, but that Lord Leicester's permission
should previously be requested.

A week before the governor's departure, accordingly, Edward Norris
presented himself one morning in the dining-room, and, finding the Earl
reclining on a window-seat, observed to him that "he desired his
Lordship's favour towards the discharging of his reputation."

"The Count Hollock is now well," he proceeded, "and is fasting and
banqueting in his lodgings, although he does not come abroad."

"And what way will you take?" inquired Leicester, "considering that he
keeps his house."

"'Twill be best, I thought," answered Norris, "to write unto him, to
perform his promise he made me to answer me in the field."

"To whom did he make that promise?" asked the Earl.

"To Sir Philip Sidney," answered the Captain.

"To my nephew Sidney," said Leicester, musingly; "very well; do as you
think best, and I will do for you what I can."

And the governor then added many kind expressions concerning the interest
he felt in the young man's reputation. Passing to other matters, Morris
then spoke of the great charges he had recently been put to by reason of
having exchanged out of the States' service in order to accept a
commission from his Lordship to levy a company of horse. This levy had
cost him and his friends three hundred pounds, for which he had not been
able to "get one groat."

"I beseech your Lordship to stand good for me," said he; "considering the
meanest captain in all the country hath as good entertainment as I."

"I can do but little for you before my departure," said Leicester; "but
at my return I will advise to do more."

After this amicable conversation Morris thanked his Lordship, took his
leave, and straightway wrote his letter to Count Hollock.

That personage, in his answer, expressed astonishment that Norris should
summon him, in his "weakness and indisposition;" but agreed to give him
the desired meeting; with sword and dagger, so soon as he should be
sufficiently recovered. Morris, in reply, acknowledged his courteous
promise, and hoped that he might be speedily restored to health.

The state-council, sitting at the Hague, took up the matter at once
however, and requested immediate information of the Earl. He accordingly
sent for Norris and his brother Sir John, who waited upon him in his
bed-chamber, and were requested to set down in writing the reasons which
had moved them in the matter. This statement was accordingly furnished,
together with a copy of the correspondence. The Earl took the papers, and
promised to allow most honourably of it in the Council.

Such is the exact narrative, word for word, as given by Sir John and
Edward Norris, in a solemn memorial to the Lords of Her Majesty's privy
council, as well as to the state-council of the United Provinces. A very
few days afterwards Leicester departed for England, taking Edward Norris
with him.

Count Hohenlo was furious at the indignity, notwithstanding the polite
language in which he had accepted the challenge. "'T was a matter
punishable with death," he said, "in all kingdoms and countries, for a
simple captain to send such a summons to a man of his station, without
consent of the supreme authority. It was plain," he added, "that the
English governor-general had connived at the affront," for Norris had
been living in his family and dining at his table. Nay, more, Lord
Leicester had made him a knight at Flushing just before their voyage to
England. There seems no good reason to doubt the general veracity of the
brothers Norris, although, for the express purpose of screening
Leicester, Sir John represented at the time to Hohenlo and others that
the Earl had not been privy to the transaction. It is very certain,
however, that so soon as the general indignation of Hohenlo and his
partizans began to be directed against Leicester, he at once denied, in
passionate and abusive language, having had any knowledge whatever of
Norris's intentions. He protested that he learned, for the first time, of
the cartel from information furnished to the council of state.

The quarrel between Hohenlo and Norris was afterwards amicably arranged
by Lord Buckhurst, during his embassy to the States, at the express
desire of the Queen. Hohenlo and Sir John Norris became very good
friends, while the enmity between them and Leicester grew more deadly
every day. The Earl was frantic with rage whenever he spoke of the
transaction, and denounced Sir John Norris as "a fool, liar, and coward"
on all occasions, besides overwhelming his brother, Buckhurst, Wilkes,
and every other person who took their part, with a torrent of abuse; and
it is well known that the Earl was a master of Billingsgate.

"Hollock says that I did procure Edward Norris to send him his cartel,"
observed Leicester on one occasion, "wherein I protest before the Lord, I
was as ignorant as any man in England. His brother John can tell whether
I did not send for him to have committed him for it; but that, in very
truth, upon the perusing of it" (after it had been sent), "it was very
reasonably written, and I did consider also the great wrong offered him
by the Count, and so forbore it. I was so careful for the Count's safety
after the brawl between him and Norris, that I charged Sir John, if any
harm came to the Count's person by any of his or under him, that he
should answer it. Therefore, I take the story to be bred in the bosom of
some much like a thief or villain, whatsoever he were."

And all this was doubtless true so far as regarded the Earl's original
exertions to prevent the consequences of the quarrel, but did not touch
the point of the second correspondence preceded by the conversation in
the dining-room, eight days before the voyage to England. The affair, in
itself of slight importance, would not merit so much comment at this late
day had it not been for its endless consequences. The ferocity with which
the Earl came to regard every prominent German, Hollander, and
Englishman, engaged in the service of the States, sprang very much from
the complications of this vulgar brawl. Norris, Hohenlo, Wilkes,
Buckhurst, were all denounced to the Queen as calumniators, traitors, and
villains; and it may easily be understood how grave and extensive must
have been the effects of such vituperation upon the mind of Elizabeth,
who, until the last day of his life, doubtless entertained for the Earl
the deepest affection of which her nature was susceptible. Hohenlo, with
Count Maurice, were the acknowledged chiefs of the anti-English party,
and the possibility of cordial cooperation between the countries may be
judged of by the entanglement which had thus occurred.

Leicester had always hated Sir John Norris, but he knew that the mother
had still much favour with the Queen, and he was therefore the more
vehement in his denunciations of the son the more difficulty he found in
entirely destroying his character, and the keener jealousy he felt that
any other tongue but his should influence her Majesty. "The story of John
Norris about the cartel is, by the Lord God, most false," he exclaimed;
"I do beseech you not to see me so dealt withal, but that especially her
Majesty may understand these untruths, who perhaps, by the mother's fair
speeches and the son's smooth words, may take some other conceit of my
doings than I deserve."

He was most resolute to stamp the character of falsehood upon both the
brothers, for he was more malignant towards Sir John than towards any man
in the world, not even excepting Wilkes. To the Queen, to the Lords of
the Privy Council, to Walsingham, to Burghley, he poured forth endless
quantities of venom, enough to destroy the characters of a hundred honest
men.

"The declaration of the two Norrises for the cartel is most false, as I
am a Christian," he said to Walsingham. "I have a dozen witnesses, as
good and some better than they, who will testify that they were present
when I misliked the writing of the letter before ever I saw it. And by
the allegiance I owe to her Majesty, I never knew of the letter, nor gave
consent to it, nor heard of it till it was complained of from Count
Hollock. But, as they are false in this, so you will find J. N. as false
in his other answers; so that he would be ashamed, but that his old
conceit hath made him past shame, I fear. His companions in Ireland, as
in these countries, report that Sir John Norris would often say that he
was but an ass and a fool, who, if a lie would serve his turn, would
spare it. I remember I have heard that the Earl of Sussex would say so;
and indeed this gentleman doth imitate him in divers things."

But a very grave disaster to Holland and England was soon the fruit of
the hatred borne by Leicester to Sir John Norris. Immediately after the
battle of Zutphen and the investment of that town by the English and
Netherlanders, great pains were taken to secure the city of Deventer.
This was, after Amsterdam and Antwerp, the most important mercantile
place in all the Provinces. It was a large prosperous commercial and
manufacturing capital, a member of the Hanseatic League, and the great
centre of the internal trade of the Netherlands with the Baltic nations.
There was a strong Catholic party in the town, and the magistracy were
disposed to side with Parma. It was notorious that provisions and
munitions were supplied from thence to the beleaguered Zutphen; and
Leicester despatched Sir William Pelham, accordingly, to bring the
inhabitants to reason. The stout Marshal made short work of it. Taking
Sir William Stanley and the greater part of his regiment with him, he
caused them, day by day, to steal into the town, in small parties of ten
and fifteen. No objection was made to this proceeding on the part of the
city government. Then Stanley himself arrived in the morning, and the
Marshal in the evening, of the 20th of October. Pelham ordered the
magistrates to present themselves forthwith at his lodgings, and told
them, with grim courtesy, that the Earl of Leicester excused himself from
making them a visit, not being able, for grief at the death of Sir Philip
Sidney, to come so soon near the scene of his disaster. His Excellency
had therefore sent him to require the town to receive an English
garrison. "So make up your minds, and delay not," said Pelham; "for I
have many important affairs on my hands, and must send word to his
Excellency at once. To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, I shall expect
your answer."

Next day, the magistrates were all assembled in the townhouse before six.
Stanley had filled the great square with his troops, but he found that
the burghers-five thousand of whom constituted the municipal militia--had
chained the streets and locked the gates. At seven o'clock Pelham
proceeded, to the town-house, and, followed by his train, made his
appearance before the magisterial board. Then there was a knocking at the
door, and Sir William Stanley entered, having left a strong guard of
soldiers at the entrance to the hall.

"I am come for an answer," said the Lord Marshal; "tell me straight." The
magistrates hesitated, whispered, and presently one of them slipped away.

"There's one of you gone," cried the Marshal. "Fetch him straight back;
or, by the living God, before whom I stand, there is not one of you shall
leave this place with life."

So the burgomasters sent for the culprit, who returned.

"Now, tell me," said Pelham, "why you have, this night, chained your
streets and kept such strong watch while your friends and defenders were
in the town? Do you think we came over here to spend our lives and our
goods, and to leave all we have, to be thus used and thus betrayed by
you? Nay, you shall find us trusty to our friends, but as politic as
yourselves. Now, then; set your hands to this document," he proceeded, as
he gave them a new list of magistrates, all selected from stanch
Protestants.

"Give over your government to the men here nominated, Straight; dally
not!" The burgomasters signed the paper.

"Now," said Pelham, "let one of you go to the watch, discharge the guard,
bid them unarm, and go home to their lodgings."

A magistrate departed on the errand.

"Now fetch me the keys of the gate," said Pelham, "and that straightway,
or, before God, you shall die."

The keys were brought, and handed to the peremptory old Marshal. The old
board of magistrates were then clapped into prison, the new ones
installed, and Deventer was gained for the English and Protestant party.

There could be no doubt that a city so important and thus fortunately
secured was worthy to be well guarded. There could be no doubt either
that it would be well to conciliate the rich and influential Papists in
the place, who, although attached to the ancient religion, were not
necessarily disloyal to the republic; but there could be as little that,
under the circumstances of this sudden municipal revolution, it would be
important to place a garrison of Protestant soldiers there, under the
command of a Protestant officer of known fidelity.

To the astonishment of the whole commonwealth, the Earl appointed Sir
William Stanley to be governor of the town, and stationed in it a
garrison of twelve hundred wild Irishmen.

Sir William was a cadet of one of the noblest English houses. He was the
bravest of the brave. His gallantry at the famous Zutphen fight had
attracted admiration, where nearly all had performed wondrous exploits,
but he was known to be an ardent Papist and a soldier of fortune, who had
fought on various sides, and had even borne arms in the Netherlands under
the ferocious Alva. Was it strange that there should be murmurs at the
appointment of so dangerous a chief to guard a wavering city which had so
recently been secured?

The Irish kernes--and they are described by all contemporaries, English
and Flemish, in the same language--were accounted as the wildest and
fiercest of barbarians. There was something grotesque, yet appalling, in
the pictures painted of these rude, almost naked; brigands, who ate raw
flesh, spoke no intelligible language, and ranged about the country,
burning, slaying, plundering, a terror to the peasantry and a source of
constant embarrassment to the more orderly troops in the service of the
republic. "It seemed," said one who had seen them, "that they belonged
not to Christendom, but to Brazil." Moreover, they were all Papists, and,
however much one might be disposed to censure that great curse of the
age, religious intolerance--which was almost as flagrant in the councils
of Queen Elizabeth as in those of Philip--it was certainly a most fatal
policy to place such a garrison, at that critical juncture, in the
newly-acquired city. Yet Leicester, who had banished Papists from Utrecht
without cause and without trial, now placed most notorious Catholics in
Deventer.

Zutphen, which was still besieged by the English and the patriots, was
much crippled by the loss of the great fort, the capture of which, mainly
through the brilliant valour of Stanley's brother Edward, has already
been related. The possession of Deventer and of this fort gave the
control of the whole north-eastern territory to the patriots; but, as if
it were not enough to place Deventer in the hands of Sir William Stanley,
Leicester thought proper to confide the government of the fort to Roland
York. Not a worse choice could be made in the whole army.

York was an adventurer of the most audacious and dissolute character. He
was a Londoner by birth, one of those "ruing blades" inveighed against by
the governor-general on his first taking command of the forces. A man of
desperate courage, a gambler, a professional duellist, a bravo, famous in
his time among the "common hacksters and swaggerers" as the first to
introduce the custom of foining, or thrusting with the rapier in single
combats--whereas before his day it had been customary among the English
to fight with sword and shield, and held unmanly to strike below the
girdle--he had perpetually changed sides, in the Netherland wars, with
the shameless disregard to principle which characterized all his actions.
He had been lieutenant to the infamous John Van Imbyze, and had been
concerned with him in the notorious attempt to surrender Dendermonde and
Ghent to the enemy, which had cost that traitor his head. York had been
thrown into prison at Brussels, but there had been some delay about his
execution, and the conquest of the city by Parma saved him from the
gibbet. He had then taken service under the Spanish commander-in-chief,
and had distinguished himself, as usual, by deeds of extraordinary
valour, having sprung on board the, burning volcano-ship at the siege of
Antwerp. Subsequently returning to England, he had, on Leicester's
appointment, obtained the command of a company in the English contingent,
and had been conspicuous on the field of Warnsveld; for the courage which
he always displayed under any standard was only equalled by the audacity
with which he was ever ready to desert from it. Did it seem credible that
the fort of Zutphen should be placed in the hands of Roland York?

Remonstrances were made by the States-General at once. With regard to
Stanley, Leicester maintained that he was, in his opinion, the fittest
man to take charge of the whole English army, during his absence in
England. In answer to a petition made by the States against the
appointment of York, "in respect to his perfidious dealings before," the
Earl replied that he would answer for his fidelity as for his own
brother; adding peremptorily--"Do you trust me? Then trust York."

But, besides his other qualifications for high command, Stanley possessed
an inestimable one in Leicester's eyes. He was, or at least had been, an
enemy of Sir John Norris. To be this made a Papist pardonable. It was
even better than to be a Puritan.

But the Earl did more than to appoint the traitor York and the Papist
Stanley to these important posts. On the very day of his departure, and
immediately after his final quarrel with Sir John about the Hohenlo
cartel, which had renewed all the ancient venom, he signed a secret
paper, by which he especially forbade the council of state to interfere
with or set aside any appointments to the government of towns or forts,
or to revoke any military or naval commissions, without his consent.

Now supreme executive authority had been delegated to the state-council
by the Governor-General during his absence. Command in chief over all the
English forces, whether in the Queen's pay or the State's pay, had been
conferred upon Norris, while command over the Dutch and German troops
belonged to Hohenlo; but, by virtue of the Earl's secret paper, Stanley
and York were now made independent of all authority. The evil
consequences natural to such a step were not slow in displaying
themselves.

Stanley at once manifested great insolence towards Norris. That
distinguished general was placed in a most painful position. A post of
immense responsibility was confided to him. The honour of England's Queen
and of England's soldiers was entrusted to his keeping; at a moment full
of danger, and in a country where every hour might bring forth some
terrible change; yet he knew himself the mark at which the most powerful
man in England was directing all his malice, and that the Queen, who was
wax in her great favourite's hands, was even then receiving the most
fatal impressions as to his character and conduct. "Well I know," said he
to Burghley, "that the root of the former malice borne me is not
withered, but that I must look for like fruits therefrom as before;" and
he implored the Lord-Treasurer, that when his honour and reputation
should be called in question, he might be allowed to return to England
and clear himself. "For myself," said he, "I have not yet received any
commission, although I have attended his Lordship of Leicester to his
ship. It is promised to be sent me, and in the meantime I understand that
my Lord hath granted separate commissions to Sir William Stanley and
Roland York, exempting them from obeying of me. If this be true, 'tis
only done to nourish factions, and to interrupt any better course in our
doings than before hath been." He earnestly requested to be furnished
with a commission directly from her Majesty. "The enemy is reinforcing,"
he added. "We are very weak, our troops are unpaid these three months,
and we are grown odious, to our friends."

Honest Councillor Wilkes, who did his best to conciliate all parties, and
to do his duty to England and Holland, to Leicester and to Norris, had
the strongest sympathy with Sir John. "Truly, besides the value, wisdom,
and many other good parts that are in him," he said, "I have noted
wonderful patience and modesty in the man, in bearing many apparent
injuries done unto him, which I have known to be countenanced and
nourished, contrary to all reason, to disgrace him. Please therefore
continue your honourable opinion of him in his absence, whatsoever may be
maliciously reported to his disadvantage, for I dare avouch, of my own
poor skill, that her Majesty hath not a second subject of his place and
quality able to serve in those countries as he . . . . I doubt not God
will move her Majesty, in despite of the devil, to respect him as he
deserves."

Sir John disclaimed any personal jealousy in regard to Stanley's
appointment, but, within a week or two of the Earl's departure, he
already felt strong anxiety as to its probable results. "If it prove no
hindrance to the service," he said, "it shall nothing trouble me. I
desire that my doings may show what I am; neither will I seek, by
indirect means to calumniate him or any other, but will let them show
themselves."

Early in December he informed the Lord-Treasurer that Stanley's own men
were boasting that their master acknowledged no superior authority to his
own, and that he had said as much himself to the magistracy of Deventer.
The burghers had already complained, through the constituted guardians of
their liberties, of his insolence and rapacity, and of the turbulence of
his troops, and had appealed to Sir John; but the colonel-general's
remonstrances had been received by Sir William with contumely and abuse,
and by daunt that he had even a greater commission than any he had yet
shown.

"Three sheep, an ox, and a whole hog," were required weekly of the
peasants for his table, in a time of great scarcity, and it was
impossible to satisfy the rapacious appetites of the Irish kernes. The
paymaster-general of the English forces was daily appealed to by Stanley
for funds--an application which was certainly not unreasonable, as her
Majesty's troops had not received any payment for three months--but there
"was not a denier in the treasury," and he was therefore implored to
wait. At last the States-General sent him a month's pay for himself and
all his troops, although, as he was in the Queen's service, no claim
could justly be made upon them.

Wilkes, also, as English member of the state council, faithfully conveyed
to the governor-general in England the complaints which came up to all
the authorities of the republic, against Sir William Stanley's conduct in
Deventer. He had seized the keys of the gates, he kept possession of the
towers and fortifications, he had meddled with the civil government, he
had infringed all their privileges. Yet this was the board of
magistrates, expressly set up by Leicester, with the armed hand, by the
agency of Marshal Pelham and this very Colonel Stanley--a board of
Calvinist magistrates placed but a few weeks before in power to control a
city of Catholic tendencies. And here was a papist commander displaying
Leicester's commission in their faces, and making it a warrant for
dealing with the town as if it were under martial law, and as if he were
an officer of the Duke of Parma. It might easily be judged whether such
conduct were likely to win the hearts of Netherlanders to Leicester and
to England.

"Albeit, for my own part," said Wilkes, "I do hold Sir William Stanley to
be a wise and a discreet gent., yet when I consider that the magistracy
is such as was established by your Lordship, and of the religion, and
well affected to her Majesty, and that I see how heavily the matter is
conceived of here by the States and council, I do fear that all is not
well. The very bruit of this doth begin to draw hatred upon our nation.
Were it not that I doubt some dangerous issue of this matter, and that I
might be justly charged with negligence, if I should not advertise you
beforehand, I would, have forborne to mention this dissension, for the
States are about to write to your Lordship and to her Majesty for
reformation in this matter." He added that he had already written
earnestly to Sir William, "hoping to persuade him to carry a mild hand
over the people."

Thus wrote Councillor Wilkes, as in duty bound, to Lord Leicester, so
early as the 9th December, and the warning voice of Norris had made
itself heard in England quite as soon. Certainly the governor-general,
having, upon his own responsibility; and prompted, it would seem, by
passion more than reason, made this dangerous appointment, was fortunate
in receiving timely and frequent notice of its probable results.

And the conscientious Wilkes wrote most earnestly, as he said he had
done, to the turbulent Stanley.

"Good Sir William," said he, "the magistrates and burgesses of Deventer
complain to this council, that you have by violence wrested from them the
keys of one of their gates, that you assemble your garrison in arms to
terrify them, that you have seized one of their forts, that the Irish
soldiers do commit many extortions and exactions upon the inhabitants,
that you have imprisoned their burgesses, and do many things against
their laws and privileges, so that it is feared the best affected, of the
inhabitants towards her Majesty will forsake the town. Whether any of
these things be true, yourself doth best know, but I do assure you that
the apprehension thereof here doth make us and our government hateful.
For mine own part, I have always known you for a gentleman of value,
wisdom; and judgment, and therefore should hardly believe any such thing.
. . . . I earnestly require you to take heed of consequences, and to be
careful of the honour of her Majesty and the reputation of our nation.
You will consider that the gaining possession of the town grew by them
that are now in office, who being of the religion, and well affected to
his Excellency's government, wrought his entry into the same . . . . I
know that Lord Leicester is sworn to maintain all the inhabitants of the
Provinces in their ancient privileges and customs. I know further that
your commission carreeth no authority to warrant you to intermeddle any
further than with the government of the soldiers and guard of the town.
Well, you may, in your own conceipt, confer some words to authorize you
in some larger sort, but, believe me, Sir, they will not warrant you
sufficiently to deal any further than I have said, for I have perused a
copy of your commission for that purpose. I know the name itself of a
governor of a town is odious to this people, and hath been ever since the
remembrance of the Spanish government, and if we, by any lack of
foresight, should give the like occasion, we should make ourselves as
odious as they are; which God forbid.

"You are to consider that we are not come into these countries for their
defence only, but for the defence of her Majesty and our own native
country, knowing that the preservation of both dependeth altogether upon
the preserving of these. Wherefore I do eftsoons intreat and require you
to forbear to intermeddle any further. If there shall follow any
dangerous effect of your proceedings, after this my friendly advice, I
shall be heartily sorry for your sake, but I shall be able to testify to
her Majesty that I have done my duty in admonishing you."

Thus spake the stiff councillor, earnestly and well, in behalf of
England's honour and the good name of England's Queen.

But the brave soldier, whose feet were fast sliding into the paths of
destruction, replied, in a tone of indignant innocence, more likely to
aggravate than to allay suspicion. "Finding," said Stanley, "that you
already threaten, I have gone so far as to scan the terms of my
commission, which I doubt not to execute, according to his Excellency's
meaning and mine honour. First, I assure you that I have maintained
justice, and that severely; else hardly would the soldiers have been
contented with bread and bare cheese."

He acknowledged possessing himself of the keys of the town, but defended
it on the ground of necessity; and of the character of the people, "who
thrust out the Spaniards and Almaynes, and afterwards never would obey
the Prince and States." "I would be," he said, "the sorriest man that
lives, if by my negligence the place should be lost. Therefore I thought
good to seize the great tower and ports. If I meant evil, I needed no
keys, for here is force enough."

With much effrontery, he then affected to rely for evidence of his
courteous and equitable conduct towards the citizens, upon the very
magistrates who had been petitioning the States-General, the
state-council, and the English Queen, against his violence:

"For my courtesy and humanity," he said, "I refer me unto the magistrates
themselves. But I think they sent rhetoricians, who could, allege of
little grief, and speak pitiful, and truly I find your ears have been as
pitiful in so timorously condemning me. I assure you that her Majesty
hath not a better servant than I nor a more faithful in these parts. This
I will prove with my flesh and blood. Although I know there be divers
flying reports spread by my enemies, which are come to my ears, I doubt
not my virtue and truth will prove them calumniators and men of little.
So, good Mr. Wilkes, I pray you, consider gravely, give ear discreetly,
and advertise into England soundly. For me, I have been and am your
friend, and glad to hear any admonition from one so wise as yourself."

He then alluded ironically to the "good favour and money" with which he
had been so contented of late, that if Mr. Wilkes would discharge him of
his promise to Lord Leicester, he would take his leave with all his
heart. Captain, officers, and soldiers, had been living on half a pound
of cheese a day. For himself, he had received but one hundred and twenty
pounds in five months, and was living at three pounds by the day. "This
my wealth will not long hold out," he observed, "but yet I will never
fail of my promise to his Excellency, whatsoever I endure. It is for her
Majesty's service and for the love I bear to him."

He bitterly complained of the unwillingness of the country-people to
furnish vivers, waggons, and other necessaries, for the fort before
Zutphen. "Had it not been," he said, "for the travail extraordinary of
myself, and patience of my brother, Yorke, that fort would have been in
danger. But, according to his desire and forethought, I furnished that
place with cavalry and infantry; for I know the troops there be
marvellous weak."

In reply, Wilkes stated that the complaints had been made "by no
rhetorician," but by letter from the magistrates themselves (on whom he
relied so confidently) to the state-council. The councillor added, rather
tartly, that since his honest words of defence and of warning, had been
"taken in so scoffing a manner," Sir William might be sure of not being
troubled with any more of his letters.

But, a day or two before thus addressing him, he had already enclosed to
Leicester very important letters addressed by the council of Gelderland
to Count Moeurs, stadholder of the Province, and by him forwarded to the
state-council. For there were now very grave rumours concerning the
fidelity of "that patient and foreseeing brother York," whom Stanley had
been so generously strengthening in Fort Zutphen. The lieutenant of York,
a certain Mr. Zouch, had been seen within the city of Zutphen, in close
conference with Colonel Tassis, Spanish governor of the place. Moreover
there had been a very frequent exchange of courtesies--by which the
horrors of war seemed to be much mitigated--between York on the outside
and Tassis within. The English commander sent baskets of venison, wild
fowl, and other game, which were rare in the market of a besieged town.
The Spanish governor responded with baskets of excellent wine and barrels
of beer. A very pleasant state of feeling, perhaps, to contemplate--as an
advance in civilization over the not very distant days of the Haarlem and
Leyden sieges, when barrels of prisoners' heads, cut off, a dozen or two
at a time, were the social amenities usually exchanged between Spaniards
and Dutchmen--but somewhat suspicious to those who had grown grey in this
horrible warfare.

The Irish kernes too, were allowed to come to mass within the city, and
were received there with as much fraternity by, the Catholic soldiers of
Tassis as the want of any common dialect would allow--a proceeding which
seemed better perhaps for the salvation of their souls, than--for the
advancement of the siege.

The state-council had written concerning these rumours to Roland York,
but the patient man had replied in a manner which Wilkes characterized as
"unfit to have been given to such as were the executors of the Earl of
Leicester's authority." The councillor implored the governor-general
accordingly to send some speedy direction in this matter, as well to
Roland York as to Sir William Stanley; for he explicitly and earnestly
warned him, that those personages would pay no heed to the remonstrances
of the state-council.

Thus again and again was Leicester--on whose head rested, by his own
deliberate act, the whole responsibility--forewarned that some great
mischief was impending. There was time enough even then--for it was but
the 16th December--to place full powers in the hands of the
state-council, of Norris, or of Hohenlo, and secretly and swiftly to
secure the suspected persons, and avert the danger. Leicester did
nothing. How could he acknowledge his error? How could he manifest
confidence in the detested Norris? How appeal to the violent and deeply
incensed Hohenlo?

Three weeks more rolled by, and the much-enduring Roland York was still
in confidential correspondence with Leicester and Walsingham, although
his social intercourse with the Spanish governor of Zutphen continued to
be upon the most liberal and agreeable footing. He was not quite
satisfied with the general, aspect of the Queen's cause in the
Netherlands, and wrote to the Secretary of State in a tone of
despondency, and mild expostulation. Walsingham would have been less
edified by these communications, had he been aware that York, upon first
entering Leicester's service, had immediately opened a correspondence
with the Duke of Parma, and had secretly given him to understand that his
object was to serve the cause of Spain. This was indeed the fact, as the
Duke informed the King, "but then he is such a scatter-brained, reckless
dare-devil," said Parma, "that I hardly expected much of him." Thus the
astute Sir Francis had been outwitted, by the adventurous Roland, who was
perhaps destined also to surpass the anticipations of the Spanish
commander-in-chief.

Meantime York informed his English patrons, on the 7th January, that
matters were not proceeding so smoothly in the political world as he
could wish. He had found "many cross and indirect proceedings," and so,
according to Lord Leicester's desire, he sent him a "discourse" on the
subject, which he begged Sir Francis to "peruse, add to, or take away
from," and then to inclose to the Earl. He hoped he should be forgiven if
the style of the production was not quite satisfactory; for, said he,
"the place where I am doth too much torment my memory, to call every
point to my remembrance."

It must, in truth, have been somewhat a hard task upon his memory, to
keep freshly in mind every detail of the parallel correspondence which he
was carrying on with the Spanish and with the English government. Even a
cool head like Roland's might be forgiven for being occasionally puzzled.
"So if there be anything hard to be understood," he observed to
Walsingham, "advertise me, and I will make it plainer." Nothing could be
more ingenuous. He confessed, however, to being out of pocket. "Please
your honour," said he, "I have taken great pains to make a bad place
something, and it has cost me all the money I had, and here I can receive
nothing but discontentment. I dare not write you all lest you should
think it impossible," he added--and it is quite probable that even
Walsingham would have been astonished, had Roland written all. The game
playing by York and Stanley was not one to which English gentlemen were
much addicted.

"I trust the bearer, Edward Stanley; a discreet, brave gentleman," he
said, "with details." And the remark proves that the gallant youth who
had captured this very Fort Zutphen in, so brilliant a manner was not
privy to the designs of his brother and of York; for the object of the
"discourse" was to deceive the English government.

"I humbly beseech that you will send for me home," concluded Roland, "for
true as I humbled my mind to please her Majesty, your honour, and the
dead, now am I content to humble myself lower to please myself, for now,
since his, Excellency's departure, there is no form of proceeding neither
honourably nor honestly."

Three other weeks passed over, weeks of anxiety and dread throughout the
republic. Suspicion grew darker than ever, not only as to York and
Stanley, but as to all the English commanders, as to the whole English
nation. An Anjou plot, a general massacre, was expected by many, yet
there were no definite grounds for such dark anticipations. In vain had
painstaking, truth-telling Wilkes summoned Stanley to his duty, and
called on Leicester, time after time, to interfere. In vain did Sir John
Norris, Sir John Conway, the members of the state-council, and all others
who should have had authority, do their utmost to avert a catastrophe.
Their hands were all tied by the fatal letter of the 24th November. Most
anxiously did all implore the Earl of Leicester to return. Never was a
more dangerous moment than this for a country to be left to its fate.
Scarcely ever in history was there a more striking exemplification of the
need of a man--of an individual--who should embody the powers and wishes,
and concentrate in one brain and arm, the whole energy, of a
commonwealth. But there was no such man, for the republic had lost its
chief when Orange died. There was much wisdom and patriotism now.
Olden-Barneveld was competent, and so was Buys, to direct the councils of
the republic, and there were few better soldiers than Norris and Hohenlo
to lead her armies against Spain. But the supreme authority had been
confided to Leicester. He had not perhaps proved himself extraordinarily
qualified for his post, but he was the governor-in-chief, and his
departure, without resigning his powers, left the commonwealth headless,
at a moment when singleness of action was vitally important.

At last, very late in January, one Hugh Overing, a haberdasher from
Ludgate Hill, was caught at Rotterdam, on his way to Ireland, with a
bundle of letters from Sir William Stanley, and was sent, as a suspicious
character, to the state-council at the Hague. On the same day, another
Englishman, a small youth, "well-favoured," rejoicing in a "very little
red beard, and in very ragged clothes," unknown by name; but ascertained
to be in the service of Roland York and to have been the bearer of
letters to Brussels, also passed through Rotterdam. By connivance of the
innkeeper, one Joyce, also an Englishman, he succeeded in making his
escape. The information contained in the letters thus intercepted was
important, but it came too late, even if then the state-council could
have acted without giving mortal offence to Elizabeth and to Leicester.

On the evening of 28th January (N. S.), Sir William Stanley entertained
the magistrates of Deventer at a splendid banquet. There was free
conversation at table concerning the idle suspicions which had been rife
in the Provinces as to his good intentions and the censures which had
been cast upon him for the repressive measures which he had thought
necessary to adopt for the security of the city. He took that occasion to
assure his guests that the Queen of England had not a more loyal subject
than himself, nor the Netherlands a more devoted friend. The company
expressed themselves fully restored to confidence in his character and
purposes, and the burgomasters, having exchanged pledges of faith and
friendship with the commandant in flowing goblets, went home comfortably
to bed, highly pleased with their noble entertainer and with themselves.

Very late that same night, Stanley placed three hundred of his wild Irish
in the Noorenberg tower, a large white structure which commanded the
Zutphen gate, and sent bodies of chosen troops to surprise all the
burgher-guards at their respective stations. Strong pickets of cavalry
were also placed in all the principal thoroughfares of the city. At three
o'clock in the following morning he told his officers that he was about
to leave Deventer for a few hours, in order to bring in some
reinforcements for which he had sent, as he had felt much anxiety for
some time past as to the disposition of the burghers. His officers,
honest Englishmen, suspecting no evil and having confidence in their
chief, saw nothing strange in this proceeding, and Sir William rode
deliberately out of Zutphen. After he had been absent an hour or two, the
clatter of hoofs and the tramp of infantry was heard without, and
presently the commandant returned, followed by a thousand musketeers and
three or four hundred troopers. It was still pitch dark; but, dimly
lighted by torches, small detachments of the fresh troops picked their
way through the black narrow streets, while the main body poured at once
upon the Brink, or great square. Here, quietly and swiftly, they were
marshalled into order, the cavalry, pikemen, and musketeers, lining all
sides of the place, and a chosen band--among whom stood Sir William
Stanley, on foot, and an officer of high rank on horseback--occupying the
central space immediately in front of the town-house.

The drums then beat, and proclamation went forth through the city that
all burghers, without any distinction--municipal guards and all--were to
repair forthwith to the city-hall, and deposit their arms. As the
inhabitants arose from their slumbers, and sallied forth into the streets
to inquire the cause of the disturbance, they soon discovered that they
had, in some mysterious manner, been entrapped. Wild Irishmen, with
uncouth garb, threatening gesture, and unintelligible jargon, stood
gibbering at every corner, instead of the comfortable Flemish faces of
the familiar burgher-guard. The chief burgomaster, sleeping heavily after
Sir William's hospitable banquet, aroused himself at last, and sent a
militia-captain to inquire the cause of the unseasonable drum-beat and
monstrous proclamation. Day was breaking as the trusty captain made his
way to the scene of action. The wan light of a cold, drizzly January
morning showed him the wide, stately square--with its leafless lime-trees
and its tall many storied, gable-ended houses rising dim and spectral
through the mist-filled to overflowing with troops, whose uniforms and
banners resembled nothing that he remembered in Dutch and English
regiments. Fires were lighted at various corners, kettles were boiling,
and camp-followers and sutlers were crouching over them, half perished
with cold--for it had been raining dismally all night--while burghers,
with wives and children, startled from their dreams by the sudden
reveillee, stood gaping about, with perplexed faces and despairing
gestures. As he approached the town-house--one of those magnificent,
many-towered, highly-decorated, municipal palaces of the Netherlands--he
found troops all around it; troops guarding the main entrance, troops on
the great external staircase leading to the front balcony, and officers,
in yellow jerkin and black bandoleer, grouped in the balcony itself.

The Flemish captain stood bewildered, when suddenly the familiar form of
Stanley detached itself from the central group and advanced towards him.
Taking him by the hand with much urbanity, Sir William led the
militia-man through two or three ranks of soldiers, and presented him to
the strange officer on horseback.

"Colonel Tassis," said he, "I recommend to you a very particular friend
of mine. Let me bespeak your best offices in his behalf."

"Ah God!" cried the honest burgher, "Tassis! Tassis! Then are we indeed
most miserably betrayed."

Even the Spanish colonel who was of Flemish origin, was affected by the
despair of the Netherlander.

"Let those look to the matter of treachery whom it concerns," said he;
"my business here is to serve the King, my master."

"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the
things which are God's," said Stanley, with piety.

The burgher-captain was then assured that no harm was intended to the
city, but that it now belonged to his most Catholic Majesty of
Spain--Colonel Stanley, to whom its custody had been entrusted, having
freely and deliberately restored it to its lawful owner. He was then bid
to go and fetch the burgomasters and magistrates.

Presently they appeared--a dismal group, weeping and woe-begone--the same
board of strict Calvinists forcibly placed in office but three months
before by Leicester, through the agency of this very Stanley, who had so
summarily ejected their popish predecessors, and who only the night
before had so handsomely feasted themselves. They came forward, the tears
running down their cheeks, crying indeed so piteously that even Stanley
began to weep bitterly himself. "I have not done this," he sobbed, "for
power or pelf. Not the hope of reward, but the love of God hath moved
me."

Presently some of the ex-magistrates made their appearance, and a party
of leading citizens went into a private house with Tassis and Stanley to
hear statements and explanations--as if any satisfactory ones were
possible.

Sir William, still in a melancholy tone, began to make a speech, through
an interpreter, and again to protest that he had not been influenced by
love of lucre. But as he stammered and grew incoherent as he approached
the point, Tassis suddenly interrupted the conference. "Let us look after
our soldiers," said he, "for they have been marching in the foul weather
half the night." So the Spanish troops, who had been, standing patiently
to be rained upon after their long march, until the burghers had all
deposited their arms in the city-hall, were now billeted on the
townspeople. Tassis gave peremptory orders that no injury should be
offered to persons or property on pain of death; and, by way of wholesome
example, hung several Hibernians the same day who had been detected in
plundering the inhabitants.

The citizens were, as usual in such cases, offered the choice between
embracing the Catholic religion or going into exile, a certain interval
being allowed them to wind up their affairs. They were also required to
furnish Stanley and his regiment full pay for the whole period of their
service since coming to the Provinces, and to Tassis three months' wages
for his Spaniards in advance. Stanley offered his troops the privilege of
remaining with him in the service of Spain, or of taking their departure
unmolested. The Irish troops were quite willing to continue under their
old chieftain, particularly as it was intimated to them that there was an
immediate prospect of a brisk campaign in their native island against the
tyrant Elizabeth, under the liberating banners of Philip. And certainly,
in an age where religion constituted country, these fervent Catholics
could scarcely be censured for taking arms against the sovereign who
persecuted their religion and themselves. These honest barbarians had
broken no oath, violated no trust, had never pretended sympathy with
freedom; or affection for their Queen. They had fought fiercely under the
chief who led them into battle--they had robbed and plundered voraciously
as opportunity served, and had been occasionally hanged for their
exploits; but Deventer and Fort Zutphen had not been confided to their
keeping; and it was a pleasant thought to them, that approaching invasion
of Ireland. "I will ruin the whole country from Holland to Friesland,"
said Stanley to Captain Newton, "and then I will play such a game in
Ireland as the Queen has never seen the like all the days of her life."

Newton had already been solicited by Roland York to take service under
Parma, and had indignantly declined. Sir Edmund Carey and his men, four
hundred in all, refused, to a man, to take part in the monstrous treason,
and were allowed to leave the city. This was the case with all the
English officers. Stanley and York were the only gentlemen who on this
occasion sullied the honour of England.

Captain Henchman, who had been taken prisoner in a skirmish a few days
before the surrender of Deventer, was now brought to that city, and
earnestly entreated by Tassis and by Stanley to seize this opportunity of
entering the service of Spain.

"You shall have great advancement and preferment," said Tassis. "His
Catholic Majesty has got ready very many ships for Ireland, and Sir
William Stanley is to be general of the expedition."

"And you shall choose your own preferment," said Stanley, "for I know you
to be a brave man."

"I would rather," replied Henchman, "serve my prince in loyalty as a
beggar, than to be known and reported a rich traitor, with breach of
conscience."

"Continue so," replied Stanley, unabashed; "for this is the very
principle of my own enlargement: for, before, I served the devil, and now
I am serving God."

The offers and the arguments of the Spaniard and the renegade were
powerless with the blunt captain, and notwithstanding "divers other
traitorous alledgements by Sir William for his most vile facts," as
Henchman expressed it, that officer remained in poverty and captivity
until such time as he could be exchanged.

Stanley subsequently attempted in various ways to defend his character.
He had a commission from Leicester, he said, to serve whom he chose--as
if the governor-general had contemplated his serving Philip II. with that
commission; he had a passport to go whither he liked--as if his passport
entitled him to take the city of Deventer along with him; he owed no
allegiance to the States; he was discharged from his promise to the Earl;
he was his own master; he wanted neither money nor preferment; he had
been compelled by his conscience and his duty to God to restore the city
to its lawful master, and so on, and so on.

But whether he owed the States allegiance or not, it is certain that he
had accepted their money to relieve himself and his troops eight days
before his treason. That Leicester had discharged him from his promises
to such an extent as to justify his surrendering a town committed to his
honour for safe keeping, certainly deserved no answer; that his duty to
conscience required him to restore the city argued a somewhat tardy
awakening of that monitor in the breast of the man who three months
before had wrested the place with the armed hand from men suspected of
Catholic inclinations; that his first motive however was not the mere
love of money, was doubtless true. Attachment to his religion, a desire
to atone for his sins against it, the insidious temptings of his evil
spirit, York, who was the chief organizer of the conspiracy, and the
prospect of gratifying a wild and wicked ambition--these were the springs
that moved him. Sums--varying from L30,000 to a pension of 1500 pistolets
a year--were mentioned, as the stipulated price of his treason, by
Norris, Wilkes, Conway, and others; but the Duke of Parma, in narrating
the whole affair in a private letter to the King, explicitly stated that
he had found Stanley "singularly disinterested."

"The colonel was only actuated by religious motives," he said, "asking
for no reward, except that he might serve in his Majesty's army
thenceforth--and this is worthy to be noted."

At the same time it appears from this correspondence, that the Duke,
recommended, and that the King bestowed, a "merced," which Stanley did
not refuse; and it was very well known that to no persons in, the world
was Philip apt to be so generous as to men of high rank, Flemish,
Walloon, or English, who deserted the cause of his rebellious subjects to
serve under his own banners. Yet, strange to relate, almost at the very
moment that Stanley was communicating his fatal act of treason, in order
that he might open a high career for his ambition, a most brilliant
destiny was about to dawn upon him. The Queen had it in contemplation, in
recompense for his distinguished services, and by advice of Leicester, to
bestow great honors and titles upon him, and to appoint him Viceroy of
Ireland--of that very country which he was now proposing, as an enemy to
his sovereign and as the purchased tool of a foreign despot, to invade.

Stanley's subsequent fate was obscure. A price of 3000 florins was put by
the States upon his head and upon that of York. He went to Spain, and
afterwards returned to the Provinces. He was even reported to have
become, through the judgment of God, a lunatic, although the tale wanted
confirmation; and it is certain that at the close of the year he had
mustered his regiment under Farnese, prepared to join the Duke in the
great invasion of England.

Roland York, who was used to such practices, cheerfully consummated his
crime on the same day that witnessed the surrender of Deventer. He rode
up to the gates of that city on the morning of the 29th January, inquired
quietly whether Tassis was master of the place, and then galloped
furiously back the ten miles to his fort. Entering, he called his
soldiers together, bade them tear in pieces the colours of England, and
follow him into the city of Zutphen. Two companies of States' troops
offered resistance, and attempted to hold the place; but they were
overpowered by the English and Irish, assisted by a force of Spaniards,
who, by a concerted movement, made their appearance from the town. He
received a handsome reward, having far surpassed the Duke of Parma's
expectations, when he made his original offer of service. He died very
suddenly, after a great banquet at Deventer, in the course of the sane
year, not having succeeded in making his escape into Spain to live at
ease on his stipend. It was supposed that he was poisoned; but the charge
in those days was a common one, and nobody cared to investigate the
subject. His body was subsequently exhumed when Deventer came into the
hands of the patriots--and with impotent and contemptible malice hanged
upon a gibbet. This was the end of Roland York.

Parma was highly gratified, as may be imagined, at such successful
results. "Thus Fort Zutphen," said he, "about which there have been so
many fisticuffs, and Deventer--which was the real object of the last
campaign, and which has cost the English so much blood and money, and is
the safety of Groningen and of all those Provinces--is now your
Majesty's. Moreover, the effect of this treason must be to sow great
distrust between the English and the rebels, who will henceforth never
know in whom they can confide."

Parma was very right in this conjuncture. Moreover, there was just then a
fearful run against the States. The castle of Wauw, within a league of
Bergen-op-Zoom, which had been entrusted to one Le Marchand, a Frenchman
in the service of the republic, was delivered by him to Parma for 16,000
florins. "'Tis a very important post," said the Duke, "and the money was
well laid out."

The loss of the city of Gelder, capital of the Province of the same name,
took place in the summer. This town belonged to the jurisdiction of
Martin Schenk, and was, his chief place of deposit for the large and
miscellaneous property acquired by him during his desultory, but most
profitable, freebooting career. The Famous partisan was then absent,
engaged in a lucrative job in the way of his profession. He had made a
contract--in a very-business-like way--with the States, to defend the
city of Rheinberg and all the country, round against the Duke of Parma,
pledging himself to keep on foot for that purpose an army of 3300 foot
and 700 horse. For this extensive and important operation, he was to
receive 20,000 florins a month from the general exchequer; and in
addition he was to be allowed the brandschatz--the black-mail, that is to
say--of the whole country-side, and the taxation upon all vessels going
up and down the river before Rheinberg; an ad valorem duty, in short,
upon all river-merchandise, assessed and collected in summary fashion. A
tariff thus enforced was not likely to be a mild one; and although the
States considered that they had got a "good penny-worth" by the job, it
was no easy thing to get the better, in a bargain, of the vigilant
Martin, who was as thrifty a speculator as he was a desperate fighter. A
more accomplished highwayman, artistically and enthusiastically devoted
to his pursuit, never lived. Nobody did his work more thoroughly--nobody
got himself better paid for his work--and Thomas Wilkes, that excellent
man of business, thought the States not likely to make much by their
contract. Nevertheless, it was a comfort to know that the work would not
be neglected.

Schenk was accordingly absent, jobbing the Rheinberg siege, and in his
place one Aristotle Patton, a Scotch colonel in the States' service, was
commandant of Gelders. Now the thrifty Scot had an eye to business, too,
and was no more troubled with qualms of conscience than Rowland York
himself. Moreover, he knew himself to be in great danger of losing his
place, for Leicester was no friend to him, and intended to supersede him.
Patton had also a decided grudge against Schenk, for that truculent
personage had recently administered to him a drubbing, which no doubt he
had richly deserved. Accordingly, when; the Duke of Parma made a secret
offer to him of 36,000 florins if he would quietly surrender the city
entrusted to him, the colonel jumped at so excellent an opportunity of
circumventing Leicester, feeding his grudge against Martin, and making a
handsome fortune for himself. He knew his trade too well, however, to
accept the offer too eagerly, and bargained awhile for better terms, and
to such good purpose, that it was agreed he should have not only the
36,000 florins, but all the horses, arms, plate, furniture, and other
moveables in the city belonging to Schenk, that he could lay his hands
upon. Here were revenge and solid damages for the unforgotten assault and
battery--for Schenk's property alone made no inconsiderable fortune--and
accordingly the city, towards Midsummer, was surrendered to the Seigneur
d'Haultepenne. Moreover, the excellent Patton had another and a loftier
motive. He was in love. He had also a rival. The lady of his thoughts was
the widow of Pontus de Noyelle, Seigneur de Bours, who had once saved the
citadel of Antwerp, and afterwards sold that city and himself. His rival
was no other than the great Seigneur de Champagny, brother of Cardinal
Granvelle, eminent as soldier, diplomatist, and financier, but now
growing old, not in affluent circumstances, and much troubled with the
gout. Madame de Bours had, however, accepted his hand, and had fixed the
day for the wedding, when the Scotchman, thus suddenly enriched, renewed
a previously unsuccessful suit. The widow then, partially keeping her
promise, actually celebrated her nuptials on the appointed evening; but,
to the surprise of the Provinces, she became not the 'haulte et puissante
dame de Champagny,' but Mrs. Aristotle Patton.

For this last treason neither Leicester nor the English were responsible.
Patton was not only a Scot, but a follower of Hohenlo, as Leicester
loudly protested. Le Merchant was a Frenchman. But Deventer and Zutphen
were places of vital importance, and Stanley an Englishman of highest
consideration, one who had been deemed worthy of the command in chief in
Leicester's absence. Moreover, a cornet in the service of the Earl's
nephew, Sir Robert Sidney, had been seen at Zutphen in conference with
Tassis; and the horrible suspicion went abroad that even the illustrious
name of Sidney was to be polluted also. This fear was fortunately false,
although the cornet was unquestionably a traitor, with whom the enemy had
been tampering; but the mere thought that Sir Robert Sidney could betray
the trust reposed in him was almost enough to make the still unburied
corpse of his brother arise from the dead.

Parma was right when he said that all confidence of the Netherlanders in
the Englishmen would now be gone, and that the Provinces would begin to
doubt their best friends. No fresh treasons followed, but they were
expected every day. An organized plot to betray the country was believed
in, and a howl of execration swept through the land. The noble deeds of
Sidney and Willoughby, and Norris and Pelham, and Roger Williams, the
honest and valuable services of Wilkes, the generosity and courage of
Leicester, were for a season forgotten. The English were denounced in
every city and village of the Netherlands as traitors and miscreants.
Respectable English merchants went from hostelry to hostelry, and from
town to town, and were refused a lodging for love or money. The nation
was put under ban. A most melancholy change from the beginning of the
year, when the very men who were now loudest in denunciation and fiercest
in hate, had been the warmest friends of Elizabeth, of England, and of
Leicester.

At Hohenlo's table the opinion was loudly expressed, even in the presence
of Sir Roger Williams, that it was highly improbable, if a man like
Stanley, of such high rank in the kingdom of England, of such great
connections and large means, could commit such a treason, that he could
do so without the knowledge and consent of her Majesty.

Barneveld, in council of state, declared that Leicester, by his
restrictive letter of 24th November, had intended to carry the authority
over the republic into England, in order to dispose of everything at his
pleasure, in conjunction with the English cabinet-council, and that the
country had never been so cheated by the French as it had now been by the
English, and that their government had become insupportable.

Councillor Carl Roorda maintained at the table of Elector Truchsess that
the country had fallen 'de tyrannide in tyrrannidem;' and--if they had
spurned the oppression of the Spaniards and the French--that it was now
time to, rebel against the English. Barneveld and Buys loudly declared
that the Provinces were able to protect themselves without foreign
assistance, and that it was very injurious to impress a contrary opinion
upon the public mind.

The whole college of the States-General came before the state-council,
and demanded the name of the man to whom the Earl's restrictive letter
had been delivered--that document by which the governor had dared
surreptitiously to annul the authority which publicly he had delegated to
that body, and thus to deprive it of the power of preventing anticipated
crimes. After much colloquy the name of Brackel was given, and, had not
the culprit fortunately been absent, his life might have, been in danger,
for rarely had grave statesmen been so thoroughly infuriated.

No language can exaggerate the consequences of this wretched treason.
Unfortunately, too; the abject condition to which the English troops had
been reduced by the niggardliness of their sovereign was an additional
cause of danger. Leicester was gone, and since her favourite was no
longer in the Netherlands, the Queen seemed to forget that there was a
single Englishman upon that fatal soil. In five months not one penny had
been sent to her troops. While the Earl had been there one hundred and
forty thousand pounds had been sent in seven or eight months. After his
departure not five thousand pounds were sent in one half year.

The English soldiers, who had fought so well in every Flemish
battle-field of freedom, had become--such as were left of them--mere
famishing half naked vagabonds and marauders. Brave soldiers had been
changed by their sovereign into brigands, and now the universal odium
which suddenly attached itself to the English name converted them into
outcasts. Forlorn and crippled creatures swarmed about the Provinces, but
were forbidden to come through the towns, and so wandered about, robbing
hen-roosts and pillaging the peasantry. Many deserted to the enemy. Many
begged their way to England, and even to the very gates of the palace,
and exhibited their wounds and their misery before the eyes of that good
Queen Bess who claimed to be the mother of her subjects,--and begged for
bread in vain.

The English cavalry, dwindled now to a body of five hundred, starving and
mutinous, made a foray into Holland, rather as highwaymen than soldiers.
Count Maurice commanded their instant departure, and Hohenlo swore that
if the order were not instantly obeyed, he would put himself at the head
of his troops and cut every man of them to pieces. A most painful and
humiliating condition for brave men who had been fighting the battles of
their Queen and of the republic, to behold themselves--through the
parsimony of the one and the infuriated sentiment of the other--compelled
to starve, to rob, or to be massacred by those whom they had left their
homes to defend.

At last, honest Wilkes, ever watchful of his duty, succeeded in borrowing
eight hundred pounds sterling for two months, by "pawning his own
carcase" as he expressed himself. This gave the troopers about thirty
shillings a man, with which relief they became, for a time, contented and
well disposed.

Is this picture exaggerated? Is it drawn by pencils hostile to the
English nation or the English Queen? It is her own generals and
confidential counsellors who have told a story in all its painful
details, which has hardly found a place in other chronicles. The
parsimony of the great Queen must ever remain a blemish on her character,
and it was never more painfully exhibited than towards her brave soldiers
in Flanders in the year 1587. Thomas Wilkes, a man of truth, and a man of
accounts, had informed Elizabeth that the expenses of one year's war,
since Leicester had been governor-general, had amounted to exactly five
hundred and seventy-nine thousand three hundred and sixty pounds and
nineteen shillings, of which sum one hundred and forty-six thousand three
hundred and eighty-six pounds and eleven shillings had been spent by her
Majesty, and the balance had been paid, or was partly owing by the
States. These were not agreeable figures, but the figures of honest
accountants rarely flatter, and Wilkes was not one of those financiers
who have the wish or the gift to make things pleasant. He had transmitted
the accounts just as they had been delivered, certified by the treasurers
of the States and by the English paymasters, and the Queen was appalled
at the sum-totals. She could never proceed with such a war as that, she
said, and she declined a loan of sixty thousand pounds which the States
requested, besides stoutly refusing to advance her darling Robin a penny
to pay off the mortgages upon two-thirds of his estates, on which the
equity of redemption was fast expiring, or to give him the slightest help
in furnishing him forth anew for the wars.

Yet not one of her statesmen doubted that these Netherland battles were
English battles, almost as much as if the fighting-ground had been the
Isle of Wight or the coast of Kent, the charts of which the statesmen and
generals of Spain were daily conning.

Wilkes, too, while defending Leicester stoutly behind his back, doing his
best, to explain his short-comings, lauding his courage and generosity,
and advocating his beloved theory of popular sovereignty with much
ingenuity and eloquence, had told him the truth to his face. Although
assuring him that if he came back soon, he might rule the States "as a
schoolmaster doth his boys," he did not fail to set before him the
disastrous effects of his sudden departure and of his protracted absence;
he had painted in darkest colours the results of the Deventer treason, he
had unveiled the cabals against his authority, he had repeatedly and
vehemently implored his return; he had, informed the Queen, that
notwithstanding some errors of, administration, he was much the fittest
man to represent her in the Netherlands, and, that he could accomplish,
by reason of his experience, more in three months than any other man
could do in a year. He bad done his best to reconcile the feuds which
existed between him and important personages in the Netherlands, he had
been the author of the complimentary letters sent to him in the name of
the States-General--to the great satisfaction of the Queen--but he had
not given up his friendship with Sir John Norris, because he said "the
virtues of the man made him as worthy of love as any one living, and
because the more he knew him, the more he had cause to affect and to
admire him."

This was the unpardonable offence, and for this, and for having told the
truth about the accounts, Leicester denounced Wilkes to the Queen as a
traitor and a hypocrite, and threatened repeatedly to take his life. He
had even the meanness to prejudice Burghley against him--by insinuating
to the Lord-Treasurer that he too had been maligned by Wilkes--and thus
most effectually damaged the character of the plain-spoken councillor
with the Queen and many of her advisers; notwithstanding that he
plaintively besought her to "allow him to reiterate his sorry song, as
doth the cuckoo, that she would please not condemn her poor servant
unheard."

Immediate action was taken on the Deventer treason, and on the general
relations between the States-General and the English government.
Barneveld immediately drew up a severe letter to the Earl of Leicester.
On the 2nd February Wilkes came by chance into the assembly of the
States-General, with the rest of the councillors, and found Barneveld
just demanding the public reading of that document. The letter was read.
Wilkes then rose and made a few remarks.

"The letter seems rather sharp upon his Excellency," he observed. "There
is not a word in it," answered Barneveld curtly, "that is not perfectly
true;" and with this he cut the matter short, and made a long speech upon
other matters which were then before the assembly.

Wilkes, very anxious as to the effect of the letter, both upon public
feeling in England and upon his own position as English councillor,
waited immediately upon Count Maurice, President van der Myle, and upon
Villiers the clergyman, and implored their interposition to prevent the
transmission of the epistle. They promised to make an effort to delay its
despatch or to mitigate its tone. A fortnight afterwards, however, Wilkes
learned with dismay, that the document (the leading passages of which
will be given hereafter) had been sent to its destination.

Meantime, a consultation of civilians and of the family council of Count
Maurice was held, and it was determined that the Count should assume the
title of Prince more formally than he had hitherto done, in order that
the actual head of the Nassaus might be superior in rank to Leicester or
to any man who could be sent from England. Maurice was also appointed by
the States, provisionally, governor-general, with Hohenlo for his
lieutenant-general. That formidable personage, now fully restored to
health, made himself very busy in securing towns and garrisons for the
party of Holland, and in cashiering all functionaries suspected of
English tendencies. Especially he became most intimate with Count Moeurs,
stadholder of Utrecht--the hatred of which individual and his wife
towards Leicester and the English nation; springing originally from the
unfortunate babble of Otheman, had grown more intense than
ever,--"banquetting and feasting" with him all day long, and concocting a
scheme; by which, for certain considerations, the province of Utrecht was
to be annexed to Holland under the perpetual stadholderate of Prince
Maurice.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Defect of enjoying the flattery, of his inferiors in station
     The sapling was to become the tree



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 52, 1587



CHAPTER XIV.

   Leicester in England--Trial of the Queen of Scots--Fearful
   Perplexity at the English Court--Infatuation and Obstinacy of the
   Queen--Netherland Envoys in England--Queen's bitter Invective
   against them--Amazement of the Envoys--They consult with her chief
   Councillors--Remarks of Burghley and Davison--Fourth of February
   Letter from the States--Its severe Language towards Leicester--
   Painful Position of the Envoys at Court--Queen's Parsimony towards
   Leicester.

The scene shifts, for a brief interval, to England. Leicester had reached
the court late in November. Those "blessed beams," under whose shade he
was wont to find so much "refreshment and nutrition," had again fallen
with full radiance upon him. "Never since I was born," said he, "did I
receive a more gracious welcome."--[Leicester to 'Wilkes, 4 Dec. 1587.
(S. P. Office MS)]--Alas, there was not so much benignity for the
starving English soldiers, nor for the Provinces, which were fast growing
desperate; but although their cause was so intimately connected with the
"great cause," which then occupied Elizabeth, almost to the exclusion of
other matter, it was, perhaps, not wonderful, although unfortunate, that
for a time the Netherlands should be neglected.

The "daughter of debate" had at last brought herself, it was supposed,
within the letter of the law, and now began those odious scenes of
hypocrisy on the part of Elizabeth, that frightful comedy--more
melancholy even than the solemn tragedy which it preceded and
followed--which must ever remain the darkest passage in the history of
the Queen.

It is unnecessary, in these pages, to make more than a passing allusion
to the condemnation and death of the Queen of Scots. Who doubts her
participation in the Babington conspiracy? Who doubts that she was the
centre of one endless conspiracy by Spain and Rome against the throne and
life of Elizabeth? Who doubts that her long imprisonment in England was a
violation of all law, all justice, all humanity? Who doubts that the
fineing, whipping, torturing, hanging, embowelling of men, women, and
children, guilty of no other crime than adhesion to the Catholic faith,
had assisted the Pope and Philip, and their band of English, Scotch, and
Irish conspirators, to shake Elizabeth's throne and endanger her life?
Who doubts that; had the English sovereign been capable of conceiving the
great thought of religious toleration, her reign would have been more
glorious than, it was, the cause of Protestantism and freedom more
triumphant, the name of Elizabeth Tudor dearer to human hearts? Who
doubts that there were many enlightened and noble spirits among her
Protestant subjects who lifted up their voices, over and over again, in
parliament and out of it, to denounce that wicked persecution exercised
upon their innocent Catholic brethren, which was fast converting loyal
Englishmen, against their will, into traitors and conspirators? Yet who
doubts that it would have required, at exactly that moment, and in the
midst of that crisis; more elevation of soul than could fairly be
predicated of any individual, for Elizabeth in 1587 to pardon Mary, or to
relax in the severity of her legislation towards English Papists?

Yet, although a display of sublime virtue, such as the world has rarely
seen, was not to be expected, it was reasonable to look for honest and
royal dealing, from a great sovereign, brought at last face to face with
a great event. The "great cause" demanded, a great, straightforward blow.
It was obvious, however, that it would be difficult, in the midst of the
tragedy and the comedy, for the Netherland business to come fairly before
her Majesty. "Touching the Low Country causes," said Leicester; "very
little is done yet, by reason of the continued business we have had about
the Queen of Scots' matters. All the speech I have had with her Majesty
hitherto touching those causes hath been but private."--[Leicester to
Wilkes, 4 Des 1586. (S. P. Office MS.)]--Walsingham, longing for
retirement, not only on account of his infinite grief for the death of
Sir Philip Sidney, "which hath been the cause;" he said, "that I have
ever since betaken myself into solitariness, and withdrawn; from public
affairs," but also by reason of the perverseness an difficulty manifested
in the gravest affairs by the sovereign he so faithfully served, sent
information, that, notwithstanding the arrival of some of the States'
deputies, Leicester was persuading her Majesty to proceed first in the
great cause. "Certain principal persons, chosen as committees," he said,
"of both Houses are sent as humble suitors, to her Majesty to desire that
she would be pleased to give order for the execution of the Scottish
Queen. Her Majesty made answer that she was loath to proceed in so
violent a course against the said Queen; as the taking away of her life,
and therefore prayed them to think of some other way which might be for
her own and their safety. They replied, no other way but her execution.
Her Majesty, though she yielded no answer to this their latter reply, is
contented to give order that the proclamation be published, and so also
it is hoped that she, will be moved by this, their earnest instance to
proceed to the thorough ending of the cause."

And so the cause went slowly on to its thorough ending. And when "no
other way" could be thought of but to take Mary's life, and when "no
other way of taking that life could be devised," at Elizabeth's
suggestion, except by public execution, when none of the gentlemen "of
the association," nor Paulet, nor Drury--how skilfully soever their
"pulses had been felt" by Elizabeth's command--would commit assassination
to serve a Queen who was capable of punishing them afterwards for the
murder, the great cause came to its inevitable conclusion, and Mary
Stuart was executed by command of Elizabeth Tudor. The world may continue
to differ as to the necessity of the execution but it has long since
pronounced a unanimous verdict as to the respective display of royal
dignity by the two Queens upon that great occasion.

During this interval the Netherland matter, almost as vital to England as
the execution of Mary, was comparatively neglected. It was not absolutely
in abeyance, but the condition of the Queen's mind coloured every
state-affair with its tragic hues. Elizabeth, harassed, anxious, dreaming
dreams, and enacting a horrible masquerade, was in the worst possible
temper to be approached by the envoys. She was furious with the
Netherlanders for having maltreated her favourite. She was still more
furious because their war was costing so much money. Her disposition
became so uncertain, her temper so ungovernable, as to drive her
counsellors to their wit's ends. Burghley confessed himself "weary of his
miserable life," and protested "that the only desire he had in the world
was to be delivered from the ungrateful burthen of service, which her
Majesty laid upon him so very heavily." Walsingham wished himself "well
established in Basle." The Queen set them all together by the ears. She
wrangled spitefully over the sum-totals from the Netherlands; she worried
Leicester, she scolded Burghley for defending Leicester, and Leicester
abused Burghley for taking part against him.

The Lord-Treasurer, overcome with "grief which pierced both his body and
his heart," battled his way--as best he could--through the throng of
dangers which beset the path of England in that great crisis. It was most
obvious to every statesman in the realm that this was not the time--when
the gauntlet had been thrown full in the face of Philip and Sixtus and
all Catholicism, by the condemnation of Mary--to leave the Netherland
cause "at random," and these outer bulwarks of her own kingdom
insufficiently protected.

"Your Majesty will hear," wrote Parma to Philip, "of the disastrous,
lamentable, and pitiful end of the, poor Queen of Scots. Although for her
it will be immortal glory, and she will be placed among the number of the
many martyrs whose blood has been shed in the kingdom of England, and be
crowned in Heaven with a diadem more precious than the one she wore on
earth, nevertheless one cannot repress one's natural emotions. I believe
firmly that this cruel deed will be the concluding crime of the many
which that Englishwoman has committed, and that our Lord will be pleased
that she shall at last receive the chastisement which she has these many
long years deserved, and which has been reserved till now, for her
greater ruin and confusion."--[Parma to Philip IL, 22 March. 1587. (Arch.
de Simancas, MS.)]--And with this, the Duke proceeded to discuss the all
important and rapidly-preparing invasion of England. Farnese was not the
man to be deceived by the affected reluctance of Elizabeth before Mary's
scaffold, although he was soon to show that he was himself a master in
the science of grimace. For Elizabeth--more than ever disposed to be
friends with Spain and Rome, now that war to the knife was made
inevitable--was wistfully regarding that trap of negotiation, against
which all her best friends were endeavouring to warn her. She was more
ill-natured than ever to the Provinces, she turned her back upon the
Warnese, she affronted Henry III. by affecting to believe in the fable of
his envoy's complicity in the Stafford conspiracy against her life.

"I pray God to open her eyes," said Walsingham, "to see the evident peril
of the course she now holdeth . . . . If it had pleased her to have
followed the advice given her touching the French ambassador, our ships
had been released . . . . but she has taken a very strange course by
writing a very sharp letter unto the French King, which I fear will cause
him to give ear to those of the League, and make himself a party with
them, seeing so little regard had to him here. Your Lordship may see that
our courage doth greatly increase, for that we make no difficulty to fall
out with all the world . . . . I never saw her worse affected to the
poor King of Navarre, and yet doth she seek in no sort to yield
contentment to the French King. If to offend all the world;" repeated the
Secretary bitterly, "be it good cause of government, then can we not do
amiss . . . . I never found her less disposed to take a course of
prevention of the approaching mischiefs toward this realm than at this
present. And to be plain with you, there is none here that hath either
credit or courage to deal effectually with her in any of her great
causes."

Thus distracted by doubts and dangers, at war with her best friends, with
herself, and with all-the world, was Elizabeth during the dark days and
months which, preceded and followed the execution of the Scottish Queen.
If the great fight was at last to be fought triumphantly through, it was
obvious that England was to depend upon Englishmen of all ranks and
classes, upon her prudent and far-seeing statesmen, upon her nobles and
her adventurers, on her Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman blood ever mounting
against, oppression, on Howard and Essex, Drake and Williams, Norris, and
Willoughby, upon high-born magnates, plebeian captains, London merchants,
upon yeomen whose limbs were made in England, and upon Hollanders and
Zeelanders whose fearless mariners were to swarm to the protection of her
coasts, quite as much in that year of anxious expectation as upon the
great Queen herself. Unquestionable as were her mental capacity and her
more than woman's courage, when fairly, brought face, to face with the
danger, it was fortunately not on one man or woman's brain and arm that
England's salvation depended in that crisis of her fate.

As to the Provinces, no one ventured to speak very boldly in their
defence. "When I lay before her the peril," said Walsingham, "she
scorneth at it. The hope of a peace with Spain has put her into a most
dangerous security." Nor would any man now assume responsibility. The
fate of Davison--of the man who had already in so detestable a manner
been made the scape-goat for Leicester's sins in the Netherlands, and who
had now been so barbarously sacrificed by the Queen for faithfully
obeying her orders in regard to the death-warrant, had sickened all
courtiers and counsellors for the time. "The late severe, dealing used by
her Highness towards Mr. Secretary Davison," said Walsingham to Wilkes,
"maketh us very circumspect and careful not to proceed in anything but
wherein we receive direction from herself, and therefore you must not
find it strange if we now be more sparing than heretofore hath been
accustomed."

Such being the portentous state of the political atmosphere, and such the
stormy condition of the royal mind, it may be supposed that the
interviews of the Netherland envoys with her Majesty during this period
were not likely to be genial. Exactly at the most gloomy moment--thirteen
days before the execution of Mary--they came first into Elizabeth's
presence at Greenwich.

The envoys were five in number, all of them experienced and able
statesmen--Zuylen van Nyvelt, Joos de Menyn, Nicasius de Silla, Jacob
Valck, and Vitus van Kammings. The Queen was in the privy
council-chamber, attended by the admiral of England, Lord Thomas Howard,
Lord Hunsdon, great-chamberlain, Sir Christopher Hatton,
vice-chamberlain, Secretary Davison, and many other persons of
distinction.

The letters of credence were duly presented, but it was obvious from the
beginning of the interview that the Queen was ill-disposed toward the
deputies, and had not only been misinformed as to matters of fact, but as
to the state of feeling of the Netherlanders and of the States-General
towards herself.

Menyu, however, who was an orator by profession--being pensionary of
Dort--made, in the name of his colleagues, a brief but pregnant speech,
to which the Queen listened attentively, although, with frequent
indications of anger and impatience. He commenced by observing that the
United Provinces still entertained the hope that her Majesty would
conclude, upon further thoughts, to accept the sovereignty over them,
with reasonable conditions; but the most important passages of his
address were those relating to the cost of the war. "Besides our
stipulated contributions," said the pensionary, "of 200,000 florins the
month, we have furnished 500,000 as an extraordinary grant; making for
the year 2,900,000 florins, and this over and above the particular and
special expenditures of the Provinces, and other sums for military
purposes. We confess, Madam, that the succour of your Majesty is a truly
royal one, and that there have been few princes in history who have given
such assistance to their neighbours unjustly oppressed. It is certain
that by means of that help, joined with the forces of the United
Provinces, the Earl of Leicester has been able to arrest the course of
the Duke of Parma's victories and to counteract his designs.
Nevertheless, it appears, Madam, that these forces have not been
sufficient to drive the enemy out of the country. We are obliged, for
regular garrison work and defence of cities, to keep; up an army of at
least 27,000 foot and 3500 horse. Of this number your Majesty pays 5000
foot and 1000 horse, and we are now commissioned, Madam, humbly to
request an increase of your regular succour during the war to 10,000 foot
and 2000 horse. We also implore the loan of L60,000 sterling, in order to
assist us in maintaining for the coming season a sufficient force in the
field."

Such, in brief, was the oration of pensionary Menyn, delivered in the
French language. He had scarcely concluded, when the Queen--evidently in
a great passion--rose to her feet, and without any hesitation, replied in
a strain of vehement eloquence in the same tongue.

"Now I am not deceived, gentlemen," she said, "and that which I have been
fearing has occurred. Our common adage, which we have in England, is a
very good one. When one fears that an evil is coming, the sooner it
arrives the better. Here is a quarter of a year that I have been
expecting you, and certainly for the great benefit I have conferred on
you, you have exhibited a great ingratitude, and I consider myself very
ill treated by you. 'Tis very strange that you should begin by soliciting
still greater succour without rendering me any satisfaction for your past
actions, which have been so extraordinary, that I swear by the living God
I think it impossible to find peoples or states more ungrateful or
ill-advised than yourselves.

"I have sent you this year fifteen, sixteen, aye seventeen or eighteen
thousand men. You have left them without payment, you have let some of
them die of hunger, driven others to such desperation that they have
deserted to the enemy. Is it not mortifying for the English nation and a
great shame for you that Englishmen should say that they have found more
courtesy from Spaniards than from Netherlanders? Truly, I tell you
frankly that I will never endure such indignities. Rather will I act
according to my will, and you may do exactly, as you think best.

"If I chose, I could do something very good without you, although some
persons are so fond of saying that it was quite necessary for the Queen
of England to do what she does for her own protection. No, no! Disabuse
yourselves of that impression. These are but false persuasions. Believe
boldly that I can play an excellent game without your assistance, and a
better one than I ever did with it! Nevertheless, I do not choose to do
that, nor do I wish you so much harm. But likewise do I not choose that
you should hold such language to me. It is true that I should not wish
the Spaniard so near me if he should be my enemy. But why should I not
live in peace, if we were to be friends to each other? At the
commencement of my reign we lived honourably together, the King of Spain
and I, and he even asked me to, marry him, and, after that, we lived a
long time very peacefully, without any attempt having been made against
my life. If we both choose, we can continue so to do.

"On the other hand, I sent you the Earl of Leicester, as lieutenant of my
forces, and my intention was that he should have exact knowledge of your
finances and contributions. But, on the contrary, he has never known
anything about them, and you have handled them in your own manner and
amongst yourselves. You have given him the title of governor, in order,
under this name, to cast all your evils on his head. That title he
accepted against my will, by doing which he ran the risk of losing his
life, and his estates, and the grace and favour of his Princess, which
was more important to him than all. But he did it in order to maintain
your tottering state. And what authority, I pray you, have you given him?
A shadowy authority, a purely imaginary one. This is but mockery. He is,
at any rate, a gentleman, a man of honour and of counsel. You had no
right to treat him thus. If I had accepted the title which you wished to
give me, by the living God, I would not have suffered you so to treat me.

"But you are so badly advised that when there is a man of worth who
discovers your tricks you wish him ill, and make an outcry against him;
and yet some of you, in order to save your money, and others in the hope
of bribes, have been favouring the Spaniard, and doing very wicked work.
No, believe me that God will punish those who for so great a benefit wish
to return me so much evil. Believe, boldly too, that the King of Spain
will never trust men who have abandoned the party to which they belonged,
and from which they have received so many benefits, and will never
believe a word of what they promise him. Yet, in order to cover up their
filth, they spread the story that the Queen of England is thinking of
treating for peace without their knowledge. No, I would rather be dead
than that any one should have occasion to say that I had not kept my
promise. But princes must listen to both sides, and that can be done
without breach of faith. For they transact business in a certain way, and
with a princely intelligence, such as private persons cannot imitate.

"You are States, to be sure, but private individuals in regard to
princes. Certainly, I would never choose to do anything without your
knowledge, and I would never allow the authority which you have among
yourselves, nor your privileges, nor your statutes, to be infringed. Nor
will I allow you to be perturbed in your consciences. What then would you
more of me? You have issued a proclamation in your country that no one is
to talk of peace. Very well, very good. But permit princes likewise to do
as they shall think best for the security of their state, provided it
does you no injury. Among us princes we are not wont to make such long
orations as you do, but you ought to be content with the few words that
we bestow upon you, and make yourself quiet thereby.

"If I ever do anything for you again, I choose to be treated more
honourably. I shall therefore appoint some personages of my council to
communicate with you. And in the first place I choose to hear and see for
myself what has taken place already, and have satisfaction about that,
before I make any reply to what you have said to me as to greater
assistance. And so I will leave you to-day, without troubling you
further."

With this her Majesty swept from the apartment, leaving the deputies
somewhat astounded at the fierce but adroit manner in which the tables
had for a moment been turned upon them.

It was certainly a most unexpected blow, this charge of the States having
left the English soldiers--whose numbers the Queen had so suddenly
multiplied by three--unpaid and unfed. Those Englishmen who, as
individuals, had entered the States' service, had been--like all the
other troops regularly paid. This distinctly appeared from the statements
of her own counsellors and generals. On the other hand, the Queen's
contingent, now dwindled to about half their original number, had been
notoriously unpaid for nearly six months.

This has already been made sufficiently clear from the private letters of
most responsible persons. That these soldiers were starving, deserting;
and pillaging, was, alas! too true; but the envoys of the States hardly
expected to be censured by her Majesty, because she had neglected to pay
her own troops. It was one of the points concerning which they had been
especially enjoined to complain, that the English cavalry, converted into
highwaymen by want of pay, had been plundering the peasantry, and we have
seen that Thomas Wilkes had "pawned his carcase" to provide for their
temporary relief.

With regard to the insinuation that prominent personages in the country
had been tampered with by the enemy, the envoys were equally astonished
by such an attack. The great Deventer treason had not yet been heard of
in England for it had occurred only a week before this first
interview--but something of the kind was already feared; for the slippery
dealings of York and Stanley with Tassis and Parma, had long been causing
painful anxiety, and had formed the subject of repeated remonstrances on
the part of the 'States' to Leicester and to the Queen. The deputies were
hardly, prepared therefore to defend their own people against dealing
privately with the King of Spain. The only man suspected of such
practices was Leicester's own favourite and financier, Jacques Ringault,
whom the Earl had persisted in employing against the angry remonstrances
of the States, who believed him to be a Spanish spy; and the man was now
in prison, and threatened with capital punishment.

To suppose that Buys or Barneveld, Roorda, Meetkerk, or any other leading
statesman in the Netherlands, was contemplating a private arrangement
with Philip II., was as ludicrous a conception as to imagine Walsingham a
pensioner of the Pope, or Cecil in league with the Duke of Guise. The end
and aim of the States' party was war. In war they not only saw the safety
of the reformed religion, but the only means of maintaining the
commercial prosperity of the commonwealth. The whole correspondence of
the times shows that no politician in the country dreamed of peace,
either by public or secret negotiation. On the other hand--as will be
made still clearer than ever--the Queen was longing for peace, and was
treating for peace at that moment through private agents, quite without
the knowledge of the States, and in spite of her indignant disavowals in
her speech to the envoys.

Yet if Elizabeth could have had the privilege of entering--as we are
about to do--into the private cabinet of that excellent King of Spain,
with whom, she had once been such good friends, who had even sought her
hand in marriage, and with whom she saw no reason whatever why she should
not live at peace, she might have modified her expressions an this
subject. Certainly, if she could have looked through the piles of
papers--as we intend to do--which lay upon that library-table, far beyond
the seas and mountains, she would have perceived some objections to the
scheme of living at peace with that diligent letter-writer.

Perhaps, had she known how the subtle Farnese was about to express
himself concerning the fast-approaching execution of Mary, and the as
inevitably impending destruction of "that Englishwoman" through the
schemes of his master and himself, she would have paid less heed to the
sentiments couched in most exquisite Italian which Alexander was at the
same time whispering in her ear, and would have taken less offence at the
blunt language of the States-General.

Nevertheless, for the present, Elizabeth would give no better answer than
the hot-tempered one which had already somewhat discomfited the deputies.

Two days afterwards, the five envoys had an interview with several
members of her Majesty's council, in the private apartment of the
Lord-Treasurer in Greenwich Palace. Burghley, being indisposed, was lying
upon his bed. Leicester, Admiral Lord Howard, Lord Hunsden, Sir
Christopher Hatton, Lord Buckhurst, and Secretary Davison, were present,
and the Lord-Treasurer proposed that the conversation should be in Latin,
that being the common language most familiar to them all. Then, turning
over the leaves of the report, a copy of which lay on his bed, he asked
the envoys, whether, in case her Majesty had not sent over the assistance
which she had done under the Earl of Leicester, their country would not
have been utterly ruined.

"To all appearance, yes," replied Menyn.

"But," continued Burghley, still running through the pages of the
document, and here and there demanding an explanation of an obscure
passage or two, "you are now proposing to her Majesty to send 10,000 foot
and 2000 horse, and to lend L60,000. This is altogether monstrous and
excessive. Nobody will ever dare even to speak to her Majesty on the
subject. When you first came in 1585, you asked for 12,000 men, but you
were fully authorized to accept 6000. No doubt that is the case now."

"On that occasion," answered Menyn, "our main purpose was to induce her
Majesty to accept the sovereignty, or at least the perpetual protection
of our country. Failing in that we broached the third point, and not
being able to get 12,000 soldiers we compounded for 5000, the agreement
being subject to ratification by our principals. We gave ample security
in shape of the mortgaged cities. But experience has shown us that these
forces and this succour are insufficient. We have therefore been sent to
beg her Majesty to make up the contingent to the amount originally
requested."

"But we are obliged to increase the garrisons in the cautionary towns,"
said one of the English councillors, "as 800 men in a city like Flushing
are very little."

"Pardon me," replied Valck, "the burghers are not enemies but friends to
her Majesty and to the English nation. They are her dutiful subjects like
all the inhabitants of the Netherlands."

"It is quite true," said Burghley, after having made some critical
remarks upon the military system of the Provinces, "and a very common
adage, 'quod tunc tua res agitur, paries cum proximus ardet,' but,
nevertheless, this war principally concerns you. Therefore you are bound
to do your utmost to meet its expenses in your own country, quite as much
as a man who means to build a house is expected to provide the stone and
timber himself. But the States have not done their best. They have not at
the appointed time come forward with their extraordinary contributions
for the last campaign. How many men," he asked, "are required for
garrisons in all the fortresses and cities, and for the field?"

"But," interposed Lord Hunsden, "not half so many men are needed in the
garrisons; for the burghers ought to be able to defend their own cities.
Moreover it is probable that your ordinary contributions might be
continued and doubled and even tripled."

"And on the whole," observed the Lord Admiral, "don't you think that the
putting an army in the field might be dispensed with for this year? Her
Majesty at present must get together and equip a fleet of war vessels
against the King of Spain, which will be an excessively large pennyworth,
besides the assistance which she gives her neighbours."

"Yes, indeed," said Secretary Davison, "it would be difficult to
exaggerate the enormous expense which her Majesty must encounter this
year for defending and liberating her own kingdoms against the King of
Spain. That monarch is making great naval preparations, and is treating
all Englishmen in the most hostile manner. We are on the brink of
declared war with Spain, with the French King, who is arresting all
English persons and property within his kingdom, and with Scotland, all
which countries are understood to have made a league together on account
of the Queen of Scotland, whom it will be absolutely necessary to put to
death in order to preserve the life of her Majesty, and are about to make
war upon England. This matter then will cost us, the current year, at
least eight hundred thousand pounds sterling. Nevertheless her Majesty is
sure to assist you so far as her means allow; and I, for my part, will do
my best to keep her Majesty well disposed to your cause, even as I have
ever done, as you well know."

Thus spoke poor Davison, but a few days before the fatal 8th of February,
little dreaming that the day for his influencing the disposition of her
Majesty would soon be gone, and that he was himself to be crushed for
ever by the blow which was about to destroy the captive Queen. The
political combinations resulting from the tragedy were not to be exactly
as he foretold, but there is little doubt that in him the Netherlands,
and Leicester, and the Queen of England, were to lose an honest,
diligent, and faithful friend.

"Well, gentlemen," said the Lord-Treasurer, after a few more questions
concerning the financial abilities of the States had been asked and
answered, "it is getting late into the evening, and time for you all to
get back to London. Let me request you, as soon as may be, to draw up
some articles in writing, to which we will respond immediately."

Menyn then, in the name of the deputies, expressed thanks for the
urbanity shown them in the conference, and spoke of the deep regret with
which they had perceived, by her Majesty's answer two days before, that
she was so highly offended with them and with the States-General. He
then, notwithstanding Burghley's previous hint as to the lateness of the
hour, took up the Queen's answer, point by point, contradicted all its
statements, appealing frequently to Lord Leicester for confirmation of
what he advanced, and concluded by begging the councillors to defend the
cause of the Netherlands to her Majesty, Burghley requested them to make
an excuse or reply to the Queen in writing, and send it to him to
present. Thus the conference terminated, and the envoys returned to
London. They were fully convinced by the result of, these interviews, as
they told their constituents, that her Majesty, by false statements and
reports of persons either grossly ignorant or not having the good of the
commonwealth before their eyes, had been very incorrectly informed as to
the condition of the Provinces, and of the great efforts made by the
States-General to defend their country against the enemy: It was obvious,
they said, that their measures had been exaggerated in order to deceive
the Queen and her council.

And thus statements and counter-statements, protocols and apostilles,
were glibly exchanged; the heap of diplomatic rubbish was rising higher
and higher, and the councillors and envoys, pleased with their work, were
growing more and more amicable, when the court was suddenly startled by
the news of the Deventer and Zutphen treason. The intelligence was
accompanied by the famous 4th of February letter, which descended, like a
bombshell, in the midst of the, decorous council-chamber. Such language
had rarely been addressed to the Earl of Leicester, and; through him; to
the imperious sovereign herself, as the homely truths with which
Barneveld, speaking with the voice of the States-General, now smote the
delinquent governor.

"My Lord," said he, "it is notorious; and needs no illustration whatever,
with what true confidence and unfeigned affection we received your
Excellency in our land; the States-General, the States-Provincial, the
magistrates, and the communities of the chief cities in the United
Provinces, all uniting to do honour to her serene Majesty of England and
to yourself, and to confer upon you the government-general over us. And
although we should willingly have placed some limitations upon the
authority thus bestowed on you; in, order that by such a course your own
honour and the good and constitutional condition of the country might be
alike preserved, yet finding your Excellency not satisfied with those
limitations, we postponed every objection, and conformed ourselves to
your pleasure. Yet; before coming to that decision, we had well
considered that by doing so we might be opening a door to many ambitious,
avaricious, and pernicious persons, both of these countries and from
other nations, who might seize the occasion to advance their own private
profits, to the detriment of the country and the dishonour of your
Excellency.

"And, in truth, such persons have done their work so efficiently as to
inspire you with distrust against the most faithful and capable men in
the Provinces, against the Estates General and Provincial, magistrates,
and private persons, knowing very well that they could never arrive at
their own ends so long as you were guided by the constitutional
authorities of the country. And precisely upon the distrust; thus created
as a foundation, they raised a back-stairs council, by means of which
they were able to further their ambitious, avaricious, and seditious
practices, notwithstanding the good advice and remonstrances of the
council of state, and the States General and Provincial."

He proceeded to handle the subjects of the English rose-noble; put in
circulation by Leicester's finance or back-stairs council at two florins
above its value, to the manifest detriment of the Provinces, to the
detestable embargo which had prevented them from using the means bestowed
upon them by God himself to defend their country, to the squandering and
embezzlement of the large sums contributed by the Province; and entrusted
to the Earl's administration; to the starving condition of the soldiers;
maltreated by government, and thus compelled to prey upon the
inhabitants--so that troops in the States' service had never been so
abused during the whole war, although the States had never before voted
such large contributions nor paid them so promptly--to the placing in
posts of high honour and trust men of notoriously bad character and even
Spanish spies; to the taking away the public authority from those to whom
it legitimately belonged, and conferring it on incompetent and
unqualified persons; to the illegal banishment of respectable citizens,
to the violation of time-honoured laws and privileges, to the shameful
attempts to repudiate the ancient authority of the States, and to usurp a
control over the communities and nobles by them represented, and to the
perpetual efforts to foster dissension, disunion, and rebellion among the
inhabitants. Having thus drawn up a heavy bill of indictment, nominally
against the Earl's illegal counsellors, but in reality against the Earl
himself, he proceeded to deal with the most important matter of all.

"The principal cities and fortresses in the country have been placed in
hands of men suspected by the States on legitimate grounds, men who had
been convicted of treason against these Provinces, and who continued to
be suspected, notwithstanding that your Excellency had pledged your own
honour for their fidelity. Finally, by means of these scoundrels, it was
brought to pass, that the council of state having been invested by your
Excellency with supreme authority during your absence--a secret document,
was brought to light after your departure, by which the most substantial
matters, and those most vital to the defence of the country, were
withdrawn from the disposition of that council. And now, alas, we see the
effects of these practices!

"Sir William Stanley, by you appointed governor of Deventer, and Rowland
York, governor of Fort Zutphen, have refused, by virtue of that secret
document, to acknowledge any authority in this country. And
notwithstanding that since your departure they and their soldiers have
been supported at our expense, and had just received a full month's pay
from the States, they have traitorously and villainously delivered the
city and the fortress to the enemy, with a declaration made by Stanley
that he did the deed to ease his conscience, and to render to the King of
Spain the city which of right was belonging to him. And this is a crime
so dishonourable, scandalous, ruinous, and treasonable, as that, during
this, whole war, we have never seen the like. And we are now, in daily
fear lest the English commanders in Bergen-op-Zoom, Ostend, and other
cities, should commit the same crime. And although we fully suspected the
designs of Stanley and York, yet your Excellency's secret document had
deprived us of the power to act.

"We doubt not that her Majesty and your Excellency will think this
strange language. But we can assure you, that we too think it strange and
grievous that those places should have been confided to such men, against
our repeated remonstrances, and that, moreover, this very Stanley should
have been recommended by your Excellency for general of all the forces.
And although we had many just and grave reasons for opposing your
administration--even as our ancestors were often wont to rise against the
sovereigns of the country--we have, nevertheless, patiently suffered for
a long time, in order not to diminish your authority, which we deemed so
important to our welfare, and in the hope that you would at last be moved
by the perilous condition of the commonwealth, and awake to the artifices
of your advisers.

"But at last-feeling that the existence of the state can no longer be
preserved without proper authority, and that the whole community is full
of emotion and distrust, on account of these great treasons--we, the
States-General, as well as the States-Provincial, have felt constrained
to establish such a government as we deem meet for the emergency. And of
this we think proper to apprize your Excellency."

He then expressed the conviction that all these evil deeds had been
accomplished against the intentions of the Earl and the English
government, and requested his Excellency so to deal with her Majesty that
the contingent of horse and foot hitherto accorded by her "might be
maintained in good order, and in better pay."

Here, then, was substantial choleric phraseology, as good plain speaking
as her Majesty had just been employing, and with quite as sufficient
cause. Here was no pleasant diplomatic fencing, but straightforward
vigorous thrusts. It was no wonder that poor Wilkes should have thought
the letter "too sharp," when he heard it read in the assembly, and that
he should have done his best to prevent it from being despatched. He
would have thought it sharper could he have seen how the pride of her
Majesty and of Leicester was wounded by it to the quick. Her list of
grievances against the States seem to vanish into air. Who had been
tampering with the Spaniards now? Had that "shadowy and imaginary
authority" granted to Leicester not proved substantial enough? Was it the
States-General, the state-council, or was it the "absolute governor"--who
had carried off the supreme control of the commonwealth in his
pocket--that was responsible for the ruin effected by Englishmen who had
scorned all "authority" but his own?

The States, in another blunt letter to the Queen herself, declared the
loss of Deventer to be more disastrous to them than even the fall of
Antwerp had been; for the republic had now been split asunder, and its
most ancient and vital portions almost cut away. Nevertheless they were
not "dazzled nor despairing," they said, but more determined than ever to
maintain their liberties, and bid defiance to the Spanish tyrant. And
again they demanded of, rather than implored; her Majesty to be true to
her engagements with them.

The interviews which followed were more tempestuous than ever. "I had
intended that my Lord of Leicester should return to you," she said to the
envoys. "But that shall never be. He has been treated with gross
ingratitude, he has served the Provinces with ability, he has consumed
his own property there, he has risked his life, he has lost his near
kinsman, Sir Philip Sidney, whose life I should be glad to purchase with
many millions, and, in place of all reward, he receives these venomous
letters, of which a copy has been sent to his sovereign to blacken him
with her." She had been advising him to return, she added, but she was
now resolved that he should "never set foot in the Provinces again."

Here the Earl, who, was present, exclaimed--beating himself on the
breast--"a tali officio libera nos, Domine!"

But the States, undaunted by these explosions of wrath, replied that it
had ever been their custom, when their laws and liberties were invaded,
to speak their mind boldly to kings and governors, and to procure redress
of their grievances, as became free men.

During that whole spring the Queen was at daggers drawn with all her
leading counsellors, mainly in regard to that great question of
questions--the relations of England with the Netherlands and Spain.
Walsingham--who felt it madness to dream of peace, and who believed it
the soundest policy to deal with Parma and his veterans upon the soil of
Flanders, with the forces of the republic for allies, rather than to
await his arrival in London--was driven almost to frenzy by what he
deemed the Queen's perverseness.

"Our sharp words continue," said the Secretary, "which doth greatly
disquiet her Majesty, and discomfort her poor servants that attend her.
The Lord-Treasurer remaineth still in disgrace, and, behind my back, her
Majesty giveth out very hard speeches of myself, which I the rather
credit, for that I find, in dealing with her, I am nothing gracious; and
if her Majesty could be otherwise served, I know I should not be used . .
. . . Her Majesty doth wholly lend herself to devise some further means
to disgrace her poor council, in respect whereof she neglecteth all other
causes . . . . The discord between her Majesty and her council
hindereth the necessary consultations that were to be destined for the
preventing of the manifold perils that hang over this realm. . . .
Sir Christopher Hatton hath dealt very plainly and dutifully with her,
which hath been accepted in so evil part as he is resolved to retire for
a time. I assure you I find every man weary of attendance here. . . .
I would to God I could find as good resolution in her Majesty to
proceed in a princely course in relieving the United Provinces, as I find
an honorable disposition in your Lordship to employ yourself in their
service."

The Lord-Treasurer was much puzzled, very wretched, but philosophically
resigned. "Why her Majesty useth me thus strangely, I know not," he
observed. "To some she saith that she meant not I should have gone from
the court; to some she saith, she may not admit me, nor give me
contentment. I shall dispose myself to enjoy God's favour, and shall do
nothing to deserve her disfavour. And if I be suffered to be a stranger
to her affairs, I shall have a quieter life."

Leicester, after the first burst of his anger was over, was willing to
return to the Provinces. He protested that he had a greater affection for
the Netherland people--not for the governing powers--even than he felt
for the people of England.--"There is nothing sticks in my stomach," he
said, "but the good-will of that poor afflicted people, for whom, I take
God to record, I could be content to lose any limb I have to do them
good." But he was crippled with debt, and the Queen resolutely refused to
lend him a few thousand pounds, without which he could not stir.
Walsingham in vain did battle with her parsimony, representing how
urgently and vividly the necessity of his return had been depicted by all
her ministers in both countries, and how much it imported to her own
safety and service. But she was obdurate. "She would rather," he said
bitterly to Leicester, "hazard the increase of confusion there--which may
put the whole country in peril--than supply your want. The like course
she holdeth in the rest of her causes, which maketh me to wish myself
from the helm." At last she agreed to advance him ten thousand pounds,
but on so severe conditions, that the Earl declared himself heart-broken
again, and protested that he would neither accept the money, nor ever set
foot in the Netherlands. "Let Norris stay there," he said in a fury; "he
will do admirably, no doubt. Only let it not be supposed that I can be
there also. Not for one hundred thousand pounds would I be in that
country with him."

Meantime it was agreed that Lord Buckhurst should be sent forth on what
Wilkes termed a mission of expostulation, and a very ill-timed one. This
new envoy was to inquire into the causes of the discontent, and to do his
best to remove them: as if any man in England or in Holland doubted as to
the causes, or as to the best means of removing them; or as if it were
not absolutely certain that delay was the very worst specific that could
be adopted--delay--which the Netherland statesmen, as well as the Queen's
wisest counsellors, most deprecated, which Alexander and Philip most
desired, and by indulging in which her Majesty was most directly playing
into her adversary's hand. Elizabeth was preparing to put cards upon the
table against an antagonist whose game was close, whose honesty was
always to be suspected, and who was a consummate master in what was then
considered diplomatic sleight of hand. So Lord Buckhurst was to go forth
to expostulate at the Hague, while transports were loading in Cadiz and
Lisbon, reiters levying in Germany, pikemen and musketeers in Spain and
Italy, for a purpose concerning which Walsingham and Barneveld had for a
long time felt little doubt.

Meantime Lord Leicester went to Bath to drink the waters, and after he
had drunk the waters, the Queen, ever anxious for his health, was
resolved that he should not lose the benefit of those salubrious draughts
by travelling too soon, or by plunging anew into the fountains of
bitterness which flowed perennially in the Netherlands.



CHAPTER XV.

   Buckhurst sent to the Netherlands--Alarming State of Affairs on his
   Arrival--His Efforts to conciliate--Democratic Theories of Wilkes--
   Sophistry of the Argument--Dispute between Wilkes and Barneveld--
   Religious Tolerance by the States--Their Constitutional Theory--
   Deventer's bad Counsels to Leicester--Their pernicious Effect--Real
   and supposed Plots against Hohenlo--Mutual Suspicion and Distrust--
   Buckhurst seeks to restore good Feeling--The Queen angry and
   vindictive--She censures Buckhurst's Course--Leicester's wrath at
   Hohenlo's Charges of a Plot by the Earl to murder him--Buckhurst's
   eloquent Appeals to the Queen--Her perplexing and contradictory
   Orders--Despair of Wilkes--Leicester announces his Return--His
   Instructions--Letter to Junius--Barneveld denounces him in the
   States.

We return to the Netherlands. If ever proof were afforded of the
influence of individual character on the destiny of nations and of the
world, it certainly was seen in the year 1587. We have lifted the curtain
of the secret council-chamber at Greenwich. We have seen all Elizabeth's
advisers anxious to arouse her from her fatal credulity, from her almost
as fatal parsimony. We have seen Leicester anxious to return, despite all
fancied indignities, Walsingham eager to expedite the enterprise, and the
Queen remaining obdurate, while month after month of precious time was
melting away.

In the Netherlands, meantime, discord and confusion had been increasing
every day; and the first great cause of such a dangerous condition of
affairs was the absence of the governor. To this all parties agreed. The
Leicestrians, the anti-Leicestriana, the Holland party, the Utrecht
party, the English counsellors, the English generals, in private letter,
in solemn act, all warned the Queen against the lamentable effects
resulting from Leicester's inopportune departure and prolonged absence.

On the first outbreak of indignation after the Deventer Affair, Prince
Maurice was placed at the head of the general government, with the
violent Hohenlo as his lieutenant. The greatest exertions were made by
these two nobles and by Barneveld, who guided the whole policy of the
party, to secure as many cities as possible to their cause. Magistrates
and commandants of garrisons in many towns willingly gave in their
adhesion to the new government; others refused; especially Diedrich
Sonoy, an officer of distinction, who was governor of Enkhuyzen, and
influential throughout North Holland, and who remained a stanch partisan
of Leicester. Utrecht, the stronghold of the Leicestrians, was wavering
and much torn by faction; Hohenlo and Moeurs had "banquetted and feasted"
to such good purpose that they had gained over half the captains of the
burgher-guard, and, aided by the branch of nobles, were making a good
fight against the Leicester magistracy and the clerical force, enriched
by the plunder of the old Catholic livings, who denounced as Papistical
and Hispaniolized all who favoured the party of Maurice and Barneveld.

By the end of March the envoys returned from London, and in their company
came Lord Buckhurst, as special ambassador from the Queen.

Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst--afterwards Earl of Dorset and
lord-treasurer--was then fifty-one years of age. A man of large
culture-poet, dramatist, diplomatist-bred to the bar; afterwards elevated
to the peerage; endowed with high character and strong intellect; ready
with tongue and pen; handsome of person, and with a fascinating address,
he was as fit a person to send on a mission of expostulation as any man
to be found in England. But the author of the 'Induction to the Mirror
for Magistrates' and of 'Gorboduc,' had come to the Netherlands on a
forlorn hope. To expostulate in favour of peace with a people who knew
that their existence depended on war, to reconcile those to delay who
felt that delay was death, and to, heal animosities between men who were
enemies from their cradles to their graves, was a difficult mission. But
the chief ostensible object of Buckhurst was to smooth the way for
Leicester, and, if possible, to persuade the Netherlanders as to the good
inclinations of the English government. This was no easy task, for they
knew that their envoys had been dismissed, without even a promise of
subsidy. They had asked for twelve thousand soldiers and sixty thousand
pounds, and had received a volley of abuse. Over and over again, through
many months, the Queen fell into a paroxysm of rage when even an allusion
was made to the loan of fifty or sixty thousand pounds; and even had she
promised the money, it would have given but little satisfaction. As Count
Moeurs observed, he would rather see one English rose-noble than a
hundred royal promises. So the Hollanders and Zeelanders--not fearing
Leicester's influence within their little morsel of a territory--were
concentrating their means of resistance upon their own soil, intending to
resist Spain, and, if necessary, England, in their last ditch, and with
the last drop of their blood.

While such was the condition of affairs, Lord Buckhurst landed at
Flushing--four months after the departure of Leicester--on the 24th
March, having been tossing three days and nights at sea in a great storm,
"miserably sick and in great danger of drowning." Sir William Russell,
governor of Flushing, informed him of the progress making by Prince
Maurice in virtue of his new authority. He told him that the Zeeland
regiment, vacant by Sidney's death, and which the Queen wished bestowed
upon Russell himself, had been given to Count Solms; a circumstance which
was very sure to excite her Majesty's ire; but that the greater number,
and those of the better sort; disliked the alteration of government, and
relied entirely upon the Queen. Sainte Aldegonde visited him at
Middelburgh, and in a "long discourse" expressed the most friendly
sentiments towards England, with free offers of personal service.
"Nevertheless," said Buckhurst, cautiously, "I mean to trust the effect,
not his words, and so I hope he will not much deceive me. His opinion is
that the Earl of Leicester's absence hath chiefly caused this change, and
that without his return it will hardly be restored again, but that upon
his arrival all these clouds will prove but a summershower."

As a matter of course the new ambassador lifted up his voice, immediately
after setting foot on shore, in favour of the starving soldiers of his
Queen. "'Tis a most lamentable thing," said he, "to hear the complaints
of soldiers and captains for want of pay." . . . . Whole companies made
their way into his presence, literally crying aloud for bread. "For
Jesus' sake," wrote Buckhurst, "hasten to send relief with all speed, and
let such victuallers be appointed as have a conscience not to make
themselves rich with the famine of poor soldiers. If her Majesty send not
money, and that with speed, for their payment, I am afraid to think what
mischief and miseries are like to follow."

Then the ambassador proceeded to the Hague, holding interviews with
influential personages in private, and with the States-General in public.
Such was the charm of his manner, and so firm the conviction of sincerity
and good-will which he inspired, that in the course of a fortnight there
was already a sensible change in the aspect of affairs. The enemy, who,
at the time of their arrival, had been making bonfires and holding
triumphal processions for joy of the great breach between Holland and
England, and had been "hoping to swallow them all up, while there were so
few left who knew how to act," were already manifesting disappointment.

In a solemn meeting of the States-General with the State-council,
Buckhurst addressed the assembly upon the general subject of her
Majesty's goodness to the Netherlands. He spoke of the gracious
assistance rendered by her, notwithstanding her many special charges for
the common cause, and of the mighty enmities which she had incurred for
their sake. He sharply censured the Hollanders for their cruelty to men
who had shed their blood in their cause, but who were now driven forth
from their towns; and left to starve on the highways, and hated for their
nation's sake; as if the whole English name deserved to be soiled "for
the treachery of two miscreants." He spoke strongly of their demeanour
towards the Earl of Leicester, and of the wrongs they had done him, and
told them, that, if they were not ready to atone to her Majesty for such
injuries, they were not to wonder if their deputies received no better
answer at her hands. "She who embraced your cause," he said, "when other
mighty princes forsook you, will still stand fast unto you, yea, and
increase her goodness, if her present state may suffer it."

After being addressed in this manner the council of state made what
Counsellor Clerk called a "very honest, modest, and wise answer;" but the
States-General, not being able "so easily to discharge that which had so
long boiled within them," deferred their reply until the following day.
They then brought forward a deliberate rejoinder, in which they expressed
themselves devoted to her Majesty, and, on the whole, well disposed to
the Earl. As to the 4th February letter, it had been written "in
amaritudine cordis," upon hearing the treasons of York and Stanley, and
in accordance with "their custom and liberty used towards all princes,
whereby they had long preserved their estate," and in the conviction that
the real culprits for all the sins of his Excellency's government were
certain "lewd persons who sought to seduce his Lordship, and to cause him
to hate the States."

Buckhurst did not think it well to reply, at that moment, on the ground
that there had been already crimination and recrimination more than
enough, and that "a little bitterness more had rather caused them to
determine dangerously than solve for the best."

They then held council together--the envoys and the State-General, as to
the amount of troops absolutely necessary--casting up the matter "as
pinchingly as possibly might be." And the result was, that 20,000 foot
and 2000 horse for garrison work, and an army of 13,000 foot, 5000 horse,
and pioneers, for a campaign of five or six months, were pronounced
indispensable. This would require all their L240,000 sterling a-year,
regular contribution, her Majesty's contingent of L140,000, and an extra
sum of L150,000 sterling. Of this sum the States requested her Majesty
should furnish two-thirds, while they agreed to furnish the other third,
which would make in all L240,000 for the Queen, and L290,000 for the
States. As it was understood that the English subsidies were only a loan,
secured by mortgage of the cautionary towns, this did not seem very
unreasonable, when the intimate blending of England's welfare with that
of the Provinces was considered.

Thus it will be observed that Lord Buckhurst--while doing his best to
conciliate personal feuds and heart-burnings--had done full justice to
the merits of Leicester, and had placed in strongest light the favours
conferred by her Majesty.

He then proceeded to Utrecht, where he was received with many
demonstrations of respect, "with solemn speeches" from magistrates and
burgher-captains, with military processions, and with great banquets,
which were, however, conducted with decorum, and at which even Count
Moeurs excited universal astonishment by his sobriety. It was difficult,
however, for matters to go very smoothly, except upon the surface. What
could be more disastrous than for a little commonwealth--a mere handful
of people, like these Netherlanders, engaged in mortal combat with the
most powerful monarch in the world, and with the first general of the
age, within a league of their borders--thus to be deprived of all
organized government at a most critical moment, and to be left to wrangle
with their allies and among themselves, as to the form of polity to be
adopted, while waiting the pleasure of a capricious and despotic woman?

And the very foundation of the authority by which the Spanish yoke had
been abjured, the sovereignty offered to Elizabeth, and the
government-general conferred on Leicester, was fiercely assailed by the
confidential agents of Elizabeth herself. The dispute went into the very
depths of the social contract. Already Wilkes, standing up stoutly for
the democratic views of the governor, who was so foully to requite him,
had assured the English government that the "people were ready to cut the
throats" of the Staten-General at any convenient moment. The sovereign
people, not the deputies, were alone to be heeded, he said, and although
he never informed the world by what process he had learned the deliberate
opinion of that sovereign, as there had been no assembly excepting those
of the States-General and States-Provincial--he was none the less fully
satisfied that the people were all with Leicester, and bitterly opposed
to the States.

"For the sovereignty, or supreme authority," said he, through failure of
a legitimate prince, belongs to the people, and not to you, gentlemen,
who are only servants, ministers, and deputies of the people. You have
your commissions or instructions surrounded by limitations--which
conditions are so widely different from the power of sovereignty, as the
might of the subject is in regard to his prince, or of a servant in,
respect to his master. For sovereignty is not limited either as to power
or as to time. Still less do you represent the sovereignty; for the
people, in giving the general and absolute government to the Earl of
Leicester, have conferred upon him at once the exercise of justice, the
administration of polity, of naval affairs, of war, and of all the other
points of sovereignty. Of these a governor-general is however only the
depositary or guardian, until such time as it may please the prince or
people to revoke the trust; there being no other in this state who can do
this; seeing that it was the people, through the instrumentality of your
offices--through you as its servants--conferred on his Excellency, this
power, authority, and government. According to the common rule law,
therefore, 'quo jure quid statuitur, eodem jure tolli debet.' You having
been fully empowered by the provinces and cities, or, to speak more
correctly, by your masters and superiors, to confer the government on his
Excellency, it follows that you require a like power in order to take it
away either in whole or in part. If then you had no commission to curtail
his authority, or even that of the state-council, and thus to tread upon
and usurp his power as governor general and absolute, there follows of
two things one: either you did not well understand what you were doing,
nor duly consider how far that power reached, or--much more probably--you
have fallen into the sin of disobedience, considering how solemnly you
swore allegiance to him.

Thus subtly and ably did Wilkes defend the authority of the man who had
deserted his post at a most critical moment, and had compelled the
States, by his dereliction, to take the government into their own hands.

For, after all, the whole argument of the English counsellor rested upon
a quibble. The people were absolutely sovereign, he said, and had lent
that sovereignty to Leicester. How had they made that loan? Through the
machinery of the States-General. So long then as the Earl retained the
absolute sovereignty, the States were not even representatives of the
sovereign people. The sovereign people was merged into one English Earl.
The English Earl had retired--indefinitely--to England. Was the sovereign
people to wait for months, or years, before it regained its existence?
And if not, how was it to reassert its vitality? How but through the
agency of the States-General, who--according to Wilkes himself--had been
fully empowered by the Provinces and Cities to confer the government on
the Earl? The people then, after all, were the provinces and cities. And
the States-General were at that moment as much qualified to represent
those provinces and cities as they ever had been, and they claimed no
more. Wilkes, nor any other of the Leicester party, ever hinted at a
general assembly of the people. Universal suffrage was not dreamed of at
that day. By the people, he meant, if he meant anything, only that very
small fraction of the inhabitants of a country, who, according to the
English system, in the reign of Elizabeth, constituted its Commons. He
chose, rather from personal and political motives than philosophical
ones, to draw a distinction between the people and the States, but it is
quite obvious, from the tone of his private communications, that by the
'States' he meant the individuals who happened, for the time-being, to be
the deputies of the States of each Province. But it was almost an
affectation to accuse those individuals of calling or considering
themselves 'sovereigns;' for it was very well known that they sat as
envoys, rather than as members of a congress, and were perpetually
obliged to recur to their constituents, the States of each Province, for
instructions. It was idle, because Buys and Barneveld, and Roorda, and
other leaders, exercised the influence due to their talents, patriotism,
and experience, to stigmatize them as usurpers of sovereignty, and to
hound the rabble upon them as tyrants and mischief-makers. Yet to take
this course pleased the Earl of Leicester, who saw no hope for the
liberty of the people, unless absolute and unconditional authority over
the people, in war, naval affairs, justice, and policy, were placed in
his hands. This was the view sustained by the clergy of the Reformed
Church, because they found it convenient, through such a theory, and by
Leicester's power, to banish Papists, exercise intolerance in matters of
religion, sequestrate for their own private uses the property of the
Catholic Church, and obtain for their own a political power which was
repugnant to the more liberal ideas of the Barneveld party.

The States of Holland--inspired as it were by the memory of that great
martyr to religious and political liberty, William the Silent--maintained
freedom of conscience.

The Leicester party advocated a different theory on the religious
question. They were also determined to omit no effort to make the States
odious.

"Seeing their violent courses," said Wilkes to Leicester, "I have not
been negligent, as well by solicitations to the ministers, as by my
letters to such as have continued constant in affection to your Lordship,
to have the people informed of the ungrateful and dangerous proceedings
of the States. They have therein travailed with so good effect, as the
people are now wonderfully well disposed, and have delivered everywhere
in speeches, that if, by the overthwart dealings of the States, her
Majesty shall be drawn to stay her succours and goodness to them, and
that thereby your Lordship be also discouraged to return, they will cut
their throats."

Who the "people" exactly were, that had been so wonderfully well disposed
to throat-cutting by the ministers of the Gospel, did not distinctly
appear. It was certain, however, that they were the special friends of
Leicester, great orators, very pious, and the sovereigns of the country.
So much could not be gainsaid.

"Your Lordship would wonder," continued the councillor, "to see the
people--who so lately, by the practice of the said States and the
accident of Deventer, were notably alienated--so returned to their former
devotion towards her Majesty, your Lordship, and our nation."

Wilkes was able moreover to gratify the absent governor-general with the
intelligence--of somewhat questionable authenticity however--that the
States were very "much terrified with these threats of the people." But
Barneveld came down to the council to inquire what member of that body it
was who had accused the States of violating the Earl's authority.
"Whoever he is," said the Advocate, "let him deliver his mind frankly,
and he shall be answered." The man did not seem much terrified by the
throat-cutting orations. "It is true," replied Wilkes, perceiving himself
to be the person intended, "that you have very injuriously, in many of
your proceedings, derogated from and trodden the authority of his
Lordship and of this council under your feet."

And then he went into particulars, and discussed, 'more suo,' the
constitutional question, in which various Leicestrian counsellors
seconded him.

But Barneveld grimly maintained that the States were the sovereigns, and
that it was therefore unfit that the governor, who drew his authority
from them, should call them to account for their doings. "It was as if
the governors in the time of Charles V.," said the Advocate, "should have
taxed that Emperor for any action of his done in the government."

In brief, the rugged Barneveld, with threatening voice, and lion port,
seemed to impersonate the Staten, and to hold reclaimed sovereignty in
his grasp. It seemed difficult to tear it from him again.

"I did what I could," said Wilkes, "to beat them from this humour of
their sovereignty, showing that upon that error they had grounded the
rest of their wilful absurdities."

Next night, he drew up sixteen articles, showing the disorders of the
States, their breach of oaths, and violations of the Earl's authority;
and with that commenced a series of papers interchanged by the two
parties, in which the topics of the origin of government and the
principles of religious freedom were handled with much ability on both
sides, but at unmerciful length.

On the religious question, the States-General, led by Barneveld and by
Francis Franck, expressed themselves manfully, on various occasions,
during the mission of Buckhurst.

"The nobles and cities constituting the States," they said, "have been
denounced to Lord Leicester as enemies of religion, by the self-seeking
mischief-makers who surround him. Why? Because they had refused the
demand of certain preachers to call a general synod, in defiance of the
States-General, and to introduce a set of ordinances, with a system of
discipline, according to their arbitrary will. This the late Prince of
Orange and the States-General had always thought detrimental both to
religion and polity. They respected the difference in religious opinions,
and leaving all churches in their freedom, they chose to compel no man's
conscience--a course which all statesmen, knowing the diversity of human
opinions, had considered necessary in order to maintain fraternal
harmony."

Such words shine through the prevailing darkness of the religious
atmosphere at that epoch, like characters of light. They are beacons in
the upward path of mankind. Never before, had so bold and wise a tribute
to the genius of the reformation been paid by an organized community.
Individuals walking in advance of their age had enunciated such truths,
and their voices had seemed to die away, but, at last, a little,
struggling, half-developed commonwealth had proclaimed the rights of
conscience for all mankind--for Papists and Calvinists, Jews and
Anabaptists--because "having a respect for differences in religious
opinions, and leaving all churches in their freedom, they chose to compel
no man's conscience."

On the constitutional question, the States commenced by an astounding
absurdity. "These mischief-makers, moreover," said they, "have not been
ashamed to dispute, and to cause the Earl of Leicester to dispute, the
lawful constitution of the Provinces; a matter which has not been
disputed for eight hundred years."

This was indeed to claim a respectable age for their republic. Eight
hundred years took them back to the days of Charlemagne, in whose time it
would have been somewhat difficult to detect a germ of their
States-General and States-Provincial. That the constitutional
government--consisting of nobles and of the vroedschaps of chartered
cities--should have been in existence four hundred and seventeen years
before the first charter had ever been granted to a city, was a very
loose style of argument. Thomas Wilkes, in reply; might as well have
traced the English parliament to Hengist and Horsa. "For eight hundred
years;" they said, "Holland had been governed by Counts and Countesses,
on whom the nobles and cities, as representing the States, had legally
conferred sovereignty."

Now the first incorporated city of Holland and Zeeland that ever existed
was Middelburg, which received its charter from Count William I. of
Holland and Countess Joan of Flanders; in the year 1217. The first Count
that had any legal recognized authority was Dirk the First to whom
Charles the Simple presented the territory of Holland, by letters-patent,
in 922. Yet the States-General, in a solemn and eloquent document,
gravely dated their own existence from the year 787, and claimed the
regular possession and habitual delegation of sovereignty from that epoch
down!

After this fabulous preamble, they proceeded to handle the matter of fact
with logical precision. It was absurd, they said, that Mr. Wilkes and
Lord Leicester should affect to confound the persons who appeared in the
assembly with the States themselves; as if those individuals claimed or
exercised sovereignty. Any man who had observed what had been passing
during the last fifteen years, knew very well that the supreme authority
did not belong to the thirty or forty individuals who came to the
meetings . . . . The nobles, by reason of their ancient dignity and
splendid possessions, took counsel together over state matters, and then,
appearing at the assembly, deliberated with the deputies of the cities.
The cities had mainly one form of government--a college of counsellors;
or wise men, 40, 32, 28, or 24 in number, of the most respectable out of
the whole community. They were chosen for life, and vacancies were
supplied by the colleges themselves out of the mass of citizens. These
colleges alone governed the city, and that which had been ordained by
them was to be obeyed by all the inhabitants--a system against which
there had never been any rebellion. The colleges again, united with those
of the nobles, represented the whole state, the whole body of the
population; and no form of government could be imagined, they said, that
could resolve, with a more thorough knowledge of the necessities of the
country, or that could execute its resolves with more unity of purpose
and decisive authority. To bring the colleges into an assembly could only
be done by means of deputies. These deputies, chosen by their colleges,
and properly instructed, were sent to the place of meeting. During the
war they had always been commissioned to resolve in common on matters
regarding the liberty of the land. These deputies, thus assembled,
represented, by commission, the States; but they are not, in their own
persons, the States; and no one of them had any such pretension. "The
people of this country," said the States, "have an aversion to all
ambition; and in these disastrous times, wherein nothing but trouble and
odium is to be gathered by public employment, these commissions are
accounted 'munera necessaria'. . . . This form of government has, by
God's favour, protected Holland and Zeeland, during this war, against a
powerful foe, without lose of territory, without any popular outbreak,
without military mutiny, because all business has been transacted with
open doors; and because the very smallest towns are all represented, and
vote in the assembly."

In brief, the constitution of the United Provinces was a matter of fact.
It was there in good working order, and had, for a generation of mankind,
and throughout a tremendous war, done good service. Judged by the
principles of reason and justice, it was in the main a wholesome
constitution, securing the independence and welfare of the state, and the
liberty and property of the individual, as well certainly as did any
polity then existing in the world. It seemed more hopeful to abide by it
yet a little longer than to adopt the throat-cutting system by the
people, recommended by Wilkes and Leicester as an improvement on the old
constitution. This was the view of Lord Buckhurst. He felt that threats
of throat-cutting were not the best means of smoothing and conciliating,
and he had come over to smooth and conciliate.

"To spend the time," said he, "in private brabbles and piques between the
States and Lord Leicester, when we ought to prepare an army against the
enemy, and to repair the shaken and torn state, is not a good course for
her Majesty's service." Letters were continually circulating from hand to
hand among the antagonists of the Holland party, written out of England
by Leicester, exciting the ill-will of the populace against the organized
government. "By such means to bring the States into hatred," said
Buckhurst, "and to stir up the people against them; tends to great damage
and miserable end. This his Lordship doth full little consider, being the
very way to dissolve all government, and so to bring all into confusion,
and open the door for the enemy. But oh, how lamentable a thing it is,
and how doth my Lord of Leicester abuse her Majesty, making her authority
the means to uphold and justify, and under her name to defend and
maintain, all his intolerable errors. I thank God that neither his might
nor his malice shall deter me from laying open all those things which my
conscience knoweth, and which appertaineth to be done for the good of
this cause and of her Majesty's service. Herein, though I were sure to
lose my life, yet will I not offend neither the one nor the other,
knowing very well that I must die; and to die in her Majesty's faithful
service, and with a good conscience, is far more happy than the miserable
life that I am in. If Leicester do in this sort stir up the people
against the States to follow his revenge against them, and if the Queen
do yield no better aid, and the minds of Count Maurice and Hohenlo remain
thus in fear and hatred of him, what good end or service can be hoped for
here?"--[Buckhurst to Walsingham, 13th June, 1587. (Brit. Mus. Galba, D.
I. p. 95, MS.)]

Buckhurst was a man of unimpeached integrity and gentle manners. He had
come over with the best intentions towards the governor-general, and it
has been seen that he boldly defended him in, his first interviews with
the States. But as the intrigues and underhand plottings of the Earl's
agents were revealed to him, he felt more and more convinced that there
was a deep laid scheme to destroy the government, and to constitute a
virtual and absolute sovereignty for Leicester. It was not wonderful that
the States were standing vigorously on the defensive.

The subtle Deventer, Leicester's evil genius, did not cease to poison the
mind of the governor, during his protracted absence, against all persons
who offered impediments to the cherished schemes of his master and
himself. "Your Excellency knows very well," he said, "that the state of
this country is democratic, since, by failure of a prince, the sovereign
disposition of affairs has returned to the people. That same people is
everywhere so incredibly affectionate towards you that the delay in your
return drives them to extreme despair. Any one who would know the real
truth has but to remember the fine fear the States-General were in when
the news of your displeasure about the 4th February letter became known."

Had it not been for the efforts of Lord Buckhurst in calming the popular
rage, Deventer assured the Earl that the writers of the letter would
"have scarcely saved their skins;" and that they had always continued in
great danger.

He vehemently urged upon Leicester, the necessity of his immediate
return--not so much for reasons drawn from the distracted state of the
country, thus left to a provisional government and torn by faction--but
because of the facility with which he might at once seize upon arbitrary
power. He gratified his master by depicting in lively colours the abject
condition into which Barneveld, Maurice, Hohenlo, and similar cowards,
would be thrown by his sudden return.

"If," said he, "the States' members and the counts, every one of them,
are so desperately afraid of the people, even while your Excellency is
afar off, in what trepidation will they be when you are here! God,
reason, the affection of the sovereign people, are on your side. There
needs, in a little commonwealth like ours, but a wink of the eye, the
slightest indication of dissatisfaction on your part, to take away all
their valour from men who are only brave where swords are too short. A
magnanimous prince like yourself should seek at once the place where such
plots are hatching, and you would see the fury of the rebels change at
once to cowardice. There is more than one man here in the Netherlands
that brags of what he will do against the greatest and most highly
endowed prince in England, because he thinks he shall never see him
again, who, at the very first news of your return, my Lord, would think
only of packing his portmanteau, greasing his boots, or, at the very
least, of sneaking back into his hole."

But the sturdy democrat was quite sure that his Excellency, that most
magnanimous prince of England would not desert his faithful
followers--thereby giving those "filthy rascals," his opponents, a
triumph, and "doing so great an injury to the sovereign people, who were
ready to get rid of them all at a single blow, if his Excellency would
but say the word."

He then implored the magnanimous prince to imitate the example of Moses,
Joshua, David, and that of all great emperors and captains, Hebrew,
Greek, and Roman, to come at once to the scene of action, and to smite
his enemies hip and thigh. He also informed his Excellency, that if the
delay should last much longer, he would lose all chance of regaining
power, because the sovereign people had quite made up their mind to
return to the dominion of Spain within three months, if they could not
induce his Excellency to rule over them. In that way at least, if in no
other, they could circumvent those filthy rascals whom they so much
abhorred, and frustrate the designs of Maurice, Hohenlo, and Sir John
Norris, who were represented as occupying the position of the triumvirs
after the death of Julius Caesar.

To place its neck under the yoke of Philip II. and the Inquisition, after
having so handsomely got rid of both, did not seem a sublime
manifestation of sovereignty on the part of the people, and even Deventer
had some misgivings as to the propriety of such a result. "What then will
become of our beautiful churches?" he cried, "What will princes say, what
will the world in general say, what will historians say, about the honour
of the English nation?"

As to the first question, it is probable that the prospect of the
reformed churches would not have been cheerful, had the inquisition been
re-established in Holland and Utrecht, three months after that date. As
to the second, the world and history were likely to reply, that the
honour of the English nation was fortunately not entirely, entrusted at
that epoch to the "magnanimous prince" of Leicester, and his democratic,
counsellor-in-chief, burgomaster Deventer.

These are but samples of the ravings which sounded incessantly in the
ears of the governor-general. Was it strange that a man, so thirsty for
power, so gluttonous of flattery, should be influenced by such passionate
appeals? Addressed in strains of fulsome adulation, convinced that
arbitrary power was within his reach, and assured that he had but to wink
his eye to see his enemies scattered before him, he became impatient of
all restraint; and determined, on his return, to crush the States into
insignificance.

Thus, while Buckhurst had been doing his best as a mediator to prepare
the path for his return, Leicester himself end his partisans had been
secretly exerting themselves to make his arrival the signal for discord;
perhaps of civil war. The calm, then, immediately succeeding the mission
of Buckhurst was a deceitful one, but it seemed very promising. The best
feelings were avowed and perhaps entertained. The States professed great
devotion to her Majesty and friendly regard for the governor. They
distinctly declared that the arrangements by which Maurice and Hohenlo
had been placed in their new positions were purely provisional ones,
subject to modifications on the arrival of the Earl. "All things are
reduced to a quiet calm," said Buckhurst, "ready to receive my Lord of
Leicester and his authority, whenever he cometh."

The quarrel of Hohenlo with Sir Edward Norris had been, by the exertions
of Buckhurst, amicably arranged: the Count became an intimate friend of
Sir John, "to the gladding of all such as wished well to, the country;"
but he nourished a deadly hatred to the Earl. He ran up and down like a
madman whenever his return was mentioned. "If the Queen be willing to
take the sovereignty," he cried out at his own dinner-table to a large
company, "and is ready to proceed roundly in this action, I will serve
her to the last drop of my blood; but if she embrace it in no other sort
than hitherto she hath done, and if Leicester is to return, then am I as
good a man as Leicester, and will never be commanded by him. I mean to
continue on my frontier, where all who love me can come and find me."

He declared to several persons that he had detected a plot on the part of
Leicester to have him assassinated; and the assertion seemed so
important, that Villiers came to Councillor Clerk to confer with him on
the subject. The worthy Bartholomew, who had again, most reluctantly,
left his quiet chambers in the Temple to come again among the guns and
drums, which his soul abhorred, was appalled by such a charge. It was
best to keep it a secret, he said, at least till the matter could be
thoroughly investigated. Villiers was of the same opinion, and
accordingly the councillor, in the excess of his caution, confided the
secret only--to whom? To Mr. Atye, Leicester's private secretary. Atye,
of course, instantly told his master--his master in a frenzy of rage,
told the Queen, and her Majesty, in a paroxysm of royal indignation at
this new insult to her favourite, sent furious letters to her envoys, to
the States-General, to everybody in the Netherlands--so that the
assertion of Hohenlo became the subject of endless recrimination.
Leicester became very violent, and denounced the statement as an impudent
falsehood, devised wilfully in order to cast odium upon him and to
prevent his return. Unquestionably there was nothing in the story but
table-talk; but the Count would have been still more ferocious towards
Leicester than he was, had he known what was actually happening at that
very moment.

While Buckhurst was at Utrecht, listening to the "solemn-speeches" of the
militia-captains and exchanging friendly expressions at stately banquets
with Moeurs, he suddenly received a letter in cipher from her Majesty.
Not having the key, he sent to Wilkes at the Hague. Wilkes was very ill;
but the despatch was marked pressing and immediate, so he got out of bed
and made the journey to Utrecht. The letter, on being deciphered, proved
to be an order from the Queen to decoy Hohenlo into some safe town, on
pretence of consultation and then to throw him into prison, on the ground
that he had been tampering with the enemy, and was about to betray the
republic to Philip.

The commotion which would have been excited by any attempt to enforce
this order, could be easily imagined by those familiar with Hohenlo and
with the powerful party in the Netherlands of which he was one of the
chiefs. Wilkes stood aghast as he deciphered the letter. Buckhurst felt
the impossibility of obeying the royal will. Both knew the cause, and
both foresaw the consequences of the proposed step. Wilkes had heard some
rumours of intrigues between Parma's agents at Deventer and Hohenlo, and
had confided them to Walsingham, hoping that the Secretary would keep the
matter in his own breast, at least till further advice. He was appalled
at the sudden action proposed on a mere rumour, which both Buckhurst and
himself had begun to consider an idle one. He protested, therefore, to
Walsingham that to comply with her Majesty's command would not only be
nearly impossible, but would, if successful, hazard the ruin of the
republic. Wilkes was also very anxious lest the Earl of Leicester should
hear of the matter. He was already the object of hatred to that powerful
personage, and thought him capable of accomplishing his destruction in
any mode. But if Leicester could wreak his vengeance upon his enemy
Wilkes by the hand of his other deadly enemy Hohenlo, the councillor felt
that this kind of revenge would have a double sweetness for him. The
Queen knows what I have been saying, thought Wilkes, and therefore
Leicester knows it; and if Leicester knows it, he will take care that
Hohenlo shall hear of it too, and then wo be unto me. "Your honour
knoweth," he said to Walsingham, "that her Majesty can hold no secrets,
and if she do impart it to Leicester, then am I sped."

Nothing came of it however, and the relations of Wilkes and Buckhurst
with Hohenlo continued to be friendly. It was a lesson to Wilkes to be
more cautious even with the cautious Walsingham. "We had but bare
suspicions," said Buckhurst, "nothing fit, God knoweth, to come to such a
reckoning. Wilkes saith he meant it but for a premonition to you there;
but I think it will henceforth be a premonition to himself--there being
but bare presumptions, and yet shrewd presumptions."

Here then were Deventer and Leicester plotting to overthrow the
government of the States; the States and Hohenlo arming against
Leicester; the extreme democratic party threatening to go over to the
Spaniards within three months; the Earl accused of attempting the life of
Hohenlo; Hohenlo offering to shed the last drop of his blood for Queen
Elizabeth; Queen Elizabeth giving orders to throw Hohenlo into prison as
a traitor; Councillor Wilkes trembling for his life at the hands both of
Leicester and Hohenlo; and Buckhurst doing his best to conciliate all
parties, and imploring her Majesty in vain to send over money to help on
the war, and to save her soldiers from starving.

For the Queen continued to refuse the loan of fifty thousand pounds which
the provinces solicited, and in hope of which the States had just agreed
to an extra contribution of a million florins (L100,000), a larger sum
than had been levied by a single vote since the commencement of the war.
It must be remembered, too, that the whole expense of the war fell upon
Holland and Zeeland. The Province of Utrecht, where there was so strong a
disposition to confer absolute authority upon Leicester, and to destroy
the power of the States-General contributed absolutely nothing. Since the
Loss of Deventer, nothing could be raised in the Provinces of Utrecht,
Gelderland or Overyssel; the Spaniards levying black mail upon the whole
territory, and impoverishing the inhabitants till they became almost a
nullity. Was it strange then that the States of Holland and Zeeland, thus
bearing nearly the whole; burden of the war, should be dissatisfied with
the hatred felt toward them by their sister Provinces so generously
protected by them? Was it unnatural that Barneveld, and Maurice, and
Hohenlo, should be disposed to bridle the despotic inclinations of
Leicester, thus fostered by those who existed, as it were, at their
expense?

But the Queen refused the L50,000, although Holland and Zeeland had voted
the L100,000. "No reason that breedeth charges," sighed Walsingham, "can
in any sort be digested."

It was not for want of vehement entreaty on the part of the Secretary of
State and of Buckhurst that the loan was denied. At least she was
entreated to send over money for her troops, who for six months past were
unpaid. "Keeping the money in your coffers," said Buckhurst, "doth yield
no interest to you, and--which is above all earthly, respects--it shall
be the means of preserving the lives of many of your faithful subjects
which otherwise must needs, daily perish. Their miseries, through want of
meat and money, I do protest to God so much moves, my soul with
commiseration of that which is past, and makes my heart tremble to think
of the like to come again, that I humbly beseech your Majesty, for Jesus
Christ sake, to have compassion on their lamentable estate past, and send
some money to prevent the like hereafter."

These were moving words,--but the money did not come--charges could not
be digested.

"The eternal God," cried Buckhurst, "incline your heart to grant the
petition of the States for the loan of the L50,000, and that speedily,
for the dangerous terms of the State here and the mighty and forward
preparation of the enemy admit no minute of delay; so that even to grant
it slowly is to deny it utterly."

He then drew a vivid picture of the capacity of the Netherlands to assist
the endangered realm of England, if delay were not suffered to destroy
both commonwealths, by placing the Provinces in an enemy's hand.

"Their many and notable good havens," he said, "the great number of ships
and mariners, their impregnable towns, if they were in the hands of a
potent prince that would defend them, and, lastly, the state of this
shore; so near and opposite unto the land and coast of England--lo, the
sight of all this, daily in mine eye, conjoined with the deep, enrooted
malice of that your so mighty enemy who seeketh to regain them; these
things entering continually into the, meditations of my heart--so much do
they import the safety of yourself and your estate--do enforce me, in the
abundance of my love and duty to your Majesty, most earnestly to speak,
write, and weep unto you, lest when the occasion yet offered shall be
gone by, this blessed means of your defence, by God's provident goodness
thus put into your hand, will then be utterly lost, lo; never, never more
to be recovered again."

It was a noble, wise, and eloquent appeal, but it was muttered in vain.
Was not Leicester--his soul filled with petty schemes of reigning in
Utrecht, and destroying the constitutional government of the
Provinces--in full possession of the royal ear? And was not the same ear
lent, at most critical moment, to the insidious Alexander Farnese, with
his whispers of peace, which were potent enough to drown all the
preparations for the invincible Armada?

Six months had rolled away since Leicester had left the Netherlands; six
months long, the Provinces, left in a condition which might have become
anarchy, had been saved by the wise government of the States-General; six
months long the English soldiers had remained unpaid by their sovereign;
and now for six weeks the honest, eloquent, intrepid, but gentle
Buckhurst had done his best to conciliate all parties, and to mould the
Netherlanders into an impregnable bulwark for the realm of England. But
his efforts were treated with scorn by the Queen. She was still maddened
by a sense of the injuries done by the States to Leicester. She was
indignant that her envoy should have accepted such lame apologies for the
4th of February letter; that he should have received no better atonement
for their insolent infringements of the Earl's orders during his absence;
that he should have excused their contemptuous proceedings and that, in
short, he should have been willing to conciliate and forgive when he
should have stormed and railed. "You conceived, it seemeth," said her
Majesty, "that a more sharper manner of proceeding would have exasperated
matters to the prejudice of the service, and therefore you did think it
more fit to wash the wounds rather with water than vinegar, wherein we
would rather have wished, on the other side, that you had better
considered that festering wounds had more need of corrosives than
lenitives. Your own judgment ought to have taught that such a alight and
mild kind of dealing with a people so ingrate and void of consideration
as the said Estates have showed themselves toward us, is the ready way to
increase their contempt."

The envoy might be forgiven for believing that at any rate there would be
no lack of corrosives or vinegar, so long as the royal tongue or pen
could do their office, as the unfortunate deputies had found to their
cost in their late interviews at Greenwich, and as her own envoys in the
Netherlands were perpetually finding now. The Queen was especially
indignant that the Estates should defend the tone of their letters to the
Earl on the ground that he had written a piquant epistle to them. "But
you can manifestly see their untruths in naming it a piquant letter,"
said Elizabeth, "for it has no sour or sharp word therein, nor any clause
or reprehension, but is full of gravity and gentle admonition. It
deserved a thankful answer, and so you may maintain it to them to their
reproof."

The States doubtless thought that the loss of Deventer and, with it, the
almost ruinous condition of three out of the seven Provinces, might
excuse on their part a little piquancy of phraseology, nor was it easy
for them to express gratitude to the governor for his grave and gentle
admonitions, after he had, by his secret document of 24th November,
rendered himself fully responsible for the disaster they deplored.

She expressed unbounded indignation with Hohenlo, who, as she was well
aware, continued to cherish a deadly hatred for Leicester. Especially she
was exasperated, and with reason, by the assertion the Count had made
concerning the governor's murderous designs upon him. "'Tis a matter,"
said the Queen, "so foul and dishonourable that doth not only touch
greatly the credit of the Earl, but also our own honour, to have one who
hath been nourished and brought up by us, and of whom we have made show
to the world to have extraordinarily favoured above any other of our own
subjects, and used his service in those countries in a place of that
reputation he held there, stand charged with so horrible and unworthy a
crime. And therefore our pleasure is, even as you tender the continuance
of our favour towards you, that you seek, by all the means you may,
examining the Count Hollock, or any other party in this matter, to
discover and to sift out how this malicious imputation hath been wrought;
for we have reason to think that it hath grown out of some cunning device
to stay the Earl's coming, and to discourage him from the continuance of
his service in those countries."

And there the Queen was undoubtedly in the right. Hohenlo was resolved,
if possible, to make the Earl's government of the Netherlands impossible.
There was nothing in the story however; and all that by the most diligent
"sifting" could ever be discovered, and all that the Count could be
prevailed upon to confess, was an opinion expressed by him that if he had
gone with Leicester to England, it might perhaps have fared ill with him.
But men were given to loose talk in those countries. There was great
freedom of tongue and pen; and as the Earl, whether with justice or not,
had always been suspected of strong tendencies to assassination, it was
not very wonderful that so reckless an individual as Hohenlo should
promulgate opinions on such subjects, without much reserve. "The number
of crimes that have been imputed to me," said Leicester, "would be
incomplete, had this calumny not been added to all preceding ones." It is
possible that assassination, especially poisoning, may have been a more
common-place affair in those days than our own. At any rate, it is
certain that accusations of such crimes were of ordinary occurrence. Men
were apt to die suddenly if they had mortal enemies, and people would
gossip. At the very same moment, Leicester was deliberately accused not
only of murderous intentions towards Hohenlo, but towards Thomas Wilkes
and Count Lewis William of Nassau likewise. A trumpeter, arrested in
Friesland, had just confessed that he had been employed by the Spanish
governor of that Province, Colonel Verdugo, to murder Count Lewis, and
that four other persons had been entrusted with the same commission. The
Count wrote to Verdugo, and received in reply an indignant denial of the
charge. "Had I heard of such a project," said the Spaniard, "I would, on
the contrary, have given you warning. And I give you one now." He then
stated, as a fact known to him on unquestionable authority, that the Earl
of Leicester had assassins at that moment in his employ to take the life
of Count Lewis, adding that as for the trumpeter, who had just been
hanged for the crime suborned by the writer, he was a most notorious
lunatic. In reply, Lewis, while he ridiculed this plea of insanity set up
for a culprit who had confessed his crime succinctly and voluntarily,
expressed great contempt for the counter-charge against Leicester. "His
Excellency," said the sturdy little Count, "is a virtuous gentleman, the
most pious and God-fearing I have ever known. I am very sure that he
could never treat his enemies in the manner stated, much less his
friends. As for yourself, may God give me grace, in requital of your
knavish trick, to make such a war upon you as becomes an upright soldier
and a man of honour."

Thus there was at least one man--and a most important, one--in the
opposition--party who thoroughly believed in the honour of the
governor-general.

The Queen then proceeded to lecture Lord Buckhurst very severely for
having tolerated an instant the States' proposition to her for a loan of
L50,000. "The enemy," she observed, "is quite unable to attempt the siege
of any town."

Buckhurst was, however, instructed, in case the States' million should
prove insufficient to enable the army to make head against the enemy, and
in the event of "any alteration of the good-will of the people towards
her, caused by her not yielding, in this their necessity, some convenient
support," to let them then understand, "as of himself, that if they would
be satisfied with a loan of ten or fifteen thousand pounds, he, would do
his best endeavour to draw her Majesty to yield unto the furnishing of
such a sum, with assured hope to obtaining the same at her hands."

Truly Walsingham was right in saying that charges of any kind were
difficult of digestion: Yet, even at that moment, Elizabeth had no more
attached subjects in England than sere the burghers of the Netherlands;
who were as anxious ever to annex their territory to her realms.

'Thus, having expressed an affection for Leicester which no one doubted,
having once more thoroughly brow-beaten the states, and having soundly
lectured Buckhurst--as a requital for his successful efforts to bring
about a more wholesome condition of affairs--she gave the envoy a parting
stab, with this postscript;--"There is small disproportion," she said
"twist a fool who useth not wit because he hath it not, and him that
useth it not when it should avail him." Leicester, too, was very violent
in his attacks upon Buckhurst. The envoy had succeeded in reconciling
Hohenlo with the brothers Norris, and had persuaded Sir John to offer the
hand of friendship to Leicester, provided it were sure of being accepted.
Yet in this desire to conciliate, the Earl found renewed cause for
violence. "I would have had more regard of my Lord of Buckhurst," he
said, "if the case had been between him and Norris, but I must regard my
own reputation the more that I see others would impair it. You have
deserved little thanks of me, if I must deal plainly, who do equal me
after this sort with him, whose best place is colonel under me, and once
my servant, and preferred by me to all honourable place he had." And thus
were enterprises of great moment, intimately affecting the, safety of
Holland, of England, of all Protestantism, to be suspended between
triumph and ruin, in order that the spleen of one individual--one Queen's
favourite--might be indulged. The contempt of an insolent grandee for a
distinguished commander--himself the son, of a Baron, with a mother the
dear friend of her sovereign--was to endanger the existence of great
commonwealths. Can the influence of the individual, for good or bad, upon
the destinies of the race be doubted, when the characters and conduct of
Elizabeth and Leicester, Burghley and Walsingham, Philip and Parma, are
closely scrutinized and broadly traced throughout the wide range of their
effects?

"And I must now, in your Lordship's sight," continued Leicester, "be made
a counsellor with this companion, who never yet to this day hath done so
much as take knowledge of my mislike of him; no, not to say this much,
which I think would well become his better, that he was sorry, to hear I
had mislike to him, that he desired my suspension till he might either
speak with me, or be charged from me, and if then he were not able to
satisfy me, he would acknowledge his fault, and make me any honest
satisfaction. This manner of dealing would have been no disparagement to
his better. And even so I must think that your Lordship doth me wrong,
knowing what you do, to make so little difference between John Norris, my
man not long since, and now but my colonel under me, as though we were
equals. And I cannot but more than marvel at this your proceeding, when I
remember your promises of friendship, and your opinions resolutely set
down . . . . You were so determined before you went hence, but must have
become wonderfully enamoured of those men's unknown virtues in a few days
of acquaintance, from the alteration that is grown by their own
commendations of themselves. You know very well that all the world should
not make me serve with John Norris. Your sudden change from mislike to
liking has, by consequence, presently cast disgrace upon me. But all is
not gold that glitters, nor every shadow a perfect representation . . . .
You knew he should not serve with me, but either you thought me a very
inconstant man, or else a very simple soul, resolving with you as I did,
for you to take the course you have done." He felt, however, quite strong
in her Majesty's favour. He knew himself her favourite, beyond all chance
or change, and was sure, so long as either lived, to thrust his enemies,
by her aid, into outer darkness. Woe to Buckhurst, and Norris, and
Wilkes, and all others who consorted with his enemies. Let them flee from
the wrath to come! And truly they were only too anxious to do so, for
they knew that Leicester's hatred was poisonous. "He is not so facile to
forget as ready to revenge," said poor Wilkes, with neat alliteration.
"My very heavy and mighty adversary will disgrace and undo me.

"It sufficeth," continued Leicester, "that her Majesty both find my
dealings well enough, and so, I trust will graciously use me. As for the
reconciliations and love-days you have made there, truly I have liked
well of it; for you did sow me your disposition therein before, and I
allowed of it, and I had received letters both from Count Maurice and
Hohenlo of their humility and kindness, but now in your last letters you
say they have uttered the cause of their mislike towards me, which you
forbear to write of, looking so speedily for my return."

But the Earl knew well enough what the secret was, for had it not been
specially confided by the judicious Bartholomew to Atye, who had
incontinently told his master? "This pretense that I should kill
Hohenlo," cried Leicester, "is a matter properly foisted in to bring me
to choler. I will not suffer it to rest, thus. Its authors shall be duly
and severely punished. And albeit I see well enough the plot of this
wicked device, yet shall it not work the effect the devisers have done it
for. No, my Lord, he is a villain and a false lying knave whosoever he
be, and of what, nation soever that hath forged this device. Count
Hohenlo doth know I never gave him cause to fear me so much. There were
ways and means offered me to have quitted him of the country if I had so
liked. This new monstrous villany which is now found out I do hate and
detest, as I would look for the right judgment of God to fall upon
myself, if I had but once imagined it. All this makes good proof of
Wilkes's good dealing with me, that hath heard of so vile and villainous
a reproach of me, and never gave me knowledge. But I trust your Lordship
shall receive her Majesty's order for this, as for a matter that toucheth
herself in honour, and me her poor servant and minister, as dearly as any
matter can do; and I will so take it and use it to the uttermost."

We have seen how anxiously Buckhurst had striven to do his duty upon a
most difficult mission. Was it unnatural that so fine a nature as his
should be disheartened, at reaping nothing but sneers and contumely from
the haughty sovereign he served, and from the insolent favourite who
controlled her councils? "I beseech your Lordship," he said to Burghley,
"keep one ear for me, and do not hastily condemn me before you hear mine
answer. For if I ever did or shall do any acceptable service to her
Majesty, it was in, the stay and appeasing of these countries, ever ready
at my coming to have cast off all good respect towards us, and to have
entered even into some desperate cause. In the meantime I am hardly
thought of by her Majesty, and in her opinion condemned before mine
answer be understood. Therefore I beseech you to help me to return, and
not thus to lose her Majesty's favour for my good desert, wasting here my
mind, body, my wits, wealth, and all; with continual toils, taxes, and
troubles, more than I am able to endure."

But besides his instructions to smooth and expostulate, in which he had
succeeded so well, and had been requited so ill; Buckhurst had received a
still more difficult commission. He had been ordered to broach the
subject of peace, as delicately as possible, but without delay; first
sounding the leading politicians, inducing them to listen to the Queen's
suggestions on the subject, persuading them that they ought to be
satisfied with the principles of the pacification of Ghent, and that it
was hopeless for the Provinces to continue the war with their mighty
adversary any longer.

Most reluctantly had Buckhurst fulfilled his sovereign's commands in this
disastrous course. To talk to the Hollanders of the Ghent pacification
seemed puerile. That memorable treaty, ten years before, had been one of
the great landmarks of progress, one of the great achievements of William
the Silent. By its provisions, public exercise of the reformed religion
had been secured for the two Provinces of Holland and Zeeland, and it had
been agreed that the secret practice of those rites should be elsewhere
winked at, until such time as the States-General, under the auspices of
Philip II., should otherwise ordain. But was it conceivable that now,
after Philip's authority had been solemnly abjured, and the reformed
worship had become the, public, dominant religion, throughout all the
Provinces,--the whole republic should return to the Spanish dominion, and
to such toleration as might be sanctioned by an assembly professing
loyalty to the most Catholic King?

Buckhurst had repeatedly warned the Queen, in fervid and eloquent
language, as to the intentions of Spain. "There was never peace well
made," he observed, "without a mighty war preceding, and always, the
sword in hand is the best pen to write the conditions of peace."

"If ever prince had cause," he continued, "to think himself beset with
doubt and danger, you, sacred Queen, have most just cause not only to
think it, but even certainly to believe it. The Pope doth daily plot
nothing else but how he may bring to pass your utter overthrow; the
French King hath already sent you threatenings of revenge, and though for
that pretended cause I think little will ensue, yet he is blind that
seeth not the mortal dislike that boileth deep in his heart for other
respects against you. The Scottish King, not only in regard of his future
hope, but also by reason of some over conceit in his heart, may be
thought a dangerous neighbour to you. The King of Spain armeth and
extendeth all his power to ruin both you and your estate. And if the
Indian gold have corrupted also the King of Denmark, and made him
likewise Spanish, as I marvellously fear; why will not your Majesty,
beholding the flames of your enemies on every side kindling around,
unlock all your coffers and convert your treasure for the advancing of
worthy men, and for the arming of ships and men-of-war that may defend
you, since princes' treasures serve only to that end, and, lie they never
so fast or so full in their chests, can no ways so defend them?

"The eternal God, in whose hands the hearts of kings do rest, dispose and
guide your sacred Majesty to do that which may be most according to His
blessed will, and best for you, as I trust He will, even for His mercy's
sake, both toward your Majesty and the whole realm of England, whose
desolation is thus sought and compassed."

Was this the language of a mischievous intriguer, who was sacrificing the
true interest of his country, and whose proceedings were justly earning
for him rebuke and disgrace at the hands of his sovereign? Or was it
rather the noble advice of an upright statesman, a lover of his country,
a faithful servant of his Queen, who had looked through the atmosphere of
falsehood in which he was doing his work, and who had detected, with rare
sagacity, the secret purposes of those who were then misruling the world?

Buckhurst had no choice, however, but to obey. His private efforts were
of course fruitless, but he announced to her Majesty that it was his
intention very shortly to bring the matter--according to her wish--before
the assembly.

But Elizabeth, seeing that her counsel had been unwise and her action
premature, turned upon her envoy, as she was apt to do, and rebuked him
for his obedience, so soon as obedience had proved inconvenient to
herself.

"Having perused your letters," she said, "by which you at large debate
unto us what you have done in the matter of peace . . . . we find it
strange that you should proceed further. And although we had given you
full and ample direction to proceed to a public dealing in that cause,
yet our own discretion, seeing the difficulties and dangers that you
yourself saw in the propounding of the matter, ought to have led you to
delay till further command from us."

Her Majesty then instructed her envoy, in case he had not yet "propounded
the matter in the state-house to the general assembly," to pause entirely
until he heard her further pleasure. She concluded, as usual, with a
characteristic postcript in her own hand.

"Oh weigh deeplier this matter," she said, "than, with so shallow a
judgment, to spill the cause, impair my honour, and shame yourself, with
all your wit, that once was supposed better than to lose a bargain for
the handling."

Certainly the sphinx could have propounded no more puzzling riddles than
those which Elizabeth thus suggested to Buckhurst. To make war without an
army, to support an army without pay, to frame the hearts of a whole
people to peace who were unanimous for war, and this without saying a
word either in private or public; to dispose the Netherlanders favourably
to herself and to Leicester, by refusing them men and money, brow-beating
them for asking for it, and subjecting them to a course of perpetual
insults, which she called "corrosives," to do all this and more seemed
difficult. If not to do it, were to spill the cause and to lose the
bargain, it was more than probable that they would be spilt and lost.

But the ambassador was no OEdipus--although a man of delicate perceptions
and brilliant intellect--and he turned imploringly to a wise counsellor
for aid against the tormentor who chose to be so stony-faced and
enigmatical.

"Touching the matter of peace," said he to Walsingham, "I have written
somewhat to her Majesty in cipher, so as I am sure you will be called for
to decipher it. If you did know how infinitely her Majesty did at my
departure and before--for in this matter of peace she hath specially used
me this good while--command me, pray me, and persuade me to further and
hasten the same with all the speed possible that might be, and how, on
the other side, I have continually been the man and the mean that have
most plainly dehorted her from such post-haste, and that she should never
make good peace without a puissant army in the field, you would then say
that I had now cause to fear her displeasure for being too slow, and not
too forward. And as for all the reasons which in my last letters are set
down, her Majesty hath debated them with me many times."

And thus midsummer was fast approaching, the commonwealth was without a
regular government, Leicester remained in England nursing his wrath and
preparing his schemes, the Queen was at Greenwich, corresponding with
Alexander Farnese, and sending riddles to Buckhurst, when the enemy--who,
according to her Majesty, was "quite unable to attempt the, siege of any
town" suddenly appeared in force in Flanders, and invested Sluy's. This
most important seaport, both for the destiny of the republic and of
England at that critical moment, was insufficiently defended. It was
quite time to put an army in the field, with a governor-general to
command it.

On the 5th June there was a meeting of the state-council at the Hague.
Count Maurice, Hohenlo, and Moeurs were present, besides several members
of the States-General. Two propositions were before the council. The
first was that it was absolutely necessary to the safety of the republic,
now that the enemy had taken the field, and the important city of Sluy's
was besieged, for Prince Maurice to be appointed captain-general, until
such time as the Earl of Leicester or some other should be sent by her
Majesty. The second was to confer upon the state-council the supreme
government in civil affairs, for the same period, and to repeal all
limitations and restrictions upon the powers of the council made secretly
by the Earl.

Chancellor Leoninus, "that grave, wise old man," moved the propositions.
The deputies of the States were requested to withdraw. The vote of each
councillor was demanded. Buckhurst, who, as the Queen's
representative--together with Wilkes and John Norris--had a seat in the
council, refused to vote. "It was a matter," he discreetly observed with
which "he had not been instructed by her Majesty to intermeddle." Norris
and Wilkes also begged to be excused from voting, and, although earnestly
urged to do so by the whole council, persisted in their refusal. Both
measures were then carried.

No sooner was the vote taken, than an English courier entered the
council-chamber, with pressing despatches from Lord Leicester. The
letters were at once read. The Earl announced his speedy arrival, and
summoned both the States-General and the council to meet him at Dort,
where his lodgings were already taken. All were surprised, but none more
than Buckhurst, Wilkes, and Norris; for no intimation of this sudden
resolution had been received by them, nor any answer given to various
propositions, considered by her Majesty as indispensable preliminaries to
the governor's visit.

The council adjourned till after dinner, and Buckhurst held conference
meantime with various counsellors and deputies. On the reassembling of
the board, it was urged by Barneveld, in the name of the States, that the
election of Prince Maurice should still hold good. "Although by these
letters," said he, "it would seem that her Majesty had resolved upon the
speedy return of his Excellency, yet, inasmuch as the counsels and
resolutions of princes are often subject to change upon new occasion, it
does not seem fit that our late purpose concerning Prince Maurice should
receive any interruption."

Accordingly, after brief debate, both resolutions, voted in the morning,
were confirmed in the afternoon.

"So now," said Wilkes, "Maurice is general of all the forces, 'et quid
sequetur nescimus.'"

But whatever else was to follow, it was very certain that Wilkes would
not stay. His great enemy had sworn his destruction, and would now take
his choice, whether to do him to death himself, or to throw him into the
clutch of the ferocious Hohenlo. "As for my own particular," said the
counsellor, "the word is go, whosoever cometh or cometh not," and he
announced to Walsingham his intention of departing without permission,
should he not immediately receive it from England. "I shall stay to be
dandled with no love-days nor leave-takings," he observed.

But Leicester had delayed his coming too long. The country felt that
it-had been trifled with by his: absence--at so critical a period--of
seven months. It was known too that the Queen was secretly treating with
the enemy, and that Buckhurst had been privately sounding leading
personages upon that subject, by her orders. This had caused a deep,
suppressed indignation. Over and over again had the English government
been warned as to the danger of delay. "Your length in resolving;" Wilkes
had said, "whatsoever your secret purposes may be--will put us to new
plunges before long." The mission of Buckhurst was believed to be "but a
stale, having some other intent than was expressed." And at last, the new
plunge had been fairly taken. It seemed now impossible for Leicester to
regain the absolute authority, which he coveted; and which he had for a
brief season possessed. The States-General, under able leaders, had
become used to a government which had been forced upon them, and which
they had wielded with success. Holland and Zeeland, paying the whole
expense of the war, were not likely to endure again the absolute
sovereignty of a foreigner, guided by a back stairs council of reckless
politicians--most of whom were unprincipled, and some of whom had been
proved to be felons--and established, at Utrecht, which contributed
nothing to the general purse. If Leicester were really-coming, it seemed
certain that he would be held to acknowledge the ancient constitution,
and to respect the sovereignty of the States-General. It was resolved
that he should be well bridled. The sensations of Barneveld and his party
may therefore be imagined, when a private letter of Leicester, to his
secretary "the fellow named Junius," as Hohenlo called him--having been
intercepted at this moment, gave them an opportunity of studying the
Earl's secret thoughts.

The Earl informed his correspondent that he was on the point of starting
for the Netherlands. He ordered him therefore to proceed at once to
reassure those whom he knew well disposed as to the good intentions of
her Majesty and of the governor-general. And if, on the part of Lord
Buckhurst or others, it should be intimated that the Queen was resolved
to treat for peace with the King of Spain; and wished to have the opinion
of the Netherlanders on that subject, he was to say boldly that Lord
Buckhurst never had any such charge, and that her Majesty had not been
treating at all. She had only been attempting to sound the King's
intentions towards the Netherlands, in case of any accord. Having
received no satisfactory assurance on the subject, her Majesty was
determined to proceed with the defence of these countries. This appeared
by the expedition of Drake against Spain, and by the return of the Earl,
with a good cumber of soldiers paid by her Majesty, over and above her
ordinary subsidy.

"You are also;" said the Earl, "to tell those who have the care of the
people" (the ministers of the reformed church and others), "that I am
returning, in the confidence that they will, in future, cause all past
difficulties to cease, and that they will yield to me a legitimate
authority, such as befits for administering the sovereignty of the
Provinces, without my being obliged to endure all the oppositions and
counter-minings of the States, as in times past. The States must content
themselves with retaining the power which they claim to have exercised
under the governors of the Emperor and the King--without attempting
anything farther during my government--since I desire to do nothing of
importance without the advice of the council, which will be composed
legitimately of persons of the country. You will also tell them that her
Majesty commands me to return unless I can obtain from the States the
authority which is necessary, in order not to be governor in appearance
only and on paper. And I wish that those who are good may be apprized of
all this, in order that nothing may happen to their prejudice and ruin,
and contrary to their wishes."

There were two very obvious comments to be made upon this document.
Firstly, the States--de jure, as they claimed, and de facto most
unquestionably--were in the position of the Emperor and King. They were
the sovereigns. The Earl wished them to content themselves with the power
which they exercised under the Emperor's governors. This was like
requesting the Emperor, when in the Netherlands, to consider himself
subject to his own governor. The second obvious reflection was that the
Earl, in limiting his authority by a state-council, expected, no doubt,
to appoint that body himself--as he had done before--and to allow the
members only the right of talking, and of voting,--without the power of
enforcing their decisions. In short, it was very plain that Leicester
meant to be more absolute than ever.

As to the flat contradiction given to Buckhurst's proceedings in the
matter of peace, that statement could scarcely deceive any one who had
seen her Majesty's letters and instructions to her envoy.

It was also a singularly deceitful course to be adopted by Leicester
towards Buckhurst and towards the Netherlands, because his own private
instructions, drawn up at the same moment, expressly enjoined him to do
exactly what Buckhurst had been doing. He was most strictly and earnestly
commanded to deal privately with all such persons as bad influence with
the "common sort of people," in order that they should use their
influence with those common people in favour of peace, bringing vividly
before them the excessive burthens of the war, their inability to cope
with so potent a prince as Philip, and the necessity the Queen was under
of discontinuing her contributions to their support. He was to make the
same representations to the States, and he was further most explicitly to
inform all concerned, that, in case they were unmoved by these
suggestions, her Majesty had quite made up her mind to accept the
handsome offers of peace held out by the King of Spain, and to leave them
to their fate.

It seemed scarcely possible that the letter to Junius and the
instructions for the Earl should have been dated the same week, and
should have emanated from the same mind; but such was the fact.

He was likewise privately to assure Maurice and Hohenlo--in order to
remove their anticipated opposition to the peace--that such care should
be taken in providing for them, as that "they should have no just cause
to dislike thereof, but to rest satisfied withal."

With regard to the nature of his authority, he was instructed to claim a
kind of dictatorship in everything regarding the command of the forces,
and the distribution of the public treasure. All offices were to be at
his disposal. Every florin contributed by the States was to be placed in
his hands, and spent according to his single will. He was also to have
plenary power to prevent the trade in victuals with the enemy by death
and confiscation.

If opposition to any of these proposals were made by the States-General,
he was to appeal to the States of each Province; to the towns and
communities, and in case it should prove impossible for him "to be
furnished with the desired authority," he was then instructed to say that
it was "her Majesty's meaning to leave them to their own counsel and
defence, and to withdraw the support that she had yielded to them: seeing
plainly that the continuance of the confused government now reigning
among them could not but work their ruin."

Both these papers came into Barneveld's hands, through the agency of
Ortel, the States' envoy in England, before the arrival of the Earl in
the Netherlands.

Of course they soon became the topics of excited conversation and of
alarm in every part of the country. Buckhurst, touched to the quick by
the reflection upon those--proceedings of his which had been so
explicitly enjoined upon him, and so reluctantly undertaken--appealed
earnestly to her Majesty. He reminded her, as delicately as possible,
that her honour, as well as his own, was at stake by Leicester's insolent
disavowals of her authorized ambassador. He besought her to remember
"what even her own royal hand had written to the Duke of Parma;" and how
much his honour was interested "by the disavowing of his dealings about
the peace begun by her Majesty's commandment." He adjured her with much
eloquence to think upon the consequences of stirring up the common and
unstable multitude against their rulers; upon the pernicious effects of
allowing the clergy to inflame the passions of the people against the
government. "Under the name of such as have charge over the people," said
Buckhurst, "are understood the ministers and chaplains of the churches in
every town, by the means of whom it, seems that his Lordship tendeth his
whole purpose to attain to his desire of the administration of the
sovereignty." He assured the Queen that this scheme of Leicester to seize
virtually upon that sovereignty, would be a disastrous one. "The States
are resolved," said he, "since your Majesty doth refuse the sovereignty,
to lay it upon no creature else, as a thing contrary to their oath and
allegiance to their country." He reminded her also that the States had
been dissatisfied with the Earl's former administration, believing that
he had exceeded his commission, and that they were determined therefore
to limit his authority at his return. "Your sacred Majesty may consider,"
he said, "what effect all this may work among the common and ignorant
people, by intimating that, unless they shall procure him the
administration of such a sovereignty as he requireth, their ruin may
ensue." Buckhurst also informed her that he had despatched Councillor
Wilkes to England, in order that he might give more ample information on
all these affairs by word of mouth than could well be written.

It need hardly be stated that Barneveld came down to the states'-house
with these papers in his hand, and thundered against the delinquent and
intriguing governor till the general indignation rose to an alarming
height. False statements of course were made to Leicester as to the
substance of the Advocate's discourse. He was said to have charged upon
the English government an intention to seize forcibly upon their cities,
and to transfer them to Spain on payment of the sums due to the Queen
from the States, and to have declared that he had found all this treason
in the secret instructions of the Earl. But Barneveld had read the
instructions, to which the attention of the reader has just been called,
and had strictly stated the truth which was damaging enough, without need
of exaggeration.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All business has been transacted with open doors
     Beacons in the upward path of mankind
     Been already crimination and recrimination more than enough
     Casting up the matter "as pinchingly as possibly might be"
     Disposed to throat-cutting by the ministers of the Gospel
     During this, whole war, we have never seen the like
     Even to grant it slowly is to deny it utterly
     Evil is coming, the sooner it arrives the better
     Fool who useth not wit because he hath it not
     Guilty of no other crime than adhesion to the Catholic faith
     Individuals walking in advance of their age
     Never peace well made, he observed, without a mighty war
     Rebuked him for his obedience
     Respect for differences in religious opinions
     Sacrificed by the Queen for faithfully obeying her orders
     Succeeded so well, and had been requited so ill
     Sword in hand is the best pen to write the conditions of peace
     Their existence depended on war
     They chose to compel no man's conscience
     Torturing, hanging, embowelling of men, women, and children
     Universal suffrage was not dreamed of at that day
     Waiting the pleasure of a capricious and despotic woman
     Who the "people" exactly were



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 53, 1587



CHAPTER XVI.

   Situation of Sluys--Its Dutch and English Garrison--Williams writes
   from Sluys to the Queen--Jealousy between the Earl and States--
   Schemes to relieve Sluys--Which are feeble and unsuccessful--The
   Town Capitulates--Parma enters--Leicester enraged--The Queen angry
   with the Anti-Leicestrians--Norris, Wilkes, and Buckhurst punished--
   Drake sails for Spain--His Exploits at Cadiz and Lisbon--He is
   rebuked by Elizabeth.

When Dante had passed through the third circle of the Inferno--a desert
of red-hot sand, in which lay a multitude of victims of divine wrath,
additionally tortured by an ever-descending storm of fiery flakes--he was
led by Virgil out of this burning wilderness along a narrow causeway.
This path was protected, he said, against the showers of flame, by the
lines of vapour which rose eternally from a boiling brook. Even by such
shadowy bulwarks, added the poet, do the Flemings between Kadzand and
Bruges protect their land against the ever-threatening sea.

It was precisely among these slender dykes between Kadzand and Bruges
that Alexander Farnese had now planted all the troops that he could
muster in the field. It was his determination to conquer the city of
Sluys; for the possession of that important sea-port was necessary for
him as a basis for the invasion of England, which now occupied all the
thoughts of his sovereign and himself.

Exactly opposite the city was the island of Kadzand, once a fair and
fertile territory, with a city and many flourishing villages upon its
surface, but at that epoch diminished to a small dreary sand-bank by the
encroachments of the ocean.

A stream of inland water, rising a few leagues to the south of Sluys,
divided itself into many branches just before reaching the city,
converted the surrounding territory into a miniature archipelago--the
islands of which were shifting treacherous sand-banks at low water, and
submerged ones at flood--and then widening and deepening into a
considerable estuary, opened for the city a capacious harbour, and an
excellent although intricate passage to the sea. The city, which was well
built and thriving, was so hidden in its labyrinth of canals and
streamlets, that it seemed almost as difficult a matter to find Sluys as
to conquer it. It afforded safe harbour for five hundred large vessels;
and its possession, therefore, was extremely important for Parma. Besides
these natural defences, the place was also protected by fortifications;
which were as well constructed as the best of that period. There was a
strong rampire and many towers. There was also a detached citadel of
great strength, looking towards the sea, and there was a ravelin, called
St. Anne's, looking in the direction of Bruges. A mere riband of dry land
in that quarter was all of solid earth to be found in the environs of
Sluys.

The city itself stood upon firm soil, but that soil had been hollowed
into a vast system of subterranean magazines, not for warlike purposes,
but for cellars, as Sluys had been from a remote period the great
entrepot of foreign wines in the Netherlands.

While the eternal disputes between Leicester and the States were going on
both in Holland and in England, while the secret negotiations between
Alexander Farnese and Queen slowly proceeding at Brussels and Greenwich,
the Duke, notwithstanding the destitute condition of his troops, and the
famine which prevailed throughout the obedient Provinces, had succeeded
in bringing a little army of five thousand foot, and something less than
one thousand horse, into the field. A portion of this force he placed
under the command of the veteran La Motte. That distinguished campaigner
had assured the commander-in-chief that the reduction of the city would
be an easy achievement. Alexander soon declared that the enterprise was
the most difficult one that he had ever undertaken. Yet, two years
before, he had carried to its triumphant conclusion the famous siege of
Antwerp. He stationed his own division upon the isle of Kadzand, and
strengthened his camp by additionally fortifying those shadowy bulwarks,
by which the island, since the age of Dante, had entrenched itself
against the assaults of ocean.

On the other hand, La Motte, by the orders of his chief, had succeeded,
after a sharp struggle, in carrying the fort of St. Anne. A still more
important step was the surprising of Blankenburg, a small fortified place
on the coast, about midway between Ostend and Sluys, by which the
sea-communications with the former city for the relief of the beleaguered
town were interrupted.

Parma's demonstrations against Sluys had commenced in the early days of
June. The commandant of the place was Arnold de Groenevelt, a Dutch noble
of ancient lineage and approved valour. His force was, however, very
meagre, hardly numbering more than eight hundred, all Netherlanders,
but counting among its officers several most distinguished
personages-Nicholas de Maulde, Adolphus de Meetkerke and his younger
brother, Captain Heraugiere, and other well-known partisans.

On the threatening of danger the commandant had made application to Sir
William Russell, the worthy successor of Sir Philip Sidney in the
government of Flushing. He had received from him, in consequence, a
reinforcement of eight hundred English soldiers, under several eminent
chieftains, foremost among whom were the famous Welshman Roger Williams,
Captain Huntley, Baskerville, Sir Francis Vere, Ferdinando Gorges, and
Captain Hart. This combined force, however, was but a slender one; there
being but sixteen hundred men to protect two miles and a half of rampart,
besides the forts and ravelins.

But, such as it was, no time was lost in vain regrets. The sorties
against the besiegers were incessant and brilliant. On one occasion Sir
Francis Vere--conspicuous in the throng, in his red mantilla, and
supported only by one hundred Englishmen and Dutchmen, under Captain
Baskerville--held at bay eight companies of the famous Spanish legion
called the Terzo Veijo, at push of pike, took many prisoners, and forced
the Spaniards from the position in which they were entrenching
themselves. On the other hand, Farnese declared that he had never in his
life witnessed anything so unflinching as the courage of his troops;
employed as they were in digging trenches where the soil was neither land
nor water, exposed to inundation by the suddenly-opened sluices, to a
plunging fire from the forts, and to perpetual hand-to-hand combats with
an active and fearless foe, and yet pumping away in the coffer-dams-which
they had invented by way of obtaining a standing-ground for their
operations--as steadily and sedately as if engaged in purely pacific
employments. The besieged here inspired by a courage equally remarkable.
The regular garrison was small enough, but the burghers were courageous,
and even the women organized themselves into a band of pioneers. This
corps of Amazons, led by two female captains, rejoicing in the names of
'May in the Heart' and 'Catherine the Rose,' actually constructed an
important redoubt between the citadel and the rampart, which received, in
compliment to its builders, the appellation of 'Fort Venus.'

The demands of the beleaguered garrison, however, upon the States and
upon Leicester were most pressing. Captain Hart swam thrice out of the
city with letters to the States, to the governor-general, and to Queen
Elizabeth; and the same perilous feat was performed several times by a
Netherland officer. The besieged meant to sell their lives dearly, but it
was obviously impossible for them, with so slender a force, to resist a
very long time.

"Our ground is great and our men not so many," wrote Roger Williams to
his sovereign, "but we trust in God and our valour to defend it. . . .
We mean, with God's help, to make their downs red and black, and to
let out every acre of our ground for a thousand of their lives, besides
our own."

The Welshman was no braggart, and had proved often enough that he was
more given to performances than promises. "We doubt not your Majesty will
succour us," he said, "for our honest mind and plain dealing toward your
royal person and dear country;" adding, as a bit of timely advice, "Royal
Majesty, believe not over much your peacemakers. Had they their mind,
they will not only undo your friend's abroad, but, in the end, your royal
estate."

Certainly it was from no want of wholesome warning from wise statesmen
and blunt soldiers that the Queen was venturing into that labyrinth of
negotiation which might prove so treacherous. Never had been so
inopportune a moment for that princess to listen to the voice of him who
was charming her so wisely, while he was at the same moment battering the
place, which was to be the basis of his operations against her realm. Her
delay in sending forth Leicester, with at least a moderate contingent, to
the rescue, was most pernicious. The States--ignorant of the Queen's
exact relations with Spain, and exaggerating her disingenuousness into
absolute perfidy became on their own part exceedingly to blame. There is
no doubt whatever that both Hollanders and English men were playing into
the hands of Parma as adroitly as if he had actually directed their
movements. Deep were the denunciations of Leicester and his partisans by
the States' party, and incessant the complaints of the English and Dutch
troops shut up in Sluys against the inactivity or treachery of Maurice
and Hohenlo.

"If Count Maurice and his base brother, the Admiral (Justinus de Nassau),
be too young to govern, must Holland and Zeeland lose their countries and
towns to make them expert men of war?" asked Roger Williams.' A pregnant
question certainly, but the answer was, that by suspicion and jealousy,
rather than by youth and inexperience, the arms were paralyzed which
should have saved the garrison. "If these base fellows (the States) will
make Count Hollock their instrument," continued the Welshman; "to cover
and maintain their folly and lewd dealing, is it necessary for her royal
Majesty to suffer it? These are too great matters to be rehearsed by me;
but because I am in the town, and do resolve to, sign with my blood my
duty in serving my sovereign and country, I trust her Majesty will pardon
me." Certainly the gallant adventurer on whom devolved at least half the
work of directing the defence of the city, had a right to express his
opinions. Had he known the whole truth, however, those opinions would
have been modified. And he wrote amid the smoke and turmoil of daily and
nightly battle.

"Yesterday was the fifth sally we made," he observed: "Since I followed
the wars I never saw valianter captains, nor willinger soldiers. At
eleven o'clock the enemy entered the ditch of our fort, with trenches
upon wheels, artillery-proof. We sallied out, recovered their trenches,
slew the governor of Dam, two Spanish captains, with a number of others,
repulsed them into their artillery, kept the ditch until yesternight, and
will recover it, with God's help, this night, or else pay dearly for it.
. . . I care not what may become of me in this world, so that her
Majesty's honour,--with the rest of honourable good friends, will think
me an honest man."

No one ever doubted the simple-hearted Welshman's honesty, any more than
his valour; but he confided in the candour of others who were somewhat
more sophisticated than himself. When he warned her, royal Majesty
against the peace-makers, it was impossible for him to know that the
great peace-maker was Elizabeth herself.

After the expiration of a month the work had become most fatiguing. The
enemy's trenches had been advanced close to the ramparts, and desperate
conflicts were of daily occurrence. The Spanish mines, too, had been
pushed forward towards the extensive wine-caverns below the city, and the
danger of a vast explosion or of a general assault from beneath their
very feet, seemed to the inhabitants imminent. Eight days long, with
scarcely an intermission, amid those sepulchral vaults, dimly-lighted
with torches, Dutchmen, Englishmen, Spaniards, Italians, fought hand to
hand, with pike, pistol, and dagger, within the bowels of the earth.

Meantime the operations of the States were not commendable. The
ineradicable jealousy between the Leicestrians and the Barneveldians had
done its work. There was no hearty effort for the relief of Sluys. There
were suspicions that, if saved, the town would only be taken possession
of by the Earl of Leicester, as an additional vantage-point for coercing
the country into subjection to his arbitrary authority. Perhaps it would
be transferred to Philip by Elizabeth as part of the price for peace.
There was a growing feeling in Holland and Zeeland that as those
Provinces bore all the expense of the war, it was an imperative necessity
that they should limit their operations to the defence of their own soil.
The suspicions as to the policy of the English government were sapping
the very foundations of the alliance, and there was small disposition on
the part of the Hollanders, therefore, to protect what remained of
Flanders, and thus to strengthen the hands of her whom they were
beginning to look upon as an enemy.

Maurice and Hohenlo made, however, a foray into Brabant, by way of
diversion to the siege of Sluys, and thus compelled Farnese to detach a
considerable force under Haultepenne into that country, and thereby to
weaken himself. The expedition of Maurice was not unsuccessful. There was
some sharp skirmishing between Hohenlo and Haultepenne, in which the
latter, one of the most valuable and distinguished generals on the royal
side, was defeated and slain; the fort of Engel, near Bois-le-Duc, was
taken, and that important city itself endangered; but, on the other hand,
the contingent on which Leicester relied from the States to assist in
relieving Sluys was not forthcoming.

For, meantime, the governor-general had at last been sent back by his
sovereign to the post which he had so long abandoned. Leaving Leicester
House on the 4th July (N. S.), he had come on board the fleet two days
afterwards at Margate. He was bringing with him to the Netherlands three
thousand fresh infantry, and thirty thousand pounds, of which sum fifteen
thousand pounds had been at last wrung from Elizabeth as an extra loan,
in place of the sixty thousand pounds which the States had requested. As
he sailed past Ostend and towards Flushing, the Earl was witness to the
constant cannonading between the besieged city and the camp of Farnese,
and saw that the work could hardly be more serious; for in one short day
more shots were fired than had ever been known before in a single day in
all Parma's experience.

Arriving at Flushing, the governor-general was well received by the
inhabitants; but the mischief, which had been set a-foot six months
before, had done its work. The political intrigues, disputes, and the
conflicting party-organizations, have already been set in great detail
before the reader, in order that their effect might now be thoroughly
understood without--explanation. The governor-general came to Flushing at
a most critical moment. The fate of all the Spanish Netherlands, of
Sluys, and with it the whole of Philip and Parma's great project, were,
in Farnese's own language, hanging by a thread.

It would have been possible--had the transactions of the past six months,
so far as regarded Holland and England, been the reverse of what they had
been--to save the city; and, by a cordial and united effort, for the two
countries to deal the Spanish power such a blow, that summer, as would
have paralyzed it for a long time to come, and have placed both
commonwealths in comparative security.

Instead of all this, general distrust and mutual jealousy prevailed.
Leicester had, previously to his departure from England, summoned the
States to meet him at Dort upon his arrival. Not a soul appeared. Such of
the state-councillors as were his creatures came to him, and Count
Maurice made a visit of ceremony. Discussions about a plan for relieving
the siege became mere scenes of bickering and confusion. The officers
within Sluys were desirous that a fleet should force its way into the
harbour, while, at the same time, the English army, strengthened by the
contingent which Leicester had demanded from the States, should advance
against the Duke of Parma by land. It was, in truth, the only way to
succour the place. The scheme was quite practicable. Leicester
recommended it, the Hollanders seemed to favour it, Commandant Groenevelt
and Roger Williams urged it.

"I do assure you," wrote the honest Welshman to Leicester, "if you will
come afore this town, with as many galliots and as many flat-bottomed
boats as can cause two men-of-war to enter, they cannot stop their
passage, if, your mariners will do a quarter of their duty, as I saw them
do divers times. Before, they make their entrance, we will come with our
boats, and fight with the greatest part, and show them there is no such
great danger. Were it not for my wounded arm, I would be, in your first
boat to enter. Notwithstanding, I and other Englishmen will approach
their boats in such sort, that we will force them to give their saker of
artillery upon us. If, your Excellency will give ear unto those false
lewd fellows (the Captain meant the States-General), you shall lose great
opportunity. Within ten or twelve days the enemy will make his bridge
from Kadzand unto St. Anne, and force you to hazard battle before you
succour this town. Let my Lord Willoughby and Sir William Russell land at
Terhoven, right against Kadzand, with 4000, and entrench hard by the
waterside, where their boats can carry them victual and munition. They
may approach by trenches without engaging any dangerous fight . . . . We
dare not show the estate of this town more than we have done by Captain
Herte. We must fight this night within our rampart in the fort. You may
sure the world here are no Hamerts, but valiant captains and valiant
soldiers, such as, with God's help, had rather be buried in the place
than be disgraced in any point that belongs to such a number of
men-of-war."

But in vain did the governor of the place, stout Arnold Froenevelt,
assisted by the rough and direct eloquence of Roger Williams, urge upon
the Earl of Leicester and the States-General the necessity and the
practicability of the plan proposed. The fleet never entered the harbour.
There was no William of Orange to save Antwerp and Sluys, as Leyden had
once been saved, and his son was not old enough to unravel the web of
intrigue by which he was surrounded, or to direct the whole energies of
the commonwealth towards an all-important end. Leicester had lost all
influence, all authority, nor were his military abilities equal to the
occasion, even if he had been cordially obeyed.

Ten days longer the perpetual battles on the ramparts and within the
mines continued, the plans conveyed by the bold swimmer, Captain Hart,
for saving the place were still unattempted, and the city was tottering
to its fall. "Had Captain Hart's words taken place," wrote Williams,
bitterly, "we had been succoured, or, if my letters had prevailed, our
pain had been, no peril: All wars are best executed in sight of the enemy
. . . . The last night of June (10th July, N. S.) the enemy entered the
ditches of our fort in three several places, continuing in fight in mine
and on rampart for the space of eight nights. The ninth; he battered us
furiously, made a breach of five score paces suitable for horse and man.
That day be attempted us in all, places with a general, assault for the
space of almost five hours."

The citadel was now lost. It had been gallantly defended; and it was
thenceforth necessary to hold the town itself, in the very teeth of an
overwhelming force. "We were forced to quit the fort," said-Sir Roger,
"leaving nothing behind us but bare earth. But here we do remain
resolutely to be buried, rather than to be dishonoured in the least
point."

It was still possible for the fleet to succour the city. "I do assure
you," said-Williams, "that your captains and mariners do not their duty
unless they enter with no great loss; but you must consider that no wars
may be made without danger. What you mean to do, we beseech you to do
with expedition, and persuade yourself that we will die valiant,
honest-men. Your Excellency will do well to thank the old President de
Meetkerk far the honesty and valour of his son."

Count Maurice and his natural brother, the Admiral, now undertook the
succour by sea; but, according to the Leicestrians, they continued
dilatory and incompetent. At any rate, it is certain that they did
nothing. At last, Parma had completed the bridge; whose construction, was
so much dreaded: The haven was now enclosed by a strong wooden structure,
resting an boats, on a plan similar to that of the famous bridge with
which he had two years before bridled the Scheldt, and Sluys was thus
completely shut in from the sea. Fire-ships were now constructed, by
order of Leicester--feeble imitations: of the floating volcanoes of
Gianihelli--and it was agreed that they should be sent against the bridge
with the first flood-tide. The propitious moment never seemed to arrive,
however, and, meantime, the citizens of Flushing, of their own accord,
declared that they would themselves equip and conduct a fleet into the
harbour of Sluys. But the Nassaus are said to have expressed great
disgust that low-born burghers should presume to meddle with so important
an enterprise, which of right belonged to their family. Thus, in the
midst of these altercations and contradictory schemes; the month of July
wore away, and the city was reduced to its last gasp.

For the cannonading had thoroughly done its work. Eighteen days long the
burghers and what remained of the garrison had lived upon the ramparts,
never leaving their posts, but eating, sleeping, and fighting day and
night. Of the sixteen hundred Dutch and English but seven hundred
remained. At last a swimming messenger was sent out by the besieged with
despatches for the States, to the purport that the city could hold out no
longer. A breach in the wall had been effected wide enough to admit a
hundred men abreast. Sluys had, in truth, already fallen, and it was
hopeless any longer to conceal the fact. If not relieved within a day or
two, the garrison would be obliged to surrender; but they distinctly
stated, that they had all pledged themselves, soldiers and burghers, men,
women, and all, unless the most honourable terms were granted, to set
fire to the city in a hundred places, and then sally, in mass, from the
gates, determined to fight their way through, or be slain in the attempt.
The messenger who carried these despatches was drowned, but the letters
were saved, and fell into Parma's hands.

At the same moment, Leicester was making, at last, an effort to raise the
siege. He brought three or four thousand men from Flushing, and landed
them at Ostend; thence he marched to Blanckenburg. He supposed that if he
could secure that little port, and thus cut the Duke completely off from
the sea, he should force the Spanish commander to raise (or at least
suspend) the siege in order to give him battle. Meantime, an opportunity
would be afforded for Maurice and Hohenlo to force an entrance into the
harbour of Sluys, In this conjecture he was quite correct; but
unfortunately he did not thoroughly carry out his own scheme. If the Earl
had established himself at Blanckenburg, it would have been necessary for
Parma--as he himself subsequently declared-to raise the siege. Leicester
carried the outposts of the place successfully; but, so soon as Farnese
was aware of this demonstration, he detached a few companies with orders
to skirmish with the enemy until the commander-in-chief, with as large a
force as he could spare, should come in person to his support. To the
unexpected gratification of Farnese, however, no sooner did the advancing
Spaniards come in sight, than the Earl, supposing himself invaded by the
whole of the Duke's army, under their famous general, and not feeling
himself strong enough for such an encounter, retired, with great
precipitation, to his boats, re-embarked his troops with the utmost
celerity, and set sail for Ostend.

The next night had been fixed for sending forth the fireships against the
bridge, and for the entrance of the fleet into the harbour. One fire-ship
floated a little way towards the bridge and exploded ingloriously.
Leicester rowed in his barge about the fleet, superintending the
soundings and markings of the channel, and hastening the preparations;
but, as the decisive moment approached, the pilots who had promised to
conduct the expedition came aboard his pinnace and positively refused to
have aught to do with the enterprise, which they now declared an
impossibility. The Earl was furious with the pilots, with Maurice, with
Hohenlo, with Admiral de Nassau, with the States, with all the world. He
stormed and raged and beat his breast, but all in vain. His ferocity
would have been more useful the day before, in face of the Spaniards,
than now, against the Zeeland mariners: but the invasion by the fleet
alone, unsupported by a successful land-operation, was pronounced
impracticable, and very soon the relieving fleet was seen by the
distressed garrison sailing away from the neighbourhood, and it soon
disappeared beneath the horizon. Their fate was sealed. They entered into
treaty with Parma, who, secretly instructed, as has been seen, of their
desperate intentions, in case any but the most honourable conditions were
offered, granted those conditions. The garrison were allowed to go out
with colours displayed, lighted matches, bullet in mouth, and with bag
and baggage. Such burghers as chose to conform to the government of Spain
and the church of Rome; were permitted to remain. Those who preferred to
depart were allowed reasonable time to make their necessary arrangements.

"We have hurt and slain very near eight hundred," said Sir Roger
Williams. "We had not powder to fight two hours. There was a breach of
almost four hundred paces, another of three score, another of fifty,
saltable for horse and men. We had lain continually eighteen nights all
on the breaches. He gave us honourable composition. Had the state of
England lain on it, our lives could not defend the place, three hours,
for half the rampires were his, neither had we any pioneers but
ourselves. We were sold by their negligence who are now angry with us."

On the 5th August Parma entered the city. Roger Williams with his gilt
morion rather battered, and his great plume of feathers much
bedraggled was a witness to the victor's entrance. Alexander saluted
respectfully an officer so well known to him by reputation, and with some
complimentary remarks urged him to enter the Spanish service, and to take
the field against the Turks.

"My sword," replied the doughty Welshman, "belongs to her royal Majesty,
Queen Elizabeth, above and before all the world. When her Highness has no
farther use for it, it is at the service of the King of Navarre."
Considering himself sufficiently answered, the Duke then requested Sir
Roger to point out Captain Baskerville--very conspicuous by a greater
plume of feathers than even that of the Welshman himself--and embraced
that officer; when presented to him, before all his staff. "There serves
no prince in Europe a braver man than this Englishman," cried Alexander,
who well knew how to appreciate high military qualities, whether in his
own army or in that of his foes.

The garrison then retired, Sluy's became Spanish, and a capacious
harbour, just opposite the English coast, was in Parma's hands. Sir Roger
Williams was despatched by Leicester to bear the melancholy tidings to
his government, and the Queen was requested to cherish the honest
Welshman, and at least to set him on horseback; for he was of himself not
rich enough to buy even a saddle. It is painful to say that the captain
did not succeed in getting the horse.

The Earl was furious in his invectives against Hohenlo, against Maurice,
against the States, uniformly ascribing the loss of Sluy's to negligence
and faction. As for Sir John Norris, he protested that his misdeeds in
regard to this business would, in King Henry VIII.'s time, have "cost him
his pate."

The loss of Sluys was the beginning and foreshadowed the inevitable end
of Leicester's second administration. The inaction of the States was one
of the causes of its loss. Distrust of Leicester was the cause of the
inaction. Sir William Russell, Lord Willoughby, Sir William Pelham, and
other English officers, united in statements exonerating the Earl from
all blame for the great failure to relieve the place. At the same time,
it could hardly be maintained that his expedition to Blanckenburg and his
precipitate retreat on the first appearance of the enemy were proofs of
consummate generalship. He took no blame to himself for the disaster; but
he and his partisans were very liberal in their denunciations of the
Hollanders, and Leicester was even ungrateful enough to censure Roger
Williams, whose life had been passed, as it were, at push of pike with
the Spaniards, and who was one of his own most devoted adherents.

The Queen was much exasperated when informed of the fall of the city. She
severely denounced the Netherlanders, and even went so far as to express
dissatisfaction with the great Leicester himself. Meantime, Farnese was
well satisfied with his triumph, for he had been informed that "all
England was about to charge upon him," in order to relieve the place. All
England, however, had been but feebly represented by three thousand raw
recruits with a paltry sum of L15,000 to help pay a long bill of arrears.

Wilkes and Norris had taken their departure from the Netherlands before
the termination of the siege, and immediately after the return of
Leicester. They did not think it expedient to wait upon the governor
before leaving the country, for they had very good reason to believe that
such an opportunity of personal vengeance would be turned to account by
the Earl. Wilkes had already avowed his intention of making his escape
without being dandled with leave-takings, and no doubt he was right. The
Earl was indignant when he found that they had given him the slip, and
denounced them with fresh acrimony to the Queen, imploring her to wreak
full measure of wrath upon their heads; and he well knew that his
entreaties would meet with the royal attention.

Buckhurst had a parting interview with the governor-general, at which
Killigrew and Beale, the new English counsellors who had replaced Wilkes
and Clerk, were present. The conversation was marked by insolence on the
part of Leicester, and by much bitterness on that of Buckhurst. The
parting envoy refused to lay before the Earl a full statement of the
grievances between the States-General and the governor, on the ground
that Leicester had no right to be judge in his own cause. The matter, he
said, should be laid before the Queen in council, and by her august
decision he was willing to abide. On every other subject he was ready to
give any information in his power. The interview lasted a whole forenoon
and afternoon. Buckhurst, according to his own statement, answered,
freely all questions put to him by Leicester and his counsellors; while,
if the report of those personages is to be trusted, he passionately
refused to make any satisfactory communication. Under the circumstances,
however, it may well be believed that no satisfactory communication was
possible.

On arriving in England, Sir John Norris was forbidden to come into her
Majesty's presence, Wilkes was thrown into the Fleet Prison, and
Buckhurst was confined in his own country house.

Norris had done absolutely nothing, which, even by implication, could be
construed into a dereliction of duty; but it was sufficient that he was
hated by Leicester, who had not scrupled, over and over again, to
denounce this first general of England as a fool, a coward, a knave, and
a liar.

As for Wilkes, his only crime was a most conscientious discharge of his
duty, in the course of which he had found cause to modify his abstract
opinions in regard to the origin of sovereignty, and had come reluctantly
to the conviction that Leicester's unpopularity had made perhaps another
governor-general desirable. But this admission had only been made
privately and with extreme caution; while, on the other hand, he had
constantly defended the absent Earl, with all the eloquence at his
command. But the hatred of Leicester was sufficient to consign this able
and painstaking public servant to a prison; and thus was a man of worth,
honour, and talent, who had been placed in a position of grave
responsibility and immense fatigue, and who had done his duty like an
upright, straight-forward Englishman, sacrificed to the wrath of a
favourite. "Surely, Mr. Secretary," said the Earl, "there was never a
falser creature, a more seditious wretch, than Wilkes. He is a villain, a
devil, without faith or religion."

As for Buckhurst himself, it is unnecessary to say a word in his defence.
The story of his mission has been completely detailed from the most
authentic and secret documents, and there is not a single line written to
the Queen, to her ministers, to the States, to any public body or to any
private friend, in England or elsewhere, that does not reflect honour on
his name. With sagacity, without passion, with unaffected sincerity, he
had unravelled the complicated web of Netherland politics, and, with
clear vision, had penetrated the designs of the mighty enemy whom England
and Holland had to encounter in mortal combat. He had pointed out the
errors of the Earl's administration--he had fearlessly, earnestly, but
respectfully deplored the misplaced parsimony of the Queen--he had warned
her against the delusions which had taken possession of her keen
intellect--he had done--his best to place the governor-general upon good
terms with the States and with his sovereign; but it had been impossible
for him to further his schemes for the acquisition of a virtual
sovereignty over the Netherlands, or to extinguish the suspicions of the
States that the Queen was secretly negotiating with the Spaniard, when he
knew those suspicions to be just.

For deeds, such as these, the able and high-minded ambassador, the
accomplished statesman and poet, was forbidden to approach his
sovereign's presence, and was ignominiously imprisoned in his own house
until the death of Leicester. After that event, Buckhurst emerged from
confinement, received the order of the garter and the Earldom of Dorset,
and on the death of Burghley succeeded that statesman in the office of
Lord-Treasurer. Such was the substantial recognition of the merits of a
man who was now disgraced for the conscientious discharge of the most
important functions that had yet been confided to him.

It would be a thankless and superfluous task to give the details of the
renewed attempt, during a few months, made by Leicester to govern the
Provinces. His second administration consisted mainly of the same
altercations with the States, on the subject of sovereignty, the same
mutual recriminations and wranglings, that had characterized the period
of his former rule. He rarely met the States in person, and almost never
resided at the Hague, holding his court at Middleburg, Dort, or Utrecht,
as his humour led him.

The one great feature of the autumn of 1587 was the private negotiation
between Elizabeth and the Duke of Parma.

Before taking a glance at the nature of those secrets, however, it is
necessary to make a passing allusion to an event which might have seemed
likely to render all pacific communications with Spain, whether secret or
open, superfluous.

For while so much time had been lost in England and Holland, by
misunderstandings and jealousies, there was one Englishman who had not
been losing time. In the winter and early spring of 1587, the Devonshire
skipper had organized that expedition which he had come to the
Netherlands, the preceding autumn, to discuss. He meant to aim a blow at
the very heart of that project which Philip was shrouding with so much
mystery, and which Elizabeth was attempting to counteract by so much
diplomacy.

On the 2nd April, Francis Drake sailed from Plymouth with four ships
belonging to the Queen, and with twenty-four furnished by the merchants
of London, and other private individuals. It was a bold buccaneering
expedition--combining chivalrous enterprise with the chance of enormous
profit--which was most suited to the character of English adventurers at
that expanding epoch. For it was by England, not by Elizabeth, that the
quarrel with Spain was felt to be a mortal one. It was England, not its
sovereign, that was instinctively arming, at all points, to grapple with
the great enemy of European liberty. It was the spirit of self-help, of
self-reliance, which was prompting the English nation to take the great
work of the age into its own hands. The mercantile instinct of the nation
was flattered with the prospect of gain, the martial quality of its
patrician and of its plebeian blood was eager to confront danger, the
great Protestant mutiny. Against a decrepit superstition in combination
with an aggressive tyranny, all impelled the best energies of the English
people against Spain, as the embodiment of all which was odious and
menacing to them, and with which they felt that the life and death
struggle could not long be deferred.

And of these various tendencies, there were no more fitting
representatives than Drake and Frobisher, Hawkins and Essex, Cavendish
and Grenfell, and the other privateersmen of the sixteenth century. The
same greed for danger, for gold, and for power, which, seven centuries
before, had sent the Norman race forth to conquer all Christendom, was
now sending its Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman kindred to take possession
of the old world and the new.

"The wind commands me away," said Drake on the 2nd April, 1587; "our ship
is under sail. God grant that we may so live in His fear, that the enemy
may have cause to say that God doth fight for her Majesty abroad as well
as at home."

But he felt that he was not without enemies behind him, for the strong
influence brought to bear against the bold policy which Walsingham
favoured, was no secret to Drake. "If we deserve ill," said he, "let us
be punished. If we discharge our duty, in doing our best, it is a hard
measure to be reported ill by those who will either keep their fingers
out of the fire; or who too well affect that alteration in our government
which I hope in God they shall never live to see." In latitude 40 deg. he
spoke two Zeeland ships, homeward bound, and obtained information of
great warlike stores accumulating in Cadiz and Lisbon. His mind was
instantly made up. Fortunately, the pinnace which the Queen despatched
with orders to stay his hand in the very act of smiting her great
adversary, did not sail fast enough to overtake the swift corsair and his
fleet. Sir Francis had too promptly obeyed the wind, when it "commanded
him away," to receive the royal countermand. On the 19th April, the
English ships entered the harbour of Cadiz, and destroyed ten thousand
tons of shipping, with their contents, in the very face of a dozen great
galleys, which the nimble English vessels soon drove under their forts
for shelter. Two nights and a day, Sir Francis, that "hater of idleness,"
was steadily doing his work; unloading, rifling, scuttling, sinking, and
burning those transportships which contained a portion of the
preparations painfully made by Philip for his great enterprise.
Pipe-staves and spikes, horse-shoes and saddles, timber and cutlasses,
wine, oil, figs, raisins, biscuits, and flour, a miscellaneous mass of
ingredients long brewing for the trouble of England, were emptied into
the harbour, and before the second night, the blaze of a hundred and
fifty burning vessels played merrily upon the grim walls of Philip's
fortresses. Some of these ships were of the largest size then known.
There was one belonging to Marquis Santa Cruz of 1500 tons, there was a
Biscayan of 1200, there were several others of 1000, 800, and of nearly
equal dimensions.

Thence sailing for Lisbon, Sir Francis, captured and destroyed a hundred
vessels more, appropriating what was portable of the cargoes, and
annihilating the rest. At Lisbon, Marquis Santa Cruz, lord high admiral
of Spain and generalissimo of the invasion, looked on, mortified and
amazed, but offering no combat, while the Plymouth privateersman swept
the harbour of the great monarch of the world. After thoroughly
accomplishing his work, Drake sent a message to Santa Cruz, proposing to
exchange his prisoners for such Englishmen as might then be confined in
Spain. But the marquis denied all prisoners. Thereupon Sir Francis
decided to sell his captives to the Moors, and to appropriate the
proceeds of the sale towards the purchase of English slaves put of the
same bondage. Such was the fortune of war in the sixteenth century.

Having dealt these great blows, Drake set sail again from Lisbon, and,
twenty leagues from St. Michaels, fell in with one of those famous
Spanish East Indiamen, called carracks, then the great wonder of the
seas. This vessel, San Felipe by name, with a cargo of extraordinary
value, was easily captured, and Sir Francis now determined to return. He
had done a good piece of work in a few weeks, but he was by no means of
opinion that he had materially crippled the enemy. On the contrary, he
gave the government warning as to the enormous power and vast
preparations of Spain. "There would be forty thousand men under way ere
long," he said, "well equipped and provisioned;" and he stated, as the
result of personal observation, that England could not be too energetic
in, its measures of resistance. He had done something with his little
fleet, but he was no braggart, and had no disposition to underrate the
enemy's power. "God make us all thankful again and again," he observed,
"that we have, although it be little, made a beginning upon the coast of
Spain." And modestly as he spoke of what he had accomplished, so with
quiet self-reliance did he allude to the probable consequences. It was
certain, he intimated, that the enemy would soon seek revenge with all
his strength, and "with all the devices and traps he could devise." This
was a matter which could not be doubted. "But," said Sir Francis, "I
thank them much that they have staid so long, and when they come they
shall be but the sons of mortal men."

Perhaps the most precious result of the expedition, was the lesson which
the Englishmen had thus learned in handling the great galleys of Spain.
It might soon stand them in stead. The little war-vessels which had come
from Plymouth, had sailed round and round these vast unwieldy hulks, and
had fairly driven them off the field, with very slight damage to
themselves. Sir Francis had already taught the mariners of England, even
if he had done nothing else by this famous Cadiz expedition, that an
armada, of Spain might not be so invincible as men imagined.

Yet when the conqueror returned from his great foray, he received no
laurels. His sovereign met him, not with smiles, but with frowns and cold
rebukes. He had done his duty, and helped to save her endangered throne,
but Elizabeth was now the dear friend of Alexander Farnese, and in
amicable correspondence with his royal master. This "little" beginning on
the coast of Spain might not seem to his Catholic Majesty a matter to be
thankful for, nor be likely to further a pacification, and so Elizabeth
hastened to disavow her Plymouth captain.'

   ["True it is, and I avow it on my faith, her Majesty did send a ship
   expressly before he went to Cadiz with a message by letters charging
   Sir Francis Drake not to show any act of hostility, which messenger
   by contrary winds could never come to the place where he was, but
   was constrained to come home, and hearing of Sir F. Drake's actions,
   her Majesty commanded the party that returned to have been punished,
   but that he acquitted himself by the oaths of himself and all his
   company. And so unwitting yea unwilling to her Majesty those
   actions were committed by Sir F. Drake, for the which her Majesty is
   as yet greatly offended with him." Burghley to Andreas de Loo, 18
   July, 1587. Flanders Correspondence.' (S. P. Office MS.)]

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     The blaze of a hundred and fifty burning vessels
     We were sold by their negligence who are now angry with us



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 54, 1587



CHAPTER XVII.

   Secret Treaty between Queen and Parma--Excitement and Alarm in the
   States--Religious Persecution in England--Queen's Sincerity toward
   Spain--Language and Letters of Parma--Negotiations of De Loo--
   English Commissioners appointed--Parma's affectionate Letter to the
   Queen--Philip at his Writing-Table--His Plots with Parma against
   England--Parma's secret Letters to the King--Philip's Letters to
   Parma Wonderful Duplicity of Philip--His sanguine Views as to
   England--He is reluctant to hear of the Obstacles--and imagines
   Parma in England--But Alexander's Difficulties are great--He
   denounces Philip's wild Schemes--Walsingham aware of the Spanish
   Plot--which the States well understand--Leicester's great
   Unpopularity--The Queen warned against Treating--Leicester's Schemes
   against Barneveld--Leicestrian Conspiracy at Leyden--The Plot to
   seize the City discovered--Three Ringleaders sentenced to Death--
   Civil War in France--Victory gained by Navarre, and one by Guise--
   Queen recalls Leicester--Who retires on ill Terms with the States--
   Queen warned as to Spanish Designs--Result's of Leicester's
   Administration.

The course of Elizabeth towards the Provinces, in the matter of the
peace, was certainly not ingenuous, but it was not absolutely deceitful.
She concealed and denied the negotiations, when the Netherland statesmen
were perfectly aware of their existence, if not of their tenour; but she
was not prepared, as they suspected, to sacrifice their liberties and
their religion, as the price of her own reconciliation with Spain. Her
attitude towards the States was imperious, over-bearing, and abusive. She
had allowed the Earl of Leicester to return, she said, because of her
love for the poor and oppressed people, but in many of her official and
in all her private communications, she denounced the men who governed
that people as ungrateful wretches and impudent liars!

These were the corrosives and vinegar which she thought suitable for the
case; and the Earl was never weary in depicting the same statesmen as
seditious, pestilent, self-seeking, mischief-making traitors. These
secret, informal negotiations, had been carried on during most of the
year 1587. It was the "comptroller's peace;", as Walsingham
contemptuously designated the attempted treaty; for it will be
recollected that Sir James Croft, a personage of very mediocre abilities,
had always been more busy than any other English politician in these
transactions. He acted; however, on the inspiration of Burghley, who drew
his own from the fountainhead.

But it was in vain for the Queen to affect concealment. The States knew
everything which was passing, before Leicester knew. His own secret
instructions reached the Netherlands before he did. His secretary,
Junius, was thrown into prison, and his master's letter taken from him,
before there had been any time to act upon its treacherous suggestions.
When the Earl wrote letters with, his own hand to his sovereign, of so
secret a nature that he did not even retain a single copy for himself,
for fear of discovery, he found, to his infinite disgust, that the States
were at once provided with an authentic transcript of every line that he
had written. It was therefore useless, almost puerile, to deny facts
which were quite as much within the knowledge of the Netherlanders as of
himself. The worst consequence of the concealment was, that a deeper
treachery was thought possible than actually existed. "The fellow they
call Barneveld," as Leicester was in the habit of designating one of the
first statesmen in Europe, was perhaps justified, knowing what he did, in
suspecting more. Being furnished with a list of commissioners, already
secretly agreed upon between the English and Spanish governments, to
treat for peace, while at the same time the Earl was beating his breast,
and flatly denying that there was any intention of treating with Parma at
all, it was not unnatural that he should imagine a still wider and deeper
scheme than really existed, against the best interests of his country. He
may have expressed, in private conversation, some suspicions of this
nature, but there is direct evidence that he never stated in public
anything which was not afterwards proved to be matter of fact, or of
legitimate inference from the secret document which had come into his
hands. The Queen exhausted herself in opprobious language against those
who dared to impute to her a design to obtain possession of the cities
and strong places of the Netherlands, in order to secure a position in
which to compel the Provinces into obedience to her policy. She urged,
with much logic, that as she had refused the sovereignty of the whole
country when offered to her, she was not likely to form surreptitious
schemes to make herself mistress of a portion of it. On the other hand,
it was very obvious, that to accept the sovereignty of Philip's
rebellious Provinces, was to declare war upon Philip; whereas, had she
been pacifically inclined towards that sovereign, and treacherously
disposed towards the Netherlands, it would be a decided advantage to her
to have those strong places in her power. But the suspicions as to her
good faith were exaggerated. As to the intentions of Leicester, the
States were justified in their almost unlimited distrust. It is very
certain that both in 1586, and again, at this very moment, when Elizabeth
was most vehement in denouncing such aspersions on her government, he had
unequivocally declared to her his intention of getting possession, if
possible, of several cities, and of the whole Island of Walcheren, which,
together with the cautionary towns already in his power, would enable the
Queen to make good terms for herself with Spain, "if the worst came to
the, worst." It will also soon be shown that he did his best to carry
these schemes into execution. There is no evidence, however, and no
probability, that he had received the royal commands to perpetrate such a
crime.

The States believed also, that in those secret negotiations with Parma
the Queen was disposed to sacrifice the religious interests of the
Netherlands. In this they were mistaken. But they had reason for their
mistake, because the negotiator De Loo, had expressly said, that, in her
overtures to Farnese, she had abandoned that point altogether. If this
had been so, it would have simply been a consent on the part of
Elizabeth, that the Catholic religion and the inquisition should be
re-established in the Provinces, to the exclusion of every other form of
worship or polity. In truth, however, the position taken by her Majesty
on the subject was as fair as could be reasonably expected. Certainly she
was no advocate for religious liberty. She chose that her own subjects
should be Protestants, because she had chosen to be a Protestant herself,
and because it was an incident of her supremacy, to dictate uniformity of
creed to all beneath her sceptre. No more than her father, who sent to
the stake or gallows heretics to transubstantiation as well as believers
in the Pope, had Elizabeth the faintest idea of religious freedom.
Heretics to the English Church were persecuted, fined, imprisoned,
mutilated, and murdered, by sword, rope, and fire. In some respects, the
practice towards those who dissented from Elizabeth was more immoral and
illogical, even if less cruel, than that to which those were subjected
who rebelled against Sixtus. The Act of Uniformity required Papists to
assist at the Protestant worship, but wealthy Papists could obtain
immunity by an enormous fine. The Roman excuse to destroy bodies in order
to save souls, could scarcely be alleged by a Church which might be
bribed into connivance at heresy, and which derived a revenue from the
very nonconformity for which humbler victims were sent to the gallows. It
would, however, be unjust in the extreme to overlook the enormous
difference in the amount of persecution, exercised respectively by the
Protestant and the Roman Church. It is probable that not many more than
two hundred Catholics were executed as such, in Elizabeth's reign, and
this was ten score too many. But what was this against eight hundred
heretics burned, hanged, and drowned, in one Easter week by Alva, against
the eighteen thousand two hundred went to stake and scaffold, as he
boasted during his administration, against the vast numbers of
Protestants, whether they be counted by tens or by hundreds of thousands,
who perished by the edicts of Charles V., in the Netherlands, or in the
single Saint Bartholomew Massacre in France? Moreover, it should never be
forgotten--from undue anxiety for impartiality--that most of the
Catholics who were executed in England, suffered as conspirators rather
than as heretics. No foreign potentate, claiming to be vicegerent of
Christ, had denounced Philip as a bastard and, usurper, or had, by means
of a blasphemous fiction, which then was a terrible reality, severed the
bonds of allegiance by which his subjects were held, cut him off from all
communion with his fellow-creatures, and promised temporal rewards and a
crown of glory in heaven to those who should succeed in depriving him of
throne and life. Yet this was the position of Elizabeth. It was war to
the knife between her and Rome, declared by Rome itself; nor was there
any doubt whatever that the Seminary Priests--seedlings transplanted from
foreign nurseries, which were as watered gardens for the growth of
treason--were a perpetually organized band of conspirators and assassins,
with whom it was hardly an act of excessive barbarity to deal in somewhat
summary fashion. Doubtless it would have been a more lofty policy, and a
far more intelligent one, to extend towards the Catholics of England, who
as a body were loyal to their country, an ample toleration. But it could
scarcely be expected that Elizabeth Tudor, as imperious and absolute by
temperament as her father had ever been, would be capable of embodying
that great principle.

When, in the preliminaries to the negotiations of 1587, therefore, it was
urged on the part of Spain, that the Queen was demanding a concession of
religious liberty from Philip to the Netherlanders which she refused to
English heretics, and that he only claimed the same right of dictating a
creed to his subjects which she exercised in regard to her own, Lord
Burghley replied that the statement was correct. The Queen permitted--it
was true--no man to profess any religion but the one which she professed.
At the same time it was declared to be unjust, that those persons in the
Netherlands who had been for years in the habit of practising Protestant
rites, should be suddenly compelled, without instruction, to abandon that
form of worship. It was well known that many would rather die than submit
to such oppression, and it was affirmed that the exercise of this cruelty
would be resisted by her to the uttermost. There was no hint of the
propriety--on any logical basis--of leaving the question of creed as a
matter between man and his Maker, with which any dictation on the part of
crown or state was an act of odious tyranny. There was not even a
suggestion that the Protestant doctrines were true, and the Catholic
doctrines false. The matter was merely taken up on the 'uti possidetis'
principle, that they who had acquired the fact of Protestant worship had
a right to retain it, and could not justly be deprived of it, except by
instruction and persuasion. It was also affirmed that it was not the
English practice to inquire into men's consciences. It would have been
difficult, however, to make that very clear to Philip's comprehension,
because, if men, women, and children, were scourged with rods, imprisoned
and hanged, if they refused to conform publicly to a ceremony at which
their consciences revolted-unless they had money enough to purchase
non-conformity--it seemed to be the practice to inquire very effectively
into their consciences.

But if there was a certain degree of disingenuousness on the part of
Elizabeth towards the States, her attitude towards Parma was one of
perfect sincerity. A perusal of the secret correspondence leaves no doubt
whatever on that point. She was seriously and fervently desirous of peace
with Spain. On the part of Farnese and his master, there was the most
unscrupulous mendacity, while the confiding simplicity and truthfulness
of the Queen in these negotiations was almost pathetic. Especially she
declared her trust in the loyal and upright character of Parma, in which
she was sure of never being disappointed. It is only doing justice to
Alexander to say that he was as much deceived by her frankness as she by
his falsehood. It never entered his head that a royal personage and the
trusted counsellors of a great kingdom could be telling the truth in a
secret international transaction, and he justified the industry with
which his master and himself piled fiction upon fiction, by their utter
disbelief in every word which came to them from England.

The private negotiations had been commenced, or rather had been renewed,
very early in February of this year. During the whole critical period
which preceded and followed the execution of Mary, in the course of which
the language of Elizabeth towards the States had been so shrewish, there
had been the gentlest diplomatic cooing between Farnese and herself. It
was--Dear Cousin, you know how truly I confide in your sincerity, how
anxious I am that this most desirable peace should be arranged; and it
was--Sacred Majesty, you know how much joy I feel in your desire for the
repose of the world, and for a solid peace between your Highness and the
King my master; how much I delight in concord--how incapable I am by
ambiguous words of spinning out these transactions, or of deceiving your
Majesty, and what a hatred I feel for steel, fire, and blood.'

Four or five months rolled on, during which Leicester had been wasting
time in England, Farnese wasting none before Sluys, and the States doing
their best to counteract the schemes both of their enemy and of their
ally. De Loo made a visit, in July, to the camp of the Duke of Parma, and
received the warmest assurances of his pacific dispositions. "I am much
pained," said Alexander, "with this procrastination. I am so full of
sincerity myself, that it seems to me a very strange matter, this hostile
descent by Drake upon the coasts of Spain. The result of such courses
will be, that the King will end by being exasperated, and I shall be
touched in my honour--so great is the hopes I have held out of being able
to secure a peace. I have ever been and I still am most anxious for
concord, from the affection I bear to her sacred Majesty. I have been
obliged, much against my will, to take the field again. I could wish now
that our negotiations might terminate before the arrival of my fresh
troops, namely, 9000 Spaniards and 9000 Italians, which, with Walloons,
Germans, and Lorrainers, will give me an effective total of 30,000
soldiers. Of this I give you my word as a gentleman. Go, then, Andrew de
Loo," continued the Duke, "write to her sacred Majesty, that I desire to
make peace; and to serve her faithfully; and that I shall not change my
mind, even in case of any great success, for I like to proceed rather by
the ways of love than of rigour and effusion of bleed."

"I can assure you, oh, most serene Duke," replied Andrew, "that the most
serene Queen is in the very same dispositions with yourself."

"Excellent well then," said the Duke, "we shall come to an agreement at
once, and the sooner the deputies on both sides are appointed the
better."

A feeble proposition was then made, on the part of the peace-loving
Andrew, that the hostile operations against Sluy's should be at once
terminated. But this did not seem so clear to the most serene Duke. He
had gone to great expense in that business; and he had not built bridges,
erected forts, and dug mines, only to abandon them for a few fine words,
Fine words were plenty, but they raised no sieges. Meantime these pacific
and gentle murmurings from Farnese's camp had lulled the Queen into
forgetfulness of Roger Williams and Arnold Groenevelt and their men,
fighting day and night in trench and mine during that critical midsummer.
The wily tongue of the Duke had been more effective than his batteries in
obtaining the much-coveted city. The Queen obstinately held back her men
and money, confident of effecting a treaty, whether Sluys fell or not.
Was it strange that the States should be distrustful of her intentions,
and, in their turn, become neglectful of their duty?

And thus summer wore into autumn, Sluys fell, the States and their
governor-general were at daggers-drawn, the Netherlanders were full of
distrust with regard to England, Alexander hinted doubts as to the
Queen's sincerity; the secret negotiations, though fertile in suspicions,
jealousies, delays, and such foul weeds, had produced no wholesome fruit,
and the excellent De Loo became very much depressed. At last a letter
from Burghley relieved his drooping spirits. From the most disturbed and
melancholy man in the world, he protested, he had now become merry and
quiet. He straightway went off to the Duke of Parma, with the letter in
his pocket, and translated it to him by candlelight, as he was careful to
state, as an important point in his narrative. And Farnese was fuller of
fine phrases than ever.

"There is no cause whatever," said he, in a most loving manner, "to doubt
my sincerity. Yet the Lord-Treasurer intimates that the most serene Queen
is disposed so to do. But if I had not the very best intentions, and
desires for peace, I should never have made the first overtures. If I did
not wish a pacific solution, what in the world forced me to do what I
have done? On the contrary, it is I that have reason to suspect the other
parties with their long delays, by which they have made me lose the best
part of the summer."

He then commented on the strong expressions in the English letters, as to
the continuance of her Majesty in her pious resolutions; observed that he
was thoroughly advised of the disputes between the Earl of Leicester and
the States; and added that it was very important for the time indicated
by the Queen.

"Whatever is to be done," said he, in conclusion, "let it be done
quickly;" and with that he said he would go and eat a bit of supper.

"And may I communicate Lord Burghley's letter to any one else?" asked De
Loo.

"Yes, yes, to the Seigneur de Champagny, and to my secretary Cosimo,"
answered his Highness.

So the merchant negotiator proceeded at once to the mansion of Champagny,
in company with the secretary Cosimo. There was a long conference, in
which De Loo was informed of many things which he thoroughly believed,
and faithfully transmitted to the court of Elizabeth. Alexander had done
his best, they said, to delay the arrival of his fresh troops. He had
withdrawn from the field, on various pretexts, hoping, day after day,
that the English commissioners would arrive, and that a firm and
perpetual peace would succeed to the miseries of war. But as time wore
away, and there came no commissioners, the Duke had come to the painful
conclusion that he had been trifled with. His forces would now be sent
into Holland to find something to eat; and this would ensure the total
destruction of all that territory. He had also written to command all the
officers of the coming troops to hasten their march, in order that he
might avoid incurring still deeper censure. He was much ashamed, in
truth, to have been wheedled into passing the whole fine season in
idleness. He had been sacrificing himself for her sacred Majesty, and to,
serve her best interests; and now he found himself the object of her
mirth. Those who ought to be well informed had assured him that the Queen
was only waiting to see how the King of Navarre was getting on with the
auxiliary force just, going to him from Germany, that she had no
intention whatever to make peace, and that, before long, he might expect
all these German mercenaries upon his shoulders in the Netherlands.
Nevertheless he was prepared to receive them with 40,000 good infantry, a
splendid cavalry force, and plenty of money.'

All this and more did the credulous Andrew greedily devour; and he lost
no time in communicating the important intelligence to her Majesty and
the Lord-Treasurer. He implored her, he said, upon his bare knees,
prostrate on the ground, and from the most profound and veritable centre
of his heart and with all his soul and all his strength, to believe in
the truth of the matters thus confided to him. He would pledge his
immortal soul, which was of more value to him--as he correctly
observed--than even the crown of Spain, that the King, the Duke, and his
counsellors, were most sincerely desirous of peace, and actuated by the
most loving and benevolent motives. Alexander Farnese was "the antidote
to the Duke of Alva," kindly sent by heaven, 'ut contraria contrariis
curenter,' and if the entire security of the sacred Queen were not now
obtained, together with a perfect reintegration of love between her
Majesty and the King of Spain, and with the assured tranquillity and
perpetual prosperity of the Netherlands, it would be the fault of
England; not of Spain.

And no doubt the merchant believed all that was told him, and--what was
worse--that he fully impressed his own convictions upon her Majesty and
Lord Burghley, to say nothing of the comptroller, who, poor man, had
great facility in believing anything that came from the court of the most
Catholic King: yet it is painful to reflect, that in all these
communications of Alexander and his agents, there was not one single word
of truth.--It was all false from beginning to end, as to the
countermanding of the troops,--as to the pacific intentions of the King
and Duke, and as to the proposed campaign in Friesland, in case of
rupture; and all the rest. But this will be conclusively proved a little
later.

Meantime the conference had been most amicable and satisfactory. And when
business was over, Champagny--not a whit the worse for the severe jilting
which he had so recently sustained from the widow De Bours, now Mrs.
Aristotle Patton--invited De Loo and Secretary Cosimo to supper. And the
three made a night of it, sitting up late, and draining such huge bumpers
to the health of the Queen of England, that--as the excellent Andrew
subsequently informed Lord Burghley--his head ached most bravely next
morning.

And so, amid the din of hostile preparation not only in Cadiz and Lisbon,
but in Ghent and Sluys and Antwerp, the import of which it seemed
difficult to mistake, the comedy of, negotiation was still rehearsing,
and the principal actors were already familiar with their respective
parts. There were the Earl of Derby, knight of the garter, and my Lord
Cobham; and puzzling James Croft, and other Englishmen, actually
believing that the farce was a solemn reality. There was Alexander of
Parma thoroughly aware of the contrary. There was Andrew de Loo, more
talkative, more credulous, more busy than ever, and more fully impressed
with the importance of his mission, and there was the white-bearded
Lord-Treasurer turning complicated paragraphs; shaking his head and
waving his wand across the water, as if, by such expedients, the storm
about to burst over England could, be dispersed.

The commissioners should come, if only the Duke of Parma would declare on
his word of honour, that these hostile preparations with which all
Christendom was ringing; were not intended against England; or if that
really were the case--if he would request his master to abandon all such
schemes, and if Philip in consequence would promise on the honour of a
prince, to make no hostile attempts against that country.

There would really seem an almost Arcadian simplicity in such demands,
coming from so practised a statesman as the Lord-Treasurer, and from a
woman of such brilliant intellect as Elizabeth unquestionably possessed.
But we read the history of 1587, not only by the light of subsequent
events, but by the almost microscopic revelations of sentiments and
motives, which a full perusal of the secret documents in those ancient
cabinets afford. At that moment it was not ignorance nor dulness which
was leading England towards the pitfall so artfully dug by Spain. There
was trust in the plighted word of a chivalrous soldier like Alexander
Farnese, of a most religious and anointed monarch like Philip II. English
frankness, playing cards upon the table, was no match for Italian and
Spanish legerdemain, a system according to which, to defraud the
antagonist by every kind of falsehood and trickery was the legitimate end
of diplomacy and statesmanship. It was well known that there were great
preparations in Spain, Portugal, and the obedient Netherlands, by land
and sea. But Sir Robert Sidney was persuaded that the expedition was
intended for Africa; even the Pope was completely mystified--to the
intense delight of Philip--and Burghley, enlightened by the sagacious De
Loo, was convinced, that even in case of a rupture, the whole strength of
the Spanish arms was to be exerted in reducing Friesland and Overyssel.
But Walsingham was never deceived; for he had learned from Demosthenes a
lesson with which William the Silent, in his famous Apology, had made the
world familiar, that the only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror
was distrust.

Alexander, much grieved that doubts should still be felt as to his
sincerity, renewed the most exuberant expressions of that sentiment,
together with gentle complaints against the dilatoriness which had
proceeded from the doubt. Her Majesty had long been aware, he said, of
his anxiety to bring about a perfect reconciliation; but he had waited,
month after month, for her commissioners, and had waited in vain. His
hopes had been dashed to the ground. The affair had been indefinitely
spun out, and he could not resist the conviction that her Majesty had
changed her mind. Nevertheless, as Andrew de Loo was again proceeding to
England, the Duke seized the opportunity once more to kiss her hand,
and--although he had well nigh resolved to think no more on the
subject--to renew his declarations, that, if the much-coveted peace were
not concluded, the blame could not be imputed to him, and that he should
stand guiltless before God and the world. He had done, and was still
ready to do, all which became a Christian and a man desirous of the
public welfare and tranquillity.

When Burghley read these fine phrases, he was much impressed; and they
were pronounced at the English court to be "very princely and
Christianly." An elaborate comment too was drawn up by the comptroller on
every line of the letter. "These be very good words," said the
comptroller.

But the Queen was even more pleased with the last proof of the Duke's
sincerity, than even Burghley and Croft had been. Disregarding all the
warnings of Walsingham, she renewed her expressions of boundless
confidence in the wily Italian. "We do assure you," wrote the Lords, "and
so you shall do well to avow it to the Duke upon our honours, that her
Majesty saith she thinketh both their minds to accord upon one good and
Christian meaning, though their ministers may perchance sound upon a
discord." And she repeated her resolution to send over her commissioners,
so soon as the Duke had satisfied her as to the hostile preparations.

We have now seen the good faith of the English Queen towards the Spanish
government. We have seen her boundless trust in the sincerity of Farnese
and his master. We have heard the exuberant professions of an honest
intention to bring about a firm and lasting peace, which fell from the
lips of Farnese and of his confidential agents. It is now necessary to
glide for a moment into the secret cabinet of Philip, in order to satisfy
ourselves as to the value of all those professions. The attention of the
reader is solicited to these investigations, because the year 1587 was a
most critical period in the history of English, Dutch, and European
liberty. The coming year 1588 had been long spoken of in prophecy, as the
year of doom, perhaps of the destruction of the world, but it was in
1587, the year of expectation and preparation, that the materials were
slowly combining out of which that year's history was to be formed.

And there sat the patient letter-writer in his cabinet, busy with his
schemes. His grey head was whitening fast. He was sixty years of age. His
frame was slight, his figure stooping, his digestion very weak, his
manner more glacial and sepulchral than ever; but if there were a
hard-working man in Europe, that man was Philip II. And there he sat at
his table, scrawling his apostilles. The fine innumerable threads which
stretched across the surface of Christendom, and covered it as with a
net, all converged in that silent cheerless cell. France was kept in a
state of perpetual civil war; the Netherlands had been converted into a
shambles; Ireland was maintained in a state of chronic rebellion;
Scotland was torn with internal feuds, regularly organized and paid for
by Philip; and its young monarch--"that lying King of Scots," as
Leicester called him--was kept in a leash ready to be slipped upon
England, when his master should give the word; and England herself was
palpitating with the daily expectation of seeing a disciplined horde of
brigands let loose upon her shores; and all this misery, past, present,
and future, was almost wholly due to the exertions of that grey-haired
letter-writer at his peaceful library-table.

At the very beginning of the year the King of Denmark had made an offer
to Philip of mediation. The letter, entrusted to a young Count de
Rantzan, had been intercepted by the States--the envoy not having availed
himself, in time, of his diplomatic capacity, and having in consequence
been treated, for a moment, like a prisoner of war. The States had
immediately addressed earnest letters of protest to Queen Elizabeth,
declaring that nothing which the enemy could do in war was half so
horrible to them as the mere mention of peace. Life, honour, religion,
liberty, their all, were at stake, they said, and would go down in one
universal shipwreck, if peace should be concluded; and they implored her
Majesty to avert the proposed intercession of the Danish King. Wilkes
wrote to Walsingham denouncing that monarch and his ministers as
stipendiaries of Spain, while, on the other hand, the Duke of Parma,
after courteously thanking the King for his offer of mediation, described
him to Philip as such a dogged heretic, that no good was to be derived
from him, except by meeting his fraudulent offers with an equally
fraudulent response. There will be nothing lost, said Alexander, by
affecting to listen to his proposals, and meantime your Majesty must
proceed with the preparations against England. This was in the first week
of the year 1587.

In February, and almost on the very day when Parma was writing those
affectionate letters to Elizabeth, breathing nothing but peace, he was
carefully conning Philip's directions in regard to the all-important
business of the invasion. He was informed by his master, that one hundred
vessels, forty of them of largest size, were quite ready, together with
12,000 Spanish infantry, including 3000 of the old legion, and that there
were volunteers more than enough. Philip had also taken note, he said, of
Alexander's advice as to choosing the season when the crops in England
had just been got in, as the harvest of so fertile a country would easily
support an invading force; but he advised nevertheless that the army
should be thoroughly victualled at starting. Finding that Alexander did
not quite approve of the Irish part of the plan, he would reconsider the
point, and think more of the Isle of Wight; but perhaps still some other
place might be discovered, a descent upon which might inspire that enemy
with still greater terror and confusion. It would be difficult for him,
he said, to grant the 6000 men asked for by the Scotch malcontents,
without seriously weakening his armada; but there must be no positive
refusal, for a concerted action with the Scotch lords and their adherents
was indispensable. The secret, said the King, had been profoundly kept,
and neither in Spain nor in Rome had anything been allowed to transpire.
Alexander was warned therefore to do his best to maintain the mystery,
for the enemy was trying very hard to penetrate their actions and their
thoughts.

And certainly Alexander did his best. He replied to his master, by
transmitting copies of the letters he had been writing with his own hand
to the Queen, and of the, pacific messages he had sent her through
Champagny. and De Loo. She is just now somewhat confused, said he, and
those of her counsellors who desire peace, are more eager, than ever for
negotiation. She is very much afflicted with the loss of Deventer, and is
quarrelling with the French ambassador about the new conspiracy for her
assassination. The opportunity is a good one, and if she writes an answer
to my letter, said Alexander, we can keep the negotiation, alive, while,
if she does not, 'twill be a proof that she has contracted leagues with
other parties. But, in any event, the Duke fervently implored Philip not
to pause in his preparations for the great enterprise which he had
conceived in his royal breast. So urgent for the invasion was the
peace-loving general.

He alluded also to the supposition that the quarrel between her Majesty
and the French envoy was a mere fetch, and only one of the results of
Bellievre's mission. Whether that diplomatist had been sent to censure,
or in reality to approve, in the name of his master, of the Scottish
Queen's execution, Alexander would leave to be discussed by Don
Bernardino de Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador in Paris; but he was of
opinion that the anger of the Queen with France was a fiction, and her
supposed league with France and Germany against Spain a fact. Upon this
point, as it appears from Secretary Walsingham's lamentations, the astute
Farnese was mistaken.

In truth he was frequently, led into error to the English policy the same
serpentine movement and venomous purpose which characterized his own; and
we have already seen; that Elizabeth was ready, on the contrary, to
quarrel with the States, with France, with all the world, if she could
only secure the good-will of Philip.

The French-matter, indissolubly connected in that monarch's schemes, with
his designs upon England and Holland, was causing Alexander much anxiety.
He foresaw great difficulty in maintaining that, indispensable civil war
in France, and thought that a peace might, some fine day, be declared
between Henry III. and the Huguenots, when least expected. In
consequence, the Duke of Guise was becoming very importunate for Philip's
subsidies. "Mucio comes begging to me," said Parma, "with the very
greatest earnestness, and utters nothing but lamentations and cries of
misery. He asked for 25,000 of the 150,000 ducats promised him. I gave
them. Soon afterwards he writes, with just as much anxiety, for 25,000
more. These I did not give; firstly, because I had them not," (which
would seem a sufficient reason) "and secondly, because I wished to
protract matters as much as possible. He is constantly reminding me of
your Majesty's promise of 300,000 ducats, in case he comes to a rupture
with the King of France, and I always assure him that your Majesty will
keep all promises."

Philip, on his part, through the months of spring, continued to assure
his generalissimo of his steady preparations--by sea and land. He had
ordered Mendoza to pay the Scotch lords the sum demanded by them, but not
till after they had done the deed as agreed upon; and as to the 6000 men,
he felt obliged, he said, to defer that matter for the moment; and to
leave the decision upon it to the Duke. Farnese kept his sovereign
minutely informed of the negociations carried on through Champagny and De
Loo, and expressed his constant opinion that the Queen was influenced by
motives as hypocritical as his own. She was only seeking, he said, to
deceive, to defraud, to put him to sleep, by those feigned negotiations,
while, she was making her combinations with France and Germany, for the
ruin of Spain. There was no virtue to be expected from her, except she
was compelled thereto by pure necessity. The English, he said, were hated
and abhorred by the natives of Holland and Zeeland, and it behoved Philip
to seize so favourable an opportunity for urging on his great plan with
all the speed in the world. It might be that the Queen, seeing these
mighty preparations, even although not suspecting that she herself was to
be invaded, would tremble for her safety, if the Netherlands should be
crushed. But if she succeeded in deceiving Spain, and putting Philip and
Parma to sleep, she might well boast of having made fools of them all.
The negotiations for peace and the preparations for the invasion should
go simultaneously forward therefore, and the money would, in consequence,
come more sparingly to the Provinces from the English coffers, and the
disputes between England and the States would be multiplied. The Duke
also begged to be informed whether any terms could be laid down, upon
which the King really would conclude peace; in order that he might make
no mistake for want of instructions or requisite powers. The condition of
France was becoming more alarming every day, he said. In other words,
there was an ever-growing chance of peace for that distracted country.
The Queen of England was cementing a strong league between herself, the
French King, and the Huguenots; and matters were looking very serious.
The impending peace in France would never do, and Philip should prevent
it in time, by giving Mucio his money. Unless the French are entangled
and at war among themselves, it is quite clear, said Alexander, that we
can never think of carrying out our great scheme of invading England.

The King thoroughly concurred in all that was said and done by his
faithful governor and general. He had no intention of concluding a peace
on any terms whatever, and therefore could name no conditions; but he
quite approved of a continuance of the negotiations. The English, he was
convinced, were utterly false on their part, and the King of Denmark's
proposition to-mediate was part and parcel of the same general fiction.
He was quite sensible of the necessity of giving Mucio the money to
prevent a pacification in France, and would send letters of exchange on
Agostino Spinola for the 300,000 ducats. Meantime Farnese was to go on
steadily with his preparations for the invasion.

The secretary-of-state, Don Juan de Idiaquez, also wrote most earnestly
on the great subject to the Duke. "It is not to be exaggerated", he said,
"how set his Majesty is in the all-important business. If you wish to
manifest towards him the most flattering obedience on earth, and to
oblige him as much as you could wish, give him this great satisfaction
this year. Since you have money, prepare everything out there, conquer
all difficulties, and do the deed so soon as the forces of Spain and
Italy arrive, according to the plan laid down by your Excellency last
year. Make use of the negotiations for peace for this one purpose, and no
more, and do the business like the man you are. Attribute the liberty of
this advice to my desire to serve you more than any other, to my
knowledge of how much you will thereby gratify his Majesty, and to my
fear of his resentment towards you, in the contrary case."

And, on the same day, in order that there might be no doubt of the royal
sentiments, Philip expressed himself at length on the whole subject. The
dealings of Farnese with the English, and his feeding them with hopes of
peace, would have given him more satisfaction, he observed, if it had
caused their preparations to slacken; but, on the contrary, their
boldness had increased. They had perpetrated the inhuman murder of the
Queen of Scots, and moreover, not content with their piracies at sea and
in the Indies, they had dared to invade the ports of Spain, as would
appear in the narrative transmitted to Farnese of the late events at
Cadiz. And although that damage was small, said Philip; there resulted a
very great obligation to take them 'seriously in hand.' He declined
sending fill powers for treating; but in order to make use of the same
arts employed by the English, he preferred that Alexander should not
undeceive them, but desired him to express, as out of his own head; to
the negotiators, his astonishment that while they were holding such
language they should commit such actions. Even their want of prudence in
thus provoking the King; when their strength was compared to his, should
be spoken of by Farnese as--wonderful, and he was to express the opinion
that his Majesty would think him much wanting in circumspection, should
he go on negotiating while they were playing such tricks. "You must show
yourself very sensitive, about this event," continued Philip, "and you
must give them to understand that I am quite as angry as you. You must
try to draw from them some offer of satisfaction--however false it will
be in reality--such as a proposal to recall the fleet, or an, assertion
that the deeds of Drake in Cadiz were without the knowledge and contrary
to the will of the Queen, and that she very much regrets them, or
something of that sort."

It has already been shown that Farnese was very successful in eliciting
from the Queen, through the mouth of Lord' Burghley, as ample a disavowal
and repudiation of Sir Francis Drake as the King could possibly desire.
Whether it would have the desired effect--of allaying the wrath of
Philip; might have been better foretold, could the letter, with which we
are now occupied, have been laid upon the Greenwich council-board.

"When you have got, such a disavowal," continued his Majesty, "you are to
act as if entirely taken in and imposed upon by them, and, pretending to
believe everything they tell you, you must renew the negotiations,
proceed to name commissioners, and propose a meeting upon neutral
territory. As for powers; say that you, as my governor-general, will
entrust them to your deputies, in regard to the Netherlands. For all
other matters, say that you have had full powers for many months, but
that you cannot exhibit them until conditions worthy of my acceptance
have been offered.--Say this only for the sake of appearance. This is the
true way to take them in, and so the peace-commissioners may meet. But to
you only do I declare that my intention is that this shall never lead to
any result, whatever conditions maybe offered by them. On the contrary,
all this is done--just as they do--to deceive them, and to cool them in
their preparations for defence, by inducing them to believe that such
preparations will be unnecessary. You are well aware that the reverse of
all this is the truth, and that on our part there is to be no slackness,
but the greatest diligence in our efforts for the invasion of England,
for which we have already made the most abundant provision in men, ships,
and money, of which you are well aware."

Is it strange that the Queen of England was deceived? Is it matter of
surprise, censure, or shame, that no English statesman was astute enough
or base enough to contend with such diplomacy, which seemed inspired only
by the very father of lies?

"Although we thus enter into negotiations," continued the King--unveiling
himself, with a solemn indecency, not agreeable to contemplate--"without
any intention of concluding them, you can always get out of them with
great honour, by taking umbrage about the point of religion and about
some other of the outrageous propositions which they are like to propose,
and of which there are plenty, in the letters of Andrew de Loo. Your
commissioners must be instructed; to refer all important matters to your
personal decision. The English will be asking for damages for money,
spent in assisting my rebels; your commissioners will contend that
damages are rather due to me. Thus, and in other ways, time will be
agent. Your own envoys are not to know the secret any more than the
English themselves. I tell it to you only. Thus you will proceed with the
negotiations, now, yielding on one point, and now insisting on another,
but directing all to the same object--to gain time while proceeding with
the preparation for the invasion, according to the plan already agreed
upon."

Certainly the most Catholic King seemed, in this remarkable letter to
have outdone himself; and Farnese--that sincere Farnese, in whose loyal,
truth-telling, chivalrous character, the Queen and her counsellors placed
such implicit reliance--could thenceforward no longer be embarrassed as
to the course he was to adopt. To lie daily, through, thick, and thin,
and with every variety of circumstance and detail which; a genius fertile
in fiction could suggest, such was the simple rule prescribed by his
sovereign. And the rule was implicitly obeyed, and the English sovereign
thoroughly deceived. The secret confided only, to the faithful breast of
Alexander was religiously kept. Even the Pope was outwitted. His Holiness
proposed to, Philip the invasion of England, and offered a million to
further the plan. He was most desirous to be informed if the project was,
resolved upon, and, if so, when it was to be accomplished. The King took
the Pope's million, but refused the desired information. He answered
evasively. He had a very good will to invade the country, he said, but
there were great difficulties in the way. After a time, the Pope again
tried to pry into the matter, and again offered the million which Philip
had only accepted for the time when it might be wanted; giving him at the
same time, to understand that it was not necessary at that time, because
there were then great impediments. "Thus he is pledged to give me the
subsidy, and I am not pledged for the time," said Philip, "and I keep my
secret, which is the most important of all."

Yet after all, Farnese did not see his way clear towards the consummation
of the plan. His army had wofully dwindled, and before he could seriously
set about ulterior matters, it would be necessary to take the city of
Sluys. This was to prove--as already seen--a most arduous enterprise. He
complained to Philip' of his inadequate supplies both in men and money.
The project conceived in the royal breast was worth spending millions
for, he said, and although by zeal and devotion he could accomplish
something, yet after all he was no more than a man, and without the
necessary means the scheme could not succeed. But Philip, on the
contrary, was in the highest possible spirits. He had collected more
money, he declared than had ever been seen before in the world. He had
two million ducats in reserve, besides the Pope's million; the French
were in a most excellent state of division, and the invasion should be
made this year without fail. The fleet would arrive in the English
channel by the end of the summer; which would be exactly in conformity
with Alexander's ideas. The invasion was to be threefold: from Scotland,
under the Scotch earls and their followers, with the money and troops
furnished by Philip; from the Netherlands, under Parma; and by the great
Spanish armada itself, upon the Isle of Wight. Alexander must recommend
himself to God, in whose cause he was acting, and then do his duty; which
lay very plain before him. If he ever wished to give his sovereign
satisfaction in his life; he was to do the deed that year, whatever might
betide. Never could there be so fortunate a conjunction of circumstances
again. France was in a state of revolution, the German levies were weak,
the Turk was fully occupied in Persia, an enormous mass of money, over
and above the Pope's million, had been got together, and although the
season was somewhat advanced, it was certain that the Duke would conquer
all impediments, and be the instrument by which his royal master might
render to God that service which he was so anxious to perform.
Enthusiastic, though gouty, Philip grasped the pen in order to scrawl a
few words with his own royal hand. "This business is of such importance,"
he said, "and it is so necessary that it should not be delayed, that I
cannot refrain from urging it upon you as much as I can. I should do it
even more amply; if this hand would allow me, which has been crippled
with gout these several days, and my feet as well, and although it is
unattended with pain, yet it is an impediment to writing."

Struggling thus against his own difficulties, and triumphantly,
accomplishing a whole paragraph with disabled hand, it was natural that
the King should expect Alexander, then deep in the siege of Sluy's, to
vanquish all his obstacles as successfully; and to effect the conquest of
England so soon as the harvests of that kingdom should be garnered.

Sluy's was surrendered at last, and the great enterprise seemed opening
from hour to hour. During the months of autumn; upon the very days when
those loving messages, mixed with gentle reproaches, were sent by
Alexander to Elizabeth, and almost at the self-same hours in which honest
Andrew de Loo was getting such head-aches by drinking the Queen's health
with Cosimo, and Champagny, the Duke and Philip were interchanging
detailed information as to the progress of the invasion. The King
calculated that by the middle of September Alexander would have 30,000
men in the Netherlands ready for embarcation.--Marquis Santa Cruz was
announced as nearly ready to, sail for the English channel with 22,000
more, among whom were to be 16,000 seasoned Spanish infantry. The Marquis
was then to extend the hand to Parma, and protect that passage to England
which the Duke was at once to effect. The danger might be great for so
large a fleet to navigate the seas at so late a season of the year; but
Philip was sure that God, whose cause it was, would be pleased to give
good weather. The Duke was to send, with infinite precautions of secrecy,
information which the Marquis would expect off Ushant, and be quite ready
to act so soon as Santa Cruz should arrive. Most earnestly and anxiously
did the King deprecate any, thought of deferring the expedition to
another year. If delayed, the obstacles of the following summer--a peace
in France, a peace between the Turk and Persia, and other
contingencies--would cause the whole project to fail, and Philip
declared, with much iteration, that money; reputation, honour, his own
character and that of Farnese, and God's service, were all at stake. He
was impatient at suggestions of difficulties occasionally, ventured by
the Duke, who was reminded that he had been appointed chief of the great
enterprise by the spontaneous choice of his master, and that all his
plans had been minutely followed. "You are the author of the whole
scheme," said Philip, "and if it, is all to vanish into space, what kind
of a figure shall we cut the coming year?" Again and again he referred to
the immense sum collected--such as never before had been seen since the
world was made--4,800,000 ducats with 2,000,000 in reserve, of which he
was authorized to draw for 500,000 in advance, to say nothing of the
Pope's million.

But Alexander, while straining every nerve to obey his master's wishes
about the invasion, and to blind the English by the fictitious
negotiations, was not so sanguine as his sovereign. In truth, there was
something puerile in the eagerness which Philip manifested. He had made
up his mind that England was to be conquered that autumn, and had
endeavoured--as well as he could--to comprehend, the plans which his
illustrious general had laid down for accomplishing that purpose. Of,
course; to any man of average intellect, or, in truth, to any man outside
a madhouse; it would seem an essential part of the conquest that the
Armada should arrive. Yet--wonderful to relate-Philip, in his impatience,
absolutely suggested that the Duke might take possession of England
without waiting for Santa Cruz and his Armada. As the autumn had been
wearing away, and there had been unavoidable delays about the shipping in
Spanish ports, the King thought it best not to defer matters till, the
winter. "You are, doubtless, ready," he said to Farnese. "If you think
you can make the passage to England before the fleet from Spain arrives,
go at once. You maybe sure that it will come ere long to support, you.
But if, you prefer, to wait, wait. The dangers of winter, to the fleet
and to your own person are to be regretted; but God, whose cause it is;
will protect you."

It was, easy to sit quite out of harm's way, and to make such excellent,
arrangements for smooth weather in the wintry channel, and for the.
conquest of a maritime and martial kingdom by a few flat bottoms. Philip
had little difficulty on that score, but the affairs of France were not
quite to his mind. The battle of Coutras, and the entrance of the German
and Swiss mercenaries into that country, were somewhat perplexing. Either
those auxiliaries of the Huguenots would be defeated, or they would be
victorious, or both parties would come to an agreement. In the first
event, the Duke, after sending a little assistance to Mucio, was to
effect his passage to England at once. In the second case, those troops,
even though successful, would doubtless be so much disorganized that it
might be still safe for Farnese to go on. In the third contingency--that
of an accord--it would be necessary for him to wait till the foreign
troops had disbanded and left France. He was to maintain all his forces
in perfect readiness, on pretext of the threatening aspect of French
matters and, so soon as the Swiss and Germane were dispersed, he was to
proceed to business without delay. The fleet would be ready in Spain in
all November, but as sea-affairs were so doubtful, particularly in
winter, and as the Armada could not reach the channel till mid-winter;
the Duke was not to wait for its arrival. "Whenever you see a favourable
opportunity," said Philip, "you must take care not to lose it, even if
the fleet has not made its appearance. For you may be sure that it will
soon come to give you assistance, in one way or another."

Farnese had also been strictly enjoined to deal gently with the English,
after the conquest, so that they would have cause to love their new
master. His troops were not to forget discipline after victory. There was
to be no pillage or rapine. The Catholics were to be handsomely rewarded
and all the inhabitants were to be treated with so much indulgence that,
instead of abhorring Parma and his soldiers, they would conceive a strong
affection for them all, as the source of so many benefits. Again the Duke
was warmly commended for the skill with which he had handled the peace
negotiation. It was quite right to appoint commissioners, but it was
never for an instant to be forgotten that the sole object of treating was
to take the English unawares. "And therefore do you guide them to this
end," said the King with pious unction, "which is what you owe to God, in
whose service I have engaged in this enterprise, and to whom I have
dedicated the whole." The King of France, too--that unfortunate Henry
III., against whose throne and life Philip maintained in constant pay an
organized band of conspirators--was affectionately adjured, through the
Spanish envoy in Paris, Mendoza,--to reflect upon the advantages to
France of a Catholic king and kingdom of England, in place of the
heretics now in power.

But Philip, growing more and more sanguine, as those visions of fresh
crowns and conquered kingdoms rose before him in his solitary cell, had
even persuaded himself that the deed was already done. In the early days
of December, he expressed a doubt whether his 14th November letter had
reached the Duke, who by that time was probably in England. One would
have thought the King addressing a tourist just starting on a little
pleasure-excursion. And this was precisely the moment when Alexander had
been writing those affectionate phrases to the Queen which had been
considered by the counsellors at Greenwich so "princely and Christianly,"
and which Croft had pronounced such "very good words."

If there had been no hostile, fleet to prevent, it was to be hoped, said
Philip, that, in the name of God, the passage had been made. "Once landed
there," continued the King, "I am persuaded that you will give me a good
account of yourself, and, with the help of our Lord, that you will do
that service which I desire to render to Him, and that He will guide our
cause, which is His own, and of such great importance to His Church." A
part of the fleet would soon after arrive and bring six thousand
Spaniards, the Pope's million, and other good things, which might prove
useful to Parma, presupposing that they would find him established on the
enemy's territory.

This conviction that the enterprise had been already accomplished grew
stronger in the King's breast every day. He was only a little disturbed
lest Farnese should have misunderstood that 14th November letter.
Philip--as his wont was--had gone into so many petty and puzzling
details, and had laid down rules of action suitable for various
contingencies, so easy to put comfortably upon paper, but which might
become perplexing in action, that it was no wonder he should be a little
anxious. The third contingency suggested by him had really occurred.
There had been a composition between the foreign mercenaries and the
French King. Nevertheless they had also been once or twice defeated, and
this was contingency number two. Now which of the events would the Duke
consider as having really occurred. It was to be hoped that he would have
not seen cause for delay, for in truth number three was not exactly the
contingency which existed. France was still in a very satisfactory state
of discord and rebellion. The civil war was by no means over. There was
small fear of peace that winter. Give Mucio his pittance with frugal
hand, and that dangerous personage would ensure tranquillity for Philip's
project, and misery for Henry III. and his subjects for an indefinite
period longer. The King thought it improbable that Farnese could have
made any mistake. He expressed therefore a little anxiety at having
received no intelligence from him, but had great confidence that, with
the aid of the Lord and of with his own courage he had accomplished the
great exploit. Philip had only, recommended delay in event of a general
peace in France--Huguenots, Royalists, Leaguers, and all. This had not
happened. "Therefore, I trust," said the King; "that you--perceiving that
this is not contingency number three which was to justify a pause--will
have already executed the enterprise, and fulfilled my desire. I am
confident that the deed is done, and that God has blessed it, and I am
now expecting the news from hour to hour."

But Alexander had not yet arrived in England. The preliminaries for the
conquest caused him more perplexity than the whole enterprise occasioned
to Philip. He was very short of funds. The five millions were not to be
touched, except for the expenses of the invasion. But as England was to
be subjugated, in order that rebellious Holland might be recovered, it
was hardly reasonable to go away leaving such inadequate forces in the
Netherlands as to ensure not only independence to the new republic, but
to hold out temptation for revolt to the obedient Provinces. Yet this was
the dilemma in which the Duke was placed. So much money had been set
aside for the grand project that there was scarcely anything for the
regular military business. The customary supplies had not been sent.
Parma had leave to draw for six hundred thousand ducats, and he was able
to get that draft discounted on the Antwerp Exchange by consenting to
receive five hundred thousand, or sacrificing sixteen per cent. of the
sum. A good number of transports, and scows had been collected, but there
had been a deficiency of money for their proper equipment, as the five
millions had been very slow in coming, and were still upon the road. The
whole enterprise was on the point of being sacrificed, according to
Farnese, for want of funds. The time for doing the deed had arrived, and
he declared himself incapacitated by poverty. He expressed his disgust
and resentment in language more energetic than courtly; and protested
that he was not to blame. "I always thought," said he bitterly, "that
your Majesty would provide all that was necessary even in superfluity,
and not limit me beneath the ordinary. I did not suppose, when it was
most important to have ready money, that I should be kept short, and not
allowed to draw certain sums by anticipation, which I should have done
had you not forbidden."

This was, through life, a striking characteristic of Philip. Enormous
schemes were laid out with utterly inadequate provision for their
accomplishment, and a confident expectation entertained that wild,
visions were; in some indefinite way, to be converted into substantial
realities, without fatigue or personal exertion on his part, and with a
very trifling outlay of ready money.

Meantime the faithful Farnese did his best. He was indefatigable night
and day in getting his boats together and providing his munitions of war.
He dug a canal from Sas de Gand--which was one of his principal
depots--all the way to Sluys, because the water-communication between
those two points was entirely in the hands of the Hollanders and
Zeelanders. The rebel cruisers swarmed in the Scheldt, from, Flushing
almost to Antwerp, so that it was quite impossible for Parma's forces to
venture forth at all; and it also seemed hopeless to hazard putting to
sea from Sluys. At the same, time he had appointed his, commissioners to
treat with the English envoys already named by the Queen. There had been
much delay in the arrival of those deputies, on account of the noise
raised by Barneveld and his followers; but Burghley was now sanguine that
the exposure of what he called the Advocate's seditious, false, and
perverse proceedings, would enable Leicester to procure the consent of
the States to a universal peace.

And thus, with these parallel schemes of invasion and negotiation,
spring; summer, and autumn, had worn away. Santa Cruz was still with his
fleet in Lisbon, Cadiz, and the Azores; and Parma was in Brussels, when
Philip fondly imagined him established in Greenwich Palace. When made
aware of his master's preposterous expectations, Alexander would have
been perhaps amused, had he not been half beside himself with
indignation. Such folly seemed incredible. There was not the slightest
appearance of a possibility of making a passage without the protection of
the Spanish fleet, he observed. His vessels were mere transport-boats,
without the least power of resisting an enemy. The Hollanders and
Zeelanders, with one hundred and forty cruisers, had shut him up in all
directions. He could neither get out from Antwerp nor from Sluys. There
were large English ships, too, cruising in the channel, and they were
getting ready in the Netherlands and in England "most furiously." The
delays had been so great, that their secret had been poorly kept, and the
enemy was on his guard. If Santa Cruz had come, Alexander declared that
he should have already been in England. When he did come he should still
be prepared to make the passage; but to talk of such an attempt without
the Armada was senseless, and he denounced the madness of that
proposition to his Majesty in vehement and unmeasured terms. His army, by
sickness and other causes, had been reduced to one-half the number
considered necessary for the invasion, and the rebels had established
regular squadrons in the Scheldt, in the very teeth of the forts, at
Lillo, Liefkenshoek, Saftingen, and other points close to Antwerp. There
were so many of these war-vessels, and all in such excellent order, that
they were a most notable embarrassment to him, he observed, and his own
flotilla would run great risk of being utterly destroyed. Alexander had
been personally superintending matters at Sluys, Ghent, and Antwerp, and
had strengthened with artillery the canal which he had constructed
between Sas and Sluys. Meantime his fresh troops had been slowly
arriving, but much sickness prevailed among them. The Italians were dying
fast, almost all the Spaniards were in hospital, and the others were so
crippled and worn out that it was most pitiable to behold them; yet it
was absolutely necessary that those who were in health should accompany
him to England, since otherwise his Spanish force would be altogether too
weak to do the service expected. He had got together a good number of
transports. Not counting his Antwerp fleet--which could not stir from
port, as he bitterly complained, nor be of any use, on account of the
rebel blockade--he had between Dunkerk and Newport seventy-four vessels
of various kinds fit for sea-service, one hundred and fifty flat-bottoms
(pleytas), and seventy riverhoys, all which were to be assembled at
Sluys, whence they would--so soon as Santa Cruz should make his
appearance--set forth for England. This force of transports he pronounced
sufficient, when properly protected by the Spanish Armada, to carry
himself and his troops across the channel. If, therefore, the matter did
not become publicly known, and if the weather proved favourable, it was
probable that his Majesty's desire would soon be fulfilled according to
the plan proposed. The companies of light horse and of arquebusmen, with
which he meant to make his entrance into London, had been clothed, armed,
and mounted, he said, in a manner delightful to contemplate, and those
soldiers at least might be trusted--if they could only effect their
passage--to do good service, and make matters quite secure.

But craftily as the King and Duke had been dealing, it had been found
impossible to keep such vast preparations entirely secret. Walsingham was
in full possession of their plans down to the most minute details. The
misfortune was that he was unable to persuade his sovereign, Lord
Burghley, and others of the peace-party, as to the accuracy of his
information. Not only was he thoroughly instructed in regard to the
number of men, vessels, horses, mules, saddles, spurs, lances, barrels of
beer and tons of biscuit, and other particulars of the contemplated
invasion, but he had even received curious intelligence as to the
gorgeous equipment of those very troops, with which the Duke was just
secretly announcing to the King his intention of making his triumphal
entrance into the English capital. Sir Francis knew how many thousand
yards of cramoisy velvet, how many hundredweight of gold and silver
embroidery, how much satin and feathers, and what quantity of pearls and
diamonds; Farnese had been providing himself withal. He knew the tailors,
jewellers, silversmiths, and haberdashers, with whom the great
Alexander--as he now began to be called--had been dealing;

   ["There is provided for lights a great number of torches, and so
   tempered that no water can put them out. A great number of little
   mills for grinding corn, great store of biscuit baked and oxen
   salted, great number of saddles and boots also there is made 500
   pair of velvet shoes-red, crimson velvet, and in every cloister
   throughout the country great quantity of roses made of silk, white
   and red, which are to be badges for divers of his gentlemen. By
   reason of these roses it is expected he is going for England. There
   is sold to the Prince by John Angel, pergaman, ten hundred-weight of
   velvet, gold and silver to embroider his apparel withal. The
   covering to his mules is most gorgeously embroidered with gold and
   silver, which carry his baggage. There is also sold to him by the
   Italian merchants at least 670 pieces of velvet to apparel him and
   his train. Every captain has received a gift from the Prince to
   make himself brave, and for Captain Corralini, an Italian, who hath
   one cornet of horse, I have seen with my eyes a saddle with the
   trappings of his horse, his coat and rapier and dagger, which cost
   3,500 French crowns. (!!) All their lances are painted of divers
   colours, blue and white, green and White, and most part blood-red--
   so there is as great preparation for a triumph as for war. A great
   number of English priests come to Antwerp from all places. The
   commandment is given to all the churches to read the Litany daily
   for the prosperity of the Prince in his enterprise." John Giles to
   Walsingham, 4 Dec. 1587.(S. P. Office MS.)

   The same letter conveyed also very detailed information concerning
   the naval preparations by the Duke, besides accurate intelligence in
   regard to the progress of the armada in Cadiz and Lisbon.

   Sir William Russet wrote also from Flushing concerning these
   preparations in much the same strain; but it is worthy of note that
   he considered Farnese to be rather intending a movement against
   France.

   "The Prince of Parma," he said, "is making great preparations for
   war, and with all expedition means to march a great army, and for a
   triumph, the coats and costly, apparel for his own body doth exceed
   for embroidery, and beset with jewels; for all the embroiderers and
   diamond-cutters work both night and day, such haste is made. Five
   hundred velvet coats of one sort for lances, and a great number of
   brave new coats made for horsemen; 30,000 men are ready, and gather
   in Brabant and Flanders. It is said that there shall be in two days
   10,000 to do some great exploit in these parts, and 20,000 to march
   with the Prince into France, and for certain it is not known what
   way or how they shall march, but all are ready at an hour's warning
   --4,000 saddles, 4000 lances. 6,000 pairs of boots, 2,000 barrels of
   beer, biscuit sufficient for a camp of 20,000 men, &c. The Prince
   hath received a marvellous costly garland or crown from the Pope,
   and is chosen chief of the holy league..."]

but when he spoke at the council-board, it was to ears wilfully deaf. Nor
was much concealed from the Argus-eyed politicians in the republic. The
States were more and more intractable. They knew nearly all the truth
with regard to the intercourse between the Queen's government and
Farnese, and they suspected more than the truth. The list of English
commissioners privately agreed upon between Burghley and De Loo was known
to Barneveld, Maurice, and Hohenlo, before it came to the ears of
Leicester. In June, Buckhurst had been censured by Elizabeth for opening
the peace matter to members of the States, according to her bidding, and
in July Leicester was rebuked for exactly the opposite delinquency. She
was very angry that he had delayed the communication of her policy so
long, but she expressed her anger only when that policy had proved so
transparent as to make concealment hopeless. Leicester, as well as
Buckhurst, knew that it was idle to talk to the Netherlanders of peace,
because of their profound distrust in every word that came from Spanish
or Italian lips; but Leicester, less frank than Buckhurst, preferred to
flatter his sovereign, rather than to tell her unwelcome truths. More
fortunate than Buckhurst, he was rewarded for his flattery by boundless
affection, and promotion to the very highest post in England when the
hour of England's greatest peril had arrived, while the truth-telling
counsellor was consigned to imprisonment and disgrace. When the Queen
complained sharply that the States were mocking her, and that she was
touched in honour at the prospect of not keeping her plighted word to
Farnese, the Earl assured her that the Netherlanders were fast changing
their views; that although the very name of peace had till then been
odious and loathsome, yet now, as coming from her Majesty, they would
accept it with thankful hearts.

The States, or the leading members of that assembly, factious fellows,
pestilent and seditious knaves, were doing their utmost, and were singing
sirens' songs' to enchant and delude the people, but they were fast
losing their influence--so warmly did the country desire to conform to
her Majesty's pleasure. He expatiated, however, upon the difficulties in
his path. The knowledge possessed by the pestilent fellows as to the
actual position of affairs, was very mischievous. It was honey to Maurice
and Hohenlo, he said, that the Queen's secret practices with Farnese had
thus been discovered. Nothing could be more marked than the jollity with
which the ringleaders hailed these preparations for peace-making, for
they now felt certain that the government of their country had been fixed
securely in their own hands. They were canonized, said the Earl, for
their hostility to peace.

Should not this conviction, on the part of men who had so many means of
feeling the popular pulse, have given the Queen's government pause? To
serve his sovereign in truth, Leicester might have admitted a possibility
at least of honesty on the part of men who were so ready to offer up
their lives for their country. For in a very few weeks he was obliged to
confess that the people were no longer so well disposed to acquiesce in
her Majesty's policy. The great majority, both of the States and the
people, were in favour, he agreed, of continuing the war. The inhabitants
of the little Province of Holland alone, he said, had avowed their
determination to maintain their rights--even if obliged to fight
single-handed--and to shed the last drop in their veins, rather than to
submit again to Spanish tyranny. This seemed a heroic resolution, worthy
the sympathy of a brave Englishman, but the Earl's only comment upon it
was, that it proved the ringleaders "either to be traitors or else the
most blindest asses in the world." He never scrupled, on repeated
occasions, to insinuate that Barneveld, Hohenlo, Buys, Roorda, Sainte
Aldegonde, and the Nassaus, had organized a plot to sell their country to
Spain. Of this there was not the faintest evidence, but it was the only
way in which he chose to account for their persistent opposition to the
peace-negotiations, and to their reluctance to confer absolute power on
himself. "'Tis a crabbed, sullen, proud kind of people," said he, "and
bent on establishing a popular government,"--a purpose which seemed
somewhat inconsistent with the plot for selling their country to Spain,
which he charged in the same breath on the same persons.

Early in August, by the Queen's command, he had sent a formal
communication respecting the private negotiations to the States, but he
could tell them no secret. The names of the commissioners, and even the
supposed articles of a treaty already concluded, were flying from town to
town, from mouth to mouth, so that the Earl pronounced it impossible for
one, not on the spot, to imagine the excitement which existed.

He had sent a state-counsellor, one Bardesius, to the Hague, to open the
matter; but that personage had only ventured to whisper a word to one or
two members of the States, and was assured that the proposition, if made,
would raise such a tumult of fury, that he might fear for his life. So
poor Bardesius came back to Leicester, fell on his knees, and implored
him; at least to pause in these fatal proceedings. After an interval, he
sent two eminent statesmen, Valk and Menin, to lay the subject before the
assembly. They did so, and it was met by fierce denunciation. On their
return, the Earl, finding that so much violence had been excited,
pretended that they had misunderstood his meaning, and that he had never
meant to propose peace-negotiations. But Valk and Menin were too old
politicians to be caught in such a trap, and they produced a brief, drawn
up in Italian--the foreign language best understood by the Earl--with his
own corrections and interlineations, so that he was forced to admit that
there had been no misconception.

Leicester at last could no longer doubt that he was universally odious in
the Provinces. Hohenlo, Barneveld, and the rest, who had "championed the
country against the peace," were carrying all before them. They had
persuaded the people, that the "Queen was but a tickle stay for them,"
and had inflated young Maurice with vast ideas of his importance, telling
him that he was "a natural patriot, the image of his noble father, whose
memory was yet great among them, as good reason, dying in their cause, as
he had done." The country was bent on a popular government, and on
maintaining the war. There was no possibility, he confessed, that they
would ever confer the authority on him which they had formerly bestowed.
The Queen had promised, when he left England the second time, that his
absence should be for but three months, and he now most anxiously claimed
permission to depart. Above all things, he deprecated being employed as a
peace-commissioner. He was, of all men, the most unfit for such a post.
At the same time he implored the statesmen at home to be wary in
selecting the wisest persons for that arduous duty, in order that the
peace might be made for Queen Elizabeth, as well as for King Philip. He
strongly recommended, for that duty, Beale, the councillor, who with
Killigrew had replaced the hated Wilkes and the pacific Bartholomew
Clerk. "Mr. Beale, brother-in-law to Walsingham, is in my books a
prince," said the Earl. "He was drowned in England, but most useful in
the Netherlands. Without him I am naked."

And at last the governor told the Queen what Buckhurst and Walsingham had
been perpetually telling her, that the Duke of Parma meant mischief; and
he sent the same information as to hundreds of boats preparing, with six
thousand shirts for camisados, 7000 pairs of wading boots, and saddles,
stirrups, and spurs, enough for a choice band of 3000 men. A shrewd
troop, said the Earl, of the first soldiers in Christendom, to be landed
some fine morning in England. And he too had heard of the jewelled suits
of cramoisy velvet, and all the rest of the finery with which the
triumphant Alexander was intending to astonish London. "Get horses
enough, and muskets enough in England," exclaimed Leicester, "and then
our people will not be beaten, I warrant you, if well led."

And now, the governor--who, in order to soothe his sovereign and comply
with her vehement wishes, had so long misrepresented the state of public
feeling--not only confessed that Papists and Protestants, gentle and
simple, the States and the people, throughout the republic, were all
opposed to any negotiation with the enemy, but lifted up his own voice,
and in earnest language expressed his opinion of the Queen's infatuation.

"Oh, my Lord, what a treaty is this for peace," said he to Burghley,
"that we must treat, altogether disarmed and weakened, and the King
having made his forces stronger than ever he had known in these parts,
besides what is coming out, of Spain, and yet we will presume of good
conditions. It grieveth me to the heart. But I fear you will all smart
for it, and I pray God her Majesty feel it not, if it be His blessed
will. She meaneth well and sincerely to have peace, but God knows that
this is not the way. Well, God Almighty defend us and the realm, and
especially her Majesty. But look for a sharp war, or a miserable peace,
to undo others and ourselves after."

Walsingham, too, was determined not to act as a commissioner. If his
failing health did not serve as an excuse, he should be obliged to
refuse, he said, and so forfeit her Majesty's favour, rather than be
instrumental in bringing about her ruin, and that of his country. Never
for an instant had the Secretary of State faltered in his opposition to
the timid policy of Burghley. Again and again he had detected the
intrigues of the Lord-Treasurer and Sir James Croft, and ridiculed the
"comptroller's peace."

And especially did Walsingham bewail the implicit confidence which the
Queen placed in the sugary words of Alexander, and the fatal parsimony
which caused her to neglect defending herself against Scotland; for he
was as well informed as was Farnese himself of Philip's arrangements with
the Scotch lords, and of the subsidies in men and money by which their
invasion of England was to be made part of the great scheme. "No one
thing," sighed Walsingham, "doth more prognosticate an alteration of this
estate, than that a prince of her Majesty's judgment should neglect, in
respect of a little charges, the stopping of so dangerous a gap. . . .
The manner of our cold and careless proceeding here, in this time of
peril, maketh me to take no comfort of my recovery of health, for that I
see, unless it shall please God in mercy and miraculously to preserve us,
we cannot long stand."

Leicester, finding himself unable to counteract the policy of Barneveld
and his party, by expostulation or argument, conceived a very dangerous
and criminal project before he left the country. The facts are somewhat
veiled in mystery; but he was suspected, on weighty evidence, of a design
to kidnap both Maurice and Barneveld, and carry them off to England. Of
this intention, which was foiled at any rate, before it could be carried
into execution, there is perhaps not conclusive proof, but it has already
been shown, from a deciphered letter, that the Queen had once given
Buckhurst and Wilkes peremptory orders to seize the person of Hohenlo,
and it is quite possible that similar orders may have been received at a
later moment with regard to the young Count and the Advocate. At any
rate, it is certain that late in the autumn, some friends of Barneveld
entered his bedroom, at the Hague, in the dead of night, and informed him
that a plot was on foot to lay violent hands upon him, and that an armed
force was already on its way to execute this purpose of Leicester, before
the dawn of day. The Advocate, without loss of time, took his departure
for Delft, a step which was followed, shortly afterwards, by Maurice.

Nor was this the only daring--stroke which the Earl had meditated. During
the progress of the secret negotiations with Parma, he had not neglected
those still more secret schemes to which he had occasionally made
allusion. He had determined, if possible, to obtain possession of the
most important cities in Holland and Zeeland. It was very plain to him,
that he could no longer hope, by fair means, for the great authority once
conferred upon him by the free will of the States. It was his purpose,
therefore, by force and stratagem to recover his lost power. We have
heard the violent terms in which both the Queen and the Earl denounced
the men who accused the English government of any such intention. It had
been formally denied by the States-General that Barneveld had ever used
the language in that assembly with which he had been charged. He had only
revealed to them the exact purport of the letter to Junius, and of the
Queen's secret instructions to Leicester. Whatever he may have said in
private conversation, and whatever deductions he may have made among his
intimate friends, from the admitted facts in the case, could hardly be
made matters of record. It does not appear that he, or the statesmen who
acted with him, considered the Earl capable of a deliberate design to
sell the cities, thus to be acquired, to Spain, as the price of peace for
England. Certainly Elizabeth would have scorned such a crime, and was
justly indignant at rumours prevalent to that effect; but the wrath of
the Queen and of her favourite were, perhaps, somewhat simulated, in
order to cover their real mortification at the discovery of designs on
the part of the Earl which could not be denied. Not only had they been at
last compelled to confess these negotiations, which for several months
had been concealed and stubbornly denied, but the still graver plots of
the Earl to regain his much-coveted authority had been, in a startling
manner, revealed. The leaders of the States-General had a right to
suspect the English Earl of a design to reenact the part of the Duke of
Anjou, and were justified in taking stringent measures to prevent a
calamity, which, as they believed, was impending over their little
commonwealth. The high-handed dealings of Leicester in the city of
Utrecht have been already described. The most respectable and influential
burghers of the place had been imprisoned and banished, the municipal
government wrested from the hands to which it legitimately belonged, and
confided to adventurers, who wore the cloak of Calvinism to conceal their
designs, and a successful effort had been made, in the name of democracy,
to eradicate from one ancient province the liberty on which it prided
itself.

In the course of the autumn, an attempt was made to play the same game at
Amsterdam. A plot was discovered, before it was fairly matured, to seize
the magistrates of that important city, to gain possession of the
arsenals, and to place the government in the hands of well-known
Leicestrians. A list of fourteen influential citizens, drawn up in the
writing of Burgrave, the Earl's confidential secretary, was found, all of
whom, it was asserted, had been doomed to the scaffold.

The plot to secure Amsterdam had failed, but, in North Holland, Medenblik
was held firmly for Leicester, by Diedrich Sonoy, in the very teeth of
the States. The important city of Enkhuyzen, too, was very near being
secured for the Earl, but a still more significant movement was made at
Leyden. That heroic city, ever since the famous siege of 1574, in which
the Spaniard had been so signally foiled, had distinguished itself by
great liberality of sentiment in religious matters. The burghers were
inspired by a love of country, and a hatred of oppression, both civil
and, ecclesiastical; and Papists and Protestants, who had fought side by
side against the common foe, were not disposed to tear each other to
pieces, now that he had been excluded from their gates. Meanwhile,
however, refugee Flemings and Brabantines had sought an asylum in the
city, and being, as usual, of the strictest sect of the Calvinists were
shocked at the latitudinarianism which prevailed. To the honour of the
city--as it seems to us now--but, to their horror, it was even found that
one or two Papists had seats in the magistracy. More than all this, there
was a school in the town kept by a Catholic, and Adrian van der Werff
himself--the renowned burgomaster, who had sustained the city during the
dreadful leaguer of 1574, and who had told the famishing burghers that
they might eat him if they liked, but that they should never surrender to
the Spaniards while he remained alive--even Adrian van der Werff had sent
his son to this very school? To the clamour made by the refugees against
this spirit of toleration, one of the favourite preachers in the town, of
Arminian tendencies, had declared in the pulpit, that he would as lieve
see the Spanish as the Calvinistic inquisition established over his
country; using an expression, in regard to the church of Geneva, more
energetic than decorous.

It was from Leyden that the chief opposition came to a synod, by which a
great attempt was to be made towards subjecting the new commonwealth to a
masked theocracy; a scheme which the States of Holland had resisted with
might and main. The Calvinistic party, waxing stronger in Leyden,
although still in a minority, at last resolved upon a strong effort to
place the city in the hands of that great representative of Calvinism,
the Earl of Leicester. Jacques Volmar, a deacon of the church, Cosmo de
Pescarengis, a Genoese captain of much experience in the service of the
republic, Adolphus de Meetkerke, former president of Flanders, who had
been, by the States, deprived of the seat in the great council to which
the Earl had appointed him; Doctor Saravia, professor of theology in the
university, with other deacons, preachers, and captains, went at
different times from Leyden to Utrecht, and had secret interviews with
Leicester.

A plan was at last agreed upon, according to which, about the middle of
October, a revolution should be effected in Leyden. Captain Nicholas de
Maulde, who had recently so much distinguished himself in the defence of
Sluys, was stationed with two companies of States' troops in the city. He
had been much disgusted--not without reason--at the culpable negligence
through which the courageous efforts of the Sluys garrison had been set
at nought, and the place sacrificed, when it might so easily have been
relieved; and he ascribed the whole of the guilt to Maurice, Hohenlo, and
the States, although it could hardly be denied that at least an equal
portion belonged to Leicester and his party. The young captain listened,
therefore, to a scheme propounded to him by Colonel Cosine, and Deacon
Volmar, in the name of Leicester. He agreed, on a certain day, to muster
his company, to leave the city by the Delft gate--as if by command of
superior authority--to effect a junction with Captain Heraugiere, another
of the distinguished malcontent defenders of Sluys, who was stationed,
with his command, at Delft, and then to re-enter Leyden, take possession
of the town-hall, arrest all the magistrates, together with Adrian van
der Werff, ex-burgomaster, and proclaim Lord Leicester, in the name of
Queen Elizabeth, legitimate master of the city. A list of burghers, who
were to be executed, was likewise agreed upon, at a final meeting of the
conspirators in a hostelry, which bore the ominous name of 'The
Thunderbolt.' A desire had been signified by Leicester, in the
preliminary interviews at Utrecht, that all bloodshed, if possible,
should be spared, but it was certainly an extravagant expectation,
considering the, temper, the political convictions, and the known courage
of the Leyden burghers, that the city would submit, without a struggle,
to this invasion of all their rights. It could hardly be doubted that the
streets would run red with blood, as those of Antwerp had done, when a
similar attempt, on the part of Anjou, had been foiled.

Unfortunately for the scheme, a day or two before the great stroke was to
be hazarded, Cosmo de Pescarengis had been accidentally arrested for
debt. A subordinate accomplice, taking alarm, had then gone before the
magistrate and revealed the plot. Volmar and de Maulde fled at once, but
were soon arrested in the neighbourhood. President de Meetkerke,
Professor Saravia, the preacher Van der Wauw, and others most
compromised, effected their escape. The matter was instantly laid before
the States of Holland by the magistracy of Leyden, and seemed of the
gravest moment. In the beginning of the year, the fatal treason of York
and Stanley had implanted a deep suspicion of Leicester in the hearts of
almost all the Netherlanders, which could not be eradicated. The painful
rumours concerning the secret negotiations with Spain, and the design
falsely attributed to the English Queen, of selling the chief cities of
the republic to Philip as the price of peace, and of reimbursement for
expenses incurred by her, increased the general excitement to fever. It
was felt by the leaders of the States that as mortal a combat lay before
them with the Earl of Leicester, as with the King of Spain, and that it
was necessary to strike a severe blow, in order to vindicate their
imperilled authority.

A commission was appointed by the high court of Holland, acting in
conjunction with the States of the Provinces, to try the offenders. Among
the commissioners were Adrian van der Werff, John van der Does, who had
been military commandant of Leyden during the siege, Barneveld, and other
distinguished personages, over whom Count Maurice presided. The accused
were subjected to an impartial trial. Without torture, they confessed
their guilt. It is true, however, that Cosmo was placed within sight of
the rack. He avowed that his object had been to place the city under the
authority of Leicester, and to effect this purpose, if possible, without
bloodshed. He declared that the attempt was to be made with the full
knowledge and approbation of the Earl, who had promised him the command
of a regiment of twelve companies, as a recompense for his services, if
they proved successful. Leicester, said Cosmo, had also pledged himself,
in case the men, thus executing his plans, should be discovered and
endangered, to protect and rescue them, even at the sacrifice of all his
fortune, and of the office he held. When asked if he had any written
statement from his Excellency to that effect, Cosmo replied, no, nothing
but his princely word which he had voluntarily given.

Volmar made a similar confession. He, too, declared that he had acted
throughout the affair by express command of the Earl of Leicester. Being
asked if he had any written evidence of the fact, he, likewise, replied
in the negative. "Then his Excellency will unquestionably deny your
assertion," said the judges. "Alas, then am I a dead man," replied
Volmar, and the unfortunate deacon never spoke truer words. Captain de
Maulde also confessed his crime. He did not pretend, however, to have had
any personal communication with Leicester, but said that the affair had
been confided to him by Colonel Cosmo, on the express authority of the
Earl, and that he had believed himself to be acting in obedience to his
Excellency's commands.

On the 26th October, after a thorough investigation, followed by a full
confession on the part of the culprits, the three were sentenced to
death. The decree was surely a most severe one. They had been guilty of
no actual crime, and only in case of high treason could an intention to
commit a crime be considered, by the laws of the state, an offence
punishable with death. But it was exactly because it was important to
make the crime high treason that the prisoners were condemned. The
offence was considered as a crime not against Leyden, but as an attempt
to levy war upon a city which was a member of the States of Holland and
of the United States. If the States were sovereign, then this was a
lesion of their sovereignty. Moreover, the offence had been aggravated by
the employment of United States' troops against the commonwealth of the
United States itself. To cut off the heads of these prisoners was a sharp
practical answer to the claims of sovereignty by Leicester, as
representing the people, and a terrible warning to all who might, in
future; be disposed to revive the theories of Deventer and Burgrave.

In the case of De Maulde the punishment seemed especially severe. His
fate excited universal sympathy, and great efforts were made to obtain
his pardon. He was a universal favourite; he was young; he was very
handsome; his manners were attractive; he belonged to an ancient and
honourable race. His father, the Seigneur de Mansart, had done great
services in the war of independence, had been an intimate friend of the
great Prince of Orange, and had even advanced large sums of money to
assist his noble efforts to liberate the country. Two brothers of the
young captain had fallen in the service of the republic. He, too, had
distinguished himself at Ostend, and his gallantry during the recent
siege of Sluys had been in every mouth, and had excited the warm applause
of so good a judge of soldiership as the veteran Roger Williams. The
scars of the wounds received in the desperate conflicts of that siege
were fresh upon his breast. He had not intended to commit treason, but,
convinced by the sophistry of older soldiers than himself, as well as by
learned deacons and theologians, he had imagined himself doing his duty,
while obeying the Earl of Leicester. If there were ever a time for mercy,
this seemed one, and young Maurice of Nassau might have remembered, that
even in the case of the assassins who had attempted the life of his
father, that great-hearted man had lifted up his voice--which seemed his
dying one--in favour of those who had sought his life.

But they authorities were inexorable. There was no hope of a mitigation
of punishment, but a last effort was made, under favour of a singular
ancient custom, to save the life of De Maulde. A young lady of noble
family in Leyden--Uytenbroek by name--claimed the right of rescuing the
condemned malefactor, from the axe, by appearing upon the scaffold, and
offering to take him for her husband.

Intelligence was brought to the prisoner in his dungeon, that the young,
lady had made the proposition, and he was told to be of good cheer: But
he refused to be comforted. He was slightly acquainted with the
gentle-woman, he observed; and doubted much whether her request would be
granted. Moreover if contemporary chronicle can be trusted he even
expressed a preference for the scaffold, as the milder fate of the two.
The lady, however, not being aware of those uncomplimentary sentiments,
made her proposal to the magistrates, but was dismissed with harsh
rebukes. She had need be ashamed, they said; of her willingness to take a
condemned traitor for her husband. It was urged, in her behalf, that even
in the cruel Alva's time, the ancient custom had been respected, and that
victims had been saved from the executioners, on a demand in marriage
made even by women of abandoned character. But all was of no avail. The
prisoners were executed on the 26th October, the same day on which the
sentence had been pronounced. The heads of Volmar and Cosmo were exposed
on one of the turrets of the city. That of Maulde was interred with his
body.

The Earl was indignant when he heard of the event. As there had been no
written proof of his complicity in the conspiracy, the judges had thought
it improper to mention his name in the sentences. He, of course, denied
any knowledge of the plot, and its proof rested therefore only on the
assertion of the prisoners themselves, which, however, was
circumstantial, voluntary, and generally believed!

France, during the whole of this year of expectation, was ploughed
throughout its whole surface by perpetual civil war. The fatal edict of
June, 1585, had drowned the unhappy land in blood. Foreign armies, called
in by the various contending factions, ravaged its-fair territory,
butchered its peasantry, and changed its fertile plains to a wilderness.
The unhappy creature who wore the crown of Charlemagne and of Hugh Capet,
was but the tool in the hands of the most profligate and designing of his
own subjects, and of foreigners. Slowly and surely the net, spread by the
hands of his own mother, of his own prime minister, of the Duke of Guise,
all obeying the command and receiving the stipend of Philip, seemed
closing over him. He was without friends, without power to know his
friends, if he had them. In his hatred to the Reformation, he had allowed
himself to be made the enemy of the only man who could be his friend, or
the friend of France. Allied with his mortal foe, whose armies were
strengthened by contingents from Parma's forces, and paid for by Spanish
gold, he was forced to a mock triumph over the foreign mercenaries who
came to save his crown, and to submit to the defeat of the flower of his
chivalry, by the only man who could rescue France from ruin, and whom
France could look up to with respect.

For, on the 20th October, Henry of Navarre had at last gained a victory.
After twenty-seven years of perpetual defeat, during which they had been
growing stronger and stronger, the Protestants had met the picked troops
of Henry III., under the Due de Joyeuse, near the burgh of Contras. His
cousins Conde and Soissons each commanded a wing in the army of the
Warnese. "You are both of my family," said Henry, before the engagement,
"and the Lord so help me, but I will show you that I am the eldest born."
And during that bloody day the white plume was ever tossing where the
battle, was fiercest. "I choose to show myself. They shall see the
Bearnese," was his reply to those who implored him to have a care for his
personal safety. And at last, when the day was done, the victory gained,
and more French nobles lay dead on the field, as Catharine de' Medici
bitterly declared, than had fallen in a battle for twenty years; when two
thousand of the King's best troops had been slain, and when the bodies of
Joyeuse and his brother had been laid out in the very room where the
conqueror's supper, after the battle, was served, but where he refused,
with a shudder, to eat, he was still as eager as before--had the wretched
Valois been possessed of a spark of manhood, or of intelligence--to
shield him and his kingdom from the common enemy.'

For it could hardly be doubtful, even to Henry III., at that moment, that
Philip II. and his jackal, the Duke of Guise, were pursuing him to the
death, and that, in his breathless doublings to escape, he had been
forced to turn upon his natural protector. And now Joyeuse was defeated
and slain. "Had it been my brother's son," exclaimed Cardinal de Bourbon,
weeping and wailing, "how much better it would have been." It was not
easy to slay the champion of French Protestantism; yet, to one less
buoyant, the game, even after the brilliant but fruitless victory of
Contras, might have seemed desperate. Beggared and outcast, with
literally scarce a shirt to his back, without money to pay a corporal's
guard, how was he to maintain an army?

But 'Mucio' was more successful than Joyeuse had been, and the German and
Swiss mercenaries who had come across the border to assist the Bearnese,
were adroitly handled by Philip's great stipendiary. Henry of Valois,
whose troops had just been defeated at Contras, was now compelled to
participate in a more fatal series of triumphs. For alas, the victim had
tied himself to the apron-string of "Madam League," and was paraded by
her, in triumph, before the eyes of his own subjects and of the world.
The passage of the Loire by the auxiliaries was resisted; a series of
petty victories was gained by Guise, and, at last, after it was obvious
that the leaders of the legions had been corrupted with Spanish ducats,
Henry allowed them to depart, rather than give the Balafre opportunity
for still farther successes.

Then came the triumph in Paris--hosannahs in the churches, huzzas in the
public places--not for the King, but for Guise. Paris, more madly in love
with her champion than ever, prostrated herself at his feet. For him
paeans as to a deliverer. Without him the ark would have fallen into the
hands of the Philistines. For the Valois, shouts of scorn from the
populace, thunders from the pulpit, anathemas from monk and priest,
elaborate invectives from all the pedants of the Sorbonne, distant
mutterings of excommunication from Rome--not the toothless beldame of
modern days, but the avenging divinity of priest-rid monarchs. Such were
the results of the edicts of June. Spain and the Pope had trampled upon
France, and the populace in her capital clapped their hands and jumped
for joy. "Miserable country miserable King," sighed an illustrious
patriot, "whom his own countrymen wish rather to survive, than to die to
defend him! Let the name of Huguenot and of Papist be never heard of
more. Let us think only of the counter-league. Is France to be saved by
opening all its gates to Spain? Is France to be turned out of France, to
make a lodging for the Lorrainer and the Spaniard?" Pregnant questions,
which could not yet be answered, for the end was not yet. France was to
become still more and more a wilderness. And well did that same brave and
thoughtful lover, of his: country declare, that he who should suddenly
awake from a sleep of twenty-five years, and revisit that once beautiful
land, would deem himself transplanted to a barbarous island of
cannibals.--[Duplessis Mornay, 'Mem.' iv. 1-34.]

It had now become quite obvious that the game of Leicester was played
out. His career--as it has now been fully exhibited--could have but one
termination. He had made himself thoroughly odious to the nation whom he
came to govern. He had lost for ever the authority once spontaneously
bestowed; and he had attempted in vain, both by fair means and foul, to
recover that power. There was nothing left him but retreat. Of this he
was thoroughly convinced. He was anxious to be gone, the republic most
desirous to be rid of him, her Majesty impatient to have her favourite
back again. The indulgent Queen, seeing nothing to blame in his conduct,
while her indignation, at the attitude maintained by the Provinces was
boundless, permitted him, accordingly, to return; and in her letter to
the States, announcing this decision, she took a fresh opportunity of
emptying her wrath upon their heads.

She told them, that, notwithstanding her frequent messages to them,
signifying her evil contentment with their unthankfulness for her
exceeding great benefits, and with their gross violations of their
contract with herself and with Leicester, whom they had, of their own
accord, made absolute governor without her instigation; she had never
received any good answer to move, her to commit their sins to oblivion,
nor had she remarked, any amendment in their conduct. On the contrary,
she complained: that they daily increased their offences, most
notoriously in the sight of--the world and in so many points that she
lacked words to express them in one letter. She however thought it worth
while to allude to some of their transgressions. She, declared that their
sinister, or rather barbarous interpretation of her conduct had been
notorious in perverting and falsifying her princely and Christian
intentions; when she imparted to them the overtures that had been made to
her for a treaty of peace for herself and for them with the King of
Spain. Yet although she had required their allowance, before she would
give her assent, she had been grieved that the world should see what
impudent untruths had been forged upon her, not only by their.
sufferance; but by their special permission for her Christian good
meaning towards them. She denounced the statements as to her having
concluded a treaty, not only without their knowledge; but with the
sacrifice of their liberty and religion, as utterly false, either for
anything done in act, or intended in thought, by her. She complained that
upon this most false ground had been heaped a number of like untruths and
malicious slanders against her cousin Leicester, who had hazarded his
life, spend his substance, left his native country, absented himself from
her, and lost his time, only for their service. It had been falsely
stated among them, she said, that the Earl had come over the last time,
knowing that peace had been secretly concluded. It was false that he had
intended to surprise divers of their towns, and deliver them to the King
of Spain. All such untruths contained matter so improbable, that it was
most, strange that any person; having any sense, could imagine them
correct. Having thus slightly animadverted upon their wilfulness,
unthankfulness, and bad government, and having, in very plain English,
given them the lie, eight distinct and separate times upon a single page,
she proceeded to inform them that she had recalled her cousin Leicester,
having great cause to use his services in England, and not seeing how, by
his tarrying there, he could either profit them or herself. Nevertheless
she protested herself not void of compassion for their estate, and for
the pitiful condition of the great multitude of kind and godly people,
subject to the miseries which, by the States government, were like to
fall upon them, unless God should specially interpose; and she had
therefore determined, for the time, to continue her subsidies, according
to the covenant between them. If, meantime, she should conclude a peace
with Spain, she promised to them the same care for their country as for
her own.

Accordingly the Earl, after despatching an equally ill-tempered letter to
the States, in which he alluded, at unmerciful length, to all the old
grievances, blamed them for the loss of Sluys, for which place he
protested that they had manifested no more interest than if it had been
San Domingo in Hispaniola, took his departure for Flushing. After
remaining there, in a very moody frame of mind, for several days,
expecting that the States would, at least, send a committee to wait upon
him and receive his farewells, he took leave of them by letter. "God send
me shortly a wind to blow me from them all," he exclaimed--a prayer which
was soon granted--and before the end of the year he was safely landed in
England. "These legs of mine," said he, clapping his hands upon them as
he sat in his chamber at Margate, "shall never go again into Holland. Let
the States get others to serve their mercenary turn, for me they shall
not have." Upon giving up the government, he caused a medal to be struck
in his own honour. The device was a flock of sheep watched by an English
mastiff. Two mottoes--"non gregem aed ingratos," and "invitus
desero"--expressed his opinion of Dutch ingratitude and his own fidelity.
The Hollanders, on their part, struck several medals to commemorate the
same event, some of which were not destitute of invention. Upon one of
them, for instance, was represented an ape smothering her young ones to
death in her embrace, with the device, "Libertas ne its chara ut simiae
catuli;" while upon the reverse was a man avoiding smoke and falling into
the fire, with the inscription, "Fugiens fumum, incidit in ignem."

Leicester found the usual sunshine at Greenwich. All the efforts of
Norris, Wilkes, and Buckhurst, had been insufficient to raise even a
doubt in Elizabeth's mind as to the wisdom and integrity by which his
administration of the Provinces had been characterised from beginning to
end. Those who had appealed from his hatred to the justice of their
sovereign, had met with disgrace and chastisement. But for the great
Earl; the Queen's favour was a rock of adamant. At a private interview he
threw himself at her feet, and with tears and sobs implored her not to
receive him in disgrace whom she had sent forth in honour. His
blandishments prevailed, as they had always done. Instead, therefore, of
appearing before the council, kneeling, to answer such inquiries as ought
surely to have been instituted, he took his seat boldly among his
colleagues, replying haughtily to all murmurs by a reference to her
Majesty's secret instructions.

The unhappy English soldiers, who had gone forth under his banner in
midsummer, had been returning, as they best might, in winter, starving,
half-naked wretches, to beg a morsel of bread at the gates of Greenwich
palace, and to be driven away as vagabonds, with threats of the stock.
This was not the fault of the Earl, for he had fed them with his own
generous hand in the Netherlands, week after week, when no money for
their necessities could be obtained from the paymasters. Two thousand
pounds had been sent by Elizabeth to her soldiers when sixty-four
thousand pounds arrearage were due, and no language could exaggerate the
misery to which these outcasts, according to eye-witnesses of their own
nation, were reduced.

Lord Willoughby was appointed to the command, of what remained of these
unfortunate troops, upon--the Earl's departure. The sovereignty of the
Netherlands remained undisputed with the States. Leicester resigned his,
commission by an instrument dated 17/27 December, which, however, never
reached the Netherlands till April of the following year. From that time
forth the government of the republic maintained the same forms which the
assembly had claimed for it in the long controversy with the
governor-general, and which have been sufficiently described.

Meantime the negotiations for a treaty, no longer secret, continued. The
Queen; infatuated as ever, still believed in the sincerity of Farnese,
while that astute personage and his master were steadily maturing their
schemes. A matrimonial alliance was secretly projected between the King
of Scots and Philip's daughter, the Infants Isabella, with the consent of
the Pope and the whole college of cardinals; and James, by the whole
force of the Holy League, was to be placed upon the throne of Elizabeth.
In the case of his death, without issue, Philip was to succeed quietly to
the crowns of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Nothing could be simpler or
more rational, and accordingly these arrangements were the table-talk at
Rome, and met with general approbation.

Communications to this effect; coming straight from the Colonna palace,
were thought sufficiently circumstantial to be transmitted to the English
government. Maurice of Nassau wrote with his own hand to Walsingham,
professing a warm attachment to the cause in which Holland and England
were united, and perfect personal devotion to the English Queen.

His language, was not that of a youth, who, according to Leicester's
repeated insinuations, was leagued with the most distinguished soldiers
and statesmen of the Netherlands to sell their country to Spain.

But Elizabeth was not to be convinced. She thought it extremely probable
that the Provinces would be invaded, and doubtless felt some anxiety for
England. It was unfortunate that the possession of Sluys had given
Alexander such a point of vantage; and there was moreover, a fear that he
might take possession of Ostend. She had, therefore, already recommended
that her own troops should be removed from that city, that its walls
should be razed; its marine bulwarks destroyed, and that the ocean.
should be let in to swallow the devoted city forever--the inhabitants
having been previously allowed to take their departure. For it was
assumed by her Majesty that to attempt resistance would be idle, and that
Ostend could never stand a siege.

The advice was not taken; and before the end of her reign Elizabeth was
destined to see this indefensible city--only fit, in her judgment, to be
abandoned to the waves--become memorable; throughout all time, for the
longest; and, in many respects, the most remarkable siege which modern
history has recorded, the famous leaguer, in which the first European
captains of the coming age were to take their lessons, year after year,
in the school of the great Dutch soldier, who was now but a "solemn, sly
youth," just turned of twenty.

The only military achievement which characterized the close of the year,
to the great satisfaction of the Provinces and the annoyance of Parma,
was the surprise of the city of Bonn. The indefatigable Martin Schenk--in
fulfilment of his great contract with the States-General, by which the
war on the Rhine had been farmed out to him on such profitable
terms:--had led his mercenaries against this important town. He had found
one of its gates somewhat insecurely guarded, placed a mortar under it at
night, and occupied a neighbouring pig-stye with a number of his men, who
by chasing, maltreating, and slaughtering the swine, had raised an
unearthly din, sufficient to drown the martial operations at the gate. In
brief, the place was easily mastered, and taken possession of by Martin,
in the name of the deposed elector, Gebhard Truchsess--the first stroke
of good fortune which had for a long time befallen that melancholy
prelate.

The administration of Leicester has been so minutely pictured, that it
would be superfluous to indulge in many concluding reflections. His acts
and words have been made to speak for themselves. His career in the
country has been described with much detail, because the period was a
great epoch of transition. The republic of the Netherlands, during those
years, acquired consistency and permanent form. It seemed possible, on
the Earl's first advent, that the Provinces might become part and parcel
of the English realm. Whether such a consummation would have been
desirable or not, is a fruitless enquiry. But it is certain that the
selection of such a man as Leicester made that result impossible.
Doubtless there were many errors committed by all parties. The Queen was
supposed by the Netherlands to be secretly desirous of accepting the
sovereignty of the Provinces, provided she were made sure, by the Earl's
experience, that they were competent to protect themselves. But this
suspicion was unfounded. The result of every investigation showed the
country so full of resources, of wealth, and of military and naval
capabilities, that, united with England, it would have been a source of
great revenue and power, not a burthen and an expense. Yet, when
convinced of such facts, by the statistics which were liberally laid
before her by her confidential agents, she never manifested, either in
public or private, any intention of accepting the sovereignty. This being
her avowed determination, it was an error on the part of the States,
before becoming thoroughly acquainted with the man's character, to confer
upon Leicester the almost boundless authority which they granted on, his
first arrival. It was a still graver mistake, on the part of Elizabeth,
to give way to such explosions of fury, both against the governor and the
States, when informed of the offer and acceptance of that authority. The
Earl, elevated by the adulation of others, and by his own vanity, into an
almost sovereign attitude, saw himself chastised before the world, like
an aspiring lackey, by her in whose favour he had felt most secure. He
found, himself, in an instant, humbled and ridiculous. Between himself
and the Queen it was, something of a lovers' quarrel, and he soon found
balsam in the hand that smote him. But though reinstated in authority, he
was never again the object of reverence in the land he was attempting to
rule. As he came to know the Netherlanders better, he recognized the
great capacity which their statesmen concealed under a plain and
sometimes a plebeian exterior, and the splendid grandee hated, where at
first he had only despised. The Netherlanders, too, who had been used to
look up almost with worship to a plain man of kindly manners, in felt hat
and bargeman's woollen jacket, whom they called "Father William," did not
appreciate, as they ought, the magnificence of the stranger who had been
sent to govern them. The Earl was handsome, quick-witted, brave; but he
was, neither wise in council nor capable in the field. He was intolerably
arrogant, passionate, and revengeful. He hated easily, and he hated for
life. It was soon obvious that no cordiality of feeling or of action
could exist between him and the plain, stubborn Hollanders. He had the
fatal characteristic of loving only the persons who flattered him. With
much perception of character, sense of humour, and appreciation of
intellect, he recognized the power of the leading men in the nation, and
sought to gain them. So long as he hoped success, he was loud in their
praises. They were all wise, substantial, well-languaged, big fellows,
such as were not to be found in England or anywhere else. When they
refused to be made his tools, they became tinkers, boors, devils, and
atheists. He covered them with curses and devoted them to the gibbet. He
began by warmly commending Buys and Barneveld, Hohenlo and Maurice, and
endowing them with every virtue. Before he left the country he had
accused them of every crime, and would cheerfully, if he could, have
taken the life of every one of them. And it was quite the same with
nearly every Englishman who served with or under him. Wilkes and
Buckhurst, however much the objects of his previous esteem; so soon as
they ventured to censure or even to criticise his proceedings, were at
once devoted to perdition. Yet, after minute examination of the record,
public and private, neither Wilkes nor Buckhurst can be found guilty of
treachery or animosity towards him, but are proved to have been governed,
in all their conduct, by a strong sense of duty to their sovereign, the
Netherlands, and Leicester himself.

To Sir John Norris, it must be allowed, that he was never fickle, for he
had always entertained for that distinguished general an honest,
unswerving, and infinite hatred, which was not susceptible of increase or
diminution by any act or word. Pelham, too, whose days were numbered, and
who was dying bankrupt and broken-hearted, at the close of the, Earl's
administration, had always been regarded by him with tenderness and
affection. But Pelham had never thwarted him, had exposed his life for
him, and was always proud of being his faithful, unquestioning, humble
adherent. With perhaps this single exception, Leicester found himself at
the end of his second term in the Provinces, without a single friend and
with few respectable partisans. Subordinate mischievous intriguers like
Deventer, Junius, and Otheman, were his chief advisers and the
instruments of his schemes.

With such qualifications it was hardly possible--even if the current of
affairs had been flowing smoothly--that he should prove a successful
governor of the new republic. But when the numerous errors and
adventitious circumstances are considered--for some of which he was
responsible, while of others he was the victim--it must be esteemed
fortunate that no great catastrophe occurred. His immoderate elevation;
his sudden degradation, his controversy in regard to the sovereignty, his
abrupt departure for England, his protracted absence, his mistimed
return, the secret instructions for his second administration, the
obstinate parsimony and persistent ill-temper of the Queen--who, from the
beginning to the end of the Earl's government, never addressed a kindly
word to the Netherlanders, but was ever censuring and brow beating them
in public state-papers and private epistles--the treason of York and
Stanley, above all, the disastrous and concealed negotiations with Parma,
and the desperate attempts upon Amsterdam and Leyden--all placed him in a
most unfortunate position from first to last. But he was not competent
for his post under any circumstances. He was not the statesman to deal in
policy with Buys, Barneveld, Ortel, Sainte Aldegonde; nor the soldier to
measure himself against Alexander Farnese. His administration was a
failure; and although he repeatedly hazarded his life, and poured out his
wealth in their behalf with an almost unequalled liberality, he could
never gain the hearts of the Netherlanders. English valour, English
intelligence, English truthfulness, English generosity, were endearing
England more and more to Holland. The statesmen of both countries were
brought into closest union, and learned to appreciate and to respect each
other, while they recognized that the fate of their respective
commonwealths was indissolubly united. But it was to the efforts of
Walsingham, Drake, Raleigh, Wilkes, Buckburst, Norris, Willoughby,
Williams, Vere, Russell, and the brave men who fought under their banners
or their counsels, on every battle-field, and in every beleaguered town
in the Netherlands, and to the universal spirit and sagacity of the
English nation, in this grand crisis of its fate, that these fortunate
results were owing; not to the Earl of Leicester, nor--during the term of
his administration--to Queen Elizabeth herself.

In brief, the proper sphere of this remarkable personage, and the one in
which he passed the greater portion of his existence, was that of a
magnificent court favourite, the spoiled darling, from youth to his
death-bed, of the great English Queen; whether to the advantage or not of
his country and the true interests of his sovereign, there can hardly be
at this day any difference of opinion.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Act of Uniformity required Papists to assist
     As lieve see the Spanish as the Calvinistic inquisition
     Elizabeth (had not) the faintest idea of religious freedom
     God, whose cause it was, would be pleased to give good weather
     Heretics to the English Church were persecuted
     Look for a sharp war, or a miserable peace
     Loving only the persons who flattered him
     Not many more than two hundred Catholics were executed
     Only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror was distrust
     Stake or gallows (for) heretics to transubstantiation
     States were justified in their almost unlimited distrust
     Undue anxiety for impartiality
     Wealthy Papists could obtain immunity by an enormous fine



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 55, 1588



CHAPTER XVIII. Part 1.

   Prophecies as to the Year 1588--Distracted Condition of the Dutch
   Republic--Willoughby reluctantly takes Command--English
   Commissioners come to Ostend--Secretary Gamier and Robert Cecil--
   Cecil accompanies Dale to Ghent--And finds the Desolation complete--
   Interview of Dale and Cecil with Parma--His fervent Expressions in
   favour of Peace--Cecil makes a Tour in Flanders--And sees much that
   is remarkable--Interviews of Dr. Rogers with Parma--Wonderful
   Harangues of the Envoy--Extraordinary Amenity of Alexander--With
   which Rogers is much touched--The Queen not pleased with her Envoy--
   Credulity of the English Commissioners--Ceremonious Meeting of all
   the Envoys--Consummate Art in wasting Time--Long Disputes about
   Commissions--The Spanish Commissions meant to deceive--Disputes
   about Cessation of Arms--Spanish Duplicity and Procrastination--
   Pedantry and Credulity of Dr. Dale--The Papal Bull and Dr. Allen's
   Pamphlet--Dale sent to ask Explanations--Parma denies all Knowledge
   of either--Croft believes to the last in Alexander.

The year 1588 had at last arrived--that fatal year concerning which the
German astrologers--more than a century before had prognosticated such
dire events. As the epoch approached it was firmly believed by many that
the end of the world was at hand, while the least superstitious could not
doubt that great calamities were impending over the nations. Portents
observed during the winter and in various parts of Europe came to
increase the prevailing panic. It rained blood in Sweden, monstrous
births occurred in France, and at Weimar it was gravely reported by
eminent chroniclers that the sun had appeared at mid-day holding a drawn
sword in his mouth--a warlike portent whose meaning could not be
mistaken.

But, in truth, it needed no miracles nor prophecies to enforce the
conviction that a long procession of disasters was steadily advancing.
With France rent asunder by internal convulsions, with its imbecile king
not even capable of commanding a petty faction among his own subjects,
with Spain the dark cause of unnumbered evils, holding Italy in its
grasp, firmly allied with the Pope, already having reduced and nearly
absorbed France, and now, after long and patient preparation, about to
hurl the concentrated vengeance and hatred of long years upon the little
kingdom of England, and its only ally--the just organized commonwealth of
the Netherlands--it would have been strange indeed if the dullest
intellect had not dreamed of tragical events. It was not encouraging that
there should be distraction in the counsels of the two States so
immediately threatened; that the Queen of England should be at variance
with her wisest and most faithful statesmen as to their course of action,
and that deadly quarrels should exist between the leading men of the
Dutch republic and the English governor, who had assumed the
responsibility of directing its energies against the common enemy.

The blackest night that ever descended upon the Netherlands--more
disappointing because succeeding a period of comparative prosperity and
triumph--was the winter of 1587-8, when Leicester had terminated his
career by his abrupt departure for England, after his second brief
attempt at administration. For it was exactly at this moment of anxious
expectation, when dangers were rolling up from the south till not a ray
of light or hope could pierce the universal darkness, that the little
commonwealth was left without a chief. The English Earl departed, shaking
the dust from his feet; but he did not resign. The supreme authority--so
far as he could claim it--was again transferred,--with his person, to
England.

The consequences were immediate and disastrous. All the Leicestrians
refused to obey the States-General. Utrecht, the stronghold of that
party, announced its unequivocal intention to annex itself, without any
conditions whatever, to the English crown, while, in Holland, young
Maurice was solemnly installed stadholder, and captain-general of the
Provinces, under the guidance of Hohenlo and Barneveld. But his authority
was openly defied in many important cities within his jurisdiction by
military chieftains who had taken the oaths of allegiance to Leicester as
governor, and who refused to renounce fidelity to the man who had
deserted their country, but who had not resigned his authority. Of these
mutineers the most eminent was Diedrich Sonoy, governor of North Holland,
a soldier of much experience, sagacity, and courage, who had rendered
great services to the cause of liberty and Protestantism, and had defaced
it by acts of barbarity which had made his name infamous. Against this
refractory chieftain it was necessary for Hohenlo and Maurice to lead an
armed force, and to besiege him in his stronghold--the important city of
Medenblik--which he resolutely held for Leicester, although Leicester had
definitely departed, and which he closed against Maurice, although
Maurice was the only representative of order and authority within the
distracted commonwealth. And thus civil war had broken out in the little
scarcely-organized republic, as if there were not dangers and bloodshed
enough impending over it from abroad. And the civil war was the necessary
consequence of the Earl's departure.

The English forces--reduced as they were by sickness, famine, and abject
poverty--were but a remnant of the brave and well-seasoned bands which
had faced the Spaniards with success on so many battle-fields.

The general who now assumed chief command over them--by direction of
Leicester, subsequently confirmed by the Queen--was Lord Willoughby. A
daring, splendid dragoon, an honest, chivalrous, and devoted servant of
his Queen, a conscientious adherent of Leicester, and a firm believer in
his capacity and character, he was, however, not a man of sufficient
experience or subtlety to perform the various tasks imposed upon him by
the necessities of such a situation. Quick-witted, even brilliant in
intellect, and the bravest of the brave on the battle-field, he was
neither a sagacious administrator nor a successful commander. And he
honestly confessed his deficiencies, and disliked the post to which he
had been elevated. He scorned baseness, intrigue, and petty quarrels, and
he was impatient of control. Testy, choleric, and quarrelsome, with a
high sense of honour, and a keen perception of insult, very modest and
very proud, he was not likely to feed with wholesome appetite upon the
unsavoury annoyances which were the daily bread of a chief commander in
the Netherlands. "I ambitiously affect not high titles, but round
dealing," he said; "desiring rather to be a private lance with
indifferent reputation, than a colonel-general spotted or defamed with
wants." He was not the politician to be matched against the unscrupulous
and all-accomplished Farnese; and indeed no man better than Willoughby
could illustrate the enormous disadvantage under which Englishmen
laboured at that epoch in their dealings with Italians and Spaniards. The
profuse indulgence in falsehood which characterized southern
statesmanship, was more than a match for English love of truth. English
soldiers and negotiators went naked into a contest with enemies armed in
a panoply of lies. It was an unequal match, as we have already seen, and
as we are soon more clearly to see. How was an English soldier who valued
his knightly word--how were English diplomatists--among whom one of the
most famous--then a lad of twenty, secretary to Lord Essex in the
Netherlands--had poetically avowed that "simple truth was highest
skill,"--to deal with the thronging Spanish deceits sent northward by the
great father of lies who sat in the Escorial?

"It were an ill lesson," said Willoughby, "to teach soldiers the,
dissimulations of such as follow princes' courts, in Italy. For my own
part, it is my only end to be loyal and dutiful to my sovereign, and
plain to all others that I honour. I see the finest reynard loses his
best coat as well as the poorest sheep." He was also a strong
Leicestrian, and had imbibed much of the Earl's resentment against the
leading politicians of the States. Willoughby was sorely in need of
council. That shrewd and honest Welshman--Roger Williams--was, for the
moment, absent. Another of the same race and character commanded in
Bergen-op-Zoom, but was not more gifted with administrative talent than
the general himself.

"Sir Thomas Morgan is a very sufficient, gallant gentleman," said
Willoughby, "and in truth a very old soldier; but we both have need of
one that can both give and keep counsel better than ourselves. For action
he is undoubtedly very able, if there were no other means to conquer but
only to give blows."

In brief, the new commander of the English forces in the Netherlands was
little satisfied with the States, with the enemy, or with himself; and
was inclined to take but a dismal view of the disjointed commonwealth,
which required so incompetent a person as he professed himself to be to
set it right.

"'Tis a shame to show my wants," he said, "but too great a fault of duty
that the Queen's reputation be frustrate. What is my slender experience!
What an honourable person do I succeed! What an encumbered popular state
is left! What withered sinews, which it passes my cunning to restore!
What an enemy in head greater than heretofore! And wherewithal should I
sustain this burthen? For the wars I am fitter to obey than to command.
For the state, I am a man prejudicated in their opinion, and not the
better liked of them that have earnestly followed the general, and, being
one that wants both opinion and experience with them I have to deal, and
means to win more or to maintain that which is left, what good may be
looked for?"

The supreme authority--by the retirement of Leicester--was once more the
subject of dispute. As on his first departure, so also on this his second
and final one, he had left a commission to the state-council to act as an
executive body during his absence. But, although he--nominally still
retained his office, in reality no man believed in his return; and the
States-General were ill inclined to brook a species of guardianship over
them, with which they believed themselves mature enough to dispense.
Moreover the state-council, composed mainly of Leicestrians, would
expire, by limitation of its commission, early in February of that year.
The dispute for power would necessarily terminate, therefore, in favour
of the States-General.

Meantime--while this internal revolution was taking place in the polity
of the commonwealth-the gravest disturbances were its natural
consequence. There were mutinies in the garrisons of Heusden, of
Gertruydenberg, of Medenblik, as alarming, and threatening to become as
chronic in their character, as those extensive military rebellions which
often rendered the Spanish troops powerless at the most critical epochs.
The cause of these mutinies was uniformly, want of pay, the pretext, the
oath to the Earl of Leicester, which was declared incompatible with the
allegiance claimed by Maurice in the name of the States-General. The
mutiny of Gertruydenberg was destined to be protracted; that of
Medenblik, dividing, as it did, the little territory of Holland in its
very heart, it was most important at once to suppress. Sonoy,
however--who was so stanch a Leicestrian, that his Spanish contemporaries
uniformly believed him to be an Englishman--held out for a long time, as
will be seen, against the threats and even the armed demonstrations of
Maurice and the States.

Meantime the English sovereign, persisting in her delusion, and despite
the solemn warnings of her own wisest counsellors; and the passionate
remonstrances of the States-General of the Netherlands, sent her
peace-commissioners to the Duke of Parma.

The Earl of Derby, Lord Cobham, Sir James Croft, Valentine Dale, doctor
of laws, and former ambassador at Vienna, and Dr. Rogers, envoys on the
part of the Queen, arrived in the Netherlands in February. The
commissioners appointed on the part of Farnese were Count Aremberg,
Champagny, Richardot, Jacob Maas, and Secretary Garnier.

If history has ever furnished a lesson, how an unscrupulous tyrant, who
has determined upon enlarging his own territories at the expense of his
neighbours, upon oppressing human freedom wherever it dared to manifest
itself, with fine phrases of religion and order for ever in his mouth, on
deceiving his friends and enemies alike, as to his nefarious and almost
incredible designs, by means of perpetual and colossal falsehoods; and if
such lessons deserve to be pondered, as a source of instruction and
guidance for every age, then certainly the secret story of the
negotiations by which the wise Queen of England was beguiled, and her
kingdom brought to the verge of ruin, in the spring of 1588, is worthy of
serious attention.

The English commissioners arrived at Ostend. With them came Robert Cecil,
youngest son of Lord-Treasurer Burghley, then twenty-five years of
age.--He had no official capacity, but was sent by his father, that he
might improve his diplomatic talents, and obtain some information as to
the condition of the Netherlands. A slight, crooked, hump-backed young
gentleman, dwarfish in stature, but with a face not irregular in feature,
and thoughtful and subtle in expression, with reddish hair, a thin tawny
beard, and large, pathetic, greenish-coloured eyes, with a mind and
manners already trained to courts and cabinets, and with a disposition
almost ingenuous, as compared to the massive dissimulation with which it
was to be contrasted, and with what was, in aftertimes, to constitute a
portion of his own character, Cecil, young as he was, could not be
considered the least important of the envoys. The Queen, who loved proper
men, called him "her pigmy;" and "although," he observed with whimsical
courtliness, "I may not find fault with the sporting name she gives me,
yet seem I only not to mislike it, because she gives it." The strongest
man among them was Valentine Dale, who had much shrewdness, experience,
and legal learning, but who valued himself, above all things, upon his
Latinity. It was a consolation to him, while his adversaries were
breaking Priscian's head as fast as the Duke, their master, was breaking
his oaths, that his own syntax was as clear as his conscience. The
feeblest commissioner was James-a-Croft, who had already exhibited
himself with very anile characteristics, and whose subsequent
manifestations were to seem like dotage. Doctor Rogers, learned in the
law, as he unquestionably was, had less skill in reading human character,
or in deciphering the physiognomy of a Farnese, while Lord Derby, every
inch a grandee, with Lord Cobham to assist him, was not the man to cope
with the astute Richardot, the profound and experienced Champagny, or
that most voluble and most rhetorical of doctors of law, Jacob Maas of
Antwerp.

The commissioners, on their arrival, were welcomed by Secretary Garnier,
who had been sent to Ostend to greet them. An adroit, pleasing, courteous
gentleman, thirty-six years of age, small, handsome, and attired not
quite as a soldier, nor exactly as one of the long robe, wearing a cloak
furred to the knee, a cassock of black velvet, with plain gold buttons,
and a gold chain about his neck, the secretary delivered handsomely the
Duke of Parma's congratulations, recommended great expedition in the
negotiations, and was then invited by the Earl of Derby to dine with the
commissioners. He was accompanied by a servant in plain livery, who--so
soon as his master had made his bow to the English envoys--had set forth
for a stroll through the town. The modest-looking valet, however, was a
distinguished engineer in disguise, who had been sent by Alexander for
the especial purpose of examining the fortifications of Ostend--that town
being a point much coveted, and liable to immediate attack by the Spanish
commander.

Meanwhile Secretary Gamier made himself very agreeable, showing wit,
experience, and good education; and, after dinner, was accompanied to his
lodgings by Dr. Rogers and other gentlemen, with whom--especially with
Cecil--he held much conversation.

Knowing that this young gentleman "wanted not an honourable father," the
Secretary was very desirous that he should take this opportunity to make
a tour through the Provinces, examine the cities, and especially "note
the miserable ruins of the poor country and people." He would then
feelingly perceive how much they had to answer for, whose mad rebellion
against their sovereign lord and master had caused so great an effusion
of blood, and the wide desolation of such goodly towns and territories.

Cecil probably entertained a suspicion that the sovereign lord and
master, who had been employed, twenty years long, in butchering his
subjects and in ravaging their territory to feed his executioners and
soldiers, might almost be justified in treating human beings as beasts
and reptiles, if they had not at last rebelled. He simply and
diplomatically answered, however, that he could not but concur with the
Secretary in lamenting the misery of the Provinces and people so utterly
despoiled and ruined, but, as it might be matter of dispute; "from what
head this fountain of calamity was both fed and derived, he would not
enter further therein, it being a matter much too high for his capacity."
He expressed also the hope that the King's heart might sympathize with
that of her Majesty, in earnest compassion for all this suffering, and in
determination to compound their differences.

On the following day there was some conversation with Gamier, on
preliminary and formal matters, followed in the evening by a dinner at
Lord Cobham's lodgings--a banquet which the forlorn condition of the
country scarcely permitted to be luxurious. "We rather pray here for
satiety," said Cecil, "than ever think of variety."

It was hoped by the Englishmen that the Secretary would take his
departure after dinner; for the governor of Ostend, Sir John Conway, had
an uneasy sensation, during his visit, that the unsatisfactory condition
of the defences would attract his attention, and that a sudden attack by
Farnese might be the result. Sir John was not aware however, of the
minute and scientific observations then making at the very moment when
Mr. Garnier was entertaining the commissioners with his witty and
instructive conversation--by the unobtrusive menial who had accompanied
the Secretary to Ostend. In order that those observations might be as
thorough as possible, rather than with any view to ostensible business,
the envoy of Parma now declared that--on account of the unfavourable
state of the tide--he had resolved to pass another night at Ostend. "We
could have spared his company," said Cecil, "but their Lordships
considered it convenient that he should be used well." So Mr. Comptroller
Croft gave the affable Secretary a dinner-invitation for the following
day.

Here certainly was a masterly commencement on the part of the Spanish
diplomatists. There was not one stroke of business during the visit of
the Secretary. He had been sent simply to convey a formal greeting, and
to take the names of the English commissioners--a matter which could have
been done in an hour as well as in a week. But it must be remembered,
that, at that very moment, the Duke was daily expecting intelligence of
the sailing of the Armada, and that Philip, on his part, supposed the
Duke already in England, at the head of his army. Under these
circumstances, therefore--when the whole object of the negotiation, so
far as Parma and his master were, concerned, was to amuse and to gain
time--it was already ingenious in Garnier to have consumed several days
in doing nothing; and to have obtained plans and descriptions of Ostend
into the bargain.

Garnier--when his departure could no longer, on any pretext, be
deferred--took his leave, once more warmly urging Robert Cecil to make a
little tour in the obedient Netherlands, and to satisfy himself, by
personal observation, of their miserable condition. As Dr. Dale purposed
making a preliminary visit to the Duke of Parma at Ghent, it was
determined accordingly that he should be accompanied by Cecil.

That young gentleman had already been much impressed by the forlorn
aspect of the country about Ostend--for, although the town was itself in
possession of the English, it was in the midst of the enemy's territory.
Since the fall of Sluys the Spaniards were masters of all Flanders, save
this one much-coveted point. And although the Queen had been disposed to
abandon that city, and to suffer the ocean to overwhelm it, rather than
that she should be at charges to defend it, yet its possession was of
vital consequence to the English-Dutch cause, as time was ultimately to
show. Meanwhile the position was already a very important one,
for--according to the predatory system of warfare of the day--it was an
excellent starting-point for those marauding expeditions against persons
and property, in which neither the Dutch nor English were less skilled
than the Flemings or Spaniards. "The land all about here," said Cecil,
"is so devastated, that where the open country was wont to be covered
with kine and sheep, it is now fuller of wild boars and wolves; whereof
many come so nigh the town that the sentinels--three of whom watch every
night upon a sand-hill outside the gates--have had them in a dark night
upon them ere they were aware."

But the garrison of Ostend was quite as dangerous to the peasants and the
country squires of Flanders, as were the wolves or wild boars; and many a
pacific individual of retired habits, and with a remnant of property
worth a ransom, was doomed to see himself whisked from his seclusion by
Conway's troopers, and made a compulsory guest at the city. Prisoners
were brought in from a distance of sixty miles; and there was one old
gentlemen, "well-languaged," who "confessed merrily to Cecil, that when
the soldiers fetched him out of his own mansion-house, sitting safe in
his study, he was as little in fear of the garrison of Ostend as he was
of the Turk or the devil."

   [And Doctor Rogers held very similar language: "The most dolorous
   and heavy sights in this voyage to Ghent, by me weighed," he said;
   "seeing the countries which, heretofore; by traffic of merchants, as
   much as any other I have seen flourish, now partly drowned, and,
   except certain great cities, wholly burned, ruined, and desolate,
   possessed I say, with wolves, wild boars, and foxes--a great,
   testimony of the wrath of God," &c. &c. Dr. Rogers to the Queen,-
   April, 1588. (S. P. Office MS.)]

Three days after the departure of Garnier, Dr. Dale and his attendants
started upon their expedition from Ostend to Ghent--an hour's journey or
so in these modern times.--The English envoys, in the sixteenth century,
found it a more formidable undertaking. They were many hours traversing
the four miles to Oudenburg, their first halting-place; for the waters
were out, there having been a great breach of the sea-dyke of Ostend, a
disaster threatening destruction to town and country. At Oudenburg, a
"small and wretched hole," as Garnier had described it to be, there was,
however, a garrison of three thousand Spanish soldiers, under the Marquis
de Renti. From these a convoy of fifty troopers was appointed to protect
the English travellers to Bruges. Here they arrived at three o'clock,
were met outside the gates by the famous General La Motte, and by him
escorted to their lodgings in the "English house," and afterwards
handsomely entertained at supper in his own quarters.

The General's wife; Madame de la Motte, was, according to Cecil, "a fair
gentlewoman of discreet and modest behaviour, and yet not unwilling
sometimes to hear herself speak;" so that in her society, and in that of
her sister--"a nun of the order of the Mounts, but who, like the rest of
the sisterhood, wore an ordinary dress in the evening, and might leave
the convent if asked in marriage"--the supper passed off very agreeably.

In the evening Cecil found that his father had formerly occupied the same
bedroom of the English hotel in which he was then lodged; for he found
that Lord Burghley had scrawled his name in the chimney-corner--a fact
which was highly gratifying to the son.

The next morning, at seven o'clock, the travellers set forth for Ghent.
The journey was a miserable one. It was as cold and gloomy weather as
even a Flemish month of March could furnish. A drizzling rain was falling
all day long, the lanes were foul and miry, the frequent thickets which
overhung their path were swarming with the freebooters of Zeeland, who
were "ever at hand," says Cecil, "to have picked our purses, but that
they descried our convoy, and so saved themselves in the woods." Sitting
on horseback ten hours without alighting, under such circumstances as
these, was not luxurious for a fragile little gentleman like Queen
Elizabeth's "pigmy;" especially as Dr. Dale and himself had only half a
red herring between them for luncheon, and supped afterwards upon an
orange. The envoy protested that when they could get a couple of eggs a
piece, while travelling in Flanders, "they thought they fared like
princes."

Nevertheless Cecil and himself fought it out manfully, and when they
reached Ghent, at five in the evening, they were met by their
acquaintance Garnier, and escorted to their lodgings. Here they were
waited upon by President Richardot, "a tall gentleman," on behalf of the
Duke of Parma, and then left to their much-needed repose.

Nothing could be more forlorn than the country of the obedient
Netherlands, through which their day's journey had led them. Desolation
had been the reward of obedience. "The misery of the inhabitants," said
Cecil, "is incredible, both without the town, where all things are
wasted, houses spoiled, and grounds unlaboured, and also, even in these
great cities, where they are for the most part poor beggars even in the
fairest houses."

And all this human wretchedness was the elaborate work of one man--one
dull, heartless bigot, living, far away, a life of laborious ease and
solemn sensuality; and, in reality, almost as much removed from these
fellow-creatures of his, whom he called his subjects, as if he had been
the inhabitant of another planet. Has history many more instructive
warnings against the horrors of arbitrary government--against the folly
of mankind in ever tolerating the rule of a single irresponsible
individual, than the lesson furnished by the life-work of that crowned
criminal, Philip the Second?

The longing for peace on the part of these unfortunate obedient Flemings
was intense. Incessant cries for peace reached the ears of the envoys on
every side. Alas, it would have been better for these peace-wishers, had
they stood side by side with their brethren, the noble Hollanders and
Zeelanders, when they had been wresting, if not peace, yet independence
and liberty, from Philip, with their own right hands. Now the obedient
Flemings were but fuel for the vast flame which the monarch was kindling
for the destruction of Christendom--if all Christendom were not willing
to accept his absolute dominion.

The burgomasters of Ghent--of Ghent, once the powerful, the industrious,
the opulent, the free, of all cities in the world now the most abject and
forlorn--came in the morning to wait upon Elizabeth's envoy, and to
present him, according to ancient custom, with some flasks of wine. They
came with tears streaming down their cheeks, earnestly expressing the
desire of their hearts for peace, and their joy that at least it had now
"begun to be thought on."

"It is quite true," replied Dr. Dale, "that her excellent Majesty the
Queen--filled with compassion for your condition, and having been
informed that the Duke of Parma is desirous of peace--has vouchsafed to
make this overture. If it take not the desired effect, let not the blame
rest upon her, but upon her adversaries." To these words the magistrates
all said Amen, and invoked blessings on her Majesty. And most certainly,
Elizabeth was sincerely desirous of peace; even at greater sacrifices
than the Duke could well have imagined; but there was something almost
diabolic in the cold dissimulation by which her honest compassion was
mocked, and the tears of a whole people in its agony made the
laughingstock of a despot and his tools.

On Saturday morning, Richardot and Garnier waited upon the envoy to
escort him to the presence of the Duke. Cecil, who accompanied him, was
not much impressed with the grandeur of Alexander's lodgings; and made
unfavourable and rather unreasonable comparisons between them and the
splendour of Elizabeth's court. They passed through an ante-chamber into
a dining-room, thence into an inner chamber, and next into the Duke's
room. In the ante-chamber stood Sir William Stanley, the Deventer
traitor, conversing with one Mockett, an Englishman, long resident in
Flanders. Stanley was meanly dressed, in the Spanish fashion, and as
young Cecil, passing through the chamber, looked him in the face, he
abruptly turned from him, and pulled his hat over his eyes. "'Twas well
he did so," said that young gentleman, "for his taking it off would
hardly have cost me mine." Cecil was informed that Stanley was to have a
commandery of Malta, and was in good favour with the Duke, who was,
however, quite weary of his mutinous and disorderly Irish regiment.

In the bed-chamber, Farnese--accompanied by the Marquis del Guasto, the
Marquis of Renty, the Prince of Aremberg, President Richardot, and
Secretary Cosimo--received the envoy and his companion. "Small and mean
was the furniture of the chamber," said Cecil; "and although they
attribute this to his love of privacy, yet it is a sign that peace is the
mother of all honour and state, as may best be perceived by the court of
England, which her Majesty's royal presence doth so adorn, as that it
exceedeth this as far as the sun surpasseth in light the other stars of
the firmament."

Here was a compliment to the Queen and her upholsterers drawn in by the
ears. Certainly, if the first and best fruit of the much-longed-for peace
were only to improve the furniture of royal and ducal apartments, it
might be as well perhaps for the war to go on, while the Queen continued
to outshine all the stars in the firmament. But the budding courtier and
statesman knew that a personal compliment to Elizabeth could never be
amiss or ill-timed.

The envoy delivered the greetings of her Majesty to the Duke, and was
heard with great attention. Alexander attempted a reply in French, which
was very imperfect, and, apologizing, exchanged that tongue for Italian.
He alluded with great fervour to the "honourable opinion concerning his
sincerity and word," expressed to him by her Majesty, through the mouth
of her envoy. "And indeed," said he, "I have always had especial care of
keeping my word. My body and service are at the commandment of the King,
my lord and master, but my honour is my own, and her Majesty may be
assured that I shall always have especial regard of my word to so great
and famous a Queen as her Majesty."

The visit was one of preliminaries and of ceremony. Nevertheless Farnese
found opportunity to impress the envoy and his companions with his
sincerity of heart. He conversed much with Cecil, making particular and
personal inquiries, and with appearance of deep interest, in regard to
Queen Elizabeth.

"There is not a prince in the world--" he said, "reserving all question
between her Majesty and my royal master--to whom I desire more to do
service. So much have I heard of her perfections, that I wish earnestly
that things might so fall out, as that it might be my fortune to look
upon her face before my return to my own country. Yet I desire to behold
her, not as a servant to him who is not able still to maintain war, or as
one that feared any harm that might befall him; for in such matters my
account was made long ago, to endure all which God may send. But, in
truth, I am weary to behold the miserable estate of this people, fallen
upon them through their own folly, and methinks that he who should do the
best offices of peace would perform a 'pium et sanctissimum opus.' Right
glad am I that the Queen is not behind me in zeal for peace." He then
complimented Cecil in regard to his father, whom he understood to be the
principal mover in these negotiations.

The young man expressed his thanks, and especially for the good affection
which the Duke had manifested to the Queen and in the blessed cause of
peace. He was well aware that her Majesty esteemed him a prince of great
honour and virtue, and that for this good work, thus auspiciously begun,
no man could possibly doubt that her Majesty, like himself, was most
zealously affected to bring all things to a perfect peace.

The matters discussed in this first interview were only in regard to the
place to be appointed for the coming conferences, and the exchange of
powers. The Queen's commissioners had expected to treat at Ostend.
Alexander, on the contrary, was unable to listen to such a suggestion, as
it would be utter dereliction of his master's dignity to send envoys to a
city of his own, now in hostile occupation by her Majesty's forces. The
place of conference, therefore, would be matter of future consideration.
In respect to the exchange of powers, Alexander expressed the hope that
no man would doubt as to the production on his commissioners' part of
ample authority both from himself and from the King.

Yet it will be remembered, that, at this moment, the Duke had not only no
powers from the King, but that Philip had most expressly refused to send
a commission, and that he fully expected the negotiation to be superseded
by the invasion, before the production of the powers should become
indispensable.

And when Farnese was speaking thus fervently in favour of peace, and
parading his word and his honour, the letters lay in his cabinet in that
very room, in which Philip expressed his conviction that his general was
already in London, that the whole realm of England was already at the
mercy of a Spanish soldiery, and that the Queen, upon whose perfection
Alexander had so long yearned to gaze, was a discrowned captive, entirely
in her great enemy's power.

Thus ended the preliminary interview. On the following Monday, 11th
March, Dr. Dale and his attendants made the best of their way back to
Ostend, while young Cecil, with a safe conduct from Champagny, set forth
on a little tour in Flanders.

The journey from Ghent to Antwerp was easy, and he was agreeably
surprised by the apparent prosperity of the country. At intervals of
every few miles; he was refreshed with the spectacle of a gibbet well
garnished with dangling freebooters; and rejoiced, therefore, in
comparative security. For it seemed that the energetic bailiff of
Waasland had levied a contribution upon the proprietors of the country,
to be expended mainly in hanging brigands; and so well had the funds been
applied, that no predatory bands could make their appearance but they
were instantly pursued by soldiers, and hanged forthwith, without judge
or trial. Cecil counted twelve such places of execution on his road
between Ghent and Antwerp.

On his journey he fell in with an Italian merchant,--Lanfranchi by name,
of a great commercial house in Antwerp, in the days when Antwerp had
commerce, and by him, on his arrival the same evening in that town, he
was made an honoured guest, both for his father's sake and his Queen's.
"'Tis the pleasantest city that ever I saw," said Cecil, "for situation
and building; but utterly left and abandoned now by those rich merchants
that were wont to frequent the place."

His host was much interested in the peace-negotiations, and indeed,
through his relations with Champagny and Andreas de Loo, had been one of
the instruments by which it had been commenced. He inveighed bitterly
against the Spanish captains and soldiers, to whose rapacity and ferocity
he mainly ascribed the continuance of the war;--and he was especially
incensed with Stanley and other--English renegades, who were thought
fiercer haters of England than were the Spaniards themselves: Even in the
desolate and abject condition of Antwerp and its neighbourhood, at that
moment, the quick eye of Cecil detected the latent signs of a possible
splendour. Should peace be restored, the territory once more be tilled,
and the foreign merchants attracted thither again, he believed that the
governor of the obedient Netherlands might live there in more
magnificence than the King of Spain himself, exhausted as were his
revenues by the enormous expense of this protracted war: Eight hundred
thousand dollars monthly; so Lanfranchi informed Cecil, were the costs of
the forces on the footing then established. This, however, was probably
an exaggeration, for the royal account books showed a less formidable
sum, although a sufficiently large one to appal a less obstinate bigot
than Philip. But what to him were the, ruin of the Netherlands; the
impoverishment of Spain, and the downfall of her ancient grandeur
compared to the glory of establishing the Inquisition in England and
Holland?

While at dinner in Lanfranchi's house; Cecil was witness to another
characteristic of the times, and one which afforded proof of even more
formidable freebooters abroad than those for whom the bailiff of Waasland
had erected his gibbets. A canal-boat had left Antwerp for Brussels that
morning, and in the vicinity of the latter city had been set upon by a
detachment from the English garrison of Bergen-op-Zoom, and captured,
with twelve prisoners and a freight of 60,000 florins in money. "This
struck the company at the dinner-table all in a dump;" said Cecil. And
well it might; for the property mainly belonged to themselves, and they
forthwith did their best to have the marauders waylaid on their return.
But Cecil, notwithstanding his gratitude for the hospitality of
Lanfranchi, sent word next day to the garrison of Bergen of the designs
against them, and on his arrival at the place had the satisfaction of
being informed by Lord Willoughby that the party had got safe home with
their plunder.

"And, well worthy they are of it," said young Robert, "considering how
far they go for it."

The traveller, on, leaving Antwerp, proceeded down the river to
Bergen-op-Zoom, where he was hospitably entertained by that doughty old
soldier Sir William Reade, and met Lord Willoughby, whom he accompanied
to Brielle on a visit to the deposed elector Truchsess, then living in
that neighbourhood. Cecil--who was not passion's slave--had small
sympathy with the man who could lose a sovereignty for the sake of Agnes
Mansfeld. "'Tis a very goodly gentleman," said he, "well fashioned, and
of good speech, for which I must rather praise him than for loving a wife
better than so great a fortune as he lost by her occasion." At Brielle he
was handsomely entertained by the magistrates, who had agreeable
recollections of his brother Thomas, late governor of that city. Thence
he proceeded by way of Delft--which, like all English travellers, he
described as "the finest built town that ever he saw"--to the Hague, and
thence to Fushing, and so back by sea to Ostend.--He had made the most of
his three weeks' tour, had seen many important towns both in the republic
and in the obedient Netherlands, and had conversed with many "tall
gentlemen," as he expressed himself, among the English commanders, having
been especially impressed by the heroes of Sluys, Baskerville and that
"proper gentleman Francis Vere."

He was also presented by Lord Willoughby to Maurice of Nassau, and was
perhaps not very benignantly received by the young prince. At that
particular moment, when Leicester's deferred resignation, the rebellion
of Sonoy in North Holland, founded on a fictitious allegiance to the late
governor-general, the perverse determination of the Queen to treat for
peace against the advice of all the leading statesmen of the Netherlands,
and the sharp rebukes perpetually administered by her, in consequence, to
the young stadholder and all his supporters, had not tended to produce
the most tender feelings upon their part towards the English government,
it was not surprising that the handsome soldier should look askance at
the crooked little courtier, whom even the great Queen smiled at while
she petted him. Cecil was very angry with Maurice.

"In my life I never saw worse behaviour," he said, "except it were in one
lately come from school. There is neither outward appearance in him of
any noble mind nor inward virtue."

Although Cecil had consumed nearly the whole month of March in his tour,
he had been more profitably employed than were the royal commissioners
during the same period at Ostend.

Never did statesmen know better how not to do that which they were
ostensibly occupied in doing than Alexander Farnese and his agents,
Champagny, Richardot, Jacob Maas, and Gamier. The first pretext by which
much time was cleverly consumed was the dispute as to the place of
meeting. Doctor Dale had already expressed his desire for Ostend as the
place of colloquy. "'Tis a very slow old gentleman, this Doctor Dale,"
said Alexander; "he was here in the time of Madam my mother, and has also
been ambassador at Vienna. I have received him and his attendants with
great courtesy, and held out great hopes of peace. We had conversations
about the place of meeting. He wishes Ostend: I object. The first
conference will probably be at some point between that place and
Newport."

The next opportunity for discussion and delay was afforded by the
question of powers. And it must be ever borne in mind that Alexander was
daily expecting the arrival of the invading fleets and armies of Spain,
and was holding himself in readiness to place himself at their head for
the conquest of England. This was, of course, so strenuously denied by
himself and those under his influence, that Queen Elizabeth implicitly.
believed him, Burghley was lost in doubt, and even the astute Walsingham
began to distrust his own senses. So much strength does a falsehood
acquire in determined and skilful hands.

"As to the commissions, it will be absolutely necessary for, your Majesty
to send them," wrote Alexander at the moment when he was receiving the
English envoy at Ghent, "for unless the Armada arrive soon--it will be
indispensable for me, to have them, in order to keep the negotiation
alive. Of course they will never broach the principal matters without
exhibition of powers. Richardot is aware of the secret which your Majesty
confided to me, namely, that the negotiations are only intended to
deceive the Queen and to gain time for the fleet; but the powers must be
sent in order that we may be able to produce them; although your secret
intentions will be obeyed."

The Duke commented, however, on the extreme difficulty of carrying out
the plan, as originally proposed. "The conquest of England would have
been difficult," he said, "even although the country had been taken by
surprise. Now they are strong and armed; we are comparatively weak. The
danger and the doubt are great; and the English deputies, I think, are
really desirous of peace. Nevertheless I am at your Majesty's
disposition--life and all--and probably, before the answer arrives to
this letter, the fleet will have arrived, and I shall have undertaken the
passage to England."

After three weeks had thus adroitly been frittered away, the English
commissioners became somewhat impatient, and despatched Doctor Rogers to
the Duke at Ghent. This was extremely obliging upon their part, for if
Valentine Dale were a "slow old gentleman," he was keen, caustic, and
rapid, as compared to John Rogers. A formalist and a pedant, a man of red
tape and routine, full of precedents and declamatory commonplaces which
he mistook for eloquence, honest as daylight and tedious as a king, he
was just the time-consumer for Alexander's purpose. The wily Italian
listened with profound attention to the wise saws in which the excellent
diplomatist revelled, and his fine eyes often filled with tears at the
Doctor's rhetoric.

Three interviews--each three mortal hours long--did the two indulge in at
Ghent, and never, was high-commissioner better satisfied with himself
than was John Rogers upon those occasions. He carried every point; he
convinced, he softened, he captivated the great Duke; he turned the great
Duke round his finger. The great Duke smiled, or wept, or fell into his
arms, by turns. Alexander's military exploits had rung through the world,
his genius for diplomacy and statesmanship had never been disputed; but
his talents as a light comedian were, in these interviews, for the first
time fully revealed.

On the 26th March the learned Doctor made his first bow and performed his
first flourish of compliments at Ghent. "I assure your Majesty," said he,
"his Highness followed my compliments of entertainment with so much
honour, as that--his Highness or I, speaking of the Queen of England--he
never did less than uncover his head; not covering the same, unless I was
covered also." And after these salutations had at last been got through
with, thus spake the Doctor of Laws to the Duke of Parma:--

"Almighty God, the light of lights, be pleased to enlighten the
understanding of your Alteza, and to direct the same to his glory, to the
uniting of both their Majesties and the finishing of these most bloody
wars, whereby these countries, being in the highest degree of misery
desolate, lie as it were prostrate before the wrathful presence of the
most mighty God, most lamentably beseeching his Divine Majesty to
withdraw his scourge of war from them, and to move the hearts of princes
to restore them unto peace, whereby they might attain unto their ancient
flower and dignity. Into the hands of your Alteza are now the lives of
many thousands, the destruction of cities, towns, and countries, which to
put to the fortune of war how perilous it were, I pray consider. Think
ye, ye see the mothers left alive tendering their offspring in your
presence, 'nam matribus detestata bells,'" continued the orator. "Think
also of others of all sexes, ages, and conditions, on their knees before
your Alteza, most humbly praying and crying most dolorously to spare
their lives, and save their property from the ensanguined scourge of the
insane soldiers," and so on, and so on.

Now Philip II. was slow in resolving, slower in action. The ponderous
three-deckers of Biscay were notoriously the dullest sailers ever known,
nor were the fettered slaves who rowed the great galleys of Portugal or
of Andalusia very brisk in their movements; and yet the King might have
found time to marshal his ideas and his squadrons, and the Armada had
leisure to circumnavigate the globe and invade England afterwards, if a
succession of John Rogerses could have entertained his Highness with
compliments while the preparations were making.

But Alexander--at the very outset of the Doctor's eloquence--found it
difficult to suppress his feelings. "I can assure your Majesty," said
Rogers, "that his eyes--he has a very large eye--were moistened.
Sometimes they were thrown upward to heaven, sometimes they were fixed
full upon me, sometimes they were cast downward, well declaring how his
heart was affected."

Honest John even thought it necessary to mitigate the effect of his
rhetoric, and to assure his Highness that it was, after all, only he
Doctor Rogers, and not the minister plenipotentiary of the Queen's most
serene Majesty, who was exciting all this emotion.

"At this part of my speech," said he, "I prayed his Highness not to be
troubled, for that the same only proceeded from Doctor Rogers, who, it
might please him to know, was so much moved with the pitiful case of
these countries, as also that which of war was sure to ensue, that I
wished, if my body were full of rivers of blood, the same to be poured
forth to satisfy any that were blood-thirsty, so there might an assured
peace follow."

His Highness, at any rate, manifesting no wish to drink of such
sanguinary streams--even had the Doctor's body contained them--Rogers
became calmer. He then descended from rhetoric to jurisprudence and
casuistry, and argued at intolerable length the propriety of commencing
the conferences at Ostend, and of exhibiting mutually the commissions.

It is quite unnecessary to follow him as closely as did Farnese. When he
had finished the first part of his oration, however, and was "addressing
himself to the second point," Alexander at last interrupted the torrent
of his eloquence.

"He said that my divisions and subdivisions," wrote the Doctor, "were
perfectly in his remembrance, and that he would first answer the first
point, and afterwards give audience to the second, and answer the same
accordingly."

Accordingly Alexander put on his hat, and begged the envoy also to be
covered. Then, "with great gravity, as one inwardly much moved," the Duke
took up his part in the dialogue.

"Signor Ruggieri," said he, "you have propounded unto me speeches of two
sorts: the one proceeds from Doctor Ruggieri, the other from the lord
ambassador of the most serene Queen of England. Touching the first, I do
give you my hearty thanks for your godly speeches, assuring you that
though, by reason I have always followed the wars, I cannot be ignorant
of the calamities by you alleged, yet you have so truly represented the
same before mine eyes as to effectuate in me at this instant, not only
the confirmation of mine own disposition to have peace, but also an
assurance that this treaty shall take good and speedy end, seeing that it
hath pleased God to raise up such a good instrument as you are."

"Many are the causes," continued the Duke, "which, besides my
disposition, move me to peace. My father and mother are dead; my son is a
young prince; my house has truly need of my presence. I am not ignorant
how ticklish a thing is the fortune of war, which--how victorious soever
I have been--may in one moment not only deface the same, but also deprive
me of my life. The King, my master, is now, stricken in years, his
children are young, his dominions in trouble. His desire is to live, and
to leave his posterity in quietness. The glory of God, the honor of both
their Majesties, and the good of these countries, with the stay of the
effusion of Christian blood, and divers other like reasons, force him to
peace."

Thus spoke Alexander, like an honest Christian gentleman, avowing the
most equitable and pacific dispositions on the part of his master and
himself. Yet at that moment he knew that the Armada was about to sail,
that his own nights and days were passed in active preparations for war,
and that no earthly power could move Philip by one hair's-breadth from
his purpose to conquer England that summer.

It would be superfluous to follow the Duke or the Doctor through their
long dialogue on the place of conference, and the commissions. Alexander
considered it "infamy" on his name if he should send envoys to a place of
his master's held by the enemy. He was also of opinion that it was
unheard of to exhibit commissions previous to a preliminary colloquy.

Both propositions were strenuously contested by Rogers. In regard to the
second point in particular, he showed triumphantly, by citations from the
"Polonians, Prussians, and Lithuanians," that commissions ought to be
previously exhibited. But it was not probable that even the Doctor's
learning and logic would persuade Alexander to produce his commission;
because, unfortunately, he had no commission to produce. A comfortable
argument on the subject, however, would, none the less, consume time.

Three hours of this work brought them, exhausted and hungry; to the hour
of noon and of dinner Alexander, with profuse and smiling thanks for the
envoy's plain dealing and eloquence, assured him that there would have
been peace long ago "had Doctor Rogers always been the instrument," and
regretted that he was himself not learned enough to deal creditably with
him. He would, however, send Richardot to bear him company at table, and
chop logic with him afterwards.

Next day, at the same, hour, the Duke and Doctor had another encounter.
So soon as the envoy made his appearance, he found himself "embraced most
cheerfully and familiarly by his Alteza," who, then entering at once into
business, asked as to the Doctor's second point.

The Doctor answered with great alacrity.

"Certain expressions have been reported to her Majesty," said he, "as
coming both from your Highness and from Richardot, hinting at a possible
attempt by the King of Spain's forces against the Queen. Her Majesty,
gathering that you are going about belike to terrify her, commands me to
inform you very clearly and very expressly that she does not deal so
weakly in her government, nor so improvidently, but that she is provided
for anything that might be attempted against her by the King, and as able
to offend him as he her Majesty."

Alexander--with a sad countenance, as much offended, his eyes declaring
miscontentment--asked who had made such a report.

"Upon the honour of a gentleman," said he, "whoever has said this has
much abused me, and evil acquitted himself. They who know me best are
aware that it is not my manner to let any word pass my lips that might
offend any prince." Then, speaking most solemnly, he added, "I declare
really and truly (which two words he said in Spanish), that I know not of
any intention of the King of Spain against her Majesty or her realm."

At that moment the earth did not open--year of portents though it
was--and the Doctor, "singularly rejoicing" at this authentic information
from the highest source, proceeded cheerfully with the conversation.

"I hold myself," he exclaimed, "the man most satisfied in the world,
because I may now write to her Majesty that I have heard your Highness
upon your honour use these words."

"Upon my honour, it is true," repeated the Duke; "for so honourably do I
think of her Majesty, as that, after the King, my master, I would honour
and serve her before any prince in Christendom." He added many earnest
asseverations of similar import.

"I do not deny, however," continued Alexander, "that I have heard of
certain ships having been armed by the King against that Draak"--he
pronounced the "a" in Drake's name very broadly, or "Doric" who has
committed so many outrages; but I repeat that I have never heard of any
design against her Majesty or against England."

The Duke then manifested much anxiety to know by whom he had been so
misrepresented. "There has been no one with me but Dr. Dale," said, he,
"and I marvel that he should thus wantonly have injured me."

"Dr. Dale," replied Ropers, "is a man of honour, of good years, learned,
and well experienced; but perhaps he unfortunately misapprehended some of
your Alteza's words, and thought himself bound by his allegiance strictly
to report them to her Majesty."

"I grieve that I should be misrepresented and injured," answered Farnese,
"in a manner so important to my honour. Nevertheless, knowing the virtues
with which her Majesty is endued, I assure myself that the protestations
I am now making will entirely satisfy her."

He then expressed the fervent hope that the holy work of negotiation now
commencing would result in a renewal of the ancient friendship between
the Houses of Burgundy and of England, asserting that "there had never
been so favourable a time as the present."

Under former governments of the Netherlands there had been many mistakes
and misunderstandings.

"The Duke of Alva," said he, "has learned by this time, before the
judgment-seat of God, how he discharged his functions, succeeding as he
did my mother, the Duchess of Parma who left the Provinces in so
flourishing a condition. Of this, however, I will say no more, because of
a feud between the Houses of Farnese and of Alva. As for Requesens, he
was a good fellow, but didn't understand his business. Don John of
Austria again, whose soul I doubt not is in heaven, was young and poor,
and disappointed in all his designs; but God has never offered so great a
hope of assured peace as might now be accomplished by her Majesty."

Finding the Duke in so fervent and favourable a state of mind, the envoy
renewed his demand that at least the first meeting of the commissioners
might be held at Ostend.

"Her Majesty finds herself so touched in honour upon this point, that if
it be not conceded--as I doubt not it will be, seeing the singular
forwardness of your Highness"--said the artful Doctor with a smile, "we
are no less than commanded to return to her Majesty's presence."

"I sent Richardot to you yesterday," said Alexander; "did he not content
you?"

"Your Highness, no," replied Ropers. "Moreover her Majesty sent me to
your Alteza, and not to Richardot. And the matter is of such importance
that I pray you to add to all your graces and favours heaped upon me,
this one of sending your commissioners to Ostend."

His Highness could hold out no longer; but suddenly catching the Doctor
in his arms, and hugging him "in most honourable and amiable manner," he
cried--

"Be contented, be cheerful; my lord ambassador. You shall be satisfied
upon this point also."

"And never did envoy depart;" cried the lord ambassador, when he could
get his breath, "more bound to you; and more resolute to speak honour of
your Highness than I do."

"To-morrow we will ride together towards Bruges;" said the Duke, in
conclusion. "Till then farewell."

Upon, this he again heartily embraced the envoy, and the friends parted
for the day.

Next morning; 28th March, the Duke, who was on his way to Bruges and
Sluys to look after his gun-boats, and, other naval, and military
preparations, set forth on horseback, accompanied by the Marquis del
Vasto, and, for part of the way, by Rogers.

They conversed on the general topics of the approaching negotiations; the
Duke, expressing the opinion that the treaty of peace would be made short
work with; for it only needed to renew the old ones between the Houses of
England and Burgundy. As for the Hollanders and Zeelanders, and their
accomplices, he thought there would be no cause of stay on their account;
and in regard to the cautionary towns he felt sure that her Majesty had
never had any intention of appropriating them to herself, and would
willingly surrender them to the King.

Rogers thought it a good opportunity to put in a word for the Dutchmen;
who certainly, would not have thanked him for his assistance at that
moment.

"Not, to give offence to your Highness," he said, "if the Hollanders and
Zeelanders, with their confederates, like to come into this treaty,
surely your Highness would not object?"

Alexander, who had been riding along quietly during this conversation;
with his right, hand, on, his hip, now threw out his arm energetically:

"Let them come into it; let them treat, let them conclude," he exclaimed,
"in the name of Almighty God! I have always been well disposed to peace,
and am now more so than ever. I could even, with the loss of my life, be
content to have peace made at this time."

Nothing more, worthy of commemoration, occurred during this concluding
interview; and the envoy took his leave at Bruges, and returned to
Ostend.

I have furnished the reader with a minute account of these conversations,
drawn entirely, from the original records; not so much because the
interviews were in themselves of vital importance; but because they
afford a living and breathing example--better than a thousand
homilies--of the easy victory which diplomatic or royal mendacity may
always obtain over innocence and credulity.

Certainly never was envoy more thoroughly beguiled than the excellent
John upon this occasion. Wiser than a serpent, as he imagined himself to
be, more harmless than a dove; as Alexander found him, he could not,
sufficiently congratulate himself upon the triumphs of his eloquence and
his adroitness; and despatched most glowing accounts of his proceedings
to the Queen.

His ardour was somewhat damped, however, at receiving a message from her
Majesty in reply, which was anything but benignant. His eloquence was not
commended; and even his preamble, with its touching allusion to the live
mothers tendering their offspring--the passage: which had brought the
tears into the large eyes of Alexander--was coldly and cruelly censured.

"Her Majesty can in no sort like such speeches"--so ran the
return-despatch--"in which she is made to beg for peace. The King of
Spain standeth in as great need of peace as her self; and she doth
greatly mislike the preamble of Dr. Rogers in his address to the Duke at
Ghent, finding it, in very truth quite fond and vain. I am commanded by a
particular letter to let him understand how much her Majesty is offended
with him."

Alexander, on his part, informed his royal master of these interviews, in
which there had been so much effusion of sentiment, in very brief
fashion.

"Dr. Rogers, one of the Queen's commissioners, has been here," he said,
"urging me with all his might to let all your Majesty's deputies go, if
only for one hour, to Ostend. I refused, saying, I would rather they
should go to England than into a city of your Majesty held by English
troops. I told him it ought to be satisfactory that I had offered the
Queen, as a lady, her choice of any place in the Provinces, or on neutral
ground. Rogers expressed regret for all the, bloodshed and other
consequences if the negotiations should fall through for so trifling a
cause; the more so as in return for this little compliment to the Queen
she would not only restore to your Majesty everything that she holds in
the Netherlands, but would assist you to recover the part which remains
obstinate. To quiet him and to consume time, I have promised that
President Richardot shall go and try to satisfy them. Thus two or three
weeks more will be wasted. But at last the time will come for exhibiting
the powers. They are very anxious to see mine; and when at last they find
I have none, I fear that they will break off the negotiations."

Could the Queen have been informed of this voluntary offer on the part of
her envoy to give up the cautionary towns, and to assist in reducing the
rebellion, she might have used stronger language of rebuke. It is quite
possible, however, that Farnese--not so attentively following the
Doctor's eloquence as he had appeared to do-had somewhat inaccurately
reported the conversations, which, after all, he knew to be of no
consequence whatever, except as time-consumers. For Elizabeth, desirous
of peace as she was, and trusting to Farnese's sincerity as she was
disposed to do, was more sensitive than ever as to her dignity.

"We charge you all," she wrote with her own hand to the commissioners,
"that no word he overslipt by them, that may, touch our honour and
greatness, that be not answered with good sharp words. I am a king that
will be ever known not to fear any but God."

It would have been better, however, had the Queen more thoroughly
understood that the day for scolding had quite gone by, and that
something sharper than the sharpest words would soon be wanted to protect
England and herself from impending doom. For there was something almost
gigantic in the frivolities with which weeks and months of such
precious time were now squandered. Plenary powers--"commission
bastantissima"--from his sovereign had been announced by Alexander as in
his possession; although the reader has seen that he had no such powers
at all. The mission of Rogers had quieted the envoys at Ostend for a
time, and they waited quietly for the visit of Richardot to Ostend, into
which the promised meeting of all the Spanish commissioners in that city
had dwindled. Meantime there was an exchange of the most friendly
amenities between the English and their mortal enemies. Hardly a day
passed that La Motte, or Renty, or Aremberg, did not send Lord Derby, or
Cobham, or Robert Cecil, a hare, or a pheasant, or a cast of hawks, and
they in return sent barrel upon barrel of Ostend oysters, five or six
hundred at a time. The Englishmen, too; had it in their power to gratify
Alexander himself with English greyhounds, for which he had a special
liking. "You would wonder," wrote Cecil to his father, "how fond he is of
English dogs." There was also much good preaching among other
occupations, at Ostend. "My Lord of Derby's two chaplains," said Cecil,
"have seasoned this town better with sermons than it had been before for
a year's apace." But all this did not expedite the negotiations, nor did
the Duke manifest so much anxiety for colloquies as for greyhounds. So,
in an unlucky hour for himself, another "fond and vain" old
gentleman--James Croft, the comptroller who had already figured, not much
to his credit, in the secret negotiations between the Brussels and
English courts--betook himself, unauthorized and alone; to the Duke at
Bruges. Here he had an interview very similar in character to that in
which John Rogers had been indulged, declared to Farnese that the Queen
was most anxious for peace, and invited him to send a secret envoy to
England, who would instantly have ocular demonstration of the fact. Croft
returned as triumphantly as the excellent Doctor had done; averring that
there was no doubt as to the immediate conclusion of a treaty. His
grounds of belief were very similar to those upon which Rogers had
founded his faith. "Tis a weak old man of seventy," said Parma, "with
very little sagacity. I am inclined to think that his colleagues are
taking him in, that they may the better deceive us. I will see that they
do nothing of the kind." But the movement was purely one of the
comptroller's own inspiration; for Sir James had a singular facility for
getting himself into trouble, and for making confusion. Already, when he
had been scarcely a day in Ostend, he had insulted the governor of the
place, Sir John Conway, had given him the lie in the hearing of many of
his own soldiers, had gone about telling all the world that he had
express authority from her Majesty to send him home in disgrace, and that
the Queen had called him a fool, and quite unfit for his post. And as if
this had not been mischief-making enough, in addition to the absurd De
Loo and Bodman negotiations of the previous year, in which he had been
the principal actor, he had crowned his absurdities by this secret and
officious visit to Ghent. The Queen, naturally very indignant at this
conduct, reprehended him severely, and ordered him back to England. The
comptroller was wretched. He expressed his readiness to obey her
commands, but nevertheless implored his dread sovereign to take merciful
consideration of the manifold misfortunes, ruin, and utter undoing, which
thereby should fall upon him and his unfortunate family. All this he
protested he would "nothing esteem if it tended to her Majesty's pleasure
or service," but seeing it should effectuate nothing but to bring the
aged carcase of her poor vassal to present decay, he implored compassion
upon his hoary hairs, and promised to repair the error of his former
proceedings. He avowed that he would not have ventured to disobey for a
moment her orders to return, but "that his aged and feeble limbs did not
retain sufficient force, without present death, to comply with her
commandment." And with that he took to his bed, and remained there until
the Queen was graciously pleased to grant him her pardon.

At last, early in May--instead of the visit of Richardot--there was a
preliminary meeting of all the commissioners in tents on the sands;
within a cannon-shot of Ostend, and between that place and Newport. It
was a showy and ceremonious interview, in which no business was
transacted. The commissioners of Philip were attended by a body of one
hundred and fifty light horse, and by three hundred private gentlemen in
magnificent costume. La Motte also came from Newport with one thousand
Walloon cavalry while the English Commissioners, on their part were
escorted from Ostend by an imposing array of English and Dutch troops.'
As the territory was Spanish; the dignity of the King was supposed to be
preserved, and Alexander, who had promised Dr. Rogers that the first
interview should take place within Ostend itself, thought it necessary to
apologize to his sovereign for so nearly keeping his word as to send the
envoys within cannon-shot of the town. "The English commissioners," said
he, "begged with so much submission for this concession, that I thought
it as well to grant it."

The Spanish envoys were despatched by the Duke of Parma, well provided
with full powers for himself, which were not desired by the English
government, but unfurnished with a commission from Philip, which had been
pronounced indispensable. There was, therefore, much prancing of cavalry,
flourishing of trumpets, and eating of oysters; at the first conference,
but not one stroke of business. As the English envoys had now been three
whole months in Ostend, and as this was the first occasion on which they
had been brought face to face with the Spanish commissioners, it must be
confessed that the tactics of Farnese had been masterly. Had the haste in
the dock-yards of Lisbon and Cadiz been at all equal to the magnificent
procrastination in the council-chambers of Bruges and Ghent, Medina
Sidonia might already have been in the Thames.

But although little ostensible business was performed, there was one man
who had always an eye to his work. The same servant in plain livery, who
had accompanied Secretary Garnier, on his first visit to the English
commissioners at Ostend, had now come thither again, accompanied by a
fellow-lackey. While the complimentary dinner, offered in the name of the
absent Farnese to the Queen's representatives, was going forward, the two
menials strayed off together to the downs, for the purpose of
rabbit-shooting. The one of them was the same engineer who had already,
on the former occasion, taken a complete survey of the fortifications of
Ostend; the other was no less a personage than the Duke of Parma himself.
The pair now made a thorough examination of the town and its
neighbourhood, and, having finished their reconnoitring, made the best of
their way back to Bruges. As it was then one of Alexander's favourite
objects to reduce the city of Ostend, at the earliest possible moment, it
must be allowed that this preliminary conference was not so barren to
himself as it was to the commissioners. Philip, when informed of this
manoeuvre, was naturally gratified at such masterly duplicity, while he
gently rebuked his nephew for exposing his valuable life; and certainly
it would have been an inglorious termination to the Duke's splendid
career; had he been hanged as a spy within the trenches of Ostend. With
the other details of this first diplomatic colloquy Philip was delighted.
"I see you understand me thoroughly," he said. "Keep the negotiation
alive till my Armada appears, and then carry out my determination, and
replant the Catholic religion on the soil of England."

The Queen was not in such high spirits. She was losing her temper very
fast, as she became more and more convinced that she had been trifled
with. No powers had been yet exhibited, no permanent place of conference
fixed upon, and the cessation of arms demanded by her commissioners for
England, Spain, and all the Netherlands, was absolutely refused. She
desired her commissioners to inform the Duke of Parma that it greatly
touched his honour--as both before their coming and afterwards, he had
assured her that he had 'comision bastantissima' from his sovereign--to
clear himself at once from the imputation of insincerity. "Let not the
Duke think," she wrote with her own hand, "that we would so long time
endure these many frivolous and unkindly dealings, but that we desire all
the world to know our desire of a kingly peace, and that we will endure
no more the like, nor any, but will return you from your charge."

Accordingly--by her Majesty's special command--Dr. Dale made another
visit to Bruges, to discover, once for all, whether there was a
commission from Philip or not; and, if so, to see it with his own eyes.
On the 7th May he had an interview with the Duke. After thanking his
Highness for the honourable and stately manner in which the conferences
had been, inaugurated near Ostend, Dale laid very plainly before him her
Majesty's complaints of the tergiversations and equivocations concerning
the commission, which had now lasted three months long.

In answer, Alexander made a complimentary harangue; confining himself
entirely to the first part of the envoy's address, and assuring him in
redundant phraseology, that he should hold himself very guilty before the
world, if he had not surrounded the first colloquy between the
plenipotentiaries of two such mighty princes, with as much pomp as the
circumstances of time and place would allow. After this superfluous
rhetoric had been poured forth, he calmly dismissed the topic which Dr.
Dale had come all the way from. Ostend to discuss, by carelessly
observing that President Richardot would confer with him on the subject
of the commission.

"But," said the envoy, "tis no matter of conference or dispute. I desire
simply to see the commission."

"Richardot and Champagny shall deal with you in the afternoon," repeated
Alexander; and with this reply, the Doctor was fair to be contented.

Dale then alluded to the point of cessation of arms.

"Although," said he, "the Queen might justly require that the cessation
should be general for all the King's dominion, yet in order not to stand
on precise points, she is content that it should extend no further than
to the towns of Flushing; Brief, Ostend, and Bergen-op-Zoom."

"To this he said nothing," wrote the envoy, "and so I went no further."

In the afternoon Dale had conference with Champagny and Richardot. As
usual, Champagny was bound hand and foot by the gout, but was as
quick-witted and disputatious as ever. Again Dale made an earnest
harangue, proving satisfactorily--as if any proof were necessary on such
a point--that a commission from Philip ought to be produced, and that a
commission had been promised, over and over again.

After a pause, both the representatives of Parma began to wrangle with
the envoy in very insolent fashion. "Richardot is always their
mouth-piece," said Dale, "only Champagny choppeth in at every word, and
would do so likewise in ours if we would suffer it."

"We shall never have done with these impertinent demands," said the
President. "You ought to be satisfied with the Duke's promise of
ratification contained in his commission. We confess what you say
concerning the former requisitions and promises to be true, but when will
you have done? Have we not showed it to Mr. Croft, one of your own
colleagues? And if we show it you now, another may come to-morrow, and so
we shall never have an end."

"The delays come from yourselves," roundly replied the Englishman, "for
you refuse to do what in reason and law you are bound to do. And the more
demands the more 'mora aut potius culpa' in you. You, of all men, have
least cause to hold such language, who so confidently and even
disdainfully answered our demand for the commission, in Mr. Cecil's
presence, and promised to show a perfect one at the very first meeting.
As for Mr. Comptroller Croft, he came hither without the command of her
Majesty and without the knowledge of his colleagues."

Richardot then began to insinuate that, as Croft had come without
authority, so--for aught they could tell--might Dale also. But Champagny
here interrupted, protested that the president was going too far, and
begged him to show the commission without further argument.

Upon this Richardot pulled out the commission from under his gown, and
placed it in Dr. Dale's hands!

It was dated 17th April, 1588, signed and sealed by the King, and written
in French, and was to the effect, that as there had been differences
between her Majesty and himself; as her Majesty had sent ambassadors into
the Netherlands, as the Duke of Parma had entered into treaty with her
Majesty, therefore the King authorised the Duke to appoint commissioners
to treat, conclude, and determine all controversies and
misunderstandings, confirmed any such appointments already made, and
promised to ratify all that might be done by them in the premises.'

Dr. Dale expressed his satisfaction with the tenor of this document, and
begged to be furnished with a copy of it, but his was peremptorily
refused. There was then a long conversation--ending, as usual, in
nothing--on the two other points, the place for the conferences, namely,
and the cessation of arms.

Nest morning Dale, in taking leave of the Duke of Parma, expressed the
gratification which he felt, and which her Majesty was sure to feel at
the production of the commission. It was now proved, said the envoy, that
the King was as earnestly in favour of peace as the Duke was himself.

Dale then returned, well satisfied, to Ostend.

In truth the commission had arrived just in time. "Had I not received it
soon enough to produce it then," said Alexander, "the Queen would have
broken off the negotiations. So I ordered Richardot, who is quite aware
of your Majesty's secret intentions, from which we shall not swerve one
jot, to show it privately to Croft, and afterwards to Dr. Dale, but
without allowing a copy of it to be taken."

"You have done very well," replied Philip, "but that commission is, on no
account, to be used, except for show. You know my mind thoroughly."

Thus three months had been consumed, and at last one indispensable
preliminary to any negotiation had, in appearance, been performed. Full
powers on both sides had been exhibited. When the Queen of England gave
the Earl of Derby and his colleagues commission to treat with the King's
envoys, and pledged herself beforehand to, ratify all their proceedings,
she meant to perform the promise to which she had affixed her royal name
and seal. She could not know that the Spanish monarch was deliberately
putting his name to a lie, and chuckling in secret over the credulity of
his English sister, who was willing to take his word and his bond. Of a
certainty the English were no match for southern diplomacy.

But Elizabeth was now more impatient than ever that the other two
preliminaries should be settled, the place of conferences, and the
armistice.

"Be plain with the Duke," she wrote to her envoys, "that we have
tolerated so many weeks in tarrying a commission, that I will never
endure more delays. Let him know he deals with a prince who prizes her
honour more than her life: Make yourselves such as stand of your
reputations."

Sharp words, but not sharp enough to prevent a further delay of a month;
for it was not till the 6th June that the commissioners at last came
together at Bourbourg, that "miserable little hole," on the coast between
Ostend and Newport, against which Gamier had warned them. And now there
was ample opportunity to wrangle at full length on the next preliminary,
the cessation of arms. It would be superfluous to follow the altercations
step by step--for negotiations there were none--and it is only for the
sake of exhibiting at full length the infamy of diplomacy, when diplomacy
is unaccompanied by honesty, that we are hanging up this series of
pictures at all. Those bloodless encounters between credulity and vanity
upon one side, and gigantic fraud on the other, near those very sands of
Newport, and in sight of the Northern Ocean, where, before long, the most
terrible battles, both by land and sea, which the age had yet witnessed,
were to occur, are quite as full of instruction and moral as the most
sanguinary combats ever waged.

At last the commissioners exchanged copies of their respective powers.
After four months of waiting and wrangling, so much had been achieved--a
show of commissions and a selection of the place for conference. And now
began the long debate about the cessation of arms. The English claimed an
armistice for the whole dominion of Philip and Elizabeth respectively,
during the term of negotiation, and for twenty days after. The Spanish
would grant only a temporary truce, terminable at six days' notice, and
that only for the four cautionary towns of Holland held by the Queen.
Thus Philip would be free to invade England at his leisure out of the
obedient Netherlands or Spain. This was inadmissible, of course, but a
week was spent at the outset in reducing the terms to writing; and when
the Duke's propositions were at last produced in the French tongue, they
were refused by the Queen's commissioners, who required that the
documents should be in Latin. Great was the triumph of Dr. Dale, when,
after another interval, he found their Latin full of barbarisms and
blunders, at which a school-boy would have blushed. The King's
commissioners, however, while halting in their syntax, had kept steadily
to their point.

"You promised a general cessation of aims at our coming," said Dale, at a
conference on the 2/12 June, "and now ye have lingered five times twenty
days, and nothing done at all. The world may see the delays come of you
and not of us, and that ye are not so desirous of peace as ye pretend."

"But as far your invasion of England," stoutly observed the Earl of
Derby, "ye shall find it hot coming thither. England was never so ready
in any former age,--neither by sea nor by land; but we would show your
unreasonableness in proposing a cessation of arms by which ye would bind
her Majesty to forbear touching all the Low Countries, and yet leave
yourselves at liberty to invade England."

While they were thus disputing, Secretary Gamier rushed into the room,
looking very much frightened, and announced that Lord Henry Seymour's
fleet of thirty-two ships of war was riding off Gravelines, and that he
had sent two men on shore who were now waiting in the ante-chamber.

The men being accordingly admitted, handed letters to the English
commissioners from Lord Henry, in which he begged to be informed in what
terms they were standing, and whether they needed his assistance or
countenance in the cause in which they were engaged. The envoys found his
presence very "comfortable," as it showed the Spanish commissioners that
her Majesty was so well provided as to make a cessation of arms less
necessary to her than it was to the King. They therefore sent their
thanks to the Lord Admiral, begging him to cruise for a time off Dunkirk
and its neighbourhood, that both their enemies and their friends might
have a sight of the English ships.

Great was the panic all along the coast at this unexpected demonstration.
The King's commissioners got into their coaches, and drove down to the
coast to look at the fleet, and--so soon as they appeared--were received
with such a thundering cannonade an hour long, by way of salute, as to
convince them, in the opinion of the English envoys, that the Queen had
no cause to be afraid of any enemies afloat or ashore.

But these noisy arguments were not much more effective than the
interchange of diplomatic broadsides which they had for a moment
superseded. The day had gone by for blank cartridges and empty protocols.
Nevertheless Lord Henry's harmless thunder was answered, the next day, by
a "Quintuplication" in worse Latin than ever, presented to Dr. Dale and
his colleagues by Richardot and Champagny, on the subject of the
armistice. And then there was a return quintuplication, in choice Latin,
by the classic Dale, and then there was a colloquy on the
quintuplication, and everything that had been charged, and truly charged,
by the English; was now denied by the King's commissioners; and
Champagny--more gouty and more irascible than ever--"chopped in" at every
word spoken by King's envoys or Queen's, contradicted everybody,
repudiated everything said or done by Andrew de Loo, or any of the other
secret negotiators during the past year, declared that there never had
been a general cessation of arms promised, and that, at any rate, times
were now changed, and such an armistice was inadmissible! Then the
English answered with equal impatience, and reproached the King's
representatives with duplicity and want of faith, and censured them for
their unseemly language, and begged to inform Champagny and Richardot
that they had not then to deal with such persons as they might formerly
have been in the habit of treating withal, but with a "great prince who
did justify the honour of her actions," and they confuted the positions
now assumed by their opponents with official documents and former
statements from those very opponents' lips. And then, after all this
diplomatic and rhetorical splutter, the high commissioners recovered
their temper and grew more polite, and the King's "envoys excused
themselves in a mild, merry manner," for the rudeness of their speeches,
and the Queen's envoys accepted their apologies with majestic urbanity,
and so they separated for the day in a more friendly manner than they had
done the day before.'

"You see to what a scholar's shift we have been driven for want of
resolution," said Valentine Dale. "If we should linger here until there
should be broken heads, in what case we should be God knoweth. For I can
trust Champagny and Richardot no farther than I can see them."

And so the whole month of June passed by; the English commissioners
"leaving no stone unturned to get a quiet cessation of arms in general
terms," and being constantly foiled; yet perpetually kept in hope that
the point would soon be carried. At the same time the signs of the
approaching invasion seemed to thicken. "In my opinion," said Dale, "as
Phormio spake in matters of wars, it were very requisite that my Lord
Harry should be always on this coast, for they will steal out from hence
as closely as they can, either to join with the Spanish navy or to land,
and they may be very easily scattered, by God's grace." And, with the
honest pride of a protocol-maker, he added, "our postulates do trouble
the King's commissioners very much, and do bring them to despair."

The excellent Doctor had not even yet discovered that the King's
commissioners were delighted with his postulates; and that to have kept
them postulating thus five months in succession, while naval and military
preparations were slowly bringing forth a great event--which was soon to
strike them with as much amazement as if the moon had fallen out of
heaven--was one of the most decisive triumphs ever achieved by Spanish
diplomacy. But the Doctor thought that his logic had driven the King of
Spain to despair.

At the same time he was not insensible to the merits of another and more
peremptory style of rhetoric,--"I pray you," said he to Walsingham, "let
us hear some arguments from my Lord Harry out of her Majesty's navy now
and then. I think they will do more good than any bolt that we can shoot
here. If they be met with at their going out, there is no possibility for
them to make any resistance, having so few men that can abide the sea;
for the rest, as you know, must be sea-sick at first."

But the envoys were completely puzzled. Even at the beginning of July,
Sir James Croft was quite convinced of the innocence of the King and the
Duke; but Croft was in his dotage. As for Dale, he occasionally opened
his eyes, and his ears, but more commonly kept them well closed to the
significance of passing events; and consoled himself with his protocols
and his classics, and the purity of his own Latin.

"'Tis a very wise saying of Terence," said he, "omnibus nobis ut res dant
sese; ita magni aut humiles sumus.' When the King's commissioners hear of
the King's navy from Spain, they are in such jollity that they talk loud.
. . . In the mean time--as the wife of Bath sath in Chaucer by her
husband, we owe them not a word. If we should die tomorrow; I hope her
Majesty will find by our writings that the honour of the cause, in the
opinion of the world, must be with her Majesty; and that her
commissioners are, neither of such imperfection in their reasons, or so
barbarous in language, as they who fail not, almost in every line, of
some barbarism not to be borne in a grammar-school, although in
subtleness and impudent affirming of untruths and denying of truths, her
commissioners are not in any respect to match with Champagny and
Richardot, who are doctors in that faculty."

It might perhaps prove a matter of indifference to Elizabeth and to
England, when the Queen should be a state-prisoner in Spain and the
Inquisition quietly established in her kingdom, whether the world should
admit or not, in case of his decease, the superiority of Dr. Dale's logic
and latin to those of his antagonists. And even if mankind conceded the
best of the argument to the English diplomatists, that diplomacy might
seem worthless which could be blind to the colossal falsehoods growing
daily before its eyes. Had the commissioners been able to read the secret
correspondence between Parma and his master--as we have had the
opportunity of doing--they would certainly not have left their homes in
February, to be made fools of until July; but would, on their knees, have
implored their royal mistress to awake from her fatal delusion before it
should be too late. Even without that advantage, it seems incredible that
they should have been unable to pierce through the atmosphere of
duplicity which surrounded them, and to obtain one clear glimpse of the
destruction so, steadily advancing upon England.

For the famous bull of Sixtus V. had now been fulminated. Elizabeth had
bean again denounced as a bastard and usurper, and her kingdom had been
solemnly conferred upon Philip, with title of defender of the Christian,
faith, to have and to hold as tributary and feudatory of Rome. The
so-called Queen had usurped the crown contrary to the ancient treaties
between the apostolic stool and the kingdom of England, which country, on
its reconciliation with the head of the church after the death of St.
Thomas of Canterbury, had recognised the necessity of the Pope's. consent
in the succession to its throne; she had deserved chastisement for the
terrible tortures inflicted by her upon English Catholics and God's own
saints; and it was declared an act of virtue, to be repaid with plenary
indulgence and forgiveness of all sins, to lay violent hands on the
usurper, and deliver her into the hands of the Catholic party. And of the
holy league against the usurper, Philip was appointed the head, and
Alexander of Parma chief commander. This document was published in large
numbers in Antwerp in the English tongue.

The pamphlet of Dr. Allen, just named Cardinal, was also translated in
the same city, under the direction of the Duke of Parma, in-order to be
distributed throughout England, on the arrival in that kingdom of the
Catholic troops. The well-known 'Admonition to the Nobility and People of
England and Ireland' accused the Queen of every crime and vice which can
pollute humanity; and was filled with foul details unfit for the public
eye in these more decent days.

So soon as the intelligence of these publications reached England, the
Queen ordered her commissioners at Bourbourg to take instant cognizance
of them, and to obtain a categorical explanation on the subject from
Alexander himself: as if an explanation were possible, as if the designs
of Sixtus, Philip, and Alexander, could any longer be doubted, and as if
the Duke were more likely now than before to make a succinct statement of
them for the benefit of her Majesty.

"Having discovered," wrote Elizabeth on the 9th July (N.S.), "that this
treaty of peace is entertained only to abuse us, and being many ways
given to understand that the preparations which have so long been making,
and which now are consummated, both in Spain and the Low Countries, are
purposely to be employed against us and our country; finding that, for
the furtherance of these exploits, there is ready to be published a vile,
slanderous, and blasphemous book, containing as many lies as lines,
entitled, 'An Admonition,' &c., and contrived by a lewd born-subject of
ours, now become an arrant traitor, named Dr. Allen, lately made, a
cardinal at Rome; as also a bull of the Pope, whereof we send you a copy,
both very lately brought into those Low Countries, the one whereof is
already printed at Antwerp, in a great multitude; in the English tongue,
and the other ordered to be printed, only to stir up our subjects,
contrary to the laws of God and their allegiance, to join with such
foreign purposes as are prepared against us and our realm, to come out of
those Low Countries and out of Spain; and as it appears by the said bull
that the Duke of Parma is expressly named and chosen by the Pope and the
King of Spain to be principal executioner of these intended enterprises,
we cannot think it honourable for us to continue longer the treaty of
peace with them that, under colour of treaty, arm themselves with all the
power they can to a bloody war."

Accordingly the Queen commanded Dr. Dale, as one of the commissioners, to
proceed forthwith to the Duke, in order to obtain explanations as to his
contemplated conquest of her realm, and as to his share in the
publication of the bull and pamphlet, and to "require him, as he would be
accounted a prince of honour, to let her plainly understand what she
might think thereof." The envoy was to assure him that the Queen would
trust implicitly to his statement, to adjure him to declare the truth,
and, in case he avowed the publications and the belligerent intentions
suspected, to demand instant safe-conduct to England for her
commissioners, who would, of course, instantly leave the Netherlands. On
the other hand, if the Duke disavowed those infamous documents, he was to
be requested to punish the printers, and have the books burned by the
hangman?

Dr. Dale, although suffering from cholic, was obliged to set forth, at
once upon what he felt would be a bootless journey. At his return--which
was upon the 22nd of July (N.S.)the shrewd old gentleman had nearly
arrived at the opinion that her Majesty might as well break off the
negotiations. He had a "comfortless voyage and a ticklish message;" found
all along the road signs of an approaching enterprise, difficult to be
mistaken; reported 10,000 veteran Spaniards, to which force Stanley's
regiment was united; 6000 Italians, 3000 Germans, all with pikes,
corselets, and slash swords complete; besides 10,000 Walloons. The
transports for the cavalry at Gravelingen he did not see, nor was he much
impressed with what he heard as to the magnitude of the naval
preparations at Newport. He was informed that the Duke was about making a
foot-pilgrimage from Brussels to Our Lady of Halle, to implore victory
for his banners, and had daily evidence of the soldier's expectation to
invade and to "devour England." All this had not tended to cure him of
the low spirits with which he began the journey. Nevertheless, although
he was unable--as will be seen--to report an entirely satisfactory answer
from Farnese to the Queen upon the momentous questions entrusted to him,
he, at least, thought of a choice passage in 'The AEneid,' so very apt to
the circumstances, as almost to console him for the "pangs of his cholic"
and the terrors of the approaching invasion.

"I have written two or three verses out of Virgil for the Queen to read,"
said he, "which I pray your Lordship to present unto her. God grant her
to weigh them. If your Lordship do read the whole discourse of Virgil in
that place, it will make your heart melt. Observe the report of the
ambassadors that were sent to Diomedes to make war against the Trojans,
for the old hatred that he, being a Grecian, did bear unto them; and note
the answer of Diomedes dissuading them from entering into war with the
Trojans, the perplexity of the King, the miseries of the country, the
reasons of Drances that spake against them which would have war, the
violent persuasions of Turnus to war; and note, I pray you; one word,
'nec te ullius violentia frangat.' What a lecture could I make with Mr.
Cecil upon that passage in Virgil!"

The most important point for the reader to remark is the date of this
letter. It was received in the very last days of the month of July. Let
him observe--as he will soon have occasion to do--the events which were
occurring on land and sea, exactly at the moment when this classic
despatch reached its destination, and judge whether the hearts of the
Queen and Lord Burghley would be then quite at leisure to melt at the
sorrows of the Trojan War. Perhaps the doings of Drake and Howard, Medina
Sidonia, and Ricalde, would be pressing as much on their attention as the
eloquence of Diomede or the wrath of Turnus. Yet it may be doubted
whether the reports of these Grecian envoys might not in truth, be almost
as much to the purpose as the despatches of the diplomatic pedant, with
his Virgil and his cholic, into whose hands grave matters of peace and
war were entrusted in what seemed the day of England's doom.

"What a lecture I could make with Mr. Cecil on the subject!--" An English
ambassador, at the court of Philip II.'s viceroy, could indulge himself
in imaginary prelections on the AEneid, in the last days of July, of the
year of our Lord 1588!

The Doctor, however--to do him justice--had put the questions
categorically, to his Highness as he had been instructed to do. He went
to Bruges so mysteriously; that no living man, that side the sea, save
Lord Derby and Lord Cobham, knew the cause of his journey. Poor-puzzling
James Croft, in particular, was moved almost to tears, by being kept out
of the secret. On the 8/18 July Dale had audience of the Duke at Bruges.
After a few commonplaces, he was invited by the Duke to state what
special purpose had brought him to Bruges.

"There is a book printed at Antwerp," said Dale, "and set forth by a
fugitive from England, who calleth himself a cardinal."

Upon this the Duke began diligently to listen.

"This book," resumed Dale, "is an admonition to the nobility and people
of England and Ireland touching the execution of the sentence of the Pope
against the Queen which the King Catholic hath entrusted to your Highness
as chief of the enterprise. There is also a bull of the Pope declaring my
sovereign mistress illegitimate and an usurper, with other matters too
odious for any prince or gentleman to name or hear. In this bull the Pope
saith that he hath dealt with the most Catholic King to employ all the
means in his power to the deprivation and deposition of my sovereign, and
doth charge her subjects to assist the army appointed by the King
Catholic for that purpose, under the conduct of your Highness. Therefore
her Majesty would be satisfied from your Highness in that point, and will
take satisfaction of none other; not doubting but that as you are a
prince of word and credit; you will deal plainly with her Majesty.
Whatsoever it may be, her Majesty will not take it amiss against your
Highness, so she may only be informed by you of the truth. Wherefore I do
require you to satisfy the Queen."

"I am glad," replied the Duke, "that her Majesty and her commissioners do
take in good part my good-will towards them. I am especially touched by
the good opinion her Majesty hath of my sincerity, which I should be glad
always to maintain. As to the book to which you refer, I have never read
it, nor seen it, nor do I take heed of it. It may well be that her
Majesty, whom it concerneth, should take notice of it; but, for my part,
I have nought to do with it, nor can I prevent men from writing or
printing at their pleasure. I am at the commandment of my master only."

As Alexander made no reference to the Pope's bull, Dr. Dale observed,
that if a war had been, of purpose, undertaken at the instance of the
Pope, all this negotiation had been in vain, and her Majesty would be
obliged to withdraw her commissioners, not doubting that they would
receive safe-conduct as occasion should require.

"Yea, God forbid else," replied Alexander; "and further, I know nothing
of any bull of the Pope, nor do I care for any, nor do I undertake
anything for him. But as for any misunderstanding (mal entendu) between
my master and her Majesty, I must, as a soldier, act at the command of my
sovereign. For my part, I have always had such respect for her Majesty,
being so noble a Queen, as that I would never hearken to anything that
might be reproachful to her. After my master, I would do most to serve
your Queen, and I hope she will take my word for her satisfaction on that
point. And for avoiding of bloodshed and the burning of houses and such
other calamities as do follow the wars, I have been a petitioner to my
sovereign that all things might be ended quietly by a peace. That is a
thing, however," added the Duke; "which you have more cause to desire
than we; for if the King my master, should lose a battle, he would be
able to recover it well enough, without harm to himself, being far enough
off in Spain, while, if the battle be lost on your side, you may lose
kingdom and all."

"By God's sufferance," rejoined the Doctor, "her Majesty is not without
means to defend her crown, that hath descended to her from so long a
succession of ancestors. Moreover your Highness knows very well that one
battle cannot conquer a kingdom in another country."

"Well," said the Duke, "that is in God's hand."

"So it is," said the Doctor.

"But make an end of it," continued Alexander quietly, "and if you have
anything to put into writing; you will do me a pleasure by sending it to
me."

Dr. Valentine Dale was not the man to resist the temptation to make a
protocol, and promised one for the next day.

"I am charged only to give your Highness satisfaction," he said, "as to
her Majesty's sincere intentions, which have already been published to
the world in English, French, and Italian, in the hope that you may also
satisfy the Queen upon this other point. I am but one of her
commissioners, and could not deal without my colleagues. I crave leave to
depart to-morrow morning, and with safe-convoy, as I had in coming."

After the envoy had taken leave, the Duke summoned Andrea de Loo, and
related to him the conversation which had taken place. He then, in the
presence of that personage, again declared--upon his honour and with very
constant affirmations, that he had never seen nor heard of the book--the
'Admonition' by Cardinal Allen--and that he knew nothing of any bull, and
had no regard to it.'

The plausible Andrew accompanied the Doctor to his lodgings, protesting
all the way of his own and his master's sincerity, and of their
unequivocal intentions to conclude a peace. The next day the Doctor, by
agreement, brought a most able protocol of demands in the name of all the
commissioners of her Majesty; which able protocol the Duke did not at
that moment read, which he assuredly never read subsequently, and which
no human soul ever read afterwards. Let the dust lie upon it, and upon
all the vast heaps of protocols raised mountains high during the spring
and summer of 1588.

"Dr. Dale has been with me two or three, times," said Parma, in giving
his account of these interviews to Philip. "I don't know why he came, but
I think he wished to make it appear, by coming to Bruges, that the
rupture, when it occurs, was caused by us, not by the English. He has
been complaining of Cardinal Allen's book, and I told him that I didn't
understand a word of English, and knew nothing whatever of the matter."

It has been already seen that the Duke had declared, on his word of
honour, that he had never heard of the famous pamphlet. Yet at that very
moment letters were lying in his cabinet, received more than a fortnight
before from Philip, in which that monarch thanked Alexander for having
had the Cardinal's book translated at Antwerp! Certainly few English
diplomatists could be a match for a Highness so liberal of his word of
honour.

But even Dr. Dale had at last convinced himself--even although the Duke
knew nothing of bull or pamphlet--that mischief was brewing against
England. The sagacious man, having seen large bodies of Spaniards and
Walloons making such demonstrations of eagerness to be led against his
country, and "professing it as openly as if they were going to a fair or
market," while even Alexander himself could "no more hide it than did
Henry VIII. when he went to Boulogne," could not help suspecting
something amiss.

His colleague, however, Comptroller Croft, was more judicious, for he
valued himself on taking a sound, temperate, and conciliatory view of
affairs. He was not the man to offend a magnanimous neighbour--who meant
nothing unfriendly by regarding his manoeuvres with superfluous
suspicion. So this envoy wrote to Lord Burghley on the 2nd August
(N.S.)--let the reader mark the date--that, "although a great doubt had
been conceived as to the King's sincerity, . . . . yet that discretion
and experience induced him--the envoy--to think, that besides the
reverent opinion to be had of princes' oaths, and the general incommodity
which will come by the contrary, God had so balanced princes' powers in
that age, as they rather desire to assure themselves at home, than with
danger to invade their neighbours."

Perhaps the mariners of England--at that very instant exchanging
broadsides off the coast of Devon and Dorset with the Spanish Armada, and
doing their best to protect their native land from the most horrible
calamity which had ever impended over it--had arrived at a less reverent
opinion of princes' oaths; and it was well for England in that supreme
hour that there were such men as Howard and Drake, and Winter and
Frobisher, and a whole people with hearts of oak to defend her, while
bungling diplomatists and credulous dotards were doing their best to
imperil her existence.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Bungling diplomatists and credulous dotards
     Fitter to obey than to command
     Full of precedents and declamatory commonplaces
     I am a king that will be ever known not to fear any but God
     Infamy of diplomacy, when diplomacy is unaccompanied by honesty
     Mendacity may always obtain over innocence and credulity
     Never did statesmen know better how not to do
     Pray here for satiety, (said Cecil) than ever think of variety
     Simple truth was highest skill
     Strength does a falsehood acquire in determined and skilful hand
     That crowned criminal, Philip the Second



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 56, 1588



CHAPTER XVIII. Part 2.

   Dangerous Discord in North Holland--Leicester's Resignation arrives
   --Enmity of Willoughby and Maurice--Willoughby's dark Picture of
   Affairs--Hatred between States and Leicestrians--Maurice's Answer to
   the Queen's Charges--End of Sonoy's Rebellion--Philip foments the
   Civil War in France--League's Threats and Plots against Henry--Mucio
   arrives in Paris--He is received with Enthusiasm--The King flies,
   and Spain triumphs in Paris--States expostulate with the Queen--
   English Statesmen still deceived--Deputies from Netherland Churches
   --Hold Conference with the Queen--And present long Memorials--More
   Conversations with the Queen--National Spirit of England and
   Holland--Dissatisfaction with Queen's Course--Bitter Complaints of
   Lord Howard--Want of Preparation in Army and Navy--Sanguine
   Statements of Leicester--Activity of Parma--The painful Suspense
   continues.

But it is necessary-in order to obtain a complete picture of that famous
year 1588, and to understand the cause from which such great events were
springing--to cast a glance at the internal politics of the States most
involved in Philip's meshes.

Certainly, if there had ever been a time when the new commonwealth of the
Netherlands should be both united in itself and on thoroughly friendly
terms with England, it was exactly that epoch of which we are treating.
There could be no reasonable doubt that the designs of Spain against
England were hostile, and against Holland revengeful. It was at least
possible that Philip meant to undertake the conquest of England, and to
undertake it as a stepping-stone to the conquest of Holland. Both the
kingdom and the republic should have been alert, armed, full of suspicion
towards the common foe, full of confidence in each other. What decisive
blows might have been struck against Parma in the Netherlands, when his
troops were starving, sickly, and mutinous, if the Hollanders and
Englishmen had been united under one chieftain, and thoroughly convinced
of the impossibility of peace! Could the English and Dutch statesmen of
that day have read all the secrets of their great enemy's heart, as it is
our privilege at this hour to do, they would have known that in sudden
and deadly strokes lay their best chance of salvation. But, without that
advantage, there were men whose sagacity told them that it was the hour
for deeds and not for dreams. For to Leicester and Walsingham, as well as
to Paul Buys and Barneveld, peace with Spain seemed an idle vision. It
was unfortunate that they were overruled by Queen Elizabeth and Burghley,
who still clung to that delusion; it was still more disastrous that the
intrigues of Leicester had done so much to paralyze the republic; it was
almost fatal that his departure, without laying down his authority, had
given the signal for civil war.

During the winter, spring, and summer of 1588, while the Duke--in the
face of mighty obstacles--was slowly proceeding with his preparations in
Flanders, to co-operate with the armaments from Spain, it would have been
possible by a combined movement to destroy his whole plan, to liberate
all the Netherlands, and to avert, by one great effort, the ruin
impending over England. Instead of such vigorous action, it was thought
wiser to send commissioners, to make protocols, to ask for armistices, to
give profusely to the enemy that which he was most in need of--time.
Meanwhile the Hollanders and English could quarrel comfortably among
themselves, and the little republic, for want of a legal head, could come
as near as possible to its dissolution.

Young Maurice--deep thinker for his years and peremptory in action--was
not the man to see his great father's life-work annihilated before his
eyes, so long as he had an arm and brain of his own. He accepted his
position at the head of the government of Holland and Zeeland, and as
chief of the war-party. The council of state, mainly composed of
Leicester's creatures, whose commissions would soon expire by their own
limitation, could offer but a feeble resistance to such determined
individuals as Maurice, Buys, and Barneveld. The party made rapid
progress. On the other hand, the English Leicestrians did their best to
foment discord in the Provinces. Sonoy was sustained in his rebellion in
North Holland, not only by the Earl's partizans, but by Elizabeth
herself. Her rebukes to Maurice, when Maurice was pursuing the only
course which seemed to him consistent with honour and sound policy, were
sharper than a sword. Well might Duplessis Mornay observe, that the
commonwealth had been rather strangled than embraced by the English
Queen. Sonoy, in the name of Leicester, took arms against Maurice and the
States; Maurice marched against him; and Lord Willoughby,
commander-in-chief of the English forces, was anxious to march against
Maurice. It was a spectacle to make angels weep, that of Englishmen and
Hollanders preparing to cut each other's throats, at the moment when
Philip and Parma were bending all their energies to crush England and
Holland at once.

Indeed, the interregnum between the departure of Leicester and his
abdication was diligently employed by his more reckless partizans to
defeat and destroy the authority of the States. By prolonging the
interval, it was hoped that no government would be possible except the
arbitrary rule of the Earl, or of a successor with similar views: for a
republic--a free commonwealth--was thought an absurdity. To entrust
supreme power to advocates; merchants, and mechanics, seemed as hopeless
as it was vulgar. Willoughby; much devoted to Leicester and much
detesting Barneveld, had small scruple in fanning the flames of discord.

There was open mutiny against the States by the garrison of
Gertruydenberg, and Willoughby's brother-in-law, Captain Wingfield,
commanded in Gertruydenberg. There were rebellious demonstrations in
Naarden, and Willoughby went to Naarden. The garrison was troublesome,
but most of the magistrates were firm. So Willoughby supped with the
burgomasters, and found that Paul Buys had been setting the people
against Queen Elizabeth, Leicester, and the whole English nation, making
them all odious. Colonel Dorp said openly that it was a shame for the
country to refuse their own natural-born Count for strangers. He swore
that he would sing his song whose bread he had eaten. A "fat militia
captain" of the place, one Soyssons, on the other hand, privately
informed Willoughby that Maurice and Barneveld were treating underhand
with Spain. Willoughby was inclined to believe the calumny, but feared
that his corpulent friend would lose his head for reporting it. Meantime
the English commander did his best to strengthen the English party in
their rebellion against the States.

"But how if they make war upon us?" asked the Leicestrians.

"It is very likely," replied Willoughby, "that if they use violence you
will have her Majesty's assistance, and then you who continue constant to
the end will be rewarded accordingly. Moreover, who would not rather be a
horse-keeper to her Majesty, than a captain to Barneveld or Buys?"

When at last the resignation of Leicester--presented to the States by
Killegrew on the 31st March--seemed to promise comparative repose to the
republic, the vexation of the Leicestrians was intense. Their efforts to
effect a dissolution of the government had been rendered unsuccessful,
when success seemed within their grasp. "Albeit what is once executed
cannot be prevented," said Captain Champernoun; "yet 'tis thought certain
that if the resignation of Lord Leicester's commission had been deferred
yet some little time; the whole country and towns would have so revolted
and mutinied against the government and authority of the States, as that
they should have had no more credit given them by the people than pleased
her Majesty. Most part of the people could see--in consequence of the
troubles, discontent, mutiny of garrisons, and the like, that it was most
necessary for the good success of their affairs that the power of the
States should be abolished, and the whole government of his Excellency
erected. As these matters were busily working into the likelihood of some
good effect, came the resignation of his Excellency's commission and
authority, which so dashed the proceedings of it, as that all people and
commanders well affected unto her Majesty and my Lord of Leicester are
utterly discouraged. The States, with their adherents, before they had
any Lord's resignations were much perplexed what course to take, but now
begin to hoist their heads." The excellent Leicestrian entertained hopes,
however; that mutiny and intrigue might still carry the day. He had seen
the fat militiaman of Naarden and other captains, and, hoped much
mischief from their schemes. "The chief mutineers of Gertruydenberg," he
said, "maybe wrought to send unto 'the States, that if they do not
procure them some English governor, they will compound with the enemy,
whereon the States shall be driven to request her Majesty to accept the
place, themselves entertaining the garrison. I know certain captains
discontented with the States for arrears of pay, who will contrive to get
into Naarden with their companies, with the States consent, who, once
entered, will keep the place for their satisfaction, pay their soldiers
out of the contributions of the country; and yet secretly hold the place
at her Majesty's command."

This is not an agreeable picture; yet it is but one out of many examples
of the intrigues by which Leicester and his party were doing their best
to destroy the commonwealth of the Netherlands at a moment when its
existence was most important to that of England.

To foment mutiny in order to subvert the authority of Maurice, was not a
friendly or honourable course of action either towards Holland or
England; and it was to play into the hands of Philip as adroitly as his
own stipendiaries could have done.

With mischief-makers like Champernoun in every city, and with such
diplomatists at Ostend as Croft and Ropers and Valentine Dale, was it
wonderful that the King and the Duke of Parma found time to mature their
plans for the destruction of both countries?

Lord Willoughby, too, was extremely dissatisfied with his own position.
He received no commission from the Queen for several months. When it at
last reached him, it seemed inadequate, and he became more sullen than
ever. He declared that he would rather serve the Queen as a private
soldier, at his own expense--"lean as his purse was"--than accept the
limited authority conferred on him. He preferred to show his devotion "in
a beggarly state, than in a formal show." He considered it beneath her
Majesty's dignity that he should act in the field under the States, but
his instructions forbade his acceptance of any office from that body but
that of general in their service. He was very discontented, and more
anxious than ever to be rid of his functions. Without being extremely
ambitious, he was impatient of control. He desired not "a larger-shaped
coat," but one that fitted him better. "I wish to shape my garment
homely, after my cloth," he said, "that the better of my parish may not
be misled by my sumptuousness. I would live quietly, without great noise,
my poor roof low and near the ground, not subject to be overblown with
unlooked-for storms, while the sun seems most shining."

Being the deadly enemy of the States and their leaders, it was a matter
of course that he should be bitter against Maurice. That young Prince,
bold, enterprising, and determined, as he was, did not ostensibly meddle
with political affairs more than became his years; but he accepted the
counsels of the able statesmen in whom his father had trusted. Riding,
hunting, and hawking, seemed to be his chief delight at the Hague, in the
intervals of military occupations. He rarely made his appearance in the
state-council during the winter, and referred public matters to the
States-General, to the States of Holland, to Barneveld, Buys, and
Hohenlo. Superficial observers like George Gilpin regarded him as a
cipher; others, like Robert Cecil, thought him an unmannerly schoolboy;
but Willoughby, although considering him insolent and conceited, could
not deny his ability. The peace partisans among the burghers--a very
small faction--were furious against him, for they knew that Maurice of
Nassau represented war. They accused of deep designs against the
liberties of their country the youth who was ever ready to risk his life
in their defence. A burgomaster from Friesland, who had come across the
Zuyder Zee to intrigue against the States' party, was full of spleen at
being obliged to dance attendance for a long time at the Hague. He
complained that Count Maurice, green of years, and seconded by greener
counsellors, was meditating the dissolution of the state-council, the
appointment of a new board from his own creatures, the overthrow of all
other authority, and the assumption of the, sovereignty of Holland and
Zeeland, with absolute power. "And when this is done;" said the rueful
burgomaster, "he and his turbulent fellows may make what terms they like
with Spain, to the disadvantage of the Queen and of us poor wretches."

But there was nothing farther from the thoughts of the turbulent fellows
than any negotiations with Spain. Maurice was ambitious enough, perhaps,
but his ambition ran in no such direction. Willoughby knew better; and
thought that by humouring the petulant young man it might be possible to
manage him.

"Maurice is young," he said, "hot-headed; coveting honour. If we do but
look at him through our fingers, without much words, but with providence
enough, baiting his hook a little to his appetite, there is no doubt but
he might be caught and kept in a fish-pool; while in his imagination he
may judge it a sea. If not, 'tis likely he will make us fish in troubled
waters."

Maurice was hardly the fish for a mill-pond even at that epoch, and it
might one day be seen whether or not he could float in the great ocean of
events. Meanwhile, he swam his course without superfluous gambols or
spoutings.

The commander of her Majesty's forces was not satisfied with the States,
nor their generals, nor their politicians. "Affairs are going 'a malo in
pejus,'" he said. "They embrace their liberty as apes their young. To
this end are Counts Hollock and Maurice set upon the stage to entertain
the popular sort. Her Majesty and my Lord of Leicester are not forgotten.
The Counts are in Holland, especially Hollock, for the other is but the
cipher. And yet I can assure you Maurice hath wit and spirit too much for
his time."

As the troubles of the interregnum increased Willoughby was more
dissatisfied than ever with the miserable condition of the Provinces, but
chose to ascribe it to the machinations of the States' party, rather than
to the ambiguous conduct of Leicester. "These evils," he said, "are
especially, derived from the childish ambition of the young Count
Maurice, from the covetous and furious counsels of the proud Hollanders,
now chief of the States-General, and, if with pardon it may be said, from
our slackness and coldness to entertain our friends. The provident and
wiser sort--weighing what a slender ground the appetite of a young man
is, unfurnished with the sinews of war to manage so great a cause--for a
good space after my Lord of Leicester's departure, gave him far looking
on, to see him play has part on the stage."

Willoughby's spleen caused him to mix his metaphors more recklessly than
strict taste would warrant, but his violent expressions painted the
relative situation of parties more vividly than could be done by a calm
disquisition. Maurice thus playing his part upon the stage--as the
general proceeded to observe--"was a skittish horse, becoming by little
and little assured of what he had feared, and perceiving the harmlessness
thereof; while his companions, finding no safety of neutrality in so
great practices, and no overturning nor barricado to stop his rash wilded
chariot, followed without fear; and when some of the first had passed the
bog; the rest, as the fashion is, never started after. The variable
democracy; embracing novelty, began to applaud their prosperity; the base
and lewdest sorts of men, to whom there is nothing more agreeable than
change of estates, is a better monture to degrees than their merit, took
present hold thereof. Hereby Paul Buys, Barneveld, and divers others, who
were before mantled with a tolerable affection, though seasoned with a
poisoned intention, caught the occasion, and made themselves the
Beelzebubs of all these mischiefs, and, for want of better angels, spared
not to let fly our golden-winged ones in the name of guilders, to prepare
the hearts and hands that hold money more dearer than honesty, of which
sort, the country troubles and the Spanish practices having suckled up
many, they found enough to serve their purpose. As the breach is safely
saltable where no defence is made, so they, finding no head, but those
scattered arms that were disavowed, drew the sword with Peter, and gave
pardon with the Pope, as you shall plainly perceive by the proceedings at
Horn. Thus their force; fair words, or corruption, prevailing everywhere,
it grew to this conclusion--that the worst were encouraged with their
good success, and the best sort assured of no fortune or favour."

Out of all this hubbub of stage-actors, skittish horses, rash wilded
chariots, bogs, Beelzebubs, and golden-winged angels, one truth was
distinctly audible; that Beelzebub, in the shape of Barneveld, had been
getting the upper hand in the Netherlands, and that the Lecestrians were
at a disadvantage. In truth those partisans were becoming extremely
impatient. Finding themselves deserted by their great protector, they
naturally turned their eyes towards Spain, and were now threatening to
sell themselves to Philip. The Earl, at his departure, had given them
privately much encouragement. But month after month had passed by while
they were waiting in vain for comfort. At last the "best"--that is to
say, the unhappy Leicestrians--came to Willoughby, asking his advice in
their "declining and desperate cause."

"Well nigh a month longer," said that general, "I nourished them with
compliments, and assured them that my Lord of Leicester would take care
of them." The diet was not fattening. So they began to grumble more
loudly than ever, and complained with great bitterness of the miserable
condition in which they had been left by the Earl, and expressed their
fears lest the Queen likewise meant to abandon them. They protested that
their poverty, their powerful foes, and their slow friends, would compel
them either to make their peace with the States' party, or "compound with
the enemy."

It would have seemed that real patriots, under such circumstances, would
hardly hesitate in their choice, and would sooner accept the dominion of
"Beelzebub," or even Paul Buys, than that of Philip II. But the
Leicestrians of Utrecht and Friesland--patriots as they were--hated
Holland worse than they hated the Inquisition. Willoughby encouraged them
in that hatred. He assured him of her Majesty's affection for them,
complained of the factious proceedings of the States, and alluded to the
unfavourable state of the weather, as a reason why--near four months
long--they had not received the comfort out of England which they had a
right to expect. He assured them that neither the Queen nor Leicester
would conclude this honourable action, wherein much had been hazarded,
"so rawly and tragically" as they seemed to fear, and warned them, that
"if they did join with Holland, it would neither ease nor help them, but
draw them into a more dishonourable loss of their liberties; and that,
after having wound them in, the Hollanders would make their own peace
with the enemy."

It seemed somewhat unfair-while the Queen's government was straining
every nerve to obtain a peace from Philip, and while the Hollanders were
obstinately deaf to any propositions for treating--that Willoughby should
accuse them of secret intentions to negotiate. But it must be confessed
that faction has rarely worn a more mischievous aspect than was presented
by the politics of Holland and England in the winter and spring of 1588.

Young Maurice was placed in a very painful position. He liked not to be
"strangled in the great Queen's embrace;" but he felt most keenly the
necessity of her friendship, and the importance to both countries of a
close alliance. It was impossible for him, however, to tolerate the
rebellion of Sonoy, although Sonoy was encouraged by Elizabeth, or to fly
in the face of Barneveld, although Barneveld was detested by Leicester.
So with much firmness and courtesy, notwithstanding the extravagant
pictures painted by Willoughby, he suppressed mutiny in Holland, while
avowing the most chivalrous attachment to the sovereign of England.

Her Majesty expressed her surprise and her discontent, that,
notwithstanding his expressions of devotion to herself, he should thus
deal with Sonoy, whose only crime was an equal devotion. "If you do not
behave with more moderation in future," she said, "you may believe that
we are not a princess of so little courage as not to know how to lend a
helping hand to those who are unjustly oppressed. We should be sorry if
we had cause to be disgusted with your actions, and if we were compelled
to make you a stranger to the ancient good affection which we bore to
your late father, and have continued towards yourself."

But Maurice maintained a dignified attitude, worthy of his great father's
name. He was not the man to crouch like Leicester, when he could no
longer refresh himself in the "shadow of the Queen's golden beams,"
important as he knew her friendship to be to himself and his country. So
he defended himself in a manly letter to the privy council against the
censures of Elizabeth. He avowed his displeasure, that, within his own
jurisdiction, Sonoy should give a special oath of obedience to Leicester;
a thing never done before in the country, and entirely illegal. It would
not even be tolerated in England, he said, if a private gentleman should
receive a military appointment in Warwickshire or Norfolk without the
knowledge of the lord-lieutenant of the shire. He had treated the
contumacious Sonoy with mildness during a long period, but without
effect. He had abstained from violence towards him, out of reverence to
the Queen, under whose sacred name he sheltered himself. Sonoy had not
desisted, but had established himself in organized rebellion at
Medenblik, declaring that he would drown the whole country, and levy
black-mail upon its whole property, if he were not paid one hundred
thousand crowns. He had declared that he would crush Holland like a glass
beneath his feet. Having nothing but religion in his mouth, and
protecting himself with the Queen's name, he had been exciting all the
cities of North Holland to rebellion, and bringing the poor people to
destruction. He had been offered money enough to satisfy the most
avaricious soldier in the world, but he stood out for six years' full pay
for his soldiers, a demand with which it was impossible to comply. It was
necessary to prevent him from inundating the land and destroying the
estates of the country gentlemen and the peasants. "This gentlemen," said
Maurice, "is the plain truth; nor do I believe that you will sustain
against me a man who was under such vast obligations to my late father,
and who requites his debt by daring to speak of myself as a rascal; or
that you will countenance his rebellion against a country to which he
brought only, his cloak and sword, and, whence he has filched one hundred
thousand crowns. You will not, I am sure, permit a simple captain, by his
insubordination to cause such mischief, and to set on fire this and other
Provinces.

"If, by your advice," continued the Count; "the Queen should appoint
fitting' personages to office here--men who know what honour is; born of
illustrious and noble-race, or who by their great virtue have been
elevated to the honours of the kingdom--to them I will render an account
of my actions. And it shall appear that I have more ability and more
desire to do my duty, to her Majesty than those who render her
lip-service only, and only make use of her sacred name to fill their
purses, while I and, mine have been ever ready to employ our lives, and
what remains of our fortunes, in the cause of God, her Majesty, and our
country."

Certainly no man had a better right: to speak with consciousness of the
worth of race than the son of William the Silent, the nephew of Lewis,
Adolphus, and Henry of Nassau, who had all laid down their lives for the
liberty of their country. But Elizabeth continued to threaten the
States-General, through the mouth of Willoughby, with the loss of her
protection, if they should continue thus to requite her favours with
ingratitude and insubordination: and Maurice once more respectfully but
firmly replied that Sonoy's rebellion could not and would not be
tolerated; appealing boldly to her sense of justice, which was the
noblest attribute of kings.

At last the Queen informed Willoughby, that--as the cause of Sonoy's
course seemed to be his oath of obedience to Leicester, whose resignation
of office had not yet been received in the Netherlands--she had now
ordered Councillor Killigrew to communicate the fact of that resignation.
She also wrote to Sonoy, requiring him to obey the States and Count
Maurice, and to accept a fresh commission from them, or at least to
surrender Medenblik, and to fulfil all their orders with zeal and
docility.

This act of abdication by Leicester, which had been received on the 22nd
of January by the English envoy, Herbert, at the moment of his departure
from the Netherlands, had been carried back by him to England, on the
ground that its communication to the States at that moment would cause
him inconveniently to postpone his journey. It never officially reached
the States-General until the 31st of March, so that this most dangerous
crisis was protracted nearly five months long--certainly without
necessity or excuse--and whether through design, malice, wantonness, or
incomprehensible carelessness, it is difficult to say.

So soon as the news reached Sonoy, that contumacious chieftain found his
position untenable, and he allowed the States' troops to take possession
of Medenblik, and with it the important territory of North Holland.

Maurice now saw himself undisputed governor. Sonoy was in the course of
the summer deprived of all office, and betook himself to England. Here he
was kindly received by the Queen, who bestowed upon him a ruined tower,
and a swamp among the fens of Lincolnshire. He brought over some of his
countrymen, well-skilled in such operations, set himself to draining and
dyking, and hoped to find himself at home and comfortable in his ruined
tower. But unfortunately, as neither he nor his wife, notwithstanding
their English proclivities, could speak a word of the language; they
found their social enjoyments very limited. Moreover, as his work-people
were equally without the power of making their wants understood, the
dyking operations made but little progress. So the unlucky colonel soon
abandoned his swamp, and retired to East Friesland, where he lived a
morose and melancholy life on a pension of one thousand florins, granted
him by the States of Holland, until the year 1597, when he lost his mind,
fell into the fire, and thus perished.

And thus; in the Netherlands, through hollow negotiations between enemies
and ill-timed bickerings among friends, the path of Philip and Parma had
been made comparatively smooth during the spring and early summer of
1588. What was the aspect of affairs in Germany and France?

The adroit capture of Bonn by Martin Schenk had given much trouble. Parma
was obliged to detach a strong force; under Prince Chimay, to attempt the
recovery of that important place, which--so long as it remained in the
power of the States--rendered the whole electorate insecure and a source
of danger to the Spanish party. Farnese endeavoured in vain to win back
the famous partizan by most liberal offers, for he felt bitterly the
mistake he had made in alienating so formidable a freebooter. But the
truculent Martin remained obdurate and irascible. Philip, much offended
that the news of his decease had proved false, ordered rather than
requested the Emperor Rudolph to have a care that nothing was done in
Germany to interfere with the great design upon England. The King gave
warning that he would suffer no disturbance from that quarter, but
certainly the lethargic condition of Germany rendered such threats
superfluous. There were riders enough, and musketeers enough, to be sold
to the highest bidder. German food for powder was offered largely in the
market to any foreign consumer, for the trade in their subjects', lives
was ever a prolific source of revenue to the petty sovereigns--numerous
as the days of the year--who owned Germany and the Germans.

The mercenaries who had so recently been, making their inglorious
campaign in France had been excluded from that country at the close of
1587, and furious were the denunciations of the pulpits and the populace
of Paris that the foreign brigands who had been devastating the soil of
France, and attempting to oppose the decrees of the Holy Father of Rome,
should; have made their escape so easily. Rabid Lincestre and other
priests and monks foamed with rage, as they execrated and anathematized
the devil-worshipper Henry of Valois, in all the churches of that
monarch's capital. The Spanish ducats were flying about, more profusely
than ever, among the butchers and porters, and fishwomen, of the great
city; and Madam League paraded herself in the day-light with still
increasing insolence. There was scarcely a pretence at recognition of any
authority, save that of Philip and Sixtus. France had become a
wilderness--an uncultivated, barbarous province of Spain. Mucio--Guise
had been secretly to Rome, had held interviews with the Pope and
cardinals, and had come back with a sword presented by his Holiness, its
hilt adorned with jewels, and its blade engraved with tongues of fire.
And with this flaming sword the avenging messenger of the holy father was
to smite the wicked, and to drive them into outer darkness.

And there had been fresh conferences among the chiefs of the sacred
League within the Lorraine territory, and it was resolved to require of
the Valois an immediate extermination of heresy and heretics throughout
the kingdom, the publication of the Council of Trent, and the formal
establishment of the Holy Inquisition in every province of France. Thus,
while doing his Spanish master's bidding, the great Lieutenant of the
league might, if he was adroit enough, to outwit Philip, ultimately carve
out a throne for himself.

Yet Philip felt occasional pangs of uneasiness lest there should, after
all, be peace in France, and lest his schemes against Holland and England
might be interfered with from that quarter. Even Farnese, nearer the
scene, could, not feel completely secure that a sudden reconciliation
among contending factions might not give rise to a dangerous inroad
across the Flemish border. So Guise was plied more vigourously than ever
by the Duke with advice and encouragement, and assisted with such Walloon
carabineers as could be spared, while large subsidies and larger promises
came from Philip, whose prudent policy was never to pay excessive sums,
until the work contracted for was done. "Mucio must do the job long since
agreed upon," said Philip to Farnese, "and you and Mendoza must see that
he prevents the King of France from troubling me in my enterprize against
England." If the unlucky Henry III. had retained one spark of
intelligence, he would have seen that his only chance of rescue lay in
the arm of the Bearnese, and in an honest alliance with England. Yet so
strong was his love for the monks, who were daily raving against him,
that he was willing to commit any baseness, in order to win back their
affection. He was ready to exterminate heresy and to establish the
inquisition, but he was incapable of taking energetic measures of any
kind, even when throne and life were in imminent peril. Moreover, he
clung to Epernon and the 'politiques,' in whose swords he alone found
protection, and he knew that Epernon and the 'politiques' were the
objects of horror to Paris and to the League. At the same time he looked
imploringly towards England and towards the great Huguenot chieftain,
Elizabeth's knight-errant. He had a secret interview with Sir Edward
Stafford, in the garden of the Bernardino convent, and importuned that
envoy to implore the Queen to break off her negotiations with Philip, and
even dared to offer the English ambassador a large reward, if such a
result could be obtained. Stafford was also earnestly, requested to
beseech the Queen's influence with Henry of Navarre, that he should
convert himself to Catholicism, and thus destroy the League.

On the other hand, the magniloquent Mendoza, who was fond of describing
himself as "so violent and terrible to the French that they wished to be
rid of him," had--as usual--been frightening the poor King, who, after a
futile attempt at dignity, had shrunk before the blusterings of the
ambassador. "This King," said Don Bernardino, "thought that he could
impose, upon me and silence me, by talking loud, but as I didn't talk
softly to him, he has undeceived himself . . . . I have had another
interview with him, and found him softer than silk, and he made me many
caresses, and after I went out, he said that I was a very skilful
minister."

It was the purpose of the League to obtain possession of the King's
person, and, if necessary, to dispose of the 'politiques' by a general
massacre, such as sixteen years before had been so successful in the case
of Coligny and the Huguenots. So the populace--more rabid than ever--were
impatient that their adored Balafre should come to Paris and begin the
holy work.

He came as far as Gonesse to do the job he had promised to Philip, but
having heard that Henry had reinforced himself with four thousand Swiss
from the garrison of Lagny, he fell back to Soissons. The King sent him a
most abject message, imploring him not to expose his sovereign to so much
danger, by setting his foot at that moment in the capital. The Balafre
hesitated, but the populace raved and roared for its darling. The
Queen-Mother urged her unhappy son to yield his consent, and the
Montpensier--fatal sister of Guise, with the famous scissors ever at her
girdle--insisted that her brother had as good a right as any man to come
to the city. Meantime the great chief of the 'politiques,' the hated and
insolent Epernon, had been appointed governor of Normandy, and Henry had
accompanied his beloved minion a part of the way towards Rouen. A plot
contrived by the Montpensier to waylay the monarch on his return, and to
take him into the safe-keeping of the League, miscarried, for the King
reentered the city before the scheme was ripe. On the other hand,
Nicholas Poulain, bought for twenty thousand crowns by the 'politiques,'
gave the King and his advisers-full information of all these intrigues,
and, standing in Henry's cabinet, offered, at peril of his life, if he
might be confronted with the conspirators--the leaders of the League
within the city--to prove the truth of the charges which he had made.

For the whole city was now thoroughly organized. The number of its
districts had been reduced from sixteen to five, the better to bring it
under the control of the League; and, while it could not be denied that
Mucio, had, been doing his master's work very thoroughly, yet it was
still in the power of the King--through the treachery of Poulain--to
strike a blow for life and freedom, before he was quite, taken in the
trap. But he stood helpless, paralyzed, gazing in dreamy stupor--like one
fascinated at the destruction awaiting him.

At last, one memorable May morning, a traveller alighted outside the gate
of Saint Martin, and proceeded on foot through the streets of Paris. He
was wrapped in a large cloak, which he held carefully over his face. When
he had got as far as the street of Saint Denis, a young gentleman among
the passers by, a good Leaguer, accosted the stranger, and with coarse
pleasantry, plucked the cloak from his face, and the hat from his head.
Looking at the handsome, swarthy features, marked with a deep scar, and
the dark, dangerous eyes which were then revealed, the practical jester
at once recognized in the simple traveller the terrible Balafre, and
kissed the hem of his garments with submissive rapture. Shouts of "Vive
Guise" rent the air from all the bystanders, as the Duke, no longer
affecting concealment, proceeded with a slow and stately step toward the
residence of Catharine de' Medici.' That queen of compromises and of
magic had been holding many a conference with the leaders of both
parties; had been increasing her son's stupefaction by her enigmatical
counsels; had been anxiously consulting her talisman of goat's and human
blood, mixed with metals melted under the influence of the star of her
nativity, and had been daily visiting the wizard Ruggieri, in whose magic
circle--peopled with a thousand fantastic heads--she had held high
converse with the world of spirits, and derived much sound advice as to
the true course of action to be pursued between her son and Philip, and
between the politicians and the League. But, in spite of these various
sources of instruction, Catharine--was somewhat perplexed, now that
decisive action seemed necessary--a dethronement and a new massacre
impending, and judicious compromise difficult. So after a hurried
conversation with Mucio, who insisted on an interview with the King, she
set forth for the Louvre, the Duke lounging calmly by the aide of her,
sedan chair, on foot, receiving the homage of the populace, as men,
women, and children together, they swarmed around him as he walked,
kissing his garments, and rending the air with their shouts. For that
wolfish mob of Paris, which had once lapped the blood of ten thousand
Huguenots in a single night, and was again rabid with thirst, was most
docile and fawning to the great Balafre. It grovelled before him, it hung
upon his look, it licked his hand, and, at the lifting of his finger, or
the glance of his eye, would have sprung at the throat of King or
Queen-Mother, minister, or minion, and devoured them all before his eyes.
It was longing for the sign, for, much as Paris adored and was besotted
with Guise and the League, even more, if possible, did it hate those
godless politicians, who had grown fat on extortions from the poor, and
who had converted their substance into the daily bread of luxury.

Nevertheless the city was full of armed men, Swiss and German
mercenaries, and burgher guards, sworn to fidelity to the throne. The
place might have been swept clean, at that moment, of rebels who were not
yet armed or fortified in their positions. The Lord had delivered Guise
into Henry's hands. "Oh, the madman!"--cried Sixtus V., when he heard
that the Duke had gone to Paris, "thus to put himself into the clutches
of the King whom he had so deeply offended!" And, "Oh, the wretched
coward, the imbecile?" he added, when he heard how the King had dealt
with his great enemy.

For the monarch was in his cabinet that May morning, irresolutely
awaiting the announced visit of the Duke. By his aide stood Alphonse
Corse, attached as a mastiff to his master, and fearing not Guise nor
Leaguer, man nor devil.

"Sire, is the Duke of Guise your friend or enemy?" said Alphonse. The
King answered by an expressive shrug.

"Say the word, Sire," continued Alphonse, "and I pledge myself to bring
his head this instant, and lay it at your feet."

And he would have done it. Even at the side of Catharine's sedan chair,
and in the very teeth of the worshipping mob, the Corsican would have had
the Balafre's life, even though he laid down his own.

But Henry--irresolute and fascinated--said it was not yet time for such a
blow.

Soon afterward; the Duke was announced. The chief of the League and the
last of the Valois met, face to face; but not for the last time. The
interview--was coldly respectful on the part of Mucio, anxious and
embarrassed on that of the King. When the visit, which was merely one of
ceremony, was over, the Duke departed as he came, receiving the renewed
homage of the populace as he walked to his hotel.

That night precautions were taken. All the guards were doubled around the
palace and through the streets. The Hotel de Ville and the Place de la
Greve were made secure, and the whole city was filled with troops. But
the Place Maubert was left unguarded, and a rabble rout--all night
long--was collecting in that distant spot. Four companies of
burgher-guards went over to the League at three o'clock in the morning.
The rest stood firm in the cemetery of the Innocents, awaiting the orders
of the King. At day-break on the 11th the town was still quiet. There was
an awful pause of expectation. The shops remained closed all the morning,
the royal troops were drawn up in battle-array, upon the Greve and around
the Hotel de Ville, but they stood motionless as statues, until the
populace began taunting them with cowardice, and then laughing them to
scorn. For their sovereign lord and master still sat paralyzed in his
palace.

The mob had been surging through all the streets and lanes, until, as by
a single impulse, chains were stretched across the streets, and
barricades thrown up in all the principal thoroughfares. About noon the
Duke of Guise, who had been sitting quietly in his hotel, with a very few
armed followers, came out into the street of the Hotel Montmorency, and
walked calmly up and down, arm-in-aim with the Archbishop of Lyons,
between a double hedge-row of spectators and admirers, three or four
ranks thick. He was dressed in a white slashed doublet and hose, and wore
a very large hat. Shouts of triumph resounded from a thousand brazen
throats, as he moved calmly about, receiving, at every instant, expresses
from the great gathering in the Place Maubert.

"Enough, too much, my good friends," he said, taking off the great
hat--("I don't know whether he was laughing in it," observed one who was
looking on that day)--"Enough of 'Long live Guise!' Cry 'Long live the
King!'"

There was no response, as might be expected, and the people shouted more
hoarsely than ever for Madam League and the Balafre. The Duke's face was
full of gaiety; there was not a shadow of anxiety upon it in that
perilous and eventful moment. He saw that the day was his own.

For now, the people, ripe, ready; mustered, armed, barricaded; awaited
but a signal to assault the King's mercenaries, before rushing to the
palace: On every house-top missiles were provided to hurl upon their
heads. There seemed no escape for Henry or his Germans from impending
doom, when Guise, thoroughly triumphant, vouchsafed them their lives.

"You must give me these soldiers as a present, my friends," said he to
the populace.

And so the armed Swiss, French, and German troopers and infantry,
submitted to be led out of Paris, following with docility the
aide-de-camp of Guise, Captain St. Paul, who walked quietly before them,
with his sword in its scabbard, and directing their movements with a
cane. Sixty of them were slain by the mob, who could not, even at the
command of their beloved chieftain, quite forego their expected banquet.
But this was all the blood shed on the memorable day of Barricades, when
another Bartholomew massacre had been, expected.

Meantime; while Guise was making his promenade through the city,
exchanging embraces with the rabble; and listening to the coarse
congratulations and obscene jests of the porters and fishwomen, the poor
King sat crying all day long in the Louvre. The Queen-Mother was with
him, reproaching him bitterly with his irresolution and want of
confidences in her, and scolding him for his tears. But the unlucky Henry
only wept the more as he cowered in a corner.

"These are idle tears," said Catherine. "This is no time for crying. And
for myself, though women weep so easily; I feel my heart too deeply wrung
for tears. If they came to my eyes they would be tears of blood."

Next day the last Valois walked-out, of the Louvre; as if for a promenade
in, the Tuileries, and proceeded straightway to the stalls, where his
horse stood saddled. Du Halde, his equerry, buckled his master's spurs on
upside down. "No; matter;" said Henry; "I am not riding to see my
mistress. I have a longer journey before me."

And so, followed by a rabble rout of courtiers, without boots or cloaks;
and mounted on, sorry hacks--the King-of France rode forth from his
capital post-haste, and turning as he left the gates, hurled back
impotent imprecations upon Paris and its mob. Thenceforth, for a long
interval, there: was no king in that country. Mucio had done his work,
and earned his wages, and Philip II. reigned in Paris. The commands of
the League were now complied with. Heretics were doomed to extermination.
The edict of 19th July, 1588, was published with the most exclusive and
stringent provisions that the most bitter Romanist could imagine, and, as
a fair beginning; two young girls, daughters of Jacques Forcade, once
'procureur au parlement,' were burned in Paris, for the crime, of
Protestantism. The Duke of Guise was named Generalissimo of the Kingdom
(26th August, 1588). Henry gave in his submission to the Council of
Trent, the edicts, the Inquisition, and the rest of the League's infernal
machinery, and was formally reconciled to Guise, with how much sincerity
time was soon to show.

   [The King bound himself by oath to extirpate heresy, to remove all
   persons suspected of that crime from office, and never to lay down
   arms so long as a single, heretic remained. By secret articles,'two
   armies against the Huguenots were agreed upon, one under the Duke of
   Mayenne, the other under some general to be appointed by the grog.
   The Council of Trent was forthwith to be proclaimed, and by a
   refinement of malice the League stipulated that all officers
   appointed in Paris by the Duke of Guise on the day after the
   barricades should resign their powers, and be immediately re-
   appointed by the King himself (DeThou, x.1. 86, pp. 324-325.)]

Meantime Philip, for whom and at whose expense all this work had been
done by he hands of the faithful Mucio, was constantly assuring his royal
brother of France, through envoy Longlee, at Madrid, of his most
affectionate friendship, and utterly repudiating all knowledge of these
troublesome and dangerous plots. Yet they had been especially
organized--as we have seen--by himself and the Balafre, in order that
France might be kept a prey to civil war, and thus rendered incapable of
offering any obstruction to his great enterprise against England. Any
complicity of Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador in Paris, or, of the Duke
of Parma, who were important agents in all these proceedings, with the
Duke of Guise, was strenuously--and circumstantially--denied; and the
Balafre, on the day of the barricades, sent Brissac to Elizabeth's envoy,
Sir Edward Stafford, to assure him as to his personal safety; and as to
the deep affection with which England and its Queen were regarded by
himself and all his friends. Stafford had also been advised to accept a
guard for his house of embassy. His reply was noble.

"I represent the majesty of England," he said, "and can take no safeguard
from a subject of the sovereign to whom I am accredited."

To the threat of being invaded, and to the advice to close his gates, he
answered, "Do you see these two doors? now, then, if I am attacked, I am
determined to defend myself to the last drop of my blood, to serve as an
example to the universe of the law of nations, violated in my person. Do
not imagine that I shall follow your advice. The gates of an ambassador
shall be open to all the world."

Brissac returned with this answer to Guise, who saw that it was hopeless
to attempt making a display in the eyes of Queen Elizabeth, but gave
private orders that the ambassador should not be molested.

Such were the consequences of the day of the barricades--and thus the
path of Philip was cleared of all obstructions on, the part of France.
His Mucio was now, generalissimo. Henry was virtually deposed. Henry of
Navarre, poor and good-humoured as ever, was scarcely so formidable at
that moment as he might one day become. When the news of the day of
barricades was brought at night to that cheerful monarch, he started from
his couch. "Ha," he exclaimed with a laugh, "but they havn't yet caught
the Bearnese!"

And it might be long before the League would catch the Bearnese; but,
meantime, he could render slight assistance to Queen Elizabeth.

In England there had been much fruitless negotiation between the
government of that country and the commissioners from the States-General.
There was perpetual altercation on the subject of Utrecht, Leyden, Sonoy,
and the other causes of contention; the Queen--as usual--being imperious
and choleric, and the envoys, in her opinion, very insolent. But the
principal topic of discussion was the peace-negotiations, which the
States-General, both at home and through their delegation in England, had
been doing their best to prevent; steadily refusing her Majesty's demand
that commissioners, on their part, should be appointed to participate in
the conferences at Ostend. Elizabeth promised that there should be as
strict regard paid to the interests of Holland as to those of England, in
case of a pacification, and that she would never forget her duty to them,
to herself, and to the world, as the protectress of the reformed
religion. The deputies, on the other hand, warned her that peace with
Spain was impossible; that the intention of the Spanish court was to
deceive her, while preparing her destruction and theirs; that it was
hopeless to attempt the concession of any freedom of conscience from
Philip II.; and that any stipulations which might be made upon that, or
any other subject, by the Spanish commissioners, would be tossed to the
wind. In reply to the Queen's loud complaints that the States had been
trifling with her, and undutiful to her, and that they had kept her
waiting seven months long for an answer to her summons to participate in
the negotiations, they replied, that up to the 15th October of the
previous year, although there had been flying rumours of an intention on
the part of her Majesty's government to open those communications with
the enemy, it had, "nevertheless been earnestly and expressly, and with
high words and oaths, denied that there was any truth in those rumours."
Since that time the States had not once only, but many times, in private
letters, in public documents, and in conversations with Lord Leicester
and other eminent personages, deprecated any communications whatever with
Spain, asserting uniformly their conviction that such proceedings would
bring ruin on their country, and imploring her Majesty not to give ear to
any propositions whatever.

And not only were the envoys, regularly appointed by the States-General,
most active in England, in their, attempts to prevent the negotiations,
but delegates from the Netherland churches were also sent to the Queen,
to reason with her on the subject, and to utter solemn warnings that the
cause of the reformed religion would be lost for ever, in case of a
treaty on her part with Spain. When these clerical envoys reached England
the Queen was already beginning to wake from her delusion; although her
commissioners were still--as we have seen--hard at work, pouring sand
through their sieves at Ostend, and although the steady protestations, of
the Duke of Parma, and the industrious circulation of falsehoods by
Spanish emissaries, had even caused her wisest statesmen, for a time, to
participate in that delusion.

For it is not so great an impeachment on the sagacity of the great Queen
of England, as it would now appear to those who judge by the light of
subsequent facts, that she still doubted whether the armaments,
notoriously preparing in Spain and Flanders, were intended against
herself; and that even if such were the case--she still believed in the
possibility of averting the danger by negotiation.

So late as the beginning of May, even the far-seeing and anxious
Walsingham could say, that in England "they were doing nothing but
honouring St. George, of whom the Spanish Armada seemed to be afraid. We
hear," he added, "that they will not be ready to set forward before the
midst of May, but I trust that it will be May come twelve months. The
King of Spain is too old and too sickly to fall to conquer kingdoms. If
he be well counselled, his best course will be to settle his own kingdoms
in his own hands."

And even much later, in the middle of July--when the mask was hardly,
maintained--even then there was no certainty as to the movements of the
Armada; and Walsingham believed, just ten days before the famous fleet
was to appear off Plymouth, that it had dispersed and returned to Spain,
never to re-appear. As to Parma's intentions, they were thought to lie
rather in the direction: of Ostend than of England; and Elizabeth; on the
20th July, was more anxious for that city than for her own kingdom. "Mr.
Ned, I am persuaded," she wrote to Morris, "that if a Spanish fleet
break, the Prince of Parma's enterprise for England will fall to the
ground, and then are you to look to Ostend. Haste your works."

All through the spring and early summer, Stafford, in Paris, was kept in
a state of much perplexity as to the designs of Spain--so contradictory
were the stories circulated--and so bewildering the actions of men known
to be hostile to England. In, the last days of April he intimated it as a
common opinion in Paris, that these naval preparations of Philip were an
elaborate farce; "that the great elephant would bring forth but a
mouse--that the great processions, prayers, and pardons, at Rome, for the
prosperous success of the Armada against England; would be of no effect;
that the King of Spain was laughing in his sleeve at the Pope, that he
could make such a fool of him; and that such an enterprise was a thing
the King never durst think of in deed, but only in show to feed the
world."

Thus, although furnished with minute details as to these, armaments, and
as to the exact designs of Spain against his country, by the ostentatious
statements of the; Spanish ambassador in Paris himself, the English,
envoy was still inclined to believe that these statements were a figment,
expressly intended to deceive. Yet he was aware that Lord Westmoreland,
Lord Paget, Sir Charles Paget, Morgan, and other English refugees, were
constantly meeting with Mendoza, that they were told to get themselves in
readiness, and to go down--as well appointed as might be--to the Duke of
Parma; that they had been "sending for their tailor to make them apparel,
and to put themselves in equipage;" that, in particular, Westmoreland had
been assured of being restored by Philip to his native country in better
condition than before. The Catholic and Spanish party in Paris were
however much dissatisfied with the news from Scotland, and were getting
more and more afraid that King James would object to the Spaniards
getting a foot-hold in his country, and that "the Scots would soon be
playing them a Scottish trick."

Stafford was plunged still more inextricably into doubt by the accounts
from Longlee in Madrid. The diplomatist, who had been completely
convinced by Philip as to his innocence of any participation in the
criminal enterprise of Guise against Henry III., was now almost staggered
by the unscrupulous mendacity of that monarch with regard to any supposed
designs against England. Although the Armada was to be ready by the 15th
May, Longlee was of opinion--notwithstanding many bold announcements of
an attack upon Elizabeth--that the real object of the expedition was
America. There had recently been discovered, it was said, "a new country,
more rich in gold and silver than any yet found, but so full of stout
people that they could not master them." To reduce these stout people
beyond the Atlantic, therefore, and to get possession of new gold mines,
was the real object at which Philip was driving, and Longlee and Stafford
were both very doubtful whether it were worth the Queen's while to
exhaust her finances in order to protect herself against an imaginary
invasion. Even so late as the middle of July, six to one was offered on
the Paris exchange that the Spanish fleet would never be seen in the
English seas, and those that offered the bets were known to be
well-wishers to the Spanish party.

Thus sharp diplomatists and statesmen like Longlee, Stafford, and
Walsingham, were beginning to lose their fear of the great bugbear by
which England had so long been haunted. It was, therefore no deep stain
on the Queen's sagacity that she, too, was willing to place credence in
the plighted honour of Alexander Farnese, the great prince who prided
himself on his sincerity, and who, next to the King his master, adored
the virgin Queen of England.

The deputies of the Netherland churches had come, with the permission of
Count Maurice and of the States General; but they represented more
strongly than any other envoys could do, the English and the monarchical
party. They were instructed especially to implore the Queen to accept the
sovereignty of their country; to assure her that the restoration of
Philip--who had been a wolf instead of a shepherd to his flock--was an
impossibility, that he had been solemnly and for ever deposed, that under
her sceptre only could the Provinces ever recover their ancient
prosperity; that ancient and modern history alike made it manifest that a
free republic could never maintain itself, but that it must, of
necessity, run its course through sedition, bloodshed, and anarchy, until
liberty was at last crushed by an absolute despotism; that equality of
condition, the basis of democratic institutions, could never be made
firm; and that a fortunate exception, like that of Switzerland, whose
historical and political circumstances were peculiar, could never serve
as a model to the Netherlands, accustomed as those Provinces had ever
been to a monarchical form of government; and that the antagonism of
aristocratic and democratic elements in the States had already produced
discord, and was threatening destruction to the whole country. To avert
such dangers the splendour of royal authority was necessary, according to
the venerable commands of Holy Writ; and therefore the Netherland
churches acknowledged themselves the foster-children of England, and
begged that in political matters also the inhabitants of the Provinces
might be accepted as the subjects of her Majesty. They also implored the
Queen to break off these accursed negotiations with Spain, and to provide
that henceforth in the Netherlands the reformed religion might be freely
exercised, to the exclusion of any other.

Thus it was very evident that these clerical envoys, although they were
sent by permission of the States, did not come as the representatives of
the dominant party. For that 'Beelzebub,' Barneveld, had different
notions from theirs as to the possibility of a republic, and as to the
propriety of tolerating other forms of worship than his own. But it was
for such pernicious doctrines, on religious matters in particular, that
he was called Beelzebub, Pope John, a papist in disguise, and an atheist;
and denounced, as leading young Maurice and the whole country to
destruction.

On the basis of these instructions, the deputies drew up a memorial of
pitiless length, filled with astounding parallels between their own
position and that of the Hebrews, Assyrians, and other distinguished
nations of antiquity. They brought it to Walsingham on the 12th July,
1588, and the much enduring man heard it read from beginning to end. He
expressed his approbation of its sentiments, but said it was too long. It
must be put on one sheet of paper, he said, if her Majesty was expected
to read it.

"Moreover," said the Secretary of State, "although your arguments are
full of piety, and your examples from Holy Writ very apt, I must tell you
the plain truth. Great princes are not always so zealous in religious
matters as they might be. Political transactions move them more deeply,
and they depend too much on worldly things. However there is no longer
much danger, for our envoys will return from Flanders in a few days."

"But," asked a deputy, "if the Spanish fleet does not succeed in its
enterprise, will the peace-negotiations be renewed?"

"By no means," said Walsingham; "the Queen can never do that,
consistently with her honour. They have scattered infamous libels against
her--so scandalous, that you would be astounded should you read them.
Arguments drawn from honour are more valid with princes than any other."

He alluded to the point in their memorial touching the free exercise of
the reformed religion in the Provinces.

"'Tis well and piously said," he observed; "but princes and great lords
are not always very earnest in such matters. I think that her Majesty's
envoys will not press for the free exercise of the religion so very much;
not more than for two or three years. By that time--should our
negotiations succeed--the foreign troops will have evacuated the
Netherlands on condition that the States-General shall settle the
religious question."

"But," said Daniel de Dieu, one of the deputies, "the majority of the
States is Popish."

"Be it so," replied Sir Francis; "nevertheless they will sooner permit
the exercise of the reformed religion than take up arms and begin the war
anew."

He then alluded to the proposition of the deputies to exclude all
religious worship but that of the reformed church--all false religion--as
they expressed themselves.

"Her Majesty," said he, "is well disposed to permit some exercise of
their religion to the Papists. So far as regards my own feelings, if we
were now in the beginning, of the reformation, and the papacy were still
entire, I should willingly concede such exercise; but now that the Papacy
has been overthrown, I think it would not be safe to give such
permission. When we were disputing, at the time of the pacification of
Ghent, whether the Popish religion should be partially permitted, the
Prince of Orange was of the affirmative opinion; but I, who was then at
Antwerp, entertained the contrary conviction."

"But," said one of the deputies--pleased to find that Walsingham was more
of their way of thinking on religious toleration than the great Prince of
Orange had been, or than Maurice and Barneveld then were--"but her
Majesty will, we hope, follow the advice of her good and faithful
counsellors."

"To tell you the truth," answered Sir Francis, "great princes are not
always inspired with a sincere and upright zeal;"--it was the third time
he had made this observation"--although, so far as regards the
maintenance of the religion in the Netherlands, that is a matter of
necessity. Of that there is no fear, since otherwise all the pious would
depart, and none would remain but Papists, and, what is more, enemies of
England. Therefore the Queen is aware that the religion must be
maintained."

He then advised the deputies to hand in the memorial to her Majesty,
without any long speeches, for which there was then no time or
opportunity; and it was subsequently arranged that they should be
presented to the Queen as she would be mounting her horse at St. James's
to ride to Richmond.

Accordingly on the 15th July, as her Majesty came forth at the gate, with
a throng of nobles and ladies--some about to accompany her and some
bidding her adieu--the deputies fell on their knees before her.
Notwithstanding the advice of Walsingham, Daniel de Dieu was bent upon an
oration.

"Oh illustrious Queen!" he began, "the churches of the United
Netherlands----"

He had got no further, when the Queen, interrupting, exclaimed, "Oh! I
beg you--at another time--I cannot now listen to a speech. Let me see the
memorial."

Daniel de Dieu then humbly presented that document, which her Majesty
graciously received, and then, getting on horseback, rode off to
Richmond.'

The memorial was in the nature of an exhortation to sustain the religion,
and to keep clear of all negotiations with idolaters and unbelievers; and
the memorialists supported themselves by copious references to
Deuteronomy, Proverbs, Isaiah, Timothy, and Psalms, relying mainly on the
case of Jehosaphat, who came to disgrace and disaster through his treaty
with the idolatrous King Ahab. With regard to any composition with Spain,
they observed, in homely language, that a burnt cat fears the fire; and
they assured the Queen that, by following their advice, she would gain a
glorious and immortal name, like those of David, Ezekiel, Josiah, and
others, whose fragrant memory, even as precious incense from the
apothecary's, endureth to the end of the world.

It was not surprising that Elizabeth, getting on horseback on the 15th
July, 1588, with her head full of Tilbury Fort and Medina Sidonia, should
have as little relish for the affairs of Ahab and Jehosophat, as for
those melting speeches of Diomede and of Turnus, to which Dr. Valentine
Dale on his part was at that moment invoking her attention.

On the 20th July, the deputies were informed by Leicester that her
Majesty would grant them an interview, July 20, and that they must come
into his quarter of the palace and await her arrival.

Between six and seven in the evening she came into the throne-room, and
the deputies again fell on their knees before her.

She then seated herself--the deputies remaining on their knees on her
right side and the Earl of Leicester standing at her left--and proceeded
to make many remarks touching her earnestness in the pending negotiations
to provide for their religious freedom. It seemed that she must have
received a hint from Walsingham on the subject.

"I shall provide," she said, "for the maintenance of the reformed
worship."

De Dieu--"The enemy will never concede it."

The Queen.--"I think differently."

De Dieu.--"There is no place within his dominions where he has permitted
the exercise of the pure religion. He has never done so."

The Queen.--"He conceded it in the pacification of Ghent."

De Dieu.--"But he did not keep his agreement. Don John had concluded with
the States, but said he was not held to his promise, in case he should
repent; and the King wrote afterwards to our States, and said that he was
no longer bound to his pledge."

The Queen.--"That is quite another thing."

De Dieu.--"He has very often broken his faith."

The Queen.--"He shall no longer be allowed to do so. If he does not keep
his word, that is my affair, not yours. It is my business to find the
remedy. Men would say, see in what a desolation the Queen of England has
brought this poor people. As to the freedom of worship, I should have
proposed three or four years' interval--leaving it afterwards to the
decision of the States."

De Dieu.--"But the majority of the States is Popish."

The Queen.--"I mean the States-General, not the States of any particular
Province."

De Dieu.--"The greater part of the States-General is Popish."

The Queen.--"I mean the three estates--the clergy, the nobles, and the
cities." The Queen--as the deputies observed--here fell into an error.
She thought that prelates of the reformed Church, as in England, had
seats in the States-General. Daniel de Dieu explained that they had no
such position.

The Queen.--"Then how were you sent hither?"

De Dieu.--"We came with the consent of Count Maurice of Nassau."

The Queen.--"And of the States?"

De Dieu.--"We came with their knowledge."

The Queen.--"Are you sent only from Holland and Zeeland? Is there no
envoy from Utrecht and the other Provinces?"

Helmichius.--"We two," pointing to his colleague Sossingius, "are from
Utrecht."

The Queen.--"What? Is this young man also a minister?" She meant
Helmichius, who had a very little beard, and looked young.

Sossingius.--"He is not so young as he looks."

The Queen.--"Youths are sometimes as able as old men."

De Dieu.--"I have heard our brother preach in France more than fourteen
years ago."

The Queen.--"He must have begun young. How old were you when you first
became a preacher?"

Helmichius.--"Twenty-three or twenty-four years of age."

The Queen.--"It was with us, at first, considered a scandal that a man so
young as that should be admitted to the pulpit. Our antagonists
reproached us with it in a book called 'Scandale de l'Angleterre,' saying
that we had none but school-boys for ministers. I understand that you
pray for me as warmly as if I were your sovereign princess. I think I
have done as much for the religion as if I were your Queen."

Helmichius.--"We are far from thinking otherwise. We acknowledge
willingly your Majesty's benefits to our churches."

The Queen.--"It would else be ingratitude on your part."

Helmichius.--"But the King of Spain will never keep any promise about the
religion."

The Queen.--"He will never come so far: he does nothing but make a noise
on all sides. Item, I don't think he has much confidence in himself."

De Dieu.--"Your Majesty has many enemies. The Lord hath hitherto
supported you, and we pray that he may continue to uphold your Majesty."

The Queen.--"I have indeed many enemies; but I make no great account of
them. Is there anything else you seek?"

De Dieu.--"There is a special point: it concerns our, or rather your
Majesty's, city of Flushing. We hope that Russelius--(so he called Sir
William Russell)--may be continued in its government, although he wishes
his discharge."

"Aha!" said the Queen, laughing and rising from her seat, "I shall not
answer you; I shall call some one else to answer you."

She then summoned Russell's sister, Lady Warwick.

"If you could speak French," said the Queen to that gentlewoman, "I
should bid you reply to these gentlemen, who beg that your brother may
remain in Flushing, so very agreeable has he made himself to them."

The Queen was pleased to hear this good opinion of Sir William, and this
request that he might continue to be governor of Flushing, because he had
uniformly supported the Leicester party, and was at that moment in high
quarrel with Count Maurice and the leading members of the States.

As the deputies took their leave, they requested an answer to their
memorial, which was graciously promised.

Three days afterwards, Walsingham gave them a written answer to their
memorial--conceived in the same sense as had been the expressions of her
Majesty and her counsellors. Support to the Netherlands and stipulations
for the free exercise of their religion were promised; but it was
impossible for these deputies of the churches to obtain a guarantee from
England that the Popish religion should be excluded from the Provinces,
in case of a successful issue to the Queen's negotiation with Spain.

And thus during all those eventful days-the last weeks of July and the
first weeks of August--the clerical deputation remained in England,
indulging in voluminous protocols and lengthened conversations with the
Queen and the principal members of her government. It is astonishing, in
that breathless interval of history, that so much time could be found for
quill-driving and oratory.

Nevertheless, both in Holland and England, there had been other work than
protocolling. One throb of patriotism moved the breast of both nations. A
longing to grapple, once for all, with the great enemy of civil and
religious liberty inspired both. In Holland, the States-General and all
the men to whom the people looked for guidance, had been long deprecating
the peace-negotiations. Extraordinary supplies--more than had ever been
granted before--were voted for the expenses of the campaign; and Maurice
of Nassau, fitly embodying the warlike tendencies of his country and
race, had been most importunate with Queen Elizabeth that she would
accept his services and his advice. Armed vessels of every size, from the
gun-boat to the galleon of 1200 tons--then the most imposing ship in
those waters--swarmed in all the estuaries and rivers, and along the
Dutch and Flemish coast, bidding defiance to Parma and his armaments; and
offers of a large contingent from the fleets of Jooat de Moor and
Justinua de Nassau, to serve under Seymour and Howard, were freely made
to the States-General.

It was decided early in July, by the board of admiralty, presided over by
Prince Maurice, that the largest square-rigged vessels of Holland and
Zeeland should cruise between England and the Flemish coast, outside the
banks; that a squadron of lesser ships should be stationed within the
banks; and that a fleet of sloops and fly-boats should hover close in
shore, about Flushing and Rammekens. All the war-vessels of the little
republic were thus fully employed. But, besides this arrangement, Maurice
was empowered to lay an embargo--under what penalty he chose and during
his pleasure--on all square-rigged vessels over 300 tons, in order that
there might be an additional supply in case of need. Ninety ships of war
under Warmond, admiral, and Van der Does, vice-admiral of Holland; and
Justinus de Nassau, admiral, and Joost de Moor, vice-admiral of Zeeland;
together with fifty merchant-vessels of the best and strongest, equipped
and armed for active service, composed a formidable fleet.

The States-General, a month before, had sent twenty-five or thirty good
ships, under Admiral Rosendael, to join Lord Henry Seymour, then cruising
between Dover and Calais. A tempest, drove them back, and their absence
from Lord Henry's fleet being misinterpreted by the English, the States
were censured for ingratitude and want of good faith. But the injustice
of the accusation was soon made manifest, for these vessels, reinforcing
the great Dutch fleet outside the banks, did better service than they
could have done; in the straits. A squadron of strong well-armed vessels,
having on board, in addition to their regular equipment, a picked force
of twelve hundred musketeers, long accustomed to this peculiar kind of
naval warfare, with crews of, grim Zeelanders, who had faced Alva, and
Valdez in their day, now kept close watch over Farnese, determined that
he should never thrust his face out of any haven or nook on the coast so
long as they should be in existence to prevent him.

And in England the protracted diplomacy at Ostend, ill-timed though it
was, had not paralyzed the arm or chilled the heart of the nation. When
the great Queen, arousing herself from the delusion in which the
falsehoods of Farnese and of Philip had lulled her, should once more.
represent--as no man or woman better than Elizabeth Tudor could
represent--the defiance of England to foreign insolence; the resolve of a
whole people to die rather than yield; there was a thrill of joy through
the national heart. When the enforced restraint was at last taken off,
there was one bound towards the enemy. Few more magnificent spectacles
have been seen in history than the enthusiasm which pervaded the country
as the great danger, so long deferred, was felt at last to be closely
approaching. The little nation of four millions, the merry England of the
sixteenth century, went forward to the death-grapple with its gigantic
antagonist as cheerfully as to a long-expected holiday. Spain was a vast
empire, overshadowing the world; England, in comparison, but a province;
yet nothing could surpass the steadiness with which the conflict was
awaited.

For, during all the months of suspense; the soldiers and sailors, and
many statesman of England, had deprecated, even as the Hollanders had
been doing, the dangerous delays of Ostend. Elizabeth was not embodying
the national instinct, when she talked of peace; and shrank penuriously
from the expenses of war. There was much disappointment, even
indignation, at the slothfulness with which the preparations for defence
went on, during the period when there was yet time to make them. It was
feared with justice that England, utterly unfortified as were its cities,
and defended only by its little navy without, and by untaught enthusiasm
within, might; after all, prove an easier conquest than Holland and
Zeeland, every town, in whose territory bristled with fortifications. If
the English ships--well-trained and swift sailors as they were--were
unprovided with spare and cordage, beef and biscuit, powder and shot, and
the militia-men, however enthusiastic, were neither drilled nor armed,
was it so very certain, after all, that successful resistance would be
made to the great Armada, and to the veteran pikemen and musketeers of
Farnese, seasoned on a hundred, battlefields, and equipped as for a
tournament? There was generous confidence and chivalrous loyalty on the
part of Elizabeth's naval and military commanders; but there had been
deep regret and disappointment at her course.

Hawkins was anxious, all through the winter and spring, to cruise with a
small squadron off the coast of Spain. With a dozen vessels he undertook
to "distress anything that went through the seas." The cost of such a
squadron, with eighteen hundred men, to be relieved every four months, he
estimated at two thousand seven hundred pounds sterling the month, or a
shilling a day for each man; and it would be a very unlucky month, he
said, in which they did not make captures to three times that amount; for
they would see nothing that would not be presently their own. "We might
have peace, but not with God," said the pious old slave-trader; "but
rather than serve Baal, let us die a thousand deaths. Let us have open
war with these Jesuits, and every man will contribute, fight, devise, or
do, for the liberty of our country."

And it was open war with the Jesuits for which those stouthearted sailors
longed. All were afraid of secret mischief. The diplomatists--who were
known to be flitting about France, Flanders, Scotland, and England--were
birds of ill omen. King James was beset by a thousand bribes and
expostulations to avenge his mother's death; and although that mother had
murdered his father, and done her best to disinherit himself, yet it was
feared that Spanish ducats might induce him to be true to his mother's
revenge, and false to the reformed religion. Nothing of good was hoped
for from France. "For my part," said Lord Admiral Howard, "I have made of
the French King, the Scottish King, and the King of Spain, a trinity that
I mean never to trust to be saved by, and I would that others were of my
opinion."

The noble sailor, on whom so much responsibility rested, yet who was so
trammelled and thwarted by the timid and parsimonious policy of Elizabeth
and of Burghley, chafed and shook his chains like a captive. "Since
England was England," he exclaimed, "there was never such a stratagem and
mask to deceive her as this treaty of peace. I pray God that we do not
curse for this a long grey beard with a white head witless, that will
make all the world think us heartless. You know whom I mean." And it
certainly was not difficult to understand the allusion to the pondering
Lord-Treasurer. "'Opus est aliquo Daedalo,' to direct us out of the
maze," said that much puzzled statesman; but he hardly seemed to be
making himself wings with which to lift England and himself out of the
labyrinth. The ships were good ships, but there was intolerable delay in
getting a sufficient number of them as ready for action as was the spirit
of their commanders.

"Our ships do show like gallants here," said Winter; "it would do a man's
heart good to behold them. Would to God the Prince of Parma were on the
seas with all his forces, and we in sight of them. You should hear that
we would make his enterprise very unpleasant to him."

And Howard, too, was delighted not only with his own little flag-ship the
Ark-Royal--"the odd ship of the world for all conditions,"--but with all
of his fleet that could be mustered. Although wonders were reported, by
every arrival from the south, of the coming Armada, the Lord-Admiral was
not appalled. He was perhaps rather imprudent in the defiance he flung to
the enemy. "Let me have the four great ships and twenty hoys, with but
twenty men a-piece, and each with but two iron pieces, and her Majesty
shall have a good account of the Spanish forces; and I will make the King
wish his galleys home again. Few as we are, if his forces be not
hundreds, we will make good sport with them."

But those four great ships of her Majesty, so much longed for by Howard,
were not forthcoming. He complained that the Queen was "keeping them to
protect Chatham Church withal, when they should be serving their turn
abroad." The Spanish fleet was already reported as numbering from 210
sail, with 36,000 men,' to 400 or 500 ships, and 80,000 soldiers and
mariners; and yet Drake was not ready with his squadron. "The fault is
not in him," said Howard, "but I pray God her Majesty do not repent her
slack dealing. We must all lie together, for we shall be stirred very
shortly with heave ho! I fear ere long her Majesty will be sorry she hath
believed some so much as she hath done."

Howard had got to sea, and was cruising all the stormy month of March in
the Channel with his little unprepared squadron; expecting at any
moment--such was the profound darkness which, enveloped the world at that
day--that the sails of the Armada might appear in the offing. He made a
visit to the Dutch coast, and was delighted with the enthusiasm with
which he was received. Five thousand people a day came on board his
ships, full of congratulation and delight; and he informed the Queen that
she was not more assured of the Isle of Sheppey than of Walcheren.

Nevertheless time wore on, and both the army and navy of England were
quite unprepared, and the Queen was more reluctant than ever to incur the
expense necessary to the defence of her kingdom. At least one of those
galleys, which, as Howard bitterly complained, seemed destined to defend
Chatham Church, was importunately demanded; but it was already Easter-Day
(17th April), and she was demanded in vain. "Lord! when should she
serve," said the Admiral, "if not at such a time as this? Either she is
fit now to serve, or fit for the fire. I hope never in my time to see so
great a cause for her to be used. I dare say her Majesty will look that
men should fight for her, and I know they will at this time. The King of
Spain doth not keep any ship at home, either of his own or any other,
that he can get for money. Well, well, I must pray heartily for peace,"
said Howard with increasing spleen, "for I see the support of an
honourable, war will never appear. Sparing and war have no affinity
together."

In truth Elizabeth's most faithful subjects were appalled at the ruin
which she seemed by her mistaken policy to be rendering inevitable. "I am
sorry," said the Admiral, "that her Majesty is so careless of this most
dangerous time. I fear me much, and with grief I think it, that she
relieth on a hope that will deceive her, and greatly endanger her, and
then it will not be her money nor her jewels that will help; for as they
will do good in time, so they will help nothing for the redeeming of
time."

The preparations on shore were even more dilatory than those on the sea.
We have seen that the Duke of Parma, once landed, expected to march
directly upon London; and it was notorious that there were no fortresses
to oppose a march of the first general in Europe and his veterans upon
that unprotected and wealthy metropolis. An army had been enrolled--a
force of 86,016 foot, and 13,831 cavalry; but it was an army on paper
merely. Even of the 86,000, only 48,000 were set down as trained; and it
is certain that the training had been of the most meagre and
unsatisfactory description. Leicester was to be commander-in-chief; but
we have already seen that nobleman measuring himself, not much to his
advantage, with Alexander Farnese, in the Isle of Bommel, on the sands of
Blankenburg, and at the gates of Sluys. His army was to consist of 27,000
infantry, and 2000 horse; yet at midsummer it had not reached half that
number. Lord Chamberlain Hunsdon was to protect the Queen's person with
another army of 36,000; but this force, was purely an imaginary one; and
the lord-lieutenant of each county was to do his best with the militia.
But men were perpetually escaping out of the general service, in order to
make themselves retainers for private noblemen, and be kept at their
expense. "You shall hardly believe," said Leicester, "how many new
liveries be gotten within these six weeks, and no man fears the penalty.
It would be better that every nobleman did as Lord Dacres, than to take
away from the principal service such as are set down to serve."

Of enthusiasm and courage, then, there was enough, while of drill and
discipline, of powder and shot, there was a deficiency. No braver or more
competent soldier could be found than Sir Edward Stanley--the man whom we
have seen in his yellow jerkin, helping himself into Fort Zutphen with
the Spanish soldier's pike--and yet Sir Edward Stanley gave but a sorry
account of the choicest soldiers of Chester and Lancashire, whom he had
been sent to inspect. "I find them not," he said, "according to your
expectation, nor mine own liking. They were appointed two years past to
have been trained six days by the year or more, at the discretion of the
muster-master, but, as yet, they have not been trained one day, so that
they have benefited nothing, nor yet know their leaders. There is now
promise of amendment, which, I doubt, will be very slow, in respect to my
Lord Derby's absence."

My Lord Derby was at that moment, and for many months afterwards,
assisting Valentine Dale in his classical prolusions on the sands of
Bourbourg. He had better have been mustering the trainbands of
Lancashire. There was a general indisposition in the rural districts to
expend money and time in military business, until the necessity should
become imperative. Professional soldiers complained bitterly of the
canker of a long peace. "For our long quietness, which it hath pleased
God to send us," said Stanley, "they think their money very ill bestowed
which they expend on armour or weapon, for that they be in hope they
shall never have occasion to use it, so they may pass muster, as they
have done heretofore. I want greatly powder, for there is little or none
at all."

The day was fast approaching when all the power in England would be too
little for the demand. But matters had not very much mended even at
midsummer. It is true that Leicester, who was apt to be
sanguine-particularly in matters under his immediate control--spoke of
the handful of recruits assembled at his camp in Essex, as "soldiers of a
year's experience, rather than a month's camping;" but in this opinion he
differed from many competent authorities, and was somewhat in
contradiction to himself. Nevertheless he was glad that the Queen had
determined to visit him, and encourage his soldiers.

"I have received in secret," he said, "those news that please me, that
your Majesty doth intend to behold the poor and bare company that lie
here in the field, most willingly to serve you, yea, most ready to die
for you. You shall, dear Lady, behold as goodly, loyal, and as able men
as any prince Christian can show you, and yet but a handful of your own,
in comparison of the rest you have. What comfort not only these shall
receive who shall be the happiest to behold yourself I cannot express;
but assuredly it will give no small comfort to the rest, that shall be
overshined with the beams of so gracious and princely a party, for what
your royal Majesty shall do to these will be accepted as done to all.
Good sweet Queen, alter not your purpose, if God give you health. It will
be your pain for the time, but your pleasure to behold such people. And
surely the place must content you, being as fair a soil and as goodly a
prospect as may be seen or found, as this extreme weather hath made
trial, which doth us little annoyance, it is so firm and dry a ground.
Your usher also liketh your lodging--a proper, secret, cleanly house.
Your camp is a little mile off, and your person will be as sure as at St.
James's, for my life."

But notwithstanding this cheerful view of the position expressed by the
commander-in-chief, the month of July had passed, and the early days of
August had already arrived; and yet the camp was not formed, nor anything
more than that mere handful of troops mustered about Tilbury, to defend
the road from Dover to London. The army at Tilbury never, exceeded
sixteen or seventeen thousand men.

The whole royal navy-numbering about thirty-four vessels in all--of
different sizes, ranging from 1100 and 1000 tons to 30, had at last been
got ready for sea. Its aggregate tonnage was 11,820; not half so
much as at the present moment--in the case of one marvellous
merchant-steamer--floats upon a single keel.

These vessels carried. 837 guns and 6279 men. But the navy was reinforced
by the patriotism and liberality of English merchants and private
gentlemen. The city of London having been requested to furnish 15 ships
of war and 5000 men, asked two days for deliberation, and then gave 30
ships and 10,000 men of which number 2710 were seamen. Other cities,
particularly Plymouth, came forward with proportionate liberality, and
private individuals, nobles, merchants, and men of humblest rank, were
enthusiastic in volunteering into the naval service, to risk property and
life in defence of the country. By midsummer there had been a total force
of 197 vessels manned, and partially equipped, with an aggregate of
29,744 tons, and 15,785 seamen. Of this fleet a very large number were
mere coasters of less than 100 tons each; scarcely ten ships were above
500, and but one above 1000 tons--the Triumph, Captain Frobisher, of 1100
tons, 42 guns, and 500 sailors.

Lord Howard of Effingham, Lord High-Admiral of England, distinguished for
his martial character, public spirit, and admirable temper, rather than
for experience or skill as a seaman, took command of the whole fleet, in
his "little odd ship for all conditions," the Ark-Royal, of 800 tons, 425
sailors, and 55 guns.

Next in rank was Vice-Admiral Drake, in the Revenge, of 500 tons, 250 men
and 40 guns. Lord Henry Seymour, in the Rainbow, of precisely the same
size and strength, commanded the inner squadron, which cruised in the
neighbourhood of the French and Flemish coast.

The Hollanders and Zeelanders had undertaken to blockade the Duke of
Parma still more closely, and pledged themselves that he should never
venture to show himself upon the open sea at all. The mouth of the
Scheldt, and the dangerous shallows off the coast of Newport and Dunkirk,
swarmed with their determined and well-seasoned craft, from the flybooter
or filibuster of the rivers, to the larger armed vessels, built to
confront every danger, and to deal with any adversary.

Farnese, on his part, within that well-guarded territory, had, for months
long, scarcely slackened in his preparations, day or night. Whole forests
had been felled in the land of Waas to furnish him with transports and
gun-boats, and with such rapidity, that--according to his enthusiastic
historiographer--each tree seemed by magic to metamorphose itself into a
vessel at the word of command. Shipbuilders, pilots, and seamen, were
brought from the Baltic, from Hamburgh, from Genoa. The whole surface of
the obedient Netherlands, whence wholesome industry had long been
banished, was now the scene of a prodigious baleful activity. Portable
bridges for fording the rivers of England, stockades for entrenchments,
rafts and oars, were provided in vast numbers, and Alexander dug canals
and widened natural streams to facilitate his operations. These wretched
Provinces, crippled, impoverished, languishing for peace, were forced to
contribute out of their poverty, and to find strength even in their
exhaustion, to furnish the machinery for destroying their own countrymen,
and for hurling to perdition their most healthful neighbour.

And this approaching destruction of England--now generally believed
in--was like the sound of a trumpet throughout Catholic Europe. Scions of
royal houses, grandees of azure blood, the bastard of Philip II., the
bastard of Savoy, the bastard of Medici, the Margrave of Burghaut, the
Archduke Charles, nephew of the Emperor, the Princes of Ascoli and of
Melfi, the Prince of Morocco, and others of illustrious name, with many a
noble English traitor, like Paget, and Westmoreland, and Stanley, all
hurried to the camp of Farnese, as to some famous tournament, in which it
was a disgrace to chivalry if their names were not enrolled. The roads
were trampled with levies of fresh troops from Spain, Naples, Corsica,
the States of the Church, the Milanese, Germany, Burgundy.

Blas Capizucca was sent in person to conduct reinforcements from the
north of Italy. The famous Terzio of Naples, under Carlos Pinelo, arrived
3500 strong--the most splendid regiment ever known in the history of war.
Every man had an engraved corslet and musket-barrel, and there were many
who wore gilded armour, while their waving plumes and festive caparisons
made them look like holiday-makers, rather than real campaigners, in the
eyes of the inhabitants of the various cities through which their road
led them to Flanders. By the end of April the Duke of Parma saw himself
at the head of 60,000 men, at a monthly expense of 454,315 crowns or
dollars. Yet so rapid was the progress of disease--incident to northern
climates--among those southern soldiers, that we shall find the number
woefully diminished before they were likely to set foot upon the English
shore.

Thus great preparations, simultaneously with pompous negotiations, had
been going forward month after month, in England, Holland, Flanders.
Nevertheless, winter, spring, two-thirds of summer, had passed away, and
on the 29th July, 1588, there remained the same sickening uncertainty,
which was the atmosphere in which the nations had existed for a
twelvemonth.

Howard had cruised for a few weeks between England and Spain, without any
results, and, on his return, had found it necessary to implore her
Majesty, as late as July, to "trust no more to Judas' kisses, but to her
sword, not her enemy's word."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A burnt cat fears the fire
     A free commonwealth--was thought an absurdity
     Baiting his hook a little to his appetite
     Canker of a long peace
     Englishmen and Hollanders preparing to cut each other's throats
     Faction has rarely worn a more mischievous aspect
     Hard at work, pouring sand through their sieves
     She relieth on a hope that will deceive her
     Sparing and war have no affinity together
     The worst were encouraged with their good success
     Trust her sword, not her enemy's word



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 57, 1588



CHAPTER XIX. Part 1.

   Philip Second in his Cabinet--His System of Work and Deception--His
   vast but vague Schemes of Conquest--The Armada sails--Description of
   the Fleet--The Junction with Parma unprovided for--The Gale off
   Finisterre--Exploits of David Gwynn--First Engagements in the
   English Channel--Considerable Losses of the Spaniards--General
   Engagement near Portland--Superior Seamanship of the English

It is now time to look in upon the elderly letter-writer in the Escorial,
and see how he was playing his part in the drama.

His counsellors were very few. His chief advisers were rather like
private secretaries than cabinet ministers; for Philip had been
withdrawing more and more into seclusion and mystery as the webwork of
his schemes multiplied and widened. He liked to do his work, assisted by
a very few confidential servants. The Prince of Eboli, the famous Ruy
Gomez, was dead. So was Cardinal Granvelle. So were Erasso and Delgado.
His midnight council--junta de noche--for thus, from its original hour of
assembling, and the all of secrecy in which it was enwrapped, it was
habitually called--was a triumvirate. Don Juan de Idiaquez was chief
secretary of state and of war; the Count de Chinchon was minister for the
household, for Italian affairs, and for the kingdom of Aragon; Don
Cristoval de Moura, the monarch's chief favourite, was at the head of the
finance department, and administered the affairs of Portugal and Castile!

The president of the council of Italy, after Granvelle's death, was
Quiroga, cardinal of Toledo, and inquisitor-general. Enormously long
letters, in the King's: name, were prepared chiefly by the two
secretaries, Idiaquez and Moura. In their hands was the vast
correspondence with Mendoza and Parma, and Olivarez at Rome, and with
Mucio; in which all the stratagems for the subjugation of Protestant
Europe were slowly and artistically contrived. Of the great conspiracy
against human liberty, of which the Pope and Philip were the double head,
this midnight triumvirate was the chief executive committee.

These innumerable despatches, signed by Philip, were not the emanations
of his own mind. The King had a fixed purpose to subdue Protestantism and
to conquer the world; but the plans for carrying the purpose into effect
were developed by subtler and more comprehensive minds than his own. It
was enough for him to ponder wearily over schemes which he was supposed
to dictate, and to give himself the appearance of supervising what he
scarcely comprehended. And his work of supervision was often confined to
pettiest details. The handwriting of Spain and Italy at that day was
beautiful, and in our modern eyes seems neither antiquated nor
ungraceful. But Philip's scrawl was like that of 'a' clown just admitted
to a writing-school, and the whole margin of a fairly penned despatch
perhaps fifty pages long; laid before him for comment and signature by
Idiaquez or Moura, would be sometimes covered with a few awkward
sentences, which it was almost impossible to read, and which, when
deciphered, were apt to reveal suggestions of astounding triviality.

Thus a most important despatch--in which the King, with his own hand, was
supposed to be conveying secret intelligence to Mendoza concerning the
Armada, together with minute directions for the regulation of Guise's
conduct at the memorable epoch of the barricades--contained but a single
comment from the monarch's own pen. "The Armada has been in Lisbon about
a month--quassi un mes"--wrote the secretary. "There is but one s in
quasi," said Philip.

Again, a despatch of Mendoza to the King contained the intelligence that
Queen Elizabeth was, at the date of the letter, residing at St. James's.
Philip, who had no objection to display his knowledge of English
affairs--as became the man who had already been almost sovereign of
England, and meant to be entirely so--supplied a piece of information in
an apostille to this despatch. "St. James is a house of recreation," he
said, "which was once a monastery. There is a park between it, and the
palace which is called Huytal; but why it is called Huytal, I am sure I
don't know." His researches in the English language had not enabled him
to recognize the adjective and substantive out of which the abstruse
compound White-Hall (Huyt-al), was formed.

On another occasion, a letter from England containing important
intelligence concerning the number of soldiers enrolled in that country
to resist the Spanish invasion, the quantity of gunpowder and various
munitions collected, with other details of like nature, furnished besides
a bit of information of less vital interest. "In the windows of the
Queen's presence-chamber they have discovered a great quantity of lice,
all clustered together," said the writer.

Such a minute piece of statistics could not escape the microscopic eye of
Philip. So, disregarding the soldiers and the gunpowder, he commented
only on this last-mentioned clause of the letter; and he did it
cautiously too, as a King surnamed the Prudent should:--

"But perhaps they were fleas," wrote Philip.

Such examples--and many more might be given--sufficiently indicate the
nature of the man on whom such enormous responsibilities rested, and who
had been, by the adulation of his fellow-creatures, elevated into a god.
And we may cast a glance upon him as he sits in his cabinet-buried among
those piles of despatches--and receiving methodically, at stated hours,
Idiaquez, or Moura, or Chincon, to settle the affairs of so many millions
of the human race; and we may watch exactly the progress of that scheme,
concerning which so many contradictory rumours were circulating in
Europe. In the month of April a Walsingham could doubt, even in August an
ingenuous comptroller could disbelieve, the reality of the great project,
and the Pope himself, even while pledging himself to assistance, had been
systematically deceived. He had supposed the whole scheme rendered futile
by the exploit of Drake at Cadiz, and had declared that "the Queen of
England's distaff was worth more than Philip's sword, that the King was a
poor creature, that he would never be able to come to a resolution, and
that even if he should do so, it would be too late;" and he had
subsequently been doing his best, through his nuncio in France, to
persuade the Queen to embrace the Catholic religion, and thus save
herself from the impending danger. Henry III. had even been urged by the
Pope to send a special ambassador to her for this purpose--as if the
persuasions of the wretched Valois were likely to be effective with
Elizabeth Tudor--and Burghley had, by means of spies in Rome, who
pretended to be Catholics, given out intimations that the Queen was
seriously contemplating such a step. Thus the Pope, notwithstanding
Cardinal Allan, the famous million, and the bull, was thought by Mendoza
to be growing lukewarm in the Spanish cause, and to be urging upon the
"Englishwoman" the propriety of converting herself, even at the late hour
of May, 1588.

But Philip, for years, had been maturing his scheme, while reposing
entire confidence--beyond his own cabinet doors--upon none but Alexander
Farnese; and the Duke--alone of all men--was perfectly certain that the
invasion would, this year, be attempted.

The captain-general of the expedition was the Marquis of Santa Cruz, a
man of considerable naval experience, and of constant good fortune, who,
in thirty years, had never sustained a defeat. He had however shown no
desire to risk one when Drake had offered him the memorable challenge in
the year 1587, and perhaps his reputation of the invincible captain had
been obtained by the same adroitness on previous occasions. He was no
friend to Alexander Farnese, and was much disgusted when informed of the
share allotted to the Duke in the great undertaking. A course of reproach
and perpetual reprimand was the treatment to which he was, in
consequence, subjected, which was not more conducive to the advancement
of the expedition than it was to the health of the captain-general. Early
in January the Cardinal Archduke was sent to Lisbon to lecture him, with
instructions to turn a deaf ear to all his remonstrances, to deal with
him peremptorily, to forbid his writing letters on the subject to his
Majesty, and to order him to accept his post or to decline it without
conditions, in which latter contingency he was to be informed that his
successor was already decided upon.

This was not the most eligible way perhaps for bringing the
captain-general into a cheerful mood; particularly as he was expected to
be ready in January to sail to the Flemish coast. Nevertheless the
Marquis expressed a hope to accomplish his sovereign's wishes; and great
had been the bustle in all the dockyards of Naples, Sicily, and Spain;
particularly in the provinces of Guipuzcoa, Biscay, and Andalusia, and in
the four great cities of the coast. War-ships of all dimensions, tenders,
transports, soldiers, sailors, sutlers, munitions of war, provisions,
were all rapidly concentrating in Lisbon as the great place of
rendezvous; and Philip confidently believed, and as confidently informed
the Duke of Parma, that he, might be expecting the Armada at any time
after the end of January.

Perhaps in the history of mankind there has never been a vast project of
conquest conceived and matured in so protracted and yet so desultory a
manner, as was this famous Spanish invasion. There was something almost
puerile in the whims rather than schemes of Philip for carrying out his
purpose. It was probable that some resistance would be offered, at least
by the navy of England, to the subjugation of that country, and the King
had enjoyed an opportunity, the preceding summer, of seeing the way in
which English sailors did their work. He had also appeared to understand
the necessity of covering the passage of Farnese from the Flemish ports
into the Thames, by means of the great Spanish fleet from Lisbon.
Nevertheless he never seemed to be aware that Farnese could not invade
England quite by himself, and was perpetually expecting to hear that he
had done so.

"Holland and Zeeland," wrote Alexander to Philip, "have been arming with
their accustomed promptness; England has made great preparations. I have
done my best to make the impossible possible; but your letter told me to
wait for Santa Cruz, and to expect him very shortly. If, on the contrary,
you had told me to make the passage without him, I would have made the
attempt, although we had every one of us perished. Four ships of war
could sink every one of my boats. Nevertheless I beg to be informed of
your Majesty's final order. If I am seriously expected to make the
passage without Santa Cruz, I am ready to do it, although I should go all
alone in a cock-boat."

But Santa Cruz at least was not destined to assist in the conquest of
England; for, worn out with fatigue and vexation, goaded by the
reproaches and insults of Philip, Santa Cruz was dead. He was replaced in
the chief command of the fleet by the Duke of Medina Sidonia, a grandee
of vast wealth, but with little capacity and less experience. To the iron
marquis it was said that a golden duke had succeeded; but the duke of
gold did not find it easier to accomplish impossibilities than his
predecessor had done. Day after day, throughout the months of winter and
spring, the King had been writing that the fleet was just on the point of
sailing, and as frequently he had been renewing to Alexander Farnese the
intimation that perhaps, after all, he might find an opportunity of
crossing to England, without waiting for its arrival. And Alexander, with
the same regularity, had been informing his master that the troops in the
Netherlands had been daily dwindling from sickness and other causes, till
at last, instead of the 30,000 effective infantry, with which it had been
originally intended to make the enterprise, he had not more than 17,000
in the month of April. The 6000 Spaniards, whom he was to receive from
the fleet of Medina Sidonia, would therefore be the very mainspring of
his army. After leaving no more soldiers in the Netherlands than were
absolutely necessary for the defence of the obedient Provinces against
the rebels, he could only take with him to England 23,000 men, even after
the reinforcements from Medina. "When we talked of taking England by
surprise," said Alexander, "we never thought of less than 30,000. Now
that she is alert and ready for us, and that it is certain we must fight
by sea and by land, 50,000 would be few." He almost ridiculed the King's
suggestion that a feint might be made by way of besieging some few places
in Holland or Zeeland. The whole matter in hand, he said, had become as
public as possible, and the only efficient blind was the
peace-negotiation; for many believed, as the English deputies were now
treating at Ostend, that peace would follow.

At last, on the 28th, 29th, and 30th May, 1588, the fleet, which had been
waiting at Lisbon more than a month for favourable weather, set sail from
that port, after having been duly blessed by the Cardinal Archduke
Albert, viceroy of Portugal.

There were rather more than one hundred and thirty ships in all, divided
into ten squadrons. There was the squadron of Portugal, consisting of ten
galleons, and commanded by the captain-general, Medina Sidonia. In the
squadron of Castile were fourteen ships of various sizes, under General
Diego Flores de Valdez. This officer was one of the most experienced
naval officers in the Spanish service, and was subsequently ordered, in
consequence, to sail with the generalissimo in his flag-ship. In the
squadron of Andalusia were ten galleons and other vessels, under General
Pedro de Valdez. In the squadron of Biscay were ten galleons and lesser
ships, under General Juan Martinet de Recalde, upper admiral of the
fleet. In the squadron of Guipuzcoa were ten galleons, under General
Miguel de Oquendo. In the squadron of Italy were ten ships, under General
Martin de Bertendona. In the squadron of Urcas, or store-ships, were
twenty-three sail, under General Juan Gomez de Medina. The squadron of
tenders, caravels, and other vessels, numbered twenty-two sail, under
General Antonio Hurtado de Mendoza. The squadron of four galeasses was
commanded by Don Hugo de Moncada. The squadron of four galeras, or
galleys, was in charge of Captain Diego de Medrado.

Next in command to Medina Sidonia was Don Alonzo de Leyva,
captain-general of the light horse of Milan. Don Francisco de Bobadilla
was marshal-general of the camp. Don Diego de Pimentel was marshal of the
camp to the famous Terzio or legion of Sicily.

The total tonnage of the fleet was 59,120: the number of guns was 3165.
Of Spanish troops there were 19,295 on board: there were 8252 sailors and
2088 galley-slaves. Besides these, there was a force of noble volunteers,
belonging to the most illustrious houses of Spain, with their attendants
amounting to nearly 2000 in all. There was also Don Martin Alaccon,
administrator and vicar-general of the Holy Inquisition, at the head of
some 290 monks of the mendicant orders, priests and familiars. The grand
total of those embarked was about 30,000. The daily expense of the fleet
was estimated by Don Diego de Pimentel at 12,000 ducats a-day, and the
daily cost of the combined naval and military force under Farnese and
Medina Sidonia was stated at 30,000 ducats.

The size of the ships ranged from 1200 tons to 300. The galleons, of
which there were about sixty, were huge round-stemmed clumsy vessels,
with bulwarks three or four feet thick, and built up at stem and stern,
like castles. The galeasses of which there were four--were a third larger
than the ordinary galley, and were rowed each by three hundred
galley-slaves. They consisted of an enormous towering fortress at the
stern; a castellated structure almost equally massive in front, with
seats for the rowers amidships. At stem and stern and between each of the
slaves' benches were heavy cannon. These galeasses were floating
edifices, very wonderful to contemplate. They were gorgeously decorated.
There were splendid state-apartments, cabins, chapels, and pulpits in
each, and they were amply provided with awnings, cushions, streamers,
standards, gilded saints, and bands of music. To take part in an
ostentatious pageant, nothing could be better devised. To fulfil the
great objects of a war-vessel--to sail and to fight--they were the worst
machines ever launched upon the ocean. The four galleys were similar to
the galeasses in every respect except that of size, in which they were by
one-third inferior.

All the ships of the fleet--galeasses, galleys, galleons, and hulks--were
so encumbered with top-hamper, so overweighted in proportion to their
draught of water, that they could bear but little canvas, even with
smooth seas and light and favourable winds. In violent tempests,
therefore, they seemed likely to suffer. To the eyes of the 16th century
these vessels seemed enormous. A ship of 1300 tons was then a monster
rarely seen, and a fleet, numbering from 130 to 150 sail, with an
aggregate tonnage of 60,000, seemed sufficient to conquer the world, and
to justify the arrogant title, by which it had baptized itself, of the
Invincible.

Such was the machinery which Philip had at last set afloat, for the
purpose of dethroning Elizabeth and establishing the inquisition in
England. One hundred and forty ships, eleven thousand Spanish veterans,
as many more recruits, partly Spanish, partly Portuguese, 2000 grandees,
as many galley-slaves, and three hundred barefooted friars and
inquisitors.

The plan was simple. Medina Sidonia was to proceed straight from Lisbon
to Calais roads: there he was to wait: for the Duke of Parma, who was to
come forth from Newport, Sluys, and Dunkerk, bringing with him his 17,000
veterans, and to assume the chief command of the whole expedition. They
were then to cross the channel to Dover, land the army of Parma,
reinforced with 6000 Spaniards from the fleet, and with these 23,000 men
Alexander was to march at once upon London. Medina Sidonia was to seize
and fortify the Isle of Wight, guard the entrance of the harbours against
any interference from the Dutch and English fleets, and--so soon as the
conquest of England had been effected--he was to proceed to Ireland. It
had been the wish of Sir William Stanley that Ireland should be
subjugated first, as a basis of operations against England; but this had
been overruled. The intrigues of Mendoza and Farnese, too, with the
Catholic nobles of Scotland, had proved, after all, unsuccessful. King
James had yielded to superior offers of money and advancement held out to
him by Elizabeth, and was now, in Alexander's words, a confirmed heretic.

There was no course left, therefore, but to conquer England at once. A
strange omission had however been made in the plan from first to last.
The commander of the whole expedition was the Duke of Parma: on his head
was the whole responsibility. Not a gun was to be fired--if it could be
avoided--until he had come forth with his veterans to make his junction
with the Invincible Armada off Calais. Yet there was no arrangement
whatever to enable him to come forth--not the slightest provision to
effect that junction. It would almost seem that the letter-writer of the
Escorial had been quite ignorant of the existence of the Dutch fleets off
Dunkerk, Newport, and Flushing, although he had certainly received
information enough of this formidable obstacle to his plan.

"Most joyful I shall be," said Farnese--writing on one of the days when
he had seemed most convinced by Valentine Dale's arguments, and driven to
despair by his postulates--"to see myself with these soldiers on English
ground, where, with God's help, I hope to accomplish your Majesty's
demands." He was much troubled however to find doubts entertained at the
last moment as to his 6000 Spaniards; and certainly it hardly needed an
argument to prove that the invasion of England with but 17,000 soldiers
was a somewhat hazardous scheme. Yet the pilot Moresini had brought him
letters from Medina Sidonia, in which the Duke expressed hesitation about
parting with these 6000 veterans; unless the English fleet should have
been previously destroyed, and had also again expressed his hope that
Parma would be punctual to the rendezvous. Alexander immediately combated
these views in letters to Medina and to the King. He avowed that he would
not depart one tittle from the plan originally laid down. The 6000 men,
and more if possible, were to be furnished him, and the Spanish Armada
was to protect his own flotilla, and to keep the channel clear of
enemies. No other scheme was possible, he said, for it was clear that his
collection of small flat-bottomed river-boats and hoys could not even
make the passage, except in smooth weather. They could not contend with a
storm, much less with the enemy's ships, which would destroy them utterly
in case of a meeting, without his being able to avail himself of his
soldiers--who would be so closely packed as to be hardly moveable--or of
any human help. The preposterous notion that he should come out with his
flotilla to make a junction with Medina off Calais, was over and over
again denounced by Alexander with vehemence and bitterness, and most
boding expressions were used by him as to the probable result, were such
a delusion persisted in.

Every possible precaution therefore but one had been taken. The King of
France--almost at the same instant in which Guise had been receiving his
latest instructions from the Escorial for dethroning and destroying that
monarch--had been assured by Philip of his inalienable affection; had
been informed of the object of this great naval expedition--which was not
by any means, as Mendoza had stated to Henry, an enterprise against
France or England, but only a determined attempt to clear the sea, once
for all, of these English pirates who had done so much damage for years
past on the high seas--and had been requested, in case any Spanish ship
should be driven by stress of weather into French ports, to afford them
that comfort and protection to which the vessels of so close and friendly
an ally were entitled.

Thus there was bread, beef, and powder enough--there were monks and
priests enough--standards, galley-slaves, and inquisitors enough; but
there were no light vessels in the Armada, and no heavy vessels in
Parma's fleet. Medina could not go to Farnese, nor could Farnese come to
Medina. The junction was likely to be difficult, and yet it had never
once entered the heads of Philip or his counsellors to provide for that
difficulty. The King never seemed to imagine that Farnese, with 40,000 or
50,000 soldiers in the Netherlands, a fleet of 300 transports, and power
to dispose of very large funds for one great purpose, could be kept in
prison by a fleet of Dutch skippers and corsairs.

With as much sluggishness as might have been expected from their clumsy
architecture, the ships of the Armada consumed nearly three weeks in
sailing from Lisbon to the neighbourhood of Cape Finisterre. Here they
were overtaken by a tempest, and were scattered hither and thither,
almost at the mercy of the winds and waves; for those unwieldy hulks were
ill adapted to a tempest in the Bay of Biscay. There were those in the
Armada, however, to whom the storm was a blessing. David Gwynn, a Welsh
mariner, had sat in the Spanish hulks a wretched galley-slave--as
prisoner of war for more than eleven years, hoping, year after year, for
a chance of escape from bondage. He sat now among the rowers of the great
galley, the Trasana, one of the humblest instruments by which the
subjugation of his native land to Spain and Rome was to be effected.

Very naturally, among the ships which suffered most in the gale were the
four huge unwieldy galleys--a squadron of four under Don Diego de
Medrado--with their enormous turrets at stem and stern, and their low and
open waists. The chapels, pulpits, and gilded Madonnas proved of little
avail in a hurricane. The Diana, largest of the four, went down with all
hands; the Princess was labouring severely in the trough of the sea, and
the Trasana was likewise in imminent danger. So the master of this galley
asked the Welsh slave, who had far more experience and seamanship than he
possessed himself, if it were possible to save the vessel. Gwynn saw an
opportunity for which he had been waiting eleven years. He was ready to
improve it. He pointed out to the captain the hopelessness of attempting
to overtake the Armada. They should go down, he said, as the Diana had
already done, and as the Princess was like at any moment to do, unless
they took in every rag of sail, and did their best with their oars to
gain the nearest port. But in order that the rowers might exert
themselves to the utmost, it was necessary that the soldiers, who were a
useless incumbrance on deck, should go below. Thus only could the ship be
properly handled. The captain, anxious to save his ship and his life,
consented. Most of the soldiers were sent beneath the hatches: a few were
ordered to sit on the benches among the slaves. Now there had been a
secret understanding for many days among these unfortunate men, nor were
they wholly without weapons. They had been accustomed to make toothpicks
and other trifling articles for sale out of broken sword-blades and other
refuse bits of steel. There was not a man among them who had not thus
provided himself with a secret stiletto.

At first Gwynn occupied himself with arrangements for weathering the
gale. So soon however as the ship had been made comparatively easy, he
looked around him, suddenly threw down his cap, and raised his hand to
the rigging. It was a preconcerted signal. The next instant he stabbed
the captain to the heart, while each one of the galley-slaves killed the
soldier nearest him; then, rushing below, they surprised and overpowered
the rest of the troops, and put them all to death.

Coming again upon deck, David Gwynn descried the fourth galley of the
squadron, called the Royal, commanded by Commodore Medrado in person,
bearing down upon them, before the wind. It was obvious that the Vasana
was already an object of suspicion.

"Comrades," said Gwynn, "God has given us liberty, and by our courage we
must prove ourselves worthy of the boon."

As he spoke there came a broadside from the galley Royal which killed
nine of his crew. David, nothing daunted; laid his ship close alongside
of the Royal, with such a shock that the timbers quivered again. Then at
the head of his liberated slaves, now thoroughly armed, he dashed on
board the galley, and, after a furious conflict, in which he was assisted
by the slaves of the Royal, succeeded in mastering the vessel, and
putting all the Spanish soldiers to death. This done, the combined
rowers, welcoming Gwynn as their deliverer from an abject slavery which
seemed their lot for life, willingly accepted his orders. The gale had
meantime abated, and the two galleys, well conducted by the experienced
and intrepid Welshman, made their way to the coast of France, and landed
at Bayonne on the 31st, dividing among them the property found on board
the two galleys. Thence, by land, the fugitives, four hundred and
sixty-six in number--Frenchmen, Spaniards, Englishmen, Turks, and Moors,
made their way to Rochelle. Gwynn had an interview with Henry of Navarre,
and received from that chivalrous king a handsome present. Afterwards he
found his way to England, and was well commended by the Queen. The rest
of the liberated slaves dispersed in various directions.

This was the first adventure of the invincible Armada. Of the squadron of
galleys, one was already sunk in the sea, and two of the others had been
conquered by their own slaves. The fourth rode out the gale with
difficulty, and joined the rest of the fleet, which ultimately
re-assembled at Coruna; the ships having, in distress, put in at first at
Vivera, Ribadeo, Gijon, and other northern ports of Spain. At the
Groyne--as the English of that day were accustomed to call Coruna--they
remained a month, repairing damages and recruiting; and on the 22nd of
July 3 (N.S.) the Armada set sail: Six days later, the Spaniards took
soundings, thirty leagues from the Scilly Islands, and on--Friday, the
29th of July, off the Lizard, they had the first glimpse of the land of
promise presented them by Sixtus V., of which they had at last come to
take possession.

   [The dates in the narrative will be always given according to the
   New Style, then already adopted by Spain, Holland, and France,
   although not by England. The dates thus given are, of course, ten
   days later than they appear in contemporary English records.]

On the same day and night the blaze and smoke of ten thousand
beacon-fires from the Land's End to Margate, and from the Isle of Wight
to Cumberland, gave warning to every Englishman that the enemy was at
last upon them. Almost at that very instant intelligence had been brought
from the court to the Lord-Admiral at Plymouth, that the Armada,
dispersed and shattered by the gales of June, was not likely to make its
appearance that year; and orders had consequently been given to disarm
the four largest ships, and send them into dock. Even Walsingham, as
already stated, had participated in this strange delusion.

Before Howard had time to act upon this ill-timed suggestion--even had he
been disposed to do so--he received authentic intelligence that the great
fleet was off the Lizard. Neither he nor Francis Drake were the men to
lose time in such an emergency, and before that Friday, night was spent,
sixty of the best English ships had been warped out of Plymouth harbour.

On Saturday, 30th July, the wind was very light at southwest, with a mist
and drizzling rain, but by three in the afternoon the two fleets could
descry and count each other through the haze.

By nine o'clock, 31st July, about two miles from Looe, on the Cornish
coast, the fleets had their first meeting. There were 136 sail of the
Spaniards, of which ninety were large ships, and sixty-seven of the
English. It was a solemn moment. The long-expected Armada presented a
pompous, almost a theatrical appearance. The ships seemed arranged for a
pageant, in honour of a victory already won. Disposed in form of a
crescent, the horns of which were seven miles asunder, those gilded,
towered, floating castles, with their gaudy standards and their martial
music, moved slowly along the channel, with an air of indolent pomp.
Their captain-general, the golden Duke, stood in his private shot-proof
fortress, on the--deck of his great galleon the Saint Martin, surrounded
by generals of infantry, and colonels of cavalry, who knew as little as
he did himself of naval matters. The English vessels, on the other
hand--with a few exceptions, light, swift, and easily handled--could sail
round and round those unwieldy galleons, hulks, and galleys rowed by
fettered slave-gangs. The superior seamanship of free Englishmen,
commanded by such experienced captains as Drake, Frobisher, and
Hawkins--from infancy at home on blue water--was manifest in the very,
first encounter. They obtained the weather-gage at once, and cannonaded
the enemy at intervals with considerable effect, easily escaping at will
out of range of the sluggish Armada, which was incapable of bearing sail
in pursuit, although provided with an armament which could sink all its
enemies at close quarters. "We had some small fight with them that Sunday
afternoon," said Hawkins.

Medina Sidonia hoisted the royal standard at the fore, and the whole
fleet did its utmost, which was little, to offer general battle. It was
in vain. The English, following at the heels of the enemy, refused all
such invitations, and attacked only the rear-guard of the Armada, where
Recalde commanded. That admiral, steadily maintaining his post, faced his
nimble antagonists, who continued to teaze, to maltreat, and to elude
him, while the rest of the fleet proceeded slowly up the Channel closely,
followed by the enemy. And thus the running fight continued along the
coast, in full view of Plymouth, whence boats with reinforcements and
volunteers were perpetually arriving to the English ships, until the
battle had drifted quite out of reach of the town.

Already in this first "small fight" the Spaniards had learned a lesson,
and might even entertain a doubt of their invincibility. But before the
sun set there were more serious disasters. Much powder and shot had been
expended by the Spaniards to very little purpose, and so a master-gunner
on board Admiral Oquendo's flag-ship was reprimanded for careless
ball-practice. The gunner, who was a Fleming, enraged with his captain,
laid a train to the powder-magazine, fired it, and threw himself into the
sea. Two decks blew up. The into the clouds, carrying with it the
paymaster-general of the fleet, a large portion of treasure, and nearly
two hundred men.' The ship was a wreck, but it was possible to save the
rest of the crew. So Medina Sidonia sent light vessels to remove them,
and wore with his flag-ship, to defend Oquendo, who had already been
fastened upon by his English pursuers. But the Spaniards, not being so
light in hand as their enemies, involved themselves in much embarrassment
by this manoeuvre; and there was much falling foul of each other,
entanglement of rigging, and carrying away of yards. Oquendo's men,
however, were ultimately saved, and taken to other ships.

Meantime Don Pedro de Valdez, commander of the Andalusian squadron,
having got his galleon into collision with two or three Spanish ships
successively, had at last carried away his fore-mast close to the deck,
and the wreck had fallen against his main-mast. He lay crippled and
helpless, the Armada was slowly deserting him, night was coming on, the
sea was running high, and the English, ever hovering near, were ready to
grapple with him. In vain did Don Pedro fire signals of distress. The
captain-general, even as though the unlucky galleon had not been
connected with the Catholic fleet--calmly fired a gun to collect his
scattered ships, and abandoned Valdez to his fate. "He left me
comfortless in sight of the whole fleet," said poor Pedro, "and greater
inhumanity and unthankfulness I think was never heard of among men."

Yet the Spaniard comported himself most gallantly. Frobisher, in the
largest ship of the English fleet, the Triumph, of 1100 tons, and Hawkins
in the Victory, of 800, cannonaded him at a distance, but, night coming
on, he was able to resist; and it was not till the following morning that
he surrendered to the Revenge.

Drake then received the gallant prisoner on board his flagship--much to
the disgust and indignation of Frobisher and Hawkins, thus disappointed
of their prize and ransom-money--treated him with much courtesy, and gave
his word of honour that he and his men should be treated fairly like good
prisoners of war. This pledge was redeemed, for it was not the English,
as it was the Spanish custom, to convert captives into slaves, but only
to hold them for ransom. Valdez responded to Drake's politeness by
kissing his hand, embracing him, and overpowering him with magnificent
compliments. He was then sent on board the Lord-Admiral, who received him
with similar urbanity, and expressed his regret that so distinguished a
personage should have been so coolly deserted by the Duke of Medina. Don
Pedro then returned to the Revenge, where, as the guest of Drake, he was
a witness to all subsequent events up to the 10th of August, on which day
he was sent to London with some other officers, Sir Francis claiming his
ransom as his lawful due.

Here certainly was no very triumphant beginning for the Invincible
Armada. On the very first day of their being in presence of the English
fleet--then but sixty-seven in number, and vastly their inferior in size
and weight of metal--they had lost the flag ships of the Guipuzcoan and
of the Andalusian squadrons, with a general-admiral, 450 officers and,
men, and some 100,000 ducats of treasure. They had been out-manoeuvred,
out-sailed, and thoroughly maltreated by their antagonists, and they had
been unable to inflict a single blow in return. Thus the "small fight"
had been a cheerful one for the opponents of the Inquisition, and the
English were proportionably encouraged.

On Monday, 1st of August, Medina Sidonia placed the rear-guard-consisting
of the galeasses, the galleons St. Matthew, St. Luke, St. James, and the
Florence and other ships, forty-three in all--under command of Don
Antonio de Leyva. He was instructed to entertain the enemy--so constantly
hanging on the rear--to accept every chance of battle, and to come to
close quarters whenever it should be possible. The Spaniards felt
confident of sinking every ship in the English navy, if they could but
once come to grappling; but it was growing more obvious every hour that
the giving or withholding battle was entirely in the hands of their foes.
Meantime--while the rear was thus protected by Leyva's division--the
vanguard and main body of the Armada, led by the captain-general, would
steadily pursue its way, according to the royal instructions, until it
arrived at its appointed meeting-place with the Duke of Parma. Moreover,
the Duke of Medina--dissatisfied with the want of discipline and of good
seamanship hitherto displayed in his fleet--now took occasion to send a
serjeant-major, with written sailing directions, on board each ship in
the Armada, with express orders to hang every captain, without appeal or
consultation, who should leave the position assigned him; and the hangmen
were sent with the sergeant-majors to ensure immediate attention to these
arrangements. Juan Gil was at the name time sent off in a sloop to the
Duke of Parma, to carry the news of the movements of the Armada, to
request information as to the exact spot and moment of the junction, and
to beg for pilots acquainted with the French and Flemish coasts. "In case
of the slightest gale in the world," said Medina, "I don't know how or
where to shelter such large ships as ours."

Disposed in this manner; the Spaniards sailed leisurely along the English
coast with light westerly breezes, watched closely by the Queen's fleet,
which hovered at a moderate distance to windward, without offering, that
day, any obstruction to their course.

By five o'clock on Tuesday morning, 2nd of August, the Armada lay between
Portland Bill and St. Albans' Head, when the wind shifted to the
north-east, and gave the Spaniards the weather-gage. The English did
their beat to get to windward, but the Duke, standing close into the land
with the whole Armada, maintained his advantage. The English then went
about, making a tack seaward, and were soon afterwards assaulted by the
Spaniards. A long and spirited action ensued. Howard in his little
Ark-Royal--"the odd ship of the world for all conditions"--was engaged at
different times with Bertendona, of the Italian squadron, with Alonzo de
Leyva in the Batta, and with other large vessels. He was hard pressed for
a time, but was gallantly supported by the Nonpareil, Captain Tanner; and
after a long and confused combat, in which the St. Mark, the St. Luke,
the St. Matthew, the St. Philip, the St. John, the St. James, the St.
John Baptist, the St. Martin, and many other great galleons, with saintly
and apostolic names, fought pellmell with the Lion, the Bear, the Bull,
the Tiger, the Dreadnought, the Revenge, the Victory, the Triumph, and
other of the more profanely-baptized English ships, the Spaniards were
again baffled in all their attempts to close with, and to board, their
ever-attacking, ever-flying adversaries. The cannonading was incessant.
"We had a sharp and a long fight," said Hawkins. Boat-loads of men and
munitions were perpetually arriving to the English, and many, high-born
volunteers--like Cumberland, Oxford, Northumberland, Raleigh, Brooke,
Dudley, Willoughby, Noel, William Hatton, Thomas Cecil, and others--could
no longer restrain their impatience, as the roar of battle sounded along
the coasts of Dorset, but flocked merrily on board the ships of
Drake,--Hawkins, Howard, and Frobisher, or came in small vessels which
they had chartered for themselves, in order to have their share in the
delights of the long-expected struggle.

The action, irregular, desultory, but lively, continued nearly all day,
and until the English had fired away most of their powder and shot. The
Spaniards, too, notwithstanding their years of preparation, were already
sort of light metal, and Medina Sidonia had been daily sending to Parma
for a Supply of four, six, and ten pound balls. So much lead and
gunpowder had never before been wasted in a single day; for there was no
great damage inflicted on either side. The artillery-practice was
certainly not much to the credit of either nation.

"If her Majesty's ships had been manned with a full supply of good
gunners," said honest William Thomas, an old artilleryman, "it would have
been the woefullest time ever the Spaniard took in hand, and the most
noble victory ever heard of would have been her Majesty's. But our sins
were the cause that so much powder and shot were spent, so long time in
fight, and in comparison so little harm done. It were greatly to be
wished that her Majesty were no longer deceived in this way."

Yet the English, at any rate, had succeeded in displaying their
seamanship, if not their gunnery, to advantage. In vain the unwieldly
hulks and galleons had attempted to grapple with their light-winged foes,
who pelted them, braved them, damaged their sails and gearing; and then
danced lightly off into the distance; until at last, as night fell, the
wind came out from the west again, and the English regained and kept the
weather-gage.

The Queen's fleet, now divided into four squadrons, under Howard, Drake,
Hawkins, and Frobisher, amounted to near one hundred sail, exclusive of
Lord Henry Seymour's division, which was cruising in the Straits of
Dover. But few of all this number were ships of war however, and the
merchant vessels; although zealous and active enough, were not thought
very effective. "If you had seen the simple service done by the merchants
and coast ships," said Winter, "you would have said we had been little
holpen by them, otherwise than that they did make a show."

All night the Spaniards, holding their course towards Calais, after the
long but indecisive conflict had terminated, were closely pursued by
their wary antagonists. On Wednesday, 3rd of August, there was some
slight cannonading, with but slender results; and on Thursday, the 4th,
both fleets were off Dunnose, on the Isle of Wight. The great hulk
Santana and a galleon of Portugal having been somewhat damaged the
previous day, were lagging behind the rest of the Armada, and were
vigorously attacked by the Triumph, and a few other vessels. Don Antonio
de Leyva, with some of the galeasses and large galleons, came to the
rescue, and Frobisher, although in much peril, maintained an unequal
conflict, within close range, with great spirit.

Seeing his danger, the Lord Admiral in the Ark-Royal, accompanied by the
Golden Lion; the White Bear, the Elizabeth, the Victory, and the
Leicester, bore boldly down into the very midst of the Spanish fleet, and
laid himself within three or four hundred yards of Medina's flag ship,
the St. Martin, while his comrades were at equally close quarters with
Vice-Admiral Recalde and the galleons of Oquendo, Mexia, and Almanza. It
was the hottest conflict which had yet taken place. Here at last was
thorough English work. The two, great fleets, which were there to
subjugate and to defend the realm of Elizabeth, were nearly yard-arm and
yard-arm together--all England on the lee. Broadside after broadside of
great guns, volley after volley of arquebusry from maintop and rigging,
were warmly exchanged, and much damage was inflicted on the Spaniards,
whose gigantic ships, were so easy a mark to aim at, while from their
turreted heights they themselves fired for the most part harmlessly over
the heads of their adversaries. The leaders of the Armada, however, were
encouraged, for they expected at last to come to even closer quarters,
and there were some among the English who were mad enough to wish to
board.

But so soon as Frobisher, who was the hero of the day, had extricated
himself from his difficulty, the Lord-Admiral--having no intention of
risking the existence of his fleet, and with it perhaps of the English
crown, upon the hazard of a single battle, and having been himself
somewhat damaged in the fight--gave the signal for retreat, and caused
the Ark-Royal to be towed out of action. Thus the Spaniards were
frustrated of their hopes, and the English; having inflicted much.
punishment at comparatively small loss to themselves, again stood off to
windward; and the Armada continued its indolent course along the cliffs
of Freshwater and Blackgang.

On Friday; 5th August, the English, having received men and munitions
from shore, pursued their antagonists at a moderate distance; and the
Lord-Admiral; profiting by the pause--for, it was almost a flat
calm--sent for Martin Frobisher, John Hawkins, Roger Townsend, Lord
Thomas Howard, son of the Duke of Norfolk, and Lord Edmund Sheffield; and
on the deck of the Royal Ark conferred the honour of knighthood on each
for his gallantry in the action of the previous day. Medina Sidonia, on
his part, was again despatching messenger after messenger to the Duke of
Parma, asking for small shot, pilots, and forty fly-boats, with which to
pursue the teasing English clippers. The Catholic Armada, he said, being
so large and heavy, was quite in the power of its adversaries, who could
assault, retreat, fight, or leave off fighting, while he had nothing for
it but to proceed, as expeditiously as might be; to his rendezvous in
Calais roads.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Inquisitors enough; but there were no light vessels in The Armada



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 58, 1588

   Both Fleets off Calais--A Night of Anxiety--Project of Howard and
   Winter--Impatience of the Spaniards--Fire-Ships sent against the
   Armada--A great Galeasse disabled--Attacked and captured by English
   Boats--General Engagement of both Fleets--Loss of several Spanish
   Ships--Armada flies, followed by the English--English insufficiently
   provided--Are obliged to relinquish the Chase--A great Storm
   disperses the Armada--Great Energy of Parma Made fruitless by
   Philip's Dulness--England readier at Sea than on Shore--The
   Lieutenant--General's Complaints--His Quarrels with Norris and
   Williams--Harsh Statements as to the English Troops--Want of
   Organization in England--Royal Parsimony and Delay--Quarrels of
   English Admirals--England's narrow Escape from great Peril--Various
   Rumours as to the Armada's Fate--Philip for a long Time in Doubt--He
   believes himself victorious--Is tranquil when undeceived.



CHAPTER XIX. Part 2.

And in Calais roads the great fleet--sailing slowly all next day in
company with the English, without a shot being fired on either side--at
last dropped anchor on Saturday afternoon, August 6th.

Here then the Invincible Armada had arrived at its appointed
resting-place. Here the great junction--of Medina Sidonia with the Duke
of Parma was to be effected; and now at last the curtain was to rise upon
the last act of the great drama so slowly and elaborately prepared.

That Saturday afternoon, Lord Henry Seymour and his squadron of sixteen
lay between Dungeness and Folkestone; waiting the approach of the two
fleets. He spoke several-coasting vessels coming from the west; but they
could give him no information--strange to say--either of the Spaniards
or, of his own countrymen,--Seymour; having hardly three days' provision
in his fleet, thought that there might be time to take in supplies; and
so bore into the Downs. Hardly had he been there half an hour; when a
pinnace arrived from the Lord-Admiral; with orders for Lord Henry's
squadron to hold itself in readiness. There was no longer time for
victualling, and very soon afterwards the order was given to make sail
and bear for the French coast. The wind was however so light; that the
whole day was spent before Seymour with his ships could cross the
channel. At last, towards seven in the evening; he saw the great Spanish
Armada, drawn up in a half-moon, and riding at anchor--the ships very
near each other--a little to the eastward of Calais, and very near the
shore. The English, under Howard Drake, Frobisher, and Hawkins, were
slowly following, and--so soon as Lord Henry, arriving from the opposite
shore; had made his junction with them--the whole combined fleet dropped
anchor likewise very near Calais, and within one mile and a half of the
Spaniards. That invincible force had at last almost reached its
destination. It was now to receive the cooperation of the great Farnese,
at the head of an army of veterans, disciplined on a hundred
battle-fields, confident from countless victories, and arrayed, as they
had been with ostentatious splendour, to follow the most brilliant
general in Christendom on his triumphal march into the capital of
England. The long-threatened invasion was no longer an idle figment of
politicians, maliciously spread abroad to poison men's minds as to the
intentions of a long-enduring but magnanimous, and on the whole friendly
sovereign. The mask had been at last thrown down, and the mild accents of
Philip's diplomatists and their English dupes, interchanging protocols so
decorously month after month on the sands of Bourbourg, had been drowned
by the peremptory voice of English and Spanish artillery, suddenly
breaking in upon their placid conferences. It had now become
supererogatory to ask for Alexander's word of honour whether he had, ever
heard of Cardinal Allan's pamphlet, or whether his master contemplated
hostilities against Queen Elizabeth.

Never, since England was England, had such a sight been seen as now
revealed itself in those narrow straits between Dover and Calais. Along
that long, low, sandy shore, and quite within the range of the Calais
fortifications, one hundred and thirty Spanish ships--the greater number
of them the largest and most heavily armed in the world lay face to face,
and scarcely out of cannon-shot, with one hundred and fifty English
sloops and frigates, the strongest and swiftest that the island could
furnish, and commanded by men whose exploits had rung through the world.

Farther along the coast, invisible, but known to be performing a post
perilous and vital service, was a squadron of Dutch vessels of all sizes,
lining both the inner and outer edges of the sandbanks off the Flemish
coasts, and swarming in all the estuaries and inlets of that intricate
and dangerous cruising-ground between Dunkerk and Walcheren. Those fleets
of Holland and Zeeland, numbering some one hundred and fifty galleons,
sloops, and fly-boats, under Warmond, Nassau, Van der Does, de Moor, and
Rosendael, lay patiently blockading every possible egress from Newport,
or Gravelines; or Sluys, or Flushing, or Dunkerk, and longing to grapple
with the Duke of Parma, so soon as his fleet of gunboats and hoys, packed
with his Spanish and Italian veterans, should venture to set forth upon
the sea for their long-prepared exploit.

It was a pompous spectacle, that midsummer night, upon those narrow seas.
The moon, which was at the full, was rising calmly upon a scene of
anxious expectation. Would she not be looking, by the morrow's night,
upon a subjugated England, a re-enslaved Holland--upon the downfall of
civil and religious liberty? Those ships of Spain, which lay there with
their banners waving in the moonlight, discharging salvoes of anticipated
triumph and filling the air with strains of insolent music; would they
not, by daybreak, be moving straight to their purpose, bearing the
conquerors of the world to the scene of their cherished hopes?

That English fleet, too, which rode there at anchor, so anxiously on the
watch--would that swarm of, nimble, lightly-handled, but slender
vessels,--which had held their own hitherto in hurried and desultory
skirmishes--be able to cope with their great antagonist now that the
moment had arrived for the death grapple? Would not Howard, Drake,
Frobisher, Seymour, Winter, and Hawkins, be swept out of the straits at
last, yielding an open passage to Medina, Oquendo, Recalde, and Farnese?
Would those Hollanders and Zeelanders, cruising so vigilantly among their
treacherous shallows, dare to maintain their post, now that the terrible
'Holofernese,' with his invincible legions, was resolved to come forth?

So soon as he had cast anchor, Howard despatched a pinnace to the
Vanguard, with a message to Winter to come on board the flag-ship. When
Sir William reached the Ark, it was already nine in the evening. He was
anxiously consulted by the Lord-Admiral as to the course now to be taken.
Hitherto the English had been teasing and perplexing an enemy, on the
retreat, as it were, by the nature of his instructions. Although anxious
to give battle, the Spaniard was forbidden to descend upon the coast
until after his junction with Parma. So the English had played a
comparatively easy game, hanging upon their enemy's skirts, maltreating
him as they doubled about him, cannonading him from a distance, and
slipping out of his reach at their pleasure. But he was now to be met
face to face, and the fate of the two free commonwealths of the world was
upon the issue of the struggle, which could no longer be deferred.

Winter, standing side by aide with the Lord-Admiral on the deck of the
little Ark-Royal, gazed for the first time on those enormous galleons and
galleys with which his companion, was already sufficiently familiar.

"Considering their hugeness," said he, "twill not be possible to remove
them but by a device."

Then remembering, in a lucky moment, something that he had heard four
years before of the fire ships sent by the Antwerpers against Parma's
bridge--the inventor of which, the Italian Gianibelli, was at that very
moment constructing fortifications on the Thames to assist the English
against his old enemy Farnese--Winter suggested that some stratagem of
the same kind should be attempted against the Invincible Armada. There
was no time nor opportunity to prepare such submarine volcanoes as had
been employed on that memorable occasion; but burning ships at least
might be sent among the fleet. Some damage would doubtless be thus
inflicted by the fire, and perhaps a panic, suggested by the memories of
Antwerp and by the knowledge that the famous Mantuan wizard was then a
resident of England, would be still more effective. In Winter's opinion,
the Armada might at least be compelled to slip its cables, and be thrown
into some confusion if the project were fairly carried out.

Howard approved of the device, and determined to hold, next morning, a
council of war for arranging the details of its execution.

While the two sat in the cabin, conversing thus earnestly, there had well
nigh been a serious misfortune. The ship, White Bear, of 1000 tons
burthen, and three others of the English fleet, all tangled together,
came drifting with the tide against the Ark. There were many yards
carried away; much tackle spoiled, and for a time there was great danger;
in the opinion of Winter, that some of the very best ships in the fleet
would be crippled and quite destroyed on the eve of a general engagement.
By alacrity and good handling, however, the ships were separated, and the
ill-consequences of an accident--such as had already proved fatal to
several Spanish vessels--were fortunately averted.

Next day, Sunday, 7th August, the two great fleets were still lying but a
mile and a half apart, calmly gazing at each other, and rising and
falling at their anchors as idly as if some vast summer regatta were the
only purpose of that great assemblage of shipping. Nothing as yet was
heard of Farnese. Thus far, at least, the Hollanders had held him at bay,
and there was still breathing-time before the catastrophe. So Howard hung
out his signal for council early in the morning, and very soon after
Drake and Hawkins, Seymour, Winter, and the rest, were gravely consulting
in his cabin.

It was decided that Winter's suggestion should be acted upon, and Sir
Henry Palmer was immediately despatched in a pinnace to Dover, to bring
off a number of old vessels fit to be fired, together with a supply of
light wood, tar, rosin, sulphur, and other combustibles, most adapted to
the purpose.' But as time wore away, it became obviously impossible for
Palmer to return that night, and it was determined to make the most of
what could be collected in the fleet itself. Otherwise it was to be
feared that the opportunity might be for ever lost. Parma, crushing all
opposition, might suddenly appear at any moment upon the channel; and the
whole Spanish Armada, placing itself between him and his enemies, would
engage the English and Dutch fleets, and cover his passage to Dover. It
would then be too late to think of the burning ships.

On the other hand, upon the decks of the Armada, there was an impatience
that night which increased every hour. The governor of Calais; M. de
Gourdon, had sent his nephew on board the flag-ship of Medina Sidonia,
with courteous salutations, professions of friendship, and bountiful
refreshments. There was no fear--now that Mucio was for the time in the
ascendency--that the schemes of Philip would be interfered with by
France. The governor, had, however, sent serious warning of--the
dangerous position in which the Armada had placed itself. He was quite
right. Calais roads were no safe anchorage for huge vessels like those of
Spain and Portugal; for the tides and cross-currents to which they were
exposed were most treacherous. It was calm enough at the moment, but a
westerly gale might, in a few hours, drive the whole fleet hopelessly
among the sand-banks of the dangerous Flemish coast. Moreover, the Duke,
although tolerably well furnished with charts and pilots for the English
coast, was comparatively unprovided against the dangers which might beset
him off Dunkerk, Newport, and Flushing. He had sent messengers, day after
day, to Farnese, begging for assistance of various kinds, but, above all,
imploring his instant presence on the field of action. It was the time
and, place for Alexander to assume the chief command. The Armada was
ready to make front against the English fleet on the left, while on the
right, the Duke, thus protected, might proceed across the channel and
take possession of England.

And the impatience of the soldiers and sailors on board the fleet was
equal to that of their commanders. There was London almost before their
eyes--a huge mass of treasure, richer and more accessible than those
mines beyond the Atlantic which had so often rewarded Spanish chivalry
with fabulous wealth. And there were men in those galleons who remembered
the sack of Antwerp, eleven years before--men who could tell, from
personal experience, how helpless was a great commercial city, when once
in the clutch of disciplined brigands--men who, in that dread 'fury of
Antwerp,' had enriched themselves in an hour with the accumulations of a
merchant's life-time, and who had slain fathers and mothers, sons and
daughters, brides and bridegrooms, before each others' eyes, until the
number of inhabitants butchered in the blazing streets rose to many
thousands; and the plunder from palaces and warehouses was counted by
millions; before the sun had set on the 'great fury.' Those Spaniards,
and Italians, and Walloons, were now thirsting for more gold, for more
blood; and as the capital of England was even more wealthy and far more
defenceless than the commercial metropolis of the Netherlands had been,
so it was resolved that the London 'fury' should be more thorough and
more productive than the 'fury' of Antwerp, at the memory--of which the
world still shuddered. And these professional soldiers had been taught to
consider the English as a pacific, delicate, effeminate race, dependent
on good living, without experience of war, quickly fatigued and
discouraged, and even more easily to be plundered and butchered than were
the excellent burghers of Antwerp.

And so these southern conquerors looked down from their great galleons
and galeasses upon the English vessels. More than three quarters of them
were merchantmen. There was no comparison whatever between the relative
strength of the fleets. In number they were about equal being each from
one hundred and thirty to one hundred and fifty strong--but the Spaniards
had twice the tonnage of the English, four times the artillery, and
nearly three times the number of men.

Where was Farnese? Most impatiently the Golden Duke paced the deck of the
Saint Martin. Most eagerly were thousands of eyes strained towards the
eastern horizon to catch the first glimpse of Parma's flotilla. But the
day wore on to its close, and still the same inexplicable and mysterious
silence prevailed. There was utter solitude on the waters in the
direction of Gravelines and Dunkerk--not a sail upon the sea in the
quarter where bustle and activity had been most expected. The mystery was
profound, for it had never entered the head of any man in the Armada that
Alexander could not come out when he chose.

And now to impatience succeeded suspicion and indignation; and there were
curses upon sluggishness and upon treachery. For in the horrible
atmosphere of duplicity, in which all Spaniards and Italians of that
epoch lived, every man: suspected his brother, and already Medina Sidonia
suspected Farnese of playing him false. There were whispers of collusion
between the Duke and the English commissioners at Bourbourg. There were
hints that Alexander was playing his own game, that he meant to divide
the sovereignty of the Netherlands with the heretic Elizabeth, to desert
his great trust, and to effect, if possible, the destruction of his
master's Armada, and the downfall of his master's sovereignty in the
north. Men told each other, too, of a vague rumour, concerning which
Alexander might have received information, and in which many believed,
that Medina Sidonia was the bearer of secret orders to throw Farnese into
bondage, so soon as he should appear, to send him a disgraced captive
back to Spain for punishment, and to place the baton of command in the
hand of the Duke of Pastrana, Philip's bastard by the Eboli. Thus, in the
absence of Alexander, all was suspense and suspicion. It seemed possible
that disaster instead of triumph was in store for them through the
treachery of the commander-in-chief. Four and twenty hours and more, they
had been lying in that dangerous roadstead, and although the weather had
been calm and the sea tranquil, there seemed something brooding in the
atmosphere.

As the twilight deepened, the moon became totally obscured, dark
cloud-masses spread over the heavens, the sea grew black, distant thunder
rolled, and the sob of an approaching tempest became distinctly audible.
Such indications of a westerly gale, were not encouraging to those
cumbrous vessels, with the treacherous quicksands of Flanders under their
lee.

At an hour past midnight, it was so dark that it was difficult for the
most practiced eye to pierce far into the gloom. But a faint drip of oars
now struck the ears of the Spaniards as they watched from the decks. A
few moments afterwards the sea became, suddenly luminous, and six flaming
vessels appeared at a slight distance, bearing steadily down upon them
before the wind and tide.

There were men in the Armada who had been at the siege of Antwerp only
three years before. They remembered with horror the devil-ships of
Gianibelli, those floating volcanoes, which had seemed to rend earth and
ocean, whose explosion had laid so many thousands of soldiers dead at a
blow, and which had shattered the bridge and floating forts of Farnese,
as though they had been toys of glass. They knew, too, that the famous
engineer was at that moment in England.

In a moment one of those horrible panics, which spread with such
contagious rapidity among large bodies of men, seized upon the Spaniards.
There was a yell throughout the fleet--"the fire-ships of Antwerp, the
fire-ships of Antwerp!" and in an instant every cable was cut, and
frantic attempts were made by each galleon and galeasse to escape what
seemed imminent destruction. The confusion was beyond description. Four
or five of the largest ships became entangled with each other. Two others
were set on fire by the flaming--vessels, and were consumed. Medina
Sidonia, who had been warned, even, before his departure from Spain, that
some such artifice would probably be attempted, and who had even, early
that morning, sent out a party of sailors in a pinnace to search for
indications of the scheme, was not surprised or dismayed. He gave
orders--as well as might be that every ship, after the danger should be
passed, was to return to its post, and, await his further orders. But it
was useless, in that moment of unreasonable panic to issue commands. The
despised Mantuan, who had met with so many rebuffs at Philip's court, and
who--owing to official incredulity had been but partially successful in
his magnificent enterprise at Antwerp, had now; by the mere terror of his
name, inflicted more damage on Philip's Armada than had hitherto been
accomplished by Howard and Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher, combined.

So long as night and darkness lasted, the confusion and uproar continued.
When the Monday morning dawned, several of the Spanish vessels lay
disabled, while the rest of the fleet was seen at a distance of two
leagues from Calais, driving towards the Flemish coast. The threatened
gale had not yet begun to blow, but there were fresh squalls from the
W.S.W., which, to such awkward sailers as the Spanish vessels; were
difficult to contend with. On the other hand, the English fleet were all
astir; and ready to pursue the Spaniards, now rapidly drifting into the
North Sea. In the immediate neighbourhood of Calais, the flagship of the
squadron of galeasses, commanded by Don Hugo de Moncada, was discovered
using her foresail and oars, and endeavouring to enter the harbour. She
had been damaged by collision with the St. John of Sicily and other
ships, during the night's panic, and had her rudder quite torn away. She
was the largest and most splendid vessel in the Armada--the show-ship of
the fleet,--"the very glory and stay of the Spanish navy," and during the
previous two days she had been visited and admired by great numbers of
Frenchmen from the shore.

Lord Admiral Howard bore dawn upon her at once, but as she was already in
shallow water, and was rowing steadily towards the town, he saw that the
Ark could not follow with safety. So he sent his long-boat to cut her
out, manned with fifty or sixty volunteers, most of them "as valiant in
courage as gentle in birth"--as a partaker in the adventure declared. The
Margaret and Joan of London, also following in pursuit, ran herself
aground, but the master despatched his pinnace with a body of musketeers,
to aid in the capture of the galeasse.

That huge vessel failed to enter the harbour, and stuck fast upon the
bar. There was much dismay on board, but Don Hugo prepared resolutely to
defend himself. The quays of Calais and the line of the French shore were
lined with thousands of eager spectators, as the two boats-rowing
steadily toward a galeasse, which carried forty brass pieces of
artillery, and was manned with three hundred soldiers and four hundred
and fifty slaves--seemed rushing upon their own destruction. Of these
daring Englishmen, patricians and plebeians together, in two open
pinnaces, there were not more than one hundred in number, all told. They
soon laid themselves close to the Capitana, far below her lofty sides,
and called on Don Hugo to surrender. The answer was, a smile of derision
from the haughty Spaniard, as he looked down upon them from what seemed
an inaccessible height. Then one Wilton, coxswain of the Delight; of
Winter's squadron, clambered up to the enemy's deck and fell dead the
same instant. Then the English volunteers opened a volley upon the
Spaniards; "They seemed safely ensconced in their ships," said bold Dick
Tomson, of the Margaret and Joan, "while we in our open pinnaces, and far
under them, had nothing to shroud and cover us." Moreover the numbers
were, seven hundred and fifty to one hundred. But, the Spaniards, still
quite disconcerted by the events of the preceding night, seemed under a
spell. Otherwise it would have been an easy matter for the great galeasse
to annihilate such puny antagonists in a very short space of time.

The English pelted the Spaniards quite cheerfully, however, with arquebus
shot, whenever they showed themselves above the bulwarks, picked off a
considerable number, and sustained a rather severe loss themselves,
Lieutenant Preston of the Ark-Royal, among others, being dangerously
wounded.  "We had a pretty skirmish for half-an-hour," said Tomson. At
last Don Hugo de Moncada, furious at the inefficiency of his men, and
leading them forward in person, fell back on his deck with a bullet
through both eyes. The panic was instantaneous, for, meantime, several
other English boats--some with eight, ten; or twelve men on board--were
seen pulling--towards the galeasse; while the dismayed soldiers at once
leaped overboard on the land side, and attempted to escape by swimming
and wading to the shore. Some of them succeeded, but the greater number
were drowned. The few who remained--not more, than twenty in all--hoisted
two handkerchiefs upon two rapiers as a signal of truce. The English,
accepting it as a signal of defeat; scrambled with great difficulty up
the lofty sides of the Capitana, and, for an hour and a half, occupied
themselves most agreeably in plundering the ship and in liberating the
slaves.

It was their intention, with the flood-tide, to get the vessel off, as
she was but slightly damaged, and of very great value. But a serious
obstacle arose to this arrangement. For presently a boat came along-side,
with young M. de Gourdon and another French captain, and hailed the
galeasse. There was nobody on board who could speak French but Richard
Tomson. So Richard returned the hail, and asked their business. They said
they came from the governor.

"And what is the--governor's pleasure?" asked Tomson, when they had come
up the side.

"The governor has stood and beheld your fight, and rejoiced in your
victory," was the reply; "and he says that for your prowess and manhood
you well deserve the pillage of the galeasse. He requires and commands
you, however, not to attempt carrying off either the ship or its
ordnance; for she lies a-ground under the battery of his castle, and
within his jurisdiction, and does of right appertain to him."

This seemed hard upon the hundred volunteers, who, in their two open
boats, had so manfully carried a ship of 1200 tons, 40 guns, and 750 men;
but Richard answered diplomatically.

"We thank M. de Gourdon," said he, "for granting the pillage to mariners
and soldiers who had fought for it, and we acknowledge that without his
good-will we cannot carry away anything we have got, for the ship lies on
ground directly under his batteries and bulwarks. Concerning the ship and
ordnance, we pray that he would send a pinnace to my Lord Admiral Howard,
who is here in person hard by, from whom he will have an honourable and
friendly answer, which we shall all-obey."

With this--the French officers, being apparently content, were about to
depart, and it is not impossible that the soft answer might have obtained
the galeasse and the ordnance, notwithstanding the arrangement which
Philip II. had made with his excellent friend Henry III. for aid and
comfort to Spanish vessels in French ports. Unluckily, however, the
inclination for plunder being rife that morning, some of the Englishmen
hustled their French visitors, plundered them of their rings and jewels,
as if they had been enemies, and then permitted them to depart. They
rowed off to the shore, vowing vengeance, and within a few minutes after
their return the battery of the fort was opened upon the English, and
they were compelled to make their escape as they could with the plunder
already secured, leaving the galeasse in the possession of M. de Gourdon.

This adventure being terminated, and the pinnaces having returned to the
fleet, the Lord-Admiral, who had been lying off and on, now bore away
with all his force in pursuit of the Spaniards. The Invincible Armada,
already sorely crippled, was standing N.N.E. directly before a fresh
topsail-breeze from the S.S.W.  The English came up with them soon after
nine o'clock A.M. off Gravelines, and found them sailing in a half-moon,
the admiral and vice-admiral in the centre, and the flanks protected by
the three remaining galeasses and by the great galleons of Portugal.

Seeing the enemy approaching, Medina Sidonia ordered his whole fleet to
luff to the wind, and prepare for action. The wind shifting a few points,
was now at W.N.W., so that the English had both the weather-gage and the
tide in their favour. A general combat began at about ten, and it was
soon obvious to the Spaniards that their adversaries were intending warm
work. Sir Francis Drake in the Revenge, followed by, Frobisher in the
Triumph, Hawkins in the Victory, and some smaller vessels, made the first
attack upon the Spanish flagships. Lord Henry in the Rainbow, Sir Henry
Palmer in the Antelope, and others, engaged with three of the largest
galleons of the Armada, while Sir William Winter in the Vanguard,
supported by most of his squadron, charged the starboard wing.

The portion of the fleet thus assaulted fell back into the main body.
Four of the ships ran foul of each other, and Winter, driving into their
centre, found himself within musket-shot of many of their most
formidable' ships.

"I tell you, on the credit of a poor gentleman," he said, "that there
were five hundred discharges of demi-cannon, culverin, and demi-culverin,
from the Vanguard; and when I was farthest off in firing my pieces, I was
not out of shot of their harquebus, and most time within speech, one of
another."

The battle lasted six hours long, hot and furious; for now there was no
excuse for retreat on the part of the Spaniards, but, on the contrary, it
was the intention of the Captain-General to return to his station off
Calais, if it were within his power. Nevertheless the English still
partially maintained the tactics which had proved so successful, and
resolutely refused the fierce attempts of the Spaniards to lay themselves
along-side. Keeping within musket-range, the well-disciplined English
mariners poured broadside after broadside against the towering ships of
the Armada, which afforded so easy a mark; while the Spaniards, on their
part, found it impossible, while wasting incredible quantities of powder
and shot, to inflict any severe damage on their enemies. Throughout the
action, not an English ship was destroyed, and not a hundred men were
killed. On the other hand, all the best ships of the Spaniards were
riddled through and through, and with masts and yards shattered, sails
and rigging torn to shreds, and a north-went wind still drifting them
towards the fatal sand-batiks of Holland, they, laboured heavily in a
chopping sea, firing wildly, and receiving tremendous punishment at the
hands of Howard Drake, Seymour, Winter, and their followers. Not even
master-gunner Thomas could complain that day of "blind exercise" on the
part of the English, with "little harm done" to the enemy. There was
scarcely a ship in the Armada that did not suffer severely; for nearly
all were engaged in that memorable action off the sands of Gravelines.
The Captain-General himself, Admiral Recalde, Alonzo de Leyva, Oquendo,
Diego Flores de Valdez, Bertendona, Don Francisco de Toledo, Don Diego de
Pimentel, Telles Enriquez, Alonzo de Luzon, Garibay, with most of the
great galleons and galeasses, were in the thickest of the fight, and one
after the other each of those huge ships was disabled. Three sank before
the fight was over, many others were soon drifting helpless wrecks
towards a hostile shore, and, before five o'clock, in the afternoon, at
least sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed, and from four to
five thousand soldiers killed.

   ["God hath mightily preserved her Majesty's forces with the least
   losses that ever hath been heard of, being within the compass of so
   great volleys of shot, both small and great. I verily believe there
   is not threescore men lost of her Majesty's forces." Captain J.
   Fenner to Walsingham, 4/14 Aug. 1588. (S. P. Office MS.)]

Nearly all the largest vessels of the Armada, therefore, having, been
disabled or damaged--according to a Spanish eye-witness--and all their
small shot exhausted, Medina Sidonia reluctantly gave orders to retreat.
The Captain-General was a bad sailor; but he was, a chivalrous Spaniard
of ancient Gothic blood, and he felt deep mortification at the plight of
his invincible fleet, together with undisguised: resentment against
Alexander Farnese, through whose treachery and incapacity, he considered.
the great Catholic cause to have been, so foully sacrificed. Crippled,
maltreated, and diminished in number, as were his ships; he would have
still faced, the enemy, but the winds and currents were fast driving him
on, a lee-shore, and the pilots, one and all, assured him that it would
be inevitable destruction to remain. After a slight and very ineffectual
attempt to rescue Don Diego de Pimentel in the St. Matthew--who refused
to leave his disabled ship--and Don Francisco de Toledo; whose great
galleon, the St. Philip, was fast driving, a helpless wreck, towards
Zeeland, the Armada bore away N.N.E. into the open sea, leaving those,
who could not follow, to their fate.

The St. Matthew, in a sinking condition, hailed a Dutch fisherman, who
was offered a gold chain to pilot her into Newport. But the fisherman,
being a patriot; steered her close to the Holland fleet, where she was
immediately assaulted by Admiral Van der Does, to whom, after a two
hours' bloody fight, she struck her flag. Don Diego, marshal of the camp
to the famous legion of Sicily, brother, of the Marquis of Tavera, nephew
of the Viceroy of Sicily, uncle to the Viceroy of Naples, and numbering
as many titles, dignities; and high affinities as could be expected of a
grandee of the first class, was taken, with his officers, to the Hague.
"I was the means," said Captain Borlase, "that the best sort were saved,
and the rest were cast overboard and slain at our entry. He, fought with
us two hours; and hurt divers of our men, but at, last yielded."

John Van der Does, his captor; presented the banner; of the Saint Matthew
to the great church of Leyden, where--such was its prodigious length--it
hung; from floor to ceiling without being entirely unrolled; and there
hung, from generation to generation; a worthy companion to the Spanish
flags which had been left behind when Valdez abandoned the siege of that
heroic city fifteen years before.

The galleon St. Philip, one of the four largest ships in the Armada,
dismasted and foundering; drifted towards Newport, where camp-marshal Don
Francisco de Toledo hoped in, vain for succour. La Motte made a feeble
attempt at rescue, but some vessels from the Holland fleet, being much
more active, seized the unfortunate galleon, and carried her into
Flushing. The captors found forty-eight brass cannon and other things of
value on board, but there were some casks of Ribadavia wine which was
more fatal to her enemies than those pieces of artillery had proved. For
while the rebels were refreshing themselves, after the fatigues of the
capture, with large draughts of that famous vintage, the St. Philip,
which had been bored through and through with English shot, and had been
rapidly filling with water, gave a sudden lurch, and went down in a
moment, carrying with her to the bottom three hundred of those convivial
Hollanders.

A large Biscay galleon, too, of Recalde's squadron, much disabled in
action, and now, like many others, unable to follow the Armada, was
summoned by Captain Cross of the Hope, 48 guns, to surrender. Although
foundering, she resisted, and refused to strike her flag. One of her
officers attempted to haul down her colours, and was run through the body
by the captain, who, in his turn, was struck dead by a brother of the
officer thus slain. In the midst of this quarrel the ship went down with
all her crew.

Six hours and more, from ten till nearly five, the fight had lasted--a
most cruel battle, as the Spaniard declared. There were men in the Armada
who had served in the action of Lepanto, and who declared that famous
encounter to have been far surpassed in severity and spirit by this fight
off Gravelines. "Surely every man in our fleet did well," said Winter,
"and the slaughter the enemy received was great." Nor would the Spaniards
have escaped even worse punishment, had not, most unfortunately, the
penurious policy of the Queen's government rendered her ships useless at
last, even in this supreme moment. They never ceased cannonading the
discomfited enemy until the ammunition was exhausted. "When the
cartridges were all spent," said Winter, "and the munitions in some
vessels gone altogether, we ceased fighting, but followed the enemy, who
still kept away." And the enemy--although still numerous, and seeming
strong enough, if properly handled, to destroy the whole English
fleet--fled before them. There remained more than fifty Spanish vessels,
above six hundred tons in size, besides sixty hulks and other vessels of
less account; while in the whole English navy were but thirteen ships of
or above that burthen. "Their force is wonderful great and strong," said
Howard, "but we pluck their feathers by little and little."

For Medina Sidonia had now satisfied himself that he should never succeed
in boarding those hard-fighting and swift-sailing craft, while, meantime,
the horrible panic of Sunday night and the succession of fights
throughout the following day, had completely disorganized his followers.
Crippled, riddled, shorn, but still numerous, and by no means entirely
vanquished, the Armada was flying with a gentle breeze before an enemy
who, to save his existence; could not have fired a broadside.

"Though our powder and shot was well nigh spent," said the Lord-Admiral,
"we put on a brag countenance and gave them chase, as though we had
wanted nothing." And the brag countenance was successful, for that "one
day's service had much appalled the enemy" as Drake observed; and still
the Spaniards fled with a freshening gale all through the Monday night.
"A thing greatly to be regarded," said Fenner, of the Nonpariel, "is that
that the Almighty had stricken them with a wonderful fear. I have hardly,
seen any of their companies succoured of the extremities which befell
them after their fights, but they have been left, at utter ruin, while
they bear as much sail as ever they possibly can."

On Tuesday morning, 9th August, the English ships were off the isle of
Walcheren, at a safe distance from the shore. "The wind is hanging
westerly," said Richard Tomson, of the Margaret and Joan, "and we drive
our enemies apace, much marvelling in what port they will direct
themselves. Those that are left alive are so weak and heartless that they
could be well content to lose all charges and to be at home, both rich
and poor."

"In my, conscience," said Sir William Winter, "I think the Duke would
give his dukedom to be in Spain again."

The English ships, one-hundred and four in number, being that morning
half-a-league to windward, the Duke gave orders for the whole Armada to
lay to and, await their approach. But the English had no disposition to
engage, for at, that moment the instantaneous destruction of their
enemies seemed inevitable. Ill-managed, panic-struck, staggering before
their foes, the Spanish fleet was now close upon the fatal sands of
Zeeland. Already there were but six and a-half fathoms of water, rapidly
shoaling under their keels, and the pilots told Medina that all were
irretrievably lost, for the freshening north-welter was driving them
steadily upon the banks. The English, easily escaping the danger, hauled
their wind, and paused to see the ruin of the proud Armada accomplished
before their eyes. Nothing but a change of wind at the instant could save
them from perdition. There was a breathless shudder of suspense, and then
there came the change. Just as the foremost ships were about to ground on
the Ooster Zand, the wind suddenly veered to the south-west, and the
Spanish ships quickly squaring their sails to the new impulse, stood out
once more into the open sea.

All that day the galleons and galeasses, under all the canvas which they
dared to spread, continued their flight before the south-westerly breeze,
and still the Lord-Admiral, maintaining the brag countenance, followed,
at an easy distance, the retreating foe. At 4 p. m., Howard fired a
signal gun, and ran up a flag of council. Winter could not go, for he had
been wounded in action, but Seymour and Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, and
the rest were present, and it was decided that Lord Henry should return,
accompanied by Winter and the rest of the inner, squadron, to guard the
Thames mouth against any attempt of the Duke of Parma, while the Lord
Admiral and the rest of the navy should continue the pursuit of the
Armada.

Very wroth was Lord Henry at being deprived of his share in the chase.
"The Lord-Admiral was altogether desirous to have me strengthen him,"
said he, "and having done so to the utmost of my good-will and the
venture of my life, and to the distressing of the Spaniards, which was
thoroughly done on the Monday last, I now find his Lordship jealous and
loath to take part of the honour which is to come. So he has used his
authority to command me to look to our English coast, threatened by the
Duke of Parma. I pray God my Lord Admiral do not find the lack of the
Rainbow and her companions, for I protest before God I vowed I would be
as near or nearer with my little ship to encounter our enemies as any of
the greatest ships in both armies."

There was no insubordination, however, and Seymour's squadron; at
twilight of Tuesday evening, August 9th--according to orders, so that the
enemy might not see their departure--bore away for Margate. But although
Winter and Seymour were much disappointed at their enforced return, there
was less enthusiasm among the sailors of the fleet. Pursuing the
Spaniards without powder or fire, and without beef and bread to eat, was
not thought amusing by the English crews. Howard had not three days'
supply of food in his lockers, and Seymour and his squadron had not food
for one day. Accordingly, when Seymour and Winter took their departure,
"they had much ado," so Winter said; "with the staying of many ships that
would have returned with them, besides their own company." Had the
Spaniards; instead of being panic-struck, but turned on their pursuers,
what might have been the result of a conflict with starving and unarmed
men?

Howard, Drake, and Frobisher, with the rest of the fleet, followed the
Armada through the North Sea from Tuesday night (9th August) till Friday
(the 12th), and still, the strong southwester swept the Spaniards before
them, uncertain whether to seek refuge, food, water, and room to repair
damages, in the realms of the treacherous King of Scots, or on the
iron-bound coasts of Norway. Medina Sidonia had however quite abandoned
his intention of returning to England, and was only anxious for a safe
return: to Spain. So much did he dread that northern passage; unpiloted,
around the grim Hebrides, that he would probably have surrendered, had
the English overtaken him and once more offered battle. He was on the
point of hanging out a white flag as they approached him for the last
time--but yielded to the expostulations of the ecclesiastics on board the
Saint Martin, who thought, no doubt, that they had more to fear from
England than from the sea, should they be carried captive to that
country, and who persuaded him that it would be a sin and a disgrace to
surrender before they had been once more attacked.

On the other hand, the Devonshire skipper, Vice-Admiral Drake, now
thoroughly in his element, could not restrain his hilarity, as he saw the
Invincible Armada of the man whose beard he had so often singed, rolling
through the German Ocean, in full flight from the country which was to
have been made, that week, a Spanish province. Unprovided as were his
ships, he was for risking another battle, and it is quite possible that
the brag countenance might have proved even more successful than Howard
thought.

"We have the army of Spain before us," wrote Drake, from the Revenge,
"and hope with the grace of God to wrestle a pull with him. There never
was any thing pleased me better than seeing the enemy flying with a
southerly wind to the northward. God grant you have a good eye to the
Duke of Parma, for with the grace of God, if we live, I doubt not so to
handle the matter with the Duke of Sidonia as he shall wish himself at
St. Mary's Port among his orange trees."

But Howard decided to wrestle no further pull. Having followed the
Spaniards till Friday, 12th of August, as far as the latitude of 56d. 17'
the Lord Admiral called a council. It was then decided, in order to save
English lives and ships, to put into the Firth of Forth for water and
provisions, leaving two "pinnaces to dog, the fleet until it should be
past the Isles of Scotland." But the next day, as the wind shifted to the
north-west, another council decided to take advantage of the change, and
bear away for the North Foreland, in order to obtain a supply of powder,
shot, and provisions.

Up to this period, the weather, though occasionally threatening, had been
moderate. During the week which succeeded the eventful night off. Calais,
neither the 'Armada nor the English ships had been much impeded in their
manoeuvres by storms of heavy seas. But on the following Sunday, 14th of
August, there was a change. The wind shifted again to the south-west,
and, during the whole of that day and the Monday, blew a tremendous gale.
"'Twas a more violent storm," said Howard, "than was ever seen before at
this time of the year." The retreating English fleet was, scattered, many
ships were in peril, "among the ill-favoured sands off Norfolk," but
within four or five days all arrived safely in Margate roads.

Far different was the fate of the Spaniards. Over their Invincible
Armada, last seen by the departing English midway between the coasts of
Scotland and Denmark, the blackness of night seemed suddenly to descend.
A mystery hung for a long time over their fate. Damaged, leaking, without
pilots, without a competent commander, the great fleet entered that
furious storm, and was whirled along the iron crags of Norway and between
the savage rocks of Faroe and the Hebrides. In those regions of tempest
the insulted North wreaked its full vengeance on the insolent Spaniards.
Disaster after disaster marked their perilous track; gale after gale
swept them hither and thither, tossing them on sandbanks or shattering
them against granite cliffs. The coasts of Norway, Scotland, Ireland,
were strewn with the wrecks of that pompous fleet, which claimed the
dominion of the seas with the bones of those invincible legions which
were to have sacked London and made England a Spanish vice-royalty.

Through the remainder of the month of August there, was a succession of
storms. On the 2nd September a fierce southwester drove Admiral Oquendo
in his galleon, together with one of the great galeasses, two large
Venetian ships, the Ratty and the Balauzara, and thirty-six other
vessels, upon the Irish coast, where nearly every soul on board perished,
while the few who escaped to the shore--notwithstanding their religious
affinity with the inhabitants--were either butchered in cold blood, or
sent coupled in halters from village to village, in order to be shipped
to England. A few ships were driven on the English coast; others went
ashore near Rochelle.

Of the four galeasses and four galleys, one of each returned to Spain. Of
the ninety-one great galleons and hulks, fifty-eight were lost and
thirty-three returned. Of the tenders and zabras, seventeen were lost.
and eighteen returned. Of one hundred and, thirty-four vessels, which
sailed from Corona in July, but fifty-three, great and small, made their
escape to Spain, and these were so damaged as to be, utterly worthless.
The invincible Armada had not only been vanquished but annihilated.

Of the 30,000 men who sailed in the fleet; it is probable that not more
than 10,000 ever saw their native land again. Most of the leaders of the
expedition lost their lives. Medina Sidonia reached Santander in October,
and, as Philip for a moment believed, "with the greater part of the
Armada," although the King soon discovered his mistake. Recalde, Diego
Flores de Valdez, Oquendo, Maldonado, Bobadilla, Manriquez, either
perished at sea, or died of exhaustion immediately after their return.
Pedro de Valdez, Vasco de Silva, Alonzo de Sayas, Piemontel, Toledo, with
many other nobles, were prisoners in England and Holland. There was
hardly a distinguished family in Spain not placed in mourning, so that,
to relieve the universal gloom, an edict was published, forbidding the
wearing of mourning at all. On the other hand, a merchant of Lisbon, not
yet reconciled to the Spanish conquest of his country, permitted himself
some tokens of hilarity at the defeat of the Armada, and was immediately
hanged by express command of Philip. Thus--as men said--one could neither
cry nor laugh within the Spanish dominions.

This was the result of the invasion, so many years preparing, and at an
expense almost incalculable. In the year 1588 alone, the cost of Philip's
armaments for the subjugation of England could not have been less than
six millions of ducats, and there was at least as large a sum on board
the Armada itself, although the Pope refused to pay his promised million.
And with all this outlay, and with the sacrifice of so many thousand
lives, nothing had been accomplished, and Spain, in a moment, instead of
seeming terrible to all the world, had become ridiculous.

"Beaten and shuffled together from the Lizard to Calais, from Calais
driven with squibs from their anchors, and chased out of sight of England
about Scotland and Ireland," as the Devonshire skipper expressed himself,
it must be confessed that the Spaniards presented a sorry sight. "Their
invincible and dreadful navy," said Drake, "with all its great and
terrible ostentation, did not in all their sailing about England so much
as sink or take one ship, bark, pinnace, or cock-boat of ours, or even
burn so much as one sheep-tote on this land."

Meanwhile Farnese sat chafing under the unjust reproaches heaped upon
him, as if he, and not his master, had been responsible for the gigantic
blunders of the invasion.

"As for the Prince of Parma," said Drake, "I take him to be as a bear
robbed of her whelps." The Admiral was quite right. Alexander was beside
himself with rage. Day after day, he had been repeating to Medina Sidonia
and to Philip that his flotilla and transports could scarcely live in any
but the smoothest sea, while the supposition that they could serve a
warlike purpose he pronounced absolutely ludicrous. He had always
counselled the seizing of a place like Flushing, as a basis of operations
against England, but had been overruled; and he had at least reckoned
upon the Invincible Armada to clear the way for him, before he should be
expected to take the sea.

With prodigious energy and at great expense he had constructed or
improved internal water-communications from Ghent to Sluy's, Newport, and
Dunkerk. He had, thus transported all his hoys, barges, and munitions for
the invasion, from all points of the obedient Netherlands to the
sea-coast, without coming within reach of the Hollanders and Zeelanders,
who were keeping close watch on the outside. But those Hollanders and
Zeelanders, guarding every outlet to the ocean, occupying every hole and
cranny of the coast, laughed the invaders of England to scorn, braving
them, jeering them, daring them to come forth, while the Walloons and
Spaniards shrank before such amphibious assailants, to whom a combat on
the water was as natural as upon dry land. Alexander, upon one occasion,
transported with rage, selected a band of one thousand musketeers, partly
Spanish, partly Irish, and ordered an assault upon those insolent
boatmen. With his own hand--so it was related--he struck dead more than
one of his own officers who remonstrated against these commands; and then
the attack was made by his thousand musketeers upon the Hollanders, and
every man of the thousand was slain.

He had been reproached for not being ready, for not having embarked his
men; but he had been ready for a month, and his men could be embarked in
a single day. "But it was impossible," he said, "to keep them long packed
up on board vessels, so small that there was no room to turn about in the
people would sicken, would rot, would die." So soon as he had received
information of the arrival of the fleet before Calais--which was on the
8th August--he had proceeded the same night to Newport and embarked
16,000 men, and before dawn he was at Dunkerk, where the troops stationed
in that port were as rapidly placed on board the transports. Sir William
Stanley, with his 700 Irish kernes, were among the first shipped for the
enterprise. Two-days long these regiments lay heaped together, like
sacks of corn, in the boats--as one of their officers described it--and
they lay cheerfully hoping that the Dutch fleet would be swept out of the
sea by the Invincible Armada, and patiently expecting the signal for
setting sail to England. Then came the Prince of Ascoli, who had gone
ashore from the Spanish fleet at Calais, accompanied by serjeant-major
Gallinato and other messengers from Medina Sidonia, bringing the news of
the fire-ships and the dispersion and flight of the Armada.

"God knows," said Alexander, "the distress in which this event has
plunged me, at the very moment when I expected to be sending your Majesty
my congratulations on the success of the great undertaking. But these are
the works of the Lord, who can recompense your Majesty by giving you many
victories, and the fulfilment of your Majesty's desires, when He thinks
the proper time arrived. Meantime let Him be praised for all, and let
your Majesty take great care of your health, which is the most important
thing of all."

Evidently the Lord did not think the proper time yet arrived for
fulfilling his Majesty's desires for the subjugation of England, and
meanwhile the King might find what comfort he could in pious commonplaces
and in attention to his health.

But it is very certain that, of all the high parties concerned, Alexander
Farnese was the least reprehensible for the over-throw of Philips hopes.
No man could have been more judicious--as it has been sufficiently made
evident in the course of this narrative--in arranging all the details of
the great enterprise, in pointing out all the obstacles, in providing for
all emergencies. No man could have been more minutely faithful to his
master, more treacherous to all the world beside. Energetic, inventive,
patient, courageous; and stupendously false, he had covered Flanders with
canals and bridges, had constructed flotillas, and equipped a splendid
army, as thoroughly as he had puzzled Comptroller Croft. And not only had
that diplomatist and his wiser colleagues been hoodwinked, but Elizabeth
and Burghley, and, for a moment, even Walsingham, were in the, dark,
while Henry III. had been his passive victim, and the magnificent Balafre
a blind instrument in his hands. Nothing could equal Alexander's
fidelity, but his perfidy. Nothing could surpass his ability to command
but his obedience. And it is very possible that had Philip followed his
nephew's large designs, instead of imposing upon him his own most puerile
schemes; the result far England, Holland, and, all Christendom might have
been very different from the actual one. The blunder against which
Farnese had in vain warned his master, was the stolid ignorance in which
the King and all his counsellors chose to remain of the Holland and
Zeeland fleet. For them Warmond and Nassau, and Van der Does and Joost de
Moor; did not exist, and it was precisely these gallant sailors, with
their intrepid crews, who held the key to the whole situation.

To the Queen's glorious naval-commanders, to the dauntless mariners of
England, with their well-handled vessels; their admirable seamanship,
their tact and their courage, belonged the joys of the contest, the
triumph, and the glorious pursuit; but to the patient Hollanders and
Zeelanders, who, with their hundred vessels held Farneae, the chief of
the great enterprise, at bay, a close prisoner with his whole army in his
own ports, daring him to the issue, and ready--to the last plank of their
fleet and to the last drop of their blood--to confront both him and the
Duke of Medina Sidona, an equal share of honour is due. The safety of the
two free commonwealths of the world in that terrible contest was achieved
by the people and the mariners of the two states combined.

Great was the enthusiasm certainly of the English people as the
volunteers marched through London to the place of rendezvous, and
tremendous were the cheers when the brave Queen rode on horseback along
the lines of Tilbury. Glowing pictures are revealed to us of merry little
England, arising in its strength, and dancing forth to encounter the
Spaniards, as if to a great holiday. "It was a pleasant sight," says that
enthusiastic merchant-tailor John Stowe, "to behold the cheerful
countenances, courageous words, and gestures, of the soldiers, as they
marched to Tilbury, dancing, leaping wherever they came, as joyful at the
news of the foe's approach as if lusty giants were to run a race. And
Bellona-like did the Queen infuse a second spirit of loyalty, love, and
resolution, into every soldier of her army, who, ravished with their
sovereign's sight, prayed heartily that the Spaniards might land quickly,
and when they heard they were fled, began to lament."

But if the Spaniards had not fled, if there had been no English navy in
the Channel, no squibs at Calais, no Dutchmen off Dunkerk, there might
have been a different picture to paint. No man who has, studied the
history of those times, can doubt the universal and enthusiastic
determination of the English nation to repel the invaders. Catholics and
Protestants felt alike on the great subject. Philip did not flatter,
himself with assistance from any English Papists, save exiles and
renegades like Westmoreland, Paget, Throgmorton, Morgan, Stanley, and the
rest. The bulk of the Catholics, who may have constituted half the
population of England, although malcontent, were not rebellious; and
notwithstanding the precautionary measures taken by government against
them, Elizabeth proudly acknowledged their loyalty.

But loyalty, courage, and enthusiasm, might not have sufficed to supply
the want of numbers and discipline. According to the generally accepted
statement of contemporary chroniclers, there were some 75,000 men under
arms: 20,000 along the southern coast, 23,000 under Leicester, and 33,000
under Lord Chamberlain Hunsdon, for the special defence of the Queen's
person.

But it would have been very difficult, in the moment of danger, to bring
anything like these numbers into the field. A drilled and disciplined
army--whether of regulars or of militia-men--had no existence whatever.
If the merchant vessels, which had been joined to the royal fleet, were
thought by old naval commanders to be only good to make a show, the
volunteers on land were likely to be even less effective than the marine
militia, so much more accustomed than they to hard work. Magnificent was
the spirit of the great feudal lords as they rallied round their Queen.
The Earl of Pembroke offered to serve at the head of three hundred horse
and five hundred footmen, armed at his own cost, and all ready to "hazard
the blood of their hearts" in defence of her person. "Accept hereof most
excellent sovereign," said the Earl, "from a person desirous to live no
longer than he may see your Highness enjoy your blessed estate, maugre
the beards of all confederated leaguers."

The Earl of Shrewsbury, too, was ready to serve at the head of his
retainers, to the last drop of his blood. "Though I be old," he said,
"yet shall your quarrel make me young again. Though lame in body, yet
lusty in heart to lend your greatest enemy one blow, and to stand near
your defence, every way wherein your Highness shall employ me."

But there was perhaps too much of this feudal spirit. The
lieutenant-general complained bitterly that there was a most mischievous
tendency among all the militia-men to escape from the Queen's colours, in
order to enrol themselves as retainers to the great lords. This spirit
was not favourable to efficient organization of a national army. Even,
had the commander-in-chief been a man, of genius and experience it would
have been difficult for him, under such circumstances, to resist a
splendid army, once landed, and led by Alexander Farnese, but even
Leicester's most determined flatterers hardly ventured to compare him
in-military ability with that first general of his age. The best soldier
in England was un-questionably Sir John Norris, and Sir John was now
marshal of the camp to Leicester. The ancient quarrel between the two had
been smoothed over, and--as might be expected--the Earl hated Norris more
bitterly than before, and was perpetually vituperating him, as he had
often done in the Netherlands. Roger William, too, was entrusted with the
important duties of master of the horse, under the lieutenant-general,
and Leicester continued to bear the grudge towards that honest Welshman,
which had begun in Holland. These were not promising conditions in a
camp, when an invading army was every day expected; nor was the
completeness or readiness of the forces sufficient to render harmless the
quarrels of the commanders.

The Armada had arrived in Calais roads on Saturday afternoon; the 6th
August. If it had been joined on that day, or the next--as Philip and
Medina Sidonia fully expected--by the Duke of Parma's flotilla, the
invasion would have been made at once. If a Spanish army had ever landed
in England at all, that event would have occurred on the 7th August. The
weather was not unfavourable; the sea was smooth, and the circumstances
under which the catastrophe of the great drama was that night
accomplished, were a profound mystery to every soul in England. For aught
that Leicester, or Burghley, or Queen Elizabeth, knew at the time, the
army of Farnese might, on Monday, have been marching upon London. Now, on
that Monday morning, the army of Lord Hunsdon was not assembled at all,
and Leicester with but four thousand men, under his command, was just
commencing his camp at Tilbury. The. "Bellona-like" appearance of the
Queen on her white palfrey,--with truncheon in hand, addressing her
troops, in that magnificent burst of eloquence which has so often been
repeated, was not till eleven days afterwards; not till the great Armada,
shattered and tempest-tossed, had been, a week long, dashing itself
against the cliffs of Norway and the Faroes, on, its forlorn retreat to
Spain.

Leicester, courageous, self-confident, and sanguine as ever; could not
restrain his indignation at the parsimony with which his own impatient
spirit had to contend. "Be you assured," said he, on the 3rd August, when
the Armada was off the Isle of Wight, "if the Spanish fleet arrive safely
in the narrow seas, the Duke of Parma will join presently with all his
forces, and lose no time in invading this realm. Therefore I beseech you,
my good Lords, let no man, by hope or other abuse; prevent your speedy
providing defence against, this mighty enemy now knocking at our gate."

For even at this supreme moment doubts were entertained at court as to
the intentions of the Spaniards:

Next day he informed Walsingham that his four thousand men had arrived.
"They be as forward men and willing to meet the enemy as I ever saw,"
said he. He could not say as much in, praise of the commissariat: "Some
want the captains showed," he observed, "for these men arrived without
one meal of victuals so that on their-arrival, they had not one barrel of
beer nor loaf of bread--enough after twenty miles' march to have
discouraged them, and brought them to mutiny. I see many causes to
increase my former opinion of the dilatory wants you shall find upon all
sudden hurley burleys. In no former time was ever so great a cause, and
albeit her Majesty hath appointed an army to resist her enemies if they
land, yet how hard a matter it will be to gather men together, I find it
now. If it will be five days to gather these countrymen, judge what it
will be to look in short space for those that dwell forty, fifty, sixty
miles off."

He had immense difficulty in feeding even this slender force. "I made
proclamation," said he, "two days ago, in all market towns, that
victuallers should come to the camp and receive money for their
provisions, but there is not one victualler come in to this hour. I have
sent to all the justices of peace about it from place to place. I speak
it that timely consideration be had of these things, and that they be not
deferred till the worst come. Let her Majesty not defer the time, upon
any supposed hope, to assemble a convenient force of horse and foot about
her. Her Majesty cannot be strong enough too soon, and if her navy had
not been strong and abroad as it is, what care had herself and her whole
realm been in by this time! And what care she will be in if her forces be
not only assembled, but an army presently dressed to withstand the mighty
enemy that is to approach her gates."

"God doth know, I speak it not to bring her to charges. I would she had
less cause to spend than ever she had, and her coffers fuller than ever
they were; but I will prefer her life and safety, and the defence of the
realm, before all sparing of charges in the present danger."

Thus, on the 5th August, no army had been assembled--not even the
body-guard of the Queen--and Leicester, with four thousand men,
unprovided with a barrel of beer or a loaf of bread, was about commencing
his entrenched camp at Tilbury. On the 6th August the Armada was in
Calais roads, expecting Alexander Farnese to lead his troops upon London!

Norris and Williams, on the news of Medina Sidonia's approach, had rushed
to Dover, much to the indignation of Leicester, just as the Earl was
beginning his entrenchments at Tilbury. "I assure you I am angry with Sir
John Norris and Sir Roger Williams," he said. "I am here cook, caterer,
and huntsman. I am left with no one to supply Sir John's place as
marshal, but, for a day or two, am willing to work the harder myself. I
ordered them both to return this day early, which they faithfully
promised. Yet, on arriving this morning, I hear nothing of either, and
have nobody to marshal the camp either for horse or foot. This manner of
dealing doth much mislike me in them both. I am ill-used. 'Tis now four
o'clock, but here's not one of them. If they come not this night, I
assure you I will not receive them into office, nor bear such loose
careless dealing at their hands. If you saw how weakly I am assisted you
would be sorry to think that we here, should be the front against the
enemy that is so mighty, if he should land here. And seeing her Majesty
hath appointed me her lieutenant-general, I look that respect be used
towards me, such as is due to my place."

Thus the ancient grudge--between Leicester and the Earl of Sussex's son
was ever breaking forth, and was not likely to prove beneficial at this
eventful season.

Next day the Welshman arrived, and Sir John promised to come back in the
evening. Sir Roger brought word from the coast that Lord Henry Seymour's
fleet was in want both of men and powder. "Good Lord!" exclaimed
Leicester, "how is this come to pass, that both he and, my Lord-Admiral
are so weakened of men. I hear they be running away. I beseech you,
assemble your forces, and play not away this kingdom by delays. Hasten
our horsemen hither and footmen: . . . . If the Spanish fleet come to the
narrow seas the, Prince of Parma will play another part than is looked
for."

As the Armada approached Calais, Leicester was informed that the soldiers
at Dover began to leave the coast. It seemed that they were dissatisfied
with the penuriousness of the government. "Our soldiers do break away at
Dover, or are not pleased. I assure you, without wages, the people will
not tarry, and contributions go hard with them. Surely I find that her
Majesty must needs deal liberally, and be at charges to entertain her
subjects that have chargeably, and liberally used, themselves to serve
her." The lieutenant-general even thought it might be necessary for him
to proceed to Dover in person, in order to remonstrate with these
discontented troops; for it was possible that those ill-paid,
undisciplined, and very meagre forces, would find much difficulty in
opposing Alexander's march, to London, if he should once succeed in
landing. Leicester had a very indifferent opinion too of the train-bands
of the metropolis. "For your Londoners," he said, "I see their service
will be little, except they have their own captains, and having them, I
look for none at all by them, when we shall meet the enemy." This was not
complimentary, certainly, to the training of the famous Artillery Garden,
and furnished a still stronger motive for defending the road over which
the capital was to be approached. But there was much jealousy, both among
citizens and nobles, of any authority entrusted to professional soldiers.
"I know what burghers be, well enough," said the Earl, "as brave and
well-entertained as ever the Londoners were. If they should go forth from
the city they should have good leaders. You know the imperfections of the
time, how few-leaders you have, and the gentlemen of the counties are
very loth to have any captains placed with them. So that the beating out
of our best captains is like to be cause of great danger."

Sir John Smith, a soldier of experience, employed to drill and organize
some of the levies, expressed still more disparaging opinions than those
of Leicester concerning the probable efficiency in the field of these
English armies. The Earl was very angry with the knight, however, and
considered, him incompetent, insolent, and ridiculous. Sir John seemed,
indeed, more disposed to keep himself out of harm's way, than to render
service to the Queen by leading awkward recruits against Alexander
Farnese. He thought it better to nurse himself.

"You would laugh to see how Sir John Smith has dealt since my coming,"
said Leicester. "He came to me, and told me that his disease so grew upon
him as he must needs go to the baths. I told him I would not be against
his health, but he saw what the time was, and what pains he had taken
with his countrymen, and that I had provided a good place for him. Next
day he came again, saying little to my offer then, and seemed desirous,
for his health, to be gone. I told him what place I did appoint, which
was a regiment of a great part of his countrymen. He said his health was
dear to him, and he desired to take leave of me, which I yielded unto.
Yesterday, being our muster-day, he came again to me to dinner; but such
foolish and vain-glorious paradoxes he burst withal, without any cause
offered, as made all that knew anything smile and answer little, but in
sort rather to satisfy men present than to argue with him."

And the knight went that day to review Leicester's choice troops--the
four thousand men of Essex--but was not much more deeply impressed with
their proficiency than he had been with that of his own regiment. He
became very censorious.

"After the muster," said the lieutenant-general, "he entered again into
such strange cries for ordering of men, and for the fight with the
weapon, as made me think he was not well. God forbid he should have
charge of men that knoweth so little, as I dare pronounce that he doth."

Yet the critical knight was a professional--campaigner, whose opinions
were entitled to respect; and the more so, it would seem, because they
did not materially vary from those which Leicester himself was in the
habit of expressing. And these interior scenes of discord, tumult,
parsimony, want of organization, and unsatisfactory mustering of troops,
were occurring on the very Saturday and Sunday when the Armada lay in
sight of Dover cliffs, and when the approach of the Spaniards on the
Dover road might at any moment be expected.

Leicester's jealous and overbearing temper itself was also proving a
formidable obstacle to a wholesome system of defence. He was already
displeased with the amount of authority entrusted to Lord Hunsdon,
disposed to think his own rights invaded; and desirous that the Lord
Chamberlain should accept office under himself. He wished saving clauses
as to his own authority inserted in Hunsdon's patent. "Either it must be
so, or I shall have wrong," said he, "if he absolutely command where my
patent doth give me power. You may easily conceive what absurd dealings
are likely to fall out, if you allow two absolute commanders."

Looking at these pictures of commander-in-chief, officers, and rank and
file--as painted by themselves--we feel an inexpressible satisfaction
that in this great crisis of England's destiny, there were such men as
Howard, Drake, Frobisher, Hawkins, Seymour, Winter, Fenner, and their
gallant brethren, cruising that week in the Channel, and that Nassau and
Warmond; De Moor and Van der Does, were blockading the Flemish coast.

There was but little preparation to resist the enemy once landed. There
were no fortresses, no regular army, no population trained to any weapon.
There were patriotism, loyalty, courage, and enthusiasm, in abundance;
but the commander-in-chief was a queen's favourite, odious to the people,
with very moderate abilities, and eternally quarrelling with officers
more competent than himself; and all the arrangements were so hopelessly
behind-hand, that although great disasters might have been avenged, they
could scarcely have been avoided.

Remembering that the Invincible Armada was lying in Calais roads on the
6th of August, hoping to cross to Dover the next morning, let us ponder
the words addressed on that very day to Queen Elizabeth by the
Lieutenant-General of England.

"My most dear and gracious Lady," said the Earl, "it is most true that
those enemies that approach your kingdom and person are your undeserved
foes, and being so, and hating you for a righteous cause, there is the
less fear to be had of their malice or their forces; for there is a most
just God that beholdeth the innocence of that heart. The cause you are
assailed for is His and His Church's, and He never failed any that
faithfully do put their chief trust in His goodness. He hath, to comfort
you withal, given you great and mighty means to defend yourself, which
means I doubt not but your Majesty will timely and princely use them, and
your good God that ruleth all will assist you and bless you with
victory."

He then proceeded to give his opinion on two points concerning which the
Queen had just consulted him--the propriety of assembling her army, and
her desire to place herself at the head of it in person.

On the first point one would have thought discussion superfluous on the
6th of August. "For your army, it is more than time it were gathered and
about you," said Leicester, "or so near you as you may have the use of it
at a few hours' warning. The reason is that your mighty enemies are at
hand, and if God suffers them to pass by your fleet, you are sure they
will attempt their purpose of landing with all expedition. And albeit
your navy be very strong, but, as we have always heard, the other is not
only far greater, but their forces of men much beyond yours. No doubt if
the Prince of Parma come forth, their forces by sea shall not only be
greatly, augmented, but his power to land shall the easier take effect
whensoever he shall attempt it. Therefore it is most requisite that your
Majesty at all events have as great a force every way as you can devise;
for there is no dalliance at such a time, nor with such an enemy. You
shall otherwise hazard your own honour, besides your person and country,
and must offend your gracious God that gave you these forces and power,
though you will not use them when you should."

It seems strange enough that such phrases should be necessary when the
enemy was knocking at the gate; but it is only too, true that the
land-forces were never organized until the hour, of danger had, most
fortunately and unexpectedly, passed by. Suggestions at this late moment
were now given for the defence of the throne, the capital, the kingdom,
and the life of the great Queen, which would not have seemed premature
had they been made six months before, but which, when offered in August,
excite unbounded amazement. Alexander would have had time to, march from
Dover to Duxham before these directions, now leisurely stated with all
the air of novelty, could be carried into effect.

"Now for the placing of your army," says the lieutenant-general on the
memorable Saturday, 6th of August, "no doubt but I think about London
the, meetest, and I suppose that others will be of the same mind. And
your Majesty should forthwith give the charge thereof to some special
nobleman about you, and likewise place all your chief officers that every
man may know what he shall do, and gather as many good horse above all
things as you can, and the oldest, best, and assuredest captains to lead;
for therein will consist the greatest hope of good success under God. And
so soon as your army is assembled, let them by and by be exercised, every
man to know his weapon, and that there be all other things prepared in
readiness, for your army, as if they should march upon a day's warning,
especially carriages, and a commissary of victuals, and a master of
ordnance."

Certainly, with Alexander of Parma on his way to London, at the head of
his Italian pikemen, his Spanish musketeers, his famous veteran
legion--"that nursing mother of great soldiers"--it was indeed more than
time that every man should know what he should do, that an army of
Englishmen should be assembled, and that every man should know his
weapon. "By and by" was easily said, and yet, on the 6th of August it was
by and by that an army, not yet mustered, not yet officered, not yet
provided with a general, a commissary of victuals, or a master of
ordinance, was to be exercised, "every man to know his weapon."

English courage might ultimately triumph over, the mistakes of those who
governed the country, and over those disciplined brigands by whom it was
to be invaded. But meantime every man of those invaders had already
learned on a hundred battle-fields to know his weapon.

It was a magnificent determination on the part of Elizabeth to place
herself at the head of her troops; and the enthusiasm which her attitude
inspired, when she had at last emancipated herself from the delusions of
diplomacy and the seductions of thrift, was some recompense at least for
the perils caused by her procrastination. But Leicester could not approve
of this hazardous though heroic resolution.

The danger passed away. The Invincible Armada was driven out of the
Channel by the courage; the splendid seamanship, and the enthusiasm of
English sailors and volunteers. The Duke of Parma was kept a close
prisoner by the fleets of Holland and Zeeland; and the great storm of the
14th and 15th of August at last completed the overthrow of the Spaniards.

It was, however, supposed for a long time that they would come back, for
the disasters which had befallen them in the north were but tardily known
in England. The sailors, by whom England had been thus defended in her
utmost need, were dying by hundreds, and even thousands, of ship-fever,
in the latter days of August. Men sickened one day, and died the next, so
that it seemed probable that the ten thousand sailors by whom the English
ships of war were manned, would have almost wholly disappeared, at a
moment when their services might be imperatively required. Nor had there
been the least precaution taken for cherishing and saving these brave
defenders of their country. They rotted in their ships, or died in the
streets of the naval ports, because there were no hospitals to receive
them.

"'Tis a most pitiful sight," said the Lord-Admiral, "to see here at
Margate how the men, having no place where they can be received, die in,
the streets. I am driven of force myself to come on land to see them
bestowed in some lodgings; and the best I can get is barns and such
outhouses, and the relief is small that I can provide for them here. It
would grieve any man's heart to see men that have served so valiantly die
so miserably."

The survivors, too, were greatly discontented; for, after having been
eight months at sea, and enduring great privations, they could not get
their wages. "Finding it to come thus scantily," said Howard, "it breeds
a marvellous alteration among them."

But more dangerous than the pestilence or the discontent was the
misunderstanding which existed at the moment between the leading admirals
of the English fleet. Not only was Seymour angry with Howard, but Hawkins
and Frobisher were at daggers drawn with Drake; and Sir Martin--if
contemporary, affidavits can be trusted--did not scruple to heap the most
virulent abuse upon Sir Francis, calling him, in language better fitted
for the forecastle than the quarter-deck, a thief and a coward, for
appropriating the ransom for Don Pedro Valdez in which both Frobisher and
Hawkins claimed at least an equal share with himself.

And anxious enough was the Lord-Admiral with his sailors perishing by
pestilence, with many of his ships so weakly manned that as Lord Henry
Seymour declared there were not mariners enough to weigh the anchors, and
with the great naval heroes, on whose efforts the safety of the realm
depended, wrangling like fisherwomen among themselves, when rumours came,
as they did almost daily, of the return of the Spanish Armada, and of new
demonstrations on the part of Farnese. He was naturally unwilling that
the fruits of English valour on the seas should now be sacrificed by the
false economy of the government. He felt that, after all that had been
endured and accomplished, the Queen and her counsellors were still
capable of leaving England at the mercy of a renewed attempt, "I know not
what you think at the court," said he; "but I think, and so do all here,
that there cannot be too great forces maintained for the next five or six
weeks. God knoweth whether the Spanish fleet will not, after refreshing
themselves in Norway; Denmark, and the Orkneys, return. I think they dare
not go back to Sprain with this, dishonour, to their King and overthrow
of the Pope's credit. Sir, sure bind, sure find. A kingdom is a grand
wager. Security is dangerous; and, if God had not been our best friend;
we should have found it so."

   [Howard to Walsingham, Aug.8/18 1588. (S. P. Office MS.)]

   ["Some haply may say that winter cometh on apace," said Drake, "but
   my poor opinion is that I dare not advise her Majesty to hazard a
   kingdom with the saving of a little charge." (Drake to Walsingham,
   Aug. 8/18 1588.)]

Nothing could be more replete, with sound common sense than this simple
advice, given as it was in utter ignorance of the fate of the Armada;
after it had been lost sight of by the English vessels off the Firth of
Forth, and of the cold refreshment which: it had found in Norway and the
Orkneys. But, Burghley had a store of pithy apophthegms, for which--he
knew he could always find sympathy in the Queen's breast, and with which
he could answer these demands of admirals and generals. "To spend in time
convenient is wisdom;" he observed--"to continue charges without needful
cause bringeth, repentance;"--"to hold on charges without knowledge of
the certainty thereof and of means how to support them, is lack of
wisdom;" and so on.

Yet the Spanish fleet might have returned into the Channel for ought the
Lord-Treasurer on the 22nd August knew--or the Dutch fleet might have
relaxed, in its vigilant watching of Farnese's movements. It might have
then seemed a most plentiful lack of wisdom to allow English sailors to
die of plague in the streets for want of hospitals; and to grow mutinous
for default of pay. To have saved under such circumstances would, perhaps
have brought repentance.

The invasion of England by Spain had been most portentous. That the
danger was at last averted is to be ascribed to the enthusiasm of the
English, nation--both patricians and plebeians--to the heroism of the
little English fleet, to the spirit of the naval commanders and
volunteers, to the stanch, and effective support of the Hollanders; and
to the hand of God shattering the Armada at last; but very little credit
can be conscientiously awarded to the diplomatic or the military efforts
of the Queen's government. Miracles alone, in the opinion of Roger
Williams, had saved England on this occasion from perdition.

Towards the end of August, Admiral de Nassau paid a visit to Dover with
forty ships, "well appointed and furnished." He dined and conferred with
Seymour, Palmer, and other officers--Winter being still laid up with his
wound--and expressed the opinion that Medina Sidonia would hardly return
to the Channel, after the banquet he had received from her Majesty's navy
between Calais and Gravelines. He also gave the information that the
States had sent fifty Dutch vessels in pursuit of the Spaniards, and had
compelled all the herring-fishermen for the time to serve in the ships of
war, although the prosperity of the country depended on that industry. "I
find the man very wise, subtle, and cunning," said Seymour of the Dutch
Admiral, "and therefore do I trust him."

Nassau represented the Duke of Parma as evidently discouraged, as having
already disembarked his troops, and as very little disposed to hazard any
further enterprise against England. "I have left twenty-five
Kromstevens," said he, "to prevent his egress from Sluys, and I am
immediately returning thither myself. The tide will not allow his vessels
at present to leave Dunkerk, and I shall not fail--before the next full
moon--to place myself before that place, to prevent their coming out, or
to have a brush with them if they venture to put to sea."

But after the scenes on which the last full moon had looked down in those
waters, there could be no further pretence on the part of Farnese to
issue from Sluys and Dunkerk, and England and Holland were thenceforth
saved from all naval enterprises on the part of Spain.

Meantime, the same uncertainty which prevailed in England as to the
condition and the intentions of the Armada was still more remarkable
elsewhere. There was a systematic deception practised not only upon other
governments; but upon the King of Spain as well. Philip, as he sat at his
writing-desk, was regarding himself as the monarch of England, long after
his Armada had been hopelessly dispersed.

In Paris, rumours were circulated during the first ten days of August
that England was vanquished, and that the Queen was already on her way to
Rome as a prisoner, where she was to make expiation, barefoot, before his
Holiness. Mendoza, now more magnificent than ever--stalked into Notre
Dame with his drawn sword in his hand, crying out with a loud voice,
"Victory, victory!" and on the 10th of August ordered bonfires to be made
before his house; but afterwards thought better of that scheme. He had
been deceived by a variety of reports sent to him day after day by agents
on the coast; and the King of France--better informed by Stafford, but
not unwilling thus to feed his spite against the insolent
ambassador--affected to believe his fables. He even confirmed them by
intelligence, which he pretended to have himself received from other
sources, of the landing of the Spaniards in England without opposition,
and of the entire subjugation of that country without the striking of a
blow.

Hereupon, on the night of August 10th, the envoy--"like a wise man," as
Stafford observed--sent off four couriers, one after another, with the
great news to Spain, that his master's heart might be rejoiced, and
caused a pamphlet on the subject to be printed and distributed over
Paris! "I will not waste a large sheet of paper to express the joy which
we must all feel," he wrote to Idiaquez, "at this good news. God be
praised for all, who gives us small chastisements to make us better, and
then, like a merciful Father, sends us infinite rewards." And in the same
strain he wrote; day after day, to Moura and Idiaquez, and to Philip
himself.

Stafford, on his side, was anxious to be informed by his government of
the exact truth, whatever it were, in order that these figments of
Mendoza might be contradicted. "That which cometh from me," he said,
"Will be believed; for I have not been used to tell lies, and in very
truth I have not the face to do it."

And the news of the Calais squibs, of the fight off Gravelines, and the
retreat of the Armada towards the north; could not be very long
concealed. So soon, therefore, as authentic intelligence reached, the
English envoy of those events--which was not however for nearly ten days
after their--occurrence--Stafford in his turn wrote a pamphlet, in answer
to that of Mendoza, and decidedly the more successful one of the two. It
cost him but five crowns, he said, to print 'four hundred copies of it;
but those in whose name it was published got one hundred crowns by its
sale. The English ambassador was unwilling to be known as the
author--although "desirous of touching up the impudence of the
Spaniard"--but the King had no doubt of its origin. Poor Henry, still
smarting under the insults of Mendoza and 'Mucio,--was delighted with
this blow to Philip's presumption; was loud in his praises of Queen
Elizabeth's valour, prudence, and marvellous fortune, and declared that
what she had just done could be compared to the greatest: exploits of the
most illustrious men in history.

"So soon as ever he saw the pamphlet," said Stafford; "he offered to lay
a wager it was my doing; and laughed at it heartily." And there were
malicious pages about the French; court; who also found much amusement in
writing to the ambassador, begging his interest with the Duke of Parma
that they might obtain from that conqueror some odd-refuse town or so in:
England, such as York, Canterbury, London, or the like--till the luckless
Don Bernardino was ashamed to show his face.

A letter, from Farnese, however, of 10th August, apprized Philip before
the end of August of the Calais disasters and caused him great
uneasiness, without driving him to despair. "At the very moment," wrote
the King to Medina Sidonia; "when I was expecting news of the effect
hoped for from my Armada, I have learned the retreat from before Calais,
to which it was compelled by the weather; [!] and I have received a very
great shock which keeps, me in anxiety not to be exaggerated.
Nevertheless I hope in our Lord that he will have provided a remedy; and
that if it was possible for you to return upon the enemy to come back to
the appointed posts and to watch an opportunity for the great stroke; you
will have done as the case required; and so I am expecting with
solicitude, to hear what has happened, and please God it may be that
which is so suitable for his service."

His Spanish children the sacking of London, and the butchering of the
English nation-rewards and befits similar to those which they bad
formerly enjoyed in the Netherlands.

And in the same strain, melancholy yet hopeful, were other letters
despatched on that day to the Duke of Parma. "The satisfaction caused by
your advices on the 8th August of the arrival of the Armada near Calais,
and of your preparations to embark your troops, was changed into a
sentiment which you can imagine, by your letter of the 10th. The anxiety
thus occasioned it would be impossible to exaggerate, although the cause
being such as it is--there is no ground for distrust. Perhaps the Armada,
keeping together, has returned upon the enemy, and given a good account
of itself, with the help of the Lord. So I still promise myself that you
will have performed your part in the enterprise in such wise as that the
service intended to the Lord may have been executed, and repairs made to
the reputation of all; which has been so much compromised."

And the King's drooping spirits were revived by fresh accounts which
reached him in September, by way of France. He now learned that the
Armada had taken captive four Dutch men-of-war and many English ships;
that, after the Spaniards had been followed from Calais roads by the
enemy's fleet, there had been an action, which the English had attempted
in vain to avoid; off Newcastle; that Medina Sidonia had charged upon
them so vigorously, as to sink twenty of their ships, and to capture
twenty-six others, good and sound; that the others, to escape perdition,
had fled, after suffering great damage, and had then gone to pieces, all
hands perishing; that the Armada had taken a port in Scotland, where it
was very comfortably established; that the flag-ship of Lord-admiral
Howard, of Drake; and of that "distinguished mariner Hawkins," had all
been sunk in action, and that no soul had been saved except Drake, who
had escaped in a cock-boat. "This is good news," added the writer; "and
it is most certain."

The King pondered seriously over these conflicting accounts, and remained
very much in the dark. Half, the month of September went by, and he had
heard nothing--official since the news of the Calais catastrophe. It may
be easily understood that Medina Sidonia, while flying round the Orkneys
had not much opportunity for despatching couriers to Spain, and as
Farnese had not written since the 10th August, Philip was quite at a loss
whether to consider himself triumphant or defeated. From the reports by
way of Calais, Dunkerk, and Rouen, he supposed that the Armada, had
inflicted much damage on the enemy. He suggested accordingly, on the 3rd
September, to the Duke of Parma, that he might now make the passage to
England, while the English fleet, if anything was left of it was
repairing its damages. "'Twill be easy enough to conquer the country,"
said Philip, "so soon as you set foot on the soil. Then perhaps our
Armada can come back and station itself in the Thames to support you."

Nothing could be simpler. Nevertheless the King felt a pang of doubt lest
affairs, after all, might not be going on so swimmingly; so he dipped his
pen in the inkstand again, and observed with much pathos, "But if this
hope must be given up, you must take the Isle of Walcheren: something
must be done to console me."

And on the 15th September he was still no wiser. "This business of the
Armada leaves me no repose," he said; "I can think of nothing else. I
don't content myself with what I have written, but write again and again,
although in great want of light. I hear that the Armada has sunk and
captured many English ships, and is refitting in a Scotch pert. If this
is in the territory, of Lord Huntley, I hope he will stir up the
Catholics of that country."

And so, in letter after letter, Philip clung to the delusion that
Alexander could yet, cross to England, and that the Armada might sail up
the Thames. The Duke was directed to make immediate arrangements to that
effect with Medina Sidonia, at the very moment when that tempest-tossed
grandee was painfully-creeping back towards the Bay of Biscay, with what
remained of his invincible fleet.

Sanguine and pertinacious, the King refused to believe in, the downfall
of his long-cherished scheme; and even when the light was at last dawning
upon him, he was like a child, crying for a fresh toy, when the one which
had long amused him had been broken. If the Armada were really very much
damaged, it was easy enough, he thought, for the Duke of Parma to make
him a new one, while the old, one was repairing. "In case the Armada is
too much shattered to come out," said Philip, "and winter compels it to
stay in that port, you must cause another Armada to be constructed at
Emden and the adjacent towns, at my expense, and, with the two together,
you will certainly be able to conquer England."

And he wrote to Medina Sidonia in similar terms. That naval commander was
instructed to enter the Thames at once, if strong enough. If not, he was
to winter in the Scotch port which he was supposed to have captured.
Meantime Farnese would build a new fleet at Emden, and in the spring the
two dukes would proceed to accomplish the great purpose.

But at last the arrival of Medina Sidonia at Santander dispelled these
visions, and now the King appeared in another attitude. A messenger,
coming post-haste from the captain-general, arrived in the early days of
October at the Escorial. Entering the palace he found Idiaquez and Moura
pacing up and down the corridor, before the door of Philip's cabinet, and
was immediately interrogated by those counsellors, most anxious, of
course, to receive authentic intelligence at last as to the fate, of the
Armada. The entire overthrow of the great project was now, for the first
time, fully revealed in Spain; the fabulous victories over the English,
and the annihilation of Howard and all his ships, were dispersed in air.
Broken, ruined, forlorn, the invincible Armada--so far as it still
existed--had reached a Spanish port. Great was the consternation of
Idiaquez and Moura, as they listened to the tale, and very desirous was
each of the two secretaries that the other should, discharge the
unwelcome duty of communicating the fatal intelligence to the King.

At last Moura consented to undertake the task, and entering the cabinet,
he found Philip seated at his desk. Of course he was writing letters.
Being informed of the arrival of a messenger from the north, he laid down
his pen, and inquired the news. The secretary replied that the accounts,
concerning the Armada were by no means so favourable as, could be wished.
The courier was then introduced, and made his dismal report. The King did
not change countenance. "Great thanks," he observed, "do I render to
Almighty God, by whose generous hand I am gifted with such power, that I
could easily, if I chose, place another fleet upon the seas. Nor is it of
very great importance that a running stream should be sometimes
intercepted, so long as the fountain from which it flows remains
inexhaustible."

So saying he resumed his pen, and serenely proceeded with his letters.
Christopher Moura stared with unaffected amazement at his sovereign, thus
tranquil while a shattered world was falling on his head, and then
retired to confer with his colleague.

"And how did his Majesty receive the blow?" asked Idiaquez.

"His Majesty thinks nothing of the blow," answered Moura, "nor do I,
consequently, make more of this great calamity than does his Majesty."

So the King--as fortune flew away from him, wrapped himself in his
virtue; and his counsellors, imitating their sovereign, arrayed
themselves in the same garment. Thus draped, they were all prepared to
bide the pelting of the storm which was only beating figuratively on
their heads, while it had been dashing the King's mighty galleons on the
rocks, and drowning by thousands the wretched victims of his ambition.
Soon afterwards, when the particulars of the great disaster were
thoroughly known, Philip ordered a letter to be addressed in his name to
all the bishops of Spain, ordering a solemn thanksgiving to the Almighty
for the safety of that portion of the invincible Armada which it had
pleased Him to preserve.

And thus, with the sound of mourning throughout Spain--for there was
scarce a household of which some beloved member had not perished in the
great catastrophe--and with the peals of merry bells over all England and
Holland, and with a solemn 'Te Deum' resounding in every church, the
curtain fell upon the great tragedy of the Armada.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Forbidding the wearing of mourning at all
     Hardly a distinguished family in Spain not placed in mourning
     Invincible Armada had not only been vanquished but annihilated
     Nothing could equal Alexander's fidelity, but his perfidy
     One could neither cry nor laugh within the Spanish dominions
     Security is dangerous
     Sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed
     Sure bind, sure find



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 59, 1588-1589



CHAPTER XX.

   Alexander besieges Bergen-op-Zoom--Pallavicini's Attempt to seduce
   Parma--Alexander's Fury--He is forced to raise the Siege, of Bergen
   --Gertruydenberg betrayed to Parma--Indignation of the States--
   Exploits, of Schenk--His Attack on Nymegen--He is defeated and
   drowned--English-Dutch Expedition to Spain--Its meagre Results--
   Death of Guise and of the Queen--Mother--Combinations after the
   Murder of Henry III.--Tandem fit Surculus Arbor.

The fever of the past two years was followed by comparative languor. The
deadly crisis was past, the freedom of Europe was saved, Holland and
England breathed again; but tension now gave place to exhaustion. The
events in the remainder of the year 1588, with those of 1589--although
important in themselves--were the immediate results of that history which
has been so minutely detailed in these volumes, and can be indicated in a
very few pages.

The Duke of Parma, melancholy, disappointed, angry stung to the soul by
calumnies as stupid as they were venomous, and already afflicted with a
painful and lingering disease, which his friends attributed to poison
administered by command of the master whom he had so faithfully
served--determined, if possible, to afford the consolation which that
master was so plaintively demanding at his hands.

So Alexander led the splendid army which had been packed in, and unpacked
from, the flat boats of Newport and Dunkerk, against Bergen-op-Zoom, and
besieged that city in form. Once of great commercial importance, although
somewhat fallen away from its original prosperity, Bergen was well
situate on a little stream which connected it with the tide-waters of the
Scheldt, and was the only place in Brabant, except Willemstad, still
remaining to the States. Opposite lay the Isle of Tholen from which it
was easily to be supplied and reinforced. The Vosmeer, a branch of the
Scheldt, separated the island from the main, and there was a path along
the bed of that estuary, which, at dead low-water, was practicable for
wading. Alexander, accordingly, sent a party of eight hundred pikemen,
under Montigny, Marquis of Renty, and Ottavio Mansfeld, supported on the
dyke by three thousand musketeers, across; the dangerous ford, at
ebb-tide, in order to seize this important island. It was an adventure
similar to those, which, in the days of the grand commander, and under
the guidance of Mondragon; had been on two occasions so brilliantly
successful. But the Isle of Tholen was now defended by Count Solms and a
garrison of fierce amphibious Zeelanders--of those determined bands which
had just been holding Farnese and his fleet in prison, and daring him to
the issue--and the invading party, after fortunately accomplishing their
night journey along the bottom of the Vosmeer, were unable to effect a
landing, were driven with considerable loss into the waves again, and
compelled to find their way back as best they could, along their
dangerous path, and with a rapidly rising tide. It was a blind and
desperate venture, and the Vosmeer soon swallowed four hundred of the
Spaniards. The rest, half-drowned or smothered, succeeded in reaching the
shore--the chiefs of the expedition, Renty and Mansfeld, having been with
difficulty rescued by their followers, when nearly sinking in the tide.

The Duke continued the siege, but the place was well defended by an
English and Dutch garrison, to the number of five thousand, and commanded
by Colonel Morgan, that bold and much experienced Welshman, so well known
in the Netherland wars. Willoughby and Maurice of Nassau, and
Olden-Barneveld were, at different times, within the walls; for the Duke
had been unable to invest the place so closely as to prevent all
communications from without; and, while Maurice was present, there were
almost daily sorties from the town, with many a spirited skirmish, to
give pleasure to the martial young Prince. The English, officers, Vere
and Baskerville, and two Netherland colonels, the brothers Bax, most
distinguished themselves on these occasions. The siege was not going on
with the good fortune which had usually attended the Spanish leaguer of
Dutch cities, while, on the 29th September, a personal incident came to
increase Alexander's dissatisfaction and melancholy.

On that day the Duke was sitting in his tent, brooding, as he was apt to
do, over the unjust accusations which had been heaped upon him in regard
to the failure of the Armada, when a stranger was announced. His name, he
said, was Giacomo Morone, and he was the bearer of a letter from Sir
Horace Pallavicini, a Genoese gentleman long established in London; and
known to be on confidential terms with the English government. Alexander
took the letter, and glancing at the bottom of the last page, saw that it
was not signed.

"How dare you bring me a dispatch without a signature?" he exclaimed. The
messenger, who was himself a Genoese, assured the Duke that the letter
was most certainly written by Pallavicini--who had himself placed it,
sealed, in his hands--and that he had supposed it signed, although he had
of course, not seen the inside.

Alexander began to read the note, which was not a very long one, and his
brow instantly darkened. He read a line or two more, when, with an
exclamation of fury, he drew his dagger, and, seizing the astonished
Genoese by the throat, was about to strike him dead. Suddenly mastering
his rage, however, by a strong effort, and remembering that the man might
be a useful witness; he flung Morone from him.

"If I had Pallavicini here," he said, "I would treat, him as I have just
refrained from using you. And if I had any suspicion that you were aware
of the contents of this letter, I would send you this instant to be
hanged."

The unlucky despatch-bearer protested his innocence of all complicity
with Pallavicini, and his ignorance of the tenor of the communication by
which the Duke's wrath had been so much excited. He was then searched and
cross-examined most carefully by Richardot and other counsellors, and his
innocence being made apparent-he was ultimately discharged.

The letter of Pallavicini was simply an attempt to sound Farnese as to
his sentiments in regard to a secret scheme, which could afterwards be
arranged in form, and according, to which he was to assume the
sovereignty of the Netherlands himself, to the exclusion of his King, to
guarantee to England the possession of the cautionary towns, until her
advances to the States should be refunded, and to receive the support and
perpetual alliance of the Queen in his new and rebellious position.

Here was additional evidence, if any were wanting, of the universal
belief in his disloyalty; and Alexander, faithful, if man ever were to
his master--was cut to the heart, and irritated almost to madness, by
such insolent propositions. There is neither proof nor probability that
the Queen's government was implicated in this intrigue of Pallavicini,
who appears to have been inspired by the ambition of achieving a bit of
Machiavellian policy, quite on his own account. Nothing came of the
proposition, and the Duke; having transmitted to the King a minute
narrative of, the affair, together with indignant protestations of the
fidelity, which all the world seemed determined to dispute, received most
affectionate replies from that monarch, breathing nothing but unbounded
confidence in his nephew's innocence and devotion.

Such assurances from any other man in the world might have disarmed
suspicion, but Alexander knew his master too well to repose upon his
word, and remembered too bitterly the last hours of Don John of Austria
--whose dying pillow he had soothed, and whose death had been hastened,
as he knew, either by actual poison or by the hardly less fatal venom of
slander--to regain tranquillity as to his own position.

The King was desirous that Pallavicini should be invited over to
Flanders, in order that Alexander, under pretence of listening to his
propositions, might draw from the Genoese all the particulars of his
scheme, and then, at leisure, inflict the punishment which he had
deserved. But insuperable obstacles presented themselves, nor was
Alexander desirous of affording still further pretexts for his
slanderers.

Very soon after this incident--most important as showing the real
situation of various parties, although without any immediate
result--Alexander received a visit in his tent from another stranger.
This time the visitor was an Englishman, one Lieutenant Grimstone, and
the object of his interview with the Duke was not political, but had, a
direct reference to the siege of Bergen. He was accompanied by a
countryman of his own, Redhead by name, a camp-suttler by profession. The
two represented themselves as deserters from the besieged city, and
offered, for a handsome reward, to conduct a force of Spaniards, by a
secret path, into one of the gates. The Duke questioned them narrowly,
and being satisfied with their intelligence and coolness, caused them to
take an oath on the Evangelists, that they were not playing him false. He
then selected a band of one hundred musketeers, partly Spaniards, partly
Walloons--to be followed at a distance by a much, more considerable
force; two thousand in number, under Sancho de Leyva: and the Marquis of
Renti--and appointed the following night for an enterprise against the
city, under the guidance of Grimstone.

It was a wild autumnal night, moonless, pitch-dark, with a storm of wind
and rain. The waters were out--for the dykes had been cut in all
'directions by the defenders of the city--and, with exception of some
elevated points occupied by Parma's forces, the whole country was
overflowed. Before the party set forth on their daring expedition, the
two Englishmen were tightly bound with cords, and led, each by two
soldiers, instructed to put them to instant death if their conduct should
give cause for suspicion. But both Grimstone and Redhead preserved a
cheerful countenance, and inspired a strong confidence in their honest
intention to betray their countrymen. And thus the band of bold
adventurers plunged at once into the darkness, and soon found themselves
contending with the tempest, and wading breast high in the black waters
of the Scheldt.

After a long and perilous struggle, they at length reached the appointed
gate, The external portcullis was raised and the fifteen foremost of the
band rushed into the town. At the next moment, Lord Willoughby, who had
been privy to the whole scheme, cut with his own hand the cords which,
held the portcullis, and entrapped the leaders of the expedition, who
were all, at once put to the sword, while their followers were thundering
at the gate. The lieutenant and suttler who had thus overreached that
great master of dissimulation; Alexander Farnese; were at the same time
unbound by their comrades, and rescued from the fate intended for them.

Notwithstanding the probability--when the portcullis fell--that the whole
party, had been deceived by an artifice of war the adventurers, who had
come so far, refused to abandon the enterprise, and continued an
impatient battery upon the gate. At last it was swung wide open, and a
furious onslaught was made by the garrison upon the Spaniards. There
was--a fierce brief struggle, and then the assailants were utterly
routed. Some were killed under the walls, while the rest were hunted into
the waves. Nearly every one of the, expedition (a thousand in number)
perished.

It had now become obvious to the Duke that his siege must be raised. The
days were gone when the walls of Dutch towns seemed to melt before the
first scornful glance of the Spanish invader; and when a summons meant a
surrender, and a surrender a massacre. Now, strong in the feeling of
independence, and supported by the courage and endurance of their English
allies, the Hollanders had learned to humble the pride of Spain as it had
never been humbled before. The hero of a hundred battle-fields, the
inventive and brilliant conqueror of Antwerp, seemed in the deplorable
issue of the English invasion to have lost all his genius, all his
fortune. A cloud had fallen upon his fame, and he now saw himself; at the
head of the best army in Europe, compelled to retire, defeated and
humiliated, from the walls of Bergen. Winter was coming on apace; the
country was flooded; the storms in that-bleak region and inclement season
were incessant; and he was obliged to retreat before his army should be
drowned.

On the night of 12-13 November he set fire to his camp; and took his
departure. By daybreak he was descried in full retreat, and was hotly
pursued by the English and Dutch from the city, who drove the great
Alexander and his legions before them in ignominious flight. Lord
Willoughby, in full view of the retiring enemy, indulged the allied
forces with a chivalrous spectacle. Calling a halt, after it had become
obviously useless, with their small force of cavalry; to follow any
longer, through a flooded country, an enemy who had abandoned his design,
he solemnly conferred the honour of knighthood, in the name of Queen
Elizabeth, on the officers who had most distinguished themselves during
the siege, Francis Vere, Baskerville, Powell, Parker, Knowles, and on the
two Netherland brothers, Paul and Marcellus Bax.

The Duke of Parma then went into winter quarters in Brabant, and, before
the spring, that obedient Province had been eaten as bare as Flanders had
already been by the friendly Spaniards.

An excellent understanding between England and Holland had been the
result of their united and splendid exertions against the Invincible
Armada. Late in the year 1588 Sir John Norris had been sent by the Queen
to offer her congratulations and earnest thanks to the States for their
valuable assistance in preserving her throne, and to solicit their
cooperation in some new designs against the common foe. Unfortunately,
however, the epoch of good feeling was but of brief duration. Bitterness
and dissension seemed the inevitable conditions of the English-Dutch
alliance. It will be, remembered, that, on the departure of Leicester,
several cities had refused to acknowledge the authority of Count Maurice
and the States; and that civil war in the scarcely-born commonwealth had
been the result. Medenblik, Naarden, and the other contumacious cities,
had however been reduced to obedience after the reception of the Earl's
resignation, but the important city of Gertruydenberg had remained in a
chronic state of mutiny. This rebellion had been partially appeased
during the year 1588 by the efforts of Willoughby, who had strengthened,
the garrison by reinforcements of English troops under command of his
brother-in-law, Sir John Wingfield. Early in 1589 however, the whole
garrison became rebellious, disarmed and maltreated the burghers, and
demanded immediate payment of the heavy arrearages still due to the
troops. Willoughby, who--much disgusted with his career in the
Netherlands--was about leaving for England, complaining that the States
had not only left him without remuneration for his services, but had not
repaid his own advances, nor even given him a complimentary dinner, tried
in vain to pacify them. A rumour became very current, moreover, that the
garrison had opened negotiations with Alexander Farnese, and accordingly
Maurice of Nassau--of whose patrimonial property the city of
Gertruydenberg made a considerable proportion, to the amount of eight
thousand pounds sterling a years--after summoning the garrison, in his
own name and that of the States, to surrender, laid siege to the place in
form. It would have been cheaper, no doubt, to pay the demands of the
garrison in full, and allow them to depart. But Maurice considered his
honour at stake. His letters of summons, in which he spoke of the
rebellious commandant and his garrison as self-seeking foreigners and
mercenaries, were taken in very ill part. Wingfield resented the
statement in very insolent language, and offered to prove its falsehood
with his sword against any man and in any place whatever. Willoughby
wrote to his brother-in-law, from Flushing, when about to embark,
disapproving of his conduct and of his language; and to Maurice,
deprecating hostile measures against a city under the protection of Queen
Elizabeth. At any rate, he claimed that Sir John Wingfield and his wife,
the Countess of Kent, with their newly-born child, should be allowed to
depart from the place. But Wingfield expressed great scorn at any
suggestion of retreat, and vowed that he would rather surrender the city
to the Spaniards than tolerate the presumption of Maurice and the States.
The young Prince accordingly, opened his batteries, but before an
entrance could be effected into the town, was obliged to retire at the
approach of Count Mansfield with a much superior force. Gertruydenberg
was now surrendered to the Spaniards in accordance with a secret
negotiation which had been proceeding all the spring, and had been
brought to a conclusion at last. The garrison received twelve months' pay
in full and a gratuity of five months in addition, and the city was then
reduced into obedience to Spain and Rome on the terms which had been
usual during the government of Farnese.

The loss of this city was most severe to the republic, for the enemy had
thus gained an entrance into the very heart of Holland. It was a more
important acquisition to Alexander than even Bergen-op-Zoom would have
been, and it was a bitter reflection that to the treachery of
Netherlanders and of their English allies this great disaster was owing.
All the wrath aroused a year before by the famous treason of York and
Stanley, and which had been successfully extinguished, now flamed forth
afresh. The States published a placard denouncing the men who had thus
betrayed the cause of freedom, and surrendered the city of Gertruydenberg
to the Spaniards, as perjured traitors whom it was made lawful to hang,
whenever or wherever caught, without trial or sentence, and offering
fifty florins a-head for every private soldier and one hundred florins
for any officer of the garrison. A list of these Englishmen and
Netherlanders, so far as known, was appended to the placard, and the
catalogue was headed by the name of Sir John Wingfield.

Thus the consequences of the fatal event were even more deplorable than
the loss of the city itself. The fury of Olden-Barneveld at the treason
was excessive, and the great Advocate governed the policy of the
republic, at this period, almost like a dictator. The States, easily
acknowledging the sway of the imperious orator, became bitter--and
wrathful with the English, side by side with whom they had lately been so
cordially standing.

Willoughby, on his part, now at the English court, was furious with the
States, and persuaded the leading counsellors of the Queen as well as her
Majesty herself, to adopt his view of the transaction. Wingfield, it was
asserted, was quite innocent in the matter; he was entirely ignorant of
the French language, and therefore was unable to read a word of the
letters addressed to him by Maurice and the replies which had been signed
by himself. Whether this strange excuse ought to be accepted or not, it
is quite certain that he was no traitor like York and Stanley, and no
friend to Spain; for he had stipulated for himself the right to return to
England, and had neither received nor desired any reward. He hated
Maurice and he hated the States, but he asserted that he had been held in
durance, that the garrison was mutinous, and that he was no more
responsible for the loss of the city than Sir Francis Vere had been, who
had also been present, and whose name had been subsequently withdrawn, in
honourable fashion from the list of traitors, by authority of the States.
His position--so far as he was personally concerned--seemed defensible,
and the Queen was thoroughly convinced of his innocence. Willoughby
complained that the republic was utterly in the hands of Barneveld, that
no man ventured to lift his voice or his eyes in presence of the terrible
Advocate who ruled every Netherlander with a rod of iron, and that his
violent and threatening language to Wingfield and himself at the
dinner-table in Bergen-op-Zoom on the subject of the mutiny (when one
hundred of the Gertruydenberg garrison were within sound of his voice)
had been the chief cause of the rebellion. Inspired by these
remonstrances, the Queen once more emptied the vials of her wrath upon
the United Netherlands. The criminations and recriminations seemed
endless, and it was most fortunate that Spain had been weakened, that
Alexander, a prey to melancholy and to lingering disease, had gone to the
baths of Spa to recruit his shattered health, and that his attention and
the schemes of Philip for the year 1589 and the following period were to
be directed towards France. Otherwise the commonwealth could hardly have
escaped still more severe disasters than those already experienced in
this unfortunate condition of its affairs, and this almost hopeless
misunderstanding with its most important and vigorous friend.

While these events had been occurring in the heart of the republic,
Martin Schenk, that restless freebooter, had been pursuing a bustling and
most lucrative career on its outskirts. All the episcopate of
Cologne--that debatable land of the two rival paupers, Bavarian Ernest
and Gebhard Truchsess--trembled before him. Mothers scared their children
into quiet with the terrible name of Schenk, and farmers and
land-younkers throughout the electorate and the land of Berg, Cleves, and
Juliers, paid their black-mail, as if it were a constitutional impost, to
escape the levying process of the redoubtable partisan.

But Martin was no longer seconded, as he should have been, by the States,
to whom he had been ever faithful since he forsook the banner of Spain
for their own; and he had even gone to England and complained to the
Queen of the short-comings of those who owed him so much. His ingenious
and daring exploit--the capture of Bonn--has already been narrated, but
the States had neglected the proper precautions to secure that important
city. It had consequently, after a six months' siege, been surrendered to
the Spaniards under Prince Chimay, on the 19th of September; while, in
December following, the city of Wachtendonk, between the Rhine and Meuse,
had fallen into Mansfeld's hands. Rheinberg, the only city of the
episcopate which remained to the deposed Truchsess, was soon afterwards
invested by the troops of Parma, and Schenk in vain summoned the
States-General to take proper measures for its defence. But with the
enemy now eating his way towards the heart of Holland, and with so many
dangers threatening them on every side, it was thought imprudent to go so
far away to seek the enemy. So Gebhard retired in despair into Germany,
and Martin did what he could to protect Rheinberg, and to fill his own
coffers at the expense of the whole country side.

He had built a fort, which then and long afterwards bore his
name-Schenken Schans, or Schenk's Sconce--at that important point where
the Rhine, opening its two arms to enclose the "good meadow" island of
Batavia, becomes on the left the Waal, while on the right it retains its
ancient name; and here, on the outermost edge of the republic, and
looking straight from his fastness into the fruitful fields of Munster,
Westphalia, and the electorate, the industrious Martin devoted himself
with advantage to his favourite pursuits.

On the 7th of August, on the heath of Lippe, he had attacked a body of
Spanish musketeers, more than a thousand strong, who were protecting a
convoy of provisions, treasure, and furniture, sent by Farnese to
Verdugo, royal governor of Friesland. Schenk, without the loss of a
single man, had put the greater part of these Spaniards and Walloons to
the sword, and routed the rest. The leader of the expedition, Colonel
Aristotle Patton, who had once played him so foul a trick in the
surrender of Gelder, had soon taken to flight, when he found his ancient
enemy upon him, and, dashing into the Lippe, had succeeded, by the
strength and speed of his horse, in gaining the opposite bank, and
effecting his escape. Had he waited many minutes longer it is probable
that the treacherous Aristotle would have passed a comfortless half-hour
with his former comrade. Treasure to the amount of seven thousand crowns
in gold, five hundred horses, with jewels, plate, and other articles of
value, were the fruit of this adventure, and Schenk returned with his
followers, highly delighted, to Schenkenschans, and sent the captured
Spanish colours to her Majesty of England as a token.

A few miles below his fortress was Nymegen, and towards that ancient and
wealthy city Schenk had often cast longing eyes. It still held for the
King, although on the very confines of Batavia; but while acknowledging
the supremacy of Philip, it claimed the privileges of the empire. From
earliest times it had held its head very high among imperial towns, had
been one of the three chief residences of the Emperor. Charlemagne, and
still paid the annual tribute of a glove full of pepper to the German
empire.

On the evening of the 10th of August, 1589, there was a wedding feast in
one of the splendid mansions of the stately city. The festivities were
prolonged until deep in the midsummer's night, and harp and viol were
still inspiring the feet of the dancers, when on a sudden, in the midst
of the holiday-groups, appeared the grim visage of Martin Schenk, the man
who never smiled. Clad in no wedding-garment, but in armour of proof,
with morion on head, and sword in hand, the great freebooter strode
heavily through the ball-room, followed by a party of those terrible
musketeers who never gave or asked for quarter, while the affrighted
revellers fluttered away before them.

Taking advantage of a dark night, he had just dropped down the river from
his castle, with five-and-twenty barges, had landed with his most trusted
soldiers in the foremost vessels, had battered down the gate of St.
Anthony, and surprised and slain the guard. Without waiting for the rest
of his boats, he had then stolen with his comrades through the silent
streets, and torn away the lattice-work, and other slight defences on the
rear of the house which they had now entered, and through which they
intended to possess themselves of the market-place. Martin had long since
selected this mansion as a proper position for his enterprise, but he had
not been bidden to the wedding, and was somewhat disconcerted when he
found himself on the festive scene which he had so grimly interrupted.
Some of the merry-makers escaped from the house, and proceeded to alarm
the town; while Schenk hastily fortified his position; and took
possession of the square. But the burghers and garrison were soon on
foot, and he was driven back into the house. Three times he recovered the
square by main strength of his own arm, seconded by the handful of men
whom he had brought with him, and three times he was beaten back by
overwhelming numbers into the wedding mansion. The arrival of the greater
part of his followers, with whose assistance he could easily have
mastered the city in the first moments of surprise, was mysteriously
delayed. He could not account for their prolonged, absence, and was
meanwhile supported only by those who had arrived with him in the
foremost barges.

The truth--of which he was ignorant--was, that the remainder of the
flotilla, borne along by the strong and deep current of the Waal, then in
a state of freshet, had shot past the landing-place, and had ever since
been vainly struggling against wind and tide to force their way back to
the necessary point. Meantime Schenk and his followers fought desperately
in the market-place, and desperately in the house which he had seized.
But a whole garrison, and a town full of citizens in arms proved too much
for him, and he was now hotly besieged in the mansion, and at last driven
forth into the streets.

By this time day was dawning, the whole population, soldiers and
burghers, men, women, and children, were thronging about the little band
of marauders, and assailing them with every weapon and every missile to
be found. Schenk fought with his usual ferocity, but at last the
musketeers, in spite of his indignant commands, began rapidly to retreat
towards the quay. In vain Martin stormed and cursed, in vain with his own
hand he struck more than one of his soldiers dead. He was swept along
with the panic-stricken band, and when, shouting and gnashing his teeth
with frenzy, he reached the quay at last, he saw at a glance why his
great enterprise had failed. The few empty barges of his own party were
moored at the steps; the rest were half a mile off, contending hopelessly
against the swollen and rapid Waal. Schenk, desperately wounded, was left
almost alone upon the wharf, for his routed followers had plunged helter
skelter into the boats, several of which, overladen in the panic, sank at
once, leaving the soldiers to drown or struggle with the waves. The game
was lost. Nothing was left the freebooter but retreat. Reluctantly
turning his back on his enemies, now in full cry close behind him, Schenk
sprang into the last remaining boat just pushing from the quay. Already
overladen, it foundered with his additional weight, and Martin Schenk,
encumbered with his heavy armour, sank at once to the bottom of the Waal.

Some of the fugitives succeeded in swimming down the stream, and were
picked up by their comrades in the barges below the town, and so made
their escape. Many were drowned with their captain. A few days
afterwards, the inhabitants of Nymegen fished up the body of the famous
partisan. He was easily recognized by his armour, and by his truculent
face, still wearing the scowl with which he had last rebuked his
followers. His head was taken off at once, and placed on one of the
turrets of the town, and his body, divided in four, was made to adorn
other portions of the battlements; so that the burghers were enabled to
feast their eyes on the remnants of the man at whose name the whole
country had so often trembled.

This was the end of Sir Martin Schenk of Niddegem, knight, colonel, and
brigand; save that ultimately his dissevered limbs were packed in a
chest, and kept in a church tower, until Maurice of Nassau, in course of
time becoming master of Nymegen, honoured the valiant and on the whole
faithful freebooter with a Christian and military burial.

A few months later (October, 1589) another man who had been playing an
important part in the Netherlands' drama lost his life. Count Moeurs and
Niewenaar, stadholder of Utrecht, Gelderland, and Overysael, while
inspecting some newly-invented fireworks, was suddenly killed by their
accidental ignition and explosion. His death left vacant three great
stadholderates, which before long were to be conferred upon a youth whose
power henceforth was rapidly to grow greater.

The misunderstanding between Holland and England continuing,
Olden-Barneveld, Aerssens, and Buys, refusing to see that they had done
wrong in denouncing the Dutch and English traitors who had sold
Gertruydenberg to the enemy, and the Queen and her counsellors persisting
in their anger at so insolent a proceeding, it may easily be supposed
that there was no great heartiness in the joint expedition against Spain,
which had been projected in the autumn of 1588, and was accomplished in
the spring and summer of 1589.

Nor was this well-known enterprise fruitful of any remarkable result. It
had been decided to carry the war into Spain itself, and Don Antonio,
prior of Crato, bastard of Portugal, and pretender to its crown, had
persuaded himself and the English government that his name would be
potent to conjure with in that kingdom, hardly yet content with the
Spanish yoke. Supported by a determined force of English and Dutch
adventurers, he boasted that he should excite a revolution by the magic
of his presence, and cause Philip's throne to tremble, in return for the
audacious enterprise of that monarch against England.

If a foray were to be made into Spain, no general and no admiral could be
found in the world so competent to the adventure as Sir John Norris and
Sir Francis Drake. They were accompanied, too, by Sir Edward Norris, and
another of those 'chickens of Mars,' Henry Norris; by the indomitable and
ubiquitous Welshman, Roger Williams, and by the young Earl of Essex, whom
the Queen in vain commanded to remain at home, and who, somewhat to the
annoyance of the leaders of the expedition, concealed himself from her
Majesty's pursuit, and at last embarked in a vessel which he had
equipped, in order not to be cheated of his share in the hazard and the
booty. "If I speed well," said the spendthrift but valiant youth; "I will
adventure to be rich; if not, I will never live, to see the end of my
poverty."

But no great riches were to be gathered in the expedition. With some
fourteen thousand men, and one hundred and sixty vessels--of which six
were the Queen's ships of war, including the famous Revenge and the
Dreadnought, and the rest armed merchantmen, English, and forty
Hollanders--and with a contingent of fifteen hundred Dutchmen under
Nicolas van Meetkerke and Van Laen, the adventurers set sail from
Plymouth on the 18th of April, 1589.

They landed at Coruna--at which place they certainly could not expect to
create a Portuguese revolution, which was the first object of the
expedition--destroyed some shipping in the harbour, captured and sacked
the lower town, and were repulsed in the upper; marched with six thousand
men to Burgos, crossed the bridge at push of pike, and routed ten
thousand Spaniards under Andrada and Altamira--Edward Norris receiving a
desperate blow on the head at the passage' of the bridge, and being
rescued from death by his brother John--took sail for the south after
this action, in which they had killed a thousand Spaniards, and had lost
but two men of their own; were joined off Cape Finisterre by Essex;
landed a force at Peniche, the castle of which place surrendered to them,
and acknowledged the authority of Don Antonio; and thence marched with
the main body of the troops, under Sir John Norris, forty-eight miles to
Lisbon, while Drake, with the fleet, was to sail up the Tagus.

Nothing like a revolution had been effected in Portugal. No one seemed to
care for the Pretender, or even to be aware that he had ever existed,
except the governor of Peniche Castle, a few ragged and bare-footed
peasants, who, once upon the road, shouted "Viva Don Antonio," and one
old gentleman by the way side, who brought him a plate of plums. His
hopes of a crown faded rapidly, and when the army reached Lisbon it had
dwindled to not much more than four thousand effective men--the rest
being dead of dysentery, or on the sick-list from imprudence in eating
and drinking--while they found that they had made an unfortunate omission
in their machinery for assailing the capital, having not a single
fieldpiece in the whole army. Moreover, as Drake was prevented by bad
weather and head-winds from sailing up the Tagus, it seemed a difficult
matter to carry the city. A few cannon, and the co-operation of the
fleet, were hardly to be dispensed with on such an occasion. Nevertheless
it would perhaps have proved an easier task than it appeared--for so
great was the panic within the place that a large number of the
inhabitants had fled, the Cardinal Viceroy Archduke Albert had but a very
insufficient guard, and there were many gentlemen of high station who
were anxious to further the entrance of the English, and who were
afterwards hanged or garotted for their hostile sentiments to the Spanish
government.

While the leaders were deliberating what course to take, they were
informed that Count Fuentes and Henriquez de Guzman, with six thousand
men, lay at a distance of two miles from Lisbon, and that they had been
proclaiming by sound of trumpet that the English had been signally
defeated before Lisbon, and that they were in full retreat.

Fired at this bravado, Norris sent a trumpet to Fuentes and Guzman, with
a letter signed and sealed, giving them the lie in plainest terms,
appointing the next day for a meeting of the two forces, and assuring
them that when the next encounter should take place, it should be seen
whether a Spaniard or an Englishman would be first to fly; while Essex,
on his part, sent a note, defying either or both those boastful generals
to single combat. Next day the English army took the field, but the
Spaniards retired before them; and nothing came of this exchange of
cartels, save a threat on the part of Fuentes to hang the trumpeter who
had brought the messages. From the execution of this menace he refrained,
however, on being assured that the deed would be avenged by the death of
the Spanish prisoner of highest rank then in English hands, and thus the
trumpeter escaped.

Soon afterwards the fleet set sail from the Tagus, landed, and burned
Vigo on their way homeward, and returned to Plymouth about the middle of
July.

Of the thirteen thousand came home six thousand, the rest having perished
of dysentery and other disorders. They had braved and insulted Spain,
humbled her generals, defied her power, burned some defenceless villages,
frightened the peasantry, set fire to some shipping, destroyed wine, oil,
and other merchandize, and had divided among the survivors of the
expedition, after landing in England, five shillings a head prize-money;
but they had not effected a revolution in Portugal. Don Antonio had been
offered nothing by his faithful subjects but a dish of plums--so that he
retired into obscurity from that time forward--and all this was scarcely
a magnificent result for the death of six or seven thousand good English
and Dutch soldiers, and the outlay of considerable treasure.

As a free-booting foray--and it was nothing else--it could hardly be
thought successful; although it was a splendid triumph compared with the
result of the long and loudly heralded Invincible Armada.

In France, great events during the remainder of 1588 and the following
year, and which are well known even to the most superficial student of
history, had much changed the aspect of European affairs. It was
fortunate for the two commonwealths of Holland and England, engaged in
the great struggle for civil and religious liberty, and national
independence, that the attention of Philip became more and more
absorbed-as time wore on--with the affairs of France. It seemed necessary
for him firmly to establish his dominion in that country before
attempting once more the conquest of England, or the recovery of the
Netherlands. For France had been brought more nearly to anarchy and utter
decomposition than ever. Henry III., after his fatal forgiveness of the
deadly offence of Guise, felt day by day more keenly that he had
transferred his sceptre--such as it was--to that dangerous intriguer.
Bitterly did the King regret having refused the prompt offer of Alphonse
Corse on the day of the barricades; for now, so long as the new
generalissimo should live, the luckless Henry felt himself a superfluity
in his own realm. The halcyon days were for ever past, when, protected by
the swords of Joyeuse and of Epernon, the monarch of France could pass
his life playing at cup and ball, or snipping images out of pasteboard,
or teaching his parrots-to talk, or his lap-dogs to dance. His royal
occupations were gone, and murder now became a necessary preliminary to
any future tranquillity or enjoyment. Discrowned as he felt himself
already, he knew that life or liberty was only held by him now at the
will of Guise. The assassination of the Duke in December was the
necessary result of the barricades in May; and accordingly that
assassination was arranged with an artistic precision of which the world
had hardly suspected the Valois to be capable, and which Philip himself
might have envied.

The story of the murders of Blois--the destruction of Guise and his
brother the Cardinal, and the subsequent imprisonment of the Archbishop
of Lyons, the Cardinal Bourbon, and the Prince de Joinville, now, through
the death of his father, become the young Duke of Guise--all these events
are too familiar in the realms of history, song, romance, and painting,
to require more than this slight allusion here.

Never had an assassination been more technically successful; yet its
results were not commensurate with the monarch's hopes. The deed which he
had thought premature in May was already too late in December. His mother
denounced his cruelty now, as she had, six months before, execrated his
cowardice. And the old Queen, seeing that her game was played out--that
the cards had all gone against her--that her son was doomed, and her own
influence dissolved in air, felt that there was nothing left for her but
to die. In a week she was dead, and men spoke no more of Catharine de'
Medici, and thought no more of her than if--in the words of a splenetic
contemporary--"she had been a dead she-goat." Paris howled with rage when
it learned the murders of Blois, and the sixteen quarters became more
furious than ever against the Valois. Some wild talk there was of
democracy and republicanism after the manner of Switzerland, and of
dividing France into cantons--and there was an earnest desire on the part
of every grandee, every general, every soldier of fortune, to carve out a
portion of French territory with his sword, and to appropriate it for
himself and his heirs. Disintegration was making rapid progress, and the
epoch of the last Valois seemed mare dark and barbarous than the times of
the degenerate Carlovingians had been. The letter-writer of the Escorial,
who had earnestly warned his faithful Mucio, week after week, that
dangers were impending over him, and that "some trick would be played
upon him," should he venture into the royal presence, now acquiesced in
his assassination, and placidly busied himself with fresh combinations
and newer tools.

Baked, hunted, scorned by all beside, the luckless Henry now threw
himself into the arms of the Bearnese--the man who could and would have
protected him long before, had the King been capable of understanding
their relative positions and his own true interests. Could the Valois
have conceived the thought of religious toleration, his throne even then
might have been safe. But he preferred playing the game of the priests
and bigots, who execrated his name and were bent upon his destruction. At
last, at Plessis les Tours, the Bearnese, in his shabby old chamois
jacket and his well-dinted cuirass took the silken Henry in his arms, and
the two--the hero and the fribble--swearing eternal friendship, proceeded
to besiege Paris. A few weeks later, the dagger of Jacques Clement put an
end for ever to, the line of Valois. Luckless Henry III. slept with his
forefathers, and Henry of Bourbon and Navarre proclaimed himself King of
France. Catharine and her four sons had all past away at last, and it
would be a daring and a dexterous schemer who should now tear the crown,
for which he had so long and so patiently waited, from the iron grasp of
the Bearnese. Philip had a more difficult game than ever to play in
France. It would be hard for him to make valid the claims of the Infanta
and any husband he might select for her to the crown of her grandfather
Henry II. It seemed simple enough for him, while waiting the course of
events, to set up a royal effigy before the world in the shape of an
effete old Cardinal Bourbon, to pour oil upon its head and to baptize it
Charles X.; but meantime the other Bourbon was no effigy, and he called
himself Henry IV.

It was easy enough for Paris, and Madam League, and Philip the Prudent,
to cry wo upon the heretic; but the cheerful leader of the Huguenots was
a philosopher, who in the days of St. Bartholomew had become orthodox to
save his life, and who was already "instructing himself" anew in order to
secure his crown. Philip was used to deal with fanatics, and had often
been opposed by a religious bigotry as fierce as his own; but he might
perhaps be baffled by a good-humoured free-thinker, who was to teach him
a lesson in political theology of which he had never dreamed.

The Leaguers were not long in doubt as to the meaning of "instruction,"
and they were thoroughly persuaded that--so soon as Henry IV. should
reconcile himself with Rome--their game was likely to become desperate.

Nevertheless prudent Philip sat in his elbow-chairs writing his
apostilles, improving himself and his secretaries in orthography, but
chiefly confining his attention to the affairs of France. The departed
Mucio's brother Mayenne was installed as chief stipendiary of Spain and
lieutenant-general for the League in France, until Philip should
determine within himself in what form to assume the sovereignty of that
kingdom. It might be questionable however whether that corpulent Duke,
who spent more time in eating than Henry IV. did in sleeping, and was
longer in reading a letter than Henry in winning a battle, were likely to
prove a very dangerous rival even with all Spain at his back--to the
lively Bearnese. But time would necessarily be consumed before the end
was reached, and time and Philip were two. Henry of Navarre and France
was ready to open his ears to instruction; but even he had declared,
several years before, that "a religion was not to be changed like a
shirt." So while the fresh garment was airing for him at Rome, and while
he was leisurely stripping off the old, he might perhaps be taken at a
disadvantage. Fanaticism on both sides, during this process of
instruction, might be roused. The Huguenots on their part might denounce
the treason of their great chief, and the Papists, on theirs, howl at the
hypocrisy of the pretended conversion. But Henry IV. had philosophically
prepared himself for the denunciations of the Protestants, while
determined to protect them against the persecutions of the Romanism to
which he meant to give his adhesion. While accepting the title of
renegade, together with an undisputed crown, he was not the man to
rekindle those fires of religious bigotry which it was his task to
quench, now that they had lighted his way to the throne. The demands of
his Catholic supporters for the exclusion from the kingdom of all
religions but their own, were steadily refused.

And thus the events of 1588 and 1589 indicated that the great game of
despotism against freedom would be played, in the coming years, upon the
soil of France. Already Elizabeth had furnished the new King with L22,000
in gold--a larger sum; as he observed, than he had ever seen before in
his life, and the States of the Netherlands had provided him with as much
more. Willoughby too, and tough Roger Williams, and Baskerville, and
Umpton, and Vere, with 4000 English pikemen at their back, had already
made a brief but spirited campaign in France; and the Duke of Parma,
after recruiting his health; so, far as it was possible; at Spa, was
preparing himself to measure swords with that great captain of Huguenots;
who now assumed the crown of his ancestors, upon the same ground. It
seemed probable that for the coming years England would be safe from
Spanish invasion, and that Holland would have a better opportunity than
it had ever enjoyed before of securing its liberty and perfecting its
political organization. While Parma, Philip; and Mayenne were fighting
the Bearnese for the crown of France, there might be a fairer field for
the new commonwealth of the United Netherlands.

And thus many of the personages who have figured in these volumes have
already passed away. Leicester had died just after the defeat of the
Armada, and the thrifty Queen, while dropping a tear upon the grave of
'sweet Robin,' had sold his goods at auction to defray his debts to
herself; and Moeurs, and Martin Schenk, and 'Mucio,' and Henry III., and
Catharine de' Medici, were all dead. But Philip the Prudent remained, and
Elizabeth of England, and Henry of France and Navarre, and John of
Olden-Barneveld; and there was still another personage, a very young man
still, but a deep-thinking, hard-working student, fagging steadily at
mathematics and deep in the works of Stevinus, who, before long, might
play a conspicuous part in the world's great drama. But, previously to
1590, Maurice of Nassau seemed comparatively insignificant, and he could
be spoken of by courtiers as a cipher, and as an unmannerly boy just let
loose from school.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     I will never live, to see the end of my poverty
     Religion was not to be changed like a shirt
     Tension now gave place to exhaustion

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE 1586-89 UNITED NETHERLANDS:

     A burnt cat fears the fire
     A free commonwealth--was thought an absurdity
     Act of Uniformity required Papists to assist
     All business has been transacted with open doors
     And thus this gentle and heroic spirit took its flight
     Are wont to hang their piety on the bell-rope
     Arminianism
     As lieve see the Spanish as the Calvinistic inquisition
     As logical as men in their cups are prone to be
     Baiting his hook a little to his appetite
     Beacons in the upward path of mankind
     Been already crimination and recrimination more than enough
     Bungling diplomatists and credulous dotards
     Canker of a long peace
     Casting up the matter "as pinchingly as possibly might be"
     Defect of enjoying the flattery, of his inferiors in station
     Disposed to throat-cutting by the ministers of the Gospel
     During this, whole war, we have never seen the like
     Elizabeth (had not) the faintest idea of religious freedom
     Englishmen and Hollanders preparing to cut each other's throats
     Even to grant it slowly is to deny it utterly
     Evil is coming, the sooner it arrives the better
     Faction has rarely worn a more mischievous aspect
     Fitter to obey than to command
     Five great rivers hold the Netherland territory in their coils
     Fool who useth not wit because he hath it not
     Forbidding the wearing of mourning at all
     Full of precedents and declamatory commonplaces
     God, whose cause it was, would be pleased to give good weather
     Guilty of no other crime than adhesion to the Catholic faith
     Hard at work, pouring sand through their sieves
     Hardly a distinguished family in Spain not placed in mourning
     Heretics to the English Church were persecuted
     High officers were doing the work of private, soldiers
     I did never see any man behave himself as he did
     I am a king that will be ever known not to fear any but God
     I will never live, to see the end of my poverty
     Individuals walking in advance of their age
     Infamy of diplomacy, when diplomacy is unaccompanied by honesty
     Inquisitors enough; but there were no light vessels in The Armada
     Invincible Armada had not only been vanquished but annihilated
     Look for a sharp war, or a miserable peace
     Loving only the persons who flattered him
     Mendacity may always obtain over innocence and credulity
     Never peace well made, he observed, without a mighty war
     Never did statesmen know better how not to do
     Not many more than two hundred Catholics were executed
     Nothing could equal Alexander's fidelity, but his perfidy
     One could neither cry nor laugh within the Spanish dominions
     Only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror was distrust
     Pray here for satiety, (said Cecil) than ever think of variety
     Rebuked him for his obedience
     Religion was not to be changed like a shirt
     Respect for differences in religious opinions
     Sacrificed by the Queen for faithfully obeying her orders
     Security is dangerous
     She relieth on a hope that will deceive her
     Simple truth was highest skill
     Sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed
     Sparing and war have no affinity together
     Stake or gallows (for) heretics to transubstantiation
     States were justified in their almost unlimited distrust
     Strength does a falsehood acquire in determined and skilful hand
     Succeeded so well, and had been requited so ill
     Sure bind, sure find
     Sword in hand is the best pen to write the conditions of peace
     Tension now gave place to exhaustion
     That crowned criminal, Philip the Second
     The worst were encouraged with their good success
     The blaze of a hundred and fifty burning vessels
     The sapling was to become the tree
     Their existence depended on war
     There is no man fitter for that purpose than myself
     They chose to compel no man's conscience
     Tolerating religious liberty had never entered his mind
     Torturing, hanging, embowelling of men, women, and children
     Trust her sword, not her enemy's word
     Undue anxiety for impartiality
     Universal suffrage was not dreamed of at that day
     Waiting the pleasure of a capricious and despotic woman
     We were sold by their negligence who are now angry with us
     Wealthy Papists could obtain immunity by an enormous fine
     Who the "people" exactly were



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS From the Death of William the Silent to
the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

Volume III.

MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 72

History of the United Netherlands, 1590-1599, Complete



CHAPTER XXI.

   Effect of the Assassination of Henry III.--Concentration of forces
   for the invasion of France--The Netherlands determine on striking a
   blow for freedom--Organization of a Dutch army--Stratagem to
   surprise the castle of Breda--Intrepidity and success of the
   enterprise.

The dagger of Jacques Clement had done much, and was likely to do more,
to change the face of Europe. Another proof was afforded that
assassination had become a regular and recognised factor in the political
problems of the sixteenth century. Another illustration was exhibited of
the importance of the individual--even although that individual was in
himself utterly despicable--to the working out of great historical
results. It seemed that the murder of Henry III.--that forlorn caricature
of kingship and of manhood--was likely to prove eminently beneficial to
the cause of the Netherland commonwealth. Five years earlier, the murder
of William the Silent had seemed to threaten its very existence.

For Philip the Prudent, now that France was deprived of a head, conceived
that the time had arrived when he might himself assume the sovereignty of
that kingdom. While a thing of straw, under the name of Charles X. and
shape of a Cardinal Bourbon, was set up to do battle with that living
sovereign and soldier, the heretic Bearnese, the Duke of Parma was
privately ordered to bend all his energies towards the conquest of the
realm in dispute, under pretence of assisting the Holy League.

Accordingly, early in the year 1590, Alexander concentrated a
considerable force on the French frontier in Artois and Hainault,
apparently threatening Bergen-op-Zoom and other cities in South Holland,
but in reality preparing to invade France. The Duke of Mayenne, who had
assumed the title of lieutenant-general of that kingdom, had already
visited him at Brussels in order to arrange the plan of the campaign.

While these measures were in preparation, an opportunity was likely to be
afforded to the Netherlanders of striking a blow or two for liberty and
independence; now that all the force that possibly could be spared was to
be withdrawn by their oppressors and to be used for the subjugation of
their neighbours. The question was whether there would be a statesman and
a soldier ready to make use of this golden opportunity.

There was a statesman ripe and able who, since the death of the Taciturn,
had been growing steadily in the estimation of his countrymen and who
already was paramount in the councils of the States-General. There was a
soldier, still very young, who was possessed of the strongest hereditary
claims to the confidence and affection of the United Provinces and who
had been passing a studious youth in making himself worthy of his father
and his country. Fortunately, too, the statesman and the soldier were
working most harmoniously together. John of Olden-Barneveld, with his
great experience and vast and steady intellect, stood side by side with
young Maurice of Nassau at this important crisis in the history of the
new commonwealth.

At length the twig was becoming the tree--'tandem fit surculus
arbor'--according to the device assumed by the son of William the Silent
after his father's death.

The Netherlands had sore need of a practical soldier to contend with the
scientific and professional tyrants against whom they had so long been
struggling, and Maurice, although so young, was pre-eminently a practical
man. He was no enthusiast; he was no poet. He was at that period
certainly no politician. Not often at the age of twenty has a man devoted
himself for years to pure mathematics for the purpose of saving his
country. Yet this was Maurice's scheme. Four years long and more, when
most other youths in his position and at that epoch would have been
alternating between frivolous pleasures and brilliant exploits in the
field, the young prince had spent laborious days and nights with the
learned Simon Stevinus of Bruges. The scientific work which they composed
in common, the credit of which the master assigned to the pupil, might
have been more justly attributed perhaps to the professor than to the
prince, but it is certain that Maurice was an apt scholar.

In that country, ever held in existence by main human force against the
elements, the arts of engineering, hydrostatics and kindred branches were
of necessity much cultivated. It was reserved for the young mathematician
to make them as potent against a human foe.

Moreover, there were symptoms that the military discipline, learning and
practical skill, which had almost made Spain the mistress of the world,
were sinking into decay. Farnese, although still in the prime of life,
was broken in health, and there seemed no one fit to take the place of
himself and his lieutenants when they should be removed from the scene
where they had played their parts so consummately. The army of the
Netherlands was still to be created. Thus far the contest had been mainly
carried on by domestic militia and foreign volunteers or hirelings. The
train-bands of the cities were aided in their struggles against Spanish
pikemen and artillerists, Italian and Albanian cavalry by the German
riders, whom every little potentate was anxious to sell to either
combatant according to the highest bid, and by English mercenaries, whom
the love of adventure or the hope of plunder sent forth under such
well-seasoned captains as Williams and Morgan, Vere and the Norrises,
Baskerville and Willoughby.

But a Dutch army there was none and Maurice had determined that at last a
national force should be created. In this enterprise he was aided and
guided by his cousin Lewis William, Stadtholder of Friesland--the quaint,
rugged little hero, young in years but almost a veteran in the wars of
freedom, who was as genial and intellectual in council as he was reckless
and impulsive in the field.

Lewis William had felt that the old military art was dying out and
that--there was nothing to take its place. He was a diligent student of
antiquity. He had revived in the swamps of Friesland the old manoeuvres,
the quickness of wheeling, the strengthening, without breaking ranks or
columns, by which the ancient Romans had performed so much excellent work
in their day, and which seemed to have passed entirely into oblivion. Old
colonels and rittmasters, who had never heard of Leo the Thracian nor the
Macedonian phalanx, smiled and shrugged their shoulders, as they listened
to the questions of the young count, or gazed with profound astonishment
at the eccentric evolutions to which he was accustoming his troops. From
the heights of superior wisdom they looked down with pity upon these
innovations on the good old battle order. They were accustomed to great
solid squares of troops wheeling in one way, steadily, deliberately, all
together, by one impulse and as one man. It was true that in narrow
fields, and when the enemy was pressing, such stately evolutions often
became impossible or ensured defeat; but when the little Stadtholder
drilled his soldiers in small bodies of various shapes, teaching them to
turn, advance; retreat; wheel in a variety of ways, sometimes in
considerable masses, sometimes man by man, sending the foremost suddenly
to the rear, or bringing the hindmost ranks to the front, and began to
attempt all this in narrow fields as well as in wide ones, and when the
enemy was in sight, men stood aghast at his want of reverence, or laughed
at him as a pedant. But there came a day when they did not laugh, neither
friends nor enemies. Meantime the two cousins, who directed all the
military operations in the provinces, understood each other thoroughly
and proceeded to perfect their new system, to be adopted at a later
period by all civilized nations.

The regular army of the Netherlands was small in number at that
moment--not more than twenty thousand foot with two thousand horse--but
it was well disciplined, well equipped, and, what was of great
importance, regularly paid. Old campaigners complained that in the
halcyon days of paper enrolments, a captain could earn more out of his
company than a colonel now received for his whole regiment. The days when
a thousand men were paid for, with a couple of hundred in the field, were
passing away for the United Provinces and existed only for Italians and
Spaniards. While, therefore, mutiny on an organised and extensive scale
seemed almost the normal condition of the unpaid legions of Philip, the
little army of Maurice was becoming the model for Europe to imitate.

The United Provinces were as yet very far from being masters of their own
territory. Many of their most important cities still held for the king.
In Brabant, such towns as Breda with its many dependencies and
Gertruydenberg; on the Waal, the strong and wealthy Nymegen which Martin
Schenk had perished in attempting to surprise; on the Yssel, the thriving
city of Zutphen, whose fort had been surrendered by the traitor York, and
the stately Deventer, which had been placed in Philip's possession by the
treachery of Sir William Stanley; on the borders of Drenthe, the almost
impregnable Koevorden, key to the whole Zwollian country; and in the very
heart of ancient Netherland, Groningen, capital of the province of the
same name, which the treason of Renneberg had sold to the Spanish tyrant;
all these flourishing cities and indispensable strongholds were
garrisoned by foreign troops, making the idea of Dutch independence a
delusion.

While Alexander of Parma, sorely against his will and in obedience to
what, he deemed the insane suggestions of his master, was turning his
back on the Netherlands in order to relieve Paris, now hard pressed by
the Bearnese, an opportunity offered itself of making at least a
beginning in the great enterprise of recovering these most valuable
possessions.

The fair and pleasant city of Breda lies on the Merk, a slender stream,
navigable for small vessels, which finds its way to the sea through the
great canal of the Dintel. It had been the property of the Princes of
Orange, Barons of Breda, and had passed with the other possessions of the
family to the house of Chalons-Nassau. Henry of Nassau had, half a
century before, adorned and strengthened it by a splendid palace-fortress
which, surrounded by a deep and double moat, thoroughly commanded the
town. A garrison of five companies of Italian infantry and one of cavalry
lay in this castle, which was under the command of Edward Lanzavecchia,
governor both of Breda and of the neighbouring Gertruydenberg.

Breda was an important strategical position. It was moreover the feudal
superior of a large number of adjacent villages as well as of the cities
Osterhout, Steenberg and Rosendaal. It was obviously not more desirable
for Maurice of Nassau to recover his patrimonial city than it was for the
States-General to drive the Spaniards from so important a position!

In the month of February, 1590, Maurice, being then at the castle of
Voorn in Zeeland, received a secret visit from a boatman, Adrian van der
Berg by name, who lived at the village of Leur, eight or ten miles from
Breda, and who had long been in the habit of supplying the castle with
turf. In the absence of woods and coal mines, the habitual fuel of the
country was furnished by those vast relics of the antediluvian forests
which abounded in the still partially submerged soil. The skipper
represented that his vessel had passed so often into and out of the
castle as to be hardly liable to search by the guard on its entrance. He
suggested a stratagem by which it might be possible to surprise the
stronghold.

The prince approved of the scheme and immediately consulted with
Barneveld. That statesman at once proposed, as a suitable man to carry
out the daring venture, Captain Charles de Heraugiere, a nobleman of
Cambray, who had been long in the service of the States, had
distinguished himself at Sluys and on other occasions, but who had been
implicated in Leicester's nefarious plot to gain possession of the city
of Leyden a few years before. The Advocate expressed confidence that he
would be grateful for so signal an opportunity of retrieving a somewhat
damaged reputation. Heraugiere, who was with his company in Voorn at the
moment, eagerly signified his desire to attempt the enterprise as soon as
the matter was communicated to him; avowing the deepest devotion to the
house of William the Silent and perfect willingness to sacrifice his
life, if necessary, in its cause and that of the country. Philip Nassau,
cousin of Prince Maurice and brother of Lewis William, governor of
Gorcum, Dorcum, and Lowenstein Castle and colonel of a regiment of
cavalry, was also taken into the secret, as well as Count Hohenlo,
President Van der Myle and a few others; but a mystery was carefully
spread and maintained over the undertaking.

Heraugiere selected sixty-eight men, on whose personal daring and
patience he knew that he could rely, from the regiments of Philip Nassau
and of Famars, governor of the neighbouring city of Heusden, and from his
own company. Besides himself, the officers to command the party were
captains Logier and Fervet, and lieutenant Matthew Held. The names of
such devoted soldiers deserve to be commemorated and are still freshly
remembered by their countrymen.

On the 25th of February, Maurice and his staff went to Willemstad on the
Isle of Klundert, it having been given out on his departure from the
Hague that his destination was Dort. On the same night at about eleven
o'clock, by the feeble light of a waning moon, Heraugiere and his band
came to the Swertsenburg ferry, as agreed upon, to meet the boatman. They
found neither him nor his vessel, and they wandered about half the night,
very cold, very indignant, much perplexed. At last, on their way back,
they came upon the skipper at the village of Terheyde, who made the
extraordinary excuse that he had overslept himself and that he feared the
plot had been discovered. It being too late to make any attempt that
night, a meeting was arranged for the following evening. No suspicion of
treachery occurred to any of the party, although it became obvious that
the skipper had grown faint-hearted. He did not come on the next night to
the appointed place but he sent two nephews, boatmen like himself, whom
he described as dare-devils.

On Monday night, the 26th of February, the seventy went on board the
vessel, which was apparently filled with blocks of turf, and packed
themselves closely in the hold. They moved slowly during a little time on
their perilous voyage; for the winter wind, thick with fog and sleet,
blew directly down the river, bringing along with it huge blocks of ice
and scooping the water out of the dangerous shallows, so as to render the
vessel at any moment liable to be stranded. At last the navigation became
impossible and they came to a standstill. From Monday night till Thursday
morning those seventy Hollanders lay packed like herrings in the hold of
their little vessel, suffering from hunger, thirst, and deadly cold; yet
not one of them attempted to escape or murmured a wish to abandon the
enterprise. Even when the third morning dawned there was no better
prospect of proceeding; for the remorseless east wind still blew a gale
against them, and the shoals which beset their path had become more
dangerous than ever. It was, however, absolutely necessary to recruit
exhausted nature, unless the adventurers were to drop powerless on the
threshold when they should at last arrive at their destination. In all
secrecy they went ashore at a lonely castle called Nordam, where they
remained to refresh themselves until about eleven at night, when one of
the boatmen came to them with the intelligence that the wind had changed
and was now blowing freshly in from the sea. Yet the voyage of a few
leagues, on which they were embarked, lasted nearly two whole days
longer. On Saturday afternoon they passed through the last sluice, and at
about three o'clock the last boom was shut behind them. There was no
retreat possible for them now. The seventy were to take the strong castle
and city of Breda or to lay down their lives, every man of them. No
quarter and short shrift--such was their certain destiny, should that
half-crippled, half-frozen little band not succeed in their task before
another sunrise.

They were now in the outer harbour and not far from the Watergate which
led into the inner castle-haven. Presently an officer of the guard put
off in a skiff and came on board the vessel. He held a little
conversation with the two boatmen, observed that the castle was--much in
want of full, took a survey of the turf with which the ship was
apparently laden, and then lounged into the little cabin. Here he was
only separated by a sliding trap-door from the interior of the vessel.
Those inside could hear and see his every movement. Had there been a
single cough or sneeze from within, the true character of the cargo, then
making its way into the castle, would have been discovered and every man
would within ten minutes have been butchered. But the officer,
unsuspecting, soon took his departure, saying that he would send some men
to warp the vessel into the castle dock.

Meantime, as the adventurers were making their way slowly towards the
Watergate, they struck upon a hidden obstruction in the river and the
deeply laden vessel sprang a leak. In a few minutes those inside were
sitting up to their knees in water--a circumstance which scarcely
improved their already sufficiently dismal condition. The boatmen
vigorously plied the pumps to save the vessel from sinking outright; a
party of Italian soldiers soon arrived on the shore, and in the course of
a couple of hours they had laboriously dragged the concealed Hollanders
into the inner harbour and made their vessel fast, close to the
guard-house of the castle.

And now a crowd of all sorts came on board. The winter nights had been
long and fearfully cold, and there was almost a dearth of fuel both in
town and fortress. A gang of labourers set to work discharging the turf
from the vessel with such rapidity that the departing daylight began to
shine in upon the prisoners much sooner than they wished. Moreover, the
thorough wetting, to which after all their other inconveniences they had
just been exposed in their narrow escape from foundering, had set the
whole party sneezing and coughing. Never was a catarrh so sudden, so
universal, or so ill-timed. Lieutenant Held, unable to control the
violence of his cough, drew his dagger and eagerly implored his next
neighbour to stab him to the heart, lest his infirmity should lead to the
discovery of the whole party. But the calm and wary skipper who stood on
the deck instantly commanded his companion to work at the pump with as
much clatter as possible, assuring the persons present that the hold was
nearly full of water. By this means the noise of the coughing was
effectually drowned. Most thoroughly did the bold boatman deserve the
title of dare-devil, bestowed by his more fainthearted uncle. Calmly
looking death in the face, he stood there quite at his ease, exchanging
jokes with his old acquaintances, chaffering with the eager purchasers of
peat shouting most noisy and superfluous orders to the one man who
composed his crew, doing his utmost, in short, to get rid of his
customers and to keep enough of the turf on board to conceal the
conspirators.

At last, when the case seemed almost desperate, he loudly declared that
sufficient had been unladen for that evening and that it was too dark and
he too tired for further work. So, giving a handful of stivers among the
workmen, he bade them go ashore at once and have some beer and come next
morning for the rest of the cargo. Fortunately, they accepted his
hospitable proposition and took their departure. Only the servant of the
captain of the guard lingered behind, complaining that the turf was not
as good as usual and that his master would never be satisfied with it.

"Ah!" returned the cool skipper, "the best part of the cargo is
underneath. This is expressly reserved for the captain. He is sure to get
enough of it to-morrow."

Thus admonished, the servant departed and the boatman was left to
himself. His companion had gone on shore with secret orders to make the
best of his way to Prince Maurice, to inform him of the arrival of the
ship within the fortress, and of the important fact which they had just
learned, that Governor Lanzavecchia, who had heard rumours of some
projected enterprise and who suspected that the object aimed at was
Gertruydenberg, had suddenly taken his departure for that city, leaving
as his lieutenant his nephew Paolo, a raw lad quite incompetent to
provide for the safety of Breda.

A little before midnight, Captain Heraugiere made a brief address to his
comrades in the vessel, telling them that the hour for carrying out their
undertaking had at length arrived. Retreat was impossible, defeat was
certain death, only in complete victory lay their own safety and a great
advantage for the commonwealth. It was an honor to them to be selected
for such an enterprise. To show cowardice now would be an eternal shame
for them, and he would be the man to strike dead with his own hand any
traitor or poltroon. But if, as he doubted not, every one was prepared to
do his duty, their success was assured, and he was himself ready to take
the lead in confronting every danger.

He then divided the little band into two companies, one under himself to
attack the main guard-house, the other under Fervet to seize the arsenal
of the fortress.

Noiselessly they stole out of the ship where they had so long been
confined, and stood at last on the ground within the precincts of the
castle. Heraugiere marched straight to the guard-house.

"Who goes there?" cried a sentinel, hearing some movement in the
darkness.

"A friend," replied the captain, seizing him, by the throat, and
commanding him, if he valued his life, to keep silence except when
addressed and then to speak in a whisper.

"How many are there in the garrison?" muttered Heraugiere.

"Three hundred and fifty," whispered the sentinel.

"How many?" eagerly demanded the nearest followers, not hearing the
reply.

"He says there are but fifty of them," said Heraugiere, prudently
suppressing the three hundred, in order to encourage his comrades.

Quietly as they had made their approach, there was nevertheless a stir in
the guard-house. The captain of the watch sprang into the courtyard.

"Who goes there?" he demanded in his turn.

"A friend," again replied Heraugiere, striking him dead with a single
blow as he spoke.

Others emerged with torches. Heraugiere was slightly wounded, but
succeeded, after a brief struggle, in killing a second assailant. His
followers set upon the watch who retreated into the guard-house.
Heraugiere commanded his men to fire through the doors and windows, and
in a few minutes every one of the enemy lay dead.

It was not a moment for making prisoners or speaking of quarter. Meantime
Fervet and his band had not been idle. The magazine-house of the castle
was seized, its defenders slain. Young Lanzavecchia made a sally from the
palace, was wounded and driven back together with a few of his adherents.

The rest of the garrison fled helter-skelter into the town. Never had the
musketeers of Italy--for they all belonged to Spinola's famous Sicilian
Legion--behaved so badly. They did not even take the precaution to
destroy the bridge between the castle and the town as they fled
panic-stricken before seventy Hollanders. Instead of encouraging the
burghers to their support they spread dismay, as they ran, through every
street.

Young Lanzavecchia, penned into a corner of the castle; began to parley;
hoping for a rally before a surrender should be necessary. In the midst
of the negotiation and a couple of hours before dawn, Hohenlo; duly
apprised by the boatman, arrived with the vanguard of Maurice's troops
before the field-gate of the fort. A vain attempt was made to force this
portal open, but the winter's ice had fixed it fast. Hohenlo was obliged
to batter down the palisade near the water-gate and enter by the same
road through which the fatal turf-boat had passed.

Soon after he had marched into the town at the head of a strong
detachment, Prince Maurice himself arrived in great haste, attended by
Philip Nassau, the Admiral Justinus Nassau, Count Solms, Peter van der
Does, and Sir Francis Vere, and followed by another body of picked
troops; the musicians playing merrily that national air, then as now so
dear to Netherlanders--

          "Wilhelmus van Nassouwen
          Ben ick van Duytaem bloed."

The fight was over. Some forty of the garrison had been killed, but not a
man of the attacking party. The burgomaster sent a trumpet to the prince
asking permission to come to the castle to arrange a capitulation; and
before sunrise, the city and fortress of Breda had surrendered to the
authority of the States-General and of his Excellency.

The terms were moderate. The plundering was commuted for the payment of
two months' wages to every soldier engaged in the affair. Burghers who
might prefer to leave the city were allowed to do so with protection to
life, and property. Those who were willing to remain loyal citizens were
not to be molested, in their consciences or their households, in regard
to religion. The public exercise of Catholic rites was however suspended
until the States-General should make some universal provision on this
subject.

Subsequently, it must be allowed, the bargain of commutation proved a bad
one for the burghers. Seventy men had in reality done the whole work, but
so many soldiers, belonging to the detachments who marched in after the
fortress had been taken, came forward to claim their months' wages as to
bring the whole amount required above one hundred thousand florins. The
Spaniards accordingly reproached Prince Maurice with having fined his own
patrimonial city more heavily than Alexander Farnese had mulcted Antwerp,
which had been made to pay but four hundred thousand florins, a far less
sum in proportion to the wealth and importance of the place.

Already the Prince of Parma, in the taking of Breda, saw verified his
predictions of the disasters about to fall on the Spanish interests in
the Netherlands, by reason of Philip's obstinate determination to
concentrate all his energies on the invasion of France. Alexander had
been unable, in the midst of preparations for his French campaign, to
arrest this sudden capture, but his Italian blood was on fire at the
ignominy which had come upon the soldiership of his countrymen. Five
companies of foot and one of horse-picked troops of Spain and Italy--had
surrendered a wealthy, populous town and a well-fortified castle to a
mud-scow, and had fled shrieking in dismay from the onset of seventy
frost-bitten Hollanders.

It was too late to save the town, but he could punish, as it deserved,
the pusillanimity of the garrison.

Three captains--one of them rejoicing in the martial name of Cesar
Guerra--were publicly beheaded in Brussels. A fourth, Ventimiglia, was
degraded but allowed to escape with life, on account of his near
relationship to the Duke of Terranova, while Governor Lanzavecchia was
obliged to resign the command of Gertruydenberg. The great commander knew
better than to encourage the yielding up of cities and fortresses by a
mistaken lenity to their unlucky defenders.

Prince Maurice sent off letters the same night announcing his success to
the States-General. Hohenlo wrote pithily to Olden-Barneveld--"The castle
and town of Breda are ours, without a single man dead on our side. The
garrison made no resistance but ran distracted out of the town."

The church bells rang and bonfires blazed and cannon thundered in every
city in the United Provinces to commemorate this auspicious event.
Olden-Barneveld, too, whose part in arranging the scheme was known to
have been so valuable, received from the States-General a magnificent
gilded vase with sculptured representations of the various scenes in the
drama, and it is probable that not more unmingled satisfaction had been
caused by any one event of the war than by this surprise of Breda.

The capture of a single town, not of first-rate importance either, would
hardly seem too merit so minute a description as has been given in the
preceding pages. But the event, with all its details, has been preserved
with singular vividness in Netherland story. As an example of daring,
patience, and complete success, it has served to encourage the bold
spirits of every generation and will always inspire emulation in
patriotic hearts of every age and clime, while, as the first of a series
of audacious enterprises by which Dutch victories were to take the place
of a long procession of Spanish triumphs on the blood-stained soil of the
provinces, it merits, from its chronological position, a more than
ordinary attention.

In the course of the summer Prince Maurice, carrying out into practice
the lessons which he had so steadily been pondering, reduced the towns
and strong places of Heyl, Flemert, Elshout, Crevecoeur, Hayden,
Steenberg, Rosendaal, and Osterhout. But his time, during the remainder
of the year 1590, was occupied with preparations for a campaign on an
extended scale and with certain foreign negotiations to which it will
soon be necessary to direct the reader's attention.



CHAPTER XXII.

   Struggle of the United Provinces against Philip of Spain--Progress
   of the Republic--Influence of Geographical position on the fate of
   the Netherlands--Contrast offered by America--Miserable state of the
   so--called "obedient" provinces--Prosperity of the Commonwealth--Its
   internal government--Tendency to provincialism--Quibbles of the
   English Members of the Council, Wilkes and Bodley--Exclusion of
   Olden-Barneveld from the State Council--Proposals of Philip for
   mediation with the United Provinces--The Provinces resolutely
   decline all proffers of intervention.

The United Provinces had now been engaged in unbroken civil war for a
quarter of a century. It is, however, inaccurate to designate this great
struggle with tyranny as a civil war. It was a war for independence,
maintained by almost the whole population of the United Provinces against
a foreigner, a despot, alien to their blood, ignorant of their language,
a hater of their race, a scorner of their religion, a trampler upon their
liberties, their laws, and institutions--a man who had publicly declared
that he would rather the whole nation were exterminated than permitted to
escape from subjection to the Church of Rome. Liberty of speech, liberty
of the press, liberty of thought on political, religious, and social
questions existed within those Dutch pastures and Frisian swamps to a far
greater degree than in any other part of the world at that day; than in
very many regions of Christendom in our own time. Personal slavery was
unknown. In a large portion of their territory it had never existed. The
free Frisians, nearest blood-relations of, in this respect, the less
favoured Anglo-Saxons, had never bowed the knee to the feudal system, nor
worn nor caused to be worn the collar of the serf. In the battles for
human liberty no nation has stood with cleaner hands before the great
tribunal, nor offered more spotless examples of patriotism to be emulated
in all succeeding ages, than the Netherlanders in their gigantic struggle
with Philip of Spain. It was not a class struggling for their own
privileges, but trampling on their fellow-men in a lower scale of
humanity. Kings and aristocrats sneered at the vulgar republic where Hans
Miller, Hans Baker, and Hans Brewer enjoyed political rights end prated
of a sovereignty other than that of long-descended races and of anointed
heads. Yet the pikemen of Spain and the splendid cavalry and musketeers
of Italy and Burgundy, who were now beginning to show their backs both
behind entrenchments and in the open field to their republican foes,
could not deny the valour with which the battles of liberty were fought;
while Elizabeth of England, maintainer, if such ever were, of hereditary
sovereignty and hater of popular freedom, acknowledged that for wisdom in
council, dignity and adroitness in diplomatic debate, there were none to
surpass the plain burgher statesmen of the new republic.

And at least these Netherlanders were consistent with themselves. They
had come to disbelieve in the mystery of kingcraft, in the divine
speciality of a few transitory mortals to direct the world's events and
to dictate laws to their fellow-creatures. What they achieved was for the
common good of all. They chose to live in an atmosphere of blood and fire
for generation after generation rather than flinch from their struggle
with despotism, for they knew that, cruel as the sea, it would swallow
them all at last in one common destruction if they faltered or paused.
They fought for the liberty of all. And it is for this reason that the
history of this great conflict deserved to be deeply pondered by those
who have the instinct of human freedom. Had the Hollanders basely sunk
before the power of Spain, the proud history of England, France, and
Germany would have been written in far different terms. The blood and
tears which the Netherlanders caused to flow in their own stormy days
have turned to blessings for remotest climes and ages. A pusillanimous
peace, always possible at any period of their war, would have been hailed
with rapture by contemporary statesmen, whose names have vanished from
the world's memory; but would have sown with curses and misery the soil
of Europe for succeeding ages. The territory of the Netherlands is narrow
and meagre. It is but a slender kingdom now among the powers of the
earth. The political grandeur of nations is determined by physical causes
almost as much as by moral ones. Had the cataclysm which separated the
fortunate British islands from the mainland happened to occur, instead,
at a neighbouring point of the earth's crust; had the Belgian, Dutch,
German and Danish Netherland floated off as one island into the sea,
while that famous channel between two great rival nations remained dry
land, there would have been a different history of the world.

But in the 16th century the history of one country was not an isolated
chapter of personages and events. The history of the Netherlands is
history of liberty. It was now combined with the English, now with
French, with German struggles for political and religious freedom, but it
is impossible to separate it from the one great complex which makes up
the last half of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth
centuries.

At that day the Netherland republic was already becoming a power of
importance in the political family of Christendom. If, in spite of her
geographical disadvantages, she achieved so much, how much vaster might
her power have grown, how much stronger through her example might popular
institutions throughout the world have become, and how much more pacific
the relations of European tribes, had nature been less niggard in her
gifts to the young commonwealth. On the sea she was strong, for the ocean
is the best of frontiers; but on land her natural boundaries faded
vaguely away, without strong physical demarcations and with no sharply
defined limits of tongue, history or race. Accident or human caprice
seemed to have divided German Highland from German Netherland; Belgic
Gaul from the rest of the Gallic realm. And even from the slender body,
which an arbitrary destiny had set off for centuries into a separate
organism, tyranny and religious bigotry had just hewn another portion
away. But the commonwealth was already too highly vitalized to permit
peaceful dismemberment. Only the low organisms can live in all their
parts after violent separations. The trunk remained, bleeding but alive
and vigorous, while the amputated portion lay for centuries in fossilized
impotence.

Never more plainly than in the history of this commonwealth was the
geographical law manifested by which the fate of nations is so deeply
influenced. Courage, enterprise amounting almost to audacity, and a
determined will confronted for a long lapse of time the inexorable, and
permitted a great empire to germinate out of a few sand-banks held in
defiance of the ocean, and protected from human encroachments on the
interior only by the artificial barrier of custom-house and fort.

Thus foredoomed at birth, it must increase our admiration of human energy
and of the sustaining influence of municipal liberty that the republic,
even if transitory, should yet have girdled the earth with its
possessions and held for a considerable period so vast a portion of the
world in fee.

What a lesson to our transatlantic commonwealth, whom bountiful nature
had blessed at her birth beyond all the nations of history and seemed to
speed upon an unlimited career of freedom and peaceful prosperity, should
she be capable at the first alarm on her track to throw away her
inestimable advantages! If all history is not a mockery and a fable, she
may be sure that the nation which deliberately carves itself in pieces
and, substitutes artificial boundaries for the natural and historic ones,
condemns itself either to extinction or to the lower life of political
insignificance and petty warfare, with the certain loss of liberty and
national independence at last. Better a terrible struggle, better the
sacrifice of prosperity and happiness for years, than the eternal setting
of that great popular hope, the United American Republic.

I speak in this digression only of the relations of physical nature to
liberty and nationality, making no allusion to the equally stringent
moral laws which no people can violate and yet remain in health and
vigour.

Despite a quarter of a century of what is commonly termed civil war, the
United Netherlands were prosperous and full of life. It was in the
provinces which had seceded from the union of Utrecht that there was
silence as of the grave, destitution, slavery, abject submission to a
foreign foe. The leaders in the movement which had brought about the
scission of 1579--commonly called the 'Reconciliation'--enjoyed military
and civil posts under a foreign tyrant, but were poorly rewarded for
subserviency in fighting against their own brethren by contumely on the
part of their masters. As for the mass of the people it would be
difficult to find a desolation more complete than that recorded of the
"obedient" provinces. Even as six years before, wolves littered their
whelps in deserted farmhouses, cane-brake and thicket usurped the place
of cornfield and, orchard, robbers swarmed on the highways once thronged
by a most thriving population, nobles begged their bread in the streets
of cities whose merchants once entertained emperors and whose wealth and
traffic were the wonder of the world, while the Spanish viceroy formally
permitted the land in the agricultural districts to be occupied and
farmed by the first comer for his own benefit, until the vanished
proprietors of the soil should make their re-appearance.

"Administered without justice or policy," said a Netherlander who was
intensely loyal to the king and a most uncompromising Catholic, "eaten up
and abandoned for that purpose to the arbitrary will of foreigners who
suck the substance and marrow of the land without benefit to the king,
gnaw the obedient cities to the bones, and plunder the open defenceless
country at their pleasure, it may be imagined how much satisfaction these
provinces take in their condition. Commerce and trade have ceased in a
country which traffic alone has peopled, for without it no human
habitation could be more miserable and poor than our land."--[Discours du
Seigneur de Champagny sur les affaires des Pays Bas, 21 Dec. 1589. Bibl.
de Bourgogne, MS. No. 12,962.]

Nothing could be more gloomy than the evils thus described by the
Netherland statesman and soldier, except the remedy which he suggested.
The obedient provinces, thus scourged and blasted for their obedience,
were not advised to improve their condition by joining hands with their
sister States, who had just constituted themselves by their noble
resistance to royal and ecclesiastical tyranny into a free and powerful
commonwealth. On the contrary, two great sources of regeneration and
prosperity were indicated, but very different ones from those in which
the republic had sought and found her strength. In the first place, it
was suggested as indispensable that the obedient provinces should have
more Jesuits and more Friars. The mendicant orders should be summoned to
renewed exertions, and the king should be requested to send seminary
priests to every village in numbers proportionate to the population, who
should go about from house to house, counting the children, and seeing
that they learned their catechism if their parents did not teach them,
and, even in case they did, examining whether it was done thoroughly and
without deception.

In the second place it was laid down as important that the bishops should
confirm no one who had not been sufficiently catechized. "And if the
mendicant orders," said Champagny, "are not numerous enough for these
catechizations, the Jesuits might charge themselves therewith, not more
and not less than the said mendicants, some of each being deputed to each
parish. To this end it would be well if his Majesty should obtain from
the Pope a command to the Jesuits to this effect, since otherwise they
might not be willing to comply. It should also be ordered that all
Jesuits, natives of these provinces, should return hither, instead of
wandering about in other regions as if their help were not so necessary
here."--[Ibid.]

It was also recommended that the mendicant friars should turn their
particular attention to Antwerp, and that one of them should preach in
French, another in German, another in English, every day at the opening
of the Exchange.

With these appliances it was thought that Antwerp would revive out of its
ruins and, despite the blockade of its river, renew its ancient
commercial glories. Founded on the substantial rocks of mendicancy and
jesuitism, it might again triumph over its rapidly rising rival, the
heretic Amsterdam, which had no better basis for its grandeur than
religious and political liberty, and uncontrolled access to the ocean.

Such were the aspirations of a distinguished and loyal Netherlander for
the regeneration of his country. Such were his opinions as to the true
sources of the wealth and greatness of nations. Can we wonder that the
country fell to decay, or that this experienced, statesman and brave
soldier should himself, after not many years, seek to hide his
dishonoured head under the cowl of a monk?

The coast of the obedient provinces was thoroughly blockaded. The United
Provinces commanded the sea, their cruisers, large and small, keeping
diligent watch off every port and estuary of the Flemish coast, so that
not a herringboat could enter without their permission. Antwerp, when it
fell into the hands of the Spaniard, sank for ever from its proud
position. The city which Venetians but lately had confessed with a sigh
to be superior in commercial grandeur to their own magnificent capital,
had ceased to be a seaport. Shut in from the ocean by Flushing--firmly
held by an English garrison as one of the cautionary towns for the
Queen's loan--her world-wide commerce withered before men's eyes. Her
population was dwindling to not much more than half its former numbers,
while Ghent, Bruges, and other cities were diminished by two-thirds.

On the other hand, the commerce and manufactures of the United Republic
had enormously augmented. Its bitterest enemies bore witness to the
sagacity and success by which its political affairs were administered,
and to its vast superiority in this respect over the obedient provinces.
"The rebels are not ignorant of our condition," said Champagny, "they are
themselves governed with consummate wisdom, and they mock at those who
submit themselves to the Duke of Parma. They are the more confirmed in
their rebellion, when they see how many are thronging from us to them,
complaining of such bad government, and that all take refuge in flight
who can from the misery and famine which it has caused throughout these
provinces!" The industrial population had flowed from the southern
provinces into the north, in obedience to an irresistible law. The
workers in iron, paper, silk, linen, lace, the makers of brocade,
tapestry, and satin, as well as of all the coarser fabrics, had fled from
the land of oppression to the land of liberty. Never in the history of
civilisation had there been a more rapid development of human industry
than in Holland during these years of bloodiest warfare. The towns were
filled to overflowing. Amsterdam multiplied in wealth and population as
fast as Antwerp shrank. Almost as much might be said of Middelburg,
Enkhuyzen, Horn, and many other cities. It is the epoch to which the
greatest expansion of municipal architecture is traced. Warehouses,
palaces, docks, arsenals, fortifications, dykes, splendid streets and
suburbs, were constructed on every side, and still there was not room for
the constantly increasing population, large numbers of which habitually
dwelt in the shipping. For even of that narrow span of earth called the
province of Holland, one-third was then interior water, divided into five
considerable lakes, those of Harlem, Schermer, Beemster, Waert, and
Purmer. The sea was kept out by a magnificent system of dykes under the
daily superintendence of a board of officers, called dyke-graves, while
the rain-water, which might otherwise have drowned the soil thus
painfully reclaimed, was pumped up by windmills and drained off through
sluices opening and closing with the movement of the tides.

The province of Zeeland was one vast "polder." It was encircled by an
outer dyke of forty Dutch equal to one hundred and fifty English, miles
in extent, and traversed by many interior barriers. The average cost of
dyke-building was sixty florins the rod of twelve feet, or 84,000 florins
the Dutch mile. The total cost of the Zeeland dykes was estimated at
3,360,000 florins, besides the annual repairs.

But it was on the sea that the Netherlanders were really at home, and
they always felt it in their power--as their last resource against
foreign tyranny--to bury their land for ever in the ocean, and to seek a
new country at the ends of the earth. It has always been difficult to
doom to political or personal slavery a nation accustomed to maritime
pursuits. Familiarity with the boundless expanse of ocean, and the habit
of victoriously contending with the elements in their stormy strength,
would seem to inspire a consciousness in mankind of human dignity and
worth. With the exception of Spain, the chief seafaring nations of the
world were already protestant. The counter-league, which was to do battle
so strenuously with the Holy Confederacy, was essentially a maritime
league. "All the maritime heretics of the world, since heresy is best
suited to navigators, will be banded together," said Champagny, "and then
woe to the Spanish Indies, which England and Holland are already
threatening."

The Netherlanders had been noted from earliest times for a free-spoken
and independent personal demeanour. At this epoch they were taking the
lead of the whole world in marine adventure. At least three thousand
vessels of between one hundred and four hundred tons, besides innumerable
doggers, busses, cromstevens, and similar craft used on the rivers and in
fisheries, were to be found in the United Provinces, and one thousand, it
was estimated, were annually built.

They traded to the Baltic regions for honey, wax, tallow, lumber, iron,
turpentine, hemp. They brought from farthest Indies and from America all
the fabrics of ancient civilisation, all the newly discovered products of
a virgin soil, and dispensed them among the less industrious nations of
the earth. Enterprise, led on and accompanied by science, was already
planning the boldest flights into the unknown yet made by mankind, and it
will soon be necessary to direct attention to those famous arctic
voyages, made by Hollanders in pursuit of the north-west passage to
Cathay, in which as much heroism, audacity, and scientific intelligence
were displayed as in later times have made so many men belonging to both
branches of the Anglo-Saxon race illustrious. A people, engaged in
perennial conflict with a martial and sacerdotal despotism the most
powerful in the world, could yet spare enough from its superfluous
energies to confront the dangers of the polar oceans, and to bring back
treasures of science to enrich the world.

Such was the spirit of freedom. Inspired by its blessed influence this
vigorous and inventive little commonwealth triumphed over all human, all
physical obstacles in its path. It organised armies on new principles to
drive the most famous legions of history from its soil. It built navies
to help rescue, at critical moments, the cause of England, of
Protestantism, of civil liberty, and even of French nationality. More
than all, by its trade with its arch-enemy, the republic constantly
multiplied its resources for destroying his power and aggrandizing its
own.

The war navy of the United Provinces was a regular force of one hundred
ships--large at a period when a vessel of thirteen hundred tons was a
monster--together with an indefinite number of smaller craft, which could
be put into the public service on short notice? In those days of close
quarters and light artillery a merchant ship was converted into a cruiser
by a very simple, process. The navy was a self-supporting one, for it was
paid by the produce of convoy fees and licenses to trade. It must be
confessed that a portion of these revenues savoured much of black-mail to
be levied on friend and foe; for the distinctions between, freebooter,
privateer, pirate, and legitimate sea-robber were not very closely drawn
in those early days of seafaring.

Prince Maurice of Nassau was lord high admiral, but he was obliged to
listen to the counsels of various provincial boards of admiralty, which
often impeded his action and interfered with his schemes.

It cannot be denied that the inherent vice of the Netherland polity was
already a tendency to decentralisation and provincialism. The civil
institutions of the country, in their main characteristics, have been
frequently sketched in these pages. At this period they had entered
almost completely into the forms which were destined to endure until the
commonwealth fell in the great crash of the French Revolution. Their
beneficial effects were more visible now--sustained and bound together as
the nation was by the sense of a common danger, and by the consciousness
of its daily developing strength--than at a later day when prosperity and
luxury had blunted the fine instincts of patriotism.

The supreme power, after the deposition of Philip, and the refusal by
France and by England to accept the sovereignty of the provinces, was
definitely lodged in the States-General. But the States-General did not
technically represent the, people. Its members were not elected by the
people. It was a body composed of, delegates from each provincial
assembly, of which there were now five: Holland, Zeeland, Friesland,
Utrecht, and Gelderland. Each provincial assembly consisted again of
delegates, not from the inhabitants of the provinces, but from the
magistracies of the cities. Those, magistracies, again, were not elected
by the citizens. They elected themselves by renewing their own vacancies,
and were, in short, immortal corporations. Thus, in final analysis, the
supreme power was distributed and localised among the mayors and aldermen
of a large number of cities, all independent alike of the people below
and of any central power above.

It is true that the nobles, as, a class, had a voice in the provincial
and, in the general assembly, both for themselves and as technical
representatives of the smaller towns and of the rural population. But, as
a matter of fact, the influence of this caste had of late years very
rapidly diminished, through its decrease in numbers, and the far more
rapid increase in wealth and power of the commercial and manufacturing
classes. Individual nobles were constantly employed in the military,
civil, and diplomatic service of the republic, but their body had ceased
to be a power. It had been the policy of William the Silent to increase
the number of cities entitled to send deputies to the States; for it was
among the cities that his resistance to the tyranny of Spain, and his
efforts to obtain complete independence for his country, had been mainly
supported. Many of the great nobles, as has been seen in these pages,
denounced the liberator and took sides with the tyrant. Lamoral Egmont
had walked to the scaffold to which Philip had condemned him, chanting a
prayer for Philip's welfare. Egmont's eldest son was now foremost in the
Spanish army, doing battle against his own country in behalf of the
tyrant who had taken his father's life. Aremberg and Ligny, Arachot,
Chimay, Croy, Caprea, Montigny, and most of the great patrician families
of the Netherlands fought on the royal side.

The revolution which had saved the country from perdition and created the
great Netherland republic was a burgher revolution, and burgher statesmen
now controlled the State. The burgher class of Europe is not the one that
has been foremost in the revolutionary movements of history, or that has
distinguished itself--especially in more modern times--by a passionate
love of liberty. It is always easy to sneer at Hans Miller and Hans
Baker, and at the country where such plebeians are powerful. Yet the
burghers played a prominent part in the great drama which forms my theme,
and there has rarely been seen a more solid or powerful type of their
class than the burgher statesman, John of Olden-Barneveld, who, since the
death of William the Silent and the departure of Lord Leicester, had
mainly guided the destinies of Holland. Certainly no soldier nor
statesman who ever measured intellects with that potent personage was apt
to treat his genius otherwise than with profound respect.

But it is difficult to form a logical theory of government except on the
fiction of divine right as a basis, unless the fact of popular
sovereignty, as expressed by a majority, be frankly accepted in spite of
philosophical objections.

In the Netherlands there was no king, and strictly speaking no people.
But this latter and fatal defect was not visible in the period of danger
and of contest. The native magistrates of that age were singularly pure,
upright, and patriotic. Of this there is no question whatever. And the
people acquiesced cheerfully in their authority, not claiming a larger
representation than such as they virtually possessed in the multiple
power exercised over them, by men moving daily among them, often of
modest fortunes and of simple lives. Two generations later, and in the
wilderness of Massachusetts, the early American colonists voluntarily
placed in the hands of their magistrates, few in number, unlimited
control of all the functions of government, and there was hardly an
instance known of an impure exercise of authority. Yet out of that simple
kernel grew the least limited and most powerful democracy ever known.

In the later days of Netherland history a different result became
visible, and with it came the ruin of the State. The governing class, of
burgher origin, gradually separated itself from the rest of the citizens,
withdrew from commercial pursuits, lived on hereditary fortunes in the
exercise of functions which were likewise virtually hereditary, and so
became an oligarchy. This result, together with the physical causes
already indicated, made the downfall of the commonwealth probable
whenever it should be attacked by an overwhelming force from without.

The States-General, however, at this epoch--although they had in a manner
usurped the sovereignty, which in the absence of a feudal lord really
belonged to the whole people, and had silently repossessed themselves of
those executive functions which they had themselves conferred upon the
state council--were at any rate without self-seeking ambition. The
Hollanders, as a race, were not office seekers, but were singularly
docile to constituted authority, while their regents--as the municipal
magistrates were commonly called--were not very far removed above the
mass by birth or habitual occupation. The republic was a social and
political fact, against which there was no violent antagonism either of
laws or manners, and the people, although not technically existing, in
reality was all in all. In Netherland story the People is ever the true
hero. It was an almost unnoticed but significant revolution--that by
which the state council was now virtually deprived of its authority.
During Leicester's rule it had been a most important college of
administration. Since his resignation it had been entrusted by the
States-General with high executive functions, especially in war matters.
It was an assembly of learned counsellors appointed from the various
provinces for wisdom and experience, usually about eighteen in number,
and sworn in all things to be faithful to the whole republic. The
allegiance of all was rendered to the nation. Each individual member was
required to "forswear his native province in order to be true to the
generality." They deliberated in common for the general good, and were
not hampered by instructions from the provincial diets, nor compelled to
refer to those diets for decision when important questions were at issue.
It was an independent executive committee for the whole republic.

But Leicester had made it unpopular. His intrigues, in the name of
democracy, to obtain possession of sovereign power, to inflame the lower
classes against the municipal magistracies, and to excite the clergy to
claim a political influence to which they were not entitled and which was
most mischievous in its effects, had exposed the state council, with
which he had been in the habit of consulting, to suspicion.

The Queen of England, by virtue of her treaty had the right to appoint
two of her subjects to be members of the council. The governor of her
auxiliary forces was also entitled to a seat there. Since the
malpractices of Leicester and the danger to which the country had been,
subjected in consequence had been discovered, it was impossible that
there should be very kindly feeling toward England in the public mind,
however necessary a sincere alliance between the two countries was known
to be for the welfare of both.

The bickering of the two English councillors, Wilkes and Bodley, and of
the governor of the English contingent with the Hollanders, was
incessant. The Englishmen went so far as to claim the right of veto upon
all measures passed by the council, but the States-General indignantly
replied that the matters deliberated and decided upon by that board were
their own affairs, not the state affairs of England. The two members and
the military officer who together represented her Majesty were entitled
to participate in the deliberations and to vote with their brother
members. For them to claim the right, however, at will to annul the
proceedings was an intolerable assumption, and could not be listened to
for a moment. Certainly it would have been strange had two Dutchmen
undertaken to veto every measure passed by the Queen's council at
Richmond or Windsor, and it was difficult to say on what article of the
contract this extraordinary privilege was claimed by Englishmen at the
Hague.

Another cause of quarrel was the inability of the Englishmen to
understand the language in which the debates of the state council were
held.

According to a custom not entirely unexampled in parliamentary history
the members of assembly and council made use of their native tongue in
discussing the state affairs of their native land. It was however
considered a grievance by the two English members that the Dutchmen
should speak Dutch, and it was demanded in the Queen's name that they
should employ some other language which a foreigner could more easily
understand.

The Hollanders however refused this request, not believing that in a
reversed case her Majesty's Council or Houses of Parliament would be
likely or competent to carry on their discussions habitually in Italian
or Latin for the benefit of a couple of strangers who might not be
familiar with English. The more natural remedy would have been for the
foreigners to take lessons in the tongue of the country, or to seek for
an interpreter among their colleagues; especially as the States, when all
the Netherlands were but provinces, had steadily refused to adopt any
language but their mother tongue, even at the demand of their sovereign
prince.

At this moment, Sir Thomas Bodley was mainly entrusted with her Majesty's
affairs at the Hague, but his overbearing demeanour, intemperate
language, and passionate style of correspondence with the States and with
the royal government, did much injury to both countries. The illustrious
Walsingham--whose death in the spring of this year England had so much
reason to deplore--had bitterly lamented, just before his death, having
recommended so unquiet a spirit for so important a place. Ortel, envoy of
the States to London, expressed his hopes that affairs would now be
handled more to the satisfaction of the States; as Bodley would be
obliged, since the death of Sir Francis, to address his letters to the
Lord High Treasurer, with whom it would be impossible for him to obtain
so much influence as he had enjoyed with the late Secretary of State.

Moreover it was exactly at this season that the Advocate of Holland,
Olden-Barneveld, was excluded from the state council. Already the
important province of Holland was dissatisfied with its influence in that
body. Bearing one-half of the whole burthen of the war it was not content
with one-quarter of the council vote, and very soon it became the custom
for the States-General to conduct all the most important affairs of the
republic.  The state council complained that even in war matters it was
not consulted, and that most important enterprises were undertaken by
Prince Maurice without its knowledge, and on advice of the Advocate
alone. Doubtless this was true, and thus, most unfortunately, the
commonwealth was degraded to a confederacy instead of becoming an
incorporate federal State. The members of the States-General--as it has
been seen were responsible only to their constituents, the separate
provinces. They avowed allegiance, each to his own province, none to the
central government. Moreover they were not representatives, but envoys,
appointed by petty provinces, bound by written orders, and obliged to
consult at every step with their sovereigns at home. The Netherland
polity was thus stamped almost at its birth with a narrow provincialism:
Delay and hesitation thus necessarily engendered were overcome in the
days of danger by patriotic fervour. The instinct of union for the sake
of the national existence was sufficiently strong, and the robust,
practical common sense of the people sufficiently enlightened to prevent
this weakness from degenerating into impotence so long as the war
pressure remained to mould them into a whole. But a day was to come for
bitterly rueing this paralysis of the imperial instincts of the people,
this indefinite decentralisation of the national strength.

For the present, the legislative and executive body was the
States-General. But the States-General were in reality the States
provincial, and the States provincial were the city municipalities, among
which the magistracies of Holland were preponderant.

Ere long it became impossible for an individual to resist the decrees of
the civic authorities. In 1591, the States-General passed a resolution by
which these arrogant corporations virtually procured their exemption from
any process at the suit of a private person to be placed on record. So
far could the principle of sovereignty be pulverized. City council boards
had become supreme.

It was naturally impossible during the long continuance of this great
struggle, that neutral nations should not be injuriously affected by it
in a variety of ways. And as a matter of course neutral nations were
disposed to counsel peace. Peace, peace; peace was the sigh of the
bystanders whose commerce was impeded, whose international relations.
were complicated, and whose own security was endangered in the course of
the bloody conflict. It was however not very much the fashion of that day
for governments to obtrude advice upon each other; or to read to each
other moral lectures. It was assumed that when the expense and sacrifice
of war had been incurred, it was for cause, and the discovery had not yet
been made that those not immediately interested in the fray were better
acquainted with its merits than, the combatants themselves, and were
moreover endued with, superhuman wisdom to see with perfect clearness
that future issue which to the parties themselves was concealed.

Cheap apothegms upon the blessings of peace and upon the expediency of
curbing the angry passions, uttered by the belligerents of yesterday to
the belligerents of to-day, did not then pass current for profound
wisdom.

Still the emperor Rudolph, abstaining for a time from his star-gazing,
had again thought proper to make a feeble attempt at intervention in
those sublunary matters which were supposed to be within his sphere.

It was perfectly well known that Philip was incapable of abating one jot
of his pretensions, and that to propose mediation to the United Provinces
was simply to request them, for the convenience of other powers, to
return to the slavery out of which, by the persistent efforts of a
quarter of a century, they had struggled. Nevertheless it was formally
proposed to re-open those lukewarm fountains of diplomatic commonplace in
which healing had been sought during the peace negotiations of Cologne in
the year 1579. But the States-General resolutely kept them sealed. They
simply answered his imperial Majesty by a communication of certain
intercepted correspondence between--the King of Spain and his ambassador
at Vienna, San Clemente, through which it was satisfactorily established
that any negotiation would prove as gigantic a comedy on the part of
Spain as had been the memorable conferences at Ostend, by which the
invasion of England had been masked.

There never was a possibility of mediation or of compromise except by
complete submission on the part of the Netherlanders to Crown and Church.
Both in this, as well as in previous and subsequent attempts at
negotiations, the secret instructions of Philip forbade any real
concessions on his side. He was always ready to negotiate, he was
especially anxious to obtain a suspension of arms from the rebels during
negotiation; but his agents were instructed to use great dexterity and
dissimulation in order that the proposal for such armistice, as well as
for negotiation at all, should appear to proceed, not from himself as was
the fact, but from the emperor as a neutral potentate. The king uniformly
proposed three points; firstly, that the rebels should reconvert
themselves to the Catholic religion; secondly, that they should return to
their obedience to himself; thirdly, that they should pay the expenses of
the war. Number three was, however, usually inserted in order that, by
conceding it subsequently, after much contestation, he might appear
conciliatory. It was a vehicle of magnanimity towards men grown insolent
with temporary success. Numbers one and two were immutable.

Especially upon number one was concession impossible. "The Catholic
religion is the first thing," said Philip, "and although the rebels do
not cease to insist that liberty of conscience should be granted them, in
order that they may preserve that which they have had during these past
years, this is never to be thought of in any event." The king always made
free use of the terrible weapon which the Protestant princes of Germany
had placed in his hands. For indeed if it were right that one man,
because possessed of hereditary power over millions of his fellow
creatures, should compel them all to accept the dogmas of Luther or of
Calvin because agreeable to himself, it was difficult to say why another
man, in a similarly elevated position, might not compel his subjects to
accept the creed of Trent, or the doctrines of Mahomet or Confucius. The
Netherlanders were fighting--even more than they knew-for liberty of
conscience, for equality of all religions; not for Moses, nor for
Melancthon; for Henry, Philip, or Pius; while Philip justly urged that no
prince in Christendom permitted license. "Let them well understand," said
his Majesty, "that since others who live in error, hold the opinion that
vassals are to conform to the religion of their master, it is
insufferable that it should be proposed to me that my vassals should have
a different religion from mine--and that too being the true religion,
proved by so many testimonies and miracles, while all others are
deception. This must be arranged with the authority of the commissioners
of the emperor, since it is well understood by them that the vassal is
never to differ from the opinion of his master." Certainly it was worth
an eighty years' war to drive such blasphemous madness as this out of
human heads, whether crowned or shaven.

There was likewise a diet held during the summer of this year, of the
circles of the empire nearest to the Netherlands--Westphalia, Cleves,
Juliers, and Saxony--from which commissioners were deputed both to
Brussels and to the Hague, to complain of the misfortunes suffered by
neutral and neighbouring nations in consequence of the civil war.

They took nothing by their mission to the Duke of Parma. At the Hague the
deputies were heard on the 22nd August, 1590. They complained to the
States-General of "brandschatting" on the border, of the holding of forts
beyond the lines, and of other invasions of neutral territory, of the
cruising of the war-vessels of the States off the shores and on the
rivers, and of their interference with lawful traders. Threats were made
of forcible intervention and reprisals.

The united States replied on the 13th September. Expressing deep regret
that neutral nations should suffer, they pronounced it to be impossible
but that some sparks from the great fire, now desolating their land,
should fly over into their neighbours' ground. The States were fighting
the battle of liberty against slavery, in which the future generations of
Germany, as well as of the Netherlands were interested. They were
combating that horrible institution, the Holy Inquisition. They were
doing their best to strike down the universal monarchy of Spain, which
they described as a bloodthirsty, insatiable, insolent, absolute dominion
of Saracenic, Moorish Christians. They warred with a system which placed
inquisitors on the seats of judges, which made it unlawful to read the
Scriptures, which violated all oaths, suppressed all civic freedom,
trampled, on all laws and customs, raised inordinate taxes by arbitrary
decree, and subjected high and low to indiscriminate murder. Spain had
sworn the destruction of the provinces and their subjugation to her
absolute dominion, in order to carry out her scheme of universal empire.

These were the deeds and designs against which the States were waging
that war, concerning some inconvenient results of which their neighbours,
now happily neutral, were complaining. But the cause of the States was
the cause of humanity itself. This Saracenic, Moorish, universal monarchy
had been seen by Germany to murder, despoil, and trample upon the
Netherlands. It had murdered millions of innocent Indians and Granadians.
It had kept Naples and Milan in abject slavery. It had seized Portugal.
It had deliberately planned and attempted an accursed invasion of England
and Ireland. It had overrun and plundered many cities of the empire. It
had spread a web of secret intrigue about Scotland. At last it was
sending great armies to conquer France and snatch its crown. Poor France
now saw the plans of this Spanish tyranny and bewailed her misery. The
subjects of her lawful king were ordered to rise against him, on account
of religion and conscience. Such holy pretexts were used by these
Saracenic Christians in order to gain possession of that kingdom.

For all these reasons, men should not reproach the inhabitants of the
Netherlands, because seeing the aims of this accursed tyranny, they had
set themselves to resist it. It was contrary to reason to consider them
as disturbers of the general peace, or to hold them guilty of violating
their oaths or their duty to the laws of the holy empire. The
States-General were sure that they had been hitherto faithful and loyal,
and they were resolved to continue in that path.

As members of the holy empire, in part--as of old they were considered to
be--they had rather the right to expect, instead of reproaches,
assistance against the enormous power and inhuman oppression of their
enemies. They had demanded it heretofore by their ambassadors, and they
still continued to claim it. They urged that, according to the laws of
the empire, all foreign soldiers, Spaniards, Saracens, and the like
should be driven out of the limits of the empire. Through these means the
German Highland and the German Netherland might be restored once more to
their old friendship and unity, and might deal with each other again in
amity and commerce.

If, however, such requests could not be granted they at least begged his
electoral highness and the other dukes, lords, and states to put on the
deeds of Netherlanders in this laborious and heavy war the best
interpretation, in order that they might, with the better courage and
resolution, bear those inevitable burthens which were becoming daily
heavier in this task of resistance and self-protection; in order that the
provinces might not be utterly conquered, and serve, with their natural
resources and advantageous situation, as 'sedes et media belli' for the
destruction of neighbouring States and the building up of the
contemplated universal, absolute monarchy.

The United Provinces had been compelled by overpowering necessity to take
up arms. That which had resulted was and remained in 'terminis
defensionis.' Their object was to protect what belonged to them, to
recover that which by force or fraud had been taken from them.

In regard to excesses committed by their troops against neutral
inhabitants on the border, they expressed a strong regret, together with
a disposition to make all proper retribution and to cause all crimes to
be punished.

They alluded to the enormous sins of this nature practised by the enemy
against neutral soil. They recalled to mind that the Spaniards paid their
troops ill or not at all, and that they allowed them to plunder the
innocent and the neutral, while the United States had paid their troops
better wages, and more punctually, than had ever been done by the
greatest potentates of Europe. It was true that the States kept many
cruisers off the coasts and upon the rivers, but these were to protect
their own citizens and friendly traders against pirates and against the
common foe. Germany derived as much benefit from this system as did the
Provinces themselves.

Thus did the States-General, respectfully but resolutely, decline all
proffers of intervention, which, as they were well aware, could only
enure to the benefit of the enemy. Thus did they avoid being entrapped
into negotiations which could only prove the most lamentable of comedies.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A pusillanimous peace, always possible at any period
     At length the twig was becoming the tree
     Being the true religion, proved by so many testimonies
     Certainly it was worth an eighty years' war
     Chief seafaring nations of the world were already protestant
     Conceding it subsequently, after much contestation
     Fled from the land of oppression to the land of liberty
     German Highland and the German Netherland
     Little army of Maurice was becoming the model for Europe
     Luxury had blunted the fine instincts of patriotism
     Maritime heretics
     Portion of these revenues savoured much of black-mail
     The divine speciality of a few transitory mortals
     The history of the Netherlands is history of liberty
     The nation which deliberately carves itself in pieces
     They had come to disbelieve in the mystery of kingcraft
     Worn nor caused to be worn the collar of the serf



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 62, 1590



CHAPTER XXIII.

   Philip's scheme of aggrandizement--Projected invasion of France--
   Internal condition of France--Character of Henry of Navarre--
   Preparation for action--Battle of Ivry--Victory of the French king
   over the League--Reluctance of the King to attack the French
   capital--Siege of Paris--The pope indisposed towards the League--
   Extraordinary demonstration of ecclesiastics--Influence of the
   priests--Extremities of the siege--Attempted negotiation--State of
   Philip's army--Difficult position of Farnese--March of the allies to
   the relief of Paris--Lagny taken and the city relieved--Desertion of
   the king's army--Siege of Corbeil--Death of Pope Sixtus V.--
   Re-capture of Lagny and Corbeil--Return of Parma to the Netherlands
  --Result of the expedition.

The scene of the narrative shifts to France. The history of the United
Netherlands at this epoch is a world-history. Were it not so, it would
have far less of moral and instruction for all time than it is really
capable of affording. The battle of liberty against despotism was now
fought in the hop-fields of Brabant or the polders of Friesland, now in
the: narrow seas which encircle England, and now on the sunny plains of
Dauphiny, among the craggy inlets of Brittany, or along the high roads
and rivers which lead to the gates of Paris. But everywhere a noiseless,
secret, but ubiquitous negotiation was speeding with never an instant's
pause to accomplish the work which lansquenettes and riders, pikemen and
carabineers were contending for on a hundred battle-fields and amid a din
of arms which for a quarter of a century had been the regular hum of
human industry. For nearly a generation of mankind, Germans and
Hollanders, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, Spaniards and
Italians seemed to be born into the world mainly to fight for or against
a system of universal monarchy, conceived for his own benefit by a quiet
old man who passed his days at a writing desk in a remote corner of
Europe. It must be confessed that Philip II. gave the world work enough.
Whether--had the peoples governed themselves--their energies might not
have been exerted in a different direction, and on the whole have
produced more of good to the human race than came of all this blood and
awoke, may be questioned.

But the divine right of kings, associating itself with the power supreme
of the Church, was struggling to maintain that old mastery of mankind
which awakening reason was inclined to dispute. Countries and nations
being regarded as private property to be inherited or bequeathed by a few
favoured individuals--provided always that those individuals were
obedient to the chief-priest--it had now become right and proper for the
Spanish monarch to annex Scotland, England, and France to the very
considerable possessions which were already his own. Scotland he claimed
by virtue of the expressed wish of Mary to the exclusion of her heretic
son.

France, which had been unjustly usurped by another family in times past
to his detriment, and which only a mere human invention--a "pleasantry"
as Alva had happily termed it, called the "Salic law"--prevented from
passing quietly to his daughter, as heiress to her mother, daughter of
Henry II., he was now fully bent upon making his own without further loss
of time. England, in consequence of the mishap of the year eighty-eight,
he was inclined to defer appropriating until the possession of the French
coasts, together with those of the Netherlands, should enable him to risk
the adventure with assured chances of success.

The Netherlands were fast slipping beyond his control, to be sure, as he
engaged in these endless schemes; and ill-disposed people of the day said
that the king was like Aesop's dog, lapping the river dry in order to get
at the skins floating on the surface. The Duke of Parma was driven to his
wits' ends for expedients, and beside himself with vexation, when
commanded to withdraw his ill-paid and mutinous army from the Provinces
for the purpose of invading France. Most importunate were the appeals and
potent the arguments by which he attempted to turn Philip from his
purpose. It was in vain. Spain was the great, aggressive, overshadowing
power at that day, before whose plots and whose violence the nations
alternately trembled, and it was France that now stood in danger of being
conquered or dismembered by the common enemy of all. That unhappy
kingdom, torn by intestine conflict, naturally invited the ambition and
the greediness of foreign powers. Civil war had been its condition, with
brief intervals, for a whole generation of mankind. During the last few
years, the sword had been never sheathed, while "the holy Confederacy"
and the Bearnese struggled together for the mastery. Religion was the
mantle under which the chiefs on both sides concealed their real designs
as they led on their followers year after year to the desperate conflict.
And their followers, the masses, were doubtless in earnest. A great
principle--the relation of man to his Maker and his condition in a future
world as laid down by rival priesthoods--has in almost every stage of
history had power to influence the multitude to fury and to deluge the
world in blood. And so long as the superstitious element of human nature
enables individuals or combinations of them to dictate to their
fellow-creatures those relations, or to dogmatize concerning those
conditions--to take possession of their consciences in short, and to
interpose their mummeries between man and his Creator--it is, probable
that such scenes as caused the nations to shudder, throughout so large a
portion of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries will continue to
repeat themselves at intervals in various parts of the earth. Nothing can
be more sublime than the self-sacrifice, nothing more demoniac than the
crimes, which human creatures have seemed always ready to exhibit under
the name of religion.

It was and had been really civil war in France. In the Netherlands it had
become essentially a struggle for independence against a foreign monarch;
although the germ out of which both conflicts had grown to their enormous
proportions was an effort of the multitude to check the growth of papacy.
In France, accordingly, civil war, attended by that gaunt sisterhood,
murder, pestilence, and famine, had swept from the soil almost everything
that makes life valuable. It had not brought in its train that
extraordinary material prosperity and intellectual development at which
men wondered in the Netherlands, and to which allusion has just been
made. But a fortunate conjunction of circumstances had now placed Henry
of Navarre in a position of vantage. He represented the principle of
nationality, of French unity. It was impossible to deny that he was in
the regular line of succession, now that luckless Henry of Valois slept
with his fathers, and the principle of nationality might perhaps prove as
vital a force as attachment to the Roman Church. Moreover, the adroit and
unscrupulous Bearnese knew well how to shift the mantle of religion from
one shoulder to the other, to serve his purposes or the humours of those
whom he addressed.

"The King of Spain would exclude me from the kingdom and heritage of my
father because of my religion," he said to the Duke of Saxony; "but in
that religion I am determined to persist so long as I shall live." The
hand was the hand of Henry, but it was the voice of Duplessis Mornay.

"Were there thirty crowns to win," said he, at about the same time to the
States of France, "I would not change my religion on compulsion, the
dagger at my throat. Instruct me, instruct me, I am not obstinate." There
spoke the wily freethinker, determined not to be juggled out of what he
considered his property by fanatics or priests of either church. Had
Henry been a real devotee, the fate of Christendom might have been
different. The world has long known how much misery it is in the power of
crowned bigots to inflict.

On the other hand, the Holy League, the sacred Confederacy, was catholic
or nothing. Already it was more papist than the pope, and loudly
denounced Sixtus V. as a Huguenot because he was thought to entertain a
weak admiration both for Henry the heretic and for the Jezebel of
England.

But the holy confederacy was bent on destroying the national government
of France, and dismembering the national domain. To do this the pretext
of trampling out heresy and indefinitely extending the power of Rome, was
most influential with the multitude, and entitled the leaders to enjoy
immense power for the time being, while maturing their schemes for
acquiring permanent possession of large fragments of the national
territory. Mayenne, Nemours, Aumale, Mercoeur longed to convert temporary
governments into independent principalities. The Duke of Lorraine looked
with longing eyes on Verdun, Sedan, and, the other fair cities within the
territories contiguous--to his own domains. The reckless house of Savoy;
with whom freebooting and landrobbery seemed geographical, and hereditary
necessities, was busy on the southern borders, while it seemed easy
enough for Philip, II., in right of his daughter, to secure at least the
duchy of Brittany before entering on the sovereignty of the whole
kingdom.

To the eyes of the world at large: France might well seem in a condition
of hopeless disintegration; the restoration of its unity and former
position among the nations, under the government of a single chief, a
weak and wicked dream. Furious and incessant were the anathemas hurled on
the head of the Bearnese for his persistence in drowning the land in
blood in the hope of recovering a national capital which never could be
his, and of wresting from the control of the confederacy that power.
which, whether usurped or rightful, was considered, at least by the
peaceably inclined, to have become a solid fact.

The poor puppet locked in the tower of Fontenay, and entitled Charles X.;
deceived and scared no one. Such money as there was might be coined, in
its name, but Madam League reigned supreme in Paris. The confederates,
inspired by the eloquence of a cardinal legate, and supplied with funds
by the faithful, were ready to dare a thousand deaths rather than submit
to the rule of a tyrant and heretic.

What was an authority derived from the laws of the land and the history
of the race compared with the dogmas of Rome and the trained veterans of
Spain? It remained to be seen whether nationality or bigotry would
triumph. But in the early days of 1590 the prospects of nationality were
not encouraging.

Francois de Luxembourg, due de Pincey, was in Rome at that moment,
deputed by such catholic nobles of France as were friendly to Henry of
Navarre. Sixtus might perhaps be influenced as to the degree of respect
to be accorded to the envoy's representations by the events of the
campaign about to open. Meantime the legate Gaetano, young, rich,
eloquent, unscrupulous, distinguished alike for the splendour of his
house and the brilliancy of his intellect, had arrived in Paris.

Followed by a great train of adherents he had gone down to the House of
Parliament, and was about to seat himself under the dais reserved for the
king, when Brisson, first President of Parliament, plucked him back by
the arm, and caused him to take a seat immediately below his own.

Deeply was the bold president to expiate this defence of king and law
against the Holy League. For the moment however the legate contented
himself with a long harangue, setting forth the power of Rome, while
Brisson replied by an oration magnifying the grandeur of France.

Soon afterwards the cardinal addressed himself to the counteraction of
Henry's projects of conversion. For, well did the subtle priest
understand that in purging himself of heresy, the Bearnese was about to
cut the ground from beneath his enemies' feet. In a letter to the
archbishops and bishops of France, he argued the matter at length.
Especially he denied the necessity or the legality of an assembly of all
the prelates of France, such as Henry desired to afford him the requisite
"instruction" as to the respective merits of the Roman and the reformed
Church. Certainly, he urged, the Prince of Bearne could hardly require
instruction as to the tenets of either, seeing that at different times he
had faithfully professed both.

But while benches of bishops and doctors of the Sorbonne were burnishing
all the arms in ecclesiastical and legal arsenals for the approaching
fray, the sound of louder if not more potent artillery began to be heard
in the vicinity of Paris. The candid Henry, while seeking ghostly
instruction with eagerness from his papistical patrons, was equally
persevering in applying for the assistance of heretic musketeers and
riders from his protestant friends in England, Holland, Germany, and
Switzerland.

Queen Elizabeth and the States-General vied with each other in generosity
to the great champion of protestantism, who was combating the holy league
so valiantly, and rarely has a great historical figure presented itself
to the world so bizarre of aspect, and under such shifting perplexity of
light and shade, as did the Bearnese in the early spring of 1590.

The hope of a considerable portion of the catholic nobility of his realm,
although himself an excommunicated heretic; the mainstay of Calvinism
while secretly bending all his energies to effect his reconciliation with
the pope; the idol of the austere and grimly puritanical, while himself a
model of profligacy; the leader of the earnest and the true, although
false as water himself in every relation in which human beings can stand
to each other; a standardbearer of both great branches of the Christian
Church in an age when religion was the atmosphere of men's daily lives,
yet finding his sincerest admirer, and one of his most faithful allies,
in the Grand Turk,

   [A portion of the magnificently protective letter of Sultan Amurath,
   in which he complimented Henry on his religious stedfastness, might
   almost have made the king's cheek tingle.]

the representative of national liberty and human rights against regal and
sacerdotal absolutism, while himself a remorseless despot by nature and
education, and a believer in no rights of the people save in their
privilege to be ruled by himself; it seems strange at first view that
Henry of Navarre should have been for centuries so heroic and popular an
image. But he was a soldier, a wit, a consummate politician; above all,
he was a man, at a period when to be a king was often to be something
much less or much worse.

To those accustomed to weigh and analyse popular forces it might well
seem that he was now playing an utterly hopeless game. His capital
garrisoned by the Pope and the King of Spain, with its grandees and its
populace scoffing at his pretence of authority and loathing his name;
with an exchequer consisting of what he could beg or borrow from Queen
Elizabeth--most parsimonious of sovereigns reigning over the half of a
small island--and from the States-General governing a half-born,
half-drowned little republic, engaged in a quarter of a century's warfare
with the greatest monarch in the world; with a wardrobe consisting of a
dozen shirts and five pocket-handkerchiefs, most of them ragged, and with
a commissariat made up of what could be brought in the saddle-bags of his
Huguenot cavaliers who came to the charge with him to-day, and to-morrow
were dispersed again to their mountain fastnesses; it did not seem likely
on any reasonable theory of dynamics that the power of the Bearnese was
capable of outweighing Pope and Spain, and the meaner but massive
populace of France, and the Sorbonne, and the great chiefs of the
confederacy, wealthy, long descended, allied to all the sovereigns of
Christendom, potent in territorial possessions and skilful in wielding
political influences.

"The Bearnese is poor but a gentleman of good family," said the cheerful
Henry, and it remained to-be seen whether nationality, unity, legitimate
authority, history, and law would be able to neutralise the powerful
combination of opposing elements.

The king had been besieging Dreux and had made good progress in reducing
the outposts of the city. As it was known that he was expecting
considerable reinforcements of English ships, Netherlanders, and Germans,
the chiefs of the league issued orders from Paris for an attack before he
should thus be strengthened.

For Parma, unwillingly obeying the stringent commands of his master, had
sent from Flanders eighteen hundred picked cavalry under Count Philip
Egmont to join the army of Mayenne. This force comprised five hundred
Belgian heavy dragoons under the chief nobles of the land, together with
a selection, in even proportions, of Walloon, German, Spanish, and
Italian troopers.

Mayenne accordingly crossed the Seine at Mantes with an army of ten
thousand foot, and, including Egmont's contingent, about four thousand
horse. A force under Marshal d'Aumont, which lay in Ivry at the passage
of the Eure, fell back on his approach and joined the remainder of the
king's army. The siege of Dreux was abandoned; and Henry withdrew to the
neighbourhood of Nonancourt. It was obvious that the duke meant to offer
battle, and it was rare that the king under any circumstances could be
induced to decline a combat.

On the night of the 12th-13th March, Henry occupied Saint Andre, a
village situated on an elevated and extensive plain four leagues from
Nonancourt, in the direction of Ivry, fringed on three sides by villages
and by a wood, and commanding a view of all the approaches from the
country between the Seine and Eure. It would have been better had Mayenne
been beforehand with him, as the sequel proved; but the duke was not
famed for the rapidity of his movements. During the greater part of the
night, Henry was employed in distributing his orders for that conflict
which was inevitable on the following day. His army was drawn up
according to a plan prepared by himself, and submitted to the most
experienced of his generals for their approval. He then personally
visited every portion of the encampment, speaking words of encouragement
to his soldiers, and perfecting his arrangements for the coming conflict.
Attended by Marshals d'Aumont and Biron he remained on horseback during a
portion of the night, having ordered his officers to their tents and
reconnoitred as well as he could the position of the enemy. Towards
morning he retired to his headquarters at Fourainville, where he threw
himself half-dressed on his truckle bed, and although the night was
bitterly cold, with no covering but his cloak. He was startled from his
slumber before the dawn by a movement of lights in the enemy's camp, and
he sprang to his feet supposing that the duke was stealing a march upon
him despite all his precautions. The alarm proved to be a false one, but
Henry lost no time in ordering his battle. His cavalry he divided in
seven troops or squadrons. The first, forming the left wing, was a body
of three hundred under Marshal d'Aumont, supported by two regiments of
French infantry. Next, separated by a short interval, was another troop
of three hundred under the Duke of Montpensier, supported by two other
regiments of foot, one Swiss and one German. In front of Montpensier was
Baron Biron the younger, at the head of still another body of three
hundred. Two troops of cuirassiers, each four hundred strong, were on
Biron's left, the one commanded by the Grand Prior of France, Charles
d'Angouleme, the other by Monsieur de Givry. Between the Prior and Givry
were six pieces of heavy artillery, while the battalia, formed of eight
hundred horse in six squadrons, was commanded by the king in person, and
covered on both sides by English and Swiss infantry, amounting to some
four thousand in all. The right wing was under the charge of old Marshal
Biron, and comprised three troops of horse, numbering one hundred and
fifty each, two companies of German riders, and four regiments of French
infantry. These numbers, which are probably given with as much accuracy
as can be obtained, show a force of about three thousand horse and twelve
thousand foot.

The Duke of Mayenne, seeing too late the advantage of position which he
might have easily secured the day before, led his army forth with the
early light, and arranged it in an order not very different from that
adopted by the king, and within cannon-shot of his lines. The right wing
under Marshal de la Chatre consisted of three regiments of French and one
of Germans, supporting three regiments of Spanish lancers, two cornets of
German riders under the Bastard of Brunswick, and four hundred
cuirassiers. The battalia, which was composed of six hundred splendid
cavalry, all noblemen of France, guarding the white banner of the Holy
League, and supported by a column of three thousand Swiss and two
thousand French infantry, was commanded by Mayenne in person, assisted by
his half-brother, the Duke of Nemours. In front of the infantry was a
battery of six cannon and three culverines. The left wing was commanded
by Marshal de Rene, with six regiments of French and Lorrainers, two
thousand Germans, six hundred French cuirassiers, and the mounted
troopers of Count Egmont. It is probable that Mayenne's whole force,
therefore, amounted to nearly four thousand cavalry and at least thirteen
thousand foot.

Very different was the respective appearance of the two armies, so far,
especially, as regarded the horsemen on both sides. Gay in their gilded
armour and waving plumes, with silken scarves across their shoulders, and
the fluttering favours of fair ladies on their arms or in their helmets,
the brilliant champions of the Holy Catholic Confederacy clustered around
the chieftains of the great house of Guise, impatient for the conflict.
It was like a muster for a brilliant and chivalrous tournament. The
Walloon and Flemish nobles, outrivalling even the self-confidence of
their companions in arms, taunted them with their slowness. The,
impetuous Egmont, burning to eclipse the fame of his ill-fated father at
Gravelines and St. Quintin in the same holy cause, urged on the battle
with unseemly haste, loudly proclaiming that if the French were
faint-hearted he would himself give a good account of the Navarrese
prince without any assistance from them.

A cannon-shot away, the grim puritan nobles who had come forth from their
mountain fastnesses to do battle for king and law and for the rights of
conscience against the Holy League--men seasoned in a hundred
battle-fields, clad all in iron, with no dainty ornaments nor holiday
luxury of warfare--knelt on the ground, smiting their mailed breasts with
iron hands, invoking blessings on themselves and curses and confusion on
their enemies in the coming conflict, and chanting a stern psalm of
homage to the God of battles and of wrath. And Henry of France and
Navarre, descendant of Lewis the Holy and of Hugh the Great, beloved
chief of the Calvinist cavaliers, knelt among his heretic brethren, and
prayed and chanted with them. But not the staunchest Huguenot of them
all, not Duplessis, nor D'Aubigne, nor De la Noue with the iron arm, was
more devoted on that day to crown and country than were such papist
supporters of the rightful heir as had sworn to conquer the insolent
foreigner on the soil of France or die.

When this brief prelude was over, Henry made an address to his soldiers,
but its language has not been preserved. It is known, however, that he
wore that day his famous snow-white plume, and that he ordered his
soldiers, should his banner go down in the conflict, to follow wherever
and as long as that plume should be seen waving on any part of the field.
He had taken a position by which his troops had the sun and wind in their
backs, so that the smoke rolled toward the enemy and the light shone in
their eyes. The combat began with the play of artillery, which soon
became so warm that Egmont, whose cavalry--suffering and galled--soon
became impatient, ordered a charge. It was a most brilliant one. The
heavy troopers of Flanders and Hainault, following their spirited
chieftain, dashed upon old Marshal Biron, routing his cavalry, charging
clean up to the Huguenot guns and sabring the cannoneers. The shock was
square, solid, irresistible, and was followed up by the German riders
under Eric of Brunswick, who charged upon the battalia of the royal army,
where the king commanded in person.

There was a panic. The whole royal cavalry wavered, the supporting
infantry recoiled, the day seemed lost before the battle was well begun.
Yells of "Victory! Victory! up with the Holy League, down with the
heretic Bearnese," resounded through the Catholic squadrons. The king and
Marshal Biron, who were near each other, were furious with rage, but
already doubtful of the result. They exerted themselves to rally the
troops under their immediate command, and to reform the shattered ranks.

The German riders and French lancers under Brunswick and Bassompierre
had, however, not done their work as thoroughly as Egmont had done. The
ground was so miry and soft that in the brief space which separated the
hostile lines they had not power to urge their horses to full speed.
Throwing away their useless lances, they came on at a feeble canter,
sword in hand, and were unable to make a very vigorous impression on the
more heavily armed troopers opposed to them. Meeting with a firm
resistance to their career, they wheeled, faltered a little and fell a
short distance back. Many of the riders being of the reformed religion,
refused moreover to fire upon the Huguenots, and discharged their
carbines in the air.

The king, whose glance on the battle-field was like inspiration, saw the
blot and charged upon them in person with his whole battalia of cavalry.
The veteran Biron followed hard upon the snow-white plume. The scene was
changed, victory succeeded to impending defeat, and the enemy was routed.
The riders and cuirassiers, broken into a struggling heap of confusion,
strewed the ground with their dead bodies, or carried dismay into the
ranks of the infantry as they strove to escape. Brunswick went down in
the melee, mortally wounded as it was believed. Egmont renewing the
charge at the head of his victorious Belgian troopers, fell dead with a
musket-ball through his heart. The shattered German and Walloon cavalry,
now pricked forward by the lances of their companions, under the
passionate commands of Mayenne and Aumale, now fading back before the
furious charges of the Huguenots, were completely overthrown and cut to
pieces.

Seven times did Henry of Navarre in person lead his troopers to the
charge; but suddenly, in the midst of the din of battle and the cheers of
victory, a message of despair went from lip to lip throughout the royal
lines. The king had disappeared. He was killed, and the hopes of
Protestantism and of France were fallen for ever with him. The white
standard of his battalia had been seen floating wildly and purposelessly
over the field; for his bannerman, Pot de Rhodes, a young noble of
Dauphiny, wounded mortally in the head, with blood streaming over his
face and blinding his sight, was utterly unable to control his horse, who
gallopped hither and thither at his own caprice, misleading many troopers
who followed in his erratic career. A cavalier, armed in proof, and
wearing the famous snow-white plume, after a hand-to-hand struggle with a
veteran of Count Bossu's regiment, was seen to fall dead by the side of
the bannerman: The Fleming, not used to boast, loudly asserted that he
had slain the Bearnese, and the news spread rapidly over the
battle-field. The defeated Confederates gained new courage, the
victorious Royalists were beginning to waver, when suddenly, between the
hostile lines, in the very midst of the battle, the king gallopped
forward, bareheaded, covered with blood and dust, but entirely unhurt. A
wild shout of "Vive le Roi!" rang through the air. Cheerful as ever, he
addressed a few encouraging words to his soldiers, with a smiling face,
and again led a charge. It was all that was necessary to complete the
victory. The enemy broke and ran away on every side in wildest confusion,
followed by the royalist cavalry, who sabred them as they fled. The panic
gained the foot-soldiers, who should have supported the cavalry, but had
not been at all engaged in the action. The French infantry threw away
their arms as they rushed from the field and sought refuge in the woods.
The Walloons were so expeditious in the race, that they never stopped
till they gained their own frontier. The day was hopelessly lost, and
although Mayenne had conducted himself well in the early part of the day,
it was certain that he was excelled by none in the celerity of his flight
when the rout had fairly begun. Pausing to draw breath as he gained the
wood, he was seen to deal blows with his own sword among the mob of
fugitives, not that he might rally them to their flag and drive them back
to another encounter, but because they encumbered his own retreat.

The Walloon carbineers, the German riders, and the French lancers,
disputing as to the relative blame to be attached to each corps, began
shooting and sabring each other, almost before they were out of the
enemy's sight. Many were thus killed. The lansquenets were all put to the
sword. The Swiss infantry were allowed to depart for their own country on
pledging themselves not again to bear arms against Henry IV.

It is probable that eight hundred of the leaguers were either killed on
the battle-field or drowned in the swollen river in their retreat. About
one-fourth of that number fell in the army of the king. It is certain
that of the contingent from the obedient Netherlands, two hundred and
seventy, including their distinguished general, lost their lives. The
Bastard of Brunswick, crawling from beneath a heap of slain, escaped with
life. Mayenne lost all his standards and all the baggage of his army,
while the army itself was for a time hopelessly dissolved.

Few cavalry actions have attained a wider celebrity in history than the
fight of Ivry. Yet there have been many hard-fought battles, where the
struggle was fiercer and closer, where the issue was for a longer time
doubtful, where far more lives on either side were lost, where the final
victory was immediately productive of very much greater results, and
which, nevertheless, have sunk into hopeless oblivion. The, personal
details which remain concerning the part enacted by the adventurous king
at this most critical period of his career, the romantic interest which
must always gather about that ready-witted, ready-sworded Gascon, at the
moment when, to contemporaries, the result of all his struggles seemed so
hopeless or at best so doubtful; above all, the numerous royal and
princely names which embellished the roll-call of that famous passage of
arms, and which were supposed, in those days at least, to add such lustre
to a battle-field, as humbler names, however illustrious by valour or
virtue, could never bestow, have made this combat for ever famous.

Yet it is certain that the most healthy moral, in military affairs, to be
derived from the event, is that the importance of a victory depends less
upon itself than on the use to be made of it. Mayenne fled to Mantes, the
Duke of Nemours to Chartres, other leaders of the League in various
directions, Mayenne told every body he met that the Bearnese was killed,
and that although his own army was defeated, he should soon have another
one on foot. The same intelligence was communicated to the Duke of Parma,
and by him to Philip. Mendoza and the other Spanish agents went about
Paris spreading the news of Henry's death, but the fact seemed woefully
to lack confirmation, while the proofs of the utter overthrow and
shameful defeat of the Leaguers were visible on every, side. The
Parisians--many of whom the year before had in vain hired windows in the
principal streets, in order to witness the promised entrance of the
Bearnese, bound hand and foot, and with a gag in his mouth, to swell the
triumph of Madam League--were incredulous as to the death now reported to
them of this very lively heretic, by those who had fled so ignominiously
from his troopers.

De la None and the other Huguenot chieftains, earnestly urged upon Henry
the importance of advancing upon Paris without an instant's delay, and it
seems at least extremely probable that, had he done so, the capital would
have fallen at once into his hands. It is the concurrent testimony of
contemporaries that the panic, the destitution, the confusion would have
made resistance impossible had a determined onslaught been made. And
Henry had a couple of thousand horsemen flushed with victory, and a dozen
thousand foot who had been compelled to look upon a triumph in which they
had no opportunity of sharing: Success and emulation would have easily
triumphed over dissension and despair.

But the king, yielding to the councils of Biron and other Catholics,
declined attacking the capital, and preferred waiting the slow, and in
his circumstances eminently hazardous, operations of a regular siege. Was
it the fear of giving a signal triumph to the cause of Protestantism that
caused the Huguenot leader--so soon to become a renegade--to pause in his
career? Was it anxiety lest his victorious entrance into Paris might undo
the diplomacy of his catholic envoys at Rome? or was it simply the
mutinous condition of his army, especially of the Swiss mercenaries, who
refused to advance a step unless their arrears of pay were at once
furnished them out of the utterly empty exchequer of the king? Whatever
may have been the cause of the delay, it is certain that the golden fruit
of victory was not plucked, and that although the confederate army had
rapidly dissolved, in consequence of their defeat, the king's own forces
manifested as little cohesion.

And now began that slow and painful siege, the details of which are as
terrible, but as universally known, as those of any chapters in the
blood-stained history of the century. Henry seized upon the towns
guarding the rivers Seine and Marne, twin nurses of Paris. By controlling
the course of those streams as well as that of the Yonne and
Oise--especially by taking firm possession of Lagny on the Marne, whence
a bridge led from the Isle of France to the Brie country--great
thoroughfare of wine and corn--and of Corbeil at the junction of the
little river Essonne with the Seine-it was easy in that age to stop the
vital circulation of the imperial city.

By midsummer, Paris, unquestionably the first city of Europe at that day,
was in extremities, and there are few events in history in which our
admiration is more excited by the power of mankind to endure almost
preternatural misery, or our indignation more deeply aroused by the
cruelty with which the sublimest principles of human nature may be made
to serve the purposes of selfish ambition and grovelling superstition,
than this famous leaguer.

Rarely have men at any epoch defended their fatherland against foreign
oppression with more heroism than that which was manifested by the
Parisians of 1590 in resisting religious toleration, and in obeying a
foreign and priestly despotism. Men, women, and children cheerfully laid
down their lives by thousands in order that the papal legate and the king
of Spain might trample upon that legitimate sovereign of France who was
one day to become the idol of Paris and of the whole kingdom.

A census taken at the beginning of the siege had showed a populace of two
hundred thousand souls, with a sufficiency of provisions, it was thought,
to last one month. But before the terrible summer was over--so completely
had the city been invested--the bushel of wheat was worth three hundred
and sixty crowns, rye and oats being but little cheaper. Indeed, grain
might as well have cost three thousand crowns the bushel, for the prices
recorded placed it beyond the reach of all but the extremely wealthy. The
flesh of horses, asses, dogs, cats, rats had become rare luxuries. There
was nothing cheap, said a citizen bitterly, but sermons. And the priests
and monks of every order went daily about the streets, preaching
fortitude in that great resistance to heresy, by which Paris was earning
for itself a crown of glory, and promising the most direct passage to
paradise for the souls of the wretched victims who fell daily, starved to
death, upon the pavements. And the monks and priests did their work
nobly, aiding the general resolution by the example of their own courage.
Better fed than their fellow citizens, they did military work in trench,
guard-house and rampart, as the population became rapidly unfit, from
physical exhaustion, for the defence of the city.

The young Duke of Nemours, governor of the place, manifested as much
resolution and conduct in bringing his countrymen to perdition as if the
work in which he was engaged had been the highest and holiest that ever
tasked human energies. He was sustained in his task by that proud
princess, his own and Mayenne's mother, by Madame Montpensier, by the
resident triumvirate of Spain, Mendoza, Commander Moreo, and John Baptist
Tasais, by the cardinal legate Gaetano, and, more than all, by the
sixteen chiefs of the wards, those municipal tyrants of the unhappy
populace.

Pope Sixtus himself was by no means eager for the success of the League.
After the battle of Ivry, he had most seriously inclined his ear to the
representations of Henry's envoy, and showed much willingness to admit
the victorious heretic once more into the bosom of the Church. Sixtus was
not desirous of contributing to the advancement of Philip's power. He
feared his designs on Italy, being himself most anxious at that time to
annex Naples to the holy see. He had amassed a large treasure, but he
liked best to spend it in splendid architecture, in noble fountains, in
magnificent collections of art, science, and literature, and, above all,
in building up fortunes for the children of his sister the washerwoman,
and in allying them all to the most princely houses of Italy, while never
allowing them even to mention the name of their father, so base was his
degree; but he cared not to disburse from his hoarded dollars to supply
the necessities of the League.

But Gaetano, although he could wring but fifty thousand crowns from his
Holiness after the fatal fight of Ivry, to further the good cause, was
lavish in expenditures from his own purse and from other sources, and
this too at a time when thirty-three per cent. interest was paid to the
usurers of Antwerp for one month's loan of ready money. He was
indefatigable, too, and most successful in his exhortations and ghostly
consolations to the people. Those proud priests and great nobles were
playing a reckless game, and the hopes of mankind beyond the grave were
the counters on their table. For themselves there were rich prizes for
the winning. Should they succeed in dismembering the fair land where they
were enacting their fantastic parts, there were temporal principalities,
great provinces, petty sovereignties, to be carved out of the heritage
which the Bearnese claimed for his own. Obviously then, their consciences
could never permit this shameless heretic, by a simulated conversion at
the critical moment, to block their game and restore the national unity
and laws. And even should it be necessary to give the whole kingdom,
instead of the mere duchy of Brittany, to Philip of Spain, still there
were mighty guerdons to be bestowed on his supporters before the foreign
monarch could seat himself on the throne of Henry's ancestors.

As to the people who were fighting, starving, dying by thousands in this
great cause, there were eternal rewards in another world profusely
promised for their heroism instead of the more substantial bread and
beef, for lack of which they were laying down their lives.

It was estimated that before July twelve thousand human beings in Paris
had died, for want of food, within three months. But as there were no
signs of the promised relief by the army of Parma and Mayenne, and as the
starving people at times appeared faint-hearted, their courage was
strengthened one day by a stirring exhibition.

An astonishing procession marched through the streets of the city, led by
the Bishop of Senlis and the Prior of Chartreux, each holding a halberd
in one hand and a crucifix in the other, and graced by the presence of
the cardinal-legate, and of many prelates from Italy. A lame monk,
adroitly manipulating the staff of a drum major, went hopping and limping
before them, much to the amazement of the crowd. Then came a long file of
monks-Capuchins, Bernardists, Minimes, Franciscans, Jacobins, Carmelites,
and other orders--each with his cowl thrown back, his long robes trussed
up, a helmet on his head, a cuirass on his breast, and a halberd in his
hand. The elder ones marched first, grinding their teeth, rolling their
eyes, and making other ferocious demonstrations. Then came the younger
friars, similarly attired, all armed with arquebusses, which they
occasionally and accidentally discharged to the disadvantage of the
spectators, several of whom were killed or wounded on the spot. Among
others a servant of Cardinal Gaetano was thus slain, and the even caused
much commotion, until the cardinal proclaimed that a man thus killed in
so holy a cause had gone straight to heaven and had taken his place among
the just. It was impossible, thus argued the people in their simplicity,
that so wise and virtuous a man as the cardinal should not know what was
best.

The procession marched to the church of our Lady of Loretto, where they
solemnly promised to the blessed Virgin a lamp and ship of gold--should
she be willing to use her influence in behalf of the suffering city--to
be placed on her shrine as soon as the siege should be raised.

But these demonstrations, however cheering to the souls, had
comparatively little effect upon the bodies of the sufferers. It was
impossible to walk through the streets of Paris without stumbling over
the dead bodies of the citizens. Trustworthy eye-witnesses of those
dreadful days have placed the number of the dead during the summer at
thirty thousand. A tumultuous assemblage of the starving and the forlorn
rushed at last to the municipal palace, demanding peace or bread. The
rebels were soon dispersed however by a charge, headed by the Chevalier
d'Aumale, and assisted by the chiefs of the wards, and so soon as the
riot was quelled, its ringleader, a leading advocate, Renaud by name, was
hanged.

Still, but for the energy of the priests, it is doubtful whether the city
could have been held by the Confederacy. The Duke of Nemours confessed
that there were occasions when they never would have been able to sustain
a determined onslaught, and they were daily expecting to see the Prince
of Bearne battering triumphantly at their gates.

But the eloquence of the preachers, especially of the one-eyed father
Boucher, sustained the fainting spirits of the people, and consoled the
sufferers in their dying agonies by glimpses of paradise. Sublime was
that devotion, superhuman that craft; but it is only by weapons from the
armoury of the Unseen that human creatures can long confront such horrors
in a wicked cause. Superstition, in those days at least, was a political
force absolutely without limitation, and most adroitly did the agents of
Spain and Rome handle its tremendous enginery against unhappy France. For
the hideous details of the most dreadful sieges recorded in ancient or
modern times were now reproduced in Paris. Not a revolutionary
circumstance, at which the world had shuddered in the accounts of the
siege of Jerusalem, was spared. Men devoured such dead vermin as could be
found lying in the streets. They crowded greedily around stalls in the
public squares where the skin, bones, and offal of such dogs, cats and
unclean beasts as still remained for the consumption of the wealthier
classes were sold to the populace. Over the doorways of these flesh
markets might be read "Haec runt munera pro iis qui vitam pro Philippo
profuderunt." Men stood in archways and narrow passages lying in wait for
whatever stray dogs still remained at large, noosed them, strangled them,
and like savage beasts of prey tore them to pieces and devoured them
alive. And it sometimes happened, too, that the equally hungry dog proved
the more successful in the foul encounter, and fed upon the man. A lady
visiting the Duchess of Nemours--called for the high pretensions of her
sons by her two marriages the queen-mother--complained bitterly that
mothers in Paris had been compelled to kill their own children outright
to save them from starving to death in lingering agony. "And if you are
brought to that extremity," replied the duchess, "as for the sake of our
holy religion to be forced to kill your own children, do you think that
so great a matter after all? What are your children made of more than
other people's children? What are we all but dirt and dust?" Such was the
consolation administered by the mother of the man who governed Paris, and
defended its gates against its lawful sovereign at the command of a
foreigner; while the priests in their turn persuaded the populace that it
was far more righteous to kill their own children, if they had no food to
give them, than to obtain food by recognising a heretic king.

It was related too, and believed, that in some instances mothers had
salted the bodies of their dead children and fed upon them, day by day,
until the hideous repast would no longer support their own life. They
died, and the secret was revealed by servants who had partaken of the
food. The Spanish ambassador, Mendoza, advised recourse to an article of
diet which had been used in some of the oriental sieges. The counsel at
first was rejected as coming from the agent of Spain, who wished at all
hazards to save the capital of France from falling out of the hands of
his master into those of the heretic. But dire necessity prevailed, and
the bones of the dead were taken in considerable quantities from the
cemeteries, ground into flour, baked into bread, and consumed. It was
called Madame Montpensier's cake, because the duchess earnestly
proclaimed its merits to the poor Parisians. "She was never known to
taste it herself, however," bitterly observed one who lived in Paris
through that horrible summer. She was right to abstain, for all who ate
of it died, and the Montpensier flour fell into disuse.

Lansquenets and other soldiers, mad with hunger and rage, when they could
no longer find dogs to feed on, chased children through the streets, and
were known in several instances to kill and devour them on the spot.  To
those expressing horror at the perpetration of such a crime, a leading
personage, member of the Council of Nine, maintained that there was less
danger to one's soul in satisfying one's hunger with a dead child, in
case of necessity, than in recognizing the heretic Bearnese, and he added
that all the best theologians and doctors of Paris were of his opinion.

As the summer wore on to its close, through all these horrors, and as
there were still no signs of Mayenne and Parma leading their armies to
the relief of the city, it became necessary to deceive the people by a
show of negotiation with the beleaguering army. Accordingly, the Spanish
ambassador, the legate, and the other chiefs of the Holy League appointed
a deputation, consisting of the Cardinal Gondy, the Archbishop of Lyons,
and the Abbe d'Elbene, to Henry. It soon became evident to the king,
however, that these commissioners were but trifling with him in order to
amuse the populace. His attitude was dignified and determined throughout
the interview. The place appointed was St. Anthony's Abbey, before the
gates of Paris. Henry wore a cloak and the order of the Holy Ghost, and
was surrounded by his council, the princes of the blood, and by more than
four hundred of the chief gentlemen of his army. After passing the
barricade, the deputies were received by old Marshal Biron, and conducted
by him to the king's chamber of state. When they had made their
salutations, the king led the way to an inner cabinet, but his progress
was much impeded by the crowding of the nobles about him. Wishing to
excuse this apparent rudeness, he said to the envoys: "Gentlemen, these
men thrust me on as fast to the battle against the foreigner as they now
do to my cabinet. Therefore bear with them." Then turning to the crowd,
he said: "Room, gentlemen, for the love of me," upon which they all
retired.

The deputies then stated that they had been sent by the authorities of
Paris to consult as to the means of obtaining a general peace in France.
They expressed the hope that the king's disposition was favourable to
this end, and that he would likewise permit them to confer with the Duke
of Mayenne. This manner of addressing him excited his choler. He told
Cardinal Gondy, who was spokesman of the deputation, that he had long
since answered such propositions. He alone could deal with his subjects.
He was like the woman before Solomon; he would have all the child or none
of it. Rather than dismember his kingdom he would lose the whole. He
asked them what they considered him to be. They answered that they knew
his rights, but that the Parisians had different opinions. If Paris would
only acknowledge him to be king there could be no more question of war.
He asked them if they desired the King of Spain or the Duke of Mayenne
for their king, and bade them look well to themselves. The King of Spain
could not help them, for he had too much business on hand; while Mayenne
had neither means nor courage, having been within three leagues of them
for three weeks doing nothing. Neither king nor duke should have that
which belonged to him, of that they might be assured. He told them he
loved Paris as his capital, as his eldest daughter. If the Parisians
wished to see the end of their miseries it was to him they should appeal,
not to the Spaniard nor to the Duke of Mayenne. By the grace of God and
the swords of his brave gentlemen he would prevent the King of Spain from
making a colony of France as he had done of Brazil. He told the
commissioners that they ought to die of shame that they, born Frenchmen,
should have so forgotten their love of country and of liberty as thus to
bow the head to the Spaniard, and--while famine was carrying off
thousands of their countrymen before their eyes--to be so cowardly as not
to utter one word for the public welfare from fear of offending Cardinal.
Gaetano, Mendoza, and Moreo. He said that he longed for a combat to
decide the issue, and that he had charged Count de Brissac to tell
Mayenne that he would give a finger of his right hand for a battle, and
two for a general peace. He knew and pitied the sufferings of Paris, but
the horrors now raging there were to please the King of Spain. That
monarch had told the Duke of Parma to trouble himself but little about
the Netherlands so long as he could preserve for him his city of Paris.
But it was to lean on a broken reed to expect support from this old,
decrepit king, whose object was to dismember the flourishing kingdom of
France, and to divide it among as many tyrants as he had sent viceroys to
the Indies. The crown was his own birthright. Were it elective he should
receive the suffrages of the great mass of the electors. He hoped soon to
drive those red-crossed foreigners out of his kingdom. Should he fail,
they would end by expelling the Duke of Mayenne and all the rest who had
called them in, and Paris would become the theatre of the bloodiest
tragedy ever yet enacted. The king then ordered Sir Roger Williams to see
that a collation was prepared for the deputies, and the veteran Welshman
took occasion to indulge in much blunt conversation with the guests. He
informed them that he, Mr. Sackville, and many other strangers were
serving the king from the hatred they bore the Spaniards and Mother
League, and that his royal mistress had always 8000 Englishmen ready to
maintain the cause.

While the conferences were going on, the officers and soldiers of the
besieging army thronged to the gate, and had much talk with the townsmen.
Among others, time-honoured La None with the iron arm stood near the gate
and harangued the Parisians. "We are here," said he, "five thousand
gentlemen; we desire your good, not your ruin. We will make you rich: let
us participate in your labour and industry. Undo not yourselves to serve
the ambition of a few men." The townspeople hearing the old warrior
discoursing thus earnestly, asked who he was. When informed that it was
La Noue they cheered him vociferously, and applauded his speech with the
greatest vehemence. Yet La Noue was the foremost Huguenot that the sun
shone upon, and the Parisians were starving themselves to death out of
hatred to heresy. After the collation the commissioners were permitted to
go from the camp in order to consult Mayenne.

Such then was the condition of Paris during that memorable summer of
tortures. What now were its hopes of deliverance out of this Gehenna? The
trust of Frenchmen was in Philip of Spain, whose legions, under command
of the great Italian chieftain, were daily longed for to save them from
rendering obedience to their lawful prince.

For even the king of straw--the imprisoned cardinal--was now dead, and
there was not even the effigy of any other sovereign than Henry of
Bourbon to claim authority in France. Mayenne, in the course of long
interviews with the Duke of Parma at Conde and Brussels, had expressed
his desire to see Philip king of France, and had promised his best
efforts to bring about such a result. In that case he stipulated for the
second place in the kingdom for himself, together with a good rich
province in perpetual sovereignty, and a large sum of money in hand.
Should this course not run smoothly, he would be willing to take the
crown himself, in which event he would cheerfully cede to Philip the
sovereignty of Brittany and Burgundy, besides a selection of cities to be
arranged for at a later day. Although he spoke of himself with modesty,
said Alexander, it was very plain that he meant to arrive at the crown
himself: Well had the Bearnese alluded to the judgment of Solomon. Were
not children, thus ready to dismember their mother, as foul and unnatural
as the mother who would divide her child?

And what was this dependence on a foreign tyrant really worth? As we look
back upon those dark days with the light of what was then the almost
immediate future turned full and glaring upon them, we find it difficult
to exaggerate the folly of the chief actors in those scenes of crime. Did
not the penniless adventurer, whose keen eyesight and wise recklessness
were passing for hallucination and foolhardiness in the eyes of his
contemporaries, understand the game he was playing better than did that
profound thinker, that mysterious but infallible politician, who sat in
the Escorial and made the world tremble at every hint of his lips, every
stroke of his pen?

The Netherlands--that most advanced portion of Philip's domain, without
the possession of which his conquest of England and his incorporation of
France were but childish visions, even if they were not monstrous
chimeras at best--were to be in a manner left to themselves, while their
consummate governor and general was to go forth and conquer France at the
head of a force with which he had been in vain attempting to hold those
provinces to their obedience. At that very moment the rising young
chieftain of the Netherlands was most successfully inaugurating his
career of military success. His armies well drilled, well disciplined,
well paid, full of heart and of hope, were threatening their ancient
enemy in every quarter, while the veteran legions of Spain and Italy,
heroes of a hundred Flemish and Frisian battle-fields, were disorganised,
starving, and mutinous. The famous ancient legion, the terzo viejo, had
been disbanded for its obstinate and confirmed unruliness. The legion of
Manrique, sixteen hundred strong, was in open mutiny at Courtray. Farnese
had sent the Prince of Ascoli to negotiate with them, but his attempts
were all in vain. Two years' arrearages--to be paid, not in cloth at four
times what the contractors had paid for it, but in solid gold--were their
not unreasonable demands after years of as hard fighting and severe
suffering as the world has often seen. But Philip, instead of ducats or
cloth, had only sent orders to go forth and conquer a new kingdom for
him. Verdugo, too, from Friesland was howling for money, garrotting and
hanging his mutinous veterans every day, and sending complaints and most
dismal forebodings as often as a courier could make his way through the
enemy's lines to Farnese's headquarters. And Farnese, on his part, was
garrotting and hanging the veterans.

Alexander did not of course inform his master that he was a mischievous
lunatic, who upon any healthy principle of human government ought long
ago to have been shut up from all communion with his species. It was very
plain, however, from his letters, that such was his innermost, thought,
had it been safe, loyal, or courteous to express it in plain language.

He was himself stung almost to madness moreover by the presence of
Commander Moreo, who hated him, who was perpetually coming over from
France to visit him, who was a spy upon all his actions, and who was
regularly distilling his calumnies into the ears of Secretary Idiaquez
and of Philip himself. The king was informed that Farnese was working for
his own ends, and was disgusted with his sovereign; that there never had
been a petty prince of Italy that did not wish to become a greater one,
or that was not jealous of Philip's power, and that there was not a
villain in all Christendom but wished for Philip's death. Moreo followed
the prince about to Antwerp, to Brussels, to Spa, whither he had gone to
drink the waters for his failing health, pestered him, lectured him,
pried upon him, counselled him, enraged him. Alexander told him at last
that he cared not if the whole world came to an end so long as Flanders
remained, which alone had been entrusted to him, and that if he was
expected to conquer France it would be as well to give him the means of
performing that exploit. So Moreo told the king that Alexander was
wasting time and wasting money, that he was the cause of Egmont's
overthrow, and that he would be the cause of the loss of Paris and of the
downfall of the whole French scheme; for that he was determined to do
nothing to assist Mayenne, or that did not conduce to his private
advantage.

Yet Farnese had been not long before informed in sufficiently plain
language, and by personages of great influence, that in case he wished to
convert his vice-royalty of the Netherlands into a permanent sovereignty,
he might rely on the assistance of Henry of Navarre, and perhaps of Queen
Elizabeth. The scheme would not have been impracticable, but the duke
never listened to it for a moment.

If he were slow in advancing to the relief of starving, agonising Paris,
there were sufficient reasons for his delay. Most decidedly and bitterly,
but loyally, did he denounce the madness of his master's course in all
his communications to that master's private ear.

He told him that the situation in which he found himself was horrible. He
had no money for his troops, he had not even garrison bread to put in
their mouths. He had not a single stiver to advance them on account. From
Friesland, from the Rhine country, from every quarter, cries of distress
were rising to heaven, and the lamentations were just. He was in absolute
penury. He could not negotiate a bill on the royal account, but had
borrowed on his own private security a few thousand crowns which he had
given to his soldiers. He was pledging his jewels and furniture like a
bankrupt, but all was now in vain to stop the mutiny at Courtray. If that
went on it would be of most pernicious example, for the whole army was
disorganised, malcontent, and of portentous aspect. "These things," said
he, "ought not to surprise people of common understanding, for without
money, without credit, without provisions, and in an exhausted country,
it is impossible to satisfy the claims, or even to support the life of
the army." When he sent the Flemish cavalry to Mayenne in March, it was
under the impression that with it that prince would have maintained his
reputation and checked the progress of the Bearnese until greater
reinforcements could be forwarded. He was now glad that no larger number
had been sent, for all would have been sacrificed on the fatal field of
Ivry.

The country around him was desperate, believed itself abandoned, and was
expecting fresh horrors everyday. He had been obliged to remove portions
of the garrisons at Deventer and Zutphen purely to save them from
starving and desperation. Every day he was informed by his garrisons that
they could feed no longer on fine words or hopes, for in them they found
no sustenance.

But Philip told him that he must proceed forthwith to France, where he
was to raise the siege of Paris, and occupy Calais and Boulogne in order
to prevent the English from sending succour to the Bearnese, and in order
to facilitate his own designs on England. Every effort was to be made
before the Bearnese climbed into the seat. The Duke of Parma was to talk
no more of difficulties, but to conquer them; a noble phrase on the
battle field, but comparatively easy of utterance at the writing-desk!

At last, Philip having made some remittances, miserably inadequate for
the necessities of the case, but sufficient to repress in part the
mutinous demonstrations throughout the army, Farnese addressed himself
with a heavy heart to the work required of him. He confessed the deepest
apprehensions of the result both in the Netherlands and in France. He
intimated a profound distrust of the French, who had, ever been Philip's
enemies, and dwelt on the danger of leaving the provinces, unable to
protect themselves, badly garrisoned, and starving. "It grieves me to the
soul, it cuts me to the heart," he said, "to see that your Majesty
commands things which are impossible, for it is our Lord alone that can
work miracles. Your Majesty supposes that with the little money you have
sent me, I can satisfy all the soldiers serving in these provinces,
settle with the Spanish and the German mutineers--because, if they are to
be used in the expedition, they must at least be quieted--give money to
Mayenne and the Parisians, pay retaining wages (wartgeld) to the German
Riders for the protection of these provinces, and make sure of the
maritime places where the same mutinous language is held as at Courtray.
The poverty, the discontent, and the desperation of this unhappy
country," he added, "have, been so often described to your Majesty that I
have nothing to add. I am hanging and garrotting my veterans everywhere,
only because they have rebelled for want of pay without committing any
excess. Yet under these circumstances I am to march into France with
twenty thousand troops--the least number to effect anything withal. I am
confused and perplexed because the whole world is exclaiming against me,
and protesting that through my desertion the country entrusted to my care
will come to utter perdition. On the other hand, the French cry out upon
me that I am the cause that Paris is going to destruction, and with it
the Catholic cause in France. Every one is pursuing his private ends. It
is impossible to collect a force strong enough for the necessary work.
Paris has reached its extreme unction, and neither Mayenne nor any one of
the confederates has given this invalid the slightest morsel to support
her till your Majesty's forces should arrive."

He reminded his sovereign that the country around Paris was eaten bare of
food and forage, and yet that it was quite out of the question for him to
undertake the transportation of supplies for his army all the
way--supplies from the starving Netherlands to starving France. Since the
king was so peremptory, he had nothing for it but to obey, but he
vehemently disclaimed all responsibility for the expedition, and, in case
of his death, he called on his Majesty to vindicate his honour, which his
enemies were sure to assail.

The messages from Mayenne becoming daily more pressing, Farnese hastened
as much as possible those preparations which at best were so woefully
inadequate, and avowed his determination not to fight the Bearnese if it
were possible to avoid an action. He feared, however, that with totally
insufficient forces he should be obliged to accept the chances of an
engagement.

With twelve thousand foot and three thousand horse Farnese left the
Netherlands in the beginning of August, and arrived on the 3rd of that
month at Valenciennes. His little army, notwithstanding his bitter
complaints, was of imposing appearance. The archers and halberdiers of
his bodyguard were magnificent in taffety and feathers and surcoats of
cramoisy velvet. Four hundred nobles served in the cavalry. Arenberg and
Barlaymont and Chimay, and other grandees of the Netherlands, in company
with Ascoli and the sons of Terranova and Pastrana, and many more great
lords of Italy and Spain were in immediate attendance on the illustrious
captain. The son of Philip's Secretary of State, Idiaquez, and the nephew
of the cardinal-legate, Gaetano, were among the marshals of the camp.

Alexander's own natural authority and consummate powers of organisation
had for the time triumphed over the disintegrating tendencies which, it
had been seen, were everywhere so rapidly destroying the foremost
military establishment of the world. Nearly half his forces, both cavalry
and infantry, were Netherlanders; for--as if there were not graves enough
in their own little territory--those Flemings, Walloons, and Hollanders
were destined to leave their bones on both sides of every well-stricken
field of that age between liberty and despotism. And thus thousands of
them had now gone forth under the banner of Spain to assist their own
tyrant in carrying out his designs upon the capital of France, and to
struggle to the death with thousands of their own countrymen who were
following the fortunes of the Bearnese. Truly in that age it was religion
that drew the boundary line between nations.

The army was divided into three portions. The vanguard was under the
charge of the Netherland General, Marquis of Renty. The battalia was
commanded by Farnese in person, and the rearguard was entrusted to that
veteran Netherlander, La Motte, now called the Count of Everbeck. Twenty
pieces of artillery followed the last division. At Valenciennes Farnese
remained eight days, and from this place Count Charles Mansfeld took his
departure in a great rage--resigning his post as chief of artillery
because La Motte had received the appointment of general-marshal of the
camp--and returned to his father, old Peter Ernest Mansfeld, who was
lieutenant-governor of the Netherlands in Parma's absence.

Leaving Valenciennes on the 11th, the army proceeded by way of Quesney,
Guise, Soissons, Fritemilon to Meaux. At this place, which is ten leagues
from Paris, Farnese made his junction, on the 22nd of August, with
Mayenne, who was at the head of six thousand infantry--one half of them
Germans under Cobalto, and the other half French--and of two thousand
horse.

On arriving at Meaux, Alexander proceeded straightway to the cathedral,
and there, in presence of all, he solemnly swore that he had not come to
France in order to conquer that kingdom or any portion of it, in the
interests of his master, but only to render succour to the Catholic cause
and to free the friends and confederates of his Majesty from violence and
heretic oppression. Time was to show the value of that oath.

Here the deputation from Paris--the Archbishop of Lyons and his
colleagues, whose interview with Henry has just been narrated--were
received by the two dukes. They departed, taking with them promises of
immediate relief for the starving city. The allies remained five days at
Meaux, and leaving that place on the 27th, arrived in the neighbourhood
of Chelles, on the last day but one of the summer. They had a united
force of five thousand cavalry and eighteen thousand foot.

The summer of horrors was over, and thus with the first days of autumn
there had come a ray of hope for the proud city which was lying at its
last gasp. When the allies, came in sight of the monastery of Chellea
they found themselves in the immediate neighbourhood of the Bearnese.

The two great captains of the age had at last met face to face. They were
not only the two first commanders of their time, but there was not a man
in Europe at that day to be at all compared with either of them. The
youth, concerning whose earliest campaign an account will be given in the
following chapter, had hardly yet struck his first blow. Whether that
blow was to reveal the novice or the master was soon to be seen. Meantime
in 1590 it would have been considered a foolish adulation to mention the
name of Maurice of Nassau in the same breath with that of Navarre or of
Farnese.

The scientific duel which was now to take place was likely to task the
genius and to bring into full display the peculiar powers and defects of
the two chieftains of Europe. Each might be considered to be still in the
prime of life, but Alexander, who was turned of forty-five, was already
broken in health, while the vigorous Henry was eight years younger, and
of an iron constitution. Both had passed then lives in the field, but the
king, from nature, education, and the force of circumstances, preferred
pitched battles to scientific combinations, while the duke, having
studied and practised his art in the great Spanish and Italian schools of
warfare, was rather a profound strategist than a professional fighter,
although capable of great promptness and intense personal energy when his
judgment dictated a battle. Both were born with that invaluable gift
which no human being can acquire, authority, and both were adored and
willingly obeyed by their soldiers, so long as those soldiers were paid
and fed.

The prize now to be contended for was a high one. Alexander's complete
success would tear from Henry's grasp the first city of Christendom, now
sinking exhausted into his hands, and would place France in the power of
the Holy League and at the feet of Philip. Another Ivry would shatter the
confederacy, and carry the king in triumph to his capital and his
ancestral throne. On the approach of the combined armies under Parma and
Mayenne, the king had found himself most reluctantly compelled to suspend
the siege of Paris. His army, which consisted of sixteen thousand foot
and five thousand horse, was not sufficiently numerous to confront at the
same time the relieving force and to continue the operations before the
city. So long, however, as he held the towns and bridges on the great
rivers, and especially those keys to the Seine and Marne, Corbeil and
Lagny, he still controlled the life-blood of the capital, which indeed
had almost ceased to flow.

On the 31st August he advanced towards the enemy. Sir Edward Stafford,
Queen Elizabeth's ambassador, arrived at St. Denis in the night of the
30th August. At a very early hour next morning he heard a shout under his
window, and looking down beheld King Henry at the head of his troops,
cheerfully calling out to his English friend as he passed his door.
"Welcoming us after his familiar manner," said Stafford, "he desired us,
in respect of the battle every hour expected, to come as his friends to
see and help him, and not to treat of anything which afore, we meant,
seeing the present state to require it, and the enemy so near that we
might well have been interrupted in half-an-hour's talk, and necessity
constrained the king to be in every corner, where for the most part we
follow him."

That day Henry took up his headquarters at the monastery of Chelles, a
fortified place within six leagues of Paris, on the right bank of the
Marne. His army was drawn up in a wide valley somewhat encumbered with
wood and water, extending through a series of beautiful pastures towards
two hills of moderate elevation. Lagny, on the left bank of the river,
was within less than a league of him on his right hand. On the other side
of the hills, hardly out of cannon-shot, was the camp of the allies.
Henry, whose natural disposition in this respect needed no prompting, was
most eager for a decisive engagement. The circumstances imperatively
required it of him. His infantry consisted of Frenchmen, Netherlanders,
English, Germans, Scotch; but of his cavalry four thousand were French
nobles, serving at their own expense, who came to a battle as to a
banquet, but who were capable of riding off almost as rapidly, should the
feast be denied them. They were volunteers, bringing with them rations
for but a few days, and it could hardly be expected that they would
remain as patiently as did Parma's veterans, who, now that their mutiny
had been appeased by payment of a portion of their arrearages, had become
docile again. All the great chieftains who surrounded Henry, whether
Catholic or Protestant--Montpensier, Nevers, Soissons, Conti, the Birons,
Lavradin, d'Aumont, Tremouille, Turenne, Chatillon, La Noue--were urgent
for the conflict, concerning the expediency of which there could indeed
be no doubt, while the king was in raptures at the opportunity of dealing
a decisive blow at the confederacy of foreigners and rebels who had so
long defied his authority and deprived him of his rights.

Stafford came up with the king, according to his cordial invitation, on
the same day, and saw the army all drawn up in battle array. While Henry
was "eating a morsel in an old house," Turenne joined him with six or
seven hundred horsemen and between four and five thousand infantry. "They
were the likeliest footmen," said Stafford, "the best countenanced, the
best furnished that ever I saw in my life; the best part of them old
soldiers that had served under the king for the Religion all this while."

The envoy was especially enthusiastic, however, in regard to the French
cavalry. "There are near six thousand horse," said he, "whereof gentlemen
above four thousand, about twelve hundred other French, and eight hundred
reiters. I never saw, nor I think never any man saw, in prance such a
company of gentlemen together so well horsed and so well armed."

Henry sent a herald to the camp of the allies, formally challenging them
to a general engagement, and expressing a hope that all differences might
now be settled by the ordeal of battle, rather than that the sufferings
of the innocent people should be longer protracted.

Farnese, on arriving at Meaux, had resolved to seek the enemy and take
the hazards of a stricken field. He had misgivings as to the possible
result, but he expressly announced this intention in his letters to
Philip, and Mayenne confirmed him in his determination. Nevertheless,
finding the enemy so eager and having reflected more maturely, he saw no
reason for accepting the chivalrous cartel. As commanderin-chief--for
Mayenne willingly conceded the supremacy which it would have been absurd
in him to dispute--he accordingly replied that it was his custom to
refuse a combat when a refusal seemed advantageous to himself, and to
offer battle whenever it suited his purposes to fight. When that moment
should arrive the king would find him in the field. And, having sent this
courteous, but unsatisfactory answer to the impatient Bearnese, he gave
orders to fortify his camp, which was already sufficiently strong. Seven
days long the two armies lay face to face--Henry and his chivalry chafing
in vain for the longed-for engagement--and nothing occurred between those
forty or fifty thousand mortal enemies, encamped within a mile or two of
each other, save trifling skirmishes leading to no result.

At last Farnese gave orders for an advance. Renty, commander of the
vanguard, consisting of nearly all the cavalry, was instructed to move
slowly forward over the two hills, and descending on the opposite side,
to deploy his forces in two great wings to the right and left. He was
secretly directed in this movement to magnify as much as possible the
apparent dimensions of his force. Slowly the columns moved over the
hills. Squadron after squadron, nearly all of them lancers, with their
pennons flaunting gaily in the summer wind, displayed themselves
deliberately and ostentatiously in the face of the Royalists. The
splendid light-horse of Basti, the ponderous troopers of the Flemish
bands of ordnance under Chimay and Berlaymont, and the famous Albanian
and Italian cavalry, were mingled with the veteran Leaguers of France who
had fought under the Balafre, and who now followed the fortunes of his
brother Mayenne. It was an imposing demonstration.

Henry could hardly believe his eyes as the much-coveted opportunity, of
which he had been so many days disappointed, at last presented itself,
and he waited with more than his usual caution until the plan of attack
should be developed by his great antagonist. Parma, on his side, pressed
the hand of Mayenne as he watched the movement, saying quietly, "We have
already fought our battle and gained the victory." He then issued orders
for the whole battalia--which, since the junction, had been under command
of Mayenne, Farnese reserving for himself the superintendence of the
entire army--to countermarch rapidly towards the Marne and take up a
position opposite Lagny. La Motte, with the rearguard, was directed
immediately to follow. The battalia had thus become the van, the
rearguard the battalia, while the whole cavalry corps by this movement
had been transformed from the vanguard into the rear. Renty was
instructed to protect his manoeuvres, to restrain the skirmishing as much
as possible, and to keep the commander-in-chief constantly informed of
every occurrence. In the night he was to entrench and fortify himself
rapidly and thoroughly, without changing his position.

Under cover of this feigned attack, Farnese arrived at the river side on
the 15th September, seized an open village directly opposite Lagny, which
was connected with it by a stone bridge, and planted a battery of nine
pieces of heavy artillery directly opposite the town. Lagny was fortified
in the old-fashioned manner, with not very thick walls, and without a
terreplain. Its position, however, and its command of the bridge, seemed
to render an assault impossible, and De la Fin, who lay there with a
garrison of twelve hundred French, had no fear for the security of the
place. But Farnese, with the precision and celerity which characterized
his movements on special occasions, had thrown pontoon bridges across the
river three miles above, and sent a considerable force of Spanish and
Walloon infantry to the other side. These troops were ordered to hold
themselves ready for an assault, so soon as the batteries opposite should
effect a practicable breach. The next day Henry, reconnoitering the
scene, saw, with intense indignation, that he had been completely
out-generalled. Lagny, the key to the Marne, by holding which he had
closed the door on nearly all the food supplies for Paris, was about to
be wrested from him. What should he do? Should he throw himself across
the river and rescue the place before it fell? This was not to be thought
of even by the audacious Bearnese. In the attempt to cross the river,
under the enemy's fire, he was likely to lose a large portion of his
army. Should he fling himself upon Renty's division which had so
ostentatiously offered battle the day before? This at least might be
attempted, although not so advantageously as would have been the case on
the previous afternoon. To undertake this was the result of a rapid
council of generals. It was too late. Renty held the hills so firmly
entrenched and fortified that it was an idle hope to carry them by
assault. He might hurl column after column against those heights, and
pass the day in seeing his men mowed to the earth without result.

His soldiers, magnificent in the open field, could not be relied upon to
carry so strong a position by sudden storm; and there was no time to be
lost. He felt the enemy a little. There was some small skirmishing, and
while it was going on, Farnese opened a tremendous fire across the river
upon Lagny. The weak walls soon crumbled; a breach was effected, the
signal for assault was given, and the troops posted on the other side,
after a brief but sanguinary straggle, overcame all, resistance, and were
masters of the town. The whole garrison, twelve hundred strong, was
butchered, and the city thoroughly sacked; for Farnese had been brought
up in the old-fashioned school of Alva; and Julian Romero and Com-.
wander Requesens.

Thus Lagny was seized before the eyes of Henry, who was forced to look
helplessly on his great antagonist's triumph. He had come forth in full
panoply and abounding confidence to offer battle. He was foiled of his
combat; and he had lost the prize. Never was blow more successfully
parried, a counter-stroke more ingeniously planted. The bridges of
Charenton and St. Maur now fell into Farnese's hands without a contest.
In an incredibly short space of time provisions and munitions were poured
into the starving city; two thousand boat-loads arriving in a single day.
Paris was relieved. Alexander had made his demonstration, and solved the
problem. He had left the Netherlands against his judgment, but he had at
least accomplished his French work as none but he could have done it. The
king was now in worse plight than ever. His army fell to pieces. His
cavaliers, cheated of their battle; and having neither food nor forage,
rode off by hundreds every day. "Our state is such," said Stafford; on
the 16th September, "and so far unexpected and wonderful, that I am
almost ashamed to write, because methinks everybody should think I dream.
Myself seeing of it methinketh that I dream. For, my lord, to see an army
such a one I think as I shall never see again--especially for horsemen
and gentlemen to take a mind to disband upon the taking of such a paltry
thing as Lagny, a town no better indeed than Rochester, it is a thing so
strange to me that seeing of it I can scarce believe it. They make their
excuses of their want, which I know indeed is great--for there were few
left with one penny in their purses--but yet that extremity could not be
such but that they might have tarried ten days or fifteen at the most
that the king desired of them. . . . From six thousand horse that we
were and above, we are come to two thousand and I do not see an end of
our leave-takers, for those be hourly.

"The most I can see we can make account of to tarry are the Viscount
Turenne's troops, and Monsieur de Chatillon's, and our Switzers, and
Lanaquenettes, which make very near five thousand. The first that went
away, though he sent word to the king an hour before he would tarry, was
the Count Soissons, by whose parting on a sudden and without leave-taking
we judge a discontentment."

The king's army seemed fading into air. Making virtue of necessity he
withdrew to St. Denis, and decided to disband his forces, reserving to
himself only a flying camp with which to harass the enemy as often as
opportunity should offer.

It must be confessed that the Bearnese had been thoroughly
out-generalled. "It was not God's will," said Stafford, who had been in
constant attendance upon Henry through the whole business; "we deserved
it not; for the king might as easily have had Paris as drunk, four or
five times. And at the last, if he had not committed those faults that
children would not have done, only with the desire to fight and give the
battle (which the other never meant), he had had it in the Duke of
Parma's eight as he took Lagny in ours." He had been foiled of the battle
on which he had set his heart, and, in which he felt confident of
overthrowing the great captain of the age, and trampling the League under
his feet. His capital just ready to sink exhausted into his hands had
been wrested from his grasp, and was alive with new hope and new
defiance. The League was triumphant, his own army scattering to the four
winds. Even a man of high courage and sagacity might have been in
despair. Yet never were the magnificent hopefulness, the wise audacity of
Henry more signally manifested than now when he seemed most blundering
and most forlorn. His hardy nature ever met disaster with so cheerful a
smile as almost to perplex disaster herself.

Unwilling to relinquish his grip without a last effort, he resolved on a
midnight assault upon Paris. Hoping that the joy at being relieved, the
unwonted feasting which had succeeded the long fasting, and the
conciousness of security from the presence of the combined armies of the
victorious League, would throw garrison and citizens off their guard, he
came into the neighbourhood of the Faubourgs St. Jacques, St. Germain,
St. Marcel, and St. Michel on the night of 9th September. A desperate
effort was made to escalade the walls between St. Jacques and St.
Germain. It was foiled, not by the soldiers nor the citizens, but by the
sleepless Jesuits, who, as often before during this memorable siege, had
kept guard on the ramparts, and who now gave the alarm. The first
assailants were hurled from their ladders, the city was roused, and the
Duke of Nemours was soon on the spot, ordering burning pitch hoops,
atones, and other missiles to be thrown down upon the invaders. The
escalade was baffled; yet once more that night, just before dawn, the
king in person renewed the attack on the Faubourg St. Germain. The
faithful Stafford stood by his side in the trenches, and was witness to
his cool determination, his indomitable hope. La None too was there, and
was wounded in the leg--an accident the results of which were soon to
cause much weeping through Christendom. Had one of those garlands of
blazing tar which all night had been fluttering from the walls of Paris
alighted by chance on the king's head there might have been another
history of France. The ladders, too, proved several feet too short, and
there were too few, of them. Had they been more numerous and longer, the
tale might have been a different one. As it was, the king was forced to
retire with the approaching daylight.

The characteristics of the great commander of the Huguenots and of the
Leaguers' chieftain respectively were well illustrated in several
incidents of this memorable campaign. Farnese had been informed by scouts
and spies of this intended assault by Henry on the walls of Paris. With
his habitual caution he discredited the story. Had he believed it, he
might have followed the king in overwhelming force and taken him captive.
The penalty of Henry's unparalleled boldness was thus remitted by
Alexander's exuberant discretion.

Soon afterwards Farnese laid siege to Corbeil. This little place--owing
to the extraordinary skill and determination of its commandant, Rigaut,
an old Huguenot officer, who had fought with La Noue in
Flanders--resisted for nearly four weeks. It was assaulted at last,
Rigaut killed, the garrison of one thousand French soldiers put to the
sword, and the town sacked. With the fall of Corbeil both the Seine and
Marne were re-opened.

Alexander then made a visit to Paris, where he was received with great
enthusiasm. The legate, whose efforts and whose money had so much
contributed to the successful defence of the capital had returned to
Italy to participate in the election of a new pope. For the "Huguenot
pope," Sixtus V., had died at the end of August, having never bestowed on
the League any of his vast accumulated treasures to help it in its utmost
need. It was not surprising that Philip was indignant, and had resorted
to menace of various kinds against the holy father, when he found him
swaying so perceptibly in the direction of the hated Bearnese. Of course
when he died his complaint was believed to be Spanish poison. In those
days, none but the very obscure were thought capable of dying natural
deaths, and Philip was esteemed too consummate an artist to allow so
formidable an adversary as Sixtus to pass away in God's time only.
Certainly his death was hailed as matter of great rejoicing by the
Spanish party in Rome, and as much ignominy bestowed upon his memory as
if he had been a heretic; while in Paris his decease was celebrated with
bonfires and other marks of popular hilarity.

To circumvent the great Huguenot's reconciliation with the Roman Church
was of course an indispensable portion of Philip's plan; for none could
be so dull as not to perceive that the resistance of Paris to its heretic
sovereign would cease to be very effective, so soon as the sovereign had
ceased to be heretic. It was most important therefore that the successor
of Sixtus should be the tool of Spain. The leading confederates were well
aware of Henry's intentions to renounce the reformed faith, and to return
to the communion of Rome whenever he could formally accomplish that
measure. The crafty Bearnese knew full well that the road to Paris lay
through the gates of Rome. Yet it is proof either of the privacy with
which great public matters were then transacted, or of the extraordinary
powers of deceit with which Henry was gifted, that the leaders of
protestantism were still hoodwinked in regard to his attitude.
Notwithstanding the embassy of Luxembourg, and the many other indications
of the king's intentions, Queen Elizabeth continued to regard him as the
great champion of the reformed faith. She had just sent him an emerald,
which she had herself worn, accompanied by the expression of her wish
that the king in wearing it might never strike a blow without demolishing
an enemy, and that in his farther progress he might put all his enemies
to rout and confusion. "You will remind the king, too," she added, "that
the emerald has this virtue, never to break so long as faith remains
entire and firm."

And the shrewd Stafford, who was in daily attendance upon him, informed
his sovereign that there were no symptoms of wavering on Henry's part.
"The Catholics here," said he, "cry hard upon the king to be a Catholic
or else that he is lost, and they would persuade him that for all their
calling in the Spaniards, both Paris and all other towns will yield to
him, if he will but assure them that he will become a Catholic. For my
part, I think they would laugh at him when he had done so, and so I find
he believeth the same, if he had mind to it, which I find no disposition
in him unto it." The not very distant future was to show what the
disposition of the bold Gascon really was in this great matter, and
whether he was likely to reap nothing but ridicule from his apostasy,
should it indeed become a fact. Meantime it was the opinion of the wisest
sovereign in Europe, and of one of the most adroit among her
diplomatists, that there was really nothing in the rumours as to the
king's contemplated conversion.

It was, of course, unfortunate for Henry that his staunch friend and
admirer Sixtus was no more. But English diplomacy could do but little in
Rome, and men were trembling with apprehension lest that arch-enemy of
Elizabeth, that devoted friend of Philip, the English Cardinal Allen,
should be elected to the papal throne. "Great ado is made in Rome," said
Stafford, "by the Spanish ambassador, by all corruptions and ways that
may be, to make a pope that must needs depend and be altogether at the
King of Spain's devotion. If the princes of Italy put not their hands
unto it, no doubt they will have their wills, and I fear greatly our
villainous Allen, for, in my judgment, I can comprehend no man more with
reason to be tied altogether to the King of Spain's will than he. I pray
God send him either to God or the Devil first. An evil-minded Englishman,
tied to the King of Spain by necessity, finding almost four millions of
money, is a dangerous beast for a pope in this time."

Cardinal Allen was doomed to disappointment. His candidacy was not
successful, and, after the brief reign--thirteen days long--of Urban VII,
Sfondrato wore the triple tiara with the title of Gregory XIV. Before the
year closed, that pontiff had issued a brief urging the necessity of
extirpating heresy in France, and of electing a Catholic king, and
asserting his determination to send to Paris--that bulwark of the
Catholic faith--not empty words alone but troops, to be paid fifteen
thousand crowns of gold each month, so long as the city should need
assistance. It was therefore probable that the great leader of the
Huguenots, now that he had been defeated by Farnese, and that his capital
was still loyal to the League, would obtain less favour--however
conscientiously he might instruct himself--from Gregory XIV. than he had
begun to find in the eyes of Sixtus after the triumph of Ivry.

Parma refreshed his army by a fortnight's repose, and early in November
determined on his return to the Netherlands. The Leaguers were aghast at
his decision, and earnestly besought him to remain. But the duke had
given them back their capital, and although this had been accomplished
without much bloodshed in their army or his own, sickness was now making
sad ravages among his troops, and there was small supply of food or
forage for such large forces as had now been accumulated, in the
neighbourhood of Paris. Moreover, dissensions were breaking out between
the Spaniards, Italians, and Netherlanders of the relieving army with
their French allies. The soldiers and peasants hated the foreigners who
came there as victors, even although to assist the Leaguers in
overthrowing the laws, government, and nationality of France. The
stragglers and wounded on Farnese's march were killed by the country
people in considerable numbers, and it was a pure impossibility for him
longer to delay his return to the provinces which so much against his
will he had deserted.

He marched back by way of Champagne rather than by that of Picardy, in
order to deceive the king. Scarcely had he arrived in Champagne when he
heard of the retaking of Lagny and Corbeil. So soon as his back was
turned, the League thus showed its impotence to retain the advantage
which his genius had won. Corbeil, which had cost him a month of hard
work, was recaptured in two days. Lagny fell almost as quickly. Earnestly
did the confederates implore him to return to their rescue, but he
declined almost contemptuously to retrace his steps. His march was
conducted in the same order and with the same precision which--had marked
his advance. Henry, with his flying camp, hung upon his track, harassing
him now in front, now in rear, now in flank. None of the skirmishes were
of much military importance. A single cavalry combat, however, in which
old Marshal Biron was nearly surrounded and was in imminent danger of
death or capture, until chivalrously rescued by the king in person at the
head of a squadron of lancers, will always possess romantic interest. In
a subsequent encounter, near Baroges on the Yesle, Henry had sent Biron
forward with a few companies of horse to engage some five hundred
carabineers of Farnese on their march towards the frontier, and had
himself followed close upon the track with his usual eagerness to witness
or participate in every battle. Suddenly Alphonse Corse, who rode at
Henry's aide, pointed out to him, not more than a hundred paces off, an
officer wearing a felt hat, a great ruff, and a little furred cassock,
mounted on a horse without armour or caparisons, galloping up and down
and brandishing his sword at the carabineers to compel them to fall back.

This was the Duke of Parma, and thus the two great champions of the
Huguenots and of the Leaguers--the two foremost captains of the age--had
met face to face. At that moment La Noue, riding up, informed the king
that he had seen the whole of the enemy's horse and foot in battle array,
and Henry, suspecting the retreat of Farnese to be a feint for the
purpose of luring him on with his small force to an attack, gave orders
to retire as soon as possible.

At Guise, on the frontier, the duke parted with Mayenne, leaving with him
an auxiliary force of four thousand foot and five hundred horse, which he
could ill spare. He then returned to Brussels, which city he reached on
the 4th December, filling every hotel and hospital with his sick
soldiers, and having left one-third of his numbers behind him. He had
manifested his own military skill in the adroit and successful manner in
which he had accomplished the relief of Paris, while the barrenness of
the result from the whole expedition vindicated the political sagacity
with which he had remonstrated against his sovereign's infatuation.

Paris, with the renewed pressure on its two great arteries at Lagny and
Corbeil, soon fell into as great danger as before; the obedient
Netherlands during the absence of Farnese had been sinking rapidly to
ruin, while; on the other hand, great progress and still greater
preparations in aggressive warfare had been made by the youthful general
and stadtholder of the Republic.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Alexander's exuberant discretion
     Divine right of kings
     Ever met disaster with so cheerful a smile
     Future world as laid down by rival priesthoods
     Invaluable gift which no human being can acquire, authority
     King was often to be something much less or much worse
     Magnificent hopefulness
     Myself seeing of it methinketh that I dream
     Nothing cheap, said a citizen bitterly, but sermons
     Obscure were thought capable of dying natural deaths
     Philip II. gave the world work enough
     Righteous to kill their own children
     Road to Paris lay through the gates of Rome
     Shift the mantle of religion from one shoulder to the other
     Thirty-three per cent. interest was paid (per month)
     Under the name of religion (so many crimes)



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 63, 1590-1592



CHAPTER XXIV.

   Prince Maurice--State of the Republican army--Martial science of the
   period--Reformation of the military system by Prince Maurice--His
   military genius--Campaign in the Netherlands--The fort and town of
   Zutphen taken by the States' forces--Attack upon Deventer--Its
   capitulation--Advance on Groningen, Delfzyl, Opslag, Yementil,
   Steenwyk, and other places--Farnese besieges Fort Knodsenburg--
   Prince Maurice hastens to its relief--A skirmish ensues resulting in
   the discomfiture of the Spanish and Italian troops--Surrender of
   Hulat and Nymegen--Close of military, operations of the year.

While the events revealed in the last chapter had been occupying the
energies of Farnese and the resources of his sovereign, there had been
ample room for Prince Maurice to mature his projects, and to make a
satisfactory beginning in the field. Although Alexander had returned to
the Netherlands before the end of the year 1590, and did not set forth on
his second French campaign until late in the following year, yet the
condition of his health, the exhaustion of his funds, and the dwindling
of his army, made it impossible for him to render any effectual
opposition to the projects of the youthful general.

For the first time Maurice was ready to put his theories and studies into
practice on an extensive scale. Compared with modern armaments, the
warlike machinery to be used for liberating the republic from its foreign
oppressors would seem almost diminutive. But the science and skill of a
commander are to be judged by the results he can work out with the
materials within reach. His progress is to be measured by a comparison
with the progress of his contemporaries--coheirs with him of what Time
had thus far bequeathed.

The regular army of the republic, as reconstructed, was but ten thousand
foot and two thousand horse, but it was capable of being largely expanded
by the trainbands of the cities, well disciplined and enured to hardship,
and by the levies of German reiters and other, foreign auxiliaries in
such numbers as could be paid for by the hard-pressed exchequer of the
provinces.

To the state-council, according to its original constitution, belonged
the levying and disbanding of troops, the conferring of military offices,
and the supervision of military operations by sea and land. It was its
duty to see that all officers made oath of allegiance to the United
Provinces.

The course of Leicester's administration, and especially the fatal
treason of Stanley and of York, made it seem important for the true
lovers of their country to wrest from the state-council, where the
English had two seats, all political and military power. And this, as has
been seen, was practically but illegally accomplished. The silent
revolution by which at this epoch all the main attributes of government
passed into the hands of the States-General-acting as a league of
sovereignties--has already been indicated. The period during which the
council exercised functions conferred on it by the States-General
themselves was brief and evanescent. The jealousy of the separate
provinces soon prevented the state-council--a supreme executive body
entrusted with the general defence of the commonwealth--from causing
troops to pass into or out of one province or another without a patent
from his Excellency the Prince, not as chief of the whole army, but as
governor and captain-general of Holland, or Gelderland, or Utrecht, as
the case might be.

The highest military office in the Netherlands was that of
captain-general or supreme commander. This quality was from earliest
times united to that of stadholder, who stood, as his title implied, in
the place of the reigning sovereign, whether count, duke, king, or
emperor. After the foundation of the Republic this dynastic form, like
many others, remained, and thus Prince Maurice was at first only
captain-general of Holland and Zeeland, and subsequently of Gelderland,
Utrecht, and Overyssel, after he had been appointed stadholder of those
three provinces in 1590 on the death of Count Nieuwenaar. However much in
reality he was general-in-chief of the army, he never in all his life
held the appointment of captain-general of the Union.

To obtain a captain's commission in the army, it was necessary to have
served four years, while three years' service was the necessary
preliminary to the post of lieutenant or ensign. Three candidates were
presented by the province for each office, from whom the stadholder
appointed one.--The commissions, except those of the highest commanders,
were made out in the name of the States-General, by advice and consent of
the council of state. The oath of allegiance, exacted from soldiers as
well as officers; mentioned the name of the particular province to which
they belonged, as well as that of the States-Generals. It thus appears
that, especially after Maurice's first and successful campaigns; the
supreme authority over the army really belonged to the States-General,
and that the powers of the state-council in this regard fell, in the
course of four years, more and more into the back-ground, and at last
disappeared almost entirely. During the active period of the war,
however; the effect of this revolution was in fact rather a greater
concentration of military power than its dispersion, for the
States-General meant simply the province of Holland. Holland was the
republic.

The organisation of the infantry was very simple. The tactical unit was
the company. A temporary combination of several companies--made a
regiment, commanded by a colonel or lieutenant-colonel, but for such
regiments there was no regular organisation. Sometimes six or seven
companies were thus combined, sometimes three times that number, but the
strength of a force, however large, was always estimated by the number of
companies, not of regiments.

The normal strength of an infantry company, at the beginning of Maurice's
career, may be stated at one hundred and thirteen, commanded by one
captain, one lieutenant, one ensign, and by the usual non-commissioned
officers. Each company was composed of musketeers, harquebusseers,
pikemen, halberdeers, and buckler-men. Long after, portable firearms had
come into use, the greater portion of foot soldiers continued to be armed
with pikes, until the introduction of the fixed bayonet enabled the
musketeer to do likewise the duty of pikeman. Maurice was among the first
to appreciate the advantage of portable firearms, and he accordingly
increased the proportion of soldiers armed with the musket in his
companies. In a company of a hundred and thirteen, including officers, he
had sixty-four armed with firelocks to thirty carrying pikes and
halberds. As before his time the proportion between the arms had been
nearly even; he thus more than doubled the number of firearms.

Of these weapons there were two sorts, the musket and the harquebus. The
musket was a long, heavy, unmanageable instrument. When fired it
was-placed upon an iron gaffle or fork, which: the soldier carried with
him, and stuck before him into the ground. The bullets of the musket were
twelve to the pound.

The harquebus--or hak-bus, hook-gun, so called because of the hook in the
front part of the barrel to give steadiness in firing--was much lighter,
was discharged from the hand; and carried bullets of twenty-four to the
pound. Both weapons had matchlocks.

The pike was eighteen feet long at least, and pikemen as well as
halberdsmen carried rapiers.

There were three buckler-men to each company, introduced by Maurice for
the personal protection of the leader of the company. The prince was
often attended by one himself, and, on at least one memorable occasion,
was indebted to this shield for the preservation of his life.

The cavalry was divided into lancers and carabineers. The unit was the
squadron, varying in number from sixty to one hundred and fifty, until
the year 1591, when the regular complement of the squadron was fixed at
one hundred and twenty.

As the use of cavalry on the battle-field at that day, or at least in the
Netherlands, was not in rapidity of motion, nor in severity of shock--the
attack usually taking place on a trot--Maurice gradually displaced the
lance in favour of the carbine. His troopers thus became rather mounted
infantry than regular cavalry.

The carbine was at least three feet long, with wheel-locks, and carried
bullets of thirty to the pound.

The artillery was a peculiar Organisation. It was a guild of citizens,
rather than a strictly military force like the cavalry and infantry. The
arm had but just begun to develop itself, and it was cultivated as a
special trade by the guild of the holy Barbara existing in all the
principal cities. Thus a municipal artillery gradually organised itself,
under the direction of the gun-masters (bus-meesters), who in secret
laboured at the perfection of their art, and who taught it to their
apprentices and journeymen; as the principles of other crafts were
conveyed by master to pupil. This system furnished a powerful element of
defence at a period when every city had in great measure to provide for
its own safety.

In the earlier campaigns of Maurice three kinds of artillery were used;
the whole cannon (kartow) of forty-eight pounds; the half-cannon, or
twenty-four pounder, and the field-piece carrying a ball of twelve
pounds. The two first were called battering pieces or siege-guns. All the
guns were of bronze.

The length of the whole cannon was about twelve feet; its weight one
hundred and fifty times that of the ball, or about seven thousand pounds.
It was reckoned that the whole kartow could fire from eighty to one
hundred shots in an hour. Wet hair cloths were used to cool the piece
after every, ten or twelve discharges. The usual charge was twenty pounds
of powder.

The whole gun was drawn by thirty-one horses, the half-cannon by
twenty-three.

The field-piece required eleven horses, but a regular field-artillery, as
an integral part of the army, did not exist, and was introduced in much
later times. In the greatest pitched battle ever fought by Maurice, that
of Nieuport, he had but six field-pieces.

The prince also employed mortars in his sieges, from which were thrown
grenades, hot shot, and stones; but no greater distance was reached than
six hundred yards. Bomb-shells were not often used although they had been
known for a century.

Before the days of Maurice a special education for engineers had never
been contemplated. Persons who had privately acquired a knowledge of
fortification and similar branches of the science were employed, upon
occasion, but regular corps of engineers there were none. The prince
established a course of instruction in this profession at the University
of Leyden, according to a system drawn up by the celebrated Stevinus.

Doubtless the most important innovation of the prince, and the one which
required the most energy to enforce, was the use of the spade. His
soldiers were jeered at by the enemy as mere boors and day labourers who
were dishonouring themselves and their profession by the use of that
implement instead of the sword. Such a novelty was a shock to all the
military ideas of the age, and it was only the determination and vigour
of the prince and of his cousin Lewis William that ultimately triumphed
over the universal prejudice.

The pay of the common soldier varied from ten to twenty florins the
month, but every miner had eighteen florins, and, when actually working
in the mines, thirty florins monthly. Soldiers used in digging trenches
received, over and above their regular pay, a daily wage of from ten to
fifteen styvers, or nearly a shilling sterling.

Another most wholesome improvement made by the prince was in the payment
of his troops. The system prevailing in every European country at that
day, by which Governments were defrauded and soldiers starved, was most
infamous. The soldiers were paid through the captain, who received the
wages of a full company, when perhaps not one-third of the names on the
master-roll were living human beings. Accordingly two-thirds of all the
money stuck to the officer's fingers, and it was not thought a disgrace
to cheat the Government by dressing and equipping for the day a set of
ragamuffins, caught up in the streets for the purpose, and made to pass
muster as regular soldiers.

These parse-volants, or scarecrows, were passed freely about from one
company to another, and the indecency of the fraud was never thought a
disgrace to the colours of the company.

Thus, in the Armada year, the queen had demanded that a portion of her
auxiliary force in the Netherlands should be sent to England. The States
agreed that three thousand of these English troops, together with a few
cavalry companies, should go, but stipulated that two thousand should
remain in the provinces. The queen accepted the proposal, but when the
two thousand had been counted out, it appeared that there was scarcely a
man left for the voyage to England. Yet every one of the English captains
had claimed full pay for his company from her Majesty's exchequer.

Against this tide of peculation and corruption the strenuous Maurice set
himself with heart and soul, and there is no doubt that to his
reformation in this vital matter much of his military success was owing.
It was impossible that roguery and venality should ever furnish a solid
foundation for the martial science.

To the student of military history the campaigns and sieges of Maurice,
and especially the earlier: ones, are of great importance. There is no
doubt whatever, that the youth who now, after deep study and careful
preparation, was measuring himself against the first captains of the age,
was founding the great modern school of military science. It was in this
Netherland academy, and under the tuition of its consummate professor,
that the commanders of the seventeenth century not only acquired the
rudiments, but perfected themselves in the higher walks of their art.
Therefore the siege operations, in which all that had been invented by
modern genius, or rescued from the oblivion which had gathered over
ancient lore during the more vulgar and commonplace practice of the
mercenary commanders of the day was brought into successful application,
must always engage the special attention of the military student.

To the general reader, more interested in marking the progress of
civilisation and the advance of the people in the path of development and
true liberty, the spectacle of the young stadholder's triumphs has an
interest of another kind. At the moment when a thorough practical soldier
was most needed by the struggling little commonwealth, to enable it to
preserve liberties partially secured by its unparalleled sacrifices of
blood and treasure during a quarter of a century, and to expel the
foreign invader from the soil which he had so long profaned, it was
destined that a soldier should appear.

Spade in hand, with his head full of Roman castrametation and geometrical
problems, a prince, scarce emerged from boyhood, presents himself on that
stage where grizzled Mansfelds, drunken Hohenlos, and truculent Verdugos
have been so long enacting, that artless military drama which consists of
hard knocks and wholesale massacres. The novice is received with
universal hilarity. But although the machinery of war varies so steadily
from age to age that a commonplace commander of to-day, rich in the
spoils of preceding time, might vanquish the Alexanders, and Caesars, and
Frederics, with their antiquated enginery, yet the moral stuff out of
which great captains, great armies, great victories are created, is the
simple material it was in the days of Sesostris or Cyrus. The moral and
physiological elements remain essentially the same as when man first
began to walk up and down the earth and destroy his fellow-creatures.

To make an army a thorough mowing-machine, it then seemed necessary that
it should be disciplined into complete mechanical obedience. To secure
this, prompt payment of wages and inexorable punishment of delinquencies
were indispensable. Long arrearages were now converting Farnese's
veterans into systematic marauders; for unpaid soldiers in every age and
country have usually degenerated into highwaymen, and it is an
impossibility for a sovereign, with the strictest intentions, to persist
in starving his soldiers and in killing them for feeding themselves. In
Maurice's little army, on the contrary, there were no back-wages and no
thieving. At the siege of Delfzyl Maurice hung two of his soldiers for
stealing, the one a hat and the other a poniard, from the townsfolk,
after the place had capitulated. At the siege of Hulst he ordered another
to be shot, before the whole camp, for robbing a woman.

This seems sufficiently harsh, but war is not a pastime nor a very humane
occupation. The result was, that robbery disappeared, and it is better
for all that enlisted men should be soldiers rather than thieves. To
secure the ends which alone can justify war--and if the Netherlanders
engaged in defending national existence and human freedom against foreign
tyranny were not justifiable then a just war has never been waged--a
disciplined army is vastly more humane in its operations than a band of
brigands. Swift and condign punishments by the law-martial, for even
trifling offences, is the best means of discipline yet devised.

To bring to utmost perfection the machinery already in existence, to
encourage invention, to ponder the past with a practical application to
the present, to court fatigue, to scorn pleasure, to concentrate the
energies on the work in hand, to cultivate quickness of eye and calmness
of nerve in the midst of danger, to accelerate movements, to economise
blood even at the expense of time, to strive after ubiquity and
omniscience in the details of person and place, these were the
characteristics of Maurice, and they have been the prominent traits of
all commanders who have stamped themselves upon their age. Although his
method of war-making differed as far as possible from that quality in
common, of the Bearnese, yet the two had one personal insensibility to
fear. But in the case of Henry, to confront danger for its own sake was
in itself a pleasure, while the calmer spirit of Maurice did not so much
seek the joys of the combat as refuse to desist from scientific
combinations in the interests of his personal safety. Very frequently, in
the course of his early campaigns, the prince was formally and urgently
requested by the States-General not to expose his life so recklessly, and
before he had passed his twenty-fifth year he had received wounds which,
but for fortunate circumstances, would have proved mortal, because he was
unwilling to leave special operations on which much was depending to
other eyes than his own. The details of his campaigns are, of necessity,
the less interesting to a general reader from their very completeness.
Desultory or semi-civilised warfare, where the play of the human passions
is distinctly visible, where individual man, whether in buff jerkin or
Milan coat of proof, meets his fellow man in close mortal combat, where
men starve by thousands or are massacred by town-fulls, where hamlets or
villages blaze throughout whole districts or are sunk beneath the
ocean--scenes of rage, hatred, vengeance, self-sacrifice, patriotism,
where all the virtues and vices of which humanity is capable stride to
and fro in their most violent colours and most colossal shape where man
in a moment rises almost to divinity, or sinks beneath the beasts of the
field--such tragical records of which the sanguinary story of mankind is
full--and no portion of them more so than the Netherland chronicles
appeal more vividly to the imagination than the neatest solution of
mathematical problems. Yet, if it be the legitimate end of military
science to accomplish its largest purposes at the least expense of human
suffering; if it be progress in civilisation to acquire by scientific
combination what might be otherwise attempted, and perhaps vainly
attempted, by infinite carnage, then is the professor with his diagrams,
standing unmoved amid danger, a more truly heroic image than
Coeur-de-Lion with his battle-axe or Alva with his truncheon.

The system--then a new one--which Maurice introduced to sustain that
little commonwealth from sinking of which he had become at the age of
seventeen the predestined chief, was the best under the circumstances
that could have been devised. Patriotism the most passionate, the most
sublime, had created the republic. To maintain its existence against
perpetual menace required the exertion of perpetual skill.

Passionless as algebra, the genius of Maurice was ready for the task.
Strategic points of immense value, important cities and fortresses, vital
river-courses and communications--which foreign tyranny had acquired
during the tragic past with a patient iniquity almost without a parallel,
and which patriotism had for years vainly struggled to recover--were the
earliest trophies and prizes of his art. But the details of his victories
may be briefly indicated, for they have none of the picturesqueness of
crime. The sieges of Naarden, Harlem, Leyden, were tragedies of maddening
interest, but the recovery of Zutphen, Deventer, Nymegen, Groningen, and
many other places--all important though they were--was accomplished with
the calmness of a consummate player, who throws down on the table the
best half dozen invincible cards which it thus becomes superfluous to
play.

There were several courses open to the prince before taking the field. It
was desirable to obtain control of the line of the Waal, by which that
heart of the republic--Holland--would be made entirely secure. To this
end, Gertruydenberg--lately surrendered to the enemy by the perfidy of
the Englishman Wingfield, to whom it had been entrusted--Bois le Duc, and
Nymegen were to be wrested from Spain.

It was also important to hold the Yssel, the course of which river led
directly through the United Netherlands, quite to the Zuyder Zee, cutting
off Friesland, Groningen, and Gelderland from their sister provinces of
Holland and Zeeland. And here again the keys to this river had been lost
by English treason. The fort of Zutphen and the city of Deventer had been
transferred to the Spaniard by Roland York and Sir William Stanley, in
whose honour the republic had so blindly confided, and those cities it
was now necessary to reduce by regular siege before the communications
between the eastern and western portions of the little commonwealth could
ever be established.

Still farther in the ancient Frisian depths, the memorable treason of
that native Netherlander, the high-born Renneberg, had opened the way for
the Spaniard's foot into the city of Groningen. Thus this whole important
province--with its capital--long subject to the foreign oppressor, was
garrisoned with his troops.

Verdugo, a veteran officer of Portuguese birth, who had risen from the
position of hostler to that of colonel and royal stadholder, commanded in
Friesland. He had in vain demanded reinforcements and supplies from
Farnese, who most reluctantly was obliged to refuse them in order that he
might obey his master's commands to neglect everything for the sake of
the campaign in France.

And Verdugo, stripped of all adequate forces to protect his important
province, was equally destitute of means for feeding the troops that were
left to him. "I hope to God that I may do my duty to the king and your
Highness," he cried, "but I find myself sold up and pledged to such an
extent that I am poorer than when I was a soldier at four crowns a month.
And everybody in the town is as desperate as myself."

Maurice, after making a feint of attacking Gertruydenberg and Bois le
Duc, so that Farnese felt compelled, with considerable difficulty, to
strengthen the garrison of those places, came unexpectedly to Arnhem with
a force of nine thousand foot and sixteen hundred horse. He had
previously and with great secrecy sent some companies of infantry under
Sir Francis Vere to Doesburg.

On the 23rd May (1591) five peasants and six peasant women made their
appearance at dawn of day before the chief guard-house of the great fort
in the Badmeadow (Vel-uwe), opposite Zutphen, on the west side of the
Yssel. It was not an unusual occurrence. These boors and their wives had
brought baskets of eggs, butter, and cheese, for the garrison, and they
now set themselves quietly down on the ground before the gate, waiting
for the soldiers of the garrison to come out and traffic with them for
their supplies. Very soon several of the guard made their appearance, and
began to chaffer with the peasants, when suddenly one of the women
plucked a pistol from under her petticoats and shot dead the soldier who
was cheapening her eggs. The rest of the party, transformed in an instant
from boors to soldiers, then sprang upon the rest of the guard,
overpowered and bound them, and took possession of the gate. A
considerable force, which had been placed in ambush by Prince Maurice
near the spot, now rushed forward, and in a few minutes the great fort of
Zutphen was mastered by the States' forces without loss of a man. It was
a neat and perfectly successful stratagem.

Next day Maurice began the regular investment of the city. On the 26th,
Count Lewis William arrived with some Frisian companies. On the 27th,
Maurice threw a bridge of boats from the Badmeadow side, across the river
to the Weert before the city. On the 28th he had got batteries, mounting
thirty-two guns, into position, commanding the place at three points. On
the 30th the town capitulated. Thus within exactly one week from the
firing of the pistol shot by the supposed butterwoman, this fort and
town, which had so long resisted the efforts of the States, and were such
important possessions of the Spaniards, fell into the hands of Maurice.
The terms of surrender were easy. The city being more important than its
garrison, the soldiers were permitted to depart with bag and baggage. The
citizens were allowed three days to decide whether to stay under loyal
obedience to the States-General, or to take their departure. Those who
chose to remain were to enjoy all the privileges of citizens of the
United Provinces.

But very few substantial citizens were left, for such had been the
tyranny, the misery, and the misrule during the long occupation by a
foreign soldiery of what was once a thriving Dutch town, that scarcely
anybody but paupers and vagabonds were left. One thousand houses were
ruined and desolate. It is superfluous to add that the day of its
restoration to the authority of the Union was the beginning of its
renewed prosperity.

Maurice, having placed a national garrison in the place, marched the same
evening straight upon Deventer, seven miles farther down the river,
without pausing to sleep upon his victory. His artillery and munitions
were sent rapidly down the Yssel.

Within five days he had thoroughly invested the city, and brought
twenty-eight guns to bear upon the weakest part of its defences.

It was a large, populous, well-built town, once a wealthy member of the
Hanseatic League, full of fine buildings, both public and private, the
capital of the rich and fertile province of Overyssel, and protected by a
strong wall and moat--as well-fortified a place as could be found in the
Netherlands. The garrison consisted of fourteen hundred Spaniards and
Walloons, under the command of Count Herman van den Berg, first cousin of
Prince Maurice.

No sooner had the States army come before the city than a Spanish captain
observed--"We shall now have a droll siege--cousins on the outside,
cousins on the inside. There will be a sham fight or two, and then the
cousins will make it up, and arrange matters to suit themselves."

Such hints had deeply wounded Van den Berg, who was a fervent Catholic,
and as loyal a servant to Philip II. as he could have been, had that
monarch deserved, by the laws of nature and by his personal services and
virtues, to govern all the swamps of Friesland. He slept on the gibe,
having ordered all the colonels and captains of the garrison to attend at
solemn mass in the great church the next morning. He there declared to
them all publicly that he felt outraged at the suspicions concerning his
fidelity, and after mass he took the sacrament, solemnly swearing never
to give up the city or even to speak of it until he had made such
resistance that he must be carried from the breach. So long as he could
stand or sit he would defend the city entrusted to his care.

The whole council who had come from Zutphen to Maurice's camp were
allowed to deliberate concerning the siege. The, enemy had been seen
hovering about the neighbourhood in considerable numbers, but had not
ventured an attempt to throw reinforcements into the place. Many of the
counsellors argued against the siege. It was urged that the resistance
would be determined and protracted, and that the Duke of Parma was sure
to take the field in person to relieve so important a city, before its
reduction could be effected.

But Maurice had thrown a bridge across the Yssel above, and another below
the town, had carefully and rapidly taken measures in the success of
which he felt confident, and now declared that it would be cowardly and
shameful to abandon an enterprise so well begun.

The city had been formally summoned to surrender, and a calm but most
decided refusal had been returned.

On the 9th June the batteries began playing, and after four thousand six
hundred shots a good breach had been effected in the defences along the
Kaye--an earthen work lying between two strong walls of masonry.

The breach being deemed practicable, a storm was ordered. To reach the
Kaye it was necessary to cross a piece of water called the Haven, over
which a pontoon bridge was hastily thrown. There was now a dispute among
the English, Scotch, and Netherlanders for precedence in the assault. It
was ultimately given to the English, in order that the bravery of that
nation might now on the same spot wipe out the disgrace inflicted upon
its name by the treason of Sir William Stanley. The English did their
duty well and rushed forward merrily, but the bridge proved too short.
Some sprang over and pushed boldly for the breach. Some fell into the
moat and were drowned. Others, sustained by the Netherlanders under
Solms, Meetkerke, and Brederode, effected their passage by swimming,
leaping, or wading, so that a resolute attack was made. Herman van den
Berg met them in the breach at the head of seven companies. The defenders
were most ferocious in their resistance. They were also very drunk. The
count had placed many casks of Rhenish and of strong beer within reach,
and ordered his soldiers to drink their fill as they fought. He was
himself as vigorous in his potations as he was chivalrous with sword and
buckler. Two pages and two lieutenants fell at his side, but still he
fought at the head of his men with a desperation worthy of his vow, until
he fell wounded in the eye and was carried from the place.
Notwithstanding this disaster to the commander of the town, the
assailants were repulsed, losing two hundred-and twenty-five in killed
and wounded--Colonel Meetkerke and his brother, two most valuable Dutch
officers, among them.

During the whole of the assault, a vigorous cannonade had been kept up
upon other parts of the town, and houses and church-towers were toppling
down in all directions. Meanwhile the inhabitants--for it was
Sunday--instead of going to service were driven towards the breach by the
serjeant-major, a truculent Spaniard, next in command to Van den Berg,
who ran about the place with a great stick, summoning the Dutch burghers
to assist the Spanish garrison on the wall. It was thought afterwards
that this warrior would have been better occupied among the soldiers, at
the side of his commander.

A chivalrous incident in the open field occurred during the assault. A
gigantic Albanian cavalry officer came prancing out of Deventer into the
spaces between the trenches, defying any officer in the States' army to
break a lance with him. Prince Maurice forbade any acceptance of the
challenge, but Lewis van der Cathulle, son of the famous Ryhove of Ghent,
unable to endure the taunts and bravado of this champion, at last
obtained permission to encounter him in single combat. They met
accordingly with much ceremony, tilted against each other, and shivered
their lances in good style, but without much effect. The Albanian then
drew a pistol. Cathulle had no weapon save a cutlass, but with this
weapon he succeeded in nearly cutting off the hand which held the pistol.
He then took his enemy prisoner, the vain-glorious challenger throwing
his gold chain around his conqueror's neck in token of his victory.
Prince Maurice caused his wound to be bound up and then liberated him,
sending him into the city with a message to the governor.

During the following night the bridge, over which the assailants had
nearly forced their way into the town, was vigorously attacked by the
garrison, but Count Lewis William, in person, with a chosen band defended
it stoutly till morning, beating back the Spaniards with heavy loss in a
sanguinary midnight contest.

Next morning there was a unanimous outcry on the part of the besieged for
a capitulation. It was obvious that, with the walls shot to ruins as they
had been, the place was no longer tenable against Maurice's superior
forces. A trumpet was sent to the prince before the dawn of day, and on
the 10th of June, accordingly, the place capitulated.

It was arranged that the garrison should retire with arms and baggage
whithersoever they chose. Van den Berg stipulated nothing in favour of
the citizens, whether through forgetfulness or spite does not distinctly
appear. But the burghers were received like brothers. No plunder was
permitted, no ransom demanded, and the city took its place among its
sisterhood of the United Provinces.

Van den Berg himself was received at the prince's head, quarters with
much cordiality. He was quite blind; but his wound seemed to be the
effect of exterior contusions, and he ultimately recovered the sight of
one eye. There was mach free conversation between himself and his cousins
during the brief interval in which he was their guest.

"I've often told Verdugo," said he, "that the States had no power to make
a regular siege, nor to come with proper artillery into the field, and he
agreed with me. But we were both wrong, for I now see the contrary."

To which Count Lewis William replied with a laugh: "My dear cousin, I've
observed that in all your actions you were in the habit of despising us
Beggars, and I have said that you would one day draw the shortest straw
in consequence. I'm glad to hear this avowal from your own lips." Herman
attempted no reply but let the subject drop, seeming to regret having
said so much.

Soon afterwards he was forwarded by Maurice in his own coach to Ulff,
where he was attended by the prince's body physician till he was
re-established in health.

Thus within ten days of his first appearance before its walls, the city
of Deventer, and with it a whole province, had fallen into the hands of
Maurice. It began to be understood that the young pedant knew something
about his profession, and that he had not been fagging so hard at the
science of war for nothing.

The city was in a sorry plight when the States took possession of it. As
at Zutphen, the substantial burghers had wandered away, and the foreign
soldiers bivouacking there so long had turned the stately old Hanseatic
city into a brick and mortar wilderness. Hundreds of houses had been
demolished by the garrison, that the iron might be sold and the woodwork
burned for fuel; for the enemy had conducted himself as if feeling in his
heart that the occupation could not be a permanent one, and as if
desirous to make the place as desolate as possible for the Beggars when
they should return.

The dead body of the traitor York, who had died and been buried in
Deventer, was taken from the tomb, after the capture of the city, and
with the vulgar ferocity so characteristic of the times, was hung, coffin
and all, on the gibbet for the delectation of the States' soldiery.

Maurice, having thus in less than three weeks recovered two most
important cities, paused not an instant in his career but moved at once
on Groningen. There was a strong pressure put upon him to attempt the
capture of Nymegen, but the understanding with the Frisian stadholders
and his troops had been that the enterprise upon Groningen should follow
the reduction of Deventer.

On the 26th June Maurice appeared before Groningen. Next day, as a
precautionary step, he moved to the right and attacked the strong city of
Delfzyl. This place capitulated to him on the 2nd July. The fort of
Opslag surrendered on the 7th July. He then moved to the west of
Groningen, and attacked the forts of Yementil and Lettebaest, which fell
into his hands on the 11th July. He then moved along the Nyenoort through
the Seven Wolds and Drenthe to Steenwyk, before which strongly fortified
city he arrived on the 15th July.

Meantime, he received intercepted letters from Verdugo to the Duke of
Parma, dated 19th June from Groningen. In these, the Spanish stadholder
informed Farnese that the enemy was hovering about his neighbourhood, and
that it would be necessary for the duke to take the field in person in
considerable force, or that Groningen would be lost, and with it the
Spanish forces in the province. He enclosed a memorial of the course
proper to be adopted by the duke for his relief.

Notwithstanding the strictness by which Philip had tied his great
general's hands, Farnese felt the urgency of the situation. By the end of
June, accordingly, although full of his measures for marching to the
relief of the Leaguers in Normandy, he moved into Gelderland, coming by
way of Xanten, Rees, and neighbouring places. Here he paused for a moment
perplexed, doubting whether to take the aggressive in Gelderland or to
march straight to the relief of Groningen. He decided that it was better
for the moment to protect the line of the Waal. Shipping his army
accordingly into the Batavian Island or Good-meadow (Bet-uwe), which lies
between the two great horns of the Rhine, he laid siege to Fort
Knodsenburg, which Maurice had built the year before, on the right bank
of the Waal for the purpose of attacking Nymegen. Farnese, knowing that
the general of the States was occupied with his whole army far away to
the north, and separated from him by two great rivers, wide and deep, and
by the whole breadth of that dangerous district called the Foul-meadow
(Vel-uwe), and by the vast quagmire known as the Rouvenian morass, which
no artillery nor even any organised forces had ever traversed since the
beginning of the world, had felt no hesitation in throwing his army in
boats across the Waal. He had no doubt of reducing a not very powerful
fortress long before relief could be brought to it, and at the same time
of disturbing by his presence in Batavia the combinations of his young
antagonist in Friesland and Groningen.

So with six thousand foot and one thousand horse, Alexander came before
Knodsenburg. The news reached Maurice at Steenwyk on the 15th July.
Instantly changing his plans, the prince decided that Farnese must be
faced at once, and, if possible, driven from the ground, thinking it more
important to maintain, by concentration, that which had already been
gained, than to weaken and diffuse his forces in insufficient attempts to
acquire more. Before two days had passed, he was on the march southward,
having left Lewis William with a sufficient force to threaten Groningen.
Coming by way of Hasselt Zwol to Deventer, he crossed the Yssel on a
bridge of boats on the 18th of July, 1591 and proceeded to Arnhem. His
army, although excessively fatigued by forced marches in very hot
weather, over nearly impassable roads, was full of courage and
cheerfulness, having learned implicit confidence in their commander. On
the 20th he was at Arnhem. On the 22nd his bridge of boats was made, and
he had thrown his little army across the Rhine into Batavia, and
entrenched himself with his six thousand foot and fourteen hundred horse
in the immediate neighbourhood of Farnese--Foul-meadow and Good-meadow,
dyke, bog, wold, and quagmire, had been successfully traversed, and
within one week of his learning that the great viceroy of Philip had
reached the Batavian island, Maurice stood confronting that famous
chieftain in battle-array.

On the 22nd July, Farnese, after firing two hundred and eighty-five shots
at Fort Knodsenburg, ordered an assault, expecting that so trifling a
work could hardly withstand a determined onslaught by his veterans. To
his surprise they were so warmly received that two hundred of the
assailants fell at the first onset, and the attack was most conclusively
repulsed.

And now Maurice had appeared upon the scene, determined to relieve a
place so important for his ulterior designs. On the 24th July he sent out
a small but picked force of cavalry to reconnoitre the enemy. They were
attacked by a considerable body of Italian and Spanish horse from the
camp before Knodsenburg, including Alexander's own company of lancers
under Nicelli. The States troops fled before them in apparent dismay for
a little distance, hotly pursued by the royalists, until, making a sudden
halt, they turned to the attack, accompanied by five fresh companies of
cavalry and a thousand musketeers, who fell upon the foe from all
directions. It was an ambush, which had been neatly prepared by Maurice
in person, assisted by Sir Francis Vere. Sixty of the Spaniards and
Italians were killed and one hundred and fifty prisoners, including
Captain Nicelli, taken, while the rest of the party sought safety in
ignominious flight. This little skirmish, in which ten companies of the
picked veterans of Alexander Farnese had thus been utterly routed before
his eyes, did much to inspire the States troops with confidence in
themselves and their leader.

Parma was too experienced a campaigner, and had too quick an eye, not to
recognise the error which he had committed in placing the dangerous river
Waal, without a bridge; between himself and his supplies. He had not
dreamed that his antagonist would be capable of such celerity of movement
as he had thus displayed, and his first business now was to extricate
himself from a position which might soon become fatal. Without
hesitation, he did his best to amuse the enemy in front of the fort, and
then passed the night in planting batteries upon the banks of the river,
under cover of which he succeeded next day in transporting in ferry-boats
his whole force, artillery and: baggage, to the opposite shore, without
loss, and with his usual skill.

He remained but a short time in Nymegen, but he was hampered by the
express commands of the king. Moreover, his broken health imperatively
required that he should once more seek the healing influence of the
waters of Spa, before setting forth on his new French expedition.
Meanwhile, although he had for a time protected the Spanish possessions
in the north by his demonstration in Gelderland, it must be confessed
that the diversion thus given to the plans of Maurice was but a feeble
one.

Having assured the inhabitants of Nymegen that he would watch over the
city like the apple of, his eye, he took his departure on the 4th of
August for Spa. He was accompanied on his journey by his son, Prince
Ranuccio, just arrived from Italy.

After the retreat of Farnese, Maurice mustered his forces at Arnhem, and
found himself at the head of seven thousand foot and fifteen hundred
horse. It was expected by all the world that, being thus on the very
spot, he would forthwith proceed to reduce the ancient, wealthy, imperial
city of Nynegen. The garrison and burghers accordingly made every
preparation to resist the attack, disconcerted as they were, however, by
the departure of Parma, and by the apparent incapacity of Verdugo to
bring them effectual relief.

But to the surprise of all men, the States forces suddenly disappeared
from the scene, having been, as it were, spirited away by night-time,
along those silent watery highways and crossways of canal, river, and
estuary--the military advantages of which to the Netherlands, Maurice was
the first thoroughly to demonstrate. Having previously made great
preparations of munitions and provisions in Zeeland, the young general,
who was thought hard at work in Gelderland, suddenly presented himself on
the 19th September, before the gates of Hulst, on the border of Zeeland
and Brabant.

It was a place of importance from its situation, its possession by the
enemy being a perpetual thorn in the side of the States, and a constant
obstacle to the plans of Maurice. His arrangements having been made with
the customary, neatness, celerity, and completeness, he received the
surrender of the city on the fifth day after his arrival.

Its commander, Castillo, could offer no resistance; and was subsequently,
it is said, beheaded by order of the Duke of Parma for his negligence.
The place is but a dozen miles from Antwerp, which city was at the very,
moment keeping great holiday and outdoing itself in magnificent festivals
in honour of young Ranuccio. The capture of Hulst before his eyes was a
demonstration quite unexpected by the prince, and great was the wrath of
old Mondragon, governor of Antwerp, thus bearded in his den. The veteran
made immediate preparations for chastising the audacious Beggars of
Zeeland and their, pedantic young commander, but no sooner had the
Spaniards taken the field than the wily foe had disappeared as magically
as he had come.

The Flemish earth seemed to have bubbles as the water hath, and while
Mondragon was beating the air in vain on the margin of the Scheld,
Maurice was back again upon the Waal, horse, foot, and artillery, bag,
baggage, and munition, and had fairly set himself down in earnest to
besiege Nymegen, before the honest burghers and the garrison had finished
drawing long breaths at their recent escape. Between the 14th and 16th
October he had bridged the deep, wide, and rapid river, had transported
eight thousand five hundred infantry and, sixteen companies of cavalry to
the southern side, had entrenched his camp and made his approaches, and
had got sixty-eight pieces of artillery into three positions commanding
the weakest part of the defences of the city between the Falcon Tower and
the Hoender gate. The fort of Knodsenburg was also ready to throw hot
shot across the river into the town. Not a detail in all these
preparations escaped the vigilant eye of the Commander-in-Chief, and
again and again was he implored not so recklessly to expose a life
already become precious to his country. On the 20th October, Maurice sent
to demand the surrender of the city. The reply was facetious but
decisive.

The prince was but a young suitor, it was said, and the city a spinster
not so lightly to be won. A longer courtship and more trouble would be
necessary.

Whereupon the suitor opened all his batteries without further delay, and
the spinster gave a fresh example of the inevitable fate of talking
castles and listening ladies.

Nymegen, despite her saucy answer on the 20th, surrendered on the 21st.
Relief was impossible. Neither Parma, now on his way to France, nor
Verdugo, shut up in Friesland, could come to the rescue of the place, and
the combinations of Maurice were an inexorable demonstration.

The terms of the surrender were similar to those accorded to Zutphen and
Deventer. In regard to the religious point it was expressly laid down by
Maurice that the demand for permission to exercise publicly the Roman
Catholic religion should be left to the decision of the States-General.

And thus another most important city had been added to the domains of the
republic. Another triumph was inscribed on the record of the young
commander. The exultation was very great throughout the United
Netherlands, and heartfelt was the homage rendered by all classes of his
countrymen to the son of William the Silent.

Queen Elizabeth wrote to congratulate him in warmest terms on his great
successes, and even the Spaniards began to recognise the merits of the
new chieftain. An intercepted letter from Verdugo, who had been foiled in
his efforts to arrest the career of Maurice, indicated great respect for
his prowess. "I have been informed," said the veteran, "that Count
Maurice of Nassau wishes to fight me. Had I the opportunity I assure you
that I should not fail him, for even if ill luck were my portion, I
should at least not escape the honour of being beaten by such a
personage. I beg you to tell him so with my affectionate compliments.
Yours, FRANCIS VERDUGO."

These chivalrous sentiments towards Prince Maurice had not however
prevented Verdugo from doing his best to assassinate Count Lewis William.
Two Spaniards had been arrested in the States camp this summer, who came
in as deserters, but who confessed "with little, or mostly without
torture," that they had been sent by their governor and colonel with
instructions to seize a favourable opportunity to shoot Lewis William and
set fire to his camp. But such practices were so common on the part of
the Spanish commanders as to occasion no surprise whatever.

It will be remembered that two years before, the famous Martin Schenk had
come to a tragic end at Nymegen. He had been drowned, fished up, hanged,
drawn, and quartered; after which his scattered fragments, having been
exposed on all the principal towers of the city, had been put in pickle
and deposited in a chest. They were now collected and buried triumphantly
in the tomb of the Dukes of Gelderland. Thus the shade of the grim
freebooter was at last appeased.

The government of the city was conferred upon Count Lewis William, with
Gerard de Jonge as his lieutenant. A substantial garrison was placed in
the city, and, the season now far advanced Maurice brought the military
operations of the year, saving a slight preliminary demonstration against
Gertruydenberg, to a close. He had deserved and attained--considerable
renown. He had astonished the leisurely war-makers and phlegmatic
veterans of the time, both among friends and foes, by the unexampled
rapidity of his movements and the concentration of his attacks. He had
carried great waggon trains and whole parks of siege artillery--the
heaviest then known--over roads and swamps which had been deemed
impassable even for infantry. He had traversed the length and breadth of
the republic in a single campaign, taken two great cities in Overyssel,
picked up cities and fortresses in the province of Groningen, and
threatened its capital, menaced Steenwyk, relieved Knodsenburg though
besieged in person by the greatest commander of the age, beaten the most
famous cavalry of Spain and Italy under the eyes of their chieftain,
swooped as it were through the air upon Brabant, and carried off an
important city almost in the sight of Antwerp, and sped back again in the
freezing weather of early autumn, with his splendidly served and
invincible artillery, to the imperial city of Nymegen, which Farnese had
sworn to guard like the apple of his eye, and which, with consummate
skill, was forced out of his grasp in five days.

"Some might attribute these things to blind fortune," says an honest
chronicler who had occupied important posts in the service of the prince
and of his cousin Lewis William, "but they who knew the prince's constant
study and laborious attention to detail, who were aware that he never
committed to another what he could do himself, who saw his sobriety,
vigilance, his perpetual study and holding of council with Count Lewis
William (himself possessed of all these good gifts, perhaps even in
greater degree), and who never found him seeking, like so many other
commanders, his own ease and comfort, would think differently."



CHAPTER XXV.

   War in Brittany and Normandy--Death of La Noue--Religious and
   political persecution in Paris--Murder of President Brisson,
   Larcher, and Tardif--The sceptre of France offered to Philip--The
   Duke of Mayenne punishes the murderers of the magistrates--Speech of
   Henry's envoy to the States-General--Letter of Queen Elizabeth to
   Henry--Siege of Rouen--Farnese leads an army to its relief--The king
   is wounded in a skirmish--Siege of Rue by Farnese--Henry raises the
   siege of Rouen--Siege of Caudebec--Critical position of Farnese and
   his army--Victory of the Duke of Mercoeur in Brittany.

Again the central point towards which the complicated events to be
described in this history gravitate is found on the soil of France.
Movements apparently desultory and disconnected--as they may have seemed
to the contemporaneous observer, necessarily occupied with the local and
daily details which make up individual human life--are found to be
necessary parts of a whole, when regarded with that breadth and clearness
of vision which is permitted to human beings only when they can look
backward upon that long sequence of events which make up the life of
nations and which we call the Past. It is only by the anatomical study of
what has ceased to exist that we can come thoroughly to comprehend the
framework and the vital conditions of that which lives. It is only by
patiently lifting the shroud from the Past that we can enable ourselves
to make even wide guesses at the meaning of the dim Present and the
veiled Future. It is only thus that the continuity of human history
reveals itself to us as the most important of scientific facts.

If ever commonwealth was apparently doomed to lose that national
existence which it had maintained for a brief period at the expense of
infinite sacrifice of blood and treasure, it was the republic of the
United Netherlands in the period immediately succeeding the death of
William the Silent. Domestic treason, secession of important provinces,
religious-hatred, foreign intrigue, and foreign invasion--in such a sea
of troubles was the republic destined generations long to struggle. Who
but the fanatical, the shallow-minded, or the corrupt could doubt the
inevitable issue of the conflict? Did not great sages and statesmen whose
teachings seemed so much wiser in their generation than the untaught
impulses of the great popular heart, condemn over and over again the
hopeless struggles and the atrocious bloodshed which were thought to
disgrace the age, and by which it was held impossible that the cause of
human liberty should ever be advanced?

To us who look back from the vantage summit which humanity has
reached--thanks to the toil and sacrifices of those who have preceded
us--it may seem doubtful whether premature peace in the Netherlands,
France, and England would have been an unmitigated blessing, however
easily it might have been purchased by the establishment all over Europe
of that holy institution called the Inquisition, and by the tranquil
acceptance of the foreign domination of Spain.

If, too; ever country seemed destined to the painful process of national
vivisection and final dismemberment, it was France: Its natural guardians
and masters, save one, were in secret negotiation with foreign powers to
obtain with their assistance a portion of the national territory under
acknowledgment of foreign supremacy. There was hardly an inch of French
soil that had not two possessors. In Burgundy Baron Biron was battling
against the Viscount Tavannes; in the Lyonese and Dauphiny Marshal des
Digiueres was fighting with the Dukes of Savoy and Nemours; in Provence,
Epernon was resisting Savoy; in Languedoc, Constable Montmorency
contended with the Duke of Joyeuse; in Brittany, the Prince of Dombes was
struggling with the Duke of Mercoeur.

But there was one adventurer who thought he could show a better legal
title to the throne of France than all the doctors of the Sorbonne could
furnish to Philip II. and his daughter, and who still trusted, through
all the disasters which pursued him, and despite the machinations of
venal warriors and mendicant princes, to his good right and his good
sword, and to something more potent than both, the cause of national
unity. His rebuke to the intriguing priests at the interview of St.
Denis, and his reference to the judgment of Solomon, formed the text to
his whole career.

The brunt of the war now fell upon Brittany and Normandy. Three thousand
Spaniards under Don John de Aquila had landed in the port of Blavet which
they had fortified, as a stronghold on the coast. And thither, to defend
the integrity of that portion of France, which, in Spanish hands, was a
perpetual menace to her realm, her crown, even to her life, Queen
Elizabeth had sent some three thousand Englishmen, under commanders well
known to France and the Netherlands. There was black Norris again dealing
death among the Spaniards and renewing his perpetual squabbles with Sir
Roger Williams. There was that doughty Welshman himself, truculent and
caustic as ever--and as ready with sword or pen, foremost in every mad
adventure or every forlorn hope, criticising with sharpest tongue the
blunders and shortcomings of friend and foe, and devoting the last drop
in his veins with chivalrous devotion to his Queen. "The world cannot
deny," said he, "that any carcase living ventured himself freer and
oftener for his prince, state, and friends than I did mine. There is no
more to be had of a poor beast than his skin, and for want of other means
I never respected mine in the least respect towards my sovereign's
service, or country." And so passing his life in the saddle and under
fire, yet finding leisure to collect the materials for, and to complete
the execution of, one of the most valuable and attractive histories of
the age, the bold Welshman again and again appears, wearing the same
humorous but truculent aspect that belonged to him when he was wont to
run up and down in a great morion and feathers on Flemish battlefields, a
mark for the Spanish sharpshooters.

There, too, under the banner of the Bearnese, that other historian of
those sanguinary times, who had fought on almost every battle-field where
tyranny and liberty had sought to smite each other dead, on French or
Flemish soil, and who had prepared his famous political and military
discourses in a foul dungeon swarming with toads and rats and other
villainous reptiles to which the worse than infernal tyranny of Philip
II. had consigned him for seven years long as a prisoner of war--the
brave and good La Noue, with the iron arm, hero of a hundred combats, was
fighting his last fight. At the siege of Lamballe in Brittany, he had
taken off his calque and climbed a ladder to examine the breach effected
by the batteries. An arquebus shot from the town grazed his forehead,
and, without inflicting a severe wound, stunned him so much that he lost
his balance and fell head foremost towards the ground; his leg, which had
been wounded at the midnight assault upon Paris, where he stood at the
side of King Henry, caught in the ladder and held him suspended. His head
was severely bruised, and the contusions and shock to his war-worn frame
were so great that he died after lingering eighteen days.

His son de Teligny; who in his turn had just been exchanged and released
from the prison where he had lain since his capture before Antwerp, had
hastened with joy to join his father in the camp, but came to close his
eyes. The veteran caused the chapter in Job on the resurrection of the
body to be read to him on his death-bed, and died expressing his firm
faith in a hereafter. Thus passed away, at the age of sixty, on the 4th
August, 1591, one of the most heroic spirits of France. Prudence,
courage, experience, military knowledge both theoretic and practical,
made him one of the first captains of the age, and he was not more
distinguished for his valour than for the purity of his life, and the
moderation, temperance, and justice of his character. The Prince of
Dombes, in despair at his death, raised the siege of Lamballe.

There was yet another chronicler, fighting among the Spaniards, now in
Brittany, now in Normandy, and now in Flanders, and doing his work as
thoroughly with his sword as afterwards with his pen, Don Carlos Coloma,
captain of cavalry, afterwards financier, envoy, and historian. For it
was thus that those writers prepared themselves for their work. They were
all actors in the great epic, the episodes of which they have preserved.
They lived and fought, and wrought and suffered and wrote. Rude in
tongue; aflame with passion, twisted all awry by prejudice, violent in
love and hate, they have left us narratives which are at least full of
colour and thrilling with life.

Thus Netherlanders, Englishmen, and Frenchmen were again mingling their
blood and exhausting their energies on a hundred petty battle-fields of
Brittany and Normandy; but perhaps to few of those hard fighters was it
given to discern the great work which they were slowly and painfully
achieving.

In Paris the League still maintained its ascendancy. Henry, having again
withdrawn from his attempts to reduce the capital, had left the sixteen
tyrants who governed it more leisure to occupy themselves with internal
politics. A network of intrigue was spread through the whole atmosphere
of the place. The Sixteen, sustained by the power of Spain and Rome, and
fearing nothing so much as the return of peace, by which their system of
plunder would come to an end, proceeded with their persecution of all
heretics, real or supposed, who were rich enough to offer a reasonable
chance of spoil. The soul of all these intrigues was the new legate,
Sego, bishop of Piacenza. Letters from him to Alexander Farnese,
intercepted by Henry, showed a determination to ruin the Duke of Mayenne
and Count Belin governor of Paris, whom he designated as Colossus and
Renard, to extirpate the magistrates, and to put Spanish partizans in
their places, and in general to perfect the machinery by which the
authority of Philip was to be established in France. He was perpetually
urging upon that monarch the necessity of spending more money among his
creatures in order to carry out these projects.

Accordingly the attention of the Sixteen had been directed to President
Brisson, who had already made himself so dangerously conspicuous by his
resistance to the insolent assumption of the cardinal-legate. This
eminent juris-consult had succeeded Pomponne de Bellievre as first
president of the Parliament of Paris. He had been distinguished for
talent, learning, and eloquence as an advocate; and was the author of
several important legal works. His ambition to fill the place of first
president had caused him to remain in Paris after its revolt against
Henry III. He was no Leaguer; and, since his open defiance of the
ultra-Catholic party, he had been a marked man--doomed secretly by the
confederates who ruled the capital. He had fondly imagined that he could
govern the Parisian populace as easily as he had been in the habit of
influencing the Parliament or directing his clients. He expected to
restore the city to its obedience to the constituted authorities. He
hoped to be himself the means of bringing Henry IV. in triumph to the
throne of his ancestors. He found, however, that a revolution was more
difficult to manage than a law case; and that the confederates of the
Holy League were less tractable than his clients had usually been found.

On the night of the 14th November; 1591; he was seized on the bridge St.
Michel, while on his way to parliament, and was told that he was expected
at the Hotel de Ville. He was then brought to the prison of the little
Chatelet.

Hardly had he been made secure in the dimly-lighted dungeon, when Crome,
a leader among the Parisian populacey made his appearance, accompanied by
some of his confederates, and dressed in a complete suit of mail. He
ordered the magistrate to take off his hat and to kneel. He then read a
sentence condemning him to death. Profoundly astonished, Brisson demanded
to know of what crime he was accused; and under what authority. The
answer was a laugh; and an assurance that he had no time to lose. He then
begged that at least he might be imprisoned long enough to enable him to
complete a legal work on which he was engaged, and which, by his
premature death, would be lost to the commonwealth. This request produced
no doubt more merriment than his previous demands. His judges were
inflexible; and allowed him hardly time to confess himself. He was then
hanged in his dungeon.

Two other magistrates, Larcher and Tardif, were executed in the same way,
in the same place, and on the same night. The crime charged against them
was having spoken in a public assembly somewhat freely against the
Sixteen, and having aided in the circulation in Paris of a paper drawn up
by the Duke of Nevers, filled with bitterness against the Lorraine
princes and the League, and addressed to the late Pope Sixtus.

The three bodies were afterwards gibbeted on the Greve in front of the
Hotel de Ville, and exposed for two days to the insults and fury of the
populace.

This was the culminating point of the reign of terror in Paris. Never had
the sixteen tyrants; lords of the market halls, who governed the capital
by favour of and in the name of the populace, seemed more omnipotent. As
representatives or plenipotentiaries of Madam League they had laid the
crown at the feet of the King of Spain, hoping by still further drafts
on his exchequer and his credulity to prolong indefinitely their own
ignoble reign. The extreme democratic party, which had hitherto supported
the House of Lorraine and had seemed to idolize that family in the person
of the great Balafre, now believed themselves possessed of sufficient
power to control the Duke of Mayenne and all his adherents. They sent the
Jesuit Claude Mathieu with a special memorial to Philip II. That monarch
was implored to take, the sceptre of France, and to reign over them,
inasmuch as they most willingly threw themselves into his arms? They
assured him that all reasonable people, and especially the Holy League,
wished him to take the reins of Government, on condition of exterminating
heresy throughout the kingdom by force of arms, of publishing the Council
of Trent, and of establishing everywhere the Holy inquisition--an
institution formidable only to the wicked and desirable for the good. It
was suggested that Philip should not call himself any longer King of
Spain nor adopt the title of King of France, but that he should proclaim
himself the Great King, or make use of some similar designation, not
indicating any specialty but importing universal dominion.

Should Philip, however, be disinclined himself to accept the monarchy, it
was suggested that the young Duke of Guise, son of the first martyr of
France, would be the most appropriate personage to be honoured with the
hand of the legitimate Queen of France, the Infanta Clara Isabella.

But the Sixteen were reckoning without the Duke of Mayenne. That great
personage, although an indifferent warrior and an utterly unprincipled
and venal statesman, was by no means despicable as a fisherman in the
troubled waters of revolution. He knew how to manage intrigues with both
sides for his own benefit. Had he been a bachelor he might have obtained
the Infanta and shared her prospective throne. Being encumbered with a
wife he had no hope of becoming the son-in-law of Philip, and was
determined that his nephew Guise should not enjoy a piece of good fortune
denied to himself. The escape of the young duke from prison had been the
signal for the outbreak of jealousies between uncle and nephew, which
Parma and other agents had been instructed by their master to foster to
the utmost. "They must be maintained in such disposition in regard to
me," he said, "that the one being ignorant of my relations to the other,
both may without knowing it do my will."

But Mayenne, in this grovelling career of self-seeking, in this perpetual
loading of dice and marking of cards, which formed the main occupation of
so many kings and princes of the period, and which passed for
Machiavellian politics, was a fair match for the Spanish king and his
Italian viceroy. He sent President Jeannin on special mission to Philip,
asking for two armies, one to be under his command, the other under that
of Farnese, and assured him that he should be king himself, or appoint
any man he liked to the vacant throne. Thus he had secured one hundred
thousand crowns a month to carry on his own game withal. "The maintenance
of these two armies costs me 261,000 crowns a month," said Philip to his
envoy Ybarra.

And what was the result of all this expenditure of money, of all this
lying and counter-lying, of all this frantic effort on the part of the
most powerful monarch of the age to obtain property which did not belong
to him--the sovereignty of a great kingdom, stocked with a dozen millions
of human beings--of all this endless bloodshed of the people in the
interests of a high-born family or two, of all this infamous brokerage
charged by great nobles for their attempts to transfer kingdoms like
private farms from one owner to another? Time was to show. Meanwhile men
trembled at the name of Philip II., and grovelled before him as the
incarnation of sagacity, high policy, and king-craft.

But Mayenne, while taking the brokerage, was less anxious about the
transfer. He had fine instinct enough to suspect that the Bearnese,
outcast though he seemed, might after all not be playing so desperate a
game against the League as it was the fashion to suppose. He knew whether
or not Henry was likely to prove a more fanatical Huguenot in 1592 than
he bad shown himself twenty years before at the Bartholomew festival. And
he had wit enough to foresee that the "instruction" which the gay
free-thinker held so cautiously in his fingers might perhaps turn out the
trump card. A bold, valorous Frenchman with a flawless title, and washed
whiter than snow by the freshet of holy water, might prove a more
formidable claimant to the allegiance of Frenchmen than a foreign
potentate, even though backed by all the doctors of the Sorbonne.

The murder of President Brisson and his colleagues by the confederates of
the sixteen quarters, was in truth the beginning of the end. What seemed
a proof of supreme power was the precursor of a counter-revolution,
destined ere long to lead farther than men dreamed. The Sixteen believed
themselves omnipotent. Mayenne being in their power, it was for them to
bestow the crown at their will, or to hold it suspended in air as long as
seemed best to them. They felt no doubt that all the other great cities
in the kingdom would follow the example of Paris.

But the lieutenant-general of the realm felt it time for him to show that
his authority was not a shadow--that he was not a pasteboard functionary
like the deceased cardinal-king, Charles X. The letters entrusted by the
Sixteen to Claude Mathieu were intercepted by Henry, and, very probably,
an intimation of their contents was furnished to Mayenne. At any rate,
the duke, who lacked not courage nor promptness when his own interests
were concerned, who felt his authority slipping away from him, now that
it seemed the object of the Spaniards to bind the democratic party to
themselves by a complicity in crime, hastened at once to Paris,
determined to crush these intrigues and to punish the murderers of the
judges. The Spanish envoy Ybarra, proud, excitable, violent, who had been
privy to the assassinations, and was astonished that the deeds had
excited indignation and fury instead of the terror counted upon,
remonstrated with Mayenne, intimating that in times of civil commotion it
was often necessary to be blind and deaf.

In vain. The duke carried it with a high and firm hand. He arrested the
ringleaders, and hanged four of them in the basement of the Louvre within
twenty days after the commission of their crime. The energy was
well-timed and perfectly successful. The power of the Sixteen was struck
to the earth at a blow. The ignoble tyrants became in a moment as
despicable as they had been formidable and insolent. Crome, more
fortunate than many of his fellows, contrived to make his escape out of
the kingdom.

Thus Mayenne had formally broken with the democratic party, so
called-with the market-halls oligarchy. In thus doing, his ultimate
rupture with the Spaniards was foreshadowed. The next combination for him
to strive for would be one to unite the moderate Catholics and the
Bearnese. Ah! if Henry would but "instruct" himself out of hand, what a
game the duke might play!

The burgess-party, the mild royalists, the disgusted portion of the
Leaguers, coalescing with those of the Huguenots whose fidelity might
prove stanch even against the religious apostasy contemplated by their
chief--this combination might prove an over-match for the ultra-leaguers,
the democrats, and the Spaniards. The king's name would be a tower of
strength for that "third party," which began to rear its head very boldly
and to call itself "Politica." Madam League might succumb to this new
rival in the fickle hearts of the French.

At the beginning of the year 1591; Buzanval had presented his credentials
to the States-General at the Hague as envoy of Henry IV. In the speech
which he made on this occasion he expressed the hope that the mission of
the Viscount Turenne, his Majesty's envoy to England and to the
Netherlands, had made known the royal sentiments towards the States and
the great satisfaction of the king with their energetic sympathy and
assistance. It was notorious, said Buzanval, that the King of Spain for
many years had been governed by no other motive than to bring all the
rest of Christendom under his dominion, while at the same time he forced
upon those already placed under his sceptre a violent tyranny, passing
beyond all the bounds that God, nature, and reason had set to lawful
forms of government. In regard to nations born under other laws than his,
he had used the pretext of religion for reducing them to servitude. The
wars stirred up by his family in Germany, and his recent invasion of
England, were proofs of this intention, still fresh in the memory of all
men. Still more flagrant were his machinations in the present troubles of
France. Of his dealings with his hereditary realms, the condition of the
noble provinces of the Netherlands, once so blooming under reasonable
laws, furnished, a sufficient illustration. You see, my masters,
continued the envoy, the subtle plans of the Spanish king and his
counsellors to reach with certainty the object of their ambition. They
have reflected that Spain, which is the outermost corner of Europe,
cannot conveniently make war upon other Christian realms. They have seen
that a central position is necessary to enable them to stretch their arms
to every side. They have remembered that princes who in earlier days were
able to spread their wings over all Christendom had their throne in
France, like Charles the Great and his descendants. Therefore the king is
now earnestly bent on seizing this occasion to make himself master of
France. The death of the late king (Henry III.) had no sooner occurred,
than--as the blood through great terror rushes from the extremities and
overflows the heart--they here also, fearing to lose their opportunity
and astonished at the valour of our present king, abandoned all their
other enterprises in order to pour themselves upon France.

Buzanval further reminded the States that Henry had received the most
encouraging promises from the protestant princes of Germany, and that so
great a personage as the Viscount Turenne, who had now gone thither to
reap the fruit of those promises, would not have been sent on such a
mission except that its result was certain. The Queen of England, too,
had promised his Majesty most liberal assistance.

It was not necessary to argue as to the close connection between the
cause of the Netherlands and that of France. The king had beaten down the
mutiny of his own subjects, and repulsed the invasion of the Dukes of
Savoy and of Lorraine. In consideration of the assistance promised by
Germany and England--for a powerful army would be at the command of Henry
in the spring--it might be said that the Netherlands might repose for a
time and recruit their exhausted energies, under the shadow of these
mighty preparations.

"I do not believe, however," said the minister, "that you will all answer
me thus. The faint-hearted and the inexperienced might flatter themselves
with such thoughts, and seek thus to cover their cowardice, but the
zealous and the courageous will see that it is time to set sail on the
ship, now that the wind is rising so freshly and favourably.

"For there are many occasions when an army might be ruined for want of
twenty thousand crowns. What a pity if a noble edifice, furnished to the
roof-tree, should fall to decay for want of a few tiles. No doubt your
own interests are deeply connected with our own. Men may say that our
proposals should be rejected on the principle that the shirt is nearer to
the skin than the coat, but it can be easily proved that our cause is
one. The mere rumour of this army will prevent the Duke of Parma from
attacking you. His forces will be drawn to France. He will be obliged to
intercept the crash of this thunderbolt. The assistance of this army is
worth millions to you, and has cost you nothing. To bring France into
hostility with Spain is the very policy that you have always pursued and
always should pursue in order to protect your freedom. You have always
desired a war between France and Spain, and here is a fierce and cruel
one in which you have hazarded nothing. It cannot come to an end without
bringing signal advantages to yourselves.

"You have always desired an alliance with a French sovereign, and here is
a firm friendship offered you by our king, a natural alliance.

"You know how unstable are most treaties that are founded on shifting
interests, and do not concern the freedom of bodies and souls. The first
are written with pen upon paper, and are generally as light as paper.
They have no roots in the heart. Those founded on mutual assistance on
trying occasions have the perpetual strength of nature. They bring always
good and enduring fruit in a rich soil like the heart of our king; that
heart which is as beautiful and as pure from all untruth as the lily upon
his shield.

"You will derive the first profits from the army thus raised. From the
moment of its mustering under a chief of such experience as Turenne, it
will absorb the whole attention of Spain, and will draw her thoughts from
the Netherlands to France."

All this and more in the same earnest manner did the envoy urge upon the
consideration of the States-General, concluding with a demand of 100,000
florins as their contribution towards the French campaign.

His eloquence did not fall upon unwilling ears; for the States-General,
after taking time to deliberate, replied to the propositions by an
expression of the strongest sympathy with, and admiration for, the heroic
efforts of the King of France. Accordingly, notwithstanding their own
enormous expenses, past and present, and their strenuous exertions at
that very moment to form an army of foot and horse for the campaign, the
brilliant results of which have already been narrated, they agreed to
furnish the required loan of 100,000 florins to be repaid in a year,
besides six or seven good ships of war to co-operate with the fleets of
England and France upon the coasts of Normandy. And the States were even
better than their word.

Before the end of autumn of the year 1591, Henry had laid siege to Rouen,
then the second city of the kingdom. To leave much longer so important a
place--dominating, as it did, not only Normandy but a principal portion
of the maritime borders of France--under the control of the League and of
Spain was likely to be fatal to Henry's success. It was perfectly sound
in Queen Elizabeth to insist as she did, with more than her usual
imperiousness towards her excellent brother, that he should lose no more
time before reducing that city. It was obvious that Rouen in the hands of
her arch-enemy was a perpetual menace to the safety of her own kingdom.
It was therefore with correct judgment, as well as with that high-flown
gallantry so dear to the heart of Elizabeth, that her royal champion and
devoted slave assured her of his determination no longer to defer obeying
her commands in this respect.

The queen had repeatedly warned him of the necessity of defending the
maritime frontier of his kingdom, and she was not sparing of her
reproaches that the large sums which she expended in his cause had been
often ill bestowed. Her criticisms on what she considered his military
mistakes were not few, her threats to withdraw her subsidies frequent.
"Owning neither the East nor the West Indies," she said, "we are unable
to supply the constant demands upon us; and although we have the
reputation of being a good housewife, it does not follow that we can be a
housewife for all the world." She was persistently warning the king of an
attack upon Dieppe, and rebuking him for occupying himself with petty
enterprises to the neglect of vital points. She expressed her surprise
that after the departure of Parma, he had not driven the Spaniards out of
Brittany, without allowing them to fortify themselves in that country. "I
am astonished," she said to him, "that your eyes are so blinded as not to
see this danger. Remember, my dear brother," she frankly added, "that it
is not only France that I am aiding, nor are my own natural realms of
little consequence to me. Believe me, if I see that you have no more
regard to the ports and maritime places nearest to us, it will be
necessary that my prayers should serve you in place of any other
assistance, because it does not please me to send my people to the
shambles where they may perish before having rendered you any assistance.
I am sure the Spaniards will soon besiege Dieppe. Beware of it, and
excuse my bluntness, for if in the beginning you had taken the maritime
forts, which are the very gates of your kingdom, Paris would not have
been so well furnished, and other places nearer the heart of the kingdom
would not have received so much foreign assistance, without which the
others would have soon been vanquished. Pardon my simplicity as belonging
to my own sex wishing to give a lesson to one who knows better, but my
experience in government makes me a little obstinate in believing that I
am not ignorant of that which belongs to a king, and I persuade myself
that in following my advice you will not fail to conquer your
assailants."

Before the end of the year Henry had obtained control of the, Seine, both
above and below the city, holding Pont de l'Arche on the north--where was
the last bridge across the river; that of Rouen, built by the English
when they governed Normandy, being now in ruins--and Caudebec on the
south in an iron grasp. Several war-vessels sent by the Hollanders,
according to the agreement with Buzanval, cruised in the north of the
river below Caudebec, and rendered much service to the king in cutting
off supplies from the beleaguered place, while the investing army of
Henry, numbering twenty-five thousand foot--inclusive of the English
contingent, and three thousand Netherlanders--and ten thousand cavalry,
nearly all French, was fast reducing the place to extremities.

Parma, as usual, in obedience to his master's orders, but entirely
against his own judgment, had again left the rising young general of the
Netherlands to proceed from one triumph to another, while he transferred
beyond the borders of that land which it was his first business to
protect, the whole weight of his military genius and the better portion
of his well disciplined forces.

Most bitterly and indignantly did he express himself, both at the outset
and during the whole progress of the expedition, concerning the utter
disproportions between the king's means and aims. The want of money was
the cause of wholesale disease, desertion, mutiny, and death in his
slender army.

Such great schemes as his master's required, as he perpetually urged,
liberality of expenditure and measures of breadth. He protested that he
was not to blame for the ruin likely to come upon the whole enterprise.
He had besought, remonstrated, reasoned with the king in vain. He had
seen his beard first grow, he said, in the king's service, and he had
grown gray in that service, but rather than be kept longer in such a
position, without money, men, or means to accomplish the great purposes
on which he was sent, he protested that he would "abandon his office and
retire into the woods to feed on roots." Repeatedly did he implore his
master for a large and powerful army; for money and again money. The
royal plans should be enforced adequately or abandoned entirely. To spend
money in small sums, as heretofore, was only throwing it into the sea.

It was deep in the winter however before he could fairly come to the
rescue of the besieged city. Towards the end of January, 1592, he moved
out of Hainault, and once more made his junction at Guise with the Duke
of Mayenne. At a review of his forces on 16th January, 1592, Alexander
found himself at the head of thirteen thousand five hundred and sixteen
infantry and four thousand and sixty-one cavalry. The Duke of Mayenne's
army, for payment of which that personage received from Philip 100,000
dollars a month, besides 10,000 dollars a month for his own pocket, ought
to have numbered ten thousand foot and three thousand horse, according to
contract, but was in reality much less.

The Duke of Montemarciano, nephew of Gregory XIV., had brought two
thousand Swiss, furnished by the pontiff to the cause of the League, and
the Duke of Lorraine had sent his kinsmen, the Counts Chaligny and
Vaudemont, with a force of seven hundred lancers and cuirassiers.

The town of Fere was assigned in pledge to Farnese to hold as a
convenient: mustering-place and station in proximity to his own borders,
and, as usual, the chief command over the united armies was placed in his
hands. These arrangements concluded, the allies moved slowly forward much
in the same order as in the previous year. The young Duke of Guise, who
had just made his escape from the prison of Tours, where he had been held
in durance since the famous assassination of his father and uncle, and
had now come to join his uncle Mayenne, led the vanguard. Ranuccio, son
of the duke, rode also in the advance, while two experienced commanders,
Vitry and De la Chatre, as well as the famous Marquis del Vasto, formerly
general of cavalry in the Netherlands, who had been transferred to Italy
but was now serving in the League's army as a volunteer, were associated
with the young princes. Parma, Mayenne, and Montemarciano rode in the
battalia, the rear being under command of the Duke of Aumale and the
Count Chaligny. Wings of cavalry protected the long trains of wagons
which were arranged on each flank of the invading army. The march was
very slow, a Farnese's uniform practice to guard himself scrupulously
against any possibility of surprise and to entrench himself thoroughly at
nightfall.

By the middle of February they reached the vicinity of Aumale in Picardy.
Meantime Henry, on the news of the advance of the relieving army, had
again the same problem to solve that had been presented to him before
Paris in the summer of 1590. Should he continue in the trenches, pressing
more and more closely the city already reduced to great straits? Should
he take the open field against the invaders and once more attempt to
crush the League and its most redoubtable commander in a general
engagement? Biron strenuously advised the continuance of the siege.
Turenne, now, through his recent marriage with the heiress, called Duc de
Bouillon, great head of the Huguenot party in France, counselled as
warmly the open attack. Henry, hesitating more than was customary with
him, at last decided on a middle course. The resolution did not seem a
very wise one, but the king, who had been so signally out-generalled in
the preceding campaign by the great Italian, was anxious to avoid his
former errors, and might perhaps fall into as great ones by attempting
two inconsistent lines of action. Leaving Biron in command of the
infantry and a portion of the horse to continue the siege, he took the
field himself with the greater part of the cavalry, intending to
intercept and harass the enemy and to prevent his manifest purpose of
throwing reinforcements and supplies into the invested city.

Proceeding to Neufchatel and Aumale, he soon found himself in the
neighbourhood of the Leaguers, and it was not long before skirmishing
began. At this time, on a memorable occasion, Henry, forgetting as usual,
in his eagerness for the joys of the combat that he was not a young
captain of cavalry with his spurs to win by dashing into every mad
adventure that might present itself, but a king fighting for his crown,
with the welfare of a whole people depending on his fortunes, thought
proper to place himself at the head of a handful of troopers to
reconnoitre in person the camp of the Leaguers. Starting with five
hundred horse, and ordering Lavardin and Givry to follow with a larger
body, while the Dukes of Nevers and Longueville were to move out, should
it prove necessary, in force, the king rode forth as merrily as to a
hunting party, drove in the scouts and pickets of the confederated
armies, and, advancing still farther in his investigations, soon found
himself attacked by a cavalry force of the enemy much superior to his
own. A skirmish began, and it was necessary for the little troop to beat
a hasty retreat, fighting as it ran. It was not long before Henry was
recognised by the enemy, and the chase became all the more lively; George
Basti, the famous Albanian trooper, commanding the force which pressed
most closely upon the king. The news spread to the camp of the League
that the Bearnese was the leader of the skirmishers. Mayenne believed it,
and urged the instant advance of the flying squadron and of the whole
vanguard. Farnese refused. It was impossible that the king should be
there, he said, doing picket duty at the head of a company. It was a
clumsy ambush to bring on a general engagement in the open field, and he
was not to be drawn out of his trenches into a trap by such a shallow
device. A French captain, who by command of Henry had purposely allowed
himself to be taken, informed his captors that the skirmishers were in
reality supported by a heavy force of infantry. This suggestion of the
ready Bearnese confirmed the doubts of Alexander. Meantime the
skirmishing steeplechase went on before his eyes. The king dashing down a
hill received an arquebus shot in his side, but still rode for his life.
Lavardin and Givry came to the rescue, but a panic seized their followers
as the rumour flew that the king was mortally wounded--was already
dead--so that they hardly brought a sufficient force to beat back the
Leaguers. Givry's horse was soon killed under him, and his own thigh
crushed; Lavardin was himself dangerously wounded. The king was more hard
pressed than ever, men were falling on every side of him, when four
hundred French dragoons--as a kind of musketeers who rode on hacks to the
scene of action but did their work on foot, were called at that day--now
dismounted and threw themselves between Henry and his pursuers. Nearly
every man of them laid down his life, but they saved the king's. Their
vigorous hand to hand fighting kept off the assailants until Nevers and
Longueville received the king at the gates of Aumale with a force before
which the Leaguers were fain to retreat as rapidly as they had come.

In this remarkable skirmish of Aumale the opposite qualities of Alexander
and of Henry were signally illustrated. The king, by his constitutional
temerity, by his almost puerile love of confronting danger for the
danger's sake, was on the verge of sacrificing himself with all the hopes
of his house and of the nobler portion of his people for an absolute
nothing; while the duke, out of his superabundant caution, peremptorily
refused to stretch out his hand and seize the person of his great enemy
when directly within his, grasp. Dead or alive, the Bearnese was
unquestionably on that day in the power of Farnese, and with him the
whole issue of the campaign and of the war. Never were the narrow limits
that separate valour on the one side and discretion on the other from
unpardonable lunacy more nearly effaced than on that occasion.'

When would such an opportunity occur again?

The king's wound proved not very dangerous, although for many days
troublesome, and it required, on account of his general state of health,
a thorough cure. Meantime the royalists fell back from Aumale and
Neufchatel, both of which places were at once occupied by the Leaguers:
In pursuance of his original plan, the Duke of Parma advanced with his
customary steadiness and deliberation towards Rouen. It was his intention
to assault the king's army in its entrenchments in combination with a
determined sortie to be made by the besieged garrison. His preparations
for the attack were ready on the 26th February, when he suddenly received
a communication from De Villars, who had thus far most ably and gallantly
conducted the defence of the place, informing him that it was no longer
necessary to make a general attack. On the day before he had made a sally
from the four gates of the city, had fallen upon the besiegers in great
force, had wounded Biron and killed six hundred of his soldiers, had
spiked several pieces of artillery and captured others which he had
successfully brought into the town, and had in short so damaged the
enemy's works and disconcerted him in all his plans, that he was
confident of holding the place longer than the king could afford to stay
in front of him. All he wished was a moderate reinforcement of men and
munitions. Farnese by no means sympathized with the confident tone of
Villars nor approved of his proposition. He had come to relieve Rouen and
to raise the siege, and he preferred to do his work thoroughly. Mayenne
was however most heartily in favour of taking the advice of Villars. He
urged that it was difficult for the Bearnese to keep an army long in the
field, still more so in the trenches. Let them provide for the immediate
wants of the city; then the usual process of decomposition would soon be
witnessed in the ill-paid, ill-fed, desultory forces of the heretic
pretender.

Alexander deferred to the wishes of Mayenne, although against his better
judgment. Eight hundred infantry, were successfully sent into Rouen. The
army of the League then countermarched into Picardy near the confines of
Artois.

They were closely followed by Henry at the head of his cavalry, and
lively skirmishes were of frequent occurrence. In a military point of
view none of these affairs were of consequence, but there was one which
partook at once of the comic and the pathetic. For it chanced that in a
cavalry action of more than common vivacity the Count Chaligny found
himself engaged in a hand to hand conflict with a very dashing swordsman,
who, after dealing and receiving many severe blows, at last succeeded in
disarming the count and taking him prisoner. It was the fortune of war,
and, but a few days before, might have been the fate of the great Henry
himself. But Chaligny's mortification at his captivity became intense
when he discovered that the knight to whom he had surrendered was no
other than the king's jester. That he, a chieftain of the Holy League,
the long-descended scion of the illustrious house of Lorraine, brother of
the great Duke of Mercoeur, should become the captive of a Huguenot
buffoon seemed the most stinging jest yet perpetrated since fools had
come in fashion. The famous Chicot--who was as fond of a battle as of a
gibe, and who was almost as reckless a rider as his master--proved on
this occasion that the cap and bells could cover as much magnanimity as
did the most chivalrous crest. Although desperately wounded in the
struggle which had resulted in his triumph, he generously granted to the
Count his freedom without ransom. The proud Lorrainer returned to his
Leaguers and the poor fool died afterwards of his wounds.

The army of the allies moved through Picardy towards the confines of
Artois, and sat down leisurely to beleaguer Rue, a low-lying place on the
banks and near the mouth of the Somme, the only town in the province
which still held for the king. It was sufficiently fortified to withstand
a good deal of battering, and it certainly seemed mere trifling for the
great Duke of Parma to leave the Netherlands in such confusion, with
young Maurice of Nassau carrying everything before him, and to come all
the way into Normandy in order, with the united armies of Spain and the
League, to besiege the insignificant town of Rue.

And this was the opinion of Farnese, but he had chosen throughout the
campaign to show great deference to the judgment of Mayenne. Meantime the
month of March wore away, and what had been predicted came to pass.
Henry's forces dwindled away as usual. His cavaliers rode off to forage
for themselves, when their battles were denied them, and the king was now
at the head of not more than sixteen thousand foot and five thousand
horse. On the other hand the Leaguers' army had been melting quite as
rapidly. With the death of Pope Sfondrato, his nephew Montemarciano had
disappeared with his two thousand Swiss; while the French cavalry and
infantry, ill-fed and uncomfortable, were diminishing daily. Especially
the Walloons, Flemings, and other Netherlanders of Parma's army, took
advantage of their proximity to the borders and escaped in large numbers
to their own homes. It was but meagre and profitless campaigning on both
sides during those wretched months of winter and early spring, although
there was again an opportunity for Sir Roger Williams, at the head of two
hundred musketeers and one hundred and fifty pikemen, to make one of his
brilliant skirmishes under the eye of the Bearnese. Surprised and without
armour, he jumped, in doublet and hose, on horseback, and led his men
merrily against five squadrons of Spanish and Italian horse, and six
companies of Spanish infantry; singled out and unhorsed the leader of the
Spanish troopers, and nearly cut off the head, of the famous Albanian
chief George Basti with one swinging blow of his sword. Then, being
reinforced by some other English companies, he succeeded in driving the
whole body of Italians and Spaniards, with great loss, quite into their
entrenchments. "The king doth commend him very highly," said Umton, "and
doth more than wonder at the valour of our nation. I never heard him give
more honour to any service nor to any man than he doth to Sir Roger
Williams and the rest, whom he held as lost men, and for which he has
caused public thanks to be given to God."

At last Villars, who had so peremptorily rejected assistance at the end
of February, sent to say that if he were not relieved by the middle of
April he should be obliged to surrender the city. If the siege were not
raised by the twentieth of the month he informed Parma, to his profound
astonishment, that Rouen would be in Henry's hands.

In effecting this result the strict blockade maintained by the Dutch
squadron at the mouth of the river, and the resolute manner in which
those cruisers dashed at every vessel attempting to bring relief to
Rouen, were mainly instrumental. As usual with the stern Hollanders and
Zeelanders when engaged at sea with the Spaniards, it was war to the
knife. Early in April twelve large vessels, well armed and manned,
attempted to break the blockade. A combat ensued, at the end of which
eight of the Spanish ships were captured, two were sunk, and two were set
on fire in token of victory, every man on board of all being killed and
thrown into the sea. Queen Elizabeth herself gave the first news of this
achievement to the Dutch envoy in London. "And in truth," said he, "her
Majesty expressed herself, in communicating these tidings, with such
affection and extravagant joy to the glory and honour of our nation and
men-of-war's-men, that it wonderfully delighted me, and did me good into
my very heart to hear it from her."

Instantly Farnese set himself to the work which, had he followed his own
judgment, would already have been accomplished. Henry with his cavalry
had established himself at Dieppe and Arques, within a distance of five
or six leagues from the infantry engaged in the siege of Rouen. Alexander
saw the profit to be derived from the separation between the different
portions of the enemy's forces, and marched straight upon the enemy's
entrenchments. He knew the disadvantage of assailing a strongly fortified
camp, but believed that by a well-concerted, simultaneous assault by
Villars from within and the Leaguers from without, the king's forces
would be compelled to raise the siege or be cut up in their trenches.

But Henry did not wait for the attack. He had changed his plan, and, for
once in his life, substituted extreme caution for his constitutional
temerity. Neither awaiting the assault upon his entrenchments nor seeking
his enemy in the open field, he ordered the whole camp to be broken up,
and on the 20th of April raised the siege.

Farnese marched into Rouen, where the Leaguers were received with
tumultuous joy, and this city, most important for the purposes of the
League and for Philip's ulterior designs, was thus wrested from the grasp
just closing upon it. Henry's main army now concentrated itself in the
neighbourhood of Dieppe, but the cavalry under his immediate
superintendence continued to harass the Leaguers. It was now determined
to lay siege to Caudebec, on the right bank of the Seine, three leagues
below Rouen; the possession of this place by the enemy being a constant.
danger and difficulty to Rouen, whose supplies by the Seine were thus cut
off.

Alexander, as usual, superintended the planting of the batteries against
the place. He had been suffering during the whole campaign with those
dropsical ailments which were making life a torture to him; yet his
indomitable spirit rose superior to his physical disorders, and he
wrought all day long on foot or on horseback, when he seemed only fit to
be placed on his bed as a rapid passage to his grave. On this occasion,
in company with the Italian engineer Properzio, he had been for some time
examining with critical nicety the preliminaries, for the siege, when it
was suddenly observed by those around him that he was growing pale. It
then appeared that he had received a musket-ball between the wrist and
the elbow, and had been bleeding profusely; but had not indicated by a
word or the movement of a muscle that he had been wounded, so intent was
he upon carrying out the immediate task to which he had set himself. It
was indispensable, however, that he should now take to his couch. The
wound was not trifling, and to one in his damaged and dropsical condition
it was dangerous. Fever set in, with symptoms of gangrene, and it became
necessary to entrust the command of the League to Mayenne. But it was
hardly concealed from Parma that the duke was playing a double game.
Prince Ranuccio, according to his father's express wish, was placed
provisionally at the head of the Flemish forces. This was conceded;
however, with much heart-burning, and with consequences easily to be
imagined.

Meantime Caudebec fell at once. Henry did nothing to relieve it, and the
place could offer but slight resistance to the force arrayed against it.
The bulk of the king's army was in the neighbourhood of Dieppe, where
they had been recently strengthened by twenty companies of Netherlanders
and Scotchmen brought by Count Philip Nassau. The League's headquarters
were in the village of Yvetot, capital of the realm of the whimsical
little potentate so long renowned under that name.

The king, in pursuance of the plan he had marked out for himself,
restrained his skirmishing more than was his wont. Nevertheless he lay
close to Yvetot. His cavalry, swelling and falling as usual like an
Alpine torrent, had now filled up its old channels again, for once more
the mountain chivalry had poured themselves around their king. With ten
thousand horsemen he was now pressing the Leaguers, from time to time,
very hard, and on one occasion the skirmishing became so close and so
lively that a general engagement seemed imminent. Young Ranuccio had a
horse shot under him, and his father--suffering as he was--had himself
dragged out of bed and brought on a litter into the field, where he was
set on horseback, trampling on wounds and disease, and, as it were, on
death itself, that he might by his own unsurpassed keenness of eye and
quickness of resource protect the army which had been entrusted to his
care. The action continued all day; young Bentivoglio, nephew of the
famous cardinal, historian and diplomatist, receiving a bad wound in the
leg, as he fought gallantly at the side of Ranuccio. Carlo Coloma also
distinguished himself in the engagement. Night separated the combatants
before either side had gained a manifest advantage, and on the morrow it
seemed for the interest of neither to resume the struggle.

The field where this campaign was to be fought was a narrow peninsula
enclosed between the sea and the rivers Seine and Dieppe. In this
peninsula, called the Land of Caux, it was Henry's intention to shut up
his enemy. Farnese had finished the work that he had been sent to do, and
was anxious, as Henry was aware, to return to the Netherlands. Rouen was
relieved, Caudebec had fallen. There was not food or forage enough in the
little peninsula to feed both the city and the whole army of the League.
Shut up in this narrow area, Alexander must starve or surrender. His only
egress was into Picardy and so home to Artois, through the base of the
isosceles triangle between the two rivers and on the borders of Picardy.
On this base Henry had posted his whole army. Should Farnese assail him,
thus provided with a strong position and superiority of force, defeat was
certain. Should he remain where he was, he must inevitably starve. He had
no communications with the outside. The Hollanders lay with their ships
below Caudebec, blockading the river's mouth and the coast. His only
chance of extrication lay across the Seine. But Alexander was neither a
bird nor a fish, and it was necessary, so Henry thought, to be either the
one or the other to cross that broad, deep, and rapid river, where there
were no bridges, and where the constant ebb and flow of the tide made
transportation almost impossible in face of a powerful army in rear and
flank. Farnese's situation seemed, desperate; while the shrewd Bearnese
sat smiling serenely, carefully watching at the mouth of the trap into
which he had at last inveigled his mighty adversary. Secure of his
triumph, he seemed to have changed his nature, and to have become as
sedate and wary as, by habit, he was impetuous and hot.

And in truth Farnese found himself in very narrow quarters. There was no
hay for his horses, no bread for his men. A penny loaf was sold for two
shillings. A jug of water was worth a crown. As for meat or wine, they
were hardly to be dreamed of. His men were becoming furious at their
position. They had enlisted to fight, not to starve, and they murmured
that it was better for an army to fall with weapons in its hands than to
drop to pieces hourly with the enemy looking on and enjoying their agony.

It was obvious to Farnese that there were but two ways out of his
dilemma. He might throw himself upon Henry--strongly entrenched as he
was, and with much superior forces to his own, upon ground deliberately
chosen for himself--defeat him utterly, and march over him back to the
Netherlands. This would be an agreeable result; but the undertaking
seemed difficult, to say the least. Or he might throw his army across the
Seine and make his escape through the isle of France and Southern Picardy
back to the so-called obedient provinces. But it seemed, hopeless without
bridges or pontoons to attempt the passage of the Seine.

There was; however, no time left, for hesitation. Secretly he took his
resolution and communicated it in strict confidence to Mayenne, to
Ranuccio, and to one or two other chiefs. He came to Caudebec, and there,
close to the margin of the river, he threw up a redoubt. On the opposite
bank, he constructed another. On both he planted artillery, placing a
force of eight hundred Netherlanders under Count Bossu in the one, and an
equal number of the same nation, Walloons chiefly, under Barlotte in the
other. He collected all the vessels, flatboats,--wherries,--and rafts
that could be found or put together at Rouen, and then under cover of his
forts he transported all the Flemish infantry, and the Spanish, French,
and Italian cavalry, during the night of 22nd May to the 22 May, opposite
bank of the Seine. Next morning he sent up all the artillery together
with the Flemish cavalry to Rouen, where, making what use he could by
temporary contrivances of the broken arches of the broken bridge, in
order to shorten the distance from shore to shore, he managed to convey
his whole army with all its trains across the river.

A force was left behind, up to the last moment, to engage in the
customary skirmishes, and to display themselves as largely as possible
for the purpose of imposing upon the enemy. The young Prince of Parma had
command of this rearguard. The device was perfectly successful. The news
of the movement was not brought to the ears of Henry until after it had
been accomplished. When the king reached the shore of the Seine, he saw
to his infinite chagrin and indignation that the last stragglers of the
army, including the garrison of the fort on the right bank, were just
ferrying themselves across under command of Ranuccio.

Furious with disappointment, he brought some pieces of artillery to bear
upon the triumphant fugitives. Not a shot told, and the Leaguers had the
satisfaction of making a bonfire in the king's face of the boats which
had brought them over. Then, taking up their line of march rapidly
inland, they placed themselves completely out of the reach of the
Huguenot guns.

Henry had a bridge at Pont de l'Arche, and his first impulse was to
pursue with his cavalry, but it was obvious that his infantry could never
march by so circuitous a route fast enough to come up with the enemy, who
had already so prodigious a stride in advance.

There was no need to disguise it to himself. Henry saw himself for the
second time out-generalled by the consummate Farnese. The trap was
broken, the game had given him the slip. The manner in which the duke had
thus extricated himself from a profound dilemma; in which his fortunes
seemed hopelessly sunk, has usually been considered one of the most
extraordinary exploits of his life.

Precisely at this time, too, ill news reached Henry from Brittany and the
neighbouring country. The Princes Conti and Dombes had been obliged, on
the 13th May, 1592, to raise the siege of Craon, in consequence of the
advance of the Duke of Mercoeur, with a force of seven thousand men.

They numbered, including lanzknechts and the English contingent, about
half as many, and before they could effect their retreat, were attacked
by Mercoeur, and utterly routed. The English, who alone stood to their
colours, were nearly all cut to pieces. The rest made a disorderly
retreat, but were ultimately, with few exceptions, captured or slain. The
duke, following up his victory, seized Chateau Gontier and La Val,
important crossing places on the river Mayenne, and laid siege to
Mayenne, capital city of that region. The panic, spreading through
Brittany and Maine, threatened the king's cause there with complete
overthrow, hampered his operations in Normandy, and vastly encouraged the
Leaguers. It became necessary for Henry to renounce his designs upon
Rouen, and the pursuit of Parma, and to retire to Vernon, there to occupy
himself with plans for the relief of Brittany. In vain had the Earl of
Essex, whose brother had already been killed in the campaign, manifested
such headlong gallantry in that country as to call forth the sharpest
rebukes from the admiring but anxious Elizabeth. The handful of brave
Englishmen who had been withdrawn from the Netherlands, much to the
dissatisfaction of the States-General, in order to defend the coasts of
Brittany, would have been better employed under Maurice of Nassau. So
soon as the heavy news reached the king, the faithful Umton was sent for.
"He imparted the same unto me," said the envoy, "with extraordinary
passion and discontent. He discoursed at large of his miserable estate,
of the factions of his servants, and of their ill-dispositions, and then
required my opinion touching his course for Brittan, as also what further
aid he might expect from her Majesty; alleging that unless he were
presently strengthened by England it was impossible for him, longer to
resist the greatness of the King of Spain, who assailed his country by
Brittany, Languedoc, the Low Countries by the Duke of Saxony and the Duke
of Lorraine, and so ended his speech passionately." Thus adjured, Sir
Henry spoke to the king firmly but courteously, reminding him how,
contrary to English advice, he had followed other counsellors to the
neglect of Brittany, and had broken his promises to the queen. He
concluded by urging him to advance into that country in person, but did
not pledge himself on behalf of her Majesty to any further assistance.
"To this," said Umton, "the king gave a willing ear, and replied, with
many thanks, and without disallowing of anything that I alleged, yielding
many excuses of his want of means, not of disposition, to provide a
remedy, not forgetting to acknowledge her Majesty's care of him and his
country, and especially of Brittany, excusing much the bad disposition of
his counsellors, and inclining much to my motion to go in person thither,
especially because he might thereby give her Majesty better satisfaction;
. . . . and protesting that he would either immediately himself make war
there in those parts or send an army thither. I do not doubt," added the
ambassador, "but with good handling her Majesty may now obtain any
reasonable matter for the conservation of Brittany, as also for a place
of retreat for the English, and I urge continually the yielding of Brest
into her Majesty's hands, whereunto I find the king well inclined, if he
might bring it to pass."

Alexander passed a few days in Paris, where he was welcomed with much
cordiality, recruiting his army for a brief period in the land of Brie,
and then--broken in health but entirely successful--he dragged himself
once more to Spa to drink the waters. He left an auxiliary force with
Mayenne, and promised--infinitely against his own wishes--to obey his
master's commands and return again before the winter to do the League's
work.

And thus Alexander had again solved a difficult problem. He had saved for
his master and for the League the second city of France and the whole
coast of Normandy. Rouen had been relieved in masterly manner even as
Paris had been succoured the year before. He had done this, although
opposed by the sleepless energy and the exuberant valour of the
quick-witted Navarre, and although encumbered by the assistance of the
ponderous Duke of Mayenne. His military reputation, through these two
famous reliefs and retreats, grew greater than ever.

No commander of the age was thought capable of doing what he had thus
done. Yet, after all, what had he accomplished? Did he not feel in his
heart of hearts that he was but a strong and most skilful swimmer
struggling for a little while against an ocean-tide which was steadily
sweeping him and his master and all their fortunes far out into the
infinite depths?

Something of this breathed ever in his most secret utterances. But, so
long as life was in him, his sword and his genius were at the disposal of
his sovereign, to carry out a series of schemes as futile as they were
nefarious.

For us, looking back upon the Past, which was then the Future, it is easy
to see how remorselessly the great current of events was washing away the
system and the personages seeking to resist its power and to oppose the
great moral principles by which human affairs in the long run are
invariably governed. Spain and Rome were endeavouring to obliterate the
landmarks of race, nationality, historical institutions, and the
tendencies of awakened popular conscience, throughout Christendom, and to
substitute for them a dead level of conformity to one regal and
sacerdotal despotism.

England, Holland, the Navarre party in France, and a considerable part of
Germany were contending for national unity and independence, for vested
and recorded rights. Much farther than they themselves or their
chieftains dreamed those millions of men were fighting for a system of
temperate human freedom; for that emancipation under just laws from
arbitrary human control, which is the right--however frequently trampled
upon--of all classes, conditions, and races of men; and for which it is
the instinct of the human race to continue to struggle under every
disadvantage, and often against all hope, throughout the ages, so long as
the very principle of humanity shall not be extinguished in those who
have been created after their Maker's image.

It may safely be doubted whether the great Queen, the Bearnese, Alexander
Farnese, or his master, with many of their respective adherents, differed
very essentially from each other in their notions of the right divine and
the right of the people. But history has shown us which of them best
understood the spirit of the age, and had the keenest instinct to keep
themselves in the advance by moving fastest in the direction whither it
was marshalling all men. There were many, earnest, hard-toiling men in
those days, men who believed in the work to which they devoted their
lives. Perhaps, too, the devil-worshippers did their master's work as
strenuously and heartily as any, and got fame and pelf for their pains.
Fortunately, a good portion of what they so laboriously wrought for has
vanished into air; while humanity has at least gained something from
those who deliberately or instinctively conformed themselves to her
eternal laws.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Anatomical study of what has ceased to exist
     Artillery
     Bomb-shells were not often used although known for a century
     Court fatigue, to scorn pleasure
     For us, looking back upon the Past, which was then the Future
     Hardly an inch of French soil that had not two possessors
     Holy institution called the Inquisition
     Inevitable fate of talking castles and listening ladies
     Life of nations and which we call the Past
     Often necessary to be blind and deaf
     Picturesqueness of crime
     Royal plans should be enforced adequately or abandoned entirely
     Toil and sacrifices of those who have preceded us
     Use of the spade
     Utter disproportions between the king's means and aims
     Valour on the one side and discretion on the other
     Walk up and down the earth and destroy his fellow-creatures
     We have the reputation of being a good housewife
     Weapons



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 64, 1592



CHAPTER XXVI.

   Return of Prince Maurice to the siege of Steenwyck--Capitulation of
   the besieged--Effects of the introduction of mining operations--
   Maurice besieges Coeworden--Verdugo attempts to relieve the city,
   but fails--The city capitulates, and Prince Maurice retreats into
   winter quarters.

While Farnese had thus been strengthening the bulwarks of Philip's
universal monarchy in that portion of his proposed French dominions which
looked towards England, there had been opportunity for Prince Maurice to
make an assault upon the Frisian defences of this vast realm. It was
difficult to make half Europe into one great Spanish fortification,
guarding its every bastion and every point of the curtain, without far
more extensive armaments than the "Great King," as the Leaguers proposed
that Philip should entitle himself, had ever had at his disposal. It
might be a colossal scheme to stretch the rod of empire over so large a
portion of the earth, but the dwarfish attempts to carry the design into
execution hardly reveal the hand of genius. It is astonishing to
contemplate the meagre numbers and the slender funds with which this
world-empire was to be asserted and maintained. The armies arrayed at any
important point hardly exceeded a modern division or two; while the
resources furnished for a year would hardly pay in later days for a few
weeks' campaign.

When Alexander, the first commander of his time, moved out of Flanders
into France with less than twenty thousand men, he left most vital
portions of his master's hereditary dominions so utterly unprotected that
it was possible to attack them with a handful of troops. The young
disciple of Simon Stevinus now resumed that practical demonstration of
his principles which had been in the previous year so well begun.

On the 28th May, 1592, Maurice, taking the field with six thousand foot
and two thousand horse, came once more before Steenwyck. It will be
remembered that he had been obliged to relinquish the siege of this place
in order to confront the Duke of Parma in July, 1591, at Nymegen.

The city--very important from its position, being the key to the province
of Drenthe as well as one of the safeguards of Friesland--had been
besieged in vain by Count Renneberg after his treasonable surrender of
Groningen, of which he was governor, to the Spaniards, but had been
subsequently surprised by Tassis. Since that time it had held for the
king. Its fortifications were strong, and of the best description known
at that day. Its regular garrison was sixteen companies of foot and some
cavalry under Antoine de Quocqueville, military governor. Besides these
troops were twelve hundred Walloon infantry, commanded by Lewis, youngest
Count van den Berg, a brave lad of eighteen years, with whom were the
lord of Waterdyck and other Netherland nobles.

To the military student the siege may possess importance as marking a
transitional epoch in the history of the beleaguering science. To the
general reader, as in most of the exploits of the young Poliorcetes, its
details have but slender interest. Perhaps it was here that the spade
first vindicated its dignity, and entitled itself to be classed as a
military weapon of value along with pike and arquebus. It was here that
the soldiers of Maurice, burrowing in the ground at ten stuyvers a day,
were jeered at by the enemy from the battlements as boors and ditchers,
who had forfeited their right to be considered soldiers--but jeered at
for the last time.

From 30th May to 9th June the prince was occupied in throwing up
earthworks on the low grounds in order to bring his guns into position.
On the 13th June he began to batter with forty-five pieces, but effected
little more than to demolish some of the breast-works. He threw hot shot
into the town very diligently, too, but did small damage. The cannonading
went on for nearly a week, but the practice was so very
indifferent--notwithstanding the protection of the blessed Barbara and
the tuition of the busmasters--that the besieged began to amuse
themselves with these empty and monotonous salvos of the honourable
Artillery Guild. When all this blazing and thundering had led to no
better result than to convert a hundred thousand good Flemish florins
into noise and smoke, the thrifty Netherlanders on both sides of the
walls began to disparage the young general's reputation. After all, they
said, the Spaniards were right when they called artillery mere
'espanta-vellacos' or scare-cowards. This burrowing and bellowing must at
last give place to the old-fashioned push of pike, and then it would be
seen who the soldiers were. Observations like these were freely made
under a flag of truce; for on the 19th June--notwithstanding their
contempt for the 'espanta-vellacos'--the besieged had sent out a
deputation to treat for an honourable surrender. Maurice entertained the
negotiators hospitably in his own tent, but the terms suggested to him
were inadmissible. Nothing came of the conference therefore but mutual
criticisms, friendly enough, although sufficiently caustic.

Maurice now ceased cannonading, and burrowed again for ten days without
interruption. Four mines, leading to different points of the defences,
were patiently constructed, and two large chambers at the terminations,
neatly finished off and filled respectively with five thousand and
twenty-five hundred pounds of powder, were at last established under two
of the principal bastions.

During all this digging there had been a couple of sorties in which the
besieged had inflicted great damage on their enemy, and got back into the
town with a few prisoners, having lost but six of their own men. Sir
Francis Vere had been severely wounded in the leg, so that he was obliged
to keep his bed during the rest of the siege. Verdugo, too, had made a
feeble attempt to reinforce the place with three hundred men, sixty or
seventy of whom had entered, while the rest had been killed or captured.
On such a small scale was Philip's world-empire contended for by his
stadholder in Friesland; yet it was certainly not the fault of the stout
old Portuguese. Verdugo would rather have sent thirty thousand men to
save the front door of his great province than three hundred. But every
available man--and few enough of them they were--had been sent out of the
Netherlands, to defend the world-empire in its outposts of Normandy and
Brittany.

This was Philip the Prudent's system for conquering the world, and men
looked upon him as the consummation of kingcraft.

On the 3rd July Maurice ordered his whole force to be in readiness for
the assault. The mines were then sprung.

The bastion of the east gate was blown to ruins. The mine under the
Gast-Huys bulwark, burst outwardly, and buried alive many Hollanders
standing ready for the assault. At this untoward accident Maurice
hesitated to give the signal for storming the breach, but the panic
within the town was so evident that Lewis William lost no time in seizing
the overthrown eastern bulwark, from the ruins of which he looked over
the whole city. The other broken bastion was likewise easily mastered,
and the besieged, seeing the storm about to burst upon them with
irresistible fury, sent a trumpet. Meantime Maurice, inspecting the
effects of the explosion and preparing for the assault, had been shot
through the left cheek. The wound was not dangerous, and the prince
extracted the bullet with his own hand, but the change of half an inch
would have made it fatal. He was not incapacitated--after his wound had
been dressed, amidst the remonstrances of his friends for his
temerity-from listening to the propositions of the city. They were
refused, for the prince was sure of having his town on his own terms.

Next day he permitted the garrison to depart; the officers and soldiers
promising not to serve the King of Spain on the Netherland side of the
Rhine for six months. They were to take their baggage, but to leave arms,
flags, munitions, and provisions. Both Maurice and Lewis William were for
insisting on sterner conditions, but the States' deputies and members of
the council who were present, as usual, in camp urged the building of the
golden bridge. After all, a fortified city, the second in importance
after Groningen of all those regions, was the real prize contended for.
The garrison was meagre and much reduced during the siege. The
fortifications, of masonry and earthwork combined, were nearly as strong
as ever. Saint Barbara had done them but little damage, but the town
itself was in a sorry plight. Churches and houses were nearly all shot to
pieces, and the inhabitants had long been dwelling in the cellars. Two
hundred of the garrison remained, severely wounded, in the town; three
hundred and fifty had been killed, among others the young cousin of the
Nassaus, Count Lewis van den Berg. The remainder of the royalists marched
out, and were treated with courtesy by Maurice, who gave them an escort,
permitting the soldiers to retain their side-arms, and furnishing horses
to the governor.

In the besieging army five or six hundred had been killed and many
wounded, but not in numbers bearing the same proportion to the slain as
in modern battles.

The siege had lasted forty-four days. When it was over, and men came out
from the town to examine at leisure the prince's camp and his field of
operations, they were astounded at the amount of labor performed in so
short a time. The oldest campaigners confessed that they never before had
understood what a siege really was, and they began to conceive a higher
respect for the art of the engineer than they had ever done before. "Even
those who were wont to rail at science and labour," said one who was
present in the camp of Maurice, "declared that the siege would have been
a far more arduous undertaking had it not been for those two engineers,
Joost Matthes of Alost, and Jacob Kemp of Gorcum. It is high time to take
from soldiers the false notion that it is shameful to work with the
spade; an error which was long prevalent among the Netherlanders, and
still prevails among the French, to the great detriment of the king's
affairs, as may be seen in his sieges."

Certainly the result of Henry's recent campaign before Rouen had proved
sufficiently how much better it would have been for him had there been
some Dutch Joosts and Jacobs with their picks and shovels in his army at
that critical period. They might perhaps have baffled Parma as they had
done Verdugo.

Without letting the grass grow under his feet, Maurice now led his army
from Steenwyck to Zwol and arrived on the 26th July before Coeworden.

This place, very strong by art and still stronger by-nature, was the
other key to all north Netherland--Friesland, Groningen, and Drenthe.
Should it fall into the hands of the republic it would be impossible for
the Spaniards to retain much longer the rich and important capital of all
that country, the city of Groningen. Coeworden lay between two vast
morasses, one of which--the Bourtange swamp--extended some thirty miles
to the bay of the Dollart; while the other spread nearly as far in a
westerly direction to the Zuyder Zee. Thus these two great marshes were a
frame--an almost impassable barrier--by which the northern third of the
whole territory of the republic was encircled and defended. Throughout
this great morass there was not a hand-breadth of solid ground--not a
resting-place for a human foot, save the road which led through
Coeworden. This passage lay upon a natural deposit of hard, dry sand,
interposed as if by a caprice of nature between the two swamps; and was
about half a mile in width.

The town itself was well fortified, and Verdugo had been recently
strengthening the position with additional earthworks. A thousand
veterans formed the garrison under command of another Van den Berg, the
Count Frederic. It was the fate of these sister's-children of the great
founder of the republic to serve the cause of foreign despotism with
remarkable tenacity against their own countrymen, and against their
nearest blood relations. On many conspicuous occasions they were almost
as useful to Spain and the Inquisition as the son and nearly all the
other kinsmen of William the Silent had rendered themselves to the cause
of Holland and of freedom.

Having thoroughly entrenched his camp before Coeworden and begun the
regular approaches, Maurice left his cousin Lewis William to superintend
the siege operations for the moment, and advanced towards Ootmarsum, a
frontier town which might give him trouble if in the hands of a relieving
force. The place fell at once, with the loss of but one life to the
States army, but that a very valuable one; General de Famars, one of the
original signers of the famous Compromise; and a most distinguished
soldier of the republic, having been killed before the gates.

On the 31st July, Maurice returned to his entrenchments. The enemy
professed unbounded confidence; Van den Berg not doubting that he should
be relieved by Verdugo, and Verdugo being sure that Van den Berg would
need no relief. The Portuguese veteran indeed was inclined to wonder at
Maurice's presumption in attacking so impregnable a fortress. "If
Coeworden does not hold," said he, "there is no place in the world that
can hold."

Count Peter Ernest, was still acting as governor-general for Alexander
Farnese, on returning from his second French campaign, had again betaken
himself, shattered and melancholy, to the waters of Spa, leaving the
responsibility for Netherland affairs upon the German octogenarian. To
him; and to the nonagenarian Mondragon at Antwerp, the veteran Verdugo
now called loudly for aides against the youthful pedant, whom all men had
been laughing at a twelvemonth or so before. The Macedonian phalanx,
Simon Stevinus and delving Dutch boors--unworthy of the name of
soldiers--seemed to be steadily digging the ground from under Philip's
feet in his hereditary domains.

What would become of the world-empire, where was the great king--not of
Spain alone, nor of France alone--but the great monarch of all
Christendom, to plant his throne securely, if his Frisian strongholds,
his most important northern outposts, were to fall before an almost
beardless youth at the head of a handful of republican militia?

Verdugo did his best, but the best was little. The Spanish and Italian
legions had been sent out of the Netherlands into France. Many had died
there, many were in hospital after their return, nearly all the rest were
mutinous for want of pay.

On the 16th August, Maurice formally summoned Coeworden to surrender.
After the trumpeter had blown thrice; Count Van den Berg, forbidding all
others, came alone upon the walls and demanded his message. "To claim
this city in the name of Prince Maurice of Nassau and of the
States-General," was the reply.

"Tell him first to beat down my walls as flat as the ditch," said Van den
Berg, "and then to bring five or six storms. Six months after that I will
think whether I will send a trumpet."

The prince proceeded steadily with his approaches, but he was infinitely
chagrined by the departure out of his camp of Sir Francis Vere with his
English contingent of three regiments, whom Queen Elizabeth had
peremptorily ordered to the relief of King Henry in Brittany.

Nothing amazes the modern mind so much as the exquisite paucity of forces
and of funds by which the world-empire was fought for and resisted in
France, Holland, Spain, and England. The scenes of war were rapidly
shifted--almost like the slides of a magic-lantern--from one country to
another; the same conspicuous personages, almost the same individual
armies, perpetually re-appearing in different places, as if a wild
phantasmagoria were capriciously repeating itself to bewilder the
imagination. Essex, and Vere, and Roger Williams, and Black Norris-Van
der Does, and Admiral Nassau, the Meetkerks and Count Philip-Farnese and
Mansfeld, George Basti, Arenberg, Berlaymont, La None and Teligny, Aquila
and Coloma--were seen alternately fighting, retreating, triumphant,
beleaguering, campaigning all along the great territory which extends
from the Bay of Biscay to the crags of Brittany, and across the narrow
seas to the bogs of Ireland, and thence through the plains of Picardy and
Flanders to the swamps of Groningen and the frontiers of the Rhine.

This was the arena in which the great struggle was ever going on, but the
champions were so few in number that their individual shapes become
familiar to us like the figures of an oft-repeated pageant. And now the
withdrawal of certain companies of infantry and squadrons of cavalry from
the Spanish armies into France, had left obedient Netherland too weak to
resist rebellious Netherland, while, on the other hand, the withdrawal of
some twenty or thirty companies of English auxiliaries--most
hard-fighting veterans it is true, but very few in number--was likely to
imperil the enterprise of Maurice in Friesland.

The removal of these companies from the Low Countries to strengthen the
Bearnese in the north of France, formed the subject of much bitter
diplomatic conference between the States and England; the order having
been communicated by the great queen herself in many a vehement epistle
and caustic speech, enforced by big, manly oaths.

Verdugo, although confident in the strength of the place, had represented
to Parma and to Mansfeld the immense importance of relieving Coeworden.
The city, he said, was more valuable than all the towns taken the year
before. All Friesland hung upon it, and it would be impossible to save
Groningen should Coeworden fall.

Meantime Count Philip Nassau arrived from the campaign in France with his
three regiments which he threw into garrison, and thus set free an equal
number of fresh troops, which were forthwith sent to the camp of Maurice.
The prince at the same time was made aware that Verdugo was about to
receive important succour, and he was advised by the deputies of the
States-General present at his headquarters to send out his German Reiters
to intercept them. Maurice refused. Should his cavalry be defeated, he
said, his whole army would be endangered. He determined to await within
his fortified camp the attack of the relieving force.

During the whole month of August he proceeded steadily with his sapping
and mining. By the middle of the month his lines had come through the
ditch, which he drained of water into the counterscarp. By the beginning
of September he had got beneath the principal fort, which, in the course
of three or four days, he expected to blow into the air. The rainy
weather had impeded his operations and the march of the relieving army.
Nevertheless that army was at last approaching. The regiments of
Mondragon, Charles Mansfeld, Gonzaga, Berlaymont, and Arenberg had been
despatched to reinforce Verdugo. On the 23rd August, having crossed the
Rhine at Rheinberg, they reached Olfen in the country of Benthem, ten
miles from Coeworden. Here they threw up rockets and made other signals
that relief was approaching the town. On the 3rd of September Verdugo,
with the whole force at his disposal, amounting to four thousand foot and
eighteen hundred horse, was at the village of Emblichen, within a league
of the besieged city. That night a peasant was captured with letters from
Verdugo to the Governor of Coeworden, giving information that he intended
to make an assault on the besiegers on the night of 6th-7th September.

Thus forewarned, Maurice took the best precautions and calmly within his
entrenchments awaited the onslaught. Punctual to his appointment, Verdugo
with his whole force, yelling "Victoria! Victoria!" made a shirt-attack,
or camiciata--the men wearing their shirts outside their armour to
distinguish each other in the darkness--upon that portion of the camp
which was under command of Hohenlo. They were met with determination and
repulsed, after fighting all night, with a loss of three hundred killed
and a proportionate number of wounded. The Netherlanders had but three
killed and six wounded. Among the latter, however, was Lewis William, who
received a musket-ball in the belly, but remained on the ground until the
enemy had retreated. It was then discovered that his wound was not
mortal--the intestines not having been injured--and he was soon about his
work again. Prince Maurice, too, as usual, incurred the remonstrances of
the deputies and others for the reckless manner in which he exposed
himself wherever the fire was hottest He resolutely refused, however, to
permit his cavalry to follow the retreating enemy. His object was
Coeworden--a prize more important than a new victory over the already
defeated Spaniards would prove--and this object he kept ever before his
eyes.

This was Verdugo's first and last attempt to relieve the city. He had
seen enough of the young prince's tactics and had no further wish to
break his teeth against those scientific entrenchments. The Spaniards at
last, whether they wore their shirts inside or outside their doublets,
could no longer handle the Dutchmen at pleasure. That people of butter,
as the iron duke of Alva was fond of calling the Netherlanders, were
grown harder with the pressure of a twenty-five years' war.

Five days after the sanguinary 'camiciata' the besieged offered to
capitulate. The trumpet at which the proud Van den Berg had hinted for
six months later arrived on the 12th September. Maurice was glad to get
his town. His "little soldiers" did not insist, as the Spaniards and
Italians were used to do in the good old days, on unlimited murder, rape,
and fire, as the natural solace and reward of their labours in the
trenches. Civilization had made some progress, at least in the
Netherlands. Maurice granted good terms, such as he had been in the habit
of conceding to all captured towns. Van den Berg was courteously received
by his cousins, as he rode forth from the place at the head of what
remained of his garrison, five hundred in number, with colours flying,
matches burning, bullet in mouth, and with all their arms and baggage
except artillery and ammunition, and the heroic little Lewis,
notwithstanding the wound in his belly, got on horseback and greeted him
with a cousinly welcome in the camp.

The city was a most important acquisition, as already sufficiently set
forth, but Queen Elizabeth, much misinformed on this occasion, was
inclined to undervalue it. She wrote accordingly to the States,
reproaching them for using all that artillery and that royal force
against a mere castle and earthheap, instead of attempting some
considerable capital, or going in force to the relief of Brittany. The
day was to come when she would acknowledge the advantage of not leaving
this earth-heap in the hands of the Spaniard. Meantime, Prince
Maurice--the season being so far advanced--gave the world no further
practical lessons in the engineering science, and sent his troops into
winter quarters.

These were the chief military phenomena in France and Flanders during
three years of the great struggle to establish Philip's universal
dominion.



CHAPTER XXVII.

   Negotiations between Queen Elizabeth and the States--Aspect of
   affair between England and the Netherlands--Complaints of the
   Hollanders on the piratical acts of the English--The Dutch Envoy and
   the English Government--Caron's interview with Elizabeth--The Queen
   promises redress of grievances.

It is now necessary to cast a glance at certain negotiations on delicate
topics which had meantime been occurring between Queen Elizabeth and the
States.

England and the republic were bound together by ties so close that it was
impossible for either to injure the other without inflicting a
corresponding damage on itself. Nevertheless this very community of
interest, combined with a close national relationship--for in the
European family the Netherlanders and English were but cousins twice
removed--with similarity of pursuits, with commercial jealousy, with an
intense and ever growing rivalry for that supremacy on the ocean towards
which the monarchy and the republic were so earnestly struggling, with a
common passion for civil and religious freedom, and with that inveterate
habit of self-assertion--the healthful but not engaging attribute of all
vigorous nations--which strongly marked them both, was rapidly producing
an antipathy between the two countries which time was likely rather to
deepen than efface. And the national divergences were as potent as the
traits of resemblance in creating this antagonism.

The democratic element was expanding itself in the republic so rapidly as
to stifle for a time the oligarchical principle which might one day be
developed out of the same matrix; while, despite the hardy and
adventurous spirit which characterised the English nation throughout all
its grades, there was never a more intensely aristocratic influence in
the world than the governing and directing spirit of the England of that
age.

It was impossible that the courtiers of Elizabeth and the
burgher-statesmen of Holland and Friesland should sympathize with each
other in sentiment or in manner. The republicans in their exuberant
consciousness of having at last got rid of kings and kingly paraphernalia
in their own, land--for since the rejection of the sovereignty offered to
France and England in 1585 this feeling had become so predominant as to
make it difficult to believe that those offers had been in reality so
recent--were insensibly adopting a frankness, perhaps a roughness, of
political and social demeanour which was far from palatable to the
euphuistic formalists of other, countries.

Especially the English statesmen, trained to approach their sovereign
with almost Oriental humility, and accustomed to exact for themselves a
large amount of deference, could ill brook the free and easy tone
occasionally adopted in diplomatic and official intercourse by these
upstart republicans.

   [The Venetian ambassador Contarin relates that in the reign of James
   I. the great nobles of England were served at table by lackeys on
   they knees.]

A queen, who to loose morals, imperious disposition, and violent temper
united as inordinate a personal vanity as was ever vouchsafed to woman,
and who up to the verge of decrepitude was addressed by her courtiers in
the language of love-torn swain to blooming shepherdess, could naturally
find but little to her taste in the hierarchy of Hans Brewer and Hans
Baker. Thus her Majesty and her courtiers, accustomed to the faded
gallantries with which the serious affairs of State were so grotesquely
intermingled, took it ill when they were bluntly informed, for instance,
that the State council of the Netherlands, negotiating on Netherland
affairs, could not permit a veto to the representatives of the queen, and
that this same body of Dutchmen discussing their own business insisted
upon talking Dutch and not Latin.

It was impossible to deny that the young Stadholder was a gentleman of a
good house, but how could the insolence of a common citizen like John of
Olden-Barneveld be digested? It was certain that behind those shaggy,
overhanging brows there was a powerful brain stored with legal and
historic lore, which supplied eloquence to an ever-ready tongue and pen.
Yet these facts, difficult to gainsay, did not make the demands so
frequently urged by the States-General upon the English Government for
the enforcement of Dutch rights and the redress of English wrongs the
more acceptable.

Bodley, Gilpin, and the rest were in a chronic state of exasperation with
the Hollanders, not only because of their perpetual complaints, but
because their complaints were perpetually just.

The States-General were dissatisfied, all the Netherlanders were
dissatisfied--and not entirely without reason--that the English, with
whom the republic was on terms not only of friendship but of alliance,
should burn their ships on the high seas, plunder their merchants, and
torture their sea-captains in order to extort information as to the most
precious portions of their cargoes. Sharp language against such
malpractices was considered but proof of democratic vulgarity. Yet it
would be hard to maintain that Martin Frobisher, Mansfield, Grenfell, and
the rest of the sea-kings, with all their dash and daring and patriotism,
were not as unscrupulous pirates as ever sailed blue water, or that they
were not apt to commit their depredations upon friend and foe alike.

On the other hand; by a liberality of commerce in extraordinary contrast
with the practice of modern times, the Netherlanders were in the habit of
trading directly with the arch-enemy of both Holland and England, even in
the midst of their conflict with him, and it was complained of that even
the munitions of war and the implements of navigation by which Spain had
been enabled to effect its foot-hold in Brittany, and thus to threaten
the English coast, were derived from this very traffic.

The Hollanders replied, that, according to their contract with England,
they were at liberty to send as many as forty or fifty vessels at a time
to Spain and Portugal, that they had never exceeded the stipulated
number, that England freely engaged in the same traffic herself with the
common enemy, that it was not reasonable to consider cordage or dried
fish or shooks and staves, butter, eggs, and corn as contraband of war,
that if they were illegitimate the English trade was vitiated to the same
degree, and that it would be utterly hopeless for the provinces to
attempt to carry on the war, except by enabling themselves, through the
widest and most unrestricted foreign commerce, even including the enemy's
realms, to provide their nation with the necessary wealth to sustain so
gigantic a conflict.

Here were ever flowing fountains of bitterest discussion and
recrimination. It must be admitted however that there was occasionally an
advantage in the despotic and summary manner in which the queen took
matters into her own hands. It was refreshing to see this great
sovereign--who was so well able to grapple with questions of State, and
whose very imperiousness of temper impelled her to trample on shallow
sophistries and specious technicalities--dealing directly with cases of
piracy and turning a deaf ear to the counsellors, who in that, as in
every age, were too prone to shove by international justice in order to
fulfil municipal forms.

It was, however, with much difficulty that the envoy of the republic was
able to obtain a direct hearing from her Majesty in order to press the
long list of complaints on account of the English piratical proceedings
upon her attention. He intimated that there seemed to be special reasons
why the great ones about her throne were disposed to deny him access to
the queen, knowing as they did in what intent he asked for interviews.
They described in strong language the royal wrath at the opposition
recently made by the States to detaching the English auxiliaries in the
Netherlands for the service of the French king in Normandy, hoping
thereby to deter him from venturing into her presence with a list of
grievances on the part of his government. "I did my best to indicate the
danger incurred by such transferring of troops at so critical a moment,"
said Noel de Canon, "showing that it was directly in opposition to the
contract made with her Majesty. But I got no answer save very high words
from the Lord Treasurer, to the effect that the States-General were never
willing to agree to any of her Majesty's prepositions, and that this
matter was as necessary to the States' service as to that of the French
king. In effect, he said peremptorily that her Majesty willed it and
would not recede from her resolution."

The envoy then requested an interview with the queen before her departure
into the country.

Next day, at noon, Lord Burghley sent word that she was to leave between
five and six o'clock that evening, and that the minister would be welcome
meantime at any hour.

"But notwithstanding that I presented myself," said Caron, "at two
o'clock in the afternoon, I was unable to speak to her Majesty until a
moment before she was about to mount her horse. Her language was then
very curt. She persisted in demanding her troops, and strongly expressed
her dissatisfaction that we should have refused them on what she called
so good an occasion for using them. I was obliged to cut my replies very
short, as it was already between six and seven o'clock, and she was to
ride nine English miles to the place where she was to pass the night. I
was quite sensible, however; that the audience was arranged to be thus
brief, in order that I should not be able to stop long enough to give
trouble, and perhaps to find occasion to renew our complaints touching
the plunderings and robberies committed upon us at sea. This is what some
of the great personages here, without doubt, are afraid of, for they were
wonderfully well overhauled in my last audience. I shall attempt to speak
to her again before she goes very deep into the country."

It was not however before the end of the year, after Caron had made a
voyage to Holland and had returned, that he 14 Nov. was able to bring the
subject thoroughly before her Majesty. On the 14th November he had
preliminary interviews with the Lord High Admiral and the Lord Treasurer
at Hampton Court, where the queen was then residing. The plundering
business was warmly discussed between himself and the Admiral, and there
was much quibbling and special pleading in defence of the practices which
had created so much irritation and pecuniary loss in Holland. There was a
good deal of talk about want of evidence and conflict of evidence, which,
to a man who felt as sure of the facts and of the law as the Dutch envoy
did--unless it were according to public law for one friend and, ally to
plunder and burn the vessels of another friend and ally--was not
encouraging as to the probable issue of his interview with her Majesty.
It would be tedious to report the conversation as fully as it was laid by
Noel de Caron before the States-General; but at last the admiral
expressed a hope that the injured parties would be able to make good
their, case. At any rate he assured the envoy that he would take care of
Captain Mansfield for the present, who was in prison with two other
captains, so that proceedings might be had against them if it was thought
worth while.

Caron answered with Dutch bluntness. "I recommended him very earnestly to
do this," he said, "and told him roundly that this was by all means
necessary for the sake of his own honour. Otherwise no man could ever be
made to believe that his Excellency was not seeking to get his own profit
out of the affair. But he vehemently swore and protested that this was
not the case."

He then went to the Lord Treasurer's apartment, where a long and stormy
interview followed on the subject of the withdrawal of the English
troops. Caron warmly insisted that the measure had been full of danger,
for the States; that they had been ordered out of Prince Maurice's camp
at a most critical moment; that; had it not, been for the Stallholder's
promptness and military skill; very great disasters to the common cause
must have ensued; and that, after all, nothing had been done by the
contingent in any other field, for they had been for six months idle and
sick, without ever reaching Brittany at all.

"The Lord Treasurer, who, contrary to his custom," said the envoy, "had
been listening thus long to what I had to say, now observed that the
States had treated her Majesty very ill, that they had kept her running
after her own troops nearly half a year, and had offered no excuse for
their proceedings."

It would be superfluous to repeat the arguments by which Caron
endeavoured to set forth that the English troops, sent to the Netherlands
according to a special compact, for a special service, and for a special
consideration and equivalent, could not honestly be employed, contrary to
the wishes of the States-General, upon a totally different service and in
another country. The queen willed it, he was informed, and it was
ill-treatment of her Majesty on the part of the Hollanders to oppose her
will. This argument was unanswerable.

Soon afterwards, Caron was admitted to the presence of Elizabeth. He
delivered, at first, a letter from the States-General, touching the
withdrawal of the troops. The queen, instantly broke the seal and read
the letter to the end. Coming to the concluding passage, in which the
States observed that they had great and just cause highly to complain on
that subject, she paused, reading the sentences over twice or thrice, and
then remarked:

"Truly these are comical people. I have so often been complaining that
they refused to send my troops, and now the States complain that they are
obliged to let them go. Yet my intention is only to borrow them for a
little while, because I can give my brother of France no better succour
than by sending him these soldiers, and this I consider better than if I
should send him four thousand men. I say again, I am only borrowing them,
and surely the States ought never to make such complaints, when the
occasion was such a favourable one, and they had received already
sufficient aid from these troops, and had liberated their whole country.
I don't comprehend these grievances. They complain that I withdraw my
people, and meantime they are still holding them and have brought them
ashore again. They send me frivolous excuses that the skippers don't know
the road to my islands, which is, after all, as easy to find as the way
to Caen, for it is all one. I have also sent my own pilots; and I
complain bitterly that by making this difficulty they will cause the loss
of all Brittany. They run with their people far away from me, and
meantime they allow the enemy to become master of all the coasts lying
opposite me. But if it goes badly with me they will rue it deeply
themselves."

There was considerable reason, even if there were but little justice, in
this strain of remarks. Her Majesty continued it for some little time
longer, and it is interesting to see the direct and personal manner in
which this great princess handled the weightiest affairs of state. The
transfer of a dozen companies of English infantry from Friesland to
Brittany was supposed to be big with the fate of France, England, and the
Dutch republic, and was the subject of long and angry controversy, not as
a contested point of principle, in regard to which numbers, of course,
are nothing, but as a matter of practical and pressing importance.

"Her Majesty made many more observations of this nature," said Caron,
"but without getting at all into a passion, and, in my opinion, her
discourse was sensible, and she spoke with more moderation than she is
wont at other times."

The envoy then presented the second letter from the States-General in
regard to the outrages inflicted on the Dutch merchantmen. The queen read
it at once, and expressed herself as very much displeased with her
people. She said that she had received similar information from
Counsellor Bodley, who had openly given her to understand that the
enormous outrages which her people were committing at sea upon the
Netherlanders were a public scandal. It had made her so angry, she said,
that she knew not which way to turn. She would take it in hand at once,
for she would rather make oath never more to permit a single ship of war
to leave her ports than consent to such thieveries and villanies. She
told Caron that he would do well to have his case in regard to these
matters verified, and then to give it into her own hands, since otherwise
it would all be denied her and she would find herself unable to get at
the truth."

"I have all the proofs and documents of the merchants by me," replied the
envoy, "and, moreover, several of the sea-captains who have been robbed
and outraged have come over with me, as likewise some merchants who were
tortured by burning of the thumbs and other kinds of torments."

This disturbed the queen very much, and she expressed her wish that Caron
should not allow himself to be put off with, delays by the council, but
should insist upon all due criminal punishment, the infliction of which
she promised in the strongest terms to order; for she could never enjoy
peace of mind, she said; so long as such scoundrels were tolerated in her
kingdom.

The envoy had brought with him a summary of the cases, with the names of
all the merchants interested, and a list of all the marks on the sacks of
money which had been stolen. The queen looked over it very carefully,
declaring it to be her intention that there should be no delays
interposed in the conduct of this affair by forms of special pleading,
but that speedy cognizance should be taken of the whole, and that the
property should forthwith be restored.

She then sent for Sir Robert Cecil, whom she directed to go at once and
tell his father, the Lord Treasurer, that he was to assist Caron in this
affair exactly as if it were her own. It was her intention, she said,
that her people were in no wise to trouble the Hollanders in legitimate
mercantile pursuits. She added that it was not enough for her people to
say that they had only been seizing Spaniards' goods and money, but she
meant that they should prove it, too, or else they should swing for it.

Caron assured her Majesty that he had no other commission from his
masters than to ask for justice, and that he had no instructions to claim
Spanish property or enemy's goods. He had brought sufficient evidence
with him, he said, to give her Majesty entire satisfaction.

It is not necessary to pursue the subject any farther. The great nobles
still endeavoured to interpose delays, and urged the propriety of taking
the case before the common courts of law. Carom strong in the support of
the queen, insisted that it should be settled, as her Majesty had
commanded, by the council, and it was finally arranged that the judge of
admiralty should examine the evidence on both sides, and then communicate
the documents at once to the Lord Treasurer. Meantime the money was to be
deposited with certain aldermen of London, and the accused parties kept
in prison. The ultimate decision was then to be made by the council, "not
by form of process but by commission thereto ordained." In the course of
the many interviews which followed between the Dutch envoy and the privy
counsellors, the Lord Admiral stated that an English merchant residing in
the Netherlands had sent to offer him a present of two thousand pounds
sterling, in case the affair should be decided against the Hollanders. He
communicated the name of the individual to Caron, under seal of secrecy,
and reminded the Lord Treasurer that he too had seen the letter of the
Englishman. Lord Burghley observed that he remembered the fact that
certain letters had been communicated to him by the Lord Admiral, but
that he did not know from whence they came, nor anything about the person
of the writer.

The case of the plundered merchants was destined to drag almost as slowly
before the council as it might have done in the ordinary tribunals, and
Caron was "kept running," as he expressed it, "from the court to London,
and from London to the court," and it was long before justice was done to
the sufferers. Yet the energetic manner in which the queen took the case
into her own hands, and the intense indignation with which she denounced
the robberies and outrages which had been committed by her subjects upon
her friends and allies, were effective in restraining such wholesale
piracy in the future.

On the whole, however, if the internal machinery is examined by which the
masses of mankind were moved at epoch in various parts of Christendom, we
shall not find much reason to applaud the conformity of Governments to
the principles of justice, reason, or wisdom.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Accustomed to the faded gallantries
     Conformity of Governments to the principles of justice
     Considerable reason, even if there were but little justice
     Disciple of Simon Stevinus
     Self-assertion--the healthful but not engaging attribute



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 65, 1592-1594



CHAPTER XXVIII.

   Influence of the rule and character of Philip II.--Heroism of the
   sixteenth century--Contest for the French throne--Character and
   policy of the Duke of Mayenne--Escape of the Duke of Guise from
   Castle Tours--Propositions for the marriage of the Infanta--Plotting
   of the Catholic party--Grounds of Philip's pretensions to the crown
   of France--Motives of the Duke of Parma maligned by Commander Moreo
   --He justifies himself to the king--View of the private relations
   between Philip and the Duke of Mayenne and their sentiments towards
   each other--Disposition of the French politicians and soldiers
   towards Philip--Peculiar commercial pursuits of Philip--Confused
   state of affairs in France--Treachery of Philip towards the Duke of
   Parma--Recall of the duke to Spain--His sufferings and death.

The People--which has been generally regarded as something naturally
below its rulers, and as born to be protected and governed, paternally or
otherwise, by an accidental selection from its own species, which by some
mysterious process has shot up much nearer to heaven than itself--is
often described as brutal, depraved, self-seeking, ignorant, passionate,
licentious, and greedy.

It is fitting, therefore, that its protectors should be distinguished, at
great epochs of the world's history, by an absence of such objectionable
qualities.

It must be confessed, however, that if the world had waited for
heroes--during the dreary period which followed the expulsion of
something that was called Henry III. of France from the gates of his
capital, and especially during the time that followed hard upon the
decease of that embodiment of royalty--its axis must have ceased to turn
for a long succession of years. The Bearnese was at least alive, and a
man. He played his part with consummate audacity and skill; but alas for
an epoch or a country in which such a shape--notwithstanding all its
engaging and even commanding qualities--looked upon as an incarnation of
human greatness!

But the chief mover of all things--so far as one man can be prime
mover--was still the diligent scribe who lived in the Escorial. It was he
whose high mission it was to blow the bellows of civil war, and to
scatter curses over what had once been the smiling abodes of human
creatures, throughout the leading countries of Christendom. The throne of
France was vacant, nominally as well as actually, since--the year 1589.
During two-and-twenty years preceding that epoch he had scourged the
provinces, once constituting the richest and most enlightened portions of
his hereditary domains, upon the theory that without the Spanish
Inquisition no material prosperity was possible on earth, nor any
entrance permitted to the realms of bliss beyond the grave. Had every
Netherlander consented to burn his Bible, and to be burned himself should
he be found listening to its holy precepts if read to him in shop,
cottage, farm-house, or castle; and had he furthermore consented to
renounce all the liberal institutions which his ancestors had earned, in
the struggle of centuries, by the sweat of their brows and the blood of,
their hearts; his benignant proprietor and master, who lived at the ends
of the earth, would have consented at almost any moment to peace. His
arms were ever open. Let it not be supposed that this is the language of
sarcasm or epigram. Stripped of the decorous sophistication by which
human beings are so fond of concealing their naked thoughts from each
other, this was the one simple dogma always propounded by Philip. Grimace
had done its worst, however, and it was long since it had exercised any
power in the Netherlands. The king and the Dutchmen understood each
other; and the plain truths with which those republicans answered the
imperial proffers of mediation, so frequently renewed, were something
new, and perhaps not entirely unwholesome in diplomacy.

It is not an inviting task to abandon the comparatively healthy
atmosphere of the battle-field, the blood-stained swamp, the murderous
trench--where human beings, even if communing only by bullets and push of
pike, were at least dealing truthfully with each other--and to descend
into those subterranean regions where the effluvia of falsehood becomes
almost too foul for ordinary human organisation.

Heroes in those days, in any country, there were few. William the Silent
was dead. De la Noue was dead. Duplessis-Mornay was living, but his
influence over his royal master was rapidly diminishing. Cecil, Hatton,
Essex, Howard, Raleigh, James Croft, Valentine Dale, John Norris, Roger
Williams, the "Virgin Queen" herself--does one of these chief agents in
public affairs, or do all of them together, furnish a thousandth part of
that heroic whole which the England of the sixteenth century presents to
every imagination? Maurice of Nassau-excellent soldier and engineer as he
had already proved himself--had certainly not developed much of the
heroic element, although thus far he was walking straightforward like a
man, in the path of duty, with the pithy and substantial Lewis William
ever at his side. Olden-Barneveld--tough burgher-statesman, hard-headed,
indomitable man of granite--was doing more work, and doing it more
thoroughly, than any living politician, but he was certainly not of the
mythological brotherhood who inhabit the serene regions of space beyond
the moon. He was not the son of god or goddess, destined, after removal
from this sphere, to shine with planetary lustre, among other
constellations, upon the scenes of mortal action. Those of us who are
willing to rise-or to descend if the phrase seems wiser--to the idea of a
self-governing people must content ourselves, for this epoch, with the
fancy of a hero-people and a people-king.

A plain little republic, thrusting itself uninvited into the great
political family-party of heaven-anointed sovereigns and long-descended
nobles, seemed a somewhat repulsive phenomenon. It became odious and
dangerous when by the blows it could deal in battle, the logic it could
chop in council, it indicated a remote future for the world, in which
right divine and regal paraphernalia might cease to be as effective
stage-properties as they had always been considered.

Yet it will be difficult for us to find the heroic individualised very
perceptibly at this period, look where we may. Already there seemed
ground for questioning the comfortable fiction that the accidentally
dominant families and castes were by nature wiser, better, braver than
that much-contemned entity, the People. What if the fearful heresy should
gain ground that the People was at least as wise, honest, and brave as
its masters? What if it should become a recognised fact that the great
individuals and castes, whose wealth and station furnished them with
ample time and means for perfecting themselves in the science of
government, were rather devoting their leisure to the systematic filling
of their own pockets than to the hiving up of knowledge for the good of
their fellow creatures? What if the whole theory of hereditary
superiority should suddenly exhale? What if it were found out that we
were all fellow-worms together, and that those which had crawled highest
were not necessarily the least slimy?

Meantime it will be well for us, in order to understand what is called
the Past, to scrutinise somewhat closely that which was never meant to be
revealed. To know the springs which once controlled the world's
movements, one must ponder the secret thoughts, purposes, aspirations,
and baffled attempts of the few dozen individuals who once claimed that
world in fee-simple. Such researches are not in a cheerful field; for the
sources of history are rarely fountains of crystal, bubbling through
meadows of asphodel. Vast and noisome are the many sewers which have ever
run beneath decorous Christendom.

Some of the leading military events in France and Flanders, patent to all
the world, which grouped themselves about the contest for the French
throne, as the central point in the history of Philip's proposed
world-empire, have already been indicated.

It was a species of triangular contest--so far as the chief actors were
concerned--for that vacant throne. Philip, Mayenne, Henry of Navarre,
with all the adroitness which each possessed, were playing for the
splendid prize.

Of Philip it is not necessary to speak. The preceding volumes of this
work have been written in vain, if the reader has not obtained from
irrefragable testimony--the monarch's own especially--a sufficient
knowledge of that human fetish before which so much of contemporary
humanity grovelled.

The figure of Navarre is also one of the most familiar shapes in history.

As for the Duke of Mayenne, he had been, since the death of his brother
the Balafre, ostensible leader of the League, and was playing, not
without skill, a triple game.

Firstly, he hoped for the throne for himself.

Secondly, he was assisting the King of Spain to obtain that dignity.

Thirdly, he was manoeuvring in dull, dumb, but not ineffective manner, in
favour of Navarre.

So comprehensive and self-contradictory a scheme would seem to indicate
an elasticity of principle and a fertility of resource not often
vouchsafed to man.

Certainly one of the most pregnant lessons of history is furnished in the
development of these cabals, nor is it, in this regard, of great
importance whether the issue was to prove them futile or judicious. It is
sufficient for us now, that when those vanished days constituted the
Present--the vital atmosphere of Christendom--the world's affairs were
controlled by those plotters and their subordinates, and it is therefore
desirable for us to know what manner of men they were, and how they
played their parts.

Nor should it ever be forgotten that the leading motive with all was
supposed to be religion. It was to maintain the supremacy of the Roman
Church, or to vindicate, to a certain extent, liberty of conscience,
through the establishment of a heterodox organisation, that all these
human beings of various lineage and language throughout Christendom had
been cutting each other's throats for a quarter of a century.

Mayenne was not without courage in the field when he found himself there,
but it was observed of him that he spent more time at table than the
Bearnese in sleep, and that he was so fat as to require the assistance of
twelve men to put him in the saddle again whenever he fell from his
horse. Yet slow fighter as he was, he was a most nimble intriguer. As for
his private character, it was notoriously stained with every vice, nor
was there enough of natural intelligence or superior acquirement to atone
for his, crapulous; licentious, shameless life. His military efficiency
at important emergencies was impaired and his life endangered by vile
diseases. He was covetous and greedy beyond what was considered decent
even in that cynical age. He received subsidies and alms with both hands
from those who distrusted and despised him, but who could not eject him
from his advantageous position.

He wished to arrive at the throne of France. As son of Francis of Guise,
as brother of the great Balafre, he considered himself entitled to the
homage of the fishwomen and the butchers' halls. The constitution of the
country in that age making a People impossible, the subtle connection
between a high-born intriguer and the dregs of a populace, which can only
exist in societies of deep chasms and precipitous contrasts, was easily
established.

The duke's summary dealing with the sixteen tyrants of Paris in the
matter of the president's murder had, however, loosened his hold on what
was considered the democracy; but this was at the time when his schemes
were silently swinging towards the Protestant aristocracy; at the moment
when Politica was taking the place of Madam League in his secret
affections. Nevertheless, so long as there seemed a chance, he was
disposed to work the mines for his own benefit. His position as
lieutenant-general gave him an immense advantage for intriguing with both
sides, and--in case his aspirations for royalty were baffled--for
obtaining the highest possible price for himself in that auction in which
Philip and the Bearnese were likely to strain all their resources in
outbidding each other.

On one thing his heart was fixed. His brother's son should at least not
secure the golden prize if he could prevent it. The young Duke of Guise,
who had been immured in Castle Tours since the famous murder of his
father and uncle, had made his escape by a rather neat stratagem. Having
been allowed some liberty for amusing himself in the corridors in the
neighbourhood of his apartment, he had invented a game of hop, skip, and
jump up stairs and down, which he was wont to play with the soldiers of
the guard, as a solace to the tediousness of confinement. One day he
hopped and skipped up the staircase with a rapidity which excited the
admiration of the companions of his sport, slipped into his room, slammed
and bolted the doors, and when the guard, after in vain waiting a
considerable tine for him to return and resume the game, at last forced
an entrance, they found the bird flown out of window. Rope-ladders,
confederates, fast-galloping post-horses did the rest, and at last the
young duke joined his affectionate uncle in camp, much to that eminent
relative's discomfiture. Philip gave alternately conflicting instructions
to Farnese--sometimes that he should encourage the natural jealousy
between the pair; sometimes that he should cause them to work
harmoniously together for the common good--that common good being the
attainment by the King of Spain of the sovereignty of France.

But it was impossible, as already intimated, for Mayenne to work
harmoniously with his nephew. The Duke of Guise might marry with the
infanta and thus become King of France by the grace of God and Philip. To
such a consummation in the case of his uncle there stood, as we know, an
insuperable obstacle in the shape of the Duchess of Mayenne. Should it
come to this at last, it was certain that the Duke would make any and
every combination to frustrate such a scheme. Meantime he kept his own
counsel, worked amiably with Philip, Parma, and the young duke, and
received money in overflowing measure, and poured into his bosom from
that Spanish monarch whose veterans in the Netherlands were maddened by
starvation into mutiny.

Philip's plans were a series of alternatives. France he regarded as the
property of his family. Of that there could be no doubt at all. He meant
to put the crown upon his own head, unless the difficulties in the way
should prove absolutely insuperable. In that case he claimed France and
all its inhabitants as the property of his daughter. The Salic law was
simply a pleasantry, a bit of foolish pedantry, an absurdity. If Clara
Isabella, as daughter of Isabella of France, as grandchild of Henry II.,
were not manifestly the owner of France--queen-proprietary, as the
Spanish doctors called it--then there was no such thing, so he thought,
as inheritance of castle, farm-house, or hovel--no such thing as property
anywhere in the world. If the heiress of the Valois could not take that
kingdom as her private estate, what security could there ever be for any
possessions public or private?

This was logical reasoning enough for kings and their counsellors. There
was much that might be said, however, in regard to special laws. There
was no doubt that great countries, with all their livestock--human or
otherwise--belonged to an individual, but it was not always so clear who
that individual was. This doubt gave much work and comfortable fees to
the lawyers. There was much learned lore concerning statutes of descent,
cutting off of entails, actions for ejectment, difficulties of enforcing
processes, and the like, to occupy the attention of diplomatists,
politicians and other sages. It would have caused general hilarity,
however, could it have been suggested that the live-stock had art or part
in the matter; that sheep, swine, or men could claim a choice of their
shepherds and butchers.

Philip--humbly satisfied, as he always expressed himself, so long as the
purity of the Roman dogmas and the supremacy of the Romish Church over
the whole earth were maintained--affected a comparative indifference as
to whether he should put the crown of St. Louis and of Hugh Capet upon
his own grey head or whether he should govern France through his daughter
and her husband. Happy the man who might exchange the symbols of mutual
affection with Philip's daughter.

The king had various plans in regard to the bestowal of the hand thus
richly endowed. First and foremost it was suggested--and the idea was not
held too monstrous to be even believed in by some conspicuous
individuals--that he proposed espousing his daughter himself. The pope
was to be relied on, in this case, to give a special dispensation. Such a
marriage, between parties too closely related to be usually united in
wedlock, might otherwise shock the prejudices of the orthodox. His late
niece and wife was dead, so that there was no inconvenience on that
score, should the interests of his dynasty, his family, and, above all,
of the Church, impel him, on mature reflection, to take for his fourth
marriage one step farther within the forbidden degrees than he had done
in his third. Here is the statement, which, if it have no other value,
serves to show the hideous designs of which the enemies of Philip
sincerely believed that monarch capable.

"But God is a just God," wrote Sir Edward Stafford, "and if with all
things past, that be true that the king ('videlicet' Henry IV.) yesterday
assured me to be true, and that both his ambassador from Venice writ to
him and Monsieur de Luxembourg from Rome, that the Count Olivarez had
made a great instance to the pope (Sixtus V.) a little afore his death,
to permit his master to marry his daughter, no doubt God will not leave
it long unpunished."

Such was the horrible tale which was circulated and believed in by Henry
the Great of France and by eminent nobles and ambassadors, and at least
thought possible by the English envoy. By such a family arrangement it
was obvious that the conflicting claims of father and daughter to the
proprietorship of France would be ingeniously adjusted, and the children
of so well assorted a marriage might reign in undisputed legitimacy over
France and Spain, and the rest of the world-monarchy. Should the king
decide on the whole against this matrimonial project, should Innocent or
Clement prove as intractable as Sixtus, then it would be necessary to
decide among various candidates for the Infanta's hand.

In Mayenne's Opinion the Duke of Guise was likely to be the man; but
there is little doubt that Philip, in case these more cherished schemes
should fail, had made up his mind--so far as he ever did make up his mind
upon anything--to select his nephew the Archduke Ernest, brother of the
Emperor Rudolph, for his son-in-law. But it was not necessary to make an
immediate choice. His quiver was full of archdukes, any one of whom would
be an eligible candidate, while not one of them would be likely to reject
the Infanta with France on her wedding-finger. Meantime there was a lion
in the path in the shape of Henry of Navarre.

Those who disbelieve in the influence of the individual on the fate of
mankind may ponder the possible results to history and humanity, had the
dagger of Jacques Clement entered the stomach of Henry IV. rather than of
Henry III. in the summer of 1589, or the perturbations in the world's
movements that might have puzzled philosophers had there been an
unsuspected mass of religious conviction revolving unseen in the mental
depths of the Bearnese. Conscience, as it has from time to time exhibited
itself on this planet of ours, is a powerful agent in controlling
political combinations; but the instances are unfortunately not rare, so
far as sublunary progress is concerned, in which the absence of this
dominant influence permits a prosperous rapidity to individual careers.
Eternal honour to the noble beings, true chieftains among men, who have
forfeited worldly power or sacrificed life itself at the dictate of
religious or moral conviction--even should the basis of such conviction
appear to some of us unsafe or unreal. Shame on the tongue which would
malign or ridicule the martyr or the honest convert to any form of
Christian faith! But who can discover aught that is inspiring to the sons
of men in conversions--whether of princes or of peasants--wrought, not at
risk of life and pelf, but for the sake of securing and increasing the
one and the other?

Certainly the Bearnese was the most candid of men. It was this very
candour, this freedom from bigotry, this want of conviction, and this
openness to conviction, that made him so dangerous and caused so much
anxiety to Philip. The Roman Church might or might not be strengthened by
the re-conversion of the legitimate heir of France, but it was certain
that the claims of Philip and the Infanta to the proprietorship of that
kingdom would be weakened by the process. While the Spanish king knew
himself to be inspired in all his actions by a single motive, the
maintenance of the supremacy of the Roman Church, he was perfectly aware
that the Prince of Bearne was not so single-hearted nor so conscientious
as himself.

The Prince of Bearne--heretic, son of heretics, great chieftain of
heretics--was supposed capable of becoming orthodox whenever the Pope
would accept his conversion. Against this possibility Philip struggled
with all his strength.

Since Pope Sixtus V., who had a weakness for Henry, there had been
several popes. Urban VII., his immediate successor, had reigned but
thirteen days. Gregory XIV. (Sfondrato) had died 15th October, 1591, ten
months after his election. Fachinetti, with the title of Innocent IX.,
had reigned two months, from 29th October to 29th December, 1591. He died
of "Spanish poison," said Envoy Umton, as coolly as if speaking of gout,
or typhus, or any other recognised disorder. Clement VIII. (Aldobrandini)
was elected 30th January, 1592. He was no lover of Henry, and lived in
mortal fear of Philip, while it must be conceded that the Spanish
ambassador at Rome was much given to brow-beating his Holiness. Should he
dare to grant that absolution which was the secret object of the
Bearnese, there was no vengeance, hinted the envoy, that Philip would not
wreak on the holy father. He would cut off his supplies from Naples and
Sicily, and starve him and all-his subjects; he would frustrate all his
family schemes, he would renounce him, he would unpope him, he would do
anything that man and despot could do, should the great shepherd dare to
re-admit this lost sheep, and this very black sheep, into the fold of the
faithful.

As for Henry himself, his game--for in his eyes it was nothing but a
game--lay every day plainer and plainer before him. He was indispensable
to the heretics. Neither England, nor Holland, nor Protestant Germany,
could renounce him, even should he renounce "the religion." Nor could the
French Huguenots exist without that protection which, even although
Catholic, he could still extend to them when he should be accepted as
king by the Catholics.

Hereditary monarch by French law and history, released from his heresy by
the authority that could bind and loose, purged as with hyssop and washed
whiter than snow, it should go hard with him if Philip, and Farnese, and
Mayenne, and all the pikemen and reiters they might muster, could keep
him very long from the throne of his ancestors.

Nothing could match the ingenuousness with which he demanded the
instruction whenever the fitting time for it should arrive; as if,
instead of having been a professor both of the Calvinist and Catholic
persuasion, and having relapsed from both, he had been some innocent
Peruvian or Hindoo, who was invited to listen to preachings and to
examine dogmas for the very first time in his life.

Yet Philip had good grounds for hoping a favourable result from his
political and military manoeuvre. He entertained little doubt that France
belonged to him or to his daughter; that the most powerful party in the
country was in favour of his claims, provided he would pay the voters
liberally enough for their support, and that if the worst came to the
worst it would always be in his power to dismember the kingdom, and to
reserve the lion's share for himself, while distributing some of the
provinces to the most prominent of his confederates.

The sixteen tyrants of Paris had already, as we have seen, urged the
crown upon him, provided he would establish in France the Inquisition,
the council of Trent, and other acceptable institutions, besides
distributing judiciously a good many lucrative offices among various
classes of his adherents.

The Duke of Mayenne, in his own name and that of all the Catholics of
France, formally demanded of him to maintain two armies, forty thousand
men in all, to be respectively under command of the duke himself and of
Alexander Farnese, and regularly to pay for them. These propositions, as
has been seen, were carried into effect as nearly as possible, at
enormous expense to Philip's exchequer, and he naturally expected as good
faith on the part of Mayenne.

In the same paper in which the demand was made Philip was urged to
declare himself king of France. He was assured that the measure could be
accomplished "by freely bestowing marquisates, baronies, and peerages, in
order to content the avarice and ambition of many persons, without at the
same time dissipating the greatness from which all these members
depended. Pepin and Charlemagne," said the memorialists, "who were
foreigners and Saxons by nation, did as much in order to get possession
of a kingdom to which they had no other right except that which they
acquired there by their prudence and force, and after them Hugh Capet,
much inferior to them in force and authority, following their example,
had the same good fortune for himself and his posterity, and one which
still endures.

"If the authority of the holy see could support the scheme at the same
time," continued Mayenne and friends, "it would be a great help. But it
being perilous to ask for that assistance before striking the blow, it
would be better to obtain it after the execution."

That these wholesome opinions were not entirely original on the part of
Mayenne, nor produced spontaneously, was plain from the secret
instructions given by Philip to his envoys, Don Bernardino de Mendoza,
John Baptist de Tassis, and the commander Moreo, whom he had sent soon
after the death of Henry III. to confer with Cardinal Gaetano in Paris.

They were told, of course, to do everything in their power to prevent the
election of the Prince of Bearne, "being as he was a heretic, obstinate
and confirmed, who had sucked heresy with his mother's milk." The legate
was warned that "if the Bearnese should make a show of converting
himself, it would be frigid and fabricated."

If they were asked whom Philip desired for king--a question which
certainly seemed probable under the circumstances--they were to reply
that his foremost wish was to establish the Catholic religion in the
kingdom, and that whatever was most conducive to that end would be most
agreeable to him. "As it is however desirable, in order to arrange
matters, that you should be informed of everything," said his Majesty,
"it is proper that you should know that I have two kinds of right to all
that there is over there. Firstly, because the crown of France has been
usurped from me, my ancestors having been unjustly excluded by foreign
occupation of it; and secondly, because I claim the same crown as first
male of the house of Valois."

Here certainly were comprehensive pretensions, and it was obvious that
the king's desire for the establishment of the Catholic religion must
have been very lively to enable him to invent or accept such astonishing
fictions.

But his own claims were but a portion of the case. His daughter and
possible spouse had rights of her own, hard, in his opinion, to be
gainsaid. "Over and above all this," said Philip, "my eldest daughter,
the Infanta, has two other rights; one to all the states which as
dower-property are joined by matrimony and through females to this crown,
which now come to her in direct line, and the other to the crown itself,
which belongs directly to the said Infanta, the matter of the Salic law
being a mere invention."

Thus it would appear that Philip was the legitimate representative, not
only of the ancient races of French monarchs--whether Merovingians,
Carlovingians, or otherwise was not stated but also of the usurping
houses themselves, by whose intrusion those earlier dynasties had been
ejected, being the eldest male heir of the extinct line of Valois, while
his daughter was, if possible, even more legitimately the sovereign and
proprietor of France than he was himself.

Nevertheless in his magnanimous desire for the peace of the world and the
advancement of the interests of the Church, he was, if reduced to
extremities, willing to forego his own individual rights--when it should
appear that they could by no possibility be enforced--in favour of his
daughter and of the husband whom he should select for her.

"Thus it may be seen," said the self-denying man, "that I know how, for
the sake of the public repose, to strip myself of my private property."

Afterwards, when secretly instructing the Duke of Feria, about to proceed
to Paris for the sake of settling the sovereignty of the kingdom, he
reviewed the whole subject, setting forth substantially the same
intentions. That the Prince of Bearne could ever possibly succeed to the
throne of his ancestors was an idea to be treated only with sublime scorn
by all right-minded and sensible men. "The members of the House of
Bourbon," said he, "pretend that by right of blood the crown belongs to
them, and hence is derived the pretension made by the Prince of Bearne;
but if there were wanting other very sufficient causes to prevent this
claim--which however are not wanting--it is quite enough that he is a
relapsed heretic, declared to be such by the Apostolic See, and
pronounced incompetent, as well as the other members of his house, all of
them, to say the least, encouragers of heresy; so that not one of them
can ever be king of France, where there have been such religious princes
in time past, who have justly merited the name of Most Christian; and so
there is no possibility of permitting him or any of his house to aspire
to the throne, or to have the subject even treated of in the estates. It
should on the contrary be entirely excluded as prejudicial to the realm
and unworthy to be even mentioned among persons so Catholic as those
about to meet in that assembly."

The claims of the man whom his supporters already called Henry the Fourth
of France being thus disposed of, Philip then again alluded with his
usual minuteness to the various combinations which he had formed for the
tranquillity and good government of that kingdom and of the other
provinces of his world-empire.

It must moreover be never forgotten that what he said passed with his
contemporaries almost for oracular dispensations. What he did or ordered
to be done was like the achievements or behests of a superhuman being.
Time, as it rolls by, leaves the wrecks of many a stranded reputation to
bleach in the sunshine of after-ages. It is sometimes as profitable to
learn what was not done by the great ones of the earth, in spite of all
their efforts, as to ponder those actual deeds which are patent to
mankind. The Past was once the Present, and once the Future, bright with
rainbows or black with impending storm; for history is a continuous whole
of which we see only fragments.

He who at the epoch with which we are now occupied was deemed greatest
and wisest among the sons of earth, at whose threats men quailed, at
whose vast and intricate schemes men gasped in palefaced awe, has left
behind him the record of his interior being. Let us consider whether he
was so potent as his fellow mortals believed, or whether his greatness
was merely their littleness; whether it was carved out, of the
inexhaustible but artificial quarry of human degradation. Let us see
whether the execution was consonant with the inordinate plotting; whether
the price in money and blood--and certainly few human beings have
squandered so much of either as did Philip the Prudent in his long
career--was high or low for the work achieved.

Were after generations to learn, only after curious research, of a
pretender who once called himself, to the amusement of his
contemporaries, Henry the Fourth of France; or was the world-empire for
which so many armies were marshalled, so many ducats expended, so many
falsehoods told, to prove a bubble after all? Time was to show. Meantime
wise men of the day who, like the sages of every generation, read the
future like a printed scroll, were pitying the delusion and rebuking the
wickedness of Henry the Bearnese; persisting as he did in his cruel,
sanguinary, hopeless attempt to establish a vanished and impossible
authority over a land distracted by civil war.

Nothing could be calmer or more reasonable than the language of the great
champion of the Inquisition.

"And as President Jeannin informs me," he said, "that the Catholics have
the intention of electing me king, that appearing to them the gentlest
and safest method to smooth all rivalries likely to arise among the
princes aspiring to the crown, I reply, as you will see by the copy
herewith sent. You will observe that after not refusing myself to that
which may be the will of our Lord, should there be no other mode of
serving Him, above all I desire that which concerns my daughter, since to
her belongs the kingdom. I desire nothing else nor anything for myself,
nor for anybody else, except as a means for her to arrive at her right."

He had taken particular pains to secure his daughter's right in Brittany,
while the Duchess of Mercoeur, by the secret orders of her husband, had
sent a certain ecclesiastic to Spain to make over the sovereignty of this
province to the Infanta. Philip directed that the utmost secrecy should
be observed in regard to this transaction with the duke and duchess, and
promised the duke, as his reward for these proposed services in
dismembering his country, the government of the province for himself and
his heirs.

For the king was quite determined--in case his efforts to obtain the
crown for himself or for his daughter were unsuccessful--to dismember
France, with the assistance of those eminent Frenchmen who were now so
industriously aiding him in his projects.

"And in the third place," said he, in his secret instructions to Feria,
"if for the sins of all, we don't manage to make any election, and if
therefore the kingdom (of France) has to come to separation and to be
divided into many hands; in this case we must propose to the Duke of
Mayenne to assist him in getting possession of Normandy for himself, and
as to the rest of the kingdom, I shall take for myself that which seems
good to me--all of us assisting each other."

But unfortunately it was difficult for any of these fellow-labourers to
assist each other very thoroughly, while they detested each other so
cordially and suspected each other with such good reason.

Moreo, Ybarra, Feria, Parma, all assured their master that Mayenne was
taking Spanish money as fast as he could get it, but with the sole
purpose of making himself king. As to any of the House of Lorraine
obtaining the hand of the Infanta and the throne with it, Feria assured
Philip that Mayenne "would sooner give the crown to the Grand Turk."

Nevertheless Philip thought it necessary to continue making use of the
duke. Both were indefatigable therefore in expressing feelings of
boundless confidence each in the other.

It has been seen too how entirely the king relied on the genius and
devotion of Alexander Farnese to carry out his great schemes; and
certainly never had monarch a more faithful, unscrupulous, and dexterous
servant. Remonstrating, advising, but still obeying--entirely without
conscience, unless it were conscience to carry out his master's commands,
even when most puerile or most diabolical--he was nevertheless the object
of Philip's constant suspicion, and felt himself placed under perpetual
though secret supervision.

Commander Moreo was unwearied in blackening the duke's character, and in
maligning his every motive and action, and greedily did the king incline
his ear to the calumnies steadily instilled by the chivalrous spy.

"He has caused all the evil we are suffering," said Moreo. "When he sent
Egmont to France 'twas without infantry, although Egmont begged hard for
it, as did likewise the Legate, Don Bernardino, and Tassis. Had he done
this there is no doubt at all that the Catholic cause in France would
have been safe, and your Majesty would now have the control over that
kingdom which you desire. This is the opinion of friends and foes. I went
to the Duke of Parma and made free to tell him that the whole world would
blame him for the damage done to Christianity, since your Majesty had
exonerated yourself by ordering him to go to the assistance of the French
Catholics with all the zeal possible. Upon this he was so disgusted that
he has never shown me a civil face since. I doubt whether he will send or
go to France at all, and although the Duke of Mayenne despatches couriers
every day with protestations and words that would soften rocks, I see no
indications of a movement."

Thus, while the duke was making great military preparations far invading
France without means; pawning his own property to get bread for his
starving veterans, and hanging those veterans whom starving had made.
mutinous, he was depicted, to the most suspicious and unforgiving mortal
that ever wore a crown, as a traitor and a rebel, and this while he was
renouncing his own judicious and well-considered policy in obedience to
the wild schemes of his master.

"I must make bold to remind your Majesty," again whispered the spy, "that
there never was an Italian prince who failed to pursue his own ends, and
that there are few in the world that are not wishing to become greater
than they are. This man here could strike a greater blow than all the
rest of them put together. Remember that there is not a villain anywhere
that does not desire the death of your Majesty. Believe me, and send to
cut off my head if it shall be found that I am speaking from passion, or
from other motive than pure zeal for your royal service."

The reader will remember into what a paroxysm of rage Alexander was
thrown on, a former occasion, when secretly invited to listen to
propositions by which the sovereignty over the Netherlands was to be
secured to himself, and how near he was to inflicting mortal punishment
with his own hand on the man who had ventured to broach that treasonable
matter.

Such projects and propositions were ever floating, as it were, in the
atmosphere, and it was impossible for the most just men to escape
suspicion in the mind of a king who fed upon suspicion as his daily
bread. Yet nothing could be fouler or falser than the calumny which
described Alexander as unfaithful to Philip. Had he served his God as he
served his master perhaps his record before the highest tribunal would
have been a clearer one.

And in the same vein in which he wrote to the monarch in person did the
crafty Moreo write to the principal secretary of state, Idiaquez, whose
mind, as well as his master's, it was useful to poison, and who was in
daily communication with Philip.

"Let us make sure of Flanders," said he, "otherwise we shall all of us be
well cheated. I will tell you something of that which I have already told
his Majesty, only not all, referring you to Tassis, who, as a personal
witness to many things, will have it in his power to undeceive his
Majesty, I have seen very clearly that the duke is disgusted with his
Majesty, and one day he told me that he cared not if the whole world went
to destruction, only not Flanders."

"Another day he told me that there was a report abroad that his Majesty
was sending to arrest him, by means of the Duke of Pastrana, and looking
at me he said: 'See here, seignior commander, no threats, as if it were
in the power of mortal man to arrest me, much less of such fellows as
these.'"

"But this is but a small part of what I could say," continued the
detective knight-commander, "for I don't like to trust these ciphers. But
be certain that nobody in Flanders wishes well to these estates or to the
Catholic cause, and the associates of the Duke of Parma go about saying
that it does not suit the Italian potentates to have his Majesty as great
a monarch as he is trying to be."

This is but a sample of the dangerous stuff with which the royal mind was
steadily drugged, day after day, by those to whom Farnese was especially
enjoined to give his confidence.

Later on it will be seen how-much effect was thus produced both upon the
king and upon the duke. Moreo, Mendoza, and Tasais were placed about the
governor-general, nominally as his counsellors, in reality as
police-officers.

"You are to confer regularly with Mendoza, Tassis, and Moreo," said
Philip to Farnese.

"You are to assist, correspond, and harmonize in every way with the Duke
of Parma," wrote Philip to Mendoza, Tassis, and Moreo. And thus cordially
and harmoniously were the trio assisting and corresponding with the duke.

But Moreo was right in not wishing to trust the ciphers, and indeed he
had trusted them too much, for Farnese was very well aware of his
intrigues, and complained bitterly of them to the king and to Idiaquez.

Most eloquently and indignantly did he complain of the calumnies, ever
renewing themselves, of which he was the subject. "'Tis this good Moreo
who is the author of the last falsehoods," said he to the secretary; "and
this is but poor payment for my having neglected my family, my parents
and children for so many years in the king's service, and put my life
ever on the hazard, that these fellows should be allowed to revile me and
make game of me now, instead of assisting me."

He was at that time, after almost superhuman exertions, engaged in the
famous relief of Paris. He had gone there, he said, against his judgment
and remonstrating with his Majesty on the insufficiency of men and money
for such an enterprise. His army was half-mutinous and unprovided with
food, artillery, or munitions; and then he found himself slandered,
ridiculed, his life's life lied away. 'Twas poor payment for his
services, he exclaimed, if his Majesty should give ear to these
calumniators, and should give him no chance of confronting his accusers
and clearing his reputation. Moreo detested him, as he knew, and Prince
Doria said that the commander once spoke so ill of Farnese in Genoa that
he was on the point of beating him; while Moreo afterwards told the story
as if he had been maltreated because of defending Farnese against Doria's
slanders.

And still more vehemently did he inveigh against Moreo in his direct
appeals to Philip. He had intended to pass over his calumnies, of which
he was well aware, because he did not care to trouble the dead--for Moreo
meantime had suddenly died, and the gossips, of course, said it was of
Farnese poison--but he had just discovered by documents that the
commander had been steadily and constantly pouring these his calumnies
into the monarch's ears. He denounced every charge as lies, and demanded
proof. Moreo had further been endeavouring to prejudice the Duke of
Mayenne against the King of Spain and himself, saying that he, Farnese,
had been commissioned to take Mayenne into custody, with plenty of
similar lies.

"But what I most feel," said Alexander, with honest wrath, "is to see
that your Majesty gives ear to them without making the demonstration
which my services merit, and has not sent to inform me of them, seeing
that they may involve my reputation and honour. People have made more
account of these calumnies than of my actions performed upon the theatre
of the world. I complain, after all my toils and dangers in your
Majesty's service, just when I stood with my soul in my mouth and death
in my teeth, forgetting children, house, and friends, to be treated thus,
instead of receiving rewards and honour, and being enabled to leave to my
children, what was better than all the riches the royal hand could
bestow, an unsullied and honourable name."

He protested that his reputation had so much suffered that he would
prefer to retire to some remote corner as a humble servant of the king,
and leave a post which had made him so odious to all. Above all, he
entreated his Majesty to look upon this whole affair "not only like a
king but like a gentleman."

Philip answered these complaints and reproaches benignantly, expressed
unbounded confidence in the duke, assured him that the calumnies of his
supposed enemies could produce no effect upon the royal mind, and coolly
professed to have entirely forgotten having received any such letter as
that of which his nephew complained. "At any rate I have mislaid it," he
said, "so that you see how much account it was with me."

As the king was in the habit of receiving such letters every week, not
only from the commander, since deceased, but from Ybarra and others, his
memory, to say the least, seemed to have grown remarkably feeble. But the
sequel will very soon show that he had kept the letters by him and
pondered them to much purpose. To expect frankness and sincerity from
him, however, even in his most intimate communications to his most
trusted servants, would have been to "swim with fins of lead."

Such being the private relations between the conspirators, it is
instructive to observe how they dealt with each other in the great game
they were playing for the first throne in Christendom. The military
events have been sufficiently sketched in the preceding pages, but the
meaning and motives of public affairs can be best understood by
occasional glances behind the scenes. It is well for those who would
maintain their faith in popular Governments to study the workings of the
secret, irresponsible, arbitrary system; for every Government, as every
individual, must be judged at last by those moral laws which no man born
of woman can evade.

During the first French expedition-in the course of which Farnese had
saved Paris from falling into, the hands of Henry, and had been doing his
best to convert it prospectively into the capital of his master's
empire--it was his duty, of course, to represent as accurately as
possible the true state of France. He submitted his actions to his
master's will, but he never withheld from him the advantage that he might
have derived, had he so chosen, from his nephew's luminous intelligence
and patient observation.

With the chief personage he had to deal with he professed himself, at
first, well satisfied. "The Duke of Mayenne," said he to Philip,
"persists in desiring your Majesty only as King of France, and will hear
of no other candidate, which gives me satisfaction such as can't be
exaggerated." Although there were difficulties in the way, Farnese
thought that the two together with God's help might conquer them.
"Certainly it is not impossible that your Majesty may succeed," he said,
"although very problematical; and in case your Majesty does succeed in
that which we all desire and are struggling for, Mayenne not only demands
the second place in the kingdom for himself, but the fief of some great
province for his family."

Should it not be possible for Philip to obtain the crown, Farnese was, on
the whole, of opinion that Mayenne had better be elected. In that event
he would make over Brittany and Burgundy to Philip, together with the
cities opposite the English coast. If they were obliged to make the duke
king, as was to be feared, they should at any rate exclude the Prince of
Bearne, and secure, what was the chief point, the Catholic religion.
"This," said Alexander, "is about what I can gather of Mayenne's views,
and perhaps he will put them down in a despatch to your Majesty."

After all, the duke was explicit enough. He was for taking all he could
get--the whole kingdom if possible--but if foiled, then as large a slice
of it as Philip would give him as the price of his services. And Philip's
ideas were not materially different from those of the other conspirator.

Both were agreed on one thing. The true heir must be kept out of his
rights, and the Catholic religion be maintained in its purity. As to the
inclination of the majority of the inhabitants, they could hardly be in
the dark. They knew that the Bearnese was instinctively demanded by the
nation; for his accession to the throne would furnish the only possible
solution to the entanglements which had so long existed.

As to the true sentiments of the other politicians and soldiers of the
League with whom Bearnese came in contact in France, he did not disguise
from his master that they were anything but favourable.

"That you may know, the, humour of this kingdom," said he, "and the
difficulties in which I am placed, I must tell you that I am by large
experience much confirmed in that which I have always suspected. Men
don't love nor esteem the royal name of your Majesty, and whatever the
benefits and assistance they get from you they have no idea of anything
redounding to your benefit and royal service, except so far as implied in
maintaining the Catholic religion and keeping out the Bearne. These two
things, however, they hold to be so entirely to your Majesty's profit,
that all you are doing appears the fulfilment of a simple obligation.
They are filled with fear, jealousy, and suspicion of your Majesty. They
dread your acquiring power here. Whatever negotiations they pretend in
regard to putting the kingdom or any of their cities under your
protection, they have never had any real intention of doing it, but their
only object is to keep up our vain hopes while they are carrying out
their own ends. If to-day they seem to have agreed upon any measure,
tomorrow they are sure to get out of it again. This has always been the
case, and all your Majesty's ministers that have had dealings here would
say so, if they chose to tell the truth. Men are disgusted with the
entrance of the army, and if they were not expecting a more advantageous
peace in the kingdom with my assistance than without it, I don't know
what they would do; for I have heard what I have heard and seen what I
have seen. They are afraid of our army, but they want its assistance and
our money."

Certainly if Philip desired enlightenment as to the real condition of the
country he had determined to, appropriate; and the true sentiments of its
most influential inhabitants, here, was the man most competent of all the
world to advise him; describing the situation for him, day by day, in the
most faithful manner. And at every, step the absolutely puerile
inadequacy of the means, employed by the king to accomplish his gigantic
purposes became apparent. If the crime of subjugating or at least
dismembering the great kingdom of France were to, be attempted with any
hope of success, at least it might have been expected that the man
employed to consummate the deed would be furnished with more troops and
money than would be required to appropriate a savage island off the
Caribbean, or a German. principality. But Philip expected miracles to be
accomplished by the mere private assertion of his will. It was so easy to
conquer realms the writing table.

"I don't say," continued Farnese, "if I could have entered France with a
competent army, well paid and disciplined, with plenty of artillery, and
munitions, and with funds enough to enable Mayenne to buy up the nobles
of his party, and to conciliate the leaders generally with presents and
promises, that perhaps they might not have softened. Perhaps interest and
fear would have made that name agreeable which pleases them so little,
now that the very reverse of all this has occurred. My want of means is
causing a thousand disgusts among the natives of the country, and it is
this penury that will be the chief cause of the disasters which may
occur."

Here was sufficiently plain speaking. To conquer a war-like nation
without an army; to purchase a rapacious nobility with an empty purse,
were tasks which might break the stoutest heart. They were breaking
Alexander's.

Yet Philip had funds enough, if he had possessed financial ability
himself, or any talent for selecting good financiers. The richest
countries of the old world and the new were under his sceptre; the mines
of Peru and Mexico; the wealth of farthest Ind, were at his disposition;
and moreover he drove a lucrative traffic in the sale of papal bulls and
massbooks, which were furnished to him at a very low figure, and which he
compelled the wild Indians of America and the savages of the Pacific to
purchase of him at an enormous advance. That very year, a Spanish carrack
had been captured by the English off the Barbary coast, with an assorted
cargo, the miscellaneous nature of which gives an idea of royal
commercial pursuits at that period. Besides wine in large quantities
there were fourteen hundred chests of quicksilver, an article
indispensable to the working of the silver mines, and which no one but
the king could, upon pain of death, send to America. He received,
according to contract; for every pound of quicksilver thus delivered a
pound of pure silver, weight for weight. The ship likewise contained ten
cases of gilded mass-books and papal bulls. The bulls, two million and
seventy thousand in number, for the dead and the living, were intended
for the provinces of New Spain, Yucatan, Guatemala, Honduras, and the
Philippines. The quicksilver and the bulls cost the king three hundred
thousand florins, but he sold them for five million. The .price at, which
the bulls were to be sold varied-according to the letters of advice found
in the ships--from two to four reals a piece, and the inhabitants of
those conquered regions were obliged to buy them. "From all this," says a
contemporary chronicler; "is to be seen what a thrifty trader was the
king."

The affairs of France were in such confusion that it was impossible for
them, according to Farnese, to remain in such condition much longer
without bringing about entire decomposition. Every man was doing as he
chose--whether governor of a city, commander of a district, or gentleman
in his castle. Many important nobles and prelates followed the Bearnese
party, and Mayenne was entitled to credit for doing as well as he did.
There was no pretence, however, that his creditable conduct was due to
anything but the hope of being well paid. "If your Majesty should decide
to keep Mayenne," said Alexander, "you can only do it with large: sums of
money. He is a good Catholic and very firm in his purpose, but is so much
opposed by his own party, that if I had not so stimulated him by hopes of
his own grandeur, he would have grown desperate--such small means has he
of maintaining his party--and, it is to be feared, he would have made
arrangements with Bearne, who offers him carte-blanche."

The disinterested man had expressed his assent to the views of Philip in
regard to the assembly of the estates and the election of king, but had
claimed the sum of six hundred thousand dollars as absolutely necessary
to the support of himself and followers until those events should occur.
Alexander not having that sum at his disposal was inclined to defer
matters, but was more and more confirmed in his opinion that the Duke was
a "man of truth, faith, and his word." He had distinctly agreed that no
king should be elected, not satisfactory to Philip, and had "stipulated
in return that he should have in this case, not only the second place in
the kingdom, but some very great and special reward in full property."

Thus the man of truth, faith, and his word had no idea of selling himself
cheap, but manifested as much commercial genius as the Fuggers themselves
could have displayed, had they been employed as brokers in these
mercantile transactions.

Above all things, Alexander implored the king to be expeditious,
resolute, and liberal; for, after all, the Bearnese might prove a more
formidable competitor than he was deemed. "These matters must be arranged
while the iron is hot," he said, "in order that the name and memory of
the Bearne and of all his family may be excluded at once and forever; for
your Majesty must not doubt that the whole kingdom inclines to him, both
because he is natural successor, to the crowns and because in this way
the civil war would cease. The only thing that gives trouble is the
religions defect, so that if this should be remedied in appearance, even
if falsely, men would spare no pains nor expense in his cause."

No human being at that moment, assuredly, could look into the immediate
future accurately enough to see whether the name and memory of the man,
whom his adherents called Henry the Fourth of France, and whom Spaniards,
legitimists and enthusiastic papists, called the Prince of Bearne, were
to be for ever excluded from the archives of France; whether Henry, after
spending the whole of his life as a pretender, was destined to bequeath
the same empty part to his descendants, should they think it worth their
while to play it. Meantime the sages smiled superior at his delusion;
while Alexander Farnese, on the contrary, better understanding the
chances of the great game which they were all playing, made bold to tell
his master that all hearts in France were inclining to their natural
lord. "Differing from your Majesty," said he, "I am of opinion that there
is no better means of excluding him than to make choice of the Duke of
Mayenne, as a person agreeable to the people, and who could only reign by
your permission and support."

Thus, after much hesitation and circumlocution, the nephew made up his
mind to chill his uncle's hopes of the crown, and to speak a decided
opinion in behalf of the man of his word, faith and truth.

And thus through the whole of the two memorable campaigns made by
Alexander in France, he never failed to give his master the most accurate
pictures of the country, and an interior view of its politics; urging
above all the absolute necessity of providing much more liberal supplies
for the colossal adventure in which he was engaged. "Money and again
money is what is required," he said. "The principal matter is to be
accomplished with money, and the particular individuals must be bought
with money. The good will of every French city must be bought with money.
Mayenne must be humoured. He is getting dissatisfied. Very probably he is
intriguing with Bearne. Everybody is pursuing his private ends. Mayenne
has never abandoned his own wish to be king, although he sees the
difficulties in the way; and while he has not the power to do us as much
good as is thought, it is certainly in his hands to do us a great deal of
injury."

When his army was rapidly diminishing by disease, desertion, mutiny, and
death, he vehemently and perpetually denounced the utter inadequacy of
the king's means to his vast projects. He protested that he was not to
blame for the ruin likely to come upon the whole enterprise. He had
besought, remonstrated, reasoned with Philip--in vain. He assured his
master that in the condition of weakness in which they found themselves,
not very triumphant negotiations could be expected, but that he would do
his best. "The Frenchmen," he said, "are getting tired of our disorders,
and scandalized by our weakness, misery, and poverty. They disbelieve the
possibility of being liberated through us."

He was also most diligent in setting before the king's eyes the dangerous
condition of the obedient Netherlands, the poverty of the finances, the
mutinous degeneration of the once magnificent Spanish army, the misery of
the country, the ruin of the people, the discontent of the nobles, the
rapid strides made by the republic, the vast improvement in its military
organization, the rising fame of its young stadholder, the thrift of its
exchequer, the rapid development of its commerce, the menacing aspect
which it assumed towards all that was left of Spanish power in those
regions.

Moreover, in the midst of the toils and anxieties of war-making and
negotiation, he had found time to discover and to send to his master the
left leg of the glorious apostle St. Philip, and the head of the glorious
martyr St. Lawrence, to enrich his collection of relics; and it may be
doubted whether these treasures were not as welcome to the king as would
have been the news of a decisive victory.

During the absence of Farnese in his expeditions against the Bearnese,
the government of his provinces was temporarily in the hands of Peter
Ernest Mansfeld.

This grizzled old fighter--testy, choleric, superannuated--was utterly
incompetent for his post. He was a mere tool in the hands of his son.
Count Charles hated Parma very cordially, and old Count Peter was made to
believe himself in danger of being poisoned or poniarded by the duke. He
was perpetually wrangling with, importuning and insulting him in
consequence, and writing malicious letters to the king in regard to him.
The great nobles, Arschot, Chimay, Berlaymont, Champagny, Arenberg, and
the rest, were all bickering among themselves, and agreeing in nothing
save in hatred to Farnese.

A tight rein, a full exchequer, a well-ordered and well-paid army, and
his own constant patience, were necessary, as Alexander too well knew, to
make head against the republic, and to hold what was left of the
Netherlands. But with a monthly allowance, and a military force not equal
to his own estimates for the Netherland work, he was ordered to go forth
from the Netherlands to conquer France--and with it the dominion of the
world--for the recluse of the Escorial.

Very soon it was his duty to lay bare to his master, still more
unequivocally than ever, the real heart of Mayenne. No one could surpass
Alexander in this skilful vivisection of political characters; and he
soon sent the information that the Duke was in reality very near closing
his bargain with the Bearnese, while amusing Philip and drawing largely
from his funds.

Thus, while faithfully doing his master's work with sword and pen, with
an adroitness such as no other man could have matched, it was a necessary
consequence that Philip should suspect, should detest, should resolve to
sacrifice him. While assuring his nephew, as we have seen, that
elaborate, slanderous reports and protocols concerning him, sent with
such regularity by the chivalrous Moreo and the other spies, had been
totally disregarded, even if they had ever met his eye, he was quietly
preparing--in the midst of all these most strenuous efforts of Alexander,
in the field at peril of his life, in the cabinet at the risk of his
soul--to deprive him of his office, and to bring him, by stratagem if
possible, but otherwise by main force, from the Netherlands to Spain.

This project, once-resolved upon, the king proceeded to execute with that
elaborate attention to detail, with that feline stealth which
distinguished him above all kings or chiefs of police that have ever
existed. Had there been a murder at the end of the plot, as perhaps there
was to be--Philip could not have enjoyed himself more. Nothing surpassed
the industry for mischief of this royal invalid.

The first thing to be done was of course the inditing of a most
affectionate epistle to his nephew.

"Nephew," said he, "you know the confidence which I have always placed in
you and all that I have put in your hands, and I know how much you are to
me, and how earnestly you work in my service, and so, if I could have you
at the same time in several places, it would be a great relief to me.
Since this cannot be however, I wish to make use of your assistance,
according to the times and occasions, in order that I may have some
certainty as to the manner in which all this business is to be managed,
may see why the settlement of affairs in France is thus delayed, and what
the state of things in Christendom generally is, and may consult with,
you about an army which I am getting levied here, and about certain
schemes now on foot in regard to the remedy for all this; all which makes
me desire your presence here for some time, even if a short time, in
order to resolve upon and arrange with the aid of your advice and
opinion, many affairs concerning the public good and facilitate their
execution by means of your encouragement and presence, and to obtain the
repose which I hope for in putting them into your hands. And so I charge
and command you that, if you desire to content me, you use all possible
diligence to let me see you here as soon as possible, and that you start
at once for Genoa."

He was further directed to leave Count Mansfeld at the head of affairs
during this temporary absence, as had been the case so often before,
instructing him to make use of the Marquis of Cerralbo, who was already
there, to lighten labours that might prove too much for a man of
Mansfeld's advanced age.

"I am writing to the marquis," continued the king, "telling him that he
is to obey all your orders. As to the reasons of your going away, you
will give out that it is a decision of your own, founded on good cause,
or that it is a summons of mine, but full of confidence and good will
towards you, as you see that it is."

The date of this letter was 20th February, 1592.

The secret instructions to the man who was thus to obey all the duke's
orders were explicit enough upon that point, although they were wrapped
in the usual closely-twisted phraseology which distinguished Philip's
style when his purpose was most direct.

Cerralbo was entrusted with general directions as to the French matter,
and as to peace negotiations with "the Islands;" but the main purport of
his mission was to remove Alexander Farnese. This was to be done by fair
means, if possible; if not, he was to be deposed and sent home by force.

This was to be the reward of all the toil and danger through which he had
grown grey and broken in the king's service.

"When you get to the Netherlands" (for the instructions were older than
the letter to Alexander just cited), "you are," said the king, "to treat
of the other two matters until the exact time arrives for the third,
taking good care not to, cut the thread of good progress in the affairs
of France if by chance they are going on well there.

"When the time arrives to treat of commission number three," continued
his Majesty, "you will take occasion of the arrival of the courier of
20th February, and will give with much secrecy the letter of that date to
the duke; showing him at the same time the first of the two which you
will have received."

If the duke showed the letter addressed to him by his uncle--which the
reader has already seen--then the marquis was to discuss with him the
details of the journey, and comment upon the benefits and increased
reputation which would be the result of his return to Spain.

"But if the duke should not show you the letter," proceeded Philip, "and
you suspect that he means to conceal and equivocate about the particulars
of it, you can show him your letter number two, in which it is stated
that you have received a copy of the letter to the duke. This will make
the step easier."

Should the duke declare himself ready to proceed to Spain on the ground
indicated--that the king had need of his services--the marquis was then
to hasten his departure as earnestly as possible. Every pains were to be
taken to overcome any objections that might be made by the duke on the
score of ill health, while the great credit which attached to this
summons to consult with the king in such arduous affairs was to be duly
enlarged upon. Should Count Mansfeld meantime die of old age, and should
Farnese insist the more vehemently, on that account, upon leaving his son
the Prince Ranuccio in his post as governor, the marquis was authorised
to accept the proposition for the moment--although secretly instructed
that such an appointment was really quite out of the question--if by so
doing the father could be torn from the place immediately.

But if all would not do, and if it should become certain that the duke
would definitively refuse to take his departure, it would then become
necessary to tell him clearly, but secretly, that no excuse would be
accepted, but that go he must; and that if he did not depart voluntarily
within a fixed time, he would be publicly deprived of office and
conducted to Spain by force.

But all these things were to be managed with the secrecy and mystery so
dear to the heart of Philip. The marquis was instructed to go first to
the castle of Antwerp, as if upon financial business, and there begin his
operations. Should he find at last all his private negotiations and
coaxings of no avail, he was then to make use of his secret letters from
the king to the army commanders, the leading nobles of the country, and
of the neighbouring princes, all of whom were to be undeceived in regard
to the duke, and to be informed of the will of his majesty.

The real successor of Farnese was to be the Archduke Albert, Cardinal of
Austria, son of Archduke Ferdinand, and the letters on this subject were
to be sent by a "decent and confidential person" so soon as it should
become obvious that force would be necessary in order to compel the
departure of Alexander. For if it came to open rupture, it would be
necessary to have the cardinal ready to take the place. If the affair
were arranged amicably, then the new governor might proceed more at
leisure. The marquis was especially enjoined, in case the duke should be
in France, and even if it should be necessary for him to follow him there
on account of commissions number one and two, not to say a word to him
then of his recall, for fear of damaging matters in that kingdom. He was
to do his best to induce him to return to Flanders, and when they were
both there, he was to begin his operations.

Thus, with minute and artistic treachery, did Philip provide for the
disgrace and ruin of the man who was his near blood relation, and who had
served him most faithfully from earliest youth. It was not possible to
carry out the project immediately, for, as it has already been narrated,
Farnese, after achieving, in spite of great obstacles due to the dulness
of the king alone, an extraordinary triumph, had been dangerously
wounded, and was unable for a brief interval to attend to public affairs.

On the conclusion of his Rouen campaign he had returned to the
Netherlands, almost immediately betaking himself to the waters of Spa.
The Marquis de Cerralbo meanwhile had been superseded in his important
secret mission by the Count of Fuentes, who received the same
instructions as had been provided for the marquis.

But ere long it seemed to become unnecessary to push matters to
extremities. Farnese, although nominally the governor, felt himself
unequal to take the field against the vigorous young commander who was
carrying everything before him in the north and east. Upon the Mansfelds
was the responsibility for saving Steenwyk and Coeworden, and to the
Mansfelds did Verdugo send piteously, but in vain, for efficient help.
For the Mansfelds and other leading personages in the obedient
Netherlands were mainly occupied at that time in annoying Farnese,
calumniating his actions, laying obstacles in the way of his
administration, military and civil, and bringing him into contempt with
the populace. When the weary soldier--broken in health, wounded and
harassed with obtaining triumphs for his master such as no other living
man could have gained with the means placed at his disposal--returned to
drink the waters, previously to setting forth anew upon the task of
achieving the impossible, he was made the mark of petty insults on the
part of both the Mansfelds. Neither of them paid their respects to him;
ill as he was, until four days after his arrival. When the duke
subsequently called a council; Count Peter refused to attend it on
account of having slept ill the night before. Champagny; who was one of,
the chief mischief-makers, had been banished by Parma to his house in
Burgundy. He became very much alarmed, and was afraid of losing his head.
He tried to conciliate the duke, but finding it difficult he resolved to
turn monk, and so went to the convent of Capuchins, and begged hard to be
admitted a member. They refused him on account of his age and
infirmities. He tried a Franciscan monastery with not much better
success, and then obeyed orders and went to his Burgundy mansion; having
been assured by Farnese that he was not to lose his head. Alexander was
satisfied with that arrangement, feeling sure, he said, that so soon as
his back was turned Champagny would come out of his convent before the
term of probation had expired, and begin to make mischief again. A once
valiant soldier, like Champagny, whose conduct in the famous "fury of
Antwerp" was so memorable; and whose services both in field and-cabinet
had, been so distinguished, fallen so low as to, be used as a tool by the
Mansfelds against a man like Farnese; and to be rejected as unfit company
by Flemish friars, is not a cheerful spectacle to contemplate.

The walls of the Mansfeld house and gardens, too, were decorated by Count
Charles with caricatures, intending to illustrate the indignities put
upon his father: and himself.

Among others, one picture represented Count Peter lying tied hand and
foot, while people were throwing filth upon him; Count Charles being
pourtrayed as meantime being kicked away from the command of a battery of
cannon by, De la Motte. It seemed strange that the Mansfelds should, make
themselves thus elaborately ridiculous, in order to irritate Farnese; but
thus it was. There was so much stir, about these works of art that
Alexander transmitted copies of them to the king, whereupon Charles
Mansfeld, being somewhat alarmed, endeavoured to prove that they had been
entirely misunderstood. The venerable personage lying on the ground, he
explained, was not his father, but Socrates. He found it difficult
however to account for the appearance of La Motte, with his one arm
wanting and with artillery by his side, because, as Farnese justly
remarked, artillery had not been invented in the time of Socrates, nor
was it recorded that the sage had lost an arm.

Thus passed the autumn of 1592, and Alexander, having as he supposed
somewhat recruited his failing strength, prepared, according to his
master's orders for a new campaign in France. For with almost preterhuman
malice Philip was employing the man whom he had doomed to disgrace,
perhaps to death, and whom he kept under constant secret supervision, in
those laborious efforts to conquer without an army and to purchase a
kingdom with an empty purse, in which, as it was destined, the very last
sands of Parma's life were to run away.

Suffering from a badly healed wound, from water on the chest,
degeneration of the heart, and gout in the limbs, dropsical, enfeebled,
broken down into an old man before his time, Alexander still confronted
disease and death with as heroic a front as he had ever manifested in the
field to embattled Hollanders and Englishmen, or to the still more
formidable array of learned pedants and diplomatists in the hall of
negotiation. This wreck of a man was still fitter to lead armies and
guide councils than any soldier or statesman that Philip could call into
his service, yet the king's cruel hand was ready to stab the dying man in
the dark.

Nothing could surpass the spirit with which the soldier was ready to do
battle with his best friend, coming in the guise of an enemy. To the last
moment, lifted into the saddle, he attended personally as usual to the
details of his new campaign, and was dead before he would confess himself
mortal. On the 3rd of December, 1592, in the city of Arran, he fainted
after retiring at his usual hour to bed, and thus breathed his last.

According to the instructions in his last will, he was laid out barefoot
in the robe and cowl of a Capuchin monk. Subsequently his remains were
taken to Parma, and buried under the pavement of the little Franciscan
church. A pompous funeral, in which the Italians and Spaniards quarrelled
and came to blows for precedence, was celebrated in Brussels, and a
statue of the hero was erected in the capitol at Rome.

The first soldier and most unscrupulous diplomatist of his age, he died
when scarcely past his prime, a wearied; broken-hearted old man. His
triumphs, military and civil, have been recorded in these pages, and his
character has been elaborately pourtrayed. Were it possible to conceive
of an Italian or Spaniard of illustrious birth in the sixteenth century,
educated in the school of Machiavelli, at the feet of Philip, as anything
but the supple slave of a master and the blind instrument of a Church,
one might for a moment regret that so many gifts of genius and valour had
been thrown away or at least lost to mankind. Could the light of truth
ever pierce the atmosphere in which such men have their being; could the
sad music of humanity ever penetrate to their ears; could visions of a
world--on this earth or beyond it--not exclusively the property of kings
and high-priests be revealed to them, one might lament that one so
eminent among the sons of women had not been a great man. But it is a
weakness to hanker for any possible connection between truth and Italian
or Spanish statecraft of that day. The truth was not in it nor in him,
and high above his heroic achievements, his fortitude, his sagacity, his
chivalrous self-sacrifice, shines forth the baleful light of his
perpetual falsehood.

   [I pass over, as beneath the level of history, a great variety of
   censorious and probably calumnious reports as to the private
   character of Farnese, with which the secret archives of the times
   are filled. Especially Champagny, the man by whom the duke was most
   hated and feared, made himself busy in compiling the slanderous
   chronicle in which the enemies of Farnese, both in Spain and the
   Netherlands, took so much delight. According to the secret history
   thus prepared for the enlightenment of the king and his ministers,
   the whole administration of the Netherlands--especially the
   financial department, with the distribution of offices--was in the
   hands of two favourites, a beardless secretary named Cosmo e Massi,
   and a lady of easy virtue called Franceline, who seems to have had a
   numerous host of relatives and friends to provide for at the public
   expense. Towards the latter end of the duke's life, it was even
   said that the seal of the finance department was in the hands of his
   valet-de-chambre, who, in his master's frequent absences, was in the
   habit of issuing drafts upon the receiver-general. As the valet-
   dechambre was described as an idiot who did not know how to read, it
   may be believed that the finances fell into confusion. Certainly,
   if such statements were to be accepted, it would be natural enough
   that for every million dollars expended by the king in the
   provinces, not more than one hundred thousand were laid out for the
   public service; and this is the estimate made by Champagny, who, as
   a distinguished financier and once chief of the treasury in the
   provinces, might certainly be thought to know something of the
   subject. But Champagny was beside himself with rage, hatred.]



CHAPTER XXIX.

   Effect of the death of Farnese upon Philip's schemes--Priestly
   flattery and counsel--Assembly of the States-General of France--
   Meeting of the Leaguers at the Louvre--Conference at Surene between
   the chiefs of the League and the "political" leaders--Henry convokes
   an assembly of bishops, theologians, and others--Strong feeling on
   all sides on the subject of the succession--Philip commands that the
   Infanta and the Duke of Guise be elected King and Queen of France--
   Manifesto of the Duke of Mayenne--Formal re-admission of Henry to
   the Roman faith--The pope refuses to consent to his reconciliation
   with the Church--His consecration with the sacred oil--Entry of the
   king into Paris--Departure of the Spanish garrison from the capital
   --Dissimulation of the Duke of Mayenne--He makes terms with Henry--
   Grief of Queen Elizabeth on receipt of the communications from
   France.

During the past quarter of a century there had been tragic scenes enough
in France, but now the only man who could have conducted Philip's schemes
to a tragic if not a successful issue was gone. Friendly death had been
swifter than Philip, and had removed Alexander from the scene before his
master had found fitting opportunity to inflict the disgrace on which he
was resolved. Meantime, Charles Mansfeld made a feeble attempt to lead an
army from the Netherlands into France, to support the sinking fortunes of
the League; but it was not for that general-of-artillery to attempt the
well-graced part of the all-accomplished Farnese with much hope of
success. A considerable force of Spanish infantry, too, had been sent to
Paris, where they had been received with much enthusiasm; a very violent
and determined churchman, Sega, archbishop of Piacenza, and
cardinal-legate, having arrived to check on the part of the holy father
any attempt by the great wavering heretic to get himself readmitted into
the fold of the faithful.

The King of Spain considered it his duty, as well as his unquestionable
right, to interfere in the affairs of France, and to save the cause of
religion, civilization and humanity, in the manner so dear to the
civilization-savers, by reducing that distracted country--utterly unable
to govern itself--under his sceptre. To achieve this noble end no bribery
was too wholesale, no violence too brutal, no intrigue too paltry. It was
his sacred and special mission to save France from herself. If he should
fail, he could at least carve her in pieces, and distribute her among
himself and friends. Frenchmen might assist him in either of these
arrangements, but it was absurd to doubt that on him devolved the work
and the responsibility. Yet among his advisers were some who doubted
whether the purchase of the grandees of France was really the most
judicious course to pursue. There was a general and uneasy feeling that
the grandees were making sport of the Spanish monarch, and that they
would be inclined to remain his stipendiaries for an indefinite period,
without doing their share of the work. A keen Jesuit, who had been much
in France, often whispered to Philip that he was going astray. "Those who
best understand the fit remedy for this unfortunate kingdom, and know the
tastes and temper of the nation," said he, "doubt giving these vast
presents and rewards in order that the nobles of France may affect your
cause and further your schemes. It is the greatest delusion, because they
love nothing but their own interest, and for this reason wish for no king
at all, but prefer that the kingdom should remain topsy-turvy in order
that they may enjoy the Spanish doubloons, as they say themselves almost
publicly, dancing and feasting; that they may take a castle to-day, and
to-morrow a city, and the day, after a province, and so on indefinitely.
What matters it to them that blood flows, and that the miserable people
are destroyed, who alone are good for anything?"

"The immediate cause of the ruin of France," continued the Jesuit, "comes
from two roots which must be torn up; the one is the extreme ignorance
and scandalous life of the ecclesiastics, the other is the tyranny and
the abominable life of the nobility, who with sacrilege and insatiable
avarice have entered upon the property of the Church. This nobility is
divided into three factions. The first, and not the least, is heretic;
the second and the most pernicious is politic or atheist; the third and
last is catholic. All these, although they differ in opinion, are the
same thing in corruption of life and manners, so that there is no choice
among them." He then proceeded to set forth how entirely, the salvation
of France depended on the King of Spain. "Morally speaking," he said, "it
is impossible for any Frenchman to apply the remedy. For this two things
are wanting; intense zeal for the honour of God, and power. I ask now
what Frenchman: has both these, or either of them. No one certainly that
we know. It is the King of Spain who alone in the world has the zeal and
the power. No man who knows the insolence and arrogance of the French
nature will believe that even if a king should be elected out of France
he would be obeyed by the others. The first to oppose him would be
Mayenne; even if a king were chosen from his family, unless everything
should be given him that he asked; which would be impossible."

Thus did the wily Priest instil into the ready ears of Philip additional
reasons for believing himself the incarnate providence of God. When were
priestly flatterers ever wanting to pour this poison into the souls of
tyrants? It is in vain for us to ask why it is permitted that so much
power for evil should be within the grasp of one wretched human creature,
but it is at least always instructive to ponder the career of these
crowned conspirators, and sometimes consoling to find its conclusion
different from the goal intended. So the Jesuit advised the king not to
be throwing away his money upon particular individuals, but with the
funds which they were so unprofitably consuming to form a jolly army
('gallardo egercito') of fifteen thousand foot, and five thousand-horse,
all Spaniards, under a Spanish general--not a Frenchman being admitted
into it--and then to march forward, occupy all the chief towns, putting
Spanish garrisons into them, but sparing the people, who now considered
the war eternal, and who were eaten up by both armies. In a short time
the king might accomplish all he wished, for it was not in the power of
the Bearnese to make considerable resistance for any length of time.

This was the plan of Father Odo for putting Philip on the throne of
France, and at the same time lifting up the downtrodden Church, whose
priests, according to his statement, were so profligate, and whose tenets
were rejected by all but a small minority of the governing classes of the
country. Certainly it did not lack precision, but it remained to be seen
whether the Bearnese was to prove so very insignificant an antagonist as
the sanguine priest supposed.

For the third party--the moderate Catholics--had been making immense
progress in France, while the diplomacy of Philip had thus far steadily
counteracted their efforts at Rome. In vain had the Marquis Pisani, envoy
of the politicians' party, endeavoured to soften the heart of Clement
towards Henry. The pope lived in mortal fear of Spain, and the Duke of
Sessa, Philip's ambassador to the holy see, denouncing all these attempts
on the part of the heretic, and his friends, and urging that it was much
better for Rome that the pernicious kingdom of France should be
dismembered and subdivided, assured his holiness that Rome should be
starved, occupied, annihilated, if such abominable schemes should be for
an instant favoured.

Clement took to his bed with sickness brought on by all this violence,
but had nothing for it but to meet Pisani and other agents of the same
cause with a peremptory denial, and send most, stringent messages to his
legate in Paris, who needed no prompting.

There had already been much issuing of bulls by the pope, and much
burning of bulls by the hangman, according to decrees of the parliament
of Chalons and other friendly tribunals, and burning of Chalons decrees
by Paris hangmen, and edicts in favour of Protestants at Nantz and other
places--measures the enactment, repeal, and reenactment of which were to
mark the ebb and flow of the great tide of human opinion on the most
important of subjects, and the traces of which were to be for a long time
visible on the shores of time.

Early in 1593 Mayenne, yielding to the pressure of the Spanish party,
reluctantly consented to assemble the States-General of France, in order
that a king might be chosen. The duke, who came to be thoroughly known to
Alexander Farnese before the death of that subtle Italian, relied on his
capacity to outwit all the other champions of the League and agents of
Philip now that the master-spirit had been removed. As firmly opposed as
ever to the election of any other candidate but himself, or possibly his
son, according to a secret proposition which he had lately made to the
pope, he felt himself obliged to confront the army of Spanish
diplomatists, Roman prelates, and learned doctors, by whom it was
proposed to exclude the Prince of Bearne from his pretended rights. But
he did not, after all, deceive them as thoroughly as he imagined. The
Spaniards shrewdly suspected the French tactics, and the whole business
was but a round game of deception, in which no one was much deceived, who
ever might be destined ultimately, to pocket the stakes: "I know from a
very good source," said Fuentes, "that Mayenne, Guise, and the rest of
them are struggling hard in order not to submit to Bearne, and will
suffer everything your Majesty may do to them, even if you kick them in
the mouth, but still there is no conclusion on the road we are
travelling, at least not the one which your Majesty desires. They will go
on procrastinating and gaining time, making authority for themselves out
of your Majesty's grandeur, until the condition of things comes which
they are desiring. Feria tells me that they are still taking your
Majesty's money, but I warn your Majesty that it is only to fight off
Bearne, and that they are only pursuing their own ends at your Majesty's
expense."

Perhaps Mayenne had already a sufficiently clear insight into the not
far-distant future, but he still presented himself in Spanish cloak and
most ultramontane physiognomy. His pockets were indeed full of Spanish
coin at that moment, for he had just claimed and received eighty-eight
thousand-nine hundred dollars for back debts, together with one hundred
and eighty, thousand dollars more to distribute among the deputies of the
estates. "All I can say about France," said Fuentes, "is that it is one
great thirst for money. The Duke of Feria believes in a good result, but
I think that Mayenne is only trying to pocket as much money as he can."

Thus fortified, the Duke of Mayenne issued the address to the
States-General of the kingdom, to meet at an early day in order to make
arrangements to secure religion and peace, and to throw off the possible
yoke of the heretic pretender. The great seal affixed to the document
represented an empty throne, instead of the usual effigy of a king.

The cardinal-legate issued a thundering manifesto at the same time
sustaining Mayenne and virulently denouncing the Bearnese.

The politicians' party now seized the opportunity to impress upon Henry
that the decisive moment was come.

The Spaniard, the priest; and the League, had heated the furnace. The
iron was at a white heat. Now was the time to strike. Secretary of State
Revol Gaspar de Schomberg, Jacques Auguste de Thou, the eminent
historian, and other influential personages urged the king to give to the
great question the only possible solution.

Said the king with much meekness, "If I am in error, let those who attack
me with so much fury instruct me, and show me the way of salvation. I
hate those who act against their conscience. I pardon all those who are
inspired by truly religious motives, and I am ready to receive all into
favour whom the love of peace, not the chagrin of ill-will, has disgusted
with the war."

There was a great meeting of Leaguers at the Louvre, to listen to
Mayenne, the cardinal-legate, Cardinal Pelleve, the Duke of Guise, and
other chieftains. The Duke of Feria made a long speech in Latin, setting
forth the Spanish policy, veiled as usual, but already sufficiently well
known, and assuring the assembly that the King of Spain desired nothing
so much as the peace of France and of all the world, together with the
supremacy of the Roman Church. Whether these objects could best be
attained by the election of Philip or of his daughter, as sovereign, with
the Archduke Ernest as king-consort, or with perhaps the Duke of Guise or
some other eligible husband, were fair subjects for discussion. No
selfish motive influenced the king, and he placed all his wealth and all
his armies at the disposal of the League to carry out these great
projects.

Then there was a conference at Surene between the chiefs the League and
the "political" leaders; the Archbishop of Lyons, the cardinal-legate,
Villars, Admiral of France and defender of Rouen, Belin, Governor of
Paris, President Jeannin, and others upon one side; upon the other, the
Archbishop of Bourges, Bellievre, Schomberg, Revol, and De Thou.

The Archbishop of Lyons said that their party would do nothing either to
frustrate or to support the mission of Pisani, and that the pope would,
as ever, do all that could be done to maintain the interests of the true
religion.

The Archbishop of Bourges, knowing well the meaning of such fine phrases,
replied that he had much respect for the holy father, but that popes had
now, become the slaves and tools of the King of Spain, who, because he
was powerful, held them subject to his caprice.

At an adjourned meeting at the same place, the Archbishop of Lyons said
that all questions had been asked and answered. All now depended on the
pope, whom the League would always obey. If the pope would accept the
reconciliation of the Prince of Bearne it was well. He, hoped that his
conversion would be sincere.

The political archbishop (of Bourges) replied to the League's archbishop,
that there was no time for delays, and for journeys by land and sea to
Rome. The least obstruction might prove fatal to both parties. Let the
Leaguers now show that the serenity of their faces was but the mirror of
their minds.

But the Leaguers' archbishop said that he could make no further advances.
So ended the conference.'

The chiefs of the politicians now went to the king and informed him that
the decisive moment had arrived.

Henry had preserved: his coolness throughout. Amid all the hubbub of
learned doctors of law, archbishops-Leaguer and political-Sorbonne
pedants, solemn grandees from Spain with Latin orations in their pockets,
intriguing Guises, huckstering Mayennes, wrathful Huguenots, sanguinary
cardinal-legates, threatening world-monarchs--heralded by Spanish
musketeers, Italian lancers, and German reiters--shrill screams of
warning from the English queen, grim denunciations from Dutch Calvinists,
scornful repulses from the holy father; he kept his temper and his
eye-sight, as perfectly as he had ever done through the smoke and din of
the wildest battle-field. None knew better than he how to detect the
weakness of the adversary, and to sound the charge upon his wavering
line.

He blew the blast--sure that loyal Catholics and Protestants alike would
now follow him pell-mell.

On the 16th, May, 1593, he gave notice that he consented to get himself
instructed, and that he summoned an assembly at Mantes on the 15th July,
of bishops, theologians, princes, lords, and courts of parliament to hold
council, and to advise him what was best to do for religion and the
State.

Meantime he returned to the siege of Dreux, made an assault on the place,
was repulsed, and then hung nine prisoners of war in full sight of the
garrison as a punishment for their temerity in resisting him. The place
soon after capitulated (8th July, 1593).

The interval between the summons and the assembling of the clerical and
lay notables at Mantes was employed by the Leaguers in frantic and
contradictory efforts to retrieve a game which the most sagacious knew to
be lost. But the politicians were equal to the occasion, and baffled them
at every point.

The Leaguers' archbishop inveighed bitterly against the abominable edicts
recently issued in favour of the Protestants.

The political archbishop (of Bourges) replied not by defending; but by
warmly disapproving, those decrees of toleration, by excusing the king
for having granted them for a temporary purpose, and by asserting
positively that, so soon as the king should be converted, he would no
longer countenance such measures.

It is superfluous to observe that very different language was held on the
part of Henry to the English and Dutch Protestants, and to the Huguenots
of his own kingdom.

And there were many meetings of the Leaguers in Paris, many belligerent
speeches by the cardinal legate, proclaiming war to the knife rather than
that the name of Henry the heretic should ever be heard of again as
candidate for the throne, various propositions spasmodically made in full
assembly by Feria, Ybarra, Tassis, the jurisconsult Mendoza, and other
Spanish agents in favour of the Infanta as queen of France, with Archduke
Ernest or the Duke of Guise, or any other eligible prince, for her
husband.

The League issued a formal and furious invective in answer to Henry's
announcement; proving by copious citations from Jeremiah, St. Epiphany;
St. Jerome, St. Cyprian, and St. Bernard, that it was easier for a
leopard to change his spots or for a blackamoor to be washed white; than
for a heretic to be converted, and that the king was thinking rather of
the crown of France than of a heavenly crown, in his approaching
conversion--an opinion which there were few to gainsay.

And the Duke of Nemours wrote to his half-brother, the Duke of Mayenne;
offering to use all his influence to bring about Mayenne's election as
king on condition that if these efforts failed, Mayenne should do his
best to procure the election of Nemours.

And the Parliament of Paris formally and prospectively proclaimed any
election of a foreigner null and void, and sent deputies to Mayenne
urging him never to consent to the election of the Infanta.

What help, said they, can the League expect from the old and broken
Philip; from a king who in thirty years has not been able, with all the
resources of his kingdoms, to subdue the revolted provinces of the
Netherlands? How can he hope to conquer France? Pay no further heed to
the legate, they said, who is laughing in his sleeve at the miseries and
distractions of our country. So spake the deputies of the
League-Parliament to the great captain of the League, the Duke of
Mayenne. It was obvious that the "great and holy confederacy" was
becoming less confident of its invincibility. Madame League was suddenly
grown decrepit in the eyes of her adorers.

Mayenne was angry at the action of the Parliament, and vehemently swore
that he would annul their decree. Parliament met his threats with
dignity, and resolved to stand by the decree, even if they all died in
their places.

At the same time the Duke of Feria suddenly produced in full assembly of
Leaguers a written order from Philip that the Duke of Guise and the
Infanta should at once be elected king and queen. Taken by surprise,
Mayenne dissembled his rage in masterly-fashion, promised Feria to
support the election, and at once began to higgle for conditions. He
stipulated that he should have for himself the governments of Champagne,
Burgundy, and La Brie, and that they should be hereditary in his family:
He furthermore demanded that Guise should cede to him the principality of
Joinville, and that they should pay him on the spot in hard money two
hundred thousand crowns in gold, six hundred thousand more in different
payments, together with an annual payment of fifty thousand crowns.

It was obvious that the duke did not undervalue himself; but he had after
all no intention of falling into the trap set for him. "He has made these
promises (as above given) in writing," said the Duke of Savoy's envoy to
his master, "but he will never keep them. The Duchess of Mayenne could not
help telling me that her husband will never consent that the Duke of
Guise should have the throne." From this resolve he had never wavered,
and was not likely to do so now. Accordingly the man "of his word, of
faith, and truth," whom even the astute Farnese had at times half
believed in, and who had received millions of Philip's money, now thought
it time to break with Philip. He issued a manifesto, in which he observed
that the States-General of France had desired that Philip should be
elected King of France, and carry out his design of a universal monarchy,
as the only-means of ensuring the safety of the Catholic religion and the
pacification of the world. It was feared, however, said Mayenne; that the
king might come to the same misfortunes which befell his father, who,
when it was supposed that he was inspired only by private ambition; and
by the hope of placing a hereditary universal crown in his family, had
excited the animosity of the princes of the empire. "If a mere suspicion
had caused so great a misfortune in the empire," continued the man of his
word, "what will the princes of all Europe do when they find his Majesty
elected king of France, and grown by increase of power so formidable to
the world? Can it be doubted that they will fly to arms at once, and give
all their support to the King of Navarre, heretic though he be? What
motive had so many princes to traverse Philip's designs in the
Netherlands, but desire to destroy the enormous power which they feared?
Therefore had the Queen, of England, although refusing the sovereignty,
defended the independence of the Netherlands these fifteen years.

"However desirable," continued Mayenne, "that this universal monarchy,
for which the house of Austria has so long been working, should be
established, yet the king is too prudent not to see the difficulties in
his way. Although he has conquered Portugal, he is prevented by the
fleets of Holland and England from taking possession of the richest of
the Portuguese possessions, the islands and the Indies. He will find in
France insuperable objections to his election as king, for he could in
this case well reproach the Leaguers with having been changed from
Frenchmen into Spaniards. He must see that his case is hopeless in
France, he who for thirty years has been in vain endeavouring to
re-establish his authority in the Netherlands. It would be impossible in
the present position of affairs to become either the king or the
protector of France. The dignity of France allows it not."

Mayenne then insisted on the necessity of a truce with the royalists or
politicians, and, assembling the estates at the Louvre on the 4th July,
he read a written paper declining for the moment to hold an election for
king.

John Baptist Tassis, next day, replied by declaring that in this case
Philip would send no more succours of men or money; for that the only
effectual counter-poison to the pretended conversion of the Prince of
Bearne was the immediate election of a king.

Thus did Mayenne escape from the snare in which the Spaniards thought to
catch the man who, as they now knew, was changing every day, and was true
to nothing save his own interests.

And now the great day had come. The conversion of Henry to the Roman
faith, fixed long before for--the 23rd July,--1593, formally took place
at the time appointed.

From six in the morning till the stroke of noon did Henry listen to the
exhortations and expoundings of the learned prelates and doctors whom he
had convoked, the politic Archbishop of Bourges taking the lead in this
long-expected instruction. After six mortal hours had come to an end, the
king rose from his knees, somewhat wearied, but entirely instructed and
convinced. He thanked the bishops for having taught him that of which he
was before quite ignorant, and assured them that; after having invoked
the light, of the Holy Ghost upon his musings, he should think seriously
over what they had just taught him, in order to come to a resolution
salutary to himself and to the State.

Nothing could be more candid. Next day, at eight in the morning, there
was a great show in the cathedral of Saint Denis, and the population of
Paris, notwithstanding the prohibition of the League authorities, rushed
thither in immense crowds to witness the ceremony of the reconciliation
of the king. Henry went to the church, clothed as became a freshly
purified heretic, in white satin doublet and hose, white silk stockings,
and white silk shoes with white roses in them; but with a black hat and a
black mantle. There was a great procession with blare of trumpet and beat
of drum. The streets were strewn with flowers.

As Henry entered the great portal of the church, he found the Archbishop
of Bourges, seated in state, effulgent in mitre and chasuble, and
surrounded by other magnificent prelates in gorgeous attire.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" said the arch-bishop.

"I am the king," meekly replied Henry, "and I demand to be received into
the bosom of the Roman Catholic Church."

"Do you wish it sincerely?" asked the prelate.

"I wish it with all my heart," said the king.

Then throwing himself on his knees, the Bearne--great champion of the
Huguenots--protested before God that he would live and die in the
Catholic faith, and that he renounced all heresy. A passage was with
difficulty opened through the crowd, and he was then led to the high
altar, amid the acclamations of the people. Here he knelt devoutly and
repeated his protestations. His unction and contrition were most
impressive, and the people, of course, wept piteously. The king, during
the progress of the ceremony, with hands clasped together and adoring the
Eucharist with his eyes, or, as the Host was elevated, smiting himself
thrice upon the breast, was a model of passionate devotion.

Afterwards he retired to a pavilion behind the altar, where the
archbishop confessed and absolved him. Then the Te Deum sounded, and high
mass was celebrated by the Bishop of Nantes. Then, amid acclamations and
blessings, and with largess to the crowd, the king returned to the
monastery of Saint Denis, where he dined amid a multitude of spectators,
who thronged so thickly around him that his dinner-table was nearly
overset. These were the very Parisians, who, but three years before, had
been feeding on rats and dogs and dead men's bones, and the bodies of
their own children, rather than open their gates to this same Prince of
Bearne.

Now, although Mayenne had set strong guards at those gates, and had most
strictly prohibited all egress, the city was emptied of its populace,
which pressed in transports of adoration around the man so lately the
object of their hate. Yet few could seriously believe that much change
had been effected in the inner soul of him, whom the legate, and the
Spaniard, and the holy father at Rome still continued to denounce as the
vilest of heretics and the most infamous of impostors.

The comedy was admirably played out and was entirely successful. It may
be supposed that the chief actor was, however, somewhat wearied. In
private, he mocked at all this ecclesiastical mummery, and described
himself as heartily sick of the business. "I arrived here last evening,"
he wrote to the beautiful Gabrielle, "and was importuned with 'God save
you' till bed-time. In regard to the Leaguers I am of the order of St.
Thomas. I am beginning to-morrow morning to talk to the bishops, besides
those I told you about yesterday. At this moment of writing I have a
hundred of these importunates on my shoulders, who will make me hate
Saint Denis as much as you hate Mantes. 'Tis to-morrow that I take the
perilous leap. I kiss a million times the beautiful hands of my angel and
the mouth of my dear mistress."

A truce--renewed at intervals--with the Leaguers lasted till the end of
the year. The Duke of Nevers was sent on special mission to Rome to
procure the holy father's consent to the great heretic's reconciliation
to the Church, and he was instructed to make the king's submission in
terms so wholesale and so abject that even some of the life-long papists
of France were disgusted, while every honest Protestant in Europe shrank
into himself for shame. But Clement, overawed by Philip and his
ambassador, was deaf to all the representations of the French envoy. He
protested that he would not believe in the sincerity of the Bearne's
conversion unless an angel from Heaven should reveal it to him. So Nevers
left Rome, highly exasperated, and professing that he would rather have
lost a leg, that he would rather have been sewn in a sack and tossed into
the Tiber, than bear back such a message. The pope ordered the prelates
who had accompanied Nevers to remain in Rome and be tried by the
Inquisition for misprision of heresy, but the duke placed them by his
side and marched out of the Porta del Popolo with them, threatening to
kill any man who should attempt to enforce the command.

Meantime it became necessary to follow up the St. Denis comedy with a
still more exhilarating popular spectacle. The heretic had been purified,
confessed, absolved. It was time for a consecration. But there was a
difficulty. Although the fever of loyalty to the ancient house of
Bourbon, now redeemed from its worship of the false gods, was spreading
contagiously through the provinces; although all the white silk in Lyons
had been cut into scarves and banners to celebrate the reconciliation of
the candid king with mother Church; although that ancient city was ablaze
with bonfires and illuminations, while its streets ran red, with blood no
longer, but with wine; and although Madam League, so lately the object of
fondest adoration, was now publicly burned in the effigy of a grizzly
hag; yet Paris still held for that decrepit beldame, and closed its gates
to the Bearnese.

The city of Rheims, too, had not acknowledged the former Huguenot, and it
was at Rheims, in the church of St. Remy, that the Holy Bottle was
preserved. With what chrism, by what prelate, should the consecration of
Henry be performed? Five years before, the League had proposed in the
estates of Blois to place among the fundamental laws of the kingdom that
no king should be considered a legitimate sovereign whose head had not
been anointed by the bishop at Rheims with oil from that holy bottle. But
it was now decided that to ascribe a monopoly of sanctity to that prelate
and to that bottle would be to make a schism in the Church.

Moreover it was discovered that there was a chrism in existence still
more efficacious than the famous oil of St. Remy. One hundred and twelve
years before the baptism of Clovis, St. Martin had accidentally tumbled
down stairs, and lay desperately bruised and at the point of death. But,
according to Sulpicius Severus, an angel had straightway descended from
heaven, and with a miraculous balsam had anointed the contusions of the
saint, who next day felt no farther inconveniences from his fall. The
balsam had ever since been preserved in the church of Marmoutier near
Tours. Here, then, was the most potent of unguents brought directly from
heaven. To mix a portion thereof with the chrism of consecration was
clearly more judicious than to make use of the holy bottle, especially as
the holy bottle was not within reach. The monks of Marmoutier consented
to lend the sacred phial containing the famous oil of St. Martin for the
grand occasion of the royal consecration.

Accompanied by a strong military escort provided by Giles de Souvri,
governor of Touraine, a deputation of friars brought the phial to
Chartres, where the consecration was to take place. Prayers were offered
up, without ceasing, in the monastery during their absence that no mishap
should befal the sacred treasure. When the monks arrived at Chartres,
four young barons of the first nobility were assigned to them as hostages
for the safe restoration of the phial, which was then borne in triumph to
the cathedral, the streets through which it was carried being covered
with tapestry. There was a great ceremony, a splendid consecration; six
bishops, with mitres on their heads and in gala robes, officiating; after
which the king knelt before the altar and took the customary oath.

Thus the champion of the fierce Huguenots, the well-beloved of the dead
La Noue and the living Duplessis Mornay, the devoted knight of the
heretic Queen Elizabeth, the sworn ally of the stout Dutch Calvinists,
was pompously reconciled to that Rome which was the object of their
hatred and their fear.

The admirably arranged spectacles of the instruction at St. Denis and the
consecration at Chartres were followed on the day of the vernal equinox
by a third and most conclusive ceremony:

A secret arrangement had been made with De Cosse-Brissac, governor of
Paris, by the king, according to which the gates of Paris were at last to
be opened to him. The governor obtained a high price for his
services--three hundred thousand livres in hard cash, thirty thousand a
year for his life, and the truncheon of marshal of France.  Thus
purchased, Brissac made his preparations with remarkable secrecy and
skill. Envoy Ybarra, who had scented something suspicious in the air, had
gone straight to the governor for information, but the keen Spaniard was
thrown out by the governor's ingenuous protestations of ignorance. The
next morning, March 22nd, was stormy and rainy, and long before daylight
Ybarra, still uneasy despite the statements of Brissac, was wandering
about the streets of Paris when he became the involuntary witness of an
extraordinary spectacle.

Through the wind and the rain came trampling along the dark streets of
the capital a body of four thousand troopers and lansquenettes. Many
torch-bearers attended on the procession, whose flambeaux threw a lurid
light upon the scene.

There, surrounded by the swart and grizzly bearded visages of these
strange men-at-arms, who were discharging their arquebuses, as they
advanced upon any bystanders likely to oppose their progress; in the very
midst of this sea of helmed heads, the envoy was enabled to recognise the
martial figure of the Prince of Bearne. Armed to the teeth, with sword in
hand and dagger at side, the hero of Ivry rode at last through the
barriers which had so long kept him from his capital. "'Twas like
enchantment," said Ybarra. The first Bourbon entered the city through the
same gate out of which the last Valois had, five years before, so
ignominiously fled. It was a midnight surprise, although not fully
accomplished until near the dawn of day. It was not a triumphal entrance;
nor did Henry come as the victorious standard-bearer of a great
principle. He had defeated the League in many battle-fields, but the
League still hissed defiance at him from the very hearthstone of his
ancestral palace. He had now crept, in order to conquer, even lower than
the League itself; and casting off his Huguenot skin at last, he had
soared over the heads of all men, the presiding genius of the holy
Catholic Church.

Twenty-one years before, he had entered the same city on the conclusion
of one of the truces which had varied the long monotony of the religious
wars of France. The youthful son of Antony Bourbon and Joan of Albret had
then appeared as the champion and the idol of the Huguenots. In the same
year had come the fatal nuptials with the bride of St. Bartholomew, the
first Catholic conversion of Henry and the massacre at which the world
still shudders.

Now he was chief of the "Politicians," and sworn supporter of the Council
of Trent. Earnest Huguenots were hanging their heads in despair.

He represented the principle of national unity against national
dismemberment by domestic treason and foreign violence. Had that
principle been his real inspiration, as it was in truth his sole support,
history might judge him more leniently. Had he relied upon it entirely it
might have been strong enough to restore him to the throne of his
ancestors, without the famous religious apostacy with which his name is
for ever associated. It is by no means certain that permanent religious
toleration might not have been the result of his mounting the throne,
only when he could do so without renouncing the faith of his fathers. A
day of civilization may come perhaps, sooner or later, when it will be of
no earthly cousequence to their fellow creatures to what creed, what
Christian church, what religious dogma kings or humbler individuals may
be partial; when the relations between man and his Maker shall be
undefiled by political or social intrusion. But the day will never come
when it will be otherwise than damaging to public morality and
humiliating to human dignity to forswear principle for a price, and to
make the most awful of mysteries the subject of political legerdemain and
theatrical buffoonery.

The so-called conversion of the king marks an epoch in human history. It
strengthened the Roman Church and gave it an indefinite renewal of life;
but it sapped the foundations of religious faith. The appearance of Henry
the Huguenot as the champion of the Council of Trent was of itself too
biting an epigram not to be extensively destructive. Whether for good or
ill, religion was fast ceasing to be the mainspring of political
combinations, the motive of great wars and national convulsions. The age
of religion was to be succeeded by the age of commerce.

But the king was now on his throne. All Paris was in rapture. There was
Te Deum with high mass in Notre Dame, and the populace was howling itself
hoarse with rapture in honour of him so lately the object of the general
curse. Even the Sorbonne declared in favour of the reclaimed heretic, and
the decision of those sages had vast influence with less enlightened
mortals. There was nothing left for the Duke of Feria but to take himself
off and make Latin orations in favour of the Infanta elsewhere, if fit
audience elsewhere could be found. A week after the entrance of Henry,
the Spanish garrison accordingly was allowed to leave Paris with the
honours of war.

"We marched out at 2 P.M.," wrote the duke to his master, "with closed
ranks, colours displayed, and drums beating. First came the Italians and
then the Spaniards, in the midst of whom was myself on horseback, with
the Walloons marching near me. The Prince of Bearne"--it was a solace to
the duke's heart, of which he never could be deprived, to call the king
by that title--"was at a window over the gate of St. Denis through which
we took our departure. He was dressed in light grey, with a black hat
surmounted by a great white feather. Our displayed standards rendered him
no courteous salute as we passed."

Here was another solace!

Thus had the game been lost and won, but Philip as usual did not
acknowledge himself beaten. Mayenne, too, continued to make the most
fervent promises to all that was left of the confederates. He betook
himself to Brussels, and by the king's orders was courteously received by
the Spanish authorities in the Netherlands. In the midst of the tempest
now rapidly destroying all rational hopes, Philip still clung to Mayenne
as to a spar in the shipwreck. For the king ever possessed the virtue, if
it be one, of continuing to believe himself invincible and infallible,
when he had been defeated in every quarter, and when his calculations had
all proved ridiculous mistakes.

When his famous Armada had been shattered and sunk, have we not seen him
peevishly requiring Alexander Farnese to construct a new one immediately
and to proceed therewith to conquer England out of hand? Was it to be
expected that he would renounce his conquest of France, although the
legitimate king had entered his capital, had reconciled himself to the
Church, and was on the point of obtaining forgiveness of the pope? If the
Prince of Bearne had already destroyed the Holy League, why should not
the Duke of Mayenne and Archduke Ernest make another for him, and so
conquer France without further delay?

But although it was still possible to deceive the king, who in the
universality of his deceptive powers was so prone to delude himself, it
was difficult even for so accomplished an intriguer as Mayenne to
hoodwink much longer the shrewd Spaniards who were playing so losing a
game against him.

"Our affairs in France," said Ybarra, "are in such condition that we are
losing money and character there, and are likely to lose all the
provinces here, if things are not soon taken up in a large and energetic
manner. Money and troops are what is wanted on a great scale for France.
The king's agents are mightily discontented with Mayenne, and with
reason; but they are obliged to dissimulate and to hold their tongues. We
can send them no assistance from these regions, unless from down yonder
you send us the cloth and the scissors to cut it with."

And the Archduke Ernest, although he invited Mayenne to confer with him
at Brussels, under the impression that he could still keep him and the
Duke of Guise from coming to an arrangement with Bearne, hardly felt more
confidence in the man than did Feria or Ybarra. "Since the loss of
Paris," said Ernest, "I have had a letter from Mayenne, in which, deeply
affected by that event, he makes me great offers, even to the last drop
of his blood, vowing never to abandon the cause of the League. But of the
intentions and inner mind of this man I find such vague information, that
I don't dare to expect more stability from him than may be founded upon
his own interest."

And so Mayenne came to Brussels and passed three days with the archduke.
"He avows himself ready to die in our cause," said Ernest. "If your
Majesty will give men and money enough, he will undertake so to deal with
Bearne that he shall not think himself safe in his own house." The
archduke expressed his dissatisfaction to Mayenne that with the money he
had already received, so little had been accomplished, but he still
affected a confidence which he was far from feeling, "because," said he,
"it is known that Mayenne is already treating with Bearne. If he has not
concluded those arrangements, it is because Bearne now offers him less
money than before." The amount of dissimulation, politely so-called,
practised by the grandees of that age, to say nothing of their infinite
capacity for pecuniary absorption, makes the brain reel and enlarges
one's ideas of the human faculties as exerted in certain directions. It
is doubtful whether plain Hans Miller or Hans Baker could have risen to
such level.

Feria wrote a despatch to the king, denouncing Mayenne as false,
pernicious to the cause of Spain and of catholicism, thoroughly
self-seeking and vile, and as now most traitorous to the cause of the
confederacy, engaged in surrendering its strong places to the enemy, and
preparing to go over to the Prince of Bearne.

"If," said he, "I were to recount all his base tricks, I should go on
till midnight, and perhaps till to-morrow morning."

This letter, being intercepted, was sent with great glee by Henry IV.,
not to the royal hands for which it was destined, but to the Duke of
Mayenne. Great was the wrath of that injured personage as he read such
libellous truths. He forthwith fulminated a scathing reply, addressed to
Philip II., in which he denounced the Duke of Feria as "a dirty
ignoramus, an impudent coward, an impostor, and a blind thief;" adding,
after many other unsavoury epithets, "but I will do him an honour which
he has not merited, proving him a liar with my sword; and I humbly pray
your Majesty to grant me this favour and to pardon my just grief, which
causes me to depart from the respect due to your Majesty, when I speak of
this impostor who has thus wickedly torn my reputation."

His invectives were, however, much stronger than his arguments in defence
of that tattered reputation. The defiance to mortal combat went for
nothing; and, in the course of the next year, the injured Mayenne turned
his back on Philip and his Spaniards, and concluded his bargain with the
Prince of Bearne. He obtained good terms: the government of Burgundy,
payment of his debts, and a hundred and twenty thousand crowns in hard
cash. It is not on record that the man of his word, of credit, and of
truth, ever restored a penny of the vast sums which he had received from
Philip to carry on the business of the League.

Subsequently the duke came one very hot summer's-day to Monceaux to thank
the king, as he expressed it, for "delivering him from Spanish arrogance
and Italian wiles;" and having got with much difficulty upon his knees,
was allowed to kiss the royal hand. Henry then insisted upon walking
about with him through the park at a prodigious rate, to show him all the
improvements, while the duke panted, groaned, and perspired in his vain
efforts to keep pace with his new sovereign.

"If I keep this fat fellow walking about in the sun much longer,"
whispered the king to De Bethune, who was third in the party, "I shall be
sufficiently avenged for all the mischief he has done us."

At last, when the duke was forced to admit himself to be on the point of
expiring with fatigue, he was dismissed to the palace with orders to
solace himself with a couple of bottles of excellent wine of Arbois,
expressly provided for him by the king's direction. And this was all the
punishment ever inflicted by the good-humoured monarch on the corpulent
conspirator.

The Duke of Guise made his arrangements with the ex-Huguenot on even
better terms and at a still earlier day; while Joyeuse and Mercoeur stood
out a good while and higgled hard for conditions. "These people put such
a high price on themselves," said one of Henry's diplomatists, "that one
loses almost more than one gains in buying them. They strip and plunder
us even in our nakedness, and we are obliged, in order to conciliate such
harpies, to employ all that we can scrape out of our substance and our
blood. I think, however, that we ought to gain them by whatever means and
at whatever price."

Thus Henry IV., the man whom so many contemporary sages had for years
been rebuking or ridiculing for his persistency in a hopeless attempt to
save his country from dismemberment, to restore legitimate authority, and
to resist the "holy confederacy" of domestic traitors, aided by foreign
despots and sympathizers, was at last successful, and the fratricidal war
in France was approaching its only possible conclusion.

But, alas! the hopes of those who loved the reformed Church as well as
they loved their country were sadly blasted by the apostasy of their
leader. From the most eminent leaders of the Huguenots there came a wail,
which must have penetrated even to the well-steeled heart of the cheerful
Gascon. "It will be difficult," they said, "to efface very soon from your
memory the names of the men whom the sentiment of a common religion,
association in the same perils and persecutions, a common joy in the same
deliverance, and the long experience of so many faithful services, have
engraved there with a pencil of diamond. The remembrance of these things
pursues you and accompanies you everywhere; it interrupts your most
important affairs, your most ardent pleasures, your most profound
slumber, to represent to you, as in a picture, yourself to yourself:
yourself not as you are to-day, but such as you were when, pursued to the
death by the greatest princes of Europe, you went on conducting to the
harbour of safety the little vessel against which so many tempests were
beating."

The States of the Dutch republic, where the affair of Henry's conversion
was as much a matter of domestic personal interest as it could be in
France--for religion up to that epoch was the true frontier between
nation and nation--debated the question most earnestly while it was yet
doubtful. It was proposed to send a formal deputation to the king, in
order to divert him, if possible, from the fatal step which he was about
to take. After ripe deliberation however, it was decided to leave the
matter "in the hands of God Almighty, and to pray Him earnestly to guide
the issue to His glory and the welfare of the Churches."

The Queen of England was, as might be supposed, beside herself with
indignation, and, in consequence of the great apostasy, and of her
chronic dissatisfaction with the manner in which her contingent of troops
had been handled in France, she determined to withdraw every English
soldier from the support of Henry's cause. The unfortunate French
ambassador in London was at his wits' ends. He vowed that he could not
sleep of nights, and that the gout and the cholic, to which he was always
a martyr, were nothing to the anguish which had now come upon his soul
and brain, such as he had never suffered since the bloody day of St.
Bartholomew.

"Ah, my God!" said he to Burghley, "is it possible that her just choler
has so suddenly passed over the great glory which she has acquired by so
many benefits and liberalities?" But he persuaded himself that her
majesty would after all not persist in her fell resolution. To do so, he
vowed, would only be boiling milk for the French papists, who would be
sure to make the most of the occasion in order to precipitate the king
into the, abyss, to the border of which they had already brought him. He
so dreaded the ire of the queen that he protested he was trembling all
over merely to see the pen of his secretary wagging as he dictated his
despatches. Nevertheless it was his terrible duty to face her in her
wrath, and he implored the lord treasurer to accompany him and to shield
him at the approaching interview. "Protect me," he cried, "by your wisdom
from the ire of this great princess; for by the living God, when I see
her enraged against any person whatever I wish myself in Calcutta,
fearing her anger like death itself."

When all was over, Henry sent De Morlans as special envoy to communicate
the issue to the Governments of England and of Holland. But the queen,
although no longer so violent, was less phlegmatic than the
States-General, and refused to be comforted. She subsequently receded,
however, from her determination to withdraw her troops from France.

"Ah! what grief; ah! what regrets; ah! what groans, have I felt in my
soul," she wrote, "at the sound of the news brought to me by Morlans! My
God! Is it possible that any wordly respect can efface the terror of
Divine wrath? Can we by reason even expect a good sequel to such
iniquitous acts? He who has maintained and preserved you by His mercy,
can you imagine that he permits you to walk alone in your utmost need?
'Tis bad to do evil that good may come of it. Meantime I shall not cease
to put you in the first rank of my devotions, in order that the hands of
Esau may not spoil the blessings of Jacob. As to your promises to me of
friendship and fidelity, I confess to have dearly deserved them, nor do I
repent, provided you do not change your Father--otherwise I shall be your
bastard sister by the father's side--for I shall ever love a natural
better than an adopted one. I desire that God may guide you in a straight
road and a better path. Your most sincere sister in the old fashion. As
to the new, I have nothing to do with it.  ELIZABETH R."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     All fellow-worms together
     Continuing to believe himself invincible and infallible
     He spent more time at table than the Bearnese in sleep
     Henry the Huguenot as the champion of the Council of Trent
     Highest were not necessarily the least slimy
     His invectives were, however, much stronger than his arguments
     History is a continuous whole of which we see only fragments
     Infinite capacity for pecuniary absorption
     Leading motive with all was supposed to be religion
     Past was once the Present, and once the Future
     Sages of every generation, read the future like a printed scroll
     Sewers which have ever run beneath decorous Christendom
     Wrath of that injured personage as he read such libellous truths



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 66, 1594



CHAPTER XXX.

   Prince Maurice lays siege to Gertruydenberg--Advantages of the new
   system of warfare--Progress of the besieging operations--Superiority
   of Maurice's manoeuvres--Adventure of Count Philip of Nassau--
   Capitulation of Gertruydenberg--Mutiny among the Spanish troops--
   Attempt of Verdugo to retake Coeworden--Suspicions of treason in the
   English garrison at Ostend--Letter of Queen Elizabeth to Sir Edward
   Norris on the subject--Second attempt on Coeworden--Assault on
   Groningen by Maurice--Second adventure of Philip of Nassau--Narrow
   escape of Prince Maurice--Surrender of Groningen--Particulars of the
   siege--Question of religious toleration--Progress of the United
   Netherlands--Condition of the "obedient" Netherlands--Incompetency
   of Peter Mansfeld as Governor--Archduke Ernest, the successor of
   Farnese--Difficulties of his position--His unpopularity--Great
   achievements of the republicans--Triumphal entry of Ernest into
   Brussels and Antwerp--Magnificence of the spectacle--Disaffection of
   the Spanish troops--Great military rebellion--Philip's proposal to
   destroy the English fleet--His assassination plans--Plot to poison
   Queen Elizabeth--Conspiracies against Prince Maurice--Futile
   attempts at negotiation--Proposal of a marriage between Henry and
   the Infanta--Secret mission from Henry to the King of Spain--Special
   dispatch to England and the Staten--Henry obtains further aid from
   Queen Elizabeth and the States--Council--Anxiety of the Protestant
   countries to bring about a war with Spain--Aspect of affairs at the
   close of the year 1594.

While Philip's world-empire seemed in one direction to be so rapidly
fading into cloudland there were substantial possessions of the Spanish
crown which had been neglected in Brabant and Friesland.

Two very important cities still held for the King of Spain within the
territories of what could now be fairly considered the United Dutch
Republic--St. Gertruydenberg and Groningen.

Early in the spring of 1593, Maurice had completed his preparations for a
siege, and on the 24th March appeared before Gertruydenberg.

It was a stately, ancient city, important for its wealth, its strength,
and especially for its position. For without its possession even the
province of Holland could hardly consider itself mistress of its own
little domains. It was seated on the ancient Meuse, swollen as it
approached the sea almost to the dimension of a gulf, while from the
south another stream, called the Donge, very brief in its course, but
with considerable depth of water, came to mingle itself with the Meuse,
exactly under the walls of the city.

The site of the place was so low that it was almost hidden and protected
by its surrounding dykes. These afforded means of fortification, which
had been well improved. Both by nature and art the city was one of the
strongholds of the Netherlands.

Maurice had given the world a lesson in the beleaguering science at the
siege of Steenwyk, such as had never before been dreamt of; but he was
resolved that the operations before Gertruydenberg should constitute a
masterpiece.

Nothing could be more beautiful as a production of military art, nothing,
to the general reader, more insipid than its details.

On the land side, Hohenlo's headquarters were at Ramsdonck, a village
about a German mile to the east of Gertruydenberg. Maurice himself was
established on the west side of the city. Two bridges constructed across
the Donge facilitated the communications between the two camps, while
great quantities of planks and brush were laid down across the swampy
roads to make them passable for waggon-trains and artillery. The first
care of the young general, whose force was not more than twenty thousand
men, was to protect himself rather than to assail the town.

His lines extended many miles in a circuit around the place, and his
forts, breastworks, and trenches were very numerous.

The river was made use of as a natural and almost impassable ditch of
defence, and windmills were freely employed to pump water into the
shallows in one direction, while in others the outer fields, in quarters
whence a relieving force might be expected, were turned into lakes by the
same machinery. Farther outside, a system of palisade work of caltrops
and man-traps--sometimes in the slang of the day called Turkish
ambassadors--made the country for miles around impenetrable or very
disagreeable to cavally. In a shorter interval than would have seemed
possible, the battlements and fortifications of the besieging army had
risen like an exhalation out of the morass. The city of Gertruydenberg
was encompassed by another city as extensive and apparently as
impregnable as itself. Then, for the first time in that age, men
thoroughly learned the meaning of that potent implement the spade.

Three thousand pioneers worked night and day with pickaxe and shovel. The
soldiers liked the business; for every man so employed received his ten
stivers a day additional wages, punctually paid, and felt moreover that
every stioke was bringing the work nearer to its conclusion.

The Spaniards no longer railed at Maurice as a hedger and ditcher. When
he had succeeded in bringing a hundred great guns to bear upon the
beleaguered city they likewise ceased to sneer at heavy artillery.

The Kartowen and half Kartowen were no longer considered "espanta
vellacos."

Meantime, from all the country round, the peasants flocked within the
lines. Nowhere in Europe were provisions so plentiful and cheap as in the
Dutch camp. Nowhere was a readier market for agricultural products,
prompter payment, or more perfect security for the life and property of
non-combatants. Not so much as a hen's egg was taken unlawfully. The
country people found themselves more at ease within Maurice's lines than
within any other part of the provinces, obedient or revolted. They
ploughed and sowed and reaped at their pleasure, and no more striking
example was ever afforded of the humanizing effect of science upon the
barbarism of war, than in this siege of Gertruydenberg.

Certainly it was the intention of the prince to take his city, and when
he fought the enemy it was his object to kill; but, as compared with the
bloody work which Alva, and Romero, and Requesens, and so many others had
done in those doomed provinces, such war-making as this seemed almost
like an institution for beneficent and charitable purposes.

Visitors from the neighbourhood, from other provinces, from foreign
countries, came to witness the extraordinary spectacle, and foreign
generals repaired to the camp of Maurice to take practical lessons in the
new art of war.

Old Peter Ernest Mansfeld, who was nominal governor of the Spanish
Netherlands since the death of Farnese, rubbed his eyes and stared aghast
when the completeness of the preparations for reducing the city at last
broke in upon his mind. Count Fuentes was the true and confidential
regent however until the destined successor to Parma should arrive; but
Fuentes, although he had considerable genius for assassination, as will
hereafter appear, and was an experienced and able commander of the
old-fashioned school, was no match for Maurice in the scientific
combinations on which the new system was founded.

In vain did the superannuated Peter call aloud upon his sofa and
governor, Count Charles, to assist him in this dire dilemma. That
artillery general had gone with a handful of Germans, Walloons; and other
obedient Netherlanders--too few to accomplish anything abroad, too many
to be spared from the provinces--to besiege Noyon in France. But what
signified the winning or losing of such a place as Noyon at exactly the
moment when the Prince of Bearne, assisted by the able generalship of the
Archbishop of Bourges, had just executed those famous flanking movements
in the churches of St. Denis and Chartres, by which the world-empire had
been effectually shattered, and Philip and the Pope completely
out-manoeuvred.

Better that the five thousand fighters under Charles Mansfeld had been
around Gertruydenberg. His aged father did what he could. As many men as
could be spared from the garrison of Antwerp and its neighbourhood were
collected; but the Spaniards were reluctant to march, except under old
Mondragon. That hero, who had done much of the hardest work, and had
fought in most of the battles of the century, was nearly as old as the
century. Being now turned of ninety, he thought best to keep house in
Antwerp Castle: Accordingly twelve thousand foot and three thousand horse
took the field under the more youthful Peter Ernest? But Peter Ernest,
when his son was not there to superintend his operations, was nothing but
a testy octogenarian, while the two together were not equal to the little
finger of Farnese, whom Philip would have displaced, had he not
fortunately died.

"Nothing is to be expected out of this place but toads and poison," wrote
Ybarra in infinite disgust to the two secretaries of state at Madrid. "I
have done my best to induce Fuentes to accept that which the patent
secured him, and Count Peter is complaining that Fuentes showed him the
patent so late only to play him a trick. There is a rascally pack of
meddlers here, and the worst of them all are the women, whom I
particularly give to the devil. There is no end to the squabbles as to
who shall take the lead in relieving Gertruydenberg."

Mansfeld at last came ponderously up in the neighbourhood of Turnhout.
There was a brilliant little skirmish, in the, neighbourhood of this
place, in which a hundred and fifty Dutch cavalry under the famous
brothers Bax defeated four hundred picked lancers of Spain and Italy. But
Mansfeld could get nothing but skirmishes. In vain he plunged about among
the caltrops and man-traps. In vain he knocked at the fortifications of
Hohenlo on the east and of Maurice on the west. He found them
impracticable, impregnable, obdurate. It was Maurice's intention to take
his town at as small sacrifice of life as possible. A trumpet was sent on
some trifling business to Mansfeld, in reply to a communication made by
the general to Maurice.

"Why does your master," said the choleric veteran to the trumpeter, "why
does Prince Maurice, being a lusty young commander as he is, not come out
of his trenches into the open field and fight me like a man, where honour
and fame await him?"

"Because my master," answered the trumpeter, "means to live to be a lusty
old commander like your excellency, and sees no reason to-day to give you
an advantage."

At this the bystanders laughed, rather at the expense of the veteran.

Meantime there were not many incidents within the lines or within the
city to vary the monotony of the scientific siege.

On the land side, as has been seen, the city was enclosed and built out
of human sight by another Gertruydenberg. On the wide estuary of the
Meuse, a chain of war ships encircled the sea-front, in shape of a half
moon, lying so close to each other that it was scarcely possible even for
a messenger to swim out of a dark night.

The hardy adventurers who attempted that feat with tidings of despair
were almost invariably captured.

This blockading fleet took regular part in the daily cannonade; while, on
the other hand, the artillery practice from the landbatteries of Maurice
and Hohenlo was more perfect than anything ever known before in the
Netherlands or France.

And the result was that in the course of the cannonade which lasted
nearly ninety days, not more than four houses in the city escaped injury.
The approaches were brought, every hour, nearer and nearer to the walls.
With subterranean lines converging in the form of the letter Y, the
prince had gradually burrowed his way beneath the principal bastion.

Hohenlo, representative of the older school of strategy, had on one
occasion ventured to resist the authority of the commander-in-chief. He
had constructed a fort at Ramsdonck. Maurice then commanded the erection
of another, fifteen hundred yards farther back. It was as much a part of
his purpose to defend himself against the attempts of Mansfeld's
relieving force, as to go forward against the city. Hohenlo objected that
it would be impossible to sustain himself against a sudden attack in so
isolated a position. Maurice insisted. In the midst of the altercation
Hohenlo called to the men engaged in throwing up the new fortifications:
"Here, you captains and soldiers," he cried, "you are delivered up here
to be butchered. You may drop work and follow me to the old fort."

"And I swear to you," said Maurice quietly, "that the first man who moves
from this spot shall be hanged."

No one moved. The fort was completed and held to the and; Hohenlo sulkily
acquiescing in the superiority which this stripling--his former
pupil--had at last vindicated over all old-fashioned men-at-arms.

From the same cause which was apt to render Hohenlo's services
inefficient, the prince was apt to suffer inconvenience in the persons
placed in still nearer relation to himself. Count Philip of Nassau,
brother of the wise and valiant Lewis William, had already done much
brilliant campaigning against the Spaniards both in France and the
provinces. Unluckily, he was not only a desperate fighter but a mighty
drinker, and one day, after a dinner-party and potent carouse at Colonel
Brederode's quarters, he thought proper, in doublet and hose, without
armour of any kind, to mount his horse, in order to take a solitary
survey of the enemy's works. Not satisfied with this piece of
reconnoitering--which he effected with much tipsy gravity, but probably
without deriving any information likely to be of value to the commanding
general--he then proceeded to charge in person a distant battery. The
deed was not commendable in a military point of view. A fire was opened
upon him at long range so soon as he was discovered, and at the same time
the sergeant-major of his regiment and an equerry of Prince Maurice
started in pursuit, determined to bring him off if possible, before his
life had been thus absurdly sacrificed. Fortunately for him they came to
the rescue in time, pulled him from his horse, and succeeded in bringing
him away unharmed. The sergeant-major, however, Sinisky by name, while
thus occupied in preserving the count's life, was badly wounded in the
leg by a musket-shot from the fort; which casualty was the only result of
this after-dinner assault.

As the siege proceeded, and as the hopes of relief died away, great
confusion began to reign within the city. The garrison, originally of a
thousand veterans, besides burgher militia, had been much diminished. Two
commandants of the place, one after another, had lost their lives. On the
1st of June, Governor De Masieres, Captain Mongyn, the father-confessor
of the garrison, and two soldiers, being on the top of the great church
tower taking observations, were all brought down with one cannon-shot.
Thus the uses of artillery were again proved to be something more than to
scare cowards.

The final result seemed to have been brought about almost by accident, if
accident could be admitted as a factor in such accurate calculations as
those of Maurice. On the 24th June Captains Haen and Bievry were
relieving watch in the trenches near the great north ravelin of the
town--a bulwark which had already been much undermined from below and
weakened above. Being adventurous officers, it occurred to them suddenly
to scale the wall of the fort and reconnoitre what was going on in the
town. It was hardly probable that they would come back alive from the
expedition, but they nevertheless threw some planks across the ditch, and
taking a few soldiers with them, climbed cautiously up. Somewhat to his
own surprise, still more to that of the Spanish sentinels, Bievry in a
few minutes found himself within the ravelin. He was closely followed by
Captain Haen, Captain Kalf, and by half a company of soldiers. The alarm
was given. There was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle. Sixteen of the bold
stormers fell, and nine of the garrison of the fort. The rest fled into
the city. The governor of the place, Captain Gysant, rushing to the
rescue without staying to put on his armour, was killed. Count Solms, on
the other hand, came from the besieging camp into the ravelin to
investigate the sudden uproar. To his profound astonishment he was met
there, after a brief interval, by a deputation from the city, asking for
terms of surrender. The envoys had already been for some little time
looking in vain for a responsible person with whom to treat. When Maurice
was informed of the propositions he thought it at first a trick; for he
had known nothing of the little adventure of the three captains. Soon
afterwards he came into a battery whither the deputies had been brought,
and the terms of capitulation were soon agreed upon.

Next day the garrison were allowed to go out with sidearms and personal
baggage, and fifty waggons were lent them by the victor to bring their
wounded men to Antwerp.

Thus was Gertruydenberg surrendered in the very face of Peter Mansfeld,
who only became aware of the fact by the salvos of artillery fired in
honour of the triumph, and by the blaze of illumination which broke forth
over camp and city.

The sudden result was an illustration of the prince's perfect
arrangements. When Maurice rode into the town, he found it strong enough
and sufficiently well provisioned to have held out many a long day. But
it had been demonstrated to the besieged that relief was impossible, and
that the surrender on one day or another, after the siege operations
should be brought to their close, was certain. The inexorable genius of
the commander--skilled in a science which to the coarser war-makers of
that age seemed almost superhuman--hovered above them like a fate. It was
as well to succumb on the 24th June as to wait till the 24th July.

Moreover the great sustaining principle--resistance to the
foreigner--which had inspired the deeds of daring, the wonders of
endurance, in the Dutch cities beleaguered so remorselessly by the
Spaniard twenty years earlier in the century, was wanting.

In surrendering to the born Netherlander--the heroic chieftain of the
illustrious house of Nassau--these Netherlanders were neither sullying
their flag nor injuring their country. Enough had been done for military
honour in the gallant resistance, in which a large portion of the
garrison had fallen. Nor was that religious superstition so active within
the city, which three years before had made miracles possible in Paris
when a heretic sovereign was to be defied by his own subjects. It was
known that even if the public ceremonies of the Catholic Church were
likely to be suspended for a time after the surrender, at least the
rights of individual conscience and private worship within individual
households would be tolerated, and there was no papal legate with fiery
eloquence persuading a city full of heroic dupes that it was more
virtuous for men or women to eat their own children than to forego one
high mass, or to wink at a single conventicle.

After all, it was no such bitter hardship for the citizens of
Gertruydenberg to participate in the prosperity of the rising and
thriving young republic, and to enjoy those municipal and national
liberties which her sister cities had found so sweet.

Nothing could be calmer or more reasonable than such a triumph, nothing
less humiliating or less disastrous than such a surrender.

The problem was solved, the demonstration was made. To open their gates
to the soldiers of the Union was not to admit the hordes of a Spanish
commander with the avenging furies of murder, pillage, rape, which ever
followed in their train over the breach of a captured city.

To an enemy bated or dreaded to the uttermost mortal capacity, that
well-fortified and opulent city might have held out for months, and only
when the arms and the fraud of the foe without, and of famine within, had
done their work, could it have bowed its head to the conqueror, and
submitted to the ineffable tortures which would be the necessary
punishment of its courage.

Four thousand shots had been fired from the siege-guns upon the city, and
three hundred upon the relieving force.

The besieging army numbered in all nine thousand one hundred and fifty
men of all arms, and they lost during the eighty-five days' siege three
hundred killed and four hundred wounded.

After the conclusion of these operations, and the thorough remodelling of
the municipal government of the important city thus regained to the
republic, Maurice occupied himself with recruiting and refreshing his
somewhat exhausted little army. On the other hand, old Count Mansfeld,
dissatisfied with the impotent conclusion to his attempts, retired to
Brussels to be much taunted by the insolent Fuentes. He at least escaped
very violent censure on the part of his son Charles, for that general,
after his superfluous conquest of Noyon, while returning towards the
Netherlands, far too tardily to succour Gertruydenberg, had been
paralyzed in all his movements by a very extensive mutiny which broke out
among the Spanish troops in the province of Artois. The disorder went
through all its regular forms. A town was taken, an Eletto was appointed.
The country-side was black-mailed or plundered, and the rebellion lasted
some thirteen months. Before it was concluded there was another similar
outbreak among the Italians, together with the Walloons and other
obedient Netherlanders in Hainault, who obliged the city of Mons to
collect nine hundred florins a day for them. The consequence of these
military rebellions was to render the Spanish crown almost powerless
during the whole year, within the provinces nominally subject to its
sway. The cause--as always--was the non-payment of these veterans' wages,
year after year. It was impossible for Philip, with all the wealth of the
Indies and Mexico pouring through the Danaid sieve of the Holy League in
France, to find the necessary funds to save the bronzed and war-worn
instruments of his crimes in the Netherlands from starving and from
revolt.

Meantime there was much desultory campaigning in Friesland. Verdugo and
Frederic van den Berg picked up a few cities, and strong places which had
thrown off their allegiance September, to the king--Auerzyl,
Schlochteren, Winschoten, Wedde, Ootmarzum--and invested the much more
important town of Coeworden, which Maurice had so recently reduced to the
authority of the Union. Verdugo's force was insufficient, however, and he
had neither munitions nor provisions for a long siege. Winter was coming
on; and the States, aware that he would soon be obliged to retire from
before the well-garrisoned and fortified place, thought it unnecessary to
interfere with him. After a very brief demonstration the Portuguese
veteran was obliged to raise the siege.

There were also certain vague attempts made by the enemy to re-possess
himself of those most important seaports which had been pledged to the
English queen. On a previous page the anxiety has been indicated with
which Sir Robert Sydney regarded the withdrawal of the English troops in
the Netherlands for the sake of assisting the French king. This palpable
breach of the treaty had necessarily weakened England's hold on the
affections of the Netherlanders, and awakened dark suspicions that
treason might be impending at Flushing or Ostend. The suspicions were
unjust--so far as the governors of those places were concerned--for
Sydney and Norris were as loyal as they were intelligent and brave; but
the trust in their characters was not more implicit than it had been in
that of Sir William Stanley before the commission of his crime. It was
now believed that the enemy was preparing for a sudden assault upon
Ostend, with the connivance, it was feared, of a certain portion of the
English garrison. The intelligence was at once conveyed to her Majesty's
Government by Sir Edward Norris, and they determined to take a lesson
from past experience. Norris was at once informed that in view of the
attack which he apprehended, his garrison should be strengthened by five
hundred men under Sir Conyers Clifford from certain companies in
Flushing, and that other reinforcements should be sent from the English
troops in Normandy. The governor was ordered to look well after his
captains and soldiers, to remind them, in the queen's name, of their duty
to herself and to the States, to bid all beware of sullying the English
name, to make close investigations into any possible intrigues of the
garrison with the enemy, and, should any culprits be found, to bring them
at once to condign punishment.

The queen, too, determined that there should be no blighting of English
honour, if she could prevent it by her warnings, indited with her own
hand a characteristic letter to Sir Edward Norris, to accompany the more
formal despatch of Lord Burghley. Thus it ran "Ned!--

"Though you have some tainted sheep among your flock, let not that serve
for excuse for the rest. We trust you are so carefully regarded as nought
shall be left for your excuses, but either ye lack heart or want will;
for of fear we will not make mention, as that our soul abhors, and we
assure ourselves you will never discern suspicion of it. Now or never let
for the honour of us and our nation, each man be so much of bolder heart
as their cause is good, and their honour must be according, remembering
the old goodness of our God, who never yet made us fail His needful help,
who ever bless you as I with my prince's hand beseech Him."

The warnings and preparations proved sufficiently effective, and the
great schemes with which the new royal governor of the Netherlands was
supposed to be full--a mere episode in which was the conquest of
Ostend--seemed not so formidable as their shadows had indicated. There
was, in the not very distant future, to be a siege of Ostend, which the
world would not soon forget, but perhaps the place would not yield to a
sudden assault. Its resistance, on the contrary, might prove more
protracted than was then thought possible. But the chronicle of events
must not be anticipated. For the present, Ostend was safe.

Early in the following spring, Verdugo again appeared before Coeworden in
force. It was obvious that the great city of Groningen, the mistress of
all the north-eastern provinces, would soon be attacked, and Coeworden
was the necessary base of any operations against the place. Fortunately
for the States, William Lewis had in the preceding autumn occupied and
fortified the only avenue through the Bourtange morass, so that when
Verdugo sat down before Coeworden, it was possible for Maurice, by moving
rapidly, to take the royal governor at a disadvantage.

Verdugo had eight thousand picked troops, including two thousand Walloon
cavalry, troopers who must have been very formidable, if they were to be
judged by the prowess of one of their captains, Gaucier by name. This
obedient Netherlander was in the habit of boasting that he had slain four
hundred and ten men with his own hand, including several prisoners and
three preachers; but the rest of those warriors were not so famed for
their martial achievements.

The peril, however, was great, and Prince Maurice, trifling not a moment,
threw himself with twelve thousand infantry, Germans, Frisians, Scotch,
English, and Hollanders, and nearly two thousand horse, at once upon the
road between the Vecht and the Bourtange morass. On the 6th of May,
Verdugo found the States' commander-in-chief trenched and impregnable,
squarely established upon his line of communications. He reconnoitred,
called a council of war, and decided that to assail him were madness; to
remain, destruction. On the night of the 6th of May, he broke up his camp
and stole away in the darkness, without sound of drum or trumpet, leaving
all his fortifications and burning all his huts.

Thus had Maurice, after showing the world how strong places were to be
reduced, given a striking exhibition of the manner in which they were to
be saved.

Coeworden, after thirty-one weeks' investment, was relieved.

The stadholder now marched upon Groningen. This city was one of the most
splendid and opulent of all the Netherland towns. Certainly it should
have been one of the most ancient in Europe, since it derived its
name--according to that pains-taking banker, Francis Guicciardini--"from
Grun, a Trojan gentleman," who, nevertheless, according to Munster, was
"a Frenchman by birth."--"Both theories, however, might be true," added
the conscientious Florentine, "as the French have always claimed to be
descended from the relics of Troy." A simpler-minded antiquary might have
babbled of green fields, since 'groenighe,' or greenness, was a
sufficiently natural appellation for a town surrounded as was Groningen
on the east and west by the greenest and fattest of pastures. In
population it was only exceeded by Antwerp and Amsterdam. Situate on the
line where upper and nether Germany blend into one, the capital of a
great province whose very name was synonymous with liberty, and whose
hardy sons had clone fierce battle with despotism in every age, so long
as there had been human record of despotism and of battles, Groningen had
fallen into the hands of the foreign foe, not through the prowess of the
Spaniard but the treason of the Netherlander. The baseness of the
brilliant, trusted, valiant, treacherous young Renneberg has been
recorded on a previous page of these volumes. For thirteen years long the
republic had chafed at this acquisition of the hated enemy within its
very heart. And now the day had come when a blow should be struck for its
deliverance by the ablest soldier that had ever shown himself in those
regions, one whom the commonwealth had watched over from his cradle.

For in Groningen there was still a considerable party in favour of the
Union, although the treason of Renneberg had hitherto prevented both city
and province from incorporating themselves in the body politic of the
United Netherlands. Within the precincts were five hundred of Verdugo's
veterans under George Lanckema, stationed at a faubourg called
Schuytendiess. In the city there was, properly speaking, no garrison, for
the citizens in the last few years had come to value themselves on their
fidelity to church and king, and to take a sorry pride in being false to
all that was noble in their past. Their ancestors had wrested privilege
after privilege at the sword's point from the mailed hands of dukes and
emperors, until they were almost a self-governing republic; their courts
of justice recognizing no appeal to higher powers, even under the
despotic sway of Charles V. And now, under the reign of his son, and in
the feebler days of that reign, the capital of the free Frisians--the men
whom their ancient pagan statutes had once declared to be "free so long
as the wind blew out of the clouds"--relied upon the trained bands of her
burghers enured to arms and well-provided with all munitions of war to
protect her, not against foreign tyranny nor domestic sedition, but
against liberty and against law.

For the representative of the most ancient of the princely houses of
Europe, a youth whose ancestors had been emperors when the forefathers of
Philip, long-descended as he was, were but country squires, was now
knocking at their gates. Not as a conqueror and a despot, but as the
elected first magistrate and commander-in-chief of the freest
commonwealth in the world, Maurice of Nassau, at the head of fifteen
thousand Netherlanders, countrymen of their own, now summoned the
inhabitants of the town and province to participate with their fellow
citizens in all the privileges and duties of the prosperous republic.

It seemed impossible that such an appeal could be resisted by force of
arms. Rather it would seem that the very walls should have fallen at his
feet at the first blast of the trumpet; but there was military honour,
there was religious hatred, there was the obstinacy of party. More than
all, there were half a dozen Jesuits within the town, and to those ablest
of generals in times of civil war it was mainly owing that the siege of
Groningen was protracted longer than under other circumstances would have
been possible.

It is not my purpose to describe in detail the scientific operations
during the sixty-five days between the 20th May and the 24th July. Again
the commander-in-chief enlightened the world by an exhibition of a more
artistic and humane style of warfare than previously to his appearance on
the military stage had been known. But the daily phenomena of the
Leaguer--although they have been minutely preserved by most competent
eyewitnesses--are hardly entitled to a place except in special military
histories where, however, they should claim the foremost rank.

The fortifications of the city were of the most splendid and substantial
character known to the age. The ditches, the ravelins, the curtains, the
towers were as thoroughly constructed as the defences of any place in
Europe. It was therefore necessary that Maurice and his cousin Lewis
should employ all their learning, all their skill, and their best
artillery to reduce this great capital of the Eastern Netherlands. Again
the scientific coil of approaches wound itself around and around the
doomed stronghold; again were constructed the galleries, the covered
ways, the hidden mines, where soldiers, transformed to gnomes, burrowed
and fought within the bowels of the earth; again that fatal letter Y
advanced slowly under ground, stretching its deadly prongs nearer and
nearer up to the walls; and again the system of defences against a
relieving force was so perfectly established that Verdugo or Mansfield,
with what troops they could muster, seemed as powerless as the pewter
soldiers with which Maurice in his boyhood--not yet so long passed
away--was wont to puzzle over the problems which now practically engaged
his early manhood. Again, too, strangely enough, it is recorded that
Philip Nassau, at almost the same period of the siege as in that of
Gertruydenberg, signalized himself by a deed of drunken and superfluous
daring. This time the dinner party was at the quarters of Count Solms, in
honour of the Prince of Anhalt, where, after potations pottle deep, Count
Philip rushed from the dinner-table to the breach, not yet thoroughly
practicable, of the north ravelin, and, entirely without armour, mounted
pike in hand to the assault, proposing to carry the fort by his own
unaided exertions. Another officer, one Captain Vaillant, still more
beside himself than was the count, inspired him to these deeds of valour
by assuring him that the mine was to be sprung under the ravelin that
afternoon, and that it was a plot on the part of the Holland boatmen to
prevent the soldiers who had been working so hard and so long in the
mines from taking part in the honours of the assault. The count was with
difficulty brought off with a whole skin and put to bed. Yet despite
these disgraceful pranks there is no doubt that a better and braver
officer than he was hardly to be found even among the ten noble Nassaus
who at that moment were fighting for the cause of Dutch
liberty--fortunately with more sobriety than he at all times displayed.
On the following day, Prince Maurice, making a reconnoissance of the
works with his usual calmness, yet with the habitual contempt of personal
danger which made so singular a contrast with the cautious and
painstaking characteristics of his strategy, very narrowly escaped death.
A shot from the fort struck so hard upon the buckler under cover of which
he was taking his observations as to fell him to the ground. Sir Francis
Vere, who was with the prince under the same buckler, likewise measured
his length in the trench, but both escaped serious injury.

Pauli, one of the States commissioners present in the camp, wrote to
Barneveld that it was to be hoped that the accident might prove a warning
to his Excellency. He had repeatedly remonstrated with him, he said,
against his reckless exposure of himself to unnecessary danger, but he
was so energetic and so full of courage that it was impossible to
restrain him from being everywhere every day.

Three days later, the letter Y did its work. At ten o'clock 15 July, of
the night of the 15th July, Prince Maurice ordered the mines to be
sprung, when the north ravelin was blown into the air, and some forty of
the garrison with it. Two of them came flying into the besiegers' camp,
and, strange to say, one was alive and sound. The catastrophe finished
the sixty-five days' siege, the breach was no longer defensible, the
obstinacy of the burghers was exhausted, and capitulation followed. In
truth, there had been a subterranean intrigue going on for many weeks,
which was almost as effective as the mine. A certain Jan to Boer had been
going back and forth between camp and city, under various pretexts and
safe-conducts, and it had at last appeared that the Jesuits and the five
hundred of Verdugo's veterans were all that prevented Groningen from
returning to the Union. There had been severe fighting within the city
itself, for the Jesuits had procured the transfer of the veterans from
the faubourg to the town itself, and the result of all these operations,
political, military, and jesuitical, was that on 22nd July articles of
surrender were finally agreed upon between Maurice and a deputation from
the magistrates, the guilds, and commander Lanckema.

The city was to take its place thenceforth as a member of the Union.
William Lewis, already stadholder of Friesland for the united States, was
to be recognised as chief magistrate of the whole province, which was
thus to retain all its ancient privileges, laws, and rights of
self-government, while it exchanged its dependence on a distant, foreign,
and decaying despotism for incorporation with a young and vigorous
commonwealth.

It was arranged that no religion but the reformed religion, as then
practised in the united republic, should be publicly exercised in the
province, but that no man should be questioned as to his faith, or
troubled in his conscience: Cloisters and ecclesiastical property were to
remain 'in statu quo,' until the States-General should come to a definite
conclusion on these subjects.

Universal amnesty was proclaimed for all offences and quarrels. Every
citizen or resident foreigner was free to remain in or to retire from the
town or province, with full protection to his person and property, and it
was expressly provided in the articles granted to Lanckema that his
soldiers should depart with arms and baggage, leaving to Prince Maurice
their colours only, while the prince furnished sufficient transportation
for their women and their wounded. The property of Verdugo, royal
stadholder of the province, was to be respected, and to remain in the
city, or to be taken thence under safe conduct, as might be preferred.

Ten thousand cannon-shot had been fired against the city. The cost of
powder and shot consumed was estimated at a hundred thousand florins.
Four hundred of the besiegers had been killed, and a much larger number
wounded. The army had been further weakened by sickness and numerous
desertions. Of the besieged, three hundred soldiers in all were killed,
and a few citizens.

Thirty-six cannon were taken, besides mortars, and it was said that eight
hundred tons of powder, and plenty of other ammunition and provisions
were found in the place.

On the 23rd July Maurice and William Lewis entered the city. Some of the
soldiers were disappointed at the inexorable prohibition of pillage; but
it was the purpose of Maurice, as of the States-General, to place the
sister province at once in the unsullied possession of the liberty and
the order for which the struggle with Spain had, been carried on so long.
If the limitation of public religious worship seemed harsh, it should be
remembered that Romanism in a city occupied by Spanish troops had come to
mean unmitigated hostility to the republic. In the midst of civil war,
the hour for that religious liberty which was the necessary issue of the
great conflict had not yet struck. It was surely something gained for
humanity that no man should be questioned at all as to his creed in
countries where it was so recently the time-honoured practice to question
him on the rack, and to burn him if the answer was objectionable to the
inquirer.

It was something that the holy Inquisition had been for ever suppressed
in the land. It must be admitted, likewise, that the terms of surrender
and the spectacle of re-established law and order which succeeded the
capture of Groningen furnished a wholesome contrast to the scenes of
ineffable horror that had been displayed whenever a Dutch town had fallen
into the hands of Philip.

And thus the commonwealth of the United Netherlands, through the
practical military genius and perseverance of Maurice and Lewis William,
and the substantial statesmanship of Barneveld and his colleagues, had at
last rounded itself into definite shape; while in all directions toward
which men turned their eyes, world-empire, imposing and gorgeous as it
had seemed for an interval, was vanishing before its votaries like a
mirage. The republic, placed on the solid foundations of civil liberty,
self-government, and reasonable law, was steadily consolidating itself.

No very prominent movements were undertaken by the forces of the Union
during the remainder of the year. According to the agreements with Henry
IV. it had been necessary to provide that monarch with considerable
assistance to carry on his new campaigns, and it was therefore difficult
for Maurice to begin for the moment upon the larger schemes which he had
contemplated.

Meantime the condition of the obedient Netherlands demands a hasty
glance.

On the death of brother Alexander the Capuchin, Fuentes produced a patent
by which Peter Ernest Mansfeld was provisionally appointed governor, in
case the post should become vacant. During the year which followed, that
testy old campaigner had indulged himself in many petty feuds with all
around him, but had effected, as we have seen, very little to maintain
the king's authority either in the obedient or disobedient provinces.

His utter incompetency soon became most painfully apparent. His more than
puerile dependence upon his son, and the more than paternal severity
exercised over him by Count Charles, were made manifest to all the world.
The son ruled the trembling but peevish old warrior with an iron rod, and
endless was their wrangling with Fuentes and all the other Spaniards.
Between the querulousness of the one and the ferocity of the other, poor
Fuentes became sick of his life.

"'Tis a diabolical genius, this count Charles," said Ybarra, "and so full
of ambition that he insists on governing everybody just as he rules his
father. As for me, until the archduke comes I am a fish out of water."

The true successor to Farnese was to be, the Archduke Ernest, one of the
many candidates for the hand of the Infanta, and for the throne of that
department of the Spanish dominions which was commonly called France.
Should Philip not appropriate the throne without further scruple, in
person, it was on the, whole decided that his favorite nephew should be
the satrap of that outlying district of the Spanish empire. In such case
obedient France might be annexed to obedient Netherlands, and united
under the sway of Archduke Ernest.

But these dreams had proved in the cold air of reality but midsummer
madness. When the name of the archduke was presented to the estates as
King Ernest I. of France, even the most unscrupulous and impassioned
Leaguers of that country fairly hung their heads. That a foreign prince,
whose very name had never been before heard of by the vast bulk of the
French population, should be deliberately placed upon the throne of St.
Louis and Hugh Capet, was a humiliation hard to defend, profusely as
Philip had scattered the Peruvian and Mexican dollars among the great
ones of the nation, in order to accomplish his purpose.

So Archduke Ernest, early in the year 1594, came to Brussels, but he came
as a gloomy, disappointed man. To be a bachelor-governor of the
impoverished, exhausted, half-rebellious, and utterly forlorn little
remnant of the Spanish Netherlands, was a different position from that of
husband of Clara Isabella and king of France, on which his imagination
had been feeding so long.

For nearly the whole twelvemonth subsequent to the death of Farnese, the
Spanish envoy to the Imperial court had been endeavouring to arrange for
the departure of the archduke to his seat of government in the
Netherlands. The prince himself was willing enough, but there were many
obstacles on the part of the emperor and his advisers. "Especially there
is one very great impossibility," said San Clemente, "and that is the
poverty of his Highness, which is so great that my own is not greater in
my estate. So I don't see how he can stir a step without money. Here
they'll not furnish him with a penny, and for himself he possesses
nothing but debts." The emperor was so little pleased with the adventure
that in truth, according to the same authority, he looked upon the new
viceroy's embarrassments with considerable satisfaction, so that it was
necessary for Philip to provide for his travelling expenses.

Ernest was next brother of the Emperor Rudolph, and as intensely devoted
to the interests of the Roman Church as was that potentate himself, or
even his uncle Philip.

He was gentle, weak, melancholy, addicted to pleasure, a martyr to the
gout. He brought no soldiers to the provinces, for the emperor,
threatened with another world-empire on his pagan flank, had no funds nor
troops to send to the assistance of his Christian brother-in-law and
uncle. Moreover, it may be imagined that Rudolph, despite the bonds of
religion and consanguinity, was disposed to look coldly on the colossal
projects of Philip.

So Ernest brought no troops, but he brought six hundred and seventy
gentlemen, pages, and cooks, and five hundred and thirty-four horses, not
to charge upon the rebellious Dutchmen withal, but to draw coaches and
six.

There was trouble enough prepared for the new governor at his arrival.
The great Flemish and Walloon nobles were quarrelling fiercely with the
Spaniards and among themselves for office and for precedence. Arschot and
his brother Havre both desired the government of Flanders; so did
Arenberg. All three, as well as other gentlemen, were scrambling for the
majordomo's office in Ernest's palace. Havre wanted the finance
department as well, but Ybarra, who was a financier, thought the public
funds in his hands would be in a perilous condition, inasmuch as he was
provinces was accounted the most covetous man in all the provinces.

So soon as the archduke was known to be approaching the capital there was
a most ludicrous race run by all these grandees, in order to be the first
to greet his Highness. While Mansfeld and Fuentes were squabbling, as
usual, Arschot got the start of both, and arrived at Treves. Then the
decrepit Peter Ernest struggled as far as Luxembourg, while Fuentes
posted on to Namur. The archduke was much perplexed as to the arranging
of all these personages on the day of his entrance into Brussels. In the
council of state it was still worse. Arschot claimed the first place as
duke and as senior member, Peter Ernest demanded it as late
governor-general and because of his grey hairs. Never was imperial
highness more disturbed, never was clamour for loaves and fishes more
deafening. The caustic financier--whose mind was just then occupied with
the graver matter of assassination on a considerable scale--looked with
profound contempt at the spectacle thus presented to him. "There has been
the devil's own row," said he, "between these counts about offices, and
also about going out to receive the most serene archduke. I have had such
work with them that by the salvation of my soul I swear if it were to
last a fortnight longer I would go off afoot to Spain, even if I were
sure of dying in jail after I got there. I have reconciled the two counts
(Fuentes and Mansfeld) with each other a hundred times, and another
hundred times they have fallen out again, and behaved themselves with
such vulgarity that I blushed for them. They are both to blame, but at
any rate we have now got the archduke housed, and he will get us out of
this embarrassment."

The archduke came with rather a prejudice against the Spaniards--the
result doubtless of his disappointment in regard to France--and he
manifested at first an extreme haughtiness to those of that nation with
whom he came in contact. A Castilian noble of high rank, having audience
with him on one occasion, replaced his hat after salutation, as he had
been accustomed to do--according to the manner of grandees of
Spain--during the government of Farnese. The hat was rudely struck from
his head by the archduke's chamberlain, and he was himself ignominiously
thrust out of the presence. At another time an interview was granted to
two Spanish gentlemen who had business to transact. They made their
appearance in magnificent national costume, splendidly embroidered in
gold. After a brief hearing they were dismissed, with appointment of
another audience for a few days later. When they again presented
themselves they found the archduke with his court jester standing at his
side, the buffoon being attired in a suit precisely similar to their own,
which in the interval had been prepared by the court tailor.

Such amenities as these did not increase the popularity of Ernest with
the high-spirited Spaniards, nor was it palatable to them that it should
be proposed to supersede the old fighting Portuguese, Verdugo, as
governor and commander-in-chief for the king in Friesland, by Frederic
van den Berg, a renegade Netherlander, unworthy cousin of the Nassaus,
who had never shown either military or administrative genius.

Nor did he succeed in conciliating the Flemings or the Germans by these
measures. In truth he was, almost without his own knowledge, under the
controlling influence of Fuentes, the most unscrupulous and dangerous
Spaniard of them all, while his every proceeding was closely watched not
only by Diego and Stephen Ybarra, but even by Christoval de Moura, one of
Philip's two secretaries of state who at this crisis made a visit to
Brussels.

These men were indignant at the imbecility of the course pursued in the
obedient provinces. They knew that the incapacity of the Government to
relieve the sieges of Gertruydenberg and Groningen had excited the
contempt of Europe, and was producing a most damaging effect an Spanish
authority throughout Christendom. They were especially irritated by the
presence of the arch-intrigues, Mayenne, in Brussels, even after all his
double dealings had been so completely exposed that a blind man could
have read them. Yet there was Mayenne, consorting with the archduke, and
running up a great bill of sixteen thousand florins at the hotel, which
the royal paymaster declined to settle for want of funds, notwithstanding
Ernest's order to that effect, and there was no possibility of inducing
the viceroy to arrest him, much as he had injured and defrauded the king.

How severely Ybarra and Feria denounced Mayenne has been seen; but
remonstrances about this and other grave mistakes of administration were
lost upon Ernest, or made almost impossible by his peculiar temper. "If I
speak of these things to his Highness," said Ybarra, "he will begin to
cry, as he always does."

Ybarra, however, thought it his duty secretly to give the king frequent
information as to the blasted and forlorn condition of the provinces.
"This sick man will die in our arms," he said, "without our wishing to
kill him." He also left no doubt in the royal mind as to the utter
incompetency of the archduke for his office. Although he had much
Christianity, amiability, and good intentions, he was so unused to
business, so slow and so lazy, so easily persuaded by those around him,
as to be always falling into errors. He was the servant of his own
servants, particularly of those least disposed to the king's service and
most attentive to their own interests. He had endeavoured to make himself
beloved by the natives of the country, while the very reverse of this had
been the result.

"As to his agility and the strength of his body," said the Spaniard, as
if he were thinking of certain allegories which were to mark the
archduke's triumphal entry, "they are so deficient as to leave him unfit
for arms. I consider him incapable of accompanying an army to the field,
and we find him so new to all such affairs as constitute government and
the conduct of warlike business, that he could not steer his way without
some one to enlighten and direct him."

It was sometimes complained of in those days--and the thought has even
prolonged itself until later times--that those republicans of the United
Netherlands had done and could do great things; but that, after all,
there was no grandeur about them. Certainly they had done great things.
It was something to fight the Ocean for ages, and patiently and firmly to
shut him out from his own domain. It was something to extinguish the
Spanish Inquisition--a still more cruel and devouring enemy than the sea.
It was something that the fugitive spirit of civil and religious liberty
had found at last its most substantial and steadfast home upon those
storm-washed shoals and shifting sandbanks.

It was something to come to the rescue of England in her great agony, and
help to save her from invasion. It was something to do more than any
nation but England, and as much as she, to assist Henry the Huguenot to
the throne of his ancestors and to preserve the national unity of France
which its own great ones had imperilled. It was something to found two
magnificent universities, cherished abodes of science and of antique
lore, in the midst of civil commotions and of resistance to foreign
oppression. It was something, at the same period, to lay the foundation
of a systew of common schools--so cheap as to be nearly free--for rich
and poor alike, which, in the words of one of the greatest benefactors to
the young republic, "would be worth all the soldiers, arsenals,
armouries, munitions, and alliances in the world." It was something to
make a revolution, as humane as it was effective, in military affairs,
and to create an army whose camps were European academies. It was
something to organize, at the same critical period, on the most skilful
and liberal scale, to carry out with unexampled daring, sagacity, and
fortitude, great voyages of discovery to the polar regions, and to open
new highways for commerce, new treasures for science. Many things of this
nature had been done by the new commonwealth; but, alas! she did not
drape herself melodramatically, nor stalk about with heroic wreath and
cothurn. She was altogether without grandeur.

When Alva had gained his signal victories, and followed them up by those
prodigious massacres which, but for his own and other irrefragable
testimony, would seem too monstrous for belief, he had erected a colossal
statue to himself, attired in the most classical of costumes, and
surrounded with the most mythological of attributes. Here was grandeur.
But William the Silent, after he had saved the republic, for which he had
laboured during his whole lifetime and was destined to pour out his
heart's blood, went about among the brewers and burghers with unbuttoned
doublet and woollen bargeman's waistcoat. It was justly objected to his
clothes, by the euphuistic Fulke Greville, that a meanborn student of the
Inns of Court would have been ashamed to walk about London streets in
them.

And now the engineering son of that shabbily-dressed personage had been
giving the whole world lessons in the science of war, and was fairly
perfecting the work which William and his great contemporaries had so
well begun. But if all this had been merely doing great things without
greatness, there was one man in the Netherlands who knew what grandeur
was. He was not a citizen of the disobedient republic, however, but a
loyal subject of the obedient provinces, and his name was John Baptist
Houwaerts, an eminent schoolmaster of Brussels. He was still more eminent
as a votary of what was called "Rhetoric" and as an arranger of triumphal
processions and living pictures.

The arrival of Archduke Ernest at the seat of the provincial Government
offered an opportunity, which had long been wanting, for a display of
John Baptist's genius. The new viceroy was in so shattered a condition of
health, so crippled with the gout, as to be quite unable to stand, and it
required the services of several lackeys to lift him into and out of his
carriage. A few days of repose therefore were indispensable to him before
he could make his "joyous entrance" into the capital. But the day came at
last, and the exhibition was a masterpiece.

It might have seemed that the abject condition of the Spanish
provinces--desolate, mendicant, despairing--would render holiday making
impossible. But although almost every vestige of the ancient institutions
had vanished from the obedient Netherlands as a reward for their
obedience; although to civil and religious liberty, law, order, and a
thriving commercial and manufacturing existence, such as had been rarely
witnessed in the world, had succeeded the absolute tyranny of Jesuits,
universal beggary, and a perennial military mutiny--setting Government at
defiance and plundering the people--there was one faithful never deserted
Belgica, and that was Rhetoric.

Neither the magnificence nor the pedantry of the spectacles by which the
entry of the mild and inefficient Ernest into Brussels and Antwerp was
now solemnized had ever been surpassed. The town councils, stimulated by
hopes absolutely without foundation as to great results to follow the
advent of the emperor's brother, had voted large sums and consumed many
days in anxious deliberation upon the manner in which they should be
expended so as most to redound to the honour of Ernest and the reputation
of the country.

In place of the "bloody tragedies of burning, murdering, and ravishing,"
of which the provinces had so long been the theatre, it was resolved
that, "Rhetoric's sweet comedies, amorous jests, and farces," should
gladden all eyes and hearts. A stately procession of knights and burghers
in historical and mythological costumes, followed by ships, dromedaries,
elephants, whales, giants, dragons, and other wonders of the sea and
shore, escorted the archduke into the city. Every street and square was
filled with triumphal arches, statues and platforms, on which the most
ingenious and thoroughly classical living pictures were exhibited. There
was hardly an eminent deity of Olympus, or hero of ancient history, that
was not revived and made visible to mortal eyes in the person of Ernestus
of Austria.

On a framework fifty-five feet high and thirty-three feet in breadth he
was represented as Apollo hurling his darts at an enormous Python, under
one of whose fore-paws struggled an unfortunate burgher, while the other
clutched a whole city; Tellus, meantime, with her tower on her head,
kneeling anxious and imploring at the feet of her deliverer. On another
stage Ernest assumed the shape of Perseus; Belgica that of the bound and
despairing Andromeda. On a third, the interior of Etna was revealed, when
Vulcan was seen urging his Cyclops to forge for Ernest their most
tremendous thunderbolts with which to smite the foes of the provinces,
those enemies being of course the English and the Hollanders. Venus, the
while, timidly presented an arrow to her husband, which he was requested
to sharpen, in order that when the wars were over Cupid, therewith might
pierce the heart of some beautiful virgin, whose charms should reward
Ernest--fortunately for the female world, still a bachelor--for his
victories and his toils.

The walls of every house were hung with classic emblems and inscribed
with Latin verses. All the pedagogues of Brussels and Antwerp had been at
work for months, determined to amaze the world with their dithyrambics
and acrostics, and they had outdone themselves.

Moreover, in addition to all these theatrical spectacles and pompous
processions--accompanied as they were by blazing tar-barrels, flying
dragons, and leagues of flaring torches--John Baptist, who had been
director-in-chief of all the shows successively arranged to welcome Don
John of Austria, Archduke Matthias, Francis of Alengon, and even William
of Orange, into the capital, had prepared a feast of a specially
intellectual character for the new governor-general.

The pedant, according to his own account, so soon as the approach of
Ernest had been announced, fell straightway into a trance. While he was
in that condition, a beautiful female apparition floated before his eyes,
and, on being questioned, announced her name to be Moralization. John
Baptist begged her to inform him whether it were true, as had been
stated, that Jupiter had just sent Mercury to the Netherlands. The
phantom, correcting his mistake, observed that the king of gods and men
had not sent Hermes but the Archduke Ernestus, beloved of the three
Graces, favourite of the nine Muses, and, in addition to these
advantages, nephew and brother-in-law of the King of Spain, to the relief
of the suffering provinces. The Netherlands, it was true, for their
religious infidelity, had justly incurred great disasters and misery; but
benignant Jove, who, to the imagination of this excited Fleming, seemed
to have been converted to Catholicism while still governing the universe,
had now sent them in mercy a deliverer. The archduke would speedily
relieve "bleeding Belgica" from her sufferings, bind up her wounds, and
annihilate her enemies. The spirit further informed the poet that the
forests of the Low Countries--so long infested by brigands, wood-beggars,
and malefactors of all kinds--would thenceforth swarm with "nymphs,
rabbits, hares, and animals of that nature."

A vision of the conquering Ernest, attended by "eight-and-twenty noble
and pleasant females, marching two and two, half naked, each holding a
torch in one hand and a laurel-wreath in the other," now swept before the
dreamer's eyes. He naturally requested the "discreet spirit" to mention
the names of this bevy of imperfectly attired ladies thronging so
lovingly around the fortunate archduke, and was told that "they were the
eight-and-twenty virtues which chiefly characterized his serene
Highness." Prominent in this long list, and they were all faithfully
enumerated, were "Philosophy, Audacity, Acrimony, Virility, Equity, Piety,
Velocity, and Alacrity." The two last-mentioned qualities could hardly be
attributed to the archduke in his decrepit condition, except in an
intensely mythological sense. Certainly, they would have been highly
useful virtues to him at that moment. The prince who had just taken
Gertruydenberg, and was then besieging Groningen, was manifesting his
share of audacity, velocity, and other good gifts on even a wider
platform than that erected for Ernest by John Baptist Houwaerts; and
there was an admirable opportunity for both to develope their respective
characteristics for the world's judgment.

Meantime the impersonation of the gentle and very gouty invalid as
Apollo, as Perseus, as the feather-heeled Mercury, was highly applauded
by the burghers of Brussels.

And so the dreamer dreamed on, and the discreet nymph continued to
discourse, until John Baptist, starting suddenly from his trance beheld
that it was all a truth and no vision. Ernest was really about to enter
the Netherlands, and with him the millennium. The pedant therefore
proceeded to his desk, and straightway composed the very worst poem that
had ever been written in any language, even Flemish.

There were thousands of lines in it, and not a line without a god or a
goddess.

Mars, Nemesis, and Ate, Pluto, Rhadamanthus, and Minos, the Fates and the
Furies, together with Charon, Calumnia, Bellona, and all such
objectionable divinities, were requested to disappear for ever from the
Low Countries; while in their stead were confidently invoked Jupiter,
Apollo, Triptolemus, and last, though not least, Rhetorica.

Enough has been said of this raree-show to weary the reader's patience,
but not more than enough to show the docile and enervated nature of this
portion of a people who had lost everything for which men cherish their
fatherland, but who could still find relief--after thirty years of
horrible civil war in painted pageantry, Latin versification, and the
classical dictionary.

Yet there was nothing much more important achieved by the archduke in the
brief period for which his administration was destined to endure. Three
phenomena chiefly marked his reign, but his own part in the three was
rather a passive than an active one--mutiny, assassination, and
negotiation--the two last attempted on a considerable scale but ending
abortively.

It is impossible to exaggerate the misery of the obedient provinces at
this epoch. The insane attempt of the King of Spain, with such utterly
inadequate machinery, to conquer the world has been sufficiently dilated
upon. The Spanish and Italian and Walloon soldiers were starving in
Brabant and Flanders in order that Spanish gold might be poured into the
bottomless pit of the Holy League in France.

The mutiny that had broken forth the preceding year in Artois and Hamault
was now continued on a vast scale in Brabant. Never had that national
institution--a Spanish mutiny--been more thoroughly organized, more
completely carried out in all its details. All that was left of the
famous Spanish discipline and military science in this their period of
rapid decay, seemed monopolized by the mutineers. Some two thousand
choice troops (horse and foot), Italians and Spanish, took possession of
two considerable cities, Sichem and Arschot, and ultimately concentrated
themselves at Sichem, which they thoroughly fortified. Having chosen
their Eletto and other officers they proceeded regularly to business. To
the rallying point came disaffected troops of all nations from far and
near. Never since the beginning of the great war had there been so
extensive a military rebellion, nor one in which so many veteran
officers, colonels, captains, and subalterns took part. The army of
Philip had at last grown more dangerous to himself than to the
Hollanders.

The council at Brussels deliberated anxiously upon the course to be
pursued, and it was decided at last to negotiate with instead of
attacking them. But it was soon found that the mutineers were as hard to
deal with as were the republicans on the other side the border. They
refused to hear of anything short of complete payment of the enormous
arrears due to them, with thorough guarantees and hostages that any
agreement made between themselves and the archduke should be punctually
carried out. Meanwhile they ravaged the country far and near, and levied
their contributions on towns and villages, up to the very walls of
Brussels, and before the very eyes of the viceroy.

Moreover they entered into negotiation with Prince Maurice of Nassau, not
offering to enlist under his flag, but asking for protection against the
king in exchange for a pledge meanwhile not to serve his cause. At last
the archduke plucked up a heart and sent some troops against the rebels,
who had constructed two forts on the river Demer near the city of Sichem.
In vain Velasco, commander of the expedition, endeavoured to cut off the
supplies for these redoubts. The vigour and audacity of the rebel cavalry
made the process impossible. Velasco then attempted to storm the lesser
stronghold of the two, but was repulsed with the loss of two hundred
killed. Among these were many officers, one of whom, Captain Porto
Carrero, was a near relative of Fuentes. After a siege, Velasco, who was
a marshal of the camp of considerable distinction, succeeded in driving
the mutineers out of the forts; who, finding their position thus
weakened, renewed their negotiations with Maurice. They at last obtained
permission from the prince to remain under the protection of
Gertruydenberg and Breda until they could ascertain what decision the
archduke would take. More they did not ask of Maurice, nor did he require
more of them.

The mutiny, thus described in a few lines, had occupied nearly a year,
and had done much to paralyze for that period all the royal operations in
the Netherlands. In December the rebellious troops marched out of Sichem
in perfect order, and came to Langstraet within the territory of the
republic.

The archduke now finding himself fairly obliged to treat with them sent
an offer of the same terms which had been proposed to mutineers on
previous occasions. At first they flatly refused to negotiate at all, but
at last, with the permission of Maurice, who conducted himself throughout
with scrupulous delicacy, and made no attempts to induce them to violate
their allegiance to the king, they received Count Belgioso, the envoy of
the archduke. They held out for payment of all their arrears up to the
last farthing, and insisted on a hostage of rank until the debt should be
discharged. Full forgiveness of their rebellious proceedings was added as
a matter of course. Their terms were accepted, and Francisco Padiglia was
assigned as a hostage. They then established themselves, according to
agreement, at Tirlemont, which they were allowed to fortify at the
expense of the province and to hold until the money for their back wages
could be scraped together. Meantime they received daily wages and rations
from the Government at Brussels, including thirty stivers a day for each
horseman, thirteen crowns a day for the Eletto, and ten crowns a day for
each counsellor, making in all five hundred crowns a day. And here they
remained, living exceedingly at their ease and enjoying a life of leisure
for eighteen months, and until long after the death of the archduke, for
it was not until the administration of Cardinal Albert that the funds,
amounting to three hundred and sixty thousand crowns, could be collected.

These were the chief military exploits of the podagric Perseus in behalf
of the Flemish Andromeda.

A very daring adventure was however proposed to the archduke. Philip
calmly suggested that an expedition should be rapidly fitted out in
Dunkirk, which should cross the channel, ascend the Thames as far as
Rochester, and burn the English fleet. "I am informed by persons well
acquainted with the English coast," said the king, "that it would be an
easy matter for a few quick-sailing vessels to accomplish this. Two or
three thousand soldiers might be landed at Rochester who might burn or
sink all the unarmed vessels they could find there, and the expedition
could return and sail off again before the people of the country could
collect in sufficient numbers to do them any damage." The archduke was
instructed to consult with Fuentes and Ybarra as to whether this little
matter, thus parenthetically indicated, could be accomplished without too
much risk and trouble.

Certainly it would seem as if the king believed in the audacity,
virility, velocity, alacrity, and the rest of the twenty-eight virtues of
his governor-general, even more seriously than did John Baptist
Houwaerts. The unfortunate archduke would have needed to be, in all
earnestness, a mythological demigod to do the work required of him. With
the best part of his army formally maintained by him in recognised
mutiny, with the great cities of the Netherlands yielding themselves to
the republic with hardly an attempt on the part of the royal forces to
relieve them, and with the country which he was supposed to govern, the
very centre of the obedient provinces, ruined, sacked, eaten up by the
soldiers of Spain; villages, farmhouses, gentlemen's castles, churches
plundered; the male population exposed to daily butchery, and the women
to outrages worse than death; it seemed like the bitterest irony to
propose that he should seize that moment to outwit the English and Dutch
sea-kings who were perpetually cruising in the channel, and to undertake
a "beard-singeing" expedition such as even the dare-devil Drake would
hardly have attempted.

Such madcap experiments might perhaps one day, in the distant future, be
tried with reasonable success, but hardly at the beck of a Spanish king
sitting in his easy chair a thousand miles off, nor indeed by the
servants of any king whatever.

The plots of murder arranged in Brussels during this administration were
on a far more extensive scale than were the military plans.

The Count of Fuentes, general superintendant of foreign affairs, was
especially charged with the department of assassination. This office was
no sinecure; for it involved much correspondence, and required great
personal attention to minute details. Philip, a consummate artist in this
branch of industry, had laid out a good deal of such work which he
thought could best be carried out in and from the Netherlands. Especially
it was desirable to take off, by poison or otherwise, Henry IV., Queen
Elizabeth, Maurice of Nassau, Olden-Barneveld, St. Aldegonde, and other
less conspicuous personages.

Henry's physician-in-chief, De la Riviere, was at that time mainly
occupied with devising antidotes to poison, which he well knew was
offered to his master on frequent occasions, and in the most insidious
ways. Andrada, the famous Portuguese poisoner, amongst others is said,
under direction of Fuentes and Ybarra, to have attempted his life by a
nosegay of roses impregnated with so subtle a powder that its smell alone
was relied upon to cause death, and De la Riviere was doing his best to
search for a famous Saxon drug, called fable-powder, as a counter-poison.
"The Turk alarms us, and well he may," said a diplomatic agent of Henry,
"but the Spaniard allows us not to think of the Turk. And what a strange
manner is this to exercise one's enmities and vengeance by having
recourse to such damnable artifices, after force and arms have not
succeeded, and to attack the person of princes by poisonings and
assassinations."

A most elaborate attempt upon the life of Queen Elizabeth early in this
year came near being successful. A certain Portuguese Jew, Dr. Lopez, had
for some time been her physician-in-ordinary. He had first been received
into her service on the recommendation of Don Antonio, the pretender, and
had the reputation of great learning and skill. With this man Count
Fuentes and Stephen Ybarra, chief of the financial department at
Brussels, had a secret understanding. Their chief agent was Emanuel
Andrada, who was also in close communication with Bernardino de Mendoza
and other leading personages of the Spanish court. Two years previously,
Philip, by the hands of Andrada, had sent a very valuable ring of rubies
and diamonds as a present to Lopez, and the doctor had bound himself to
do any service for the king of Spain that might be required of him.
Andrada accordingly wrote to Mendoza that he had gained over this eminent
physician, but that as Lopez was poor and laden with debt, a high price
would be required for his work. Hereupon Fuentes received orders from the
King of Spain to give the Jew all that he could in reason demand, if he
would undertake to poison the queen.

It now became necessary to handle the matter with great delicacy, and
Fuentes and Ybarra entered accordingly into a correspondence, not with
Lopez, but with a certain Ferrara de Gama. These letters were entrusted
to one Emanuel Lewis de Tinoco, secretly informed of the plot, for
delivery to Ferrara. Fuentes charged Tinoco to cause Ferrara to encourage
Lopez to poison her Majesty of England, that they might all have "a merry
Easter." Lopez was likewise requested to inform the King of Spain when he
thought he could accomplish the task. The doctor ultimately agreed to do
the deed for fifty thousand crowns, but as he had daughters and was an
affectionate parent, he stipulated for a handsome provision in marriage
for those young ladies. The terms were accepted, but Lopez wished to be
assured of the money first.

"Having once undertaken the work," said Lord Burghley, if he it were, "he
was so greedy to perform it that he would ask Ferrara every day, 'When
will the money come? I am ready to do the service if the answer were come
out of Spain.'"

But Philip, as has been often seen, was on principle averse to paying for
work before it had been done. Some delay occurring, and the secret, thus
confided to so many, having floated as it were imperceptibly into the
air, Tinoco was arrested on suspicion before he had been able to deliver
the letters of Fuentes and Ybarra to Ferrara, for Ferrara, too, had been
imprisoned before the arrival of Tinoco. The whole correspondence was
discovered, and both Ferrara and Tinoco confessed the plot. Lopez, when
first arrested, denied his guilt very stoutly, but being confronted with
Ferrara, who told the whole story to his face in presence of the judges,
he at last avowed the crime.

They were all condemned, executed, and quartered at London in the spring
of 1594. The queen wished to send a special envoy to the archduke at
Brussels, to complain that Secretary of State Cristoval de Moura, Count
Fuentes, and Finance Minister Ybarra--all three then immediately about
his person--were thus implicated in the plot against her life, to demand
their punishment, or else, in case of refusals to convict the king and
the archduke as accomplices in the crime. Safe conduct was requested for
such an envoy, which was refused by Ernest as an insulting proposition
both to his uncle and himself. The queen accordingly sent word to
President Richardot by one of her council, that the whole story would be
published, and this was accordingly done.

Early in the spring of this same year, a certain Renichon, priest and
schoolmaster of Namur, was summoned from his school to a private
interview with Count Berlaymont. That nobleman very secretly informed the
priest that the King of, Spain wished to make use of him in an affair of
great importance, and one which would be very profitable to himself. The
pair then went together to Brussels, and proceeded straightway to the
palace. They were secretly admitted to the apartments of the archduke,
but the priest, meaning to follow his conductor into the private chamber,
where he pretended to recognize the person of Ernest, was refused
admittance. The door was, however, not entirely closed, and he heard, as
he declared, the conversation between his Highness and Berlaymont, which
was carried on partly in Latin and partly in Spanish. He heard them
discussing the question--so he stated--of the recompense to be awarded
for the business about to be undertaken, and after a brief conversation,
distinctly understood the archduke to say, as the count was approaching
the door, "I will satisfy him abundantly and with interest."

Berlaymont then invited his clerical guest to supper--so ran his
statement--and, after that repast was finished, informed him that he was
requested by the archduke to kill Prince Maurice of Nassau. For this
piece of work he was to receive one hundred Philip-dollars in hand, and
fifteen thousand more, which were lying ready for him, so soon as the
deed should be done.

The schoolmaster at first objected to the enterprise, but ultimately
yielded to the persuasions of the count. He was informed that Maurice was
a friendly, familiar gentleman, and that there would be opportunities
enough for carrying out the project if he took his time. He was to buy a
good pair of pistols and remove to the Hague, where he was to set up a
school, and wait for the arrival of his accomplices, of whom there were
six. Berlaymont then caused to be summoned and introduced to the
pedagogue a man whom he described as one of the six. The new comer,
hearing that Renichon had agreed to the propositions made to him, hailed
him cordially as comrade and promised to follow him very soon into
Holland. Berlaymont then observed that there were several personages to
be made away with, besides Prince Maurice--especially Barneveld, and St.
Aldegonde and that the six assassins had, since the time of the Duke of
Parma, been kept in the pay of the King of Spain as nobles, to be
employed as occasion should serve.

His new comrade accompanied Renichon to the canal boat, conversing by the
way, and informed him that they were both to be sent to Leyden in order
to entice away and murder the young brother of Maurice, Frederic Henry,
then at school at that place, even as Philip William, eldest of all the
brothers, had been kidnapped five-and-twenty years before from the same
town.

Renichon then disguised himself as a soldier, proceeded to Antwerp, where
he called himself Michael de Triviere, and thence made his way to Breda,
provided with letters from Berlaymont. He was, however, arrested on
suspicion not long after his arrival there, and upon trial the whole plot
was discovered. Having unsuccessfully attempted to hang himself, he
subsequently, without torture, made a full and minute confession, and was
executed on the 3rd June, 1594.

Later in the year, one Pierre du Four, who had been a soldier both in the
States and the French service, was engaged by General La Motte and
Counsellor Assonleville to attempt the assassination of Prince Maurice.
La Motte took the man to the palace, and pretended at least to introduce
him to the chamber of the archduke, who was said to be lying ill in bed.
Du Four was advised to enrol himself in the body-guard at the Hague, and
to seek an opportunity when the prince went hunting, or was mounting his
horse, or was coming from church, or at some such unguarded moment, to
take a shot at him. "Will you do what I ask," demanded from the bed the
voice of him who was said to be Ernest, "will you kill this tyrant?"--"I
will," replied the soldier. "Then my son," was the parting benediction of
the supposed archduke, "you will go straight to paradise."

Afterwards he received good advice from Assonleville, and was assured
that if he would come and hear a mass in the royal chapel next morning,
that religious ceremony would make him invisible when he should make his
attempt on the life of Maurice, and while he should be effecting his
escape. The poor wretch accordingly came next morning to chapel, where
this miraculous mass was duly performed, and he then received a certain
portion of his promised reward in ready money. He was also especially
charged, in case he should be arrested, not to make a confession--as had
been done by those previously employed in such work--as all complicity
with him on part of his employers would certainly be denied.

The miserable dupe was arrested, convicted, executed; and of course the
denial was duly made on the part of the archduke, La Motte, and
Assonleville. It was also announced, on behalf of Ernest, that some one
else, fraudulently impersonating his Highness, had lain in the bed to
which the culprit had been taken, and every one must hope that the
statement was a true one.

Enough has been given to show the peculiar school of statesmanship
according to the precepts of which the internal concerns and foreign
affairs of the obedient Netherlands were now administered. Poison and
pistols in the hands of obscure priests and deserters were relied on to
bring about great political triumphs, while the mutinous royal armies,
entrenched and defiant, were extorting capitulations from their own
generals and their own sovereign upon his own soil.

Such a record as this seems rather like the exaggeration of a diseased
fancy, seeking to pander to a corrupt public taste which feeds greedily
upon horrors; but, unfortunately, it is derived from the register of high
courts of justice, from diplomatic correspondence, and from the
confessions, without torture or hope of free pardon, of criminals. For a
crowned king and his high functionaries and generals to devote so much of
their time, their energies, and their money to the murder of brother and
sister sovereigns, and other illustrious personages, was not to make
after ages in love with the monarchic and aristocratic system, at least
as thus administered. Popular governments may be deficient in polish, but
a system resting for its chief support upon bribery and murder cannot be
considered lovely by any healthy mind. And this is one of the lessons to
be derived from the history of Philip II. and of the Holy League.

But besides mutiny and assassination there were also some feeble attempts
at negotiation to characterize the Ernestian epoch at Brussels. The
subject hardly needs more than a passing allusion.

Two Flemish juris-consults, Otto Hertius and Jerome Comans, offered their
services to the archduke in the peacemaking department. Ernest accepted
the proposition,--although it was strongly opposed by Fuentes, who relied
upon the more practical agency of Dr. Lopez, Andrada, Renichon, and the
rest--and the peace-makers accordingly made their appearance at the
Hague, under safe conduct, and provided with very conciliatory letters
from his Highness to the States-General. In all ages and under all
circumstances it is safe to enlarge, with whatever eloquence may be at
command, upon the blessings of peace and upon the horrors of war; for the
appeal is not difficult to make, and a response is certain in almost
every human breast. But it is another matter to descend from the general
to the particular, and to demonstrate how the desirable may be attained
and the horrible averted. The letters of Ernest were full of benignity
and affection, breathing a most ardent desire that the miserable war, now
a quarter of a century old, should be then and there terminated. But not
one atom of concession was offered, no whisper breathed that the
republic, if it should choose to lay down its victorious arms, and
renounce its dearly gained independence, should share any different fate
from that under which it saw the obedient provinces gasping before its
eyes. To renounce religious and political liberty and self-government,
and to submit unconditionally to the authority of Philip II. as
administered by Ernest and Fuentes, was hardly to be expected as the
result of the three years' campaigns of Maurice of Nassau.

The two doctors of law laid the affectionate common-places of the
archduke before the States-General, each of them making, moreover, a long
and flowery oration in which the same protestations of good will and
hopes of future good-fellowship were distended to formidable dimensions
by much windy rhetoric. The accusations which had been made against the
Government of Brussels of complicity in certain projects of assassination
were repelled with virtuous indignation.

The answer of the States-General was wrathful and decided. They informed
the commissioners that they had taken up arms for a good cause and meant
to retain them in their hands. They expressed their thanks for the
expressions of good will which had been offered, but avowed their right
to complain before God and the world of those who under pretext of peace
were attempting to shed the innocent blood of Christians, and to procure
the ruin and destruction of the Netherlands. To this end the
state-council of Spain was more than ever devoted, being guilty of the
most cruel and infamous proceedings and projects. They threw out a rapid
and stinging summary of their wrongs; and denounced with scorn the
various hollow attempts at negotiation during the preceding twenty-five
years. Coming down to the famous years 1587 and 1588, they alluded in
vehement terms to the fraudulent peace propositions which had been thrown
as a veil over the Spanish invasion of England and the Armada; and they
glanced at the mediation-projects of the emperor in 1591 at the desire of
Spain, while armies were moving in force from Germany, Italy, and the
Netherlands to crush the King of France, in order that Philip might
establish his tyranny over all kings, princes, provinces, and republics.
That the Spanish Government was secretly dealing with the emperor and
other German potentates for the extension of his universal empire
appeared from intercepted letters of the king--copies of which were
communicated--from which it was sufficiently plain that the purpose of
his Majesty was not to bestow peace and tranquillity upon the
Netherlands. The names of Fuentes, Clemente, Ybarra, were sufficient in
themselves to destroy any such illusion. They spoke in blunt terms of the
attempt of Dr. Lopez to poison Queen Elizabeth, at the instigation of
Count Fuentes for fifty thousand crowns to be paid by the King of Spain:
they charged upon the same Fuentes and upon Ybarra that they had employed
the same Andrada to murder the King of France with a nosegay of roses;
and they alluded further to the revelations of Michael Renichon, who was
to murder Maurice of Nassau and kidnap Frederic William, even as their
father and brother had been already murdered and kidnapped.

For such reasons the archduke might understand by what persons and what
means the good people of the Netherlands were deceived, and how difficult
it was for the States to forget such lessons, or to imagine anything
honest in the present propositions.

The States declared themselves, on the contrary, more called upon than
ever before to be upon the watch against the stealthy proceedings of the
Spanish council of state--bearing in mind the late execrable attempts at
assassination, and the open war which was still carried on against the
King of France.

And although it was said that his Highness was displeased with such
murderous and hostile proceedings, still it was necessary for the States
to beware of the nefarious projects of the King of Spain and his council.

After the conversion of Henry IV. to the Roman Church had been duly
accomplished that monarch had sent a secret envoy to Spain. The mission
of this agent--De Varenne by name--excited intense anxiety and suspicion
in England and Holland and among the Protestants of France and Germany.
It was believed that Henry had not only made a proposition of a separate
peace with Philip, but that he had formally but mysteriously demanded the
hand of the Infanta in marriage. Such a catastrophe as this seemed to the
heated imaginations of the great body of Calvinists throughout Europe,
who had so faithfully supported the King of Navarre up to the moment of
his great apostasy, the most cruel and deadly treachery of all. That the
princess with the many suitors should come to reign over France after
all--not as the bride of her own father, not as the queen-consort of
Ernest the Habsburger or of Guise the Lorrainer, but as the lawful wife
of Henry the Huguenot--seemed almost too astounding for belief, even amid
the chances and changes of that astonishing epoch. Yet Duplessis Mornay
avowed that the project was entertained, and that he had it from the very
lips of the secret envoy who was to negotiate the marriage. "La Varenne
is on his way to Spain," wrote Duplessis to the Duke of Bouillon, "in
company with a gentleman of Don Bernardino de Mendoza, who brought the
first overtures. He is to bring back the portrait of the Infanta. 'Tis
said that the marriage is to be on condition that the Queen and the
Netherlands are comprised in the peace, but you know that this cannot be
satisfactorily arranged for those two parties. All this was once
guess-work, but is now history."

That eminent diplomatist and soldier Mendoza had already on his return
from France given the King of Spain to understand that there were no
hopes of his obtaining the French crown either for himself or for his
daughter, that all the money lavished on the chiefs of the League was
thrown away, and that all their promises were idle wind. Mendoza in
consequence had fallen into contempt at court, but Philip, observing
apparently that there might have been something correct in his
statements, had recently recalled him, and, notwithstanding his blindness
and other infirmities, was disposed to make use of him in secret
negotiations. Mendoza had accordingly sent a confidential agent to Henry
IV. offering his good offices, now that the king had returned to the
bosom of the Church.

This individual, whose name was Nunez, was admitted by De Bethune
(afterwards the famous Due de Sully) to the presence of the king, but De
Bethune, believing it probable that the Spaniard had been sent to
assassinate Henry, held both the hands of the emissary during the whole
interview, besides subjecting him to a strict personal visitation
beforehand. Nunez stated that he was authorized to propose to his Majesty
a marriage with the Infanta Clara Isabella, and Henry, much to the
discontent of De Bethune, listened eagerly to the suggestion, and
promised to send a secret agent to Spain to confer on the subject with
Mendoza.

The choice he made of La Varenne, whose real name was Guillaume Fouquet,
for this mission was still more offensive to De Bethune. Fouquet had
originally been a cook in the service of Madame Catherine, and was famous
for his talent for larding poultry, but he had subsequently entered the
household of Henry, where he had been employed in the most degrading
service which one man can render to another.

   ["La Varenne," said Madame Catherine on one occasion "tu as plus
   gagne ti porter les poulets de men frere, qu'a piquer les miens."
   Memoires de Sully, Liv. vi. p. 296, note 6. He accumulated a large
   fortune in these dignified pursuits--having, according to Winwood,
   landed estates to the annual amount of sixty thousand francs a-year
   --and gave large dowries to his daughters, whom he married into
   noblest families; "which is the more remarkable," adds Winwood,
   "considering the services wherein he is employed about the king,
   which is to be the Mezzano for his loves; the place from whence he
   came, which is out of the kitchen of Madame the king's sister."--
   Memorials, i. 380.]

On his appointment to this office of secret diplomacy he assumed all the
airs of an ambassador, while Henry took great pains to contradict the
reports which were spread as to the true nature of this mission to Spain.

Duplessis was, in truth, not very far wrong in his conjectures, but, as
might be supposed, Henry was most anxious to conceal these secret
negotiations with his Catholic Majesty from the Huguenot chiefs whom he
had so recently deserted. "This is all done without the knowledge of the
Duke of Bouillon," said Calvaert, "or at least under a very close
disguise, as he, himself keenly feels and confesses to me." The envoy of
the republic, as well as the leaders of the Protestant party in France,
were resolved if possible to break off these dark and dangerous
intrigues, the nature of which they so shrewdly suspected, and to
substitute for them an open rupture of Henry with the King of Spain, and
a formal declaration of war against him. None of the diplomatists or
political personages engaged in these great affairs, in which the whole
world was so deeply interested, manifested more sagacity and insight on
this occasion than did the Dutch statesmen. We have seen that even Sir
Edward Stafford was deceived up to a very late moment, as to the rumoured
intentions of Henry to enter the Catholic Church. Envoy Edmonds was now
equally and completely in the dark as to the mission of Varenne, and
informed his Government that the only result of it was that the secret
agent to Spain was favoured, through the kindness of Mendoza, with a
distant view of Philip II. with his son and daughter at their devotions
in the chapel of the Escorial. This was the tale generally recounted and
believed after the agent's return from Spain, so that Varenne was
somewhat laughed at as having gone to Spain on a fool's errand, and as
having got nothing from Mendoza but a disavowal of his former
propositions. But the shrewd Calvaert, who had entertained familiar
relations with La Varenne, received from that personage after his return
a very different account of his excursion to the Escorial from the one
generally circulated. "Coming from Monceaus to Paris in his company,"
wrote Calvaert in a secret despatch to the States, "I had the whole story
from him. The chief part of his negotiations with Don Bernardino de
Mendoza was that if his Majesty (the French king) would abandon the Queen
of England and your Highnesses (the States of the Netherlands), there
were no conditions that would be refused the king, including the hand of
the Infanta, together with a good recompense for the kingdom of Navarre.
La Varenne maintained that the King of Spain had caused these
negotiations to be entered upon at this time with him in the certain hope
and intention of a definite conclusion, alleging to me many pertinent
reasons, and among others that he, having been lodged at Madrid, through
the adroitness of Don Bernardino, among all the agents of the League, and
hearing all their secrets and negotiations, had never been discovered,
but had always been supposed to be one of the League himself. He said
also that he was well assured that the Infanta in her heart had an
affection for the French king, and notwithstanding any resolutions that
might be taken (to which I referred, meaning the projects for bestowing
her on the house of Austria) that she with her father's consent or in
case of his death would not fail to carry out this marriage. You may from
all this, even out of the proposal for compensation for the kingdom of
Navarre (of which his Majesty also let out something to me
inadvertently); collect the reasons why such feeble progress is made in
so great an occasion as now presents itself for a declaration of war and
an open alliance with your Highnesses. I shall not fail to watch these
events, even in case of the progress of the said resolutions,
notwithstanding the effects of which it is my opinion that this secret
intrigue is not to be abandoned. To this end, besides the good
intelligence which one gets by means of good friends, a continual and
agreeable presentation of oneself to his Majesty, in order to see and
hear everything, is necessary."

Certainly, here were reasons more than sufficient why Henry should be
making but feeble preparations for open war in alliance with England and
the republic against Philip, as such a step was hardly compatible with
the abandonment of England and the republic and the espousal of Philip's
daughter--projects which Henry's commissioner had just been discussing
with Philip's agent at Madrid and the Escorial.

Truly it was well for the republican envoy to watch events as closely as
possible, to make the most of intelligence from his good friends, and to
present himself as frequently and as agreeably as possible to his
Majesty, that he might hear and see everything. There was much to see and
to hear, and it needed adroitness and courage, not to slip or stumble in
such dark ways where the very ground seemed often to be sliding from
beneath the feet.

To avoid the catastrophe of an alliance between Henry, Philip, and the
Pope against Holland and England, it was a pressing necessity for Holland
and England to force Henry into open war against Philip. To this end the
Dutch statesmen were bending all their energies. Meantime Elizabeth
regarded the campaign in Artois and Hainault with little favour.

As he took leave on departing for France, La Varenne had requested
Mendoza to write to King Henry, but the Spaniard excused
himself--although professing the warmest friendship for his Majesty--on
the ground of the impossibility of addressing him correctly. "If I call
him here King of Navarre, I might as well put my head on the block at
once," he observed; "if I call him King of France, my master has not yet
recognized him as such; if I call him anything else, he will himself be
offended."

And the vision of Philip in black on his knees, with his children about
him, and a rapier at his side, passed with the contemporary world as the
only phenomenon of this famous secret mission.

But Henry, besides this demonstration towards Spain, lost no time in
despatching a special minister to the republic and to England, who was
instructed to make the most profuse, elaborate, and conciliatory
explanations as to his recent conversion and as to his future intentions.
Never would he make peace, he said, with Spain without the full consent
of the States and of England; the dearest object of his heart in making
his peace with Rome having been to restore peace to his own distracted
realm, to bring all Christians into one brotherhood, and to make a united
attack upon the grand Turk--a vision which the cheerful monarch hardly
intended should ever go beyond the ivory gate of dreams, but which
furnished substance enough for several well-rounded periods in the
orations of De Morlans.

That diplomatist, after making the strongest representations to Queen
Elizabeth as to the faithful friendship of his master, and the necessity
he was under of pecuniary and military assistance, had received generous
promises of aid both in men and money--three thousand men besides the
troops actually serving in Brittany--from that sagacious sovereign,
notwithstanding the vehement language in which she had rebuked her royal
brother's apostasy.  He now came for the same purpose to the Hague, where
he made very eloquent harangues to the States-General, acknowledging that
the republic had ever been the most upright, perfect, and undisguised
friend to his master and to France in their darkest days and deepest
affliction; that she had loved the king and kingdom for themselves, not
merely hanging on to their prosperity, but, on the contrary, doing her
best to produce that prosperity by her contributions in soldiers, ships,
and subsidies. "The king," said De Morlans, "is deeply grieved that he
can prove his gratitude only in words for so many benefits conferred,
which are absolutely without example, but he has commissioned me to
declare that if God should ever give him the occasion, he will prove how
highly he places your friendship."

The envoy assured the States that all fears entertained by those of the
reformed religion on account of the conversion of his Majesty were
groundless. Nothing was farther from the king's thoughts than to injure
those noble spirits with whom his soul had lived so long, and whom he so
much loved and honoured. No man knew better than the king did, the
character of those who professed the Religion, their virtue, valour,
resolution, and patience in adversity. Their numbers had increased in
war, their virtues had been purified by affliction, they had never
changed their position, whether battles had been won or lost. Should ever
an attempt be made to take up arms against them within his realms, and
should there be but five hundred of them against ten thousand, the king,
remembering their faithful and ancient services, would leave the greater
number in order to die at the head of his old friends. He was determined
that they should participate in all the honours of the kingdom, and with
regard to a peace with Spain, he would have as much care for the
interests of the United Provinces as for his own. But a peace was
impossible with that monarch, whose object was to maintain his own realms
in peace while he kept France in perpetual revolt against the king whom
God had given her. The King of Spain had trembled at Henry's cradle, at
his youth, at the bloom of his manhood, and knew that he had inflicted
too much injury upon him ever to be on friendly terms with him. The envoy
was instructed to say that his master never expected to be in amity with
one who had ruined his house confiscated his property, and caused so much
misery to France; and he earnestly hoped--without presuming to
dictate--that the States-General would in this critical emergency
manifest their generosity. If the king were not assisted now, both king
and kingdom would perish. If he were assisted, the succour would bear
double fruit.

The sentiments expressed on the part of Henry towards his faithful
subjects of the Religion, the heretic Queen of England, and the stout
Dutch Calvinists who had so long stood by him, were most noble. It was
pity that, at the same moment, he was proposing to espouse the Infanta,
and to publish the Council of Trent.

The reply of the States-General to these propositions of the French envoy
was favourable, and it was agreed that a force of three thousand foot and
five hundred horse should be sent to the assistance of the king.
Moreover, the state-paper drawn up on this occasion was conceived with so
much sagacity and expressed with so much eloquence, as particularly to
charm the English queen when it was communicated to her Majesty. She
protested very loudly and vehemently to Noel de Caron, envoy from the
provinces at London, that this response on the part of his Government to
De Morlans was one of the wisest documents that she had ever seen. "In
all their actions," said she, "the States-General show their sagacity,
and indeed, it is the wisest Government ever known among republics. I
would show you," she added to the gentlemen around her, "the whole of the
paper if it were this moment at hand."

After some delays, it was agreed between the French Government and that
of the United Provinces, that the king should divide his army into three
parts, and renew the military operations against Spain with the
expiration of the truce at the end of the year (1593).

One body, composed of the English contingent, together with three
thousand French horse, three thousand Swiss, and four thousand French
harquebus-men, were to be under his own immediate command, and were to
act against the enemy wherever it should appear to his Majesty most
advantageous. A second, army was to expel the rebels and their foreign
allies from Normandy and reduce Rouen to obedience. A third was to make a
campaign in the provinces of Artois and Hainault, under the Duke of
Bouillon (more commonly called the Viscount Turenne), in conjunction with
the forces to be supplied by the republic. "Any treaty of peace on our
part with the King of Spain," said the States-General, "is our certain
ruin. This is an axiom. That monarch's object is to incorporate into his
own realms not only all the states and possessions of neighbouring kings,
principalities, and powers, but also all Christendom, aye, the whole
world, were it possible. We joyfully concur then in your Majesty's
resolution to carry on the war in Artois and Hainault, and agree to your
suggestion of diversions on our part by sieges and succour by
contingents."

Balagny, meantime, who had so long led an independent existence at
Cambray, now agreed to recognise Henry's authority, in consideration of
sixty-seven thousand crowns yearly pension and the dignity of Marshal of
France.

Towards the end of the year 1594, Buzanval, the regular French envoy at
the Hague, began to insist more warmly than seemed becoming that the
campaign in Artois and Hainault--so often the base of military operations
on the part of Spain against France--should begin. Further achievements
on the part of Maurice after the fall of Groningen were therefore
renounced for that year, and his troops went into garrison and
winter-quarters. The States-General, who had also been sending supplies,
troops, and ships to Brittany to assist the king, now, after soundly
rebuking Buzanval for his intemperate language, entrusted their
contingent for the proposed frontier campaign to Count Philip Nassau, who
accordingly took the field toward the end of the year at the head of
twenty-eight companies of foot and five squadrons of cavalry. He made his
junction with Turenne-Bouillon, but the duke, although provided with a
tremendous proclamation, was but indifferently supplied with troops. The
German levies, long-expected, were slow in moving, and on the whole it
seemed that the operations might have been continued by Maurice with more
effect, according to his original plan, than in this rather desultory
fashion. The late winter campaign on the border was feeble and a failure.

The bonds of alliance, however, were becoming very close between Henry
and the republic. Despite the change in religion on the part of the king,
and the pangs which it had occasioned in the hearts of leading
Netherlanders, there was still the traditional attraction between France
and the States, which had been so remarkably manifested during the
administration of William the Silent. The republic was more restive than
ever under the imperious and exacting friendship of Elizabeth, and,
feeling more and more its own strength, was making itself more and more
liable to the charge of ingratitude; so constantly hurled in its face by
the queen. And Henry, now that he felt himself really king of France, was
not slow to manifest a similar ingratitude or an equal love of
independence. Both monarch and republic, chafing under the protection of
Elizabeth, were drawn into so close a union as to excite her anger and
jealousy--sentiments which in succeeding years were to become yet more
apparent. And now; while Henry still retained the chivalrous and flowery
phraseology, so sweet to her ears, in his personal communications to the
queen, his ministers were in the habit of using much plainer language.
"Mr. de Sancy said to me," wrote the Netherland minister in France,
Calvaert, "that his Majesty and your Highnesses (the States-General) must
without long delay conclude an alliance offensive and defensive. In
regard to England, which perhaps might look askance at this matter, he
told me it would be invited also by his Majesty into the same alliance;
but if, according to custom, it shilly-shallied, and without coming to
deeds or to succour should put him off with words, he should in that case
proceed with our alliance without England, not doubting that many other
potentates in Italy and Germany would join in it likewise. He said too,
that he, the day before the departure of the English ambassador, had said
these words to him in the presence of his Majesty; namely, that England
had entertained his Majesty sixteen months long with far-fetched and
often-repeated questions and discontents, that one had submitted to this
sort of thing so long as his Majesty was only king of Mantes, Dieppe, and
Louviers, but that his Majesty being now king of Paris would be no longer
a servant of those who should advise him to suffer it any longer or
accept it as good payment; that England must treat his Majesty according
to his quality, and with deeds, not words. He added that the ambassador
had very anxiously made answer to these words, and had promised that when
he got back to England he would so arrange that his Majesty should be
fully satisfied, insisting to the last on the alliance then proposed."

In Germany, meanwhile, there was much protocolling, and more hard
drinking, at the Diet of Ratisbon. The Protestant princes did little for
their cause against the new designs of Spain and the moribund League,
while the Catholics did less to assist Philip. In truth, the holy Roman
Empire, threatened with a Turkish invasion, had neither power nor
inclination to help the new universal empire of the west into existence.
So the princes and grandees of Germany, while Amurath was knocking at the
imperial gates, busied themselves with banquetting and other diplomatic
work, but sent few reiters either to the east or west.

Philip's envoys were indignant at the apathy displayed towards the great
Catholic cause, and felt humbled at the imbecility exhibited by Spain in
its efforts against the Netherlands and France. San Clemente, who was
attending the Diet at Ratisbon, was shocked at the scenes he witnessed.
"In less than three months," said that temperate Spaniard, "they have
drunk more than five million florins' worth of wine, at a time when the
Turk has invaded the frontiers of Germany; and among those who have done
the most of this consumption of wine, there is not one who is going to
give any assistance on the frontier. In consequence of these disorders my
purse is drained so low, that unless the king helps me I am ruined. You
must tell our master that the reputation of his grandeur and strength has
never been so low as it is now in Germany. The events in France and those
which followed in the Netherlands have thrown such impediments in the
negotiations here, that not only our enemies make sport of Marquis Havre
and myself, but even our friends--who are very few--dare not go to public
feasts, weddings, and dinners, because they are obliged to apologize for
us."

Truly the world-empire was beginning to crumble. "The emperor has been
desiring twenty times," continued the envoy, "to get back to Prague from
the Diet, but the people hold him fast like a steer. As I think over all
that passes, I lose all judgment, for I have no money, nor influence, nor
reputation. Meantime, I see this rump of an empire keeping itself with
difficulty upon its legs. 'Tis full of wrangling and discord about
religion, and yet there is the Turk with two hundred thousand men
besieging a place forty miles from Vienna, which is the last outpost. God
grant it may last!"

Such was the aspect of the Christian world at the close of the year 1594

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Beneficent and charitable purposes (War)
     Chronicle of events must not be anticipated
     Eat their own children than to forego one high mass
     Humanizing effect of science upon the barbarism of war
     Slain four hundred and ten men with his own hand



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 67, 1595



CHAPTER XXXI.

   Formal declaration of war against Spain--Marriage festivities--Death
   of Archduke Ernest--His year of government--Fuentes declared
   governor-general--Disaffection of the Duke of Arschot and Count
   Arenberg--Death of the Duke of Arschot----Fuentes besieges Le
   Catelet--The fortress of Ham, sold to the Spanish by De Gomeron,
   besieged and taken by the Duke of Bouillon--Execution of De
   Gomeron--Death of Colonel Verdugo--Siege of Dourlens by Fuentes--
   Death of La Motte--Death of Charles Mansfeld--Total defeat of the
   French--Murder of Admiral De Pillars--Dourlens captured, and the
   garrison and citizens put to the sword--Military operations in
   eastern Netherlands and on the Rhine--Maurice lays siege to Groento
   --Mondragon hastening to its relief, Prince Maurice raises the
   siege--Skirmish between Maurice and Mondragon--Death of Philip of
   Nassau--Death of Mondragon--Bombardment and surrender of Weerd
   Castle--Maurice retires into winter quarters--Campaign of Henry IV.
   --He besieges Dijon--Surrender of Dijon--Absolution granted to Henry
   by the pope--Career of Balagny at Cambray--Progress of the siege--
   Capitulation of the town--Suicide of the Princess of Cambray, wife
   of Balagny

The year 1595 Opened with a formal declaration of war by the King of
France against the King of Spain. It would be difficult to say for
exactly how many years the war now declared had already been waged, but
it was a considerable advantage to the United Netherlands that the
manifesto had been at last regularly issued. And the manifesto was
certainly not deficient in bitterness. Not often in Christian history has
a monarch been solemnly and officially accused by a brother sovereign of
suborning assassins against his life. Bribery, stratagem, and murder,
were, however, so entirely the commonplace machinery of Philip's
administration as to make an allusion to the late attempt of Chastel
appear quite natural in Henry's declaration of war. The king further
stigmatized in energetic language the long succession of intrigues by
which the monarch of Spain, as chief of the Holy League, had been making
war upon him by means of his own subjects, for the last half dozcn years.
Certainly there was hardly need of an elaborate statement of grievances.
The deeds of Philip required no herald, unless Henry was prepared to
abdicate his hardly-earned title to the throne of France.

Nevertheless the politic Gascon subsequently regretted the fierce style
in which he had fulminated his challenge. He was accustomed to observe
that no state paper required so much careful pondering as a declaration
of war, and that it was scarcely possible to draw up such a document
without committing many errors in the phraseology. The man who never knew
fear, despondency, nor resentment, was already instinctively acting on
the principle that a king should deal with his enemy as if sure to become
his friend, and with his friends as if they might easily change to foes.

The answer to the declaration was delayed for two months. When the reply
came it of course breathed nothing but the most benignant sentiments in
regard to France, while it expressed regret that it was necessary to
carry fire and sword through that country in order to avert the
unutterable woe which the crimes of the heretic Prince of Bearne were
bringing upon all mankind.

It was a solace for Philip to call the legitimate king by the title borne
by him when heir-presumptive, and to persist in denying to him that
absolution which, as the whole world was aware, the Vicar of Christ was
at that very moment in the most solemn manner about to bestow upon him.

More devoted to the welfare of France than were the French themselves, he
was determined that a foreign prince himself, his daughter, or one of his
nephews--should supplant the descendant of St. Louis on the French
throne. More catholic than the pope he could not permit the heretic, whom
his Holiness was just washing whiter than snow, to intrude himself into
the society of Christian sovereigns.

The winter movements by Bouillon in Luxembourg, sustained by Philip
Nassau campaigning with a meagre force on the French frontier, were not
very brilliant. The Netherland regiments quartered at Yssoire, La Ferte,
and in the neighbourhood accomplished very little, and their numbers were
sadly thinned by dysentery. A sudden and successful stroke, too, by which
that daring soldier Heraugiere, who had been the chief captor of Breda,
obtained possession of the town, and castle of Huy, produced no permanent
advantage. This place, belonging to the Bishop of Liege, with its stone
bridge over the Meuse, was an advantageous position from which to aid the
operations of Bouillon in Luxembourg. Heraugiere was, however, not
sufficiently reinforced, and Huy was a month later recaptured by La
Motte. The campaigning was languid during that winter in the United
Netherlands, but the merry-making was energetic. The nuptials of Hohenlo
with Mary, eldest daughter of William the Silent and own sister of the
captive Philip William; of the Duke of Bouillon with Elizabeth, one of
the daughters of the same illustrious prince by his third wife, Charlotte
of Bourbon; and of Count Everard Solms, the famous general of the Zeeland
troops, with Sabina, daughter of the unfortunate Lamoral Egmont, were
celebrated with much pomp during the months of February and March. The
States of Holland and of Zeeland made magnificent presents of diamonds to
the brides; the Countess Hohenlo receiving besides a yearly income of
three thousand florins for the lives of herself and her husband.

In the midst of these merry marriage bells at the Hague a funeral knell
was sounding in Brussels. On the 20th February, the governor-general of
the obedient Netherlands, Archduke Ernest, breathed his last. His career
had not been so illustrious as the promises of the Spanish king and the
allegories of schoolmaster Houwaerts had led him to expect. He had not
espoused the Infanta nor been crowned King of France. He had not blasted
the rebellious Netherlands with Cyclopean thunderbolts, nor unbound the
Belgic Andromeda from the rock of doom. His brief year of government had
really been as dismal as, according to the announcement of his
sycophants, it should have been amazing. He had accomplished nothing, and
all that was left him was to die at the age of forty-two, over head and
ears in debt, a disappointed, melancholy man. He was very indolent,
enormously fat, very chaste, very expensive, fond of fine liveries and
fine clothes, so solemn and stately as never to be known to laugh, but
utterly without capacity either as a statesman or a soldier. He would
have shone as a portly abbot ruling over peaceful friars, but he was not
born to ride a revolutionary whirlwind, nor to evoke order out of chaos.
Past and Present were contending with each other in fierce elemental
strife within his domain. A world was in dying agony, another world was
coming, full-armed, into existence within the hand-breadth of time and of
space where he played his little part, but he dreamed not of it. He
passed away like a shadow, and was soon forgotten.

An effort was made, during the last illness of Ernest, to procure from
him the appointment of the elector of Cologne as temporary successor to
the government, but Count Fuentes was on the spot and was a man of
action. He produced a power in the French language from Philip, with a
blank for the name. This had been intended for the case of Peter Ernest
Mansfeld's possible death during his provisional administration, and
Fuentes now claimed the right of inserting his own name.

The dying Ernest consented, and upon his death Fuentes was declared
governor-general until the king's further pleasure should be known.

Pedro de Guzman, Count of Fuentes, a Spaniard of the hard and antique
type, was now in his sixty-fourth year. The pupil and near relative of
the Duke of Alva, he was already as odious to the Netherlanders as might
have been inferred from such education and such kin. A dark, grizzled,
baldish man, with high steep forehead, long, haggard, leathern visage,
sweeping beard, and large, stern, commanding, menacing eyes, with his
Brussels ruff of point lace and his Milan coat of proof, he was in
personal appearance not unlike the terrible duke whom men never named
without a shudder, although a quarter of a century had passed since he
had ceased to curse the Netherlands with his presence. Elizabeth of
England was accustomed to sneer at Fuentes because he had retreated
before Essex in that daring commander's famous foray into Portugal. The
queen called the Spanish general a timid old woman. If her gibe were
true, it was fortunate for her, for Henry of France, and for the
republic, that there were not many more such old women to come from Spain
to take the place of the veteran chieftains who were destined to
disappear so rapidly during this year in Flanders. He was a soldier of
fortune, loved fighting, not only for the fighting's sake, but for the
prize-money which was to be accumulated by campaigning, and he was wont
to say that he meant to enter Paradise sword in hand.

Meantime his appointment excited the wrath of the provincial magnates.
The Duke of Arschot was beside himself with frenzy, and swore that he
would never serve under Fuentes nor sit at his council-board. The duke's
brother, Marquis Havre, and his son-in-law, Count Arenberg, shared in the
hatred, although they tried to mitigate the vehemence of its expression.
But Arschot swore that no man had the right to take precedence of him in
the council of state, and that the appointment of this or any Spaniard
was a violation of the charters of the provinces and of the promises of
his Majesty. As if it were for the nobles of the obedient provinces to
prate of charters and of oaths! Their brethren under the banner of the
republic had been teaching Philip for a whole generation how they could
deal with the privileges of freemen and with the perjury of tyrants. It
was late in the day for the obedient Netherlanders to remember their
rights. Havre and Arenberg, dissembling their own wrath, were abused and
insulted by the duke when they tried to pacify him. They proposed a
compromise, according to which Arschot should be allowed to preside in
the council of state while Fuentes should content himself with the
absolute control of the army. This would be putting a bit of fat in the
duke's mouth, they said. Fuentes would hear of no such arrangement. After
much talk and daily attempts to pacify this great Netherlander, his
relatives at last persuaded him to go home to his country place. He even
promised Arenberg and his wife that he would go to Italy, in pursuance of
a vow made to our lady of Loretto. Arenberg privately intimated to
Stephen Ybarra that there was a certain oil, very apt to be efficacious
in similar cases of irritation, which might be applied with prospect of
success. If his father-in-law could only receive some ten thousand
florins which he claimed as due to him from Government, this would do
more to quiet him than a regiment of soldiers could. He also suggested
that Fuentes should call upon the duke, while Secretary Ybarra should
excuse himself by sickness for not having already paid his respects. This
was done. Fuentes called. The duke returned the call, and the two
conversed amicably about the death of the archduke, but entered into no
political discussion.

Arschot then invited the whole council of state, except John Baptist
Tassis, to a great dinner. He had prepared a paper to read to them in
which he represented the great dangers likely to ensue from such an
appointment as this of Fuentes, but declared that he washed his hands of
the consequences, and that he had determined to leave a country where he
was of so little account. He would then close his eyes and ears to
everything that might occur, and thus escape the infamy of remaining in a
country where so little account was made of him. He was urged to refrain
from reading this paper and to invite Tassis. After a time he consented
to suppress the document, but he manfully refused to bid the
objectionable diplomatist to his banquet.

The dinner took place and passed off pleasantly enough. Arschot did not
read his manifesto, but, as he warmed with wine, he talked a great deal
of nonsense which, according to Stephen Ybarra, much resembled it, and he
vowed that thenceforth he would be blind and dumb to all that might
occur. A few days later, he paid a visit to the new governor-general, and
took a peaceful farewell of him. "Your Majesty knows very well what he
is," wrote Fuentes: "he is nothing but talk." Before leaving the country
he sent a bitter complaint to Ybarra, to the effect that the king had
entirely forgotten him, and imploring that financier's influence to
procure for him some gratuity from his Majesty. He was in such necessity,
he said, that it was no longer possible for him to maintain his
household.

And with this petition the grandee of the obedient provinces shook the
dust from his shoes, and left his natal soil for ever. He died on the
11th December of the same year in Venice.

His son the Prince of Chimay, his brother, and son-inlaw, and the other
obedient nobles, soon accommodated themselves to the new administration,
much as they had been inclined to bluster at first about their
privileges. The governor soon reported that matters were proceeding very,
smoothly. There was a general return to the former docility now that such
a disciplinarian as Fuentes held the reins.

The opening scenes of the campaign between the Spanish governor and
France were, as usual, in Picardy. The Marquis of Varambon made a
demonstration in the neighbourhood of Dourlens--a fortified town on the
river Authie, lying in an open plain, very deep in that province--while
Fuentes took the field with eight thousand men, and laid siege to Le
Catelet. He had his eye, however, upon Ham. That important stronghold was
in the hands of a certain nobleman called De Gomeron, who had been an
energetic Leaguer, and was now disposed, for a handsome consideration, to
sell himself to the King of Spain. In the auction of governors and
generals then going on in every part of France it had been generally
found that Henry's money was more to be depended upon in the long run,
although Philip's bids were often very high, and, for a considerable
period, the payments regular. Gomeron's upset price for himself was
twenty-five thousand crowns in cash, and a pension of eight thousand a
year. Upon these terms he agreed to receive a Spanish garrison into the
town, and to cause the French in the citadel to be sworn into the service
of the Spanish king. Fuentes agreed to the bargain and paid the adroit
tradesman, who knew so well how to turn a penny for himself, a large
portion of the twenty-five thousand crowns upon the nail.

De Gomeron was to proceed to Brussels to receive the residue. His
brother-in-law, M. d'Orville, commanded in the citadel, and so soon as
the Spanish troops had taken possession of the town its governor claimed
full payment of his services.

But difficulties awaited him in Brussels. He was informed that a French
garrison could not be depended upon for securing the fortress, but that
town and citadel must both be placed in Spanish hands. De Gomeron loudly
protesting that this was not according to contract, was calmly assured,
by command of Fuentes, that unless the citadel were at once evacuated and
surrendered, he would not receive the balance of his twenty-five thousand
crowns, and that he should instantly lose his head. Here was more than De
Gomeron had bargained for; but this particular branch of commerce in
revolutionary times, although lucrative, has always its risks. De
Gomeron, thus driven to the wall, sent a letter by a Spanish messenger to
his brother-in-law, ordering him to surrender the fortress.
D'Orville--who meantime had been making his little arrangements with the
other party--protested that the note had been written under duress, and
refused to comply with its directions.

Time was pressing, for the Duke of Bouillon and the Count of St. Pol lay
with a considerable force in the neighbourhood, obviously menacing Ham.

Fuentes accordingly sent that distinguished soldier and historian, Don
Carlos Coloma, with a detachment of soldiers to Brussels, with orders to
bring Gomeron into camp. He was found seated at supper with his two young
brothers, aged respectively sixteen and eighteen years, and was just
putting a cherry into his mouth as Coloma entered the room. He remained
absorbed in thought, trifling with the cherry without eating it, which
Don Carlos set down as a proof of guilt: The three brothers were at once
put in a coach, together with their sister, a nun of the age of twenty,
and conveyed to the head-quarters of Fuentes, who lay before Le Catelet,
but six leagues from Ham.

Meantime D'Orville had completed his negotiations with Bouillon, and had
agreed to surrender the fortress so soon as the Spanish troops should be
driven from the town. The duke knowing that there was no time to lose,
came with three thousand men before the place. His summons to surrender
was answered by a volley of cannon-shot from the town defences. An
assault was made and repulsed, D'Humieres, a most gallant officer and a
favourite of King Henry, being killed, besides at least two hundred
soldiers. The next attack was successful, the town was carried, and the
Spanish garrison put to the sword.

D'Orville then, before giving up the citadel, demanded three hostages for
the lives of his three brothers-in-law.

The hostages availed him little. Fuentes had already sent word to
Gomeron's mother, that if the bargain were not fulfilled he would send
her the heads of her three sons on three separate dishes. The distracted
woman made her way, to D'Orville, and fell at his feet with tears and
entreaties. It was too late, and D'Orville, unable to bear her
lamentations, suddenly rushed from the castle, and nearly fell into the
hands of the Spaniards as he fled from the scene. Two of the four
cuirassiers, who alone of the whole garrison accompanied him, were taken
prisoners. The governor escaped to unknown regions. Madame de Gomeron
then appeared before Fuentes, and tried in vain to soften him. De Gomeron
was at once beheaded in the sight of the whole camp. The two younger sons
were retained in prison, but ultimately set at liberty. The town and
citadel were thus permanently acquired by their lawful king, who was said
to be more afflicted at the death of D'Humieres than rejoiced at the
capture of Ham.

Meantime Colonel Verdugo, royal governor of Friesland, whose occupation
in those provinces, now so nearly recovered by the republic, was gone,
had led a force of six thousand foot, and twelve hundred horse across the
French border, and was besieging La Ferte on the Cher. The siege was
relieved by Bouillon on the 26th May, and the Spanish veteran was then
ordered to take command in Burgundy. But his days were numbered. He had
been sick of dysentery at Luxembourg during the summer, but after
apparent recovery died suddenly on the 2nd September, and of course was
supposed to have been poisoned. He was identified with the whole history
of the Netherland wars. Born at Talavera de la Reyna, of noble parentage,
as he asserted--although his mother was said to have sold dogs' meat, and
he himself when a youth was a private soldier--he rose by steady conduct
and hard fighting to considerable eminence in his profession. He was
governor of Harlem after the famous siege, and exerted himself with some
success to mitigate the ferocity of the Spaniards towards the
Netherlanders at that epoch. He was marshal-general of the camp under Don
John of Austria, and distinguished himself at the battle of Gemblours. He
succeeded Count Renneberg as governor of Friesland and Groningen, and
bore a manful part in most of the rough business that had been going on
for a generation of mankind among those blood-stained wolds and morasses.
He was often victorious, and quite as often soundly defeated; but he
enjoyed campaigning, and was a glutton of work. He cared little for
parade and ceremony, but was fond of recalling with pleasure the days
when he was a soldier at four crowns a month, with an undivided fourth of
one cloak, which he and three companions wore by turns on holidays.
Although accused of having attempted to procure the assassination of
William Lewis Nassau, he was not considered ill-natured, and he possessed
much admiration for Prince Maurice. An iron-clad man, who had scarcely
taken harness from his back all his life, he was a type of the Spanish
commanders who had implanted international hatred deeply in the
Netherland soul, and who, now that this result and no other had been
accomplished, were rapidly passing away. He had been baptised Franco, and
his family appellation of Verdugo meant executioner. Punning on these
names he was wont to say, that he was frank for all good people, but a
hangman for heretics; and he acted up to his gibe.

Foiled at Ham, Fuentes had returned to the siege of Catelet, and had soon
reduced the place. He then turned his attention again to Dourlens, and
invested that city. During the preliminary operations, another veteran
commander in these wars, Valentin Pardieu de la Motte, recently created
Count of Everbecque by Philip, who had been for a long time
general-in-chief of the artillery, and was one of the most famous and
experienced officers in the Spanish service, went out one fine moonlight
night to reconnoitre the enemy, and to superintend the erection of
batteries. As he was usually rather careless of his personal safety, and
rarely known to put on his armour when going for such purposes into the
trenches, it was remarked with some surprise, on this occasion, that he
ordered his page to bring his, accoutrements, and that he armed himself
cap-a pie before leaving his quarters. Nevertheless, before he had
reached the redoubt, a bullet from the town struck him between the fold
of his morion and the edge of his buckler and he fell dead without
uttering a sound.

Here again was a great loss to the king's service. La Motte, of a noble
family in Burgundy, had been educated in the old fierce traditions of the
Spanish system of warfare in the Netherlands, and had been one of the
very hardest instruments that the despot could use for his bloody work.
He had commanded a company of horse at the famous battle of St. Quintin,
and since that opening event in Philip's reign he had been
unceasingly--engaged in the Flemish wars. Alva made him a colonel of a
Walloon regiment; the grand commander Requesena appointed him governor of
Gravelines. On the whole he had been tolerably faithful to his colours;
having changed sides but twice. After the pacification of Ghent he swore
allegiance to the States-General, and assisted in the bombardment of the
citadel of that place. Soon afterwards he went over to Don John of
Austria, and surrendered to him the town and fortress of Gravelines, of
which he then continued governor in the name of the king. He was
fortunate in the accumulation of office and of money; rather unlucky in
his campaigning. He was often wounded in action, and usually defeated
when commanding in chief. He lost an arm at the siege of Sluy's, and had
now lost his life almost by an accident. Although twice married he left
no children to inherit his great estates, while the civil and military
offices left vacant by his death were sufficient to satisfy the claims of
five aspiring individuals. The Count of Varax succeeded him as general of
artillery; but it was difficult to find a man to replace La Motte,
possessing exactly the qualities which had made that warrior so valuable
to his king. The type was rapidly disappearing, and most fortunately for
humanity, if half the stories told of him by grave chroniclers,
accustomed to discriminate between history and gossip, are to be
believed. He had committed more than one cool homicide. Although not
rejoicing in the same patronymic as his Spanish colleague of Friesland,
he too was ready on occasion to perform hangman's work. When
sergeant-major in Flanders, he had himself volunteered--so ran the
chronicle--to do execution on a poor wretch found guilty of professing
the faith of Calvin; and, with his own hands, had prepared a fire of
straw, tied his victim to the stake, and burned him to cinders. Another
Netherlander for the name crime of heresy had been condemned to be torn
to death by horses. No one could be found to carry out the sentence. The
soldiers under La Motte's command broke into mutiny rather than permit
themselves to be used for such foul purposes; but the ardent young
sergeant-major came forward, tied the culprit by the arms and legs to two
horses, and himself whipped them to their work till it was duly
accomplished. Was it strange that in Philip's reign such energy should be
rewarded by wealth, rank, and honour? Was not such a labourer in the
vineyard worthy of his hire?

Still another eminent chieftain in the king's service disappeared at this
time--one who, although unscrupulous and mischievous enough in his day,
was however not stained by any suspicion of crimes like these. Count
Charles Mansfeld, tired of governing his decrepit parent Peter Ernest,
who, since the appointment of Fuentes, had lost all further chance of
governing the Netherlands, had now left Philip's service and gone to the
Turkish wars. For Amurath III., who had died in the early days of the
year, had been succeeded by a sultan as warlike as himself. Mahomet III.,
having strangled his nineteen brothers on his accession, handsomely
buried them in cypress coffins by the side of their father, and having
subsequently sacked and drowned ten infant princes posthumously born to
Amurath, was at leisure to carry the war through Transylvania and
Hungary, up to the gates of Vienna, with renewed energy. The Turk, who
could enforce the strenuous rules of despotism by which all
secundogenitures and collateral claimants in the Ottoman family were thus
provided for, was a foe to be dealt with seriously. The power of the
Moslems at that day was a full match for the holy Roman Empire. The days
were far distant when the grim Turk's head was to become a mockery and a
show; and when a pagan empire, born of carnage and barbarism, was to be
kept alive in Europe when it was ready to die, by the collective efforts
of Christian princes. Charles Mansfeld had been received with great
enthusiasm at the court of Rudolph, where he was created a prince of the
Empire, and appointed to the chief command of the Imperial armies under
the Archduke Matthias. But his warfare was over. At the siege of Gran he
was stricken with sickness and removed to Comorn, where he lingered some
weeks. There, on the 24th August, as he lay half-dozing on his couch, he
was told that the siege was at last successful; upon which he called for
a goblet of wine, drained it eagerly, and then lay resting his head on
his hand, like one absorbed in thought. When they came to arouse him from
his reverie they found that he was dead. His father still remained
superfluous in the Netherlands, hating and hated by Fuentes; but no
longer able to give that governor so much annoyance as during his son's
life-time the two had been able to create for Alexander Farnese. The
octogenarian was past work and past mischief now; but there was one older
soldier than he still left upon the stage, the grandest veteran in
Philip's service, and now the last survivor, except the decrepit Peter
Ernest, of the grim commanders of Alva's school. Christopher
Mondragon--that miracle of human endurance, who had been an old man when
the great duke arrived in the Netherlands--was still governor of Antwerp
citadel, and men were to speak of him yet once more before he passed from
the stage.

I return from this digression to the siege of Dourlens. The death of La
Motte made no difference in the plans of Fuentes. He was determined to
reduce the place preparatively to more important operations. Bouillon was
disposed to relieve it, and to that end had assembled a force of eight
thousand men within the city of Amiens. By midsummer the Spaniards had
advanced with their mines and galleries close to the walls of the city.
Meantime Admiral Villars, who had gained so much renown by defending
Rouen against Henry IV., and who had subsequently made such an excellent
bargain with that monarch before entering his service, arrived at Amiens.
On the 24th July an expedition was sent from that city towards Dourlens.
Bouillon and St. Pol commanded in person a force of six hundred picked
cavalry. Pillars and Sanseval each led half as many, and there was a
supporting body of twelve hundred musketeers. This little army convoyed a
train of wagons, containing ammunition and other supplies for the
beleaguered town. But Fuentes, having sufficiently strengthened his
works, sallied forth with two thousand infantry, and a flying squadron of
Spanish horse, to intercept them. It was the eve of St. James, the patron
saint of Spain, at the sound, of whose name as a war-cry so many
battle-fields had been won in the Netherlands, so many cities sacked, so
many wholesale massacres perpetrated. Fuentes rode in the midst of his
troops with the royal standard of Spain floating above him. On the other
hand Yillars, glittering in magnificent armour and mounted on a superbly
caparisoned charger came on, with his three hundred troopers, as if about
to ride a course in a tournament. The battle which ensued was one of the
most bloody for the numbers engaged, and the victory one of the most
decisive recorded in this war. Villars charged prematurely, furiously,
foolishly. He seemed jealous of Bouillon, and disposed to show the
sovereign to whom he had so recently given his allegiance that an ancient
Leaguer and Papist was a better soldier for his purpose than the most
grizzled Huguenot in his army. On the other hand the friends of Villars
accused the duke of faintheartedness, or at least of an excessive desire
to save himself and his own command. The first impetuous onset of the
admiral was successful, and he drove half-a-dozen companies of Spaniards
before him. But he had ventured too far from his supports. Bouillon had
only intended a feint, instead of a desperate charge; the Spaniards were
rallied, and the day was saved by that cool and ready soldier, Carlos
Coloma. In less than an hour the French were utterly defeated and cut to
pieces. Bouillon escaped to Amiens with five hundred men; this was all
that was left of the expedition. The horse of Villars was shot under him
and the admiral's leg was broken as he fell. He was then taken prisoner
by two lieutenants of Carlos Coloma; but while these warriors were
enjoying, by anticipation, the enormous ransom they should derive from so
illustrious a captive, two other lieutenants in the service of Marshal de
Rosnes came up and claimed their share in the prize. While the four were
wrangling, the admiral called out to them in excellent Spanish not to
dispute, for he had money enough to satisfy them all. Meantime the
Spanish commissary--general of cavalry, Contreras, came up, rebuked this
unseemly dispute before the enemy had been fairly routed, and, in order
to arrange the quarrel impartially, ordered his page to despatch De
Villars on the spot. The page, without a word, placed his arquebus to the
admiral's forehead and shot him dead.

So perished a bold and brilliant soldier, and a most unscrupulous
politician. Whether the cause of his murder was mere envy on the part of
the commissary at having lost a splendid opportunity for prize-money, or
hatred to an ancient Leaguer thus turned renegade, it is fruitless now to
enquire.

Villars would have paid two hundred thousand crowns for his ransom, so
that the assassination was bad as a mercantile speculation; but it was
pretended by the friends of Contreras that rescue was at hand. It is
certain, however, that nothing was attempted by the French to redeem
their total overthrow. Count Belin was wounded and fell into the hands of
Coloma. Sanseval was killed; and a long list of some of the most
brilliant nobles in France was published by the Spaniards as having
perished on that bloody field. This did not prevent a large number of
these victims, however, from enjoying excellent health for many long
years afterwards, although their deaths have been duly recorded in
chronicle from that day to our own times.

But Villars and Sanseval were certainly slain, and Fuentes sent their
bodies, with a courteous letter, to the Duke of Nevers, at Amiens, who
honoured them with a stately funeral.

There was much censure cast on both Bouillon and Villars respectively by
the antagonists of each chieftain; and the contest as to the cause of the
defeat was almost as animated as the skirmish itself. Bouillon was
censured for grudging a victory to the Catholics, and thus leaving the
admiral to his fate. Yet it is certain that the Huguenot duke himself
commanded a squadron composed almost entirely of papists. Villars, on the
other hand, was censured for rashness, obstinacy, and greediness for
distinction; yet it is probable that Fuentes might have been defeated had
the charges of Bouillon been as determined and frequent as were those of
his colleague. Savigny de Rosnes, too, the ancient Leaguer, who commanded
under Fuentes, was accused of not having sufficiently followed up the
victory, because unwilling that his Spanish friends should entirely
trample upon his own countrymen. Yet there is no doubt whatever that De
Rosnes was as bitter an enemy to his own country as the most ferocious
Spaniard of them all. It has rarely been found in civil war that the man
who draws his sword against his fatherland, under the banner of the
foreigner, is actuated by any lingering tenderness for the nation he
betrays; and the renegade Frenchman was in truth the animating spirit of
Fuentes during the whole of his brilliant campaign. The Spaniard's
victories were, indeed, mainly attributable to the experience, the
genius, and the rancour of De Rosnes.

But debates over a lost battle are apt to be barren. Meantime Fuentes,
losing no time in controversy, advanced upon the city of Dourlens, was
repulsed twice, and carried it on the third assault, exactly one week
after the action just recounted. The Spaniards and Leaguers, howling
"Remember Ham!" butchered without mercy the garrison and all the
citizens, save a small number of prisoners likely to be lucrative. Six
hundred of the townspeople and two thousand five hundred French soldiers
were killed within a few hours. Well had Fuentes profited by the
relationship and tuition of Alva!

The Count of Dinant and his brother De Ronsoy were both slain, and two or
three hundred thousand florins were paid in ransom by those who escaped
with life. The victims were all buried outside of the town in one vast
trench, and the effluvia bred a fever which carried off most of the
surviving inhabitants. Dourlens became for the time a desert.

Fuentes now received deputies with congratulations from the obedient
provinces, especially from Hainault, Artois, and Lille. He was also
strongly urged to attempt the immediate reduction of Cambray, to which
end those envoys were empowered to offer contributions of four hundred
and fifty thousand florins and a contingent of seven thousand infantry.
Berlaymont, too, bishop of Tournay and archbishop of Cambray, was ready
to advance forty thousand florins in the same cause.

Fuentes, in the highest possible spirits at his success, and having just
been reinforced by Count Bucquoy with a fresh Walloon regiment of fifteen
hundred foot and with eight hundred and fifty of the mutineers from
Tirlemont and Chapelle, who were among the choicest of Spanish veterans,
was not disposed to let the grass grow under his feet. Within four days
after the sack of Dourlens he broke up his camp, and came before Cambray
with an army of twelve thousand foot and nearly four thousand horse. But
before narrating the further movements of the vigorous new
governor-general, it is necessary to glance at the military operations in
the eastern part of the Netherlands and upon the Rhine.

The States-General had reclaimed to their authority nearly all that
important region lying beyond the Yssel--the solid Frisian bulwark of the
republic--but there were certain points nearer the line where Upper and
Nether Germany almost blend into one, which yet acknowledged the name of
the king. The city of Groenlo, or Grol, not a place of much interest or
importance in itself, but close to the frontier, and to that destined
land of debate, the duchies of Cleves, Juliers, and Berg, still retained
its Spanish garrison. On the 14th July Prince Maurice of Nassau came
before the city with six thousand infantry, some companies of cavalry,
and sixteen pieces of artillery. He made his approaches in form, and
after a week's operations he fired three volleys, according to his
custom, and summoned the place to capitulate. Governor Jan van Stirum
replied stoutly that he would hold the place for God and the king to the
last drop of his blood. Meantime there was hope of help from the outside.

Maurice was a vigorous young commander, but there was a man to be dealt
with who had been called the "good old Mondragon" when the prince was in
his cradle; and who still governed the citadel of Antwerp, and was still
ready for an active campaign.

Christopher Mondragon was now ninety-two years old. Not often in the
world's history has a man of that age been capable of personal,
participation in the joys of the battlefield, whatever natural reluctance
veterans are apt to manifest at relinquishing high military control.

But Mondragon looked not with envy but with admiration on the growing
fame of the Nassau chieftain, and was disposed, before he himself left
the stage, to match himself with the young champion.

So soon as he heard of the intended demonstration of Maurice against
Grol, the ancient governor of Antwerp collected a little army by throwing
together all the troops that could be spared from the various garrisons
within his command. With two Spanish regiments, two thousand Swiss, the
Walloon troops of De Grisons, and the Irish regiment of Stanley--in all
seven thousand foot and thirteen hundred horse--Mondragon marched
straight across Brabant and Gelderland to the Rhine. At Kaiserworth he
reviewed his forces, and announced his intention of immediately crossing
the river. There was a murmur of disapprobation among officers and men at
what they considered the foolhardy scheme of mad old Mondragon. But the
general had not campaigned a generation before, at the age of sixty-nine,
in the bottom of the sea, and waded chin-deep for six hours long of an
October night, in the face of a rising tide from the German Ocean and of
an army of Zeelanders, to be frightened now at the summer aspect of the
peaceful Rhine.

The wizened little old man, walking with difficulty by the aid of a
staff, but armed in proof, with plumes waving gallantly from his iron
headpiece, and with his rapier at his side, ordered a chair to be brought
to the river's edge. Then calmly seating himself in the presence of his
host, he stated that he should not rise from that chair until the last
man had crossed the river. Furthermore, he observed that it was not only
his purpose to relieve the city of Grol, but to bring Maurice to an
action, and to defeat him, unless he retired. The soldiers ceased to
murmur, the pontoons were laid, the, river was passed, and on the 25th
July, Maurice, hearing of the veteran's approach, and not feeling safe in
his position, raised the siege of the city. Burning his camp and
everything that could not be taken with him on his march, the prince came
in perfect order to Borkelo, two Dutch miles from Grol. Here he occupied
himself for some time in clearing the country of brigands who in the
guise of soldiers infested that region and made the little cities of
Deutecom, Anholt, and Heerenberg unsafe. He ordered the inhabitants of
these places to send out detachments to beat the bushes for his cavalry,
while Hohenlo was ordered to hunt the heaths and wolds thoroughly with
packs of bloodhounds until every man and beast to be found lurking in
those wild regions should be extirpated. By these vigorous and cruel, but
perhaps necessary, measures the brigands were at last extirpated, and
honest people began to sleep in their beds.

On the 18th August Maurice took up a strong position at Bislich, not far
from Wesel, where the River Lippe empties itself into the Rhine.
Mondragon, with his army strengthened by reinforcements from garrisons in
Gelderland, and by four hundred men brought by Frederic, van den Berg
from Grol, had advanced to a place called Walston in den Ham, in the
neighbourhood of Wesel. The Lippe flowed between the two hostile forces.
Although he had broken up his siege, the prince was not disposed to
renounce his whole campaign before trying conclusions with his veteran
antagonist. He accordingly arranged an ambush with much skill, by means
of which he hoped to bring on a general engagement and destroy Mondragon
and his little army.

His cousin and favourite lieutenant, Philip Nassau, was entrusted with
the preliminaries. That adventurous commander, with a picked force of
seven hundred cavalry, moved quietly from the camp on the evening of the
1st September. He took with him his two younger brothers, Ernest and
Lewis Gunther, who, as has been seen, had received the promise of the
eldest brother of the family, William Lewis, that they should be employed
from time to time in any practical work that might be going, forward.
Besides these young gentlemen, several of the most famous English and
Dutch commanders were on, the expedition; the brothers Paul and Marcellus
Bax, Captains Parker, Cutler, and Robert Vere, brother of Sir Francis,
among the number.

Early in the morning of the 2nd September the force crossed the Lippe,
according to orders, keeping a pontoon across the stream to secure their
retreat.

They had instructions thus to feel the enemy at early dawn, and, as he
was known to have foraging parties out every morning along the margin of
the river, to make a sudden descent upon their pickets, and to capture
those companies before they could effect their escape or be reinforced.
Afterwards they were to retreat across the Lippe, followed, as it was
hoped would be the case, by the troops: of Mondragon, anxious to punish
this piece of audacity. Meantime Maurice with five thousand infantry, the
rest of his cavalry, and several pieces of artillery, awaited their
coming, posted behind some hills in the neighbourhood of Wesel.

The plot of the young commander was an excellent one, but the ancient
campaigner on the other side of the river had not come all the way from
his comfortable quarters in Antwerp to be caught napping on that
September morning. Mondragon had received accurate information from his
scouts as to what was going on in the enemy's camp; and as to the exact
position of Maurice. He was up long before daybreak--"the good old
Christopher"--and himself personally arranged a counter-ambush. In the
fields lying a little back from the immediate neighbourhood of, the Lippe
he posted the mass of his cavalry, supported by a well-concealed force of
infantry. The pickets on the stream and the foraging companies were left
to do their usual work as if nothing were likely to happen.

Philip Nassau galloped cheerfully forward; according to the
well-concerted plan, sending Cutler and Marcellus Bax with a handful of
troopers to pounce upon the enemy's pickets. When those officers got to
the usual foraging ground they, came upon a much larger cavalry force
than they had looked for; and, suspecting something wrong; dashed
back--again to give information to Count Philip. That impatient
commander, feeling sure of his game unless this foolish delay should give
the foraging companies time to, escape; ordered an immediate advance with
his whole cavalry force: The sheriff of Zallant was ordered to lead the
way. He objected that the pass, leading through a narrow lane and opening
by a gate into an open field, was impassable for more than two troopers
abreast; and that the enemy was in force beyond. Philips scorning these
words of caution, and exclaiming that seventy-five lancers were enough to
put fifty carabineers to rout; put on his casque, drew his sword; and
sending his brother Lewis to summon Kinski and Donck; dashed into the
pass, accompanied by the two counts and, a couple of other nobles. The
sheriff, seeing this, followed him at full gallop; and after him came the
troopers of Barchon, of Du Bois, and of Paul Bax; riding single file but
in much disorder. When they had all entered inextricably into the lane,
with the foremost of the lancers already passing through the gate, they
discovered the enemy's cavalry and infantry drawn up in force upon the
watery, heathery pastures beyond. There was at once a scene of confusion.
To use lances was impossible, while they were all struggling together
through the narrow passage offering themselves an easy prey to the enemy
as they slowly emerged into the gelds. The foremost defended themselves
with sabre and pistol as well as they could. The hindmost did their best
to escape, and rode for their lives to the other side of the river. All
trampled upon each other and impeded each other's movements. There was a
brief engagement, bloody, desperate, hand to hand, and many Spaniards
fell before the entrapped Netherlanders. But there could not be a
moment's doubt as to the issue. Count Philip went down in the beginning
of the action, shot through the body by an arquebus, discharged so close
to him that his clothes were set on fire. As there was no water within
reach the flames could be extinguished at last only by rolling him over,
and over, wounded as he was, among the sand and heather. Count Ernest
Solms was desperately wounded at the same time. For a moment both
gentlemen attempted to effect their escape by mounting on one horse, but
both fell to the ground exhausted and were taken prisoners. Ernest Nassau
was also captured. His young brother, Lewis Gunther, saved himself by
swimming the river. Count Kinski was mortally wounded. Robert Vere, too,
fell into the enemy's hands, and was afterwards murdered in cold blood.
Marcellus Bax, who had returned to the field by a circuitous path, still
under the delusion that he was about handsomely to cut off the retreat of
the foraging companies, saved himself and a handful of cavalry by a rapid
flight, so soon as he discovered the enemy drawn up in line of battle.
Cutler and Parker were equally fortunate. There was less than a hundred
of the States' troops killed, and it is probable that a larger number of
the Spaniards fell. But the loss of Philip Nassau, despite the debauched
life and somewhat reckless valour of that soldier, was a very severe one
to the army and to his family. He was conveyed to Rheinberg, where his
wounds were dressed. As he lay dying he was courteously visited by
Mondragon, and by many other Spanish officers, anxious to pay their
respects to so distinguished and warlike a member of an illustrious
house. He received them with dignity, and concealed his physical agony so
as to respond to their conversation as became a Nassau. His cousin,
Frederic van den Berg, who was among the visitors, indecently taunted him
with his position; asking him what he had expected by serving the cause
of the Beggars. Philip turned from him with impatience and bade him hold
his peace. At midnight he died.

William of Orange and his three brethren had already laid down their
lives for the republic, and now his eldest brother's son had died in the
same cause. "He has carried the name of Nassau with honour into the
grave," said his brother Lewis William, to their father. Ten others of
the house, besides many collateral relations, were still in arms for
their adopted country. Rarely in history has a single noble race so
entirely identified itself with a nation's record in its most heroic
epoch as did that of Orange-Nassau with the liberation of Holland.

Young Ernest Solms, brother of Count Everard, lay in the same chamber
with Philip Nassau, and died on the following day. Their bodies were sent
by Mondragon with a courteous letter to Maurice at Bisslich. Ernest
Nassau was subsequently ransomed for ten thousand florins.

This skirmish on the Lippe has no special significance in a military
point of view, but it derives more than a passing interest, not only from
the death of many a brave and distinguished soldier, but for the
illustration of human vigour triumphing, both physically and mentally,
over the infirmities of old age, given by the achievement of Christopher
Mondragon. Alone he had planned his expedition across the country from
Antwerp, alone he had insisted on crossing the Rhine, while younger
soldiers hesitated; alone, with his own active brain and busy hands, he
had outwitted the famous young chieftain of the Netherlands, counteracted
his subtle policy, and set the counter-ambush by which his choicest
cavalry were cut to pieces, and one of his bravest generals slain. So far
could the icy blood of ninety-two prevail against the vigour of
twenty-eight.

The two armies lay over against each other, with the river between them,
for some days longer, but it was obvious that nothing further would be
attempted on either side. Mondragon had accomplished the object for which
he had marched from Brabant. He had, spoiled the autumn campaign of
Maurice, and, was, now disposed to return before winter to, his own
quarters. He sent a trumpet accordingly to his antagonist, begging him,
half in jest, to have more consideration for his infirmities than to keep
him out in his old age in such foul weather, but to allow him the
military honour of being last to break up camp. Should Maurice consent to
move away, Mondragon was ready to pledge himself not to pursue him, and
within three days to leave his own entrenchments.

The proposition was not granted, and very soon afterwards the Spaniard,
deciding to retire, crossed the Rhine on the 11th October. Maurice made a
slight attempt at pursuit, sending Count William Lewis with some cavalry,
who succeeded in cutting off a few wagons. The army, however, returned
safely, to be dispersed into various garrisons.

This was Mondragon's last feat of, arms. Less than three months
afterwards, in Antwerp citadel, as the veteran was washing his hands
previously to going to the dinner-table, he sat down and died. Strange to
say, this man--who had spent almost a century on the battlefield, who had
been a soldier in nearly every war that had been waged in any part of
Europe during that most belligerent age, who had come an old man to the
Netherlands before Alva's arrival, and had ever since been constantly and
personally engaged in the vast Flemish tragedy which had now lasted well
nigh thirty years--had never himself lost a drop of blood. His
battle-fields had been on land and water, on ice, in fire, and at the
bottom of the sea, but he had never received a wound. Nay, more; he had
been blown up in a fortress--the castle of Danvilliers in Luxembourg, of
which he was governor--where all perished save his wife and himself, and,
when they came to dig among the ruins, they excavated at last the ancient
couple, protected by the framework of a window in the embrasure of which
they had been seated, without a scratch or a bruise. He was a Biscayan by
descent, but born in Medina del Campo. A strict disciplinarian, very
resolute and pertinacious, he had the good fortune to be beloved by his
inferiors, his equals, and his superiors. He was called the father of his
soldiers, the good Mondragon, and his name was unstained by any of those
deeds of ferocity which make the chronicles of the time resemble rather
the history of wolves than of men. To a married daughter, mother of
several children, he left a considerable fortune.

Maurice broke up his camp soon after the departure of his antagonist, and
paused for a few days at Arnheim to give honourable burial to his cousin
Philip and Count Solms. Meantime Sir Francis Vere was detached, with
three regiments, which were to winter in Overyssel, towards Weerd castle,
situate at a league's distance from Ysselsburg, and defended by a
garrison of twenty-six men under Captain Pruys. That doughty commandant,
on being summoned to surrender, obstinately refused. Vere, according to
Maurice's orders, then opened with his artillery against the place, which
soon capitulated in great panic and confusion. The captain demanded the
honours of war. Vere told him in reply that the honours of war were
halters for the garrison who had dared to defend such a hovel against
artillery. The twenty-six were accordingly ordered to draw black and
white straws. This was done, and the twelve drawing white straws were
immediately hanged; the thirteenth receiving his life on consenting to
act as executioner for his comrades. The commandant was despatched first
of all. The rope broke, but the English soldiers held him under the water
of the ditch until he was drowned. The castle was then thoroughly sacked,
the women being sent unharmed to Ysselsburg.

Maurice then shipped the remainder of his troops along the Rhine and Waal
to their winter quarters and returned to the Hague. It was the feeblest
year's work yet done by the stadholder.

Meantime his great ally, the Huguenot-Catholic Prince of Bearne, was
making a dashing, and, on the whole, successful campaign in the heart of
his own kingdom. The constable of Castile, Don Ferdinando de Velasco, one
of Spain's richest grandees and poorest generals, had been sent with an
army of ten thousand men to take the field in Burgundy against the man
with whom the great Farnese had been measuring swords so lately, and with
not unmingled success, in Picardy. Biron, with a sudden sweep, took
possession of Aussone, Autun, and Beaune, but on one adventurous day
found himself so deeply engaged with a superior force of the enemy in the
neighbourhood of Fontaine Francaise, or St. Seine, where France's great
river takes its rise, as to be nearly cut off and captured. But Henry
himself was already in the field, and by one of those mad, reckless
impulses which made him so adorable as a soldier and yet so profoundly
censurable as a commander-in-chief, he flung himself, like a young
lieutenant, with a mere handful of cavalry, into the midst of the fight,
and at the imminent peril of his own life succeeded in rescuing the
marshal and getting off again unscathed. On other occasions Henry said he
had fought for victory, but on that for dear life; and, even as in the
famous and foolish skirmish at Aumale three years before, it was absence
of enterprise or lack of cordiality on the part of his antagonists, that
alone prevented a captive king from being exhibited as a trophy of
triumph for the expiring League.

But the constable of Castile was not born to cheer the heart of his
prudent master with such a magnificent spectacle. Velasco fell back to
Gray and obstinately refused to stir from his entrenchments, while Henry
before his eyes laid siege to Dijon. On the 28th June the capital of
Burgundy surrendered to its sovereign, but no temptations could induce
the constable to try the chance of a battle. Henry's movements in the
interior were more successful than were the operations nearer the
frontier, but while the monarch was thus cheerfully fighting for his
crown in France, his envoys were winning a still more decisive campaign
for him in Rome.

D'Ossat and Perron had accomplished their diplomatic task with consummate
ability, and, notwithstanding the efforts and the threats of the Spanish
ambassador and the intrigues of his master, the absolution was granted.
The pope arose early on the morning of the 5th August, and walked
barefoot from his palace of Mount Cavallo to the church of Maria
Maggiore, with his eyes fixed on the ground, weeping loudly and praying
fervently. He celebrated mass in the church, and then returned as he
went, saluting no one on the road and shutting himself up in his palace
afterwards. The same ceremony was performed ten days later on the
festival of our Lady's Ascension. In vain, however, had been the struggle
on the part of his Holiness to procure from the ambassador the deposition
of the crown of France in his hands, in order that the king might receive
it back again as a free gift and concession from the chief pontiff. Such
a triumph was not for Rome, nor could even the publication of the Council
of Trent in France be conceded except with a saving clause "as to matters
which could not be put into operation without troubling the repose of the
kingdom." And to obtain this clause the envoys declared "that they had
been obliged to sweat blood and water."

On the 17th day of September the absolution was proclaimed with great
pomp and circumstance from the gallery of St. Peter's, the holy father
seated on the highest throne of majesty, with his triple crown on has
head, and all his cardinals and bishops about him in their most effulgent
robes.

The silver trumpets were blown, while artillery roared from the castle of
St. Angelo, and for two successive nights Rome was in a blaze of bonfires
and illumination, in a whirl of bell-ringing, feasting, and singing of
hosannaha. There had not been such a merry-making in the eternal city
since the pope had celebrated solemn thanksgiving for the massacre of St.
Bartholomew. The king was almost beside himself with rapture when the
great news reached him, and he straightway wrote letters, overflowing
with gratitude and religious enthusiasm, to the pontiff and expressed his
regret that military operations did not allow him to proceed at once to
Rome in person to kiss the holy father's feet.

The narrative returns to Fuentes, who was left before the walls of
Cambray.

That venerable ecclesiastical city; pleasantly seated amid gardens,
orchards, and green pastures, watered, by the winding Scheld, was well
fortified after the old manner, but it was especially defended and
dominated by a splendid pentagonal citadel built by Charles V. It was
filled with fine churches, among which the magnificent cathedral was
pre-eminent, and with many other stately edifices. The population was
thrifty, active, and turbulent, like that of all those Flemish and
Walloon cities which the spirit of mediaeval industry had warmed for a
time into vehement little republics.

But, as has already been depicted in these pages, the Celtic element had
been more apt to receive than consistent to retain the generous impress
which had once been stamped on all the Netherlands. The Walloon provinces
had fallen away from their Flemish sisters and seemed likely to accept a
permanent yoke, while in the territory of the united States, as John
Baptist Tassis was at that very moment pathetically observing in a
private letter to Philip, "with the coming up of a new generation
educated as heretics from childhood, who had never heard what the word
king means, it was likely to happen at last that the king's memory, being
wholly forgotten nothing would remain in the land but heresy alone." From
this sad fate Cambray had been saved. Gavre d'Inchy had seventeen years
before surrendered the city to the Duke of Alencon during that unlucky
personage's brief and base career in the Netherlands, all, that was left
of his visit being the semi-sovereignty which the notorious Balagny had
since that time enjoyed, in the archiepiscopal city. This personage, a
natural son of Monluc, Bishop of Valence, and nephew of the,
distinguished Marshal Monluci was one of the most fortunate and the most
ignoble of all the soldiers of fortune who had played their part at this
epoch in the Netherlands. A poor creature himself, he had a heroine for a
wife. Renee, the sister of Bussy d'Amboise, had vowed to unite herself to
a man who would avenge the assassination of her brother by the Count
Montsoreau? Balagny readily agreed to perform the deed, and accordingly
espoused the high-born dame, but it does not appear that he ever wreaked
her vengeance on the murderer. He had now governed Cambray until the
citizens and the whole countryside were galled and exhausted by his
grinding tyranny, his inordinate pride, and his infamous extortions. His
latest achievement had been to force upon his subjects a copper currency
bearing the nominal value of silver, with the same blasting effects which
such experiments in political economy are apt to produce on princes and
peoples. He had been a Royalist, a Guisist, a Leaguer, a Dutch
republican, by turns, and had betrayed all the parties, at whose expense
he had alternately filled his coffers. During the past year he had made
up his mind--like most of the conspicuous politicians and campaigners of
France--that the moribund League was only fit to be trampled upon by its
recent worshippers, and he had made accordingly one of the very best
bargains with Henry IV. that had yet been made, even at that epoch of
self-vending grandees.

Henry, by treaty ratified in August, 1594, had created him Prince of
Cambray and Marshal of France, so that the man who had been receiving up
to that very moment a monthly subsidy of seven thousand two hundred
dollars from the King of Spain was now gratified with a pension to about
the same yearly amount by the King of France. During the autumn Henry had
visited Cambray, and the new prince had made wondrous exhibitions of
loyalty to the sovereign whom he had done his best all his life to
exclude from his kingdom. There had been a ceaseless round of
tournaments, festivals, and masquerades in the city in honour of the
Huguenot chieftain, now changed into the most orthodox and most
legitimate of monarchs, but it was not until midsummer of the present
year that Balagny was called on to defend his old possessions and his new
principality against a well-seasoned army and a vigorous commander.
Meanwhile his new patron was so warmly occupied in other directions that
it might be difficult for him to send assistance to the beleaguered city.

On the 14th August Fuentes began his siege operations. Before the
investment had been completed the young Prince of Rhetelois, only fifteen
years of age, son of the Duke of Nevers, made his entrance into the city
attended by thirty of his father's archers. De Vich, too, an experienced
and faithful commander, succeeded in bringing four or five hundred
dragoons through the enemy's lines. These meagre reinforcements were all
that reached the place; for, although the States-General sent two or
three thousand Scotchmen and Zeelanders, under Justinus of Nassau, to
Henry, that he might be the better enabled to relieve this important
frontier city, the king's movements were not sufficiently prompt to turn
the force to good account Balagny was left with a garrison of three
thousand French and Walloons in the city, besides five hundred French in
the fortress.

After six weeks steady drawing of parallels and digging of mines Fuentes
was ready to open his batteries. On the 26th September, the news, very
much exaggerated, of Mondragon's brilliant victory near Wessel, and of
the deaths of Philip Nassau and Ernest Solms, reached the Spanish camp.
Immense was the rejoicing. Triumphant salutes from eighty-seven cannon
and many thousand muskets shook the earth and excited bewilderment and
anxiety within the walls of the city. Almost immediately afterwards a
tremendous cannonade was begun and so vigorously sustained that the
burghers, and part of the garrison, already half rebellious with hatred
to Balagny, began loudly to murmur as the balls came flying into their
streets. A few days later an insurrection broke out. Three thousand
citizens, with red flags flying, and armed to the teeth were discovered
at daylight drawn up in the market place. Balagny came down from the
citadel and endeavoured to calm the tumult, but was received with
execrations. They had been promised, shouted the insurgents, that every
road about Cambray was to swarm with French soldiers under their
formidable king, kicking the heads of the Spaniards in all directions.
And what had they got? a child with thirty archers, sent by his father,
and half a man at the head of four hundred dragoons. To stand a siege
under such circumstances against an army of fifteen thousand Spaniards,
and to take Balagny's copper as if it were gold, was more than could be
asked of respectable burghers.

The allusion to the young prince Rhetelois and to De Vich, who had lost a
leg in the wars, was received with much enthusiasm. Balagny, appalled at
the fury of the people, whom he had so long been trampling upon while
their docility lasted, shrank back before their scornful denunciations
into the citadel.

But his wife was not appalled. This princess had from the beginning of
the siege showed a courage and an energy worthy of her race. Night and
day she had gone the rounds of the ramparts, encouraging and directing
the efforts of the garrison. She had pointed batteries against the
enemy's works, and, with her own hands, had fired the cannon. She now
made her appearance in the market-place, after her husband had fled, and
did her best to assuage the tumult, and to arouse the mutineers to a
sense of duty or of shame. She plucked from her bosom whole handfuls of
gold which she threw among the bystanders, and she was followed by a
number of carts filled with sacks of coin ready to be exchanged for the
debased currency.

Expressing contempt for the progress made by the besieging army, and for
the, slight impression so far produced upon the defences of the city, she
snatched a pike from a soldier and offered in person to lead the garrison
to the breach. Her audience knew full well that this was no theatrical
display, but that the princess was ready as the boldest warrior to lead a
forlorn hope or to repel the bloodiest assault. Nor, from a military
point of view, was their situation desperate. But their hatred and scorn
for Balagny could not be overcome by any passing sentiment of admiration
for his valiant though imperious wife. No one followed her to the breach.
Exclaiming that she at least would never surrender, and that she would
die a sovereign princess rather than live a subject, Renee de Balagny
retained to the citadel.

The town soon afterwards capitulated, and as the Spanish soldiers, on
entering, observed the slight damage that had been caused by their
batteries, they were most grateful to the faint-hearted or mutinous
condition by which they had been spared the expense of an assault.

The citadel was now summoned to surrender; and Balagny agreed, in case he
should not be relieved within six days, to accept what was considered
honourable terms. It proved too late to expect succour from Henry, and
Balagny, but lately a reigning prince, was fain to go forth on the
appointed day and salute his conqueror. But the princess kept her vow.
She had done her best to defend her dominions and to live a sovereign,
and now there was nothing left her but to die. With bitter reproaches on
her husband's pusillanimity, with tears and sobs of rage and shame, she
refused food, spurned the idea of capitulation, and expired before the
9th of October.

On that day a procession moved out of the citadel gates. Balagny, with a
son of eleven years of age, the Prince of Rhetelois, the Commander De
Vich; and many other distinguished personages, all magnificently attired,
came forth at the head of what remained of the garrison. The soldiers,
numbering thirteen hundred foot and two hundred and forty horse, marched
with colours flying, drums beating, bullet in mouth, and all the other
recognised palliatives of military disaster. Last of all came a hearse,
bearing the coffin of the Princess of Cambray. Fuentes saluted the living
leaders of the procession, and the dead heroine; with stately courtesy,
and ordered an escort as far as Peronne.

Balagny met with a cool reception from Henry at St. Quintin, but
subsequently made his peace, and espoused the sister of the king's
mistress, Gabrielle d'Estrees. The body of Gavre d'Inchy, which had been
buried for years, was dug up and thrown into a gutter.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Deal with his enemy as if sure to become his friend
     Mondragon was now ninety-two years old
     More catholic than the pope
     Octogenarian was past work and past mischief
     Sacked and drowned ten infant princes
     Strangled his nineteen brothers on his accession



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 68, 1595-1596



CHAPTER XXXII.

   Archduke Cardinal Albert appointed governor of the Netherlands--
   Return of Philip William from captivity--His adherence to the King
   of Spain--Notice of the Marquis of Varambon, Count Varax, and other
   new officers--Henry's communications with Queen Elizabeth--Madame de
   Monceaux--Conversation of Henry with the English ambassador--
   Marseilles secured by the Duke of Guise--The fort of Rysbank taken
   by De Roane Calais in the hands of the Spanish--Assistance from
   England solicited by Henry--Unhandsome conditions proposed by
   Elizabeth--Annexation of Calais to the obedient provinces--Pirates
   of Dunkirk--Uneasiness of the Netherlanders with regard to the
   designs of Elizabeth--Her protestations of sincerity--Expedition of
   Dutch and English forces to Spain--Attack on the Spanish war-ships--
   Victory of the allies--Flag of the Republic planted on the fortress
   of Cadiz--Capitulation of the city--Letter of Elizabeth to the Dutch
   Admirals--State of affairs in France--Proposition of the Duke of
   Montpensier for the division of the kingdom--Successes of the
   Cardinal Archduke in Normandy--He proceeds to Flanders--Siege and
   capture of Hulat--Projected alliance against Spain--Interview of De
   Sancy with Lord Burghley--Diplomatic conference at Greenwich--
   Formation of a league against Spain--Duplicity of the treaty--
   Affairs in Germany--Battle between the Emperor and the Grand Turk--
   Endeavours of Philip to counteract the influence of the league--His
   interference in the affairs of Germany--Secret intrigue of Henry
   with Spain--Philip's second attempt at the conquest of England.

Another governor-general arrived in the early days of the year 1596, to
take charge of the obedient provinces. It had been rumoured for many
months that Philip's choice was at last fixed upon the Archduke Cardinal
Albert, Archbishop of Toledo, youngest of the three surviving brothers,
of the Emperor Rudolph, as the candidate for many honours. He was to
espouse the Infanta, he was to govern the Netherlands, and, as it was
supposed, there were wider and wilder schemes for the aggrandizement of
this fortunate ecclesiastic brooding in the mind of Philip than yet had
seen the light.

Meantime the cardinal's first care was to unfrock himself. He had also
been obliged to lay down the most lucrative episcopate in Christendom,
that of Toledo, the revenues of which amounted to the enormous sum of
three hundred thousand dollars a year. Of this annual income, however, he
prudently reserved to himself fifty thousand dollars, by contract with
his destined successor.

The cardinal reached the Netherlands before the end of January. He
brought with him three thousand Spanish infantry, and some companies of
cavalry, while his personal baggage was transported on three hundred and
fifty mules. Of course there was a triumphal procession when, on the 11th
February, the new satrap entered the obedient Netherlands, and there was
the usual amount of bell-ringing, cannon-firing, trumpet-blowing, with
torch-light processions, blazing tar-barrels, and bedizened platforms,
where Allegory, in an advanced state of lunacy, performed its wonderful
antics. It was scarcely possible for human creatures to bestow more
adulation, or to abase themselves more thoroughly, than the honest
citizens of Brussels had so recently done in honour of the gentle, gouty
Ernest, but they did their best. That mythological conqueror and demigod
had sunk into an unhonoured grave, despite the loud hosannaha sung to him
on his arrival in Belgica, and the same nobles, pedants, and burghers
were now ready and happy to grovel at the feet of Albert. But as it
proved as impossible to surpass the glories of the holiday which had been
culled out for his brother, so it would be superfluous now to recall the
pageant which thus again delighted the capital.

But there was one personage who graced this joyous entrance whose
presence excited perhaps more interest than did that of the archduke
himself. The procession was headed by three grandees riding abreast.
There was the Duke of Aumale, pensionary of Philip, and one of the last
of the Leaguers, who had just been condemned to death and executed in
effigy at Paris, as a traitor to his king and country; there was the
Prince of Chimay, now since the recent death of his father at Venice
become Duke of Arschot; and between the two rode a gentleman forty-two
years of age, whose grave; melancholy features--although wearing a
painful expression of habitual restraint and distrust suggested, more
than did those of the rest of his family, the physiognomy of William the
Silent to all who remembered that illustrious rebel.

It was the eldest son of the great founder of the Dutch republic. Philip
William, Prince of Orange, had at last, after twenty-eight years of
captivity in Spain, returned to the Netherlands, whence he had been
kidnapped while a school boy at Louvain, by order of the Duke of Alva.
Rarely has there been a more dreary fate, a more broken existence than
his. His almost life-long confinement, not close nor cruel, but strict
and inexorable, together with the devilish arts of the Jesuits, had
produced nearly as blighting an effect upon his moral nature as a closer
dungeon might have done on his physical constitution. Although under
perpetual arrest in Madrid, he had been allowed to ride and to hunt, to
go to mass, and to enjoy many of the pleasures of youth. But he had been
always a prisoner, and his soul--a hopeless captive--could no longer be
liberated now that the tyrant, in order to further his own secret
purposes; had at last released his body from gaol. Although the
eldest-born of his father, and the inheritor of the great estates of
Orange and of Buren, he was no longer a Nassau except in name. The change
wrought by the pressure of the Spanish atmosphere was complete. All that
was left of his youthful self was a passionate reverence for his father's
memory, strangely combined with a total indifference to all that his
father held dear, all for which his father had laboured his whole
lifetime, and for which his heart's blood had been shed. On being at last
set free from bondage he had been taken to the Escorial, and permitted to
kiss the hand of the king--that hand still reeking with his father's
murder. He had been well received by the Infante and the Infanta, and by
the empress-mother, daughter of Charles V., while the artistic treasures
of the palace and cloister were benignantly pointed out to him. It was
also signified to him that he was to receive the order of the Golden
Fleece, and to enter into possession of his paternal and maternal
estates. And Philip William had accepted these conditions as if a born
loyal subject of his Most Catholic Majesty.

Could better proof be wanting that in that age religion was the only
fatherland, and that a true papist could sustain no injury at the hands
of his Most Catholic Majesty. If to be kidnapped in boyhood, to be
imprisoned during a whole generation of mankind, to be deprived of vast
estates, and to be made orphan by the foulest of assassinations, could
not engender resentment against, the royal, perpetrator of these crimes
in the bosom of his victim, was it strange that Philip should deem
himself, something far, more than man, and should placidly accept the
worship rendered to him by inferior beings, as to the holy impersonation
of Almighty Wrath?

Yet there is no doubt that the prince had a sincere respect for his
father, and had bitterly sorrowed at his death. When a Spanish officer,
playing chess with him, in prison, had ventured to speak lightly of that
father, Philip William had seized him bodily, thrown him from the window,
and thus killed him on the spot. And when on his arrival in Brussels it
was suggested to him by President Riehardat that it was the king's
intention to reinstate him in the possession of his estates, but that a
rent-charge of eighteen thousand florins a year was still to be paid from
them; to the heirs of Balthazar Gerard, his father's assassin, he flamed
into a violent rage, drew his poniard, and would have stabbed the
president; had not the bystanders forcibly inteferred. In consequence of
this refusal--called magnanimous by contemporary writers--to accept his
property under such conditions, the estates were detained from him for a
considerable time longer. During the period of his captivity he had been
allowed an income of fifteen thousand livres; but after his restoration
his household, gentlemen, and servants alone cost him eighty thousand
livres annually. It was supposed that the name of Orange-Nassau might now
be of service to the king's designs in the Netherlands. Philip William
had come by way of Rome, where he had been allowed to kiss the pope's
feet and had received many demonstrations of favour, and it was fondly
thought that he would now prove an instrument with which king and pontiff
might pipe back the rebellious republic to its ancient allegiance. But
the Dutchmen and Frisians were deaf. They had tasted liberty too long,
they had dealt too many hard blows on the head of regal and sacerdotal
despotism, to be deceived by coarse artifices. Especially the king
thought that something might be done with Count Hohenlo. That turbulent
personage having recently married the full sister of Philip William, and
being already at variance with Count Maurice, both for military and
political causes, and on account of family and pecuniary disputes, might,
it was thought, be purchased by the king, and perhaps a few towns and
castles in the united Netherlands might be thrown into the bargain. In
that huckstering age, when the loftiest and most valiant nobles of Europe
were the most shameless sellers of themselves, the most cynical
mendicants for alms and the most infinite absorbers of bribes in exchange
for their temporary fealty; when Mayenne, Mercoeur, Guise, Pillars,
Egmont, and innumerable other possessors of ancient and illustrious names
alternately and even simultaneously drew pensions from both sides in the
great European conflict, it was not wonderful that Philip should think
that the boisterous Hohenlo might be bought as well as another. The
prudent king, however, gave his usual order that nothing was to be paid
beforehand, but that the service was to be rendered first; and the price
received afterwards.

The cardinal applied himself to the task on his first arrival, but was
soon obliged to report that he could make but little progress in the
negotiation.

The king thought, too, that Heraugiere, who had commanded the memorable
expedition against Breda, and who was now governor of that stronghold,
might be purchased, and he accordingly instructed the cardinal to make
use of the Prince of Orange in the negotiations to be made for that
purpose. The cardinal, in effect, received an offer from Heraugiere in
the course of a few months not only to surrender Breda, without previous
recompense, but likewise to place Gertruydenberg, the governor of which
city was his relative, in the king's possession. But the cardinal was
afraid of a trick, for Heraugiere was known to be as artful as he was
brave, and there can be little doubt that the Netherlander was only
disposed to lay an ambush for the governor-general.

And thus the son of William the Silent made his reappearance in the
streets of Brussels, after twenty-eight years of imprisonment, riding in
the procession of the new viceroy. The cardinal-archduke came next, with
Fuentes riding at his left hand. That vigorous soldier and politician
soon afterwards left the Netherlands to assume the government of Milan.

There was a correspondence between the Prince of Orange and the
States-General, in which the republican authorities after expressing
themselves towards him with great propriety, and affectionate respect,
gave him plainly but delicately to understand that his presence at that
time in the United Provinces would neither be desirable, nor, without
their passports, possible. They were quite aware of the uses to which the
king was hoping to turn their reverence for the memory and the family of
the great martyr, and were determined to foil such idle projects on the
threshold.

The Archduke Albert, born on 3rd of November, 1560, was now in his
thirty-sixth year. A small, thin, pale-faced man, with fair hair, and
beard, commonplace features, and the hereditary underhanging Burgundian
jaw prominently developed, he was not without a certain nobility of
presence. His manners were distant to haughtiness and grave to solemnity.
He spoke very little and very slowly. He had resided long in Spain, where
he had been a favourite with his uncle--as much as any man could be a
favourite with Philip--and he had carefully formed himself on that royal
model. He looked upon the King of Spain as the greatest, wisest, and best
of created beings, as the most illustrious specimen of kingcraft ever yet
vouchsafed to the world. He did his best to look sombre and Spanish, to
turn his visage into a mask; to conceal his thoughts and emotions, not
only by the expression of his features but by direct misstatements of his
tongue, and in all things to present to the obedient Flemings as
elaborate a reproduction of his great prototype as copy can ever recall
inimitable original. Old men in the Netherlands; who remembered in how
short a time Philip had succeeded, by the baleful effect of his personal
presence, in lighting up a hatred which not the previous twenty years of
his father's burnings, hangings, and butcherings in those provinces had
been able to excite, and which forty subsequent years of bloodshed had
not begun to allay, might well shake their heads when they saw this new
representative of Spanish authority. It would have been wiser--so many
astute politicians thought--for Albert to take the Emperor Charles for
his model, who had always the power of making his tyranny acceptable to
the Flemings, through the adroitness with which he seemed to be entirely
a Fleming himself.

But Albert, although a German, valued himself on appearing like a
Spaniard. He was industrious, regular in his habits, moderate in eating
and drinking, fond of giving audiences on business. He spoke German,
Spanish, and Latin, and understood French and Italian. He had at times
been a student, and, especially, had some knowledge of mathematics. He
was disposed to do his duty--so far as a man can do his duty, who
imagines himself so entirely lifted above his fellow creatures as to owe
no obligation except to exact their obedience and to personify to them
the will of the Almighty. To Philip and the Pope he was ever faithful. He
was not without pretensions to military talents, but his gravity,
slowness, and silence made him fitter to shine in the cabinet than in the
field. Henry IV., who loved his jests whether at his own expense or that
of friend or foe, was wont to observe that there were three things which
nobody would ever believe, and which yet were very true; that Queen
Elizabeth deserved her title of the, throned vestal, that he was himself
a good Catholic, and that Cardinal Albert was a good general. It is
probable that the assertions were all equally accurate.

The new governor did not find a very able group of generals or statesmen
assembled about him to assist in the difficult task which he had
undertaken. There were plenty of fine gentlemen, with ancient names and
lofty pretensions, but the working men in field or council had mostly
disappeared. Mondragon, La Motte, Charles Mansfeld, Frank Verdugo were
all dead. Fuentes was just taking his departure for Italy. Old Peter
Ernest was a cipher; and his son's place was filled by the Marquis of
Varambon; as principal commander in active military operations. This was
a Burgundian of considerable military ability, but with an inordinate
opinion of himself and of his family. "Accept the fact that his lineage
is the highest possible, and that he has better connections than those of
anybody else in the whole world, and he will be perfectly contented,"
said a sharp, splenetic Spaniard in the cardinal's confidence. "'Tis a
faithful and loyal cavalier, but full of impertinences." The brother of
Varambon, Count Varax, had succeeded la Motte as general of artillery,
and of his doings there was a, tale ere long to be told. On the whole,
the best soldier in the archduke's service for the moment was the
Frenchman Savigny de Rosne, an ancient Leaguer, and a passionate hater of
the Bearnese, of heretics, and of France as then constituted. He had once
made a contract with Henry by which he bound himself to his service; but
after occasioning a good deal of injury by his deceitful attitude, he had
accepted a large amount of Spanish dollars, and had then thrown off the
mask and proclaimed himself the deadliest foe of his lawful sovereign.
"He was foremost," said Carlos Coloma, "among those who were successfully
angled for by the Commander Moreo with golden hooks." Although
prodigiously fat, this renegade was an active and experienced campaigner;
while his personal knowledge of his own country made his assistance of
much value to those who were attempting its destruction.

The other great nobles, who were pressing themselves about the new
viceroy with enthusiastic words of welcome, were as like to give him
embarrassment as support. All wanted office, emoluments, distinctions,
nor could, much dependence be placed on the ability or the character of
any of them. The new duke of Arschot had in times past, as prince of
Chimay, fought against the king, and had even imagined himself a
Calvinist, while his wife was still a determined heretic. It is true that
she was separated from her husband. He was a man of more quickness and
acuteness than his father had been, but if possible more mischievous both
to friend and foe; being subtle, restless, intriguing, fickle; ambitious,
and deceitful. The Prince of Orange was considered a man of very ordinary
intelligence, not more than half witted, according to Queen Elizabeth,
and it was probable that the peculiar circumstances of his life would
extinguish any influence that he might otherwise have attained with
either party. He was likely to affect a neutral position and, in times of
civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing.

Arenberg, unlike the great general on the Catholic side who had made the
name illustrious in the opening scenes of the mighty contest, was
disposed to quiet obscurity so far as was compatible with his rank.
Having inherited neither fortune nor talent with his ancient name, he was
chiefly occupied with providing for the wants of his numerous family. A
good papist, well-inclined and docile, he was strongly recommended for
the post of admiral, not because he had naval acquirements, but because
he had a great many children. The Marquis of Havre, uncle to the Duke of
Arschot, had played in his time many prominent parts in the long
Netherland tragedy. Although older than he was when Requesens and Don
John of Austria had been governors, he was not much wiser, being to the
full as vociferous, as false, as insolent, as self-seeking, and as
mischievous as in his youth. Alternately making appeals to popular
passions in his capacity of high-born demagogue, or seeking crumbs of
bounty as the supple slave of his sovereign, he was not more likely to
acquire the confidence of the cardinal than he had done that of his
predecessors.

The most important and opulent grandee of all the provinces was the Count
de Ligne, who had become by marriage or inheritance Prince of Espinay,
Seneschal of Hainault, and Viscount of Ghent. But it was only his
enormous estates that gave him consideration, for he was not thought
capable of either good or bad intentions. He had, however, in times past,
succeeded in the chief object of his ambition, which was to keep out of
trouble, and to preserve his estates from confiscation. His wife, who
governed him, and had thus far guided him safely, hoped to do so to the
end. The cardinal was informed that the Golden Fleece would be
all-sufficient to keep him upon the right track.

Of the Egmonts, one had died on the famous field of Ivry, another was an
outlaw, and had been accused of participation in plots of assassination
against William of Orange; the third was now about the archduke's court,
and was supposed, to be as dull a man--as Ligne, but likely to be
serviceable so long as he could keep his elder brother out of his
inheritance. Thus devoted to Church and King were the sons of the man
whose head Philip had taken off on a senseless charge of treason. The two
Counts Van den Berg--Frederic and Herman--sons of the sister of William
the Silent, were, on the whole, as brave, efficient, and trustworthy
servants of the king and cardinal as were to be found in the obedient,
provinces.

The new governor had come well provided with funds, being supplied for
the first three-quarters of the year with a monthly: allowance of
1,100,000 florins. For reasons soon to appear, it was not probable that
the States-General would be able very, soon to make a vigorous campaign,
and it was thought best for the cardinal to turn his immediate attention
to France.

The negotiations for, effecting an alliance offensive and defensive,
between the three powers most interested in opposing the projects of
Spain for universal empire, were not yet begun, and will be reserved for
a subsequent chapter. Meantime there had been much informal discussion
and diplomatic trifling between France and England for the purpose of
bringing about a sincere co-operation of the two crowns against the Fifth
Monarchy--as it was much the fashion to denominate Philip's proposed
dominion.

Henry had suggested at different times to Sir Robert Sidney, during his
frequent presence in France as special envoy for the queen, the necessity
of such a step, but had not always found a hearty sympathy. But as the
king began to cool in his hatred to Spain, after his declaration of war
against that power, it seemed desirable to Elizabeth to fan his
resentment afresh, and to revert to those propositions which had been so
coolly received when made. Sir Harry Umton, ambassador from her Majesty,
was accordingly provided with especial letters on the subject from the
queen's own hand, and presented them early in the year at Coucy (Feb. 13,
1596). No man in the world knew better the tone to adopt in his
communications with Elizabeth than did the chivalrous king. No man knew
better than he how impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too
gross for her to accept as spontaneous and natural effusions, of the
heart. He received the letters from the hands of Sir Henry, read them
with rapture, heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed. "Ah! Mr. Ambassador,
what shall I say to you? This letter of the queen, my sister, is full of
sweetness and affection. I see that she loves me, while that I love her
is not to be doubted. Yet your commission shows me the contrary, and this
proceeds from her, ministers. How else can these obliquities stand with
her professions of love? I am forced, as a king, to take a course which,
as Henry, her loving brother, I could never adopt."

They then walked out into the park, and the king fell into frivolous
discourse, on purpose to keep the envoy from the important subject which
had been discussed in the cabinet. Sir Henry brought him back to
business, and insisted that there was no disagreement between her Majesty
and her counsellors, all being anxious to do what she wished. The envoy,
who shared in the prevailing suspicions that Henry was about to make a
truce with Spain, vehemently protested against such a step, complaining
that his ministers, whose minds were distempered with jealousy, were
inducing him to sacrifice her friendship to a false and hollow
reconciliation with Spain. Henry protested that his preference would be
for England's amity, but regretted that the English delays were so great,
and that such dangers were ever impending over his head, as to make it
impossible for him, as a king, to follow the inclinations of his heart.

They then met Madame de Monceaux, the beautiful Gabrielle, who was
invited to join in the walk, the king saying that she was no meddler in
politics, but of a tractable spirit.

This remark, in Sir Henry's opinion, was just, for, said he to Burghley,
she is thought incapable of affairs, and, very simple.

The duchess unmasked very graciously as the ambassador was presented;
but, said the splenetic diplomatist, "I took no pleasure in it, nor held
it any grace at all." "She was attired in a plain satin gown," he
continued, "with a velvet hood to keep her from the weather, which became
her very ill. In my opinion, she is altered very much for the worse, and
was very grossly painted." The three walked together discoursing of
trifles, much to the annoyance of Umton. At last, a shower forced the
lady into the house, and the king soon afterwards took the ambassador to
his cabinet. "He asked me how I liked his mistress," wrote Sir Henry to
Burghley, "and I answered sparingly in her praise, and told him that if
without offence I might speak it, I had the picture of a far more
excellent mistress, and yet did her picture come far from the perfection
of her beauty."

"As you love me," cried the king, "show it me, if you have it about you!"

"I made some difficulty," continued Sir Henry, "yet upon his importunity
I offered it to his view very secretly, still holding it in my hand. He
beheld it with passion and admiration, saying that I was in the right."
"I give in," said the king, "Je me rends."

Then, protesting that he had never seen such beauty all his life, he
kissed it reverently twice or thrice, Sir Henry still holding the
miniature firmly in his hand.

The king then insisted upon seizing the picture, and there was a charming
struggle between the two, ending in his Majesty's triumph. He then told
Sir Henry that he might take his leave of the portrait, for he would
never give it up again for any treasure, and that to possess the favour
of the original he would forsake all the world. He fell into many more
such passionate and incoherent expressions of rhapsody, as of one
suddenly smitten and spell-bound with hapless love, bitterly reproaching
the ambassador for never having brought him any answers to the many
affectionate letters which he had written to the queen, whose silence had
made him so wretched. Sir Henry, perhaps somewhat confounded at being
beaten at his own fantastic game, answered as well as he could, "but I
found," said he, "that the dumb picture did draw on more speech and
affection from him than all my best arguments and eloquence. This was the
effect of our conference, and, if infiniteness of vows and outward
professions be a strong argument of inward affection, there is good
likelihood of the king's continuance of amity with her Majesty; only I
fear lest his necessities may inconsiderately draw him into some
hazardous treaty with Spain, which I hope confidently it is yet in the
power of her Majesty to prevent."

The king, while performing these apish tricks about the picture of a lady
with beady black eyes, a hooked nose, black teeth, and a red wig, who was
now in the sixty-fourth year of her age, knew very well that the whole
scene would be at once repeated to the fair object of his passion by her
faithful envoy; but what must have been the opinion entertained of
Elizabeth by contemporary sovereigns and statesmen when such fantastic
folly could be rehearsed and related every day in the year!

And the king knew, after all, and was destined very soon to acquire proof
of it which there was no gainsaying, that the beautiful Elizabeth had
exactly as much affection for him as he had for her, and was as capable
of sacrificing his interests for her own, or of taking advantage of his
direct necessities as cynically and as remorselessly, as the King of
Spain, or the Duke of Mayenne, or the Pope had ever done.

Henry had made considerable progress in re-establishing his authority
over a large portion of the howling wilderness to which forty years of
civil war had reduced his hereditary kingdom. There was still great
danger, however, at its two opposite extremities. Calais, key to the
Norman gate of France, was feebly held; while Marseilles, seated in such
dangerous proximity to Spain on the one side, and to the Republic of
Genoa, that alert vassal of Spain, on the other, was still in the
possession of the League. A concerted action was undertaken by means of
John Andrew Doria, with a Spanish fleet from Genoa on the outside and a
well-organised conspiracy from within, to carry the city bodily over to
Philip. Had it succeeded, this great Mediterranean seaport would have
become as much a Spanish 'possession as Barcelona or Naples, and infinite
might have been the damage to Henry's future prospects in consequence.
But there was a man in Marseilles; Petrus Libertas by name, whose
ancestors had gained this wholesome family appellation by a successful
effort once made by them to rescue the little town of Calvi, in Corsica,
from the tyranny of Genoa. Peter Liberty needed no prompting to
vindicate, on a fitting occasion, his right to his patronymic. In
conjunction with men in Marseilles who hated oppression, whether of
kings, priests, or renegade republics, as much as he did, and with a
secret and well-arranged understanding with the Duke of Guise, who was
burning with ambition to render a signal benefit to the cause which he
had just espoused, this bold tribune of the people succeeded in stirring
the population to mutiny at exactly the right moment, and in opening the
gates of Marseilles to the Duke of Guise and his forces before it was
possible for the Leaguers to admit the fleet of Doria into its harbour.
Thus was the capital of Mediterranean France lost and won. Guise gained
great favour in Henry's eyes; and with reason; for the son of the great
Balafre, who was himself the League, had now given the League the stroke
of mercy. Peter Liberty became consul of Marseilles, and received a
patent of nobility. It was difficult, however, for any diploma to confer
anything more noble upon him than the name which he hade inherited, and
to which he had so well established his right.

But while Henry's cause had thus been so well served in the south, there
was danger impending in the north. The king had been besieging, since
autumn, the town of La Fere, an important military and strategic
position, which had been Farnese's basis of operations during his
memorable campaigns in France, and which had ever since remained in the
hands of the League.

The cardinal had taken the field with an army of fifteen thousand foot
and three thousand horse, assembled at Valenciennes, and after hesitating
some time whether, or not he should attempt to relieve La Fere, he
decided instead on a diversion. In the second week of April; De Rosne was
detached at the head of four thousand men, and suddenly appeared before
Calais. The city had been long governed by De Gordan, but this wary and
experienced commander had unfortunately been for two years dead. Still
more unfortunately, it had been in his power to bequeath, not only his
fortune, which was very large, but the government of Calais, considered
the most valuable command in France, to his nephew, De Vidosan. He had,
however, not bequeathed to him his administrative and military genius.

The fortress called the Risban, or Rysbank, which entirely governed the
harbour, and the possession of which made Calais nearly impregnable, as
inexhaustible supplies could thus be poured into it by sea, had fallen
into comparative decay. De Gordan had been occupied in strengthening the
work, but since his death the nephew had entirely neglected the task. On
the land side, the bridge of Nivelet was the key to the place. The
faubourg was held by two Dutch companies, under Captains Le Gros and
Dominique, who undertook to prevent the entrance of the archduke's
forces. Vidosan, however; ordered these faithful auxiliaries into the
citadel.

De Rosne, acting with great promptness; seized both the bridge of Nivelet
and the fort of Rysbank by a sudden and well-concerted movement. This
having been accomplished, the city was in his power, and, after
sustaining a brief cannonade, it surrendered. Vidosan, with his garrison,
however, retired into the citadel, and it was agreed between, himself and
De Rosne that unless succour should be received from the French king
before the expiration of six days; the citadel should also be-evacuated.

Meantime Henry, who was at Boulogne, much disgusted at this unexpected
disaster, had sent couriers to the Netherlands, demanding assistance of
the States-General and of the stadholder. Maurice had speedily responded
to the appeal. Proceeding himself to Zeeland, he had shipped fifteen
companies of picked troops from Middelburg, together with a flotilla
laden with munitions and provisions enough to withstand a siege of
several weeks. When the arrangements were completed, he went himself on
board of a ship of war to take command of the expedition in person. On
the 17th of April he arrived with his succours off the harbour of Calais,
and found to his infinite disappointment that the Rysbank fort was in the
hands of the enemy. As not a vessel could pass the bar without almost
touching that fortress, the entrance to Calais was now impossible. Had
the incompetent Vidosan heeded the advice of his brave Dutch officers;
the place might still have been saved, for it had surrendered in a panic
on the very day when the fleet of Maurice arrived off the port.

Henry had lost no time in sending, also, to his English allies for
succour. The possession of Calais by the Spaniards might well seem
alarming to Elizabeth, who could not well forget that up to the time of
her sister this important position had been for two centuries an English
stronghold. The defeat of the Spanish husband of an English queen had
torn from England the last trophies of the Black Prince, and now the
prize had again fallen into the hands of Spain; but of Spain no longer in
alliance, but at war, with England. Obviously it was most dangerous to
the interests and to the safety of the English realm, that this
threatening position, so near the gates of London, should be in the hands
of the most powerful potentate in the world and the dire enemy of
England. In response to Henry's appeal, the Earl of Essex was despatched
with a force of six thousand men--raised by express command of the queen
on Sunday when the people were all at church--to Dover, where shipping
was in readiness to transport the troops at once across the Channel. At
the same time, the politic queen and some of her counsellors thought the
opening a good one to profit by the calamity of their dear ally,
Certainly it was desirable to prevent Calais from falling into the grasp
of Philip. But it was perhaps equally desirable, now that the place
without the assistance of Elizabeth could no longer be preserved by
Henry, that Elizabeth, and not Henry, should henceforth be its possessor.
To make this proposition as clear to the French king as it seemed to the
English queen, Sir Robert Sidney was despatched in all haste to Boulogne,
even while the guns of De Rosne were pointed at Calais citadel, and while
Maurice's fleet, baffled by the cowardly surrender of the Risban, was on
its retreat from the harbour.

At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 21st of April, Sidney landed at
Boulogne. Henry, who had been intensely impatient to hear from England,
and who suspected that the delay was boding no good to his cause, went
down to the strand to meet the envoy, with whom then and there he engaged
instantly in the most animated discourse.

As there was little time to be lost, and as Sidney on getting out of the
vessel found himself thus confronted with the soldier-king in person, he
at once made the demand which he had been sent across the Channel to
make. He requested the king to deliver up the town and citadel of Calais
to the Queen of England as soon as, with her assistance, he should
succeed in recovering the place. He assigned as her Majesty's reasons for
this peremptory summons that she would on no other terms find it in her
power to furnish the required succour. Her subjects, she said, would
never consent to it except on these conditions. It was perhaps not very
common with the queen to exhibit so much deference to the popular will,
but on this occasion the supposed inclinations of the nation furnished
her with an excellent pretext for carrying out her own. Sidney urged
moreover that her Majesty felt certain of being obliged--in case she did
not take Calais into her own safe-keeping and protection--to come to the
rescue again within four or six months to prevent it once more from being
besieged, conquered, and sacked by the enemy.

The king had feared some such proposition as this, and had intimated as
much to the States' envoy, Calvaert, who had walked with him down to the
strand, and had left him when the conference began. Henry was not easily
thrown from his equanimity nor wont to exhibit passion on any occasion,
least of all in his discussions with the ambassadors of England, but the
cool and insolent egotism of this communication was too much for him.

He could never have believed, he said in reply, that after the repeated
assurances of her Majesty's affection for him which he had received from
the late Sir Henry Umton in their recent negotiations, her Majesty would
now so discourteously seek to make her profit out of his misery. He had
come to Boulogne, he continued, on the pledge given by the Earl of Essex
to assist him with seven or eight thousand men in the recovery of Calais.
If this after all should fail him--although his own reputation would be
more injured by the capture of the place thus before his eyes than if it
had happened in his absence--he would rather a hundred times endure the
loss of the place than have it succoured with such injurious and
dishonourable conditions. After all, he said, the loss of Calais was
substantially of more importance to the queen than to himself. To him the
chief detriment would be in the breaking up of his easy and regular
communications with his neighbours through this position, and especially
with her Majesty. But as her affection for him was now proved to be so
slender as to allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune and
dishonour, it would be better for him to dispense with her friendship
altogether and to strengthen his connections with truer and more
honourable friends. Should the worst come to the worst, he doubted not
that he should be able, being what he was and much more than he was of
old, to make a satisfactory arrangement with, the King of Spain. He was
ready to save Calais at the peril of his life, to conquer it in person,
and not by the hands of any of his lieutenants; but having done so, he
was not willing--at so great a loss of reputation without and at so much
peril within--to deliver it to her Majesty or to any-one else. He would
far rather see it fall into the hands of the Spaniards.

Thus warmly and frankly did Henry denounce the unhandsome proposition
made in the name of the queen, while, during his vehement expostulations,
Sidney grew red with shame, and did not venture to look the king for one
moment in the face. He then sought to mitigate the effect of his demand
by intimating, with much embarrassment of demeanour, that perhaps her
Majesty would be satisfied with the possession of Calais for her own
life-time, and--as this was at once plumply refused--by the suggestion of
a pledge of it for the term of one year. But the king only grew the more
indignant as the bargaining became more paltry, and he continued to heap
bitter reproaches upon the queen, who, without having any children or
known inheritor of her possessions, should nevertheless, be so desirous
of compassing his eternal disgrace and of exciting the discontent of his
subjects for the sake of an evanescent gain for herself. At such a price,
he avowed, he had no wish to purchase her Majesty'a friendship.

After this explosion the conference became more amicable. The English
envoy assured the king that there could be, at all events, no doubt of
the arrival of Essex with eight thousand men on the following Thursday to
assist in the relief of the citadel; notwithstanding the answer which, he
had received to the demand of her Majesty.

He furthermore expressed the strong desire which he felt that the king
might be induced to make a personal visit to the queen at Dover, whither
she would gladly come to receive him, so soon as Calais should have been
saved. To this the king replied with gallantry, that it was one of the
things in the world that he had most at heart. The envoy rejoined that
her Majesty would consider such a visit a special honour and favour. She
had said that she could leave this world more cheerfully, when God should
ordain, after she had enjoyed two hours' conversation with his Majesty.

Sidney on taking his departure repeated the assurance that the troops
under Essex would arrive before Calais by Thursday, and that they were
fast marching to the English coast; forgetting, apparently, that, at the
beginning of the interview, he had stated, according to the queen's
instructions, that the troops had been forbidden to march until a
favourable answer had been returned by the king to her proposal.

Henry then retired to his headquarters for the purpose of drawing up
information for his minister in England, De Saucy, who had not yet been
received by the queen, and who had been kept in complete ignorance of
this mission of Sidney and of its purport.

While the king was thus occupied, the English envoy was left in the
company of Calvaert, who endeavoured, without much success, to obtain
from him the result of the conference which had just taken place. Sidney
was not to be pumped by the Dutch diplomatist, adroit as he
unquestionably was, but, so soon as the queen's ambassador was fairly
afloat again on his homeward track--which was the case within three hours
after his arrival at Boulogne--Calvaert received from the king a minute
account of the whole conversation.

Henry expressed unbounded gratitude to the States-General of the republic
for their prompt and liberal assistance, and he eagerly contrasted the
conduct of Prince Maurice--sailing forth in person so chivalrously to his
rescue--with the sharp bargainings and shortcomings of the queen. He
despatched a special messenger to convey his thanks to the prince, and he
expressed his hope to Calvaert that the States might be willing that
their troops should return to the besieged place under the command of
Maurice, whose, presence alone, as he loudly and publicly protested, was
worth four thousand men.

But it was too late. The six days were rapidly passing, away. The
governor of Boulogne, Campagnolo, succeeded, by Henry's command, in
bringing a small reinforcement of two or three hundred men into the
citadel of Calais during the night of the 22nd of April. This devoted
little band made their way, when the tide was low, along the flats which
stretched between the fort of Rysbank and the sea. Sometimes wading up to
the neck in water, sometimes swimming for their lives, and during a
greater part of their perilous, march clinging so close to the hostile
fortress as almost to touch its guns, the gallant adventurers succeeded
in getting into the citadel in time to be butchered with the rest of the
garrison on the following day. For so soon as the handful of men had
gained admittance to the gates--although otherwise the aspect of affairs
was quite unchanged--the rash and weak De Vidosan proclaimed that the
reinforcements stipulated in his conditional capitulation having arrived,
he should now resume hostilities. Whereupon he opened fire, upon the
town, and a sentry was killed. De Rosne, furious, at what he considered a
breach of faith, directed a severe cannonade against the not very
formidable walls of the castle. During the artillery engagement which
ensued the Prince of Orange, who had accompanied De Rosne to the siege,
had a very narrow escape. A cannon-ball from the town took off the heads
of two Spaniards standing near him, bespattering him with their blood and
brains. He was urged to retire, but assured those about him that he came
of too good a house to be afraid. His courage was commendable, but it
seems not to have occurred to him that the place for his father's son was
not by the aide of the general who was doing the work of his father's
murderer. While his brother Maurice with a fleet of twenty Dutch
war-ships was attempting in vain to rescue Calais from the grasp of the
Spanish king, Philip William of Nassau was looking on, a pleased and
passive spectator of the desperate and unsuccessful efforts at defence.
The assault was then ordered? The-first storm was repulsed, mainly by the
Dutch companies, who fought in the breach until most of their numbers
were killed or wounded, their captains Dominique and Le Gros having both
fallen. The next attack was successful, the citadel was carried; and the
whole garrison, with exception of what remained of the Hollanders and
Zeelanders, put to the sword. De Vidosan himself perished. Thus Calais
was once more a Spanish city, and was re-annexed to the obedient
provinces of Flanders. Of five thousand persons, soldiers and citizens,
who had taken refuge in the castle, all were killed or reduced to
captivity.'

The conversion of this important naval position into a Spanish-Flemish
station was almost as disastrous to the republic as it was mortifying to
France and dangerous to England. The neighbouring Dunkirk had long been a
nest of pirates, whence small, fast-sailing vessels issued, daily and
nightly, to prey indiscriminately upon the commerce of all nations. These
corsairs neither gave nor took quarter, and were in the habit, after they
had plundered their prizes, of setting them adrift, with the sailors
nailed to the deck or chained to the rigging; while the officers were
held for ransom. In case the vessels themselves were wanted, the crews
were indiscriminately tossed overboard; while, on the ether hand, the
buccaneers rarely hesitated to blow up their own ships, when unable to
escape from superior force. Capture was followed by speedy execution, and
it was but recently that one of these freebooters having been brought
into Rotterdam, the whole crew, forty-four in number, were hanged on the
day of their arrival, while some five and twenty merchant-captains held
for ransom by the pirates thus obtained their liberty.

And now Calais was likely to become a second and more dangerous
sea-robbers' cave than even Dunkirk had been.

Notwithstanding this unlucky beginning of the campaign for the three
allies, it was determined to proceed with a considerable undertaking
which had been arranged between England and the republic. For the time,
therefore, the importunate demands of the queen for repayments by the
States of her disbursements during the past ten years were suspended. It
had, indeed, never been more difficult than at that moment for the
republic to furnish extraordinary sums of money. The year 1595 had not
been prosperous. Although the general advance in commerce, manufactures,
and in every department of national development had been very remark
able, yet there had recently been, for exceptional causes, an apparent
falling off; while, on the other hand, there had been a bad harvest in
the north of Europe. In Holland, where no grain was grown, and which yet
was the granary of the world, the prices were trebled. One hundred and
eight bushels (a last) of rye, which ordinarily was worth fifty florins,
now sold for one hundred and fifty florins, and other objects of
consumption were equally enhanced in value. On the other hand, the
expenses of the war were steadily increasing, and were fixed for this
year at five millions of florins. The republic, and especially the States
of Holland, never hesitated to tax heroically. The commonwealth had no
income except that which the several provinces chose to impose upon
themselves in order to fill the quota assigned to them by the
States-General; but this defect in their political organization was not
sensibly felt so long as the enthusiasm for the war continued in full
force. The people of the Netherlands knew full well that there was no
liberty for them without fighting, no fighting without an army, no army
without wages, and no wages without taxation; and although by the end of
the century the imposts had become so high that, in the language of that
keen observer, Cardinal Bentivoglio; nuncio at Brussels, they could
scarcely be imagined higher, yet, according to the same authority, they
were laid unflinchingly and paid by the people without a murmur. During
this year and the next the States of Holland, whose proportion often
amounted to fifty per cent. of the whole contribution of the United
Provinces, and who ever set a wholesome example in taxation, raised the
duty on imports and all internal taxes by one-eighth, and laid a fresh
impost on such articles of luxury as velvets and satins, pleas and
processes. Starch, too, became a source of considerable revenue. With the
fast-rising prosperity of the country luxury had risen likewise, and, as
in all ages and countries of the world of which there is record, woman's
dress signalized itself by extravagant and very often tasteless
conceptions. In a country where, before the doctrine of popular
sovereignty had been broached in any part of the world by the most
speculative theorists, very vigorous and practical examples of democracy
had been afforded to Europe; in a country where, ages before the science
of political economy had been dreamed of, lessons of free trade on the
largest scale had been taught to mankind by republican traders
instinctively breaking in many directions through the nets by which
monarchs and oligarchs, guilds and corporations, had hampered the
movements of commerce; it was natural that fashion should instinctively
rebel against restraint. The honest burgher's vrow of Middelburg or
Enkhuyzen claimed the right to make herself as grotesque as Queen
Elizabeth in all her glory. Sumptuary laws were an unwholesome part of
feudal tyranny, and, as such, were naturally dropping into oblivion on
the free soil of the Netherlands. It was the complaint therefore of
moralists that unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing.
Formerly starch had been made of the refuse parts of corn, but now the
manufacturers of that article made use of the bloom of the wheat and
consumed as much of it as would have fed great cities. In the little
village of Wormer the starch-makers used between three and four thousand
bushels a week. Thus a substantial gentlewoman in fashionable array might
bear the food of a parish upon her ample bosom. A single manufacturer in
Amsterdam required four hundred weekly bushels. Such was the demand for
the stiffening of the vast ruffs, the wonderful head-gear, the elaborate
lace-work, stomachers and streamers, without which no lady who respected
herself could possibly go abroad to make her daily purchases of eggs and
poultry in the market-place.

"May God preserve us," exclaimed a contemporary chronicler, unreasonably
excited on the starch question, "from farther luxury and wantonness, and
abuse of His blessings and good gifts, that the punishment of Jeroboam,
which followed upon Solomon's fortunate reign and the gold-ships of Ophir
may not come upon us."

The States of Holland not confounding--as so often has been the case--the
precepts of moral philosophy with those of political economy, did not,
out of fear for the doom of Jeroboam, forbid the use of starch. They
simply laid a tax of a stiver a pound on the commodity, or about six per
cent, ad valorem; and this was a more wholesome way of serving the State
than by abridging the liberty of the people in the choice of personal
attire. Meantime the preachers were left to thunder from their pulpits
upon the sinfulness of starched rues and ornamental top-knots, and to
threaten their fair hearers with the wrath to come, with as much success
as usually attends such eloquence.

There had been uneasiness in the provinces in regard to the designs of
the queen, especially since the States had expressed their inability to
comply in full with her demands for repayment. Spanish emissaries had
been busily circulating calumnious reports that her Majesty was on the
eve of concluding a secret peace with Philip, and that it was her
intention to deliver the cautionary towns to the king. The Government
attached little credence to such statements, but it was natural that
Envoy Caron should be anxious at their perpetual recurrence both in
England and in the provinces. So, one day, he had a long conversation
with the Earl of Essex on the subject; for it will be recollected that
Lord Leicester had strenuously attempted at an earlier day to get
complete possession, not only of the pledged cities but of Leyden also,
in order to control the whole country. Essex was aflame with indignation
at once, and, expressed himself with his customary recklessness. He swore
that if her Majesty were so far forsaken of God and so forgetful of her
own glory, as through evil counsel to think of making any treaty with
Spain without the knowledge of the States-General and in order to cheat
them, he would himself make the matter as public as it was possible to
do, and would place himself in direct opposition to such a measure, so as
to show the whole world that his heart and soul were foreign at least to
any vile counsel of the kind that might have been given to his Sovereign.
Caron and Essex conversed much in this vein, and although the envoy,
especially requested him not to do so, the earl, who was not
distinguished, for his powers of dissimulation, and who suspected
Burleigh of again tampering, as he had often before tampered, with secret
agents of Philip, went straight to the queen with the story. Next day,
Essex invited Caron to dine and to go with him after dinner to the queen.
This was done, and, so soon as the States' envoy was admitted to the
royal presence, her Majesty at once opened the subject. She had heard,
she said, that the reports in question had been spread through the
provinces, and she expressed much indignation in regard to them. She
swore very vehemently, as usual, and protested that she had better never
have been born than prove so miserable a princess as these tales would
make her. The histories of England, she said, should never describe her
as guilty of such falsehood. She could find a more honourable and fitting
means of making peace than by delivering up cities and strongholds so
sincerely and confidingly placed in her hands. She hoped to restore them
as faithfully as they had loyally been entrusted to her keeping. She
begged Caron to acquaint the States-General with these asseverations;
declaring that never since she had sent troops to the Netherlands had she
lent her ear to those who had made such underhand propositions. She was
aware that Cardinal Albert had propositions to make, and that he was
desirous of inducing both the French king and, herself to consent to a
peace with Spain: but she promised, the States' envoy solemnly before God
to apprise him of any such overtures, so soon as they should be made
known to herself.

Much more in this strain, with her usual vehemence and mighty oaths, did
the great queen aver, and the republican envoy, to whom she was on this
occasion very gracious, was fain to believe in her sincerity. Yet the
remembrance of the amazing negotiations between the queen's ministers and
the agents of Alexander Farnese, by which the invasion of the Armada had
been masked; could not but have left an uneasy feeling in the mind of
every Dutch statesman. "I trust in God," said Caron, "that He may never
so abandon her as to permit her to do the reverse of what she now
protests with so much passion. Should it be otherwise--which God
forbid--I should think that He would send such chastisement upon her and
her people that other princes would see their fate therein as in a
mirror, should they make and break such oaths and promises. I tell you
these things as they occur, because, as I often feel uneasiness myself, I
imagine that my friends on the other side the water may be subject to the
same anxiety. Nevertheless, beat the bush as I may, I can obtain no
better information than this which I am now sending you."

It had been agreed that for a time the queen should desist from her
demands for repayment--which, according to the Treaty of 1585, was to be
made only after conclusion of peace between Spain and the provinces, but
which Elizabeth was frequently urging on the ground that the States could
now make that peace when they chose--and in return for such remission the
republic promised to furnish twenty-four ships of war and four tenders
for a naval expedition which was now projected against the Spanish coast.
These war-ships were to be of four hundred, three hundred, and two
hundred tons-eight of each dimension--and the estimated expense of their
fitting out for five months was 512,796 florins.

Before the end of April, notwithstanding the disappointment occasioned in
the Netherlands by the loss of Calais, which the States had so
energetically striven to prevent, the fleet under Admiral John of
Duvenwoord, Seigneur of Warmond, and Vice-Admirals Jan Gerbrantz and
Cornelius Leusen, had arrived at Plymouth, ready to sail with their
English allies. There were three thousand sailors of Holland and Zeeland
on board, the best mariners in the world, and two thousand two hundred
picked veterans from the garrisons of the Netherlands. These land-troops
were English, but they belonged to the States' army, which was composed
of Dutch, German, Walloon, Scotch, and Irish soldiers, and it was a
liberal concession on the part of the republican Government to allow them
to serve on the present expedition. By the terms of the treaty the queen
had no more power to send these companies to invade Spain than to
campaign against Tyr Owen in Ireland, while at a moment when the cardinal
archduke had a stronger and better-appointed army in Flanders than had
been seen for many years in the provinces, it was a most hazardous
experiment for the States to send so considerable a portion of their land
and naval forces upon a distant adventure. It was also a serious blow to
them to be deprived for the whole season of that valiant and experienced
commander, Sir Francis Vere, the most valuable lieutenant, save Lewis
William, that Maurice had at his disposition. Yet Vere was to take
command of this contingent thus sent to the coast of Spain, at the very
moment when the republican army ought to issue from their winter quarters
and begin active operations in the field. The consequence of this
diminution of their strength and drain upon their resources was that the
States were unable to put an army in the field during the current year,
or make any attempt at a campaign.

The queen wrote a warm letter of thanks to Admiral Warmond for the
promptness and efficiency with which he had brought his fleet to the
place of rendezvous, and now all was bustle and preparation in the
English ports for the exciting expedition resolved upon. Never during
Philip's life-time, nor for several years before his birth, had a hostile
foot trod the soil of Spain, except during the brief landing at Corunna
in 1590, and, although the king's beard had been well singed ten years
previously by Sir Francis Drake, and although the coast of Portugal had
still more recently been invaded by Essex and Vere, yet the present
adventure was on a larger scale, and held out brighter prospects of
success than any preceding expedition had done. In an age when the line
between the land and sea service, between regular campaigners and
volunteers, between public and private warfare, between chivalrous
knights-errant and buccaneers, was not very distinctly drawn, there could
be nothing more exciting to adventurous spirits, more tempting to the
imagination of those who hated the Pope and Philip, who loved fighting,
prize-money, and the queen, than a foray into Spain.

It was time to return the visit of the Armada. Some of the sea-kings were
gone. Those magnificent freebooters, Drake and Hawkins, had just died in
the West Indies, and doughty Sir Roger Williams had left the world in
which he had bustled so effectively, bequeathing to posterity a classic
memorial of near a half century of hard fighting, written, one might
almost imagine, in his demi-pique saddle. But that most genial, valiant,
impracticable, reckless, fascinating hero of romance, the Earl of
Essex--still a youth although a veteran in service--was in the
spring-tide of favour and glory, and was to command the land-forces now
assembled at Plymouth. That other "corsair"--as the Spaniards called
him--that other charming and heroic shape in England's chequered
chronicle of chivalry and crime--famous in arts and arms, politics,
science, literature, endowed with so many of the gifts by which men
confer lustre on their age and country, whose name was already a part of
England's eternal glory, whose tragic destiny was to be her undying
shame--Raleigh, the soldier, sailor, scholar, statesman, poet, historian,
geographical discoverer, planter of empires yet unborn--was also present,
helping to organize the somewhat chaotic elements of which the chief
Anglo-Dutch enterprise for this year against--the Spanish world-dominion
was compounded.

And, again, it is not superfluous to recall the comparatively slender
materials, both in bulk and numbers, over which the vivid intelligence
and restless energy of the two leading Protestant powers, the Kingdom and
the Republic, disposed. Their contest against the overshadowing empire,
which was so obstinately striving to become the fifth-monarchy of
history, was waged by land: and naval forces, which in their aggregate
numbers would scarce make a startling list of killed and wounded in a
single modern battle; by ships such that a whole fleet of them might be
swept out of existence with half-a-dozen modern broadsides; by weapons
which would seem to modern eyes like clumsy toys for children. Such was
the machinery by which the world was to be lost and won, less than three
centuries ago. Could science; which even in that age had made gigantic
strides out of the preceding darkness, have revealed its later miracles,
and have presented its terrible powers to the despotism which was seeking
to crush all Christendom beneath its feet, the possible result might have
been most tragical to humanity. While there are few inventions in morals,
the demon Intellect is ever at his work, knowing no fatigue and scorning
contentment in his restless demands upon the infinite Unknown. Yet moral
truth remains unchanged, gradually through the ages extending its
influence, and it is only by conformity to its simple and, eternal
dictates that nations, like individuals, can preserve a healthful
existence. In the unending warfare between right and wrong, between
liberty and despotism; Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many
shapes. It has been well said that constant vigilance is the price of
liberty. The tendency of our own times, stimulated by scientific
discoveries and their practical application, is to political
consolidation, to the absorption of lesser communities in greater; just
as disintegration was the leading characteristic of the darker ages. The
scheme of Charlemagne to organize Europe into a single despotism was a
brilliant failure because the forces which were driving human society
into local and gradual reconstruction around various centres of
crystallization: were irresistible to any countervailing enginry which
the emperor had at his disposal. The attempt of Philip, eight centuries
later, at universal monarchy, was frivolous, although he could dispose of
material agencies which in the hands of Charlemagne might have made the
dreams of Charlemagne possible. It was frivolous because the rising
instinct of the age was for religious, political, and commercial freedom
in a far intenser degree than those who lived in that age were themselves
aware. A considerable republic had been evolved as it were involuntarily
out of the necessities of the time almost without self-consciousness that
it was a republic, and even against the desire of many who were guiding
its destinies. And it found itself in constant combination with two
monarchs, despotic at heart and of enigmatical or indifferent religious
convictions, who yet reigned over peoples, largely influenced by
enthusiasm for freedom. Thus liberty was preserved for the world; but, as
the law of human progress would seem to be ever by a spiral movement, it;
seems strange to the superficial observer not prone to generalizing, that
Calvinism, which unquestionably was the hard receptacle in which the germ
of human freedom was preserved in various countries and at different
epochs, should have so often degenerated into tyranny. Yet
notwithstanding the burning of Servetus at Geneva, and the hanging of
Mary Dyer at Boston, it is certain that France, England, the Netherlands,
and America, owe a large share of such political liberty as they have
enjoyed to Calvinism. It may be possible for large masses of humanity to
accept for ages the idea of one infallible Church, however tyrannical but
the idea once admitted that there may be many churches; that what is
called the State can be separated from what is called the Church; the
plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous--a mere
fiction of political or fashionable quackery to impose upon the
uneducated or the unreflecting.

And now Essex, Raleigh and Howard, Vere, Warmond and Nassau were about to
invade the shores of the despot who sat in his study plotting to annex
England, Scotland, Ireland, France, the Dutch republic, and the German
empire to the realms of Spain, Portugal, Naples, Milan, and the Eastern
and Western Indies, over which he already reigned.

The fleet consisted of fifty-seven ships of war, of which twenty-four
were Dutch vessels under Admiral Warmond, with three thousand sailors of
Holland and Zeeland. Besides the sailors, there was a force of six
thousand foot soldiers, including the English veterans from the
Netherlands under Sir Francis Vere. There were also fifty transports
laden with ammunition and stores. The expedition was under the joint
command of Lord High Admiral Howard and of the Earl of Essex. Many noble
and knightly volunteers, both from England and the republic, were on
board, including, besides those already mentioned, Lord Thomas Howard,
son of the Duke of Norfolk, Sir John Wingfield, who had commanded at
Gertruydenburg, when it had been so treacherously surrendered to Farnese;
Count Lewis Gunther of Nassau, who had so recently escaped from the
disastrous fight with Mondragon in the Lippe, and was now continuing his
education according to the plan laid down for him by his elder brother
Lewis William; Nicolas Meetkerk, Peter Regesmortes, Don Christopher of
Portugal, son of Don Antonio, and a host of other adventurers.

On the last day of June the expedition arrived off Cadiz. Next morning
they found a splendid Spanish fleet in the harbour of that city,
including four of the famous apostolic great galleons, St. Philip, St.
Matthew, St. Thomas, and St. Andrew, with twenty or thirty great
war-ships besides, and fifty-seven well-armed Indiamen, which were to be
convoyed on their outward voyage, with a cargo estimated at twelve
millions of ducats.

The St. Philip was the phenomenon of naval architecture of that day,
larger and stronger than any ship before known. She was two thousand tons
burthen, carried eighty-two bronze cannon, and had a crew of twelve
hundred men. The other three apostles carried each fifty guns and four
hundred men. The armament of the other war-ships varied from fifty-two to
eighteen guns each. The presence of such a formidable force might have
seemed a motive for discouragement, or at least of caution. On the
contrary, the adventurers dashed at once upon their prey; thus finding a
larger booty than they had dared to expect. There was but a brief
engagement. At the outset a Dutch ship accidentally blew up, and gave
much encouragement to the Spaniards. Their joy was but short-lived. Two
of the great galleons were soon captured, the other two, the St. Philip
and the St. Thomas, were run aground and burned. The rest of the
war-ships were driven within the harbour, but were unable to prevent a
landing of the enemy's forces. In the eagerness of the allies to seize
the city, they unluckily allowed many of the Indiamen to effect their
escape through the puente del Zuazzo, which had not been supposed a
navigable passage for ships of such burthen. Nine hundred soldiers under
Essex, and four hundred noble volunteers under Lewis Gunther of Nassau,
now sprang on shore, and drove some eleven hundred Spanish skirmishers
back within the gates of the city, or into a bastion recently raised to
fortify the point when the troops had landed. Young Nassau stormed the
bulwark sword in hand, carried it at the first assault, and planted his
colours on its battlement. It was the flag of William the Silent; for the
republican banner was composed of the family colours of the founder of
the new commonwealth. The blazonry of the proscribed and assassinated
rebel waved at last defiantly over one of the chief cities of Spain.
Essex and Nassau and all the rest then entered the city. There was little
fighting. Twenty-five English and Hollanders were killed, and about as
many Spaniards. Essex knighted about fifty gentlemen, Englishmen and
Hollanders, in the square of Cadiz for their gallantry. Among the number
were Lewis Gunther of Nassau, Admiral Warmond, and Peter Regesmortes.
Colonel Nicolas Meetkerke was killed in the brief action, and Sir John
Wingfield, who insisted in prancing about on horseback without his
armour, defying the townspeople and neglecting the urgent appeal of Sir
Francis Vere, was also slain. The Spanish soldiers, discouraged by the
defeat of the ships on which they had relied for protection of the town,
retreated with a great portion of the inhabitants into the citadel. Next
morning the citadel capitulated without striking a blow, although there,
were six thousand able-bodied, well-armed men within its walls. It was
one of the most astonishing panics ever recorded. The great fleet, making
a third of the king's navy, the city of Cadiz and its fortress, were
surrendered to this audacious little force, which had only arrived off
the harbour thirty-six hours before. The invaders had, however, committed
a great mistake. They had routed, and, as it were, captured the Spanish
galleons, but they had not taken possession of them, such had been their
eagerness to enter the city. It was now agreed that the fleet should be
ransomed for two million ducats, but the proud Duke of Medina Sidonia,
who had already witnessed the destruction of one mighty armada, preferred
that these splendid ships too should perish rather than that they should
pay tribute to the enemy. Scorning the capitulation of the commandant of
the citadel, he ordered the fleet to be set on fire. Thirty-two ships,
most of them vessels of war of the highest class, were burned, with all
their equipments. Twelve hundred cannon sunk at once to the bottom of the
Bay of Cadiz, besides arms for five or six thousand men. At least
one-third of Philip's effective navy was thus destroyed.

The victors now sacked the city very thoroughly, but the results were
disappointing. A large portion of the portable wealth of the inhabitants,
their gold and their jewelry, had been so cunningly concealed that,
although half a dozen persons were tortured till they should reveal
hidden treasures, not more than five hundred thousand ducats worth
of-plunder was obtained. Another sum of equal amount having been levied
upon the citizens; forty notable personages; among them eighteen
ecclesiastical dignitaries, were carried off as hostages for its payment.
The city was now set on fire by command of Essex in four different
quarters. Especially the cathedral and other churches, the convents and
the hospitals, were burned. It was perhaps not unnatural: that both
Englishmen and Hollanders should be disposed to wreak a barbarous
vengeance on everything representative of the Church which they abhorred,
and from which such endless misery had issued to the, uttermost corners
of their own countries. But it is at any rate refreshing to record amid
these acts of pillage and destruction, in which, as must ever be the
case, the innocent and the lowly were made to suffer for the crimes of
crowned and mitred culprits, that not many special acts of cruelty were
committed upon individuals:

No man was murdered in cold blood, no woman was outraged. The beautiful
city was left a desolate and blackened ruin, and a general levy of spoil
was made for the benefit of the victors, but there was no infringement of
the theory and practice of the laws of war as understood in that day or
in later ages. It is even recorded that Essex ordered one of his
soldiers, who was found stealing a woman's gown, to be hanged on the
spot, but that, wearied by the intercession of an ecclesiastic of Cadiz,
the canon Quesada, he consented at last to pardon the marauder.

It was the earnest desire of Essex to hold Cadiz instead of destroying
it. With three thousand men, and with temporary supplies from the fleet,
the place could be maintained against all comers; Holland and England
together commanding the seas. Admiral Warmond and all the Netherlanders
seconded the scheme, and offered at once to put ashore from their vessels
food and munitions enough to serve two thousand men for two months. If
the English admiral would do as much, the place might be afterwards
supplied without limit and held till doomsday, a perpetual thorn in
Philip's side. Sir Francis Vere was likewise warmly in favour of the
project, but he stood alone. All the other Englishmen opposed it as
hazardous, extravagant, and in direct contravention of the minute
instructions of the queen. With a sigh or a curse for what he considered
the superfluous caution of his royal mistress, and the exaggerated
docility of Lord High Admiral Howard, Essex was fain to content himself
with the sack and the conflagration, and the allied fleet sailed away
from Cadiz.

On their way towards Lisbon they anchored off Faro, and landed a force,
chiefly of Netherlanders, who expeditiously burned and plundered the
place. When they reached the neighbourhood of Lisbon, they received
information that a great fleet of Indiamen, richly laden, were daily
expected from the Flemish islands, as the Azores were then denominated.
Again Essex was vehemently disposed to steer at once for that station, in
order to grasp so tempting a prize; again he was strenuously supported by
the Dutch admiral and Yere, and again Lord Howard peremptorily
interdicted the plan. It was contrary to his instructions and to his
ideas of duty, he said, to risk so valuable a portion of her Majesty's
fleet on so doubtful a venture. His ships were not fitted for a winter's
cruise, he urged. Thus, although it was the very heart of midsummer, the
fleet was ordered to sail homeward. The usual result of a divided command
was made manifest, and it proved in the sequel that, had they sailed for
the islands, they would have pounced at exactly the right moment upon an
unprotected fleet of merchantmen, with cargoes valued at seven millions
of ducats. Essex, not being willing to undertake the foray to the Azores
with the Dutch ships alone, was obliged to digest his spleen as: best he
could. Meantime the English fleet bore away for England, leaving Essex in
his own ship, together with the two captured Spanish galleons, to his
fate. That fate might, have been a disastrous one, for his prizes were
not fully manned, his own vessel was far from powerful, and there were
many rovers and cruisers upon the seas. The Dutch admiral, with all his
ships, however, remained in company, and safely convoyed him to Plymouth,
where they arrived only a day or two later than Howard and his fleet.
Warmond, who had been disposed to sail up the Thames in order to pay his
respects to the queen, was informed that his presence would not be
desirable but rather an embarrassment. He, however, received the
following letter from the hand of Elizabeth.

MONSIEUR DUYENWOORD,--The report made to me by the generals of our
fleet, just happily arrived from the coast of Spain, of the devoirs of
those who have been partakers in so, famous a victory, ascribes so much
of it to the valour, skill, and readiness exhibited by yourself and our
other friends from the Netherlands under your command, during the whole
course of the expedition, as to fill our mind with special joy and
satisfaction, and, with a desire to impart these feelings to you. No
other means presenting themselves at this moment than that of a letter
(in some sense darkening the picture of the conceptions of our soul), we
are willing to make use of it while waiting for means more effectual.
Wishing thus to disburthen ourselves we find ourselves confused, not
knowing where to begin, the greatness of each part exceeding the merit
of the other. For, the vigour and promptness with which my lords the
States-General stepped into the enterprise, made us acknowledge that the
good favour, which we have always borne the United Provinces and the
proofs thereof which we have given in the benefits conferred by us upon
them, had not been ill-bestowed. The valour, skill, and discipline
manifested by you in this enterprise show that you and your, whole nation
are worthy the favour and protection of princes against those who wish to
tyrannize over you. But the honourableness and the valour shown by you,
Sir Admiral, towards our cousin the Earl of Essex on his return, when he
unfortunately was cut off from the fleet, and deep in the night was
deprived of all support, when you kept company with him and gave him
escort into the harbour of Plymouth, demonstrate on the one hand your
foresight in providing thus by your pains and patience against all
disasters, which through an accident falling upon one of the chiefs of
our armada might have darkened the great victory; and on the other hand
the fervour and fire of the affection which you bear us, increasing thus,
through a double bond, the obligations we are owing you, which is so
great in our hearts that we have felt bound to discharge a part of it by
means of this writing, which we beg you to communicate to the whole
company of our friends under your command; saying to them besides, that
they may feel assured that even as we have before given proof of our
goodwill to their fatherland, so henceforth--incited by their devoirs and
merits--we are ready to extend our bounty and affection in all ways which
may become a princess recompensing the virtues and gratitude of a nation
so worthy as yours.

                    "ELIZABETH R.

"14th August, 1596."

This letter was transmitted by the admiral to the States-General; who,
furnished him with a copy of it, but enrolled the original in their
archives; recording as it did, in the hand of the great English queen, so
striking a testimony to the valour and the good conduct of Netherlanders.

The results of this expedition were considerable, for the king's navy was
crippled, a great city was destroyed, and some millions of plunder had
been obtained. But the permanent possession of Cadiz, which, in such
case, Essex hoped to exchange for Calais, and the destruction of the
fleet at the Azores--possible achievements both, and unwisely
neglected--would have been far more profitable, at least to England. It
was also matter of deep regret that there was much quarrelling between
the Netherlanders and the Englishmen as to their respective share of the
spoils; the Netherlanders complaining loudly that they had been
defrauded. Moreover the merchants of Middelburg, Amsterdam, and other
commercial cities of Holland and Zeeland were, as it proved, the real
owners of a large portion of the property destroyed or pillaged at Cadiz;
so that a loss estimated as high as three hundred thousand florins fell
upon those unfortunate traders through this triumph of the allies.

The internal consequences of the fall of Calais had threatened at the
first moment to be as disastrous as the international results of that
misfortune had already proved. The hour for the definite dismemberment
and partition of the French kingdom, not by foreign conquerors but among
its own self-seeking and disloyal grandees, seemed to have struck. The
indomitable Henry, ever most buoyant when most pressed by misfortune, was
on the way to his camp at La Fere, encouraging the faint-hearted, and
providing as well as he could for the safety of the places most menaced,
when he was met at St. Quentin by a solemn deputation of the principal
nobles, military commanders, and provincial governors of France. The Duke
of Montpensier was spokesman of the assembly, and, in an harangue
carefully prepared for the occasion, made an elaborate proposition to the
king that the provinces, districts, cities, castles; and other
strong-holds throughout the kingdom should now be formally bestowed upon
the actual governors and commandants thereof in perpetuity, and as
hereditary property, on condition of rendering a certain military service
to the king and his descendants. It seemed so amazing that this temporary
disaster to the national arms should be used as a pretext for parcelling
out France, and converting a great empire into a number of insignificant
duchies and petty principalities; that this movement should be made, not
by the partisans of Spain, but by the adherents of the king; and that its
leader should be his own near relative, a prince of the blood, and a
possible successor to the crown, that Henry was struck absolutely dumb.
Misinterpreting his silence, the duke proceeded very confidently with his
well-conned harangue; and was eloquently demonstrating that, under such a
system, Henry, as principal feudal chief, would have greater military
forces at his disposal whenever he chose to summon his faithful vassals
to the field than could be the case while the mere shadow of royal power
or dignity was allowed to remain; when the king, finding at last a
tongue, rebuked his cousin; not angrily, but with a grave melancholy
which was more impressive than wrath.

He expressed his pity for the duke that designing intriguers should have
thus taken advantage of his facility of character to cause him to enact a
part so entirely unworthy a Frenchman, a gentleman, and a prince of the
blood. He had himself, at the outset of his career, been much farther
from the throne than Montpensier was at that moment; but at no period of
his life would he have consented to disgrace himself by attempting the
dismemberment of the realm. So far from entering for a moment into the
subject-matter of the duke's discourse, he gave him and all his
colleagues distinctly to understand that he would rather die a thousand
deaths than listen to suggestions which would cover his family and the
royal dignity with infamy.

Rarely has political cynicism been displayed in more revolting shape than
in this deliberate demonstration by the leading patricians and generals
of France, to whom patriotism seemed an unimaginable idea. Thus signally
was their greediness to convert a national disaster into personal profit
rebuked by the king. Henry was no respecter of the People, which he
regarded as something immeasurably below his feet. On the contrary, he
was the most sublime self-seeker of them all; but his courage, his
intelligent ambition, his breadth and strength of purpose, never
permitted him to doubt that his own greatness was inseparable from the
greatness of France. Thus he represented a distinct and wholesome
principle--the national integrity of a great homogeneous people at a
period when that integrity seemed, through domestic treason and foreign
hatred, to be hopelessly lost. Hence it is not unnatural that he should
hold his place in the national chronicle as Henry the Great.

Meantime, while the military events just recorded had been occurring in
the southern peninsula, the progress of the archduke and his lieutenants
in the north against the king and against the republic had been
gratifying to the ambition of that martial ecclesiastic. Soon after the
fall of Calais, De Rosne had seized the castles of Guynes and Hames,
while De Mexia laid siege to the important stronghold of Ardres. The
garrison, commanded by Count Belin, was sufficiently numerous and well
supplied to maintain the place until Henry, whose triumph at La Fere
could hardly be much longer delayed, should come to its relief. To the
king's infinite dissatisfaction, however, precisely as Don Alvario de
Osorio was surrendering La Fere to him, after a seven months' siege,
Ardres was capitulating to De Mexia. The reproaches upon Belin for
cowardice, imbecility, and bad faith, were bitter and general. All his
officers had vehemently protested against the surrender, and Henry at
first talked of cutting off his head. It was hardly probable,
however--had the surrender been really the result of treachery--that the
governor would have put himself, as he did at once in the king's power;
for the garrison marched out of Ardres with the commandant at their head,
banners displayed, drums beating, matches lighted and bullet in mouth,
twelve hundred fighting men strong, besides invalids. Belin was possessed
of too much influence, and had the means of rendering too many pieces of
service to the politic king, whose rancour against Spain was perhaps not
really so intense as was commonly supposed, to meet with the condign
punishment which might have been the fate of humbler knaves.

These successes having been obtained in Normandy, the cardinal with a
force of nearly fifteen thousand men now took the field in Flanders; and,
after hesitating for a time whether he should attack Breda, Bergen,
Ostend, or Gertruydenburg,--and after making occasional feints in various
directions, came, towards the end of June, before Hulst. This rather
insignificant place, with a population of but one thousand inhabitants,
was defended by a strong garrison under command of that eminent and
experienced officer Count Everard Solms. Its defences were made more
complete by a system of sluices, through which the country around could
be laid under water; and Maurice, whose capture of the town in the year
1591 had been one of his earliest military achievements, was disposed to
hold it at all hazards. He came in person to inspect the fortifications,
and appeared to be so eager on the subject, and so likely to encounter
unnecessary hazards, that the States of Holland passed a resolution
imploring him "that he would not, in his heroic enthusiasm and laudable
personal service, expose a life on which the country so much depended to
manifest dangers." The place was soon thoroughly invested, and the usual
series of minings and counter-minings, assaults, and sorties followed, in
the course of which that courageous and corpulent renegade, De Rosne, had
his head taken off by a cannon-ball, while his son, a lad of sixteen, was
fighting by his side. On the 16th August the cardinal formally demanded
the surrender of the place, and received the magnanimous reply that Hulst
would be defended to the death. This did not, however, prevent the
opening of negotiations the very same day. All the officers, save one,
united in urging Solms to capitulate; and Solms, for somewhat mysterious
reasons, and, as was stated, in much confusion, gave his consent. The
single malcontent was the well-named Matthew Held, whose family name
meant Hero, and who had been one of the chief actors in the far-famed
capture of Breda. He was soon afterwards killed in an unsuccessful attack
made by Maurice upon Venlo.

Hulst capitulated on the 18th August. The terms were honourable; but the
indignation throughout the country against Count Solms was very great.
The States of Zeeland, of whose regiment he had been commander ever,
since the death of Sir Philip Sidney, dismissed him from their service,
while a torrent of wrath flowed upon him from every part of the country.
Members of the States-General refused to salute him in the streets;
eminent person, ages turned their backs upon him, and for a time there
was no one willing to listen to a word in his defence. The usual reaction
in such cases followed; Maurice sustained the commander, who had
doubtless committed a grave error, but who had often rendered honourable
service to the republic, and the States-General gave him a command as
important as that of which he had been relieved by the Zeeland States. It
was mainly on account of the tempest thus created within the Netherlands,
that an affair of such slight importance came to occupy so large a space
in contemporary history. The defenders of Solmstold wild stories about
the losses of the besieging army. The cardinal, who was thought prodigal
of blood, and who was often quoted as saying "his soldiers' lives
belonged to God and their bodies to the king," had sacrificed, it, was
ridiculously said, according to the statement of the Spaniards
themselves, five thousand soldiers before the walls of Hulst. It was very
logically deduced therefrom that the capture of a few more towns of a
thousand inhabitants each would cost him his whole army. People told each
other, too, that the conqueror had refused a triumph which the burghers
of Brussels wished to prepare for him on his entrance into the capital,
and that he had administered the very proper rebuke that, if they had
more money than they knew what to do with, they should expend it in aid
of the wounded and of the families of the fallen, rather than in velvets
and satins and triumphal arches. The humanity of the suggestion hardly
tallied with the blood-thirstiness of which he was at the same time so
unjustly accused--although it might well be doubted whether the
commander-in-chief, even if he could witness unflinchingly the
destruction of five thousand soldiers on the battle-field, would dare
to confront a new demonstration of schoolmaster Houwaerts and his
fellow-pedants.

The fact was, however, that the list of casualties in the cardinal's camp
during the six weeks' siege amounted to six hundred, while the losses
within the city were at least as many. There was no attempt to relieve
the place; for the States, as before observed, had been too much cramped
by the strain upon their resources and by the removal of so many veterans
for the expedition against Cadiz to be able to muster any considerable
forces in the field during the whole of this year.

For a vast war in which the four leading powers of the earth were
engaged, the events, to modern eyes, of the campaign of 1596 seem
sufficiently meagre. Meantime, during all this campaigning by land and
sea in the west, there had been great but profitless bloodshed in the
east. With difficulty did the holy Roman Empire withstand the terrible,
ever-renewed assaults of the unholy realm of Ottoman--then in the full
flush of its power--but the two empires still counterbalanced each other,
and contended with each'other at the gates of Vienna.

As the fighting became more languid, however, in the western part of
Christendom, the negotiations and intrigues grew only the more active. It
was most desirable for the republic to effect, if possible, a formal
alliance offensive and defensive with France and England against Spain.
The diplomacy of the Netherlands had been very efficient in bringing
about the declaration of war by Henry against Philip, by which the
current year had opened, after Henry and Philip had been doing their best
to destroy each other and each other's subjects during the half-dozen
previous years. Elizabeth, too, although she had seen her shores invaded
by Philip with the most tremendous armaments that had ever floated on the
seas, and although she had herself just been sending fire and sword into
the heart of Spain, had very recently made the observation that she and
Philip were not formally at war with each other. It seemed, therefore,
desirable to the States-General that this very practical warfare should
be, as it were, reduced to a theorem. In this case the position of the
republic to both powers and to Spain itself might perhaps be more
accurately defined.

Calvaert, the States' envoy--to use his own words--haunted Henry like his
perpetual shadow, and was ever doing his best to persuade him of the
necessity of this alliance. De Saucy, as we have seen, had just arrived
in England, when the cool proposition of the queen to rescue Calais from
Philip on condition of keeping it for herself had been brought to
Boulogne by Sidney. Notwithstanding the indignation of the king, he had
been induced directly afterwards to send an additional embassy to
Elizabeth, with the Duke of Bouillon at its head; and he had insisted
upon Calvaert's accompanying the mission. He had, as he frequently
observed, no secrets from the States-General, or from Calvaert, who had
been negotiating upon these affairs for two years past and was so well
acquainted with all their bearings. The Dutch envoy was reluctant to go,
for he was seriously ill and very poor in purse, but Henry urged the
point so vehemently, that Calvaert found himself on board ship within six
hours of the making of the proposition. The incident shows of how much
account the republican diplomatist was held by so keen a judge of mankind
as the Bearnese; but it will subsequently appear that the candour of the
king towards the States-General and their representative was by no means
without certain convenient limitations.

De Sancy had arrived just as--without his knowledge--Sidney had been
despatched across the channel with the brief mission already mentioned.
When he was presented to the queen, the next day, she excused herself for
the propositions by which Henry had been so much enraged, by assuring the
envoy that it had been her intention only to keep Calais out of the
enemy's hand, so long as the king's forces were too much occupied at a
distance to provide for its safety. As diplomatic conferences were about
to begin in which--even more than in that age, at least, was usually the
case--the object of the two conferring powers was to deceive each other,
and at the same time still more decidedly to defraud other states, Sancy
accepted the royal explanation, although Henry's special messenger,
Lomenie, had just brought him from the camp at Boulogne a minute account
of the propositions of Sidney.

The envoy had, immediately afterwards, an interview with Lord Burghley,
and at once perceived that he was no friend to his master. Cecil observed
that the queen had formerly been much bound to the king for religion's
sake. As this tie no longer existed, there was nothing now to unite them
save the proximity of the two States to each other and their ancient
alliances, a bond purely of interest which existed only so long as
princes found therein a special advantage.

De Sancy replied that the safety of the two crowns depended upon their
close alliance against a very powerful foe who was equally menacing to
them both. Cecil rejoined that he considered the Spaniards deserving of
the very highest praise for having been able to plan so important an
enterprise, and to have so well deceived the King of France by the
promptness and the secrecy of their operations as to allow him to
conceive no suspicion as to their designs.

To this not very friendly sarcasm the envoy, indignant that France should
thus be insulted in her misfortunes, exclaimed that he prayed to God that
the affairs of Englishmen might never be reduced to such a point as to
induce the world to judge by the result merely, as to the sagacity of
their counsels. He added that there were many passages through which to
enter France, and that it was difficult to be present everywhere, in
order to defend them all against the enemy.

A few days afterwards the Duke of Bouillon arrived in London. He had seen
Lord Essex at Dover as he passed, and had endeavoured without success to
dissuade him from his expedition against the Spanish coast. The
conferences opened on the 7th May, at Greenwich, between Burghley,
Cobham, the Lord Chamberlain, and one or two other commissioners on the
part of the queen, and Bouillon, Sancy, Du Yair, and Ancel, as
plenipotentiaries of Henry.

There was the usual indispensable series of feints at the outset, as if
it were impossible for statesmen to meet around a green table except as
fencers in the field or pugilists in the ring.

"We have nothing to do," said Burghley, "except to listen to such
propositions as may be made on the part of the king, and to repeat them
to her Highness the queen."

"You cannot be ignorant," replied Bouillon, "of the purpose for which we
have been sent hither by his Very Christian Majesty. You know very well
that it is to conclude a league with England. 'Tis necessary, therefore,
for the English to begin by declaring whether they are disposed to enter
into such an alliance. This point once settled, the French can make their
propositions, but it would be idle to dispute about the conditions of a
treaty, if there is after all no treaty to be made."

To this Cecil rejoined, that, if the king were reduced to the necessity
of asking succour from the queen, and of begging for her alliance, it was
necessary for them, on the other hand, to see what he was ready to do for
the queen in return, and to learn what advantage she could expect from
the league.

The duke said that the English statesmen were perfectly aware of the
French intention of proposing a league against the common enemy of both
nations, and that it would be unquestionably for the advantage of both to
unite their forces for a vigorous attack upon Spain, in which case it
would be more difficult for the Spanish to resist them than if each were
acting separately. It was no secret that the Spaniards would rather
attack England than France, because their war against England, being
coloured by a religious motive, would be much less odious, and would even
have a specious pretext. Moreover the conquest of England would give them
an excellent vantage ground to recover what they had lost in the
Netherlands. If, on the contrary, the enemy should throw himself with his
whole force upon France, the king, who would perhaps lose many places at
once, and might hardly be able to maintain himself single-handed against
domestic treason and a concentrated effort on the part of Spain, would
probably find it necessary to make a peace with that power. Nothing could
be more desirable for Spain than such a result, for she would then be
free to attack England and Holland, undisturbed by any fear of France.
This was a piece of advice, the duke said, which the king offered, in the
most friendly spirit, and as a proof of his affection, to her Majesty's
earnest consideration.

Burghley replied that all this seemed to him no reason for making a
league. "What more can the queen do," he observed, "than she is already
doing? She has invaded Spain by land and sea, she has sent troops to
Spain, France, and the Netherlands; she has lent the king fifteen hundred
thousand crowns in gold. In short, the envoys ought rather to be studying
how to repay her Majesty for her former benefits than to be soliciting
fresh assistance." He added that the king was so much stronger by the
recent gain of Marseilles as to be easily able to bear the loss of places
of far less importance, while Ireland, on the contrary, was a constant
danger to the queen. The country was already in a blaze, on account of
the recent landing effected there by the Spaniards, and it was a very
ancient proverb among the English, that to attack England it was
necessary to take the road of Ireland.

Bouillon replied that in this war there was much difference between the
position of France and that of England. The queen, notwithstanding
hostilities, obtained her annual revenue as usual, while the king was cut
off from his resources and obliged to ruin his kingdom in order to wage
war. Sancy added, that it must be obvious to the English ministers that
the peril of Holland was likewise the peril of England and of France, but
that at the same time they could plainly see that the king, if not
succoured, would be forced to a peace with Spain. All his counsellors
were urging him to this, and it was the interest of all his neighbours to
prevent such a step. Moreover, the proposed league could not but be
advantageous to the English; whether by restraining the Spaniards from
entering England, or by facilitating a combined attack upon the common
enemy. The queen might invade any portion of the Flemish coast at her
pleasure, while the king's fleet could sail with troops from his ports to
prevent any attack upon her realms.

At this Burghley turned to his colleagues and said, in English, "The
French are acting according to the proverb; they wish to sell us the
bear-skin before they have killed the bear." Sancy, who understood
English, rejoined, "We have no bear-skin to sell, but we are giving you a
very good and salutary piece of advice. It is for you to profit by it as
you may."

"Where are these ships of war, of which you were speaking?" asked
Burghley.

"They are at Rochelle, at Bordeaux, and at St. Malo," replied de Sancy.

"And these ports are not in the king's possession," said the Lord
Treasurer.

The discussion was growing warm. The Duke of Bouillon, in order to, put
an end to it, said that what England had most to fear was a descent by
Spain upon her coasts, and that the true way to prevent this was to give
occupation to Philip's army in Flanders. The soldiers in the fleet then
preparing were raw levies with which he would not venture to assail her
kingdom. The veterans in Flanders were the men on whom he relied for that
purpose. Moreover the queen, who had great influence with the
States-General, would procure from them a prohibition of all commerce
between the provinces and Spain; all the Netherlands would be lost to
Philip, his armies would disperse of their own accord; the princes of
Italy, to whom the power of Spain was a perpetual menace, would secretly
supply funds to the allied powers, and the Germans, declared enemies of
Philip, would furnish troops.

Burghley asserted confidently that this could never be obtained from the
Hollanders, who lived by commerce alone. Upon which Saucy, wearied with
all these difficulties, interrupted the Lord Treasurer by exclaiming, "If
the king is to expect neither an alliance nor any succour on your part,
he will be very much obliged to the queen if she will be good enough to
inform him of the decision taken by her, in order that he may, upon his
side, take the steps most suitable to the present position of his
affairs."

The session then terminated. Two days afterwards, in another conference,
Burghley offered three thousand men on the part of the queen, on
condition that they should be raised at the king's expense, and that they
should not leave England until they had received a month's pay in
advance.

The Duke of Bouillon said this was far from being what had been expected
of the generosity of her Majesty, that if the king had money he would
find no difficulty in raising troops in Switzerland and Germany, and that
there was a very great difference between hired princes and allies. The
English ministers having answered that this was all the queen could do,
the duke and Saucy rose in much excitement, saying that they had then no
further business than to ask for an audience of leave, and to return to
France as fast as possible.

Before they bade farewell to the queen, however, the envoys sent a memoir
to her Majesty, in which they set forth that the first proposition as to
a league had been made by Sir Henry Umton, and that now, when the king
had sent commissioners to treat concerning an alliance, already
recommended by the queen's ambassador in France, they had been received
in such a way as to indicate a desire to mock them rather than to treat
with them. They could not believe, they said, that it was her Majesty's
desire to use such language as had been addressed to them, and they
therefore implored her plainly to declare her intentions, in order that
they might waste no more time unnecessarily, especially as the high
offices with which their sovereign had honoured them did not allow them
to remain for a long time absent from France.

The effect of this memoir upon the queen was, that fresh conferences were
suggested, which took place at intervals between the 11th and the 26th of
May. They were characterized by the same mutual complaints of
overreachings and of shortcomings by which all the previous discussions
had been distinguished. On the 17th May the French envoys even insisted
on taking formal farewell of the queen, and were received by her Majesty
for that purpose at a final audience. After they had left the
presence--the preparations for their homeward journey being already
made--the queen sent Sir Robert Cecil, Henry Brooke, son of Lord Cobham,
and La Fontaine, minister of a French church in England, to say to them
how very much mortified she was that the state of her affairs did not
permit her to give the king as much assistance as he desired, and to
express her wish to speak to them once more before their departure.

The result of the audience given accordingly to the envoys, two days
later, was the communication of her decision to enter into the league
proposed, but without definitely concluding the treaty until it should be
ratified by the king.

On the 26th May articles were finally agreed upon, by which the king and
queen agreed to defend each other's dominions, to unite in attacking the
common enemy, and to invite other princes and states equally interested
with themselves in resisting the ambitious projects of Spain, to join in
the league. It was arranged that an army should be put in the field as
soon as possible, at the expense of the king and queen, and of such other
powers as should associate themselves in the proposed alliance; that this
army should invade the dominions of the Spanish monarch, that the king
and queen were never, without each other's consent, to make peace or
truce with Philip; that the queen should immediately raise four thousand
infantry to serve six months of every year in Picardy and Normandy, with
the condition that they were never to be sent to a distance of more than
fifty leagues from Boulogna; that when the troubles of Ireland should be
over the queen should be at liberty to add new troops to the four
thousand men thus promised by her to the league; that the queen was to
furnish to these four thousand men six months' pay in advance before they
should leave England, and that the king should agree to repay the amount
six months afterwards, sending meanwhile four nobles to England as
hostages. If the dominions of the queen should be attacked it was
stipulated that, at two months' notice, the king should raise four
thousand men at the expense of the queen and send them to her assistance,
and that they were to serve for six months at her charge, but were not to
be sent to a distance of more than fifty leagues from the coasts of
France.

The English were not willing that the States-General should be
comprehended among the powers to be invited to join the league, because
being under the protection of the Queen of England they were supposed to
have no will but hers. Burghley insisted accordingly that, in speaking of
those who were thus to be asked, no mention was to be made of peoples nor
of states, for fear lest the States-General might be included under those
terms. The queen was, however, brought at last to yield the point, and
consented, in order to satisfy the French envoys, that to the word
princes should be added the general expression orders or estates. The
obstacle thus interposed to the formation of the league by the hatred of
the queen and of the privileged classes of England to popular liberty,
and by the secret desire entertained of regaining that sovereignty over
the provinces which had been refused ten years before by Elizabeth, was
at length set aside. The republic, which might have been stifled at its
birth, was now a formidable fact, and could neither be annexed to the
English dominions nor deprived of its existence as a new member of the
European family.

It being no longer possible to gainsay the presence of the young
commonwealth among the nations, the next best thing--so it was
thought--was to defraud her in the treaty to which she was now invited to
accede. This, as it will presently appear, the King of France and the
Queen of England succeeded in doing very thoroughly, and they
accomplished it notwithstanding the astuteness and the diligence of the
States' envoy, who at Henry's urgent request had accompanied the French
mission to England. Calvaert had been very active in bringing about the
arrangement, to assist in which he had, as we have seen, risen from a
sick bed and made the journey to England: "The proposition for an
offensive and defensive alliance was agreed to by her Majesty's Council,
but under intolerable and impracticable conditions," said he, "and, as
such, rejected by the duke and Sancy, so that they took leave of her
Majesty. At last, after some negotiation in which, without boasting, I
may say that I did some service, it was again taken in hand, and at last,
thank God, although with much difficulty, the league has been concluded."

When the task was finished the French envoys departed to obtain their
master's ratification of the treaty. Elizabeth expressed herself warmly
in regard to her royal brother, inviting him earnestly to pay her a
visit, in which case she said she would gladly meet him half way; for a
sight of him would be her only consolation in the midst of her adversity
and annoyance. "He may see other princesses of a more lovely appearance,"
she added, "but he will never make a visit to a more faithful friend."

But the treaty thus concluded was for the public. The real agreement
between France and England was made by a few days later, and reduced the
ostensible arrangement to a sham, a mere decoy to foreign nations,
especially to the Dutch republic, to induce them to imitate England in
joining the league, and to emulate her likewise in affording that
substantial assistance to the league which in reality England was very
far from giving.

"Two contracts were made," said Secretary of State Villeroy; "the one
public, to give credit and reputation to the said league, the other
secret, which destroyed the effects and the promises of the first. By the
first his Majesty was to be succoured by four thousand infantry, which
number was limited by the second contract to two thousand, who were to
reside and to serve only in the cities of Boulogne and Montreuil,
assisted by an equal number of French, and not otherwise, and on
condition of not being removed from those towns unless his Majesty should
be personally present in Picardy with an army, in which case they might
serve in Picardy, but nowhere else."

An English garrison in a couple of French seaports, over against the
English coast, would hardly have seemed a sufficient inducement to other
princes and states to put large armies in the field to sustain the
Protestant league, had they known that this was the meagre result of the
protocolling and disputations that had been going on all the summer at
Greenwich.

Nevertheless the decoy did its work, The envoys returned to France, and
it was not until three months later that the Duke of Bouillon again made
his appearance in England, bringing the treaty duly ratified by Henry.
The league was then solemnized, on, the 26th August, by the queen with
much pomp and ceremony. Three peers of the realm waited upon the French
ambassador at his lodgings, and escorted him and his suite in seventeen
royal coaches to the Tower. Seven splendid barges then conveyed them
along the Thames to Greenwich. On the pier the ambassador was received by
the Earl of Derby at the head of a great suite of nobles and high
functionaries, and conducted to the palace of Nonesuch.

There was a religious ceremony in the royal chapel, where a special
pavilion had been constructed. Standing, within this sanctuary, the
queen; with her hand on her breast, swore faithfully to maintain the
league just concluded. She then gave her hand to the Duke of Bouillon,
who held it in both his own, while psalms were sung and the organ
resounded through the chapel. Afterwards there was a splendid banquet in
the palace, the duke sitting in solitary grandeur at the royal table,
being placed at a respectful distance from her Majesty, and the dishes
being placed on the board by the highest nobles of the realm, who, upon
their knees, served the queen with wine. No one save the ambassador sat
at Elizabeth's table, but in the same hall was spread another, at which
the Earl of Essex entertained many distinguished guests, young Count
Lewis Gunther of Nassau among the number.

In the midsummer twilight the brilliantly decorated barges were again
floating on the historic river, the gaily-coloured lanterns lighting the
sweep of the oars, and the sound of lute and viol floating merrily across
the water. As the ambassador came into the courtyard of his house, he
found a crowd of several thousand people assembled, who shouted welcome
to the representative of Henry, and invoked blessings on the head of
Queen Elizabeth and of her royal brother of France. Meanwhile all the
bells of London were ringing, artillery was thundering, and bonfires were
blazing, until the night was half spent.

Such was the holiday-making by which the league between the great
Protestant queen and the ex-chief of the Huguenots of France was
celebrated within a year after the pope had received him, a repentant
sinner, into the fold of the Church. Truly it might be said that religion
was rapidly ceasing to be the line of demarcation among the nations, as
had been the case for the two last generations of mankind.

The Duke of Bouillon soon afterwards departed for the Netherlands, where
the regular envoy to the commonwealth, Paul Chouart Seigneur de Buzanval,
had already been preparing the States-General for their entrance into the
league. Of course it was duly impressed upon those republicans that they
should think themselves highly honoured by the privilege of associating
themselves with so august an alliance. The queen wrote an earnest letter
to the States, urging them to join the league. "Especially should you do
so," she said, "on account of the reputation which you will thereby gain
for your affairs with the people who are under you, seeing you thus
sustained (besides the certainty which you have of our favour) by the
friendship of other confederated princes, and particularly by that of the
most Christian king."

On the 31st October the articles of agreement under which the republic
acceded to the new confederation were signed at the Hague. Of course it
was not the exact counterpart of the famous Catholic association. Madam
League, after struggling feebly for the past few years, a decrepit
beldame, was at last dead and buried. But there had been a time when she
was filled with exuberant and terrible life. She, at least, had known the
object of her creation, and never, so long as life was in her, had she
faltered in her dread purpose. To extirpate Protestantism, to murder
Protestants, to burn, hang, butcher, bury them alive, to dethrone every
Protestant sovereign in Europe, especially to assassinate the Queen of
England, the Prince of Orange, with all his race, and Henry of Navarre,
and to unite in the accomplishment of these simple purposes all the
powers of Christendom under the universal monarchy of Philip of
Spain--for all this, blood was shed in torrents, and the precious metals
of the "Indies" squandered as fast as the poor savages, who were thus
taking their first lessons in the doctrines of Jesus of Nazareth, could
dig it from the mines. For this America had been summoned, as it were by
almighty fiat, out of previous darkness, in order that it might furnish
money with which to massacre all the heretics of the earth. For this
great purpose was the sublime discovery of the Genoese sailor to be
turned to account. These aims were intelligible, and had in part been
attained. William of Orange had fallen, and a patent of nobility, with a
handsome fortune, had been bestowed upon his assassin. Elizabeth's life
had been frequently attempted. So had those of Henry, of Maurice, of
Olden-Barneveld. Divine providence might perhaps guide the hand of future
murderers with greater accuracy, for even if Madam League were dead, her
ghost still walked among the Jesuits and summoned them to complete the
crimes left yet unfinished.

But what was the design of the new confederacy? It was not a Protestant
league. Henry of Navarre could no longer be the chief of such an
association, although it was to Protestant powers only that he could turn
for assistance. It was to the commonwealth of the Netherlands, to the
northern potentates and to the Calvinist and Lutheran princes of Germany,
that the king and queen could alone appeal in their designs against
Philip of Spain.

The position of Henry was essentially a false one from the beginning. He
felt it to be so, and the ink was scarce dry with which he signed the new
treaty before he was secretly casting about him to, make peace with that
power with which he was apparently summoning all the nations of the earth
to do battle. Even the cautious Elizabeth was deceived by the crafty
Bearnese, while both united to hoodwink the other states and princes.

On the 31st October, accordingly, the States-General agreed to go into
the league with England and France; "in order to resist the enterprises
and ambitious designs of the King of Spain against all the princes and
potentates of Christendom." As the queen had engaged--according to the
public treaty or decoy--to furnish four thousand infantry to the league,
the States now agreed to raise and pay for another four thousand to be
maintained in the king's service at a cost of four hundred and fifty
thousand florins annually, to be paid by the month. The king promised, in
case the Netherlands should be invaded by the enemy with the greater part
of his force, that these four thousand soldiers should return to the
Netherlands. The king further bound himself to carry on a sharp offensive
war in Artois and Hainault.

The States-General would have liked a condition inserted in the treaty
that no peace should be made with Spain by England or France without the
consent of the provinces; but this was peremptorily refused.

Perhaps the republic had no special reason to be grateful for the
grudging and almost contemptuous manner in which it had thus been
virtually admitted into the community of sovereigns; but the men who
directed its affairs were far too enlightened not to see how great a step
was taken when their political position, now conceded to them, had been
secured. In good faith they intended to carry out the provisions of the
new treaty, and they immediately turned their attention to the vital
matters of making new levies and of imposing new taxes, by means of which
they might render themselves useful to their new allies.

Meantime Ancel was deputed by Henry to visit the various courts of
Germany and the north in order to obtain, if possible, new members for
the league? But Germany was difficult to rouse. The dissensions among
Protestants were ever inviting the assaults of the Papists. Its multitude
of sovereigns were passing their leisure moments in wrangling among
themselves as usual on abstruse points of theology, and devoting their
serious hours to banquetting, deep drinking, and the pleasures of the
chase. The jeremiads of old John of Nassau grew louder than ever, but his
voice was of one crying in the wilderness. The wrath to come of that
horrible Thirty Years' War, which he was not to witness seemed to inspire
all his prophetic diatribes. But there were few to heed them. Two great
dangers seemed ever impending over Christendom, and it is difficult to
decide which fate would have been the more terrible, the establishment of
the universal monarchy of Philip II., or the conquest of Germany by the
Grand Turk. But when Ancel and other emissaries sought to obtain succour
against the danger from the south-west, he was answered by the clash of
arms and the shrieks of horror which came daily from the south-east. In
vain was it urged, and urged with truth, that the Alcoran was less cruel
than the Inquisition, that the soil of Europe might be overrun by Turks
and Tartars, and the crescent planted triumphantly in every village, with
less disaster to the human race, and with better hope that the germs of
civilization and the precepts of Christianity might survive the invasion,
than if the system of Philip, of Torquemada, and of Alva, should become
the universal law. But the Turk was a frank enemy of Christianity, while
Philip murdered Christians in the name of Christ. The distinction imposed
upon the multitudes, with whom words were things. Moreover, the danger
from the young and enterprising Mahomet seemed more appalling to the
imagination than the menace, from which experience had taken something of
its terrors, of the old and decrepit Philip.

The Ottoman empire, in its exact discipline, in its terrible
concentration of purpose, in its contempt for all arts and sciences, and
all human occupation save the trade of war and the pursuit of military
dominion, offered a strong contrast to the distracted condition of the
holy Roman empire, where an intellectual and industrious people,
distracted by half a century of religious controversy and groaning under
one of the most elaborately perverse of all the political systems ever
invented by man, seemed to offer itself an easy prey to any conqueror.
The Turkish power was in the fulness of its aggressive strength, and
seemed far more formidable than it would have done had there been clearer
perceptions of what constitutes the strength and the wealth of nations.
Could the simple truth have been thoroughly, comprehended that a realm
founded upon such principles was the grossest of absurdities, the Eastern
might have seemed less terrible than the Western danger.

But a great campaign, at no considerable distance from the walls of
Vienna, had occupied the attention of Germany during the autumn. Mahomet
had taken the field in person with a hundred thousand men, and the
emperor's brother, Maximilian, in conjunction with the Prince of
Transylvania, at the head of a force of equal magnitude, had gone forth
to give him battle. Between the Theiss and the Danube, at Keveste, not
far from the city of Erlau, on the 26th October, the terrible encounter
on which the fate of Christendom seemed to hang at last took place, and
Europe held its breath in awful suspense until its fate should be
decided. When the result at last became known, a horrible blending of the
comic and the tragic, such as has rarely been presented in history,
startled the world. Seventy thousand human beings--Moslems and
Christians--were lying dead or wounded on the banks of a nameless little
stream which flows into the Theisa, and the commanders-in-chief of both
armies were running away as fast as horses could carry them. Each army
believed itself hopelessly defeated, and abandoning tents, baggage,
artillery, ammunition, the remnants of each, betook themselves to
panic-stricken flight. Generalissimo Maximilian never looked behind him
as he fled, until he had taken refuge in Kaschan, and had thence made his
way, deeply mortified and despondent, to Vienna. The Prince of
Transylvania retreated into the depths of his own principality. Mahomet,
with his principal officers, shut himself up in Buda, after which he
returned to Constantinople and abandoned himself for a time to a
voluptuous ease, inconsistent with the Ottoman projects of conquering the
world. The Turks, less prone to desperation than the Christians, had been
utterly overthrown in the early part of the action, but when the victors
were, as usual, greedily bent upon plunder before the victory had been
fairly secured, the tide of battle was turned by the famous Italian
renegade Cicala. The Turks, too, had the good sense to send two days
afterwards and recover their artillery, trains, and other property, which
ever since the battle had been left at the mercy of the first comers.

So ended the Turkish campaign of the year 1596. Ancel, accordingly, fared
ill in his negotiations with Germany. On the other hand Mendoza, Admiral
of Arragon, had been industriously but secretly canvassing the same
regions as the representative of the Spanish king. It was important for
Philip, who put more faith in the league of the three powers than Henry
himself did, to lose no time in counteracting its influence. The
condition of the holy Roman empire had for some time occupied his most
serious thoughts. It seemed plain that Rudolph would never marry.
Certainly he would never marry the Infanta, although he was very angry
that his brother should aspire to the hand which he himself rejected. In
case of his death without children, Philip thought it possible that there
might be a Protestant revolution in Germany, and that the house of
Habsburg might lose the imperial crown altogether. It was even said that
the emperor himself was of that opinion, and preferred that the empire
should "end with his own life." Philip considered that neither Matthias
nor Maximilian was fit to succeed their brother, being both of them
"lukewarm in the Catholic faith." In other words, he chose that his
destined son-in-law, the Cardinal Albert, should supersede them, and he
was anxious to have him appointed as soon as possible King of the Romans.

"His Holiness the Pope and the King of Spain," said the Admiral of
Arragon, "think it necessary to apply most stringent measures to the
emperor to compel him to appoint a successor, because, in case of his
death without one, the administration during the vacancy would fall to
the elector palatine,--a most perverse Calvinistic heretic, and as great
an enemy of the house of Austria and of our holy religion as the Turk
himself--as sufficiently appears in those diabolical laws of his
published in the palatinate a few months since. A vacancy is so dreadful,
that in the north of Germany the world would come to an end; yet the
emperor, being of rather a timid nature than otherwise, is inclined to
quiet, and shrinks from the discussions and conflicts likely to be caused
by an appointment. Therefore his Holiness and his Catholic Majesty, not
choosing that we should all live in danger of the world's falling in
ruins, have resolved to provide the remedy. They are to permit the
electors to use the faculty which they possess of suspending the emperor
and depriving him of his power; there being examples of this in other
times against emperors who governed ill."

The Admiral farther alluded to the great effort made two years before to
elect the King of Denmark emperor, reminding Philip that in Hamburg they
had erected triumphal arches, and made other preparations to receive him.
This year, he observed, the Protestants were renewing their schemes. On
the occasion of the baptism of the child of the elector palatine, the
English envoy being present, and Queen Elizabeth being god-mother, they
had agreed upon nine articles of faith much more hostile to the Catholic
creed than anything ever yet professed. In case of the death of the
emperor, this elector palatine would of course make much trouble, and the
emperor should therefore be induced, by fair means if possible, on
account of the great inconvenience of forcing him, but not without a hint
of compulsion, to acquiesce in the necessary measures. Philip was
represented as willing to assist the empire with considerable force
against the Turk--as there could be no doubt that Hungary was in great
danger--but in recompense it was necessary to elect a King of the Romans
in all respects satisfactory to him. There were three objections to the
election of Albert, whose recent victories and great abilities entitled
him in Philip's opinion to the crown. Firstly, there was a doubt whether
the kingdoms of Hungary and Bohemia were elective or hereditary, and it
was very important that the King of the Romans should succeed to those
two crowns, because the electors and other princes having fiefs within
those kingdoms would be unwilling to swear fealty to two suzerains, and
as Albert was younger than his brothers he could scarcely expect to take
by inheritance.

Secondly, Albert had no property of his own, but the Admiral suggested
that the emperor might be made to abandon to him the income of the Tyrol.

Thirdly, it was undesirable for Albert to leave the Netherlands at that
juncture. Nevertheless, it was suggested by the easy-going Admiral, with
the same tranquil insolence which marked all his proposed arrangements,
that as Rudolph would retire from the government altogether, Albert, as
King of the Romans and acting emperor, could very well take care of the
Netherlands as part of his whole realm. Albert being moreover about to
marry the Infanta, the handsome dowry which he would receive with her
from the king would enable him to sustain his dignity.

Thus did Philip who had been so industrious during the many past years in
his endeavours to expel the heretic Queen of England and the Huguenot
Henry from the realms of their ancestors, and to seat himself or his
daughter, or one or another of his nephews, in their places, now busy
himself with schemes to discrown Rudolph of Habsburg, and to place the
ubiquitous Infanta and her future husband on his throne. Time would show
the result.

Meantime, while the Protestant Ancel and other agents of the new league
against Philip were travelling about from one court of Europe to another
to gain adherents to their cause, the great founder of the confederacy
was already secretly intriguing for a peace with that monarch. The ink
was scarce dry on the treaty to which he had affixed his signature before
he was closeted with the agents of the Archduke Albert, and receiving
affectionate messages and splendid presents from that military
ecclesiastic.

In November, 1596, La Balvena, formerly a gentleman of the Count de la
Fera, came to Rouen. He had a very secret interview with Henry IV. at
three o'clock one morning, and soon afterwards at a very late hour in the
night. The king asked him why the archduke was not willing to make a
general peace, including England and Holland. Balvena replied that he had
no authority to treat on that subject; it being well known, however, that
the King of Spain would never consent to a peace with the rebels, except
on the ground of the exclusive maintenance of the Catholic religion.

He is taking the very course to destroy that religion, said Henry. The
king then avowed himself in favour of peace for the sake of the poor
afflicted people of all countries. He was not tired of arms, he said,
which were so familiar to him, but his wish was to join in a general
crusade against the Turk. This would be better for the Catholic religion
than the present occupations of all parties. He avowed that the Queen of
England was his very good friend, and said he had never yet broken his
faith with her, and never would do so. She had sent him the Garter, and
he had accepted it, as his brother Henry III. had done before him, and he
would negotiate no peace which did not include her. The not very distant
future was to show how much these stout professions of sincerity were
worth. Meantime Henry charged Balvena to keep their interviews a profound
secret, especially from every one in France. The king expressed great
anxiety lest the Huguenots should hear of it, and the agent observed that
any suspicion of peace negotiations would make great disturbance among
the heretics, as one of the conditions of the king's absolution by the
pope was supposed to be that he should make war upon his Protestant
subjects. On his return from Rouen the emissary made a visit to Monlevet,
marshal of the camp to Henry IV. and a Calvinist. There was much
conversation about peace, in the course of which Monlevet observed, "We
are much afraid of you in negotiation, for we know that you Spaniards far
surpass us in astuteness."

"Nay," said Balvena, "I will only repeat the words of the Emperor Charles
V.--'The Spaniards seem wise, and are madmen; the French seem madmen, and
are wise.'"

A few weeks later the archduke sent Balvena again to Rouen. He had
another interview with the king, at which not only Villeroy and other
Catholics were present, but Monlevet also. This proved a great obstacle
to freedom of conversation. The result was the same as before.

There were strong professions of a desire on the part of the king for a
peace but it was for a general peace; nothing further.

On the 4th December Balvena was sent for by the king before daylight,
just as he was mounting his horse for the chase.

"Tell his Highness," said Henry, "that I am all frankness, and incapable
of dissimulation, and that I believe him too much a man of honour to wish
to deceive me. Go tell him that I am most anxious for peace, and that I
deeply regret the defeat that has been sustained against the Turk. Had I
been there I would have come out dead or victorious. Let him arrange an
agreement between us, so that presto he may see me there with my brave
nobles, with infantry and with plenty of Switzers. Tell him that I am his
friend: Begone. Be diligent."

On the last day but two of the year, the archduke, having heard this
faithful report of Henry's affectionate sentiments, sent him a suit of
splendid armour, such as was then made better in Antwerp than anywhere
else, magnificently burnished of a blue colour, according to an entirely
new fashion.

With such secret courtesies between his most Catholic Majesty's
vicegerent and himself was Henry's league with the two Protestant powers
accompanied.

Exactly at the same epoch Philip was again preparing an invasion of the
queen's dominions. An armada of a hundred and twenty-eight ships, with a
force of fourteen thousand infantry and three thousand horse, had been
assembled during the autumn of this year at Lisbon, notwithstanding the
almost crushing blow that the English and Hollanders had dealt the king's
navy so recently at Cadiz. This new expedition was intended for Ireland,
where it was supposed that the Catholics would be easily roused. It was
also hoped that the King of Scots might be induced to embrace this
opportunity of wreaking vengeance on his mother's destroyer. "He was on
the watch the last time that my armada went forth against the English,"
said Philip, "and he has now no reason to do the contrary, especially if
he remembers that here is a chance to requite the cruelty which was
practised on his mother."

The fleet sailed on the 5th October under the command of the Count Santa
Gadea. Its immediate destination was the coast of Ireland, where they
were to find some favourable point for disembarking the troops. Having
accomplished this, the ships, with the exception of a few light vessels,
were to take their departure and pass the winter in Ferrol. In case the
fleet should be forced by stress of weather on the English coast, the
port of Milford Haven in Wales was to be seized, "because," said Philip,
"there are a great many Catholics there well affected to our cause, and
who have a special enmity to the English." In case the English fleet
should come forth to give battle, Philip sent directions that it was to
be conquered at once, and that after the victory Milford Haven was to be
firmly held.

This was easily said. But it was not fated that this expedition should be
more triumphant than that of the unconquerable armada which had been so
signally conquered eight years before. Scarcely had the fleet put to sea
when it was overtaken by a tremendous storm, in which forty ships
foundered with five thousand men. The shattered remnants took refuge in
Ferrol. There the ships were to refit, and in the spring the attempt was
to be renewed. Thus it was ever with the King of Spain. There was a
placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat which sycophants thought
sublime. And such insensibility might have been sublimity had the monarch
been in person on the deck of a frigate in the howling tempest, seeing
ship after ship go down before his eyes; and exerting himself with
tranquil energy and skill to encourage his followers, and to preserve
what remained afloat from destruction. Certainly such exhibitions of
human superiority to the elements are in the highest degree inspiring.
His father had shown himself on more than one occasion the master of his
fate. The King of France, too, bare-headed, in his iron corslet, leading
a forlorn hope, and, by the personal charm of his valour, changing
fugitives into heroes and defeat into victory, had afforded many examples
of sublime unconsciousness of disaster, such as must ever thrill the
souls of mankind. But it is more difficult to be calm in battle and
shipwreck than at the writing desk; nor is that the highest degree of
fortitude which enables a monarch--himself in safety--to endure without
flinching the destruction of his fellow creatures.

No sooner, however, was the remnant of the tempest-tost fleet safe in
Ferrol than the king requested the cardinal to collect an army at Calais
and forthwith to invade England. He asked his nephew whether he could not
manage to send his troops across the channel in vessels of light draught,
such as he already had at command, together with some others which might
be furnished him from Spain. In this way he was directed to gain a
foot-hold in England, and he was to state immediately whether he could
accomplish this with his own resources or should require the assistance
of the fleet at Ferrol. The king further suggested that the enemy,
encouraged by his success at Cadiz the previous summer, might be
preparing a fresh expedition against Spain, in which case the invasion of
England would be easier to accomplish.

Thus on the last day of 1596, Philip, whose fleet sent forth for the
conquest of Ireland and England had been too crippled to prosecute the
adventure, was proposing to his nephew to conquer England without any
fleet at all. He had given the same advice to Alexander Farnese so soon
as he heard of the destruction of the invincible armada.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune
     Burning of Servetus at Geneva
     Constant vigilance is the price of liberty
     Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many shapes
     French seem madmen, and are wise
     Hanging of Mary Dyer at Boston
     Imposed upon the multitudes, with whom words were things
     Impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too gross
     In times of civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing
     Meet around a green table except as fencers in the field
     One-third of Philip's effective navy was thus destroyed
     Patriotism seemed an unimaginable idea
     Placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat
     Plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous
     Religion was rapidly ceasing to be the line of demarcation
     So often degenerated into tyranny (Calvinism)
     Spaniards seem wise, and are madmen
     The Alcoran was less cruel than the Inquisition
     There are few inventions in morals
     To attack England it was necessary to take the road of Ireland
     Tranquil insolence
     Unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing
     Upon their knees, served the queen with wine
     Wish to sell us the bear-skin before they have killed the bear



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 69, 1597-1598



CHAPTER XXXIII.

   Straggle of the Netherlands against Spain--March to Turnhout--
   Retreat of the Spanish commander--Pursuit and attack--Demolition of
   the Spanish army--Surrender of the garrison of Turnhout--Improved
   military science--Moral effect of the battle--The campaign in
   France--Attack on Amiens by the Spaniards--Sack and burning of the
   city--De Rosny's plan for reorganization of the finances--Jobbery
   and speculation--Philip's repudiation of his debts--Effects of the
   measure--Renewal of persecution by the Jesuits--Contention between
   Turk and Christian--Envoy from the King of Poland to the Hague to
   plead for reconciliation with Philip--His subsequent presentation to
   Queen Elizabeth--Military events Recovery of Amiens--Feeble
   operations of the confederate powers against Spain--Marriage of the
   Princess Emilia, sister of Maurice--Reduction of the castle and town
   of Alphen--Surrender of Rheinberg--Capitulation of Meurs--Surrender
   of Grol--Storming and taking of Brevoort Capitulation of Enschede,
   Ootmaxsum, Oldenzaal, and Lingen--Rebellion of the Spanish garrisons
   in Antwerp and Ghent--Progress of the peace movement between Henry
   and Philip--Relations of the three confederate powers--Henry's
   scheme for reconciliation with Spain--His acceptance of Philip's
   offer of peace announced to Elizabeth--Endeavours for a general
   peace.

The old year had closed with an abortive attempt of Philip to fulfil his
favourite dream--the conquest of England. The new year opened with a
spirited effort of Prince Maurice to measure himself in the open field
with the veteran legions of Spain.

Turnhout, in Brabant, was an open village--the largest in all the
Netherlands lying about twenty-five English miles in almost a direct line
south from Gertruydenburg. It was nearly as far distant in an easterly
direction from Antwerp, and was about five miles nearer Breda than it was
to Gertruydenberg.

At this place the cardinal-archduke had gathered a considerable force,
numbering at least four thousand of his best infantry, with several
squadrons of cavalry, the whole under-command of the general-in-chief of
artillery, Count Varax. People in the neighbourhood were growing uneasy,
for it was uncertain in what direction it might be intended to use this
formidable force. It was perhaps the cardinal's intention to make a
sudden assault upon Breda, the governor of which seemed not inclined to
carry out his proposition to transfer that important city to the king, or
it was thought that he might take advantage of a hard frost and cross the
frozen morasses and estuaries into the land of Ter Tholen, where he might
overmaster some of the important strongholds of Zeeland.

Marcellus Bax, that boldest and most brilliant of Holland's cavalry
officers, had come to Maurice early in January with an urgent suggestion
that no time might be lost in making an attack upon the force of
Turnhout, before they should succeed in doing any mischief. The prince
pondered the proposition, for a little time, by himself, and then
conferred very privately upon the subject with the state-council. On the
14th January it was agreed with that body that the enterprise should be
attempted, but with the utmost secrecy. A week later the council sent an
express messenger to Maurice urging him not to expose his own life to
peril, but to apprise them as soon as possible as to the results of the
adventure.

Meantime, patents had been sent to the various garrisons for fifty
companies of foot and sixteen squadrons of horse. On the 22nd January
Maurice came to Gertruydenberg, the place of rendezvous, attended by Sir
Francis Vere and Count Solms. Colonel Kloetingen was already there with
the transports of ammunition and a few pieces of artillery from Zeeland,
and in the course of the day the whole infantry force had assembled.
Nothing could have been managed with greater promptness or secrecy.

Next day, before dawn, the march began. The battalia was led by Van der
Noot, with six companies of Hollanders. Then came Vere, with eight
companies of the reserve, Dockray with eight companies of Englishmen,
Murray with eight companies of Scotch, and Kloetingen and La Corde with
twelve companies of Dutch and Zeelanders. In front of the last troop
under La Corde marched the commander of the artillery, with two
demi-cannon and two field-pieces, followed by the ammunition and, baggage
trains. Hohenlo arrived just as the march was beginning, to whom the
stadholder, notwithstanding their frequent differences, communicated his
plans, and entrusted the general command of the cavalry. That force met
the expedition at Osterhout, a league's distance from Gertruydenberg, and
consisted of the best mounted companies, English and Dutch, from the
garrisons of Breda, Bergen, Nymegen, and the Zutphen districts.

It was a dismal, drizzly, foggy morning; the weather changing to steady
rain as the expedition advanced. There had been alternate frost and thaw
for the few previous weeks, and had that condition of the atmosphere
continued the adventure could not have been attempted. It had now turned
completely to thaw. The roads were all under water, and the march was
sufficiently difficult. Nevertheless, it was possible; so the stout
Hollanders, Zeelanders, and Englishmen struggled on manfully, shoulder to
shoulder, through the mist and the mire. By nightfall the expedition had
reached Ravels, at less than a league's distance from Turnhout, having
accomplished, under the circumstances, a very remarkable march of over
twenty miles. A stream of water, the Neethe, one of the tributaries of
the Scheld, separated Ravels from Turnhout, and was crossed by a stone
bridge. It was an anxious moment. Maurice discovered by his scouts that
he was almost within cannon-shot of several of the most famous regiments
in the Spanish army lying fresh, securely posted, and capable of making
an attack at any moment. He instantly threw forward Marcellus Bax with
four squadrons of Bergen cavalry, who, jaded as they were by their day's
work, were to watch the bridge that night, and to hold it against all
comers and at every hazard.

The Spanish commander, on his part, had reconnoitred the advancing, foe,
for it was impossible for the movement to have been so secret or so swift
over those inundated roads as to be shrouded to the last moment in
complete mystery. It was naturally to be expected therefore that those
splendid legions--the famous Neapolitan tercio of Trevico, the veteran
troops of Sultz and Hachicourt, the picked Epirote and Spanish cavalry of
Nicolas Basta and Guzman--would be hurled upon the wearied, benumbed,
bemired soldiers of the republic, as they came slowly along after their
long march through the cold winter's rain.

Varax took no such heroic resolution. Had he done so that January
afternoon, the career of Maurice of Nassau might have been brought to a
sudden close, despite the affectionate warning of the state-council.
Certainly it was difficult for any commander to be placed in a more
perilous position than that in which the stadholder found himself. He
remained awake and afoot the whole night, perfecting his arrangements for
the morning, and watching every indication of a possible advance on the
part of the enemy. Marcellus Bax and his troopers remained at the bridge
till morning, and were so near the Spaniards that they heard the voices
of their pickets, and could even distinguish in the distance the various
movements in their camp.

But no attack was made, and the little army of Maurice was allowed to
sleep off its fatigue. With the dawn of the 24th January, a reconnoitring
party, sent out from the republican camp, discovered that Varax, having
no stomach for an encounter, had given his enemies the slip. Long before
daylight his baggage and ammunition trains had been sent off in a
southerly direction, and his whole force had already left the village of
Turnhout. It was the intention of the commander to take refuge in the
fortified city of Herenthals, and there await the attack of Maurice.
Accordingly, when the stadholder arrived on the fields beyond the
immediate precincts of the village, he saw the last of the enemy's
rearguard just disappearing from view. The situation was a very peculiar
one.

The rain and thaw, following upon frosty weather, had converted the fenny
country in many directions into a shallow lake. The little river which
flowed by the village had risen above its almost level banks, and could
with difficulty be traversed at any point, while there was no permanent
bridge, such as there was at Ravels. The retreating Spaniards had made
their way through a narrow passage, where a roughly-constructed causeway
of planks had enabled the infantry to cross the waters almost in single
file, while the cavalry had floundered through as best they might. Those
who were acquainted with the country reported that beyond this defile
there was an upland heath, a league in extent, full of furze and
thickets, where it would be easy enough for Varax to draw up his army in
battle array, and conceal it from view. Maurice's scouts, too, brought
information that the Spanish commander had left a force of musketeers to
guard the passage at the farther end.

This looked very like an ambush. In the opinion of Hohenlo, of Solms, and
of Sidney, an advance was not to be thought of; and if the adventure
seemed perilous to such hardy and experienced campaigners as these three,
the stadholder might well hesitate. Nevertheless, Maurice had made up his
mind. Sir Francis Vere and Marcellus Bax confirmed him in his
determination, and spoke fiercely of the disgrace which would come upon
the arms of the republic if now, after having made a day's march to meet
the enemy, they should turn their backs upon him just as he was doing his
best to escape.

On leave obtained from the prince, these two champions, the Englishman
and the Hollander, spurred their horses through the narrow pass, with the
waters up to the saddle-bow, at the head of a mere handful of troopers,
not more than a dozen men in all. Two hundred musketeers followed,
picking their way across the planks. As they emerged into the open
country beyond, the Spanish soldiers guarding the passage fled without
firing a shot. Such was already the discouraging effect produced upon
veterans by the unexpected order given that morning to retreat. Vere and
Bax sent word for all the cavalry to advance at once, and meantime
hovered about the rearguard of the retreating enemy, ready to charge upon
him so soon as they should be strong enough.

Maurice lost no time in plunging with his whole mounted force through the
watery defile; directing the infantry to follow as fast as practicable.
When the commander-in-chief with his eight hundred horsemen, Englishmen,
Zeelanders, Hollanders, and Germans, came upon the heath, the position
and purpose of the enemy were plainly visible. He was not drawn up in
battle order, waiting to sweep down upon his rash assailants so soon as,
after struggling through the difficult pass, they should be delivered
into his hands. On the contrary, it was obvious at a glance that his
object was still to escape. The heath of Tiel, on which Spaniards,
Italians, Walloons, Germans, Dutchmen, English; Scotch, and Irishmen now
all found themselves together, was a ridgy, spongy expanse of country,
bordered on one side by the swollen river, here flowing again through
steeper banks which were overgrown with alders and pollard willows. Along
the left of the Spanish army, as they moved in the direction of
Herenthals, was a continuous fringe of scrub-oaks, intermixed with tall
beeches, skirting the heath, and forming a leafless but almost impervious
screen for the movements of small detachments of troops. Quite at the
termination of the open apace, these thickets becoming closely crowded,
overhung another extremely narrow passage, which formed the only outlet
from the plain. Thus the heath of Tiel, upon that winter's morning, had
but a single entrance and a single exit, each very dangerous or very
fortunate for those capable of taking or neglecting the advantages
offered by the position.

The whole force of Varax, at least five thousand strong, was advancing in
close marching order towards the narrow passage by which only they could
emerge from the heath. Should they reach this point in time, and thus
effect their escape, it would be useless to attempt to follow them, for,
as was the case with the first defile, it was not possible for two
abreast to go through, while beyond was a swampy-country in which
military operations were impossible. Yet there remained less than half a
league's space for the retreating soldiers to traverse, while not a
single foot-soldier Of Maurice's army had thus far made his appearance on
the heath. All were still wallowing and struggling, single file, in the
marshy entrance, through which only the cavalry had forced their way.
Here was a dilemma. Should Maurice look calmly on while the enemy, whom
he had made so painful a forced march to meet, moved off out of reach
before his eyes? Yet certainly this was no slight triumph in itself.
There sat the stadholder on his horse at the head of eight hundred
carabineers, and there marched four of Philip's best infantry regiments,
garnished with some of his most renowned cavalry squadrons, anxious not
to seek but to avoid a combat. First came the Germans of Count Sultz, the
musketeers in front, and the spearsmen, of which the bulk of this and of
all the regiments was composed, marching in closely serried squares, with
the company standards waving over each. Next, arranged in the same
manner, came the Walloon regiments of Hachicourt and of La Barlotte.
Fourth and last came the famous Neapolitans of Marquis Trevico. The
cavalry squadrons rode on the left of the infantry, and were commanded by
Nicolas Basta, a man who had been trampling upon the Netherlanders ever
since the days of Alva, with whom he had first come to the country.

And these were the legions--these very men or their immediate
predecessors--these Italians, Spaniards, Germans, and Walloons, who
during so many terrible years had stormed and sacked almost every city of
the Netherlands, and swept over the whole breadth of those little
provinces as with the besom of destruction.

Both infantry and cavalry, that picked little army of Varax was of the
very best that had shared in the devil's work which had been the chief
industry practised for so long in the obedient Netherlands. Was it not
madness for the stadholder, at the head of eight hundred horsemen, to
assail such an army as this? Was it not to invoke upon his head the swift
vengeance of Heaven? Nevertheless, the painstaking, cautious Maurice did
not hesitate. He ordered Hohenlo, with all the Brabantine cavalry, to
ride as rapidly as their horses could carry them along the edge of the
plain, and behind the tangled woodland, by which the movement would be
concealed. He was at all hazards to intercept the enemy's vanguard before
it should reach the fatal pass. Vere and Marcellus Bax meanwhile,
supported now by Edmont with the Nymegen squadrons, were to threaten the
Spanish rear. A company of two under Laurentz was kept by Maurice near
his person in reserve.

The Spaniards steadily continued their march, but as they became aware of
certain slight and indefinite movements on their left, their cavalry,
changing their position, were transferred from the right to the left of
the line of march, and now rode between the infantry and the belt of
woods.

In a few minutes after the orders given to Hohenlo, that dashing soldier
had circumvented the Spaniards, and emerged upon the plain between them
and the entrance to the defile, The next instant the trumpets sounded a
charge, and Hohenlo fell upon the foremost regiment, that of Sultz, while
the rearguard, consisting of Trevico's Neapolitan regiment, was assailed
by Du Bois, Donck, Rysoir, Marcellus Bax, and Sir Francis Vere. The
effect seemed almost supernatural. The Spanish cavalry--those far-famed
squadrons of Guzman and Basta--broke at the first onset and galloped off
for the pass as if they had been riding a race. Most of them escaped
through the hollow into the morass beyond. The musketeers of Sultz's
regiment hardly fired a shot, and fell back in confusion upon the thickly
clustered pikemen. The assailants, every one of them in complete armour,
on powerful horses, and armed not with lances but with carbines, trampled
over the panic-struck and struggling masses of leather jerkined pikemen
and shot them at arm's length. The charge upon Trevico's men at the same
moment was just as decisive. In less time than it took afterwards to
describe the scene, those renowned veterans were broken into a helpless
mass of dying, wounded, or fugitive creatures, incapable of striking a
blow.

Thus the Germans in the front and the Neapolitans in the rear had been
simultaneously shattered, and rolled together upon the two other
regiments, those of Hachicourt and La Barlotte, which were placed between
them. Nor did these troops offer any better resistance, but were
paralysed and hurled out of existence like the rest. In less than an hour
the Spanish army was demolished. Varax himself lay dead upon the field,
too fortunate not to survive his disgrace. It was hardly more than
daylight on that dull January morning; nine o'clock had scarce chimed
from the old brick steeples of Turnhout, yet two thousand Spaniards had
fallen before the blows of eight hundred Netherlanders, and there were
five hundred prisoners beside. Of Maurice's army not more than nine or
ten were slain. The story sounds like a wild legend. It was as if the arm
of each Netherlander had been nerved by the memory of fifty years of
outrage, as if the spectre of their half-century of crime had appalled
the soul of every Spaniard. Like a thunderbolt the son of William the
Silent smote that army of Philip, and in an instant it lay blasted on the
heath of Tiel. At least it could hardly be called sagacious generalship
on the part of the stadholder. The chances were all against him, and if
instead of Varax those legions had been commanded that morning by old
Christopher Mondragon, there might perhaps have been another tale to
tell. Even as it was, there had been a supreme moment when the Spanish
disaster had nearly been changed to victory. The fight was almost done,
when a small party of Staten' cavalry, who at the beginning of the action
had followed the enemy's horse in its sudden retreat through the gap,
came whirling back over the plain in wild confusion, pursued by about
forty of the enemy's lancers. They swept by the spot where Maurice, with
not more than ten horsemen around him, was directing and watching the
battle, and in vain the prince threw himself in front of them and strove
to check their flight. They were panic-struck, and Maurice would himself
have been swept off the field, had not Marcellus Bax and Edmont, with
half a dozen heavy troopers, come to the rescue. A grave error had been
committed by Parker, who, upon being ordered by Maurice to cause Louis
Laurentz to charge, had himself charged with the whole reserve and left
the stadholder almost alone upon the field. Thus the culprits--who after
pursuing the Spanish cavalry through the pass had been plundering the
enemy's baggage until they were set upon by the handful left to guard it,
and had become fugitives in their turn--might possibly have caused the
lose of the day after the victory had been won, had there been a man on
the Spanish side to take in the situation at a glance. But it is probable
that the rout had been too absolute to allow of any such sudden turning
to account of the serious errors of the victors. The cavalry, except this
handful, had long disappeared, at least half the infantry lay dead or
wounded in the field, while the remainder, throwing away pipe and
matchlock, were running helter-skelter for their lives.

Besides Prince Maurice himself, to whom the chief credit of the whole
expedition justly belonged, nearly all the commanders engaged obtained
great distinction by their skill and valour. Sir Francis Vere, as usual,
was ever foremost in the thickest of the fray, and had a horse killed
under him. Parker erred by too much readiness to engage, but bore himself
manfully throughout the battle. Hohenlo, Solma, Sidney, Louis Laurentz,
Du Bois, all displayed their usual prowess; but the real hero of the
hour, the personal embodiment of the fortunate madness which prompted and
won the battle, was undoubtedly Marcellus Bax.

Maurice remained an hour or two on the field of battle, and then,
returning towards the village of Turnhout, summoned its stronghold. The
garrison of sixty, under Captain Van der Delf, instantly surrendered. The
victor allowed these troops to go off scot free, saying that there had
been blood enough shed that day. Every standard borne by the Spaniards in
the battle-thirty-eight in number--was taken, besides nearly all their
arms. The banners were sent to the Hague to be hung up in the great hall
of the castle. The dead body of Varax was sent to the archduke with a
courteous letter, in which, however, a categorical explanation was
demanded as to a statement in circulation that Albert had decided to give
the soldiers of the republic no quarter.

No answer being immediately returned, Maurice ordered the five hundred
prisoners to be hanged or drowned unless ransomed within twenty days, and
this horrible decree appears from official documents to be consistent
with the military usages of the period. The arrival of the letter from
the cardinal-archduke, who levied the money for the ransom on the
villagers of Brabant, prevented, however, the execution of the menace,
which could hardly have been seriously intended.

Within a week from the time of his departure from the Hague to engage in
this daring adventure, the stadholder had returned to that little
capital, having achieved a complete success. The enthusiastic
demonstrations throughout the land on account of so signal a victory can
easily be imagined. Nothing like this had ever before been recorded in
the archives of the young commonwealth. There had been glorious defences
of beleaguered cities, where scenes of heroic endurance and
self-sacrifice had been enacted, such as never can be forgotten so long
as the history of human liberty shall endure, but a victory won in the
open field over the most famous legions of Spain and against overwhelming
numbers, was an achievement entirely without example. It is beyond all
doubt that the force under Varax was at least four times as large as that
portion of the States' army which alone was engaged; for Maurice had not
a foot-soldier on the field until the battle was over, save the handful
of musketeers who had followed Vere and Bax at the beginning of the
action.

Therefore it is that this remarkable action merits a much more attentive
consideration than it might deserve, regarded purely as a military
exploit. To the military student a mere cavalry affair, fought out upon
an obscure Brabantine heath between a party of Dutch carabineers and
Spanish pikemen, may seem of little account--a subject fitted by
picturesque costume and animated action for the pencil of a Wouvermanns
or a Terburg, but conveying little instruction. As illustrating a period
of transition in which heavy armoured troopers--each one a human
iron-clad fortress moving at speed and furnished with the most formidable
portable artillery then known--could overcome the resistance of almost
any number of foot-soldiers in light marching gear and armed with the
antiquated pike, the affair may be worthy of a moment's attention; and
for this improvement--itself now as obsolete as the slings and
cataphracts of Roman legions--the world was indebted to Maurice. But the
shock of mighty armies, the manoeuvring of vast masses in one magnificent
combination, by which the fate of empires, the happiness or the misery of
the peoples for generations, may perhaps be decided in a few hours,
undoubtedly require a higher constructive genius than could be displayed
in any such hand-to-hand encounter as that of Turnhout, scientifically
managed as it unquestionably was. The true and abiding interest of the
battle is derived from is moral effect, from its influence on the people
of the Netherlands. And this could scarcely be exaggerated. The nation
was electrified, transformed in an instant. Who now should henceforth
dare to say that one Spanish fighting-man was equal to five or ten
Hollanders? At last the days of Jemmingen and Mooker-heath needed no
longer to be remembered by every patriot with a shudder of shame. Here at
least in the open field a Spanish army, after in vain refusing a combat
and endeavouring to escape, had literally bitten the dust before one
fourth of its own number. And this effect was a permanent one.
Thenceforth for foreign powers to talk of mediation between the republic
and the ancient master, to suggest schemes of reconciliation and of a
return to obedience, was to offer gratuitous and trivial insult, and we
shall very soon have occasion to mark the simple eloquence with which the
thirty-eight Spanish standards of Turnhout, hung up in the old hall of
the Hague, were made to reply to the pompous rhetoric of an interfering
ambassador.

This brief episode was not immediately followed by other military events
of importance in the provinces during what remained of the winter. Very
early in the spring, however, it was probable that the campaign might
open simultaneously in France and on the frontiers of Flanders. Of all
the cities in the north of France there was none, after Rouen, so
important, so populous, so wealthy as Amiens. Situate in fertile fields,
within three days march of Paris, with no intervening forests or other
impediments of a physical nature to free communication, it was the key to
the gates of the capital. It had no garrison, for the population numbered
fifteen thousand men able to bear arms, and the inhabitants valued
themselves on the prowess of their trained militiamen, five thousand of
whom they boasted to be able to bring into the field at an hour's
notice--and they were perfectly loyal to Henry.

One morning in March there came a party of peasants, fifteen or twenty in
number, laden with sacks of chestnuts and walnuts, to the northernmost
gate of the town. They offered them for sale, as usual, to the soldiers
at the guard-house, and chaffered and jested--as boors and soldiers are
wont to do--over their wares. It so happened that in the course of the
bargaining one of the bags became untied, and its contents, much to the
dissatisfaction of the proprietor, were emptied on the ground. There was
a scramble for the walnuts, and much shouting, kicking, and squabbling
ensued, growing almost into a quarrel between the burgher-soldiers and
the peasants. As the altercation was at its height a heavy wagon, laden
with long planks, came towards the gate for the use of carpenters and
architects within the town. The portcullis was drawn up to admit this
lumbering vehicle, but in the confusion caused by the chance medley going
on at the guard-house, the gate dropped again before the wagon had fairly
got through the passage, and remained resting upon the timber with which
it was piled.

At that instant a shrill whistle was heard; and as if by magic the twenty
chestnut-selling peasants were suddenly transformed to Spanish and
Walloon soldiers armed to the teeth, who were presently reinforced by as
many more of their comrades, who sprang from beneath the plank-work by
which the real contents of the wagon had thus been screened. Captain
Dognano, his brother the sergeant-major, Captain d'Arco, and other
officers of a Walloon regiment stationed in Dourlans, were the leaders of
the little party, and while they were busily occupied in putting the
soldiers of the watch, thus taken unawares, to death, the master-spirit
of the whole adventure suddenly made his appearance and entered the city
at the head of fifteen hundred men. This was an extremely small, yellow,
dried up, energetic Spanish captain, with a long red beard, Hernan Tello
de Porto Carrero by came, governor of the neighbouring city of Dourlens,
who had conceived this plan for obtaining possession of Amiens. Having
sent these disguised soldiers on before him, he had passed the night with
his men in ambush until the signal should sound. The burghers of the town
were mostly in church; none were dreaming of an attack, as men rarely
do--for otherwise how should they ever be surprised--and in half an hour
Amiens was the property of Philip of Spain. There were not very many
lives lost, for the resistance was small, but great numbers were tortured
for ransom and few women escaped outrage. The sack was famous, for the
city was rich and the captors were few in number, so that each soldier
had two or three houses to plunder for his own profit.

When the work was done, the faubourgs were all destroyed, for it was the
intention of the conquerors to occupy the place, which would be a most
convenient basis of operations for any attack upon Paris, and it was
desirable to contract the limits to be defended. Fifteen hundred houses,
many of them beautiful villas surrounded with orchards and pleasure
gardens,--were soon in flames, and afterwards razed to the ground. The
governor of the place, Count St. Pol, managed to effect his escape. His
place was now supplied by the Marquis of Montenegro, an Italian in the
service of the Spanish king. Such was the fate of Amiens in the month of
March, 1597; such the result of the refusal by the citizens to accept the
garrison urged upon them by Henry.

It would be impossible to exaggerate the consternation produced.
throughout France by this astounding and altogether unlooked for event.
"It seemed," said President De Thou, "as if it had extinguished in a
moment the royal majesty and the French name." A few nights later than
the date of this occurrence, Maximilian de Bethune (afterwards Duke of
Sully, but then called Marquis de Rosny) was asleep in his bed in Paris.
He had returned, at past two o'clock in the morning, from a magnificent
ball given by the Constable of France. The capital had been uncommonly
brilliant during the winter with banquets and dances, tourneys and
masquerades, as if to cast a lurid glare over the unutterable misery of
the people and the complete desolation of the country; but this
entertainment--given by Montmorency in honour of a fair dame with whom he
supposed himself desperately in love, the young bride of a very ancient
courtier--surpassed in splendour every festival that had been heard of
for years. De Bethune had hardly lost himself in slumber when he was
startled by Beringen, who, on drawing his curtains in this dead hour of
the night, presented such a ghastly visage that the faithful friend of
Henry instantly imagined some personal disaster to his well-beloved
sovereign. "Is the King dead?" he cried.

Being re-assured as to, this point and told to hasten to the Louvre,
Rosny instantly complied with the command. When he reached the palace he
was admitted at once to the royal bed-chamber, where he found the king in
the most unsophisticated of costumes, striding up and down the room, with
his hands clasped together behind his head, and with an expression of
agony upon his face: Many courtiers were assembled there, stuck all of
them like images against the wall, staring before them in helpless
perplexity.

Henry rushed forward as Rosny entered, and wringing him by the hand,
exclaimed, "Ah, my friend, what a misfortune, Amiens is taken!"

"Very well," replied the financier, with unperturbed visage; "I have just
completed a plan which will restore to your Majesty not only Amiens but
many other places."

The king drew a great sigh of relief and asked for his project. Rosny,
saying that he would instantly go and fetch his papers, left the
apartment for an interval, in order to give vent to the horrible
agitation which he had been enduring and so bravely concealing ever since
the fatal words had been spoken. That a city so important, the key to
Paris, without a moment's warning, without the semblance of a siege,
should thus fall into the hands of the enemy, was a blow as directly to
the heart of De Bethune as it could have been to any other of Henry's
adherents. But while they had been distracting the king by unavailing
curses or wailings, Henry, who had received the intelligence just as he
was getting into bed, had sent for support and consolation to the tried
friend of years, and he now reproachfully contrasted their pusillanimity
with De Rosny's fortitude.

A great plan for reorganising the finances of the kingdom was that very
night submitted by Rosny to the king, and it was wrought upon day by day
thereafter until it was carried into effect.

It must be confessed that the crudities and immoralities which the
project revealed do not inspire the political student of modern days with
so high a conception of the financial genius of the great minister as his
calm and heroic deportment on trying occasions, whether on the
battle-field or in the council-chamber, does of his natural authority
over his fellow-men. The scheme was devised to put money in the king's
coffers, which at that moment were completely empty. Its chief features
were to create a great many new offices in the various courts of justice
and tribunals of administration, all to be disposed of by sale to the
highest bidder; to extort a considerable loan from the chief courtiers
and from the richest burghers in the principal towns; to compel all the
leading peculators--whose name in the public service was legion--to
disgorge a portion of their ill-gotten gains, on being released from
prosecution; and to increase the tax upon salt.

Such a project hardly seems a masterpiece of ethics or political economy,
but it was hailed with rapture by the needy monarch. At once there was a
wild excitement amongst the jobbers and speculators in places. The
creation of an indefinite number of new judgeships and magistracies, to
be disposed of at auction, was a tempting opportunity even in that age of
corruption. One of the most notorious traders in the judicial ermine,
limping Robin de Tours by name, at once made a private visit to Madame de
Rosny and offered seventy-two thousand crowns for the exclusive right to
distribute these new offices. If this could be managed to his
satisfaction, he promised to give her a diamond worth two thousand
crowns, and another, worth six thousand, to her husband. The wife of the
great minister, who did not comprehend the whole amount of the insult,
presented Robin to her husband. She was enlightened, however, as to the
barefaced iniquity of the offer, when she heard De Bethune's indignant.
reply, and saw the jobber limp away, crest-fallen and amazed. That a
financier or a magistrate should decline a bribe or interfere with the
private sale of places, which were after all objects of merchandise, was
to him incomprehensible. The industrious Robin, accordingly, recovering
from his discomfiture, went straightway to the chancellor, and concluded
the same bargain in the council chamber which had been rejected by De
Bethune, with the slight difference that the distribution of the places.
was assigned to the speculator for seventy-five thousand instead of
seventy-two thousand crowns. It was with great difficulty that De
Bethune, who went at once to the king with complaints and insinuations as
to the cleanness of the chancellor's hands, was able to cancel the
operation. The day was fast approaching when the universal impoverishment
of the great nobles and landholders--the result of the long, hideous,
senseless massacres called the wars of religion--was to open the way for
the labouring classes to acquire a property in the soil. Thus that famous
fowl in every pot was to make its appearance, which vulgar tradition
ascribes to the bounty of a king who hated everything like popular
rights, and loved nothing but his own glory and his own amusement. It was
not until the days of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren that
Privilege could renew those horrible outrages on the People, which were
to be avenged by a dread series of wars, massacres, and crimes, compared
to which even the religious conflicts of the sixteenth century grow pale.

Meantime De Bethune comforted his master with these financial plans, and
assured him in the spirit of prophecy that the King of Spain, now
tottering as it was thought to his grave, would soon be glad to make a
favourable peace with France even if he felt obliged to restore not only
Amiens but every other city or stronghold that he had ever conquered in
that kingdom. Time would soon show whether this prediction were correct
or delusive; but while the secret negotiations between Henry and the Pope
were vigorously proceeding for that peace with Spain which the world in
general and the commonwealth of the Netherlands in particular thought to
be farthest from the warlike king's wishes, it was necessary to set about
the siege of Amiens.

Henry assembled a force of some twelve or fifteen thousand men for that
purpose, while the cardinal-archduke, upon his part, did his best to put
an army in the field in order to relieve the threatened city so recently
acquired by a coarse but successful artifice.

But Albert was in even a worse plight than that in which his great
antagonist found himself. When he had first arrived in the provinces, his
exchequer was overflowing, and he was even supposed to devote a
considerable portion of the military funds to defray the expenses of his
magnificent housekeeping at Brussels. But those halcyon days were over. A
gigantic fraud, just perpetrated by Philip; had descended like a
thunderbolt upon the provinces and upon all commercial Europe, and had
utterly blasted the unfortunate viceroy. In the latter days of the
preceding year the king had issued a general repudiation of his debts.

He did it solemnly, too, and with great religious unction, for it was a
peculiarity of this remarkable sovereign that he was ever wont to
accomplish his darkest crimes, whether murders or stratagems, as if they
were acts of virtue. Perhaps he really believed them to be such, for a
man, before whom so many millions of his fellow worms had been writhing
for half a century in the dust, might well imagine himself a deity.

So the king, on the 20th November, 1596, had publicly revoked all the
assignments, mortgages, and other deeds by which the royal domains;
revenues, taxes, and other public property had been transferred or
pledged for moneys already advanced to merchants, banker, and other
companies or individuals, and formally took them again into his own
possession, on the ground that his exertions in carrying on this long war
to save Christianity from destruction had reduced him to beggary, while
the money-lenders, by charging him exorbitant interest, had all grown
rich at his expense.

This was perfectly simple. There was no attempt to disguise the villany
of the transaction. The massacre of so many millions of Protestants, the
gigantic but puerile attempts to subjugate the Dutch republic, and to
annex France, England, and the German empire to his hereditary dominions,
had been attended with more expense than Philip had calculated upon. The
enormous wealth which a long series of marriages, inheritances,
conquests, and maritime discoveries had heaped upon Spain had been
exhausted by the insane ambition of the king to exterminate heresy
throughout the world, and to make himself the sovereign of one undivided,
universal, catholic monarchy. All the gold and silver of America had not
sufficed for this purpose, and he had seen, with an ever rising
indignation, those very precious metals which, in his ignorance of the
laws of trade, he considered his exclusive property flowing speedily into
the coffers of the merchants of Europe, especially those of the hated
commonwealth of the rebellious Netherlands.

Therefore he solemnly renounced all his contracts, and took God to
witness that it was to serve His Divine will. How else could he hope to
continue his massacre of the Protestants?

The effect of the promulgation of this measure was instantaneous. Two
millions and a half of bills of exchange sold by the Cardinal Albert came
back in one day protested. The chief merchants and bankers of Europe
suspended payment. Their creditors became bankrupt. At the Frankfort fair
there were more failures in one day than there had ever been in all the
years since Frankfort existed. In Genoa alone a million dollars of
interest were confiscated. It was no better in Antwerp; but Antwerp was
already ruined. There was a general howl of indignation and despair upon
every exchange, in every counting-room, in every palace, in every cottage
of Christendom. Such a tremendous repudiation of national debts was never
heard of before. There had been debasements of the currency, petty frauds
by kings upon their unfortunate peoples, but such a crime as this had
never been conceived by human heart before.

The archduke was fain to pawn his jewelry, his plate, his furniture, to
support the daily expenses of his household. Meantime he was to set an
army in the field to relieve a city, beleaguered by the most warlike
monarch in Christendom. Fortunately for him, that prince was in very
similar straits, for the pressure upon the public swindlers and the
auction sales of judicial ermine throughout his kingdom were not as
rapidly productive as had been hoped.

It was precisely at this moment, too, that an incident of another nature
occurred in Antwerp, which did not tend to make the believers in the
possibility of religious or political freedom more in love with the
system of Spain and Rome. Those blood-dripping edicts against heresy in
the Netherlands, of which enough has been said in previous volumes of
this history, and which had caused the deaths, by axe, faggot, halter, or
burial alive, of at least fifty thousand human creatures--however
historical scepticism may shut its eyes to evidence--had now been,
dormant for twenty years. Their activity had ceased with the pacification
of Ghent; but the devilish spirit which had inspired them still lived in
the persons of the Jesuits, and there were now more Jesuits in the
obedient provinces than there had been for years. We have seen that
Champagny's remedy for the ills the country was enduring was "more
Jesuits." And this, too, was Albert's recipe. Always "more Jesuits." And
now the time had come when the Jesuits thought that they might step
openly with their works into the daylight again. Of late years they had
shrouded themselves in comparative mystery, but from their seminaries and
colleges had gone forth a plentiful company of assassins against
Elizabeth and Henry, Nassau, Barneveld, and others who, whether avowedly
or involuntarily, were prominent in the party of human progress. Some
important murders had already been accomplished, and the prospect was
fair that still others might follow, if the Jesuits persevered. Meantime
those ecclesiastics thought that a wholesome example might be by the
spectacle of a public execution.

Two maiden ladies lived on the north rampart of Antwerp. They had
formerly professed the Protestant religion, and had been thrown into
prison for that crime; but the fear of further persecution, human
weakness, or perhaps sincere conviction, had caused them to renounce the
error of their ways, and they now went to mass. But they had a
maidservant, forty years of age, Anna van den Hove by name, who was
staunch in that reformed faith in which she had been born and bred. The
Jesuits denounced this maid-servant to the civil authority, and claimed
her condemnation and execution under the edicts of 1540, decrees which
every one had supposed as obsolete as the statutes of Draco, which they
had so entirely put to shame.

The sentence having been obtained from the docile and priest-ridden
magistrates, Anna van den Hove was brought to Brussels and informed that
she was at once to be buried alive. At the same time, the Jesuits told
her that by converting herself to the Church she might escape punishment.

When King Henry IV. was summoned to renounce that same Huguenot faith, of
which he was the political embodiment and the military champion, the
candid man answered by the simple demand to be instructed. When the
proper moment came, the instruction was accomplished by an archbishop
with the rapidity of magic. Half an hour undid the work of half a
life-time. Thus expeditiously could religious conversion be effected when
an earthly crown was its guerdon. The poor serving-maid was less open to
conviction. In her simple fanaticism she too talked of a crown, and saw
it descending from Heaven on her poor forlorn head as the reward, not of
apostasy, but of steadfastness. She asked her tormentors how they could
expect her to abandon her religion for fear of death. She had read her
Bible every day, she said, and had found nothing there of the pope or
purgatory, masses, invocation of saints, or the absolution of sins except
through the blood of the blessed Redeemer. She interfered with no one who
thought differently; she quarrelled with no one's religious belief. She
had prayed for enlightenment from Him, if she were in error, and the
result was that she felt strengthened in her simplicity, and resolved to
do nothing against her conscience. Rather than add this sin to the
manifold ones committed by her, she preferred, she said, to die the
death. So Anna van den Hove was led, one fine midsummer morning, to the
hayfield outside of Brussels, between two Jesuits, followed by a number
of a peculiar kind of monks called love-brothers. Those holy men goaded
her as she went, telling her that she was the devil's carrion, and
calling on her to repent at the last moment, and thus save her life and
escape eternal damnation beside. But the poor soul had no ear for them,
and cried out that, like Stephen, she saw the heavens opening, and the
angels stooping down to conduct her far away from the power of the evil
one. When they came to the hay-field they found the pit already dug, and
the maid-servant was ordered to descend into it. The executioner then
covered her with earth up to the waist, and a last summons was made to
her to renounce her errors. She refused, and then the earth was piled
upon her, and the hangman jumped upon the grave till it was flattened and
firm.

Of all the religious murders done in that hideous sixteenth century in
the Netherlands; the burial of the Antwerp servantmaid was the last and
the worst. The worst, because it was a cynical and deliberate attempt to
revive the demon whose thirst for blood had been at last allayed, and who
had sunk into repose. And it was a spasmodic revival only, for, in the
provinces at least, that demon had finished his work.

Still, on the eastern borders of what was called civilization, Turk and
Christian were contending for the mastery. The great battle of Kovesd had
decided nothing, and the crescent still shone over the fortified and most
important Hungarian stronghold of Raab, within arm's length of Vienna.
How rapidly might that fatal and menacing emblem fill its horns, should
it once be planted on the walls of the Imperial capital! It was not
wonderful that a sincere impatience should be felt by all the frontier
States for the termination of the insurrection of the Netherlands. Would
that rebellious and heretical republic only consent to go out of
existence, again bow its stubborn knee to Philip and the Pope, what a
magnificent campaign might be made against Mahomet! The King of Spain was
the only potentate at all comparable in power to the grand Turk. The King
of France, most warlike of men, desired nothing better, as he avowed,
than to lead his brave nobles into Hungary to smite the unbelievers. Even
Prince Maurice, it was fondly hoped, might be induced to accept a high
command in the united armies of Christendom, and seek for glory by
campaigning, in alliance with Philip; Rudolph, and Henry, against the
Ottoman, rather than against his natural sovereign. Such were the
sagacity, the insight, the power of forecasting the future possessed in
those days by monarchs, statesmen, and diplomatists who were imagining
that they held the world's destiny in their hands.

There was this summer a solemn embassy from the emperor to the
States-General proposing mediation referring in the usual conventional
phraseology to the right of kings to command, and to the duty of the
people to submit, and urging the gentle-mindedness and readiness to
forgive which characterised the sovereign of the Netherlands and of
Spain.

And the statesmen of the republic had answered as they always did,
showing with courteous language, irresistible logic, and at, unmerciful
length, that there never had been kings in the Netherlands at all, and
that the gentle-mindedness of Philip had been exhibited in the massacre
of a hundred thousand Netherlanders in various sieges and battles, and in
the murder, under the Duke of Alva alone, of twenty thousand human beings
by the hangman.

They liked not such divine right nor such gentle-mindedness. They
recognised no duty on their part to consent to such a system. Even the
friendly King of Denmark sent a legation for a similar purpose, which was
respectfully but very decidedly allowed to return as it came; but the
most persistent in schemes of interference for the purpose of putting an
end to the effusion of blood in the Netherlands was Sigismund of Poland.
This monarch, who occupied two very incompatible positions, being
sovereign at once of fanatically Protestant Sweden and of orthodox
Poland, and who was, moreover, son-in-law of Archduke Charles of Styria
whose other daughter was soon to be espoused by the Prince of Spain--was
personally and geographically interested in liberating Philip from the
inconvenience of his Netherland war. Only thus could he hope to bring the
Spanish power to the rescue of Christendom against the Turk. Troubles
enough were in store for Sigismund in his hereditary northern realms, and
he was to learn that his intermarriage with the great Catholic and
Imperial house did not enable him to trample out Protestantism in those
hardy Scandinavian and Flemish regions where it had taken secure root.
Meantime he despatched, in solemn mission to the republic and to the
heretic queen, a diplomatist whose name and whose oratorical efforts have
by a caprice of history been allowed to endure to our times.

Paul Dialyn was solemnly received at the Hague on the 21st July. A
pragmatical fop, attired in a long, magnificent Polish robe, covered with
diamonds and other jewels, he was yet recognised by some of those present
as having been several years before a student at Leyden under a different
name, and with far less gorgeous surroundings. He took up his position in
the council-chamber, in the presence of the stadholder and the leading
members of the States-General, and pronounced a long Latin oration, in
the manner, as it was said, of a monk delivering a sermon from the
pulpit. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the ceiling, never once
looking at the men whom he was addressing, and speaking in a loud, nasal,
dictatorial tone, not at all agreeable to the audience. He dwelt in terms
of extravagant eulogy on the benignity and gentleness of the King of
Spain--qualities in which he asserted that no prince on earth could be
compared to him--and he said this to the very face of Maurice of Nassau.
That the benignant and gentle king had caused the stadholder's father to
be assassinated, and that he had rewarded the murderer's family with a
patent of nobility, and with an ample revenue taken from the murdered
man's property, appeared of no account to the envoy in the full sweep of
his rhetoric. Yet the reminiscence caused a shudder of disgust in all who
heard him.

He then stated the wish of his master the Polish king to be that, in
regard to the Turk, the provinces might reconcile themselves to their
natural master, who was the most powerful monarch in Christendom, and the
only one able to make head against the common foe. They were solemnly
warned of the enormous power and resources of the great king, with whom
it was hopeless for them to protract a struggle sure to end at last in
their uttermost destruction. It was for kings to issue commands; he said,
and for the people to obey; but Philip was full of sweetness, and would
accord them full forgiveness for their manifold sins against him. The
wish to come to the rescue of Christendom, in this extreme peril from the
Turk, was with him paramount to all other considerations.

Such; in brief, was the substance of the long Latin harangue by which it
was thought possible to induce those sturdy republicans and Calvinists to
renounce their vigorous national existence and to fall on their knees
before the most Catholic king. This was understood to be mediation,
statesmanship, diplomacy, in deference to which the world was to pause
and the course of events to flow backwards. Truly, despots and their
lackeys were destined to learn some rude lessons from that vigorous
little commonwealth in the North Sea, before it should have accomplished
its mission on earth.

The States-General dissembled their disgust, however, for it was not
desirable to make open enemies of Sigismund or Rudolph. They refused to
accept a copy of the oration, but they promised to send him a categorical
answer to it in writing. Meantime the envoy had the honour of walking
about the castle with the stadholder, and, in the course of their
promenade, Maurice pointed to the thirty-eight standards taken at the
battle of Turnhout, which hung from the cedarn rafters of the ancient
banquetting hall. The mute eloquence of those tattered banners seemed a
not illogical reply to the diplomatic Paul's rhetoric in regard to the
hopelessness of a contest with Spanish armies.

Next, Van der Werken--pensionary of Leyden, and a classical
scholar--waited upon the envoy with a Latin reply to his harangue,
together with a courteous letter for Sigismund. Both documents were
scathing denunciations of the policy pursued by the King of Spain and by
all his aiders and abettors, and a distinct but polished refusal to
listen to a single word in favour of mediation or of peace.

Paul Dialyn then received a courteous permission to leave the territory
of the republic, and was subsequently forwarded in a States' vessel of
war to England.

His reception, about a month later, by Queen Elizabeth is an event on
which all English historians are fond of dwelling. The pedant, on being
presented to that imperious and accomplished sovereign, deported himself
with the same ludicrous arrogance which had characterised him at the
Hague. His Latin oration, which had been duly drawn up for him by the
Chancellor of Sweden, was quite as impertinent as his harangue to the
States-General had been, and was delivered with the same conceited air.
The queen replied on the instant in the same tongue. She was somewhat in
a passion, but spoke with majestic moderation?

"Oh, how I have been deceived!" she exclaimed. "I expected an ambassador,
and behold a herald! In all my life I never heard of such an oration.
Your boldness and unadvised temerity I cannot sufficiently admire. But if
the king your master has given you any such thing in charge--which I much
doubt--I believe it is because, being but a young man, and lately
advanced to the crown, not by ordinary succession of blood, but by
election, he understandeth not yet the way of such affairs." And so
on--for several minutes longer.

Never did envoy receive such a setting down from sovereign.

"God's death, my lords!" said the queen to her ministers; as she
concluded, "I have been enforced this day to scour up my old Latin that
hath lain long in rusting."

This combination of ready wit, high spirit, and good Latin, justly
excited the enthusiasm of the queen's subjects, and endeared her still
more to every English heart. It may, however, be doubted whether the
famous reply was in reality so entirely extemporaneous as it has usually
been considered. The States-General had lost no time in forwarding to
England a minute account of the proceedings of Paul Dialyn at the Hague,
together with a sketch of his harangue and of the reply on behalf of the
States. Her Majesty and her counsellors therefore, knowing that the same
envoy was on his way to England with a similar errand, may be supposed to
have had leisure to prepare the famous impromptu. Moreover, it is
difficult to understand, on the presumption that these classic utterances
were purely extemporaneous, how they have kept their place in all
chronicles and histories from that day to the present, without change of
a word in the text. Surely there was no stenographer present to take down
the queen's words as they fell from her lips.

The military events of the year did not testify to a much more successful
activity on the part of the new league in the field than it had displayed
in the sphere of diplomacy. In vain did the envoy of the republic urge
Henry and his counsellors to follow up the crushing blow dealt to the
cardinal at Turnhout by vigorous operations in conjunction with the
States' forces in Artois and Hainault. For Amiens had meantime been
taken, and it was now necessary for the king to employ all his energy and
all his resources to recover that important city. So much damage to the
cause of the republic and of the new league had the little yellow Spanish
captain inflicted in an hour, with his bags of chestnuts and walnuts. The
siege of Amiens lasted nearly six months, and was the main event of the
campaign, so far as Henry was concerned. It is true--as the reader has
already seen, and as will soon be more clearly developed--that Henry's
heart had been fixed on peace from the moment that he consented in
conjunction with the republic to declare war, and that he had entered
into secret and separate negotiations for that purpose with the agents of
Philip so soon as he had bound himself by solemn covenant with Elizabeth
to have no negotiations whatever with him except with her full knowledge
and consent.

The siege of Amiens, however, was considered a military masterpiece, and
its whole progress showed the revolution which the stadholder of Holland
had already effected in European warfare. Henry IV. beleaguered Amiens as
if he were a pupil of Maurice, and contemporaries were enthusiastic over
the science, the patience, the inventive ingenuity which were at last
crowned with success. The heroic Hernan Tello de Porto Carrero was killed
in a sortie during the defence of the place which he had so gallantly
won, and when the city was surrendered to the king on the 19th of
September it was stipulated in the first article of the capitulation that
the tomb, epitaph, and trophies, by which his memory was honoured in the
principal church, should not be disturbed, and that his body might be
removed whenever and whither it seemed good to his sovereign. In vain the
cardinal had taken the field with an army of eighteen thousand foot and
fifteen hundred light cavalry. The king had learned so well to entrench
himself and to moderate his ardour for inopportune pitched battles, that
the relieving force could find, no occasion to effect its purpose. The
archduke retired. He came to Amiens like a soldier, said Henry, but he
went back like a priest. Moreover, he was obliged to renounce, besides
the city, a most tempting prize which he thought that he had secured
within the city. Alexander Farnese, in his last French campaign, had
procured and sent to his uncle the foot of St. Philip and the head of St.
Lawrence; but what was Albert's delight when he learned that in Amiens
cathedral there was a large piece of the head of John the Baptist! "There
will be a great scandal about it in this kingdom," he wrote to Philip,
"if I undertake to transport it out of the country, but I will try to
contrive it as your Majesty desires."

But the military events of the year prevented the cardinal from
gratifying the king in regard to these choice curiosities.

After the reduction of the city Henry went a considerable distance with
his army towards the frontier of Flanders, in order to return, as he
said, "his cousin's visit." But the recovery of Amiens had placed too
winning a card in the secret game which he was then playing to allow him
to push his nominal adversary to extremities.

The result, suspected very early in the year by the statesmen of the
republic, was already very plainly foreshadowing itself as the winter
advanced.

Nor had the other two members of the league affected much in the field.
Again an expedition had been fitted forth under Essex against the Spanish
coast to return the compliment which Philip had intended with the unlucky
armada under Santa Gadea; and again Sir Francis Vere, with two thousand
veterans from the Netherlands, and the Dutch admirals, with ten ships of
war and a large number of tenders and transports, had faithfully taken
part in the adventure.

The fleet was tempest-tossed for ten days, during which it reached the
threatened coast and was blown off again. It returned at last into the
English ports, having accomplished nothing, and having expended
superfluously a considerable amount of money and trouble. Essex, with a
few of the vessels, subsequently made a cruise towards the Azores, but,
beyond the capture of a Spanish merchantman or two, gained no glory and
inflicted no damage.

Nothing could be feebler than the military operations of the three
confederated powers ever since they had so solemnly confederated
themselves.

Sick at heart with the political intrigues of his allies which
had--brought a paralysis upon his arms which the blows of the enemy could
hardly have effected, Maurice took the field in August: for an autumnal
campaign on the eastern frontier of the republic. Foiled in his efforts
for a combined attack by the whole force of the league upon Philip's
power in the west, he thought it at least expedient to liberate the
Rhine, to secure the important provinces of Zutphen, Gelderland, and
Overyssel from attack, and to provide against the dangerous intrigues and
concealed warfare carried on by Spain in the territories of the mad Duke
of Juliers, Clever and Berg. For the seeds of the Thirty Years' War of
Germany were already sown broadcast in those fatal duchies, and it was
the determination of the agents of Spain to acquire the mastery of that
most eligible military position, that excellent 'sedes belli,' whenever
Protestantism was to be assailed in England, the Netherlands, or Germany.

Meantime the Hispaniolated counsellors of Duke John had strangled--as it
was strongly suspected--his duchess, who having gone to bed in perfect
health one evening was found dead in her bed next morning, with an ugly
mark on her throat; and it was now the purpose of these statesmen to find
a new bride for their insane sovereign in the ever ready and ever
orthodox house of Lorrain. And the Protestant brothers-in-law and nephews
and nieces were making every possible combination in order to check such
dark designs, and to save these important territories from the ubiquitous
power of Spain.

The stadholder had also family troubles at this period. His sister Emilia
had conceived a desperate passion for Don Emmanuel, the pauper son of the
forlorn pretender to Portugal, Don Antonio, who had at last departed this
life. Maurice was indignant that a Catholic, an outcast, and, as it was
supposed, a bastard, should dare to mate with the daughter of William of
Orange-Nassau; and there were many scenes of tenderness, reproaches,
recriminations, and 'hysterica passio,' in which not only the lovers, the
stadholder and his family, but also the high and mighty States-General,
were obliged to enact their parts. The chronicles are filled with the
incidents, which, however, never turned to tragedy, nor even to romance,
but ended, without a catastrophe, in a rather insipid marriage. The
Princess Emilia remained true both to her religion and her husband during
a somewhat obscure wedded life, and after her death Don Emmanuel found
means to reconcile himself with the King of Spain and to espouse, in
second nuptials, a Spanish lady. On the 4th of August, Maurice arrived at
Arnhem with a force of seven thousand foot and twelve hundred horse.
Hohenlo was with him, and William Lewis, and there was yet another of the
illustrious house of Nassau in the camp, Frederick Henry, a boy in his
thirteenth year, the youngest born of William the Silent, the grandson of
Admiral de Coligny, now about; in this his first campaign, to take the
first step in a long and noble career.

Having reduced the town and castle of Alphen, the stadholder came before
Rheinberg, which he very expeditiously invested. During a preliminary
skirmish William Lewis received a wound in the leg, while during the
brief siege Maurice had a narrow escape from death, a cannon-ball passing
through his tent and over his head as he lay taking a brief repose upon
his couch.

On the 19th, Rheinberg, the key to that portion of the river,
surrendered. On the 31st the stadholder opened his batteries upon the
city of Meurs, which capitulated on the 2nd of September; the commandant,
Andrew Miranda, stipulating that he should carry off an old
fifty-pounder, the only piece of cannon in the place. Maurice gave his
permission with a laugh, begging Miranda not to batter down any cities
with his big gun.

On the 8th September the stadholdet threw a bridge over the Rhine, and
crossing that river and the Lippe, came on the 11th before Grol. There
was no Christopher Mondragon now in his path to check his progress and
spoil his campaign, so that in seventeen days the city, being completely
surrounded with galleries and covered ways up to its walls, surrendered.
Count van Stirum, royal governor of the place, dined with the stadholder
on that day, and the garrison, from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred
strong; together with such of the townsfolk as chose to be subjects of
Philip rather than citizens of the republic, were permitted to depart in
peace.

On the 9th October the town and castle of Brevoort were taken by storm
and the town was burned.

On the 18th October, Maurice having summoned Enschede, the commandant
requested permission to examine the artillery by which it was proposed to
reduce the city. Leave being granted, two captains were deputed
accordingly as inspectors, who reported that resistance was useless. The
place accordingly capitulated at once.

Here, again, was an improvement on the heroic practice of Alva and
Romero.

On the 21st and 22nd October, Ootmarsum and Oldenzaal were taken, and on
the 28th the little army came before Lingen. This important city
surrendered after a fortnight's siege.

Thus closed a sagacious, business-like, three-months' campaign, in the
course of which the stadholder, although with a slender force, had by
means of his excellent organization and his profound practical science,
achieved very considerable results. He had taken nine strongly-fortified
cities and five castles, opened the navigation of the Rhine, and
strengthened the whole eastern bulwarks of the republic. He was censured
by the superficial critics of the old school for his humanity towards the
conquered garrisons. At least it was thought quite superfluous to let
these Spanish soldiers go scot free. Five thousand veterans had thus been
liberated to swell the ranks of the cardinal's army, but the result soon
proved the policy of Maurice to be, in many ways, wholesome. The great
repudiation by Philip, and the consequent bankruptcy of Alberta converted
large numbers of the royal troops into mutineers, and these garrisons
from the eastern frontier were glad to join in the game.

After the successful siege of Hulst in the previous year the cardinal had
reduced the formidable mutiny which had organized itself at Tirlemont and
Chapelle in the days of his luckless predecessor. Those rebels had been
paid off and had mainly returned to Italy and other lands to spend their
money. But soon a new rebellion in all the customary form's established
itself in Antwerp citadel during the temporary absence of Mexia, the
governor, and great was the misery of the unhappy burghers thus placed at
the mercy of the guns of that famous pentagon. They were obliged to
furnish large sums to the whole garrison, paying every common
foot-soldier twelve stivers a day and the officers in proportion, while
the great Eletto demanded, beside his salary, a coach and six, a state
bed with satin curtains and fine linen, and the materials for banquetting
sumptuously every day. At the slightest demur to these demands the
bombardment from the citadel would begin, and the accurate artillery
practice of those experienced cannoneers soon convinced the loyal
citizens of the propriety of the arrangement. The example spread. The
garrison of Ghent broke into open revolt, and a general military
rebellion lasted for more than a year.

While the loyal cities of the obedient provinces were thus enjoying the
fruits of their loyalty and obedience, the rebellious capital of the
republic was receiving its stadholder with exuberant demonstrations of
gratitude. The year, begun with the signal victory of Turnhout, had
worthily terminated, so far as military events were concerned, with the
autumnal campaign on the Rhine, and great were the rejoicings throughout
the little commonwealth.

Thus, with diminished resources, had the republic been doing its share of
the work which the anti-Spanish league had been called into existence to
accomplish. But, as already intimated, this league was a mere fraud upon
the Netherlands, which their statesmen were not slow in discovering. Of
course it was the object of Philip and of the pope to destroy this
formidable triple alliance as soon as formed, and they found potent
assistance, not only in Henry's counsellors, but in the bosom of that
crafty monarch himself. Clement hated Philip as much as he feared him, so
that the prospect both of obtaining Henry as a counterpoise to his own
most oppressive and most Catholic protector, and of breaking up the great
convert's alliance with the heretic queen and the rebellious republic,
was a most tempting one to his Holiness. Therefore he employed,
indefatigably, the matchless powers of intrigue possessed by Rome to
effect this great purpose. As for Elizabeth, she was weary of the war,
most anxious to be reimbursed her advances to the States, and profoundly
jealous of the rising commercial and naval greatness of the new
commonwealth. If the league therefore proved impotent from the beginning,
certainly it was not the fault of the United Netherlands. We have seen
how much the king deplored, in intimate conversation with De Bethune, his
formal declaration of war against Spain which the Dutch diplomatists had
induced him to make; and indeed nothing can be more certain than that
this public declaration of war, and this solemn formation of the triple
alliance against Philip, were instantly accompanied on Henry's part by
secret peace negotiations with Philip's agents. Villeroy, told Envoy
Calvaert that as for himself he always trembled when he thought on what
he had done, in seconding the will of his Majesty in that declaration at
the instance of the States-General, of which measure so many losses and
such bitter fruits had been the result. He complained, too, of the little
assistance or co-operation yielded by England. Calvaert replied that he
had nothing to say in defence of England, but that certainly the king
could have no cause to censure the States. The republic, however, had
good ground, he said, to complain that nothing had been done by France,
that all favourable occasions had been neglected, and that there was a
perpetual change of counsels. The envoy, especially, and justly,
reproached the royal government for having taken no advantage of the
opportunity offered by the victory of Turnhout, in which the republic had
utterly defeated the principal forces of the common enemy. He bluntly
remarked, too, that the mysterious comings and goings of Balvena had
naturally excited suspicions in the Netherlands, and that it would be
better that all such practices should be at once abandoned. They did his
Majesty no service, and it was no wonder that they caused uneasiness to
his allies. Villeroy replied that the king had good reasons to give
satisfaction to those who were yearning for peace.

As Henry himself was yearning in this regard as much as any of his
subjects, it was natural enough that he should listen to Balvena and all
other informal negotiators whom Cardinal Ilbert might send from Brussels
or Clement from Rome. It will be recollected that Henry's parting words
to Balvena at Rouen had been: "Tell the archduke that I am very much his
friend. Let him arrange a peace. Begone. Be diligent."

But the king's reply to Calvaert, when, after the interview with
Villeroy, that envoy was admitted to the royal dressing room for private
conversation and took the occasion to remonstrate with his Majesty on
these intrigues with the Spanish agent, was that he should send off
Balvena in such fashion that it would take from the cardinal-archduke all
hope of troubling him with any further propositions.

It has been seen, too, with what an outbreak of wrath the proposition,
made by Elizabeth through Robert Sydney, that she should succour Calais
on condition of keeping it for herself, had been received by Henry. At a
somewhat later moment, when Calais had passed entirely into the
possession of Spain, the queen offered to lay siege to that city with
twelve thousand men, but with the understanding that the success was to
be entirely for her own profit. Again the king bad expressed great
astonishment and indignation at the proposition.

Nevertheless, after Amiens had been lost, Henry had sent Fonquerolles on
a special mission to England, asking Elizabeth's assistance in the siege
for its recovery, and offering that she should keep Calais as a pledge
for expenses thus incurred, on the same terms as those on which she held
the Brill and Flushing in the Netherlands. This proposal, however, to
make a considerable campaign in Picardy, and to be indemnified by Henry
for her trouble with the pledge of a city which was not his property, did
not seem tempting to Elizabeth: The mission of Fonquerolles was
fruitless, as might have been supposed. Nothing certainly in the queen's
attitude, up to that moment, could induce the supposition that she would
help to reduce Amiens for the sake of the privilege of conquering Calais
if she could.

So soon as her refusal was made certain, Henry dropped the mask.
Buzanval, the regular French envoy at the Hague--even while amazing the
States by rebukes for their short-comings in the field and by demands for
immediate co-operation in the king's campaign, when the king was doing
nothing but besiege Amiens--astonished the republican statesmen still
further by telling them--that his master was listening seriously to the
pope's secret offers.

His Holiness had assured the king, through the legate at Paris, that he
could easily bring about a peace between him and Philip, if Henry would
agree to make it alone, and he would so manage it that the king's name
should not be mixed up with the negotiations, and that he should not
appear as seeking for peace. It was to be considered however--so Henry's
envoy intimated both at Greenwich and the Hague--that if the king should
accept the pope's intervention he would be obliged to exclude from a
share in it the queen and all others not of the Catholic religion, and it
was feared that the same necessity which had compelled him to listen to
these overtures would force him still further in the same path. He
dreaded lest, between peace and war, he might fall into a position in
which the law would be dictated to him either by the enemy or by those
who had undertaken to help him out of danger.

Much more information to this effect did Buzanval communicate to the
States on the authority of a private letter from the king, telling him of
the ill-success of the mission of Fonquerolles. That diplomatist had
brought back nothing from England, it appeared, save excuses, general
phrases, and many references to the troubles in Ireland and to the danger
of a new Spanish Armada.

It was now for the first time, moreover, that the States learned how they
had been duped both by England and France in the matter of the League. To
their surprise they were informed that while they were themselves
furnishing four thousand men, according to the contract signed by the
three powers, the queen had in reality only agreed to contribute two
thousand soldiers, and these only for four months' service, within a very
strict territorial limit, and under promise of immediate reimbursement of
the expenses thus incurred.

These facts, together with the avowal that their magnanimous ally had all
along been secretly treating for peace with the common enemy, did not
make a cheerful impression upon those plain-spoken republicans, nor was
it much consolation to them to receive the assurance that "after the
king's death his affection and gratitude towards the States would be
found deeply engraved upon his heart."

The result of such a future autopsy might seem a matter of comparative
indifference, since meantime the present effect to the republic of those
deep emotions was a treacherous desertion. Calvaert, too, who had so long
haunted the king like his perpetual shadow, and who had believed him--at
least so far as the Netherlands were concerned--to be almost without
guile, had been destined after all to a rude awakening. Sick and
suffering, he did not cease, so long as life was in him, to warn the
States-General of the dangers impending over them from the secret
negotiations which their royal ally was doing his best to conceal from
them, and as to which he had for a time succeeded so dexterously in
hoodwinking their envoy himself. But the honest and energetic agent of
the republic did not live to see the consummation of these manoeuvres of
Henry and the pope. He died in Paris during the month of June of this
year.

Certainly the efforts of Spanish and Papal diplomacy had not been
unsuccessful in bringing about a dissolution of the bonds of amity by
which the three powers seemed so lately to be drawing themselves very
closely together. The republic and Henry IV. were now on a most
uncomfortable footing towards each other. On the other hand, the queen
was in a very ill humour with the States and very angry with Henry.
Especially the persistent manner in which the Hollanders carried on trade
with Spain and were at the same time making fortunes for themselves and
feeding the enemy, while Englishmen, on pain of death, were debarred from
participation in such traffic, excited great and general indignation in
England. In vain was it represented that this trade, if prohibited to the
commonwealth would fall into the hands of neutral powers, and that Spain
would derive her supplies from the Baltic and other regions as regularly
as ever, while the republic, whose whole life was in her foreign
commerce, would not only become incapable of carrying on the war but
would perish of inanition. The English statesmen threatened to declare
all such trade contraband, and vessels engaging in it lawful prize to
English cruisers.

Burghley declared, with much excitement, to Canon, that he, as well as
all the council, considered the conduct of the Hollanders so
unjustifiable as to make them regret that their princess had ever
embarked with a State which chose to aid its own enemies in the
destruction of itself and its allies. Such conduct was so monstrous that
those who were told of it would hardly believe it.

The Dutch envoy observed that there were thirty thousand sailors engaged
in this trade, and he asked the Lord Treasurer whether he proposed that
these people should all starve or be driven into the service of the
enemy. Burghley rejoined that the Hollanders had the whole world beside
to pursue their traffic in, that they did indeed trade over the whole
world, and had thereby become so extraordinarily, monstrously rich that
there was no believing it.

Caron declared his sincere wish that this was true, but said, on the
contrary, that he knew too well what extreme trouble and labour the
States-General had in providing for the expenses of the war and in
extracting the necessary funds from the various communities. This would
hardly be the case were such great wealth in the land as was imagined.
But still the English counsellors protested that they would stop this
trading with the enemy at every hazard.

On the question of peace or war itself the republican diplomatists were
often baffled as to the true intentions of the English Government. "As
the queen is fine and false," said Marquis Havre, observing and aiding in
the various intrigues which were weaving at Brussels, "and her council
much the same, she is practising towards the Hollanders a double
stratagem. On the one hand she induces them to incline to a general
peace. On the other, her adherents, ten or twelve in number of those who
govern Holland and have credit with the people, insist that the true.
interest of the State is in a continuation of the war."

But Havre, adept in diplomatic chicane as he undoubtedly was, would have
found it difficult to find any man of intelligence or influence in that
rebellious commonwealth, of which he was once a servant, who had any
doubt on that subject. It needed no English argument to persuade
Olden-Barneveld, and the other statesmen who guided the destiny of the
republic, that peace would be destruction. Moreover, there is no question
that both the queen and Burghley would have been truly grateful had the
States-General been willing to make peace and return to the allegiance
which they had long since spurned.

Nevertheless it is difficult to say whether there were at this moment
more of animosity in Elizabeth's mind towards her backsliding ally, with
whom she had so recently and so pompously sworn an eternal friendship, or
towards her ancient enemy. Although she longed for peace, she hardly saw
her way to it, for she felt that the secret movements of Henry had in a
manner barred the path. She confessed to the States' envoy that it was as
easy for her to make black white as to make peace with Spain. To this
Caron cordially assented, saying with much energy, "There is as much
chance for your Majesty and for us to make peace, during the life of the
present King of Spain, as to find redemption in hell."

To the Danish ambassadors, who had come to England with proposals of
mediation, the queen had replied that the King of Spain had attacked her
dominions many times, and had very often attempted her assassination,
that after long patience she had begun to defend herself, and had been
willing to show him that she had the courage and the means, not only to
maintain herself against his assaults, but also to invade his realms;
that, therefore, she was not disposed to speak first; nor to lay down any
conditions. Yet, if she saw that the King of Spain had any remorse for
his former offences against her, and wished to make atonement for them,
she was willing to declare that her heart was not so alienated from
peace; but that she could listen to propositions on the subject.

She said, too, that such a peace must be a general one, including both
the King of France and the States of the Netherlands, for with these
powers she had but lately made an offensive and defensive league against
the King of Spain, from which she protested that for no consideration in
the world would she ever swerve one jot.

Certainly these were words of Christian charity and good faith, but such
professions are the common staple of orations and documents for public
consumption. As the accounts became more and more minute, however, of
Henry's intrigues with Albert, Philip, and Clement, the queen grew more
angry.

She told Caron that she was quite aware that the king had long been in
communication with the cardinal's emissaries, and that he had even sent
some of his principal counsellors to confer with the cardinal himself at
Arras, in direct violation of the stipulations of the league. She
expressed her amazement at the king's conduct; for she knew very well,
she said, that the league had hardly been confirmed and sworn to, before
he was treating with secret agents sent to him by the cardinal. "And
now," she continued, "they propose to send an ambassador to inform me of
the whole proceeding, and to ask my advice and consent in regard to
negotiations which they have, perchance, entirely concluded."

She further informed the republican envoy that the king had recently been
taking the ground in these dealings with the common enemy; that the two
kingdoms of France and England must first be provided for; that when the
basis between these powers and Spain had been arranged, it would be time
to make arrangements for the States, and that it would probably be found
advisable to obtain a truce of three or four years between them and
Spain, in which interval the government of the provinces might remain on
its actual footing. During this armistice the King of Spain was to
withdraw all Spanish troops from the Netherlands, in consequence of which
measure all distrust would by degrees vanish, and the community, becoming
more and more encouraged, would in time recognise the king for their
sovereign once more.

This, according to the information received by Elizabeth from her
resident minister in France, was Henry's scheme for carrying out the
principles of the offensive and defensive league, which only the year
before he had so solemnly concluded with the Dutch republic. Instead of
assisting that commonwealth in waging her war of independence against
Spain, he would endeavour to make it easy for her to return peacefully to
her ancient thraldom.

The queen asked Caron what he thought of the project. How could that
diplomatist reply but with polite scorn? Not a year of such an armistice
would elapse, he said, before the Spanish partisans would have it all
their own way in the Netherlands, and the King of Spain would be master
of the whole country. Again and again he repeated that peace, so long as
Philip lived, was an impossibility for the States. No doubt that monarch
would gladly consent to the proposed truce, for it, would be indeed
strange if by means of it he could not so establish himself in the
provinces as to easily overthrow the sovereigns who were thus helping him
to so advantageous a position.

The queen listened patiently to a long and earnest remonstrance in this
vein made by the envoy, and assured him that not even to gain another
kingdom would she be the cause of a return of the provinces to the
dominion of Spain. She would do her best to dissuade the king from his
peace negotiations; but she would listen to De Maisae, the new special
envoy from Henry, and would then faithfully report to Caron, by word of
mouth, the substance of the conversation. The States-General did not
deserve to be deceived, nor would she be a party to any deception, unless
she were first cheated herself. "I feel indeed," she added, "that matters
are not always managed as they should be by your Government, and that you
have not always treated princes, especially myself, as we deserve to be
treated. Nevertheless, your State is not a monarchy, and so we must take
all things into consideration, and weigh its faults against its many
perfections."

With this philosophical--and in the mouth of Elizabeth Tudor, surely very
liberal--reflection, the queen terminated the interview with the
republican envoy.

Meantime the conferences with the special ambassador of France proceeded.
For, so soon as Henry had completed all his arrangements, and taken his
decision to accept the very profitable peace offered to him by Spain, he
assumed that air of frankness which so well became him, and candidly
avowed his intention of doing what he had already done. Hurault de Maisse
arrived in England not long before the time when the peace-commissioners
were about assembling at Vervins. He was instructed to inform her Majesty
that he had done his best to bring about a general alliance of the
European powers from which alone the league concluded between England,
France, and the Netherlands would have derived substantial strength.

But as nothing was to be hoped for from Germany, as England offered but
little assistance, and as France was exhausted by her perpetual
conflicts, it had become necessary for the king to negotiate for a peace.
He now wished to prove, therefore, to the queen, as to a sister to whom
he was under such obligations, that the interests of England were as dear
to him as those of France.

The proof of these generous sentiments did not, however, seem so clear as
could be wished, and there were very stormy debates, so soon as the
ambassador found himself in conference with her Majesty's counsellors.
The English statesmen bitterly reproached the French for having thus
lightly thrown away the alliance between the two countries, and they
insisted upon the duty of the king to fulfil his solemn engagements.

The reply was very frank and very decided. Kings, said De Maisse, never
make treaties except with the tacit condition to embrace every thing that
may be useful to them, and carefully to avoid every thing prejudicial to
their interests.

The corollary from this convenient and sweeping maxim was simple enough.
The king could not be expected, by his allies to reject an offered peace
which was very profitable, nor to continue a war which, was very
detrimental. All that they could expect was that he should communicate
his intentions to them, and this he was now very cheerfully doing. Such
in brief were the statements of De Maisse.

The English were indignant. They also said a stout word for the
provinces, although it has been made sufficiently clear that they did not
love that upstart republic. But the French ambassador replied that his,
master really meant secretly to assist the States in carrying on the war
until they should make an arrangement. He should send them very powerful
succours for this purpose, and he expected confidently that England would
assist him in this line of conduct. Thus Henry was secretly pledging
himself, to make underhand but substantial war against Spain, with which
power he was at that instant concluding peace, while at the same time he
was abandoning his warlike league with the queen and the republic, in
order to affect that very pacification. Truly the morality of the
governing powers of the earth was not entirely according to the apostolic
standard.

The interviews between the queen and the new ambassador were, of course,
on his part, more courteous in tone than those with the counsellors, but
mainly to the same effect. De Maisse stated that the Spanish king had
offered to restore every place that he held in France, including Calais,
Brittany, and the Marquisate of Saluces, and as he likewise manifested a
willingness to come to favourable terms with her Majesty and with the
States, it was obviously the duty of Henry to make these matters known to
her Majesty, in whose hands was thus placed the decision between peace or
continuation of the war. The queen asked what was the authority for the
supposition that England was to be included by Spain in the pacification.
De Maisse quoted President Richardot. In that case, the queen remarked,
it was time for her to prepare for a third Spanish armada. When a former
envoy from France had alluded to Richardot as expressing the same
friendly sentiments on the part of his sovereign and himself, she had
replied by referring to the sham negotiations of Bourbourg, by which the
famous invasion of 1588 had been veiled, and she had intimated her
expectation that another Spanish fleet would soon be at her throat. And
within three weeks of the utterance of her prophecy the second armada,
under Santa Gadea, had issued from Spain to assail her realms. Now then,
as Richardot was again cited as a peace negotiator, it was time to look
for a third invasion. It was an impertinence for Secretary of State
Villeroy to send her word about Richardot. It was not an impertinence in
King Henry, who understood war-matters better than he did affairs of
state, in which kings were generally governed by their counsellors and
secretaries, but it was very strange that Villeroy should be made quiet
with a simple declaration of Richardot.

The queen protested that she would never consent to a peace with Spain,
except with the knowledge and consent of the States. De Maisse replied
that the king was of the same mind, upon which her Majesty remarked that
in that case he had better have apprised her and the States of his
intentions before treating alone and secretly with the enemy. The envoy
denied that the king had been treating. He had only been listening to
what the King of Spain had to propose, and suggesting his own wishes and
intentions. The queen rejoined that this was treating if anything was,
and certainly her Majesty was in the right if the term has any meaning at
all.

Elizabeth further reproachfully observed, that although the king talked
about continuing the war, he seemed really tired of that dangerous
pursuit, in which he had exercised himself so many long years, and that
he was probably beginning to find a quiet and agreeable life more to his
taste. She expressed the hope, however, that he would acquit himself
honourably towards herself and her allies, and keep the oaths which he
had so solemnly sworn before God.

Such was the substance of the queen's conversations with De Maisse, as
she herself subsequently reported them to the States' envoy.

The republican statesmen had certainly cause enough to suspect Henry's
intentions, but they did not implicitly trust Elizabeth. They feared that
both king and queen were heartily sick of the war, and disposed to
abandon the league, while each was bent on securing better terms than the
other in any negotiations for peace. Barneveld--on the whole the most
sagacious of the men then guiding the affairs of Europe, although he
could dispose of but comparatively slender resources, and was merely the
chief minister of a scarcely-born little commonwealth of some three
million souls--was doing his best to save the league and to divert Henry
from thoughts of peace. Feeling that the queen, notwithstanding her
professions to Caron and others, would have gladly entered into
negotiations with Philip, had she found the door as wide open as Henry
had found it, he did his best to prevent both his allies from proceeding
farther in that direction. He promised the French envoy at the Hague that
not only would the republic continue to furnish the four thousand
soldiers as stipulated in the league, but that if Henry would recommence
active operations, a States' army of nine thousand foot and two thousand
horse should at once take the field on the Flemish frontier of France,
and aid in the campaign to the full extent of their resources. If the
king were disposed to undertake the siege of Calais, the Advocate engaged
that he should be likewise energetically assisted in that enterprise.

Nor was it suggested in case the important maritime stronghold were
recovered that it should be transferred, not to the sovereign of France,
but to the dominions of the republic. That was the queen's method of
assisting an ally, but it was not the practice of the States. Buzanval,
who was quite aware of his master's decision to conclude peace, suggested
Henry's notion of a preliminary and general truce for six months. But of
course Barneveld rejected the idea with horror. He felt, as every
intelligent statesman of the commonwealth could not but feel, that an
armistice would be a death-blow. It would be better, he said, for the
States to lose one or two towns than to make a truce, for there were so
many people in the commonwealth sure to be dazzled by the false show of a
pacification, that they would be likely, after getting into the suburbs,
to wish to enter the heart of the city. "If," said the Advocate, "the
French and the English know what they are doing when they are,
facilitating the Spanish dominion in the provinces, they would prefer to
lose a third of their own kingdoms to seeing the Spaniard absolute master
here."

It was determined, in this grave position of affairs, to send a special
mission both to France and to England with the Advocate as its chief.
Henry made no objections to this step, but, on the contrary, affected
much impatience for the arrival of the envoys, and ascribed the delay to
the intrigues of Elizabeth. He sent word to Prince Maurice and to
Barneveld that he suspected the queen of endeavouring to get before him
in negotiating with Spain in order to obtain Calais for herself. And, in
truth, Elizabeth very soon afterwards informed Barneveld that she might
really have had Calais, and have got the better of the king in these
secret transactions.

Meantime, while the special mission to France and England was getting
ready to depart, an amateur diplomatist appeared in Brussels, and made a
feeble effort to effect a reconciliation between the republic and the
cardinal.

This was a certain Van der Meulen, an Antwerp merchant who, for religious
reasons, had emigrated to Leyden, and who was now invited by the cardinal
archduke to Brussels to confer with his counsellors as to the possibility
of the rebellious States accepting his authority. For, as will soon be
indicated, Philip had recently resolved on a most important step. He was
about to transfer the sovereignty of all the Netherlands to his daughter
Isabella and her destined husband, Cardinal Albert. It would, obviously,
therefore, be an excessively advantageous arrangement for those new
sovereigns if the rebellious States would join hands with the obedient
provinces, accept the dominion of Albert and Isabella and give up their
attempt to establish a republican government. Accordingly the cardinal
had intimated that the States would be allowed the practice of their
religion, while the military and civil functionaries might retain office.
He even suggested that he would appoint Maurice of Nassau his stadholder
for the northern provinces, unless he should prefer a high position in
the Imperial armies. Such was the general admiration felt in Spain and
elsewhere for the military talents of the prince, that he would probably
be appointed commander-in-chief of the forces against Mahomet. Van der
Meulen duly reported all these ingenious schemes to the States, but the
sturdy republicans only laughed at them. They saw clearly enough through
such slight attempts to sow discord in their commonwealth, and to send
their great chieftain to Turkey.

A most affectionate letter, written by the cardinal-archduke to the
States-General, inviting them to accept his sovereignty, and another from
the obedient provinces to the united States of the same purport, remained
unanswered.

But the Antwerp merchant, in his interviews with the crafty politicians
who surrounded the cardinal, was able at least to obtain some insight
into the opinions prevalent at Brussels; and these were undoubtedly to
the effect that both England and France were willing enough to abandon
the cause of the Netherlands, provided only that they could obtain
satisfactory arrangements for themselves.

Van der Meulen remarked to Richardot that in all their talk about a
general peace nothing had been said of the Queen of England, to whom the
States were under so great obligations, and without whom they would never
enter into any negotiations.

Richardot replied that the queen had very sagaciously provided for the
safety of her own kingdom, and had kept up the fire everywhere else in
order to shelter herself. There was more difficulty for this lady, he
said, than for any of the rest. She had shown herself very obstinate, and
had done them a great deal of mischief. They knew very well that the King
of France did not love her. Nevertheless, as they had resolved upon a
general peace, they were willing to treat with her as well as with the
others.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Auction sales of judicial ermine
     Decline a bribe or interfere with the private sale of places
     Famous fowl in every pot
     Fellow worms had been writhing for half a century in the dust
     For his humanity towards the conquered garrisons (censured)
     Historical scepticism may shut its eyes to evidence
     Imagining that they held the world's destiny in their hands
     King had issued a general repudiation of his debts
     Loud, nasal, dictatorial tone, not at all agreeable
     Peace would be destruction
     Repudiation of national debts was never heard of before
     Some rude lessons from that vigorous little commonwealth
     Such a crime as this had never been conceived (bankruptcy)
     They liked not such divine right nor such gentle-mindedness
     Whether murders or stratagems, as if they were acts of virtue



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 70, 1598



CHAPTER XXXIV.

   Mission of the States to Henry to prevent the consummation of peace
   with Spain--Proposal of Henry to elevate Prince Maurice to the
   sovereignty, of the States--Embarkation of the States' envoys for
   England--Their interview with Queen Elizabeth--Return of the envoys
   from England--Demand of Elizabeth for repayment of her advances to
   the republic--Second embassy to England--Final arrangement between
   the Queen and the States.

The great Advocate was now to start on his journey in order to make a
supreme effort both with Henry and with Elizabeth to prevent the
consummation of this fatal peace. Admiral Justinus of Nassau, natural son
of William the Silent, was associated with Barneveld in the mission, a
brave fighting man, a staunch patriot, and a sagacious counsellor; but
the Advocate on this occasion, as in other vital emergencies of the
commonwealth, was all in all.

The instructions of the envoys were simple. They were to summon the king
to fulfil his solemnly sworn covenants with the league. The
States-General had never doubted, they said, that so soon as the enemy
had begun to feel the effects, of that league he would endeavour to make
a composition with one or other of the parties in order to separate them,
and to break up that united strength which otherwise he could never
resist. The king was accordingly called upon to continue the war against
the common enemy, and the States-General offered, over and above the four
hundred and fifty thousand florins promised by them for the support of
the four thousand infantry for the year 1598, to bring their whole
military power, horse and foot, into the field to sustain his Majesty in
the war, whether separately or in conjunction, whether in the siege of
cities or in open campaigns. Certainly they could hardly offer fairer
terms than these.

Henry had complained, and not unreasonably, that Elizabeth had made no
offers of assistance for carrying on the war either to Fonquerolles or to
Hurault de Maisse; but he certainly could make no reproach of that nature
against the republic, nor assign their lukewarmness as an excuse for his
desertion.

The envoys were ready to take their departure for France on the last day
of January.

It might be a curious subject to consider how far historical events are
modified and the world's destiny affected by the different material
agencies which man at various epochs has had at his disposal. The human
creature in his passions and ambitions, his sensual or sordid desires,
his emotional and moral nature, undergoes less change than might be hoped
from age to age. The tyrant; the patriot, the demagogue, the voluptuary,
the peasant, the trader, the intriguing politician, the hair-splitting
diplomatist, the self-sacrificing martyr, the self-seeking courtier,
present essentially one type in the twelfth, the sixteenth, the
nineteenth, or any other century. The human tragi-comedy seems ever to
repeat itself with the same bustle, with the same excitement for
immediate interests, for the development of the instant plot or passing
episode, as if the universe began and ended with each generation--as in
reality it would appear to do for the great multitude of the actors.
There seems but a change of masks, of costume, of phraseology, combined
with a noisy but eternal monotony. Yet while men are produced and are
whirled away again in endless succession, Man remains, and to all
appearance is perpetual and immortal even on this earth. Whatever science
acquires man inherits. Whatever steadfastness is gained for great moral
truths which change not through the ages--however they may be thought, in
dark or falsely brilliant epochs, to resolve themselves into elemental
vapour--gives man a securer foothold in his onward and upward progress.
The great, continuous history of that progress is not made up of the
reigns of kings or the lives of politicians, with whose names history has
often found it convenient to mark its epochs. These are but milestones on
the turnpike. Human progress is over a vast field, and it is only at
considerable intervals that a retrospective view enables us to discern
whether the movement has been slow or rapid, onward or retrograde.

The record of our race is essentially unwritten. What we call history is
but made up of a few scattered fragments, while it is scarcely given to
human intelligence to comprehend the great whole. Yet it is strange to
reflect upon the leisurely manner in which great affairs were conducted
in the period with which we are now occupied, as compared with the fever
and whirl of our own times, in which the stupendous powers of steam and
electricity are ever-ready to serve the most sublime or the most vulgar
purposes of mankind. Whether there were ever a critical moment in which a
rapid change might have been effected in royal or national councils, had
telegraphic wires and express trains been at the command of Henry, or
Burghley, or Barneveld, or the Cardinal Albert, need not and cannot be
decided. It is almost diverting, however, to see how closely the
intrigues of cabinets, the movements of armies, the plans of patriots,
were once dependent on those natural elements over which man has now
gained almost despotic control.

Here was the republic intensely eager to prevent, with all speed, the
consummation of a treaty between its ally and its enemy--a step which it
was feared might be fatal to its national existence, and concerning which
there seemed a momentary hesitation. Yet Barneveld and Justinus of
Nassau, although ready on the last day of January, were not able to sail
from the Brill to Dieppe until the 18th March, on account of a persistent
south-west wind.

After forty-six days of waiting, the envoys, accompanied by Buzanval,
Henry's resident at the Hague, were at last, on the 18th March, enabled
to set sail with a favourable breeze. As it was necessary for travellers
in that day to provide themselves with every possible material for their
journey--carriages, horses, hosts of servants, and beds, fortunate enough
if they found roads and occasionally food--Barneveld and Nassau were
furnished with three ships of war, while another legation on its way to
England had embarked in two other vessels of the same class. A fleet of
forty or fifty merchantmen sailed under their convoy. Departing from the
Brill in this imposing manner, they sailed by Calais, varying the
monotony of the voyage by a trifling sea-fight with some cruisers from
that Spanish port, neither side receiving any damage.

Landing at Dieppe on the morning of the 20th, the envoys were received
with much ceremony at the city gates by the governor of the place, who
conducted them in a stately manner to a house called the king's mansion,
which he politely placed at their disposal. "As we learned, however,"
says Barneveld, with grave simplicity; "that there was no furniture
whatever in that royal abode, we thanked his Excellency, and declared
that we would rather go to a tavern."

After three days of repose and preparation in Dieppe, they started at
dawn on their journey to Rouen, where they arrived at sundown.

On the next morning but one they set off again on their travels, and
slept that night at Louviers. Another long day's journey brought them to
Evreux. On the 27th they came to Dreux, on the 28th to Chartres, and on
the 29th to Chateaudun. On the 30th, having started an hour before
sunrise, they were enabled after a toilsome journey to reach Blois at an
hour after dark. Exhausted with fatigue, they reposed in that city for a
day, and on the 1st April proceeded, partly by the river Loire and partly
by the road, as far as Tours. Here they were visited by nobody, said
Barneveld, but fiddlers and drummers, and were execrably lodged.
Nevertheless they thought the town in other respects agreeable, and
apparently beginning to struggle out of the general desolation of,
France. On the end April they slept at Langeais, and on the night of the
3rd reached Saumur, where they were disappointed at the absence of the
illustrious Duplessis Mornay, then governor of that city. A glance at any
map of France will show the course of the journey taken by the
travellers, which, after very hard work and great fatigue, had thus
brought them from Dieppe to Saumur in about as much time as is now
consumed by an average voyage from Europe to America. In their whole
journey from Holland to Saumur, inclusive of the waiting upon the wind
and other enforced delays, more than two months had been consumed.
Twenty-four hours would suffice at present for the excursion.

At Saumur they received letters informing them that the king was
"expecting them with great devotion at Angiers." A despatch from Cecil,
who was already with Henry, also apprised them that he found "matters
entirely arranged for a peace." This would be very easily accomplished,
he said, for France and England, but the great difficulty was for the
Netherlands. He had come to France principally for the sake of managing
affairs for the advantage of the States, but he begged the envoys not to
demean themselves as if entirely bent on war.

They arrived at Angiers next day before dark, and were met at a league's
distance from the gates by the governor of the castle, attended by young
Prince Frederic Henry of Nassau; followed by a long train of nobles and
mounted troops. Welcomed in this stately manner on behalf of the king,
the envoys were escorted to the lodgings provided for them in the city.
The same evening they waited on the widowed princess of Orange, Louisa of
Coligny, then residing temporarily with her son in Angiera, and were
informed by her that the king's mind was irrevocably fixed on peace. She
communicated, however, the advice of her step-son in law, the Duke of
Bouillon, that they should openly express their determination to continue
the war, notwithstanding that both their Majesties of England and France
wished to negotiate. Thus the counsels of Bouillon to the envoys were
distinctly opposed to those of Cecil, and it was well known to them that
the duke was himself sincerely anxious that the king should refuse the
pacific offers of Spain.

Next morning, 5th April, they were received at the gates of the castle by
the governor of Anjou and the commandant of the citadel of Angiers,
attended by a splendid retinue, and were conducted to the king, who was
walking in the garden of the fortress. Henry received them with great
demonstrations of respect, assuring them that he considered the
States-General the best and most faithful friends that he possessed in
the world, and that he had always been assisted by them in time of his
utmost need with resoluteness and affection.

The approach of the English ambassador, accompanied by the Chancellor of
France and several other persons, soon brought the interview to a
termination. Barneveld then presented several gentlemen attached to the
mission, especially his son and Hugo Grotius, then a lad of fifteen, but
who had already gained such distinction at Leyden that Scaliger,
Pontanus; Heinsius, Dousa, and other professors, foretold that he would
become more famous than Erasmus. They were all very cordially received by
the king, who subsequently bestowed especial marks of his consideration
upon the youthful Grotius.

The same day the betrothal of Monsieur Caesar with the daughter of the
Duke of Mercoeur was celebrated, and there was afterwards much dancing
and banqueting at the castle. It was obvious enough to the envoys that
the matter of peace and war was decided. The general of the Franciscans,
sent by the pope, had been flitting very busily for many months between
Rome, Madrid, Brussels, and Paris, and there could be little doubt that
every detail of the negotiations between France and Spain had been
arranged while Olden-Barneveld and his colleague had been waiting for the
head-wind to blow itself out at the Brill.

Nevertheless no treaty had as yet been signed, and it was the business of
the republican diplomatists to prevent the signature if possible. They
felt, however, that they were endeavouring to cause water to run up hill.
Villeroy, De Maisse, and Buzanval came to them to recount, by the king's
order, everything that had taken place. This favour was, however, the
less highly appreciated by them, as they felt that the whole world was in
a very short time to be taken as well into the royal confidence.

These French politicians stated that the king, after receiving the most
liberal offers of peace on the part of Spain, had communicated all the
facts to the queen, and had proposed, notwithstanding these most
profitable overtures, to continue the war as long as her Majesty and the
States-General would assist him in it. De Maisse had been informed,
however, by the queen that she had no means to assist the king withal,
and was, on the contrary, very well disposed to make peace. The lord
treasurer had avowed the same opinions as his sovereign, had declared
himself to be a man of peace, and had exclaimed that peace once made he
would sing "Nunc dimitte servum tuum Domine." Thereupon, at the
suggestion of the legate, negotiations had begun at Vervins, and although
nothing was absolutely concluded, yet Sir Robert Cecil, having just been
sent as special ambassador from the queen, had brought no propositions
whatever of assistance in carrying on the war, but plenty of excuses
about armadas, Irish rebellions, and the want of funds. There was nothing
in all this, they said, but want of good will. The queen had done nothing
and would do nothing for the league herself, nor would she solicit for it
the adherence of other kings and princes. The king, by making peace,
could restore his kingdom to prosperity, relieve the distress of his
subjects, and get back all his lost cities--Calais, Ardres, Dourlens,
Blavet, and many more--without any expense of treasure or of blood.

Certainly there was cogency in this reasoning from the point of view of
the French king, but it would have been as well to state, when he was so
pompously making a league for offensive and defensive war, that his real
interests and his real purposes were peace. Much excellent diplomacy,
much ringing of bells, firing of artillery, and singing of anthems in
royal chapels, and much disappointment to honest Dutchmen, might have
thus been saved. It is also instructive to observe the difference between
the accounts of De Maisse's negotiations in England given by that
diplomatist himself, and those rendered by the queen to the States'
envoy.

Of course the objurgations of the Hollanders that the king, in a very
fallacious hope of temporary gain to himself, was about to break his
solemn promises to his allies and leave them to their fate, drew but few
tears down the iron cheeks of such practised diplomatists as Villeroy and
his friends.

The envoys visited De Rosuy, who assured them that he was very much their
friend, but gave them to understand that there was not the slightest
possibility of inducing the king to break off the negotiations.

Before taking final leave of his Majesty they concluded, by advice of the
Princess of Orange and of Buzanval, to make the presents which they had
brought with them from the States-General. Accordingly they sent, through
the hands of the princess, four pieces of damask linen and two pieces of
fine linen to the king's sister, Madame Catherine, two pieces of linen to
Villeroy, and two to the beautiful Gabrielle. The two remaining pieces
were bestowed upon Buzanval for his pains in accompanying them on the
journey and on their arrival at court.

The incident shows the high esteem in which the Netherland fabrics were
held at that period.

There was a solemn conference at last between the leading counsellors of
the king, the chancellor, the Dukes of Espernon and Bouillon, Count
Schomberg, and De Sancy, Plessis, Buzanval, Maisse, the Dutch envoys, and
the English ambassador and commissioner Herbert. Cecil presided, and
Barneveld once more went over the whole ground, resuming with his usual
vigour all the arguments by which the king's interest and honour were
proved to require him to desist from the peace negotiations. And the
orator had as much success as is usual with those who argue against a
foregone conclusion. Everyone had made up his mind. Everyone knew that
peace was made. It is unnecessary, therefore, to repeat the familiar
train of reasoning. It is superfluous to say that the conference was
barren. On the same evening Villeroy called on the States' envoys, and
informed them plainly, on the part of the king, that his Majesty had
fully made up his mind.

On the 23rd April--three mortal weeks having thus been wasted in
diplomatic trilling--Barneveld was admitted to his Majesty's
dressing-room. The Advocate at the king's request came without his
colleague, and was attended only by his son. No other persons were
present in the chamber save Buzanval and Beringen. The king on this
occasion confirmed what had so recently been stated by Villeroy. He had
thoroughly pondered, he said, all the arguments used by the States to
dissuade him from the negotiation, and had found them of much weight. The
necessities of his kingdom, however, compelled him to accept a period of
repose. He would not, however, in the slightest degree urge the States to
join in the treaty. He desired their security, and would aid in
maintaining it. What had most vexed him was that the Protestants with
great injustice accused him of intending to make war upon them. But
innumerable and amazing reports were flying abroad, both among his own
subjects, the English, and the enemies' spies, as to these secret
conferences. He then said that he would tell the Duke of Bouillon to
speak with Sir Robert Cecil concerning a subject which now for the first
time he would mention privately to Olden-Barneveld.

The king then made a remarkable and unexpected suggestion. Alluding to
the constitution of the Netherlands, he remarked that a popular
government in such emergencies as those then existing was subject to more
danger than monarchies were, and he asked the Advocate if he thought
there was no disposition to elect a prince. Barneveld replied that the
general inclination was rather for a good republic. The government,
however, he said, was not of the people, but aristocratic, and the state
was administered according to laws and charters by the principal
inhabitants, whether nobles or magistrates of cities. Since the death of
the late Prince of Orange, and the offer made to the King of France, and
subsequently to the Queen of England, of the sovereignty, there had been
no more talk on that subject, and to discuss again so delicate a matter
might cause divisions and other difficulties in the State.

Henry then spoke of Prince Maurice, and asked whether, if he should be
supported by the Queen of England and the King of France, it would not be
possible to confer the sovereignty upon him.

Here certainly was an astounding question to be discharged like a
pistol-shot full in the face of a republican minister.

The answer of the Advocate was sufficiently adroit if not excessively
sincere.

If your Majesty, said he, together with her Majesty the queen, think the
plan expedient, and are both willing on this footing to continue the war,
to rescue all the Netherlands from the hands of the Spaniards and their
adherents, and thus render the States eternally obliged to the sovereigns
and kingdoms of France and England, my lords the States-General would
probably be willing to accept this advice.

But the king replied by repeating that repose was indispensable to him.

Without inquiring for the present whether the project of elevating
Maurice to the sovereignty of the Netherlands, at the expense of the
republican constitution, was in harmony or not with the private opinions
of Barneveld at that period, it must be admitted that the condition he
thus suggested was a very safe one to offer. He had thoroughly satisfied
himself during the period in which he had been baffled by the southwest
gales at the Brill and by the still more persistent head-winds which he
had found prevailing at the French court, that it was hopeless to strive
for that much-desired haven, a general war. The admiral and himself might
as well have endeavoured to persuade Mahomet III. and Sigismund of Poland
to join the States in a campaign against Cardinal Albert, as to hope for
the same good offices from Elizabeth and Henry.

Having received exactly the answer which he expected, he secretly
communicated, next day, to Cecil the proposition thus made by the king.
Subsequently he narrated the whole conversation to the Queen of England.

On the 27th April both Barneveld and Nassau were admitted to the royal
dressing-room in Nantes citadel for a final audience. Here, after the
usual common places concerning his affection for the Netherlands, and the
bitter necessity which compelled him to desert the alliance, Henry again
referred to his suggestion in regard to Prince Maurice; urging a change
from a republican to a monarchical form of government as the best means
of preserving the State.

The envoys thanked the king for all the honours conferred upon them, but
declared themselves grieved to the heart by his refusal to grant their
request. The course pursued by his Majesty, they said, would be found
very hard of digestion by the States, both in regard to the whole force
of the enemy which would now come upon their throats, and because of the
bad example thus set for other powers.

They then took leave, with the usual exchange of compliments. At their
departure his Majesty personally conducted them through various
apartments until they came to the chamber of his mistress, the Duchess of
Beaufort, then lying in childbed. Here he drew wide open the
bed-curtains, and bade them kiss the lady. They complied, and begging the
duchess to use her influence in their behalf, respectfully bade her
farewell. She promised not to forget their request, and thanked them for
the presents of damask and fine linen.

Such was the result of the mission of the great Advocate and his
colleague to Henry IV., from which so much had been hoped; and for
anything useful accomplished, after such an expenditure of time, money,
and eloquence, the whole transaction might have begun and ended in this
touching interview with the beautiful Gabrielle.

On the 19th of May the envoys embarked at Dieppe for England, and on the
25th were safely lodged with the resident minister of the republic, Noel
de Caron, at the village of Clapham.

Having so ill-succeeded in their attempts to prevent the treaty between
France and Spain, they were now engaged in what seemed also a forlorn
hope, the preservation of their offensive and defensive alliance with
England. They were well aware that many of the leading counsellors of
Elizabeth, especially Burghley and Buckhurst, were determined upon peace.
They knew that the queen was also heartily weary of the war and of the
pugnacious little commonwealth which had caused her so much expense. But
they knew, too, that Henry, having now secured the repose of his own
kingdom, was anything but desirous that his deserted allies should enjoy
the same advantage. The king did not cease to assure the States that he
would secretly give them assistance in their warfare against his new
ally, while Secretary of State Villeroy, as they knew, would place every
possible impediment in the way of the queen's negotiations with Spain.

Elizabeth, on her part, was vexed with everybody. What the States most
feared was that she might, in her anger or her avarice, make use of the
cautionary towns in her negotiations with Philip. At any rate, said
Francis Aerssens, then States' minister in France, she will bring us to
the brink of the precipice, that we may then throw ourselves into her
arms in despair.

The queen was in truth resolved to conclude a peace if a peace could be
made. If not, she was determined to make as good a bargain with the
States as possible, in regard to the long outstanding account of her
advances. Certainly it was not unreasonable that she should wish to see
her exchequer reimbursed by people who, as she believed, were rolling in
wealth, the fruit of a contraband commerce which she denied to her own
subjects, and who were in honour bound to pay their debts to her now, if
they wished her aid to be continued. Her subjects were impoverished and
panting for peace, and although, as she remarked, "their sense of duty
restrained them from the slightest disobedience to her absolute
commands," still she could not forgive herself for thus exposing them to
perpetual danger.

She preferred on the whole, however, that the commonwealth should consent
to its own dissolution; for she thought it unreasonable that--after this
war of thirty years, during fifteen of which she had herself actively
assisted them--these republican Calvinists should, refuse to return to
the dominion of their old tyrant and the pope. To Barneveld, Maurice of
Nassau, and the States-General this did not seem a very logical
termination to so much hard fighting.

Accordingly, when on the 26th of May the two envoys fell on their
knees--as the custom was--before the great queen, and had been raised by
her to their feet again, they found her Majesty in marvellously
ill-humour. Olden-Barneveld recounted to her the results of their mission
to France, and said that from beginning to end it had been obvious that
there could be no other issue. The king was indifferent, he had said,
whether the States preferred peace or war, but in making his treaty he
knew that he had secured a profit for himself, inflicted damage on his
enemy, and done no harm to his friends.

Her Majesty then interrupted the speaker by violent invectives against
the French king for his treachery. She had written with her own hand, she
said, to tell him that she never had believed him capable of doing what
secretaries and other servants had reported concerning him, but which had
now proved true.

Then she became very abusive to the Dutch envoys, telling them that they
were quite unjustifiable in not following Sir Robert Cecil's advice, and
in not engaging with him at once in peace negotiations; at least so far
as to discover what the enemy's intentions might be. She added,
pettishly, that if Prince Maurice and other functionaries were left in
the enjoyment of their offices, and if the Spaniards were sent out of the
country, there seemed no reason why such terms should not be accepted.

Barneveld replied that such accommodation was of course impossible,
unless they accepted their ancient sovereign as prince. Then came the
eternal two points--obedience to God, which meant submission to the pope;
and obedience to the king, that was to say, subjection to his despotic
authority. Thus the Christian religion would be ruined throughout the
provinces, and the whole land be made a bridge and a ladder for Spanish
ambition.

The queen here broke forth into mighty oaths, interrupting the envoy's
discourse, protesting over and over again by the living God that she
would not and could not give the States any further assistance; that she
would leave them to their fate; that her aid rendered in their war had
lasted much longer than the siege of Troy did, and swearing that she had
been a fool to help them and the king of France as she had done, for it
was nothing but evil passions that kept the States so obstinate.

The envoy endeavoured to soothe her, urging that as she had gained the
reputation over the whole world of administering her affairs with
admirable, yea with almost divine wisdom, she should now make use of that
sagacity in the present very difficult matter. She ought to believe that
it was not evil passion, nor ambition, nor obstinacy that prevented the
States from joining in these negotiations, but the determination to
maintain their national existence, the Christian religion, and their
ancient liberties and laws. They did not pretend, he said, to be wiser
than great monarch or their counsellors, but the difference between their
form of government and a monarchy must be their excuse.

Monarchs, when they made treaties, remained masters, and could protect
their realms and their subjects from danger. The States-General could not
accept a prince without placing themselves under his absolute authority,
and the Netherlanders would never subject themselves to their deadly
enemy, whom they had long ago solemnly renounced.

Surely these remarks of the Advocate should have seemed entirely
unanswerable. Surely there was no politician in Europe so ignorant as not
to know that any treaty of peace between Philip and the States meant
their unconditional subjugation and the complete abolition of the
Protestant religion. Least of all did the Queen of England require
information on this great matter of state. It was cruel trifling
therefore, it was inhuman insolence on her part, to suggest anything like
a return of the States to the dominion of Spain.

But her desire for peace and her determination to get back her money
overpowered at that time all other considerations.

The States wished to govern themselves, she said; why then could they not
make arrangements against all dangers, and why could they not lay down
conditions under which the king would not really be their master;
especially if France and England should guarantee them against any
infraction of their rights. By the living God! by the living God! by the
living God! she swore over and over again as her anger rose, she would
never more have anything to do with such people; and she deeply regretted
having thrown away her money and the lives of her subjects in so stupid a
manner.

Again the grave and experienced envoy of the republic strove with calm
and earnest words to stay the torrent of her wrath; representing that her
money and her pains had by no means been wasted, that the enemy had been
brought to shame and his finances to confusion; and urging her, without
paying any heed to the course pursued by the King of France, to allow the
republic to make levies of troops, at its own expense, within her
kingdom.

But her Majesty was obdurate. "How am I to defend myself?" she cried;
"how are the affairs of Ireland to be provided for? how am I ever to get
back my money? who is to pay the garrisons of Brill and Flushing?" And
with this she left the apartment, saying that her counsellors would
confer with the envoys.'

From the beginning to the end of the interview the queen was in a very
evil temper, and took no pains to conceal her dissatisfaction with all
the world.

Now there is no doubt whatever that the subsidies furnished by England to
the common cause were very considerable, amounting in fourteen years,
according to the queen's calculation, to nearly fourteen hundred thousand
pounds sterling. But in her interviews with the republican statesmen she
was too prone to forget that it was a common cause, to forget that the
man who had over and over again attempted her assassination, who had
repeatedly attempted the invasion of her realms with the whole strength
of the most powerful military organization in the world, whose dearest
wish on earth was still to accomplish her dethronement and murder, to
extirpate from England the religion professed by the majority of living
Englishmen, and to place upon her vacant throne a Spanish, German, or
Italian prince, was as much her enemy as he was the foe of his ancient
subjects in the Netherlands. At that very epoch Philip was occupied in
reminding the pope that the two had always agreed as to the justice of
the claims of the Infanta Isabella to the English crown, and calling on
his Holiness to sustain those pretensions, now that she had been obliged,
in consequence of the treaty with the Prince of Bearne, to renounce her
right to reign over France.

Certainly it was fair enough for the queen and her, counsellors to stand
out for an equitable arrangement of the debt; but there was much to
dispute in the figures. When was ever an account of fifteen years'
standing adjusted, whether between nations or individuals, without much
wrangling? Meantime her Majesty held excellent security in two thriving
and most important Netherland cities. But had the States consented to
re-establish the Spanish authority over the whole of their little
Protestant republic, was there an English child so ignorant of arithmetic
or of history as not to see how vast would be the peril, and how
incalculable the expense, thus caused to England?

Yet besides the Cecils and the lord high admiral, other less influential
counsellors of the crown--even the upright and accomplished Buckhurst,
who had so often proved his friendship for the States--were in favour of
negotiation. There were many conferences with meagre results. The
Englishmen urged that the time had come for the States to repay the
queen's advances, to relieve her from future subsidies, to assume the
payment of the garrisons in the cautionary towns, and to furnish a force
in defence of England when attacked. Such was the condition of the
kingdom, they said--being, as it was, entirely without fortified
cities--that a single battle would imperil the whole realm, so that it
was necessary to keep the enemy out of it altogether.

These arguments were not unreasonable, but the inference was surely
illogical. The special envoys from the republic had not been instructed
to treat about the debt. This had been the subject of perpetual
negotiation. It was discussed almost every day by the queen's
commissioners at the Hague and by the States' resident minister at
London. Olden-Barneveld and the admiral had been sent forth by the Staten
in what in those days was considered great haste to prevent a conclusion
of a treaty between their two allies and the common enemy. They had been
too late in France, and now, on arriving in England, they found that
government steadily drifting towards what seemed the hopeless shipwreck
of a general peace.

What must have been the grief of Olden-Barneveld when he heard from the
lips of the enlightened Buckhurst that the treaty of 1585 had been
arranged to expire--according to the original limitation--with a peace,
and that as the States could now make peace and did not choose to do so,
her Majesty must be considered as relieved from her contract of alliance,
and as justified in demanding repayment of her advances!

To this perfidious suggestion what could the States' envoy reply but that
as a peace such as the treaty of 1585 presupposed--to wit, with security
for the Protestant religion and for the laws and liberties of the
provinces--was impossible, should the States now treat with the king or
the cardinal?

The envoys had but one more interview with, the queen, in which she was
more benignant in manner but quite as peremptory in her demands. Let the
States either thoroughly satisfy her as to past claims and present
necessities, or let them be prepared for her immediate negotiation with
the enemy. Should she decide to treat, she would not be unmindful of
their interests, she said, nor deliver them over into the enemy's hands.
She repeated, however, the absurd opinion that there were means enough of
making Philip nominal sovereign of all the Netherlands, without allowing
him to exercise any authority over them. As if the most Catholic and most
absolute monarch that ever breathed could be tied down by the cobwebs of
constitutional or treaty stipulations; as if the previous forty years
could be effaced from the record of history.

She asked, too, in case the rumours of the intended transfer of the
Netherlands to the cardinal or the Infanta should prove true, which she
doubted, whether this arrangement would make any difference in the
sentiments of the States.

Barneveld replied that the transfer was still uncertain, but that they
had no more confidence in the cardinal or the Infants than in the King of
Spain himself.

On taking leave of the queen the envoys waited upon Lord Burghley, whom
they found sitting in an arm-chair in his bedchamber, suffering from the
gout and with a very fierce countenance.  He made no secret of his
opinions in favour of negotiation, said that the contracts made by
monarchs should always be interpreted reasonably, and pronounced a warm
eulogy on the course pursued by the King of France. It was his Majesty's
duty, he said, to seize the best opportunity for restoring repose to his
subjects and his realms, and it was the duty of other sovereigns to do
the same.

The envoys replied that they were not disposed at that moment to sit in
judgment upon the king's actions. They would content themselves with
remarking that in their opinion even kings and princes were bound by
their, contracts, oaths, and pledges before God and man; and with this
wholesome sentiment they took leave of the lord high treasurer.

They left London immediately, on the last day of May, without, passports.
or despatches of recal, and embarked at Gravesend in the midst of a gale
of wind.

Lord Essex, the sincere friend of the republic, was both surprised and
disturbed at their sudden departure, and sent a special courier, after
them to express his regrets at the unsatisfactory termination to their
mission: "My mistress knows very well," said he, "that she is an absolute
princess, and that, when her ministers have done their extreme duty, she
wills what she wills."

The negotiations between England and Spain were deferred, however, for a
brief space, and a special message was despatched to the Hague as to the
arrangement of the debt. "Peace at once with Philip," said the queen, "or
else full satisfaction of my demands."

Now it was close dealing between such very thrifty and acute bargainers
as the queen and the Netherland republic.

Two years before, the States had offered to pay twenty thousand pounds a
year on her Majesty's birthday so long as the war should last, and after
a peace, eighty thousand pounds annually for four years. The queen, on
her part, fixed the sum total of the debt at nearly a million and a half
sterling, and required instant payment of at least one hundred thousand
pounds on account, besides provision for a considerable annual refunding,
assumption by the States of the whole cost of the garrisons in the
cautionary towns, and assurance of assistance in case of an attack upon
England. Thus there was a whole ocean between the disputants.

Vere and Gilpin were protocolling and marshalling accounts at the Hague,
and conducting themselves with much arrogance and bitterness, while,
meantime, Barneveld had hardly had time to set his foot on his native
shores before he was sent back again to England at the head of another
solemn legation. One more effort was to be made to arrange this financial
problem and to defeat the English peace party.

The offer of the year 1596 just alluded to was renewed and instantly
rejected. Naturally enough, the Dutch envoys were disposed, in the
exhausting warfare which was so steadily draining their finances, to pay
down as little as possible on the nail, while providing for what they
considered a liberal annual sinking fund.

The English, on the contrary, were for a good round sum in actual cash,
and held the threatened negotiation with Spain over the heads of the
unfortunate envoys like a whip.

So the queen's counsellors and the republican envoys travelled again and
again over the well-worn path.

On the 29th June, Buckhurst took Olden-Barneveld into his cabinet, and
opened his heart to him, not as a servant of her Majesty, he said, but as
a private Englishman. He was entirely for peace. Now that peace was
offered to her Majesty, a continuance of the war was unrighteous, and the
Lord God's blessing could not be upon it. Without God's blessing no
resistance could be made by the queen nor by the States to the enemy, who
was ten times more powerful than her Majesty in kingdoms, provinces,
number of subjects, and money. He had the pope, the emperor, the Dukes of
Savoy and Lorraine, and the republic of Genoa, for his allies. He feared
that the war might come upon England, and that they might be fated on one
single day to win or lose all. The queen possessed no mines, and was
obliged to carry on the war by taxing her people. The king had
ever-flowing fountains in his mines; the queen nothing but a stagnant
pool, which, when all the water was pumped out, must in the end be dry.
He concluded, therefore, that as her Majesty had no allies but the
Netherlands, peace was best for England, and advisable for the provinces.
Arrangements could easily be made to limit the absolute authority of
Spain.

This highly figurative view of the subject--more becoming to the author
of Ferrex and Porrex than to so, experienced a statesman as Sackville had
become since his dramatic days--did not much impress Barneveld. He
answered that, although the King of Spain was unquestionably very
powerful, the Lord God was still stronger; that England and the
Netherlands together could maintain the empire of the seas, which was of
the utmost importance, especially for England; but that if the republic
were to make her submission to Spain, and become incorporate with that
power, the control of the seas was lost for ever to England.

The Advocate added the unanswerable argument that to admit Philip as
sovereign, and then to attempt a limitation of his despotism was a
foolish dream.

Buckhurst repeated that the republic was the only ally of England, that
there was no confidence to be placed by her in any other power, and that
for himself, he was, as always, very much the friend of the States.

Olden-Barneveld might well have prayed, however, to be delivered from
such friends. To thrust one's head into the lion's mouth, while one's
friends urge moderation on the noble animal, can never be considered a
cheerful or prudent proceeding.

At last, after all offers had been rejected which the envoys had ventured
to make, Elizabeth sent for Olden-Barneveld and Caron and demanded their
ultimatum within twenty-four hours. Should it prove unsatisfactory, she
would at once make peace with Spain.

On the 1st August the envoys accordingly proposed to Cecil and the other
ministers to pay thirty thousand pounds a year, instead of twenty
thousand, so long as the war should last, but they claimed the right of
redeeming the cautionary towns at one hundred thousand pounds each. This
seemed admissible, and Cecil and his colleagues pronounced the affair
arranged. But they had reckoned without the queen after all.

Elizabeth sent for Caron as soon as she heard of the agreement, flew into
a great rage, refused the terms, swore that she would instantly make
peace with Spain, and thundered loudly against her ministers.

"They were great beasts," she said, "if they had stated that she would
not treat with the enemy. She had merely intended to defer the
negotiations."

So the whole business was to be done over again. At last the sum claimed
by the queen, fourteen hundred thousand pounds, was reduced by agreement
to eight hundred thousand, and one-half of this the envoys undertook on
the part of the States to refund in annual payments of thirty thousand
pounds, while the remaining four hundred thousand should be provided for
by some subsequent arrangement. All attempts, however, to obtain a
promise from the queen to restore the cautionary towns to the republic in
case of a peace between Spain and England remained futile.

That was to be a bone of contention for many years.

It was further agreed by the treaty, which was definitely signed on the
16th August, that, in case England were invaded by the common enemy, the
States should send to the queen's assistance at least thirty ships of
war, besides five thousand infantry and five squadrons of horse.



CHAPTER XXXV.

   Negotiations between France and Spain--Conclusion of the treaty of
   peace--Purchase of the allegiance of the French nobles--Transfer of
   the Netherlands to Albert and Isabella--Marriage of the Infante and
   the Infanta--Illness of Philip II.--Horrible nature of his malady--
   His last hours and death--Review of his reign--Extent of the Spanish
   dominions--Causes of the greatness of Spain, and of its downfall--
   Philip's wars and their expenses--The Crown revenues of Spain--
   Character of the people--Their inordinate self-esteem--Consequent
   deficiency of labour--Ecclesiastical Government--Revenues of the
   Church--Characteristics of the Spanish clergy--Foreign commerce of
   Spain--Governmental system of Philip II.--Founded on the popular
   ignorance and superstition--Extinction of liberty in Spain--The Holy
   Inquisition--The work and character of Philip.

While the utterly barren conferences had been going on at Angiers and
Nantes between Henry IV. and the republican envoys, the negotiations had
been proceeding at Vervins.

President Richardot on behalf of Spain, and Secretary of State Villeroy
as commissioner of Henry, were the chief negotiators.

Two old acquaintances, two ancient Leaguers, two bitter haters of
Protestants and rebels, two thorough adepts in diplomatic chicane, they
went into this contest like gladiators who thoroughly understood and
respected each other's skill.

Richardot was recognized by all as the sharpest and most unscrupulous
politician in the obedient Netherlands. Villeroy had conducted every
intrigue of France during a whole generation of mankind. They scarcely
did more than measure swords and test each other's objects, before
arriving at a conviction as to the inevitable result of the encounter.

It was obvious at once to Villeroy that Philip was determined to make
peace with France in order that the triple alliance might be broken up.
It was also known to the French diplomatist that the Spanish king was
ready for, almost every concession to Henry, in order that this object
might be accomplished.

All that Richardot hoped to save out of the various conquests made by
Spain over France was Calais.

But Villeroy told him that it was useless to say a word on that subject.
His king insisted on the restoration of the place. Otherwise he would
make no peace. It was enough, he said, that his Majesty said nothing
about Navarre.

Richardot urged that at the time when the English had conquered Calais it
had belonged to Artois, not to France. It was no more than equitable,
then, that it should be retained by its original proprietor.

The general of the Franciscans, who acted as a kind of umpire in the
transactions, then took each negotiator separately aside and whispered in
his ear.

Villeroy shook his head, and said he had given his ultimatum. Richardot
acknowledged that he had something in reserve, upon which the monk said
that it was time to make it known.

Accordingly--the two being all ears--Richardot observed that what he was
about to state he said with fear and trembling. He knew not what the King
of Spain would think of his proposition, but he would, nevertheless,
utter the suggestion that Calais should be handed over to the pope.

His Holiness would keep the city in pledge until the war with the rebels
was over, and then there would be leisure enough to make definite
arrangements on the subject.

Now Villeroy was too experienced a practitioner to be imposed upon, by
this ingenious artifice. Moreover, he happened to have an intercepted
letter in his possession in which Philip told the cardinal that Calais
was to be given up if the French made its restitution a sine qua non. So
Villeroy did make it a sine qua non, and the conferences soon after
terminated in an agreement on the part of Spain to surrender all its
conquests in France.

Certainly no more profitable peace than this could have been made by the
French king under such circumstances, and Philip at the last moment had
consented to pay a heavy price for bringing discord between the three
friends. The treaty was signed at Vervins on the 2nd May, and contained
thirty-five articles. Its basis was that of the treaty of Cateau
Cambresis of 1559. Restitution of all places conquered by either party
within the dominions of the other since the day of that treaty was
stipulated. Henry recovered Calais, Ardres, Dourlens, Blavet, and many
other places, and gave up the country of Charolois. Prisoners were to be
surrendered on both sides without ransom, and such of those captives of
war as had been enslaved at the galleys should be set free.

The pope, the emperor, all states, and cities under their obedience or
control, the Duke of Savoy, the King of Poland and Sweden, the Kings of
Denmark and Scotland, the Dukes of Lorraine and Tuscany, the Doge of
Venice, the republic of Genoa, and many lesser states and potentates,
were included in the treaty. The famous Edict of Nantes in favour of the
Protestant subjects of the French king was drawn up and signed in the
city of which it bears the name at about the same time with these
negotiations. Its publication was, however, deferred until after the
departure of the legate from France in the following year.

The treaty of Cateau Cambresis had been pronounced the most disgraceful
and disastrous one that had ever been ratified by a French monarch; and
surely Henry had now wiped away that disgrace and repaired that disaster.
It was natural enough that he should congratulate himself on the rewards
which he had gathered by deserting his allies.

He had now sufficient occupation for a time in devising ways and means,
with the aid of the indefatigable Bethune, to pay the prodigious sums
with which he had purchased the allegiance of the great nobles and lesser
gentlemen of France. Thirty-two millions of livres were not sufficient to
satisfy the claims of these patriots, most of whom had been drawing
enormous pensions from the King of Spain up to the very moment, or beyond
it, when they consented to acknowledge the sovereign of their own
country. Scarcely a, great name in the golden book of France but was
recorded among these bills of sale.

Mayenne, Lorraine, Guise, Nemours, Mercoeur, Montpensier, Joyeuse,
Epernon, Brissac, D'Arlincourt, Balagny, Rochefort, Villeroy, Villars,
Montespan, Leviston, Beauvillars, and countless others, figured in the
great financier's terrible account-book, from Mayenne, set down at the
cool amount of three and a half millions, to Beauvoir or Beauvillars at
the more modest price of a hundred and sixty thousand livres. "I should
appal my readers," said De Bethune, "if I should show to them that this
sum makes but a very small part of the amounts demanded from the royal
treasury, either by Frenchmen or by strangers, as pay and pension, and
yet the total was thirty-two millions's."

And now the most Catholic king, having brought himself at last to
exchange the grasp of friendship with the great ex-heretic, and to
recognize the Prince of Bearne as the legitimate successor of St. Louis,
to prevent which consummation he had squandered so many thousands of
lives, so many millions of treasure, and brought ruin to so many
prosperous countries, prepared himself for another step which he had long
hesitated to take.

He resolved to transfer the Netherlands to his daughter Isabella and to
the Cardinal Archduke Albert, who, as the king had now decided, was to
espouse the Infanta.

The deed of cession was signed at Madrid on the 6th May, 1598. It was
accompanied by a letter of the same date from the Prince Philip, heir
apparent to the crown.

On the 30th May the Infanta executed a procuration by which she gave
absolute authority to her future husband to rule over the provinces of
the Netherlands, Burgundy, and Charolois, and to receive the oaths of the
estates and of public functionaries.

   [See all the deeds and documents in Bor, IV. 461-466. Compare
   Herrera, iii. 766-770. Very elaborate provisions were made in
   regard to the children and grand-children to spring from this
   marriage, but it was generally understood at the time that no issue
   was to be expected. The incapacity of the cardinal seems to have
   been revealed by an indiscretion of the General of Franciscans--
   diplomatist and father confessor--and was supported by much
   collateral evidence. Hence all these careful stipulations were a
   solemn jest, like much of the diplomatic work of this reign.]

It was all very systematically done. No transfer of real estate, no
'donatio inter vivos' of mansions and messuages, parks and farms, herds
and flocks, could have been effected in a more business-like manner than
the gift thus made by the most prudent king to his beloved daughter.

The quit-claim of the brother was perfectly regular.

So also was the power of attorney, by which the Infanta authorised the
middle-aged ecclesiastic whom she was about to espouse to take possession
in her name of the very desirable property which she had thus acquired.

It certainly never occurred, either to the giver or the receivers, that
the few millions of Netherlanders, male and female, inhabiting these
provinces in the North Sea, were entitled to any voice or opinion as to
the transfer of themselves and their native land to a young lady living
in a remote country. For such was the blasphemous system of Europe at
that day. Property had rights. Kings, from whom all property emanated,
were enfeoffed directly from the Almighty; they bestowed certain
privileges on their vassals, but man had no rights at all. He was
property, like the ox or the ass, like the glebe which he watered with
the sweat of his brow.

The obedient Netherlands acquiesced obediently in these new arrangements.
They wondered only that the king should be willing thus to take from his
crown its choicest jewels--for it is often the vanity of colonies and
dependencies to consider themselves gems.

The republican Netherlanders only laughed at these arrangements, and
treated the invitation to transfer themselves to the new sovereigns of
the provinces with silent contempt.

The cardinal-archduke left Brussels in September, having accomplished the
work committed to him by the power of attorney, and having left Cardinal
Andrew of Austria, bishop of Constantia, son of the Archduke Ferdinand,
to administer affairs during his absence. Francis de Mendoza, Admiral of
Arragon, was entrusted with the supreme military command for the same
interval.

The double marriage of the Infante of Spain with the Archduchess Margaret
of Austria, and of the unfrocked Cardinal Albert of Austria with the
Infanta Clara Eugenia Isabella, was celebrated by proxy, with immense
pomp, at Ferrara, the pope himself officiating with the triple crown upon
his head.

Meantime, Philip II., who had been of delicate constitution all his life,
and who had of late years been a confirmed valetudinarian, had been
rapidly failing ever since the transfer of the Netherlands in May.
Longing to be once more in his favourite retirement of the Escorial, he
undertook the journey towards the beginning of June, and was carried
thither from Madrid in a litter borne by servants, accomplishing the
journey of seven leagues in six days.

When he reached the palace cloister, he was unable to stand. The gout,
his life-long companion, had of late so tortured him in the hands and
feet that the mere touch of a linen sheet was painful to him. By the
middle of July a low fever had attacked him, which rapidly reduced his
strength. Moreover, a new and terrible symptom of the utter
disintegration of his physical constitution had presented itself.
Imposthumes, from which he had suffered on the breast and at the joints,
had been opened after the usual ripening applications, and the result was
not the hoped relief, but swarms of vermin, innumerable in quantities,
and impossible to extirpate, which were thus generated and reproduced in
the monarch's blood and flesh.

The details of the fearful disorder may have attraction for the
pathologist, but have no especial interest for the general reader. Let it
suffice, that no torture ever invented by Torquemada or Peter Titelman to
serve the vengeance of Philip and his ancestors or the pope against the
heretics of Italy or Flanders, could exceed in acuteness the agonies
which the most Catholic king was now called upon to endure. And not one
of the long line of martyrs, who by decree of Charles or Philip had been
strangled, beheaded, burned, or buried alive, ever faced a death of
lingering torments with more perfect fortitude, or was sustained by more
ecstatic visions of heavenly mercy, than was now the case with the great
monarch of Spain.

That the grave-worms should do their office before soul and body were
parted, was a torment such as the imagination of Dante might have
invented for the lowest depths of his "Inferno."

   [A great English poet has indeed expressed the horrible thought:--

          "It is as if the dead could feel
          The icy worm about them steal:"--BYRON.]

On the 22nd July, the king asked Dr. Mercado if his sickness was likely
to have a fatal termination. The physician, not having the courage at
once to give the only possible reply, found means to evade the question.
On the 1st August his Majesty's confessor, father Diego de Yepes, after
consultation with Mercado, announced to Philip that the only issue to his
malady was death. Already he had been lying for ten days on his back, a
mass of sores and corruption, scarcely able to move, and requiring four
men to turn him in his bed.

He expressed the greatest satisfaction at the sincerity which had now
been used, and in the gentlest and most benignant manner signified his
thanks to them for thus removing all doubts from his mind, and for giving
him information which it was of so much importance for his eternal
welfare to possess.

His first thought was to request the papal nuncio, Gaetano, to despatch a
special courier to Rome to request the pope's benediction. This was done,
and it was destined that the blessing of his Holiness should arrive in
time.

He next prepared himself to make a general confession, which lasted three
days, father Diego having drawn up at his request a full and searching
interrogatory. The confession may have been made the more simple,
however, by the statement which he made to the priest, and subsequently
repeated to the Infante his son, that in all his life he had never
consciously done wrong to any one. If he had ever committed an act of
injustice, it was unwittingly, or because he had been deceived in the
circumstances. This internal conviction of general righteousness was of
great advantage to him in the midst of his terrible sufferings, and
accounted in great degree for the gentleness, thoughtfulness for others,
and perfect benignity, which, according to the unanimous testimony of
many witnesses, characterised his conduct during this whole sickness.

After he had completed his long general confession, the sacrament of the
Lord's Supper was administered to him. Subsequently, the same rites were
more briefly performed every few days.

His sufferings were horrible, but no saint could have manifested in them
more gentle resignation or angelic patience. He moralized on the
condition to which the greatest princes might thus be brought at last by
the hand of God, and bade the prince observe well his father's present
condition, in order that, when he too should be laid thus low, he might
likewise be sustained by a conscience void of offence. He constantly
thanked his assistants and nurses for their care, insisted upon their
reposing themselves after their daily fatigues, and ordered others to
relieve them in their task.

He derived infinite consolation from the many relics of saints, of which,
as has been seen, he had made plentiful prevision during his long reign.
Especially a bone of St. Alban, presented to him by Clement VIII., in
view of his present straits, was of great service. With this relic, and
with the arm of St. Vincent of Ferrara, and the knee-bone of St.
Sebastian, he daily rubbed his sores, keeping the sacred talismans ever
in his sight on the altar, which was not far from his bed. He was much
pleased when the priests and other bystanders assured him that the
remains of these holy men would be of special efficacy to him, because he
had cherished and worshipped them in times when misbelievers and heretics
had treated them with disrespect.

On a sideboard in his chamber a human skull was placed, and upon this
skull--in ghastly mockery of royalty, in truth, yet doubtless in the
conviction that such an exhibition showed the superiority of anointed
kings even over death--he ordered his servants to place a golden crown.
And thus, during the whole of his long illness, the Antic held his state,
while the poor mortal representative of absolute power lay living still,
but slowly mouldering away.

With perfect composure, and with that minute attention to details which
had characterised the king all his lifetime, and was now more evident
than ever, he caused the provisions for his funeral obsequies to be read
aloud one day by Juan Ruys de Velasco, in order that his children, his
ministers, and the great officers of state who were daily in attendance
upon him, might thoroughly learn their lesson before the time came for
performing the ceremony.

"Having governed my kingdom for forty years," said he, "I now give it
back, in the seventy-first year of my age, to God Almighty, to whom it
belongs, recommending my soul into His blessed hands, that His Divine
Majesty may do what He pleases therewith."

He then directed that after his body should have been kept as long as the
laws prescribed, it should be buried thus:--

The officiating bishop was to head the procession, bearing the crucifix,
and followed by the clergy.

The Adelantado was to come next, trailing the royal standard along the
ground. Then the Duke of Novara was to appear, bearing the crown on an
open salver, covered with a black cloth, while the Marquis of Avillaer
carried the sword of state.

The coffin was to be borne by eight principal grandees, clad in mourning
habiliments, and holding lighted torches.

The heir apparent was to follow, attended by Don Garcia de Loyasa, who
had just been consecrated, in the place of Cardinal Albert, as Archbishop
of Toledo.

The body was to be brought to the church, and placed in the stately tomb
already prepared for its reception. "Mass being performed," said the
king, "the prelate shall place me in the grave which shall be my last
house until I go to my eternal dwelling. Then the prince, third king of
my name, shall go into the cloister of St. Jerome at Madrid, where he
shall keep nine days mourning. My daughter, and her aunt--my sister, the
ex-empress--shall for the same purpose go to the convent of the grey
sisters."

The king then charged his successor to hold the Infanta in especial
affection and consideration; "for," said he, "she has been my mirror,
yea; the light of my eyes." He also ordered that the Marquis of Mondejar
be taken from prison and set free, on condition never to show himself at
Court. The wife of Antonio Perez was also to be released from prison, in
order that she might be immured in a cloister, her property being
bestowed upon her daughters.

As this unfortunate lady's only crime consisted in her husband's intrigue
with the king's mistress, Princess Eboli, in which she could scarcely be
considered an accomplice, this permission to exchange one form of
incarceration for another did not seem an act of very great benignity.

Philip further provided that thirty thousand masses should be said for
his soul, five hundred slaves liberated from the galleys, and five
hundred maidens provided with marriage portions.

After these elaborate instructions had been read, the king ordered a
certain casket to be brought to him and opened in his presence. From this
he took forth a diamond of great price and gave it to the Infanta, saying
that it had belonged to her mother, Isabella of France. He asked the
prince if he consented to the gift. The prince answered in the
affirmative.

He next took from the coffer a written document, which he handed to his
son, saying, "Herein you will learn how to govern your kingdoms."

Then he produced a scourge, which he said was the instrument with which
his father, the emperor, had been in the habit of chastising himself
during his retreat at the monastery of Juste. He told the by-standers to
observe the imperial blood by which the lash was still slightly stained.

As the days wore on he felt himself steadily sinking, and asked to
receive extreme unction. As he had never seen that rite performed he
chose to rehearse it beforehand, and told Ruys Velasco; who was in
constant attendance upon him, to go for minute instructions on the
subject to the Archbishop of Toledo. The sacrament having been duly.
administered; the king subsequently, on the 1st September, desired to
receive it once more. The archbishop, fearing that the dying monarch's
strength would be insufficient for the repetition of the function,
informed him that the regulations of the Church required in such cases
only a compliance with certain trifling forms, as the ceremony had been
already once thoroughly carried out. But the king expressed himself as
quite determined that the sacrament should be repeated in all its parts;
that he should once more--be anointed--to use the phrase of brother
Francis Neyen--with the oil which holy athletes require in their wrestle
with death.

This was accordingly done in the presence of his son and daughter, and,
of his chief secretaries, Christopher de Moura and John de Idiaquez,
besides the Counts Chinchon, Fuensalido, and several other conspicuous
personages. He was especially desirous that his son should be present, in
order that; when he too should come to die, he might not find himself,
like his father, in ignorance of the manner in which this last sacrament
was to be performed.

When it was finished he described himself as infinitely consoled, and as
having derived even more happiness from the rite than he had dared to
anticipate.

Thenceforth he protested that he would talk no more of the world's
affairs. He had finished with all things below, and for the days or hours
still remaining to him he would keep his heart exclusively fixed upon
Heaven. Day by day as he lay on his couch of unutterable and almost
unexampled misery, his confessors and others read to him from religious
works, while with perfect gentleness he would insist that one reader
should relieve another, that none might be fatigued.

On the 11th September he dictated these words to Christopher de Moura,
who was to take them to Diego de Yepes, the confessor:--

"Father Confessor, you are in the place of God, and I protest thus before
His presence that I will do all that you declare necessary for my
salvation. Thus upon you will be the, responsibility for my omissions,
because I am ready to do all."

Finding that the last hour was approaching, he informed Don Fernando de
Toledo where: he could find some candles of our lady of Montserrat, one
of which he desired to keep in his hand at the supreme moment. He also
directed Ruys de Velasco to take from a special shrine--which he had
indicated to him six years before--a crucifix which the emperor his
father had held upon his death-bed. All this was accomplished according
to his wish.

He had already made arrangements for his funeral procession, and had
subsequently provided all the details of his agony. It was now necessary
to give orders as to the particulars of his burial.

He knew that decomposition had made such progress even while he was still
living as to render embalming impossible: He accordingly instructed Don
Christopher to see his body wrapped in a shroud just as it lay, and to
cause it to be placed in a well-soldered metallic coffin already
provided. The coffin of state, in which the leaden one was to be
enclosed, was then brought into the chamber by his command, that he might
see if it was entirely to his taste. Having examined it, he ordered that
it should be lined with white satin and ornamented with gold nails and
lace-work. He also described a particular brocade of black and gold, to
be found in the jewelroom, which he desired for the pall.

Next morning he complained to Don Christopher that the Sacrament of the
Lord's Supper had not been administered to him for several days. It was
urged that his strength was deemed insufficient, and that, as he had
received that rite already four times during his illness, and extreme
unction twice, it was thought that the additional fatigue might be spared
him. But as the king insisted, the sacrament was once more performed and
prayers were read. He said with great fervour many times, "Pater, non mea
voluntas, sed tux fiat." He listened, too, with much devotion to the
Psalm, "As the hart panteth for the water-brooks;" and he spoke faintly
at long intervals of the Magdalen, of the prodigal son, and of the
paralytic.

When these devotional exercises had been concluded, father Diego
expressed the hope to him that he might then pass away, for it would be a
misfortune by temporary convalescence to fall from the exaltation of
piety which he had then reached. The remark was heard by Philip with an
expression of entire satisfaction.

That day both the Infanta and the prince came for the last time to his
bedside to receive his blessing. He tenderly expressed his regret to his
daughter that he had not been permitted to witness her marriage, but
charged her never to omit any exertion to augment and sustain the holy
Roman Catholic religion in the Netherlands. It was in the interest of
that holy Church alone that he had endowed her with those provinces, and
he now urged it upon her with his dying breath to impress upon her future
husband these his commands to both.

His two children took leave of him with tears and sobs: As the prince
left the chamber he asked Don Christopher who it was that held the key to
the treasury.

The secretary replied, "It is I, Sir." The prince demanded that he should
give it into his hands. But Don Christopher excused himself, saying that
it had been entrusted to him by the king, and that without his consent he
could not part with it. Then the prince returned to the king's chamber,
followed by the secretary, who narrated to the dying monarch what had
taken place.

"You have done wrong," said Philip; whereupon Don Christopher, bowing to
the earth, presented the key to the prince.

The king then feebly begged those about his bedside to repeat the dying
words of our Saviour on the cross, in order that he might hear them and
repeat them in his heart as his soul was taking flight.

His father's crucifix was placed in his hands, and he said distinctly, "I
die like a good Catholic, in faith and obedience to the holy Roman
Church." Soon after these last words had been spoken, a paroxysm,
followed by faintness, came over him, and he lay entirely still.

They had covered his face with a cloth, thinking that he had already
expired, when he suddenly started, with great energy, opened his eyes,
seized the crucifix again from the hand of Don Fernando de Toledo, kissed
it, and fell back again into agony.

The archbishop and the other priests expressed the opinion that he must
have had, not a paroxysm, but a celestial vision, for human powers would
not have enabled him to arouse himself so quickly and so vigorously as he
had done at that crisis.

He did not speak again, but lay unconsciously dying for some hours, and
breathed his last at five in the morning of Sunday the 13th September.

His obsequies were celebrated according to the directions which he had so
minutely given.

              ------------------------------------

These volumes will have been written in vain if it be now necessary to
recall to my readers the leading events in the history of the man who had
thus left the world where, almost invisible himself, he had so long
played a leading part. It may not be entirely useless, however, to throw
a parting glance at a character which it has been one of the main objects
of this work, throughout its whole course, to portray. My theme has been
the reign of Philip II., because, as the less is included in the greater,
the whole of that reign, with the exception of a few episodes, is
included in the vast movement out of which the Republic of the United
Netherlands was born and the assailed independence of France and England
consolidated. The result of Philip's efforts to establish a universal
monarchy was to hasten the decline of the empire which he had inherited,
by aggravating the evils which had long made that downfall inevitable.

It is from no abstract hatred to monarchy that I have dwelt with emphasis
upon the crimes of this king, and upon the vices of the despotic system,
as illustrated during his lifetime. It is not probable that the military,
monarchical system--founded upon conquests achieved by barbarians and
pirates of a distant epoch over an effete civilization and over antique
institutions of intolerable profligacy--will soon come to an end in the
older world. And it is the business of Europeans so to deal with the
institutions of their inheritance or their choice as to ensure their
steady melioration and to provide for the highest interests of the
people. It matters comparatively little by what name a government is
called, so long as the intellectual and moral development of mankind, and
the maintenance of justice among individuals, are its leading principles.
A government, like an individual, may remain far below its ideal; but,
without an ideal, governments and individuals are alike contemptible. It
is tyranny only--whether individual or popular--that utters its feeble
sneers at the ideologists, as if mankind were brutes to whom instincts
were all in all and ideas nothing. Where intellect and justice are
enslaved by that unholy trinity--Force; Dogma, and Ignorance--the
tendency of governments, and of those subjected to them, must of
necessity be retrograde and downward.

There can be little doubt to those who observe the movements of mankind
during the course of the fourteen centuries since the fall of the Roman
Empire--a mere fragment of human history--that its progress, however
concealed or impeded, and whether for weal or woe, is towards democracy;
for it is the tendency of science to liberate and to equalize the
physical and even the intellectual forces of humanity. A horse and a suit
of armour would now hardly enable the fortunate possessor of such
advantages to conquer a kingdom, nor can wealth and learning be
monopolised in these latter days by a favoured few. Yet veneration for a
crown and a privileged church--as if without them and without their close
connection with each other law and religion were impossible--makes
hereditary authority sacred to great masses of mankind in the old world.
The obligation is the more stringent, therefore, on men thus set apart as
it were by primordial selection for ruling and instructing their
fellow-creatures, to keep their edicts and their practice in harmony with
divine justice. For these rules cannot be violated with impunity during
along succession of years, and it is usually left for a comparatively
innocent generation, to atone for the sins of their forefathers. If
history does not teach this it teaches nothing, and as the rules of
morality; whether for individuals or for nations, are simple and devoid
of mystery; there is the less excuse for governments which habitually and
cynically violate the eternal law.

Among self-evident truths not one is more indisputable than that which,
in the immortal words of our Declaration of Independence, asserts the
right of every human being to life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness; but the only happiness that can be recognised by a true
statesman as the birthright of mankind is that which comes from
intellectual and moral development, and from the subjugation of the
brutal instincts.

A system according to which clowns remain clowns through all the ages,
unless when extraordinary genius or fortunate accident enables an
exceptional individual to overleap the barrier of caste, necessarily
retards the result to which the philosopher looks forward with perfect
faith.

For us, whose business it is to deal with, and, so far as human
fallibility will permit, to improve our inevitable form of
government-which may degenerate into the most intolerable of polities
unless we are ever mindful that it is yet in its rudimental condition;
that, although an immense step has been taken in the right direction by
the abolition of caste, the divorce of Church and State, and the
limitation of intrusion by either on the domain of the individual, it is
yet only a step from which, without eternal vigilance, a falling back is
very easy; and that here, more than in other lands, ignorance of the
scientific and moral truths on--which national happiness and prosperity
depend, deserves bitter denunciation--for us it is wholesome to confirm
our faith in democracy, and to justify our hope that the People will
prove itself equal to the awful responsibility of self-government by an
occasional study of the miseries which the opposite system is capable of
producing. It is for this reason that the reign of the sovereign whose
closing moments have just been recorded is especially worthy of a minute
examination, and I still invite a parting glance at the spectacle thus
presented, before the curtain falls.

The Spanish monarchy in the reign of Philip II. was not only the most
considerable empire then existing, but probably the most powerful and
extensive empire that had ever been known. Certainly never before had so
great an agglomeration of distinct and separate sovereignties been the
result of accident. For it was owing to a series of accidents--in the
common acceptation of that term--that Philip governed so mighty a realm.
According to the principle that vast tracts: of the earth's surface, with
the human beings feeding upon: them, were transferable in fee-simple from
one man or woman to another by marriage, inheritance, or gift, a
heterogeneous collection of kingdoms, principalities, provinces, and:
wildernesses had been consolidated, without geographical continuity, into
an artificial union--the populations differing from each other as much as
human beings can differ, in race, language, institutions, and historical
traditions, and resembling each other in little, save in being the
property alike of the same fortunate individual.

Thus the dozen kingdoms of Spain, the seventeen provinces of the
Netherlands, the kingdoms of the Two Sicilies, the duchy of Milan, and
certain fortresses and districts of Tuscany, in Europe; the kingdom of
Barbary, the coast of Guinea, and an indefinite and unmeasured expanse.
of other territory, in Africa; the controlling outposts and cities all
along the coast of the two Indian peninsulas, with as much of the country
as it seemed good to occupy, the straits and the, great archipelagoes, so
far as they had--been visited by Europeans, in Asia; Peru, Brazil,
Mexico, the Antilles--the whole recently discovered fourth quarter of the
world in short, from the "Land of Fire" in the South to the frozen
regions of the North--as much territory as the Spanish and Portuguese
sea-captains could circumnavigate and the pope in the plentitude of his
power and his generosity could bestow on his fortunate son, in America;
all this enormous proportion of the habitable globe was the private
property, of Philip; who was the son of Charles, who was the son of
Joanna, who was the daughter of Isabella, whose husband was Ferdinand. By
what seems to us the most whimsical of political arrangements, the Papuan
islander, the Calabrian peasant, the Amsterdam merchant, the
semi-civilized Aztec, the Moor of Barbary, the Castilian grandee, the
roving Camanche, the Guinea negro, the Indian Brahmin, found
themselves--could they but have known it--fellow-citizens of one
commonwealth. Statutes of family descent, aided by fraud, force, and
chicane, had annexed the various European sovereignties to the crown of
Spain; the genius of a Genoese sailor had given to it the New World, and
more recently the conquest of Portugal, torn from hands not strong enough
to defend the national independence, had vested in the same sovereignty
those Oriental possessions which were due to the enterprise of Vasco de
Gama, his comrades and successors. The, voyager, setting forth from the
straits of Gibraltar, circumnavigating the African headlands and Cape
Comorin, and sailing through the Molucca channel and past the isles which
bore the name of Philip in the Eastern sea, gave the hand at last to his
adventurous comrade, who, starting from the same point, and following
westward in the track of Magellaens and under the Southern Cross, coasted
the shore of Patagonia, and threaded his path through unmapped and
unnumbered clusters of islands in the Western Pacific; and during this
spanning of the earth's whole circumference not an inch of land or water
was traversed that was not the domain of Philip.

For the sea, too, was his as well as the dry land.

From Borneo to California the great ocean was but a Spanish lake, as much
the king's private property as his fish-ponds at the Escorial with their
carp and perch. No subjects but his dared to navigate those sacred
waters. Not a common highway of the world's commerce, but a private path
for the gratification of one human being's vanity, had thus been laid out
by the bold navigators of the sixteenth century.

It was for the Dutch rebels to try conclusions upon this point, as they
had done upon so many others, with the master of the land and sea. The
opening scenes therefore in the great career of maritime adventure and
discovery by which these republicans were to make themselves famous will
soon engage the reader's attention.

Thus the causes of what is called the greatness of Spain are not far to
seek. Spain was not a nation, but a temporary and factitious conjunction
of several nations, which it was impossible to fuse into a permanent
whole, but over whose united resources a single monarch for a time
disposed. And the very concentration of these vast and unlimited, powers,
fortuitous as it was, in this single hand, inspiring the individual, not
unnaturally, with a consciousness of superhuman grandeur; impelled him to
those frantic and puerile efforts to achieve the impossible which
resulted, in the downfall of Spain. The man who inherited so much
material greatness believed himself capable of destroying the invisible
but omnipotent spirit of religious and political liberty in the
Netherlands, of trampling out the national existence of France and of
England, and of annexing those realms to his empire: It has been my task
to relate, with much minuteness, how miserably his efforts failed.

But his resources were great. All Italy was in his hands, with the single
exception of the Venetian republic; for the Grand Duke of Florence and
the so-called republic of Genoa were little more than his vassals, the
pope was generally his other self, and the Duke of Savoy was his
son-in-law. Thus his armies, numbering usually a hundred thousand men,
were supplied from the best possible sources. The Italians were esteemed
the best soldiers for siege; assault, light skirmishing. The German heavy
troopers and arquebuseers were the most effective for open field-work,
and these were to be purchased at reasonable prices and to indefinite
amount from any of the three or four hundred petty sovereigns to whom
what was called Germany belonged. The Sicilian and Neapolitan pikemen,
the Milanese light-horse, belonged exclusively to Philip, and were used,
year after year, for more than a generation of mankind, to fight battles
in which they had no more interest than had their follow-subjects in the
Moluccas or in Mexico, but which constituted for them personally as
lucrative a trade on the whole as was afforded them at that day by any
branch of industry.

Silk, corn, wine, and oil were furnished in profusion from these favoured
regions, not that the inhabitants might enjoy life, and, by accumulating
wealth, increase the stock of human comforts and contribute to
intellectual and scientific advancement, but in order that the proprietor
of the soil might feed those eternal armies ever swarming from the south
to scatter desolation over the plains of France, Burgundy, Flanders, and
Holland, and to make the crown of Spain and the office of the Holy
Inquisition supreme over the world. From Naples and Sicily were derived
in great plenty the best materials and conveniences for ship-building and
marine equipment. The galleys and the galley-slaves furnished by these
subject realms formed the principal part of the royal navy. From distant
regions, a commerce which in Philip's days had become oceanic supplied
the crown with as much revenue as could be expected in a period of gross
ignorance as to the causes of the true grandeur and the true wealth of
nations. Especially from the mines of Mexico came an annual average of
ten or twelve millions of precious metals, of which the king took
twenty-five per cent. for himself.

It would be difficult and almost superfluous to indicate the various
resources placed in the hands of this one personage, who thus controlled
so large a portion of the earth. All that breathed or grew belonged to
him, and most steadily was the stream of blood and treasure poured
through the sieve of his perpetual war. His system was essentially a
gigantic and perpetual levy of contributions in kind, and it is only in
this vague and unsatisfactory manner that the revenues of his empire can
be stated. A despot really keeps no accounts, nor need to do so, for he
is responsible to no man for the way in which he husbands or squanders
his own. Moreover, the science of statistics had not a beginning of
existence in those days, and the most common facts can hardly be
obtained, even by approximation. The usual standard of value, the
commodity which we call money--gold or silver--is well known to be at
best a fallacious guide for estimating the comparative wealth--of
individuals or of nations at widely different epochs. The dollar of
Philip's day was essentially the same bit of silver that it is in our
time in Spain, Naples, Rome, or America, but even should an elaborate
calculation be made as to the quantity of beef, or bread or broadcloth to
be obtained for that bit of silver in this or that place in the middle of
the sixteenth century, the result, as compared with prices now prevalent,
would show many remarkable discrepancies. Thus a bushel of wheat at
Antwerp during Philip's reign might cost a quarter of a dollar, in
average years, and there have been seasons in our own time when two
bushels of wheat could have been bought for a quarter of a dollar in
Illinois. Yet if, notwithstanding this, we should allow a tenfold value
in exchange to the dollar of Philip's day, we should be surprised at the
meagreness of his revenues, of his expenditures, and of the debts which
at the close of his career brought him to bankruptcy; were the sums
estimated in coin.

Thus his income was estimated by careful contemporary statesmen at what
seemed to them the prodigious annual amount of sixteen millions of
dollars. He carried on a vast war without interruption during the whole
of his forty-three years' reign against the most wealthy and military
nations of Christendom not recognising his authority, and in so doing he
is said to have expended a sum total of seven hundred millions of
dollars--a statement which made men's hair stand on their heads. Yet the
American republic, during its civil war to repress the insurrection of
the slaveholders, has spent nominally as large a sum as this every year;
and the British Empire in time of profound peace spends half as much
annually. And even if we should allow sixteen millions to have
represented the value of a hundred and sixty millions--a purely arbitrary
supposition--as compared with our times, what are a hundred and sixty,
millions of dollars, or thirty-three millions of pounds sterling--as the
whole net revenue of the greatest empire that had ever existed in the
world, when compared with the accumulated treasures over which civilized
and industrious countries can now dispose? Thus the power of levying men
and materials in kind constituted the chief part of the royal power, and,
in truth, very little revenue in money was obtained from Milan or Naples,
or from any of the outlying European possessions of the crown.

Eight millions a year were estimated as the revenue from the eight
kingdoms incorporated under the general name of Castile, while not more
than six hundred thousand came from the three kingdoms which constituted
Arragon. The chief sources of money receipts were a tax of ten per cent.
upon sales, paid by the seller, called Alcavala, and the Almoxarifalgo or
tariff upon both imports and exports. Besides these imposts he obtained
about eight hundred thousand dollars a year by selling to his subjects
the privilege of eating eggs upon fast-days, according to the permission
granted him by the pope, in the bull called the Cruzada. He received
another annual million from the Sussidio and the Excusado. The first was
a permission originally given by the popes to levy six hundred thousand
dollars a year upon ecclesiastical property for equipment of a hundred
war-galleys against the Saracens, but which had more recently established
itself as a regular tax to pay for naval hostilities against Dutch and
English heretics--a still more malignant species of unbelievers in the
orthodox eyes of the period. The Excusado was the right accorded to the
king always to select from the Church possessions a single benefice and
to appropriate its fruit--a levy commuted generally for four hundred
thousand dollars a year. Besides these regular sources of income, large
but irregular amounts of money were picked up by his Majesty in small
sums, through monks sent about the country simply as beggars, under no
special license, to collect alms from rich and poor for sustaining the
war against the infidels of England and Holland. A certain Jesuit, father
Sicily by name, had been industrious enough at one period in preaching
this crusade to accumulate more than a million and a half, so that a
facetious courtier advised his sovereign to style himself thenceforth
king, not of the two, but of the three Sicilies, in honour of the
industrious priest.

It is worthy of remark that at different periods during Philip's reign,
and especially towards its close, the whole of his regular revenue was
pledged to pay the interest, on his debts, save only the Sussidio and the
Cruzada. Thus the master of the greatest empire of the earth had at times
no income at his disposal except the alma he could solicit from his
poorest subjects to maintain his warfare against foreign miscreants, the
levy on the Church for war-galleys; and the proceeds of his permission to
eat meat on Fridays. This sounds like an epigram, but it is a plain,
incontestable fact.

Thus the revenues of his foreign dominions being nearly consumed by their
necessary expenses, the measure of his positive wealth was to be found in
the riches of Spain. But Spain at that day was not an opulent country. It
was impossible that it should be rich, for nearly every law, according to
which the prosperity of a country becomes progressive; was habitually
violated. It is difficult to state even by approximation the amount of
its population, but the kingdoms united under the crown of Castile were
estimated by contemporaries to contain eight millions, while the kingdom
of Portugal, together with those annexed to Arragon and the other
provinces of the realm, must have numbered half as many. Here was a
populous nation in a favoured land, but the foundation of all wealth was
sapped by a perverted moral sentiment.

Labour was esteemed dishonourable. The Spaniard, from highest to lowest,
was proud, ignorant, and lazy. For a people endowed by nature with many
noble qualities--courage, temperance, frugality, endurance, quickness of
perception; a high sense of honour, a reverence for law--the course of
the national history had proved as ingeniously bad a system of general
education as could well be invented.

The eternal contests, century after century, upon the soil of Spain
between the crescent and the cross, and the remembrance of the ancient
days in which Oriental valour and genius had almost extirpated Germanic
institutions and Christian faith from the peninsula, had inspired one
great portion of the masses with a hatred, amounting almost to insanity,
towards every form of religion except the Church of Rome, towards every
race of mankind except the Goths and Vandals. Innate reverence for
established authority had expanded into an intensity of religious emotion
and into a fanaticism of loyalty which caused the anointed monarch
leading true believers against infidels to be accepted as a god. The
highest industrial and scientific civilization that had been exhibited
upon Spanish territory was that of Moors and Jews. When in the course of
time those races had been subjugated, massacred, or driven into exile,
not only was Spain deprived of its highest intellectual culture and its
most productive labour, but intelligence, science, and industry were
accounted degrading, because the mark of inferior and detested peoples.

The sentiment of self-esteem, always a national characteristic, assumed
an almost ludicrous shape. Not a ragged Biscayan muleteer, not a
swineherd of Estremadura, that did not imagine himself a nobleman because
he was not of African descent. Not a half-starved, ignorant brigand,
gaining his living on the highways and byways by pilfering or
assassination, that did not kneel on the church pavement and listen to
orisons in an ancient tongue, of which he understood not a syllable, with
a sentiment of Christian self-complacency to which Godfrey of Bouillon
might have been a stranger. Especially those born towards the northern
frontier, and therefore farthest removed from Moorish contamination, were
proudest of the purity of their race. To be an Asturian or a Gallician,
however bronzed by sun and wind, was to be furnished with positive proof
against suspicion of Moorish blood; but the sentiment was universal
throughout the peninsula.

It followed as a matter of course that labour of any kind was an
impeachment against this gentility of descent. To work was the province
of Moors, Jews, and other heretics; of the Marani or accursed, miscreants
and descendants of miscreants; of the Sanbeniti or infamous, wretches
whose ancestors had been convicted by the Holy Inquisition of listening,
however secretly, to the Holy Scriptures as expounded by other lips than
those of Roman priests. And it is a remarkable illustration of this
degradation of labour and of its results, that in the reign of Philip
twenty-five thousand individuals of these dishonoured and comparatively
industrious classes, then computed at four millions in number in the
Castilian kingdoms alone, had united in a society which made a formal
offer to the king to pay him two thousand dollars a head if the name and
privileges of hidalgo could be conferred upon them. Thus an
inconsiderable number of this vilest and most abject of the
population--oppressed by taxation which was levied exclusively upon the
low, and from which not only the great nobles but mechanics and other
hidalgos were, exempt--had been able to earn and to lay by enough to
offer the monarch fifty millions of dollars to purchase themselves out of
semi-slavery into manhood, and yet found their offer rejected by an
almost insolvent king. Nothing could exceed the idleness and the
frivolity of the upper classes, as depicted by contemporary and not
unfriendly observers. The nobles were as idle and as ignorant as their
inferiors. They were not given to tournays nor to the delights of the
chase and table, but were fond of brilliant festivities, dancing,
gambling, masquerading, love-making, and pompous exhibitions of equipage,
furniture, and dress. These diversions--together with the baiting of
bulls and the burning of Protestants--made up their simple round of
pleasures. When they went to the wars they scorned all positions but that
of general, whether by land or sea, and as war is a trade which requires
an apprenticeship; it is unnecessary to observe that these grandees were
rarely able to command, having never learned to obey. The poorer
Spaniards were most honourably employed perhaps--so far as their own
mental development was concerned--when they were sent with pike and
arquebus to fight heretics in France and Flanders. They became brave and
indomitable soldiers when exported to the seat of war, and thus afforded
proof--by strenuously doing the hardest physical work that human beings
can be called upon to perform, campaigning year after year amid the
ineffable deprivations, dangers, and sufferings which are the soldier's
lot--that it was from no want of industry or capacity that the lower
masses of Spaniards in that age were the idle, listless, dice-playing,
begging, filching vagabonds into which cruel history and horrible
institutions had converted them at home.

It is only necessary to recall these well-known facts to understand why
one great element of production--human labour--was but meagrely supplied.
It had been the deliberate policy of the Government for ages to extirpate
the industrious classes, and now that a great portion of Moors and Jews
were exiles and outcasts, it was impossible to supply their place by
native workmen. Even the mechanics, who condescended to work with their
hands in the towns, looked down alike upon those who toiled in the field
and upon those who, attempted to grow rich by traffic. A locksmith or a
wheelwright who could prove four descents of western, blood called
himself a son of somebody--a hidalgo--and despised the farmer and the
merchant. And those very artisans were careful not to injure themselves
by excessive industry, although not reluctant by exorbitant prices to
acquire in one or-two days what might seem a fair remuneration for a
week, and to impress upon their customers that it was rather by way of
favour that they were willing to serve them at all.

Labour being thus deficient, it is obvious that there could hardly have
been a great accumulation, according to modern ideas, of capital. That
other chief element of national wealth, which is the result of
generations of labour and of abstinence, was accordingly not abundant.
And even those accretions of capital, which in the course of centuries
had been inevitable, were as clumsily and inadequately diffused as the
most exquisite human perverseness could desire. If the object of civil
and political institutions had been to produce the greatest ill to the
greatest number, that object had been as nearly attained at last in Spain
as human imperfection permits; the efforts of government and of custom
coming powerfully to the aid of the historical evils already indicated.

It is superfluous to say that the land belonged not to those who lived
upon it--but subject to the pre-eminent right of the crown--to a small
selection of the human species. Moderate holdings, small farms, peasant
proprietorship's, were unknown. Any kind of terrestrial possession; in
short, was as far beyond the reach of those men who held themselves so
haughtily and esteemed themselves so inordinately, as were the mountains
in the moon.

The great nobles--and of real grandees of Spain there were but
forty-nine, although the number of titled families was much larger--owned
all the country, except that vast portion of it which had reposed for
ages in the dead-hand of the Church. The law of primogeniture, strictly
enforced, tended with every generation to narrow the basis of society.
Nearly every great estate was an entail, passing from eldest son to
eldest son, until these were exhausted, in which case a daughter
transferred the family possessions to a new house. Thus the capital of
the country--meagre at best in comparison with what it might have been,
had industry been honoured instead of being despised, had the most
intelligent and most diligent classes been cherished rather than hunted
to death or into obscure dens like vermin--was concentrated in very few
hands. Not only was the accumulation less than it should have been, but
the slenderness of its diffusion had nearly amounted to absolute
stagnation. The few possessors of capital wasted their revenues in
unproductive consumption. The millions of the needy never dreamed of the
possibility of deriving benefit from the capital of the rich, nor would
have condescended to employ it, nor known how to employ it, had its use
in any form been vouchsafed to them. The surface of Spain, save only
around the few royal residences, exhibited no splendour of architecture,
whether in town or country, no wonders of agricultural or horticultural
skill, no monuments of engineering and constructive genius in roads,
bridges, docks, warehouses, and other ornamental and useful fabrics, or
in any of the thousand ways in which man facilitates intercourse among
his kind and subdues nature to his will.

Yet it can never be too often repeated that it, is only the Spaniard of
the sixteenth century, such as extraneous circumstances had made him,
that is here depicted; that he, even like his posterity and his
ancestors, had been endowed by Nature with some of her noblest gifts.
Acuteness of intellect, wealth of imagination, heroic qualities of heart,
and hand, and brain, rarely surpassed in any race, and manifested on a
thousand battle-fields, and in the triumphs of a magnificent and most
original literature, had not been able to save a whole nation from the
disasters and the degradation which the mere words Philip II, and the
Holy Inquisition suggest to every educated mind.

Nor is it necessary for my purpose to measure exactly the space which
separated Spain from the other leading monarchies of the day. That the
standard of civilization was a vastly higher one in England, Holland, or
even France--torn as they all were with perpetual civil war--no thinker
will probably deny; but as it is rather my purpose at this moment to
exhibit the evils which may spring from a perfectly bad monarchical
system, as administered by a perfectly bad king, I prefer not to wander
at present from the country which was ruled for almost half a century by
Philip II.

Besides the concentration of a great part of the capital of the country
in a very small number of titled families, still another immense portion
of the national wealth belonged, as already intimated, to the Church.

There were eleven archbishops, at the head of whom stood the Archbishop
of Toledo, with the enormous annual revenue of three hundred thousand
dollars. Next to him came the Archbishop of Seville, with one hundred and
fifty thousand dollars yearly, while the income of the others varied from
fifty thousand to twenty thousand dollars respectively.

There were sixty-two bishops, with annual incomes ranging from fifty
thousand to six thousand dollars. The churches, also, of these various
episcopates were as richly endowed as the great hierarchs themselves. But
without fatiguing the reader with minute details, it is sufficient to say
that one-third of the whole annual income of Spain and Portugal belonged
to the ecclesiastical body. In return for this enormous proportion of the
earth's fruits, thus placed by the caprice of destiny at their disposal,
these holy men did very little work in the world. They fed their flocks
neither with bread nor with spiritual food. They taught little, preached
little, dispensed little in charity. Very few of the swarming millions of
naked and hungry throughout the land were clothed or nourished out of
these prodigious revenues of the Church. The constant and avowed care of
those prelates was to increase their worldly, possessions, to build up
the fortunes of their respective families, to grow richer and richer at
the expense of the people whom for centuries they had fleeced. Of gross
crime, of public ostentatious immorality, such as had made the Roman
priesthood of that and preceding ages loathsome in the sight of man and
God, the Spanish Church-dignitaries were innocent. Avarice; greediness,
and laziness were their characteristics. It is almost superfluous to say
that, while the ecclesiastical princes were rolling in this almost
fabulous wealth, the subordinate clergy, the mob of working priests, were
needy, half-starved mendicants.

From this rapid survey of the condition of the peninsula it will seem
less surprising than it might do at first glance that the revenue of the
greatest monarch of the world was rated at the small amount--even after
due allowance for the difference of general values between the sixteenth
and nineteenth centuries--of sixteen millions of dollars. The King of
Spain was powerful and redoubtable at home and abroad, because accident
had placed the control of a variety of separate realms in his single
hand. At the same time Spain was poor and weak, because she had lived for
centuries in violation of the principles on which the wealth and strength
of nations depend. Moreover, every one of those subject and violently
annexed nations hated Spain with undying fervour, while an infernal
policy--the leading characteristics of which were to sow dissensions
among the nobles, to confiscate their property on all convenient
occasions, and to bestow it upon Spaniards and other foreigners; to keep
the discontented masses in poverty, but to deprive them of the power or
disposition to unite with their superiors in rank in demonstrations
against the crown--had sufficed to suppress any extensive revolt in the
various Italian states united under Philip's sceptre. Still more intense
than the hatred of the Italians was the animosity which was glowing in
every Portuguese breast against the Spanish sway; while even the
Arragonese were only held in subjection by terror, which, indeed, in one
form or another, was the leading instrument of Philip's government.

It is hardly necessary to enlarge upon the regulations of Spain's foreign
commerce; for it will be enough to repeat the phrase that in her eyes the
great ocean from east to west was a Spanish lake, sacred to the ships of
the king's subjects alone. With such a simple code of navigation coming
in aid of the other causes which impoverished the land, it may be
believed that the maritime traffic of the country would dwindle into the
same exiguous proportions which characterised her general industry.

Moreover, it should never be forgotten that, although the various
kingdoms of Spain were politically conjoined by their personal union
under one despot, they were commercially distinct. A line of
custom-houses separated each province from the rest, and made the various
inhabitants of the peninsula practically strangers to each other. Thus
there was less traffic between Castile, Biscay, and Arragon than there
was between any one of them and remote foreign nations. The Biscayans,
for example, could even import and export commodities to and from remote
countries by sea, free of duty, while their merchandize to and from
Castile was crushed by imposts. As this ingenious perversity of positive
arrangements came to increase the negative inconveniences caused by the
almost total absence of tolerable roads, canals, bridges, and other means
of intercommunication, it may be imagined that internal traffic--the very
life-blood of every prosperous nation--was very nearly stagnant in Spain.
As an inevitable result, the most thriving branch of national industry
was that of the professional smuggler, who, in the pursuit of his
vocation, did his best to aid Government in sapping the wealth of the
nation.

The whole accumulated capital of Spain, together with the land--in the
general sense which includes not only the soil but the immovable property
of a country being thus exclusively owned by the crown, the church, and a
very small number of patrician families, while the supply of labour owing
to the special causes which had converted the masses of the people into
paupers ashamed to work but not unwilling to beg or to rob--was
incredibly small, it is obvious that, so long as the same causes
continued in operation, the downfall of the country was a logical result
from which there was no escape. Nothing but a general revolution of mind
and hand against the prevalent system, nothing but some great destructive
but regenerating catastrophe, could redeem the people.

And it is the condition of the people which ought always to be the
prominent subject of interest to those who study the records of the Past.
It is only by such study that we can derive instruction from history, and
enable ourselves, however dimly and feebly, to cast the horoscope of
younger nations. Human history, so far as it has been written, is at best
a mere fragment; for the few centuries or year-thousands of which there
is definite record are as nothing compared to the millions of unnumbered
years during which man has perhaps walked the earth. It may be as
practicable therefore to derive instruction from a minute examination in
detail of a very limited period of time and space, and thus to deduce
general rules for the infinite future, during which our species may be
destined to inhabit this planet, as by a more extensive survey, which
must however be at best a limited one. Men die, but Man is immortal, and
it would be a sufficiently forlorn prospect for humanity if we were not
able to discover causes in operation which would ultimately render the
system of Philip II. impossible in any part of the globe. Certainly, were
it otherwise, the study of human history would be the most wearisome and
unprofitable of all conceivable occupations. The festivities of courts,
the magnificence of an aristocracy, the sayings and doings of monarchs
and their servants, the dynastic wars, the solemn treaties; the Ossa upon
Pelion of diplomatic and legislative rubbish by which, in the course of
centuries, a few individuals or combinations of individuals have been
able to obstruct the march of humanity, and have essayed to suspend the
operation of elemental laws--all this contains but little solid food for
grown human beings. The condition of the brave and quickwitted Spanish
people in the latter half of the sixteenth century gives more matter for
reflection and possible instruction.

That science is the hope of the world, that ignorance is the real
enslaver of mankind, and therefore the natural ally of every form of
despotism, may be assumed as an axiom, and it was certainly the ignorance
and superstition of the people upon which the Philippian policy was
founded.

A vast mass, entirely uneducated, half fed, half clothed, unemployed; and
reposing upon a still lower and denser stratum--the millions namely of
the "Accursed," of the Africans, and last and vilest of all, the
"blessed" descendants of Spanish protestants whom the Holy Office had
branded with perpetual infamy because it had burned their
progenitors--this was the People; and it was these paupers and outcasts,
nearly the whole nation, that paid all the imposts of which the public
revenue was composed. The great nobles, priests, and even the hidalgos,
were exempt from taxation. Need more be said to indicate the inevitable
ruin of both government and people?

And it was over such a people, and with institutions like these, that
Philip II. was permitted to rule during forty-three years. His power was
absolute. With this single phrase one might as well dismiss any attempt
at specification. He made war or peace at will with foreign nations. He
had power of life and death over all his subjects. He had unlimited
control of their worldly goods. As he claimed supreme jurisdiction over
their religious opinions also, he was master of their minds, bodies, and
estates. As a matter of course, he nominated and removed at will every
executive functionary, every judge, every magistrate, every military or
civil officer; and moreover, he not only selected, according to the
license tacitly conceded to him by the pontiff, every archbishop, bishop,
and other Church dignitary, but, through his great influence at Rome, he
named most of the cardinals, and thus controlled the election of the
popes. The whole machinery of society, political, ecclesiastical,
military, was in his single hand. There was a show of provincial
privilege here and there in different parts of Spain, but it was but the
phantom of that ancient municipal liberty which it had been the especial
care of his father and his great-grandfather to destroy. Most patiently
did Philip, by his steady inactivity, bring about the decay of the last
ruins of free institutions in the peninsula. The councils and legislative
assemblies were convoked and then wearied out in waiting for that royal
assent to their propositions and transactions, which was deferred
intentionally, year after year, and never given. Thus the time of the
deputies was consumed in accomplishing infinite nothing, until the moment
arrived when the monarch, without any violent stroke of state, could feel
safe in issuing decrees and pragmatic edicts; thus reducing the ancient
legislative and consultative bodies to nullity, and substituting the will
of an individual for a constitutional fabric. To criticise the expenses
of government or to attempt interference with the increase of taxation
became a sorry farce. The forms remained in certain provinces after the
life had long since fled. Only in Arragon had the ancient privileges
seemed to defy the absolute authority of the monarch; and it was reserved
for Antonio Perez to be the cause of their final extirpation. The
grinning skulls of the Chief Justice of that kingdom and of the boldest
and noblest advocates and defenders of the national liberties, exposed
for years in the market-place, with the record of their death-sentence
attached, informed the Spaniards, in language which the most ignorant
could read, that the crime of defending a remnant of human freedom and
constitutional law was sure to draw down condign punishment. It was the
last time in that age that even the ghost of extinct liberty was destined
to revisit the soil of Spain. It mattered not that the immediate cause
for pursuing Perez was his successful amour with the king's Mistress, nor
that the crime of which he was formally accused was the deadly offence of
Calvinism, rather than his intrigue with the Eboli and his assassination
of Escovedo; for it was in the natural and simple sequence of events that
the last vestige of law or freedom should be obliterated wherever Philip
could vindicate his sway. It must be admitted, too, that the king seized
this occasion to strike a decisive blow with a promptness very different
from his usual artistic sluggishness. Rarely has a more terrible epigram
been spoken by man than the royal words which constituted the whole trial
and sentence of the Chief Justice of Arragon, for the crime of defending
the law of his country: "You will take John of Lanuza, and you will have
his head cut off." This was the end of the magistrate and of the
constitution which he had defended.

His power, was unlimited. A man endowed with genius and virtue, and
possessing the advantages of a consummate education, could have perhaps
done little more than attempt to mitigate the general misery, and to
remove some of its causes. For it is one of the most pernicious dogmas of
the despotic system, and the one which the candid student of history
soonest discovers to be false, that the masses of mankind are to look to
any individual, however exalted by birth or intellect, for their
redemption. Woe to the world if the nations are never to learn that their
fate is and ought to be in their own hands; that their institutions,
whether liberal or despotic, are the result of the national biography and
of the national character, not the work of a few individuals whose names
have been preserved by capricious Accident as heroes and legislators. Yet
there is no doubt that, while comparatively powerless for good, the
individual despot is capable of almost infinite mischief. There have been
few men known to history who have been able to accomplish by their own
exertions so vast an amount of evil as the king who had just died. If
Philip possessed a single virtue it has eluded the conscientious research
of the writer of these pages. If there are vices--as possibly there are
from which he was exempt, it is because it is not permitted to human
nature to attain perfection even in evil. The only plausible
explanation--for palliation there is none--of his infamous career is that
the man really believed himself not a king but a god. He was placed so
high above his fellow-creatures as, in good faith perhaps, to believe
himself incapable of doing wrong; so that, whether indulging his passions
or enforcing throughout the world his religious and political dogmas, he
was ever conscious of embodying divine inspirations and elemental laws.
When providing for the assassination of a monarch, or commanding the
massacre of a townfull of Protestants; when trampling on every oath by
which a human being can bind himself; when laying desolate with fire and
sword, during more than a generation, the provinces which he had
inherited as his private property, or in carefully maintaining the flames
of civil war in foreign kingdoms which he hoped to acquire; while
maintaining over all Christendom a gigantic system of bribery,
corruption, and espionage, keeping the noblest names of England and
Scotland on his pension-lists of traitors, and impoverishing his
exchequer with the wages of iniquity paid in France to men of all
degrees, from princes of blood like Guise and Mayenne down to the
obscurest of country squires, he ever felt that these base or bloody
deeds were not crimes, but the simple will of the godhead of which he was
a portion. He never doubted that the extraordinary theological system
which he spent his life in enforcing with fire and sword was right, for
it was a part of himself. The Holy Inquisition, thoroughly established as
it was in his ancestral Spain, was a portion of the regular working
machinery by which his absolute kingship and his superhuman will
expressed themselves. A tribunal which performed its functions with a
celerity, certainty, and invisibility resembling the attributes of
Omnipotence; which, like the pestilence, entered palace or hovel at will,
and which smote the wretch guilty or suspected of heresy with a precision
against which no human ingenuity or sympathy could guard--such an
institution could not but be dear to his heart. It was inevitable that
the extension and perpetuation of what he deemed its blessings throughout
his dominions should be his settled purpose. Spain was governed by an
established terrorism. It is a mistake to suppose that Philip was
essentially beloved in his native land, or that his religious and
political system was heartily accepted because consonant to the national
character. On the contrary, as has been shown, a very large proportion of
the inhabitants were either secretly false to the Catholic faith, or
descended at least from those who had expiated their hostility to it with
their lives. But the Grand Inquisitor was almost as awful a personage; as
the king or the pope. His familiars were in every village and at every
fireside, and from their fangs there was no escape. Millions of Spaniards
would have rebelled against the crown or accepted the reformed religion,
had they not been perfectly certain of being burned or hanged at the
slightest movement in such a direction. The popular force in the course
of the political combinations of centuries seemed at last to have been
eliminated. The nobles, exempt from taxation, which crushed the people to
the earth, were the enemies rather than the chieftains and champions of
the lower classes in any possible struggle with a crown to which they
were united by ties of interest as well as of affection, while the great
churchmen, too, were the immediate dependants and of course the firm
supporters of the king. Thus the people, without natural leaders, without
organisation, and themselves divided into two mutually hostile sections,
were opposed by every force in the State. Crown, nobility, and clergy;
all the wealth and all that there was of learning, were banded together
to suppress the democratic principle. But even this would hardly have
sufficed to extinguish every spark of liberty, had it not been for the
potent machinery of the Inquisition; nor could that perfection of
terrorism have become an established institution but for the
extraordinary mixture of pride and superstition of which the national
character had been, in the course of the national history, compounded.
The Spanish portion of the people hated the nobles, whose petty exactions
and oppressions were always visible; but they had a reverential fear of
the unseen monarch, as the representative both of the great unsullied
Christian nation to which the meanest individual was proud to belong, and
of the God of wrath who had decreed the extermination of all unbelievers.
The "accursed" portion of the people were sufficiently disloyal at heart,
but were too much crushed by oppression and contempt to imagine
themselves men. As to the Netherlanders, they did not fight originally
for independence. It was not until after a quarter of a century of
fighting that they ever thought of renouncing their allegiance to Philip.
They fought to protect themselves against being taxed by the king without
the consent of those constitutional assemblies which he had sworn to
maintain, and to save themselves and their children from being burned
alive if they dared to read the Bible. Independence followed after nearly
a half-century of fighting, but it would never have been obtained, or
perhaps demanded, had those grievances of the people been redressed.

Of this perfect despotism Philip was thus the sole administrator.
Certainly he looked upon his mission with seriousness, and was
industrious in performing his royal functions. But this earnestness and
seriousness were, in truth, his darkest vices; for the most frivolous
voluptuary that ever wore a crown would never have compassed a thousandth
part of the evil which was Philip's life-work. It was because he was a
believer in himself, and in what he called his religion, that he was
enabled to perpetrate such a long catalogue of crimes. When an humble
malefactor is brought before an ordinary court of justice, it is not
often, in any age or country, that he escapes the pillory or the gallows
because, from his own point of view, his actions, instead of being
criminal, have been commendable, and because the multitude and continuity
of his offences prove him to have been sincere. And because anointed
monarchs are amenable to no human tribunal, save to that terrible assize
which the People, bursting its chain from time to time in the course of
the ages, sets up for the trial of its oppressors, and which is called
Revolution, it is the more important for the great interests of humanity
that before the judgment-seat of History a crown should be no protection
to its wearer. There is no plea to the jurisdiction of history, if
history be true to itself.

As for the royal criminal called Philip II., his life is his arraignment,
and these volumes will have been written in vain if a specification is
now required.

Homicide such as was hardly ever compassed before by one human being was
committed by Philip when in the famous edict of 1568 he sentenced every
man, woman, and child in the Netherlands to death. That the whole of this
population, three millions or more, were not positively destroyed was
because no human energy could suffice to execute the diabolical decree.
But Alva, toiling hard, accomplished much of this murderous work. By the
aid of the "Council of Blood," and of the sheriffs and executioners of
the Holy Inquisition, he was able sometimes to put eight hundred human
beings to death in a single week for the crimes of Protestantism or of
opulence, and at the end of half a dozen years he could boast of having
strangled, drowned, burned, or beheaded somewhat more than eighteen
thousand of his fellow-creatures. These were some of the non-combatant
victims; for of the tens of thousands who perished during his
administration alone, in siege and battle, no statistical record has been
preserved.

In face of such wholesale crimes, of these forty years of bloodshed, it
is superfluous to refer to such isolated misdeeds as his repeated
attempts to procure the assassination of the Prince of Orange, crowned at
last by the success of Balthazar Gerard, nor to his persistent efforts to
poison the Queen of England; for the enunciation of all these murders or
attempts at murder would require a repetition of the story which it has
been one of the main purposes of these volumes to recite.

For indeed it seems like mere railing to specify his crimes. Their very
magnitude and unbroken continuity, together with their impunity, give
them almost the appearance of inevitable phenomena. The horrible monotony
of his career stupefies the mind until it is ready to accept the
principle of evil as the fundamental law of the world.

His robberies, like his murders, were colossal. The vast, system of
confiscation set up in the Netherlands was sufficient to reduce
unnumbered innocent families to beggary, although powerless to break the
spirit of civil and religious liberty or to pay the expenses of
subjugating a people. Not often in the world's history have so many
thousand individual been plundered by a foreign tyrant for no crime, save
that they were rich enough to be worth robbing. For it can never be too
often repeated that those confiscations and extortions were perpetrated
upon Catholics as well as Protestants, monarchists as well as rebels; the
possession of property making proof of orthodoxy or of loyalty well-nigh
impossible.

Falsehood was the great basis of the king's character, which perhaps
derives its chief importance, as a political and psychological study,
from this very fact. It has been shown throughout the whole course of
this history, by the evidence of his most secret correspondence, that he
was false, most of all, to those to whom he gave what he called his
heart. Granvelle, Alva, Don John, Alexander Farnese, all those, in short,
who were deepest in his confidence experienced in succession his entire
perfidy, while each in turn was sacrificed to his master's sleepless
suspicion. The pope himself was often as much the dupe of the Catholic
monarch's faithlessness as the vilest heretic had ever been. Could the
great schoolmaster of iniquity for the sovereigns and politicians of the
south have lived to witness the practice of the monarch who had most laid
to heart the precepts of the "Prince," he would have felt that he had not
written in vain, and that his great paragon of successful falsehood,
Ferdinand of Arragon, had been surpassed by the great grandson. For the
ideal perfection of perfidy, foreshadowed by the philosopher who died in
the year of Philip's birth, was thoroughly embodied at last by this
potentate. Certainly Nicholas Macchiavelli could have hoped for no more
docile pupil. That all men are vile, that they are liars; scoundrels,
poltroons, and idiots alike--ever ready to deceive and yet easily to be
duped, and that he only is fit to be king who excels his kind in the arts
of deception; by this great maxim of the Florentine, Philip was ever
guided. And those well-known texts of hypocrisy, strewn by the same hand,
had surely not fallen on stony ground when received into Philip's royal
soul.

"Often it is necessary, in order to maintain power, to act contrary to
faith, contrary to charity, contrary to humanity, contrary to religion.
. . . A prince ought therefore to have great care that from his mouth
nothing should ever come that is not filled with those five qualities,
and that to see and hear him he should appear all piety, all faith, all
integrity, all humanity, all religion. And nothing is more necessary than
to seem to have this last-mentioned quality. Every one sees what you
seem, few perceive what you are."

Surely this hand-book of cant had been Philip's 'vade mecum' through his
life's pilgrimage.

It is at least a consolation to reflect that a career controlled by such
principles came to an ignominious close. Had the mental capacity of this
sovereign been equal to his criminal intent, even greater woe might have
befallen the world. But his intellect was less than mediocre. His passion
for the bureau, his slavery to routine, his puerile ambition personally
to superintend details which could have been a thousand times better
administered by subordinates, proclaimed every day the narrowness of his
mind. His diligence in reading, writing, and commenting upon despatches
may excite admiration only where there has been no opportunity of judging
of his labours by personal inspection. Those familiar with the dreary
displays of his penmanship must admit that such work could have been at
least as well done by a copying clerk of average capacity. His ministers
were men of respectable ability, but he imagined himself, as he advanced
in life, far superior to any counsellor that he could possibly select,
and was accustomed to consider himself the first statesman in the world.

His reign was a thorough and disgraceful failure. Its opening scene was
the treaty of Catean Cambresis, by which a triumph over France had been
achieved for him by the able generals and statesmen of his father, so
humiliating and complete as to make every French soldier or politician
gnash his teeth. Its conclusion was the treaty of Vervins with the same
power, by which the tables were completely turned, and which was as
utterly disgraceful to Spain as that of Cateau Cambresis had been to
France. He had spent his life in fighting with the spirit of the
age--that invincible power of which he had not the faintest
conception--while the utter want of adaptation of his means to his ends
often bordered, not on the ludicrous, but the insane.

He attempted to reduce the free Netherlands to slavery and to papacy.
Before his death they had expanded into an independent republic, with a
policy founded upon religious toleration and the rights of man. He had
endeavoured all his life to exclude the Bearnese from his heritage and to
place himself or his daughter on the vacant throne; before his death
Henry IV. was the most powerful and popular sovereign that had ever
reigned in France. He had sought to invade and to conquer England, and to
dethrone and assassinate its queen. But the queen outwitted,
outgeneralled, and outlived, him; English soldiers and sailors, assisted.
by their Dutch comrades in arms, accomplished on the shores of Spain what
the Invincible Armada had in vain essayed against England and Holland;
while England, following thenceforth the opposite system to that of
absolutism and the Inquisition, became, after centuries of struggles
towards the right, the most powerful, prosperous, and enlightened kingdom
in the world.

His exchequer, so full when he ascended the throne as to excite the awe
of contemporary financiers, was reduced before his death to a net income
of some four millions of dollars. His armies; which had been the wonder
of the age in the earlier period of his reign for discipline, courage,
and every quality on which military efficiency depends, were in his later
years a horde of starving, rebellious brigands, more formidable to their
commanders than to the foe. Mutiny was the only organised military
institution that was left in his dominions, while the Spanish
Inquisition, which it was the fell purpose of his life from youth upwards
to establish over the world, became a loathsome and impossible nuisance
everywhere but in its natal soil.

If there be such a thing as historical evidence, then is Philip II.,
convicted before the tribunal of impartial posterity of every crime
charged in his indictment. He lived seventy-one years and three months,
he reigned forty-three years. He endured the martyrdom of his last
illness with the heroism of a saint, and died in the certainty of
immortal bliss as the reward of his life of evil.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A despot really keeps no accounts, nor need to do so
     All Italy was in his hands
     Every one sees what you seem, few perceive what you are
     God of wrath who had decreed the extermination of all unbeliever
     Had industry been honoured instead of being despised
     History is but made up of a few scattered fragments
     Hugo Grotius
     Idle, listless, dice-playing, begging, filching vagabonds
     Ignorance is the real enslaver of mankind
     Innocent generation, to atone for the sins of their forefathers
     Intelligence, science, and industry were accounted degrading
     Labour was esteemed dishonourable
     Man had no rights at all He was property
     Matters little by what name a government is called
     Moral nature, undergoes less change than might be hoped
     Names history has often found it convenient to mark its epochs
     National character, not the work of a few individuals
     Proceeds of his permission to eat meat on Fridays
     Rarely able to command, having never learned to obey
     Rich enough to be worth robbing
     Seems but a change of masks, of costume, of phraseology
     Selling the privilege of eating eggs upon fast-days
     Sentiment of Christian self-complacency
     Spain was governed by an established terrorism
     That unholy trinity--Force; Dogma, and Ignorance
     The great ocean was but a Spanish lake
     The most thriving branch of national industry (Smuggler)
     The record of our race is essentially unwritten
     Thirty thousand masses should be said for his soul
     Those who argue against a foregone conclusion
     Three or four hundred petty sovereigns (of Germany)
     Utter want of adaptation of his means to his ends
     While one's friends urge moderation
     Whole revenue was pledged to pay the interest, on his debts



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 71, 1598-1599



CHAPTER XXXVI.

   Commercial prospects of Holland--Travels of John Huygen van
   Linschoten Their effect on the trade and prosperity of the
   Netherlands--Progress of nautical and geographical science--Maritime
   exploration--Fantastic notions respecting the polar regions--State
   of nautical science--First arctic expedition--Success of the
   voyagers--Failure of the second expedition--Third attempt to
   discover the north-east passage--Discovery of Spitzbergen--
   Scientific results of the voyage--Adventures in the frozen regions--
   Death of William Barendz--Return of the voyagers to Amsterdam--
   Southern expedition against the Spanish power--Disasters attendant
   upon it--Extent of Dutch discovery.

During a great portion of Philip's reign the Netherlanders, despite their
rebellion, had been permitted to trade with Spain. A spectacle had thus
been presented of a vigorous traffic between two mighty belligerents, who
derived from their intercourse with each other the means of more
thoroughly carrying on their mutual hostilities. The war fed their
commerce, and commerce fed their war. The great maritime discoveries at
the close of the fifteenth century had enured quite as much to the
benefit of the Flemings and Hollanders as to that of the Spaniards and
Portuguese, to whom they were originally due. Antwerp and subsequently
Amsterdam had thriven on the great revolution of the Indian trade which
Vasco de Gama's voyage around the Cape had effected. The nations of the
Baltic and of farthest Ind now exchanged their products on a more
extensive scale and with a wider sweep across the earth than when the
mistress of the Adriatic alone held the keys of Asiatic commerce. The
haughty but intelligent oligarchy of shopkeepers, which had grown so rich
and attained so eminent a political position from its magnificent
monopoly, already saw the sources of its grandeur drying up before its
eyes, now that the world's trade--for the first time in human
history--had become oceanic.

In Holland, long since denuded of forests, were great markets of timber,
whither shipbuilders and architects came from all parts of the world to
gather the utensils for their craft. There, too, where scarcely a pebble
had been deposited in the course of the geological transformations of our
planet, were great artificial quarries of granite, and marble, and
basalt. Wheat was almost as rare a product of the soil as cinnamon, yet
the granaries of Christendom, and the Oriental magazines of spices and
drugs, were found chiefly on that barren spot of earth. There was the
great international mart where the Osterling, the Turk, the Hindoo, the
Atlantic and the Mediterranean traders stored their wares and negotiated
their exchanges; while the curious and highly-prized products of
Netherland skill--broadcloths, tapestries, brocades, laces, substantial
fustians, magnificent damasks, finest linens--increased the mass of
visible wealth piled mountains high upon that extraordinary soil which
produced nothing and teemed with everything.

After the incorporation of Portugal with Spain however many obstacles
were thrown in the way of the trade from the Netherlands to Lisbon and
the Spanish ports. Loud and bitter were the railings uttered, as we know,
by the English sovereign and her statesmen against the nefarious traffic
which the Dutch republic persisted in carrying on with the common enemy.
But it is very certain that although the Spanish armadas would have found
it comparatively difficult to equip themselves without the tar and the
timber, the cordage, the stores, and the biscuits furnished by the
Hollanders, the rebellious commonwealth, if excluded from the world's
commerce, in which it had learned to play so controlling a part, must
have ceased to exist. For without foreign navigation the independent
republic was an inconceivable idea. Not only would it have been incapable
of continuing the struggle with the greatest monarch in the world, but it
might as well have buried itself once and for ever beneath the waves from
which it had scarcely emerged. Commerce and Holland were simply
synonymous terms. Its morsel of territory was but the wharf to which the
republic was occasionally moored; its home was in every ocean and over
all the world. Nowhere had there ever existed before so large a
proportion of population that was essentially maritime. They were born
sailors--men and women alike--and numerous were the children who had
never set foot on the shore. At the period now treated of the republic
had three times as many ships and sailors as any one nation in the world.
Compared with modern times, and especially with the gigantic commercial
strides of the two great Anglo-Saxon families, the statistics both of
population and of maritime commerce in that famous and most vigorous
epoch would seem sufficiently meagre. Yet there is no doubt that in the
relative estimate of forces then in activity it would be difficult to
exaggerate the naval power of the young commonwealth. When therefore,
towards the close of Philip II.'s reign, it became necessary to renounce
the carrying trade with Spain and Portugal, by which the communication
with India and China was effected, or else to submit to the confiscation
of Dutch ships in Spanish ports, and the confinement of Dutch sailors in
the dungeons of the Inquisition, a more serious dilemma was presented to
the statesmen of the Netherlands than they had ever been called upon to
solve.

For the splendid fiction of the Spanish lake was still a formidable fact.
Not only were the Portuguese and Spaniards almost the only direct traders
to the distant East, but even had no obstacles been interposed by
Government, the exclusive possession of information as to the course of
trade, the pre-eminent practical knowledge acquired by long experience of
that dangerous highway around the world at a time when oceanic navigation
was still in its infancy, would have given a monopoly of the traffic to
the descendants of the bold discoverers who first opened the great path
to the world's commerce.

The Hollanders as a nation had never been engaged in the direct trade
around the Cape of Good Hope. Fortunately however at this crisis in their
commercial destiny there was a single Hollander who had thoroughly
learned the lesson which it was so necessary that all his countrymen
should now be taught. Few men of that period deserve a more kindly and
more honourable remembrance by posterity for their contributions to
science and the progress of civilization than John Huygen van Linschoten,
son of a plain burgher of West Friesland. Having always felt a strong
impulse to study foreign history and distant nations and customs; he
resolved at the early age of seventeen "to absent himself from his
fatherland, and from the conversation of friends and relatives," in order
to gratify this inclination for self-improvement. After a residence of
two years in Lisbon he departed for India in the suite of the Archbishop
of Goa, and remained in the East for nearly thirteen years. Diligently
examining all the strange phenomena which came under his observation and
patiently recording the results of his researches day by day and year by
year, he amassed a fund of information which he modestly intended for the
entertainment of his friends when he should return to his native country.
It was his wish that "without stirring from their firesides or
counting-houses" they might participate with him in the gratification and
instruction to be derived from looking upon a world then so strange, and
for Europeans still so new. He described the manners and customs, the
laws, the religions, the social and political institutions, of the
ancient races who dwelt in either peninsula of India. He studied the
natural history, the botany, the geography of all the regions which he
visited. Especially the products which formed the material of a great
traffic; the system of culture, the means of transportation, and the
course of commerce, were examined by him with minuteness, accuracy, and
breadth of vision. He was neither a trader nor a sailor, but a man of
letters, a scientific and professional traveller. But it was obvious when
he returned, rich with the spoils of oriental study during thirteen years
of life, that the results of his researches were worthy of a wider
circulation than that which he had originally contemplated. His work was
given to the public in the year 1596, and was studied with avidity not
only by men of science but by merchants and seafarers. He also added to
the record of his Indian experiences a practical manual for navigators.
He described the course of the voyage from Lisbon to the East, the
currents, the trade-winds and monsoons, the harbours, the islands, the
shoals, the sunken rocks and dangerous quicksands, and he accompanied his
work with various maps and charts, both general and special, of land and
water, rarely delineated before his day, as well as by various
astronomical and mathematical calculations. Already a countryman of his
own, Wagenaar of Zeeland, had laid the mariners of the world under
special obligation by a manual which came into such universal use that
for centuries afterwards the sailors of England and of other countries
called their indispensable 'vade-mecum' a Wagenaar. But in that text-book
but little information was afforded to eastern voyagers, because, before
the enterprise of Linschoten, little was known of the Orient except to
the Portuguese and Spaniards, by whom nothing was communicated.

The work of Linschoten was a source of wealth, both from the scientific
treasures which it diffused among an active and intelligent people, and
the impulse which it gave to that direct trade between the Netherlands
and the East which had been so long deferred, and which now came to
relieve the commerce of the republic, and therefore the republic itself,
from the danger of positive annihilation.

It is not necessary for my purpose to describe in detail the series of
voyages by way of the Cape of Good Hope which, beginning with the
adventures of the brothers Houtmann at this period, and with the
circumnavigation of the world by Olivier van Noord, made the Dutch for a
long time the leading Christian nation in those golden regions, and which
carried the United Netherlands to the highest point of prosperity and
power. The Spanish monopoly of the Indian and the Pacific Ocean was
effectually disposed of, but the road was not a new road, nor did any
striking discoveries at this immediate epoch illustrate the enterprise of
Holland in the East. In the age just opening the homely names most dear
to the young republic were to be inscribed on capes, islands, and
promontories, seas, bays, and continents. There was soon to be a "Staten
Island" both in the frozen circles of the northern and of the southern
pole, as well as in that favoured region where now the mighty current of
a worldwide commerce flows through the gates of that great metropolis of
the western world, once called New Amsterdam. Those well-beloved words,
Orange and Nassau, Maurice and William, intermingled with the names of
many an ancient town and village, or with the simple patronymics of hardy
navigators or honoured statesmen, were to make the vernacular of the new
commonwealth a familiar sound in the remotest corners of the earth; while
a fifth continent, discovered by the enterprise of Hollanders, was soon
to be fitly baptized with the name of the fatherland. Posterity has been
neither just nor grateful, and those early names which Dutch genius and
enterprise wrote upon so many prominent points of the earth's surface,
then seen for the first time by European eyes, are no longer known.

The impulse given to the foreign trade of the Netherlands by the
publication of Linschoten's work was destined to be a lasting one.
Meantime this most indefatigable and enterprising voyager--one of those
men who had done nothing in his own estimation so long as aught remained
to do--was deeply pondering the possibility of a shorter road to the
opulent kingdoms of Cathay and of China than the one which the genius of
De Gama had opened to his sovereigns. Geography as a science was
manifesting the highest activity at that period, but was still in a
rudimentary state. To the Hollanders especially much of the progress
already made by it was owing. The maps of the world by Mercator of
Leyden, published on a large scale, together with many astronomical and
geographical charts, delineations of exploration, and other scientific
works, at the magnificent printing establishment of William Blaeuw, in
Amsterdam, the friend and pupil of Tycho Brahe, and the first in that
line of typographers who made the name famous, constituted an epoch in
cosmography. Another ardent student of geography lived in Amsterdam,
Peter Plancius by name, a Calvinist preacher, and one of the most zealous
and intolerant of his cloth. In an age and a country which had not yet
thoroughly learned the lesson taught by hundreds of thousands of murders
committed by an orthodox church, he was one of those who considered the
substitution of a new dogma and a new hierarchy, a new orthodoxy and a
new church, in place of the old ones, a satisfactory result for fifty,
years of perpetual bloodshed. Nether Torquemada nor Peter Titelmann could
have more thoroughly abhorred a Jew or a Calvinist than Peter Plancius
detested a Lutheran, or any other of the unclean tribe of remonstranta.
That the intolerance of himself and his comrades was confined to fiery
words, and was not manifested in the actual burning alive of the
heterodox, was a mark of the advance made by the mass of mankind in
despite of bigotry. It was at any rate a solace to those who believed in
human progress; even in matters of conscience, that no other
ecclesiastical establishment was ever likely to imitate the matchless
machinery for the extermination of heretical vermin which the Church of
Rome had found in the Spanish Inquisition. The blasts of denunciation
from the pulpit of Plancius have long since mingled with empty air and
been forgotten, but his services in the cause of nautical enterprise and
geographical science, which formed, as it were, a relaxation to what he
deemed the more serious pursuits of theology, will endear his name for
ever to the lovers of civilization.

Plancius and Dr. Francis Maalzoon--the enlightened pensionary of
Enkhuizen--had studied long and earnestly the history and aspects of the
oceanic trade, which had been unfolding itself then for a whole century,
but was still comparatively new, while Barneveld, ever ready to assist in
the advancement of science, and to foster that commerce which was the
life of the commonwealth, was most favourably disposed towards projects
of maritime exploration. For hitherto, although the Hollanders had been
among the hardiest and the foremost in the art of navigation they had
contributed but little to actual discovery. A Genoese had led the way to
America, while one Portuguese mariner had been the first to double the
southern cape of Africa, and another, at the opposite side of the world,
had opened what was then supposed the only passage through the vast
continent which, according to ideas then prevalent, extended from the
Southern Pole to Greenland, and from Java to Patagonia. But it was easier
to follow in the wake of Columbus, Gama, or Magellan, than to strike out
new pathways by the aid of scientific deduction and audacious enterprise.
At a not distant day many errors, disseminated by the boldest of
Portuguese navigators, were to be corrected by the splendid discoveries
of sailors sent forth by the Dutch republic, and a rich harvest in
consequence was to be reaped both by science and commerce. It is true,
too, that the Netherlanders claimed to have led the way to the great
voyages of Columbus by their discovery of the Azores. Joshua van den
Berg, a merchant of Bruges, it was vigorously maintained, had landed in
that archipelago in the year 1445. He had found there, however, no
vestiges of the human race, save that upon the principal island, in the
midst of the solitude, was seen--so ran the tale--a colossal statue of a
man on horseback, wrapped in a cloak, holding the reins of his steed in
his left hand, and solemnly extending his right arm to the west. This
gigantic and solitary apparition on a rock in the ocean was supposed to
indicate the existence of a new world, and the direction in which it was
to be sought, but it is probable that the shipwrecked Fleeting was quite
innocent of any such magnificent visions. The original designation of the
Flemish Islands, derived from their first colonization by Netherlanders,
was changed to Azores by Portuguese mariners, amazed at the myriads of
hawks which they found there. But if the Netherlanders had never been
able to make higher claims as discoverers than the accidental and dubious
landing upon an unknown shore of a tempest-tost mariner, their position
in the records of geographical exploration would not be so eminent as it
certainly is.

Meantime the eyes of Linschoten, Plancius, Maalzoon, Barneveld, and of
many other ardent philosophers and patriots, were turned anxiously
towards the regions of the North Pole. Two centuries later--and still
more recently in our own day and generation--what heart has not thrilled
with sympathy and with pride at the story of the magnificent exploits,
the heroism, the contempt of danger and of suffering which have
characterized the great navigators whose names are so familiar to the
world; especially the arctic explorers of England and of our own country?
The true chivalry of an advanced epoch--recognizing that there can be no
sublimer vocation for men of action than to extend the boundary of human
knowledge in the face of perils and obstacles more formidable and more
mysterious than those encountered by the knights of old in the cause of
the Lord's sepulchre or the holy grail--they have thus embodied in a form
which will ever awaken enthusiasm in imaginative natures, the noble
impulses of our latter civilization. To win the favour of that noblest of
mistresses, Science; to take authoritative possession, in her name, of
the whole domain of humanity; to open new pathways to commerce; to
elevate and enlarge the human intellect, and to multiply indefinitely the
sum of human enjoyments; to bring the inhabitants of the earth into
closer and more friendly communication, so that, after some yet
unimagined inventions and discoveries, and after the lapse of many years,
which in the sight of the Omnipotent are but as one day, the human race
may form one pacific family, instead of being broken up, as are the most
enlightened of peoples now, into warring tribes of internecine savages,
prating of the advancement of civilization while coveting each other's
possessions, intriguing against each other's interests, and thoroughly in
earnest when cutting each other's throats; this is truly to be the
pioneers of a possible civilization, compared to which our present
culture may seem but a poor barbarism. If the triumphs and joys of the
battle-field have been esteemed among the noblest themes for poet,
painter, or chronicler, alike in the mists of antiquity and in the full
glare of later days, surely a still more encouraging spectacle for those
who believe in the world's progress is the exhibition of almost infinite
valour, skill, and endurance in the cause of science and humanity.

It was believed by the Dutch cosmographers that some ten thousand miles
of voyaging might be saved, could the passage to what was then called the
kingdoms of Cathay be effected by way of the north. It must be remembered
that there were no maps of the unknown regions lying beyond the northern
headlands of Sweden. Delineations of continents, islands, straits,
rivers, and seas, over which every modern schoolboy pores, were not
attempted even by the hand of fancy. It was perhaps easier at the end of
the sixteenth century than it is now, to admit the possibility of a
practical path to China and India across the pole; for delusions as to
climate and geographical configuration then prevalent have long since
been dispelled. While, therefore, at least as much heroism was required
then as now to launch into those unknown seas, in hope to solve the dread
mystery of the North; there was even a firmer hope than can ever be
cherished again of deriving an immediate and tangible benefit from the
enterprise. Plancius and Maalzoon, the States-General and Prince Maurice,
were convinced that the true road to Cathay would be found by sailing
north-east. Linschoten, the man who knew India and the beaten paths to
India better than any other living Christian, was so firmly convinced of
the truth of this theory, that he volunteered to take the lead in the
first expedition. Many were the fantastic dreams in which even the wisest
thinkers of the age indulged as to the polar regions. Four straits or
channels, pierced by a magic hand, led, it was thought, from the interior
of Muscovy towards the arctic seas. According to some speculators,
however, those seas enclosed a polar continent where perpetual summer and
unbroken daylight reigned, and whose inhabitants, having obtained a high
degree of culture; lived in the practice of every virtue and in the
enjoyment of every blessing. Others peopled these mysterious regions with
horrible savages, having hoofs of horses and heads of dogs, and with no
clothing save their own long ears coiled closely around their limbs and
bodies; while it was deemed almost certain that a race of headless men,
with eyes in their breasts, were the most enlightened among those distant
tribes. Instead of constant sunshine, it was believed by such theorists
that the wretched inhabitants of that accursed zone were immersed in
almost incessant fogs or tempests, that the whole population died every
winter and were only recalled to temporary existence by the advent of a
tardy and evanescent spring. No doubt was felt that the voyager in those
latitudes would have to encounter volcanoes of fire and mountains of ice,
together with land and sea monsters more ferocious than the eye of man
had ever beheld; but it was universally admitted that an opening, either
by strait or sea, into the desired Indian haven would reveal itself at
last.

The instruments of navigation too were but rude and defective compared to
the beautiful machinery with which modern art and science now assist
their votaries along the dangerous path of discovery. The small yet
unwieldy, awkward, and, to the modern mind, most grotesque vessels in
which such audacious deeds were performed in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries awaken perpetual astonishment. A ship of a hundred
tons burden, built up like a tower, both at stem and stern, and
presenting in its broad bulbous prow, its width of beam in proportion to
its length, its depression amidships, and in other sins against symmetry,
as much opposition to progress over the waves as could well be imagined,
was the vehicle in which those indomitable Dutchmen circumnavigated the
globe and confronted the arctic terrors of either pole. An
astrolabe--such as Martin Beheim had invented for the Portuguese, a
clumsy astronomical ring of three feet in circumference--was still the
chief machine used for ascertaining the latitude, and on shipboard a most
defective one. There were no logarithms, no means of determining at sea
the variations of the magnetic needle, no system of dead reckoning by
throwing the log and chronicling the courses traversed. The firearms with
which the sailors were to do battle with the unknown enemies that might
beset their path were rude and clumsy to handle. The art of compressing
and condensing provisions was unknown. They had no tea nor coffee to
refresh the nervous system in its terrible trials; but there was one
deficiency which perhaps supplied the place of many positive luxuries.
Those Hollanders drank no ardent spirits. They had beer and wine in
reasonable quantities, but no mention is ever made in the journals of
their famous voyages of any more potent liquor; and to this circumstance
doubtless the absence of mutinous or disorderly demonstrations, under the
most trying circumstances, may in a great degree be attributed.

Thus, these navigators were but slenderly provided with the appliances
with which hazardous voyages have been smoothed by modern art; but they
had iron hearts, faith in themselves, in their commanders, in their
republic, and in the Omnipotent; perfect discipline and unbroken
cheerfulness amid toil, suffering, and danger. No chapter of history
utters a more beautiful homily an devotion to duty as the true guiding
principle of human conduct than the artless narratives which have been
preserved of many of these maritime enterprises. It is for these noble
lessons that they deserve to be kept in perpetual memory.

And in no individual of that day were those excellent qualities more
thoroughly embodied than in William Barendz, pilot and burgher of
Amsterdam. It was partly under his charge that the first little
expedition set forth on the 5th of June, 1594, towards those unknown
arctic seas, which no keel from Christendom had ever ploughed, and to
those fabulous regions where the foot of civilized men had never trod.
Maalzoon, Plancius, and Balthaser Moucheron, merchant of Middelburg, were
the chief directors of the enterprise; but there was a difference of
opinion between them.

The pensionary was firm in the faith that the true path to China would be
found by steering through the passage which was known to exist between
the land of Nova Zembla and the northern coasts of Muscovy, inhabited by
the savage tribes called Samoyedes. It was believed that, after passing
those straits, the shores of the great continent would be found to trend
in a south-easterly direction, and that along that coast it would
accordingly be easy to make the desired voyage to the eastern ports of
China. Plancius, on the contrary, indicated as the most promising passage
the outside course, between the northern coast of Nova Zembla and the
pole. Three ships and a fishing yacht were provided by the cities of
Enkhuizen, Amsterdam, and by the province of Zeeland respectively.
Linschoten was principal commissioner on board the Enkhuizen vessel,
having with him an experienced mariner, Brandt Ijsbrantz by name, as
skipper. Barendz, with the Amsterdam ship and the yacht, soon parted
company with the others, and steered, according to the counsels of
Plancius and his own convictions; for the open seas of the north. And in
that memorable summer, for the first time in the world's history, the
whole desolate region of Nova Zembla was visited, investigated, and
thoroughly mapped out. Barendz sailed as far as latitude 77 deg. and to
the extreme north-eastern point of the island. In a tremendous storm off
a cape, which he ironically christened Consolationhook (Troost-hoek), his
ship, drifting under bare poles amid ice and mist and tempest, was nearly
dashed to pieces; but he reached at last the cluster of barren islets
beyond the utmost verge of Nova Zembla, to which he hastened to affix the
cherished appellation of Orange. This, however, was the limit of his
voyage. His ship was ill-provisioned, and the weather had been severe
beyond expectation. He turned back on the 1st of August, resolving to
repeat his experiment early in the following year.

Meantime Linschoten, with the ships Swan and Mercury, had entered the
passage which they called the Straits of Nassau, but which are now known
to all the world as the Waigats. They were informed by the Samoyedes of
the coast that, after penetrating the narrow channel, they would find
themselves in a broad and open sea. Subsequent discoveries showed the
correctness of the statement, but it was not permitted to the adventurers
on this occasion to proceed so far. The strait was already filled with
ice-drift, and their vessels were brought to a standstill, after about a
hundred and fifty English miles of progress beyond the Waigats; for the
whole sea of Tartary, converted into a mass of ice-mountains and islands,
and lashed into violent agitation by a north easterly storm, seemed
driving down upon the doomed voyagers. It was obvious that the sunny
clime of Cathay was not thus to be reached, at least upon that occasion.
With difficulty they succeeded in extricating themselves from the dangers
surrounding them, and emerged at last from the Waigats.

On the 15th of August, in latitude 69 deg. 15', they met the ship of
Barendz and returned in company to Holland, reaching Amsterdam on the
16th of September. Barendz had found the seas and coasts visited by him
destitute of human inhabitants, but swarming with polar bears, with
seals, with a terrible kind of monsters, then seen for the first time, as
large as oxen, with almost human faces and with two long tusks protruding
from each grim and grotesque visage. These mighty beasts, subsequently
known as walrusses or sea-horses, were found sometimes in swarms of two
hundred at a time, basking in the arctic sun, and seemed equally at home
on land, in the sea, and on icebergs. When aware of the approach of their
human visitors, they would slide off an iceblock into the water, holding
their cubs in their arms, and ducking up and down in the sea as if in
sport. Then tossing the young ones away, they would rush upon the boats,
and endeavour to sink the strangers, whom they instinctively recognised
as their natural enemies. Many were the severe combats recorded by the
diarist of that voyage of Barendz with the walrusses and the bears.

The chief result of this first expedition was the geographical
investigation made, and, with unquestionable right; these earliest arctic
pilgrims bestowed the names of their choice upon the regions first
visited by themselves. According to the unfailing and universal impulse
on such occasions, the names dear to the fatherland were naturally
selected. The straits were called Nassau, the island at its mouth became
States or Staten Island; the northern coasts of Tartary received the
familiar appellations of New Holland, New Friesland, New Walcheren; while
the two rivers, beyond which Linschoten did not advance, were designated
Swan and Mercury respectively, after his two ships. Barendz, on his part,
had duly baptized every creek, bay, islet, and headland of Nova Zembla,
and assuredly Christian mariner had never taken the latitude of 77 deg.
before. Yet the antiquary, who compares the maps soon afterwards
published by William Blaeuw with the charts now in familiar use, will
observe with indignation the injustice with which the early geographical
records have been defaced, and the names rightfully bestowed upon those
terrible deserts by their earliest discoverers rudely torn away. The
islands of Orange can still be recognized, and this is almost the only
vestige left of the whole nomenclature. But where are Cape Nassau,
William's Island, Admiralty Island, Cape Plancius, Black-hook,
Cross-hook, Bear's-hook, Ice-hook, Consolation-hook, Cape Desire, the
Straits of Nassau, Maurice Island, Staten Island, Enkhuizen Island, and
many other similar appellations.

The sanguine Linschoten, on his return, gave so glowing an account of the
expedition that Prince Maurice and Olden-Barneveld, and prominent members
of the States-General, were infected with his enthusiasm. He considered
the north-east passage to China discovered and the problem solved. It
would only be necessary to fit out another expedition on a larger scale
the next year, provide it with a cargo of merchandize suitable for the
China market, and initiate the direct polar-oriental trade without
further delay. It seems amazing that so incomplete an attempt to overcome
such formidable obstacles should have been considered a decided success.
Yet there is no doubt of the genuineness of the conviction by which
Linschoten was actuated. The calmer Barendz, and his friend and comrade
Gerrit de Veer, were of opinion that the philosopher had made "rather a
free representation" of the enterprise of 1594 and of the prospects for
the future.

Nevertheless, the general Government, acting on Linschoten's suggestion,
furnished a fleet of seven ships: two from Enkhuizen, two from Zeeland,
two from Amsterdam; and a yacht which was to be despatched homeward with
the news, so soon as the expedition should have passed through the
straits of Nassau, forced its way through the frozen gulf of Tartary,
doubled Cape Tabin, and turned southward on its direct course to China.
The sublime credulity which accepted Linschoten's hasty solution of the
polar enigma as conclusive was fairly matched by the sedateness with
which the authorities made the preparations for the new voyage. So
deliberately were the broadcloths, linens, tapestries, and other assorted
articles for this first great speculation to Cathay, via the North Pole,
stowed on board the fleet, that nearly half the summer had passed before
anchor was weighed in the Meuse. The pompous expedition was thus
predestined to an almost ridiculous failure. Yet it was in the hands of
great men, both on shore and sea. Maurice, Barneveld, and Maalzoon had
personally interested themselves in the details of its outfitting,
Linschoten sailed as chief commissioner, the calm and intrepid Barendz
was upper pilot of the whole fleet, and a man who was afterwards destined
to achieve an immortal name in the naval history of his country, Jacob
Heemskerk, was supercargo of the Amsterdam ship. In obedience to the
plans of Linschoten and of Maalzoon, the passage by way of the Waigats
was of course attempted. A landing was effected on the coast of Tartary.
Whatever geographical information could be obtained from such a source
was imparted by the wandering Samoyedes. On the 2nd of September a party
went ashore on Staten Island and occupied themselves in gathering some
glistening pebbles which the journalist of the expedition describes with
much gravity as a "kind of diamonds, very plentiful upon the island."
While two of the men were thus especially engaged in a deep hollow, one
of them found himself suddenly twitched from behind. "What are you
pulling at me for, mate?" he said, impatiently to his comrade as he
supposed. But his companion was a large, long, lean white bear, and in
another instant the head of the unfortunate diamond-gatherer was off and
the bear was sucking his blood. The other man escaped to his friends, and
together a party of twenty charged upon the beast. Another of the
combatants was killed and half devoured by the hungry monster before a
fortunate bullet struck him in the head. But even then the bear
maintained his grip upon his two victims, and it was not until his brains
were fairly beaten out with the butt end of a snaphance by the boldest of
the party that they were enabled to secure the bodies of their comrades
and give them a hurried kind of Christian burial. They flayed the bear
and took away his hide with them, and this, together with an ample supply
of the diamonds of Staten Island, was the only merchandize obtained upon
the voyage for which such magnificent preparations had been made. For, by
the middle of September, it had become obviously hopeless to attempt the
passage of the frozen sea that season, and the expedition returned,
having accomplished nothing. It reached Amsterdam upon the 18th of
November, 1595.

The authorities, intensely disappointed at this almost ridiculous result,
refused to furnish direct assistance to any farther attempts at arctic
explorations. The States-General however offered a reward of twenty-five
thousand florins to any navigators who might succeed in discovering the
northern passage, with a proportionate sum to those whose efforts in that
direction might be deemed commendable, even if not crowned with success.

Stimulated by the spirit of adventure and the love of science far more
than by the hope of gaining a pecuniary prize, the undaunted Barendz, who
was firm in the faith that a pathway existed by the north of Nova Zembla
and across the pole to farthest Ind, determined to renew the attempt the
following summer. The city of Amsterdam accordingly, early in the year
1596, fitted out two ships. Select crews of entirely unmarried men
volunteered for the enterprise. John Cornelisz van der Ryp, an
experienced sea-captain, was placed in charge of one of the vessels,
William Barendz was upper pilot of the other, and Heemskerk, "the man who
ever steered his way through ice or iron," was skipper and supercargo.

The ships sailed from the Vlie on the 18th May. The opinions of Peter
Plancius prevailed in this expedition at last; the main object of both
Ryp and Barendz being to avoid the fatal, narrow, ice-clogged Waigats.
Although identical in this determination, their views as to the
configuration of the land and sea, and as to the proper course to be
steered, were conflicting. They however sailed in company mainly in a
N.E. by N. direction, although Barendz would have steered much more to
the east.

On the 5th June the watch on deck saw, as they supposed, immense flocks
of white swans swimming towards the ships, and covering the sea as far as
the eye could reach. All hands came up to look at the amazing spectacle,
but the more experienced soon perceived that the myriads of swans were
simply infinite fields of ice, through which however they were able to
steer their course without much impediment, getting into clear sea beyond
about midnight, at which hour the sun was one degree above the horizon.

Proceeding northwards two days more they were again surrounded by ice,
and, finding the "water green as grass, they believed themselves to be
near Greenland." On the 9th June they discovered an island in latitude,
according to their observation, 74 deg. 30', which seemed about five
miles long. In this neighbourhood they remained four days, having on one
occasion a "great fight which lasted four glasses" with a polar bear, and
making a desperate attempt to capture him in order to bring him as a show
to Holland. The effort not being successful, they were obliged to take
his life to save their own; but in what manner they intended, had they
secured him alive, to provide for such a passenger in the long voyage
across the North Pole to China, and thence back to Amsterdam, did not
appear. The attempt illustrated the calmness, however, of those hardy
navigators. They left the island on the 13th June, having baptised it
Bear Island in memory of their vanquished foe, a name which was
subsequently exchanged for the insipid appellation of Cherry Island, in
honour of a comfortable London merchant who seven years afterwards sent a
ship to those arctic regions.

Six days later they saw land again, took the sun, and found their
latitude 80 deg. 11'. Certainly no men had ever been within less than ten
degrees of the pole before. On the longest day of the year they landed on
this newly discovered country, which they at first fancied to be a part
of Greenland. They found its surface covered with eternal snow, broken
into mighty glaciers, jagged with precipitous ice-peaks; and to this land
of almost perpetual winter, where the mercury freezes during ten months
in the year, and where the sun remains four months beneath the horizon,
they subsequently gave the appropriate and vernacular name of
Spitzbergen. Combats with the sole denizens of these hideous abodes, the
polar bears, on the floating ice, on the water, or on land, were
constantly occurring, and were the only events to disturb the monotony of
that perpetual icy sunshine, where no night came to relieve the almost
maddening glare. They rowed up a wide inlet on the western coast, and
came upon great numbers of wild-geese sitting on their eggs. They proved
to be the same geese that were in the habit of visiting Holland in vast
flocks every summer, and it had never before been discovered where they
laid and hatched their eggs. "Therefore," says the diarist of the
expedition, "some voyagers have not scrupled to state that the eggs grow
on trees in Scotland, and that such of the fruits of those trees as fall
into the water become goslings, while those which drop on the ground
burst in pieces and come to nothing. We now see that quite the contrary
is the case," continues De Veer, with perfect seriousness, "nor is it to
be wondered at, for nobody has ever been until now where those birds lay
their eggs. No man, so far as known, ever reached the latitude of eighty
degrees before. This land was hitherto unknown."

The scientific results of this ever-memorable voyage might be deemed
sufficiently meagre were the fact that the eggs of wild geese did not
grow on trees its only recorded discovery. But the investigations made
into the dread mysteries of the north, and the actual problems solved,
were many, while the simplicity of the narrator marks the infantine
character of the epoch in regard to natural history. When so illustrious
a mind as Grotius was inclined to believe in a race of arctic men whose
heads grew beneath their shoulders; the ingenuous mariner of Amsterdam
may be forgiven for his earnestness in combating the popular theory
concerning goslings.

On the 23rd June they went ashore again, and occupied themselves, as well
as the constant attacks of the bears would permit, in observing the
variation of the needle, which they ascertained to be sixteen degrees. On
the same day, the ice closing around in almost infinite masses, they made
haste to extricate themselves from the land and bore southwards again,
making Bear Island once more on the 1st July. Here Cornelius Ryp parted
company with Heemskerk and Barendz, having announced his intention to
sail northward again beyond latitude 80 deg. in search of the coveted
passage. Barendz, retaining his opinion that the true inlet to the
circumpolar sea, if it existed, would be found N.E. of Nova Zembla,
steered in that direction. On the 13th July they found themselves by
observation in latitude 73 deg., and considered themselves in the
neighbourhood of Sir Hugh Willoughby's land. Four days later they were in
Lomms' Bay, a harbour of Nova Zembla, so called by them from the
multitude of lomms frequenting it, a bird to which they gave the
whimsical name of arctic parrots. On the 20th July the ice obstructed
their voyage; covering the sea in all directions with floating mountains
and valleys, so that they came to an anchor off an islet where on a
former voyage the Hollanders had erected the precious emblem of Christian
faith, and baptised the dreary solitude Cross Island. But these pilgrims,
as they now approached the spot, found no worshippers there, while, as if
in horrible mockery of their piety, two enormous white bears had reared
themselves in an erect posture, in order the better to survey their
visitors, directly at the foot of the cross. The party which had just
landed were unarmed, and were for making off as fast as possible to their
boats. But Skipper Heemskerk, feeling that this would be death to all of
them, said simply, "The first man that runs shall have this boat-hook of
mine in his hide. Let us remain together and face them off." It was done.
The party moved slowly towards their boats, Heemskerlk bringing up the
rear, and fairly staring the polar monsters out of countenance, who
remained grimly regarding them, and ramping about the cross.

The sailors got into their boat with much deliberation, and escaped to
the ship, "glad enough," said De Veer, "that they were alive to tell the
story, and that they had got out of the cat-dance so fortunately."

Next day they took the sun, and found their latitude 76 deg. 15', and the
variation of the needle twenty-six degrees.

For seventeen days more they were tossing about in mist and raging
snow-storms, and amidst tremendous icebergs, some of them rising in
steeples and pinnacles to a hundred feet above the sea, some grounded and
stationary, others drifting fearfully around in all directions,
threatening to crush them at any moment or close in about them and
imprison them for ever. They made fast by their bower anchor on the
evening of 7th August to a vast iceberg which was aground, but just as
they had eaten their supper there was a horrible groaning, bursting, and
shrieking all around them, an indefinite succession of awful, sounds
which made their hair stand on end, and then the iceberg split beneath
the water into more than four hundred pieces with a crash "such as no
words could describe." They escaped any serious damage, and made their
way to a vast steepled and towered block like a floating cathedral, where
they again came to anchor.

On the 15th August they reached the isles of Orange, on the extreme
north-eastern verge of Nova Zembla. Here a party going ashore climbed to
the top of a rising ground, and to their infinite delight beheld an open
sea entirely free from ice, stretching to the S. E. and E.S.E. as far as
eye could reach. At last the game was won, the passage to Cathay was
discovered. Full of joy, they pulled back in their boat to the ship, "not
knowing how to get there quick enough to tell William Barendz." Alas!
they were not aware of the action of that mighty ocean river, the
Gulf-stream, which was sweeping around those regions with its warm
dissolving current.

Three days later they returned baffled in their sanguine efforts to sail
through the open sea. The ice had returned upon them, setting southwardly
in obedience to the same impulse which for a moment had driven it away,
and they found themselves imprisoned again near the "Hook of Desire."

On the 25th August they had given up all the high hopes by which they had
been so lately inspired, and, as the stream was again driving the ice
from the land, they trusted to sail southward and westward back towards
the Waigats. Having passed by Nova Zembla, and found no opening into the
seas beyond, they were disposed in the rapidly waning summer to effect
their retreat by the south side of the island, and so through the Straits
of Nassau home. In vain. The catastrophe was upon them. As they struggled
slowly past the "Ice-haven," the floating mountains and glaciers,
impelled by the mighty current, once more gathered around and forced them
back to that horrible harbour. During the remaining days of August the
ship struggled, almost like a living creature, with the perils that,
beset her; now rearing in the air, her bows propped upon mighty blocks,
till she absolutely sat erect upon her stern, now lying prostrate on her
side, and anon righting again as the ice-masses would for a moment float
away and leave her breathing space and room to move in. A blinding
snow-storm was raging the while, the ice was cracking and groaning in all
directions, and the ship was shrieking, so that the medley of awful
sights and sounds was beyond the power of language. "'Twas enough to make
the hair stand on end," said Gerrit de Veer, "to witness the hideous
spectacle."

But the agony was soon over. By the 1st September the ship was hard and
fast. The ice was as immoveable as the dry land, and she would not move
again that year even if she ever floated. Those pilgrims from the little
republic were to spend the winter in their arctic harbour. Resigning
themselves without a murmur to their inevitable fate, they set about
their arrangements with perfect good humour and discipline. Most
fortunately a great quantity of drift wood, masses of timber, and great
trees torn away with their roots from distant shores, lay strewn along
the coast, swept thither by the wandering currents. At once they resolved
to build a house in which they might shelter themselves from the wild
beasts, and from their still more cruel enemy, the cold. So thanking God
for the providential and unexpected supply of building material and fuel,
they lost no time in making sheds, in hauling timber, and in dragging
supplies from the ship before the dayless winter should descend upon
them.

Six weeks of steady cheerful labour succeeded. Tremendous snow-storms,
accompanied by hurricanes of wind, often filled the atmosphere to
suffocation, so that no human being could move a ship's length without
perishing; while, did any of their number venture forth, as the tempest
subsided, it was often to find himself almost in the arms of a polar bear
before the dangerous snow-white form could be distinguished moving
sluggishly through the white chaos.

For those hungry companions never left them so long as the sun remained
above the horizon, swarming like insects and birds in tropical lands.
When the sailors put their meat-tubs for a moment out upon the ice a
bear's intrusive muzzle would forthwith be inserted to inspect the
contents. Maddened by hunger, and their keen scent excited by the salted
provisions, and by the living flesh and blood of these intruders upon
their ancient solitary domains, they would often attempt to effect their
entrance into the ship.

On one such occasion, when Heemskerk and two companions were the whole
garrison, the rest being at a distance sledding wood, the future hero of
Gibraltar was near furnishing a meal to his Nova Zembla enemies. It was
only by tossing sticks and stones and marling-spikes across the ice,
which the bears would instantly turn and pursue, like dogs at play with
children, that the assault could be diverted until a fortunate shot was
made.

Several were thus killed in the course of the winter, and one in
particular was disembowelled and set frozen upon his legs near their
house, where he remained month after month with a mass of snow and ice
accumulated upon him, until he had grown into a fantastic and gigantic
apparition, still wearing the semblance of their mortal foe.

By the beginning of October the weather became so intensely cold that it
was almost impossible to work. The carpenter died before the house was
half completed. To dig a grave was impossible, but they laid him in a
cleft of the ice, and he was soon covered with the snow. Meantime the
sixteen that were left went on as they best might with their task, and on
October 2nd they had a house-raising. The frame-work was set up, and in
order to comply with the national usage in such cases, they planted,
instead of the May-pole with its fluttering streamers, a gigantic icicle
before their new residence. Ten days later they moved into the house and
slept there for the first time, while a bear, profiting by their absence,
passed the night in the deserted ship.

On the 4th November the sun rose no more, but the moon at first shone day
and night, until they were once in great perplexity to know whether it
were midday or midnight. It proved to be exactly noon. The bears
disappeared with the sun, but white foxes swarmed in their stead, and all
day and night were heard scrambling over their roof. These were caught
daily in traps and furnished them food, besides furs for raiment. The
cold became appalling, and they looked in each other's faces sometimes in
speechless amazement. It was obvious that the extreme limit of human
endurance had been reached. Their clothes were frozen stiff. Their shoes
were like iron, so that they were obliged to array themselves from head
to foot in the skins of the wild foxes. The clocks stopped. The beer
became solid. The Spanish wine froze and had to be melted in saucepans.
The smoke in the house blinded them. Fire did not warm them, and their
garments were often in a blaze while their bodies were half frozen. All
through the month of December an almost perpetual snow-deluge fell from
the clouds. For days together they were unable to emerge, and it was then
only by most vigorous labour that they could succeed in digging a passage
out of their buried house. On the night of the 7th December sudden death
had nearly put an end to the sufferings of the whole party. Having
brought a quantity of seacoal from the ship, they had made a great fire,
and after the smoke was exhausted, they had stopped up the chimney and
every crevice of the house. Each man then turned into his bunk for the
night, "all rejoicing much in the warmth and prattling a long time with
each other." At last an unaccustomed giddiness and faintness came over
them, of which they could not guess the cause, but fortunately one of the
party had the instinct, before he lost consciousness, to open the
chimney, while another forced open the door and fell in a swoon upon the
snow. Their dread enemy thus came to their relief, and saved their lives.

As the year drew to a close, the frost and the perpetual snow-tempest
became, if that were possible, still more frightful. Their Christmas was
not a merry one, and for the first few days of the new year, it was
impossible for them to move from the house. On the 25th January, the
snow-storms having somewhat abated, they once more dug themselves as it
were out of their living grave, and spent the whole day in hauling wood
from the shore. As their hour-glasses informed them that night was
approaching, they bethought themselves that it was Twelfth Night, or
Three Kings' Eve. So they all respectfully proposed to Skipper Heemskerk,
that, in the midst of their sorrow they might for once have a little
diversion. A twelfth-night feast was forthwith ordained. A scanty portion
of the wine yet remaining to them was produced. Two pounds weight of
flour, which they had brought to make paste with for cartridges, was
baked into pancakes with a little oil, and a single hard biscuit was
served out to each man to be sopped in his meagre allowance of wine. "We
were as happy," said Gerrit de veer, with simple pathos, "as if we were
having a splendid banquet at home. We imagined ourselves in the
fatherland with all our friends, so much did we enjoy our repast."

That nothing might be omitted, lots were drawn for king, and the choice
fell on the gunner, who was forthwith proclaimed monarch of Nova Zembla.
Certainly no men, could have exhibited more undaunted cheerfulness amid
bears and foxes, icebergs and cold--such as Christians had never
conceived of before--than did these early arctic pilgrims. Nor did
Barendz neglect any opportunity of studying the heavens. A meridian was
drawn near the house, on which the compass was placed, and observations
of various stars were constantly made, despite the cold, with
extraordinary minuteness. The latitude, from concurrent measurement of
the Giant, the Bull, Orion, Aldebaran, and other constellations--in the
absence of the sun--was ascertained to be a little above seventy-six
degrees, and the variations of the needle were accurately noted.

On the 24th January it was clear weather and comparatively mild, so that
Heemskerk, with De Veer and another, walked to the strand. To their
infinite delight and surprise they again saw the disk of the sun on the
edge of the horizon, and they all hastened back with the glad tidings.
But Barendz shook his head. Many days must elapse, he said, before the
declination of the sun should be once more 14 deg., at which point in the
latitude of 76 deg. they had lost sight of the luminary on the 4th
November, and at which only it could again be visible. This, according to
his calculations, would be on the 10th February. Two days of mirky and
stormy atmosphere succeeded, and those who had wagered in support of the
opinion of Barendz were inclined to triumph over those who believed in
the observation of Heemskerk. On the 27th January there was, however, no
mistake. The sky was bright, and the whole disk of the sun was most
distinctly seen by all, although none were able to explain the
phenomenon, and Barendz least of all. They had kept accurate diaries ever
since their imprisonment, and although the clocks sometimes had stopped,
the hour-glasses had regularly noted the lapse of time. Moreover, Barendz
knew from the Ephemerides for 1589 to 1600, published by Dr. Joseph Scala
in Venice, a copy of which work he had brought with him, that on the 24th
January, 1597, the moon would be seen at one o'clock A.M. at Venice, in
conjunction with Jupiter. He accordingly took as good an observation as
could be done with the naked eye and found that conjunction at six
o'clock A.M. Of the same day, the two bodies appearing in the same
vertical line in the sign of Taurus. The date was thus satisfactorily
established, and a calculation of the longitude of the house was deduced
with an accuracy which in those circumstances was certainly commendable.
Nevertheless, as the facts and the theory of refraction were not
thoroughly understood, nor Tycho Brahe's tables of refraction generally
known, pilot Barendz could not be expected to be wiser than his
generation.

The startling discovery that in the latitude of 76 deg. the sun
reappeared on the 24th January, instead of the 10th February, was
destined to awaken commotion throughout the whole scientific world, and
has perhaps hardly yet been completely explained.

But the daylight brought no mitigation of their sufferings. The merciless
cold continued without abatement, and the sun seemed to mock their
misery. The foxes disappeared, and the ice-bears in their stead swarmed
around the house, and clambered at night over the roof. Again they
constantly fought with them for their lives. Daily the grave question was
renewed whether the men should feed on the bears or the bears on the men.
On one occasion their dead enemy proved more dangerous to them than in
life, for three of their number, who had fed on bear's liver, were nearly
poisoned to death. Had they perished, none of the whole party would have
ever left Nova Zembla. "It seemed," said the diarist, "that the beasts
had smelt out that we meant to go away, and had just begin to have a
taste for us."

And thus the days wore on. The hour-glass and the almanac told them that
winter had given place to spring, but nature still lay in cold
obstruction. One of their number, who had long been ill, died. They
hollowed a grave for him in the frozen snow, performing a rude burial
service, and singing a psalm; but the cold had nearly made them all
corpses before the ceremony was done.

At last, on the 17th April, some of them climbing over the icebergs to
the shore found much open sea. They also saw a small bird diving in the
water, and looked upon it as a halcyon and harbinger of better fortunes.
The open weather continuing, they began to hanker for the fatherland. So
they brought the matter, "not mutinously but modestly and reasonably,
before William Barendz; that he might suggest it to Heemskerk, for they
were all willing to submit to his better judgment." It was determined to
wait through the month of May. Should they then be obliged to abandon the
ship they were to make the voyage in the two open boats, which had been
carefully stowed away beneath the snow. It was soon obvious that the ship
was hard and fast, and that she would never float again, except perhaps
as a portion of the icebergs in which she had so long been imbedded, when
they should be swept off from the shore.

As they now set to work repairing and making ready the frail skiffs which
were now their only hope, and supplying them with provisions and even
with merchandize from the ship, the ravages made by the terrible winter
upon the strength of the men became painfully apparent. But Heemskerk
encouraged them to persevere; "for," said he, "if the boats are not got
soon under way we must be content to make our graves here as burghers of
Nova Zembla."

On the 14th June they launched the boats, and "trusting themselves to
God," embarked once more upon the arctic sea. Barendz, who was too ill to
walk, together with Claas Anderson, also sick unto death, were dragged to
the strand in sleds, and tenderly placed on board.

Barendz had, however, despite his illness, drawn up a triple record of
their voyage; one copy being fastened to the chimney of their deserted
house, and one being placed in each of the boats. Their voyage was full
of danger as they slowly retraced their way along the track by which they
reached the memorable Ice Haven, once more doubling the Cape of Desire
and heading for the Point of Consolation--landmarks on their desolate
progress, whose nomenclature suggests the immortal apologue so familiar
to Anglo-Saxon ears.

Off the Ice-hook, both boats came alongside each other, and Skipper
Heemskerk called out to William Barendz to ask how it was with him.

"All right, mate," replied Barendz, cheerfully; "I hope to be on my legs
again before we reach the Ward-huis." Then' he begged De Veer to lift him
up, that he might look upon the Ice-hook once more. The icebergs crowded
around them, drifting this way and that, impelled by mighty currents and
tossing on an agitated sea. There was "a hideous groaning and bursting
and driving of the ice, and it seemed every moment as if the boats were
to be dashed into a hundred pieces." It was plain that their voyage would
now be finished for ever, were it not possible for some one of their
number to get upon the solid ice beyond and make fast a line. "But who is
to bell the cat?" said Gerrit de Veer, who soon, however, volunteered
himself, being the lightest of all. Leaping from one floating block to
another at the imminent risk of being swept off into space, he at last
reached a stationary island, and fastened his rope. Thus they warped
themselves once more into the open sea.

On the 20th June William Barendz lay in the boat studying carefully the
charts which they had made of the land and ocean discovered in their
voyage. Tossing about in an open skiff upon a polar sea, too weak to sit
upright, reduced by the unexampled sufferings of that horrible winter
almost to a shadow, he still preserved his cheerfulness, and maintained
that he would yet, with God's help, perform his destined task. In his
next attempt he would steer north-east from the North Cape, he said, and
so discover the passage.

While he was "thus prattling," the boatswain of the other boat came on
board, and said that Claas Anderson would hold out but little longer.

"Then," said William Barendz, "methinks I too shall last but a little
while. Gerrit, give me to drink." When he had drunk, he turned his eyes
on De Veer and suddenly breathed his last.

Great was the dismay of his companions, for they had been deceived by the
dauntless energy of the man, thus holding tenaciously to his great
purpose, unbaffled by danger and disappointment, even to the last instant
of life. He was their chief pilot and guide, "in whom next to God they
trusted."

And thus the hero, who for vivid intelligence, courage, and perseverance
amid every obstacle, is fit to be classed among the noblest of maritime
adventurers, had ended his career. Nor was it unmeet that the man who had
led those three great although unsuccessful enterprises towards the North
Pole, should be laid at last to rest--like the soldier dying in a lost
battle--upon the field of his glorious labours.

Nearly six weeks longer they struggled amid tempestuous seas. Hugging the
shore, ever in danger of being dashed to atoms by the ice, pursued by
their never-failing enemies the bears, and often sailing through enormous
herds of walrusses, which at times gave chase to the boats, they at last
reached the Schanshoek on the 28th July.

Here they met with some Russian fishermen, who recognised Heemskerk and
De Veer, having seen them on their previous voyage. Most refreshing it
was to see other human faces again, after thirteen months' separation
from mankind, while the honest Muscovites expressed compassion for the
forlorn and emaciated condition of their former acquaintance. Furnished
by them with food and wine, the Hollanders sailed in company with the
Russians as far as the Waigats.

On the 18th August they made Candenoes, at the mouth of the White Sea,
and doubling that cape stood boldly across the gulf for Kildin. Landing
on the coast they were informed by the Laps that there were vessels from
Holland at Kola.

On the 25th August one of the party, guided by a Lap, set forth on foot
for that place. Four days later the guide was seen returning without
their comrade; but their natural suspicion was at once disarmed as the
good-humoured savage straightway produced a letter which he handed to
Heemakerk.

Breaking the seal, the skipper found that his correspondent expressed
great surprise at the arrival of the voyagers, as he he had supposed them
all to be long since dead. Therefore he was the more delighted with their
coming, and promised to be with them soon, bringing with him plenty of
food and drink.

The letter was signed--
               "By me, JAN CORNELISZ RYP."

The occurrence was certainly dramatic, but, as one might think,
sufficiently void of mystery. Yet, astonishing to relate, they all fell
to pondering who this John Ryp might be who seemed so friendly and
sympathetic. It was shrewdly suggested by some that it might perhaps be
the sea-captain who had parted company with them off Bear Island fourteen
months before in order to sail north by way of Spitzbergen. As his
Christian name and surname were signed in full to the letter, the
conception did not seem entirely unnatural, yet it was rejected on the
ground that they had far more reasons to believe that he had perished
than he for accepting their deaths as certain. One might imagine it to
have been an every day occurrence for Hollanders to receive letters by a
Lapland penny postman in those, desolate regions. At last Heemskerk
bethought himself that among his papers were several letters from their
old comrade, and, on comparison, the handwriting was found the same as
that of the epistle just received. This deliberate avoidance of any hasty
jumping at conclusions certainly inspires confidence in the general right
accuracy of the adventurers, and we have the better right to believe that
on the 24th January the sun's disk was really seen by them in the ice
harbour--a fact long disputed by the learned world--when the careful
weighing of evidence on the less important matter of Ryp's letter is
taken into account.

Meantime while they were slowly admitting the identity of their friend
and correspondent, honest John Cornelius Ryp himself arrived--no
fantastic fly-away Hollander, but in full flesh and blood, laden with
provisions, and greeting them heartily.

He had not pursued his Spitzbergen researches of the previous year, but
he was now on a trading voyage in a stout vessel, and he conveyed them
all by way of the Ward-huis, where he took in a cargo, back to the
fatherland.

They dropped anchor in the Meuse on the 29th October, and on the 1st
November arrived at Amsterdam. Here, attired in their robes and caps of
white fox-skin which they had worn while citizens of Nova Zembla, they
were straightway brought before the magistrates to give an account of
their adventures.

They had been absent seventeen months, they had spent a whole autumn,
winter, and spring--nearly ten months--under the latitude of 76 deg. in a
frozen desert, where no human beings had ever dwelt before, and they had
penetrated beyond 80 deg. north--a farther stride towards the pole than
had ever been hazarded. They had made accurate geographical,
astronomical, and meteorological observations of the regions visited.
They had carefully measured latitudes and longitudes and noted the
variations of the magnet. They had thoroughly mapped out, described, and
designated every cape, island, hook, and inlet of those undiscovered
countries, and more than all, they had given a living example of courage,
endurance, patience under hardship, perfect discipline, fidelity, to
duty, and trust in God, sufficient to inspire noble natures with
emulation so long as history can read moral lessons to mankind.

No farther attempt was made to discover the north-eastern passage. The
enthusiasm of Barendz had died with him, and it may be said that the
stern negation by which this supreme attempt to solve the mystery of the
pole was met was its best practical result. Certainly all visions of a
circumpolar sea blessed with a gentle atmosphere and eternal
tranquillity, and offering a smooth and easy passage for the world's
commerce between Europe and Asia, had been for ever dispelled.

The memorable enterprise of Barendz and Heemskerk has been thought worthy
of a minute description because it was a voyage of discovery, and
because, however barren of immediate practical results it may, seem to
superficial eyes, it forms a great landmark in the history of human
progress and the advancement of science.

Contemporaneously with these voyages towards the North Pole, the
enlightened magistrates of the Netherland municipalities, aided by
eminent private citizens, fitted out expeditions in the opposite
direction. It was determined to measure strength with the lord of the
land and seas, the great potentate against whom these republicans had
been so long in rebellion, in every known region of the globe. Both from
the newly discovered western world, and from the ancient abodes of
oriental civilization, Spanish monopoly had long been furnishing the
treasure to support Spanish tyranny, and it was the dearest object of
Netherland ambition to confront their enemy in both those regions, and to
clip both those overshadowing wings of his commerce at once.

The intelligence, enthusiasm, and tenacity in wrestling against immense
obstacles manifested by the young republic at this great expanding era of
the world's history can hardly be exaggerated. It was fitting that the
little commonwealth, which was foremost among the nations in its hatred
of tyranny, its love of maritime adventure, and its aptitude for foreign
trade, should take the lead in the great commercial movements which
characterized the close of the sixteenth and the commencement of the
seventeenth centuries.

While Barendz and Heemskerk were attempting to force the frozen gates
which were then supposed to guard the northern highway of commerce,
fleets were fitting out in Holland to storm the Southern Pole, or at
least to take advantage of the pathways already opened by the genius and
enterprise of the earlier navigators of the century. Linschoten had
taught his countrymen the value of the technical details of the Indian
trade as then understood. The voyages of the brothers Houtmann,
1595-1600, the first Dutch expeditions to reach the East by doubling the
Cape of Good Hope, were undertaken according to his precepts, and
directed by the practical knowledge obtained by the Houtmanns during a
residence in Portugal, but were not signalized by important discoveries.
They are chiefly memorable as having laid the foundation of the vast
trade out of which the republic was to derive so much material power,
while at the same time they mark the slight beginnings of that mighty
monopoly, the Dutch East India Company, which was to teach such
tremendous lessons in commercial restriction to a still more colossal
English corporation, that mercantile tyrant only in our own days
overthrown.

At the same time and at the other side of the world seven ships, fitted
out from Holland by private enterprise, were forcing their way to the
South Sea through the terrible strait between Patagonia and Fire Land;
then supposed the only path around the globe. For the tortuous mountain
channel, filled with whirlpools and reefs, and the home of perpetual
tempest, which had been discovered in the early part of the century by
Magellan, was deemed the sole opening pierced by nature through the
mighty southern circumpolar continent. A few years later a daring
Hollander was to demonstrate the futility of this theory, and to give his
own name to a broader pathway, while the stormy headland of South
America, around which the great current of universal commerce was
thenceforth to sweep, was baptized by the name of the tranquil town in
West Friesland where most of his ship's company were born.

Meantime the seven ships under command of Jacob Mahu, Simon de Cordes,
and Sebald de Weerdt; were contending with the dangers of the older
route. The expedition sailed from Holland in June, 1598, but already the
custom was forming itself of directing those navigators of almost unknown
seas by explicit instructions from those who remained on shore, and who
had never navigated the ocean at all. The consequence on this occasion
was that the voyagers towards the Straits of Magellan spent a whole
summer on the coast of Africa, amid pestiferous heats and distracting
calms, and reached the straits only in April of the following year.
Admiral Mahu and a large proportion of the crew had meantime perished of
fevers contracted by following the course marked out for them by their
employers, and thus diminished in numbers, half-stripped of provisions,
and enfeebled by the exhausting atmosphere of the tropics, the survivors
were ill prepared to confront the antarctic ordeal which they were
approaching. Five months longer the fleet, under command of Admiral de
Cordes, who had succeeded to the command, struggled in those straits,
where, as if in the home of Eolus, all the winds of heaven seemed holding
revel; but indifference to danger, discipline, and devotion to duty
marked the conduct of the adventurers, even as those qualities had just
been distinguishing their countrymen at the other pole. They gathered no
gold, they conquered no kingdoms, they made few discoveries, they
destroyed no fleets, yet they were the first pioneers on a path on which
thereafter were to be many such achievements by the republic.

At least one heroic incident, which marked their departure from the
straits, deserves to be held in perpetual remembrance. Admiral de Cordes
raised on the shore, at the western mouth of the channel, a rude memorial
with an inscription that the Netherlanders were the first to effect this
dangerous passage with a fleet of heavy ships. On the following day, in
commemoration of the event, he founded an order of knighthood. The chief
officers of the squadron were the knights-commanders, and the most
deserving of the crew were the knights-brethren. The members of the
fraternity made solemn oath to De Cordes, as general, and to each other,
that "by no danger, no necessity, nor by the fear of death, would they
ever be moved to undertake anything prejudicial to their honour, to, the
welfare of the fatherland, or to the success of the enterprise in which
they were engaged; pledging themselves to stake their lives in order,
consistently with honour, to inflict every possible damage on the
hereditary enemy, and to plant the banner of Holland in all those
territories whence the King of Spain gathered the treasures with which he
had carried on this perpetual war against the Netherlands."

Thus was instituted on the desolate shores of Fire Land the order of
Knights of the Unchained Lion, with such rude solemnities as were
possible in those solitudes. The harbour where the fleet was anchored was
called the Chevaliers' Bay, but it would be in vain to look on modern
maps for that heroic appellation. Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego know the
honest knights of the Unchained Lion no more; yet to an unsophisticated
mind no stately brotherhood of sovereigns and patricians seems more
thoroughly inspired with the spirit of Christian chivalry than were those
weather-beaten adventurers. The reefs and whirlwinds of unknown seas,
polar cold, Patagonian giants, Spanish cruisers, a thousand real or
fabulous dangers environed them. Their provisions were already running
near exhaustion; and they were feeding on raw seal-flesh, on snails and
mussels, and on whatever the barren rocks and niggard seas would supply,
to save them from absolutely perishing, but they held their resolve to
maintain their honour unsullied, to be true to each other and to the
republic, and to circumnavigate the globe to seek the proud enemy of
their fatherland on every sea, and to do battle with him in every corner
of the earth. The world had already seen, and was still to see, how nobly
Netherlanders could keep their own. Meantime disaster on disaster
descended on this unfortunate expedition. One ship after another melted
away and was seen no more. Of all the seven, only one, that of Sebald de
Weerdt, ever returned to the shores of Holland. Another reached Japan,
and although the crew fell into hostile hands, the great trade with that
Oriental empire was begun. In a third--the Blyde Boodachaft, or Good
News--Dirk Gerrits sailed nearer the South Pole than man had ever been
before, and discovered, as he believed, a portion of the southern
continent, which he called, with reason good, Gerrit's Land. The name in
course of time faded from maps and charts, the existence of the country
was disputed, until more than two centuries later the accuracy of the
Dutch commander was recognised. The rediscovered land however no longer
bears his name, but has been baptized South Shetland.

Thus before the sixteenth century had closed, the navigators of Holland
had reached almost the extreme verge of human discovery at either pole.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

   Military Operations in the Netherlands--Designs of the Spanish
   Commander--Siege of Orsoy--Advance upon Rheinberg--Murder of the
   Count of Broeck and his garrison--Capture of Rees and Emmerich--
   Outrages of the Spanish soldiers in the peaceful provinces--
   Inglorious attempt to avenge the hostilities--State of trade in the
   Provinces--Naval expedition under van der Does--Arrival of Albert
   and Isabella at Brussels--Military operations of Prince Maurice--
   Negotiation between London and Brussels--Henry's determination to
   enact the Council of Trent--His projected marriage--Queen Elizabeth
   and Envoy Caron--Peace proposals of Spain to Elizabeth--Conferences
   at Gertruydenberg--Uncertain state of affairs.

The military operations in the Netherlands during the whole year 1598
were on a comparatively small scale and languidly conducted. The States
were exhausted by the demands made upon the treasury, and baffled by the
disingenuous policy of their allies. The cardinal-archduke, on the other
hand, was occupied with the great events of his marriage, of his
father-in-law's death, and of his own succession in conjunction with his
wife to the sovereignty of the provinces.

In the autumn, however, the Admiral of Arragon, who, as has been stated,
was chief military commander during the absence of Albert, collected an
army of twenty-five thousand foot and two thousand cavalry, crossed the
Meuse at Roermond, and made his appearance before a small town called
Orsoy, on the Rhine. It was his intention to invade the duchies of
Clever, Juliers, and Berg, taking advantage of the supposed madness of
the duke, and of the Spanish inclinations of his chief counsellors, who
constituted a kind of regency. By obtaining possession of these important
provinces--wedged as they were between the territory of the republic, the
obedient Netherlands, and Germany--an excellent military position would
be gained for making war upon the rebellious districts from the east, for
crushing Protestantism in the duchies, for holding important passages of
the Rhine, and for circumventing the designs of the Protestant
sons-in-law and daughters of the old Duke of Cleves. Of course, it was
the determination of Maurice and the States-General to frustrate these
operations. German and Dutch Protestantism gave battle on this neutral
ground to the omnipotent tyranny of the papacy and Spain.

Unfortunately, Maurice had but a very slender force that autumn at his
command. Fifteen hundred horse and six thousand infantry were all his
effective troops, and with these he took the field to defend the borders
of the republic, and to out-manoeuvre, so far as it might lie in his
power, the admiral with his far-reaching and entirely unscrupulous
designs.

With six thousand Spanish veterans, two thousand Italians, and many
Walloon and German regiments under Bucquoy, Hachincourt, La Bourlotte,
Stanley, and Frederic van den Berg, the admiral had reached the frontiers
of the mad duke's territory. Orsoy was garrisoned by a small company of
"cocks' feathers," or country squires, and their followers.

Presenting himself in person before the walls of the town, with a priest
at his right hand and a hangman holding a bundle of halters at the other,
he desired to be informed whether the governor would prefer to surrender
or to hang with his whole garrison. The cock feathers surrendered. The
admiral garrisoned and fortified Orsoy as a basis and advanced upon
Rheinberg, first surprising the Count of Broeck in his castle, who was at
once murdered in cold blood with his little garrison.

He took Burik on the 11th October, Rheinberg on the 15th of the same
month, and compounded with Wesel for a hundred and twenty thousand
florins. Leaving garrisons in these and a few other captured places, he
crossed the Lippe, came to Borhold, and ravaged the whole country side.
His troops being clamorous for pay were only too eager to levy black-mail
on this neutral territory. The submission of the authorities to this
treatment brought upon them a reproach of violation of neutrality by the
States-General; the Governments of Munster and of the duchies being
informed that, if they aided and abetted the one belligerent, they must
expect to be treated as enemies by the other.

The admiral took Rees on the 30th October, and Emmerich on the 2nd
November--two principal cities of Cleves. On the 8th November he crossed
into the territory of the republic and captured Deutekom, after a very
short siege. Maurice, by precaution, occupied Sevenaer in Cleves. The
prince--whose difficult task was to follow up and observe an enemy by
whom he was outnumbered nearly four to one, to harass him by skirmishes,
to make forays on his communications, to seize important points before he
could reach them, to impose upon him by an appearance of far greater
force than the republican army could actually boast, to protect the
cities of the frontier like Zutphen, Lochem, and Doesburg, and to prevent
him from attempting an invasion of the United Provinces in force, by
crossing any of the rivers, either in the autumn or after the winter's
ice had made them passable for the Spanish army-succeeded admirably in
all his strategy. The admiral never ventured to attack him, for fear of
risking a defeat of his whole army by an antagonist whom he ought to have
swallowed at a mouthful, relinquished all designs upon the republic,
passed into Munster, Cleves, and Berg, and during the whole horrible
winter converted those peaceful provinces into a hell. No outrage which
even a Spanish army could inflict was spared the miserable inhabitants.
Cities and villages were sacked and burned, the whole country was placed
under the law of black-mail. The places of worship, mainly Protestant,
were all converted at a blow of the sword into Catholic churches. Men
were hanged, butchered, tossed in sport from the tops of steeples,
burned, and buried alive. Women of every rank were subjected by thousands
to outrage too foul and too cruel for any but fiends or Spanish soldiers
to imagine.

Such was the lot of thousands of innocent men and women at the hands of
Philip's soldiers in a country at peace with Philip, at the very moment
when that monarch was protesting with a seraphic smile on his expiring
lips that he had never in his whole life done injury to a single human
being.

In vain did the victims call aloud upon their sovereign, the Emperor
Rudolph. The Spaniards laughed the feeble imperial mandates to scorn, and
spurned the word neutrality. "Oh, poor Roman Empire!" cried John
Fontanus, "how art thou fallen! Thy protector has become thy despoiler,
and, although thy members see this and know it, they sleep through it
all. One day they may have a terrible awakening from their slumbers . . .
. . . . The Admiral of Arragon has entirely changed the character of the
war, recognizes no neutrality, saying that there must be but one God, one
pope, and one king, and that they who object to this arrangement must be
extirpated with fire and sword, let them be where they may."

The admiral, at least, thoroughly respected the claims of the dead Philip
to universal monarchy.

Maurice gained as much credit by the defensive strategy through which he
saved the republic from the horrors thus afflicting its neighbours, as he
had ever done by his most brilliant victories. Queen Elizabeth was
enchanted with the prowess of the prince, and with the sagacious
administration of those republican magistrates whom she never failed to
respect, even when most inclined to quarrel with them. "Never before was
it written or heard of," said the queen, "that so great an extent of
country could be defended with so few troops, that an invasion of so
superior a hostile force could be prevented, especially as it appeared
that all the streams and rivers were frozen." This, she added, was owing
to the wise and far-seeing counsels of the States-General, and to the
faithful diligence of their military commander, who now, as she declared,
deserved the title of the first captain of all Christendom.

A period of languor and exhaustion succeeded. The armies of the States
had dwindled to an effective force of scarcely four or five thousand men,
while the new levies came in but slowly. The taxation, on the other hand,
was very severe. The quotas for the provinces had risen to the amount of
five million eight hundred thousand florins for the year 1599, against an
income of four millions six hundred thousand, and this deficit went on
increasing, notwithstanding a new tax of one-half per cent. on the
capital of all estates above three thousand florins in value, and another
of two and a half per cent. on all sales of real property. The finances
of the obedient provinces were in a still worse condition, and during the
absence of the cardinal-archduke an almost universal mutiny, occasioned
by the inability of the exchequer to provide payment for the troops,
established itself throughout Flanders and Brabant. There was much
recrimination on the subject of the invasion of the Rhenish duchies, and
a war of pamphlets and manifestos between the archduke's Government and
the States-General succeeded to those active military operations by which
so much misery had been inflicted on the unfortunate inhabitants of that
border land. There was a slight attempt on the part of the Princes of
Brunswick, Hesse, and Brandenburg to counteract and to punish the
hostilities of the Spanish troops committed upon German soil. An
army--very slowly organized, against the wishes of the emperor, the
bishops, and the Catholic party--took the field, and made a feeble
demonstration upon Rheinberg and upon Rees entirely without result and
then disbanded itself ingloriously.

Meantime the admiral had withdrawn from German territory, and was amusing
himself with a variety of blows aimed at vital points of the republic. An
excursion into the Isle of Bommel was not crowned with much success. The
assault on the city was repulsed. The fortress of Crevecoeur was,
however, taken, and the fort of St. Andrew constructed--in spite of the
attempts of the States to frustrate the design--at a point commanding the
course of both the Waal and the Meuse. Having placed a considerable
garrison in each of those strongholds, the admiral discontinued his
labours and went into winter-quarters.

The States-General for political reasons were urgent that Prince Maurice
should undertake some important enterprise, but the stadholder, sustained
by the opinion of his cousin Lewis William, resisted the pressure. The
armies of the Commonwealth were still too slender in numbers and too
widely scattered for active service on a large scale, and the season for
active campaigning was wisely suffered to pass without making any attempt
of magnitude during the year.

The trade of the provinces, moreover, was very much hampered, and their
revenues sadly diminished by the severe prohibitions which had succeeded
to the remarkable indulgence hitherto accorded to foreign commerce.
Edicts in the name of the King of Spain and of the Archdukes Albert and
Isabella, forbidding all intercourse between the rebellious provinces and
the obedient Netherlands or any of the Spanish possessions, were met by
countervailing decrees of the States-General. Free trade with its enemies
and with all the world, by means of which the commonwealth had prospered
in spite of perpetual war, was now for a season destroyed, and the
immediate results were at once visible in its diminished resources. To
employ a portion of the maritime energies of the Hollanders and
Zeelanders, thus temporarily deprived of a sufficient field, a naval
expedition of seventy-five war vessels under Admiral van der Does was
fitted out, but met with very trifling success. They attacked and
plundered the settlements and forts of the Canary Islands, inflicted much
damage on the inhabitants, sailed thence to the Isle of St. Thomas, near
the equator, where the towns and villages were sacked and burned, and
where a contagious sickness broke out in the fleet, sweeping off in a
very brief period a large proportion of the crew. The admiral himself
fell a victim to the disease and was buried on the island. The fleet put
to sea again under Admiral Storm van Wena, but the sickness pursued the
adventurers on their voyage towards Brazil, one thousand of them dying at
sea in fifteen days. At Brazil they accomplished nothing, and, on their
homeward voyage, not only the new commander succumbed to the same
contagion, but the mortality continued to so extraordinary an extent
that, on the arrival of the expedition late in the winter in Holland,
there were but two captains left alive, and, in many of the vessels, not
more than six sound men to each. Nothing could be more wretched than this
termination of a great and expensive voyage, which had occasioned such
high hopes throughout the provinces; nothing more dismal than the
political atmosphere which surrounded the republic during the months
which immediately ensued. It was obvious to Barneveld and the other
leading personages, in whose hands was the administration of affairs,
that a great military success was absolutely indispensable, if the
treacherous cry of peace, when peace was really impossible, should not
become universal and fatal.

Meantime affairs were not much more cheerful in the obedient provinces.
Archduke Albert arrived with his bride in the early days of September,
1599, at Brussels, and was received with great pomp and enthusiastic
rejoicings. When are pomp and enthusiasm not to be obtained by imperial
personages, at brief notice and in vast quantities, if managers
understand their business? After all, it may be doubted whether the
theatrical display was as splendid as that which marked the beginning of
the Ernestian era. Schoolmaster Houwaerts had surpassed himself on that
occasion, and was no longer capable of deifying the new sovereign as
thoroughly as he had deified his brother.

Much real discontent followed close upon the fictitious enthusiasm. The
obedient provinces were poor and forlorn, and men murmured loudly at the
enormous extravagance of their new master's housekeeping. There were one
hundred and fifty mules, and as many horses in their sovereign's stables,
while the expense of feeding the cooks; lackeys, pages, and fine
gentlemen who swelled the retinue of the great household, was estimated,
without, wages or salaries, at two thousand florins a day. Albert had
wished to be called a king, but had been unable to obtain the
gratification of his wish. He had aspired to be emperor, and he was at
least sufficiently imperial in his ideas of expense. The murmurers were
loftily rebuked for their complaints, and reminded of the duty of
obedient provinces to contribute at least as much for the defence of
their masters as the rebels did in maintenance of their rebellion. The
provincial estates were summoned accordingly to pay roundly for the
expenses of the war as well as of the court, and to enable the new
sovereigns to suppress the military mutiny, which amid the enthusiasm
greeting their arrival was the one prominent and formidable fact.

The archduke was now thirty-nine years of age, the Infanta Isabella six
years younger. She was esteemed majestically beautiful by her courtiers,
and Cardinal Bentivoglio, himself a man of splendid intellect, pronounced
her a woman of genius, who had grown to be a prodigy of wisdom, under the
tuition of her father, the most sagacious statesman of the age. In
attachment to the Roman faith and ritual, in superhuman loftiness of
demeanour, and in hatred of heretics, she was at least a worthy child of
that sainted sovereign. In a moral point of view she was his superior.
The archdukes--so Albert and Isabella were always designated--were a
singularly attached couple, and their household, if extravagant and
imperial, was harmonious. They loved each other--so it was believed--as
sincerely as they abhorred heretics and rebels, but it does not appear
that they had a very warm affection for their Flemish subjects. Every
characteristic of their court was Spanish. Spanish costume, Spanish
manners, the Spanish tongue, were almost exclusively predominant, and
although the festivals, dances, banquets, and tourneys, were all very
magnificent, the prevailing expression of the Brabantine capital
resembled that of a Spanish convent, so severely correct, so stately, and
so grim, was the demeanour of the court.

The earliest military operations of the stadholder in the first year of
the new century were successful. Partly by menace; but more effectually
by judicious negotiation. Maurice recovered Crevecoeur, and obtained the
surrender of St. Andrew, the fort which the admiral had built the
preceding year in honour of Albert's uncle. That ecclesiastic, with whom
Mendoza had wrangled most bitterly during the whole interval of Albert's
absence, had already taken his departure for Rome, where he soon
afterwards died. The garrisons of the forts, being mostly Walloon
soldiers, forsook the Spanish service for that of the States, and were
banded together in a legion some twelve hundred strong, which became
known as the "New Beggars," and were placed under the nominal command of
Frederick Henry of Nassau, youngest child of William the Silent. The next
military event of the year was a mad combat, undertaken by formal cartel,
between Breaute, a young Norman noble in the service of the republic, and
twenty comrades, with an equal number of Flemish warriors from the
obedient provinces, under Grobbendonck. About one half of the whole
number were killed, including the leaders, but the encounter, although
exciting much interest at the time, had of course no permanent
importance.

There was much negotiation, informal and secret, between Brussels and
London during this and a portion of the following year. Elizabeth,
naturally enough, was weary of the war, but she felt, after all, as did
the Government of France, that a peace between the United Netherlands and
Spain would have for its result the restoration of the authority of his
most Catholic Majesty over all the provinces. The statesmen of France and
England, like most of the politicians of Europe, had but slender belief
in the possibility of a popular government, and doubted therefore the
continued existence of the newly-organized republic. Therefore they
really deprecated the idea of a peace which should include the States,
notwithstanding that from time to time the queen or some of her
counsellors had so vehemently reproached the Netherlanders with their
unwillingness to negotiate. "At the first recognition that these people
should make of the mere shadow of a prince," said Buzanval, the keenly
observing and experienced French envoy at the Hague, "they lose the form
they have. All the blood of the body would flow to the head, and the game
would be who should best play the valet. . . . The house of Nassau
would lose its credit within a month in case of peace." As such statesmen
could not imagine a republic, they ever dreaded the restoration in the
United Provinces of the subverted authority of Spain.

France and England were jealous of each other, and both were jealous of
Spain. Therefore even if the republican element, the strength and
endurance of which was so little suspected, had been as trifling a factor
in the problem, as was supposed, still it would have been difficult for
any one of these powers to absorb the United Netherlands. As for France,
she hardly coveted their possession. "We ought not to flatter ourselves,"
said Buzanval, "that these maritime peoples will cast themselves one day
into our nets, nor do I know that it would be advisable to pull in the
net if they should throw themselves in."

Henry was full of political schemes and dreams at this moment--as much as
his passion for Mademoiselle d'Entraigues, who had so soon supplanted the
image of the dead Gabrielle in his heart, would permit. He was very well
disposed to obtain possession of the Spanish Netherlands, whenever he
should see his way to such an acquisition, and was even indulging in
visions of the imperial crown.

He was therefore already, and for the time at least, the most intense of
papists. He was determined to sacrifice the Huguenot chiefs, and
introduce the Council of Trent, in order, as he told Du Plessis, that all
might be Christians. If he still retained any remembrance of the ancient
friendship between himself and the heretic republic, it was not likely to
exhibit itself, notwithstanding his promises and his pecuniary
liabilities to her, in anything more solid than words. "I repeat it,"
said the Dutch envoy at Paris; "this court cares nothing for us, for all
its cabals tend to close union with Rome, whence we can expect nothing
but foul weather. The king alone has any memory of our past services."
But imperturbable and self-confident as ever, Henry troubled himself
little with fears in regard to the papal supremacy, even when his
Parliament professed great anxiety in regard to the consequences of the
Council of Trent, if not under him yet under his successors. "I will so
bridle the popes," said he, cheerfully, "that they will never pass my
restrictions. My children will be still more virtuous and valiant than I.
If I have none, then the devil take the hindmost. Nevertheless I choose
that the council shall be enacted. I desire it more ardently than I
pressed the edict for the Protestants." Such being the royal humour at
the moment, it may well be believed that Duplessis Mornay would find but
little sunshine from on high on the occasion of his famous but forgotten
conferences with Du Perron, now archbishop of Evreux, before the king and
all the court at Fontainebleau. It was natural enough that to please the
king the king's old Huguenot friend should be convicted of false
citations from the fathers; but it would seem strange, were the motives
unknown, that Henry should have been so intensely interested in this most
arid and dismal of theological controversies. Yet those who had known and
observed the king closely for thirty years, declared that he had never
manifested so much passion, neither on the eve of battles nor of amorous
assignations, as he then did for the demolition of Duplessis and his
deductions. He had promised the Nuncius that the Huguenot should be
utterly confounded, and with him the whole fraternity, "for," said the
king, "he has wickedly and impudently written against the pope, to whom I
owe as much as I do to God."

These were not times in which the Hollanders, battling as stoutly against
Spain and the pope as they had done during the years when the republic
stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry the Huguenot, could hope for aid
and comfort from their ancient ally.

It is very characteristic of that age of dissimulation and of reckless
political gambling, that at the very moment when Henry's marriage with
Marie de Medicis was already arranged, and when that princess was soon
expected in Lyons, a cabal at the king's court was busy with absurd
projects to marry their sovereign to the Infanta of Spain. It is true
that the Infanta was already the wife of the cardinal-archduke, but it
was thought possible--for reasons divulged through the indiscretions or
inventions of the father confessor--to obtain the pope's dispensation on
the ground of the nullity of the marriage. Thus there were politicians at
the French court seriously occupied in an attempt to deprive the archduke
of his wife, of his Netherland provinces, and of the crown of, the holy
Roman empire, which he still hoped to inherit. Yet the ink was scarcely
dry with which Henry had signed the treaty of amity with Madrid and
Brussels.

The Queen of England, on the other hand--although often listening to
secret agents from Brussels and Madrid who offered peace, and although
perfectly aware that the great abject of Spain in securing peace with
England was to be able to swoop down at once upon the republic, thus
deprived of any allies was beside herself with rage, whenever she
suspected, with or without reason, that Brussels or Madrid had been
sending peace emissaries to the republic.

"Before I could get into the room," said Caron, on one such occasion,
"she called out, 'Have you not always told me that the States never
could, would, or should treat for peace with the enemy? Yet now it is
plain enough that they have proceeded only too far in negotiations.' And
she then swore a big oath that if the States were to deceive her she
meant to take such vengeance that men should talk of it for ever and
ever." It was a long time before the envoy could induce her to listen to
a single word, although the, perfect sincerity of the States in their
attitude to the queen and to Spain was unquestionable, and her ill-humour
on the subject continued long after it had been demonstrated how much she
had been deceived.

Yet it was impossible in the nature of things for the States to play her
false, even if no reliance were to be placed on their sagacity and their
honour. Even the recent naval expedition of the republic against the
distant possessions of Spain--which in its result had caused so much
disappointment to the States, and cost them so many lives, including that
of the noble admiral whom every sailor in the Netherlands adored had been
of immense advantage to England. The queen acknowledged that the Dutch
Navy had averted the storm which threatened to descend upon her kingdom
out of Spain, the Spanish ships destined for the coast of Ireland having
been dispersed and drawn to the other aide of the world by these
demonstrations of her ally. For this she vowed that she would be
eternally grateful, and she said as much in "letters full of sugar and
honey"--according to the French envoy--which she sent to the States by
Sir Francis Vere. She protested, in short, that she had been better and
more promptly served in her necessities by the Netherlands than by her
own subjects.

All this sugar and honey however did not make the mission of Envoy
Edmonds less bitter to the States. They heard that he was going about
through half the cities of the obedient Netherlands in a sort of
triumphal procession, and it was the general opinion of the politicians
and financiers of the continent that peace between Spain and England was
as good as made. Naturally therefore, notwithstanding the exuberant
expressions of gratitude on the part of Elizabeth, the republican
Government were anxious to know what all this parleying meant. They could
not believe that people would make a raree-show of the English envoy
except for sufficient reason. Caron accordingly presented himself before
the queen, with respectful inquiries on the subject. He found her in
appearance very angry, not with him, but with Edmonds, from whom she had
received no advices. "I don't know what they are doing with him," said
her Majesty, "I hear from others that they are ringing the church bells
wherever he goes, and that they have carried him through a great many
more places than was necessary. I suppose that they think him a monster,
and they are carrying him about to exhibit him. All this is done," she
continued, "to throw dust in the eyes of the poor people, and to put it
into their heads that the Queen of England is suing for peace, which is
very wide of the mark."

She further observed that, as the agents of the Spanish Government had
been perpetually sending to her, she had been inclined once for all to
learn what they had to say. Thus she should make manifest to all the
world that she was not averse to a treaty such as might prove a secure
peace for herself and for Christendom; otherwise not.

It subsequently appeared that what they had to say was that if the queen
would give up to the Spanish Government the cautionary towns which she
held as a pledge for her advances to the republic, forbid all traffic and
intercourse between her subjects and the Netherlanders, and thenceforth
never allow an Englishman to serve in or with the armies of the States, a
peace might be made.

Surely it needed no great magnanimity on the queen's part to spurn such
insulting proposals, the offer of which showed her capable, in the
opinion of Verreycken, the man who made them, of sinking into the very
depths of dishonour. And she did spurn them. Surely, for the ally, the
protrectress, the grateful friend of the republic, to give its chief
seaports to its arch-enemy, to shut the narrow seas against its ships, so
that they never more could sail westward, and to abandon its whole
population to their fate, would be a deed of treachery such as history,
full of human baseness as it is, has rarely been obliged to record.

Before these propositions had been made by Verreycken Elizabeth protested
that, should he offer them, she would send him home with such an answer
that people should talk of it for some time to come. "Before I consent to
a single one of those points," said the queen, "I wish myself taken from
this world. Until now I have been a princess of my word, who would rather
die than so falsely deceive such good people as the States." And she made
those protestations with such expression and attitude that the Dutch
envoy believed her incapable at that moment of dissimulation.

Nevertheless her indignation did not carry her so far as to induce her to
break off the negotiations. The answer of which mankind was to talk in
time to come was simply that she would not send her commissioners to
treat for peace unless the Spanish Government should recede from the
three points thus offered by Verreycken. This certainly was not a very
blasting reply, and the Spanish agents were so far from losing heart in
consequence that the informal conferences continued for a long time, much
to the discomfort of the Netherlanders.

For more than an hour and a half on one occasion of an uncommonly hot
afternoon in April did Noel de Caron argue with her Majesty against these
ill-boding negotiations, and ever and anon, oppressed by the heat of the
weather and the argument, did the queen wander from one room of the
palace to the other in search of cool air, still bidding the envoy follow
her footsteps. "We are travelling about like pilgrims," said Elizabeth,
"but what is life but a pilgrimage?"

Yet, notwithstanding this long promenade and these moral reflections,
Caron could really not make out at the end of the interview whether or no
she intended to send her commissioners. At last he asked her the question
bluntly.

"Hallo! Hallo!" she replied. "I have only spoken to my servant once, and
I must obtain more information and think over the matter before I decide.
Be assured however that I shall always keep you informed of the progress
of the negotiations, and do you inform the States that they may build
upon me as upon a rock."

After the envoy had taken his leave, the queen said to him in Latin,
"Modicae fidei quare dubitasti?" Caron had however so nearly got out of
the door that he did not hear this admonition.

This the queen perceived, and calling him by name repeated, "O Caron!
modicae fidei quare dubitasti?" adding the injunction that he should
remember this dictum, for he well knew what she meant by it.

Thus terminated the interview, while the negotiations with Spain, not for
lack of good-will on her part, and despite the positive assertions to the
contrary of Buzanval and other foreign agents, were destined to come to
nothing.

At a little later period, at the time of certain informal and secret
conferences at Gertruydenberg, the queen threatened the envoy with her
severest displeasure, should the States dare to treat with Spain without
her permission. "Her Majesty called out to me," said Caron, "as soon as I
entered the room, that I had always assured her that the States neither
would nor could make peace with the enemy. Yet it was now looking very
differently, she continued, swearing with a mighty oath that if the
States should cheat her in that way she meant to revenge herself in such
a fashion that men would talk of it through all eternity."

The French Government was in a similar state of alarm in consequence of
the Gertruydenberg conferences.

The envoy of the archdukes, Marquis d'Havre, reported on the other hand
that all attempts to negotiate had proved fruitless, that
Olden-Barneveld, who spoke for all his colleagues, was swollen with
pride, and made it but too manifest that the States had no intention to
submit to any foreign jurisdiction, but were resolved to maintain
themselves in the form of a republic.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Children who had never set foot on the shore
     Done nothing so long as aught remained to do
     Fed on bear's liver, were nearly poisoned to death
     Inhabited by the savage tribes called Samoyedes

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE 1590-99 UNITED NETHERLANDS:

     A pusillanimous peace, always possible at any period
     A despot really keeps no accounts, nor need to do so
     Accustomed to the faded gallantries
     Alexander's exuberant discretion
     All Italy was in his hands
     All fellow-worms together
     Allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune
     Anatomical study of what has ceased to exist
     Artillery
     At length the twig was becoming the tree
     Auction sales of judicial ermine
     Being the true religion, proved by so many testimonies
     Beneficent and charitable purposes (War)
     Bomb-shells were not often used although known for a century
     Burning of Servetus at Geneva
     Certainly it was worth an eighty years' war
     Chief seafaring nations of the world were already protestant
     Children who had never set foot on the shore
     Chronicle of events must not be anticipated
     Conceding it subsequently, after much contestation
     Conformity of Governments to the principles of justice
     Considerable reason, even if there were but little justice
     Constant vigilance is the price of liberty
     Continuing to believe himself invincible and infallible
     Court fatigue, to scorn pleasure
     Deal with his enemy as if sure to become his friend
     Decline a bribe or interfere with the private sale of places
     Disciple of Simon Stevinus
     Divine right of kings
     Done nothing so long as aught remained to do
     Eat their own children than to forego one high mass
     Ever met disaster with so cheerful a smile
     Every one sees what you seem, few perceive what you are
     Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many shapes
     Famous fowl in every pot
     Fed on bear's liver, were nearly poisoned to death
     Fellow worms had been writhing for half a century in the dust
     Fled from the land of oppression to the land of liberty
     For his humanity towards the conquered garrisons (censured)
     For us, looking back upon the Past, which was then the Future
     French seem madmen, and are wise
     Future world as laid down by rival priesthoods
     German Highland and the German Netherland
     God of wrath who had decreed the extermination of all unbeliever
     Had industry been honoured instead of being despised
     Hanging of Mary Dyer at Boston
     Hardly an inch of French soil that had not two possessors
     He spent more time at table than the Bearnese in sleep
     Henry the Huguenot as the champion of the Council of Trent
     Highest were not necessarily the least slimy
     His invectives were, however, much stronger than his arguments
     Historical scepticism may shut its eyes to evidence
     History is but made up of a few scattered fragments
     History is a continuous whole of which we see only fragments
     Holy institution called the Inquisition
     Hugo Grotius
     Humanizing effect of science upon the barbarism of war
     Idle, listless, dice-playing, begging, filching vagabonds
     Ignorance is the real enslaver of mankind
     Imagining that they held the world's destiny in their hands
     Imposed upon the multitudes, with whom words were things
     Impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too gross
     In times of civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing
     Inevitable fate of talking castles and listening ladies
     Infinite capacity for pecuniary absorption
     Inhabited by the savage tribes called Samoyedes
     Innocent generation, to atone for the sins of their forefathers
     Intelligence, science, and industry were accounted degrading
     Invaluable gift which no human being can acquire, authority
     King was often to be something much less or much worse
     King had issued a general repudiation of his debts
     Labour was esteemed dishonourable
     Leading motive with all was supposed to be religion
     Life of nations and which we call the Past
     Little army of Maurice was becoming the model for Europe
     Loud, nasal, dictatorial tone, not at all agreeable
     Luxury had blunted the fine instincts of patriotism
     Magnificent hopefulness
     Man had no rights at all He was property
     Maritime heretics
     Matters little by what name a government is called
     Meet around a green table except as fencers in the field
     Mondragon was now ninety-two years old
     Moral nature, undergoes less change than might be hoped
     More catholic than the pope
     Myself seeing of it methinketh that I dream
     Names history has often found it convenient to mark its epochs
     National character, not the work of a few individuals
     Nothing cheap, said a citizen bitterly, but sermons
     Obscure were thought capable of dying natural deaths
     Octogenarian was past work and past mischief
     Often necessary to be blind and deaf
     One-third of Philip's effective navy was thus destroyed
     Past was once the Present, and once the Future
     Patriotism seemed an unimaginable idea
     Peace would be destruction
     Philip II. gave the world work enough
     Picturesqueness of crime
     Placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat
     Plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous
     Portion of these revenues savoured much of black-mail
     Proceeds of his permission to eat meat on Fridays
     Rarely able to command, having never learned to obey
     Religion was rapidly ceasing to be the line of demarcation
     Repudiation of national debts was never heard of before
     Rich enough to be worth robbing
     Righteous to kill their own children
     Road to Paris lay through the gates of Rome
     Royal plans should be enforced adequately or abandoned entirely
     Sacked and drowned ten infant princes
     Sages of every generation, read the future like a printed scroll
     Seems but a change of masks, of costume, of phraseology
     Self-assertion--the healthful but not engaging attribute
     Selling the privilege of eating eggs upon fast-days
     Sentiment of Christian self-complacency
     Sewers which have ever run beneath decorous Christendom
     Shift the mantle of religion from one shoulder to the other
     Slain four hundred and ten men with his own hand
     So often degenerated into tyranny (Calvinism)
     Some rude lessons from that vigorous little commonwealth
     Spain was governed by an established terrorism
     Spaniards seem wise, and are madmen
     Strangled his nineteen brothers on his accession
     Such a crime as this had never been conceived (bankruptcy)
     That unholy trinity--Force; Dogma, and Ignorance
     The history of the Netherlands is history of liberty
     The great ocean was but a Spanish lake
     The divine speciality of a few transitory mortals
     The Alcoran was less cruel than the Inquisition
     The nation which deliberately carves itself in pieces
     The most thriving branch of national industry (Smuggler)
     The record of our race is essentially unwritten
     There are few inventions in morals
     They liked not such divine right nor such gentle-mindedness
     They had come to disbelieve in the mystery of kingcraft
     Thirty thousand masses should be said for his soul
     Thirty-three per cent. interest was paid (per month)
     Those who argue against a foregone conclusion
     Three or four hundred petty sovereigns (of Germany)
     To attack England it was necessary to take the road of Ireland
     Toil and sacrifices of those who have preceded us
     Tranquil insolence
     Under the name of religion (so many crimes)
     Unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing
     Upon their knees, served the queen with wine
     Use of the spade
     Utter want of adaptation of his means to his ends
     Utter disproportions between the king's means and aims
     Valour on the one side and discretion on the other
     Walk up and down the earth and destroy his fellow-creatures
     We have the reputation of being a good housewife
     Weapons
     Whether murders or stratagems, as if they were acts of virtue
     While one's friends urge moderation
     Whole revenue was pledged to pay the interest, on his debts
     Wish to sell us the bear-skin before they have killed the bear
     Worn nor caused to be worn the collar of the serf
     Wrath of that injured personage as he read such libellous truths



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS From the Death of William the Silent to
the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

Volume IV.

MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Vol. 84

History of the United Netherlands, 1600-1609, Complete



CHAPTER, XXXVIII.

   Military events--Aggressive movement of the Netherlanders--State of
   the Archdukes provinces--Mutiny of the Spanish forces--Proposed
   invasion of Flanders by the States-General--Disembarkation of the
   troops on the Spanish coasts--Capture of Oudenburg and other places
   --Surprise of Nieuport--Conduct of the Archduke--Oudenburg and the
   other forts re-taken--Dilemma of the States' army--Attack of the
   Archduke on Count Ernest's cavalry--Panic and total overthrow of the
   advance-guard of the States' army--Battle of Nieuport--Details of
   the action--Defeat of the Spanish army--Results of the whole
   expedition.

The effect produced in the republic by the defensive and uneventful
campaigning of the year 1599 had naturally been depressing. There was
murmuring at the vast amount of taxation, especially at the new
imposition of one-half per cent. upon all property, and two-and-a-half
per cent. on all sales, which seemed to produce so few results. The
successful protection of the Isle of Bommel and the judicious purchase of
the two forts of Crevecoeur and St. Andrew; early in the following year,
together with their garrisons, were not military events of the first
magnitude, and were hardly enough to efface the mortification felt at the
fact that the enemy had been able so lately to construct one of those
strongholds within the territory of the commonwealth.

It was now secretly determined to attempt an aggressive movement on a
considerable scale, and to carry the war once for all into the heart of
the obedient provinces. It was from Flanders that the Spanish armies drew
a great portion of their supplies. It was by the forts erected on the
coast of Flanders in the neighbourhood of Ostend that this important
possession of the States was rendered nearly valueless. It was by
privateers swarming from the ports of Flanders, especially from Nieuport
and Dunkirk, that the foreign trade of the republic was crippled, and its
intercommunications by river and estuary rendered unsafe. Dunkirk was
simply a robbers' cave, a station from which an annual tax was levied
upon the commerce of the Netherlands, almost sufficient, had it been paid
to the national treasury instead of to the foreign freebooters, to
support the expenses of a considerable army.

On the other hand the condition of the archdukes seemed deplorable. Never
had mutiny existed before in so well-organised and definite a form even
in the Spanish Netherlands.

Besides those branches of the "Italian republic," which had been
established in the two fortresses of Crevecoeur and St. Andrew, and which
had already sold themselves to the States, other organisations quite as
formidable existed in various other portions of the obedient provinces.
Especially at Diest and Thionville the rebellious Spaniards and Italians
were numbered by thousands, all veterans, well armed, fortified in strong
cities; and supplying themselves with perfect regularity by contributions
levied upon the peasantry, obeying their Eletto and other officers with
exemplary promptness; and paying no more heed to the edicts or the
solicitations of the archduke than if he had been the Duke of Muscovy.

The opportunity seemed tempting to strike a great blow. How could Albert
and Isabella, with an empty exchequer and a mutinous army, hope either to
defend their soil from attack or to aim a counter blow at the republic,
even if, the republic for a season should be deprived of a portion of its
defenders?

The reasoning was plausible, the prize tempting. The States-General, who
habitually discountenanced rashness, and were wont to impose superfluous
restraints upon the valiant but discreet Lewis William, and upon the
deeply pondering but energetic Maurice, were now grown as ardent as they
had hitherto been hesitating. In the early days of June it was determined
in secret session to organize a great force in Holland and Zeeland, and
to embark suddenly for Nieuport, to carry that important position by
surprise or assault, and from that basis to redeem Dunkirk. The
possession of these two cities, besides that of Ostend, which had always
been retained by the Republic, would ensure the complete subjugation of
Flanders. The trifling force of two thousand men under Rivas--all that
the archduke then had in that province--and the sconces and earthworks
which had been constructed around Ostend to impede the movements and
obstruct the supplies of the garrison, would be utterly powerless to
prevent the consummation of the plan. Flanders once subjugated, it would
not be long before the Spaniards were swept from the obedient Netherlands
as thoroughly as they had been from the domains of the commonwealth, and
all the seventeen provinces, trampling out every vestige of a hated
foreign tyranny, would soon take their natural place as states of a free;
prosperous, and powerful union.

But Maurice of Nassau did not share the convictions of the
States-General. The unwonted ardour of Barneveld did not inflame his
imagination. He urged that the enterprise was inexcusably rash; that its
execution would require the whole army of the States, except the slender
garrisons absolutely necessary to protect important places from surprise;
that a defeat would not be simply disaster, but annihilation; that
retreat without absolute triumph would be impossible, and that amid such
circumstances the archduke, in spite of his poverty and the rebellious
condition of his troops, would doubtless assemble a sufficient force to
dispute with reasonable prospects of victory, this invasion of his
territory.

Sir Francis Vere, too, was most decidedly opposed to the plan. He pointed
out with great clearness its dangerous and possibly fatal character;
assuring the Staten that, within a fortnight after the expedition had
begun, the archduke would follow upon their heels with an army fully able
to cope with the best which they could put into the field. But besides
this experienced and able campaigner, who so thoroughly shared the
opinions of Prince Maurice, every military man in the provinces of any
consideration, was opposed to, the scheme. Especially Lewis William--than
whom no more sagacious military critic or accomplished strategist existed
in Europe, denounced it with energy and even with indignation. It was, in
the opinion of the young stadholder of Friesland, to suspend the
existence of the whole commonwealth upon a silken thread. Even success,
he prophesied, would bring no permanent, fruits, while the consequences
of an overthrow, were fearful to contemplate. The immediate adherents and
most trusted counsellors of William Lewis were even more unmeasured in
their denunciations than he was himself. "'Tis all the work of Barneveld
and the long-gowns," cried Everard van Reyd. "We are led into a sack from
which there is no extrication. We are marching to the Caudine Forks."

Certainly it is no small indication of the vast influence and the
indomitable resolution of Barneveld that he never faltered in this storm
of indignation. The Advocate had made up his mind to invade Flanders and
to capture Nieuport; and the decree accordingly went forth, despite all
opposition. The States-General were sovereign, and the Advocate and the
States-General were one.

It was also entirely characteristic of Maurice that he should submit his
judgment on this great emergency to that of Olden-Barneveld. It was
difficult for him to resist the influence of the great intellect to which
he had always willingly deferred in affairs of state, and from which;
even in military matters, it was hardly possible for him to escape. Yet
in military matters Maurice was a consummate professor, and the Advocate
in comparison but a school-boy.

The ascendency of Barneveld was the less wholesome, therefore, and it
might have been better had the stadholder manifested more resolution. But
Maurice had not a resolute character. Thorough soldier as he was, he was
singularly vacillating, at times almost infirm of purpose, but never
before in his career had this want of decision manifested itself in so
striking a manner.

Accordingly the States-General, or in other words John of Olden-Barneveld
proposed to invade Flanders, and lay siege, to Nieuport. The
States-General were sovereign, and Maurice bowed to their authority.
After the matter had been entirely decided upon the state-council was
consulted, and the state-council attempted no opposition to the project.
The preparations were made with matchless energy and extraordinary
secrecy. Lewis William, who meanwhile was to defend the eastern frontier
of the republic against any possible attack, sent all the troops that it
was possible to spare; but he sent, them with a heavy heart. His
forebodings were dismal. It seemed to him that all was about to be staked
upon a single cast of the dice. Moreover it was painful to him while the
terrible game, was playing to be merely a looker on and a prophet of evil
from a distance, forbidden to contribute by his personal skill and
experience to a fortunate result. Hohenlo too was appointed to protect
the southern border, and was excluded from, all participation in the
great expedition.

As to the enemy, such rumors as might came to them from day to day of
mysterious military, preparations on the part of the rebels only served
to excite suspicion in others directions. The archduke was uneasy in,
regard to the Rhine and the Gueldrian; quarter, but never dreamt of a
hostile descent upon the Flemish coast.

Meantime, on the 19th June Maurice of Nassau made his appearance at
Castle Rammekens, not far from Flushing, at the mouth of the Scheld, to
superintend the great movement. So large a fleet as was there assembled
had never before been seen or heard of in Christendom. Of war-ships,
transports, and flat-bottomed barges there were at least thirteen
hundred. Many eye-witnesses, who counted however with their imaginations,
declared that there were in all at least three thousand vessels, and the
statement has been reproduced by grave and trustworthy chroniclers. As
the number of troops to be embarked upon the enterprise certainly did not
exceed fourteen thousand, this would have been an allowance of one vessel
to every five soldiers, besides the army munitions and provisions--a
hardly reasonable arrangement.

Twelve thousand infantry and sixteen hundred cavalry, the consummate
flower of the States' army, all well-paid, well-clad, well-armed,
well-disciplined veterans, had been collected in this place of rendezvous
and were ready to embark. It would be unjust to compare the dimensions of
this force and the preparations for ensuring the success of the
enterprise with the vast expeditions and gigantic armaments of later
times, especially with the tremendous exhibitions of military and naval
energy with which our own civil war has made us familiar. Maurice was an
adept in all that science and art had as yet bequeathed to humanity for
the purpose of human' destruction, but the number of his troops was small
compared to the mighty hosts which the world since those days has seen
embattled. War, as a trade, was then less easily learned. It was a guild
in which apprenticeship was difficult, and in which enrolment was usually
for life. A little republic of scarce three million souls, which could
keep always on foot a regular well-appointed army of twenty-five thousand
men and a navy of one or two hundred heavily armed cruisers, was both a
marvel and a formidable element in the general polity of the world. The
lesson to be derived both in military and political philosophy from the
famous campaign of Nieuport does not depend for its value on the numbers
of the ships or soldiers engaged in the undertaking. Otherwise, and had
it been merely a military expedition like a thousand others which have
been made and forgotten, it would not now deserve more than a momentary
attention. But the circumstances were such as to make the issue of the
impending battle one of the most important in human history. It was
entirely possible that an overwhelming defeat of the republican forces on
this foreign expedition would bring with it an absolute destruction of
the republic, and place Spain once more in possession of the heretic
"islands," from which basis she would menace the very existence of
England more seriously than she had ever done before. Who could measure
the consequences to Christendom of such a catastrophe?

The distance from the place where the fleet and army were assembled to
Nieuport--the objective point of the enterprise--was but thirty-five
miles as the crow flies. And the crow can scarcely fly in a straighter
line than that described by the coast along which the ships were to shape
their course.

And here it is again impossible not to reflect upon the change which
physical science has brought over the conduct of human affairs. We have
seen in a former chapter a most important embassy sent forth from the
States for the purpose of preventing the consummation of a peace between
their ally and their enemy. Celerity was a vital element in the success
of such a mission; for the secret negotiations which it was intended to
impede were supposed to be near their termination. Yet months were
consumed in a journey which in our day would have been accomplished in
twenty-four hours. And now in this great military expedition the
essential and immediate purpose was to surprise a small town almost
within sight from the station at which the army was ready to embark. Such
a midsummer voyage in this epoch of steam-tugs and transports would
require but a few hours. Yet two days long the fleet lay at anchor while
a gentle breeze blew persistently from the south-west. As there seemed
but little hope that the wind would become more favourable, and as the
possibility of surprise grew fainter with every day's delay, it was
decided to make a landing upon the nearest point of Flemish coast placed
by circumstances within their reach: Count Ernest of Nassau; with the
advance-guard, was accordingly, despatched on the 21st June to the
neighbourhood of the Sas-of Ghent, where he seized a weakly guarded fort,
called Philippine, and made thorough preparations, for the arrival of the
whole army. On the following day the rest of the troops made their
appearance, and in the course of five hours were safely disembarked.

The army, which consisted of Zeelanders, Frisians, Hollanders, Walloons,
Germans, English, and Scotch, was divided into three corps. The advance
was under the command of Count Ernest, the battalia under that of Count
George Everard Solms, while the rear-guard during the march was entrusted
to that experienced soldier Sir Francis Vere. Besides Prince Maurice,
there were three other members of the house of Nassau serving in the
expedition--his half-brother Frederic Henry, then a lad of sixteen, and
the two brothers of the Frisian stadholder, Ernest and Lewis Gunther,
whom Lewis William had been so faithfully educating in the arts of peace
and war both by precept and example. Lewis Gunther, still a mere youth,
but who had been the first to scale the fort of Cadiz, and to plant on
its height the orange banner of the murdered rebel, and whose gallantry
during the whole expedition had called forth the special commendations of
Queen Elizabeth--expressed in energetic and affectionate terms to his
father--now commanded all the cavalry. Certainly if the doctrine of
primordial selection could ever be accepted among human creatures, the
race of Nassau at that day might have seemed destined to be chiefs of the
Netherland soil. Old John of Nassau, ardent and energetic as ever in the
cause of the religious reformation of Germany and the liberation of
Holland, still watched from his retirement the progress of the momentous
event. Four of his brethren, including the great founder of the republic,
had already laid down their lives for the sacred cause. His son Philip
had already fallen under the banner in the fight of Bislich, and three
other sons were serving the republic day and night, by sea and land, with
sword, and pen, and purse, energetically, conscientiously, and
honourably. Of the stout hearts and quick intellects on which the safety
of the commonwealth then depended, none was more efficient or true than
the accomplished soldier and statesman Lewis William. Thoroughly
disapproving of the present invasion of Flanders, he was exerting
himself, now that it had been decided upon by his sovereigns the
States-Generals, with the same loyalty as that of Maurice, to bring it to
a favourable issue, although not personally engaged in the adventure.

So soon as the troops had been landed the vessels were sent off as
expeditiously as possible, that none might fall into, the enemy's hands;
the transports under a strong convoy of war-ships having been directed to
proceed as fast as the wind would permit in the direction of Nieuport.
The march then began. On the 23rd they advanced a league and halted for
the night at Assenede. The next day brought them three leagues further,
to a place called Eckerloo. On the 25th they marched to Male, a distance
of three leagues and a half, passing close to the walls of Bruges, in
which they had indulged faint hopes of exciting an insurrection, but
obtained nothing but a feeble cannonade from the fortifications which did
no damage except the killing of one muleteer. The next night was passed
at Jabbeke, four leagues from Male, and on the 27th, after marching
another league, they came before the fort of Oudenburg.

This important post on the road which the army would necessarily traverse
in coming from the interior to the coast was easily captured and then
strongly garrisoned. Maurice with the main army spent the two following
days at the fortress, completing his arrangements. Solms was sent forward
to seize the sconces and redoubts of the enemy around Ostend, at
Breedene, Snaaskerk, Plassendaal, and other points, and especially to
occupy the important fort called St. Albert, which was in the downs at
about a league from that city. All this work was thoroughly accomplished;
little or no resistance having been made to the occupation of these
various places. Meantime the States-General, who at the special request
of Maurice were to accompany the expedition in order to observe the
progress of events for which they were entirely responsible, and to aid
the army when necessary by their advice and co-operation, had assembled
to the number of thirteen in Ostend. Solms having strengthened the
garrison of that place then took up his march along the beach to
Nieuport. During the progress of the army through Holland and Zeeland
towards its place of embarkation there had been nothing but dismal
prognostics, with expressions of muttered indignation, wherever the
soldiers passed. It seemed to the country people, and to the inhabitants
of every town and village, that their defenders were going to certain
destruction; that the existence of the commonwealth was hanging by a
thread soon to be snapped asunder. As the forces subsequently marched
from the Sas of Ghent towards the Flemish coast there was no rising of
the people in their favour, and although Maurice had issued distinct
orders that the peasantry were to be dealt with gently and justly, yet
they found neither peasants nor villagers to deal with at all. The whole
population on their line of march had betaken themselves to the woods,
except the village sexton of Jabbeke and his wife, who were too old to
run. Lurking in the thickets and marshes, the peasants fell upon all
stragglers from the army and murdered them without mercy--so difficult is
it in times of civil war to make human brains pervious to the light of
reason. The stadholder and his soldiers came to liberate their brethren
of the same race, and speaking the same language, from abject submission
to a foreign despotism. The Flemings had but to speak a word, to lift a
finger, and all the Netherlands, self-governed, would coalesce into one
independent confederation of States, strong enough to defy all the
despots of Europe. Alas! the benighted victims of superstition hugged
their chains, and preferred the tyranny under which their kindred had
been tortured, burned, and buried alive for half-a-century long, to the
possibility of a single Calvinistic conventicle being opened in any
village of obedient Flanders. So these excellent children of Philip and
the pope, whose language was as unintelligible to them as it was to
Peruvians or Iroquois, lay in wait for the men who spoke their own mother
tongue, and whose veins were filled with their own blood, and murdered
them, as a sacred act of duty. Retaliation followed as a matter of
course, so that the invasion of Flanders, in this early stage of its
progress, seemed not likely to call forth very fraternal feelings between
the two families of Netherlanders.

The army was in the main admirably well supplied, but there was a
deficiency of drink. The water as they advanced became brackish and
intolerably bad, and there was great difficulty in procuring any
substitute. At Male three cows were given for a pot of beer, and more of
that refreshment might have been sold at the same price, had there been
any sellers.

On the 30th June Maurice marched from Oudenburg, intending to strike a
point called Niewendam--a fort in the neighbourhood of Nieuport--and so
to march along the walls of that city and take up his position
immediately in its front. He found the ground, however, so marshy and
impracticable as he advanced, that he was obliged to countermarch, and to
spend that night on the downs between forts Isabella and St. Albert.

On the 1st July he resumed his march, and passing a bridge over a small
stream at a place called Leffingen, laying down a road as he went with
sods and sand, and throwing bridges over streams and swamps, he arrived
in the forenoon before Nieuport. The, fleet had reached the roadstead the
same morning.

This was a strong, well-built, and well-fortified little city, situate
half-a-league from the sea coast on low, plashy ground. At high water it
was a seaport, for a stream or creek of very insignificant dimensions was
then sufficiently filled by the tide to admit vessels of considerable
burthen. This haven was immediately taken possession of by the
stadholder, and two-thirds of his army were thrown across to the western
side of the water, the troops remaining on the Ostend side being by a
change of arrangement now under command of Count Ernest.

Thus the army which had come to surprise Nieuport had, after
accomplishing a distance of nearly forty miles in thirteen days, at last
arrived before that place. Yet there was no more expeditious or energetic
commander in Christendom than Maurice, nor troops better trained in
marching and fighting than his well-disciplined army.

It is now necessary to cast a glance towards the interior of Flanders, in
order to observe how the archduke conducted himself in this emergency. So
soon as the news of the landing of the States' army at the port of Ghent
reached the sovereign's ears, he awoke from the delusion that danger was
impending on his eastern border, and lost no time in assembling such
troops as could be mustered from far and near to protect the western
frontier. Especially he despatched messengers well charged with promises,
to confer with the authorities of the "Italian Republic" at Diest and
Thionville. He appealed to them in behalf of the holy Catholic religion,
he sought to arouse their loyalty to himself and the Infanta
Isabella--daughter of the great and good Philip II., once foremost of
earthly potentates, and now eminent among the saints of heaven--by whose
fiat he and his wife had now become legitimate sovereigns of all the
Netherlands. And those mutineers responded with unexpected docility.
Eight hundred foot soldiers and six hundred cavalry men came forth at the
first summons, making but two conditions in addition to the stipulated
payment when payment should be possible--that they should be commanded by
their own chosen officers, and that they should be placed in the first
rank in the impending conflict. The example spread. Other detachments of
mutineers in various strongholds, scenting the battle from afar, came in
with offers to serve in the campaign on similar terms. Before the last
week of June the archduke had a considerable army on foot. On the 29th of
that month, accompanied by the Infanta, he reviewed a force of ten
thousand foot and nearly two thousand cavalry in the immediate vicinity
of Ghent. He addressed them in a few stirring words, reminding them of
their duty to the Church and to himself, and assuring them--as commanders
of every nation and every age are wont to assure their troops at the eve
of every engagement--that the cause in which they were going forth to
battle was the most sacred and inspiring for which human creatures could
possibly lay down their lives. Isabella, magnificently attired, and
mounted on a white palfrey, galloped along the lines, and likewise made
an harangue. She spoke to the soldiers as "her lions," promised them
boundless rewards in this world and the next, as the result of the great
victory which they were now about to gain over the infidels; while as to
their wages, she vowed that, rather than they should remain unpaid, she
would sacrifice all her personal effects, even to the plate from which
she ate her daily bread, and to the jewels which she wore in her ears.

Thousands of hoarse voices greeted the eloquence of the archdukes with
rude acclamations, while the discharge of arquebus and volleys of cannon
testified to the martial ardour with which the troops were inspired; none
being more enthusiastic than the late mutineers. The army marched at
once, under many experienced leaders--Villars, Zapena, and Avalos among
the most conspicuous. The command of the artillery was entrusted to
Velasco; the marshal-general of the camp was Frederic van den Berg, in
place of the superannuated Peter Ernest; while the Admiral of Arragon,
Francisco de Mendoza, "terror of Germany and of Christendom," a little
man with flowing locks, long hooked nose, and a sinister glance from his
evil black eyes, was general of the cavalry. The admiral had not
displayed very extraordinary genius in his recent campaigning in the
Rhenish duchies, but his cruelty had certainly been conspicuous. Not even
Alva could have accomplished more murders and other outrages in the same
space of time than had been perpetrated by the Spanish troops during the
infamous winter of 1598-9. The assassination of Count Broeck at his own
castle had made more stir than a thousand other homicides of nameless
wretches at the same period had done, because the victim had been a man
of rank and large possessions, but it now remained to be seen whether
Mendoza was to gain fresh laurels of any kind in the battle which was
probably impending.

On the 1st of July the archduke came before Oudenburg. Not a soul within
that fortress nor in Ostend dreamed of an enemy within twenty miles of
them, nor had it been supposed possible that a Spanish army could take
the field for many weeks to come. The States-General at Ostend were
complacently waiting for the first bulletin from Maurice announcing his
capture of Nieuport and his advance upon Dunkirk, according to the
program so succinctly drawn up for him, and meantime were holding
meetings and drawing up comfortable protocols with great regularity.
Colonel Piron, on his part, who had been left with several companies of
veterans to hold Oudenburg and the other forts, and to protect the rear
of the invading army, was accomplishing that object by permitting a large
portion of his force to be absent on foraging parties and general
marauding. When the enemy came before Oudenburg they met with no
resistance. The fort was surrendered at once, and with it fell the lesser
sconces of Breedene, Snaaskerk, and Plassendaal--all but the more
considerable fort St. Albert. The archduke, not thinking it advisable to
delay his march by the reduction of this position, and having possession
of all the other fortifications around Ostend, determined to push forward
next morning at daybreak. He had granted favourable terms of surrender to
the various garrisons, which, however, did not prevent them from being
dearly--every man of them immediately butchered in cold blood.

Thus were these strong and well-manned redoubts, by which Prince Maurice
had hoped to impede for many days the march of a Spanish army--should a
Spanish army indeed be able to take the field at all--already swept off
in an hour. Great was the dismay in Ostend when Colonel Piron and a few
stragglers brought the heavy news of discomfiture and massacre to the
high and mighty States-General in solemn meeting assembled.

Meanwhile, the States' army before Nieuport, not dreaming of any pending
interruption to their labours, proceeded in a steady but leisurely manner
to invest the city. Maurice occupied himself in tracing the lines of
encampment and entrenchment, and ordered a permanent bridge to be begun
across the narrowest part of the creek, in order that the two parts of
his army might not be so dangerously divided from each other as they now
were, at high water, by the whole breadth and depth of the harbour.
Evening came on before much had been accomplished on this first day of
the siege. It was scarcely dusk when a messenger, much exhausted and
terrified, made his appearance at Count Ernest's tent. He was a straggler
who had made his escape from Oudenburg, and he brought the astounding
intelligence that the archduke had already possession of that position
and of all the other forts. Ernest instantly jumped into a boat and had
himself rowed, together with the messenger, to the headquarters of Prince
Maurice on the other side of the river. The news was as unexpected as it
was alarming. Here was the enemy, who was supposed incapable of mischief
for weeks to come, already in the field, and planted directly on their
communications with Ostend. Retreat, if retreat were desired, was already
impossible, and as to surprising the garrison of Nieuport and so
obtaining that stronghold as a basis for further aggressive operations,
it is very certain that if any man in Flanders was more surprised than
another at that moment it was Prince Maurice himself. He was too good a
soldier not to see at a glance that if the news brought by the straggler
were true, the whole expedition was already a failure, and that, instead
of a short siege and an easy victory, a great battle was to be fought
upon the sands of Nieuport, in which defeat was destruction of the whole
army of the republic, and very possibly of the republic itself.

The stadholder hesitated. He was prone in great emergencies to hesitate
at first, but immovable when his resolution was taken. Vere, who was
asleep in his tent, was sent for and consulted. Most of the generals were
inclined to believe that the demonstrations at Oudenburg, which had been
so successful, were merely a bravado of Rivas, the commander of the
permanent troops in that district, which were comparatively insignificant
in numbers. Vere thought otherwise. He maintained that the archduke was
already in force within a few hours' march of them, as he had always
supposed would be the case. His opinion was not shared by the rest, and
he went back to his truckle-bed, feeling that a brief repose was
necessary for the heavy work which would soon be upon him. At midnight
the Englishman was again called from his slumbers. Another messenger,
sent directly from the States-General at Ostend, had made his way to the
stadholder. This time there was no possibility of error, for Colonel
Piron had sent the accord with the garrison commanders of the forts which
had been so shamefully violated, and which bore the signature of the
archduke.

It was now perfectly obvious that a pitched battle was to be fought
before another sunset, and most anxious were the deliberations in that
brief midsummer's night. The dilemma was as grave a one as
commander-in-chief had ever to solve in a few hours. A portentous change
had come over the prospects of the commonwealth since the arrival of
these despatches. But a few hours before, and never had its destiny
seemed so secure, its attitude more imposing. The little republic, which
Spain had been endeavouring forty years long to subjugate, had already
swept every Spanish soldier out of its territory, had repeatedly carried
fire and sword into Spain itself, and even into its distant dependencies,
and at that moment--after effecting in a masterly manner the landing of a
great army in the very face of the man who claimed to be sovereign of all
the Netherlands, and after marching at ease through the heart of his
territory--was preparing a movement, with every prospect of success,
which should render the hold of that sovereign on any portion of
Netherland soil as uncertain and shifting as the sands on which the
States army was now encamped.

The son of the proscribed and murdered rebel stood at the head of as
powerful and well-disciplined an army as had ever been drawn up in line
of battle on that blood-stained soil. The daughter of the man who had so
long oppressed the provinces might soon be a fugitive from the land over
which she had so recently been endowed with perpetual sovereignty. And
now in an instant these visions were fading like a mirage.

The archduke, whom poverty and mutiny were to render powerless against
invasion, was following close up upon the heels of the triumphant army of
the stadholder. A decision was immediately necessary. The siege of
Nieuport was over before it had begun. Surprise had failed, assault for
the moment was impossible, the manner how best to confront the advancing
foe the only question.

Vere advised that the whole army should at once be concentrated and led
without delay against the archduke before he should make further
progress. The advice involved an outrageous impossibility, and it seems
incredible that it could have been given in good faith; still more
amazing that its rejection by Maurice should have been bitterly censured.
Two-thirds of the army lay on the other side of the harbour, and it was
high water at about three o'clock. While they were deliberating, the sea
was rising, and, so soon as daybreak should make any evolutions possible,
they would be utterly prohibited during several hours by the inexorable
tide. More time would be consumed by the attempt to construct temporary
bridges (for of course little progress had been made in the stone bridge
hardly begun) or to make use of boats than in waiting for the falling of
the water, and, should the enemy make his appearance while they were
engaged in such confusing efforts, the army would be hopelessly lost.

Maurice, against the express advice of Vere, decided to send his cousin
Ernest, with the main portion of the force established on the right bank
of the harbour, in search of the archduke, for the purpose of holding him
in check long enough to enable the rest of the army to cross the water
when the tide should serve. The enemy, it was now clear, would advance by
precisely the path over which the States' army had marched that morning.
Ernest was accordingly instructed to move with the greatest expedition in
order to seize the bridge at Leffingen before the archduke should reach
the deep, dangerous, and marshy river, over which it was the sole passage
to the downs. Two thousand infantry, being the Scotch regiment of Edmonds
and the Zeelanders of Van der Noot, four squadrons of Dutch cavalry, and
two pieces of artillery composed the force with which Ernest set forth at
a little before dawn on his hazardous but heroic enterprise.

With a handful of troops he was to make head against an army, and the
youth accepted the task in the cheerful spirit of self-sacrifice which
characterized his house. Marching as rapidly as the difficult ground
would permit, he had the disappointment, on approaching the fatal point
at about eight o'clock, to see the bridge at Leffingen in the possession
of the enemy. Maurice had sent off a messenger early that morning with a
letter marked post haste (cito, cito) to Ostend ordering up some four
hundred cavalry-men then stationed in that city under Piron and Bruges,
to move up to the support of Ernest, and to destroy the bridge and dams
at Leffingen before the enemy should arrive. That letter, which might
have been so effective, was delivered, as it subsequently appeared,
exactly ten days after it was written. The States, of their own
authority, had endeavoured to send out those riders towards the scene of
action, but it was with great difficulty that they could be got into the
saddle at all, and they positively refused to go further than St. Albert
fort.

What course should he now pursue? He had been sent to cut the archduke's
road. He had failed. Had he remained in his original encampment his force
would have been annihilated by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy so
soon as they reached the right bank of Nieuport haven, while Maurice
could have only looked hopelessly on from the opposite shore. At least
nothing worse than absolute destruction could befal him now. Should he
accept a combat of six or eight to one the struggle would be hopeless,
but the longer it was protracted the better it would be for his main
army, engaged at that very moment as he knew in crossing the haven with
the ebbing tide. Should he retreat, it might be possible for him to
escape into Fort Albert or even Ostend, but to do so would be to purchase
his own safety and that of his command at the probable sacrifice of the
chief army of the republic. Ernest hesitated but an instant. Coming
within carbine-shot of the stream, where he met his cavalry which had
been sent forward at full speed, in the vain hope of seizing or
destroying the bridge before it should be too late, he took up a position
behind a dyke, upon which he placed his two field-pieces, and formed his
troops in line of battle exactly across the enemy's path. On the right he
placed the regiment of Scots. On the left was Van der Noot's Zeeland
infantry, garnished with four companies of riders under Risoir, which
stood near St. Mary's church. The passage from the stream to the downs
was not more than a hundred yards wide, being skirted on both sides by a
swamp. Here Ernest with his two thousand men awaited the onset of the
archduke's army. He was perfectly aware that it was a mere question of
time, but he was sure that his preparations must interpose a delay to the
advance of the Spaniards, should his troops, as he felt confident, behave
themselves as they had always done, and that the delay would be of
inestimable value to his friends at the haven of Nieuport.

The archduke paused; for he, too, could not be certain, on observing the
resolute front thus presented to him, that he was not about to engage the
whole of the States' army. The doubt was but of short duration, however,
and the onset was made. Ernest's artillery fired four volleys into the
advancing battalions with such effect as to stagger them for a moment,
but they soon afterwards poured over the dyke in over whelming numbers,
easily capturing the cannon. The attack began upon Ernest's left, and
Risoir's cavalry, thinking that they should be cut off from all
possibility of retreat into Fort St. Albert, turned their backs in the
most disgraceful manner, without even waiting for the assault. Galloping
around the infantry on the left they infected the Zeelanders with their
own cowardice. Scarcely a moment passed before Van der Noot's whole
regiment was running away as fast as the troopers, while the Scots on the
right hesitated not for an instant to follow their example. Even before
the expected battle had begun, one of those hideous and unaccountable
panics which sometimes break out like a moral pestilence to destroy all
the virtue of an army, and to sweep away the best-considered schemes of a
general, had spread through Ernest's entire force. So soon as the
demi-cannon had discharged their fourth volley, Scots, Zeelanders,
Walloons, pikemen, musketeers, and troopers, possessed by the demon of
cowardice, were running like a herd of swine to throw themselves into the
sea. Had they even kept the line of the downs in the direction of the
fort many of them might have saved their lives, although none could have
escaped disgrace. But the Scots, in an ecstasy of fear, throwing away
their arms as they fled, ran through the waters behind the dyke, skimmed
over the sands at full speed, and never paused till such as survived the
sabre and musket of their swift pursuers had literally drowned themselves
in the ocean. Almost every man of them was slain or drowned. All the
captains--Stuart, Barclay, Murray, Kilpatrick, Michael, Nesbit--with the
rest of the company officers, doing their best to rally the fugitives,
were killed. The Zeelanders, more cautious in the midst of their panic,
or perhaps knowing better the nature of the country, were more successful
in saving their necks. Not more than a hundred and fifty of Van der
Noot's regiment were killed, while such of the cavalry of Bruges and
Piron as had come to the neighbourhood of Fort Albert, not caring to
trust themselves to the shelter of that redoubt, now fled as fast as
their horses' legs would carry them, and never pulled bridle till they
found themselves in Ostend. And so beside themselves with panic were
these fugitives, and so virulent was the contagion, that it was difficult
to prevent the men who had remained in the fort from joining in the
flight towards Ostend. Many of them indeed threw themselves over the
walls and were sabred by the enemy when they might have been safe within
the fortifications. Had these cavalry companies of Bruges and Piron been
even tolerably self-possessed, had they concentrated themselves in the
fort instead of yielding to the delirium which prompted them to
participate in their comrades' flight, they would have had it entirely in
their power, by making an attack, or even the semblance of an attack, by
means of a sudden sally from the fort, to have saved, not the battle
indeed, but a large number of lives. But the panic was hopeless and
universal, and countless fugitives scrambling by the fort were shot in a
leisurely manner by a comparative few of the enemy as easily as the
rabbits which swarmed in those sands were often knocked down in
multitudes by half-a-dozen sportsmen.

And thus a band of patriots, who were not cowards by nature, and who had
often played the part of men, had horribly disgraced themselves, and were
endangering the very existence of their country, already by mistaken
councils brought within the jaws of death. The glory of Thermopyla; might
have hung for ever over that bridge of Leffingen. It was now a pass of
infamy, perhaps of fatal disaster. The sands were covered with
weapons-sabre, pike, and arquebus--thrown away by almost every soldier as
he fled to save the life which after all was sacrificed. The artillery,
all the standards and colours, all the baggage and ammunition, every
thing was lost. No viler panic, no more complete defeat was ever
recorded. Such at half-past eight in the morning was that memorable
Sunday of the 2nd July, 1600, big with the fate of the Dutch
republic--the festival of the Visitation of the Virgin Mary, always
thought of happy augury for Spanish arms.

Thus began the long expected battle of Nieuport. At least a thousand of
the choicest troops of the stadholder were slain, while the Spanish had
hardly lost a man.

The archduke had annihilated his enemy, had taken his artillery and
thirty flags. In great exultation he despatched a messenger to the
Infanta at Ghent, informing her that he had entirely defeated the
advance-guard of the States' army, and that his next bulletin would
announce his complete triumph and the utter overthrow of Maurice, who had
now no means of escape. He stated also that he would very soon send the
rebel stadholder himself to her as a prisoner. The Infanta, much pleased
with the promise, observed to her attendants that she was curious to see
how Nassau would conduct himself when he should be brought a captive into
her presence. As to the Catholic troops, they were informed by the
archduke that after the complete victory which they were that day to
achieve, not a man should be left alive save Maurice and his brother
Frederic Henry. These should be spared to grace the conqueror's triumph,
but all else should be put to the sword.

Meantime artillery thundered, bonfires blazed, and bells rang their
merriest peals in Ghent, Bruges, and the other obedient cities as the
news of the great victory spread through the land.

When the fight was done the archduke called a council of war. It was a
grave question whether the army should at once advance in order to
complete the destruction of the enemy that day, or pause for an interval
that the troops fatigued with hard marching and with the victorious
combat in which they just had been engaged, should recover their full
strength. That the stadholder was completely in their power was certain.
The road to Ostend was barred, and Nieuport would hold him at bay, now
that the relieving army was close upon his heels. All that was necessary
in order to annihilate his whole force, was that they should entrench
themselves for the night on the road which he must cross. He would then
be obliged to assault their works with troops inferior in number to
theirs and fatigued by the march. Should he remain where he was he would
soon be starved into submission, and would be obliged to surrender his
whole army. On the other hand, by advancing now, in the intolerable heat
of a July sun over the burning and glaring sands, the troops already
wearied would arrive on the field of battle utterly exhausted, and would
be obliged to attack an enemy freshly and cheerfully awaiting them on
ground of his own selection.

Moreover it was absolutely certain that Fort Albert would not hold an
hour if resolutely assaulted in the midst of the panic of Ernest's
defeat, and, with its capture, the annihilation of Maurice was certain.

Meantime the three thousand men under Velasco, who had been detached to
protect the rear, would arrive to reinforce the archduke's main army,
should he pause until the next day.

These arguments, which had much logic in them, were strongly urged by
Zapena, a veteran marshal of the camp who had seen much service, and
whose counsels were usually received with deference. But on this occasion
commanders and soldiers were hot for following up their victory. They
cared nothing for the numbers of their enemy, they cried, "The more
infidels the greater glory in destroying them." Delay might after all
cause the loss of the prize, it was eagerly shouted. The archduke ought
to pray that the sun might stand still for him that morning, as for
Joshua in the vale of Ajalon. The foe seeing himself entrapped, with
destruction awaiting him, was now skulking towards his ships, which still
offered him the means of escape. Should they give him time he would
profit by their negligence, and next morning when they reached Nieuport,
the birds would be flown. Especially the leaders of the mutineers of
Diest and Thionville were hoarse with indignation at the proposed delay.
They had not left their brethren, they shouted, nor rallied to the
archduke's banner in order to sit down and dig in the sand like
ploughmen. There was triumph for the Holy Church, there was the utter
overthrow of the heretic army, there was rich booty to be gathered, all
these things were within their reach if they now advanced and smote the
rebels while, confused and panic-stricken, they were endeavouring to
embark in their ships.

While these vehement debates were at the hottest, sails were descried in
the offing; for the archduke's forces already stood upon the edge of the
downs. First one ship, then another and another, moved steadily along the
coast, returning from Nieuport in the direction of Ostend.

This was more than could be borne. It was obvious that the rebels were
already making their escape, and it was urged upon the cardinal that
probably Prince Maurice and the other chieftains were on board one of
those very vessels, and were giving him the slip. With great expedition
it would still be possible to overtake them before the main body could
embark, and the attack might yet be made at the most favourable moment.
Those white sails gleaming in the distance were more eloquent than Zapena
or any other advocate of delay, and the order was given to advance. And
it was exactly at this period that it still lay within the power of the
States' cavalry at Ostend to partially redeem their character, and to
render very effective service. Had four or five hundred resolute troopers
hung upon the rear of the Spanish army now, as it moved toward Nieuport,
they might, by judiciously skirmishing, advancing and retreating
according to circumstances, have caused much confusion, and certainly
have so harassed the archduke as to compel the detachment of a very
considerable force of his own cavalry to protect himself against such
assaults. But the terror was an enduring one. Those horsemen remained
paralyzed and helpless, and it was impossible for the States, with all
their commands or entreaties, to induce them to mount and ride even a
half mile beyond the city gates.

While these events had been occurring in the neighbourhood of Ostend,
Maurice had not been idle at Nieuport. No sooner had Ernest been
despatched on his desperate errand than his brother Lewis Gunther was
ordered by the stadholder to get on horseback and ride through the
quarters of the army. On the previous afternoon there had been so little
thought of an enemy that large foraging parties had gone out from camp in
all directions, and had not returned. Lewis gave notice that a great
battle was to be expected on the morrow, instead of the tranquil
commencement of a leisurely siege, and that therefore no soul was
henceforth to leave the camp, while a troop of horse was despatched at
the first gleam of daylight to scour the country in search of all the
stragglers. Maurice had no thought of retreating, and his first care was
to bring his army across the haven. The arrangements were soon completed,
but it was necessary to wait until nearly low water. Soon after eight
o'clock Count Lewis began to cross with eight squadrons of cavalry, and
partly swimming, partly wading, effected the passage in safety. The
advanced guard of infantry, under Sir Francis Vere--consisting of two
thousand six hundred Englishmen, and two thousand eight hundred Frisians,
with some companies of horse, followed by the battalia under Solms, and
the rearguard under Tempel--then slowly and with difficulty moved along
the same dangerous path with the water as high as their armpits, and
often rising nearly over their heads. Had the archduke not been detained
near the bridge of Leffingen by Ernest's Scotchmen and Zeelanders during
three or four precious hours that morning; had he arrived, as he
otherwise might have done, just as the States' army--horse, foot, and
artillery--was floundering through that treacherous tide, it would have
fared ill for the stadholder and the republic. But the devotion of Ernest
had at least prevented the attack of the archduke until Maurice and his
men stood on dry land.

Dripping from head to foot, but safe and sound, the army had at last
reached the beach at Nieuport. Vere had refused his soldiers permission
to denude themselves in crossing of their shoes and lower garments. There
was no time for that, he said, and they would either earn new clothes for
themselves that day, or never need doublet and hose again any more in the
world. Some hours had elapsed before the tedious and difficult crossing
of infantry, cavalry, artillery, and munition trains had been
accomplished.

Lewis Gunther, with eight squadrons of picked cavalry, including his own
company, Maurice's own, Frederic Henry's own, with Batenburg's
arquebus-men, and other veterans, was first to place himself in battle
order on the beach. His squadrons in iron corslet and morion, and armed
with lances, carbines, and sabres, stretched across from the water to the
downs. He had not been long stationed there when he observed that far
away in the direction of Ostend the beach was growing black with troops.
He believed them at first to be his brother Ernest and his forces
returning victorious from their hazardous expedition, but he was soon
undeceived.

A couple of troopers from Ostend came spurring full gallop along the
strand, and almost breathless with dismay, announced that it was the
whole army of the archduke advancing in line of battle. They were
instantly sent to the rear, without being allowed to speak further, in
order that they might deliver their message in private to the
commander-in-chief. And most terrible were the tidings to which Maurice
now listened in very secret audience. Ernest was utterly defeated, his
command cut to pieces, the triumphant foe advancing rapidly, and already
in full sight. The stadholder heard the tale without flinching, and
having quietly ordered the messengers upon their lives not to open their
lips on the subject to living soul, sent them securely guarded in a boat
on board one of the war-ships in the offing. With perfect cheerfulness he
then continued his preparations, consulting with Vere, on whom he mainly
relied for the marshalling of the army in the coming conflict. Undecided
as he had sometimes shown himself, he was resolute now. He called no
council of war, for he knew not how much might be known or suspected of
the disaster already sustained, and he had fully made up his mind as to
the course to be pursued. He had indeed taken a supreme resolution.
Entirely out of his own breast, without advising with any man, he calmly
gave directions that every war-ship, transport, barge, or wherry should
put to sea at once. As the tide had now been long on the flood, the few
vessels that had been aground--within the harbour were got afloat, and
the whole vast, almost innumerable armada, was soon standing out to sea.
No more heroic decision was ever taken by fighting man.

Sir Francis gave advice that entrenchments should be thrown up on the
north-east, and that instead of advancing towards the enemy they should
await his coming, and refuse the battle that day if possible. The
Englishman, not aware of the catastrophe at Leffingen, which Maurice had
locked up in his own breast, was now informed by the stadholder that
there were to be no entrenchments that day but those of pike and
arquebus. It was not the fault of Maurice that the fate of the
commonwealth had been suspended on a silken thread that morning, but he
knew that but one of two issues was possible. They must fight their way
through the enemy back to Ostend, or perish, every man of them. The
possibility of surrender did not enter his mind, and he felt that it was
better to hasten the action before the news of Ernest's disaster should
arrive to chill the ardour of the troops.

Meantime Lewis Gunther and his cavalry had been sitting motionless upon
their horses on the beach. The enemy was already in full view, and the
young general, most desirous to engage in a preliminary skirmish, sent
repeated messages to the stadholder for permission to advance. Presently
Sir Francis Vere rode to the front, to whom he eagerly urged his request
that the infantry of the vanguard might be, brought up at once to support
him. On the contrary the English general advised that the cavalry should
fall back to the infantry, in order to avoid a premature movement. Lewis
strongly objected to this arrangement, on the ground that the mere
semblance of retreat, thus upon the eve of battle, would discourage all
the troops. But he was over-ruled, for Maurice had expressly enjoined
upon his cousin that morning to defer in all things to the orders of
Vere. These eight squadrons of horse accordingly shifted their position,
and were now placed close to the edge of the sea, on the left flank of
the vanguard, which Vere had drawn up across the beach and in the downs.
On the edge of the downs, on the narrow slip of hard sand above
high-water mark, and on Vere's right, Maurice had placed a battery of six
demi-cannon.

Behind the advance was the battalia, or centre, under command of that
famous fighter, George Everard Solms, consisting of Germans, Swiss,
French, and Walloons. The "New Beggars," as the Walloons were called, who
had so recently surrendered the forts of Crevecoeur and St. Andrew, and
gone over from the archduke's service to the army of the States, were
included in this division, and were as eager to do credit to their new
chief as were the mutineers in the archduke's army to merit the
approbation of their sovereign.

The rearguard under Tempel was made up, like the other divisions, of the
blended nationalities of German, Briton, Hollander, and Walloon, and,
like the others, was garnished at each flank with heavy cavalry.

The Spanish army, after coming nearly within cannon-shot of their
adversary, paused. It was plain that the States' troops were not in so
great a panic as the more sanguine advisers of the archduke had hoped.
They were not cowering among the shipping, preparing to escape. Still
less had any portion of them already effected their retreat in those
vessels, a few of which had so excited the enemy's ardour when they came
in sight. It was obvious that a great struggle, in which the forces were
very evenly balanced, was now to be fought out upon those sands. It was a
splendid tournament--a great duel for life and death between the
champions of the Papacy and of Protestantism, of the Republic and of
absolutism, that was to be fought out that midsummer's day. The lists
were closed. The trumpet signal for the fray would soon be blown.

The archduke, in Milanese armour, on a wonderfully beautiful snow-white
Spanish stallion, moved in the centre of his army. He wore no helmet,
that his men might the more readily recognize him as he rode gallantly to
and fro, marshalling, encouraging, exhorting the troops. Never before had
he manifested such decided military talent, combined with unquestionable
personal valour, as he had done since this campaign began. Friend and foe
agreed that day that Albert fought like a lion. He was at first well
seconded by Mendoza, who led the van, and by Villars, La Bourlotte,
Avalos, Zapena, and many other officers of note. The mutinous Spanish and
Italian cavalry, combined with a few choice squadrons of Walloon and
German horse, were placed in front and on the flanks. They were under the
special supervision of the admiral, who marshalled their squadrons and
directed their charging, although mounted on a hackney himself, and not
intending to participate in the action. Then came the battalia and rear,
crowding very closely upon each other.

Face to face with them stood the republican host, drawn up in great solid
squares of infantry, their standards waving above each closely planted
clump of pikemen, with the musketeers fringing their skirts, while the
iron-clad ponderous cavalry of Count Lewis and Marcellus Bax, in black
casque and, corslet, were in front, restlessly expecting the signal for
the onset. The volunteers of high rank who were then serving on the staff
of the stadholder--the Duke of Holstein, the Prince of Anhalt, two young
Counts Solms, and others--had been invited and even urged to abandon the
field while there was yet time for setting them on board the fleet.
Especially it was thought desirable that young Frederic Henry, a mere
boy, on whom the hopes of the Orange-Nassau house would rest if Maurice
fell in the conflict, should be spared the fate which seemed hanging over
the commonwealth and her defenders. But the son of William the Silent
implored his brother with clasped hands not to send him from his side at
that moment, so that Maurice granted his prayer, and caused him to be
provided with a complete suit of armour. Thus in company with young
Coligny--a lad of his own age, and like himself a grandson of the great
admiral--the youth who was one day to play so noble a part on the stage
of the world's affairs was now to be engaged in his first great passage
of arms. No one left the field but Sir Robert Sidney, who had come over
from Ostend, from irrepressible curiosity to witness the arrangements,
but who would obviously have been guilty of unpardonable negligence had
he been absent at such a crisis from the important post of which he was
governor for the queen.

The arena of the conflict seemed elaborately prepared by the hand of
nature. The hard, level, sandy beach, swept clean and smooth by the
ceaseless action of the tides, stretched out far as the eye could reach
in one long, bold, monotonous line. Like the whole coast of Flanders and
of Holland, it seemed drawn by a geometrical rule, not a cape, cove, or
estuary breaking the perfect straightness of the design. On the right,
just beyond high-water mark, the downs, fantastically heaped together
like a mimic mountain chain, or like tempestuous ocean-waves suddenly
changed to sand, rolled wild and confused, but still in a regularly
parallel course with the line of the beach. They seemed a barrier thrown
up to protect the land from being bitten quite away by the ever-restless
and encroaching sea. Beyond the downs, which were seven hundred yards in
width; extended a level tract of those green fertile meadows,
artificially drained, which are so characteristic a feature of the
Netherland landscapes, the stream which ran from Ostend towards the town
of Nieuport flowing sluggishly through them. It was a bright warm
midsummer day. The waves of the German Ocean came lazily rolling in upon
the crisp yellow sand, the surf breaking with its monotonous music at the
very feet of the armies. A gentle south-west breeze was blowing, just
filling the sails of more than a thousand ships in the offing, which
moved languidly along the sparkling sea. It was an atmosphere better
befitting a tranquil holiday than the scene of carnage which seemed
approaching.

Maurice of Nassau, in complete armour, rapier in hand, with the
orange-plumes waving from his helmet and the orange-scarf across his
breast, rode through the lines, briefly addressing his soldiers with
martial energy. Pointing to the harbour of Nieuport behind them, now
again impassable with the flood, to the ocean on the left where rode the
fleet, carrying with it all hope of escape by sea, and to the army of the
archduke in front, almost within cannon-range, he simply observed that
they had no possible choice between victory and death. They must either
utterly overthrow the Spanish army, he said, or drink all the waters of
the sea. Either drowning or butchery was their doom if they were
conquered, for no quarter was to be expected from their unscrupulous and
insolent foe. He was there to share their fate, to conquer or to perish
with them, and from their tried valour and from the God of battles he
hoped a more magnificent victory than had ever before been achieved in
this almost perpetual war for independence. The troops, perfectly
enthusiastic, replied with a shout that they were ready to live or die
with their chieftain, and eagerly demanded to be led upon the foe.
Whether from hope or from desperation they were confident and cheerful.
Some doubt was felt as to the Walloons, who had so lately transferred
themselves from the archduke's army, but their commander, Marquette, made
them all lift up their hands, and swear solemnly to live or die that day
at the feet of Prince Maurice.

Two hours long these two armies had stood looking each other in the face.
It was near two o'clock when the arch duke at last gave the signal to
advance. The tide was again almost at the full. Maurice stood firm,
awaiting the assault; the enemy slowly coming nearer, and the rising tide
as steadily lapping away all that was left of the hard beach which
fringed the rugged downs. Count Lewis chafed with impatience as it became
each moment more evident that there would be no beach left for cavalry
fighting, while in the downs the manoeuvring of horse was entirely
impossible. Meantime, by command of Vere, all those sandy hillocks and
steeps had been thickly sown with musketeers and pikemen. Arquebus-men
and carabineers were planted in every hollow, while on the highest and
most advantageous elevation two pieces of cannon had been placed by the
express direction of Maurice. It seemed obvious that the battle would,
after all, be transferred to the downs. Not long before the action began,
a private of the enemy's cavalry was taken, apparently with his own
consent, in a very trifling preliminary skirmish. He bragged loudly of
the immense force of the archduke, of the great victory already gained
over Ernest, with the utter annihilation of his forces, and of the
impending destruction of the whole States' army. Strange to say, this was
the first intimation received by Count Lewis of that grave disaster,
although it had been for some hours known to Maurice. The prisoner was at
once gagged, that he might spread his disheartening news no further, but
as he persisted by signs and gestures in attempting to convey the
information which he had evidently been sent forward to impart, he was
shot by command of the stadholder, and so told no further tales.

The enemy had now come very close, and it was the desire of Count Lewis
that a couple of companies of horse, in accordance with the commands of
Maurice, should charge the cavalry in front, and that after a brief
skirmish they should retreat as if panic-stricken behind the advance
column, thus decoying the Spanish vanguard in hot pursuit towards the
battery upon the edge of the downs. The cannon were then suddenly to open
upon them, and during the confusion sure to be created in their ranks,
the musketeers, ambushed among the hollows, were to attack them in flank,
while the cavalry in one mass should then make a concentrated charge in
front. It seemed certain that the effect of this movement would be to
hurl the whole of the enemy's advance, horse and foot, back upon his
battalia, and thus to break up his army in irretrievable rout. The plan
was a sensible one, but it was not ingeniously executed. Before the
handful of cavalry had time to make the proposed feint the cannoneers,
being unduly excited, and by express command of Sir Francis Vere, fired a
volley into the advancing columns of the archduke. This precipitated the
action; almost in an instant changed its whole character, and defeated
the original plan of the republican leader. The enemy's cavalry broke at
the first discharge from the battery, and wheeled in considerable
disorder, but without panic, quite into and across the downs. The whole
army of the archduke, which had already been veering in the same
direction, as it advanced, both because the tide was so steadily
devouring the even surface of the sands, and because the position of a
large portion of the States' forces among the hillocks exposed him to an
attack in flank, was now rapidly transferred to the downs. It was
necessary for that portion of Maurice's army which still stood on what
remained of the beach to follow this movement. A rapid change of front
was then undertaken, and--thanks to the careful system of wheeling,
marching, and counter-marching in which the army had been educated by
William Lewis and Maurice--was executed with less confusion than might
have been expected.

But very few companies of infantry now remained on the strip of beach
still bare of the waves, and in the immediate vicinity of the artillery
planted high and dry beyond their reach.

The scene was transformed as if by magic, and the battle was now to be
fought out in those shifting, uneven hills and hollows, where every
soldier stood mid-leg deep in the dry and burning sand. Fortunately for
the States' army, the wind was in its back, blowing both sand and smoke
into the faces of its antagonists, while the already weltering sun glared
fiercely in their eyes. Maurice had skilfully made use of the great
advantage which accident had given him that day, and his very refusal to
advance and to bring on a premature struggle thus stood him in stead in a
variety of ways Lewis Gunther was now ordered, with Marcellus Bax and six
squadrons of horse, to take position within the belt of pasture land on
the right of the downs. When he arrived there the van of the archduke's
infantry had already charged the States' advance under Vere, while just
behind and on the side of the musketeers and pikemen a large portion of
the enemy's cavalry was standing stock still on the green. Without
waiting for instructions Lewis ordered a charge. It was brilliantly
successful. Unheeding a warm salutation in flank from the musketeers as
they rode by them, and notwithstanding that they were obliged to take
several ditches as they charged, they routed the enemy's cavalry at the
first onset, and drove them into panic-stricken flight. Some fled for
protection quite to the rear of their infantry, others were hotly pursued
across the meadows till they took refuge under the walls of Nieuport. The
very success of the attack was nearly fatal however to Count Lewis; for,
unable to restrain the ardour of his troopers in the chase, he found
himself cut off from the army with only ten horsemen to support him, and
completely enveloped by the enemy. Fortunately Prince Maurice had
foreseen the danger, and had ordered all the cavalry to the meadows so
soon as the charge was made. Captain Kloet, with a fresh company of
mounted carabineers, marked the little squad of States' cavalry careering
about in the midst of the Catholics, recognized their leader by the
orange-plumes on his calque, and dashed forward to the rescue. Lewis
again found himself at the head of his cavalry, but was obliged to wait a
long time for the return of the stragglers.

While this brilliant diversion had been enacting as it were on the fringe
of the battle, its real bustle and business had been going on in the
downs. Just as Lewis made his charge in the pastures, the infantry of the
archduke and the advance guard of the republicans met in deadly shock.
More than an hour long they contended with varying success. Musketeers,
pikemen, arquebusmen, swordmen, charged, sabred, or shot each other from
the various hollows or heights of vantage, plunging knee-deep in the
sand, torn and impeded by the prickly broom-plant which grew profusely
over the whole surface, and fighting breast to breast and hand to hand in
a vast series of individual encounters. Thrice were the Spaniards
repulsed in what for a moment seemed absolute rout, thrice they rallied
and drove their assailants at push of pike far beyond their original
position; and again the conquered republicans recovered their energy and
smote their adversaries as if the contest were just begun. The tide of
battle ebbed and flowed like the waves of the sea, but it would be mere
pedantry to affect any technical explanation of its various changes. It
was a hot struggle of twenty thousand men, pent up in a narrow space,
where the very nature of the ground had made artistic evolutions nearly
impracticable. The advance, the battalia, even the rearguard on both
sides were mixed together pell-mell, and the downs were soon covered at
every step with the dead and dying-Briton, Hollander, Spaniard, Italian,
Frisian, Frenchman, Walloon, fighting and falling together, and hotly
contesting every inch of those barren sands.

It seemed, said one who fought there, as if the last day of the world had
come.

Political and religious hatred, pride of race, remembrance of a
half-century of wrongs, hope, fury, and despair; these were the real
elements contending with each other that summer's day. It was a mere
trial of ferocity and endurance, not more scientific than a fight between
packs of wolves and of bloodhounds.

No doubt the brunt of the conflict fell upon Vere, with his Englishmen
and Frisians, for this advance-guard made up nearly one-half of the
States' army actually engaged. And most nobly, indefatigably, did the
hardy veteran discharge his duty. Having personally superintended almost
all the arrangements in the morning, he fought all day in the front,
doing the work both of a field-marshal and a corporal.

He was twice wounded, shot each time through the same leg, yet still
fought on as if it were some one else's blood and not his own that was
flowing from "those four holes in his flesh." He complained that he was
not sufficiently seconded, and that the reserves were not brought up
rapidly enough to his support. He was manifestly unjust, for although it
could not be doubted that the English and the Frisians did their best, it
was equally certain that every part of the army was as staunch as the
vanguard. It may be safely asserted that it would not have benefited the
cause of the States, had every man been thrown into the fight at one and
the same moment.

During this "bloody bit," as Vere called it, between the infantry on both
sides, the little battery of two field-pieces planted on the highest
hillock of the downs had been very effective. Meantime, while the
desperate and decisive struggle had been going on, Lewis Gunther, in the
meadow, had again rallied all the cavalry, which, at the first stage of
the action, had been dispersed in pursuit of the enemy's horse. Gathering
them together in a mass, he besought Prince Maurice to order him to
charge. The stadholder bade him pause yet a little longer. The aspect of
the infantry fight was not yet, in his opinion, sufficiently favourable.
Again and again Lewis sent fresh entreaties, and at last received the
desired permission. Placing three picked squadrons in front, the young
general made a furious assault upon the Catholic cavalry, which had again
rallied and was drawn up very close to the musketeers. Fortune was not so
kind to him as at the earlier stage of the combat. The charge was
received with dauntless front by the Spanish and Italian horse, while at
the same moment the infantry poured a severe fire into their assailants.
The advancing squadrons faltered, wheeled back upon the companies
following them, and the whole mass of the republican cavalry broke into
wild and disorderly retreat. At the same moment the archduke, observing
his advantage, threw in his last reserves of infantry, and again there
was a desperate charge upon Vere's wearied troops, as decisive as the
counter charge of Lewis's cavalry had been unsuccessful. The English and
Frisians, sorely tried during those hours of fighting with superior
numbers in the intolerable heat, broke at last and turned their backs
upon the foe. Some of them fled panic-stricken quite across the downs and
threw themselves into the sea, but the mass retreated in a comparatively
orderly manner, being driven from one down to another, and seeking a last
refuge behind the battery placed on the high-water line of the beach. In
the confusion and panic Sir Francis Vere went down at last. His horse,
killed by a stray shot fell with and upon him, and the heroic Englishman
would then and there have finished his career--for he would hardly have
found quarter from the Spaniards--had not Sir Robert Drury, riding by in
the tumult, observed him as he lay almost exhausted in the sand. By his
exertion and that of his servant Higham, Vere was rescued from his
perilous situation, placed on the crupper of Sir Robert's horse, and so
borne off the field.

The current of the retreating and pursuing hosts swept by the spot where
Maurice sat on horseback, watching and directing the battle. His bravest
and best general, the veteran Vere, had fallen; his cousin Lewis was now
as utterly overthrown as his brother Ernest had been but a few hours
before at the fatal bridge of Leffingen; the whole army, the only army,
of the States was defeated, broken, panic-struck; the Spanish shouts of
victory rang on every side. Plainly the day was lost, and with it the
republic. In the blackest hour that the Netherland commonwealth had ever
known, the fortitude of the stadholder did not desert him. Immoveable as
a rock in the torrent he stemmed the flight of his troops. Three
squadrons of reserved cavalry, Balen's own, Vere's own, and Cecil's, were
all that was left him, and at the head of these he essayed an advance. He
seemed the only man on the field not frightened; and menacing, conjuring,
persuading the fugitives for the love of fatherland, of himself and his
house, of their own honour, not to disgrace and destroy themselves for
ever; urging that all was not yet lost, and beseeching them at least to
take despair for their master, and rather to die like men on the field
than to drown like dogs in the sea, he succeeded in rallying a portion of
those nearest him. The enemy paused in their mad pursuit, impressed even
more than were the States' troops at the dauntless bearing of the prince.
It was one of those supreme moments in battle and in history which are
sometimes permitted to influence the course of events during a long
future. The archduke and his generals committed a grave error in pausing
for an instant in their career. Very soon it was too late to repair the
fault, for the quick and correct eye of the stadholder saw the point to
which the whole battle was tending, and he threw his handful of reserved
cavalry, with such of the fugitives as had rallied, straight towards the
battery on the beach.

It was arranged that Balen should charge on the strand, Horace Vere
through the upper downs, and Cecil along the margin of the beach. Balen
rode slowly through the heavy sand, keeping his horses well in wind, and
at the moment he touched the beach, rushed with fury upon the enemy's
foot near the battery. The moment was most opportune, for the last shot
had been fired from the guns, and they had just been nearly abandoned in
despair. The onset of Balen was successful: the Spanish infantry, thus
suddenly attached, were broken, and many were killed and taken. Cecil and
Vere were equally fortunate, so that the retreating English and Frisians
began to hold firm again. It was the very crisis of the battle, which up
to that instant seemed wholly lost by the republic, so universal was the
overthrow and the flight. Some hundred and fifty Frisian pikemen now
rallied from their sullen retreat, and drove the enemy off one hillock or
dune.

Foiled in their attempt to intercept the backward movement of the States'
army and to seize this vital point and the artillery with it, the
Spaniards hesitated and were somewhat discouraged. Some Zeeland sailors,
who had stuck like wax to those demi-cannon during the whole conflict,
now promptly obeyed orders to open yet once more upon the victorious foe.
At the first volley the Spaniards were staggered, and the sailors with a
lively shout of "Ian-fall on," inspired the defeated army with a portion
of their own cheerfulness. Others vehemently shouted victory without any
reason whatever. At that instant Maurice ordered a last charge by those
few cavalry squadrons, while the enemy was faltering under the play of
the artillery. It was a forlorn hope, yet such was the shifting fortune
of that memorable day that the charge decided the battle. The whole line
of the enemy broke, the conquered became the victors, the fugitives
quickly rallying and shouting victory almost before they had turned their
faces to the foe, became in their turn the pursuers. The Catholic army
could no longer be brought to a stand, but fled wildly in every
direction, and were shot and stabbed by the republicans as they fled. The
Admiral of Arragon fell with his hackney in this last charge. Unwounded,
but struggling to extricate himself from his horse that had been killed,
he was quickly surrounded by the enemy.

Two Spaniards, Mendo and Villalobos by name, who had recently deserted to
the States, came up at the moment and recognised the fallen admiral. They
had reason to recognise him, for both had been in his service, and one of
them, who was once in immediate household attendance upon him, bore the
mark of a wound which he had received from his insolent master. "Admiral,
look at this," cried Villalobos, pointing to the scar on his face. The
admiral looked and knew his old servants, and gave his scarf to the one
and the hanger of his sword-belt to the other, as tokens that he was
their prisoner. Thus his life was saved for heavy ransom, of which those
who had actually captured him would receive a very trifling portion. The
great prisoner was carried to the rear, where he immediately asked for
food and drink, and fell to with an appetite, while the pursuit and
slaughter went on in all directions.

The archduke, too, whose personal conduct throughout the day was
admirable, had been slightly wounded by a halberd stroke on the ear. This
was at an earlier stage of the action, and he had subsequently mounted
another horse, exchanged his splendid armour for a plain black harness,
over which he wore a shabby scarf. In the confusion of the rout he was
hard beset. "Surrender, scoundrel!" cried a Walloon pikeman, seizing his
horse by the bridle. But a certain Flemish Captain Kabbeljaw recognising
his sovereign and rushing to his rescue, slew his assailant and four
others with his own hand. He was at last himself killed, but Albert
escaped, and, accompanied by the Duke of Aumale, who was also slightly
wounded, by Colonel La Bourlotte, and half a dozen troopers rode for
their life in the direction of Bruges. When they reached the fatal bridge
of Leffingen, over which the archduke had marched so triumphantly but a
few hours before to annihilate Count Ernest's division, he was nearly
taken prisoner. A few soldiers, collected from the scattered garrisons,
had occupied the position, but knowing nothing of the result of the
action in the downs, took to their heels and fled as the little party of
cavaliers advanced. Had the commander at Ostend or the States-General
promptly sent out a company or two so soon as the news of the victory
reached them to seize this vital point, the doom of the archduke would
have been sealed. Nothing then could have saved him from capture.
Fortunately escaping this danger, he now pushed on, and never pulled
bridle till he reached Bruges. Thence without pausing he was conveyed to
Ghent, where he presented himself to the Infanta. He was not accompanied
by the captive Maurice of Nassau, and the curiosity of the princess to
know how that warrior would demean himself as a prisoner was not destined
on this occasion to be gratified.

Isabella bore the disappointment and the bitter intelligence of the
defeat with a stoicism worthy of her departed father. She had already had
intimations that the day was going against her army, and had successively
received tidings that her husband was killed, was dangerously wounded,
was a prisoner; and she was now almost relieved to receive him, utterly
defeated, but still safe and sound.

Meantime the mad chase continued along the beach and through the downs.
Never was a rout more absolute than that of Albert's army. Never had so
brilliant a victory been achieved by Hollander or Spaniard upon that
great battleground of Europe--the Netherlands.

Maurice, to whom the chief credit of the victory was unquestionably due,
had been firm and impassive during the various aspects of the battle,
never losing his self-command when affairs seemed blackest. So soon,
however, as the triumph, after wavering so long, was decided in his
favour--the veteran legions of Spain and Italy, the picked troops of
Christendom, all flying at last before his troops--the stadholder was
fairly melted. Dismounting from his horse, he threw himself on his knees
in the sand, and with streaming eyes and uplifted hands exclaimed, "O
God, what are we human creatures to whom Thou hast brought such honour,
and to whom Thou hast vouchsafed such a victory!"

The slaughter went on until nightfall, but the wearied conquerors were
then obliged to desist from the pursuit. Three thousand Spaniards were
slain and about six hundred prisoners were taken. The loss of the States'
army; including the affair in the morning at Leffingen, was about two
thousand killed. Maurice was censured for not following up his victory
more closely, but the criticism seems unjust. The night which followed
the warm summer's day was singularly black and cloudy, the army was
exhausted, the distance for the enemy to traverse before they found
themselves safe within their own territory was not great. In such
circumstances the stadholder might well deem himself sufficiently
triumphant to have plucked a splendid victory out of the very jaws of
death. All the artillery of the archduke--seven pieces besides the two
captured from Ernest in the morning--one hundred and twenty standards,
and a long list of distinguished prisoners, including the Admiral Zapena
and many other officers of note, were the trophies of the conqueror.
Maurice passed the night on the battle-field; the admiral supping with
him in his tent. Next morning he went to Ostend, where a great
thanksgiving was held, Uytenbogart preaching an eloquent sermon on the
116th Psalm. Afterwards there was a dinner at the house of the
States-General, in honour of the stadholder, to which the Admiral of
Arragon was likewise bidden. That arrogant but discomfited personage was
obliged to listen to many a rough martial joke at his disaster as they
sat at table, but he bore the brunt of the encounter with much fortitude.

"Monsieur the Admiral of Arragon," said the stadholder in French, "is
more fortunate than many of his army. He has been desiring these four
years to see Holland. Now he will make his entrance there without
striking a blow." The gibe was perhaps deficient in delicacy towards a
fallen foe, but a man who had passed a whole winter in murdering his
prisoners in cold blood might be satisfied if he were stung only by a
sharp sarcasm or two, when he had himself become a captive.

Others asked him demurely what he thought of these awkward apprentices of
Holland and Zeeland, who were good enough at fighting behind dykes and
ramparts of cities, but who never ventured to face a Spanish army in the
open field. Mendoza sustained himself with equanimity however, and found
plenty of answers. He discussed the battle with coolness, blamed the
archduke for throwing the whole of his force prematurely into the
contest, and applauded the prudence of Maurice in keeping his reserves in
hand. He ascribed a great share of the result to the States' artillery,
which had been well placed upon wooden platforms and well served, while
the archduke's cannon, sinking in the sands, had been of comparatively
little use. Especially he expressed a warm admiration for the heroism of
Maurice in sending away his ships, and in thus leaving himself and his
soldiers no alternative but death or triumph.

While they still sat at table many of the standards taken from the enemy
were brought in and exhibited; the stadholder and others amusing
themselves with reading the inscriptions and devices emblazoned upon
them.

And thus on the 2nd July, 1600, the army of the States-General, led by
Maurice of Nassau, had utterly defeated Albert of Austria.

   ["Enfin l'affaire vint auix mains et fut combattu bien furieusement
   de deux costes l'espace de deux heures. Enfin Dieu par sa grace
   voulut que la victoire demeura de more coste." Such were the simple
   words in which Maurice announced to his cousin Lewis William his
   victory in the most important battle that had been fought for half a
   century. Not even General Ulysses Grant could be more modest in the
   hour of immense triumph.]

Strange to say--on another 2nd July, three centuries and two years
before, a former Albert of Austria had overthrown the emperor Adolphus of
Nassau, who had then lost both crown and life in the memorable battle of
Worms. The imperial shade of Maurice's ancestor had been signally
appeased.

In Ostend, as may well be imagined, ineffable joy had succeeded to the
horrible gloom in which the day had been passed, ever since the tidings
had been received of Ernest's overthrow.

Those very cavalry men, who had remained all day cowering behind the
walls of the city, seeing by the clouds of dust which marked the track of
the fugitives that the battle had been won by the comrades whom they had
so basely deserted in the morning, had been eager enough to join in the
pursuit. It was with difficulty that the States, who had been unable to
drive them out of the town while the fight was impending or going on,
could keep enough of them within the walls to guard the city against
possible accident, now that the work was done. Even had they taken the
field a few hours earlier, without participating in the action, or
risking their own lives, they might have secured the pass of Leffingen,
and made the capture of the archduke or his destruction inevitable.

The city, which had seemed deserted, swarmed with the garrison and with
the lately trembling burghers, for it seemed to all as if they had been
born again. Even the soldiers on the battle-field had embraced each other
like comrades who had met in another world. "Blessed be His holy name,"
said the stadholder's chaplain, "for His right hand has led us into hell
and brought us forth again. I know not," he continued, "if I am awake or
if I dream, when I think how God has in one moment raised us from the
dead."

Lewis Gunther, whose services had been so conspicuous, was well rewarded.
"I hope," said that general, writing to his brother Lewis William, "that
this day's work will not have been useless to me, both for what I have
learned in it and for another thing. His Excellency has done me the
honour to give me the admiral for my prisoner." And equally
characteristic was the reply of the religious and thrifty stadholder of
Friesland.

"I thank God," he said, "for His singular grace in that He has been
pleased to make use of your person as the instrument of so renowned and
signal a victory, for which, as you have derived therefrom not mediocre
praise, and acquired a great reputation, it should be now your duty to
humble yourself before God, and to acknowledge that it is He alone who
has thus honoured you . . . . You should reverence Him the more, that
while others are admonished of their duty by misfortunes and miseries,
the good God invites you to His love by benefits and honours . . . . I am
very glad, too, that his Excellency has given you the admiral for your
prisoner, both because of the benefit to you, and because it is a mark of
your merit on that day. Knowing the state of our affairs, you will now be
able to free your patrimony from encumbrances, when otherwise you would
have been in danger of remaining embarrassed and in the power of others.
It will therefore be a perpetual honour to you that you, the youngest of
us all, have been able by your merits to do more to raise up our house
out of its difficulties than your predecessors or myself have been able
to do."

The beautiful white horse which the archduke had ridden during the battle
fell into the hands of Lewis Gunther, and was presented by him to Prince
Maurice, who had expressed great admiration of the charger. It was a
Spanish horse, for which the archduke had lately paid eleven hundred
crowns.

A white hackney of the Infanta had also been taken, and became the
property of Count Ernest.

The news of the great battle spread with unexampled rapidity, not only
through the Netherlands but to neighbouring countries. On the night of
the 7th July (N.S.) five days after the event, Envoy Caron, in England,
received intimations of the favourable news from the French ambassador,
who had received a letter from the Governor of Calais. Next morning, very
early, he waited on Sir Robert Cecil at Greenwich, and was admitted to
his chamber, although the secretary was not yet out of bed. He, too, had
heard of the battle, but Richardot had informed the English ambassador in
Paris that the victory had been gained, not by the stadholder, but by the
archduke. While they were talking, a despatch-bearer arrived with letters
from Vere to Cecil, and from the States-General to Caron, dated on the
3rd July. There could no longer be any doubt on the subject, and the
envoy of the republic had now full details of the glorious triumph which
the Spanish agent in Paris had endeavoured for a time to distort into a
defeat.

While the two were conversing, the queen, who had heard of Caron's
presence in the palace, sent down for the latest intelligence. Cecil made
notes of the most important points in the despatches to be forthwith
conveyed to her Majesty. The queen, not satisfied however, sent for Caron
himself. That diplomatist, who had just ridden down from London in foul
weather, was accordingly obliged to present himself--booted and spurred
and splashed with mud from head to foot--before her Majesty. Elizabeth
received him with such extraordinary manifestations of delight at the
tidings that he was absolutely amazed, and she insisted upon his reading
the whole of the letter just received from Olden-Barneveld, her Majesty
listening very patiently as he translated it out of Dutch into French.
She then expressed unbounded admiration of the States-General and of
Prince Maurice. The sagacious administration of the States' government is
"so full of good order and policy," she said, "as to far surpass in its
wisdom the intelligence of all kings and potentates. We kings," she
said, "understand nothing of such affairs in comparison, but require, all
of us, to go to school to the States-General." She continued to speak in
terms of warm approbation of the secrecy and discretion with which the
invasion of Flanders had been conducted, and protested that she thanked
God on both knees for vouchsafing such a splendid victory to the United
Provinces.

Yet after all, her Majesty, as mankind in general, both wise and simple,
are apt to do, had judged only according to the result, and the immediate
result. No doubt John of Barneveld was second to no living statesman in
breadth of view and adroitness of handling, yet the invasion of Flanders,
which was purely his work, was unquestionably a grave mistake, and might
easily have proved a fatal one. That the deadly peril was escaped was
due, not to his prudence, but to the heroism of Maurice, the gallantry of
Vere, Count Lewis Gunther, and the forces under them, and the noble
self-devotion of Ernest. And even, despite the exertions of these brave
men, it seems certain that victory would have been impossible had the
archduke possessed that true appreciation of a situation which marks the
consummate general.

Surely the Lord seemed to have delivered the enemy into his hands that
morning. Maurice was shut in between Nieuport on one side and the
archduke's army on the other, planted as it was on the only road of
retreat. Had Albert entrenched himself, Maurice must either have attacked
at great disadvantage or attempted embarkation in the face of his enemy.
To stay indefinitely where he was would have proved an impossibility, and
amid the confusion necessary to the shipping of his army, how could he
have protected himself by six demi-cannon placed on the sea-beach?

That Maurice was able to extricate himself from the horrible dilemma in
which he had been placed, through no fault of his own, and to convert
imminent disaster into magnificent victory, will always redound to his
reputation as a great military chief. And this was all the fruit of the
expedition, planned, as Elizabeth thought, with so much secrecy and
discretion. Three days after the battle the stadholder came again before
Nieuport, only to find the garrison strengthened meantime by La Bourlotte
to three thousand men. A rainy week succeeded, and Maurice then announced
to the States-General the necessity of abandoning an enterprise, a
successful issue to which was in his opinion impossible. The
States-General, grown more modest in military matters, testified their
willingness to be governed by his better judgment, and left Ostend for
the Hague on the 18th July. Maurice, after a little skirmishing with some
of the forts around that city, in one of which the archduke's general La
Bourlotte was killed, decided to close the campaign, and he returned with
his whole army on the last day of July into Holland.

The expedition was an absolute failure, but the stadholder had gained a
great victory. The effect produced at home and abroad by this triumphant
measuring of the republican forces, horse, foot, and artillery, in a
pitched battle and on so conspicuous an arena, with the picked veterans
of Spain and Italy, was perhaps worth the cost, but no other benefit was
derived from the invasion of Flanders.

The most healthy moral to be drawn from this brief but memorable campaign
is that the wisest statesmen are prone to blunder in affairs of war,
success in which seems to require a special education and a distinct
genius. Alternation between hope and despair, between culpable audacity
and exaggerated prudence, are but too apt to mark the warlike counsels of
politicians who have not been bred soldiers. This, at least, had been
eminently the case with Barneveld and his colleagues of the
States-General.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Alas! the benighted victims of superstition hugged their chains
     Culpable audacity and exaggerated prudence
     The wisest statesmen are prone to blunder in affairs of war



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 74, 1600-1602



CHAPTER XXXIX.

   Effects of the Nieuport campaign--The general and the statesman--
   The Roman empire and the Turk--Disgraceful proceedings of the
   mutinous soldiers in Hungary--The Dunkirk pirates--Siege of Ostend
   by the Archduke--Attack on Rheinberg by Prince Maurice--Siege and
   capitulation of Meura--Attempt on Bois-le-Duc--Concentration of the
   war at Ostend--Account of the belligerents--Details of the siege--
   Feigned offer of Sir Francis Vere to capitulate--Arrival of
   reinforcements from the States--Attack and overthrow of the
   besiegers.

The Nieuport campaign had exhausted for the time both belligerents. The
victor had saved the republic from impending annihilation, but was
incapable of further efforts during the summer. The conquered
cardinal-archduke, remaining essentially in the same position as before,
consoled himself with the agreeable fiction that the States,
notwithstanding their triumph, had in reality suffered the most in the
great battle. Meantime both parties did their best to repair damages and
to recruit their armies.

The States--or in other words Barneveld, who was the States--had learned
a lesson. Time was to show whether it would be a profitable one, or
whether Maurice, who was the preceptor of Europe in the art of war, would
continue to be a docile pupil of the great Advocate even in military
affairs. It is probable that the alienation between the statesman and the
general, which was to widen as time advanced, may be dated from the day
of Nieuport.

Fables have even been told which indicated the popular belief in an
intensity of resentment on the part of the prince, which certainly did
not exist till long afterwards.

"Ah, scoundrel!" the stadholder was said to have exclaimed, giving the
Advocate a box on the ear as he came to wish him joy of his great
victory, "you sold us, but God prevented your making the transfer."

History would disdain even an allusion to such figments--quite as
disgraceful, certainly to Maurice as to Barneveld--did they not point the
moral and foreshadow some of the vast but distant results of events which
had already taken place, and had they not been so generally repeated that
it is a duty for the lover of truth to put his foot upon the calumny,
even at the risk for a passing moment of reviving it.

The condition of the war in Flanders had established a temporary
equilibrium among the western powers--France and England discussing,
intriguing, and combining in secret with each other, against each other,
and in spite of each other, in regard to the great conflict--while Spain
and the cardinal-archduke on the one side, and the republic on the other,
prepared themselves for another encounter in the blood-stained arena.

Meantime, on the opposite verge of what was called European civilization,
the perpetual war between the Roman Empire and the Grand Turk had for the
moment been brought into a nearly similar equation. Notwithstanding the
vast amount of gunpowder exploded during so many wearisome years, the
problem of the Crescent and the Cross was not much nearer a solution in
the East than was that of mass and conventicle in the West. War was the
normal and natural condition of mankind. This fact, at least, seemed to
have been acquired and added to the mass of human knowledge.

From the prolific womb of Germany came forth, to swell impartially the
Protestant and Catholic hosts, vast swarms of human creatures. Sold by
their masters at as high prices as could be agreed upon beforehand, and
receiving for themselves five stivers a day, irregularly paid, until the
carrion-crow rendered them the last service, they found at times more
demand for their labor in the great European market than they could fully
supply. There were not Germans enough every year for the consumption of
the Turk, and the pope, and the emperor, and the republic, and the
Catholic king, and the Christian king, with both ends of Europe ablaze at
once. So it happened that the Duke of Mercoeur and other heroes of the
League, having effected their reconciliation with the Bearnese, and for a
handsome price paid down on the nail having acknowledged him to be their
legitimate and Catholic sovereign, now turned their temporary attention
to the Turk. The sweepings of the League--Frenchmen, Walloons, Germans,
Italians, Spaniards--were tossed into Hungary, because for a season the
war had become languid in Flanders. And the warriors grown grey in the
religious wars of France astonished the pagans on the Danube by a variety
of crimes and cruelties such as Christians only could imagine. Thus,
while the forces of the Sultan were besieging Buda, a detachment of these
ancient Leaguers lay in Pappa, a fortified town not far from Raab, which
Archduke Maximilian had taken by storm two years before. Finding their
existence monotonous and payments unpunctual, they rose upon the
governor; Michael Maroti, and then entered into a treaty with the Turkish
commander outside the walls. Bringing all the principal citizens of the
town, their wives and children, and all their moveable property into the
market-place, they offered to sell the lot, including the governor, for a
hundred thousand rix dollars. The bargain was struck, and the Turk,
paying him all his cash on hand and giving hostages for the remainder,
carried off six hundred of the men and women, promising soon to return
and complete the transaction. Meantime the imperial general,
Schwartzenberg, came before the place, urging the mutineers with promises
of speedy payment, and with appeals to their sense of shame, to abstain
from the disgraceful work. He might as well have preached to the wild
swine swarming in the adjacent forests. Siege thereupon was laid to the
place. In a sortie the brave Schwartzenberg was killed, but Colonitz
coming up in force the mutineers were locked up in the town which they
had seized, and the Turk never came to their relief. Famine drove them at
last to choose between surrender and a desperate attempt to cut their way
out. They took the bolder course, and were all either killed or captured.
And now--the mutineers having given the Turk this lesson in Christian
honour towards captives--their comrades and the rest of the imperial
forces showed them the latest and most approved Christian method of
treating mutineers. Several hundred of the prisoners were distributed
among the different nationalities composing the army to be dealt with at
pleasure. The honest Germans were the most straightforward of all towards
their portion of the prisoners, for they shot them down at once, without
an instant's hesitation. But the Lorrainers, the remainder of the French
troops, the Walloons, and especially the Hungarians--whose countrymen and
women had been sold into captivity--all vied with each other in the
invention of cruelties at which the soul sickens, and which the pen
almost refuses to depict.

These operations and diversions had no sensible effect upon the progress
of the war, which crept on with the same monotonous and sluggish cruelty
as ever; but the incidents narrated paint the course of civilization more
vividly than the detailed accounts of siege and battle; mining and
countermining, assaults and ambuscades can do, of which the history books
are full. The leaguers of Buda and of other cities and fortresses in
Hungary went their course; and it was destined to remain for a still
longer season doubtful whether Cross or Crescent should ultimately wave
over the whole territory of Eastern Europe, and whether the vigorous
Moslem, believing in himself, his mission, his discipline, and his
resources, should ultimately absorb what was left of the ancient Roman
Empire.

Meantime, such of the Walloons, Lorrainers, Germans, and Frenchmen as had
grown wearied of the fighting on the Danube and the Theiss--might have
recourse for variety to the perpetual carnage on the Meuse, the Rhine,
and the Scheld. If there was not bloodshed enough for all, it was surely
not the fault of Mahomet, nor Clement, nor Philip.

During the remainder of the year not much was done in of the stadholder
or the cardinal, but there was immense damage done to the Dutch shipping
by the famous privateersman, Van der Waecken, with his squadron of twelve
or fourteen armed cruisers. In vain had the States exerted themselves to
destroy the robbers cave, Dunkirk. Shiploads of granite had been brought
from Norway, and stone fleets had been sunk in the channel, but the
insatiable quicksands had swallowed them as fast as they could be
deposited, the tide rolled as freely as before, and the bold pirates
sailed forth as gaily as ever to prey upon the defenceless trading
vessels and herring-smacks of the States. For it was only upon
non-combatants that Admiral Van der Waecken made war, and the fishermen
especially, who mainly belonged to the Memnonite religion, with its
doctrines of non-resistance--not a very comfortable practice in that
sanguinary age--were his constant victims. And his cruelties might have
almost served as a model to the Christian warriors on the Turkish
frontier. After each vessel had been rifled of everything worth
possessing, and then scuttled, the admiral would order the crews to be,
thrown overboard at once, or, if he chanced to be in a merry mood, would
cause them to be fastened to the cabin floor, or nailed crossways on the
deck and then would sail away leaving ship and sailors to sink at
leisure. The States gave chase as well as they could to the miscreant--a
Dutchman born, and with a crew mainly composed of renegade Netherlanders
and other outcasts, preying for base lucre on their defenceless
countryman--and their cruisers were occasionally fortunate enough to
capture and bring in one of the pirate ships. In such cases, short shrift
was granted, and the buccaneers were hanged without mercy, thirty-eight
having been executed in one morning at Rotterdam. The admiral with most
of his vessels escaped, however, to the coast of Spain, where his crews
during the autumn mainly contrived to desert, and where he himself died
in the winter, whether from malady, remorse, or disappointment at not
being rewarded by a high position in the Spanish navy.

The war was in its old age. The leaf of a new century had been turned,
and men in middle life had never known what the word Peace meant. Perhaps
they could hardly imagine such a condition. This is easily said, but it
is difficult really to picture to ourselves the moral constitution of a
race of mankind which had been born and had grown up, marrying and giving
in marriage, dying and burying their dead, and so passing on from the
cradle towards the grave, accepting the eternal clang of arms, and the
constant participation by themselves and those nearest to them in the
dangers, privations, and horrors of siege and battle-field as the
commonplaces of life. At least, those Netherlanders knew what fighting
for independence of a foreign tyrant meant. They must have hated Spain
very thoroughly, and believed in the right of man to worship God
according to the dictates of his conscience, and to govern himself upon
his own soil, however meagre, very earnestly, or they would hardly have
spent their blood and treasure, year after year; with such mercantile
regularity when it was always in their power to make peace by giving up
the object for which they had been fighting.

Yet the war, although in its old age, was not fallen into decrepitude.
The most considerable and most sanguinary pitched battle of what then
were modern times had just been fought, and the combatants were preparing
themselves for a fresh wrestle, as if the conflict had only begun. And
now--although the great leaguers of Harlem, Leyden, and Antwerp, as well
as the more recent masterpieces of Prince Maurice in Gelderland and
Friesland were still fresh in men's memory--there was to be a siege,
which for endurance, pertinacity, valour, and bloodshed on both sides,
had not yet been foreshadowed, far less equalled, upon the fatal
Netherland soil.

That place of fashionable resort, where the fine folk of Europe now
bathe, and flirt, and prattle politics or scandal so cheerfully during
the summer solstice--cool and comfortable Ostend--was throughout the
sixteenth century as obscure a fishing village as could be found in
Christendom. Nothing, had ever happened there, nobody had ever lived
there, and it was not until a much later period that the famous oyster,
now identified with its name, had been brought to its bay to be educated.
It was known for nothing except for claiming to have invented the
pickling of herrings, which was not at all the fact. Towards the latter
part of the century, however, the poor little open village had been
fortified to such purpose as to enable it to beat off the great Alexander
Farnese, when he had made an impromptu effort to seize it in the year
1583, after his successful enterprise against Dunkirk and Nieuport, and
subsequent preparation had fortunately been made against any further
attempt. For in the opening period of the new century thousands and tens
of thousands were to come to those yellow sands, not for a midsummer
holiday, but to join hands in one of the most enduring struggles that
history had yet recorded, and on which the attention of Europe was for a
long time to be steadily fixed.

Ostend--East-end--was the only possession of the republic in Flanders.
Having been at last thoroughly fortified according to the principles of
the age, it was a place whence much damage was inflicted upon the enemy,
and whence forays upon the obedient Flemings could very successfully be
conducted. Being in the hands of so enterprising a naval power, it
controlled the coast, while the cardinal-archduke on the other side
fondly hoped that its possession would give him supremacy on the sea. The
States of Flanders declared it to be a thorn in the Belgic lion's foot,
and called urgently upon their sovereign to remove the annoyance.

They offered Albert 300,000 florins a month so long as the siege should
last, besides an extraordinary sum of 300,000, of which one third was to
be paid when the place should be invested, one-third when the breach had
been made, and one-third after the town had been taken. It was obvious
that, although they thought the extraction of the thorn might prove
troublesome, the process would be accomplished within a reasonable time.
The cardinal-archduke, on his part, was as anxious as the "members" of
Flanders. Asking how long the Duke of Parma had been in taking Antwerp,
and being told "eighteen months," he replied that, if necessary, he was
willing to employ eighteen years in reducing Ostend.

The town thus about to assume so much importance in the world's eye had
about three thousand inhabitants within its lowly; thatch-roofed houses.
It fronted directly upon the seacoast and stretched backward in a
southerly direction, having the sandy downs on the right and left, and a
swampy, spongy soil on the inner verge, where it communicated with the
land. Its northern part, small and scarcely inhabited, was lashed by the
ocean, and exposed to perpetual danger from its storms and flood-tides,
but was partially protected from these encroachments by a dyke stretching
along the coast on the west. Here had hitherto been the harbour formed by
the mouth of the river Iperleda as it mingled with the sea, but this
entrance had become so choked with sand as to be almost useless at low
water. This circumstance would have rendered the labours of the archduke
comparatively easy, and much discouraged the States, had there not
fortunately been a new harbour which had formed itself on the eastern
side exactly at the period of threatened danger. The dwarf mountain range
of dunes which encircled the town on the eastern side had been purposely
levelled, lest the higher summits should offer positions of vantage to a
besieging foe. In consequence of this operation, the sea had burst over
the land and swept completely around the place, almost converting it into
an island, while at high water there opened a wide and profound gulf
which with the ebb left an excellent channel quite deep enough for even
the ships of war of those days. The next care of the States authorities
was to pierce their fortifications on this side at a convenient point,
thus creating a safe and snug haven within the walls for the fleets of
transports which were soon to arrive by open sea, laden with soldiers and
munitions.

The whole place was about half an hour's walk in circumference. It was
surrounded with a regular counterscarp, bastions, and casemates, while
the proximity of the ocean and the humid nature of the soil ensured it a
network of foss and canal on every side. On the left or western side,
where the old harbour had once been, and which was the most vulnerable by
nature, was a series of strong ravelins, the most conspicuous of which
were called the Sand Hill, the Porcupine, and Hell's Mouth. Beyond these,
towards the southwest, were some detached fortifications, resting for
support, however, upon the place itself, called the Polder, the Square,
and the South Square. On the east side, which was almost inaccessible, as
it would seem, by such siege machinery as then existed, was a work called
the Spanish half-moon, situate on the new harbour called the Guele or
Gullet.

Towards the west and southwest, externally, upon the territory of
Flanders--not an inch of which belonged to the republic, save the
sea-beaten corner in which nestled the little town-eighteen fortresses
had been constructed by the archduke as a protection against hostile
incursions from the place. Of these, the most considerable were St.
Albert, often mentioned during the Nieuport campaign, St. Isabella St.
Clara, and Great-Thirst.

On the 5th July, 1601, the archduke came before the town, and formally
began the siege. He established his headquarters in the fort which bore
the name of his patron saint. Frederic van den Berg meanwhile occupied
fort Breden on the eastern side, with the intention, if possible, of
getting possession of the Gullet, or at least of rendering the entrance
to that harbour impossible by means of his hostile demonstrations. Under
Van den Berg was Count Bucquoy-Longueval, a Walloon officer of much
energy and experience, now general-in-chief of artillery in the
archduke's army.

The numbers with which Albert took the field at first have not been
accurately stated, but it is probable that his object was to keep as many
as twenty thousand constantly engaged in the siege, and that in this
regard he was generally successful.

Within the town were fifty-nine companies of infantry, to which were soon
added twenty-three more under command of young Chatillon, grandson of the
great Coligny. It was "an olla podrida of nationalities," according to
the diarist of the siege--[Meteren]. English, Scotch, Dutch, Flemings,
Frenchmen, Germans, mixed in about equal proportions. Commander-in-chief
at the outset was Sir Francis Vere, who established himself by the middle
of July in the place, sent thither by order of the States-General. It had
been the desire of that assembly that the stadholder should make another
foray in Flanders for the purpose of driving off the archduke before he
should have time to complete his preliminary operations. But for that
year at least Maurice was resolved not to renounce his own schemes in
deference to those so much more ignorant than himself of the art of war,
even if Barneveld and his subordinates on their part had not learned a
requisite lesson of modesty.

So the prince, instead of risking another Nieuport campaign, took the
field with a small but well-appointed force, about ten thousand men in
all, marched to the Rhine, and early in June, laid siege to Rheinberg. It
was his purpose to leave the archduke for the time to break his teeth
against the walls of Ostend, while he would himself protect the eastern
frontier, over which came regular reinforcements and supplies for the
Catholic armies. His works were laid out with his customary precision and
neatness. But, standing as usual, like a professor at his blackboard,
demonstrating his proposition to the town, he was disturbed in his
calculations by the abstraction from his little army of two thousand
English troops ordered by the States-General to march to the defence of
Ostend. The most mathematical but most obedient of princes, annoyed but
not disconcerted, sent off the troops but continued his demonstration.

"By this specimen," cried the French envoy, with enthusiasm, "judge of
the energy of this little commonwealth. They are besieging Berg with an
army of twelve thousand men, a place beyond the frontier, and five days'
march from the Hague. They are defending another important place,
besieged by the principal forces of the archdukes, and there is good
chance of success at both points. They are doing all this too with such a
train of equipages of artillery, of munitions, of barks, of ships of war,
that I hardly know of a monarch in the world who would not be troubled to
furnish such a force of warlike machinery."

By the middle of July he sprang a mine under the fortifications, doing
much damage and sending into the air a considerable portion of the
garrison. Two of the soldiers were blown into his own camp, and one of
them, strangely enough, was but slightly injured. Coming as he did
through the air at cannon-ball speed, he was of course able to bring the
freshest intelligence from the interior of the town.

His news as to the condition of the siege confirmed the theory of the
stadholder. He persisted in his operations for three weeks longer, and
the place was then surrendered. The same terms--moderate and honourable
were given to the garrison and the burghers as in all Maurice's
victories. Those who liked to stay were at liberty to do so, accepting
the prohibition of public worship according to the Roman ritual, but
guaranteed against inquisition into household or conscience. The garrison
went out with the honours of war, and thus the place, whose military
value caused it to change hands almost as frequently as a counter in a
game, was once more in possession of the republic. In the course of the
following week Maurice laid siege to the city of Meurs, a little farther
up the Rhine, which immediately capitulated. Thus the keys to the
debatable land of Cleves and Juliers, the scene of the Admiral of
Arragon's recent barbarities, were now held by the stadholder.

These achievements were followed by an unsuccessful attempt upon
Bois-le-Duc in the course of November. The place would have fallen
notwithstanding the slenderness of the besieging army had not a sudden
and severe frost caused the prudent prince to raise the siege. Feeling
that his cousin Frederic van den Berg, who had been despatched from
before Ostend to command the relieving force near Bois-le-Duc, might take
advantage of the prematurely frozen canals and rivers to make an
incursion into Holland, he left his city just as his works had been
sufficiently advanced to ensure possession of the prize, and hastened to
protect the heart of the republic from possible danger.

Nothing further was accomplished by Maurice that year, but meantime
something had been doing within and around Ostend.

For now the siege of Ostend became the war, and was likely to continue to
be the war for a long time to come; all other military operations being
to a certain degree suspended, as if by general consent of both
belligerants, or rendered subsidiary to the main design. So long as this
little place should be beleaguered it was the purpose of the States, and
of Maurice, acting in harmony with those authorities, to concentrate
their resources so as to strengthen the grip with which the only scrap of
Flanders was held by the republic,

And as time wore on, the supposed necessities of the wealthy province,
which, in political importance, made up a full half of the archduke's
dominions, together with self-esteem and an exaggerated idea of military
honour, made that prelate more and more determined to effect his purpose.

So upon those barren sands was opened a great academy in which the
science and the art of war were to be taught by the most skilful
practitioners to all Europe; for no general, corporal, artillerist,
barber-surgeon, or engineer, would be deemed to know his trade if he had
not fought at Ostend; and thither resorted month after month warriors of
every rank, from men of royal or of noblest blood to adventurers of
lowlier degree, whose only fortune was buckled at their sides. From every
land, of every religion, of every race, they poured into the town or into
the besiegers' trenches. Habsburg and Holstein; Northumberland, Vere, and
Westmoreland; Fairfax and Stuart; Bourbon, Chatillon, and Lorraine;
Bentivoglio, Farnese, Spinola, Grimaldi, Arragon, Toledo, Avila,
Berlaymont, Bucquoy, Nassau, Orange, Solms--such were the historic names
of a few only of the pupils or professors in that sanguinary high school,
mingled with the plainer but well known patronymics of the Baxes,
Meetkerkes, Van Loons, Marquettes, Van der Meers, and Barendrechts, whose
bearers were fighting, as they long had fought, for all that men most
dearly prize on earth, and not to win honour or to take doctors' degrees
in blood. Papist, Calvinist, Lutheran, Turk, Jew and Moor, European,
Asiatic, African, all came to dance in that long carnival of death; and
every incident, every detail throughout the weary siege could if
necessary be reproduced; for so profound and general was the attention
excited throughout Christendom by these extensive operations, and so new
and astonishing were many of the inventions and machines employed--most
of them now as familiar as gunpowder or as antiquated as a catapult--that
contemporaries have been most bountiful in their records for the benefit
of posterity, feeling sure of a gratitude which perhaps has not been
rendered to their shades.

Especially the indefatigable Philip Fleming-auditor and secretary of
Ostend before and during the siege, bravest, most conscientious, and most
ingenious of clerks--has chronicled faithfully in his diary almost every
cannon-shot that was fired, house that was set on fire, officer that was
killed, and has pourtrayed each new machine that was invented or imagined
by native or foreign genius. For the adepts or, pretenders who swarmed to
town or camp from every corner of the earth, bringing in their hands or
brains to be disposed of by either belligerents infallible recipes for
terminating the siege at a single blow, if only their theories could be
understood and their pockets be filled, were as prolific and as sanguine
as in every age. But it would be as wearisome, and in regard to the
history of human culture as superfluous, to dilate upon the technics of
Targone and Giustianini, and the other engineers, Italian and Flemish,
who amazed mankind at this period by their successes, still more by their
failures, or to describe every assault, sortie, and repulse, every
excavation, explosion, and cannonade, as to disinter the details of the
siege of Nineveh or of Troy. But there is one kind of enginry which never
loses its value or its interest, and which remains the same in every
age--the machinery by which stout hearts act directly upon willing
hands--and vast were the results now depending on its employment around
Ostend.

On the outside and at a distance the war was superintended of course by
the stadholder and commander-in-chief, while his cousin William Lewis,
certainly inferior to no living man in the science of war, and whose
studies in military literature, both ancient and modern, during the brief
intervals of his active campaigning, were probably more profound than
those of any contemporary, was always alert and anxious to assist with
his counsels or to mount and ride to the fray.

In the town Sir Francis Vere commanded. Few shapes are more familiar to
the student of those times than this veteran campaigner, the offshoot of
a time-honoured race. A man of handsome, weather-beaten, battle-bronzed
visage, with massive forehead, broad intelligent eyes, a high straight
nose, close-clipped hair, and a great brown beard like a spade; captious,
irascible, but most resolute, he seemed, in his gold inlaid Milan corslet
and ruff of point-lace, the very image of a partizan chieftain; one of
the noblest relics of a race of fighters slowly passing off the world's
stage.

An efficient colonel, he was not a general to be relied upon in great
affairs either in council or the field. He hated the Nassaus, and the
Nassaus certainly did not admire him, while his inordinate self-esteem,
both personal and national, and his want of true sympathy for the cause
in which, he fought, were the frequent source of trouble and danger to
the republic.

Of the seven or eight thousand soldiers in the town when the siege began,
at least two thousand were English. The queen, too intelligent, despite
her shrewishness to the Staten; not to be faithful to the cause in which
her own interests were quite as much involved as theirs, had promised
Envoy Caron that although she was obliged to maintain twenty thousand men
in Ireland to keep down the rebels, directly leagued as they were with
Spain and the archdukes, the republic might depend upon five thousand
soldiers from England. Detachment after detachment, the soldiers came as
fast as the London prisons could be swept and the queen's press-gang
perform its office. It may be imagined that the native land of those
warriors was not inconsiderably benefited by the grant to the republic of
the right to make and pay for these levies. But they had all red
uniforms, and were as fit as other men to dig trenches, to defend them;
and to fill them afterwards, and none could fight more manfully or
plunder friend and foe with greater cheerfulness of impartiality than did
those islanders.

The problem which the archduke had set himself to solve was not an easy
one. He was to reduce a town, which he could invest and had already
succeeded very thoroughly in investing on the land aide, but which was
open to the whole world by sea; while the besieged on their part could
not only rely upon their own Government and people, who were more at home
on the ocean than was any nation in the world, but upon their alliance
with England, a State hardly inferior in maritime resources to the
republic itself.

On the western side, which was the weakest, his progress was from the
beginning the more encouraging, and his batteries were soon able to make
some impression upon the outer works, and even to do considerable damage
to the interior of the town. In the course of a few months he had fifty
siege-guns in position, and had constructed a practicable road all around
the place, connecting his own fortifications on the west and south with
those of Bucquoy on the east.

Albert's leading thought however was to cut off the supplies. The freaks
of nature, as already observed, combined with his own exertions, had
effectually disposed of the western harbour as a means of ingress. The
tide ebbed and flowed through the narrow channel, but it was clogged with
sand and nearly, dry at low water. Moreover, by an invention then
considered very remarkable, a foundation was laid for the besiegers'
forts and batteries by sinking large and deep baskets of wicker-work,
twenty feet in length, and filled with bricks and sand, within this
abandoned harbour. These clumsy machines were called sausages,21 and were
the delight of the camp and of all Europe. The works thus established on
the dry side crept slowly on towards the walls, and some demi-cannon were
soon placed upon, them, but the besieged, not liking these encroachments,
took the resolution to cut the pea-dyke along the coast which had
originally protected the old harbour. Thus the sea, when the tides were
high and winds boisterous, was free to break in upon the archduke's
works, and would often swallow sausages, men, and cannon far more rapidly
than it was possible to place them there.

Yet still those human ants toiled on, patiently restoring what the
elements so easily destroyed; and still, despite the sea; the cannonade,
and the occasional sorties of the garrison, the danger came nearer and
nearer. Bucquoy on the other side was pursuing the same system, but his
task was immeasurably more difficult. The Gullet, or new eastern
entrance, was a whirlpool at high tide, deep, broad, and swift as a
millrace. Yet along its outer verge he too laid his sausages, protecting
his men at their work as well as he could with gabions, and essayed to
build a dyke of wicker-work upon which he might place a platform for
artillery to prevent the ingress of the republican ships.

And his soldiers were kept steadily at work, exposed all the time to the
guns of the Spanish half-moon from which the besieged never ceased to
cannonade those industrious pioneers. It was a bloody business. Night and
day the men were knee-deep in the trenches delving in mud and sand,
falling every instant into the graves which they were thus digging for
themselves, while ever and anon the sea would rise in its wrath and sweep
them with their works away. Yet the victims were soon replaced by others,
for had not the cardinal-archduke sworn to extract the thorn from the
Belgic lion's paw even if he should be eighteen years about it, and would
military honour permit him to break his vow? It was a piteous sight, even
for the besieged, to see human life so profusely squandered. It is a
terrible reflection, too, that those Spaniards, Walloons, Italians,
confronted death so eagerly, not from motives of honour, religion,
discipline, not inspired by any kind of faith or fanaticism, but because
the men who were employed in this horrible sausage-making and
dyke-building were promised five stivers a day instead of two.

And there was always an ample supply of volunteers for the service so
long as the five stivers were paid.

But despite all Bucquoy's exertions the east harbour remained as free as
ever. The cool, wary Dutch skippers brought in their cargoes as regularly
as if there had been no siege at all. Ostend was rapidly acquiring
greater commercial importance, and was more full of bustle and business
than had ever been dreamed of in that quiet nook since the days of Robert
the Frisian, who had built the old church of Ostend, as one of the thirty
which he erected in honour of St. Peter, five hundred years before.

For the States did not neglect their favourite little city. Fleets of
transports arrived day after day, week after week, laden with every
necessary and even luxury for the use of the garrison. It was perhaps the
cheapest place in all the Netherlands, so great was the abundance.
Capons, bares, partridges, and butcher's meat were plentiful as
blackberries, and good French claret was but two stivers the quart.
Certainly the prospect was not promising of starving the town into a
surrender.

But besides all this digging and draining there was an almost daily
cannonade. Her Royal Highness the Infanta was perpetually in camp by the
side of her well-beloved Albert, making her appearance there in great
state, with eighteen coaches full of ladies of honour, and always
manifesting much impatience if she did not hear the guns.

She would frequently touch off a forty-pounder with her own serene
fingers in order to encourage the artillerymen, and great was the
enthusiasm which such condescension excited.

Assaults, sorties, repulses, ambuscades were also of daily occurrence,
and often with very sanguinary results; but it would be almost as idle
now to give the details of every encounter that occurred, as to describe
the besieging of a snow-fort by schoolboys.

It is impossible not to reflect that a couple of Parrots and a Monitor or
two would have terminated the siege in half an hour in favor of either
party, and levelled the town or the besiegers' works as if they had been
of pasteboard.

Bucquoy's dyke was within a thousand yards of the harbour's entrance, yet
the guns on his platform never sank a ship nor killed a man on board,
while the archduke's batteries were even nearer their mark. Yet it was
the most prodigious siege of modern days. Fifty great guns were in
position around the place, and their balls weighed from ten to forty
pounds apiece. It was generally agreed that no such artillery practice
had ever occurred before in the world.

For the first six months, and generally throughout the siege, there was
fired on an average a thousand of such shots a day. In the sieges of the
American civil war there were sometimes three thousand shots an hour, and
from guns compared to which in calibre and power those cannon and
demi-cannon were but children's toys.

Certainly the human arm was of the same length then as now, a pike-thrust
was as effective as the stab of the most improved bayonet, and when it
came, as it was always the purpose to do, to the close embrace of foemen,
the work was done as thoroughly as it could be in this second half of the
nineteenth century.

Nevertheless it is impossible not to hope that such progress in science
must at last render long wars impossible. The Dutch war of independence
had already lasted nearly forty years. Had the civil war in America upon
the territory of half a continent been waged with the Ostend machinery it
might have lasted two centuries. Something then may have been gained for
humanity by giving war such preter-human attributes as to make its
demands of gold and blood too exhaustive to become chronic.

Yet the loss of human life during that summer and winter was sufficiently
wholesale as compared with the meagre results. Blood flowed in torrents,
for no man could be more free of his soldiers' lives than was the
cardinal-archduke, hurling them as he did on the enemy's works before the
pretence of a practical breach had been effected, and before a reasonable
chance existed of purchasing an advantage at such a price. Five hundred
were killed outright in half-an-hour's assault on an impregnable position
one autumn evening, and lay piled in heaps beneath the Sand Hill
fort-many youthful gallants from Spain and Italy among them, noble
volunteers recognised by their perfumed gloves and golden chains, and
whose pockets were worth rifling. The Dutch surgeons, too, sallied forth
in strength after such an encounter, and brought in great bags filled
with human fat esteemed the sovereignst remedy in the world for wounds
and disease.

Leaders were killed on both sides. Catrici, chief of the Italian
artillery, and Braccamonte, commander of a famous Sicilian legion, with
many less-known captains, lost their lives before the town. The noble
young Chatillon, grandson of Coligny, who had distinguished himself at
Nieuport, fell in the Porcupine fort, his head carried off by a
cannon-ball, which destroyed another officer at his side, and just grazed
the ear of the distinguished Colonel Uchtenbroek. Sir Francis Vere, too,
was wounded in the head by a fragment of iron, and was obliged to leave
the town for six weeks till his wound should heal.

The unfortunate inhabitants--men, women, and children--were of course
exposed to perpetual danger, and very many were killed. Their houses were
often burned to the ground, in which cases the English auxiliaries were
indefatigable, not in rendering assistance, but in taking possession of
such household goods as the flames had spared. Nor did they always wait
for such opportunities, but were apt, at the death of an eminent burgher,
to constitute themselves at once universal legatees. Thus, while honest
Bartholomew Tysen, a worthy citizen grocer, was standing one autumn
morning at his own door, a stray cannon-ball took off his head, and
scarcely had he been put in a coffin before his house was sacked from
garret to cellar and all the costly spices, drugs, and other valuable
merchandize of his warehouse--the chief magazine in the town--together
with all his household furniture, appropriated by those London warriors.
Bartholomew's friends and relatives appealed to Sir Francis Vere for
justice, but were calmly informed by that general that Ostend was like a
stranded ship, on its beamends on a beach, and that it was impossible not
to consider it at the mercy of the wreckers. So with this highly
figurative view of the situation from the lips of the governor of the
place and the commander-in-chief of the English as well as the Dutch
garrison, they were fain to go home and bury their dead, finding when
they returned that another cannonball had carried away poor Bartholomew's
coffin-lid. Thus was never non-combatant and grocer, alive or dead, more
out of suits with fortune than this citizen of Ostend; and such were the
laws of war, as understood by one of the most eminent of English
practitioners in the beginning of the seventeenth century. It is true,
however, that Vere subsequently hanged a soldier for stealing fifty
pounds of powder and another for uttering counterfeit money, but
robberies upon the citizens were unavenged.

Nor did the deaths by shot or sword-stroke make up the chief sum of
mortality. As usual the murrain-like pestilence which swept off its daily
victims both within an without the town, was more effective than any
direct agency of man. By the month of December the number of the garrison
had been reduced to less than three thousand, while it is probable that
the archduke had not eight thousand effective men left in his whole army.

It was a black and desolate scene. The wild waves of the German ocean,
lashed by the wintry gales, would often sweep over the painfully
constructed works of besieger and besieged and destroy in an hour the
labour of many weeks. The Porcupine's small but vitally-important ravelin
lying out in the counterscarp between the old town and the new, guarding
the sluices by which the water for the town moats and canals was
controlled, and preventing the pioneers of the enemy from undermining the
western wall--was so damaged by the sea as to be growing almost
untenable. Indefatigably had the besieged attempted with wicker-work and
timber and palisades to strengthen this precious little fort, but they
had found, even as Bucquoy and the archduke on their part had learned,
that the North Sea in winter was not to be dammed by bulrushes. Moreover,
in a bold and successful assault the besiegers had succeeded in setting
fire to the inflammable materials heaped about the ravelin to such effect
that the fire burned for days, notwithstanding the flooding of the works
at each high tide. The men, working day and night, scorching in the
flames, yet freezing kneedeep in the icy slush of the trenches and
perpetually under fire of the hostile batteries, became daily more and
more exhausted, notwithstanding their determination to hold the place.
Christmas drew nigh, and a most gloomy, festival it was like to be, for
it seemed as if the beleaguered garrison had been forgotten by the
States. Weeks had passed away without a single company being sent to
repair the hideous gaps made daily in the ranks of those defenders of a
forlorn hope. It was no longer possible to hold the external works; the
Square, the Polder, and the other forts on the southwest which Vere had
constructed with so much care and where he had thus far kept his
headquarters. On Sunday morning,--23rd December, he reluctantly gave
orders that they should be abandoned on the following day and the whole
garrison concentrated within the town.

The clouds were gathering darkly over the head of the gallant Vere; for
no sooner had he arrived at this determination than he learned from a
deserter that the archduke had fixed upon that very Sunday evening for a
general assault upon the place. It was hopeless for the garrison to
attempt to hold these outer forts, for they required a far larger number
of soldiers than could be spared from the attenuated little army. Yet
with those forts in the hands of the enemy there would be nothing left
but to make the best and speediest terms that might be obtained. The
situation was desperate. Sir Francis called his principal officers
together, announced his resolve not to submit to the humiliation of a
surrender after all their efforts, if there was a possibility of escape
from their dilemma, reminded them that reinforcements might be expected
to arrive at any moment, and that with even a few hundred additional
soldiers the outer works might still be manned and the city saved. The
officers English, Dutch, and French, listened respectfully to his
remarks, but, without any suggestions on their own part, called on him as
their Alexander to untie the Gordian knot. Alexander solved it, not with
the sword, but with a trick which he hoped might prove sharper than a
sword. He announced his intention of proposing at once to treat, and to
protract the negotiations as long as possible, until the wished-for sails
should be discerned in the offing, when he would at once break faith with
them, resume hostilities, and so make fools of the besiegers.

This was a device worthy of a modern Alexander whose surname was Farnese.
Even in that loose age such cynical trifling with the sacredness of
trumpets of truce and offers of capitulation were deemed far from
creditable among soldiers and statesmen, yet the council of war highly
applauded the scheme, and importuned the general to carry it at once into
effect.

When it came, however, to selecting the hostages necessary for the
proposed negotiations, they became less ardent and were all disposed to
recede. At last, after much discussion, the matter was settled, and
before nightfall a drummer was set upon the external parapet of the
Porcupine, who forthwith began to beat vigorously for a parley. The
rattle was a welcome sound in the ears of the weary besiegers, just drawn
up in column for a desperate assault, and the tidings were at once
communicated to the archduke in Fort St. Albert. The prince manifested at
first some unwillingness to forego the glory of the attack, from which he
confidently expected a crowning victory, but yielding to the
representations of his chief generals that it was better to have his town
without further bloodshed, he consented to treat. Hostages were
expeditiously appointed on both sides, and Captains Ogle and Fairfax were
sent that same evening to the headquarters of the besieging army. It was
at once agreed as a preliminary that the empty outer works of the place
should remain unmolested. The English officers were received with much
courtesy. The archduke lifted his hat as they were presented, asked them
of what nation they were, and then inquired whether they were authorized
to agree upon terms of capitulation. They answered in the negative;
adding, that the whole business would be in the hands of commissioners to
be immediately sent by his Highness, as it was supposed, into the town.
Albert then expressed the hope that there was no fraudulent intention in
the proposition just made to negotiate. The officers professed themselves
entirely ignorant of any contemplated deception; although Captain Ogle
had been one of the council, had heard every syllable of Vere's
stratagem, and had heartily approved of the whole plot. The Englishmen
were then committed to the care of a Spanish nobleman of the duke's
staff, and were treated with perfect politeness and hospitality.

Meantime no time was lost in despatching hostages, who should be at the
same time commissioners, to Ostend. The quartermaster-general of the
army, Don Matteo Antonio, and Matteo Serrano, governor of Sluys, but
serving among the besiegers, were selected for this important business as
personages of ability, discretion, and distinction.

They reached the town, coming in of course from the western side, as
expeditiously as possible, but after nightfall. Before they arrived at
headquarters there suddenly arose, from some unknown cause, a great alarm
and beating to arms on the opposite or eastern side of the city. They
were entirely innocent of any participation in this uproar and ignorant
of its cause, but when they reached the presence of Sir Francis Vere they
found that warrior in a towering passion. There was cheating going on, he
exclaimed. The Spaniards, he cried, were taking advantage of these
negotiations, and were about, by dishonourable stratagem, to assault the
town.

Astounded, indignant, but utterly embarrassed, the grave Spaniards knew
not how to reply. They were still more amazed when the general, rising to
a still higher degree of exasperation, absolutely declined to exchange
another word with them, but ordered Captains Carpentier and St. Hilaire,
by whom they had been escorted to his quarters, to conduct them out of
the town again by the same road which had brought them there. There was
nothing for it but to comply, and to smother their resentment at such
extraordinary treatment as best they could. When they got to the old
harbour on the western side the tide had risen so high that it was
impossible to cross.

Nobody knew better than Vere, when he gave the order, that this would be
the case; so that when the escorting officers returned to state the fact,
he simply ordered them to take the Spaniards back by the Gullet or
eastern side. The strangers were not very young men, and being much
fatigued with wandering to and fro in the darkness over the muddy roads,
they begged permission to remain all night in Ostend, if it were only in
a guardhouse. But Vere was inexorable, after the duplicity which he
affected to have discovered on the part of the enemy. So the
quartermaster-general and the governor of Sluys, much to the detriment of
their dignity, were forced once more to tramp through the muddy streets.
And obeying their secret instructions, the escort led them round and
round through the most miry and forlorn parts of the town, so that,
sinking knee-deep at every step into sloughs and quicksands, and plunging
about through the mist and sleet of a dreary December's night, they at
last reached the precincts of the Spanish half-moon on the Gullet,
be-draggled from head to foot and in a most dismal and exhausted
condition.

"Ah, the villainous town of Ostend!" exclaimed Serrano, ruefully
contemplating his muddy boots and imploring at least a pipe of tobacco.
He was informed, however, that no such medical drugs were kept in the
fort, but that a draught of good English ale was much at their service.
The beer was brought in four foaming flagons, and, a little refreshed by
this hospitality, the Spaniards were put in a boat and rowed under the
guns of the fort across the Gullet and delivered to their own sentries on
the outposts of Bucquoy's entrenchments. By this time it was midnight, so
that it was necessary for them to remain for the night in the eastern
encampment before reporting themselves at Fort St. Albert.

Thus far Vere's comedy had been eminently successful, and by taking
advantage of the accidental alarm and so adroitly lashing himself into a
fictitious frenzy, the general had gained nearly twenty-four additional
hours of precious time on which he had not reckoned.

Next morning, after Serrano and Antonio had reported to the archduke, it
was decided, notwithstanding the very inhospitable treatment which they
had received, that those commissioners should return to their labours.
Ogle and Fairfax still remained as hostages in camp, and of course
professed entire ignorance of these extraordinary proceedings,
attributing them to some inexplicable misunderstanding. So on Monday,
24th, December, the quartermaster and the governor again repaired to
Ostend with orders to bring about the capitulation of the place as soon
as possible. The same sergeant-major was again appointed by Vere to
escort the strangers, and on asking by what way he should bring them in,
was informed by Sir Francis that it would never do to allow those
gentlemen, whose feet were accustomed to the soft sand of the sea-beach
and downs, to bruise themselves upon the hard paving-stones of Ostend,
but that the softest and muddiest road must be carefully selected for
them. These reasons accordingly were stated with perfect gravity to the
two Spaniards, who, in spite of their solemn remonstrances, were made to
repeat a portion of their experiences and to accept it as an act of
special courtesy from the English general. Thus so much time had been
spent in preliminaries and so much more upon the road that the short
winter's day was drawing to a close before they were again introduced to
the presence of Vere.

They found that fiery personage on this occasion all smiles and
blandishments. The Spaniards were received with most dignified courtesy,
to which they gravely responded; and the general then proceeded to make
excuses for the misunderstanding of the preceding day with its
uncomfortable consequences. Thereupon arose much animated discussion as
to the causes and the nature of the alarm on the east side which had
created such excitement. Much time was ingeniously consumed in this
utterly superfluous discussion; but at last the commissioners of the
archduke insisted on making allusion to the business which had brought
them to the town. "What terms of negotiation do you propose?" they asked
Sir Francis. "His Highness has only to withdraw from before Ostend,"
coolly replied the general, "and leave us, his poor neighbours, in peace
and quietness. This would be the most satisfactory negotiation possible
and the one most easily made."

Serrano and Antonio found it difficult to see the matter in that cheerful
light, and assured Sir Francis that they had not been commissioned by the
archduke to treat for his own withdrawal but for the surrender of the
town. Hereupon high words and fierce discussion very naturally arose, and
at last, when a good deal of time had been spent in the sharp encounter
of wits, Vere proposed an adjournment of the discussion until after
supper; politely expressing the hope that the Spanish gentlemen would be
his guests.

The conversation had been from the beginning in French, as Vere, although
a master of the Spanish language, was desirous that the rest of the
company present should understand everything said at the interview.

The invitation to table was graciously accepted, and the Christmas eve
passed off more merrily than the preceding night had done, so far as
Vere's two guests were concerned. Several distinguished officers were
present at the festive board: Captain Montesquieu de Roquette, Sir Horace
Vere, Captains St. Hilaire, Meetkerke, De Ryck, and others among them. As
it was strict fast for the Catholics that evening--while on the other
hand the English, still reckoning according to the old style, would not
keep Christmas until ten days later--the banquet consisted mainly of eggs
and fish, and the like meagre articles, in compliment to the guests. It
was, however, as well furnished as could be expected in a beleaguered
town, out of whose harbour a winter gale had been for many weeks blowing
and preventing all ingress. There was at least no lack of excellent
Bordeaux wine; while the servants waiting upon the table did not fail to
observe that Governor Serrano was not in all respects a model of the
temperance usually characteristic of his race. They carefully counted and
afterwards related with admiration, not unmingled with horror, that the
veteran Spaniard drank fifty-two goblets of claret, and was emptying his
glass as fast as filled, although by no means neglecting the beer, the
quality of which he had tested the night before at the Half-moon. Yet
there seemed to be no perceptible effect produced upon him, save perhaps
that he grew a shade more grave and dignified with each succeeding
draught. For while the banquet proceeded in this very genial manner
business was by no means neglected; the negotiations for the surrender of
the city being conducted on both sides with a fuddled solemnity very
edifying for the attendants to contemplate.

Vere complained that the archduke was unreasonable, for he claimed
nothing less from his antagonists than their all. The commissioners
replied that all was no more than his own property. It certainly could
not be thought unjust of him to demand his own, and all Flanders was his
by legal donation from his Majesty of Spain. Vere replied that he had
never studied jurisprudence, and was not versed at all in that--science,
but he had always heard in England that possession was nine points of the
law. Now it so happened that they, and not his Highness, were in
possession of Ostend, and it would be unreasonable to expect them to make
a present of it to any one. The besiegers, he urged, had gained much
honour by their steady persistence amid so many dangers; difficulties,
and losses;--but winter had come, the weather was very bad, not a step of
progress had been made, and he was bold enough to express his opinion
that it would be far more sensible on the part of his Highness, after
such deeds of valour, to withdraw his diminished forces out of the
freezing and pestilential swamps before Ostend and go into comfortable
winter-quarters at Ghent or Bruges. Enough had been done for glory, and
it must certainly now be manifest that he had no chance of taking the
city.

Serrano retorted that it was no secret to the besiegers that the garrison
had dwindled to a handful; that it was quite impossible for them to
defend their outer works any longer; that with the loss of the external
boulevard the defence of the place would be impossible, and that, on the
contrary, it was for the republicans to resign themselves to their fate.
They, too, had done enough for glory, and had nothing for it but to
retire into the centre of their ruined little nest, where they must
burrow until the enemy should have leisure to entirely unearth them,
which would be a piece of work very easily and rapidly accomplished.

This was called negotiation; and thus the winter's evening wore away,
until the Spaniards; heavy with fatigue and wine, were without much
difficulty persuaded to seek the couches prepared for them.

Next day the concourse of people around the city was Christmas, wonderful
to behold. The rumour had spread through the, provinces, and was on the,
wing to all foreign countries, that Ostend had capitulated, and that the
commissioners were at that moment arranging the details. The
cardinal-archduke, in complete Milanese armour, with a splendid
feather-bush waving from his casque and surrounded by his brilliant
body-guard, galloped to and fro outside the entrenchments, expecting
every moment a deputation to come forth, bearing the keys of the town.
The Infanta too, magnificent in ruff and farthingale and brocaded
petticoat, and attended by a cavalcade of ladies of honour in gorgeous
attire, pranced impatiently about, awaiting the dramatic termination of a
leaguer which was becoming wearisome to besieger and besieged. Not even
on the famous second of July of the previous year, when that princess was
pleasing herself with imaginations as to the deportment of Maurice of
Nassau as a captive, had her soul been so full of anticipated triumph as
on this Christmas morning.

Such a festive scene as was now presented in the neighbourhood of Ostend
had not been exhibited for many a long year in Flanders. From the whole
country side came the peasants and burghers, men, women, and children, in
holiday attire. It was like a kermiss or provincial fair. Three thousand
people at least were roaming about in all direction, gaping with wonder
at the fortifications of the besieging army, so soon to be superfluous,
sliding, skating, waltzing on the ice, admiring jugglers, dancing bears,
puppet shows and merry-go-rounds, singing, and carousing upon herrings,
sausages, waffles, with mighty draughts of Flemish ale, manifesting their
exuberant joy that the thorn was nearly extracted from the lion's paw,
and awaiting with delight a blessed relief from that operation. Never was
a merrier Christmas morning in Flanders. There should be an end now to
the forays through the country of those red-coated English pikemen, those
hard-riding, hard-drinking troopers of Germany and, Holland, with the
French and Scotch arquebus men, and terrible Zeeland sailors who had for
years swept out of Ostend, at any convenient opportunity, to harry the
whole province. And great was the joy in Flanders.

Meantime within the city a different scene was enacting. Those dignified
Spaniards--governor Serrano and Don Matteo Antonio--having slept off
their carouse, were prepared after breakfast next morning to resume the
interrupted negotiations. But affairs were now to take an unexpected
turn. In the night the wind had changed, and in the course of the
forenoon three Dutch vessels of war were descried in the offing, and soon
calmly sailed into the mouth of the Gullet. The news was at once brought
to Vere's headquarters. That general's plans had been crowned with
success even sooner than he expected. There was no further object in
continuing the comedy of negotiation, for the ships now arriving seemed
crowded with troops. Sir Francis accordingly threw off the mask, and
assuring his guests with extreme politeness that it had given him great
pleasure to make the acquaintance of such distinguished personages, he
thanked them cordially for their visit, but regretted that it would be no
longer in his power to entertain any propositions of a pacific nature.
The necessary reinforcements, which he had been so long expecting, had at
last reached him, and it would not yet be necessary for him to retire
into his ruined nest. Military honour therefore would not allow him to
detain them any longer. Should he ever be so hard pressed again he felt
sure that so magnanimous a prince as his Highness would extend to him all
due clemency and consideration.

The Spaniards; digesting as they best could the sauce of contumely with
which the gross treachery of the transaction was now seasoned, solemnly
withdrew, disdaining to express their spleen in words of idle menace.

They were escorted back through the lines, and at once made their report
at headquarters. The festival had been dismally interrupted before it was
well begun. The vessels were soon observed by friend and foe making their
way triumphantly up to the town where they soon dropped anchor at the
wharf of the inner Gullet, having only a couple of sailors wounded,
despite all the furious discharges of Bucquoy's batteries. The holiday
makers dispersed, much discomfited, the English hostages returned to the
town, and the archduke shut himself up, growling and furious. His
generals and counsellors, who had recommended the abandonment of his
carefully prepared assault, and acceptance of the perfidious propositions
to negotiate, by which so much golden time had been squandered, were for
several days excluded from his presence.

Meantime the army, disappointed, discontented, half-starved, unpaid,
passed their days and nights as before, in the sloppy trenches, while
deep and earnest were the complaints and the curses which succeeded to
the momentary exultation of Christmas eve. The soldiers were more than
ever embittered against their august commander-in-chief, for they had
just enjoyed a signal opportunity of comparing the luxury and comfortable
magnificence of his Highness and the Infanta, and of contrasting it with
their own misery. Moreover, it had long been exciting much indignation in
the ranks that veteran generals and colonels, in whom all men had
confidence, had been in great numbers superseded in order to make place
for court favourites, utterly without experience or talent. Thus the
veterans; murmuring in the wet trenches. The archduke meanwhile, in his
sullen retirement, brooded over a tragedy to follow the very successful
comedy of his antagonist.

It was not long delayed. The assault which had been postponed in the
latter days of December was to be renewed before the end of the first
week of the new year. Vere, through scouts and deserters, was aware of
the impending storm, and had made his arrangements in accordance with,
the very minute information which he had thus received. The
reinforcements, so opportunely sent by the States, were not
numerous--only six hundred in all--but they were an earnest of fresh
comrades to follow. Meantime they sufficed to fill the gaps in the ranks,
and to enable Vere to keep possession of the external line of
fortifications, including the all-important Porcupine. Moreover, during
the fictitious negotiations, while the general had thus been holding--as
he expressed it--the wolf by both ears, the labor of repairing damages in
dyke, moat, and wall had not been for an instant neglected.

The morning of the 7th January, 1602, opened with a vigorous cannonade
from all the archduke's batteries, east, west, and south. Auditor
Fleeting, counsellor and secretary of the city, aide-de-camp and right
hand of the commander-in-chief, a grim, grizzled, leathern-faced man of
fifty, steady under fire as a veteran arquebuseer, ready with his pen as
a counting-house clerk, and as fertile in resource as the most
experienced campaigner, was ever at the general's side. At his suggestion
several houses had been demolished, to furnish materials in wood and iron
to stop the gaps as soon as made. Especially about the Sand Hill fort and
the Porcupine a plentiful supply was collected, no time having been lost
in throwing up stockades, palisades, and every other possible obstruction
to the expected assailants. Knowing perfectly well where the brunt of the
battle was to be, Vere had placed his brother Sir Horace at the head of
twelve picked companies of diverse nations in the Sand Hill. Four of the
very best companies of the garrison were stationed in the Porcupine, and
ten more of the choicest in Fort Hell's Mouth, under Colonel Meetkerke.
It must be recollected that the first of these three works was the key to
the fortifications of the old or outer town. The other two were very near
it, and were the principal redoubts which defended the most exposed and
vulnerable portion of the new town on the western side. The Sand Hill, as
its name imported, was the only existing relic within the city's verge of
the chain of downs once encircling the whole place. It had however been
cannonaded so steadily during the six months' siege as to have become
almost ironclad--a mass of metal gradually accumulating from the enemy's
guns. With the curtain extending from it towards east and west it
protected the old town quite up to the little ancient brick church, one
of the only two in Ostend.

All day long the cannon thundered--a bombardment such as had never before
been dreamed of in those days, two thousand shots having been distinctly
counted, by the burghers. There was but languid response from the
besieged, who were reserving their strength. At last, to the brief
winter's day succeeded a pitch-dark evening. It was dead low tide at
seven. At that hour the drums suddenly beat alarm along the whole line of
fortifications from the Gullet on the east to the old harbour on the
west, while through the mirky atmosphere sounded the trumpets of the
assault, the shouts of the Spanish and Italian commanders, and the fierce
responsive yells of their troops. Sir Francis, having visited every
portion of the works, and satisfied himself that every man in the
garrison was under arms, and that all his arrangements had been
fulfilled, now sat on horseback, motionless as a statue, within the Sand
Hill. Among the many serious and fictitious attacks now making he waited
calmly for the one great assault, even allowing some of the enemy to
scale the distant counterscarp of the external works towards the south,
which he had by design left insufficiently guarded. It was but a brief
suspense, for in a few moments two thousand men had rushed through the
bed of the old harbour, out of which the tide had ebbed, and were
vigorously assailing the Sand Hill and the whole length of its curtain.
The impenetrable darkness made it impossible to count, but the noise and
the surging fury of the advance rendered it obvious that the critical
moment had arrived. Suddenly a vivid illumination burst forth. Great pine
torches, piles of tar-barrels, and heaps of other inflammable material,
which had been carefully arranged in Fort Porcupine, were now all at once
lighted by Vere's command.

As the lurid blaze flashed far and wide there started out of the gloom
not only the long lines of yellow jerkined pikemen and arquebuseers, with
their storm-hoods and scaling ladders, rushing swiftly towards the forts,
but beyond the broken sea dyke the reserved masses supporting the attack,
drawn up in solid clumps of spears, with their gay standards waving above
them, and with a strong force of cavalry in iron corslet and morion
stationed in the rear to urge on the infantry and prevent their faltering
in the night's work, became visible--phantom-like but perfectly distinct.

At least four thousand men were engaged in this chief attack, and the
light now permitted the besieged to direct their fire from cannon,
demi-cannon, culverin, and snaphance, with fatal effect. The assailants,
thinned, straggling, but undismayed, closed up their ranks, and still
came fiercely on. Never had Spaniards, Walloons, and Italians, manifested
greater contempt of death than on this occasion. They knew that the
archduke and the infanta were waiting breathlessly in Fort St. Albert for
the news of that victory of which the feigned negotiations had defrauded
them at Christmas, and they felt perfectly confident of ending both the
siege and the forty years' war this January night. But they had reckoned
without their wily English host. As they came nearer--van, and at last
reserve--they dropped in great heaps under the steady fire of the
musketry--as Philip Flaming, looking on, exclaimed--like apples when the
autumn wind blows through the orchard. And as the foremost still pressed
nearer and nearer, striving to clamber up the shattered counterscarp and
through every practicable breach, the English, Hollanders, and
Zeelanders, met them in the gap, not only at push of pike, but with their
long daggers and with flaming pitchhoops, and hurled them down to instant
death.

And thus around the Sand Hill, the Porcupine, and Hell's Mouth, the
battle raged nearly two hours long, without an inch of ground being
gained by the assailants. The dead and dying were piled beneath the
walls, while still the reserves, goaded up to the mark by the cavalry,
mounted upon the bodies of their fallen comrades and strove to plant
their, ladders. But now the tide was on the flood, the harbour was
filling, and cool Auditor Fleming, whom nothing escaped quietly asked the
general's permission to open the western' sluice. It was obvious, he
observed, that the fury of the attack was over, and that the enemy would
soon be effecting a retreat before the water should have risen too high.
He even pointed out many stragglers attempting to escape through the
already deepening shallows. Vere's consent was at once given, the
flood-gate was opened, and the assailants such as still
survived--panic-struck in a moment, rushed wildly back through the old
harbour towards their camp. It was too late. The waters were out, and the
contending currents whirled the fugitives up and down through the
submerged land, and beyond the broken dyke, until great numbers of them
were miserably drowned in the haven, while others were washed out to sea.
Horses and riders were borne off towards the Zealand coast, and several
of their corpses were picked up days afterwards in the neighbourhood of
Flushing.

Meantime those who had effected a lodgment in the Polder, the Square, and
the other southern forts, found, after the chief assault had failed, that
they had gained nothing by their temporary triumph but the certainty of
being butchered. Retreat was impossible, and no quarter was given. Count
Imbec, a noble of great wealth, offered his weight in gold for his
ransom, but was killed by a private soldier, who preferred his blood,
or doubted his solvency. Durango, marshal of the camp, Don
Alvarez de Suarez, and Don Matteo Antonio, sergeant-major and
quarter-master-general, whose adventures as a hostage within the town
on Christmas eve have so recently been related, were also slain.

On the eastern side Bucquoy's attack was an entire failure. His
arrangements were too slowly made, and before he could bring his men to
the assault the water was so high in the Gullet that they refused to lay
their pontoons and march to certain death. Only at lowest ebb, and with
most exquisite skill in fording, would it have been possible to effect
anything like an earnest demonstration or a surprise. Moreover some of
the garrison, giving themselves out as deserters, stole out of the
Spanish Half-moon, which had been purposely almost denuded of its
defenders, towards the enemy's entrenchments, and offered to lead a body
of Spaniards into that ravelin. Bucquoy fell into the trap, so that the
detachment, after a victory as easily effected as that in the southern
forts, found themselves when the fight was over not the captors but the
caught. A few attempted to escape and were driven into the sea; the rest
were massacred.

Fifteen hundred of the enemy's dead were counted and registered by
Auditor Fleming. The whole number of the slain and drowned was reckoned
as high as two thousand, which was at least, a quarter of the whole
besieging army. And so ended this winter night's assault, by which the
archduke had fondly hoped to avenge himself for Vere's perfidy, and to
terminate the war at a blow. Only sixty of the garrison were killed, and
Sir Horace Vere was wounded.

The winter now set in with severe sleet, and snow, and rain, and furious
tempests lashing the sea over the works of besieger and besieged, and for
weeks together paralyzing all efforts of either army. Eight weary months
the siege had lasted; the men in town and hostile camp, exposed to the
inclemency of the wintry trenches, sinking faster before the pestilence
which now swept impartially through all ranks than the soldiers of the
archduke had fallen at Nieuport, or in the recent assault on the Sand
Hill. Of seven thousand hardly three thousand now remained in the
garrison.

Yet still the weary sausage making and wooden castle building went on
along the Gullet and around the old town. The Bredene dyke crept on inch
by inch, but the steady ships of the republic came and went unharmed by
the batteries with which Bucquoy hoped to shut up the New Harbour. The
archduke's works were pushed up nearer on the west, but, as yet, not one
practical advantage had been gained, and the siege had scarcely advanced
a hair's breadth since the 5th of July of the preceding year, when the
armies had first sat down before the place.

The stormy month of March had come, and Vere, being called to service in
the field for the coming season, transferred the command at Ostend to
Frederic van Dorp, a rugged, hard-headed, ill-favoured, stout-hearted
Zealand colonel, with the face of a bull-dog, and with the tenacious grip
of one.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Constitute themselves at once universal legatees
     Crimes and cruelties such as Christians only could imagine
     Human fat esteemed the sovereignst remedy (for wounds)
     War was the normal and natural condition of mankind



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 75, 1602-1603



CHAPTER XL.

   Protraction of the siege of Ostend--Spanish invasion of Ireland--
   Prince Maurice again on the march--Siege of Grave--State of the
   archduke's army--Formidable mutiny--State of Europe--Portuguese
   expedition to Java--Foundation there of the first Batavian trading
   settlement--Exploits of Jacob Heemskerk--Capture of a Lisbon
   carrack--Progress of Dutch commerce--Oriental and Germanic republics
   --Commercial embassy from the King of Atsgen in Sumatra to the
   Netherlands--Surrender of Grave--Privateer work of Frederic Spinola
   --Destruction of Spinola's fleet by English and Dutch cruisers--
   Continuation of the siege of Ostend--Fearful hurricane and its
   effects--The attack--Capture of external forts--Encounter between
   Spinola and a Dutch squadron--Execution of prisoners by the
   archduke--Philip Fleming and his diary--Continuation of operations
   before Ostend--Spanish veterans still mutinous--Their capital
   besieged by Van den Berg--Maurice marches to their relief--
   Convention between the prince and the mutineers--Great commercial
   progress of the Dutch--Opposition to international commerce--
   Organization of the Universal East India Company.

It would be desirable to concentrate the chief events of the siege of
Ostend so that they might be presented to the reader's view in a single
mass. But this is impossible. The siege was essentially the war--as
already observed--and it was bidding fair to protract itself to such an
extent that a respect for chronology requires the attention to be
directed for a moment to other topics.

The invasion of Ireland under Aquila, so pompously heralded as almost to
suggest another grand armada, had sailed in the beginning of the winter,
and an army of six thousand men had been landed at Kinsale. Rarely had
there been a better opportunity for the Celt to strike for his
independence. Shane Mac Neil had an army on foot with which he felt
confident of exterminating the Saxon oppressor, even without the
assistance of his peninsular allies; while the queen's army, severely
drawn upon as it had been for the exigencies of Vere and the States,
might be supposed unable to cope with so formidable a combination. Yet
Montjoy made short work of Aquila and Tyrone. The invaders, shut up in
their meagre conquest, became the besieged instead of the assailants.
Tyrone made a feeble attempt to relieve his Spanish allies, but was soon
driven into his swamps, the peasants would not rise; in spite of
proclamations and golden mountains of promise, and Aquila was soon glad
enough to sign a capitulation by which he saved a portion of his army. He
then returned, in transports provided by the English general, a much
discomfited man, to Spain instead of converting Ireland into a province
of the universal empire. He had not rescued Hibernia, as he stoutly
proclaimed at the outset his intention of doing, from the jaws of the
evil demon.

The States, not much wiser after the experience of Nieuport, were again
desirous that Maurice should march into Flanders, relieve Ostend, and
sweep the archduke into the sea. As for Vere, he proposed that a great
army of cavalry and infantry should be sent into Ostend, while another
force equally powerful should take the field as soon as the season
permitted. Where the men were to be levied, and whence the funds for
putting such formidable hosts in motion were to be derived, it was not
easy to say: "'Tis astonishing," said Lewis William, "that the evils
already suffered cannot open his eyes; but after all, 'tis no marvel. An
old and good colonel, as I hold him to be, must go to school before he
can become a general, and we must beware of committing any second folly,
govern ourselves according to our means and the art of war, and leave the
rest to God."

Prince Maurice, however; yielding as usual to the persuasions or
importunities of those less sagacious than himself; and being also much
influenced by the advice of the English queen and the French king, after
reviewing the most splendid army that even he had ever equipped and set
in the field, crossed the Waal at Nymegen, and the Meuse at Mook, and
then moving leisurely along Meuse--side by way of Sambeck, Blitterswyck,
and Maasyk, came past St. Truyden to the neighbourhood of Thienen, in
Brabant. Here he stood, in the heart of the enemy's country, and within a
day's march of Brussels. The sanguine portion of his countrymen and the
more easily alarmed of the enemy already thought it would be an easy
military promenade for the stadholder to march through Brabant and
Flanders to the coast, defeat the Catholic forces before Ostend, raise
the weary siege of that place, dictate peace to the archduke, and return
in triumph to the Hague, before the end of the summer.

But the experienced Maurice too well knew the emptiness of such dreams.
He had a splendid army--eighteen thousand foot and five thousand
horse--of which Lewis William commanded the battalia, Vere the right, and
Count Ernest the left, with a train of two thousand baggage wagons, and a
considerable force of sutlers and camp-followers. He moved so
deliberately, and with such excellent discipline, that his two wings
could with ease be expanded for black-mail or forage over a considerable
extent of country, and again folded together in case of sudden military
necessity. But he had no intention of marching through Brussels, Ghent,
and Bruges, to the Flemish coast. His old antagonist, the Admiral of
Arragon, lay near Thienen in an entrenched camp, with a force of at least
fifteen thousand men, while the archduke, leaving Rivas in command before
Ostend, hovered in the neighbourhood of Brussels, with as many troops as
could be spared from the various Flemish garrisons, ready to support the
admiral.

But Maurice tempted the admiral in vain with the chances of a general
action. That warrior, remembering perhaps too distinctly his disasters at
Nieuport, or feeling conscious that his military genius was more fitly
displayed in burning towns and villages in neutral territory, robbing the
peasantry, plundering gentlemen's castles and murdering the proprietors,
than it was like to be in a pitched battle with the first general of the
age, remained sullenly within his entrenchments. His position was too
strong and his force far too numerous to warrant an attack by the
stadholder upon his works. After satisfying himself, therefore, that
there was no chance of an encounter in Brabant except at immense
disadvantage, Maurice rapidly counter-marched towards the lower Meuse,
and on the 18th July laid siege to Grave. The position and importance of
this city have been thoroughly set before the reader in a former volumes
It is only necessary, therefore, to recall the fact that, besides being a
vital possession for the republic, the place was in law the private
property of the Orange family, having been a portion of the estate of
Count de Buren, afterwards redeemed on payment of a considerable sum of
money by his son-in-law, William the Silent, confirmed to him at the
pacification of Ghent, and only lost to his children by the disgraceful
conduct of Captain Hamart, which had cost that officer his head. Maurice
was determined at least that the place should not now slip through his
fingers, and that the present siege should be a masterpiece. His forts,
of which he had nearly fifty, were each regularly furnished with moat,
drawbridge, and bulwark. His counterscarp and parapet, his galleries,
covered ways and mines, were as elaborate, massive, and artistically
finished as if he were building a city instead of besieging one.
Buzanval, the French envoy, amazed at the spectacle, protested that his
works "were rather worthy of the grand Emperor of the Turks than of, a
little commonwealth, which only existed through the disorder of its
enemies and the assistance of its friends;" but he admitted the utility
of the stadholder's proceedings to be very obvious.

While the prince calmly sat before Grave, awaiting the inexorable hour
for burghers and garrison to surrender, the great Francis Mendoza,
Admiral of Arragon, had been completing the arrangements for his
exchange. A prisoner after the Nieuport battle, he had been assigned by
Maurice, as will be recollected, to his cousin, young Lewis Gunther,
whose brilliant services as commander of the cavalry had so much
contributed to the victory. The amount of ransom for so eminent a captive
could not fail to be large, and accordingly the thrifty Lewis William had
congratulated his brother on being able, although so young, thus to
repair the fortunes of the family by his military industry to a greater
extent than had yet been accomplished by any of the race. Subsequently,
the admiral had been released on parole, the sum of his ransom having
been fixed at nearly one hundred thousand Flemish crowns. By an agreement
now made by the States, with consent of the Nassau family, the prisoner
was definitely released, on condition of effecting the exchange of all
prisoners of the republic, now held in durance by Spain in any part of
the world. This was in lieu of the hundred thousand crowns which were to
be put into the impoverished coffers of Lewis Gunther. It may be
imagined, as the hapless prisoners afterwards poured in--not only from
the peninsula, but from more distant regions, whither they had been sent
by their cruel taskmasters, some to relate their sufferings in the
horrible dungeons of Spain, where they had long been expiating the crime
of defending their fatherland, others to relate their experiences as
chained galley-slaves in the naval service of their bitterest enemies,
many with shorn heads and long beards like Turks, many with crippled
limbs, worn out with chains and blows, and the squalor of disease and
filth--that the hatred for Spain and Rome did not glow any less fiercely
within the republic, nor the hereditary love for the Nassaus, to whose
generosity these poor victims were indebted for their deliverance, become
fainter, in consequence of these revelations. It was at first vehemently
disputed by many that the admiral could be exchanged as a prisoner of
war, in respect to the manifold murders and other crimes which would seem
to authorize his trial and chastisement by the tribunals of the republic.
But it was decided by the States that the sacred aegis of military law
must be held to protect even so bloodstained a criminal as he, and his
release was accordingly effected. Not long afterwards he took his
departure for Spain, where his reception was not enthusiastic.

From this epoch is to be dated a considerable reform in the laws
regulating the exchange of prisoners of war.--[Grotius]

While Maurice was occupied with the siege of Grave, and thus not only
menacing an important position, but spreading, danger and dismay over all
Brabant and Flanders, it was necessary for the archduke to detach so
large a portion of his armies to observe his indefatigable and scientific
enemy, as to much weaken the vigour of the operations before Ostend.
Moreover, the execrable administration of his finances, and the dismal
delays and sufferings of that siege; had brought about another mutiny--on
the whole, the most extensive, formidable, and methodical of all that had
hitherto occurred in the Spanish armies.

By midsummer, at least three thousand five hundred veterans, including a
thousand of excellent cavalry, the very best soldiers in the service, had
seized the city of Hoogstraaten. Here they established themselves
securely, and strengthened the fortifications; levying contributions in
corn, cattle, and every other necessary, besides wine, beer, and
pocket-money, from the whole country round with exemplary regularity. As
usual, disorder assumed the forms of absolute order. Anarchy became the
best organized of governments; and it would have been difficult to find
in the world--outside the Dutch commonwealth--a single community where
justice appeared to be so promptly administered as in this temporary
republic, founded upon rebellion and theft.

For; although a brotherhood of thieves, it rigorously punished such of
its citizens as robbed for their own, not for the public good. The
immense booty swept daily from the granges, castles; and villages of
Flanders was divided with the simplicity of early Christians, while the
success and steadiness of the operations paralyzed their sovereign, and
was of considerable advantage to the States.

Albert endeavoured in vain to negotiate with the rebels. Nuncius
Frangipani went to them in person, but was received with calm derision.
Pious exhortations might turn the keys of Paradise, but gold alone, he
was informed, would unlock the gates of Hoogstraaten. In an evil hour the
cardinal-archduke was tempted to try the effect of sacerdotal thunder.
The ex-archbishop of Toledo could not doubt that the terrors of the
Church would make those brown veterans tremble who could confront so
tranquilly the spring-tides of the North Sea, and the batteries of Vere
and Nassau. So he launched a manifesto, as highly spiced as a pamphlet of
Marnig, and as severe as a sentence of Torquemada. Entirely against the
advice of the States-General of the obedient provinces, he denounced the
mutineers as outlaws and accursed. He called on persons of every degree
to kill any of them in any way, at any time, or in any place, promising
that the slayer of a private soldier should receive a reward of "ten
crowns for each head" brought in, while for a subaltern officer's head
one hundred crowns were offered; for that of a superior officer two
hundred, and for that of the Eletto or chief magistrate, five hundred
crowns. Should the slayer be himself a member of the mutiny, his crime of
rebellion was to be forgiven, and the price of murder duly paid. All
judges, magistrates, and provost-marshals were ordered to make
inventories of the goods, moveable and immoveable, of the mutineers, and
of the clothing and other articles belonging to their wives and children,
all which property was to be brought in and deposited in the hands of the
proper functionaries of the archduke's camp, in order that it might be
duly incorporated into the domains of his Highness.

The mutineers were not frightened. The ban was an anachronism. If those
Spaniards and Italians had learned nothing by their much campaigning in
the land of Calvinism, they had at least unlearned their faith in bell,
book, and candle. It happened, too, that among their numbers were to be
found pamphleteers as ready and as unscrupulous as the scribes of the
archduke.

So there soon came forth and was published to the world, in the name of
the Eletto and council of Hoogstraaten, a formal answer to the ban.

"If scolding and cursing be payment," said the magistrates of the mutiny,
"then we might give a receipt in full for our wages. The ban is
sufficient in this respect; but as these curses give no food for our
bellies nor clothes for our backs, not preventing us, therefore, who have
been fighting so long for the honour and welfare of the archdukes from
starving with cold and hunger, we think a reply necessary in order to
make manifest how much reason these archdukes have for thundering forth
all this choler and fury, by which women and children may be frightened,
but at which no soldier will feel alarm.

"When it is stated," continued the mutineers, "that we have deserted our
banners just as an attempt was making by the archduke to relieve Grave,
we can only reply that the assertion proves how impossible it is to
practise arithmetic with disturbed brains. Passion is a bad
schoolmistress for the memory, but, as good friends, we will recall to the
recollection of your Highness that it was not your Highness, but the
Admiral of Arragon, that commanded the relieving force before that city.

"'Tis very true that we summon your Highnesses, and levy upon your
provinces, in order to obtain means of living; for in what other quarter
should we make application. Your Highnesses give us nothing except
promises; but soldiers are not chameleons, to live on such air. According
to every principle of law, creditors have a lien on the property of their
debtors.

"As to condemning to death as traitors and scoundrels those who don't
desire to be killed, and who have the means of killing such as attempt to
execute the sentence; this is hardly in accordance with the extraordinary
wisdom which has always characterized your Highnesses.

"As, to the confiscation of our goods, both moveable and immoveable, we
would simply make this observation:

"Our moveable goods are our swords alone, and they can only be moved by
ourselves. They are our immoveable goods as well; for should any one but
ourselves undertake to move them, we assure your Highnesses that they
will prove too heavy to be handled.

"As to the official register and deposit ordained of the money, clothing,
and other property belonging to ourselves, our wives and children, the
work may be done without clerks of inventory. Certainly, if the domains
of your Highnesses have no other sources of revenue than the proceeds of
this confiscation, wherewith to feed the ostrich-like digestions of those
about you, 'tis to be feared that ere long they will be in the same
condition as were ours, when we were obliged to come together in
Hoogstraaten to devise means to keep ourselves, our wives, and children
alive. And at that time we were an unbreeched people, like the
Indians--saving your Highnesses' reverence--and the climate here is too
cold for such costume. Your Highnesses, and your relatives the Emperor
and King of Spain, will hardly make your royal heads greasy with the fat
of such property as we possess, 'Twill also be a remarkable spectacle
after you have stripped our wives and children stark naked for the
benefit of your treasury, to see them sent in that condition, within
three days afterwards, out of the country, as the ban ordains.

"You order the ban to be executed against our children and our children's
children, but your Highness never learned this in the Bible, when you
were an archbishop, and when you expounded, or ought to have expounded,
the Holy Scriptures to your flock. What theology teaches your Highness to
vent your wrath upon the innocent?

"Whenever the cause of discontent is taken away, the soldiers will become
obedient and cheerful. All kings and princes may mirror themselves in the
bad government of your Highness, and may see how they fare who try to
carry on a war, while with their own hands they cut the sinews of war.
The great leaders of old--Cyrus, Alexander, Scipio, Caesar--were
accustomed, not to starve, but to enrich their soldiers. What did
Alexander, when in an arid desert they brought, him a helmet full of
water? He threw it on the sand, saying that there was only enough for
him, but not enough for his army.

"Your Highnesses have set ten crowns, and one hundred, and five hundred
crowns upon our heads, but never could find five hundred mites nor ten
mites to keep our souls and bodies together.

"Yet you have found means to live yourselves with pomp and luxury, far
exceeding that of the great Emperor Charles and much surpassing the
magnificence of your Highnesses' brothers, the emperor and the king."

Thus, and much more, the magistrates of the "Italian republic"--answering
their master's denunciations of vengeance, both in this world and the
next, with a humorous scorn very refreshing in that age of the world to
contemplate. The expanding influence of the Dutch commonwealth was
already making itself felt even in the ranks of its most determined foes.

The mutineers had also made an agreement with the States-General, by
which they had secured permission, in case of need, to retire within the
territory of the republic.

Maurice had written to them from his camp before Grave, and at first they
were disposed to treat him with as little courtesy as they had shown the
Nuncius; for they put the prince's letter on a staff, and fired at it as
a mark, assuring the trumpeter who brought it that they would serve him
in the same manner should he venture thither again. Very soon afterwards,
however, the Eletto and council, reproving the folly of their
subordinates, opened negotiations with the stadholder, who, with the
consent of the States, gave them preliminary permission to take refuge
under the guns of Bergenop-Zoom, should they by chance be hard pressed.

Thus throughout Europe a singular equilibrium of contending forces seemed
established. Before Ostend, where the chief struggle between imperialism
and republicanism had been proceeding for more than a year with equal
vigour, there seemed no possibility of a result. The sands drank up the
blood of the combatants on both sides, month after month, in summer; the
pestilence in town and camp mowed down Catholic and Protestant with
perfect impartiality during the winter, while the remorseless ocean swept
over all in its wrath, obliterating in an hour the patient toil of
months.

In Spain, in England, and Ireland; in Hungary, Germany, Sweden, and
Poland, men wrought industriously day by day and year by year, to destroy
each other, and to efface the products of human industry, and yet no
progress could fairly be registered. The Turk was in Buda, on the right
bank of the Danube, and the Christian in Pest, on the left, while the
crescent; but lately supplanted by the cross, again waved in triumph over
Stuhlweissenberg, capital city of the Magyars. The great Marshal Biron,
foiled in his stupendous treachery, had laid down his head upon the
block; the catastrophe following hard upon the madcap riot of Lord Essex
in the Strand and his tragic end. The troublesome and restless favourites
of Henry and of Elizabeth had closed their stormy career, but the designs
of the great king and the great queen were growing wider and wilder, more
false and more fantastic than ever, as the evening shadows of both were
lengthening.

But it was not in Europe nor in Christendom: alone during that twilight
epoch of declining absolutism, regal and sacerdotal, and the coming
glimmer of freedom, religious and commercial, that the contrast between
the old and new civilizations was exhibiting itself.

The same fishermen and fighting men, whom we have but lately seen sailing
forth from Zeeland and Friesland to confront the dangers of either pole,
were now contending in the Indian seas with the Portuguese monopolists of
the tropics.

A century long, the generosity of the Roman pontiff in bestowing upon
others what was not his property had guaranteed to the nation of Vasco de
Gama one half at least of the valuable possessions which maritime genius,
unflinching valour, and boundless cruelty had won and kept. But the
spirit of change was abroad in the world. Potentates and merchants under
the equator had been sedulously taught that there were no other white men
on the planet but the Portuguese and their conquerors the Spaniards, and
that the Dutch--of whom they had recently heard, and the portrait of
whose great military chieftain they had seen after the news of the
Nieuport battle had made the circuit of the earth--were a mere mob of
pirates and savages inhabiting the obscurest of dens. They were soon,
however, to be enabled to judge for themselves as to the power and the
merits of the various competitors for their trade.

Early in this year Andreas Hurtado de Mendoza with a stately fleet of
galleons and smaller vessels, more than five-and-twenty in all, was on
his way towards the island of Java to inflict summary vengeance upon
those oriental rulers who had dared to trade with men forbidden by his
Catholic Majesty and the Pope.

The city of Bantam was the first spot marked out for destruction, and it
so happened that a Dutch skipper, Wolfert Hermann by name, commanding
five trading vessels, in which were three hundred men, had just arrived
in those seas to continue the illicit commerce which had aroused the ire
of the Portuguese. His whole force both of men and of guns was far
inferior to that of the flag-ship alone of Mendoza. But he resolved to
make manifest to the Indians that the Batavians were not disposed to
relinquish their promising commercial relations with them, nor to turn
their backs upon their newly found friends in the hour of danger. To the
profound astonishment of the Portuguese admiral the Dutchman with his
five little trading ships made an attack on the pompous armada, intending
to avert chastisement from the king of Bantam. It was not possible for
Wolfert to cope at close quarters with his immensely superior adversary,
but his skill and nautical experience enabled him to play at what was
then considered long bowls with extraordinary effect. The greater
lightness and mobility of his vessels made them more than a match, in
this kind of encounter, for the clumsy, top-heavy, and sluggish marine
castles in which Spain and Portugal then went forth to battle on the
ocean. It seems almost like the irony of history, and yet it is the
literal fact, that the Dutch galleot of that day--hardly changed in two
and a half centuries since--"the bull-browed galleot butting through the
stream,"--[Oliver Wendell Holmes]--was then the model clipper,
conspicuous among all ships for its rapid sailing qualities and ease of
handling. So much has the world moved, on sea and shore, since those
simple but heroic days. And thus Wolfert's swift-going galleots circled
round and round the awkward, ponderous, and much-puzzled Portuguese
fleet, until by well-directed shots and skilful manoeuvring they had sunk
several ships, taken two, run others into the shallows, and, at last, put
the whole to confusion. After several days of such fighting, Admiral
Mendoza fairly turned his back upon his insignificant opponent, and
abandoned his projects upon Java. Bearing away for the Island of Amboyna
with the remainder of his fleet, he laid waste several of its villages
and odoriferous spice-fields, while Wolfert and his companions entered
Bantam in triumph, and were hailed as deliverers. And thus on the extreme
western verge of this magnificent island was founded the first trading
settlement of the Batavian republic in the archipelago of the
equator--the foundation-stone of a great commercial empire which was to
encircle the earth. Not many years later, at the distance, of a dozen
leagues from Bantam, a congenial swamp was fortunately discovered in a
land whose volcanic peaks rose two miles into the air, and here a town
duly laid out with canals and bridges, and trim gardens and stagnant
pools, was baptized by the ancient and well-beloved name of Good-Meadow
or Batavia, which it bears to this day.

Meantime Wolfert Hermann was not the only Hollander cruising in those
seas able to convince the Oriental mind that all Europeans save the
Portuguese were not pirates and savages, and that friendly intercourse
with other foreigners might be as profitable as slavery to the Spanish
crown.

Captain Nek made treaties of amity and commerce with the potentates of
Ternate, Tydor, and other Molucca islands. The King of Candy on the
Island of Ceylon, lord of the odoriferous fields of cassia which perfume
those tropical seas, was glad to learn how to exchange the spices of the
equator for the thousand fabrics and products of western civilization
which found their great emporium in Holland. Jacob Heemskerk, too, who
had so lately astonished the world by his exploits and discoveries during
his famous winter in Nova Zembla, was now seeking adventures and carrying
the flag and fame of the republic along the Indian and Chinese coasts.
The King of Johor on the Malayan peninsula entered into friendly
relations with him, being well pleased, like so many of those petty
rulers, to obtain protection against the Portuguese whom he had so long
hated and feared. He informed Heemskerk of the arrival in the straits of
Malacca of an immense Lisbon carrack, laden with pearls and spices,
brocades and precious-stones, on its way to Europe, and suggested an
attack. It is true that the roving Hollander merely commanded a couple of
the smallest galleots, with about a hundred and thirty men in the two.
But when was Jacob Heemskerk ever known to shrink from an
encounter--whether from single-handed combat with a polar bear, or from
leading a forlorn hope against a Spanish fort, or from assailing a
Portuguese armada. The carrack, more than one thousand tons burthen,
carried seventeen guns, and at least eight times as many men as he
commanded. Nevertheless, after a combat of but brief duration Heemskerk
was master of the carrack: He spared the lives of his seven hundred
prisoners, and set them on shore before they should have time to discover
to what a handful of Dutchmen they had surrendered. Then dividing about a
million florins' worth of booty among his men, who doubtless found such
cruising among the spice-islands more attractive than wintering at the
North Pole, he sailed in the carrack for Macao, where he found no
difficulty in convincing the authorities of the celestial empire that the
friendship of the Dutch republic was worth cultivating. There was soon to
be work in other regions for the hardy Hollander--such as was to make the
name of Heemskerk a word to conjure with down to the latest posterity.
Meantime he returned to his own country to take part in the great
industrial movements which were to make this year an epoch in commercial
history.

The conquerors of Mendoza and deliverers of Bantam had however not paused
in their work. From Java they sailed to Banda; and on those volcanic
islands of nutmegs and cloves made, in the name of their commonwealth, a
treaty with its republican antipodes. For there was no king to be found
in that particular archipelago, and the two republics, the Oriental and
the Germanic, dealt with each other with direct and becoming simplicity.
Their convention was in accordance with the commercial ideas of the day,
which assumed monopoly as the true basis of national prosperity. It was
agreed that none but Dutchmen should ever purchase the nutmegs of Banda,
and that neither nation should harbour refugees from the other. Other
articles, however; showed how much farther, the practice of political and
religious liberty had advanced than had any theory of commercial freedom.
It was settled that each nation should judge its own citizens according
to its own laws, that neither should interfere by force with the other in
regard to religious matters, but that God should be judge over them all.
Here at least was progress beyond the system according to which the Holy
Inquisition furnished the only enginry of civilization. The guardianship
assumed by Holland over these children of the sun was at least an
improvement on the tyranny which roasted them alive if they rejected
religious dogmas which they could not comprehend, and which proclaimed
with fire, sword, and gibbet that the Omnipotent especially forbade the
nutmeg trade to all but the subjects, of the most Catholic king.

In Atsgen or Achim, chief city of Sumatra, a treaty was likewise made
with the government of the place, and it was arranged that the king of
Atsgen should send over an embassy to the distant but friendly republic.
Thus he might judge whether the Hollanders were enemies of all the world,
as had been represented to him, or only of Spain; whether their knowledge
of the arts and sciences, and their position among the western nations
entitled them to respect, and made their friendship desirable; or whether
they were only worthy of the contempt which their royal and aristocratic
enemies delighted to heap upon their heads. The envoys sailed from
Sumatra on board the same little fleet which, under the command of
Wolfert Hermann, had already done such signal service, and on their way
to Europe they had an opportunity of seeing how these republican sailors
could deal with their enemies on the ocean.

Off St. Helena an immense Portuguese carrack richly laden and powerfully
armed, was met, attacked, and overpowered by the little merchantmen with
their usual audacity and skill. A magnificent booty was equitably divided
among the captors, the vanquished crew were set safely on shore; and the
Hollanders then pursued their home voyage without further adventures.

The ambassadors; with an Arab interpreter, were duly presented to Prince
Maurice in the lines before the city of Grave. Certainly no more
favourable opportunity could have been offered them for contrasting the
reality of military power, science, national vigour; and wealth, which
made the republic eminent among the nations, with the fiction of a horde
of insignificant and bloodthirsty savages which her enemies had made so
familiar at the antipodes. Not only were the intrenchments bastions,
galleries, batteries, the discipline and equipment of the troops, a
miracle in the eyes of these newly arrived Oriental ambassadors, but they
had awakened the astonishment of Europe, already accustomed to such
spectacles. Evidently the amity of the stadholder and his commonwealth
was a jewel of price, and the King of Achim would have been far more
barbarous than he had ever deemed the Dutchmen to be, had he not well
heeded the lesson which he had sent so far to learn.

The chief of the legation, Abdulzamar, died in Zeeland, and was buried
with honourable obsequies at Middleburg, a monument being raised to his
memory. The other envoys returned to Sumatra, fully determined to
maintain close relations with the republic.

There had been other visitors in Maurice's lines before Grave at about
the same period. Among others, Gaston Spinola, recently created by the
archduke Count of Bruay, had obtained permission to make a visit to a
wounded relative, then a captive in the republican camp, and was
hospitably entertained at the stadholder's table. Maurice, with soldierly
bluntness, ridiculed the floating batteries, the castles on wheels, the
sausages, and other newly-invented machines, employed before Ostend, and
characterized them as rather fit to catch birds with than to capture a
city, defended by mighty armies and fleets.

"If the archduke has set his heart upon it, he had far better try to buy
Ostend," he observed.

"What is your price?" asked the Italian; "will you take 200,000 ducats?"

"Certainly not less than a million and a half," was the reply; so highly
did Maurice rate the position and advantages of the city. He would
venture to prophesy, he added, that the siege of Ostend would last as
long as the siege of Troy.

"Ostend is no Troy," said Spinola with a courtly flourish, "although
there are certainly not wanting an Austrian Agamemnon, a Dutch Hector,
and an Italian Achilles." The last allusion was to the speaker's namesake
and kinsman, the Marquis Anibrose Spinola, of whom much was to be heard
in the world from that time forth.

Meantime, although so little progress had been made at Ostend, Maurice
had thoroughly done his work before Grave. On the 18th September the
place surrendered, after sixty days' siege, upon the terms usually
granted by the stadholder. The garrison was to go out with the honours of
war. Those of the inhabitants who wished to leave were to leave; those
who preferred staying were to stay; rendering due allegiance to the
republic, and abstaining in public from the rites of the Roman Church,
without being exposed, however, to any inquiries as to their religious
opinions, or any interference within their households.

The work went slowly on before Ostend. Much effect had been produced,
however, by the operations of the archduke's little naval force. The
galley of that day, although a child's toy as compared with the wonders
of naval architecture of our own time, was an effective machine enough to
harass fishing and coasting vessels in creeks and estuaries, and along
the shores of Holland and Zeeland during tranquil weather.

The locomotive force of these vessels consisted of galley-slaves, in
which respect the Spaniards had an advantage over other nations; for they
had no scruples in putting prisoners of war into chains and upon the
benches of the rowers. Humanity--"the law of Christian piety," in the
words of the noble Grotius--forbade the Hollanders from reducing their
captives to such horrible slavery, and they were obliged to content
themselves with condemned criminals, and with the few other wretches whom
abject poverty and the impossibility of earning other wages could induce
to accept the service. And as in the maritime warfare of our own day, the
machinery--engines, wheels, and boilers--is the especial aim of the
enemy's artillery, so the chain-gang who rowed in the waist of the
galley, the living enginry, without which the vessel became a useless
tub, was as surely marked out for destruction whenever a sea-fight took
place.

The Hollanders did not very much favour this species of war-craft, both
by reason of the difficulty of procuring the gang, and because to a true
lover of the ocean and of naval warfare the galley was about as clumsy
and amphibious a production as could be hoped of human perverseness. High
where it should be low. Exposed, flat, and fragile, where elevation and
strength were indispensable--encumbered and top-heavy where it should be
level and compact, weak in the waist, broad at stem and stern, awkward in
manoeuvre, helpless in rough weather, sluggish under sail, although
possessing the single advantage of being able to crawl over a smooth sea
when better and faster ships were made stationary by absolute calm, the
galley was no match for the Dutch galleot, either at close quarters or in
a breeze.

Nevertheless for a long time there had been a certain awe produced by the
possibility of some prodigious but unknown qualities in these outlandish
vessels, and already the Hollanders had tried their hand at constructing
them. On a late occasion a galley of considerable size, built at Dort,
had rowed past the Spanish forts on the Scheld, gone up to Antwerp, and
coolly cut out from the very wharves of the city a Spanish galley of the
first class, besides seven war vessels of lesser dimensions, at first
gaining advantage by surprise, and then breaking down all opposition in a
brilliant little fight. The noise of the encounter summoned the citizens
and garrison to the walls, only to witness the triumph achieved by Dutch
audacity, and to see the victors dropping rapidly down the river, laden
with booty and followed by their prizes. Nor was the mortification of
these unwilling spectators diminished when the clear notes of a bugle on
board the Dutch galley brought to their ears the well-known melody of
"Wilhelmus of Nassau," once so dear to every, patriotic heart in Antwerp,
and perhaps causing many a renegade cheek on this occasion to tingle with
shame.

Frederic Spinola, a volunteer belonging to the great and wealthy Genoese
family of that name, had been performing a good deal of privateer work
with a small force of galleys which he kept under his command at Sluys.
He had succeeded in inflicting so much damage upon the smaller
merchantmen of the republic, and in maintaining so perpetual a panic in
calm weather among the seafaring multitudes of those regions, that he was
disposed to extend the scale of his operations. On a visit to Spain he
had obtained permission from Government to employ in this service eight
great galleys, recently built on the Guadalquivir for the Royal Navy. He
was to man and equip them at his own expense, and was to be allowed the
whole of the booty that might result from his enterprise. Early in the
autumn he set forth with his eight galleys on the voyage to Flanders,
but, off Cezimbra, on the Portuguese coast, unfortunately fell in with
Sir Robert Mansell, who; with a compact little squadron of English
frigates, was lying in wait for the homeward-bound India fleet on their
entrance to Lisbon. An engagement took place, in which Spinola lost two
of his galleys. His disaster might have been still greater, had not an
immense Indian carrack, laden with the richest merchandize, just then
hove in sight, to attract his conquerors with a hope of better
prize-money than could be expected from the most complete victory over
him and his fleet.

With the remainder of his vessels Spinola crept out of sight while the
English were ransacking the carrack. On the 3rd of October he had entered
the channel with a force which, according to the ideas of that day, was
still formidable. Each of his galleys was of two hundred and fifty slave
power, and carried, beside the chain-gang, four hundred fighting men. His
flag-ship was called the St. Lewis; the names of the other vessels being
the St. Philip, the Morning Star, the St. John, the Hyacinth, and the
Padilla. The Trinity and the Opportunity had been destroyed off Cezimbra.
Now there happened to be cruising just then in the channel, Captain Peter
Mol, master of the Dutch war-ship Tiger, and Captain Lubbertson,
commanding the Pelican. These two espied the Spanish squadron, paddling
at about dusk towards the English coast, and quickly gave notice to
Vice-Admiral John Kant, who in the States' ship Half-moon, with three
other war-galleots, was keeping watch in that neighbourhood. It was dead
calm as the night fell, and the galleys of Spinola, which had crept close
up to the Dover cliffs, were endeavouring to row their way across in the
darkness towards the Flemish coast, in the hope of putting unobserved
into the Gut of Sluys. All went well with Spinola till the moon rose;
but, with the moon, sprang up a steady breeze, so that the galleys lost
all their advantage. Nearly off Gravelines another States' ship, the
Mackerel, came in sight, which forthwith attacked the St: Philip, pouring
a broadside into her by which fifty men were killed. Drawing off from
this assailant, the galley found herself close to the Dutch admiral in
the Half-moon, who, with all sail set, bore straight down upon her,
struck her amidships with a mighty crash, carrying off her mainmast and
her poop, and then, extricating himself with difficulty from the wreck,
sent a tremendous volley of cannon-shot and lesser missiles straight into
the waist where sat the chain-gang. A howl of pain and terror rang
through the air, while oars and benches, arms, legs, and mutilated
bodies, chained inexorably together, floated on the moonlit waves. An
instant later, and another galleot bore down to complete the work,
striking with her iron prow the doomed St. Philip so straightly and
surely that she went down like a stone, carrying with her galley slaves,
sailors, and soldiers, besides all the treasure brought by Spinola for
the use of his fleet.

The Morning Star was the next galley attacked, Captain Sael, in a stout
galleot, driving at her under full sail, with the same accuracy and
solidity of shock as had been displayed in the encounter with the St.
Philip and with the same result. The miserable, top-heavy monster galley
was struck between mainmast and stern, with a blow which carried away the
assailant's own bowsprit and fore-bulwarks, but which--completely
demolished the stem of the galley, and crushed out of existence the
greater portion of the live machinery sitting chained and rowing on the
benches. And again, as the first enemy hauled off from its victim,
Admiral pant came up once more in the Half-moon, steered straight at the
floundering galley, and sent her with one crash to the bottom. It was not
very scientific practice perhaps. It was but simple butting, plain
sailing, good steering, and the firing of cannon at short pistol-shot.
But after all, the work of those unsophisticated Dutch skippers was done
very thoroughly, without flinching, and, as usual, at great odds of men
and guns. Two more of the Spanish galleys were chased into the shallows
near Gravelines, where they went to pieces. Another was wrecked near
Calais. The galley which bore Frederic Spinola himself and his fortunes
succeeded in reaching Dunkirk, whence he made his way discomfited, to
tell the tale of his disaster to the archduke at Brussels. During the
fight the Dutch admiral's boats had been active in picking up such of the
drowning crews, whether galley-slaves or soldiers, as it was possible to
save. But not more than two hundred were thus rescued, while by far the
greater proportion of those on board, probably three thousand in number,
perished, and the whole fleet, by which so much injury was to have been
inflicted on Dutch commerce, was, save one damaged galley, destroyed. Yet
scarcely any lives were lost by the Hollanders, and it is certain that
the whole force in their fleet did not equal the crew of a single one of
the enemy's ships. Neither Spinola nor the archduke seemed likely to make
much out of the contract. Meantime, the Genoese volunteer kept quiet in
Sluy's, brooding over schemes to repair his losses and to renew his
forays on the indomitable Zeelanders.

Another winter had now closed in upon Ostend, while still the siege had
scarcely advanced an inch. During the ten months of Governor Dorp's
administration, four thousand men had died of wounds or malady within the
town, and certainly twice as many in the trenches of the besieging force.
Still the patient Bucquoy went on, day after day, night after night,
month after month, planting his faggots and fascines, creeping forward
almost imperceptibly with his dyke, paying five florins each to the
soldiers who volunteered to bring the materials, and a double ducat to
each man employed in laying them. So close were they under the fire of
the town; that a life was almost laid down for every ducat, but the
Gullet, which it was hoped to close, yawned as wide as ever, and the
problem how to reduce a city, open by sea to the whole world, remained
without solution. On the last day of the year a splendid fleet of
transports arrived in the town, laden with whole droves of beeves and
flocks of sheep, besides wine and bread and beer enough to supply a
considerable city; so that market provisions in the beleaguered town were
cheaper than in any part of Europe.

Thus skilfully did the States-General and Prince Maurice watch from the
outside over Ostend, while the audacious but phlegmatic sea-captains
brought their cargoes unscathed through the Gullet, although Bucquoy's
batteries had now advanced to within seventy yards of the shore.

On the west side, the besiegers were slowly eating their way through the
old harbour towards the heart of the place. Subterranean galleries,
patiently drained of their water, were met by counter-galleries leading
out from the town, and many were the desperate hand-to-hand encounters,
by dim lanterns, or in total darkness, beneath the ocean and beneath the
earth; Hollander, Spaniard, German, Englishman, Walloon, digging and
dying in the fatal trenches, as if there had been no graves at home.
Those insatiable sand-banks seemed ready to absorb all the gold and all
the life of Christendom. But the monotony of that misery it is useless to
chronicle. Hardly an event of these dreary days has been left unrecorded
by faithful diarists and industrious soldiers, but time has swept us far
away from them, and the world has rolled on to fresher fields of carnage
and ruin. All winter long those unwearied, intelligent, fierce, and cruel
creatures toiled and fought in the stagnant waters, and patiently
burrowed in the earth. It seemed that if Ostend were ever lost it would
be because at last entirely bitten away and consumed. When there was no
Ostend left, it might be that the archduke would triumph.

As there was always danger that the movements on the east side might be
at last successful, it was the command of Maurice that the labours to
construct still another harbour should go on in case the Gullet should
become useless, as the old haven had been since the beginning of the
siege. And the working upon that newest harbour was as dangerous to the
Hollanders as Bucquoy's dike-building to the Spaniards, for the pioneers
and sappers were perpetually under fire from the batteries which the
count had at, last successfully established on the extremity of his work.
It was a piteous sight to see those patient delvers lay down their spades
and die, hour after hour, to be succeeded by their brethren only to share
their fate. Yet still the harbour building progressed; for the republic
was determined that the city should be open to the sea so long as the
States had a stiver, or a ship, or a spade.

While this deadly industry went on, the more strictly military operations
were not pretermitted day nor night. The Catholics were unwearied in
watching for a chance of attack, and the Hollanders stood on the ramparts
and in the trenches, straining eyes and ears through the perpetual icy
mists of that black winter to catch the sight and sound of a coming foe.
Especially the by-watches, as they were called, were enough to break down
constitutions of iron; for, all day and night, men were stationed in the
inundated regions, bound on pain of death to stand in the water and watch
for a possible movement of the enemy, until the waves should rise so high
as to make it necessary to swim. Then, until the tide fell again, there
was brief repose.

And so the dreary winter faded away at last into chill and blustering
spring. On the 13th of April a hurricane, such as had not occurred since
the siege began; raged across the ocean, deluging and shattering the
devoted town. The waters rose over dyke and parapet, and the wind swept
from the streets and ramparts every living thing. Not a soldier or sailor
could keep his feet, the chief tower of the church was blown into the
square, chimneys and windows crashed on all sides, and the elements had
their holiday, as if to prove how helpless a thing was man, however
fierce and determined, when the powers of Nature arose in their strength.
It was as if no siege existed, as if no hostile armies had been lying
nearly two years long close to each other, and losing no opportunity to
fly at each other's throats. The strife of wind and ocean gave a respite
to human rage.

It was but a brief respite. At nightfall there was a lull in the tempest,
and the garrison crept again to the ramparts. Instantly the departing
roar of the winds and waters were succeeded by fainter but still more
threatening sounds, and the sentinels and the drums and trumpets to rally
the garrison, when the attack came. The sleepless Spaniards were already
upon them. In the Porcupine fort, a blaze of wickerwork and building
materials suddenly illuminated the gathering gloom of night; and the loud
cries of the assailants, who had succeeded in kindling this fire by their
missiles, proclaimed the fierceness of the attack. Governor Dorp was
himself in the fort, straining every nerve to extinguish the flames, and
to hold this most important position. He was successful. After a brief
but bloody encounter the Spaniards were repulsed with heavy loss. All was
quiet again, and the garrison in the Porcupine were congratulating
themselves on their victory when suddenly the ubiquitous Philip Fleeting
plunged, with a face of horror, into the governor's quarters, informing
him that the attack on the redoubt had been a feint, and that the
Spaniards were at that very moment swarming all over the three external
forts, called the South Square, the West Square, and the Polder. These
points, which have been already described, were most essential to the
protection of the place, as without them the whole counterscarp was in
danger. It was to save those exposed but vital positions that Sir Francis
Vere had resorted to the slippery device of the last Christmas Eve but
one.

Dorp refused to believe the intelligence. The squares were well guarded,
the garrison ever alert. Spaniards were not birds of prey to fly up those
perpendicular heights, and for beings without wings the thing was
impossible. He followed Fleming through the darkness, and was soon
convinced that the impossible was true. The precious squares were in the
hands of the enemy. Nimble as monkeys, those yellow jerkined Italians,
Walloons, and Spaniards--stormhats on their heads and swords in their
teeth--had planted rope-ladders, swung themselves up the walls by
hundreds upon hundreds, while the fight had been going on at the
Porcupine, and were now rushing through the forts grinning defiance,
yelling and chattering with fierce triumph, and beating down all
opposition. It was splendidly done. The discomfited Dorp met small bodies
of his men, panic-struck, reeling out from their stronghold, wounded,
bleeding, shrieking for help and for orders. It seemed as if the
Spaniards had dropped from the clouds. The Dutch commandant did his best
to rally the fugitives, and to encourage those who had remained. All
night long the furious battle raged, every inch of ground being
contested; for both Catholics and Hollanders knew full well that this
triumph was worth more than all that had been gained for the archduke in
eighteen months of siege. Pike to pike, breast to breast, they fought
through the dark April night; the last sobs of the hurricane dying
unheard, the red lanterns flitting to and fro, the fireworks hissing in
every direction of earth and air, the great wicker piles, heaped up with
pitch and rosin, flaming over a scene more like a dance of goblins than a
commonplace Christian massacre. At least fifteen hundred were
killed--besiegers and besieged--during the storming of the forts and the
determined but unsuccessful attempt of the Hollanders to retake them. And
when at last the day had dawned, and the Spaniards could see the full
extent of their victory, they set themselves with--unusual alacrity to
killing such of the wounded and prisoners as were in their hands, while,
at the same time, they turned the guns of their newly acquired works upon
the main counterscarp of the town.

Yet the besieged--discomfited but undismayed lost not a moment in
strengthening their inner works, and in doing their best, day after day,
by sortie, cannonade, and every possible device, to prevent the foe from
obtaining full advantage of his success. The triumph was merely a local
one, and the patient Hollanders soon proved to the enemy that the town
was not gained by carrying the three squares, but that every inch of the
place was to be contested as hotly as those little redoubts had been.
Ostend, after standing nearly two years of siege, was not to be carried
by storm. A goodly slice of it had been pared off that April night, and
was now in possession of the archduke, but this was all. Meantime the
underground work was resumed on both sides.

Frederic Spinola, notwithstanding the stunning defeat sustained by him in
the preceding October, had not lost heart while losing all his ships. On
the contrary, he had been busy during the winter in building other
galleys. Accordingly, one fine morning in May, Counsellor Flooswyk, being
on board a war vessel convoying some empty transports from Ostend,
observed signs of mischief brewing as he sailed past the Gut of Sluys;
and forthwith gave notice of what he had seen to Admiral Joost de Moor,
commanding the blockading squadron. The counsellor was right. Frederic
Spinola meant mischief. It was just before sunrise of a beautiful
summer's day. The waves were smooth--not a breath of wind stirring--and
De Moor, who had four little war-ships of Holland, and was supported
besides by a famous vessel called the Black Galley of Zeeland, under
Captain Jacob Michelzoon, soon observed a movement from Sluys.

Over the flat and glassy surface of the sea, eight galleys of the largest
size were seen crawling slowly, like vast reptiles, towards his ..
position. Four lesser vessels followed in the wake of the great galleys.
The sails of the admiral's little fleet flapped idly against the mast. He
could only placidly await the onset. The Black Galley, however, moved
forward according to her kind; and was soon vigorously attacked by two
galleys of the enemy. With all the force that five hundred rowers could
impart, these two huge vessels ran straight into the Zeeland ship, and
buried their iron prows in her sides. Yet the Black Galley was made of
harder stuff than were those which had gone down in the channel the
previous autumn under the blows of John Kant. Those on board her, at
least, were made of tougher material than were galley-slaves and
land-soldiers. The ramming was certainly not like that of a thousand
horse-power of steam, and there was no very great display of science in
the encounter; yet Captain Jacob Michelzoon, with two enemy's ships thus
stuck to his sides, might well have given himself up for lost. The
disproportion of ships and men was monstrous. Beside the chain-gang, each
of Spinola's ships was manned by two hundred soldiers, while thirty-six
musketeers from the Flushing garrison were the only men-at-arms in De
Moor's whole squadron. But those amphibious Zeelanders and Hollanders,
perfectly at home in the water, expert in handling vessels, and excellent
cannoneers, were more than a match for twenty times their number of
landsmen. It was a very simple-minded, unsophisticated contest. The
attempt to board the Black Galley was met with determined resistance, but
the Zeeland sailors clambered like cats upon the bowsprits of the Spanish
galleys, fighting with cutlass and handspike, while a broadside or two
was delivered with terrible effect into the benches of the chained and
wretched slaves. Captain Michelzoon was killed, but his successor,
Lieutenant Hart, although severely wounded, swore that he would blow up
his ship with his own hands rather than surrender. The decks of all the
vessels ran with blood, but at last the Black Galley succeeded in beating
off her assailants; the Zeelanders, by main force, breaking off the
enemy's bowsprits, so that the two ships of Spinola were glad to sheer
off, leaving their stings buried in the enemy's body.

Next, four galleys attacked the stout little galleot of Captain Logier,
and with a very similar result. Their prows stuck fast in the bulwarks of
the ship, but the boarders soon found themselves the boarded, and, after
a brief contest, again the iron bowsprits snapped like pipe-stems, and
again the floundering and inexperienced Spaniards shrank away from the
terrible encounter which they had provoked. Soon afterwards, Joost de
Moor was assailed by three galleys. He received them, however, with
cannonade and musketry so warmly that they willingly obeyed a summons
from Spinola, and united with the flag-ship in one more tremendous onset
upon the Black Galley of Zeeland. And it might have gone hard with that
devoted ship, already crippled in the previous encounter, had not Captain
Logier fortunately drifted with the current near enough to give her
assistance, while the other sailing ships lay becalmed and idle
spectators. At last Spinola, conspicuous by his armour, and by
magnificent recklessness of danger, fell upon the deck of his galley,
torn to pieces with twenty-four wounds from a stone gun of the Black
Galley, while at nearly the same, moment a gentle breeze began in the
distance to ruffle the surface of the waters. More than a thousand men
had fallen in Spinola's fleet, inclusive of the miserable slaves, who
were tossed overboard as often as wounds made them a cumbrous part of the
machinery, and the galleys, damaged, discomfited, laden with corpses and
dripping with blood, rowed off into Sluys as speedily as they could move,
without waiting until the coming wind should bring all the sailing ships
into the fight, together with such other vessels under Haultain as might
be cruising in the distance. They succeeded in getting into the Gut of
Sluys, and so up to their harbour of refuge. Meantime, baldheaded,
weather-beaten Joost de Moor--farther pursuit being impossible--piped all
hands on deck, where officers and men fell on their knees, shouting in
pious triumph the 34th Psalm: "I will bless the Lord at all times, His
praise shall continually be in my mouth . . . . O magnify the Lord with
me, and let us exalt His name together." So rang forth the notes of
humble thanksgiving across the placid sea. And assuredly those hardy
mariners, having gained a victory with their little vessels over twelve
ships and three thousand men--a numerical force of at least ten times
their number,--such as few but Dutchmen could have achieved; had a right
to give thanks to Him from whom all blessings flow.

Thus ended the career of Frederic Spinola, a wealthy, gallant, high-born,
brilliant youth, who might have earned distinction, and rendered
infinitely better service to the cause of Spain and the archdukes, had he
not persuaded himself that he had a talent for seamanship. Certainly,
never was a more misplaced ambition, a more unlucky career. Not even in
that age of rash adventure, when grandees became admirals and
field-marshals because they were grandees, had such incapacity been shown
by any restless patrician. Frederic Spinola, at the age of thirty-two, a
landsman and a volunteer, thinking to measure himself on blue water with
such veterans as John Rant, Joost de Moor, and the other Dutchmen and
Zeelanders whom it was his fortune to meet, could hardly escape the doom
which so rapidly befell him.

On board the Black Galley Captain Michelznon, eleven of his officers, and
fifteen of his men were killed; Admiral de Moor was slightly wounded, and
had five of his men killed and twenty wounded; Captain Logier was wounded
in the foot, and lost fifteen killed and twelve wounded.

The number of those killed in Spinola's fleet has been placed as high as
fourteen hundred, including two hundred officers and gentlemen of
quality, besides the crowds of galley-slaves thrown overboard. This was
perhaps an exaggeration. The losses were, however, sufficient to put a
complete atop to the enterprise out of which the unfortunate Spinola had
conceived such extravagant hopes of fame and fortune.

The herring-smacks and other coasters, besides the transports passing to
and from Ostend, sailed thenceforth unmolested by any galleys from Sluys.
One unfortunate sloop, however, in moving out from the beleaguered city,
ran upon some shoals before getting out of the Gullet and thus fell a
prize to the besiegers. She was laden with nothing more precious than
twelve wounded soldiers on their way to the hospitals at Flushing. These
prisoners were immediately hanged, at the express command of the
archduke, because they had been taken on the sea where, according to his
highness, there were no laws of war.

The stadholder, against his will--for Maurice was never cruel--felt
himself obliged to teach the cardinal better jurisprudence and better
humanity for the future. In order to show him that there was but one
belligerent law on sea and on land, he ordered two hundred Spanish
prisoners within his lines to draw lots from an urn in which twelve of
the tickets were inscribed with the fatal word gibbet. Eleven of the
twelve thus marked by ill luck were at once executed. The twelfth, a
comely youth, was pardoned at the intercession of a young girl. It is not
stated whether or not she became his wife. It is also a fact worth
mentioning, as illustrating the recklessness engendered by a soldier's
life, that the man who drew the first blank sold it to one of his
comrades and plunged his hand again into the fatal urn. Whether he
succeeded in drawing the gibbet at his second trial has not been
recorded. When these executions had taken place in full view of the
enemy's camp, Maurice formally announced that for every prisoner
thenceforth put to death by the archduke two captives from his own army
should be hanged. These stern reprisals, as usual, put an end to the foul
system of martial murder.

Throughout the year the war continued to be exclusively the siege of
Ostend. Yet the fierce operations, recently recorded, having been
succeeded by a period of comparative languor, Governor Dorp at last
obtained permission to depart to repair his broken health. He was
succeeded in command of the forces within the town by Charles Van der
Noot, colonel of the Zeeland regiment which had suffered so much in the
first act of the battle of Nieuport. Previously to this exchange,
however, a day of solemn thanksgiving and prayer was set apart on the
anniversary of the beginning of the siege. Since the 5th of July, 1601,
two years had been spent by the whole power of the enemy in the attempt
to reduce this miserable village, and the whole result thus far had been
the capture of three little external forts. There seemed cause for
thanksgiving.

Philip Fleming, too, obtained a four weeks' holiday--the first in eleven
years--and went with his family outside the pestiferous and beleaguered
town. He was soon to return to his multifarious duties as auditor,
secretary, and chronicler of the city, and unattached aide-de-camp to the
commander-in-chief, whoever that might be; and to perform his duty with
the same patient courage and sagacity that had marked him from the
beginning. "An unlucky cannon-ball of the enemy," as he observes, did
some damage at this period to his diary, but it happened at a moment when
comparatively little was doing, so that the chasm was of less
consequence.

"And so I, Philip Fleming, auditor to the Council of War," he says with
homely pathos, "have been so continually employed as not to have obtained
leave in all these years to refresh, for a few days outside this town, my
troubled spirit after such perpetual work, intolerable cares, and
slavery, having had no other pleasure allotted me than with daily
sadness, weeping eyes, and heavy yearnings to tread the ramparts, and,
like a poor slave laden with fetters, to look at so many others sailing
out of the harbour in order to feast their souls in other provinces with
green fields and the goodly works of God. And thus it has been until it
has nearly gone out of my memory how the fruits of the earth, growing
trees, and dumb beasts appear to mortal eye."

He then, with whimsical indignation, alludes to a certain author who
pleaded in excuse for the shortcomings of the history of the siege the
damage done to his manuscripts by a cannon-ball. "Where the liar dreamt
of or invented his cannon-ball," he says, "I cannot tell, inasmuch as he
never saw the city of Ostend in his life; but the said cannon-ball, to my
great sorrrow, did come one afternoon through my office, shot from the
enemy's great battery, which very much damaged not his memoirs but mine;
taking off the legs and arms at the same time of three poor invalid
soldiers seated in the sun before my door and killing them on the spot,
and just missing my wife, then great with child, who stood by me with
faithfulness through all the sufferings of the bloody siege and presented
me twice during its continuance, by the help of Almighty God, with young
Amazons or daughters of war."

And so honest Philip Fleming went out for a little time to look at the
green trees and the dumb creatures feeding in the Dutch pastures.
Meantime the two armies--outside and within Ostend--went moiling on in
their monotonous work; steadily returning at intervals, as if by
instinct, to repair the ruin which a superior power would often inflict
in a half-hour on the results of laborious weeks.

In the open field the military operations were very trifling, the wager
of battle being by common consent fought out on the sands of Ostend, and
the necessities for attack and defence absorbing, the resources of each
combatant. France, England, and Spain were holding a perpetual diplomatic
tournament to which our eyes must presently turn, and the Sublime Realm
of the Ottoman and the holy Roman Empire were in the customary
equilibrium of their eternal strife.

The mutiny of the veterans continued; the "Italian republic" giving the
archduke almost as much trouble, despite his ban and edicts and outlawry,
as the Dutch commonwealth itself. For more than a twelvemonth the best
troops of the Spanish army had been thus established as a separate
empire, levying black-mail on the obedient provinces, hanging such of
their old officers as dared to remonstrate, and obeying their elected
chief magistrates with exemplary docility.

They had become a force of five thousand strong, cavalry and infantry
together, all steady, experienced veterans--the best and bravest soldiers
of Europe. The least of them demanded two thousand florins as owed to him
by the King of Spain and the archduke. The burghers of Bois-le-Duc and
other neighbouring towns in the obedient provinces kept watch and ward,
not knowing how soon the Spaniards might be upon them to reward them for
their obedience. Not a peasant with provisions was permitted by the
mutineers to enter Bois-le-Duc, while the priests were summoned to pay
one year's income of all their property on pain of being burned alive.
"Very much amazed are the poor priests at these proceedings," said Ernest
Nassau, "and there is a terrible quantity of the vile race within and
around the city. I hope one day to have the plucking of some of their
feathers myself."

The mutiny governed itself as a strict military democracy, and had caused
an official seal to be engraved, representing seven snakes entwined in
one, each thrusting forth a dangerous tongue, with the motto--

             "tutto in ore
      E sua Eccelenza in nostro favore."

"His Excellency" meant Maurice of Nassau, with whom formal articles of
compact had been arranged. It had become necessary for the archduke,
notwithstanding the steady drain of the siege of Ostend, to detach a
considerable army against this republic and to besiege them in their
capital of Hoogstraaten. With seven thousand foot and three thousand
cavalry Frederic Van den Berg took the field against them in the latter
part of July. Maurice, with nine thousand five hundred infantry and three
thousand horse, lay near Gertruydenberg. When united with the rebel
"squadron," two thousand five hundred strong, he would dispose of a force
of fifteen thousand veterans, and he moved at once to relieve the
besieged mutineers. His cousin Frederic, however, had no desire to
measure himself with the stadholder at such odds, and stole away from him
in the dark without beat of drum. Maurice entered Hoogstraaten, was
received with rapture by the Spanish and Italian veterans, and excited
the astonishment of all by the coolness with which he entered into the
cage of these dangerous serpents--as they called themselves--handling
them, caressing them, and being fondled by them in return. But the
veterans knew a soldier when they saw one, and their hearts warmed to the
prince--heretic though he were--more than they had ever done to the
unfrocked bishop who, after starving them for years, had doomed them to
destruction in this world and the next.

The stadholder was feasted and honoured by the mutineers during his brief
visit to Hoogatraaten, and concluded with them a convention, according to
which that town was to be restored to him, while they were to take
temporary possession of the city of Grave. They were likewise to assist,
with all their strength, in his military operations until they should
make peace on their own terms with the archduke. For two weeks after such
treaty they were not to fight against the States, and meantime, though
fighting on the republican side, they were to act as an independent corps
and in no wise to be merged in the stadholder's forces. So much and no
more had resulted from the archduke's excommunication of the best part of
his army. He had made a present of those troops to the enemy. He had also
been employing a considerable portion of his remaining forces in
campaigning against their own comrades. While at Grave, the mutineers, or
the "squadron" as they were now called, were to be permitted to practise
their own religious rites, without offering however, any interference
with the regular Protestant worship of the place. When they should give
up Grave, Hoogstraaten was to be restored to them if still in possession
of the States and they were to enter into no negotiations with the
archduke except with full knowledge of the stadholder.

There were no further military, operations of moment during the rest of
the year.

Much, more important, however, than siege, battle, or mutiny, to human
civilization, were the steady movements of the Dutch skippers and
merchants at this period. The ears of Europe were stunned with the
clatter of destruction going on all over Christendom, and seeming the
only reasonable occupation of Christians; but the little republic; while
fighting so heroically against the concentrated powers of despotism in
the West, was most industriously building up a great empire in the East.
In the new era just dawning, production was to become almost as
honourable and potent, a principle as destruction.

The voyages among the spicy regions of the equator--so recently wrested
from their Catholic and Faithful Majesties by Dutch citizens who did not
believe in Borgia--and the little treaties made with petty princes and
commonwealths, who for the first time ware learning that there were other
white men in the world beside the Portuguese, had already led to
considerable results. Before the close of, the previous year that great
commercial corporation had been founded--an empire within an empire; a
republic beneath a republic--a counting-house company which was to
organize armies, conquer kingdoms, build forts and cities, make war and
peace, disseminate and exchange among the nations of the earth the
various products of civilization, more perfectly than any agency hitherto
known, and bring the farthest disjoined branches of the human family into
closer, connection than had ever existed before. That it was a monopoly,
offensive to true commercial principles, illiberal, unjust, tyrannical;
ignorant of the very rudiments of mercantile philosophy; is plain enough.
For the sages of the world were but as clowns, at that period, in
economic science.

Was not the great financier of the age; Maximilian de Bethune, at that
very moment exhausting his intellect in devices for the prevention of all
international commerce even in Europe? "The kingdom of France," he
groaned, "is stuffed full of the manufactures of our neighbours, and it
is incredible what a curse to us are these wares. The import of all
foreign goods has now been forbidden under very great penalties." As a
necessary corollary to this madhouse legislation an edict was issued,
prohibiting the export of gold and silver from France, on pain, not only
of confiscation of those precious metals, but of the whole fortune of
such as engaged in or winked at the traffic. The king took a public oath
never to exempt the culprits from the punishment thus imposed, and, as
the thrifty Sully had obtained from the great king a private grant of all
those confiscations, and as he judiciously promised twenty-five per cent.
thereof to the informer, no doubt he filled his own purse while
impoverishing the exchequer.

The United States, not enjoying the blessings, of a paternal government,
against which they had been fighting almost half a century, could not be
expected to rival the stupendous folly of such political economy,
although certainly not emancipated from all the delusions of the age.

Nor are we to forget how very recently, and even dimly, the idea of
freedom in commerce has dawned upon nations, the freest of all in polity
and religion. Certainly the vices and shortcomings of the commercial
system now inaugurated by the republic may be justly charged in great
part to the epoch, while her vast share in the expanding and upward
movement which civilization, under the auspices of self-government;
self-help, political freedom, free thought, and unshackled science, was
then to undertake--never more perhaps to be permanently checked--must be
justly ascribed to herself.

It was considered accordingly that the existence of so many private
companies and copartnerships trading to the East was injurious to the
interests of commerce. Merchants arriving at the different Indian ports
would often find that their own countrymen had been too quick for them,
and that other fleets had got the wind out of their sails, that the
eastern markets had been stripped, and that prices had gone up to a
ruinous height, while on the other hand, in the Dutch cities, nutmegs and
cinnamon, brocades and indigo, were as plentiful as red herrings. It was
hardly to be expected at that day to find this very triumph of successful
traffic considered otherwise than as a grave misfortune, demanding
interference on the part of the only free Government then existing in the
world. That already free competition and individual enterprise, had made
such progress in enriching the Hollanders and the Javanese respectively
with a superfluity of useful or agreeable things, brought from the
farthest ends of the earth, seemed to the eyes of that day a condition of
things likely to end in a general catastrophe. With a simplicity, amazing
only to those who are inclined to be vain of a superior wisdom--not their
own but that of their wisest contemporaries--one of the chief reasons for
establishing the East India Company was stated to be the necessity of
providing against low prices of Oriental productions in Europe.

But national instinct is often wiser than what is supposed to be high
national statesmanship, and there can be no doubt that the true
foundation of the East India Company was the simple recognition of an
iron necessity. Every merchant in Holland knew full well that the
Portuguese and Spaniards could never be driven out of their commercial
strongholds under the equator, except by a concentration of the private
strength and wealth, of the mercantile community. The Government had
enough on its hands in disputing, inch by inch, at so prodigious an
expenditure of blood and treasure, the meagre territory with which nature
had endowed the little commonwealth. Private organisation, self-help;
union of individual purses and individual brains, were to conquer an
empire at the antipodes if it were to be won at all. By so doing, the
wealth of the nation and its power to maintain the great conflict with
the spirit of the past might be indefinitely increased, and the resources
of Spanish despotism proportionally diminished. It was not to be expected
of Jacob Heemskerk, Wolfert Hermann, or Joris van Spilberg, indomitable
skippers though they were, that each, acting on his own responsibility or
on that of his supercargo, would succeed every day in conquering a whole
Spanish fleet and dividing a million or two of prize-money among a few
dozen sailors. Better things even than this might be done by wholesome
and practical concentration on a more extended scale.

So the States-General granted a patent or charter to one great company
with what, for the time, was an enormous paid-up capital, in order that
the India trade might be made secure and the Spaniards steadily
confronted in what they had considered their most impregnable
possessions. All former trading companies were invited to merge
themselves in the Universal East India Company, which, for twenty-one
years, should alone have the right to trade to the east of the Cape of
Good Hope and to sail through the Straits of Magellan.

The charter had been signed on 20th March, 1602, and was mainly to the
following effect.

The company was to pay twenty-five thousand florins to the States-General
for its privilege. The whole capital was to be six million six hundred
thousand florins. The chamber of Amsterdam was to have one half of the
whole interest, the chamber of Zeeland one fourth; the chambers of the
Meuse, namely, Delft, Rotterdam, and the north quarter; that is to say,
Hoorn and Enkhuizen, each a sixteenth. All the chambers were to be
governed by the directors then serving, who however were to be allowed to
die out, down to the number of twenty for Amsterdam, twelve for Zeeland,
and seven for each of the other chambers. To fill a vacancy occurring
among the directors, the remaining members of the board were to nominate
three candidates, from whom the estates of the province should choose
one. Each director was obliged, to have an interest in the company
amounting to at least six thousand florins, except the directors for
Hoorn and Enkhuizen, of whom only three thousand should be required. The
general assembly of these chambers should consist of seventeen directors,
eight for Amsterdam, four for Zeeland, two for the Meuse, and two for the
north quarter; the seventeenth being added by turns from the chambers of
Zeeland, the Meuse, and the north quarter. This assembly was to be held
six years at Amsterdam, and then two years in Zeeland. The ships were
always to return to the port from which they had sailed. All the
inhabitants of the provinces had the right, within a certain time, to
take shares in the company. Any province or city subscribing for forty
thousand florins or upwards might appoint an agent to look after its
affairs.

The Company might make treaties with the Indian powers, in the name of
the States-General of the United Netherlands or of the supreme
authorities of the same, might build fortresses; appoint generals, and
levy troops, provided such troops took oaths of fidelity to the States,
or to the supreme authority, and to the Company. No ships, artillery, or
other munitions of war belonging to the Company were to be used in
service of the country without permission of the Company. The admiralty
was to have a certain proportion of the prizes conquered from the enemy.

The directors should not be liable in property or person for the debts of
the Company. The generals of fleets returning home were to make reports
on the state of India to the States.

Notification; of the union of all India companies with this great
corporation was duly sent to the fleets cruising in those regions, where
it arrived in the course of the year 1603.

Meantime the first fleet of the Company, consisting of fourteen vessels
under command of Admiral Wybrand van Warwyk, sailed before the end of
1602, and was followed towards the close of 1603 by thirteen other ships,
under Stephen van der Hagen?

The equipment of these two fleets cost two million two hundred thousand
florins.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Bestowing upon others what was not his property
     Four weeks' holiday--the first in eleven years
     Idea of freedom in commerce has dawned upon nations
     Impossible it is to practise arithmetic with disturbed brains
     Passion is a bad schoolmistress for the memory
     Prisoners were immediately hanged
     Unlearned their faith in bell, book, and candle
     World has rolled on to fresher fields of carnage and ruin



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 76, 1603-1604



CHAPTER XLI.

   Death of Queen Elizabeth--Condition of Spain--Legations to James I.
   --Union of England and Scotland--Characteristics of the new monarch
   --The English Court and Government--Piratical practices of the
   English--Audience of the States' envoy with king James--Queen
   Elizabeth's scheme far remodelling Europe--Ambassador extraordinary
   from Henry IV. to James--De Rosny's strictures on the English
   people--Private interview of De Rosny with the States' envoy--De
   Rosny's audience of the king--Objects of his mission--Insinuations
   of the Duke of Northumberland--Invitation of the embassy to
   Greenwich--Promise of James to protect the Netherlands against
   Spain--Misgivings of Barneveld--Conference at Arundel House--Its
   unsatisfactory termination--Contempt of De Rosny for the English
   counsellors--Political aspect of Europe--De Rosny's disclosure to
   the king of the secret object of his mission--Agreement of James to
   the proposals of De Rosny--Ratification of the treaty of alliance--
   Return of De Rosny and suite to France--Arrival of the Spanish
   ambassador.

On the 24th of March, 1603, Queen Elizabeth died at Richmond, having
nearly completed her seventieth year. The two halves of the little island
of Britain were at last politically adjoined to each other by the
personal union of the two crowns.

A foreigner, son of the woman executed by Elizabeth, succeeded to
Elizabeth's throne. It was most natural that the Dutch republic and the
French king, the archdukes and his Catholic Majesty, should be filled
with anxiety as to the probable effect of this change of individuals upon
the fortunes of the war.

For this Dutch war of independence was the one absorbing and controlling
interest in Christendom. Upon that vast, central, and, as men thought,
baleful constellation the fates of humanity, were dependent. Around it
lesser political events were forced to gravitate, and, in accordance to
their relation to it, were bright or obscure. It was inevitable that
those whose vocation it was to ponder the aspects of the political
firmament, the sages and high-priests who assumed to direct human action
and to foretell human destiny, should now be more than ever perplexed.

Spain, since the accession of Philip III. to his father's throne,
although rapidly declining in vital energy, had not yet disclosed its
decrepitude to the world. Its boundless ambition survived as a political
tradition rather than a real passion, while contemporaries still trembled
at the vision of universal monarchy in which the successor of Charlemagne
and of Charles V. was supposed to indulge.

Meantime, no feebler nor more insignificant mortal existed on earth than
this dreaded sovereign.

Scarcely a hairdresser or lemonade-dealer in all Spain was less cognizant
of the political affairs of the kingdom than was its monarch, for
Philip's first care upon assuming the crown was virtually to abdicate in
favour of the man soon afterwards known as the Duke of Lerma.

It is therefore only by courtesy and for convenience that history
recognizes his existence at all, as surely no human being in the reign of
Philip III. requires less mention than Philip III. himself.

I reserve for a subsequent chapter such rapid glances at the interior
condition of that kingdom with which it seemed the destiny of the Dutch
republic to be perpetually at war, as may be necessary to illustrate the
leading characteristics of the third Philip's reign.

Meantime, as the great queen was no more, who was always too sagacious to
doubt that the Dutch cause was her own--however disposed she might be to
browbeat the Dutchmen--it seemed possible to Spain that the republic
might at last be deprived of its only remaining ally. Tassis was
despatched as chief of a legation, precursory to a more stately embassy
to be confided to the Duke of Frias. The archdukes sent the prince of
Arenberg, while from the United States came young Henry of Nassau,
associated with John of Olden-Barneveld, Falk, Brederode, and other
prominent statesmen of the commonwealth. Ministers from Denmark and
Sweden, from the palatinate and from numerous other powers, small and
great, were also collected to greet the rising sun in united Britain,
while the, awkward Scotchman, who was now called upon to play that
prominent part in the world's tragi-comedy which had been so long and so
majestically sustained by the "Virgin Queen," already began to tremble at
the plaudits and the bustle which announced how much was expected of the
new performer.

There was indeed a new sovereign upon the throne. That most regal spirit
which had well expressed so many of the highest characteristics of the
nation had fled. Mankind, has long been familiar with the dark, closing
hours of the illustrious reign. The great queen, moody, despairing,
dying, wrapt in profoundest thought, with eyes fixed upon the ground or
already gazing into infinity, was besought by the counsellors around her
to name the man to whom she chose that the crown should devolve.

"Not to a Rough," said Elizabeth, sententiously and grimly.

When the King of France was named, she shook her head. When Philip III.
was suggested, she made a still more significant sign of dissent. When
the King of Scots was mentioned, she nodded her approval, and again
relapsed into silent meditation.

She died, and James was King of Great Britain and Ireland. Cecil had
become his prime minister long before the queen's eyes were closed. The
hard-featured, rickety, fidgety, shambling, learned, most preposterous
Scotchman hastened to take possession of the throne. Never--could there
have been a more unfit place or unfit hour for such a man.

England, although so small in dimensions, so meager in population, so
deficient, compared to the leading nations of Europe, in material and
financial strength, had already her great future swelling in her heart.
Intellectually and morally she was taking the lead among the nations.
Even at that day she had produced much which neither she herself nor any
other nation seemed destined to surpass.

Yet this most redoubtable folk only numbered about three millions,
one-tenth of them inhabiting London. With the Scots and Irish added they
amounted to less than five millions of souls, hardly a third as many as
the homogeneous and martial people of that dangerous neighbour France.

Ireland was always rebellious; a mere conquered province, hating her
tyrant England's laws, religion, and people; loving Spain, and believing
herself closely allied by blood as well as sympathy to that most Catholic
land.

Scotland, on the accession of James, hastened to take possession of
England. Never in history had two races detested each other more
fervently. The leeches and locusts of the north, as they were universally
designated in England, would soon have been swept forth from the country,
or have left it of their own accord, had not the king employed all that
he had of royal authority or of eloquent persuasion to retain them on the
soil. Of union, save the personal union of the sceptre, there was no
thought. As in Ireland there was hatred to England and adoration for
Spain; so in Scotland, France was beloved quite as much as England was
abhorred. Who could have foretold, or even hoped, that atoms so mutually
repulsive would ever have coalesced into a sympathetic and indissoluble
whole?

Even the virtues of James were his worst enemies. As generous as the day,
he gave away with reckless profusion anything and everything that he
could lay his hands upon. It was soon to appear that the great queen's
most unlovely characteristic, her avarice; was a more blessed quality to
the nation she ruled than the ridiculous prodigality of James.

Two thousand gowns, of the most, expensive material, adorned with gold,
pearls, and other bravery--for Elizabeth was very generous to
herself--were found in the queen's wardrobe, after death. These
magnificent and costly robes, not one of which had she vouchsafed to
bestow upon or to bequeath to any of her ladies of honour, were now
presented by her successor to a needy Scotch lord, who certainly did not
intend to adorn his own person therewith. "The hat was ever held out,"
said a splenetic observer, "and it was filled in overflowing measure by
the new monarch."

In a very short period he had given away--mainly to Scotchmen--at least
two millions of crowns, in various articles of personal property. Yet
England was very poor.

The empire, if so it could be called, hardly boasted a regular revenue of
more than two millions of dollars a year; less than that of a fortunate
individual or two, in our own epoch, both in Europe and America; and not
one-fifth part of the contemporary income of France. The hundred thousand
dollars of Scotland's annual budget did not suffice to pay its expenses,
and Ireland was a constant charge upon the imperial exchequer.

It is astounding, however, to reflect upon the pomp, extravagance, and
inordinate pride which characterized the government and the court.

The expenses of James's household were at least five hundred thousand
crowns, or about one quarter of the whole revenue of the empire. Henry
IV., with all his extravagance, did not spend more than one-tenth of the
public income of France upon himself and his court.

Certainly if England were destined to grow great it would be in despite
of its new monarch. Hating the People, most intolerant in religion,
believing intensely in royal prerogative, thoroughly convinced of his
regal as well as his personal infallibility, loathing that inductive
method of thought which was already leading the English nation so proudly
on the road of intellectual advancement, shrinking from the love of free
inquiry, of free action, of daring adventure, which was to be the real
informing spirit of the great British nation; abhorring the
Puritans--that is to say, one-third of his subjects--in whose harsh, but
lofty nature he felt instinctively that popular freedom was
enfolded--even as the overshadowing tree in the rigid husk--and sending
them forth into the far distant wilderness to wrestle with wild beasts
and with savages more ferocious than beasts; fearing and hating the
Catholics as the sworn enemies of his realm; his race, and himself,
trampling on them as much as he dared, forcing them into hypocrisy to
save themselves from persecution or at least pecuniary ruin--if they
would worship God according to their conscience; at deadly feud,
therefore, on religious grounds, with much more than half his
subjects--Puritans or Papists--and yet himself a Puritan in dogma and a
Papist in Church government, if only the king could be pope; not knowing,
indeed, whether a Puritan, or a Jesuit whom he called a Papist-Puritan,
should be deemed the more disgusting or dangerous animal; already
preparing for his unfortunate successor a path to the scaffold by
employing all the pedantry, both theological and philosophical at his
command to bring parliaments into contempt, and to place the royal
prerogative on a level with Divinity; at the head of a most martial,
dauntless, and practical nation, trembling, with unfortunate physical
timidity, at the sight of a drawn sword; ever scribbling or haranguing in
Latin, French, or broad Scotch, when the world was arming, it must always
be a special wonder that one who might have been a respectable; even a
useful, pedagogue, should by the caprice of destiny have been permitted,
exactly at that epoch to be one of the most contemptible and mischievous
of kings.

But he had a most effective and energetic minister. Even as in Spain and
in France at the same period, the administration of government was
essentially in-one pair of hands.

Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, ever since the termination of the
splendid triumvirate of his father and Walsingham, had been in reality
supreme. The proud and terrible hunchback, who never forgave, nor forgot
to destroy, his enemies, had now triumphed over the last passion of the
doting queen. Essex had gone to perdition.

Son of the great minister who had brought the mother of James to the
scaffold, Salisbury had already extorted forgiveness for that execution
from the feeble king. Before Elizabeth was in her grave, he was already
as much the favourite of her successor as of herself, governing Scotland
as well as England, and being Prime Minister of Great Britain before
Great Britain existed.

Lord High Treasurer and First Secretary of State, he was now all in all
in the council. The other great lords, highborn and highly titled as they
were and served at their banquets by hosts of lackeys on their
knees--Nottinghams, Northamptons, Suffolks--were, after all, ciphers or
at best, mere pensioners of Spain. For all the venality of Europe was not
confined to the Continent. Spain spent at least one hundred and fifty
thousand crowns annually among the leading courtiers of James while his
wife, Anne of Denmark, a Papist at heart, whose private boudoir was
filled with pictures and images of the Madonna and the saints, had
already received one hundred thousand dollars in solid cash from the
Spanish court, besides much jewelry, and other valuable things. To
negotiate with Government in England was to bribe, even as at Paris or
Madrid. Gold was the only passkey to justice, to preferment, or to power.

Yet the foreign subsidies to the English court were, after all, of but
little avail at that epoch. No man had influence but Cecil, and he was
too proud, too rich, too powerful to be bribed.  Alone with clean fingers
among courtiers and ministers, he had, however, accumulated a larger
fortune than any. His annual income was estimated at two hundred thousand
crowns, and he had a vast floating capital, always well employed. Among
other investments, he had placed half a million on interest in Holland,'
and it was to be expected, therefore, that he should favour the cause of
the republic, rebellious and upstart though it were.

The pigmy, as the late queen had been fond of nicknaming him, was the
only giant in the Government. Those crooked shoulders held up, without
flinching, the whole burden of the State. Pale, handsome, anxious,
suffering, and intellectual of visage, with his indomitable spirit, ready
eloquence, and nervous energy, he easily asserted supremacy over all the
intriguers, foreign and domestic, the stipendiariea, the generals, the
admirals, the politicians, at court, as well as over the Scotch Solomon
who sat on the throne.

But most certainly, it was for the public good of Britain, that Europe
should be pacified. It is very true that the piratical interest would
suffer, and this was a very considerable and influential branch of
business. So long as war existed anywhere, the corsairs of England sailed
with the utmost effrontery from English ports, to prey upon the commerce
of friend and foe alike. After a career of successful plunder, it was not
difficult for the rovers to return to their native land, and, with the
proceeds of their industry, to buy themselves positions of importance,
both social and political. It was not the custom to consider too
curiously the source of the wealth. If it was sufficient to dazzle the
eyes of the vulgar, it was pretty certain to prove the respectability of
the owner.

It was in vain that the envoys of the Dutch and Venetian republics sought
redress for the enormous damage inflicted on their commerce by English
pirates, and invoked the protection of public law. It was always easy for
learned juris-consuls to prove such depredations to be consistent with
international usage and with sound morality. Even at that period,
although England was in population and in wealth so insignificant, it
possessed a lofty, insular contempt for the opinions and the doctrines of
other nations, and expected, with perfect calmness, that her own
principles should be not only admitted, but spontaneously adored.

Yet the piratical interest was no longer the controlling one. That city
on the Thames, which already numbered more than three hundred thousand
inhabitants, had discovered that more wealth was to be accumulated by her
bustling shopkeepers in the paths of legitimate industry than by a horde
of rovers over the seas, however adventurous and however protected by
Government.

As for France, she was already defending herself against piracy by what
at the period seemed a masterpiece of internal improvement. The Seine,
the Loire, and the Rhone were soon to be united in one chain of
communication. Thus merchandise might be water-borne from the channel to
the Mediterranean, without risking the five or six months' voyage by sea
then required from Havre to Marseilles, and exposure along the whole
coast to attack from the corsairs of England Spain and Barbary.

The envoys of the States-General had a brief audience of the new
sovereign, in which little more than phrases of compliment were
pronounced.

"We are here," said Barneveld, "between grief and joy. We have lost her
whose benefits to us we can never describe in words, but we have found a
successor who is heir not only to her kingdom but to all her virtues."
And with this exordium the great Advocate plunged at once into the depths
of his subject, so far as was possible in an address of ceremony. He
besought the king not to permit Spain, standing on the neck of the
provinces, to grasp from that elevation at other empires. He reminded
James of his duty to save those of his own religion from the clutch of a
sanguinary superstition, to drive away those lurking satellites of the
Roman pontiff who considered Britain their lawful prey. He implored him
to complete the work so worthily begun by Elizabeth. If all those bound
by one interest should now, he urged, unite their efforts, the Spaniard,
deprived not only of the Netherlands, but, if he were not wise in time,
banished from the ocean and stripped of all his transmarine possessions,
would be obliged to consent to a peace founded on the only secure basis,
equality of strength. The envoy concluded by beseeching the king for
assistance to Ostend, now besieged for two years long.

But James manifested small disposition to melt in the fervour of the
Advocate's eloquence. He answered with a few cold commonplaces. Benignant
but extremely cautious, he professed goodwill enough to the States but
quite as much for Spain, a power with which, he observed, he had never
quarrelled, and from which he had received the most friendly offices. The
archdukes, too, he asserted, had never been hostile to the realm, but
only to the Queen of England. In brief, he was new to English affairs,
required time to look about him, but would not disguise that his genius
was literary, studious, and tranquil, and much more inclined to peace
than to war.

In truth, James had cause to look very sharply about him. It required an
acute brain and steady nerves to understand and to control the whirl of
parties and the conflict of interests and intrigues, the chameleon
shiftings of character and colour, at this memorable epoch of transition
in the realm which he had just inherited. There was a Scotch party,
favourable on the whole to France; there was a Spanish party, there was
an English party, and, more busy than all, there was a party--not Scotch,
nor French, nor English, nor Spanish--that un-dying party in all
commonwealths or kingdoms which ever fights for itself and for the
spoils.

France and Spain had made peace with each other at Vervins five years
before, and had been at war ever since.

Nothing could be plainer nor more cynical than the language exchanged
between the French monarch and the representative of Spain. That Philip
III.--as the Spanish Government by a convenient fiction was always
called--was the head and front of the great Savoy-Biron conspiracy to
take Henry's life and dismember his kingdom, was hardly a stage secret.
Yet diplomatic relations were still preserved between the two countries,
and wonderful diplomatic interviews had certainly been taking place in
Paris.

Ambassador Tassis had walked with lofty port into Henry's cabinet,
disdaining to salute any of the princes of the blood or high
functionaries of state in the apartments through which he passed, and
with insolent defiance had called Henry to account for his dealing with
the Dutch rebels.

"Sire, the king my master finds it very strange," he said, "that you
still continue to assist his rebels in Holland, and that you shoot at his
troops on their way to the Netherlands. If you don't abstain from such
infractions of his rights he prefers open war to being cheated by such a
pretended peace. Hereupon I demand your reply."

"Mr. Ambassador," replied the king, "I find it still more strange that
your master is so impudent as to dare to make such complaints--he who is
daily making attempts upon my life and upon this State. Even if I do
assist the Hollanders, what wrong is that to him? It is an organized
commonwealth, powerful, neighbourly, acknowledging no subjection to him.
But your master is stirring up rebellion in my own kingdom, addressing
himself to the princes of my blood and my most notable officers, so that
I have been obliged to cut off the head of one of the most beloved of
them all. By these unchristian proceedings he has obliged me to take
sides with the Hollanders, whom I know to be devoted to me; nor have I
done anything for them except to pay the debts I owed them. I know
perfectly well that the king your master is the head of this conspiracy,
and that the troops of Naples were meditating an attack upon my kingdom.
I have two letters written by the hand of your master to Marshal Biron,
telling him to trust Fuentes as if it were himself, and it is notorious
that Fuentes has projected and managed all the attempts to assassinate
me. Do you, think you have a child to deal with? The late King of Spain
knew me pretty well. If this one thinks himself wiser I shall let him see
who I am. Do you want peace or war? I am ready for either."

The ambassador, whose head had thus been so vigorously washed--as Henry
expressed it in recounting the interview afterwards to the Dutch envoy,
Dr. Aerssens--stammered some unintelligible excuses, and humbly begged
his Majesty not to be offended. He then retired quite crest-fallen, and
took leave most politely of everybody as he went, down even to the very
grooms of the chambers.

"You must show your teeth to the Spaniard," said Henry to Aerssens, "if
you wish for a quiet life."

Here was unsophisticated diplomacy; for the politic Henry, who could
forgive assassins and conspirators, crowned or otherwise, when it suited
his purpose to be lenient, knew that it was on this occasion very prudent
to use the gift of language, not in order to conceal, but to express his
thoughts.

"I left the king as red as a turkey-cock," said Tassis, as soon as he got
home that morning, "and I was another turkey-cock. We have been talking a
little bit of truth to each other."

In truth, it was impossible, as the world was then constituted, that
France and Spain, in spite of many secret sympathies, should not be
enemies; that France, England, and the Dutch commonwealth, although
cordially disliking each other, should not be allies.

Even before the death of Elizabeth a very remarkable interview had taken
place at Dover, in which the queen had secretly disclosed the great
thoughts with which that most imperial brain was filled just before its
boundless activity was to cease for ever.

She had wished for a personal interview with the French king, whose wit
and valour she had always heartily admired, Henry, on his part, while
unmercifully ridiculing that preterhuman vanity which he fed with
fantastic adulation, never failed to do justice to her genius, and had
been for a moment disposed to cross the channel, or even to hold council
with her on board ship midway between the two countries. It was however
found impracticable to arrange any such meeting, and the gossips of the
day hinted that the great Henry, whose delight was in battle, and who had
never been known to shrink from danger on dry land, was appalled at the
idea of sea-sickness, and even dreaded the chance of being kidnapped by
the English pirates.

The corsairs who drove so profitable a business at that period by
plundering the merchantmen of their enemy, of their Dutch and French
allies, and of their own nation, would assuredly have been pleased with
such a prize.

The queen had confided to De Bethune that she had some thing to say to
the king which she could never reveal to other ears than his, but when
the proposed visit of Henry was abandoned, it was decided that his
confidential minister should slip across the channel before Elizabeth
returned to her palace at Greenwich.

De Bethune accordingly came incognito from Calais to Dover, in which port
he had a long and most confidential interview with the queen. Then and
there the woman, nearly seventy years of age, who governed despotically
the half of a small island, while the other half was in the possession of
a man whose mother she had slain, and of a people who hated the English
more than they hated the Spaniards or the French--a queen with some three
millions of loyal but most turbulent subjects in one island, and with
about half-a-million ferocious rebels in another requiring usually an
army of twenty thousand disciplined soldiers to keep them in a kind of
subjugation, with a revenue fluctuating between eight hundred thousand
pounds sterling, and the half of that sum, and with a navy of a hundred
privateersmen--disclosed to the French envoy a vast plan for regulating
the polity and the religion of the civilized world, and for remodelling
the map of Europe.

There should be three religions, said Elizabeth--not counting the
dispensation from Mecca, about which Turk and Hun might be permitted to
continue their struggle on the crepuscular limits of civilization.
Everywhere else there should be toleration only for the churches of
Peter, of Luther, and of Calvin. The house of Austria was to be
humbled--the one branch driven back to Spain and kept there, the other
branch to be deprived of the imperial crown, which was to be disposed of
as in times past by the votes of the princely electors. There should be
two republics--the Swiss and the Dutch--each of those commonwealths to be
protected by France and England, and each to receive considerable parings
out of the possessions of Spain and the empire.

Finally, all Christendom was to be divided off into a certain number of
powers, almost exactly equal to each other; the weighing, measuring, and
counting, necessary to obtain this international equilibrium, being of
course the duty of the king and queen when they should sit some day
together at table.

Thus there were five points; sovereigns and politicians having always a
fondness for a neat summary in five or six points. Number one, to remodel
the electoral system of the holy Roman empire. Number two, to establish
the republic of the United Provinces. Number three, to do as much for
Switzerland. Number four, to partition Europe. Number five, to reduce all
religions to three. Nothing could be more majestic, no plan fuller
fraught with tranquillity for the rulers of mankind and their subjects.
Thrice happy the people, having thus a couple of heads with crowns upon
them and brains within them to prescribe what was to be done in this
world and believed as to the next!

The illustrious successor of that great queen now stretches her benignant
sceptre over two hundred millions of subjects, and the political revenues
of her empire are more than a hundredfold those of Elizabeth; yet it
would hardly now be thought great statesmanship or sound imperial policy
for a British sovereign even to imagine the possibility of the five
points which filled the royal English mind at Dover.

But Henry was as much convinced as Elizabeth of the necessity and the
possibility of establishing the five points, and De Bethune had been
astonished at the exact similarity of the conclusion which those two
sovereign intellects had reached, even before they had been placed in
communion with each other. The death of the queen had not caused any
change in the far-reaching designs of which the king now remained the
sole executor, and his first thought, on the accession of James, was
accordingly to despatch De Bethune, now created Marquis de Rosny, as
ambassador extraordinary to England, in order that the new sovereign
might be secretly but thoroughly instructed as to the scheme for
remodelling Christendom.

As Rosny was also charged with the duty of formally congratulating King
James, he proceeded upon his journey with remarkable pomp. He was
accompanied by two hundred gentlemen of quality, specially attached to
his embassy--young city fops, as he himself described them, who were out
of their element whenever they left the pavement of Paris--and by an
equal number of valets, grooms, and cooks. Such a retinue was
indispensable to enable an ambassador to transact the public business and
to maintain the public dignity in those days; unproductive consumption
being accounted most sagacious and noble.

Before reaching the English shore the marquis was involved in trouble.
Accepting the offer of the English vice-admiral lying off Calais, he
embarked with his suite in two English vessels, much to the
dissatisfaction of De Vic, vice-admiral of France, who was anxious to
convey the French ambassador in the war-ships of his country. There had
been suspicion afloat as to the good understanding between England and
Spain, caused by the great courtesy recently shown to the Count of
Arenberg, and there was intense irritation among all the seafaring people
of France on account of the exploits of the English corsairs upon their
coast. Rosny thought it best to begin his embassy by an act of
conciliation, but soon had cause to repent his decision.

In mid-channel they were met by De Vic's vessels with the French banner
displayed, at which sight the English commander was so wroth that he
forthwith ordered a broadside to be poured into the audacious
foreigner;--swearing with mighty oaths that none but the English flag
should be shown in those waters. And thus, while conveying a French
ambassador and three hundred Frenchmen on a sacred mission to the British
sovereign, this redoubtable mariner of England prepared to do battle with
the ships of France. It was with much difficulty and some prevarication
that Rosny appeased the strife, representing that the French flag had
only been raised in order that it might be dipped, in honour of the
French ambassador, as the ships passed each other. The full-shotted
broadside was fired from fifty guns, but the English commander consented,
at De Rosny's representations, that it should be discharged wide of the
mark.

A few shots, however, struck the side of one of the French vessels, and
at the same time, as Cardinal Richelieu afterwards remarked, pierced the
heart of every patriotic Frenchman.

The ambassador made a sign, which De Vic understood; to lower his flag
and to refrain from answering the fire. Thus a battle between allies,
amid the most amazing circumstances, was avoided, but it may well be
imagined how long and how deeply the poison of the insult festered.

Such an incident could hardly predispose the ambassador in favour of the
nation he was about to visit, or strengthen his hope of laying, not only
the foundation of a perpetual friendship between the two crowns, but of
effecting the palingenesis of Europe. Yet no doubt Sully--as the world
has so long learned to call him--was actuated by lofty sentiments in many
respects in advance of his age. Although a brilliant and successful
campaigner in his youth, he detested war, and looked down with contempt
at political systems which had not yet invented anything better than
gunpowder for the arbitrament of international disputes. Instead of war
being an occasional method of obtaining peace, it pained him to think
that peace seemed only a process for arriving at war. Surely it was no
epigram in those days, but the simplest statement of commonplace fact,
that war was the normal condition of Christians. Alas will it be
maintained that in the two and a half centuries which have since elapsed
the world has made much progress in a higher direction? Is there yet any
appeal among the most civilized nations except to the logic of the
largest battalions and the eloquence of the biggest guns?

De Rosny came to be the harbinger of a political millennium, and he
heartily despised war. The schemes, nevertheless, which were as much his
own as his master's, and which he was instructed to lay before the
English monarch as exclusively his own, would have required thirty years
of successful and tremendous warfare before they could have a beginning
of development.

It is not surprising that so philosophical a mind as his, while still
inclining to pacific designs, should have been led by what met his eyes
and ears to some rather severe generalizations.

"It is certain that the English hate us," he said, "and with a hatred so
strong and so general that one is tempted to place it among the natural
dispositions of this people. Yet it is rather the effect of their pride
and their presumption; since there is no nation in Europe more haughty,
more disdainful, more besotted with the idea of its own excellence. If
you were to take their word for it, mind and reason are only found with
them; they adore all their opinions and despise those of all other
nations; and it never occurs to them to listen to others, or to doubt
themselves. . . . Examine what are called with them maxims of state;
you will find nothing but the laws of pride itself, adopted through
arrogance or through indolence."

"Placed by nature amidst the tempestuous and variable ocean," he wrote to
his sovereign, "they are as shifting, as impetuous, as changeable as its
waves. So self-contradictory and so inconsistent are their actions almost
in the same instant as to make it impossible that they should proceed
from the same persons and the same mind. Agitated and urged by their
pride and arrogance alone, they take all their imaginations and
extravagances for truths and realities; the objects of their desires and
affections for inevitable events; not balancing and measuring those
desires with the actual condition of things, nor with the character of
the people with whom they have to deal."

When the ambassador arrived in London he was lodged at Arundel palace. He
at once became the cynosure of all indigenous parties and of adventurous
politicians from every part of Europe; few knowing how to shape their
course since the great familiar lustre had disappeared from the English
sky.

Rosny found the Scotch lords sufficiently favourable to France; the
English Catholic grandees, with all the Howards and the lord high admiral
at their head, excessively inclined to Spain, and a great English party
detesting both Spain and France with equal fervour and well enough
disposed to the United Provinces, not as hating that commonwealth less
but the two great powers more.

The ambassador had arrived with the five points, not in his portfolio but
in his heart, and they might after all be concentrated in one
phrase--Down with Austria, up with the Dutch republic. On his first
interview with Cecil, who came to arrange for his audience with the king,
he found the secretary much disposed to conciliate both Spain and the
empire, and to leave the provinces to shift for themselves.

He spoke of Ostend as of a town not worth the pains taken to preserve it,
and of the India trade as an advantage of which a true policy required
that the United Provinces should be deprived.  Already the fine
commercial instinct of England had scented a most formidable rival on the
ocean.

As for the king, he had as yet declared himself for no party, while all
parties were disputing among each other for mastery over him. James found
himself, in truth, as much, astray in English politics as he was a
foreigner upon English earth. Suspecting every one, afraid of every one,
he was in mortal awe, most of all, of his wife, who being the daughter of
one Protestant sovereign and wife of another, and queen of a united realm
dependent for its very existence on antagonism to Spain and Rome, was
naturally inclined to Spanish politics and the Catholic faith.

The turbulent and intriguing Anne of Denmark was not at the moment in
London, but James was daily expecting and De Bethune dreading her
arrival.

The ambassador knew very well that, although the king talked big in her
absence about the forms which he intended to prescribe for her conduct,
he would take orders from her as soon as she arrived, refuse her nothing,
conceal nothing from her, and tremble before her as usual.

The king was not specially prejudiced in favour of the French monarch or
his ambassador, for he had been told that Henry had occasionally spoken
of him as captain of arts and doctor of arms, and that both the Marquis
de Rosny and his brother were known to have used highly disrespectful
language concerning him.

Before his audience, De Rosny received a private visit from Barneveld and
the deputies of the States-General, and was informed that since his
arrival they had been treated with more civility by the king. Previously
he had refused to see them after the first official reception, had not
been willing to grant Count Henry of Nassau a private audience, and had
spoken publicly of the States as seditious rebels.

Oh the 21st June Barneveld had a long private interview with the
ambassador at Arundel palace, when he exerted all his eloquence to prove
the absolute necessity of an offensive and defensive alliance between
France and the United Provinces if the independence of the republic were
ever to be achieved. Unless a French army took the field at once, Ostend
would certainly fall, he urged, and resistance to the Spaniards would
soon afterwards cease.

It is not probable that the Advocate felt in his heart so much despair as
his words indicated, but he was most anxious that Henry should openly
declare himself the protector of the young commonwealth, and not
indisposed perhaps to exaggerate the dangers, grave as they were without
doubt, by which its existence was menaced.

The ambassador however begged the Hollander to renounce any such hopes,
assuring him that the king had no intention of publicly and singly taking
upon his shoulders the whole burden of war with Spain, the fruits of
which would not be his to gather. Certainly before there had been time
thoroughly to study the character and inclinations of the British monarch
it would be impossible for De Rosny to hold out any encouragement in this
regard. He then asked Barneveld what he had been able to discover during
his residence in London as to the personal sentiments of James.

The Advocate replied that at first the king, yielding to his own natural
tendencies, and to the advice of his counsellors, had refused the Dutch
deputies every hope, but that subsequently reflecting, as it would seem,
that peace would cost England very dear if English inaction should cause
the Hollanders to fall again under the dominion of the Catholic king, or
to find their only deliverance in the protection of France, and beginning
to feel more acutely how much England had herself to fear from a power
like Spain, he had seemed to awake out of a profound sleep, and promised
to take these important affairs into consideration.

Subsequently he had fallen into a dreary abyss of indecision, where he
still remained. It was certain however that he would form no resolution
without the concurrence of the King of France, whose ambassador he had
been so impatiently expecting, and whose proposition to him of a double
marriage between their respective children had given him much
satisfaction.

De Rosny felt sure that the Dutch statesmen were far too adroit to put
entire confidence in anything said by James, whether favourable or
detrimental to their cause. He conjured Barneveld therefore, by the
welfare of his country, to conceal nothing from him in regard to the most
secret resolutions that might have been taken by the States in the event
of their being abandoned by England, or in case of their being
embarrassed by a sudden demand on the part of that power for the
cautionary towns offered to Elizabeth.

Barneveld, thus pressed, and considering the ambassador as the
confidential counsellor of a sovereign who was the republic's only
friend, no longer hesitated. Making a merit to himself of imparting an
important secret, he said that the state-council of the commonwealth had
resolved to elude at any cost the restoration of the cautionary towns.

The interview was then abruptly terminated by the arrival of the Venetian
envoy.

The 22nd of June arrived. The marquis had ordered mourning suits for his
whole embassy and retinue, by particular command of his sovereign, who
wished to pay this public tribute to the memory of the great queen.

To his surprise and somewhat to his indignation, he was however informed
that no one, stranger or native, Scotchman or Englishman, had been
permitted to present himself to the king in black, that his appearance
there in mourning would be considered almost an affront, and that it was
a strictly enforced rule at court to abstain from any mention of
Elizabeth, and to affect an entire oblivion of her reign.

At the last moment, and only because convinced that he might otherwise
cause the impending negotiations utterly to fail, the ambassador
consented to attire himself, the hundred and twenty gentlemen selected
from his diplomatic family to accompany him on this occasion, and all his
servants, in gala costume. The royal guards, with the Earl of Derby at
their head, came early in the afternoon to Arundel House to escort him to
the Thames, and were drawn up on the quay as the marquis and his
followers embarked in the splendid royal barges provided to convey them
to Greenwich.

On arriving at their destination they were met at the landing by the Earl
of Northumberland, and escorted with great pomp and through an infinite
multitude of spectators to the palace. Such was the crowd, without and
within, of courtiers and common people, that it was a long time before
the marquis, preceded by his hundred and twenty gentlemen, reached the
hall of audience.

At last he arrived at the foot of the throne, when James arose and
descended eagerly two steps of the dais in order to greet the ambassador.
He would have descended them all had not one of the counsellors plucked
him by the sleeve, whispering that he had gone quite far enough.

"And if I honour this ambassador," cried James, in a loud voice, "more
than is usual, I don't intend that it shall serve as a precedent for
others. I esteem and love him particularly, because of the affection
which I know he cherishes for me, of his firmness in our religion, and of
his fidelity to his master."

Much more that was personally flattering to the marquis was said thus
emphatically by James. To all this the ambassador replied, not by a set
discourse, but only by a few words of compliment, expressing his
sovereign's regrets at the death of Queen Elizabeth, and his joy at the
accession of the new sovereign. He then delivered his letters of
credence, and the complimentary conversation continued; the king
declaring that he had not left behind him in Scotland his passion for the
monarch of France, and that even had he found England at war with that
country on his accession he would have instantly concluded a peace with a
prince whom he so much venerated.

Thus talking, the king caused his guest to ascend with him to the
uppermost steps of the dais, babbling on very rapidly and skipping
abruptly from one subject to another. De Rosny took occasion to express
his personal esteem and devotion, and was assured by the king in reply
that the slanders in regard to him which had reached the royal ears had
utterly failed of their effect. It was obvious that they were the
invention of Spanish intriguers who wished to help that nation to
universal monarchy. Then he launched forth into general and cordial abuse
of Spain, much to the satisfaction of Count Henry of Nassau, who stood
near enough to hear a good deal of the conversation, and of the other
Dutch deputies who were moving about, quite unknown, in the crowd. He
denounced very vigorously the malignity of the Spaniards in lighting
fires everywhere in their neighbours' possessions, protested that he
would always oppose their wicked designs, but spoke contemptuously of
their present king as too feeble of mind and body ever to comprehend or
to carry out the projects of his predecessors.

Among other gossip, James asked the envoy if he went to hear the
Protestant preaching in London. Being answered in the affirmative, he
expressed surprise, having been told, he said, that it was Rosny's
intention to repudiate his religion as De Sancy had done, in order to
secure his fortunes. The marquis protested that such a thought had never
entered his head, but intimated that the reports might come from his
familiar intercourse with the papal nuncius and many French
ecclesiastics. The king asked if, when speaking with the nuncius, he
called the pope his Holiness, as by so doing he would greatly offend God,
in whom alone was holiness. Rosny replied that he commonly used the style
prevalent at court, governing himself according to the rules adopted in
regard to pretenders to crowns and kingdoms which they thought belonged
to them, but the possession of which was in other hands, conceding to
them, in order not to offend them, the titles which they claimed.

James shook his head portentously, and changed the subject.

The general tone of the royal-conversation was agreeable enough to the
ambassador, who eagerly alluded to the perfidious conduct of a Government
which, ever since concluding the peace of Vervins with Henry, had been
doing its best to promote sedition and territorial dismemberment in his
kingdom, and to assist all his open and his secret enemies.

James assented very emphatically, and the marquis felt convinced that a
resentment against Spain, expressed so publicly and so violently by
James, could hardly fail to, be sincere. He began seriously to, hope that
his negotiations would be successful, and was for soaring at once into
the regions of high politics, when the king suddenly began to talk of
hunting.

"And so you sent half the stag I sent you; to Count Arenberg," said
James; "but he is very angry about it; thinking that you did so to show
how much more I make of you than I do of him. And so I do; for I know the
difference between your king, my brother; and his masters who have sent
me an ambassador who can neither walk nor talk, and who asked me to give
him audience in a garden because he cannot go upstairs."

The king then alluded to Tassis, chief courier of his Catholic Majesty
and special envoy from Spain, asking whether the marquis had seen him on
his passage through France.

"Spain sends me a postillion-ambassador," said he, "that he may travel
the faster and attend to business by post."

It was obvious that James took a sincere satisfaction in abusing
everything relating to that country from its sovereign and the Duke of
Lerma downwards; but he knew very well that Velasco, constable of
Castile, had been already designated as ambassador, and would soon be on
his way to England.

De Rosny on the termination of his audience, was escorted in great state
by the Earl of Northumberland to the barges.

A few days later, the ambassador had another private audience, in which
the king expressed himself with apparent candour concerning the balance
of power.

Christendom, in his opinion, should belong in three equal shares to the
families of Stuart, Bourbon, and Habsburg; but personal ambition and the
force of events had given to the house of Austria more than its fair
third. Sound policy therefore required a combination between France and
England, in order to reduce their copartner within proper limits. This
was satisfactory as far as it went, and the ambassador complimented the
king on his wide views of policy and his lofty sentiments in regard to
human rights.

Warming with the subject, James held language very similar to that which
De Rosny and his master had used in their secret conferences, and took
the ground unequivocally that the secret war levied by Spain against
France and England, as exemplified in the Biron conspiracy, the assault
on Geneva, the aid of the Duke of Savoy, and in the perpetual fostering
of Jesuit intrigues, plots of assassination, and other conspiracies in
the British islands, justified a secret war on the part of Henry and
himself against Philip.

The ambassador would have been more deeply impressed with the royal
language had he felt more confidence in the royal character.

Highly applauding the sentiments expressed, and desiring to excite still
further the resentment of James against Spain, he painted a vivid picture
of the progress of that aggressive power in the past century. She had
devoured Flanders, Burgundy, Granada, Navarre, Portugal, the German
Empire, Milan, Naples, and all the Indies. If she had not swallowed
likewise both France and England those two crowns were indebted for their
preservation, after the firmness of Elizabeth and Henry, to the fortunate
incident of the revolt of the Netherlands.

De Rosny then proceeded to expound the necessity under which James would
soon find himself of carrying on open war with Spain, and of the
expediency of making preparations for the great struggle without loss of
time.

He therefore begged the king to concert with him some satisfactory
measure for the preservation of the United Provinces.

"But," said James, "what better assistance could we give the
Netherlanders than to divide their territory between the States and
Spain; agreeing at the same time to drive the Spaniard out altogether, if
he violates the conditions which we should guarantee."

This conclusion was not very satisfactory to De Rosny, who saw in the
bold language of the king--followed thus by the indication of a policy
that might last to the Greek Kalends, and permit Ostend, Dutch Flanders,
and even the republic to fall--nothing but that mixture of timidity,
conceit, and procrastination which marked the royal character. He pointed
out to him accordingly that Spanish statesmanship could beat the world in
the art of delay, and of plucking the fruits of delay, and that when the
United Provinces had been once subjugated, the turn of England would
come. It would be then too late for him to hope to preserve himself by
such measures as, taken now, would be most salutary.

A few days later the king invited De Rosny and the two hundred members of
his embassy to dine at Greenwich, and the excursion down the Thames took
place with the usual pomp.

The two hundred dined with the gentlemen of the court; while at the
king's table, on an elevated platform in the same hall, were no guests
but De Rosny, and the special envoy of France, Count Beaumont.

The furniture and decorations of the table were sumptuous, and the
attendants, to the surprise of the Frenchmen, went on their knees
whenever they offered wine or dishes to the king. The conversation at
first was on general topics, such as the heat of the weather, which
happened to be remarkable, the pleasures of the chase, and the merits of
the sermon which, as it was Sunday, De Rosny had been invited to hear
before dinner in the royal chapel.

Soon afterwards, however, some allusion being made to the late queen,
James spoke of her with contempt. He went so far as to say that, for a
long time before her death, he had governed the councils, of England; all
her ministers obeying and serving him much better than they did herself.
He then called for wine, and, stretching out his glass towards his two.
guests, drank to the health of the king and queen and royal family of
France.

De Rosny, replied by proposing the health of his august host, not
forgetting the queen and their children, upon which the king, putting his
lips close to the ambassador's ear, remarked that his next toast should
be in honour of the matrimonial union which was proposed between the
families of Britain and France.

This was the first allusion made by James to the alliance; and the
occasion did not strike the marquis as particularly appropriate to such a
topic. He however replied in a whisper that he was rejoiced to hear this
language from the king, having always believed that there would be no
hesitation on his part between King Henry and the monarch of Spain, who,
as he was aware, had made a similar proposition. James, expressing
surprise that his guest was so well informed, avowed that he had in fact
received the same offer of the Infanta for his son as had been made to
his Christian Majesty for the Dauphin. What more convenient counters in
the great game of state than an infant prince and princess in each of the
three royal families to which Europe belonged! To how many grave
political combinations were these unfortunate infants to give rise, and
how distant the period when great nations might no longer be tied to the
pinafores of children in the nursery!

After this little confidential interlude, James expressed in loud voice,
so that all might hear, his determination never to permit the subjugation
of the Netherlands by Spain. Measures should be taken the very next day,
he promised, in concert with the ambassador, as to the aid to be given to
the States. Upon the faith of this declaration De Rosny took from his
pocket the plan of a treaty, and forthwith, in the presence of all the
ministers, placed it in the hands of the king, who meantime had risen
from table. The ambassador also took this occasion to speak publicly of
the English piracies upon French commerce while the two nations were at
peace. The king, in reply, expressed his dissatisfaction at these
depredations and at the English admiral who attempted to defend what had
been done.

He then took leave of his guests, and went off to bed, where it was his
custom to pass his afternoons.

It was certain that the Constable of Castile was now to arrive very soon,
and the marquis had, meantime, obtained information on which he relied,
that this ambassador would come charged with very advantageous offers to
the English court. Accounts had been got ready in council, of all the
moneys due to England by France and by the States, and it was thought
that these sums, payment of which was to be at once insisted upon,
together with the Spanish dollars set afloat in London, would prove
sufficient to buy up all resistance to the Spanish alliance.

Such being the nature of the information furnished to De Rosny, he did
not look forward with very high hopes to the issue of the conference
indicated by King James at the Greenwich dinner. As, after all, he would
have to deal once more with Cecil, the master-spirit of the Spanish
party, it did not seem very probable that the king's whispered
professions of affection for France, his very loud denunciations of
Spanish ambition, and his promises of support to the struggling
provinces, would be brought into any substantial form for human
nourishment. Whispers and big words, touching of glasses at splendid
banquets, and proposing of royal toasts, would not go far to help those
soldiers in Ostend, a few miles away, fighting two years long already for
a square half-mile of barren sand, in which seemed centred the world's
hopes of freedom.

Barneveld was inclined to take an even more gloomy view than that
entertained by the French ambassador. He had, in truth, no reason to be
sanguine. The honest republican envoys had brought no babies to offer in
marriage. Their little commonwealth had only the merit of exchanging
buffets forty years long with a power which, after subjugating the
Netherlands, would have liked to annihilate France and England too, and
which, during that period, had done its best to destroy and dismember
both. It had only struggled as no nation in the world's history had ever
done, for the great principle upon which the power and happiness of
England were ever to depend. It was therefore not to be expected that its
representatives should be received with the distinction conferred upon
royal envoys. Barneveld and his colleagues accordingly were not invited,
with two hundred noble hangers-on, to come down the Thames in gorgeous
array, and dine at Greenwich palace; but they were permitted to mix in
the gaping crowd of spectators, to see the fine folk, and to hear a few
words at a distance which fell from august lips. This was not very
satisfactory, as Barneveld could rarely gain admittance to James or his
ministers. De Rosny, however, was always glad to confer with him, and was
certainly capable of rendering justice both to his genius and to the
sacredness of his cause. The Advocate, in a long conference with the
ambassador, thought it politic to paint the situation of the republic in
even more sombre colours than seemed to De Rosny justifiable. He was,
indeed, the more struck with Barneveld's present despondency, because, at
a previous conference, a few days before, he had spoken almost with
contempt of the Spaniards, expressing the opinion that the mutinous and
disorganized condition of the archduke's army rendered the conquest of
Ostend improbable, and hinted at a plan, of which the world as yet knew
nothing, which would save that place, or at any rate would secure such an
advantage for the States as to more than counterbalance its possible
loss? This very sanguine demeanour had rather puzzled those who had
conferred with the Advocate, although they were ere long destined to
understand his allusions, and it was certainly a contrast to his present
gloom. He assured De Rosny that the Hollanders were becoming desperate,
and that they were capable of abandoning their country in mass, and
seeking an asylum beyond the seas? The menace was borrowed from the
famous project conceived by William the Silent in darker days, and seemed
to the ambassador a present anachronism.

Obviously it was thought desirable to force the French policy to extreme
lengths, and Barneveld accordingly proposed that Henry should take the
burthen upon his shoulders of an open war with Spain, in the almost
certain event that England would make peace with that power. De Rosny
calmly intimated to the Advocate that this was asking something entirely
beyond his power to grant, as the special object of his mission was to
form a plan of concerted action with England.

The cautionary towns being next mentioned, Barneveld stated that a demand
had been made upon Envoy Caron by Cecil for the delivery of those places
to the English Government, as England had resolved to make peace with
Spain.

The Advocate confided, however, to De Rosny that the States would
interpose difficulties, and that it would be long before the towns were
delivered. This important information was given under the seal of
strictest secrecy, and was coupled with an inference that a war between
the republic and Britain would be the probable result, in which case the
States relied upon the alliance with France. The ambassador replied that
in this untoward event the republic would have the sympathy of his royal
master, but that it would be out of the question for him to go to war
with Spain and England at the same time.

On the same afternoon there was a conference at Arundel House between the
Dutch deputies, the English counsellors, and De Rosny, when Barneveld
drew a most dismal picture of the situation; taking the ground that now
or never was the time for driving the Spaniards entirely out of the
Netherlands. Cecil said in a general way that his Majesty felt a deep
interest in the cause of the provinces, and the French ambassador
summoned the Advocate, now that he was assured of the sympathy of two
great kings, to furnish some plan by which that sympathy might be turned
to account. Barneveld, thinking figures more eloquent than rhetoric,
replied that the States, besides garrisons, had fifteen thousand infantry
and three thousand cavalry in the field, and fifty warships in
commission, with artillery and munitions in proportion, and that it would
be advisable for France and England to furnish an equal force, military
and naval, to the common cause.

De Rosny smiled at the extravagance of the proposition. Cecil, again
taking refuge in commonplaces, observed that his master was disposed to
keep the peace with all his neighbours, but that, having due regard to
the circumstances, he was willing to draw a line between the wishes of
the States and his own, and would grant them a certain amount of succour
underhand.

Thereupon the Dutch deputies withdrew to confer. De Rosny, who had no
faith in Cecil's sincerity--the suggestion being essentially the one
which he had himself desired--went meantime a little deeper into the
subject, and soon found that England, according to the Secretary of
State, had no idea of ruining herself for the sake of the provinces, or
of entering into any positive engagements in their behalf. In case Spain
should make a direct attack upon the two kings who were to constitute
themselves protectors of Dutch liberty, it might be necessary to take up
arms. The admission was on the whole superfluous, it not being probable
that Britain, even under a Stuart, would be converted to the doctrine of
non-resistance. Yet in this case it was suggested by Cecil that the chief
reliance of his Government would be on the debts owed by the Dutch and
French respectively, which would then be forthwith collected.

De Rosny was now convinced that Cecil was trifling with him, and
evidently intending to break off all practical negotiations. He concealed
his annoyance, however, as well as he could, and simply intimated that
the first business of importance was to arrange for the relief of Ostend;
that eventualities, such as the possible attack by Spain upon France and
England, might for the moment be deferred, but that if England thought it
a safe policy to ruin Henry by throwing on his shoulders the whole
burthen of a war with the common enemy, she would discover and deeply
regret her fatal mistake. The time was a very ill-chosen one to summon
France to pay old debts, and his Christian Majesty had given his
ambassador no instructions contemplating such a liquidation.

It was the intention to discharge the sum annually, little by little, but
if England desired to exhaust the king by these peremptory demands, it
was an odious conduct, and very different from any that France had ever
pursued.

The English counsellors were not abashed by this rebuke, but became, on
the contrary, very indignant, avowing that if anything more was demanded
of them, England would entirely abandon the United Provinces. "Cecil made
himself known to me in this conference," said De Rosny, "for exactly what
he was. He made use only of double meanings and vague propositions;
feeling that reason was not on his side. He was forced to blush at his
own self-contradictions, when, with a single word, I made him feel the
absurdity of his language. Now, endeavouring to intimidate me, he
exaggerated the strength of England, and again he enlarged upon the
pretended offers made by Spain to that nation."

The secretary, desirous to sow discord between the Dutch deputies and the
ambassador, then observed that France ought to pay to England L50,000
upon the nail, which sum would be at once appropriated to the necessities
of the States. "But what most enraged me," said De Rosny, "was to see
these ministers, who had come to me to state the intentions of their
king, thus impudently substitute their own; for I knew that he had
commanded them to do the very contrary to that which they did."

The conference ended with a suggestion by Cecil, that as France would
only undertake a war in conjunction with England, and as England would
only consent to this if paid by France and the States, the best thing for
the two kings to do would be to do nothing, but to continue to live in
friendship together, without troubling themselves about foreign
complications.

This was the purpose towards which the English counsellors had been
steadily tending, and these last words of Cecil seemed to the ambassador
the only sincere ones spoken by him in the whole conference.

"If I kept silence," said the ambassador, "it was not because I
acquiesced in their reasoning. On the contrary, the manner in which they
had just revealed themselves, and avowed themselves in a certain sort
liars and impostors, had given me the most profound contempt for them. I
thought, however, that by heating myself and contending with them so far
from causing them to abandon a resolution which they had taken in
concert--I might even bring about a total rupture. On the other hand,
matters remaining as they were, and a friendship existing between the two
kings, which might perhaps be cemented by a double marriage, a more
favourable occasion might present itself for negotiation. I did not yet
despair of the success of my mission, because I believed that the king
had no part in the designs which his counsellors wished to carry out."

That the counsellors, then struggling for dominion over the new king and
his kingdom, understood the character of their sovereign better than did
the ambassador, future events were likely enough to prove. That they
preferred peace to war, and the friendship of Spain to an alliance,
offensive and defensive, with France in favour of a republic which they
detested, is certain. It is difficult, however, to understand why they
were "liars and impostors" because, in a conference with the
representative of France, they endeavoured to make their own opinions of
public policy valid rather than content themselves simply with being the
errand-bearers of the new king, whom they believed incapable of being
stirred to an honourable action.

The whole political atmosphere of Europe was mephitic with falsehood, and
certainly the gales which blew from the English court at the accession of
James were not fragrant, but De Rosny had himself come over from France
under false pretences. He had been charged by his master to represent
Henry's childish scheme, which he thought so gigantic, for the
regeneration of Europe, as a project of his own, which he was determined
to bring to execution, even at the risk of infidelity to his sovereign,
and the first element in that whole policy was to carry on war underhand
against a power with which his master had just sworn to preserve peace.
In that age at least it was not safe for politicians to call each other
hard names.

The very next day De Rosny had a long private interview with James at
Greenwich. Being urged to speak without reserve, the ambassador depicted
the privy counsellors to the king as false to his instructions, traitors
to the best interests of their country, the humble servants of Spain, and
most desirous to make their royal master the slave of that power, under
the name of its ally. He expressed the opinion, accordingly, that James
would do better in obeying only the promptings of his own superior
wisdom, rather than the suggestions of the intriguers about him. The
adroit De Rosny thus softly insinuated to the flattered monarch that the
designs of France were the fresh emanations of his own royal intellect.
It was the whim of James to imagine himself extremely like Henry of
Bourbon in character, and he affected to take the wittiest, bravest, most
adventurous, and most adroit knight-errant that ever won and wore a crown
as his perpetual model.

It was delightful, therefore, to find himself in company with his royal
brother; making and unmaking kings; destroying empires, altering the
whole face of Christendom, and, better than all, settling then and for
ever the theology of the whole world, without the trouble of moving from
his easy chair, or of incurring any personal danger.

He entered at once, with the natural tendency to suspicion of a timid
man, into the views presented by De Rosny as to the perfidy of his
counsellors. He changed colour; and was visibly moved, as the ambassador
gave his version of the recent conference with Cecil and the other
ministers, and, being thus artfully stimulated, he was, prepared to
receive with much eagerness the portentous communications now to be made.

The ambassador, however, caused him to season his admiration until he had
taken a most solemn oath, by the sacrament of the Eucharist, never to
reveal a syllable of what he was about to hear. This done, and the royal
curiosity excited almost beyond endurance, De Rosny began to, unfold the
stupendous schemes which had been, concerted between Elizabeth and Henry
at Dover, and which formed the secret object of his present embassy.
Feeling that the king was most malleable in the theological part of his
structure, the wily envoy struck his first blows in that direction;
telling him that his own interest in the religious, condition of Europe,
and especially in the firm establishment of the Protestant faith, far
surpassed in his mind all considerations of fortune, country, or even of
fidelity to his sovereign. Thus far, political considerations had kept
Henry from joining in the great Catholic League, but it was possible that
a change might occur in his system, and the Protestant form of worship,
abandoned by its ancient protector, might disappear entirely from France
and from Europe. De Rosny had, therefore, felt the necessity of a new
patron for the reformed religion in this great emergency, and had
naturally fixed his eyes on the puissant and sagacious prince who now
occupied, the British throne. Now was the time, he urged, for James to
immortalize his name by becoming the arbiter of the destiny of Europe. It
would always seem his own design, although Henry was equally interested
in it with himself. The plan was vast but simple, and perfectly easy of
execution. There would be no difficulty in constructing an all-powerful
league of sovereigns for the destruction of the house of Austria, the
foundation-stones of which would of course be France, Great Britain, and
the United Provinces. The double marriage between the Bourbon and Stuart
families would indissolubly unite the two kingdoms, while interest and
gratitude; a common hatred and a common love, would bind the republic as
firmly to the union. Denmark and Sweden were certainly to be relied upon,
as well as all other Protestant princes. The ambitious and restless Duke
of Savoy would be gained by the offer of Lombardy and a kingly crown,
notwithstanding his matrimonial connection with Spain. As for the German
princes, they would come greedily into the arrangement, as the league,
rich in the spoils of the Austrian house, would have Hungary, Bohemia,
Silesia, Moravia, the archduchies, and other splendid provinces to divide
among them.

The pope would be bought up by a present, in fee-simple, of Naples, and
other comfortable bits of property, of which he was now only feudal lord.
Sicily would be an excellent sop for the haughty republic of Venice. The
Franche Comte; Alsace, Tirol, were naturally to be annexed to
Switzerland; Liege and the heritage of the Duke of Cleves and Juliers to
the Dutch commonwealth.

The King of France, who, according to De Rosny's solemn assertions, was
entirely ignorant of the whole scheme, would, however, be sure to embrace
it very heartily when James should propose it to him, and would be far
too disinterested to wish to keep any of the booty for himself. A similar
self-denial was, of course, expected of James, the two great kings
satisfying themselves with the proud consciousness of having saved
society, rescued the world from the sceptre of an Austrian universal
monarchy, and regenerated European civilization for all future time.

The monarch listened with ravished ears, interposed here and there a
question or a doubt, but devoured every detail of the scheme, as the
ambassador slowly placed it before him.

De Rosny showed that the Spanish faction was not in reality so powerful
as the league which would be constructed for its overthrow. It was not so
much a religious as a political frontier which separated the nations. He
undertook to prove this, but, after all, was obliged to demonstrate that
the defection of Henry from the Protestant cause had deprived him of his
natural allies, and given him no true friends in exchange for the old
ones.

Essentially the Catholics were ranged upon one side, and the Protestants
on the other, but both religions were necessary to Henry the Huguenot:
The bold free-thinker adroitly balanced himself upon each creed. In
making use of a stern and conscientious Calvinist, like Maximilian de
Bethune, in his first assault upon the theological professor who now
stood in Elizabeth's place, he showed the exquisite tact which never
failed him. Toleration for the two religions which had political power,
perfect intolerance for all others; despotic forms of polity, except for
two little republics which were to be smothered with protection and never
left out of leading strings, a thorough recasting of governments and
races, a palingenesis of Europe, a nominal partition of its hegemony
between France and England, which was to be in reality absorbed by
France, and the annihilation of Austrian power east and west, these were
the vast ideas with which that teeming Bourbon brain was filled. It is
the instinct both of poetic and of servile minds to associate a sentiment
of grandeur with such fantastic dreams, but usually on condition that the
dreamer wears a crown. When the regenerator of society appears with a
wisp of straw upon his head, unappreciative society is apt to send him
back to his cell. There, at least, his capacity for mischief is limited.

If to do be as grand as to imagine what it were good to do, then the
Dutchmen in Hell's Mouth and the Porcupine fighting Universal Monarchy
inch by inch and pike to pike, or trying conclusions with the ice-bears
of Nova Zembla, or capturing whole Portuguese fleets in the Moluccas,
were effecting as great changes in the world, and doing perhaps as much
for the advancement of civilization, as James of the two Britains and
Henry of France and Navarre in those his less heroic days, were likely to
accomplish. History has long known the results.

The ambassador did his work admirably. The king embraced him in a
transport of enthusiasm, vowed by all that was most sacred to accept the
project in all its details, and exacted from the ambassador in his turn
an oath on the Eucharist never to reveal, except to his master, the
mighty secrets of their conference.

The interview had lasted four hours. When it was concluded, James
summoned Cecil, and in presence of the ambassador and of some of the
counsellors, lectured him soundly on his presumption in disobeying the
royal commands in his recent negotiations with De Rosny. He then
announced his decision to ally himself strictly with France against Spain
in consequence of the revelations just made to him, and of course to
espouse the cause of the United Provinces. Telling the crest-fallen
Secretary of State to make the proper official communications on the
subject to the ambassadors of my lords the States-General,--thus giving
the envoys from the republic for the first time that pompous designation,
the king turned once more to the marquis with the exclamation, "Well, Mr.
Ambassador, this time I hope that you are satisfied with me?"

In the few days following De Rosny busied himself in drawing up a plan of
a treaty embodying all that had been agreed upon between Henry and
himself, and which he had just so faithfully rehearsed to James. He felt
now some inconvenience from his own artfulness, and was in a measure
caught in his own trap. Had he brought over a treaty in his pocket, James
would have signed it on the spot, so eager was he for the regeneration of
Europe. It was necessary, however, to continue the comedy a little
longer, and the ambassador, having thought it necessary to express many
doubts whether his master could be induced to join in the plot, and to
approve what was really his own most cherished plan, could now do no more
than promise to use all his powers of persuasion unto that end.

The project of a convention, which James swore most solemnly to sign,
whether it were sent to him in six weeks or six months, was accordingly
rapidly reduced to writing and approved. It embodied, of course, most of
the provisions discussed in the last secret interview at Greenwich. The
most practical portion of it undoubtedly related to the United Provinces,
and to the nature of assistance to be at once afforded to that
commonwealth, the only ally of the two kingdoms expressly mentioned in
the treaty. England was to furnish troops, the number of which was not
specified, and France was to pay for them, partly out of her own funds,
partly out of the amount due by her to England. It was, however,
understood, that this secret assistance should not be considered to
infringe the treaty of peace which already existed between Henry and the
Catholic king. Due and detailed arrangements were made as to the manner
in which the allies were to assist each other, in case Spain, not
relishing this kind of neutrality, should think proper openly to attack
either great Britain or France, or both.

Unquestionably the Dutch republic was the only portion of Europe likely
to be substantially affected by these secret arrangements; for, after
all, it had not been found very easy to embody the splendid visions of
Henry, which had so dazzled the imagination of James in the dry clauses
of a protocol.

It was also characteristic enough of the crowned conspirators, that the
clause relating to the United Provinces provided that the allies would
either assist them in the attainment of their independence, or--if it
should be considered expedient to restore them to the domination of Spain
or the empire--would take such precautions and lay down such conditions
as would procure perfect tranquillity for them, and remove from the two
allied kings the fear of a too absolute government by the house of
Austria in those provinces.

It would be difficult to imagine a more impotent conclusion. Those Dutch
rebels had not been fighting for tranquillity. The tranquillity of the
rock amid raging waves--according to the device of the father of the
republic--they had indeed maintained; but to exchange their turbulent and
tragic existence, ever illumined by the great hope of freedom, for repose
under one despot guaranteed to them by two others, was certainly not
their aim. They lacked the breadth of vision enjoyed by the regenerators
who sat upon mountain-tops.

They were fain to toil on in their own way. Perhaps, however, the future
might show as large results from their work as from the schemes of those
who were to begin the humiliation of the Austrian house by converting its
ancient rebels into tranquil subjects.

The Marquis of Rosny, having distributed 60,000 crowns among the leading
politicians and distinguished personages at the English court, with ample
promises of future largess if they remained true to his master, took an
affectionate farewell of King James, and returned with his noble two
hundred to recount his triumphs to the impatient Henry. The treaty was
soon afterwards duly signed and ratified by the high contracting parties.
It was, however, for future history to register its results on the fate
of pope, emperor, kings, potentates, and commonwealths, and to show the
changes it would work in the geography, religion, and polity of the
world.

The deputies from the States-General, satisfied with the practical
assistance promised them, soon afterwards took their departure with
comparative cheerfulness, having previously obtained the royal consent to
raise recruits in Scotland. Meantime the great Constable of Castile,
ambassador from his Catholic Majesty, had arrived in London, and was
wroth at all that he saw and all that he suspected. He, too, began to
scatter golden arguments with a lavish hand among the great lords and
statesmen of Britain, but found that the financier of France had, on the
whole; got before him in the business, and was skilfully maintaining his
precedence from the other side of the channel.

But the end of these great diplomatic manoeuvres had not yet come.



CHAPTER XLII.

   Siege of Ostend--The Marquis Spinola made commander-in-chief of the
   besieging army--Discontent of the troops--General aspect of the
   operations--Gradual encroachment of the enemy.

The scene again shifts to Ostend. The Spanish cabinet, wearied of the
slow progress of the siege, and not entirely satisfied with the generals,
now concluded almost without consent of the archdukes, one of the most
extraordinary jobs ever made, even in those jobbing days. The Marquis
Spinola, elder brother of the ill-fated Frederic, and head of the
illustrious Genoese family of that name, undertook to furnish a large sum
of money which the wealth of his house and its connection with the great
money-lenders of Genoa enabled him to raise, on condition that he should
have supreme command of the operations against Ostend and of the foreign
armies in the Netherlands. He was not a soldier, but he entered into a
contract, by his own personal exertions both on the exchange and in the
field, to reduce the city which had now resisted all the efforts of the
archduke for more than two years. Certainly this was an experiment not
often hazarded in warfare. The defence of Ostend was in the hands of the
best and moat seasoned fighting-men in Europe. The operations were under
the constant supervision of the foremost captain of the age; for Maurice,
in consultation with the States-General, received almost daily reports
from the garrison, and regularly furnished advice and instructions as to
their proceedings. He was moreover ever ready to take the field for a
relieving campaign. Nothing was known of Spinola save that he was a
high-born and very wealthy patrician who had reached his thirty-fourth
year without achieving personal distinction of any kind, and who, during
the previous summer, like so many other nobles from all parts of Europe,
had thought it worth his while to drawl through a campaign or two in the
Low Countries. It was the mode to do this, and it was rather a stigma
upon any young man of family not to have been an occasional looker on at
that perpetual military game. His brother Frederic, as already narrated;
had tried his chance for fame and fortune in the naval service, and had
lost his life in the adventure without achieving the one or the other.
This was not a happy augury for the head of the family. Frederic had made
an indifferent speculation. What could the brother hope by taking the
field against Maurice of Nassau and Lewis William and the Baxes and
Meetkerkes? Nevertheless the archduke eagerly accepted his services,
while the Infanta, fully confident of his success before he had ordered a
gun to be fired, protested that if Spinola did not take Ostend nobody
would ever take it. There was also, strangely enough, a general feeling
through the republican ranks that the long-expected man had come.

Thus a raw volunteer, a man who had never drilled a hundred men, who had
never held an officer's commission in any army in the world, became, as
by the waving of a wand, a field-marshal and commander-in-chief at a most
critical moment in history, in the most conspicuous position in
Christendom, and in a great war, now narrowed down to a single spot of
earth, on which the eyes of the world were fixed, and the daily accounts
from which were longed for with palpitating anxiety. What but failure and
disaster could be expected from such astounding policy? Every soldier in
the Catholic forces--from grizzled veterans of half a century who had
commanded armies and achieved victories when this dainty young Italian
was in his cradle, down to the simple musketeer or rider who had been
campaigning for his daily bread ever since he could carry a piece or
mount a horse was furious with discontent or outraged pride.

Very naturally too, it was said that the position of the archdukes had
become preposterous. It was obvious, notwithstanding the pilgrimages of
the Infanta to our Lady of Hall, to implore not only the fall of Ostend,
but the birth of a successor to their sovereignty, that her marriage
would for ever remain barren. Spain was already acting upon this theory,
it was said, for the contract with Spinola was made, not at Brussels, but
at Madrid, and a foreign army of Spaniards and Italians, under the
supreme command of a Genoese adventurer, was now to occupy indefinitely
that Flanders which had been proclaimed an independent nation, and duly
bequeathed by its deceased proprietor to his daughter.

Ambrose Spinola, son of Philip, Marquis of Venafri, and his wife,
Polyxena Grimaldi, was not appalled by the murmurs of hardly suppressed
anger or public criticism. A handsome, aristocratic personage, with an
intellectual, sad, but sympathetic face, fair hair and beard, and
imposing but attractive presence--the young volunteer, at the beginning
of October, made his first visit of inspection in the lines before
Ostend. After studying the situation of affairs very thoroughly, he
decided that the operations on the Gullet or eastern side, including
Bucquoy's dike, with Pompey Targone's perambulatory castles and floating
batteries, were of secondary importance. He doubted the probability of
closing up a harbour, now open to the whole world and protected by the
fleets of the first naval power of Europe, with wickerwork, sausages, and
bridges upon barrels. His attention was at once concentrated on the
western side, and he was satisfied that only by hard fighting and steady
delving could he hope to master the place. To gain Ostend he would be
obliged to devour it piecemeal as he went on.

Whatever else might be said of the new commander-in-chief, it was soon
apparent that, although a volunteer and a patrician, he was no milksop.
If he had been accustomed all his life to beds of down, he was as ready
now to lie in the trenches, with a cannon for his pillow, as the most
ironclad veteran in the ranks. He seemed to require neither sleep nor
food, and his reckless habit of exposing himself to unnecessary danger
was the subject of frequent animadversion on the part both of the
archdukes and of the Spanish Government.

It was however in his case a wise temerity. The veterans whom he
commanded needed no encouragement to daring deeds, but they required
conviction as to the valour and zeal of their new commander, and this was
afforded them in overflowing measure.

It is difficult to decide, after such a lapse of years, as to how much of
the long series of daily details out of which this famous siege was
compounded deserves to be recorded. It is not probable that for military
history many of the incidents have retained vital importance. The world
rang, at the beginning of the operations, with the skill and inventive
talent of Targone, Giustiniani, and other Italian engineers, artificers,
and pyrotechnists, and there were great expectations conceived of the
effects to be produced by their audacious and original devices. But time
wore on. Pompey's famous floating battery would not float, his moving
monster battery would not move. With the one; the subtle Italian had
intended to close up the Gullet to the States' fleets. It was to rest on
the bottom at low water at the harbour's mouth, to rise majestically with
the flood, and to be ever ready with a formidable broadside of fifty
pounders against all comers. But the wild waves and tempests of the North
Sea soon swept the ponderous toy into space, before it had fired a gun.
The gigantic chariot, on which a moveable fort was constructed, was still
more portentous upon paper than the battery. It was directed against that
republican work, defending the Gullet, which was called in derision the
Spanish Half-moon. It was to be drawn by forty horses, and armed with no
man knew how many great guns, with a mast a hundred and fifty feet high
in the centre of the fort, up and down which played pulleys raising and
lowering a drawbridge long enough to span the Gullet.

It was further provided with anchors, which were to be tossed over the
parapet of the doomed redoubt, while the assailants, thus grappled to the
enemy's work, were to dash over the bridge after having silenced the
opposing fire by means of their own peripatetic battery.

Unfortunately for the fame of Pompey, one of his many wheels was crushed
on the first attempt to drag the chariot to the scene of anticipated
triumph, the whole structure remained embedded in the sand, very much
askew; nor did all the mules and horses that could be harnessed to it
ever succeed in removing it an inch out of a position, which was anything
but triumphant.

It seemed probable enough therefore that, so far as depended on the
operations from the eastern side, the siege of Ostend, which had now
lasted two years and three months, might be protracted for two years and
three months longer. Indeed, Spinola at once perceived that if the
archduke was ever to be put in possession of the place for which he had
professed himself ready to wait eighteen years, it would be well to leave
Bucquoy and Targone to build dykes and chariots and bury them on the east
at their leisure, while more energy was brought to bear upon the line of
fortifications of the west than had hitherto been employed. There had
been shooting enough, bloodshed enough, suffering enough, but it was
amazing to see the slight progress made. The occupation of what were
called the external Squares has been described. This constituted the
whole result of the twenty-seven months' work.

The town itself--the small and very insignificant kernel which lay
enclosed in such a complicated series of wrappings and layers of
defences--seemed as far off as if it were suspended in the sky. The old
haven or canal, no longer navigable for ships, still served as an
admirable moat which the assailants had not yet succeeded in laying
entirely dry. It protected the counterscarp, and was itself protected by
an exterior aeries of works, while behind the counterscarp was still
another ditch, not so broad nor deep as the canal, but a formidable
obstacle even after the counterscarp should be gained. There were nearly
fifty forts and redoubts in these lines, of sufficient importance to have
names which in those days became household words, not only in the
Netherlands, but in Europe; the siege of Ostend being the one military
event of Christendom, so long as it lasted. These names are of course as
much forgotten now as those of the bastions before Nineveh. A very few of
them will suffice to indicate the general aspect of the operations. On
the extreme southwest of Ostend had been in peaceful times a polder--the
general term to designate a pasture out of which the sea-water had been
pumped--and the forts in that quarter were accordingly called by that
name, as Polder Half-moon, Polder Ravelin, or great and little Polder
Bulwark, as the case might be. Farther on towards the west, the
north-west, and the north, and therefore towards the beach, were the West
Ravelin, West Bulwark, Moses's Table, the Porcupine, the Hell's Mouth,
the old church, and last and most important of all, the Sand Hill. The
last-named work was protected by the Porcupine and Hell's Mouth, was the
key to the whole series of fortifications, and was connected by a curtain
with the old church, which was in the heart of the old town.

Spinola had assumed command in October, but the winter was already
closing in with its usual tempests and floods before there had been time
for him to produce much effect. It seemed plain enough to the besieged
that the object of the enemy would be to work his way through the Polder,
and so gradually round to the Porcupine and the Sand Hill. Precisely in
what directions his subterraneous passages might be tending, in what
particular spot of the thin crust upon which they all stood an explosion
might at any moment be expected, it was of course impossible to know.
They were sure that the process of mining was steadily progressing, and
Maurice sent orders to countermine under every bulwark, and to secretly
isolate every bastion, so that it would be necessary for Spinola to make
his way, fort by fort, and inch by inch.

Thus they struggled drearily about under ground, friend and foe, often as
much bewildered as wanderers in the catacombs. To a dismal winter
succeeded a ferocious spring. Both in February and March were westerly
storms, such as had not been recorded even on that tempest-swept coast
for twenty years, and so much damage was inflicted on the precious Sand
Hill and its curtain, that, had the enemy been aware of its plight, it is
probable that one determined assault might have put him in possession of
the place. But Ostend was in charge of a most watchful governor, Peter
van Gieselles, who had succeeded Charles van der Noot at the close of the
year 1603. A plain, lantern jawed, Dutch colonel; with close-cropped
hair, a long peaked beard, and an eye that looked as if it had never been
shut; always dressed in a shabby old jerkin with tarnished flowers upon
it, he took command with a stout but heavy heart, saying that the place
should never be surrendered by him, but that he should never live to see
the close of the siege. He lost no time in repairing the damages of the
tempest, being ready to fight the west wind, the North Sea, and Spinola
at any moment, singly or conjoined. He rebuilt the curtain of the Sand
Hill, added fresh batteries to the Porcupine and Hell's Mouth, and amused
and distracted the enemy with almost daily sorties and feints. His
soldiers passed their days and nights up to the knees in mud and sludge
and sea-water, but they saw that their commander never spared himself,
and having a superfluity of food and drink, owing to the watchful care of
the States-General, who sent in fleets laden with provisions faster than
they could be consumed, they were cheerful and content.

On the 12th March there was a determined effort to carry the lesser
Polder Bulwark. After a fierce and bloody action, the place was taken by
storm, and the first success in the game was registered for Spinola. The
little fort was crammed full of dead, but such of the defenders as
survived were at last driven out of it, and forced to take refuge in the
next work. Day after day the same bloody business was renewed, a mere
monotony of assaults, repulses, sallies, in which hardly an inch of
ground was gained on either side, except at the cost of a great pile of
corpses. "Men will never know, nor can mortal pen ever describe," said
one who saw it all, "the ferocity and the pertinacity of both besiegers
and besieged." On the 15th of March, Colonel Catrice, an accomplished
Walloon officer of engineers, commanding the approaches against the
Polder, was killed. On the 21st March, as Peter Orieselles was taking his
scrambling dinner in company with Philip Fleming, there was a report that
the enemy was out again in force. A good deal of progress had been made
during the previous weeks on the south-west and west, and more was
suspected than was actually known. It was felt that the foe was steadily
nibbling his way up to the counterscarp. Moreover, such was the emulation
among the Germans, Walloons, Italians, and Spaniards for precedence in
working across the canal, that a general assault and universal explosion
were considered at any instant possible. The governor sent Fleming to see
if all was right in the Porcupine, while he himself went to see if a new
battery, which he had just established to check the approaches of the
enemy towards the Polder Half-moon and Ravelin in a point very near the
counterscarp, was doing its duty. Being, as usual, anxious to reconnoitre
with his own eyes, he jumped upon the rampart. But there were
sharp-shooters in the enemy's trenches, and they were familiar with the
governor's rusty old doublet and haggard old face. Hardly had he climbed
upon the breastwork when a ball pierced his heart, and he fell dead
without a groan. There was a shout of triumph from the outside, while the
tidings soon spread sadness through the garrison, for all loved and
venerated the man. Philip Fleming, so soon as he learned the heavy news,
lost no time in unavailing regrets, but instantly sent a courier to
Prince Maurice; meantime summoning a council of superior officers, by
whom Colonel John van Loon was provisionally appointed commandant.

A stately, handsome man, a good officer, but without extensive
experience, he felt himself hardly equal to the immense responsibility of
the post, but yielding to the persuasions of his comrades, proceeded to
do his best. His first care was to secure the all-important Porcupine,
towards which the enemy had been slowly crawling with his galleries and
trenches. Four days after he had accepted the command he was anxiously
surveying that fortification, and endeavouring to obtain a view of the
enemy's works, when a cannon-ball struck him on the right leg, so that he
died the next day. Plainly the post of commandant of Ostend was no
sinecure. He was temporarily succeeded by Sergeant-Major Jacques de
Bievry, but the tumults and confusion incident upon this perpetual change
of head were becoming alarming. The enemy gave the garrison no rest night
nor day, and it had long become evident that the young volunteer, whose
name was so potent on the Genoa Exchange, was not a man of straw nor a
dawdler, however the superseded veterans might grumble. At any rate the
troops on either side were like to have their fill of work.

On the 2nd April the Polder Ravelin was carried by storm. It was a most
bloody action. Never were a few square feet of earth more recklessly
assailed, more resolutely maintained. The garrison did not surrender the
place, but they all laid down their lives in its defence. Scarcely an
individual of them all escaped, and the foe, who paid dearly with heaps
of dead and wounded for his prize, confessed that such serious work as
this had scarce been known before in any part of that great
slaughter-house, Flanders.

A few days later, Colonel Bievry, provisional commandant, was desperately
wounded in a sortie, and was carried off to Zeeland. The States-General
now appointed Jacques van der Meer, Baron of Berendrecht, to the post of
honour and of danger. A noble of Flanders, always devoted to the
republican cause; an experienced middle-aged officer, vigilant,
energetic, nervous; a slight wiry man, with a wizened little face, large
bright eyes, a meagre yellow beard, and thin sandy hair flowing down upon
his well-starched ruff, the new governor soon showed himself inferior to
none of his predecessors in audacity and alertness. It is difficult to
imagine a more irritating position in many respects than that of
commander in such an extraordinary leaguer. It was not a formal siege.
Famine, which ever impends over an invested place, and sickens the soul
with its nameless horrors, was not the great enemy to contend against
here. Nor was there the hideous alternative between starving through
obstinate resistance or massacre on submission, which had been the lot of
so many Dutch garrisons in the earlier stages of the war. Retreat by sea
was ever open to the Ostend garrison, and there was always an ample
supply of the best provisions and of all munitions of war. But they had
been unceasingly exposed to two tremendous enemies. During each winter
and spring the ocean often smote their bastions and bulwarks in an hour
of wrath till they fell together like children's toys, and it was always
at work, night and day, steadily lapping at the fragile foundations on
which all their structures stood. Nor was it easy to give the requisite
attention to the devouring sea, because all the materials that could be
accumulated seemed necessary to repair the hourly damages inflicted by
their other restless foe.

Thus the day seemed to draw gradually but inexorably nearer when the
place would be, not captured, but consumed. There was nothing for it, so
long as the States were determined to hold the spot, but to meet the
besieger at every point, above or below the earth, and sell every inch of
that little morsel of space at the highest price that brave men could
impose.

So Berendrecht, as vigilant and devoted as even Peter Gieselles had ever
been, now succeeded to the care of the Polders and the Porcupines, and
the Hell's Mouths; and all the other forts, whose quaint designations had
served, as usually is the case among soldiers, to amuse the honest
patriots in the midst of their toils and danger. On the 18th April, the
enemy assailed the great western Ravelin, and after a sanguinary
hand-to-hand action, in which great numbers of officers and soldiers were
lost on both sides, he carried the fort; the Spaniards, Italians,
Germans, and Walloons vieing with each other in deeds of extraordinary
daring, and overcoming at last the resistance of the garrison.

This was an important success. The foe had now worked his way with
galleries and ditches along the whole length of the counterscarp till he
was nearly up with the Porcupine, and it was obvious that in a few days
he would be master of the counterscarp itself.

A less resolute commander, at the head of less devoted troops, might have
felt that when that inevitable event should arrive all that honour
demanded would have been done, and that Spinola was entitled to his city.
Berendrecht simply decided that if the old counterscarp could no longer
be held it was time to build a new counterscarp. This, too, had been for
some time the intention of Prince Maurice. A plan for this work had
already been sent into the place, and a distinguished English engineer,
Ralph Dexter by name, arrived with some able assistants to carry it into
execution. It having been estimated that the labour would take three
weeks of time, without more ado the inner line was carefully drawn,
cutting off with great nicety and precision about one half the whole
place. Within this narrowed circle the same obstinate resistance was to
be offered as before, and the bastions and redoubts of the new
entrenchment were to be baptized with the same uncouth names which two
long years of terrible struggle had made so precious. The work was very
laborious; for the line was drawn straight through the town, and whole
streets had to be demolished and the houses to their very foundations
shovelled away. Moreover the men were forced to toil with spade in one
hand and matchlock in the other, ever ready to ascend from the ancient
dilapidated cellars in order to mount the deadly breach at any point in
the whole circumference of the place.

It became absolutely necessary therefore to send a sufficient force of
common workmen into the town to lighten the labours of the soldiers.
Moreover the thought, although whistled to the wind, would repeatedly
recur, that, after all, there must be a limit to these operations, and
that at last there would remain no longer any earth in which to find a
refuge.

The work of the new entrenchment went slowly on, but it was steadily
done. Meantime they were comforted by hearing that the stadholder had
taken the field in Flanders, at the head of a considerable force, and
they lived in daily expectation of relief. It will be necessary, at the
proper moment, to indicate the nature of Prince Maurice's operations. For
the present, it is better that the reader should confine his attention
within the walls of Ostend.

By the 11th May, the enemy had effected a lodgment in a corner of the
Porcupine, and already from that point might threaten the new
counterscarp before it should be completed. At the same time he had
gnawed through to the West Bulwark, and was busily mining under the
Porcupine itself. In this fort friend and foe now lay together, packed
like herrings, and profited by their proximity to each other to vary the
monotony of pike and anaphance with an occasional encounter of epistolary
wit.

Thus Spanish letters, tied to sticks, and tossed over into the next
entrenchment, were replied to by others, composed in four languages by
the literary man of Ostend, Auditor Fleming, and shot into the enemy's
trenches on cross-bow bolts.

On the 29th May, a long prepared mine was sprung beneath the Porcupine.
It did its work effectively, and the 29 May assailants did theirs no less
admirably, crowding into the breach with headlong ferocity, and after a
long and sanguinary struggle with immense lose on both sides, carrying
the precious and long-coveted work by storm. Inch by inch the defenders
were thus slowly forced back toward their new entrenchment. On the same
day, however, they inflicted a most bloody defeat upon the enemy in an
attempt to carry the great Polder. He withdrew, leaving heaps of slain,
so that the account current for the day would have balanced itself, but
that the Porcupine, having changed hands, now bristled most formidably
against its ancient masters. The daily 'slaughter had become sickening to
behold. There were three thousand effective men in the garrison. More
could have been sent in to supply the steady depletion in the ranks, but
there was no room for more. There was scarce space enough for the living
to stand to their work, or for the dead to lie in their graves. And this
was an advantage which could not fail to tell. Of necessity the besiegers
would always very far outnumber the garrison, so that the final success
of their repeated assaults became daily more and more possible.

Yet on the 2nd June the enemy met not only with another signal defeat,
but also with a most bitter surprise. On that day the mine which he had
been so long and so laboriously constructing beneath the great Polder
Bulwark was sprung with magnificent effect. A breach, forty feet wide,
was made in this last stronghold of the old defences, and the soldiers
leaped into the crater almost before it had ceased to blaze, expecting by
one decisive storm to make themselves masters at last of all the
fortifications, and therefore of the town itself. But as emerging from
the mine, they sprang exulting upon the shattered bulwark, a
transformation more like a sudden change in some holiday pantomime than a
new fact in this three years' most tragic siege presented itself to their
astonished eyes. They had carried the last defence of the old
counterscarp, and behold--a new one, which they had never dreamed of,
bristling before their eyes, with a flanking battery turned directly upon
them. The musketeers and pikemen, protected by their new works, now
thronged towards the assailants; giving them so hearty a welcome that
they reeled back, discomfited, after a brief but severe struggle, from
the spot of their anticipated triumph, leaving their dead and dying in
the breach.

Four days later, Berendrecht, with a picked party of English troops,
stole out for a reconnaissance, not wishing to trust other eyes than his
own in the imminent peril of the place.

The expedition was successful. A few prisoners were taken, and valuable
information was obtained, but these advantages were counterbalanced by a
severe disaster. The vigilant and devoted little governor, before
effecting his entrance into the sally port, was picked off by a
sharpshooter, and died the next day. This seemed the necessary fate of
the commandants of Ostend, where the operations seemed more like a
pitched battle lasting three years than an ordinary siege. Gieselles, Van
Loon, Bievry, and now Berendrecht, had successively fallen at the post of
duty since the beginning of the year. Not one of them was more sincerely
deplored than Berendrecht. His place was supplied by Colonel Uytenhoove,
a stalwart, hirsute, hard-fighting Dutchman, the descendant of an ancient
race, and seasoned in many a hard campaign.

The enemy now being occupied in escarping and furnishing with batteries
the positions he had gained, with the obvious intention of attacking the
new counterscarp, it was resolved to prepare for the possible loss of
this line of fortifications by establishing another and still narrower
one within it.

Half the little place had been shorn away by the first change. Of the
half which was still in possession of the besieged about one-third was
now set off, and in this little corner of earth, close against the new
harbour, was set up their last refuge. They called the new citadel Little
Troy, and announced, with pardonable bombast, that they would hold out
there as long as the ancient Trojans had defended Ilium. With perfect
serenity the engineers set about their task with line, rule, and level,
measuring out the bulwarks and bastions, the miniature salients,
half-moons, and ditches, as neatly and methodically as if there were no
ceaseless cannonade in their ears, and as if the workmen were not at
every moment summoned to repel assaults upon the outward wall. They. sent
careful drawings of Little Troy to Maurice and the States, and received
every encouragement to persevere, together with promises of ultimate
relief.

But there was one serious impediment to the contemplated construction of
the new earth-works. They had no earth. Nearly everything solid had been
already scooped away in the perpetual delving. The sea-dykes had been
robbed of their material, so that the coming winter might find besiegers
and besieged all washed together into the German Ocean, and it was hard
digging and grubbing among the scanty cellarages of the dilapidated
houses. But there were plenty of graves, filled with the results of three
years' hard fighting. And now, not only were all the cemeteries within
the precincts shovelled and carted in mass to the inner fortifications,
but rewards being offered of ten stivers for each dead body, great heaps
of disinterred soldiers were piled into the new ramparts. Thus these
warriors, after laying down their lives for the cause of freedom, were
made to do duty after death. Whether it were just or no thus to disturb
the repose--if repose it could be called--of the dead that they might
once more protect the living, it can scarcely be doubted that they took
ample revenge on the already sufficiently polluted atmosphere.

On the 17th June the foe sprang a mine under the western bulwark; close
to a countermine exploded by the garrison the day before. The assailants
thronged as merrily as usual to the breach, and were met with customary
resolution by the besieged; Governor Uytenhoove, clad in complete armour,
leading his troops. The enemy, after an hour's combat, was repulsed with
heavy loss, but the governor fell in the midst of the fight. Instantly he
was seized by the legs by a party of his own men, some English
desperadoes among the number, who, shouting that the colonel was dead,
were about to render him the last offices by plundering his body. The
ubiquitous Fleming, observing the scene, flew to the rescue and, with the
assistance of a few officers, drove off these energetic friends, and
taking off the governor's casque, discovered that he still breathed. That
he would soon have ceased to do so, had he been dragged much farther in
his harness over that jagged and precipitous pile of rubbish, was
certain. He was desperately wounded, and of course incapacitated for his
post. Thus, in that year, before the summer solstice, a fifth commandant
had fallen.

On the same day, simultaneously with this repulse in the West Bulwark,
the enemy made himself at last completely master of the Polder. Here,
too, was a savage hand-to-hand combat with broadswords and pikes, and
when the pikes were broken, with great clubs and stakes pulled from the
fascines; but the besiegers were victorious, and the defenders sullenly
withdrew with their wounded to the inner entrenchments.

On the 27th June, Daniel de Hartaing, Lord of Marquette, was sent by the
States-General to take command in Ostend. The colonel of the Walloon
regiment which had rendered such good service on the famous field of
Nieuport, the new governor, with his broad, brown, cheerful face, and his
Milan armour, was a familiar figure enough to the campaigners on both
sides in Flanders or Germany.

The stoutest heart might have sunk at the spectacle which the condition
of the town presented at his first inspection. The States-General were
resolved to hold the place, at all hazards, and Marquette had come to do
their bidding, but it was difficult to find anything that could be called
a town. The great heaps of rubbish, which had once been the outer walls,
were almost entirely in the possession of the foe, who had lodged himself
in all that remained of the defiant Porcupine, the Hell's Mouth, and
other redoubts, and now pointed from them at least fifty great guns
against their inner walls. The old town, with its fortifications, was
completely honeycombed, riddled, knocked to pieces, and, although the
Sand Hill still held out, it was plain enough that its days were numbered
unless help should soon arrive. In truth, it required a clear head and a
practised eye to discover among those confused masses of prostrate
masonry, piles of brick, upturned graves, and mounds of sand and rubbish,
anything like order and regularity. Yet amid the chaos there was really
form and meaning to those who could read aright, and Marquette saw, as
well in the engineers' lines as in the indomitable spirit that looked out
of the grim faces of the garrison, that Ostend, so long as anything of it
existed in nature, could be held for the republic. Their brethren had not
been firmer, when keeping their merry Christmas, seven years before,
under the North Pole, upon a pudding made of the gunner's cartridge
paste, or the Knights of the Invincible Lion in the horrid solitudes of
Tierra del Fuego, than were the defenders of this sandbank.

Whether the place were worth the cost or not, it was for my lords the
States-General to decide, not for Governor Marquette. And the decision of
those "high and mighty" magistrates, to whom even Maurice of Nassau bowed
without a murmur, although often against his judgment, had been plainly
enough announced.

And so shiploads of deals and joists, bricks, nails, and fascines, with
requisite building materials, were sent daily in from Zeeland, in order
that Little Troy might be completed; and, with God's help, said the
garrison, the republic shall hold its own.

And now there were two months more of mining and countermining, of
assaults and repulses, of cannonading and hand-to-hand fights with pikes
and clubs. Nearer and nearer, day by day, and inch by inch, the foe had
crawled up to the verge of their last refuge, and the walls of Little
Troy, founded upon fresh earth and dead men's bones, and shifting sands,
were beginning to quake under the guns of the inexorable volunteer from
Genoa. Yet on the 27th August there was great rejoicing in the
beleaguered town. Cannon thundered salutes, bonfires blazed, trumpets
rang jubilant blasts, and, if the church-bells sounded no merry peals, it
was because the only church in the place had been cut off in the last
slicing away by the engineers. Hymns of thanksgiving ascended to heaven,
and the whole garrison fell on their knees, praying fervently to Almighty
God, with devout and grateful hearts. It was not an ignoble spectacle to
see those veterans kneeling where there was scarce room to kneel, amid
ruin and desolation, to praise the Lord for his mercies. But to explain
this general thanksgiving it is now necessary for a moment to go back.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Began to scatter golden arguments with a lavish hand
     Certain number of powers, almost exactly equal to each other
     Conceit, and procrastination which marked the royal character
     Do you want peace or war? I am ready for either
     Eloquence of the biggest guns
     Even the virtues of James were his worst enemies
     Gold was the only passkey to justice
     If to do be as grand as to imagine what it were good to do
     It is certain that the English hate us (Sully)
     Logic of the largest battalions
     Made peace--and had been at war ever since
     Nations tied to the pinafores of children in the nursery
     Natural tendency to suspicion of a timid man
     Not safe for politicians to call each other hard names
     One of the most contemptible and mischievous of kings (James I)
     Peace founded on the only secure basis, equality of strength
     Peace seemed only a process for arriving at war
     Repose under one despot guaranteed to them by two others
     Requires less mention than Philip III himself
     Rules adopted in regard to pretenders to crowns
     Served at their banquets by hosts of lackeys on their knees
     Take all their imaginations and extravagances for truths
     The expenses of James's household
     The pigmy, as the late queen had been fond of nicknaming him
     To negotiate with Government in England was to bribe
     Unproductive consumption being accounted most sagacious
     War was the normal condition of Christians
     We have been talking a little bit of truth to each other
     What was to be done in this world and believed as to the next
     You must show your teeth to the Spaniard



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 77, 1604-1605



CHAPTER XLIII.

   Policy of the King of France--Operations of Prince Maurice--Plans
   for a Flemish Campaign--Passage into Flanders--Fort St. Catharine--
   Flight of its garrison, and occupation by Maurice--Surrender of
   Ysendyke and Aardenburg--Skirmish at Stamper's Hook--Siege of Sluys
   by Prince Maurice--Ineffectual attempt of Spinola to relieve the
   town--Its capitulation and restoration to the States--Death of Lewis
   Gunther of Nassau--Operations at Ostend--Surrender of the garrison--
   Desolation of the scene after its evacuation.

The States-General had begun to forget the severe lesson taught them in
the Nieuport campaign. Being determined to hold Ostend, they became very
impatient, in the early part of the present year, that Maurice should
once more invade Flanders, at the head of a relieving army, and drive the
archdukes from before the town.

They were much influenced in this policy by the persistent advice of the
French king. To the importunities of their envoy at Paris, Henry had,
during the past eighteen months, replied by urging the States to invade
Flanders and seize its ports. When they had thus something to place as
pledges in his hands, he might accede to their clamour and declare war
against Spain. But he scarcely concealed his intention, in such case, to
annex both the obedient and the United Netherlands to his own dominions.
Meantime, before getting into the saddle, he chose to be guaranteed
against loss. "Assure my lords the States that I love them," he said,
"and shall always do my best for them." His affection for the territory
of my lords was even warmer than the sentiments he entertained for
themselves. Moreover, he grudged the preliminary expenses which would be
necessary even should he ultimately make himself sovereign of the whole
country. Rosny assured the envoy that he was mistaken in expecting a
declaration of war against Spain. "Not that he does not think it useful
and necessary," said the minister, "but he wishes to have war and peace
both at once--peace because he wishes to make no retrenchments in his
pleasures of women, dogs, and buildings, and so war would be very
inopportune. In three months he would be obliged to turn tail for want of
means (to use his own words), although I would furnish him funds enough,
if he would make the use of them that he ought."

The Queen of England, who, with all her parsimony and false pretences,
never doubted in her heart that perpetual hostility to Spain was the
chief bulwark of her throne, and that the republic was fighting her
battles as well as its own, had been ready to make such a lively war in
conjunction with France as would drive the Spaniard out of all the
Netherlands. But Henry was not to be moved. "I know that if I should take
her at her word," said he, "she would at once begin to screw me for
money. She has one object, I another." Villeroy had said plainly to
Aerssens, in regard to the prevalent system of Englishmen, Spaniards, and
Frenchmen being at war with each other, while the Governments might be
nominally at peace, "Let us take off our masks. If the Spaniard has
designs against our State, has he not cause? He knows the aid we are
giving you, and resents it. If we should abstain, he would leave us in
peace. If the Queen of England expects to draw us into a league, she is
mistaken. Look to yourselves and be on your guard. Richardot is
intriguing with Cecil. You give the queen securities, fortresses, seats
in your council. The king asks nothing but communication of your
projects."

In short, all the comfort that Aerssens had been able to derive from his
experiences at the French court in the autumn of 1602, was that the
republic could not be too suspicious both of England and France. Rosny
especially he considered the most dangerous of all the politicians in
France. His daughter was married to the Prince of Espinoy, whose 50,000
livres a year would be safer the more the archduke was strengthened. "But
for this he would be stiffer," said Aerssens. Nevertheless there were
strong motives at work, pressing France towards the support of the
States. There were strong political reasons, therefore, why they should
carry the war into Flanders, in conformity with the wishes of the king.

The stadholder, after much argument, yielded as usual to the authority of
the magistrates, without being convinced as to the sagacity of their
plans. It was arranged that an army should make a descent upon the
Flemish coast in the early spring, and make a demonstration upon Sluys.
The effect of this movement, it was thought, would be to draw the enemy
out of his entrenchments, in which case it would be in the power of
Maurice to put an end at once to the siege. It is unquestionable that the
better alternative, in the judgment of the prince, was to take
possession; if possible, of Sluys itself. His preparations were, however,
made with a view to either event, and by the middle of April he had
collected at Willemstad a force of fifteen thousand foot and three
thousand horse. As on the former memorable expedition, he now again
insisted that a considerable deputation of the States and of the States'
council should accompany the army. His brother Henry, and his cousins
Lewis William, Lewis Gunther, and Ernest Casimir, were likewise with him,
as well as the Prince of Anhalt and other distinguished personages.

On the 25th April the army, having crossed the mouth of the West Scheld,
from Zeeland, in numberless vessels of all sizes and degrees, effected
their debarkation on the island of Cadzand.

In the course of two days they had taken possession of the little town,
and all the forts of that island, having made their entrance through what
was called the Black Channel. Had they steered boldly through the Swint
or Sluys channel at once, it is probable that they might have proceeded
straight up to Sluy's, and taken the place by surprise. Maurice's
habitual caution was, perhaps, on this occasion, a disadvantage to him,
but he would have violated the rules of war, and what seemed the dictates
of common sense, had he not secured a basis of operations, and a
possibility of retreat, before plunging with his army into the heart of a
hostile country. The republic still shuddered at the possible catastrophe
of four years before, when circumstances had forced him to take the
heroic but dangerous resolution of sending off his ships from Nieuport.
Before he had completed his arrangements for supplies on the island of
Cadzand, he learned from scouts and reconnoitring parties that Spinola
had sent a thousand infantry, besides five hundred cavalry, under
Trivulzio, to guard the passage across the Swint. Maurice was thus on the
wrong side of the great channel by which Sluy's communicated with the
sea?

The town of Sluy's and its situation have been described in a former
chapter. As a port, it was in those days considered a commodious and
important one, capable of holding five hundred ships. As a town, it was
not so insignificant as geographical and historical changes have since
made it, and was certainly far superior to Ostend, even if Ostend had not
been almost battered out of existence. It had spacious streets and
squares, and excellent fortifications in perfectly good condition. It was
situate in a watery labyrinth, many slender streams from the interior and
several saltwater creeks being complicated around it, and then flowing
leisurely, in one deep sluggish channel, to the sea. The wrath of
Leicester, when all his efforts to relieve the place had been baffled by
the superior skill of Alexander Farnese, has been depicted, and during
the seventeen years which had elapsed since its capture, the republic had
not ceased to deplore that disaster. Obviously if the present expedition
could end in the restoration of Sluy's to its rightful owners, it would
be a remarkable success, even if Ostend should fall. Sluy's and its
adjacent domains formed a natural portion of the Zeeland archipelago, the
geographical counterpart of Flushing. With both branches of the stately
Scheld in its control, the republic would command the coast, and might
even dispense with Ostend, which, in the judgment of Maurice, was an
isolated and therefore not a desirable military possession. The
States-General were of a different opinion. They much desired to obtain
Sluy's, but they would not listen to the abandonment of Ostend. It was
expected of the stadholder, therefore, that he should seize the one and
protect the other. The task was a difficult one. A less mathematical
brain than that of Maurice of Nassau would have reeled at the problem to
be solved. To master such a plexus of canals, estuaries, and dykes, of
passages through swamps, of fords at low water which were obliterated by
flood-tide; to take possession of a series of redoubts built on the only
firm points of land, with nothing but quaking morass over which to
manoeuvre troops or plant batteries against them, would be a difficult
study, even upon paper. To accomplish it in the presence of a vigilant
and anxious foe seemed bewildering enough.

At first it was the intention of the stadholder, disappointed at learning
the occupation of the Swint, to content himself with fortifying Cadzand,
in view of future operations at some more favourable moment? So meagre a
result would certainly not have given great satisfaction to the States,
nor added much to the military reputation of Maurice. While he hesitated
between plunging without a clue into the watery maze around him, and
returning discomfited from the expedition on which such high hopes had
been built, a Flemish boor presented himself. He offered to guide the
army around the east and south of Sluy's, and to point out passages where
it would be possible to cross the waters, which, through the care of
Spinola, now seemed to forbid access to the place. Maurice lingered no
longer. On the 28th April, led by the friendly boor, he advanced towards
Oostburg. Next morning a small force of the enemy's infantry and cavalry
was seen, showing that there must be foothold in that direction. He sent
out a few companies to skirmish with those troops, who fled after a very
brief action, and, in flying, showed their pursuers the road. Maurice
marched in force, straight through the waters, on the track of the
retreating foe. They endeavoured to rally at the fort of Coxie, which
stood upon and commanded a dyke, but the republicans were too quick for
them, and "drove them out of the place." The stadholder, thus obtaining an
unexpected passage into Flanders, conceived strong hopes of success,
despite the broken nature of the ground. Continuing to feel his way
cautiously through the wilderness of quagmire, he soon came upon a very
formidable obstacle. The well-built and well-equipped redoubt of St.
Catharine rose frowning before him, overshadowing his path, and
completely prohibiting all further progress. Plainly it would be
necessary to reduce this work at once, unless he were willing to abandon
his enterprise. He sent back to Cadzand for artillery, but it was
flood-tide, the waters were out, and it was not till late in the
afternoon that nine pieces arrived. The stadholder ordered a cannonade,
less with the hope of producing an impression by such inadequate means on
so strong a work, than with the intention of showing the enemy that he
had brought field-guns with him, and was not merely on an accidental
foray. At the same time, having learned that the garrison, which was
commanded by Trivulzio, was composed of only a few regular troops, and a
large force of guerillas, he gave notice that such combatants were not
entitled to quarter, and that if captured they would be all put to the
sword. The reply to this threat was not evacuation but defiance.
Especially a volunteer ensign mounted upon a rampart, and danced about,
waving his flag gaily in the face of the assailants. Maurice bitterly
remarked to his staff that such a man alone was enough to hold the fort.
As it was obvious that the place would require a siege in form, and that
it would be almost impossible to establish batteries upon that quaking
soil, where there was no dry land for cavalry or artillery to move,
Maurice ordered the nine guns to be carried back to Cadzand that night,
betaking himself, much disappointed, in the same direction. Yet it so
happened that the cannoneers, floundering through the bogs, made such an
outcry--especially when one of their guns became so bemired that it was
difficult for them to escape the disgrace of losing it--that the
garrison, hearing a great tumult, which they could not understand, fell
into one of those panics to which raw and irregular troops are liable.
Nothing would convince them that fresh artillery had not arrived, that
the terrible stadholder with an immense force was not creating invincible
batteries, and that they should be all butchered in cold blood, according
to proclamation, before the dawn of day. They therefore evacuated the
place under cover of the night, so that this absurd accident absolutely
placed Maurice in possession of the very fort--without striking a
blow--which he was about to abandon in despair, and which formed the
first great obstacle to his advance.

Having occupied St. Catharine's, he moved forward to Ysendyke, a strongly
fortified place three leagues to the eastward of Sluys and invested it in
form. Meantime a great danger was impending over him. A force of
well-disciplined troops, to the number of two thousand, dropped down in
boats from Sluy's to Cadzand, for the purpose of surprising the force
left to guard that important place.

The expedition was partially successful. Six hundred landed; beating down
all opposition. But a few Scotch companies held firm, and by hard
fighting were able at last to drive the invaders back to their sloops,
many of which were sunk in the affray, with all on board. The rest
ignominiously retreated. Had the enterprise been as well executed as it
was safely planned, it would have gone hard with the stadholder and his
army. It is difficult to see in what way he could have extricated himself
from such a dilemma, being thus cut off from his supplies and his fleet,
and therefore from all possibility of carrying out his design or
effecting his escape to Zeeland. Certainly thus far, fortune had favoured
his bold adventure.

He now sent his own trumpeter, Master Hans, to summon Ysendyke to a
surrender. The answer was a bullet which went through the head of
unfortunate Master Hans. Maurice, enraged at this barbarous violation of
the laws of war, drew his lines closer. Next day the garrison, numbering
six hundred, mostly Italians, capitulated, and gave up the musketeer who
had murdered the trumpeter.

Two days later the army appeared before Aardenburg, a well-fortified town
four miles south of Sluys. It surrendered disgracefully, without striking
a blow. The place was a most important position for the investment of
Sluys. Four or five miles further towards the west, two nearly parallel
streams, both navigable, called the Sweet and the Salt, ran from Dam to
Sluys. It was a necessary but most delicate operation, to tie up these
two important arteries. An expedition despatched in this direction came
upon Trivulzio with a strong force of cavalry, posted at a pass called
Stamper's Hook, which controlled the first of these streams. The
narrowness of the pathway gave the advantage to the Italian commander. A
warm action took place, in which the republican cavalry were worsted, and
Paul Bax severely wounded. Maurice coming up with the infantry at a
moment when the prospect was very black, turned defeat into victory and
completely routed the enemy, who fled from the precious position with a
loss of five hundred killed and three hundred prisoners, eleven officers
among them. The Sweet was now in the stadholder's possession.

Next day he marched against the Salt, at a pass where fourteen hundred
Spaniards were stationed. Making very ostentatious preparations for an
attack upon this position, he suddenly fell backwards down the stream to
a point which he had discovered to be fordable at low water, and marched
his whole army through the stream while the skirmishing was going on a
few miles farther up. The Spaniards, discovering their error, and fearing
to be cut off, scampered hastily away to Dam. Both streams were now in
the control of the republican army, while the single fort of St. Joris
was all that was now interposed between Maurice and the much-coveted
Swint. This redoubt, armed with nine guns, and provided with a competent,
garrison, was surrendered on the 23rd May.

The Swint, or great sea-channel of Sluys, being now completely in the
possession of the stadholder, he deliberately proceeded to lay out his
lines, to make his entrenched camp, and to invest his city with the
beautiful neatness which ever characterized his sieges. A groan came from
the learned Lipsius, as he looked from the orthodox shades of Louvain
upon the progress of the heretic prince.

"Would that I were happier," he cried, "but things are not going on in
Flanders as I could wish. How easy it would have been to save Sluys,
which we are now trying so hard to do, had we turned our attention
thither in time! But now we have permitted the enemy to entrench and
fortify himself, and we are the less excusable because we know to our
cost how felicitously he fights with the spade, and that he builds works
like an ancient Roman. . . . Should we lose Sluys, which God forbid,
how much strength and encouragement will be acquired by the foe, and by
all who secretly or openly favour him! Our neighbours are all straining
their eyes, as from a watch-tower, eager to see the result of all these
doings. But what if they too should begin to move? Where should we be? I
pray God to have mercy on the Netherlanders, whom He has been so many
years chastising with heavy whips."

It was very true. The man with the spade had been allowed to work too
long at his felicitous vocation. There had been a successful effort made
to introduce reinforcements to the garrison. Troops, to the number of
fifteen hundred, had been added to those already shut up there, but the
attempts to send in supplies were not so fortunate. Maurice had
completely invested the town before the end of May, having undisputed
possession of the harbour and of all the neighbouring country. He was
himself encamped on the west side of the Swint; Charles van der Noot
lying on the south. The submerged meadows, stretching all around in the
vicinity of the haven, he had planted thickly with gunboats. Scarcely a
bird or a fish could go into or out of the place. Thus the stadholder
exhibited to the Spaniards who, fifteen miles off towards the west, had
been pounding and burrowing three years long before Ostend without
success, what he understood by a siege.

On the 22nd of May a day of solemn prayer and fasting was, by command of
Maurice, celebrated throughout the besieging camp. In order that the day
should be strictly kept in penance, mortification, and thanksgiving, it
was ordered, on severe penalties, that neither the commissaries nor
sutlers should dispense any food whatever, throughout the twenty-four
hours. Thus the commander-in-chief of the republic prepared his troops
for the work before them.

In the very last days of May the experiment was once more vigorously
tried to send in supplies. A thousand galley-slaves, the remnant of
Frederic Spinola's unlucky naval forces, whose services were not likely
very soon to be required at sea, were sent out into the drowned land,
accompanied by five hundred infantry. Simultaneously Count Berlaymont, at
the head of four thousand men, conveying a large supply of provisions and
munitions, started from Dam. Maurice, apprised of the adventure, sallied
forth with two thousand troops to meet them. Near Stamper's Hook he came
upon a detachment of Berlaymont's force, routed them, and took a couple
of hundred prisoners. Learning from them that Berlaymont himself, with
the principal part of his force, had passed farther on, he started off in
pursuit; but, unfortunately taking a different path through the watery
wilderness from the one selected by the flying foe, he was not able to
prevent his retreat by a circuitous route to Dam. From the prisoners,
especially from the galley-slaves, who had no reason for disguising the
condition of the place, he now learned that there were plenty of troops
in Sluys, but that there was already a great lack of provisions. They had
lost rather than gained by their success in introducing reinforcements
without supplies. Upon this information Maurice now resolved to sit
quietly down and starve out the garrison. If Spinola, in consequence,
should raise the siege of Ostend, in order to relieve a better town, he
was prepared to give him battle. If the marquis held fast to his special
work, Sluys was sure to surrender. This being the position of affairs,
the deputies of the States-General took their leave of the stadholder,
and returned to the Hague.

Two months passed. It was midsummer, and the famine in the beleaguered
town had become horrible. The same hideous spectacle was exhibited as on
all occasions where thousands of human beings are penned together without
food. They ate dogs, cats, and rats, the weeds from the churchyards, old
saddles, and old shoes, and, when all was gone, they began to eat each
other. The small children diminished rapidly in numbers, while beacons
and signals of distress were fired day and night, that the obdurate
Spinola, only a few miles off, might at last move to their relief.

The archdukes too were beginning to doubt whether the bargain were a good
one. To give a strong, new, well-fortified city, with the best of
harbours, in exchange for a heap of rubbish which had once been Ostend,
seemed unthrifty enough. Moreover, they had not got Ostend, while sure to
lose Sluys. At least the cardinal could no longer afford to dispense with
the service of his beat corps of veterans who had demanded their wages so
insolently, and who had laughed at his offer of excommunication by way of
payment so heartily. Flinging away his pride, he accordingly made a
treaty with the mutinous "squadron" at Grave, granting an entire pardon
for all their offences, and promising full payment of their arrears.
Until funds should be collected sufficient for this purpose, they were to
receive twelve stivers a day each foot-soldier, and twenty-four stivers
each cavalryman, and were to have the city of Roermond in pledge. The
treaty was negotiated by Guerrera, commandant of Ghent citadel, and by
the Archbishop of Roermond, while three distinguished hostages were
placed in the keeping of the mutineers until the contract should be
faithfully executed: Guerrera himself, Count Fontenoy, son of Marquis
d'Havre, and Avalos, commander of a Spanish legion. Thus, after making a
present of the services of these veterans for a twelvemonth to the
stadholder, and after employing a very important portion of his remaining
forces in a vain attempt to reduce their revolt, the archduke had now
been fain to purchase their submission by conceding all their demands. It
would have been better economy perhaps to come to this conclusion at an
earlier day.

It would likewise have been more judicious, according to the lamentations
of Justus Lipsius, had the necessity of saving Sluys been thought of in
time. Now that it was thoroughly enclosed, so that a mouse could scarce
creep through the lines, the archduke was feverish to send in a thousand
wagon loads of provisions. Spinola, although in reality
commander-in-chief of a Spanish army, and not strictly subject to the
orders of the Flemish sovereigns, obeyed the appeal of the archduke, but
he obeyed most reluctantly. Two-thirds of Ostend had been effaced, and it
was hard to turn even for a moment from the spot until all should have
been destroyed.

Leaving Rivas and Bucquoy to guard the entrenchments, and to keep
steadily to the work, Spinola took the field with a large force of all
arms, including the late mutineers and the troops of Count Trivulzio. On
the 8th August he appeared in the neighbourhood of the Salt and Sweet
streams, and exchanged a few cannon-shots with the republicans. Next day
he made a desperate assault with three thousand men and some companies of
cavalry, upon Lewis William's quarters, where he had reason to believe
the lines were weakest. He received from that most vigilant commander a
hearty welcome, however, and after a long skirmish was obliged to
withdraw, carrying off his dead and wounded, together with a few
cart-horses which had been found grazing outside the trenches. Not
satisfied with these trophies or such results, he remained several days
inactive, and then suddenly whirled around Aardenburg with his whole
army, directly southward of Sluys, seized the forts of St. Catharine and
St. Philip, which had been left with very small garrisons, and then made
a furious attempt to break the lines at Oostburg, hoping to cross the
fords at that place, and thus push his way into the isle of Cadzand. The
resistance to his progress was obstinate, the result for a time doubtful.
After severe fighting however he crossed the waters of Oostburg in the
face of the enemy. Maurice meantime had collected all his strength at the
vital position of Cadzand, hoping to deal, or at least to parry, a mortal
blow.

On the 17th, on Cadzand dyke, between two redoubts, Spinola again met
Lewis William, who had been transferred to that important position. A
severe struggle ensued. The Spaniards were in superior force, and Lewis
William, commanding the advance only of the States troops, was hard
pressed. Moving always in the thickest of the fight, he would probably
have that day laid down his life, as so many of his race had done before
in the cause of the republic, had not Colonel van Dorp come to his
rescue, and so laid about him with a great broad sword, that the dyke was
kept until Maurice arrived with Eytzinga's Frisian regiment and other
reserves. Van Dorp then fell covered with wounds. Here was the decisive
combat. The two commanders-in-chief met face to face for the first time,
and could Spinola have gained the position of Cadzand the fate of Maurice
must have been sealed. But all his efforts were vain. The stadholder, by
coolness and promptness, saved the day, and inflicted a bloody repulse
upon the Catholics. Spinola had displayed excellent generalship, but it
is not surprising that the young volunteer should have failed upon his
first great field day to defeat Maurice of Nassau and his cousin Lewis
William. He withdrew discomfited at last, leaving several hundred dead
upon the field, definitely renouncing all hope of relieving Sluys, and
retiring by way of Dam to his camp before Ostend. Next day the town
capitulated.

The garrison were allowed to depart with the honours of war, and the same
terms were accorded to the inhabitants, both in secular and religious
matters, as were usual when Maurice re-occupied any portion of the
republic. Between three and four thousand creatures, looking rather like
ghosts from the churchyards than living soldiers, marched out, with drums
beating, colours displayed, matches lighted, and bullet in mouth. Sixty
of them fell dead before the dismal procession had passed out of the
gates. Besides these troops were nearly fifteen hundred galley-slaves,
even more like shadows than the rest, as they had been regularly sent
forth during the latter days of the siege to browse upon soutenelle in
the submerged meadows, or to drown or starve if unable to find a
sufficient supply of that weed. These unfortunate victims of Mahometan
and Christian tyranny were nearly all Turks, and by the care of the Dutch
Government were sent back by sea to their homes. A few of them entered
the service of the States.

The evacuation of Sluys by Governor Serrano and his garrison was upon the
20th August. Next day the stadholder took possession, bestowing the
nominal government of the place upon his brother Frederic Henry. The
atmosphere, naturally enough, was pestiferous, and young Count Lewis
Gunther of Nassau, who had so brilliantly led the cavalry on the famous
day of Nieuport, died of fever soon after entering the town infinitely
regretted by every one who wished well to the republic.

Thus an important portion of Zeeland was restored, to its natural owners.
A seaport which in those days was an excellent one, and more than a
compensation for the isolated fishing village already beleaguered for
upwards of three years, had been captured in three months. The
States-General congratulated their stadholder on such prompt and
efficient work, while the garrison of Ostend, first learning the
authentic news seven days afterwards, although at a distance of only
fourteen miles, had cause to go upon their knees and sing praises to the
Most High.

The question now arose as to the relief of Ostend. Maurice was decidedly
opposed to any such scheme. He had got a better Ostend in Slays, and he
saw no motive for spending money and blood in any further attempt to gain
possession of a ruin, which, even if conquered, could only with extreme
difficulty be held. The States were of a diametrically opposite opinion.
They insisted that the stadholder, so soon he could complete his
preparations, should march straight upon Spinola's works and break up the
siege, even at the risk of a general action. They were willing once more
to take the terrible chance of a defeat in Flanders. Maurice, with a
heavy heart, bowed to their decision, showing by his conduct the very
spirit of a republican soldier, obeying the civil magistrate, even when
that obedience was like to bring disaster upon the commonwealth. But much
was to be done before he could undertake this new adventure.

Meantime the garrison in Ostend were at their last gasp. On being asked
by the States-General whether it was possible to hold out for twenty days
longer, Marquette called a council of officers, who decided that they
would do their best, but that it was impossible to fix a day or hour when
resistance must cease. Obviously, however, the siege was in its extreme
old age. The inevitable end was approaching.

Before the middle of September the enemy was thoroughly established in
possession of the new Hell's Mouth, the new Porcupine, and all the other
bastions of the new entrenchment. On the 13th of that month the last
supreme effort was made, and the Sand Hill, that all-important redoubt,
which during these three dismal years had triumphantly resisted every
assault, was at last carried by storm. The enemy had now gained
possession of the whole town except Little Troy. The new harbour would be
theirs in a few hours, and as for Troy itself, those hastily and flimsily
constructed ramparts were not likely to justify the vaunts uttered when
they were thrown up nor to hold out many minutes before the whole
artillery of Spinola. Plainly on this last morsel of the fatal sandbank
the word surrender must be spoken, unless the advancing trumpets of
Maurice should now be heard. But there was no such welcome sound in the
air. The weather was so persistently rainy and stormy that the roads
became impassable, and Maurice, although ready and intending to march
towards Spinola to offer him battle, was unable for some days to move.
Meantime a council, summoned by Marquette, of all the officers, decided
that Ostend must be abandoned now that Ostend had ceased to exist.

On the 20th September the Accord was signed with Spinola. The garrison
were to march out with their arms. They were to carry off four cannon but
no powder. All clerical persons were to leave the place, with their goods
and chattels. All prisoners taken on both sides during the siege were to
be released. Burghers, sutlers, and others, to go whither they would,
undisturbed. And thus the archdukes, after three years and seventy-seven
days of siege, obtained their prize. Three thousand men, in good health,
marched out of little Troy with the honours of war. The officers were
entertained by Spinola and his comrades at a magnificent banquet, in
recognition of the unexampled heroism with which the town had been
defended. Subsequently the whole force marched to the headquarters of the
States' army in and about Sluys. They were received by Prince Maurice,
who stood bareheaded and surrounded by his most distinguished officers;
to greet them and to shake them warmly by the hand. Surely no defeated
garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe.

The Archduke Albert and the Infants Isabella entered the place in
triumph, if triumph it could be called. It would be difficult to imagine
a more desolate scene. The artillery of the first years of the
seventeenth century was not the terrible enginry of destruction that it
has become in the last third of the nineteenth, but a cannonade,
continued so steadily and so long, had done its work. There were no
churches, no houses, no redoubts, no bastions, no walls, nothing but a
vague and confused mass of ruin. Spinola conducted his imperial guests
along the edge of extinct volcanoes, amid upturned cemeteries, through
quagmires which once were moats, over huge mounds of sand, and vast
shapeless masses of bricks and masonry, which had been forts. He
endeavoured to point out places where mines had been exploded, where
ravelins had been stormed, where the assailants had been successful, and
where they had been bloodily repulsed. But it was all loathsome, hideous
rubbish. There were no human habitations, no hovels, no casemates. The
inhabitants had burrowed at last in the earth, like the dumb creatures of
the swamps and forests. In every direction the dykes had burst, and the
sullen wash of the liberated waves, bearing hither and thither the
floating wreck of fascines and machinery, of planks and building
materials, sounded far and wide over what should have been dry land. The
great ship channel, with the unconquered Half-moon upon one side and the
incomplete batteries and platforms of Bucquoy on the other, still
defiantly opened its passage to the sea, and the retiring fleets of the
garrison were white in the offing. All around was the grey expanse of
stormy ocean, without a cape or a headland to break its monotony, as the
surges rolled mournfully in upon a desolation more dreary than their own.
The atmosphere was mirky and surcharged with rain, for the wild
equinoctial storm which had held Maurice spell-bound had been raging over
land and sea for many days. At every step the unburied skulls of brave
soldiers who had died in the cause of freedom grinned their welcome to
the conquerors. Isabella wept at the sight. She had cause to weep. Upon
that miserable sandbank more than a hundred thousand men had laid down
their lives by her decree, in order that she and her husband might at
last take possession of a most barren prize. This insignificant fragment
of a sovereignty which her wicked old father had presented to her on his
deathbed--a sovereignty which he had no more moral right or actual power
to confer than if it had been in the planet Saturn--had at last been
appropriated at the cost of all this misery. It was of no great value,
although its acquisition had caused the expenditure of at least eight
millions of florins, divided in nearly equal proportions between the two
belligerents. It was in vain that great immunities were offered to those
who would remain, or who would consent to settle in the foul Golgotha.
The original population left the place in mass. No human creatures were
left save the wife of a freebooter and her paramour, a journeyman
blacksmith. This unsavoury couple, to whom entrance into the purer
atmosphere of Zeeland was denied, thenceforth shared with the carrion
crows the amenities of Ostend.



CHAPTER XLIV.

   Equation between the contending powers--Treaty of peace between King
   James and the archdukes and the King of Spain--Position of the
   Provinces--States envoy in England to be styled ambassador--Protest
   of the Spanish ambassador--Effect of James's peace-treaty on the
   people of England--Public rejoicings for the victory at Sluys--
   Spinola appointed commander-in-chief of the Spanish forces--
   Preparations for a campaign against the States--Seizure of Dutch
   cruisers--International discord--Destruction of Sarmiento's fleet by
   Admiral Haultain--Projected enterprise against Antwerp--Descent of
   Spinola on the Netherland frontier--Oldenzaal and Lingen taken--
   Movements of Prince Maurice--Encounter of the two armies--Panic of
   the Netherlanders--Consequent loss and disgrace--Wachtendonk and
   Cracow taken by Spinola--Spinola's reception in Spain--Effect of his
   victories--Results of the struggle between Freedom and Absolutism--
   Affairs in the East--Amboyna taken by Van der Hagen--Contest for
   possession of the Clove Islands--Commercial treaty between the
   States and the King of Ternate--Hostilities between the Kings of
   Ternate and Tydor--Expulsion of the Portuguese from the Moluccas--
   Du Terrail's attempted assault on Bergen-op-Zoom--Attack on the
   Dunkirk pirate fleet--Practice of executing prisoners captured at
   sea.

I have invited the reader's attention to the details of this famous siege
because it was not an episode, but almost the sum total, of the great war
during the period occupied by its events. The equation between the
contending forces indicated the necessity of peace. That equation seemed
for the time to have established itself over all Europe. France had long
since withdrawn from the actual strife, and kept its idle thunders in a
concealed although ever threatening hand. In the East the Pacha of Buda
had become Pacha of Pest. Even Gran was soon to fall before the Turk,
whose advancing horse-tails might thus almost be descried from the walls
of Vienna. Stephen Botschkay meantime had made himself master of
Transylvania, concluded peace with Ahmet, and laughed at the Emperor
Rudolph for denouncing him as a rebel.

Between Spain and England a far different result had been reached than
the one foreshadowed in the portentous colloquies between King James and
Maximilian de Bethune. Those conferences have been purposely described
with some minuteness, in order that the difference often existing between
vast projects and diametrically opposed and very insignificant
conclusions might once more be exhibited.

In the summer of 1603 it had been firmly but mysteriously arranged
between the monarchs of France and Great Britain that the House of
Austria should be crushed, its territories parcelled out at the
discretion of those two potentates, the imperial crown taken from the
Habsburgs, the Spaniards driven out of the Netherlands, an alliance
offensive and defensive made with the Dutch republic, while the East and
West Indies were, to be wrested by main force of the allies, from Spain,
whose subjects were thenceforth to be for ever excluded from those
lucrative regions. As for the Jesuits, who were to James as loathsome as
were the Puritans to Elizabeth, the British sovereign had implored the
ambassador of his royal brother, almost with tears, never to allow that
pestilential brood to regain an entrance into his dominions.

In the summer of 1604 King James made a treaty of peace and amity with
the archdukes and with the monarch of Spain, thus extending his friendly
relations with the doomed house of Austria. The republic of the
Netherlands was left to fight her battles alone; her imaginary allies
looking down upon her struggle with benevolent indifference. As for the
Indies, not a syllable of allusion in the treaty was permitted by Spain
to that sacred subject; the ambassador informing the British Government
that he gave them access to twelve kingdoms and two seas, while Spain
acquired by the treaty access only to two kingdoms and one sea. The new
world, however, east or west, from the Antilles to the Moluccas, was the
private and indefeasible property of his Catholic Majesty. On religious
matters, it was agreed that English residents in Spain should not be
compelled to go to mass, but that they should kneel in the street to the
Host unless they could get out of the ways. In regard to the Netherlands,
it was agreed by the two contracting powers that one should never assist
the rebels or enemies of the other. With regard to the cities and
fortresses of Brill, Flushing, Rammekens, and other cautionary places,
where English garrisons were maintained, and which King James was bound
according to the contracts of Queen Elizabeth never to restore except to
those who had pledged them to the English crown--the king would uphold
those contracts. He would, however, endeavour to make an arrangement with
the States by which they should agree within a certain period to make
their peace with Spain. Should they refuse or fail, he would then
consider himself liberated from these previous engagements and free to
act concerning those cities in an honourable and reasonable manner, as
became a friendly king? Meantime the garrisons should not in any way
assist the Hollanders in their hostilities with Spain. English subjects
were forbidden to carry into Spain or the obedient Netherlands any
property or merchandize belonging to the Hollanders, or to make use of
Dutch vessels in their trade with Spain. Both parties agreed to do their
best to bring about a pacification in the Netherlands.

No irony certainly could be more exquisite that this last-named article.
This was the end of that magnificent conception, the great Anglo-French
League against the house of Austria. King James would combine his efforts
with King Philip to pacify the Netherlands. The wolf and the watchdog
would unite to bring back the erring flock to the fold. Meantime James
would keep the cautionary towns in his clutches, not permitting their
garrisons or any of his subjects to assist the rebels on sea or shore. As
for the Jesuits, their triumphant re-appearance in France, and the
demolition of the pyramid raised to their dishonour on the site of the
house where John Castel, who had stabbed Henry IV., had resided, were
events about to mark the opening year. Plainly enough Secretary Cecil had
out-generalled the French party.

The secret treaty of Hampton Court, the result of the efforts of Rosny
and Olden-Barneveld in July of the previous year, was not likely to be of
much service in protecting the republic. James meant to let the dead
treaties bury their dead, to live in peace with all the world, and to
marry his sons and daughters to Spanish Infantes and Infantas. Meantime,
although he had sheathed the sword which Elizabeth had drawn against the
common enemy, and had no idea of fighting or spending money for the
States, he was willing that their diplomatic agent should be called
ambassador. The faithful and much experienced Noel de Caron coveted that
distinction, and moved thereby the spleen of Henry's envoy at the Hague,
Buzanval, who probably would not have objected to the title himself.
"'Twill be a folly," he said, "for him to present himself on the pavement
as a prancing steed, and then be treated like a poor hack. He has been
too long employed to put himself in such a plight. But there are lunatics
everywhere and of all ages."

Never had the Advocate seemed so much discouraged. Ostend had fallen, and
the defection of the British sovereign was an off-set for the conquest of
Sluys. He was more urgent with the French Government for assistance than
he had ever been before. "A million florins a year from France," he said
"joined to two millions raised in the provinces, would enable them to
carry on the war. The ship was in good condition," he added, "and fit for
a long navigation without danger of shipwreck if there were only biscuit
enough on board." Otherwise she was lost. Before that time came he should
quit the helm which he had been holding the more resolutely since the
peace of Vervins because the king had told him, when concluding it, that
if three years' respite should be given him he would enter into the game
afresh, and take again upon his shoulders the burthen which inevitable
necessity had made him throw down. "But," added Olden-Barneveld,
bitterly, "there is little hope of it now, after his neglect of the many
admirable occasions during the siege of Ostend."

So soon as the Spanish ambassador learned that Caron was to be accepted
into the same diplomatic rank as his own, he made an infinite
disturbance, protested moat loudly and passionately to the king at the
indignity done to his master by this concession to the representative of
a crew of traitors and rebels, and demanded in the name of the treaty
just concluded that Caron should be excluded in such capacity from all
access to court.

As James was nearly forty years of age, as the Hollanders had been rebels
ever since he was born, and as the King of Spain had exercised no
sovereignty over them within his memory, this was naturally asking too
much of him in the name of his new-born alliance with Spain. So he
assumed a position of great dignity, notwithstanding the Constable's
clamour, and declared his purpose to give audience to the agents of the
States by whatever title they presented themselves before him. In so
doing he followed the example, he said, of others who (a strange
admission on his part) were as wise as himself. It was not for him to
censure the crimes and faults of the States, if such they had committed.
He had not been the cause of their revolt from Spanish authority, and it
was quite sufficient that he had stipulated to maintain neutrality
between the two belligerents's. And with this the ambassador of his
Catholic Majesty, having obtained the substance of a very advantageous
treaty, was fain to abandon opposition to the shadowy title by which
James sought to indemnify the republic for his perfidy.

The treaty of peace with Spain gave no pleasure to the English public.
There was immense enthusiasm in London at the almost simultaneous fall of
Sluys, but it was impossible for the court to bring about a popular
demonstration of sympathy with the abandonment of the old ally and the
new-born affection for the ancient enemy. "I can assure your
mightinesses," wrote Caron, "that no promulgation was ever received in
London with more sadness. No mortal has shown the least satisfaction in
words or deeds, but, on the contrary, people have cried out openly, 'God
save our good neighbours the States of Holland and Zeeland, and grant
them victory!' On Sunday, almost all the preachers gave thanks from their
pulpits for the victory which their good neighbours had gained at Sluys,
but would not say a word about the peace. The people were admonished to
make bonfires, but you may be very sure not a bonfire was to be seen.
But, in honour of the victory, all the vessels in St. Catharine's Docks
fired salutes at which the Spaniards were like to burst with spite. The
English clap their hands and throw their caps in the air when they hear
anything published favourable to us, but, it must be confessed, they are
now taking very dismal views of affairs. 'Vox populi vox Dei.'"

The rejoicing in Paris was scarcely less enthusiastic or apparently less
sincere than in London. "The news of the surrender of Sluys," wrote
Aerasens, "is received with so much joy by small and great that one would
have said it was their own exploit. His Majesty has made such
demonstrations in his actions and discourse that he has not only been
advised by his council to dissemble in the matter, but has undergone
reproaches from the pope's nuncius of having made a league with your
Mightinesses to the prejudice of the King of Spain. His Majesty wishes
your Mightinesses prosperity with all his heart, yea so that he would
rather lose his right arm than see your Mightinesses in danger. Be
assured that he means roundly, and we should pray God for his long life;
for I don't see that we can expect anything from these regions after his
death."

It was ere long to be seen, however, roundly as the king meant it, that
the republic was to come into grave peril without causing him to lose his
right arm, or even to wag his finger, save in reproach of their
Mightinesses.

The republic, being thus left to fight its battles alone, girded its
loins anew for the conflict. During the remainder of the year 1604,
however, there were no military operations of consequence. Both
belligerents needed a brief repose.

The siege of Ostend had not been a siege. It was a long pitched battle
between the new system and the old, between absolutism and the spirit of
religious, political and mercantile freedom. Absolutism had gained the
lists on which the long duel had been fought, but the republic had
meantime exchanged that war-blasted spot for a valuable and commodious
position.

It was certainly an advantage, as hostilities were necessarily to have
continued somewhere during all that period, that all the bloodshed and
desolation had been concentrated upon one insignificant locality, and one
more contiguous to the enemy's possessions than to those of the united
States. It was very doubtful, however, whether all that money and blood
might not have been expended in some other manner more beneficial to the
cause of the archdukes. At least it could hardly be maintained that they
took anything by the capitulation of Ostend but the most barren and
worthless of trophies. Eleven old guns, partly broken, and a small
quantity of ammunition, were all the spoils of war found in the city
after its surrender.

The Marquis Spinola went to Spain. On passing through Paris he was
received with immense enthusiasm by Henry IV., whose friendship for the
States, and whose desperate designs against the house of Austria, did not
prevent him from warmly congratulating the great Spanish general on his
victory. It was a victory, said Henry, which he could himself have never
achieved, and, in recognition of so great a triumph, he presented Spinola
with a beautiful Thracian horse, valued at twelve hundred ducats.
Arriving in Spain, the conqueror found himself at once the object of the
open applause and the scarcely concealed hatred of the courtiers and
politicians. He ardently desired to receive as his guerdon the rank of
grandee of Spain. He met with a refusal. To keep his hat on his head in
presence of the sovereign was the highest possible reward. Should that be
bestowed upon him now, urged Lerma, what possible recompense could be
imagined for the great services which all felt confident that he was
about to render in the future? He must continue to remove his hat in the
monarch's company. Meantime, if he wished the title of prince, with
considerable revenues attached to his principality, this was at his
disposal. It must be confessed that in a monarchy where the sentiment of
honour was supposed to be the foundation of the whole structure there is
something chivalrous and stimulating to the imagination in this
preference by the great general of a shadowy but rare distinction to more
substantial acquisitions. Nevertheless, as the grandeeship was refused,
it is not recorded that he was displeased with the principality. Meantime
there was a very busy intrigue to deprive him of the command-in-chief of
the Catholic forces in Flanders, and one so nearly successful that Mexia,
governor of Antwerp citadel, was actually appointed in Spinola's stead.
It was only after long and anxious conferences at Valladolid with the
king and the Duke of Lerma, and after repeated statements in letters from
the archdukes that all their hopes of victory depended on retaining the
Genoese commander-in-chief, that the matter was finally arranged. Mexia
received an annual pension of eight thousand ducats, and to Spinola was
assigned five hundred ducats monthly, as commander-in-chief under the
archduke, with an equal salary as agent for the king's affairs in
Flanders.

Early in the spring he returned to Brussels, having made fresh
preparations for the new campaign in which he was to measure himself
before the world against Maurice of Nassau.

Spinola had removed the thorn from the Belgic lion's foot: "Ostendae
erasit fatalis Spinola spinam." And although it may be doubted whether
the relief was as thorough as had been hoped, yet a freedom of movement
had unquestionably been gained. There was now at least what for a long
time had not existed, a possibility for imagining some new and perhaps
more effective course of campaigning.  The young Genoese
commander-in-chief returned from Spain early in May, with the Golden
Fleece around his neck, and with full powers from the Catholic king to
lay out his work, subject only to the approbation of the archduke. It was
not probable that Albert, who now thoroughly admired and leaned upon the
man of whom he had for a time been disposed to be jealous, would
interfere with his liberty of action. There had also been--thanks to
Spinola's influence with the cabinet at Madrid and the merchants of
Genoa--much more energy in recruiting and in providing the necessary
sinews of war. Moreover it had been resolved to make the experiment of
sending some of the new levies by sea, instead of subjecting them all to
the long and painful overland march through Spain, Italy, and Germany. A
terzo of infantry was on its way from Naples, and two more were expected
from Milan, but it was decided that the Spanish troops should be embarked
on board a fleet of transports, mainly German and English, and thus
carried to the shores of the obedient Netherlands.

The States-General got wind of these intentions, and set Vice-Admiral
Haultain upon the watch to defeat the scheme. That well-seasoned mariner
accordingly, with a sufficient fleet of war-galleots, cruised thenceforth
with great assiduity in the chops of the channel. Already the late treaty
between Spain and England had borne fruits of bitterness to the republic.
The Spanish policy had for the time completely triumphed in the council
of James. It was not surprising therefore that the partisans of that
policy should occasionally indulge in manifestations of malevolence
towards the upstart little commonwealth which had presumed to enter into
commercial rivalry with the British realm, and to assert a place among
the nations of the earth. An order had just been issued by the English
Government that none of its subjects should engage in the naval service
of any foreign power. This decree was a kind of corollary to the Spanish
treaty, was levelled directly against the Hollanders, and became the
pretext of intolerable arrogance, both towards their merchantmen and
their lesser war-vessels. Admiral Monson, an especial partisan of Spain,
was indefatigable in exercising the right he claimed of visiting foreign
vessels off the English coast, in search of English sailors violating the
proclamation of neutrality. On repeated occasions prizes taken by Dutch
cruisers from the Spaniards, and making their way with small prize crews
to the ports of the republic, were overhauled, visited, and seized by the
English admiral, who brought the vessels into the harbours of his own
country, liberated the crews, and handed ships and cargoes over to the
Spanish ambassador. Thus prizes fairly gained by nautical skill and hard
fighting, off Spain, Portugal, Brazil, or even more distant parts of the
world, were confiscated almost in sight of port, in utter disregard of
public law or international decency. The States-General remonstrated with
bitterness. Their remonstrances were answered by copious arguments,
proving, of course, to the entire satisfaction of the party who had done
the wrong, that no practice could be more completely in harmony with
reason and justice. Meantime the Spanish ambassador sold the prizes, and
appropriated the proceeds towards carrying on the war against the
republic; the Dutch sailors, thus set ashore against their will and
against law on the neutral coast of England, being left to get home as
they could, or to starve if they could do no better. As for the States,
they had the legal arguments of their late ally to console them for the
loss of their ships.

Simultaneously with these events considerable levies of troops were made
in England by the archduke, in spite of all the efforts of the Dutch
ambassador to prevent this one-sided; neutrality, while at the other ends
of the world mercantile jealousy in both the Indies was fast combining
with other causes already rife to increase the international discord. Out
of all this fuel it was fated that a blaze of hatred between the two
leading powers of the new era, the United Kingdom and the United
Republic, should one day burst forth, which was to be fanned by passion,
prejudice, and a mistaken sentiment of patriotism and self-interest on
both sides, and which not all the bloodshed of more than one fierce war
could quench. The traces of this savage sentiment are burnt deeply into
the literature, language, and traditions of both countries; and it is
strange enough that the epoch at which chronic wrangling and
international coolness changed into furious antipathy between the two
great Protestant powers of Europe--for great they already both were,
despite the paucity of their population and resources, as compared with
nations which were less influenced by the spirit of the age or had less
aptness in obeying its impulse--should be dated from the famous year of
Guy Fawkes.

Meantime the Spanish troops, embarked in eight merchant ships and a few
pinnaces, were slowly approaching their destination. They had been
instructed, in case they found it impracticable to enter a Flemish port,
to make for the hospitable shores of England, the Spanish ambassador and
those whom he had bribed at the court of James having already provided
for their protection. Off Dover Admiral Haultain got sight of Sarmiento's
little fleet. He made short work with it. Faithfully carrying out the
strenuous orders of the States-General, he captured some of the ships,
burned one, and ran others aground after a very brief resistance. Some of
the soldiers and crews were picked up by English vessels cruising in the
neighbourhood and narrowly watching the conflict. A few stragglers
escaped by swimming, but by far, the greater proportion of the
newly-arrived troops were taken prisoners, tied together two and two, and
then, at a given signal from the admiral's ship, tossed into the sea.

Not Peter Titelmann, nor Julian Romero, nor the Duke of Alva himself,
ever manifested greater alacrity in wholesale murder than was shown by
this admiral of the young republic in fulfilling the savage decrees of
the States-General.

Thus at least one-half of the legion perished. The pursuit of the ships
was continued within English waters, when the guns of Dover Castle opened
vigorously upon the recent allies of England, in order to protect her
newly-found friends in their sore distress. Doubtless in the fervour of
the work the Dutch admiral had violated the neutral coast of England, so
that the cannonade from the castle waw technically justified. It was
however a biting satire upon the proposed Protestant league against Spain
and universal monarchy in behalf of the Dutch republic, that England was
already doing her best to save a Spanish legion and to sink a Dutch
fleet. The infraction of English sovereignty was unquestionable if judged
by the more scrupulous theory of modern days, but it was well remarked by
the States-General, in answer to the remonstrances of James's Government,
that the Dutch admiral, knowing that the pirates of Dunkirk roamed at
will through English waters in search of their prey, might have hoped for
some indulgence of a similar character to the ships of the republic.

Thus nearly the whole of the Spanish legion perished. The soldiers who
escaped to the English coast passed the winter miserably in huts, which
they were allowed to construct on the sands, but nearly all, including
the lieutenant-colonel commanding, Pedro Cubiera, died of famine or of
wounds.  A few small vessels of the expedition succeeded in reaching the
Flemish coast, and landing a slight portion of the terzo.

The campaign of 1605 opened but languidly. The strain upon the resources
of the Netherlands, thus unaided, was becoming severe, although there is
no doubt that, as the India traffic slowly developed itself, the
productive force of the commonwealth visibly increased, while the thrifty
habits of its citizens, and their comparative abstinence from
unproductive consumption, still enabled it to bear the tremendous burthen
of the war. A new branch of domestic industry had grown out of the India
trade, great quantities of raw silk being now annually imported from the
East into Holland, to be wrought into brocades, tapestries, damasks,
velvets, satins, and other luxurious fabrics for European consumption.

It is a curious phenomenon in the history of industry that while at this
epoch Holland was the chief seat of silk manufactures, the great
financier of Henry IV. was congratulating his sovereign and himself that
natural causes had for ever prevented the culture or manufacture of silk
in France. If such an industry were possible, he was sure that the
decline of martial spirit in France and an eternal dearth of good French
soldiers would be inevitable, and he even urged that the importation of
such luxurious fabrics should be sternly prohibited, in order to preserve
the moral health of the people. The practical Hollanders were more
inclined to leave silk farthingales and brocaded petticoats to be dealt
with by thunderers from the pulpit or indignant fathers of families.
Meantime the States-General felt instinctively that the little
commonwealth grew richer, the more useful or agreeable things its
burghers could call into existence out of nothingness, to be exchanged
for the powder and bullets, timber and cordage, requisite for its eternal
fight with universal monarchy, and that the richer the burghers grew the
more capable they were of paying their taxes. It was not the fault of the
States that the insane ambition of Spain and the archdukes compelled them
to exhaust themselves annually by the most unproductive consumption that
man is ever likely to devise, that of scientifically slaughtering his
brethren, because to practise economy in that regard would be to cease to
exist, or to accept the most intolerable form of slavery.

The forces put into the field in the spring of 1605 were but meagre.
There was also, as usual, much difference of opinion between Maurice and
Barneveld as to the most judicious manner of employing them, and as usual
the docile stadholder submitted his better judgment to the States. It can
hardly be too much insisted upon that the high-born Maurice always
deported himself in fact, and as it were unconsciously, as the citizen
soldier of a little republic, even while personally invested with many of
the attributes of exalted rank, and even while regarded by many of his
leading fellow-citizens as the legitimate and predestined sovereign of
the newly-born state.

Early in the spring a great enterprise against Antwerp was projected. It
failed utterly. Maurice, at Bergen-op-Zoom, despatched seven thousand
troops up the Scheld, under command of Ernest Casimir. The flotilla was a
long time getting under weigh, and instead of effecting a surprise, the
army, on reaching the walls of Antwerp, found the burghers and garrison
not in the least astonished, but on the contrary entirely prepared.
Ernest returned after a few insignificant skirmishes, having accomplished
nothing.

Maurice next spent a few days in reducing the castle of Wouda, not far
from Bergen, and then, transporting his army once more to the isle of
Cadzand, he established his headquarters at Watervliet, near Ysendyke.
Spinola followed him, having thrown a bridge across the Scheld. Maurice
was disposed to reduce a fort, well called Patience, lying over against
the isle of Walcheren. Spinola took up a position by which he defended
the place as with an impenetrable buckler. A game of skill now began.
between these two adepts in the art of war, for already the volunteer had
taken rank among the highest professors of the new school. It was the
object of Maurice, who knew himself on the whole outnumbered, to divine
his adversary's intentions. Spinola was supposed to be aiming at Sluys,
at Grave, at Bergen-op-Zoom, possibly even at some more remote city, like
Rheinberg, while rumours as to his designs, flying directly from his
camp, were as thick as birds in the air. They were let loose on purpose
by the artful Genoese, who all the time had a distinct and definite plan
which was not yet suspected. The dilatoriness of the campaign was
exasperating. It might be thought that the war was to last another half
century, from the excessive inertness of both parties. The armies had all
gone into winter quarters in the previous November, Spinola had spent
nearly six months in Spain, midsummer had came and gone, and still
Maurice was at Watervliet, guessing at his adversary's first move. On the
whole, he had inclined to suspect a design upon Rheinberg, and had
accordingly sent his brother Henry with a detachment to strengthen the
garrison of that place. On the 1st of August however he learned that
Spinola had crossed the Meuse and the Rhine, with ten thousand foot and
three thousand horse, and that leaving Count Bucquoy with six thousand
foot and one thousand five hundred horse in the neighbourhood of the
Rhine, to guard a couple of redoubts which had been constructed for a
basis at Kaiserswerth, he was marching with all possible despatch towards
Friesland and Groningen.

The Catholic general had concealed his design in a masterly manner. He
had detained Maurice in the isle of Cadzand, the States still dreaming of
a victorious invasion on their part of obedient Flanders, and the
stadholder hesitating to quit his position of inactive observation, lest
the moment his back was turned the rapid Spinola might whirl down upon
Sluys, that most precious and skilfully acquired possession of the
republic, when lo! his formidable antagonist was marching in force upon
what the prince well knew to be her most important and least guarded
frontier.

On the 8th August the Catholic general was before Olden-zaal which he
took in three days, and then advanced to Lingen. Should that place
fall--and the city was known to be most inadequately garrisoned and
supplied--it would be easy for the foe to reduce Coeworden, and so seize
the famous pass over the Bourtanger Morass, march straight to
Embden--then in a state of municipal revolution on account of the chronic
feuds between its counts and the population, and therefore an easy
prey--after which all Friesland and Groningen would be at his mercy, and
his road open to Holland and Utrecht; in short, into the very bowels of
the republic.

On the 4th August Maurice broke up his camp in Flanders, and leaving five
thousand men under Colonel Van der Noot, to guard the positions there,
advanced rapidly to Deventer, with the intention of saving Lingen. It was
too late. That very important place had been culpably neglected. The
garrison consisted of but one cannoneer, and he had but one arm. A
burgher guard, numbering about three hundred, made such resistance as
they could, and the one-armed warrior fired a shot or two from a rusty
old demi-cannon. Such opposition to the accomplished Italian was
naturally not very effective. On the 18th August the place capitulated.
Maurice, arriving at Deventer, and being now strengthened by his cousin
Lewis William with such garrison troops as could be collected, learned
the mortifying news with sentiments almost akin to despair. It was now to
be a race for Coeworden, and the fleet-footed Spinola was a day's march
at least in advance of his competitor. The key to the fatal morass would
soon be in his hands. To the inexpressible joy of the stadholder, the
Genoese seemed suddenly struck with blindness. The prize was almost in
his hands and he threw away all his advantages. Instead of darting at
once upon Coeworden he paused for nearly a month, during which period he
seemed intoxicated with a success so rapidly achieved, and especially
with his adroitness in outwitting the great stadholder. On the 14th
September he made a retrograde movement towards the Rhine, leaving two
thousand five hundred men in Lingen. Maurice, giving profound thanks to
God for his enemy's infatuation, passed by Lingen, and having now, with
his cousin's reinforcements, a force of nine thousand foot and three
thousand horse, threw himself into Coeworden, strengthened and garrisoned
that vital fortress which Spinola would perhaps have taken as easily as
he had done Lingen, made all the neighbouring positions secure, and then
fell back towards Wesel on the Rhine, in order to watch his antagonist.
Spinola had established his headquarters at Ruhrort, a place where the
river Ruhr empties into the Rhine. He had yielded to the remonstrances of
the Archbishop of Cologne, to whom Kaiserwerth belonged, and had
abandoned the forts which Bucquoy, under his directions, had constructed
at that place.

The two armies now gazed at each other, at a respectful distance, for a
fortnight longer, neither commander apparently having any very definite
purpose. At last, Maurice having well reconnoitred his enemy, perceived a
weak point in his extended lines. A considerable force of Italian
cavalry, with some infantry, was stationed at the village of Mulheim, on
the Ruhr, and apparently out of convenient supporting distance from
Spinola's main army. The stadholder determined to deliver a sudden blow
upon this tender spot, break through the lines, and bring on a general
action by surprise. Assembling his well-seasoned and veteran troopers in
force, he divided them into two formidable bands, one under the charge of
his young brother Frederic Henry, the other under that most brilliant of
cavalry officers, Marcellus Bax, hero of Turnhout and many another
well-fought field.

The river Ruhr was a wide but desultory stream, easily fordable in many
places. On the opposite bank to Mulheim was the Castle of Brock, and some
hills of considerable elevation. Bax was ordered to cross the river and
seize the castle and the heights, Count Henry to attack the enemy's camp
in front, while Maurice himself, following rapidly with the advance of
infantry and wagons, was to sustain the assault.

Marcellus Bax, rapid and dashing as usual, crossed the Ruhr, captured
Broek Castle with ease, and stood ready to prevent the retreat of the
Spaniards. Taken by surprise in front, they would naturally seek refuge
on the other side of the river. That stream was not difficult for
infantry, but as the banks were steep, cavalry could not easily extricate
themselves from the water, except at certain prepared landings. Bax
waited however for some time in vain for the flying Spaniards. It was not
destined that the stadholder should effect many surprises that year. The
troopers under Frederic Henry had made their approaches through an
intricate path, often missing their way, and in far more leisurely
fashion than was intended, so that outlying scouts had brought in
information of the coming attack. As Count Henry approached the village,
Trivulzio's cavalry was found drawn up in battle array, formidable in
numbers, and most fully prepared for their visitors from Wesel. The party
most astonished was that which came to surprise. In an instant one of
those uncontrollable panics broke out to which even veterans are as
subject as to dysentery or scurvy. The best cavalry of Maurice's army
turned their backs at the very sight of the foe, and galloped off much
faster than they had come.

Meantime, Marcellus Bax was assaulted, not only by his late handful of
antagonists, who had now rallied, but by troops from Mulheim, who began
to wade across the stream. At that moment he was cheered by the sight of
Count Henry coming on with a very few of his troopers who had stood to
their colours. A simultaneous charge from both banks at the enemy
floundering in the river was attempted. It might have been brilliantly
successful, but the panic had crossed the river faster than the Spaniards
could do, and the whole splendid picked cavalry force of the republic,
commanded by the youngest son of William the Silent, and by the favourite
cavalry commander of her armies, was, after a hot but brief action, in
disgraceful and unreasonable flight. The stadholder reached the bank of
that fatal stream only to witness this maddening spectacle, instead of
the swift and brilliant triumph which he was justified in expecting. He
did his best to stem the retreating tide. He called upon the veterans, by
the memory of Turnhout and Nieuport, and so many other victories, to
pause and redeem their name before it was too late. He taunted them with
their frequent demands to be led to battle, and their expressed
impatience at enforced idleness. He denounced them as valiant only for
plundering defenceless peasants, and as cowards against armed men; as
trusting more to their horses' heels than to their own right hands. He
invoked curses upon them for deserting his young brother, who,
conspicuous among them by his gilded armour, the orange-plumes upon his
calque, and the bright orange-scarf across his shoulders, was now sorely
pressed in the struggling throng.

It was all in vain. Could Maurice have thrown himself into the field, he
might, as in the crisis of the republic's fate at Nieuport, have once
more converted ruin into victory by the magic of his presence. But the
river was between him and the battle, and he was an enforced spectator of
his country's disgrace.

For a few brief moments his demeanour, his taunts, and his supplications
had checked the flight of his troops.

A stand was made by a portion of the cavalry and a few detached but
fierce combats took place. Count Frederic Henry was in imminent danger.
Leading a mere handful of his immediate retainers, he threw himself into
the thickest of the fight, with the characteristic audacity of his house.
A Spanish trooper aimed his carbine full at his face. It missed fire, and
Henry, having emptied his own pistol, was seized by the floating scarf
upon his breast by more than one enemy. There was a brief struggle, and
death or capture seemed certain; when an unknown hand laid his nearest
antagonist low, and enabled him to escape from over powering numbers. The
soldier, whose devotion thus saved the career of the youngest
Orange-Nassau destined to be so long and so brilliant, from being cut off
so prematurely, was never again heard of, and doubtless perished in the
fray.

Meantime the brief sparkle of valour on the part of the States' troops
had already vanished. The adroit Spinola, hurrying personally to the
front, had caused such a clangor from all the drums and trumpets in Broek
and its neighbourhood to be made as to persuade the restive cavalry that
the whole force of the enemy was already upon them. The day was obviously
lost, and Maurice, with a heavy heart, now him self gave the signal to
retreat. Drawing up the greater part of his infantry in solid mass upon
the banks to protect the passage, he sent a force to the opposite side,
Horace Vere being the first to wade the stream.  All that was then
possible to do was accomplished, and the panic flight converted into
orderly retreat, but it was a day of disaster and disgrace for the
republic.

About five hundred of the best States' cavalry were left dead on the
field, but the stain upon his almost unsullied flag was more cutting to
the stadholder's heart than the death of his veterans. The material
results were in truth almost even. The famous cavalry general, Count
Trivulzio, with at least three hundred Spaniards, fell in the combat, but
the glory of having defeated the best cavalry of Europe in a stricken
field and under the very eyes of the stadholder would have been
sufficient compensation to Spinola for much greater losses.

Maurice withdrew towards Wesel, sullen but not desponding. His forces
were meagre, and although he had been out-generalled, out-marched, and
defeated in the open field, at least the Genoese had not planted the blow
which he had meditated in the very heart of the republic.

Autumn was now far advanced, and dripping with rain. The roads and fields
were fast becoming impassable sloughs, and no further large operations
could be expected in this campaign. Yet the stadholder's cup was not
full, and he was destined to witness two more triumphs of his rival, now
fast becoming famous, before this year of disasters should close. On the
27th October, Spinola took the city of Wachtendonk, after ten days'
siege, and on the 5th of November the strong place of Cracow.

Maurice was forced to see these positions captured almost under his eyes,
being now quite powerless to afford relief. His troops had dwindled by
sickness and necessary detachments for garrison-work to a comparatively,
insignificant force, and very soon afterwards both armies went into
winter quarters.

The States were excessively disappointed at the results of the year's
work, and deep if not loud were the reproaches cast upon the stadholder.
Certainly his military reputation had not been augmented by this
campaign. He had lost many places, and had not gained an inch of ground
anywhere. Already the lustre of Sluys, of Nieuport, and Turnhout were
growing dim, for Maurice had so accustomed the republic to victories that
his own past triumphs seemed now his greatest enemies. Moreover he had
founded a school out of which apt pupils had already graduated, and it
would seem that the Genoese volunteer had rapidly profited by his
teachings as only a man endowed with exquisite military genius could have
done.

Yet, after all, it seems certain that, with the stadholder's limited
means, and with the awful consequences to the country of a total defeat
in the open field, the Fabian tactics, which he had now deliberately
adopted, were the most reasonable. The invader of foreign domains, the
suppressor of great revolts, can indulge in the expensive luxury of
procrastination only at imminent peril. For the defence, it is always
possible to conquer by delay, and it was perfectly understood between
Spinola and his ablest advisers at the Spanish court that the blows must
be struck thick and fast, and at the most vulnerable places, or that the
victory would be lost.

Time was the ally not of the Spanish invaders, who came from afar, but of
the Dutch burghers, who remained at home. "Jam aut Nunquam," was the
motto upon the Italian's banners.

In proportion to the depression in the republic at the results of this
year's campaigning was the elation at the Spanish court. Bad news and
false news had preceded the authentic intelligence of Spinola's
victories. The English envoy had received unquestionable information that
the Catholic general had sustained an overwhelming defeat at the close of
the campaign, with a loss of three thousand five hundred men.

The tale was implicitly believed by king and cabinet, so that when, very
soon afterwards, the couriers arrived bringing official accounts of the
victory gained over the veteran cavalry of the States in the very
presence of the stadholder, followed by the crowning triumph of
Wachtendonk, the demonstrations of joy were all the more vivacious in
consequence of the previous gloom. Spinola himself followed hard upon the
latest messengers, and was received with ovations. Never, since the days
of Alexander Farnese, had a general at the Spanish court been more
cordially caressed or hated. Had Philip the Prudent been still upon the
throne, he would have felt it his duty to make immediate arrangements for
poisoning him. Certainly his plans and his popularity would have been
undermined in the most artistic manner.

But Philip III., more dangerous to rabbits than to generals, left the
Genoese to settle the plans of his next campaign with Lerma and his
parasites.

The subtle Spinola, having, in his despatches, ascribed the chief merit
of the victories to Louis Velasco, a Spaniard, while his own original
conception of transferring the war to Friesland was attributed by him
with magnificent effrontery to Lerma and to the king--who were probably
quite ignorant of the existence of that remote province--succeeded in
maintaining his favourable position at court, and was allowed, by what
was called the war-council, to manage matters nearly at his pleasure.

It is difficult however to understand how so much clamour should have
been made over such paltry triumphs. All Europe rang with a cavalry fight
in which less than a thousand saddles on both sides had been emptied,
leading to no result, and with the capture of a couple of insignificant
towns, of which not one man in a thousand had ever heard.

Spinola had doubtless shown genius of a subtle and inventive order, and
his fortunate audacity in measuring himself, while a mere apprentice,
against the first military leader living had been crowned with wonderful
success. He had nailed the stadholder fast to the island of Cadzand,
while he was perfecting his arrangements and building boats on the Rhine;
he had propounded riddles which Maurice had spent three of the best
campaigning months in idle efforts to guess, and when he at last moved,
he had swept to his mark with the swiftness and precision of a bird of
prey. Yet the greatest of all qualities in a military commander, that of
deriving substantial fruits from victory instead of barren trophies, he
had not manifested. If it had been a great stroke of art to seize reach
Deventer, it was an enormous blunder, worthy of a journeyman soldier, to
fail to seize the Bourtange marshes, and drive his sword into the fiery
vitals of the republic, thus placed at his mercy.

Meantime, while there had been all these rejoicings and tribulations at
the great doings on the Rhine and the shortcoming in Friesland, the real
operations of the war had been at the antipodes.

It is not a very unusual phenomenon in history that the events, upon
whose daily development the contemporary world hangs with most
palpitating interest, are far inferior in permanent influence upon the
general movement of humanity to a series of distant and apparently
commonplace transactions.

Empires are built up or undermined by the ceaseless industry of obscure
multitudes often slightly observed, or but dimly comprehended.

Battles and sieges, dreadful marches, eloquent debates, intricate
diplomacy--from time to time but only perhaps at rare intervals--have
decided or modified the destiny of nations, while very often the clash of
arms, the din of rhetoric, the whiz of political spindles, produce
nothing valuable for human consumption, and made the world no richer.

If the age of heroic and religious passion was rapidly fading away before
the gradual uprising of a politico-mercantile civilization--as it
certainly was--the most vital events, those in which the fate of coming
generations was most deeply involved, were those inspired by the spirit
of commercial-enterprise.

Nor can it be denied that there is often a genial and poetic essence even
among things practical or of almost vulgar exterior. In those early
expeditions of the Hollanders to the flaming lands of the equator there
is a rhythm and romance of historical movement not less significant than
in their unexampled defence of fatherland and of the world's liberty
against the great despotism of the age.

Universal monarchy was baffled by the little republic, not within its own
populous cities only, or upon its own barren sands. The long combat
between Freedom and Absolutism had now become as wide as the world. The
greatest European states had been dragged by the iron chain of necessity
into a conflict from which they often struggled to escape, and on every
ocean, and on almost every foot of soil, where the footsteps of mankind
had as yet been imprinted, the fierce encounters were every day renewed.
In the east and the west, throughout that great vague new world, of which
geographers had hardly yet made a sketch, which comprised both the
Americas and something called the East Indies, and which Spain claimed as
her private property, those humbly born and energetic adventurers were
rapidly creating a symmetrical system out of most dismal chaos.

The King of Spain warned all nations from trespassing upon those outlying
possessions.

His edicts had not however prevented the English in moderate numbers, and
the Hollanders in steadily increasing swarms, from enlarging and making
profitable use of these new domains of the world's commerce.

The days were coming when the People was to have more to say than the
pope in regard to the disposition and arrangements of certain large
districts of this planet. While the world-empire, which still excited so
much dismay, was yielding to constant corrosion, another empire, created
by well-directed toil and unflinching courage, was steadily rising out of
the depths. It has often been thought amazing that the little republic
should so long and so triumphantly withstand the enormous forces brought
forward for her destruction. It was not, however, so very surprising.
Foremost among nations, and in advance of the age, the republic had found
the strength which comes from the spirit of association. On a wider scale
than ever before known, large masses of men, with their pecuniary means,
had been intelligently banded together to advance material interests.
When it is remembered that, in addition to this force, the whole
commonwealth was inspired by the divine influence of liberty, her power
will no longer seem so wonderful.

A sinister event in the Isle of Ceylon had opened the series of
transactions in the East, and had cast a gloom over the public sentiment
at home. The enterprising voyager, Sebald de Weerdt, one of the famous
brotherhood of the Invincible Lion which had wintered in the straits of
Magellan, had been murdered through the treachery of the King of Candy.
His countrymen had not taken vengeance on his assassins. They were
perhaps too fearful of losing their growing trade in those lucrative
regions to take a becoming stand in that emergency. They were also not as
yet sufficiently powerful there.

The East India Company had sent out in May of this year its third fleet
of eleven large ships, besides some smaller vessels, under the general
superintendence of Matelieff de Jonghe, one of the directors. The
investments for the voyage amounted to more than nineteen hundred
thousand florins.

Meantime the preceding adventurers under Stephen van der Hagen, who had
sailed at the end of 1603, had been doing much thorough work. A firm
league had been made with one of the chief potentates of Malabar,
enabling them to build forts and establish colonies in perpetual menace
of Goa, the great oriental capital of the Portuguese. The return of the
ambassadors sent out from Astgen to Holland had filled not only the
island of Sumatra but the Moluccas, and all the adjacent regions, with
praises of the power, wealth, and high civilization of that distant
republic so long depicted by rivals as a nest of uncouth and sanguinary
savages. The fleet now proceeded to Amboyna, a stronghold of the
Spanish-Portuguese, and the seat of a most lucrative trade.

On the arrival of those foreign well-armed ships under the guns of the
fortress, the governor sent to demand, with Castilian arrogance, who the
intruders were, and by whose authority and with what intent they presumed
to show themselves in those waters. The reply was that they came in the
name and by the authority of their High Mightinesses the States-General,
and their stadholder the Prince of Orange; that they were sworn enemies
of the King of Spain and all his subjects, and that as to their intent,
this would soon be made apparent. Whereupon, without much more ado, they
began a bombardment of the fort, which mounted thirty-six guns. The
governor, as often happened in those regions, being less valiant against
determined European foes than towards the feebler oriental races on which
he had been accustomed to trample, succumbed with hardly an effort at
resistance. The castle and town and whole island were surrendered to the
fleet, and thenceforth became virtually a colony of the republic with
which, nominally, treaties of alliance and defence were, negotiated.
Thence the fleet, after due possession had been taken of these new
domains, sailed partly to Bands and partly to two small but most
important islands of the Moluccas.

In that multitude of islands which make up the Eastern Archipelago there
were but five at that period where grew the clove--Ternate, Tydor,
Motiel, Makian, and Bacia.

Pepper and ginger, even nutmegs, cassia, and mace, were but vulgar drugs,
precious as they were already to the world and the world's commerce,
compared with this most magnificent spice.

It is wonderful to reflect upon the strange composition of man. The world
had lived in former ages very comfortably without cloves. But by the
beginning of the seventeenth century that odoriferous pistil had been the
cause of so many pitched battles and obstinate wars, of so much
vituperation, negotiation, and intriguing, that the world's destiny
seemed to have almost become dependent upon the growth of a particular
gillyflower. Out of its sweetness had grown such bitterness among great
nations as not torrents of blood could wash away. A commonplace condiment
enough it seems to us now, easily to be dispensed with, and not worth
purchasing at a thousand human lives or so the cargo, but it was once the
great prize to be struggled for by civilized nations. From that fervid
earth, warmed from within by volcanic heat, and basking ever beneath the
equatorial sun, arose vapours as deadly to human life as the fruits were
exciting and delicious to human senses. Yet the atmosphere of pestiferous
fragrance had attracted, rather than repelled. The poisonous delights of
the climate, added to the perpetual and various warfare for its
productions, spread a strange fascination around those fatal isles.

Especially Ternate and Tydor were objects of unending strife. Chinese,
Malays, Persians, Arabs, had struggled centuries long for their
possession; those races successively or simultaneously ruling these and
adjacent portions of the Archipelago. The great geographical discoveries
at the close of the fifteenth century had however changed the aspect of
India and of the world. The Portuguese adventurers found two rival
kings--in the two precious islands, and by ingeniously protecting one of
these potentates and poisoning the other, soon made themselves masters of
the field. The clove trade was now entirely in the hands of the strangers
from the antipodes. Goa became the great mart of the lucrative traffic,
and thither came Chinese, Arabs, Moors, and other oriental traders to be
supplied from the Portuguese monopoly: Two-thirds of the spices however
found their way directly to Europe.

Naturally enough, the Spaniards soon penetrated into these seas, and
claimed their portion of the spice trade. They insisted that the coveted
islands were included in their portion of the great Borgian grant. As
there had hardly yet been time to make a trigonometrical survey of an
unknown world, so generously divided by the pope, there was no way of
settling disputed boundary questions save by apostolic blows. These were
exchanged with much earnestness, year after year, between Spaniards,
Portuguese, and all who came in their way. Especially the unfortunate
natives, and their kings most of all, came in for a full share. At last
Charles V. sold out his share of the spice islands to his Portuguese
rival and co-proprietor, for three hundred and fifty thousand ducats. The
emperor's very active pursuits caused him to require ready money more
than cloves. Yet John III. had made an excellent bargain, and the
monopoly thenceforth brought him in at least two hundred thousand ducats
annually. Goa became more flourishing, the natives more wretched, the
Portuguese more detested than ever. Occasionally one of the royal line of
victims would consent to put a diadem upon his head, but the coronation
was usually the prelude to a dungeon or death. The treaties of alliance,
which these unlucky potentates had formed with their powerful invaders,
were, as so often is the case, mere deeds to convey themselves and their
subjects into slavery.

Spain and Portugal becoming one, the slender weapon of defence which
these weak but subtle Orientals sometimes employed with success--the
international and commercial jealousy between their two oppressors--was
taken away. It was therefore with joy that Zaida, who sat on the throne
of Ternate at the end of the sixteenth century, saw the sails of a Dutch
fleet arriving in his harbours. Very soon negotiations were opened, and
the distant republic undertook to protect the Mahometan king against his
Catholic master. The new friendship was founded upon trade monopoly, of
course, but at that period at least the islanders were treated with
justice and humanity by their republican allies. The Dutch undertook to
liberate their friends from bondage, while the King of Ternate, panting
under Portuguese oppression, swore to have no traffic, no dealings of any
kind, with any other nation than Holland; not even with the English. The
Dutch, they declared, were the liberators of themselves, of their
friends, and of the seas.

The international hatred, already germinating between England and
Holland, shot forth in these flaming regions like a tropical plant. It
was carefully nurtured and tended by both peoples. Freedom of commerce,
freedom of the seas, meant that none but the Dutch East India Company--so
soon as the Portuguese and Spaniards were driven out--should trade in
cloves and nutmegs. Decrees to that effect were soon issued, under very
heavy penalties, by the States-General to the citizens of the republic
and to the world at large. It was natural therefore that the English
traders should hail the appearance of the Dutch fleets with much less
enthusiasm than was shown by the King of Ternate.

On the other hand, the King of Tydor, persisting in his oriental hatred
towards the rival potentate in the other island, allowed the Portuguese
to build additional citadels, and generally to strengthen their positions
within his dominions. Thus when Cornelius Sebastian, with his division of
Ver Hagen's fleet, arrived in the Moluccas in the summer of 1605, he
found plenty of work prepared for him. The peace recently concluded by
James with Philip and the archdukes placed England in a position of
neutrality in the war now waging in the clove islands between Spain and
the republic's East India Company. The English in those regions were not
slow to avail themselves of the advantage. The Portuguese of Tydor
received from neutral sympathy a copious supply of powder and of
pamphlets. The one explosive material enabled them to make a more
effective defence of their citadel against the Dutch fleet; the other
revealed to the Portuguese and their Mussulman allies that "the
Netherlanders could not exist without English protection, that they were
the scum of nations, and that if they should get possession of this clove
monopoly, their insolence would become intolerable." Samples of polite
literature such as these, printed but not published, flew about in
volleys. It was an age of pamphleteering, and neither the English nor the
Dutch were behind their contemporaries in the science of attack and
self-defence. Nevertheless Cornelius Sebastian was not deterred by paper
pellets, nor by the guns of the citadel, from carrying out his purpose.
It was arranged with King Zaida that the islanders of Ternate should make
a demonstration against Tydor, being set across the strait in Dutch
vessels. Sebastian, however, having little faith in oriental tenacity,
entrusted the real work of storming the fortress to his own soldiers and
sailors. On a fine morning in May the assault was delivered in
magnificent style. The resistance was obstinate; many of the assailants
fell, and Captain Mol, whom we have once before seen as master of the
Tiger, sinking the galleys of Frederic Spinola off the Gat of Sluys,
found himself at the head of only seven men within the interior defences
of the citadel. A Spanish soldier, Torre by name, rushed upon him with a
spear. Avoiding the blow, Mol grappled with his antagonist, and both
rolled to the ground. A fortunate carbine-shot from one of the Dutch
captain's comrades went through the Spaniard's head. Meantime the little
band, so insignificant in numbers, was driven out of the citadel. Mol
fell to the ground with a shattered leg, and reproached his companions,
who sought to remove him, for neglecting their work in order to save his
life. Let them take the fort, he implored them, and when that was done
they might find leisure to pick him up if they chose. While he was
speaking the principal tower of the fortress blew up, and sixty of the
garrison were launched into the air. A well-directed shot had set fire to
the magazine. The assault was renewed with fresh numbers, and the Dutch
were soon masters of the place. Never was a stronghold more audaciously
or more successfully stormed. The garrison surrendered. The women and
children, fearing to be at the mercy of those who had been depicted to
them as cannibals, had already made their escape, and were scrambling
like squirrels among the volcanic cliffs. Famine soon compelled them to
come down, however, when they experienced sufficiently kind treatment,
but were all deported in Dutch vessels to the Philippine islands. The
conquerors not only spared the life of the King of Tydor, but permitted
him to retain his crown. At his request the citadel was razed to the
ground. It would have been better perhaps to let it stand, and it was
possible that in the heart of the vanquished potentate some vengeance was
lurking which might bear evil fruit at a later day. Meantime the
Portuguese were driven entirely out of the Moluccas, save the island of
Timos, where they still retained a not very important citadel.

The East India Company was now in possession of the whole field. The
Moluccas and the clove trade were its own, and the Dutch republic had
made manifest to the world that more potent instruments had now been
devised for parcelling out the new world than papal decrees, although
signed by the immaculate hand of a Borgia.

During the main operations already sketched in the Netherlands, and
during those vastly more important oriental movements to which the
reader's attention has just been called, a detached event or two deserves
notice.

Twice during the summer campaign of this year Du Terrail, an enterprising
French refugee in the service of the archdukes, had attempted to surprise
the important city of Bergen-op-Zoom. On the 21st August the intended
assault had been discovered in time to prevent any very serious conflict
on, either side. On the 20th September the experiment was renewed at an
hour after midnight. Du Terrail, having arranged the attack at three
different points, had succeeded in forcing his way across the moat and
through one of the gates. The trumpets of the foremost Spaniards already
sounded in, the streets. It was pouring with rain; the town was pitch
dark. But the energetic Paul Bax was governor of the place, a man who was
awake at any hour of the twenty-four, and who could see in the darkest
night. He had already informed himself of the enemy's project, and had
strengthened his garrison by a large intermixture of the most trustworthy
burgher guards, so that the advance of Du Terrail at the southern gate
was already confronted by a determined band. A fierce battle began in the
darkness. Meantime Paul Bax, galloping through the city, had aroused the
whole population for the defence. At the Steinberg gate, where the chief
assault had been prepared, Bax had caused great fires of straw and pitch
barrels to be lighted, so that the invaders, instead of finding, as they
expected, a profound gloom through the streets, saw themselves
approaching a brilliantly illuminated city, fully prepared to give their
uninvited guests a warm reception. The garrison, the townspeople, even
the women, thronged to the ramparts, saluting the Spaniards with a rain
of bullets, paving-stones, and pitch hoops, and with a storm of gibes and
taunts. They were asked why they allowed their cardinal thus to send them
to the cattle market, and whether Our Lady of Hall, to whom Isabella was
so fond of making pilgrimages, did not live rather too far off to be of
much use just then to her or to them. Catholics and Protestants all stood
shoulder to shoulder that night to defend their firesides against the
foreign foe, while mothers laid their sleeping children on the ground
that they might fill their cradles with powder and ball, which they
industriously brought to the soldiers. The less energetic women fell upon
their knees in the street, and prayed aloud through the anxious night.
The attack was splendidly repulsed. As morning dawned the enemy withdrew,
leaving one hundred dead outside the walls or in the town, and carrying
off thirty-eight wagon loads of wounded. Du Terrail made no further
attempts that summer, although the list of his surprises was not yet
full. He was a good engineer, and a daring partisan officer. He was also
inspired by an especial animosity to the States-General, who had refused
the offer of his services before he made application to the archdukes.

At sea there was no very important movement in European waters, save that
Lambert Heinrichzoon, commonly called Pretty Lambert, a Rotterdam
skipper, whom we have seen the sea-fights with Frederic Spinola, of the
Dunkirk pirate fleet, Adrian Dirkzoon. It was a desperate fight.--Pretty
Lambent, sustained at a distance by Rear-Admiral Gerbrantzon, laid
himself yard-arm to yard-arm alongside the pirate vessel, boarded her,
and after beating down all resistance made prisoners such of the crew as
remained alive, and carried them into Rotterdam. Next day they were
hanged, to the number of sixty. A small number were pardoned on account
of their youth, and a few individuals who effected their escape when led
to the gallows, were not pursued. The fact that the townspeople almost
connived at the escape of these desperadoes showed that there had been a
surfeit of hangings in Rotterdam. It is moreover not easy to distinguish
with exactness the lines which in those days separated regular sea
belligerents, privateers, and pirates from each other. It had been laid
down by the archdukes that there was no military law at sea, and that
sick soldiers captured on the water should be hanged. Accordingly they
were hanged. Admiral Fazardo, of the Spanish royal navy, not only
captured all the enemy's merchant vessels which came in his way, but
hanged, drowned, and burned alive every man found on board. Admiral
Haultain, of the republican navy, had just been occupied in drowning a
whole regiment of Spanish soldiers, captured in English and German
transports. The complaints brought against the English cruisers by the
Hollanders for capturing and confiscating their vessels, and banging,
maiming, and torturing their crews--not only when England was neutral,
but even when she was the ally of the republic--had been a standing topic
for diplomatic discussion, and almost a standing joke. Why, therefore,
these Dunkirk sea-rovers should not on the same principle be allowed to
rush forth from their very convenient den to plunder friend and foe, burn
ships, and butcher the sailors at pleasure, seems difficult to
understand. To expect from the inhabitants of this robbers' cave--this
"church on the downs"--a code of maritime law so much purer and sterner
than the system adopted by the English, the Spaniards, and the Dutch, was
hardly reasonable. Certainly the Dunkirkers, who were mainly
Netherlanders--rebels to the republic and partisans of the Spanish
crown--did their best to destroy the herring fishery and to cut the
throats of the fishermen, but perhaps they received the halter more often
than other mariners who had quite as thoroughly deserved it. And this at
last appeared the prevailing opinion in Rotterdam.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Abstinence from unproductive consumption
     Defeated garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe
     His own past triumphs seemed now his greatest enemies
     Hundred thousand men had laid down their lives by her decree
     John Castel, who had stabbed Henry IV.
     Looking down upon her struggle with benevolent indifference
     No retrenchments in his pleasures of women, dogs, and buildings
     Sick soldiers captured on the water should be hanged
     The small children diminished rapidly in numbers
     When all was gone, they began to eat each other



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 78, 1605-1607



CHAPTER XLV.

   Preparations for the campaign of 1606--Diminution of Maurice's
   popularity--Quarrel between the pope and the Venetian republic--
   Surprise of Sluys by Du Terrail--Dilatoriness of the republic's
   operations--Movements of Spinola--Influence of the weather on the
   military transactions of the year--Endeavours of Spinola to obtain
   possession of the Waal and Yssel--Surrender of Lochem to Spinola--
   Siege of Groll--Siege and loss of Rheinberg--Mutiny in the Catholic
   army--Recovery of Lochem by Maurice--Attempted recovery of Groll--
   Sudden appearance of the enemy--Withdrawal of the besieging army
   Close of the campaign--End of the war of independence--Motives of
   the Prince in his actions before Groll--Cruise of Admiral Haultain
   to the coast of Spain and Portugal--His encounter with the war--
   ships of Fazardo--Courageous conduct of the vice-admiral--Deaths of
   Justus Lipsius, Hohenlo, and Count John of Nassau.

After the close of the campaign of 1605 Spinola had gone once more to
Spain. On his passage through Paris he had again been received with
distinguished favour by that warm ally of the Dutch republic, Henry IV.,
and on being questioned by that monarch as to his plans for the next
campaign had replied that he intended once more to cross the Rhine, and
invade Friesland. Henry, convinced that the Genoese would of course not
tell him the truth on such an occasion, wrote accordingly to the
States-General that they might feel safe as to their eastern frontier.
Whatever else might happen, Friesland and the regions adjacent would be
safe next year from attack. The immediate future was to show whether the
subtle Italian had not compassed as neat a deception by telling the truth
as coarser politicians could do by falsehood.

Spinola found the royal finances in most dismal condition. Three hundred
thousand dollars a month were the least estimate of the necessary
expenses for carrying on the Netherland war, a sum which could not
possibly be spared by Lerma, Uceda, the Marquis of the Seven Churches,
and other financiers then industriously occupied in draining dry the
exchequer for their own uses. Once more the general aided his sovereign
with purse and credit, as well as with his sword. Once more the exchange
at Genoa was glutted with the acceptances of Marquis Spinola. Here at
least was a man of a nature not quite so depraved as that of the
parasites bred out of the corruption of a noble but dying commonwealth,
and doubtless it was with gentle contempt that the great favourite and
his friends looked at the military and financial enthusiasm of the
volunteer. It was so much more sagacious to make a princely fortune than
to sacrifice one already inherited, in the service of one's country.

Spinola being thus ready not only to fight but to help to pay for the
fighting, found his plans of campaigns received with great benignity by
the king and his ministers. Meantime there was much delay. The enormous
labours thus devolved upon one pair of shoulders by the do-nothing king
and a mayor of the palace whose soul was absorbed by his own private
robberies, were almost too much for human strength. On his return to the
Netherlands Spinola fell dangerously ill in Genoa.

Meantime, during his absence and the enforced idleness of the Catholic
armies, there was an opportunity for the republicans to act with
promptness and vigour. They displayed neither quality. Never had there
been so much sluggishness as in the preparations for the campaign of
1606. The States' exchequer was lower than it had been for years. The
republic was without friends. Left to fight their battle for national
existence alone, the Hollanders found themselves perpetually subjected to
hostile censure from their late allies, and to friendly advice still more
intolerable. There were many brave Englishmen and Frenchmen sharing in
the fatigues of the Dutch war of independence, but the governments of
Henry and of James were as protective, as severely virtuous, as
offensive, and, in their secret intrigues with the other belligerent, as
mischievous as it was possible for the best-intentioned neutrals to be.

The fame and the popularity of the stadholder had been diminished by the
results of the past campaign. The States-General were disappointed,
dissatisfied, and inclined to censure very unreasonably the public
servant who had always obeyed their decrees with docility. While Henry
IV. was rapidly transferring his admiration from Maurice to Spinola, the
disagreements at home between the Advocate and the Stadholder were
becoming portentous.

There was a want of means and of soldiers for the new campaign. Certain
causes were operating in Europe to the disadvantage of both belligerents.
In the south, Venice had almost drawn her sword against the pope in her
settled resolution to put down the Jesuits and to clip the wings of the
church party, before, with bequests and donations, votive churches and
magnificent monasteries, four-fifths of the domains of the republic
should fall into mortmain, as was already the case in Brabant.

Naturally there was a contest between the ex-Huguenot, now eldest son of
the Church, and the most Catholic king, as to who should soonest defend
the pope. Henry offered thorough protection to his Holiness, but only
under condition that he should have a monopoly of that protection. He
lifted his sword, but meantime it was doubtful whether the blow was to
descend upon Venice or upon Spain. The Spanish levies, on their way to
the Netherlands, were detained in Italy by this new exigency. The
States-General offered the sister republic their maritime assistance, and
notwithstanding their own immense difficulties, stood ready to send a
fleet to the Mediterranean. The offer was gratefully declined, and the
quarrel with the pope arranged, but the incident laid the foundation of a
lasting friendship between the only two important republics then
existing. The issue of the Gunpowder Plot, at the close of the preceding
year, had confirmed James in his distaste for Jesuits, and had effected
that which all the eloquence of the States-General and their ambassador
had failed to accomplish, the prohibition of Spanish enlistments in his
kingdom. Guido Fawkes had served under the archduke in Flanders.

Here then were delays additional to that caused by Spinola's illness. On
the other hand, the levies of the republic were for a season paralysed by
the altercation, soon afterwards adjusted, between Henry IV. and the Duke
of Bouillon, brother-in-law of the stadholder and of the Palatine, and by
the petty war between the Duke and Hanseatic city of Brunswick, in which
Ernest of Nassau was for a time employed.

During this period of almost suspended animation the war gave no signs of
life, except in a few spasmodic efforts on the part of the irrepressible
Du Terrail. Early in the spring, not satisfied with his double and
disastrous repulse before Bergen-op-Zoom, that partisan now determined to
surprise Sluy's. That an attack was impending became known to the
governor of that city, the experienced Colonel Van der Noot. Not
dreaming, however, that any mortal--even the most audacious of Frenchmen
and adventurers--would ever think of carrying a city like Sluy's by
surprise, defended as it was by a splendid citadel and by a whole chain
of forts and water-batteries, and capable of withstanding three months
long, as it had so recently done, a siege in form by the acknowledged
master of the beleaguering science, the methodical governor event calmly
to bed one fine night in June. His slumbers were disturbed before morning
by the sound of trumpets sounding Spanish melodies in the streets, and by
a, great uproar and shouting. Springing out of bed, he rushed
half-dressed to the rescue. Less vigilant than Paul Bax had been the year
before in Bergen, he found that Du Terrail had really effected a
surprise. At the head of twelve hundred Walloons and Irishmen, that
enterprising officer had waded through the drowned land of Cadzand, with
the promised support of a body of infantry under Frederic Van den Berg,
from Damm, had stolen noiselessly by the forts of that island
unchallenged and unseen, had effected with petards a small breach through
the western gate of the city, and with a large number of his followers,
creeping two and two through the gap, had found himself for a time master
of Sluys.

The profound silence of the place had however somewhat discouraged the
intruders. The whole population were as sound asleep as was the excellent
commandant, but the stillness in the deserted streets suggested an
ambush, and they moved stealthily forward, feeling their way with caution
towards the centre of the town.

It so happened, moreover, that the sacristan had forgotten to wind up the
great town clock. The agreement with the party first entering and making
their way to the opposite end of the city, had been that at the striking
of a certain hour after midnight they should attack simultaneously and
with a great outcry all the guardhouses, so that the garrison might be
simultaneously butchered. The clock never struck, the signal was never
given, and Du Terrail and his immediate comrades remained near the
western gate, suspicious and much perplexed. The delay was fatal. The
guard, the whole garrison, and the townspeople flew to arms, and
half-naked, but equipped with pike and musket, and led on by Van der Noot
in person, fell upon the intruders. A panic took the place of previous
audacity in the breasts of Du Terrail's followers. Thinking only of
escape, they found the gap by which they had crept into the town much
less convenient as a means of egress in the face of an infuriated
multitude. Five hundred of them were put to death in a very few minutes.
Almost as many were drowned or suffocated in the marshes, as they
attempted to return by the road over which they had come. A few
stragglers June, of the fifteen hundred were all that were left to tell
the tale.

It would seem scarcely worth while to chronicle such trivial incidents in
this great war--the all-absorbing drama of Christendom--were it not that
they were for the moment the whole war. It might be thought that
hostilities were approaching their natural termination, and that the war
was dying of extreme old age, when the Quixotic pranks of a Du Terrail
occupied so large a part of European attention.

The winter had passed, another spring had come and gone, and Maurice had
in vain attempted to obtain sufficient means from the States to take the
field in force. Henry, looking on from the outside, was becoming more and
more exasperated with the dilatoriness which prevented the republic from
profiting by the golden moments of Spinola's enforced absence. Yet the
best that could be done seemed to be to take measures for defensive
operations.

Spinola never reached Brussels until the beginning of June, yet, during
all the good campaigning weather which had been fleeting away, not a blow
had been struck, nor a wholesome counsel taken by the stadholder or the
States. It was midsummer before the armies were in the field. The plans
of the Catholic general however then rapidly developed themselves. Having
assembled as large a force as had ever been under his command, he now
divided it into two nearly equal portions. Bucquoy, with ten thousand
foot, twelve hundred cavalry, and twelve guns, arrived on the 18th July
at Nook, on the Meuse. Spinola, with eleven thousand infantry, two
thousand horse, and eight guns, crossed the Rhine at the old redoubts of
Ruhrort, and on the same 18th July took position at Goor, in Overyssel.
The first plan of the commander-in-chief was to retrace exactly his
campaign of the previous year, even as he had with so much frankness
stated to Henry. But the republic, although deserted by her former
friends, and looked upon askance by the monarch of Britain, and by the
most Christian king, had this year a most efficient ally in the weather.
Jupiter Pluvius had descended from on high to the rescue of the
struggling commonwealth, and his decrees were omnipotent as to the course
of the campaign. The seasons that year seemed all fused into one. It was
difficult to tell on midsummer day whether it were midwinter, spring, or
autumn. The rain came down day after day, week after week, as if the
contending armies and the very country which was to be invaded and
defended were to be all washed out of existence together. Friesland
resolved itself into a vast quagmire; the roads became fluid, the rivers
lakes. Spinola turned his face from the east, and proceeded to carry out
a second plan which he had long meditated, and even a more effective one,
in the west.

The Waal and the Yssel formed two sides of a great quadrilateral; and
furnished for the natural fortress, thus enclosed, two vast and admirable
moats. Within lay Good-meadow and Foul-meadow--Bet-uwe and Vel-uwe--one,
the ancient Batavian island which from time immemorial had given its name
to the commonwealth, the other, the once dismal swamp which toil and
intelligence had in the course of centuries transformed into the wealthy
and flowery land of Gueldres.

Beyond, but in immediate proximity, lay the ancient episcopal city and
province of Utrecht, over which lay the road to the adjacent Holland and
Zeeland. The very heart of the republic would be laid bare to the
conqueror's sword if he could once force the passage, and obtain the
control of these two protecting streams. With Utrecht as his base, and
all Brabant and Flanders--obedient provinces--at his back, Spinola might
accomplish more in one season than Alva, Don John, and Alexander Farnese
had compassed in forty years, and destroy at a blow what was still called
the Netherland rebellion. The passage of the rivers once effected, the
two enveloping wings would fold themselves together, and the conquest
would be made.

Thus reasoned the brilliant young general, and his projects, although
far-reaching, did not seem wild. The first steps were, however, the most
important as well as the most difficult, and he had to reckon with a wary
and experienced antagonist. Maurice had at last collected and reviewed at
Arnhem an army of nearly fifteen thousand men, and was now watching
closely from Doesburg and Deventer every movement of the foe.

Having been forced to a defensive campaign, in which he was not likely at
best to gain many additional laurels, he was the more determined to lay
down his own life, and sacrifice every man he could bring into the field,
before Spinola should march into the cherished domains of Utrecht and
Holland. Meantime the rain, which had already exerted so much influence
on the military movements of the year, still maintained the supremacy
over human plans. The Yssel and the Waal, always deep, broad, sluggish,
but dangerous rivers--the Rhine in its old age--were swollen into
enormous proportions, their currents flowing for the time with the vigour
of their far away youth.

Maurice had confided the defence of the Waal to Warner Du Bois, under
whose orders he placed a force of about seven thousand men, and whose
business it was to prevent Bucquoy's passage. His own task was to baffle
Spinola.

Bucquoy's ambition was to cross the Waal at a point as near as possible
to the fork of that stream with the true Rhine, seize the important city
of Nymegen, and then give the hand to Spinola, so soon as he should be on
the other side of the Yssel. At the village of Spardorp or Kekerdom, he
employed Pompeio Giustiniani to make a desperate effort, having secured a
large number of barges in which he embarked his troops. As the boatmen
neared the opposite bank, however, they perceived that Warner Du Bois had
made effective preparations for their reception. They lost heart, and, on
pretence that the current of the river was too rapid to allow them to
reach the point proposed for their landing, gradually dropped down the
stream, and, in spite of the remonstrances of the commanders, pushed
their way back to the shore which they had left. From that time forth,
the States' troops, in efficient numbers, fringed the inner side of the
Waal, along the whole length of the Batavian island, while armed vessels
of the republic patrolled the stream itself. In vain Count Bucquoy
watched an opportunity, either by surprise or by main strength, to effect
a crossing. The Waal remained as impassable as if it were a dividing
ocean.

On the other side of the quadrilateral, Maurice's dispositions were as
effective as those of his lieutenant on the Waal. The left shore of the
Yssel, along its whole length, from Arnhem and Doesburg quite up to Zwoll
and Campen, where the river empties itself into the Zuyder Zee, was now
sprinkled thickly with forts, hastily thrown up, but strong enough to
serve the temporary purpose of the stadholder. In vain the fleet-footed
and audacious Spinola moved stealthily or fiercely to and fro, from one
point to another, seeking an opening through which to creep, or a weak
spot where he might dash himself against the chain. The whole line was
securely guarded. The swollen river, the redoubts, and the musketeers of
Maurice, protected the heart of the republic from the impending danger.

Wearied of this fruitless pacing up and down, Spinola, while apparently
intending an assault upon Deventer, and thus attracting his adversary's
attention to that important city, suddenly swerved to the right, and came
down upon Lochem. The little town, with its very slender garrison,
surrendered at once. It was not a great conquest, but it might possibly
be of use in the campaign. It was taken before the stadholder could move
a step to its assistance, even had he deemed it prudent to leave
Yssel-side for an hour. The summer was passing away, the rain was still
descending, and it was the 1st of August before Spinola left Lochem. He
then made a rapid movement to the north, between Zwoll and Hasselt,
endeavouring to cross the Blackwater, and seize Geelmuyden, on the Zuyder
Zee. Had he succeeded, he might have turned Maurice's position. But the
works in that direction had been entrusted to an experienced campaigner,
Warmelo, sheriff of Zalant, who received the impetuous Spinola and his
lieutenant, Count Solre, so warmly, that they reeled backwards at last,
after repeated assaults and great loss of men, and never more attempted
to cross the Yssel.

Obviously, the campaign had failed. Utrecht and Holland were as far out
of the Catholic general's reach as the stars in the sky, but at least,
with his large armies, he could earn a few trophies, barren or
productive, as it might prove, before winter, uniting with the deluge,
should drive him from the field.

On the 3rd August, he laid siege to Groll (or Groenlo), a fortified town
of secondary importance in the country of Zutphen, and, squandering his
men with much recklessness, in his determination not to be baffled,
reduced the place in eleven days. Here he paused for a breathing spell,
and then, renouncing all his schemes upon the inner defences of the
republic, withdrew once more to the Rhine and laid siege to Rheinberg.

This frontier place had been tossed to and fro so often between the
contending parties in the perpetual warfare, that its inhabitants must
have learned to consider themselves rather as a convenient circulating
medium for military operations than as burghers who had any part in the
ordinary business of life. It had old-fashioned defences of stones which,
during the recent occupation by the States, had been much improved, and
had been strengthened with earthworks.

Before it was besieged, Maurice sent his brother Frederic Henry, with
some picked companies, into the place, so that the garrison amounted to
three thousand effective men.

The Prince de Soubise, brother of the Duc de Rohan, and other French
volunteers of quality, also threw themselves into the place, in order to
take lessons in the latest methods of attack and defence. It was now
admitted that no more accomplished pupil of the stadholder in the
beleaguering art had appeared in Europe than his present formidable
adversary. On this occasion, however, there was no great display of
science. Maurice obstinately refused to move to the relief of the place,
despite all the efforts of a deputation of the States-General who visited
his camp in September, urging him strenuously to take the chances of a
stricken field.

Nothing could induce the stadholder, who held an observing position at
Wesel, with his back against the precious watery quadrilateral, to risk
the defence of those most vital lines of the Yssel and the Waal. While
attempting to save Rheinberg, he felt it possible that he might lose
Nymegen, or even Utrecht. The swift but wily Genoese was not to be
trifled with or lost sight of an instant. The road to Holland might still
be opened, and the destiny of the republic might hang on the consequences
of a single false move. That destiny, under God, was in his hands alone,
and no chance of winning laurels, even from his greatest rival's head,
could induce him to shrink from the path of duty, however obscure it
might seem. There were a few brilliant assaults and sorties, as in all
sieges, the French volunteers especially distinguishing themselves; but
the place fell at the end of forty days. The garrison marched out with
the honours of war. In the modern practice, armies were rarely captured
in strongholds, nor were the defenders, together with the population,
butchered.

The loss, after a six weeks' siege, of Rheinberg, which six years before,
with far inferior fortifications, had held out a much longer time against
the States, was felt as a bitter disappointment throughout the republic.
Frederic Henry, on leaving the place, made a feeble and unsuccessful
demonstration against Yenlo, by which the general dissatisfaction was not
diminished. Soon afterwards, the war became more languid than ever. News
arrived of a great crisis on the Genoa exchange. A multitude of
merchants, involved in pecuniary transactions with Spinola, fell with one
tremendous crash. The funds of the Catholic commander-in-chief were
already exhausted, his acceptances could no longer be negotiated.

His credit was becoming almost as bad as the king's own. The inevitable
consequence of the want of cash and credit followed. Mutiny, for the
first time in Spinola's administration, raised its head once more, and
stalked about defiant. Six hundred veterans marched to Breda, and offered
their services to Justinus of Nassau. The proposal was accepted. Other
bands, established their quarters in different places, chose their
Elettos and lesser officers, and enacted the scenes which have been so
often depicted in these pages. The splendid army of Spinola melted like
April snow. By the last week of October there hardly seemed a Catholic
army in the field. The commander-in-chief had scattered such companies as
could still be relied upon in the villages of the friendly
arch-episcopate of Cologne, and had obtained, not by murders and
blackmail--according to the recent practice of the Admiral of Arragon, at
whose grim name the whole country-side still shuddered--but from the
friendship of the leading inhabitants and by honest loans, a sufficient
sum to put bread into the mouths of the troops still remaining faithful
to him.

The opportunity had at last arrived for the stadholder to strike a blow
before the season closed. Bankruptcy and mutiny had reduced his enemy to
impotence in the very season of his greatest probable success. On the
24th October Maurice came before Lochem, which he recaptured in five
days. Next in the order of Spinola's victories was Groll, which the
stadholder at once besieged. He had almost fifteen thousand infantry and
three thousand horse. A career of brief triumph before winter should
close in upon those damping fields, seemed now assured. But the rain,
which during nearly the whole campaign had been his potent ally, had of
late been playing him false. The swollen Yssel, during a brief period of
dry weather, had sunk so low in certain shallows as not to be navigable
for his transports, and after his trains of artillery and munitions had
been dragged wearily overland as far as Groll, the deluge had returned in
such force, that physical necessity as well as considerations of humanity
compelled him to defer his entrenching operations until the weather
should moderate. As there seemed no further danger to be apprehended from
the broken, mutinous, and dispersed forces of the enemy, the siege
operations were conducted in a leisurely manner. What was the
astonishment, therefore, among the soldiers, when a rumour flew about the
camp in the early days of November that the indomitable Spinola was again
advancing upon them! It was perfectly true. With extraordinary
perseverance he had gathered up six or seven thousand infantry and twelve
companies of horse--all the remnants of the splendid armies with which he
had taken the field at midsummer--and was now marching to the relief of
Groll, besieged as it was by a force at least doubly as numerous as his
own. It was represented to the stadholder, however, that an impassable
morass lay between him and the enemy, and that there would therefore be
time enough to complete his entrenchments before Spinola could put his
foolhardy attempt into execution. But the Catholic general, marching
faster than rumour itself, had crossed the impracticable swamp almost
before a spadeful of earth had been turned in the republican camp. His
advance was in sight even while the incredulous were sneering at the
absurdity of his supposed project. Informed by scouts of the weakest
point in the stadholder's extended lines, Spinola was directing himself
thither with beautiful precision. Maurice hastily contracted both his
wings, and concentrated himself in the village of Lebel. At last the
moment had come for a decisive struggle. There could be little doubt of
the result. All the advantage was with the republican army. The Catholics
had arrived in front of the enemy fatigued by forced marches through
quagmires, in horrible weather, over roads deemed impassable. The States'
troops were fresh, posted on ground of their own choosing, and partially
entrenched. To the astonishment, even to the horror of the most eager
portion of the army, the stadholder deliberately, and despite the groans
of his soldiers, refused the combat, and gave immediate orders for
raising the siege and abandoning the field.

On the 12th of November he broke up his camp and withdrew to a village
called Zelem. On the same day the marquis, having relieved the city,
without paying the expected price, retired in another direction, and
established what was left of his army in the province of Munster. The
campaign was closed.  And thus the great war which had run its stormy
course for nearly forty years, dribbled out of existence, sinking away
that rainy November in the dismal fens of Zutphen. The long struggle for
independence had come, almost unperceived, to an end.

Peace had not arrived, but the work of the armies was over for many a
long year. Freedom and independence were secured. A deed or two, never to
be forgotten by Netherland hearts, was yet to be done on the ocean,
before the long and intricate negotiations for peace should begin, and
the weary people permit themselves to rejoice; but the prize was already
won.

Meantime, the conduct of Prince Maurice in these last days of the
campaign was the subject of biting censure by friend and foe. The
military fame of Spinola throughout Europe grew apace; and the fame of
his great rival seemed to shrink in the same proportion.

Henry of France was especially indignant at what he considered the
shortcomings of the republic and of its chief. Already, before the close
of the summer, the agent Aerssens had written from Paris that his Majesty
was very much displeased with Spinola's prosperity, ascribing it to the
want of good councils on the part of the States' Government that so fine
an army should lie idle so long, without making an attempt to relieve the
beleaguered places, so that Spinola felt assured of taking anything as
soon as he made his appearance. "Your Mightinesses cannot believe,"
continued the agent, "what a trophy is made by the Spanish ministers out
of these little exploits, and they have so much address at this court,
that if such things continue they may produce still greater results."

In December he wrote that the king was so malcontent concerning the siege
of Groll as to make it impossible to answer him with arguments, that he
openly expressed regret at not having employed the money lent to the
States upon strengthening his own frontiers, so distrustful was he of
their capacity for managing affairs, and that he mentioned with disgust
statements received from his ambassador at Brussels and from the Duc de
Rohan, to the effect that Spinola had between five and six thousand men
only at the relief of Groll, against twelve thousand in the stadholder's
army.

The motives of the deeds and the omissions of the prince at this supreme
moment must be pondered with great caution. The States-General had
doubtless been inclined for vigorous movements, and Olden-Barneveld, with
some of his colleagues, had visited the camp late in September to urge
the relief of Rheinberg. Maurice was in daily correspondence with the
Government, and regularly demanded their advice, by which, on many former
occasions, he had bound himself, even when it was in conflict with his
own better judgment.

But throughout this campaign, the responsibility was entirely, almost
ostentatiously, thrown by the States-General upon their
commander-in-chief, and, as already indicated, their preparations in the
spring and early summer had been entirely inadequate. Should he lose the
army with which he had so quietly but completely checked Spinola in all
his really important moves during the summer and autumn, he might despair
of putting another very soon into the field. That his force in that
November week before Groll was numerically far superior to the enemy is
certain, but he had lost confidence in his cavalry since their bad
behaviour at Mulheim the previous year, and a very large proportion of
his infantry was on the sick-list at the moment of Spinola's approach.
"Lest the continual bad weather should entirely consume the army," he
said, "we are resolved, within a day or two after we have removed the
sick who are here in great numbers, to break up, unless the enemy should
give us occasion to make some attempt upon him."

Maurice was the servant of a small republic, contending single-handed
against an empire still considered the most formidable power in the
world. His cue was not necessarily to fight on all occasions; for delay
often fights better than an army against a foreign invader. When a battle
and a victory were absolutely necessary we have seen the magnificent
calmness which at Nieuport secured triumph under the shadow of death. Had
he accepted Spinola's challenge in November, he would probably have
defeated him and have taken Groll. He might not, however, have
annihilated his adversary, who, even when worsted, would perhaps have
effected his escape. The city was of small value to the republic. The
principal advantage of a victory would have been increased military
renown for himself. Viewed in this light, there is something almost
sublime in the phlegmatic and perfectly republican composure with which
he disdained laurels, easily enough, as it would stem, to have been
acquired, and denied his soldiers the bloodshed and the suffering for
which they were clamouring.

And yet, after thoroughly weighing and measuring all these circumstances,
it is natural to regret that he did not on that occasion rise upon
Spinola and smite him to the earth. The Lord had delivered him into his
hands. The chances of his own defeat were small, its probable
consequences, should it occur, insignificant. It is hardly conceivable
that he could have been so completely overthrown as to allow the Catholic
commander to do in November what he had tried all summer in vain to
accomplish, cross the Yssel and the Waal, with the dregs of his army, and
invade Holland and Zeeland in midwinter, over the prostrate bodies of
Maurice and all his forces. On the other hand, that the stadholder would
have sent the enemy reeling back to his bogs, with hardly the semblance
of an army at his heels, was almost certain: The effect of such a blow
upon impending negotiations, and especially upon the impressible
imagination of Henry and the pedantic shrewdness of James, would have
been very valuable. It was not surprising that the successful soldier who
sat on the French throne, and who had been ever ready to wager life and
crown on the results of a stricken field, should be loud in his
expressions of disapprobation and disgust. Yet no man knew better than
the sagacious Gascon that fighting to win a crown, and to save a
republic, were two essentially different things.

In the early summer of this year Admiral Haultain, whom we lately saw
occupied with tossing Sarmiento's Spanish legion into the sea off the
harbour of Dover, had been despatched to the Spanish coast on a still
more important errand. The outward bound Portuguese merchantmen and the
home returning fleets from America, which had been absent nearly two
years, might be fallen in with at any moment, in the latitude of 36-38
deg. The admiral, having received orders, therefore, to cruise carefully
in those regions, sailed for the shores of Portugal with a squadron of
twenty-four war-ships. His expedition was not very successful. He picked
up a prize or two here and there, and his presence on the coast prevented
the merchant-fleet from sailing out of Lisbon for the East Indies, the
merchandise already on board being disembarked and the voyage postponed
to a more favourable opportunity.

He saw nothing, however, of the long-expected ships from the golden West
Indies--as Mexico, Peru, and Brazil were then indiscriminately
called--and after parting company with six of his own ships, which were
dispersed and damaged in a gale, and himself suffering from a dearth of
provisions, he was forced to return without much gain or glory.

In the month of September he was once more despatched on the same
service. He had nineteen war-galleots of the first class, and two yachts,
well equipped and manned. Vice-admiral of the fleet was Regnier Klaaszoon
(or Nicholson), of Amsterdam, a name which should always be held fresh in
remembrance, not only by mariners and Netherlanders, but by all men whose
pulses can beat in sympathy with practical heroism.

The admiral coasted deliberately along the shores of Spain and Portugal.
It seemed impossible that the golden fleets, which, as it was
ascertained, had not yet arrived, could now escape the vigilance of the
Dutch cruisers. An occasional merchant-ship or small war-galley was met
from time to time and chased into the harbours. A landing was here and
there effected and a few villages burned. But these were not the prizes
nor the trophies sought. On the 19th September a storm off the Portuguese
coast scattered the fleet; six of the best and largest ships being
permanently lost sight of and separated from the rest. With the other
thirteen Haultain now cruised off Cape St. Vincent directly across the
ordinary path of the homeward-bound treasure ships.

On the 6th October many sails were descried in the distance, and the
longing eyes of the Hollanders were at last gratified with what was
supposed to be the great West India commercial squadrons. The delusion
was brief. Instead of innocent and richly Freighted merchantmen, the new
comers soon proved to be the war-ships of Admiral Dan Luis de Fazardo,
eighteen great galleons and eight galleys strong, besides lesser
vessels--the most formidable fleet that for years had floated in those
waters. There had been time for Admiral Haultain to hold but a very brief
consultation with his chief officers. As it was manifest that the
Hollanders were enormously over-matched, it was decided to manoeuvre as
well as possible for the weather-gage, and then to fight or to effect an
escape, as might seem most expedient after fairly testing the strength of
the enemy. It was blowing a fresh gale, and the Netherland fleet had as
much as they could stagger with under close-reefed topsails. The
war-galleys, fit only for fair weather, were soon forced to take refuge
under the lee of the land, but the eighteen galleons, the most powerful
vessels then known to naval architecture, were bearing directly down,
full before the wind, upon the Dutch fleet.

It must be admitted that Admiral Haultain hardly displayed as much energy
now as he had done in the Straits of Dover against the unarmed transports
the year before. His ships were soon scattered, right and left, and the
manoeuvres for the weather-gage resolved themselves into a general
scramble for escape. Vice-Admiral Klaaszoon alone held firm, and met the
onset of the first comers of the Spanish fleet. A fierce combat, yard-arm
to yard-arm, ensued. Klaaszoon's mainmast went by the board, but
Haultain, with five ships, all that could be rallied, coming to the
rescue, the assailants for a moment withdrew. Five Dutch vessels of
moderate strength were now in action against the eighteen great galleons
of Fazardo. Certainly it was not an even game, but it might have been
played with more heart and better skill. There was but a half-hour of
daylight left when Klaaszoon's crippled ship was again attacked. This
time there was no attempt to offer him assistance; the rest of the Dutch
fleet crowding all the sails their masts would bear, and using all the
devices of their superior seamanship, not to harass the enemy, but to
steal as swiftly as possible out of his way. Honestly confessing that
they dared not come into the fight, they bore away for dear life in every
direction. Night came on, and the last that the fugitives knew of the
events off Cape St. Vincent was that stout Regnier Klaaszoon had been
seen at sunset in the midst of the Spanish fleet; the sound of his
broadsides saluting their ears as they escaped.

Left to himself, alone in a dismasted ship, the vice-admiral never
thought of yielding to the eighteen Spanish galleons. To the repeated
summons of Don Luis Fazardo that he should surrender he remained
obstinately deaf. Knowing that it was impossible for him to escape, and
fearing that he might blow up his vessel rather than surrender, the enemy
made no attempt to board. Spanish chivalry was hardly more conspicuous on
this occasion than Dutch valour, as illustrated by Admiral Haultain. Two
whole days and nights Klaaszoon drifted about in his crippled ship,
exchanging broadsides with his antagonists, and with his colours flying
on the stump of his mast. The fact would seem incredible, were it not
attested by perfectly trustworthy contemporary accounts. At last his hour
seemed to have come. His ship was sinking; a final demand for surrender,
with promise of quarter, was made. Out of his whole crew but sixty
remained alive; many of them badly wounded.

He quietly announced to his officers and men his decision never to
surrender, in which all concurred. They knelt together upon the deck, and
the admiral made a prayer, which all fervently joined. With his own hand
Klaaszoon then lighted the powder magazine, and the ship was blown into
the air. Two sailors, all that were left alive, were picked out of the
sea by the Spaniards and brought on board one of the vessels of the
fleet. Desperately mutilated, those grim Dutchmen lived a few minutes to
tell the tale, and then died defiant on the enemy's deck.

Yet it was thought that a republic, which could produce men like Regnier
Klaaszoon and his comrades, could be subjected again to despotism, after
a war for independence of forty years, and that such sailors could be
forbidden to sail the eastern and western seas. No epigrammatic phrase
has been preserved of this simple Regnier, the son of Nicholas. He only
did what is sometimes talked about in phraseology more or less
melo-dramatic, and did it in a very plain way.

Such extreme deeds may have become so much less necessary in the world,
that to threaten them is apt to seem fantastic. Exactly at that crisis of
history, however, and especially in view of the Dutch admiral commanding
having refused a combat of one to three, the speechless self-devotion of
the vice-admiral was better than three years of eloquent arguments and a
ship-load of diplomatic correspondence, such as were already impending
over the world.

Admiral Haultain returned with all his ships uninjured--the six missing
vessels having found their way at last safely back to the squadron--but
with a very great crack to his reputation. It was urged very justly, both
by the States-General and the public, that if one ship under a determined
commander could fight the whole Spanish fleet two days and nights, and
sink unconquered at last, ten ships more might have put the enemy to
flight, or at least have saved the vice-admiral from destruction.

But very few days after the incidents just described, the merchant fleet
which, instead of Don Luis Fazardo's war galleons, Admiral Haultain had
so longed to encounter, arrived safely at San Lucar. It was the most
splendid treasure-fleet that had ever entered a Spanish port, and the
Dutch admiral's heart might well have danced for joy, had he chanced to
come a little later on the track. There were fifty ships, under charge of
General Alonzo de Ochares Galindo and General Ganevaye. They had on
board, according to the registers, 1,914,176 dollars worth of bullion for
the king, and 6,086,617 dollars for merchants, or 8,000,000 dollars in
all, besides rich cargoes of silk, cochineal, sarsaparilla, indigo,
Brazil wood, and hides; the result of two years of pressure upon
Peruvians, Mexicans, and Brazilians. Never had Spanish finances been at
so low an ebb. Never was so splendid an income more desirable. The king's
share of the cargo was enough to pay half the arrearages due to his
mutinous troops; and for such housekeeping this was to be in funds.

There were no further exploits on land or sea that year. There were,
however, deaths of three personages often mentioned in this history. The
learned Justus Lipsius died in Louvain, a good editor and scholar, and as
sincere a Catholic at last as he had been alternately a bigoted Calvinist
and an earnest Lutheran. His reputation was thought to have suffered by
his later publications, but the world at large was occupied with sterner
stuff than those classic productions, and left the final decision to
posterity.

A man of a different mould, the turbulent, high-born, hard fighting,
hard-drinking Hohenlo, died also this year, brother-in-law and military
guardian, subsequently rival and political and personal antagonist, of
Prince Maurice. His daring deeds and his troublesome and mischievous
adventures have been recounted in these pages. His name will be always
prominent in the history of the republic, to which he often rendered
splendid service, but he died, as he had lived, a glutton and a
melancholy sot.

The third remarkable personage who passed away was one whose name will be
remembered as long as the Netherlands have a history, old Count John of
Nassau, only surviving brother of William the Silent. He had been ever
prominent and deeply interested in the great religious and political
movements of upper and lower Germany, and his services in the foundation
of the Dutch commonwealth were signal, and ever generously acknowledged.
At one period, as will be recollected, he was stadholder of Gelderland,
and he was ever ready with sword, purse, and counsel to aid in the great
struggle for independence.



CHAPTER XLVI.

   General desire for peace--Political aspect of Europe--Designs of the
   kings of England, France, and Spain concerning the United Provinces
   --Matrimonial schemes of Spain--Conference between the French
   ministers and the Dutch envoy--Confidential revelations--Henry's
   desire to annex the Netherlands to France--Discussion of the
   subject--Artifice of Barneveld--Impracticability of a compromise
   between the Provinces and Spain--Formation of a West India Company--
   Secret mission from the archdukes to the Hague--Reply of the States-
   General--Return of the archdukes' envoy--Arrangement of an eight
   months' armistice.

The general tendency towards a pacification in Europe at the close of the
year could hardly be mistaken. The languor of fatigue, rather than any
sincere desire for peace seemed to make negotiations possible. It was not
likely that great truths would yet be admitted, or that ruling
individuals or classes would recognise the rise of a new system out of
the rapidly dissolving elements of the one which had done its work. War
was becoming more and more expensive, while commerce, as the world slowly
expanded itself, and manifested its unsuspected resources, was becoming
more and more lucrative. It was not, perhaps, that men hated each other
less, but that they had for a time exhausted their power and their love
for slaughter. Meanwhile new devices for injuring humanity and retarding
its civilization were revealing themselves out of that very intellectual
progress which ennobled the new era. Although war might still be regarded
as the normal condition of the civilized world, it was possible for the
chosen ones to whom the earth and its fulness belonged, to inflict
general damage otherwise than by perpetual battles.

In the east, west, north, and south of Europe peace was thrusting itself
as it were uncalled for and unexpected upon the general attention.
Charles and his nephew Sigismund, and the false Demetrius, and the
intrigues of the Jesuits, had provided too much work for Sweden, Poland,
and Russia to leave those countries much leisure for mingling in the more
important business of Europe at this epoch, nor have their affairs much
direct connection with this history. Venice, in its quarrels with the
Jesuits, had brought Spain, France, and all Italy into a dead lock, out
of which a compromise had been made not more satisfactory to the various
parties than compromises are apt to prove. The Dutch republic still
maintained the position which it had assumed, a quarter of a century
before, of actual and legal independence; while Spain, on the other hand,
still striving after universal monarchy, had not, of course, abated one
jot of its pretensions to absolute dominion over its rebellious subjects
in the Netherlands.

The holy Roman and the sublime Ottoman empires had also drifted into
temporary peace; the exploits of the Persians and other Asiatic movements
having given Ahmed more work than was convenient on his eastern frontier,
while Stephen Botshkay had so completely got the better of Rudolph in
Transylvania as to make repose desirable. So there was a treaty between
the great Turk and the great Christian on the basis of what each
possessed; Stephen Botshkay was recognized as prince of Transylvania with
part of Hungary, and, when taken off soon afterwards by family poison, he
recommended on his death-bed the closest union between Hungary and
Transylvania, as well as peace with the emperor, so long as it might be
compatible with the rights of the Magyars.

France and England, while suspecting each other, dreading each other, and
very sincerely hating each other, were drawn into intimate relations by
their common detestation of Spain, with which power both had now formal
treaties of alliance and friendship. This was the result of their mighty
projects for humbling the house of Austria and annihilating its power.
England hated the Netherlands because of the injuries she had done them,
the many benefits she had conferred upon them, and more than all on
account of the daily increasing commercial rivalry between the two most
progressive states in Christendom, the two powers which, comparatively
weak as they were in territory, capital, and population, were most in
harmony with the spirit of the age.

The Government of England was more hostile than its people to the United
Provinces. James never spoke of the Netherlanders but as upstarts and
rebels, whose success ought to be looked upon with horror by the Lord's
anointed everywhere. He could not shut his eyes to the fact that, with
the republic destroyed, and a Spanish sacerdotal despotism established in
Holland and Zeeland, with Jesuit seminaries in full bloom in Amsterdam
and the Hague, his own rebels in Ireland might prove more troublesome
than ever, and gunpowder plots in London become common occurrences.

The Earl of Tyrone at that very moment was receiving enthusiastic
hospitality at the archduke's court, much to the disgust of the
Presbyterian sovereign of the United Kingdom, who nevertheless, despite
his cherished theology, was possessed with an unconquerable craving for a
close family alliance with the most Catholic king. His ministers were
inclined to Spain, and the British Government was at heart favourable to
some kind of arrangement by which the Netherlands might be reduced to the
authority of their former master, in case no scheme could be carried
into, effect for acquiring a virtual sovereignty over those provinces by
the British crown. Moreover, and most of all, the King of France being
supposed to contemplate the annexation of the Netherlands to his own
dominions, the jealousy excited by such ambition made it even possible
for James's Government to tolerate the idea of Dutch independence. Thus
the court and cabinet of England were as full of contradictory hopes and
projects as a madman's brain.

The rivalry between the courts of England and France for the Spanish
marriages and by means of them to obtain ultimately the sovereignty of
all the Netherlands, was the key to most of the diplomacy and
interpalatial intrigue of the several first years of the century. The
negotiations of Cornwallis at Madrid were almost simultaneous with the
schemes of Villeroy and Rosny at Paris.

A portion of the English Government, so soon as its treaty with Spain had
been signed, seemed secretly determined to do as much injury to the
republic as might lie in its power. While at heart convinced that the
preservation of the Netherlands was necessary for England's safety, it
was difficult for James and the greater part of his advisers to overcome
their repugnance to the republic, and their jealousy of the great
commercial successes which the republic had achieved.

It was perfectly plain that a continuance of the war by England and the
Netherlands united would have very soon ended in the entire humiliation
of Spain. Now that peace had been made, however, it was thought possible
that England might make a bargain with her late enemy for destroying the
existence and dividing the territory of her late ally. Accordingly the
Spanish cabinet lost no time in propounding, under seal of secrecy, and
with even more mystery than was usually employed by the most Catholic
court, a scheme for the marriage of the Prince of Wales with the Infanta;
the bridal pair, when arrived at proper age, to be endowed with all the
Netherlands, both obedient and republican, in full sovereignty. One thing
was necessary to the carrying out of this excellent plot, the reduction
of the republic into her ancient subjection to Spain before her territory
could be transferred to the future Princess of Wales.

It was proposed by the Spanish Government that England should undertake
this part of the job, and that King James for such service should receive
an annual pension of one million ducats a year. It was also stipulated
that certain cities in the republican dominions should be pledged to him
as security for the regular payment of that stipend. Sir Charles
Cornwallis, English ambassador in Spain, lent a most favourable ear to
these proposals, and James eagerly sanctioned them so soon as they were
secretly imparted to that monarch. "The king here," said Cornwallis,
"hath need of the King of Great Britain's arm. Our king . . . hath good
occasion to use the help of the King of Spain's purse. The assistance of
England to help that nation out of that quicksand of the Low Countries,
where so long they have struggled to tread themselves out, and by proof
find that deeper in, will be a sovereign medicine to the malady of this
estate. The addition of a million of ducats to the revenue of our
sovereign will be a good help to his estate."

The Spanish Government had even the effrontery to offer the English envoy
a reward of two hundred thousand crowns if the negotiations should prove
successful. Care was to be taken however that Great Britain, by this
accession of power, both present and in prospect, should not grow too
great, Spain reserving to herself certain strongholds and maritime
positions in the Netherlands, for the proper security of her European and
Indian commerce.

It was thought high time for the bloodshed to cease in the provinces; and
as England, by making a treaty of peace with Spain when Spain was at the
last gasp, had come to the rescue of that power, it was logical that she
should complete the friendly work by compelling the rebellious provinces
to awake from their dream of independence. If the statesmen of Holland
believed in the possibility of that independence, the statesmen of
England knew better. If the turbulent little republic was not at last
convinced that it had no right to create so much turmoil and
inconvenience for its neighbours and for Christendom in general in order
to maintain its existence, it should be taught its duty by the sovereigns
of Spain and Britain.

It was observed, however, that the more greedily James listened day after
day to the marriage propositions, the colder became the Spanish cabinet
in regard to that point, the more disposed to postpone those nuptials "to
God's providence and future event."

The high hopes founded on these secret stratagems were suddenly dashed to
the earth before the end of the year; the explosion of the Gunpowder Plot
blowing the castles in Spain into the air.

Of course the Spanish politicians vied with each other in expressions of
horror and indignation at the Plot, and the wicked contrivers thereof,
and suggested to Cornwallis that the King of France was probably at the
bottom of it.

They declined to give up Owen and Baldwin, however, and meantime the
negotiations for the marriage of the Prince of Wales and the Infanta, the
million ducats of yearly pension for the needy James, and the reduction
of the Dutch republic to its ancient slavery to Spain "under the eye and
arm of Britain," faded indefinitely away. Salisbury indeed was always too
wise to believe in the possibility of the schemes with which James and
some of his other counsellors had been so much infatuated.

It was almost dramatic that these plottings between James and the
Catholic king against the life of the republic should have been signally
and almost simultaneously avenged by the conspiracy of Guido Fawkes.

On the other hand, Rosny had imparted to the Dutch envoy the schemes of
Henry and his ministers in regard to the same object, early in 1605.
"Spain is more tired of the war," said he to Aerssens, under seal of
absolute secrecy, "than you are yourselves. She is now negotiating for a
marriage between the Dauphin and the Infanta, and means to give her the
United Provinces, as at present constituted, for a marriage portion.
Villeroy and Sillery believe the plan feasible, but demand all the
Netherlands together. As for me I shall have faith in it if they send
their Infanta hither at once, or make a regular cession of the territory.
Do you believe that my lords the States will agree to the proposition?"

It would be certainly difficult to match in history the effrontery of
such a question. The republican envoy was asked point blank whether his
country would resign her dearly gained liberty and give herself as a
dowry for Philip the Second's three-years-old grand daughter. Aerssens
replied cautiously that he had never heard the matter discussed in the
provinces. It had always been thought that the French king had no
pretensions to their territory, but had ever advocated their
independence. He hinted that such a proposition was a mere apple of
discord thrown between two good allies by Spain. Rosny admitted the
envoy's arguments, and said that his Majesty would do nothing without the
consent of the Dutch Government, and that he should probably be himself
sent ere long to the Hague to see if he could not obtain some little
recognition from the States.

Thus it was confidentially revealed to the agent of the republic that her
candid adviser and ally was hard at work, in conjunction with her ancient
enemy, to destroy her independence, annex her territory, and appropriate
to himself all the fruits of her great war, her commercial achievements,
and her vast sacrifices; while, as we have just seen, English politicians
at the same moment were attempting to accomplish the same feat for
England's supposed advantage. All that was wished by Henry to begin with
was a little, a very little, recognition of his sovereignty. "You will do
well to reflect on this delicate matter in time," wrote Aerssens to the
Advocate; "I know that the King of Spain is inclined to make this offer,
and that they are mad enough in this place to believe the thing feasible.
For me, I reject all such talk until they have got the Infanta--that is
to say, until the Greek Kalends. I am ashamed that they should believe it
here, and fearful that there is still more evil concealed than I know
of."

Towards the close of the year 1606 the French Government became still
more eager to carry out their plans of alliance and absorption. Aerssens,
who loved a political intrigue better than became a republican envoy, was
perfectly aware of Henry's schemes. He was disposed to humour them, in
order to make sure of his military assistance, but with the secret
intention of seeing them frustrated by the determined opposition of the
States.

The French ministers, by command of their sovereign, were disposed to
deal very plainly. They informed the Dutch diplomatist, with very little
circumlocution, that if the republic wished assistance from France she
was to pay a heavy price for it. Not a pound of flesh only, but the whole
body corporate, was to be surrendered if its destruction was to be
averted by French arms.

"You know," said Sillery, "that princes in all their actions consider
their interests, and his Majesty has not so much affection for your
conservation as to induce him to resign his peaceful position. Tell me, I
pray you, what would you do for his Majesty in case anything should be
done for you? You were lately in Holland. Do you think that they would
give themselves to the king if he assisted them? Do you not believe that
Prince Maurice has designs on the sovereignty, and would prevent the
fulfilment of the king's hopes? What will you do for us in return for our
assistance?"

Aerssens was somewhat perplexed, but he was cunning at fence. "We will do
all we can," said he, "for any change is more supportable than the yoke
of Spain."

"What can you do then?" persisted Sillery. "Give us your opinion in plain
French, I beg of you, and lay aside all passion; for we have both the
same object--your preservation. Besides interest, his Majesty has
affection for you. Let him only see some advantage for himself to induce
to assist you more powerfully. Suppose you should give us what you have
and what you may acquire in Flanders with the promise to treat secretly
with us when the time comes. Could you do that?"

The envoy replied that this would be tearing the commonwealth in pieces.
If places were given away, the jealousy of the English would be excited.
Certainly it would be no light matter to surrender Sluys, the fruit of
Maurice's skill and energy, the splendidly earned equivalent for the loss
of Ostend. "As to Sluys and other places in Flanders," said Aerssens, "I
don't know if towns comprised in our Union could be transferred or
pledged without their own consent and that of the States. Should such a
thing get wind we might be ruined. Nevertheless I will write to learn
what his Majesty may hope."

"The people," returned Sillery, "need know nothing of this transfer; for
it might be made secretly by Prince Maurice, who could put the French
quietly into Sluys and other Flemish places. Meantime you had best make a
journey to Holland to arrange matters so that the deputies, coming
hither, may be amply instructed in regard to Sluys, and no time be lost.
His Majesty is determined to help you if you know how to help
yourselves."

The two men then separated, Sillery enjoining it upon the envoy to see
the king next morning, "in order to explain to his Majesty, as he had
just been doing to himself, that this sovereignty could not be
transferred, without the consent of the whole people, nor the people be
consulted in secret."

"It is necessary therefore to be armed," continued Henry's minister very
significantly, "before aspiring to the sovereignty."

Thus there was a faint glimmer of appreciation at the French court of the
meaning of popular sovereignty. It did not occur to the minister that the
right of giving consent was to be respected. The little obstacle was to
be overcome by stratagem and by force. Prince Maurice was to put French
garrisons stealthily into Sluys and other towns conquered by the republic
in Flanders. Then the magnanimous ally was to rise at the right moment
and overcome all resistance by force of arms. The plot was a good one. It
is passing strange, however, that the character of the Nassaus and of the
Dutch nation should after the last fifty years have been still so
misunderstood. It seemed in France possible that Maurice would thus
defile his honour and the Netherlanders barter their liberty, by
accepting a new tyrant in place of the one so long ago deposed.

"This is the marrow of our conference," said Aerssens to Barneveld,
reporting the interview, "and you may thus perceive whither are tending
the designs of his Majesty. It seems that they are aspiring here to the
sovereignty, and all my letters have asserted the contrary. If you will
examine a little more closely, however, you will find that there is no
contradiction. This acquisition would be desirable for France if it could
be made peacefully. As it can only be effected by war you may make sure
that it will not be attempted; for the great maxim and basis of this
kingdom is to preserve repose, and at the same time give such occupation
to the King of Spain that his means shall be consumed and his designs
frustrated. All this will cease if we make peace.

"Thus in treating with the king we must observe two rules. The first is
that we can maintain ourselves no longer unless powerfully assisted, and
that, the people inclining to peace, we shall be obliged to obey the
people. Secondly, we must let no difficulty appear as to the desire
expressed by his Majesty to have the sovereignty of these provinces. We
ought to let him hope for it, but to make him understand that by ordinary
and legitimate means he cannot aspire to it. We will make him think that
we have an equal desire with himself, and we shall thus take from those
evil-disposed counsellors the power to injure us who are always
persuading him that he is only making us great for ourselves, and thus
giving us the power to injure him. In short, the king can hope nothing
from us overtly, and certainly nothing covertly. By explaining to him
that we require the authorization of the people, and by showing ourselves
prompt to grant his request, he will be the very first to prevent us from
taking any steps, in order that his repose may not be disturbed. I know
that France does not wish to go to war with Spain. Let us then pretend
that we wish to be under the dominion of France, and that we will lead
our people to that point if the king desires it, but that it cannot be
done secretly. Believe me, he will not wish it on such conditions, while
we shall gain much by this course. Would to God that we could engage
France in war with Spain. All the utility would be ours; and the
accidents of arms would so press them to Spain, Italy, and other places,
that they would have little leisure to think of us. Consider all this and
conceal it from Buzanval."

Buzanval, it is well known, was the French envoy at the Hague, and it
must be confessed that these schemes and paltry falsehoods on the part of
the Dutch agent were as contemptible as any of the plots contrived every
day in Paris or Madrid. Such base coin as this was still circulating in
diplomacy as if fresh from the Machiavellian mint; but the republican
agent ought to have known that his Government had long ago refused to
pass it current.

Soon afterwards this grave matter was discussed at the Hague between
Henry's envoy and Barneveld. It was a very delicate negotiation. The
Advocate wished to secure the assistance of a powerful but most
unscrupulous ally, and at the same time to conceal his real intention to
frustrate the French design upon the independence of the republic.

Disingenuous and artful as his conduct unquestionably was, it may at
least be questioned whether in that age of deceit any other great
statesman would have been more frank. If the comparatively weak
commonwealth, by openly and scornfully refusing all the insidious and
selfish propositions of the French king, had incurred that monarch's
wrath, it would have taken a noble position no doubt, but it would have
perhaps been utterly destroyed. The Advocate considered himself justified
in using the artifices of war against a subtle and dangerous enemy who
wore the mask of a friend. When the price demanded for military
protection was the voluntary abandonment of national independence in
favour of the protector, the man who guided the affairs of the
Netherlands did not hesitate to humour and to outwit the king who strove
to subjugate the republic. At the same time--however one may be disposed
to censure the dissimulation from the standing-ground of a lofty
morality--it should not be forgotten that Barneveld never hinted at any
possible connivance on his part with an infraction of the laws. Whatever
might be the result of time, of persuasion, of policy, he never led Henry
or his ministers to believe that the people of the Netherlands could be
deprived of their liberty by force or fraud. He was willing to play a
political game, in which he felt himself inferior to no man, trusting to
his own skill and coolness for success. If the tyrant were defeated, and
at the same time made to serve the cause of the free commonwealth, the
Advocate believed this to be fair play.

Knowing himself surrounded by gamblers and tricksters, he probably did
not consider himself to be cheating because he did not play his cards
upon the table.

So when Buzanval informed him early in October that the possession of
Sluys and other Flemish towns would not be sufficient for the king, but
that they must offer the sovereignty on even more favourable conditions
than had once been proposed to Henry III., the Advocate told him roundly
that my lords the States were not likely to give the provinces to any
man, but meant to maintain their freedom and their rights. The envoy
replied that his Majesty would be able to gain more favour perhaps with
the common people of the country.

When it is remembered that the States had offered the sovereignty of the
provinces to Henry III., abjectly and as it were without any conditions
at all, the effrontery of Henry IV. may be measured, who claimed the same
sovereignty, after twenty years of republican independence, upon even
more favourable terms than those which his predecessor had rejected.

Barneveld, in order to mitigate the effect of his plump refusal of the
royal overtures, explained to Buzanval, what Buzanval very well knew,
that the times had now changed; that in those days, immediately after the
death of William the Silent, despair and disorder had reigned in the
provinces, "while that dainty delicacy--liberty--had not so long been
sweetly tickling the appetites of the people; that the English had not
then acquired their present footing in the country, nor the house of
Nassau the age, the credit, and authority to which it had subsequently
attained."

He then intimated--and here began the deception, which certainly did not
deceive Buzanval--that if things were handled in the right way, there was
little doubt as to the king's reaching the end proposed, but that all
depended on good management. It was an error, he said, to suppose that in
one, two, or three months, eight provinces and their principal members,
to wit, forty good cities all enjoying liberty and equality, could be
induced to accept a foreign sovereign.

Such language was very like irony, and probably not too subtle to escape
the fine perception of the French envoy.

The first thing to be done, continued the Advocate, is to persuade the
provinces to aid the king with all their means to conquer the disunited
provinces--to dispose of the archdukes, in short, and to drive the
Spaniards from the soil--and then, little by little, to make it clear
that there could be no safety for the States except in reducing the whole
body of the Netherlands under the authority of the king. Let his Majesty
begin by conquering and annexing to his crown the provinces nearest him,
and he would then be able to persuade the others to a reasonable
arrangement.

Whether the Advocate's general reply was really considered by Buzanval as
a grave sarcasm, politely veiled, may be a question. That envoy, however,
spoke to his Government of the matter as surrounded with difficulties,
but not wholly desperate. Barneveld was, he said, inclined to doubt
whether the archdukes would be able, before any negotiations were begun,
to comply with the demand which he had made upon them to have a
declaration in writing that the United Provinces were to be regarded as a
free people over whom they pretended to no authority. If so, the French
king would at once be informed of the fact. Meantime the envoy expressed
the safe opinion that, if Prince Maurice and the Advocate together should
take the matter of Henry's sovereignty in hand with zeal, they might
conduct the bark to the desired haven. Surely this was an 'if' with much
virtue in it. And notwithstanding that he chose to represent Barneveld
as, rich, tired, at the end of his Latin, and willing enough to drop his
anchor in a snug harbour, in order to make his fortune secure, it was
obvious enough that Buzanval had small hope at heart of seeing his
master's purpose accomplished.

As to Prince Maurice, the envoy did not even affect to believe him
capable of being made use of, strenuous as the efforts of the French
Government in that direction had been. "He has no private designs that I
can find out," said Buzanval, doing full justice to the straightforward
and sincere character of the prince. "He asks no change for himself or
for his country." The envoy added, as a matter of private opinion
however, that if an alteration were to be made in the constitution of the
provinces, Maurice would prefer that it should be made in favour of
France than of any other Government.

He lost no opportunity, moreover, of impressing it upon his Government
that if the sovereignty were to be secured for France at all, it could
only be done by observing great caution, and by concealing their desire
to swallow the republic of which they were professing themselves the
friends. The jealousy of England was sure to be awakened if France
appeared too greedy at the beginning. On the other hand, that power
"might be the more easily rocked into a profound sleep if France did not
show its appetite at the very beginning of the banquet." That the policy
of France should be steadily but stealthily directed towards getting
possession of as many strong places as possible in the Netherlands had
long been his opinion. "Since we don't mean to go to war," said he a year
before to Villeroy, "let us at least follow the example of the English,
who have known how to draw a profit out of the necessities of this state.
Why should we not demand, or help ourselves to, a few good cities. Sluys,
for example, would be a security for us, and of great advantage."

Suspicion was rife on this subject at the court of Spain. Certainly it
would be less humiliating to the Catholic crown to permit the
independence of its rebellious subjects than to see them incorporated
into the realms of either France or England. It is not a very striking
indication of the capacity of great rulers to look far into the future
that both, France and England should now be hankering after the
sovereignty of those very provinces, the solemn offer of which by the
provinces themselves both France and England had peremptorily and almost
contemptuously refused.

In Spain itself the war was growing very wearisome. Three hundred
thousand dollars a month could no longer be relied upon from the royal
exchequer, or from the American voyages, or from the kite-flying
operations of the merchant princes on the Genoa exchange.

A great fleet, to be sure, had recently arrived, splendidly laden, from
the West Indies, as already stated. Pagan slaves, scourged to their
dreadful work, continued to supply to their Christian taskmasters the
hidden treasures of the New World in exchange for the blessings of the
Evangel as thus revealed; but these treasures could never fill the
perpetual sieve of the Netherland war, rapidly and conscientiously as
they were poured into it, year after year.

The want of funds in the royal exchequer left the soldiers in Flanders
unpaid, and as an inevitable result mutiny admirably organized and calmly
defiant was again established throughout the obedient provinces. This
happened regularly once a year, so that it seemed almost as business-like
a proceeding for an Eletto to proclaim mutiny as for a sovereign to
declare martial law. Should the whole army mutiny at once, what might
become of the kingdom of Spain?

Moreover, a very uneasy feeling was prevalent that, as formerly, the
Turks had crossed the Hellespont into Europe by means of a Genoese
alliance and Genoese galleys, so now the Moors were contemplating the
reconquest of Granada, and of their other ancient possessions in Spain,
with the aid of the Dutch republic and her powerful fleets.--[Grotius,
xv. 715]

The Dutch cruisers watched so carefully on the track of the
homeward-bound argosies, that the traffic was becoming more dangerous
than lucrative, particularly since the public law established by Admiral
Fazardo, that it was competent for naval commanders to hang, drown, or
burn the crews of the enemy's merchantmen.

The Portuguese were still more malcontent than the Spaniards. They had
gained little by the absorption of their kingdom by Spain, save
participation in the war against the republic, the result of which had
been to strip them almost entirely of the conquests of Vasco de Gama and
his successors, and to close to them the ports of the Old World and the
New.

In the republic there was a party for peace, no doubt, but peace only
with independence. As for a return to their original subjection to Spain
they were unanimously ready to accept forty years more of warfare rather
than to dream of such a proposition. There were many who deliberately
preferred war to peace. Bitter experience had impressed very deeply on
the Netherlanders the great precept that faith would never be kept with
heretics. The present generation had therefore been taught from their
cradles to believe that the word peace in Spanish mouths simply meant the
Holy Inquisition. It was not unnatural, too, perhaps, that a people who
had never known what it was to be at peace might feel, in regard to that
blessing, much as the blind or the deaf towards colour or music; as
something useful and agreeable, no doubt, but with which they might the
more cheerfully dispense, as peculiar circumstances had always kept them
in positive ignorance of its nature. The instinct of commercial
greediness made the merchants of Holland and Zeeland, and especially
those of Amsterdam, dread the revival of Antwerp in case of peace, to the
imagined detriment of the great trading centres of the republic. It was
felt also to be certain that Spain, in case of negotiations, would lay
down as an indispensable preliminary the abstinence on the part of the
Netherlanders from all intercourse with the Indies, East or West; and
although such a prohibition would be received by those republicans with
perfect contempt, yet the mere discussion of the subject moved their
spleen. They had already driven the Portuguese out of a large portion of
the field in the east, and they were now preparing by means of the same
machinery to dispute the monopoly of the Spaniards in the west. To talk
of excluding such a people as this from intercourse with any portion of
the Old World or the New was the mumbling of dotage; yet nothing could be
more certain than that such would be the pretensions of Spain.

As for the stadholder, his vocation was war, his greatness had been
derived from war, his genius had never turned itself to pacific pursuits.
Should a peace be negotiated, not only would his occupation be gone, but
he might even find himself hampered for means. It was probable that his
large salaries, as captain and admiral-general of the forces of the
republic, would be seriously curtailed, in case his services in the field
were no longer demanded, while such secret hopes as he might entertain of
acquiring that sovereign power which Barneveld had been inclined to
favour, were more likely to be fulfilled if the war should be continued.
At the same time, if sovereignty were to be his at all, he was distinctly
opposed to such limitations of his authority as were to have been
proposed by the States to his father. Rather than reign on those
conditions, he avowed that he would throw himself head foremost from the
great tower of Hague Castle.

Moreover, the prince was smarting under the consciousness of having lost
military reputation, however undeservedly, in the latter campaigns, and
might reasonably hope to gain new glory in the immediate future. Thus,
while his great rival, Marquis Spinola, whose fame had grown to so
luxuriant a height in so brief a period, had many reasons to dread the
results of future campaigning, Maurice seemed to have personally much to
lose and nothing to hope for in peace. Spinola was over head and ears in
debt. In the past two years he had spent millions of florins out of his
own pocket. His magnificent fortune and boundless credit were seriously
compromised. He had found it an easier task to take Ostend and relieve
Grol than to bolster up the finances of Spain.

His acceptances were becoming as much a drug upon the exchanges of
Antwerp, Genoa, or Augsburg, as those of the most Catholic king or their
Highnesses the archdukes. Ruin stared him in the face, notwithstanding
the deeds with which he had startled the world, and he was therefore
sincerely desirous of peace, provided, of course, that all those
advantages for which the war had been waged in vain could now be secured
by negotiation.

There had been, since the arrival of the Duke of Alva in the Netherlands,
just forty years of fighting. Maurice and the war had been born in the
same year, and it would be difficult for him to comprehend that his whole
life's work had been a superfluous task, to be rubbed away now with a
sponge. Yet that Spain, on the entrance to negotiations, would demand of
the provinces submission to her authority, re-establishment of the
Catholic religion, abstinence from Oriental or American commerce, and the
toleration of Spanish soldiers over all the Netherlands, seemed
indubitable.

It was equally unquestionable that the seven provinces would demand
recognition of their national independence by Spain, would refuse public
practice of the Roman religion within their domains, and would laugh to
scorn any proposed limitations to their participation in the world's
traffic. As to the presence of Spanish troops on their soil, that was, of
course, an inconceivable idea.

Where, then, could even a loophole be found through which the possibility
of a compromise could be espied? The ideas of the contending parties were
as much opposed to each other as fire and snow. Nevertheless, the great
forces of the world seemed to have gradually settled into such an
equilibrium as to make the continuance of the war for the present
impossible.

Accordingly, the peace-party in Brussels had cautiously put forth its
tentacles late in 1606, and again in the early days of the new year.
Walrave van Wittenhorst and Doctor Gevaerts had been allowed to come to
the Hague, ostensibly on private business, but with secret commission
from the archdukes to feel and report concerning the political
atmosphere. They found that it was a penal offence in the republic to
talk of peace or of truce. They nevertheless suspected that there might
be a more sympathetic layer beneath the very chill surface which they
everywhere encountered. Having intimated in the proper quarters that the
archdukes would be ready to receive or to appoint commissioners for peace
or armistice, if becoming propositions should be made, they were allowed
on the 10th of January, 1607, to make a communication to the
States-General. They indulged in the usual cheap commonplaces on the
effusion of blood, the calamities of war, and the blessings of peace, and
assured the States of the very benignant disposition of their Highnesses
at Brussels.

The States-General, in their reply, seventeen days afterwards, remarking
that the archdukes persisted in their unfounded pretensions of authority
over them, took occasion to assure their Highnesses that they had no
chance to obtain such authority except by the sword. Whether they were
like to accomplish much in that way the history of the past might
sufficiently indicate, while on the other hand the States would always
claim the right, and never renounce the hope, of recovering those
provinces which had belonged to their free commonwealth since the union
of Utrecht, and which force and fraud had torn away.

During twenty-five years that union had been confirmed as a free state by
solemn decrees, and many public acts and dealings with the mightiest
potentates of Europe, nor could any other answer now be made to the
archdukes than the one always given to his holy Roman Imperial Majesty,
and other princes, to wit, that no negotiations could be had with powers
making any pretensions in conflict with the solemn decrees and
well-maintained rights of the United Netherlands.

It was in this year that two words became more frequent in the mouths of
men than they had ever been before; two words which as the ages rolled on
were destined to exercise a wider influence over the affairs of this
planet than was yet dreamed of by any thinker in Christendom. Those words
were America and Virginia. Certainly both words were known before,
although India was the more general term for these auriferous regions of
the west, which, more than a century long, had been open to European
adventure, while the land, baptized in honour of the throned Vestal, had
been already made familiar to European ears by the exploits of Raleigh.
But it was not till 1607 that Jamestown was founded, that Captain John
Smith's adventures with Powhattan, "emperor of Virginia," and his
daughter the Princess Pocahontas, became fashionable topics in England,
that the English attempts to sail up the Chickahominy to the Pacific
Ocean--as abortive as those of the Netherlanders to sail across the North
Pole to Cathay--were creating scientific discussion in Europe, and that
the first cargo of imaginary gold dust was exported from the James River.

With the adventurous minds of England all aflame with enthusiasm for
those golden regions, with the thick-coming fancies for digging, washing,
refining the precious sands of Virginia rivers, it was certain that a
great rent was now to be made in the Borgian grant. It was inevitable
that the rivalry of the Netherlanders should be excited by the
achievements and the marvellous tales of Englishmen beyond the Atlantic,
and that they too should claim their share of traffic with that golden
and magnificent Unknown which was called America. The rivalry between
England and Holland, already so conspicuous in the spicy Archipelagos of
the east, was now to be extended over the silvery regions of the west.
The two leading commercial powers of the Old World were now to begin
their great struggle for supremacy in the western hemisphere.

A charter for what was called a West India Company was accordingly
granted by the States-General. West India was understood to extend from
the French settlements in Newfoundland or Acadia, along the American
coast to the Straits of Magellan, and so around to the South Sea,
including the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, besides all of Africa lying
between the tropic of Cancer and the Cape of Good Hope. At least, within
those limits the West India Company was to have monopoly of trade, all
other Netherlanders being warned off the precincts. Nothing could be more
magnificent, nor more vague.

The charter was for thirty-six years. The company was to maintain armies
and fleets, to build forts and cities, to carry on war, to make treaties
of peace and of commerce. It was a small peripatetic republic of
merchants and mariners, evolved out of the mother republic--which had at
last established its position among the powers of Christendom--and it was
to begin its career full grown and in full armour.

The States-General were to furnish the company at starting with one
million of florins and with twenty ships of war. The company was to add
twenty other ships. The Government was to consist of four chambers of
directors. One-half the capital was to be contributed by the chamber of
Amsterdam, one-quarter by that of Zeeland, one-eighth respectively by the
chambers of the Meuse and of North Holland. The chambers of Amsterdam, of
Zeeland, of the Meuse, and of North Holland were to have respectively
thirty, eighteen, fifteen, and fifteen directors. Of these seventy-eight,
one-third were to be replaced every sixth year by others, while from the
whole number seventeen persons were to be elected as a permanent board of
managers. Dividends were to be made as soon as the earnings amounted to
ten per cent. on the capital. Maritime judges were to decide upon prizes,
the proceeds of which were not to be divided for six years, in order that
war might be self-sustaining. Afterwards, the treasury of the United
Provinces should receive one-tenth, Prince Maurice one-thirtieth, and the
merchant stockholders the remainder. Governors and generals were to take
the oath of fidelity to the States-General. The merchandize of the
company was to be perpetually free of taxation, so far as regarded old
duties, and exempt from war-taxes for the first twenty years.

Very violent and conflicting were the opinions expressed throughout the
republic in regard to this project. It was urged by those most in favour
of it that the chief sources of the greatness of Spain would be thus
transferred to the States-General; for there could be no doubt that the
Hollanders, unconquerable at sea, familiar with every ocean-path, and
whose hardy constitutions defied danger and privation and the extremes of
heat and cold, would easily supplant the more delicately organized
adventurers from Southern Europe, already enervated by the exhausting
climate of America. Moreover, it was idle for Spain to attempt the
defence of so vast a portion of the world. Every tribe over which she had
exercised sway would furnish as many allies for the Dutch company as it
numbered men; for to obey and to hate the tyrannical Spaniard were one.
The republic would acquire, in reality, the grandeur which with Spain was
but an empty boast, would have the glory of transferring the great war
beyond the limits of home into those far distant possessions, where the
enemy deemed himself most secure, and would teach the true religion to
savages sunk in their own superstitions, and still further depraved by
the imported idolatries of Rome. Commerce was now world-wide, and the
time had come for the Netherlanders, to whom the ocean belonged, to tear
out from the pompous list of the Catholic king's titles his appellation
of Lord of the Seas.

There were others, however, whose language was not so sanguine. They
spoke with a shiver of the inhabitants of America, who hated all men,
simply because they were men, or who had never manifested any love for
their species except as an article of food. To convert such cannibals to
Christianity and Calvinism would be a hopeless endeavour, and meanwhile
the Spaniards were masters of the country. The attempt to blockade half
the globe with forty galleots was insane; for, although the enemy had not
occupied the whole territory, he commanded every harbour and position of
vantage. Men, scarcely able to defend inch by inch the meagre little
sandbanks of their fatherland, who should now go forth in hopes to
conquer the world, were but walking in their sleep. They would awake to
the consciousness of ruin.

Thus men in the United Provinces spake of America. Especially Barneveld
had been supposed to be prominent among the opponents of the new Company,
on the ground that the more violently commercial ambition excited itself
towards wider and wilder fields of adventure, the fainter grew
inclinations for peace. The Advocate, who was all but omnipotent in
Holland and Zeeland, subsequently denied the imputation of hostility to
the new corporation, but the establishment of the West India Company,
although chartered, was postponed.

The archdukes had not been discouraged by the result of their first
attempts at negotiation, for Wittenhorst had reported a disposition
towards peace as prevalent in the rebellious provinces, so far as he had
contrived, during his brief mission, to feel the public pulse.

On the 6th February, 1607, Werner Cruwel, an insolvent tradesman of
Brussels, and a relative of Recorder Aerssens, father of the envoy at
Paris, made his appearance very unexpectedly at the house of his kinsman
at the Hague. Sitting at the dinner-table, but neither eating nor
drinking, he was asked by his host what troubled him. He replied that he
had a load on his breast. Aerssens begged him, if it was his recent
bankruptcy that oppressed him, to use philosophy and patience. The
merchant answered that he who confessed well was absolved well. He then
took from his pocket-book a letter from President Richardot, and said he
would reveal what he had to say after dinner. The cloth being removed,
and the wife and children of Aerssens having left the room, Cruwel
disclosed that he had been sent by Richardot and Father Neyen on a secret
mission. The recorder, much amazed and troubled, refused to utter a word,
save to ask if Cruwel would object to confer with the Advocate. The
merchant expressing himself as ready for such an interview, the recorder,
although it was late, immediately sent a message to the great statesman.
Barneveld was in bed and asleep, but was aroused to receive the
communication of Aerssens. "We live in such a calumnious time," said the
recorder, "that many people believe that you and I know more of the
recent mission of Wittenhorst than we admit. You had best interrogate
Cruwel in the presence of witnesses. I know not the man's humour, but it
seems to me since his failure, that, in spite of his shy and lumpish
manner, he is false and cunning."

The result was a secret interview, on the 8th February, between Prince
Maurice, Barneveld, and the recorder, in which Cruwel was permitted to
state the object of his mission. He then produced a short memorandum,
signed by Spinola and by Father Neyen, to the effect that the archdukes
were willing to treat for a truce of ten or twelve years, on the sole
condition that the States would abstain from the India navigation. He
exhibited also another paper, signed only by Neyen, in which that friar
proposed to come secretly to the Hague, no one in Brussels to know of the
visit save the archdukes and Spinola; and all in the United Provinces to
be equally ignorant except the prince, the Advocate, and the recorder.
Cruwel was then informed that if Neyen expected to discuss such grave
matters with the prince, he must first send in a written proposal that
could go on all fours and deserve attention. A week afterwards Cruwel
came back with a paper in which Neyen declared himself authorized by the
archdukes to treat with the States on the basis of their liberty and
independence, and to ask what they would give in return for so great a
concession as this renunciation of all right to "the so-called United
Provinces."

This being a step in advance, it was decided to permit the visit of
Neyen. It was, however, the recorded opinion of the distinguished
personages to whom the proposal was made that it was a trick and a
deception. The archdukes would, no doubt, it was said, nominally
recognise the provinces as a free State, but without really meaning it.
Meantime, they would do their best to corrupt the Government and to renew
the war after the republic had by this means been separated from its
friends.

John Neyen, father commissary of the Franciscans, who had thus invited
himself to the momentous conference, was a very smooth Flemish friar, who
seemed admirably adapted, for various reasons, to glide into the rebel
country and into the hearts of the rebels. He was a Netherlander, born at
Antwerp, when Antwerp was a portion of the united commonwealth, of a
father who had been in the confidential service of William the Silent. He
was eloquent in the Dutch language, and knew the character of the Dutch
people. He had lived much at court, both in Madrid and Brussels, and was
familiar with the ways of kings and courtiers. He was a holy man,
incapable of a thought of worldly advancement for himself, but he was a
master of the logic often thought most conclusive in those days; no man
insinuating golden arguments more adroitly than he into half-reluctant
palms. Blessed with a visage of more than Flemish frankness, he had in
reality a most wily and unscrupulous disposition. Insensible to
contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff, he could wind back to his
purpose when less supple negotiators would have been crushed.

He was described by his admirers as uniting the wisdom of the serpent
with the guilelessness of the dove. Who better than he then, in this
double capacity, to coil himself around the rebellion, and to carry the
olive-branch in his mouth?

On the 25th February the monk, disguised in the dress of a burgher,
arrived at Ryswick, a village a mile and a half from the Hague. He was
accompanied on the journey by Cruwel, and they gave themselves out as
travelling tradesmen. After nightfall, a carriage having been sent to the
hostelry, according to secret agreement, by Recorder Aerssens, John Neyen
was brought to the Hague. The friar, as he was driven on through these
hostile regions, was somewhat startled, on looking out, to find himself
accompanied by two mounted musketeers on each side of the carriage, but
they proved to have been intended as a protective escort. He was brought
to the recorder's house, whence, after some delay, he was conveyed to the
palace. Here he was received by an unknown and silent attendant, who took
him by the hand and led him through entirely deserted corridors and
halls. Not a human being was seen nor a sound heard until his conductor
at last reached the door of an inner apartment through which he ushered
him, without speaking a syllable. The monk then found himself in the
presence of two personages, seated at a table covered with books and
papers. One was in military undress, with an air about him of habitual
command, a fair-complexioned man of middle age, inclining to baldness,
rather stout, with a large blue eye, regular features, and a
mouse-coloured beard. The other was in the velvet cloak and grave
habiliments of a civil functionary, apparently sixty years of age, with a
massive features, and a shaggy beard. The soldier was Maurice of Nassau,
the statesman was John of Olden-Barneveld.

Both rose as the friar entered, and greeted him with cordiality.

"But," said the prince, "how did you dare to enter the Hague, relying
only on the word of a Beggar?"

"Who would not confide," replied Neyen, "in the word of so exalted, so
respectable a Beggar as you, O most excellent prince?"

With these facetious words began the negotiations through which an
earnest attempt was at last to be made for terminating a seemingly
immortal war. The conversation, thus begun, rolled amicably and
informally along. The monk produced letters from the archdukes, in which,
as he stated, the truly royal soul of the writers shone conspicuously
forth. Without a thought for their own advantage, he observed, and moved
only by a contemplation of the tears shed by so many thousands of beings
reduced to extreme misery, their Highnesses, although they were such
exalted princes, cared nothing for what would be said by the kings of
Europe and all the potentates of the universe about their excessive
indulgence."

"What indulgence do you speak of?" asked the stadholder.

"Does that seem a trifling indulgence," replied John Neyen, "that they
are willing to abandon the right which they inherited from their
ancestors over these provinces, to allow it so easily to slip from their
fingers, to declare these people to be free, over whom, as their subjects
refusing the yoke, they have carried on war so long?"

"It is our right hands that have gained this liberty," said Maurice, "not
the archdukes that have granted it. It has been acquired by our treasure,
poured forth how freely! by the price of our blood, by so many thousands
of souls sent to their account. Alas, how dear a price have we paid for
it! All the potentates of Christendom, save the King of Spain alone, with
his relatives the archdukes, have assented to our independence. In
treating for peace we ask no gift of freedom from the archdukes. We claim
to be regarded by them as what we are--free men. If they are unwilling to
consider us as such, let them subject us to their dominion if they can.
And as we have hitherto done, we shall contend more fiercely for liberty
than for life."

With this, the tired monk was dismissed to sleep off the effects of his
journey and of the protracted discussion, being warmly recommended to the
captain of the citadel, by whom he was treated with every possible
consideration.

Several days of private discussion ensued between Neyen and the leading
personages of the republic. The emissary was looked upon with great
distrust. All schemes of substantial negotiation were regarded by the
public as visions, while the monk on his part felt the need of all his
tact and temper to wind his way out of the labyrinth into which he felt
that he had perhaps too heedlessly entered. A false movement on his part
would involve himself and his masters in a hopeless maze of suspicion,
and make a pacific result impossible.

At length, it having been agreed to refer the matter to the
States-General, Recorder Aerssens waited upon Neyen to demand his
credentials for negotiation. He replied that he had been forbidden to
deliver his papers, but that he was willing to exhibit them to the
States-General.

He came accordingly to that assembly, and was respectfully received. All
the deputies rose, and he was placed in a seat near the presiding
officer. Olden-Barneveld then in a few words told him why he had been
summoned. The monk begged that a want of courtesy might not be imputed to
him, as he had been sent to negotiate with three individuals, not with a
great assembly.

Thus already the troublesome effect of publicity upon diplomacy was
manifesting itself. The many-headed, many-tongued republic was a
difficult creature to manage, adroit as the negotiator had proved himself
to be in gliding through the cabinets and council-chambers of princes and
dealing with the important personages found there.

The power was, however, produced, and handed around the assembly, the
signature and seals being duly inspected by the members. Neyen was then
asked if he had anything to say in public. He replied in the negative,
adding only a few vague commonplaces about the effusion of blood and the
desire of the archdukes for the good of mankind. He was then dismissed.

A few days afterwards a committee of five from the States-General, of
which Barneveld was chairman, conferred with Neyen. He was informed that
the paper exhibited by him was in many respects objectionable, and that
they had therefore drawn up a form which he was requested to lay before
the archdukes for their guidance in making out a new power. He was asked
also whether the king of Spain was a party to these proposals for
negotiation. The monk answered that he was not informed of the fact, but
that he considered it highly probable.

John Neyen then departed for Brussels with the form prescribed by the
States-General in his pocket. Nothing could exceed the indignation with
which the royalists and Catholics at the court of the archdukes were
inspired by the extreme arrogance and obstinacy thus manifested by the
rebellious heretics. That the offer on the part of their master to
negotiate should be received by them with cavils, and almost with
contempt, was as great an offence as their original revolt. That the
servant should dare to prescribe a form for the sovereign to copy seemed
to prove that the world was coming to an end. But it was ever thus with
the vulgar, said the courtiers and church dignitaries, debating these
matters. The insanity of plebeians was always enormous, and never more so
than when fortune for a moment smiled. Full of arrogance and temerity
when affairs were prosperous, plunged in abject cowardice when dangers
and reverses came--such was the People--such it must ever be.

Thus blustered the priests and the parasites surrounding the archduke,
nor need their sentiments amaze us. Could those honest priests and
parasites have ever dreamed, before the birth of this upstart republic,
that merchants, manufacturers, and farmers, mechanics and advocates--the
People, in short--should presume to meddle with affairs of state? Their
vocation had been long ago prescribed--to dig and to draw, to brew and to
bake, to bear burdens in peace and to fill bloody graves in war--what
better lot could they desire?

Meantime their superiors, especially endowed with wisdom by the
Omnipotent, would direct trade and commerce, conduct war and diplomacy,
make treaties, impose taxes, fill their own pockets, and govern the
universe. Was not this reasonable and according to the elemental laws? If
the beasts of the field had been suddenly gifted with speech, and had
constituted themselves into a free commonwealth for the management of
public affairs, they would hardly have caused more profound astonishment
at Brussels and Madrid than had been excited by the proceedings of the
rebellious Dutchmen.

Yet it surely might have been suggested, when the lament of the courtiers
over the abjectness of the People in adversity was so emphatic, that Dorp
and Van Loon, Berendrecht and Gieselles, with the men under their
command, who had disputed every inch of Little Troy for three years and
three months, and had covered those fatal sands with a hundred thousand
corpses, had not been giving of late such evidence of the People's
cowardice in reverses as theory required. The siege of Ostend had been
finished only three years before, and it is strange that its lessons
should so soon have been forgotten.

It was thought best, however, to dissemble. Diplomacy in those
days--certainly the diplomacy of Spain and Rome--meant simply
dissimulation. Moreover, that solid apothegm, 'haereticis non servanda
fides,' the most serviceable anchor ever forged for true believers, was
always ready to be thrown out, should storm or quicksand threaten, during
the intricate voyage to be now undertaken.

John Neyen soon returned to the Hague, having persuaded his masters that
it was best to affect compliance with the preliminary demand of the
States. During the discussions in regard to peace, it would not be
dangerous to treat with the rebel provinces as with free states, over
which the archdukes pretended to no authority, because--so it was
secretly argued--this was to be understood with a sense of similitude.
"We will negotiate with them as if they were free," said the greyfriar to
the archduke and his counsellors, "but not with the signification of true
and legitimate liberty. They have laid down in their formula that we are
to pretend to no authority over them. Very well. For the time being we
will pretend that we do not pretend to any such authority. To negotiate
with them as if they were free will not make them free. It is no
recognition by us that they are free. Their liberty could never be
acquired by their rebellion. This is so manifest that neither the king
nor the archdukes can lose any of their rights over the United Provinces,
even should they make this declaration."

Thus the hair-sputters at Brussels--spinning a web that should be stout
enough to entrap the noisy, blundering republicans at the Hague, yet so
delicate as to go through the finest dialectical needle. Time was to show
whether subtilty or bluntness was the best diplomatic material.

The monk brought with him three separate instruments or powers, to be
used according to his discretion. Admitted to the assembly of the
States-General, he produced number one.

It was instantly rejected. He then offered number two, with the same
result. He now declared himself offended, not on his own account, but for
the sake of his masters, and asked leave to retire from the assembly,
leaving with them the papers which had been so benignantly drawn up, and
which deserved to be more carefully studied.

The States, on their parts, were sincerely and vehemently indignant. What
did all this mean, it was demanded, this producing one set of
propositions after another? Why did the archdukes not declare their
intentions openly and at once? Let the States depart each to the several
provinces, and let John Neyen be instantly sent out of the country. Was
it thought to bait a trap for the ingenuous Netherlanders, and catch them
little by little, like so many wild animals? This was not the way the
States dealt with the archdukes. What they meant they put in
front--first, last, and always. Now and in the future they said and they
would say exactly what they wished, candidly and seriously. Those who
pursued another course would never come into negotiation with them.

The monk felt that he had excited a wrath which it would be difficult to
assuage. He already perceived the difference between a real and an
affected indignation, and tried to devise some soothing remedy. Early
next morning he sent a petition in writing to the States for leave to
make an explanation to the assembly. Barneveld and Recorder Aerssens, in
consequence, came to him immediately, and heaped invectives upon his head
for his duplicity.

Evidently it was a different matter dealing with this many-headed roaring
beast, calling itself a republic, from managing the supple politicians
with whom he was more familiar. The noise and publicity of these
transactions were already somewhat appalling to the smooth friar who was
accustomed to negotiate in comfortable secrecy. He now vehemently
protested that never man was more sincere than he, and implored for time
to send to Brussels for another power. It is true that number three was
still in his portfolio, but he had seen so much indignation on the
production of number two as to feel sure that the fury of the States
would know no bounds should he now confess that he had come provided with
a third.

It was agreed accordingly to wait eight days, in which period he might
send for and receive the new power already in his possession. These
little tricks were considered masterly diplomacy in those days, and by
this kind of negotiators; and such was the way in which it was proposed
to terminate a half century of warfare.

   [The narrative is the monk's own, as preserved by his admirer,
   the Jesuit Gallucci, (ubi sup.)]

The friar wrote to his masters, not of course to ask for a new power, but
to dilate on the difficulties to be anticipated in procuring that which
the losing party is always most bent upon in circumstances like these,
and which was most ardently desired by the archdukes--an armistice. He
described Prince Maurice as sternly opposed to such a measure, believing
that temporary cessation of hostilities was apt to be attended with
mischievous familiarity between the opposing camps, with relaxation of
discipline, desertion, and various kinds of treachery, and that there was
no better path to peace than that which was trampled by contending hosts.

Seven days passed, and then Neyen informed the States that he had at last
received a power which he hoped would prove satisfactory. Being admitted
accordingly to the assembly, he delivered an eloquent eulogy upon the
sincerity of the archdukes, who, with perhaps too little regard for their
own dignity and authority, had thus, for the sake of the public good, so
benignantly conceded what the States had demanded.

Barneveld, on receiving the new power, handed to Neyen a draught of an
agreement which he was to study at his leisure, and in which he might
suggest alterations. At the same time it was demanded that within three
months the written consent of the King of Spain to the proposed
negotiations should be produced. The Franciscan objected that it did not
comport with the dignity of the archdukes to suppose the consent of any
other sovereign needful to confirm their acts. Barneveld insisted with
much vehemence on the necessity of this condition. It was perfectly
notorious, he said, that the armies commanded by the archdukes were
subject to the King of Spain, and were called royal armies. Prince
Maurice observed that all prisoners taken by him had uniformly called
themselves soldiers of the Crown, not of the archdukes, nor of Marquis
Spinola.

Barneveld added that the royal power over the armies in the Netherlands
and over the obedient provinces was proved by the fact that all
commanders of regiments, all governors of fortresses, especially of
Antwerp, Ghent, Cambray, and the like, were appointed by the King of
Spain. These were royal citadels with royal garrisons. That without the
knowledge and consent of the King of Spain it would be impossible to
declare the United Provinces free, was obvious; for in the cession by
Philip II. of all the Netherlands it was provided that, without the
consent of the king, no part of that territory could be ceded, and this
on pain of forfeiting all the sovereignty. To treat without the king was
therefore impossible.

The Franciscan denied that because the sovereigns of Spain sent funds and
auxiliary troops to Flanders, and appointed military commanders there of
various degrees, the authority of the archdukes was any the less supreme.
Philip II. had sent funds and troops to sustain the League, but he was
not King of France.

Barneveld probably thought it not worth his while to reply that Philip,
with those funds and those troops, had done his best to become King of
France, and that his failure proved nothing for the argument either way.

Neyen then returned once more to Brussels, observing as he took leave
that the decision of the archdukes as to the king's consent was very
doubtful, although he was sure that the best thing for all parties would
be to agree to an armistice out of hand.

This, however, was far from being the opinion of the States or the
stadholder.

After conferring with his masters, the monk came down by agreement from
Antwerp to the Dutch ships which lay in the, Scheld before Fort Lillo. On
board one of these, Dirk van der Does had been stationed with a special
commission from the States to compare documents. It was expressly ordered
that in these preliminary negotiations neither party was to go on shore.
On a comparison of the agreement brought by Neyen from Brussels with the
draught furnished by Barneveld, of which Van der Does had a copy, so many
discrepancies appeared that the document of the archdukes was at once
rejected. But of course the monk had a number two, and this, after some
trouble, was made to agree with the prescribed form. Brother John then,
acting upon what he considered the soundest of principles--that no job
was so difficult as not to be accomplished with the help of the precious
metals--offered his fellow negotiator a valuable gold chain as a present
from the archdukes. Dirk van der Does accepted the chain, but gave notice
of the fact to his Government.

The monk now became urgent to accompany his friend to the Hague, but this
had been expressly forbidden by the States. Neyen felt sure, he said, of
being able by arguments, which he could present by word of mouth, to
overcome the opposition to the armistice were he once more to be admitted
to the assembly. Van der Does had already much overstaid his appointed
time, bound to the spot, as it were, by the golden chain thrown around
him by the excellent friar, and he now, in violation of orders, wrote to
the Hague for leave to comply with this request. Pending the answer, the
persuasive Neyen convinced him, much against his will, that they might
both go together as far as Delft. To Delft they accordingly went; but,
within half a league of that place, met a courier with strict orders that
the monk was at once to return to Brussels. Brother John was in great
agitation. Should he go back, the whole negotiation might come to nought;
should he go on, he might be clapped into prison as a spy. Being
conscious, however, that his services as a spy were intended to be the
most valuable part of his mission, he resolved to proceed in that
capacity. So he persuaded his friend Dirk to hide him in the hold of a
canal-boat. Van der Does was in great trepidation himself, but on
reaching the Hague and giving up his gold chain to Barneveld, he made his
peace, and obtained leave for the trembling but audacious friar to come
out of his hiding-place.

Appearing once more before the States-General on the afternoon of 7th
May, Neyen urged with much eloquence the propriety of an immediate
armistice both by sea and land, insisting that it would be a sanguinary
farce to establish a cessation of hostilities upon one element while
blood and treasure were profusely flowing on the oceans. There were
potent reasons for this earnestness on the part of the monk to procure a
truce to maritime operations, as very soon was to be made evident to the
world. Meantime, on this renewed visit, the negotiator expressed himself
as no longer doubtful in regard to the propriety of requesting the
Spanish king's consent to the proposed negotiations. That consent,
however, would in his opinion depend upon the earnestness now to be
manifested by the States in establishing the armistice by sea and land,
and upon their promptness in recalling the fleets now infesting the coast
of Spain. No immediate answer was given to these representations, but
Neyen was requested to draw up his argument in writing, in order that it
might be duly pondered by the States of the separate provinces.

The radical defect of the Dutch constitution--the independent sovereignty
claimed by each one of the provinces composing the confederation, each of
those provinces on its part being composed of cities, each again claiming
something very like sovereignty for itself--could not fail to be
manifested whenever, great negotiations with foreign powers were to be
undertaken. To obtain the unanimous consent of seven independent little
republics was a work of difficulty, requiring immense expenditure of time
in comparatively unimportant contingencies. How intolerable might become
the obstructions, the dissensions, and the delays, now that a series of
momentous and world-wide transactions was beginning, on the issue of
which the admission of a new commonwealth into the family of nations, the
international connections of all the great powers of Christendom, the
commerce of the world, and the peace of Europe depended.

Yet there was no help for it but to make the best present use of the
institutions which time and great events had bestowed upon the young
republic, leaving to a more convenient season the task of remodelling the
law. Meanwhile, with men who knew their own minds, who meant to speak the
truth, and who were resolved to gather in at last the harvest honestly
and bravely gained by nearly a half-century of hard fighting, it would be
hard for a legion of friars, with their heads full of quirks and their
wallets full of bills of exchange, to carry the day for despotism.

Barneveld was sincerely desirous of peace. He was well aware that his
province of Holland, where he was an intellectual autocrat, was
staggering under the burden of one half the expenses of the whole
republic. He knew that Holland in the course of the last nine years,
notwithstanding the constantly heightened rate of impost on all objects
of ordinary consumption, was twenty-six millions of florins behindhand,
and that she had reason therefore to wish for peace. The great Advocate,
than whom no statesman in Europe could more accurately scan the world's
horizon, was convinced that the propitious moment for honourable
straightforward negotiations to secure peace, independence, and free
commerce, free religion and free government, had come, and he had
succeeded in winning the reluctant Maurice into a partial adoption, at
least, of his opinions.

The Franciscan remained at Delft, waiting, by direction of the States,
for an answer to his propositions, and doing his best according to the
instructions of his own Government to espy the condition and sentiments
of the enemy. Becoming anxious after the lapse of a fortnight, he wrote
to Barneveld. In reply the Advocate twice sent a secret messenger,
urging, him to be patient, assuring him that the affair was working well;
that the opposition to peace came chiefly from Zeeland and from certain
parties in Amsterdam vehemently opposed to peace or truce; but that the
rest of Holland was decidedly in favour of the negotiations.

A few days passed, and Neyen was again summoned before the assembly.
Barneveld now informed him that the Dutch fleet would be recalled from
the coast of Spain so soon as the consent of his Catholic Majesty to the
negotiations arrived, but that it would be necessary to confine the
cessation of naval warfare within certain local limits. Both these
conditions were strenuously opposed by the Franciscan, who urged that the
consent of the Spanish king was certain, but that this new proposition to
localize the maritime armistice would prove to be fraught with endless
difficulties and dangers. Barneveld and the States remaining firm,
however, and giving him a formal communication of their decision in
writing, Neyen had nothing for it but to wend his way back rather
malcontent to Brussels.

It needed but a brief deliberation at the court of the archdukes to bring
about the desired arrangement. The desire for an armistice, especially
for a cessation of hostilities by sea, had been marvellously stimulated
by an event to be narrated in the next chapter. Meantime, more than the
first three months of the year had been passed in these secret
preliminary transactions, and so softly had the stealthy friar sped to
and fro between Brussels and the Hague, that when at last the armistice
was announced it broke forth like a sudden flash of fine weather in the
midst of a raging storm. No one at the archduke's court knew of the
mysterious negotiations save the monk himself, Spinola, Richardot,
Verreycken, the chief auditor, and one or two others. The great Belgian
nobles, from whom everything had been concealed, were very wroth, but the
Belgian public was as much delighted as amazed at the prospects of peace.
In the United Provinces opinions were conflicting, but doubtless joy and
confidence were the prevailing emotions.

Towards the middle of April the armistice was publicly announced. It was
to last for eight months from the 4th of May. During this period no
citadels were to be besieged, no camps brought near a city, no new
fortifications built, and all troops were to be kept carefully within
walls. Meantime commissioners were to be appointed by the archdukes to
confer with an equal number of deputies of the United Provinces for peace
or for a truce of ten, fifteen, or twenty years, on the express ground
that the archdukes regarded the United Provinces as free countries, over
which their Highnesses pretended to no authority.

The armistice on land was absolute. On sea, hostilities were to cease in
the German Ocean and in the channel between England and France, while it
was also provided that the Netherland fleet should, within a certain
period, be recalled from the Spanish coast.

A day of public fast, humiliation, thanksgiving, and prayer was ordered
throughout the republic for the 9th of May, in order to propitiate the
favour of Heaven on the great work to be undertaken; and, as a further
precaution, Prince Maurice ordered all garrisons in the strong places to
be doubled, lest the slippery enemy should take advantage of too much
confidence reposed in his good faith. The preachers throughout the
commonwealth, each according to his individual bias, improved the
occasion by denouncing the Spaniard from their pulpits and inflaming the
popular hatred against the ancient enemy, or by dilating on the blessings
of peace and the horrors of war. The peace party and the war party, the
believers in Barneveld and the especial adherents of Prince Maurice,
seemed to divide the land in nearly equal portions.

While the Netherlands, both rebellious and obedient, were filled with
these various emotions, the other countries of Europe were profoundly
amazed at the sudden revelation. It was on the whole regarded as a
confession of impotence on the part of Spain that the archdukes should
now prepare to send envoys to the revolted provinces as to a free and
independent people. Universal monarchy, brought to such a pass as this,
was hardly what had been expected after the tremendous designs and the
grandiloquent language on which the world had so long been feeding as its
daily bread. The spectacle of anointed monarchs thus far humbling
themselves to the people of rebellion dictating terms, instead of
writhing in dust at the foot of the throne--was something new in history.
The heavens and earth might soon be expected to pass away, now that such
a catastrophe was occurring.

The King of France had also been kept in ignorance of these events. It
was impossible, however, that the negotiations could go forward without
his consent and formal participation. Accordingly on receiving the news
he appointed an especial mission to the Hague--President Jeannin and De
Russy, besides his regular resident ambassador Buzanval. Meantime
startling news reached the republic in the early days of May.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A penal offence in the republic to talk of peace or of truce
     Accepting a new tyrant in place of the one so long ago deposed
     As if they were free will not make them free
     As neat a deception by telling the truth
     Cargo of imaginary gold dust was exported from the James River
     Delay often fights better than an army against a foreign invader
     Diplomacy of Spain and Rome--meant simply dissimulation
     Draw a profit out of the necessities of this state
     England hated the Netherlands
     Friendly advice still more intolerable
     Haereticis non servanda fides
     He who confessed well was absolved well
     Insensible to contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff
     Languor of fatigue, rather than any sincere desire for peace
     Much as the blind or the deaf towards colour or music
     Subtle and dangerous enemy who wore the mask of a friend
     Word peace in Spanish mouths simply meant the Holy Inquisition



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 79, 1607



CHAPTER XLVII.

   A Dutch fleet under Heemskerk sent to the coast of Spain and
   Portugal--Encounter with the Spanish war fleet under D'Avila--Death
   of both commanders-in-chief--Victory of the Netherlanders--Massacre
   of the Spaniards.

The States-General had not been inclined to be tranquil under the check
which Admiral Haultain had received upon the coast of Spain in the autumn
of 1606. The deed of terrible self-devotion by which Klaaszoon and his
comrades had in that crisis saved the reputation of the republic, had
proved that her fleets needed only skilful handling and determined
leaders to conquer their enemy in the Western seas as certainly as they
had done in the archipelagos of the East. And there was one pre-eminent
naval commander, still in the very prime of life, but seasoned by an
experience at the poles and in the tropics such as few mariners in that
early but expanding maritime epoch could boast. Jacob van Heemskerk,
unlike many of the navigators and ocean warriors who had made and were
destined to make the Orange flag of the United Provinces illustrious over
the world, was not of humble parentage. Sprung of an ancient, knightly
race, which had frequently distinguished itself in his native province of
Holland, he had followed the seas almost from his cradle. By turns a
commercial voyager, an explorer, a privateer's-man, or an admiral of
war-fleets, in days when sharp distinctions between the merchant service
and the public service, corsairs' work and cruisers' work, did not exist,
he had ever proved himself equal to any emergency--a man incapable of
fatigue, of perplexity, or of fear. We have followed his career during
that awful winter in Nova Zembla, where, with such unflinching cheerful
heroism, he sustained the courage of his comrades--the first band of
scientific martyrs that had ever braved the dangers and demanded the
secrets of those arctic regions. His glorious name--as those of so many
of his comrades and countrymen--has been rudely torn from cape,
promontory, island, and continent, once illustrated by courage and
suffering, but the noble record will ever remain.

Subsequently he had much navigated the Indian ocean; his latest
achievement having been, with two hundred men, in a couple of yachts, to
capture an immense Portuguese carrack, mounting thirty guns, and manned
with eight hundred sailors, and to bring back a prodigious booty for the
exchequer of the republic. A man with delicate features, large brown
eyes, a thin high nose, fair hair and beard, and a soft, gentle
expression, he concealed, under a quiet exterior, and on ordinary
occasions a very plain and pacific costume, a most daring nature, and an
indomitable ambition for military and naval distinction.

He was the man of all others in the commonwealth to lead any new
enterprise that audacity could conceive against the hereditary enemy.

The public and the States-General were anxious to retrace the track of
Haultain, and to efface the memory of his inglorious return from the
Spanish coast. The sailors of Holland and Zeeland were indignant that the
richly freighted fleets of the two Indies had been allowed to slip so
easily through their fingers. The great East India Corporation was
importunate with Government that such blunders should not be repeated,
and that the armaments known to be preparing in the Portuguese ports, the
homeward-bound fleets that might be looked for at any moment off the
peninsular coast, and the Spanish cruisers which were again preparing to
molest the merchant fleets of the Company, should be dealt with
effectively and in season.

Twenty-six vessels of small size but of good sailing qualities, according
to the idea of the epoch, were provided, together with four tenders. Of
this fleet the command was offered to Jacob van Heemskerk. He accepted
with alacrity, expressing with his usual quiet self-confidence the hope
that, living or dead, his fatherland would have cause to thank him.
Inspired only by the love of glory, he asked for no remuneration for his
services save thirteen per cent. of the booty, after half a million
florins should have been paid into the public treasury. It was hardly
probable that this would prove a large share of prize money, while
considerable victories alone could entitle him to receive a stiver.

The expedition sailed in the early days of April for the coast of Spain
and Portugal, the admiral having full discretion to do anything that
might in his judgment redound to the advantage of the republic. Next in
command was the vice-admiral of Zeeland, Laurenz Alteras. Another famous
seaman in the fleet was Captain Henry Janszoon of Amsterdam, commonly
called Long Harry, while the weather-beaten and well-beloved Admiral
Lambert, familiarly styled by his countrymen "Pretty Lambert," some of
whose achievements have already been recorded in these pages, was the
comrade of all others upon whom Heemskerk most depended. After the 10th
April the admiral, lying off and on near the mouth of the Tagus, sent a
lugger in trading disguise to reconnoitre that river. He ascertained by
his spies, sent in this and subsequently in other directions, as well as
by occasional merchantmen spoken with at sea, that the Portuguese fleet
for India would not be ready to sail for many weeks; that no valuable
argosies were yet to be looked for from America, but that a great
war-fleet, comprising many galleons of the largest size, was at that very
moment cruising in the Straits of Gibraltar. Such of the Netherland
traders as were returning from the Levant, as well as those designing to
enter the Mediterranean, were likely to fall prizes to this formidable
enemy. The heart of Jacob Heemskerk danced for joy. He had come forth for
glory, not for booty, and here was what he had scarcely dared to hope
for--a powerful antagonist instead of peaceful, scarcely resisting, but
richly-laden merchantmen. The accounts received were so accurate as to
assure him that the Gibraltar fleet was far superior to his own in size
of vessels, weight of metal, and number of combatants. The circumstances
only increased his eagerness. The more he was over-matched, the greater
would be the honour of victory, and he steered for the straits, tacking
to and fro in the teeth of a strong head-wind.

On the morning of the 25th April he was in the narrowest part of the
mountain-channel, and learned that the whole Spanish fleet was in the Bay
of Gibraltar.

The marble pillar of Hercules rose before him. Heemskerk was of a poetic
temperament, and his imagination was inflamed by the spectacle which met
his eyes. Geographical position, splendour of natural scenery, immortal
fable, and romantic history, had combined to throw a spell over that
region. It seemed marked out for perpetual illustration by human valour.
The deeds by which, many generations later, those localities were to
become identified with the fame of a splendid empire--then only the most
energetic rival of the young republic, but destined under infinitely
better geographical conditions to follow on her track of empire, and with
far more prodigious results--were still in the womb of futurity. But St.
Vincent, Trafalgar, Gibraltar--words which were one day to stir the
English heart, and to conjure heroic English shapes from the depths so
long as history endures--were capes and promontories already familiar to
legend and romance.

Those Netherlanders had come forth from their slender little fatherland
to offer battle at last within his own harbours and under his own
fortresses to the despot who aspired to universal monarchy, and who
claimed the lordship of the seas. The Hollanders and Zeelanders had
gained victories on the German Ocean, in the Channel, throughout the
Indies, but now they were to measure strength with the ancient enemy in
this most conspicuous theatre, and before the eyes of Christendom. It was
on this famous spot that the ancient demigod had torn asunder by main
strength the continents of Europe and Africa. There stood the opposite
fragments of the riven mountain-chain, Calpe and Abyla, gazing at each
other, in eternal separation, across the gulf, emblems of those two
antagonistic races which the terrible hand of Destiny has so ominously
disjoined. Nine centuries before, the African king, Moses son of Nuzir,
and his lieutenant, Tarik son of Abdallah, had crossed that strait and
burned the ships which brought them. Black Africa had conquered a portion
of whiter Europe, and laid the foundation of the deadly mutual repugnance
which nine hundred years of bloodshed had heightened into insanity of
hatred. Tarik had taken the town and mountain, Carteia and Calpe, and
given to both his own name. Gib-al-Tarik, the cliff of Tarik, they are
called to this day.

Within the two horns of that beautiful bay, and protected by the fortress
on the precipitous rock, lay the Spanish fleet at anchor. There were ten
galleons of the largest size, besides lesser war-vessels and carracks, in
all twenty-one sail. The admiral commanding was Don Juan Alvarez d'Avila,
a veteran who had fought at Lepanto under Don John of Austria. His son
was captain of his flag-ship, the St. Augustine. The vice-admiral's
galleon was called 'Our Lady of La Vega,' the rear-admiral's was the
'Mother of God,' and all the other ships were baptized by the holy names
deemed most appropriate, in the Spanish service, to deeds of carnage.

On the other hand, the nomenclature of the Dutch ships suggested a
menagerie. There was the Tiger, the Sea Dog, the Griffin, the Red Lion,
the Golden Lion, the Black Bear, the White Bear; these, with the AEolus
and the Morning Star, were the leading vessels of the little fleet.

On first attaining a distant view of the enemy, Heemskerk summoned all
the captains on board his flag-ship, the AEolus, and addressed them in a
few stirring words.

"It is difficult," he said, "for Netherlanders not to conquer on salt
water. Our fathers have gained many a victory in distant seas, but it is
for us to tear from the enemy's list of titles his arrogant appellation
of Monarch of the Ocean. Here, on the verge of two continents, Europe is
watching our deeds, while the Moors of Africa are to learn for the first
time in what estimation they are to hold the Batavian republic. Remember
that you have no choice between triumph and destruction. I have led you
into a position whence escape is impossible--and I ask of none of you
more than I am prepared to do myself--whither I am sure that you will
follow. The enemy's ships are far superior to ours in bulk; but remember
that their excessive size makes them difficult to handle and easier to
hit, while our own vessels are entirely within control. Their decks are
swarming with men, and thus there will be more certainty that our shot
will take effect. Remember, too, that we are all sailors, accustomed from
our cradles to the ocean; while yonder Spaniards are mainly soldiers and
landsmen, qualmish at the smell of bilgewater, and sickening at the roll
of the waves. This day begins a long list of naval victories, which will
make our fatherland for ever illustrious, or lay the foundation of an
honourable peace, by placing, through our triumph, in the hands of the
States-General, the power of dictating its terms."

His comrades long remembered the enthusiasm which flashed from the man,
usually so gentle and composed in demeanour, so simple in attire. Clad in
complete armour, with the orange-plumes waving from his casque and the
orange-scarf across his breast, he stood there in front of the mainmast
of the AEolus, the very embodiment of an ancient Viking.

He then briefly announced his plan of attack. It was of antique
simplicity. He would lay his own ship alongside that of the Spanish
admiral. Pretty Lambert in the Tiger was to grapple with her on the other
side. Vice-admiral Alteras and Captain Bras were to attack the enemy's
vice-admiral in the same way. Thus, two by two, the little Netherland
ships were to come into closest quarters with each one of the great
galleons. Heemskerk would himself lead the way, and all were to follow,
as closely as possible, in his wake. The oath to stand by each other was
then solemnly renewed, and a parting health was drunk. The captains then
returned to their ships.

As the Lepanto warrior, Don Juan d'Avila, saw the little vessels slowly
moving towards him, he summoned a Hollander whom he had on board, one
Skipper Gevaerts of a captured Dutch trading bark, and asked him whether
those ships in the distance were Netherlanders.

"Not a doubt of it," replied the skipper.

The admiral then asked him what their purpose could possibly be, in
venturing so near Gibraltar.

"Either I am entirely mistaken in my countrymen," answered Gevaerta, "or
they are coming for the express purpose of offering you battle."

The Spaniard laughed loud and long. The idea that those puny vessels
could be bent on such a purpose seemed to him irresistibly comic, and he
promised his prisoner, with much condescension, that the St. Augustine
alone should sink the whole fleet.

Gevaerts, having his own ideas on the subject, but not being called upon
to express them, thanked the admiral for his urbanity, and respectfully
withdrew.

At least four thousand soldiers were in D'Avila's ships, besides seamen.
there were seven hundred in the St. Augustine, four hundred and fifty in
Our Lady of Vega, and so on in proportion. There were also one or two
hundred noble volunteers who came thronging on board, scenting the battle
from afar, and desirous of having a hand in the destruction of the
insolent Dutchmen.

It was about one in the afternoon. There was not much wind, but the
Hollanders, slowly drifting on the eternal river that pours from the
Atlantic into the Mediterranean, were now very near. All hands had been
piped on board every one of the ships, all had gone down on their knees
in humble prayer, and the loving cup had then been passed around.

Heemskerk, leading the way towards the Spanish admiral, ordered the
gunners of the bolus not to fire until the vessels struck each other.
"Wait till you hear it crack," he said, adding a promise of a hundred
florins to the man who should pull down the admiral's flag. Avila,
notwithstanding his previous merriment, thought it best, for the moment,
to avoid the coming collision. Leaving to other galleons, which he
interposed between himself and the enemy, the task of summarily sinking
the Dutch fleet, he cut the cable of the St. Augustine and drifted
farther into the bay. Heemskerk, not allowing himself to be foiled in his
purpose, steered past two or three galleons, and came crashing against
the admiral. Almost simultaneously, Pretty Lambert laid himself along her
quarter on the other side. The St. Augustine fired into the AEolus as she
approached, but without doing much damage. The Dutch admiral, as he was
coming in contact, discharged his forward guns, and poured an effective
volley of musketry into his antagonist.

The St. Augustine fired again, straight across the centre of the bolus,
at a few yards' distance. A cannon-ball took off the head of a sailor,
standing near Heemskerk, and carried away the admiral's leg, close to the
body. He fell on deck, and, knowing himself to be mortally wounded,
implored the next in command on board, Captain Verhoef, to fight his ship
to the last, and to conceal his death from the rest of the fleet. Then
prophesying a glorious victory for republic, and piously commending his
soul to his Maker, he soon breathed his last. A cloak was thrown over
him, and the battle raged. The few who were aware that the noble
Heemskerk was gone, burned to avenge his death, and to obey the dying
commands of their beloved chief. The rest of the Hollanders believed
themselves under his directing influence, and fought as if his eyes were
upon them. Thus the spirit of the departed hero still watched over and
guided the battle.

The AEolus now fired a broadside into her antagonist, making fearful
havoc, and killing Admiral D'Avila. The commanders-in-chief of both
contending fleets had thus fallen at the very beginning of the battle.
While the St. Augustine was engaged in deadly encounter, yardarm and
yardarm, with the AEolus and the Tiger, Vice-admiral Alteras had,
however, not carried out his part of the plan. Before he could succeed in
laying himself alongside of the Spanish vice-admiral, he had been
attacked by two galleons. Three other Dutch ships, however, attacked the
vice-admiral, and, after an obstinate combat, silenced all her batteries
and set her on fire. Her conquerors were then obliged to draw off rather
hastily, and to occupy themselves for a time in extinguishing their own
burning sails, which had taken fire from the close contact with their
enemy. Our Lady of Vega, all ablaze from top-gallant-mast to quarterdeck,
floated helplessly about, a spectre of flame, her guns going off wildly,
and her crew dashing themselves into the sea, in order to escape by
drowning from a fiery death. She was consumed to the water's edge.

Meantime, Vice-admiral Alteras had successively defeated both his
antagonists; drifting in with them until almost under the guns of the
fortress, but never leaving them until, by his superior gunnery and
seamanship, he had sunk one of them, and driven the other a helpless
wreck on shore.

Long Harry, while Alteras had been thus employed, had engaged another
great galleon, and set her on fire. She, too, was thoroughly burned to
her hulk; but Admiral Harry was killed.

By this time, although it was early of an April afternoon, and heavy
clouds of smoke, enveloping the combatants pent together in so small a
space, seemed to make an atmosphere of midnight, as the flames of the
burning galleons died away. There was a difficulty, too, in bringing all
the Netherland ships into action--several of the smaller ones having been
purposely stationed by Heemskerk on the edge of the bay to prevent the
possible escape of any of the Spaniards. While some of these distant
ships were crowding sail, in order to come to closer quarters, now that
the day seemed going against the Spaniards, a tremendous explosion
suddenly shook the air. One of the largest galleons, engaged in combat
with a couple of Dutch vessels, had received a hot shot full in her
powder magazine, and blew up with all on board. The blazing fragments
drifted about among the other ships, and two more were soon on fire,
their guns going off and their magazines exploding. The rock of Gibraltar
seemed to reel. To the murky darkness succeeded the intolerable glare of
a new and vast conflagration. The scene in that narrow roadstead was now
almost infernal. It seemed, said an eye-witness, as if heaven and earth
were passing away. A hopeless panic seized the Spaniards. The battle was
over. The St. Augustine still lay in the deadly embrace of her
antagonists, but all the other galleons were sunk or burned. Several of
the lesser war-ships had also been destroyed. It was nearly sunset. The
St. Augustine at last ran up a white flag, but it was not observed in the
fierceness of the last moments of combat; the men from the bolus and the
Tiger making a simultaneous rush on board the vanquished foe.

The fight was done, but the massacre was at its beginning. The trumpeter,
of Captain Kleinsorg clambered like a monkey up the mast of the St.
Augustine, hauled down the admiral's flag, the last which was still
waving, and gained the hundred florins. The ship was full of dead and
dying; but a brutal, infamous butchery now took place. Some Netherland
prisoners were found in the hold, who related that two messengers had
been successively despatched to take their lives, as they lay there in
chains, and that each had been shot, as he made his way towards the
execution of the orders.

This information did not chill the ardour of their victorious countrymen.
No quarter was given. Such of the victims as succeeded in throwing
themselves overboard, out of the St. Augustine, or any of the burning or
sinking ships, were pursued by the Netherlanders, who rowed about among
them in boats, shooting, stabbing, and drowning their victims by
hundreds. It was a sickening spectacle. The bay, said those who were
there, seemed sown with corpses. Probably two or three thousand were thus
put to death, or had met their fate before. Had the chivalrous Heemskerk
lived, it is possible that he might have stopped the massacre. But the
thought of the grief which would fill the commonwealth when the news
should arrive of his death--thus turning the joy of the great triumph
into lamentations--increased the animosity of his comrades. Moreover, in
ransacking the Spanish admiral's ship, all his papers had been found,
among them many secret instructions from Government signed "the King;"
ordering most inhuman persecutions, not only of the Netherlanders, but of
all who should in any way assist them, at sea or ashore. Recent examples
of the thorough manner in which the royal admirals could carry out these
bloody instructions had been furnished by the hangings, burnings, and
drownings of Fazardo. But the barbarous ferocity of the Dutch on this
occasion might have taught a lesson even to the comrades of Alva.

The fleet of Avila was entirely destroyed. The hulk of the St. Augustine
drifted ashore, having been abandoned by the victors, and was set on fire
by a few Spaniards who had concealed themselves on board, lest she might
fall again into the enemy's hands.

The battle had lasted from half-past three until sunset. The Dutch
vessels remained all the next day on the scene of their triumph. The
townspeople were discerned, packing up their goods, and speeding
panic-struck into the interior. Had Heemskerk survived he would doubtless
have taken Gibraltar--fortress and town--and perhaps Cadiz, such was the
consternation along the whole coast.

But his gallant spirit no longer directed the fleet. Bent rather upon
plunder than glory, the ships now dispersed in search of prizes towards
the Azores, the Canaries, or along the Portuguese coast; having first
made a brief visit to Tetuan, where they were rapturously received by the
Bey.

The Hollanders lost no ships, and but one hundred seamen were killed. Two
vessels were despatched homeward directly, one with sixty wounded
sailors, the other with the embalmed body of the fallen Heemskerk. The
hero was honoured with a magnificent funeral in Amsterdam at the public
expense--the first instance in the history of the republic--and his name
was enrolled on the most precious page of her records.

   [The chief authorities for this remarkable battle are Meteren, 547,
   548. Grotius, xvi. 731-738. Wagenaar, ix. 251-258.]



CHAPTER XLVIII.

   Internal condition of Spain--Character of the people--Influence of
   the Inquisition--Population and Revenue--Incomes of Church and
   Government--Degradation of Labour--Expulsion of the Moors and its
   consequences--Venality the special characteristic of Spanish polity
   --Maxims of the foreign polity of Spain--The Spanish army and navy--
   Insolvent state of the Government--The Duke of Lerma--His position
   in the State--Origin of his power--System of bribery and
   trafficking--Philip III. His character--Domestic life of the king
   and queen.

A glance at the interior condition of Spain, now that there had been more
than nine years of a new reign, should no longer be deferred. Spain was
still superstitiously regarded as the leading power of the world,
although foiled in all its fantastic and gigantic schemes. It was still
supposed, according to current dogma, to share with the Ottoman empire
the dominion of the earth. A series of fortunate marriages having united
many of the richest and fairest portions of Europe under a single
sceptre, it was popularly believed in a period when men were not much
given as yet to examine very deeply the principles of human governments
or the causes of national greatness, that an aggregation of powers which
had resulted from preposterous laws of succession really constituted a
mighty empire, founded by genius and valour.

The Spanish people, endowed with an acute and exuberant genius, which had
exhibited itself in many paths of literature, science, and art; with a
singular aptitude for military adventure, organization, and achievement;
with a great variety, in short, of splendid and ennobling qualities; had
been, for a long succession of years, accursed with almost the very worst
political institutions known to history. The depth of their misery and of
their degradation was hardly yet known to themselves, and this was
perhaps the most hideous proof of the tyranny of which they had been the
victims. To the outward world, the hollow fabric, out of which the whole
pith and strength had been slowly gnawed away, was imposing and majestic
still. But the priest, the soldier, and the courtier had been busy too
long, and had done their work too thoroughly, to leave much hope of
arresting the universal decay.

Nor did there seem any probability that the attempt would be made.

It is always difficult to reform wide-spread abuses, even when they are
acknowledged to exist, but when gigantic vices are proudly pointed to as
the noblest of institutions and as the very foundations of the state,
there seems nothing for the patriot to long for but the deluge.

It was acknowledged that the Spanish population--having a very large
admixture of those races which, because not Catholic at heart, were
stigmatized as miscreants, heretics, pagans, and, generally, as
accursed--was by nature singularly prone to religious innovation. Had it
not been for the Holy Inquisition, it was the opinion of acute and
thoughtful observers in the beginning of the seventeenth century, that
the infamous heresies of Luther, Calvin, and the rest, would have long
before taken possession of the land. To that most blessed establishment
it was owing that Spain had not polluted itself in the filth and ordure
of the Reformation, and had been spared the horrible fate which had
befallen large portions of Germany, France, Britain, and other barbarous
northern nations. It was conscientiously and thankfully believed in
Spain, two centuries ago, that the state had been saved from political
and moral ruin by that admirable machine which detected heretics with
unerring accuracy, burned them when detected, and consigned their
descendants to political incapacity and social infamy to the remotest
generation.

As the awful consequences of religious freedom, men pointed with a
shudder to the condition of nations already speeding on the road to ruin,
from which the two peninsulas at least had been saved. Yet the British
empire, with the American republic still an embryo in its bosom, France,
North Germany, and other great powers, had hardly then begun their
headlong career. Whether the road of religious liberty was leading
exactly to political ruin, the coming centuries were to judge.

Enough has been said in former chapters for the characterization of
Philip II. and his polity. But there had now been nearly ten years of
another reign. The system, inaugurated by Charles and perfected by his
son, had reached its last expression under Philip III.

The evil done by father and son lived and bore plentiful fruit in the
epoch of the grandson. And this is inevitable in history. No generation
is long-lived enough to reap the harvest, whether of good or evil, which
it sows.

Philip II. had been indefatigable in evil, a thorough believer in his
supernatural mission as despot, not entirely without capacity for
affairs, personally absorbed by the routine of his bureau.

He was a king, as he understood the meaning of the kingly office. His
policy was continued after his death; but there was no longer a king.
That important regulator to the governmental machinery was wanting. How
its place was supplied will soon appear.

Meantime the organic functions were performed very much in the old way.
There was, at least, no lack of priests or courtiers.

Spain at this epoch had probably less than twelve millions of
inhabitants, although the statistics of those days cannot be relied upon
with accuracy. The whole revenue of the state was nominally sixteen or
seventeen millions of dollars, but the greater portion of that income was
pledged for many coming years to the merchants of Genoa. All the little
royal devices for increasing the budget by debasing the coin of the
realm, by issuing millions of copper tokens, by lowering the promised
rate of interest on Government loans, by formally repudiating both
interest and principal, had been tried, both in this and the preceding
reign, with the usual success. An inconvertible paper currency,
stimulating industry and improving morals by converting beneficent
commerce into baleful gambling--that fatal invention did not then exist.
Meantime, the legitimate trader and innocent citizen were harassed, and
the general public endangered, as much as the limited machinery of the
epoch permitted.

The available, unpledged revenue of the kingdom hardly amounted to five
millions of dollars a-year. The regular annual income of the church was
at least six millions. The whole personal property of the nation was
estimated in a very clumsy and unsatisfactory way, no doubt--at sixty
millions of dollars. Thus the income of the priesthood was ten per cent.
of the whole funded estate of the country, and at least a million a year
more than the income of the Government. Could a more biting epigram be
made upon the condition to which the nation had been reduced?

Labour was more degraded than ever. The industrious classes, if such
could be said to exist, were esteemed every day more and more infamous.
Merchants, shopkeepers, mechanics, were reptiles, as vilely, esteemed as
Jews, Moors, Protestants, or Pagans. Acquiring wealth by any kind of
production was dishonourable. A grandee who should permit himself to sell
the wool from his boundless sheep-walks disgraced his caste, and was
accounted as low as a merchant. To create was the business of slaves and
miscreants: to destroy was the distinguishing attribute of Christians and
nobles. To cheat, to pick, and to steal, on the most minute and the most
gigantic scale--these were also among the dearest privileges of the
exalted classes. No merchandize was polluting save the produce of honest
industry. To sell places in church and state, the army, the navy, and the
sacred tribunals of law, to take bribes from rich and poor, high and low;
in sums infinitesimal or enormous, to pillage the exchequer in, every
imaginable form, to dispose of titles of honour, orders of chivalry,
posts in municipal council, at auction; to barter influence, audiences,
official interviews against money cynically paid down in rascal
counters--all this was esteemed consistent with patrician dignity.

The ministers, ecclesiastics, and those about court, obtaining a monopoly
of such trade, left the business of production and circulation to their
inferiors, while, as has already been sufficiently indicated, religious
fanaticism and a pride of race, which nearly amounted to idiocy, had
generated a scorn for labour even among the lowest orders. As a natural
consequence, commerce and the mechanical arts fell almost exclusively
into the hands of foreigners--Italians, English, and French--who resorted
in yearly increasing numbers to Spain for the purpose of enriching.
themselves by the industry which the natives despised.

The capital thus acquired was at regular intervals removed from the
country to other lands, where wealth resulting from traffic or
manufactures was not accounted infamous.

Moreover, as the soil of the country was held by a few great
proprietors--an immense portion in the dead-hand of an insatiate and
ever-grasping church, and much of the remainder in vast entailed
estates--it was nearly impossible for the masses of the people to become
owners of any portion of the land. To be an agricultural day-labourer at
less than a beggar's wage could hardly be a tempting pursuit for a proud
and indolent race. It was no wonder therefore that the business of the
brigand, the smuggler, the professional mendicant became from year to
year more attractive and more overdone; while an ever-thickening swarm of
priests, friars, and nuns of every order, engendered out of a corrupt and
decaying society, increasing the general indolence, immorality, and
unproductive consumption, and frightfully diminishing the productive
force of the country, fed like locusts upon what was left in the unhappy
land. "To shirk labour, infinite numbers become priests and friars,"
said, a good Catholic, in the year 1608--[Gir. Soranzo].

Before the end of the reign of Philip III. the peninsula, which might
have been the granary of the world, did not produce food enough for its
own population. Corn became a regular article of import into Spain, and
would have come in larger quantities than it did had the industry of the
country furnished sufficient material to exchange for necessary food.

And as if it had been an object of ambition with the priests and
courtiers who then ruled a noble country, to make at exactly this epoch
the most startling manifestation of human fatuity that the world had ever
seen, it was now resolved by government to expel by armed force nearly
the whole stock of intelligent and experienced labour, agricultural and
mechanical, from the country. It is unnecessary to dwell long upon an
event which, if it were not so familiarly known to mankind, would seem
almost incredible. But the expulsion of the Moors is, alas! no
exaggerated and imaginary satire, but a monument of wickedness and
insanity such as is not often seen in human history.

Already, in the very first years of the century, John Ribera, archbishop
of Valencia, had recommended and urged the scheme.

It was too gigantic a project to be carried into execution at once, but
it was slowly matured by the aid of other ecclesiastics. At last there
were indications, both human and divine, that the expulsion of these
miscreants could no longer be deferred. It was rumoured and believed that
a general conspiracy existed among the Moors to rise upon the Government,
to institute a general massacre, and, with the assistance of their allies
and relatives on the Barbary coast, to re-establish the empire of the
infidels.

A convoy of eighty ass-loads of oil on the way to Madrid had halted at a
wayside inn. A few flasks were stolen, and those who consumed it were
made sick. Some of the thieves even died, or were said to have died, in
consequence.  Instantly the rumour flew from mouth to mouth, from town to
town, that the royal family, the court, the whole capital, all Spain,
were to be poisoned with that oil. If such were the scheme it was
certainly a less ingenious one than the famous plot by which the Spanish
Government was suspected but a few years before to have so nearly
succeeded in blowing the king, peers, and commons of England into the
air.

The proof of Moorish guilt was deemed all-sufficient, especially as it
was supported by supernatural evidence of the most portentous and
convincing kind. For several days together a dark cloud, tinged with
blood-red, had been seen to hang over Valencia.

In the neighbourhood of Daroca, a din of, drums and trumpets and the
clang of arms had been heard in the sky, just as a procession went out of
a monastery.

At Valencia the image of the Virgin had shed tears. In another place her
statue had been discovered in a state of profuse perspiration.

What more conclusive indications could be required as to the guilt of the
Moors? What other means devised for saving crown, church, and kingdom
from destruction but to expel the whole mass of unbelievers from the soil
which they had too long profaned?

Archbishop Ribera was fully sustained by the Archbishop of Toledo, and
the whole ecclesiastical body received energetic support from Government.

Ribera had solemnly announced that the Moors were so greedy of money, so
determined to keep it, and so occupied with pursuits most apt for
acquiring it, that they had come to be the sponge of Spanish wealth. The
best proof of this, continued the reverend sage, was that, inhabiting in
general poor little villages and sterile tracts of country, paying to the
lords of the manor one third of the crops, and being overladen with
special taxes imposed only upon them, they nevertheless became rich,
while the Christians, cultivating the most fertile land, were in abject
poverty.

It seems almost incredible that this should not be satire. Certainly the
most delicate irony could not portray the vicious institutions under
which the magnificent territory and noble people of Spain were thus
doomed to ruin more subtly end forcibly than was done by the honest
brutality of this churchman. The careful tillage, the beautiful system of
irrigation by aqueduct and canal, the scientific processes by which these
"accursed" had caused the wilderness to bloom with cotton, sugar, and
every kind of fruit and grain; the untiring industry, exquisite
ingenuity, and cultivated taste by which the merchants, manufacturers,
and mechanics, guilty of a darker complexion than that of the peninsular
Goths, had enriched their native land with splendid fabrics in cloth,
paper, leather, silk, tapestry, and by so doing had acquired fortunes for
themselves, despite iniquitous taxation, religious persecution, and
social contumely--all these were crimes against a race of idlers, steeped
to the lips in sloth which imagined itself to be pride.

The industrious, the intelligent, the wealthy, were denounced as
criminals, and hunted to death or into exile as vermin, while the Lermas,
the Ucedas, and the rest of the brood of cormorants, settled more thickly
than ever around their prey.

Meantime, Government declared that the piece of four maravedis should be
worth eight maravedis; the piece of two maravedis being fixed at four.
Thus the specie of the kingdom was to be doubled, and by means of this
enlightened legislation, Spain, after destroying agriculture, commerce,
and manufacture, was to maintain great armies and navies, and establish
universal monarchy.

This measure, which a wiser churchman than Ribera, Cardinal Richelieu,
afterwards declared the most audacious and barbarous ever recorded by
history, was carried out with great regularity of organization. It was
ordained that the Moors should be collected at three indicated points,
whence they were not to move on pain of death, until duly escorted by
troops to the ports of embarkation. The children under the age of four
years were retained, of course without their parents, from whom they were
forever separated. With admirable forethought, too, the priests took
measures, as they supposed, that the arts of refining sugar, irrigating
the rice-fields, constructing canals and aqueducts, besides many other
useful branches of agricultural and mechanical business, should not die
out with the intellectual, accomplished, and industrious race, alone
competent to practise them, which was now sent forth to die. A very small
number, not more than six in each hundred, were accordingly reserved to
instruct other inhabitants of Spain in those useful arts which they were
now more than ever encouraged to despise.

Five hundred thousand full-grown human beings, as energetic, ingenious,
accomplished, as any then existing in the world, were thus thrust forth
into the deserts beyond sea, as if Spain had been overstocked with
skilled labour; and as if its native production had already outgrown the
world's power of consumption.

Had an equal number of mendicant monks, with the two archbishops who had
contrived this deed at their head, been exported instead of the Moors,
the future of Spain might have been a more fortunate one than it was
likely to prove. The event was in itself perhaps of temporary advantage
to the Dutch republic, as the poverty and general misery, aggravated by
this disastrous policy, rendered the acknowledgment of the States'
independence by Spain almost a matter of necessity.

It is superfluous to enter into any farther disquisiton as to the various
branches of the royal revenue. They remained essentially the same as
during the preceding reign, and have been elaborately set forth in a
previous chapter. The gradual drying up of resources in all the
wide-spread and heterogeneous territories subject to the Spanish sceptre
is the striking phenomenon of the present epoch. The distribution of such
wealth as was still created followed the same laws which had long
prevailed, while the decay and national paralysis, of which the
prognostics could hardly be mistaken, were a natural result of the
system.

The six archbishops had now grown to eleven, and still received gigantic
revenues; the income of the Archbishop of Toledo, including the fund of
one hundred thousand destined for repairing the cathedral, being
estimated at three hundred thousand dollars a year, that of the
Archbishop of Seville and the others varying from one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars to fifty thousand. The sixty-three bishops perhaps
averaged fifty thousand a year each, and there were eight more in Italy.

The commanderies of chivalry, two hundred at least in number, were
likewise enormously profitable. Some of them were worth thirty thousand a
year; the aggregate annual value being from one-and-a-half to two
millions, and all in Lerma's gift, upon his own terms.

Chivalry, that noblest of ideals, without which, in some shape or
another, the world would be a desert and a sty; which included within
itself many of the noblest virtues which can adorn mankind--generosity,
self-denial, chastity, frugality, patience, protection to the feeble, the
downtrodden, and the oppressed; the love of daring adventure, devotion to
a pure religion and a lofty purpose, most admirably pathetic, even when
in the eyes of the vulgar most fantastic--had been the proudest and most
poetical of Spanish characteristics, never to be entirely uprooted from
the national heart.

Alas! what was there in the commanderies of Calatrava, Alcantara,
Santiago, and all the rest of those knightly orders, as then existing, to
respond to the noble sentiments on which all were supposed to be founded?
Institutions for making money, for pillaging the poor of their
hard-earned pittance, trafficked in by greedy ministers and needy
courtiers with a shamelessness which had long ceased to blush at vices
however gross, at venality however mean.

Venality was in truth the prominent characteristic of the Spanish polity
at this epoch. Everything political or ecclesiastical, from highest to
lowest, was matter of merchandize.

It was the autocrat, governing king and kingdom, who disposed of
episcopal mitres, cardinals' hats, commanders' crosses, the offices of
regidores or municipal magistrates in all the cities, farmings of
revenues, collectorships of taxes, at prices fixed by himself.

It was never known that the pope refused to confirm the ecclesiastical
nominations which were made by the Spanish court.

The nuncius had the privilege of dispensing the small cures from thirty
dollars a year downwards, of which the number was enormous. Many of these
were capable, in careful hands, of becoming ten times as valuable as
their nominal estimate, and the business in them became in consequence
very extensive and lucrative. They were often disposed of for the benefit
of servants and the hangers-on of noble families, to laymen, to women,
children, to babes unborn.

When such was the most thriving industry in the land, was it wonderful
that the poor of high and low degree were anxious in ever-increasing
swarms to effect their entrance into convent, monastery, and church, and
that trade, agriculture, and manufactures languished?

The foreign polity of the court remained as it had been established by
Philip II.

Its maxims were very simple. To do unto your neighbour all possible harm,
and to foster the greatness of Spain by sowing discord and maintaining
civil war in all other nations, was the fundamental precept. To bribe and
corrupt the servants of other potentates, to maintain a regular paid bode
of adherents in foreign lands, ever ready to engage in schemes of
assassination, conspiracy, sedition, and rebellion against the legitimate
authority, to make mankind miserable, so far as it was in the power of
human force or craft to produce wretchedness, were objects still
faithfully pursued.

They had not yet led to the entire destruction of other realms and their
submission to the single sceptre of Spain, nor had they developed the
resources, material or moral, of a mighty empire so thoroughly as might
have been done perhaps by a less insidious policy, but they had never
been abandoned.

It was a steady object of policy to keep such potentates of Italy as were
not already under the dominion of the Spanish crown in a state of
internecine feud with each other and of virtual dependence on the
powerful kingdom. The same policy pursued in France, of fomenting civil
war by subsidy, force, and chicane, during a long succession of years in
order to reduce that magnificent realm under the sceptre of Philip, has
been described in detail. The chronic rebellion of Ireland against the
English crown had been assisted and inflamed in every possible mode, the
system being considered as entirely justified by the aid and comfort
afforded by the queen to the Dutch rebels.

It was a natural result of the system according to which kingdoms and
provinces with the populations dwelling therein were transferable like
real estate by means of marriage-settlements, entails, and testaments,
that the proprietorship of most of the great realms in Christendom was
matter of fierce legal dispute. Lawsuits, which in chancery could last
for centuries before a settlement of the various claims was made, might
have infinitely enriched the gentlemen of the long robe and reduced all
the parties to beggary, had there been any tribunal but the battle-field
to decide among the august litigants. Thus the King of Great Britain
claimed the legal proprietorship and sovereignty of Brittany, Normandy,
Anjou, Gascony, Calais, and Boulogne in France, besides the whole kingdom
by right of conquest. The French king claimed to be rightful heir of
Castile, Biscay, Guipuscoa, Arragon, Navarre, nearly all the Spanish
peninsula in short, including the whole of Portugal and the Balearic
islands to boot. The King of Spain claimed, as we have seen often enough,
not only Brittany but all France as his lawful inheritance. Such was the
virtue of the prevalent doctrine of proprietorship. Every potentate was
defrauded of his rights, and every potentate was a criminal usurper. As
for the people, it would have excited a smile of superior wisdom on
regal, legal, or sacerdotal lips, had it been suggested that by any
possibility the governed could have a voice or a thought in regard to the
rulers whom God in His grace had raised up to be their proprietors and
masters.

The army of Spain was sunk far below the standard at which it had been
kept when it seemed fit to conquer and govern the world. Neither by Spain
nor Italy could those audacious, disciplined, and obedient legions be
furnished, at which the enemies of the mighty despot trembled from one
extremity of earth to the other. Peculation, bankruptcy, and mutiny had
done their work at last. We have recently had occasion to observe the
conduct of the veterans in Flanders at critical epochs. At this moment,
seventy thousand soldiers were on the muster and pay roll of the army
serving in those provinces, while not thirty thousand men existed in the
flesh.

The navy was sunk to fifteen or twenty old galleys, battered, dismantled,
unseaworthy, and a few armed ships for convoying the East and West
Indiamen to and from their destinations.

The general poverty was so great that it was often absolutely impossible
to purchase food for the royal household. "If you ask me," said a cool
observer, "how this great show of empire is maintained, when the funds
are so small, I answer that it is done by not paying at all." The
Government was shamelessly, hopelessly bankrupt. The noble band of
courtiers were growing enormously rich. The state was a carcase which
unclean vultures were picking to the bones.

The foremost man in the land--the autocrat, the absolute master in State
and Church--was the Duke of Lerma.

Very rarely in human history has an individual attained to such unlimited
power under a monarchy, without actually placing the crown upon his own
head. Mayors of the palace, in the days of the do-nothing kings, wielded
nothing like the imperial control which was firmly held by this great
favourite. Yet he was a man of very moderate capacity and limited
acquirements, neither soldier, lawyer, nor priest.

The duke was past sixty years of age, a tall, stately, handsome man, of
noble presence and urbane manner. Born of the patrician house of
Sandoval, he possessed, on the accession of Philip, an inherited income
of ten or twelve thousand dollars. He had now, including what he had
bestowed on his son, a funded revenue of seven hundred thousand a year.
He had besides, in cash, jewels, and furniture, an estimated capital of
six millions. All this he had accumulated in ten years of service, as
prime minister, chief equerry, and first valet of the chamber to the
king.

The tenure of his authority was the ascendancy of a firm character over a
very weak one. At this moment he was doubtless the most absolute ruler in
Christendom, and Philip III. the most submissive and uncomplaining of his
subjects.

The origin of his power was well known. During the reign of Philip II.,
the prince, treated with great severity by his father, was looked upon
with contempt by every one about court. He was allowed to take no part in
affairs, and, having heard of the awful tragedy of his eldest
half-brother, enacted ten years before his own birth, he had no
inclination to confront the wrath of that terrible parent and sovereign
before whom all Spain trembled. Nothing could have been more humble, more
effaced, more obscure, than his existence as prince. The Marquis of
Denia, his chamberlain, alone was kind to him, furnished him with small
sums of money, and accompanied him on the shooting excursions in which
his father occasionally permitted him to indulge. But even these little
attentions were looked upon with jealousy by the king; so that the
marquis was sent into honourable exile from court as governor of
Valencia. It was hoped that absence would wean the prince of his
affection for the kind chamberlain. The calculation was erroneous. No
sooner were the eyes of Philip II. closed in death than the new king made
haste to send for Denia, who was at once created Duke of Lerma, declared
of the privy council, and appointed master of the horse and first
gentleman of the bed-chamber. From that moment the favourite became
supreme. He was entirely without education, possessed little experience
in affairs of state, and had led the life of a commonplace idler and
voluptuary until past the age of fifty. Nevertheless he had a shrewd
mother-wit, tact in dealing with men, aptitude to take advantage of
events. He had directness of purpose, firmness of will, and always knew
his own mind. From the beginning of his political career unto its end, he
conscientiously and without swerving pursued a single aim. This was to
rob the exchequer by every possible mode and at every instant of his
life. Never was a more masterly financier in this respect. With a single
eye to his own interests, he preserved a magnificent unity in all his
actions. The result had been to make him in ten years the richest subject
in the world, as well as the most absolute ruler.

He enriched his family, as a matter of course. His son was already made
Duke of Uceda, possessed enormous wealth, and was supposed by those who
had vision in the affairs of court to be the only individual ever likely
to endanger the power of the father. Others thought that the young duke's
natural dulness would make it impossible for him to supplant the
omnipotent favourite. The end was not yet, and time was to show which
class of speculators was in the right. Meantime the whole family was
united and happy. The sons and daughters had intermarried with the
Infantados, and other most powerful and wealthy families of grandees. The
uncle, Sandoval, had been created by Lerma a cardinal and archbishop of
Toledo; the king's own schoolmaster being removed from that dignity, and
disgraced and banished from court for having spoken disrespectfully of
the favourite. The duke had reserved for himself twenty thousand a year
from the revenues of the archbishopric, as a moderate price for thus
conducting himself as became a dutiful nephew. He had ejected Rodrigo de
Vasquez from his post as president of the council. As a more conclusive
proof of his unlimited sway than any other of his acts had been, he had
actually unseated and banished the inquisitor-general, Don Pietro Porto
Carrero, and supplanted him in that dread office, before which even
anointed sovereigns trembled, by one of his own creatures.

In the discharge of his various functions, the duke and all his family
were domesticated in the royal palace, so that he was at no charges for
housekeeping. His apartments there were more sumptuous than those of the
king and queen. He had removed from court the Dutchess of Candia, sister
of the great Constable of Castile, who had been for a time in attendance
on the queen, and whose possible influence he chose to destroy in the
bud. Her place as mistress of the robes was supplied by his sister, the
Countess of Lemos; while his wife, the terrible Duchess of Lerma, was
constantly with the queen, who trembled at her frown. Thus the royal pair
were completely beleaguered, surrounded, and isolated from all except the
Lermas. When the duke conferred with the king, the doors were always
double locked.

In his capacity as first valet it was the duke's duty to bring the king's
shirt in the morning, to see to his wardrobe and his bed, and to supply
him with ideas for the day. The king depended upon him entirely and
abjectly, was miserable when separated from him four-and-twenty hours,
thought with the duke's thoughts and saw with the duke's eyes. He was
permitted to know nothing of state affairs, save such portions as were
communicated to him by Lerma. The people thought their monarch bewitched,
so much did he tremble before the favourite, and so unscrupulously did
the duke appropriate for his own benefit and that of his creatures
everything that he could lay his hands upon. It would have needed little
to bring about a revolution, such was the universal hatred felt for the
minister, and the contempt openly expressed for the king.

The duke never went to the council. All papers and documents relating to
business were sent to his apartments. Such matters as he chose to pass
upon, such decrees as he thought proper to issue, were then taken by him
to the king, who signed them with perfect docility. As time went on, this
amount of business grew too onerous for the royal hand, or this amount of
participation by the king in affairs of state came to be esteemed
superfluous and inconvenient by the duke, and his own signature was
accordingly declared to be equivalent to that of the sovereign's
sign-manual. It is doubtful whether such a degradation of the royal
prerogative had ever been heard of before in a Christian monarch.

It may be imagined that this system of government was not of a nature to
expedite business, however swiftly it might fill the duke's coffers. High
officers of state, foreign ambassadors, all men in short charged with
important affairs, were obliged to dance attendance for weeks and months
on the one man whose hands grasped all the business of the kingdom, while
many departed in despair without being able to secure a single audience.
It was entirely a matter of trade. It was necessary to bribe in
succession all the creatures of the duke before getting near enough to
headquarters to bribe the duke himself. Never were such itching palms. To
do business at court required the purse of Fortunatus. There was no
deception in the matter. Everything was frank and above board in that age
of chivalry. Ambassadors wrote to their sovereigns that there was no hope
of making treaties or of accomplishing any negotiation except by
purchasing the favour of the autocrat; and Lerma's price was always high.
At one period the republic of Venice wished to put a stop to the
depredations by Spanish pirates upon Venetian commerce, but the subject
could not even be approached by the envoy until he had expended far more
than could be afforded out of his meagre salary in buying an interview.

When it is remembered that with this foremost power in the world affairs
of greater or less importance were perpetually to be transacted by the
representatives of other nations as well as by native subjects of every
degree; that all these affairs were to pass through the hands of Lerma,
and that those hands had ever to be filled with coin, the stupendous
opulence of the one man can be easily understood. Whether the foremost
power of the world, thus governed, were likely to continue the foremost
power, could hardly seem doubtful to those accustomed to use their reason
in judging of the things of this world.

Meantime the duke continued to transact business; to sell his interviews
and his interest; to traffic in cardinals' hats, bishops' mitres, judges'
ermine, civic and magisterial votes in all offices, high or humble, of
church, army, or state.

He possessed the art of remembering, or appearing to remember, the
matters of business which had been communicated to him. When a
negotiator, of whatever degree, had the good fortune to reach the
presence, he found the duke to all appearance mindful of the particular
affair which led to the interview, and fully absorbed by its importance.
There were men who, trusting to the affability shown by the great
favourite, and to the handsome price paid down in cash for that urbanity,
had been known to go away from their interview believing that their
business was likely to be accomplished, until the lapse of time revealed
to them the wildness of their dream.

The duke perhaps never manifested his omnipotence on a more striking
scale than when by his own fiat he removed the court and the seat of
government to Valladolid, and kept it there six years long. This was
declared by disinterested observers to be not only contrary to common
sense, but even beyond the bounds of possibility. At Madrid the king had
splendid palaces, and in its neighbourhood beautiful country residences,
a pure atmosphere, and the facility of changing the air at will. At
Valladolid there were no conveniences of any kind, no sufficient palace,
no summer villa, no park, nothing but an unwholesome climate. But most of
the duke's estates were in that vicinity, and it was desirable for him to
overlook them in person. Moreover, he wished to get rid of the possible
influence over the king of the Empress Dowager Maria, widow of Maximilian
II. and aunt and grandmother of Philip III. The minister could hardly
drive this exalted personage from court, so easily as he had banished the
ex-Archbishop of Toledo, the Inquisitor General, the Duchess of Candia,
besides a multitude of lesser note. So he did the next best thing, and
banished the court from the empress, who was not likely to put up with
the inconveniences of Valladolid for the sake of outrivalling the duke.
This Babylonian captivity lasted until Madrid was nearly ruined, until
the desolation of the capital, the moans of the trades-people, the curses
of the poor, and the grumblings of the courtiers, finally produced an
effect even upon the arbitrary Lerma. He then accordingly re-emigrated,
with king and Government, to Madrid, and caused it to be published that
he had at last overcome the sovereign's repugnance to the old capital,
and had persuaded him to abandon Valladolid.

There was but one man who might perhaps from his position have competed
with the influence of Lerma. This was the king's father-confessor, whom
Philip wished--although of course his wish was not gratified--to make a
member of the council of state. The monarch, while submitting in
everything secular to the duke's decrees, had a feeble determination to
consult and to be guided by his confessor in all matters of conscience.
As it was easy to suggest that high affairs of state, the duties of
government, the interests of a great people, were matters not entirely
foreign to the conscience of anointed kings, an opening to power might
have seemed easy to an astute and ambitious churchman. But the Dominican
who kept Philip's conscience, Gasparo de Cordova by name, was,
fortunately for the favourite, of a very tender paste, easily moulded to
the duke's purpose. Dull and ignorant enough, he was not so stupid as to
doubt that, should he whisper any suggestions or criticisms in regard to
the minister's proceedings, the king would betray him and he would lose
his office. The cautious friar accordingly held his peace and his place,
and there was none to dispute the sway of the autocrat.

What need to dilate further upon such a minister and upon such a system
of government? To bribe and to be bribed, to maintain stipendiaries in
every foreign Government, to place the greatness of the empire upon the
weakness, distraction, and misery of other nations, to stimulate civil
war, revolts of nobles and citizens against authority; separation of
provinces, religious discontents in every land of Christendom--such were
the simple rules ever faithfully enforced.

The other members of what was called the council were insignificant.

Philip III., on arriving at the throne, had been heard to observe that
the day of simple esquires and persons of low condition was past, and
that the turn of great nobles had come. It had been his father's policy
to hold the grandees in subjection, and to govern by means of ministers
who were little more than clerks, generally of humble origin; keeping the
reins in his own hands. Such great personages as he did employ, like
Alva, Don John of Austria, and Farnese, were sure at last to excite his
jealousy and to incur his hatred. Forty-three years of this kind of work
had brought Spain to the condition in which the third Philip found it.
The new king thought to have found a remedy in discarding the clerks, and
calling in the aid of dukes. Philip II. was at least a king. The very
first act of Philip III. at his father's death was to abdicate.

It was, however, found necessary to retain some members of the former
Government. Fuentes, the best soldier and accounted the most dangerous
man in the empire, was indeed kept in retirement as governor of Milan,
while Cristoval di Mora, who had enjoyed much of the late king's
confidence, was removed to Portugal as viceroy. But Don John of Idiaquez,
who had really been the most efficient of the old administration, still
remained in the council. Without the subordinate aid of his experience in
the routine of business, it would have been difficult for the favourite
to manage the great machine with his single hand. But there was no
disposition on the part of the ancient minister to oppose the new order
of things. A cautious, caustic, dry old functionary, talking more with
his shoulders than with his tongue, determined never to commit himself,
or to risk shipwreck by venturing again into deeper waters than those of
the harbour in which he now hoped for repose, Idiaquez knew that his day
of action was past. Content to be confidential clerk to the despot duke,
as he had been faithful secretary to the despot king, he was the despair
of courtiers and envoys who came to pump, after having endeavoured to
fill an inexhaustible cistern. Thus he proved, on the whole, a useful and
comfortable man, not to the country, but to its autocrat.

Of the Count of Chinchon, who at one time was supposed to have court
influence because a dabbler in architecture, much consulted during the
building of the Escorial by Philip II. until the auditing of his accounts
brought him into temporary disgrace, and the Marquises of Velada,
Villalonga, and other ministers, it is not necessary to speak. There was
one man in the council, however, who was of great importance, wielding a
mighty authority in subordination to the duke. This was Don Pietro de
Franqueza. An emancipated slave, as his name indicated, and subsequently
the body-servant of Lerma, he had been created by that minister secretary
of the privy council. He possessed some of the virtues of the slave, such
as docility and attachment to the hand that had fed and scourged him, and
many vices of both slave and freedman. He did much of the work which it
would have been difficult for the duke to accomplish in person, received
his fees, sold and dispensed his interviews, distributed his bribes. In
so doing, as might be supposed, he did not neglect his own interest. It
was a matter of notoriety, no man knowing it better than the king, that
no business, foreign or domestic, could be conducted or even begun at
court without large preliminary fees to the secretary of the council, his
wife, and his children. He had, in consequence, already accumulated an
enormous fortune. His annual income, when it was stated, excited
amazement. He was insolent and overbearing to all comers until his dues
had been paid, when he became at once obliging, supple, and comparatively
efficient. Through him alone lay the path to the duke's sanctuary.

The nominal sovereign, Philip III., was thirty years of age. A very
little man, with pink cheeks, flaxen hair, and yellow beard, with a
melancholy expression of eye, and protruding under lip and jaw, he was
now comparatively alert and vigorous in constitution, although for the
first seven years of his life it had been doubtful whether he would live
from week to week. He had been afflicted during that period with a
chronic itch or leprosy, which had undermined his strength, but which had
almost entirely disappeared as he advanced in life.

He was below mediocrity in mind, and had received scarcely any education.
He had been taught to utter a few phrases, more or less intelligible, in
French, Italian, and Flemish, but was quite incapable of sustaining a
conversation in either of those languages. When a child, he had learned
and subsequently forgotten the rudiments of the Latin grammar.

These acquirements, together with the catechism and the offices of the
Church, made up his whole stock of erudition. That he was devout as a
monk of the middle ages, conforming daily and hourly to religious
ceremonies, need scarcely be stated. It was not probable that the son of
Philip II. would be a delinquent to church observances. He was not
deficient in courage, rode well, was fond of hunting, kept close to the
staghounds, and confronted, spear in hand, the wild-boar with coolness
and success. He was fond of tennis, but his especial passion and chief
accomplishment was dancing. He liked to be praised for his proficiency in
this art, and was never happier than when gravely leading out the queen
or his daughter, then four or five years of age--for he never danced with
any one else--to perform a stately bolero.

He never drank wine, but, on the other hand, was an enormous eater; so
that, like his father in youth, he was perpetually suffering from
stomach-ache as the effect of his gluttony. He was devotedly attached to
his queen, and had never known, nor hardly looked at, any other woman. He
had no vice but gambling, in which he indulged to a great extent, very
often sitting up all night at cards. This passion of the king's was much
encouraged by Lerma, for obvious reasons. Philip had been known to lose
thirty thousand dollars at a sitting, and always to some one of the
family or dependents of the duke, who of course divided with them the
spoils. At one time the Count of Pelbes, nephew of Lerma, had won two
hundred thousand dollars in a very few nights from his sovereign.

For the rest, Philip had few peculiarities or foibles. He was not
revengeful, nor arrogant, nor malignant. He was kind and affectionate to
his wife and children, and did his best to be obedient to the Duke of
Lerma. Occasionally he liked to grant audiences, but there were few to
request them. It was ridiculous and pathetic at the same time to see the
poor king, as was very frequently the case, standing at a solemn green
table till his little legs were tired, waiting to transact business with
applicants who never came; while ushers, chamberlains, and valets were
rushing up and down the corridors, bawling for all persons so disposed to
come and have an audience of their monarch. Meantime, the doors of the
great duke's apartments in the same palace would be beleaguered by an
army of courtiers, envoys, and contractors, who had paid solid gold for
admission, and who were often sent away grumbling and despairing without
entering the sacred precincts.

As time wore on, the king, too much rebuked for attempting to meddle in
state affairs, became solitary and almost morose, moping about in the
woods by himself, losing satisfaction in his little dancing and
ball-playing diversions, but never forgetting his affection for the queen
nor the hours for his four daily substantial repasts of meats and pastry.
It would be unnecessary and almost cruel to dwell so long upon a picture
of what was after all not much better than human imbecility, were it not
that humanity is, a more sacred thing than royalty. A satire upon such an
embodiment of kingship is impossible, the simple and truthful
characteristics being more effective than fiction or exaggeration. It
would be unjust to exhume a private character after the lapse of two
centuries merely to excite derision, but if history be not powerless to
instruct, it certainly cannot be unprofitable to ponder the merits of a
system which, after bestowing upon the world forty-three years of Philip
the tyrant, had now followed them up with a decade of Philip the
simpleton.

In one respect the reigning sovereign was in advance of his age. In his
devotion to the Madonna he claimed the same miraculous origin for her
mother as for herself. When the prayer "O Sancta Maria sine labe
originali concepta" was chanted, he would exclaim with emotion that the
words embodied his devoutest aspirations. He had frequent interviews with
doctors of divinity on the subject, and instructed many bishops to urge
upon the pope the necessity of proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin's
mother. Could he secure this darling object of his ambition, he professed
himself ready to make a pilgrimage on foot to Rome. The pilgrimage was
never made, for it may well be imagined that Lerma would forbid any such
adventurous scheme. Meantime, the duke continued to govern the empire and
to fill his coffers, and the king to shoot rabbits.

The queen was a few years younger than her husband, and far from
beautiful. Indeed, the lower portion of her face was almost deformed. She
was graceful, however, in her movements, and pleasing and gentle in
manner. She adored the king, looking up to him with reverence as the
greatest and wisest of beings. To please him she had upon her marriage
given up drinking wine, which, for a German, was considered a great
sacrifice. She recompensed herself, as the king did, by eating to an
extent which, according to contemporary accounts, excited amazement. Thus
there was perfect sympathy between the two in the important article of
diet. She had also learned to play at cards, in order to take a hand with
him at any moment, feebly hoping that an occasional game for love might
rescue the king from that frantic passion by which his health was
shattered and so many courtiers were enriched.

Not being deficient in perception, the queen was quite aware of the
greediness of all who surrounded the palace. She had spirit enough too to
feel the galling tyranny to which the king was subjected. That the people
hated the omnipotent favourite, and believed the king to be under the
influence of sorcery, she was well aware. She had even a dim notion that
the administration of the empire was not the wisest nor the noblest that
could be devised for the first power in Christendom. But considerations
of high politics scarcely troubled her mind. Of a People she had perhaps
never heard, but she felt that the king was oppressed. She knew that he
was helpless, and that she was herself his only friend. But of what avail
were her timid little flutterings of indignation and resistance? So pure
and fragile a creature could accomplish little good for king or people.
Perpetually guarded and surrounded by the Countess of Lemos and the
Duchess of Lerma, she lived in mortal awe of both. As to the duke
himself, she trembled at his very name. On her first attempts to speak
with Philip on political matters--to hint at the unscrupulous character
of his government, to arouse him to the necessity of striking for a
little more liberty and for at least a trifling influence in the
state--the poor little king instantly betrayed her to the favourite and
she was severely punished. The duke took the monarch off at once on a
long journey, leaving her alone for weeks long with the terrible duchess
and countess. Never before had she been separated for a day from her
husband, it having been the king's uniform custom to take her with him in
all his expeditions. Her ambition to interfere was thus effectually
cured. The duke forbade her thenceforth ever to speak of politics to her
husband in public or in private--not even in bed--and the king was
closely questioned whether these orders had been obeyed. She submitted
without a struggle. She saw how completely her happiness was at Lerma's
mercy. She had no one to consult with, having none but Spanish people
about her, except her German father-confessor, whom, as a great favour,
and after a severe struggle, she had beep allowed to retain, as otherwise
her ignorance of the national language would have made it impossible for
her to confess her little sins. Moreover her brothers, the archdukes at
Gratz, were in receipt of considerable annual stipends from the Spanish
exchequer, and the duke threatened to stop those pensions at once should
the queen prove refractory. It is painful to dwell any longer on the
abject servitude in which the king and queen were kept. The two were at
least happy in each other's society, and were blessed with mutual
affection, with pretty and engaging children, and with a similarity of
tastes. It is impossible to imagine anything more stately, more devout,
more regular, more innocent, more utterly dismal and insipid, than the
lives of this wedded pair.

This interior view of the court and council of Spain will suffice to
explain why, despite the languor and hesitations with which the
transactions were managed, the inevitable tendency was towards a peace.
The inevitable slowness, secrecy, and tergiversations were due to the
dignity of the Spanish court, and in harmony with its most sacred
traditions.

But what profit could the Duke of Lerma expect by the continuance of the
Dutch war, and who in Spain was to be consulted except the Duke of Lerma?

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A man incapable of fatigue, of perplexity, or of fear
     Converting beneficent commerce into baleful gambling
     Gigantic vices are proudly pointed to as the noblest
     No generation is long-lived enough to reap the harvest
     Proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin's mother
     Steeped to the lips in sloth which imagined itself to be pride
     To shirk labour, infinite numbers become priests and friars



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 80, 1607



CHAPTER XLIX.

   Peace deliberations in Spain--Unpopularity of the project--
   Disaffection of the courtiers--Complaints against Spinola--
   Conference of the Catholic party--Position of Henry IV. towards the
   republic--State of France Further peace negotiations--Desire of King
   James of England for the restoration of the States to Spain--Arrival
   of the French commissioners President Jeannin before the States-
   General--Dangers of a truce with Spain--Dutch legation to England--
   Arrival of Lewis Verreyken at the Hague with Philip's ratification--
   Rejection of the Spanish treaty--Withdrawal of the Dutch fleet from
   the Peninsula--The peace project denounced by the party of Prince
   Maurice--Opposition of Maurice to the plans of Barneveld--Amended
   ratification presented to the States-General--Discussion of the
   conditions--Determination to conclude a peace--Indian trade--
   Exploits of Admiral Matelieff in the Malay peninsula--He lays siege
   to Malacca--Victory over the Spanish fleet--Endeavour to open a
   trade with China--Return of Matelieff to Holland.

The Marquis Spinola had informed the Spanish Government that if 300,000
dollars a month could be furnished, the war might be continued, but that
otherwise it would be better to treat upon the basis of 'uti possidetis,'
and according to the terms proposed by the States-General. He had further
intimated his opinion that, instead of waiting for the king's consent, it
more comported with the king's dignity for the archdukes to enter into
negotiations, to make a preliminary and brief armistice with the enemy,
and then to solicit the royal approval of what had been done.

In reply, the king--that is to say the man who thought, wrote, and signed
in behalf of the king--had plaintively observed that among evils the
vulgar rule was to submit to the least. Although, therefore, to grant to
the Netherland rebels not only peace and liberty, but to concede to them
whatever they had obtained by violence and the most abominable outrages,
was the worst possible example to all princes; yet as the enormous sum
necessary for carrying on the war was not to be had, even by attempting
to scrape it together from every corner of the earth, he agreed with the
opinion of the archdukes that it was better to put an end to this eternal
and exhausting war by peace or truce, even under severe conditions. That
the business had thus far proceeded without consulting him, was publicly
known, and he expressed approval of the present movements towards a peace
or a long truce, assuring Spinola that such a result would be as grateful
to him as if the war had been brought to a successful issue.

When the Marquis sent formal notice of the armistice to Spain there were
many complaints at court. Men said that the measure was beneath the
king's dignity, and contrary to his interests. It was a cessation of arms
under iniquitous conditions, accorded to a people formerly subject and
now rebellious. Such a truce was more fatal than any conflict, than any
amount of slaughter. During this long and dreadful war, the king had
suffered no disaster so terrible as this, and the courtiers now declared
openly that the archduke was the cause of the royal and national
humiliation. Having no children, nor hope of any, he desired only to live
in tranquillity and selfish indulgence, like the indolent priest that he
was, not caring what detriment or dishonour might accrue to the crown
after his life was over.

Thus murmured the parasites and the plunderers within the dominions of
the do-nothing Philip, denouncing the first serious effort to put an end
to a war which the laws of nature had proved to be hopeless on the part
of Spain.

Spinola too, who had spent millions of his own money, who had plunged
himself into debt and discredit, while attempting to sustain the
financial reputation of the king, who had by his brilliant services in
the field revived the ancient glory of the Spanish arms, and who now saw
himself exposed with empty coffers to a vast mutiny, which was likely to
make his future movements as paralytic as those of his immediate
predecessors--Spinola, already hated because he was an Italian, because
he was of a mercantile family, and because he had been successful, was
now as much the object of contumely with the courtiers as with the
archduke himself.

The splendid victory of Heemskerk had struck the government with dismay
and diffused a panic along the coast. The mercantile fleets, destined for
either India, dared not venture forth so long as the terrible Dutch
cruisers, which had just annihilated a splendid Spanish fleet, commanded
by a veteran of Lepanto, and under the very guns of Gibraltar, were
supposed to be hovering off the Peninsula. Very naturally, therefore,
there was discontent in Spain that the cessation of hostilities had not
originally been arranged for sea as well as land, and men said openly at
court that Spinola ought to have his head cut off for agreeing to such an
armistice. Quite as reasonably, however, it was now felt to be necessary
to effect as soon as possible the recall of this very inconvenient Dutch
fleet from the coast of Spain.

The complaints were so incessant against Spinola that it was determined
to send Don Diego d'Ybarra to Brussels, charged with a general
superintendence of the royal interests in the present confused condition
of affairs. He was especially instructed to convey to Spinola the most
vehement reproaches in regard to the terms of the armistice, and to
insist upon the cessation of naval hostilities, and the withdrawal of the
cruisers.

Spinola, on his part, was exceedingly irritated that the arrangements
which he had so carefully made with the archduke at Brussels should be so
contumaciously assailed, and even disavowed, at Madrid. He was especially
irritated that Ybarra should now be sent as his censor and overseer, and
that Fuentes should have received orders to levy seven thousand troops in
the Milanese for Flanders, the arrival of which reinforcements would
excite suspicion, and probably break off negotiations.

He accordingly sent his private secretary Biraga, posthaste to Spain with
two letters. In number one he implored his Majesty that Ybarra might not
be sent to Brussels. If this request were granted, number two was to be
burned. Otherwise, number two was to be delivered, and it contained a
request to be relieved from all further employment in the king's service.
The marquis was already feeling the same effects of success as had been
experienced by Alexander Farnese, Don John of Austria, and other
strenuous maintainers of the royal authority in Flanders. He was railed
against, suspected, spied upon, put under guardianship, according to the
good old traditions of the Spanish court. Public disgrace or secret
poison might well be expected by him, as the natural guerdons of his
eminent deeds.

Biraga also took with him the draught of the form in which the king's
consent to the armistice and pending negotiations was desired, and he was
particularly directed to urge that not one letter or comma should be
altered, in order that no pretext might be afforded to the suspicious
Netherlanders for a rupture.

In private letters to his own superintendent Strata, to Don John of
Idiaquez, to the Duke of Lerma, and to Stephen Ybarra, Spinola enlarged
upon the indignity about to be offered him, remonstrated vehemently
against the wrong and stupidity of the proposed policy, and expressed his
reliance upon the efforts of these friends of his to prevent its
consummation. He intimated to Idiaquez that a new deliberation would be
necessary to effect the withdrawal of the Dutch fleet--a condition not
inserted in the original armistice--but that within the three months
allowed for the royal ratification there would be time enough to procure
the consent of the States to that measure. If the king really desired to
continue the war, he had but to alter a single comma in the draught, and,
out of that comma, the stadholder's party would be certain to manufacture
for him as long a war as he could possibly wish.

In a subsequent letter to the king, Spinola observed that he was well
aware of the indignation created in Spain by the cessation of land
hostilities without the recall of the fleet, but that nevertheless John
Neyen had confidentially represented to the archdukes the royal assent as
almost certain. As to the mission of Ybarra, the marquis reminded his
master that the responsibility and general superintendence of the
negotiations had been almost forced upon him. Certainly he had not
solicited them. If another agent were now interposed, it was an
advertisement to the world that the business had been badly managed. If
the king wished a rupture, he had but to lift his finger or his pen; but
to appoint another commissioner was an unfit reward for his faithful
service. He was in the king's hands. If his reputation were now to be
destroyed, it was all over with him and his affairs. The man, whom
mortals had once believed incapable, would be esteemed incapable until
the end of his days.

It was too late to prevent the mission of Ybarra, who, immediately after
his arrival in Brussels, began to urge in the king's name that the words
in which the provinces had been declared free by the archdukes might be
expunged. What could be more childish than such diplomacy? What greater
proof could be given of the incapacity of the Spanish court to learn the
lesson which forty years had been teaching? Spinola again wrote a most
earnest remonstrance to the king, assuring him that this was simply to
break off the negotiation. It was ridiculous to suppose, he said, that
concessions already made by the archdukes, ratification of which on the
part of the king had been guaranteed, could now be annulled. Those
acquainted with Netherland obstinacy knew better. The very possibility of
the king's refusal excited the scorn of the States-General.

Ybarra went about, too, prating to the archdukes and to others of
supplies to be sent from Spain sufficient to carry on the war for many
years, and of fresh troops to be forwarded immediately by Fuentes. As
four millions of crowns a year were known to be required for any
tolerable campaigning, such empty vaunts as these were preposterous. The
king knew full well, said Spinola, and had admitted the fact in his
letters, that this enormous sum could not be furnished. Moreover, the war
cost the Netherlanders far less in proportion. They had river
transportation, by which they effected as much in two days as the
Catholic army could do in a fortnight, so that every siege was managed
with far greater rapidity and less cost by the rebels than by their
opponents. As to sending troops from Milan, he had already stated that
their arrival would have a fatal effect. The minds of the people were
full of suspicion. Every passing rumour excited a prodigious sensation,
and the war party was already gaining the upper hand. Spinola warned the
king, in the most solemn manner, that if the golden opportunity were now
neglected the war would be eternal. This, he said, was more certain than
certain. For himself, he had strained every nerve, and would continue to
do his best in the interest of peace. If calamity must come, he at least
would be held blameless.

Such vehement remonstrances from so eminent a source produced the needful
effect. Royal letters were immediately sent, placing full powers of
treating in the hands of the marquis, and sending him a ratification of
the archduke's agreement. Government moreover expressed boundless
confidence in Spinola, and deprecated the idea that Ybarra's mission was
in derogation of his authority. He had been sent, it was stated, only to
procure that indispensable preliminary to negotiations, the withdrawal of
the Dutch fleet, but as this had now been granted, Ybarra was already
recalled.

Spinola now determined to send the swift and sure-footed friar, who had
made himself so useful in opening the path to discussion, on a secret
mission to Spain. Ybarra objected; especially because it would be
necessary for him to go through France, where he would be closely
questioned by the king. It would be equally dangerous, he said, for the
Franciscan in that case to tell the truth or to conceal it. But Spinola
replied that a poor monk like him could steal through France
undiscovered. Moreover, he should be disguised as a footman, travelling
in the service of Aurelio Spinola, a relative of the marquis, then
proceeding to Madrid. Even should Henry hear of his presence and send for
him, was it to be supposed that so practised a hand would not easily
parry the strokes of the French king--accomplished fencer as he
undoubtedly was? After stealing into and out of Holland as he had so
recently done, there was nothing that might not be expected of him. So
the wily friar put on the Spinola livery, and, without impediment,
accompanied Don Aurelio to Madrid.

Meantime, the French commissioners--Pierre Jeannin, Buzanval, regular
resident at the Hague, and De Russy, who was destined to succeed that
diplomatist--had arrived in Holland.

The great drama of negotiation, which was now to follow the forty years'
tragedy, involved the interests and absorbed the attention of the great
Christian powers. Although serious enough in its substance and its
probable consequences, its aspect was that of a solemn comedy. There was
a secret disposition on the part of each leading personage--with a few
exceptions--to make dupes of all the rest. Perhaps this was a necessary
result of statesmanship, as it had usually been taught at that epoch.

Paul V., who had succeeded Clement VIII. in 1605, with the brief
interlude of the twenty-six days of Leo XI.'s pontificate, was zealous,
as might be supposed, to check the dangerous growth of the pestilential
little republic of the north. His diplomatic agents, Millino at Madrid,
Barberini at Paris, and the accomplished Bentivoglio, who had just been
appointed to the nunciatura at Brussels, were indefatigable in their
efforts to suppress the heresy and the insolent liberty of which the
upstart commonwealth was the embodiment.

Especially Barberini exerted all the powers at his command to bring about
a good understanding between the kings of France and Spain. He pictured
to Henry, in darkest colours, the blight that would come over religion
and civilization if the progress of the rebellious Netherlands could not
be arrested. The United Provinces were becoming dangerous, if they
remained free, not only to the French kingdom, but to the very existence
of monarchy throughout the world.

No potentate was ever more interested, so it was urged, than Henry IV. to
bring down the pride of the Dutch rebels. There was always sympathy of
thought and action between the Huguenots of France and their
co-religionists in Holland. They were all believers alike in Calvinism--a
sect inimical not less to temporal monarchies than to the sovereign
primacy of the Church--and the tendency and purposes of the French rebels
were already sufficiently manifest in their efforts, by means of the
so-called cities of security, to erect a state within a state; to
introduce, in short, a Dutch republic into France.

A sovereign remedy for the disease of liberty, now threatening to become
epidemic in Europe, would be found in a marriage between the second son
of the King of Spain and a daughter of France. As the archdukes were
childless, it might be easily arranged that this youthful couple should
succeed them--the result of which would of course be the reduction of all
the Netherlands to their ancient obedience.

It has already been seen, and will become still farther apparent, that
nostrums like this were to be recommended in other directions. Meantime,
Jeannin and his colleagues made their appearance at the Hague.

If there were a living politician in Europe capable of dealing with
Barneveld on even terms, it was no doubt President Jeannin. An ancient
Leaguer, an especial adherent of the Duke of Mayenne, he had been deep in
all the various plots and counter-plots of the Guises, and often employed
by the extinct confederacy in various important intrigues. Being secretly
sent to Spain to solicit help for the League after the disasters of Ivry
and Arques, he found Philip II. so sincerely imbued with the notion that
France was a mere province of Spain, and so entirely bent upon securing
the heritage of the Infanta to that large property, as to convince him
that the maintenance of the Roman religion was with that monarch only a
secondary condition. Aid and assistance for the confederacy were
difficult of attainment, unless coupled with the guarantee of the
Infanta's rights to reign in France.

The Guise faction being inspired solely by religious motives of the
loftiest kind, were naturally dissatisfied with the lukewarmness of his
most Catholic Majesty. When therefore the discomfited Mayenne
subsequently concluded his bargain with the conqueror of Ivry, it was a
matter of course that Jeannin should also make his peace with the
successful Huguenot, now become eldest son of the Church. He was very
soon taken into especial favour by Henry, who recognised his sagacity,
and who knew his hands to be far cleaner than those of the more exalted
Leaguers with whom he had dealt. The "good old fellow," as Henry
familiarly called him, had not filled his pockets either in serving or
when deserting the League. Placed in control of the exchequer at a later
period, he was never accused of robbery or peculation. He was a
hard-working, not overpaid, very intelligent public functionary. He was
made president of the parliament, or supreme tribunal of Burgundy, and
minister of state, and was recognised as one of the ablest jurists and
most skilful politicians in the kingdom. An elderly man, with a tall,
serene forehead, a large dark eye and a long grey beard, he presented an
image of vast wisdom and reverend probity. He possessed--an especial
treasure for a statesman in that plotting age--a singularly honest
visage. Never was that face more guileless, never was his heart more
completely worn upon his sleeve, than when he was harbouring the deepest
or most dangerous designs. Such was the "good fellow," whom that skilful
reader of men, Henry of France, had sent to represent his interests and
his opinions at the approaching conferences. What were those opinions?
Paul V. and his legates Barberini, Millino, and the rest, were well
enough aware of the secret strings of the king's policy, and knew how to
touch them with skill. Of all things past, Henry perhaps most regretted
that not he, but the last and most wretched of the Valois line, was
sovereign of France when the States-General came to Paris with that offer
of sovereignty which had been so contumaciously refused.

If the object were attainable, the ex-chief of the Huguenots still meant
to be king of the Netherlands as sincerely as Philip II. had ever
intended to be monarch of France. But Henry was too accurate a calculator
of chances, and had bustled too much in the world of realities, to
exhaust his strength in striving, year after year, for a manifest
impossibility. The enthusiast, who had passed away at last from the
dreams of the Escorial into the land of shadows, had spent a lifetime,
and melted the wealth of an empire; but universal monarchy had never come
forth from his crucible. The French king, although possessed likewise of
an almost boundless faculty for ambitious visions, was capable of
distinguishing cloud-land from substantial empire. Jeannin, as his envoy,
would at any rate not reveal his master's secret aspirations to those
with whom he came to deal, as openly as Philip had once unveiled himself
to Jeannin.

There could be no doubt that peace at this epoch was the real interest of
France. That kingdom was beginning to flourish again, owing to the very
considerable administrative genius of Bethune, an accomplished financier
according to the lights of the age, and still more by reason of the
general impoverishment of the great feudal houses and of the clergy. The
result of the almost interminable series of civil and religious wars had
been to cause a general redistribution of property. Capital was mainly in
the hands of the middle and lower classes, and the consequence of this
general circulation of wealth through all the channels of society was
precisely what might have been expected, an increase of enterprise and of
productive industry in various branches. Although the financial wisdom of
the age was doing its best to impede commerce, to prevent the influx of
foreign wares, to prohibit the outflow of specie--in obedience to the
universal superstition, which was destined to survive so many centuries,
that gold and silver alone constituted wealth--while, at the same time,
in deference to the idiotic principle of sumptuary legislation, it was
vigorously opposing mulberry culture, silk manufactures, and other
creations of luxury, which, in spite of the hostility of government
sages, were destined from that time forward to become better mines of
wealth for the kingdom than the Indies had been for Spain, yet on the
whole the arts of peace were in the ascendant in France.

The king, although an unscrupulous, self-seeking despot and the coarsest
of voluptuaries, was at least a man of genius. He had also too much
shrewd mother-wit to pursue such schemes as experience had shown to
possess no reality. The talisman "Espoir," emblazoned on his shield, had
led him to so much that it was natural for him at times to think all
things possible.

But he knew how to renounce as well as how to dare. He had abandoned his
hope to be declared Prince of Wales and successor to the English crown,
which he had cherished for a brief period, at the epoch of the Essex
conspiracy; he had forgotten his magnificent dream of placing the crown
of the holy German empire upon his head, and if he still secretly
resolved to annex the Netherlands to his realms, and to destroy his
excellent ally, the usurping, rebellious, and heretic Dutch republic, he
had craft enough to work towards his aim in the dark, and the common
sense to know that by now throwing down the mask he would be for ever
baffled of his purpose.

The history of France, during the last three-quarters of a century, had
made almost every Frenchman, old enough to bear arms, an accomplished
soldier. Henry boasted that the kingdom could put three hundred thousand
veterans into the field--a high figure, when it is recollected that its
population certainly did not exceed fifteen millions. No man however was
better aware than he, that in spite, of the apparent pacification of
parties, the three hundred thousand would not be all on one side, even in
case of a foreign war. There were at least four thousand great feudal
lords as faithful to the Huguenot faith and cause as he had been false to
both; many of them still wealthy, notwithstanding the general ruin which
had swept over the high nobility, and all of them with vast influence and
a splendid following, both among the lesser gentry and the men of lower
rank.

Although he kept a Jesuit priest ever at his elbow, and did his best to
persuade the world and perhaps himself that he had become a devout
Catholic, in consequence of those memorable five hours' instruction from
the Bishop of Bourges, and that there was no hope for France save in its
return to the bosom of the Church, he was yet too politic and too
farseeing to doubt that for him to oppress the Protestants would be not
only suicidal, but, what was worse in his eyes, ridiculous.

He knew, too, that with thirty or forty thousand fighting-men in the
field, with seven hundred and forty churches in the various provinces for
their places of worship, with all the best fortresses in France in their
possession, with leaders like Rohan, Lesdiguieres, Bouillon, and many
others, and with the most virtuous, self-denying, Christian government,
established and maintained by themselves, it would be madness for him and
his dynasty to deny the Protestants their political and religious
liberty, or to attempt a crusade against their brethren in the
Netherlands.

France was far more powerful than Spain, although the world had not yet
recognised the fact. Yet it would have been difficult for both united to
crush the new commonwealth, however paradoxical such a proposition seemed
to contemporaries.

Sully was conscientiously in favour of peace, and Sully was the one great
minister of France. Not a Lerma, certainly; for France was not Spain, nor
was Henry IV. a Philip III. The Huguenot duke was an inferior financier
to his Spanish contemporary, if it were the height of financial skill for
a minister to exhaust the resources of a great kingdom in order to fill
his own pocket. Sully certainly did not neglect his own interests, for he
had accumulated a fortune of at least seventy thousand dollars a year,
besides a cash capital estimated at a million and a half. But while
enriching himself, he had wonderfully improved the condition of the royal
treasury. He had reformed many abuses and opened many new sources of
income. He had, of course, not accomplished the whole Augean task of
purification. He was a vigorous Huguenot, but no Hercules, and demigods
might have shrunk appalled at the filthy mass of corruption which great
European kingdoms everywhere presented to the reformer's eye. Compared to
the Spanish Government, that of France might almost have been considered
virtuous, yet even there everything was venal.

To negotiate was to bribe right and left, and at every step. All the
ministers and great functionaries received presents, as a matter of
course, and it was necessary to pave the pathway even of their
ante-chambers with gold.

The king was fully aware of the practice, but winked at it, because his
servants, thus paid enormous sums by the public and by foreign
Governments, were less importunate for rewards and salaries from himself.

One man in the kingdom was said to have clean hands, the venerable and
sagacious chancellor, Pomponne de Bellievre. His wife, however, was less
scrupulous, and readily disposed of influence and court-favour for a
price, without the knowledge, so it was thought, of the great judge.

Jeannin, too, was esteemed a man of personal integrity, ancient Leaguer
and tricky politician though he were.

Highest offices of magistracy and judicature, Church and State, were
objects of a traffic almost as shameless as in Spain. The ermine was sold
at auction, mitres were objects of public barter, Church preferments were
bestowed upon female children in their cradles. Yet there was hope in
France, notwithstanding that the Pragmatic Sanction of St. Louis, the
foundation of the liberties of the Gallican Church, had been annulled by
Francis, who had divided the seamless garment of Church patronage with
Leo.

Those four thousand great Huguenot lords, those thirty thousand
hard-fighting weavers, and blacksmiths, and other plebeians, those seven
hundred and forty churches, those very substantial fortresses in every
province of the kingdom, were better facts than the Holy Inquisition to
preserve a great nation from sinking into the slough of political
extinction.

Henry was most anxious that Sully should convert himself to the ancient
Church, and the gossips of the day told each other that the duke had
named his price for his conversion. To be made high constable of France,
it was said would melt the resolve of the stiff Huguenot. To any other
inducement or blandishment he was adamant. Whatever truth may have been
in such chatter, it is certain that the duke never gratified his master's
darling desire.

Yet it was for no lack of attempts and intrigues on the part of the king,
although it is not probable that he would have ever consented to bestow
that august and coveted dignity upon a Bethune.

The king did his best by intrigue, by calumny, by talebearing, by
inventions, to set the Huguenots against each other, and to excite the
mutual jealousy of all his most trusted adherents, whether Protestant or
Catholic. The most good-humoured, the least vindictive, the most
ungrateful, the falsest of mankind, he made it his policy, as well as his
pastime, to repeat, with any amount of embroidery that his most florid
fancy could devise, every idle story or calumny that could possibly
create bitter feeling and make mischief among those who surrounded him.
Being aware that this propensity was thoroughly understood, he only
multiplied fictions, so cunningly mingled with truths, as to leave his
hearers quite unable to know what to believe and what to doubt. By such
arts, force being impossible, he hoped one day to sever the band which
held the conventicles together, and to reduce Protestantism to
insignificance. He would have cut off the head of D'Aubigne or Duplessis
Mornay to gain an object, and have not only pardoned but caressed and
rewarded Biron when reeking from the conspiracy against his own life and
crown, had he been willing to confess and ask pardon for his stupendous
crime. He hated vindictive men almost as much as he despised those who
were grateful.

He was therefore far from preferring Sully to Villeroy or Jeannin, but he
was perfectly aware that, in financial matters at least, the duke was his
best friend and an important pillar of the state.

The minister had succeeded in raising the annual revenue of France to
nearly eleven millions of dollars, and in reducing the annual
expenditures to a little more than ten millions. To have a balance on the
right side of the public ledger was a feat less easily accomplished in
those days even than in our own. Could the duke have restrained his
sovereign's reckless extravagance in buildings, parks, hunting
establishments, and harems, he might have accomplished even greater
miracles. He lectured the king roundly, as a parent might remonstrate
with a prodigal son, but it was impossible even for a Sully to rescue
that hoary-headed and most indomitable youth from wantonness and riotous
living. The civil-list of the king amounted to more than one-tenth of the
whole revenue.

On the whole, however, it was clear, as France was then constituted and
administered, that a general peace would be, for the time at least, most
conducive to its interests, and Henry and his great minister were
sincerely desirous of bringing about that result.

Preliminaries for a negotiation which should terminate this mighty war
were now accordingly to be laid down at the Hague. Yet it would seem
rather difficult to effect a compromise. Besides the powers less
interested, but which nevertheless sent representatives to watch the
proceedings--such as Sweden, Denmark, Brandenburg, the Elector
Palatine--there were Spain, France, England, the republic, and the
archdukes.

Spain knew very well that she could not continue the war; but she hoped
by some quibbling recognition of an impossible independence to recover
that authority over her ancient vassals which the sword had for the time
struck down. Distraction in councils, personal rivalries, the well-known
incapacity of a people to govern itself, commercial greediness,
provincial hatreds, envies and jealousies, would soon reduce that jumble
of cities and villages, which aped the airs of sovereignty, into
insignificance and confusion. Adroit management would easily re-assert
afterwards the sovereignty of the Lord's anointed. That a republic of
freemen, a federation of independent states, could take its place among
the nations did not deserve a serious thought.

Spain in her heart preferred therefore to treat. It was however
indispensable that the Netherlands should reestablish the Catholic
religion throughout the land, should abstain then and for ever from all
insolent pretences to trade with India or America, and should punish such
of their citizens as attempted to make voyages to the one or the other.
With these trifling exceptions, the court of Madrid would look with
favour on propositions made in behalf of the rebels.

France, as we have seen, secretly aspired to the sovereignty of all the
Netherlands, if it could be had. She was also extremely in favour of
excluding the Hollanders from the Indies, East and West. The king, fired
with the achievements of the republic at sea, and admiring their great
schemes for founding empires at the antipodes by means of commercial
corporations, was very desirous of appropriating to his own benefit the
experience, the audacity, the perseverance, the skill and the capital of
their merchants and mariners. He secretly instructed his commissioners,
therefore, and repeatedly urged it upon them, to do their best to procure
the renunciation, on the part of the republic, of the Indian trade, and
to contrive the transplantation into France of the mighty trading
companies, so successfully established in Holland and Zeeland.

The plot thus to deprive the provinces of their India trade was supposed
by the statesmen of the republic to have been formed in connivance with
Spain. That power, finding itself half pushed from its seat of power in
the East by the "grand and infallible society created by the United
Provinces,"--[Memoir of Aerssens, ubi sup]--would be but too happy to
make use of this French intrigue in order to force the intruding Dutch
navy from its conquests.

Olden-Barneveld, too politic to offend the powerful and treacherous ally
by a flat refusal, said that the king's friendship was more precious than
the India trade. At the same time he warned the French Government that,
if they ruined the Dutch East India Company, "neither France nor any
other nation would ever put its nose into India again."

James of England, too, flattered himself that he could win for England
that sovereignty of the Netherlands which England as well as France had
so decidedly refused. The marriage of Prince Henry with the Spanish
Infanta was the bait, steadily dangled before him by the politicians of
the Spanish court, and he deluded himself with the thought that the
Catholic king, on the death of the childless archdukes, would make his
son and daughter-in-law a present of the obedient Netherlands. He already
had some of the most important places in the United Netherlands-the
famous cautionary towns in his grasp, and it should go hard but he would
twist that possession into a sovereignty over the whole land. As for
recognising the rebel provinces as an independent sovereignty, that was
most abhorrent to him. Such a tampering with the great principles of
Government was an offence against all crowned heads, a crime in which he
was unwilling to participate.

His instinct against rebellion seemed like second sight. The king might
almost be imagined to have foreseen in the dim future those memorable
months in which the proudest triumph of the Dutch commonwealth was to be
registered before the forum of Christendom at the congress of Westphalia,
and in which the solemn trial and execution of his own son and successor,
with the transformation of the monarchy of the Tudors and Stuarts into a
British republic, were simultaneously to startle the world. But it hardly
needed the gift of prophecy to inspire James with a fear of revolutions.

He was secretly desirous therefore, sustained by Salisbury and his other
advisers, of effecting the restoration of the provinces to the dominion
of his most Catholic Majesty. It was of course the interest of England
that the Netherland rebels should renounce the India trade. So would
James be spared the expense and trouble of war; so would the great
doctrines of divine right be upheld; so would the way be paved towards
the ultimate absorption of the Netherlands by England. Whether his
theological expositions would find as attentive pupils when the pope's
authority had been reestablished over all his neighbours; whether the
Catholic rebels in Ireland would become more tranquil by the subjugation
of the Protestant rebels in Holland; whether the principles of Guy Fawkes
might not find more effective application, with no bulwark beyond the
seas against the incursion of such practitioners--all this he did not
perhaps sufficiently ponder.

Thus far had the discursive mind of James wandered from the position
which it occupied at the epoch of Maximilian de Bethune's memorable
embassy to England.

The archdukes were disposed to quiet. On them fell the burthen of the
war. Their little sovereignty, where--if they could only be allowed to
expend the money squeezed from the obedient provinces in court
diversions, stately architecture, splendid encouragement of the fine
arts, and luxurious living, surrounded by a train of great nobles, fit to
command regiments in the field or assist in the counsels of state, but
chiefly occupied in putting dishes on the court table, handing ewers and
napkins to their Highnesses, or in still more menial offices--so much
enjoyment might be had, was reduced to a mere parade ground for Spanish
soldiery. It was ridiculous, said the politicians of Madrid, to suppose
that a great empire like Spain would not be continually at war in one
direction or another, and would not perpetually require the use of large
armies. Where then could there be a better mustering place for their
forces than those very provinces, so easy of access, so opulent, so
conveniently situate in the neighbourhood of Spain's most insolent
enemies? It was all very fine for the archduke, who knew nothing of war,
they declared, who had no hope of children, who longed only for a life of
inglorious ease, such as he could have had as archbishop, to prate of
peace and thus to compromise the dignity of the realm. On the contrary by
making proper use of the Netherlands, the repose and grandeur of the
monarchy would be secured, even should the war become eternal.

This prospect, not agreeable certainly for the archdukes or their
subjects, was but little admired outside the Spanish court.

Such then were the sentiments of the archdukes, and such the schemes and
visions of Spain, France, and England. On two or three points, those
great powers were mainly, if unconsciously, agreed. The Netherlands
should not be sovereign; they should renounce the India navigation; they
should consent to the re-establishment of the Catholic religion.

On the other hand, the States-General knew their own minds, and made not
the slightest secret of their intentions.

They would be sovereign, they would not renounce the India trade, they
would not agree to the re-establishment of the Catholic religion.

Could the issue of the proposed negotiations be thought hopeful, or was
another half century of warfare impending?

On the 28th May the French commissioners came before the States-General.

There had been many wild rumours flying through the provinces in regard
to the king's secret designs upon the republic, especially since the
visit made to the Hague a twelvemonth before by Francis Aerssens, States'
resident at the French court. That diplomatist, as we know, had been
secretly commissioned by Henry to feel the public pulse in regard to the
sovereignty, so far as that could be done by very private and delicate
fingering. Although only two or three personages had been dealt with--the
suggestions being made as the private views of the ambassadors
only--there had been much gossip on the subject, not only in the
Netherlands, but at the English and Spanish courts. Throughout the
commonwealth there was a belief that Henry wished to make himself king of
the country.

As this happened to be the fact, it was natural that the President,
according to the statecraft of his school, should deny it at once, and
with an air of gentle melancholy.

Wearing therefore his most ingenuous expression, Jeannin addressed the
assembly.

He assured the States that the king had never forgotten how much
assistance he had received from them when he was struggling to conquer
the kingdom legally belonging to him, and at a time when they too were
fighting in their own country for their very existence.

The king thought that he had given so many proofs of his sincere
friendship as to make doubt impossible; but he had found the contrary,
for the States had accorded an armistice, and listened to overtures of
peace, without deigning to consult him on the subject. They had proved,
by beginning and concluding so important a transaction without his
knowledge, that they regarded him with suspicion, and had no respect for
his name. Whence came the causes of that suspicion it was difficult to
imagine, unless from certain false rumours of propositions said to have
been put forward in his behalf, although he had never authorised anyone
to make them, by which men had been induced to believe that he aspired to
the sovereignty of the provinces.

"This falsehood," continued the candid President, "has cut our king to
the heart, wounding him more deeply than anything else could have done.
To make the armistice without his knowledge showed merely your contempt
for him, and your want of faith in him. But he blamed not the action in
itself, since you deemed it for your good, and God grant that you may not
have been deceived. But to pretend that his Majesty wished to grow great
at your expense, this was to do a wrong to his reputation, to his good
faith, and to the desire which he has always shown to secure the
prosperity of your state." Much more spoke Jeannin, in this vein,
assuring the assembly that those abominable falsehoods proceeded from the
enemies of the king, and were designed expressly to sow discord and
suspicion in the provinces. The reader, already aware of the minute and
detailed arrangements made by Henry and his ministers for obtaining the
sovereignty of the United Provinces and destroying their liberties, will
know how to appreciate the eloquence of the ingenuous President.

After the usual commonplaces concerning the royal desire to protect his
allies against wrong and oppression, and to advance their interests, the
President suggested that the States should forthwith communicate the
pending deliberations to all the kings and princes who had favoured their
cause, and especially to the King of England, who had so thoroughly
proved his desire to promote their welfare.

As Jeannin had been secretly directed to pave the way by all possible
means for the king's sovereignty over the provinces; as he was not long
afterwards to receive explicit instructions to expend as much money as
might be necessary in bribing Prince Maurice, Count Lewis William,
Barneveld and his son, together with such others as might seem worth
purchasing, in order to assist Henry in becoming monarch of their
country; and as the English king was at that moment represented in
Henry's private letters to the commissioners as actually loathing the
liberty, power, and prosperity of the provinces, it must be conceded that
the President had acquitted himself very handsomely in his first oration.

Such was the virtue of his honest face.

Barneveld answered with generalities and commonplaces. No man knew better
than the Advocate the exact position of affairs; no man had more
profoundly fathomed the present purposes of the French king; no man had
more acutely scanned his character. But he knew the critical position of
the commonwealth. He knew that, although the public revenue might be
raised by extraordinary and spasmodic exertion to nearly a million
sterling, a larger income than had ever been at the disposition of the
great Queen of England, the annual deficit might be six millions of
florins--more than half the revenue--if the war continued, and that there
was necessity of peace, could the substantial objects of the war be now
obtained. He was well aware too of the subtle and scheming brain which
lay hid beneath that reverend brow of the President, although he felt
capable of coping with him in debate or intrigue. Doubtless he was
inspired with as much ardour for the intellectual conflict as Henry might
have experienced on some great field-day with Alexander Farnese.

On this occasion, however, Barneveld preferred to glide gently over the
rumours concerning Henry's schemes. Those reports had doubtless emanated,
he said, from the enemies of Netherland prosperity. The private
conclusion of the armistice he defended on the ground of necessity, and
of temporary financial embarrassment, and he promised that deputies
should at once be appointed to confer with the royal commissioners in
regard to the whole subject.

In private, he assured Jeannin that the communications of Aerssens had
only been discussed in secret, and had not been confided to more than
three or four persons.

The Advocate, although the leader of the peace party, was by no means
over anxious for peace.

The object of much insane obloquy, because disposed to secure that
blessing for his country on the basis of freedom and independence, he was
not disposed to trust in the sincerity of the archdukes, or the Spanish
court, or the French king. "Timeo Danaos etiam dona ferentes," he had
lately said to Aerssens. Knowing that the resistance of the Netherlands
had been forty years long the bulwark of Europe against the designs of
the Spaniard for universal empire, he believed the republic justified in
expecting the support of the leading powers in the negotiations now
proposed. "Had it not been for the opposition of these provinces," he
said, "he might, in the opinion of the wisest, have long ago been monarch
of all Europe, with small expense of men, money, or credit." He was far
from believing therefore that Spain, which had sacrificed, according to
his estimate, three hundred thousand soldiers and two hundred million
ducats in vain endeavours to destroy the resistance of the United
Provinces, was now ready to lay aside her vengeance and submit to a
sincere peace. Rather he thought to see "the lambkins, now frisking so
innocently about the commonwealth, suddenly transform themselves into
lions and wolves." It would be a fatal error, he said, to precipitate the
dear fatherland into the net of a simulated negotiation, from unwise
impatience for peace. The Netherlanders were a simple, truthful people
and could hope for no advantage in dealing with Spanish friars, nor
discover all the danger and deceit lurking beneath their fair words. Thus
the man, whom his enemies perpetually accused of being bought by the
enemy, of wishing peace at any price, of wishing to bring back the
Catholic party and ecclesiastical influence to the Netherlands, was
vigorously denouncing a precipitate peace, and warning his countrymen of
the danger of premature negotiations.

"As one can hardly know the purity and value of gold," he said, "without
testing it, so it is much more difficult to distinguish a false peace
from a genuine one; for one can never touch it nor taste it; and one
learns the difference when one is cheated and lost. Ignorant people think
peace negotiations as simple as a private lawsuit. Many sensible persons
even think that; the enemy once recognising us for a free, sovereign
state, we shall be in the same position as England and France, which
powers have lately made peace with the archdukes and with Spain. But we
shall find a mighty difference. Moreover, in those kingdoms the Spanish
king has since the peace been ever busy corrupting their officers of
state and their subjects, and exciting rebellion and murder within their
realms, as all the world must confess. And the English merchants complain
that they have suffered more injustice, violence, and wrong from the
Spaniards since the peace than they did during the war."

The Advocate also reminded his countrymen that the archduke, being a
vassal of Spain, could not bind that power by his own signature, and that
there was no proof that the king would renounce his pretended rights to
the provinces. If he affected to do so, it would only be to put the
republic to sleep. He referred, with much significance, to the late
proceedings of the Admiral of Arragon at Emmerich, who refused to release
that city according to his plighted word, saying roundly that whatever he
might sign and seal one day he would not hesitate absolutely to violate
on the next if the king's service was thereby to be benefited.

With such people, who had always learned law-doctors and ghostly
confessors to strengthen and to absolve them, they could never expect
anything but broken faith and contempt for treaties however solemnly
ratified.

Should an armistice be agreed upon and negotiations begun, the Advocate
urged that the work of corruption and bribery would not be a moment
delayed, and although the Netherlanders were above all nations a true and
faithful race, it could hardly be hoped that no individuals would be
gained over by the enemy.

"For the whole country," said Barneveld, "would swarm with Jesuits,
priests, and monks, with calumnies and corruptions--the machinery by
which the enemy is wont to produce discord, relying for success upon the
well-known maxim of Philip of Macedon, who considered no city impregnable
into which he could send an ass laden with gold."

The Advocate was charged too with being unfriendly to the India trade,
especially to the West India Company.

He took the opportunity, however, to enlarge with emphasis and eloquence
upon that traffic as constituting the very lifeblood of the country.

"The commerce with the East Indies is going on so prosperously," he said,
"that not only our own inhabitants but all strangers are amazed. The West
India Company is sufficiently prepared, and will cost the commonwealth so
little, that the investment will be inconsiderable in comparison with the
profits. And all our dangers and difficulties have nearly vanished since
the magnificent victory of Gibraltar, by which the enemy's ships,
artillery, and sailors have been annihilated, and proof afforded that the
Spanish galleys are not so terrible as they pretend to be. By means of
this trade to both the Indies, matters will soon be brought into such
condition that the Spaniards will be driven out of all those regions and
deprived of their traffic. Thus will the great wolf's teeth be pulled
out, and we need have no farther fear of his biting again. Then we may
hope for a firm and assured peace, and may keep the Indies, with the
whole navigation thereon depending, for ourselves, sharing it freely and
in common with our allies."

Certainly no statesman could more strongly depict the dangers of a
pusillanimous treaty, and the splendid future of the republic, if she
held fast to her resolve for political independence, free religion, and
free trade, than did the great Advocate at this momentous epoch of
European history.

Had he really dreamed of surrendering the republic to Spain, that
republic whose resistance ever since the middle of the previous century
had been all that had saved Europe, in the opinion of learned and
experienced thinkers, from the universal empire of Spain--had the
calumnies, or even a thousandth part of the calumnies, against him been
true--how different might have been the history of human liberty!

Soon afterwards, in accordance with the suggestions of the French king
and with their own previous intentions, a special legation was despatched
by the States to England, in order to notify the approaching conferences
to the sovereign of that country, and to invite his participation in the
proceedings.

The States' envoys were graciously received by James, who soon appointed
Richard Spencer and Ralph Winwood as commissioners to the Hague, duly
instructed to assist at the deliberations, and especially to keep a sharp
watch upon French intrigues. There were also missions and invitations to
Denmark and to the Electors Palatine and of Brandenburg, the two latter
potentates having, during the past three years, assisted the States with
a hundred thousand florins annually.

The news of the great victory at Gibraltar had reached the Netherlands
almost simultaneously with the arrival of the French commissioners. It
was thought probable that John Neyen had received the weighty
intelligence some days earlier, and the intense eagerness of the
archdukes and of the Spanish Government to procure the recall of the Dutch
fleet was thus satisfactorily explained. Very naturally this magnificent
success, clouded though it was by the death of the hero to whom it was
due, increased the confidence of the States in the justice of their cause
and the strength of their position.

Once more, it is not entirely idle to consider the effect of scientific
progress on the march of human affairs, as so often exemplified in
history. Whether that half-century of continuous war would have been
possible with the artillery, means of locomotion, and other machinery of
destruction and communication now so terribly familiar to the world, can
hardly be a question. The preterhuman prolixity of negotiation which
appals us in the days when steam and electricity had not yet annihilated
time and space, ought also to be obsolete. At a period when the news of a
great victory was thirty days on its travels from Gibraltar to Flushing,
aged counsellors justified themselves in a solemn consumption of time
such as might have exasperated Jared or Methuselah in his boyhood. Men
fought as if war was the normal condition of humanity, and negotiated as
if they were all immortal. But has the art political kept pace with the
advancement of physical science? If history be valuable for the examples
it furnishes both for imitation and avoidance, then the process by which
these peace conferences were initiated and conducted may be wholesome
food for reflection.

John Neyen, who, since his secret transactions already described at the
Hague and Fort Lillo, had been speeding back and forth between Brussels,
London, and Madrid, had once more returned to the Netherlands, and had
been permitted to reside privately at Delft until the king's ratification
should arrive from Spain.

While thus established, the industrious friar had occupied his leisure in
studying the situation of affairs. Especially he had felt inclined to
renew some of those little commercial speculations which had recently
proved so comfortable in the case of Dirk van der Does. Recorder
Cornelius Aerssens came frequently to visit him, with the private consent
of the Government, and it at once struck the friar that Cornelius would
be a judicious investment. So he informed the recorder that the archdukes
had been much touched with his adroitness and zeal in facilitating the
entrance of their secret agent into the presence of the Prince and the
Advocate. Cruwel, in whose company the disguised Neyen had made his first
journey to the Hague, was a near relative of Aerssena, The honest monk
accordingly, in recognition of past and expected services, begged one day
the recorder's acceptance of a bill, drawn by Marquis Spinola on Henry
Beckman, merchant of Amsterdam, for eighty thousand ducats. He also
produced a diamond ring, valued at ten thousand florins, which he
ventured to think worthy the acceptance of Madame Aerssens. Furthermore,
he declared himself ready to pay fifteen thousand crowns in cash, on
account of the bill, whenever it might be, desired, and observed that the
archdukes had ordered the house which the recorder had formerly occupied
in Brussels to be reconveyed to him. Other good things were in store, it
was delicately hinted, as soon as they had been earned.

Aerssens expressed his thanks for the house, which, he said, legally
belonged to him according to the terms of the surrender of Brussels. He
hesitated in regard to the rest, but decided finally to accept the bill
of exchange and the diamond, apprising Prince Maurice and Olden-Barneveld
of the fact, however, on his return to the Hague. Being subsequently
summoned by Neyen to accept the fifteen thousand crowns, he felt
embarrassed at the compromising position in which he had placed himself.
He decided accordingly to make a public statement of the affair to the
States-General. This was done, and the States placed the ring and the
bill in the hands of their treasurer, Joris de Bie.

The recorder never got the eighty thousand ducats, nor his wife the
diamond; but although there had been no duplicity on his part, he got
plenty of slander. His evil genius had prompted him, not to listen
seriously to the temptings of the monk, but to deal with him on his own
terms. He was obliged to justify himself against public suspicion with
explanations and pamphlets, but some taint of the calumny stuck by him to
the last.

Meantime, the three months allotted for the reception of Philip's
ratification had nearly expired. In March, the royal Government had
expressly consented that the archdukes should treat with the rebels on
the ground of their independence. In June that royal permission had been
withdrawn, exactly because the independence could never be acknowledged.
Albert, naturally enough indignant at such double-dealing, wrote to the
king that his disapprobation was incomprehensible, as the concession of
independence had been made by direct command of Philip. "I am much
amazed," he said, "that, having treated with the islanders on condition
of leaving them free, by express order of your Majesty (which you must
doubtless very well remember), your Majesty now reproves my conduct, and
declares your dissatisfaction." At last, on the 23rd July, Spinola
requested a safe conduct for Louis Verreyken, auditor of the council at
Brussels, to come to the Hague.

On the 23rd of July that functionary accordingly arrived. He came before
Prince Maurice and fifty deputies of the States-General, and exhibited
the document. At the same time he urged them, now that the long-desired
ratification had been produced, to fulfil at once their promise, and to
recall their fleet from the coast of Spain.

Verreyken was requested to withdraw while the instrument was examined.
When recalled, he was informed that the States had the most
staight-forward intention to negotiate, but that the royal document did
not at all answer their expectation. As few of the delegates could read
Spanish, it would first of all be necessary to cause it to be translated.

When that was done they would be able to express their opinion concerning
it and come to a decision in regard to the recall of the fleet. This ended
the proceedings on that occasion.

Next day Prince Maurice invited Verreyken and others to dine. After
dinner the stadholder informed him that the answer of the States might
soon be expected; at the same time expressing his regret that the king
should have sent such an instrument. It was very necessary, said the
prince, to have plain speaking, and he, for one, had never believed that
the king would send a proper ratification. The one exhibited was not at
all to the purpose. The king was expected to express himself as clearly
as the archdukes had done in their instrument. He must agree to treat
with the States-General as with people entirely free, over whom he
claimed no authority. If the king should refuse to make this public
declaration, the States would at once break off all negotiations.

Three days afterwards, seven deputies conferred with Verreyken.
Barneveld, as spokesman, declared that, so far as the provinces were
concerned, the path was plain and open to an honest, ingenuous, lasting
peace, but that the manner of dealing on the other side was artificial
and provocative of suspicion. A most important line, which had been
placed by the States at the very beginning of the form suggested by them,
was wanting in the ratification now received. This hardly seemed an
accidental omission. The whole document was constrained and defective. It
was necessary to deal with Netherlanders in clear and simple language.
The basis of any possible negotiation was that the provinces were to be
treated with as and called entirely free. Unless this was done
negotiations were impossible. The States-General were not so unskilled in
affairs as to be ignorant that the king and the archdukes were quite
capable, at a future day, of declaring themselves untrammelled by any
conditions. They would boast that conventions with rebels and pledges to
heretics were alike invalid. If Verreyken had brought no better document
than the one presented, he had better go at once. His stay in the
provinces was superfluous.

At a subsequent interview Barneveld informed Verreyken that the king's
confirmation had been unanimously rejected by the States-General as
deficient both in form and substance. He added that the people of the
provinces were growing very lukewarm in regard to peace, that Prince
Maurice opposed it, that many persons regretted the length to which the
negotiations had already gone. Difficult as it seemed to be to recede,
the archdukes might be certain that a complete rupture was imminent.

All these private conversations of Barneveld, who was known to be the
chief of the peace party, were duly reported by Verreyken in secret notes
to the archduke and to Spinola. Of course they produced their effect. It
surely might have been seen that the tricks and shifts of an antiquated
diplomacy were entirely out of place if any wholesome result were
desired. But the habit of dissimulation was inveterate. That the man who
cannot dissemble is unfit to reign, was perhaps the only one of his
father's golden rules which Philip III. could thoroughly comprehend, even
if it be assumed that the monarch was at all consulted in regard to this
most important transaction of his life. Verreyken and the friar knew very
well when they brought the document that it would be spurned by the
States, and yet they were also thoroughly aware that it was the king's
interest to, begin the negotiations as soon as possible. When thus
privately and solemnly assured by the Advocate that they were really
wasting their time by being the bearers of these royal evasions, they
learned therefore nothing positively new, but were able to assure their
employers that to thoroughly disgust the peace party was not precisely
the mode of terminating the war.

Verreyken now received public and formal notification that a new
instrument must be procured from the king. In the ratification which had
been sent, that monarch spoke of the archdukes as princes and sovereign
proprietors of all the Netherlands. The clause by which, according to the
form prescribed by the States, and already adopted by the archdukes, the
United Provinces were described as free countries over which no authority
was claimed had been calmly omitted, as if, by such a subterfuge, the
independence of the republic could be winked out of existence.
Furthermore, it was objected that the document was in Spanish, that it
was upon paper instead of parchment, that it was not sealed with the
great, but with the little seal, and that it was subscribed.

"I the King." This signature might be very appropriate for decrees issued
by a monarch to his vassals, but could not be rightly appended, it was
urged, to an instrument addressed to a foreign power. Potentates,
treating with the States-General of the United Provinces, were expected
to sign their names.

Whatever may be thought of the technical requirements in regard to the
parchment, the signature, and the seal, it would be difficult to
characterize too strongly the polity of the Spanish Government in the
most essential point. To seek relief from the necessity of recognising-at
least in the sense of similitude, according to the subtlety of
Bentivoglio--the freedom of the provinces, simply by running the pen
through the most important line of a most important document, was
diplomacy in its dotage. Had not Marquis Spinola, a man who could use his
brains and his pen as well as his sword, expressly implored the
politicians of Madrid not to change even a comma in the form of
ratification which he sent to Spain?

Verreyken, placed face to face with plain-spoken, straightforward,
strong-minded men, felt the dreary absurdity of the position. He could
only stammer a ridiculous excuse about the clause, having been
accidentally left out by a copying secretary. To represent so important
an omission as a clerical error was almost as great an absurdity as the
original device; but it was necessary for Verreyken to say something.

He promised, however, that the form prescribed by the States should be
again transmitted to Madrid, and expressed confidence that the
ratification would now be sent as desired. Meantime he trusted that the
fleet would be at once recalled.

This at once created a stormy debate which lasted many days, both within
the walls of the House of Assembly and out of doors. Prince Maurice
bitterly denounced the proposition, and asserted the necessity rather of
sending out more ships than of permitting their cruisers to return. It
was well known that the Spanish Government, since the destruction of
Avila's fleet, had been straining every nerve to procure and equip other
war-vessels, and that even the Duke of Lerma had offered a small portion
of his immense plunderings to the crown in aid of naval armaments.

On the other hand, Barneveld urged that the States, in the preliminary
armistice, had already agreed to send no munitions nor reinforcements to
the fleet already cruising on the coasts of the peninsula. It would be
better, therefore, to recall those ships than to leave them where they
could not be victualled nor strengthened without a violation of good
faith.

These opinions prevailed, and on the 9th August, Verreyken was summoned
before the Assembly, and informed by Barneveld that the States had
decided to withdraw the fleet, and to declare invalid all prizes made six
weeks after that date.

This was done, it was said, out of respect to the archdukes, to whom no
blame was imputed for the negligence displayed in regard to the
ratification. Furthermore, the auditor was requested to inform his
masters that the documents brought from Spain were not satisfactory, and
he was furnished with a draught, made both in Latin and French. With this
form, it was added, the king was to comply within six weeks, if he
desired to proceed further in negotiations with the States.

Verreyken thanked the States-General, made the best of promises, and
courteously withdrew.

Next day, however, just as his preparations for departure had been made,
he was once more summoned before the Assembly to meet with a somewhat
disagreeable surprise. Barneveld, speaking as usual in behalf of the
States-General, publicly produced Spinola's bill of exchange for eighty
thousand ducats, the diamond ring intended for Madame Aerssens, and the
gold chain given to Dirk van der Does, and expressed the feelings of the
republican Government in regard to those barefaced attempts of Friar John
at bribery and corruption, in very scornful language? Netherlanders were
not to be bought--so the agent of Spain and of the archdukes was
informed--and, even if the citizens were venal, it would be necessary in
a popular Government to buy up the whole nation. "It is not in our
commonwealth as in despotisms," said the Advocate, "where affairs of
state are directed by the nod of two or three individuals, while the rest
of the inhabitants are a mob of slaves. By turns, we all govern and are
governed. This great council, this senate--should it seem not
sufficiently fortified against your presents-could easily be enlarged.
Here is your chain, your ring, your banker's draught. Take them all back
to your masters. Such gifts are not necessary to ensure a just peace,
while to accept them would be a crime against liberty, which we are
incapable of committing."

Verreyken, astonished and abashed, could answer little save to mutter a
few words about the greediness of monks, who, judging everyone else by
themselves, thought no one inaccessible to a bribe. He protested the
innocence of the archdukes in the matter, who had given no directions to
bribe, and who were quite ignorant that the attempt had been made.

He did not explain by whose authority the chain, the ring, and the
draught upon Beckman had been furnished to the friar.

Meantime that ecclesiastic was cheerfully wending his way to Spain in
search of the new ratification, leaving his colleague vicariously to bide
the pelting of the republican storm, and to return somewhat
weather-beaten to Brussels.

During the suspension, thus ridiculously and gratuitously caused, of
preliminaries which had already lasted the better portion of a year,
party-spirit was rising day by day higher, and spreading more widely
throughout the provinces. Opinions and sentiments were now sharply
defined and loudly announced. The clergy, from a thousand pulpits,
thundered against the peace, exposing the insidious practices, the
faithless promises, the monkish corruptions, by which the attempt was
making to reduce the free republic once more into vassalage to Spain. The
people everywhere listened eagerly and applauded. Especially the
mariners, cordwainers, smiths, ship-chandlers, boatmen, the tapestry
weavers, lace-manufacturers, shopkeepers, and, above all, the India
merchants and stockholders in the great commercial companies for the East
and West, lifted up their voices for war. This was the party of Prince
Maurice, who made no secret of his sentiments, and opposed, publicly and
privately, the resumption of negotiations. Doubtless his adherents were
the most numerous portion of the population.

Barneveld, however, was omnipotent with the municipal governments, and
although many individuals in those bodies were deeply interested in the
India navigation and the great corporations, the Advocate turned them as
usual around his finger.

Ever since the memorable day of Nieuport there had been no love lost
between the stadholder and the Advocate. They had been nominally
reconciled to each other, and had, until lately, acted with tolerable
harmony, but each was thoroughly conscious of the divergence of their
respective aims.

Exactly at this period the long-smothered resentment of Maurice against
his old preceptor, counsellor, and, as he believed, betrayer, flamed
forth anew. He was indignant that a man, so infinitely beneath him in
degree, should thus dare to cross his plans, to hazard, as he believed,
the best interests of the state, and to interfere with the course of his
legitimate ambition. There was more glory for a great soldier to earn in
future battle-fields, a higher position before the world to be won. He
had a right by birth, by personal and family service, to claim admittance
among the monarchs of Europe. The pistol of Balthasar Gerard had alone
prevented the elevation of his father to the sovereignty of the
provinces. The patents, wanting only a few formalities, were still in
possession of the son. As the war went on--and nothing but blind belief
in Spanish treachery could cause the acceptance of a peace which would be
found to mean slavery--there was no height to which he might not climb.
With the return of peace and submission, his occupation would be gone,
obscurity and poverty the sole recompense for his life long services and
the sacrifices of his family. The memory of the secret movements twice
made but a few years before to elevate him to the sovereignty, and which
he believed to have been baffled by the Advocate, doubtless rankled in
his breast. He did not forget that when the subject had been discussed by
the favourers of the scheme in Barneveld's own house, Barneveld himself
had prophesied that one day or another "the rights would burst out which
his Excellency had to become prince of the provinces, on strength of the
signed and sealed documents addressed to the late Prince of Orange; that
he had further alluded to the efforts then on foot to make him Duke of
Gelderland; adding with a sneer, that Zeeland was all agog on the
subject, while in that province there were individuals very desirous of
becoming children of Zebedee."

Barneveld, on his part, although accustomed to speak in public of his
Excellency Prince Maurice in terms of profoundest respect, did not fail
to communicate in influential quarters his fears that the prince was
inspired by excessive ambition, and that he desired to protract the war,
not for the good of the commonwealth, but for the attainment of greater
power in the state. The envoys of France, expressly instructed on that
subject by the king, whose purposes would be frustrated if the ill-blood
between these eminent personages could not be healed, did their best to
bring about a better understanding, but with hardly more than an apparent
success.

Once more there were stories flying about that the stadholder had called
the Advocate liar, and that he had struck him or offered to strike
him--tales as void of truth, doubtless, as those so rife after the battle
of Nieuport, but which indicated the exasperation which existed.

When the news of the rejection of the King's ratification reached Madrid,
the indignation of the royal conscience-keepers was vehement.

That the potentate of so large a portion of the universe should be
treated by those lately his subjects with less respect than that due from
equals to equals, seemed intolerable. So thoroughly inspired, however,
was the king by the love of religion and the public good--as he informed
Marquis Spinola by letter--and so intense was his desire for the
termination of that disastrous war, that he did not hesitate indulgently
to grant what had been so obstinately demanded. Little was to be
expected, he said, from the stubbornness of the provinces, and from their
extraordinary manner of transacting business, but looking, nevertheless,
only to divine duty, and preferring its dictates to a selfish regard for
his own interests, he had resolved to concede that liberty to the
provinces which had been so importunately claimed. He however imposed the
condition that the States should permit free and public exercise of the
Catholic religion throughout their territories, and that so long as such
worship was unobstructed, so long and no longer should the liberty now
conceded to the provinces endure.

"Thus did this excellent prince," says an eloquent Jesuit, "prefer
obedience to the Church before subjection to himself, and insist that
those, whom he emancipated from his own dominions, should still be loyal
to the sovereignty of the Pope."

Friar John, who had brought the last intelligence from the Netherlands,
might have found it difficult, if consulted, to inform the king how many
bills of exchange would be necessary to force this wonderful condition on
the Government of the provinces. That the republic should accept that
liberty as a boon which she had won with the red right hand, and should
establish within her domains as many agents for Spanish reaction as there
were Roman priests, monks, and Jesuits to be found, was not very
probable. It was not thus nor then that the great lesson of religious
equality and liberty for all men--the inevitable result of the Dutch
revolt--was to be expounded. The insertion of such a condition in the
preamble to a treaty with a foreign power would have been a desertion on
the part of the Netherlands of the very principle of religious or civil
freedom.

The monk, however, had convinced the Spanish Government that in six
months after peace had been made the States would gladly accept the
dominion of Spain once more, or, at the very least, would annex
themselves to the obedient Netherlands under the sceptre of the
archdukes.

Secondly, he assured the duke that they would publicly and totally
renounce all connection with France.

Thirdly, he pledged himself that the exercise of the Catholic religion
would be as free as that of any other creed.

And the duke of Lerma believed it all: such and no greater was his
capacity for understanding the course of events which he imagined himself
to be directing. Certainly Friar John did not believe what he said.

"Master Monk is not quite so sure of his stick as he pretends to be,"
said Secretary-of-State Villeroy. Of course, no one knew better the
absurdity of those assurances than Master Monk himself.

"It may be that he has held such language," said Jeannin, "in order to
accomplish his object in Spain. But 'tis all dreaming and moonshine,
which one should laugh at rather than treat seriously. These people here
mean to be sovereign for ever and will make no peace except on that
condition. This grandeur and vanity have entered so deeply into their
brains that they will be torn into little pieces rather than give it up."

Spinola, as acute a politician as he was a brilliant commander, at once
demonstrated to his Government the impotence of such senile attempts. No
definite agreements could be made, he wrote, except by a general
convention. Before a treaty of peace, no permission would be given by the
States to the public exercise of the Catholic religion, for fear of
giving offence to what were called the Protestant powers. Unless they saw
the proper ratification they would enter into no negotiations at all.
When the negotiations had produced a treaty, the Catholic worship might
be demanded. Thus peace might be made, and the desired conditions
secured, or all parties would remain as they had been.

The Spanish Government replied by sending a double form of ratification.
It would not have been the Spanish Government, had one simple,
straightforward document been sent. Plenty of letters came at the same
time, triumphantly refuting the objections and arguments of the
States-General. To sign "Yo el Rey" had been the custom of the king's
ancestors in dealing with foreign powers. Thus had Philip II. signed the
treaty of Vervins. Thus had the reigning king confirmed the treaty of
Vervins. Thus had he signed the recent treaty with England as well as
other conventions with other potentates. If the French envoys at the
Hague said the contrary they erred from ignorance or from baser reasons.
The provinces could not be declared free until Catholic worship was
conceded. The donations must be mutual and simultaneous and the States
would gain a much more stable and diuturnal liberty, founded not upon a
simple declaration, but lawfully granted them as a compensation for a
just and pious work performed. To this end the king sent ratification
number one in which his sentiments were fully expressed. If, however, the
provinces were resolved not to defer the declaration so ardently desired
and to refuse all negotiation until they had received it, then
ratification number two, therewith sent and drawn up in the required
form, might be used. It was, however, to be exhibited but not delivered.
The provinces would then see the clemency with which they were treated by
the king, and all the world might know that it was not his fault if peace
were not made.

Thus the politicians of Madrid; speaking in the name of their august
sovereign and signing "Yo el Rey" for him without troubling him even to
look at the documents.

When these letters arrived, the time fixed by the States for accepting
the ratification had run out, and their patience was well-nigh exhausted.
The archduke held council with Spinola, Verreyken, Richardot, and others,
and it was agreed that ratification number two, in which the Catholic
worship was not mentioned, should be forthwith sent to the States.
Certainly no other conclusion could have been reached, and it was
fortunate that a lucid interval in the deliberations of the 'lunati ceat'
Madrid had furnished the archduke with an alternative. Had it been
otherwise and had number one been presented, with all the accompanying
illustrations, the same dismal comedy might have gone on indefinitely
until the Dutchmen hissed it away and returned to their tragic business
once more.

On the 25th October, Friar John and Verreyken came before the
States-General, more than a hundred members being present, besides Prince
Maurice and Count Lewis William.

The monk stated that he had faithfully represented to his Majesty at
Madrid the sincere, straightforward, and undissembling proceedings of
their lordships in these negotiations. He had also explained the
constitution of their Government and had succeeded in obtaining from his
royal Majesty the desired ratification, after due deliberation with the
council. This would now give the assurance of a firm and durable peace,
continued Neyen, even if his Majesty should come one day to die--being
mortal. Otherwise, there might be inconveniences to fear. Now, however,
the document was complete in all its parts, so far as regarded what was
principal and essential, and in conformity with the form transmitted by
the States-General. "God the Omnipotent knows," proceeded the friar, "how
sincere is my intention in this treaty of peace as a means of delivering
the Netherlands from the miseries of war, as your lordships will perceive
by the form of the agreement, explaining itself and making manifest its
pure and undissembling intentions, promising nothing and engaging to
nothing which will not be effectually performed. This would not be the
case if his Majesty were proceeding by finesse or deception. The
ratification might be nakedly produced as demanded, without any other
explanation. But his Majesty, acting in good faith, has now declared his
last determination in order to avoid anything that might be disputed at
some future day, as your lordships will see more amply when the auditor
has exhibited the document."

When the friar had finished Verreyken spoke.

He reminded them of the proofs already given by the archdukes of their
sincere desire to change the long and sanguinary war into a good and
assured peace. Their lordships the States had seen how liberally,
sincerely, and roundly their Highnesses had agreed to all demands and had
procured the ratification of his Majesty, even although nothing had been
proposed in that regard at the beginning of the negotiations.

He then produced the original document, together with two copies, one in
French the other in Flemish, to be carefully collated by the States.

"It is true," said the auditor, "that the original is not made out in
Latin nor in French as your lordships demanded, but in Spanish, and in
the same form and style as used by his Majesty in treating with all the
kings, potentates, and republics of Christendom. To tell you the truth,
it has seemed strange that there should be a wish to make so great and
puissant a king change his style, such demand being contrary to all
reason and equity, and more so as his Majesty is content with the style
which your lordships have been pleased to adopt."

The ratification was then exhibited.

It set forth that Don Philip, by grace of God King of Castile, Leon,
Arragon, the Two Sicilies, Portugal, Navarre, and of fourteen or fifteen
other European realms duly enumerated; King of the Eastern and Western
Indies and of the continents on terra firma adjacent, King of Jerusalem,
Archduke of Antioch, Duke of Burgundy, and King of the Ocean, having seen
that the archdukes were content to treat with the States-General of the
United Provinces in quality of, and as holding them for, countries,
provinces, and free states over which they pretended to no authority;
either by way of a perpetual peace or for a truce or suspension of arms
for twelve, fifteen, or twenty years, at the choice of the said States,
and knowing that the said most serene archdukes had promised to deliver
the king's ratification; had, after ripe deliberation with his council,
and out of his certain wisdom and absolute royal power, made the present
declarations, similar to the one made by the archdukes, for the
accomplishment of the said promise so far as it concerned him:

"And we principally declare," continued the King of Spain, Jerusalem,
America, India, and the Ocean, "that we are content that in our name, and
on our part, shall be treated with the said States in the quality of, and
as held by us for, free countries, provinces, and states, over which we
make no pretensions. Thus we approve and ratify every point of the said
agreement, promising on faith and word of a king to guard and accomplish
it as entirely as if we had consented to it from the beginning."

"But we declare," said the king, in conclusion, "that if the treaty for a
peace or a truce of many years, by which the pretensions of both parties
are to be arranged--as well in the matter of religion as all the
surplus--shall not be concluded, then this ratification shall be of no
effect and as if it never had been made and, in virtue of it, we are not
to lose a single point of our right, nor the United Provinces to acquire
one, but things are to remain, so far as regards the rights of the two
parties, exactly as they what to each shall seem best."

Such were the much superfluous verbiage lopped away--which had been
signed "I the King" at Madrid on the 18th September, and the two copies
of which were presented to the States-General on the 25th October, the
commissioners retaining the original.

The papers were accepted, with a few general commonplaces by Barneveld
meaning nothing, and an answer was promised after a brief delay.

A committee of seven, headed by the Advocate as chairman and spokesman,
held a conference with the ambassadors of France and England, at four
o'clock in the afternoon of the same day and another at ten o'clock next
morning.

The States were not very well pleased with the ratification. What
especially moved their discontent was the concluding clause, according to
which it was intimated that if the pretensions of Spain in regard to
religion were not fulfilled in the final treaty, the ratification was
waste-paper and the king would continue to claim all his rights.

How much more loudly would they have vociferated, could they have looked
into Friar John's wallet and have seen ratification number one! Then they
would have learned that, after nearly a year of what was called
negotiation, the king had still meant to demand the restoration of the
Catholic worship before he would even begin to entertain the little
fiction that the provinces were free.

As to the signature, the paper, and the Spanish language, those were
minor matters. Indeed, it is difficult to say why the King of Spain
should not issue a formal document in Spanish. It is doubtful whether,
had he taken a fancy to read it, he could have understood it in any other
tongue. Moreover, Spanish would seem the natural language for Spanish
state-papers. Had he, as King of Jerusalem, America, or India, chosen the
Hebrew, Aztec, or Sanscrit, in his negotiations with the United
Provinces, there might have been more cause for dissatisfaction.

Jeannin, who was of course the leading spirit among the foreign members
of the conference, advised the acceptance of the ratification.
Notwithstanding the technical objections to its form, he urged that in
substance it was in sufficient conformity to the draught furnished by the
States. Nothing could be worse, in his opinion, for the provinces than to
remain any longer suspended between peace and war. They would do well,
therefore, to enter upon negotiations so soon as they had agreed among
themselves upon three points.

They must fix the great indispensable terms which they meant to hold, and
from which no arguments would ever induce them to recede. Thus they would
save valuable time and be spared much frivolous discourse.

Next, they ought to establish a good interior government.

Thirdly, they should at once arrange their alliances and treaties with
foreign powers, in order to render the peace to be negotiated a durable
one.

As to the first and second of these points, the Netherlanders needed no
prompter. They had long ago settled the conditions without which they
would make no treaty at all, and certainly it was not the States-General
that had thus far been frivolously consuming time.

As to the form of government, defective though it was, the leaders of the
republic knew very well in whose interests such sly allusions to their
domestic affairs were repeatedly ventured by the French envoys. In regard
to treaties with foreign powers it was, of course, most desirable for the
republic to obtain the formal alliance of France and England. Jeannin and
his colleagues were ready to sign such a treaty, offensive and defensive,
at once, but they found it impossible to induce the English ambassadors,
with whom there was a conference on the 26th October, to come into any
written engagement on the subject. They expressed approbation of the plan
individually and in words, but deemed it best to avoid any protocol, by
which their sovereign could be implicated in a promise. Should the
negotiations for peace be broken off, it would be time enough to make a
treaty to protect the provinces. Meantime, they ought to content
themselves with the general assurance, already given them, that in case
of war the monarchs of France and England would not abandon them, but
would provide for their safety, either by succour or in some other way,
so that they would be placed out of danger.

Such promises were vague without being magnificent, and, as James had
never yet lifted his finger to assist the provinces, while indulging them
frequently with oracular advice, it could hardly be expected that either
the French envoys or the States-General would reckon very confidently on
assistance from Great Britain, should war be renewed with Spain.

On the whole, it was agreed to draw up a paper briefly stating the
opinion of the French and English plenipotentiaries that the provinces
would do well to accept the ratification.

The committee of the States, with Barneveld as chairman, expressed
acquiescence, but urged that they could not approve the clause in that
document concerning religion. It looked as if the King of Spain wished to
force them to consent by treaty that the Catholic religion should be
re-established in their country. As they were free and sovereign,
however, and so recognised by himself, it was not for him to meddle with
such matters. They foresaw that this clause would create difficulties
when the whole matter should be referred to the separate provinces, and
that it would, perhaps, cause the entire rejection of the ratification.

The envoys, through the voice of Jeannin, remonstrated against such a
course. After all, the objectionable clause, it was urged, should be
considered only as a demand which the king was competent to make and it
was not reasonable, they said, for the States to shut his mouth and
prevent him from proposing what he thought good to propose.

On the other hand, they were not obliged to acquiesce in the proposition.
In truth, it would be more expedient that the States themselves should
grant this grace to the Catholics, thus earning their gratitude, rather
than that it should be inserted in the treaty.

A day or two later there was an interview between the French envoys and
Count Lewis William, for whose sage, dispassionate, and upright character
they had all a great respect. It was their object--in obedience to the
repeated instructions of the French king--to make use of his great
influence over Prince Maurice in favour of peace. It would be better,
they urged, that the stadholder should act more in harmony with the
States than he had done of late, and should reflect that, the
ratification being good, there was really no means of preventing a peace,
except in case the King of Spain should refuse the conditions necessary
for securing it. The prince would have more power by joining with the
States than in opposing them. Count Lewis expressed sympathy with these
views, but feared that Maurice would prefer that the ratification should
not be accepted until the states of the separate provinces had been
heard; feeling convinced that several of those bodies would reject that
instrument on account of the clause relating to religion.

Jeannin replied that such a course would introduce great discord into the
provinces, to the profit of the enemy, and that the King of France
himself--so far from being likely to wish the ratification rejected
because of the clause--would never favour the rupture of negotiations if
it came on account of religion. He had always instructed them to use
their efforts to prevent any division among the States, as sure to lead
to their ruin. He would certainly desire the same stipulation as the one
made by the King of Spain, and would support rather than oppose the
demand thus made, in order to content the Catholics. To be sure, he would
prefer that the States should wisely make this provision of their own
accord rather than on the requisition of Spain, but a rupture of the
pending negotiations from the cause suggested would be painful to him and
very damaging to his character at Rome.

On the 2nd November the States-General gave their formal answer to the
commissioners, in regard to the ratification.

That instrument, they observed, not only did not agree with the form as
promised by the archdukes in language and style, but also in regard to
the seal, and to the insertion and omission of several words. On this
account, and especially by reason of the concluding clause, there might
be inferred the annulment of the solemn promise made in the body of the
instrument. The said king and archdukes knew very well that these
States-General of free countries and provinces, over which the king and
archdukes pretended to no authority, were competent to maintain order in
all things regarding the good constitution and government of their land
and its inhabitants. On this subject, nothing could be pretended or
proposed on the part of the king and archdukes without, violation of
formal and solemn promises.

"Nevertheless," continued the States-General, "in order not to retard a
good work, already begun, for the purpose of bringing the United
Provinces out of a long and bloody war into a Christian and assured
peace, the letters of ratification will be received in respect that they
contain the declaration, on part of both the king and the archdukes, that
they will treat for a peace or a truce of many years with the
States-General of the United Provinces, in quality of, and as holding
them to be, free countries, provinces, and states, over which they make
no pretensions."

It was further intimated, however, that the ratification was only
received for reference to the estates of each of the provinces, and it
was promised that, within six weeks, the commissioners should be informed
whether the provinces would consent or refuse to treat. It was moreover
declared that, neither at that moment nor at any future time, could any
point in the letters of ratification be accepted which, directly or
indirectly, might be interpreted as against that essential declaration
and promise in regard to the freedom of the provinces. In case the
decision should be taken to enter into negotiation upon the basis of that
ratification, or any other that might meantime arrive from Spain, then
firm confidence was expressed by the States that, neither on the part of
the king nor that of the archdukes would there be proposed or pretended,
in contravention of that promise, any point touching the good
constitution, welfare, state, or government of the United Provinces, and
of the inhabitants. The hope was furthermore expressed that, within ten
days after the reception of the consent of the States to treat,
commissioners would be sent by the archdukes to the Hague, fully
authorised and instructed to declare, roundly their intentions, in order
to make short work of the whole business. In that case, the States would
duly authorize and instruct commissioners to act in their behalf.

Thus in the answer especial warning was given against any possible
attempt to interfere with the religious question. The phraseology could
not be mistaken.

At this stage of the proceedings, the States demanded that the original
instrument of ratification should be deposited with them. The two
commissioners declared that they were without power to consent to this.
Hereupon the Assembly became violent, and many members denounced the
refusal as equivalent to breaking off the negotiations. Everything
indicated, so it was urged, a desire on the Spanish side to spin delays
out of delays, and, meantime, to invent daily some new trap for
deception. Such was the vehemence upon this point that the industrious
Franciscan posted back to Brussels, and returned with the archduke's
permission to deliver the document. Three conditions, however, were laid
down. The States must give a receipt for the ratification. They must say
in that receipt that the archdukes, in obtaining the paper from Spain,
had fulfilled their original promise. If peace should not be made, they
were to return the document.

When these conditions were announced, the indignation of the republican
Government at the trifling of their opponents was fiercer than ever. The
discrepancies between the form prescribed and the ratification obtained
had always been very difficult of digestion, but, although willing to
pass them by, the States stoutly refused to accept the document on these
conditions.

Tooth and nail Verreyken and Neyen fought out the contest and were
worsted. Once more the nimble friar sped back and forth between the Hague
and his employer's palace, and at last, after tremendous discussions in
cabinet council, the conditions were abandoned.

"Nobody can decide," says the Jesuit historian, "which was greater--the
obstinacy of the federal Government in screwing out of the opposite party
everything it deemed necessary, or the indulgence of the archdukes in
making every possible concession."

Had these solemn tricksters of an antiquated school perceived that, in
dealing with men who meant what they said and said what they meant, all
these little dilatory devices were superfluous, perhaps the wholesome
result might have sooner been reached. In a contest of diplomacy against
time it generally happens that time is the winner, and on this occasion,
time and the republic were fighting on the same side.

On the 13th December the States-General re-assembled at the Hague, the
separate provinces having in the interval given fresh instructions to
their representatives. It was now decided that no treaty should be made,
unless the freedom of the commonwealth was recognized in phraseology
which, after consultation with the foreign ambassadors, should be deemed
satisfactory. Farther it was agreed that, neither in ecclesiastical nor
secular matters, should any conditions be accepted which could be
detrimental to freedom. In case the enemy should strive for the contrary,
the world would be convinced that he alone was responsible for the
failure of the peace negotiations. Then, with the support of other powers
friendly to the republic, hostilities could be resumed in such a manner
as to ensure a favourable issue for an upright cause.

The armistice, begun on the 4th of May, was running to an end, and it was
now renewed at the instance of the States. That Government, moreover, on
the 23rd December formally notified to the archdukes that, trusting to
their declarations, and to the statements of Neyen and Verreyken, it was
willing to hold conferences for peace. Their Highnesses were accordingly
invited to appoint seven or eight commissioners at once, on the same
terms as formally indicated.

The original understanding had been that no envoys but Netherlanders
should come from Brussels for these negotiations.

Barneveld and the peace party, however, were desirous that Spinola, who
was known to be friendly to a pacific result, should be permitted to form
part of the mission. Accordingly the letters, publicly drawn up in the
Assembly, adhered to the original arrangement, but Barneveld, with the
privity of other leading personages, although without the knowledge of
Maurice, Lewis William, and the State-Council, secretly enclosed a little
note in the principal despatch to Neyen and Verreyken. In this billet it
was intimated that, notwithstanding the prohibition in regard to
foreigners, the States were willing--it having been proposed that one or
two who were not Netherlanders should be sent--that a single Spaniard,
provided he were not one of the principal military commanders, should
make part of the embassy.

The phraseology had a double meaning. Spinola was certainly the chief
military commander, but he was not a Spaniard. This eminent personage
might be supposed to have thus received permission to come to the
Netherlands, despite all that had been urged by the war-party against the
danger incurred, in case of a renewal of hostilities, by admitting so
clear-sighted an enemy into the heart of the republic. Moreover, the
terms of the secret note would authorize the appointment of another
foreigner--even a Spaniard--while the crafty president Richardot might
creep into the commission, on the ground that, being a Burgundian, he
might fairly call himself a Netherlander.

And all this happened.

Thus, after a whole year of parley, in which the States-General had held
firmly to their original position, while the Spanish Government had crept
up inch by inch, and through countless windings and subterfuges, to the
point on which they might have all stood together at first, and thus have
saved a twelvemonth, it was finally settled that peace conferences should
begin.

Barneveld had carried the day. Maurice and his cousin Lewis William had
uniformly, deliberately, but not factiously, used all their influence
against any negotiations. The prince had all along loudly expressed his
conviction that neither the archdukes nor Spain would ever be brought to
an honourable peace. The most to be expected of them was a truce of
twelve or fifteen years, to which his consent at least should never be
given, and during which cessation of hostilities, should it be accorded,
every imaginable effort would be made to regain by intrigue what the king
had lost by the sword.  As for the King of England and his counsellors,
Maurice always denounced them as more Spanish than Spaniards, as doing
their best to put themselves on the most intimate terms with his Catholic
Majesty, and as secretly desirous--insane policy as it seemed--of forcing
the Netherlands back again under the sceptre of that monarch.

He had at first been supported in his position by the French ambassadors,
who had felt or affected disinclination for peace, but who had
subsequently, thrown the whole of their own and their master's influence
on the side of Barneveld. They had done their best--and from time to time
they had been successful--to effect at least a superficial reconciliation
between those two influential personages. They had employed all the
arguments at their disposal to bring the prince over to the peace party.
Especially they had made use of the 'argumentum ad crumenam,' which that
veteran broker in politics, Jeannin, had found so effective in times past
with the great lords of the League. But Maurice showed himself so proof
against the golden inducements suggested by the President that he and his
king both arrived at the conclusion that there were secret motives at
work, and that Maurice was not dazzled by the brilliant prospects held
out to him by Henry, only because his eyes were stedfastly fixed upon
some unknown but splendid advantage, to be gained through other
combinations. It was naturally difficult for Henry to imagine the
possibility of a man, playing a first part in the world's theatre, being
influenced by so weak a motive as conviction.

Lewis William too--that "grave and wise young man," as Lord Leicester
used to call him twenty years before--remained steadily on the side of
the prince. Both in private conversation and in long speeches to the
States-General, he maintained that the Spanish court was incapable of
sincere negotiations with the commonwealth, that to break faith with
heretics and rebels would always prove the foundation of its whole
policy, and that to deceive them by pretences of a truce or a treaty, and
to triumph afterwards over the results of its fraud, was to be expected
as a matter of course.

Sooner would the face of nature be changed than the cardinal maxim of
Catholic statesmanship be abandoned.

But the influence of the Nassaus, of the province of Zeeland, of the
clergy, and of the war-party in general, had been overbalanced by
Barneveld and the city corporations, aided by the strenuous exertions of
the French ambassadors.

The decision of the States-General was received with sincere joy at
Brussels. The archdukes had something to hope from peace, and little but
disaster and ruin to themselves from a continuance of the war. Spinola
too was unaffectedly in favour of negotiations. He took the ground that
the foreign enemies of Spain, as well as her pretended friends, agreed in
wishing her to go on with the war, and that this ought to open her eyes
as to the expediency of peace. While there was a general satisfaction in
Europe that the steady exhaustion of her strength in this eternal contest
made her daily less and less formidable to other nations, there were on
the other hand puerile complaints at court that the conditions prescribed
by impious and insolent rebels to their sovereign were derogatory to the
dignity of monarchy. The spectacle of Spain sending ambassadors to the
Hague to treat for peace, on the basis of Netherland independence, would
be a humiliation such as had never been exhibited before. That the
haughty confederation should be allowed thus to accomplish its ends, to
trample down all resistance to its dictation, and to defy the whole world
by its insults to the Church and to the sacred principle, of monarchy,
was most galling to Spanish pride. Spinola, as a son of Italy, and not
inspired by the fervent hatred to Protestantism which was indigenous to
the other peninsula, steadily resisted those arguments. None knew better
than he the sternness of the stuff out of which that republic was made,
and he felt that now or never was the time to treat, even as, five years
before, 'jam ant nunquam' had been inscribed on his banner outside
Ostend. But he protested that his friends gave him even harder work than
his enemies had ever done, and he stoutly maintained that a peace against
which all the rivals of Spain seemed to have conspired from fear of
seeing her tranquil and disembarrassed, must be advantageous to Spain.
The genial and quick-wined Genoese could not see and hear all the secret
letters and private conversations of Henry and James and their
ambassadors, and he may be pardoned for supposing that, notwithstanding
all the crooked and incomprehensible politics of Greenwich and Paris, the
serious object of both England and France was to prolong the war. In his
most private correspondence he expressed great doubts as to a favourable
issue to the pending conferences, but avowed his determination that if
they should fail it would be from no want of earnest effort on his part
to make them succeed. It should never be said that he preferred his own
private advantage to the duty of serving the best interests of the crown.

Meantime the India trade, which was to form the great bone of contention
in the impending conferences, had not been practically neglected of late
by the enterprising Hollanders. Peter Verhoeff, fresh from the victory of
Gibraltar, towards which he had personally so much contributed by the
splendid manner in which he had handled the AEolus after the death of
Admiral Heemskerk, was placed in command of a fleet to the East Indies,
which was to sail early in the spring.

Admiral Matelieff, who had been cruising in those seas during the three
years past, was now on his way home. His exploits had been worthy the
growing fame of the republican navy. In the summer of 1606 he had laid
siege to the town and fortress of Malacca, constructed by the Portuguese
at the southmost extremity of the Malay peninsula. Andreas Hurtado de
Mendoza commanded the position, with a force of three thousand men, among
whom were many Indians. The King or Sultan of Johore, at the
south-eastern extremity of the peninsula, remained faithful to his Dutch
allies, and accepted the proposition of Matelieff to take part in the
hostilities now begun. The admiral's fleet consisted of eleven small
ships, with fourteen hundred men. It was not exactly a military
expedition. To the sailors of each ship were assigned certain shares of
the general profits, and as it was obvious that more money was likely to
be gained by trade with the natives, or by the capture of such stray
carracks and other, merchantmen of the enemy as were frequently to be met
in these regions, the men were not particularly eager to take part in
sieges of towns or battles with cruisers. Matelieff, however, had
sufficient influence over his comrades to inflame their zeal on this
occasion for the fame of the republic, and to induce them to give the
Indian princes and the native soldiery a lesson in Batavian warfare.

A landing was effected on the peninsula, the sailors and guns were
disembarked, and an imposing auxiliary force, sent, according to promise,
after much delay, by the Sultan of Johore, proceeded to invest Malacca.
The ground proved wet, swampy, and impracticable for trenches, galleries,
covered ways, and all the other machinery of a regular siege. Matelieff
was not a soldier nor a naval commander by profession, but a
merchant-skipper, like so many other heroes whose achievements were to be
the permanent glory of their fatherland. He would not, however, have been
a Netherlander had he not learned something of the science which Prince
Maurice had so long been teaching, not only to his own countrymen but to
the whole world. So moveable turrets, constructed of the spice-trees
which grew in rank luxuriance all around, were filled with earth and
stones, and advanced towards the fort. Had the natives been as docile to
learn as the Hollanders were eager to teach a few easy lessons in the
military art, the doom of Andreas Hurtado de Mendoza would have been
sealed. But the great truths which those youthful pedants, Maurice and
Lewis William, had extracted twenty years before from the works of the
Emperor Leo and earlier pagans, amid the jeers of veterans, were not easy
to transplant to the Malayan peninsula.

It soon proved that those white-turbaned, loose-garmented, supple
jointed, highly-picturesque troops of the sultan were not likely to
distinguish themselves for anything but wonderful rapidity in retreat.
Not only did they shrink from any advance towards the distant forts, but
they were incapable of abiding an attack within or behind their towers,
and, at every random shot from the enemy's works, they threw down their
arms and fled from their stations in dismay. It was obvious enough that
the conquest and subjugation of such feeble warriors by the Portuguese
and Spaniards were hardly to be considered brilliant national trophies.
They had fallen an easy prey to the first European invader. They had no
discipline, no obedience, no courage; and Matelieff soon found that to
attempt a scientific siege with such auxiliaries against a
well-constructed stone fortress, garrisoned with three thousand troops,
under an experienced Spanish soldier, was but midsummer madness.

Fevers and horrible malaria, bred by the blazing sun of the equator out
of those pestilential jungles, poisoned the atmosphere. His handful of
troops, amounting to not much more than a hundred men to each of his
ships, might melt away before his eyes. Nevertheless, although it was
impossible for him to carry the place by regular approach, he would not
abandon the hope of reducing it by famine. During four months long,
accordingly, he kept every avenue by land or sea securely invested. In
August, however, the Spanish viceroy of India, Don Alphonso de Castro,
made his appearance on the scene. Coming from Goa with a splendid fleet,
numbering fourteen great galleons, four galleys, and sixteen smaller
vessels, manned by three thousand seven hundred Portuguese and other
Europeans, and an equal number of native troops, he had at first directed
his course towards Atchen, on the north-west point of Sumatra. Here, with
the magnificent arrogance which Spanish and Portuguese viceroys were
accustomed to manifest towards the natives of either India, he summoned
the king to surrender his strongholds, to assist in constructing a
fortress for the use of his conquerors, to deliver up all the
Netherlanders within his domains, and to pay the expenses of the
expedition which had thus been sent to chastise him. But the King of
Atchen had not sent ambassadors into the camp of Prince Maurice before
the city of Grave in vain. He had learned that there were other white
skins besides the Spaniards at the antipodes, and that the republic whose
achievements in arts and arms were conspicuous trophies of Western
civilization, was not, as it had been represented to him, a mere nest of
pirates. He had learned to prefer an alliance with Holland to slavery
under Spain. Moreover, he had Dutch engineers and architects in his
service, and a well-constructed system of Dutch fortifications around his
capital. To the summons to surrender himself and his allies he returned a
defiant answer. The viceroy ordered an attack upon the city. One fort was
taken. From before the next he was repulsed with great loss. The
Sumatrans had derived more profit from intercourse with Europeans than
the inhabitants of Johore or the Moluccas had done. De Castro abandoned
the siege. He had received intelligence of the dangerous situation of
Malacca, and moved down upon the place with his whole fleet. Admiral
Matelieff, apprised by scouts of his approach, behaved with the readiness
and coolness of a veteran campaigner. Before De Castro could arrive in
the roadstead of Malacca, he had withdrawn all his troops from their
positions, got all his artillery reshipped, and was standing out in the
straits, awaiting the enemy.

On the 17th August, the two fleets, so vastly disproportionate in number,
size, equipment, and military force--eighteen galleons and galleys, with
four or five thousand fighting men, against eleven small vessels and
twelve or fourteen hundred sailors--met in that narrow sea. The action
lasted all day. It was neither spirited nor sanguinary. It ought to have
been within the power of the Spaniard to crush his diminutive adversary.
It might have seemed a sufficient triumph for Matelieff to manoeuvre
himself out of harm's way. No vessel on either side was boarded, not one
surrendered, but two on each side were set on fire and destroyed. Eight
of the Dutchmen were killed--not a very sanguinary result after a day's
encounter with so imposing an armada. De Castro's losses were much
greater, but still the battle was an insignificant one, and neither fleet
gained a victory. Night put an end to the cannonading, and the Spaniards
withdrew to Malacca, while Matelieff bore away to Johore. The siege of
Malacca was relieved, and the Netherlanders now occupied themselves with
the defence of the feeble sovereign at the other point of the peninsula.

Matelieff lay at Johore a month, repairing damages and laying in
supplies. While still at the place, he received information that a large
part of the Spanish armada had sailed from Malacca. Several of his own
crew, who had lost their shares in the adventure by the burning of the
ships to which they belonged in the action of 17th August, were reluctant
and almost mutinous when their admiral now proposed to them a sudden
assault on the portion of the Spanish fleet still remaining within reach.
They had not come forth for barren glory, many protested, but in search
of fortune; they were not elated by the meagre result of the expedition.
Matelieff succeeded, however, at last in inspiring all the men of his
command with an enthusiasm superior to sordid appeals, and made a few
malcontents. On the 21st September, he sailed to Malacca, and late in the
afternoon again attacked the Spaniards. Their fleet consisted of seven
great galleons and three galleys lying in a circle before the town. The
outermost ship, called the St. Nicholas, was boarded by men from three of
the Dutch galleots with sudden and irresistible fury. There was a brief
but most terrible action, the Netherlanders seeming endowed with
superhuman vigour. So great was the panic that there was hardly an effort
at defence, and within less than an hour nearly every Spaniard on board
the St. Nicholas had been put to the sword. The rest of the armada
engaged the Dutch fleet with spirit, but one of the great galleons was
soon set on fire and burned to the water's edge. Another, dismasted and
crippled, struck her flag, and all that remained would probably have been
surrendered or destroyed had not the sudden darkness of a tropical
nightfall put an end to the combat at set of sun. Next morning another
galleon, in a shattered and sinking condition, was taken possession of
and found filled with dead and dying. The rest of the Spanish ships made
their escape into the harbour of Malacca. Matelieff stood off and on in
the straits for a day or two, hesitating for fear of shallows to follow
into the roadstead. Before he could take a decision, he had the
satisfaction of seeing the enemy, panic-struck, save him any further
trouble. Not waiting for another attack, the Spaniards set fire to every
one of their ships, and retired into their fortress, while Matelieff and
his men enjoyed the great conflagration as idle spectators. Thus the
enterprising Dutch admiral had destroyed ten great war-ships of the
enemy, and, strange to relate, had scarcely lost one man of his whole
squadron. Rarely had a more complete triumph been achieved on the water
than in this battle in the straits of Malacca. Matelieff had gained much
glory but very little booty. He was also encumbered with a great number
of prisoners.

These he sent to Don Alphonso, exchanging them for a very few
Netherlanders then in Spanish hands, at the rate of two hundred Spaniards
for ten Dutchmen--thus showing that he held either the enemy very cheap,
or his own countrymen very dear. The captured ships he burned as useless
to him, but retained twenty-four pieces of artillery.

It was known to Matelieff that the Spanish viceroy had received
instructions to inflict chastisement on all the oriental potentates and
their subjects who had presumed of late to trade and to form alliances
with the Netherlanders. Johore, Achem, Paham, Patane, Amboyna, and
Bantam, were the most probable points of attack. Johore had now been
effectually defended, Achem had protected itself. The Dutch fleet
proceeded at first to Bantams for refreshment, and from this point
Matelieff sent three of his ships back to Holland. With the six remaining
to him, he sailed for the Moluccas, having heard of various changes which
had taken place in that important archipelago. Pausing at the great
emporium of nutmegs and all-spice, Amboyna, he took measures for
strengthening the fortifications of the place, which was well governed by
Frederick Houtman, and then proceeded to Ternate and Tidor.

During the absence of the Netherlanders, after the events on those
islands recorded in a previous chapter, the Spaniards had swept down upon
them from the Philippines with a fleet of thirty-seven ships, and had
taken captive the Sultan of Ternate; while the potentate of Tidor, who
had been left by Stephen van der Hagen in possession of his territories
on condition of fidelity to the Dutch, was easily induced to throw aside
the mask, and to renew his servitude to Spain. Thus both the coveted
clove-islands had relapsed into the control of the enemy. Matelieff found
it dangerous, on account of quicksands and shallows, to land on Tydore,
but he took very energetic measures to recover possession of Ternate. On
the southern side of the island, the Spaniards had built a fort and a
town. The Dutch admiral disembarked upon the northern side, and, with
assistance of the natives, succeeded in throwing up substantial
fortifications at a village called Malaya. The son of the former sultan,
who was a Spanish prisoner at the Philippines, was now formally inducted
into his father's sovereignty, and Matelieff established at Malaya for
his protection a garrison of forty-five Hollanders and a navy of four
small yachts. Such were the slender means with which Oriental empires
were founded in those days by the stout-hearted adventurers of the little
Batavian republic.

With this miniature army and navy, and by means of his alliance with the
distant commonwealth, of whose power this handful of men was a symbol,
the King of Ternate was thenceforth to hold his own against the rival
potentate on the other island, supported by the Spanish king. The same
convention of commerce and amity was made with the Ternatians as the one
which Stephen van der Hagen had formerly concluded with the Bandians; and
it was agreed that the potentate should be included in any treaty of
peace that might be made between the republic and Spain.

Matelieff, with three ships and a cutter, now sailed for China, but lost
his time in endeavouring to open trade with the Celestial empire. The
dilatory mandarins drove him at last out of all patience, and, on turning
his prows once more southward, he had nearly brought his long expedition
to a disastrous termination. Six well-armed, well-equipped Portuguese
galleons sailed out of Macao to assail him. It was not Matelieff's
instinct to turn his back on a foe, however formidable, but on this
occasion discretion conquered instinct. His three ships were out of
repair; he had a deficiency of powder; he was in every respect unprepared
for a combat; and he reflected upon the unfavourable impression which
would be made on the Chinese mind should the Hollanders, upon their first
appearance in the flowery regions, be vanquished by the Portuguese. He
avoided an encounter, therefore, and, by skilful seamanship, eluded all
attempts of the foe at pursuit. Returning to Ternate, he had the
satisfaction to find that during his absence the doughty little garrison
of Malaya had triumphantly defeated the Spaniards in an assault on the
fortifications of the little town. On the other hand, the King of Johore,
panic-struck on the departure of his Dutch protectors, had burned his own
capital, and had betaken himself with all his court into the jungle.

Commending the one and rebuking the other potentate, the admiral provided
assistance for both, some Dutch trading, vessels having meantime arrived
in the archipelago. Matelieff now set sail for Holland, taking with him
some ambassadors from the King of Siam and five ships well laden with
spice. On his return he read a report of his adventures to the
States-General, and received the warm commendations of their High
Mightinesses. Before his departure from the tropics, Paul van Kaarden,
with eight war-ships, had reached Bantam. On his arrival in Holland the
fleet of Peter ver Hoef was busily fitting out for another great
expedition to the East. This was the nation which Spanish courtiers
thought to exclude for ever from commerce with India and America, because
the Pope a century before had divided half the globe between Ferdinand
the Catholic and Emmanuel the Fortunate.

It may be supposed that the results of Matelieff's voyage were likely to
influence the pending negotiations for peace.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A sovereign remedy for the disease of liberty
     All the ministers and great functionaries received presents
     Because he had been successful (hated)
     But the habit of dissimulation was inveterate
     By turns, we all govern and are governed
     Contempt for treaties however solemnly ratified
     Despised those who were grateful
     Idiotic principle of sumptuary legislation
     Indulging them frequently with oracular advice
     Justified themselves in a solemn consumption of time
     Man who cannot dissemble is unfit to reign
     Men fought as if war was the normal condition of humanity
     Men who meant what they said and said what they meant
     Negotiated as if they were all immortal
     Philip of Macedon, who considered no city impregnable
     To negotiate was to bribe right and left, and at every step
     Unwise impatience for peace



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 81, 1608



CHAPTER L.

   Movements of the Emperor Rudolph--Marquis Spinola's reception at the
   Hague--Meeting of Spinola and Prince Maurice--Treaty of the Republic
   with the French Government--The Spanish commissioners before the
   States-General--Beginning of negotiations--Stormy discussions--Real
   object of Spain in the negotiations--Question of the India trade--
   Abandonment of the peace project--Negotiations for a truce--
   Prolongation of the armistice--Further delays--Treaty of the States
   with England--Proposals of the Spanish ambassadors to Henry of
   France and to James of England--Friar Neyen at the court of Spain--
   Spanish procrastination--Decision of Philip on the conditions of
   peace--Further conference at the Hague--Answer of the States-General
   to the proposals of the Spanish Government--General rupture.

Towards the close of the year 1607 a very feeble demonstration was made
in the direction of the Dutch republic by the very feeble Emperor of
Germany. Rudolph, awaking as it might be from a trance, or descending for
a moment from his star-gazing tower and his astrological pursuits to
observe the movements of political spheres, suddenly discovered that the
Netherlands were no longer revolving in their preordained orbit. Those
provinces had been supposed to form part of one great system, deriving
light and heat from the central imperial sun. It was time therefore to
put an end to these perturbations. The emperor accordingly, as if he had
not enough on his hands at that precise moment with the Hungarians,
Transylvanians, Bohemian protestants, his brother Matthias and the Grand
Turk, addressed a letter to the States of Holland, Zeeland, and the
provinces confederated with them.

Reminding them of the care ever taken by himself and his father to hear
all their petitions, and to obtain for them a good peace, he observed
that he had just heard of their contemplated negotiations with King
Philip and Archduke Albert, and of their desire to be declared free
states and peoples. He was amazed, he said, that they should not have
given him notice of so important an affair, inasmuch as all the United
Provinces belonged to and were fiefs of the holy Roman Empire. They were
warned, therefore, to undertake nothing that might be opposed to the
feudal law except with his full knowledge. This letter was dated the 9th
of October. The States took time to deliberate, and returned no answer
until after the new year.

On the 2nd of January, 1608, they informed the emperor that they could
never have guessed of his requiring notification as to the approaching
conferences. They had not imagined that the archduke would keep them a
secret from his brother, or the king from his uncle-cousin. Otherwise,
the States would have sent due notice to his Majesty. They well
remembered, they said, the appeals made by the provinces to the emperor
from time to time, at the imperial diets, for help against the tyranny of
the Spaniards. They well remembered, too, that no help was ever given
them in response to those appeals. They had not forgotten either the
famous Cologne negotiations for peace in presence of the imperial envoys,
in consequence of which the enemy had carried on war against them with
greater ferocity than before. At that epoch they had made use of an
extreme remedy for an intolerable evil, and had solemnly renounced
allegiance to the king. Since that epoch a whole generation of mankind
had passed away, and many kings and potentates had recognised their
freedom, obtained for just cause and maintained by the armed hand. After
a long and bloody war, Albert and Philip had at last been brought to
acknowledge the provinces as free countries over which they pretended to
no right, as might be seen by the letters of both, copies of which were
forwarded to the emperor. Full confidence was now expressed, therefore,
that the emperor and all Germany would look with favour on such a
God-fearing transaction, by which an end would be put to so terrible a
war. Thus the States-General; replying with gentle scorn to the
antiquated claim of sovereignty on the part of imperial majesty. Duly
authenticated by citations of investitures, indulgences, and concordates,
engrossed on yellowest parchment, sealed with reddest sealing-wax, and
reposing in a thousand pigeon-holes in mustiest archives, no claim could
be more solemn or stately. Unfortunately, however, rebel pikes and
matchlocks, during the past forty years, had made too many rents in those
sacred parchments to leave much hope of their ever being pieced
handsomely together again. As to the historical theory of imperial
enfeoffment, the States thought it more delicate to glide smoothly and
silently over the whole matter. It would have been base to acknowledge
and impolite to refute the claim.

It is as well to imitate this reserve. It is enough simply to remind the
reader that although so late as the time of Charles V., the provinces had
been declared constituent parts of the empire, liable to its burthens,
and entitled to its protection; the Netherlanders being practical people,
and deeming burthens and protection correlative, had declined the burthen
because always deprived of the protection.

And now, after a year spent in clearing away the mountains of dust which
impeded the pathway to peace, and which one honest vigorous human breath
might at once have blown into space, the envoys of the archduke set forth
towards the Hague.

Marquis Spinola, Don Juan de Mancicidor, private secretary to the King of
Spain, President Richardot, Auditor Verreyken, and Brother John Neyen--a
Genoese, a Spaniard, a Burgundian, a Fleming, and a Franciscan
friar--travelling in great state, with a long train of carriages, horses,
lackeys, cooks, and secretaries, by way of Breda, Bergen-op-Zoom,

Dort, Rotterdam, and Delft, and being received in each town and village
through which they passed with great demonstrations of respect and
cordial welcome, arrived at last within a mile of the Hague.

It was the dead of winter, and of the severest winter that had occurred
for many years. Every river, estuary, canal was frozen hard. All Holland
was one broad level sheet of ice, over which the journey had been made in
sledges. On the last day of January Prince Maurice, accompanied by Lewes
William, and by eight state coaches filled with distinguished personages,
left the Hague and halted at the Hoorn bridge, about midway between
Ryswyk and the capital. The prince had replied to the first request of
the States that he should go forward to meet Spinola, by saying that he
would do so willingly if it were to give him battle; otherwise not.
Olden-Barneveld urged upon him however that, as servant of the republic,
he was bound to do what the States commanded, as a matter involving the
dignity of the nation. In consequence of this remonstrance Maurice
consented to go, but he went unwillingly. The advancing procession of the
Spanish ambassadors was already in sight. Far and wide in whatever
direction the eye could sweep, the white surface of the landscape was
blackened with human beings. It seemed as if the whole population of the
Netherlands had assembled, in mass meeting, to witness the pacific
interview between those two great chieftains who had never before stood
face to face except upon the battle-field.

In carriages, in donkey carts, upon horseback, in sledges, on skates,
upon foot-men, women, and children, gentle and simple, Protestants,
Catholics, Gomarites, Armenians, anabaptists, country squires in buff and
bandaleer, city magistrates and merchants in furs and velvet, artisans,
boatmen, and peasants, with their wives and daughters in well-starched
ruff and tremendous head-gear--they came thronging in countless
multitudes, those honest Hollanders, cheering and throwing up their caps
in honour of the chieftain whose military genius had caused so much
disaster to their country. This uproarious demonstration of welcome on
the part of the multitude moved the spleen of many who were old enough to
remember the horrors of Spanish warfare within their borders. "Thus
unreflecting, gaping, boorish, are nearly all the common people of these
provinces," said a contemporary, describing the scene, and forgetting
that both high and low, according to his own account, made up the mass of
spectators on that winter's day. Moreover it seems difficult to
understand why the Hollanders should not have indulged a legitimate
curiosity, and made a holiday on this memorable occasion. Spinola was not
entering their capital in triumph, a Spanish army was not marching--as it
might have done had the course of events been different--over the
protective rivers and marshes of the fatherland, now changed by the
exceptional cold into solid highways for invasion. On the contrary, the
arrival of the great enemy within their gates, with the olive-branch
instead of the sword in his hand, was a victory not for Spain but for the
republic. It was known throughout the land that he was commissioned by
the king and the archdukes to treat for peace with the States-General of
the United Provinces as with the representatives of a free and
independent nation, utterly beyond any foreign control.

Was not this opening of a cheerful and pacific prospect, after a half
century's fight for liberty, a fair cause for rejoicing?

The Spanish commissioners arrived at the Hoorn bridge, Spinola alighted
from his coach, Prince Maurice stepped forward into the road to greet
him. Then the two eminent soldiers, whose names had of late been so
familiar in the mouths of men, shook hands and embraced with heroic
cordiality, while a mighty shout went up from the multitude around. It
was a stately and dramatic spectacle, that peaceful meeting of the rival
leaders in a war which had begun before either of them was born. The
bystanders observed, or thought that they observed, signs of great
emotion on the faces of both. It has also been recorded that each
addressed the other in epigrammatic sentences of compliment. "God is my
witness," Maurice was supposed to have said, "that the arrival of these
honourable negotiators is most grateful to me. Time, whose daughter is
truth, will show the faith to be given to my words."

"This fortunate day," replied Spinola, "has filled full the measure of my
hopes and wishes, and taken from me the faculty of ever wishing for
anything again. I trust in divine clemency that an opportunity may be
given to show my gratitude, and to make a fit return for the humanity
thus shown me by the most excellent prince that the sun shines upon."

With this both got into the stadholder's carriage, Spinola being placed
on Maurice's right hand. Their conversation during their brief drive to
the capital, followed by their long retinue, and by the enthusiastic and
vociferating crowd, has not been chronicled. It is also highly probable
that the second-rate theatrical dialogue which the Jesuit historian,
writing from Spinola's private papers, has preserved for posterity, was
rather what seemed to his imagination appropriate for the occasion than a
faithful shorthand report of anything really uttered. A few commonplace
phrases of welcome, with a remark or two perhaps on the unexampled
severity of the frost, seem more likely to have formed the substance of
that brief conversation.

A couple of trumpeters of Spinola went braying through the streets of the
village capital, heralding their master's approach with superfluous
noise, and exciting the disgust of the quieter portion of the burghers.
At last however the envoys and their train were all comfortably housed.
The Marquis, President Richardot, and Secretary Mancicidor, were
established at a new mansion on the Vyverberg, belonging to Goswyn
Menskens. The rest of the legation were lodged at the house of Wassenaer.

It soon became plain that the ways of life and the style housekeeping
habitual to great officers of the Spanish crown were very different from
the thrifty manners and customs of Dutch republicans. It was so long
since anything like royal pomp and circumstance had been seen in their
borders that the exhibition, now made, excited astonishment. It was a
land where every child went to school, where almost every individual
inhabitant could read and write, where even the middle classes were
proficients in mathematics and the classics, and could speak two or more
modern languages; where the whole nation, with but few exceptions, were
producers of material or intellectual wealth, and where comparatively
little of unproductive consumption prevailed. Those self-governing and
self-sustaining municipalities had almost forgotten the existence of the
magnificent nothings so dear to the hearts of kings.

Spinola's house was open day and night. The gorgeous plate, gigantic
candelabra, mighty ewers, shields and layers of silver and gold, which
decorated his tables and sideboards, amazed the gaping crowd. He dined
and supped in state every day, and the public were admitted to gaze upon
his banquets as if he had been a monarch. It seemed, said those homely
republicans, as if "a silver christening were going on every day in his
house."

There were even grave remonstrances made to the magistracy and to, the
States-General against the effect of such ostentatious and immoral
proceedings upon the popular mind, and suggestions that at least the
doors should be shut, so that the scandal might be confined to Spinola's
own household. But the republican authorities deciding, not without
wisdom, that the spectacle ought to serve rather as a wholesome warning
than as a contaminating example, declined any inquisitorial interference
with the housekeeping of the Spanish ambassadors.

Before the negotiations began, a treaty had been made between the
republic and the French Government, by which it was stipulated that every
effort should be made by both contracting parties to bring about an
honourable and assured peace between the United Provinces, Spain, and the
archdukes. In case of the continuance of the war, however, it was agreed
that France should assist the States with ten thousand men, while in case
at any time, during the continuance of the league, France should be
attacked by a foreign enemy, she should receive from her ally five
thousand auxiliary troops, or their equivalent in maritime assistance.
This convention was thought by other powers to be so profitable to the
Netherlands as to excite general uneasiness and suspicion.

The States would have gladly signed a similar agreement with England, but
nothing was to be done with that Government until an old-standing dispute
in regard to the cloth trade had been arranged. Middelburg had the
exclusive right of deposit for the cloths imported from England. This
monopoly for Zealand being naturally not very palatable to Amsterdam and
other cities of Holland, the States-General had at last authorized the
merchant-adventurers engaged in this traffic to deposit their goods in
any city of the United Provinces.  The course of trade had been to import
the raw cloth from England, to dress and dye it in the Netherlands, and
then to re-export it to England. Latterly, however, some dyers and
clothiers emigrating from the provinces to that country, had obtained a
monopoly from James for practising their art in his dominions. In
consequence of this arrangement the exportation of undyed cloths had been
forbidden. This prohibition had caused irritation both in the kingdom and
the republic, had necessarily deranged the natural course of trade and
manufacture, and had now prevented for the time any conclusion of an
alliance offensive and defensive between the countries, even if political
sentiment had made such a league possible. The States-General had
recourse to the usual expedient by which bad legislation on one side was
countervailed by equally bad legislation on the other. The exportation of
undyed English cloths being forbidden by England, the importation of dyed
English cloths was now prohibited by the Netherlands. The international
cloth trade stopped. This embargo became at last so detestable to all
parties that concession was made by the crown for a limited export of raw
cloths. The concession was soon widened by custom into a general
exportation, the royal Government looking through its fingers at the open
infraction of its own laws, while the natural laws of trade before long
re-established the old equilibrium. Meantime the ill-feeling produced by
this dissension delayed any cordial political arrangement between the
countries.

On the 5th of February the Spanish commissioners came for the first time
before the States-General, assembled to the number of a hundred and
thirty, in their palace at the Hague.

The first meeting was merely one of mutual compliment, President
Richardot, on behalf of his colleagues, expressing gratitude for the
cordial welcome which had been manifested to the envoys on their journey
through so many towns of the United Provinces. They had been received, he
said, not as enemies with whom an almost perpetual war had been waged,
but as friends, confederates, and allies. A warmer reception they could
never have hoped for nor desired.

Two special commissioners were now appointed by the States-General to
negotiate with the envoys. These were count Lewis William and Brederode.
With these delegates at large were associated seven others, one from each
province. Barneveld of course represented Holland; Maldere, Zeeland;
Berk, Utrecht; Hillama, Friesland; Bloat, Overyssel; Koender van Helpen,
Groningen; Cornelius Vail Gend, Gelderland.

The negotiations began at once. The archdukes had empowered the five
envoys to deal in their name and in that of the King of Spain. Philip had
authorized the archdukes to take this course by an instrument dated 10th
January.

In this paper he called the archdukes hereditary sovereigns of the
Netherlands.

It was agreed that the various points of negotiation should be taken up
in regular order; but the first question of all that presented itself was
whether the conferences should be for a truce or, a peace.

The secret object of Spain was for a truce of years. Thus she thought to
save her dignity, to reserve her rights of re-conquest, to replenish her
treasury, and to repair her military strength. Barneveld and his party,
comprising a large majority of the States-General, were for peace. Prince
Maurice, having done his utmost to oppose negotiations for peace, was,
for still stronger reasons, determined to avoid falling into what he
considered the ambush of a truce. The French ambassadors were also for
peace. The Spanish envoys accordingly concealed their real designs, and
all parties began discussions for the purpose of establishing a permanent
peace.

This preliminary being settled, Barneveld asked the Spaniards if they had
full powers to treat with the States as with a free nation, and if they
recognised them as such.

"The most ample power," was the reply; "and we are content to treat with
you even if you should choose to call yourself a kingdom."

"By what right then are the archdukes called by the king hereditary
sovereigns of the Netherlands, and why do they append the seals of the
seven United Provinces to this document?" asked the Advocate, taking up
from the table the full power of Albert and Isabella and putting his
finger on the seals."

"By the same right," replied President Richardot, "that the King of
France calls himself King of Navarre, that the King of Great Britain
calls himself King of France, that the King of Spain calls himself King
of Jerusalem."

Nothing could be more logical, nothing more historically accurate. But
those plain-spoken republicans saw no advantage in beginning a
negotiation for peace on the basis of their independence by permitting
the archduke to call himself their sovereign, and to seal solemn state
papers with their signet. It might seem picturesque to genealogical
minds, it might be soothing to royal vanity, that paste counterfeits
should be substituted for vanished jewels. It would be cruelty to destroy
the mock glitter without cause. But there was cause. On this occasion the
sham was dangerous. James Stuart might call himself King of France. He
was not more likely to take practical possession of that kingdom than of
the mountains in the moon. Henry of Bourbon was not at present
contemplating an invasion of the hereditary possessions of the house of
Albret. It was a matter of indifference to the Netherlands whether Philip
III. were crowned in Jerusalem that very day, or the week afterwards, or
never. It was very important however that the United Provinces should
have it thoroughly recognised that they were a free and independent
republic, nor could that recognition be complete so long as any human
being in the whole world called himself their master, and signed with
their seals of state. "'Tis absurd," said the Hollanders, "to use the
names and arms of our provinces. We have as yet no precedent to prove
that you consider the United Provinces as lost, and name and arms to be
but wind." Barneveld reminded them that they had all expressed the most
straightforward intention, and that the father commissary especially had
pledged his very soul for the sincerity of the king and the archdukes.
"We ourselves never wished and never could deceive any one," continued
the Advocate, "and it is also very difficult for others to deceive us."

This being the universal sentiment of the Netherlanders, it was thought
proper to express it in respectful but vigorous language. This was done
and the session was terminated. Tile Spanish envoys, knowing very well
that neither the king nor the archduke regarded the retention of the
titles and seals of all the seventeen Netherlands as an empty show, but
that a secret and solid claim lurked beneath that usurpation, were very
indignant. They however dissembled their wrath from the States'
commissioners. They were unwilling that the negotiations should be broken
up at the very first session, and they felt that neither Prince Maurice
nor Barneveld was to be trifled with upon this point. But they were loud
and magnificent in their demonstrations when they came to talk the matter
over with the ambassadors of France and England. It was most portentous,
they thought, to the cause of monarchy and good government all over the
world, that these republicans, not content to deal with kings and princes
on a footing of equality, should presume to dictate to them as to
inferiors. Having passed through rebellion to liberty, they were now
proceeding to trample upon the most hallowed customs and rites. What
would become of royalty, if in the same breath it should not only
renounce the substance, but even put away the symbols of authority. This
insolence of the people was not more dangerous to the king and the
archdukes than it was to every potentate in the universe. It was a sacred
duty to resist such insults. Sage Jeannin did his best to pacify the
vehemence of the commissioners. He represented to them that foreign
titles borne by anointed kings were only ensigns of historical
possessions which they had for ever renounced; but that it might become
one day the pleasure of Spain, or lie in the power of Spain, to vindicate
her ancient rights to the provinces.

Hence the anxiety of the States was but natural. The old Leaguer and
political campaigner knew very well, moreover, that at least one half of
Richardot's noble wrath was feigned. The commissioners would probably
renounce the title and the seven seals, but in so doing would drive a
hard bargain. For an empty phrase and a pennyworth of wax they would
extort a heavy price. And this was what occurred. The commissioners
agreed to write for fresh instructions to Brussels. A reply came in due
time from the archdukes, in which they signified their willingness to
abandon the title of sovereigns over all the Netherlands, and to abstain
from using their signet. In exchange for this concession they merely
demanded from the States-General a formal abandonment of the navigation
to both the Indies. This was all. The archdukes granted liberty to the
republic. The republic would renounce its commerce with more than half
the world.

The scorn of the States' commissioners at this proposition can be
imagined, and it became difficult indeed for them to speak on the subject
in decorous language. Because the archdukes were willing to give up
something which was not their property, the republic was voluntarily to
open its veins and drain its very life-blood at the bidding of a foreign
potentate. She was to fling away all the trophies of Heemskerk and Sebalt
de Weerd, of Balthasar de Cordes, Van der Hagen, Matelieff, and Verhoeff;
she was to abdicate the position which she had already acquired of
mistress of the seas, and she was to deprive herself for ever of that
daily increasing ocean commerce which was rapidly converting a cluster of
puny, half-submerged provinces into a mighty empire. Of a certainty the
Spanish court at this new epoch was an astounding anachronism. In its
view Pope Alexander VI. still lived and reigned.

Liberty was not a boon conferred upon the Netherlanders by their defeated
enemy. It had been gained by their own right hands; by the blood, and the
gold, and the sweat of two generations. If it were the king's to give,
let him try once more if he could take it away. Such were the opinions
and emotions of the Dutchmen, expressed in as courteous language as they
could find.

"It would be a political heresy," said Barneveld to the Spanish
commissioners at this session, "if my lords the States should by contract
banish their citizens out of two-thirds of the world, both land and sea."

"'Tis strange," replied the Spaniards, "that you wish to have more than
other powers--kings or republics--who never make any such pretensions.
The Indies, East and West, are our house, privately possessed by us for
more than a hundred years, and no one has a right to come into it without
our permission. This is not banishment, but a custom to which all other
nations submit. We give you your sovereignty before all the world,
quitting all claims upon it. We know very well that you deny receiving it
from us; but to give you a quit claim, and to permit free trade besides,
would be a little more than you have a right to expect."

Was it not well for the cause of liberty, commercial intercourse, and
advancement of the human intellect, that there was this obstinate little
republic in the world, refusing to tolerate that to which all other great
powers of the earth submitted; that there was one nation determined not
to acknowledge three-quarters of the world, including America and India,
as the private mansion of the King of Spain, to be locked against the
rest of the human race?

The next session of the negotiators after the arrival of this
communication from the archdukes was a stormy one. The India trade was
the sole subject of discussion. As the States were firmly resolved never
to relinquish that navigation which in truth was one of their most
practical and valuable possessions, and as the royal commissioners were
as solemnly determined that it should never be conceded, it may be
imagined how much breath, how much foolscap paper, was wasted.

In truth, the negotiation for peace had been a vile mockery from the
beginning. Spain had no real intention of abdicating her claim to the
United Provinces.

At the very moment when the commissioners were categorically making that
concession in Brussels, and claiming such a price for it, Hoboken, the
archduke's diplomatic representative in London, was earnestly assuring
King James that neither his master nor Philip had the remotest notion of
renouncing their sovereignty over all the Netherlands. What had been said
and written to that effect was merely a device, he asserted, to bring
about a temporary truce. During the interval of imaginary freedom it was
certain that the provinces would fall into such dire confusion that it
would be easier for Spain to effect their re-conquest, after a brief
delay for repairing her own strength, than it would be by continuing the
present war without any cessation.

The Spanish ambassador at Vienna too on his part assured the Emperor
Rudolph that his master was resolved never to abdicate the sovereignty of
the provinces. The negotiations then going on, he said, were simply
intended to extort from the States a renunciation of the India trade and
their consent to the re-introduction of the Catholic religion throughout
their territories.

Something of all this was known and much more suspected at the Hague; the
conviction therefore that no faith would be kept with rebels and
heretics, whatever might be said or written, gained strength every day.
That these delusive negotiations with the Hollanders were not likely to
be so successful as the comedy enacted twenty years before at Bourbourg,
for the amusement of Queen Elizabeth and her diplomatists while the
tragedy of the Armada was preparing, might be safely prophesied.
Richardot was as effective as ever in the part which he had so often
played, but Spinola laboured under the disadvantage of being a far
honester man than Alexander Farnese. Far from equal to that famous
chieftain in the management of a great military campaign, it is certain
that he was infinitely inferior to him in genteel comedy. Whether Maurice
and Lewis William, Barneveld and Brederode, were to do better in the
parts formerly assigned to John Rogers, Valentine Dale, Comptroller
Croft, and their colleagues, remained to be seen.

On the 15th of February, at the fifth conference of the commissioners,
the first pitched battle on the India trade was fought. Thereafter the
combat was almost every day renewed. Exactly, as a year before, the news
of Heemskerk's victory at Gibraltar had made the king and the archdukes
eager to obtain an armistice with the rebels both by land and sea, so now
the report of Matelieff's recent achievements in the Indian ocean was
increasing their anxiety to exclude the Netherlanders from the regions
which they were rapidly making their own.

As we look back upon the negotiations, after the lapse of two centuries
and a half, it becomes difficult to suppress our amazement at those
scenes of solemn trickery and superhuman pride. It is not necessary to
follow, step by step, the proceedings at each daily conference, but it is
impossible for me not to detain the reader for yet a season longer with
those transactions, and especially to invite him to ponder the valuable
lesson which in their entirety they convey.

No higher themes could possibly be laid before statesmen to discuss.
Questions of political self-government, religious liberty, national
independence, divine Right, rebellious Power, freedom of commerce,
supremacy of the seas, omnipotence claimed by the old world over the
destiny of what was called the new, were importunately demanding
solution. All that most influenced human passion, or stirred human reason
to its depths--at that memorable point of time when two great epochs
seemed to be sweeping against each other in elemental conflict--was to be
dealt with. The emancipated currents of human thought, the steady tide of
ancient dogma, were mingling in wrath. There are times of paroxysm in
which Nature seems to effect more in a moment, whether intellectually or
materially, than at other periods during a lapse of years. The shock of
forces, long preparing and long delayed, is apt at last to make itself
sensible to those neglectful of gradual but vital changes. Yet there are
always ears that are deaf to the most portentous din.

Thus, after that half century of war, the policy of Spain was still
serenely planting itself on the position occupied before the outbreak of
the revolt. The commonwealth, solidly established by a free people,
already one of the most energetic and thriving among governments, a
recognised member of the great international family, was now gravely
expected to purchase from its ancient tyrant the independence which it
had long possessed, while the price demanded for the free papers was not
only extravagant, but would be disgraceful to an emancipated slave.
Holland was not likely at that turning point in her history, and in the
world's history, to be false to herself and to the great principles of
public law. It was good for the cause of humanity that the republic
should reappear at that epoch. It was wholesome for Europe that there
should be just then a plain self-governing people, able to speak homely
and important truths. It was healthy for the moral and political
atmosphere--in those days and in the time to come--that a fresh breeze
from that little sea-born commonwealth should sweep away some of the
ancient fog through which a few very feeble and very crooked mortals had
so long loomed forth like giants and gods.

To vindicate the laws of nations and of nature; to make a noble effort
for reducing to a system--conforming, at least approximately, to divine
reason--the chaotic elements of war and peace; to recall the great facts
that earth, sea, and sky ought to belong to mankind, and not to an
accidental and very limited selection of the species was not an unworthy
task for a people which had made such unexampled sacrifice for liberty
and right.

Accordingly, at the conference on the 15th February, the Spanish
commissioners categorically summoned the States to desist entirely from
the trade to either India, exactly as before the war. To enforce this
prohibition, they said, was the principal reason why Philip desired
peace. To obtain their freedom was surely well worth renunciation of this
traffic; the more so, because their trade with Spain, which was so much
shorter and safer, was now to be re-opened. If they had been able to keep
that commerce, it was suggested, they would have never talked about the
Indies. The commissioners added, that this boon had not been conceded to
France nor England, by the treaties of Vervins and London, and that the
States therefore could not find it strange that it should be refused to
them.

The States' commissioners stoutly replied that commerce was open to all
the world, that trade was free by the great law of nature, and that
neither France, England, nor the United Provinces, were to receive edicts
on this great subject from Spain and Portugal. It was absurd to
circumscribe commercial intercourse at the very moment of exchanging war
for peace. To recognise the liberty of the States upon paper, and to
attempt the imposition of servitude in reality, was a manifest
contradiction. The ocean was free to all nations. It had not been
enclosed by Spain with a rail-fence.

The debate grew more stormy every hour. Spinola expressed great
indignation that the Netherlanders should be so obstinate upon this
point. The tall, spare President arose in wrath from his seat at the
council-board, loudly protesting that the King of Spain would never
renounce his sovereignty over the provinces until they had forsworn the
India trade; and with this menace stalked out of the room.

The States' commissioners were not frightened. Barneveld was at least a
match for Richardot, and it was better, after all, that the cards should
be played upon the table. Subsequent meetings were quite as violent as
the first, the country was agitated far and wide, the prospects of
pacification dwindled to a speck in the remote horizon. Arguments at the
Board of Conference, debates in the States-General, pamphlets by
merchants and advocates--especially several emanating from the East India
Company--handled the great topic from every point of view, and it became
more and more evident that Spain could not be more resolute to prohibit
than the republic to claim the trade.

It was an absolute necessity, so it was urged, for the Hollanders to
resist the tyrannical dominion of the Spaniards. But this would be
impossible for them, should they rely on the slender natural resources of
their own land. Not a sixth part of the population could be nourished
from the soil. The ocean was their inheritance, their birthright, their
empire. It was necessary that Spain should understand this first, last,
and always. She ought to comprehend, too, that her recognition of Dutch
independence was not a gift, but the acknowledgment of a fact. Without
that acknowledgment peace was impossible. If peace were to be
established, it was not to be bought by either party. Each gave and each
received, and certainly Spain was in no condition to dictate the terms of
a sale. Peace, without freedom of commerce, would be merely war without
killing, and therefore without result. The Netherlanders, who in the
middle of the previous century had risen against unjust taxation and
arbitrary laws, had not grown so vile as to accept from a vanquished foe
what they had spurned from their prince. To be exiled from the ocean was
an unimaginable position for the republic. Moreover, to retire from the
Indies would be to abandon her Oriental allies, and would be a dishonour
as well us a disaster. Her good faith, never yet contaminated, would be
stained, were she now to desert the distant peoples and potentates with
whom she had formed treaties of friendship and commerce, and hand them
over to the vengeance of the Spaniards and Portuguese.

And what a trade it was which the United Provinces were thus called upon
to renounce! The foreign commerce of no other nation could be compared in
magnitude to that of their commonwealth. Twenty ships traded regularly to
Guinea, eighty to the Cape de Verd Islands, twenty to America, and forty
to the East Indies. Ten thousand sailors, who gained their living in this
traffic, would be thrown out of employment, if the States should now
listen to the Spanish propositions.

It was well known too that the profits of the East India Company had
vastly increased of late, and were augmenting with every year. The trade
with Cambay, Malabar, Ceylon, Koromandel, and Queda, had scarcely begun,
yet was already most promising. Should the Hollanders only obtain a
footing in China, they felt confident of making their way through the
South Seas and across the pole to India. Thus the search for a great
commercial highway between Cathay, Europe, and the New World, which had
been baffled in the arctic regions, should be crowned with success at the
antarctic, while it was deemed certain that there were many lands,
lighted by the Southern Cross, awaiting the footsteps of the fortunate
European discoverer. What was a coasting-trade with Spain compared with
this boundless career of adventure? Now that the world's commerce, since
the discovery of America and the passage around the Cape of Good Hope,
had become oceanic and universal, was the nation which took the lead on
blue water to go back to the creeping land-locked navigation of the
ancient Greeks and Phoenicians? If the East India Company, in whose womb
was empire, were now destroyed, it would perish with its offspring for
ever. There would be no regeneration at a future day. The Company's ships
too were a navy in themselves, as apt for war as for trade. This the
Spaniards and Portuguese had already learned to their cost. The
merchant-traders to Spain would be always in the power of Spain, and at
any favourable moment might be seized by Spain. The Spanish monopoly in
the East and West was the great source of Spanish power, the chief cause
of the contempt with, which the Spanish monarchy looked down upon other
nations. Let those widely expanded wings be clipped, and Spain would fall
from her dizzy height. To know what the States ought to refuse the enemy,
it was only necessary to observe what he strenuously demanded, to ponder
the avowed reason why he desired peace. The enemy was doing his best to
damage the commonwealth; the States were merely anxious to prevent injury
to themselves and to all the world; to vindicate for themselves, and for
all men, the common use of ocean, land, and sky.

A nation which strove to shut up the seas, and to acquire a monopoly of
the world's trade, was a pirate, an enemy of mankind. She was as
deserving of censure as those who created universal misery in time of
famine, by buying up all the corn in order to enrich themselves.
According to the principles of the ancients, it was legitimate to make
war upon such States as closed their own ports to foreign intercourse.
Still more just was it, therefore, to carry arms against a nation which
closed the ports of other people.

The dispute about the India navigation could be settled in a moment, if
Spain would but keep her word. She had acknowledged the great fact of
independence, which could not be gainsaid. Let each party to the
negotiation, therefore keep that which it already possessed. Let neither
attempt to prescribe to the other--both being free and independent
States--any regulations about interior or foreign trade.

Thus reasoned the States-General, the East India directors, the great
majority of the population of the provinces, upon one great topic of
discussion. A small minority only attempted to defend the policy of
renouncing the India trade as a branch of industry, in which a certain
class, and that only in the maritime provinces, was interested. It is
certainly no slight indication of the liberty of thought, of speech, and
of the press, enjoyed at that epoch in the Netherlands and nowhere else
to anything like the same extent--that such opinions, on a subject deemed
vital to the very existence of the republic, were freely published and
listened to with toleration, if not with respect. Even the enlightened
mind of Grotius was troubled with terrors as to the effect on the public
mind at this crisis of anonymous pamphlets concerning political affairs.
But in this regard it must be admitted that Grotius was not in advance of
his age, although fully conceding that press-laws were inconsistent with
human liberty.

Maurice and Barneveld were equally strenuous in maintaining the India
trade; the prince, because he hoped that resistance to Spain upon this
point would cause the negotiations to be broken off, the Advocate in the
belief that firmness on the part of the States would induce the royal
commissioners to yield.

The States-General were not likely to be deficient in firmness. They felt
that the republic was exactly on the point of wresting the control of the
East from the hands of the Portuguese, and they were not inclined to
throw away the harvest of their previous labours just as it was ripening.
Ten thousand persons at least, besides the sailors employed, were
directly interested in the traffic, most of whom possessed great
influence in the commonwealth, and would cause great domestic dissension
should they now be sacrificed to Spain. To keep the India trade was the
best guarantee for the future possession of the traffic to Spain; for the
Spanish Government would never venture an embargo upon the direct
intercourse between the provinces and its own dominions, for fear of
vengeance in the East. On the other hand, by denouncing oceanic commerce,
they would soon find themselves without a navy at all, and their peaceful
coasting ships would be at the mercy of Spain or of any power possessing
that maritime energy which would have been killed in the republic. By
abandoning the ocean, the young commonwealth would sink into sloth, and
become the just object of contempt to the world. It would cease to be an
independent power, and deserve to fall a prey to any enterprising
neighbour.

Even Villeroy admitted the common belief to be, that if the India trade
were abandoned "the States would melt away like snow in the sun." He
would not, on that account, however, counsel to the States obstinacy upon
the subject, if Spain refused peace or truce except on condition of their
exclusion from the traffic. Jeannin, Villeroy, and their master; Isaac le
Maire and Peter Plancius, could have told the reason why if they had
chosen.

Early in March a triple proposition was made by the States'
commissioners. Spain might take her choice to make peace on the basis of
free trade; to make peace, leaving everything beyond the Tropic of Cancer
to the chance of war; or to make peace in regard to all other than the
tropical regions, concluding for those only a truce during a definite
number of years.

The Spaniards rejected decidedly two of these suggestions. Of course they
would not concede freedom of the sea. They considered the mixture of
peace and war a monstrous conception. They were, however, willing to
favour peace for Europe and truce in the tropics, provided the States
bound themselves; on the expiration of the limited period, to abandon the
Indian and American trade for ever. And to this proposition the States of
course were deaf. And thus they went on spinning around, day after day,
in the same vicious circle, without more hope of progress than squirrels
in a cage.

Barneveld, always overbearing with friend or foe, and often violent, was
not disposed to make preposterous concessions, notwithstanding his eager
desire for peace. "The might of the States-General," said he, "is so
great, thank God, that they need not yield so much to the King of Spain
as seems to be expected, nor cover themselves with dishonour."

"And do you think yourselves more mighty than the Kings of England and
France?" cried Richardot in a great rage, "for they never dared to make
any attempt upon the Indies, East or West."

"We are willing to leave the king in his own quarters," was the reply,
"and we expect him to leave us in ours."

"You had better take a sheet of paper at once," said Richardot, "write
down exactly what you wish, and order us to agree to it all without
discussion."

"We demand nothing that is unreasonable in these negotiations," was the
firm rejoinder, "and expect that nothing unjust will be required of us."

It was now suggested by the States' commissioners that a peace; with free
navigation, might be concluded for Europe, and a truce for other parts of
the world, without any stipulations as to what should take place on its
termination. This was hardly anything new, but it served as a theme for
more intellectual buffeting. Hard words were freely exchanged during
several hours; and all parties lost their temper. At last the Spaniards
left the conference-chamber in a rage. Just as they were going, Barneveld
asked them whether he should make a protocol of the session for the
States-General, and whether it was desirable in future to resume the
discussion.

"Let every one do exactly as he likes," replied Spinola, wrathfully, as
he moved to the door.

Friar John, always plausible, whispered a few soothing words in the ear
of the marquis, adding aloud, so that the commissioners might hear,
"Night brings counsel." These words he spoke in Latin.

"He who wishes to get everything is apt to lose everything," cried, out
Maldere, the Zeeland deputy, in Spanish, to the departing commissioners.

"Take that to yourselves," rejoined Richardot, very fiercely; "you may be
sure that it will be your case."'

So ended that interview.

Directly afterwards there was a conference between the States'
commissioners and the French envoys.

Jeannin employed all his powers of argument: and persuasion to influence
the Netherlanders against a rupture of the negotiations because of the
India trade. It would be better to abandon that commerce, so he urged,
than to give up the hope of peace. The commissioners failed to see the
logic or to melt at the eloquence of his discourse. They would have been
still less inclined, if that were possible, to move from their position,
had they known of the secret conferences which Jeannin had just been
holding with Isaac le Maire of Amsterdam, and other merchants practically
familiar with the India trade. Carrying out the French king's plan to rob
the republic of that lucrative traffic, and to transplant it, by means of
experienced Hollanders, into France, the president, while openly siding
with the States, as their most disinterested friend, was secretly doing
all in his power to destroy the very foundation of their commonwealth.

Isaac le Maire came over from Amsterdam in a mysterious manner, almost in
disguise. Had his nocturnal dealings with the French minister been known,
he would have been rudely dealt with by the East India Company. He was a
native of Tournay, not a sincere republican therefore, was very strongly
affected to France, and declared that all his former fellow-townsmen, and
many more, had the fleur-de-lys stamped on their hearts. If peace should
be made without stipulation in favour of the East India Company, he, with
his three brothers, would do what they could to transfer that corporation
to France. All the details of such a prospective arrangement were
thoroughly discussed, and it was intimated that the king would be
expected to take shares in the enterprise. Jeannin had also repeated
conferences on the same subject with the great cosmographer Plancius. It
may be well understood, therefore, that the minister of Henry IV. was not
very ardent to encourage the States in their resolve to oppose peace or
truce, except with concession of the India trade.

The States preferred that the negotiations should come to nought on the
religious ground rather than on account of the India trade. The provinces
were nearly unanimous as to the prohibition of the Catholic worship, not
from bigotry for their own or hatred of other creeds, but from larger
views of what was then called tolerance, and from practical regard for
the necessities of the State. To permit the old worship, not from a sense
of justice but as an article of bargain with a foreign power, was not
only to abase the government of the States but to convert every sincere
Catholic throughout the republic into a grateful adherent of Philip and
the archdukes. It was deliberately to place a lever, to be used in all
future time, for the overthrow of their political structure.

In this the whole population was interested, while the India navigation,
although vital to the well-being of the nation, was not yet universally
recognised as so supremely important, and was declared by a narrow-minded
minority to concern the provinces of Holland and Zeeland alone.

All were silently agreed, therefore, to defer the religious question to
the last.

Especially, commercial greed induced the States to keep a firm clutch on
the great river on which the once splendid city of Antwerp stood. Ever
since that commercial metropolis had succumbed to Farnese, the republic
had maintained the lower forts, by means of which, and of Flushing at the
river's mouth, Antwerp was kept in a state of suspended animation. To
open the navigation of the Scheld, to permit free approach to Antwerp,
would, according to the narrow notions of the Amsterdam merchants, be
destructive to their own flourishing trade.

In vain did Richardot, in one well-fought conference, do his best to
obtain concessions on this important point. The States' commissioners
were as deaf as the Spaniards had been on the India question. Richardot,
no longer loud and furious, began to cry. With tears running down his
cheeks, he besought the Netherlanders not to insist so strenuously upon
all their points, and to remember that concessions were mutually
necessary, if an amicable arrangement were to be framed. The chances for
peace were promising. "Let not a blight be thrown over all our hopes," he
exclaimed, "by too great pertinacity on either side. Above all, let not
the States dictate terms as to a captive or conquered king, but propose
such conditions as a benevolent but powerful sovereign could accept."

These adjurations might be considered admirable, if it had been possible
for the royal commissioners to point to a single mustard-seed of
concession ever vouchsafed by them to the republic.

Meantime the month of March had passed. Nothing had been accomplished,
but it was agreed to prolong the armistice through April and May.

The negotiations having feebly dribbled off into almost absolute
extinction, Friar John was once more set in motion, and despatched to
Madrid. He was sent to get fresh instructions from Philip, and he
promised, on departing, to return in forty days. He hoped as his reward,
he said, to be made bishop of Utrecht. "That will be a little above your
calibre," replied Barneveld. Forty days was easily said, and the States
consented to the additional delay.

During his absence there was much tedious discussion of minor matters,
such as staple rights of wine and cloths, regulations of boundaries,
removal of restrictions on trade and navigation, passports, sequestered
estates, and the like; all of which were subordinate to the all-important
subjects of India and Religion, those two most tender topics growing so
much more tender the more they were handled as to cause at last a shiver
whenever they were approached. Nevertheless both were to be dealt with,
or the negotiations would fall to the ground.

The States felt convinced that they would fall to the ground, that they
had fallen to the ground, and they at least would not stoop to pick them
up again.

The forty days passed away, but the friar never returned. April and May
came and went, and again the armistice expired by its own limitation. The
war party was disgusted with the solemn trifling, Maurice was exasperated
beyond endurance, Barneveld and the peace men began to find immense
difficulty in confronting the gathering storm.

The prince, with difficulty, consented to a prolongation of the armistice
for two months longer; resolute to resume hostilities should no accord be
made before the end of July. The Advocate, with much earnestness, and
with more violence than was habitual with him, insisted on protracting
the temporary truce until the end of the year. The debates in the
States-General and the state-council were vehement; passion rose to
fever-heat, but the stadholder, although often half beside himself with
rage, ended by submitting once more to the will of Barneveld.

This was the easier, as the Advocate at last proposed an agreement which
seemed to Maurice and Lewis William even better than their own original
suggestion. It was arranged that the armistice should be prolonged until
the end of the year, but it was at the same time stipulated that unless
the negotiations had reached a definite result before the 1st of August,
they should be forthwith broken off.

Thus a period of enforced calm--a kind of vacation, as if these great
soldiers and grey-beards had been a troop of idle school-boys--was now
established, without the slightest reason.

President Jeannin took occasion to make a journey to Paris, leaving the
Hague on the 20th June.

During his absence a treaty of the States with England, similar in its
terms to the one recently concluded between the republic and France, but
only providing for half the number of auxiliary troops arranged for in
the French convention, was signed at the Hague. The English
plenipotentiaries, Vinwood and Spencer, wished to delay the exchange of
signatures under the pending negotiations with Spain and the archdukes
were brought to a close, as King James was most desirous at that epoch to
keep on good terms with his Catholic Majesty. The States were so urgent,
however, to bring at least this matter to a termination, and the English
so anxious lest France should gain still greater influence than she now
enjoyed in the provinces, that they at last gave way. It was further
stipulated in the convention that the debt of the States to England, then
amounting to L815,408 sterling, should be settled by annual payments of
L60,000; to begin with the expected peace.

Besides this debt to the English Government, the States-General owed nine
millions of florins (L900,000), and the separate provinces altogether
eighteen millions (L1,800,000). In short, there would be a deficiency of
at least three hundred thousand florins a month if the war went on,
although every imaginable device had already been employed for increasing
the revenue from taxation. It must be admitted therefore, that the
Barneveld party were not to be severely censured for their desire to
bring about an honourable peace.

That Jeannin was well aware of the disposition prevailing throughout a
great part of the commonwealth is certain. It is equally certain that he
represented to his sovereign, while at Paris, that the demand upon his
exchequer by the States, in case of the resumption of hostilities, would
be more considerable than ever. Immense was the pressure put upon Henry
by the Spanish court, during the summer, to induce him to abandon his
allies. Very complicated were the nets thrown out to entangle the wary
old politician in "the grey jacket and with the heart of gold," as he was
fond of designating himself, into an alliance with Philip and the
archdukes.

Don Pedro de Toledo, at the head of a magnificent embassy, arrived in
Paris with projects of arranging single, double, or triple marriages
between the respective nurseries of France and Spain. The Infanta might
marry with a French prince, and have all the Netherlands for her dower,
so soon as the childless archdukes should have departed this life. Or an
Infante might espouse a daughter of France with the same heritage
assigned to the young couple.

Such proposals, duly set forth in sonorous Spanish by the Constable of
Castile, failed to produce a very soothing effect on Henry's delicate
ear. He had seen and heard enough of gaining thrones by Spanish
marriages. Had not the very crown on his own head, which he had won with
foot in stirrup and lance in rest, been hawked about for years, appended
to the wedding ring of the Spanish Infanta? It might become convenient to
him at some later day, to form a family alliance with the house of
Austria, although he would not excite suspicion in the United Provinces
by openly accepting it then. But to wait for the shoes of Albert and
Isabella, and until the Dutch republic had been absorbed into the
obedient Netherlands by his assistance, was not a very flattering
prospect for a son or daughter of France. The ex-Huguenot and indomitable
campaigner in the field or in politics was for more drastic measures.
Should the right moment come, he knew well enough how to strike, and
could appropriate the provinces, obedient or disobedient, without
assistance from the Spanish babies.

Don Pedro took little by his propositions. The king stoutly declared that
the Netherlands were very near to his heart, and that he would never
abandon them on any consideration. So near, indeed, that he meant to
bring them still nearer, but this was not then suspected by the Spanish
court; Henry, the while, repelling as a personal insult to himself the
request that he should secretly labour to reduce the United Provinces
under subjection to the archdukes. It had even been proposed that he
should sign a secret convention to that effect, and there were those
about the court who were not ill-disposed for such a combination. The
king was, however, far too adroit to be caught in any such trap. The
marriage proposals in themselves he did not dislike, but Jeannin and he
were both of a mind that they should be kept entirely secret.

Don Pedro, on the contrary, for obvious reasons, was for making the
transactions ostentatiously public, and, as a guarantee of his master's
good faith in regard to the heritage of the Netherlands, he proposed that
every portion of the republic, thenceforth to be conquered by the allies,
should be confided to hands in which Henry and the archdukes would have
equal confidence.

But these artifices were too trivial to produce much effect. Henry
remained true, in his way, to the States-General, and Don Pedro was much
laughed at in Paris, although the public scarcely knew wherefore.

These intrigues had not been conducted so mysteriously but that Barneveld
was aware of what was going on. Both before Jeannin's departure from the
Hague in June, and on his return in the middle of August, he catechised
him very closely on the subject. The old Leaguer was too deep, however,
to be thoroughly pumped, even by so practised a hand as the Advocate's,
so that more was suspected than at the time was accurately known.

As, at the memorable epoch of the accession of the King of Scots to the
throne of Elizabeth, Maximilian de Bethune had flattered the new monarch
with the prospect of a double marriage, so now Don Fernando Girono had
been sent on solemn mission to England, in order to offer the same
infants to James which Don Pedro was placing at the disposition of Henry.

The British sovereign, as secretly fascinated by the idea of a Spanish
family alliance as he had ever been by the proposals of the Marquis de
Rosny for the French marriages, listened with eagerness. Money was
scattered as profusely among the English courtiers by Don Fernando as had
been done by De Bethune four years before. The bribes were accepted, and
often by the very personages who knew the colour of Bourbon money, but
the ducats were scarcely earned. Girono, thus urging on the English
Government the necessity of deserting the republic and cementing a
cordial, personal, and political understanding between James and Philip,
effected but little. It soon became thoroughly understood in England that
the same bargaining was going on simultaneously in France. As it was
evident that the Spanish children could not be disposed of in both
markets at the same time, it was plain to the dullest comprehension that
either the brokerage of Toledo or of Girono was a sham, and that a policy
erected upon such flimsy foundations would soon be washed away.

It is certain, however, that James, while affecting friendship for the
States, and signing with them the league of mutual assistance, was
secretly longing to nibble the bait dangled before him by Girono, and was
especially determined to prevent, if possible, the plans of Toledo.

Meantime, brother John Neyen was dealing with Philip and the Duke of
Lerma, in Spain.

The friar strenuously urged upon the favourite and the rest of the royal
advisers the necessity of prompt action with the States. This needed not
interfere with an unlimited amount of deception. It was necessary to
bring the negotiations to a definite agreement. It would be by no means
requisite, however, to hold to that agreement whenever a convenient
opportunity for breaking it should present itself. The first object of
Spanish policy, argued honest John, should be to get the weapons out of
the rebels' hands. The Netherlanders ought to be encouraged to return to
their usual pursuits of commerce and manufactures, whence they derived
their support, and to disband their military and naval forces. Their
sailors and traders should be treated kindly in Spain, instead of being
indulged as heretofore with no hospitality save that of the Holy
Inquisition and its dungeons. Let their minds be disarmed of all
suspicion. Now the whole population of the provinces had been convinced
that Spain, in affecting to treat, was secretly devising means to
re-impose her ancient yoke upon their necks.

Time went by in Aranjuez and Madrid. The forty days, promised as the
period of Neyen's absence, were soon gone; but what were forty days, or
forty times forty, at the Spanish court? The friar, who, whatever his
faults, was anything but an idler, chafed at a procrastination which
seemed the more stupendous to him, coming fresh as he did from a busy
people who knew the value of time. In the anguish of his soul he went to
Rodrigo Calderon, of the privy council, and implored his influence with
Government to procure leave for him to depart. Calderon, in urbane but
decisive terms, assured him that this would be impossible before the king
should return to Madrid. The monk then went to Idiaquez, who was in
favour of his proceeding at once to the Netherlands, but who on being
informed that Calderon was of a different opinion, gave up the point.
More distressed than ever, Neyen implored Prada's assistance, but Prada
plunged him into still deeper despair. His Majesty, said that counsellor,
with matchless effrontery, was studying the propositions of the
States-General, and all the papers in the negotiation, line by line,
comma by comma. There were many animadversions to make, many counter
suggestions to offer. The king was pondering the whole subject most
diligently. When those lucubrations were finished, the royal decision,
aided by the wisdom of the privy council, would be duly communicated to
the archdukes.

To wait for an answer to the propositions of the suspicious
States-General until Philip III. had mastered the subject in detail, was
a prospect too dreary even for the equable soul of Brother John. Dismayed
at the position in which he found himself, he did his best to ferret out
the reasons for the preposterous delay; not being willing to be paid off
in allusions to the royal investigations. He was still further appalled
at last by discovering that the delay was absolutely for the delay's
sake. It was considered inconsistent with the dignity of the Government
not to delay. The court and cabinet had quite made up their minds as to
the answer to be made to the last propositions of the rebels, but to make
it known at once was entirely out of the question. In the previous year
his Majesty's administration, so it was now confessed with shame, had
acted with almost indecent haste. That everything had been conceded to
the confederated provinces was the--common talk of Europe. Let the
time-honoured, inveterate custom of Spain in grave affairs to proceed
slowly, and therefore surely, be in future observed. A proper
self-respect required the king to keep the universe in suspense for a
still longer period upon the royal will and the decision of the royal
council.

Were the affairs of the mighty Spanish empire so subordinate to the
convenience of that portion of it called the Netherlands that no time was
to be lost before settling their affairs?

Such dismal frivolity, such palsied pride, seems scarcely credible; but
more than all this has been carefully recorded in the letters of the
friar.

If it were precipitation to spend the whole year 1607 in forming a single
phrase; to wit, that the archdukes and the king would treat with the
United Provinces as with countries to which they made no pretensions; and
to spend the best part of another year in futile efforts to recall that
phrase; if all this had been recklessness and haste, then, surely, the
most sluggish canal in Holland was a raging cataract, and the march of a
glacier electric speed.

Midsummer had arrived. The period in which peace was to be made or
abandoned altogether had passed. Jeannin had returned from his visit to
Paris; the Danish envoys, sent to watch the negotiations, had left the
Hague, utterly disgusted with a puppet-show, all the strings of which,
they protested, were pulled from the Louvre. Brother John, exasperated by
the superhuman delays, fell sick of a fever at Burgos, and was sent, on
his recovery, to the court at Valladolid to be made ill again by the same
cause, and still there came no sound from the Government of Spain.

At last the silence was broken. Something that was called the voice of
the king reached the ears of the archduke. Long had he wrestled in prayer
on this great subject, said Philip III., fervently had he besought the
Omnipotent for light. He had now persuaded himself that he should not
fulfil his duty to God, nor satisfy his own strong desire for maintaining
the Catholic faith, nor preserve his self-respect, if he now conceded his
supreme right to the Confederated Provinces at any other price than the
uncontrolled exercise, within their borders, of the Catholic religion. He
wished, therefore, as obedient son of the Church and Defender of the
Faith, to fulfil this primary duty, untrammelled by any human
consideration, by any profit that might induce him towards a contrary
course. That which he had on other occasions more than once signified he
now confirmed. His mind was fixed; this was his last and immutable
determination, that if the confederates should permit the free and public
exercise of the Catholic, Roman, Apostolic religion to all such as wished
to live and die in it, for this cause so grateful to God, and for no
other reason, he also would permit to them that supreme right over the
provinces, and that authority which now belonged to himself. Natives and
residents of those countries should enjoy liberty, just so long as the
exercise of the Catholic religion flourished there, and not one day nor
hour longer.

Philip then proceeded flatly to refuse the India navigation, giving
reasons very satisfactory to himself why the provinces ought cheerfully
to abstain from that traffic. If the confederates, in consequence of the
conditions thus definitely announced, moved by their innate pride and
obstinacy, and relying on the assistance of their allies, should break
off the negotiations, then it would be desirable to adopt the plan
proposed by Jeannin to Richardot, and conclude a truce for five or six
years. The king expressed his own decided preference for a truce rather
than a peace, and his conviction that Jeannin had made the suggestion by
command of his sovereign.

The negotiators stood exactly where they did when Friar John, disguised
as a merchant, first made his bow to the Prince and Barneveld in the
palace at the Hague.

The archduke, on receiving at last this peremptory letter from the king,
had nothing for it but to issue instructions accordingly to the
plenipotentiaries at the Hague. A decisive conference between those
diplomatists and the States' commissioners took place immediately
afterwards.

It was on the 20th August.

Although it had been agreed on the 1st May to break off negotiations on
the ensuing 1st of August, should no result be reached, yet three weeks
beyond that period had been suffered to elapse, under a tacit agreement
to wait a little longer for the return of the friar. President Jeannin,
too, had gone to Paris on the 20th June, to receive new and important
instructions; verbal and written, from his sovereign, and during his
absence it had not been thought expedient to transact much business.
Jeannin returned to the Hague on the 15th of August, and, as definite
instructions from king and archduke had now arrived, there seemed no
possibility of avoiding an explanation.

The Spanish envoys accordingly, with much gravity, and as if they had
been propounding some cheerful novelty, announced to the assembled
commissioners that all reports hitherto flying about as to the Spanish
king's intentions were false.

His Majesty had no intention of refusing to give up the sovereignty of
the provinces. On the contrary, they were instructed to concede that
sovereignty freely and frankly to my lords the States-General--a pearl
and a precious jewel, the like of which no prince had ever given away
before. Yet the king desired neither gold nor silver, neither cities nor
anything else of value in exchange. He asked only for that which was
indispensable to the tranquillity of his conscience before God, to wit,
the re-establishment in those countries of the Catholic Apostolic Roman
religion. This there could surely be no reasons for refusing. They owed
it as a return for the generosity of the king, they owed it to their own
relatives, they owed it to the memory of their ancestors, not to show
greater animosity to the ancient religion than to the new and pernicious
sect of Anabaptists, born into the world for the express purpose of
destroying empires; they owed it to their many fellow-citizens, who would
otherwise be driven into exile, because deprived of that which is dearest
to humanity.

In regard to the East India navigation, inasmuch as the provinces had no
right whatever to it, and as no other prince but the sovereign of Spain
had any pretensions to it, his Majesty expected that the States would at
once desist from it.

This was the magnificent result of twenty months of diplomacy. As the
king's father had long ago flung away the pearl and precious jewel which
the son now made a merit of selling to its proprietors at the price of
their life's blood--the world's commerce--it is difficult to imagine that
Richardot, while communicating thin preposterous ultimatum, could have
kept his countenance. But there were case-hardened politicians on both
sides. The proposition was made and received with becoming seriousness,
and it was decided by the States' commissioners to make no answer at all
on that occasion. They simply promised to render their report to the
States-General, who doubtless would make short work with the matter.

They made their report and it occasioned a tumult. Every member present
joined in a general chorus of wrathful denunciation. The Spanish
commissioners were infamous swindlers, it was loudly asserted. There
should be no more dealings with them at all. Spain was a power only to be
treated with on the battle-field. In the tempest of general rage no one
would listen to argument, no one asked which would be the weaker, which
the stronger party, what resources for the renewed warfare could be
founds or who would be the allies of the republic. Hatred, warlike fury
and scorn at the duplicity with which they had been treated, washed every
more politic sentiment away, and metamorphosed that body of burghers as
in an instant. The negotiations should be broken off, not on one point,
but on all points, and nothing was left but to prepare instantly for war.
Three days later, after the French and English ambassadors, as well as
Prince Maurice and Count Lewis William, had been duly consulted,
comparative calm was restored, and a decisive answer was unanimously
voted by the States-General. The proposition of the commissioners was
simply declared to be in direct violation of the sovereignty and freedom
of the country, and it was announced that, if it should be persisted in,
the whole negotiation might be considered as broken off. A formal answer
to the royal propositions would be communicated likewise to the envoys of
foreign powers, in order that the royal commissioners might be placed
completely in the wrong.

On the 25th August an elaborate response was accordingly delivered in
writing by the States' commissioners to those of the archdukes and king,
it being at the same time declared by Barneveld and his colleagues that
their functions were ended, and that this document, emanating from the
States-General, was a sovereign resolution, not a diplomatic note.

The contents of this paper may be inferred from all that has been
previously narrated. The republic knew its own mind, and had always
expressed itself with distinctness. The Spanish Government having at last
been brought to disclose its intentions, there was an end to the
negotiations for peace. The rupture was formally announced.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Night brings counsel
     This obstinate little republic
     Triple marriages between the respective nurseries
     Usual expedient by which bad legislation on one side countered



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 82, 1608



CHAPTER LI.

   Designs of Henry IV.--New marriage project between France and Spain
   Formal proposition of negotiating for a truce between the States and
   Spain--Exertions of Prince Maurice to counteract the designs of
   Barneveld--Strife between the two parties in the republic--Animosity
   of the people against Barneveld--Return of the Spanish
   commissioners--Further trifling--Dismissal of the commissioners--
   Close of the negotiations--Accidental discovery of the secret
   instructions of the archdukes to the commissioners--Opposing
   factions in the republic--Oration of President Jeannin before the
   States-General--Comparison between the Dutch and Swiss republics--
   Calumnies against the Advocate--Ambassador Lambert in France--
   Henry's letter to Prince Maurice--Reconciliation of Maurice and
   Barneveld--Agreement of the States to accept a truce.

President Jeannin had long been prepared for this result. It was also by
no means distasteful to him. A peace would not have accorded with the
ulterior and secretly cherished schemes of his sovereign, and during his
visit to Paris, he had succeeded in persuading Henry that a truce would
be far the most advantageous solution of the question, so far as his
interests were concerned.

For it had been precisely during that midsummer vacation of the President
at Paris that Henry had completed his plot against the liberty of the
republic, of which he professed himself the only friend. Another phase of
Spanish marriage-making had excited his ever scheming and insidious
brain. It had been proposed that the second son of the Spanish king
should espouse one of Henry's daughters.

The papal Nuncius asked what benefit the King of Spain would receive for
his share, in case of the marriage. The French king replied by plainly
declaring to the Nuncius that the United States should abstain from and
renounce all navigation to and commerce with the Indies, and should
permit public exercise of the Catholic religion. If they refused, would
incontinently abandon them to their fate. More than this, he said, could
not honestly be expected of him.

Surely this was enough. Honestly or dishonestly, what more could Spain
expect of the republic's best ally, than that he should use all his
efforts to bring her back into Spanish subjection, should deprive her of
commerce with three-quarters of the world, and compel her to re-establish
the religion which she believed, at that period, to be incompatible with
her constitutional liberties? It is difficult to imagine a more
profligate or heartless course than the one pursued at this juncture by
Henry. Secretly, he was intriguing, upon the very soil of the
Netherlands, to filch from them that splendid commerce which was the
wonder of the age, which had been invented and created by Dutch
navigators and men of science, which was the very foundation of their
State, and without which they could not exist, in order that he might
appropriate it to himself, and transfer the East India Company to France;
while at Paris he was solemnly engaging himself in a partnership with
their ancient and deadly enemy to rob them of their precious and nobly
gained liberty. Was better proof ever afforded that God alone can protect
us against those whom we trust? Who was most dangerous to the United
Provinces during those memorable peace negotiations, Spain the avowed
enemy, or France the friend?

The little republic had but her own sword, her own brain, and her own
purse to rely upon. Elizabeth was dead, and James loved Spain better than
he did the Netherlands, and quiet better than Spain. "I have told you
often," said Caron, "and I say it once more, the Spaniard is lucky that
he has such a peaceable king as this to deal with in England."

The details of the new marriage project were arranged at Paris between
the Nuncius, the Spanish ambassador, Don Pedro de Toledo, the diplomatic
agent of the archdukes, and Henry's ministers, precisely as if there had
been no negotiations going on between the States and Spain. Yet the
French king was supposed to be the nearest friend of the States, and was
consulted by them on every occasion, while his most intimate and trusted
counsellor, the ingenuous Jeannin, whose open brow was stamped with
sincerity, was privy to all their most secret deliberations.

But the statesman thus dealing with the Hollanders under such a mask of
friendly candour, knew perfectly well the reason why his Government
preferred a truce to a peace. During a prolonged truce, the two royal
children would grow old enough for the consummation of marriage, and the
States--so it was hoped--would be corrupted and cajoled into renouncing
their liberty. All the Netherlands would be then formed into a
secundogeniture for Spain, and the first sovereign would be the husband
of a French princess. Even as an object of ambition, the prize to be
secured by so much procrastination and so much treachery was paltry.

When the Spanish commissioners came to the French and English ambassadors
accordingly, complaining of the abrupt and peremptory tone of the States'
reply, the suggestion of conferences for truce, in place of fruitless
peace negotiations, was made at once, and of course favourably received.
It was soon afterwards laid before the States-General. To this end, in
truth, Richardot and his colleagues had long been secretly tending.
Moreover, the subject had been thoroughly but secretly discussed long
before between Jeannin and Barneveld.

The French and English ambassadors, accordingly, on the 27th August, came
before the States-General, and made a formal proposition for the opening
of negotiations for a truce. They advised the adoption of this course in
the strongest manner. "Let the truce be made with you," they said, "as
with free States, over which the king and the archdukes have no
pretensions, with the understanding that, during the time of the truce
you are to have free commerce as well to the Indies as to Spain and the
obedient Netherlands, and to every part of the Spanish dominions; that
you are to retain all that you possess at present, and that such other
conditions are to be added as you may find it reasonable to impose.
During this period of leisure you will have time to put your affairs in
order, to pay your debts, and to reform your Government, and if you
remain united, the truce will change into an absolute peace."

Maurice was more indignant when the new scheme was brought to his notice
than he had ever been before, and used more violent language in opposing
a truce than he had been used to employ when striving against a peace. To
be treated with, as with a free State, and to receive permission to trade
with the outside world until the truce should expire, seemed to him a
sorry result for the republic to accept.

The state-council declared, by way of answer to the foreign ambassadors,
that the principal points and conditions which had been solemnly fixed,
before the States had consented to begin the negotiations, had been
disputed with infinite effrontery and shamelessness by the enemy. The
pure and perfect sovereignty notoriously included religion and navigation
to any part of the world; and the republic would never consent to any
discussion of truce unless these points were confirmed beforehand with
the Spanish king's signature and seal.

This resolution of the council--a body which stood much under the
influence of the Nassaus--was adopted next day by the States-General, and
duly communicated to the friendly ambassadors.

The foreign commissioners, when apprised of this decision, begged for six
weeks' time; in order to be able to hear from Madrid.

Even the peace party was disgusted with this impertinence. Maurice boiled
over with wrath. The ambassadors recommended compliance with the
proposal. Their advice was discussed in the States-General, eighty
members being present, besides Maurice and Lewis William. The stadholder
made a violent and indignant speech.

He was justified in his vehemence. Nothing could exceed the perfidy of
their great ally.

"I know that the King of France calculates thus"--wrote Aerssens at that
moment from Paris--"'If the truce lasts seven years, my son will be old
enough to accomplish the proposed marriage, and they will be obliged to
fulfil their present offers. Otherwise; I would break the truce in the
Netherlands, and my own peace with them, in order to take from the
Spaniard by force what he led me to hope from alliance.' Thus it is,"
continued the States' envoy, "that his Majesty condescends to propose, to
us a truce, which may have a double interpretation, according to the
disposition of the strongest, and thus our commonwealth will be kept in
perpetual disquiet, without knowing whether it is sovereign or not. Nor
will it be sovereign unless it shall so please our neighbour, who by this
means will always keep his foot upon our throat."

"To treat with the States as if they were free," said Henry to the
Nuncius soon afterwards, "is not to make them free. This clause does no
prejudice to the rights of the King of Spain, except for the time of the
truce." Aerssens taxed the king with having said this. His Majesty flatly
denied it. The republican envoy bluntly adduced the testimony of the
ambassadors of Venice and of Wirtemberg. The king flew into a rage on
seeing that his secrets had been divulged, and burst out with these
words: "What you demand is not reasonable. You wish the king of Spain to
renounce his rights in order to arrive at a truce. You wish to dictate
the law to him. If you had just gained four battles over him, you could
not demand more. I have always held you for sovereigns, because I am your
friend, but if you would judge by equity and justice, you are not
sovereigns. It is not reasonable that the king of Spain should quit the
sovereignty for always, and you ought to be satisfied with having it so
long as the treaty shall last."

Here was playing at sovereignty with a vengeance. Sovereignty was a
rattle for the States to amuse themselves with, until the royal infants,
French and Spanish, should be grown old enough to take the sovereignty
for good. Truly this was indeed keeping the republic under the king's
heel to be crushed at his pleasure, as Aerssens, with just bitterness,
exclaimed.

Two days were passed at the Hague in vehement debate. The deputies of
Zeeland withdrew. The deputies from Holland were divided, but, on the
whole, it was agreed to listen to propositions of truce, provided the
freedom of the United Provinces--not under conditions nor during a
certain period, but simply and for all time--should be recognised
beforehand.

It was further decided on the 14th September to wait until the end of the
month for the answer from Spain.

After the 1st of October it was distinctly intimated to the Spanish
commissioners that they must at once leave the country unless the king
had then acknowledged the absolute independence of the provinces.

A suggestion which had been made by these diplomatists to prolong the
actually existing armistice into a truce of seven years, a step which
they professed themselves willing to take upon their own responsibility,
had been scornfully rejected by the States. It was already carrying them
far enough away, they said, to take them away from a peace to a truce,
which was something far less secure than a peace, but the continuance of
this floating, uncertain armistice would be the most dangerous insecurity
of all. This would be going from firm land to slippery ice, and from
slippery ice into the water. By such a process, they would have neither
war nor peace--neither liberty of government nor freedom of commerce--and
they unanimously refused to listen to any such schemes.

During the fortnight which followed this provisional consent of the
States, the prince redoubled his efforts to counteract the Barneveld
party.

He was determined, so far as in him lay, that the United Netherlands
should never fall back under the dominion of Spain. He had long
maintained the impossibility of effecting their thorough independence
except by continuing the war, and had only with reluctance acquiesced in
the arguments of the French ambassadors in favour of peace negotiations.
As to the truce, he vehemently assured those envoys that it was but a
trap. How could the Netherlanders know who their friends might be when
the truce should have expired, and under what unfavourable auspices they
might not be compelled to resume hostilities?

As if he had been actually present at the council boards in Madrid and
Valladolid, or had been reading the secret letters of Friar John to
Spinola, he affirmed that the only object of Spain was to recruit her
strength and improve her finances, now entirely exhausted. He believed,
on the other hand, that the people of the provinces, after they should
have once become accustomed to repose; would shrink from exchanging their
lucrative pursuits for war, and would prefer to fall back under the yoke
of Spain. During the truce they would object to the furnishing of
necessary contributions for garrison expenses, and the result would be
that the most important cities and strongholds, especially those on the
frontier, which were mainly inhabited by Catholics, would become
insecure. Being hostile to a Government which only controlled them by
force, they would with difficulty be kept in check by diminished
garrisons, unless they should obtain liberty of Catholic worship.

It is a dismal proof of the inability of a leading mind, after half a
century's war, to comprehend the true lesson of the war--that toleration
of the Roman religion seemed to Maurice an entirely inadmissible idea.
The prince could not rise to the height on which his illustrious father
had stood; and those about him, who encouraged him in his hostility to
Catholicism, denounced Barneveld and Arminius as no better than traitors
and atheists. In the eyes of the extreme party, the mighty war had been
waged, not to liberate human thought, but to enforce predestination; and
heretics to Calvinism were as offensive in their eyes as Jews and
Saracens had ever been to Torquemada.

The reasons were unanswerable for the refusal of the States to bind
themselves to a foreign sovereign in regard to the interior
administration of their commonwealth; but that diversity of religious
worship should be considered incompatible with the health of the young
republic--that the men who had so bravely fought the Spanish Inquisition
should now claim their own right of inquisition into the human
conscience--this was almost enough to create despair as to the
possibility of the world's progress. The seed of intellectual advancement
is slow in ripening, and it is almost invariably the case that the
generation which plants--often but half conscious of the mightiness of
its work--is not the generation which reaps the harvest. But all mankind
at last inherits what is sown in the blood and tears of a few. That
Government, whether regal or democratic, should dare to thrust itself
between man and his Maker--that the State, not with interfering in a
thousand superfluous ways with the freedom of individual human action in
the business of life, should combine with the Church to reduce human
thought to slavery in regard to the sacred interests of eternity, was one
day to be esteemed a blasphemous presumption in lands which deserved to
call themselves free. But that hour had not yet come.

"If the garrisons should be weakened," said the prince, "nothing could be
expected from the political fidelity of the town populations in question,
unless they should be allowed the exercise of their own religion. But the
States could hardly be disposed to grant this voluntarily, for fear of
injuring the general insecurity and violating the laws of the
commonwealth, built as it is upon a foundation which cannot suffer this
diversity in the public exercise of religion. Already," continued
Maurice, "there are the seeds of dissension in the provinces and in the
cities, sure to ripen in the idleness and repose of peace to an open
division. This would give the enemy a means of intriguing with and
corrupting those who are already wickedly inclined."

Thus in the year 1608, the head of the Dutch republic, the son of William
the Silent, seemed to express himself in favour of continuing a horrible
war, not to maintain the political independence of his country, but to
prevent Catholics from acquiring the right of publicly worshipping God
according to the dictates of their conscience.

Yet it would be unjust to the prince, whose patriotism was as pure and
unsullied as his sword, to confound his motives with his end. He was
firmly convinced that liberty of religious worship, to be acquired during
the truce, would inevitably cause the United Provinces to fall once more
under the Spanish yoke. The French ambassador, with whom he conferred
every day, never doubted his sincerity. Gelderland, Friesland, Overyssel,
Groningen, and Utrecht, five provinces out of the united seven, the
prince declared to be chiefly inhabited by Catholics. They had only
entered the union, he said, because compelled by force. They could only
be kept in the union by force, unless allowed freedom of religion. His
inference from such a lamentable state of affairs was, not that the
experiment of religious worship should be tried, but that the garrisons
throughout the five provinces ought to be redoubled, and the war with
Spain indefinitely waged. The President was likewise of opinion that "a
revolt of these five provinces against the union might be at any moment
expected, ill disposed as they were to recognise a sovereignty which
abolished their religion." Being himself a Catholic, however, it was not
unnatural that he should make a different deduction from that of the
prince, and warmly recommend, not more garrisons, but more liberty of
worship.

Thus the very men who were ready to dare all, and to sacrifice all in
behalf of their country, really believed themselves providing for the
imperishable security of the commonwealth by placing it on the narrow
basis of religious intolerance.

Maurice, not satisfied with making these vehement arguments against the
truce in his conferences with the envoys of the French and British
sovereigns, employed the brief interval yet to elapse before definitely
breaking off or resuming the conferences with the Spanish commissioners
in making vigorous appeals to the country.

"The weal or woe of the United Provinces for all time," he said, "is
depending on the present transactions." Weigh well the reasons we urge,
and make use of those which seem to you convincing. You know that the
foe, according to his old deceitful manner, laid down very specious
conditions at the beginning, in order to induce my lords the
States-General to treat.

"If the king and the archdudes sincerely mean to relinquish absolutely
their pretensions to these provinces, they can certainly have no
difficulty in finding honest and convenient words to express their
intention. As they are seeking other phrases than the usual and
straightforward ones, they give certain proof that they mean to keep back
from us the substance. They are trying to cheat us with dark, dubious,
loosely-screwed terms, which secure nothing and bind to nothing. If it be
wise to trust the welfare of our State to ambiguous words, you can judge
according to your own discretion.

"Recognition of our sovereignty is the foundation-stone of these
negotiations.

"Let every man be assured that, with such mighty enemies, we can do
nothing by halves. We cannot afford to retract, mutilate, or moderate our
original determination. He who swerves from the straight road at the
beginning is lost; he who stumbles at the first step is apt to fall down
the whole staircase. If, on account of imaginable necessity, we postpone
that most vital point, the assurance of our freedom, we shall very easily
allow less important points to pass muster, and at last come tamely into
the path of reconciliation. That was exactly the danger which our
ancestors in similar negotiations always feared, and against which we too
have always done our best to guard ourselves.

"Wherefore, if the preservation of our beloved fatherland is dear to you,
I exhort you to maintain that great fundamental resolution, at all times
and against all men, even if this should cause the departure of the
enemy's commissioners. What can you expect from them but evil fruit?"

He then advised all the estates and magistracies which he was addressing
to instruct their deputies, at the approaching session of the
States-General, to hold on to the first article of the often-cited
preliminary resolution without allowing one syllable to be altered.
Otherwise nothing could save the commonwealth from dire and notorious
confusion. Above all, he entreated them to act in entire harmony and
confidence with himself and his cousin, even as they had ever done with
his illustrious father.

Certainly the prince fully deserved the confidence of the States, as well
for his own signal services and chivalrous self-devotion, as for the
unexampled sacrifices and achievements of William the Silent. His words
had the true patriotic ring of his father's frequent and eloquent
appeals; and I have not hesitated to give these extracts from his
discourse, because comparatively few of such utterances of Maurice have
been preserved, and because it gives a vivid impression of the condition
of the republic and the state of parties at that momentous epoch. It was
not merely the fate of the United Netherlands and the question of peace
or war between the little republic and its hereditary enemy that were
upon the issue. The peace of all Christendom, the most considerable
material interests of civilization, and the highest political and moral
principles that can influence human action, were involved in those
negotiations.

There were not wanting many to impeach the purity of the stadholder's
motives. As admiral or captain-general, he received high salaries,
besides a tenth part of all prize-money gained at sea by the fleets, or
of ransom and blackmail on land by the armies of the republic. His
profession, his ambition, his delights, were those of a soldier. As a
soldier in a great war, he was more necessary to his countrymen than he
could expect to be as a statesman in time of peace. But nothing ever
appeared in public or in private, which threw a reasonable suspicion upon
his lofty patriotism. Peace he had always believed to be difficult of
attainment. It had now been proved impossible. A truce he honestly
considered a pitfall of destruction, and he denounced it, as we have
seen, in the language of energetic conviction. He never alluded to his
pecuniary losses in case peace should be made. His disinterested
patriotism was the frequent subject of comment in the most secret letters
of the French ambassadors to the king. He had repeatedly refused enormous
offers if he would forsake the cause of the republic. The King of France
was ever ready to tempt him with bribes, such as had proved most
efficacious with men as highly born and as highly placed as a cadet of
the house of Orange-Nassau. But there is no record that Jeannin assailed
him at this crisis with such temptations, although it has not been
pretended that the prince was obdurate to the influence of Mammon when
that deity could be openly approached.

That Maurice loved power, pelf, and war, can hardly be denied. That he
had a mounting ambition; that he thought a monarchy founded upon the
historical institutions and charters of the provinces might be better
than the burgher-aristocracy which, under the lead of Barneveld, was
establishing itself in the country; that he knew no candidate so eligible
for such a throne as his father's son, all this is highly probable and
scarcely surprising. But that such sentiments or aspirations caused him
to swerve the ninth part of a hair from what he considered the direct
path of duty; that he determined to fight out the great fight with Spain
and Rome until the States were free in form, in name, and in fact; only
that he might then usurp a sovereignty which would otherwise revert to
Philip of Spain or be snatched by Henry of Navarre--of all this there is
no proof whatever.

The language of Lewis William to the provinces under his government was
quite as vigorous as the appeals of Maurice.

During the brief interval remaining before the commissioners should
comply with the demands of the States or take their departure, the press
throughout the Netherlands was most active. Pamphlets fell thick as hail.
The peace party and the war party contended with each other, over all the
territory of the provinces, as vigorously as the troops of Fuentes or
Bucquoy had ever battled with the columns of Bax and Meetkerke. The types
of Blaauw and Plantin were as effective during the brief armistice, as
pike and arquebus in the field, but unfortunately they were used by
Netherlanders against each other. As a matter of course, each party
impeached the motives as well as the actions of its antagonist. The
adherents of the Advocate accused the stadholder of desiring the
continuance of the war for personal aims. They averred that six thousand
men for guarding the rivers would be necessary, in addition to the
forty-five thousand men, now kept constantly on foot. They placed the
requisite monthly expenses, if hostilities were resumed, at 800,000
florins, while they pointed to the 27,000,000 of debt over and above the
8,000,000 due to the British crown, as a burthen under which the republic
could scarcely stagger much longer. Such figures seem modest enough, as
the price of a war of independence.

Familiar with the gigantic budgets of our own day, we listen with
something like wonder, now that two centuries and a half have passed, to
the fierce denunciations by the war party of these figures as wilful
fictions. Science has made in that interval such gigantic strides. The
awful intellect of man may at last make war impossible for his physical
strength. He can forge but cannot wield the hammer of Thor; nor has
Science yet discovered the philosopher's stone. Without it, what
exchequer can accept chronic warfare and escape bankruptcy? After what
has been witnessed in these latest days, the sieges and battles of that
distant epoch seem like the fights of pigmies and cranes. Already an
eighty years' war, such as once was waged, has become inconceivable. Let
two more centuries pass away, and perhaps a three weeks' campaign may
exhaust an empire.

Meantime the war of words continued. A proclamation with penalties was
issued by the States against the epidemic plague of pamphlets or
"blue-books," as those publications were called in Holland, but with
little result. It was not deemed consistent with liberty by those
republicans to put chains on the press because its utterances might
occasionally be distasteful to magistrates. The writers, printers, and
sellers of the "blue-books" remained unpunished and snapped their fingers
at the placard.

We have seen the strenuous exertions of the Nassaus and their adherents
by public appeals and private conversation to defeat all schemes of
truce. The people were stirred by the eloquence of the two stadholders.
They were stung to fury against Spain and against Barneveld by the
waspish effusions of the daily press. The magistrates remained calm, and
took part by considerable majorities with Barneveld. That statesman,
while exercising almost autocratic influence in the estates, became more
and more odious to the humbler classes, to the Nassaus, and especially to
the Calvinist clergy. He was denounced, as a papist, an atheist, a
traitor, because striving for an honourable peace with the foe, and
because admitting the possibility of more than one road to the kingdom of
Heaven. To doubt the infallibility of Calvin was as heinous a crime, in
the eyes of his accusers, as to kneel to the host. Peter Titelmann, half
a century earlier, dripping with the blood of a thousand martyrs, seemed
hardly a more loathsome object to all Netherlanders than the Advocate now
appeared to his political enemies, thus daring to preach religious
toleration, and boasting of, humble ignorance as the safest creed. Alas!
we must always have something to persecute, and individual man is never
so convinced of his own wisdom as when dealing with subjects beyond human
comprehension.

Unfortunately, however, while the great Advocate was clear in his
conscience he had scarcely clean hands. He had very recently accepted a
present of twenty thousand florins from the King of France. That this was
a bribe by which his services were to be purchased for a cause not in
harmony with his own convictions it would be unjust to say. We of a later
generation, who have had the advantage of looking through the portfolio
of President Jeannin, and of learning the secret intentions of that
diplomatist and of his master, can fully understand however that there
was more than sufficient cause at the time for suspecting the purity of
the great Advocate's conduct. We are perfectly aware that the secret
instructions of Henry gave his plenipotentiaries almost unlimited power
to buy up as many influential personages in the Netherlands as could be
purchased. So they would assist in making the king master of the United
Provinces at the proper moment there was scarcely any price that he was
not willing to pay.

Especially Prince Maurice, his cousin, and the Advocate of Holland, were
to be secured by life pensions, property, offices, and dignities, all
which Jeannin might offer to an almost unlimited amount, if by such means
those great personages could possibly be induced to perform the king's
work.

There is no record that the president ever held out such baits at this
epoch to the prince. There could never be a doubt however in any one's
mind that if the political chief of the Orange-Nassau house ever wished
to make himself the instrument by which France should supplant Spain in
the tyranny of the Netherlands, he might always name his own price.
Jeannin never insulted him with any such trading propositions. As for
Barneveld, he avowed long years afterwards that he had accepted the
twenty thousand florins, and that the king had expressly exacted secrecy
in regard to the transaction. He declared however that the money was a
reward for public services rendered by him to the French Government ten
years before, in the course of his mission to France at the time of the
peace of Vervins. The reward had been promised in 1598, and the pledge
was fulfilled in 1608. In accepting wages fairly earned, however, he
protested that he had bound himself to no dishonourable service, and that
he had never exchanged a word with Jeannin or with any man in regard to
securing for Henry the sovereignty of the Netherlands.

His friends moreover maintained in his defence that there were no laws in
the Netherlands forbidding citizens to accept presents or pensions from
foreign powers. Such an excuse was as bad as the accusation. Woe to the
republic whose citizens require laws to prevent them from becoming
stipendiaries of foreign potentates! If public virtue, the only
foundation of republican institutions, be so far washed away that laws in
this regard are necessary to save it from complete destruction, then
already the republic is impossible. Many who bore illustrious names, and
occupied the highest social positions at, that day in France, England,
and the obedient provinces, were as venal as cattle at a fair. Philip and
Henry had bought them over and over again, whenever either was rich
enough to purchase and strong enough to enforce the terms of sale. Bribes
were taken with both hands in overflowing measure; the difficulty was
only in obtaining the work for the wage.

But it would have been humiliating beyond expression had the new
commonwealth, after passing through the fiery furnace of its great war,
proved no purer than leading monarchies at a most corrupt epoch. It was
no wonder therefore that men sought to wipe off the stain from the
reputation of Barneveld, and it is at least a solace that there was no
proof of his ever rendering, or ever having agreed to render, services
inconsistent with his convictions as to the best interests of the
commonwealth. It is sufficiently grave that he knew the colour of the
king's money, and that in a momentous crisis of history he accepted a
reward for former professional services, and that the broker in the
transaction, President Jeannin, seriously charged him by Henry's orders
to keep the matter secret. It would be still more dismal if Jeannin, in
his private letters, had ever intimated to Villeroy or his master that he
considered it a mercantile transaction, or if any effort had ever been
made by the Advocate to help Henry to the Batavian throne. This however
is not the case.

In truth, neither Maurice nor Barneveld was likely to assist the French
king in his intrigues against the independence of their fatherland. Both
had higher objects of ambition than to become the humble and well-paid
servants of a foreign potentate. The stadholder doubtless dreamed of a
crown which might have been his father's, and which his own illustrious
services might be supposed to have earned for himself. If that tempting
prize were more likely to be gained by a continuance of the war, it is
none the less certain that he considered peace, and still more truce, as
fatal to the independence of the provinces.

The Advocate, on the other hand, loved his country well. Perhaps he loved
power even better. To govern the city magistracies of Holland, through
them the provincial estates; and through them again the States-General of
the whole commonwealth; as first citizen of a republic to wield; the
powers of a king; as statesman, diplomatist, and financier, to create a
mighty empire out of those slender and but recently emancipated provinces
of Spain, was a more flattering prospect for a man of large intellect,
iron will, and infinite resources, than to sink into the contemptible
position of stipendiary to a foreign master. He foresaw change, growth,
transformation in the existing condition of things. Those great
corporations the East and West India Companies were already producing a
new organism out of the political and commercial chaos which had been so
long brooding over civilization. Visions of an imperial zone extending
from the little Batavian island around the earth, a chain of forts and
factories dotting the newly-discovered and yet undiscovered points of
vantage, on island or promontory, in every sea; a watery, nebulous, yet
most substantial empire--not fantastic, but practical--not picturesque
and mediaeval, but modern and lucrative--a world-wide commonwealth with a
half-submerged metropolis, which should rule the ocean with its own
fleets and, like Venice and Florence, job its land wars with mercenary
armies--all these dreams were not the cloudy pageant of a poet but the
practical schemes of a great creative mind. They were destined to become
reality. Had the geographical conditions been originally more favourable
than they were, had Nature been less a stepmother to the metropolis of
the rising Batavian realm, the creation might have been more durable.
Barneveld, and the men who acted with him, comprehended their age, and
with slender materials were prepared to do great things. They did not
look very far perhaps into futurity, but they saw the vast changes
already taking place, and felt the throb of forces actually at work.

The days were gone when the iron-clad man on horseback conquered a
kingdom with his single hand. Doubtless there is more of poetry and
romance in his deeds than in the achievements of the counting-house
aristocracy, the hierarchy of joint-stock corporations that was taking
the lead in the world's affairs. Enlarged views of the social compact and
of human liberty, as compared with those which later generations ought to
take, standing upon the graves, heaped up mountains high, of their
predecessors, could hardly be expected of them. But they knew how to do
the work before them. They had been able to smite a foreign and
sacerdotal tyranny into the dust at the expense of more blood and more
treasure, and with sacrifices continued through a longer cycle of years,
than had ever been recorded by history.

Thus the Advocate believed that the chief fruits of the war--political
independence, religious liberty, commercial expansion--could be now
secured by diplomacy, and that a truce could be so handled as to become
equivalent to a peace. He required no bribes therefore to labour for that
which he believed to be for his own interests and for those of the
country.

First citizen of Holland, perpetual chairman of a board of ambitious
shopkeepers who purposed to dictate laws to the world from their
counting-house table, with an unerring eye for the interests of the
commonwealth and his own, with much vision, extraordinary eloquence, and
a magnificent will, he is as good a sample of a great burgher--an
imposing not a heroic figure--as the times had seen.

A vast stride had been taken in the world's progress. Even monopoly was
freedom compared to the sloth and ignorance of an earlier epoch and of
other lands, and although the days were still far distant when the earth
was to belong to mankind, yet the modern republic was leading, half
unconsciously, to a period of wider liberty of government, commerce, and
above all of thought.

Meantime, the period assigned for the departure of the Spanish
commissioners, unless they brought a satisfactory communication from the
king, was rapidly approaching.

On the 24th September Verreyken returned from Brussels, but it was soon
known that he came empty handed. He informed the French and English
ambassadors that the archdukes, on their own responsibility, now
suggested the conclusion of a truce of seven years for Europe only. This
was to be negotiated with the States-General as with free people, over
whom no pretensions of authority were made, and the hope was expressed
that the king would give his consent to this arrangement.

The ambassadors naturally refused to carry the message to the States. To
make themselves the mouthpieces of such childish suggestions was to bring
themselves and their masters into contempt. There had been trifling
enough, and even Jeannin saw that the storm of indignation about to burst
forth would be irresistible. There was no need of any attempt on the part
of the commissioners to prolong their stay if this was the result of the
fifteen days' grace which had so reluctantly been conceded to them. To
express a hope that the king might perhaps give his future approval to a
proceeding for which his signed and sealed consent had been exacted as an
indispensable preliminary, was carrying effrontery further than had yet
been attempted in these amazing negotiations.

Prince Maurice once more addressed the cities of Holland, giving vent to
his wrath in language with which there was now more sympathy than there
had been before. "Verreyken has come back," he said, "not with a
signature, but with a hope. The longer the enemy remains in the country
the more he goes back from what he had originally promised. He is seeking
for nothing more than, in this cheating way and in this pretence of
waiting for the king's consent--which we have been expecting now for more
than eighteen months--to continue the ruinous armistice. Thus he keeps
the country in a perpetual uncertainty, the only possible consequence of
which is our complete destruction. We adjure you therefore to send a
resolution in conformity with our late address, in order that through
these tricks and snares the fatherland may not fall into the clutch of
the enemy, and thus into eternal and intolerable slavery. God save us all
from such a fate!"

Neither Barneveld nor Jeannin attempted to struggle against the almost
general indignation. The deputies of Zeeland withdrew from the assembly
of the States-General, protesting that they would never appear there
again so long as the Spanish commissioners remained in the country. The
door was opened wide, and it was plain that those functionaries must take
their departure. Pride would not allow them to ask permission of the
States to remain, although they intimated to the ambassadors their
intense desire to linger for ten or twelve days longer. This was
obviously inadmissible, and on the 30th September they appeared before
the Assembly to take leave.

There were but three of them, the Genoese, the Spaniard, and the
Burgundian--Spinola, Mancicidor; and Richardot. Of the two Netherlanders,
brother John was still in Spain, and Verreyken found it convenient that
day to have a lame leg.

President Richardot, standing majestically before the States-General,
with his robes wrapped around his tall, spare form, made a solemn
farewell speech of mingled sorrow, pity, and the resentment of injured
innocence. They had come to the Hague, he said, sent by the King of Spain
and the archdukes to treat for a good and substantial peace, according to
the honest intention of his Majesty and their Highnesses. To this end
they had sincerely and faithfully dealt with the gentlemen deputed for
that purpose by their High Mightinesses the States, doing everything they
could think of to further the cause of peace. They lamented that the
issue had not been such as they had hoped, notwithstanding that the king
and archdukes had so far derogated from their reputation as to send their
commissioners into the United Netherlands, it having been easy enough to
arrange for negotiations on other soil. It had been their wish thus to
prove to the world how straightforward were their intentions by not
requiring the States to send deputies to them. They had accorded the
first point in the negotiations, touching the free state of the country.
Their High Mightinesses had taken offence upon the second, regarding the
restoration of religion in the United Provinces. Thereupon the father
commissary had gone to Spain, and had remained longer than was agreeable.
Nevertheless, they had meantime treated of other points. Coming back at
last to the point of religion, the States-General had taken a resolution,
and had given them their dismissal, without being willing to hear a word
more, or to make a single proposition of moderation or accommodation.

He could not refrain from saying that the commissioners had been treated
roughly. Their High Mightinesses had fixed the time for their dismissal
more precisely than one would do with a servant who was discharged for
misconduct; for the lackey, if he asked for it, would be allowed at least
a day longer to pack his trunk for the journey. They protested before God
and the assembly of the States that the king and princes had meant most
sincerely, and had dealt with all roundness and sincerity. They at least
remained innocent of all the disasters and calamities to come from the
war.

"As for myself," said Richardot, "I am no prophet, nor the son of a
prophet; yet I will venture the prediction to you, my lords the
States-General, that you will bitterly rue it that you did not embrace
the peace thus presented, and which you might have had. The blood which
is destined to flow, now that you have scorned our plan of
reconciliation, will be not on our heads but your own."

Barneveld replied by temperately but firmly repelling the charges brought
against the States in this artful oration of the president. They had
proceeded in the most straightforward manner, never permitting themselves
to enter into negotiations except on the preliminary condition that their
freedom should be once for all conceded and recognised. "You and you
only," he continued, "are to bear the blame that peace has not been
concluded; you who have not been willing or not been able to keep your
promises. One might, with better reason, hold you guilty of all the
bloodshed; you whose edicts, bloodier and more savage than war itself,
long, ago forced these provinces into the inevitable necessity of waging
war; you whose cruelty, but yesterday exercised on the crews of
defenceless and innocent merchantmen and fishing-vessels, has been fully
exhibited to the world."

Spinola's countenance betrayed much emotion as he listened to the
exchange of bitter recriminations which took place on this farewell
colloquy. It was obvious that the brave and accomplished soldier honestly
lamented the failure of the attempt to end the war.

But the rupture was absolute. The marquis and the president dined that
day with Prince Maurice, by whom they were afterwards courteously
accompanied a part of the way on their journey to Brussels.

Thus ended the comedy which had lasted nearly two years. The dismal
leave-taking, as the curtain fell, was not as, entertaining to the public
outside as the dramatic meeting between Maurice and Spinola had been at
the opening scene near Ryswyk. There was no populace to throw up their
hats for the departing guests. From the winter's night in which the
subtle Franciscan had first stolen into the prince's cabinet down to this
autumn evening, not a step of real progress could be recorded as the
result of the intolerable quantity of speech-making and quill-driving.
There were boat-loads of documents, protocols, and notes, drowsy and
stagnant as the canals on which they were floated off towards their tombs
in the various archives. Peace to the dust which we have not wantonly
disturbed, believing it to be wholesome for the cause of human progress
that the art of ruling the world by doing nothing, as practised some
centuries since, should once and again be exhibited.

Not in vain do we listen to those long-bearded, venerable, very tedious
old presidents, advocates, and friars of orders gray, in their high
ruffs, taffety robes or gowns of frieze, as they squeak and gibber, for a
fleeting moment, to a world which knew them not. It is something to learn
that grave statesmen, kings, generals, and presidents could negotiate for
two years long; and that the only result should be the distinction
between a conjunction, a preposition, and an adverb. That the provinces
should be held as free States, not for free States--that they should be
free in similitude, not in substance--thus much and no more had been
accomplished.

And now to all appearance every chance of negotiation was gone. The
half-century war, after this brief breathing space, was to be renewed for
another century or so, and more furiously than ever. So thought the
public. So meant Prince Maurice. Richardot and Jeannin knew better.

The departure of the commissioners was recorded upon the register of the
resolutions of Holland, with the ominous note: "God grant that they may
not have sown, evil seed here; the effects of which will one day be
visible in the ruin of this commonwealth."

Hardly were the backs of the commissioners turned, before the
indefatigable Jeannin was ready with his scheme for repatching the
rupture. He was at first anxious that the deputies of Zeeland should be
summoned again, now that the country was rid of the Spaniards. Prince
Maurice, however, was wrathful when the president began to talk once more
of truce. The proposition, he said, was simply the expression of a wish
to destroy the State. Holland and Zeeland would never agree to any such
measure, and they would find means to compel the other provinces to
follow their example. If there were but three or four cities in the whole
country to reject the truce, he would, with their assistance alone,
defend the freedom of the republic, or at least die an honourable death
in its defence. This at least would be better than after a few months to
become slaves of Spain. Such a result was the object of those who began
this work, but he would resist it at the peril of his life.

A singular incident now seemed to justify the wrath of the stadholder,
and to be likely to strengthen his party. Young Count John of Nassau
happened to take possession of the apartments in Goswyn Meursken's
hostelry at the Hague, just vacated by Richardot. In the drawer of a
writing-table was found a document, evidently left there by the
president. This paper was handed by Count John to his cousin, Frederic
Henry, who at once delivered it to his brother Maurice. The prince
produced it in the assembly of the States-General, members from each
province were furnished with a copy of it within two or three hours, and
it was soon afterwards printed, and published. The document, being
nothing less than the original secret instructions of the archdukes to
their commissioners, was naturally read with intense interest by the
States-General, by the foreign envoys, and by the general public.

It appeared, from an inspection of the paper, that the commissioners had
been told that, if they should find the French, English, and Danish
ambassadors desirous of being present at the negotiations for the treaty,
they were to exclude them from all direct participation in the
proceedings. They were to do this however so sweetly and courteously that
it would be impossible for those diplomats to take offence or to imagine
themselves distrusted. On the contrary, the States-General were to be
informed that their communication in private on the general subject with
the ambassadors was approved by the archdukes, because they believed the
sovereigns of France, England, and Denmark, their sincere and
affectionate friends. The commissioners were instructed to domesticate
themselves as much as possible with President Jeannin and to manifest the
utmost confidence in his good intentions. They were to take the same
course with the English envoys, but in more general terms, and were very
discreetly to communicate to them whatever they already knew, and, on the
other hand, carefully to conceal from them all that was still a secret.

They were distinctly told to make the point of the Catholic religion
first and foremost in the negotiations; the arguments showing the
indispensable necessity of securing its public exercise in the United
Provinces being drawn up with considerable detail. They were to insist
that the republic should absolutely renounce the trade with the East and
West Indies, and should pledge itself to chastise such of its citizens as
might dare to undertake those voyages, as disturbers of the peace and
enemies of the public repose, whether they went to the Indies in person
or associated themselves with men of other nations for that purpose,
under any pretext whatever. When these points, together with many matters
of detail less difficult of adjustment, had been satisfactorily settled,
the commissioners were to suggest measures of union for the common
defence between the united and the obedient Provinces. This matter was to
be broached very gently. "In the sweetest terms possible," it was to be
hinted that the whole body of the Netherlanders could protect itself
against every enemy, but if dismembered as it was about to be, neither
the one portion nor the ocher would be safe. The commissioners were
therefore to request the offer of some proposition from the
States-General for the common defence. In case they remained silent,
however, then the commissioners were to declare that the archdukes had no
wish to speak of sovereignty over the United Provinces, however limited.
"Having once given them that morsel to swallow," said their Highnesses,
"we have nothing of the kind in our thoughts. But if they reflect, it is
possible that they may see fit to take us for protectors."

The scheme was to be managed with great discreetness and delicacy, and
accomplished by hook or by crook, if the means could be found. "You need
not be scrupulous as to the form or law of protection, provided the name
of protector can be obtained," continued the archdukes.

At least the greatest pains were to be taken that the two sections of the
Netherlands might remain friends. "We are in great danger unless we rely
upon each other," it was urged. "But touch this chord very gently, lest
the French and English hearing of it suspect some design to injure them.
At least we may each mutually agree to chastise such of our respective
subjects as may venture to make any alliance with the enemies of the
other."

It was much disputed whether these instructions had been left purposely
or by accident in the table-drawer. Jeannin could not make up his mind
whether it was a trick or not, and the vociferous lamentations of
Richardot upon his misfortunes made little impression upon his mind. He
had small confidence in any austerity of principle on the part of his
former fellow-leaguer that would prevent him from leaving the document by
stealth, and then protesting that he had been foully wronged by its
coming to light. On the whole, he was inclined to think, however, that
the paper had been stolen from him.

Barneveld, after much inquiry, was convinced that it had been left in the
drawer by accident.

Richardot himself manifested rage and dismay when he found that a paper,
left by chance in his lodgings, had been published by the States. Such a
proceeding was a violation, he exclaimed, of the laws of hospitality.
With equal justice, he declared it to be an offence against the religious
respect due to ambassadors, whose persons and property were sacred in
foreign countries. "Decency required the States," he said, "to send the
document back to him, instead of showing it as a trophy, and he was ready
to die of shame and vexation at the unlucky incident."

Few honourable men will disagree with him in these complaints, although
many contemporaries obstinately refused to believe that the crafty and
experienced diplomatist could have so carelessly left about his most
important archives. He was generally thought by those who had most dealt
with him, to prefer, on principle, a crooked path to a straight one.
"'Tis a mischievous old monkey," said Villeroy on another occasion, "that
likes always to turn its tail instead of going directly to the purpose."
The archduke, however, was very indulgent to his plenipotentiary. "My
good master," said the, president, "so soon as he learned the loss of
that accursed paper, benignantly consoled, instead of chastising me; and,
after having looked over the draught, was glad that the accident had
happened; for thus his sincerity had been proved, and those who sought
profit by the trick had been confounded." On the other hand, what good
could it do to the cause of peace, that these wonderful instructions
should be published throughout the republic? They might almost seem a
fiction, invented by the war party to inspire a general disgust for any
further negotiation. Every loyal Netherlander would necessarily be
qualmish at the word peace, now that the whole design of the Spanish
party was disclosed.

The public exercise of the Roman religion was now known to be the
indispensable condition--first, last, and always--to any possible peace.
Every citizen of the republic was to be whipped out of the East and West
Indies, should he dare to show his face in those regions. The
States-General, while swallowing the crumb of sovereignty vouchsafed by
the archdukes, were to accept them as protectors, in order not to fall a
prey to the enemies whom they imagined to be their friends.

What could be more hopeless than such negotiations? What more dreary than
the perpetual efforts of two lines to approach each other which were
mathematically incapable of meeting? That the young republic, conscious
of her daily growing strength, should now seek refuge from her nobly won
independence in the protectorate of Albert, who was himself the vassal of
Philip, was an idea almost inconceivable to the Dutch mind. Yet so
impossible was it for the archdukes to put themselves into human
relations with this new and popular Government, that in the inmost
recesses of their breasts they actually believed themselves, when making
the offer, to be performing a noble act of Christian charity.

The efforts of Jeannin and of the English ambassador were now
unremitting, and thoroughly seconded by Barneveld. Maurice was almost at
daggers drawn, not only with the Advocate but with the foreign envoys.
Sir Ralph Winwood, who had, in virtue of the old treaty arrangements with
England, a seat in the state-council at the Hague, and who was a man of a
somewhat rough and insolent deportment, took occasion at a session of
that body, when the prince was present, to urge the necessity of at once
resuming the ruptured negotiations. The King of Great Britain; he said,
only recommended a course which he was himself always ready to pursue.
Hostilities which were necessary, and no others, were just. Such, and
such only, could be favoured by God or by pious kings. But wars were not
necessary which could be honourably avoided. A truce was not to be
despised, by which religious liberty and commerce were secured, and it
was not the part of wisdom to plunge into all the horrors of immediate
war in order to escape distant and problematical dangers; that might
arise when the truce should come to an end. If a truce were now made, the
kings of both France and England would be guarantees for its faithful
observance. They would take care that no wrong or affront was offered to
the States-General.

Maurice replied, with a sneer, to these sententious commonplaces derived
at second-hand from King James that great kings were often very
indifferent to injuries sustained by their friends. Moreover, there was
an eminent sovereign, he continued, who was even very patient under
affronts directly offered to himself. It was not very long since a
horrible plot had been discovered to murder the King of England, with his
wife, his children, and all the great personages of the realm. That this
great crime had been attempted under the immediate instigation of the
King of Spain was notorious to the whole world, and certainly no secret
to King James. Yet his Britannic Majesty had made haste to exonerate the
great criminal from all complicity in the crime; and had ever since been
fawning upon the Catholic king, and hankering for a family alliance with
him. Conduct like this the prince denounced in plain terms as cringing
and cowardly, and expressed the opinion that guarantees of Dutch
independence from such a monarch could hardly be thought very valuable.

These were terrible words for the representative of James to have hurled
in his face in full council by the foremost personage of the republic
Winwood fell into a furious passion, and of course there was a violent
scene, with much subsequent protesting and protocolling.

The British king insisted that the prince should make public amends for
the insult, and Maurice firmly refused to do anything of the kind. The
matter was subsequently arranged by some amicable concessions made by the
prince in a private letter to James, but there remained for the time a
abate of alienation between England and the republic, at which the French
sincerely rejoiced. The incident, however, sufficiently shows the point
of exasperation which the prince had reached, for, although choleric, he
was a reasonable man, and it was only because the whole course of the
negotiations had offended his sense of honour and of right that he had at
last been driven quite beyond self-control.

On the 13th of October, the envoys of France, England, Denmark, and of
the Elector Palatine, the Elector of Brandeburg, and other German
princes, came before the States-General.

Jeannin, in the name of all these foreign ministers, made a speech warmly
recommending the truce.

He repelled the insinuation that the measure proposed had been brought
about by the artifices of the enemy, and was therefore odious. On the
contrary, it was originated by himself and the other good friends of the
republic.

In his opinion, the terms of the suggested truce contained sufficient
guarantees for the liberty of the provinces, not only during the truce,
but for ever.

No stronger recognition of their independence could be expected than the
one given. It was entirely without example, argued the president, that in
similar changes brought about by force of arms, sovereigns after having
been despoiled of their states have been compelled to abandon their
rights shamefully by a public confession, unless they had absolutely
fallen into the hands of their enemies and were completely at their
mercy. "Yet the princes who made this great concession," continued
Jeannin, "are not lying vanquished at your feet, nor reduced by dire
necessity to yield what they have yielded."

He reminded the assembly that the Swiss enjoyed at that moment their
liberty in virtue of a simple truce, without ever having obtained from
their former sovereign a declaration such as was now offered to the
United Provinces.

The president argued, moreover, with much force and acuteness that it was
beneath the dignity of the States, and inconsistent with their
consciousness of strength, to lay so much stress on the phraseology by
which their liberty was recognised. That freedom had been won by the
sword, and would be maintained against all the world by the sword.

"In truth," said the orator, "you do wrong to your liberty by calling it
so often in doubt, and in claiming with so much contentious anxiety from
your enemies a title-deed for your independence. You hold it by your own
public decree. In virtue of that decree, confirmed by the success of your
arms, you have enjoyed it long. Nor could anything obtained from your
enemies be of use to you if those same arms with which you gained your
liberty could not still preserve it for you."

Therefore, in the opinion of the president, this persistence in demanding
a more explicit and unlimited recognition of independence was only a
pretext for continuing the war, ingeniously used by those who hated
peace.

Addressing himself more particularly to the celebrated circular letter of
Prince Maurice against the truce, the president maintained that the
liberty of the republic was as much acknowledged in the proposed articles
as if the words "for ever" had been added. "To acknowledge liberty is an
act which, by its very nature, admits of no conditions," he observed,
with considerable force.

The president proceeded to say that in the original negotiations the
qualifications obtained had seemed to him enough. As there was an ardent
desire, however, on the part of many for a more explicit phraseology, as
something necessary to the public safety, he had thought it worth
attempting.

"We all rejoiced when you obtained it," continued Jeannin, "but not when
they agreed to renounce the names, titles, and arms of the United
Provinces; for that seemed to us shameful for them beyond all example.
That princes should make concessions so entirely unworthy of their
grandeur, excited at once our suspicion, for we could not imagine the
cause of an offer so specious. We have since found out the reason."

The archdukes being unable, accordingly, to obtain for the truce those
specious conditions which Spain had originally pretended to yield, it was
the opinion of the old diplomatist that the king should be permitted to
wear the paste substitutes about which so many idle words had been
wasted.

It would be better, he thought, for the States to be contented with what
was precious and substantial, and not to lose the occasion of making a
good treaty of truce, which was sure to be converted with time into an
absolute peace.

"It is certain," he said, "that the princes with whom you are treating
will never go to law with you to get an exposition of the article in
question. After the truce has expired, they will go to war with you if
you like, but they will not trouble themselves to declare whether they
are fighting you as rebels or as enemies, nor will it very much signify.
If their arms are successful, they will give you no explanations. If you
are the conquerors, they will receive none. The fortune of war will be
the supreme judge to decide the dispute; not the words of a treaty. Those
words are always interpreted to the disadvantage of the weak and the
vanquished, although they may be so perfectly clear that no man could
doubt them; never to the prejudice of those who have proved the validity
of their rights by the strength of their arms."

This honest, straightforward cynicism, coming from the lips of one of the
most experienced diplomatists of Europe, was difficult to gainsay.
Speaking as one having authority, the president told the States-General
in full assembly, that there was no law in Christendom, as between
nations, but the good old fist-law, the code of brute force.

Two centuries and a half have rolled by since that oration was
pronounced, and the world has made immense progress in science during
that period. But there is still room for improvement in this regard in
the law of nations. Certainly there is now a little more reluctance to
come so nakedly before the world. But has the cause of modesty or
humanity gained very much by the decorous fig-leaves of modern diplomacy?

The president alluded also to the ungrounded fears that bribery and
corruption would be able to effect much, during the truce, towards the
reduction of the provinces under their repudiated sovereign. After all,
it was difficult to buy up a whole people. In a commonwealth, where the
People was sovereign, and the persons of the magistrates ever changing,
those little comfortable commercial operations could not be managed so
easily as in civilized realms like France and England. The old Leaguer
thought with pensive regret, no doubt, of the hard, but still profitable
bargains by which the Guises and Mayennes and Mercoeurs, and a few
hundred of their noble adherents, had been brought over to the cause of
the king. He sighed at the more recent memories of the Marquis de Rosny's
embassy in England, and his largess scattered broadcast among the great
English lords. It would be of little use he foresaw--although the
instructions of Henry were in his portfolio, giving him almost unlimited
powers to buy up everybody in the Netherlands that could be bought--to
attempt that kind of traffic on a large scale in the Netherlands.

Those republicans were greedy enough about the navigation to the East and
West Indies, and were very litigious about the claim of Spain to put up
railings around the Ocean as her private lake, but they were less keen
than were their more polished contemporaries for the trade in human
souls.

"When we consider," said Jeannin, "the constitution of your State, and
that to corrupt a few people among you does no good at all, because the,
frequent change of magistracies takes away the means of gaining over many
of them at the same time, capable by a long duration of their power to
conduct an intrigue against the commonwealth, this fear must appear
wholly vain."

And then the old Leaguer, who had always refused bribes himself, although
he had negotiated much bribery of others, warmed into sincere eloquence
as he spoke of the simple virtues on which the little republic, as should
be the case with all republics, was founded. He did homage to the Dutch
love of liberty.

"Remember," he said, "the love of liberty which is engraved in the hearts
of all your inhabitants, and that there are few persons now living who
were born in the days of the ancient subjection, or who have not been
nourished and brought up for so long a time in liberty that they have a
horror for the very name of servitude. You will then feel that there is
not one man in your commonwealth who would wish or dare to open his mouth
to bring you back to subjection, without being in danger of instant
punishment as a traitor to his country."

He again reminded his hearers that the Swiss had concluded a long and
perilous war with their ancient masters by a simple truce, during which
they had established so good a government that they were never more
attacked. Honest republican principles, and readiness at any moment to
defend dearly won liberties, had combined with geographical advantages to
secure the national independence of Switzerland.

Jeannin paid full tribute to the maritime supremacy of the republic.

"You may have as much good fortune," he said, "as the Swiss, if you are
wise. You have the ocean at your side, great navigable rivers enclosing
you in every direction, a multitude of ships, with sailors, pilots, and
seafaring men of every description, who are the very best soldiers in
battles at sea to be found in Christendom. With these you will preserve
your military vigour and your habits of navigation, the long voyages to
which you are accustomed continuing as usual. And such is the kind of
soldiers you require. As for auxiliaries, should you need them you know
where to find them."

The president implored the States-General accordingly to pay no attention
to the writings which were circulated among the people to prejudice them
against the truce.

This was aimed directly at the stadholder, who had been making so many
direct personal appeals to the people, and who was now the more incensed,
recognising the taunt of the president as an arrow taken from Barneveld's
quiver. There had long ceased to be any communication between the Prince
and the Advocate, and Maurice made no secret of his bitter animosity both
to Barneveld and to Jeannin.

He hesitated on no occasion to denounce the Advocate as travelling
straight on the road to Spain, and although he was not aware of the
twenty thousand florins recently presented by the French king, he had
accustomed himself, with the enormous exaggeration of party spirit, to
look upon the first statesman of his country and of Europe as a traitor
to the republic and a tool of the archdukes. As we look back upon those
passionate days, we cannot but be appalled at the depths to which
theological hatred could descend.

On the very morning after the session of the assembly in which Jeannin
had been making his great speech, and denouncing the practice of secret
and incendiary publication, three remarkable letters were found on the
doorstep of a house in the Hague. One was addressed to the
States-General, another to the Mates of Holland, and a third to the
burgomaster of Amsterdam. In all these documents, the Advocate was
denounced as an infamous traitor, who was secretly intriguing to bring
about a truce for the purpose of handing over the commonwealth to the
enemy. A shameful death, it was added, would be his fitting reward.

These letters were read in the Assembly of the States-General, and
created great wrath among the friends of Barneveld. Even Maurice
expressed indignation, and favoured a search for the anonymous author, in
order that he might be severely punished.

It seems strange enough that anonymous letters picked up in the street
should have been deemed a worthy theme of discussion before their High
Mightinesses the States-General. Moreover, it was raining pamphlets and
libels against Barneveld and his supporters every day, and the stories
which grave burghers and pious elders went about telling to each other,
and to everybody who would listen to them, about the Advocate's
depravity, were wonderful to hear.

At the end of September, just before the Spanish commissioners left the
Hague, a sledge of the kind used in the Dutch cities as drays stopped
before Barneveld's front-door one fine morning, and deposited several
large baskets, filled with money, sent by the envoys for defraying
certain expenses of forage, hire of servants, and the like, incurred by
them during their sojourn at the Hague, and disbursed by the States. The
sledge, with its contents, was at once sent by order of the Advocate,
under guidance of Commissary John Spronsen, to the Receiver-General of
the republic.

Yet men wagged their beards dismally as they whispered this fresh proof
of Barneveld's venality. As if Spinola and his colleagues were such
blunderers in bribing as to send bushel baskets full of Spanish dollars
on a sledge, in broad daylight, to the house of a great statesman whom
they meant to purchase, expecting doubtless a receipt in full to be
brought back by the drayman! Well might the Advocate say at a later
moment, in the bitterness of his spirit, that his enemies, not satisfied
with piercing his heart with their false, injurious and honour-filching
libels and stories, were determined to break it. "He begged God
Almighty," he said, "to be merciful to him, and to judge righteously
between him and them."

Party spirit has rarely run higher in any commonwealth than in Holland
during these memorable debates concerning a truce. Yet the leaders both
of the war party and the truce party were doubtless pure, determined
patriots, seeking their country's good with all their souls and strength.

Maurice answered the discourse of Jeannin by a second and very elaborate
letter. In this circular, addressed to the magistracies of Holland, he
urged his countrymen once more with arguments already employed by him,
and in more strenuous language than ever, to beware of a truce even more
than of a peace, and warned them not to swerve by a hair's breadth from
the formula in regard to the sovereignty agreed upon at the very
beginning of the negotiations. To this document was appended a paper of
considerations, drawn up by Maurice and Lewis William, in refutation,
point by point, of all the arguments of President Jeannin in his late
discourse.

It is not necessary to do more than allude to these documents, which were
marked by the close reasoning and fiery spirit which characterized all
the appeals of the prince and his cousin at this period, because the time
had now come which comes to all controversies when argument is exhausted
and either action or compromise begins.

Meantime, Barneveld, stung almost to madness by the poisonous though
ephemeral libels which buzzed so perpetually about him, had at last
resolved to retire from the public service. He had been so steadily
denounced as being burthensome to his superiors in birth by the power
which he had acquired, and to have shot up so far above the heads of his
equals; that he felt disposed to withdraw from a field where his presence
was becoming odious.

His enemies, of course, considered this determination a trick by which he
merely wished to prove to the country how indispensable he was, and to
gain a fresh lease of his almost unlimited power by the alarm which his
proposed abdication would produce. Certainly, however, if it were a
trick, and he were not indispensable, it was easy enough to prove it and
to punish him by taking him at his word.

On the morning after the anonymous letters had been found in the street
he came into the House of Assembly and made a short speech. He spoke
simply of his thirty-one years of service, during which he believed
himself to have done his best for the good of the fatherland and for the
welfare of the house of Nassau. He had been ready thus to go on to the
end, but he saw himself environed by enemies, and felt that his
usefulness had been destroyed. He wished, therefore, in the interest of
the country, not from any fear for himself, to withdraw from the storm,
and for a time at least to remain in retirement. The displeasure and
hatred of the great were nothing new to him, he said. He had never shrunk
from peril when he could serve his fatherland; for against all calumnies
and all accidents he had worn the armour of a quiet conscience. But he
now saw that the truce, in itself an unpleasant affair, was made still
more odious by the hatred felt towards him. He begged the provinces,
therefore, to select another servant less hated than himself to provide
for the public welfare.

Having said these few words with the dignity which was natural to him he
calmly walked out of the Assembly House.

The personal friends of Barneveld and the whole truce party were in
consternation. Even the enemies of the Advocate shrank appalled at the
prospect of losing the services of the foremost statesman of the
commonwealth at this critical juncture. There was a brief and animated
discussion as soon as his back was turned. Its result was the appointment
of a committee of five to wait upon Barneveld and solemnly to request him
to reconsider his decision. Their efforts were successful. After a
satisfactory interview with the committee he resumed his functions with
greater authority than ever. Of course there were not wanting many to
whisper that the whole proceeding had been a comedy, and that Barneveld
would have been more embarrassed than he had ever been in his life had
his resignation been seriously accepted. But this is easy to say, and is
always said, whenever a statesman who feels himself aggrieved, yet knows
himself useful, lays dawn his office. The Advocate had been the mark of
unceasing and infamous calumnies. He had incurred the deadly hatred of
the highest placed, the most powerful, and the most popular man in the
commonwealth. He had more than once been obliged to listen to opprobrious
language from the prince, and it was even whispered that he had been
threatened with personal violence. That Maurice was perpetually
denouncing him in public and private, as a traitor, a papist, a Spanish
partisan, was notorious. He had just been held up to the States of the
union and of his own province by unknown voices as a criminal worthy of
death. Was it to be wondered at that a man of sixty, who had passed his
youth, manhood, and old age in the service of the republic, and was
recognised by all as the ablest, the most experienced, the most
indefatigable of her statesmen, should be seriously desirous of
abandoning an office which might well seem to him rather a pillory than a
post of honour?

"As for neighbour Barneveld," said recorder Aerssens, little dreaming of
the foul witness he was to bear against that neighbour at a terrible
moment to come, "I do what I can and wish to help him with my blood. He
is more courageous than I. I should have sunk long ago, had I been
obliged to stand against such tempests. The Lord God will, I hope, help
him and direct his understanding for the good of all Christendom, and for
his own honour. If he can steer this ship into a safe harbour we ought to
raise a golden statue of him. I should like to contribute my mite to it.
He deserves twice much honour, despite all his enemies, of whom he has
many rather from envy than from reason. May the Lord keep him in health,
or it will go hardly with us all."

Thus spoke some of his grateful countrymen when the Advocate was
contending at a momentous crisis with storms threatening to overwhelm the
republic. Alas! where is the golden statue?

He believed that the truce was the most advantageous measure that the
country could adopt. He believed this with quite as much sincerity as
Maurice held to his conviction that war was the only policy. In the
secret letter of the French ambassador there is not a trace of suspicion
as to his fidelity to the commonwealth, not the shadow of proof of the
ridiculous accusation that he wished to reduce the provinces to the
dominion of Spain. Jeannin, who had no motive for concealment in his
confidential correspondence with his sovereign, always rendered
unequivocal homage to the purity and patriotism of the Advocate and the
Prince.

He returned to the States-General and to the discharge of his functions
as Advocate-General of Holland. His policy for the time was destined to
be triumphant, his influence more extensive than ever. But the end of
these calumnies and anonymous charges was not yet.

Meantime the opposition to the truce was confined to the States of
Zeeland and two cities of Holland. Those cities were very important ones,
Amsterdam and Delft, but they were already wavering in their opposition.
Zeeland stoutly maintained that the treaty of Utrecht forbade a decision
of the question of peace and war except by a unanimous vote of the whole
confederacy. The other five provinces and the friends of the truce began
with great vehemence to declare that the question at issue was now
changed. It was no longer to be decided whether there should be truce or
war with Spain, but whether a single member of the confederacy could
dictate its law to the other six States. Zeeland, on her part, talked
loudly of seceding from the union, and setting up for an independent,
sovereign commonwealth. She would hardly have been a very powerful one,
with her half-dozen cities, one prelate, one nobleman, her hundred
thousand burghers at most, bustling and warlike as they were, and her few
thousand mariners, although the most terrible fighting men that had ever
sailed on blue water. She was destined ere long to abandon her doughty
resolution of leaving her sister provinces to their fate.

Maurice had not slackened in his opposition to the truce, despite the
renewed vigour with which Barneveld pressed the measure since his return
to the public councils. The prince was firmly convinced that the kings of
France and England would assist the republic in the war with Spain so
soon as it should be renewed. His policy had been therefore to force the
hand of those sovereigns, especially that of Henry, and to induce him to
send more stringent instructions to Jeannin than those with which he
believed him to be furnished. He had accordingly despatched a secret
emissary to the French king, supplied with confidential and explicit
instructions. This agent was a Captain Lambert. Whether it was "Pretty
Lambert," "Dandy Lambert"--the vice-admiral who had so much distinguished
himself at the great victory of Gibraltar--does not distinctly appear. If
it were so, that hard-hitting mariner would seem to have gone into action
with the French Government as energetically as he had done eighteen
months before, when, as master of the Tiger, he laid himself aboard the
Spanish admiral and helped send the St. Augustine to the bottom. He
seemed indisposed to mince matters in diplomacy. He intimated to the king
and his ministers that Jeannin and his colleagues were pushing the truce
at the Hague much further and faster than his Majesty could possibly
approve, and that they were obviously exceeding their instructions.
Jeannin, who was formerly so much honoured and cherished throughout the
republic, was now looked upon askance because of his intimacy with
Barneveld and his partisans. He assured the king that nearly all the
cities of Holland, and the whole of Zeeland, were entirely agreed with
Maurice, who would rather die than consent to the proposed truce. The
other provinces, added Lambert, would be obliged, will ye nill ye, to
receive the law from Holland and Zeeland. Maurice, without assistance
from France or any other power, would give Spain and the archdukes as
much exercise as they could take for the next fifty years before he would
give up, and had declared that he would rather die sword in hand than
basely betray his country by consenting to such a truce. As for
Barneveld, he was already discovering the blunders which he had made, and
was trying to curry favour with Maurice. Barneveld and both the Aprasens
were traitors to the State, had become the objects of general hatred and
contempt, and were in great danger of losing their lives, or at least of
being expelled from office.

Here was altogether too much zeal on the part of Pretty Lambert; a
quality which, not for the first time, was thus proved to be less useful
in diplomatic conferences than in a sea-fight. Maurice was obliged to
disavow his envoy, and to declare that his secret instructions had never
authorized him to hold such language. But the mischief was done. The
combustion in the French cabinet was terrible. The Dutch admiral had
thrown hot shot into the powder-magazine of his friends, and had done no
more good by such tactics than might be supposed. Such diplomacy was
denounced as a mere mixture of "indiscretion and impudence." Henry was
very wroth, and forthwith indited an imperious letter to his cousin
Maurice.

"Lambert's talk to me by your orders," said the king, "has not less
astonished than scandalized me. I now learn the new resolution which you
have taken, and I observe that you have begun to entertain suspicions as
to my will and my counsels on account of the proposition of truce."

Henry's standing orders to Jeannin, as we know, were to offer Maurice a
pension of almost unlimited amount, together with ample rewards to all
such of his adherents as could be purchased, provided they would bring
about the incorporation of the United Provinces into France. He was
therefore full of indignation that the purity of his intentions and the
sincerity of his wish for the independence of the republic could be
called in question.

"People have dared to maliciously invent," he continued, "that I am the
enemy of the repose and the liberty of the United Provinces, and that I
was afraid lest they should acquire the freedom which had been offered
them by their enemies, because I derived a profit from their war, and
intended in time to deprive them of their liberty. Yet these falsehoods
and jealousies have not been contradicted by you nor by anyone else,
although you know that the proofs of my sincerity and good faith have
been entirely without reproach or example. You knew what was said,
written, and published everywhere, and I confess that when I knew this
malice, and that you had not taken offence at it, I was much amazed and
very malcontent."

Queen Elizabeth, in her most waspish moods, had not often lectured the
States-General more roundly than Henry now lectured his cousin Maurice.

The king once more alluded to the secret emissary's violent talk, which
had so much excited his indignation.

"If by weakness and want of means," he said, "you are forced to abandon
to your enemies one portion of your country in order to defend the
other-as Lambert tells me you are resolved to do, rather than agree to
the truce without recognition of your sovereignty for ever--I pray you to
consider how many accidents and reproaches may befal you. Do you suppose
that any ally of the States, or of your family, would risk his reputation
and his realms in such a game, which would seem to be rather begun in
passion and despair than required by reason or necessity?"

Here certainly was plain speaking enough, and Maurice could no longer
expect the king for his partner, should he decide to risk once more the
bloody hazard of the die.

But Henry was determined to leave no shade of doubt on the subject.

"Lambert tells me," he said, "that you would rather perish with arms in
your hands than fall shamefully into inevitable ruin by accepting truce.
I have been and am of a contrary opinion. Perhaps I am mistaken, not
knowing as well as you do the constitution of your country and the wishes
of your people. But I know the general affairs of Christendom better than
you do, and I can therefore judge more soundly on the whole matter than
you can, and I know that the truce, established and guaranteed as
proposed, will bring you more happiness than you can derive from war."

Thus the king, in the sweeping, slashing way with which he could handle
an argument as well as a sword, strode forward in conscious strength,
cutting down right and left all opposition to his will. He was
determined, once for all, to show the stadholder and his adherents that
the friendship of a great king was not to be had by a little republic on
easy terms, nor every day. Above all, the Prince of Nassau was not to
send a loud-talking, free and easy Dutch sea-captain to dictate terms to
the King of France and Navarre. "Lambert tells me"--and Maurice might
well wish that Pretty Lambert had been sunk in the bay of Gibraltar,
Tiger and all, before he had been sent on this diplomatic errand,
"Lambert tells me," continued his Majesty, "that you and the
States-General would rather that I should remain neutral, and let you
make war in your own fashion, than that I should do anything more to push
on this truce. My cousin, it would be very easy for me, and perhaps more
advantageous for me and my kingdom than you think, if I could give you
this satisfaction, whatever might be the result. If I chose to follow
this counsel, I am, thanks be to God, in such condition, that I have no
neighbour who is not as much in need of me as I can be of him, and who is
not glad to seek for and to preserve my friendship. If they should all
conspire against me moreover, I can by myself, and with no assistance but
heaven's, which never failed me yet, wrestle with them altogether, and
fling them all, as some of my royal predecessors have done. Know then,
that I do not favour war nor truce for the United Provinces because of
any need I may have of the one or the other for the defence of my own
sceptre. The counsels and the succours, which you have so largely
received from me, were given because of my consideration for the good of
the States, and of yourself in particular, whom I have always favoured
and cherished, as I have done others of your house on many occasions."

The king concluded his lecture by saying, that after his ambassadors had
fulfilled their promise, and had spoken the last word of their master at
the Hague, he should leave Maurice and the States to do as they liked.

"But I desire," he said, "that you and the States should not do that
wrong to yourselves or to me as to doubt the integrity of my counsels nor
the actions of my ambassadors: I am an honest man and a prince of my
word, and not ignorant of the things of this world. Neither the States
nor you, with your adherents, can permit my honour to be compromised
without tarnishing your own, and without being branded for ingratitude. I
say not this in order to reproach you for the past nor to make you
despair of the future, but to defend the truth. I expect, therefore, that
you will not fall into this fault, knowing you as I do. I pay more heed
to what you said in your letter than in all Lambert's fine talk, and you
will find out that nobody wishes your prosperity and that of the States
more sincerely than I do, or can be more useful to you than I can."

   [I have abbreviated this remarkable letter, but of course the text
   of the passages cited is literally given. J.L.M.]

There could be but little doubt in the mind of Prince Maurice, after this
letter had been well pondered, that Barneveld had won the game, and that
the peace party had triumphed.

To resume the war, with the French king not merely neutral but angry and
covertly hostile, and with the sovereign of Great Britain an almost open
enemy in the garb of an ally, might well seem a desperate course.

And Maurice, although strongly opposed to the truce, and confident in his
opinions at this crisis, was not a desperado.

He saw at once the necessity of dismounting from the high horse upon
which, it must be confessed, he had been inclined for more rough-riding
of late than the situation warranted. Peace was unattainable, war was
impossible, truce was inevitable; Barneveld was master of the field.

The prince acquiesced in the result which the letter from the French king
so plainly indicated. He was, however, more incensed than ever against
Barneveld; for he felt himself not only checkmated but humiliated by the
Advocate, and believed him a traitor, who was selling the republic to
Spain. It was long since the two had exchanged a word.

Maurice now declared, on more than one occasion, that it was useless for
him any longer to attempt opposition to the policy of truce. The States
must travel on the road which they had chosen, but it should not be under
his guidance, and he renounced all responsibility for the issue.

Dreading disunion, however, more than ought else that could befal the
republic, he now did his best to bring about the return of Zeeland to the
federal councils. He was successful. The deputies from that province
reappeared in the States-General on the 11th November. They were still
earnest, however, in their opposition to the truce, and warmly
maintained, in obedience to instructions, that the Union of Utrecht
forbade the conclusion of a treaty except by unanimous consent of the
Seven Provinces. They were very fierce in their remonstrances, and again
talked loudly of secession.

After consultation with Barneveld, the French envoys now thought it their
duty to take the recalcitrant Zeelanders in hand; Maurice having, as it
were, withdrawn from the contest.

On the 18th November, accordingly, Jeannin once more came very solemnly
before the States-General, accompanied by his diplomatic colleagues.

He showed the impossibility of any arrangement, except by the submission
of Zeeland to a vote of the majority. "It is certain," he said, "that six
provinces will never be willing to be conquered by a single one, nor
permit her to assert that, according to a fundamental law of the
commonwealth, her dissent can prevent the others from forming a definite
conclusion.

"It is not for us," continued the president, "who are strangers in your
republic, to interpret your laws, but common sense teaches us that, if
such a law exist, it could only have been made in order to forbid a
surrender.

"If any one wishes to expound it otherwise, to him we would reply, in the
words of an ancient Roman, who said of a law which seemed to him
pernicious, that at least the tablet upon which it was inscribed, if it
could not be destroyed, should be hidden out of sight. Thus at least the
citizens might escape observing it, when it was plain that it would cause
detriment to the republic, and they might then put in its place the most
ancient of all laws, 'salus populi suprema lex.'"

The president, having suggested this ingenious expedient of the antique
Roman for getting rid of a constitutional provision by hiding the
statute-book, proceeded to give very practical reasons for setting, up
the supreme law of the people's safety on this occasion. And, certainly,
that magnificent common-place, which has saved and ruined so many States,
the most effective weapon in the political arsenal, whether wielded by
tyrants or champions of freedom, was not unreasonably recommended at this
crisis to the States in their contest with the refractory Zeelanders. It
was easy to talk big, but after all it would be difficult for that
doughty little sandbank, notwithstanding the indomitable energy which it
had so often shown by land and sea, to do battle by itself with the whole
Spanish empire. Nor was it quite consistent with republican principles
that the other six provinces should be plunged once more into war, when
they had agreed to accept peace and independence instead, only that
Zeeland should have its way.

The orator went on to show the absurdity, in his opinion, of permitting
one province to continue the war, when all seven united had not the means
to do it without the assistance of their allies. He pointed out, too, the
immense blunders that would be made, should it be thought that the Kings
of France and England were so much interested in saving the provinces
from perdition as to feel obliged in any event to render them assistance.

"Beware of committing an irreparable fault," he said, "on so insecure a
foundation. You are deceiving yourselves: And, in order that there may be
no doubt on the subject, we declare to you by express command that if
your adversaries refuse the truce, according to the articles presented to
you by us, it is the intention of our kings to assist you with armies and
subsidies, not only as during the past, but more powerfully than before.
If, on the contrary, the rupture comes from your side, and you despise
the advice they are giving you, you have no succour to expect from them.
The refusal of conditions so honourable and advantageous to your
commonwealth will render the war a useless one, and they are determined
to do nothing to bring the reproach upon themselves."

The president then intimated; not without adroitness, that the republic
was placing herself in a proud position by accepting the truce, and that
Spain was abasing herself by giving her consent to it. The world was
surprised that the States should hesitate at all.

There was much more of scholastic dissertation in the president's
address, but enough has been given to show its very peremptory character.

If the war was to go on it was to be waged mainly by Zeeland alone. This
was now plain beyond all peradventure. The other provinces had resolved
to accept the proposed treaty. The cities of Delft and Amsterdam, which
had stood out so long among the estates of Holland, soon renounced their
opposition. Prince Maurice, with praiseworthy patriotism, reconciled
himself with the inevitable, and now that the great majority had spoken,
began to use his influence with the factious minority.

On the day after Jeannin's speech he made a visit to the French
ambassadors. After there had been some little discussion among them,
Barneveld made his appearance. His visit seemed an accidental one, but it
had been previously arranged with the envoys.

The general conversation went on a little longer, when the Advocate,
frankly turning to the Prince, spoke of the pain which he felt at the
schism between them. He defended himself with honest warmth against the
rumours circulated, in which he was accused of being a Spanish partisan.
His whole life had been spent in fighting Spain, and he was now more
determined than ever in his hostility to that monarchy. He sincerely
believed that by the truce now proposed all the solid advantages of the
war would be secured, and that such a result was a triumphant one for the
republic. He was also most desirous of being restored to the friendship
and good opinion of the house of Nassau; having proved during his whole
life his sincere attachment to their interests--a sentiment never more
lively in his breast than at that moment.

This advance was graciously met by the stadholder, and the two
distinguished personages were, for the time at least, reconciled.

It was further debated as to the number of troops that it be advisable
for the States to maintain during the truce and Barneveld expressed his
decided opinion that thirty thousand men, at least, would be required.
This opinion gave the prince at least as much pleasure as did the
personal devotion expressed by the Advocate, and he now stated his
intention of working with the peace party.

The great result was now certain. Delft and Amsterdam withdrew from their
opposition to the treaty, so that Holland was unanimous before the year
closed; Zeeland, yielding to the influence of Maurice, likewise gave in
her adhesion to the truce.

The details of the mode in which the final arrangement was made are not
especially interesting. The discussion was fairly at an end. The subject
had been picked to the bones. It was agreed that the French ambassadors
should go over the frontier, and hold a preliminary interview with the
Spanish commissioners at Antwerp.

The armistice was to be continued by brief and repeated renewals, until
it should be superseded by the truce of years:

Meantime, Archduke Albert sent his father confessor, Inigo Brizuela, to
Spain, in order to make the treaty posed by Jeannin palatable to the
king?

The priest was to set forth to Philip, as only a ghostly confessor could
do with full effect, that he need not trouble himself about the
recognition by the proposed treaty of the independence of the United
Provinces. Ambiguous words had been purposely made use of in this regard,
he was to explain, so that not only the foreign ambassadors were of
opinion that the rights of Spain were not curtailed, but the emptiness of
the imaginary recognition of Dutch freedom had been proved by the sharp
criticism of the States.

It is true that Richardot, in the name of the archduke, had three months
before promised the consent of the king, as having already been obtained.
But Richardot knew very well when he made the statement that it was
false. The archduke, in subsequent correspondence with the ambassadors in
December, repeated the pledge. Yet, not only had the king not given that
consent, but he had expressly refused it by a courier sent in November.

Philip, now convinced by Brother Inigo that while agreeing to treat with
the States-General as with a free commonwealth, over which he pretended
to no authority, he really meant that he was dealing with vassals over
whom his authority was to be resumed when it suited his convenience, at
last gave his consent to the, proposed treaty. The royal decision was,
however, kept for a time concealed, in order that the States might become
more malleable.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     A truce he honestly considered a pitfall of destruction
     Alas! we must always have something to persecute
     Argument is exhausted and either action or compromise begins
     Beware of a truce even more than of a peace
     Could handle an argument as well as a sword
     God alone can protect us against those whom we trust
     Humble ignorance as the safest creed
     Man is never so convinced of his own wisdom
     Peace was unattainable, war was impossible, truce was inevitable
     Readiness at any moment to defend dearly won liberties
     Such an excuse was as bad as the accusation
     The art of ruling the world by doing nothing
     To doubt the infallibility of Calvin was as heinous a crime
     What exchequer can accept chronic warfare and escape bankruptcy
     Words are always interpreted to the disadvantage of the weak



HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS

From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609

By John Lothrop Motley

History United Netherlands, Volume 83, 1609



CHAPTER LII.

   Vote of the States-General on the groundwork of the treaty--
   Meeting of the plenipotentiaries for arrangement of the truce--
   Signing of the twelve years' truce--Its purport--The negotiations
   concluded--Ratification by the States-General, the Archdukes, and
   the King of Spain--Question of toleration--Appeal of President
   Jeannin on behalf of the Catholics--Religious liberty the fruit of
   the war--Internal arrangements of the States under the rule of
   peace--Deaths of John Duke of Cleves and Jacob Arminius--Doctrines
   of Arminius and Gomarus--Theological warfare--Twenty years' truce
   between the Turkish and Roman empires--Ferdinand of Styria--
   Religious peace--Prospects of the future.

On the 11th January, 1609, the States-General decided by unanimous vote
that the first point in the treaty should be not otherwise fixed than,
thus:--

"That the archdukes--to superfluity--declare, as well in their own name
as in that of the King of Spain, their willingness to treat with the
lords States of the United Provinces in the capacity of, and as holding
them for, free countries, provinces, and states, over which they have no
claim, and that they are making a treaty with them in those said names
and qualities."

It was also resolved not to permit that any ecclesiastical or secular
matters, conflicting with the above-mentioned freedom, should be
proposed; nor that any delay should be sought for, by reason of the India
navigation or any other point.

In case anything to the contrary should be attempted by the king or the
archdukes, and the deliberations protracted in consequence more than
eight days, it was further decided by unanimous vote that the
negotiations should at once be broken off, and the war forthwith renewed,
with the help, if possible, of the kings, princes, and states, friends of
the good cause.

This vigorous vote was entirely the work of Barneveld, the man whom his
enemies dared to denounce as the partisan of Spain, and to hold up as a
traitor deserving of death. It was entirely within his knowledge that a
considerable party in the provinces had grown so weary of the war, and so
much alarmed at the prospect of the negotiations for truce coming to
nought, as to be ready to go into a treaty without a recognition of the
independence of the States. This base faction was thought to be
instigated by the English Government, intriguing secretly with President
Richardot. The Advocate, acting in full sympathy with Jeannin, frustrated
the effects of the manoeuvre by obtaining all the votes of Holland and
Zeeland for this supreme resolution. The other five provinces dared to
make no further effort in that direction against the two controlling
states of the republic.

It was now agreed that the French and English ambassadors should delay
going to Antwerp until informed of the arrival in that city of Spinola
and his colleagues; and that they should then proceed thither, taking
with them the main points of the treaty, as laid down by themselves, and
accepted with slight alterations by the States.

When the Spanish commissioners had signed these points the
plenipotentiaries were to come to Antwerp in order to settle other
matters of less vital import. Meantime, the States-General were to be
summoned to assemble in Bergen-op-Zoom, that they might be ready to deal
with difficulties, should any arise.

The first meeting took place on the 10th February, 1609. The first
objection to the draught was made by the Spaniards. It was about words
and wind. They liked not the title of high and puissant lords which was
given to the States-General, and they proposed to turn the difficulty by
abstaining from giving any qualifications whatever, either to the
archdukes or the republican authorities. The States refused to lower
these ensigns of their new-born power. It was, however, at last agreed
that, instead of high and mighty, they should be called illustrious and
serene.

This point being comfortably adjusted, the next and most important one
was accepted by the Spaniards. The independence of the States was
recognised according to the prescribed form. Then came the great bone of
contention, over which there had been such persistent wrangling--the
India trade.

The Spanish Government had almost registered a vow in heaven that the
word India should not be mentioned in the treaty. It was no less certain
that India was stamped upon the very heart of the republic, and could not
be torn from it while life remained. The subtle diplomatists now invented
a phrase in which the word should not appear, while the thing itself
should be granted. The Spaniards, after much altercation, at last
consented.

By the end of February, most of the plenipotentiaries thought it safe to
request the appearance of the States-General at Bergen-op-Zoom.

Jeannin, not altogether satisfied, however, with the language of the
Spaniards in regard to India, raised doubts as to the propriety of
issuing the summons. Putting on his most reverend and artless expression
of countenance, he assured Richardot that he had just received a despatch
from the Hague, to the effect that the India point would, in all
probability, cause the States at that very moment to break off the
negotiations. It was surely premature, therefore, to invite them to
Bergen. The despatch from the Hague was a neat fiction on the part of the
president, but it worked admirably. The other president, himself quite as
ready at inventions as Jeannin could possibly be, was nevertheless taken
in; the two ex-leaguers being, on the whole, fully a match for each other
in the art of intrigue. Richardot, somewhat alarmed, insisted that the
States should send their plenipotentiaries to Antwerp as soon as
possible. He would answer for it that they would not go away again
without settling upon the treaty. The commissioners were forbidden, by
express order from Spain, to name the Indies in writing, but they would
solemnly declare, by word of mouth, that the States should have full
liberty to trade to those countries; the King of Spain having no
intention of interfering with such traffic during the period of the
truce.

The commissioners came to Antwerp. The States-General assembled at
Bergen. On the 9th April, 1609, the truce for twelve years was signed.
This was its purport:

The preamble recited that the most serene princes and archdukes, Albert
and Isabella Clara Eugenic, had made, on the 24th April, 1607, a truce
and cessation of arms for eight months with the illustrious lords the
States-General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands, in quality of,
and as holding them for, states, provinces, and free countries, over
which they pretended to nothing; which truce was ratified by his Catholic
Majesty, as to that which concerned him, by letters patent of 18th
September, 1607; and that, moreover, a special power had been given to
the archdukes on the 10th January, 1608, to enable them in the king's
name as well as their own to do everything that they might think proper
to bring about a peace or a truce of many years.

It then briefly recited the rupture of the negotiations for peace, and
the subsequent, proposition, originated by the foreign ambassadors, to
renew the conference for the purpose of concluding a truce. The articles
of the treaty thus agreed upon were:

That the archdukes declared, as well in their own name as that of the
king, that they were content to treat with the lords the States-General
of the United Provinces in quality of, and as holding them for,
countries, provinces, and free states, over which they pretended to
nothing, and to, make with them a truce on certain following
conditions--to wit:

That the truce should be good, firm, loyal, inviolable, and for the term
of twelve years, during which time there was to be cessation of all acts
of hostility between the king, archdukes, and States-General, as well by
sea and other waters as by land, in all their kingdoms, countries, lands,
and lordships, and for all their subjects and inhabitants of whatever
quality and condition, without exception of places or of persons.

That each party should remain seized of their respective possessions, and
be not troubled therein during the truce.

That the subjects and inhabitants of the respective countries should
preserve amity and good correspondence during the truce, without
referring to past offences, and should freely and securely entertain
communication and traffic with each other by land and sea. This
provision, however, was to be expressly understood as limited by the king
to the kingdoms and countries possessed by him in Europe, and in other
places and seas where the subjects of other kings and princes, his
friends and allies, have amicable traffic. In regard, however, to places,
cities, ports, and harbours which he possessed outside of those limits,
the States and their subjects were to exercise no traffic, without
express permission of the king. They could, however, if they chose, trade
with the countries of all other princes, potentates, and peoples who were
willing to permit it; even outside those limits, without any hindrance by
the king;

That the truce should begin in regard to those distant countries after a
year from date, unless actual notification could be sooner served there
on those concerned;

That the subjects of the United Provinces should have the same liberty
and privilege within the States of the king and archdukes as had been
accorded to the subjects of the by the King of Great Britain, according
to the last treaty made with that sovereign;

That letters of marque and reprisal should not be granted during the
truce, except for special cause, and in cases permitted by the laws and
imperial constitutions, and according to the rules therein prescribed;

That those who had retired into neutral territory during the war were
also to enjoy the benefit of the truce, and could reside wherever they
liked without being deprived of their property;

That the treaty should be ratified by the archdukes and the
States-General within four days. As to the ratification of the king, the
archdukes were bound to deliver it in good and due form within three
months, in order that the lords the States-General, their subjects and
inhabitants, might enjoy effectively the fruits of the treaty;

That the treaty should be published everywhere immediately after the
ratification of the archdukes and States-General.

This document was signed by the ambassadors of the Kings of France and
Great Britain, as mediators, and then by the deputies of the archdukes,
and afterwards by those of the lords the States-General.

There were thirty-eight articles in all, but the chief provisions have
been indicated. The other clauses, relating to boundaries, confiscations,
regulations of duties, frontier fortifications, the estates of the Nassau
family, and other sequestrated property, have no abiding interest.

There was also a secret and special treaty which was demanded of the King
of Spain by the States-General, and by him accorded.

This secret treaty consisted of a single clause. That clause was made up
of a brief preamble and of a promise. The preamble recited textually
article fourth of the public treaty relative to the India trade. The
promise was to this effect.

For the period of the truce the Spanish commissioners pledged the faith
of the king and of his successors that his Majesty would cause no
impediment, whether by sea or land, to the States nor their subjects, in
the traffic that thereafter might be made in the countries of all
princes, potentates, and peoples who might permit the same, in whatever
place it might be, even without the limits designated, and everywhere
else, nor similarly to those carrying on such traffic with them, and that
the king and his successors would faithfully carry into effect everything
thus laid, down, so that the said traffic should be free and secure,
consenting even, in order that the clause might be the more authentic,
that it should be considered as inserted in the principal treaty, and as
making part thereof.

It will be perceived that the first article of all, and the last or
secret article, contained the whole marrow of the treaty. It may be well
understood, therefore, with what wry faces the Spanish plenipotentiaries
ultimately signed the document.

After two years and a quarter of dreary negotiation, the republic had
carried all its points, without swerving a hair's breadth from the
principles laid down in the beginning. The only concession made was that
the treaty was for a truce of twelve years, and not for peace. But as
after all, in those days, an interval of twelve years might be almost
considered an eternity of peace, and as calling a peace perpetual can
never make it so, the difference was rather one of phraseology than of
fact.

On the other hand, the States had extorted from their former sovereign a
recognition of their independence.

They had secured the India trade.

They had not conceded Catholic worship.

Mankind were amazed at this result--an event hitherto unknown in history.
When before had a sovereign acknowledged the independence of his
rebellious subjects, and signed a treaty with them as with equals? When
before had Spain, expressly or by implication, admitted that the East and
West Indies were not her private property, and that navigators to those
regions, from other countries than her own, were not to be chastised as
trespassers and freebooters?

Yet the liberty of the Netherlands was acknowledged in terms which
convinced the world that it was thenceforth an established fact. And
India was as plainly expressed by the omission of the word, as if it had
been engrossed in large capitals in Article IV.

The King's Government might seek solace in syntax. They might triumph in
Cardinal Bentivoglio's subtleties, and persuade themselves that to treat
with the republic as a free nation was not to hold it for a free nation
then and for ever. But the whole world knew that the republic really was
free, and that it had treated, face to face, with its former sovereign,
exactly as the Kings of France or Great Britain, or the Grand Turk, might
treat with him. The new commonwealth had taken its place among the
nations of the earth. Other princes and potentates made not the slightest
difficulty in recognising it for an independent power and entering into
treaties and alliances with it as with any other realm.

To the republic the substantial blessing of liberty: to his Catholic
Majesty the grammatical quirk. When the twelve years should expire, Spain
might reconquer the United Provinces if she could; relying upon the great
truth that an adverb was not a preposition. And France or Great Britain
might attempt the same thing if either felt strong enough for the
purpose. Did as plausible a pretext as that ever fail to a state
ambitious of absorbing its neighbours?

Jeannin was right enough in urging that this famous clause of recognition
ought to satisfy both parties. If the United Provinces, he said, happened
not to have the best muskets and cannons on their side when it should
once more come to blows, small help would they derive from verbal
bulwarks and advantages in the text of treaties.

Richardot consoled himself with his quibbles; for quibbles were his daily
bread. "Thank God our truce is made," said he, "and we have only lost the
sovereignty for twelve years, if after that we have the means or the will
to resume the war--whatever Don Pedro de Toledo may say."

Barneveld, on his part, was devoutly and soberly pleased with the result.
"To-day we have concluded our negotiations for the truce," he wrote to
Aerssens. "We must pray to the Lord God, and we must do our highest duty
that our work may redound to his honour and glory, and to the nation's
welfare. It is certain that men will make their criticisms upon it
according to their humours. But those who love their country, and all
honest people who know the condition of the land, will say that it is
well done."

Thus modestly, religiously, and sincerely spoke a statesman, who felt
that he had accomplished a great work, and that he had indeed brought the
commonwealth through the tempest at last.

The republic had secured the India trade. On this point the negotiators
had taken refuge in that most useful figure of speech for hard-pressed
diplomatists and law-makers--the ellipsis. They had left out the word
India, and his Catholic Majesty might persuade himself that by such
omission a hemisphere had actually been taken away from the Dutch
merchants and navigators. But the whole world saw that Article IV. really
contained both the East and West Indies. It hardly needed the secret
clause to make assurance doubly sure.

President Richardot was facetiously wont to observe that this point in
the treaty was so obscure that he did not understand it himself. But he
knew better. He understood it very well. The world understood it very
well. The United Provinces had throughout the negotiations ridiculde the
idea of being excluded from any part of the old world or, the new by
reason of the Borgian grant. All the commissioners knew that the war
would be renewed if any attempt were to be seriously made to put up those
famous railings around the ocean, of which the Dutch diplomatists spoke
in such bitter scorn. The Spanish plenipotentiaries, therefore, had
insisted that the word itself should be left out, and that the republic
should be forbidden access to territories subject to the crown of Spain.
So the Hollanders were thenceforth to deal directly with the kings of
Sumatra and the Moluccas, and the republics of Banda, and all the rich
commonwealths and principalities of nutmegs; cloves, and indigo, unless,
as grew every day more improbable, the Spaniards and Portuguese could
exclude them from that traffic by main force.  And the Orange flag of the
republic was to float with equal facility over all America, from the Isle
of Manhattan to the shores of Brazil and the Straits of Magellan,
provided Philip had not ships and soldiers to vindicate with the sword
that sovereignty which Spanish swords and Spanish genius had once
acquired.

As for the Catholic worship, the future was to prove that liberty for the
old religion and for all forms of religion was a blessing more surely to
flow from the enlightened public sentiment of a free people emerging out
of the most tremendous war for liberty ever waged, than from the
stipulations of a treaty with a foreign power.

It was characteristic enough of the parties engaged in the great
political drama that the republic now requested from France and Great
Britain a written recognition of its independence, and that both France
and England refused.

It was strange that the new commonwealth, in the very moment of extorting
her freedom from the ancient tyranny, should be so unconscious of her
strength as to think free papers from neutral powers a boon. As if the
sign-manual of James and Henry were a better guarantee than the trophies
of the Nassaus, of Heemskerk, of Matelieff, and of Olden-Barneveld!

It was not strange that the two sovereigns should decline the
proposition; for we well know the secret aspirations of each, and it was
natural that they should be unwilling to sign a formal quit-claim,
however improbable it might be that those dreams should ever become a
reality.

Both powers, however, united in a guarantee of the truce.

This was signed on the 17th June, and stipulated that, without their
knowledge and consent, the States should make no treaty during the period
of truce with the King of Spain or the archdukes. On the other hand, in
case of an infraction of the truce by the enemy, the two kings agreed to
lend assistance to the States in the manner provided--by the treaties
concluded with the republic previously to the negotiation of the truce.

The treaty had been at once ratified by the States-General, assembled for
the purpose with an extraordinary number of deputies at Bergen-op-Zoom.
It was also ratified without delay by the archdukes. The delivery of the
confirmation by his Catholic Majesty had been promised within three
months after the signatures of the plenipotentiaries.

It would however have been altogether inconsistent with the dignity and
the traditions of the Spanish court to fulfil this stipulation. It was
not to be expected that "I the King" could be written either by the
monarch himself, or by his alter ego the Duke of Lerma, in so short a
time as a quarter of a year.

Several weeks accordingly went by after the expiration of the stated
period. The ratification did not come, and the Netherlanders began to be
once more indignant. Before the storm had risen very high, however, the
despatches arrived. The king's signature was ante-dated 7th April, being
thus brought within the term of three months, and was a thorough
confirmation of what had been done by his plenipotentiaries.

His Majesty, however, expressed a hope that during the truce the States
would treat their Catholic subjects with kindness.

Certainly no exception could be taken to so reasonable an intimation as
this. President Jeannin, too, just before his departure, handed in to the
States-General an eloquent appeal on behalf of the Catholics of the
Netherlands; a paper which was not immediately made public.

"Consider the great number of Catholics," he said, "in your territory,
both in the cities and the country. Remember that they have worked with
you; spent their property, have been exposed to the same dangers, and
have always kept their fidelity to the commonwealth inviolate as long as
the war endured, never complaining that they did not enjoy liberty of
religious worship, believing that you had thus, ordained because the
public safety required such guaranty. But they always promised
themselves, should the end of the war be happy, and should you be placed
in the enjoyment of entire freedom, that they too would have some part in
this good fortune, even as they had been sharers in the inconveniences,
the expenses, and the perils of the war.

"But those cannot be said to share in any enjoyment from whom has been
taken the power of serving God according to the religion in which they
were brought up. On the contrary, no slavery is more intolerable nor more
exasperates the mind than such restraint. You know this well, my lords
States; you know too that it was the principal, the most puissant cause
that made you fly to arms and scorn all dangers, in order to effect your
deliverance from this servitude. You know that it has excited similar
movements in various parts of Christendom, and even in the kingdom of
France, with such fortunate success everywhere as to make it appear that
God had so willed it, in order to prove that religion ought to be taught
and inspired by the movements which come from the Holy Ghost, and not by
the force of man. Thus kings and princes should be induced by the evils
and ruin which they and their subjects have suffered from this cause, as
by a sentiment of their own interest, to take more care than has hitherto
been taken to practise in good earnest those remedies which were wont to
be used at a time when the church was in its greatest piety, in order to
correct the abuses and errors which the corruption of mankind had tried
to introduce as being the true and sole means of uniting all Christians
in one and the same creed."

Surely the world had made progress in these forty years of war. Was it
not something to gain for humanity, for intellectual advancement, for
liberty of thought, for the true interests of religion, that a Roman
Catholic, an ex-leaguer, a trusted representative of the immediate
successor of Charles IX. and Henry III., could stand up on the
blood-stained soil of the Netherlands and plead for liberty of conscience
for all mankind?

"Those cannot be said to share in, any enjoyment from whom has been taken
the power of serving God according to the religion in which they have
been brought up. No slavery is more intolerable nor more exasperating to
the mind than such restraint."

Most true, O excellent president! No axiom in mathematics is more certain
than this simple statement. To prove its truth William the Silent had
lived and died. To prove it a falsehood, emperors, and kings, and
priests, had issued bans, and curses, and damnable decrees. To root it
out they had butchered, drowned, shot, strangled, poisoned, tortured,
roasted alive, buried alive, starved, and driven mad, thousands and tens
of thousands of their fellow creatures. And behold there had been almost
a century of this work, and yet the great truth was not rooted out after
all; and the devil-worshippers, who had sought at the outset of the great
war to establish the Holy Inquisition in the Netherlands upon the ruins
of religious and political liberty, were overthrown at last and driven
back into the pit. It was progress; it was worth all the blood and
treasure which had been spilled, that, instead of the Holy Inquisition,
there was now holy liberty of thought.

That there should have been a party, that there should have been an
individual here and there, after the great victory was won, to oppose the
doctrine which the Catholic president now so nobly advocated, would be
enough to cause every believer in progress to hide his face in the dust,
did we not know that the march of events was destined to trample such
opposition out of existence, and had not history proved to us that the
great lesson of the war was not to be rendered nought by the efforts of a
few fanatics. Religious liberty was the ripened and consummate fruit, and
it could not but be gathered.

"Consider too," continued the president, "how much injury your refusal,
if you give it, will cause to those of your religion in the places where
they are the weakest, and where they are every day imploring with tears
and lamentations the grace of those Catholic sovereigns to whom they are
subject, to enable them to enjoy the same religious liberty which our
king is now demanding in favour of the Catholics among you. Do not cause
it to come again into the minds of those sovereigns and their peoples,
whom an inconsiderate zeal has often driven into violence and ferocity
against protestants, that a war to compel the weakest to follow the
religion of the strongest is just and lawful."

Had not something been gained for the world when this language was held
by a Catholic on the very spot where less than a half century before the
whole population of the Netherlands, men, women, and children, had been
condemned to death by a foreign tyrant, for the simple reason that it was
just, legal, and a Christian duty to punish the weak for refusing to
follow the religion of the strong?

"As for the perils which some affect to fear," said Jeannin, further, "if
this liberty of worship is accorded, experience teaches us every day that
diversity of religion is not the cause of the ruin of states, and that a
government does not cease to be good, nor its subjects to live in peace
and friend ship with one another, rendering due obedience to the laws and
to their, rulers as well as if they had all been of the same religion,
without having another thought, save for the preservation of the dignity
and grandeur of the state in which God had caused them to be born. The
danger is not in the permission, but in the prohibition of religious
liberty."

All this seems commonplace enough to us on the western side of the
Atlantic, in the middle of the nineteenth century, but it would have been
rank blasphemy in New England in the middle of the seventeenth, many
years after Jeannin spoke. It was a horrible sound, too, in the ears of
some of his audience.

To the pretence so often urged by the Catholic persecutors, and now set
up by their Calvinistic imitators; that those who still clung to the old
religion were at liberty to depart from the land, the president replied
with dignified scorn.

"With what justice," he asked, "can you drive into, exile people who have
committed no offence, and who have helped to conquer the very country
from which you would now banish them? If you do drive them away, you will
make solitudes in your commonwealth, which will, be the cause of evils
such as I prefer that you should reflect upon without my declaring them
now. Although these reasons," he continued, "would seem sufficient to
induce you to accord the free and public exercise of the Catholic
religion, the king, not hoping as much as that, because aware that you
are not disposed to go so far, is content to request only this grace in
behalf of the Catholics, that you will tolerate them, and suffer them to
have some exercise of their religion within their own households, without
interference or inquiry on that account, and without execution of the
rigorous decrees heretofore enforced against them."

Certainly if such wholesome, moderate, and modest counsels as these had
been rejected, it would have been sound doctrine to proclaim that the
world did not move. And there were individuals enough, even an
influential party, prepared to oppose them for both technical and
practical reasons. And the cause of intolerance derived much warmth and
comfort at this juncture from that great luminary of theology and
political philosophy, the King of Great Britain. Direful and solemn were
the warnings uttered by James to the republic against permitting the old
religion, or any religion save his own religion, to obtain the slightest
foothold within her borders.

"Let the religion be taught and preached in its parity throughout your
provinces without the least mixture," said Sir Ralph Winwood, in the name
of his sovereign.

"On this foundation the justice of your cause is built. There is but one
verity. Those who are willing to tolerate any religion, whatever it may
be, and try to make you believe that liberty for both is necessary in
your commonwealth, are paving the way towards atheism."

Such were the counsels of King James to the united States of the
Netherlands against harbouring Catholics. A few years later he was
casting forth Calvinists from his own dominions as if they had been
lepers; and they went forth on their weary pilgrimage to the howling
wilderness of North America, those exiled Calvinists, to build a greater
republic than had ever been dreamed of before on this planet; and they
went forth, not to preach, but in their turn to denounce toleration and
to hang heretics. "He who would tolerate another religion that his own
may be tolerated, would if need be, hang God's bible at the devil's
girdle." So spoke an early Massachusetts pilgrim, in the very spirit,
almost the very words of the royal persecutor; who had driven him into
outer darkness beyond the seas. He had not learned the lesson of the
mighty movement in which he was a pioneer, any more than Gomarus or
Uytenbogaart had comprehended why the Dutch republic had risen.

Yet the founders of the two commonwealths, the United States of the
seventeenth and of the nineteenth centuries, although many of them
fiercely intolerant, through a natural instinct of resistance, not only
to the oppressor but to the creed of the oppressor, had been breaking out
the way, not to atheism, as King James believed, but to the only garden
in which Christianity can perennially flourish--religious liberty.

Those most ardent and zealous path-finders may be forgiven, in view of
the inestimable benefits conferred by them upon humanity, that they did
not travel on their own road. It should be sufficient for us, if we make
due use of their great imperishable work ourselves; and if we never cease
rendering thanks to the Omnipotent, that there is at least one great
nation on the globe where the words toleration and dissenter have no
meaning whatever.

For the Dutch fanatics of the reformed church, at the moment of the
truce, to attempt to reverse the course of events, and to shut off the
mighty movement of the great revolt from its destined expanse, was as
hopeless a dream as to drive back the Rhine, as it reached the ocean,
into the narrow channel of the Rheinwald glacier whence it sprang.

The republic became the refuge for the oppressed of all nations, where
Jews and Gentiles, Catholics, Calvinists, and Anabaptistis, prayed after
their own manner to the same God and Father. It was too much, however, to
hope that passions which had been so fiercely bubbling during fifty years
would subside at once, and that the most intense religious hatreds that
ever existed would exhale with the proclamation of truce. The march of
humanity is rarely rapid enough to keep pace with the leaders in its most
sublime movements, and it often happens that its chieftains are dwarfed
in the estimation of the contemporaneous vulgar, by the very distance at
which they precede their unconscious followers. But even if the progress
of the human mind towards the truth is fated to be a spiral one, as if to
remind us that mankind is of the earth, earthy--a worm in the dust while
inhabiting this lower sphere--it is at least a consolation to reflect
upon the gradual advancement of the intellect from age to age.

The spirit of Torquemada, of Charles, of Philip, of Titelmann, is even
now not extinct on this globe, but there are counter forces at work,
which must ultimately blast it into insignificance. At the moment of the
great truce, that evil spirit was not exorcised from the human breast,
but the number of its victims and the intensity of its influence had
already miraculously diminished.

The truce was made and announced all over the Netherlands by the ringing
of bells, the happy discharge of innocent artillery, by illuminations, by
Te Deums in all the churches. Papist and Presbyterian fell on their knees
in every grand cathedral or humblest village church, to thank God that
what had seemed the eternal butchery was over. The inhabitants of the
united and of the obedient Netherlands rushed across the frontiers into a
fraternal embrace; like the meeting of many waters when the flood-gates
are lifted. It was pity that the foreign sovereignty, established at
Brussels, could not then and there have been for ever swept away, and
self-government and beneficent union extended over all the seventeen
Netherlands, Walloon and Flemish, Catholic and reformed. But it hardly
needs a word to show that the course of events had created a deeper chasm
between the two sections than the gravest physical catastrophe could have
produced. The opposing cliffs which religious hatred had rent asunder,
and between which it seemed destined to flow for ever, seemed very close,
and yet eternally separated.

The great war had established the republic; and apparently doomed the
obedient Netherlands to perpetual servitude.

There were many details of minor importance to be settled between the
various governments involved in these great transactions; but this
history draws to its predestined close, and it is necessary to glide
rapidly over matters which rather belong to a later epoch than the one
now under consideration.

The treaty between the republic and the government of Great Britain,
according to which each was to assist the other in case of war with four
thousand troops and twenty ships of war, was confirmed in the treaty of
truce. The debt of the United Provinces to the Crown of England was
definitely reckoned at 8,184,080 florins, and it was settled by the truce
that 200,000 florins should be paid semi-annually, to begin with the year
1611, until the whole debt should be discharged.

The army establishment of the republic was fixed during the truce at
thirty thousand infantry and three thousand horse. This was a reduction
from the war footing of fifteen thousand men. Of the force retained, four
thousand were a French legion maintained by the king, two thousand other
French at the expense of the States, and distributed among other troops,
two thousand Scotch, three thousand English, three thousand Germans. The
rest were native Netherlanders, among whom, however, were very few
Hollanders and Zeelanders, from which races the navy, both public and
mercantile, was almost wholly supplied.

The revenue of the United Provinces was estimated at between seven and
eight millions of florins.

It is superfluous to call attention again to the wonderful smallness of
the means, the minuteness of the physical enginry, as compared with more
modern manifestations, especially in our own land and epoch, by which so
stupendous a result had been reached. In the midst of an age in which
regal and sacerdotal despotism had seemed as omnipotent and irreversible
as the elemental laws of the universe, the republic had been reproduced.
A commonwealth of sand-banks, lagoons, and meadows, less than fourteen
thousand square miles in extent, had done battle, for nearly half a
century, with the greatest of existing powers, a realm whose territory
was nearly a third of the globe, and which claimed universal monarchy.
And this had been done with an army averaging forty-six thousand men,
half of them foreigners hired by the job, and by a sea-faring population,
volunteering into ships of every class and denomination, from a fly-boat
to a galleot of war.

And when the republic had won its independence, after this almost eternal
warfare, it owed four or five millions of dollars, and had sometimes an
annual revenue of nearly that amount.

It was estimated by Barneveld, at the conclusion of the truce, that the
interest on the public debt of Spain was about thrice the amount of the
yearly income of the republic, and it was characteristic of the financial
ideas of the period, that fears were entertained lest a total repudiation
of that burthen by the Spanish Government would enable it to resume the
war against the provinces with redoubled energy.

The annual salary of Prince Maurice, who was to see his chief occupation
gone by the cessation of the war, was fixed by the States at 120,000
florins. It was agreed, that in case of his marriage he should receive a
further yearly sum of 25,000 florins, and this addition was soon
afterwards voted to him outright, it being obvious that the prince would
remain all his days a bachelor.

Count Frederic Henry likewise received a military salary of 25,000
florins, while the emoluments of Lewis William were placed at 36,000
florins a year.

It must be admitted that the republic was grateful. 70,000 dollars a
year, in the seventeenth century, not only for life, but to be inherited
afterwards by his younger brother, Frederic Henry, was surely a
munificent sum to be accorded from the puny exchequer of the
States-General to the chief magistrate of the nation.

The mighty transatlantic republic, with its population of thirty or forty
millions, and its revenue of five hundred millions of dollars, pays
25,000 dollars annually for its president during his four years of
office, and this in the second half of the nineteenth century, when a
dollar is worth scarcely one-fifth of its value two hundred and fifty
years ago.

Surely here is improvement, both in the capacity to produce and in the
power to save.

In the year 1609, died John, the last sovereign of Cleves and Juliers,
and Jacob Arminius, Doctor of Divinity at Leyden. It would be difficult
to imagine two more entirely dissimilar individuals of the human family
than this lunatic duke and that theological professor. And yet, perhaps,
the two names, more concisely than those of any other mortals, might
serve as an index to the ghastly chronicle over which a coming generation
was to shudder. The death of the duke was at first thought likely to
break off the negotiations for truce. The States-General at once declared
that they would permit no movements on the part of the Spanish party to
seize the inheritance in behalf of the Catholic claimants. Prince
Maurice, nothing loth to make use of so well-timed an event in order to
cut for ever the tangled skein at the Hague, was for marching forthwith
into the duchies.

But the archdukes gave such unequivocal assurances of abstaining from
interference, and the desire for peace was so strong both in the obedient
and in the United Provinces, that the question of the duchies was
postponed. It was to serve as both torch and fuel for one of the longest
and most hideous tragedies that had ever disgraced humanity. A thirty
years' war of demons was, after a brief interval, to succeed the forty
years' struggle between slaves and masters, which had just ended in the
recognition of Dutch independence.

The gentle Arminius was in his grave, but a bloody harvest was fast
ripening from the seeds which he had sown. That evil story must find its
place in the melancholy chapter where the fortunes of the Dutch republic
are blended with the grim chronicle of the thirty years' war. Until the
time arrives for retracing the course of those united transactions to
their final termination in the peace of Westphalia, it is premature to
characterize an epoch which, at the moment with which we are now
occupied, had not fairly begun.

The Gomarites accused the Arminians of being more lax than Papists, and
of filling the soul of man with vilest arrogance and confidence in good
works; while the Arminians complained that the God of the Gomarites was
an unjust God, himself the origin of sin.

The disputes on these themes had been perpetual in the provinces ever
since the early days of the Reformation. Of late, however, the acrimony
of theological conflict had been growing day by day more intense. It was
the eternal struggle of religious dogma to get possession of the State,
and to make use of political forces in order to put fetters on the human
soul; to condemn it to slavery where most it requires freedom.

The conflict between Gomarus and Arminius proceeded with such ferocity in
Leyden, that, since the days of the memorable siege, to which the
university owed its origin, men's minds had never been roused to such
feverish anxiety: The theological cannonades, which thundered daily from
the college buildings and caused all Holland to quake, seemed more
appalling to the burghers than the enginry of Valdez and Boisot had ever
seemed to their fathers.

The Gomarite doctrine gained most favour with the clergy, the Arminian
creed with the municipal magistracies. The magistrates claimed that
decisions concerning religious matters belonged to the supreme authority.
The Gomarites contended that sacred matters should be referred to synods
of the clergy. Here was the germ of a conflict which might one day shake
the republic to its foundations.

Barneveld, the great leader of the municipal, party, who loved political
power quite as well as he loved his country; was naturally a chieftain of
the Arminians; for church, matters were no more separated from political
matters in the commonwealth at that moment than they were in the cabinets
of Henry, James, or Philip.

It was inevitable therefore that the war party should pour upon his head
more than seven vials of theological wrath. The religious doctrines which
he espoused were, odious not only because they were deemed vile in
themselves but because he believed in them.

Arminianism was regarded as a new and horrible epidemic, daily gaining
ground, and threatening to destroy the whole population. Men deliberated
concerning the best means to cut off communication with the infected
regions, and to extirpate the plague even by desperate and heroic
remedies, as men in later days take measures against the cholera or the
rinderpest.

Theological hatred was surely not extinct in the Netherlands. It was a
consolation, however, that its influence was rendered less noxious by the
vastly increased strength of principles long dormant in the atmosphere.
Anna van der Hoven, buried alive in Brussels, simply because her
Calvinistic creed was a crime in the eyes of the monks who murdered her,
was the last victim to purely religious persecution. If there were one
day to be still a tragedy or two in the Netherlands it was inevitable
that theological hatred would be obliged to combine with political party
spirit in its most condensed form before any deadly effect could be
produced.

Thus the year 1609 is a memorable one in the world's history. It forms a
great landmark in human progress. It witnessed the recognition of a
republic, powerful in itself, and whose example was destined to be most
influential upon the career of two mighty commonwealths of the future.
The British empire, just expanding for wider flight than it had hitherto
essayed, and about to pass through a series of vast revolutions,
gathering strength of wing as it emerged from cloud after cloud; and the
American republic, whose frail and obscure beginnings at that very
instant of time scarcely attracted a passing attention from the
contemporaneous world--both these political organisms, to which so much
of mankind's future liberties had been entrusted, were deeply indebted to
the earlier self-governing commonwealth.

The Dutch republic was the first free nation to put a girdle of empire
around the earth. It had courage, enterprise, intelligence, perseverance,
faith in itself, the instinct of self-government and self-help, hatred of
tyranny, the disposition to domineer, aggressiveness, greediness,
inquisitiveness, insolence, the love of science, of liberty, and of
money--all this in unlimited extent. It had one great defect, it had no
country. Upon that meagre standing ground its hand had moved the world
with an impulse to be felt through all the ages, but there was not soil
enough in those fourteen thousand, square miles to form the metropolis of
the magnificent empire which the genius of liberty had created beyond the
seas.

That the political institutions bequeathed by the United States of the
seventeenth century have been vastly improved, both in theory and
practice, by the United States of the nineteenth, no American is likely
to gainsay. That the elder Republic showed us also what to avoid, and was
a living example of the perils besetting a Confederacy which dared not
become a Union, is a lesson which we might take closely to heart.

But the year 1609 was not only memorable as marking an epoch in Dutch
history. It was the beginning of a great and universal pause. The world
had need of rest. Disintegration had been going on too rapidly, and it
was absolutely necessary that there should be a new birth, if
civilization were not to vanish.

A twenty years' truce between the Turkish and Holy Roman empires was
nearly simultaneous with the twelve years' truce between Spain and the
United Provinces. The Emperor Rudolph having refused to ratify the treaty
which his brother Matthias had made, was in consequence partially
discrowned. The same archduke who, thirty years before, had slipped away
from Vienna in his nightgown; with his face blackened, to outwit and
outgeneral William the Silent at Brussels, was now--more successful in
his manoeuvres against his imperial brother. Standing at the head of his
army in battle array, in the open fields before the walls of Prague, he
received--from the unfortunate Rudolph the crown and regalia of Hungary,
and was by solemn treaty declared sovereign of that ancient and
chivalrous kingdom.

His triumphal entrance into Vienna succeeded, where, surrounded by great
nobles and burghers, with his brother Maximilian at his side, with
immense pomp and with flowers strewn before his feet, he ratified that
truce with Ahmed which Rudolph had rejected. Three months later he was
crowned at Pressburg, having first accepted the conditions proposed by
the estates of Hungary. Foremost among these was the provision that the
exercise of the reformed religion should be free in all the cities and
villages beneath his sceptre, and that every man in the kingdom was to
worship God according to his conscience.

In the following March, at the very moment accordingly when the
conclusive negotiations were fast ripening at Antwerp, Matthias granted
religious peace for Austria likewise. Great was the indignation of his
nephew Leopold, the nuncius, and the Spanish ambassador in consequence,
by each and all of whom the revolutionary mischief-maker, with his
brother's crown on his head, was threatened with excommunication.

As for Ferdinand of Styria, his wrath may well be imagined. He refused
religious peace in his dominions with scorn ineffable. Not Gomarus in
Leyden could have shrunk from Arminianism with more intense horror than
that with which the archduke at Gratz recoiled from any form of
Protestantism. He wrote to his brother-in-law the King of Spain and to
other potentates--as if the very soul of Philip II. were alive within
him--that he would rather have a country without inhabitants than with a
single protestant on its soil. He strongly urged upon his Catholic
Majesty--as if such urging were necessary at the Spanish court--the
necessity of extirpating heresy, root and branch.

Here was one man at least who knew what he meant, and on whom the dread
lessons of fifty years of bloodshed had been lost. Magnificent was the
contempt which this pupil of the Jesuits felt for any little progress
made by the world since the days of Torquemada. In Ferdinand's view Alva
was a Christian hero, scarcely second to Godfrey of Bouillon, Philip II.
a sainted martyr, while the Dutch republic had never been born.

And Ferdinand was one day to sit on the throne of the holy Roman Empire.
Might not a shudder come over the souls of men as coming events vaguely
shaped themselves to prophetic eyes?

Meantime there was religious peace in Hungary, in Austria, in Bohemia, in
France, in Great Britain, in the Netherlands. The hangman's hands were
for a period at rest, so far as theology had need of them. Butchery in
the name of Christ was suspended throughout Christendom. The Cross and
the Crescent, Santiago and the Orange banner, were for a season in
repose.

There was a vast lull between two mighty storms. The forty years' war was
in the past, the thirty years' war in the not far distant future.



CHAPTER LIII.



CONCLUSION.

Forth-three years had passed since the memorable April morning in which
the great nobles of the, Netherlands presented their "Request" to the
Regent Margaret at Brussels.

They had requested that the holy Spanish Inquisition might not be
established on their soil to the suppression of all their political and
religious institutions.

The war which those high-born "beggars" had then kindled, little knowing
what they were doing, had now come to a close, and the successor of
Philip II., instead of planting the Inquisition in the provinces, had
recognised them as an independent, sovereign, protestant republic.

In the ratification which he had just signed of the treaty of truce the
most Catholic king had in his turn made a Request. He had asked the
States-General to deal kindly with their Catholic subjects.

That request was not answered with the age and faggot; with the avenging
sword of mercenary legions. On the contrary, it was destined to be
granted. The world had gained something in forty-three years. It had at
least begun to learn that the hangman is not the most appropriate teacher
of religion.

During the period of apparent chaos with which this history of the great
revolt has been occupied, there had in truth been a great reorganization,
a perfected new birth. The republic had once more appeared in the world.

Its main characteristics have been indicated in the course of the
narrative, for it was a polity which gradually unfolded itself out of the
decay and change of previous organisms.

It was, as it were, in their own despite and unwittingly that the United
Provinces became a republic at all.

In vain, after originally declaring their independence of the ancient
tyrant, had they attempted to annex themselves to France and to England.
The sovereignty had been spurned. The magnificent prize which France for
centuries since has so persistently coveted, and the attainment of which
has been a cardinal point of her perpetual policy--the Low Countries and
the banks of the Rhine--was deliberately laid at her feet, and as
deliberately refused.

It was the secret hope of the present monarch to repair the loss which
the kingdom had suffered through the imbecility of his two immediate
predecessors. But a great nation cannot with impunity permit itself to be
despotically governed for thirty years by lunatics. It was not for the
Bearnese, with all his valour, his wit, and his duplicity, to obtain the
prize which Charles IX. and Henry III. had thrown away. Yet to make
himself sovereign of the Netherlands was his guiding but most secret
thought during all the wearisome and tortuous negotiations which preceded
the truce; nor did he abandon the great hope with the signature of the
treaty of 1609.

Maurice of Nassau too was a formidable rival to Henry. The
stadholder-prince was no republican. He was a good patriot, a noble
soldier, an honest man. But his father had been offered the sovereignty
of Holland and Zeeland, and the pistol of Balthasar Gerard had alone, in
all human probability, prevented the great prince from becoming
constitutional monarch of all the Netherlands, Batavian and Belgic.

Maurice himself asserted that not only had he been offered a million of
dollars, and large estates besides in Germany, if he would leave the
provinces to their fate, but that the archdukes had offered, would he
join his fortunes with theirs, to place him in a higher position over all
the Netherlands than he had ever enjoyed in the United Provinces, and
that they had even unequivocally offered him the sovereignty over the
whole land.

Maurice was a man of truth, and we have no right to dispute the accuracy
of the extraordinary statement. He must however have reflected upon the
offer once made by the Prince of Darkness from the mountain top, and have
asked himself by what machinery the archdukes proposed to place him in
possession of such a kingdom.

There had, however, been serious question among leading Dutch statesmen
of making him constitutional, hereditary monarch of the United
Netherlands. As late as 1602 a secret conference was held at the house of
Olden-Barneveld, in which the Advocate had himself urged the claims of
the prince to the sovereignty, and reminded his guests that the signed
and sealed documents--with the concurrence of the Amsterdam municipality
alone lacking--by which William the Silent had been invited to assume the
crown were still in the possession of his son.

Nothing came of these deliberations. It was agreed that to stir in the
matter at that moment would be premature, and that the pursuit by Maurice
of the monarchy in the circumstances then existing would not only
over-burthen him with expense, but make him a more conspicuous mark than
ever for the assassin. It is certain that the prince manifested no undue
anxiety at any period in regard to those transactions.

Subsequently, as Olden-Barneveld's personal power increased, and as the
negotiations for peace became more and more likely to prove successful,
the Advocate lost all relish for placing his great rival on a throne. The
whole project, with the documents and secret schemes therewith connected,
became mere alms for oblivion. Barneveld himself, although of
comparatively humble birth and station, was likely with time to exercise
more real power in the State than either Henry or Maurice; and thus while
there were three individuals who in different ways aspired to supreme
power, the republic, notwithstanding, asserted and established itself.

Freedom of government and freedom, of religion were, on the whole,
assisted by this triple antagonism. The prince, so soon as war was over,
hated the Advocate and his daily increasing power more and more. He
allied himself more closely than ever with the Gomarites and the clerical
party in general, and did his best to inflame the persecuting spirit,
already existing in the provinces, against the Catholics and the later
sects of Protestants.

Jeannin warned him that "by thus howling with the priests" he would be
suspected of more desperately ambitious designs than he perhaps really
cherished.

On the other hand, Barneveld was accused of a willingness to wink at the
introduction, privately and quietly, of the Roman Catholic worship. That
this was the deadliest of sins, there was no doubt whatever in the minds
of his revilers. When it was added that he was suspected of the Arminian
leprosy, and that he could tolerate the thought that a virtuous man or
woman, not predestined from all time for salvation, could possibly find
the way to heaven, language becomes powerless to stigmatize his
depravity. Whatever the punishment impending over his head in this world
or the next, it is certain that the cause of human freedom was not
destined on the whole to lose ground through the life-work of Barneveld.

A champion of liberties rather than of liberty, he defended his
fatherland with heart and soul against the stranger; yet the government
of that fatherland was, in his judgments to be transferred from the hand
of the foreigner, not to the self-governing people, but to the provincial
corporations. For the People he had no respect, and perhaps little
affection. He often spoke of popular rights with contempt. Of popular
sovereignty he had no conception. His patriotism, like his ambition, was
provincial. Yet his perceptions as to eternal necessity in all healthy
governments taught him that comprehensible relations between the state
and the population were needful to the very existence of a free
commonwealth. The United Provinces, he maintained, were not a republic,
but a league of seven provinces very loosely hung together, a mere
provisional organization for which it was not then possible to substitute
anything better. He expressed this opinion with deep regret, just as the
war of independence was closing, and added his conviction that, without
some well-ordered government, no republic could stand.

Yet, as time wore on, the Advocate was destined to acquiesce more and
more in this defective constitution. A settled theory there was none, and
it would have been difficult legally and historically to establish the
central sovereignty of the States-General as matter of right.

Thus Barneveld, who was anything but a democrat, became, almost
unwittingly, the champion of the least venerable or imposing of all forms
of aristocracy--an oligarchy of traders who imagined themselves
patricians. Corporate rights, not popular liberty, seemed, in his view,
the precious gains made by such a prodigious expenditure of time, money,
and blood. Although such acquisitions were practically a vast addition to
the stock of human freedom then existing in the world, yet torrents of
blood and millions of treasure were to be wasted in the coming centuries
before mankind was to convince itself that a republic is only to be made
powerful and perpetual by placing itself upon the basis of popular right
rather than on that of municipal privilege.

The singular docility of the Dutch people, combined with the simplicity,
honesty, and practical sagacity of the earlier burgher patricians, made
the defects of the system tolerable for a longer period than might have
been expected; nor was it until theological dissensions had gathered to
such intensity as to set the whole commonwealth aflame that the grave
defects in the political structure could be fairly estimated.

It would be anticipating a dark chapter in the history of the United
Provinces were the reader's attention now to be called to those fearful
convulsions. The greatest reserve is therefore necessary at present in
alluding to the subject.

It was not to be expected that an imperious, energetic but somewhat
limited nature like that of Barneveld should at that epoch thoroughly
comprehend the meaning of religious freedom. William the Silent alone
seems to have risen to that height. A conscientious Calvinist himself,
the father of his country would have been glad to see Protestant and
Papist, Lutheran, Presbyterian, and Anabaptist living together in harmony
and political equality. This was not to be. The soul of the immortal
prince could not inspire the hearts of his contemporaries. That Barneveld
was disposed to a breadth of religious sympathy unusual in those days,
seems certain. It was inevitable, too, that the mild doctrines of
Arminius should be more in harmony with such a character than were the
fierce dogmas of Calvin. But the struggle, either to force Arminianism
upon the Church which considered itself the established one in the
Netherlands, or to expel the Calvinists from it, had not yet begun;
although the seeds of religious persecution of Protestants by Protestants
had already been sown broadcast.

The day was not far distant when the very Calvinists, to whom, more than
to any other class of men, the political liberties of Holland, England,
and America are due, were to be hunted out of churches into farm-houses,
suburban hovels, and canal-boats by the arm of provincial sovereignty and
in the name of state-rights, as pitilessly as the early reformers had
been driven out of cathedrals in the name of emperor and pope; and when
even those refuges for conscientious worship were to be denied by the
dominant sect. And the day was to come, too, when the Calvinists,
regaining ascendency in their turn, were to hunt the heterodox as they
had themselves been hunted; and this, at the very moment when their
fellow Calvinists of England were driven by the Church of that kingdom
into the American wilderness.

Toleration--that intolerable term of insult to all who love liberty--had
not yet been discovered. It had scarcely occurred to Arminian or
Presbyterian that civil authority and ecclesiastical doctrine could be
divorced from each other. As the individual sovereignty of the seven
states established itself more and more securely, the right of provincial
power to dictate religious dogmas, and to superintend the popular
conscience, was exercised with a placid arrogance which papal
infallibility could scarcely exceed. The alternation was only between the
sects, each in its turn becoming orthodox, and therefore persecuting. The
lessened intensity of persecution however, which priesthood and authority
were now allowed to exercise, marked the gains secured.

Yet while we censure--as we have a right to do from the point of view
which we have gained after centuries--the crimes committed by bigotry
against liberty, we should be false, to our faith in human progress did
we not acknowledge our debt of gratitude to the hot gospellers of Holland
and England.

The doctrine of predestination, the consciousness of being chosen
soldiers of Christ, inspired those puritans, who founded the
commonwealths of England, of Holland, and of America, with a contempt of
toil, danger, and death which enabled them to accomplish things almost
supernatural.

No uncouthness of phraseology, no unlovely austerity of deportment,
could, except to vulgar minds, make that sublime enthusiasm ridiculous,
which on either side the ocean ever confronted tyranny with dauntless
front, and welcomed death on battle-field, scaffold, or rack with perfect
composure.

The early puritan at least believed. The very intensity of his belief
made him--all unconsciously to himself, and narrowed as was his view of
his position--the great instrument by which the widest human liberty was
to be gained for all mankind.

The elected favourite of the King of kings feared the power of no earthly
king. Accepting in rapture the decrees of a supernatural tyranny, he rose
on mighty wings above the reach of human wrath. Prostrating himself
before a God of vengeance, of jealousy, and of injustice, he naturally
imitated the attributes which he believed to be divine. It was
inevitable, therefore, that Barneveld, and those who thought with him,
when they should attempt to force the children of Belial into the company
of the elect and to drive the faithful out of their own churches, should
be detested as bitterly as papists had ever been.

Had Barneveld's intellect been broad enough to imagine in a great
republic the separation of Church and State, he would deserve a tenderer
sympathy, but he would have been far in advance of his age. It is not
cheerful to see so powerful an intellect and so patriotic a character
daring to entrust the relations between man and his Maker to the decree
of a trading corporation. But alas! the world was to wait for centuries
until it should learn that the State can best defend religion by letting
it alone, and that the political arm is apt to wither with palsy when it
attempts to control the human conscience.

It is not entirely the commonwealth of the United Netherlands that is of
importance in the epoch which I have endeavoured to illustrate. History
can have neither value nor charm for those who are not impressed with a
conviction of its continuity.

More than ever during the period which we call modern history has this
idea of the continuousness of our race, and especially of the inhabitants
of Europe and America, become almost oppressive to the imagination. There
is a sense of immortality even upon earth when we see the succession of
heritages in the domains of science, of intellectual and material wealth
by which mankind, generation after generation, is enriching itself.

If this progress be a dream, if mankind be describing a limited circle
instead of advancing towards the infinite; then no study can be more
contemptible than the study of history.

Few strides more gigantic have been taken in the march of humanity than
those by which a parcel of outlying provinces in the north of Europe
exchanged slavery to a foreign despotism and to the Holy Inquisition for
the position of a self-governing commonwealth, in the, front rank of
contemporary powers, and in many respects the foremost of the world. It
is impossible to calculate the amount of benefit tendered to civilization
by the example of the Dutch republic. It has been a model which has been
imitated, in many respects, by great nations. It has even been valuable
in its very defects; indicating to the patient observer many errors most
important to avoid.

Therefore, had the little republic sunk for ever in the sea so soon as
the treaty of peace had been signed at Antwerp, its career would have
been prolific of good for all succeeding time.

Exactly at the moment when a splendid but decaying despotism, founded
upon wrong--upon oppression of the human body and the immortal soul, upon
slavery, in short, of the worst kind--was awaking from its insane dream
of universal empire to a consciousness of its own decay, the new republic
was recognised among the nations.

It would hardly be incorrect to describe the Holland of the beginning of
the seventeenth century as the exact reverse of Spain. In, the
commonwealth labour was most honourable; in the kingdom it was vile. In
the north to be idle was accounted and punished as a crime. In the
southern peninsula, to be contaminated with mechanical, mercantile,
commercial, manufacturing pursuits, was to be accursed. Labour was for
slaves, and at last the mere spectacle of labour became so offensive that
even the slaves were expelled from the land. To work was as degrading in
the south as to beg or to steal was esteemed unworthy of humanity in the
north. To think a man's thought upon high matters of religion and
government, and through a thousand errors to pursue the truth; with the
aid of the Most High and with the best use of human reason, was a
privilege secured by the commonwealth, at the expense of two generations
of continuous bloodshed. To lie fettered, soul and body, at the feet of
authority wielded by a priesthood in its last stage of corruption, and
monarchy almost reduced to imbecility, was the lot of the chivalrous,
genial; but much oppressed Spaniard.

The pictures painted of the republic by shrewd and caustic observers, not
inclined by nature or craft to portray freedom in too engaging colours,
seem, when contrasted with those revealed of Spain, almost like
enthusiastic fantasies of an ideal commonwealth.

During the last twenty years of the great war the material prosperity of
the Netherlands had wonderfully increased. They had, become the first
commercial nation in the world. They had acquired the supremacy of the
seas. The population of Amsterdam had in twenty years increased from
seventy thousand to a hundred and thirty thousand, and was destined to be
again more than doubled in the coming decade. The population of Antwerp
had sunk almost as rapidly as that of its rival had increased; having
lessened by fifty thousand during the same period. The commercial capital
of the obedient provinces, having already lost much of its famous traffic
by the great changes in the commercial current of the world, was unable
to compete with the cities of the United Provinces in the vast trade
which the geographical discoveries of the preceding century had opened to
civilization. Freedom of thought and action were denied, and without such
liberty it was impossible for oceanic commerce to thrive. Moreover, the
possession by the Hollanders of the Scheld forts below Antwerp, and of
Flushing at the river's mouth, suffocated the ancient city, and would of
itself have been sufficient to paralyze all its efforts.

In Antwerp the exchange, where once thousands of the great merchants of
the earth held their daily financial parliament, now echoed to the
solitary footfall of the passing stranger. Ships lay rotting at the
quays; brambles grow in the commercial streets. In Amsterdam the city had
been enlarged by two-thirds, and those who swarmed thither to seek their
fortunes could not wait for the streets to be laid out and houses to be
built, but established themselves in the environs, building themselves
hovels and temporary residences, although certain to find their
encampments swept away with the steady expanse of the city. As much land
as could be covered by a man's foot was worth a ducat in gold.

In every branch of human industry these republicans took the lead. On
that scrap of solid ground, rescued by human energy from the ocean, were
the most fertile pastures in the world. On those pastures grazed the most
famous cattle in the world. An ox often weighed more than two thousand
pounds.  The cows produced two and three calves at a time, the sheep four
and five lambs. In a single village four thousand kine were counted.
Butter and cheese were exported to the annual value of a million, salted
provisions to an incredible extent. The farmers were industrious,
thriving, and independent. It is an amusing illustration of the
agricultural thrift and republican simplicity of this people that on one
occasion a farmer proposed to Prince Maurice that he should marry his
daughter, promising with her a dowry of a hundred thousand florins.

The mechanical ingenuity of the Netherlanders, already celebrated by
Julius Caesar and by Tacitus, had lost nothing of its ancient fame. The
contemporary world confessed that in many fabrics the Hollanders were at
the head of mankind. Dutch linen, manufactured of the flax grown on their
own fields or imported from the obedient provinces, was esteemed a
fitting present for kings to make and to receive. The name of the country
had passed into the literature of England as synonymous with the delicate
fabric itself. The Venetians confessed themselves equalled, if not
outdone, by the crystal workers and sugar refiners of the northern
republic. The tapestries of Arras--the name of which Walloon city had
become a household word of luxury in all modern languages--were now
transplanted to the soil of freedom, more congenial to the advancement of
art. Brocades of the precious metals; splendid satins and velvets; serges
and homely fustians; laces of thread and silk; the finer and coarser
manufactures of clay and porcelain; iron, steel, and all useful fabrics
for the building and outfitting of ships; substantial broadcloths
manufactured of wool imported from Scotland--all this was but a portion
of the industrial production of the provinces.

They supplied the deficiency of coal, not then an article readily
obtained by commerce, with other remains of antediluvian forests long
since buried in the sea, and now recovered from its depths and made
useful and portable by untiring industry. Peat was not only the fuel for
the fireside, but for the extensive fabrics of the country, and its
advantages so much excited the admiration of the Venetian envoys that
they sent home samples of it, in the hope that the lagunes of Venice
might prove as prolific of this indispensable article as the polders of
Holland.

But the foundation of the national wealth, the source of the apparently
fabulous power by which the republic had at last overthrown her gigantic
antagonist, was the ocean. The republic was sea-born and sea-sustained.

She had nearly one hundred thousand sailors, and three thousand ships.
The sailors were the boldest, the best disciplined, and the most
experienced in the-world, whether for peaceable seafaring or ocean
warfare. The ships were capable of furnishing from out of their number in
time of need the most numerous and the best appointed navy then known to
mankind.

The republic had the carrying trade for all nations. Feeling its very
existence dependent upon commerce, it had strode centuries in advance of
the contemporary world in the liberation of trade. But two or three per
cent. ad valorem was levied upon imports; foreign goods however being
subject, as well as internal products, to heavy imposts in the way of
both direct and indirect taxation.

Every article of necessity or luxury known was to be purchased in
profusion and at reasonable prices in the warehouses of Holland.

A swarm of river vessels and fly-boats were coming daily through the
rivers of Germany, France and the Netherlands, laden with the
agricultural products and the choice manufactures of central and western
Europe. Wine and oil, and delicate fabrics in thread and wool, came from
France, but no silks, velvets, nor satins; for the great Sully had
succeeded in persuading his master that the white mulberry would not grow
in his kingdom, and that silk manufactures were an impossible dream for
France. Nearly a thousand ships were constantly employed in the Baltic
trade.  The forests of Holland were almost as extensive as those which
grew on Norwegian hills, but they were submerged. The foundation of a
single mansion required a grove, and wood was extensively used in the
superstructure. The houses, built of a framework of substantial timber,
and filled in with brick or rubble, were raised almost as rapidly as
tents, during the prodigious expansion of industry towards the end of the
war. From the realms of the Osterlings, or shores of the Baltic, came
daily fleets laden with wheat and other grains so that even in time of
famine the granaries of the republic were overflowing, and ready to
dispense the material of life to the outer world.

Eight hundred vessels of lesser size but compact build were perpetually
fishing for herrings on the northern coasts. These hardy mariners, the
militia of the sea, who had learned in their life of hardship and daring
the art of destroying Spanish and Portuguese armadas, and confronting the
dangers of either pole, passed a long season on the deep. Commercial
voyagers as well as fishermen, they salted their fish as soon as taken
from the sea, and transported them to the various ports of Europe, thus
reducing their herrings into specie before their return, and proving that
a fishery in such hands was worth more than the mines of Mexico and Peru.

It is customary to speak of the natural resources of a country as
furnishing a guarantee of material prosperity. But here was a republic
almost without natural resources, which had yet supplied by human
intelligence and thrift what a niggard nature had denied. Spain was
overflowing with unlimited treasure, and had possessed half the world in
fee; and Spain was bankrupt, decaying, sinking into universal pauperism.
Holland, with freedom of thought, of commerce, of speech, of action,
placed itself, by intellectual power alone, in the front rank of
civilization.

From Cathay, from the tropical coasts of Africa, and from farthest Ind,
came every drug, spice, or plant, every valuable jewel, every costly
fabric, that human ingenuity had discovered or created. The Spaniards,
maintaining a frail tenure upon a portion of those prolific regions,
gathered their spice harvests at the point of the sword, and were
frequently unable to prevent their northern rivals from ravaging such
fields as they had not yet been able to appropriate.

Certainly this conduct of the Hollanders was barbarism and supreme
selfishness, if judged by the sounder political economy of our time. Yet
it should never be forgotten that the contest between Spain and Holland
in those distant regions, as everywhere else, was war to the knife
between superstition and freedom, between the spirits of progress and of
dogma. Hard blows and foul blows were struck in such a fight, and
humanity, although gaining at last immense results, had much to suffer
and much to learn ere the day was won.

But Spain was nearly beaten out of those eastern regions, and the very
fact that the naval supremacy of the republic placed her ancient tyrant
at her mercy was the main reason for Spain to conclude the treaty of
truce. Lest she should lose the India trade entirely, Spain consented to
the treaty article by which, without mentioning the word, she conceded
the thing. It was almost pathetic to witness, as we have witnessed, this
despotism in its dotage, mumbling so long over the formal concession to
her conqueror of a portion of that India trade which would have been
entirely wrested from herself had the war continued. And of this Spain
was at heart entirely convinced. Thus the Portuguese, once the lords and
masters, as they had been the European discoverers, of those prolific
regions and of the ocean highways which led to them, now came with
docility to the republic which they had once affected to despise, and
purchased the cloves and the allspice, the nutmegs and the cinnamon, of
which they had held the monopoly; or waited with patience until the
untiring Hollanders should bring the precious wares to the peninsula
ports.

A Dutch Indianian would make her voyage to the antipodes and her return
in less time than was spent by a Portuguese or a Spaniard in the outward
voyage. To accomplish such an enterprise in two years was accounted a
wonder of rapidity, and when it is remembered that inland navigation
through France by canal and river from the North Sea to the Mediterranean
was considered both speedier and safer, because the sea voyage between
the same points might last four or five months, it must be admitted that
two years occupied in passing from one end of the earth to the other and
back again might well seem a miracle.

The republic was among the wealthiest and the most powerful of organized
States. Her population might be estimated at three millions and a half,
about equal to that of England at the same period. But she was richer
than England. Nowhere in the world was so large a production in
proportion to the numbers of a people. Nowhere were so few unproductive
consumers. Every one was at work. Vagabonds, idlers, and do-nothings,
such as must be in every community, were caught up by the authorities and
made to earn their bread. The devil's pillow, idleness, was smoothed for
no portion of the population.

There were no beggars, few paupers, no insolently luxurious and
ostentatiously idle class. The modesty, thrift, and simple elegance of
the housekeeping, even among the wealthy, was noted by travellers with
surprise. It will be remembered with how much amused wonder, followed by
something like contempt, the, magnificent household of Spinola, during
his embassy at the Hague, was surveyed by the honest burghers of Holland.
The authorities showed their wisdom in permitting the absurd exhibition,
as an example of what should be shunned, in spite of grave remonstrances
from many of the citizens. Drunken Helotism is not the only form of
erring humanity capable of reading lessons to a republic.

There had been monasteries, convents, ecclesiastical establishments of
all kinds in the country, before the great war between Holland and the
Inquisition. These had, as a matter of course, been confiscated as the
strife went on. The buildings, farms, and funds, once the property of the
Church, had not, however, been seized upon, as in other Protestant lands,
by rapacious monarchs, and distributed among great nobles according to
royal caprice. Monarchs might give the revenue of a suppressed convent to
a cook, as reward for a successful pudding; the surface of Britain and
the continent might be covered with abbeys and monasteries now converted
into lordly palaces--passing thus from the dead hand of the Church into
the idle and unproductive palm of the noble; but the ancient
ecclesiastical establishments of the free Netherlands were changed into
eleemosynary institutions, admirably organized and administered with
wisdom and economy, where orphans of the poor, widows of those slain in
the battles for freedom by land and sea, and the aged and the infirm, who
had deserved well of the republic in the days of their strength, were
educated or cherished at the expense of the public, thus endowed from the
spoils of the Church.

In Spain, monasteries upon monasteries were rising day by day, as if
there were not yet receptacles enough for monks and priests, while
thousands upon thousands of Spaniards were pressing into the ranks of the
priesthood, and almost forcing themselves into monasteries, that they
might be privileged to beg, because ashamed to work. In the United
Netherlands the confiscated convents, with their revenues, were
appropriated for the good of those who were too young or too old to
labour, and too poor to maintain themselves without work. Need men look
further than to this simple fact to learn why Spain was decaying while
the republic was rising?

The ordinary budget of the United Provinces was about equal to that of
England, varying not much from four millions of florins, or four hundred
thousand pounds. But the extraordinary revenue was comparatively without
limits, and there had been years, during the war, when the citizens had
taxed themselves as highly as fifty per cent. on each individual income,
and doubled the receipts of the exchequer. The budget was proposed once a
year, by the council of state, and voted by the States-General, who
assigned the quota of each province; that of Holland being always
one-half of the whole, that of Zeeland sixteen per cent., and that of the
other five of course in lesser proportions. The revenue was collected in
the separate provinces, one-third of the whole being retained for
provincial expenses, and the balance paid into the general treasury.
There was a public debt, the annual interest of which amounted to 200,000
florins. During the war, money had been borrowed at as high a rate as
thirty-six per cent., but at the conclusion of hostilities the States
could borrow at six per cent., and the whole debt was funded on that
basis. Taxation was enormously heavy, but patriotism caused it to be
borne with cheerfulness, and productive industry made it comparatively
light. Rents were charged twenty-five per cent. A hundred per cent. was
levied upon beer, wine, meat, salt, spirits. Other articles of necessity
and luxury were almost as severely taxed. It is not easy to enumerate the
tax-list, scarcely anything foreign or domestic being exempted, while the
grave error was often committed of taxing the same article, in different
forms, four, five, and six times.

The people virtually taxed themselves, although the superstition
concerning the State, as something distinct from and superior to the
people, was to linger long and work infinite mischief among those seven
republics which were never destined to be welded theoretically and
legally into a union. The sacredness of corporations had succeeded, in a
measure, to the divinity which hedges kings. Nevertheless, those
corporations were so numerous as to be effectively open to a far larger
proportion of the population than, in those days, had ever dreamed before
of participating in the Government. The magistracies were in general
unpaid and little coveted, being regarded as a burthen and a
responsibility rather than an object of ambition. The jurisconsults,
called pensionaries, who assisted the municipal authorities, received,
however, a modest salary, never exceeding 1500 florins a year.

These numerous bodies, provincial and municipal, elected themselves
themselves by supplying their own vacancies. The magistrates were
appointed by the stadholder, on a double or triple nomination from the
municipal board. This was not impartial suffrage nor manhood suffrage.
The germ of a hateful burgher-oligarchy was in the system, but, as
compared with Spain, where municipal magistracies were sold by the crown
at public auction; or with France, where every office in church, law,
magistrature, or court was an object of merchandise disposed of in open
market, the system was purity itself, and marked a great advance in the
science of government.

It should never be forgotten, moreover, that while the presidents and
judges of the highest courts of judicature in other civilized lands were
at the mercy of an irresponsible sovereign, and held office--even
although it had been paid for in solid specie--at his pleasure, the
supreme justices of the high courts of appeal at the Hague were nominated
by a senate, and confirmed by a stadholder, and that they exercised their
functions for life, or so long as they conducted themselves virtuously in
their high office--'quamdiu se bene gesserint.'

If one of the great objects of a civilized community is to secure to all
men their own--'ut sua tenerent'--surely it must be admitted that the
republic was in advance of all contemporary States in the laying down of
this vital principle, the independence of judges.

As to the army and navy of the United Provinces, enough has been said, in
earlier chapters of these volumes, to indicate the improvements
introduced by Prince Maurice, and now carried to the highest point of
perfection ever attained in that period. There is no doubt whatever, that
for discipline, experience, equipment, effectiveness of movement, and
general organization, the army of the republic was the model army of
Europe. It amounted to but thirty thousand infantry and two thousand five
hundred cavalry, but this number was a large one for a standing army at
the beginning of the seventeenth century. It was composed of a variety of
materials, Hollanders, Walloons, Flemings, Scotch, English, Irish,
Germans, but all welded together into a machine of perfect regularity.
The private foot-soldier received twelve florins for a so-called month of
forty-two days, the drummer and corporal eighteen, the lieutenant
fifty-two, and the captain one hundred and fifty florins. Prompt payment
was made every week. Obedience was implicit; mutiny, such as was of
periodical recurrence in the archduke's army, entirely unknown. The
slightest theft was punished with the gallows, and there was therefore no
thieving.

The most accurate and critical observers confessed, almost against their
will, that no army in Europe could compare with the troops of the States.
As to the famous regiments of Sicily, and the ancient legions of Naples
and Milan, a distinguished Venetian envoy, who had seen all the camps and
courts of Christendom, and was certainly not disposed to overrate the
Hollanders at the expense of the Italians, if any rivalry between them
had been possible, declared that every private soldier in the republic
was fit to be a captain in any Italian army; while, on the other hand,
there was scarcely an Italian captain who would be accepted as a private
in any company of the States. So low had the once famous soldiery of
Alva, Don John, and Alexander Farnese descended.

The cavalry of the republic was even more perfectly organized than was
the infantry. "I want words to describe its perfection," said Contarini.
The pay was very high, and very prompt. A captain received four hundred
florins a month (of forty-two days), a lieutenant one hundred and eighty
florins, and other officers and privates in proportion. These rates would
be very high in our own day. When allowance is made for the difference in
the value of money at the respective epochs, the salaries are prodigious;
but the thrifty republic found its account in paying well and paying
regularly the champions on whom so much depended, and by whom such
splendid services had been rendered.

While the soldiers in the pay of Queen Elizabeth were crawling to her
palace gates to die of starvation before her eyes; while the veterans of
Spain and of Italy had organized themselves into a permanent military,
mutinous republic, on the soil of the so-called obedient Netherland,
because they were left by their masters without clothing or food; the
cavalry and infantry of the Dutch commonwealth, thanks to the organizing
spirit and the wholesome thrift of the burgher authorities, were
contented, obedient, well fed, well clothed, and well paid; devoted to
their Government, and ever ready to die in its defence.

Nor was it only on the regular army that reliance was placed. On the
contrary, every able-bodied man in the country was liable to be called
upon to serve, at any moment, in the militia. All were trained to arms,
and provided with arms, and there had been years during this perpetual
war in which one man out of three of the whole male population was ready
to be mustered at any moment into the field.

Even more could be said in praise of the navy than has been stated of the
armies of the republic; for the contemporary accounts of foreigners, and
of foreigners who were apt to be satirical, rather than enthusiastic,
when describing the institutions, leading personages, and customs of
other countries, seemed ever to speak of the United Provinces in terms of
eulogy. In commerce, as in war, the naval supremacy of the republic was
indisputable. It was easy for the States to place two thousand vessels of
war in commission, if necessary, of tonnage varying from four hundred to
twelve hundred tons, to man them with the hardiest and boldest sailors in
the world, and to despatch them with promptness to any quarter of the
globe.

It was recognised as nearly impossible to compel a war-vessel of the
republic to surrender. Hardly an instance was on her naval record of
submission, even to far superior force, while it was filled with the
tragic but heroic histories of commanders who had blown their ships, with
every man on board, into the air, rather than strike their flag. Such was
the character, and such the capacity of the sea-born republic.

That republic had serious and radical defects, but the design remained to
be imitated and improved upon, centuries afterwards. The history of the
rise and progress of the Dutch republic is a leading chapter in the
history of human liberty.

The great misfortune of the commonwealth of the United Provinces, next to
the slenderness of its geographical proportions, was the fact that it was
without a centre and without a head, and therefore not a nation capable
of unlimited vitality. There were seven states. Each claimed to be
sovereign. The pretension on the part of several of them was ridiculous.
Overyssel, for example, contributed two and three-quarters per cent. of
the general budget. It was a swamp of twelve hundred square miles in
extent, with some heath-spots interspered, and it numbered perhaps a
hundred thousand inhabitants. The doughty Count of Embden alone could
have swallowed up such sovereignty, have annexed all the buckwheat
patches and cranberry marshes of Overyssel to his own meagre territories,
and nobody the wiser.

Zeeland, as we have seen, was disposed at a critical moment to set up its
independent sovereignty. Zeeland, far more important than Overyssel, had
a revenue of perhaps five hundred thousand dollars,--rather a slender
budget for an independent republic, wedged in as it was by the most
powerful empires of the earth, and half drowned by the ocean, from which
it had scarcely emerged.

There was therefore no popular representation, and on the other hand no
executive head. As sovereignty must be exercised in some way, however, in
all living commonwealths, and as a low degree of vitality was certainly
not the defect of those bustling provinces, the supreme functions had now
fallen into the hands of Holland.

While William the Silent lived, the management of war, foreign affairs,
and finance, for the revolted provinces, was in his control. He was aided
by two council boards, but the circumstances of history and the character
of the man had invested him with an inevitable dictatorship.

After his death, at least after Leicester's time, the powers of the
state-council, the head of which, Prince Maurice, was almost always
absent at the wars, fell into comparative disuse. The great functions of
the confederacy passed into the possession of the States-General. That
body now came to sit permanently at the Hague. The number of its members,
deputies from the seven provinces-envoys from those seven immortal and
soulless sovereigns--was not large. The extraordinary assembly held at
Bergen-op-Zoom for confirmation of the truce was estimated by,
Bentivoglio at eight hundred. Bentivoglio, who was on the spot, being
then nuncius at Brussels, ought to have been able to count them, yet it
is very certain that the number was grossly exaggerated.

At any rate the usual assembly at the Hague rarely amounted to one
hundred members. The presidency was changed once a week, the envoy of
each province taking his turn as chairman.

Olden-Barneveld, as member for Holland, was always present in the diet.
As Advocate-General of the leading province, and keeper of its great
seal, more especially as possessor of the governing intellect of the
whole commonwealth, he led the administration of Holland, and as the
estates of Holland contributed more than half of the whole budget of the
confederacy, it was a natural consequence of the actual supremacy of that
province, and of the vast legal hand political experience of the
Advocate, that Holland should, govern the confederacy, and that Barneveld
should govern Holland.

The States-General remained virtually supreme, receiving envoys from all
the great powers, sending abroad their diplomatic representatives, to
whom the title and rank of ambassador was freely accorded, and dealing in
a decorous and dignified way with all European affairs. The ability of
the republican statesmen was as fully recognised all over the earth, as
was the genius of their generals and great naval commanders.

The People did not exist; but this was merely because, in theory, the
People had not been invented. It was exactly because there was a
People--an energetic and intelligent People--that the republic was
possible.

No scheme had yet been devised for laying down in primary assemblies a
fundamental national law, for distributing the various functions of
governmental power among selected servants, for appointing
representatives according to population or property, and for holding all
trustees responsible at reasonable intervals to the nation itself.

Thus government was involved, fold within fold, in successive and
concentric municipal layers. The States-General were the outer husk, of
which the separate town-council was the kernel or bulb. Yet the number of
these executive and legislative boards was so large, and the whole
population comparatively so slender, as to cause the original
inconveniences from so incomplete a system to be rather theoretic than
practical. In point of fact, almost as large a variety of individuals
served the State as would perhaps have been the case under a more
philosophically arranged democracy. The difficulty was rather in
obtaining a candidate for the post than in distributing the posts among
candidates.

Men were occupied with their own affairs. In proportion to their numbers,
they were more productive of wealth than any other nation then existing.
An excellent reason why the people were so, well governed, so productive,
and so enterprising, was the simple fact that they were an educated
people. There was hardly a Netherlander--man, woman, or child--that could
not read and write. The school was the common property of the people,
paid for among the municipal expenses. In the cities, as well as in the
rural districts, there were not only common schools but classical
schools. In the burgher families it was rare to find boys who had not
been taught Latin, or girls unacquainted with French. Capacity to write
and speak several modern languages was very common, and there were many
individuals in every city, neither professors nor pedants, who had made
remarkable progress in science and classical literature. The position,
too, of women in the commonwealth proved a high degree of civilization.
They are described as virtuous, well-educated, energetic, sovereigns in
their households, and accustomed to direct all the business at home. "It
would be ridiculous," said Donato, "to see a man occupying himself with
domestic house-keeping. The women do it all, and command absolutely." The
Hollanders, so rebellious against Church and King, accepted with meekness
the despotism of woman.

The great movement of emancipation from political and ecclesiastical
tyranny had brought with it a general advancement of the human intellect.
The foundation of the Leyden university in memory of the heroism
displayed by the burghers during the siege was as noble a monument as had
ever been raised by a free people jealous of its fame. And the scientific
lustre of the university well sustained the nobility of its origin. The
proudest nation on earth might be more proud of a seat of learning,
founded thus amidst carnage and tears, whence so much of profound
learning and brilliant literature had already been diffused. The
classical labours of Joseph Scaliger, Heinsius father and son the elder
Dousa, almost as famous with his pen in Latin poetry as his sword had
made him in the vernacular chronicle; of Dousa the son, whom Grotius
called "the crown and flower of all good learning, too soon snatched away
by envious death, than whom no man more skilled in poetry, more
consummate in acquaintance with ancient science and literature, had ever
lived;" of Hugo Grotius himself, who at the age of fifteen had taken his
doctor's degree at Leyden who as a member of Olden-Barneveld's important
legation to France and England very soon afterwards had excited the
astonishment of Henry IV. and Elizabeth, who had already distinguished
himself by editions of classic poets, and by original poems and dramas in
Latin, and was already, although but twenty-six years of age; laying the
foundation of that magnificent reputation as a jurist, a philosopher, a
historian, and a statesman, which was to be one of the enduring glories
of humanity, all these were the precious possessions of the high school
of Leyden.

The still more modern university of Franeker, founded amid the din of
perpetual warfare in Friesland, could at least boast the name of
Arminius, whose theological writings and whose expansive views were
destined to exert such influence over his contemporaries and posterity.

The great history of Hoofd, in which the splendid pictures and the
impassioned drama of the great war of independence were to be preserved
for his countrymen through all time, was not yet written. It was soon
afterwards, however, to form not only a chief source of accurate
information as to the great events themselves, but a model of style never
since surpassed by any prose writer in either branch of the German
tongue.

Had Hoofd written for a wider audience, it would be difficult to name a
contemporary author of any nation whose work would have been more
profoundly studied or more generally admired.

But the great war had not waited to be chronicled by the classic and
impassioned Hoofd. Already there were thorough and exhaustive narrators
of what was instinctively felt to be one of the most pregnant episodes of
human history. Bor of Utrecht, a miracle of industry, of learning, of
unwearied perseverance, was already engaged in the production of those
vast folios in which nearly all the great transactions of the forty
years' war were conscientiously portrayed, with a comprehensiveness of
material and an impartiality of statement, such as might seem almost
impossible for a contemporary writer. Immersed in attentive study and
profound contemplation, he seemed to lift his tranquil head from time to
time over the wild ocean of those troublous times, and to survey with
accuracy without being swayed or appalled by the tempest. There was
something almost sublime in his steady, unimpassioned gaze.

Emanuel van Meteren, too, a plain Protestant merchant of Antwerp and
Amsterdam, wrote an admirable history of the war and of his own times,
full of precious details, especially rich in statistics--a branch of
science which he almost invented--which still, remains as one of the
leading authorities, not only for scholars, but for the general reader.

Reyd and Burgundius, the one the Calvinist private secretary of Lewis
William, the other a warm Catholic partisan, both made invaluable
contemporaneous contributions to the history of the war.

The trophies already secured by the Netherlanders in every department of
the fine arts, as well as the splendour which was to enrich the coming
epoch, are too familiar to the world to need more than a passing
allusion.

But it was especially in physical science that the republic was taking a
leading part in the great intellectual march of the nations.

The very necessities of its geographical position had forced it to
pre-eminence in hydraulics and hydrostatics. It had learned to transform
water into dry land with a perfection attained by no nation before or
since. The wonders of its submarine horticulture were the despair of all
gardeners in the world.

And as in this gentlest of arts, so also in the dread science of war, the
republic had been the instructor of mankind.

The youthful Maurice and his cousin Lewis William had so restored and
improved the decayed intelligence of antique strategy, that the
greybeards of Europe became docile pupils in their school. The
mathematical teacher of Prince Maurice amazed the contemporary world with
his combinations and mechanical inventions; the flying chariots of Simon
Stevinua seeming products of magical art.

Yet the character of the Dutch intellect was averse to sorcery. The small
but mighty nation, which had emancipated itself from the tyranny of
Philip and of the Holy Inquisition, was foremost to shake off the fetters
of superstition. Out of Holland came the first voice to rebuke one of the
hideous delusions of the age. While grave magistrates and sages of other
lands were exorcising the devil by murdering his supposed victims, John
Wier, a physician of Grave, boldly denounced the demon which had taken
possession, not of the wizards, but of the judges.

The age was lunatic and sick, and it was fitting that the race which had
done so much for the physical and intellectual emancipation of the world,
should have been the first to apply a remedy for this monstrous madness.
Englishmen and their descendants were drowning and hanging witches in New
England, long after John Wier had rebuked and denounced the belief in
witchcraft.

It was a Zeelander, too; who placed the instrument in the hand of Galileo
by which that daring genius traced the movements of the universe, and
who, by another wondrous invention, enabled future discoverers to study
the infinite life which lies all around us, hidden not by its remoteness
but it's minuteness. Zacharias Jansens of Middelburg, in 1590, invented
both the telescope and the microscope.

The wonder-man of Alkmaar, Cornelius Drebbel, who performed such
astounding feats for the amusement of Rudolph of Germany and James of
Britain, is also supposed to have invented the thermometer and the
barometer. But this claim has been disputed. The inventions of Jansens
are proved.

Willebrod Snellius, mathematical professor of Leyden, introduced the true
method of measuring the degrees of longitude and latitude, and Huygens,
who had seen his manuscripts, asserted that Snellius had invented, before
Descartes, the doctrine of refraction.

But it was especially to that noble band of heroes and martyrs, the great
navigators and geographical discoverers of the republic, that science is
above all indebted.

Nothing is more sublime in human story than the endurance and audacity
with which those pioneers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
confronted the nameless horrors of either pole, in the interests of
commerce, and for the direct purpose of enlarging the bounds of the human
intellect.

The achievements, the sufferings, and the triumphs of Barendz and Cordes,
Heemskerk, Van der Hagen, and many others, have been slightly indicated
in these pages. The contributions to botany, mineralogy, geometry,
geography, and zoology, of Linschoten, Plancius, Wagenaar, and Houtmann,
and so many other explorers of pole and tropic, can hardly be overrated.

The Netherlanders had wrung their original fatherland out of the grasp of
the ocean. They had confronted for centuries the wrath of that ancient
tyrant, ever ready to seize the prey of which he had been defrauded.

They had waged fiercer and more perpetual battle with a tyranny more
cruel than the tempest, with an ancient superstition more hungry than the
sea. It was inevitable that a race, thus invigorated by the ocean,
cradled to freedom by their conflicts with its power, and hardened almost
to invincibility by their struggle against human despotism, should be
foremost among the nations in the development of political, religious,
and commercial freedom.

The writer now takes an affectionate farewell of those who have followed
him with an indulgent sympathy as he has attempted to trace the origin
and the eventful course of the Dutch commonwealth. If by his labours a
generous love has been fostered for that blessing, without which
everything that this earth can afford is worthless--freedom of thought,
of speech, and of life--his highest wish has been fulfilled.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

About equal to that of England at the same period An unjust God, himself
the origin of sin Butchery in the name of Christ was suspended Calling a
peace perpetual can never make it so Chieftains are dwarfed in the
estimation of followers Each in its turn becoming orthodox, and therefore
persecuting Exorcising the devil by murdering his supposed victims
Foremost to shake off the fetters of superstition God of vengeance, of
jealousy, and of injustice Gomarites accused the Arminians of being more
lax than Papists Hangman is not the most appropriate teacher of religion
He often spoke of popular rights with contempt John Wier, a physician of
Grave Necessity of extirpating heresy, root and branch Nowhere were so
few unproductive consumers Paving the way towards atheism (by toleration)
Privileged to beg, because ashamed to work Religious persecution of
Protestants by Protestants So unconscious of her strength State can best
defend religion by letting it alone Taxed themselves as highly as fifty
per cent The People had not been invented The slightest theft was
punished with the gallows Tolerate another religion that his own may be
tolerated Toleration--that intolerable term of insult War to compel the
weakest to follow the religion of the strongest.



     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE 1600-09 UNITED NETHERLANDS:

     A penal offence in the republic to talk of peace or of truce
     A sovereign remedy for the disease of liberty
     A man incapable of fatigue, of perplexity, or of fear
     A truce he honestly considered a pitfall of destruction
     About equal to that of England at the same period
     Abstinence from unproductive consumption
     Accepting a new tyrant in place of the one so long ago deposed
     Alas! we must always have something to persecute
     Alas! the benighted victims of superstition hugged their chains
     All the ministers and great functionaries received presents
     An unjust God, himself the origin of sin
     Argument is exhausted and either action or compromise begins
     As if they were free will not make them free
     As neat a deception by telling the truth
     Because he had been successful (hated)
     Began to scatter golden arguments with a lavish hand
     Bestowing upon others what was not his property
     Beware of a truce even more than of a peace
     But the habit of dissimulation was inveterate
     Butchery in the name of Christ was suspended
     By turns, we all govern and are governed
     Calling a peace perpetual can never make it so
     Cargo of imaginary gold dust was exported from the James River
     Certain number of powers, almost exactly equal to each other
     Chieftains are dwarfed in the estimation of followers
     Conceit, and procrastination which marked the royal character
     Constitute themselves at once universal legatees
     Contempt for treaties however solemnly ratified
     Converting beneficent commerce into baleful gambling
     Could handle an argument as well as a sword
     Crimes and cruelties such as Christians only could imagine
     Culpable audacity and exaggerated prudence
     Defeated garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe
     Delay often fights better than an army against a foreign invader
     Despised those who were grateful
     Diplomacy of Spain and Rome--meant simply dissimulation
     Do you want peace or war? I am ready for either
     Draw a profit out of the necessities of this state
     Each in its turn becoming orthodox, and therefore persecuting
     Eloquence of the biggest guns
     England hated the Netherlands
     Even the virtues of James were his worst enemies
     Exorcising the devil by murdering his supposed victims
     Foremost to shake off the fetters of superstition
     Four weeks' holiday--the first in eleven years
     Friendly advice still more intolerable
     Gigantic vices are proudly pointed to as the noblest
     God alone can protect us against those whom we trust
     God of vengeance, of jealousy, and of injustice
     Gold was the only passkey to justice
     Gomarites accused the Arminians of being more lax than Papists
     Haereticis non servanda fides
     Hangman is not the most appropriate teacher of religion
     He often spoke of popular rights with contempt
     He who confessed well was absolved well
     His own past triumphs seemed now his greatest enemies
     Human fat esteemed the sovereignst remedy (for wounds)
     Humble ignorance as the safest creed
     Hundred thousand men had laid down their lives by her decree
     Idea of freedom in commerce has dawned upon nations
     Idiotic principle of sumptuary legislation
     If to do be as grand as to imagine what it were good to do
     Impossible it is to practise arithmetic with disturbed brains
     Indulging them frequently with oracular advice
     Insensible to contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff
     It is certain that the English hate us (Sully)
     John Castel, who had stabbed Henry IV.
     John Wier, a physician of Grave
     Justified themselves in a solemn consumption of time
     Languor of fatigue, rather than any sincere desire for peace
     Logic of the largest battalions
     Looking down upon her struggle with benevolent indifference
     Made peace--and had been at war ever since
     Man is never so convinced of his own wisdom
     Man who cannot dissemble is unfit to reign
     Men who meant what they said and said what they meant
     Men fought as if war was the normal condition of humanity
     Much as the blind or the deaf towards colour or music
     Nations tied to the pinafores of children in the nursery
     Natural tendency to suspicion of a timid man
     Necessity of extirpating heresy, root and branch
     Negotiated as if they were all immortal
     Night brings counsel
     No retrenchments in his pleasures of women, dogs, and buildings
     No generation is long-lived enough to reap the harvest
     Not safe for politicians to call each other hard names
     Nowhere were so few unproductive consumers
     One of the most contemptible and mischievous of kings (James I)
     Passion is a bad schoolmistress for the memory
     Paving the way towards atheism (by toleration)
     Peace seemed only a process for arriving at war
     Peace founded on the only secure basis, equality of strength
     Peace was unattainable, war was impossible, truce was inevitable
     Philip of Macedon, who considered no city impregnable
     Prisoners were immediately hanged
     Privileged to beg, because ashamed to work
     Proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin's mother
     Readiness at any moment to defend dearly won liberties
     Religious persecution of Protestants by Protestants
     Repose under one despot guaranteed to them by two others
     Requires less mention than Philip III himself
     Rules adopted in regard to pretenders to crowns
     Served at their banquets by hosts of lackeys on their knees
     Sick soldiers captured on the water should be hanged
     So unconscious of her strength
     State can best defend religion by letting it alone
     Steeped to the lips in sloth which imagined itself to be pride
     Subtle and dangerous enemy who wore the mask of a friend
     Such an excuse was as bad as the accusation
     Take all their imaginations and extravagances for truths
     Taxed themselves as highly as fifty per cent
     The art of ruling the world by doing nothing
     The slightest theft was punished with the gallows
     The wisest statesmen are prone to blunder in affairs of war
     The pigmy, as the late queen had been fond of nicknaming him
     The expenses of James's household
     The People had not been invented
     The small children diminished rapidly in numbers
     This obstinate little republic
     To shirk labour, infinite numbers become priests and friars
     To negotiate was to bribe right and left, and at every step
     To doubt the infallibility of Calvin was as heinous a crime
     To negotiate with Government in England was to bribe
     Tolerate another religion that his own may be tolerated
     Toleration--that intolerable term of insult
     Triple marriages between the respective nurseries
     Unlearned their faith in bell, book, and candle
     Unproductive consumption being accounted most sagacious
     Unwise impatience for peace
     Usual expedient by which bad legislation on one side countered
     War was the normal and natural condition of mankind
     War was the normal condition of Christians
     War to compel the weakest to follow the religion of the strongest
     We have been talking a little bit of truth to each other
     What was to be done in this world and believed as to the next
     What exchequer can accept chronic warfare and escape bankruptcy
     When all was gone, they began to eat each other
     Word peace in Spanish mouths simply meant the Holy Inquisition
     Words are always interpreted to the disadvantage of the weak
     World has rolled on to fresher fields of carnage and ruin
     You must show your teeth to the Spaniard



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS 1584-1609, COMPLETE

     A hard bargain when both parties are losers
     A penal offence in the republic to talk of peace or of truce
     A despot really keeps no accounts, nor need to do so
     A free commonwealth--was thought an absurdity
     A burnt cat fears the fire
     A pusillanimous peace, always possible at any period
     A man incapable of fatigue, of perplexity, or of fear
     A sovereign remedy for the disease of liberty
     A truce he honestly considered a pitfall of destruction
     Able men should be by design and of purpose suppressed
     About equal to that of England at the same period
     Abstinence from unproductive consumption
     Accepting a new tyrant in place of the one so long ago deposed
     Accustomed to the faded gallantries
     Act of Uniformity required Papists to assist
     Alas! we must always have something to persecute
     Alas! the benighted victims of superstition hugged their chains
     Alexander's exuberant discretion
     All fellow-worms together
     All business has been transacted with open doors
     All Italy was in his hands
     All the ministers and great functionaries received presents
     Allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune
     An unjust God, himself the origin of sin
     Anarchy which was deemed inseparable from a non-regal form
     Anatomical study of what has ceased to exist
     And thus this gentle and heroic spirit took its flight
     Are wont to hang their piety on the bell-rope
     Argument is exhausted and either action or compromise begins
     Arminianism
     Artillery
     As logical as men in their cups are prone to be
     As if they were free will not make them free
     As neat a deception by telling the truth
     As lieve see the Spanish as the Calvinistic inquisition
     At length the twig was becoming the tree
     Auction sales of judicial ermine
     Baiting his hook a little to his appetite
     Beacons in the upward path of mankind
     Because he had been successful (hated)
     Been already crimination and recrimination more than enough
     Began to scatter golden arguments with a lavish hand
     Being the true religion, proved by so many testimonies
     Beneficent and charitable purposes (War)
     Bestowing upon others what was not his property
     Beware of a truce even more than of a peace
     Bomb-shells were not often used although known for a century
     Bungling diplomatists and credulous dotards
     Burning of Servetus at Geneva
     But the habit of dissimulation was inveterate
     Butchery in the name of Christ was suspended
     By turns, we all govern and are governed
     Calling a peace perpetual can never make it so
     Canker of a long peace
     Cargo of imaginary gold dust was exported from the James River
     Casting up the matter "as pinchingly as possibly might be"
     Certain number of powers, almost exactly equal to each other
     Certainly it was worth an eighty years' war
     Chief seafaring nations of the world were already protestant
     Chieftains are dwarfed in the estimation of followers
     Children who had never set foot on the shore
     Chronicle of events must not be anticipated
     College of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all
     Conceding it subsequently, after much contestation
     Conceit, and procrastination which marked the royal character
     Condemned first and inquired upon after
     Conformity of Governments to the principles of justice
     Considerable reason, even if there were but little justice
     Constant vigilance is the price of liberty
     Constitute themselves at once universal legatees
     Contempt for treaties however solemnly ratified
     Continuing to believe himself invincible and infallible
     Converting beneficent commerce into baleful gambling
     Could do a little more than what was possible
     Could handle an argument as well as a sword
     Courage and semblance of cheerfulness, with despair in his heart
     Court fatigue, to scorn pleasure
     Crimes and cruelties such as Christians only could imagine
     Culpable audacity and exaggerated prudence
     Deal with his enemy as if sure to become his friend
     Decline a bribe or interfere with the private sale of places
     Defeated garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe
     Defect of enjoying the flattery, of his inferiors in station
     Delay often fights better than an army against a foreign invader
     Demanding peace and bread at any price
     Despised those who were grateful
     Diplomacy of Spain and Rome--meant simply dissimulation
     Diplomatic adroitness consists mainly in the power to deceive
     Disciple of Simon Stevinus
     Dismay of our friends and the gratification of our enemies
     Disordered, and unknit state needs no shaking, but propping
     Disposed to throat-cutting by the ministers of the Gospel
     Divine right of kings
     Do you want peace or war? I am ready for either
     Done nothing so long as aught remained to do
     Draw a profit out of the necessities of this state
     During this, whole war, we have never seen the like
     Each in its turn becoming orthodox, and therefore persecuting
     Eat their own children than to forego one high mass
     Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute
     Elizabeth (had not) the faintest idea of religious freedom
     Eloquence of the biggest guns
     England hated the Netherlands
     Englishmen and Hollanders preparing to cut each other's throats
     Enmity between Lutherans and Calvinists
     Even the virtues of James were his worst enemies
     Even to grant it slowly is to deny it utterly
     Ever met disaster with so cheerful a smile
     Every one sees what you seem, few perceive what you are
     Evil is coming, the sooner it arrives the better
     Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many shapes
     Exorcising the devil by murdering his supposed victims
     Faction has rarely worn a more mischievous aspect
     Famous fowl in every pot
     Fed on bear's liver, were nearly poisoned to death
     Fellow worms had been writhing for half a century in the dust
     Find our destruction in our immoderate desire for peace
     Fitter to obey than to command
     Five great rivers hold the Netherland territory in their coils
     Fled from the land of oppression to the land of liberty
     Fool who useth not wit because he hath it not
     For his humanity towards the conquered garrisons (censured)
     For us, looking back upon the Past, which was then the Future
     Forbidding the wearing of mourning at all
     Foremost to shake off the fetters of superstition
     Four weeks' holiday--the first in eleven years
     French seem madmen, and are wise
     Friendly advice still more intolerable
     Full of precedents and declamatory commonplaces
     Future world as laid down by rival priesthoods
     German Highland and the German Netherland
     German-Lutheran sixteenth-century idea of religious freedom
     Gigantic vices are proudly pointed to as the noblest
     God of vengeance, of jealousy, and of injustice
     God alone can protect us against those whom we trust
     God of wrath who had decreed the extermination of all unbeliever
     God, whose cause it was, would be pleased to give good weather
     Gold was the only passkey to justice
     Gomarites accused the Arminians of being more lax than Papists
     Guilty of no other crime than adhesion to the Catholic faith
     Had industry been honoured instead of being despised
     Haereticis non servanda fides
     Hanging of Mary Dyer at Boston
     Hangman is not the most appropriate teacher of religion
     Hard at work, pouring sand through their sieves
     Hardly an inch of French soil that had not two possessors
     Hardly a distinguished family in Spain not placed in mourning
     He often spoke of popular rights with contempt
     He did his work, but he had not his reward
     He who confessed well was absolved well
     He spent more time at table than the Bearnese in sleep
     He sat a great while at a time. He had a genius for sitting
     Henry the Huguenot as the champion of the Council of Trent
     Her teeth black, her bosom white and liberally exposed (Eliz.)
     Heretics to the English Church were persecuted
     Hibernian mode of expressing himself
     High officers were doing the work of private, soldiers
     Highest were not necessarily the least slimy
     His invectives were, however, much stronger than his arguments
     His own past triumphs seemed now his greatest enemies
     His insolence intolerable
     His inordinate arrogance
     Historical scepticism may shut its eyes to evidence
     History is but made up of a few scattered fragments
     History is a continuous whole of which we see only fragments
     Holland was afraid to give a part, although offering the whole
     Holy institution called the Inquisition
     Honor good patriots, and to support them in venial errors
     Hugo Grotius
     Human fat esteemed the sovereignst remedy (for wounds)
     Humanizing effect of science upon the barbarism of war
     Humble ignorance as the safest creed
     Humility which was but the cloak to his pride
     Hundred thousand men had laid down their lives by her decree
     I will never live, to see the end of my poverty
     I am a king that will be ever known not to fear any but God
     I did never see any man behave himself as he did
     Idea of freedom in commerce has dawned upon nations
     Idiotic principle of sumptuary legislation
     Idle, listless, dice-playing, begging, filching vagabonds
     If to do be as grand as to imagine what it were good to do
     Ignorance is the real enslaver of mankind
     Imagining that they held the world's destiny in their hands
     Imposed upon the multitudes, with whom words were things
     Impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too gross
     Impossible it is to practise arithmetic with disturbed brains
     In times of civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing
     Individuals walking in advance of their age
     Indulging them frequently with oracular advice
     Inevitable fate of talking castles and listening ladies
     Infamy of diplomacy, when diplomacy is unaccompanied by honesty
     Infinite capacity for pecuniary absorption
     Inhabited by the savage tribes called Samoyedes
     Innocent generation, to atone for the sins of their forefathers
     Inquisitors enough; but there were no light vessels in The Armada
     Insensible to contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff
     Intelligence, science, and industry were accounted degrading
     Intentions of a government which did not know its own intentions
     Intolerable tendency to puns
     Invaluable gift which no human being can acquire, authority
     Invincible Armada had not only been vanquished but annihilated
     It is certain that the English hate us (Sully)
     John Castel, who had stabbed Henry IV.
     John Wier, a physician of Grave
     Justified themselves in a solemn consumption of time
     King had issued a general repudiation of his debts
     King was often to be something much less or much worse
     Labour was esteemed dishonourable
     Languor of fatigue, rather than any sincere desire for peace
     Leading motive with all was supposed to be religion
     Life of nations and which we call the Past
     Little army of Maurice was becoming the model for Europe
     Logic of the largest battalions
     Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it
     Look for a sharp war, or a miserable peace
     Looking down upon her struggle with benevolent indifference
     Lord was better pleased with adverbs than nouns
     Loud, nasal, dictatorial tone, not at all agreeable
     Loving only the persons who flattered him
     Luxury had blunted the fine instincts of patriotism
     Made peace--and had been at war ever since
     Magnificent hopefulness
     Make sheep of yourselves, and the wolf will eat you
     Man is never so convinced of his own wisdom
     Man had no rights at all He was property
     Man who cannot dissemble is unfit to reign
     Maritime heretics
     Matter that men may rather pray for than hope for
     Matters little by what name a government is called
     Meet around a green table except as fencers in the field
     Men who meant what they said and said what they meant
     Men fought as if war was the normal condition of humanity
     Mendacity may always obtain over innocence and credulity
     Military virtue in the support of an infamous cause
     Mistakes might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity
     Mondragon was now ninety-two years old
     Moral nature, undergoes less change than might be hoped
     More catholic than the pope
     Much as the blind or the deaf towards colour or music
     Myself seeing of it methinketh that I dream
     Names history has often found it convenient to mark its epochs
     National character, not the work of a few individuals
     Nations tied to the pinafores of children in the nursery
     Natural tendency to suspicion of a timid man
     Necessity of kingship
     Necessity of extirpating heresy, root and branch
     Negotiated as if they were all immortal
     Neighbour's blazing roof was likely soon to fire their own
     Never did statesmen know better how not to do
     Never peace well made, he observed, without a mighty war
     New Years Day in England, 11th January by the New Style
     Night brings counsel
     Nine syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in on
     No retrenchments in his pleasures of women, dogs, and buildings
     No generation is long-lived enough to reap the harvest
     Nor is the spirit of the age to be pleaded in defence
     Not many more than two hundred Catholics were executed
     Not a friend of giving details larger than my ascertained facts
     Not distinguished for their docility
     Not of the genus Reptilia, and could neither creep nor crouch
     Not safe for politicians to call each other hard names
     Nothing cheap, said a citizen bitterly, but sermons
     Nothing could equal Alexander's fidelity, but his perfidy
     Nowhere were so few unproductive consumers
     Obscure were thought capable of dying natural deaths
     Octogenarian was past work and past mischief
     Often necessary to be blind and deaf
     One-third of Philip's effective navy was thus destroyed
     One could neither cry nor laugh within the Spanish dominions
     One of the most contemptible and mischievous of kings (James I)
     Only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror was distrust
     Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts
     Others that do nothing, do all, and have all the thanks
     Passion is a bad schoolmistress for the memory
     Past was once the Present, and once the Future
     Patriotism seemed an unimaginable idea
     Pauper client who dreamed of justice at the hands of law
     Paving the way towards atheism (by toleration)
     Peace and quietness is brought into a most dangerous estate
     Peace seemed only a process for arriving at war
     Peace founded on the only secure basis, equality of strength
     Peace would be destruction
     Peace-at-any-price party
     Peace was unattainable, war was impossible, truce was inevitable
     Philip II. gave the world work enough
     Philip of Macedon, who considered no city impregnable
     Picturesqueness of crime
     Placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat
     Plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous
     Portion of these revenues savoured much of black-mail
     Possible to do, only because we see that it has been done
     Pray here for satiety, (said Cecil) than ever think of variety
     Prisoners were immediately hanged
     Privileged to beg, because ashamed to work
     Proceeds of his permission to eat meat on Fridays
     Proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin's mother
     Rarely able to command, having never learned to obey
     Readiness at any moment to defend dearly won liberties
     Rebuked him for his obedience
     Religion was rapidly ceasing to be the line of demarcation
     Religion was not to be changed like a shirt
     Religious persecution of Protestants by Protestants
     Repentance, as usual, had come many hours too late
     Repose under one despot guaranteed to them by two others
     Repose in the other world, "Repos ailleurs"
     Repudiation of national debts was never heard of before
     Requires less mention than Philip III himself
     Resolved thenceforth to adopt a system of ignorance
     Respect for differences in religious opinions
     Rich enough to be worth robbing
     Righteous to kill their own children
     Road to Paris lay through the gates of Rome
     Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived
     Royal plans should be enforced adequately or abandoned entirely
     Rules adopted in regard to pretenders to crowns
     Sacked and drowned ten infant princes
     Sacrificed by the Queen for faithfully obeying her orders
     Sages of every generation, read the future like a printed scroll
     Security is dangerous
     Seeking protection for and against the people
     Seem as if born to make the idea of royalty ridiculous
     Seems but a change of masks, of costume, of phraseology
     Self-assertion--the healthful but not engaging attribute
     Selling the privilege of eating eggs upon fast-days
     Sentiment of Christian self-complacency
     Served at their banquets by hosts of lackeys on their knees
     Sewers which have ever run beneath decorous Christendom
     She relieth on a hope that will deceive her
     Shift the mantle of religion from one shoulder to the other
     Shutting the stable-door when the steed is stolen
     Sick soldiers captured on the water should be hanged
     Simple truth was highest skill
     Sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed
     Slain four hundred and ten men with his own hand
     So often degenerated into tyranny (Calvinism)
     So unconscious of her strength
     Soldiers enough to animate the good and terrify the bad
     Some rude lessons from that vigorous little commonwealth
     Spain was governed by an established terrorism
     Spaniards seem wise, and are madmen
     Sparing and war have no affinity together
     Stake or gallows (for) heretics to transubstantiation
     State can best defend religion by letting it alone
     States were justified in their almost unlimited distrust
     Steeped to the lips in sloth which imagined itself to be pride
     Strangled his nineteen brothers on his accession
     Strength does a falsehood acquire in determined and skilful hand
     String of homely proverbs worthy of Sancho Panza
     Subtle and dangerous enemy who wore the mask of a friend
     Succeeded so well, and had been requited so ill
     Such an excuse was as bad as the accusation
     Such a crime as this had never been conceived (bankruptcy)
     Sure bind, sure find
     Sword in hand is the best pen to write the conditions of peace
     Take all their imaginations and extravagances for truths
     Taxed themselves as highly as fifty per cent
     Tension now gave place to exhaustion
     That crowned criminal, Philip the Second
     That unholy trinity--Force; Dogma, and Ignorance
     The very word toleration was to sound like an insult
     The blaze of a hundred and fifty burning vessels
     The expenses of James's household
     The worst were encouraged with their good success
     The history of the Netherlands is history of liberty
     The great ocean was but a Spanish lake
     The divine speciality of a few transitory mortals
     The sapling was to become the tree
     The nation which deliberately carves itself in pieces
     The most thriving branch of national industry (Smuggler)
     The record of our race is essentially unwritten
     The busy devil of petty economy
     The small children diminished rapidly in numbers
     The People had not been invented
     The Alcoran was less cruel than the Inquisition
     The wisest statesmen are prone to blunder in affairs of war
     The art of ruling the world by doing nothing
     The slightest theft was punished with the gallows
     The pigmy, as the late queen had been fond of nicknaming him
     Their existence depended on war
     There are few inventions in morals
     There was apathy where there should have been enthusiasm
     There is no man fitter for that purpose than myself
     They were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion
     They had come to disbelieve in the mystery of kingcraft
     They liked not such divine right nor such gentle-mindedness
     They chose to compel no man's conscience
     Thirty-three per cent. interest was paid (per month)
     Thirty thousand masses should be said for his soul
     This obstinate little republic
     Those who argue against a foregone conclusion
     Thought that all was too little for him
     Three hundred and upwards are hanged annually in London
     Three or four hundred petty sovereigns (of Germany)
     Tis pity he is not an Englishman
     To negotiate with Government in England was to bribe
     To negotiate was to bribe right and left, and at every step
     To work, ever to work, was the primary law of his nature
     To attack England it was necessary to take the road of Ireland
     To shirk labour, infinite numbers become priests and friars
     To doubt the infallibility of Calvin was as heinous a crime
     Toil and sacrifices of those who have preceded us
     Tolerate another religion that his own may be tolerated
     Tolerating religious liberty had never entered his mind
     Toleration--that intolerable term of insult
     Torturing, hanging, embowelling of men, women, and children
     Tranquil insolence
     Tranquillity rather of paralysis than of health
     Triple marriages between the respective nurseries
     Trust her sword, not her enemy's word
     Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics
     Under the name of religion (so many crimes)
     Undue anxiety for impartiality
     Universal suffrage was not dreamed of at that day
     Unlearned their faith in bell, book, and candle
     Unproductive consumption being accounted most sagacious
     Unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing
     Unwise impatience for peace
     Upon their knees, served the queen with wine
     Upper and lower millstones of royal wrath and loyal subserviency
     Use of the spade
     Usual expedient by which bad legislation on one side countered
     Utter want of adaptation of his means to his ends
     Utter disproportions between the king's means and aims
     Uttering of my choler doth little ease my grief or help my case
     Valour on the one side and discretion on the other
     Waiting the pleasure of a capricious and despotic woman
     Walk up and down the earth and destroy his fellow-creatures
     War was the normal and natural condition of mankind
     War to compel the weakest to follow the religion of the strongest
     War was the normal condition of Christians
     Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself
     We have the reputation of being a good housewife
     We must all die once
     We mustn't tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh
     We have been talking a little bit of truth to each other
     We were sold by their negligence who are now angry with us
     Wealthy Papists could obtain immunity by an enormous fine
     Weapons
     Weary of place without power
     What exchequer can accept chronic warfare and escape bankruptcy
     What was to be done in this world and believed as to the next
     When persons of merit suffer without cause
     When all was gone, they began to eat each other
     Whether murders or stratagems, as if they were acts of virtue
     While one's friends urge moderation
     Who the "people" exactly were
     Whole revenue was pledged to pay the interest, on his debts
     Wish to sell us the bear-skin before they have killed the bear
     With something of feline and feminine duplicity
     Word peace in Spanish mouths simply meant the Holy Inquisition
     Words are always interpreted to the disadvantage of the weak
     World has rolled on to fresher fields of carnage and ruin
     Worn nor caused to be worn the collar of the serf
     Wrath of bigots on both sides
     Wrath of that injured personage as he read such libellous truths
     Write so illegibly or express himself so awkwardly
     You must show your teeth to the Spaniard



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.


1880


MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Volume 99

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JOHN OF BARNEVELD, 1609-1623, Complete



PREFACE:

These volumes make a separate work in themselves. They form also the
natural sequel to the other histories already published by the Author, as
well as the necessary introduction to that concluding portion of his
labours which he has always desired to lay before the public; a History
of the Thirty Years' War.

For the two great wars which successively established the independence of
Holland and the disintegration of Germany are in reality but one; a
prolonged Tragedy of Eighty Years. The brief pause, which in the
Netherlands was known as the Twelve Years' Truce with Spain, was
precisely the epoch in which the elements were slowly and certainly
gathering for the renewal over nearly the whole surface of civilized
Europe of that immense conflict which for more than forty years had been
raging within the narrow precincts of the Netherlands.

The causes and character of the two wars were essentially the same. There
were many changes of persons and of scenery during a struggle which
lasted for nearly three generations of mankind; yet a natural succession
both of actors, motives, and events will be observed from the beginning
to the close.

The designs of Charles V. to establish universal monarchy, which he had
passionately followed for a lifetime through a series of colossal crimes
against humanity and of private misdeeds against individuals, such as it
has rarely been permitted to a single despot to perpetrate, had been
baffled at last. Disappointed, broken, but even to our own generation
never completely unveiled, the tyrant had withdrawn from the stage of
human affairs, leaving his son to carry on the great conspiracy against
Human Right, independence of nations, liberty of thought, and equality of
religions, with the additional vigour which sprang from intensity of
conviction.

For Philip possessed at least that superiority over his father that he
was a sincere bigot. In the narrow and gloomy depths of his soul he had
doubtless persuaded himself that it was necessary for the redemption of
the human species that the empire of the world should be vested in his
hands, that Protestantism in all its forms should be extirpated as a
malignant disease, and that to behead, torture, burn alive, and bury
alive all heretics who opposed the decree of himself and the Holy Church
was the highest virtue by which he could merit Heaven.

The father would have permitted Protestantism if Protestantism would have
submitted to universal monarchy. There would have been small difficulty
in the early part of his reign in effecting a compromise between Rome and
Augsburg, had the gigantic secular ambition of Charles not preferred to
weaken the Church and to convert conscientious religious reform into
political mutiny; a crime against him who claimed the sovereignty of
Christendom.

The materials for the true history of that reign lie in the Archives of
Spain, Austria, Rome, Venice, and the Netherlands, and in many other
places. When out of them one day a complete and authentic narrative shall
have been constructed, it will be seen how completely the policy of
Charles foreshadowed and necessitated that of Philip, how logically,
under the successors of Philip, the Austrian dream of universal empire
ended in the shattering, in the minute subdivision, and the reduction to
a long impotence of that Germanic Empire which had really belonged to
Charles.

Unfortunately the great Republic which, notwithstanding the aid of
England on the one side and of France on the other, had withstood almost
single-handed the onslaughts of Spain, now allowed the demon of religious
hatred to enter into its body at the first epoch of peace, although it
had successfully exorcised the evil spirit during the long and terrible
war.

There can be no doubt whatever that the discords within the interior of
the Dutch Republic during the period of the Truce, and their tragic
catastrophe, had weakened her purpose and partially paralysed her arm.
When the noble Commonwealth went forward to the renewed and general
conflict which succeeded the concentrated one in which it had been the
chief actor, the effect of those misspent twelve years became apparent.

Indeed the real continuity of the war was scarcely broken by the fitful,
armistice. The death of John of Cleve, an event almost simultaneous with
the conclusion of the Truce, seemed to those gifted with political vision
the necessary precursor of a new and more general war.

The secret correspondence of Barneveld shows the almost prophetic
accuracy with which he indicated the course of events and the approach of
an almost universal conflict, while that tragedy was still in the future,
and was to be enacted after he had been laid in his bloody grave. No man
then living was so accustomed as he was to sweep the political horizon,
and to estimate the signs and portents of the times. No statesman was
left in Europe during the epoch of the Twelve Years' Truce to compare
with him in experience, breadth of vision, political tact, or
administrative sagacity.

Imbued with the grand traditions and familiar with the great personages
of a most heroic epoch; the trusted friend or respected counsellor of
William the Silent, Henry IV., Elizabeth, and the sages and soldiers on
whom they leaned; having been employed during an already long lifetime in
the administration of greatest affairs, he stood alone after the deaths
of Henry of France and the second Cecil, and the retirement of Sully,
among the natural leaders of mankind.

To the England of Elizabeth, of Walsingham, Raleigh, and the Cecils, had
succeeded the Great Britain of James, with his Carrs and Carletons,
Nauntons, Lakes, and Winwoods. France, widowed of Henry and waiting for
Richelieu, lay in the clutches of Concini's, Epernons, and Bouillons,
bound hand and foot to Spain. Germany, falling from Rudolph to Matthias,
saw Styrian Ferdinand in the background ready to shatter the fabric of a
hundred years of attempted Reformation. In the Republic of the
Netherlands were the great soldier and the only remaining statesman of
the age. At a moment when the breathing space had been agreed upon before
the conflict should be renewed; on a wider field than ever, between
Spanish-Austrian world-empire and independence of the nations; between
the ancient and only Church and the spirit of religious Equality; between
popular Right and royal and sacerdotal Despotism; it would have been
desirable that the soldier and the statesman should stand side by side,
and that the fortunate Confederacy, gifted with two such champions and
placed by its own achievements at the very head of the great party of
resistance, should be true to herself.

These volumes contain a slight and rapid sketch of Barneveld's career up
to the point at which the Twelve Years' Truce with Spain was signed in
the year 1609. In previous works the Author has attempted to assign the
great Advocate's place as part and parcel of history during the
continuance of the War for Independence. During the period of the Truce
he will be found the central figure. The history of Europe, especially of
the Netherlands, Britain, France, and Germany, cannot be thoroughly
appreciated without a knowledge of the designs, the labours, and the fate
of Barneveld.

The materials for estimating his character and judging his judges lie in
the national archives of the land of which he was so long the foremost
citizen. But they have not long been accessible. The letters, state
papers, and other documents remain unprinted, and have rarely been read.
M. van Deventer has published three most interesting volumes of the
Advocate's correspondence, but they reach only to the beginning of 1609.
He has suspended his labours exactly at the moment when these volumes
begin. I have carefully studied however nearly the whole of that
correspondence, besides a mass of other papers. The labour is not light,
for the handwriting of the great Advocate is perhaps the worst that ever
existed, and the papers, although kept in the admirable order which
distinguishes the Archives of the Hague, have passed through many hands
at former epochs before reaching their natural destination in the
treasure-house of the nation. Especially the documents connected with the
famous trial were for a long time hidden from mortal view, for
Barneveld's judges had bound themselves by oath to bury the proceedings
out of sight. And the concealment lasted for centuries. Very recently a
small portion of those papers has been published by the Historical
Society of Utrecht. The "Verhooren," or Interrogatories of the Judges,
and the replies of Barneveld, have thus been laid before the reading
public of Holland, while within the last two years the distinguished and
learned historian, Professor Fruin, has edited the "Verhooren" of Hugo
Grotius.

But papers like these, important as they are, make but a slender portion
of the material out of which a judgment concerning these grave events can
be constructed. I do not therefore offer an apology for the somewhat
copious extracts which I have translated and given in these volumes from
the correspondence of Barneveld and from other manuscripts of great
value--most of them in the Royal Archives of Holland and Belgium--which
are unknown to the public.

I have avoided as much as possible any dealings with the theological
controversies so closely connected with the events which I have attempted
to describe. This work aims at being a political study. The subject is
full of lessons, examples, and warnings for the inhabitants of all free
states. Especially now that the republican system of government is
undergoing a series of experiments with more or less success in one
hemisphere--while in our own land it is consolidated, powerful, and
unchallenged--will the conflicts between the spirits of national
centralization and of provincial sovereignty, and the struggle between
the church, the sword, and the magistracy for supremacy in a free
commonwealth, as revealed in the first considerable republic of modern
history, be found suggestive of deep reflection.

Those who look in this work for a history of the Synod of Dordtrecht will
look in vain. The Author has neither wish nor power to grapple with the
mysteries and passions which at that epoch possessed so many souls. The
Assembly marks a political period. Its political aspects have been
anxiously examined, but beyond the ecclesiastical threshold there has
been no attempt to penetrate.

It was necessary for my purpose to describe in some detail the relations
of Henry IV. with the Dutch Republic during the last and most pregnant
year of his life, which makes the first of the present history. These
relations are of European importance, and the materials for appreciating
them are of unexpected richness, in the Dutch and Belgian Archives.

Especially the secret correspondence, now at the Hague, of that very able
diplomatist Francis Aerssens with Barneveld during the years 1609, 1610,
and 1611, together with many papers at Brussels, are full of vital
importance.

They throw much light both on the vast designs which filled the brain of
Henry at this fatal epoch and on his extraordinary infatuation for the
young Princess of Conde by which they were traversed, and which was
productive of such widespread political anal tragical results. This
episode forms a necessary portion of my theme, and has therefore been set
forth from original sources.

I am under renewed obligations to my friend M. Gachard, the eminent
publicist and archivist of Belgium, for his constant and friendly offices
to me (which I have so often experienced before), while studying the
documents under his charge relating to this epoch; especially the secret
correspondence of Archduke Albert with Philip III, and his ministers, and
with Pecquius, the Archduke's agent at Paris.

It is also a great pleasure to acknowledge the unceasing courtesy and
zealous aid rendered me during my renewed studies in the Archives at the
Hague--lasting through nearly two years--by the Chief Archivist, M. van
den Berg, and the gentlemen connected with that institution, especially
M. de Jonghe and M. Hingman, without whose aid it would have been
difficult for me to decipher and to procure copies of the almost
illegible holographs of Barneveld.

I must also thank M. van Deventer for communicating copies of some
curious manuscripts relating to my subject, some from private archives in
Holland, and others from those of Simancas.

A single word only remains to be said in regard to the name of the
statesman whose career I have undertaken to describe.

His proper appellation and that by which he has always been known in his
own country is Oldenbarneveld, but in his lifetime and always in history
from that time to this he has been called Barneveld in English as well as
French, and this transformation, as it were, of the name has become so
settled a matter that after some hesitation it has been adopted in the
present work.

The Author would take this opportunity of expressing his gratitude for
the indulgence with which his former attempts to illustrate an important
period of European history have been received by the public, and his
anxious hope that the present volumes may be thought worthy of attention.
They are the result at least of severe and conscientious labour at the
original sources of history, but the subject is so complicated and
difficult that it may well be feared that the ability to depict and
unravel is unequal to the earnestness with which the attempt has been
made.

LONDON, 1873.



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JOHN OF BARNEVELD, v1, 1609



CHAPTER I.

   John of Barneveld the Founder of the Commonwealth of the United
   Provinces--Maurice of Orange Stadholder, but Servant to the States-
   General--The Union of Utrecht maintained--Barneveld makes a
   Compromise between Civil Functionaries and Church Officials--
   Embassies to France, England, and to Venice--the Appointment of
   Arminius to be Professor of Theology at Leyden creates Dissension--
   The Catholic League opposed by the Great Protestant Union--Death of
   the Duke of Cleve and Struggle for his Succession--The Elector of
   Brandenburg and Palatine of Neuburg hold the Duchies at Barneveld's
   Advice against the Emperor, though having Rival Claims themselves--
   Negotiations with the King of France--He becomes the Ally of the
   States-General to Protect the Possessory Princes, and prepares for
   war.

I propose to retrace the history of a great statesman's career. That
statesman's name, but for the dark and tragic scenes with which it was
ultimately associated, might after the lapse of two centuries and a half
have faded into comparative oblivion, so impersonal and shadowy his
presence would have seemed upon the great European theatre where he was
so long a chief actor, and where his efforts and his achievements were
foremost among those productive of long enduring and widespread results.

There is no doubt whatever that John of Barneveld, Advocate and Seal
Keeper of the little province of Holland during forty years of as
troubled and fertile an epoch as any in human history, was second to none
of his contemporary statesmen. Yet the singular constitution and
historical position of the republic whose destinies he guided and the
peculiar and abnormal office which he held combined to cast a veil over
his individuality. The ever-teeming brain, the restless almost
omnipresent hand, the fertile pen, the eloquent and ready tongue, were
seen, heard, and obeyed by the great European public, by the monarchs,
statesmen, and warriors of the time, at many critical moments of history,
but it was not John of Barneveld that spoke to the world. Those "high and
puissant Lords my masters the States-General" personified the young but
already majestic republic. Dignified, draped, and concealed by that
overshadowing title the informing and master spirit performed its never
ending task.

Those who study the enormous masses of original papers in the archives of
the country will be amazed to find how the penmanship, most difficult to
decipher, of the Advocate meets them at every turn. Letters to monarchs,
generals, ambassadors, resolutions of councils, of sovereign assemblies,
of trading corporations, of great Indian companies, legal and historical
disquisitions of great depth and length on questions agitating Europe,
constitutional arguments, drafts of treaties among the leading powers of
the world, instructions to great commissions, plans for European
campaigns, vast combinations covering the world, alliances of empire,
scientific expeditions and discoveries--papers such as these covered now
with the satirical dust of centuries, written in the small, crabbed,
exasperating characters which make Barneveld's handwriting almost
cryptographic, were once, when fairly engrossed and sealed with the great
seal of the haughty burgher-aristocracy, the documents which occupied the
close attention of the cabinets of Christendom.

It is not unfrequent to find four or five important despatches compressed
almost in miniature upon one sheet of gigantic foolscap. It is also
curious to find each one of these rough drafts conscientiously beginning
in the statesman's own hand with the elaborate phrases of compliment
belonging to the epoch such as "Noble, strenuous, severe, highly
honourable, very learned, very discreet, and very wise masters," and
ending with "May the Lord God Almighty eternally preserve you and hold
you in His holy keeping in this world and for ever"--decorations which
one might have thought it safe to leave to be filled in by the secretary
or copying clerk.

Thus there have been few men at any period whose lives have been more
closely identical than his with a national history. There have been few
great men in any history whose names have become less familiar to the
world, and lived less in the mouths of posterity. Yet there can be no
doubt that if William the Silent was the founder of the independence of
the United Provinces Barneveld was the founder of the Commonwealth
itself. He had never the opportunity, perhaps he might have never had the
capacity, to make such prodigious sacrifices in the cause of country as
the great prince had done. But he had served his country strenuously from
youth to old age with an abiding sense of duty, a steadiness of purpose,
a broad vision, a firm grasp, and an opulence of resource such as not one
of his compatriots could even pretend to rival.

Had that country of which he was so long the first citizen maintained
until our own day the same proportionate position among the empires of
Christendom as it held in the seventeenth century, the name of John of
Barneveld would have perhaps been as familiar to all men as it is at this
moment to nearly every inhabitant of the Netherlands. Even now political
passion is almost as ready to flame forth either in ardent affection or
enthusiastic hatred as if two centuries and a half had not elapsed since
his death. His name is so typical of a party, a polity, and a faith, so
indelibly associated with a great historical cataclysm, as to render it
difficult even for the grave, the conscientious, the learned, the
patriotic of his own compatriots to speak of him with absolute
impartiality.

A foreigner who loves and admires all that is great and noble in the
history of that famous republic and can have no hereditary bias as to its
ecclesiastical or political theories may at least attempt the task with
comparative coldness, although conscious of inability to do thorough
justice to a most complex subject.

In former publications devoted to Netherland history I have endeavoured
to trace the course of events of which the life and works of the Advocate
were a vital ingredient down to the period when Spain after more than
forty years of hard fighting virtually acknowledged the independence of
the Republic and concluded with her a truce of twelve years.

That convention was signed in the spring of 1609. The ten ensuing years
in Europe were comparatively tranquil, but they were scarcely to be
numbered among the full and fruitful sheaves of a pacific epoch. It was a
pause, a breathing spell during which the sulphurous clouds which had
made the atmosphere of Christendom poisonous for nearly half a century
had sullenly rolled away, while at every point of the horizon they were
seen massing themselves anew in portentous and ever accumulating
strength. At any moment the faint and sickly sunshine in which poor
exhausted Humanity was essaying a feeble twitter of hope as it plumed
itself for a peaceful flight might be again obscured. To us of a remote
posterity the momentary division of epochs seems hardly discernible. So
rapidly did that fight of Demons which we call the Thirty Years' War
tread on the heels of the forty years' struggle for Dutch Independence
which had just been suspended that we are accustomed to think and speak
of the Eighty Years' War as one pure, perfect, sanguinary whole.

And indeed the Tragedy which was soon to sweep solemnly across Europe was
foreshadowed in the first fitful years of peace. The throb of the
elementary forces already shook the soil of Christendom. The fantastic
but most significant conflict in the territories of the dead Duke of
Clove reflected the distant and gigantic war as in a mirage. It will be
necessary to direct the reader's attention at the proper moment to that
episode, for it was one in which the beneficent sagacity of Barneveld was
conspicuously exerted in the cause of peace and conservation. Meantime it
is not agreeable to reflect that this brief period of nominal and armed
peace which the Republic had conquered after nearly two generations of
warfare was employed by her in tearing her own flesh. The heroic sword
which had achieved such triumphs in the cause of freedom could have been
bitter employed than in an attempt at political suicide.

In a picture of the last decade of Barneveld's eventful life his
personality may come more distinctly forward perhaps than in previous
epochs. It will however be difficult to disentangle a single thread from
the great historical tapestry of the Republic and of Europe in which his
life and achievements are interwoven. He was a public man in the fullest
sense of the word, and without his presence and influence the record of
Holland, France, Spain, Britain, and Germany might have been essentially
modified.

The Republic was so integral a part of that system which divided Europe
into two great hostile camps according to creeds rather than frontiers
that the history of its foremost citizen touches at every point the
general history of Christendom.

The great peculiarity of the Dutch constitution at this epoch was that no
principle was absolutely settled. In throwing off a foreign tyranny and
successfully vindicating national independence the burghers and nobles
had not had leisure to lay down any organic law. Nor had the day for
profound investigation of the political or social contract arrived. Men
dealt almost exclusively with facts, and when the facts arranged
themselves illogically and incoherently the mischief was grave and
difficult to remedy. It is not a trifling inconvenience for an organized
commonwealth to be in doubt as to where, in whom, and of what nature is
its sovereignty. Yet this was precisely the condition of the United
Netherlands. To the eternal world so dazzling were the reputation and the
achievements of their great captain that he was looked upon by many as
the legitimate chief of the state and doubtless friendly monarchs would
have cordially welcomed him into their brotherhood.

During the war he had been surrounded by almost royal state. Two hundred
officers lived daily at his table. Great nobles and scions of sovereign
houses were his pupils or satellites. The splendour of military despotism
and the awe inspired by his unquestioned supremacy in what was deemed the
greatest of all sciences invested the person of Maurice of Nassau with a
grandeur which many a crowned potentate might envy. His ample
appointments united with the spoils of war provided him with almost royal
revenues, even before the death of his elder brother Philip William had
placed in his hands the principality and wealthy possessions of Orange.
Hating contradiction, arbitrary by instinct and by military habit,
impatient of criticism, and having long acknowledged no master in the
chief business of state, he found himself at the conclusion of the truce
with his great occupation gone, and, although generously provided for by
the treasury of the Republic, yet with an income proportionately limited.

Politics and theology were fields in which he had hardly served an
apprenticeship, and it was possible that when he should step forward as a
master in those complicated and difficult pursuits, soon to absorb the
attention of the Commonwealth and the world, it might appear that war was
not the only science that required serious preliminary studies.

Meantime he found himself not a king, not the master of a nominal
republic, but the servant of the States-General, and the limited
stadholder of five out of seven separate provinces.

And the States-General were virtually John of Barneveld. Could antagonism
be more sharply defined? Jealousy, that potent principle which controls
the regular movements and accounts for the aberrations of humanity in
widest spheres as well as narrowest circles far more generally and
conclusively than philosophers or historians have been willing to admit,
began forthwith to manifest its subtle and irresistible influence.

And there were not to be wanting acute and dangerous schemers who saw
their profit in augmenting its intensity.

The Seven Provinces, when the truce of twelve years had been signed, were
neither exhausted nor impoverished. Yet they had just emerged from a
forty years' conflict such as no people in human history had ever waged
against a foreign tyranny. They had need to repose and recruit, but they
stood among the foremost great powers of the day. It is not easy in
imagination to thrust back the present leading empires of the earth into
the contracted spheres of their not remote past. But to feel how a little
confederacy of seven provinces loosely tied together by an ill-defined
treaty could hold so prominent and often so controlling a place in the
European system of the seventeenth century, we must remember that there
was then no Germany, no Russia, no Italy, no United States of America,
scarcely even a Great Britain in the sense which belongs to that mighty
empire now.

France, Spain, England, the Pope, and the Emperor were the leading powers
with which the Netherlands were daily called on to solve great problems
and try conclusions; the study of political international equilibrium,
now rapidly and perhaps fortunately becoming one of the lost arts, being
then the most indispensable duty of kings and statesmen.

Spain and France, which had long since achieved for themselves the
political union of many independent kingdoms and states into which they
had been divided were the most considerable powers and of necessity
rivals. Spain, or rather the House of Austria divided into its two great
branches, still pursued its persistent and by no means fantastic dream of
universal monarchy. Both Spain and France could dispose of somewhat
larger resources absolutely, although not relatively, than the Seven
Provinces, while at least trebling them in population. The yearly revenue
of Spain after deduction of its pledged resources was perhaps equal to a
million sterling, and that of France with the same reservation was about
as much. England had hardly been able to levy and make up a yearly income
of more than L600,000 or L700,000 at the end of Elizabeth's reign or in
the first years of James, while the Netherlands had often proved
themselves capable of furnishing annually ten or twelve millions of
florins, which would be the equivalent of nearly a million sterling.

The yearly revenues of the whole monarchy of the Imperial house of
Habsburg can scarcely be stated at a higher figure than L350,000.

Thus the political game--for it was a game--was by no means a desperate
one for the Netherlands, nor the resources of the various players so
unequally distributed as at first sight it might appear.

The emancipation of the Provinces from the grasp of Spain and the
establishment by them of a commonwealth, for that epoch a very free one,
and which contained within itself the germs of a larger liberty,
religious, political, and commercial, than had yet been known, was
already one of the most considerable results of the Reformation. The
probability of its continued and independent existence was hardly
believed in by potentate or statesman outside its own borders, and had
not been very long a decided article of faith even within them. The
knotty problem of an acknowledgment of that existence, the admission of
the new-born state into the family of nations, and a temporary peace
guaranteed by two great powers, had at last been solved mainly by the
genius of Barneveld working amid many disadvantages and against great
obstructions. The truce had been made, and it now needed all the skill,
coolness, and courage of a practical and original statesman to conduct
the affairs of the Confederacy. The troubled epoch of peace was even now
heaving with warlike emotions, and was hardly less stormy than the war
which had just been suspended.

The Republic was like a raft loosely strung together, floating almost on
a level of the ocean, and often half submerged, but freighted with
inestimable treasures for itself and the world. It needed an unsleeping
eye and a powerful brain to conduct her over the quicksands and through
the whirlpools of an unmapped and intricate course.

The sovereignty of the country so far as its nature could be
satisfactorily analysed seemed to be scattered through, and inherent in
each one of, the multitudinous boards of magistracy--close corporations,
self-elected--by which every city was governed. Nothing could be more
preposterous. Practically, however, these boards were represented by
deputies in each of the seven provincial assemblies, and these again sent
councillors from among their number to the general assembly which was
that of their High Mightinesses the Lords States-General.

The Province of Holland, being richer and more powerful than all its six
sisters combined, was not unwilling to impose a supremacy which on the
whole was practically conceded by the rest. Thus the Union of Utrecht
established in 1579 was maintained for want of anything better as the
foundation of the Commonwealth.

The Advocate and Keeper of the Great Seal of that province was therefore
virtually prime minister, president, attorney-general, finance minister,
and minister of foreign affairs of the whole republic. This was
Barneveld's position. He took the lead in the deliberations both of the
States of Holland and the States-General, moved resolutions, advocated
great measures of state, gave heed to their execution, collected the
votes, summed up the proceedings, corresponded with and instructed
ambassadors, received and negotiated with foreign ministers, besides
directing and holding in his hands the various threads of the home policy
and the rapidly growing colonial system of the Republic.

All this work Barneveld had been doing for thirty years.

The Reformation was by no mans assured even in the lands where it had at
first made the most essential progress. But the existence of the new
commonwealth depended on the success of that great movement which had
called it into being. Losing ground in France, fluctuating in England,
Protestantism was apparently more triumphant in vast territories where
the ancient Church was one day to recover its mastery. Of the population
of Bohemia, there were perhaps ten Protestants to one Papist, while in
the United Netherlands at least one-third of the people were still
attached to the Catholic faith.

The great religious struggle in Bohemia and other dominions of the
Habsburg family was fast leading to a war of which no man could even
imagine the horrors or foresee the vast extent. The Catholic League and
the Protestant Union were slowly arranging Europe into two mighty
confederacies.

They were to give employment year after year to millions of mercenary
freebooters who were to practise murder, pillage, and every imaginable
and unimaginable outrage as the most legitimate industry that could
occupy mankind. The Holy Empire which so ingeniously combined the worst
characteristics of despotism and republicanism kept all Germany and half
Europe in the turmoil of a perpetual presidential election. A theatre
where trivial personages and graceless actors performed a tragi-comedy of
mingled folly, intrigue, and crime, and where earnestness and vigour were
destined to be constantly baffled, now offered the principal stage for
the entertainment and excitement of Christendom.

There was but one king in Europe, Henry the Bearnese. The men who sat on
the thrones in Madrid, Vienna, London, would have lived and died unknown
but for the crowns they wore, and while there were plenty of bustling
politicians here and there in Christendom, there were not many statesmen.

Among them there was no stronger man than John of Barneveld, and no man
had harder or more complicated work to do.

Born in Amersfoort in 1547, of the ancient and knightly house of
Oldenbarneveldt, of patrician blood through all his ancestors both male
and female, he was not the heir to large possessions, and was a diligent
student and hardworking man from youth upward. He was not wont to boast
of his pedigree until in later life, being assailed by vilest slander,
all his kindred nearest or most remote being charged with every possible
and unmentionable crime, and himself stigmatized as sprung from the
lowest kennels of humanity--as if thereby his private character and
public services could be more legitimately blackened--he was stung into
exhibiting to the world the purity and antiquity of his escutcheon, and a
roll of respectably placed, well estated, and authentically noble, if not
at all illustrious, forefathers in his country's records of the previous
centuries.

Without an ancestor at his back he might have valued himself still more
highly on the commanding place he held in the world by right divine of
intellect, but as the father of lies seemed to have kept his creatures so
busy with the Barneveld genealogy, it was not amiss for the statesman
once for all to make the truth known.

His studies in the universities of Holland, France, Italy, and Germany
had been profound. At an early age he was one of the first civilians of
the time. His manhood being almost contemporary with the great war of
freedom, he had served as a volunteer and at his own expense through
several campaigns, having nearly lost his life in the disastrous attempt
to relieve the siege of Haarlem, and having been so disabled by sickness
and exposure at the heroic leaguer of Leyden as to have been deprived of
the joy of witnessing its triumphant conclusion.

Successfully practising his profession afterwards before the tribunals of
Holland, he had been called at the comparatively early age of twenty-nine
to the important post of Chief Pensionary of Rotterdam. So long as
William the Silent lived, that great prince was all in all to his
country, and Barneveld was proud and happy to be among the most trusted
and assiduous of his counsellors.

When the assassination of William seemed for an instant to strike the
Republic with paralysis, Barneveld was foremost among the statesmen of
Holland to spring forward and help to inspire it with renewed energy.

The almost completed negotiations for conferring the sovereignty, not of
the Confederacy, but of the Province of Holland, upon the Prince had been
abruptly brought to an end by his death. To confer that sovereign
countship on his son Maurice, then a lad of eighteen and a student at
Leyden, would have seemed to many at so terrible a crisis an act of
madness, although Barneveld had been willing to suggest and promote the
scheme. The confederates under his guidance soon hastened however to lay
the sovereignty, and if not the sovereignty, the protectorship, of all
the provinces at the feet first of England and then of France.

Barneveld was at the head of the embassy, and indeed was the
indispensable head of all important, embassies to each of those two
countries throughout all this portion of his career. Both monarchs
refused, almost spurned, the offered crown in which was involved a war
with the greatest power in the world, with no compensating dignity or
benefit, as it was thought, beside.

Then Elizabeth, although declining the sovereignty, promised assistance
and sent the Earl of Leicester as governor-general at the head of a
contingent of English troops. Precisely to prevent the consolidation thus
threatened of the Provinces into one union, a measure which had been
attempted more than once in the Burgundian epoch, and always successfully
resisted by the spirit of provincial separatism, Barneveld now proposed
and carried the appointment of Maurice of Nassau to the stadholdership of
Holland. This was done against great opposition and amid fierce debate.
Soon afterwards Barneveld was vehemently urged by the nobles and regents
of the cities of Holland to accept the post of Advocate of that province.
After repeatedly declining the arduous and most responsible office, he
was at last induced to accept it. He did it under the remarkable
condition that in case any negotiation should be undertaken for the
purpose of bringing back the Province of Holland under the dominion of
the King of Spain, he should be considered as from that moment relieved
from the service.

His brother Elias Barneveld succeeded him as Pensionary of Rotterdam, and
thenceforth the career of the Advocate is identical with the history of
the Netherlands. Although a native of Utrecht, he was competent to
exercise such functions in Holland, a special and ancient convention
between those two provinces allowing the citizens of either to enjoy
legal and civic rights in both. Gradually, without intrigue or inordinate
ambition, but from force of circumstances and the commanding power of the
man, the native authority stamped upon his forehead, he became the
political head of the Confederacy. He created and maintained a system of
public credit absolutely marvellous in the circumstances, by means of
which an otherwise impossible struggle was carried to a victorious end.

When the stadholderate of the provinces of Gelderland, Utrecht, and
Overyssel became vacant, it was again Barneveld's potent influence and
sincere attachment to the House of Nassau that procured the election of
Maurice to those posts. Thus within six years after his father's death
the youthful soldier who had already given proof of his surpassing
military genius had become governor, commander-in-chief, and high
admiral, of five of the seven provinces constituting the Confederacy.

At about the same period the great question of Church and State, which
Barneveld had always felt to be among the vital problems of the age, and
on which his opinions were most decided, came up for partial solution. It
would have been too much to expect the opinion of any statesman to be so
much in advance of his time as to favor religious equality. Toleration of
various creeds, including the Roman Catholic, so far as abstinence from
inquisition into consciences and private parlours could be called
toleration, was secured, and that was a considerable step in advance of
the practice of the sixteenth century. Burning, hanging, and burying
alive of culprits guilty of another creed than the dominant one had
become obsolete. But there was an established creed--the Reformed
religion, founded on the Netherland Confession and the Heidelberg
Catechism. And there was one established principle then considered
throughout Europe the grand result of the Reformation; "Cujus regio ejus
religio;" which was in reality as impudent an invasion of human right as
any heaven-born dogma of Infallibility. The sovereign of a country,
having appropriated the revenues of the ancient church, prescribed his
own creed to his subjects. In the royal conscience were included the
million consciences of his subjects. The inevitable result in a country
like the Netherlands, without a personal sovereign, was a struggle
between the new church and the civil government for mastery. And at this
period, and always in Barneveld's opinion, the question of dogma was
subordinate to that of church government. That there should be no
authority over the King had been settled in England.

Henry VIII., Elizabeth, and afterwards James, having become popes in
their own realm, had no great hostility to, but rather an affection for,
ancient dogma and splendid ceremonial. But in the Seven Provinces, even
as in France, Germany, and Switzerland, the reform where it had been
effected at all had been more thorough, and there was little left of
Popish pomp or aristocratic hierarchy. Nothing could be severer than the
simplicity of the Reformed Church, nothing more imperious than its dogma,
nothing more infallible than its creed. It was the true religion, and
there was none other. But to whom belonged the ecclesiastical edifices,
the splendid old minsters in the cities--raised by the people's confiding
piety and the purchased remission of their sins in a bygone age--and the
humbler but beautiful parish churches in every town and village? To the
State; said Barneveld, speaking for government; to the community
represented by the states of the provinces, the magistracies of the
cities and municipalities. To the Church itself, the one true church
represented by its elders, and deacons, and preachers, was the reply.

And to whom belonged the right of prescribing laws and ordinances of
public worship, of appointing preachers, church servants, schoolmasters,
sextons? To the Holy Ghost inspiring the Class and the Synod, said the
Church.

To the civil authority, said the magistrates, by which the churches are
maintained, and the salaries of the ecclesiastics paid. The states of
Holland are as sovereign as the kings of England or Denmark, the electors
of Saxony or Brandenburg, the magistrates of Zurich or Basel or other
Swiss cantons. "Cujus regio ejus religio."

In 1590 there was a compromise under the guidance of Barneveld. It was
agreed that an appointing board should be established composed of civil
functionaries and church officials in equal numbers. Thus should the
interests of religion and of education be maintained.

The compromise was successful enough during the war. External pressure
kept down theological passion, and there were as yet few symptoms of
schism in the dominant church. But there was to come a time when the
struggle between church and government was to break forth with an
intensity and to rage to an extent which no man at that moment could
imagine.

Towards the end of the century Henry IV. made peace with Spain. It was a
trying moment for the Provinces. Barneveld was again sent forth on an
embassy to the King. The cardinal point in his policy, as it had ever
been in that of William the Silent, was to maintain close friendship with
France, whoever might be its ruler. An alliance between that kingdom and
Spain would be instantaneous ruin to the Republic. With the French and
English sovereigns united with the Provinces, the cause of the
Reformation might triumph, the Spanish world-empire be annihilated,
national independence secured.

Henry assured the Ambassador that the treaty of Vervins was
indispensable, but that he would never desert his old allies. In proof of
this, although he had just bound himself to Spain to give no assistance
to the Provinces, open or secret, he would furnish them with thirteen
hundred thousand crowns, payable at intervals during four years. He was
under great obligations to his good friends the States, he said, and
nothing in the treaty forbade him to pay his debts.

It was at this period too that Barneveld was employed by the King to
attend to certain legal and other private business for which he professed
himself too poor at the moment to compensate him. There seems to have
been nothing in the usages of the time or country to make the
transaction, innocent in itself, in any degree disreputable. The King
promised at some future clay, when he should be more in funds, to pay him
a liberal fee. Barneveld, who a dozen years afterwards received 20,000
florins for his labour, professed that he would much rather have had one
thousand at the time.

Thence the Advocate, accompanied by his colleague, Justinus de Nassau,
proceeded to England, where they had many stormy interviews with
Elizabeth. The Queen swore with many an oath that she too would make
peace with Philip, recommended the Provinces to do the same thing with
submission to their ancient tyrant, and claimed from the States immediate
payment of one million sterling in satisfaction of their old debts to
her. It would have been as easy for them at that moment to pay a thousand
million. It was at last agreed that the sum of the debt should be fixed
at L800,000, and that the cautionary towns should be held in Elizabeth's
hands by English troops until all the debt should be discharged. Thus
England for a long time afterwards continued to regard itself, as in a
measure the sovereign and proprietor of the Confederacy, and Barneveld
then and there formed the resolve to relieve the country of the incubus,
and to recover those cautionary towns and fortresses at the earliest
possible moment. So long as foreign soldiers commanded by military
governors existed on the soil of the Netherlands, they could hardly
account themselves independent. Besides, there was the perpetual and
horrid nightmare, that by a sudden pacification between Spain and England
those important cities, keys to the country's defence, might be handed
over to their ancient tyrant.

Elizabeth had been pacified at last, however, by the eloquence of the
Ambassador. "I will assist you even if you were up to the neck in water,"
she said. "Jusque la," she added, pointing to her chin.

Five years later Barneveld, for the fifth time at the head of a great
embassy, was sent to England to congratulate James on his accession. It
was then and there that he took measure of the monarch with whom he was
destined to have many dealings, and who was to exert so baleful an
influence on his career. At last came the time when it was felt that
peace between Spain and her revolted provinces might be made. The
conservation of their ancient laws, privileges, and charters, the
independence of the States, and included therein the freedom to establish
the Reformed religion, had been secured by forty years of fighting.

The honour of Spain was saved by a conjunction. She agreed to treat with
her old dependencies "as" with states over which she had no pretensions.
Through virtue of an "as," a truce after two years' negotiation,
perpetually traversed and secretly countermined by the military party
under the influence of Maurice, was carried by the determination of
Barneveld. The great objects of the war had been secured. The country was
weary of nearly half a century of bloodshed. It was time to remember that
there could be such a condition as Peace.

The treaty was signed, ratifications exchanged, and the usual presents of
considerable sums of money to the negotiators made. Barneveld earnestly
protested against carrying out the custom on this occasion, and urged
that those presents should be given for the public use. He was overruled
by those who were more desirous of receiving their reward than he was,
and he accordingly, in common with the other diplomatists, accepted the
gifts.

The various details of these negotiations have been related by the author
in other volumes, to which the present one is intended as a sequel. It
has been thought necessary merely to recall very briefly a few salient
passages in the career of the Advocate up to the period when the present
history really opens.

Their bearing upon subsequent events will easily be observed. The truce
was the work of Barneveld. It was detested by Maurice and by Maurice's
partisans.

"I fear that our enemies and evil reports are the cause of many of our
difficulties," said the Advocate to the States' envoy in Paris, in 1606.
"You are to pay no heed to private advices. Believe and make others
believe that more than one half the inhabitants of the cities and in the
open country are inclined to peace. And I believe, in case of continuing
adversities, that the other half will not remain constant, principally
because the Provinces are robbed of all traffic, prosperity, and
navigation, through the actions of France and England. I have always
thought it for the advantage of his Majesty to sustain us in such wise as
would make us useful in his service. As to his remaining permanently at
peace with Spain, that would seem quite out of the question."

The King had long kept, according to treaty, a couple of French regiments
in the States' service, and furnished, or was bound to furnish, a certain
yearly sum for their support. But the expenses of the campaigning had
been rapidly increasing and the results as swiftly dwindling. The
Advocate now explained that, "without loss both of important places and
of reputation," the States could not help spending every month that they
took the field 200,000 florins over and above the regular contributions,
and some months a great deal more. This sum, he said, in nine months,
would more than eat up the whole subsidy of the King. If they were to be
in the field by March or beginning of April, they would require from him
an extraordinary sum of 200,000 crowns, and as much more in June or July.

Eighteen months later, when the magnificent naval victory of Heemskerk in
the Bay of Gibraltar had just made a startling interlude to the
languishing negotiations for peace, the Advocate again warned the French
King of the difficulty in which the Republic still laboured of carrying
on the mighty struggle alone. Spain was the common enemy of all. No peace
or hope was possible for the leading powers as long as Spain was
perpetually encamped in the very heart of Western Europe. The Netherlands
were not fighting their own battle merely, but that of freedom and
independence against the all-encroaching world-power. And their means to
carry on the conflict were dwindling, while at the same time there was a
favourable opportunity for cropping some fruit from their previous
labours and sacrifices.

"We are led to doubt," he wrote once more to the envoy in France,
"whether the King's full powers will come from Spain. This defeat is hard
for the Spaniards to digest. Meantime our burdens are quite above our
capacity, as you will understand by the enclosed statement, which is made
out with much exactness to show what is absolutely necessary for a
vigorous defence on land and a respectable position at sea to keep things
from entire confusion. The Provinces could raise means for the half of
this estimate. But, it is a great difference when the means differ one
half from the expenses. The sovereignst and most assured remedy would be
the one so often demanded, often projected, and sometimes almost prepared
for execution, namely that our neighbour kings, princes, and republics
should earnestly take the matter in hand and drive the Spaniards and
their adherents out of the Netherlands and over the mountains. Their own
dignity and security ought not to permit such great bodies of troops of
both belligerents permanently massed in the Netherlands. Still less ought
they to allow these Provinces to fall into the hands of the Spaniards,
whence they could with so much more power and convenience make war upon
all kings, princes, and republics. This must be prevented by one means or
another. It ought to be enough for every one that we have been between
thirty and forty years a firm bulwark against Spanish ambition. Our
constancy and patience ought to be strengthened by counsel and by deed in
order that we may exist; a Christian sympathy and a small assistance not
being sufficient. Believe and cause to be believed that the present
condition of our affairs requires more aid in counsel and money than ever
before, and that nothing could be better bestowed than to further this
end.

"Messieurs Jeannin, Buzenval, and de Russy have been all here these
twelve days. We have firm hopes that other kings, princes, and republics
will not stay upon formalities, but will also visit the patients here in
order to administer sovereign remedies.

"Lend no ear to any flying reports. We say with the wise men over there,
'Metuo Danaos et dons ferentes.' We know our antagonists well, and trust
their hearts no more than before, 'sed ultra posse non est esse.' To
accept more burthens than we can pay for will breed military mutiny; to
tax the community above its strength will cause popular tumults,
especially in 'rebus adversis,' of which the beginnings were seen last
year, and without a powerful army the enemy is not to be withstood. I
have received your letters to the 17th May. My advice is to trust to his
upright proceedings and with patience to overcome all things. Thus shall
the detractors and calumniators best be confounded. Assure his Majesty
and his ministers that I will do my utmost to avert our ruin and his
Majesty's disservice."

The treaty was made, and from that time forth the antagonism between the
eminent statesman and the great military chieftain became inevitable. The
importance of the one seemed likely to increase day by day. The
occupation of the other for a time was over.

During the war Maurice had been, with exception of Henry IV., the most
considerable personage in Europe. He was surrounded with that visible
atmosphere of power the poison of which it is so difficult to resist, and
through the golden haze of which a mortal seems to dilate for the vulgar
eye into the supernatural. The attention of Christendom was perpetually
fixed upon him. Nothing like his sieges, his encampments, his military
discipline, his scientific campaigning had been seen before in modern
Europe. The youthful aristocracy from all countries thronged to his camp
to learn the game of war, for he had restored by diligent study of the
ancients much that was noble in that pursuit, and had elevated into an
art that which had long since degenerated into a system of butchery,
marauding, and rapine. And he had fought with signal success and
unquestionable heroism the most important and most brilliant pitched
battle of the age. He was a central figure of the current history of
Europe. Pagan nations looked up to him as one of the leading sovereigns
of Christendom. The Emperor of Japan addressed him as his brother
monarch, assured him that his subjects trading to that distant empire
should be welcomed and protected, and expressed himself ashamed that so
great a prince, whose name and fame had spread through the world, should
send his subjects to visit a country so distant and unknown, and offer
its emperor a friendship which he was unconscious of deserving.

He had been a commander of armies and a chief among men since he came to
man's estate, and he was now in the very vigour of life, in his
forty-second year. Of Imperial descent and closely connected by blood or
alliance with many of the most illustrious of reigning houses, the
acknowledged master of the most royal and noble of all sciences, he was
of the stuff of which kings were made, and belonged by what was then
accounted right divine to the family of kings. His father's death had
alone prevented his elevation to the throne of Holland, and such
possession of half the sovereignty of the United Netherlands would
probably have expanded into dominion over all the seven with a not
fantastic possibility of uniting the ten still obedient provinces into a
single realm. Such a kingdom would have been more populous and far
wealthier than contemporary Great Britain and Ireland. Maurice, then a
student at Leyden, was too young at that crisis, and his powers too
undeveloped to justify any serious attempt to place him in his father's
place.

The Netherlands drifted into a confederacy of aristocratic republics, not
because they had planned a republic, but because they could not get a
king, foreign or native. The documents regarding the offer of the
sovereign countship to William remained in the possession of Maurice, and
a few years before the peace there had been a private meeting of leading
personages, of which Barneveld was the promoter and chief spokesman, to
take into consideration the propriety and possibility of conferring that
sovereignty upon the son which had virtually belonged to the father. The
obstacles were deemed so numerous, and especially the scheme seemed so
fraught with danger to Maurice, that it was reluctantly abandoned by his
best friends, among whom unquestionably was the Advocate.

There was no reason whatever why the now successful and mature soldier,
to whom the country was under such vast obligations, should not aspire to
the sovereignty. The Provinces had not pledged themselves to
republicanism, but rather to monarchy, and the crown, although secretly
coveted by Henry IV., could by no possibility now be conferred on any
other man than Maurice. It was no impeachment on his character that he
should nourish thoughts in which there was nothing criminal.

But the peace negotiations had opened a chasm. It was obvious enough that
Barneveld having now so long exercised great powers, and become as it
were the chief magistrate of an important commonwealth, would not be so
friendly as formerly to its conversion into a monarchy and to the
elevation of the great soldier to its throne. The Advocate had even been
sounded, cautiously and secretly, so men believed, by the
Princess-Dowager, Louise de Coligny, widow of William the silent, as to
the feasibility of procuring the sovereignty for Maurice. She had done
this at the instigation of Maurice, who had expressed his belief that the
favourable influence of the Advocate would make success certain and who
had represented to her that, as he was himself resolved never to marry,
the inheritance after his death would fall to her son Frederick Henry.
The Princess, who was of a most amiable disposition, adored her son.
Devoted to the House of Nassau and a great admirer of its chief, she had
a long interview with Barneveld, in which she urged the scheme upon his
attention without in any probability revealing that she had come to him
at the solicitation of Maurice.

The Advocate spoke to her with frankness and out of the depths of his
heart. He professed an ardent attachment to her family, a profound
reverence for the virtues, sacrifices, and achievements of her lamented
husband, and a warm desire to do everything to further the interests of
the son who had proved himself so worthy of his parentage.

But he proved to her that Maurice, in seeking the sovereignty, was
seeking his ruin. The Hollanders, he said, liked to be persuaded and not
forced. Having triumphantly shaken off the yoke of a powerful king, they
would scarcely consent now to accept the rule of any personal sovereign.
The desire to save themselves from the claws of Spain had led them
formerly to offer the dominion over them to various potentates. Now that
they had achieved peace and independence and were delivered from the
fears of Spanish ferocity and French intrigue, they shuddered at the
dangers from royal hands out of which they had at last escaped. He
believed that they would be capable of tearing in pieces any one who
might make the desired proposition. After all, he urged, Maurice was a
hundred times more fortunate as he was than if he should succeed in
desires so opposed to his own good. This splendour of sovereignty was a
false glare which would lead him to a precipice. He had now the power of
a sovereign without the envy which ever followed it. Having essentially
such power, he ought, like his father, to despise an empty name, which
would only make him hated. For it was well known that William the Silent
had only yielded to much solicitation, agreeing to accept that which then
seemed desirable for the country's good but to him was more than
indifferent.

Maurice was captain-general and admiral-general of five provinces. He
appointed to governments and to all military office. He had a share of
appointment to the magistracies. He had the same advantages and the same
authority as had been enjoyed in the Netherlands by the ancient sovereign
counts, by the dukes of Burgundy, by Emperor Charles V. himself.

Every one now was in favour of increasing his pensions, his salaries, his
material splendour. Should he succeed in seizing the sovereignty, men
would envy him even to the ribbands of his pages' and his lackeys' shoes.
He turned to the annals of Holland and showed the Princess that there had
hardly been a sovereign count against whom his subjects had not revolted,
marching generally into the very courtyard of the palace at the Hague in
order to take his life.

Convinced by this reasoning, Louise de Coligny had at once changed her
mind, and subsequently besought her stepson to give up a project sure to
be fatal to his welfare, his peace of mind, and the good of the country.
Maurice listened to her coldly, gave little heed to the Advocate's logic,
and hated him in his heart from that day forth.

The Princess remained loyal to Barneveld to the last.

Thus the foundation was laid of that terrible enmity which, inflamed by
theological passion, was to convert the period of peace into a hell, to
rend the Provinces asunder when they had most need of repose, and to lead
to tragical results for ever to be deplored. Already in 1607 Francis
Aerssens had said that the two had become so embroiled and things had
gone so far that one or the other would have to leave the country. He
permitted also the ridiculous statement to be made in his house at Paris,
that Henry IV. believed the Advocate to have become Spanish, and had
declared that Prince Maurice would do well to have him put into a sack
and thrown into the sea.

His life had been regularly divided into two halves, the campaigning
season and the period of winter quarters. In the one his business, and
his talk was of camps, marches, sieges, and battles only. In the other he
was devoted to his stud, to tennis, to mathematical and mechanical
inventions, and to chess, of which he was passionately fond, and which he
did not play at all well. A Gascon captain serving in the States' army
was his habitual antagonist in that game, and, although the stakes were
but a crown a game, derived a steady income out of his gains, which were
more than equal to his pay. The Prince was sulky when he lost, sitting,
when the candles were burned out and bed-time had arrived, with his hat
pulled over his brows, without bidding his guest good night, and leaving
him to find his way out as he best could; and, on the contrary, radiant
with delight when successful, calling for valets to light the departing
captain through the corridor, and accompanying him to the door of the
apartment himself. That warrior was accordingly too shrewd not to allow
his great adversary as fair a share of triumph as was consistent with
maintaining the frugal income on which he reckoned.

He had small love for the pleasures of the table, but was promiscuous and
unlicensed in his amours. He was methodical in his household
arrangements, and rather stingy than liberal in money matters. He
personally read all his letters, accounts, despatches, and other
documents trivial or important, but wrote few letters with his own hand,
so that, unlike his illustrious father's correspondence, there is little
that is characteristic to be found in his own. He was plain but not
shabby in attire, and was always dressed in exactly the same style,
wearing doublet and hose of brown woollen, a silk under vest, a short
cloak lined with velvet, a little plaited ruff on his neck, and very
loose boots. He ridiculed the smart French officers who, to show their
fine legs, were wont to wear such tight boots as made them perspire to
get into them, and maintained, in precept and practice, that a man should
be able to jump into his boots and mount and ride at a moment's notice.
The only ornaments he indulged in, except, of course, on state occasions,
were a golden hilt to his famous sword, and a rope of diamonds tied
around his felt hat.

He was now in the full flower of his strength and his fame, in his
forty-second year, and of a noble and martial presence. The face,
although unquestionably handsome, offered a sharp contrast within itself;
the upper half all intellect, the lower quite sensual. Fair hair growing
thin, but hardly tinged with grey, a bright, cheerful, and thoughtful
forehead, large hazel eyes within a singularly large orbit of brow; a
straight, thin, slightly aquiline, well-cut nose--such features were at
open variance with the broad, thick-lipped, sensual mouth, the heavy
pendant jowl, the sparse beard on the glistening cheek, and the
moleskin-like moustachio and chin tuft. Still, upon the whole, it was a
face and figure which gave the world assurance of a man and a commander
of men. Power and intelligence were stamped upon him from his birth.

Barneveld was tall and majestic of presence, with large quadrangular
face, austere, blue eyes looking authority and command, a vast forehead,
and a grizzled beard. Of fluent and convincing eloquence with tongue and
pen, having the power of saying much in few words, he cared much more for
the substance than the graces of speech or composition. This tendency was
not ill exemplified in a note of his written on a sheet of questions
addressed to him by a States' ambassador about to start on an important
mission, but a novice in his business, the answers to which questions
were to serve for his diplomatic instructions.

"Item and principally," wrote the Envoy, "to request of M. de Barneveld a
formulary or copy of the best, soundest, wisest, and best couched
despatches done by several preceding ambassadors in order to regulate
myself accordingly for the greater service of the Province and for my
uttermost reputation."

The Advocate's answer, scrawled in his nearly illegible hand, was--

"Unnecessary. The truth in shortest about matters of importance shall be
taken for good style."

With great love of power, which he was conscious of exerting with ease to
himself and for the good of the public, he had little personal vanity,
and not the smallest ambition of authorship. Many volumes might be
collected out of the vast accumulation of his writings now mouldering and
forgotten in archives. Had the language in which they are written become
a world's language, they would be worthy of attentive study, as
containing noble illustrations of the history and politics of his age,
with theories and sentiments often far in advance of his age. But he
cared not for style. "The truth in shortest about matters of importance"
was enough for him; but the world in general, and especially the world of
posterity, cares much for style. The vehicle is often prized more than
the freight. The name of Barneveld is fast fading out of men's memory.
The fame of his pupil and companion in fortune and misfortune, Hugo
Grotius, is ever green. But Grotius was essentially an author rather than
a statesman: he wrote for the world and posterity with all the love,
pride, and charm of the devotee of literature, and he composed his
noblest works in a language which is ever living because it is dead. Some
of his writings, epochmaking when they first appeared, are text-books
still familiar in every cultivated household on earth. Yet Barneveld was
vastly his superior in practical statesmanship, in law, in the science of
government, and above all in force of character, while certainly not his
equal in theology, nor making any pretensions to poetry. Although a ripe
scholar, he rarely wrote in Latin, and not often in French. His ambition
was to do his work thoroughly according to his view of duty, and to ask
God's blessing upon it without craving overmuch the applause of men.

Such were the two men, the soldier and the statesman. Would the Republic,
fortunate enough to possess two such magnificent and widely contrasted
capacities, be wise enough to keep them in its service, each
supplementing the other, and the two combining in a perfect whole?

Or was the great law of the Discords of the World, as potent as that
other principle of Universal Harmony and planetary motion which an
illustrious contemporary--that Wurtemberg astronomer, once a soldier of
the fierce Alva, now the half-starved astrologer of the brain-sick
Rudolph--was at that moment discovering, after "God had waited six
thousand years for him to do it," to prevail for the misery of the
Republic and shame of Europe? Time was to show.

The new state had forced itself into the family of sovereignties somewhat
to the displeasure of most of the Lord's anointed. Rebellious and
republican, it necessarily excited the jealousy of long-established and
hereditary governments.

The King of Spain had not formally acknowledged the independence of the
United Provinces. He had treated with them as free, and there was
supposed to be much virtue in the conjunction. But their sovereign
independence was virtually recognized by the world. Great nations had
entered into public and diplomatic relations and conventions with them,
and their agents at foreign courts were now dignified with the rank and
title of ambassadors.

The Spanish king had likewise refused to them the concession of the right
of navigation and commerce in the East Indies, but it was a matter of
notoriety that the absence of the word India, suppressed as it was in the
treaty, implied an immense triumph on the part of the States, and that
their flourishing and daily increasing commerce in the farthest East and
the imperial establishments already rising there were cause of envy and
jealousy not to Spain alone, but to friendly powers.

Yet the government of Great Britain affected to regard them as something
less than a sovereign state. Although Elizabeth had refused the
sovereignty once proffered to her, although James had united with Henry
IV. in guaranteeing the treaty just concluded between the States and
Spain, that monarch had the wonderful conception that the Republic was in
some sort a province of his own, because he still held the cautionary
towns in pledge for the loans granted by his predecessor. His agents at
Constantinople were instructed to represent the new state as unworthy to
accredit its envoys as those of an independent power. The Provinces were
represented as a collection of audacious rebels, a piratical scum of the
sea. But the Sultan knew his interests better than to incur the enmity of
this rising maritime power. The Dutch envoy declaring that he would
sooner throw himself into the Bosphorus than remain to be treated with
less consideration than that accorded to the ministers of all great
powers, the remonstrances of envious colleagues were hushed, and Haga was
received with all due honours.

Even at the court of the best friend of the Republic, the French king,
men looked coldly at the upstart commonwealth. Francis Aerssens, the keen
and accomplished minister of the States, resident in Paris for many
years, was received as ambassador after the truce with all the ceremonial
befitting the highest rank in the diplomatic service; yet Henry could not
yet persuade himself to look upon the power accrediting him as a
thoroughly organized commonwealth.

The English ambassador asked the King if he meant to continue his aid and
assistance to the States during the truce. "Yes," answered Henry.

"And a few years beyond it?"

"No. I do not wish to offend the King of Spain from mere gaiety of
heart."

"But they are free," replied the Ambassador; "the King of Spain could
have no cause for offence."

"They are free," said the King, "but not sovereign."--"Judge then," wrote
Aerssens to Barneveld, "how we shall be with the King of Spain at the end
of our term when our best friends make this distinction among themselves
to our disadvantage. They insist on making a difference between liberty
and sovereignty; considering liberty as a mean term between servitude and
sovereignty."

"You would do well," continued the Dutch ambassador, "to use the word
'sovereignty' on all occasions instead of 'liberty.'" The hint was
significant and the advice sound.

The haughty republic of Venice, too, with its "golden Book" and its
pedigree of a thousand years, looked askance at the republic of yesterday
rising like herself out of lagunes and sand banks, and affecting to place
herself side by side with emperors, kings, and the lion of St. Mark. But
the all-accomplished council of that most serene commonwealth had far too
much insight and too wide experience in political combinations to make
the blunder of yielding to this aristocratic sentiment.

The natural enemy of the Pope, of Spain, of Austria, must of necessity be
the friend of Venice, and it was soon thought highly desirable to
intimate half officially that a legation from the States-General to the
Queen of the Adriatic, announcing the conclusion of the Twelve Years'
Truce, would be extremely well received.

The hint was given by the Venetian ambassador at Paris to Francis
Aerssens, who instantly recommended van der Myle, son-in-law of
Barneveld, as a proper personage to be entrusted with this important
mission. At this moment an open breach had almost occurred between Spain
and Venice, and the Spanish ambassador at Paris, Don Pedro de Toledo,
naturally very irate with Holland, Venice, and even with France, was
vehement in his demonstrations. The arrogant Spaniard had for some time
been employed in an attempt to negotiate a double marriage between the
Dauphin and the eldest daughter of Philip III., and between the eldest
son of that king and the Princess Elizabeth of France. An indispensable
but secret condition of this negotiation was the absolute renunciation by
France of its alliance and friendly relations with the United Provinces.
The project was in truth a hostile measure aimed directly at the life of
the Republic. Henry held firm however, and Don Pedro was about to depart
malcontent, his mission having totally failed. He chanced, when going to
his audience of leave-taking, after the arrival of his successor, Don
Inigo de Cardenas, to meet the Venetian ambassador, Antonio Foscarini. An
altercation took place between them, during which the Spaniard poured out
his wrath so vehemently, calling his colleague with neat alliteration "a
poltroon, a pantaloon, and a pig," that Henry heard him.

What Signor Antonio replied has not been preserved, but it is stated that
he was first to seek a reconciliation, not liking, he said, Spanish
assassinations.

Meantime the double marriage project was for a season at least suspended,
and the alliance between the two republics went forwards. Van der Myle,
appointed ambassador to Venice, soon afterwards arrived in Paris, where
he made a very favourable impression, and was highly lauded by Aerssens
in his daily correspondence with Barneveld. No portentous shadow of
future and fatal discord between those statesmen fell upon the cheerful
scene. Before the year closed, he arrived at his post, and was received
with great distinction, despite the obstacles thrown in his way by Spain
and other powers; the ambassador of France itself, de Champigny, having
privately urged that he ought to be placed on the same footing with the
envoys of Savoy and of Florence.

Van der Myle at starting committed the trifling fault of styling the
States-General "most illustrious" (illustrissimi) instead of "most
serene," the title by which Venice designated herself.

The fault was at once remedied, however, Priuli the Doge seating the
Dutch ambassador on his right hand at his solemn reception, and giving
directions that van der Myle should be addressed as Excellency, his post
being assigned him directly after his seniors, the ambassadors of Pope,
Emperor, and kings. The same precedence was settled in Paris, while
Aerssens, who did not consider himself placed in a position of greater
usefulness by his formal installation as ambassador, received private
intimation from Henry, with whom he was on terms of great confidence and
intimacy, that he should have private access to the King as frequently
and as in formally as before. The theory that the ambassador,
representing the personality of his sovereign, may visit the monarch to
whom he is accredited, without ceremony and at his own convenience, was
as rarely carried into practice in the sixteenth century as in the
nineteenth, while on the other hand Aerssens, as the private and
confidential agent of a friendly but not publicly recognized
commonwealth, had been for many years in almost daily personal
communication with the King.

It is also important to note that the modern fallacy according to which
republics being impersonal should not be represented by ambassadors had
not appeared in that important epoch in diplomatic history. On the
contrary, the two great republics of the age, Holland and Venice,
vindicated for themselves, with as much dignity and reason as success,
their right to the highest diplomatic honours.

The distinction was substantial not shadowy; those haughty commonwealths
not considering it advantageous or decorous that their representatives
should for want of proper official designations be ranked on great
ceremonial occasions with the ministers of petty Italian principalities
or of the three hundred infinitesimal sovereignties of Germany.

It was the advice of the French king especially, who knew politics and
the world as well as any man, that the envoys of the Republic which he
befriended and which stood now on the threshold of its official and
national existence, should assert themselves at every court with the
self-reliance and courtesy becoming the functionaries of a great power.
That those ministers were second to the representatives of no other
European state in capacity and accomplishment was a fact well known to
all who had dealings with them, for the States required in their
diplomatic representatives knowledge of history and international law,
modern languages, and the classics, as well as familiarity with political
customs and social courtesies; the breeding of gentlemen in short, and
the accomplishments of scholars. It is both a literary enjoyment and a
means of historical and political instruction to read after the lapse of
centuries their reports and despatches. They worthily compare as works of
art with those diplomatic masterpieces the letters and 'Relazioni' of the
Venetian ambassadors; and it is well known that the earlier and some of
the most important treatises on public and international law ever written
are from the pens of Hollanders, who indeed may be said to have invented
that science.'

The Republic having thus steadily shouldered its way into the family of
nations was soon called upon to perform a prominent part in the world's
affairs. More than in our own epoch there was a close political
commingling of such independent states as held sympathetic views on the
great questions agitating Europe. The policy of isolation so wisely and
successfully carried out by our own trans-Atlantic commonwealth was
impossible for the Dutch republic, born as it was of a great religious
schism, and with its narrow territory wedged between the chief political
organizations of Christendom. Moreover the same jealousy on the part of
established powers which threw so many obstacles in its path to
recognized sovereignty existed in the highest degree between its two
sponsors and allies, France and England, in regard to their respective
relations to the new state.

"If ever there was an obliged people," said Henry's secretary of state,
Villeroy, to Aerssens, "then it is you Netherlanders to his Majesty. He
has converted your war into peace, and has never abandoned you. It is for
you now to show your affection and gratitude."

In the time of Elizabeth, and now in that of her successor, there was
scarcely a day in which the envoys of the States were not reminded of the
immense load of favour from England under which they tottered, and of the
greater sincerity and value of English friendship over that of France.

Sully often spoke to Aerssens on the subject in even stronger language,
deeming himself the chief protector and guardian angel of the Republic,
to whom they were bound by ties of eternal gratitude. "But if the
States," he said, "should think of caressing the King of England more
than him, or even of treating him on an equality with his Majesty, Henry
would be very much affronted. He did not mean that they should neglect
the friendship of the King of Britain, but that they should cultivate it
after and in subordination to his own, for they might be sure that James
held all things indifferent, their ruin or their conservation, while his
Majesty had always manifested the contrary both by his counsels and by
the constant furnishing of supplies."

Henry of France and Navarre--soldier, statesman, wit, above all a man and
every inch a king--brimful of human vices, foibles, and humours, and
endowed with those high qualities of genius which enabled him to mould
events and men by his unscrupulous and audacious determination to conform
to the spirit of his times which no man better understood than himself,
had ever been in such close relations with the Netherlands as to seem in
some sort their sovereign.

James Stuart, emerging from the school of Buchanan and the atmosphere of
Calvinism in which he had been bred, now reigned in those more sunny and
liberal regions where Elizabeth so long had ruled. Finding himself at
once, after years of theological study, face to face with a foreign
commonwealth and a momentous epoch, in which politics were so commingled
with divinity as to offer daily the most puzzling problems, the royal
pedant hugged himself at beholding so conspicuous a field for his
talents.

To turn a throne into a pulpit, and amaze mankind with his learning, was
an ambition most sweet to gratify. The Calvinist of Scotland now
proclaimed his deadly hatred of Puritans in England and Holland, and
denounced the Netherlanders as a pack of rebels whom it always pleased
him to irritate, and over whom he too claimed, through the possession of
the cautionary towns, a kind of sovereignty. Instinctively feeling that
in the rough and unlovely husk of Puritanism was enclosed the germ of a
wider human liberty than then existed, he was determined to give battle
to it with his tongue, his pen, with everything but his sword.

Doubtless the States had received most invaluable assistance from both
France and England, but the sovereigns of those countries were too apt to
forget that it was their own battles, as well as those of the Hollanders,
that had been fought in Flanders and Brabant. But for the alliance and
subsidies of the faithful States, Henry would not so soon have ascended
the throne of his ancestors, while it was matter of history that the
Spanish government had for years been steadily endeavouring to subjugate
England not so much for the value of the conquest in itself as for a
stepping-stone to the recovery of the revolted Netherlands.

For the dividing line of nations or at least of national alliances was a
frontier not of language but of faith. Germany was but a geographical
expression. The union of Protestantism, subscribed by a large proportion
of its three hundred and seven sovereigns, ran zigzag through the
country, a majority probably of the people at that moment being opposed
to the Roman Church.

It has often been considered amazing that Protestantism having
accomplished so much should have fallen backwards so soon, and yielded
almost undisputed sway in vast regions to the long dominant church. But
in truth there is nothing surprising about it. Catholicism was and
remained a unit, while its opponents were eventually broken up into
hundreds of warring and politically impotent organizations. Religious
faith became distorted into a weapon for selfish and greedy territorial
aggrandizement in the hands of Protestant princes. "Cujus regio ejus
religio" was the taunt hurled in the face of the imploring Calvinists of
France and the Low Countries by the arrogant Lutherans of Germany. Such a
sword smote the principle of religious freedom and mutual toleration into
the dust, and rendered them comparatively weak in the conflict with the
ancient and splendidly organized church.

The Huguenots of France, notwithstanding the protection grudgingly
afforded them by their former chieftain, were dejected and discomfited by
his apostasy, and Henry, placed in a fearfully false position, was an
object of suspicion to both friends and foes. In England it is difficult
to say whether a Jesuit or a Puritan was accounted the more noxious
animal by the dominant party.

In the United Provinces perhaps one half the population was either openly
or secretly attached to the ancient church, while among the Protestant
portion a dire and tragic convulsion was about to break forth, which for
a time at least was to render Remonstrants and Contra-Remonstrants more
fiercely opposed to each other than to Papists.

The doctrine of predestination in its sternest and strictest sense had
long been the prevailing one in the Reformed Church of the revolted
Netherlands, as in those of Scotland, France, Geneva, and the Palatinate.
No doubt up to the period of the truce a majority had acquiesced in that
dogma and its results, although there had always been many preachers to
advocate publicly a milder creed. It was not until the appointment of
Jacob Arminius to the professorship of theology at Leyden, in the place
of Francis Junius, in the year 1603, that a danger of schism in the
Church, seemed impending. Then rose the great Gomarus in his wrath, and
with all the powers of splendid eloquence, profound learning, and the
intense bigotry of conviction, denounced the horrible heresy. Conferences
between the two before the Court of Holland, theological tournaments
between six champions on a side, gallantly led by their respective
chieftains, followed, with the usual result of confirming both parties in
the conviction that to each alone belonged exclusively the truth.

The original influence of Arminius had however been so great that when
the preachers of Holland had been severally called on by a synod to sign
the Heidelberg Catechism, many of them refused. Here was open heresy and
revolt. It was time for the true church to vindicate its authority. The
great war with Spain had been made, so it was urged and honestly
believed, not against the Inquisition, not to prevent Netherlanders from
being burned and buried alive by the old true church, not in defence of
ancient charters, constitutions, and privileges--the precious result of
centuries of popular resistance to despotic force--not to maintain an
amount of civil liberty and local self-government larger in extent than
any then existing in the world, not to assert equality of religion for
all men, but simply to establish the true religion, the one church, the
only possible creed; the creed and church of Calvin.

It is perfectly certain that the living fire which glowed in the veins of
those hot gospellers had added intense enthusiasm to the war spirit
throughout that immense struggle. It is quite possible that without that
enthusiasm the war might not have been carried on to its successful end.
But it is equally certain that Catholics, Lutherans, Baptists, and
devotees of many other creeds, had taken part in the conflict in defence
both of hearth and altar, and that without that aid the independence of
the Provinces would never have been secured.

Yet before the war was ended the arrogance of the Reformed priesthood had
begun to dig a chasm. Men who with William the Silent and Barneveld had
indulged in the vision of religious equality as a possible result of so
much fighting against the Holy Inquisition were perhaps to be
disappointed.

Preachers under the influence of the gentle Arminius having dared to
refuse signing the Creed were to be dealt with. It was time to pass from
censure to action.

Heresy must be trampled down. The churches called for a national synod,
and they did this as by divine right. "My Lords the States-General must
observe," they said, "that this assembly now demanded is not a human
institution but an ordinance of the Holy Ghost in its community, not
depending upon any man's authority, but proceeding from God to the
community." They complained that the true church was allowed to act only
through the civil government, and was thus placed at a disadvantage
compared even with Catholics and other sects, whose proceedings were
winked at. "Thus the true church suffered from its apparent and public
freedom, and hostile sects gained by secret connivance."

A crisis was fast approaching. The one church claimed infallibility and
superiority to the civil power. The Holy Ghost was placed in direct,
ostentatious opposition to My Lords the States-General. It was for
Netherlanders to decide whether, after having shaken off the Holy
Inquisition, and subjected the old true church to the public authority,
they were now to submit to the imperious claims of the new true church.

There were hundreds of links connecting the Church with the State. In
that day a divorce between the two was hardly possible or conceivable.
The system of Congregationalism so successfully put into practice soon
afterwards in the wilderness of New England, and to which so much of
American freedom political as well as religious is due, was not easy to
adopt in an old country like the Netherlands. Splendid churches and
cathedrals, the legal possession of which would be contended for by rival
sects, could scarcely be replaced by temporary structures of lath and
plaster, or by humble back parlours of mechanics' shops. There were
questions of property of complicated nature. Not only the states and the
communities claimed in rivalry the ownership of church property, but many
private families could show ancient advowsons and other claims to present
or to patronize, derived from imperial or ducal charters.

So long as there could be liberty of opinion within the Church upon
points not necessarily vital, open schism could be avoided, by which the
cause of Protestantism throughout Europe must be weakened, while at the
same time subordination of the priesthood to the civil authority would be
maintained. But if the Holy Ghost, through the assembled clergy, were to
dictate an iron formulary to which all must conform, to make laws for
church government which every citizen must obey, and to appoint preachers
and school-masters from whom alone old and young could receive
illumination and instruction religious or lay, a theocracy would be
established which no enlightened statesman could tolerate.

The States-General agreed to the synod, but imposed a condition that
there should be a revision of Creed and Catechism. This was thundered
down with one blast. The condition implied a possibility that the vile
heresy of Arminius might be correct. An unconditional synod was demanded.
The Heidelberg Creed and Netherland Catechism were sacred, infallible,
not to be touched. The answer of the government, through the mouth of
Barneveld, was that "to My Lords the States-General as the foster-fathers
and protectors of the churches every right belonged."

Thus far the States-General under the leadership of the Advocate were
unanimous. The victory remained with State against Church. But very soon
after the truce had been established, and men had liberty to devote
themselves to peaceful pursuits, the ecclesiastical trumpet again sounded
far and wide, and contending priests and laymen rushed madly to the fray.
The Remonstrance and Contra-Remonstrance, and the appointment of Conrad
Vorstius, a more abominable heretic than Arminius, to the vacant chair of
Arminius--a step which drove Gomarus and the Gomarites to frenzy,
although Gomarus and Vorstius remained private and intimate friends to
the last--are matters briefly to be mentioned on a later page.

Thus to the four chief actors in the politico-religious drama, soon to be
enacted as an interlude to an eighty years' war, were assigned parts at
first sight inconsistent with their private convictions. The King of
France, who had often abjured his religion, and was now the best of
Catholics, was denounced ferociously in every Catholic pulpit in
Christendom as secretly an apostate again, and the open protector of
heretics and rebels. But the cheerful Henry troubled himself less than he
perhaps had cause to do with these thunderblasts. Besides, as we shall
soon see, he had other objects political and personal to sway his
opinions.

James the ex-Calvinist, crypto-Arminian, pseudo-Papist, and avowed
Puritan hater, was girding on his armour to annihilate Arminians and to
defend and protect Puritans in Holland, while swearing that in England he
would pepper them and harry them and hang them and that he would even
like to bury them alive.

Barneveld, who turned his eyes, as much as in such an inflammatory age it
was possible, from subtle points of theology, and relied on his
great-grandfather's motto of humility, "Nil scire tutissima fides" was
perhaps nearer to the dogma of the dominant Reformed Church than he knew,
although always the consistent and strenuous champion of the civil
authority over Church as well as State.

Maurice was no theologian. He was a steady churchgoer, and his favorite
divine, the preacher at his court chapel, was none other than
Uytenbogaert. The very man who was instantly to be the champion of the
Arminians, the author of the Remonstrance, the counsellor and comrade of
Barneveld and Grotius, was now sneered at by the Gomarites as the "Court
Trumpeter." The preacher was not destined to change his opinions. Perhaps
the Prince might alter. But Maurice then paid no heed to the great point
at issue, about which all the Netherlanders were to take each other by
the throat--absolute predestination. He knew that the Advocate had
refused to listen to his stepmother's suggestion as to his obtaining the
sovereignty. "He knew nothing of predestination," he was wont to say,
"whether it was green or whether it was blue. He only knew that his pipe
and the Advocate's were not likely to make music together." This much of
predestination he did know, that if the Advocate and his friends were to
come to open conflict with the Prince of Orange-Nassau, the conqueror of
Nieuwpoort, it was predestined to go hard with the Advocate and his
friends.

The theological quibble did not interest him much, and he was apt to
blunder about it.

"Well, preacher," said he one day to Albert Huttenus, who had come to him
to intercede for a deserter condemned to be hanged, "are you one of those
Arminians who believe that one child is born to salvation and another to
damnation?"

Huttenus, amazed to the utmost at the extraordinary question, replied,
"Your Excellency will be graciously pleased to observe that this is not
the opinion of those whom one calls by the hateful name of Arminians, but
the opinion of their adversaries."

"Well, preacher," rejoined Maurice, "don't you think I know better?" And
turning to Count Lewis William, Stadholder of Friesland, who was present,
standing by the hearth with his hand on a copper ring of the
chimneypiece, he cried,

"Which is right, cousin, the preacher or I?"

"No, cousin," answered Count Lewis, "you are in the wrong."

Thus to the Catholic League organized throughout Europe in solid and
consistent phalanx was opposed the Great Protestant Union, ardent and
enthusiastic in detail, but undisciplined, disobedient, and inharmonious
as a whole.

The great principle, not of religious toleration, which is a phrase of
insult, but of religious equality, which is the natural right of mankind,
was to be evolved after a lapse of, additional centuries out of the
elemental conflict which had already lasted so long. Still later was the
total divorce of State and Church to be achieved as the final
consummation of the great revolution. Meantime it was almost inevitable
that the privileged and richly endowed church, with ecclesiastical armies
and arsenals vastly superior to anything which its antagonist could
improvise, should more than hold its own.

At the outset of the epoch which now occupies our attention, Europe was
in a state of exhaustion and longing for repose. Spain had submitted to
the humiliation of a treaty of truce with its rebellious subjects which
was substantially a recognition of their independence. Nothing could be
more deplorable than the internal condition of the country which claimed
to be mistress of the world and still aspired to universal monarchy.

It had made peace because it could no longer furnish funds for the war.
The French ambassador, Barante, returning from Madrid, informed his
sovereign that he had often seen officers in the army prostrating
themselves on their knees in the streets before their sovereign as he
went to mass, and imploring him for payment of their salaries, or at
least an alms to keep them from starving, and always imploring in vain.

The King, who was less than a cipher, had neither capacity to feel
emotion, nor intelligence to comprehend the most insignificant affair of
state. Moreover the means were wanting to him even had he been disposed
to grant assistance. The terrible Duke of Lerma was still his inexorably
lord and master, and the secretary of that powerful personage, who kept
an open shop for the sale of offices of state both high and low, took
care that all the proceeds should flow into the coffers of the Duke and
his own lap instead of the royal exchequer.

In France both king and people declared themselves disgusted with war.
Sully disapproved of the treaty just concluded between Spain and the
Netherlands, feeling sure that the captious and equivocal clauses
contained in it would be interpreted to the disadvantage of the Republic
and of the Reformed religion whenever Spain felt herself strong enough to
make the attempt. He was especially anxious that the States should make
no concessions in regard to the exercise of the Catholic worship within
their territory, believing that by so doing they would compromise their
political independence besides endangering the cause of Protestantism
everywhere. A great pressure was put upon Sully that moment by the King
to change his religion.

"You will all be inevitably ruined if you make concessions in this
regard," said he to Aerssens. "Take example by me. I should be utterly
undone if I had listened to any overture on this subject."

Nevertheless it was the opinion of the astute and caustic envoy that the
Duke would be forced to yield at last. The Pope was making great efforts
to gain him, and thus to bring about the extirpation of Protestantism in
France. And the King, at that time much under the influence of the
Jesuits, had almost set his heart on the conversion. Aerssens insinuated
that Sully was dreading a minute examination into the affairs of his
administration of the finances--a groundless calumny--and would be thus
forced to comply. Other enemies suggested that nothing would effect this
much desired apostasy but the office of Constable of France, which it was
certain would never be bestowed on him.

At any rate it was very certain that Henry at this period was bent on
peace.

"Make your account," said Aerssens to Barneveld, as the time for signing
the truce drew nigh, "on this indubitable foundation that the King is
determined against war, whatever pretences he may make. His bellicose
demeanour has been assumed only to help forward our treaty, which he
would never have favoured, and ought never to have favoured, if he had
not been too much in love with peace. This is a very important secret if
we manage it discreetly, and a very dangerous one if our enemies discover
it."

Sully would have much preferred that the States should stand out for a
peace rather than for a truce, and believed it might have been obtained
if the King had not begun the matter so feebly, and if he had let it be
understood that he would join his arms to those of the Provinces in case
of rupture.

He warned the States very strenuously that the Pope, and the King of
Spain, and a host of enemies open and covert, were doing their host to
injure them at the French court. They would find little hindrance in this
course if the Republic did not show its teeth, and especially if it did
not stiffly oppose all encroachments of the Roman religion, without even
showing any deference to the King in this regard, who was much importuned
on the subject.

He advised the States to improve the interval of truce by restoring order
to their finances and so arranging their affairs that on the resumption
of hostilities, if come they must, their friends might be encouraged to
help them, by the exhibition of thorough vigour on their part.

France then, although utterly indisposed for war at that moment, was
thoroughly to be relied on as a friend and in case of need an ally, so
long as it was governed by its present policy. There was but one king
left in Europe since the death of Elizabeth of England.

But Henry was now on the abhorred threshold of old age which he
obstinately refused to cross.

There is something almost pathetic, in spite of the censure which much of
his private life at this period provokes, in the isolation which now
seemed his lot.

Deceived and hated by his wife and his mistresses, who were conspiring
with each other and with his ministers, not only against his policy but
against his life; with a vile Italian adventurer, dishonouring his
household, entirely dominating the queen, counteracting the royal
measures, secretly corresponding, by assumed authority, with Spain, in
direct violation of the King's instructions to his ambassadors, and
gorging himself with wealth and offices at the expense of everything
respectable in France; surrounded by a pack of malignant and greedy
nobles, who begrudged him his fame, his authority, his independence;
without a home, and almost without a friend, the Most Christian King in
these latter days led hardly as merry a life as when fighting years long
for his crown, at the head of his Gascon chivalry, the beloved chieftain
of Huguenots.

Of the triumvirate then constituting his council, Villeroy, Sillery, and
Sully, the two first were ancient Leaguers, and more devoted at heart to
Philip of Spain than to Henry of France and Navarre.

Both silent, laborious, plodding, plotting functionaries, thriftily
gathering riches; skilled in routine and adepts at intrigue; steady
self-seekers, and faithful to office in which their lives had passed,
they might be relied on at any emergency to take part against their
master, if to ruin would prove more profitable than to serve him.

There was one man who was truer to Henry than Henry had been to himself.
The haughty, defiant, austere grandee, brave soldier, sagacious
statesman, thrifty financier, against whom the poisoned arrows of
religious hatred, envious ambition, and petty court intrigue were daily
directed, who watched grimly over the exchequer confided to him, which
was daily growing fuller in despite of the cormorants who trembled at his
frown; hard worker, good hater, conscientious politician, who filled his
own coffers without dishonesty, and those of the state without tyranny;
unsociable, arrogant; pious, very avaricious, and inordinately vain,
Maximilian de Bethune, Duke of Sully, loved and respected Henry as no man
or woman loved and respected him. In truth, there was but one living
being for whom the Duke had greater reverence and affection than for the
King, and that was the Duke of Sully himself.

At this moment he considered himself, as indeed he was, in full
possession of his sovereign's confidence. But he was alone in this
conviction. Those about the court, men like Epernon and his creatures,
believed the great financier on the brink of perdition. Henry, always the
loosest of talkers even in regard to his best friends, had declared, on
some temporary vexation in regard to the affair between Aiguillon and
Balagny, that he would deal with the Duke as with the late Marshal de
Biron, and make him smaller than he had ever made him great: goading him
on this occasion with importunities, almost amounting to commands, that
both he and his son should forthwith change their religion or expect
instant ruin. The blow was so severe that Sully shut himself up, refused
to see anyone, and talked of retiring for good to his estates. But he
knew, and Henry knew, how indispensable he was, and the anger of the
master was as shortlived as the despair of the minister.

There was no living statesman for whom Henry had a more sincere respect
than for the Advocate of Holland. "His Majesty admires and greatly extols
your wisdom, which he judges necessary for the preservation of our State;
deeming you one of the rare and sage counsellors of the age." It is true
that this admiration was in part attributed to the singular coincidence
of Barneveld's views of policy with the King's own. Sully, on his part,
was a severe critic of that policy. He believed that better terms might
have been exacted from Spain in the late negotiations, and strongly
objected to the cavilling and equivocal language of the treaty. Rude in
pen as in speech, he expressed his mind very freely in his conversation
and correspondence with Henry in regard to leading personages and great
affairs, and made no secret of his opinions to the States' ambassador.

He showed his letters in which he had informed the King that he ought
never to have sanctioned the truce without better securities than
existed, and that the States would never have moved in any matter without
him. It would have been better to throw himself into a severe war than to
see the Republic perish. He further expressed the conviction that Henry
ought to have such authority over the Netherlands that they would embrace
blindly whatever counsel he chose to give them, even if they saw in it
their inevitable ruin; and this not so much from remembrance of
assistance rendered by him, but from the necessity in which they should
always feel of depending totally upon him.

"You may judge, therefore," concluded Aerssens, "as to how much we can
build on such foundations as these. I have been amazed at these frank
communications, for in those letters he spares neither My Lords the
States, nor his Excellency Prince Maurice, nor yourself; giving his
judgment of each of you with far too much freedom and without sufficient
knowledge."

Thus the alliance between the Netherlands and France, notwithstanding
occasional traces of caprice and flaws of personal jealousy, was on the
whole sincere, for it was founded on the surest foundation of
international friendship, the self-interest of each. Henry, although
boasting of having bought Paris with a mass, knew as well as his worst
enemy that in that bargain he had never purchased the confidence of the
ancient church, on whose bosom he had flung himself with so much dramatic
pomp. His noble position, as champion of religious toleration, was not
only unappreciated in an age in which each church and every sect
arrogated to itself a monopoly of the truth, but it was one in which he
did not himself sincerely believe.

After all, he was still the chieftain of the Protestant Union, and,
although Eldest Son of the Church, was the bitter antagonist of the
League and the sworn foe to the House of Austria. He was walking through
pitfalls with a crowd of invisible but relentless foes dogging his every
footstep. In his household or without were daily visions of dagger and
bowl, and he felt himself marching to his doom. How could the man on whom
the heretic and rebellious Hollanders and the Protestant princes of
Germany relied as on their saviour escape the unutterable wrath and the
patient vengeance of a power that never forgave?

In England the jealousy of the Republic and of France as co-guardian and
protector of the Republic was even greater than in France. Though placed
by circumstances in the position of ally to the Netherlands and enemy to
Spain, James hated the Netherlands and adored Spain. His first thought on
escaping the general destruction to which the Gunpowder Plot was to have
involved himself and family and all the principal personages of the realm
seems to have been to exculpate Spain from participation in the crime.
His next was to deliver a sermon to Parliament, exonerating the Catholics
and going out of his way to stigmatize the Puritans as entertaining
doctrines which should be punished with fire. As the Puritans had
certainly not been accused of complicity with Guy Fawkes or Garnet, this
portion of the discourse was at least superfluous. But James loathed
nothing so much as a Puritan. A Catholic at heart, he would have been the
warmest ally of the League had he only been permitted to be Pope of Great
Britain. He hated and feared a Jesuit, not for his religious doctrines,
for with these he sympathized, but for his political creed. He liked not
that either Roman Pontiff or British Presbyterian should abridge his
heaven-born prerogative. The doctrine of Papal superiority to temporal
sovereigns was as odious to him as Puritan rebellion to the hierarchy of
which he was the chief. Moreover, in his hostility to both Papists and
Presbyterians, there was much of professional rivalry. Having been
deprived by the accident of birth of his true position as theological
professor, he lost no opportunity of turning his throne into a pulpit and
his sceptre into a controversial pen.

Henry of France, who rarely concealed his contempt for Master Jacques, as
he called him, said to the English ambassador, on receiving from him one
of the King's books, and being asked what he thought of it--"It is not
the business of us kings to write, but to fight. Everybody should mind
his own business, but it is the vice of most men to wish to appear
learned in matters of which they are ignorant."

The flatterers of James found their account in pandering to his
sacerdotal and royal vanity. "I have always believed," said the Lord
Chancellor, after hearing the King argue with and browbeat a Presbyterian
deputation, "that the high-priesthood and royalty ought to be united, but
I never witnessed the actual junction till now, after hearing the learned
discourse of your Majesty." Archbishop Whitgift, grovelling still lower,
declared his conviction that James, in the observations he had deigned to
make, had been directly inspired by the Holy Ghost.

Nothing could be more illogical and incoherent with each other than his
theological and political opinions. He imagined himself a defender of the
Protestant faith, while hating Holland and fawning on the House of
Austria.

In England he favoured Arminianism, because the Anglican Church
recognized for its head the temporal chief of the State. In Holland he
vehemently denounced the Arminians, indecently persecuting their
preachers and statesmen, who were contending for exactly the same
principle--the supremacy of State over Church. He sentenced Bartholomew
Legate to be burned alive in Smithfield as a blasphemous heretic, and did
his best to compel the States of Holland to take the life of Professor
Vorstius of Leyden. He persecuted the Presbyterians in England as
furiously as he defended them in Holland. He drove Bradford and Carver
into the New England wilderness, and applauded Gomarus and Walaeus and
the other famous leaders of the Presbyterian party in the Netherlands
with all his soul and strength.

He united with the French king in negotiations for Netherland
independence, while denouncing the Provinces as guilty of criminal
rebellion against their lawful sovereign.

"He pretends," said Jeannin, "to assist in bringing about the peace, and
nevertheless does his best openly to prevent it."

Richardot declared that the firmness of the King of Spain proceeded
entirely from reliance on the promise of James that there should be no
acknowledgment in the treaty of the liberty of the States. Henry wrote to
Jeannin that he knew very well "what that was capable of, but that he
should not be kept awake by anything he could do."

As a king he spent his reign--so much of it as could be spared from
gourmandizing, drunkenness, dalliance with handsome minions of his own
sex, and theological pursuits--in rescuing the Crown from dependence on
Parliament; in straining to the utmost the royal prerogative; in
substituting proclamations for statutes; in doing everything in his
power, in short, to smooth the path for his successor to the scaffold. As
father of a family he consecrated many years of his life to the wondrous
delusion of the Spanish marriages.

The Gunpowder Plot seemed to have inspired him with an insane desire for
that alliance, and few things in history are more amazing than the
persistency with which he pursued the scheme, until the pursuit became
not only ridiculous, but impossible.

With such a man, frivolous, pedantic, conceited, and licentious, the
earnest statesmen of Holland were forced into close alliance. It is
pathetic to see men like Barneveld and Hugo Grotius obliged, on great
occasions of state, to use the language of respect and affection to one
by whom they were hated, and whom they thoroughly despised.

But turning away from France, it was in vain for them to look for kings
or men either among friends or foes. In Germany religious dissensions
were gradually ripening into open war, and it would be difficult to
imagine a more hopelessly incompetent ruler than the man who was
nominally chief of the Holy Roman Realm. Yet the distracted Rudolph was
quite as much an emperor as the chaos over which he was supposed to
preside was an empire. Perhaps the very worst polity ever devised by
human perverseness was the system under which the great German race was
then writhing and groaning. A mad world with a lunatic to govern it; a
democracy of many princes, little and big, fighting amongst each other,
and falling into daily changing combinations as some masterly or
mischievous hand whirled the kaleidoscope; drinking Rhenish by hogsheads,
and beer by the tun; robbing churches, dictating creeds to their
subjects, and breaking all the commandments themselves; a people at the
bottom dimly striving towards religious freedom and political life out of
abject social, ecclesiastical, and political serfdom, and perhaps even
then dumbly feeling within its veins, with that prophetic instinct which
never abandons great races, a far distant and magnificent Future of
national unity and Imperial splendour, the very reverse of the confusion
which was then the hideous Present; an Imperial family at top with many
heads and slender brains; a band of brothers and cousins wrangling,
intriguing, tripping up each others' heels, and unlucky Rudolph, in his
Hradschin, looking out of window over the peerless Prague, spread out in
its beauteous landscape of hill and dale, darkling forest, dizzy cliffs,
and rushing river, at his feet, feebly cursing the unhappy city for its
ingratitude to an invisible and impotent sovereign; his excellent brother
Matthias meanwhile marauding through the realms and taking one crown
after another from his poor bald head.

It would be difficult to depict anything more precisely what an emperor
in those portentous times should not be. He collected works of art of
many kinds--pictures, statues, gems. He passed his days in his galleries
contemplating in solitary grandeur these treasures, or in his stables,
admiring a numerous stud of horses which he never drove or rode.
Ambassadors and ministers of state disguised themselves as grooms and
stable-boys to obtain accidental glimpses of a sovereign who rarely
granted audiences. His nights were passed in star-gazing with Tycho de
Brake, or with that illustrious Suabian whose name is one of the great
lights and treasures of the world. But it was not to study the laws of
planetary motion nor to fathom mysteries of divine harmony that the
monarch stood with Kepler in the observatory. The influence of countless
worlds upon the destiny of one who, by capricious accident, if accident
ever exists in history, had been entrusted with the destiny of so large a
portion of one little world; the horoscope, not of the Universe, but of
himself; such were the limited purposes with which the Kaiser looked upon
the constellations.

For the Catholic Rudolph had received the Protestant Kepler, driven from
Tubingen because Lutheran doctors, knowing from Holy Writ that the sun
had stood still in Ajalon, had denounced his theory of planetary motion.
His mother had just escaped being burned as a witch, and the world owes a
debt of gratitude to the Emperor for protecting the astrologer, when
enlightened theologians might, perhaps, have hanged the astronomer.

A red-faced, heavy fowled, bald-headed, somewhat goggle-eyed old
gentleman, Rudolph did his best to lead the life of a hermit, and escape
the cares of royalty. Timid by temperament, yet liable to fits of
uncontrollable anger, he broke his furniture to pieces when irritated,
and threw dishes that displeased him in his butler's face, but left
affairs of state mainly to his valet, who earned many a penny by selling
the Imperial signature.

He had just signed the famous "Majestatsbrief," by which he granted vast
privileges to the Protestants of Bohemia, and had bitten the pen to
pieces in a paroxysm of anger, after dimly comprehending the extent of
the concessions which he had made.

There were hundreds of sovereign states over all of which floated the
shadowy and impalpable authority of an Imperial crown scarcely fixed on
the head of any one of the rival brethren and cousins; there was a
confederation of Protestants, with the keen-sighted and ambitious
Christian of Anhalt acting as its chief, and dreaming of the Bohemian
crown; there was the just-born Catholic League, with the calm,
far-seeing, and egotistical rather than self-seeking Maximilian at its
head; each combination extending over the whole country, stamped with
imbecility of action from its birth, and perverted and hampered by
inevitable jealousies. In addition to all these furrows ploughed by the
very genius of discord throughout the unhappy land was the wild and
secret intrigue with which Leopold, Archduke and Bishop, dreaming also of
the crown of Wenzel, was about to tear its surface as deeply as he dared.

Thus constituted were the leading powers of Europe in the earlier part of
1609--the year in which a peaceful period seemed to have begun. To those
who saw the entangled interests of individuals, and the conflict of
theological dogmas and religious and political intrigue which furnished
so much material out of which wide-reaching schemes of personal ambition
could be spun, it must have been obvious that the interval of truce was
necessarily but a brief interlude between two tragedies.

It seemed the very mockery of Fate that, almost at the very instant when
after two years' painful negotiation a truce had been made, the signal
for universal discord should be sounded. One day in the early summer of
1609, Henry IV. came to the Royal Arsenal, the residence of Sully,
accompanied by Zamet and another of his intimate companions. He asked for
the Duke and was told that he was busy in his study. "Of course," said
the King, turning to his followers, "I dare say you expected to be told
that he was out shooting, or with the ladies, or at the barber's. But who
works like Sully? Tell him," he said, "to come to the balcony in his
garden, where he and I are not accustomed to be silent."

As soon as Sully appeared, the King observed: "Well; here the Duke of
Cleve is dead, and has left everybody his heir."

It was true enough, and the inheritance was of vital importance to the
world.

It was an apple of discord thrown directly between the two rival camps
into which Christendom was divided. The Duchies of Cleve, Berg, and
Julich, and the Counties and Lordships of Mark, Ravensberg, and
Ravenstein, formed a triangle, political and geographical, closely wedged
between Catholicism and Protestantism, and between France, the United
Provinces, Belgium, and Germany. Should it fall into Catholic hands, the
Netherlands were lost, trampled upon in every corner, hedged in on all
sides, with the House of Austria governing the Rhine, the Meuse, and the
Scheldt. It was vital to them to exclude the Empire from the great
historic river which seemed destined to form the perpetual frontier of
jealous powers and rival creeds.

Should it fall into heretic hands, the States were vastly strengthened,
the Archduke Albert isolated and cut off from the protection of Spain and
of the Empire. France, although Catholic, was the ally of Holland and the
secret but well known enemy of the House of Austria. It was inevitable
that the king of that country, the only living statesman that wore a
crown, should be appealed to by all parties and should find himself in
the proud but dangerous position of arbiter of Europe.

In this emergency he relied upon himself and on two men besides,
Maximilian de Bethune and John of Barneveld. The conference between the
King and Sully and between both and Francis Aerssens, ambassador of the
States, were of almost daily occurrence. The minute details given in the
adroit diplomatist's correspondence indicate at every stage the extreme
deference paid by Henry to the opinion of Holland's Advocate and the
confidence reposed by him in the resources and the courage of the
Republic.

All the world was claiming the heritage of the duchies.

It was only strange that an event which could not be long deferred and
the consequences of which were soon to be so grave, the death of the Duke
of Cleve, should at last burst like a bomb-shell on the council tables of
the sovereigns and statesmen of Europe. That mischievous madman John
William died childless in the spring of 1609. His sister Sibylla, an
ancient and malignant spinster, had governed him and his possessions
except in his lucid intervals. The mass of the population over which he
ruled being Protestant, while the reigning family and the chief nobles
were of the ancient faith, it was natural that the Catholic party under,
the lead of Maximilian of Bavaria should deem it all-important that there
should be direct issue to that family. Otherwise the inheritance on his
death would probably pass to Protestant princes.

The first wife provided for him was a beautiful princess; Jacobea of
Baden. The Pope blessed the nuptials, and sent the bride a golden rose,
but the union was sterile and unhappy. The Duke, who was in the habit of
careering through his palace in full armour, slashing at and wounding
anyone that came in his way, was at last locked up. The hapless Jacobea,
accused by Sibylla of witchcraft and other crimes possible and
impossible, was thrown into prison. Two years long the devilish malignity
of the sister-in-law was exercised upon her victim, who, as it is
related, was not allowed natural sleep during all that period, being at
every hour awakened by command of Sibylla. At last the Duchess was
strangled in prison. A new wife was at once provided for the lunatic,
Antonia of Lorraine. The two remained childless, and Sibylla at the age
of forty-nine took to herself a husband, the Margrave of Burgau, of the
House of Austria, the humble birth of whose mother, however, did not
allow him the rank of Archduke. Her efforts thus to provide Catholic
heirs to the rich domains of Clove proved as fruitless as her previous
attempts.

And now Duke John William had died, and the representatives of his three
dead sisters, and the living Sibylla were left to fight for the duchies.

It would be both cruel and superfluous to inflict on the reader a
historical statement of the manner in which these six small provinces
were to be united into a single state. It would be an equally sterile
task to retrace the legal arguments by which the various parties prepared
themselves to vindicate their claims, each pretender more triumphantly
than the other. The naked facts alone retain vital interest, and of these
facts the prominent one was the assertion of the Emperor that the
duchies, constituting a fief masculine, could descend to none of the
pretenders, but were at his disposal as sovereign of Germany.

On the other hand nearly all the important princes of that country sent
their agents into the duchies to look after the interests real or
imaginary which they claimed.

There were but four candidates who in reality could be considered serious
ones.

Mary Eleanor, eldest sister of the Duke, had been married in the lifetime
of their father to Albert Frederic of Brandenburg, Duke of Prussia. To
the children of this marriage was reserved the succession of the whole
property in case of the masculine line becoming extinct. Two years
afterwards the second sister, Anne, was married to Duke Philip Lewis,
Count-Palatine of Neuburg; the children of which marriage stood next in
succession to those of the eldest sister, should that become
extinguished. Four years later the third sister, Magdalen, espoused the
Duke John, Count-Palatine of Deux-Ponts; who, like Neuburg, made
resignation of rights of succession in favour of the descendants of the
Brandenburg marriage. The marriage of the youngest sister, Sibylla, with
the Margrave of Burgau has been already mentioned. It does not appear
that her brother, whose lunatic condition hardly permitted him to assure
her the dowry which had been the price of renunciation in the case of her
three elder sisters, had obtained that renunciation from her.

The claims of the childless Sibylla as well as those of the Deux-Ponts
branch were not destined to be taken into serious consideration.

The real competitors were the Emperor on the one side and the Elector of
Brandenburg and the Count-Palatine of Neuburg on the other.

It is not necessary to my purpose to say a single word as to the legal
and historical rights of the controversy. Volumes upon volumes of
forgotten lore might be consulted, and they would afford exactly as much
refreshing nutriment as would the heaps of erudition hardly ten years
old, and yet as antiquated as the title-deeds of the Pharaohs, concerning
the claims to the Duchies of Schleswig-Holstein. The fortunate house of
Brandenburg may have been right or wrong in both disputes. It is certain
that it did not lack a more potent factor in settling the political
problems of the world in the one case any more than in the other.

But on the occasion with which we are occupied it was not on the might of
his own right hand that the Elector of Brandenburg relied. Moreover, he
was dilatory in appealing to the two great powers on whose friendship he
must depend for the establishment of his claims: the United Republic and
the King of France. James of England was on the whole inclined to believe
in the rights of Brandenburg. His ambassador, however, with more
prophetic vision than perhaps the King ever dreamt--of, expressed a fear
lest Brandenburg should grow too great and one day come to the Imperial
crown.

The States openly favoured the Elector. Henry as at first disposed
towards Neuburg, but at his request Barneveld furnished a paper on the
subject, by which the King seems to have been entirely converted to the
pretensions of Brandenburg.

But the solution of the question had but little to do with the legal
claim of any man. It was instinctively felt throughout Christendom that
the great duel between the ancient church and the spirit of the
Reformation was now to be renewed upon that narrow, debateable spot.

The Emperor at once proclaimed his right to arbitrate on the succession
and to hold the territory until decision should be made; that is to say,
till the Greek Kalends. His familiar and most tricksy spirit,
Bishop-Archduke Leopold, played at once on his fears and his resentments,
against the ever encroaching, ever menacing, Protestantism of Germany,
with which he had just sealed a compact so bitterly detested.

That bold and bustling prelate, brother of the Queen of Spain and of
Ferdinand of Styria, took post from Prague in the middle of July.
Accompanied by a certain canon of the Church and disguised as his
servant, he arrived after a rapid journey before the gates of Julich,
chief city and fortress of the duchies. The governor of the place,
Nestelraed, inclined like most of the functionaries throughout the
duchies to the Catholic cause, was delighted to recognize under the
livery of the lackey the cousin and representative of the Emperor.
Leopold, who had brought but five men with him, had conquered his capital
at a blow. For while thus comfortably established as temporary governor
of the duchies he designed through the fears or folly of Rudolph to
become their sovereign lord. Strengthened by such an acquisition and
reckoning on continued assistance in men and money from Spain and the
Catholic League, he meant to sweep back to the rescue of the perishing
Rudolph, smite the Protestants of Bohemia, and achieve his appointment to
the crown of that kingdom.

The Spanish ambassador at Prague had furnished him with a handsome sum of
money for the expenses of his journey and preliminary enterprise. It
should go hard but funds should be forthcoming to support him throughout
this audacious scheme. The champion of the Church, the sovereign prince
of important provinces, the possession of which ensured conclusive
triumph to the House of Austria and to Rome--who should oppose him in his
path to Empire? Certainly not the moody Rudolph, the slippery and
unstable Matthias, the fanatic and Jesuit-ridden Ferdinand.

"Leopold in Julich," said Henry's agent in Germany, "is a ferret in a
rabbit warren."

But early in the spring and before the arrival of Leopold, the two
pretenders, John Sigismund, Elector of Brandenburg, and Philip Lewis,
Palatine of Neuburg, had made an arrangement. By the earnest advice of
Barneveld in the name of the States-General and as the result of a
general council of many Protestant princes of Germany, it had been
settled that those two should together provisionally hold and administer
the duchies until the principal affair could be amicably settled.

The possessory princes were accordingly established in Dusseldorf with
the consent of the provincial estates, in which place those bodies were
wont to assemble.

Here then was Spain in the person of Leopold quietly perched in the chief
citadel of the country, while Protestantism in the shape of the
possessory princes stood menacingly in the capital.

Hardly was the ink dry on the treaty which had suspended for twelve years
the great religious war of forty years, not yet had the ratifications
been exchanged, but the trumpet was again sounding, and the hostile
forces were once more face to face.

Leopold, knowing where his great danger lay, sent a friendly message to
the States-General, expressing the hope that they would submit to his
arrangements until the Imperial decision should be made.

The States, through the pen and brain of Barneveld, replied that they had
already recognized the rights of the possessory princes, and were
surprised that the Bishop-Archduke should oppose them. They expressed the
hope that, when better informed, he would see the validity of the Treaty
of Dortmund. "My Lords the States-General," said the Advocate, "will
protect the princes against violence and actual disturbances, and are
assured that the neighbouring kings and princes will do the same. They
trust that his Imperial Highness will not allow matters, to proceed to
extremities."

This was language not to be mistaken. It was plain that the Republic did
not intend the Emperor to decide a question of life and death to herself,
nor to permit Spain, exhausted by warfare, to achieve this annihilating
triumph by a petty intrigue.

While in reality the clue to what seemed to the outside world a
labyrinthine maze of tangled interests and passions was firmly held in
the hand of Barneveld, it was not to him nor to My Lords the
States-General that the various parties to the impending conflict applied
in the first resort.

Mankind were not yet sufficiently used to this young republic, intruding
herself among the family of kings, to defer at once to an authority which
they could not but feel.

Moreover, Henry of France was universally looked to both by friends and
foes as the probable arbiter or chief champion in the great debate. He
had originally been inclined to favour Neuberg, chiefly, so Aerssens
thought, on account of his political weakness. The States-General on the
other hand were firmly disposed for Brandenburg from the first, not only
as a strenuous supporter of the Reformation and an ancient ally of their
own always interested in their safety, but because the establishment of
the Elector on the Rhine would roll back the Empire beyond that river. As
Aerssens expressed it, they would have the Empire for a frontier, and
have no longer reason to fear the Rhine.

The King, after the representations of the States, saw good ground to
change his opinion and; becoming convinced that the Palatine had long
been coquetting with the Austrian party, soon made no secret of his
preference for Brandenburg. Subsequently Neuburg and Brandenburg fell
into a violent quarrel notwithstanding an arrangement that the Palatine
should marry the daughter of the Elector. In the heat of discussion
Brandenburg on one occasion is said to have given his intended son-in-law
a box on the ear! an argument 'ad hominem' which seems to have had the
effect of sending the Palatine into the bosom of the ancient church and
causing him to rely thenceforth upon the assistance of the League.
Meantime, however, the Condominium settled by the Treaty of Dortmund
continued in force; the third brother of Brandenburg and the eldest son
of Neuburg sharing possession and authority at Dusseldorf until a final
decision could be made.

A flock of diplomatists, professional or volunteers, openly accredited or
secret, were now flying busily about through the troubled atmosphere,
indicating the coming storm in which they revelled. The keen-sighted,
subtle, but dangerously intriguing ambassador of the Republic, Francis
Aerssens, had his hundred eyes at all the keyholes in Paris, that centre
of ceaseless combination and conspiracy, and was besides in almost daily
confidential intercourse with the King. Most patiently and minutely he
kept the Advocate informed, almost from hour to hour, of every web that
was spun, every conversation public or whispered in which important
affairs were treated anywhere and by anybody. He was all-sufficient as a
spy and intelligencer, although not entirely trustworthy as a counsellor.
Still no man on the whole could scan the present or forecast the future
more accurately than he was able to do from his advantageous position and
his long experience of affairs.

There was much general jealousy between the States and the despotic king,
who loved to be called the father of the Republic and to treat the
Hollanders as his deeply obliged and very ungrateful and miserly little
children. The India trade was a sore subject, Henry having throughout the
negotiations sought to force or wheedle the States into renouncing that
commerce at the command of Spain, because he wished to help himself to it
afterwards, and being now in the habit of secretly receiving Isaac Le
Maire and other Dutch leaders in that lucrative monopoly, who lay
disguised in Paris and in the house of Zamet--but not concealed from
Aerssens, who pledged himself to break, the neck of their enterprise--and
were planning with the King a French East India Company in opposition to
that of the Netherlands.

On the whole, however, despite these commercial intrigues which Barneveld
through the aid of Aerssens was enabled to baffle, there was much
cordiality and honest friendship between the two countries. Henry, far
from concealing his political affection for the Republic, was desirous of
receiving a special embassy of congratulation and gratitude from the
States on conclusion of the truce; not being satisfied with the warm
expressions of respect and attachment conveyed through the ordinary
diplomatic channel.

"He wishes," wrote Aerssens to the Advocate, "a public demonstration--in
order to show on a theatre to all Christendom the regard and deference of
My Lords the States for his Majesty." The Ambassador suggested that
Cornelis van der Myle, son-in-law of Barneveld, soon to be named first
envoy for Holland to the Venetian republic, might be selected as chief of
such special embassy.

"Without the instructions you gave me," wrote Aerssens, "Neuburg might
have gained his cause in this court. Brandenburg is doing himself much
injury by not soliciting the King."

"Much deference will be paid to your judgment," added the envoy, "if you
see fit to send it to his Majesty."

Meantime, although the agent of Neuburg was busily dinning in Henry's
ears the claims of the Palatine, and even urging old promises which, as
he pretended, had been made, thanks to Barneveld, he took little by his
importunity, notwithstanding that in the opinion both of Barneveld and
Villeroy his claim 'stricti-juris' was the best. But it was policy and
religious interests, not the strict letter of the law, that were likely
to prevail. Henry, while loudly asserting that he would oppose any
usurpation on the part of the Emperor or any one else against the
Condominium, privately renewed to the States assurances of his intention
to support ultimately the claims of Brandenburg, and notified them to
hold the two regiments of French infantry, which by convention they still
kept at his expense in their service, to be ready at a moment's warning
for the great enterprise which he was already planning. "You would do
well perhaps," wrote Aerssens to Barneveld, "to set forth the various
interests in regard to this succession, and of the different relations of
the claimants towards our commonwealth; but in such sort nevertheless and
so dexterously that the King may be able to understand your desires, and
on the other hand may see the respect you bear him in appearing to defer
to his choice."

Neuburg, having always neglected the States and made advances to Archduke
Albert, and being openly preferred over Brandenburg by the Austrians, who
had however no intention of eventually tolerating either, could make but
small headway at court, notwithstanding Henry's indignation that
Brandenburg had not yet made the slightest demand upon him for
assistance.

The Elector had keenly solicited the aid of the states, who were bound to
him by ancient contract on this subject, but had manifested wonderful
indifference or suspicion in regard to France. "These nonchalant
Germans," said Henry on more than one occasion, "do nothing but sleep or
drink."

It was supposed that the memory of Metz might haunt the imagination of
the Elector. That priceless citadel, fraudulently extorted by Henry II.
as a forfeit for assistance to the Elector of Saxony three quarters of a
century before, gave solemn warning to Brandenburg of what might be
exacted by a greater Henry, should success be due to his protection. It
was also thought that he had too many dangers about him at home, the
Poles especially, much stirred up by emissaries from Rome, making many
troublesome demonstrations against the Duchy of Prussia.

It was nearly midsummer before a certain Baron Donals arrived as emissary
of the Elector. He brought with him, many documents in support of the
Brandenburg claims, and was charged with excuses for the dilatoriness of
his master. Much stress was laid of course on the renunciation made by
Neuburg at the tithe of his marriage, and Henry was urged to grant his
protection to the Elector in his good rights. But thus far there were few
signs of any vigorous resolution for active measures in an affair which
could scarcely fail to lead to war.

"I believe," said Henry to the States ambassador, "that the right of
Brandenburg is indubitable, and it is better for you and for me that he
should be the man rather than Neuburg, who has always sought assistance
from the House of Austria. But he is too lazy in demanding possession. It
is the fault of the doctors by whom he is guided. This delay works in
favour of the Emperor, whose course however is less governed by any
determination of his own than by the irresolution of the princes."

Then changing the conversation, Henry asked the Ambassador whether the
daughter of de Maldere, a leading statesman of Zealand, was married or of
age to be married, and if she was rich; adding that they must make a
match between her and Barneveld's second son, then a young gentleman in
the King's service, and very much liked by him.

Two months later a regularly accredited envoy, Belin by name, arrived
from the Elector. His instructions were general. He was to thank the King
for his declarations in favour of the possessory princes, and against all
usurpation on the part of the Spanish party. Should the religious cord be
touched, he was to give assurances that no change would be made in this
regard. He was charged with loads of fine presents in yellow amber, such
as ewers, basins, tables, cups, chessboards, for the King and Queen, the
Dauphin, the Chancellor, Villeroy, Sully, Bouillon, and other eminent
personages. Beyond the distribution of these works of art and the
exchange of a few diplomatic commonplaces, nothing serious in the way of
warlike business was transacted, and Henry was a few weeks later much
amused by receiving a letter from the possessory princes coolly thrown
into the post-office, and addressed like an ordinary letter to a private
person, in which he was requested to advance them a loan of 400,000
crowns. There was a great laugh at court at a demand made like a bill of
exchange at sight upon his Majesty as if he had been a banker, especially
as there happened to be no funds of the drawers in his hands. It was
thought that a proper regard for the King's quality and the amount of the
sum demanded required that the letter should be brought at least by an
express messenger, and Henry was both diverted and indignant at these
proceedings, at the months long delay before the princes had thought
proper to make application for his protection, and then for this cool
demand for alms on a large scale as a proper beginning of their
enterprise.

Such was the languid and extremely nonchalant manner in which the early
preparations for a conflict which seemed likely to set Europe in a blaze,
and of which possibly few living men might witness the termination, were
set on foot by those most interested in the immediate question.

Chessboards in yellow amber and a post-office order for 400,000 crowns
could not go far in settling the question of the duchies in which the
great problem dividing Christendom as by an abyss was involved.

Meantime, while such were the diplomatic beginnings of the possessory
princes, the League was leaving no stone unturned to awaken Henry to a
sense of his true duty to the Church of which he was Eldest Son.

Don Pedro de Toledo's mission in regard to the Spanish marriages had
failed because Henry had spurned the condition which was unequivocally
attached to them on the part of Spain, the king's renunciation of his
alliance with the Dutch Republic, which then seemed an equivalent to its
ruin. But the treaty of truce and half-independence had been signed at
last by the States and their ancient master, and the English and French
negotiators had taken their departure, each receiving as a present for
concluding the convention 20,000 livres from the Archdukes, and 30,000
from the States-General. Henry, returning one summer's morning from the
chase and holding the Count of Soissons by one hand and Ambassador
Aerssens by the other, told them he had just received letters from Spain
by which he learned that people were marvellously rejoiced at the
conclusion of the truce. Many had regretted that its conditions were so
disadvantageous and so little honourable to the grandeur and dignity of
Spain, but to these it was replied that there were strong reasons why
Spain should consent to peace on these terms rather than not have it at
all. During the twelve years to come the King could repair his disasters
and accumulate mountains of money in order to finish the war by the
subjugation of the Provinces by force of gold.

Soissons here interrupted the King by saying that the States on their
part would finish it by force of iron.

Aerssens, like an accomplished courtier, replied they would finish it by
means of his Majesty's friendship.

The King continued by observing that the clear-sighted in Spain laughed
at these rodomontades, knowing well that it was pure exhaustion that had
compelled the King to such extremities. "I leave you to judge," said
Henry, "whether he is likely to have any courage at forty-five years of
age, having none now at thirty-two. Princes show what they have in them
of generosity and valour at the age of twenty-five or never." He said
that orders had been sent from Spain to disband all troops in the
obedient Netherlands except Spaniards and Italians, telling the Archdukes
that they must raise the money out of the country to content them. They
must pay for a war made for their benefit, said Philip. As for him he
would not furnish one maravedi.

Aerssens asked if the Archdukes would disband their troops so long as the
affair of Cleve remained unsettled. "You are very lucky," replied the
King, "that Europe is governed by such princes as you wot of. The King of
Spain thinks of nothing but tranquillity. The Archdukes will never move
except on compulsion. The Emperor, whom every one is so much afraid of in
this matter, is in such plight that one of these days, and before long,
he will be stripped of all his possessions. I have news that the
Bohemians are ready to expel him."

It was true enough that Rudolph hardly seemed a formidable personage. The
Utraquists and Bohemian Brothers, making up nearly the whole population
of the country, were just extorting religious liberty from their unlucky
master in his very palace and at the point of the knife. The envoy of
Matthias was in Paris demanding recognition of his master as King of
Hungary, and Henry did not suspect the wonderful schemes of Leopold, the
ferret in the rabbit warren of the duchies, to come to the succour of his
cousin and to get himself appointed his successor and guardian.

Nevertheless, the Emperor's name had been used to protest solemnly
against the entrance into Dusseldorf of the Margrave Ernest of
Brandenburg and Palatine Wolfgang William of Neuburg, representatives
respectively of their brother and father.

The induction was nevertheless solemnly made by the Elector-Palatine and
the Landgrave of Hesse, and joint possession solemnly taken by
Brandenburg and Neuburg in the teeth of the protest, and expressly in
order to cut short the dilatory schemes and the artifices of the Imperial
court.

Henry at once sent a corps of observation consisting of 1500 cavalry to
the Luxemburg frontier by way of Toul, Mezieres, Verdun, and Metz, to
guard against movements by the disbanded troops of the Archdukes, and
against any active demonstration against the possessory princes on the
part of the Emperor.

The 'Condominium' was formally established, and Henry stood before the
world as its protector threatening any power that should attempt
usurpation. He sent his agent Vidomacq to the Landgrave of Hesse with
instructions to do his utmost to confirm the princes of the Union in
organized resistance to the schemes of Spain, and to prevent any
interference with the Condominium.

He wrote letters to the Archdukes and to the Elector of Cologne, sternly
notifying them that he would permit no assault upon the princes, and
meant to protect them in their rights. He sent one of his most
experienced diplomatists, de Boississe, formerly ambassador in England,
to reside for a year or more in the duchies as special representative of
France, and directed him on his way thither to consult especially with
Barneveld and the States-General as to the proper means of carrying out
their joint policy either by diplomacy or, if need should be, by their
united arms.

Troops began at once to move towards the frontier to counteract the plans
of the Emperor's council and the secret levies made by Duchess Sibylla's
husband, the Margrave of Burgau. The King himself was perpetually at
Monceaux watching the movements of his cavalry towards the Luxemburg
frontier, and determined to protect the princes in their possession until
some definite decision as to the sovereignty of the duchies should be
made.

Meantime great pressure was put upon him by the opposite party. The Pope
did his best through the Nuncius at Paris directly, and through agents at
Prague, Brussels, and Madrid indirectly, to awaken the King to a sense of
the enormity of his conduct.

Being a Catholic prince, it was urged, he had no right to assist
heretics. It was an action entirely contrary to his duty as a Christian
and of his reputation as Eldest Son of the Church. Even if the right were
on the side of the princes, his Majesty would do better to strip them of
it and to clothe himself with it than to suffer the Catholic faith and
religion to receive such notable detriment in an affair likely to have
such important consequences.

Such was some of the advice given by the Pontiff. The suggestions were
subtle, for they were directed to Henry's self-interest both as champion
of the ancient church and as a possible sovereign of the very territories
in dispute. They were also likely, and were artfully so intended, to
excite suspicion of Henry's designs in the breasts of the Protestants
generally and of the possessory princes especially. Allusions indeed to
the rectification of the French border in Henry II.'s time at the expense
of Lorraine were very frequent. They probably accounted for much of the
apparent supineness and want of respect for the King of which he
complained every day and with so much bitterness.

The Pope's insinuations, however, failed to alarm him, for he had made up
his mind as to the great business of what might remain to him of life; to
humble the House of Austria and in doing so to uphold the Dutch Republic
on which he relied for his most efficient support. The situation was a
false one viewed from the traditional maxims which governed Europe. How
could the Eldest Son of the Church and the chief of an unlimited monarchy
make common cause with heretics and republicans against Spain and Rome?
That the position was as dangerous as it was illogical, there could be
but little doubt. But there was a similarity of opinion between the King
and the political chief of the Republic on the great principle which was
to illume the distant future but which had hardly then dawned upon the
present; the principle of religious equality. As he protected Protestants
in France so he meant to protect Catholics in the duchies. Apostate as he
was from the Reformed Church as he had already been from the Catholic, he
had at least risen above the paltry and insolent maxim of the princely
Protestantism of Germany: "Cujus regio ejus religio."

While refusing to tremble before the wrath of Rome or to incline his ear
to its honeyed suggestions, he sent Cardinal Joyeuse with a special
mission to explain to the Pope that while the interests of France would
not permit him to allow the Spaniard's obtaining possession of provinces
so near to her, he should take care that the Church received no detriment
and that he should insist as a price of the succour he intended for the
possessory princes that they should give ample guarantees for the liberty
of Catholic worship.

There was no doubt in the mind either of Henry or of Barneveld that the
secret blows attempted by Spain at the princes were in reality aimed at
the Republic and at himself as her ally.

While the Nuncius was making these exhortations in Paris, his colleague
from Spain was authorized to propound a scheme of settlement which did
not seem deficient in humour. At any rate Henry was much diverted with
the suggestion, which was nothing less than that the decision as to the
succession to the duchies should be left to a board of arbitration
consisting of the King of Spain, the Emperor, and the King of France. As
Henry would thus be painfully placed by himself in a hopeless minority,
the only result of the scheme would be to compel him to sanction a
decision sure to be directly the reverse of his own resolve. He was
hardly such a schoolboy in politics as to listen to the proposal except
to laugh at it.

Meantime arrived from Julich, without much parade, a quiet but somewhat
pompous gentleman named Teynagel. He had formerly belonged to the
Reformed religion, but finding it more to his taste or advantage to
become privy councillor of the Emperor, he had returned to the ancient
church. He was one of the five who had accompanied the Archduke Leopold
to Julich.

That prompt undertaking having thus far succeeded so well, the warlike
bishop had now despatched Teynagel on a roving diplomatic mission.
Ostensibly he came to persuade Henry that, by the usages and laws of the
Empire, fiefs left vacant for want of heirs male were at the disposal of
the Emperor. He expressed the hope therefore of obtaining the King's
approval of Leopold's position in Julich as temporary vicegerent of his
sovereign and cousin. The real motive of his mission, however, was
privately to ascertain whether Henry was really ready to go to war for
the protection of the possessory princes, and then, to proceed to Spain.
It required an astute politician, however, to sound all the shoals,
quicksands, and miseries through which the French government was then
steering, and to comprehend with accuracy the somewhat varying humours of
the monarch and the secret schemes of the ministers who immediately
surrounded him.

People at court laughed at Teynagel and his mission, and Henry treated
him as a crackbrained adventurer. He announced himself as envoy of the
Emperor, although he had instructions from Leopold only. He had
interviews with the Chancellor and with Villeroy, and told them that
Rudolf claimed the right of judge between the various pretenders to the
duchies. The King would not be pleased, he observed, if the King of Great
Britain should constitute himself arbiter among claimants that might make
their appearance for the crown of France; but Henry had set himself up as
umpire without being asked by any one to act in that capacity among the
princes of Germany. The Emperor, on the contrary, had been appealed to by
the Duke of Nevers, the Elector of Saxony, the Margrave of Burgau, and
other liege subjects of the Imperial crown as a matter of course and of
right. This policy of the King, if persisted in, said Teynagel, must lead
to war. Henry might begin such a war, but he would be obliged to bequeath
it to the Dauphin. He should remember that France had always been unlucky
when waging war with the Empire and with the house of Austria.'

The Chancellor and Villeroy, although in their hearts not much in love
with Henry's course, answered the emissary with arrogance equal to his
own that their king could finish the war as well as begin it, that he
confided in his strength and the justice of his cause, and that he knew
very well and esteemed very little the combined forces of Spain and the
Empire. They added that France was bound by the treaty of Vervins to
protect the princes, but they offered no proof of that rather startling
proposition.

Meantime Teynagel was busy in demonstrating that the princes of Germany
were in reality much more afraid of Henry than of the Emperor. His
military movements and deep designs excited more suspicion throughout
that country and all Europe than the quiet journey of Leopold and five
friends by post to Julich.

He had come provided with copies of the King's private letters to the
princes, and seemed fully instructed as to his most secret thoughts. For
this convenient information he was supposed to be indebted to the
revelations of Father Cotton, who was then in disgrace; having been
detected in transmitting to the General of Jesuits Henry's most sacred
confidences and confessions as to his political designs.

Fortified with this private intelligence, and having been advised by
Father Cotton to carry matters with a high hand in order to inspire the
French court with a wholesome awe, he talked boldly about the legitimate
functions of the Emperor. To interfere with them, he assured the
ministers, would lead to a long and bloody war, as neither the King nor
the Archduke Albert would permit the Emperor to be trampled upon.

Peter Pecquius, the crafty and experienced agent of the Archduke at
Paris, gave the bouncing envoy more judicious advice, however, than that
of the Jesuit, assuring him that he would spoil his whole case should he
attempt to hold such language to the King.

He was admitted to an audience of Henry at Monceaux, but found him
prepared to show his teeth as Aerssens had predicted. He treated Teynagel
as a mere madcap and, adventurer who had no right to be received as a
public minister at all, and cut short his rodomontades by assuring him
that his mind was fully made up to protect the possessory princes.
Jeannin was present at the interview, although, as Aerssens well
observed, the King required no pedagogue on such an occasion? Teynagel
soon afterwards departed malcontent to Spain, having taken little by his
abnormal legation to Henry, and being destined to find at the court of
Philip as urgent demands on that monarch for assistance to the League as
he was to make for Leopold and the House of Austria.

For the League, hardly yet thoroughly organized under the leadership of
Maximilian of Bavaria, was rather a Catholic corrival than cordial ally
of the Imperial house. It was universally suspected that Henry meant to
destroy and discrown the Habsburgs, and it lay not in the schemes of
Maximilian to suffer the whole Catholic policy to be bound to the
fortunes of that one family.

Whether or not Henry meant to commit the anachronism and blunder of
reproducing the part of Charlemagne might be doubtful. The supposed
design of Maximilian to renew the glories of the House of Wittelsbach was
equally vague. It is certain, however, that a belief in such ambitious
schemes on the part of both had been insinuated into the ears of Rudolf,
and had sunk deeply into his unsettled mind.

Scarcely had Teynagel departed than the ancient President Richardot
appeared upon the scene. "The mischievous old monkey," as he had
irreverently been characterized during the Truce negotiations, "who
showed his tail the higher he climbed," was now trembling at the thought
that all the good work he had been so laboriously accomplishing during
the past two years should be annihilated. The Archdukes, his masters,
being sincerely bent on peace, had deputed him to Henry, who, as they
believed, was determined to rekindle war. As frequently happens in such
cases, they were prepared to smooth over the rough and almost impassable
path to a cordial understanding by comfortable and cheap commonplaces
concerning the blessings of peace, and to offer friendly compromises by
which they might secure the prizes of war without the troubles and
dangers of making it.

They had been solemnly notified by Henry that he would go to war rather
than permit the House of Austria to acquire the succession to the
duchies. They now sent Richardot to say that neither the Archdukes nor
the King of Spain would interfere in the matter, and that they hoped the
King of France would not prevent the Emperor from exercising his rightful
functions of judge.

Henry, who knew that Don Baltasar de Cuniga, Spanish ambassador at the
Imperial court, had furnished Leopold, the Emperor's cousin, with 50,000
crowns to defray his first expenses in the Julich expedition, considered
that the veteran politician had come to perform a school boy's task. He
was more than ever convinced by this mission of Richardot that the
Spaniards had organized the whole scheme, and he was likely only to smile
at any propositions the President might make.

At the beginning of his interview, in which the King was quite alone,
Richardot asked if he would agree to maintain neutrality like the King of
Spain and the Archdukes, and allow the princes to settle their business
with the Emperor.

"No," said the King.

He then asked if Henry would assist them in their wrong.

"No," said the King.

He then asked if the King thought that the princes had justice on their
side, and whether, if the contrary were shown, he would change his
policy?

Henry replied that the Emperor could not be both judge and party in the
suit and that the King of Spain was plotting to usurp the provinces
through the instrumentality of his brother-in-law Leopold and under the
name of the Emperor. He would not suffer it, he said.

"Then there will be a general war," replied Richardot, since you are
determined to assist these princes."

"Be it so," said the King.

"You are right," said the President, "for you are a great and puissant
monarch, having all the advantages that could be desired, and in case of
rupture I fear that all this immense power will be poured out over us who
are but little princes."

"Cause Leopold to retire then and leave the princes in their right," was
the reply. "You will then have nothing to fear. Are you not very unhappy
to live under those poor weak archdukes? Don't you foresee that as soon
as they die you will lose all the little you have acquired in the
obedient Netherlands during the last fifty years?"

The President had nothing to reply to this save that he had never
approved of Leopold's expedition, and that when Spaniards make mistakes
they always had recourse to their servants to repair their faults. He had
accepted this mission inconsiderately, he said, inspired by a hope to
conjure the rising storms mingled with fears as to the result which were
now justified. He regretted having come, he said.

The King shrugged his shoulders.

Richardot then suggested that Leopold might be recognized in Julich, and
the princes at Dusseldorf, or that all parties might retire until the
Emperor should give his decision.

All these combinations were flatly refused by the King, who swore that no
one of the House of Austria should ever perch in any part of those
provinces. If Leopold did not withdraw at once, war was inevitable.

He declared that he would break up everything and dare everything,
whether the possessory princes formally applied to him or not. He would
not see his friends oppressed nor allow the Spaniard by this usurpation
to put his foot on the throat of the States-General, for it was against
them that this whole scheme was directed.

To the President's complaints that the States-General had been moving
troops in Gelderland, Henry replied at once that it was done by his
command, and that they were his troops.

With this answer Richardot was fain to retire crestfallen, mortified, and
unhappy. He expressed repentance and astonishment at the result, and
protested that those peoples were happy whose princes understood affairs.
His princes were good, he said, but did not give themselves the trouble
to learn their business.

Richardot then took his departure from Paris, and very soon afterwards
from the world. He died at Arras early in September, as many thought of
chagrin at the ill success of his mission, while others ascribed it to a
surfeit of melons and peaches.

"Senectus edam maorbus est," said Aerssens with Seneca.

Henry said he could not sufficiently wonder at these last proceedings at
his court, of a man he had deemed capable and sagacious, but who had been
committing an irreparable blunder. He had never known two such
impertinent ambassadors as Don Pedro de Toledo and Richardot on this
occasion. The one had been entirely ignorant of the object of his
mission; the other had shown a vain presumption in thinking he could
drive him from his fixed purpose by a flood of words. He had accordingly
answered him on the spot without consulting his council, at which poor
Richardot had been much amazed.

And now another envoy appeared upon the scene, an ambassador coming
directly from the Emperor. Count Hohenzollern, a young man, wild, fierce,
and arrogant, scarcely twenty-three years of age, arrived in Paris on the
7th of September, with a train of forty horsemen.

De Colly, agent of the Elector-Palatine, had received an outline of his
instructions, which the Prince of Anhalt had obtained at Prague. He
informed Henry that Hohenzollern would address him thus: "You are a king.
You would not like that the Emperor should aid your subjects in
rebellion. He did not do this in the time of the League, although often
solicited to do so. You should not now sustain the princes in disobeying
the Imperial decree. Kings should unite in maintaining the authority and
majesty of each other." He would then in the Emperor's name urge the
claims of the House of Saxony to the duchies.

Henry was much pleased with this opportune communication by de Colly of
the private instructions to the Emperor's envoy, by which he was enabled
to meet the wild and fierce young man with an arrogance at least equal to
his own.

The interview was a stormy one. The King was alone in the gallery of the
Louvre, not choosing that his words and gestures should be observed. The
Envoy spoke much in the sense which de Colly had indicated; making a long
argument in favour of the Emperor's exclusive right of arbitration, and
assuring the King that the Emperor was resolved on war if interference
between himself and his subjects was persisted in. He loudly pronounced
the proceedings of the possessory princes to be utterly illegal, and
contrary to all precedent. The Emperor would maintain his authority at
all hazards, and one spark of war would set everything in a blaze within
the Empire and without.

Henry replied sternly but in general terms, and referred him for a final
answer to his council.

"What will you do," asked the Envoy, categorically, at a subsequent
interview about a month later, "to protect the princes in case the
Emperor constrains them to leave the provinces which they have unjustly
occupied?"

"There is none but God to compel me to say more than I choose to say,"
replied the King. "It is enough for you to know that I will never abandon
my friends in a just cause. The Emperor can do much for the general
peace. He is not to lend his name to cover this usurpation."

And so the concluding interview terminated in an exchange of threats
rather than with any hope of accommodation.

Hohenzollern used as high language to the ministers as to the monarch,
and received payment in the same coin. He rebuked their course not very
adroitly as being contrary to the interests of Catholicism. They were
placing the provinces in the hands of Protestants, he urged. It required
no envoy from Prague to communicate this startling fact. Friends and
foes, Villeroy and Jeannin, as well as Sully and Duplessis, knew well
enough that Henry was not taking up arms for Rome. "Sir! do you look at
the matter in that way?" cried Sully, indignantly. "The Huguenots are as
good as the Catholics. They fight like the devil!"

"The Emperor will never permit the, princes to remain nor Leopold to
withdraw," said the Envoy to Jeannin.

Jeannin replied that the King was always ready to listen to reason, but
there was no use in holding language of authority to him. It was money he
would not accept.

"Fiat justitia pereat mundus," said the haggard Hohenzollern.

"Your world may perish," replied Jeannin, "but not ours. It is much
better put together."

A formal letter was then written by the King to the Emperor, in which
Henry expressed his desire to maintain peace and fraternal relations, but
notified him that if, under any pretext whatever, he should trouble the
princes in their possession, he would sustain them with all his power,
being bound thereto by treaties and by reasons of state.

This letter was committed to the care of Hohenzollern, who forthwith
departed, having received a present of 4000 crowns. His fierce, haggard
face thus vanishes for the present from our history.

The King had taken his ground, from which there was no receding. Envoys
or agents of Emperor, Pope, King of Spain, Archduke at Brussels, and
Archduke at Julich, had failed to shake his settled purpose. Yet the road
was far from smooth. He had thus far no ally but the States-General. He
could not trust James of Great Britain. Boderie came back late in the
summer from his mission to that monarch, reporting him as being
favourably inclined to Brandenburg, but hoping for an amicable settlement
in the duchies. No suggestion being made even by the sagacious James as
to the manner in which the ferret and rabbits were to come to a
compromise, Henry inferred, if it came to fighting, that the English
government would refuse assistance. James had asked Boderie in fact
whether his sovereign and the States, being the parties chiefly
interested, would be willing to fight it out without allies. He had also
sent Sir Ralph Winwood on a special mission to the Hague, to Dusseldorf,
and with letters to the Emperor, in which he expressed confidence that
Rudolph would approve the proceedings of the possessory princes. As he
could scarcely do that while loudly claiming through his official envoy
in Paris that the princes should instantly withdraw on pain of instant
war, the value of the English suggestion of an amicable compromise might
easily be deduced.

Great was the jealousy in France of this mission from England. That the
princes should ask the interference of James while neglecting, despising,
or fearing Henry, excited Henry's wrath. He was ready, and avowed his
readiness, to put on armour at once in behalf of the princes, and to
arbitrate on the destiny of Germany, but no one seemed ready to follow
his standard. No one asked him to arbitrate. The Spanish faction wheedled
and threatened by turns, in order to divert him from his purpose, while
the Protestant party held aloof, and babbled of Charlemagne and of Henry
II.

He said he did not mean to assist the princes by halves, but as became a
King of France, and the princes expressed suspicion of him, talked of the
example of Metz, and called the Emperor their very clement lord.

It was not strange that Henry was indignant and jealous. He was holding
the wolf by the ears, as he himself observed more than once. The war
could not long be delayed; yet they in whose behalf it was to be waged
treated him with a disrespect and flippancy almost amounting to scorn.

They tried to borrow money of him through the post, and neglected to send
him an ambassador. This was most decidedly putting the cart before the
oxen, so Henry said, and so thought all his friends. When they had
blockaded the road to Julich, in order to cut off Leopold's supplies,
they sent to request that the two French regiments in the States' service
might be ordered to their assistance, Archduke Albert having threatened
to open the passage by force of arms. "This is a fine stratagem," said
Aerssens, "to fling the States-General headlong into the war, and, as it
were, without knowing it."

But the States-General, under the guidance of Barneveld, were not likely
to be driven headlong by Brandenburg and Neuburg. They managed with
caution, but with perfect courage, to move side by side with Henry, and
to leave the initiative to him, while showing an unfaltering front to the
enemy. That the princes were lost, Spain and the Emperor triumphant,
unless Henry and the States should protect them with all their strength,
was as plain as a mathematical demonstration.

Yet firm as were the attitude and the language of Henry, he was thought
to be hoping to accomplish much by bluster. It was certain that the bold
and unexpected stroke of Leopold had produced much effect upon his mind,
and for a time those admitted to his intimacy saw, or thought they saw, a
decided change in his demeanour. To the world at large his language and
his demonstrations were even more vehement than they had been at the
outset of the controversy; but it was believed that there was now a
disposition to substitute threats for action. The military movements set
on foot were thought to be like the ringing of bells and firing of cannon
to dissipate a thunderstorm. Yet it was treason at court to doubt the
certainty of war. The King ordered new suits of armour, bought splendid
chargers, and gave himself all the airs of a champion rushing to a
tournament as gaily as in the earliest days of his king-errantry. He
spoke of his eager desire to break a lance with Spinola, and give a
lesson to the young volunteer who had sprung into so splendid a military
reputation, while he had been rusting, as he thought, in pacific
indolence, and envying the laurels of the comparatively youthful Maurice.
Yet those most likely to be well informed believed that nothing would
come of all this fire and fury.

The critics were wrong. There was really no doubt of Henry's sincerity,
but his isolation was terrible. There was none true to him at home but
Sully. Abroad, the States-General alone were really friendly, so far as
positive agreements existed. Above all, the intolerable tergiversations
and suspicions of those most interested, the princes in possession, and
their bickerings among themselves, hampered his movements.

Treason and malice in his cabinet and household, jealousy and fear
abroad, were working upon and undermining him like a slow fever. His
position was most pathetic, but his purpose was fixed.

James of England, who admired, envied, and hated Henry, was wont to
moralize on his character and his general unpopularity, while engaged in
negotiations with him. He complained that in the whole affair of the
truce he had sought only his particular advantage. "This is not to be
wondered at in one of his nature," said the King, "who only careth to
provide for the felicities of his present life, without any respect for
his life to come. Indeed, the consideration of his own age and the youth
of his children, the doubt of their legitimation, the strength of
competitioners, and the universal hatred borne unto him, makes him seek
all means of security for preventing of all dangers."

There were changes from day to day; hot and cold fits necessarily
resulting from the situation. As a rule, no eminent general who has had
much experience wishes to go into a new war inconsiderately and for the
mere love of war. The impatience is often on the part of the
non-combatants. Henry was no exception to the rule. He felt that the
complications then existing, the religious, political, and dynastic
elements arrayed against each other, were almost certain to be brought to
a crisis and explosion by the incident of the duchies. He felt that the
impending struggle was probably to be a desperate and a general one, but
there was no inconsistency in hoping that the show of a vigorous and
menacing attitude might suspend, defer, or entirely dissipate the
impending storm.

The appearance of vacillation on his part from day to day was hardly
deserving of the grave censure which it received, and was certainly in
the interests of humanity.

His conferences with Sully were almost daily and marked by intense
anxiety. He longed for Barneveld, and repeatedly urged that the Advocate,
laying aside all other business, would come to Paris, that they might
advise together thoroughly and face to face. It was most important that
the combination of alliances should be correctly arranged before
hostilities began, and herein lay the precise difficulty. The princes
applied formally and freely to the States-General for assistance. They
applied to the King of Great Britain. The agents of the opposite party
besieged Henry with entreaties, and, failing in those, with threats;
going off afterwards to Spain, to the Archdukes, and to other Catholic
powers in search of assistance.

The States-General professed their readiness to put an army of 15,000
foot and 3000 horse in the field for the spring campaign, so soon as they
were assured of Henry's determination for a rupture.

"I am fresh enough still," said he to their ambassador, "to lead an army
into Cleve. I shall have a cheap bargain enough of the provinces. But
these Germans do nothing but eat and sleep. They will get the profit and
assign to me the trouble. No matter, I will never suffer the
aggrandizement of the House of Austria. The States-General must disband
no troops, but hold themselves in readiness."

Secretary of State Villeroy held the same language, but it was easy to
trace beneath his plausible exterior a secret determination to traverse
the plans of his sovereign. "The Cleve affair must lead to war," he said.
"The Spaniard, considering how necessary it is for him to have a prince
there at his devotion, can never quietly suffer Brandenburg and Neuburg
to establish themselves in those territories. The support thus gained by
the States-General would cause the loss of the Spanish Netherlands."

This was the view of Henry, too, but the Secretary of State, secretly
devoted to the cause of Spain, looked upon the impending war with much
aversion.

"All that can come to his Majesty from war," he said, "is the glory of
having protected the right. Counterbalance this with the fatigue, the
expense, and the peril of a great conflict, after our long repose, and
you will find this to be buying glory too dearly."

When a Frenchman talked of buying glory too dearly, it seemed probable
that the particular kind of glory was not to his taste.

Henry had already ordered the officers, then in France, of the 4000
French infantry kept in the States' service at his expense to depart at
once to Holland, and he privately announced his intention of moving to
the frontier at the head of 30,000 men.

'Yet not only Villeroy, but the Chancellor and the Constable, while
professing opposition to the designs of Austria and friendliness to those
of Brandenburg and Neuburg, deprecated this precipitate plunge into war.
"Those most interested," they said, "refuse to move; fearing Austria,
distrusting France. They leave us the burden and danger, and hope for the
spoils themselves. We cannot play cat to their monkey. The King must hold
himself in readiness to join in the game when the real players have
shuffled and dealt the cards. It is no matter to us whether the Spaniard
or Brandenburg or anyone else gets the duchies. The States-General
require a friendly sovereign there, and ought to say how much they will
do for that result."

The Constable laughed at the whole business. Coming straight from the
Louvre, he said "there would be no serious military movement, and that
all those fine freaks would evaporate in air."

But Sully never laughed. He was quietly preparing the ways and means for
the war, and he did not intend, so far as he had influence, that France
should content herself with freaks and let Spain win the game. Alone in
the council he maintained that "France had gone too far to recede without
sacrifice of reputation."--"The King's word is engaged both within and
without," he said. "Not to follow it with deeds would be dangerous to the
kingdom. The Spaniard will think France afraid of war. We must strike a
sudden blow, either to drive the enemy away or to crush him at once.
There is no time for delay. The Netherlands must prevent the
aggrandizement of Austria or consent to their own ruin."

Thus stood the game therefore. The brother of Brandenburg and son of
Neuburg had taken possession of Dusseldorf.

The Emperor, informed of this, ordered them forthwith to decamp. He
further summoned all pretenders to the duchies to appear before him, in
person or by proxy, to make good their claims. They refused and appealed
for advice and assistance to the States-General. Barneveld, aware of the
intrigues of Spain, who disguised herself in the drapery of the Emperor,
recommended that the Estates of Cleve, Julich, Berg, Mark, Ravensberg,
and Ravenstein, should be summoned in Dusseldorf. This was done and a
resolution taken to resist any usurpation.

The King of France wrote to the Elector of Cologne, who, by directions of
Rome and by means of the Jesuits, had been active in the intrigue, that
he would not permit the princes to be disturbed.

The Archduke Leopold suddenly jumped into the chief citadel of the
country and published an edict of the Emperor. All the proceedings were
thereby nullified as illegal and against the dignity of the realm and the
princes proclaimed under ban.

A herald brought the edict and ban to the princes in full assembly. The
princes tore it to pieces on the spot. Nevertheless they were much
frightened, and many members of the Estates took themselves off; others
showing an inclination to follow.

The princes sent forth with a deputation to the Hague to consult My Lords
the States-General. The States-General sent an express messenger to
Paris. Their ambassador there sent him back a week later, with notice of
the King's determination to risk everything against everything to
preserve the rights of the princes. It was added that Henry required to
be solicited by them, in order not by volunteer succour to give cause for
distrust as to his intentions. The States-General were further apprised
by the King that his interests and theirs were so considerable in the
matter that they would probably be obliged to go into a brisk and open
war, in order to prevent the Spaniard from establishing himself in the
duchies. He advised them to notify the Archdukes in Brussels that they
would regard the truce as broken if, under pretext of maintaining the
Emperor's rights, they should molest the princes. He desired them further
to send their forces at once to the frontier of Gelderland under Prince
Maurice, without committing any overt act of hostility, but in order to
show that both the King and the States were thoroughly in earnest.

The King then sent to Archduke Albert, as well as to the Elector of
Cologne, and despatched a special envoy to the King of Great Britain.

Immediately afterwards came communications from Barneveld to Henry, with
complete adhesion to the King's plans. The States would move in exact
harmony with him, neither before him nor after him, which was precisely
what he wished. He complained bitterly to Aerssens, when he communicated
the Advocate's despatches, of the slothful and timid course of the
princes. He ascribed it to the arts of Leopold, who had written and
inspired many letters against him insinuating that he was secretly in
league and correspondence with the Emperor; that he was going to the
duchies simply in the interest of the Catholics; that he was like Henry
II. only seeking to extend the French frontier; and Leopold, by these
intrigues and falsehoods, had succeeded in filling the princes with
distrust, and they had taken umbrage at the advance of his cavalry.

Henry professed himself incapable of self-seeking or ambition. He meant
to prevent the aggrandizement of Austria, and was impatient at the
dilatoriness and distrust of the princes.

"All their enemies are rushing to the King of Spain. Let them address
themselves to the King of France," he said, "for it is we two that must
play this game."

And when at last they did send an embassy, they prefaced it by a post
letter demanding an instant loan, and with an intimation that they would
rather have his money than his presence!

Was it surprising that the King's course should seem occasionally
wavering when he found it so difficult to stir up such stagnant waters
into honourable action? Was it strange that the rude and stern Sully
should sometimes lose his patience, knowing so much and suspecting more
of the foul designs by which his master was encompassed, of the web of
conspiracy against his throne, his life, and his honour, which was daily
and hourly spinning?

"We do nothing and you do nothing," he said one day to Aerssens. "You are
too soft, and we are too cowardly. I believe that we shall spoil
everything, after all. I always suspect these sudden determinations of
ours. They are of bad augury. We usually founder at last when we set off
so fiercely at first. There are words enough an every side, but there
will be few deeds. There is nothing to be got out of the King of Great
Britain, and the King of Spain will end by securing these provinces for
himself by a treaty." Sully knew better than this, but he did not care to
let even the Dutch envoy know, as yet, the immense preparations he had
been making for the coming campaign.

The envoys of the possessory princes, the Counts Solms, Colonel Pallandt,
and Dr. Steyntgen, took their departure, after it had been arranged that
final measures should be concerted at the general congress of the German
Protestants to be held early in the ensuing year at Hall, in Suabia.

At that convention de Boississe would make himself heard on the part of
France, and the representatives of the States-General, of Venice, and
Savoy, would also be present.

Meantime the secret conferences between Henry and his superintendent of
finances and virtual prime minister were held almost every day. Scarcely
an afternoon passed that the King did not make his appearance at the
Arsenal, Sully's residence, and walk up and down the garden with him for
hours, discussing the great project of which his brain was full. This
great project was to crush for ever the power of the Austrian house; to
drive Spain back into her own limits, putting an end to her projects for
universal monarchy; and taking the Imperial crown from the House of
Habsburg. By thus breaking up the mighty cousinship which, with the aid
of Rome, overshadowed Germany and the two peninsulas, besides governing
the greater part of both the Indies, he meant to bring France into the
preponderant position over Christendom which he believed to be her due.

It was necessary, he thought, for the continued existence of the Dutch
commonwealth that the opportunity should be taken once for all, now that
a glorious captain commanded its armies and a statesman unrivalled for
experience, insight, and patriotism controlled its politics and its
diplomacy, to drive the Spaniard out of the Netherlands.

The Cleve question, properly and vigorously handled, presented exactly
the long desired opportunity for carrying out these vast designs.

The plan of assault upon Spanish power was to be threefold. The King
himself at the head of 35,000 men, supported by Prince Maurice and the
States' forces amounting to at least 14,000, would move to the Rhine and
seize the duchies. The Duke de la Force would command the army of the
Pyrenees and act in concert with the Moors of Spain, who roused to frenzy
by their expulsion from the kingdom could be relied on for a revolt or at
least a most vigorous diversion. Thirdly, a treaty with the Duke of Savoy
by which Henry accorded his daughter to the Duke's eldest son, the Prince
of Piedmont, a gift of 100,000 crowns, and a monthly pension during the
war of 50,000 crowns a month, was secretly concluded.

Early in the spring the Duke was to take the field with at least 10,000
foot and 1200 horse, supported by a French army of 12,000 to 15,000 men
under the experienced Marshal de Lesdiguieres. These forces were to
operate against the Duchy of Milan with the intention of driving the
Spaniards out of that rich possession, which the Duke of Savoy claimed
for himself, and of assuring to Henry the dictatorship of Italy. With the
cordial alliance of Venice, and by playing off the mutual jealousies of
the petty Italian princes, like Florence, Mantua, Montserrat, and others,
against each other and against the Pope, it did not seem doubtful to
Sully that the result would be easily accomplished. He distinctly urged
the wish that the King should content himself with political influence,
with the splendid position of holding all Italy dependent upon his will
and guidance, but without annexing a particle of territory to his own
crown.

It was Henry's intention, however, to help himself to the Duchy of Savoy,
and to the magnificent city and port of Genoa as a reward to himself for
the assistance, matrimonial alliance, and aggrandizement which he was
about to bestow upon Charles Emmanuel. Sully strenuously opposed these
self-seeking views on the part of his sovereign, however, constantly
placing before him the far nobler aim of controlling the destinies of
Christendom, of curbing what tended to become omnipotent, of raising up
and protecting that which had been abased, of holding the balance of
empire with just and steady hand in preference to the more vulgar and
commonplace ambition of annexing a province or two to the realms of
France.

It is true that these virtuous homilies, so often preached by him against
territorial aggrandizement in one direction, did not prevent him from
indulging in very extensive visions of it in another. But the dreams
pointed to the east rather than to the south. It was Sully's policy to
swallow a portion not of Italy but of Germany. He persuaded his master
that the possessory princes, if placed by the help of France in the
heritage which they claimed, would hardly be able to maintain themselves
against the dangers which surrounded them except by a direct dependence
upon France. In the end the position would become an impossible one, and
it would be easy after the war was over to indemnify Brandenburg with
money and with private property in the heart of France for example, and
obtain the cession of those most coveted provinces between the Meuse and
the Weser to the King. "What an advantage for France," whispered Sully,
"to unite to its power so important a part of Germany. For it cannot be
denied that by accepting the succour given by the King now those princes
oblige themselves to ask for help in the future in order to preserve
their new acquisition. Thus your Majesty will make them pay for it very
dearly."

Thus the very virtuous self-denial in regard to the Duke of Savoy did not
prevent a secret but well developed ambition at the expense of the
Elector of Brandenburg. For after all it was well enough known that the
Elector was the really important and serious candidate. Henry knew full
well that Neuburg was depending on the Austrians and the Catholics, and
that the claims of Saxony were only put forward by the Emperor in order
to confuse the princes and excite mutual distrust.

The King's conferences with the great financier were most confidential,
and Sully was as secret as the grave. But Henry never could keep a secret
even when it concerned his most important interests, and nothing would
serve him but he must often babble of his great projects even to their
minutest details in presence of courtiers and counsellors whom in his
heart he knew to be devoted to Spain and in receipt of pensions from her
king. He would boast to them of the blows by which he meant to demolish
Spain and the whole house of Austria, so that there should be no longer
danger to be feared from that source to the tranquillity and happiness of
Europe, and he would do this so openly and in presence of those who, as
he knew, were perpetually setting traps for him and endeavouring to
discover his deepest secrets as to make Sully's hair stand on end. The
faithful minister would pluck his master by the cloak at times, and the
King, with the adroitness which never forsook him when he chose to employ
it, would contrive to extricate himself from a dilemma and pause at the
brink of tremendous disclosures.--[Memoires de Sully, t. vii. p.
324.]--But Sully could not be always at his side, nor were the Nuncius or
Don Inigo de Cardenas or their confidential agents and spies always
absent. Enough was known of the general plan, while as to the probability
of its coming into immediate execution, perhaps the enemies of the King
were often not more puzzled than his friends.

But what the Spanish ambassador did not know, nor the Nuncius, nor even
the friendly Aerssens, was the vast amount of supplies which had been
prepared for the coming conflict by the finance minister. Henry did not
know it himself. "The war will turn on France as on a pivot," said Sully;
"it remains to be seen if we have supplies and money enough. I will
engage if the war is not to last more than three years and you require no
more than 40,000 men at a time that I will show you munitions and
ammunition and artillery and the like to such an extent that you will
say, 'It is enough.'

"As to money--"

"How much money have I got?" asked the King; "a dozen millions?"

"A little more than that," answered the Minister.

"Fourteen millions?"

"More still."

"Sixteen?" continued the King.

"More yet," said Sully.

And so the King went on adding two millions at each question until thirty
millions were reached, and when the question as to this sum was likewise
answered in the affirmative, he jumped from his chair, hugged his
minister around the neck, and kissed him on both cheeks.

"I want no more than that," he cried.

Sully answered by assuring him that he had prepared a report showing a
reserve of forty millions on which he might draw for his war expenses,
without in the least degree infringing on the regular budget for ordinary
expenses.

The King was in a transport of delight, and would have been capable of
telling the story on the spot to the Nuncius had he met him that
afternoon, which fortunately did not occur.

But of all men in Europe after the faithful Sully, Henry most desired to
see and confer daily and secretly with Barneveld. He insisted vehemently
that, neglecting all other business, he should come forthwith to Paris at
the head of the special embassy which it had been agreed that the States
should send. No living statesman, he said, could compare to Holland's
Advocate in sagacity, insight, breadth of view, knowledge of mankind and
of great affairs, and none he knew was more sincerely attached to his
person or felt more keenly the value of the French alliance.

With him he indeed communicated almost daily through the medium of
Aerssens, who was in constant receipt of most elaborate instructions from
Barneveld, but he wished to confer with him face to face, so that there
would be no necessity of delay in sending back for instructions,
limitations, and explanation. No man knew better than the King did that
so far as foreign affairs were concerned the States-General were simply
Barneveld.

On the 22nd January the States' ambassador had a long and secret
interview with the King.' He informed him that the Prince of Anhalt had
been assured by Barneveld that the possessory princes would be fully
supported in their position by the States, and that the special deputies
of Archduke Albert, whose presence at the Hague made Henry uneasy, as he
regarded them as perpetual spies, had been dismissed. Henry expressed his
gratification. They are there, he said, entirely in the interest of
Leopold, who has just received 500,000 crowns from the King of Spain, and
is to have that sum annually, and they are only sent to watch all your
proceedings in regard to Cleve.

The King then fervently pressed the Ambassador to urge Barneveld's coming
to Paris with the least possible delay. He signified his delight with
Barneveld's answer to Anhalt, who thus fortified would be able to do good
service at the assembly at Hall. He had expected nothing else from
Barneveld's sagacity, from his appreciation of the needs of Christendom,
and from his affection for himself. He told the Ambassador that he was
anxiously waiting for the Advocate in order to consult with him as to all
the details of the war. The affair of Cleve, he said, was too special a
cause. A more universal one was wanted. The King preferred to begin with
Luxemburg, attacking Charlemont or Namur, while the States ought at the
same time to besiege Venlo, with the intention afterwards of uniting with
the King in laying siege to Maestricht.

He was strong enough, he said, against all the world, but he still
preferred to invite all princes interested to join him in putting down
the ambitious and growing power of Spain. Cleve was a plausible pretext,
but the true cause, he said, should be found in the general safety of
Christendom.

Boississe had been sent to the German princes to ascertain whether and to
what extent they would assist the King. He supposed that once they found
him engaged in actual warfare in Luxemburg, they would get rid of their
jealousy and panic fears of him and his designs. He expected them to
furnish at least as large a force as he would supply as a contingent.

For it was understood that Anhalt as generalissimo of the German forces
would command a certain contingent of French troops, while the main army
of the King would be led by himself in person.

Henry expressed the conviction that the King of Spain would be taken by
surprise finding himself attacked in three places and by three armies at
once, he believing that the King of France was entirely devoted to his
pleasures and altogether too old for warlike pursuits, while the States,
just emerging from the misery of their long and cruel conflict, would be
surely unwilling to plunge headlong into a great and bloody war.

Henry inferred this, he said, from observing the rude and brutal manner
in which the soldiers in the Spanish Netherlands were now treated. It
seemed, he said, as if the Archdukes thought they had no further need of
them, or as if a stamp of the foot could raise new armies out of the
earth. "My design," continued the King, "is the more likely to succeed as
the King of Spain, being a mere gosling and a valet of the Duke of Lerma,
will find himself stripped of all his resources and at his wits' end;
unexpectedly embarrassed as he will be on the Italian side, where we
shall be threatening to cut the jugular vein of his pretended universal
monarchy."

He intimated that there was no great cause for anxiety in regard to the
Catholic League just formed at Wurzburg. He doubted whether the King of
Spain would join it, and he had learned that the Elector of Cologne was
making very little progress in obtaining the Emperor's adhesion. As to
this point the King had probably not yet thoroughly understood that the
Bavarian League was intended to keep clear of the House of Habsburg,
Maximilian not being willing to identify the success of German
Catholicism with the fortunes of that family.

Henry expressed the opinion that the King of Spain, that is to say, his
counsellors, meant to make use of the Emperor's name while securing all
the profit, and that Rudolph quite understood their game, while Matthias
was sure to make use of this opportunity, supported by the Protestants of
Bohemia, Austria, and Moravia, to strip the Emperor of the last shred of
Empire.

The King was anxious that the States should send a special embassy at
once to the King of Great Britain. His ambassador, de la Boderie, gave
little encouragement of assistance from that quarter, but it was at least
desirable to secure his neutrality. "'Tis a prince too much devoted to
repose," said Henry, "to be likely to help in this war, but at least he
must not be allowed to traverse our great designs. He will probably
refuse the league offensive and defensive which I have proposed to him,
but he must be got, if possible, to pledge himself to the defensive. I
mean to assemble my army on the frontier, as if to move upon Julich, and
then suddenly sweep down on the Meuse, where, sustained by the States'
army and that of the princes, I will strike my blows and finish my
enterprise before our adversary has got wind of what is coming. We must
embark James in the enterprise if we can, but at any rate we must take
measures to prevent his spoiling it."

Henry assured the Envoy that no one would know anything of the great
undertaking but by its effect; that no one could possibly talk about it
with any knowledge except himself, Sully, Villeroy, Barneveld, and
Aerssens. With them alone he conferred confidentially, and he doubted not
that the States would embrace this opportunity to have done for ever with
the Spaniards. He should take the field in person, he said, and with
several powerful armies would sweep the enemy away from the Meuse, and
after obtaining control of that river would quietly take possession of
the sea-coast of Flanders, shut up Archduke Albert between the States and
the French, who would thus join hands and unite their frontiers.

Again the King expressed his anxiety for Barneveld's coming, and directed
the Ambassador to urge it, and to communicate to him the conversation
which had just taken place. He much preferred, he said, a general war. He
expressed doubts as to the Prince of Anhalt's capacity as chief in the
Cleve expedition, and confessed that being jealous of his own reputation
he did not like to commit his contingent of troops to the care of a
stranger and one so new to his trade. The shame would fall on himself,
not on Anhalt in case of any disaster. Therefore, to avoid all petty
jealousies and inconveniences of that nature by which the enterprise
might be ruined, it was best to make out of this small affair a great
one, and the King signified his hope that the Advocate would take this
view of the case and give him his support. He had plenty of grounds of
war himself, and the States had as good cause of hostilities in the
rupture of the truce by the usurpation attempted by Leopold with the
assistance of Spain and in the name of the Emperor. He hoped, he said,
that the States would receive no more deputations from Archduke Albert,
but decide to settle everything at the point of the sword. The moment was
propitious, and, if neglected, might never return. Marquis Spinola was
about to make a journey to Spain on various matters of business. On his
return, Henry said, he meant to make him prisoner as a hostage for the
Prince of Conde, whom the Archdukes were harbouring and detaining. This
would be the pretext, he said, but the object would be to deprive the
Archdukes of any military chief, and thus to throw them into utter
confusion. Count van den Berg would never submit to the authority of Don
Luis de Velasco, nor Velasco to his, and not a man could come from Spain
or Italy, for the passages would all be controlled by France.

Fortunately for the King's reputation, Spinola's journey was deferred, so
that this notable plan for disposing of the great captain fell to the
ground.

Henry agreed to leave the two French regiments and the two companies of
cavalry in the States' service as usual, but stipulated in certain
contingencies for their use.

Passing to another matter concerning which there had been so much
jealousy on the part of the States, the formation of the French East
India Company--to organize which undertaking Le Roy and Isaac Le Maire of
Amsterdam had been living disguised in the house of Henry's famous
companion, the financier Zamet at Paris--the King said that Barneveld
ought not to envy him a participation in the great profits of this
business.

Nothing would be done without consulting him after his arrival in Paris.
He would discuss the matter privately with him, he said, knowing that
Barneveld was a great personage, but however obstinate he might be, he
felt sure that he would always yield to reason. On the other hand the
King expressed his willingness to submit to the Advocate's opinions if
they should seem the more just.

On leaving the King the Ambassador had an interview with Sully, who again
expressed his great anxiety for the arrival of Barneveld, and his hopes
that he might come with unlimited powers, so that the great secret might
not leak out through constant referring of matters back to the Provinces.

After rendering to the Advocate a detailed account of this remarkable
conversation, Aerssens concluded with an intimation that perhaps his own
opinion might be desired as to the meaning of all those movements
developing themselves so suddenly and on so many sides.

"I will say," he observed, "exactly what the poet sings of the army of
ants--

     'Hi motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta
     Pulveris exigui jactu contacts quiescunt.'

If the Prince of Conde comes back, we shall be more plausible than ever.
If he does not come back, perhaps the consideration of the future will
sweep us onwards. All have their special views, and M. de Villeroy more
warmly than all the rest."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Abstinence from inquisition into consciences and private parlour
     Allowed the demon of religious hatred to enter into its body
     Behead, torture, burn alive, and bury alive all heretics
     Christian sympathy and a small assistance not being sufficient
     Contained within itself the germs of a larger liberty
     Could not be both judge and party in the suit
     Covered now with the satirical dust of centuries
     Deadly hatred of Puritans in England and Holland
     Doctrine of predestination in its sternest and strictest sense
     Emperor of Japan addressed him as his brother monarch
     Estimating his character and judging his judges
     Everybody should mind his own business
     He was a sincere bigot
     Impatience is often on the part of the non-combatants
     Intense bigotry of conviction
     International friendship, the self-interest of each
     It was the true religion, and there was none other
     James of England, who admired, envied, and hated Henry
     Jealousy, that potent principle
     Language which is ever living because it is dead
     More fiercely opposed to each other than to Papists
     None but God to compel me to say more than I choose to say
     Power the poison of which it is so difficult to resist
     Presents of considerable sums of money to the negotiators made
     Princes show what they have in them at twenty-five or never
     Putting the cart before the oxen
     Religious toleration, which is a phrase of insult
     Secure the prizes of war without the troubles and dangers
     Senectus edam maorbus est
     So much in advance of his time as to favor religious equality
     The Catholic League and the Protestant Union
     The truth in shortest about matters of importance
     The vehicle is often prized more than the freight
     There was but one king in Europe, Henry the Bearnese
     There was no use in holding language of authority to him
     Thirty Years' War tread on the heels of the forty years
     Unimaginable outrage as the most legitimate industry
     Wish to appear learned in matters of which they are ignorant



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

The Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v2, 1609-10



CHAPTER II.

   Passion of Henry IV. for Margaret de Montmorency--Her Marriage with
   the Prince of Conde--Their Departure for the Country-Their Flight to
   the Netherlands-Rage of the King--Intrigues of Spain--Reception of
   the Prince and Princess of Conde by the Archdukes at Brussels--
   Splendid Entertainments by Spinola--Attempts of the King to bring
   the Fugitives back--Mission of De Coeuvres to Brussels--Difficult
   Position of the Republic--Vast but secret Preparations for War.

"If the Prince of Conde comes back." What had the Prince of Conde, his
comings and his goings, to do with this vast enterprise?

It is time to point to the golden thread of most fantastic passion which
runs throughout this dark and eventful history.

One evening in the beginning of the year which had just come to its close
there was to be a splendid fancy ball at the Louvre in the course of
which several young ladies of highest rank were to perform a dance in
mythological costume.

The King, on ill terms with the Queen, who harassed him with scenes of
affected jealousy, while engaged in permanent plots with her paramour and
master, the Italian Concini, against his policy and his life; on still
worse terms with his latest mistress in chief, the Marquise de Verneuil,
who hated him and revenged herself for enduring his caresses by making
him the butt of her venomous wit, had taken the festivities of a court in
dudgeon where he possessed hosts of enemies and flatterers but scarcely a
single friend.

He refused to attend any of the rehearsals of the ballet, but one day a
group of Diana and her nymphs passed him in the great gallery of the
palace. One of the nymphs as she went by turned and aimed her gilded
javelin at his heart. Henry looked and saw the most beautiful young
creature, so he thought, that mortal eye had ever gazed upon, and
according to his wont fell instantly over head and ears in love. He said
afterwards that he felt himself pierced to the heart and was ready to
faint away.

The lady was just fifteen years of age. The King was turned of
fifty-five. The disparity of age seemed to make the royal passion
ridiculous. To Henry the situation seemed poetical and pathetic. After
this first interview he never missed a single rehearsal. In the intervals
he called perpetually for the services of the court poet Malherbe, who
certainly contrived to perpetrate in his behalf some of the most
detestable verses that even he had ever composed.

The nymph was Marguerite de Montmorency, daughter of the Constable of
France, and destined one day to become the mother of the great Conde,
hero of Rocroy. There can be no doubt that she was exquisitely beautiful.
Fair-haired, with a complexion of dazzling purity, large expressive eyes,
delicate but commanding features, she had a singular fascination of look
and gesture, and a winning, almost childlike, simplicity of manner.
Without feminine artifice or commonplace coquetry, she seemed to bewitch
and subdue at a glance men of all ranks, ages, and pursuits; kings and
cardinals, great generals, ambassadors and statesmen, as well as humbler
mortals whether Spanish, Italian, French, or Flemish. The Constable, an
ignorant man who, as the King averred, could neither write nor read,
understood as well as more learned sages the manners and humours of the
court. He had destined his daughter for the young and brilliant
Bassompierre, the most dazzling of all the cavaliers of the day. The two
were betrothed.

But the love-stricken Henry, then confined to his bed with the gout, sent
for the chosen husband of the beautiful Margaret.

"Bassompierre, my friend," said the aged king, as the youthful lover
knelt before him at the bedside, "I have become not in love, but mad, out
of my senses, furious for Mademoiselle de Montmorency. If she should love
you, I should hate you. If she should love me, you would hate me. 'Tis
better that this should not be the cause of breaking up our good
intelligence, for I love you with affection and inclination. I am
resolved to marry her to my nephew the Prince of Conde, and to keep her
near my family. She will be the consolation and support of my old age
into which I am now about to enter. I shall give my nephew, who loves the
chase a thousand times better than he does ladies, 100,000 livres a year,
and I wish no other favour from her than her affection without making
further pretensions."

It was eight o'clock of a black winter's morning, and the tears as he
spoke ran down the cheeks of the hero of Ivry and bedewed the face of the
kneeling Bassompierre.

The courtly lover sighed and--obeyed. He renounced the hand of the
beautiful Margaret, and came daily to play at dice with the King at his
bedside with one or two other companions.

And every day the Duchess of Angouleme, sister of the Constable, brought
her fair niece to visit and converse with the royal invalid. But for the
dark and tragic clouds which were gradually closing around that eventful
and heroic existence there would be something almost comic in the
spectacle of the sufferer making the palace and all France ring with the
howlings of his grotesque passion for a child of fifteen as he lay
helpless and crippled with the gout.

One day as the Duchess of Angouleme led her niece away from their morning
visit to the King, Margaret as she passed by Bassompierre shrugged her
shoulders with a scornful glance. Stung by this expression of contempt,
the lover who had renounced her sprang from the dice table, buried his
face in his hat, pretending that his nose was bleeding, and rushed
frantically from the palace.

Two days long he spent in solitude, unable to eat, drink, or sleep,
abandoned to despair and bewailing his wretched fate, and it was long
before he could recover sufficient equanimity to face his lost Margaret
and resume his place at the King's dicing table. When he made his
appearance, he was according to his own account so pale, changed, and
emaciated that his friends could not recognise him.

The marriage with Conde, first prince of the blood, took place early in
the spring. The bride received magnificent presents, and the husband a,
pension of 100,000 livres a year. The attentions of the King became soon
outrageous and the reigning scandal of the hour. Henry, discarding the
grey jacket and simple costume on which he was wont to pride himself,
paraded himself about in perfumed ruffs and glittering doublet, an
ancient fop, very little heroic, and much ridiculed. The Princess made
merry with the antics of her royal adorer, while her vanity at least, if
not her affection, was really touched, and there was one great round of
court festivities in her honour, at which the King and herself were ever
the central figures. But Conde was not at all amused. Not liking the part
assigned to him in the comedy thus skilfully arranged by his cousin king,
never much enamoured of his bride, while highly appreciating the 100,000
livres of pension, he remonstrated violently with his wife, bitterly
reproached the King, and made himself generally offensive. "The Prince is
here," wrote Henry to Sully, "and is playing the very devil. You would be
in a rage and be ashamed of the things he says of me. But at last I am
losing patience, and am resolved to give him a bit of my mind." He wrote
in the same terms to Montmorency. The Constable, whose conduct throughout
the affair was odious and pitiable, promised to do his best to induce the
Prince, instead of playing the devil, to listen to reason, as he and the
Duchess of Angouleme understood reason.

Henry had even the ineffable folly to appeal to the Queen to use her
influence with the refractory Conde. Mary de' Medici replied that there
were already thirty go-betweens at work, and she had no idea of being the
thirty-first--[Henrard, 30].

Conde, surrounded by a conspiracy against his honour and happiness,
suddenly carried off his wife to the country, much to the amazement and
rage of Henry.

In the autumn he entertained a hunting party at a seat of his, the Abbey
of Verneuille, on the borders of Picardy. De Traigny, governor of Amiens,
invited the Prince, Princess, and the Dowager-Princess to a banquet at
his chateau not far from the Abbey. On their road thither they passed a
group of huntsmen and grooms in the royal livery. Among them was an aged
lackey with a plaister over one eye, holding a couple of hounds in leash.
The Princess recognized at a glance under that ridiculous disguise the
King.

"What a madman!" she murmured as she passed him, "I will never forgive
you;" but as she confessed many years afterwards, this act of gallantly
did not displease her.'

In truth, even in mythological fable, Trove has scarcely ever reduced
demi-god or hero to more fantastic plight than was this travesty of the
great Henry. After dinner Madame de Traigny led her fair guest about the
castle to show her the various points of view. At one window she paused,
saying that it commanded a particularly fine prospect.

The Princess looked from it across a courtyard, and saw at an opposite
window an old gentleman holding his left hand tightly upon his heart to
show that it was wounded, and blowing kisses to her with the other: "My
God! it is the King himself," she cried to her hostess. The princess with
this exclamation rushed from the window, feeling or affecting much
indignation, ordered horses to her carriage instantly, and overwhelmed
Madame de Traigny with reproaches. The King himself, hastening to the
scene, was received with passionate invectives, and in vain attempted to
assuage the Princess's wrath and induce her to remain.

They left the chateau at once, both Prince and Princess.

One night, not many weeks afterwards, the Due de Sully, in the Arsenal at
Paris, had just got into bed at past eleven o'clock when he received a
visit from Captain de Praslin, who walked straight into his bed-chamber,
informing him that the King instantly required his presence.

Sully remonstrated. He was obliged to rise at three the next morning, he
said, enumerating pressing and most important work which Henry required
to be completed with all possible haste. "The King said you would be very
angry," replied Praslin; "but there is no help for it. Come you must, for
the man you know of has gone out of the country, as you said he would,
and has carried away the lady on the crupper behind him."

"Ho, ho," said the Duke, "I am wanted for that affair, am I?" And the two
proceeded straightway to the Louvre, and were ushered, of all apartments
in the world, into the Queen's bedchamber. Mary de' Medici had given
birth only four days before to an infant, Henrietta Maria, future queen
of Charles I. of England. The room was crowded with ministers and
courtiers; Villeroy, the Chancellor, Bassompierre, and others, being
stuck against the wall at small intervals like statues, dumb, motionless,
scarcely daring to breathe. The King, with his hands behind him and his
grey beard sunk on his breast, was pacing up and down the room in a
paroxysm of rage and despair.

"Well," said he, turning to Sully as he entered, "our man has gone off
and carried everything with him. What do you say to that?"

The Duke beyond the boding "I told you so" phrase of consolation which he
was entitled to use, having repeatedly warned his sovereign that
precisely this catastrophe was impending, declined that night to offer
advice. He insisted on sleeping on it. The manner in which the
proceedings of the King at this juncture would be regarded by the
Archdukes Albert and Isabella--for there could be no doubt that Conde had
escaped to their territory--and by the King of Spain, in complicity with
whom the step had unquestionably been taken--was of gravest political
importance.

Henry had heard the intelligence but an hour before. He was at cards in
his cabinet with Bassompierre and others when d'Elbene entered and made a
private communication to him. "Bassompierre, my friend," whispered the
King immediately in that courtier's ear, "I am lost. This man has carried
his wife off into a wood. I don't know if it is to kill her or to take
her out of France. Take care of my money and keep up the game."

Bassompierre followed the king shortly afterwards and brought him his
money. He said that he had never seen a man so desperate, so transported.

The matter was indeed one of deepest and universal import. The reader has
seen by the preceding narrative how absurd is the legend often believed
in even to our own days that war was made by France upon the Archdukes
and upon Spain to recover the Princess of Conde from captivity in
Brussels.

From contemporary sources both printed and unpublished; from most
confidential conversations and revelations, we have seen how broad,
deliberate, and deeply considered were the warlike and political
combinations in the King's ever restless brain. But although the
abduction of the new Helen by her own Menelaus was not the cause of the
impending, Iliad, there is no doubt whatever that the incident had much
to do with the crisis, was the turning point in a great tragedy, and that
but for the vehement passion of the King for this youthful princess
events might have developed themselves on a far different scale from that
which they were destined to assume. For this reason a court intrigue,
which history under other conditions might justly disdain, assumes vast
proportions and is taken quite away from the scandalous chronicle which
rarely busies itself with grave affairs of state.

"The flight of Conde," wrote Aerssens, "is the catastrophe to the comedy
which has been long enacting. 'Tis to be hoped that the sequel may not
prove tragical."

"The Prince," for simply by that title he was usually called to
distinguish him from all other princes in France, was next of blood. Had
Henry no sons, he would have succeeded him on the throne. It was a
favourite scheme of the Spanish party to invalidate Henry's divorce from
Margaret of Valois, and thus to cast doubts on the legitimacy of the
Dauphin and the other children of Mary de' Medici.

The Prince in the hands of the Spanish government might prove a docile
and most dangerous instrument to the internal repose of France not only
after Henry's death but in his life-time. Conde's character was
frivolous, unstable, excitable, weak, easy to be played upon by designing
politicians, and he had now the deepest cause for anger and for indulging
in ambitious dreams.

He had been wont during this unhappy first year of his marriage to loudly
accuse Henry of tyranny, and was now likely by public declaration to
assign that as the motive of his flight. Henry had protested in reply
that he had never been guilty of tyranny but once in his life, and that
was when he allowed this youth to take the name and title of Conde?

For the Princess-Dowager his mother had lain for years in prison, under
the terrible accusation of having murdered her husband, in complicity
with her paramour, a Gascon page, named Belcastel. The present prince had
been born several months after his reputed father's death. Henry, out of
good nature, or perhaps for less creditable reasons, had come to the
rescue of the accused princess, and had caused the process to be stopped,
further enquiry to be quashed, and the son to be recognized as legitimate
Prince of Conde. The Dowager had subsequently done her best to further
the King's suit to her son's wife, for which the Prince bitterly
reproached her to her face, heaping on her epithets which she well
deserved.

Henry at once began to threaten a revival of the criminal suit, with a
view of bastardizing him again, although the Dowager had acted on all
occasions with great docility in Henry's interests.

The flight of the Prince and Princess was thus not only an incident of
great importance to the internal politics of trance, but had a direct and
important bearing on the impending hostilities. Its intimate connection
with the affairs of the Netherland commonwealth was obvious. It was
probable that the fugitives would make their way towards the Archdukes'
territory, and that afterwards their first point of destination would be
Breda, of which Philip William of Orange, eldest brother of Prince
Maurice, was the titular proprietor. Since the truce recently concluded
the brothers, divided so entirely by politics and religion, could meet on
fraternal and friendly terms, and Breda, although a city of the
Commonwealth, received its feudal lord. The Princess of Orange was the
sister of Conde. The morning after the flight the King, before daybreak,
sent for the Dutch ambassador. He directed him to despatch a courier
forthwith to Barneveld, notifying him that the Prince had left the
kingdom without the permission or knowledge of his sovereign, and stating
the King's belief that he had fled to the territory of the Archdukes. If
he should come to Breda or to any other place within the jurisdiction of
the States, they were requested to make sure of his person at once, and
not to permit him to retire until further instructions should be received
from the King. De Praslin, captain of the body-guards and lieutenant of
Champagne, it was further mentioned, was to be sent immediately on secret
mission concerning this affair to the States and to the Archdukes.

The King suspected Conde of crime, so the Advocate was to be informed. He
believed him to be implicated in the conspiracy of Poitou; the six who
had been taken prisoners having confessed that they had thrice conferred
with a prince at Paris, and that the motive of the plot was to free
themselves and France from the tyranny of Henry IV. The King insisted
peremptorily, despite of any objections from Aerssens, that the thing
must be done and his instructions carried out to the letter. So much he
expected of the States, and they should care no more for ulterior
consequences, he said, than he had done for the wrath of Spain when he
frankly undertook their cause. Conde was important only because his
relative, and he declared that if the Prince should escape, having once
entered the territory of the Republic, he should lay the blame on its
government.

"If you proceed languidly in the affair," wrote Aerssens to Barneveld,
"our affairs will suffer for ever."

Nobody at court believed in the Poitou conspiracy, or that Conde had any
knowledge of it. The reason of his flight was a mystery to none, but as
it was immediately followed by an intrigue with Spain, it seemed
ingenious to Henry to make, use of a transparent pretext to conceal the
ugliness of the whole affair.

He hoped that the Prince would be arrested at Breda and sent back by the
States. Villeroy said that if it was not done, they would be guilty of
black ingratitude. It would be an awkward undertaking, however, and the
States devoutly prayed that they might not be put to the test. The crafty
Aerssens suggested to Barneveld that if Conde was not within their
territory it would be well to assure the King that, had he been there, he
would have been delivered up at once. "By this means," said the
Ambassador, "you will give no cause of offence to the Prince, and will at
the same time satisfy the King. It is important that he should think that
you depend immediately upon him. If you see that after his arrest they
take severe measures against him, you will have a thousand ways of
parrying the blame which posterity might throw upon you. History teaches
you plenty of them."

He added that neither Sully nor anyone else thought much of the Poitou
conspiracy. Those implicated asserted that they had intended to raise
troops there to assist the King in the Cleve expedition. Some people said
that Henry had invented this plot against his throne and life. The
Ambassador, in a spirit of prophecy, quoted the saying of Domitian:
"Misera conditio imperantium quibus de conspiratione non creditor nisi
occisis."

Meantime the fugitives continued their journey. The Prince was
accompanied by one of his dependants, a rude officer, de Rochefort, who
carried the Princess on a pillion behind him. She had with her a
lady-in-waiting named du Certeau and a lady's maid named Philippote. She
had no clothes but those on her back, not even a change of linen. Thus
the young and delicate lady made the wintry journey through the forests.
They crossed the frontier at Landrecies, then in the Spanish Netherlands,
intending to traverse the Archduke's territory in order to reach Breda,
where Conde meant to leave his wife in charge of his sister, the Princess
of Orange, and then to proceed to Brussels.

He wrote from the little inn at Landrecies to notify the Archduke of his
project. He was subsequently informed that Albert would not prevent his
passing through his territories, but should object to his making a fixed
residence within them. The Prince also wrote subsequently to the King of
Spain and to the King of France.

To Henry he expressed his great regret at being obliged to leave the
kingdom in order to save his honour and his life, but that he had no
intention of being anything else than his very humble and faithful
cousin, subject, and servant. He would do nothing against his service, he
said, unless forced thereto, and he begged the King not to take it amiss
if he refused to receive letters from any one whomsoever at court, saving
only such letters as his Majesty himself might honour him by writing.

The result of this communication to the King was of course to enrage that
monarch to the utmost, and his first impulse on finding that the Prince
was out of his reach was to march to Brussels at once and take possession
of him and the Princess by main force. More moderate counsels prevailed
for the moment however, and negotiations were attempted.

Praslin did not contrive to intercept the fugitives, but the
States-General, under the advice of Barneveld, absolutely forbade their
coming to Breda or entering any part of their jurisdiction. The result of
Conde's application to the King of Spain was an ultimate offer of
assistance and asylum, through a special emissary, one Anover; for the
politicians of Madrid were astute enough to see what a card the Prince
might prove in their hands.

Henry instructed his ambassador in Spain to use strong and threatening
language in regard to the harbouring a rebel and a conspirator against
the throne of France; while on the other hand he expressed his
satisfaction with the States for having prohibited the Prince from
entering their territory. He would have preferred, he said, if they had
allowed him entrance and forbidden his departure, but on the whole he was
content. It was thought in Paris that the Netherland government had acted
with much adroitness in thus abstaining both from a violation of the law
of nations and from giving offence to the King.

A valet of Conde was taken with some papers of the Prince about him,
which proved a determination on his part never to return to France during
the lifetime of Henry. They made no statement of the cause of his flight,
except to intimate that it might be left to the judgment of every one, as
it was unfortunately but too well known to all.

Refused entrance into the Dutch territory, the Prince was obliged to
renounce his project in regard to Breda, and brought his wife to
Brussels. He gave Bentivoglio, the Papal nuncio, two letters to forward
to Italy, one to the Pope, the other to his nephew, Cardinal Borghese.
Encouraged by the advices which he had received from Spain, he justified
his flight from France both by the danger to his honour and to his life,
recommending both to the protection of his Holiness and his Eminence.
Bentivoglio sent the letters, but while admitting the invincible reasons
for his departure growing out of the King's pursuit of the Princess, he
refused all credence to the pretended violence against Conde himself.
Conde informed de Praslin that he would not consent to return to France.
Subsequently he imposed as conditions of return that the King should
assign to him certain cities and strongholds in Guienne, of which
province he was governor, far from Paris and very near the Spanish
frontier; a measure dictated by Spain and which inflamed Henry's wrath
almost to madness. The King insisted on his instant return, placing
himself and of course the Princess entirely in his hands and receiving a
full pardon for this effort to save his honour. The Prince and Princess
of Orange came from Breda to Brussels to visit their brother and his
wife. Here they established them in the Palace of Nassau, once the
residence in his brilliant youth of William the Silent; a magnificent
mansion, surrounded by park and garden, built on the brow of the almost
precipitous hill, beneath which is spread out so picturesquely the
antique and beautiful capital of Brabant.

The Archdukes received them with stately courtesy at their own palace. On
their first ceremonious visit to the sovereigns of the land, the formal
Archduke, coldest and chastest of mankind, scarcely lifted his eyes to
gaze on the wondrous beauty of the Princess, yet assured her after he had
led her through a portrait gallery of fair women that formerly these had
been accounted beauties, but that henceforth it was impossible to speak
of any beauty but her own.

The great Spinola fell in love with her at once, sent for the illustrious
Rubens from Antwerp to paint her portrait, and offered Mademoiselle de
Chateau Vert 10,000 crowns in gold if she would do her best to further
his suit with her mistress. The Genoese banker-soldier made love, war,
and finance on a grand scale. He gave a magnificent banquet and ball in
her honour on Twelfth Night, and the festival was the wonder of the town.
Nothing like it had been seen in Brussels for years. At six in the
evening Spinola in splendid costume, accompanied by Don Luis Velasco,
Count Ottavio Visconti, Count Bucquoy, with other nobles of lesser note,
drove to the Nassau Palace to bring the Prince and Princess and their
suite to the Marquis's mansion. Here a guard of honour of thirty
musketeers was standing before the door, and they were conducted from
their coaches by Spinola preceded by twenty-four torch-bearers up the
grand staircase to a hall, where they were received by the Princesses of
Mansfeld, Velasco, and other distinguished dames. Thence they were led
through several apartments rich with tapestry and blazing with crystal
and silver plate to a splendid saloon where was a silken canopy, under
which the Princess of Conde and the Princess of Orange seated themselves,
the Nuncius Bentivoglio to his delight being placed next the beautiful
Margaret. After reposing for a little while they were led to the
ball-room, brilliantly lighted with innumerable torches of perfumed wax
and hung with tapestry of gold and silk, representing in fourteen
embroidered designs the chief military exploits of Spinola. Here the
banquet, a cold collation, was already spread on a table decked and
lighted with regal splendour. As soon as the guests were seated, an
admirable concert of instrumental music began. Spinola walked up and down
providing for the comforts of his company, the Duke of Aumale stood
behind the two princesses to entertain them with conversation, Don Luis
Velasco served the Princess of Conde with plates, handed her the dishes,
the wine, the napkins, while Bucquoy and Visconti in like manner waited
upon the Princess of Orange; other nobles attending to the other ladies.
Forty-eight pages in white, yellow, and red scarves brought and removed
the dishes. The dinner, of courses innumerable, lasted two hours and a
half, and the ladies, being thus fortified for the more serious business
of the evening, were led to the tiring-rooms while the hall was made
ready for dancing. The ball was opened by the Princess of Conde and
Spinola, and lasted until two in the morning. As the apartment grew warm,
two of the pages went about with long staves and broke all the windows
until not a single pane of glass remained. The festival was estimated by
the thrifty chronicler of Antwerp to have cost from 3000 to 4000 crowns.
It was, he says, "an earthly paradise of which soon not a vapour
remained." He added that he gave a detailed account of it "not because he
took pleasure in such voluptuous pomp and extravagance, but that one
might thus learn the vanity of the world." These courtesies and
assiduities on the part of the great "shopkeeper," as the Constable
called him, had so much effect, if not on the Princess, at least on Conde
himself, that he threatened to throw his wife out of window if she
refused to caress Spinola. These and similar accusations were made by the
father and aunt when attempting to bring about a divorce of the Princess
from her husband. The Nuncius Bentivoglio, too, fell in love with her,
devoting himself to her service, and his facile and eloquent pen to
chronicling her story. Even poor little Philip of Spain in the depths of
the Escurial heard of her charms, and tried to imagine himself in love
with her by proxy.

Thenceforth there was a succession of brilliant festivals in honour of
the Princess. The Spanish party was radiant with triumph, the French
maddened with rage. Henry in Paris was chafing like a lion at bay. A
petty sovereign whom he could crush at one vigorous bound was protecting
the lady for whose love he was dying. He had secured Conde's exclusion
from Holland, but here were the fugitives splendidly established in
Brussels; the Princess surrounded by most formidable suitors, the Prince
encouraged in his rebellious and dangerous schemes by the power which the
King most hated on earth, and whose eternal downfall he had long since
sworn to accomplish.

For the weak and frivolous Conde began to prattle publicly of his deep
projects of revenge. Aided by Spanish money and Spanish troops he would
show one day who was the real heir to the throne of France--the
illegitimately born Dauphin or himself.

The King sent for the first president of Parliament, Harlay, and
consulted with him as to the proper means of reviving the suppressed
process against the Dowager and of publicly degrading Conde from his
position of first prince of the blood which he had been permitted to
usurp. He likewise procured a decree accusing him of high-treason and
ordering him to be punished at his Majesty's pleasure, to be prepared by
the Parliament of Paris; going down to the court himself in his
impatience and seating himself in everyday costume on the bench of judges
to see that it was immediately proclaimed.

Instead of at once attacking the Archdukes in force as he intended
in the first ebullition of his wrath, he resolved to send
de Boutteville-Montmorency, a relative of the Constable, on special and
urgent mission to Brussels. He was to propose that Conde and his wife
should return with the Prince and Princess of Orange to Breda, the King
pledging himself that for three or four months nothing should be
undertaken against him. Here was a sudden change of determination fit to
surprise the States-General, but the King's resolution veered and whirled
about hourly in the tempests of his wrath and love.

That excellent old couple, the Constable and the Duchess of Angouleme,
did their best to assist their sovereign in his fierce attempts to get
their daughter and niece into his power.

The Constable procured a piteous letter to be written to Archduke Albert,
signed "Montmorency his mark," imploring him not to "suffer that his
daughter, since the Prince refused to return to France, should leave
Brussels to be a wanderer about the world following a young prince who
had no fixed purpose in his mind."

Archduke Albert, through his ambassador in Paris, Peter Pecquius,
suggested the possibility of a reconciliation between Henry and his
kinsman, and offered himself as intermediary. He enquired whether the
King would find it agreeable that he should ask for pardon in name of the
Prince. Henry replied that he was willing that the Archduke should accord
to Conde secure residence for the time within his dominions on three
inexorable conditions:--firstly, that the Prince should ask for pardon
without any stipulations, the King refusing to listen to any treaty or to
assign him towns or places of security as had been vaguely suggested, and
holding it utterly unreasonable that a man sueing for pardon should,
instead of deserved punishment, talk of terms and acquisitions; secondly,
that, if Conde should reject the proposition, Albert should immediately
turn him out of his country, showing himself justly irritated at finding
his advice disregarded; thirdly, that, sending away the Prince, the
Archduke should forthwith restore the Princess to her father the
Constable and her aunt Angouleme, who had already made their petitions to
Albert and Isabella for that end, to which the King now added his own
most particular prayers.

If the Archduke should refuse consent to these three conditions, Henry
begged that he would abstain from any farther attempt to effect a
reconciliation and not suffer Conde to remain any longer within his
territories.

Pecquius replied that he thought his master might agree to the two first
propositions while demurring to the third, as it would probably not seem
honourable to him to separate man and wife, and as it was doubtful
whether the Princess would return of her own accord.

The King, in reporting the substance of this conversation to Aerssens,
intimated his conviction that they were only wishing in Brussels to gain
time; that they were waiting for letters from Spain, which they were
expecting ever since the return of Conde's secretary from Milan, whither
he had been sent to confer with the Governor, Count Fuentes. He said
farther that he doubted whether the Princess would go to Breda, which he
should now like, but which Conde would not now permit. This he imputed in
part to the Princess of Orange, who had written a letter full of
invectives against himself to the Dowager--Princess of Conde which she
had at once sent to him. Henry expressed at the same time his great
satisfaction with the States-General and with Barneveld in this affair,
repeating his assurances that they were the truest and best friends he
had.

The news of Conde's ceremonious visit to Leopold in Julich could not fail
to exasperate the King almost as much as the pompous manner in which he
was subsequently received at Brussels; Spinola and the Spanish Ambassador
going forth to meet him. At the same moment the secretary of Vaucelles,
Henry's ambassador in Madrid, arrived in Paris, confirming the King's
suspicions that Conde's flight had been concerted with Don Inigo de
Cardenas, and was part of a general plot of Spain against the peace of
the kingdom. The Duc d'Epernon, one of the most dangerous plotters at the
court, and deep in the intimacy of the Queen and of all the secret
adherents of the Spanish policy, had been sojourning a long time at Metz,
under pretence of attending to his health, had sent his children to
Spain, as hostages according to Henry's belief, had made himself master
of the citadel, and was turning a deaf ear to all the commands of the
King.

The supporters of Conde in France were openly changing their note and
proclaiming by the Prince's command that he had left the kingdom in order
to preserve his quality of first prince of the blood, and that he meant
to make good his right of primogeniture against the Dauphin and all
competitors.

Such bold language and such open reliance on the support of Spain in
disputing the primogeniture of the Dauphin were fast driving the most
pacifically inclined in France into enthusiasm for the war.

The States, too, saw their opportunity more vividly every day. "What
could we desire more," wrote Aerssens to Barneveld, "than open war
between France and Spain? Posterity will for ever blame us if we reject
this great occasion."

Peter Pecquius, smoothest and sliest of diplomatists, did his best to
make things comfortable, for there could be little doubt that his masters
most sincerely deprecated war. On their heads would come the first blows,
to their provinces would return the great desolation out of which they
had hardly emerged. Still the Archduke, while racking his brains for the
means of accommodation, refused, to his honour, to wink at any violation
of the law of nations, gave a secret promise, in which the Infanta
joined, that the Princess should not be allowed to leave Brussels without
her husband's permission, and resolutely declined separating the pair
except with the full consent of both. In order to protect himself from
the King's threats, he suggested sending Conde to some neutral place for
six or eight months, to Prague, to Breda, or anywhere else; but Henry
knew that Conde would never allow this unless he had the means by Spanish
gold of bribing the garrison there, and so of holding the place in
pretended neutrality, but in reality at the devotion of the King of
Spain.

Meantime Henry had despatched the Marquis de Coeuvres, brother of the
beautiful Gabrielle, Duchess de Beaufort, and one of the most audacious
and unscrupulous of courtiers, on a special mission to Brussels. De
Coeuvres saw Conde before presenting his credentials to the Archduke, and
found him quite impracticable. Acting under the advice of the Prince of
Orange, he expressed his willingness to retire to some neutral city of
Germany or Italy, drawing meanwhile from Henry a pension of 40,000 crowns
a year. But de Coeuvres firmly replied that the King would make no terms
with his vassal nor allow Conde to prescribe conditions to him. To leave
him in Germany or Italy, he said, was to leave him in the dependence of
Spain. The King would not have this constant apprehension of her
intrigues while, living, nor leave such matter in dying for turbulence in
his kingdom. If it appeared that the Spaniards wished to make use of the
Prince for such purposes, he would be beforehand with them, and show them
how much more injury he could inflict on Spain than they on France.
Obviously committed to Spain, Conde replied to the entreaties of the
emissary that if the King would give him half his kingdom he would not
accept the offer nor return to France; at least before the 8th of
February, by which date he expected advices from Spain. He had given his
word, he said, to lend his ear to no overtures before that time. He made
use of many threats, and swore that he would throw himself entirely into
the arms of the Spanish king if Henry would not accord him the terms
which he had proposed.

To do this was an impossibility. To grant him places of security would,
as the King said, be to plant a standard for all the malcontents of
France to rally around. Conde had evidently renounced all hopes of a
reconciliation, however painfully his host the Archduke might intercede
for it. He meant to go to Spain. Spinola was urging this daily and
hourly, said Henry, for he had fallen in love with the Princess, who
complained of all these persecutions in her letters to her father, and
said that she would rather die than go to Spain.

The King's advices from de Coeuvres were however to the effect that the
step would probably be taken, that the arrangements were making, and that
Spinola had been shut up with Conde six hours long with nobody present
but Rochefort and a certain counsellor of the Prince of Orange named
Keeremans.

Henry was taking measures to intercept them on their flight by land, but
there was some thought of their proceeding to Spain by sea. He therefore
requested the States to send two ships of war, swift sailors, well
equipped, one to watch in the roads of St. Jean and the other on the
English coast. These ships were to receive their instructions from
Admiral de Vicq, who would be well informed of all the movements of the
Prince and give warning to the captains of the Dutch vessels by a
preconcerted signal. The King begged that Barneveld would do him this
favour, if he loved him, and that none might have knowledge of it but the
Advocate and Prince Maurice. The ships would be required for two or three
months only, but should be equipped and sent forth as soon as possible.

The States had no objection to performing this service, although it
subsequently proved to be unnecessary, and they were quite ready at that
moment to go openly into the war to settle the affairs of Clove, and once
for all to drive the Spaniards out of the Netherlands and beyond seas and
mountains. Yet strange to say, those most conversant with the state of
affairs could not yet quite persuade themselves that matters were
serious, and that the King's mind was fixed. Should Conde return,
renounce his Spanish stratagems, and bring back the Princess to court, it
was felt by the King's best and most confidential friends that all might
grow languid again, the Spanish faction get the upper hand in the King's
councils, and the States find themselves in a terrible embarrassment.

On the other hand, the most prying and adroit of politicians were puzzled
to read the signs of the times. Despite Henry's garrulity, or perhaps in
consequence of it, the envoys of Spain, the Empire, and of Archduke
Albert were ignorant whether peace were likely to be broken or not, in
spite of rumours which filled the air. So well had the secrets been kept
which the reader has seen discussed in confidential conversations--the
record of which has always remained unpublished--between the King and
those admitted to his intimacy that very late in the winter Pecquius,
while sadly admitting to his masters that the King was likely to take
part against the Emperor in the affair of the duchies, expressed the
decided opinion that it would be limited to the secret sending of succour
to Brandenburg and Neuburg as formerly to the United Provinces, but that
he would never send troops into Cleve, or march thither himself.

It is important, therefore, to follow closely the development of these
political and amorous intrigues, for they furnish one of the most curious
and instructive lessons of history; there being not the slightest doubt
that upon their issue chiefly depended the question of a great and
general war.

Pecquius, not yet despairing that his master would effect a
reconciliation between the King and Conde, proposed again that the Prince
should be permitted to reside for a time in some place not within the
jurisdiction of Spain or of the Archdukes, being allowed meantime to draw
his annual pension of 100,000 livres. Henry ridiculed the idea of Conde's
drawing money from him while occupying his time abroad with intrigues
against his throne and his children's succession. He scoffed at the
Envoy's pretences that Conde was not in receipt of money from Spain, as
if a man so needy and in so embarrassing a position could live without
money from some source; and as if he were not aware, from his
correspondents in Spain, that funds were both promised and furnished to
the Prince.

He repeated his determination not to accord him pardon unless he returned
to France, which he had no cause to leave, and, turning suddenly on
Pecquius, demanded why, the subject of reconciliation having failed, the
Archduke did not immediately fulfil his promise of turning Conde out of
his dominions.

Upon this Albert's minister drew back with the air of one amazed, asking
how and when the Archduke had ever made such a promise.

"To the Marquis de Coeuvres," replied Henry.

Pecquius asked if his ears had not deceived him, and if the King had
really said that de Coeuvres had made such a statement.

Henry repeated and confirmed the story.

Upon the Minister's reply that he had himself received no such
intelligence from the Archduke, the King suddenly changed his tone, and
said,

"No, I was mistaken--I was confused--the Marquis never wrote me this; but
did you not say yourself that I might be assured that there would be no
difficulty about it if the Prince remained obstinate."

Pecquius replied that he had made such a proposition to his masters by
his Majesty's request; but there had been no answer received, nor time
for one, as the hope of reconciliation had not yet been renounced. He
begged Henry to consider whether, without instructions from his master,
he could have thus engaged his word.

"Well," said the King, "since you disavow it, I see very well that the
Archduke has no wish to give me pleasure, and that these are nothing but
tricks that you have been amusing me with all this time. Very good; each
of us will know what we have to do."

Pecquius considered that the King had tried to get him into a net, and to
entrap him into the avowal of a promise which he had never made. Henry
remained obstinate in his assertions, notwithstanding all the envoy's
protestations.

"A fine trick, indeed, and unworthy of a king, 'Si dicere fas est,'" he
wrote to Secretary of State Praets. "But the force of truth is such that
he who spreads the snare always tumbles into the ditch himself."

Henry concluded the subject of Conde at this interview by saying that he
could have his pardon on the conditions already named, and not otherwise.

He also made some complaints about Archduke Leopold, who, he said,
notwithstanding his demonstrations of wishing a treaty of compromise, was
taking towns by surprise which he could not hold, and was getting his
troops massacred on credit.

Pecquius expressed the opinion that it would be better to leave the
Germans to make their own arrangements among themselves, adding that
neither his masters nor the King of Spain meant to mix themselves up in
the matter.

"Let them mix themselves in it or keep out of it, as they like," said
Henry, "I shall not fail to mix myself up in it."

The King was marvellously out of humour.

Before finishing the interview, he asked Pecquius whether Marquis Spinola
was going to Spain very soon, as he had permission from his Majesty to do
so, and as he had information that he would be on the road early in Lent.
The Minister replied that this would depend on the will of the Archduke,
and upon various circumstances. The answer seemed to displease the King,
and Pecquius was puzzled to know why. He was not aware, of course, of
Henry's project to kidnap the Marquis on the road, and keep him as a
surety for Conde.

The Envoy saw Villeroy after the audience, who told him not to mind the
King's ill-temper, but to bear it as patiently as he could. His Majesty
could not digest, he said, his infinite displeasure at the obstinacy of
the Prince; but they must nevertheless strive for a reconciliation. The
King was quick in words, but slow in deeds, as the Ambassador might have
observed before, and they must all try to maintain peace, to which he
would himself lend his best efforts.

As the Secretary of State was thoroughly aware that the King was making
vast preparations for war, and had given in his own adhesion to the
project, it is refreshing to observe the candour with which he assured
the representative of the adverse party of his determination that
friendliest relations should be preserved.

It is still more refreshing to find Villeroy, the same afternoon, warmly
uniting with Sully, Lesdiguieres, and the Chancellor, in the decision
that war should begin forthwith.

For the King held a council at the Arsenal immediately after this
interview with Pecquius, in which he had become convinced that Conde
would never return. He took the Queen with him, and there was not a
dissentient voice as to the necessity of beginning hostilities at once.

Sully, however, was alone in urging that the main force of the attack
should be in the north, upon the Rhine and Meuse. Villeroy and those who
were secretly in the Spanish interest were for beginning it with the
southern combination and against Milan. Sully believed the Duke of Savoy
to be variable and attached in his heart to Spain, and he thought it
contrary to the interests of France to permit an Italian prince to grow
so great on her frontier. He therefore thoroughly disapproved the plan,
and explained to the Dutch ambassador that all this urgency to carry on
the war in the south came from hatred to the United Provinces, jealousy
of their aggrandizement, detestation of the Reformed religion, and hope
to engage Henry in a campaign which he could not carry on successfully.
But he assured Aerssens that he had the means of counteracting these
designs and of bringing on an invasion for obtaining possession of the
Meuse. If the possessory princes found Henry making war in the Milanese
only, they would feel themselves ruined, and might throw up the game. He
begged that Barneveld would come on to Paris at once, as now or never was
the moment to assure the Republic for all time.

The King had acted with malicious adroitness in turning the tables upon
the Prince and treating him as a rebel and a traitor because, to save his
own and his wife's honour, he had fled from a kingdom where he had but
too good reason to suppose that neither was safe. The Prince, with
infinite want of tact, had played into the King's hands. He had bragged
of his connection with Spain and of his deep designs, and had shown to
all the world that he was thenceforth but an instrument in the hands of
the Spanish cabinet, while all the world knew the single reason for which
he had fled.

The King, hopeless now of compelling the return of Conde, had become most
anxious to separate him from his wife. Already the subject of divorce
between the two had been broached, and it being obvious that the Prince
would immediately betake himself into the Spanish dominions, the King was
determined that the Princess should not follow him thither.

He had the incredible effrontery and folly to request the Queen to
address a letter to her at Brussels, urging her to return to France. But
Mary de' Medici assured her husband that she had no intention of becoming
his assistant, using, to express her thought, the plainest and most
vigorous word that the Italian language could supply. Henry had then
recourse once more to the father and aunt.

That venerable couple being about to wait upon the Archduke's envoy, in
compliance with the royal request, Pecquius, out of respect to their
advanced age, went to the Constable's residence. Here both the Duchess
and Constable, with tears in their eyes, besought that diplomatist to do
his utmost to prevent the Princess from the sad fate of any longer
sharing her husband's fortunes.

The father protested that he would never have consented to her marriage,
preferring infinitely that she should have espoused any honest gentleman
with 2000 crowns a year than this first prince of the blood, with a
character such as it had proved to be; but that he had not dared to
disobey the King.

He spoke of the indignities and cruelties to which she was subjected,
said that Rochefort, whom Conde had employed to assist him in their
flight from France, and on the crupper of whose horse the Princess had
performed the journey, was constantly guilty of acts of rudeness and
incivility towards her; that but a few days past he had fired off pistols
in her apartment where she was sitting alone with the Princess of Orange,
exclaiming that this was the way he would treat anyone who interfered
with the commands of his master, Conde; that the Prince was incessantly
railing at her for refusing to caress the Marquis of Spinola; and that,
in short, he would rather she were safe in the palace of the Archduchess
Isabella, even in the humblest position among her gentlewomen, than to
know her vagabondizing miserably about the world with her husband.

This, he said, was the greatest fear he had, and he would rather see her
dead than condemned to such a fate.

He trusted that the Archdukes were incapable of believing the stories
that he and the Duchess of Angouleme were influenced in the appeals they
made for the separation of the Prince and Princess by a desire to serve
the purposes of the King. Those were fables put about by Conde. All that
the Constable and his sister desired was that the Archduchess would
receive the Princess kindly when she should throw herself at her feet,
and not allow her to be torn away against her will. The Constable spoke
with great gravity and simplicity, and with all the signs of genuine
emotion, and Peter Pecquius was much moved. He assured the aged pair that
he would do his best to comply with their wishes, and should immediately
apprise the Archdukes of the interview which had just taken place. Most
certainly they were entirely disposed to gratify the Constable and the
Duchess as well as the Princess herself, whose virtues, qualities, and
graces had inspired them with affection, but it must be remembered that
the law both human and divine required wives to submit themselves to the
commands of their husbands and to be the companions of their good and
evil fortunes. Nevertheless, he hoped that the Lord would so conduct the
affairs of the Prince of Conde that the Most Christian King and the
Archdukes would all be satisfied.

These pious and consolatory commonplaces on the part of Peter Pecquius
deeply affected the Constable. He fell upon the Envoy's neck, embraced
him repeatedly, and again wept plentifully.



CHAPTER III.

   Strange Scene at the Archduke's Palace--Henry's Plot frustrated--
   His Triumph changed to Despair--Conversation of the Dutch Ambassador
   with the King--The War determined upon.

It was in the latter part of the Carnival, the Saturday night preceding
Shrove Tuesday, 1610. The winter had been a rigorous one in Brussels, and
the snow lay in drifts three feet deep in the streets. Within and about
the splendid palace of Nassau there was much commotion. Lights and
flambeaux were glancing, loud voices, martial music, discharge of pistols
and even of artillery were heard together with the trampling of many
feet, but there was nothing much resembling the wild revelry or cheerful
mummery of that holiday season. A throng of the great nobles of Belgium
with drawn swords and menacing aspect were assembled in the chief
apartments, a detachment of the Archduke's mounted body-guard was
stationed in the courtyard, and five hundred halberdiers of the burgher
guilds kept watch and ward about the palace.

The Prince of Conde, a square-built, athletic young man of middle
stature, with regular features, but a sulky expression, deepened at this
moment into ferocity, was seen chasing the secretary of the French
resident minister out of the courtyard, thwacking him lustily about the
shoulders with his drawn sword, and threatening to kill him or any other
Frenchman on the spot, should he show himself in that palace. He was
heard shouting rather than speaking, in furious language against the
King, against Coeuvres, against Berny, and bitterly bewailing his
misfortunes, as if his wife were already in Paris instead of Brussels.

Upstairs in her own apartment which she had kept for some days on pretext
of illness sat the Princess Margaret, in company' of Madame de Berny,
wife of the French minister, and of the Marquis de Coeuvres, Henry's
special envoy, and a few other Frenchmen. She was passionately fond of
dancing. The adoring cardinal described her as marvellously graceful and
perfect in that accomplishment. She had begged her other adorer, the
Marquis Spinola, "with sweetest words," that she might remain a few days
longer in the Nassau Palace before removing to the Archduke's residence,
and that the great general, according to the custom in France and
Flanders, would be the one to present her with the violins. But Spinola,
knowing the artifice concealed beneath these "sweetest words," had
summoned up valour enough to resist her blandishments, and had refused a
second entertainment.

It was not, therefore, the disappointment at losing her ball that now
made the Princess sad. She and her companions saw that there had been a
catastrophe; a plot discovered. There was bitter disappointment and deep
dismay upon their faces. The plot had been an excellent one. De Coeuvres
had arranged it all, especially instigated thereto by the father of the
Princess acting in concurrence with the King. That night when all was
expected to be in accustomed quiet, the Princess, wrapped in her
mantilla, was to have stolen down into the garden, accompanied only by
her maid the adventurous and faithful Philipotte, to have gone through a
breach which led through a garden wall to the city ramparts, thence
across the foss to the counterscarp, where a number of horsemen under
trustworthy commanders were waiting. Mounting on the crupper behind one
of the officers of the escort, she was then to fly to the frontier,
relays of horses having been provided at every stage until she should
reach Rocroy, the first pausing place within French territory; a perilous
adventure for the young and delicate Princess in a winter of almost
unexampled severity.

On the very morning of the day assigned for the adventure, despatches
brought by special couriers from the Nuncius and the Spanish ambassador
at Paris gave notice of the plot to the Archdukes and to Conde, although
up to that moment none knew of it in Brussels. Albert, having been
apprised that many Frenchmen had been arriving during the past few days,
and swarming about the hostelries of the city and suburbs, was at once
disposed to believe in the story. When Conde came to him, therefore, with
confirmation from his own letters, and demanding a detachment of the
body-guard in addition to the burgher militiamen already granted by the
magistrates, he made no difficulty granting the request. It was as if
there had been a threatened assault of the city, rather than the
attempted elopement of a young lady escorted by a handful of cavaliers.

The courtyard of the Nassau Palace was filled with cavalry sent by the
Archduke, while five hundred burgher guards sent by the magistrates were
drawn up around the gate. The noise and uproar, gaining at every moment
more mysterious meaning by the darkness of night, soon spread through the
city. The whole population was awake, and swarming through the streets.
Such a tumult had not for years been witnessed in Brussels, and the
rumour flew about and was generally believed that the King of France at
the head of an army was at the gates of the city determined to carry off
the Princess by force. But although the superfluous and very scandalous
explosion might have been prevented, there could be no doubt that the
stratagem had been defeated.

Nevertheless, the effrontery and ingenuity of de Coeuvres became now
sublime. Accompanied by his colleague, the resident minister, de Berny,
who was sure not to betray the secret because he had never known it--his
wife alone having been in the confidence of the Princess--he proceeded
straightway to the Archduke's palace, and, late in the night as it was,
insisted on an audience.

Here putting on his boldest face when admitted to the presence, he
complained loudly of the plot, of which he had just become aware,
contrived by the Prince of Conde to carry off his wife to Spain against
her will, by main force, and by assistance of Flemish nobles, archiducal
body-guard, and burgher militia.

It was all a plot of Conde, he said, to palliate still more his flight
from France. Every one knew that the Princess could not fly back to Paris
through the air. To take her out of a house filled with people, to pierce
or scale the walls of the city, to arrange her journey by ordinary means,
and to protect the whole route by stations of cavalry, reaching from
Brussels to the frontier, and to do all this in profound secrecy, was
equally impossible. Such a scheme had never been arranged nor even
imagined, he said. The true plotter was Conde, aided by ministers in
Flanders hostile to France, and as the honour of the King and the
reputation of the Princess had been injured by this scandal, the
Ambassador loudly demanded a thorough investigation of the affair in
order that vengeance might fall where it was due.

The prudent Albert was equal to the occasion. Not wishing to state the
full knowledge which he possessed of de Coeuvres' agency and the King's
complicity in the scheme of abduction to France, he reasoned calmly with
the excited marquis, while his colleague looked and listened in dumb
amazement, having previously been more vociferous and infinitely more
sincere than his colleague in expressions of indignation.

The Archduke said that he had not thought the plot imputed to the King
and his ambassador very probable. Nevertheless, the assertions of the
Prince had been so positive as to make it impossible to refuse the guards
requested by him. He trusted, however, that the truth would soon be
known, and that it would leave no stain on the Princess, nor give any
offence to the King.

Surprised and indignant at the turn given to the adventure by the French
envoys, he nevertheless took care to conceal these sentiments, to abstain
from accusation, and calmly to inform them that the Princess next morning
would be established under his own roof; and enjoy the protection of the
Archduchess.

For it had been arranged several days before that Margaret should leave
the palace of Nassau for that of Albert and Isabella on the 14th, and the
abduction had been fixed for the night of the 13th precisely because the
conspirators wished to profit by the confusion incident on a change of
domicile.

The irrepressible de Coeuvres, even then hardly willing to give up the
whole stratagem as lost, was at least determined to discover how and by
whom the plot had been revealed. In a cemetery piled three feet deep with
snow on the evening following that mid-winter's night which had been
fixed for the Princess's flight, the unfortunate ambassador waited until
a certain Vallobre, a gentleman of Spinola's, who was the go-between of
the enamoured Genoese and the Princess, but whom de Coeuvres had gained
over, came at last to meet him by appointment. When he arrived, it was
only to inform him of the manner in which he had been baffled, to
convince him that the game was up, and that nothing was left him but to
retreat utterly foiled in his attempt, and to be stigmatized as a
blockhead by his enraged sovereign.

Next day the Princess removed her residence to the palace of the
Archdukes, where she was treated with distinguished honour by Isabella,
and installed ceremoniously in the most stately, the most virtuous, and
the most dismal of courts. Her father and aunt professed themselves as
highly pleased with the result, and Pecquius wrote that "they were glad
to know her safe from the importunities of the old fop who seemed as mad
as if he had been stung by a tarantula."

And how had the plot been revealed? Simply through the incorrigible
garrulity of the King himself. Apprised of the arrangement in all its
details by the Constable, who had first received the special couriers of
de Coeuvres, he could not keep the secret to himself for a moment, and
the person of all others in the world to whom he thought good to confide
it was the Queen herself. She received the information with a smile, but
straightway sent for the Nuncius Ubaldini, who at her desire instantly
despatched a special courier to Spinola with full particulars of the time
and mode of the proposed abduction.

Nevertheless the ingenuous Henry, confiding in the capacity of his deeply
offended queen to keep the secret which he had himself divulged, could
scarcely contain himself for joy.

Off he went to Saint-Germain with a train of coaches, impatient to get
the first news from de Coeuvres after the scheme should have been carried
into effect, and intending to travel post towards Flanders to meet and
welcome the Princess.

"Pleasant farce for Shrove Tuesday," wrote the secretary of Pecquius, "is
that which the Frenchmen have been arranging down there! He in whose
favour the abduction is to be made was seen going out the same day
spangled and smart, contrary to his usual fashion, making a gambado
towards Saint-Germain-en-Laye with four carriages and four to meet the
nymph."

Great was the King's wrath and mortification at this ridiculous exposure
of his detestable scheme. Vociferous were Villeroy's expressions of
Henry's indignation at being supposed to have had any knowledge of or
complicity in the affair. "His Majesty cannot approve of the means one
has taken to guard against a pretended plot for carrying off the
Princess," said the Secretary of State; "a fear which was simulated by
the Prince in order to defame the King." He added that there was no
reason to suspect the King, as he had never attempted anything of the
sort in his life, and that the Archduke might have removed the Princess
to his palace without sending an army to the hotel of the Prince of
Orange, and causing such an alarm in the city, firing artillery on the
rampart as if the town had been full of Frenchmen in arms, whereas one
was ashamed next morning to find that there had been but fifteen in all.
"But it was all Marquis Spinola's fault," he said, "who wished to show
himself off as a warrior."

The King, having thus through the mouth of his secretary of state warmly
protested against his supposed implication in the attempted abduction,
began as furiously to rail at de Coeuvres for its failure; telling the
Duc de Vendome that his uncle was an idiot, and writing that unlucky
envoy most abusive letters for blundering in the scheme which had been so
well concerted between them. Then he sent for Malherbe, who straightway
perpetrated more poems to express the King's despair, in which Henry was
made to liken himself to a skeleton with a dried skin, and likewise to a
violet turned up by the ploughshare and left to wither.

He kept up through Madame de Berny a correspondence with "his beautiful
angel," as he called the Princess, whom he chose to consider a prisoner
and a victim; while she, wearied to death with the frigid monotony and
sepulchral gaieties of the archiducal court, which she openly called her
"dungeon" diverted herself with the freaks and fantasies of her royal
adorer, called him in very ill-spelled letters "her chevalier, her heart,
her all the world," and frequently wrote to beg him, at the suggestion of
the intriguing Chateau Vert, to devise some means of rescuing her from
prison.

The Constable and Duchess meanwhile affected to be sufficiently satisfied
with the state of things. Conde, however, received a letter from the
King, formally summoning him to return to France, and, in case of
refusal, declaring him guilty of high-treason for leaving the kingdom
without the leave and against the express commands of the King. To this
letter, brought to him by de Coeuvres, the Prince replied by a paper,
drawn up and served by a notary of Brussels, to the effect that he had
left France to save his life and honour; that he was ready to return when
guarantees were given him for the security of both. He would live and
die, he said, faithful to the King. But when the King, departing from the
paths of justice, proceeded through those of violence against him, he
maintained that every such act against his person was null and invalid.
Henry had even the incredible meanness and folly to request the Queen to
write to the Archdukes, begging that the Princess might be restored to
assist at her coronation. Mary de' Medici vigorously replied once more
that, although obliged to wink at the King's amours, she declined to be
his procuress. Conde then went off to Milan very soon after the scene at
the Nassau Palace and the removal of the Princess to the care of the
Archdukes. He was very angry with his wife, from whom he expressed a
determination to be divorced, and furious with the King, the validity of
whose second marriage and the legitimacy of whose children he proposed
with Spanish help to dispute.

The Constable was in favour of the divorce, or pretended to be so, and
caused importunate letters to be written, which he signed, to both Albert
and Isabella, begging that his daughter might be restored to him to be
the staff of his old age, and likewise to be present at the Queen's
coronation. The Archdukes, however, resolutely refused to permit her to
leave their protection without Conde's consent, or until after a divorce
had been effected, notwithstanding that the father and aunt demanded it.
The Constable and Duchess however, acquiesced in the decision, and
expressed immense gratitude to Isabella.

"The father and aunt have been talking to Pecquius," said Henry very
dismally; "but they give me much pain. They are even colder than the
season, but my fire thaws them as soon as I approach."

"P. S.--I am so pining away in my anguish that I am nothing but skin and
bones. Nothing gives me pleasure. I fly from company, and if in order to
comply with the law of nations I go into some assembly or other, instead
of enlivening, it nearly kills me."--[Lettres missives de Henri vii.
834].

And the King took to his bed. Whether from gout, fever, or the pangs of
disappointed love, he became seriously ill. Furious with every one, with
Conde, the Constable, de Coeuvres, the Queen, Spinola, with the Prince of
Orange, whose councillor Keeremans had been encouraging Conde in his
rebellion and in going to Spain with Spinola, he was now resolved that
tho war should go on. Aerssens, cautious of saying too much on paper of
this very delicate affair, always intimated to Barneveld that, if the
Princess could be restored, peace was still possible, and that by moving
an inch ahead of the King in the Cleve matter the States at the last
moment might be left in the lurch. He distinctly told the Advocate, on
his expressing a hope that Henry might consent to the Prince's residence
in some neutral place until a reconciliation could be effected, that the
pinch of the matter was not there, and that van der Myle, who knew all
about it, could easily explain it.

Alluding to the project of reviving the process against the Dowager, and
of divorcing the Prince and Princess, he said these steps would do much
harm, as they would too much justify the true cause of the retreat of the
Prince, who was not believed when he merely talked of his right of
primogeniture: "The matter weighs upon us very heavily," he said, "but
the trouble is that we don't search for the true remedies. The matter is
so delicate that I don't dare to discuss it to the very bottom."

The Ambassador had a long interview with the King as he lay in his bed
feverish and excited. He was more impatient than ever for the arrival of
the States' special embassy, reluctantly acquiesced in the reasons
assigned for the delay, but trusted that it would arrive soon with
Barneveld at the head, and with Count Lewis William as a member for "the
sword part of it."

He railed at the Prince of Orange, not believing that Keeremans would
have dared to do what he had done but with the orders of his master. He
said that the King of Spain would supply Conde with money and with
everything he wanted, knowing that he could make use of him to trouble
his kingdom. It was strange, he thought, that Philip should venture to
these extremities with his affairs in such condition, and when he had so
much need of repose. He recalled all his ancient grievances against
Spain, his rights to the Kingdom of Navarre and the County of St. Pol
violated; the conspiracy of Biron, the intrigues of Bouillon, the plots
of the Count of Auvergne and the Marchioness of Verneuil, the treason of
Meragne, the corruption of L'Hoste, and an infinity of other plots of the
King and his ministers; of deep injuries to him and to the public repose,
not to be tolerated by a mighty king like himself, with a grey beard. He
would be revenged, he said, for this last blow, and so for all the rest.
He would not leave a troublesome war on the hands of his young son. The
occasion was favourable. It was just to defend the oppressed princes with
the promptly accorded assistance of the States-General. The King of Great
Britain was favourable. The Duke of Savoy was pledged. It was better to
begin the war in his green old age than to wait the pleasure and
opportunity of the King of Spain.

All this he said while racked with fever, and dismissed the Envoy at
last, after a long interview, with these words: "Mr. Ambassador--I have
always spoken roundly and frankly to you, and you will one day be my
witness that I have done all that I could to draw the Prince out of the
plight into which he has put himself. But he is struggling for the
succession to this crown under instructions from the Spaniards, to whom
he has entirely pledged himself. He has already received 6000 crowns for
his equipment. I know that you and my other friends will work for the
conservation of this monarchy, and will never abandon me in my designs to
weaken the power of Spain. Pray God for my health."

The King kept his bed a few days afterwards, but soon recovered. Villeroy
sent word to Barneveld in answer to his suggestions of reconciliation
that it was too late, that Conde was entirely desperate and Spanish. The
crown of France was at stake, he said, and the Prince was promising
himself miracles and mountains with the aid of Spain, loudly declaring
the marriage of Mary de' Medici illegal, and himself heir to the throne.
The Secretary of State professed himself as impatient as his master for
the arrival of the embassy; the States being the best friends France ever
had and the only allies to make the war succeed.

Jeannin, who was now never called to the council, said that the war was
not for Germany but for Conde, and that Henry could carry it on for eight
years. He too was most anxious for Barneveld's arrival, and was of his
opinion that it would have been better for Conde to be persuaded to
remain at Breda and be supported by his brother-in-law, the Prince of
Orange. The impetuosity of the King had however swept everything before
it, and Conde had been driven to declare himself Spanish and a pretender
to the crown. There was no issue now but war.

Boderie, the King's envoy in Great Britain, wrote that James would be
willing to make a defensive league for the affairs of Cleve and Julich
only, which was the slenderest amount of assistance; but Henry always
suspected Master Jacques of intentions to baulk him if possible and
traverse his designs. But the die was cast. Spinola had carried off Conde
in triumph; the Princess was pining in her gilt cage in Brussels, and
demanding a divorce for desertion and cruel treatment; the King
considered himself as having done as much as honour allowed him to effect
a reconciliation, and it was obvious that, as the States' ambassador
said, he could no longer retire from the war without shame, which would
be the greatest danger of all.

"The tragedy is ready to begin," said Aerssens. "They are only waiting
now for the arrival of our ambassadors."

On the 9th March the King before going to Fontainebleau for a few days
summoned that envoy to the Louvre. Impatient at a slight delay in his
arrival, Henry came down into the courtyard as he was arriving and asked
eagerly if Barneveld was coming to Paris. Aerssens replied, that the
Advocate had been hastening as much as possible the departure of the
special embassy, but that the condition of affairs at home was such as
not to permit him to leave the country at that moment. Van der Myle, who
would be one of the ambassadors, would more fully explain this by word of
mouth.

The King manifested infinite annoyance and disappointment that Barneveld
was not to make part of the embassy. "He says that he reposes such
singular confidence in your authority in the state, experience in
affairs, and affection for himself," wrote Aerssens, "that he might treat
with you in detail and with open heart of all his designs. He fears now
that the ambassadors will be limited in their powers and instructions,
and unable to reply at once on the articles which at different times have
been proposed to me for our enterprise. Thus much valuable time will be
wasted in sending backwards and forwards."

The King also expressed great anxiety to consult with Count Lewis William
in regard to military details, but his chief sorrow was in regard to the
Advocate. "He acquiesced only with deep displeasure and regret in your
reasons," said the Ambassador, "and says that he can hope for nothing
firm now that you refuse to come."

Villeroy intimated that Barneveld did not come for fear of exciting the
jealousy of the English.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     He who spreads the snare always tumbles into the ditch himself
     Most detestable verses that even he had ever composed
     She declined to be his procuress



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

The Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v3, 1610



CHAPTER IV.

   Difficult Position of Barneveld--Insurrection at Utrecht subdued by
   the States' Army--Special Embassies to England and France--Anger of
   the King with Spain and the Archdukes--Arrangements of Henry for the
   coming War--Position of Spain--Anxiety of the King for the Presence
   of Barneveld in Paris--Arrival of the Dutch Commissioners in France
   and their brilliant Reception--Their Interview with the King and his
   Ministers--Negotiations--Delicate Position of the Dutch Government--
   India Trade--Simon Danzer, the Corsair--Conversations of Henry with
   the Dutch Commissioners--Letter of the King to Archduke Albert--
   Preparations for the Queen's Coronation, and of Henry to open the
   Campaign in person--Perplexities of Henry--Forebodings and Warnings
   --The Murder accomplished--Terrible Change in France--Triumph of
   Concini and of Spain--Downfall of Sully--Disputes of the Grandees
   among themselves--Special Mission of Condelence from the Republic--
   Conference on the great Enterprise--Departure of van der Myle from
   Paris.

There were reasons enough why the Advocate could not go to Paris at this
juncture. It was absurd in Henry to suppose it possible. Everything
rested on Barneveld's shoulders. During the year which had just passed he
had drawn almost every paper, every instruction in regard to the peace
negotiations, with his own hand, had assisted at every conference, guided
and mastered the whole course of a most difficult and intricate
negotiation, in which he had not only been obliged to make allowance for
the humbled pride and baffled ambition of the ancient foe of the
Netherlands, but to steer clear of the innumerable jealousies,
susceptibilities, cavillings, and insolences of their patronizing
friends.

It was his brain that worked, his tongue that spoke, his restless pen
that never paused. His was not one of those easy posts, not unknown in
the modern administration of great affairs, where the subordinate
furnishes the intellect, the industry, the experience, while the bland
superior, gratifying the world with his sign-manual, appropriates the
applause. So long as he lived and worked, the States-General and the
States of Holland were like a cunningly contrived machine, which seemed
to be alive because one invisible but mighty mind vitalized the whole.

And there had been enough to do. It was not until midsummer of 1609 that
the ratifications of the Treaty of Truce, one of the great triumphs in
the history of diplomacy, had been exchanged, and scarcely had this
period been put to the eternal clang of arms when the death of a lunatic
threw the world once more into confusion. It was obvious to Barneveld
that the issue of the Cleve-Julich affair, and of the tremendous
religious fermentation in Bohemia, Moravia, and Austria, must sooner or
later lead to an immense war. It was inevitable that it would devolve
upon the States to sustain their great though vacillating, their generous
though encroaching, their sincere though most irritating, ally. And yet,
thoroughly as Barneveld had mastered all the complications and
perplexities of the religious and political question, carefully as he had
calculated the value of the opposing forces which were shaking
Christendom, deeply as he had studied the characters of Matthias and
Rudolph, of Charles of Denmark and Ferdinand of Graz, of Anhalt and
Maximilian, of Brandenburg and Neuburg, of James and Philip, of Paul V.
and Charles Emmanuel, of Sully and Yilleroy, of Salisbury and Bacon, of
Lerma and Infantado; adroitly as he could measure, weigh, and analyse all
these elements in the great problem which was forcing itself on the
attention of Europe--there was one factor with which it was difficult for
this austere republican, this cold, unsusceptible statesman, to deal: the
intense and imperious passion of a greybeard for a woman of sixteen.

For out of the cauldron where the miscellaneous elements of universal war
were bubbling rose perpetually the fantastic image of Margaret
Montmorency: the fatal beauty at whose caprice the heroic sword of Ivry
and Cahors was now uplifted and now sheathed.

Aerssens was baffled, and reported the humours of the court where he
resided as changing from hour to hour. To the last he reported that all
the mighty preparations then nearly completed "might evaporate in smoke"
if the Princess of Conde should come back. Every ambassador in Paris was
baffled. Peter Pecquius was as much in the dark as Don Inigo de Cardenas,
as Ubaldini or Edmonds. No one save Sully, Aerssens, Barneveld, and the
King knew the extensive arrangements and profound combinations which had
been made for the war. Yet not Sully, Aerssens, Barneveld, or the King,
knew whether or not the war would really be made.

Barneveld had to deal with this perplexing question day by day. His
correspondence with his ambassador at Henry's court was enormous, and we
have seen that the Ambassador was with the King almost daily; sleeping or
waking; at dinner or the chase; in the cabinet or the courtyard.

But the Advocate was also obliged to carry in his arms, as it were, the
brood of snarling, bickering, cross-grained German princes, to supply
them with money, with arms, with counsel, with brains; to keep them awake
when they went to sleep, to steady them in their track, to teach them to
go alone. He had the congress at Hall in Suabia to supervise and direct;
he had to see that the ambassadors of the new republic, upon which they
in reality were already half dependent and chafing at their dependence,
were treated with the consideration due to the proud position which the
Commonwealth had gained. Questions of etiquette were at that moment
questions of vitality. He instructed his ambassadors to leave the
congress on the spot if they were ranked after the envoys of princes who
were only feudatories of the Emperor. The Dutch ambassadors, "recognising
and relying upon no superiors but God and their sword," placed themselves
according to seniority with the representatives of proudest kings.

He had to extemporize a system of free international communication with
all the powers of the earth--with the Turk at Constantinople, with the
Czar of Muscovy; with the potentates of the Baltic, with both the Indies.
The routine of a long established and well organized foreign office in a
time-honoured state running in grooves; with well-balanced springs and
well oiled wheels, may be a luxury of civilization; but it was a more
arduous task to transact the greatest affairs of a state springing
suddenly into recognized existence and mainly dependent for its primary
construction and practical working on the hand of one man.

Worse than all, he had to deal on the most dangerous and delicate topics
of state with a prince who trembled at danger and was incapable of
delicacy; to show respect for a character that was despicable, to lean on
a royal word falser than water, to inhale almost daily the effluvia from
a court compared to which the harem of Henry was a temple of vestals. The
spectacle of the slobbering James among his Kars and Hays and Villiers's
and other minions is one at which history covers her eyes and is dumb;
but the republican envoys, with instructions from a Barneveld, were
obliged to face him daily, concealing their disgust, and bowing
reverentially before him as one of the arbiters of their destinies and
the Solomon of his epoch.

A special embassy was sent early in the year to England to convey the
solemn thanks of the Republic to the King for his assistance in the truce
negotiations, and to treat of the important matters then pressing on the
attention of both powers. Contemporaneously was to be despatched the
embassy for which Henry was waiting so impatiently at Paris.

Certainly the Advocate had enough with this and other, important business
already mentioned to detain him at his post. Moreover the first year of
peace had opened disastrously in the Netherlands. Tremendous tempests
such as had rarely been recorded even in that land of storms had raged
all the winter. The waters everywhere had burst their dykes and
inundations, which threatened to engulph the whole country, and which had
caused enormous loss of property and even of life, were alarming the most
courageous. It was difficult in many district to collect the taxes for
the every-day expenses of the community, and yet the Advocate knew that
the Republic would soon be forced to renew the war on a prodigious scale.

Still more to embarrass the action of the government and perplex its
statesmen, an alarming and dangerous insurrection broke out in Utrecht.

In that ancient seat of the hard-fighting, imperious, and opulent
sovereign archbishops of the ancient church an important portion of the
population had remained Catholic. Another portion complained of the
abolition of various privileges which they had formerly enjoyed; among
others that of a monopoly of beer-brewing for the province. All the
population, as is the case with all populations in all countries and all
epochs, complained of excessive taxation.

A clever politician, Dirk Kanter by name, a gentleman by birth, a scholar
and philosopher by pursuit and education, and a demagogue by profession,
saw an opportunity of taking an advantage of this state of things. More
than twenty years before he had been burgomaster of the city, and had
much enjoyed himself in that position. He was tired of the learned
leisure to which the ingratitude of his fellow-citizens had condemned
him. He seems to have been of easy virtue in the matter of religion, a
Catholic, an Arminian, an ultra orthodox Contra-Remonstrant by turns. He
now persuaded a number of determined partisans that the time had come for
securing a church for the public worship of the ancient faith, and at the
same time for restoring the beer brewery, reducing the taxes, recovering
lost privileges, and many other good things. Beneath the whole scheme lay
a deep design to effect the secession of the city and with it of the
opulent and important province of Utrecht from the Union. Kanter had been
heard openly to avow that after all the Netherlands had flourished under
the benign sway of the House of Burgundy, and that the time would soon
come for returning to that enviable condition.

By a concerted assault the city hall was taken possession of by main
force, the magistracy was overpowered, and a new board of senators and
common council-men appointed, Kanter and a devoted friend of his,
Heldingen by name, being elected burgomasters.

The States-Provincial of Utrecht, alarmed at these proceedings in the
city, appealed for protection against violence to the States-General
under the 3rd Article of the Union, the fundamental pact which bore the
name of Utrecht itself. Prince Maurice proceeded to the city at the head
of a detachment of troops to quell the tumults. Kanter and his friends
were plausible enough to persuade him of the legality and propriety of
the revolution which they had effected, and to procure his formal
confirmation of the new magistracy. Intending to turn his military genius
and the splendour of his name to account, they contrived to keep him for
a time at least in an amiable enthralment, and induced him to contemplate
in their interest the possibility of renouncing the oath which subjected
him to the authority of the States of Utrecht. But the far-seeing eye of
Barneveld could not be blind to the danger which at this crisis beset the
Stadholder and the whole republic. The Prince was induced to return to
the Hague, but the city continued by armed revolt to maintain the new
magistracy. They proceeded to reduce the taxes, and in other respects to
carry out the measures on the promise of which they had come into power.
Especially the Catholic party sustained Kanter and his friends, and
promised themselves from him and from his influence over Prince Maurice
to obtain a power of which they had long been deprived.

The States-General now held an assembly at Woerden, and summoned the
malcontents of Utrecht to bring before that body a statement of their
grievances. This was done, but there was no satisfactory arrangement
possible, and the deputation returned to Utrecht, the States-General to
the Hague. The States-Provincial of Utrecht urged more strongly than ever
upon the assembly of the Union to save the city from the hands of a
reckless and revolutionary government. The States-General resolved
accordingly to interfere by force. A considerable body of troops was
ordered to march at once upon Utrecht and besiege the city. Maurice, in
his capacity of captain-general and stadholder of the province, was
summoned to take charge of the army. He was indisposed to do so, and
pleaded sickness. The States, determined that the name of Nassau should
not be used as an encouragement to disobedience, and rebellion, then
directed the brother of Maurice, Frederic Henry, youngest son of William
the Silent, to assume the command. Maurice insisted that his brother was
too young, and that it was unjust to allow so grave a responsibility to
fall upon his shoulders. The States, not particularly pleased with the
Prince's attitude at this alarming juncture, and made anxious by the
glamour which seemed to possess him since his conferences with the
revolutionary party at Utrecht, determined not to yield.

The army marched forth and laid siege to the city, Prince Frederic Henry
at its head. He was sternly instructed by the States-General, under whose
orders he acted, to take possession of the city at all hazards. He was to
insist on placing there a garrison of 2000 foot and 300 horse, and to
permit not another armed man within the walls. The members of the council
of state and of the States of Utrecht accompanied the army. For a moment
the party in power was disposed to resist the forces of the Union. Dick
Kanter and his friends were resolute enough; the Catholic priests turned
out among the rest with their spades and worked on the entrenchments. The
impossibility of holding the city against the overwhelming power of the
States was soon obvious, and the next day the gates were opened, and easy
terms were granted. The new magistracy was set aside, the old board that
had been deposed by the rebels reinstated. The revolution and the
counterrevolution were alike bloodless, and it was determined that the
various grievances of which the discontented party had complained should
be referred to the States-General, to Prince Maurice, to the council of
state, and to the ambassadors of France and England. Amnesty was likewise
decreed on submission.

The restored government was Arminian in its inclinations, the
revolutionary one was singularly compounded both of Catholic and of
ultra-orthodox elements. Quiet was on the whole restored, but the
resources of the city were crippled. The event occurring exactly at the
crisis of the Clove and Julich expedition angered the King of France.

"The trouble of Utrecht," wrote Aerssens to Barneveld, "has been turned
to account here marvellously, the Archdukes and Spaniards boasting that
many more revolts like this may be at once expected. I have explained to
his Majesty, who has been very much alarmed about it, both its source and
the hopes that it will be appeased by the prudence of his Excellency
Prince Maurice and the deputies of the States. The King desires that
everything should be pacified as soon as possible, so that there may be
no embarrassment to the course of public affairs. But he fears, he tells
me, that this may create some new jealousy between Prince Maurice and
yourself. I don't comprehend what he means, although he held this
language to me very expressly and without reserve. I could only answer
that you were living on the best of terms together in perfect amity and
intelligence. If you know if this talk of his has any other root, please
to enlighten me, that I may put a stop to false reports, for I know
nothing of affairs except what you tell me."

King James, on the other hand, thoroughly approved the promptness of the
States-General in suppressing the tumult.

Nothing very serious of alike nature occurred in Utrecht until the end of
the year, when a determined and secret conspiracy was discovered, having
for its object to overpower the garrison and get bodily possession of
Colonel John Ogle, the military commander of the town. At the bottom of
the movement were the indefatigable Dirk Kanter and his friend Heldingen.
The attempt was easily suppressed, and the two were banished from the
town. Kanter died subsequently in North Holland, in the odour of
ultra-orthodoxy. Four of the conspirators--a post-master, two shoemakers,
and a sexton, who had bound themselves by oath to take the lives of two
eminent Arminian preachers, besides other desperate deeds--were condemned
to death, but pardoned on the scaffold. Thus ended the first revolution
at Utrecht.

Its effect did not cease, however, with the tumults which were its
original manifestations. This earliest insurrection in organized shape
against the central authority of the States-General; this violent though
abortive effort to dissolve the Union and to nullify its laws; this
painful necessity for the first time imposed upon the federal government
to take up arms against misguided citizens of the Republic, in order to
save itself from disintegration and national death, were destined to be
followed by far graver convulsions on the self-same spot. Religious
differences and religious hatreds were to mingle their poison with
antagonistic political theories and personal ambitions, and to develop on
a wide scale the danger ever lurking in a constitution whose fundamental
law was unstable, ill defined, and liable to contradictory
interpretations. For the present it need only be noticed that the
States-General, guided by Barneveld, most vigorously suppressed the local
revolt and the incipient secession, while Prince Maurice, the right arm
of the executive, the stadholder of the province, and the representative
of the military power of the Commonwealth, was languid in the exertion of
that power, inclined to listen to the specious arguments of the Utrecht
rebels, and accused at least of tampering with the fell spirit which the
Advocate was resolute to destroy. Yet there was no suspicion of treason,
no taint of rebellion, no accusation of unpatriotic motives uttered
against the Stadholder.

There was a doubt as to the true maxims by which the Confederacy was to
be governed, and at this moment, certainly, the Prince and the Advocate
represented opposite ideas. There was a possibility, at a future day,
when the religious and political parties might develop themselves on a
wider scale and the struggles grow fiercer, that the two great champions
in the conflict might exchange swords and inflict mutual and poisoned
wounds. At present the party of the Union had triumphed, with Barneveld
at its head. At a later but not far distant day, similar scenes might be
enacted in the ancient city of Utrecht, but with a strange difference and
change in the cast of parts and with far more tragical results.

For the moment the moderate party in the Church, those more inclined to
Arminianism and the supremacy of the civil authority in religious
matters, had asserted their ascendency in the States-General, and had
prevented the threatened rupture.

Meantime it was doubly necessary to hasten the special embassies to
France and to England, in both which countries much anxiety as to the
political health and strength of the new republic had been excited by
these troubles in Utrecht. It was important for the States-General to
show that they were not crippled, and would not shrink from the coming
conflict, but would justify the reliance placed on them by their allies.

Thus there were reasons enough why Barneveld could not himself leave the
country in the eventful spring of 1610. It must be admitted, however,
that he was not backward in placing his nearest relatives in places of
honour, trust, and profit.

His eldest son Reinier, Seignior of Groeneveld, had been knighted by
Henry IV.; his youngest, William, afterwards called Seignior of
Stoutenburg, but at this moment bearing the not very mellifluous title of
Craimgepolder, was a gentleman-in-waiting at that king's court, with a
salary of 3000 crowns a year. He was rather a favourite with the
easy-going monarch, but he gave infinite trouble to the Dutch ambassador
Aerssens, who, feeling himself under immense obligations to the Advocate
and professing for him boundless gratitude, did his best to keep the
idle, turbulent, extravagant, and pleasure-loving youth up to the strict
line of his duties.

"Your son is in debt again," wrote Aerssens, on one occasion, "and
troubled for money. He is in danger of going to the usurers. He says he
cannot keep himself for less than 200 crowns a month. This is a large
allowance, but he has spent much more than that. His life is not
irregular nor his dress remarkably extravagant. His difficulty is that he
will not dine regularly with me nor at court. He will keep his own table
and have company to dinner. That is what is ruining him. He comes
sometimes to me, not for the dinner nor the company, but for tennis,
which he finds better in my faubourg than in town. His trouble comes from
the table, and I tell you frankly that you must regulate his expenses or
they will become very onerous to you. I am ashamed of them and have told
him so a hundred times, more than if he had been my own brother. It is
all for love of you . . . . I have been all to him that could be expected
of a man who is under such vast obligations to you; and I so much esteem
the honour of your friendship that I should always neglect my private
affairs in order to do everything for your service and meet your desires
. . . . . If M. de Craimgepolder comes back from his visit home, you must
restrict him in two things, the table and tennis, and you can do this if
you require him to follow the King assiduously as his service requires."

Something at a future day was to be heard of William of Barneveld, as
well as of his elder brother Reinier, and it is good, therefore, to have
these occasional glimpses of him while in the service of the King and
under the supervision of one who was then his father's devoted friend,
Francis Aerssens. There were to be extraordinary and tragical changes in
the relations of parties and of individuals ere many years should go by.

Besides the sons of the Advocate, his two sons-in-law, Brederode,
Seignior of Veenhuizep, and Cornelis van der Myle, were constantly
employed? in important embassies. Van der Myle had been the first
ambassador to the great Venetian republic, and was now placed at the head
of the embassy to France, an office which it was impossible at that
moment for the Advocate to discharge. At the same critical moment
Barneveld's brother Elias, Pensionary of Rotterdam, was appointed one of
the special high commissioners to the King of Great Britain.

It is necessary to give an account of this embassy.

They were provided with luminous and minute instructions from the hand of
the Advocate.

They were, in the first place, and ostensibly, to thank the King for his
services in bringing about the truce, which, truly, had been of the
slightest, as was very well known. They were to explain, on the part of
the States, their delay in sending this solemn commission, caused by the
tardiness of the King of Spain in sending his ratification to the treaty,
and by the many disputations caused by the irresolutions of the Archdukes
and the obstinacy of their commissioners in regard to their many
contraventions of the treaty. After those commissioners had gone, further
hindrances had been found in the "extraordinary tempests, high floods,
rising of the waters, both of the ocean and the rivers, and the very
disastrous inundations throughout nearly all the United Provinces, with
the immense and exorbitant damage thus inflicted, both on the public and
on many individuals; in addition to all which were to be mentioned the
troubles in the city of Utrecht."

They were, in almost hyperbolical language, directed to express the
eternal gratitude of the States for the constant favours received by them
from the crown of England, and their readiness to stand forth at any
moment with sincere affection and to the utmost of their power, at all
times and seasons, in resistance of any attempts against his Majesty's
person or crown, or against the Prince of Wales or the royal family. They
were to thank him for his "prudent, heroic, and courageous resolve to
suffer nothing to be done under colour of justice, authority, or any
other pretext, to the hindrance of the Elector of Brandenburg and
Palatine of Neuburg, in the maintenance of their lawful rights and
possession of the principalities of Julich, Cleve, and Berg, and other
provinces."

By this course his Majesty, so the commissioners were to state, would put
an end to the imaginations of those who thought they could give the law
to everybody according to their pleasure.

They were to assure the King that the States-General would exert
themselves to the utmost to second his heroic resolution, notwithstanding
the enormous burthens of their everlasting war, the very exorbitant
damage caused by the inundations, and the sensible diminution in the
contributions and other embarrassments then existing in the country.

They were to offer 2000 foot and 500 horse for the general purpose under
Prince Henry of Nassau, besides the succours furnished by the King of
France and the electors and princes of Germany. Further assistance in
men, artillery, and supplies were promised under certain contingencies,
and the plan of the campaign on the Meuse in conjunction with the King of
France was duly mapped.

They were to request a corresponding promise of men and money from the
King of Great Britain, and they were to propose for his approval a closer
convention for mutual assistance between his Majesty, the United
Netherlands, the King of France, the electors and princes and other
powers of Germany; as such close union would be very beneficial to all
Christendom. It would put a stop to all unjust occupations, attempts, and
intrigues, and if the King was thereto inclined, he was requested to
indicate time and place for making such a convention.

The commissioners were further to point out the various contraventions on
the part of the Archdukes of the Treaty of Truce, and were to give an
exposition of the manner in which the States-General had quelled the
tumults at Utrecht, and reasons why such a course had of necessity been
adopted.

They were instructed to state that, "over and above the great expenses of
the late war and the necessary maintenance of military forces to protect
their frontiers against their suspected new friends or old enemies, the
Provinces were burthened with the cost of the succour to the Elector of
Brandenburg and Palatine of Neuburg, and would be therefore incapable of
furnishing the payments coming due to his Majesty. They were accordingly
to sound his Majesty as to whether a good part of the debt might not be
remitted or at least an arrangement made by which the terms should begin
to run only after a certain number of years."

They were also directed to open the subject of the fisheries on the
coasts of Great Britain, and to remonstrate against the order lately
published by the King forbidding all foreigners from fishing on those
coasts. This was to be set forth as an infringement both of natural law
and of ancient treaties, and as a source of infinite danger to the
inhabitants of the United Provinces.

The Seignior of Warmond, chief of the commission, died on the 15th April.
His colleagues met at Brielle on the 16th, ready to take passage to
England in the ship of war, the Hound. They were, however, detained there
six days by head winds and great storms, and it was not until the 22nd
that they were able to put to sea. The following evening their ship cast
anchor in Gravesend. Half an hour before, the Duke of Wurtemberg had
arrived from Flushing in a ship of war brought from France by the Prince
of Anhalt.

Sir Lewis Lewkener, master of ceremonies, had been waiting for the
ambassadors at Gravesend, and informed them that the royal barges were to
come next morning from London to take them to town. They remained that
night on board the Hound, and next morning, the wind blowing up the
river, they proceeded in their ship as far as Blackwall, where they were
formally received and bade welcome in the name of the King by Sir Thomas
Cornwallis and Sir George Carew, late ambassador in France. Escorted by
them and Sir Lewis, they were brought in the court barges to Tower Wharf.
Here the royal coaches were waiting, in which they were taken to lodgings
provided for them in the city at the house of a Dutch merchant. Noel de
Caron, Seignior of Schonewal, resident ambassador of the States in
London, was likewise there to greet them. This was Saturday night: On the
following Tuesday they went by appointment to the Palace of Whitehall in
royal carriages for their first audience. Manifestations of as entire
respect and courtesy had thus been made to the Republican envoys as could
be shown to the ambassadors of the greatest sovereigns. They found the
King seated on his throne in the audience chamber, accompanied by the
Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, the Lord High Treasurer and Lord High
Admiral, the Duke of Lenox, the Earls of Arundel and Northampton, and
many other great nobles and dignitaries. James rose from his seat, took
off his hat, and advanced several paces to meet the ambassadors, and bade
them courteously and respectfully welcome. He then expressed his regret
at the death of the Seignior of Warmond, and after the exchange of a few
commonplaces listened, still with uncovered head, to the opening address.

The spokesman, after thanking the King for his condolences on the death
of the chief commissioner, whom, as was stated with whimsical simplicity,
"the good God had called to Himself after all his luggage had been put on
board ship," proceeded in the French language to give a somewhat
abbreviated paraphrase of Barneveld's instructions.

When this was done and intimation made that they would confer more fully
with his Majesty's council on the subjects committed to their charge, the
ambassadors were conducted home with the same ceremonies as had
accompanied their arrival. They received the same day the first visit
from the ambassadors of France and Venice, Boderie and Carrero, and had a
long conference a few days afterwards with the High Treasurer, Lord
Salisbury.

On the 3rd May they were invited to attend the pompous celebration of the
festival of St. George in the palace at Westminster, where they were
placed together with the French ambassador in the King's oratorium; the
Dukes of Wurtemberg and Brunswick being in that of the Queen.

These details are especially to be noted, and were at the moment of
considerable importance, for this was the first solemn and extraordinary
embassy sent by the rebel Netherlanders, since their independent national
existence had been formally vindicated, to Great Britain, a power which a
quarter of a century before had refused the proffered sovereignty over
them. Placed now on exactly the same level with the representatives of
emperors and kings, the Republican envoys found themselves looked upon by
the world with different eyes from those which had regarded their
predecessors askance, and almost with derision, only seven years before.
At that epoch the States' commissioners, Barneveld himself at the head of
them, had gone solemnly to congratulate King James on his accession, had
scarcely been admitted to audience by king or minister, and had found
themselves on great festivals unsprinkled with the holy water of the
court, and of no more account than the crowd of citizens and spectators
who thronged the streets, gazing with awe at the distant radiance of the
throne.

But although the ambassadors were treated with every external
consideration befitting their official rank, they were not likely to find
themselves in the most genial atmosphere when they should come to
business details. If there was one thing in the world that James did not
intend to do, it was to get himself entangled in war with Spain, the
power of all others which he most revered and loved. His "heroic and
courageous resolve" to defend the princes, on which the commissioners by
instructions of the Advocate had so highly complimented him, was not
strong enough to carry him much beyond a vigorous phraseology. He had not
awoke from the delusive dream of the Spanish marriage which had
dexterously been made to flit before him, and he was not inclined, for
the sake of the Republic which he hated the more because obliged to be
one of its sponsors, to risk the animosity of a great power which
entertained the most profound contempt for him. He was destined to find
himself involved more closely than he liked, and through family ties,
with the great Protestant movement in Germany, and the unfortunate
"Winter King" might one day find his father-in-law as unstable a reed to
lean upon as the States had found their godfather, or the Brandenburgs
and Neuburgs at the present juncture their great ally. Meantime, as the
Bohemian troubles had not yet reached the period of actual explosion, and
as Henry's wide-reaching plan against the House of Austria had been
strangely enough kept an inviolable secret by the few statesmen, like
Sully and Barneveld, to whom they had been confided, it was necessary for
the King and his ministers to deal cautiously and plausibly with the
Dutch ambassadors. Their conferences were mere dancing among eggs, and if
no actual mischief were done, it was the best result that could be
expected.

On the 8th of May, the commissioners met in the council chamber at
Westminster, and discussed all the matters contained in their
instructions with the members of the council; the Lord Treasurer
Salisbury, Earl of Northampton, Privy Seal and Warden of the Cinque
Ports, Lord Nottingham, Lord High Admiral, the Lord Chamberlain, Earl of
Suffolk, Earls of Shrewsbury, Worcester, and several others being
present.

The result was not entirely satisfactory. In regard to the succour
demanded for the possessory princes, the commissioners were told that
they seemed to come with a long narrative of their great burthens during
the war, damage from inundations, and the like, to excuse themselves from
doing their share in the succour, and thus the more to overload his
Majesty, who was not much interested in the matter, and was likewise
greatly encumbered by various expenses. The King had already frankly
declared his intention to assist the princes with the payment of 4000
men, and to send proportionate artillery and powder from England. As the
States had supplies in their magazines enough to move 12,000 men, he
proposed to draw upon those, reimbursing the States for what was thus
consumed by his contingent.

With regard to the treaty of close alliance between France, Great
Britain, the princes, and the Republic, which the ambassadors had
proposed, the--Lord Treasurer and his colleagues gave a reply far from
gratifying. His Majesty had not yet decided on this point, they said. The
King of France had already proposed to treat for such an alliance, but it
did not at present seem worth while for all to negotiate together.

This was a not over-courteous hint that the Republic was after all not
expected to place herself at the council-board of kings on even terms of
intimacy and fraternal alliance.

What followed was even less flattering. If his Majesty, it was intimated,
should decide to treat with the King of France, he would not shut the
door on their High Mightinesses; but his Majesty was not yet exactly
informed whether his Majesty had not certain rights over the provinces
'in petitorio.'

This was a scarcely veiled insinuation against the sovereignty of the
States, a sufficiently broad hint that they were to be considered in a
certain degree as British provinces. To a soldier like Maurice, to a
statesman like Barneveld, whose sympathies already were on the side of
France, such rebuffs and taunts were likely to prove unpalatable. The
restiveness of the States at the continual possession by Great Britain of
those important sea-ports the cautionary towns, a fact which gave colour
to these innuendoes, was sure to be increased by arrogant language on the
part of the English ministers. The determination to be rid of their debt
to so overbearing an ally, and to shake off the shackles imposed by the
costly mortgages, grew in strength from that hour.

In regard to the fisheries, the Lord Treasurer and his colleagues
expressed amazement that the ambassadors should consider the subjects of
their High Mightinesses to be so much beloved by his Majesty. Why should
they of all other people be made an exception of, and be exempt from, the
action of a general edict? The reasons for these orders in council ought
to be closely examined. It would be very difficult to bring the opinions
of the English jurists into harmony with those of the States. Meantime it
would be well to look up such treaties as might be in existence, and have
a special joint commission to confer together on the subject. It was very
plain, from the course of the conversation, that the Netherland fishermen
were not to be allowed, without paying roundly for a license, to catch
herrings on the British coasts as they had heretofore done.

Not much more of importance was transacted at this first interview
between the ambassadors and the Ding's ministers. Certainly they had not
yet succeeded in attaining their great object, the formation of an
alliance offensive and defensive between Great Britain and the Republic
in accordance with the plan concerted between Henry and Barneveld. They
could find but slender encouragement for the warlike plans to which
France and the States were secretly committed; nor could they obtain
satisfactory adjustment of affairs more pacific and commercial in their
tendencies. The English ministers rather petulantly remarked that, while
last year everybody was talking of a general peace, and in the present
conjuncture all seemed to think, or at least to speak, of nothing but a
general war, they thought best to defer consideration of the various
subjects connected with duties on the manufactures and products of the
respective countries, the navigation laws, the "entrecours," and other
matters of ancient agreement and controversy, until a more convenient
season.

After the termination of the verbal conference, the ambassadors delivered
to the King's government, in writing, to be pondered by the council and
recorded in the archives, a summary of the statements which had been thus
orally treated. The document was in French, and in the main a paraphrase
of the Advocate's instructions, the substance of which has been already
indicated. In regard, however, to the far-reaching designs of Spain, and
the corresponding attitude which it would seem fitting for Great Britain
to assume, and especially the necessity of that alliance the proposal for
which had in the conference been received so haughtily, their language
was far plainer, bolder, and more vehement than that of the instructions.

"Considering that the effects show," they said, "that those who claim the
monarchy of Christendom, and indeed of the whole world, let slip no
opportunity which could in any way serve their designs, it is suitable to
the grandeur of his Majesty the King, and to the station in which by the
grace of the good God he is placed, to oppose himself thereto for the
sake of the common liberty of Christendom, to which end, and in order the
better to prevent all unjust usurpations, there could be no better means
devised than a closer alliance between his Majesty and the Most Christian
King, My Lords the States-General, and the electors, princes, and states
of Germany. Their High Mightinesses would therefore be most glad to learn
that his Majesty was inclined to such a course, and would be glad to
discuss the subject when and wherever his Majesty should appoint, or
would readily enter into such an alliance on reasonable conditions."

This language and the position taken up by the ambassadors were highly
approved by their government, but it was fated that no very great result
was to be achieved by this embassy. Very elaborate documents, exhaustive
in legal lore, on the subject of the herring fisheries, and of the right
to fish in the ocean and on foreign coasts, fortified by copious
citations from the 'Pandects' and 'Institutes' of Justinian, were
presented for the consideration of the British government, and were
answered as learnedly, exhaustively, and ponderously. The English
ministers were also reminded that the curing of herrings had been
invented in the fifteenth century by a citizen of Biervliet, the
inscription on whose tombstone recording that faces might still be read
in the church of that town.

All this did not prevent, however, the Dutch herring fishermen from being
excluded from the British waters unless they chose to pay for licenses.

The conferences were however for a season interrupted, and a new aspect
was given to affairs by an unforeseen and terrible event.

Meanwhile it is necessary to glance for a moment at the doings of the
special embassy to France, the instructions for which were prepared by
Barneveld almost at the same moment at which he furnished those for the
commission to England.

The ambassadors were Walraven, Seignior of Brederode, Cornelis van der
Myle, son-in-law of the Advocate, and Jacob van Maldere. Remembering how
impatient the King of France had long been for their coming, and that all
the preparations and decisions for a great war were kept in suspense
until the final secret conferences could be held with the representatives
of the States-General, it seems strange enough to us to observe the
extreme deliberation with which great affairs of state were then
conducted and the vast amount of time consumed in movements and
communications which modern science has either annihilated or abridged
from days to hours. While Henry was chafing with anxiety in Paris, the
ambassadors, having received Barneveld's instructions dated 31st March,
set forth on the 8th April from the Hague, reached Rotterdam at noon, and
slept at Dordrecht. Newt day they went to Breda, where the Prince of
Orange insisted upon their passing a couple of days with him in his
castle, Easter-day being 11th April. He then provided them with a couple
of coaches and pair in which they set forth on their journey, going by
way of Antwerp, Ghent, Courtray, Ryssel, to Arras, making easy stages,
stopping in the middle of the day to bait, and sleeping at each of the
cities thus mentioned, where they duly received the congratulatory visit
and hospitalities of their respective magistracies.

While all this time had been leisurely employed in the Netherlands in
preparing, instructing, and despatching the commissioners, affairs were
reaching a feverish crisis in France.

The States' ambassador resident thought that it would have been better
not to take such public offence at the retreat of the Prince of Conde.
The King had enough of life and vigour in him; he could afford to leave
the Dauphin to grow up, and when he should one day be established on the
throne, he would be able to maintain his heritage. "But," said Aerssens,
"I fear that our trouble is not where we say it is, and we don't dare to
say where it is." Writing to Carew, former English ambassador in Paris,
whom we have just seen in attendance on the States' commissioners in
London, he said: "People think that the Princess is wearying herself much
under the protection of the Infanta, and very impatient at not obtaining
the dissolution of her marriage, which the Duchess of Angouleme is to go
to Brussels to facilitate. This is not our business, but I mention it
only as the continuation of the Tragedy which you saw begin. Nevertheless
I don't know if the greater part of our deliberations is not founded on
this matter."

It had been decided to cause the Queen to be solemnly crowned after
Easter. She had set her heart with singular persistency upon the
ceremony, and it was thought that so public a sacrament would annihilate
all the wild projects attributed to Spain through the instrumentality of
Conde to cast doubts on the validity of her marriage and the legitimacy
of the Dauphin. The King from the first felt and expressed a singular
repugnance, a boding apprehension in regard to the coronation, but had
almost yielded to the Queen's importunity. He told her he would give his
consent provided she sent Concini to Brussels to invite in her own name
the Princess of Conde to be present on the occasion. Otherwise he
declared that at least the festival should be postponed till September.

The Marquis de Coeuvres remained in disgrace after the failure of his
mission, Henry believing that like all the world he had fallen in love
with the Princess, and had only sought to recommend himself, not to
further the suit of his sovereign.

Meanwhile Henry had instructed his ambassador in Spain, M. de Vaucelas,
to tell the King that his reception of Conde within his dominions would
be considered an infraction of the treaty of Vervins and a direct act of
hostility. The Duke of Lerma answered with a sneer that the Most
Christian King had too greatly obliged his Most Catholic Majesty by
sustaining his subjects in their rebellion and by aiding them to make
their truce to hope now that Conde would be sent back. France had ever
been the receptacle of Spanish traitors and rebels from Antonio Perez
down, and the King of Spain would always protect wronged and oppressed
princes like Conde. France had just been breaking up the friendly
relations between Savoy and Spain and goading the Duke into hostilities.

On the other hand the King had more than one stormy interview with Don
Inigo de Cardenas in Paris. That ambassador declared that his master
would never abandon his only sister the most serene Infanta, such was the
affection he born her, whose dominions were obviously threatened by these
French armies about to move to the frontiers. Henry replied that the
friends for whom he was arming had great need of his assistance; that his
Catholic Majesty was quite right to love his sister, whom he also loved;
but that he did not choose that his own relatives should be so much
beloved in Spain as they were. "What relatives?" asked Don Inigo. "The
Prince of Conde," replied the King, in a rage, "who has been debauched by
the Spaniards just as Marshal Biron was, and the Marchioness Verneuil,
and so many others. There are none left for them to debauch now but the
Dauphin and his brothers." The Ambassador replied that, if the King had
consulted him about the affair of Conde, he could have devised a happy
issue from it. Henry rejoined that he had sent messages on the subject to
his Catholic Majesty, who had not deigned a response, but that the Duke
of Lerma had given a very indiscreet one to his ambassador. Don Inigo
professed ignorance of any such reply. The King said it was a mockery to
affect ignorance of such matters. Thereupon both grew excited and very
violent in their discourses; the more so as Henry knowing but little
Spanish and the Envoy less French they could only understand from tone
and gesture that each was using exceedingly unpleasant language. At last
Don Inigo asked what he should write to his sovereign. "Whatever you
like," replied the King, and so the audience terminated, each remaining
in a towering passion.

Subsequently Villeroy assured the Archduke's ambassador that the King
considered the reception given to the Prince in the Spanish dominions as
one of the greatest insults and injuries that could be done to him.
Nothing could excuse it, said the Secretary of State, and for this reason
it was very difficult for the two kings to remain at peace with each
other, and that it would be wiser to prevent at once the evil designs of
his Catholic Majesty than to leave leisure for the plans to be put into
execution, and the claims of the Dauphin to his father's crown to be
disputed at a convenient season.

He added that war would not be made for the Princess, but for the Prince,
and that even the war in Germany, although Spain took the Emperor's side
and France that of the possessory princes, would not necessarily produce
a rupture between the two kings if it were not for this affair of the
Prince--true cause of the disaster now hanging over Christianity.
Pecquius replied by smooth commonplaces in favour of peace with which
Villeroy warmly concurred; both sadly expressing the conviction however
that the wrath divine had descended on them all on account of their sins.

A few days later, however, the Secretary changed his tone.

"I will speak to you frankly and clearly," he said to Pecquius, "and tell
you as from myself that there is passion, and if one is willing to
arrange the affair of the Princess, everything else can be accommodated
and appeased. Put if the Princess remain where she is, we are on the eve
of a rupture which may set fire to the four corners of Christendom."
Pecquius said he liked to talk roundly, and was glad to find that he had
not been mistaken in his opinion, that all these commotions were only
made for the Princess, and if all the world was going to war, she would
be the principal subject of it. He could not marvel sufficiently, he
said, at this vehement passion which brought in its train so great and
horrible a conflagration; adding many arguments to show that it was no
fault of the Archdukes, but that he who was the cause of all might one
day have reason to repent.

Villeroy replied that "the King believed the Princess to be suffering and
miserable for love of him, and that therefore he felt obliged to have her
sent back to her father." Pecquius asked whether in his conscience the
Secretary of State believed it right or reasonable to make war for such a
cause. Villeroy replied by asking "whether even admitting the negative,
the Ambassador thought it were wisely done for such a trifle, for a
formality, to plunge into extremities and to turn all Christendom upside
down." Pecquius, not considering honour a trifle or a formality, said
that "for nothing in the world would his Highness the Archduke descend to
a cowardly action or to anything that would sully his honour." Villeroy
said that the Prince had compelled his wife, pistol in hand, to follow
him to the Netherlands, and that she was no longer bound to obey a
husband who forsook country and king. Her father demanded her, and she
said "she would rather be strangled than ever to return to the company of
her husband." The Archdukes were not justified in keeping her against her
will in perpetual banishment. He implored the Ambassador in most pathetic
terms to devise some means of sending back the Princess, saying that he
who should find such expedient would do the greatest good that was ever
done to Christianity, and that otherwise there was no guarantee against a
universal war. The first design of the King had been merely to send a
moderate succour to the Princes of Brandenburg and Neuburg, which could
have given no umbrage to the Archdukes, but now the bitterness growing
out of the affairs of the Prince and Princess had caused him to set on
foot a powerful army to do worse. He again implored Pecquius to invent
some means of sending back the Princess, and the Ambassador besought him
ardently to divert the King from his designs. Of this the Secretary of
State left little hope and they parted, both very low and dismal in
mind. Subsequent conversations with the leading councillors of state
convinced Pecquius that these violent menaces were only used to shake the
constancy of the Archduke, but that they almost all highly disapproved
the policy of the King. "If this war goes on, we are all ruined," said
the Duke d'Epernon to the Nuncius.

Thus there had almost ceased to be any grimacing between the two kings,
although it was still a profound mystery where or when hostilities would
begin, and whether they would break out at all. Henry frequently remarked
that the common opinion all over Europe was working in his favour. Few
people in or out of France believed that he meant a rupture, or that his
preparations were serious. Thus should he take his enemies unawares and
unprepared. Even Aerssens, who saw him almost daily, was sometimes
mystified, in spite of Henry's vehement assertions that he was resolved
to make war at all hazards and on all sides, provided My Lords the States
would second him as they ought, their own existence being at stake.

"For God's sake," cried the King, "let us take the bit into our mouths.
Tell your masters that I am quite resolved, and that I am shrieking
loudly at their delays." He asked if he could depend on the States, if
Barneveld especially would consent to a league with him. The Ambassador
replied that for the affair of Cleve and Julich he had instructions to
promise entire concurrence, that Barneveld was most resolute in the
matter, and had always urged the enterprise and wished information as to
the levies making in France and other military preparations.

"Tell him," said Henry, "that they are going on exactly as often before
stated, but that we are holding everything in suspense until I have
talked with your ambassadors, from whom I wish counsel, safety, and
encouragement for doing much more than the Julich business. That alone
does not require so great a league and such excessive and unnecessary
expense."

The King observed however that the question of the duchies would serve as
just cause and excellent pretext to remove those troublesome fellows for
ever from his borders and those of the States. Thus the princes would be
established safely in their possession and the Republic as well as
himself freed from the perpetual suspicions which the Spaniards excited
by their vile intrigues, and it was on this general subject that he
wished to confer with the special commissioners. It would not be possible
for him to throw succour into Julich without passing through Luxemburg in
arms. The Archdukes would resist this, and thus a cause of war would
arise. His campaign on the Meuse would help the princes more than if he
should only aid them by the contingent he had promised. Nor could the
jealousy of King James be excited since the war would spring out of the
Archdukes' opposition to his passage towards the duchies, as he obviously
could not cut himself off from his supplies, leaving a hostile province
between himself and his kingdom. Nevertheless he could not stir, he said,
without the consent and active support of the States, on whom he relied
as his principal buttress and foundation.

The levies for the Milanese expedition were waiting until Marshal de
Lesdiguieres could confer personally with the Duke of Savoy. The reports
as to the fidelity of that potentate were not to be believed. He was
trifling with the Spanish ambassadors, so Henry was convinced, who were
offering him 300,000 crowns a year besides Piombino, Monaco, and two
places in the Milanese, if he would break his treaty with France. But he
was thought to be only waiting until they should be gone before making
his arrangements with Lesdiguieres. "He knows that he can put no trust in
Spain, and that he can confide in me," said the King. "I have made a
great stroke by thus entangling the King of Spain by the use of a few
troops in Italy. But I assure you that there is none but me and My Lords
the States that can do anything solid. Whether the Duke breaks or holds
fast will make no difference in our first and great designs. For the
honour of God I beg them to lose no more time, but to trust in me. I will
never deceive them, never abandon them."

At last 25,000 infantry and 5000 cavalry were already in marching order,
and indeed had begun to move towards the Luxemburg frontier, ready to
co-operate with the States' army and that of the possessory princes for
the campaign of the Meuse and Rhine.

Twelve thousand more French troops under Lesdiguieres were to act with
the Duke of Savoy, and an army as large was to assemble in the Pyrenees
and to operate on the Spanish frontier, in hope of exciting and fomenting
an insurrection caused by the expulsion of the Moors. That gigantic act
of madness by which Spain thought good at this juncture to tear herself
to pieces, driving hundreds of thousands of the most industrious, most
intelligent, and most opulent of her population into hopeless exile, had
now been accomplished, and was to stand prominent for ever on the records
of human fatuity.

Twenty-five thousand Moorish families had arrived at Bayonne, and the
Viceroy of Canada had been consulted as to the possibility and expediency
of establishing them in that province, although emigration thither seemed
less tempting to them than to Virginia. Certainly it was not unreasonable
for Henry to suppose that a kingdom thus torn by internal convulsions
might be more open to a well organized attack, than capable of carrying
out at that moment fresh projects of universal dominion.

As before observed, Sully was by no means in favour of this combined
series of movements, although at a later day, when dictating his famous
memoirs to his secretaries, he seems to describe himself as
enthusiastically applauding and almost originating them. But there is no
doubt at all that throughout this eventful spring he did his best to
concentrate the whole attack on Luxemburg and the Meuse districts, and
wished that the movements in the Milanese and in Provence should be
considered merely a slight accessory, as not much more than a diversion
to the chief design, while Villeroy and his friends chose to consider the
Duke of Savoy as the chief element in the war. Sully thoroughly
distrusted the Duke, whom he deemed to be always put up at auction
between Spain and France and incapable of a sincere or generous policy.
He was entirely convinced that Villeroy and Epernon and Jeannin and other
earnest Papists in France were secretly inclined to the cause of Spain,
that the whole faction of the Queen, in short, were urging this
scattering of the very considerable forces now at Henry's command in the
hope of bringing him into a false position, in which defeat or an
ignominious peace would be the alternative. To concentrate an immense
attack upon the Archdukes in the Spanish Netherlands and the debateable
duchies would have for its immediate effect the expulsion of the
Spaniards out of all those provinces and the establishment of the Dutch
commonwealth on an impregnable basis. That this would be to strengthen
infinitely the Huguenots in France and the cause of Protestantism in
Bohemia, Moravia and Austria, was unquestionable. It was natural,
therefore, that the stern and ardent Huguenot should suspect the plans of
the Catholics with whom he was in daily council. One day he asked the
King plumply in the presence of Villeroy if his Majesty meant anything
serious by all these warlike preparations. Henry was wroth, and
complained bitterly that one who knew him to the bottom of his soul
should doubt him. But Sully could not persuade himself that a great and
serious war would be carried on both in the Netherlands and in Italy.

As much as his sovereign he longed for the personal presence of
Barneveld, and was constantly urging the States' ambassador to induce his
coming to Paris. "You know," said Aerssens, writing to the French
ambassador at the Hague, de Russy, "that it is the Advocate alone that
has the universal knowledge of the outside and the inside of our
commonwealth."

Sully knew his master as well as any man knew him, but it was difficult
to fix the chameleon hues of Henry at this momentous epoch. To the
Ambassador expressing doubts as to the King's sincerity the Duke asserted
that Henry was now seriously piqued with the Spaniard on account of the
Conde business. Otherwise Anhalt and the possessory princes and the
affair of Cleve might have had as little effect in driving him into war
as did the interests of the Netherlands in times past. But the bold
demonstration projected would make the "whole Spanish party bleed at the
nose; a good result for the public peace."

Therefore Sully sent word to Barneveld, although he wished his name
concealed, that he ought to come himself, with full powers to do
everything, without referring to any superiors or allowing any secrets to
be divulged. The King was too far committed to withdraw, unless coldness
on part of the States should give him cause. The Advocate must come
prepared to answer all questions; to say how much in men and money the
States would contribute, and whether they would go into the war with the
King as their only ally. He must come with the bridle on his neck. All
that Henry feared was being left in the lurch by the States; otherwise he
was not afraid of Rome. Sully was urgent that the Provinces should now go
vigorously into the war without stumbling at any consideration. Thus they
would confirm their national power for all time, but if the opportunity
were now lost, it would be their ruin, and posterity would most justly
blame them. The King of Spain was so stripped of troops and resources, so
embarrassed by the Moors, that in ten months he would not be able to send
one man to the Netherlands.

Meantime the Nuncius in Paris was moving heaven and earth; storming,
intriguing, and denouncing the course of the King in protecting heresy,
when it would have been so easy to extirpate it, encouraging rebellion
and disorder throughout Christendom, and embarking in an action against
the Church and against his conscience. A new legate was expected daily
with the Pope's signature to the new league, and a demand upon the King
to sign it likewise, and to pause in a career of which something was
suspected, but very little accurately known. The preachers in Paris and
throughout the kingdom delivered most vehement sermons against the King,
the government, and the Protestants, and seemed to the King to be such
"trumpeters of sedition" that he ordered the seneschals and other
officers to put a stop to these turbulent discourses, censure their
authors, and compel them to stick to their texts.

But the preparations were now so far advanced and going on so warmly that
nothing more was wanting than, in the words of Aerssens, "to uncouple the
dogs and let them run." Recruits were pouring steadily to their places of
rendezvous; their pay having begun to run from the 25th March at the rate
of eight sous a day for the private foot soldier and ten sous for a
corporal. They were moved in small parties of ten, lodged in the wayside
inns, and ordered, on pain of death, to pay for everything they consumed.

It was growing difficult to wait much longer for the arrival of the
special ambassadors, when at last they were known to be on their way.
Aerssens obtained for their use the Hotel Gondy, formerly the residence
of Don Pedro de Toledo, the most splendid private palace in Paris, and
recently purchased by the Queen. It was considered expedient that the
embassy should make as stately an appearance as that of royal or imperial
envoys. He engaged an upholsterer by the King's command to furnish, at
his Majesty's expense, the apartments, as the Baron de Gondy, he said,
had long since sold and eaten up all the furniture. He likewise laid in
six pieces of wine and as many of beer, "tavern drinks" being in the
opinion of the thrifty ambassador "both dear and bad."

He bought a carriage lined with velvet for the commissioners, and another
lined with broadcloth for the principal persons of their suite, and with
his own coach as a third he proposed to go to Amiens to meet them. They
could not get on with fewer than these, he said, and the new carriages
would serve their purpose in Paris. He had paid 500 crowns for the two,
and they could be sold, when done with, at a slight loss. He bought
likewise four dapple-grey horses, which would be enough, as nobody had
more than two horses to a carriage in town, and for which he paid 312
crowns--a very low price, he thought, at a season when every one was
purchasing. He engaged good and experienced coachmen at two crowns a
month, and; in short, made all necessary arrangements for their comfort
and the honour of the state.

The King had been growing more and more displeased at the tardiness of
the commission, petulantly ascribing it to a design on the part of the
States to "excuse themselves from sharing in his bold conceptions," but
said that "he could resolve on nothing without My Lords the States, who
were the only power with which he could contract confidently, as mighty
enough and experienced enough to execute the designs to be proposed to
them; so that his army was lying useless on his hands until the
commissioners arrived," and lamented more loudly than ever that Barneveld
was not coming with them. He was now rejoiced, however, to hear that they
would soon arrive, and went in person to the Hotel Gondy to see that
everything was prepared in a manner befitting their dignity and comfort.

His anxiety had moreover been increased, as already stated, by the
alarming reports from Utrecht and by his other private accounts from the
Netherlands.

De Russy expressed in his despatches grave doubts whether the States
would join the king in a war against the King of Spain, because they
feared the disapprobation of the King of Great Britain, "who had already
manifested but too much jealousy of the power and grandeur of the
Republic." Pecquius asserted that the Archdukes had received assurances
from the States that they would do nothing to violate the truce. The
Prince of Anhalt, who, as chief of the army of the confederated princes,
was warm in his demonstrations for a general war by taking advantage of
the Cleve expedition, was entirely at cross purposes with the States'
ambassador in Paris, Aerssens maintaining that the forty-three years'
experience in their war justified the States in placing no dependence on
German princes except with express conventions. They had no such
conventions now, and if they should be attacked by Spain in consequence
of their assistance in the Cleve business, what guarantee of aid had they
from those whom Anhalt represented? Anhalt was loud in expressions of
sympathy with Henry's designs against Spain, but said that he and the
States meant a war of thirty or forty years, while the princes would
finish what they meant to do in one.

A more erroneous expression of opinion, when viewed in the light of
subsequent events, could hardly have been hazarded. Villeroy made as good
use as he could of these conversations to excite jealousy between the
princes and the States for the furtherance of his own ends, while
affecting warm interest in the success of the King's projects.

Meantime Archduke Albert had replied manfully and distinctly to the
menaces of the King and to the pathetic suggestions made by Villeroy to
Pecquius as to a device for sending back the Princess. Her stay at
Brussels being the chief cause of the impending war, it would be better,
he said, to procure a divorce or to induce the Constable to obtain the
consent of the Prince to the return of his wife to her father's house. To
further either of these expedients, the Archduke would do his best. "But
if one expects by bravados and threats," he added, "to force us to do a
thing against our promise, and therefore against reason, our reputation,
and honour, resolutely we will do nothing of the kind. And if the said
Lord King decided on account of this misunderstanding for a rupture and
to make war upon us, we will do our best to wage war on him. In such
case, however, we shall be obliged to keep the Princess closer in our own
house, and probably to send her to such parts as may be most convenient
in order to remove from us an instrument of the infinite evils which this
war will produce."

Meantime the special commissioners whom we left at Arras had now entered
the French kingdom.

On the 17th April, Aerssens with his three coaches met them on their
entrance into Amiens, having been waiting there for them eight days. As
they passed through the gate, they found a guard of soldiers drawn up to
receive them with military honours, and an official functionary to
apologize for the necessary absence of the governor, who had gone with
most of the troops stationed in the town to the rendezvous in Champagne.
He expressed regret, therefore, that the King's orders for their solemn
reception could not be literally carried out. The whole board of
magistrates, however, in their costumes of ceremony, with sergeants
bearing silver maces marching before them, came forth to bid the
ambassadors welcome. An advocate made a speech in the name of the city
authorities, saying that they were expressly charged by the King to
receive them as coming from his very best friends, and to do them all
honour. He extolled the sage government of their High Mightinesses and
the valour of the Republic, which had become known to the whole world by
the successful conduct of their long and mighty war.

The commissioners replied in words of compliment, and the magistrates
then offered them, according to ancient usage, several bottles of
hippocras.

Next day, sending back the carriages of the Prince of Orange, in which
they had thus far performed the journey, they set forth towards Paris,
reaching Saint-Denis at noon of the third day. Here they were met by de
Bonoeil, introducer of ambassadors, sent thither by the King to give them
welcome, and to say that they would be received on the road by the Duke
of Vendome, eldest of the legitimatized children of the King. Accordingly
before reaching the Saint-Denis gate of Paris, a splendid cavalcade of
nearly five hundred noblemen met them, the Duke at their head,
accompanied by two marshals of France, de Brissac and Boisdaulphin. The
three instantly dismounted, and the ambassadors alighted from their
coach. The Duke then gave them solemn and cordial welcome, saying that he
had been sent by his father the King to receive them as befitted envoys
of the best and most faithful friends he possessed in the world.

The ambassadors expressed their thanks for the great and extraordinary
honour thus conferred on them, and they were then requested to get into a
royal carriage which had been sent out for that purpose. After much
ceremonious refusal they at last consented and, together with the Duke of
Vendome, drove through Paris in that vehicle into the Faubourg Saint
Germain. Arriving at the Hotel Gondy, they were, notwithstanding all
their protestations, escorted up the staircase into the apartments by the
Duke.

"This honour is notable," said the commissioners in their report to the
States, "and never shown to anyone before, so that our ill-wishers are
filled with spite."

And Peter Pecquius was of the same opinion. "Everyone is grumbling here,"
about the reception of the States' ambassadors, "because such honours
were never paid to any ambassador whatever, whether from Spain, England,
or any other country."

And there were many men living and employed in great affairs of State,
both in France and in the Republic--the King and Villeroy, Barneveld and
Maurice--who could remember how twenty-six years before a solemn embassy
from the States had proceeded from the Hague to France to offer the
sovereignty of their country to Henry's predecessor, had been kept
ignominiously and almost like prisoners four weeks long in Rouen, and had
been thrust back into the Netherlands without being admitted even to one
audience by the monarch. Truly time, in the course of less than one
generation of mankind, had worked marvellous changes in the fortunes of
the Dutch Republic.

President Jeannin came to visit them next day, with friendly proffers of
service, and likewise the ambassador of Venice and the charge d'affaires
of Great Britain.

On the 22nd the royal carriages came by appointment to the Hotel Gondy,
and took them for their first audience to the Louvre. They were received
at the gate by a guard of honour, drums beating and arms presented, and
conducted with the greatest ceremony to an apartment in the palace. Soon
afterwards they were ushered into a gallery where the King stood,
surrounded by a number of princes and distinguished officers of the
crown. These withdrew on the approach of the Netherlanders, leaving the
King standing alone. They made their reverence, and Henry saluted them
all with respectful cordiality. Begging them to put on their hats again,
he listened attentively to their address.

The language of the discourse now pronounced was similar in tenour to
that almost contemporaneously held by the States' special envoys in
London. Both documents, when offered afterwards in writing, bore the
unmistakable imprint of the one hand that guided the whole political
machine. In various passages the phraseology was identical, and, indeed,
the Advocate had prepared and signed the instructions for both embassies
on the same day.

The commissioners acknowledged in the strongest possible terms the great
and constant affection, quite without example, that Henry had manifested
to the Netherlands during the whole course of their war. They were at a
loss to find language adequately to express their gratitude for that
friendship, and the assistance subsequently afforded them in the
negotiations for truce. They apologized for the tardiness of the States
in sending this solemn embassy of thanksgiving, partly on the ground of
the delay in receiving the ratifications from Spain, partly by the
protracted contraventions by the Archdukes of certain articles in the
treaty, but principally by the terrible disasters occasioned throughout
their country by the great inundations, and by the commotions in the city
of Utrecht, which had now been "so prudently and happily pacified."

They stated that the chief cause of their embassy was to express their
respectful gratitude, and to say that never had prince or state treasured
more deeply in memory benefits received than did their republic the
favours of his Majesty, or could be more disposed to do their utmost to
defend his Majesty's person, crown, or royal family against all attack.
They expressed their joy that the King had with prudence, and heroic
courage undertaken the defence of the just rights of Brandenburg and
Neuburg to the duchies of Cleve, Julich, and the other dependent
provinces. Thus had he put an end to the presumption of those who thought
they could give the law to all the world. They promised the co-operation
of the States in this most important enterprise of their ally,
notwithstanding their great losses in the war just concluded, and the
diminution of revenue occasioned by the inundations by which they had
been afflicted; for they were willing neither to tolerate so unjust an
usurpation as that attempted by the Emperor nor to fail to second his
Majesty in his generous designs. They observed also that they had been
instructed to enquire whether his Majesty would not approve the
contracting of a strict league of mutual assistance between France,
England, the United Provinces, and the princes of Germany.

The King, having listened with close attention, thanked the envoys in
words of earnest and vigorous cordiality for their expressions of
affection to himself. He begged them to remember that he had always been
their good friend, and that he never would forsake them; that he had
always hated the Spaniards, and should ever hate them; and that the
affairs of Julich must be arranged not only for the present but for the
future. He requested them to deliver their propositions in writing to
him, and to be ready to put themselves into communication with the
members of his council, in order that they might treat with each other
roundly and without reserve. He should always deal with the Netherlanders
as with his own people, keeping no back-door open, but pouring out
everything as into the lap of his best and most trusty friends.

After this interview conferences followed daily between the ambassadors
and Villeroy, Sully, Jeannin, the Chancellor, and Puysieug.

The King's counsellors, after having read the written paraphrase of
Barneveld's instructions, the communication of which followed their oral
statements, and which, among other specifications, contained a respectful
remonstrance against the projected French East India Company, as likely
to benefit the Spaniards only, while seriously injuring the States,
complained that "the representations were too general, and that the paper
seemed to contain nothing but compliments."

The ambassadors, dilating on the various points and articles, maintained
warmly that there was much more than compliments in their instructions.
The ministers wished to know what the States practically were prepared to
do in the affair of Cleve, which they so warmly and encouragingly
recommended to the King. They asked whether the States' army would march
at once to Dusseldorf to protect the princes at the moment when the King
moved from Mezieres, and they made many enquiries as to what amount of
supplies and munitions they could depend upon from the States' magazines.

The envoys said that they had no specific instructions on these points,
and could give therefore no conclusive replies. More than ever did Henry
regret the absence of the great Advocate at this juncture. If he could
have come, with the bridle on his neck, as Henry had so repeatedly urged
upon the resident ambassador, affairs might have marched more rapidly.
The despotic king could never remember that Barneveld was not the
unlimited sovereign of the United States, but only the seal-keeper of one
of the seven provinces and the deputy of Holland to the General Assembly.
His indirect power, however vast, was only great because it was so
carefully veiled.

It was then proposed by Villeroy and Sully, and agreed to by the
commissioners, that M. de Bethune, a relative of the great financier,
should be sent forthwith to the Hague, to confer privately with Prince
Maurice and Barneveld especially, as to military details of the coming
campaign.

It was also arranged that the envoys should delay their departure until
de Bethune's return. Meantime Henry and the Nuncius had been exchanging
plain and passionate language. Ubaldini reproached the King with
disregarding all the admonitions of his Holiness, and being about to
plunge Christendom into misery and war for the love of the Princess of
Conde. He held up to him the enormity of thus converting the King of
Spain and the Archdukes into his deadly enemies, and warned him that he
would by such desperate measures make even the States-General and the
King of Britain his foes, who certainly would never favour such schemes.
The King replied that "he trusted to his own forces, not to those of his
neighbours, and even if the Hollanders should not declare for him still
he would execute his designs. On the 15th of May most certainly he would
put himself at the head of his army, even if he was obliged to put off
the Queen's coronation till October, and he could not consider the King
of Spain nor the Archdukes his friends unless they at once made him some
demonstration of friendship. Being asked by the Nuncius what
demonstration he wished, he answered flatly that he wished the Princess
to be sent back to the Constable her father, in which case the affair of
Julich could be arranged amicably, and, at all events, if the war
continued there, he need not send more than 4000 men."

Thus, in spite of his mighty preparations, vehement demands for
Barneveld, and profound combinations revealed to that statesman, to
Aerssens, and to the Duke of Sully only, this wonderful monarch was ready
to drop his sword on the spot, to leave his friends in the lurch, to
embrace his enemies, the Archduke first of all, instead of bombarding
Brussels the very next week, as he had been threatening to do, provided
the beautiful Margaret could be restored to his arms through those of her
venerable father.

He suggested to the Nuncius his hope that the Archduke would yet be
willing to wink at her escape, which he was now trying to arrange through
de Preaux at Brussels, while Ubaldini, knowing the Archduke incapable of
anything so dishonourable, felt that the war was inevitable.

At the very same time too, Father Cotton, who was only too ready to
betray the secrets of the confessional when there was an object to gain,
had a long conversation with the Archduke's ambassador, in which the holy
man said that the King had confessed to him that he made the war
expressly to cause the Princess to be sent back to France, so that as
there could be no more doubt on the subject the father-confessor begged
Pecquius, in order to prevent so great an evil, to devise "some prompt
and sudden means to induce his Highness the Archduke to order the
Princess to retire secretly to her own country." The Jesuit had different
notions of honour, reputation, and duty from those which influenced the
Archduke. He added that "at Easter the King had been so well disposed to
seek his salvation that he could easily have forgotten his affection for
the Princess, had she not rekindled the fire by her letters, in which she
caressed him with amorous epithets, calling him 'my heart,' 'my
chevalier,' and similar terms of endearment." Father Cotton also drew up
a paper, which he secretly conveyed to Pecquius, "to prove that the
Archduke, in terms of conscience and honour, might decide to permit this
escape, but he most urgently implored the Ambassador that for the love of
God and the public good he would influence his Serene Highness to prevent
this from ever coming to the knowledge of the world, but to keep the
secret inviolably."

Thus, while Henry was holding high council with his own most trusted
advisers, and with the most profound statesmen of Europe, as to the
opening campaign within a fortnight of a vast and general war, he was
secretly plotting with his father-confessor to effect what he avowed to
be the only purpose of that war, by Jesuitical bird-lime to be applied to
the chief of his antagonists. Certainly Barneveld and his colleagues were
justified in their distrust. To move one step in advance of their potent
but slippery ally might be a step off a precipice.

On the 1st of May, Sully made a long visit to the commissioners. He
earnestly urged upon them the necessity of making the most of the present
opportunity. There were people in plenty, he said, who would gladly see
the King take another course, for many influential persons about him were
altogether Spanish in their inclinations.

The King had been scandalized to hear from the Prince of Anhalt, without
going into details, that on his recent passage through the Netherlands he
had noticed some change of feeling, some coolness in their High
Mightinesses. The Duke advised that they should be very heedful, that
they should remember how much more closely these matters regarded them
than anyone else, that they should not deceive themselves, but be firmly
convinced that unless they were willing to go head foremost into the
business the French would likewise not commit themselves. Sully spoke
with much earnestness and feeling, for it was obvious that both he and
his master had been disappointed at the cautious and limited nature of
the instructions given to the ambassadors.

An opinion had indeed prevailed, and, as we have seen, was to a certain
extent shared in by Aerssens, and even by Sully himself, that the King's
military preparations were after all but a feint, and that if the Prince
of Conde, and with him the Princess, could be restored to France, the
whole war cloud would evaporate in smoke.

It was even asserted that Henry had made a secret treaty with the enemy,
according to which, while apparently ready to burst upon the House of
Austria with overwhelming force, he was in reality about to shake hands
cordially with that power, on condition of being allowed to incorporate
into his own kingdom the very duchies in dispute, and of receiving the
Prince of Conde and his wife from Spain. He was thus suspected of being
about to betray his friends and allies in the most ignoble manner and for
the vilest of motives. The circulation of these infamous reports no doubt
paralysed for a time the energy of the enemy who had made no requisite
preparations against the threatened invasion, but it sickened his friends
with vague apprehensions, while it cut the King himself to the heart and
infuriated him to madness.

He asked the Nuncius one day what people thought in Rome and Italy of the
war about to be undertaken. Ubaldini replied that those best informed
considered the Princess of Conde as the principal subject of hostilities;
they thought that he meant to have her back. "I do mean to have her
back," cried Henry, with a mighty oath, and foaming with rage, "and I
shall have her back. No one shall prevent it, not even the Lieutenant of
God on earth."

But the imputation of this terrible treason weighed upon his mind and
embittered every hour.

The commissioners assured Sully that they had no knowledge of any
coolness or change such as Anhalt had reported on the part of their
principals, and the Duke took his leave.

It will be remembered that Villeroy had, it was thought, been making
mischief between Anhalt and the States by reporting and misreporting
private conversations between that Prince and the Dutch ambassador.

As soon as Sully had gone, van der Myle waited upon Villeroy to ask, in
name of himself and colleagues, for audience of leave-taking, the object
of their mission having been accomplished. The Secretary of State, too,
like Sully, urged the importance of making the most of the occasion. The
affair of Cleve, he said, did not very much concern the King, but his
Majesty had taken it to heart chiefly on account of the States and for
their security. They were bound, therefore, to exert themselves to the
utmost, but more would not be required of them than it would be possible
to fulfil.

Van der Myle replied that nothing would be left undone by their High
Mightinesses to support the King faithfully and according to their
promise.

On the 5th, Villeroy came to the ambassadors, bringing with him a letter
from the King for the States-General, and likewise a written reply to the
declarations made orally and in writing by the ambassadors to his
Majesty.

The letter of Henry to "his very dear and good friends, allies, and
confederates," was chiefly a complimentary acknowledgment of the
expressions of gratitude made to him on part of the States-General, and
warm approbation of their sage resolve to support the cause of
Brandenburg and Neuburg. He referred them for particulars to the
confidential conferences held between the commissioners and himself. They
would state how important he thought it that this matter should be
settled now so thoroughly as to require no second effort at any future
time when circumstances might not be so propitious; and that he intended
to risk his person, at the head of his army, to accomplish this result.

To the ambassadors he expressed his high satisfaction at their assurances
of affection, devotion, and gratitude on the part of the States. He
approved and commended their resolution to assist the Elector and the
Palatine in the affair of the duchies. He considered this a proof of
their prudence and good judgment, as showing their conviction that they
were more interested and bound to render this assistance than any other
potentates or states, as much from the convenience and security to be
derived from the neighbourhood of princes who were their friends as from
dangers to be apprehended from other princes who were seeking to
appropriate those provinces. The King therefore begged the States to move
forward as soon as possible the forces which they offered for this
enterprise according to his Majesty's suggestion sent through de Bethune.
The King on his part would do the same with extreme care and diligence,
from the anxiety he felt to prevent My Lords the States from receiving
detriment in places so vital to their preservation.

He begged the States likewise to consider that it was meet not only to
make a first effort to put the princes into entire possession of the
duchies, but to provide also for the durable success of the enterprise;
to guard against any invasions that might be made in the future to eject
those princes. Otherwise all their present efforts would be useless; and
his Majesty therefore consented on this occasion to enter into the new
league proposed by the States with all the princes and states mentioned
in the memoir of the ambassadors for mutual assistance against all unjust
occupations, attempts, and baneful intrigues.

Having no special information as to the infractions by the Archdukes of
the recent treaty of truce, the King declined to discuss that subject for
the moment, although holding himself bound to all required of him as one
of the guarantees of that treaty.

In regard to the remonstrance made by the ambassadors concerning the
trade of the East Indies, his Majesty disclaimed any intention of doing
injury to the States in permitting his subjects to establish a company in
his kingdom for that commerce. He had deferred hitherto taking action in
the matter only out of respect to the States, but he could no longer
refuse the just claims of his subjects if they should persist in them as
urgently as they had thus far been doing. The right and liberty which
they demanded was common to all, said the King, and he was certainly
bound to have as great care for the interests of his subjects as for
those of his friends and allies.

Here, certainly, was an immense difference in tone and in terms towards
the Republic adopted respectively by their great and good friends and
allies the Kings of France and Great Britain. It was natural enough that
Henry, having secretly expressed his most earnest hope that the States
would move at his side in his broad and general assault upon the House of
Austria, should impress upon them his conviction, which was a just one,
that no power in the world was more interested in keeping a Spanish and
Catholic prince out of the duchies than they were themselves. But while
thus taking a bond of them as it were for the entire fulfilment of the
primary enterprise, he accepted with cordiality, and almost with
gratitude, their proposition of a close alliance of the Republic with
himself and with the Protestant powers which James had so superciliously
rejected.

It would have been difficult to inflict a more petty and, more studied
insult upon the Republic than did the King of Great Britain at that
supreme moment by his preposterous claim of sovereign rights over the
Netherlands. He would make no treaty with them, he said, but should he
find it worth while to treat with his royal brother of France, he should
probably not shut the door in their faces.

Certainly Henry's reply to the remonstrances of the ambassadors in regard
to the India trade was as moderate as that of James had been haughty and
peremptory in regard to the herring fishery. It is however sufficiently
amusing to see those excellent Hollanders nobly claiming that "the sea
was as free as air" when the right to take Scotch pilchards was in
question, while at the very same moment they were earnest for excluding
their best allies and all the world besides from their East India
monopoly. But Isaac Le Maire and Jacques Le Roy had not lain so long
disguised in Zamet's house in Paris for nothing, nor had Aerssens so
completely "broke the neck of the French East India Company" as he
supposed. A certain Dutch freebooter, however, Simon Danzer by name, a
native of Dordrecht, who had been alternately in the service of Spain,
France, and the States, but a general marauder upon all powers, was
exercising at that moment perhaps more influence on the East India trade
than any potentate or commonwealth.

He kept the seas just then with four swift-sailing and well-armed
vessels, that potent skimmer of the ocean, and levied tribute upon
Protestant and Catholic, Turk or Christian, with great impartiality. The
King of Spain had sent him letters of amnesty and safe-conduct, with
large pecuniary offers, if he would enter his service. The King of France
had outbid his royal brother and enemy, and implored him to sweep the
seas under the white flag.

The States' ambassador begged his masters to reflect whether this
"puissant and experienced corsair" should be permitted to serve Spaniard
or Frenchman, and whether they could devise no expedient for turning him
into another track. "He is now with his fine ships at Marseilles," said
Aerssens. "He is sought for in all quarters by the Spaniard and by the
directors of the new French East India Company, private persons who equip
vessels of war. If he is not satisfied with this king's offers, he is
likely to close with the King of Spain, who offers him 1000 crowns a
month. Avarice tickles him, but he is neither Spaniard nor Papist, and I
fear will be induced to serve with his ships the East India Company, and
so will return to his piracy, the evil of which will always fall on our
heads. If My Lords the States will send me letters of abolition for him,
in imitation of the French king, on condition of his returning to his
home in Zealand and quitting the sea altogether, something might be done.
Otherwise he will be off to Marseilles again, and do more harm to us than
ever. Isaac Le Maire is doing as much evil as he can, and one holds daily
council with him here."

Thus the slippery Simon skimmed the seas from Marseilles to the Moluccas,
from Java to Mexico, never to be held firmly by Philip, or Henry, or
Barneveld. A dissolute but very daring ship's captain, born in Zealand,
and formerly in the service of the States, out of which he had been
expelled for many evil deeds, Simon Danzer had now become a professional
pirate, having his head-quarters chiefly at Algiers. His English
colleague Warde stationed himself mainly at Tunis, and both acted
together in connivance with the pachas of the Turkish government. They
with their considerable fleet, one vessel of which mounted sixty guns,
were the terror of the Mediterranean, extorted tribute from the commerce
of all nations indifferently, and sold licenses to the greatest
governments of Europe. After growing rich with his accumulated booty,
Simon was inclined to become respectable, a recourse which was always
open to him--France, England, Spain, the United Provinces, vieing with
each other to secure him by high rank and pay as an honoured member of
their national marine. He appears however to have failed in his plan of
retiring upon his laurels, having been stabbed in Paris by a man whom he
had formerly robbed and ruined.

Villeroy, having delivered the letters with his own hands to the
ambassadors, was asked by them when and where it would be convenient for
the King to arrange the convention of close alliance. The Secretary of
State--in his secret heart anything but kindly disposed for this loving
union with a republic he detested and with heretics whom he would have
burned--answered briefly that his Majesty was ready at any time, and that
it might take place then if they were provided with the necessary powers.
He said in parting that the States should "have an eye to everything, for
occasions like the present were irrecoverable." He then departed, saying
that the King would receive them in final audience on the following day.

Next morning accordingly Marshal de Boisdaulphin and de Bonoeil came with
royal coaches to the Hotel Gondy and escorted the ambassadors to the
Louvre. On the way they met de Bethune, who had returned solo from the
Hague bringing despatches for the King and for themselves. While in the
antechamber, they had opportunity to read their letters from the
States-General, his Majesty sending word that he was expecting them with
impatience, but preferred that they should read the despatches before the
audience.

They found the King somewhat out of humour. He expressed himself as
tolerably well satisfied with the general tenour of the despatches
brought by de Bethune, but complained loudly of the request now made by
the States, that the maintenance and other expenses of 4000 French in the
States' service should be paid in the coming campaign out of the royal
exchequer. He declared that this proposition was "a small manifestation
of ingratitude," that my Lords the, States were "little misers," and that
such proceedings were "little avaricious tricks" such as he had not
expected of them.

So far as England was concerned, he said there was a great difference.
The English took away what he was giving. He did cheerfully a great deal
for his friends, he said, and was always ready doubly to repay what they
did for him. If, however, the States persisted in this course, he should
call his troops home again.

The King, as he went on, became more and more excited, and showed decided
dissatisfaction in his language and manner. It was not to be wondered at,
for we have seen how persistently he had been urging that the Advocate
should come in person with "the bridle on his neck," and now he had sent
his son-in-law and two colleagues tightly tied up by stringent
instructions. And over an above all this, while he was contemplating a
general war with intention to draw upon the States for unlimited
supplies, behold, they were haggling for the support of a couple of
regiments which were virtually their own troops.

There were reasons, however, for this cautiousness besides those
unfounded, although not entirely chimerical, suspicions as to the King's
good faith, to which we have alluded. It should not be forgotten that,
although Henry had conversed secretly with the States' ambassador at full
length on his far-reaching plans, with instructions that he should
confidentially inform the Advocate and demand his co-operation, not a
word of it had been officially propounded to the States-General, nor to
the special embassy with whom he was now negotiating. No treaty of
alliance offensive or defensive existed between the Kingdom and the
Republic or between the Republic and any power whatever. It would have
been culpable carelessness therefore at this moment for the prime
minister of the States to have committed his government in writing to a
full participation in a general assault upon the House of Austria; the
first step in which would have been a breach of the treaty just concluded
and instant hostilities with the Archdukes Albert and Isabella.

That these things were in the immediate future was as plain as that night
would follow day, but the hour had not yet struck for the States to throw
down the gauntlet.

Hardly two months before, the King, in his treaty with the princes at
Hall, had excluded both the King of Great Britain and the States-General
from participation in those arrangements, and it was grave matter for
consideration, therefore, for the States whether they should allow such
succour as they might choose to grant the princes to be included in the
French contingent. The opportunity for treating as a sovereign power with
the princes and making friends with them was tempting, but it did not
seem reasonable to the States that France should make use of them in this
war without a treaty, and should derive great advantage from the
alliance, but leave the expense to them.

Henry, on the other hand, forgetting, when it was convenient to him, all
about the Princess of Conde, his hatred of Spain, and his resolution to
crush the House of Austria, chose to consider the war as made simply for
the love of the States-General and to secure them for ever from danger.

The ambassadors replied to the King's invectives with great respect, and
endeavoured to appease his anger. They had sent a special despatch to
their government, they said, in regard to all those matters, setting
forth all the difficulties that had been raised, but had not wished to
trouble his Majesty with premature discussions of them. They did not
doubt, however, that their High Mightinesses would so conduct this great
affair as to leave the King no ground of complaint.

Henry then began to talk of the intelligence brought by de Bethune from
the Hague, especially in regard to the sending of States' troops to
Dusseldorf and the supply of food for the French army. He did not
believe, he said, that the Archdukes would refuse him the passage with
his forces through their territory, inasmuch as the States' army would be
on the way to meet him. In case of any resistance, however, he declared
his resolution to strike his blow and to cause people to talk of him. He
had sent his quartermaster-general to examine the passes, who had
reported that it would be impossible to prevent his Majesty's advance. He
was also distinctly informed that Marquis Spinola, keeping his places
garrisoned, could not bring more than 8000 men into the field. The Duke
of Bouillon, however, was sending advices that his communications were
liable to be cut off, and that for this purpose Spinola could set on foot
about 16,000 infantry and 4000 horse.

If the passage should be allowed by the Archdukes, the King stated his
intention of establishing magazines for his troops along the whole line
of march through the Spanish Netherlands and neighbouring districts, and
to establish and fortify himself everywhere in order to protect his
supplies and cover his possible retreat. He was still in doubt, he said,
whether to demand the passage at once or to wait until he had began to
move his army. He was rather inclined to make the request instantly in
order to gain time, being persuaded that he should receive no answer
either of consent or refusal.

Leaving all these details, the King then frankly observed that the affair
of Cleve had a much wider outlook than people thought. Therefore the
States must consider well what was to be done to secure the whole work as
soon as the Cleve business had been successfully accomplished. Upon this
subject it was indispensable that he should consult especially with his
Excellency (Prince Maurice) and some members of the General Assembly,
whom he wished that My Lords the States-General should depute to the
army.

"For how much good will it do," said the King, "if we drive off Archduke
Leopold without establishing the princes in security for the future?
Nothing is easier than to put the princes in possession. Every one will
yield or run away before our forces, but two months after we have
withdrawn the enemy will return and drive the princes out again. I cannot
always be ready to spring out of my kingdom, nor to assemble such great
armies. I am getting old, and my army moreover costs me 400,000 crowns a
month, which is enough to exhaust all the treasures of France, Spain,
Venice, and the States-General together."

He added that, if the present occasion were neglected, the States would
afterwards bitterly lament and never recover it. The Pope was very much
excited, and was sending out his ambassadors everywhere. Only the
previous Saturday the new nuncius destined for France had left Rome. If
My Lords the States would send deputies to the camp with full powers, he
stood there firm and unchangeable, but if they remained cool in the
business, he warned them that they would enrage him.

The States must seize the occasion, he repeated. It was bald behind, and
must be grasped by the forelock. It was not enough to have begun well.
One must end well. "Finis coronat opus." It was very easy to speak of a
league, but a league was not to be made in order to sit with arms tied,
but to do good work. The States ought not to suffer that the Germans
should prove themselves more energetic, more courageous, than themselves.

And again the King vehemently urged the necessity of his Excellency and
some deputies of the States coming to him "with absolute power" to treat.
He could not doubt in that event of something solid being accomplished.

"There are three things," he continued, "which cause me to speak freely.
I am talking with my friends whom I hold dear--yes, dearer, perhaps, than
they hold themselves. I am a great king, and say what I choose to say. I
am old, and know by experience the ways of this world's affairs. I tell
you, then, that it is most important that you should come to me resolved
and firm on all points."

He then requested the ambassadors to make full report of all that he had
said to their masters, to make the journey as rapidly as possible, in
order to encourage the States to the great enterprise and to meet his
wishes. He required from them, he said, not only activity of the body,
but labour of the intellect.

He was silent for a few moments, and then spoke again. "I shall not
always be here," he said, "nor will you always have Prince Maurice, and a
few others whose knowledge of your commonwealth is perfect. My Lords the
States must be up and doing while they still possess them. Nest Tuesday I
shall cause the Queen to be crowned at Saint-Denis; the following
Thursday she will make her entry into Paris. Next day, Friday, I shall
take my departure. At the end of this month I shall cross the Meuse at
Mezieres or in that neighbourhood."

He added that he should write immediately to Holland, to urge upon his
Excellency and the States to be ready to make the junction of their army
with his forces without delay. He charged the ambassadors to assure their
High Mightinesses that he was and should remain their truest friend,
their dearest neighbour. He then said a few gracious and cordial words to
each of them, warmly embraced each, and bade them all farewell.

The next day was passed by the ambassadors in paying and receiving
farewell visits, and on Saturday, the 8th, they departed from Paris,
being escorted out of the gate by the Marshal de Boisdaulphin, with a
cavalcade of noblemen. They slept that night at Saint Denis, and then
returned to Holland by the way of Calais and Rotterdam, reaching the
Hague on the 16th of May.

I make no apology for the minute details thus given of the proceedings of
this embassy, and especially of the conversations of Henry.

The very words of those conversations were taken down on the spot by the
commissioners who heard them, and were carefully embodied in their report
made to the States-General on their return, from which I have transcribed
them.

It was a memorable occasion. The great king--for great he was, despite
his numerous vices and follies--stood there upon the threshold of a vast
undertaking, at which the world, still half incredulous, stood gazing,
half sick with anxiety. He relied on his own genius and valour chiefly,
and after these on the brain of Barneveld and the sword of Maurice. Nor
was his confidence misplaced.

But let the reader observe the date of the day when those striking
utterances were made, and which have never before been made public. It
was Thursday, the 6th May. "I shall not always be here," said the King,
. . . "I cannot be ready at any moment to spring out of my kingdom."
. . . "Friday of next week I take my departure."

How much of heroic pathos in Henry's attitude at this supreme moment! How
mournfully ring those closing words of his address to the ambassadors!

The die was cast. A letter drawn up by the Duc de Sully was sent to
Archduke Albert by the King.

"My brother," he said; "Not being able to refuse my best allies and
confederates the help which they have asked of me against those who wish
to trouble them in the succession to the duchies and counties of Cleve,
Julich, Mark, Berg, Ravensberg, and Ravenstein, I am advancing towards
them with my army. As my road leads me through your country, I desire to
notify you thereof, and to know whether or not I am to enter as a friend
or enemy."

Such was the draft as delivered to the Secretary of State; "and as such
it was sent," said Sully, "unless Villeroy changed it, as he had a great
desire to do."

Henry was mistaken in supposing that the Archduke would leave the letter
without an answer. A reply was sent in due time, and the permission
demanded was not refused. For although France was now full of military
movement, and the regiments everywhere were hurrying hourly to the places
of rendezvous, though the great storm at last was ready to burst, the
Archdukes made no preparations for resistance, and lapped themselves in
fatal security that nothing was intended but an empty demonstration.

Six thousand Swiss newly levied, with 20,000 French infantry and 6000
horse, were waiting for Henry to place himself at their head at Mezieres.
Twelve thousand foot and 2000 cavalry, including the French and English
contingents--a splendid army, led by Prince Maurice--were ready to march
from Holland to Dusseldorf. The army of the princes under Prince
Christian of Anhalt numbered 10,000 men. The last scruples of the usually
unscrupulous Charles Emmanuel had been overcome, and the Duke was quite
ready to act, 25,000 strong, with Marshal de Lesdiguieres, in the
Milanese; while Marshal de la Force was already at the head of his forces
in the Pyrenees, amounting to 12,000 foot and 2000 horse.

Sully had already despatched his splendid trains of artillery to the
frontier. "Never was seen in France, and perhaps never will be seen there
again, artillery more complete and better furnished," said the Duke,
thinking probably that artillery had reached the climax of perfect
destructiveness in the first decade of the seventeenth century.

His son, the Marquis de Rosny, had received the post of grand master of
artillery, and placed himself at its head. His father was to follow as
its chief, carrying with him as superintendent of finance a cash-box of
eight millions.

The King had appointed his wife, Mary de' Medici, regent, with an eminent
council.

The new nuncius had been requested to present himself with his letters of
credence in the camp. Henry was unwilling that he should enter Paris,
being convinced that he came to do his best, by declamation, persuasion,
and intrigue, to paralyse the enterprise. Sully's promises to Ubaldini,
the former nuncius, that his Holiness should be made king, however
flattering to Paul V., had not prevented his representatives from
vigorously denouncing Henry's monstrous scheme to foment heresy and
encourage rebellion.

The King's chagrin at the cautious limitations imposed upon the States'
special embassy was, so he hoped, to be removed by full conferences in
the camp. Certainly he had shown in the most striking manner the respect
he felt for the States, and the confidence he reposed in them.

"In the reception of your embassy," wrote Aerssens to the Advocate,
"certainly the King has so loosened the strap of his affection that he
has reserved nothing by which he could put the greatest king in the world
above your level."

He warned the States, however, that Henry had not found as much in their
propositions as the common interest had caused him to promise himself.
"Nevertheless he informs me in confidence," said Aerssens, "that he will
engage himself in nothing without you; nay, more, he has expressly told
me that he could hardly accomplish his task without your assistance, and
it was for our sakes alone that he has put himself into this position and
incurred this great expense."

Some days later he informed Barneveld that he would leave to van der Myle
and his colleagues the task of describing the great dissatisfaction of
the King at the letters brought by de Bethune. He told him in confidence
that the States must equip the French regiments and put them in marching
order if they wished to preserve Henry's friendship. He added that since
the departure of the special embassy the King had been vehemently and
seriously urging that Prince Maurice, Count Lewis William, Barneveld, and
three or four of the most qualified deputies of the States-General,
entirely authorized to treat for the common safety, should meet with him
in the territory of Julich on a fixed day.

The crisis was reached. The King stood fully armed, thoroughly prepared,
with trustworthy allies at his side, disposing of overwhelming forces
ready to sweep down with irresistible strength upon the House of Austria,
which, as he said and the States said, aspired to give the law to the
whole world. Nothing was left to do save, as the Ambassador said, to
"uncouple the dogs of war and let them run."

What preparations had Spain and the Empire, the Pope and the League, set
on foot to beat back even for a moment the overwhelming onset? None
whatever. Spinola in the Netherlands, Fuentes in Milan, Bucquoy and
Lobkowitz and Lichtenstein in Prague, had hardly the forces of a moderate
peace establishment at their disposal, and all the powers save France and
the States were on the verge of bankruptcy.

Even James of Great Britain--shuddering at the vast thundercloud which
had stretched itself over Christendom growing blacker and blacker,
precisely at this moment, in which he had proved to his own satisfaction
that the peace just made would perpetually endure--even James did not
dare to traverse the designs of the king whom he feared, and the republic
which he hated, in favour of his dearly loved Spain. Sweden, Denmark, the
Hanse Towns, were in harmony with France, Holland, Savoy, and the whole
Protestant force of Germany--a majority both in population and resources
of the whole empire. What army, what combination, what device, what
talisman, could save the House of Austria, the cause of Papacy, from the
impending ruin?

A sudden, rapid, conclusive victory for the allies seemed as predestined
a result as anything could be in the future of human affairs.

On the 14th or 15th day of May, as he had just been informing the States'
ambassadors, Henry meant to place himself at the head of his army. That
was the moment fixed by himself for "taking his departure."

And now the ides of May had come--but not gone.

In the midst of all the military preparations with which Paris had been
resounding, the arrangements for the Queen's coronation had been
simultaneously going forward. Partly to give check in advance to the
intrigues which would probably at a later date be made by Conde,
supported by the power of Spain, to invalidate the legitimacy of the
Dauphin, but more especially perhaps to further and to conceal what the
faithful Sully called the "damnable artifices" of the Queen's intimate
councillors--sinister designs too dark to be even whispered at that
epoch, and of which history, during the lapse of more than two centuries
and a half, has scarcely dared to speak above its breath--it was deemed
all important that the coronation should take place.

A certain astrologer, Thomassin by name, was said to have bidden the King
to beware the middle of the next month of May. Henry had tweaked the
soothsayer by the beard and made him dance twice or thrice about the
room. To the Duc de Vendome expressing great anxiety in regard to
Thomassin, Henry replied, "The astrologer is an old fool, and you are a
young fool." A certain prophetess called Pasithea had informed the Queen
that the King could not survive his fifty-seventh year. She was much in
the confidence of Mary de' Medici, who had insisted this year on her
returning to Paris. Henry, who was ever chafing and struggling to escape
the invisible and dangerous net which he felt closing about him, and who
connected the sorceress with all whom he most loathed among the intimate
associates of the Queen, swore a mighty oath that she should not show her
face again at court. "My heart presages that some signal disaster will
befall me on this coronation. Concini and his wife are urging the Queen
obstinately to send for this fanatic. If she should come, there is no
doubt that my wife and I shall squabble well about her. If I discover
more about these private plots of hers with Spain, I shall be in a mighty
passion." And the King then assured the faithful minister of his
conviction that all the jealousy affected by the Queen in regard to the
Princess of Conde was but a veil to cover dark designs. It was necessary
in the opinion of those who governed her, the vile Concini and his wife,
that there should be some apparent and flagrant cause of quarrel. The
public were to receive payment in these pretexts for want of better coin.
Henry complained that even Sully and all the world besides attributed to
jealousy that which was really the effect of a most refined malice.

And the minister sometimes pauses in the midst of these revelations made
in his old age, and with self-imposed and shuddering silence intimates
that there are things he could tell which are too odious and dreadful to
be breathed.

Henry had an invincible repugnance to that coronation on which the Queen
had set her heart. Nothing could be more pathetic than the isolated
position in which he found himself, standing thus as he did on the
threshold of a mighty undertaking in which he was the central figure, an
object for the world to gaze upon with palpitating interest. At his
hearth in the Louvre were no household gods. Danger lurked behind every
tapestry in that magnificent old palace. A nameless dread dogged his
footsteps through those resounding corridors.

And by an exquisite refinement in torture the possible father of several
of his children not only dictated to the Queen perpetual outbreaks of
frantic jealousy against her husband, but moved her to refuse with
suspicion any food and drink offered her by his hands. The Concini's
would even with unparalleled and ingenious effrontery induce her to make
use of the kitchen arrangements in their apartments for the preparation
of her daily meals?

Driven from house and home, Henry almost lived at the Arsenal. There he
would walk for hours in the long alleys of the garden, discussing with
the great financier and soldier his vast, dreamy, impracticable plans.
Strange combination of the hero, the warrior, the voluptuary, the sage,
and the schoolboy--it would be difficult to find in the whole range of
history a more human, a more attractive, a more provoking, a less
venerable character.

Haunted by omens, dire presentiments, dark suspicions with and without
cause, he was especially averse from the coronation to which in a moment
of weakness he had given his consent.

Sitting in Sully's cabinet, in a low chair which the Duke had expressly
provided for his use, tapping and drumming on his spectacle case, or
starting up and smiting himself on the thigh, he would pour out his soul
hours long to his one confidential minister. "Ah, my friend, how this
sacrament displeases me," he said; "I know not why it is, but my heart
tells me that some misfortune is to befall me. By God I shall die in this
city, I shall never go out of it; I see very well that they are finding
their last resource in my death. Ah, accursed coronation! thou wilt be
the, cause of my death."

So many times did he give utterance to these sinister forebodings that
Sully implored him at last for leave to countermand the whole ceremony
notwithstanding the great preparations which had been made for the
splendid festival. "Yes, yes," replied the King, "break up this
coronation at once. Let me hear no more of it. Then I shall have my mind
cured of all these impressions. I shall leave the town and fear nothing."

He then informed his friend that he had received intimations that he
should lose his life at the first magnificent festival he should give,
and that he should die in a carriage. Sully admitted that he had often,
when in a carriage with him, been amazed at his starting and crying out
at the slightest shock, having so often seen him intrepid among guns and
cannon, pikes and naked swords.

The Duke went to the Queen three days in succession, and with passionate
solicitations and arguments and almost upon his knees implored her to
yield to the King's earnest desire, and renounce for the time at least
the coronation. In vain. Mary de' Medici was obdurate as marble to his
prayers.

The coronation was fixed for Thursday, the 13th May, two days later than
the time originally appointed when the King conversed with the States'
ambassadors. On the following Sunday was to be the splendid and solemn
entrance of the crowned Queen. On the Monday, Henry, postponing likewise
for two days his original plan of departure, would leave for the army.

Meantime there were petty annoyances connected with the details of the
coronation. Henry had set his heart on having his legitimatized children,
the offspring of the fair Gabrielle, take their part in the ceremony on
an equal footing with the princes of the blood. They were not entitled to
wear the lilies of France upon their garments, and the King was
solicitous that "the Count"--as Soissons, brother of Prince Conti and
uncle of Conde, was always called--should dispense with those ensigns for
his wife upon this solemn occasion, and that the other princesses of the
blood should do the same. Thus there would be no appearance of
inferiority on the part of the Duchess of Vendome.

The Count protested that he would have his eyes torn out of his head
rather than submit to an arrangement which would do him so much shame. He
went to the Queen and urged upon her that to do this would likewise be an
injury to her children, the Dukes of Orleans and of Anjou. He refused
flatly to appear or allow his wife to appear except in the costume
befitting their station. The King on his part was determined not to
abandon his purpose. He tried to gain over the Count by the most splendid
proposals, offering him the command of the advance-guard of the army, or
the lieutenancy-general of France in the absence of the King, 30,000
crowns for his equipment and an increase of his pension if he would cause
his wife to give up the fleurs-de-lys on this occasion. The alternative
was to be that, if she insisted upon wearing them, his Majesty would
never look upon him again with favourable eyes.

The Count never hesitated, but left Paris, refusing to appear at the
ceremony. The King was in a towering passion, for to lose the presence of
this great prince of the blood at a solemnity expressly intended as a
demonstration against the designs hatching by the first of all the
princes of the blood under patronage of Spain was a severe blow to his
pride and a check to his policy.'

Yet it was inconceivable that he could at such a moment commit so
superfluous and unmeaning a blunder. He had forced Conde into exile,
intrigue with the enemy, and rebellion, by open and audacious efforts to
destroy his domestic peace, and now he was willing to alienate one of his
most powerful subjects in order to place his bastards on a level with
royalty. While it is sufficiently amusing to contemplate this proposed
barter of a chief command in a great army or the lieutenancy-general of a
mighty kingdom at the outbreak of a general European war against a bit of
embroidery on the court dress of a lady, yet it is impossible not to
recognize something ideal and chivalrous from his own point of view in
the refusal of Soissons to renounce those emblems of pure and high
descent, those haughty lilies of St. Louis, against any bribes of place
and pelf however dazzling.

The coronation took place on Thursday, 13th May, with the pomp and
glitter becoming great court festivals; the more pompous and glittering
the more the monarch's heart was wrapped in gloom. The representatives of
the great powers were conspicuous in the procession; Aerssens, the Dutch
ambassador, holding a foremost place. The ambassadors of Spain and Venice
as usual squabbled about precedence and many other things, and actually
came to fisticuffs, the fight lasting a long time and ending somewhat to
the advantage of the Venetian. But the sacrament was over, and Mary de'
Medici was crowned Queen of France and Regent of the Kingdom during the
absence of the sovereign with his army.

Meantime there had been mysterious warnings darker and more distinct than
the babble of the soothsayer Thomassin or the ravings of the lunatic
Pasithea. Count Schomberg, dining at the Arsenal with Sully, had been
called out to converse with Mademoiselle de Gournay, who implored that a
certain Madame d'Escomans might be admitted to audience of the King. That
person, once in direct relations with the Marchioness of Verneuil, the
one of Henry's mistresses who most hated him, affirmed that a man from
the Duke of Epernon's country was in Paris, agent of a conspiracy seeking
the King's life.

The woman not enjoying a very reputable character found it impossible to
obtain a hearing, although almost frantic with her desire to save her
sovereign's life. The Queen observed that it was a wicked woman, who was
accusing all the world, and perhaps would accuse her too.

The fatal Friday came. Henry drove out, in his carriage to see the
preparations making for the triumphal entrance of the Queen into Paris on
the following Sunday. What need to repeat the tragic, familiar tale? The
coach was stopped by apparent accident in the narrow street de la
Feronniere, and Francis Ravaillac, standing on the wheel, drove his knife
through the monarch's heart. The Duke of Epernon, sitting at his side,
threw his cloak over the body and ordered the carriage back to the
Louvre.

"They have killed him, 'e ammazato,'" cried Concini (so says tradition),
thrusting his head into the Queen's bedchamber.

   [Michelet, 197. It is not probable that the documents concerning
   the trial, having been so carefully suppressed from the beginning,
   especially the confession dictated to Voisin--who wrote it kneeling
   on the ground, and was perhaps so appalled at its purport that he
   was afraid to write it legibly--will ever see the light. I add in
   the Appendix some contemporary letters of persons, as likely as any
   one to know what could be known, which show how dreadful were the
   suspicions which men entertained, and which they hardly ventured to
   whisper to each other].

That blow had accomplished more than a great army could have done, and
Spain now reigned in Paris. The House of Austria, without making any
military preparations, had conquered, and the great war of religion and
politics was postponed for half a dozen years.

This history has no immediate concern with solving the mysteries of that
stupendous crime. The woman who had sought to save the King's life now
denounced Epernon as the chief murderer, and was arrested, examined,
accused of lunacy, proved to be perfectly sane, and, persisting in her
statements with perfect coherency, was imprisoned for life for her pains;
the Duke furiously demanding her instant execution.

The documents connected with the process were carefully suppressed. The
assassin, tortured and torn by four horses, was supposed to have revealed
nothing and to have denied the existence of accomplices.

The great accused were too omnipotent to be dealt with by humble accusers
or by convinced but powerless tribunals. The trial was all mystery,
hugger-mugger, horror. Yet the murderer is known to have dictated to the
Greflier Voisin, just before expiring on the Greve, a declaration which
that functionary took down in a handwriting perhaps purposely illegible.

Two centuries and a half have passed away, yet the illegible original
record is said to exist, to have been plainly read, and to contain the
names of the Queen and the Duke of Epernon.

Twenty-six years before, the pistol of Balthasar Gerard had destroyed the
foremost man in Europe and the chief of a commonwealth just struggling
into existence. Yet Spain and Rome, the instigators and perpetrators of
the crime, had not reaped the victory which they had the right to expect.
The young republic, guided by Barneveld and loyal to the son of the
murdered stadholder, was equal to the burthen suddenly descending upon
its shoulders. Instead of despair there had been constancy. Instead of
distracted counsels there had been heroic union of heart and hand. Rather
than bend to Rome and grovel to Philip, it had taken its sovereignty in
its hands, offered it successively, without a thought of
self-aggrandizement on the part of its children, to the crowns of France
and Great Britain, and, having been repulsed by both, had learned after
fiery trials and incredible exertions to assert its own high and foremost
place among the independent powers of the world.

And now the knife of another priest-led fanatic, the wretched but
unflinching instrument of a great conspiracy, had at a blow decapitated
France. No political revolution could be much more thorough than that
which had been accomplished in a moment of time by Francis Ravaillac.

On the 14th of May, France, while in spiritual matters obedient to the
Pope, stood at the head of the forces of Protestantism throughout Europe,
banded together to effect the downfall of the proud house of Austria,
whose fortunes and fate were synonymous with Catholicism. The Baltic
powers, the majority of the Teutonic races, the Kingdom of Britain, the
great Republic of the Netherlands, the northernmost and most warlike
governments of Italy, all stood at the disposition of the warrior-king.
Venice, who had hitherto, in the words of a veteran diplomatist, "shunned
to look a league or a confederation in the face, if there was any
Protestant element in it, as if it had been the head of Medusa," had
formally forbidden the passage of troops northwards to the relief of the
assailed power. Savoy, after direful hesitations, had committed herself
body and soul to the great enterprise. Even the Pope, who feared the
overshadowing personality of Henry, and was beginning to believe his
house's private interests more likely to flourish under the protection of
the French than the Spanish king, was wavering in his fidelity to Spain
and tempted by French promises: If he should prove himself incapable of
effecting a pause in the great crusade, it was doubtful on which side he
would ultimately range himself; for it was at least certain that the new
Catholic League, under the chieftainship of Maximilian of Bavaria, was
resolved not to entangle its fortunes inextricably with those of the
Austrian house.

The great enterprise, first unfolding itself with the episode of Cleve
and Berg and whimsically surrounding itself with the fantastic idyl of
the Princess of Conde, had attained vast and misty proportions in the
brain of its originator. Few political visions are better known in
history than the "grand design" of Henry for rearranging the map of the
world at the moment when, in the middle of May, he was about to draw his
sword. Spain reduced to the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees, but presented
with both the Indies, with all America and the whole Orient in fee; the
Empire taken from Austria and given to Bavaria; a constellation of States
in Italy, with the Pope for president-king; throughout the rest of
Christendom a certain number of republics, of kingdoms, of religions--a
great confederation of the world, in short--with the most Christian king
for its dictator and protector, and a great Amphictyonic council to
regulate all disputes by solemn arbitration, and to make war in the
future impossible, such in little was his great design.

Nothing could be more humane, more majestic, more elaborate, more utterly
preposterous. And all this gigantic fabric had passed away in an
instant--at one stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage
wheel.

Most pitiful was the condition of France on the day after, and for years
after, the murder of the King. Not only was the kingdom for the, time
being effaced from the roll of nations, so far as external relations were
concerned, but it almost ceased to be a kingdom. The ancient monarchy of
Hugh Capet, of Saint-Louis, of Henry of France and Navarre, was
transformed into a turbulent, self-seeking, quarrelsome, pillaging,
pilfering democracy of grandees. The Queen-Regent was tossed hither and
thither at the sport of the winds and waves which shifted every hour in
that tempestuous court.

No man pretended to think of the State. Every man thought only of
himself. The royal exchequer was plundered with a celerity and cynical
recklessness such as have been rarely seen in any age or country. The
millions so carefully hoarded by Sully, and exhibited so dramatically by
that great minister to the enraptured eyes of his sovereign; that
treasure in the Bastille on which Henry relied for payment of the armies
with which he was to transform the world, all disappeared in a few weeks
to feed the voracious maw of courtiers, paramours, and partisans!

The Queen showered gold like water upon her beloved Concini that he might
purchase his Marquisate of Ancre, and the charge of first gentleman of
the court from Bouillon; that he might fit himself for the government of
Picardy; that he might elevate his marquisate into a dukedom. Conde,
having no further reason to remain in exile, received as a gift from the
trembling Mary de' Medici the magnificent Hotel Gondy, where the Dutch
ambassadors had so recently been lodged, for which she paid 65,000
crowns, together with 25,000 crowns to furnish it, 50,000 crowns to pay
his debts, 50,000 more as yearly pension.

He claimed double, and was soon at sword's point with the Queen in spite
of her lavish bounty.

Epernon, the true murderer of Henry, trampled on courts of justice and
councils of ministers, frightened the court by threatening to convert his
possession of Metz into an independent sovereignty, as Balagny had
formerly seized upon Cambray, smothered for ever the process of
Ravaillac, caused those to be put to death or immured for life in
dungeons who dared to testify to his complicity in the great crime, and
strode triumphantly over friends and enemies throughout France, although
so crippled by the gout that he could scarcely walk up stairs.

There was an end to the triumvirate. Sully's influence was gone for ever.
The other two dropped the mask. The Chancellor and Villeroy revealed
themselves to be what they secretly had always been--humble servants and
stipendiaries of Spain. The formal meetings of the council were of little
importance, and were solemn, tearful, and stately; draped in woe for the
great national loss. In the private cabinet meetings in the entresol of
the Louvre, where the Nuncius and the Spanish ambassador held counsel
with Epernon and Villeroy and Jeannin and Sillery, the tone was merry and
loud; the double Spanish marriage and confusion to the Dutch being the
chief topics of consultation.

But the anarchy grew day by day into almost hopeless chaos. There was no
satisfying the princes of the blood nor the other grandees. Conde, whose
reconciliation with the Princess followed not long after the death of
Henry and his own return to France, was insatiable in his demands for
money, power, and citadels of security. Soissons, who might formerly have
received the lieutenancy-general of the kingdom by sacrificing the lilies
on his wife's gown, now disputed for that office with his elder brother
Conti, the Prince claiming it by right of seniority, the Count denouncing
Conti as deaf, dumb, and imbecile, till they drew poniards on each other
in the very presence of the Queen; while Conde on one occasion, having
been refused the citadels which he claimed, Blaye and Chateau Trompette,
threw his cloak over his nose and put on his hat while the Queen was
speaking, and left the council in a fury, declaring that Villeroy and the
chancellor were traitors, and that he would have them both soundly
cudgelled. Guise, Lorraine, Epernon, Bouillon, and other great lords
always appeared in the streets of Paris at the head of three, four, or
five hundred mounted and armed retainers; while the Queen in her
distraction gave orders to arm the Paris mob to the number of fifty
thousand, and to throw chains across the streets to protect herself and
her son against the turbulent nobles.

Sully, hardly knowing to what saint to burn his candle, being forced to
resign his great posts, was found for a time in strange political
combination with the most ancient foes of his party and himself. The
kaleidoscope whirling with exasperating quickness showed ancient Leaguers
and Lorrainers banded with and protecting Huguenots against the Crown,
while princes of the blood, hereditary patrons and chiefs of the
Huguenots, became partisans and stipendiaries of Spain.

It is easy to see that circumstances like these rendered the position of
the Dutch commonwealth delicate and perilous.

Sully informed Aerssens and van der Myle, who had been sent back to Paris
on special mission very soon after the death of the King, that it took a
hundred hours now to accomplish a single affair, whereas under Henry a
hundred affairs were transacted in a single hour. But Sully's sun had
set, and he had few business conferences now with the ambassadors.

Villeroy and the Chancellor had fed fat their ancient grudge to the once
omnipotent minister, and had sworn his political ruin. The old secretary
of state had held now complete control of the foreign alliances and
combinations of France, and the Dutch ambassadors could be under no
delusion as to the completeness of the revolution.

"You will find a passion among the advisers of the Queen," said Villeroy
to Aerssens and van der Myle, "to move in diametrical opposition to the
plans of the late king." And well might the ancient Leaguer and present
pensionary of Spain reveal this foremost fact in a policy of which he was
in secret the soul. He wept profusely when he first received Francis
Aerssens, but after these "useless tears," as the Envoy called them, he
soon made it manifest that there was no more to be expected of France, in
the great project which its government had so elaborately set on foot.

Villeroy was now sixty-six years of age, and had been secretary of state
during forty-two years and under four kings. A man of delicate health,
frail body, methodical habits, capacity for routine, experience in
political intrigue, he was not personally as greedy of money as many of
his contemporaries, and was not without generosity; but he loved power,
the Pope, and the House of Austria. He was singularly reserved in public,
practised successfully the talent of silence, and had at last arrived at
the position he most coveted, the virtual presidency of the council, and
saw the men he most hated beneath his feet.

At the first interview of Aerssens with the Queen-Regent she was drowned
in tears, and could scarcely articulate an intelligible sentence. So far
as could be understood she expressed her intention of carrying out the
King's plans, of maintaining the old alliances, of protecting both
religions. Nothing, however, could be more preposterous than such
phrases. Villeroy, who now entirely directed the foreign affairs of the
kingdom, assured the Ambassador that France was much more likely to apply
to the States for assistance than render them aid in any enterprise
whatever. "There is no doubt," said Aerssens, "that the Queen is entirely
in the hands of Spain and the priests." Villeroy, whom Henry was wont to
call the pedagogue of the council, went about sighing dismally, wishing
himself dead, and perpetually ejaculating, "Ho! poor France, how much
hast thou still to suffer!" In public he spoke of nothing but of union,
and of the necessity of carrying out the designs of the King, instructing
the docile Queen to hold the same language. In private he was quite
determined to crush those designs for ever, and calmly advised the Dutch
government to make an amicable agreement with the Emperor in regard to
the Cleve affair as soon as possible; a treaty which would have been
shameful for France and the possessory princes, and dangerous, if not
disastrous, for the States-General. "Nothing but feverish and sick
counsels," he said, "could be expected from France, which had now lost
its vigour and could do nothing but groan."

Not only did the French council distinctly repudiate the idea of doing
anything more for the princes than had been stipulated by the treaty of
Hall--that is to say, a contingent of 8000 foot and 2000 horse--but many
of them vehemently maintained that the treaty, being a personal one of
the late king, was dead with him? The duty of France was now in their
opinion to withdraw from these mad schemes as soon as possible, to make
peace with the House of Austria without delay, and to cement the
friendship by the double marriages.

Bouillon, who at that moment hated Sully as much as the most vehement
Catholic could do, assured the Dutch envoy that the government was, under
specious appearances, attempting to deceive the States; a proposition
which it needed not the evidence of that most intriguing duke to make
manifest to so astute a politician; particularly as there was none more
bent on playing the most deceptive game than Bouillon. There would be no
troops to send, he said, and even if there were, there would be no
possibility of agreeing on a chief. The question of religion would at
once arise. As for himself, the Duke protested that he would not accept
the command if offered him. He would not agree to serve under the Prince
of Anhalt, nor would he for any consideration in the world leave the
court at that moment. At the same time Aerssens was well aware that
Bouillon, in his quality of first marshal of France, a Protestant and a
prince having great possessions on the frontier, and the brother-in-law
of Prince Maurice, considered himself entitled to the command of the
troops should they really be sent, and was very indignant at the idea of
its being offered to any one else.

   [Aerssens worked assiduously, two hours long on one occasion, to
   effect a reconciliation between the two great Protestant chiefs, but
   found Bouillon's demands "so shameful and unreasonable" that he
   felt obliged to renounce all further attempts. In losing Sully from
   the royal councils, the States' envoy acknowledged that the Republic
   had lost everything that could be depended on at the French court.
   "All the others are time-serving friends," he said, "or saints
   without miracles."--Aerssens to Barneveld, 11 June, 1610. ]

He advised earnestly therefore that the States should make a firm demand
for money instead of men, specifying the amount that might be considered
the equivalent of the number of troops originally stipulated.

It is one of the most singular spectacles in history; France sinking into
the background of total obscurity in an instant of time, at one blow of a
knife, while the Republic, which she had been patronizing, protecting,
but keeping always in a subordinate position while relying implicitly
upon its potent aid, now came to the front, and held up on its strong
shoulders an almost desperate cause. Henry had been wont to call the
States-General "his courage and his right arm," but he had always
strictly forbidden them to move an inch in advance of him, but ever to
follow his lead, and to take their directions from himself. They were a
part, and an essential one, in his vast designs; but France, or he who
embodied France, was the great providence, the destiny, the
all-directing, all-absorbing spirit, that was to remodel and control the
whole world. He was dead, and France and her policy were already in a
state of rapid decomposition.

Barneveld wrote to encourage and sustain the sinking state. "Our courage
is rising in spite and in consequence of the great misfortune," he said.
He exhorted the Queen to keep her kingdom united, and assured her that My
Lords the States would maintain themselves against all who dared to
assail them. He offered in their name the whole force of the Republic to
take vengeance on those who had procured the assassination, and to defend
the young king and the Queen-Mother against all who might make any
attempt against their authority. He further declared, in language not to
be mistaken, that the States would never abandon the princes and their
cause.

This was the earliest indication on the part of the Advocate of the
intention of the Republic--so long as it should be directed by his
counsels--to support the cause of the young king, helpless and incapable
as he was, and directed for the time being by a weak and wicked mother,
against the reckless and depraved grandees, who were doing their best to
destroy the unity and the independence of France, Cornelis van der Myle
was sent back to Paris on special mission of condolence and comfort from
the States-General to the sorely afflicted kingdom.

On the 7th of June, accompanied by Aerssens, he had a long interview with
Villeroy. That minister, as usual, wept profusely, and said that in
regard to Cleve it was impossible for France to carry out the designs of
the late king. He then listened to what the ambassadors had to urge, and
continued to express his melancholy by weeping. Drying his tears for a
time, he sought by a long discourse to prove that France during this
tender minority of the King would be incapable of pursuing the policy of
his father. It would be even too burthensome to fulfil the Treaty of
Hall. The friends of the crown, he said, had no occasion to further it,
and it would be much better to listen to propositions for a treaty.
Archduke Albert was content not to interfere in the quarrel if the Queen
would likewise abstain; Leopold's forces were altogether too weak to make
head against the army of the princes, backed by the power of My Lords the
States, and Julich was neither strong nor well garrisoned. He concluded
by calmly proposing that the States should take the matter in hand by
themselves alone, in order to lighten the burthen of France, whose vigour
had been cut in two by that accursed knife.

A more sneaking and shameful policy was never announced by the minister
of a great kingdom. Surely it might seem that Ravaillac had cut in twain
not the vigour only but the honour and the conscience of France. But the
envoys, knowing in their hearts that they were talking not with a French
but a Spanish secretary of state, were not disposed to be the dupes of
his tears or his blandishments.

They reminded him that the Queen-Regent and her ministers since the
murder of the King had assured the States-General and the princes of
their firm intention to carry out the Treaty of Hall, and they observed
that they had no authority to talk of any negotiation. The affair of the
duchies was not especially the business of the States, and the Secretary
was well aware that they had promised their succour on the express
condition that his Majesty and his army should lead the way, and that
they should follow. This was very far from the plan now suggested, that
they should do it all, which would be quite out of the question. France
had a strong army, they said, and it would be better to use it than to
efface herself so pitiably. The proposition of abstention on the part of
the Archduke was a delusion intended only to keep France out of the
field.

Villeroy replied by referring to English affairs. King James, he said,
was treating them perfidiously. His first letters after the murder had
been good, but by the following ones England seemed to wish to put her
foot on France's throat, in order to compel her to sue for an alliance.
The British ministers had declared their resolve not to carry out that
convention of alliance, although it had been nearly concluded in the
lifetime of the late king, unless the Queen would bind herself to make
good to the King of Great Britain that third part of the subsidies
advanced by France to the States which had been furnished on English
account!

This was the first announcement of a grievance devised by the politicians
now governing France to make trouble for the States with that kingdom and
with Great Britain likewise. According to a treaty made at Hampton Court
by Sully during his mission to England at the accession of James, it had
been agreed that one-third of the moneys advanced by France in aid of the
United Provinces should be credited to the account of Great Britain, in
diminution of the debt for similar assistance rendered by Elizabeth to
Henry. In regard to this treaty the States had not been at all consulted,
nor did they acknowledge the slightest obligation in regard to it. The
subsidies in men and in money provided for them both by France and by
England in their struggle for national existence had always been most
gratefully acknowledged by the Republic, but it had always been perfectly
understood that these expenses had been incurred by each kingdom out of
an intelligent and thrifty regard for its own interest. Nothing could be
more ridiculous than to suppose France and England actuated by
disinterested sympathy and benevolence when assisting the Netherland
people in its life-and-death struggle against the dire and deadly enemy
of both crowns. Henry protested that, while adhering to Rome in spiritual
matters, his true alliances and strength had been found in the United
Provinces, in Germany, and in Great Britain. As for the States, he had
spent sixteen millions of livres, he said, in acquiring a perfect
benevolence on the part of the States to his person. It was the best
bargain he had ever made, and he should take care to preserve it at any
cost whatever, for he considered himself able, when closely united with
them, to bid defiance to all the kings in Europe together.

Yet it was now the settled policy of the Queen-Regent's council, so far
as the knot of politicians guided by the Nuncius and the Spanish
ambassador in the entresols of the Louvre could be called a council, to
force the States to refund that third, estimated at something between
three and four million livres, which France had advanced them on account
of Great Britain.

Villeroy told the two ambassadors at this interview that, if Great
Britain continued to treat the Queen-Regent in such fashion, she would be
obliged to look about for other allies. There could hardly be doubt as to
the quarter in which Mary de' Medici was likely to look. Meantime, the
Secretary of State urged the envoys "to intervene at once to-mediate the
difference." There could be as little doubt that to mediate the
difference was simply to settle an account which they did not owe.

The whole object of the Minister at this first interview was to induce
the States to take the whole Cleve enterprise upon their own shoulders,
and to let France off altogether. The Queen-Regent as then advised meant
to wash her hands of the possessory princes once and for ever. The envoys
cut the matter short by assuring Villeroy that they would do nothing of
the kind. He begged them piteously not to leave the princes in the lurch,
and at the same time not to add to the burthens of France at so
disastrous a moment.

So they parted. Next day, however, they visited the Secretary again, and
found him more dismal and flaccid than ever.

He spoke feebly and drearily about the succour for the great enterprise,
recounted all the difficulties in the way, and, having thrown down
everything that the day before had been left standing, he tried to excuse
an entire change of policy by the one miserable crime.

He painted a forlorn picture of the council and of France. "I can myself
do nothing as I wish," added the undisputed controller of that
government's policy, and then with a few more tears he concluded by
requesting the envoys to address their demands to the Queen in writing.

This was done with the customary formalities and fine speeches on both
sides; a dull comedy by which no one was amused.

Then Bouillon came again, and assured them that there had been a chance
that the engagements of Henry, followed up by the promise of the
Queen-Regent, would be carried out, but now the fact was not to be
concealed that the continued battery of the Nuncius, of the ambassadors
of Spain and of the Archdukes, had been so effective that nothing sure or
solid was thenceforth to be expected; the council being resolved to
accept the overtures of the Archduke for mutual engagement to abstain
from the Julich enterprise.

Nothing in truth could be more pitiable than the helpless drifting of the
once mighty kingdom, whenever the men who governed it withdrew their
attention for an instant from their private schemes of advancement and
plunder to cast a glance at affairs of State. In their secret heart they
could not doubt that France was rushing on its ruin, and that in the
alliance of the Dutch commonwealth, Britain, and the German Protestants,
was its only safety. But they trembled before the Pope, grown bold and
formidable since the death of the dreaded Henry. To offend his Holiness,
the King of Spain, the Emperor, and the great Catholics of France, was to
make a crusade against the Church. Garnier, the Jesuit, preached from his
pulpit that "to strike a blow in the Cleve enterprise was no less a sin
than to inflict a stab in the body of our Lord." The Parliament of Paris
having ordered the famous treatise of the Jesuit Mariana--justifying the
killing of excommunicated kings by their subjects--to be publicly burned
before Notre Dame, the Bishop opposed the execution of the decree. The
Parliament of Paris, although crushed by Epernon in its attempts to fix
the murder of the King upon himself as the true culprit, was at least
strong enough to carry out this sentence upon a printed, volume
recommending the deed, and the Queen's council could only do its best to
mitigate the awakened wrath of the Jesuits at this exercise of legal
authority.--At the same time, it found on the whole so many more
difficulties in a cynical and shameless withdrawal from the Treaty of
Hall than in a nominal and tardy fulfilment of its conditions that it
resolved at last to furnish the 8000 foot and 2000 horse promised to the
possessory princes. The next best thing to abandoning entirely even this
little shred, this pitiful remnant, of the splendid designs of Henry was
to so arrange matters that the contingent should be feebly commanded, and
set on foot in so dilatory a manner that the petty enterprise should on
the part of France be purely perfunctory. The grandees of the kingdom had
something more important to do than to go crusading in Germany, with the
help of a heretic republic, to set up the possessory princes. They were
fighting over the prostrate dying form of their common mother for their
share of the spoils, stripping France before she was dead, and casting
lots for her vesture.

Soissons was on the whole in favour of the Cleve expedition. Epernon was
desperately opposed to it, and maltreated Villeroy in full council when
he affected to say a word, insincere as the Duke knew it to be, in favour
of executing agreements signed by the monarch, and sealed with the great
seal of France. The Duke of Guise, finding himself abandoned by the
Queen, and bitterly opposed and hated by Soissons, took sides with his
deaf and dumb and imbecile brother, and for a brief interval the Duke of
Sully joined this strange combination of the House of Lorraine and chiefs
of ancient Leaguers, who welcomed him with transport, and promised him
security.

Then Bouillon, potent by his rank, his possessions, and his authority
among the Protestants, publicly swore that he would ruin Sully and change
the whole order of the government. What more lamentable spectacle, what
more desolate future for the cause of religious equality, which for a
moment had been achieved in France, than this furious alienation of the
trusted leaders of the Huguenots, while their adversaries were carrying
everything before them? At the council board Bouillon quarrelled
ostentatiously with Sully, shook his fist in his face, and but for the
Queen's presence would have struck him. Next day he found that the Queen
was intriguing against himself as well as against Sully, was making a
cat's-paw of him, and was holding secret councils daily from which he as
well as Sully was excluded. At once he made overtures of friendship to
Sully, and went about proclaiming to the world that all Huguenots were to
be removed from participation in affairs of state. His vows of vengeance
were for a moment hushed by the unanimous resolution of the council that,
as first marshal of France, having his principality on the frontier, and
being of the Reformed religion, he was the fittest of all to command the
expedition. Surely it might be said that the winds and tides were not
more changeful than the politics of the Queen's government. The Dutch
ambassador was secretly requested by Villeroy to negotiate with Bouillon
and offer him the command of the Julich expedition. The Duke affected to
make difficulties, although burning to obtain the post, but at last
consented. All was settled. Aerssens communicated at once with Villeroy,
and notice of Bouillon's acceptance was given to the Queen, when, behold,
the very next day Marshal de la Chatre was appointed to the command
expressly because he was a Catholic. Of course the Duke of Bouillon,
furious with Soissons and Epernon and the rest of the government, was
more enraged than ever against the Queen. His only hope was now in Conde,
but Conde at the outset, on arriving at the Louvre, offered his heart to
the Queen as a sheet of white paper. Epernon and Soissons received him
with delight, and exchanged vows of an eternal friendship of several
weeks' duration. And thus all the princes of the blood, all the cousins
of Henry of Navarre, except the imbecile Conti, were ranged on the side
of Spain, Rome, Mary de' Medici, and Concino Concini, while the son of
the Balafre, the Duke of Mayenne, and all their adherents were making
common cause with the Huguenots. What better example had been seen
before, even in that country of pantomimic changes, of the effrontery
with which Religion was made the strumpet of Political Ambition?

All that day and the next Paris was rife with rumours that there was to
be a general massacre of the Huguenots to seal the new-born friendship of
a Conde with a Medici. France was to renounce all her old alliances and
publicly to enter into treaties offensive and defensive with Spain. A
league like that of Bayonne made by the former Medicean Queen-Regent of
France was now, at Villeroy's instigation, to be signed by Mary de'
Medici. Meantime, Marshal de la Chatre, an honest soldier and fervent
Papist, seventy-three years of age, ignorant of the language, the
geography, the politics of the country to which he was sent, and knowing
the road thither about as well, according to Aerssens, who was requested
to give him a little preliminary instruction, as he did the road to
India, was to co-operate with Barneveld and Maurice of Nassau in the
enterprise against the duchies.

These were the cheerful circumstances amid which the first step in the
dead Henry's grand design against the House of Austria and in support of
Protestantism in half Europe and of religious equality throughout
Christendom, was now to be ventured.

Cornelis van der Myle took leave of the Queen on terminating his brief
special embassy, and was fain to content himself with languid assurances
from that corpulent Tuscan dame of her cordial friendship for the United
Provinces. Villeroy repeated that the contingent to be sent was furnished
out of pure love to the Netherlands, the present government being in no
wise bound by the late king's promises. He evaded the proposition of the
States for renewing the treaty of close alliance by saying that he was
then negotiating with the British government on the subject, who insisted
as a preliminary step on the repayment of the third part of the sums
advanced to the States by the late king.

He exchanged affectionate farewell greetings and good wishes with Jeannin
and with the dropsical Duke of Mayenne, who was brought in his chair to
his old fellow Leaguer's apartments at the moment of the Ambassador's
parting interview.

There was abundant supply of smooth words, in the plentiful lack of any
substantial nutriment, from the representatives of each busy faction into
which the Medicean court was divided. Even Epernon tried to say a
gracious word to the retiring envoy, assuring him that he would do as
much for the cause as a good Frenchman and lover of his fatherland could
do. He added, in rather a surly way, that he knew very well how foully he
had been described to the States, but that the devil was not as black as
he was painted. It was necessary, he said, to take care of one's own
house first of all, and he knew very well that the States and all prudent
persons would do the same thing.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     And now the knife of another priest-led fanatic
     As with his own people, keeping no back-door open
     At a blow decapitated France
     Conclusive victory for the allies seemed as predestined
     Epernon, the true murderer of Henry
     Father Cotton, who was only too ready to betray the secrets
     Great war of religion and politics was postponed
     Jesuit Mariana--justifying the killing of excommunicated kings
     No man pretended to think of the State
     Practised successfully the talent of silence
     Queen is entirely in the hands of Spain and the priests
     Religion was made the strumpet of Political Ambition
     Smooth words, in the plentiful lack of any substantial
     Stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage wheel
     The assassin, tortured and torn by four horses
     They have killed him, 'e ammazato,' cried Concini
     Things he could tell which are too odious and dreadful
     Uncouple the dogs and let them run
     Vows of an eternal friendship of several weeks' duration
     What could save the House of Austria, the cause of Papacy
     Wrath of the Jesuits at this exercise of legal authority



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v4, 1610-12



CHAPTER V.

   Interviews between the Dutch Commissioners and King James--Prince
   Maurice takes command of the Troops--Surrender of Julich--Matthias
   crowned King of Bohemia--Death of Rudolph--James's Dream of a
   Spanish Marriage--Appointment of Vorstius in place of Arminius at
   Leyden--Interview between Maurice and Winwood--Increased Bitterness
   between Barneveld and Maurice--Projects of Spanish Marriages in
   France.

It is refreshing to escape from the atmosphere of self-seeking faction,
feverish intrigue, and murderous stratagem in which unhappy France was
stifling into the colder and calmer regions of Netherland policy.

No sooner had the tidings of Henry's murder reached the States than they
felt that an immense responsibility had fallen on their shoulders. It is
to the eternal honour of the Republic, of Barneveld, who directed her
councils, and of Prince Maurice, who wielded her sword, that she was
equal to the task imposed upon her.

There were open bets on the Exchange in Antwerp, after the death of
Henry, that Maurice would likewise be killed within the month. Nothing
seemed more probable, and the States implored the Stadholder to take
special heed to himself. But this was a kind of caution which the Prince
was not wont to regard. Nor was there faltering, distraction, cowardice,
or parsimony in Republican councils.

We have heard the strong words of encouragement and sympathy addressed by
the Advocate's instructions to the Queen-Regent and the leading statesmen
of France. We have seen their effects in that lingering sentiment of
shame which prevented the Spanish stipendiaries who governed the kingdom
from throwing down the mask as cynically as they were at first inclined
to do.

Not less manful and statesmanlike was the language held to the King of
Great Britain and his ministers by the Advocate's directions. The news of
the assassination reached the special ambassadors in London at three
o'clock of Monday, the 17th May. James returned to Whitehall from a
hunting expedition on the 21st, and immediately signified his intention
of celebrating the occasion by inviting the high commissioners of the
States to a banquet and festival at the palace.

Meantime they were instructed by Barneveld to communicate the results of
the special embassy of the States to the late king according to the
report just delivered to the Assembly. Thus James was to be informed of
the common resolution and engagement then taken to support the cause of
the princes. He was now seriously and explicitly to be summoned to assist
the princes not only with the stipulated 4000 men, but with a much
greater force, proportionate to the demands for the security and welfare
of Christendom, endangered by this extraordinary event. He was assured
that the States would exert themselves to the full measure of their
ability to fortify and maintain the high interests of France, of the
possessory princes, and of Christendom, so that the hopes of the
perpetrators of the foul deed would be confounded.

"They hold this to be the occasion," said the envoys, "to show to all the
world that it is within your power to rescue the affairs of France,
Germany, and of the United Provinces from the claws of those who imagine
for themselves universal monarchy."

They concluded by requesting the King to come to "a resolution on this
affair royally, liberally, and promptly, in order to take advantage of
the time, and not to allow the adversary to fortify himself in his
position"; and they pledged the States-General to stand by and second him
with all their power.

The commissioners, having read this letter to Lord Salisbury before
communicating it to the King, did not find the Lord Treasurer very prompt
or sympathetic in his reply. There had evidently been much jealousy at
the English court of the confidential and intimate relations recently
established with Henry, to which allusions were made in the documents
read at the present conference. Cecil, while expressing satisfaction in
formal terms at the friendly language of the States, and confidence in
the sincerity of their friendship for his sovereign, intimated very
plainly that more had passed between the late king and the authorities of
the Republic than had been revealed by either party to the King of Great
Britain, or than could be understood from the letters and papers now
communicated. He desired further information from the commissioners,
especially in regard to those articles of their instructions which
referred to a general rupture. They professed inability to give more
explanations than were contained in the documents themselves. If
suspicion was felt, they said, that the French King had been proposing
anything in regard to a general rupture, either on account of the retreat
of Conde, the affair of Savoy, or anything else, they would reply that
the ambassadors in France had been instructed to decline committing the
States until after full communication and advice and ripe deliberation
with his British Majesty and council, as well as the Assembly of the
States-General; and it had been the intention of the late king to have
conferred once more and very confidentially with Prince Maurice and Count
Lewis William before coming to a decisive resolution.

It was very obvious however to the commissioners that their statement
gave no thorough satisfaction, and that grave suspicions remained of
something important kept back by them. Cecil's manner was constrained and
cold, and certainly there were no evidences of profound sorrow at the
English court for the death of Henry.

"The King of France," said the High Treasurer, "meant to make a
master-stroke--a coup de maistre--but he who would have all may easily
lose all. Such projects as these should not have been formed or taken in
hand without previous communication with his Majesty of Great Britain."

All arguments on the part of the ambassadors to induce the Lord Treasurer
or other members of the government to enlarge the succour intended for
the Cleve affair were fruitless. The English troops regularly employed in
the States' service might be made use of with the forces sent by the
Republic itself. More assistance than this it was idle to expect, unless
after a satisfactory arrangement with the present regency of France. The
proposition, too, of the States for a close and general alliance was
coldly repulsed. "No resolution can be taken as to that," said Cecil;
"the death of the French king has very much altered such matters."

At a little later hour on the same day the commissioners, according to
previous invitation, dined with the King.

No one sat at the table but his Majesty and themselves, and they all kept
their hats on their heads. The King was hospitable, gracious, discursive,
loquacious, very theological.

He expressed regret for the death of the King of France, and said that
the pernicious doctrine out of which such vile crimes grew must be
uprooted. He asked many questions in regard to the United Netherlands,
enquiring especially as to the late commotions at Utrecht, and the
conduct of Prince Maurice on that occasion. He praised the resolute
conduct of the States-General in suppressing those tumults with force,
adding, however, that they should have proceeded with greater rigour
against the ringleaders of the riot. He warmly recommended the Union of
the Provinces.

He then led the conversation to the religious controversies in the
Netherlands, and in reply to his enquiries was informed that the points
in dispute related to predestination and its consequences.

"I have studied that subject," said James, "as well as anybody, and have
come to the conclusion that nothing certain can be laid down in regard to
it. I have myself not always been of one mind about it, but I will bet
that my opinion is the best of any, although I would not hang my
salvation upon it. My Lords the States would do well to order their
doctors and teachers to be silent on this topic. I have hardly ventured,
moreover, to touch upon the matter of justification in my own writings,
because that also seemed to hang upon predestination."

Thus having spoken with the air of a man who had left nothing further to
be said on predestination or justification, the King rose, took off his
hat, and drank a bumper to the health of the States-General and his
Excellency Prince Maurice, and success to the affair of Cleve.

After dinner there was a parting interview in the gallery. The King,
attended by many privy councillors and high functionaries of state, bade
the commissioners a cordial farewell, and, in order to show his
consideration for their government, performed the ceremony of knighthood
upon them, as was his custom in regard to the ambassadors of Venice. The
sword being presented to him by the Lord Chamberlain, James touched each
of the envoys on the shoulder as he dismissed him. "Out of respect to My
Lords the States," said they in their report, "we felt compelled to allow
ourselves to be burthened with this honour."

Thus it became obvious to the States-General that there was but little to
hope for from Great Britain or France. France, governed by Concini and by
Spain, was sure to do her best to traverse the designs of the Republic,
and, while perfunctorily and grudgingly complying with the letter of the
Hall treaty, was secretly neutralizing by intrigue the slender military
aid which de la Chatre was to bring to Prince Maurice. The close alliance
of France and Protestantism had melted into air. On the other hand the
new Catholic League sprang into full luxuriance out of the grave of
Henry, and both Spain and the Pope gave their hearty adhesion to the
combinations of Maximilian of Bavaria, now that the mighty designs of the
French king were buried with him. The Duke of Savoy, caught in the trap
of his own devising, was fain to send his son to sue to Spain for pardon
for the family upon his knees, and expiated by draining a deep cup of
humiliation his ambitious designs upon the Milanese and the matrimonial
alliance with France. Venice recoiled in horror from the position she
found herself in as soon as the glamour of Henry's seductive policy was
dispelled, while James of Great Britain, rubbing his hands with great
delight at the disappearance from the world of the man he so admired,
bewailed, and hated, had no comfort to impart to the States-General thus
left in virtual isolation. The barren burthen of knighthood and a sermon
on predestination were all he could bestow upon the high commissioners in
place of the alliance which he eluded, and the military assistance which
he point-blank refused. The possessory princes, in whose cause the sword
was drawn, were too quarrelsome and too fainthearted to serve for much
else than an incumbrance either in the cabinet or the field.

And the States-General were equal to the immense responsibility.
Steadily, promptly, and sagaciously they confronted the wrath, the
policy, and the power of the Empire, of Spain, and of the Pope. Had the
Republic not existed, nothing could have prevented that debateable and
most important territory from becoming provinces of Spain, whose power
thus dilated to gigantic proportions in the very face of England would
have been more menacing than in the days of the Armada. Had the Republic
faltered, she would have soon ceased to exist. But the Republic did not
falter.

On the 13th July, Prince Maurice took command of the States' forces,
13,000 foot and 3000 horse, with thirty pieces of cannon, assembled at
Schenkenschans. The July English and French regiments in the regular
service of the United Provinces were included in these armies, but there
were no additions to them: "The States did seven times as much,"
Barneveld justly averred, "as they had stipulated to do." Maurice, moving
with the precision and promptness which always marked his military
operations, marched straight upon Julich, and laid siege to that
important fortress. The Archdukes at Brussels, determined to keep out of
the fray as long as possible, offered no opposition to the passage of his
supplies up the Rhine, which might have been seriously impeded by them at
Rheinberg. The details of the siege, as of all the Prince's sieges,
possess no more interest to the general reader than the working out of a
geometrical problem. He was incapable of a flaw in his calculations, but
it was impossible for him quite to complete the demonstration before the
arrival of de la Chatre. Maurice received with courtesy the Marshal, who
arrived on the 18th August, at the head of his contingent of 8000 foot
and a few squadrons of cavalry, and there was great show of harmony
between them. For any practical purposes, de la Chatre might as well have
remained in France. For political ends his absence would have been
preferable to his presence.

Maurice would have rejoiced, had the Marshal blundered longer along the
road to the debateable land than he had done. He had almost brought
Julich to reduction. A fortnight later the place surrendered. The terms
granted by the conqueror were equitable. No change was to be made in the
liberty of Roman Catholic worship, nor in the city magistracy. The
citadel and its contents were to be handed over to the Princes of
Brandenburg and Neuburg. Archduke Leopold and his adherents departed to
Prague, to carry out as he best could his farther designs upon the crown
of Bohemia, this first portion of them having so lamentably failed, and
Sergeant-Major Frederick Pithan, of the regiment of Count Ernest Casimir
of Nassau, was appointed governor of Julich in the interest of the
possessory princes.

Thus without the loss of a single life, the Republic, guided by her
consummate statesman and unrivalled general, had gained an immense
victory, had installed the Protestant princes in the full possession of
those splendid and important provinces, and had dictated her decrees on
German soil to the Emperor of Germany, and had towed, as it were, Great
Britain and France along in her wake, instead of humbly following those
powers, and had accomplished all that she had ever proposed to do, even
in alliance with them both.

The King of England considered that quite enough had been done, and was
in great haste to patch up a reconciliation. He thought his ambassador
would soon "have as good occasion to employ his tongue and his pen as
General Cecil and his soldiers have done their swords and their
mattocks."

He had no sympathy with the cause of Protestantism, and steadily refused
to comprehend the meaning of the great movements in the duchies. "I only
wish that I may handsomely wind myself out of this quarrel, where the
principal parties do so little for themselves," he said.

De la Chatre returned with his troops to France within a fortnight after
his arrival on the scene. A mild proposition made by the French
government through the Marshal, that the provinces should be held in
seguestration by France until a decision as to the true sovereignty could
be reached, was promptly declined. Maurice of Nassau had hardly gained so
signal a triumph for the Republic and for the Protestant cause only to
hand it over to Concini and Villeroy for the benefit of Spain. Julich was
thought safer in the keeping of Sergeant Pithan.

By the end of September the States' troops had returned to their own
country.

Thus the Republic, with eminent success, had accomplished a brief and
brilliant campaign, but no statesman could suppose that the result was
more than a temporary one. These coveted provinces, most valuable in
themselves and from their important position, would probably not be
suffered peacefully to remain very long under the protection of the
heretic States-General and in the 'Condominium' of two Protestant
princes. There was fear among the Imperialists, Catholics, and Spaniards,
lest the baleful constellation of the Seven Provinces might be increased
by an eighth star. And this was a project not to be tolerated. It was
much already that the upstart confederacy had defied Pope, Emperor, and
King, as it were, on their own domains, had dictated arrangements in
Germany directly in the teeth of its emperor, using France as her
subordinate, and compelling the British king to acquiesce in what he most
hated.

But it was not merely to surprise Julich, and to get a foothold in the
duchies, that Leopold had gone forth on his adventure. His campaign, as
already intimated, was part of a wide scheme in which he had persuaded
his emperor-cousin to acquiesce. Poor Rudolph had been at last goaded
into a feeble attempt at revolt against his three brothers and his cousin
Ferdinand. Peace-loving, inert, fond of his dinner, fonder of his
magnificent collections of gems and intagli, liking to look out of window
at his splendid collection of horses, he was willing to pass a quiet
life, afar from the din of battles and the turmoil of affairs. As he
happened to be emperor of half Europe, these harmless tastes could not
well be indulged. Moon-faced and fat, silent and slow, he was not
imperial of aspect on canvas or coin, even when his brows were decorated
with the conventional laurel wreath. He had been stripped of his
authority and all but discrowned by his more bustling brothers Matthias
and Max, while the sombre figure of Styrian Ferdinand, pupil of the
Jesuits, and passionate admirer of Philip II., stood ever in the
background, casting a prophetic shadow over the throne and over Germany.

The brothers were endeavouring to persuade Rudolph that he would find
more comfort in Innsbruck than in Prague; that he required repose after
the strenuous labours of government. They told him, too, that it would be
wise to confer the royal crown of Bohemia upon Matthias, lest, being
elective and also an electorate, the crown and vote of that country might
pass out of the family, and so both Bohemia and the Empire be lost to the
Habsburgs. The kingdom being thus secured to Matthias and his heirs, the
next step, of course, was to proclaim him King of the Romans. Otherwise
there would be great danger and detriment to Hungary, and other
hereditary states of that conglomerate and anonymous monarchy which owned
the sway of the great Habsburg family.

The unhappy emperor was much piqued. He had been deprived by his brother
of Hungary, Moravia, and Austria, while Matthias was now at Prague with
an army, ostensibly to obtain ratification of the peace with Turkey, but
in reality to force the solemn transfer of those realms and extort the
promise of Bohemia. Could there be a better illustration of the
absurdities of such a system of Imperialism?

And now poor Rudolph was to be turned out of the Hradschin, and sent
packing with or without his collections to the Tyrol.

The bellicose bishop of Strassburg and Passau, brother of Ferdinand, had
little difficulty in persuading the downtrodden man to rise to vengeance.
It had been secretly agreed between the two that Leopold, at the head of
a considerable army of mercenaries which he had contrived to levy, should
dart into Julich as the Emperor's representative, seize the debateable
duchies, and hold them in sequestration until the Emperor should decide
to whom they belonged, and, then, rushing back to Bohemia, should
annihilate Matthias, seize Prague, and deliver Rudolph from bondage. It
was further agreed that Leopold, in requital of these services, should
receive the crown of Bohemia, be elected King of the Romans, and declared
heir to the Emperor, so far as Rudolph could make him his heir.

The first point in the program he had only in part accomplished. He had
taken Julich, proclaimed the intentions of the Emperor, and then been
driven out of his strong position by the wise policy of the States under
the guidance of Barneveld and by the consummate strategy of Maurice. It
will be seen therefore that the Republic was playing a world's game at
this moment, and doing it with skill and courage. On the issue of the
conflict which had been begun and was to be long protracted in the
duchies, and to spread over nearly all Christendom besides, would depend
the existence of the United Netherlands and the fate of Protestantism.

The discomfited Leopold swept back at the head of his mercenaries, 9000
foot and 3000 horse, through Alsace and along the Danube to Linz and so
to Prague, marauding, harrying, and black-mailing the country as he went.
He entered the city on the 15th of February 1611, fighting his way
through crowds of exasperated burghers. Sitting in full harness on
horseback in the great square before the cathedral, the warlike bishop
compelled the population to make oath to him as the Emperor's commissary.
The street fighting went on however day by day, poor Rudolph meantime
cowering in the Hradschin. On the third day, Leopold, driven out of the
town, took up a position on the heights, from which he commanded it with
his artillery. Then came a feeble voice from the Hradschin, telling all
men that these Passau marauders and their episcopal chief were there by
the Emperor's orders. The triune city--the old, the new, and the Jew--was
bidden to send deputies to the palace and accept the Imperial decrees. No
deputies came at the bidding. The Bohemians, especially the Praguers,
being in great majority Protestants knew very well that Leopold was
fighting the cause of the Papacy and Spain in Bohemia as well as in the
duchies.

And now Matthias appeared upon the scene. The Estates had already been in
communication with him, better hopes, for the time at least, being
entertained from him than from the flaccid Rudolph. Moreover a kind of
compromise had been made in the autumn between Matthias and the Emperor
after the defeat of Leopold in the duchies. The real king had fallen at
the feet of the nominal one by proxy of his brother Maximilian. Seven
thousand men of the army of Matthias now came before Prague under command
of Colonitz. The Passauers, receiving three months pay from the Emperor,
marched quietly off. Leopold disappeared for the time. His chancellor and
counsellor in the duchies, Francis Teynagel, a Geldrian noble, taken
prisoner and put to the torture, revealed the little plot of the Emperor
in favour of the Bishop, and it was believed that the Pope, the King of
Spain, and Maximilian of Bavaria were friendly to the scheme. This was
probable, for Leopold at last made no mystery of his resolve to fight
Protestantism to the death, and to hold the duchies, if he could, for the
cause of Rome and Austria.

Both Rudolph and Matthias had committed themselves to the toleration of
the Reformed religion. The famous "Majesty-Letter," freshly granted by
the Emperor (1609), and the Compromise between the Catholic and
Protestant Estates had become the law of the land. Those of the Bohemian
confession, a creed commingled of Hussism, Lutheranism, and Calvinism,
had obtained toleration. In a country where nine-tenths of the population
were Protestants it was permitted to Protestants to build churches and to
worship God in them unmolested. But these privileges had been extorted by
force, and there was a sullen, dogged determination which might be easily
guessed at to revoke them should it ever become possible. The House of
Austria, reigning in Spain, Italy, and Germany, was bound by the very law
of their being to the Roman religion. Toleration of other worship
signified in their eyes both a defeat and a crime.

Thus the great conflict, to be afterwards known as the Thirty Years' War,
had in reality begun already, and the Netherlands, in spite of the truce,
were half unconsciously taking a leading part in it. The odds at that
moment in Germany seemed desperately against the House of Austria, so
deep and wide was the abyss between throne and subjects which religious
difference had created. But the reserved power in Spain, Italy, and
Southern Germany was sure enough to make itself felt sooner or later on
the Catholic side.

Meantime the Estates of Bohemia knew well enough that the Imperial house
was bent on destroying the elective principle of the Empire, and on
keeping the crown of Bohemia in perpetuity. They had also discovered that
Bishop-Archduke Leopold had been selected by Rudolph as chief of the
reactionary movement against Protestantism. They could not know at that
moment whether his plans were likely to prove fantastic or dangerous.

So Matthias came to Prague at the invitation of the Estates, entering the
city with all the airs of a conqueror. Rudolph received his brother with
enforced politeness, and invited him to reside in the Hradschin. This
proposal was declined by Matthias, who sent a colonel however, with six
pieces of artillery, to guard and occupy that palace. The Passau
prisoners were pardoned and released, and there was a general
reconciliation. A month later, Matthias went in pomp to the chapel of the
holy Wenceslaus, that beautiful and barbarous piece of mediaeval,
Sclavonic architecture, with its sombre arches, and its walls encrusted
with huge precious stones. The Estates of Bohemia, arrayed in splendid
Zchech costume, and kneeling on the pavement, were asked whether they
accepted Matthias, King of Hungary, as their lawful king. Thrice they
answered Aye. Cardinal Dietrichstein then put the historic crown of St.
Wenceslaus on the King's head, and Matthias swore to maintain the laws
and privileges of Bohemia, including the recent charters granting liberty
of religion to Protestants. Thus there was temporary, if hollow, truce
between the religious parties, and a sham reconciliation between the
Emperor and his brethren. The forlorn Rudolph moped away the few months
of life left to him in the Hradschin, and died 1612 soon after the new
year. The House of Austria had not been divided, Matthias succeeded his
brother, Leopold's visions melted into air, and it was for the future to
reveal whether the Majesty-Letter and the Compromise had been written on
very durable material.

And while such was the condition of affairs in Germany immediately
following the Cleve and Julich campaign, the relations of the Republic
both to England and France were become rapidly more dangerous than they
ever had been. It was a severe task for Barneveld, and enough to overtax
the energies of any statesman, to maintain his hold on two such slippery
governments as both had become since the death of their great monarchs.
It had been an easier task for William the Silent to steer his course,
notwithstanding all the perversities, short-comings, brow-beatings, and
inconsistencies that he had been obliged to endure from Elizabeth and
Henry. Genius, however capricious and erratic at times, has at least
vision, and it needed no elaborate arguments to prove to both those
sovereigns that the severance of their policy from that of the
Netherlands was impossible without ruin to the Republic and incalculable
danger themselves.

But now France and England were both tending towards Spain through a
stupidity on the part of their rulers such as the gods are said to
contend against in vain. Barneveld was not a god nor a hero, but a
courageous and wide-seeing statesman, and he did his best. Obliged by his
position to affect admiration, or at least respect, where no emotion but
contempt was possible, his daily bread was bitter enough. It was
absolutely necessary to humour those whom knew to be traversing his
policy and desiring his ruin, for there was no other way to serve his
country and save it from impending danger. So long as he was faithfully
served by his subordinates, and not betrayed by those to whom he gave his
heart, he could confront external enemies and mould the policy of
wavering allies.

Few things in history are more pitiable than the position of James in
regard to Spain. For seven long years he was as one entranced, the slave
to one idea, a Spanish marriage for his son. It was in vain that his
counsellors argued, Parliament protested, allies implored. Parliament was
told that a royal family matter regarded himself alone, and that
interference on their part was an impertinence. Parliament's duty was a
simple one, to give him advice if he asked it, and money when he required
it, without asking for reasons. It was already a great concession that he
should ask for it in person. They had nothing to do with his affairs nor
with general politics. The mystery of government was a science beyond
their reach, and with which they were not to meddle. "Ne sutor ultra
crepidam," said the pedant.

Upon that one point his policy was made to turn. Spain held him in the
hollow of her hand. The Infanta, with two million crowns in dowry, was
promised, withheld, brought forward again like a puppet to please or
irritate a froward child. Gondemar, the Spanish ambassador, held him
spellbound. Did he falter in his opposition to the States--did he cease
to goad them for their policy in the duchies--did he express sympathy
with Bohemian Protestantism, or, as time went on, did he dare to lift a
finger or touch his pocket in behalf of his daughter and the unlucky
Elector-Palatine; did he, in short, move a step in the road which England
had ever trod and was bound to tread--the road of determined resistance
to Spanish ambition--instantaneously the Infanta withheld, and James was
on his knees again. A few years later, when the great Raleigh returned
from his trans-Alantic expedition, Gondemar fiercely denounced him to the
King as the worst enemy of Spain. The usual threat was made, the wand was
waved, and the noblest head in England fell upon the block, in pursuance
of an obsolete sentence fourteen years old.

It is necessary to hold fast this single clue to the crooked and amazing
entanglements of the policy of James. The insolence, the meanness, and
the prevarications of this royal toad-eater are only thus explained.

Yet Philip III. declared on his death-bed that he had never had a serious
intention of bestowing his daughter on the Prince.

The vanity and the hatreds of theology furnished the chief additional
material in the policy of James towards the Provinces. The diplomacy of
his reign so far as the Republic was concerned is often a mere mass of
controversial divinity, and gloomy enough of its kind. Exactly at this
moment Conrad Vorstius had been called by the University of Leyden to the
professorship vacant by the death of Arminius, and the wrath of Peter
Plancius and the whole orthodox party knew no bounds. Born in Cologne,
Vorstius had been a lecturer in Geneva, and beloved by Beza. He had
written a book against the Jesuit Belarmino, which he had dedicated to
the States-General. But he was now accused of Arminianism, Socianism,
Pelagianism, Atheism--one knew not what. He defended himself in writing
against these various charges, and declared himself a believer in the
Trinity, in the Divinity of Christ, in the Atonement. But he had written
a book on the Nature of God, and the wrath of Gomarus and Plancius and
Bogerman was as nothing to the ire of James when that treatise was one
day handed to him on returning from hunting. He had scarcely looked into
it before he was horror-struck, and instantly wrote to Sir Ralph Winwood,
his ambassador at the Hague, ordering him to insist that this blasphemous
monster should at once be removed from the country. Who but James knew
anything of the Nature of God, for had he not written a work in Latin
explaining it all, so that humbler beings might read and be instructed.

Sir Ralph accordingly delivered a long sermon to the States on the brief
supplied by his Majesty, told them that to have Vorstius as successor to
Arminius was to fall out of the frying-pan into the fire, and handed them
a "catalogue" prepared by the King of the blasphemies, heresies, and
atheisms of the Professor. "Notwithstanding that the man in full assembly
of the States of Holland," said the Ambassador with headlong and confused
rhetoric, "had found the means to palliate and plaster the dung of his
heresies, and thus to dazzle the eyes of good people," yet it was
necessary to protest most vigorously against such an appointment, and to
advise that "his works should be publicly burned in the open places of
all the cities."

The Professor never was admitted to perform his functions of theology,
but he remained at Leyden, so Winwood complained, "honoured, recognized
as a singularity and ornament to the Academy in place of the late Joseph
Scaliger."--"The friendship of the King and the heresy of Vorstius are
quite incompatible," said the Envoy.

Meantime the Advocate, much distressed at the animosity of England
bursting forth so violently on occasion of the appointment of a divinity
professor at Leyden, and at the very instant too when all the acuteness
of his intellect was taxed to keep on good or even safe terms with
France, did his best to stem these opposing currents. His private letters
to his old and confidential friend, Noel de Carom, States' ambassador in
London, reveal the perplexities of his soul and the upright patriotism by
which he was guided in these gathering storms. And this correspondence,
as well as that maintained by him at a little later period with the
successor of Aerssens at Paris, will be seen subsequently to have had a
direct and most important bearing upon the policy of the Republic and
upon his own fate. It is necessary therefore that the reader, interested
in these complicated affairs which were soon to bring on a sanguinary war
on a scale even vaster than the one which had been temporarily suspended,
should give close attention to papers never before exhumed from the musty
sepulchre of national archives, although constantly alluded to in the
records of important state trials. It is strange enough to observe the
apparent triviality of the circumstances out of which gravest events seem
to follow. But the circumstances were in reality threads of iron which
led down to the very foundations of the earth.

"I wish to know," wrote the Advocate to Caron, "from whom the Archbishop
of Canterbury received the advices concerning Vorstius in order to find
out what is meant by all this."

It will be remembered that Whitgift was of opinion that James was
directly inspired by the Holy Ghost, and that as he affected to deem him
the anointed High-priest of England, it was natural that he should
encourage the King in his claims to be 'Pontifex maximus' for the
Netherlands likewise.

"We are busy here," continued Barneveld, "in examining all things for the
best interests of the country and the churches. I find the nobles and
cities here well resolved in this regard, although there be some
disagreements 'in modo.' Vorstius, having been for many years professor
and minister of theology at Steinfurt, having manifested his learning in
many books written against the Jesuits, and proved himself pure and
moderate in doctrine, has been called to the vacant professorship at
Leyden. This appointment is now countermined by various means. We are
doing our best to arrange everything for the highest good of the
Provinces and the churches. Believe this and believe nothing else. Pay
heed to no other information. Remember what took place in Flanders,
events so well known to you. It is not for me to pass judgment in these
matters. Do you, too, suspend your judgment."

The Advocate's allusion was to the memorable course of affairs in
Flanders at an epoch when many of the most inflammatory preachers and
politicians of the Reformed religion, men who refused to employ a footman
or a housemaid not certified to be thoroughly orthodox, subsequently
after much sedition and disturbance went over to Spain and the Catholic
religion.

A few weeks later Barneveld sent copies to Caron of the latest harangues
of Winwood in the Assembly and the reply of My Lords on the Vorstian
business; that is to say, the freshest dialogue on predestination between
the King and the Advocate. For as James always dictated word for word the
orations of his envoy, so had their Mightinesses at this period no head
and no mouthpiece save Barneveld alone. Nothing could be drearier than
these controversies, and the reader shall be spared as much, as possible
the infliction of reading them. It will be necessary, however, for the
proper understanding of subsequent events that he should be familiar with
portions of the Advocate's confidential letters.

"Sound well the gentleman you wot of," said Barneveld, "and other
personages as to the conclusive opinions over there. The course of the
propositions does not harmonize with what I have myself heard out of the
King's mouth at other times, nor with the reports of former ambassadors.
I cannot well understand that the King should, with such preciseness,
condemn all other opinions save those of Calvin and Beza. It is important
to the service of this country that one should know the final intention
of his Majesty."

And this was the misery of the position. For it was soon to appear that
the King's definite and final intentions, varied from day to day. It was
almost humorous to find him at that moment condemning all opinions but
those of Calvin and Beza in Holland, while his course to the strictest
confessors of that creed in England was so ferocious.

But Vorstius was a rival author to his Majesty on subjects treated of by
both, so that literary spite of the most venomous kind, stirred into
theological hatred, was making a dangerous mixture. Had a man with the
soul and sense of the Advocate sat on the throne which James was
regarding at that moment as a professor's chair, the world's history
would have been changed.

"I fear," continued Barneveld, "that some of our own precisians have been
spinning this coil for us over there, and if the civil authority can be
thus countermined, things will go as in Flanders in your time. Pray
continue to be observant, discreet, and moderate."

The Advocate continued to use his best efforts to smooth the rising
waves. He humoured and even flattered the King, although perpetually
denounced by Winwood in his letters to his sovereign as tyrannical,
over-bearing, malignant, and treacherous. He did his best to counsel
moderation and mutual toleration, for he felt that these needless
theological disputes about an abstract and insoluble problem of casuistry
were digging an abyss in which the Republic might be swallowed up for
ever. If ever man worked steadily with the best lights of experience and
inborn sagacity for the good of his country and in defence of a
constitutional government, horribly defective certainly, but the only
legal one, and on the whole a more liberal polity than any then existing,
it was Barneveld. Courageously, steadily, but most patiently, he stood
upon that position so vital and daily so madly assailed; the defence of
the civil authority against the priesthood. He felt instinctively and
keenly that where any portion of the subjects or citizens of a country
can escape from the control of government and obey other head than the
lawful sovereignty, whether monarchical or republican, social disorder
and anarchy must be ever impending.

"We are still tortured by ecclesiastical disputes," he wrote a few weeks
later to Caron. "Besides many libels which have appeared in print, the
letters of his Majesty and the harangues of Winwood have been published;
to what end you who know these things by experience can judge. The truth
of the matter of Vorstius is that he was legally called in July 1610,
that he was heard last May before My Lords the States with six preachers
to oppose him, and in the same month duly accepted and placed in office.
He has given no public lectures as yet. You will cause this to be known
on fitting opportunity. Believe and cause to be believed that his
Majesty's letters and Sir R. Winwood's propositions have been and shall
be well considered, and that I am working with all my strength to that
end. You know the constitution of our country, and can explain everything
for the best. Many pious and intelligent people in this State hold
themselves assured that his Majesty according to his royal exceeding
great wisdom, foresight, and affection for the welfare of this land will
not approve that his letters and Winwood's propositions should be
scattered by the press among the common people. Believe and cause to be
believed, to your best ability, that My Lords the States of Holland
desire to maintain the true Christian, Reformed religion as well in the
University of Leyden as in all their cities and villages. The only
dispute is on the high points of predestination and its adjuncts,
concerning which moderation and a more temperate teaching is furthered by
some amongst us. Many think that such is the edifying practice in
England. Pray have the kindness to send me the English Confession of the
year 1572, with the corrections and alterations up to this year."

But the fires were growing hotter, fanned especially by Flemish
ministers, a brotherhood of whom Barneveld had an especial distrust, and
who certainly felt great animosity to him. His moderate counsels were but
oil to the flames. He was already depicted by zealots and calumniators as
false to the Reformed creed.

"Be assured and assure others," he wrote again to Caron, "that in the
matter of religion I am, and by God's grace shall remain, what I ever
have been. Make the same assurances as to my son-in-law and brother. We
are not a little amazed that a few extraordinary Puritans, mostly
Flemings and Frisians, who but a short time ago had neither property nor
kindred in the country, and have now very little of either, and who have
given but slender proofs of constancy or service to the fatherland, could
through pretended zeal gain credit over there against men well proved in
all respects. We wonder the more because they are endeavouring, in
ecclesiastical matters at least, to usurp an extraordinary authority,
against which his Majesty, with very weighty reasons, has so many times
declared his opinion founded upon God's Word and upon all laws and
principles of justice."

It was Barneveld's practice on this as on subsequent occasions very
courteously to confute the King out of his own writings and speeches, and
by so doing to be unconsciously accumulating an undying hatred against
himself in the royal breast. Certainly nothing could be easier than to
show that James, while encouraging in so reckless a manner the
emancipation of the ministers of an advanced sect in the Reformed Church
from control of government, and their usurpation of supreme authority
which had been destroyed in England, was outdoing himself in dogmatism
and inconsistency. A king-highpriest, who dictated his supreme will to
bishops and ministers as well as to courts and parliaments, was
ludicrously employed in a foreign country in enforcing the superiority of
the Church to the State.

"You will give good assurances," said the Advocate, "upon my word, that
the conservation of the true Reformed religion is as warmly cherished
here, especially by me, as at any time during the war."

He next alluded to the charges then considered very grave against certain
writings of Vorstius, and with equal fairness to his accusers as he had
been to the Professor gave a pledge that the subject should be examined.

"If the man in question," he said, "be the author, as perhaps falsely
imputed, of the work 'De Filiatione Christi' or things of that sort, you
may be sure that he shall have no furtherance here." He complained,
however, that before proof the cause was much prejudiced by the
circulation through the press of letters on the subject from important
personages in England. His own efforts to do justice in the matter were
traversed by such machinations. If the Professor proved to be guilty of
publications fairly to be deemed atheistical and blasphemous, he should
be debarred from his functions, but the outcry from England was doing
more harm than good.

"The published extract from the letter of the Archbishop," he wrote, "to
the effect that the King will declare My Lords the States to be his
enemies if they are not willing to send the man away is doing much harm."

Truly, if it had come to this--that a King of England was to go to war
with a neighbouring and friendly republic because an obnoxious professor
of theology was not instantly hurled from a university of which his
Majesty was not one of the overseers--it was time to look a little
closely into the functions of governments and the nature of public and
international law. Not that the sword of James was in reality very likely
to be unsheathed, but his shriekings and his scribblings, pacific as he
was himself, were likely to arouse passions which torrents of blood alone
could satiate.

"The publishing and spreading among the community," continued Barneveld,
"of M. Winwood's protestations and of many indecent libels are also doing
much mischief, for the nature of this people does not tolerate such
things. I hope, however, to obtain the removal according to his Majesty's
desire. Keep me well informed, and send me word what is thought in
England by the four divines of the book of Vorstius, 'De Deo,' and of his
declarations on the points sent here by his Majesty. Let me know, too, if
there has been any later confession published in England than that of the
year 1562, and whether the nine points pressed in the year 1595 were
accepted and published in 1603. If so, pray send them, as they maybe made
use of in settling our differences here."

Thus it will be seen that the spirit of conciliation, of a calm but
earnest desire to obtain a firm grasp of the most reasonable relations
between Church and State through patient study of the phenomena exhibited
in other countries, were the leading motives of the man. Yet he was
perpetually denounced in private as an unbeliever, an atheist, a tyrant,
because he resisted dictation from the clergy within the Provinces and
from kings outside them.

"It was always held here to be one of the chief infractions of the laws
and privileges of this country," he said, "that former princes had placed
themselves in matter of religion in the tutelage of the Pope and the
Spanish Inquisition, and that they therefore on complaint of their good
subjects could take no orders on that subject. Therefore it cannot be
considered strange that we are not willing here to fall into the same
obloquy. That one should now choose to turn the magistrates, who were
once so seriously summoned on their conscience and their office to adopt
the Reformation and to take the matter of religion to heart, into
ignorants, to deprive them of knowledge, and to cause them to see with
other eyes than their own, cannot by many be considered right and
reasonable. 'Intelligenti pauca.'"

   [The interesting letter from which I have given these copious
   extracts was ordered by its writer to be burned. "Lecta vulcano"
   was noted at the end of it, as was not unfrequently the case with
   the Advocate. It never was burned; but, innocent and reasonable as
   it seems, was made use of by Barneveld's enemies with deadly effect.
   J.L.M.]

Meantime M. de Refuge, as before stated, was on his way to the Hague, to
communicate the news of the double marriage. He had fallen sick at
Rotterdam, and the nature of his instructions and of the message he
brought remained unknown, save from the previous despatches of Aerssens.
But reports were rife that he was about to propose new terms of alliance
to the States, founded on large concessions to the Roman Catholic
religion. Of course intense jealousy was excited at the English court,
and calumny plumed her wings for a fresh attack upon the Advocate. Of
course he was sold to Spain, the Reformed religion was to be trampled out
in the Provinces, and the Papacy and Holy Inquisition established on its
ruins. Nothing could be more diametrically the reverse of the fact than
such hysterical suspicions as to the instructions of the ambassador
extraordinary from France, and this has already appeared. The Vorstian
affair too was still in the same phase, the Advocate professing a
willingness that justice should be done in the matter, while courteously
but firmly resisting the arrogant pretensions of James to take the matter
out of the jurisdiction of the States.

"I stand amazed," he said, "at the partisanship and the calumnious
representations which you tell me of, and cannot imagine what is thought
nor what is proposed. Should M. de Refuge make any such propositions as
are feared, believe, and cause his Majesty and his counsellors to
believe, that they would be of no effect. Make assurances upon my word,
notwithstanding all advices to the contrary, that such things would be
flatly refused. If anything is published or proven to the discredit of
Vorstius, send it to me. Believe that we shall not defend heretics nor
schismatics against the pure Evangelical doctrine, but one cannot
conceive here that the knowledge and judicature of the matter belongs
anywhere else than to My Lords the States of Holland, in whose service he
has legally been during four months before his Majesty made the least
difficulty about it. Called hither legally a year before, with the
knowledge and by the order of his Excellency and the councillors of state
of Holland, he has been countermined by five or six Flemings and
Frisians, who, without recognizing the lawful authority of the
magistrates, have sought assistance in foreign countries--in Germany and
afterwards in England. Yes, they have been so presumptuous as to
designate one of their own men for the place. If such a proceeding should
be attempted in England, I leave it to those whose business it would be
to deal with it to say what would be done. I hope therefore that one will
leave the examination and judgment of this matter freely to us, without
attempting to make us--against the principles of the Reformation and the
liberties and laws of the land--executors of the decrees of others, as
the man here wishes to obtrude it upon us."

He alluded to the difficulty in raising the ways and means; saying that
the quota of Holland, as usual, which was more than half the whole, was
ready, while other provinces were in arrears. Yet they were protected,
while Holland was attacked.

"Methinks I am living in a strange world," he said, "when those who have
received great honour from Holland, and who in their conscience know that
they alone have conserved the Commonwealth, are now traduced with such
great calumnies. But God the Lord Almighty is just, and will in His own
time do chastisement."

The affair of Vorstius dragged its slow length along, and few things are
more astounding at this epoch than to see such a matter, interesting
enough certainly to theologians, to the University, and to the rising
generation of students, made the topic of unceasing and embittered
diplomatic controversy between two great nations, who had most pressing
and momentous business on their hands. But it was necessary to humour the
King, while going to the verge of imprudence in protecting the Professor.
In March he was heard, three or four hours long, before the Assembly of
Holland, in answer to various charges made against him, being warned that
"he stood before the Lord God and before the sovereign authority of the
States." Although thought by many to have made a powerful defence, he was
ordered to set it forth in writing, both in Latin and in the vernacular.
Furthermore it was ordained that he should make a complete refutation of
all the charges already made or that might be made during the ensuing
three months against him in speech, book, or letter in England, Germany,
the Netherlands, or anywhere else. He was allowed one year and a half to
accomplish this work, and meantime was to reside not in Leyden, nor the
Hague, but in some other town of Holland, not delivering lectures or
practising his profession in any way. It might be supposed that
sufficient work had been thus laid out for the unfortunate doctor of
divinity without lecturing or preaching. The question of jurisdiction was
saved. The independence of the civil authority over the extreme
pretensions of the clergy had been vindicated by the firmness of the
Advocate. James bad been treated with overflowing demonstrations of
respect, but his claim to expel a Dutch professor from his chair and
country by a royal fiat had been signally rebuked. Certainly if the
Provinces were dependent upon the British king in regard to such a
matter, it was the merest imbecility for them to affect independence.
Barneveld had carried his point and served his country strenuously and
well in this apparently small matter which human folly had dilated into a
great one. But deep was the wrath treasured against him in consequence in
clerical and royal minds.

Returning from Wesel after the negotiations, Sir Ralph Winwood had an
important interview at Arnheim with Prince Maurice, in which they
confidentially exchanged their opinions in regard to the Advocate, and
mutually confirmed their suspicions and their jealousies in regard to
that statesman.

The Ambassador earnestly thanked the Prince in the King's name for his
"careful and industrious endeavours for the maintenance of the truth of
religion, lively expressed in prosecuting the cause against Vorstius and
his adherents."

He then said:

"I am expressly commanded that his Majesty conferring the present
condition of affairs of this quarter of the world with those
advertisements he daily receives from his ministers abroad, together with
the nature and disposition of those men who have in their hands the
managing of all business in these foreign parts, can make no other
judgment than this.

"There is a general ligue and confederation complotted far the subversion
and ruin of religion upon the subsistence whereof his Majesty doth judge
the main welfare of your realms and of these Provinces solely to consist.

"Therefore his Majesty has given me charge out of the knowledge he has of
your great worth and sufficiency," continued Winwood, "and the confidence
he reposes in your faith and affection, freely to treat with you on these
points, and withal to pray you to deliver your opinion what way would be
the most compendious and the most assured to contrequarr these complots,
and to frustrate the malice of these mischievous designs."

The Prince replied by acknowledging the honour the King had vouchsafed to
do him in holding so gracious an opinion of him, wherein his Majesty
should never be deceived.

"I concur in judgment with his Majesty," continued the Prince, "that the
main scope at which these plots and practices do aim, for instance, the
alliance between France and Spain, is this, to root out religion, and by
consequence to bring under their yoke all those countries in which
religion is professed.

"The first attempt," continued the Prince, "is doubtless intended against
these Provinces. The means to countermine and defeat these projected
designs I take to be these: the continuance of his Majesty's constant
resolution for the protection of religion, and then that the King would
be pleased to procure a general confederation between the kings, princes,
and commonwealths professing religion, namely, Denmark, Sweden, the
German princes, the Protestant cantons of Switzerland, and our United
Provinces.

"Of this confederation, his Majesty must be not only the director, but
the head and protector.

"Lastly, the Protestants of France should be, if not supported, at least
relieved from that oppression which the alliance of Spain doth threaten
upon them. This, I insist," repeated Maurice with great fervour, "is the
only coupegorge of all plots whatever between France and Spain."

He enlarged at great length on these points, which he considered so
vital.

"And what appearance can there be," asked Winwood insidiously and
maliciously, "of this general confederation now that these Provinces,
which heretofore have been accounted a principal member of the Reformed
Church, begin to falter in the truth of religion?

"He who solely governs the metropolitan province of Holland," continued
the Ambassador, with a direct stab in the back at Barneveld, "is reputed
generally, as your Excellency best knows, to be the only patron of
Vorstius, and the protector of the schisms of Arminius. And likewise,
what possibility is there that the Protestants of France can expect
favour from these Provinces when the same man is known to depend at the
devotion of France?"

The international, theological, and personal jealousy of the King against
Holland's Advocate having been thus plainly developed, the Ambassador
proceeded to pour into the Prince's ear the venom of suspicion, and to
inflame his jealousy against his great rival. The secret conversation
showed how deeply laid was the foundation of the political hatred, both
of James and of Maurice, against the Advocate, and certainly nothing
could be more preposterous than to imagine the King as the director and
head of the great Protestant League. We have but lately seen him
confidentially assuring his minister that his only aim was "to wind
himself handsomely out of the whole business." Maurice must have found it
difficult to preserve his gravity when assigning such a part to "Master
Jacques."

"Although Monsieur Barneveld has cast off all care of religion," said
Maurice, "and although some towns in Holland, wherein his power doth
reign, are infected with the like neglect, yet so long as so many good
towns in Holland stand sound, and all the other provinces of this
confederacy, the proposition would at the first motion be cheerfully
accepted.

"I confess I find difficulty in satisfying your second question,"
continued the Prince, "for I acknowledge that Barneveld is wholly devoted
to the service of France. During the truce negotiations, when some
difference arose between him and myself, President Jeannin came to me,
requiring me in the French king's name to treat Monsieur Barneveld well,
whom the King had received into his protection. The letters which the
States' ambassador in France wrote to Barneveld (and to him all
ambassadors address their despatches of importance), the very autographs
themselves, he sent back into the hands of Villeroy."

Here the Prince did not scruple to accuse the Advocate of doing the base
and treacherous trick against Aerssens which he had expressly denied
doing, and which had been done during his illness, as he solemnly avowed,
by a subordinate probably for the sake of making mischief.

Maurice then discoursed largely and vehemently of the suspicious
proceedings of Barneveld, and denounced him as dangerous to the State.
"When one man who has the conduct of all affairs in his sole power," he
said, "shall hold underhand intelligence with the ministers of Spain and
the Archduke, and that without warrant, thereby he may have the means so
to carry the course of affairs that, do what they will, these Provinces
must fall or stand at the mercy and discretion of Spain. Therefore some
good resolutions must be taken in time to hold up this State from a
sudden downfall, but in this much moderation and discretion must be
used."

The Prince added that he had invited his cousin Lewis William to appear
at the Hague at May day, in order to consult as to the proper means to
preserve the Provinces from confusion under his Majesty's safeguard, and
with the aid of the Englishmen in the States' service whom Maurice
pronounced to be "the strength and flower of his army."

Thus the Prince developed his ideas at great length, and accused the
Advocate behind his back, and without the faintest shadow of proof, of
base treachery to his friends and of high-treason. Surely Barneveld was
in danger, and was walking among pitfalls. Most powerful and deadly
enemies were silently banding themselves together against him. Could he
long maintain his hold on the slippery heights of power, where he was so
consciously serving his country, but where he became day by day a mere
shining mark for calumny and hatred?

The Ambassador then signified to the Prince that he had been instructed
to carry to him the King's purpose to confer on him the Order of the
Garter.

"If his Majesty holds me worthy of so great honour," said the Prince, "I
and my family shall ever remain bound to his service and that of his
royal posterity.

"That the States should be offended I see no cause, but holding the
charge I do in their service, I could not accept the honour without first
acquainting them and receiving their approbation."

Winwood replied that, as the King knew the terms on which the Prince
lived with the States, he doubted not his Majesty would first notify them
and say that he honoured the mutual amity between his realms and these
Provinces by honouring the virtues of their general, whose services, as
they had been most faithful and affectionate, so had they been
accompanied with the blessings of happiness and prosperous success.

Thus said Winwood to the King: "Your Majesty may plaster two walls with
one trowel ('una fidelia duos dealbare parietes'), reverse the designs of
them who to facilitate their own practices do endeavour to alienate your
affections from the good of these Provinces, and oblige to your service
the well-affected people, who know that there is no surety for
themselves, their wives and children, but under the protection of your
Majesty's favour. Perhaps, however, the favourers of Vorstius and
Arminius will buzz into the ears of their associates that your Majesty
would make a party in these Provinces by maintaining the truth of
religion and also by gaining unto you the affections of their chief
commander. But your Majesty will be pleased to pass forth whose worthy
ends will take their place, which is to honour virtue where you find it,
and the suspicious surmises of malice and envy in one instant will vanish
into smoke."

Winwood made no scruple in directly stating to the English government
that Barneveld's purpose was to "cause a divorce between the King's
realms and the Provinces, the more easily to precipitate them into the
arms of Spain." He added that the negotiation with Count Maurice then on
foot was to be followed, but with much secrecy, on account of the place
he held in the State.

Soon after the Ambassador's secret conversation with Maurice he had an
interview with Barneveld. He assured the Advocate that no contentment
could be given to his Majesty but by the banishment of Vorstius. "If the
town of Leyden should understand so much," replied Barneveld, "I fear the
magistrates would retain him still in their town."

"If the town of Leyden should retain Vorstius," answered Winwood, "to
brave or despight his Majesty, the King has the means, if it pleases him
to use them, and that without drawing sword, to range them to reason, and
to make the magistrates on their knees demand his pardon, and I say as
much of Rotterdam."

Such insolence on the part of an ambassador to the first minister of a
great republic was hard to bear. Barneveld was not the man to brook it.
He replied with great indignation. "I was born in liberty," he said with
rising choler, "I cannot digest this kind of language. The King of Spain
himself never dared to speak in so high a style."

"I well understand that logic," returned the Ambassador with continued
insolence. "You hold your argument to be drawn 'a majori ad minus;' but I
pray you to believe that the King of Great Britain is peer and companion
to the King of Spain, and that his motto is, 'Nemo me impune lacessit.'"

And so they parted in a mutual rage; Winwood adding on going out of the
room, "Whatsoever I propose to you in his Majesty's name can find with
you neither goust nor grace."

He then informed Lord Rochester that "the man was extremely distempered
and extremely distasted with his Majesty.

"Some say," he added, "that on being in England when his Majesty first
came to the throne he conceived some offence, which ever since hath
rankled in his heart, and now doth burst forth with more violent malice."

Nor was the matter so small as it superficially appeared. Dependence of
one nation upon the dictation of another can never be considered
otherwise than grave. The subjection of all citizens, clerical or lay, to
the laws of the land, the supremacy of the State over the Church, were
equally grave subjects. And the question of sovereignty now raised for
the first time, not academically merely, but practically, was the gravest
one of all. It was soon to be mooted vigorously and passionately whether
the United Provinces were a confederacy or a union; a league of sovereign
and independent states bound together by treaty for certain specified
purposes or an incorporated whole. The Advocate and all the principal
lawyers in the country had scarcely a doubt on the subject. Whether it
were a reasonable system or an absurd one, a vigorous or an imbecile form
of government, they were confident that the Union of Utrecht, made about
a generation of mankind before, and the only tie by which the Provinces
were bound together at all, was a compact between sovereigns.

Barneveld styled himself always the servant and officer of the States of
Holland. To them was his allegiance, for them he spoke, wrought, and
thought, by them his meagre salary was paid. At the congress of the
States-General, the scene of his most important functions, he was the
ambassador of Holland, acting nominally according to their instructions,
and exercising the powers of minister of foreign affairs and, as it were,
prime minister for the other confederates by their common consent. The
system would have been intolerable, the great affairs of war and peace
could never have been carried on so triumphantly, had not the
preponderance of the one province Holland, richer, more powerful, more
important in every way than the other six provinces combined, given to
the confederacy illegally, but virtually, many of the attributes of
union. Rather by usucaption than usurpation Holland had in many regards
come to consider herself and be considered as the Republic itself. And
Barneveld, acting always in the name of Holland and with the most modest
of titles and appointments, was for a long time in all civil matters the
chief of the whole country. This had been convenient during the war,
still more convenient during negotiations for peace, but it was
inevitable that there should be murmurs now that the cessation from
military operations on a large scale had given men time to look more
deeply into the nature of a constitution partly inherited and partly
improvised, and having many of the defects usually incident to both
sources of government.

The military interest, the ecclesiastical power, and the influence of
foreign nations exerted through diplomatic intrigue, were rapidly
arraying themselves in determined hostility to Barneveld and to what was
deemed his tyrannous usurpation. A little later the national spirit, as
opposed to provincial and municipal patriotism, was to be aroused against
him, and was likely to prove the most formidable of all the elements of
antagonism.

It is not necessary to anticipate here what must be developed on a
subsequent page. This much, however, it is well to indicate for the
correct understanding of passing events. Barneveld did not consider
himself the officer or servant of their High Mightinesses the
States-General, while in reality often acting as their master, but the
vassal and obedient functionary of their Great Mightinesses the States of
Holland, whom he almost absolutely controlled.

His present most pressing business was to resist the encroachments of the
sacerdotal power and to defend the magistracy. The casuistical questions
which were fast maddening the public mind seemed of importance to him
only as enclosing within them a more vital and practical question of
civil government.

But the anger of his opponents, secret and open, was rapidly increasing.
Envy, jealousy, political and clerical hate, above all, that deadliest
and basest of malignant spirits which in partisan warfare is bred out of
subserviency to rising and rival power, were swarming about him and
stinging him at every step. No parasite of Maurice could more effectively
pay his court and more confidently hope for promotion or reward than by
vilipending Barneveld. It would be difficult to comprehend the infinite
extent and power of slander without a study of the career of the Advocate
of Holland.

"I thank you for your advices," he wrote to Carom' "and I wish from my
heart that his Majesty, according to his royal wisdom and clemency
towards the condition of this country, would listen only to My Lords the
States or their ministers, and not to his own or other passionate persons
who, through misunderstanding or malice, furnish him with information and
so frequently flatter him. I have tried these twenty years to deserve his
Majesty's confidence, and have many letters from him reaching through
twelve or fifteen years, in which he does me honour and promises his
royal favour. I am the more chagrined that through false and passionate
reports and information--because I am resolved to remain good and true to
My Lords the States, to the fatherland, and to the true Christian
religion--I and mine should now be so traduced. I hope that God Almighty
will second my upright conscience, and cause his Majesty soon to see the
injustice done to me and mine. To defend the resolutions of My Lords the
States of Holland is my office, duty, and oath, and I assure you that
those resolutions are taken with wider vision and scope than his Majesty
can believe. Let this serve for My Lords' defence and my own against
indecent calumny, for my duty allows me to pursue no other course."

He again alluded to the dreary affair of Vorstius, and told the Envoy
that the venation caused by it was incredible. "That men unjustly defame
our cities and their regents is nothing new," he said; "but I assure you
that it is far more damaging to the common weal than the defamers
imagine."

Some of the private admirers of Arminius who were deeply grieved at so
often hearing him "publicly decried as the enemy of God" had been
defending the great heretic to James, and by so doing had excited the
royal wrath not only against the deceased doctor and themselves, but
against the States of Holland who had given them no commission.

On the other hand the advanced orthodox party, most bitter haters of
Barneveld, and whom in his correspondence with England he uniformly and
perhaps designedly called the Puritans, knowing that the very word was a
scarlet rag to James, were growing louder and louder in their demands.
"Some thirty of these Puritans," said he, "of whom at least twenty are
Flemings or other foreigners equally violent, proclaim that they and the
like of them mean alone to govern the Church. Let his Majesty compare
this proposal with his Royal Present, with his salutary declaration at
London in the year 1603 to Doctor Reynolds and his associates, and with
his admonition delivered to the Emperor, kings, sovereigns, and
republics, and he will best understand the mischievous principles of
these people, who are now gaining credit with him to the detriment of the
freedom and laws of these Provinces."

A less enlightened statesman than Barneveld would have found it easy
enough to demonstrate the inconsistency of the King in thus preaching
subserviency of government to church and favouring the rule of Puritans
over both. It needed but slender logic to reduce such a policy on his
part to absurdity, but neither kings nor governments are apt to value
themselves on their logic. So long as James could play the pedagogue to
emperors, kings, and republics, it mattered little to him that the
doctrines which he preached in one place he had pronounced flat blasphemy
in another.

That he would cheerfully hang in England the man whom he would elevate to
power in Holland might be inconsistency in lesser mortals; but what was
the use of his infallibility if he was expected to be consistent?

But one thing was certain. The Advocate saw through him as if he had been
made of glass, and James knew that he did. This fatal fact outweighed all
the decorous and respectful phraseology under which Barneveld veiled his
remorseless refutations. It was a dangerous thing to incur the wrath of
this despot-theologian.

Prince Maurice, who had originally joined in the invitation given by the
overseers of Leyden to Vorstius, and had directed one of the deputies and
his own "court trumpeter," Uytenbogaert, to press him earnestly to grant
his services to the University, now finding the coldness of Barneveld to
the fiery remonstrances of the King, withdrew his protection of the
Professor.

"The Count Maurice, who is a wise and understanding prince," said
Winwood, "and withal most affectionate to his Majesty's service, doth
foresee the miseries into which these countries are likely to fall, and
with grief doth pine away."

It is probable that the great stadholder had never been more robust, or
indeed inclining to obesity, than precisely at this epoch; but Sir Ralph
was of an imaginative turn. He had discovered, too, that the Advocate's
design was "of no other nature than so to stem the course of the State
that insensibly the Provinces shall fall by relapse into the hands of
Spain."

A more despicable idea never entered a human brain. Every action, word,
and thought, of Barneveld's life was a refutation of it. But he was
unwilling, at the bidding of a king, to treat a professor with contumely
who had just been solemnly and unanimously invited by the great
university, by the States of Holland, and by the Stadholder to an
important chair; and that was enough for the diplomatist and courtier.
"He, and only he," said Winwood passionately, "hath opposed his Majesty's
purposes with might and main." Formerly the Ambassador had been full of
complaints of "the craving humour of Count Maurice," and had censured him
bitterly in his correspondence for having almost by his inordinate
pretensions for money and other property brought the Treaty of Truce to a
standstill. And in these charges he was as unjust and as reckless as he
was now in regard to Barneveld.

The course of James and his agents seemed cunningly devised to sow
discord in the Provinces, to inflame the growing animosity of the
Stadholder to the Advocate, and to paralyse the action of the Republic in
the duchies. If the King had received direct instructions from the
Spanish cabinet how to play the Spanish game, he could hardly have done
it with more docility. But was not Gondemar ever at his elbow, and the
Infanta always in the perspective?

And it is strange enough that, at the same moment, Spanish marriages were
in France as well as England the turning-point of policy.

Henry had been willing enough that the Dauphin should espouse a Spanish
infanta, and that one of the Spanish princes should be affianced to one
of his daughters. But the proposition from Spain had been coupled with a
condition that the friendship between France and the Netherlands should
be at once broken off, and the rebellious heretics left to their fate.
And this condition had been placed before him with such arrogance that he
had rejected the whole scheme. Henry was not the man to do anything
dishonourable at the dictation of another sovereign. He was also not the
man to be ignorant that the friendship of the Provinces was necessary to
him, that cordial friendship between France and Spain was impossible, and
that to allow Spain to reoccupy that splendid possession between his own
realms and Germany, from which she had been driven by the Hollanders in
close alliance with himself, would be unworthy of the veriest schoolboy
in politics. But Henry was dead, and a Medici reigned in his place, whose
whole thought was to make herself agreeable to Spain.

Aerssens, adroit, prying, experienced, unscrupulous, knew very well that
these double Spanish marriages were resolved upon, and that the
inevitable condition refused by the King would be imposed upon his widow.
He so informed the States-General, and it was known to the French
government that he had informed them. His position soon became almost
untenable, not because he had given this information, but because the
information and the inference made from it were correct.

It will be observed that the policy of the Advocate was to preserve
friendly relations between France and England, and between both and the
United Provinces. It was for this reason that he submitted to the
exhortations and denunciations of the English ambassadors. It was for
this that he kept steadily in view the necessity of dealing with and
supporting corporate France, the French government, when there were many
reasons for feeling sympathy with the internal rebellion against that
government. Maurice felt differently. He was connected by blood or
alliance with more than one of the princes now perpetually in revolt.
Bouillon was his brother-in-law, the sister of Conde was his brother's
wife. Another cousin, the Elector-Palatine, was already encouraging
distant and extravagant hopes of the Imperial crown. It was not unnatural
that he should feel promptings of ambition and sympathy difficult to avow
even to himself, and that he should feel resentment against the man by
whom this secret policy was traversed in the well-considered interest of
the Republican government.

Aerssens, who, with the keen instinct of self-advancement was already
attaching himself to Maurice as to the wheels of the chariot going
steadily up the hill, was not indisposed to loosen his hold upon the man
through whose friendship he had first risen, and whose power was now
perhaps on the decline. Moreover, events had now caused him to hate the
French government with much fervour. With Henry IV. he had been
all-powerful. His position had been altogether exceptional, and he had
wielded an influence at Paris more than that exerted by any foreign
ambassador. The change naturally did not please him, although he well
knew the reasons. It was impossible for the Dutch ambassador to be
popular at a court where Spain ruled supreme. Had he been willing to eat
humiliation as with a spoon, it would not have sufficed. They knew him,
they feared him, and they could not doubt that his sympathies would ever
be with the malcontent princes. At the same time he did not like to lose
his hold upon the place, nor to have it known, as yet, to the world that
his power was diminished.

"The Queen commands me to tell you," said the French ambassador de Russy
to the States-General, "that the language of the Sieur Aerssens has not
only astonished her, but scandalized her to that degree that she could
not refrain from demanding if it came from My Lords the States or from
himself. He having, however, affirmed to her Majesty that he had express
charge to justify it by reasons so remote from the hope and the belief
that she had conceived of your gratitude to the Most Christian King and
herself, she is constrained to complain of it, and with great frankness."

Some months later than this Aerssens communicated to the States-General
the project of the Spanish marriage, "which," said he, "they have
declared to me with so many oaths to be false." He informed them that M.
de Refuge was to go on special mission to the Hague, "having been
designated to that duty before Aerssens' discovery of the marriage
project." He was to persuade their Mightinesses that the marriages were
by no means concluded, and that, even if they were, their Mightinesses
were not interested therein, their Majesties intending to remain by the
old maxims and alliances of the late king. Marriages, he would be
instructed to say, were mere personal conventions, which remained of no
consideration when the interests of the crown were touched.
"Nevertheless, I know very well," said Aerssens, "that in England these
negotiations are otherwise understood, and that the King has uttered
great complaints about them, saying that such a negotiation as this ought
not to have been concealed from him. He is pressing more than ever for
reimbursement of the debt to him, and especially for the moneys pretended
to have been furnished to your Mightinesses in his Majesty's name."

Thus it will be seen how closely the Spanish marriages were connected
with the immediate financial arrangements of France, England, and the
States, without reference to the wider political consequences
anticipated.

"The princes and most gentlemen," here continued the Ambassador, "believe
that these reciprocal and double marriages will bring about great changes
in Christendom if they take the course which the authors of them intend,
however much they may affect to believe that no novelties are impending.
The marriages were proposed to the late king, and approved by him, during
the negotiations for the truce, and had Don Pedro do Toledo been able to
govern himself, as Jeannin has just been telling me, the United Provinces
would have drawn from it their assured security. What he means by that, I
certainly cannot conceive, for Don Pedro proposed the marriage of the
Dauphin (now Louis XIII.) with the Infanta on the condition that Henry
should renounce all friendship with your Mightinesses, and neither openly
nor secretly give you any assistance. You were to be entirely abandoned,
as an example for all who throw off the authority of their lawful prince.
But his Majesty answered very generously that he would take no
conditions; that he considered your Mightinesses as his best friends,
whom he could not and would not forsake. Upon this Don Pedro broke off
the negotiation. What should now induce the King of Spain to resume the
marriage negotiations but to give up the conditions, I am sure I don't
know, unless, through the truce, his designs and his ambition have grown
flaccid. This I don't dare to hope, but fear, on the contrary, that he
will so manage the irresolution, weakness, and faintheartedness of this
kingdom as through the aid of his pensioned friends here to arrive at all
his former aims."

Certainly the Ambassador painted the condition of France in striking and
veracious colours, and he was quite right in sending the information
which he was first to discover, and which it was so important for the
States to know. It was none the less certain in Barneveld's mind that the
best, not the worst, must be made of the state of affairs, and that
France should not be assisted in throwing herself irrecoverably into the
arms of Spain.

"Refuge will tell you," said Aerssens, a little later, "that these
marriages will not interfere with the friendship of France for you nor
with her subsidies, and that no advantage will be given to Spain in the
treaty to your detriment or that of her other allies. But whatever fine
declarations they may make, it is sure to be detrimental. And all the
princes, gentlemen, and officers here have the same conviction. Those of
the Reformed religion believe that the transaction is directed solely
against the religion which your Mightinesses profess, and that the next
step will be to effect a total separation between the two religions and
the two countries."

Refuge arrived soon afterwards, and made the communication to the
States-General of the approaching nuptials between the King of France and
the Infanta of Spain; and of the Prince of Spain with Madame, eldest
daughter of France, exactly as Aerssens had predicted four months before.
There was a great flourish of compliments, much friendly phrase-making,
and their Mightinesses were informed that the communication of the
marriages was made to them before any other power had been notified, in
proof of the extraordinary affection entertained for them by France. "You
are so much interested in the happiness of France," said Refuge, "that
this treaty by which it is secured will be for your happiness also. He
did not indicate, however, the precise nature of the bliss beyond the
indulgence of a sentimental sympathy, not very refreshing in the
circumstances, which was to result to the Confederacy from this close
alliance between their firmest friend and their ancient and deadly enemy.
He would have found it difficult to do so.

"Don Rodrigo de Calderon, secretary of state, is daily expected from
Spain," wrote, Aerssens once more. "He brings probably the articles of
the marriages, which have hitherto been kept secret, so they say. 'Tis a
shrewd negotiator; and in this alliance the King's chief design is to
injure your Mightinesses, as M. de Villeroy now confesses, although he
says that this will not be consented to on this side. It behoves your
Mightinesses to use all your ears and eyes. It is certain these are much
more than private conventions. Yes, there is nothing private about them,
save the conjunction of the persons whom they concern. In short, all the
conditions regard directly the state, and directly likewise, or by
necessary consequence, the state of your Mightinesses' Provinces. I
reserve explanations until it shall please your Mightinesses to hear me
by word of mouth."

For it was now taken into consideration by the States' government whether
Aerssens was to remain at his post or to return. Whether it was his wish
to be relieved of his embassy or not was a question. But there was no
question that the States at this juncture, and in spite of the dangers
impending from the Spanish marriages, must have an ambassador ready to do
his best to keep France from prematurely sliding into positive hostility
to them. Aerssens was enigmatical in his language, and Barneveld was
somewhat puzzled.

"I have according to your reiterated requests," wrote the Advocate to the
Ambassador, "sounded the assembly of My Lords the States as to your
recall; but I find among some gentlemen the opinion that if earnestly
pressed to continue you would be willing to listen to the proposal. This
I cannot make out from your letters. Please to advise me frankly as to
your wishes, and assure yourself in everything of my friendship."

Nothing could be more straightforward than this language, but the Envoy
was less frank than Barneveld, as will subsequently appear. The subject
was a most important one, not only in its relation to the great affairs
of state, but to momentous events touching the fate of illustrious
personages.

Meantime a resolution was passed by the States of Holland "in regard to
the question whether Ambassador Aerssens should retain his office, yes or
no?" And it was decided by a majority of votes "to leave it to his candid
opinion if in his free conscience he thinks he can serve the public cause
there any longer. If yes, he may keep his office one year more. If no, he
may take leave and come home. In no case is his salary to be increased."

Surely the States, under the guidance of the Advocate, had thus acted
with consummate courtesy towards a diplomatist whose position from no
apparent fault of his own but by the force of circumstances--and rather
to his credit than otherwise--was gravely compromised.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Advanced orthodox party-Puritans
     Atheist, a tyrant, because he resisted dictation from the clergy
     Give him advice if he asked it, and money when he required
     He was not imperial of aspect on canvas or coin
     He who would have all may easily lose all
     King's definite and final intentions, varied from day to day
     Neither kings nor governments are apt to value logic
     Outdoing himself in dogmatism and inconsistency
     Small matter which human folly had dilated into a great one
     The defence of the civil authority against the priesthood



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

The Life of John of Barneveld, v5, 1609-14



CHAPTER VI.

   Establishment of the Condominium in the Duchies--Dissensions between
   the Neuburgers and Brandenburgers--Occupation of Julich by the
   Brandenburgers assisted by the States-General--Indignation in Spain
   and at the Court of the Archdukes--Subsidy despatched to Brussels
   Spinola descends upon Aix-la-Chapelle and takes possession of Orsoy
   and other places--Surrender of Wesel--Conference at Xanten--Treaty
   permanently dividing the Territory between Brandenburg and Neuburg--
   Prohibition from Spain--Delays and Disagreements.

Thus the 'Condominium' had been peaceably established.

Three or four years passed away in the course of which the evils of a
joint and undivided sovereignty of two rival houses over the same
territory could not fail to manifest themselves. Brandenburg, Calvinist
in religion, and for other reasons more intimately connected with and
more favoured by the States' government than his rival, gained ground in
the duchies. The Palatine of Neuburg, originally of Lutheran faith like
his father, soon manifested Catholic tendencies, which excited suspicion
in the Netherlands. These suspicions grew into certainties at the moment
when he espoused the sister of Maximilian of Bavaria and of the Elector
of Cologne. That this close connection with the very heads of the
Catholic League could bode no good to the cause of which the
States-General were the great promoters was self-evident. Very soon
afterwards the Palatine, a man of mature age and of considerable talents,
openly announced his conversion to the ancient church. Obviously the
sympathies of the States could not thenceforth fail to be on the side of
Brandenburg. The Elector's brother died and was succeeded in the
governorship of the Condeminium by the Elector's brother, a youth of
eighteen. He took up his abode in Cleve, leaving Dusseldorf to be the
sole residence of his co-stadholder.

Rivalry growing warmer, on account of this difference of religion,
between the respective partisans of Neuburg and Brandenburg, an attempt
was made in Dusseldorf by a sudden entirely unsuspected rising of the
Brandenburgers to drive their antagonist colleagues and their portion of
the garrison out of the city. It failed, but excited great anger. A more
successful effort was soon afterwards made in Julich; the Neuburgers were
driven out, and the Brandenburgers remained in sole possession of the
town and citadel, far the most important stronghold in the whole
territory. This was partly avenged by the Neuburgers, who gained absolute
control of Dusseldorf. Here were however no important fortifications, the
place being merely an agreeable palatial residence and a thriving mart.
The States-General, not concealing their predilection for Brandenburg,
but under pretext of guarding the peace which they had done so much to
establish, placed a garrison of 1400 infantry and a troop or two of horse
in the citadel of Julich.

Dire was the anger not unjustly excited in Spain when the news of this
violation of neutrality reached that government. Julich, placed midway
between Liege and Cologne, and commanding those fertile plains which make
up the opulent duchy, seemed virtually converted into a province of the
detested heretical republic. The German gate of the Spanish Netherlands
was literally in the hands of its most formidable foe.

The Spaniards about the court of the Archduke did not dissemble their
rage. The seizure of Julich was a stain upon his reputation, they cried.
Was it not enough, they asked, for the United Provinces to have made a
truce to the manifest detriment and discredit of Spain, and to have
treated her during all the negotiation with such insolence? Were they now
to be permitted to invade neutral territory, to violate public faith, to
act under no responsibility save to their own will? What was left for
them to do except to set up a tribunal in Holland for giving laws to the
whole of Northern Europe? Arrogating to themselves absolute power over
the controverted states of Cleve, Julich, and the dependencies, they now
pretended to dispose of them at their pleasure in order at the end
insolently to take possession of them for themselves.

These were the egregious fruits of the truce, they said tauntingly to the
discomfited Archduke. It had caused a loss of reputation, the very soul
of empires, to the crown of Spain. And now, to conclude her abasement,
the troops in Flanders had been shaven down with such parsimony as to
make the monarch seem a shopkeeper, not a king. One would suppose the
obedient Netherlands to be in the heart of Spain rather than outlying
provinces surrounded by their deadliest enemies. The heretics had gained
possession of the government at Aix-la-Chapelle; they had converted the
insignificant town of Mulheim into a thriving and fortified town in
defiance of Cologne and to its manifest detriment, and in various other
ways they had insulted the Catholics throughout those regions. And who
could wonder at such insolence, seeing that the army in Flanders,
formerly the terror of heretics, had become since the truce so weak as to
be the laughing-stock of the United Provinces? If it was expensive to
maintain these armies in the obedient Netherlands, let there be economy
elsewhere, they urged.

From India came gold and jewels. From other kingdoms came ostentation and
a long series of vain titles for the crown of Spain. Flanders was its
place of arms, its nursery of soldiers, its bulwark in Europe, and so it
should be preserved.

There was ground for these complaints. The army at the disposition of the
Archduke had been reduced to 8000 infantry and a handful of cavalry. The
peace establishment of the Republic amounted to 20,000 foot, 3000 horse,
besides the French and English regiments.

So soon as the news of the occupation of Julich was officially
communicated to the Spanish cabinet, a subsidy of 400,000 crowns was at
once despatched to Brussels. Levies of Walloons and Germans were made
without delay by order of Archduke Albert and under guidance of Spinola,
so that by midsummer the army was swollen to 18,000 foot and 3000 horse.
With these the great Genoese captain took the field in the middle of
August. On the 22nd of that month the army was encamped on some plains
mid-way between Maestricht and Aachen. There was profound mystery both at
Brussels and at the Hague as to the objective point of these military
movements. Anticipating an attack upon Julich, the States had meantime
strengthened the garrison of that important place with 3000 infantry and
a regiment of horse. It seemed scarcely probable therefore that Spinola
would venture a foolhardy blow at a citadel so well fortified and
defended. Moreover, there was not only no declaration of war, but strict
orders had been given by each of the apparent belligerents to their
military commanders to abstain from all offensive movements against the
adversary. And now began one of the strangest series of warlike
evolution's that were ever recorded. Maurice at the head of an army of
14,000 foot and 3000 horse manoeuvred in the neighbourhood of his great
antagonist and professional rival without exchanging a blow. It was a
phantom campaign, the prophetic rehearsal of dreadful marches and tragic
histories yet to be, and which were to be enacted on that very stage and
on still wider ones during a whole generation of mankind. That cynical
commerce in human lives which was to become one of the chief branches of
human industry in the century had already begun.

Spinola, after hovering for a few days in the neighbourhood, descended
upon the Imperial city of Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle). This had been one of
the earliest towns in Germany to embrace the Reformed religion, and up to
the close of the sixteenth century the control of the magistracy had been
in the hands of the votaries of that creed. Subsequently the Catholics
had contrived to acquire and keep the municipal ascendency, secretly
supported by Archduke Albert, and much oppressing the Protestants with
imprisonments, fines, and banishment, until a new revolution which had
occurred in the year 1610, and which aroused the wrath of Spinola.
Certainly, according to the ideas of that day, it did not seem unnatural
in a city where a very large majority of the population were Protestants
that Protestants should have a majority in the town council. It seemed,
however, to those who surrounded the Archduke an outrage which could no
longer be tolerated, especially as a garrison of 600 Germans, supposed to
have formed part of the States' army, had recently been introduced into
the town. Aachen, lying mostly on an extended plain, had but very slight
fortifications, and it was commanded by a neighbouring range of hills. It
had no garrison but the 600 Germans. Spinola placed a battery or two on
the hills, and within three days the town surrendered. The inhabitants
expected a scene of carnage and pillage, but not a life was lost. No
injury whatever was inflicted on person or property, according to the
strict injunctions of the Archduke. The 600 Germans were driven out, and
1200 other Germans then serving under Catholic banners were put in their
places to protect the Catholic minority, to whose keeping the municipal
government was now confided.

Spinola, then entering the territory of Cleve, took session of Orsoy, an
important place on the Rhine, besides Duren, Duisburg, Kaster,
Greevenbroek and Berchem. Leaving garrisons in these places, he razed the
fortifications of Mulheim, much to the joy of the Archbishop and his
faithful subjects of Cologne, then crossed the Rhine at Rheinberg, and
swooped down upon Wesel. This flourishing and prosperous city had
formerly belonged to the Duchy of Cleve. Placed at the junction of the
Rhine and Lippe and commanding both rivers, it had become both powerful
and Protestant, and had set itself up as a free Imperial city,
recognising its dukes no longer as sovereigns, but only as protectors. So
fervent was it in the practice of the Reformed religion that it was
called the Rhenish Geneva, the cradle of German Calvinism. So important
was its preservation considered to the cause of Protestantism that the
States-General had urged its authorities to accept from them a garrison.
They refused. Had they complied, the city would have been saved, because
it was the rule in this extraordinary campaign that the belligerents made
war not upon each other, nor in each others territory, but against
neutrals and upon neutral soil. The Catholic forces under Spinola or his
lieutenants, meeting occasionally and accidentally with the Protestants
under Maurice or his generals, exchanged no cannon shots or buffets, but
only acts of courtesy; falling away each before the other, and each
ceding to the other with extreme politeness the possession of towns which
one had preceded the other in besieging.

The citizens of Wesel were amazed at being attacked, considering
themselves as Imperial burghers. They regretted too late that they had
refused a garrison from Maurice, which would have prevented Spinola from
assailing them. They had now nothing for it but to surrender, which they
did within three days. The principal condition of the capitulation was
that when Julich should be given up by the States Wesel should be
restored to its former position. Spinola then took and garrisoned the
city of Xanten, but went no further. Having weakened his army
sufficiently by the garrisons taken from it for the cities captured by
him, he declined to make any demonstration upon the neighbouring and
important towns of Emmerich and Rees. The Catholic commander falling
back, the Protestant moved forward. Maurice seized both Emmerich and
Rees, and placed garrisons within them, besides occupying Goch,
Kranenburg, Gennip, and various places in the County of Mark. This closed
the amicable campaign.

Spinola established himself and his forces near Wesel. The Prince
encamped near Rees. The two armies were within two hours' march of each
other. The Duke of Neuburg--for the Palatine had now succeeded on his
father's death to the ancestral dukedom and to his share of the
Condominium of the debateable provinces--now joined Spinola with an army
of 4000 foot and 400 horse. The young Prince of Brandenburg came to
Maurice with 800 cavalry and an infantry regiment of the
Elector-Palatine.

Negotiations destined to be as spectral and fleeting as the campaign had
been illusory now began. The whole Protestant world was aflame with
indignation at the loss of Wesel. The States' government had already
proposed to deposit Julich in the hands of a neutral power if the
Archduke would abstain from military movements. But Albert, proud of his
achievements in Aachen, refused to pause in his career. Let them make the
deposit first, he said.

Both belligerents, being now satiated with such military glory as could
flow from the capture of defenceless cities belonging to neutrals, agreed
to hold conferences at Xanten. To this town, in the Duchy of Cleve, and
midway between the rival camps, came Sir Henry Wotton and Sir Dudley
Carleton, ambassadors of Great Britain; de Refuge and de Russy, the
special and the resident ambassador of France at the Hague; Chancellor
Peter Pecquius and Counsellor Visser, to represent the Archdukes; seven
deputies from the United Provinces, three from the Elector of Cologne,
three from Brandenburg, three from Neuburg, and two from the
Elector-Palatine, as representative of the Protestant League.

In the earlier conferences the envoys of the Archduke and of the Elector
of Cologne were left out, but they were informed daily of each step in
the negotiation. The most important point at starting was thought to be
to get rid of the 'Condominium.' There could be no harmony nor peace in
joint possession. The whole territory should be cut provisionally in
halves, and each possessory prince rule exclusively within the portion
assigned to him. There might also be an exchange of domain between the
two every six months. As for Wesel and Julich, they could remain
respectively in the hands then holding them, or the fortifications of
Julich might be dismantled and Wesel restored to the status quo. The
latter alternative would have best suited the States, who were growing
daily more irritated at seeing Wesel, that Protestant stronghold, with an
exclusively Calvinistic population, in the hands of Catholics.

The Spanish ambassador at Brussels remonstrated, however, at the thought
of restoring his precious conquest, obtained without loss of time, money,
or blood, into the hands of heretics, at least before consultation with
the government at Madrid and without full consent of the King.

"How important to your Majesty's affairs in Flanders," wrote Guadaleste
to Philip, "is the acquisition of Wesel may be seen by the manifest grief
of your enemies. They see with immense displeasure your royal ensigns
planted on the most important place on the Rhine, and one which would
become the chief military station for all the armies of Flanders to
assemble in at any moment.

"As no acquisition could therefore be greater, so your Majesty should
never be deprived of it without thorough consideration of the case. The
Archduke fears, and so do his ministers, that if we refuse to restore
Wesel, the United Provinces would break the truce. For my part I believe,
and there are many who agree with me, that they would on the contrary be
more inclined to stand by the truce, hoping to obtain by negotiation that
which it must be obvious to them they cannot hope to capture by force.
But let Wesel be at once restored. Let that be done which is so much
desired by the United Provinces and other great enemies and rivals of
your Majesty, and what security will there be that the same Provinces
will not again attempt the same invasion? Is not the example of Julich
fresh? And how much more important is Wesel! Julich was after all not
situate on their frontiers, while Wesel lies at their principal gates.
Your Majesty now sees the good and upright intentions of those Provinces
and their friends. They have made a settlement between Brandenburg and
Neuburg, not in order to breed concord but confusion between those two,
not tranquillity for the country, but greater turbulence than ever
before. Nor have they done this with any other thought than that the
United Provinces might find new opportunities to derive the same profit
from fresh tumults as they have already done so shamelessly from those
which are past. After all I don't say that Wesel should never be
restored, if circumstances require it, and if your Majesty, approving the
Treaty of Xanten, should sanction the measure. But such a result should
be reached only after full consultation with your Majesty, to whose
glorious military exploits these splendid results are chiefly owing."

The treaty finally decided upon rejected the principle of alternate
possession, and established a permanent division of the territory in
dispute between Brandenburg and Neuburg.

The two portions were to be made as equal as possible, and lots were to
be thrown or drawn by the two princes for the first choice. To the one
side were assigned the Duchy of Cleve, the County of Mark, and the
Seigniories of Ravensberg and Ravenstein, with some other baronies and
feuds in Brabant and Flanders; to the other the Duchies of Julich and
Berg with their dependencies. Each prince was to reside exclusively
within the territory assigned to him by lot. The troops introduced by
either party were to be withdrawn, fortifications made since the
preceding month of May to be razed, and all persons who had been
expelled, or who had emigrated, to be restored to their offices,
property, or benefices. It was also stipulated that no place within the
whole debateable territory should be put in the hands of a third power.

These articles were signed by the ambassadors of France and England, by
the deputies of the Elector-Palatine and of the United Provinces, all
binding their superiors to the execution of the treaty. The arrangement
was supposed to refer to the previous conventions between those two
crowns, with the Republic, and the Protestant princes and powers. Count
Zollern, whom we have seen bearing himself so arrogantly as envoy from
the Emperor Rudolph to Henry IV., was now despatched by Matthias on as
fruitless a mission to the congress at Xanten, and did his best to
prevent the signature of the treaty, except with full concurrence of the
Imperial government. He likewise renewed the frivolous proposition that
the Emperor should hold all the provinces in sequestration until the
question of rightful sovereignty should be decided. The "proud and
haggard" ambassador was not more successful in this than in the
diplomatic task previously entrusted to him, and he then went to
Brussels, there to renew his remonstrances, menaces, and intrigues.

For the treaty thus elaborately constructed, and in appearance a
triumphant settlement of questions so complicated and so burning as to
threaten to set Christendom at any moment in a blaze, was destined to an
impotent and most unsatisfactory conclusion.

The signatures were more easily obtained than the ratifications.
Execution was surrounded with insurmountable difficulties which in
negotiation had been lightly skipped over at the stroke of a pen. At the
very first step, that of military evacuation, there was a stumble.
Maurice and Spinola were expected to withdraw their forces, and to
undertake to bring in no troops in the future, and to make no invasion of
the disputed territory.

But Spinola construed this undertaking as absolute; the Prince as only
binding in consequence of, with reference to, and for the duration of;
the Treaty of Xanten. The ambassadors and other commissioners, disgusted
with the long controversy which ensued, were making up their minds to
depart when a courier arrived from Spain, bringing not a ratification but
strict prohibition of the treaty. The articles were not to be executed,
no change whatever was to be made, and, above all, Wesel was not to be
restored without fresh negotiations with Philip, followed by his explicit
concurrence.

Thus the whole great negotiation began to dissolve into a shadowy,
unsatisfactory pageant. The solid barriers which were to imprison the
vast threatening elements of religious animosity and dynastic hatreds,
and to secure a peaceful future for Christendom, melted into films of
gossamer, and the great war of demons, no longer to be quelled by the
commonplaces of diplomatic exorcism, revealed its close approach. The
prospects of Europe grew blacker than ever.

The ambassadors, thoroughly disheartened and disgusted, all took their
departure from Xanten, and the treaty remained rather a by-word than a
solution or even a suggestion.

"The accord could not be prevented," wrote Archduke Albert to Philip,
"because it depended alone on the will of the signers. Nor can the
promise to restore Wesel be violated, should Julich be restored. Who can
doubt that such contravention would arouse great jealousies in France,
England, the United Provinces, and all the members of the heretic League
of Germany? Who can dispute that those interested ought to procure the
execution of the treaty? Suspicions will not remain suspicions, but they
light up the flames of public evil and disturbance. Either your Majesty
wishes to maintain the truce, in which case Wesel must be restored, or to
break the truce, a result which is certain if Wesel be retained. But the
reasons which induced your Majesty to lay down your arms remain the same
as ever. Our affairs are not looking better, nor is the requisition of
Wesel of so great importance as to justify our involving Flanders in a
new and more atrocious war than that which has so lately been suspended.
The restitution is due to the tribunal of public faith. It is a great
advantage when actions done for the sole end of justice are united to
that of utility. Consider the great successes we have had. How well the
affairs of Aachen and Mulbeim have been arranged; those of the Duke of
Neuburg how completely re-established. The Catholic cause, always
identical with that of the House of Austria, remains in great superiority
to the cause of the heretics. We should use these advantages well, and to
do so we should not immaturely pursue greater ones. Fortune changes,
flies when we most depend on her, and delights in making her chief sport
of the highest quality of mortals."

Thus wrote the Archduke sensibly, honourably from his point of view, and
with an intelligent regard to the interests of Spain and the Catholic
cause. After months of delay came conditional consent from Madrid to the
conventions, but with express condition that there should be absolute
undertaking on the part of the United Provinces never to send or maintain
troops in the duchies. Tedious and futile correspondence followed between
Brussels, the Hague, London, Paris. But the difficulties grew every
moment. It was a Penelope's web of negotiation, said one of the envoys.
Amid pertinacious and wire-drawn subtleties, every trace of practical
business vanished. Neuburg departed to look after his patrimonial
estates; leaving his interests in the duchies to be watched over by the
Archduke. Even Count Zollern, after six months of wrangling in Brussels,
took his departure. Prince Maurice distributed his army in various places
within the debateable land, and Spinola did the same, leaving a garrison
of 3000 foot and 300 horse in the important city of Wesel. The town and
citadel of Julich were as firmly held by Maurice for the Protestant
cause. Thus the duchies were jointly occupied by the forces of
Catholicism and Protestantism, while nominally possessed and administered
by the princes of Brandenburg and Neuburg. And so they were destined to
remain until that Thirty Years' War, now so near its outbreak, should
sweep over the earth, and bring its fiery solution at last to all these
great debates.



CHAPTER VII.

   Proud Position of the Republic--France obeys her--Hatred of Carleton
   --Position and Character of Aerssens--Claim for the "Third"--Recall
   of Aerssens--Rivalry between Maurice and Barneveld, who always
   sustains the separate Sovereignties of the Provinces--Conflict
   between Church and State added to other Elements of Discord in the
   Commonwealth--Religion a necessary Element in the Life of all
   Classes.

Thus the Republic had placed itself in as proud a position as it was
possible for commonwealth or kingdom to occupy. It had dictated the
policy and directed the combined military movements of Protestantism. It
had gathered into a solid mass the various elements out of which the
great Germanic mutiny against Rome, Spain, and Austria had been
compounded. A breathing space of uncertain duration had come to interrupt
and postpone the general and inevitable conflict. Meantime the Republic
was encamped upon the enemy's soil.

France, which had hitherto commanded, now obeyed. England, vacillating
and discontented, now threatening and now cajoling, saw for the time at
least its influence over the councils of the Netherlands neutralized by
the genius of the great statesman who still governed the Provinces,
supreme in all but name. The hatred of the British government towards the
Republic, while in reality more malignant than at any previous period,
could now only find vent in tremendous, theological pamphlets, composed
by the King in the form of diplomatic instructions, and hurled almost
weekly at the heads of the States-General, by his ambassador, Dudley
Carleton.

Few men hated Barneveld more bitterly than did Carleton. I wish to
describe as rapidly, but as faithfully, as I can the outline at least of
the events by which one of the saddest and most superfluous catastrophes
in modern history was brought about. The web was a complex one, wrought
apparently of many materials; but the more completely it is unravelled
the more clearly we shall detect the presence of the few simple but
elemental fibres which make up the tissue of most human destinies,
whether illustrious or obscure, and out of which the most moving pictures
of human history are composed.

The religious element, which seems at first view to be the all pervading
and controlling one, is in reality rather the atmosphere which surrounds
and colours than the essence which constitutes the tragedy to be
delineated.

Personal, sometimes even paltry, jealousy; love of power, of money, of
place; rivalry between civil and military ambition for predominance in a
free state; struggles between Church and State to control and oppress
each other; conflict between the cautious and healthy, but provincial and
centrifugal, spirit on the one side, and the ardent centralizing,
imperial, but dangerous, instinct on the other, for ascendancy in a
federation; mortal combat between aristocracy disguised in the plebeian
form of trading and political corporations and democracy sheltering
itself under a famous sword and an ancient and illustrious name;--all
these principles and passions will be found hotly at work in the
melancholy five years with which we are now to be occupied, as they have
entered, and will always enter, into every political combination in the
great tragi-comedy which we call human history. As a study, a lesson, and
a warning, perhaps the fate of Barneveld is as deserving of serious
attention as most political tragedies of the last few centuries.

Francis Aerssens, as we have seen, continued to be the Dutch ambassador
after the murder of Henry IV. Many of the preceding pages of this volume
have been occupied with his opinions, his pictures, his conversations,
and his political intrigues during a memorable epoch in the history of
the Netherlands and of France. He was beyond all doubt one of the ablest
diplomatists in Europe. Versed in many languages, a classical student,
familiar with history and international law, a man of the world and
familiar with its usages, accustomed to associate with dignity and tact
on friendliest terms with sovereigns, eminent statesmen, and men of
letters; endowed with a facile tongue, a fluent pen, and an eye and ear
of singular acuteness and delicacy; distinguished for unflagging industry
and singular aptitude for secret and intricate affairs;--he had by the
exercise of these various qualities during a period of nearly twenty
years at the court of Henry the Great been able to render inestimable
services to the Republic which he represented. Of respectable but not
distinguished lineage, not a Hollander, but a Belgian by birth, son of
Cornelis Aerssens, Grefter of the States-General, long employed in that
important post, he had been brought forward from a youth by Barneveld and
early placed by him in the diplomatic career, of which through his favour
and his own eminent talents he had now achieved the highest honours.

He had enjoyed the intimacy and even the confidence of Henry IV., so far
as any man could be said to possess that monarch's confidence, and his
friendly relations and familiar access to the King gave him political
advantages superior to those of any of his colleagues at the same court.

Acting entirely and faithfully according to the instructions of the
Advocate of Holland, he always gratefully and copiously acknowledged the
privilege of being guided and sustained in the difficult paths he had to
traverse by so powerful and active an intellect. I have seldom alluded in
terms to the instructions and despatches of the chief, but every
position, negotiation, and opinion of the envoy--and the reader has seen
many of them--is pervaded by their spirit. Certainly the correspondence
of Aerssens is full to overflowing of gratitude, respect, fervent
attachment to the person and exalted appreciation of the intellect and
high character of the Advocate.

There can be no question of Aerssen's consummate abilities. Whether his
heart were as sound as his head, whether his protestations of devotion
had the ring of true gold or not, time would show. Hitherto Barneveld had
not doubted him, nor had he found cause to murmur at Barneveld.

But the France of Henry IV., where the Dutch envoy was so all-powerful,
had ceased to exist. A duller eye than that of Aerssens could have seen
at a glance that the potent kingdom and firm ally of the Republic had
been converted, for a long time to come at least, into a Spanish
province. The double Spanish marriages (that of the young Louis XIII.
with the Infanta Anna, and of his sister with the Infante, one day to be
Philip IV.), were now certain, for it was to make them certain that the
knife of Ravaillac had been employed. The condition precedent to those
marriages had long been known. It was the renunciation of the alliance
between France and Holland. It was the condemnation to death, so far as
France had the power to condemn her to death, of the young Republic. Had
not Don Pedro de Toledo pompously announced this condition a year and a
half before? Had not Henry spurned the bribe with scorn? And now had not
Francis Aerssens been the first to communicate to his masters the fruit
which had already ripened upon Henry's grave? As we have seen, he had
revealed these intrigues long before they were known to the world, and
the French court knew that he had revealed them. His position had become
untenable. His friendship for Henry could not be of use to him with the
delicate-featured, double-chinned, smooth and sluggish Florentine, who
had passively authorized and actively profited by her husband's murder.

It was time for the Envoy to be gone. The Queen-Regent and Concini
thought so. And so did Villeroy and Sillery and the rest of the old
servants of the King, now become pensionaries of Spain. But Aerssens did
not think so. He liked his position, changed as it was. He was deep in
the plottings of Bouillon and Conde and the other malcontents against the
Queen-Regent. These schemes, being entirely personal, the rank growth of
the corruption and apparent disintegration of France, were perpetually
changing, and could be reduced to no principle. It was a mere struggle of
the great lords of France to wrest places, money, governments, military
commands from the Queen-Regent, and frantic attempts on her part to save
as much as possible of the general wreck for her lord and master Concini.

It was ridiculous to ascribe any intense desire on the part of the Duc de
Bouillon to aid the Protestant cause against Spain at that moment, acting
as he was in combination with Conde, whom we have just seen employed by
Spain as the chief instrument to effect the destruction of France and the
bastardy of the Queen's children. Nor did the sincere and devout
Protestants who had clung to the cause through good and bad report, men
like Duplessis-Mornay, for example, and those who usually acted with him,
believe in any of these schemes for partitioning France on pretence of
saving Protestantism. But Bouillon, greatest of all French fishermen in
troubled waters, was brother-in-law of Prince Maurice of Nassau, and
Aerssens instinctively felt that the time had come when he should anchor
himself to firm holding ground at home.

The Ambassador had also a personal grievance. Many of his most secret
despatches to the States-General in which he expressed himself very
freely, forcibly, and accurately on the general situation in France,
especially in regard to the Spanish marriages and the Treaty of Hampton
Court, had been transcribed at the Hague and copies of them sent to the
French government. No baser act of treachery to an envoy could be
imagined. It was not surprising that Aerssens complained bitterly of the
deed. He secretly suspected Barneveld, but with injustice, of having
played him this evil turn, and the incident first planted the seeds of
the deadly hatred which was to bear such fatal fruit.

"A notable treason has been played upon me," he wrote to Jacques de
Maldere, "which has outraged my heart. All the despatches which I have
been sending for several months to M. de Barneveld have been communicated
by copy in whole or in extracts to this court. Villeroy quoted from them
at our interview to-day, and I was left as it were without power of
reply. The despatches were long, solid, omitting no particularity for
giving means to form the best judgment of the designs and intrigues of
this court. No greater damage could be done to me and my usefulness. All
those from whom I have hitherto derived information, princes and great
personages, will shut themselves up from me . . . . What can be more
ticklish than to pass judgment on the tricks of those who are governing
this state? This single blow has knocked me down completely. For I was
moving about among all of them, making my profit of all, without any
reserve. M. de Barneveld knew by this means the condition of this kingdom
as well as I do. Certainly in a well-ordered republic it would cost the
life of a man who had thus trifled with the reputation of an ambassador.
I believe M. de Barneveld will be sorry, but this will never restore to
me the confidence which I have lost. If one was jealous of my position at
this court, certainly I deserved rather pity from those who should
contemplate it closely. If one wished to procure my downfall in order to
raise oneself above me, there was no need of these tricks. I have been
offering to resign my embassy this long time, which will now produce
nothing but thorns for me. How can I negotiate after my private
despatches have been read? L'Hoste, the clerk of Villeroy, was not so
great a criminal as the man who revealed my despatches; and L'Hoste was
torn by four horses after his death. Four months long I have been
complaining of this to M. de Barneveld. . . . Patience! I am groaning
without being able to hope for justice. I console myself, for my term of
office will soon arrive. Would that my embassy could have finished under
the agreeable and friendly circumstances with which it began. The man who
may succeed me will not find that this vile trick will help him much.
. . . Pray find out whence and from whom this intrigue has come."

Certainly an envoy's position could hardly be more utterly compromised.
Most unquestionably Aerssens had reason to be indignant, believing as he
did that his conscientious efforts in the service of his government had
been made use of by his chief to undermine his credit and blast his
character. There was an intrigue between the newly appointed French
minister, de Russy, at the Hague and the enemies of Aerssens to represent
him to his own government as mischievous, passionate, unreasonably
vehement in supporting the claims and dignity of his own country at the
court to which he was accredited. Not often in diplomatic history has an
ambassador of a free state been censured or removed for believing and
maintaining in controversy that his own government is in the right. It
was natural that the French government should be disturbed by the vivid
light which he had flashed upon their pernicious intrigues with Spain to
the detriment of the Republic, and at the pertinacity with which he
resisted their preposterous claim to be reimbursed for one-third of the
money which the late king had advanced as a free subsidy towards the war
of the Netherlands for independence. But no injustice could be more
outrageous than for the Envoy's own government to unite with the foreign
State in damaging the character of its own agent for the crime of
fidelity to itself.

Of such cruel perfidy Aerssens had been the victim, and he most
wrongfully suspected his chief as its real perpetrator.

The claim for what was called the "Third" had been invented after the
death of Henry. As already explained, the "Third" was not a gift from
England to the Netherlands. It was a loan from England to France, or more
properly a consent to abstain from pressing for payment for this
proportion of an old debt. James, who was always needy, had often
desired, but never obtained, the payment of this sum from Henry. Now that
the King was dead, he applied to the Regent's government, and the
Regent's government called upon the Netherlands, to pay the money.

Aerssens, as the agent of the Republic, protested firmly against such
claim. The money had been advanced by the King as a free gift, as his
contribution to a war in which he was deeply interested, although he was
nominally at peace with Spain. As to the private arrangements between
France and England, the Republic, said the Dutch envoy, was in no sense
bound by them. He was no party to the Treaty of Hampton Court, and knew
nothing of its stipulations.

Courtiers and politicians in plenty at the French court, now that Henry
was dead, were quite sure that they had heard him say over and over again
that the Netherlands had bound themselves to pay the Third. They
persuaded Mary de' Medici that she likewise had often heard him say so,
and induced her to take high ground on the subject in her interviews with
Aerssens. The luckless queen, who was always in want of money to satisfy
the insatiable greed of her favourites, and to buy off the enmity of the
great princes, was very vehement--although she knew as much of those
transactions as of the finances of Prester John or the Lama of Thibet--in
maintaining this claim of her government upon the States.

"After talking with the ministers," said Aerssens, "I had an interview
with the Queen. I knew that she had been taught her lesson, to insist on
the payment of the Third. So I did not speak at all of the matter, but
talked exclusively and at length of the French regiments in the States'
service. She was embarrassed, and did not know exactly what to say. At
last, without replying a single word to what I had been saying, she
became very red in the face, and asked me if I were not instructed to
speak of the money due to England. Whereupon I spoke in the sense already
indicated. She interrupted me by saying she had a perfect recollection
that the late king intended and understood that we were to pay the Third
to England, and had talked with her very seriously on the subject. If he
were living, he would think it very strange, she said, that we refused;
and so on.

"Soissons, too, pretends to remember perfectly that such were the King's
intentions. 'Tis a very strange thing, Sir. Every one knows now the
secrets of the late king, if you are willing to listen. Yet he was not in
the habit of taking all the world into his confidence. The Queen takes
her opinions as they give them to her. 'Tis a very good princess, but I
am sorry she is so ignorant of affairs. As she says she remembers, one is
obliged to say one believes her. But I, who knew the King so intimately,
and saw him so constantly, know that he could only have said that the
Third was paid in acquittal of his debts to and for account of the King
of England, and not that we were to make restitution thereof. The
Chancellor tells me my refusal has been taken as an affront by the Queen,
and Puysieux says it is a contempt which she can't swallow."

Aerssens on his part remained firm; his pertinacity being the greater as
he thoroughly understood the subject which he was talking about, an
advantage which was rarely shared in by those with whom he conversed. The
Queen, highly scandalized by his demeanour, became from that time forth
his bitter enemy, and, as already stated, was resolved to be rid of him.

Nor was the Envoy at first desirous of remaining. He had felt after
Henry's death and Sully's disgrace, and the complete transformation of
the France which he had known, that his power of usefulness was gone.
"Our enemies," he said, "have got the advantage which I used to have in
times past, and I recognize a great coldness towards us, which is
increasing every day." Nevertheless, he yielded reluctantly to
Barneveld's request that he should for the time at least remain at his
post. Later on, as the intrigues against him began to unfold themselves,
and his faithful services were made use of at home to blacken his
character and procure his removal, he refused to resign, as to do so
would be to play into the hands of his enemies, and by inference at least
to accuse himself of infidelity to his trust.

But his concealed rage and his rancor grew more deadly every day. He was
fully aware of the plots against him, although he found it difficult to
trace them to their source.

"I doubt not," he wrote to Jacques de Maldere, the distinguished
diplomatist and senator, who had recently returned from his embassy to
England, "that this beautiful proposition of de Russy has been sent to
your Province of Zealand. Does it not seem to you a plot well woven as
well in Holland as at this court to remove me from my post with
disreputation? What have I done that should cause the Queen to disapprove
my proceedings? Since the death of the late king I have always opposed
the Third, which they have been trying to fix upon the treasury, on the
ground that Henry never spoke to me of restitution, that the receipts
given were simple ones, and that the money given was spent for the common
benefit of France and the States under direction of the King's
government. But I am expected here to obey M. de Villeroy, who says that
it was the intention of the late king to oblige us to make the payment. I
am not accustomed to obey authority if it be not supported by reason. It
is for my masters to reply and to defend me. The Queen has no reason to
complain. I have maintained the interests of my superiors. But this is
not the cause of the complaints. My misfortune is that all my despatches
have been sent from Holland in copy to this court. Most of them contained
free pictures of the condition and dealings of those who govern here. M.
de Villeroy has found himself depicted often, and now under pretext of a
public negotiation he has found an opportunity of revenging himself. . . .
Besides this cause which Villeroy has found for combing my head, Russy
has given notice here that I have kept my masters in the hopes of being
honourably exempted from the claims of this government. The long letter
which I wrote to M. de Barneveld justifies my proceedings."

It is no wonder that the Ambassador was galled to the quick by the
outrage which those concerned in the government were seeking to put upon
him. How could an honest man fail to be overwhelmed with rage and anguish
at being dishonoured before the world by his masters for scrupulously
doing his duty, and for maintaining the rights and dignity of his own
country? He knew that the charges were but pretexts, that the motives of
his enemies were as base as the intrigues themselves, but he also knew
that the world usually sides with the government against the individual,
and that a man's reputation is rarely strong enough to maintain itself
unsullied in a foreign land when his own government stretches forth its
hand not to, shield, but to stab him.

   [See the similarity of Aerssens position to that of Motley 250 years
   later, in the biographical sketch of Motley by Oliver Wendell
   Holmes. D.W.]

"I know," he said, "that this plot has been woven partly in Holland and
partly here by good correspondence, in order to drive me from my post
with disreputation. To this has tended the communication of my despatches
to make me lose my best friends. This too was the object of the
particular imparting to de Russy of all my propositions, in order to draw
a complaint against me from this court.

"But as I have discovered this accurately, I have resolved to offer to my
masters the continuance of my very humble service for such time and under
such conditions as they may think good to prescribe. I prefer forcing my
natural and private inclinations to giving an opportunity for the
ministers of this kingdom to discredit us, and to my enemies to succeed
in injuring me, and by fraud and malice to force me from my post . . . I
am truly sorry, being ready to retire, wishing to have an honourable
testimony in recompense of my labours, that one is in such hurry to take
advantage of my fall. I cannot believe that my masters wish to suffer
this. They are too prudent, and cannot be ignorant of the treachery which
has been practised on me. I have maintained their cause. If they have
chosen to throw down the fruits of my industry, the blame should be
imputed to those who consider their own ambition more than the interests
of the public . . . . What envoy will ever dare to speak with vigour if
he is not sustained by the government at home? . . . . . . My enemies
have misrepresented my actions, and my language as passionate,
exaggerated, mischievous, but I have no passion except for the service of
my superiors. They say that I have a dark and distrustful disposition,
but I have been alarmed at the alliance now forming here with the King of
Spain, through the policy of M. de Villeroy. I was the first to discover
this intrigue, which they thought buried in the bosom of the Triumvirate.
I gave notice of it to My Lords the States as in duty bound. It all came
back to the government in the copies furnished of my secret despatches.
This is the real source of the complaints against me. The rest of the
charges, relating to the Third and other matters, are but pretexts. To
parry the blow, they pretend that all that is said and done with the
Spaniard is but feigning. Who is going to believe that? Has not the Pope
intervened in the affair? . . . I tell you they are furious here because
I have my eyes open. I see too far into their affairs to suit their
purposes. A new man would suit them better."

His position was hopelessly compromised. He remained in Paris, however,
month after month, and even year after year, defying his enemies both at
the Queen's court and in Holland, feeding fat the grudge he bore to
Barneveld as the supposed author of the intrigue against him, and drawing
closer the personal bands which united him to Bouillon and through him to
Prince Maurice.

The wrath of the Ambassador flamed forth without disguise against
Barneveld and all his adherents when his removal, as will be related on a
subsequent page, was at last effected. And his hatred was likely to be
deadly. A man with a shrewd, vivid face, cleanly cut features and a
restless eye; wearing a close-fitting skull cap, which gave him something
the lock of a monk, but with the thoroughbred and facile demeanour of one
familiar with the world; stealthy, smooth, and cruel, a man coldly
intellectual, who feared no one, loved but few, and never forgot or
forgave; Francis d'Aerssens, devoured by ambition and burning with
revenge, was a dangerous enemy.

Time was soon to show whether it was safe to injure him. Barneveld, from
well-considered motives of public policy, was favouring his honourable
recall. But he allowed a decorous interval of more than three years to
elapse in which to terminate his affairs, and to take a deliberate
departure from that French embassy to which the Advocate had originally
promoted him, and in which there had been so many years of mutual benefit
and confidence between the two statesmen. He used no underhand means. He
did not abuse the power of the States-General which he wielded to cast
him suddenly and brutally from the distinguished post which he occupied,
and so to attempt to dishonour him before the world. Nothing could be
more respectful and conciliatory than the attitude of the government from
first to last towards this distinguished functionary. The Republic
respected itself too much to deal with honourable agents whose services
it felt obliged to dispense with as with vulgar malefactors who had been
detected in crime. But Aerssens believed that it was the Advocate who had
caused copies of his despatches to be sent to the French court, and that
he had deliberately and for a fixed purpose been undermining his
influence at home and abroad and blackening his character. All his
ancient feelings of devotion, if they had ever genuinely existed towards
his former friend and patron, turned to gall. He was almost ready to deny
that he had ever respected Barneveld, appreciated his public services,
admired his intellect, or felt gratitude for his guidance.

A fierce controversy--to which at a later period it will be necessary to
call the reader's attention, because it is intimately connected with dark
scenes afterwards to be enacted--took place between the late ambassador
and Cornelis van der Myle. Meantime Barneveld pursued the policy which he
had marked out for the States-General in regard to France.

Certainly it was a difficult problem. There could be no doubt that
metamorphosed France could only be a dangerous ally for the Republic. It
was in reality impossible that she should be her ally at all. And this
Barneveld knew. Still it was better, so he thought, for the Netherlands
that France should exist than that it should fall into utter
decomposition. France, though under the influence of Spain, and doubly
allied by marriage contracts to Spain, was better than Spain itself in
the place of France. This seemed to be the only choice between two evils.
Should the whole weight of the States-General be thrown into the scale of
the malcontent and mutinous princes against the established but tottering
government of France, it was difficult to say how soon Spain might
literally, as well as inferentially, reign in Paris.

Between the rebellion and the legitimate government, therefore, Barneveld
did not hesitate. France, corporate France, with which the Republic had
bean so long in close and mutually advantageous alliance, and from whose
late monarch she had received such constant and valuable benefits, was in
the Advocate's opinion the only power to be recognised, Papal and Spanish
though it was. The advantage of an alliance with the fickle,
self-seeking, and ever changing mutiny, that was seeking to make use of
Protestantism to effect its own ends, was in his eyes rather specious
than real.

By this policy, while making the breach irreparable with Aerssens and as
many leading politicians as Aerssens could influence, he first brought on
himself the stupid accusation of swerving towards Spain. Dull murmurs
like these, which were now but faintly making themselves heard against
the reputation of the Advocate, were destined ere long to swell into a
mighty roar; but he hardly listened now to insinuations which seemed
infinitely below his contempt. He still effectually ruled the nation
through his influence in the States of Holland, where he reigned supreme.
Thus far Barneveld and My Lords the States-General were one personage.

But there was another great man in the State who had at last grown
impatient of the Advocate's power, and was secretly resolved to brook it
no longer. Maurice of Nassau had felt himself too long rebuked by the
genius of the Advocate. The Prince had perhaps never forgiven him for the
political guardianship which he had exercised over him ever since the
death of William the Silent. He resented the leading strings by which his
youthful footstep had been sustained, and which he seemed always to feel
about his limbs so long as Barneveld existed. He had never forgotten the
unpalatable advice given to him by the Advocate through the
Princess-Dowager.

The brief campaign in Cleve and Julich was the last great political
operation in which the two were likely to act in even apparent harmony.
But the rivalry between the two had already pronounced itself
emphatically during the negotiations for the truce. The Advocate had felt
it absolutely necessary for the Republic to suspend the war at the first
moment when she could treat with her ancient sovereign on a footing of
equality. Spain, exhausted with the conflict, had at last consented to
what she considered the humiliation of treating with her rebellious
provinces as with free states over which she claimed no authority. The
peace party, led by Barneveld, had triumphed, notwithstanding the steady
opposition of Prince Maurice and his adherents.

Why had Maurice opposed the treaty? Because his vocation was over,
because he was the greatest captain of the age, because his emoluments,
his consideration, his dignity before the world, his personal power, were
all vastly greater in war than in his opinion they could possibly be in
peace. It was easy for him to persuade himself that what was manifestly
for his individual interest was likewise essential to the prosperity of
the country.

The diminution in his revenues consequent on the return to peace was made
good to him, his brother, and his cousin, by most munificent endowments
and pensions. And it was owing to the strenuous exertions of the Advocate
that these large sums were voted. A hollow friendship was kept up between
the two during the first few years of the truce, but resentment and
jealousy lay deep in Maurice's heart.

At about the period of the return of Aerssens from his French embassy,
the suppressed fire was ready to flame forth at the first fanning by that
artful hand. It was impossible, so Aerssens thought and whispered, that
two heads could remain on one body politic. There was no room in the
Netherlands for both the Advocate and the Prince. Barneveld was in all
civil affairs dictator, chief magistrate, supreme judge; but he occupied
this high station by the force of intellect, will, and experience, not
through any constitutional provision. In time of war the Prince was
generalissimo, commander-in-chief of all the armies of the Republic. Yet
constitutionally he was not captain-general at all. He was only
stadholder of five out of seven provinces.

Barneveld suspected him of still wishing to make himself sovereign of the
country. Perhaps his suspicions were incorrect. Yet there was every
reason why Maurice should be ambitious of that position. It would have
been in accordance with the openly expressed desire of Henry IV. and
other powerful allies of the Netherlands. His father's assassination had
alone prevented his elevation to the rank of sovereign Count of Holland.
The federal policy of the Provinces had drifted into a republican form
after their renunciation of their Spanish sovereign, not because the
people, or the States as representing the people, had deliberately chosen
a republican system, but because they could get no powerful monarch to
accept the sovereignty. They had offered to become subjects of Protestant
England and of Catholic France. Both powers had refused the offer, and
refused it with something like contumely. However deep the subsequent
regret on the part of both, there was no doubt of the fact. But the
internal policy in all the provinces, and in all the towns, was
republican. Local self-government existed everywhere. Each city
magistracy was a little republic in itself. The death of William the
Silent, before he had been invested with the sovereign power of all seven
provinces, again left that sovereignty in abeyance. Was the supreme power
of the Union, created at Utrecht in 1579, vested in the States-General?

They were beginning theoretically to claim it, but Barneveld denied the
existence of any such power either in law or fact. It was a league of
sovereignties, he maintained; a confederacy of seven independent states,
united for certain purposes by a treaty made some thirty years before.
Nothing could be more imbecile, judging by the light of subsequent events
and the experience of centuries, than such an organization. The
independent and sovereign republic of Zealand or of Groningen, for
example, would have made a poor figure campaigning, or negotiating, or
exhibiting itself on its own account before the world. Yet it was
difficult to show any charter, precedent, or prescription for the
sovereignty of the States-General. Necessary as such an incorporation was
for the very existence of the Union, no constitutional union had ever
been enacted. Practically the Province of Holland, representing more than
half the population, wealth, strength, and intellect of the whole
confederation, had achieved an irregular supremacy in the States-General.
But its undeniable superiority was now causing a rank growth of envy,
hatred, and jealousy throughout the country, and the great Advocate of
Holland, who was identified with the province, and had so long wielded
its power, was beginning to reap the full harvest of that malice.

Thus while there was so much of vagueness in theory and practice as to
the sovereignty, there was nothing criminal on the part of Maurice if he
was ambitious of obtaining the sovereignty himself. He was not seeking to
compass it by base artifice or by intrigue of any kind. It was very
natural that he should be restive under the dictatorship of the Advocate.
If a single burgher and lawyer could make himself despot of the
Netherlands, how much more reasonable that he--with the noblest blood of
Europe in his veins, whose direct ancestor three centuries before had
been emperor not only of those provinces, but of all Germany and half
Christendom besides, whose immortal father had under God been the creator
and saviour of the new commonwealth, had made sacrifices such as man
never made for a people, and had at last laid down his life in its
defence; who had himself fought daily from boyhood upwards in the great
cause, who had led national armies from victory to victory till he had
placed his country as a military school and a belligerent power foremost
among the nations, and had at last so exhausted and humbled the great
adversary and former tyrant that he had been glad of a truce while the
rebel chief would have preferred to continue the war--should aspire to
rule by hereditary right a land with which his name and his race were
indelibly associated by countless sacrifices and heroic achievements.

It was no crime in Maurice to desire the sovereignty. It was still less a
crime in Barneveld to believe that he desired it. There was no special
reason why the Prince should love the republican form of government
provided that an hereditary one could be legally substituted for it. He
had sworn allegiance to the statutes, customs, and privileges of each of
the provinces of which he had been elected stadholder, but there would
have been no treason on his part if the name and dignity of stadholder
should be changed by the States themselves for those of King or sovereign
Prince.

Yet it was a chief grievance against the Advocate on the part of the
Prince that Barneveld believed him capable of this ambition.

The Republic existed as a fact, but it had not long existed, nor had it
ever received a formal baptism. So undefined was its constitution, and so
conflicting were the various opinions in regard to it of eminent men,
that it would be difficult to say how high-treason could be committed
against it. Great lawyers of highest intellect and learning believed the
sovereign power to reside in the separate states, others found that
sovereignty in the city magistracies, while during a feverish period of
war and tumult the supreme function had without any written constitution,
any organic law, practically devolved upon the States-General, who had
now begun to claim it as a right. The Republic was neither venerable by
age nor impregnable in law. It was an improvised aristocracy of lawyers,
manufacturers, bankers, and corporations which had done immense work and
exhibited astonishing sagacity and courage, but which might never have
achieved the independence of the Provinces unaided by the sword of
Orange-Nassau and the magic spell which belonged to that name.

Thus a bitter conflict was rapidly developing itself in the heart of the
Commonwealth. There was the civil element struggling with the military
for predominance; sword against gown; states' rights against central
authority; peace against war; above all the rivalry of one prominent
personage against another, whose mutual hatred was now artfully inflamed
by partisans.

And now another element of discord had come, more potent than all the
rest: the terrible, never ending, struggle of Church against State.
Theological hatred which forty years long had found vent in the exchange
of acrimony between the ancient and the Reformed churches was now
assuming other shapes. Religion in that age and country was more than has
often been the case in history the atmosphere of men's daily lives. But
during the great war for independence, although the hostility between the
two religious forces was always intense, it was modified especially
towards the close of the struggle by other controlling influences. The
love of independence and the passion for nationality, the devotion to
ancient political privileges, was often as fervid and genuine in Catholic
bosoms as in those of Protestants, and sincere adherents of the ancient
church had fought to the death against Spain in defence of chartered
rights.

At that very moment it is probable that half the population of the United
Provinces was Catholic. Yet it would be ridiculous to deny that the
aggressive, uncompromising; self-sacrificing, intensely believing,
perfectly fearless spirit of Calvinism had been the animating soul, the
motive power of the great revolt. For the Provinces to have encountered
Spain and Rome without Calvinism, and relying upon municipal enthusiasm
only, would have been to throw away the sword and fight with the
scabbard.

But it is equally certain that those hot gospellers who had suffered so
much martyrdom and achieved so many miracles were fully aware of their
power and despotic in its exercise. Against the oligarchy of commercial
and juridical corporations they stood there the most terrible aristocracy
of all: the aristocracy of God's elect, predestined from all time and to
all eternity to take precedence of and to look down upon their inferior
and lost fellow creatures. It was inevitable that this aristocracy, which
had done so much, which had breathed into a new-born commonwealth the
breath of its life, should be intolerant, haughty, dogmatic.

The Church of Rome, which had been dethroned after inflicting such
exquisite tortures during its period of power, was not to raise its head.
Although so large a proportion of the inhabitants of the country were
secretly or openly attached to that faith, it was a penal offence to
participate openly in its rites and ceremonies. Religious equality,
except in the minds of a few individuals, was an unimaginable idea. There
was still one Church which arrogated to itself the sole possession of
truth, the Church of Geneva. Those who admitted the possibility of other
forms and creeds were either Atheists or, what was deemed worse than
Atheists, Papists, because Papists were assumed to be traitors also, and
desirous of selling the country to Spain. An undevout man in that land
and at that epoch was an almost unknown phenomenon. Religion was as much
a recognized necessity of existence as food or drink. It were as easy to
find people about without clothes as without religious convictions.

The Advocate, who had always adhered to the humble spirit of his
ancestral device, "Nil scire tutissima fedes," and almost alone among his
fellow citizens (save those immediate apostles and pupils of his who
became involved in his fate) in favour of religious toleration, began to
be suspected of treason and Papacy because, had he been able to give the
law, it was thought he would have permitted such horrors as the public
exercise of the Roman Catholic religion.

The hissings and screamings of the vulgar against him as he moved forward
on his stedfast course he heeded less than those of geese on a common.
But there was coming a time when this proud and scornful statesman,
conscious of the superiority conferred by great talents and unparalleled
experience, would find it less easy to treat the voice of slanderers,
whether idiots or powerful and intellectual enemies, with contempt.



CHAPTER VIII.

   Schism in the Church a Public Fact--Struggle for Power between the
   Sacerdotal and Political Orders--Dispute between Arminius and
   Gomarus--Rage of James I. at the Appointment of Voratius--Arminians
   called Remonstrants--Hague Conference--Contra-Remonstrance by
   Gomarites of Seven Points to the Remonstrants' Five--Fierce
   Theological Disputes throughout the Country--Ryswyk Secession--
   Maurice wishes to remain neutral, but finds himself the Chieftain of
   the Contra-Remonstrant Party--The States of Holland Remonstrant by a
   large Majority--The States-General Contra-Remonstrant--Sir Ralph
   Winwood leaves the Hague--Three Armies to take the Field against
   Protestantism.

Schism in the Church had become a public fact, and theological hatred was
in full blaze throughout the country.

The great practical question in the Church had been as to the appointment
of preachers, wardens, schoolmasters, and other officers. By the
ecclesiastical arrangements of 1591 great power was conceded to the civil
authority in church matters, especially in regard to such appointments,
which were made by a commission consisting of four members named by the
churches and four by the magistrates in each district.

Barneveld, who above all things desired peace in the Church, had wished
to revive this ordinance, and in 1612 it had been resolved by the States
of Holland that each city or village should, if the magistracy approved,
provisionally conform to it. The States of Utrecht made at the same time
a similar arrangement.

It was the controversy which has been going on since the beginning of
history and is likely to be prolonged to the end of time--the struggle
for power between the sacerdotal and political orders; the controversy
whether priests shall control the state or the state govern the priests.

This was the practical question involved in the fierce dispute as to
dogma. The famous duel between Arminius and Gomarus; the splendid
theological tournaments which succeeded; six champions on a side armed in
full theological panoply and swinging the sharpest curtal axes which
learning, passion, and acute intellect could devise, had as yet produced
no beneficent result. Nobody had been convinced by the shock of argument,
by the exchange of those desperate blows. The High Council of the Hague
had declared that no difference of opinion in the Church existed
sufficient to prevent fraternal harmony and happiness. But Gomarus loudly
declared that, if there were no means of putting down the heresy of
Arminius, there would before long be a struggle such as would set
province against province, village against village, family against
family, throughout the land. He should be afraid to die in such doctrine.
He shuddered that any one should dare to come before God's tribunal with
such blasphemies. Meantime his great adversary, the learned and eloquent,
the musical, frolicsome, hospitable heresiarch was no more. Worn out with
controversy, but peaceful and happy in the convictions which were so
bitterly denounced by Gomarus and a large proportion of both preachers
and laymen in the Netherlands, and convinced that the schism which in his
view had been created by those who called themselves the orthodox would
weaken the cause of Protestantism throughout Europe, Arminius died at the
age of forty-nine.

The magistrates throughout Holland, with the exception of a few cities,
were Arminian, the preachers Gomarian; for Arminius ascribed to the civil
authority the right to decide upon church matters, while Gomarus
maintained that ecclesiastical affairs should be regulated in
ecclesiastical assemblies. The overseers of Leyden University appointed
Conrad Vorstius to be professor of theology in place of Arminius. The
selection filled to the brim the cup of bitterness, for no man was more
audaciously latitudinarian than he. He was even suspected of Socinianism.
There came a shriek from King James, fierce and shrill enough to rouse
Arminius from his grave. James foamed to the mouth at the insolence of
the overseers in appointing such a monster of infidelity to the
professorship. He ordered his books to be publicly burned in St. Paul's
Churchyard and at both Universities, and would have burned the Professor
himself with as much delight as Torquemada or Peter Titelman ever felt in
roasting their victims, had not the day for such festivities gone by. He
ordered the States of Holland on pain of for ever forfeiting his
friendship to exclude Vorstius at once from the theological chair and to
forbid him from "nestling anywhere in the country."

He declared his amazement that they should tolerate such a pest as Conrad
Vorstius. Had they not had enough of the seed sown by that foe of God,
Arminius? He ordered the States-General to chase the blasphemous monster
from the land, or else he would cut off all connection with their false
and heretic churches and make the other Reformed churches of Europe do
the same, nor should the youth of England ever be allowed to frequent the
University of Leyden.

In point of fact the Professor was never allowed to qualify, to preach,
or to teach; so tremendous was the outcry of Peter Plancius and many
orthodox preachers, echoing the wrath of the King. He lived at Gouda in a
private capacity for several years, until the Synod of Dordrecht at last
publicly condemned his opinions and deprived him of his professorship.

Meantime, the preachers who were disciples of Arminius had in a private
assembly drawn up what was called a Remonstrance, addressed to the States
of Holland, and defending themselves from the reproach that they were
seeking change in the Divine service and desirous of creating tumult and
schism.

This Remonstrance, set forth by the pen of the famous Uytenbogaert, whom
Gomarus called the Court Trumpeter, because for a long time he had been
Prince Maurice's favourite preacher, was placed in the hands of
Barneveld, for delivery to the States of Holland. Thenceforth the
Arminians were called Remonstrants.

The Hague Conference followed, six preachers on a side, and the States of
Holland exhorted to fraternal compromise. Until further notice, they
decreed that no man should be required to believe more than had been laid
down in the Five Points:

I. God has from eternity resolved to choose to eternal life those who
through his grace believe in Jesus Christ, and in faith and obedience so
continue to the end, and to condemn the unbelieving and unconverted to
eternal damnation.

II. Jesus Christ died for all; so, nevertheless, that no one actually
except believers is redeemed by His death.

III. Man has not the saving belief from himself, nor out of his free
will, but he needs thereto God's grace in Christ.

IV. This grace is the beginning, continuation, and completion of man's
salvation; all good deeds must be ascribed to it, but it does not work
irresistibly.

V. God's grace gives sufficient strength to the true believers to
overcome evil; but whether they cannot lose grace should be more closely
examined before it should be taught in full security.

Afterwards they expressed themselves more distinctly on this point, and
declared that a true believer, through his own fault, can fall away from
God and lose faith.

Before the conference, however, the Gomarite preachers had drawn up a
Contra-Remonstrance of Seven Points in opposition to the Remonstrants'
five.

They demanded the holding of a National Synod to settle the difference
between these Five and Seven Points, or the sending of them to foreign
universities for arbitration, a mutual promise being given by the
contending parties to abide by the decision.

Thus much it has been necessary to state concerning what in the
seventeenth century was called the platform of the two great parties: a
term which has been perpetuated in our own country, and is familiar to
all the world in the nineteenth.

These were the Seven Points:

I. God has chosen from eternity certain persons out of the human race,
which in and with Adam fell into sin and has no more power to believe and
Convert itself than a dead man to restore himself to life, in order to
make them blessed through Christ; while He passes by the rest through His
righteous judgment, and leaves them lying in their sins.

II. Children of believing parents, as well as full-grown believers, are
to be considered as elect so long as they with action do not prove the
contrary.

III. God in His election has not looked at the belief and the repentance
of the elect; but, on the contrary, in His eternal and unchangeable
design, has resolved to give to the elect faith and stedfastness, and
thus to make them blessed.

IV. He, to this end, in the first place, presented to them His only
begotten Son, whose sufferings, although sufficient for the expiation of
all men's sins, nevertheless, according to God's decree, serves alone to
the reconciliation of the elect.

V. God causest he Gospel to be preached to them, making the same through
the Holy Ghost, of strength upon their minds; so that they not merely
obtain power to repent and to believe, but also actually and voluntarily
do repent and believe.

VI. Such elect, through the same power of the Holy Ghost through which
they have once become repentant and believing, are kept in such wise that
they indeed through weakness fall into heavy sins; but can never wholly
and for always lose the true faith.

VII. True believers from this, however, draw no reason for fleshly quiet,
it being impossible that they who through a true faith were planted in
Christ should bring forth no fruits of thankfulness; the promises of
God's help and the warnings of Scripture tending to make their salvation
work in them in fear and trembling, and to cause them more earnestly to
desire help from that spirit without which they can do nothing.

There shall be no more setting forth of these subtle and finely wrought
abstractions in our pages. We aspire not to the lofty heights of
theological and supernatural contemplation, where the atmosphere becomes
too rarefied for ordinary constitutions. Rather we attempt an objective
and level survey of remarkable phenomena manifesting themselves on the
earth; direct or secondary emanations from those distant spheres.

For in those days, and in that land especially, theology and politics
were one. It may be questioned at least whether this practical fusion of
elements, which may with more safety to the Commonwealth be kept
separate, did not tend quite as much to lower and contaminate the
religious sentiments as to elevate the political idea. To mix habitually
the solemn phraseology which men love to reserve for their highest and
most sacred needs with the familiar slang of politics and trade seems to
our generation not a very desirable proceeding.

The aroma of doubly distilled and highly sublimated dogma is more
difficult to catch than to comprehend the broader and more practical
distinctions of every-day party strife.

King James was furious at the thought that common men--the vulgar, the
people in short--should dare to discuss deep problems of divinity which,
as he confessed, had puzzled even his royal mind. Barneveld modestly
disclaimed the power of seeing with absolute clearness into things beyond
the reach of the human intellect. But the honest Netherlanders were not
abashed by thunder from the royal pulpit, nor perplexed by hesitations
which darkened the soul of the great Advocate.

In burghers' mansions, peasants' cottages, mechanics' back-parlours, on
board herring smacks, canal boats, and East Indiamen; in shops,
counting-rooms, farmyards, guard-rooms, ale-houses; on the exchange, in
the tennis-court, on the mall; at banquets, at burials, christenings, or
bridals; wherever and whenever human creatures met each other,
there was ever to be found the fierce wrangle of Remonstrant and
Contra-Remonstrant, the hissing of red-hot theological rhetoric, the
pelting of hostile texts. The blacksmith's iron cooled on the anvil, the
tinker dropped a kettle half mended, the broker left a bargain
unclinched, the Scheveningen fisherman in his wooden shoes forgot the
cracks in his pinkie, while each paused to hold high converse with friend
or foe on fate, free will, or absolute foreknowledge; losing himself in
wandering mazes whence there was no issue. Province against province,
city against city, family against family; it was one vast scene of
bickering, denunciation, heart-burnings, mutual excommunication and
hatred.

Alas! a generation of mankind before, men had stood banded together to
resist, with all the might that comes from union, the fell spirit of the
Holy Inquisition, which was dooming all who had wandered from the ancient
fold or resisted foreign tyranny to the axe, the faggot, the living
grave. There had been small leisure then for men who fought for
Fatherland, and for comparative liberty of conscience, to tear each
others' characters in pieces, and to indulge in mutual hatreds and
loathing on the question of predestination.

As a rule the population, especially of the humbler classes, and a great
majority of the preachers were Contra-Remonstrant; the magistrates, the
burgher patricians, were Remonstrant. In Holland the controlling
influence was Remonstrant; but Amsterdam and four or five other cities of
that province held to the opposite doctrine. These cities formed
therefore a small minority in the States Assembly of Holland sustained by
a large majority in the States-General. The Province of Utrecht was
almost unanimously Remonstrant. The five other provinces were decidedly
Contra-Remonstrant.

It is obvious therefore that the influence of Barneveld, hitherto so
all-controlling in the States-General, and which rested on the complete
submission of the States of Holland to his will, was tottering. The
battle-line between Church and State was now drawn up; and it was at the
same time a battle between the union and the principles of state
sovereignty.

It had long since been declared through the mouth of the Advocate, but in
a solemn state manifesto, that My Lords the States-General were the
foster-fathers and the natural protectors of the Church, to whom supreme
authority in church matters belonged.

The Contra-Remonstrants, on the other hand, maintained that all the
various churches made up one indivisible church, seated above the States,
whether Provincial or General, and governed by the Holy Ghost acting
directly upon the congregations.

As the schism grew deeper and the States-General receded from the
position which they had taken up under the lead of the Advocate, the
scene was changed. A majority of the Provinces being Contra-Remonstrant,
and therefore in favour of a National Synod, the States-General as a body
were of necessity for the Synod.

It was felt by the clergy that, if many churches existed, they would all
remain subject to the civil authority. The power of the priesthood would
thus sink before that of the burgher aristocracy. There must be one
church--the Church of Geneva and Heidelberg--if that theocracy which the
Gomarites meant to establish was not to vanish as a dream. It was founded
on Divine Right, and knew no chief magistrate but the Holy Ghost. A few
years before the States-General had agreed to a National Synod, but with
a condition that there should be revision of the Netherland Confession
and the Heidelberg Catechism.

Against this the orthodox infallibilists had protested and thundered,
because it was an admission that the vile Arminian heresy might perhaps
be declared correct. It was now however a matter of certainty that the
States-General would cease to oppose the unconditional Synod, because the
majority sided with the priesthood.

The magistrates of Leyden had not long before opposed the demand for a
Synod on the ground that the war against Spain was not undertaken to
maintain one sect; that men of various sects and creeds had fought with
equal valour against the common foe; that religious compulsion was
hateful, and that no synod had a right to claim Netherlanders as slaves.

To thoughtful politicians like Barneveld, Hugo Grotius, and men who acted
with them, fraught with danger to the state, that seemed a doctrine by
which mankind were not regarded as saved or doomed according to belief or
deeds, but as individuals divided from all eternity into two classes
which could never be united, but must ever mutually regard each other as
enemies.

And like enemies Netherlanders were indeed beginning to regard each
other. The man who, banded like brothers, had so heroically fought for
two generations long for liberty against an almost superhuman despotism,
now howling and jeering against each other like demons, seemed determined
to bring the very name of liberty into contempt.

Where the Remonstrants were in the ascendant, they excited the hatred and
disgust of the orthodox by their overbearing determination to carry their
Five Points. A broker in Rotterdam of the Contra-Remonstrant persuasion,
being about to take a wife, swore he had rather be married by a pig than
a parson. For this sparkling epigram he was punished by the Remonstrant
magistracy with loss of his citizenship for a year and the right to
practise his trade for life. A casuistical tinker, expressing himself
violently in the same city against the Five Points, and disrespectfully
towards the magistrates for tolerating them, was banished from the town.
A printer in the neighbourhood, disgusted with these and similar efforts
of tyranny on the part of the dominant party, thrust a couple of lines of
doggrel into the lottery:

  "In name of the Prince of Orange, I ask once and again,
   What difference between the Inquisition of Rotterdam and Spain?"

For this poetical effort the printer was sentenced to forfeit the prize
that he had drawn in the lottery, and to be kept in prison on bread and
water for a fortnight.

Certainly such punishments were hardly as severe as being beheaded or
burned or buried alive, as would have been the lot of tinkers and
printers and brokers who opposed the established church in the days of
Alva, but the demon of intolerance, although its fangs were drawn, still
survived, and had taken possession of both parties in the Reformed
Church. For it was the Remonstrants who had possession of the churches at
Rotterdam, and the printer's distich is valuable as pointing out that the
name of Orange was beginning to identify itself with the
Contra-Remonstrant faction. At this time, on the other hand, the gabble
that Barneveld had been bought by Spanish gold, and was about to sell his
country to Spain, became louder than a whisper. Men were not ashamed,
from theological hatred, to utter such senseless calumnies against a
venerable statesman whose long life had been devoted to the cause of his
country's independence and to the death struggle with Spain.

As if because a man admitted the possibility of all his fellow-creatures
being saved from damnation through repentance and the grace of God, he
must inevitably be a traitor to his country and a pensionary of her
deadliest foe.

And where the Contra-Remonstrants held possession of the churches and the
city governments, acts of tyranny which did not then seem ridiculous were
of everyday occurrence. Clergymen, suspected of the Five Points, were
driven out of the pulpits with bludgeons or assailed with brickbats at
the church door. At Amsterdam, Simon Goulart, for preaching the doctrine
of universal salvation and for disputing the eternal damnation of young
children, was forbidden thenceforth to preach at all.

But it was at the Hague that the schism in religion and politics first
fatally widened itself. Henry Rosaeus, an eloquent divine, disgusted with
his colleague Uytenbogaert, refused all communion with him, and was in
consequence suspended. Excluded from the Great Church, where he had
formerly ministered, he preached every Sunday at Ryswyk, two or three
miles distant. Seven hundred Contra-Remonstrants of the Hague followed
their beloved pastor, and, as the roads to Ryswyk were muddy and sloppy
in winter, acquired the unsavoury nickname of the "Mud Beggars." The
vulgarity of heart which suggested the appellation does not inspire
to-day great sympathy with the Remonstrant party, even if one were
inclined to admit, what is not the fact, that they represented the cause
of religious equality. For even the illustrious Grotius was at that very
moment repudiating the notion that there could be two religions in one
state. "Difference in public worship," he said, "was in kingdoms
pernicious, but in free commonwealths in the highest degree destructive."

It was the struggle between Church and State for supremacy over the whole
body politic. "The Reformation," said Grotius, "was not brought about by
synods, but by kings, princes, and magistrates." It was the same eternal
story, the same terrible two-edged weapon, "Cujus reggio ejus religio,"
found in the arsenal of the first Reformers, and in every
politico-religious arsenal of history.

"By an eternal decree of God," said Gomarus in accordance with Calvin,
"it has been fixed who are to be saved and who damned. By His decree some
are drawn to faith and godliness, and, being drawn, can never fall away.
God leaves all the rest in the general corruption of human nature and
their own misdeeds."

"God has from eternity made this distinction in the fallen human race,"
said Arminius, "that He pardons those who desist from their sins and put
their faith in Christ, and will give them eternal life, but will punish
those who remain impenitent. Moreover, it is pleasanter to God that all
men should repent, and, coming to knowledge of truth, remain therein, but
He compels none."

This was the vital difference of dogma. And it was because they could
hold no communion with those who believed in the efficacy of repentance
that Rosaeus and his followers had seceded to Ryswyk, and the Reformed
Church had been torn into two very unequal parts. But it is difficult to
believe that out of this arid field of controversy so plentiful a harvest
of hatred and civil convulsion could have ripened. More practical than
the insoluble problems, whether repentance could effect salvation, and
whether dead infants were hopelessly damned, was the question who should
rule both Church and State.

There could be but one church. On that Remonstrants and
Contra-Remonstrants were agreed. But should the five Points or the Seven
Points obtain the mastery? Should that framework of hammered iron, the
Confession and Catechism, be maintained in all its rigidity around the
sheepfold, or should the disciples of the arch-heretic Arminius, the
salvation-mongers, be permitted to prowl within it?

Was Barneveld, who hated the Reformed religion (so men told each other),
and who believed in nothing, to continue dictator of the whole Republic
through his influence over one province, prescribing its religious dogmas
and laying down its laws; or had not the time come for the States-General
to vindicate the rights of the Church, and to crush for ever the
pernicious principle of State sovereignty and burgher oligarchy?

The abyss was wide and deep, and the wild waves were raging more madly
every hour. The Advocate, anxious and troubled, but undismayed, did his
best in the terrible emergency. He conferred with Prince Maurice on the
subject of the Ryswyk secession, and men said that he sought to impress
upon him, as chief of the military forces, the necessity of putting down
religious schism with the armed hand.

The Prince had not yet taken a decided position. He was still under the
influence of John Uytenbogaert, who with Arminius and the Advocate made
up the fateful three from whom deadly disasters were deemed to have come
upon the Commonwealth. He wished to remain neutral. But no man can be
neutral in civil contentions threatening the life of the body politic any
more than the heart can be indifferent if the human frame is sawn in two.

"I am a soldier," said Maurice, "not a divine. These are matters of
theology which I don't understand, and about which I don't trouble
myself."

On another occasion he is reported to have said, "I know nothing of
predestination, whether it is green or whether it is blue; but I do know
that the Advocate's pipe and mine will never play the same tune."

It was not long before he fully comprehended the part which he must
necessarily play. To say that he was indifferent to religious matters was
as ridiculous as to make a like charge against Barneveld. Both were
religious men. It would have been almost impossible to find an
irreligious character in that country, certainly not among its
highest-placed and leading minds. Maurice had strong intellectual powers.
He was a regular attendant on divine worship, and was accustomed to hear
daily religious discussions. To avoid them indeed, he would have been
obliged not only to fly his country, but to leave Europe. He had a
profound reverence for the memory of his father, Calbo y Calbanista, as
William the Silent had called himself. But the great prince had died
before these fierce disputes had torn the bosom of the Reformed Church,
and while Reformers still were brethren. But if Maurice were a religious
man, he was also a keen politician; a less capable politician, however,
than a soldier, for he was confessedly the first captain of his age. He
was not rapid in his conceptions, but he was sure in the end to
comprehend his opportunity.

The Church, the people, the Union--the sacerdotal, the democratic, and
the national element--united under a name so potent to conjure with as
the name of Orange-Nassau, was stronger than any other possible
combination. Instinctively and logically therefore the Stadholder found
himself the chieftain of the Contra-Remonstrant party, and without the
necessity of an apostasy such as had been required of his great
contemporary to make himself master of France.

The power of Barneveld and his partisans was now put to a severe strain.
His efforts to bring back the Hague seceders were powerless. The
influence of Uytenbogaert over the Stadholder steadily diminished. He
prayed to be relieved from his post in the Great Church of the Hague,
especially objecting to serve with a Contra-Remonstrant preacher whom
Maurice wished to officiate there in place of the seceding Rosaeus. But
the Stadholder refused to let him go, fearing his influence in other
places. "There is stuff in him," said Maurice, "to outweigh half a dozen
Contra-Remonstrant preachers." Everywhere in Holland the opponents of the
Five Points refused to go to the churches, and set up tabernacles for
themselves in barns, outhouses, canal-boats. And the authorities in town
and village nailed up the barn-doors, and dispersed the canal boat
congregations, while the populace pelted them with stones. The seceders
appealed to the Stadholder, pleading that at least they ought to be
allowed to hear the word of God as they understood it without being
forced into churches where they were obliged to hear Arminian blasphemy.
At least their barns might be left them. "Barns," said Maurice, "barns
and outhouses! Are we to preach in barns? The churches belong to us, and
we mean to have them too."

Not long afterwards the Stadholder, clapping his hand on his sword hilt,
observed that these differences could only be settled by force of arms.
An ominous remark and a dreary comment on the forty years' war against
the Inquisition.

And the same scenes that were enacting in Holland were going on in
Overyssel and Friesland and Groningen; but with a difference. Here it was
the Five Points men who were driven into secession, whose barns were
nailed up, and whose preachers were mobbed. A lugubrious spectacle, but
less painful certainly than the hangings and drownings and burnings alive
in the previous century to prevent secession from the indivisible church.

It is certain that stadholders and all other magistrates ever since the
establishment of independence were sworn to maintain the Reformed
religion and to prevent a public divine worship under any other form. It
is equally certain that by the 13th Article of the Act of Union--the
organic law of the confederation made at Utrecht in 1579--each province
reserved for itself full control of religious questions. It would indeed
seem almost unimaginable in a country where not only every province, but
every city, every municipal board, was so jealous of its local privileges
and traditional rights that the absolute disposition over the highest,
gravest, and most difficult questions that can inspire and perplex
humanity should be left to a general government, and one moreover which
had scarcely come into existence.

Yet into this entirely illogical position the Commonwealth was steadily
drifting. The cause was simple enough. The States of Holland, as already
observed, were Remonstrant by a large majority. The States-General were
Contra-Remonstrant by a still greater majority. The Church, rigidly
attached to the Confession and Catechism, and refusing all change except
through decree of a synod to be called by the general government which it
controlled, represented the national idea. It thus identified itself with
the Republic, and was in sympathy with a large majority of the
population.

Logic, law, historical tradition were on the side of the Advocate and the
States' right party. The instinct of national self-preservation,
repudiating the narrow and destructive doctrine of provincial
sovereignty, were on the side of the States-General and the Church.

Meantime James of Great Britain had written letters both to the States of
Holland and the States-General expressing his satisfaction with the Five
Points, and deciding that there was nothing objectionable in the doctrine
of predestination therein set forth. He had recommended unity and peace
in Church and Assembly, and urged especially that these controverted
points should not be discussed in the pulpit to the irritation and
perplexity of the common people.

The King's letters had produced much satisfaction in the moderate party.
Barneveld and his followers were then still in the ascendant, and it
seemed possible that the Commonwealth might enjoy a few moments of
tranquillity. That James had given a new exhibition of his astounding
inconsistency was a matter very indifferent to all but himself, and he
was the last man to trouble himself for that reproach.

It might happen, when he should come to realize how absolutely he had
obeyed the tuition of the Advocate and favoured the party which he had
been so vehemently opposing, that he might regret and prove willing to
retract. But for the time being the course of politics had seemed running
smoother. The acrimony of the relations between the English government
and dominant party at the Hague was sensibly diminished. The King seemed
for an instant to have obtained a true insight into the nature of the
struggle in the States. That it was after all less a theological than a
political question which divided parties had at last dawned upon him.

"If you have occasion to write on the subject," said Barneveld, "it is
above all necessary to make it clear that ecclesiastical persons and
their affairs must stand under the direction of the sovereign authority,
for our preachers understand that the disposal of ecclesiastical persons
and affairs belongs to them, so that they alone are to appoint preachers,
elders, deacons, and other clerical persons, and to regulate the whole
ecclesiastical administration according to their pleasure or by a popular
government which they call the community."

"The Counts of Holland from all ancient times were never willing under
the Papacy to surrender their right of presentation to the churches and
control of all spiritual and ecclesiastical benefices. The Emperor
Charles and King Philip even, as Counts of Holland, kept these rights to
themselves, save that they in enfeoffing more than a hundred gentlemen,
of noble and ancient families with seigniorial manors, enfeoffed them
also with the right of presentation to churches and benefices on their
respective estates. Our preachers pretend to have won this right against
the Countship, the gentlemen, nobles, and others, and that it belongs to
them."

It is easy to see that this was a grave, constitutional, legal, and
historical problem not to be solved offhand by vehement citations from
Scripture, nor by pragmatical dissertations from the lips of foreign
ambassadors.

"I believe this point," continued Barneveld, "to be the most difficult
question of all, importing far more than subtle searchings and
conflicting sentiments as to passages of Holy Writ, or disputations
concerning God's eternal predestination and other points thereupon
depending. Of these doctrines the Archbishop of Canterbury well observed
in the Conference of 1604 that one ought to teach them ascendendo and not
descendendo."

The letters of the King had been very favourably received both in the
States-General and in the Assembly of Holland. "You will present the
replies," wrote Barneveld to the ambassador in London, "at the best
opportunity and with becoming compliments. You may be assured and assure
his Majesty that they have been very agreeable to both assemblies. Our
commissioners over there on the East Indian matter ought to know nothing
of these letters."

This statement is worthy of notice, as Grotius was one of those
commissioners, and, as will subsequently appear, was accused of being the
author of the letters.

"I understand from others," continued the Advocate, "that the gentleman
well known to you--[Obviously Francis Aerssens]--is not well pleased that
through other agency than his these letters have been written and
presented. I think too that the other business is much against his grain,
but on the whole since your departure he has accommodated himself to the
situation."

But if Aerssens for the moment seemed quiet, the orthodox clergy were
restive.

"I know," said Barneveld, "that some of our ministers are so audacious
that of themselves, or through others, they mean to work by direct or
indirect means against these letters. They mean to show likewise that
there are other and greater differences of doctrine than those already
discussed. You will keep a sharp eye on the sails and provide against the
effect of counter-currents. To maintain the authority of their Great
Mightinesses over ecclesiastical matters is more than necessary for the
conservation of the country's welfare and of the true Christian religion.
As his Majesty would not allow this principle to be controverted in his
own realms, as his books clearly prove, so we trust that he will not find
it good that it should be controverted in our state as sure to lead to a
very disastrous and inequitable sequel."

And a few weeks later the Advocate and the whole party of toleration
found themselves, as is so apt to be the case, between two fires. The
Catholics became as turbulent as the extreme Calvinists, and already
hopes were entertained by Spanish emissaries and spies that this rapidly
growing schism in the Reformed Church might be dexterously made use of to
bring the Provinces, when they should become fairly distracted, back to
the dominion of Spain.

"Our precise zealots in the Reformed religion, on the one side," wrote
Barneveld, "and the Jesuits on the other, are vigorously kindling the
fire of discord. Keep a good lookout for the countermine which is now
working against the good advice of his Majesty for mutual toleration. The
publication of the letters was done without order, but I believe with
good intent, in the hope that the vehemence and exorbitance of some
precise Puritans in our State should thereby be checked. That which is
now doing against us in printed libels is the work of the aforesaid
Puritans and a few Jesuits. The pretence in those libels, that there are
other differences in the matter of doctrine, is mere fiction designed to
make trouble and confusion."

In the course of the autumn, Sir Ralph Winwood departed from the Hague,
to assume soon afterwards in England the position of secretary of state
for foreign affairs. He did not take personal farewell of Barneveld, the
Advocate being absent in North Holland at the moment, and detained there
by indisposition. The leave-taking was therefore by letter. He had done
much to injure the cause which the Dutch statesman held vital to the
Republic, and in so doing he had faithfully carried out the instructions
of his master. Now that James had written these conciliatory letters to
the States, recommending toleration, letters destined to be famous,
Barneveld was anxious that the retiring ambassador should foster the
spirit of moderation, which for a moment prevailed at the British court.
But he was not very hopeful in the matter.

"Mr. Winwood is doubtless over there now," he wrote to Caron. "He has
promised in public and private to do all good offices. The States-General
made him a present on his departure of the value of L4000. I fear
nevertheless that he, especially in religious matters, will not do the
best offices. For besides that he is himself very hard and precise, those
who in this country are hard and precise have made a dead set at him, and
tried to make him devoted to their cause, through many fictitious and
untruthful means."

The Advocate, as so often before, sent assurances to the King that "the
States-General, and especially the States of Holland, were resolved to
maintain the genuine Reformed religion, and oppose all novelties and
impurities conflicting with it," and the Ambassador was instructed to see
that the countermine, worked so industriously against his Majesty's
service and the honour and reputation of the Provinces, did not prove
successful.

"To let the good mob play the master," he said, "and to permit hypocrites
and traitors in the Flemish manner to get possession of the government of
the provinces and cities, and to cause upright patriots whose faith and
truth has so long been proved, to be abandoned, by the blessing of God,
shall never be accomplished. Be of good heart, and cause these Flemish
tricks to be understood on every occasion, and let men know that we mean
to maintain, with unchanging constancy, the authority of the government,
the privileges and laws of the country, as well as the true Reformed
religion."

The statesman was more than ever anxious for moderate counsels in the
religious questions, for it was now more important than ever that there
should be concord in the Provinces, for the cause of Protestantism, and
with it the existence of the Republic, seemed in greater danger than at
any moment since the truce. It appeared certain that the alliance between
France and Spain had been arranged, and that the Pope, Spain, the
Grand-duke of Tuscany, and their various adherents had organized a strong
combination, and were enrolling large armies to take the field in the
spring, against the Protestant League of the princes and electors in
Germany. The great king was dead. The Queen-Regent was in the hand of
Spain, or dreamed at least of an impossible neutrality, while the priest
who was one day to resume the part of Henry, and to hang upon the sword
of France the scales in which the opposing weights of Protestantism and
Catholicism in Europe were through so many awful years to be balanced,
was still an obscure bishop.

The premonitory signs of the great religious war in Germany were not to
be mistaken. In truth, the great conflict had already opened in the
duchies, although few men as yet comprehended the full extent of that
movement. The superficial imagined that questions of hereditary
succession, like those involved in the dispute, were easily to be settled
by statutes of descent, expounded by doctors of law, and sustained, if
needful, by a couple of comparatively bloodless campaigns. Those who
looked more deeply into causes felt that the limitations of Imperial
authority, the ambition of a great republic, suddenly starting into
existence out of nothing, and the great issues of the religious
reformation, were matters not so easily arranged. When the scene shifted,
as it was so soon to do, to the heart of Bohemia, when Protestantism had
taken the Holy Roman Empire by the beard in its ancient palace, and
thrown Imperial stadholders out of window, it would be evident to the
blindest that something serious was taking place.

Meantime Barneveld, ever watchful of passing events, knew that great
forces of Catholicism were marshalling in the south. Three armies were to
take the field against Protestantism at the orders of Spain and the Pope.
One at the door of the Republic, and directed especially against the
Netherlands, was to resume the campaign in the duchies, and to prevent
any aid going to Protestant Germany from Great Britain or from Holland.
Another in the Upper Palatinate was to make the chief movement against
the Evangelical hosts. A third in Austria was to keep down the Protestant
party in Bohemia, Hungary, Austria, Moravia, and Silesia. To sustain this
movement, it was understood that all the troops then in Italy were to be
kept all the winter on a war footing.'

Was this a time for the great Protestant party in the Netherlands to tear
itself in pieces for a theological subtlety, about which good Christians
might differ without taking each other by the throat?

"I do not lightly believe or fear," said the Advocate, in communicating a
survey of European affairs at that moment to Carom "but present advices
from abroad make me apprehend dangers."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Aristocracy of God's elect
     Determined to bring the very name of liberty into contempt
     Disputing the eternal damnation of young children
     Fate, free will, or absolute foreknowledge
     Louis XIII.
     No man can be neutral in civil contentions
     No synod had a right to claim Netherlanders as slaves
     Philip IV.
     Priests shall control the state or the state govern the priests
     Schism in the Church had become a public fact
     That cynical commerce in human lives
     The voice of slanderers
     Theological hatred was in full blaze throughout the country
     Theology and politics were one
     To look down upon their inferior and lost fellow creatures
     Whether dead infants were hopelessly damned
     Whether repentance could effect salvation
     Whose mutual hatred was now artfully inflamed by partisans
     Work of the aforesaid Puritans and a few Jesuits



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life of John of Barneveld, 1613-15



CHAPTER IX.

   Aerssens remains Two Years longer in France--Derives many Personal
   Advantages from his Post--He visits the States-General--Aubery du
   Maurier appointed French Ambassador--He demands the Recall of
   Aerssens--Peace of Sainte-Menehould--Asperen de Langerac appointed
   in Aerssens' Place.

Francis Aerssens had remained longer at his post than had been intended
by the resolution of the States of Holland, passed in May 1611.

It is an exemplification of the very loose constitutional framework of
the United Provinces that the nomination of the ambassador to France
belonged to the States of Holland, by whom his salary was paid, although,
of course, he was the servant of the States-General, to whom his public
and official correspondence was addressed. His most important despatches
were however written directly to Barneveld so long as he remained in
power, who had also the charge of the whole correspondence, public or
private, with all the envoys of the States.

Aerssens had, it will be remembered, been authorized to stay one year
longer in France if he thought he could be useful there. He stayed two
years, and on the whole was not useful. He had too many eyes and too many
ears. He had become mischievous by the very activity of his intelligence.
He was too zealous. There were occasions in France at that moment in
which it was as well to be blind and deaf. It was impossible for the
Republic, unless driven to it by dire necessity, to quarrel with its
great ally. It had been calculated by Duplessis-Mornay that France had
paid subsidies to the Provinces amounting from first to last to 200
millions of livres. This was an enormous exaggeration. It was Barneveld's
estimate that before the truce the States had received from France eleven
millions of florins in cash, and during the truce up to the year 1613,
3,600,000 in addition, besides a million still due, making a total of
about fifteen millions. During the truce France kept two regiments of
foot amounting to 4200 soldiers and two companies of cavalry in Holland
at the service of the States, for which she was bound to pay yearly
600,000 livres. And the Queen-Regent had continued all the treaties by
which these arrangements were secured, and professed sincere and
continuous friendship for the States. While the French-Spanish marriages
gave cause for suspicion, uneasiness, and constant watchfulness in the
States, still the neutrality of France was possible in the coming storm.
So long as that existed, particularly when the relations of England with
Holland through the unfortunate character of King James were perpetually
strained to a point of imminent rupture, it was necessary to hold as long
as it was possible to the slippery embrace of France.

But Aerssens was almost aggressive in his attitude. He rebuked the
vacillations, the shortcomings, the imbecility, of the Queen's government
in offensive terms. He consorted openly with the princes who were on the
point of making war upon the Queen-Regent. He made a boast to the
Secretary of State Villeroy that he had unravelled all his secret plots
against the Netherlands. He declared it to be understood in France, since
the King's death, by the dominant and Jesuitical party that the crown
depended temporally as well as spiritually on the good pleasure of the
Pope.

No doubt he was perfectly right in many of his opinions. No ruler or
statesman in France worthy of the name would hesitate, in the impending
religious conflict throughout Europe and especially in Germany, to
maintain for the kingdom that all controlling position which was its
splendid privilege. But to preach this to Mary de' Medici was waste of
breath. She was governed by the Concini's, and the Concini's were
governed by Spain. The woman who was believed to have known beforehand of
the plot to murder her great husband, who had driven the one powerful
statesman on whom the King relied, Maximilian de Bethune, into
retirement, and whose foreign affairs were now completely in the hands of
the ancient Leaguer Villeroy--who had served every government in the
kingdom for forty years--was not likely to be accessible to high views of
public policy.

Two years had now elapsed since the first private complaints against the
Ambassador, and the French government were becoming impatient at his
presence. Aerssens had been supported by Prince Maurice, to whom he had
long paid his court. He was likewise loyally protected by Barneveld, whom
he publicly flattered and secretly maligned. But it was now necessary
that he should be gone if peaceful relations with France were to be
preserved.

After all, the Ambassador had not made a bad business of his embassy from
his own point of view. A stranger in the Republic, for his father the
Greffier was a refugee from Brabant, he had achieved through his own
industry and remarkable talents, sustained by the favour of Barneveld--to
whom he owed all his diplomatic appointments--an eminent position in
Europe. Secretary to the legation to France in 1594, he had been
successively advanced to the post of resident agent, and when the
Republic had been acknowledged by the great powers, to that of
ambassador. The highest possible functions that representatives of
emperors and kings could enjoy had been formally recognized in the person
of the minister of a new-born republic. And this was at a moment when,
with exception of the brave but insignificant cantons of Switzerland, the
Republic had long been an obsolete idea.

In a pecuniary point of view, too, he had not fared badly during his
twenty years of diplomatic office. He had made much money in various
ways. The King not long before his death sent him one day 20,000 florins
as a present, with a promise soon to do much more for him.

Having been placed in so eminent a post, he considered it as due to
himself to derive all possible advantage from it. "Those who serve at the
altar," he said a little while after his return, "must learn to live by
it. I served their High Mightinesses at the court of a great king, and
his Majesty's liberal and gracious favours were showered upon me. My
upright conscience and steady obsequiousness greatly aided me. I did not
look upon opportunity with folded arms, but seized it and made my profit
by it. Had I not met with such fortunate accidents, my office would not
have given me dry bread."

Nothing could exceed the frankness and indeed the cynicism with which the
Ambassador avowed his practice of converting his high and sacred office
into merchandise. And these statements of his should be scanned closely,
because at this very moment a cry was distantly rising, which at a later
day was to swell into a roar, that the great Advocate had been bribed and
pensioned. Nothing had occurred to justify such charges, save that at the
period of the truce he had accepted from the King of France a fee of
20,000 florins for extra official and legal services rendered him a dozen
years before, and had permitted his younger son to hold the office of
gentleman-in-waiting at the French court with the usual salary attached
to it. The post, certainly not dishonourable in itself, had been intended
by the King as a kindly compliment to the leading statesman of his great
and good ally the Republic. It would be difficult to say why such a
favour conferred on the young man should be held more discreditable to
the receiver than the Order of the Garter recently bestowed upon the
great soldier of the Republic by another friendly sovereign. It is
instructive however to note the language in which Francis Aerssens spoke
of favours and money bestowed by a foreign monarch upon himself, for
Aerssens had come back from his embassy full of gall and bitterness
against Barneveld. Thenceforth he was to be his evil demon.

"I didn't inherit property," said this diplomatist. "My father and
mother, thank God, are yet living. I have enjoyed the King's liberality.
It was from an ally, not an enemy, of our country. Were every man obliged
to give a reckoning of everything he possesses over and above his
hereditary estates, who in the government would pass muster? Those who
declare that they have served their country in her greatest trouble, and
lived in splendid houses and in service of princes and great companies
and the like on a yearly salary of 4000 florins, may not approve these
maxims."

It should be remembered that Barneveld, if this was a fling at the
Advocate, had acquired a large fortune by marriage, and, although
certainly not averse from gathering gear, had, as will be seen on a
subsequent page, easily explained the manner in which his property had
increased. No proof was ever offered or attempted of the anonymous
calumnies levelled at him in this regard.

"I never had the management of finances," continued Aerssens. "My profits
I have gained in foreign parts. My condition of life is without excess,
and in my opinion every means are good so long as they are honourable and
legal. They say my post was given me by the Advocate. Ergo, all my
fortune comes from the Advocate. Strenuously to have striven to make
myself agreeable to the King and his counsellors, while fulfilling my
office with fidelity and honour, these are the arts by which I have
prospered, so that my splendour dazzles the eyes of the envious. The
greediness of those who believe that the sun should shine for them alone
was excited, and so I was obliged to resign the embassy."

So long as Henry lived, the Dutch ambassador saw him daily, and at all
hours, privately, publicly, when he would. Rarely has a foreign envoy at
any court, at any period of history, enjoyed such privileges of being
useful to his government. And there is no doubt that the services of
Aerssens had been most valuable to his country, notwithstanding his
constant care to increase his private fortune through his public
opportunities. He was always ready to be useful to Henry likewise. When
that monarch same time before the truce, and occasionally during the
preliminary negotiations for it, had formed a design to make himself
sovereign of the Provinces, it was Aerssens who charged himself with the
scheme, and would have furthered it with all his might, had the project
not met with opposition both from the Advocate and the Stadholder.
Subsequently it appeared probable that Maurice would not object to the
sovereignty himself, and the Ambassador in Paris, with the King's
consent, was not likely to prove himself hostile to the Prince's
ambition.

"There is but this means alone," wrote Jeannini to Villeroy, "that can
content him, although hitherto he has done like the rowers, who never
look toward the place whither they wish to go." The attempt of the Prince
to sound Barneveld on this subject through the Princess-Dowager has
already been mentioned, and has much intrinsic probability.
Thenceforward, the republican form of government, the municipal
oligarchies, began to consolidate their power. Yet although the people as
such were not sovereigns, but subjects, and rarely spoken of by the
aristocratic magistrates save with a gentle and patronizing disdain, they
enjoyed a larger liberty than was known anywhere else in the world.
Buzenval was astonished at the "infinite and almost unbridled freedom"
which he witnessed there during his embassy, and which seemed to him
however "without peril to the state."

The extraordinary means possessed by Aerssens to be important and useful
vanished with the King's death. His secret despatches, painting in sombre
and sarcastic colours the actual condition of affairs at the French
court, were sent back in copy to the French court itself. It was not
known who had played the Ambassador this vilest of tricks, but it was
done during an illness of Barneveld, and without his knowledge. Early in
the year 1613 Aerssens resolved, not to take his final departure, but to
go home on leave of absence. His private intention was to look for some
substantial office of honour and profit at home. Failing of this, he
meant to return to Paris. But with an eye to the main chance as usual, he
ingeniously caused it to be understood at court, without making positive
statements to that effect, that his departure was final. On his
leavetaking, accordingly, he received larger presents from the crown than
had been often given to a retiring ambassador. At least 20,000 florins
were thus added to the frugal store of profits on which he prided
himself. Had he merely gone away on leave of absence, he would have
received no presents whatever. But he never went back. The Queen-Regent
and her ministers were so glad to get rid of him, and so little disposed,
in the straits in which they found themselves, to quarrel with the
powerful republic, as to be willing to write very complimentary public
letters to the States, concerning the character and conduct of the man
whom they so much detested.

Pluming himself upon these, Aerssens made his appearance in the Assembly
of the States-General, to give account by word of mouth of the condition
of affairs, speaking as if he had only come by permission of their
Mightinesses for temporary purposes. Two months later he was summoned
before the Assembly, and ordered to return to his post.

Meantime a new French ambassador had arrived at the Hague, in the spring
of 1613. Aubery du Maurier, a son of an obscure country squire, a
Protestant, of moderate opinions, of a sincere but rather obsequious
character, painstaking, diligent, and honest, had been at an earlier day
in the service of the turbulent and intriguing Due de Bouillon. He had
also been employed by Sully as an agent in financial affairs between
Holland and France, and had long been known to Villeroy. He was living on
his estate, in great retirement from all public business, when Secretary
Villeroy suddenly proposed him the embassy to the Hague. There was no
more important diplomatic post at that time in Europe. Other countries
were virtually at peace, but in Holland, notwithstanding the truce, there
vas really not much more than an armistice, and great armies lay in the
Netherlands, as after a battle, sleeping face to face with arms in their
hands. The politics of Christendom were at issue in the open, elegant,
and picturesque village which was the social capital of the United
Provinces. The gentry from Spain, Italy, the south of Europe, Catholic
Germany, had clustered about Spinola at Brussels, to learn the art of war
in his constant campaigning against Maurice. English and Scotch officers,
Frenchmen, Bohemians, Austrians, youths from the Palatinate and all
Protestant countries in Germany, swarmed to the banners of the prince who
had taught the world how Alexander Farnese could be baffled, and the
great Spinola outmanoeuvred. Especially there was a great number of
Frenchmen of figure and quality who thronged to the Hague, besides the
officers of the two French regiments which formed a regular portion of
the States' army. That army was the best appointed and most conspicuous
standing force in Europe. Besides the French contingent there were always
nearly 30,000 infantry and 3000 cavalry on a war footing, splendidly
disciplined, experienced, and admirably armed. The navy, consisting of
thirty war ships, perfectly equipped and manned, was a match for the
combined marine forces of all Europe, and almost as numerous.

When the Ambassador went to solemn audience of the States-General, he was
attended by a brilliant group of gentlemen and officers, often to the
number of three hundred, who volunteered to march after him on foot to
honour their sovereign in the person of his ambassador; the Envoy's
carriage following empty behind. Such were the splendid diplomatic
processions often received by the stately Advocate in his plain civic
garb, when grave international questions were to be publicly discussed.

There was much murmuring in France when the appointment of a personage
comparatively so humble to a position so important was known. It was
considered as a blow aimed directly at the malcontent princes of the
blood, who were at that moment plotting their first levy of arms against
the Queen. Du Maurier had been ill-treated by the Due de Bouillon, who
naturally therefore now denounced the man whom he had injured to the
government to which he was accredited. Being the agent of Mary de'
Medici, he was, of course, described as a tool of the court and a secret
pensioner of Spain. He was to plot with the arch traitor Barneveld as to
the best means for distracting the Provinces and bringing them back into
Spanish subjection. Du Maurier, being especially but secretly charged to
prevent the return of Francis Aerssens to Paris, incurred of course the
enmity of that personage and of the French grandees who ostentatiously
protected him. It was even pretended by Jeannin that the appointment of a
man so slightly known to the world, so inexperienced in diplomacy, and of
a parentage so little distinguished, would be considered an affront by
the States-General.

But on the whole, Villeroy had made an excellent choice. No safer man
could perhaps have been found in France for a post of such eminence, in
circumstances so delicate, and at a crisis so grave. The man who had been
able to make himself agreeable and useful, while preserving his
integrity, to characters so dissimilar as the refining, self-torturing,
intellectual Duplessis-Mornay, the rude, aggressive, and straightforward
Sully, the deep-revolving, restlessly plotting Bouillon, and the smooth,
silent, and tortuous Villeroy--men between whom there was no friendship,
but, on the contrary, constant rancour--had material in him to render
valuable services at this particular epoch. Everything depended on
patience, tact, watchfulness in threading the distracting, almost
inextricable, maze which had been created by personal rivalries,
ambitions, and jealousies in the state he represented and the one to
which he was accredited. "I ascribe it all to God," he said, in his
testament to his children, "the impenetrable workman who in His goodness
has enabled me to make myself all my life obsequious, respectful, and
serviceable to all, avoiding as much as possible, in contenting some, not
to discontent others." He recommended his children accordingly to
endeavour "to succeed in life by making themselves as humble,
intelligent, and capable as possible."

This is certainly not a very high type of character, but a safer one for
business than that of the arch intriguer Francis Aerssens. And he had
arrived at the Hague under trying circumstances. Unknown to the foreign
world he was now entering, save through the disparaging rumours
concerning him, sent thither in advance by the powerful personages
arrayed against his government, he might have sunk under such a storm at
the outset, but for the incomparable kindness and friendly aid of the
Princess-Dowager, Louise de Coligny. "I had need of her protection and
recommendation as much as of life," said du Maurier; "and she gave them
in such excess as to annihilate an infinity of calumnies which envy had
excited against me on every side." He had also a most difficult and
delicate matter to arrange at the very moment of his arrival.

For Aerssens had done his best not only to produce a dangerous division
in the politics of the Republic, but to force a rupture between the
French government and the States. He had carried matters before the
assembly with so high a hand as to make it seem impossible to get rid of
him without public scandal. He made a parade of the official letters from
the Queen-Regent and her ministers, in which he was spoken of in terms of
conventional compliment. He did not know, and Barneveld wished, if
possible, to spare him the annoyance of knowing, that both Queen and
ministers, so soon as informed that there was a chance of coming back to
them, had written letters breathing great repugnance to him and
intimating that he would not be received. Other high personages of state
had written to express their resentment at his duplicity, perpetual
mischief-making, and machinations against the peace of the kingdom, and
stating the impossibility of his resuming the embassy at Paris. And at
last the queen wrote to the States-General to say that, having heard
their intention to send him back to a post "from which he had taken leave
formally and officially," she wished to prevent such a step. "We should
see M. Aerssens less willingly than comports with our friendship for you
and good neighbourhood. Any other you could send would be most welcome,
as M. du Maurier will explain to you more amply."

And to du Maurier himself she wrote distinctly, "Rather than suffer the
return of the said Aerssens, you will declare that for causes which
regard the good of our affairs and our particular satisfaction we cannot
and will not receive him in the functions which he has exercised here,
and we rely too implicitly upon the good friendship of My Lords the
States to do anything in this that would so much displease us."

And on the same day Villeroy privately wrote to the Ambassador, "If, in
spite of all this, Aerssens should endeavour to return, he will not be
received, after the knowledge we have of his factious spirit, most
dangerous in a public personage in a state such as ours and in the
minority of the King."

Meantime Aerssens had been going about flaunting letters in everybody's
face from the Duc de Bouillon insisting on the necessity of his return!
The fact in itself would have been sufficient to warrant his removal, for
the Duke was just taking up arms against his sovereign. Unless the States
meant to interfere officially and directly in the civil war about to
break out in France, they could hardly send a minister to the government
on recommendation of the leader of the rebellion.

It had, however, become impossible to remove him without an explosion.
Barneveld, who, said du Maurier, "knew the man to his finger nails," had
been reluctant to "break the ice," and wished for official notice in the
matter from the Queen. Maurice protected the troublesome diplomatist.
"'Tis incredible," said the French ambassador "how covertly Prince
Maurice is carrying himself, contrary to his wont, in this whole affair.
I don't know whether it is from simple jealousy to Barneveld, or if there
is some mystery concealed below the surface."

Du Maurier had accordingly been obliged to ask his government for
distinct and official instructions. "He holds to his place," said he, "by
so slight and fragile a root as not to require two hands to pluck him up,
the little finger being enough. There is no doubt that he has been in
concert with those who are making use of him to re-establish their credit
with the States, and to embark Prince Maurice contrary to his preceding
custom in a cabal with them."

Thus a question of removing an obnoxious diplomatist could hardly be
graver, for it was believed that he was doing his best to involve the
military chief of his own state in a game of treason and rebellion
against the government to which he was accredited. It was not the first
nor likely to be the last of Bouillon's deadly intrigues. But the man who
had been privy to Biron's conspiracy against the crown and life of his
sovereign was hardly a safe ally for his brother-in-law, the
straightforward stadholder.

The instructions desired by du Maurier and by Barneveld had, as we have
seen, at last arrived. The French ambassador thus fortified appeared
before the Assembly of the States-General and officially demanded the
recall of Aerssens. In a letter addressed privately and confidentially to
their Mightinesses, he said, "If in spite of us you throw him at our
feet, we shall fling him back at your head."

At last Maurice yielded to, the representations of the French envoy, and
Aerssens felt obliged to resign his claims to the post. The
States-General passed a resolution that it would be proper to employ him
in some other capacity in order to show that his services had been
agreeable to them, he having now declared that he could no longer be
useful in France. Maurice, seeing that it was impossible to save him,
admitted to du Maurier his unsteadiness and duplicity, and said that, if
possessed of the confidence of a great king, he would be capable of
destroying the state in less than a year.

But this had not always been the Prince's opinion, nor was it likely to
remain unchanged. As for Villeroy, he denied flatly that the cause of his
displeasure had been that Aerssens had penetrated into his most secret
affairs. He protested, on the contrary, that his annoyance with him had
partly proceeded from the slight acquaintance he had acquired of his
policy, and that, while boasting to be better informed than any one, he
was in the habit of inventing and imagining things in order to get credit
for himself.

It was highly essential that the secret of this affair should be made
clear; for its influence on subsequent events was to be deep and wide.
For the moment Aerssens remained without employment, and there was no
open rupture with Barneveld. The only difference of opinion between the
Advocate and himself, he said, was whether he had or had not definitely
resigned his post on leaving Paris.

Meantime it was necessary to fix upon a successor for this most important
post. The war soon after the new year had broken out in France. Conde,
Bouillon, and the other malcontent princes with their followers had taken
possession of the fortress of Mezieres, and issued a letter in the name
of Conde to the Queen-Regent demanding an assembly of the States-General
of the kingdom and rupture of the Spanish marriages. Both parties, that
of the government and that of the rebellion, sought the sympathy and
active succour of the States. Maurice, acting now in perfect accord with
the Advocate, sustained the Queen and execrated the rebellion of his
relatives with perfect frankness. Conde, he said, had got his head
stuffed full of almanacs whose predictions he wished to see realized. He
vowed he would have shortened by a head the commander of the garrison who
betrayed Mezieres, if he had been under his control. He forbade on pain
of death the departure of any officer or private of the French regiments
from serving the rebels, and placed the whole French force at the
disposal of the Queen, with as many Netherland regiments as could be
spared. One soldier was hanged and three others branded with the mark of
a gibbet on the face for attempting desertion. The legal government was
loyally sustained by the authority of the States, notwithstanding all the
intrigues of Aerssens with the agents of the princes to procure them
assistance. The mutiny for the time was brief, and was settled on the
15th of May 1614, by the peace of Sainte-Menehould, as much a caricature
of a treaty as the rising had been the parody of a war. Van der Myle,
son-in-law of Barneveld, who had been charged with a special and
temporary mission to France, brought back the terms, of the convention to
the States-General. On the other hand, Conde and his confederates sent a
special agent to the Netherlands to give their account of the war and the
negotiation, who refused to confer either with du Maurier or Barneveld,
but who held much conference with Aerssens.

It was obvious enough that the mutiny of the princes would become
chronic. In truth, what other condition was possible with two characters
like Mary de' Medici and the Prince of Conde respectively at the head of
the government and the revolt? What had France to hope for but to remain
the bloody playground for mischievous idiots, who threw about the
firebrands and arrows of reckless civil war in pursuit of the paltriest
of personal aims?

Van der Myle had pretensions to the vacant place of Aerssens. He had some
experience in diplomacy. He had conducted skilfully enough the first
mission of the States to Venice, and had subsequently been employed in
matters of moment. But he was son-in-law to Barneveld, and although the
Advocate was certainly not free from the charge of nepotism, he shrank
from the reproach of having apparently removed Aerssens to make a place
for one of his own family.

Van der Myle remained to bear the brunt of the late ambassador's malice,
and to engage at a little later period in hottest controversy with him,
personal and political. "Why should van der Myle strut about, with his
arms akimbo like a peacock?" complained Aerssens one day in confused
metaphor. A question not easy to answer satisfactorily.

The minister selected was a certain Baron Asperen de Langerac, wholly
unversed in diplomacy or other public affairs, with abilities not above
the average. A series of questions addressed by him to the Advocate, the
answers to which, scrawled on the margin of the paper, were to serve for
his general instructions, showed an ingenuousness as amusing as the
replies of Barneveld were experienced and substantial.

In general he was directed to be friendly and respectful to every one, to
the Queen-Regent and her counsellors especially, and, within the limits
of becoming reverence for her, to cultivate the good graces of the Prince
of Conde and the other great nobles still malcontent and rebellious, but
whose present movement, as Barneveld foresaw, was drawing rapidly to a
close. Langerac arrived in Paris on the 5th of April 1614.

Du Maurier thought the new ambassador likely to "fall a prey to the
specious language and gentle attractions of the Due de Bouillon." He also
described him as very dependent upon Prince Maurice. On the other hand
Langerac professed unbounded and almost childlike reverence for
Barneveld, was devoted to his person, and breathed as it were only
through his inspiration. Time would show whether those sentiments would
outlast every possible storm.



CHAPTER X

   Weakness of the Rulers of France and England--The Wisdom of
   Barneveld inspires Jealousy--Sir Dudley Carleton succeeds Winwood--
   Young Neuburg under the Guidance of Maximilian--Barneveld strives to
   have the Treaty of Xanten enforced--Spain and the Emperor wish to
   make the States abandon their Position with regard to the Duchies--
   The French Government refuses to aid the States--Spain and the
   Emperor resolve to hold Wesel--The great Religious War begun--The
   Protestant Union and Catholic League both wish to secure the Border
   Provinces--Troubles in Turkey--Spanish Fleet seizes La Roche--Spain
   places large Armies on a War Footing.

Few things are stranger in history than the apathy with which the wide
designs of the Catholic party were at that moment regarded. The
preparations for the immense struggle which posterity learned to call the
Thirty Years' War, and to shudder when speaking of it, were going forward
on every side. In truth the war had really begun, yet those most deeply
menaced by it at the outset looked on with innocent calmness because
their own roofs were not quite yet in a blaze. The passage of arms in the
duchies, the outlines of which have just been indicated, and which was
the natural sequel of the campaign carried out four years earlier on the
same territory, had been ended by a mockery. In France, reduced almost to
imbecility by the absence of a guiding brain during a long minority,
fallen under the distaff of a dowager both weak and wicked, distracted by
the intrigues and quarrels of a swarm of self-seeking grandees, and with
all its offices, from highest to lowest, of court, state, jurisprudence,
and magistracy, sold as openly and as cynically as the commonest wares,
there were few to comprehend or to grapple with the danger. It should
have seemed obvious to the meanest capacity in the kingdom that the great
house of Austria, reigning supreme in Spain and in Germany, could not be
allowed to crush the Duke of Savoy on the one side, and Bohemia, Moravia,
and the Netherlands on the other without danger of subjection for France.
Yet the aim of the Queen-Regent was to cultivate an impossible alliance
with her inevitable foe.

And in England, ruled as it then was with no master mind to enforce
against its sovereign the great lessons of policy, internal and external,
on which its welfare and almost its imperial existence depended, the only
ambition of those who could make their opinions felt was to pursue the
same impossibility, intimate alliance with the universal foe.

Any man with slightest pretensions to statesmanship knew that the liberty
for Protestant worship in Imperial Germany, extorted by force, had been
given reluctantly, and would be valid only as long as that force could
still be exerted or should remain obviously in reserve. The
"Majesty-Letter" and the "Convention" of the two religions would prove as
flimsy as the parchment on which they were engrossed, the Protestant
churches built under that sanction would be shattered like glass, if once
the Catholic rulers could feel their hands as clear as their consciences
would be for violating their sworn faith to heretics. Men knew, even if
the easy-going and uxorious emperor, into which character the once busy
and turbulent Archduke Matthias had subsided, might be willing to keep
his pledges, that Ferdinand of Styria, who would soon succeed him, and
Maximilian of Bavaria were men who knew their own minds, and had mentally
never resigned one inch of the ground which Protestantism imagined itself
to have conquered.

These things seem plain as daylight to all who look back upon them
through the long vista of the past; but the sovereign of England did not
see them or did not choose to see them. He saw only the Infanta and her
two millions of dowry, and he knew that by calling Parliament together to
ask subsidies for an anti-Catholic war he should ruin those golden
matrimonial prospects for his son, while encouraging those "shoemakers,"
his subjects, to go beyond their "last," by consulting the
representatives of his people on matters pertaining to the mysteries of
government. He was slowly digging the grave of the monarchy and building
the scaffold of his son; but he did his work with a laborious and
pedantic trifling, when really engaged in state affairs, most amazing to
contemplate. He had no penny to give to the cause in which his nearest
relatives mere so deeply involved and for which his only possible allies
were pledged; but he was ready to give advice to all parties, and with
ludicrous gravity imagined himself playing the umpire between great
contending hosts, when in reality he was only playing the fool at the
beck of masters before whom he quaked.

"You are not to vilipend my counsel," said he one day to a foreign envoy.
"I am neither a camel nor an ass to take up all this work on my
shoulders. Where would you find another king as willing to do it as I
am?"

The King had little time and no money to give to serve his own family and
allies and the cause of Protestantism, but he could squander vast sums
upon worthless favourites, and consume reams of paper on controverted
points of divinity. The appointment of Vorstius to the chair of theology
in Leyden aroused more indignation in his bosom, and occupied more of his
time, than the conquests of Spinola in the duchies, and the menaces of
Spain against Savoy and Bohemia. He perpetually preached moderation to
the States in the matter of the debateable territory, although moderation
at that moment meant submission to the House of Austria. He chose to
affect confidence in the good faith of those who were playing a comedy by
which no statesman could be deceived, but which had secured the
approbation of the Solomon of the age.

But there was one man who was not deceived. The warnings and the
lamentations of Barneveld sound to us out of that far distant time like
the voice of an inspired prophet. It is possible that a portion of the
wrath to come might have been averted had there been many men in high
places to heed his voice. I do not wish to exaggerate the power and
wisdom of the man, nor to set him forth as one of the greatest heroes of
history. But posterity has done far less than justice to a statesman and
sage who wielded a vast influence at a most critical period in the fate
of Christendom, and uniformly wielded it to promote the cause of
temperate human liberty, both political and religious. Viewed by the
light of two centuries and a half of additional experience, he may appear
to have made mistakes, but none that were necessarily disastrous or even
mischievous. Compared with the prevailing idea of the age in which he
lived, his schemes of polity seem to dilate into large dimensions, his
sentiments of religious freedom, however limited to our modern ideas,
mark an epoch in human progress, and in regard to the general
commonwealth of Christendom, of which he was so leading a citizen, the
part he played was a lofty one. No man certainly understood the tendency
of his age more exactly, took a broader and more comprehensive view than
he did of the policy necessary to preserve the largest portion of the
results of the past three-quarters of a century, or had pondered the
relative value of great conflicting forces more skilfully. Had his
counsels been always followed, had illustrious birth placed him virtually
upon a throne, as was the case with William the Silent, and thus allowed
him occasionally to carry out the designs of a great mind with almost
despotic authority, it might have been better for the world. But in that
age it was royal blood alone that could command unflinching obedience
without exciting personal rivalry. Men quailed before his majestic
intellect, but hated him for the power which was its necessary result.
They already felt a stupid delight in cavilling at his pedigree. To
dispute his claim to a place among the ancient nobility to which he was
an honour was to revenge themselves for the rank he unquestionably
possessed side by side in all but birth with the kings and rulers of the
world. Whether envy and jealousy be vices more incident to the republican
form of government than to other political systems may be an open
question. But it is no question whatever that Barneveld's every footstep
from this period forward was dogged by envy as patient as it was
devouring. Jealousy stuck to him like his shadow. We have examined the
relations which existed between Winwood and himself; we have seen that
ambassador, now secretary of state for James, never weary in denouncing
the Advocate's haughtiness and grim resolution to govern the country
according to its laws rather than at the dictate of a foreign sovereign,
and in flinging forth malicious insinuations in regard to his relations
to Spain. The man whose every hour was devoted in spite of a thousand
obstacles strewn by stupidity, treachery, and apathy, as well as by envy,
hatred, and bigotry--to the organizing of a grand and universal league of
Protestantism against Spain, and to rolling up with strenuous and
sometimes despairing arms a dead mountain weight, ever ready to fall back
upon and crush him, was accused in dark and mysterious whispers, soon to
grow louder and bolder, of a treacherous inclination for Spain.

There is nothing less surprising nor more sickening for those who observe
public life, and wish to retain faith in the human species, than the
almost infinite power of the meanest of passions.

The Advocate was obliged at the very outset of Langerac's mission to
France to give him a warning on this subject.

"Should her Majesty make kindly mention of me," he said, "you will say
nothing of it in your despatches as you did in your last, although I am
sure with the best intentions. It profits me not, and many take umbrage
at it; wherefore it is wise to forbear."

But this was a trifle. By and by there would be many to take umbrage at
every whisper in his favour, whether from crowned heads or from the
simplest in the social scale. Meantime he instructed the Ambassador,
without paying heed to personal compliments to his chief, to do his best
to keep the French government out of the hands of Spain, and with that
object in view to smooth over the differences between the two great
parties in the kingdom, and to gain the confidence, if possible, of Conde
and Nevers and Bouillon, while never failing in straightforward respect
and loyal friendship to the Queen-Regent and her ministers, as the
legitimate heads of the government.

From England a new ambassador was soon to take the place of Winwood. Sir
Dudley Carleton was a diplomatist of respectable abilities, and well
trained to business and routine. Perhaps on the whole there was none
other, in that epoch of official mediocrity, more competent than he to
fill what was then certainly the most important of foreign posts. His
course of life had in no wise familiarized him with the intricacies of
the Dutch constitution, nor could the diplomatic profession, combined
with a long residence at Venice, be deemed especially favourable for deep
studies of the mysteries of predestination. Yet he would be found ready
at the bidding of his master to grapple with Grotius and Barneveld on the
field of history and law, and thread with Uytenbogaert or Taurinus all
the subtleties of Arminianism and Gomarism as if he had been half his
life both a regular practitioner at the Supreme Court of the Hague and
professor of theology at the University of Leyden. Whether the triumphs
achieved in such encounters were substantial and due entirely to his own
genius might be doubtful. At all events he had a sovereign behind him who
was incapable of making a mistake on any subject.

"You shall not forget," said James in his instructions to Sir Dudley,
"that you are the minister of that master whom God hath made the sole
protector of his religion . . . . . and you may let fall how hateful the
maintaining of erroneous opinions is to the majesty of God and how
displeasing to us."

The warlike operations of 1614 had been ended by the abortive peace of
Xanten. The two rival pretenders to the duchies were to halve the
territory, drawing lots for the first choice, all foreign troops were to
be withdrawn, and a pledge was to be given that no fortress should be
placed in the hands of any power. But Spain at the last moment had
refused to sanction the treaty, and everything was remitted to what might
be exactly described as a state of sixes and sevens. Subsequently it was
hoped that the States' troops might be induced to withdraw simultaneously
with the Catholic forces on an undertaking by Spinola that there should
be no re-occupation of the disputed territory either by the Republic or
by Spain. But Barneveld accurately pointed out that, although the Marquis
was a splendid commander and, so long as he was at the head of the
armies, a most powerful potentate, he might be superseded at any moment.
Count Bucquoy, for example, might suddenly appear in his place and refuse
to be bound by any military arrangement of his predecessor. Then the
Archduke proposed to give a guarantee that in case of a mutual withdrawal
there should be no return of the troops, no recapture of garrisons. But
Barneveld, speaking for the States, liked not the security. The Archduke
was but the puppet of Spain, and Spain had no part in the guarantee. She
held the strings, and might cause him at any moment to play what pranks
she chose. It would be the easiest thing in the world for despotic Spain,
so the Advocate thought, to reappear suddenly in force again at a
moment's notice after the States' troops had been withdrawn and partially
disbanded, and it would be difficult for the many-headed and many-tongued
republic to act with similar promptness. To withdraw without a guarantee
from Spain to the Treaty of Xanten, which had once been signed, sealed,
and all but ratified, would be to give up fifty points in the game.
Nothing but disaster could ensue. The Advocate as leader in all these
negotiations and correspondence was ever actuated by the favourite
quotation of William the Silent from Demosthenes, that the safest citadel
against an invader and a tyrant is distrust. And he always distrusted in
these dealings, for he was sure the Spanish cabinet was trying to make
fools of the States, and there were many ready to assist it in the task.
Now that one of the pretenders, temporary master of half the duchies, the
Prince of Neuburg, had espoused both Catholicism and the sister of the
Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Bavaria, it would be more safe than
ever for Spain to make a temporary withdrawal. Maximilian of Bavaria was
beyond all question the ablest and most determined leader of the Catholic
party in Germany, and the most straightforward and sincere. No man before
or since his epoch had, like him, been destined to refuse, and more than
once refuse, the Imperial crown.

Through his apostasy the Prince of Neuburg was in danger of losing his
hereditary estates, his brothers endeavouring to dispossess him on the
ground of the late duke's will, disinheriting any one of his heirs who
should become a convert to Catholicism. He had accordingly implored aid
from the King of Spain. Archduke Albert had urged Philip to render such
assistance as a matter of justice, and the Emperor had naturally declared
that the whole right as eldest son belonged, notwithstanding the will, to
the Prince.

With the young Neuburg accordingly under the able guidance of Maximilian,
it was not likely that the grasp of the Spanish party upon these
all-important territories would be really loosened. The Emperor still
claimed the right to decide among the candidates and to hold the
provinces under sequestration till the decision should be made--that was
to say, until the Greek Kalends. The original attempt to do this through
Archduke Leopold had been thwarted, as we have seen, by the prompt
movements of Maurice sustained by the policy of Barneveld. The Advocate
was resolved that the Emperor's name should not be mentioned either in
the preamble or body of the treaty. And his course throughout the
simulations, which were never negotiations, was perpetually baffled as
much by the easiness and languor of his allies as the ingenuity of the
enemy.

He was reproached with the loss of Wesel, that Geneva of the Rhine, which
would never be abandoned by Spain if it was not done forthwith. Let Spain
guarantee the Treaty of Xanten, he said, and then she cannot come back.
All else is illusion. Moreover, the Emperor had given positive orders
that Wesel should not be given up. He was assured by Villeroy that France
would never put on her harness for Aachen, that cradle of Protestantism.
That was for the States-General to do, whom it so much more nearly
concerned. The whole aim of Barneveld was not to destroy the Treaty of
Xanten, but to enforce it in the only way in which it could be enforced,
by the guarantee of Spain. So secured, it would be a barrier in the
universal war of religion which he foresaw was soon to break out. But it
was the resolve of Spain, instead of pledging herself to the treaty, to
establish the legal control of the territory in the hand of the Emperor.
Neuburg complained that Philip in writing to him did not give him the
title of Duke of Julich and Cleve, although he had been placed in
possession of those estates by the arms of Spain. Philip, referring to
Archduke Albert for his opinion on this subject, was advised that, as the
Emperor had not given Neuburg the investiture of the duchies, the King
was quite right in refusing him the title. Even should the Treaty of
Xanten be executed, neither he nor the Elector of Brandenburg would be
anything but administrators until the question of right was decided by
the Emperor.

Spain had sent Neuburg the Order of the Golden Fleece as a reward for his
conversion, but did not intend him to be anything but a man of straw in
the territories which he claimed by sovereign right. They were to form a
permanent bulwark to the Empire, to Spain, and to Catholicism.

Barneveld of course could never see the secret letters passing between
Brussels and Madrid, but his insight into the purposes of the enemy was
almost as acute as if the correspondence of Philip and Albert had been in
the pigeonholes of his writing-desk in the Kneuterdyk.

The whole object of Spain and the Emperor, acting through the Archduke,
was to force the States to abandon their positions in the duchies
simultaneously with the withdrawal of the Spanish troops, and to be
satisfied with a bare convention between themselves and Archduke Albert
that there should be no renewed occupation by either party. Barneveld,
finding it impossible to get Spain upon the treaty, was resolved that at
least the two mediating powers, their great allies, the sovereigns of
Great Britain and France, should guarantee the convention, and that the
promises of the Archduke should be made to them. This was steadily
refused by Spain; for the Archduke never moved an inch in the matter
except according to the orders of Spain, and besides battling and
buffeting with the Archduke, Barneveld was constantly deafened with the
clamour of the English king, who always declared Spain to be in the right
whatever she did, and forced to endure with what patience he might the
goading of that King's envoy. France, on the other hand, supported the
States as firmly as could have been reasonably expected.

"We proposed," said the Archduke, instructing an envoy whom he was
sending to Madrid with detailed accounts of these negotiations, "that the
promise should be made to each other as usual in treaties. But the
Hollanders said the promise should be made to the Kings of France and
England, at which the Emperor would have been deeply offended, as if in
the affair he was of no account at all. At any moment by this arrangement
in concert with France and England the Hollanders might walk in and do
what they liked."

Certainly there could have been no succincter eulogy of the policy
steadily recommended, as we shall have occasion to see, by Barneveld. Had
he on this critical occasion been backed by England and France combined,
Spain would have been forced to beat a retreat, and Protestantism in the
great general war just beginning would have had an enormous advantage in
position. But the English Solomon could not see the wisdom of this
policy. "The King of England says we are right," continued the Archduke,
"and has ordered his ambassador to insist on our view. The French
ambassador here says that his colleague at the Hague has similar
instructions, but admits that he has not acted up to them. There is not
much chance of the Hollanders changing. It would be well that the King
should send a written ultimatum that the Hollanders should sign the
convention which we propose. If they don't agree, the world at least will
see that it is not we who are in fault."

The world would see, and would never have forgiven a statesman in the
position of Barneveld, had he accepted a bald agreement from a
subordinate like the Archduke, a perfectly insignificant personage in the
great drama then enacting, and given up guarantees both from the
Archduke's master and from the two great allies of the Republic. He stood
out manfully against Spain and England at every hazard, and under a
pelting storm of obloquy, and this was the man whose designs the English
secretary of state had dared to describe "as of no other nature than to
cause the Provinces to relapse into the hands of Spain."

It appeared too a little later that Barneveld's influence with the French
government, owing to his judicious support of it so long as it was a
government, had been decidedly successful. Drugged as France was by the
Spanish marriage treaty, she was yet not so sluggish nor spell-bound as
the King of Great Britain.

"France will not urge upon the Hollanders to execute the proposal as we
made it," wrote the Archduke to the King, "so negotiations are at a
standstill. The Hollanders say it is better that each party should remain
with what each possesses. So that if it does not come to blows, and if
these insolences go on as they have done, the Hollanders will be gaining
and occupying more territory every day."

Thus once more the ancient enemies and masters of the Republic were
making the eulogy of the Dutch statesman. It was impossible at present
for the States to regain Wesel, nor that other early stronghold of the
Reformation, the old Imperial city of Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle). The price
to be paid was too exorbitant.

The French government had persistently refused to assist the States and
possessory princes in the recovery of this stronghold. The Queen-Regent
was afraid of offending Spain, although her government had induced the
citizens of the place to make the treaty now violated by that country.
The Dutch ambassador had been instructed categorically to enquire whether
their Majesties meant to assist Aachen and the princes if attacked by the
Archdukes. "No," said Villeroy; "we are not interested in Aachen, 'tis
too far off. Let them look for assistance to those who advised their
mutiny."

To the Ambassador's remonstrance that France was both interested in and
pledged to them, the Secretary of State replied, "We made the treaty
through compassion and love, but we shall not put on harness for Aachen.
Don't think it. You, the States and the United Provinces, may assist them
if you like."

The Envoy then reminded the Minister that the States-General had always
agreed to go forward evenly in this business with the Kings of Great
Britain and France and the united princes, the matter being of equal
importance to all. They had given no further pledge than this to the
Union.

It was plain, however, that France was determined not to lift a finger at
that moment. The Duke of Bouillon and those acting with him had tried
hard to induce their Majesties "to write seriously to the Archduke in
order at least to intimidate him by stiff talk," but it was hopeless.
They thought it was not a time then to quarrel with their neighbour and
give offence to Spain.

So the stiff talk was omitted, and the Archduke was not intimidated. The
man who had so often intimidated him was in his grave, and his widow was
occupied in marrying her son to the Infanta. "These are the
first-fruits," said Aerssens, "of the new negotiations with Spain."

Both the Spanish king and the Emperor were resolved to hold Wesel to the
very last. Until the States should retire from all their positions on the
bare word of the Archduke, that the Spanish forces once withdrawn would
never return, the Protestants of those two cities must suffer. There was
no help for it. To save them would be to abandon all. For no true
statesman could be so ingenuous as thus to throw all the cards on the
table for the Spanish and Imperial cabinet to shuffle them at pleasure
for a new deal. The Duke of Neuburg, now Catholic and especially
protected by Spain, had become, instead of a pretender with more or less
law on his side, a mere standard-bearer and agent of the Great Catholic
League in the debateable land. He was to be supported at all hazard by
the Spanish forces, according to the express command of Philip's
government, especially now that his two brothers with the countenance of
the States were disputing his right to his hereditary dominions in
Germany.

The Archduke was sullen enough at what he called the weak-mindedness of
France. Notwithstanding that by express orders from Spain he had sent
5000 troops under command of Juan de Rivas to the Queen's assistance just
before the peace of Sainte-Menehould, he could not induce her government
to take the firm part which the English king did in browbeating the
Hollanders.

"'Tis certain," he complained, "that if, instead of this sluggishness on
the part of France, they had done us there the same good services we have
had from England, the Hollanders would have accepted the promise just as
it was proposed by us." He implored the King, therefore, to use his
strongest influence with the French government that it should strenuously
intervene with the Hollanders, and compel them to sign the proposal which
they rejected. "There is no means of composition if France does not
oblige them to sign," said Albert rather piteously.

But it was not without reason that Barneveld had in many of his letters
instructed the States' ambassador, Langerac, "to caress the old
gentleman" (meaning and never naming Villeroy), for he would prove to be
in spite of all obstacles a good friend to the States, as he always had
been. And Villeroy did hold firm. Whether the Archduke was right or not
in his conviction, that, if France would only unite with England in
exerting a strong pressure on the Hollanders, they would evacuate the
duchies, and so give up the game, the correspondence of Barneveld shows
very accurately. But the Archduke, of course, had not seen that
correspondence.

The Advocate knew what was plotting, what was impending, what was
actually accomplished, for he was accustomed to sweep the whole horizon
with an anxious and comprehensive glance. He knew without requiring to
read the secret letters of the enemy that vast preparations for an
extensive war against the Reformation were already completed. The
movements in the duchies were the first drops of a coming deluge. The
great religious war which was to last a generation of mankind had already
begun; the immediate and apparent pretext being a little disputed
succession to some petty sovereignties, the true cause being the
necessity for each great party--the Protestant Union and the Catholic
League--to secure these border provinces, the possession of which would
be of such inestimable advantage to either. If nothing decisive occurred
in the year 1614, the following year would still be more convenient for
the League. There had been troubles in Turkey. The Grand Vizier had been
murdered. The Sultan was engaged in a war with Persia. There was no
eastern bulwark in Europe to the ever menacing power of the Turk and of
Mahometanism in Europe save Hungary alone. Supported and ruled as that
kingdom was by the House of Austria, the temper of the populations of
Germany had become such as to make it doubtful in the present conflict of
religious opinions between them and their rulers whether the Turk or the
Spaniard would be most odious as an invader. But for the moment, Spain
and the Emperor had their hands free. They were not in danger of an
attack from below the Danube. Moreover, the Spanish fleet had been
achieving considerable successes on the Barbary coast, having seized La
Roche, and one or two important citadels, useful both against the
corsairs and against sudden attacks by sea from the Turk. There were at
least 100,000 men on a war footing ready to take the field at command of
the two branches of the House of Austria, Spanish and German. In the
little war about Montserrat, Savoy was on the point of being crushed, and
Savoy was by position and policy the only possible ally, in the south, of
the Netherlands and of Protestant Germany.

While professing the most pacific sentiments towards the States, and a
profound anxiety to withdraw his troops from their borders, the King of
Spain, besides daily increasing those forces, had just raised 4,000,000
ducats, a large portion of which was lodged with his bankers in Brussels.
Deeds like those were of more significance than sugared words.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Almost infinite power of the meanest of passions
     Ludicrous gravity
     Safest citadel against an invader and a tyrant is distrust
     Their own roofs were not quite yet in a blaze
     Therefore now denounced the man whom he had injured

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE JOHN OF BARNEVELD 1609-1615:

     Abstinence from inquisition into consciences and private parlour
     Advanced orthodox party-Puritans
     Allowed the demon of religious hatred to enter into its body
     Almost infinite power of the meanest of passions
     And now the knife of another priest-led fanatic
     Aristocracy of God's elect
     As with his own people, keeping no back-door open
     At a blow decapitated France
     Atheist, a tyrant, because he resisted dictation from the clergy
     Behead, torture, burn alive, and bury alive all heretics
     Christian sympathy and a small assistance not being sufficient
     Conclusive victory for the allies seemed as predestined
     Contained within itself the germs of a larger liberty
     Could not be both judge and party in the suit
     Covered now with the satirical dust of centuries
     Deadly hatred of Puritans in England and Holland
     Determined to bring the very name of liberty into contempt
     Disputing the eternal damnation of young children
     Doctrine of predestination in its sternest and strictest sense
     Emperor of Japan addressed him as his brother monarch
     Epernon, the true murderer of Henry
     Estimating his character and judging his judges
     Everybody should mind his own business
     Fate, free will, or absolute foreknowledge
     Father Cotton, who was only too ready to betray the secrets
     Give him advice if he asked it, and money when he required
     Great war of religion and politics was postponed
     He was not imperial of aspect on canvas or coin
     He was a sincere bigot
     He who would have all may easily lose all
     He who spreads the snare always tumbles into the ditch himself
     Impatience is often on the part of the non-combatants
     Intense bigotry of conviction
     International friendship, the self-interest of each
     It was the true religion, and there was none other
     James of England, who admired, envied, and hated Henry
     Jealousy, that potent principle
     Jesuit Mariana--justifying the killing of excommunicated kings
     King's definite and final intentions, varied from day to day
     Language which is ever living because it is dead
     Louis XIII.
     Ludicrous gravity
     More fiercely opposed to each other than to Papists
     Most detestable verses that even he had ever composed
     Neither kings nor governments are apt to value logic
     No man can be neutral in civil contentions
     No synod had a right to claim Netherlanders as slaves
     No man pretended to think of the State
     None but God to compel me to say more than I choose to say
     Outdoing himself in dogmatism and inconsistency
     Philip IV.
     Power the poison of which it is so difficult to resist
     Practised successfully the talent of silence
     Presents of considerable sums of money to the negotiators made
     Priests shall control the state or the state govern the priests
     Princes show what they have in them at twenty-five or never
     Putting the cart before the oxen
     Queen is entirely in the hands of Spain and the priests
     Religion was made the strumpet of Political Ambition
     Religious toleration, which is a phrase of insult
     Safest citadel against an invader and a tyrant is distrust
     Schism in the Church had become a public fact
     Secure the prizes of war without the troubles and dangers
     Senectus edam maorbus est
     She declined to be his procuress
     Small matter which human folly had dilated into a great one
     Smooth words, in the plentiful lack of any substantial
     So much in advance of his time as to favor religious equality
     Stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage wheel
     That cynical commerce in human lives
     The defence of the civil authority against the priesthood
     The assassin, tortured and torn by four horses
     The truth in shortest about matters of importance
     The voice of slanderers
     The Catholic League and the Protestant Union
     The vehicle is often prized more than the freight
     Their own roofs were not quite yet in a blaze
     Theological hatred was in full blaze throughout the country
     Theology and politics were one
     There was no use in holding language of authority to him
     There was but one king in Europe, Henry the Bearnese
     Therefore now denounced the man whom he had injured
     They have killed him, 'e ammazato,' cried Concini
     Things he could tell which are too odious and dreadful
     Thirty Years' War tread on the heels of the forty years
     To look down upon their inferior and lost fellow creatures
     Uncouple the dogs and let them run
     Unimaginable outrage as the most legitimate industry
     Vows of an eternal friendship of several weeks' duration
     What could save the House of Austria, the cause of Papacy
     Whether repentance could effect salvation
     Whether dead infants were hopelessly damned
     Whose mutual hatred was now artfully inflamed by partisans
     Wish to appear learned in matters of which they are ignorant
     Work of the aforesaid Puritans and a few Jesuits
     Wrath of the Jesuits at this exercise of legal authority



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND
WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, LibraryBlog Edition, Volume 98

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, Complete, 1614-23



Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v7, 1614-17



CHAPTER XI.

   The Advocate sounds the Alarm in Germany--His Instructions to
   Langerac and his Forethought--The Prince--Palatine and his Forces
   take Aachen, Mulheim, and other Towns--Supineness of the
   Protestants--Increased Activity of Austria and the League--Barneveld
   strives to obtain Help from England--Neuburg departs for Germany--
   Barneveld the Prime Minister of Protestantism--Ernest Mansfield
   takes service under Charles Emmanuel--Count John of Nassau goes to
   Savoy--Slippery Conduct of King James in regard to the New Treaty
   proposed--Barneveld's Influence greater in France than in England--
   Sequestration feared--The Elector of Brandenburg cited to appear
   before the Emperor at Prague--Murder of John van Wely--Uytenbogaert
   incurs Maurice's Displeasure--Marriage of the King of France with
   Anne of Austria--Conference between King James and Caron concerning
   Piracy, Cloth Trade and Treaty of Xanten--Barneveld's Survey of the
   Condition of Europe--His Efforts to avert the impending general War.

I have thus purposely sketched the leading features of a couple of
momentous, although not eventful, years--so far as the foreign policy of
the Republic is concerned--in order that the reader may better understand
the bearings and the value of the Advocate's actions and writings at that
period. This work aims at being a political study. I would attempt to
exemplify the influence of individual humours and passions--some of them
among the highest and others certainly the basest that agitate
humanity-upon the march of great events, upon general historical results
at certain epochs, and upon the destiny of eminent personages. It may
also be not uninteresting to venture a glance into the internal structure
and workings of a republican and federal system of government, then for
the first time reproduced almost spontaneously upon an extended scale.

Perhaps the revelation of some of its defects, in spite of the faculty
and vitality struggling against them, may not be without value for our
own country and epoch. The system of Switzerland was too limited and
homely, that of Venice too purely oligarchical, to have much moral for us
now, or to render a study of their pathological phenomena especially
instructive. The lessons taught us by the history of the Netherland
confederacy may have more permanent meaning.

Moreover, the character of a very considerable statesman at an
all-important epoch, and in a position of vast responsibility, is always
an historical possession of value to mankind. That of him who furnishes
the chief theme for these pages has been either overlooked and neglected
or perhaps misunderstood by posterity. History has not too many really
important and emblematic men on its records to dispense with the memory
of Barneveld, and the writer therefore makes no apology for dilating
somewhat fully upon his lifework by means of much of his entirely
unpublished and long forgotten utterances.

The Advocate had ceaselessly been sounding the alarm in Germany. For the
Protestant Union, fascinated, as it were, by the threatening look of the
Catholic League, seemed relapsing into a drowse.

"I believe," he said to one of his agents in that country, "that the
Evangelical electors and princes and the other estates are not alive to
the danger. I am sure that it is not apprehended in Great Britain. France
is threatened with troubles. These are the means to subjugate the
religion, the laws and liberties of Germany. Without an army the troops
now on foot in Italy cannot be kept out of Germany. Yet we do not hear
that the Evangelicals are making provision of troops, money, or any other
necessaries. In this country we have about one hundred places occupied
with our troops, among whom are many who could destroy a whole army. But
the maintenance of these places prevents our being very strong in the
field, especially outside our frontiers. But if in all Germany there be
many places held by the Evangelicals which would disperse a great army is
very doubtful. Keep a watchful eye. Economy is a good thing, but the
protection of a country and its inhabitants must be laid to heart. Watch
well if against these Provinces, and against Bohemia, Austria, and other
as it is pretended rebellious states, these plans are not directed. Look
out for the movements of the Italian and Bavarian troops against Germany.
You see how they are nursing the troubles and misunderstandings in
France, and turning them to account."

He instructed the new ambassador in Paris to urge upon the French
government the absolute necessity of punctuality in furnishing the
payment of their contingent in the Netherlands according to convention.
The States of Holland themselves had advanced the money during three
years' past, but this anticipation was becoming very onerous. It was
necessary to pay the troops every month regularly, but the funds from
Paris were always in arrear. England contributed about one-half as much
in subsidy, but these moneys went in paying the garrisons of Brielle,
Flushing, and Rammekens, fortresses pledged to that crown. The Ambassador
was shrewdly told not to enlarge on the special employment of the English
funds while holding up to the Queen's government that she was not the
only potentate who helped bear burthens for the Provinces, and insisted
on a continuation of this aid. "Remember and let them remember," said the
Advocate, "that the reforms which they are pretending to make there by
relieving the subjects of contributions tends to enervate the royal
authority and dignity both within and without, to diminish its lustre and
reputation, and in sum to make the King unable to gratify and assist his
subjects, friends, and allies. Make them understand that the taxation in
these Provinces is ten times higher than there, and that My Lords the
States hitherto by the grace of God and good administration have
contrived to maintain it in order to be useful to themselves and their
friends. Take great pains to have it well understood that this is even
more honourable and more necessary for a king of France, especially in
his minority, than for a republic 'hoc turbato seculo.' We all see
clearly how some potentates in Europe are keeping at all time under one
pretext or another strong forces well armed on a war footing. It
therefore behoves his Majesty to be likewise provided with troops, and at
least with a good exchequer and all the requirements of war, as well for
the security of his own state as for the maintenance of the grandeur and
laudable reputation left to him by the deceased king."

Truly here was sound and substantial advice, never and nowhere more
needed than in France. It was given too with such good effect as to bear
fruit even upon stoniest ground, and it is a refreshing spectacle to see
this plain Advocate of a republic, so lately sprung into existence out of
the depths of oppression and rebellion, calmly summoning great kings as
it were before him and instructing them in those vital duties of
government in discharge of which the country he administered already
furnished a model. Had England and France each possessed a Barneveld at
that epoch, they might well have given in exchange for him a wilderness
of Epernons and Sillerys, Bouillons and Conde's; of Winwoods, Lakes,
Carrs, and Villierses. But Elizabeth with her counsellors was gone, and
Henry was gone, and Richelieu had not come; while in England James and
his minions were diligently opening an abyss between government and
people which in less than half a lifetime more should engulph the
kingdom.

Two months later he informed the States' ambassador of the communications
made by the Prince of Conde and the Dukes of Nevers and Bouillon to the
government at the Hague now that they had effected a kind of
reconciliation with the Queen. Langerac was especially instructed to do
his best to assist in bringing about cordial relations, if that were
possible, between the crown and the rebels, and meantime he was
especially directed to defend du Maurier against the calumnious
accusations brought against him, of which Aerssens had been the secret
sower.

"You will do your best to manage," he said, "that no special ambassador
be sent hither, and that M. du Maurier may remain with us, he being a
very intelligent and moderate person now well instructed as to the state
of our affairs, a professor of the Reformed religion, and having many
other good qualities serviceable to their Majesties and to us.

"You will visit the Prince, and other princes and officers of the crown
who are coming to court again, and do all good offices as well for the
court as for M. du Maurier, in order that through evil plots and
slanderous reports no harm may come to him.

"Take great pains to find out all you can there as to the designs of the
King of Spain, the Archdukes, and the Emperor, in the affair of Julich.
You are also to let it be known that the change of religion on the part
of the Prince-Palatine of Neuburg will not change our good will and
affection for him, so far as his legal claims are concerned."

So long as it was possible for the States to retain their hold on both
the claimants, the Advocate, pursuant to his uniform policy of
moderation, was not disposed to help throw the Palatine into the hands of
the Spanish party. He was well aware, however, that Neuburg by his
marriage and his conversion was inevitably to become the instrument of
the League and to be made use of in the duchies at its pleasure, and that
he especially would be the first to submit with docility to the decree of
the Emperor. The right to issue such decree the States under guidance of
Barneveld were resolved to resist at all hazards.

"Work diligently, nevertheless," said he, "that they permit nothing there
directly or indirectly that may tend to the furtherance of the League, as
too prejudicial to us and to all our fellow religionists. Tell them too
that the late king, the King of Great Britain, the united electors and
princes of Germany, and ourselves, have always been resolutely opposed to
making the dispute about the succession in the duchies depend on the will
of the Emperor and his court. All our movements in the year 1610 against
the attempted sequestration under Leopold were to carry out that purpose.
Hold it for certain that our present proceedings for strengthening and
maintaining the city and fortress of Julich are considered serviceable
and indispensable by the British king and the German electors and
princes. Use your best efforts to induce the French government to pursue
the same policy--if it be not possible openly, then at least secretly. My
conviction is that, unless the Prince-Palatine is supported by, and his
whole designs founded upon, the general league against all our brethren
of the religion, affairs may be appeased."

The Envoy was likewise instructed to do his best to further the
matrimonial alliance which had begun to be discussed between the Prince
of Wales and the second daughter of France. Had it been possible at that
moment to bring the insane dream of James for a Spanish alliance to
naught, the States would have breathed more freely. He was also to urge
payment of the money for the French regiments, always in arrears since
Henry's death and Sully's dismissal, and always supplied by the exchequer
of Holland. He was informed that the Republic had been sending some war
ships to the Levant, to watch the armada recently sent thither by Spain,
and other armed vessels into the Baltic, to pursue the corsairs with whom
every sea was infested. In one year alone he estimated the loss to Dutch
merchants by these pirates at 800,000 florins. "We have just captured two
of the rovers, but the rascally scum is increasing," he said.

Again alluding to the resistance to be made by the States to the Imperial
pretensions, he observed, "The Emperor is about sending us a herald in
the Julich matter, but we know how to stand up to him."

And notwithstanding the bare possibility which he had admitted, that the
Prince of Neuburg might not yet have wholly sold himself, body and soul,
to the Papists, he gave warning a day or two afterwards in France that
all should be prepared for the worst.

"The Archdukes and the Prince of Neuburg appear to be taking the war
earnestly in hand," he said. "We believe that the Papistical League is
about to make a great effort against all the co-religionists. We are
watching closely their movements. Aachen is first threatened, and the
Elector-Palatine likewise. France surely, for reasons of state, cannot
permit that they should be attacked. She did, and helped us to do, too
much in the Julich campaign to suffer the Spaniards to make themselves
masters there now."

It has been seen that the part played by France in the memorable campaign
of 1610 was that of admiring auxiliary to the States' forces; Marshal de
la Chatre having in all things admitted the superiority of their army and
the magnificent generalship of Prince Maurice. But the government of the
Dowager had been committed by that enterprise to carry out the life-long
policy of Henry, and to maintain his firm alliance with the Republic.
Whether any of the great king's acuteness and vigour in countermining and
shattering the plans of the House of Austria was left in the French
court, time was to show. Meantime Barneveld was crying himself hoarse
with warnings into the dull ears of England and France.

A few weeks later the Prince of Neuburg had thrown off the mask. Twelve
thousand foot and 1500 horse had been raised in great haste, so the
Advocate informed the French court, by Spain and the Archdukes, for the
use of that pretender. Five or six thousand Spaniards were coming by sea
to Flanders, and as many Italians were crossing the mountains, besides a
great number mustering for the same purpose in Germany and Lorraine.
Barneveld was constantly receiving most important intelligence of
military plans and movements from Prague, which he placed daily before
the eyes of governments wilfully blind.

"I ponder well at this crisis," he said to his friend Caron, "the
intelligence I received some months back from Ratisbon, out of the
cabinet of the Jesuits, that the design of the Catholic or Roman League
is to bring this year a great army into the field, in order to make
Neuburg, who was even then said to be of the Roman profession and League,
master of Julich and the duchies; to execute the Imperial decree against
Aachen and Mulheim, preventing any aid from being sent into Germany by
these Provinces, or by Great Britain, and placing the Archduke and
Marquis Spinola in command of the forces; to put another army on the
frontiers of Austria, in order to prevent any succour coming from
Hungary, Bohemia, Austria, Moravia, and Silesia into Germany; to keep all
these disputed territories in subjection and devotion to the Emperor, and
to place the general conduct of all these affairs in the hands of
Archduke Leopold and other princes of the House of Austria. A third army
is to be brought into the Upper Palatinate, under command of the Duke of
Bavaria and others of the League, destined to thoroughly carry out its
designs against the Elector-Palatine, and the other electors, princes,
and estates belonging to the religion."

This intelligence, plucked by Barneveld out of the cabinet of the
Jesuits, had been duly communicated by him months before to those whom it
most concerned, and as usual it seemed to deepen the lethargy of the
destined victims and their friends. Not only the whole Spanish campaign
of the present year had thus been duly mapped out by the Advocate, long
before it occurred, but this long buried and forgotten correspondence of
the statesman seems rather like a chronicle of transactions already past,
so closely did the actual record, which posterity came to know too well,
resemble that which he saw, and was destined only to see, in prophetic
vision.

Could this political seer have cast his horoscope of the Thirty Years'
War at this hour of its nativity for the instruction of such men as
Walsingham or Burleigh, Henry of Navarre or Sully, Richelieu or Gustavus
Adolphus, would the course of events have been modified? These very
idlest of questions are precisely those which inevitably occur as one
ponders the seeming barrenness of an epoch in reality so pregnant.

"One would think," said Barneveld, comparing what was then the future
with the real past, "that these plans in Prague against the
Elector-Palatine are too gross for belief; but when I reflect on the
intense bitterness of these people, when I remember what was done within
living men's memory to the good elector Hans Frederic of Saxony for
exactly the same reasons, to wit, hatred of our religion, and
determination to establish Imperial authority, I have great apprehension.
I believe that the Roman League will use the present occasion to carry
out her great design; holding France incapable of opposition to her,
Germany in too great division, and imagining to themselves that neither
the King of Great Britain nor these States are willing or able to offer
effectual and forcible resistance. Yet his Majesty of Great Britain ought
to be able to imagine how greatly the religious matter in general
concerns himself and the electoral house of the Palatine, as principal
heads of the religion, and that these vast designs should be resisted
betimes, and with all possible means and might. My Lords the States have
good will, but not sufficient strength, to oppose these great forces
single-handed. One must not believe that without great and prompt
assistance in force from his Majesty and other fellow religionists My
Lords the States can undertake so vast an affair. Do your uttermost duty
there, in order that, ere it be too late, this matter be taken to heart
by his Majesty, and that his authority and credit be earnestly used with
other kings, electors, princes, and republics, that they do likewise. The
promptest energy, good will, and affection may be reckoned on from us."

Alas! it was easy for his Majesty to take to heart the matter of Conrad
Vorstius, to spend reams of diplomatic correspondence, to dictate whole
volumes for orations brimming over with theological wrath, for the
edification of the States-General, against that doctor of divinity. But
what were the special interests of his son-in-law, what the danger to all
the other Protestant electors and kings, princes and republics, what the
imperilled condition of the United Provinces, and, by necessary
consequence, the storm gathering over his own throne, what the whole fate
of Protestantism, from Friesland to Hungary, threatened by the
insatiable, all-devouring might of the double house of Austria, the
ancient church, and the Papistical League, what were hundred thousands of
men marching towards Bohemia, the Netherlands, and the duchies, with the
drum beating for mercenary recruits in half the villages of Spain, Italy,
and Catholic Germany, compared with the danger to Christendom from an
Arminian clergyman being appointed to the theological professorship at
Leyden?

The world was in a blaze, kings and princes were arming, and all the time
that the monarch of the powerful, adventurous, and heroic people of Great
Britain could spare from slobbering over his minions, and wasting the
treasures of the realm to supply their insatiate greed, was devoted to
polemical divinity, in which he displayed his learning, indeed, but
changed his positions and contradicted himself day by day. The magnitude
of this wonderful sovereign's littleness oppresses the imagination.

Moreover, should he listen to the adjurations of the States and his
fellow religionists, should he allow himself to be impressed by the
eloquence of Barneveld and take a manly and royal decision in the great
emergency, it would be indispensable for him to come before that odious
body, the Parliament of Great Britain, and ask for money. It would be
perhaps necessary for him to take them into his confidence, to degrade
himself by speaking to them of the national affairs. They might not be
satisfied with the honour of voting the supplies at his demand, but were
capable of asking questions as to their appropriation. On the whole it
was more king-like and statesman-like to remain quiet, and give advice.
Of that, although always a spendthrift, he had an inexhaustible supply.

Barneveld had just hopes from the Commons of Great Britain, if the King
could be brought to appeal to Parliament. Once more he sounded the bugle
of alarm. "Day by day the Archdukes are making greater and greater
enrolments of riders and infantry in ever increasing mass," he cried,
"and therewith vast provision of artillery and all munitions of war.
Within ten or twelve days they will be before Julich in force. We are
sending great convoys to reinforce our army there. The Prince of Neuburg
is enrolling more and more troops every day. He will soon be master of
Mulheim. If the King of Great Britain will lay this matter earnestly to
heart for the preservation of the princes, electors, and estates of the
religion, I cannot doubt that Parliament would cooperate well with his
Majesty, and this occasion should be made use of to redress the whole
state of affairs."

It was not the Parliament nor the people of Great Britain that would be
in fault when the question arose of paying in money and in blood for the
defence of civil and religious liberty. But if James should venture
openly to oppose Spain, what would the Count of Gondemar say, and what
would become of the Infanta and the two millions of dowry?

It was not for want of some glimmering consciousness in the mind of James
of the impending dangers to Northern Europe and to Protestantism from the
insatiable ambition of Spain, and the unrelenting grasp of the Papacy
upon those portions of Christendom which were slipping from its control,
that his apathy to those perils was so marked. We have seen his leading
motives for inaction, and the world was long to feel its effects.

"His Majesty firmly believes," wrote Secretary Winwood, "that the
Papistical League is brewing great and dangerous plots. To obviate them
in everything that may depend upon him, My Lords the States will find him
prompt. The source of all these entanglements comes from Spain. We do not
think that the Archduke will attack Julich this year, but rather fear for
Mulheim and Aix-la-Chapelle."

But the Secretary of State, thus acknowledging the peril, chose to be
blind to its extent, while at the same time undervaluing the powers by
which it might be resisted. "To oppose the violence of the enemy," he
said, "if he does resort to violence, is entirely impossible. It would be
furious madness on our part to induce him to fall upon the
Elector-Palatine, for this would be attacking Great Britain and all her
friends and allies. Germany is a delicate morsel, but too much for the
throat of Spain to swallow all at once. Behold the evil which troubles
the conscience of the Papistical League. The Emperor and his brothers are
all on the brink of their sepulchre, and the Infants of Spain are too
young to succeed to the Empire. The Pope would more willingly permit its
dissolution than its falling into the hands of a prince not of his
profession. All that we have to do in this conjuncture is to attend the
best we can to our own affairs, and afterwards to strengthen the good
alliance existing among us, and not to let ourselves be separated by the
tricks and sleights of hand of our adversaries. The common cause can
reckon firmly upon the King of Great Britain, and will not find itself
deceived."

Excellent commonplaces, but not very safe ones. Unluckily for the allies,
to attend each to his own affairs when the enemy was upon them, and to
reckon firmly upon a king who thought it furious madness to resist the
enemy, was hardly the way to avert the danger. A fortnight later, the man
who thought it possible to resist, and time to resist, before the net was
over every head, replied to the Secretary by a picture of the Spaniards'
progress.

"Since your letter," he said, "you have seen the course of Spinola with
the army of the King and the Archdukes. You have seen the Prince-Palatine
of Neuburg with his forces maintained by the Pope and other members of
the Papistical League. On the 29th of August they forced Aachen, where
the magistrates and those of the Reformed religion have been extremely
maltreated. Twelve hundred soldiers are lodged in the houses there of
those who profess our religion. Mulheim is taken and dismantled, and the
very houses about to be torn down. Duren, Castre, Grevenborg, Orsoy,
Duisburg, Ruhrort, and many other towns, obliged to receive Spanish
garrisons. On the 4th of September they invested Wesel. On the 6th it was
held certain that the cities of Cleve, Emmerich, Rees, and others in that
quarter, had consented to be occupied. The States have put one hundred
and thirty-five companies of foot (about 14,000 men) and 4000 horse and a
good train of artillery in the field, and sent out some ships of war.
Prince Maurice left the Hague on the 4th of September to assist Wesel,
succour the Prince of Brandenburg, and oppose the hostile proceedings of
Spinola and the Palatine of Neuburg . . . . Consider, I pray you, this
state of things, and think how much heed they have paid to the demands of
the Kings of Great Britain and France to abstain from hostilities. Be
sure that without our strong garrison in Julich they would have snapped
up every city in Julich, Cleve, and Berg. But they will now try to make
use of their slippery tricks, their progress having been arrested by our
army. The Prince of Neuburg is sending his chancellor here 'cum mediis
componendae pacis,' in appearance good and reasonable, in reality
deceptive . . . . If their Majesties, My Lords the States, and the
princes of the Union, do not take an energetic resolution for making head
against their designs, behold their League in full vigour and ours
without soul. Neither the strength nor the wealth of the States are
sufficient of themselves to withstand their ambitious and dangerous
designs. We see the possessory princes treated as enemies upon their own
estates, and many thousand souls of the Reformed religion cruelly
oppressed by the Papistical League. For myself I am confirmed in my
apprehensions and believe that neither our religion nor our Union can
endure such indignities. The enemy is making use of the minority in
France and the divisions among the princes of Germany to their great
advantage . . . . I believe that the singular wisdom of his Majesty will
enable him to apply promptly the suitable remedies, and that your
Parliament will make no difficulty in acquitting itself well in repairing
those disorders."

The year dragged on to its close. The supineness of the Protestants
deepened in direct proportion to the feverish increase of activity on the
part of Austria and the League. The mockery of negotiation in which
nothing could be negotiated, the parade of conciliation when war of
extermination was intended, continued on the part of Spain and Austria.
Barneveld was doing his best to settle all minor differences between the
States and Great Britain, that these two bulwarks of Protestantism might
stand firmly together against the rising tide. He instructed the
Ambassador to exhaust every pacific means of arrangement in regard to the
Greenland fishery disputes, the dyed cloth question, and like causes of
ill feeling. He held it more than necessary, he said, that the
inhabitants of the two countries should now be on the very best terms
with each other. Above all, he implored the King through the Ambassador
to summon Parliament in order that the kingdom might be placed in
position to face the gathering danger.

"I am amazed and distressed," he said, "that the statesmen of England do
not comprehend the perils with which their fellow religionists are
everywhere threatened, especially in Germany and in these States. To
assist us with bare advice and sometimes with traducing our actions,
while leaving us to bear alone the burthens, costs, and dangers, is not
serviceable to us." Referring to the information and advice which he had
sent to England and to France fifteen months before, he now gave
assurance that the Prince of Neuburg and Spinola were now in such force,
both foot and cavalry, with all necessary munitions, as to hold these
most important territories as a perpetual "sedem bedli," out of which to
attack Germany at their pleasure and to cut off all possibility of aid
from England and the States. He informed the court of St. James that
besides the forces of the Emperor and the House of Austria, the Duke of
Bavaria and Spanish Italy, there were now several thousand horse and foot
under the Bishop of Wurzburg, 8000 or 9000 under the Bishop-Elector of
Mayence, and strong bodies of cavalry under Count Vaudemont in Lorraine,
all mustering for the war. The pretext seems merely to reduce Frankfurt
to obedience, even as Donauworth had previously been used as a colour for
vast designs. The real purpose was to bring the Elector-Palatine and the
whole Protestant party in Germany to submission. "His Majesty," said the
Advocate, "has now a very great and good subject upon which to convoke
Parliament and ask for a large grant. This would be doubtless consented
to if Parliament receives the assurance that the money thus accorded
shall be applied to so wholesome a purpose. You will do your best to
further this great end. We are waiting daily to hear if the Xanten
negotiation is broken off or not. I hope and I fear. Meantime we bear as
heavy burthens as if we were actually at war."

He added once more the warning, which it would seem superfluous to repeat
even to schoolboys in diplomacy, that this Xanten treaty, as proposed by
the enemy, was a mere trap.

Spinola and Neuburg, in case of the mutual disbanding, stood ready at an
instant's warning to re-enlist for the League not only all the troops
that the Catholic army should nominally discharge, but those which would
be let loose from the States' army and that of Brandenburg as well. They
would hold Rheinberg, Groll, Lingen, Oldenzaal, Wachtendonk, Maestricht,
Aachen, and Mulheim with a permanent force of more than 20,000 men. And
they could do all this in four days' time.

A week or two later all his prophesies had been fulfilled. "The Prince of
Neuburg," he said, "and Marquis Spinola have made game of us most
impudently in the matter of the treaty. This is an indignity for us,
their Majesties, and the electors and princes. We regard it as
intolerable. A despatch came from Spain forbidding a further step in the
negotiation without express order from the King. The Prince and Spinola
are gone to Brussels, the ambassadors have returned to the Hague, the
armies are established in winter-quarters. The cavalry are ravaging the
debateable land and living upon the inhabitants at their discretion. M.
de Refuge is gone to complain to the Archdukes of the insult thus put
upon his sovereign. Sir Henry Wotton is still here. We have been plunged
into an immensity of extraordinary expense, and are amazed that at this
very moment England should demand money from us when we ought to be
assisted by a large subsidy by her. We hope that now at least his Majesty
will take a vigorous resolution and not suffer his grandeur and dignity
to be vilipended longer. If the Spaniard is successful in this step, he
is ready for greater ones, and will believe that mankind is ready to bear
and submit to everything. His Majesty is the first king of the religion.
He bears the title of Defender of the Faith. His religion, his only
daughter, his son-in-law, his grandson are all especially interested
besides his own dignity, besides the common weal."

He then adverted to the large subsidies from Queen Elizabeth many years
before, guaranteed, it was true, by the cautionary towns, and to the
gallant English regiments, sent by that great sovereign, which had been
fighting so long and so splendidly in the Netherlands for the common
cause of Protestantism and liberty. Yet England was far weaker then, for
she had always her northern frontier to defend against Scotland, ever
ready to strike her in the back. "But now his Majesty," said Barneveld,
"is King of England and Scotland both. His frontier is free. Ireland is
at peace. He possesses quietly twice as much as the Queen ever did. He is
a king. Her Majesty was a woman. The King has children and heirs. His
nearest blood is engaged in this issue. His grandeur and dignity have
been wronged. Each one of these considerations demands of itself a manly
resolution. You will do your best to further it."

The almost ubiquitous power of Spain, gaining after its exhaustion new
life through the strongly developed organization of the League, and the
energy breathed into that mighty conspiracy against human liberty by the
infinite genius of the "cabinet of Jesuits," was not content with
overshadowing Germany, the Netherlands, and England, but was threatening
Savoy with 40,000 men, determined to bring Charles Emmanuel either to
perdition or submission.

Like England, France was spell-bound by the prospect of Spanish
marriages, which for her at least were not a chimera, and looked on
composedly while Savoy was on point of being sacrificed by the common
invader of independent nationality whether Protestant or Catholic.
Nothing ever showed more strikingly the force residing in singleness of
purpose with breadth and unity of design than all these primary movements
of the great war now beginning. The chances superficially considered were
vastly in favour of the Protestant cause. In the chief lands, under the
sceptre of the younger branch of Austria, the Protestants outnumbered the
Catholics by nearly ten to one. Bohemia, the Austrias, Moravia, Silesia,
Hungary were filled full of the spirit of Huss, of Luther, and even of
Calvin. If Spain was a unit, now that the Moors and Jews had been
expelled, and the heretics of Castille and Aragon burnt into submission,
she had a most lukewarm ally in Venice, whose policy was never controlled
by the Church, and a dangerous neighbour in the warlike, restless, and
adventurous House of Savoy, to whom geographical considerations were ever
more vital than religious scruples. A sincere alliance of France, the
very flower of whose nobility and people inclined to the Reformed
religion, was impossible, even if there had been fifty infantes to
espouse fifty daughters of France. Great Britain, the Netherlands, and
the united princes of Germany seemed a solid and serried phalanx of
Protestantism, to break through which should be hopeless. Yet at that
moment, so pregnant with a monstrous future, there was hardly a sound
Protestant policy anywhere but in Holland. How long would that policy
remain sound and united? How long would the Republic speak through the
imperial voice of Barneveld? Time was to show and to teach many lessons.
The united princes of Germany were walking, talking, quarrelling in their
sleep; England and France distracted and bedrugged, while Maximilian of
Bavaria and Ferdinand of Gratz, the cabinets of Madrid and the Vatican,
were moving forward to their aims slowly, steadily, relentlessly as Fate.
And Spain was more powerful than she had been since the Truce began. In
five years she had become much more capable of aggression. She had
strengthened her positions in the Mediterranean by the acquisition and
enlargement of considerable fortresses in Barbary and along a large sweep
of the African coast, so as to be almost supreme in Africa. It was
necessary for the States, the only power save Turkey that could face her
in those waters, to maintain a perpetual squadron of war ships there to
defend their commerce against attack from the Spaniard and from the
corsairs, both Mahometan and Christian, who infested every sea. Spain was
redoubtable everywhere, and the Turk, engaged in Persian campaigns, was
offering no diversion against Hungary and Vienna.

"Reasons of state worthy of his Majesty's consideration and wisdom," said
Barneveld, "forbid the King of Great Britain from permitting the Spaniard
to give the law in Italy. He is about to extort obedience and humiliation
from the Duke of Savoy, or else with 40,000 men to mortify and ruin him,
while entirely assuring himself of France by the double marriages. Then
comes the attack on these Provinces, on Protestant Germany, and all other
states and realms of the religion."

With the turn of the year, affairs were growing darker and darker. The
League was rolling up its forces in all directions; its chiefs proposed
absurd conditions of pacification, while war was already raging, and yet
scarcely any government but that of the Netherlands paid heed to the
rising storm. James, fatuous as ever, listened to Gondemar, and wrote
admonitory letters to the Archduke. It was still gravely proposed by the
Catholic party that there should be mutual disbanding in the duchies,
with a guarantee from Marquis Spinola that there should be no more
invasion of those territories. But powers and pledges from the King of
Spain were what he needed.

To suppose that the Republic and her allies would wait quietly, and not
lift a finger until blows were actually struck against the Protestant
electors or cities of Germany, was expecting too much ingenuousness on
the part of statesmen who had the interests of Protestantism at heart.
What they wanted was the signed, sealed, ratified treaty faithfully
carried out. Then if the King of Spain and the Archdukes were willing to
contract with the States never to make an attempt against the Holy German
Empire, but to leave everything to take its course according to the
constitutions, liberties, and traditions and laws of that empire, under
guidance of its electors, princes, estates, and cities, the United
Provinces were ready, under mediation of the two kings, their allies and
friends, to join in such an arrangement. Thus there might still be peace
in Germany, and religious equality as guaranteed by the "Majesty-Letter,"
and the "Compromise" between the two great churches, Roman and Reformed,
be maintained. To bring about this result was the sincere endeavour of
Barneveld, hoping against hope. For he knew that all was hollowness and
sham on the part of the great enemy. Even as Walsingham almost alone had
suspected and denounced the delusive negotiations by which Spain
continued to deceive Elizabeth and her diplomatists until the Armada was
upon her coasts, and denounced them to ears that were deafened and souls
that were stupified by the frauds practised upon them, so did Barneveld,
who had witnessed all that stupendous trickery of a generation before,
now utter his cries of warning that Germany might escape in time from her
impending doom.

"Nothing but deceit is lurking in the Spanish proposals," he said. "Every
man here wonders that the English government does not comprehend these
malversations. Truly the affair is not to be made straight by new
propositions, but by a vigorous resolution of his Majesty. It is in the
highest degree necessary to the salvation of Christendom, to the
conservation of his Majesty's dignity and greatness, to the service of
the princes and provinces, and of all Germany, nor can this vigorous
resolution be longer delayed without enormous disaster to the common weal
. . . . . I have the deepest affection for the cause of the Duke of
Savoy, but I cannot further it so long as I cannot tell what his Majesty
specifically is resolved to do, and what hope is held out from Venice,
Germany, and other quarters. Our taxes are prodigious, the ordinary and
extraordinary, and we have a Spanish army at our front door."

The armaments, already so great, had been enlarged during the last month
of the year. Vaudemont was at the head of a further force of 2000 cavalry
and 8000 foot, paid for by Spain and the Pope; 24,000 additional
soldiers, riders and infantry together, had been gathered by Maximilian
of Bavaria at the expense of the League. Even if the reports were
exaggerated, the Advocate thought it better to be too credulous than as
apathetic as the rest of the Protestants.

"We receive advices every day," he wrote to Caron, "that the Spaniards
and the Roman League are going forward with their design. They are trying
to amuse the British king and to gain time, in order to be able to deal
the heavier blows. Do all possible duty to procure a timely and vigorous
resolution there. To wait again until we are anticipated will be fatal to
the cause of the Evangelical electors and princes of Germany and
especially of his Electoral Highness of Brandenburg. We likewise should
almost certainly suffer irreparable damage, and should again bear our
cross, as men said last year in regard to Aachen, Wesel, and so many
other places. The Spaniard is sly, and has had a long time to contrive
how he can throw the net over the heads of all our religious allies.
Remember all the warnings sent from here last year, and how they were all
tossed to the winds, to the ruin of so many of our co-religionists. If it
is now intended over there to keep the Spaniards in check merely by
speeches or letters, it would be better to say so clearly to our friends.
So long as Parliament is not convoked in order to obtain consents and
subsidies for this most necessary purpose, so long I fail to believe that
this great common cause of Christendom, and especially of Germany, is
taken to heart by England."

He adverted with respectfully subdued scorn to King James's proposition
that Spinola should give a guarantee. "I doubt if he accepts the
suggestion," said Barneveld, "unless as a notorious trick, and if he did,
what good would the promise of Spinola do us? We consider Spinola a great
commander having the purses and forces of the Spaniards and the Leaguers
in his control; but should they come into other hands, he would not be a
very considerable personage for us. And that may happen any day. They
don't seem in England to understand the difference between Prince Maurice
in his relations to our state and that of Marquis Spinola to his
superiors. Try to make them comprehend it. A promise from the Emperor,
King of Spain, and the princes of the League, such as his Majesty in his
wisdom has proposed to Spinola, would be most tranquillizing for all the
Protestant princes and estates of the Empire, especially for the Elector
and Electress Palatine, and for ourselves. In such a case no difficulty
would be made on our side."

After expressing his mind thus freely in regard to James and his policy,
he then gave the Ambassador a word of caution in characteristic fashion.
"Cogita," he said, "but beware of censuring his Majesty's projects. I do
not myself mean to censure them, nor are they publicly laughed at here,
but look closely at everything that comes from Brussels, and let me know
with diligence."

And even as the Advocate was endeavouring with every effort of his skill
and reason to stir the sluggish James into vigorous resolution in behalf
of his own children, as well as of the great cause of Protestantism and
national liberty, so was he striving to bear up on his strenuous
shoulders the youthful king of France, and save him from the swollen
tides of court intrigue and Jesuitical influence fast sweeping him to
destruction.

He had denounced the recent and paltry proposition made on the part of
the League, and originally suggested by James, as a most open and
transparent trap, into which none but the blind would thrust themselves.
The Treaty of Xanten, carried out as it had been signed and guaranteed by
the great Catholic powers, would have brought peace to Christendom. To
accept in place of such guarantee the pledge of a simple soldier, who
to-morrow might be nothing, was almost too ridiculous a proposal to be
answered gravely. Yet Barneveld through the machinations of the Catholic
party was denounced both at the English and French courts as an obstacle
to peace, when in reality his powerful mind and his immense industry were
steadily directed to the noblest possible end--to bring about a solemn
engagement on the part of Spain, the Emperor, and the princes of the
League, to attack none of the Protestant powers of Germany, especially
the Elector-Palatine, but to leave the laws, liberties, and privileges of
the States within the Empire in their original condition. And among those
laws were the great statutes of 1609 and 1610, the "Majesty-Letter" and
the "Compromise," granting full right of religious worship to the
Protestants of the Kingdom of Bohemia. If ever a policy deserved to be
called truly liberal and truly conservative, it was the policy thus
steadily maintained by Barneveld.

Adverting to the subterfuge by which the Catholic party had sought to set
aside the treaty of Xanten, he instructed Langerac, the States'
ambassador in Paris, and his own pupils to make it clear to the French
government that it was impossible that in such arrangements the Spanish
armies would not be back again in the duchies at a moment's notice. It
could not be imagined even that they were acting sincerely.

"If their upright intention," he said, "is that no actual, hostile,
violent attack shall be made upon the duchies, or upon any of the
princes, estates, or cities of the Holy Empire, as is required for the
peace and tranquillity of Christendom, and if all the powers interested
therein will come into a good and solid convention to that effect. My
Lords the States will gladly join in such undertaking and bind themselves
as firmly as the other powers. If no infraction of the laws and liberties
of the Holy Empire be attempted, there will be peace for Germany and its
neighbours. But the present extravagant proposition can only lead to
chicane and quarrels. To press such a measure is merely to inflict a
disgrace upon us. It is an attempt to prevent us from helping the
Elector-Palatine and the other Protestant princes of Germany and
coreligionists everywhere against hostile violence. For the
Elector-Palatine can receive aid from us and from Great Britain through
the duchies only. It is plainly the object of the enemy to seclude us
from the Palatine and the rest of Protestant Germany. It is very
suspicious that the proposition of Prince Maurice, supported by the two
kings and the united princes of Germany, has been rejected."

The Advocate knew well enough that the religious franchises granted by
the House of Habsburg at the very moment in which Spain signed her peace
with the Netherlands, and exactly as the mad duke of Cleve was
expiring--with a dozen princes, Catholic and Protestant, to dispute his
inheritance--would be valuable just so long as they could be maintained
by the united forces of Protestantism and of national independence and no
longer. What had been extorted from the Catholic powers by force would be
retracted by force whenever that force could be concentrated. It had been
necessary for the Republic to accept a twelve years' truce with Spain in
default of a peace, while the death of John of Cleve, and subsequently of
Henry IV., had made the acquisition of a permanent pacification between
Catholicism and Protestantism, between the League and the Union, more
difficult than ever. The so-called Thirty Years' War--rather to be called
the concluding portion of the Eighty Years' War--had opened in the
debateable duchies exactly at the moment when its forerunner, the forty
years' war of the Netherlands, had been temporarily and nominally
suspended. Barneveld was perpetually baffled in his efforts to obtain a
favourable peace for Protestant Europe, less by the open diplomacy and
military force of the avowed enemies of Protestantism than by the secret
intrigues and faintheartedness of its nominal friends. He was unwearied
in his efforts simultaneously to arouse the courts of England and France
to the danger to Europe from the overshadowing power of the House of
Austria and the League, and he had less difficulty in dealing with the
Catholic Lewis and his mother than with Protestant James. At the present
moment his great designs were not yet openly traversed by a strong
Protestant party within the very republic which he administered.

"Look to it with earnestness and grave deliberation," he said to
Langerac, "that they do not pursue us there with vain importunity to
accept something so notoriously inadmissible and detrimental to the
common weal. We know that from the enemy's side every kind of unseemly
trick is employed, with the single object of bringing about
misunderstanding between us and the King of France. A prompt and vigorous
resolution on the part of his Majesty, to see the treaty which we made
duly executed, would be to help the cause. Otherwise, not. We cannot here
believe that his Majesty, in this first year of his majority, will submit
to such a notorious and flagrant affront, or that he will tolerate the
oppression of the Duke of Savoy. Such an affair in the beginning of his
Majesty's reign cannot but have very great and prejudicial consequences,
nor can it be left to linger on in uncertainty and delay. Let him be
prompt in this. Let him also take a most Christian--kingly, vigorous
resolution against the great affront put upon him in the failure to carry
out the treaty. Such a resolve on the part of the two kings would restore
all things to tranquillity and bring the Spaniard and his adherents 'in
terminos modestiae. But so long as France is keeping a suspicious eye
upon England, and England upon France, everything will run to combustion,
detrimental to their Majesties and to us, and ruinous to all the good
inhabitants."

To the Treaty of Xanten faithfully executed he held as to an anchor in
the tempest until it was torn away, not by violence from without, but by
insidious mutiny within. At last the government of James proposed that
the pledges on leaving the territory should be made to the two allied
kings as mediators and umpires. This was better than the naked promises
originally suggested, but even in this there was neither heartiness nor
sincerity. Meantime the Prince of Neuburg, negotiations being broken off,
departed for Germany, a step which the Advocate considered ominous. Soon
afterwards that prince received a yearly pension of 24,000 crowns from
Spain, and for this stipend his claims on the sovereignty of the duchies
were supposed to be surrendered.

"If this be true," said Barneveld, "we have been served with covered
dishes."

The King of England wrote spirited and learned letters to the
Elector-Palatine, assuring him of his father-in-law's assistance in case
he should be attacked by the League. Sir Henry Wotton, then on special
mission at the Hague, showed these epistles to Barneveld.

"When I hear that Parliament has been assembled and has granted great
subsidies," was the Advocate's comment, "I shall believe that effects may
possibly follow from all these assurances."

It was wearisome for the Advocate thus ever to be foiled; by the
pettinesses and jealousies of those occupying the highest earthly places,
in his efforts to stem the rising tide of Spanish and Catholic
aggression, and to avert the outbreak of a devastating war to which he
saw Europe doomed. It may be wearisome to read the record. Yet it is the
chronicle of Christendom during one of the most important and fateful
epochs of modern history. No man can thoroughly understand the
complication and precession of phenomena attending the disastrous dawn of
the renewed war, on an even more awful scale than the original conflict
in the Netherlands, without studying the correspondence of Barneveld. The
history of Europe is there. The fate of Christendom is there. The
conflict of elements, the crash of contending forms of religion and of
nationalities, is pictured there in vivid if homely colours. The
Advocate, while acting only in the name of a slender confederacy, was in
truth, so long as he held his place, the prime minister of European
Protestantism. There was none other to rival him, few to comprehend him,
fewer still to sustain him. As Prince Maurice was at that moment the
great soldier of Protestantism without clearly scanning the grandeur of
the field in which he was a chief actor, or foreseeing the vastness of
its future, so the Advocate was its statesman and its prophet. Could the
two have worked together as harmoniously as they had done at an earlier
day, it would have been a blessing for the common weal of Europe. But,
alas! the evil genius of jealousy, which so often forbids cordial
relations between soldier and statesman, already stood shrouded in the
distance, darkly menacing the strenuous patriot, who was wearing his life
out in exertions for what he deemed the true cause of progress and
humanity.

Nor can the fate of the man himself, his genuine character, and the
extraordinary personal events towards which he was slowly advancing, be
accurately unfolded without an attempt by means of his letters to lay
bare his inmost thoughts. Especially it will be seen at a later moment
how much value was attached to this secret correspondence with the
ambassadors in London and Paris.

The Advocate trusted to the support of France, Papal and Medicean as the
court of the young king was, because the Protestant party throughout the
kingdom was too powerful, warlike, and numerous to be trifled with, and
because geographical considerations alone rendered a cordial alliance
between Spain and France very difficult. Notwithstanding the Spanish
marriages, which he opposed so long as opposition was possible, he knew
that so long as a statesman remained in the kingdom, or a bone for one
existed, the international policy of Henry, of Sully, and of Jeannin
could not be wholly abandoned.

He relied much on Villeroy, a political hack certainly, an ancient
Leaguer, and a Papist, but a man too cool, experienced, and wily to be
ignorant of the very hornbook of diplomacy, or open to the shallow
stratagems by which Spain found it so easy to purchase or to deceive. So
long as he had a voice in the council, it was certain that the Netherland
alliance would not be abandoned, nor the Duke of Savoy crushed. The old
secretary of state was not especially in favour at that moment, but
Barneveld could not doubt his permanent place in French affairs until
some man of real power should arise there. It was a dreary period of
barrenness and disintegration in that kingdom while France was mourning
Henry and waiting for Richelieu.

The Dutch ambassador at Paris was instructed accordingly to maintain.
good relations with Villeroy, who in Barneveld's opinion had been a
constant and sincere friend to the Netherlands. "Don't forget to caress
the old gentleman you wot of," said the Advocate frequently, but
suppressing his name, "without troubling yourself with the reasons
mentioned in your letter. I am firmly convinced that he will overcome all
difficulties. Don't believe either that France will let the Duke of Savoy
be ruined. It is against every reason of State." Yet there were few to
help Charles Emmanuel in this Montferrat war, which was destined to drag
feebly on, with certain interludes of negotiations, for two years longer.
The already notorious condottiere Ernest Mansfeld, natural son of old
prince Peter Ernest, who played so long and so high a part in command of
the Spanish armies in the Netherlands, had, to be sure, taken service
under the Duke. Thenceforth he was to be a leader and a master in that
wild business of plunder, burning, blackmailing, and murder, which was
opening upon Europe, and was to afford occupation for many thousands of
adventurers of high and low degree.

Mansfeld, reckless and profligate, had already changed his banner more
than once. Commanding a company under Leopold in the duchies, he had been
captured by the forces of the Union, and, after waiting in vain to be
ransomed by the Archduke, had gone secretly over to the enemy. Thus
recovering his liberty, he had enlisted a regiment under Leopold's name
to fight the Union, and had then, according to contract, transferred
himself and most of his adventurers to the flag of the Union. The
military operations fading away in the duchies without being succeeded by
permanent peace, the Count, as he was called, with no particular claim to
such title, had accepted a thousand florins a year as retainer from the
Union and had found occupation under Charles Emmanuel. Here the Spanish
soldier of a year or two before found much satisfaction and some profit
in fighting Spanish soldiers. He was destined to reappear in the
Netherlands, in France, in Bohemia, in many places where there were
villages to be burned, churches to be plundered, cities to be sacked,
nuns and other women to be outraged, dangerous political intrigues to be
managed. A man in the prime of his age, fair-haired, prematurely
wrinkled, battered, and hideous of visage, with a hare-lip and a
humpback; slovenly of dress, and always wearing an old grey hat without a
band to it; audacious, cruel, crafty, and licentious--such was Ernest
Mansfeld, whom some of his contemporaries spoke of as Ulysses Germanicus,
others as the new Attila, all as a scourge to the human race. The
cockneys of Paris called him "Machefer," and nurses long kept children
quiet by threatening them with that word. He was now enrolled on the
Protestant side, although at the moment serving Savoy against Spain in a
question purely personal. His armies, whether in Italy or in Germany,
were a miscellaneous collection of adventurers of high and low degree, of
all religions, of all countries, unfrocked priests and students, ruined
nobles, bankrupt citizens, street vagabonds--earliest type perhaps of the
horrible military vermin which were destined to feed so many years long
on the unfortunate dismembered carcass of Germany.

Many demands had been made upon the States for assistance to Savoy,--as
if they and they alone were to bear the brunt and pay the expense of all
the initiatory campaigns against Spain.

"We are much importuned," said the Advocate, "to do something for the
help of Savoy . . . . We wish and we implore that France, Great Britain,
the German princes, the Venetians, and the Swiss would join us in some
scheme of effective assistance. But we have enough on our shoulders at
this moment."

They had hardly money enough in their exchequer, admirably ordered as it
was, for enterprises so far from home when great Spanish armies were
permanently encamped on their border.

Partly to humour King James and partly from love of adventure, Count John
of Nassau had gone to Savoy at the head of a small well disciplined body
of troops furnished by the States.

"Make use of this piece of news," said Barneveld, communicating the fact
to Langerac, "opportunely and with discretion. Besides the wish to give
some contentment to the King of Great Britain, we consider it
inconsistent with good conscience and reasons of state to refuse help to
a great prince against oppression by those who mean to give the law to
everybody; especially as we have been so earnestly and frequently
importuned to do so."

And still the Spaniards and the League kept their hold on the duchies,
while their forces, their munitions, their accumulation of funds waged
hourly. The war of chicane was even more deadly than an actual campaign,
for when there was no positive fighting the whole world seemed against
the Republic. And the chicane was colossal.

"We cannot understand," said Barneveld, "why M. de Prevaulx is coming
here on special mission. When a treaty is signed and sealed, it only
remains to execute it. The Archduke says he is himself not known in the
treaty, and that nothing can be demanded of him in relation to it. This
he says in his letters to the King of Great Britain. M. de Refuge knows
best whether or not Marquis Spinola, Ottavio Visconti, Chancellor
Pecquius, and others, were employed in the negotiation by the Archduke.
We know very well here that the whole business was conducted by them. The
Archduke is willing to give a clean and sincere promise not to re-occupy,
and asks the same from the States. If he were empowered by the Emperor,
the King of Spain, and the League, and acted in such quality, something
might be done for the tranquillity of Germany. But he promises for
himself only, and Emperor, King, or League, may send any general to do
what they like to-morrow. What is to prevent it?

"And so My Lords the States, the Elector of Brandenburg, and others
interested are cheated and made fools of. And we are as much troubled by
these tricks as by armed force. Yes, more; for we know that great
enterprises are preparing this year against Germany and ourselves, that
all Neuburg's troops have been disbanded and re-enlisted under the
Spanish commanders, and that forces are levying not only in Italy and
Spain, but in Germany, Lorraine, Luxemburg, and Upper Burgundy, and that
Wesel has been stuffed full of gunpowder and other munitions, and very
strongly fortified."

For the States to agree to a treaty by which the disputed duchies should
be held jointly by the Princes of Neuburg and of Brandenburg, and the
territory be evacuated by all foreign troops; to look quietly on while
Neuburg converted himself to Catholicism, espoused the sister of
Maximilian of Bavaria, took a pension from Spain, resigned his claims in
favour of Spain, and transferred his army to Spain; and to expect that
Brandenburg and all interested in Brandenburg, that is to say, every
Protestant in Europe, should feel perfectly easy under such arrangement
and perfectly protected by the simple promise of a soldier of fortune
against Catholic aggression, was a fantastic folly hardly worthy of a
child. Yet the States were asked to accept this position, Brandenburg and
all Protestant Germany were asked to accept it, and Barneveld was howled
at by his allies as a marplot and mischief-maker, and denounced and
insulted by diplomatists daily, because he mercilessly tore away the
sophistries of the League and of the League's secret friend, James
Stuart.

The King of Spain had more than 100,000 men under arms, and was enlisting
more soldiers everywhere and every day, had just deposited 4,000,000
crowns with his Antwerp bankers for a secret purpose, and all the time
was exuberant in his assurances of peace. One would have thought that
there had never been negotiations in Bourbourg, that the Spanish Armada
had never sailed from Coruna.

"You are wise and prudent in France," said the Advocate, "but we are used
to Spanish proceedings, and from much disaster sustained are filled with
distrust. The King of England seems now to wish that the Archduke should
draw up a document according to his good pleasure, and that the States
should make an explanatory deed, which the King should sign also and ask
the King of France to do the same. But this is very hazardous.

"We do not mean to receive laws from the King of Spain, nor the Archduke
. . . . The Spanish proceedings do not indicate peace but war. One must
not take it ill of us that we think these matters of grave importance to
our friends and ourselves. Affairs have changed very much in the last
four months. The murder of the first vizier of the Turkish emperor and
his designs against Persia leave the Spanish king and the Emperor free
from attack in that quarter, and their armaments are far greater than
last year . . . . I cannot understand why the treaty of Xanten, formerly
so highly applauded, should now be so much disapproved. . . . The King of
Spain and the Emperor with their party have a vast design to give the law
to all Christendom, to choose a Roman king according to their will, to
reduce the Evangelical electors, princes, and estates of Germany to
obedience, to subject all Italy, and, having accomplished this, to
proceed to triumph over us and our allies, and by necessary consequence
over France and England. They say they have established the Emperor's
authority by means of Aachen and Mulheim, will soon have driven us out of
Julich, and have thus arranged matters entirely to their heart's content.
They can then, in name of the Emperor, the League, the Prince of Neuburg,
or any one else, make themselves in eight days masters of the places
which they are now imaginarily to leave as well as of those which we are
actually to surrender, and by possession of which we could hold out a
long time against all their power."

Those very places held by the States--Julich, Emmerich, and others--had
recently been fortified at much expense, under the superintendence of
Prince Maurice, and by advice of the Advocate. It would certainly be an
act of madness to surrender them on the terms proposed. These warnings
and forebodings of Barneveld sound in our ears like recorded history, yet
they were far earlier than the actual facts. And now to please the
English king, the States had listened to his suggestion that his name and
that of the King of France should be signed as mediators to a new
arrangement proposed in lieu of the Xanten treaty. James had suggested
this, Lewis had agreed to it. Yet before the ink had dried in James's
pen, he was proposing that the names of the mediating sovereigns should
be omitted from the document? And why? Because Gondemar was again
whispering in his ear. "They are renewing the negotiations in England,"
said the Advocate, "about the alliance between the Prince of Wales and
the second daughter of Spain; and the King of Great Britain is seriously
importuning us that the Archdukes and My Lords the States should make
their pledges 'impersonaliter' and not to the kings." James was also
willing that the name of the Emperor should appear upon it. To prevent
this, Barneveld would have had himself burned at the stake. It would be
an ignominious and unconditional surrender of the whole cause.

"The Archduke will never be contented," said the Advocate, "unless his
Majesty of Great Britain takes a royal resolution to bring him to reason.
That he tries to lay the fault on us is pure malice. We have been ready
and are still ready to execute the treaty of Xanten. The Archduke is the
cause of the dispute concerning the act. We approved the formularies of
their Majesties, and have changed them three times to suit the King of
Great Britain. Our Provincial States have been notified in the matter, so
that we can no longer digest the Spanish impudence, and are amazed that
his Majesty can listen any more to the Spanish ministers. We fear that
those ministers are working through many hands, in order by one means or
another to excite quarrels between his Majesty, us, and the respective
inhabitants of the two countries . . . . . Take every precaution that no
attempt be made there to bring the name of the Emperor into the act. This
would be contrary to their Majesties' first resolution, very prejudicial
to the Elector of Brandenburg, to the duchies, and to ourselves. And it
is indispensable that the promise be made to the two kings as mediators,
as much for their reputation and dignity as for the interests of the
Elector, the territories, and ourselves. Otherwise too the Spaniards will
triumph over us as if they had driven us by force of arms into this
promise."

The seat of war, at the opening of the apparently inevitable conflict
between the Catholic League and the Protestant Union, would be those
debateable duchies, those border provinces, the possession of which was
of such vital importance to each of the great contending parties, and the
populations of which, although much divided, were on the whole more
inclined to the League than to the Union. It was natural enough that the
Dutch statesman should chafe at the possibility of their being lost to
the Union through the adroitness of the Catholic managers and the
supineness of the great allies of the Republic.

Three weeks later than these last utterances of the Advocate, he was
given to understand that King James was preparing to slide away from the
position which had been three times changed to make it suitable for him.
His indignation was hot.

"Sir Henry Wotton," he said, "has communicated to me his last despatches
from Newmarket. I am in the highest degree amazed that after all our
efforts at accommodation, with so much sacrifice to the electors, the
provinces, and ourselves, they are trying to urge us there to consent
that the promise be not made to the Kings of France and Great Britain as
mediators, although the proposition came from the Spanish side. After we
had renounced, by desire of his Majesty, the right to refer the promise
to the Treaty of Xanten, it was judged by both kings to be needful and
substantial that the promise be made to their Majesties. To change this
now would be prejudicial to the kings, to the electors, the duchies, and
to our commonwealth; to do us a wrong and to leave us naked. France
maintains her position as becoming and necessary. That Great Britain
should swerve from it is not to be digested here. You will do your utmost
according to my previous instructions to prevent any pressure to this
end. You will also see that the name of the Emperor is mentioned neither
in the preamble nor the articles of the treaty. It would be contrary to
all our policy since 1610. You may be firmly convinced that malice is
lurking under the Emperor's name, and that he and the King of Spain and
their adherents, now as before, are attempting a sequestration. This is
simply a pretext to bring those principalities and provinces into the
hands of the Spaniards, for which they have been labouring these thirty
years. We are constantly cheated by these Spanish tricks. Their intention
is to hold Wesel and all the other places until the conclusion of the
Italian affair, and then to strike a great blow."

Certainly were never words more full of sound statesmanship, and of
prophecy too soon to be fulfilled, than these simple but pregnant
warnings. They awakened but little response from the English government
save cavils and teasing reminders that Wesel had been the cradle of
German Calvinism, the Rhenish Geneva, and that it was sinful to leave it
longer in the hands of Spain. As if the Advocate had not proved to
demonstration that to stock hands for a new deal at that moment was to
give up the game altogether.

His influence in France was always greater than in England, and this had
likewise been the case with William the Silent. And even now that the
Spanish matrimonial alliance was almost a settled matter at the French
court, while with the English king it was but a perpetual will-o'the-wisp
conducting to quagmires ineffable, the government at Paris sustained the
policy of the Advocate with tolerable fidelity, while it was constantly
and most capriciously traversed by James.

Barneveld sighed over these approaching nuptials, but did not yet
despair. "We hope that the Spanish-French marriages," he said, "may be
broken up of themselves; but we fear that if we should attempt to delay
or prevent them authoritatively, or in conjunction with others, the
effort would have the contrary effect."

In this certainly he was doomed to disappointment.

He had already notified the French court of the absolute necessity of the
great points to be insisted upon in the treaty, and there he found more
docility than in London or Newmarket.

All summer he was occupied with this most important matter, uttering
Cassandra-like warnings into ears wilfully deaf. The States had gone as
far as possible in concession. To go farther would be to wreck the great
cause upon the very quicksands which he had so ceaselessly pointed out.
"We hope that nothing further will be asked of us, no scruples be felt as
to our good intentions," he said, "and that if Spain and the Archdukes
are not ready now to fulfil the treaty, their Majesties will know how to
resent this trifling with their authority and dignity, and how to set
matters to rights with their own hands in the duchies. A new treaty,
still less a sequestration, is not to be thought of for a moment."

Yet the month of August came and still the names of the mediating kings
were not on the treaty, and still the spectre of sequestration had not
been laid. On the contrary, the peace of Asti, huddled up between Spain
and Savoy, to be soon broken again, had caused new and painful
apprehensions of an attempt at sequestration, for it was established by
several articles in that treaty that all questions between Savoy and
Mantua should be referred to the Emperor's decision. This precedent was
sure to be followed in the duchies if not resisted by force, as it had
been so successfully resisted five years before by the armies of the
States associated with those of France. Moreover the first step at
sequestration had been actually taken. The Emperor had peremptorily
summoned the Elector of Brandenburg and all other parties interested to
appear before him on the 1st of August in Prague. There could be but one
object in this citation, to drive Brandenburg and the States out of the
duchies until the Imperial decision as to the legitimate sovereignty
should be given. Neuburg being already disposed of and his claims ceded
to the Emperor, what possibility was there in such circumstances of
saving one scrap of the territory from the clutch of the League? None
certainly if the Republic faltered in its determination, and yielded to
the cowardly advice of James. "To comply with the summons," said
Barneveld, "and submit to its consequences will be an irreparable injury
to the electoral house of Brandenburg, to the duchies, and to our
co-religionists everywhere, and a very great disgrace to both their
Majesties and to us."

He continued, through the ambassador in London, to hold up to the King,
in respectful but plain language, the shamelessness of his conduct in
dispensing the enemy from his pledge to the mediators, when the Republic
expressly, in deference to James, had given up the ampler guarantees of
the treaty. The arrangement had been solemnly made, and consented to by
all the provinces, acting in their separate and sovereign capacity. Such
a radical change, even if it were otherwise permissible, could not be
made without long debates, consultations, and votes by the several
states. What could be more fatal at such a crisis than this childish and
causeless delay. There could be no doubt in any statesman's eyes that the
Spanish party meant war and a preparatory hoodwinking. And it was even
worse for the government of the Republic to be outwitted in diplomacy
than beaten in the field.

"Every man here," said the Advocate, "has more apprehension of fraud than
of force. According to the constitution of our state, to be overcome by
superior power must be endured, but to be overreached by trickery is a
reproach to the government."

The summer passed away. The States maintained their positions in the
duchies, notwithstanding the objurgations of James, and Barneveld
remained on his watch-tower observing every movement of the
fast-approaching war, and refusing at the price of the whole territory in
dispute to rescue Wesel and Aix-la-Chapelle from the grasp of the League.

Caron came to the Hague to have personal consultations with the
States-General, the Advocate, and Prince Maurice, and returned before the
close of the year. He had an audience of the King at the palace of
Whitehall early in November, and found him as immovable as ever in his
apathetic attitude in regard to the affairs of Germany. The murder of Sir
Thomas Overbury and the obscene scandals concerning the King's beloved
Carr and his notorious bride were then occupying the whole attention of
the monarch, so that he had not even time for theological lucubrations,
still less for affairs of state on which the peace of Christendom and the
fate of his own children were hanging.

The Ambassador found him sulky and dictatorial, but insisted on
expressing once more to him the apprehensions felt by the States-General
in regard to the trickery of the Spanish party in the matter of Cleve and
Julich. He assured his Majesty that they had no intention of maintaining
the Treaty of Xanten, and respectfully requested that the King would no
longer urge the States to surrender the places held by them. It was a
matter of vital importance to retain them, he said.

"Sir Henry Wotton told me," replied James, "that the States at his
arrival were assembled to deliberate on this matter, and he had no doubt
that they would take a resolution in conformity with my intention. Now I
see very well that you don't mean to give up the places. If I had known
that before, I should not have warned the Archduke so many times, which I
did at the desire of the States themselves. And now that the Archdukes
are ready to restore their cities, you insist on holding yours. That is
the dish you set before me."

And upon this James swore a mighty oath, and beat himself upon the
breast.

"Now and nevermore will I trouble myself about the States' affairs, come
what come will," he continued. "I have always been upright in my words
and my deeds, and I am not going to embark myself in a wicked war because
the States have plunged themselves into one so entirely unjust. Next
summer the Spaniard means to divide himself into two or three armies in
order to begin his enterprises in Germany."

Caron respectfully intimated that these enterprises would be most
conveniently carried on from the very advantageous positions which be
occupied in the duchies. "No," said the King, "he must restore them on
the same day on which you make your surrender, and he will hardly come
back in a hurry."

"Quite the contrary," said the Ambassador, "they will be back again in a
twinkling, and before we have the slightest warning of their intention."

But it signified not the least what Caron said. The King continued to
vociferate that the States had never had any intention of restoring the
cities.

"You mean to keep them for yourselves," he cried, "which is the greatest
injustice that could be perpetrated. You have no right to them, and they
belong to other people."

The Ambassador reminded him that the Elector of Brandenburg was well
satisfied that they should be occupied by the States for his greater
security and until the dispute should be concluded.

"And that will never be," said James; "never, never. The States are
powerful enough to carry on the war all alone and against all the world."

And so he went on, furiously reiterating the words with which he had
begun the conversation, "without accepting any reasons whatever in
payment," as poor Caron observed.

"It makes me very sad," said the Ambassador, "to find your Majesty so
impatient and so resolved. If the names of the kings are to be omitted
from the document, the Treaty of Xanten should at least be modified
accordingly."

"Nothing of the kind," said James; "I don't understand it so at all. I
speak plainly and without equivocation. It must be enough for the States
that I promise them, in case the enemy is cheating or is trying to play
any trick whatever, or is seeking to break the Treaty of Xanten in a
single point, to come to their assistance in person."

And again the warlike James swore a big oath and smote his breast,
affirming that he meant everything sincerely; that he cheated no one, but
always spoke his thoughts right on, clearly and uprightly.

It was certainly not a cheerful prospect for the States. Their chief ally
was determined that they should disarm, should strip themselves naked,
when the mightiest conspiracy against the religious freedom and
international independence of Europe ever imagined was perfecting itself
before their eyes, and when hostile armies, more numerous than ever
before known, were at their very door. To wait until the enemy was at
their throat, and then to rely upon a king who trembled at the sight of a
drawn sword, was hardly the highest statesmanship. Even if it had been
the chivalrous Henry instead of the pacific James that had held out the
promise of help, they would have been mad to follow such counsel.

The conversation lasted more than an hour. It was in vain that Caron
painted in dark colours the cruel deeds done by the Spaniards in Mulheim
and Aachen, and the proceedings of the Archbishop of Cologne in Rees. The
King was besotted, and no impression could be made upon him.

"At any rate," said the Envoy, "the arrangement cannot be concluded
without the King of France."

"What excuse is that?" said James. "Now that the King is entirely
Spanish, you are trying to excuse your delays by referring to him. You
have deferred rescuing the poor city of Wesel from the hands of the
Spaniard long enough. I am amazed to have heard never a word from you on
that subject since your departure. I had expressed my wish to you clearly
enough that you should inform the States of my intention to give them any
assurance they chose to demand."

Caron was much disappointed at the humour of his Majesty. Coming freshly
as he did from the council of the States, and almost from the seat of
war, he had hoped to convince and content him. But the King was very
angry with the States for putting him so completely in the wrong. He had
also been much annoyed at their having failed to notify him of their
military demonstration in the Electorate of Cologne to avenge the
cruelties practised upon the Protestants there. He asked Caron if he was
instructed to give him information regarding it. Being answered in the
negative, he said he had thought himself of sufficient importance to the
States and enough in their confidence to be apprised of their military
movements. It was for this, he said, that his ambassador sat in their
council. Caron expressed the opinion that warlike enterprises of the kind
should be kept as secret as possible in order to be successful. This the
King disputed, and loudly declared his vexation at being left in
ignorance of the matter. The Ambassador excused himself as well as he
could, on the ground that he had been in Zealand when the troops were
marching, but told the King his impression that they had been sent to
chastise the people of Cologne for their cruelty in burning and utterly
destroying the city of Mulheim.

"That is none of your affair," said the King.

"Pardon me, your Majesty," replied Caron, "they are our fellow
religionists, and some one at least ought to resent the cruelty practised
upon them."

The King admitted that the destruction of the city had been an
unheard--of cruelty, and then passed on to speak of the quarrel between
the Duke and City of Brunswick, and other matters. The interview ended,
and the Ambassador, very downhearted, went to confer with the Secretary
of State Sir Ralph Winwood, and Sir Henry Wotton.

He assured these gentlemen that without fully consulting the French
government these radical changes in the negotiations would never be
consented to by the States. Winwood promised to confer at once with the
French ambassador, admitting it to be impossible for the King to take up
this matter alone. He would also talk with the Archduke's ambassador next
day noon at dinner, who was about leaving for Brussels, and "he would put
something into his hand that he might take home with him."

"When he is fairly gone," said Caron, "it is to be hoped that the King's
head will no longer be so muddled about these things. I wish it with all
my heart."

It was a dismal prospect for the States. The one ally on whom they had a
right to depend, the ex-Calvinist and royal Defender of the Faith, in
this mortal combat of Protestantism with the League, was slipping out of
their grasp with distracting lubricity. On the other hand, the Most
Christian King, a boy of fourteen years, was still in the control of a
mother heart and soul with the League--so far as she had heart or
soul--was betrothed to the daughter of Spain, and saw his kingdom torn to
pieces and almost literally divided among themselves by rebellious
princes, who made use of the Spanish marriages as a pretext for unceasing
civil war.

The Queen-Mother was at that moment at Bordeaux, and an emissary from the
princes was in London. James had sent to offer his mediation between them
and the Queen. He was fond of mediation. He considered it his special
mission in the world to mediate. He imagined himself as looked up to by
the nations as the great arbitrator of Christendom, and was wont to issue
his decrees as if binding in force and infallible by nature. He had
protested vigorously against the Spanish-French marriages, and declared
that the princes were justified in formalizing an opposition to them, at
least until affairs in France were restored to something like order. He
warned the Queen against throwing the kingdom "into the combustion of war
without necessity," and declared that, if she would trust to his
guidance, she might make use of him as if her affairs were his own. An
indispensable condition for much assistance, however, would be that the
marriages should be put off.

As James was himself pursuing a Spanish marriage for his son as the chief
end and aim of his existence, there was something almost humorous in this
protest to the Queen-Dowager and in his encouragement of mutiny in France
in order to prevent a catastrophe there which he desired at home.

The same agent of the princes, de Monbaran by name, was also privately
accredited by them to the States with instructions to borrow 200,000
crowns of them if he could. But so long as the policy of the Republic was
directed by Barneveld, it was not very probable that, while maintaining
friendly and even intimate relations with the legitimate government, she
would enter into negotiations with rebels against it, whether princes or
plebeians, and oblige them with loans. "He will call on me soon, no
doubt," said Caron, "but being so well instructed as to your Mightinesses
intentions in this matter, I hope I shall keep him away from you."
Monbaran was accordingly kept away, but a few weeks later another
emissary of Conde and Bouillon made his appearance at the Hague, de
Valigny by name. He asked for money and for soldiers to reinforce
Bouillon's city of Sedan, but he was refused an audience of the
States-General. Even the martial ardour of Maurice and his sympathy for
his relatives were cooled by this direct assault on his pocket. "The
Prince," wrote the French ambassador, du Maurier, "will not furnish him
or his adherents a thousand crowns, not if they had death between their
teeth. Those who think it do not know how he loves his money."

In the very last days of the year (1615) Caron had another interview with
the King in which James was very benignant. He told the Ambassador that
he should wish the States to send him some special commissioners to make
a new treaty with him, and to treat of all unsettled affairs which were
daily arising between the inhabitants of the respective countries. He
wished to make a firmer union and accord between Great Britain and the
Netherlands. He was very desirous of this, "because," said he, "if we can
unite with and understand each other, we have under God no one what ever
to fear, however mighty they may be."

Caron duly notified Barneveld of these enthusiastic expressions of his
Majesty. The Advocate too was most desirous of settling the troublesome
questions about the cloth trade, the piracies, and other matters, and was
in favour of the special commission. In regard to a new treaty of
alliance thus loosely and vaguely suggested, he was not so sanguine
however. He had too much difficulty in enforcing the interests of
Protestantism in the duchies against the infatuation of James in regard
to Spain, and he was too well aware of the Spanish marriage delusion,
which was the key to the King's whole policy, to put much faith in these
casual outbursts of eternal friendship with the States. He contented
himself therefore with cautioning Caron to pause before committing
himself to any such projects. He had frequently instructed him, however,
to bring the disputed questions to his Majesty's notice as often as
possible with a view to amicable arrangement.

This preventive policy in regard to France was highly approved by
Barneveld, who was willing to share in the blame profusely heaped upon
such sincere patriots and devoted Protestants as Duplessis-Mornay and
others, who saw small advantage to the great cause from a mutiny against
established government, bad as it was, led by such intriguers as Conde
and Bouillon. Men who had recently been in the pay of Spain, and one of
whom had been cognizant of Biron's plot against the throne and life of
Henry IV., to whom sedition was native atmosphere and daily bread, were
not likely to establish a much more wholesome administration than that of
Mary de' Medici. Prince Maurice sympathized with his relatives by
marriage, who were leading the civil commotions in France and
endeavouring to obtain funds in the Netherlands. It is needless to say
that Francis Aerssens was deep in their intrigues, and feeding full the
grudge which the Stadholder already bore the Advocate for his policy on
this occasion.

The Advocate thought it best to wait until the young king should himself
rise in mutiny against his mother and her minions. Perhaps the downfall
of the Concini's and their dowager and the escape of Lewis from thraldom
might not be so distant as it seemed. Meantime this was the legal
government, bound to the States by treaties of friendship and alliance,
and it would be a poor return for the many favours and the constant aid
bestowed by Henry IV. on the Republic, and an imbecile mode of avenging
his murder to help throw his kingdom into bloodshed and confusion before
his son was able to act for himself. At the same time he did his best to
cultivate amicable relations with the princes, while scrupulously
abstaining from any sympathy with their movements. "If the Prince and the
other gentlemen come to court," he wrote to Langerac, "you will treat
them with all possible caresses so far as can be done without disrespect
to the government."

While the British court was occupied with the foul details of the
Overbury murder and its consequences, a crime of a more commonplace
nature, but perhaps not entirely without influence on great political
events, had startled the citizens of the Hague. It was committed in the
apartments of the Stadholder and almost under his very eyes. A jeweller
of Amsterdam, one John van Wely, had come to the court of Maurice to lay
before him a choice collection of rare jewellery. In his caskets were
rubies and diamonds to the value of more than 100,000 florins, which
would be the equivalent of perhaps ten times as much to-day. In the
Prince's absence the merchant was received by a confidential groom of the
chambers, John of Paris by name, and by him, with the aid of a third
John, a soldier of his Excellency's guard, called Jean de la Vigne,
murdered on the spot. The deed was done in the Prince's private study.
The unfortunate jeweller was shot, and to make sure was strangled with
the blue riband of the Order of the Garter recently conferred upon
Maurice, and which happened to be lying conspicuously in the room.

The ruffians had barely time to take possession of the booty, to thrust
the body behind the tapestry of the chamber, and to remove the more
startling evidences of the crime, when the Prince arrived. He supped soon
afterwards in the same room, the murdered jeweller still lying behind the
arras. In the night the valet and soldier carried the corpse away from
the room, down the stairs, and through the great courtyard, where,
strange to say, no sentinels were on duty, and threw it into an ashpit.

A deed so bloody, audacious, and stupid was of course soon discovered and
the murderers arrested and executed. Nothing would remove the incident
from the catalogue of vulgar crimes, or even entitle it to a place in
history save a single circumstance. The celebrated divine John
Uytenbogaert, leader among the Arminians, devoted friend of Barneveld,
and up to that moment the favorite preacher of Maurice, stigmatized
indeed, as we have seen, by the orthodox as "Court Trumpeter," was
requested by the Prince to prepare the chief criminal for death. He did
so, and from that day forth the Stadholder ceased to be his friend,
although regularly listening to his preaching in the French chapel of the
court for more than a year longer. Some time afterwards the Advocate
informed Uytenbogaert that the Prince was very much embittered against
him. "I knew it well," says the clergyman in his memoirs, "but not the
reasons for it, nor do I exactly comprehend them to this day. Truly I
have some ideas relating to certain things which I was obliged to do in
discharge of my official duty, but I will not insist upon them, nor will
I reveal them to any man."

These were mysterious words, and the mystery is said to have been
explained; for it would seem that the eminent preacher was not so
entirely reticent among his confidential friends as before the public.
Uytenbogaert--so ran the tale--in the course of his conversation with the
condemned murderer, John of Paris, expressed a natural surprise that
there should have been no soldiers on guard in the court on the evening
when the crime was committed and the body subsequently removed. The valet
informed him that he had for a long time been empowered by the Prince to
withdraw the sentinels from that station, and that they had been
instructed to obey his orders--Maurice not caring that they should be
witnesses to the equivocal kind of female society that John of Paris was
in the habit of introducing of an evening to his master's apartments. The
valet had made use of this privilege on the night in question to rid
himself of the soldiers who would have been otherwise on guard.

The preacher felt it his duty to communicate these statements to the
Prince, and to make perhaps a somewhat severe comment upon them. Maurice
received the information sullenly, and, as soon as Uytenbogaert was gone,
fell into a violent passion, throwing his hat upon the floor, stamping
upon it, refusing to eat his supper, and allowing no one to speak to him.
Next day some courtiers asked the clergyman what in the world he had been
saying to the Stadholder.

From that time forth his former partiality for the divine, on whose
preaching he had been a regular attendant, was changed to hatred; a
sentiment which lent a lurid colour to subsequent events.

The attempts of the Spanish party by chicane or by force to get
possession of the coveted territories continued year after year, and were
steadily thwarted by the watchfulness of the States under guidance of
Barneveld. The martial stadholder was more than ever for open war, in
which he was opposed by the Advocate, whose object was to postpone and,
if possible, to avert altogether the dread catastrophe which he foresaw
impending over Europe. The Xanten arrangement seemed hopelessly thrown to
the winds, nor was it destined to be carried out; the whole question of
sovereignty and of mastership in those territories being swept
subsequently into the general whirlpool of the Thirty Years' War. So long
as there was a possibility of settlement upon that basis, the Advocate
was in favour of settlement, but to give up the guarantees and play into
the hands of the Catholic League was in his mind to make the Republic one
of the conspirators against the liberties of Christendom.

"Spain, the Emperor and the rest of them," said he, "make all three modes
of pacification--the treaty, the guarantee by the mediating kings, the
administration divided between the possessory princes--alike impossible.
They mean, under pretext of sequestration, to make themselves absolute
masters there. I have no doubt that Villeroy means sincerely, and
understands the matter, but meantime we sit by the fire and burn. If the
conflagration is neglected, all the world will throw the blame on us."

Thus the Spaniards continued to amuse the British king with assurances of
their frank desire to leave those fortresses and territories which they
really meant to hold till the crack of doom. And while Gondemar was
making these ingenuous assertions in London, his colleagues at Paris and
at Brussels distinctly and openly declared that there was no authority
whatever for them, that the Ambassador had received no such instructions,
and that there was no thought of giving up Wesel or any other of the
Protestant strongholds captured, whether in the duchies or out of them.
And Gondemar, still more to keep that monarch in subjection, had been
unusually flattering in regard to the Spanish marriage. "We are in great
alarm here," said the Advocate, "at the tidings that the projected
alliance of the Prince of Wales with the daughter of Spain is to be
renewed; from which nothing good for his Majesty's person, his kingdom,
nor for our state can be presaged. We live in hope that it will never
be."

But the other marriage was made. Despite the protest of James, the
forebodings of Barneveld, and the mutiny of the princes, the youthful
king of France had espoused Anne of Austria early in the year 1616. The
British king did his best to keep on terms with France and Spain, and by
no means renounced his own hopes. At the same time, while fixed as ever
in his approbation of the policy pursued by the Emperor and the League,
and as deeply convinced of their artlessness in regard to the duchies,
the Protestant princes of Germany, and the Republic, he manifested more
cordiality than usual in his relations with the States. Minor questions
between the countries he was desirous of arranging--so far as matters of
state could be arranged by orations--and among the most pressing of these
affairs were the systematic piracy existing and encouraged in English
ports, to the great damage of all seafaring nations and to the Hollanders
most of all, and the quarrel about the exportation of undyed cloths,
which had almost caused a total cessation of the woollen trade between
the two countries. The English, to encourage their own artisans, had
forbidden the export of undyed cloths, and the Dutch had retorted by
prohibiting the import of dyed ones.

The King had good sense enough to see the absurdity of this condition of
things, and it will be remembered that Barneveld had frequently urged
upon the Dutch ambassador to bring his Majesty's attention to these
dangerous disputes. Now that the recovery of the cautionary towns had
been so dexterously and amicably accomplished, and at so cheap a rate, it
seemed a propitious moment to proceed to a general extinction of what
would now be called "burning questions."

James was desirous that new high commissioners might be sent from the
States to confer with himself and his ministers upon the subjects just
indicated, as well as upon the fishery questions as regarded both
Greenland and Scotland, and upon the general affairs of India.

He was convinced, he said to Caron, that the sea had become more and more
unsafe and so full of freebooters that the like was never seen or heard
of before. It will be remembered that the Advocate had recently called
his attention to the fact that the Dutch merchants had lost in two months
800,000 florins' worth of goods by English pirates.

The King now assured the Ambassador of his intention of equipping a fleet
out of hand and to send it forth as speedily as possible under command of
a distinguished nobleman, who would put his honour and credit in a
successful expedition, without any connivance or dissimulation whatever.
In order thoroughly to scour these pirates from the seas, he expressed
the hope that their Mightinesses the States would do the same either
jointly or separately as they thought most advisable. Caron bluntly
replied that the States had already ten or twelve war-ships at sea for
this purpose, but that unfortunately, instead of finding any help from
the English in this regard, they had always found the pirates favoured in
his Majesty's ports, especially in Ireland and Wales.

"Thus they have so increased in numbers," continued the Ambassador, "that
I quite believe what your Majesty says, that not a ship can pass with
safety over the seas. More over, your Majesty has been graciously pleased
to pardon several of these corsairs, in consequence of which they have
become so impudent as to swarm everywhere, even in the river Thames,
where they are perpetually pillaging honest merchantmen."

"I confess," said the King, "to having pardoned a certain Manning, but
this was for the sake of his old father, and I never did anything so
unwillingly in my life. But I swear that if it were the best nobleman in
England, I would never grant one of them a pardon again."

Caron expressed his joy at hearing such good intentions on the part of
his Majesty, and assured him that the States-General would be equally
delighted.

In the course of the summer the Dutch ambassador had many opportunities
of seeing the King very confidentially, James having given him the use of
the royal park at Bayscot, so that during the royal visits to that place
Caron was lodged under his roof.

On the whole, James had much regard and respect for Noel de Caron. He
knew him to be able, although he thought him tiresome. It is amusing to
observe the King and Ambassador in their utterances to confidential
friends each frequently making the charge of tediousness against the
other. "Caron's general education," said James on one occasion to Cecil,
"cannot amend his native German prolixity, for had I not interrupted him,
it had been tomorrow morning before I had begun to speak. God preserve me
from hearing a cause debated between Don Diego and him! . . . But in
truth it is good dealing with so wise and honest a man, although he be
somewhat longsome."

Subsequently James came to Whitehall for a time, and then stopped at
Theobalds for a few days on his way to Newmarket, where he stayed until
Christmas. At Theobalds he sent again for the Ambassador, saying that at
Whitehall he was so broken down with affairs that it would be impossible
to live if he stayed there.

He asked if the States were soon to send the commissioners, according to
his request, to confer in regard to the cloth-trade. Without interference
of the two governments, he said, the matter would never be settled. The
merchants of the two countries would never agree except under higher
authority.

"I have heard both parties," he said, "the new and the old companies, two
or three times in full council, and tried to bring them to an agreement,
but it won't do. I have heard that My Lords the States have been hearing
both sides, English and the Hollanders, over and over again, and that the
States have passed a provisional resolution, which however does not suit
us. Now it is not reasonable, as we are allies, that our merchants should
be obliged to send their cloths roundabout, not being allowed either to
sell them in the United Provinces or to pass them through your
territories. I wish I could talk with them myself, for I am certain, if
they would send some one here, we could make an agreement. It is not
necessary that one should take everything from them, or that one should
refuse everything to us. I am sure there are people of sense in your
assembly who will justify me in favouring my own people so far as I
reasonably can, and I know very well that My Lords the States must stand
up for their own citizens. If we have been driving this matter to an
extreme and see that we are ruining each other, we must take it up again
in other fashion, for Yesterday is the preceptor of To-morrow. Let the
commissioners come as soon as possible. I know they have complaints to
make, and I have my complaints also. Therefore we must listen to each
other, for I protest before God that I consider the community of your
state with mine to be so entire that, if one goes to perdition, the other
must quickly follow it."

Thus spoke James, like a wise and thoughtful sovereign interested in the
welfare of his subjects and allies, with enlightened ideas for the time
upon public economy. It is difficult, in the man conversing thus amicably
and sensibly with the Dutch ambassador, to realise the shrill pedant
shrieking against Vorstius, the crapulous comrade of Carrs and Steenies,
the fawning solicitor of Spanish marriages, the "pepperer" and hangman of
Puritans, the butt and dupe of Gondemar and Spinola.

"I protest," he said further, "that I seek nothing in your state but all
possible friendship and good fellowship. My own subjects complain
sometimes that your people follow too closely on their heels, and confess
that your industry goes far above their own. If this be so, it is a lean
kind of reproach; for the English should rather study to follow you.
Nevertheless, when industry is directed by malice, each may easily be
attempting to snap an advantage from the other. I have sometimes
complained of many other things in which my subjects suffered great
injustice from you, but all that is excusable. I will willingly listen to
your people and grant them to be in the right when they are so. But I
will never allow them to be in the right when they mistrust me. If I had
been like many other princes, I should never have let the advantage of
the cautionary towns slip out of my fingers, but rather by means of them
attempted to get even a stronger hold on your country. I have had plenty
of warnings from great statesmen in France, Germany, and other nations
that I ought to give them up nevermore. Yet you know how frankly and
sincerely I acquitted myself in that matter without ever making
pretensions upon your state than the pretensions I still make to your
friendship and co-operation."

James, after this allusion to an important transaction to be explained in
the next chapter, then made an observation or two on a subject which was
rapidly overtopping all others in importance to the States, and his
expressions were singularly at variance with his last utterances in that
regard. "I tell you," he said, "that you have no right to mistrust me in
anything, not even in the matter of religion. I grieve indeed to hear
that your religious troubles continue. You know that in the beginning I
occupied myself with this affair, but fearing that my course might be
misunderstood, and that it might be supposed that I was seeking to
exercise authority in your republic, I gave it up, and I will never
interfere with the matter again, but will ever pray God that he may give
you a happy issue out of these troubles."

Alas! if the King had always kept himself on that height of amiable
neutrality, if he had been able to govern himself in the future by these
simplest principles of reason and justice, there might have been perhaps
a happier issue from the troubles than time was like to reveal.

Once more James referred to the crisis pending in German affairs, and as
usual spoke of the Clove and Julich question as if it were a simple
matter to be settled by a few strokes of the pen and a pennyworth of
sealing-wax, instead of being the opening act in a vast tragedy, of which
neither he, nor Carom nor Barneveld, nor Prince Maurice, nor the youthful
king of France, nor Philip, nor Matthias, nor any of the men now foremost
in the conduct of affairs, was destined to see the end.

The King informed Caron that he had just received most satisfactory
assurances from the Spanish ambassador in his last audience at Whitehall.

"He has announced to me on the part of the King his master with great
compliments that his Majesty seeks to please me and satisfy me in
everything that I could possibly desire of him," said James, rolling over
with satisfaction these unctuous phrases as if they really had any
meaning whatever.

"His Majesty says further," added the King, "that as he has been at
various times admonished by me, and is daily admonished by other princes,
that he ought to execute the treaty of Xanten by surrendering the city of
Wesel and all other places occupied by Spinola, he now declares himself
ready to carry out that treaty in every point. He will accordingly
instruct the Archduke to do this, provided the Margrave of Brandenburg
and the States will do the same in regard to their captured places. As he
understands however that the States have been fortifying Julich even as
he might fortify Wesel, he would be glad that no innovation be made
before the end of the coming month of March. When this term shall have
expired, he will no longer be bound by these offers, but will proceed to
fortify Wesel and the other places, and to hold them as he best may for
himself. Respect for me has alone induced his Majesty to make this
resolution."

We have already seen that the Spanish ambassador in Paris was at this
very time loudly declaring that his colleague in London had no commission
whatever to make these propositions. Nor when they were in the slightest
degree analysed, did they appear after all to be much better than
threats. Not a word was said of guarantees. The names of the two kings
were not mentioned. It was nothing but Albert and Spinola then as always,
and a recommendation that Brandenburg and the States and all the
Protestant princes of Germany should trust to the candour of the Catholic
League. Caron pointed out to the King that in these proposals there were
no guarantees nor even promises that the fortresses would not be
reoccupied at convenience of the Spaniards. He engaged however to report
the whole statement to his masters. A few weeks afterwards the Advocate
replied in his usual vein, reminding the King through the Ambassador that
the Republic feared fraud on the part of the League much more than force.
He also laid stress on the affairs of Italy, considering the fate of
Savoy and the conflicts in which Venice was engaged as components of a
general scheme. The States had been much solicited, as we have seen, to
render assistance to the Duke of Savoy, the temporary peace of Asti being
already broken, and Barneveld had been unceasing in his efforts to arouse
France as well as England to the danger to themselves and to all
Christendom should Savoy be crushed. We shall have occasion to see the
prominent part reserved to Savoy in the fast opening debate in Germany.
Meantime the States had sent one Count of Nassau with a couple of
companies to Charles Emmanuel, while another (Ernest) had just gone to
Venice at the head of more than three thousand adventurers. With so many
powerful armies at their throats, as Barneveld had more than once
observed, it was not easy for them to despatch large forces to the other
end of Europe, but he justly reminded his allies that the States were now
rendering more effective help to the common cause by holding great
Spanish armies in check on their own frontier than if they assumed a more
aggressive line in the south. The Advocate, like every statesman worthy
of the name, was accustomed to sweep the whole horizon in his
consideration of public policy, and it will be observed that he always
regarded various and apparently distinct and isolated movements in
different parts of Europe as parts of one great whole. It is easy enough
for us, centuries after the record has been made up, to observe the
gradual and, as it were, harmonious manner in which the great Catholic
conspiracy against the liberties of Europe was unfolded in an ever
widening sphere. But to the eyes of contemporaries all was then misty and
chaotic, and it required the keen vision of a sage and a prophet to
discern the awful shape which the future might assume. Absorbed in the
contemplation of these portentous phenomena, it was not unnatural that
the Advocate should attach less significance to perturbations nearer
home. Devoted as was his life to save the great European cause of
Protestantism, in which he considered political and religious liberty
bound up, from the absolute extinction with which it was menaced, he
neglected too much the furious hatreds growing up among Protestants
within the narrow limits of his own province. He was destined one day to
be rudely awakened. Meantime he was occupied with organizing a general
defence of Italy, Germany, France, and England, as well as the
Netherlands, against the designs of Spain and the League.

"We wish to know," he said in answer to the affectionate messages and
fine promises of the King of Spain to James as reported by Caron, "what
his Majesty of Great Britain has done, is doing, and is resolved to do
for the Duke of Savoy and the Republic of Venice. If they ask you what we
are doing, answer that we with our forces and vigour are keeping off from
the throats of Savoy and Venice 2000 riders and 10,000 infantry, with
which forces, let alone their experience, more would be accomplished than
with four times the number of new troops brought to the field in Italy.
This is our succour, a great one and a very costly one, for the expense
of maintaining our armies to hold the enemy in check here is very great."

He alluded with his usual respectful and quiet scorn to the arrangements
by which James so wilfully allowed himself to be deceived.

"If the Spaniard really leaves the duchies," he said, "it is a grave
matter to decide whether on the one side he is not resolved by that means
to win more over us and the Elector of Brandenburg in the debateable land
in a few days than he could gain by force in many years, or on the other
whether by it he does not intend despatching 1200 or 1500 cavalry and
5000 or 6000 foot, all his most experienced soldiers, from the
Netherlands to Italy, in order to give the law at his pleasure to the
Duke of Savoy and the Republic of Venice, reserving his attack upon
Germany and ourselves to the last. The Spaniards, standing under a
monarchical government, can in one hour resolve to seize to-morrow all
that they and we may abandon to-day. And they can carry such a resolution
into effect at once. Our form of government does not permit this, so that
our republic must be conserved by distrust and good garrisons."

Thus during this long period of half hostilities Barneveld, while
sincerely seeking to preserve the peace in Europe, was determined, if
possible, that the Republic should maintain the strongest defensive
position when the war which he foreboded should actually begin. Maurice
and the war party had blamed him for the obstacles which he interposed to
the outbreak of hostilities, while the British court, as we have seen,
was perpetually urging him to abate from his demands and abandon both the
well strengthened fortresses in the duchies and that strong citadel of
distrust which in his often repeated language he was determined never to
surrender. Spinola and the military party of Spain, while preaching
peace, had been in truth most anxious for fighting. "The only honour I
desire henceforth," said that great commander, "is to give battle to
Prince Maurice." The generals were more anxious than the governments to
make use of the splendid armies arrayed against each other in such
proximity that, the signal for conflict not having been given, it was not
uncommon for the soldiers of the respective camps to aid each other in
unloading munition waggons, exchanging provisions and other articles of
necessity, and performing other small acts of mutual service.

But heavy thunder clouds hanging over the earth so long and so closely
might burst into explosion at any moment. Had it not been for the
distracted condition of France, the infatuation of the English king, and
the astounding inertness of the princes of the German Union, great
advantages might have been gained by the Protestant party before the
storm should break. But, as the French ambassador at the Hague well
observed, "the great Protestant Union of Germany sat with folded arms
while Hannibal was at their gate, the princes of which it was composed
amusing themselves with staring at each other. It was verifying," he
continued, bitterly, "the saying of the Duke of Alva, 'Germany is an old
dog which still can bark, but has lost its teeth to bite with.'"

To such imbecility had that noble and gifted people--which had never been
organized into a nation since it crushed the Roman empire and established
a new civilization on its ruins, and was to wait centuries longer until
it should reconstruct itself into a whole--been reduced by subdivision,
disintegration, the perpetual dissolvent of religious dispute, and the
selfish policy of infinitesimal dynasties.



CHAPTER XII.

   James still presses for the Payment of the Dutch Republic's Debt to
   him--A Compromise effected, with Restitution of the Cautionary
   Towns--Treaty of Loudun--James's Dream of a Spanish Marriage
   revives--James visits Scotland--The States-General agree to furnish
   Money and Troops in fulfilment of the Treaty of 1609--Death of
   Concini--Villeroy returns to Power.

Besides matters of predestination there were other subjects political and
personal which increased the King's jealousy and hatred. The debt of the
Republic to the British crown, secured by mortgage of the important
sea-ports and fortified towns of Flushing, Brielle, Rammekens, and other
strong places, still existed. The possession of those places by England
was a constant danger and irritation to the States. It was an axe
perpetually held over their heads. It threatened their sovereignty, their
very existence. On more than one occasion, in foreign courts, the
representatives of the Netherlands had been exposed to the taunt that the
Republic was after all not an independent power, but a British province.
The gibe had always been repelled in a manner becoming the envoys of a
proud commonwealth; yet it was sufficiently galling that English
garrisons should continue to hold Dutch towns; one of them among the most
valuable seaports of the Republic,--the other the very cradle of its
independence, the seizure of which in Alva's days had always been
reckoned a splendid achievement. Moreover, by the fifth article of the
treaty of peace between James and Philip III., although the King had
declared himself bound by the treaties made by Elizabeth to deliver up
the cautionary towns to no one but the United States, he promised Spain
to allow those States a reasonable time to make peace with the Archdukes
on satisfactory conditions. Should they refuse to do so, he held himself
bound by no obligations to them, and would deal with the cities as he
thought proper, and as the Archdukes themselves might deem just.

The King had always been furious at "the huge sum of money to be
advanced, nay, given, to the States," as he phrased it. "It is so far out
of all square," he had said, "as on my conscience I cannot think that
ever they craved it 'animo obtinendi,' but only by that objection to
discourage me from any thought of getting any repayment of my debts from
them when they shall be in peace. . . . Should I ruin myself for
maintaining them? Should I bestow as much on them as cometh to the value
of my whole yearly rent?" He had proceeded to say very plainly that, if
the States did not make great speed to pay him all his debt so soon as
peace was established, he should treat their pretence at independence
with contempt, and propose dividing their territory between himself and
the King of France.

"If they be so weak as they cannot subsist either in peace or war," he
said, "without I ruin myself for upholding them, in that case surely
'minus malunv est eligendum,' the nearest harm is first to be eschewed, a
man will leap out of a burning ship and drown himself in the sea; and it
is doubtless a farther off harm for me to suffer them to fall again in
the hands of Spain, and let God provide for the danger that may with time
fall upon me or my posterity than presently to starve myself and mine
with putting the meat in their mouth. Nay, rather if they be so weak as
they can neither sustain themselves in peace nor war, let them leave this
vainglorious thirsting for the title of a free state (which no people are
worthy or able to enjoy that cannot stand by themselves like
substantives), and 'dividantur inter nos;' I mean, let their countries be
divided between France and me, otherwise the King of Spain shall be sure
to consume us."

Such were the eyes with which James had always regarded the great
commonwealth of which he affected to be the ally, while secretly aspiring
to be its sovereign, and such was his capacity to calculate political
forces and comprehend coming events.

Certainly the sword was hanging by a thread. The States had made no peace
either with the Archdukes or with Spain. They had made a truce, half the
term of which had already run by. At any moment the keys of their very
house-door might be placed in the hands of their arch enemy. Treacherous
and base as the deed would be, it might be defended by the letter of a
treaty in which the Republic had no part; and was there anything too
treacherous or too base to be dreaded from James Stuart?

But the States owed the crown of England eight millions of florins,
equivalent to about L750,000. Where was this vast sum to be found? It was
clearly impossible for the States to beg or to borrow it, although they
were nearly as rich as any of the leading powers at that day.

It was the merit of Barneveld, not only that he saw the chance for a good
bargain, but that he fully comprehended a great danger. Years long James
had pursued the phantom of a Spanish marriage for his son. To achieve
this mighty object, he had perverted the whole policy of the realm; he
had grovelled to those who despised him, had repaid attempts at wholesale
assassination with boundless sycophancy. It is difficult to imagine
anything more abject than the attitude of James towards Philip. Prince
Henry was dead, but Charles had now become Prince of Wales in his turn,
and there was a younger infanta whose hand was not yet disposed of.

So long as the possible prize of a Most Catholic princess was dangling
before the eyes of the royal champion of Protestantism, so long there was
danger that the Netherlanders might wake up some fine morning and see the
flag of Spain waving over the walls of Flushing, Brielle, and Rammekens.

It was in the interest of Spain too that the envoys of James at the Hague
were perpetually goading Barneveld to cause the States' troops to be
withdrawn from the duchies and the illusory treaty of Xanten to be
executed. Instead of an eighth province added to the free Netherlands,
the result of such a procedure would have been to place that territory
enveloping them in the hands of the enemy; to strengthen and sharpen the
claws, as the Advocate had called them, by which Spain was seeking to
clutch and to destroy the Republic.

The Advocate steadily refused to countenance such policy in the duchies,
and he resolved on a sudden stroke to relieve the Commonwealth from the
incubus of the English mortgage.

James was desperately pushed for money. His minions, as insatiable in
their demands on English wealth as the parasites who fed on the
Queen-Regent were exhaustive of the French exchequer, were greedier than
ever now that James, who feared to face a parliament disgusted with the
meanness of his policy and depravity of his life, could not be relied
upon to minister to their wants.

The Advocate judiciously contrived that the proposal of a compromise
should come from the English government. Noel de Caron, the veteran
ambassador of the States in London, after receiving certain proposals,
offered, under instructions' from Barneveld, to pay L250,000 in full of
all demands. It was made to appear that the additional L250,000 was in
reality in advance of his instructions. The mouths of the minions watered
at the mention of so magnificent a sum of money in one lump.

The bargain was struck. On the 11th June 1616, Sir Robert Sidney, who had
become Lord Lisle, gave over the city of Flushing to the States,
represented by the Seignior van Maldere, while Sir Horace Vere placed the
important town of Brielle in the hands of the Seignior van Mathenesse.
According to the terms of the bargain, the English garrisons were
converted into two regiments, respectively to be commanded by Lord
Lisle's son, now Sir Robert Sidney, and by Sir Horace Vere, and were to
serve the States. Lisle, who had been in the Netherlands since the days
of his uncle Leicester and his brother Sir Philip Sidney, now took his
final departure for England.

Thus this ancient burthen had been taken off the Republic by the masterly
policy of the Advocate. A great source of dread for foreign complication
was closed for ever.

The French-Spanish marriages had been made. Henry IV. had not been
murdered in vain. Conde and his confederates had issued their manifesto.
A crisis came to the States, for Maurice, always inclined to take part
for the princes, and urged on by Aerssens, who was inspired by a deadly
hatred for the French government ever since they had insisted on his
dismissal from his post, and who fed the Stadholder's growing jealousy of
the Advocate to the full, was at times almost ready for joining in the
conflict. It was most difficult for the States-General, led by Barneveld,
to maintain relations of amity with a government controlled by Spain,
governed by the Concini's, and wafted to and fro by every wind that blew.
Still it was the government, and the States might soon be called upon, in
virtue of their treaties with Henry, confirmed by Mary de' Medici, not
only to prevent the daily desertion of officers and soldiers of the
French regiments to the rebellious party, but to send the regiments
themselves to the assistance of the King and Queen.

There could be no doubt that the alliance of the French Huguenots at
Grenoble with the princes made the position of the States very critical.
Bouillon was loud in his demands upon Maurice and the States for money
and reinforcements, but the Prince fortunately understood the character
of the Duke and of Conde, and comprehended the nature of French politics
too clearly to be led into extremities by passion or by pique. He said
loudly to any one that chose to listen:

"It is not necessary to ruin the son in order to avenge the death of the
father. That should be left to the son, who alone has legitimate
authority to do it." Nothing could be more sensible, and the remark
almost indicated a belief on the Prince's part in Mary's complicity in
the murder of her husband. Duplessis-Mornay was in despair, and, like all
true patriots and men of earnest character, felt it almost an
impossibility to choose between the two ignoble parties contending for
the possession of France, and both secretly encouraged by France's deadly
enemy.

The Treaty of Loudun followed, a treaty which, said du Maurier, had about
as many negotiators as there were individuals interested in the
arrangements. The rebels were forgiven, Conde sold himself out for a
million and a half livres and the presidency of the council, came to
court, and paraded himself in greater pomp and appearance of power than
ever. Four months afterwards he was arrested and imprisoned. He submitted
like a lamb, and offered to betray his confederates.

King James, faithful to his self-imposed part of mediator-general, which
he thought so well became him, had been busy in bringing about this
pacification, and had considered it eminently successful. He was now
angry at this unexpected result. He admitted that Conde had indulged in
certain follies and extravagancies, but these in his opinion all came out
of the quiver of the Spaniard, "who was the head of the whole intrigue."
He determined to recall Lord Hayes from Madrid and even Sir Thomas
Edmonds from Paris, so great was his indignation. But his wrath was
likely to cool under the soothing communications of Gondemar, and the
rumour of the marriage of the second infanta with the Prince of Wales
soon afterwards started into new life. "We hope," wrote Barneveld, "that
the alliance of his Highness the Prince of Wales with the daughter of the
Spanish king will make no further progress, as it will place us in the
deepest embarrassment and pain."

For the reports had been so rife at the English court in regard to this
dangerous scheme that Caron had stoutly gone to the King and asked him
what he was to think about it. "The King told me," said the Ambassador,
"that there was nothing at all in it, nor any appearance that anything
ever would come of it. It was true, he said, that on the overtures made
to him by the Spanish ambassador he had ordered his minister in Spain to
listen to what they had to say, and not to bear himself as if the
overtures would be rejected."

The coyness thus affected by James could hardly impose on so astute a
diplomatist as Noel de Caron, and the effect produced upon the policy of
one of the Republic's chief allies by the Spanish marriages naturally
made her statesmen shudder at the prospect of their other powerful friend
coming thus under the malign influence of Spain.

"He assured me, however," said the Envoy, "that the Spaniard is not
sincere in the matter, and that he has himself become so far alienated
from the scheme that we may sleep quietly upon it." And James appeared at
that moment so vexed at the turn affairs were taking in France, so
wounded in his self-love, and so bewildered by the ubiquitous nature of
nets and pitfalls spreading over Europe by Spain, that he really seemed
waking from his delusion. Even Caron was staggered? "In all his talk he
appears so far estranged from the Spaniard," said he, "that it would seem
impossible that he should consider this marriage as good for his state. I
have also had other advices on the subject which in the highest degree
comfort me. Now your Mightinesses may think whatever you like about it."

The mood of the King was not likely to last long in so comfortable a
state. Meantime he took the part of Conde and the other princes,
justified their proceedings to the special envoy sent over by Mary de'
Medici, and wished the States to join with him in appealing to that Queen
to let the affair, for his sake, pass over once more.

"And now I will tell your Mightinesses," said Caron, reverting once more
to the dreaded marriage which occupies so conspicuous a place in the
strangely mingled and party-coloured tissue of the history of those days,
"what the King has again been telling me about the alliance between his
son and the Infanta. He hears from Carleton that you are in very great
alarm lest this event may take place. He understands that the special
French envoy at the Hague, M. de la None, has been representing to you
that the King of Great Britain is following after and begging for the
daughter of Spain for his son. He says it is untrue. But it is true that
he has been sought and solicited thereto, and that in consequence there
have been talks and propositions and rejoinders, but nothing of any
moment. As he had already told me not to be alarmed until he should
himself give me cause for it, he expressed his amazement that I had not
informed your Mightinesses accordingly. He assured me again that he
should not proceed further in the business without communicating it to
his good friends and neighbours, that he considered My Lords the States
as his best friends and allies, who ought therefore to conceive no
jealousy in the matter."

This certainly was cold comfort. Caron knew well enough, not a clerk in
his office but knew well enough, that James had been pursuing this prize
for years. For the King to represent himself as persecuted by Spain to
give his son to the Infanta was about as ridiculous as it would have been
to pretend that Emperor Matthias was persuading him to let his son-in-law
accept the crown of Bohemia. It was admitted that negotiations for the
marriage were going on, and the assertion that the Spanish court was more
eager for it than the English government was not especially calculated to
allay the necessary alarm of the States at such a disaster. Nor was it
much more tranquillizing for them to be assured, not that the marriage
was off, but that, when it was settled, they, as the King's good friends
and neighbours, should have early information of it.

"I told him," said the Ambassador, "that undoubtedly this matter was of
the highest 'importance to your Mightinesses, for it was not good for us
to sit between two kingdoms both so nearly allied with the Spanish
monarch, considering the pretensions he still maintained to sovereignty
over us. Although his Majesty might not now be willing to treat to our
prejudice, yet the affair itself in the sequence of time must of
necessity injure our commonwealth. We hoped therefore that it would never
come to pass."

Caron added that Ambassador Digby was just going to Spain on
extraordinary mission in regard to this affair, and that eight or ten
gentlemen of the council had been deputed to confer with his Majesty
about it. He was still inclined to believe that the whole negotiation
would blow over, the King continuing to exhort him not to be alarmed, and
assuring him that there were many occasions moving princes to treat of
great affairs although often without any effective issue.

At that moment too the King was in a state of vehement wrath with the
Spanish Netherlands on account of a stinging libel against himself, "an
infamous and wonderfully scandalous pamphlet," as he termed it, called
'Corona Regis', recently published at Louvain. He had sent Sir John
Bennet as special ambassador to the Archdukes to demand from them justice
and condign and public chastisement on the author of the work--a rector
Putianus as he believed, successor of Justus Lipsius in his professorship
at Louvain--and upon the printer, one Flaminius. Delays and excuses
having followed instead of the punishment originally demanded, James had
now instructed his special envoy in case of further delay or evasion to
repudiate all further friendship or intercourse with the Archduke, to
ratify the recall of his minister-resident Trumbull, and in effect to
announce formal hostilities.

"The King takes the thing wonderfully to heart," said Caron.

James in effect hated to be made ridiculous, and we shall have occasion
to see how important a part other publications which he deemed
detrimental to the divinity of his person were to play in these affairs.

Meantime it was characteristic of this sovereign that--while ready to
talk of war with Philip's brother-in-law for a pamphlet, while seeking
the hand of Philip's daughter for his son--he was determined at the very
moment when the world was on fire to take himself, the heaven-born
extinguisher of all political conflagrations, away from affairs and to
seek the solace of along holiday in Scotland. His counsellors
persistently and vehemently implored him to defer that journey until the
following year at least, all the neighbouring nations being now in a
state of war and civil commotion. But it was in vain. He refused to
listen to them for a moment, and started for Scotland before the middle
of March.

Conde, who had kept France in a turmoil, had sought aid alternately from
the Calvinists at Grenoble and the Jesuits in Rome, from Spain and from
the Netherlands, from the Pope and from Maurice of Nassau, had thus been
caged at last. But there was little gained. There was one troublesome but
incompetent rebel the less, but there was no king in the land. He who
doubts the influence of the individual upon the fate of a country and
upon his times through long passages of history may explain the
difference between France of 1609, with a martial king aided by great
statesmen at its head, with an exchequer overflowing with revenue hoarded
for a great cause--and that cause an attempt at least to pacificate
Christendom and avert a universal and almost infinite conflict now
already opening--and the France of 1617, with its treasures already
squandered among ignoble and ruffianly favourites, with every office in
state, church, court, and magistracy sold to the highest bidder, with a
queen governed by an Italian adventurer who was governed by Spain, and
with a little king who had but lately expressed triumph at his
confirmation because now he should no longer be whipped, and who was just
married to a daughter of the hereditary and inevitable foe of France.

To contemplate this dreary interlude in the history of a powerful state
is to shiver at the depths of inanity and crime to which mankind can at
once descend. What need to pursue the barren, vulgar, and often repeated
chronicle? France pulled at by scarcely concealed strings and made to
perform fantastic tricks according as its various puppets were swerved
this way or that by supple bands at Madrid and Rome is not a refreshing
spectacle. The States-General at last, after an agitated discussion,
agreed in fulfilment of the treaty of 1609 to send 4000 men, 2000 being
French, to help the King against the princes still in rebellion. But the
contest was a most bitter one, and the Advocate had a difficult part to
play between a government and a rebellion, each more despicable than the
other. Still Louis XIII. and his mother were the legitimate government
even if ruled by Concini. The words of the treaty made with Henry IV.
were plain, and the ambassadors of his son had summoned the States to
fulfil it. But many impediments were placed in the path of obvious duty
by the party led by Francis Aerssens.

"I know very well," said the Advocate to ex-Burgomaster Hooft of
Amsterdam, father of the great historian, sending him confidentially a
copy of the proposals made by the French ambassadors, "that many in this
country are striving hard to make us refuse to the King the aid demanded,
notwithstanding that we are bound to do it by the pledges given not only
by the States-General but by each province in particular. By this no one
will profit but the Spaniard, who unquestionably will offer much, aye,
very much, to bring about dissensions between France and us, from which I
foresee great damage, inconvenience, and difficulties for the whole
commonwealth and for Holland especially. This province has already
advanced 1,000,000 florins to the general government on the money still
due from France, which will all be lost in case the subsidy should be
withheld, besides other evils which cannot be trusted to the pen."

On the same day on which it had been decided at the Hague to send the
troops, a captain of guards came to the aid of the poor little king and
shot Concini dead one fine spring morning on the bridge of the Louvre.
"By order of the King," said Vitry. His body was burned before the statue
of Henry IV. by the people delirious with joy. "L'hanno ammazzato" was
shouted to his wife, Eleanora Galigai, the supposed sorceress. They were
the words in which Concini had communicated to the Queen the murder of
her husband seven years before. Eleanora, too, was burned after having
been beheaded. Thus the Marshal d'Ancre and wife ceased to reign in
France.

The officers of the French regiments at the Hague danced for joy on the
Vyverberg when the news arrived there. The States were relieved from an
immense embarrassment, and the Advocate was rewarded for having pursued
what was after all the only practicable policy. "Do your best," said he
to Langerac, "to accommodate differences so far as consistent with the
conservation of the King's authority. We hope the princes will submit
themselves now that the 'lapis offensionis,' according to their pretence,
is got rid of. We received a letter from them to-day sealed with the
King's arms, with the circumscription 'Periclitante Regno, Regis vita et
Regia familia."

The shooting of Concini seemed almost to convert the little king into a
hero. Everyone in the Netherlands, without distinction of party, was
delighted with the achievement. "I cannot represent to the King," wrote
du Maurier to Villeroy, "one thousandth part of the joy of all these
people who are exalting him to heaven for having delivered the earth from
this miserable burthen. I can't tell you in what execration this public
pest was held. His Majesty has not less won the hearts of this state than
if he had gained a great victory over the Spaniards. You would not
believe it, and yet it is true, that never were the name and reputation
of the late king in greater reverence than those of our reigning king at
this moment."

Truly here was glory cheaply earned. The fame of Henry the Great, after a
long career of brilliant deeds of arms, high statesmanship, and twenty
years of bountiful friendship for the States, was already equalled by
that of Louis XIII., who had tremblingly acquiesced in the summary
execution of an odious adventurer--his own possible father--and who never
had done anything else but feed his canary birds.

As for Villeroy himself, the Ambassador wrote that he could not find
portraits enough of him to furnish those who were asking for them since
his return to power.

Barneveld had been right in so often instructing Langerac to "caress the
old gentleman."

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     And give advice. Of that, although always a spendthrift
     Casual outbursts of eternal friendship
     Changed his positions and contradicted himself day by day
     Conciliation when war of extermination was intended
     Considered it his special mission in the world to mediate
     Denoungced as an obstacle to peace
     France was mourning Henry and waiting for Richelieu
     Hardly a sound Protestant policy anywhere but in Holland
     History has not too many really important and emblematic men
     I hope and I fear
     King who thought it furious madness to resist the enemy
     Mockery of negotiation in which nothing could be negotiated
     More apprehension of fraud than of force
     Opening an abyss between government and people
     Successful in this step, he is ready for greater ones
     That he tries to lay the fault on us is pure malice
     The magnitude of this wonderful sovereign's littleness
     This wonderful sovereign's littleness oppresses the imagination
     Wise and honest a man, although he be somewhat longsome
     Yesterday is the preceptor of To-morrow



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v8, 1617



CHAPTER XIII.

   Ferdinand of Gratz crowned King of Bohemia--His Enmity to
   Protestants--Slawata and Martinitz thrown from the Windows of the
   Hradschin--Real Beginning of the Thirty Years' War--The Elector-
   Palatine's Intrigues in Opposition to the House of Austria--He
   supports the Duke of Savoy--The Emperor Matthias visits Dresden--
   Jubilee for the Hundredth Anniversary of the Reformation.

When the forlorn emperor Rudolph had signed the permission for his
brother Matthias to take the last crown but one from his head, he bit the
pen in a paroxysm of helpless rage. Then rushing to the window of his
apartment, he looked down on one of the most stately prospects that the
palaces of the earth can offer. From the long monotonous architectural
lines of the Hradschin, imposing from its massiveness and its imperial
situation, and with the dome and minarets of the cathedral clustering
behind them, the eye swept across the fertile valley, through which the
rapid, yellow Moldau courses, to the opposite line of cliffs crested with
the half imaginary fortress-palaces of the Wyscherad. There, in the
mythical legendary past of Bohemia had dwelt the shadowy Libuscha,
daughter of Krok, wife of King Premysl, foundress of Prague, who, when
wearied of her lovers, was accustomed to toss them from those heights
into the river. Between these picturesque precipices lay the two Pragues,
twin-born and quarrelsome, fighting each other for centuries, and growing
up side by side into a double, bellicose, stormy, and most splendid city,
bristling with steeples and spires, and united by the ancient
many-statued bridge with its blackened mediaeval entrance towers.

But it was not to enjoy the prospect that the aged, discrowned, solitary
emperor, almost as dim a figure among sovereigns as the mystic Libuscha
herself, was gazing from the window upon the imperial city.

"Ungrateful Prague," he cried, "through me thou hast become thus
magnificent, and now thou hast turned upon and driven away thy
benefactor. May the vengeance of God descend upon thee; may my curse come
upon thee and upon all Bohemia."

History has failed to record the special benefits of the Emperor through
which the city had derived its magnificence and deserved this
malediction. But surely if ever an old man's curse was destined to be
literally fulfilled, it seemed to be this solemn imprecation of Rudolph.
Meantime the coronation of Matthias had gone on with pomp and popular
gratulations, while Rudolph had withdrawn into his apartments to pass the
little that was left to him of life in solitude and in a state of
hopeless pique with Matthias, with the rest of his brethren, with all the
world.

And now that five years had passed since his death, Matthias, who had
usurped so much power prematurely, found himself almost in the same
condition as that to which he had reduced Rudolph.

Ferdinand of Styria, his cousin, trod closely upon his heels. He was the
presumptive successor to all his crowns, had not approved of the
movements of Matthias in the lifetime of his brother, and hated the
Vienna Protestant baker's son, Cardinal Clesel, by whom all those
movements had been directed. Professor Taubmann, of Wittenberg,
ponderously quibbling on the name of that prelate, had said that he was
of "one hundred and fifty ass power." Whether that was a fair measure of
his capacity may be doubted, but it certainly was not destined to be
sufficient to elude the vengeance of Ferdinand, and Ferdinand would soon
have him in his power.

Matthias, weary of ambitious intrigue, infirm of purpose, and shattered
in health, had withdrawn from affairs to devote himself to his gout and
to his fair young wife, Archduchess Anna of Tyrol, whom at the age of
fifty-four he had espoused.

On the 29th June 1617, Ferdinand of Gratz was crowned King of Bohemia.
The event was a shock and a menace to the Protestant cause all over the
world. The sombre figure of the Archduke had for years appeared in the
background, foreshadowing as it were the wrath to come, while throughout
Bohemia and the neighbouring countries of Moravia, Silesia, and the
Austrias, the cause of Protestantism had been making such rapid progress.
The Emperor Maximilian II. had left five stalwart sons, so that there had
seemed little probability that the younger line, the sons of his brother,
would succeed. But all the five were childless, and now the son of
Archduke Charles, who had died in 1590, had become the natural heir after
the death of Matthias to the immense family honours--his cousins
Maximilian and Albert having resigned their claims in his favour.

Ferdinand, twelve years old at his father's death, had been placed under
the care of his maternal uncle, Duke William of Bavaria. By him the boy
was placed at the high school of Ingolstadt, to be brought up by the
Jesuits, in company with Duke William's own son Maximilian, five years
his senior. Between these youths, besides the tie of cousinship, there
grew up the most intimate union founded on perfect sympathy in religion
and politics.

When Ferdinand entered upon the government of his paternal estates of
Styria, Carinthia, and Carniola, he found that the new religion, at which
the Jesuits had taught him to shudder as at a curse and a crime, had been
widely spreading. His father had fought against heresy with all his
might, and had died disappointed and broken-hearted at its progress. His
uncle of Bavaria, in letters to his son and nephew, had stamped into
their minds with the enthusiasm of perfect conviction that all happiness
and blessing for governments depended on the restoration and maintenance
of the unity of the Catholic faith. All the evils in times past and
present resulting from religious differences had been held up to the two
youths by the Jesuits in the most glaring colours. The first duty of a
prince, they had inculcated, was to extirpate all false religions, to
give the opponents of the true church no quarter, and to think no
sacrifice too great by which the salvation of human society, brought
almost to perdition by the new doctrines, could be effected.

Never had Jesuits an apter scholar than Ferdinand. After leaving school,
he made a pilgrimage to Loretto to make his vows to the Virgin Mary of
extirpation of heresy, and went to Rome to obtain the blessing of Pope
Clement VIII.

Then, returning to the government of his inheritance, he seized that
terrible two-edged weapon of which the Protestants of Germany had taught
him the use.

"Cujus regio ejus religio;" to the prince the choice of religion, to the
subject conformity with the prince, as if that formula of shallow and
selfish princelings, that insult to the dignity of mankind, were the
grand result of a movement which was to go on centuries after they had
all been forgotten in their tombs. For the time however it was a valid
and mischievous maxim. In Saxony Catholics and Calvinists were
proscribed; in Heidelberg Catholics and Lutherans. Why should either
Calvinists or Lutherans be tolerated in Styria? Why, indeed? No logic
could be more inexorable, and the pupil of the Ingolstadt Jesuits
hesitated not an instant to carry out their teaching with the very
instrument forged for him by the Reformation. Gallows were erected in the
streets of all his cities, but there was no hanging. The sight of them
proved enough to extort obedience to his edict, that every man, woman,
and child not belonging to the ancient church should leave his dominions.
They were driven out in hordes in broad daylight from Gratz and other
cities. Rather reign over a wilderness than over heretics was the device
of the Archduke, in imitation of his great relative, Philip II. of Spain.
In short space of time his duchies were as empty of Protestants as the
Palatinate of Lutherans, or Saxony of Calvinists, or both of Papists.
Even the churchyards were rifled of dead Lutherans and Utraquists, their
carcasses thrown where they could no longer pollute the true believers
mouldering by their side.

It was not strange that the coronation as King of Bohemia of a man of
such decided purposes--a country numbering ten Protestants to one
Catholic--should cause a thrill and a flutter. Could it be doubted that
the great elemental conflict so steadily prophesied by Barneveld and
instinctively dreaded by all capable of feeling the signs of the time
would now begin? It had begun. Of what avail would be Majesty-Letters and
Compromises extorted by force from trembling or indolent emperors, now
that a man who knew his own mind, and felt it to be a crime not to
extirpate all religions but the one orthodox religion, had mounted the
throne? It is true that he had sworn at his coronation to maintain the
laws of Bohemia, and that the Majesty-Letter and the Compromise were part
of the laws.

But when were doctors ever wanting to prove the unlawfulness of law which
interferes with the purposes of a despot and the convictions of the
bigot?

"Novus rex, nova lex," muttered the Catholics, lifting up their heads and
hearts once more out of the oppression and insults which they had
unquestionably suffered at the hands of the triumphant Reformers. "There
are many empty poppy-heads now flaunting high that shall be snipped off,"
said others. "That accursed German Count Thurn and his fellows, whom the
devil has sent from hell to Bohemia for his own purposes, shall be
disposed of now," was the general cry.

It was plain that heresy could no longer be maintained except by the
sword. That which had been extorted by force would be plucked back by
force. The succession of Ferdinand was in brief a warshout to be echoed
by all the Catholics of Europe. Before the end of the year the Protestant
churches of Brunnau were sealed up. Those at Klostergrab were demolished
in three days by command of the Archbishop of Prague. These dumb walls
preached in their destruction more stirring sermons than perhaps would
ever have been heard within them had they stood. This tearing in pieces
of the Imperial patent granting liberty of Protestant worship, this
summary execution done upon senseless bricks and mortar, was an act of
defiance to the Reformed religion everywhere. Protestantism was struck in
the face, spat upon, defied.

The effect was instantaneous. Thurn and the other defenders of the
Protestant faith were as prompt in action as the Catholics had been in
words. A few months passed away. The Emperor was in Vienna, but his ten
stadholders were in Prague. The fateful 23rd of May 1618 arrived.

Slawata, a Bohemian Protestant, who had converted himself to the Roman
Church in order to marry a rich widow, and who converted his peasants by
hunting them to mass with his hounds, and Martinitz, the two stadholders
who at Ferdinand's coronation had endeavoured to prevent him from
including the Majesty-Letter among the privileges he was swearing to
support, and who were considered the real authors of the royal letters
revoking all religious rights of Protestants, were the most obnoxious of
all. They were hurled from the council-chamber window of the Hradschin.
The unfortunate secretary Fabricius was tossed out after them.
Twenty-eight ells deep they fell, and all escaped unhurt by the fall;
Fabricius being subsequently ennobled by a grateful emperor with the
well-won title of Baron Summerset.

The Thirty Years' War, which in reality had been going on for several
years already, is dated from that day. A provisional government was
established in Prague by the Estates under Protestant guidance, a college
of thirty directors managing affairs.

The Window-Tumble, as the event has always been called in history,
excited a sensation in Europe. Especially the young king of France, whose
political position should bring him rather into alliance with the rebels
than the Emperor, was disgusted and appalled. He was used to rebellion.
Since he was ten years old there had been a rebellion against himself
every year. There was rebellion now. But his ministers had never been
thrown out of window. Perhaps one might take some day to tossing out
kings as well. He disapproved the process entirely.

Thus the great conflict of Christendom, so long impending, seemed at last
to have broken forth in full fury on a comparatively insignificant
incident. Thus reasoned the superficial public, as if the throwing out of
window of twenty stadholders could have created a general war in Europe
had not the causes of war lain deep and deadly in the whole framework of
society.

The succession of Ferdinand to the throne of the holy Wenzel, in which
his election to the German Imperial crown was meant to be involved, was a
matter which concerned almost every household in Christendom. Liberty of
religion, civil franchise, political charters, contract between
government and subject, right to think, speak, or act, these were the
human rights everywhere in peril. A compromise between the two religious
parties had existed for half a dozen years in Germany, a feeble
compromise by which men had hardly been kept from each others' throats.
That compromise had now been thrown to the winds. The vast conspiracy of
Spain, Rome, the House of Austria, against human liberty had found a
chief in the docile, gloomy pupil of the Jesuits now enthroned in
Bohemia, and soon perhaps to wield the sceptre of the Holy Roman Empire.
There was no state in Europe that had not cause to put hand on
sword-hilt. "Distrust and good garrisons," in the prophetic words of
Barneveld, would now be the necessary resource for all intending to hold
what had been gained through long years of toil, martyrdom, and hard
fighting.

The succession of Ferdinand excited especial dismay and indignation in
the Palatinate. The young elector had looked upon the prize as his own.
The marked advance of Protestant sentiment throughout the kingdom and its
neighbour provinces had seemed to render the succession of an extreme
Papist impossible. When Frederic had sued for and won the hand of the
fair Elizabeth, daughter of the King of Great Britain, it was understood
that the alliance would be more brilliant for her than it seemed. James
with his usual vanity spoke of his son-in-law as a future king.

It was a golden dream for the Elector and for the general cause of the
Reformed religion. Heidelberg enthroned in the ancient capital of the
Wenzels, Maximilians, and Rudolphs, the Catechism and Confession enrolled
among the great statutes of the land, this was progress far beyond flimsy
Majesty-Letters and Compromises, made only to be torn to pieces.

Through the dim vista of futurity and in ecstatic vision no doubt even
the Imperial crown might seem suspended over the Palatine's head. But
this would be merely a midsummer's dream. Events did not whirl so rapidly
as they might learn to do centuries later, and--the time for a Protestant
to grasp at the crown of Germany could then hardly be imagined as
ripening.

But what the Calvinist branch of the House of Wittelsbach had indeed long
been pursuing was to interrupt the succession of the House of Austria to
the German throne. That a Catholic prince must for the immediate future
continue to occupy it was conceded even by Frederic, but the electoral
votes might surely be now so manipulated as to prevent a slave of Spain
and a tool of the Jesuits from wielding any longer the sceptre of
Charlemagne.

On the other hand the purpose of the House of Austria was to do away with
the elective principle and the prescriptive rights of the Estates in
Bohemia first, and afterwards perhaps to send the Golden Bull itself to
the limbo of wornout constitutional devices. At present however their
object was to secure their hereditary sovereignty in Prague first, and
then to make sure of the next Imperial election at Frankfurt. Time
afterwards might fight still more in their favour, and fix them in
hereditary possession of the German throne.

The Elector-Palatine had lost no time. His counsellors even before the
coronation of Ferdinand at Prague had done their best to excite alarm
throughout Germany at the document by which Archdukes Maximilian and
Albert had resigned all their hereditary claims in favour of Ferdinand
and his male children. Should there be no such issue, the King of Spain
claimed the succession for his own sons as great-grandchildren of Emperor
Maximilian, considering himself nearer in the line than the Styrian
branch, but being willing to waive his own rights in favour of so ardent
a Catholic as Ferdinand. There was even a secret negotiation going on a
long time between the new king of Bohemia and Philip to arrange for the
precedence of the Spanish males over the Styrian females to the
hereditary Austrian states, and to cede the province of Alsace to Spain.

It was not wonderful that Protestant Germany should be alarmed. After a
century of Protestantism, that Spain should by any possibility come to be
enthroned again over Germany was enough to raise both Luther and Calvin
from their graves. It was certainly enough to set the lively young
palatine in motion. So soon as the election of Frederic was proclaimed,
he had taken up the business in person. Fond of amusement, young, married
to a beautiful bride of the royal house of England, he had hitherto left
politics to his counsellors.

Finding himself frustrated in his ambition by the election of another to
the seat he had fondly deemed his own, he resolved to unseat him if he
could, and, at any rate, to prevent the ulterior consequences of his
elevation. He made a pilgrimage to Sedan, to confer with that
irrepressible intriguer and Huguenot chieftain, the Duc de Bouillon. He
felt sure of the countenance of the States-General, and, of course, of
his near relative the great stadholder. He was resolved to invite the
Duke of Lorraine to head the anti-Austrian party, and to stand for the
kingship of the Romans and the Empire in opposition to Ferdinand. An
emissary sent to Nancy came back with a discouraging reply. The Duke not
only flatly refused the candidacy, but warned the Palatine that if it
really came to a struggle he could reckon on small support anywhere, not
even from those who now seemed warmest for the scheme. Then Frederic
resolved to try his cousin, the great Maximilian of Bavaria, to whom all
Catholics looked with veneration and whom all German Protestants
respected. Had the two branches of the illustrious house of Wittelsbach
been combined in one purpose, the opposition to the House of Austria
might indeed have been formidable. But what were ties of blood compared
to the iron bands of religious love and hatred? How could Maximilian,
sternest of Papists, and Frederick V., flightiest of Calvinists, act
harmoniously in an Imperial election? Moreover, Maximilian was united by
ties of youthful and tender friendship as well as by kindred and perfect
religious sympathy to his other cousin, King Ferdinand himself. The case
seemed hopeless, but the Elector went to Munich, and held conferences
with his cousin. Not willing to take No for an answer so long as it was
veiled under evasive or ornamental phraseology, he continued to negotiate
with Maximilian through his envoys Camerarius and Secretary Neu, who held
long debates with the Duke's chief councillor, Doctor Jocher. Camerarius
assured Jocher that his master was the Hercules to untie the Gordian
knot, and the lion of the tribe of Judah. How either the lion of Judah or
Hercules were to untie the knot which was popularly supposed to have been
cut by the sword of Alexander did not appear, but Maximilian at any rate
was moved neither by entreaties nor tropes. Being entirely averse from
entering himself for the German crown, he grew weary at last of the
importunity with which the scheme was urged. So he wrote a short billet
to his councillor, to be shown to Secretary Neu.

"Dear Jocher," he said, "I am convinced one must let these people
understand the matter in a little plainer German. I am once for all
determined not to let myself into any misunderstanding or even
amplifications with the House of Austria in regard to the succession. I
think also that it would rather be harmful than useful to my house to
take upon myself so heavy a burthen as the German crown."

This time the German was plain enough and produced its effect. Maximilian
was too able a statesman and too conscientious a friend to wish to
exchange his own proud position as chief of the League, acknowledged head
of the great Catholic party, for the slippery, comfortless, and unmeaning
throne of the Holy Empire, which he considered Ferdinand's right.

The chiefs of the anti-Austrian party, especially the Prince of Anhalt
and the Margrave of Anspach, in unison with the Heidelberg cabinet, were
forced to look for another candidate. Accordingly the Margrave and the
Elector-Palatine solemnly agreed that it was indispensable to choose an
emperor who should not be of the House of Austria nor a slave of Spain.
It was, to be sure, not possible to think of a Protestant prince. Bavaria
would not oppose Austria, would also allow too much influence to the
Jesuits. So there remained no one but the Duke of Savoy. He was a prince
of the Empire. He was of German descent, of Saxon race, a great general,
father of his soldiers, who would protect Europe against a Turkish
invasion better than the bastions of Vienna could do. He would be
agreeable to the Catholics, while the Protestants could live under him
without anxiety because the Jesuits would be powerless with him. It would
be a master-stroke if the princes would unite upon him. The King of
France would necessarily be pleased with it, the King of Great Britain
delighted.

At last the model candidate had been found. The Duke of Savoy having just
finished for a second time his chronic war with Spain, in which the
United Provinces, notwithstanding the heavy drain on their resources, had
allowed him 50,000 florins a month besides the soldiers under Count
Ernest of Nassau, had sent Mansfeld with 4000 men to aid the revolted
estates in Bohemia. Geographically, hereditarily, necessarily the deadly
enemy of the House of Austria, he listened favourably to the overtures
made to him by the princes of the Union, expressed undying hatred for the
Imperial race, and thought the Bohemian revolt a priceless occasion for
expelling them from power. He was informed by the first envoy sent to
him, Christopher van Dohna, that the object of the great movement now
contemplated was to raise him to the Imperial throne at the next
election, to assist the Bohemian estates, to secure the crown of Bohemia
for the Elector-Palatine, to protect the Protestants of Germany, and to
break down the overweening power of the Austrian house.

The Duke displayed no eagerness for the crown of Germany, while approving
the election of Frederic, but expressed entire sympathy with the
enterprise. It was indispensable however to form a general federation in
Europe of England, the Netherlands, Venice, together with Protestant
Germany and himself, before undertaking so mighty a task. While the
negotiations were going on, both Anspach and Anhalt were in great
spirits. The Margrave cried out exultingly, "In a short time the means
will be in our hands for turning the world upside down." He urged the
Prince of Anhalt to be expeditious in his decisions and actions. "He who
wishes to trade," he said, "must come to market early."

There was some disappointment at Heidelberg when the first news from
Turin arrived, the materials for this vast scheme for an overwhelming and
universal European war not seeming to be at their disposition. By and by
the Duke's plans seem to deepen and broaden. He told Mansfeld, who,
accompanied by Secretary Neu, was glad at a pause in his fighting and
brandschatzing in Bohemia to be employed on diplomatic business, that on
the whole he should require the crown of Bohemia for himself. He also
proposed to accept the Imperial crown, and as for Frederic, he would
leave him the crown of Hungary, and would recommend him to round himself
out by adding to his hereditary dominions the province of Alsace, besides
Upper Austria and other territories in convenient proximity to the
Palatinate.

Venice, it had been hoped, would aid in the great scheme and might in her
turn round herself out with Friuli and Istria and other tempting
possessions of Ferdinand, in reward for the men and money she was
expected to furnish. That republic had however just concluded a war with
Ferdinand, caused mainly by the depredations of the piratical Uscoques,
in which, as we have seen, she had received the assistance of 4000
Hollanders under command of Count John of Nassau. The Venetians had
achieved many successes, had taken the city of Gortz, and almost reduced
the city of Gradiska. A certain colonel Albert Waldstein however, of whom
more might one day be heard in the history of the war now begun, had
beaten the Venetians and opened a pathway through their ranks for succour
to the beleaguered city. Soon afterwards peace was made on an undertaking
that the Uscoques should be driven from their haunts, their castles
dismantled, and their ships destroyed.

Venice declined an engagement to begin a fresh war.

She hated Ferdinand and Matthias and the whole Imperial brood, but, as
old Barbarigo declared in the Senate, the Republic could not afford to
set her house on fire in order to give Austria the inconvenience of the
smoke.

Meantime, although the Elector-Palatine had magnanimously agreed to use
his influence in Bohemia in favour of Charles Emmanuel, the Duke seems at
last to have declined proposing himself for that throne. He knew, he
said, that King James wished that station for his son-in-law. The
Imperial crown belonged to no one as yet after the death of Matthias, and
was open therefore to his competition.

Anhalt demanded of Savoy 15,000 men for the maintenance of the good
cause, asserting that "it would be better to have the Turk or the devil
himself on the German throne than leave it to Ferdinand."

The triumvirate ruling at Prague-Thurn, Ruppa, and Hohenlohe--were
anxious for a decision from Frederic. That simple-hearted and ingenuous
young elector had long been troubled both with fears lest after all he
might lose the crown of Bohemia and with qualms of conscience as to the
propriety of taking it even if he could get it. He wrestled much in
prayer and devout meditation whether as anointed prince himself he were
justified in meddling with the anointment of other princes. Ferdinand had
been accepted, proclaimed, crowned. He artlessly sent to Prague to
consult the Estates whether they possessed the right to rebel, to set
aside the reigning dynasty, and to choose a new king. At the same time,
with an eye to business, he stipulated that on account of the great
expense and trouble devolving upon him the crown must be made hereditary
in his family. The impression made upon the grim Thurn and his colleagues
by the simplicity of these questions may be imagined. The splendour and
width of the Savoyard's conceptions fascinated the leaders of the Union.
It seemed to Anspach and Anhalt that it was as well that Frederic should
reign in Hungary as in Bohemia, and the Elector was docile. All had
relied however on the powerful assistance of the great defender of the
Protestant faith, the father-in-law of the Elector, the King of Great
Britain. But James had nothing but cold water and Virgilian quotations
for his son's ardour. He was more under the influence of Gondemar than
ever before, more eagerly hankering for the Infanta, more completely the
slave of Spain. He pledged himself to that government that if the
Protestants in Bohemia continued rebellious, he would do his best to
frustrate their designs, and would induce his son-in-law to have no
further connection with them. And Spain delighted his heart not by
immediately sending over the Infanta, but by proposing that he should
mediate between the contending parties. It would be difficult to imagine
a greater farce. All central Europe was now in arms. The deepest and
gravest questions about which men can fight: the right to worship God
according to their conscience and to maintain civil franchises which have
been earned by the people with the blood and treasure of centuries, were
now to be solved by the sword, and the pupil of Buchanan and the friend
of Buckingham was to step between hundreds of thousands of men in arms
with a classical oration. But James was very proud of the proposal and
accepted it with alacrity.

"You know, my dear son," he wrote to Frederic, "that we are the only king
in Europe that is sought for by friend and foe for his mediation. It
would be for this our lofty part very unbecoming if we were capable of
favouring one of the parties. Your suggestion that we might secretly
support the Bohemians we must totally reject, as it is not our way to do
anything that we would not willingly confess to the whole world."

And to do James justice, he had never fed Frederic with false hopes,
never given a penny for his great enterprise, nor promised him a penny.
He had contented himself with suggesting from time to time that he might
borrow money of the States-General. His daughter Elizabeth must take care
of herself, else what would become of her brother's marriage to the
daughter of Spain.

And now it was war to the knife, in which it was impossible that Holland,
as well as all the other great powers should not soon be involved. It was
disheartening to the cause of freedom and progress, not only that the
great kingdom on which the world, had learned to rely in all movements
upward and onward should be neutralized by the sycophancy of its monarch
to the general oppressor, but that the great republic which so long had
taken the lead in maintaining the liberties of Europe should now be torn
by religious discord within itself, and be turning against the great
statesman who had so wisely guided her councils and so accurately
foretold the catastrophe which was now upon the world.

Meantime the Emperor Matthias, not less forlorn than through his
intrigues and rebellions his brother Rudolph had been made, passed his
days in almost as utter retirement as if he had formally abdicated.
Ferdinand treated him as if in his dotage. His fair young wife too had
died of hard eating in the beginning of the winter to his inexpressible
grief, so that there was nothing left to solace him now but the
Rudolphian Museum.

He had made but one public appearance since the coronation of Ferdinand
in Prague. Attended by his brother Maximilian, by King Ferdinand, and by
Cardinal Khlesl, he had towards the end of the year 1617 paid a visit to
the Elector John George at Dresden. The Imperial party had been received
with much enthusiasm by the great leader of Lutheranism. The Cardinal had
seriously objected to accompanying the Emperor on this occasion. Since
the Reformation no cardinal had been seen at the court of Saxony. He
cared not personally for the pomps and glories of his rank, but still as
prince of the Church he had settled right of precedence over electors. To
waive it would be disrespectful to the Pope, to claim it would lead to
squabbles. But Ferdinand had need of his skill to secure the vote of
Saxony at the next Imperial election. The Cardinal was afraid of
Ferdinand with good reason, and complied. By an agreeable fiction he was
received at court not as cardinal but as minister, and accommodated with
an humble place at table. Many looking on with astonishment thought he
would have preferred to dine by himself in retirement. But this was not
the bitterest of the mortifications that the pastor and guide of Matthias
was to suffer at the hands of Ferdinand before his career should be
closed. The visit at Dresden was successful, however. John George, being
a claimant, as we have seen, for the Duchies of Cleve and Julich, had
need of the Emperor. The King had need of John George's vote. There was a
series of splendid balls, hunting parties, carousings.

The Emperor was an invalid, the King was abstemious, but the Elector was
a mighty drinker. It was not his custom nor that of his councillors to go
to bed. They were usually carried there. But it was the wish of Ferdinand
to be conciliatory, and he bore himself as well as he could at the
banquet. The Elector was also a mighty hunter. Neither of his Imperial
guests cared for field sports, but they looked out contentedly from the
window of a hunting-lodge, before which for their entertainment the
Elector and his courtiers slaughtered eight bears, ten stags, ten pigs,
and eleven badgers, besides a goodly number of other game; John George
shooting also three martens from a pole erected for that purpose in the
courtyard. It seemed proper for him thus to exhibit a specimen of the
skill for which he was justly famed. The Elector before his life closed,
so says the chronicle, had killed 28,000 wild boars, 208 bears, 3543
wolves, 200 badgers, 18,967 foxes, besides stags and roedeer in still
greater number, making a grand total of 113,629 beasts. The leader of the
Lutheran party of Germany had not lived in vain.

Thus the great chiefs of Catholicism and of Protestantism amicably
disported themselves in the last days of the year, while their respective
forces were marshalling for mortal combat all over Christendom. The
Elector certainly loved neither Matthias nor Ferdinand, but he hated the
Palatine. The chief of the German Calvinists disputed that Protestant
hegemony which John George claimed by right. Indeed the immense advantage
enjoyed by the Catholics at the outbreak of the religious war from the
mutual animosities between the two great divisions of the Reformed Church
was already terribly manifest. What an additional power would it derive
from the increased weakness of the foe, should there be still other and
deeper and more deadly schisms within one great division itself!

"The Calvinists and Lutherans," cried the Jesuit Scioppius, "are so
furiously attacking each other with calumnies and cursings and are
persecuting each other to such extent as to give good hope that the
devilish weight and burthen of them will go to perdition and shame of
itself, and the heretics all do bloody execution upon each other.
Certainly if ever a golden time existed for exterminating the heretics,
it is the present time."

The Imperial party took their leave of Dresden, believing themselves to
have secured the electoral vote of Saxony; the Elector hoping for
protection to his interests in the duchies through that sequestration to
which Barneveld had opposed such vigorous resistance. There had been much
slavish cringing before these Catholic potentates by the courtiers of
Dresden, somewhat amazing to the ruder churls of Saxony, the common
people, who really believed in the religion which their prince had
selected for them and himself.

And to complete the glaring contrast, Ferdinand and Matthias had scarcely
turned their backs before tremendous fulminations upon the ancient church
came from the Elector and from all the doctors of theology in Saxony.

For the jubilee of the hundredth anniversary of the Reformation was
celebrated all over Germany in the autumn of this very year, and nearly
at the exact moment of all this dancing, and fuddling, and pig shooting
at Dresden in honour of emperors and cardinals. And Pope Paul V. had
likewise ordained a jubilee for true believers at almost the same time.

The Elector did not mince matters in his proclamation from any regard to
the feelings of his late guests. He called on all Protestants to rejoice,
"because the light of the Holy Gospel had now shone brightly in the
electoral dominions for a hundred years, the Omnipotent keeping it
burning notwithstanding the raging and roaring of the hellish enemy and
all his scaly servants."

The doctors of divinity were still more emphatic in their phraseology.
They called on all professors and teachers of the true Evangelical
churches, not only in Germany but throughout Christendom, to keep the
great jubilee. They did this in terms not calculated certainly to smother
the flames of religious and party hatred, even if it had been possible at
that moment to suppress the fire. "The great God of Heaven," they said,
"had caused the undertaking of His holy instrument Mr. Doctor Martin
Luther to prosper. Through His unspeakable mercy he has driven away the
Papal darkness and caused the sun of righteousness once more to beam upon
the world. The old idolatries, blasphemies, errors, and horrors of the
benighted Popedom have been exterminated in many kingdoms and countries.
Innumerable sheep of the Lord Christ have been fed on the wholesome
pasture of the Divine Word in spite of those monstrous, tearing, ravenous
wolves, the Pope and his followers. The enemy of God and man, the ancient
serpent, may hiss and rage. Yes, the Roman antichrist in his frantic
blusterings may bite off his own tongue, may fulminate all kinds of
evils, bans, excommunications, wars, desolations, and burnings, as long
and as much as he likes. But if we take refuge with the Lord God, what
can this inane, worn-out man and water-bubble do to us?" With more in the
same taste.

The Pope's bull for the Catholic jubilee was far more decorous and lofty
in tone, for it bewailed the general sin in Christendom, and called on
all believers to flee from the wrath about to descend upon the earth, in
terms that were almost prophetic. He ordered all to pray that the Lord
might lift up His Church, protect it from the wiles of the enemy,
extirpate heresies, grant peace and true unity among Christian princes,
and mercifully avert disasters already coming near.

But if the language of Paul V. was measured and decent, the swarm of
Jesuit pamphleteers that forthwith began to buzz and to sting all over
Christendom were sufficiently venomous. Scioppius, in his Alarm Trumpet
to the Holy War, and a hundred others declared that all heresies and
heretics were now to be extirpated, the one true church to be united and
re-established, and that the only road to such a consummation was a path
of blood.

The Lutheran preachers, on the other hand, obedient to the summons from
Dresden, vied with each other in every town and village in heaping
denunciations, foul names, and odious imputations on the Catholics; while
the Calvinists, not to be behindhand with their fellow Reformers,
celebrated the jubilee, especially at Heidelberg, by excluding Papists
from hope of salvation, and bewailing the fate of all churches sighing
under the yoke of Rome.

And not only were the Papists and the Reformers exchanging these blasts
and counterblasts of hatred, not less deadly in their effects than the
artillery of many armies, but as if to make a thorough exhibition of
human fatuity when drunk with religious passion, the Lutherans were
making fierce paper and pulpit war upon the Calvinists. Especially Hoe,
court preacher of John George, ceaselessly hurled savage libels against
them. In the name of the theological faculty of Wittenberg, he addressed
a "truehearted warning to all Lutheran Christians in Bohemia, Moravia,
Silesia, and other provinces, to beware of the erroneous Calvinistic
religion." He wrote a letter to Count Schlick, foremost leader in the
Bohemian movement, asking whether "the unquiet Calvinist spirit, should
it gain ascendency, would be any more endurable than the Papists. Oh what
woe, what infinite woe," he cried, "for those noble countries if they
should all be thrust into the jaws of Calvinism!"

Did not preacher Hoe's master aspire to the crown of Bohemia himself? Was
he not furious at the start which Heidelberg had got of him in the race
for that golden prize? Was he not mad with jealousy of the Palatine, of
the Palatine's religion, and of the Palatine's claim to "hegemony" in
Germany?

Thus embittered and bloodthirsty towards each other were the two great
sections of the Reformed religion on the first centennial jubilee of the
Reformation. Such was the divided front which the anti-Catholic party
presented at the outbreak of the war with Catholicism.

Ferdinand, on the other hand, was at the head of a comparatively united
party. He could hardly hope for more than benevolent neutrality from the
French government, which, in spite of the Spanish marriages, dared not
wholly desert the Netherlands and throw itself into the hands of Spain;
but Spanish diplomacy had enslaved the British king, and converted what
should have been an active and most powerful enemy into an efficient if
concealed ally. The Spanish and archiducal armies were enveloping the
Dutch republic, from whence the most powerful support could be expected
for the Protestant cause. Had it not been for the steadiness of
Barneveld, Spain would have been at that moment established in full
panoply over the whole surface of those inestimable positions, the
disputed duchies. Venice was lukewarm, if not frigid; and Savoy, although
deeply pledged by passion and interest to the downfall of the House of
Austria, was too dangerously situated herself, too distant, too poor, and
too Catholic to be very formidable.

Ferdinand was safe from the Turkish side. A twenty years' peace,
renewable by agreement, between the Holy Empire and the Sultan had been
negotiated by those two sons of bakers, Cardinal Khlesl and the Vizier
Etmekdschifade. It was destined to endure through all the horrors of the
great war, a stronger protection to Vienna than all the fortifications
which the engineering art could invent. He was safe too from Poland, King
Sigmund being not only a devoted Catholic but doubly his brother-in-law.

Spain, therefore, the Spanish Netherlands, the Pope, and the German
League headed by Maximilian of Bavaria, the ablest prince on the
continent of Europe, presented a square, magnificent phalanx on which
Ferdinand might rely. The States-General, on the other hand, were a most
dangerous foe. With a centennial hatred of Spain, splendidly disciplined
armies and foremost navy of the world, with an admirable financial system
and vast commercial resources, with a great stadholder, first captain of
the age, thirsting for war, and allied in blood as well as religion to
the standard-bearer of the Bohemian revolt; with councils directed by the
wisest and most experienced of living statesman, and with the very life
blood of her being derived from the fountain of civil and religious
liberty, the great Republic of the United Netherlands--her Truce with the
hereditary foe just expiring was, if indeed united, strong enough at the
head of the Protestant forces of Europe to dictate to a world in arms.

Alas! was it united?

As regarded internal affairs of most pressing interest, the electoral
vote at the next election at Frankfurt had been calculated as being
likely to yield a majority of one for the opposition candidate, should
the Savoyard or any other opposition candidate be found. But the
calculation was a close one and might easily be fallacious. Supposing the
Palatine elected King of Bohemia by the rebellious estates, as was
probable, he could of course give the vote of that electorate and his own
against Ferdinand, and the vote of Brandenburg at that time seemed safe.
But Ferdinand by his visit to Dresden had secured the vote of Saxony,
while of the three ecclesiastical electors, Cologne and Mayence were sure
for him. Thus it would be three and three, and the seventh and decisive
vote would be that of the Elector-Bishop of Treves. The sanguine Frederic
thought that with French influence and a round sum of money this
ecclesiastic might be got to vote for the opposition candidate. The
ingenious combination was not destined to be successful, and as there has
been no intention in the present volume to do more than slightly indicate
the most prominent movements and mainsprings of the great struggle so far
as Germany is concerned, without entering into detail, it may be as well
to remind the reader that it proved wonderfully wrong. Matthias died on
the 20th March, 1619, the election of a new emperor took place at
Frankfurt On the 28th of the following August, and not only did Saxony
and all three ecclesiastical electors vote for Ferdinand, but Brandenburg
likewise, as well as the Elector-Palatine himself, while Ferdinand,
personally present in the assembly as Elector of Bohemia, might according
to the Golden Bull have given the seventh vote for himself had he chosen
to do so. Thus the election was unanimous.

Strange to say, as the electors proceeded through the crowd from the hall
of election to accompany the new emperor to the church where he was to
receive the popular acclaim, the news reached them from Prague that the
Elector-Palatine had been elected King of Bohemia.

Thus Frederic, by voting for Ferdinand, had made himself voluntarily a
rebel should he accept the crown now offered him. Had the news arrived
sooner, a different result and even a different history might have been
possible.



CHAPTER XIV.

Barneveld connected with the East India Company, but opposed to the West
India Company--Carleton comes from Venice inimical to Barneveld--Maurice
openly the Chieftain of the Contra-Remonstrants--Tumults about the
Churches--"Orange or Spain" the Cry of Prince Maurice and his Party--They
take possession of the Cloister Church--"The Sharp Resolve"--Carleton's
Orations before the States-General.

King James never forgave Barneveld for drawing from him those famous
letters to the States in which he was made to approve the Five Points and
to admit the possibility of salvation under them. These epistles had
brought much ridicule upon James, who was not amused by finding his
theological discussions a laughing-stock. He was still more incensed by
the biting criticisms made upon the cheap surrender of the cautionary
towns, and he hated more than ever the statesman who, as he believed, had
twice outwitted him.

On the other hand, Maurice, inspired by his brother-in-law the Duke of
Bouillon and by the infuriated Francis Aerssens, abhorred Barneveld's
French policy, which was freely denounced by the French Calvinists and by
the whole orthodox church. In Holland he was still warmly sustained
except in the Contra-Remonstrant Amsterdam and a few other cities of less
importance. But there were perhaps deeper reasons for the Advocate's
unpopularity in the great commercial metropolis than theological
pretexts. Barneveld's name and interests were identified with the great
East India Company, which was now powerful and prosperous beyond anything
ever dreamt of before in the annals of commerce. That trading company had
already founded an empire in the East. Fifty ships of war, fortresses
guarded by 4000 pieces of artillery and 10,000 soldiers and sailors,
obeyed the orders of a dozen private gentlemen at home seated in a back
parlour around a green table. The profits of each trading voyage were
enormous, and the shareholders were growing rich beyond their wildest
imaginings. To no individual so much as to Holland's Advocate was this
unexampled success to be ascribed. The vast prosperity of the East India
Company had inspired others with the ambition to found a similar
enterprise in the West. But to the West India Company then projected and
especially favoured in Amsterdam, Barneveld was firmly opposed. He
considered it as bound up with the spirit of military adventure and
conquest, and as likely to bring on prematurely and unwisely a renewed
conflict with Spain. The same reasons which had caused him to urge the
Truce now influenced his position in regard to the West India Company.

Thus the clouds were gathering every day more darkly over the head of the
Advocate. The powerful mercantile interest in the great seat of traffic
in the Republic, the personal animosity of the Stadholder, the
execrations of the orthodox party in France, England, and all the
Netherlands, the anger of the French princes and all those of the old
Huguenot party who had been foolish enough to act with the princes in
their purely selfish schemes against the, government, and the overflowing
hatred of King James, whose darling schemes of Spanish marriages and a
Spanish alliance had been foiled by the Advocate's masterly policy in
France and in the duchies, and whose resentment at having been so
completely worsted and disarmed in the predestination matter and in the
redemption of the great mortgage had deepened into as terrible wrath as
outraged bigotry and vanity could engender; all these elements made up a
stormy atmosphere in which the strongest heart might have quailed. But
Barneveld did not quail. Doubtless he loved power, and the more danger he
found on every side the less inclined he was to succumb. But he honestly
believed that the safety and prosperity of the country he had so long and
faithfully served were identified with the policy which he was pursuing.
Arrogant, overbearing, self-concentrated, accustomed to lead senates and
to guide the councils and share the secrets of kings, familiar with and
almost an actor in every event in the political history not only of his
own country but of every important state in Christendom during nearly two
generations of mankind, of unmatched industry, full of years and
experience, yet feeling within him the youthful strength of a thousand
intellects compared to most of those by which he was calumniated,
confronted, and harassed; he accepted the great fight which was forced
upon him. Irascible, courageous, austere, contemptuous, he looked around
and saw the Republic whose cradle he had rocked grown to be one of the
most powerful and prosperous among the states of the world, and could
with difficulty imagine that in this supreme hour of her strength and her
felicity she was ready to turn and rend the man whom she was bound by
every tie of duty to cherish and to revere.

Sir Dudley Carleton, the new English ambassador to the States, had
arrived during the past year red-hot from Venice. There he had perhaps
not learned especially to love the new republic which had arisen among
the northern lagunes, and whose admission among the nations had been at
last accorded by the proud Queen of the Adriatic, notwithstanding the
objections and the intrigues both of French and English representatives.
He had come charged to the brim with the political spite of James against
the Advocate, and provided too with more than seven vials of theological
wrath. Such was the King's revenge for Barneveld's recent successes. The
supporters in the Netherlands of the civil authority over the Church were
moreover to be instructed by the political head of the English Church
that such supremacy, although highly proper for a king, was "thoroughly
unsuitable for a many-headed republic." So much for church government. As
for doctrine, Arminianism and Vorstianism were to be blasted with one
thunderstroke from the British throne.

"In Holland," said James to his envoy, "there have been violent and sharp
contestations amongst the towns in the cause of religion . . . . . If
they shall be unhappily revived during your time, you shall not forget
that you are the minister of that master whom God hath made the sole
protector of His religion."

There was to be no misunderstanding in future as to the dogmas which the
royal pope of Great Britain meant to prescribe to his Netherland
subjects. Three years before, at the dictation of the Advocate, he had
informed the States that he was convinced of their ability to settle the
deplorable dissensions as to religion according to their wisdom and the
power which belonged to them over churches and church servants. He had
informed them of his having learned by experience that such questions
could hardly be decided by the wranglings of theological professors, and
that it was better to settle them by public authority and to forbid their
being brought into the pulpit or among common people. He had recommended
mutual toleration of religious difference until otherwise ordained by the
public civil authority, and had declared that neither of the two opinions
in regard to predestination was in his opinion far from the truth or
inconsistent with Christian faith or the salvation of souls.

It was no wonder that these utterances were quite after the Advocate's
heart, as James had faithfully copied them from the Advocate's draft.

But now in the exercise of his infallibility the King issued other
decrees. His minister was instructed to support the extreme views of the
orthodox both as to government and dogma, and to urge the National Synod,
as it were, at push of pike. "Besides the assistance," said he to
Carleton, "which we would have you give to the true professors of the
Gospel in your discourse and conferences, you may let fall how hateful
the maintenance of these erroneous opinions is to the majesty of God, how
displeasing unto us their dearest friends, and how disgraceful to the
honour and government of that state."

And faithfully did the Ambassador act up to his instructions. Most
sympathetically did he embody the hatred of the King. An able,
experienced, highly accomplished diplomatist and scholar, ready with
tongue and pen, caustic, censorious, prejudiced, and partial, he was soon
foremost among the foes of the Advocate in the little court of the Hague,
and prepared at any moment to flourish the political and theological goad
when his master gave the word.

Nothing in diplomatic history is more eccentric than the long sermons
upon abstruse points of divinity and ecclesiastical history which the
English ambassador delivered from time to time before the States-General
in accordance with elaborate instructions drawn up by his sovereign with
his own hand. Rarely has a king been more tedious, and he bestowed all
his tediousness upon My Lords the States-General. Nothing could be more
dismal than these discourses, except perhaps the contemporaneous and
interminable orations of Grotius to the states of Holland, to the
magistrates of Amsterdam, to the states of Utrecht; yet Carleton was a
man of the world, a good debater, a ready writer, while Hugo Grotius was
one of the great lights of that age and which shone for all time.

Among the diplomatic controversies of history, rarely refreshing at best,
few have been more drouthy than those once famous disquisitions, and they
shall be left to shrivel into the nothingness of the past, so far as is
consistent with the absolute necessities of this narrative.

The contest to which the Advocate was called had become mainly a personal
and a political one, although the weapons with which it was fought were
taken from ecclesiastical arsenals. It was now an unequal contest.

For the great captain of the country and of his time, the son of William
the Silent, the martial stadholder, in the fulness of his fame and vigour
of his years, had now openly taken his place as the chieftain of the
Contra-Remonstrants. The conflict between the civil and the military
element for supremacy in a free commonwealth has never been more vividly
typified than in this death-grapple between Maurice and Barneveld.

The aged but still vigorous statesman, ripe with half a century of
political lore, and the high-born, brilliant, and scientific soldier,
with the laurels of Turnhout and Nieuwpoort and of a hundred famous
sieges upon his helmet, reformer of military science, and no mean
proficient in the art of politics and government, were the
representatives and leaders of the two great parties into which the
Commonwealth had now unhappily divided itself. But all history shows that
the brilliant soldier of a republic is apt to have the advantage, in a
struggle for popular affection and popular applause, over the statesman,
however consummate. The general imagination is more excited by the
triumphs of the field than by those of the tribune, and the man who has
passed many years of life in commanding multitudes with necessarily
despotic sway is often supposed to have gained in the process the
attributes likely to render him most valuable as chief citizen of a flee
commonwealth. Yet national enthusiasm is so universally excited by
splendid military service as to forbid a doubt that the sentiment is
rooted deeply in our nature, while both in antiquity and in modern times
there are noble although rare examples of the successful soldier
converting himself into a valuable and exemplary magistrate.

In the rivalry of Maurice and Barneveld however for the national
affection the chances were singularly against the Advocate. The great
battles and sieges of the Prince had been on a world's theatre, had
enchained the attention of Christendom, and on their issue had frequently
depended, or seemed to depend, the very existence of the nation. The
labours of the statesman, on the contrary, had been comparatively secret.
His noble orations and arguments had been spoken with closed doors to
assemblies of colleagues--rather envoys than senators--were never printed
or even reported, and could be judged of only by their effects; while his
vast labours in directing both the internal administration and especially
the foreign affairs of the Commonwealth had been by their very nature as
secret as they were perpetual and enormous.

Moreover, there was little of what we now understand as the democratic
sentiment in the Netherlands. There was deep and sturdy attachment to
ancient traditions, privileges, special constitutions extorted from a
power acknowledged to be superior to the people. When partly to save
those chartered rights, and partly to overthrow the horrible
ecclesiastical tyranny of the sixteenth century, the people had
accomplished a successful revolt, they never dreamt of popular
sovereignty, but allowed the municipal corporations, by which their local
affairs had been for centuries transacted, to unite in offering to
foreign princes, one after another, the crown which they had torn from
the head of the Spanish king. When none was found to accept the dangerous
honour, they had acquiesced in the practical sovereignty of the States;
but whether the States-General or the States-Provincial were the supreme
authority had certainly not been definitely and categorically settled. So
long as the States of Holland, led by the Advocate, had controlled in
great matters the political action of the States-General, while the
Stadholder stood without a rival at the head of their military affairs,
and so long as there were no fierce disputes as to government and dogma
within the bosom of the Reformed Church, the questions which were now
inflaming the whole population had been allowed to slumber.

The termination of the war and the rise of Arminianism were almost
contemporaneous. The Stadholder, who so unwillingly had seen the
occupation in which he had won so much glory taken from him by the Truce,
might perhaps find less congenial but sufficiently engrossing business as
champion of the Church and of the Union.

The new church--not freedom of worship for different denominations of
Christians, but supremacy of the Church of Heidelberg and Geneva--seemed
likely to be the result of the overthrow of the ancient church. It is the
essence of the Catholic Church to claim supremacy over and immunity from
the civil authority, and to this claim for the Reformed Church, by which
that of Rome had been supplanted, Barneveld was strenuously opposed.

The Stadholder was backed, therefore, by the Church in its purity, by the
majority of the humbler classes--who found in membership of the oligarchy
of Heaven a substitute for those democratic aspirations on earth which
were effectually suppressed between the two millstones of burgher
aristocracy and military discipline--and by the States-General, a
majority of which were Contra-Remonstrant in their faith.

If the sword is usually an overmatch for the long robe in political
struggles, the cassock has often proved superior to both combined. But in
the case now occupying our attention the cassock was in alliance with the
sword. Clearly the contest was becoming a desperate one for the
statesman.

And while the controversy between the chiefs waged hotter and hotter, the
tumults around the churches on Sundays in every town and village grew
more and more furious, ending generally in open fights with knives,
bludgeons, and brickbats; preachers and magistrates being often too glad
to escape with a whole skin. One can hardly be ingenuous enough to
consider all this dirking, battering, and fisticuffing as the legitimate
and healthy outcome of a difference as to the knotty point whether all
men might or might not be saved by repentance and faith in Christ.

The Greens and Blues of the Byzantine circus had not been more typical of
fierce party warfare in the Lower Empire than the greens and blues of
predestination in the rising commonwealth, according to the real or
imagined epigram of Prince Maurice.

"Your divisions in religion," wrote Secretary Lake to Carleton, "have, I
doubt not, a deeper root than is discerned by every one, and I doubt not
that the Prince Maurice's carriage doth make a jealousy of affecting a
party under the pretence of supporting one side, and that the States fear
his ends and aims, knowing his power with the men of war; and that
howsoever all be shadowed under the name of religion there is on either
part a civil end, of the one seeking a step of higher authority, of the
other a preservation of liberty."

And in addition to other advantages the Contra-Remonstrants had now got a
good cry--an inestimable privilege in party contests.

"There are two factions in the land," said Maurice, "that of Orange and
that of Spain, and the two chiefs of the Spanish faction are those
political and priestly Arminians, Uytenbogaert and Oldenbarneveld."

Orange and Spain! the one name associated with all that was most
venerated and beloved throughout the country, for William the Silent
since his death was almost a god; the other ineradicably entwined at that
moment with, everything execrated throughout the land. The Prince of
Orange's claim to be head of the Orange faction could hardly be disputed,
but it was a master stroke of political malice to fix the stigma of
Spanish partisanship on the Advocate. If the venerable patriot who had
been fighting Spain, sometimes on the battle-field and always in the
council, ever since he came to man's estate, could be imagined even in a
dream capable of being bought with Spanish gold to betray his country,
who in the ranks of the Remonstrant party could be safe from such
accusations? Each party accused the other of designs for altering or
subverting the government. Maurice was suspected of what were called
Leicestrian projects, "Leycestrana consilia"--for the Earl's plots to
gain possession of Leyden and Utrecht had never been forgotten--while the
Prince and those who acted with him asserted distinctly that it was the
purpose of Barneveld to pave the way for restoring the Spanish
sovereignty and the Popish religion so soon as the Truce had reached its
end?

Spain and Orange. Nothing for a faction fight could be neater. Moreover
the two words rhyme in Netherlandish, which is the case in no other
language, "Spanje-Oranje." The sword was drawn and the banner unfurled.

The "Mud Beggars" of the Hague, tired of tramping to Ryswyk of a Sunday
to listen to Henry Rosaeus, determined on a private conventicle in the
capital. The first barn selected was sealed up by the authorities, but
Epoch Much, book-keeper of Prince Maurice, then lent them his house. The
Prince declared that sooner than they should want a place of assembling
he would give them his own. But he meant that they should have a public
church to themselves, and that very soon. King James thoroughly approved
of all these proceedings. At that very instant such of his own subjects
as had seceded from the Established Church to hold conventicles in barns
and breweries and backshops in London were hunted by him with bishops'
pursuivants and other beagles like vilest criminals, thrown into prison
to rot, or suffered to escape from their Fatherland into the
trans-Atlantic wilderness, there to battle with wild beasts and savages,
and to die without knowing themselves the fathers of a more powerful
United States than the Dutch Republic, where they were fain to seek in
passing a temporary shelter. He none the less instructed his envoy at the
Hague to preach the selfsame doctrines for which the New England Puritans
were persecuted, and importunately and dictatorially to plead the cause
of those Hollanders who, like Bradford and Robinson, Winthrop and Cotton,
maintained the independence of the Church over the State.

Logic is rarely the quality on which kings pride themselves, and
Puritanism in the Netherlands, although under temporary disadvantage at
the Hague, was evidently the party destined to triumph throughout the
country. James could safely sympathize therefore in Holland with what he
most loathed in England, and could at the same time feed fat the grudge
he owed the Advocate. The calculations of Barneveld as to the respective
political forces of the Commonwealth seem to have been to a certain
extent defective.

He allowed probably too much weight to the Catholic party as a motive
power at that moment, and he was anxious both from that consideration and
from his honest natural instinct for general toleration; his own broad
and unbigoted views in religious matters, not to force that party into a
rebellious attitude dangerous to the state. We have seen how nearly a
mutiny in the important city of Utrecht, set on foot by certain Romanist
conspirators in the years immediately succeeding the Truce, had subverted
the government, had excited much anxiety amongst the firmest allies of
the Republic, and had been suppressed only by the decision of the
Advocate and a show of military force.

He had informed Carleton not long after his arrival that in the United
Provinces, and in Holland in particular, were many sects and religions of
which, according to his expression, "the healthiest and the richest part
were the Papists, while the Protestants did not make up one-third part of
the inhabitants."

Certainly, if these statistics were correct or nearly correct, there
could be nothing more stupid from a purely political point of view than
to exasperate so influential a portion of the community to madness and
rebellion by refusing them all rights of public worship. Yet because the
Advocate had uniformly recommended indulgence, he had incurred more odium
at home than from any other cause. Of course he was a Papist in disguise,
ready to sell his country to Spain, because he was willing that more than
half the population of the country should be allowed to worship God
according to their conscience. Surely it would be wrong to judge the
condition of things at that epoch by the lights of to-day, and perhaps in
the Netherlands there had before been no conspicuous personage, save
William the Silent alone, who had risen to the height of toleration on
which the Advocate essayed to stand. Other leading politicians considered
that the national liberties could be preserved only by retaining the
Catholics in complete subjection.

At any rate the Advocate was profoundly convinced of the necessity of
maintaining harmony and mutual toleration among the Protestants
themselves, who, as he said, made up but one-third of the whole people.
In conversing with the English ambassador he divided them into "Puritans
and double Puritans," as they would be called, he said, in England. If
these should be at variance with each other, he argued, the Papists would
be the strongest of all. "To prevent this inconvenience," he said, "the
States were endeavouring to settle some certain form of government in the
Church; which being composed of divers persecuted churches such as in the
beginning of the wars had their refuge here, that which during the wars
could not be so well done they now thought seasonable for a time of
truce; and therefore would show their authority in preventing the schism
of the Church which would follow the separation of those they call
Remonstrants and Contra-Remonstrants."

There being no word so offensive to Carleton's sovereign as the word
Puritan, the Ambassador did his best to persuade the Advocate that a
Puritan in Holland was a very different thing from a Puritan in England.
In England he was a noxious vermin, to be hunted with dogs. In the
Netherlands he was the governing power. But his arguments were vapourous
enough and made little impression on Barneveld. "He would no ways yield,"
said Sir Dudley.

Meantime the Contra-Remonstrants of the Hague, not finding sufficient
accommodation in Enoch Much's house, clamoured loudly for the use of a
church. It was answered by the city magistrates that two of their
persuasion, La Motte and La Faille, preached regularly in the Great
Church, and that Rosaeus had been silenced only because he refused to
hold communion with Uytenbogaert. Maurice insisted that a separate church
should be assigned them. "But this is open schism," said Uytenbogaert.

Early in the year there was a meeting of the Holland delegation to the
States-General, of the state council, and of the magistracy of the Hague,
of deputies from the tribunals, and of all the nobles resident in the
capital. They sent for Maurice and asked his opinion as to the alarming
situation of affairs. He called for the register-books of the States of
Holland, and turning back to the pages on which was recorded his
accession to the stadholderate soon after his father's murder, ordered
the oath then exchanged between himself and the States to be read aloud.

That oath bound them mutually to support the Reformed religion till the
last drop of blood in their veins.

"That oath I mean to keep," said the Stadholder, "so long as I live."

No one disputed the obligation of all parties to maintain the Reformed
religion. But the question was whether the Five Points were inconsistent
with the Reformed religion. The contrary was clamorously maintained by
most of those present: In the year 1586 this difference in dogma had not
arisen, and as the large majority of the people at the Hague, including
nearly all those of rank and substance, were of the Remonstrant
persuasion, they naturally found it not agreeable to be sent out of the
church by a small minority. But Maurice chose to settle the question very
summarily. His father had been raised to power by the strict Calvinists,
and he meant to stand by those who had always sustained William the
Silent. "For this religion my father lost his life, and this religion
will I defend," said he.

"You hold then," said Barneveld, "that the Almighty has created one child
for damnation and another for salvation, and you wish this doctrine to be
publicly preached."

"Did you ever hear any one preach that?" replied the Prince.

"If they don't preach it, it is their inmost conviction," said the other.
And he proceeded to prove his position by copious citations.

"And suppose our ministers do preach this doctrine, is there anything
strange in it, any reason why they should not do so?"

The Advocate expressed his amazement and horror at the idea.

"But does not God know from all eternity who is to be saved and who to be
damned; and does He create men for any other end than that to which He
from eternity knows they will come?"

And so they enclosed themselves in the eternal circle out of which it was
not probable that either the soldier or the statesman would soon find an
issue.

"I am no theologian," said Barneveld at last, breaking off the
discussion.

"Neither am I," said the Stadholder. "So let the parsons come together.
Let the Synod assemble and decide the question. Thus we shall get out of
all this."

Next day a deputation of the secessionists waited by appointment on
Prince Maurice. They found him in the ancient mediaeval hall of the
sovereign counts of Holland, and seated on their old chair of state. He
recommended them to use caution and moderation for the present, and to go
next Sunday once more to Ryswyk. Afterwards he pledged himself that they
should have a church at the Hague, and, if necessary, the Great Church
itself.

But the Great Church, although a very considerable Catholic cathedral
before the Reformation, was not big enough now to hold both Henry Rosaeus
and John Uytenbogaert. Those two eloquent, learned, and most pugnacious
divines were the respective champions in the pulpit of the opposing
parties, as were the Advocate and the Stadholder in the council. And
there was as bitter personal rivalry between the two as between the
soldier and statesman.

"The factions begin to divide themselves," said Carleton, "betwixt his
Excellency and Monsieur Barneveld as heads who join to this present
difference their ancient quarrels. And the schism rests actually between
Uytenbogaert and Rosaeus, whose private emulation and envy (both being
much applauded and followed) doth no good towards the public
pacification." Uytenbogaert repeatedly offered, however, to resign his
functions and to leave the Hague. "He was always ready to play the
Jonah," he said.

A temporary arrangement was made soon afterwards by which Rosaeus and his
congregation should have the use of what was called the Gasthuis Kerk,
then appropriated to the English embassy.

Carleton of course gave his consent most willingly. The Prince declared
that the States of Holland and the city magistracy had personally
affronted him by the obstacles they had interposed to the public worship
of the Contra-Remonstrants. With their cause he had now thoroughly
identified himself.

The hostility between the representatives of the civil and military
authority waxed fiercer every hour. The tumults were more terrible than
ever. Plainly there was no room in the Commonwealth for the Advocate and
the Stadholder. Some impartial persons believed that there would be no
peace until both were got rid of. "There are many words among this
free-spoken people," said Carleton, "that to end these differences they
must follow the example of France in Marshal d'Ancre's case, and take off
the heads of both chiefs."

But these decided persons were in a small minority. Meantime the States
of Holland met in full assembly; sixty delegates being present.

It was proposed to invite his Excellency to take part in the
deliberations. A committee which had waited upon him the day before had
reported him as in favour of moderate rather than harsh measures in the
church affair, while maintaining his plighted word to the seceders.

Barneveld stoutly opposed the motion.

"What need had the sovereign states of Holland of advice from a
stadholder, from their servant, their functionary?" he cried.

But the majority for once thought otherwise. The Prince was invited to
come. The deliberations were moderate but inconclusive. He appeared again
at an adjourned meeting when the councils were not so harmonious.

Barneveld, Grotius, and other eloquent speakers endeavoured to point out
that the refusal of the seceders to hold communion with the Remonstrant
preachers and to insist on a separation was fast driving the state to
perdition. They warmly recommended mutual toleration and harmony. Grotius
exhausted learning and rhetoric to prove that the Five Points were not
inconsistent with salvation nor with the constitution of the United
Provinces.

The Stadholder grew impatient at last and clapped his hand on his rapier.

"No need here," he said, "of flowery orations and learned arguments. With
this good sword I will defend the religion which my father planted in
these Provinces, and I should like to see the man who is going to prevent
me!"

The words had an heroic ring in the ears of such as are ever ready to
applaud brute force, especially when wielded by a prince. The argumentum
ad ensem, however, was the last plea that William the Silent would have
been likely to employ on such an occasion, nor would it have been easy to
prove that the Reformed religion had been "planted" by one who had drawn
the sword against the foreign tyrant, and had made vast sacrifices for
his country's independence years before abjuring communion with the Roman
Catholic Church.

When swords are handled by the executive in presence of civil assemblies
there is usually but one issue to be expected.

Moreover, three whales had recently been stranded at Scheveningen, one of
them more than sixty feet long, and men wagged their beards gravely as
they spoke of the event, deeming it a certain presage of civil
commotions. It was remembered that at the outbreak of the great war two
whales had been washed ashore in the Scheldt. Although some free-thinking
people were inclined to ascribe the phenomenon to a prevalence of strong
westerly gales, while others found proof in it of a superabundance of
those creatures in the Polar seas, which should rather give encouragement
to the Dutch and Zealand fisheries, it is probable that quite as dark
forebodings of coming disaster were caused by this accident as by the
trumpet-like defiance which the Stadholder had just delivered to the
States of Holland.

Meantime the seceding congregation of the Hague had become wearied of the
English or Gasthuis Church, and another and larger one had been promised
them. This was an ancient convent on one of the principal streets of the
town, now used as a cannon-foundry. The Prince personally superintended
the preparations for getting ready this place of worship, which was
thenceforth called the Cloister Church. But delays were, as the
Contra-Remonstrants believed, purposely interposed, so that it was nearly
Midsummer before there were any signs of the church being fit for use.

They hastened accordingly to carry it, as it were, by assault. Not
wishing peaceably to accept as a boon from the civil authority what they
claimed as an indefeasible right, they suddenly took possession one
Sunday night of the Cloister Church.

It was in a state of utter confusion--part monastery, part foundry, part
conventicle. There were few seats, no altar, no communion-table, hardly
any sacramental furniture, but a pulpit was extemporized. Rosaeus
preached in triumph to an enthusiastic congregation, and three children
were baptized with the significant names of William, Maurice, and Henry.

On the following Monday there was a striking scene on the Voorhout. This
most beautiful street of a beautiful city was a broad avenue, shaded by a
quadruple row of limetrees, reaching out into the thick forest of secular
oaks and beeches--swarming with fallow-deer and alive with the notes of
singing birds--by which the Hague, almost from time immemorial, has been
embowered. The ancient cloisterhouse and church now reconverted to
religious uses--was a plain, rather insipid structure of red brick picked
out with white stone, presenting three symmetrical gables to the street,
with a slender belfry and spire rising in the rear.

Nearly adjoining it on the north-western side was the elegant and
commodious mansion of Barneveld, purchased by him from the
representatives of the Arenberg family, surrounded by shrubberies and
flower-gardens; not a palace, but a dignified and becoming abode for the
first citizen of a powerful republic.

On that midsummer's morning it might well seem that, in rescuing the old
cloister from the military purposes to which it had for years been
devoted, men had given an even more belligerent aspect to the scene than
if it had been left as a foundry. The miscellaneous pieces of artillery
and other fire-arms lying about, with piles of cannon-ball which there
had not been time to remove, were hardly less belligerent and threatening
of aspect than the stern faces of the crowd occupied in thoroughly
preparing the house for its solemn destination. It was determined that
there should be accommodation on the next Sunday for all who came to the
service. An army of carpenters, joiners, glaziers, and other
workmen-assisted by a mob of citizens of all ranks and ages, men and
women, gentle and simple were busily engaged in bringing planks and
benches; working with plane, adze, hammer and saw, trowel and shovel, to
complete the work.

On the next Sunday the Prince attended public worship for the last time
at the Great Church under the ministration of Uytenbogaert. He was
infuriated with the sermon, in which the bold Remonstrant bitterly
inveighed against the proposition for a National Synod. To oppose that
measure publicly in the very face of the Stadholder, who now considered
himself as the Synod personified, seemed to him flat blasphemy. Coming
out of the church with his step-mother, the widowed Louise de Coligny,
Princess of Orange, he denounced the man in unmeasured terms. "He is the
enemy of God," said Maurice. At least from that time forth, and indeed
for a year before, Maurice was the enemy of the preacher.

On the following Sunday, July 23, Maurice went in solemn state to the
divine service at the Cloister Church now thoroughly organized. He was
accompanied by his cousin, the famous Count William Lewis of Nassau,
Stadholder of Friesland, who had never concealed his warm sympathy with
the Contra-Remonstrants, and by all the chief officers of his household
and members of his staff. It was an imposing demonstration and meant for
one. As the martial stadholder at the head of his brilliant cavalcade
rode forth across the drawbridge from the Inner Court of the old moated
palace--where the ancient sovereign Dirks and Florences of Holland had so
long ruled their stout little principality--along the shady and stately
Kneuterdyk and so through the Voorhout, an immense crowd thronged around
his path and accompanied him to the church. It was as if the great
soldier were marching to siege or battle-field where fresher glories than
those of Sluys or Geertruidenberg were awaiting him.

The train passed by Barneveld's house and entered the cloister. More than
four thousand persons were present at the service or crowded around the
doors vainly attempting to gain admission into the overflowing aisles;
while the Great Church was left comparatively empty, a few hundred only
worshipping there. The Cloister Church was thenceforth called the
Prince's Church, and a great revolution was beginning even in the Hague.

The Advocate was wroth as he saw the procession graced by the two
stadholders and their military attendants. He knew that he was now to bow
his head to the Church thus championed by the chief personage and
captain-general of the state, to renounce his dreams of religious
toleration, to sink from his post of supreme civic ruler, or to accept an
unequal struggle in which he might utterly succumb. But his iron nature
would break sooner than bend. In the first transports of his indignation
he is said to have vowed vengeance against the immediate instruments by
which the Cloister Church had, as he conceived, been surreptitiously and
feloniously seized. He meant to strike a blow which should startle the
whole population of the Hague, send a thrill of horror through the
country, and teach men to beware how they trifled with the sovereign
states of Holland, whose authority had so long been undisputed, and with
him their chief functionary.

He resolved--so ran the tale of the preacher Trigland, who told it to
Prince Maurice, and has preserved it in his chronicle--to cause to be
seized at midnight from their beds four men whom he considered the
ringleaders in this mutiny, to have them taken to the place of execution
on the square in the midst of the city, to have their heads cut off at
once by warrant from the chief tribunal without any previous warning, and
then to summon all the citizens at dawn of day, by ringing of bells and
firing of cannon, to gaze on the ghastly spectacle, and teach them to
what fate this pestilential schism and revolt against authority had
brought its humble tools. The victims were to be Enoch Much, the Prince's
book-keeper, and three others, an attorney, an engraver, and an
apothecary, all of course of the Contra-Remonstrant persuasion. It was
necessary, said the Advocate, to make once for all an example, and show
that there was a government in the land.

He had reckoned on a ready adhesion to this measure and a sentence from
the tribunal through the influence of his son-in-law, the Seignior van
Veenhuyzen, who was president of the chief court. His attempt was foiled
however by the stern opposition of two Zealand members of the court, who
managed to bring up from a bed of sickness, where he had long been lying,
a Holland councillor whom they knew to be likewise opposed to the fierce
measure, and thus defeated it by a majority of one.

Such is the story as told by contemporaries and repeated from that day to
this. It is hardly necessary to say that Barneveld calmly denied having
conceived or even heard of the scheme. That men could go about looking
each other in the face and rehearsing such gibberish would seem
sufficiently dispiriting did we not know to what depths of credulity men
in all ages can sink when possessed by the demon of party malice.

If it had been narrated on the Exchange at Amsterdam or Flushing during
that portentous midsummer that Barneveld had not only beheaded but
roasted alive, and fed the dogs and cats upon the attorney, the
apothecary, and the engraver, there would have been citizens in plenty to
devour the news with avidity.

But although the Advocate had never imagined such extravagances as these,
it is certain that he had now resolved upon very bold measures, and that
too without an instant's delay. He suspected the Prince of aiming at
sovereignty not only over Holland but over all the provinces and to be
using the Synod as a principal part of his machinery. The gauntlet was
thrown down by the Stadholder, and the Advocate lifted it at once. The
issue of the struggle would depend upon the political colour of the town
magistracies. Barneveld instinctively felt that Maurice, being now
resolved that the Synod should be held, would lose no time in making a
revolution in all the towns through the power he held or could plausibly
usurp. Such a course would, in his opinion, lead directly to an
unconstitutional and violent subversion of the sovereign rights of each
province, to the advantage of the central government. A religious creed
would be forced upon Holland and perhaps upon two other provinces which
was repugnant to a considerable majority of the people. And this would be
done by a majority vote of the States-General, on a matter over which, by
the 13th Article of the fundamental compact--the Union of Utrecht--the
States-General had no control, each province having reserved the
disposition of religious affairs to itself. For let it never be forgotten
that the Union of the Netherlands was a compact, a treaty, an agreement
between sovereign states. There was no pretence that it was an
incorporation, that the people had laid down a constitution, an organic
law. The people were never consulted, did not exist, had not for
political purposes been invented. It was the great primal defect of their
institutions, but the Netherlanders would have been centuries before
their age had they been able to remedy that defect. Yet the Netherlanders
would have been much behind even that age of bigotry had they admitted
the possibility in a free commonwealth, of that most sacred and important
of all subjects that concern humanity, religious creed--the relation of
man to his Maker--to be regulated by the party vote of a political board.

It was with no thought of treason in his heart or his head therefore that
the Advocate now resolved that the States of Holland and the cities of
which that college was composed should protect their liberties and
privileges, the sum of which in his opinion made up the sovereignty of
the province he served, and that they should protect them, if necessary,
by force. Force was apprehended. It should be met by force. To be
forewarned was to be forearmed. Barneveld forewarned the States of
Holland.

On the 4th August 1617, he proposed to that assembly a resolution which
was destined to become famous. A majority accepted it after brief debate.
It was to this effect.

The States having seen what had befallen in many cities, and especially
in the Hague, against the order, liberties, and laws of the land, and
having in vain attempted to bring into harmony with the States certain
cities which refused to co-operate with the majority, had at last
resolved to refuse the National Synod, as conflicting with the
sovereignty and laws of Holland. They had thought good to set forth in
public print their views as to religious worship, and to take measures to
prevent all deeds of violence against persons and property. To this end
the regents of cities were authorized in case of need, until otherwise
ordained, to enrol men-at-arms for their security and prevention of
violence. Furthermore, every one that might complain of what the regents
of cities by strength of this resolution might do was ordered to have
recourse to no one else than the States of Holland, as no account would
be made of anything that might be done or undertaken by the tribunals.

Finally, it was resolved to send a deputation to Prince Maurice, the
Princess-Widow, and Prince Henry, requesting them to aid in carrying out
this resolution.

Thus the deed was done. The sword was drawn. It was drawn in self-defence
and in deliberate answer to the Stadholder's defiance when he rapped his
sword hilt in face of the assembly, but still it was drawn. The States of
Holland were declared sovereign and supreme. The National Synod was
peremptorily rejected. Any decision of the supreme courts of the Union in
regard to the subject of this resolution was nullified in advance.
Thenceforth this measure of the 4th August was called the "Sharp
Resolve." It might prove perhaps to be double-edged.

It was a stroke of grim sarcasm on the part of the Advocate thus solemnly
to invite the Stadholder's aid in carrying out a law which was aimed
directly at his head; to request his help for those who meant to defeat
with the armed hand that National Synod which he had pledged himself to
bring about.

The question now arose what sort of men-at-arms it would be well for the
city governments to enlist. The officers of the regular garrisons had
received distinct orders from Prince Maurice as their military superior
to refuse any summons to act in matters proceeding from the religious
question. The Prince, who had chief authority over all the regular
troops, had given notice that he would permit nothing to be done against
"those of the Reformed religion," by which he meant the
Contra-Remonstrants and them only.

In some cities there were no garrisons, but only train-bands. But the
train bands (Schutters) could not be relied on to carry out the Sharp
Resolve, for they were almost to a man Contra-Remonstrants. It was
therefore determined to enlist what were called "Waartgelders;" soldiers,
inhabitants of the place, who held themselves ready to serve in time of
need in consideration of a certain wage; mercenaries in short.

This resolution was followed as a matter of course by a solemn protest
from Amsterdam and the five cities who acted with her.

On the same day Maurice was duly notified of the passage of the law. His
wrath was great. High words passed between him and the deputies. It could
hardly have been otherwise expected. Next-day he came before the Assembly
to express his sentiments, to complain of the rudeness with which the
resolution of 4th August had been communicated to him, and to demand
further explanations. Forthwith the Advocate proceeded to set forth the
intentions of the States, and demanded that the Prince should assist the
magistrates in carrying out the policy decided upon. Reinier Pauw,
burgomaster of Amsterdam, fiercely interrupted the oration of Barneveld,
saying that although these might be his views, they were not to be held
by his Excellency as the opinions of all. The Advocate, angry at the
interruption, answered him sternly, and a violent altercation, not
unmixed with personalities, arose. Maurice, who kept his temper admirably
on this occasion, interfered between the two and had much difficulty in
quieting the dispute. He then observed that when he took the oath as
stadholder these unfortunate differences had not arisen, but all had been
good friends together. This was perfectly true, but he could have added
that they might all continue good friends unless the plan of imposing a
religious creed upon the minority by a clerical decision were persisted
in. He concluded that for love of one of the two great parties he would
not violate the oath he had taken to maintain the Reformed religion to
the last drop of his blood. Still, with the same 'petitio principii' that
the Reformed religion and the dogmas of the Contra-Remonstrants were one
and the same thing, he assured the Assembly that the authority of the
magistrates would be sustained by him so long as it did not lead to the
subversion of religion.

Clearly the time for argument had passed. As Dudley Carleton observed,
men had been disputing 'pro aris' long enough. They would soon be
fighting 'pro focis.'

In pursuance of the policy laid down by the Sharp Resolution, the States
proceeded to assure themselves of the various cities of the province by
means of Waartgelders. They sent to the important seaport of Brielle and
demanded a new oath from the garrison. It was intimated that the Prince
would be soon coming there in person to make himself master of the place,
and advice was given to the magistrates to be beforehand with him. These
statements angered Maurice, and angered him the more because they
happened to be true. It was also charged that he was pursuing his
Leicestrian designs and meant to make himself, by such steps, sovereign
of the country. The name of Leicester being a byword of reproach ever
since that baffled noble had a generation before left the Provinces in
disgrace, it was a matter of course that such comparisons were
excessively exasperating. It was fresh enough too in men's memory that
the Earl in his Netherland career had affected sympathy with the
strictest denomination of religious reformers, and that the profligate
worldling and arrogant self-seeker had used the mask of religion to cover
flagitious ends. As it had indeed been the object of the party at the
head of which the Advocate had all his life acted to raise the youthful
Maurice to the stadholderate expressly to foil the plots of Leicester, it
could hardly fail to be unpalatable to Maurice to be now accused of
acting the part of Leicester.

He inveighed bitterly on the subject before the state council: The state
council, in a body, followed him to a meeting of the States-General. Here
the Stadholder made a vehement speech and demanded that the States of
Holland should rescind the "Sharp Resolution," and should desist from the
new oaths required from the soldiery. Barneveld, firm as a rock, met
these bitter denunciations. Speaking in the name of Holland, he repelled
the idea that the sovereign States of that province were responsible to
the state council or to the States-General either. He regretted, as all
regretted, the calumnies uttered against the Prince, but in times of such
intense excitement every conspicuous man was the mark of calumny.

The Stadholder warmly repudiated Leicestrian designs, and declared that
he had been always influenced by a desire to serve his country and
maintain the Reformed religion. If he had made mistakes, he desired to be
permitted to improve in the future.

Thus having spoken, the soldier retired from the Assembly with the state
council at his heels.

The Advocate lost no time in directing the military occupation of the
principal towns of Holland, such as Leyden, Gouda, Rotterdam,
Schoonhoven, Hoorn, and other cities.

At Leyden especially, where a strong Orange party was with difficulty
kept in obedience by the Remonstrant magistracy, it was found necessary
to erect a stockade about the town-hall and to plant caltrops and other
obstructions in the squares and streets.

The broad space in front; of the beautiful medieval seat of the municipal
government, once so sacred for the sublime and pathetic scenes enacted
there during the famous siege and in the magistracy of Peter van der
Werff, was accordingly enclosed by a solid palisade of oaken planks,
strengthened by rows of iron bars with barbed prongs: The entrenchment
was called by the populace the Arminian Fort, and the iron spear heads
were baptized Barneveld's teeth. Cannon were planted at intervals along
the works, and a company or two of the Waartgelders, armed from head to
foot, with snaphances on their shoulders, stood ever ready to issue forth
to quell any disturbances. Occasionally a life or two was lost of citizen
or soldier, and many doughty blows were interchanged.

It was a melancholy spectacle. No commonwealth could be more fortunate
than this republic in possessing two such great leading minds. No two men
could be more patriotic than both Stadholder and Advocate. No two men
could be prouder, more overbearing, less conciliatory.

"I know Mons. Barneveld well," said Sir Ralph Winwood, "and know that he
hath great powers and abilities, and malice itself must confess that man
never hath done more faithful and powerful service to his country than
he. But 'finis coronat opus' and 'il di lodi lacera; oportet imperatorem
stantem mori.'"

The cities of Holland were now thoroughly "waartgeldered," and Barneveld
having sufficiently shown his "teeth" in that province departed for
change of air to Utrecht. His failing health was assigned as the pretext
for the visit, although the atmosphere of that city has never been
considered especially salubrious in the dog-days.

Meantime the Stadholder remained quiet, but biding his time. He did not
choose to provoke a premature conflict in the strongholds of the
Arminians as he called them, but with a true military instinct preferred
making sure of the ports. Amsterdam, Enkhuyzen, Flushing, being without
any effort of his own within his control, he quietly slipped down the
river Meuse on the night of the 29th September, accompanied by his
brother Frederic Henrys and before six o'clock next morning had
introduced a couple of companies of trustworthy troops into Brielle, had
summoned the magistrates before him, and compelled them to desist from
all further intention of levying mercenaries. Thus all the fortresses
which Barneveld had so recently and in such masterly fashion rescued from
the grasp of England were now quietly reposing in the hands of the
Stadholder.

Maurice thought it not worth his while for the present to quell the
mutiny--as he considered it the legal and constitutional defence of
vested right--as great jurists like Barneveld and Hugo Grotius accounted
the movement--at its "fountain head Leyden or its chief stream Utrecht;"
to use the expression of Carleton. There had already been bloodshed in
Leyden, a burgher or two having been shot and a soldier stoned to death
in the streets, but the Stadholder deemed it unwise to precipitate
matters. Feeling himself, with his surpassing military knowledge and with
a large majority of the nation at his back, so completely master of the
situation, he preferred waiting on events. And there is no doubt that he
was proving himself a consummate politician and a perfect master of
fence. "He is much beloved and followed both of soldiers and people,"
said the English ambassador, "he is a man 'innoxiae popularitatis' so as
this jealousy cannot well be fastened upon him; and in this cause of
religion he stirred not until within these few months he saw he must
declare himself or suffer the better party to be overborne."

The chief tribunal-high council so called-of the country soon gave
evidence that the "Sharp Resolution" had judged rightly in reckoning on
its hostility and in nullifying its decisions in advance.

They decided by a majority vote that the Resolution ought not to be
obeyed, but set aside. Amsterdam, and the three or four cities usually
acting with her, refused to enlist troops.

Rombout Hoogerbeets, a member of the tribunal, informed Prince Maurice
that he "would no longer be present on a bench where men disputed the
authority of the States of Holland, which he held to be the supreme
sovereignty over him."

This was plain speaking; a distinct enunciation of what the States' right
party deemed to be constitutional law.

And what said Maurice in reply?

"I, too, recognize the States of Holland as sovereign; but we might at
least listen to each other occasionally."

Hoogerbeets, however, deeming that listening had been carried far enough,
decided to leave the tribunal altogether, and to resume the post which he
had formerly occupied as Pensionary or chief magistrate of Leyden.

Here he was soon to find himself in the thick of the conflict. Meantime
the States-General, in full assembly, on 11th November 1617, voted that
the National Synod should be held in the course of the following year.
The measure was carried by a strict party vote and by a majority of one.
The representatives of each province voting as one, there were four in
favour of to three against the Synod. The minority, consisting of
Holland, Utrecht, and Overyssel, protested against the vote as an
outrageous invasion of the rights of each province, as an act of flagrant
tyranny and usurpation.

The minority in the States of Holland, the five cities often named,
protested against the protest.

The defective part of the Netherland constitutions could not be better
illustrated. The minority of the States of Holland refused to be bound by
a majority of the provincial assembly. The minority of the States-General
refused to be bound by the majority of the united assembly.

This was reducing politics to an absurdity and making all government
impossible. It is however quite certain that in the municipal governments
a majority had always governed, and that a majority vote in the
provincial assemblies had always prevailed. The present innovation was to
govern the States-General by a majority.

Yet viewed by the light of experience and of common sense, it would be
difficult to conceive of a more preposterous proceeding than thus to cram
a religious creed down the throats of half the population of a country by
the vote of a political assembly. But it was the seventeenth and not the
nineteenth century.

Moreover, if there were any meaning in words, the 13th Article of Union,
reserving especially the disposition over religious matters to each
province, had been wisely intended to prevent the possibility of such
tyranny.

When the letters of invitation to the separate states and to others were
drawing up in the general assembly, the representatives of the three
states left the chamber. A solitary individual from Holland remained
however, a burgomaster of Amsterdam.

Uytenbogaert, conversing with Barneveld directly afterwards, advised him
to accept the vote. Yielding to the decision of the majority, it would be
possible, so thought the clergyman, for the great statesman so to handle
matters as to mould the Synod to his will, even as he had so long
controlled the States-Provincial and the States-General.

"If you are willing to give away the rights of the land," said the
Advocate very sharply, "I am not."

Probably the priest's tactics might have proved more adroit than the
stony opposition on which Barneveld was resolved.

But it was with the aged statesman a matter of principle, not of policy.
His character and his personal pride, the dignity of opinion and office,
his respect for constitutional law, were all at stake.

Shallow observers considered the struggle now taking place as a personal
one. Lovers of personal government chose to look upon the Advocate's
party as a faction inspired with an envious resolve to clip the wings of
the Stadholder, who was at last flying above their heads.

There could be no doubt of the bitter animosity between the two men.
There could be no doubt that jealousy was playing the part which that
master passion will ever play in all the affairs of life. But there could
be no doubt either that a difference of principle as wide as the world
separated the two antagonists.

Even so keen an observer as Dudley Carleton, while admitting the man's
intellectual power and unequalled services, could see nothing in the
Advocate's present course but prejudice, obstinacy, and the insanity of
pride. "He doth no whit spare himself in pains nor faint in his
resolution," said the Envoy, "wherein notwithstanding he will in all
appearance succumb ere afore long, having the disadvantages of a weak
body, a weak party, and a weak cause." But Carleton hated Barneveld, and
considered it the chief object of his mission to destroy him, if he
could. In so doing he would best carry out the wishes of his sovereign.

The King of Britain had addressed a somewhat equivocal letter to the
States-General on the subject of religion in the spring of 1617. It
certainly was far from being as satisfactory as, the epistles of 1613
prepared under the Advocate's instructions, had been, while the exuberant
commentary upon the royal text, delivered in full assembly by his
ambassador soon after the reception of the letter, was more than usually
didactic, offensive, and ignorant. Sir Dudley never omitted an
opportunity of imparting instruction to the States-General as to the
nature of their constitution and the essential dogmas on which their
Church was founded. It is true that the great lawyers and the great
theologians of the country were apt to hold very different opinions from
his upon those important subjects, but this was so much the worse for the
lawyers and theologians, as time perhaps might prove.

The King in this last missive had proceeded to unsay the advice which he
had formerly bestowed upon the States, by complaining that his earlier
letters had been misinterpreted. They had been made use of, he said, to
authorize the very error against which they had been directed. They had
been held to intend the very contrary of what they did mean. He felt
himself bound in conscience therefore, finding these differences ready to
be "hatched into schisms," to warn the States once more against pests so
pernicious.

Although the royal language was somewhat vague so far as enunciation of
doctrine, a point on which he had once confessed himself fallible, was
concerned, there was nothing vague in his recommendation of a National
Synod. To this the opposition of Barneveld was determined not upon
religious but upon constitutional grounds. The confederacy did not
constitute a nation, and therefore there could not be a national synod
nor a national religion.

Carleton came before the States-General soon afterwards with a prepared
oration, wearisome as a fast-day sermon after the third turn of the
hour-glass, pragmatical as a schoolmaster's harangue to fractious little
boys.

He divided his lecture into two heads--the peace of the Church, and the
peace of the Provinces--starting with the first. "A Jove principium," he
said, "I will begin with that which is both beginning and end. It is the
truth of God's word and its maintenance that is the bond of our common
cause. Reasons of state invite us as friends and neighbours by the
preservation of our lives and property, but the interest of religion
binds us as Christians and brethren to the mutual defence of the liberty
of our consciences."

He then proceeded to point out the only means by which liberty of
conscience could be preserved. It was by suppressing all forms of
religion but one, and by silencing all religious discussion. Peter
Titelman and Philip II. could not have devised a more pithy formula. All
that was wanting was the axe and faggot to reduce uniformity to practice.
Then liberty of conscience would be complete.

"One must distinguish," said the Ambassador, "between just liberty and
unbridled license, and conclude that there is but one truth single and
unique. Those who go about turning their brains into limbecks for
distilling new notions in religious matters only distract the union of
the Church which makes profession of this unique truth. If it be
permitted to one man to publish the writings and fantasies of a sick
spirit and for another moved by Christian zeal to reduce this wanderer
'ad sanam mentem;' why then 'patet locus adversus utrumque,' and the
common enemy (the Devil) slips into the fortress." He then proceeded to
illustrate this theory on liberty of conscience by allusions to Conrad
Vorstius.

This infamous sectary had in fact reached such a pitch of audacity, said
the Ambassador, as not only to inveigh against the eternal power of God
but to indulge in irony against the honour of his Majesty King James.

And in what way had he scandalized the government of the Republic? He had
dared to say that within its borders there was religious toleration. He
had distinctly averred that in the United Provinces heretics were not
punished with death or with corporal chastisement.

"He declares openly," said Carleton, "that contra haereticos etiam vere
dictos (ne dum falso et calumniose sic traductos) there is neither
sentence of death nor other corporal punishment, so that in order to
attract to himself a great following of birds of the name feather he
publishes to all the world that here in this country one can live and die
a heretic, unpunished, without being arrested and without danger."

In order to suppress this reproach upon the Republic at which the
Ambassador stood aghast, and to prevent the Vorstian doctrines of
religious toleration and impunity of heresy from spreading among "the
common people, so subject by their natures to embrace new opinions," he
advised of course that "the serpent be sent back to the nest where he was
born before the venom had spread through the whole body of the Republic."

A week afterwards a long reply was delivered on part of the
States-General to the Ambassador's oration. It is needless to say that it
was the work of the Advocate, and that it was in conformity with the
opinions so often exhibited in the letters to Caron and others of which
the reader has seen many samples.

That religious matters were under the control of the civil government,
and that supreme civil authority belonged to each one of the seven
sovereign provinces, each recognizing no superior within its own sphere,
were maxims of state always enforced in the Netherlands and on which the
whole religious controversy turned.

"The States-General have always cherished the true Christian Apostolic
religion," they said, "and wished it to be taught under the authority and
protection of the legal government of these Provinces in all purity, and
in conformity with the Holy Scriptures, to the good people of these
Provinces. And My Lords the States and magistrates of the respective
provinces, each within their own limits, desire the same."

They had therefore given express orders to the preachers "to keep the
peace by mutual and benign toleration of the different opinions on the
one side and the other at least until with full knowledge of the subject
the States might otherwise ordain. They had been the more moved to this
because his Majesty having carefully examined the opinions of the learned
hereon each side had found both consistent with Christian belief and the
salvation of souls."

It was certainly not the highest expression of religious toleration for
the civil authority to forbid the clergymen of the country from
discussing in their pulpits the knottiest and most mysterious points of
the schoolmen lest the "common people" should be puzzled. Nevertheless,
where the close union of Church and State and the necessity of one church
were deemed matters of course, it was much to secure subordination of the
priesthood to the magistracy, while to enjoin on preachers abstention
from a single exciting cause of quarrel, on the ground that there was
more than one path to salvation, and that mutual toleration was better
than mutual persecution, was; in that age, a stride towards religious
equality. It was at least an advance on Carleton's dogma, that there was
but one unique and solitary truth, and that to declare heretics not
punishable with death was an insult to the government of the Republic.

The States-General answered the Ambassador's plea, made in the name of
his master, for immediate and unguaranteed evacuation of the debatable
land by the arguments already so often stated in the Advocate's
instructions to Caron. They had been put to great trouble and expense
already in their campaigning and subsequent fortification of important
places in the duchies. They had seen the bitter spirit manifested by the
Spaniards in the demolition of the churches and houses of Mulheim and
other places. "While the affair remained in its present terms of utter
uncertainty their Mightinesses," said the States-General, "find it most
objectionable to forsake the places which they have been fortifying and
to leave the duchies and all their fellow-religionists, besides the
rights of the possessory princes a prey to those who have been hankering
for the territories for long years, and who would unquestionably be able
to make themselves absolute masters of all within a very few days."

A few months later Carleton came before the States-General again and
delivered another elaborate oration, duly furnished to him by the King,
upon the necessity of the National Synod, the comparative merits of
Arminianism and Contra-Remonstrantism, together with a full exposition of
the constitutions of the Netherlands.

It might be supposed that Barneveld and Grotius and Hoogerbeets knew
something of the law and history of their country.

But James knew much better, and so his envoy endeavoured to convince his
audience.

He received on the spot a temperate but conclusive reply from the
delegates of Holland. They informed him that the war with Spain--the
cause of the Utrecht Union--was not begun about religion but on account
of the violation of liberties, chartered rights and privileges, not the
least of which rights was that of each province to regulate religious
matters within its borders.

A little later a more vehement reply was published anonymously in the
shape of a pamphlet called 'The Balance,' which much angered the
Ambassador and goaded his master almost to frenzy. It was deemed so
blasphemous, so insulting to the Majesty of England, so entirely
seditious, that James, not satisfied with inditing a rejoinder, insisted
through Carleton that a reward should be offered by the States for the
detection of the author, in order that he might be condignly punished.
This was done by a majority vote, 1000 florins being offered for the
discovery of the author and 600 for that of the printer.

Naturally the step was opposed in the States-General; two deputies in
particular making themselves conspicuous. One of them was an audacious
old gentleman named Brinius of Gelderland, "much corrupted with
Arminianism," so Carleton informed his sovereign. He appears to have
inherited his audacity through his pedigree, descending, as it was
ludicrously enough asserted he did, from a chief of the Caninefates, the
ancient inhabitants of Gelderland, called Brinio. And Brinio the
Caninefat had been as famous for his stolid audacity as for his
illustrious birth; "Erat in Caninefatibus stolidae audaciae Brinio
claritate natalium insigni."

The patronizing manner in which the Ambassador alluded to the other
member of the States-General who opposed the decree was still more
diverting. It was "Grotius, the Pensioner of Rotterdam, a young petulant
brain, not unknown to your Majesty," said Carleton.

Two centuries and a half have rolled away, and there are few majesties,
few nations, and few individuals to whom the name of that petulant youth
is unknown; but how many are familiar with the achievements of the able
representative of King James?

Nothing came of the measure, however, and the offer of course helped the
circulation of the pamphlet.

It is amusing to see the ferocity thus exhibited by the royal pamphleteer
against a rival; especially when one can find no crime in 'The Balance'
save a stinging and well-merited criticism of a very stupid oration.

Gillis van Ledenberg was generally supposed to be the author of it.
Carleton inclined, however, to suspect Grotius, "because," said he,
"having always before been a stranger to my house, he has made me the day
before the publication thereof a complimentary visit, although it was
Sunday and church time; whereby the Italian proverb, 'Chi ti caresse piu
che suole,' &c.,' is added to other likelihoods."

It was subsequently understood however that the pamphlet was written by a
Remonstrant preacher of Utrecht, named Jacobus Taurinus; one of those who
had been doomed to death by the mutinous government in that city seven
years before.

It was now sufficiently obvious that either the governments in the three
opposition provinces must be changed or that the National Synod must be
imposed by a strict majority vote in the teeth of the constitution and of
vigorous and eloquent protests drawn up by the best lawyers in the
country. The Advocate and Grotius recommended a provincial synod first
and, should that not succeed in adjusting the differences of church
government, then the convocation of a general or oecumenical synod. They
resisted the National Synod because, in their view, the Provinces were
not a nation. A league of seven sovereign and independent Mates was all
that legally existed in the Netherlands. It was accordingly determined
that the governments should be changed, and the Stadholder set himself to
prepare the way for a thorough and, if possible, a bloodless revolution.
He departed on the 27th November for a tour through the chief cities, and
before leaving the Hague addressed an earnest circular letter to the
various municipalities of Holland.

A more truly dignified, reasonable, right royal letter, from the
Stadholder's point of view, could not have been indited. The Imperial
"we" breathing like a morning breeze through the whole of it blew away
all legal and historical mistiness.

But the clouds returned again nevertheless. Unfortunately for Maurice it
could not be argued by the pen, however it might be proved by the sword,
that the Netherlands constituted a nation, and that a convocation of
doctors of divinity summoned by a body of envoys had the right to dictate
a creed to seven republics.

All parties were agreed on one point. There must be unity of divine
worship. The territory of the Netherlands was not big enough to hold two
systems of religion, two forms of Christianity, two sects of
Protestantism. It was big enough to hold seven independent and sovereign
states, but would be split into fragments--resolved into chaos--should
there be more than one Church or if once a schism were permitted in that
Church. Grotius was as much convinced of this as Gomarus. And yet the
13th Article of the Union stared them all in the face, forbidding the
hideous assumptions now made by the general government. Perhaps no man
living fully felt its import save Barneveld alone. For groping however
dimly and hesitatingly towards the idea of religious liberty, of general
toleration, he was denounced as a Papist, an atheist, a traitor, a
miscreant, by the fanatics for the sacerdotal and personal power. Yet it
was a pity that he could never contemplate the possibility of his
country's throwing off the swaddling clothes of provincialism which had
wrapped its infancy. Doubtless history, law, tradition, and usage pointed
to the independent sovereignty of each province. Yet the period of the
Truce was precisely the time when a more generous constitution, a
national incorporation might have been constructed to take the place of
the loose confederacy by which the gigantic war had been fought out.
After all, foreign powers had no connection with the States, and knew
only the Union with which and with which alone they made treaties, and
the reality of sovereignty in each province was as ridiculous as in
theory it was impregnable. But Barneveld, under the modest title of
Advocate of one province, had been in reality president and prime
minister of the whole commonwealth. He had himself been the union and the
sovereignty. It was not wonderful that so imperious a nature objected to
transfer its powers to the Church, to the States-General, or to Maurice.

Moreover, when nationality assumed the unlovely form of rigid religious
uniformity; when Union meant an exclusive self-governed Church enthroned
above the State, responsible to no civic authority and no human law, the
boldest patriot might shiver at emerging from provincialism.



CHAPTER XV.

   The Commonwealth bent on Self-destruction--Evils of a Confederate
   System of Government--Rem Bischop's House sacked--Aerssens'
   unceasing Efforts against Barneveld--The Advocate's Interview with
   Maurice--The States of Utrecht raise the Troops--The Advocate at
   Utrecht--Barneveld urges mutual Toleration--Barneveld accused of
   being Partisan of Spain--Carleton takes his Departure.

It is not cheerful after widely contemplating the aspect of Christendom
in the year of supreme preparation to examine with the minuteness
absolutely necessary the narrow theatre to which the political affairs of
the great republic had been reduced.

That powerful commonwealth, to which the great party of the Reformation
naturally looked for guidance in the coming conflict, seemed bent on
self-destruction. The microcosm of the Netherlands now represented, alas!
the war of elements going on without on a world-wide scale. As the
Calvinists and Lutherans of Germany were hotly attacking each other even
in sight of the embattled front of Spain and the League, so the Gomarites
and the Arminians by their mutual rancour were tearing the political
power of the Dutch Republic to shreds and preventing her from assuming a
great part in the crisis. The consummate soldier, the unrivalled
statesman, each superior in his sphere to any contemporary rival, each
supplementing the other, and making up together, could they have been
harmonized, a double head such as no political organism then existing
could boast, were now in hopeless antagonism to each other. A mass of
hatred had been accumulated against the Advocate with which he found it
daily more and more difficult to struggle. The imperious, rugged, and
suspicious nature of the Stadholder had been steadily wrought upon by the
almost devilish acts of Francis Aerssens until he had come to look upon
his father's most faithful adherent, his own early preceptor in
statesmanship and political supporter, as an antagonist, a conspirator,
and a tyrant.

The soldier whose unrivalled ability, experience, and courage in the
field should have placed him at the very head of the great European army
of defence against the general crusade upon Protestantism, so constantly
foretold by Barneveld, was now to be engaged in making bloodless but
mischievous warfare against an imaginary conspiracy and a patriot foe.

The Advocate, keeping steadily in view the great principles by which his
political life had been guided, the supremacy of the civil authority in
any properly organized commonwealth over the sacerdotal and military,
found himself gradually forced into mortal combat with both. To the
individual sovereignty of each province he held with the tenacity of a
lawyer and historian. In that he found the only clue through the
labyrinth which ecclesiastical and political affairs presented. So close
was the tangle, so confused the medley, that without this slender guide
all hope of legal issue seemed lost.

No doubt the difficulty of the doctrine of individual sovereignty was
great, some of the provinces being such slender morsels of territory,
with resources so trivial, as to make the name of sovereignty ludicrous.
Yet there could be as little doubt that no other theory was tenable. If
so powerful a mind as that of the Advocate was inclined to strain the
theory to its extreme limits, it was because in the overshadowing
superiority of the one province Holland had been found the practical
remedy for the imbecility otherwise sure to result from such provincial
and meagre federalism.

Moreover, to obtain Union by stretching all the ancient historical
privileges and liberties of the separate provinces upon the Procrustean
bed of a single dogma, to look for nationality only in common subjection
to an infallible priesthood, to accept a Catechism as the palladium upon
which the safety of the State was to depend for all time, and beyond
which there was to be no further message from Heaven--such was not
healthy constitutionalism in the eyes of a great statesman. No doubt that
without the fervent spirit of Calvinism it would have been difficult to
wage war with such immortal hate as the Netherlands had waged it, no
doubt the spirit of republican and even democratic liberty lay hidden
within that rigid husk, but it was dishonour to the martyrs who had died
by thousands at the stake and on the battle field for the rights of
conscience if the only result of their mighty warfare against wrong had
been to substitute a new dogma for an old one, to stifle for ever the
right of free enquiry, theological criticism, and the hope of further
light from on high, and to proclaim it a libel on the Republic that
within its borders all heretics, whether Arminian or Papist, were safe
from the death penalty or even from bodily punishment. A theological
union instead of a national one and obtained too at the sacrifice of
written law and immemorial tradition, a congress in which clerical
deputations from all the provinces and from foreign nations should
prescribe to all Netherlanders an immutable creed and a shadowy
constitution, were not the true remedies for the evils of confederacy,
nor, if they had been, was the time an appropriate one for their
application.

It was far too early in the world's history to hope for such
redistribution of powers and such a modification of the social compact as
would place in separate spheres the Church and the State, double the
sanctions and the consolations of religion by removing it from the
pollutions of political warfare, and give freedom to individual
conscience by securing it from the interference of government.

It is melancholy to see the Republic thus perversely occupying its
energies. It is melancholy to see the great soldier becoming gradually
more ardent for battle with Barneveld and Uytenbogaert than with Spinola
and Bucquoy, against whom he had won so many imperishable laurels. It is
still sadder to see the man who had been selected by Henry IV. as the one
statesman of Europe to whom he could confide his great projects for the
pacification of Christendom, and on whom he could depend for counsel and
support in schemes which, however fantastic in some of their details, had
for their object to prevent the very European war of religion against
which Barneveld had been struggling, now reduced to defend himself
against suspicion hourly darkening and hatred growing daily more insane.

The eagle glance and restless wing, which had swept the whole political
atmosphere, now caged within the stifling limits of theological casuistry
and personal rivalry were afflicting to contemplate.

The evils resulting from a confederate system of government, from a
league of petty sovereignties which dared not become a nation, were as
woefully exemplified in the United Provinces as they were destined to be
more than a century and a half later, and in another hemisphere, before
that most fortunate and sagacious of written political instruments, the
American Constitution of 1787, came to remedy the weakness of the old
articles of Union.

Meantime the Netherlands were a confederacy, not a nation. Their general
government was but a committee.

It could ask of, but not command, the separate provinces. It had no
dealings with nor power over the inhabitants of the country; it could say
"Thou shalt" neither to state nor citizen; it could consult only with
corporations--fictitious and many-headed personages--itself incorporate.
There was no first magistrate, no supreme court, no commander-in-chief,
no exclusive mint nor power of credit, no national taxation, no central
house of representation and legislation, no senate. Unfortunately it had
one church, and out of this single matrix of centralism was born more
discord than had been produced by all the centrifugal forces of
provincialism combined.

There had been working substitutes found, as we well know, for the
deficiencies of this constitution, but the Advocate felt himself bound to
obey and enforce obedience to the laws and privileges of his country so
long as they remained without authorized change. His country was the
Province of Holland, to which his allegiance was due and whose servant he
was. That there was but one church paid and sanctioned by law, he
admitted, but his efforts were directed to prevent discord within that
church, by counselling moderation, conciliation, mutual forbearance, and
abstention from irritating discussion of dogmas deemed by many thinkers
and better theologians than himself not essential to salvation. In this
he was much behind his age or before it. He certainly was not with the
majority.

And thus, while the election of Ferdinand had given the signal of war all
over Christendom, while from the demolished churches in Bohemia the
tocsin was still sounding, whose vibrations were destined to be heard a
generation long through the world, there was less sympathy felt with the
call within the territory of the great republic of Protestantism than
would have seemed imaginable a few short years before. The capture of the
Cloister Church at the Hague in the summer of 1617 seemed to minds
excited by personal rivalries and minute theological controversy a more
momentous event than the destruction of the churches in the Klostergrab
in the following December. The triumph of Gomarism in a single Dutch city
inspired more enthusiasm for the moment than the deadly buffet to
European Protestantism could inspire dismay.

The church had been carried and occupied, as it were, by force, as if an
enemy's citadel. It seemed necessary to associate the idea of practical
warfare with a movement which might have been a pacific clerical success.
Barneveld and those who acted with him, while deploring the intolerance
out of which the schism had now grown to maturity, had still hoped for
possible accommodation of the quarrel. They dreaded popular tumults
leading to oppression of the magistracy by the mob or the soldiery and
ending in civil war. But what was wanted by the extreme partisans on
either side was not accommodation but victory.

"Religious differences are causing much trouble and discontents in many
cities," he said. "At Amsterdam there were in the past week two
assemblages of boys and rabble which did not disperse without violence,
crime, and robbery. The brother of Professor Episcopius (Rem Bischop) was
damaged to the amount of several thousands. We are still hoping that some
better means of accommodation may be found."

The calmness with which the Advocate spoke of these exciting and painful
events is remarkable. It was exactly a week before the date of his letter
that this riot had taken place at Amsterdam; very significant in its
nature and nearly tragical in its results. There were no Remonstrant
preachers left in the city, and the people of that persuasion were
excluded from the Communion service. On Sunday morning, 17th February
(1617), a furious mob set upon the house of Rem Bischop, a highly
respectable and wealthy citizen, brother of the Remonstrant professor
Episcopius, of Leyden. The house, an elegant mansion in one of the
principal streets, was besieged and after an hour's resistance carried by
storm. The pretext of the assault was that Arminian preaching was going
on within its walls, which was not the fact. The mistress of the house,
half clad, attempted to make her escape by the rear of the building, was
pursued by the rabble with sticks and stones, and shrieks of "Kill the
Arminian harlot, strike her dead," until she fortunately found refuge in
the house of a neighbouring carpenter. There the hunted creature fell
insensible on the ground, the master of the house refusing to give her
up, though the maddened mob surged around it, swearing that if the
"Arminian harlot"--as respectable a matron as lived in the city--were not
delivered over to them, they would tear the house to pieces. The hope of
plunder and of killing Rem Bischop himself drew them at last back to his
mansion. It was thoroughly sacked; every portable article of value,
linen, plate, money, furniture, was carried off, the pictures and objects
of art destroyed, the house gutted from top to bottom. A thousand
spectators were looking on placidly at the work of destruction as they
returned from church, many of them with Bible and Psalm-book in their
hands. The master effected his escape over the roof into an adjoining
building. One of the ringleaders, a carpenter by trade, was arrested
carrying an armful of valuable plunder. He was asked by the magistrate
why he had entered the house. "Out of good zeal," he replied; "to help
beat and kill the Arminians who were holding conventicle there." He was
further asked why he hated the Arminians so much. "Are we to suffer such
folk here," he replied, "who preach the vile doctrine that God has
created one man for damnation and another for salvation?"--thus ascribing
the doctrine of the church of which he supposed himself a member to the
Arminians whom he had been plundering and wished to kill.

Rem Bischop received no compensation for the damage and danger; the
general cry in the town being that the money he was receiving from
Barneveld and the King of Spain would make him good even if not a stone
of the house had been left standing. On the following Thursday two elders
of the church council waited upon and informed him that he must in future
abstain from the Communion service.

It may well be supposed that the virtual head of the government liked not
the triumph of mob law, in the name of religion, over the civil
authority. The Advocate was neither democrat nor demagogue. A lawyer, a
magistrate, and a noble, he had but little sympathy with the humbler
classes, which he was far too much in the habit of designating as rabble
and populace. Yet his anger was less against them than against the
priests, the foreigners, the military and diplomatic mischief-makers, by
whom they were set upon to dangerous demonstrations. The old patrician
scorned the arts by which highborn demagogues in that as in every age
affect adulation for inferiors whom they despise. It was his instinct to
protect, and guide the people, in whom he recognized no chartered nor
inherent right to govern. It was his resolve, so long as breath was in
him, to prevent them from destroying life and property and subverting the
government under the leadership of an inflamed priesthood.

It was with this intention, as we have just seen, and in order to avoid
bloodshed, anarchy, and civil war in the streets of every town and
village, that a decisive but in the Advocate's opinion a perfectly legal
step had been taken by the States of Holland. It had become necessary to
empower the magistracies of towns to defend themselves by enrolled troops
against mob violence and against an enforced synod considered by great
lawyers as unconstitutional.

Aerssens resided in Zealand, and the efforts of that ex-ambassador were
unceasing to excite popular animosity against the man he hated and to
trouble the political waters in which no man knew better than he how to
cast the net.

"The States of Zealand," said the Advocate to the ambassador in London,
"have a deputation here about the religious differences, urging the
holding of a National Synod according to the King's letters, to which
some other provinces and some of the cities of Holland incline. The
questions have not yet been defined by a common synod, so that a national
one could make no definition, while the particular synods and clerical
personages are so filled with prejudices and so bound by mutual
engagements of long date as to make one fear an unfruitful issue. We are
occupied upon this point in our assembly of Holland to devise some
compromise and to discover by what means these difficulties may be
brought into a state of tranquillity."

It will be observed that in all these most private and confidential
utterances of the Advocate a tone of extreme moderation, an anxious wish
to save the Provinces from dissensions, dangers, and bloodshed, is
distinctly visible. Never is he betrayed into vindictive, ambitious, or
self-seeking expressions, while sometimes, although rarely, despondent in
mind. Nor was his opposition to a general synod absolute. He was probably
persuaded however, as we have just seen, that it should of necessity be
preceded by provincial ones, both in due regard to the laws of the land
and to the true definition of the points to be submitted to its decision.
He had small hope of a successful result from it.

The British king gave him infinite distress. As towards France so towards
England the Advocate kept steadily before him the necessity of deferring
to powerful sovereigns whose friendship was necessary to the republic he
served, however misguided, perverse, or incompetent those monarchs might
be.

"I had always hoped," he said, "that his Majesty would have adhered to
his original written advice, that such questions as these ought to be
quietly settled by authority of law and not by ecclesiastical persons,
and I still hope that his Majesty's intention is really to that effect,
although he speaks of synods."

A month later he felt even more encouraged. "The last letter of his
Majesty concerning our religious questions," he said, "has given rise to
various constructions, but the best advised, who have peace and unity at
heart, understand the King's intention to be to conserve the state of
these Provinces and the religion in its purity. My hope is that his
Majesty's good opinion will be followed and adopted according to the most
appropriate methods."

Can it be believed that the statesman whose upright patriotism,
moderation, and nobleness of purpose thus breathed through every word
spoken by him in public or whispered to friends was already held up by a
herd of ravening slanderers to obloquy as a traitor and a tyrant?

He was growing old and had suffered much from illness during this
eventful summer, but his anxiety for the Commonwealth, caused by these
distressing and superfluous squabbles, were wearing into him more deeply
than years or disease could do.

"Owing to my weakness and old age I can't go up-stairs as well as I
used," he said,--[Barneveld to Caron 31 July and 21 Aug. 1617. (H. Arch.
MS.)]--"and these religious dissensions cause me sometimes such
disturbance of mind as will ere long become intolerable, because of my
indisposition and because of the cry of my heart at the course people are
pursuing here. I reflect that at the time of Duke Casimir and the Prince
of Chimay exactly such a course was held in Flanders and in Lord
Leicester's time in the city of Utrecht, as is best known to yourself. My
hope is fixed on the Lord God Almighty, and that He will make those well
ashamed who are laying anything to heart save his honour and glory and
the welfare of our country with maintenance of its freedom and laws. I
mean unchangeably to live and die for them . . . . Believe firmly that
all representations to the contrary are vile calumnies."

Before leaving for Vianen in the middle of August of this year (1617) the
Advocate had an interview with the Prince. There had been no open rupture
between them, and Barneveld was most anxious to avoid a quarrel with one
to whose interests and honour he had always been devoted. He did not
cling to power nor office. On the contrary, he had repeatedly importuned
the States to accept his resignation, hoping that perhaps these unhappy
dissensions might be quieted by his removal from the scene. He now told
the Prince that the misunderstanding between them arising from these
religious disputes was so painful to his heart that he would make and had
made every possible effort towards conciliation and amicable settlement
of the controversy. He saw no means now, he said, of bringing about
unity, unless his Excellency were willing to make some proposition for
arrangement. This he earnestly implored the Prince to do, assuring him of
his sincere and upright affection for him and his wish to support such
measures to the best of his ability and to do everything for the
furtherance of his reputation and necessary authority. He was so desirous
of this result, he said, that he would propose now as he did at the time
of the Truce negotiations to lay down all his offices, leaving his
Excellency to guide the whole course of affairs according to his best
judgment. He had already taken a resolution, if no means of accommodation
were possible, to retire to his Gunterstein estate and there remain till
the next meeting of the assembly; when he would ask leave to retire for
at least a year; in order to occupy himself with a revision and collation
of the charters, laws, and other state papers of the country which were
in his keeping, and which it was needful to bring into an orderly
condition. Meantime some scheme might be found for arranging the
religious differences, more effective than any he had been able to
devise.

His appeal seems to have glanced powerlessly upon the iron reticence of
Maurice, and the Advocate took his departure disheartened. Later in the
autumn, so warm a remonstrance was made to him by the leading nobles and
deputies of Holland against his contemplated withdrawal from his post
that it seemed a dereliction of duty on his part to retire. He remained
to battle with the storm and to see "with anguish of heart," as he
expressed it, the course religious affairs were taking.

The States of Utrecht on the 26th August resolved that on account of the
gathering of large masses of troops in the countries immediately
adjoining their borders, especially in the Episcopate of Cologne, by aid
of Spanish money, it was expedient for them to enlist a protective force
of six companies of regular soldiers in order to save the city from
sudden and overwhelming attack by foreign troops.

Even if the danger from without were magnified in this preamble, which is
by no means certain, there seemed to be no doubt on the subject in the
minds of the magistrates. They believed that they had the right to
protect and that they were bound to protect their ancient city from
sudden assault, whether by Spanish soldiers or by organized mobs
attempting, as had been done in Rotterdam, Oudewater, and other towns, to
overawe the civil authority in the interest of the Contra-Remonstrants.

Six nobles of Utrecht were accordingly commissioned to raise the troops.
A week later they had been enlisted, sworn to obey in all things the
States of Utrecht, and to take orders from no one else. Three days later
the States of Utrecht addressed a letter to their Mightinesses the
States-General and to his Excellency the Prince, notifying them that for
the reasons stated in the resolution cited the six companies had been
levied. There seemed in these proceedings to be no thought of mutiny or
rebellion, the province considering itself as acting within its
unquestionable rights as a sovereign state and without any exaggeration
of the imperious circumstances of the case.

Nor did the States-General and the Stadholder at that moment affect to
dispute the rights of Utrecht, nor raise a doubt as to the legality of
the proceedings. The committee sent thither by the States-General, the
Prince, and the council of state in their written answer to the letter of
the Utrecht government declared the reasons given for the enrolment of
the six companies to be insufficient and the measure itself highly
dangerous. They complained, but in very courteous language, that the
soldiers had been levied without giving the least notice thereof to the
general government, without asking its advice, or waiting for any
communication from it, and they reminded the States of Utrecht that they
might always rely upon the States-General and his Excellency, who were
still ready, as they had been seven years before (1610), to protect them
against every enemy and any danger.

The conflict between a single province of the confederacy and the
authority of the general government had thus been brought to a direct
issue; to the test of arms. For, notwithstanding the preamble to the
resolution of the Utrecht Assembly just cited, there could be little
question that the resolve itself was a natural corollary of the famous
"Sharp Resolution," passed by the States of Holland three weeks before.
Utrecht was in arms to prevent, among other things at least, the forcing
upon them by a majority of the States-General of the National Synod to
which they were opposed, the seizure of churches by the
Contra-Remonstrants, and the destruction of life and property by inflamed
mobs.

There is no doubt that Barneveld deeply deplored the issue, but that he
felt himself bound to accept it. The innate absurdity of a constitutional
system under which each of the seven members was sovereign and
independent and the head was at the mercy of the members could not be
more flagrantly illustrated. In the bloody battles which seemed impending
in the streets of Utrecht and in all the principal cities of the
Netherlands between the soldiers of sovereign states and soldiers of a
general government which was not sovereign, the letter of the law and the
records of history were unquestionably on the aide of the provincial and
against the general authority. Yet to nullify the authority of the
States-General by force of arms at this supreme moment was to stultify
all government whatever. It was an awful dilemma, and it is difficult
here fully to sympathize with the Advocate, for he it was who inspired,
without dictating, the course of the Utrecht proceedings.

With him patriotism seemed at this moment to dwindle into provincialism,
the statesman to shrink into the lawyer.

Certainly there was no guilt in the proceedings. There was no crime in
the heart of the Advocate. He had exhausted himself with appeals in
favour of moderation, conciliation, compromise. He had worked night and
day with all the energy of a pure soul and a great mind to assuage
religious hatreds and avert civil dissensions. He was overpowered. He had
frequently desired to be released from all his functions, but as dangers
thickened over the Provinces, he felt it his duty so long as he remained
at his post to abide by the law as the only anchor in the storm. Not
rising in his mind to the height of a national idea, and especially
averse from it when embodied in the repulsive form of religious
uniformity, he did not shrink from a contest which he had not provoked,
but had done his utmost to avert. But even then he did not anticipate
civil war. The enrolling of the Waartgelders was an armed protest, a
symbol of legal conviction rather than a serious effort to resist the
general government. And this is the chief justification of his course
from a political point of view. It was ridiculous to suppose that with a
few hundred soldiers hastily enlisted--and there were less than 1800
Waartgelders levied throughout the Provinces and under the orders of
civil magistrates--a serious contest was intended against a splendidly
disciplined army of veteran troops, commanded by the first general of the
age.

From a legal point of view Barneveld considered his position impregnable.

The controversy is curious, especially for Americans, and for all who are
interested in the analysis of federal institutions and of republican
principles, whether aristocratic or democratic. The States of Utrecht
replied in decorous but firm language to the committee of the
States-General that they had raised the six companies in accordance with
their sovereign right so to do, and that they were resolved to maintain
them. They could not wait as they had been obliged to do in the time of
the Earl of Leicester and more recently in 1610 until they had been
surprised and overwhelmed by the enemy before the States-General and his
Excellency the Prince could come to their rescue. They could not suffer
all the evils of tumults, conspiracies, and foreign invasion, without
defending themselves.

Making use, they said, of the right of sovereignty which in their
province belonged to them alone, they thought it better to prevent in
time and by convenient means such fire and mischief than to look on while
it kindled and spread into a conflagration, and to go about imploring aid
from their fellow confederates who, God better it, had enough in these
times to do at home. This would only be to bring them as well as this
province into trouble, disquiet, and expense. "My Lords the States of
Utrecht have conserved and continually exercised this right of
sovereignty in its entireness ever since renouncing the King of Spain.
Every contract, ordinance, and instruction of the States-General has been
in conformity with it, and the States of Utrecht are convinced that the
States of not one of their confederate provinces would yield an atom of
its sovereignty."

They reminded the general government that by the 1st article of the
"Closer Union" of Utrecht, on which that assembly was founded, it was
bound to support the States of the respective provinces and strengthen
them with counsel, treasure, and blood if their respective rights, more
especially their individual sovereignty, the most precious of all, should
be assailed. To refrain from so doing would be to violate a solemn
contract. They further reminded the council of state that by its
institution the States-Provincial had not abdicated their respective
sovereignties, but had reserved it in all matters not specifically
mentioned in the original instruction by which it was created.

Two days afterwards Arnold van Randwyck and three other commissioners
were instructed by the general government to confer with the States of
Utrecht, to tell them that their reply was deemed unsatisfactory, that
their reasons for levying soldiers in times when all good people should
be seeking to restore harmony and mitigate dissension were insufficient,
and to request them to disband those levies without prejudice in so doing
to the laws and liberties of the province and city of Utrecht.

Here was perhaps an opening for a compromise, the instruction being not
without ingenuity, and the word sovereignty in regard either to the
general government or the separate provinces being carefully omitted.
Soon afterwards, too, the States-General went many steps farther in the
path of concession, for they made another appeal to the government of
Utrecht to disband the Waartgelders on the ground of expediency, and in
so doing almost expressly admitted the doctrine of provincial
sovereignty. It is important in regard to subsequent events to observe
this virtual admission.

"Your Honours lay especial stress upon the right of sovereignty as
belonging to you alone in your province," they said, "and dispute
therefore at great length upon the power and authority of the Generality,
of his Excellency, and of the state council. But you will please to
consider that there is here no question of this, as our commissioners had
no instructions to bring this into dispute in the least, and most
certainly have not done so. We have only in effect questioned whether
that which one has an undoubted right to do can at all times be
appropriately and becomingly done, whether it was fitting that your
Honours, contrary to custom, should undertake these new levies upon a
special oath and commission, and effectively complete the measure without
giving the slightest notice thereof to the Generality."

It may fairly be said that the question in debate was entirely conceded
in this remarkable paper, which was addressed by the States-General, the
Prince-Stadholder, and the council of state to the government of Utrecht.
It should be observed, too, that while distinctly repudiating the
intention of disputing the sovereignty of that province, they carefully
abstain from using the word in relation to themselves, speaking only of
the might and authority of the Generality, the Prince, and the council.

There was now a pause in the public discussion. The soldiers were not
disbanded, as the States of Utrecht were less occupied with establishing
the soundness of their theory than with securing its practical results.
They knew very well, and the Advocate knew very well, that the intention
to force a national synod by a majority vote of the Assembly of the
States-General existed more strongly than ever, and they meant to resist
it to the last. The attempt was in their opinion an audacious violation
of the fundamental pact on which the Confederacy was founded. Its success
would be to establish the sacerdotal power in triumph over the civil
authority.

During this period the Advocate was resident in Utrecht. For change of
air, ostensibly at least, he had absented himself from the seat of
government, and was during several weeks under the hands of his old
friend and physician Dr. Saul. He was strictly advised to abstain
altogether from political business, but he might as well have attempted
to abstain from food and drink. Gillis van Ledenberg, secretary of the
States of Utrecht, visited him frequently. The proposition to enlist the
Waartgelders had been originally made in the Assembly by its president,
and warmly seconded by van Ledenberg, who doubtless conferred afterwards
with Barneveld in person, but informally and at his lodgings.

It was almost inevitable that this should be the case, nor did the
Advocate make much mystery as to the course of action which he deemed
indispensable at this period. Believing it possible that some sudden and
desperate attempt might be made by evil disposed people, he agreed with
the States of Utrecht in the propriety of taking measures of precaution.
They were resolved not to look quietly on while soldiers and rabble under
guidance perhaps of violent Contra-Remonstrant preachers took possession
of the churches and even of the city itself, as had already been done in
several towns.

The chief practical object of enlisting the six companies was that the
city might be armed against popular tumults, and they feared that the
ordinary military force might be withdrawn.

When Captain Hartvelt, in his own name and that of the other officers of
those companies, said that they were all resolved never to use their
weapons against the Stadholder or the States-General, he was answered
that they would never be required to do so. They, however, made oath to
serve against those who should seek to trouble the peace of the Province
of Utrecht in ecclesiastical or political matters, and further against
all enemies of the common country. At the same time it was deemed
expedient to guard against a surprise of any kind and to keep watch and
ward.

"I cannot quite believe in the French companies," said the Advocate in a
private billet to Ledenberg. "It would be extremely well that not only
good watch should be kept at the city gates, but also that one might from
above and below the river Lek be assuredly advised from the nearest
cities if any soldiers are coming up or down, and that the same might be
done in regard to Amersfoort." At the bottom of this letter, which was
destined to become historical and will be afterwards referred to, the
Advocate wrote, as he not unfrequently did, upon his private notes, "When
read, burn, and send me back the two enclosed letters."

The letter lies in the Archives unburned to this day, but, harmless as it
looked, it was to serve as a nail in more than one coffin.

In his confidential letters to trusted friends he complained of "great
physical debility growing out of heavy sorrow," and described himself as
entering upon his seventy-first year and no longer fit for hard political
labour. The sincere grief, profound love of country, and desire that some
remedy might be found for impending disaster, is stamped upon all his
utterances whether official or secret.

"The troubles growing out of the religious differences," he said, "are
running into all sorts of extremities. It is feared that an attempt will
be made against the laws of the land through extraordinary ways, and by
popular tumults to take from the supreme authority of the respective
provinces the right to govern clerical persons and regulate clerical
disputes, and to place it at the disposition of ecclesiastics and of a
National Synod.

"It is thought too that the soldiers will be forbidden to assist the
civil supreme power and the government of cities in defending themselves
from acts of violence which under pretext of religion will be attempted
against the law and the commands of the magistrates.

"This seems to conflict with the common law of the respective provinces,
each of which from all times had right of sovereignty and supreme
authority within its territory and specifically reserved it in all
treaties and especially in that of the Nearer Union . . . . The provinces
have always regulated clerical matters each for itself. The Province of
Utrecht, which under the pretext of religion is now most troubled, made
stipulations to this effect, when it took his Excellency for governor,
even more stringent than any others. As for Holland, she never imagined
that one could ever raise a question on the subject . . . . All good men
ought to do their best to prevent the enemies to the welfare of these
Provinces from making profit out of our troubles."

The whole matter he regarded as a struggle between the clergy and the
civil power for mastery over the state, as an attempt to subject
provincial autonomy to the central government purely in the interest of
the priesthood of a particular sect. The remedy he fondly hoped for was
moderation and union within the Church itself. He could never imagine the
necessity for this ferocious animosity not only between Christians but
between two branches of the Reformed Church. He could never be made to
believe that the Five Points of the Remonstrance had dug an abyss too
deep and wide ever to be bridged between brethren lately of one faith as
of one fatherland. He was unceasing in his prayers and appeals for
"mutual toleration on the subject of predestination." Perhaps the
bitterness, almost amounting to frenzy, with which abstruse points of
casuistry were then debated, and which converted differences of opinion
upon metaphysical divinity into deadly hatred and thirst for blood, is
already obsolete or on the road to become so. If so, then was Barneveld
in advance of his age, and it would have been better for the peace of the
world and the progress of Christianity if more of his contemporaries had
placed themselves on his level.

He was no theologian, but he believed himself to be a Christian, and he
certainly was a thoughtful and a humble one. He had not the arrogance to
pierce behind the veil and assume to read the inscrutable thoughts of the
Omnipotent. It was a cruel fate that his humility upon subjects which he
believed to be beyond the scope of human reason should have been tortured
by his enemies into a crime, and that because he hoped for religious
toleration he should be accused of treason to the Commonwealth.

"Believe and cause others to believe," he said, "that I am and with the
grace of God hope to continue an upright patriot as I have proved myself
to be in these last forty-two years spent in the public service. In the
matter of differential religious points I remain of the opinions which I
have held for more than fifty years, and in which I hope to live and die,
to wit, that a good Christian man ought to believe that he is predestined
to eternal salvation through God's grace, giving for reasons that he
through God's grace has a firm belief that his salvation is founded
purely on God's grace and the expiation of our sins through our Saviour
Jesus Christ, and that if he should fall into any sins his firm trust is
that God will not let him perish in them, but mercifully turn him to
repentance, so that he may continue in the same belief to the last."

These expressions were contained in a letter to Caron with the intention
doubtless that they should be communicated to the King of Great Britain,
and it is a curious illustration of the spirit of the age, this picture
of the leading statesman of a great republic unfolding his religious
convictions for private inspection by the monarch of an allied nation.
More than anything else it exemplifies the close commixture of theology,
politics, and diplomacy in that age, and especially in those two
countries.

Formerly, as we have seen, the King considered a too curious fathoming of
divine mysteries as highly reprehensible, particularly for the common
people. Although he knew more about them than any one else, he avowed
that even his knowledge in this respect was not perfect. It was matter of
deep regret with the Advocate that his Majesty had not held to his former
positions, and that he had disowned his original letters.

"I believe my sentiments thus expressed," he said, "to be in accordance
with Scripture, and I have always held to them without teasing my brains
with the precise decrees of reprobation, foreknowledge, or the like, as
matters above my comprehension. I have always counselled Christian
moderation. The States of Holland have followed the spirit of his
Majesty's letters, but our antagonists have rejected them and with
seditious talk, sermons, and the spreading of infamous libels have
brought matters to their present condition. There have been excesses on
the other side as well."

He then made a slight, somewhat shadowy allusion to schemes known to be
afloat for conferring the sovereignty upon Maurice. We have seen that at
former periods he had entertained this subject and discussed it privately
with those who were not only friendly but devoted to the Stadholder, and
that he had arrived at the conclusion that it would not be for the
interest of the Prince to encourage the project. Above all he was sternly
opposed to the idea of attempting to compass it by secret intrigue.
Should such an arrangement be publicly discussed and legally completed,
it would not meet with his unconditional opposition.

"The Lord God knows," he said, "whether underneath all these movements
does not lie the design of the year 1600, well known to you. As for me,
believe that I am and by God's grace hope to remain, what I always was,
an upright patriot, a defender of the true Christian religion, of the
public authority, and of all the power that has been and in future may be
legally conferred upon his Excellency. Believe that all things said,
written, or spread to the contrary are falsehoods and calumnies."

He was still in Utrecht, but about to leave for the Hague, with health
somewhat improved and in better spirits in regard to public matters.

"Although I have entered my seventy-first year," he said, "I trust still
to be of some service to the Commonwealth and to my friends . . . . Don't
consider an arrangement of our affairs desperate. I hope for better
things."

Soon after his return he was waited upon one Sunday evening, late in
October--being obliged to keep his house on account of continued
indisposition--by a certain solicitor named Nordlingen and informed that
the Prince was about to make a sudden visit to Leyden at four o'clock
next morning.

Barneveld knew that the burgomasters and regents were holding a great
banquet that night, and that many of them would probably have been
indulging in potations too deep to leave them fit for serious business.
The agitation of people's minds at that moment made the visit seem rather
a critical one, as there would probably be a mob collected to see the
Stadholder, and he was anxious both in the interest of the Prince and the
regents and of both religious denominations that no painful incidents
should occur if it was in his power to prevent them.

He was aware that his son-in-law, Cornelis van der Myle, had been invited
to the banquet, and that he was wont to carry his wine discreetly. He
therefore requested Nordlingen to proceed to Leyden that night and seek
an interview with van der Myle without delay. By thus communicating the
intelligence of the expected visit to one who, he felt sure, would do his
best to provide for a respectful and suitable reception of the Prince,
notwithstanding the exhilarated condition in which the magistrates would
probably find themselves, the Advocate hoped to prevent any riot or
tumultuous demonstration of any kind. At least he would act conformably
to his duty and keep his conscience clear should disasters ensue.

Later in the night he learned that Maurice was going not to Leyden but to
Delft, and he accordingly despatched a special messenger to arrive before
dawn at Leyden in order to inform van der Myle of this change in the
Prince's movements. Nothing seemed simpler or more judicious than these
precautions on the part of Barneveld. They could not fail, however, to be
tortured into sedition, conspiracy, and treason.

Towards the end of the year a meeting of the nobles and knights of
Holland under the leadership of Barneveld was held to discuss the famous
Sharp Resolution of 4th August and the letters and arguments advanced
against it by the Stadholder and the council of state. It was unanimously
resolved by this body, in which they were subsequently followed by a
large majority of the States of Holland, to maintain that resolution and
its consequences and to oppose the National Synod. They further resolved
that a legal provincial synod should be convoked by the States of Holland
and under their authority and supervision. The object of such synod
should be to devise "some means of accommodation, mutual toleration, and
Christian settlement of differences in regard to the Five Points in
question."

In case such compromise should unfortunately not be arranged, then it was
resolved to invite to the assembly two or three persons from France, as
many from England, from Germany, and from Switzerland, to aid in the
consultations. Should a method of reconciliation and mutual toleration
still remain undiscovered, then, in consideration that the whole
Christian world was interested in composing these dissensions, it was
proposed that a "synodal assembly of all Christendom," a Protestant
oecumenical council, should in some solemn manner be convoked.

These resolutions and propositions were all brought forward by the
Advocate, and the draughts of them in his handwriting remain. They are
the unimpeachable evidences of his earnest desire to put an end to these
unhappy disputes and disorders in the only way which he considered
constitutional.

Before the close of the year the States of Holland, in accordance with
the foregoing advice of the nobles, passed a resolution, the minutes of
which were drawn up by the hand of the Advocate, and in which they
persisted in their opposition to the National Synod. They declared by a
large majority of votes that the Assembly of the States-General without
the unanimous consent of the Provincial States were not competent
according to the Union of Utrecht--the fundamental law of the General
Assembly--to regulate religious affairs, but that this right belonged to
the separate provinces, each within its own domain.

They further resolved that as they were bound by solemn oath to maintain
the laws and liberties of Holland, they could not surrender this right to
the Generality, nor allow it to be usurped by any one, but in order to
settle the question of the Five Points, the only cause known to them of
the present disturbances, they were content under: their own authority to
convoke a provincial synod within three months, at their own cost, and to
invite the respective provinces, as many of them as thought good, to send
to this meeting a certain number of pious and learned theologians.

It is difficult to see why the course thus unanimously proposed by the
nobles of Holland, under guidance of Barneveld, and subsequently by a
majority of the States of that province, would not have been as expedient
as it was legal. But we are less concerned with that point now than with
the illustrations afforded by these long buried documents of the
patriotism and sagacity of a man than whom no human creature was ever
more foully slandered.

It will be constantly borne in mind that he regarded this religious
controversy purely from a political, legal, and constitutional--and not
from a theological-point of view. He believed that grave danger to the
Fatherland was lurking under this attempt, by the general government, to
usurp the power of dictating the religious creed of all the provinces.
Especially he deplored the evil influence exerted by the King of England
since his abandonment of the principles announced in his famous letter to
the States in the year 1613. All that the Advocate struggled for was
moderation and mutual toleration within the Reformed Church. He felt that
a wider scheme of forbearance was impracticable. If a dream of general
religious equality had ever floated before him or before any one in that
age, he would have felt it to be a dream which would be a reality nowhere
until centuries should have passed away. Yet that moderation, patience,
tolerance, and respect for written law paved the road to that wider and
loftier region can scarcely be doubted.

Carleton, subservient to every changing theological whim of his master,
was as vehement and as insolent now in enforcing the intolerant views of
James as he had previously been in supporting the counsels to tolerance
contained in the original letters of that monarch.

The Ambassador was often at the Advocate's bed-side during his illness
that summer, enforcing, instructing, denouncing, contradicting. He was
never weary of fulfilling his duties of tuition, but the patient
Barneveld; haughty and overbearing as he was often described to be,
rarely used a harsh or vindictive word regarding him in his letters.

"The ambassador of France," he said, "has been heard before the Assembly
of the States-General, and has made warm appeals in favour of union and
mutual toleration as his Majesty of Great Britain so wisely did in his
letters of 1613 . . . . If his Majesty could only be induced to write
fresh letters in similar tone, I should venture to hope better fruits
from them than from this attempt to thrust a national synod upon our
necks, which many of us hold to be contrary to law, reason, and the Act
of Union."

So long as it was possible to hope that the action of the States of
Holland would prevent such a catastrophe, he worked hard to direct them
in what he deemed the right course.

"Our political and religious differences," he said, "stand between hope
and fear."

The hope was in the acceptance of the Provincial Synod--the fear lest the
National Synod should be carried by a minority of the cities of Holland
combining with a majority of the other Provincial States.

"This would be in violation," he said, "of the so-called Religious Peace,
the Act of Union, the treaty with the Duke of Anjou, the negotiations of
the States of Utrecht, and with Prince Maurice in 1590 with cognizance of
the States-General and those of Holland for, the governorship of that
province, the custom of the Generality for the last thirty years
according to which religious matters have always been left to the
disposition of the States of each province . . . . Carleton is
strenuously urging this course in his Majesty's name, and I fear that in
the present state of our humours great troubles will be the result."

The expulsion by an armed mob, in the past year, of a Remonstrant
preacher at Oudewater, the overpowering of the magistracy and the forcing
on of illegal elections in that and other cities, had given him and all
earnest patriots grave cause for apprehension. They were dreading, said
Barneveld, a course of crimes similar to those which under the Earl of
Leicester's government had afflicted Leyden and Utrecht.

"Efforts are incessant to make the Remonstrants hateful," he said to
Caron, "but go forward resolutely and firmly in the conviction that our
friends here are as animated in their opposition to the Spanish dominion
now and by God's grace will so remain as they have ever proved themselves
to be, not only by words, but works. I fear that Mr. Carleton gives too
much belief to the enviers of our peace and tranquillity under pretext of
religion, but it is more from ignorance than malice."

Those who have followed the course of the Advocate's correspondence,
conversation, and actions, as thus far detailed, can judge of the
gigantic nature of the calumny by which he was now assailed. That this
man, into every fibre of whose nature was woven undying hostility to
Spain, as the great foe to national independence and religious liberty
throughout the continent of Europe, whose every effort, as we have seen,
during all these years of nominal peace had been to organize a system of
general European defence against the war now actually begun upon
Protestantism, should be accused of being a partisan of Spain, a creature
of Spain, a pensioner of Spain, was enough to make honest men pray that
the earth might be swallowed up. If such idiotic calumnies could be
believed, what patriot in the world could not be doubted? Yet they were
believed. Barneveld was bought by Spanish gold. He had received whole
boxes full of Spanish pistoles, straight from Brussels! For his part in
the truce negotiations he had received 120,000 ducats in one lump.

"It was plain," said the greatest man in the country to another great
man, "that Barneveld and his party are on the road to Spain."

"Then it were well to have proof of it," said the great man.

"Not yet time," was the reply. "We must flatten out a few of them first."

Prince Maurice had told the Princess-Dowager the winter before (8th
December 1616) that those dissensions would never be decided except by
use of weapons; and he now mentioned to her that he had received
information from Brussels, which he in part believed, that the Advocate
was a stipendiary of Spain. Yet he had once said, to the same Princess
Louise, of this stipendiary that "the services which the Advocate had
rendered to the House of Nassau were so great that all the members of
that house might well look upon him not as their friend but their
father." Councillor van Maldere, President of the States of Zealand, and
a confidential friend of Maurice, was going about the Hague saying that
"one must string up seven or eight Remonstrants on the gallows; then
there might be some improvement."

As for Arminius and Uytenbogaert, people had long told each other and
firmly believed it, and were amazed when any incredulity was expressed in
regard to it, that they were in regular and intimate correspondence with
the Jesuits, that they had received large sums from Rome, and that both
had been promised cardinals' hats. That Barneveld and his friend
Uytenbogaert were regular pensioners of Spain admitted of no dispute
whatever. "It was as true as the Holy Evangel." The ludicrous chatter had
been passed over with absolute disdain by the persons attacked, but
calumny is often a stronger and more lasting power than disdain. It
proved to be in these cases.

"You have the plague mark on your flesh, oh pope, oh pensioner," said one
libeller. "There are letters safely preserved to make your process for
you. Look out for your head. Many have sworn your death, for it is more
than time that you were out of the world. We shall prove, oh great bribed
one, that you had the 120,000 little ducats." The preacher Uytenbogaert
was also said to have had 80,000 ducats for his share. "Go to Brussels,"
said the pamphleteer; "it all stands clearly written out on the register
with the names and surnames of all you great bribe-takers."

These were choice morsels from the lampoon of the notary Danckaerts.

"We are tortured more and more with religious differences," wrote
Barneveld; "with acts of popular violence growing out of them the more
continuously as they remain unpunished, and with ever increasing
jealousies and suspicions. The factious libels become daily more numerous
and more impudent, and no man comes undamaged from the field. I, as a
reward for all my troubles, labours, and sorrows, have three double
portions of them. I hope however to overcome all by God's grace and to
defend my actions with all honourable men so long as right and reason
have place in the world, as to which many begin to doubt. If his Majesty
had been pleased to stick to the letters of 1613, we should never have
got into these difficulties . . . . It were better in my opinion that
Carleton should be instructed to negotiate in the spirit of those
epistles rather than to torment us with the National Synod, which will do
more harm than good."

It is impossible not to notice the simplicity and patience with which the
Advocate, in the discharge of his duty as minister of foreign affairs,
kept the leading envoys of the Republic privately informed of events
which were becoming day by day more dangerous to the public interests and
his own safety. If ever a perfectly quiet conscience was revealed in the
correspondence of a statesman, it was to be found in these letters.

Calmly writing to thank Caron for some very satisfactory English beer
which the Ambassador had been sending him from London, he proceeded to
speak again of the religious dissensions and their consequences. He sent
him the letter and remonstrance which he had felt himself obliged to
make, and which he had been urged by his ever warm and constant friend
the widow of William the Silent to make on the subject of "the seditious
libels, full of lies and calumnies got up by conspiracy against him."
These letters were never published, however, until years after he had
been in his grave.

"I know that you are displeased with the injustice done me," he said,
"but I see no improvement. People are determined to force through the
National Synod. The two last ones did much harm. This will do ten times
more, so intensely embittered are men's tempers against each other."
Again he deplored the King's departure from his letters of 1613, by
adherence to which almost all the troubles would have been spared.

It is curious too to observe the contrast between public opinion in Great
Britain, including its government, in regard to the constitution of the
United Provinces at that period of domestic dissensions and incipient
civil war and the general impressions manifested in the same nation two
centuries and a half later, on the outbreak of the slavery rebellion, as
to the constitution of the United States.

The States in arms against the general government on the other side of
the Atlantic were strangely but not disingenuously assumed to be
sovereign and independent, and many statesmen and a leading portion of
the public justified them in their attempt to shake off the central
government as if it were but a board of agency established by treaty and
terminable at pleasure of any one of among sovereigns and terminable at
pleasure of any one of them.

Yet even a superficial glance at the written constitution of the Republic
showed that its main object was to convert what had been a confederacy
into an Incorporation; and that the very essence of its renewed political
existence was an organic law laid down by a whole people in their
primitive capacity in place of a league banding together a group of
independent little corporations. The chief attributes of sovereignty--the
rights of war and peace, of coinage, of holding armies and navies, of
issuing bills of credit, of foreign relations, of regulating and taxing
foreign commerce--having been taken from the separate States by the
united people thereof and bestowed upon a government provided with a
single executive head, with a supreme tribunal, with a popular house of
representatives and a senate, and with power to deal directly with the
life and property of every individual in the land, it was strange indeed
that the feudal, and in America utterly unmeaning, word Sovereign should
have been thought an appropriate term for the different States which had
fused themselves three-quarters of a century before into a Union.

When it is remembered too that the only dissolvent of this Union was the
intention to perpetuate human slavery, the logic seemed somewhat perverse
by which the separate sovereignty of the States was deduced from the
constitution of 1787.

On the other hand, the Union of Utrecht of 1579 was a league of petty
sovereignties; a compact less binding and more fragile than the Articles
of Union made almost exactly two hundred years later in America, and the
worthlessness of which, after the strain of war was over, had been
demonstrated in the dreary years immediately following the peace of 1783.
One after another certain Netherland provinces had abjured their
allegiance to Spain, some of them afterwards relapsing under it, some
having been conquered by the others, while one of them, Holland, had for
a long time borne the greater part of the expense and burthen of the war.

"Holland," said the Advocate, "has brought almost all the provinces to
their liberty. To receive laws from them or from their clerical people
now is what our State cannot endure. It is against her laws and customs,
in the enjoyment of which the other provinces and his Excellency as
Governor of Holland are bound to protect us."

And as the preservation of chattel slavery in the one case seemed a
legitimate ground for destroying a government which had as definite an
existence as any government known to mankind, so the resolve to impose a
single religious creed upon many millions of individuals was held by the
King and government of Great Britain to be a substantial reason for
imagining a central sovereignty which had never existed at all. This was
still more surprising as the right to dispose of ecclesiastical affairs
and persons had been expressly reserved by the separate provinces in
perfectly plain language in the Treaty of Union.

"If the King were better informed," said Barneveld, "of our system and
laws, we should have better hope than now. But one supposes through
notorious error in foreign countries that the sovereignty stands with the
States-General which is not the case, except in things which by the
Articles of Closer Union have been made common to all the provinces,
while in other matters, as religion, justice, and polity, the sovereignty
remains with each province, which foreigners seem unable to comprehend."

Early in June, Carleton took his departure for England on leave of
absence. He received a present from the States of 3000 florins, and went
over in very ill-humour with Barneveld. "Mr. Ambassador is much offended
and prejudiced," said the Advocate, "but I know that he will religiously
carry out the orders of his Majesty. I trust that his Majesty can admit
different sentiments on predestination and its consequences, and that in
a kingdom where the supreme civil authority defends religion the system
of the Puritans will have no foothold."

Certainly James could not be accused of allowing the system of the
Puritans much foothold in England, but he had made the ingenious
discovery that Puritanism in Holland was a very different thing from
Puritanism in the Netherlands.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Acts of violence which under pretext of religion
     Adulation for inferiors whom they despise
     Calumny is often a stronger and more lasting power than disdain
     Created one child for damnation and another for salvation
     Depths of credulity men in all ages can sink
     Devote himself to his gout and to his fair young wife
     Furious mob set upon the house of Rem Bischop
     Highborn demagogues in that as in every age affect adulation
     In this he was much behind his age or before it
     Logic is rarely the quality on which kings pride themselves
     Necessity of deferring to powerful sovereigns
     Not his custom nor that of his councillors to go to bed
     Partisans wanted not accommodation but victory
     Puritanism in Holland was a very different thing from England
     Seemed bent on self-destruction
     Stand between hope and fear
     The evils resulting from a confederate system of government
     To stifle for ever the right of free enquiry



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v9, 1618



CHAPTER XVI.

   Maurice revolutionizes the Provinces--Danckaert's libellous Pamphlet
   --Barneveld's Appeal to the Prince--Barneveld'a Remonstrance to the
   States--The Stadholder at Amsterdam--The Treaty of Truce nearly
   expired--King of Spain and Archduke Albert--Scheme for recovering
   the Provinces--Secret Plot to make Maurice Sovereign.

Early in the year (1618) Maurice set himself about revolutionizing the
provinces on which he could not yet thoroughly rely. The town of Nymegen
since its recovery from the Spaniards near the close of the preceding
century had held its municipal government, as it were, at the option of
the Prince. During the war he had been, by the terms of surrender,
empowered to appoint and to change its magistracy at will. No change had
occurred for many years, but as the government had of late fallen into
the hands of the Barneveldians, and as Maurice considered the Truce to be
a continuance of the war, he appeared suddenly, in the city at the head
of a body of troops and surrounded by his lifeguard. Summoning the whole
board of magistrates into the townhouse, he gave them all notice to quit,
disbanding them like a company of mutinous soldiery, and immediately
afterwards appointed a fresh list of functionaries in their stead.

This done, he proceeded to Arnhem, where the States of Gelderland were in
session, appeared before that body, and made a brief announcement of the
revolution which he had so succinctly effected in the most considerable
town of their province. The Assembly, which seems, like many other
assemblies at precisely this epoch, to have had an extraordinary capacity
for yielding to gentle violence, made but little resistance to the
extreme measures now undertaken by the Stadholder, and not only highly
applauded the subjugation of Nymegen, but listened with sympathy to his
arguments against the Waartgelders and in favour of the Synod.

Having accomplished so much by a very brief visit to Gelderland, the
Prince proceeded, to Overyssel, and had as little difficulty in bringing
over the wavering minds of that province into orthodoxy and obedience.
Thus there remained but two provinces out of seven that were still
"waartgeldered" and refused to be "synodized."

It was rebellion against rebellion. Maurice and his adherents accused the
States' right party of mutiny against himself and the States-General. The
States' right party accused the Contra-Remonstrants in the cities of
mutiny against the lawful sovereignty of each province.

The oath of the soldiery, since the foundation of the Republic, had been
to maintain obedience and fidelity to the States-General, the Stadholder,
and the province in which they were garrisoned, and at whose expense they
were paid. It was impossible to harmonize such conflicting duties and
doctrines. Theory had done its best and its worst. The time was fast
approaching, as it always must approach, when fact with its violent besom
would brush away the fine-spun cobwebs which had been so long
undisturbed.

"I will grind the Advocate and all his party into fine meal," said the
Prince on one occasion.

A clever caricature of the time represented a pair of scales hung up in a
great hall. In the one was a heap of parchments, gold chains, and
magisterial robes; the whole bundle being marked the "holy right of each
city." In the other lay a big square, solid, ironclasped volume, marked
"Institutes of Calvin." Each scale was respectively watched by Gomarus
and by Arminius. The judges, gowned, furred, and ruffed, were looking
decorously on, when suddenly the Stadholder, in full military attire, was
seen rushing into the apartment and flinging his sword into the scale
with the Institutes.

The civic and legal trumpery was of course made to kick the beam.

Maurice had organized his campaign this year against the Advocate and his
party as deliberately as he had ever arranged the details of a series of
battles and sieges against the Spaniard. And he was proving himself as
consummate master in political strife as in the great science of war.

He no longer made any secret of his conviction that Barneveld was a
traitor to his country, bought with Spanish gold. There was not the
slightest proof for these suspicions, but he asserted them roundly. "The
Advocate is travelling straight to Spain," he said to Count Cuylenborg.
"But we will see who has got the longest purse."

And as if it had been a part of the campaign, a prearranged diversion to
the more direct and general assault on the entrenchments of the States'
right party, a horrible personal onslaught was now made from many
quarters upon the Advocate. It was an age of pamphleteering, of venomous,
virulent, unscrupulous libels. And never even in that age had there been
anything to equal the savage attacks upon this great statesman. It moves
the gall of an honest man, even after the lapse of two centuries and a
half, to turn over those long forgotten pages and mark the depths to
which political and theological party spirit could descend. That human
creatures can assimilate themselves so closely to the reptile, and to the
subtle devil within the reptile, when a party end is to be gained is
enough to make the very name of man a term of reproach.

Day by day appeared pamphlets, each one more poisonous than its
predecessor. There was hardly a crime that was not laid at the door of
Barneveld and all his kindred. The man who had borne a matchlock in early
youth against the foreign tyrant in days when unsuccessful rebellion
meant martyrdom and torture; who had successfully guided the councils of
the infant commonwealth at a period when most of his accusers were in
their cradles, and when mistake was ruin to the republic; he on whose
strong arm the father of his country had leaned for support; the man who
had organized a political system out of chaos; who had laid down the
internal laws, negotiated the great indispensable alliances, directed the
complicated foreign policy, established the system of national defence,
presided over the successful financial administration of a state
struggling out of mutiny into national existence; who had rocked the
Republic in its cradle and ever borne her in his heart; who had made her
name beloved at home and honoured and dreaded abroad; who had been the
first, when the great Taciturn had at last fallen a victim to the
murderous tyrant of Spain, to place the youthful Maurice in his father's
place, and to inspire the whole country with sublime courage to persist
rather than falter in purpose after so deadly a blow; who was as truly
the founder of the Republic as William had been the author of its
independence,--was now denounced as a traitor, a pope, a tyrant, a venal
hucksterer of his country's liberties. His family name, which had long
been an ancient and knightly one, was defiled and its nobility disputed;
his father and mother, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, accused
of every imaginable and unimaginable crime, of murder, incest, robbery,
bastardy, fraud, forgery, blasphemy. He had received waggon-loads of
Spanish pistoles; he had been paid 120,000 ducats by Spain for
negotiating the Truce; he was in secret treaty with Archduke Albert to
bring 18,000 Spanish mercenaries across the border to defeat the
machinations of Prince Maurice, destroy his life, or drive him from the
country; all these foul and bitter charges and a thousand similar ones
were rained almost daily upon that grey head.

One day the loose sheets of a more than commonly libellous pamphlet were
picked up in the streets of the Hague and placed in the Advocate's hands.
It was the work of the drunken notary Danckaerts already mentioned, then
resident in Amsterdam, and among the papers thus found was a list of
wealthy merchants of that city who had contributed to the expense of its
publication. The opposition of Barneveld to the West India Corporation
could never be forgiven. The Advocate was notified in this production
that he was soon to be summoned to answer for his crimes. The country was
weary of him, he was told, and his life was forfeited.

Stung at last beyond endurance by the persistent malice of his enemies,
he came before the States of Holland for redress. Upon his remonstrance
the author of this vile libel was summoned to answer before the upper
tribunal at the Hague for his crime. The city of Amsterdam covered him
with the shield 'de non evocando,' which had so often in cases of less
consequence proved of no protective value, and the notary was never
punished, but on the contrary after a brief lapse of time rewarded as for
a meritorious action.

Meantime, the States of Holland, by formal act, took the name and honour
of Barneveld under their immediate protection as a treasure belonging
specially to themselves. Heavy penalties were denounced upon the authors
and printers of these libellous attacks, and large rewards offered for
their detection. Nothing came, however, of such measures.

On the 24th April the Advocate addressed a frank, dignified, and
conciliatory letter to the Prince. The rapid progress of calumny against
him had at last alarmed even his steadfast soul, and he thought it best
to make a last appeal to the justice and to the clear intellect of
William the Silent's son.

"Gracious Prince," he said, "I observe to my greatest sorrow an entire
estrangement of your Excellency from me, and I fear lest what was said
six months since by certain clerical persons and afterwards by some
politicians concerning your dissatisfaction with me, which until now I
have not been able to believe, must be true. I declare nevertheless with
a sincere heart to have never willingly given cause for any such feeling;
having always been your very faithful servant and with God's help hoping
as such to die. Ten years ago during the negotiations for the Truce I
clearly observed the beginning of this estrangement, but your Excellency
will be graciously pleased to remember that I declared to you at that
time my upright and sincere intention in these negotiations to promote
the service of the country and the interests of your Excellency, and that
I nevertheless offered at the time not only to resign all my functions
but to leave the country rather than remain in office and in the country
to the dissatisfaction of your Excellency."

He then rapidly reviewed the causes which had produced the alienation of
which he complained and the melancholy divisions caused by the want of
mutual religious toleration in the Provinces; spoke of his efforts to
foster a spirit of conciliation on the dread subject of predestination,
and referred to the letter of the King of Great Britain deprecating
discussion and schism on this subject, and urging that those favourable
to the views of the Remonstrants ought not to be persecuted. Referring to
the intimate relations which Uytenbogaert had so long enjoyed with the
Prince, the Advocate alluded to the difficulty he had in believing that
his Excellency intended to act in opposition to the efforts of the States
of Holland in the cause of mutual toleration, to the manifest detriment
of the country and of many of its best and truest patriots and the
greater number of the magistrates in all the cities.

He reminded the Prince that all attempts to accommodate these fearful
quarrels had been frustrated, and that on his departure the previous year
to Utrecht on account of his health he had again offered to resign all
his offices and to leave Holland altogether rather than find himself in
perpetual opposition to his Excellency.

"I begged you in such case," he said, "to lend your hand to the procuring
for me an honourable discharge from My Lords the States, but your
Excellency declared that you could in no wise approve such a step and
gave me hope that some means of accommodating the dissensions would yet
be proposed."

"I went then to Vianen, being much indisposed; thence I repaired to
Utrecht to consult my old friend Doctor Saulo Saul, in whose hands I
remained six weeks, not being able, as I hoped, to pass my seventieth
birthday on the 24th September last in my birthplace, the city of
Amersfoort. All this time I heard not one single word or proposal of
accommodation. On the contrary it was determined that by a majority vote,
a thing never heard of before, it was intended against the solemn
resolves of the States of Holland, of Utrecht, and of Overyssel to bring
these religious differences before the Assembly of My Lords the
States-General, a proceeding directly in the teeth of the Act of Union
and other treaties, and before a Synod which people called National, and
that meantime every effort was making to discredit all those who stood up
for the laws of these Provinces and to make them odious and despicable in
the eyes of the common people.

"Especially it was I that was thus made the object of hatred and contempt
in their eyes. Hundreds of lies and calumnies, circulated in the form of
libels, seditious pamphlets, and lampoons, compelled me to return from
Utrecht to the Hague. Since that time I have repeatedly offered my
services to your Excellency for the promotion of mutual accommodation and
reconciliation of differences, but without success."

He then alluded to the publication with which the country was ringing,
'The Necessary and Living Discourse of a Spanish Counsellor', and which
was attributed to his former confidential friend, now become his
deadliest foe, ex-Ambassador Francis Aerssens, and warned the Prince that
if he chose, which God forbid, to follow the advice of that seditious
libel, nothing but ruin to the beloved Fatherland and its lovers, to the
princely house of Orange-Nassau and to the Christian religion could be
the issue. "The Spanish government could desire no better counsel," he
said, "than this which these fellows give you; to encourage distrust and
estrangement between your Excellency and the nobles, the cities, and the
magistrates of the land and to propose high and haughty imaginings which
are easy enough to write, but most difficult to practise, and which can
only enure to the advantage of Spain. Therefore most respectfully I beg
your Excellency not to believe these fellows, but to reject their
counsels . . . . Among them are many malignant hypocrites and ambitious
men who are seeking their own profit in these changes of government--many
utterly ragged and beggarly fellows and many infamous traitors coming
from the provinces which have remained under the dominion of the
Spaniard, and who are filled with revenge, envy, and jealousy at the
greater prosperity and bloom of these independent States than they find
at home.

"I fear," he said in conclusion, "that I have troubled your Excellency
too long, but to the fulfilment of my duty and discharge of my conscience
I could not be more brief. It saddens me deeply that in recompense for my
long and manifold services I am attacked by so many calumnious, lying,
seditious, and fraudulent libels, and that these indecencies find their
pretext and their food in the evil disposition of your Excellency towards
me. And although for one-and-thirty years long I have been able to live
down such things with silence, well-doing, and truth, still do I now find
myself compelled in this my advanced old age and infirmity to make some
utterances in defence of myself and those belonging to me, however much
against my heart and inclinations."

He ended by enclosing a copy of the solemn state paper which he was about
to lay before the States of Holland in defence of his honour, and
subscribed himself the lifelong and faithful servant of the Prince.

The Remonstrance to the States contained a summary review of the
political events of his life, which was indeed nothing more nor less than
the history of his country and almost of Europe itself during that
period, broadly and vividly sketched with the hand of a master. It was
published at once and strengthened the affection of his friends and the
wrath of his enemies. It is not necessary to our purpose to reproduce or
even analyse the document, the main facts and opinions contained in it
being already familiar to the reader. The frankness however with which,
in reply to the charges so profusely brought against him of having grown
rich by extortion, treason, and corruption, of having gorged himself with
plunder at home and bribery from the enemy, of being the great pensioner
of Europe and the Marshal d'Ancre of the Netherlands--he alluded to the
exact condition of his private affairs and the growth and sources of his
revenue, giving, as it were, a kind of schedule of his property, has in
it something half humorous, half touching in its simplicity.

He set forth the very slender salaries attached to his high offices of
Advocate of Holland, Keeper of the Seals, and other functions. He
answered the charge that he always had at his disposition 120,000 florins
to bribe foreign agents withal by saying that his whole allowance for
extraordinary expenses and trouble in maintaining his diplomatic and
internal correspondence was exactly 500 florins yearly. He alluded to the
slanders circulated as to his wealth and its sources by those who envied
him for his position and hated him for his services.

"But I beg you to believe, My Lords," he continued, "that my property is
neither so great nor so small as some people represent it to be.

"In the year '75 I married my wife," he said. "I was pleased with her
person. I was likewise pleased with the dowry which was promptly paid
over to me, with firm expectation of increase and betterment . . . . I ac
knowledge that forty-three years ago my wife and myself had got together
so much of real and personal property that we could live honourably upon
it. I had at that time as good pay and practice as any advocate in the
courts which brought me in a good 4000 florins a year; there being but
eight advocates practising at the time, of whom I was certainly not the
one least employed. In the beginning of the year '77 I came into the
service of the city of Rotterdam as 'Pensionary. Upon my salary from that
town I was enabled to support my family, having then but two children.
Now I can clearly prove that between the years 1577 and 1616 inclusive I
have inherited in my own right or that of my wife, from our relatives,
for ourselves and our children by lawful succession, more than 400
Holland morgens of land (about 800 acres), more than 2000 florins yearly
of redeemable rents, a good house in the city of Delft, some houses in
the open country, and several thousand florins in ready money. I have
likewise reclaimed in the course of the past forty years out of the water
and swamps by dyking more than an equal number of acres to those
inherited, and have bought and sold property during the same period to
the value of 800,000 florins; having sometimes bought 100,000 florins'
worth and sold 60,000 of it for 160,000, and so on."

It was evident that the thrifty Advocate during his long life had
understood how to turn over his money, and it was not necessary to
imagine "waggon-loads of Spanish pistoles" and bribes on a gigantic scale
from the hereditary enemy in order to account for a reasonable opulence
on his part.

"I have had nothing to do with trade," he continued, "it having been the
custom of my ancestors to risk no money except where the plough goes. In
the great East India Company however, which with four years of hard work,
public and private, I have helped establish, in order to inflict damage
on the Spaniards and Portuguese, I have adventured somewhat more than
5000 florins . . . . Now even if my condition be reasonably good, I think
no one has reason to envy me. Nevertheless I have said it in your
Lordships' Assembly, and I repeat it solemnly on this occasion, that I
have pondered the state of my affairs during my recent illness and found
that in order to leave my children unencumbered estates I must sell
property to the value of 60,000 or 70,000 florins. This I would rather do
than leave the charge to my children. That I should have got thus
behindhand through bad management, I beg your Highnesses not to believe.
But I have inherited, with the succession of four persons whose only heir
I was and with that of others to whom I was co-heir, many burthens as
well. I have bought property with encumbrances, and I have dyked and
bettered several estates with borrowed money. Now should it please your
Lordships to institute a census and valuation of the property of your
subjects, I for one should be very well pleased. For I know full well
that those who in the estimates of capital in the year 1599 rated
themselves at 50,000 or 60,000 florins now may boast of having twice as
much property as I have. Yet in that year out of patriotism I placed
myself on the list of those liable for the very highest contributions,
being assessed on a property of 200,000 florins."

The Advocate alluded with haughty contempt to the notorious lies
circulated by his libellers in regard to his lineage, as if the vast
services and unquestioned abilities of such a statesman would not have
illustrated the obscurest origin. But as he happened to be of ancient and
honourable descent, he chose to vindicate his position in that regard.

"I was born in the city of Amersfoort," he said, "by the father's side an
Oldenbarneveld; an old and noble race, from generation to generation
steadfast and true; who have been duly summoned for many hundred years to
the assembly of the nobles of their province as they are to this day. By
my mother's side I am sprung from the ancient and knightly family of
Amersfoort, which for three or four hundred years has been known as
foremost among the nobles of Utrecht in all state affairs and as landed
proprietors."

It is only for the sake of opening these domestic and private lights upon
an historical character whose life was so pre-eminently and almost
exclusively a public one that we have drawn some attention to this
stately defence made by the Advocate of his birth, life, and services to
the State. The public portions of the state paper belong exclusively to
history, and have already been sufficiently detailed.

The letter to Prince Maurice was delivered into his hands by Cornelis van
der Myle, son-in-law of Barneveld.

No reply to it was ever sent, but several days afterwards the Stadholder
called from his open window to van der Myle, who happened to be passing
by. He then informed him that he neither admitted the premises nor the
conclusion of the Advocate's letter, saying that many things set down in
it were false. He furthermore told him a story of a certain old man who,
having in his youth invented many things and told them often for truth,
believed them when he came to old age to be actually true and was ever
ready to stake his salvation upon them. Whereupon he shut the window and
left van der Myle to make such application of the parable as he thought
proper, vouchsafing no further answer to Barneveld's communication.

Dudley Carleton related the anecdote to his government with much glee,
but it may be doubted whether this bold way of giving the lie to a
venerable statesman through his son-in-law would have been accounted as
triumphant argumentation anywhere out of a barrack.

As for the Remonstrance to the States of Holland, although most
respectfully received in that assembly except by the five opposition
cities, its immediate effect on the public was to bring down a fresh
"snow storm"--to use the expression of a contemporary--of pamphlets,
libels, caricatures, and broadsheets upon the head of the Advocate. In
every bookseller's and print shop window in all the cities of the
country, the fallen statesman was represented in all possible ludicrous,
contemptible, and hateful shapes, while hags and blind beggars about the
streets screeched filthy and cursing ballads against him, even at his
very doors.

The effect of energetic, uncompromising calumny has rarely been more
strikingly illustrated than in the case of this statesman. Blackened
daily all over by a thousand trowels, the purest and noblest character
must have been defiled, and it is no wonder that the incrustation upon
the Advocate's fame should have lasted for two centuries and a half. It
may perhaps endure for as many more: Not even the vile Marshal d'Ancre,
who had so recently perished, was more the mark of obloquy in a country
which he had dishonoured, flouted, and picked to the bone than was
Barneveld in a commonwealth which he had almost created and had served
faithfully from youth to old age. It was even the fashion to compare him
with Concini in order to heighten the wrath of the public, as if any
parallel between the ignoble, foreign paramour of a stupid and sensual
queen, and the great statesman, patriot, and jurist of whom civilization
will be always proud, could ever enter any but an idiot's brain.

Meantime the Stadholder, who had so successfully handled the Assembly of
Gelderland and Overyssel, now sailed across the Zuiderzee from Kampen to
Amsterdam. On his approach to the stately northern Venice, standing full
of life and commercial bustle upon its vast submerged forest of Norwegian
pines, he was met by a fleet of yachts and escorted through the water
gates of the into the city.

Here an immense assemblage of vessels of every class, from the humble
gondola to the bulky East Indianian and the first-rate ship of war, gaily
bannered with the Orange colours and thronged from deck to topmast by
enthusiastic multitudes, was waiting to receive their beloved stadholder.
A deafening cannonade saluted him on his approach. The Prince was
escorted to the Square or Dam, where on a high scaffolding covered with
blue velvet in front of the stately mediaeval town-hall the burgomasters
and board of magistrates in their robes of office were waiting to receive
him. The strains of that most inspiriting and suggestive of national
melodies, the 'Wilhelmus van Nassouwen,' rang through the air, and when
they were silent, the chief magistrate poured forth a very eloquent and
tedious oration, and concluded by presenting him with a large orange in
solid gold; Maurice having succeeded to the principality a few months
before on the death of his half-brother Philip William.

The "Blooming in Love," as one of the Chambers of "Rhetoric" in which
the hard-handed but half-artistic mechanics and shopkeepers of the
Netherlands loved to disport themselves was called, then exhibited upon
an opposite scaffold a magnificent representation of Jupiter astride upon
an eagle and banding down to the Stadholder as if from the clouds that
same principality. Nothing could be neater or more mythological.

The Prince and his escort, sitting in the windows of the town-hall, the
square beneath being covered with 3000 or 4000 burgher militia in full
uniform, with orange plumes in their hats and orange scarves on their
breasts, saw still other sights. A gorgeous procession set forth by the
"Netherlandish Academy," another chamber of rhetoric, and filled with
those emblematic impersonations so dear to the hearts of Netherlanders,
had been sweeping through all the canals and along the splendid quays of
the city. The Maid of Holland, twenty feet high, led the van, followed by
the counterfeit presentment of each of her six sisters. An orange tree
full of flowers and fruit was conspicuous in one barge, while in another,
strangely and lugubriously enough, lay the murdered William the Silent in
the arms of his wife and surrounded by his weeping sons and daughters all
attired in white satin.

In the evening the Netherland Academy, to improve the general hilarity,
and as if believing exhibitions of murder the most appropriate means of
welcoming the Prince, invited him to a scenic representation of the
assassination of Count Florence V. of Holland by Gerrit van Velsen and
other nobles. There seemed no especial reason for the selection, unless
perhaps the local one; one of the perpetrators of this crime against an
ancient predecessor of William the Silent in the sovereignty of Holland
having been a former lord proprietor of Amsterdam and the adjacent
territories, Gysbrecht van Amatel.

Maurice returned to the Hague. Five of the seven provinces were entirely
his own. Utrecht too was already wavering, while there could be no doubt
of the warm allegiance to himself of the important commercial metropolis
of Holland, the only province in which Barneveld's influence was still
paramount.

Owing to the watchfulness and distrust of Barneveld, which had never
faltered, Spain had not secured the entire control of the disputed
duchies, but she had at least secured the head of a venerated saint. "The
bargain is completed for the head of the glorious Saint Lawrence, which
you know I so much desire," wrote Philip triumphantly to the Archduke
Albert. He had, however, not got it for nothing.

The Abbot of Glamart in Julich, then in possession of that treasure, had
stipulated before delivering it that if at any time the heretics or other
enemies should destroy the monastery his Majesty would establish them in
Spanish Flanders and give them the same revenues as they now enjoyed in
Julich. Count Herman van den Berg was to give a guarantee to that effect.

Meantime the long controversy in the duchies having tacitly come to a
standstill upon the basis of 'uti possidetis,' the Spanish government had
leisure in the midst of their preparation for the general crusade upon
European heresy to observe and enjoy the internal religious dissensions
in their revolted provinces. Although they had concluded the convention
with them as with countries over which they had no pretensions, they had
never at heart allowed more virtue to the conjunction "as," which really
contained the essence of the treaty, than grammatically belonged to it.
Spain still chose to regard the independence of the Seven Provinces as a
pleasant fiction to be dispelled when, the truce having expired by its
own limitation, she should resume, as she fully meant to do, her
sovereignty over all the seventeen Netherlands, the United as well as the
obedient. Thus at any rate the question of state rights or central
sovereignty would be settled by a very summary process. The Spanish
ambassador was wroth, as may well be supposed, when the agent of the
rebel provinces received in London the rank, title, and recognition of
ambassador. Gondemar at least refused to acknowledge Noel de Caron as his
diplomatic equal or even as his colleague, and was vehement in his
protestations on the subject. But James, much as he dreaded the Spanish
envoy and fawned upon his master, was not besotted enough to comply with
these demands at the expense of his most powerful ally, the Republic of
the Netherlands. The Spanish king however declared his ambassador's
proceedings to be in exact accordance with his instructions. He was
sorry, he said, if the affair had caused discontent to the King of Great
Britain; he intended in all respects to maintain the Treaty of Truce of
which his Majesty had been one of the guarantors, but as that treaty had
but a few more years to run, after which he should be reinstated in his
former right of sovereignty over all the Netherlands, he entirely
justified the conduct of Count Gondemar.

It may well be conceived that, as the years passed by, as the period of
the Truce grew nearer and the religious disputes became every day more
envenomed, the government at Madrid should look on the tumultuous scene
with saturnine satisfaction. There was little doubt now, they thought,
that the Provinces, sick of their rebellion and that fancied independence
which had led them into a whirlpool of political and religious misery,
and convinced of their incompetence to govern themselves, would be only
too happy to seek the forgiving arms of their lawful sovereign. Above all
they must have learned that their great heresy had carried its
chastisement with it, that within something they called a Reformed Church
other heresies had been developed which demanded condign punishment at
the hands of that new Church, and that there could be neither rest for
them in this world nor salvation in the next except by returning to the
bosom of their ancient mother.

Now was the time, so it was thought, to throw forward a strong force of
Jesuits as skirmishers into the Provinces by whom the way would be opened
for the reconquest of the whole territory.

"By the advices coming to us continually from thence," wrote the King of
Spain to Archduke Albert, "we understand that the disquiets and
differences continue in Holland on matters relating to their sects, and
that from this has resulted the conversion of many to the Catholic
religion. So it has been taken into consideration whether it would not be
expedient that some fathers of the company of Jesuits be sent secretly
from Rome to Holland, who should negotiate concerning the conversion of
that people. Before taking a resolution, I have thought best to give an
account of this matter to your Highness. I should be glad if you would
inform me what priests are going to Holland, what fruits they yield, and
what can be done for the continuance of their labours. Please to advise
me very particularly together with any suggestions that may occur to you
in this matter."

The Archduke, who was nearer the scene, was not so sure that the old
religion was making such progress as his royal nephew or those who spoke
in his name believed. At any rate, if it were not rapidly gaining ground,
it would be neither for want of discord among the Protestants nor for
lack of Jesuits to profit by it.

"I do not understand," said he in reply, "nor is it generally considered
certain that from the differences and disturbances that the Hollanders
are having among themselves there has resulted the conversion of any of
them to our blessed Catholic faith, because their disputes are of certain
points concerning which there are different opinions within their sect.
There has always been a goodly number of priests here, the greater part
of whom belong to the Company. They are very diligent and fervent, and
the Catholics derive much comfort from them. To send more of them would
do more harm than good. It might be found out, and then they would
perhaps be driven out of Holland or even chastised. So it seems better to
leave things as they are for the present."

The Spanish government was not discouraged however, but was pricking up
its ears anew at strange communications it was receiving from the very
bosom of the council of state in the Netherlands. This body, as will be
remembered, had been much opposed to Barneveld and to the policy pursued
under his leadership by the States of Holland. Some of its members were
secretly Catholic and still more secretly disposed to effect a revolution
in the government, the object of which should be to fuse the United
Provinces with the obedient Netherlands in a single independent monarchy
to be placed under the sceptre of the son of Philip III.

A paper containing the outlines of this scheme had been sent to Spain,
and the King at once forwarded it in cipher to the Archduke at Brussels
for his opinion and co-operation.

"You will see," he said, "the plan which a certain person zealous for the
public good has proposed for reducing the Netherlanders to my obedience.
. . . . You will please advise with Count Frederic van den Berg and let
me know with much particularity and profound secrecy what is thought,
what is occurring, and the form in which this matter ought to be
negotiated, and the proper way to make it march."

Unquestionably the paper was of grave importance. It informed the King of
Spain that some principal personages in the United Netherlands, members
of the council of state, were of opinion that if his Majesty or Archduke
Albert should propose peace, it could be accomplished at that moment more
easily than ever before. They had arrived at the conviction that no
assistance was to be obtained from the King of France, who was too much
weakened by tumults and sedition at home, while nothing good could be
expected from the King of England. The greater part of the Province of
Gelderland, they said, with all Friesland, Utrecht, Groningen, and
Overyssel were inclined to a permanent peace. Being all of them frontier
provinces, they were constantly exposed to the brunt of hostilities.
Besides this, the war expenses alone would now be more than 3,000,000
florins a year. Thus the people were kept perpetually harassed, and
although evil-intentioned persons approved these burthens under the
pretence that such heavy taxation served to free them from the tyranny of
Spain, those of sense and quality reproved them and knew the contrary to
be true. "Many here know," continued these traitors in the heart of the
state council, "how good it would be for the people of the Netherlands to
have a prince, and those having this desire being on the frontier are
determined to accept the son of your Majesty for their ruler." The
conditions of the proposed arrangement were to be that the Prince with
his successors who were thus to possess all the Netherlands were to be
independent sovereigns not subject in any way to the crown of Spain, and
that the great governments and dignities of the country were to remain in
the hands then holding them.

This last condition was obviously inserted in the plan for the special
benefit of Prince Maurice and Count Lewis, although there is not an atom
of evidence that they had ever heard of the intrigue or doubt that, if
they had, they would have signally chastised its guilty authors.

It was further stated that the Catholics having in each town a church and
free exercise of their religion would soon be in a great majority. Thus
the political and religious counter-revolution would be triumphantly
accomplished.

It was proposed that the management of the business should be entrusted
to some gentleman of the country possessing property there who "under
pretext of the public good should make people comprehend what a great
thing it would be if they could obtain this favour from the Spanish King,
thus extricating themselves from so many calamities and miseries, and
obtaining free traffic and a prince of their own." It would be necessary
for the King and Archduke to write many letters and promise great rewards
to persons who might otherwise embarrass the good work.

The plot was an ingenious one. There seemed in the opinion of these
conspirators in the state council but one great obstacle to its success.
It should be kept absolutely concealed from the States of Holland. The
great stipendiary of Spain, John of Barneveld, whose coffers were filled
with Spanish pistoles, whose name and surname might be read by all men in
the account-books at Brussels heading the register of mighty
bribe-takers, the man who was howled at in a thousand lampoons as a
traitor ever ready to sell his country, whom even Prince Maurice "partly
believed" to be the pensionary of Philip, must not hear a whisper of this
scheme to restore the Republic to Spanish control and place it under the
sceptre of a Spanish prince.

The States of Holland at that moment and so long as he was a member of
the body were Barneveld and Barneveld only; thinking his thoughts,
speaking with his tongue, writing with his pen. Of this neither friend
nor foe ever expressed a doubt. Indeed it was one of the staple
accusations against him.

Yet this paper in which the Spanish king in confidential cipher and
profound secrecy communicated to Archduke Albert his hopes and his
schemes for recovering the revolted provinces as a kingdom for his son
contained these words of caution.

"The States of Holland and Zealand will be opposed to the plan," it said.
"If the treaty come to the knowledge of the States and Council of Holland
before it has been acted upon by the five frontier provinces the whole
plan will be demolished."

Such was the opinion entertained by Philip himself of the man who was
supposed to be his stipendiary. I am not aware that this paper has ever
been alluded to in any document or treatise private or public from the
day of its date to this hour. It certainly has never been published, but
it lies deciphered in the Archives of the Kingdom at Brussels, and is
alone sufficient to put to shame the slanderers of the Advocate's
loyalty.

Yet let it be remembered that in this very summer exactly at the moment
when these intrigues were going on between the King of Spain and the
class of men most opposed to Barneveld, the accusations against his
fidelity were loudest and rifest.

Before the Stadholder had so suddenly slipped down to Brielle in order to
secure that important stronghold for the Contra-Remonstrant party,
reports had been carefully strewn among the people that the Advocate was
about to deliver that place and other fortresses to Spain.

Brielle, Flushing, Rammekens, the very cautionary towns and keys to the
country which he had so recently and in such masterly manner delivered
from the grasp of the hereditary ally he was now about to surrender to
the ancient enemy.

The Spaniards were already on the sea, it was said. Had it not been for
his Excellency's watchfulness and promptitude, they would already under
guidance of Barneveld and his crew have mastered the city of Brielle.
Flushing too through Barneveld's advice and connivance was open at a
particular point, in order that the Spaniards, who had their eye upon it,
might conveniently enter and take possession of the place. The air was
full of wild rumours to this effect, and already the humbler classes who
sided with the Stadholder saw in him the saviour of the country from the
treason of the Advocate and the renewed tyranny of Spain.

The Prince made no such pretence, but simply took possession of the
fortress in order to be beforehand with the Waartgelders. The
Contra-Remonstrants in Brielle had desired that "men should see who had
the hardest fists," and it would certainly have been difficult to find
harder ones than those of the hero of Nieuwpoort.

Besides the Jesuits coming in so skilfully to triumph over the warring
sects of Calvinists, there were other engineers on whom the Spanish
government relied to effect the reconquest of the Netherlands. Especially
it was an object to wreak vengeance on Holland, that head and front of
the revolt, both for its persistence in rebellion and for the immense
prosperity and progress by which that rebellion had been rewarded.
Holland had grown fat and strong, while the obedient Netherlands were
withered to the marrow of their bones. But there was a practical person
then resident in Spain to whom the Netherlands were well known, to whom
indeed everything was well known, who had laid before the King a
magnificent scheme for destroying the commerce and with it the very
existence of Holland to the great advantage of the Spanish finances and
of the Spanish Netherlands. Philip of course laid it before the Archduke
as usual, that he might ponder it well and afterwards, if approved,
direct its execution.

The practical person set forth in an elaborate memoir that the Hollanders
were making rapid progress in commerce, arts, and manufactures, while the
obedient provinces were sinking as swiftly into decay. The Spanish
Netherlands were almost entirely shut off from the sea, the rivers
Scheldt and Meuse being hardly navigable for them on account of the
control of those waters by Holland. The Dutch were attracting to their
dominions all artisans, navigators, and traders. Despising all other
nations and giving them the law, they had ruined the obedient provinces.
Ostend, Nieuwpoort, Dunkerk were wasting away, and ought to be restored.

"I have profoundly studied forty years long the subjects of commerce and
navigation," said the practical person, "and I have succeeded in
penetrating the secrets and acquiring, as it were, universal
knowledge--let me not be suspected of boasting--of the whole discovered
world and of the ocean. I have been assisted by study of the best works
of geography and history, by my own labours, and by those of my late
father, a man of illustrious genius and heroical conceptions and very
zealous in the Catholic faith."

The modest and practical son of an illustrious but anonymous father, then
coming to the point, said it would be the easiest thing in the world to
direct the course of the Scheldt into an entirely new channel through
Spanish Flanders to the sea. Thus the Dutch ports and forts which had
been constructed with such magnificence and at such vast expense would be
left high and dry; the Spaniards would build new ones in Flanders, and
thus control the whole navigation and deprive the Hollanders of that
empire of the sea which they now so proudly arrogated. This scheme was
much simpler to carry out than the vulgar might suppose, and, when.
accomplished, it would destroy the commerce, navigation, and fisheries of
the Hollanders, throwing it all into the hands of the Archdukes. This
would cause such ruin, poverty, and tumults everywhere that all would be
changed. The Republic of the United States would annihilate itself and
fall to pieces; the religious dissensions, the war of one sect with
another, and the jealousy of the House of Nassau, suspected of plans
hostile to popular liberties, finishing the work of destruction. "Then
the Republic," said the man of universal science, warming at sight of the
picture he was painting, "laden with debt and steeped in poverty, will
fall to the ground of its own weight, and thus debilitated will crawl
humbly to place itself in the paternal hands of the illustrious house of
Austria."

It would be better, he thought, to set about the work, before the
expiration of the Truce. At any rate, the preparation for it, or the mere
threat of it, would ensure a renewal of that treaty on juster terms. It
was most important too to begin at once the construction of a port on the
coast of Flanders, looking to the north.

There was a position, he said, without naming it, in which whole navies
could ride in safety, secure from all tempests, beyond the reach of the
Hollanders, open at all times to traffic to and from England, France,
Spain, Norway, Sweden, Russia--a perfectly free commerce, beyond the
reach of any rights or duties claimed or levied by the insolent republic.
In this port would assemble all the navigators of the country, and it
would become in time of war a terror to the Hollanders, English, and all
northern peoples. In order to attract, protect, and preserve these
navigators and this commerce, many great public edifices must be built,
together with splendid streets of houses and impregnable fortifications.
It should be a walled and stately city, and its name should be
Philipopolis. If these simple projects, so easy of execution, pleased his
Majesty, the practical person was ready to explain them in all their
details.

His Majesty was enchanted with the glowing picture, but before quite
deciding on carrying the scheme into execution thought it best to consult
the Archduke.

The reply of Albert has not been preserved. It was probably not
enthusiastic, and the man who without boasting had declared himself to
know everything was never commissioned to convert his schemes into
realities. That magnificent walled city, Philipopolis, with its gorgeous
streets and bristling fortresses, remained unbuilt, the Scheldt has
placidly flowed through its old channel to the sea from that day to this,
and the Republic remained in possession of the unexampled foreign trade
with which rebellion had enriched it.

These various intrigues and projects show plainly enough however the
encouragement given to the enemies of the United Provinces and of
Protestantism everywhere by these disastrous internal dissensions. But
yesterday and the Republic led by Barneveld in council and Maurice of
Nassau in the field stood at the head of the great army of resistance to
the general crusade organized by Spain and Rome against all unbelievers.
And now that the war was absolutely beginning in Bohemia, the Republic
was falling upon its own sword instead of smiting with it the universal
foe.

It was not the King of Spain alone that cast longing eyes on the fair
territory of that commonwealth which the unparalleled tyranny of his
father had driven to renounce his sceptre. Both in the Netherlands and
France, among the extreme orthodox party, there were secret schemes, to
which Maurice was not privy, to raise Maurice to the sovereignty of the
Provinces. Other conspirators with a wider scope and more treasonable
design were disposed to surrender their country to the dominion of
France, stipulating of course large rewards and offices for themselves
and the vice-royalty of what should then be the French Netherlands to
Maurice.

The schemes were wild enough perhaps, but their very existence, which is
undoubted, is another proof, if more proof were wanted, of the lamentable
tendency, in times of civil and religious dissension, of political
passion to burn out the very first principles of patriotism.

It is also important, on account of the direct influence exerted by these
intrigues upon subsequent events of the gravest character, to throw a
beam of light on matters which were thought to have been shrouded for
ever in impenetrable darkness.

Langerac, the States' Ambassador in Paris, was the very reverse of his
predecessor, the wily, unscrupulous, and accomplished Francis Aerssens.
The envoys of the Republic were rarely dull, but Langerac was a
simpleton. They were renowned for political experience, skill,
familiarity with foreign languages, knowledge of literature, history, and
public law; but he was ignorant, spoke French very imperfectly, at a
court where not a human being could address him in his own tongue, had
never been employed in diplomacy or in high office of any kind, and could
carry but small personal weight at a post where of all others the
representative of the great republic should have commanded deference both
for his own qualities and for the majesty of his government. At a period
when France was left without a master or a guide the Dutch ambassador,
under a becoming show of profound respect, might really have governed the
country so far as regarded at least the all important relations which
bound the two nations together. But Langerac was a mere picker-up of
trifles, a newsmonger who wrote a despatch to-day with information which
a despatch was written on the morrow to contradict, while in itself
conveying additional intelligence absolutely certain to be falsified soon
afterwards. The Emperor of Germany had gone mad; Prince Maurice had been
assassinated in the Hague, a fact which his correspondents, the
States-General, might be supposed already to know, if it were one; there
had been a revolution in the royal bed-chamber; the Spanish cook of the
young queen had arrived from Madrid; the Duke of Nevers was behaving very
oddly at Vienna; such communications, and others equally startling, were
the staple of his correspondence.

Still he was honest enough, very mild, perfectly docile to Barneveld,
dependent upon his guidance, and fervently attached to that statesman so
long as his wheel was going up the hill. Moreover, his industry in
obtaining information and his passion for imparting it made it probable
that nothing very momentous would be neglected should it be laid before
him, but that his masters, and especially the Advocate, would be enabled
to judge for themselves as to the attention due to it.

"With this you will be apprised of some very high and weighty matters,"
he wrote privately and in cipher to Barneveld, "which you will make use
of according to your great wisdom and forethought for the country's
service."

He requested that the matter might also be confided to M. van der Myle,
that he might assist his father-in-law, so overburdened with business, in
the task of deciphering the communication. He then stated that he had
been "very earnestly informed three days before by M. du Agean"--member
of the privy council of France--"that it had recently come to the King's
ears, and his Majesty knew it to be authentic, that there was a secret
and very dangerous conspiracy in Holland of persons belonging to the
Reformed religion in which others were also mixed. This party held very
earnest and very secret correspondence with the factious portion of the
Contra-Remonstrants both in the Netherlands and France, seeking under
pretext of the religious dissensions or by means of them to confer the
sovereignty upon Prince Maurice by general consent of the
Contra-Remonstrants. Their object was also to strengthen and augment the
force of the same religious party in France, to which end the Duc de
Bouillon and M. de Chatillon were very earnestly co-operating. Langerac
had already been informed by Chatillon that the Contra-Remonstrants had
determined to make a public declaration against the Remonstrants, and
come to an open separation from them.

"Others propose however," said the Ambassador, "that the King himself
should use the occasion to seize the sovereignty of the United Provinces
for himself and to appoint Prince Maurice viceroy, giving him in marriage
Madame Henriette of France." The object of this movement would be to
frustrate the plots of the Contra-Remonstrants, who were known to be
passionately hostile to the King and to France, and who had been
constantly traversing the negotiations of M. du Maurier. There was a
disposition to send a special and solemn embassy to the States, but it
was feared that the British king would at once do the same, to the
immense disadvantage of the Remonstrants. "M. de Barneveld," said the
envoy, "is deeply sympathized with here and commiserated. The Chancellor
has repeatedly requested me to present to you his very sincere and very
hearty respects, exhorting you to continue in your manly steadfastness
and courage." He also assured the Advocate that the French ambassador, M.
du Maurier, enjoyed the entire confidence of his government, and of the
principal members of the council, and that the King, although
contemplating, as we have seen, the seizure of the sovereignty of the
country, was most amicably disposed towards it, and so soon as the peace
of Savoy was settled "had something very good for it in his mind."
Whether the something very good was this very design to deprive it of
independence, the Ambassador did not state. He however recommended the
use of sundry small presents at the French court--especially to Madame de
Luynes, wife of the new favourite of Lewis since the death of Concini, in
which he had aided, now rising rapidly to consideration, and to Madame du
Agean--and asked to be supplied with funds accordingly. By these means he
thought it probable that at least the payment to the States of the long
arrears of the French subsidy might be secured.

Three weeks later, returning to the subject, the Ambassador reported
another conversation with M. du Agean. That politician assured him, "with
high protestations," as a perfectly certain fact that a Frenchman duly
qualified had arrived in Paris from Holland who had been in communication
not only with him but with several of the most confidential members of
the privy council of France. This duly qualified gentleman had been
secretly commissioned to say that in opinion of the conspirators already
indicated the occasion was exactly offered by these religious dissensions
in the Netherlands for bringing the whole country under the obedience of
the King. This would be done with perfect ease if he would
only be willing to favour a little the one party, that of the
Contra-Remonstrants, and promise his Excellency "perfect and perpetual
authority in the government with other compensations."

The proposition, said du Agean, had been rejected by the privy
councillors with a declaration that they would not mix themselves up with
any factions, nor assist any party, but that they would gladly work with
the government for the accommodation of these difficulties and
differences in the Provinces.

"I send you all this nakedly," concluded Langerac, "exactly as it has
been communicated to me, having always answered according to my duty and
with a view by negotiating with these persons to discover the intentions
as well of one side as the other."

The Advocate was not profoundly impressed by these revelations. He was
too experienced a statesman to doubt that in times when civil and
religious passion was running high there was never lack of fishers in
troubled waters, and that if a body of conspirators could secure a
handsome compensation by selling their country to a foreign prince, they
would always be ready to do it.

But although believed by Maurice to be himself a stipendiary of Spain, he
was above suspecting the Prince of any share in the low and stupid
intrigue which du Agean had imagined or disclosed. That the Stadholder
was ambitious of greater power, he hardly doubted, but that he was
seeking to acquire it by such corrupt and circuitous means, he did not
dream. He confidentially communicated the plot as in duty bound to some
members of the States, and had the Prince been accused in any
conversation or statement of being privy to the scheme, he would have
thought himself bound to mention it to him. The story came to the ears of
Maurice however, and helped to feed his wrath against the Advocate, as if
he were responsible for a plot, if plot it were, which had been concocted
by his own deadliest enemies. The Prince wrote a letter alluding to this
communication of Langerac and giving much alarm to that functionary. He
thought his despatches must have been intercepted and proposed in future
to write always by special courier. Barneveld thought that unnecessary
except when there were more important matters than those appeared to him
to be and requiring more haste.

"The letter of his Excellency," said he to the Ambassador, "is caused in
my opinion by the fact that some of the deputies to this assembly to whom
I secretly imparted your letter or its substance did not rightly
comprehend or report it. You did not say that his Excellency had any such
design or project, but that it had been said that the Contra-Remonstrants
were entertaining such a scheme. I would have shown the letter to him
myself, but I thought it not fair, for good reasons, to make M. du Agean
known as the informant. I do not think it amiss for you to write yourself
to his Excellency and tell him what is said, but whether it would be
proper to give up the name of your author, I think doubtful. At all
events one must consult about it. We live in a strange world, and one
knows not whom to trust."

He instructed the Ambassador to enquire into the foundation of these
statements of du Agean and send advices by every occasion of this affair
and others of equal interest. He was however much more occupied with
securing the goodwill of the French government, which he no more
suspected of tampering in these schemes against the independence of the
Republic than he did Maurice himself. He relied and he had reason to rely
on their steady good offices in the cause of moderation and
reconciliation. "We are not yet brought to the necessary and much desired
unity," he said, "but we do not despair, hoping that his Majesty's
efforts through M. du Maurier, both privately and publicly, will do much
good. Be assured that they are very agreeable to all rightly disposed
people . . . . My trust is that God the Lord will give us a happy issue
and save this country from perdition." He approved of the presents to the
two ladies as suggested by Langerac if by so doing the payment of the
arrearages could be furthered. He was still hopeful and confident in the
justice of his cause and the purity of his conscience. "Aerssens is
crowing like a cock," he said, "but the truth will surely prevail."



CHAPTER XVII.

   A Deputation from Utrecht to Maurice--The Fair at Utrecht--Maurice
   and the States' Deputies at Utrecht--Ogle refuses to act in
   Opposition to the States--The Stadholder disbands the Waartgelders--
   The Prince appoints forty Magistrates--The States formally disband
   the Waartgelders.

The eventful midsummer had arrived. The lime-tree blossoms were fragrant
in the leafy bowers overshadowing the beautiful little rural capital of
the Commonwealth. The anniversary of the Nieuwpoort victory, July 2, had
come and gone, and the Stadholder was known to be resolved that his
political campaign this year should be as victorious as that memorable
military one of eighteen years before.

Before the dog-days should begin to rage, the fierce heats of theological
and political passion were to wax daily more and more intense.

The party at Utrecht in favour of a compromise and in awe of the
Stadholder sent a deputation to the Hague with the express but secret
purpose of conferring with Maurice. They were eight in number, three of
whom, including Gillis van Ledenberg, lodged at the house of Daniel
Tressel, first clerk of the States-General.

The leaders of the Barneveld party, aware of the purport of this mission
and determined to frustrate it, contrived a meeting between the Utrecht
commissioners and Grotius, Hoogerbeets, de Haan, and de Lange at
Tressel's house.

Grotius was spokesman. Maurice had accused the States of Holland of
mutiny and rebellion, and the distinguished Pensionary of Rotterdam now
retorted the charges of mutiny, disobedience, and mischief-making upon
those who, under the mask of religion, were attempting to violate the
sovereignty of the States, the privileges and laws of the province, the
authority of the, magistrates, and to subject them to the power of
others. To prevent such a catastrophe many cities had enlisted
Waartgelders. By this means they had held such mutineers to their duty,
as had been seen at Leyden, Haarlem, and other places. The States of
Utrecht had secured themselves in the same way. But the mischiefmakers
and the ill-disposed had been seeking everywhere to counteract these
wholesome measures and to bring about a general disbanding of these
troops. This it was necessary to resist with spirit. It was the very
foundation of the provinces' sovereignty, to maintain which the public
means must be employed. It was in vain to drive the foe out of the
country if one could not remain in safety within one's own doors. They
had heard with sorrow that Utrecht was thinking of cashiering its troops,
and the speaker proceeded therefore to urge with all the eloquence he was
master of the necessity of pausing before taking so fatal a step.

The deputies of Utrecht answered by pleading the great pecuniary burthen
which the maintenance of the mercenaries imposed upon that province, and
complained that there was no one to come to their assistance, exposed as
they were to a sudden and overwhelming attack from many quarters. The
States-General had not only written but sent commissioners to Utrecht
insisting on the disbandment. They could plainly see the displeasure of
the Prince. It was a very different affair in Holland, but the States of
Utrecht found it necessary of two evils to choose the least.

They had therefore instructed their commissioners to request the Prince
to remove the foreign garrison from their capital and to send the old
companies of native militia in their place, to be in the pay of the
episcopate. In this case the States would agree to disband the new
levies.

Grotius in reply again warned the commissioners against communicating
with Maurice according to their instructions, intimated that the native
militia on which they were proposing to rely might have been debauched,
and he held out hopes that perhaps the States of Utrecht might derive
some relief from certain financial measures now contemplated in Holland.

The Utrechters resolved to wait at least several days before opening the
subject of their mission to the Prince. Meantime Ledenberg made a rough
draft of a report of what had occurred between them and Grotius and his
colleagues which it was resolved to lay secretly before the States of
Utrecht. The Hollanders hoped that they had at last persuaded the
commissioners to maintain the Waartgelders.

The States of Holland now passed a solemn resolution to the effect that
these new levies had been made to secure municipal order and maintain the
laws from subversion by civil tumults. If this object could be obtained
by other means, if the Stadholder were willing to remove garrisons of
foreign mercenaries on whom there could be no reliance, and supply their
place with native troops both in Holland and Utrecht, an arrangement
could be made for disbanding the Waartgelders.

Barneveld, at the head of thirty deputies from the nobles and cities,
waited upon Maurice and verbally communicated to him this resolution. He
made a cold and unsatisfactory reply, although it seems to have been
understood that by according twenty companies of native troops he might
have contented both Holland and Utrecht.

Ledenberg and his colleagues took their departure from the Hague without
communicating their message to Maurice. Soon afterwards the
States-General appointed a commission to Utrecht with the Stadholder at
the head of it.

The States of Holland appointed another with Grotius as its chairman.

On the 25th July Grotius and Pensionary Hoogerbeets with two colleagues
arrived in Utrecht.

Gillis van Ledenberg was there to receive them. A tall, handsome,
bald-headed, well-featured, mild, gentlemanlike man was this secretary of
the Utrecht assembly, and certainly not aware, while passing to and fro
on such half diplomatic missions between two sovereign assemblies, that
he was committing high-treason. He might well imagine however, should
Maurice discover that it was he who had prevented the commissioners from
conferring with him as instructed, that it would go hard with him.

Ledenberg forthwith introduced Grotius and his committee to the Assembly
at Utrecht.

While these great personages were thus holding solemn and secret council,
another and still greater personage came upon the scene.

The Stadholder with the deputation from the States-General arrived at
Utrecht.

Evidently the threads of this political drama were converging to a
catastrophe, and it might prove a tragical one.

Meantime all looked merry enough in the old episcopal city. There were
few towns in Lower or in Upper Germany more elegant and imposing than
Utrecht. Situate on the slender and feeble channel of the ancient Rhine
as it falters languidly to the sea, surrounded by trim gardens and
orchards, and embowered in groves of beeches and limetrees, with busy
canals fringed with poplars, lined with solid quays, and crossed by
innumerable bridges; with the stately brick tower of St. Martin's rising
to a daring height above one of the most magnificent Gothic cathedrals in
the Netherlands; this seat of the Anglo-Saxon Willebrord, who eight
hundred years before had preached Christianity to the Frisians, and had
founded that long line of hard-fighting, indomitable bishops, obstinately
contesting for centuries the possession of the swamps and pastures about
them with counts, kings, and emperors, was still worthy of its history
and its position.

It was here too that sixty-one years before the famous Articles of Union
were signed. By that fundamental treaty of the Confederacy, the Provinces
agreed to remain eternally united as if they were but one province, to
make no war nor peace save by unanimous consent, while on lesser matters
a majority should rule; to admit both Catholics and Protestants to the
Union provided they obeyed its Articles and conducted themselves as good
patriots, and expressly declared that no province or city should
interfere with another in the matter of divine worship.

From this memorable compact, so enduring a landmark in the history of
human freedom, and distinguished by such breadth of view for the times
both in religion and politics, the city had gained the title of cradle of
liberty: 'Cunabula libertatis'.

Was it still to deserve the name? At that particular moment the mass of
the population was comparatively indifferent to the terrible questions
pending. It was the kermis or annual fair, and all the world was keeping
holiday in Utrecht. The pedlars and itinerant merchants from all the
cities and provinces had brought their wares jewellery and crockery,
ribbons and laces, ploughs and harrows, carriages and horses, cows and
sheep, cheeses and butter firkins, doublets and petticoats, guns and
pistols, everything that could serve the city and country-side for months
to come--and displayed them in temporary booths or on the ground, in
every street and along every canal. The town was one vast bazaar. The
peasant-women from the country, with their gold and silver tiaras and the
year's rent of a comfortable farm in their earrings and necklaces, and
the sturdy Frisian peasants, many of whom had borne their matchlocks in
the great wars which had lasted through their own and their fathers'
lifetime, trudged through the city, enjoying the blessings of peace.
Bands of music and merry-go-rounds in all the open places and squares;
open-air bakeries of pancakes and waffles; theatrical exhibitions,
raree-shows, jugglers, and mountebanks at every corner--all these
phenomena which had been at every kermis for centuries, and were to
repeat themselves for centuries afterwards, now enlivened the atmosphere
of the grey, episcopal city. Pasted against the walls of public edifices
were the most recent placards and counter-placards of the States-General
and the States of Utrecht on the great subject of religious schisms and
popular tumults. In the shop-windows and on the bookstalls of
Contra-Remonstrant tradesmen, now becoming more and more defiant as the
last allies of Holland, the States of Utrecht, were gradually losing
courage, were seen the freshest ballads and caricatures against the
Advocate. Here an engraving represented him seated at table with Grotius,
Hoogerbeets, and others, discussing the National Synod, while a flap of
the picture being lifted put the head of the Duke of Alva on the legs of
Barneveld, his companions being transformed in similar manner into
Spanish priests and cardinals assembled at the terrible Council of
Blood-with rows of Protestant martyrs burning and hanging in the
distance. Another print showed Prince Maurice and the States-General
shaking the leading statesmen of the Commonwealth in a mighty sieve
through which came tumbling head foremost to perdition the hated Advocate
and his abettors. Another showed the Arminians as a row of crest-fallen
cocks rained upon by the wrath of the Stadholder--Arminians by a
detestable pun being converted into "Arme haenen" or "Poor cocks." One
represented the Pope and King of Spain blowing thousands of ducats out of
a golden bellows into the lap of the Advocate, who was holding up his
official robes to receive them, or whole carriage-loads of Arminians
starting off bag and baggage on the road to Rome, with Lucifer in the
perspective waiting to give them a warm welcome in his own dominions; and
so on, and so on. Moving through the throng, with iron calque on their
heads and halberd in hand, were groups of Waartgelders scowling fiercely
at many popular demonstrations such as they had been enlisted to
suppress, but while off duty concealing outward symptoms of wrath which
in many instances perhaps would have been far from genuine.

For although these mercenaries knew that the States of Holland, who were
responsible for the pay of the regular troops then in Utrecht, authorized
them to obey no orders save from the local authorities, yet it was
becoming a grave question for the Waartgelders whether their own wages
were perfectly safe, a circumstance which made them susceptible to the
atmosphere of Contra-Remonstrantism which was steadily enwrapping the
whole country. A still graver question was whether such resistance as
they could offer to the renowned Stadholder, whose name was magic to
every soldier's heart not only in his own land but throughout
Christendom, would not be like parrying a lance's thrust with a bulrush.
In truth the senior captain of the Waartgelders, Harteveld by name, had
privately informed the leaders of the Barneveld party in Utrecht that he
would not draw his sword against Prince Maurice and the States-General.
"Who asks you to do so?" said some of the deputies, while Ledenberg on
the other hand flatly accused him of cowardice. For this affront the
Captain had vowed revenge.

And in the midst of this scene of jollity and confusion, that midsummer
night, entered the stern Stadholder with his fellow commissioners; the
feeble plans for shutting the gates upon him not having been carried into
effect.

"You hardly expected such a guest at your fair," said he to the
magistrates, with a grim smile on his face as who should say, "And what
do you think of me now I have came?"

Meantime the secret conference of Grotius and colleagues with the States
of Utrecht proceeded. As a provisional measure, Sir John Ogle, commander
of the forces paid by Holland, had been warned as to where his obedience
was due. It had likewise been intimated that the guard should be doubled
at the Amersfoort gate, and a watch set on the river Lek above and below
the city in order to prevent fresh troops of the States-General from
being introduced by surprise.

These precautions had been suggested a year before, as we have seen, in a
private autograph letter from Barneveld to Secretary Ledenberg.

Sir John Ogle had flatly refused to act in opposition to the Stadholder
and the States-General, whom he recognized as his lawful superiors and
masters, and he warned Ledenberg and his companions as to the perilous
nature of the course which they were pursuing. Great was the indignation
of the Utrechters and the Holland commissioners in consequence.

Grotius in his speech enlarged on the possibility of violence being used
by the Stadholder, while some of the members of the Assembly likewise
thought it likely that he would smite the gates open by force. Grotius,
when reproved afterwards for such strong language towards Prince Maurice,
said that true Hollanders were no courtiers, but were wont to call
everything by its right name.

He stated in strong language the regret felt by Holland that a majority
of the States of Utrecht had determined to disband the Waartgelders which
had been constitutionally enlisted according to the right of each
province under the 1st Article of the Union of Utrecht to protect itself
and its laws.

Next day there were conferences between Maurice and the States of Utrecht
and between him and the Holland deputies. The Stadholder calmly demanded
the disbandment and the Synod. The Hollanders spoke of securing first the
persons and rights of the magistracy.

"The magistrates are to be protected," said Maurice, "but we must first
know how they are going to govern. People have tried to introduce five
false points into the Divine worship. People have tried to turn me out of
the stadholdership and to drive me from the country. But I have taken my
measures. I know well what I am about. I have got five provinces on my
side, and six cities of Holland will send deputies to Utrecht to sustain
me here."

The Hollanders protested that there was no design whatever, so far as
they knew, against his princely dignity or person. All were ready to
recognize his rank and services by every means in their power. But it was
desirable by conciliation and compromise, not by stern decree, to arrange
these religious and political differences.

The Stadholder replied by again insisting on the Synod. "As for the
Waartgelders," he continued, "they are worse than Spanish fortresses.
They must away."

After a little further conversation in this vein the Prince grew more
excited.

"Everything is the fault of the Advocate," he cried.

"If Barneveld were dead," replied Grotius, "all the rest of us would
still deem ourselves bound to maintain the laws. People seem to despise
Holland and to wish to subject it to the other provinces."

"On the contrary," cried the Prince, "it is the Advocate who wishes to
make Holland the States-General."

Maurice was tired of argument. There had been much ale-house talk some
three months before by a certain blusterous gentleman called van Ostrum
about the necessity of keeping the Stadholder in check. "If the Prince
should undertake," said this pot-valiant hero, "to attack any of the
cities of Utrecht or Holland with the hard hand, it is settled to station
8000 or 10,000 soldiers in convenient places. Then we shall say to the
Prince, if you don't leave us alone, we shall make an arrangement with
the Archduke of Austria and resume obedience to him. We can make such a
treaty with him as will give us religious freedom and save us from
tyranny of any kind. I don't say this for myself, but have heard it on
good authority from very eminent persons."

This talk had floated through the air to the Stadholder.

What evidence could be more conclusive of a deep design on the part of
Barneveld to sell the Republic to the Archduke and drive Maurice into
exile? Had not Esquire van Ostrum solemnly declared it at a tavern table?
And although he had mentioned no names, could the "eminent personages"
thus cited at second hand be anybody but the Advocate?

Three nights after his last conference with the Hollanders, Maurice
quietly ordered a force of regular troops in Utrecht to be under arms at
half past three o'clock next morning. About 1000 infantry, including
companies of Ernest of Nassau's command at Arnhem and of Brederode's from
Vianen, besides a portion of the regular garrison of the place, had
accordingly been assembled without beat of drum, before half past three
in the morning, and were now drawn up on the market-place or Neu. At
break of day the Prince himself appeared on horseback surrounded by his
staff on the Neu or Neude, a large, long, irregular square into which the
seven or eight principal streets and thoroughfares of the town emptied
themselves. It was adorned by public buildings and other handsome
edifices, and the tall steeple of St. Martin's with its beautiful
open-work spire, lighted with the first rays of the midsummer sun, looked
tranquilly down upon the scene.

Each of the entrances to the square had been securely guarded by
Maurice's orders, and cannon planted to command all the streets. A single
company of the famous Waartgelders was stationed in the Neu or near it.
The Prince rode calmly towards them and ordered them to lay down their
arms. They obeyed without a murmur. He then sent through the city to
summon all the other companies of Waartgelders to the Neu. This was done
with perfect promptness, and in a short space of time the whole body of
mercenaries, nearly 1000 in number, had laid down their arms at the feet
of the Prince.

The snaphances and halberds being then neatly stacked in the square, the
Stadholder went home to his early breakfast. There was an end to those
mercenaries thenceforth and for ever. The faint and sickly resistance to
the authority of Maurice offered at Utrecht was attempted nowhere else.

For days there had been vague but fearful expectations of a "blood bath,"
of street battles, rioting, and plunder. Yet the Stadholder with the
consummate art which characterized all his military manoeuvres had so
admirably carried out his measure that not a shot was fired, not a blow
given, not a single burgher disturbed in his peaceful slumbers. When the
population had taken off their nightcaps, they woke to find the awful
bugbear removed which had so long been appalling them. The Waartgelders
were numbered with the terrors of the past, and not a cat had mewed at
their disappearance.

Charter-books, parchments, 13th Articles, Barneveld's teeth, Arminian
forts, flowery orations of Grotius, tavern talk of van Ostrum, city
immunities, States' rights, provincial laws, Waartgelders and all--the
martial Stadholder, with the orange plume in his hat and the sword of
Nieuwpoort on his thigh, strode through them as easily as through the
whirligigs and mountebanks, the wades and fritters, encumbering the
streets of Utrecht on the night of his arrival.

Secretary Ledenberg and other leading members of the States had escaped
the night before. Grotius and his colleagues also took a precipitate
departure. As they drove out of town in the twilight, they met the
deputies of the six opposition cities of Holland just arriving in their
coach from the Hague. Had they tarried an hour longer, they would have
found themselves safely in prison.

Four days afterwards the Stadholder at the head of his body-guard
appeared at the town-house. His halberdmen tramped up the broad
staircase, heralding his arrival to the assembled magistracy. He
announced his intention of changing the whole board then and there. The
process was summary. The forty members were required to supply forty
other names, and the Prince added twenty more. From the hundred
candidates thus furnished the Prince appointed forty magistrates such as
suited himself. It is needless to say that but few of the old bench
remained, and that those few were devoted to the Synod, the
States-General, and the Stadholder. He furthermore announced that these
new magistrates were to hold office for life, whereas the board had
previously been changed every year. The cathedral church was at once
assigned for the use of the Contra-Remonstrants.

This process was soon to be repeated throughout the two insubordinate
provinces Utrecht and Holland.

The Prince was accused of aiming at the sovereignty of the whole country,
and one of his grief's against the Advocate was that he had begged the
Princess-Widow, Louise de Coligny, to warn her son-in-law of the dangers
of such ambition. But so long as an individual, sword in hand, could
exercise such unlimited sway over the whole municipal, and provincial
organization of the Commonwealth, it mattered but little whether he was
called King or Kaiser, Doge or Stadholder. Sovereign he was for the time
being at least, while courteously acknowledging the States-General as his
sovereign.

Less than three weeks afterwards the States-General issued a decree
formally disbanding the Waartgelders; an almost superfluous edict, as
they had almost ceased to exist, and there were none to resist the
measure. Grotius recommended complete acquiescence. Barneveld's soul
could no longer animate with courage a whole people.

The invitations which had already in the month of June been prepared for
the Synod to meet in the city of Dortor Dordtrecht-were now issued. The
States of Holland sent back the notification unopened, deeming it an
unwarrantable invasion of their rights that an assembly resisted by a
large majority of their body should be convoked in a city on their own
territory. But this was before the disbandment of the Waartgelders and
the general change of magistracies had been effected.

Earnest consultations were now held as to the possibility of devising
some means of compromise; of providing that the decisions of the Synod
should not be considered binding until after having been ratified by the
separate states. In the opinion of Barneveld they were within a few
hours' work of a favourable result when their deliberations were
interrupted by a startling event.



CHAPTER XVIII.

   Fruitless Interview between Barneveld and Maurice--The Advocate,
   warned of his Danger, resolves to remain at the Hague--Arrest of
   Barneveld, of Qrotius, and of Hoogerbeets--The States-General assume
   the Responsibility in a "Billet"--The States of Holland protest--
   The Advocate's Letter to his Family--Audience of Boississe--
   Mischief-making of Aerssens--The French Ambassadors intercede for
   Barneveld--The King of England opposes their Efforts--Langerac's
   Treachery to the Advocate--Maurice continues his Changes in the
   Magistracy throughout the Country--Vote of Thanks by the States of
   Holland.

The Advocate, having done what he believed to be his duty, and exhausted
himself in efforts to defend ancient law and to procure moderation and
mutual toleration in religion, was disposed to acquiesce in the
inevitable. His letters giving official and private information of those
grave events were neither vindictive nor vehement.

"I send you the last declaration of My Lords of Holland," he said to
Caron, "in regard to the National Synod, with the counter-declaration of
Dordtrecht and the other five cities. Yesterday was begun the debate
about cashiering the enrolled soldiers called Waartgelders. To-day the
late M. van Kereburg was buried."

Nothing could be calmer than his tone. After the Waartgelders had been
disbanded, Utrecht revolutionized by main force, the National Synod
decided upon, and the process of changing the municipal magistracies
everywhere in the interest of Contra-Remonstrants begun, he continued to
urge moderation and respect for law. Even now, although discouraged, he
was not despondent, and was disposed to make the best even of the Synod.

He wished at this supreme moment to have a personal interview with the
Prince in order to devise some means for calming the universal agitation
and effecting, if possible, a reconciliation among conflicting passions
and warring sects. He had stood at the side of Maurice and of Maurice's
great father in darker hours even than these. They had turned to him on
all trying and tragical occasions and had never found his courage
wavering or his judgment at fault. "Not a friend to the House of Nassau,
but a father," thus had Maurice with his own lips described the Advocate
to the widow of William the Silent. Incapable of an unpatriotic thought,
animated by sincere desire to avert evil and procure moderate action,
Barneveld saw no reason whatever why, despite all that had been said and
done, he should not once more hold council with the Prince. He had a
conversation accordingly with Count Lewis, who had always honoured the
Advocate while differing with him on the religious question. The
Stadholder of Friesland, one of the foremost men of his day in military
and scientific affairs, in administrative ability and philanthropic
instincts, and, in a family perhaps the most renowned in Europe for
heroic qualities and achievements, hardly second to any who had borne the
name, was in favour of the proposed interview, spoke immediately to
Prince Maurice about it, but was not hopeful as to its results. He knew
his cousin well and felt that he was at that moment resentful, perhaps
implacably so, against the whole Remonstrant party and especially against
their great leader.

Count Lewis was small of stature, but dignified, not to say pompous, in
demeanour. His style of writing to one of lower social rank than himself
was lofty, almost regal, and full of old world formality.

"Noble, severe, right worshipful, highly learned and discreet, special
good friend," he wrote to Barneveld; "we have spoken to his Excellency
concerning the expediency of what you requested of us this forenoon. We
find however that his Excellency is not to be moved to entertain any
other measure than the National Synod which he has himself proposed in
person to all the provinces, to the furtherance of which he has made so
many exertions, and which has already been announced by the
States-General.

"We will see by what opportunity his Excellency will appoint the
interview, and so far as lies in us you may rely on our good offices. We
could not answer sooner as the French ambassadors had audience of us this
forenoon and we were visiting his Excellency in the afternoon. Wishing
your worship good evening, we are your very good friend."

Next day Count William wrote again. "We have taken occasion," he said,
"to inform his Excellency that you were inclined to enter into
communication with him in regard to an accommodation of the religious
difficulties and to the cashiering of the Waartgelders. He answered that
he could accept no change in the matter of the National Synod, but
nevertheless would be at your disposal whenever your worship should be
pleased to come to him."

Two days afterwards Barneveld made his appearance at the apartments of
the Stadholder. The two great men on whom the fabric of the Republic had
so long rested stood face to face once more.

The Advocate, with long grey beard and stern blue eye, haggard with
illness and anxiety, tall but bent with age, leaning on his staff and
wrapped in black velvet cloak--an imposing magisterial figure; the
florid, plethoric Prince in brown doublet, big russet boots, narrow ruff,
and shabby felt hat with its string of diamonds, with hand clutched on
swordhilt, and eyes full of angry menace, the very type of the high-born,
imperious soldier--thus they surveyed each other as men, once friends,
between whom a gulf had opened.

Barneveld sought to convince the Prince that in the proceedings at
Utrecht, founded as they were on strict adherence to the laws and
traditions of the Provinces, no disrespect had been intended to him, no
invasion of his constitutional rights, and that on his part his lifelong
devotion to the House of Nassau had suffered no change. He repeated his
usual incontrovertible arguments against the Synod, as illegal and
directly tending to subject the magistracy to the priesthood, a course of
things which eight-and-twenty years before had nearly brought destruction
on the country and led both the Prince and himself to captivity in a
foreign land.

The Prince sternly replied in very few words that the National Synod was
a settled matter, that he would never draw back from his position, and
could not do so without singular disservice to the country and to his own
disreputation. He expressed his displeasure at the particular oath
exacted from the Waartgelders. It diminished his lawful authority and the
respect due to him, and might be used per indirectum to the oppression of
those of the religion which he had sworn to maintain. His brow grew black
when he spoke of the proceedings at Utrecht, which he denounced as a
conspiracy against his own person and the constitution of the country.

Barneveld used in vain the powers of argument by which he had guided
kings and republics, cabinets and assemblies, during so many years. His
eloquence fell powerless upon the iron taciturnity of the Stadholder.
Maurice had expressed his determination and had no other argument to
sustain it but his usual exasperating silence.

The interview ended as hopelessly as Count Lewis William had anticipated,
and the Prince and the Advocate separated to meet no more on earth.

"You have doubtless heard already," wrote Barneveld to the ambassador in
London, "of all that has been passing here and in Utrecht. One must pray
to God that everything may prosper to his honour and the welfare of the
country. They are resolved to go through with the National Synod, the
government of Utrecht after the change made in it having consented with
the rest. I hope that his Majesty, according to your statement, will send
some good, learned, and peace-loving personages here, giving them
wholesome instructions to help bring our affairs into Christian unity,
accommodation, and love, by which his Majesty and these Provinces would
be best served."

Were these the words of a baffled conspirator and traitor? Were they
uttered to produce an effect upon public opinion and avert a merited
condemnation by all good men? There is not in them a syllable of
reproach, of anger, of despair. And let it be remembered that they were
not written for the public at all. They were never known to the public,
hardly heard of either by the Advocate's enemies or friends, save the one
to whom they were addressed and the monarch to whom that friend was
accredited. They were not contained in official despatches, but in
private, confidential outpourings to a trusted political and personal
associate of many years. From the day they were written until this hour
they have never been printed, and for centuries perhaps not read.

He proceeded to explain what he considered to be the law in the
Netherlands with regard to military allegiance. It is not probable that
there was in the country a more competent expounder of it; and defective
and even absurd as such a system was, it had carried the Provinces
successfully through a great war, and a better method for changing it
might have been found among so law-loving and conservative a people as
the Netherlanders than brute force.

"Information has apparently been sent to England," he said, "that My
Lords of Holland through their commissioners in Utrecht dictated to the
soldiery standing at their charges something that was unreasonable. The
truth is that the States of Holland, as many of them as were assembled,
understanding that great haste was made to send his Excellency and some
deputies from the other provinces to Utrecht, while the members of the
Utrecht assembly were gone to report these difficulties to their
constituents and get fresh instructions from them, wishing that the
return of those members should be waited for and that the Assembly of
Holland might also be complete--a request which was refused--sent a
committee to Utrecht, as the matter brooked no delay, to give information
to the States of that province of what was passing here and to offer
their good offices.

"They sent letters also to his Excellency to move him to reasonable
accommodation without taking extreme measures in opposition to those
resolutions of the States of Utrecht which his Excellency had promised to
conform with and to cause to be maintained by all officers and soldiers.
Should his Excellency make difficulty in this, the commissioners were
instructed to declare to him that they were ordered to warn the colonels
and captains standing in the payment of Holland, by letter and word of
mouth, that they were bound by oath to obey the States of Holland as
their paymasters and likewise to carry out the orders of the provincial
and municipal magistrates in the places where they were employed. The
soldiery was not to act or permit anything to be done against those
resolutions, but help to carry them out, his Excellency himself and the
troops paid by the States of Holland being indisputably bound by oath and
duty so to do."

Doubtless a more convenient arrangement from a military point of view
might be imagined than a system of quotas by which each province in a
confederacy claimed allegiance and exacted obedience from the troops paid
by itself in what was after all a general army. Still this was the
logical and inevitable result of State rights pushed to the extreme and
indeed had been the indisputable theory and practice in the Netherlands
ever since their revolt from Spain. To pretend that the proceedings and
the oath were new because they were embarrassing was absurd. It was only
because the dominant party saw the extreme inconvenience of the system,
now that it was turned against itself, that individuals contemptuous of
law and ignorant of history denounced it as a novelty.

But the strong and beneficent principle that lay at the bottom of the
Advocate's conduct was his unflagging resolve to maintain the civil
authority over the military in time of peace. What liberal or healthy
government would be possible otherwise? Exactly as he opposed the
subjection of the magistracy by the priesthood or the mob, so he now
defended it against the power of the sword. There was no justification
whatever for a claim on the part of Maurice to exact obedience from all
the armies of the Republic, especially in time of peace. He was himself
by oath sworn to obey the States of Holland, of Utrecht, and of the three
other provinces of which he was governor. He was not commander-in-chief.
In two of the seven provinces he had no functions whatever, military or
civil. They had another governor.

Yet the exposition of the law, as it stood, by the Advocate and his claim
that both troops and Stadholder should be held to their oaths was
accounted a crime. He had invented a new oath--it was said--and sought to
diminish the power of the Prince. These were charges, unjust as they
were, which might one day be used with deadly effect.

"We live in a world where everything is interpreted to the worst," he
said. "My physical weakness continues and is increased by this
affliction. I place my trust in God the Lord and in my upright and
conscientious determination to serve the country, his Excellency, and the
religion in which through God's grace I hope to continue to the end."

On the 28th August of a warm afternoon, Barneveld was seated on a
porcelain seat in an arbor in his garden. Councillor Berkhout,
accompanied by a friend, called to see him, and after a brief
conversation gave him solemn warning that danger was impending, that
there was even a rumour of an intention to arrest him.

The Advocate answered gravely, "Yes, there are wicked men about."

Presently he lifted his hat courteously and said, "I thank you,
gentlemen, for the warning."

It seems scarcely to have occurred to him that he had been engaged in
anything beyond a constitutional party struggle in which he had defended
what in his view was the side of law and order. He never dreamt of
seeking safety in flight. Some weeks before, he had been warmly advised
to do as both he and Maurice had done in former times in order to escape
the stratagems of Leicester, to take refuge in some strong city devoted
to his interests rather than remain at the Hague. But he had declined the
counsel. "I will await the issue of this business," he said, "in the
Hague, where my home is, and where I have faithfully served my masters. I
had rather for the sake of the Fatherland suffer what God chooses to send
me for having served well than that through me and on my account any city
should fall into trouble and difficulties."

Next morning, Wednesday, at seven o'clock, Uytenbogaert paid him a visit.
He wished to consult him concerning a certain statement in regard to the
Synod which he desired him to lay before the States of Holland. The
preacher did not find his friend busily occupied at his desk, as usual,
with writing and other work. The Advocate had pushed his chair away from
the table encumbered with books and papers, and sat with his back leaning
against it, lost in thought. His stern, stoical face was like that of a
lion at bay.

Uytenbogaert tried to arouse him from his gloom, consoling him by
reflections on the innumerable instances, in all countries and ages, of
patriotic statesmen who for faithful service had reaped nothing but
ingratitude.

Soon afterwards he took his leave, feeling a presentiment of evil within
him which it was impossible for him to shake off as he pressed
Barneveld's hand at parting.

Two hours later, the Advocate went in his coach to the session of the
States of Holland. The place of the Assembly as well as that of the
States-General was within what was called the Binnenhof or Inner Court;
the large quadrangle enclosing the ancient hall once the residence of the
sovereign Counts of Holland. The apartments of the Stadholder composed
the south-western portion of the large series of buildings surrounding
this court. Passing by these lodgings on his way to the Assembly, he was
accosted by a chamberlain of the Prince and informed that his Highness
desired to speak with him. He followed him towards the room where such
interviews were usually held, but in the antechamber was met by
Lieutenant Nythof, of the Prince's bodyguard. This officer told him that
he had been ordered to arrest him in the name of the States-General. The
Advocate demanded an interview with the Prince. It was absolutely
refused. Physical resistance on the part of a man of seventy-two,
stooping with age and leaning on a staff, to military force, of which
Nythof was the representative, was impossible. Barneveld put a cheerful
face on the matter, and was even inclined to converse. He was at once
carried off a prisoner and locked up in a room belonging to Maurice's
apartments.

Soon afterwards, Grotius on his way to the States-General was invited in
precisely the same manner to go to the Prince, with whom, as he was
informed, the Advocate was at that moment conferring. As soon as he had
ascended the stairs however, he was arrested by Captain van der Meulen in
the name of the States-General, and taken to a chamber in the same
apartments, where he was guarded by two halberdmen. In the evening he was
removed to another chamber where the window shutters were barred, and
where he remained three days and nights. He was much cast down and
silent. Pensionary Hoogerbeets was made prisoner in precisely the same
manner. Thus the three statesmen--culprits as they were considered by
their enemies--were secured without noise or disturbance, each without
knowing the fate that had befallen the other. Nothing could have been
more neatly done. In the same quiet way orders were sent to secure
Secretary Ledenberg, who had returned to Utrecht, and who now after a
short confinement in that city was brought to the Hague and imprisoned in
the Hof.

At the very moment of the Advocate's arrest his son-in-law van der Myle
happened to be paying a visit to Sir Dudley Carleton, who had arrived
very late the night before from England. It was some hours before he or
any other member of the family learned what had befallen.

The Ambassador reported to his sovereign that the deed was highly
applauded by the well disposed as the only means left for the security of
the state. "The Arminians," he said, "condemn it as violent and
insufferable in a free republic."

Impartial persons, he thought, considered it a superfluous proceeding now
that the Synod had been voted and the Waartgelders disbanded.

While he was writing his despatch, the Stadholder came to call upon him,
attended by his cousin Count Lewis William. The crowd of citizens
following at a little distance, excited by the news with which the city
was now ringing, mingled with Maurice's gentlemen and bodyguards and
surged up almost into the Ambassador's doors.

Carleton informed his guests, in the course of conversation, as to the
general opinion of indifferent judges of these events. Maurice replied
that he had disbanded the Waartgelders, but it had now become necessary
to deal with their colonel and the chief captains, meaning thereby
Barneveld and the two other prisoners.

The news of this arrest was soon carried to the house of Barneveld, and
filled his aged wife, his son, and sons-in-law with grief and
indignation. His eldest son William, commonly called the Seignior van
Groeneveld, accompanied by his two brothers-in-law, Veenhuyzen, President
of the Upper Council, and van der Myle, obtained an interview with the
Stadholder that same afternoon.

They earnestly requested that the Advocate, in consideration of his
advanced age, might on giving proper bail be kept prisoner in his own
house.

The Prince received them at first with courtesy. "It is the work of the
States-General," he said, "no harm shall come to your father any more
than to myself."

Veenhuyzen sought to excuse the opposition which the Advocate had made to
the Cloister Church.

The word was scarcely out of his mouth when the Prince fiercely
interrupted him--"Any man who says a word against the Cloister Church,"
he cried in a rage, "his feet shall not carry him from this place."

The interview gave them on the whole but little satisfaction. Very soon
afterwards two gentlemen, Asperen and Schagen, belonging to the Chamber
of Nobles, and great adherents of Barneveld, who had procured their
enrolment in that branch, forced their way into the Stadholder's
apartments and penetrated to the door of the room where the Advocate was
imprisoned. According to Carleton they were filled with wine as well as
rage, and made a great disturbance, loudly demanding their patron's
liberation. Maurice came out of his own cabinet on hearing the noise in
the corridor, and ordered them to be disarmed and placed under arrest. In
the evening however they were released.

Soon afterwards van der Myle fled to Paris, where he endeavoured to make
influence with the government in favour of the Advocate. His departure
without leave, being, as he was, a member of the Chamber of Nobles and of
the council of state, was accounted a great offence. Uytenbogaert also
made his escape, as did Taurinus, author of The Balance, van Moersbergen
of Utrecht, and many others more or less implicated in these commotions.

There was profound silence in the States of Holland when the arrest of
Barneveld was announced. The majority sat like men distraught. At last
Matenesse said, "You have taken from us our head, our tongue, and our
hand, henceforth we can only sit still and look on."

The States-General now took the responsibility of the arrest, which eight
individuals calling themselves the States-General had authorized by
secret resolution the day before (28th August). On the 29th accordingly,
the following "Billet," as it was entitled, was read to the Assembly and
ordered to be printed and circulated among the community. It was without
date or signature.

"Whereas in the course of the changes within the city of Utrecht and in
other places brought about by the high and mighty Lords the
States-General of the United Netherlands, through his Excellency and
their Lordships' committee to him adjoined, sundry things have been
discovered of which previously there had been great suspicion, tending to
the great prejudice of the Provinces in general and of each province in
particular, not without apparent danger to the state of the country, and
that thereby not only the city of Utrecht, but various other cities of
the United Provinces would have fallen into a blood bath; and whereas the
chief ringleaders in these things are considered to be John van
Barneveld, Advocate of Holland, Rombout Hoogerbeets, and Hugo Grotius,
whereof hereafter shall declaration and announcement be made, therefore
their High Mightinesses, in order to prevent these and similar
inconveniences, to place the country in security, and to bring the good
burghers of all the cities into friendly unity again, have resolved to
arrest those three persons, in order that out of their imprisonment they
may be held to answer duly for their actions and offences."

The deputies of Holland in the States-General protested on the same day
against the arrest, declaring themselves extraordinarily amazed at such
proceedings, without their knowledge, with usurpation of their
jurisdiction, and that they should refer to their principals for
instructions in the matter.

They reported accordingly at once to the States of Holland in session in
the same building. Soon afterwards however a committee of five from the
States-General appeared before the Assembly to justify the proceeding. On
their departure there arose a great debate, the six cities of course
taking part with Maurice and the general government. It was finally
resolved by the majority to send a committee to the Stadholder to
remonstrate with, and by the six opposition cities another committee to
congratulate him, on his recent performances.

His answer was to this effect:

"What had happened was not by his order, but had been done by the
States-General, who must be supposed not to have acted without good
cause. Touching the laws and jurisdiction of Holland he would not himself
dispute, but the States of Holland would know how to settle that matter
with the States-General."

Next day it was resolved in the Holland assembly to let the affair remain
as it was for the time being. Rapid changes were soon to be expected in
that body, hitherto so staunch for the cause of municipal laws and State
rights.

Meantime Barneveld sat closely guarded in the apartments of the
Stadholder, while the country and very soon all Europe were ringing with
the news of his downfall, imprisonment, and disgrace. The news was a
thunder-bolt to the lovers of religious liberty, a ray of dazzling
sunlight after a storm to the orthodox.

The showers of pamphlets, villanous lampoons, and libels began afresh.
The relatives of the fallen statesman could not appear in the streets
without being exposed to insult, and without hearing scurrilous and
obscene verses against their father and themselves, in which neither sex
nor age was spared, howled in their ears by all the ballad-mongers and
broadsheet vendors of the town. The unsigned publication of the
States-General, with its dark allusions to horrible discoveries and
promised revelations which were never made, but which reduced themselves
at last to the gibberish of a pot-house bully, the ingenious libels, the
powerfully concocted and poisonous calumnies, caricatures, and lampoons,
had done their work. People stared at each other in the streets with open
mouths as they heard how the Advocate had for years and years been the
hireling of Spain, whose government had bribed him largely to bring about
the Truce and kill the West India Company; how his pockets and his
coffers were running over with Spanish ducats; how his plot to sell the
whole country to the ancient tyrant, drive the Prince of Orange into
exile, and bring every city of the Netherlands into a "blood-bath," had,
just in time, been discovered.

And the people believed it and hated the man they had so lately honoured,
and were ready to tear him to pieces in the streets. Men feared to defend
him lest they too should be accused of being stipendiaries of Spain. It
was a piteous spectacle; not for the venerable statesman sitting alone
there in his prison, but for the Republic in its lunacy, for human nature
in its meanness and shame. He whom Count Lewis, although opposed to his
politics, had so lately called one of the two columns on which the whole
fabric of the States reposed, Prince Maurice being the other, now lay
prostrate in the dust and reviled of all men.

"Many who had been promoted by him to high places," said a contemporary,
"and were wont to worship him as a god, in hope that he would lift them
up still higher, now deserted him, and ridiculed him, and joined the rest
of the world in heaping dirt upon him."

On the third day of his imprisonment the Advocate wrote this letter to
his family:--

"My very dear wife, children, children-in-law, and grandchildren,--I know
that you are sorrowful for the troubles which have come upon me, but I
beg you to seek consolation from God the Almighty and to comfort each
other. I know before the Lord God of having given no single lawful reason
for the misfortunes which have come upon me, and I will with patience
await from His Divine hand and from my lawful superiors a happy issue,
knowing well that you and my other well-wishers will with your prayers
and good offices do all that you can to that end.

"And so, very dear wife, children, children-in-law, and grandchildren, I
commend you to God's holy keeping.

"I have been thus far well and honourably treated and accommodated, for
which I thank his princely Excellency.

"From my chamber of arrest, last of August, anno 1618.

"Your dear husband, father, father-in-law, and grand father,

                  "JOHN OF BARNEVELD."

On the margin was written:

"From the first I have requested and have at last obtained materials for
writing."

A fortnight before the arrest, but while great troubles were known to be
impending, the French ambassador extraordinary, de Boississe, had
audience before the Assembly of the States-General. He entreated them to
maintain the cause of unity and peace as the foundation of their state;
"that state," he said, "which lifts its head so high that it equals or
surpasses the mightiest republics that ever existed, and which could not
have risen to such a height of honour and grandeur in so short a time,
but through harmony and union of all the provinces, through the valour of
his Excellency, and through your own wise counsels, both sustained by our
great king, whose aid is continued by his son."--"The King my master," he
continued, "knows not the cause of your disturbances. You have not
communicated them to him, but their most apparent cause is a difference
of opinion, born in the schools, thence brought before the public, upon a
point of theology. That point has long been deemed by many to be so hard
and so high that the best advice to give about it is to follow what God's
Word teaches touching God's secrets; to wit, that one should use
moderation and modesty therein and should not rashly press too far into
that which he wishes to be covered with the veil of reverence and wonder.
That is a wise ignorance to keep one's eyes from that which God chooses
to conceal. He calls us not to eternal life through subtle and perplexing
questions."

And further exhorting them to conciliation and compromise, he enlarged on
the effect of their internal dissensions on their exterior relations.
"What joy, what rapture you are preparing for your neighbours by your
quarrels! How they will scorn you! How they will laugh! What a hope do
you give them of revenging themselves upon you without danger to
themselves! Let me implore you to baffle their malice, to turn their joy
into mourning, to unite yourselves to confound them."

He spoke much more in the same vein, expressing wise and moderate
sentiments. He might as well have gone down to the neighbouring beach
when a south-west gale was blowing and talked of moderation to the waves
of the German Ocean. The tempest of passion and prejudice had risen in
its might and was sweeping all before it. Yet the speech, like other
speeches and intercessions made at this epoch by de Boississe and by the
regular French ambassador, du Maurier, was statesmanlike and reasonable.
It is superfluous to say that it was in unison with the opinions of
Barneveld, for Barneveld had probably furnished the text of the oration.
Even as he had a few years before supplied the letters which King James
had signed and subsequently had struggled so desperately to disavow, so
now the Advocate's imperious intellect had swayed the docile and amiable
minds of the royal envoys into complete sympathy with his policy. He
usually dictated their general instructions. But an end had come to such
triumphs. Dudley Carleton had returned from his leave of absence in
England, where he had found his sovereign hating the Advocate as doctors
hate who have been worsted in theological arguments and despots who have
been baffled in their imperious designs. Who shall measure the influence
on the destiny of this statesman caused by the French-Spanish marriages,
the sermons of James through the mouth of Carleton, and the mutual
jealousy of France and England?

But the Advocate was in prison, and the earth seemed to have closed over
him. Hardly a ripple of indignation was perceptible on the calm surface
of affairs, although in the States-General as in the States of Holland
his absence seemed to have reduced both bodies to paralysis.

They were the more easily handled by the prudent, skilful, and determined
Maurice.

The arrest of the four gentlemen had been communicated to the kings of
France and Great Britain and the Elector-Palatine in an identical letter
from the States-General. It is noticeable that on this occasion the
central government spoke of giving orders to the Prince of Orange, over
whom they would seem to have had no legitimate authority, while on the
other hand he had expressed indignation on more than one occasion that
the respective states of the five provinces where he was governor and to
whom he had sworn obedience should presume to issue commands to him.

In France, where the Advocate was honoured and beloved, the intelligence
excited profound sorrow. A few weeks previously the government of that
country had, as we have seen, sent a special ambassador to the States, M.
de Boississe, to aid the resident envoy, du Maurier, in his efforts to
bring about a reconciliation of parties and a termination of the
religious feud. Their exertions were sincere and unceasing. They were as
steadily countermined by Francis Aerssens, for the aim of that
diplomatist was to bring about a state of bad feeling, even at cost of
rupture, between the Republic and France, because France was friendly to
the man he most hated and whose ruin he had sworn.

During the summer a bitter personal controversy had been going on,
sufficiently vulgar in tone, between Aerssens and another diplomatist,
Barneveld's son-in-law, Cornelis van der Myle. It related to the recall
of Aerssens from the French embassy of which enough has already been laid
before the reader. Van der Myle by the production of the secret letters
of the Queen-Dowager and her counsellors had proved beyond dispute that
it was at the express wish of the French government that the Ambassador
had retired, and that indeed they had distinctly refused to receive him,
should he return. Foul words resulting in propositions for a hostile
meeting on the frontier, which however came to nothing, were interchanged
and Aerssens in the course of his altercation with the son-inlaw had
found ample opportunity for venting his spleen upon his former patron the
now fallen statesman.

Four days after the arrest of Barneveld he brought the whole matter
before the States-General, and the intention with which he thus raked up
the old quarrel with France after the death of Henry, and his charges in
regard to the Spanish marriages, was as obvious as it was deliberate.

The French ambassadors were furious. Boississe had arrived not simply as
friend of the Advocate, but to assure the States of the strong desire
entertained by the French government to cultivate warmest relations with
them. It had been desired by the Contra-Remonstrant party that deputies
from the Protestant churches of France should participate in the Synod,
and the French king had been much assailed by the Catholic powers for
listening to those suggestions. The Papal nuncius, the Spanish
ambassador, the envoy of the Archduke, had made a great disturbance at
court concerning the mission of Boississe. They urged with earnestness
that his Majesty was acting against the sentiments of Spain, Rome, and
the whole Catholic Church, and that he ought not to assist with his
counsel those heretics who were quarrelling among themselves over points
in their heretical religion and wishing to destroy each other.

Notwithstanding this outcry the weather was smooth enough until the
proceedings of Aerssens came to stir up a tempest at the French court. A
special courier came from Boississe, a meeting of the whole council,
although it was Sunday, was instantly called, and the reply of the
States-General to the remonstrance of the Ambassador in the Aerssens
affair was pronounced to be so great an affront to the King that, but for
overpowering reasons, diplomatic intercourse would have at once been
suspended. "Now instead of friendship there is great anger here," said
Langerac. The king forbade under vigorous penalties the departure of any
French theologians to take part in the Synod, although the royal consent
had nearly been given. The government complained that no justice was done
in the Netherlands to the French nation, that leading personages there
openly expressed contempt for the French alliance, denouncing the country
as "Hispaniolized," and declaring that all the council were regularly
pensioned by Spain for the express purpose of keeping up the civil
dissensions in the United Provinces.

Aerssens had publicly and officially declared that a majority of the
French council since the death of Henry had declared the crown in its
temporal as well as spiritual essence to be dependent on the Pope, and
that the Spanish marriages had been made under express condition of the
renunciation of the friendship and alliance of the States.

Such were among the first-fruits of the fall of Barneveld and the triumph
of Aerssens, for it was he in reality who had won the victory, and he had
gained it over both Stadholder and Advocate. Who was to profit by the
estrangement between the Republic and its powerful ally at a moment too
when that great kingdom was at last beginning to emerge from the darkness
and nothingness of many years, with the faint glimmering dawn of a new
great policy?

Barneveld, whose masterful statesmanship, following out the traditions of
William the Silent, had ever maintained through good and ill report
cordial and beneficent relations between the two countries, had always
comprehended, even as a great cardinal-minister was ere long to teach the
world, that the permanent identification of France with Spain and the
Roman League was unnatural and impossible.

Meantime Barneveld sat in his solitary prison, knowing not what was
passing on that great stage where he had so long been the chief actor,
while small intriguers now attempted to control events.

It was the intention of Aerssens to return to the embassy in Paris whence
he had been driven, in his own opinion, so unjustly. To render himself
indispensable, he had begun by making himself provisionally formidable to
the King's government. Later, there would be other deeds to do before the
prize was within his grasp.

Thus the very moment when France was disposed to cultivate the most
earnest friendship with the Republic had been seized for fastening an
insult upon her. The Twelve Years' Truce with Spain was running to its
close, the relations between France and Spain were unusually cold, and
her friendship therefore more valuable than ever.

On the other hand the British king was drawing closer his relations with
Spain, and his alliance was demonstrably of small account. The phantom of
the Spanish bride had become more real to his excited vision than ever,
so that early in the year, in order to please Gondemar, he had been
willing to offer an affront to the French ambassador.

The Prince of Wales had given a splendid masquerade at court, to which
the envoy of his Most Catholic Majesty was bidden. Much to his amazement
the representative of the Most Christian King received no invitation,
notwithstanding that he had taken great pains to procure one. M. de la
Boderie was very angry, and went about complaining to the States'
ambassador and his other colleagues of the slight, and darkened the lives
of the court functionaries having charge of such matters with his
vengeance and despair. It was represented to him that he had himself been
asked to a festival the year before when Count Gondemar was left out. It
was hinted to him that the King had good reasons for what he did, as the
marriage with the daughter of Spain was now in train, and it was
desirable that the Spanish ambassador should be able to observe the
Prince's disposition and make a more correct report of it to his
government. It was in vain. M. de la Boderie refused to be comforted, and
asserted that one had no right to leave the French ambassador uninvited
to any "festival or triumph" at court. There was an endless disturbance.
De la Boderie sent his secretary off to Paris to complain to the King
that his ambassador was of no account in London, while much favour was
heaped upon the Spaniard. The Secretary returned with instructions from
Lewis that the Ambassador was to come home immediately, and he went off
accordingly in dudgeon. "I could see that he was in the highest degree
indignant," said Caron, who saw him before he left, "and I doubt not that
his departure will increase and keep up the former jealousy between the
governments."

The ill-humor created by this event lasted a long time, serving to
neutralize or at least perceptibly diminish the Spanish influence
produced in France by the Spanish marriages. In the autumn, Secretary de
Puysieux by command of the King ordered every Spaniard to leave the
French court. All the "Spanish ladies and gentlemen, great and small,"
who had accompanied the Queen from Madrid were included in this expulsion
with the exception of four individuals, her Majesty's father confessor,
physician, apothecary, and cook.

The fair young queen was much vexed and shed bitter tears at this
calamity, which, as she spoke nothing but Spanish, left her isolated at
the court, but she was a little consoled by the promise that thenceforth
the King would share her couch. It had not yet occurred to him that he
was married.

The French envoys at the Hague exhausted themselves in efforts, both
private and public, in favour of the prisoners, but it was a thankless
task. Now that the great man and his chief pupils and adherents were out
of sight, a war of shameless calumny was began upon him, such as has
scarcely a parallel in political history.

It was as if a whole tribe of noxious and obscene reptiles were swarming
out of the earth which had suddenly swallowed him. But it was not alone
the obscure or the anonymous who now triumphantly vilified him. Men in
high places who had partaken of his patronage, who had caressed him and
grovelled before him, who had grown great through his tuition and rich
through his bounty, now rejoiced in his ruin or hastened at least to save
themselves from being involved in it. Not a man of them all but fell away
from him like water. Even the great soldier forgot whose respectful but
powerful hand it was which, at the most tragical moment, had lifted him
from the high school at Leyden into the post of greatest power and
responsibility, and had guided his first faltering footsteps by the light
of his genius and experience. Francis Aerssens, master of the field, had
now become the political tutor of the mature Stadholder. Step by step we
have been studying the inmost thoughts of the Advocate as revealed in his
secret and confidential correspondence, and the reader has been enabled
to judge of the wantonness of the calumny which converted the determined
antagonist into the secret friend of Spain. Yet it had produced its
effect upon Maurice.

He told the French ambassadors a month after the arrest that Barneveld
had been endeavouring, during and since the Truce negotiations, to bring
back the Provinces, especially Holland, if not under the dominion of, at
least under some kind of vassalage to Spain. Persons had been feeling the
public pulse as to the possibility of securing permanent peace by paying
tribute to Spain, and this secret plan of Barneveld had so alienated him
from the Prince as to cause him to attempt every possible means of
diminishing or destroying altogether his authority. He had spread through
many cities that Maurice wished to make himself master of the state by
using the religious dissensions to keep the people weakened and divided.

There is not a particle of evidence, and no attempt was ever made to
produce any, that the Advocate had such plan, but certainly, if ever, man
had made himself master of a state, that man was Maurice. He continued
however to place himself before the world as the servant of the
States-General, which he never was, either theoretically or in fact.

The French ambassadors became every day more indignant and more
discouraged. It was obvious that Aerssens, their avowed enemy, was
controlling the public policy of the government. Not only was there no
satisfaction to be had for the offensive manner in which he had filled
the country with his ancient grievances and his nearly forgotten charges
against the Queen-Dowager and those who had assisted her in the regency,
but they were repulsed at every turn when by order of their sovereign
they attempted to use his good offices in favour of the man who had ever
been the steady friend of France.

The Stadholder also professed friendship for that country, and referred
to Colonel-General Chatillon, who had for a long time commanded the
French regiments in the Netherlands, for confirmation of his uniform
affection for those troops and attachment to their sovereign.

He would do wonders, he said, if Lewis would declare war upon Spain by
land and sea.

"Such fruits are not ripe," said Boississe, "nor has your love for France
been very manifest in recent events."

"Barneveld," replied the Prince, "has personally offended me, and has
boasted that he would drive me out of the country like Leicester. He is
accused of having wished to trouble the country in order to bring it back
under the yoke of Spain. Justice will decide. The States only are
sovereign to judge this question. You must address yourself to them."

"The States," replied the ambassadors, "will require to be aided by your
counsels."

The Prince made no reply and remained chill and "impregnable." The
ambassadors continued their intercessions in behalf of the prisoners both
by public address to the Assembly and by private appeals to the
Stadholder and his influential friends. In virtue of the intimate
alliance and mutual guarantees existing between their government and the
Republic they claimed the acceptance of their good offices. They insisted
upon a regular trial of the prisoners according to the laws of the land,
that is to say, by the high court of Holland, which alone had
jurisdiction in the premises. If they had been guilty of high-treason,
they should be duly arraigned. In the name of the signal services of
Barneveld and of the constant friendship of that great magistrate for
France, the King demanded clemency or proof of his crimes. His Majesty
complained through his ambassadors of the little respect shown for his
counsels and for his friendship. "In times past you found ever prompt and
favourable action in your time of need."

"This discourse," said Maurice to Chatillon, "proceeds from evil
intention."

Thus the prisoners had disappeared from human sight, and their enemies
ran riot in slandering them. Yet thus far no public charges had been
made.

"Nothing appears against them," said du Maurier, "and people are
beginning to open their mouths with incredible freedom. While waiting for
the condemnation of the prisoners, one is determined to dishonour them."

The French ambassadors were instructed to intercede to the last, but they
were steadily repulsed--while the King of Great Britain, anxious to gain
favour with Spain by aiding in the ruin of one whom he knew and Spain
knew to be her determined foe, did all he could through his ambassador to
frustrate their efforts and bring on a catastrophe. The States-General
and Maurice were now on as confidential terms with Carleton as they were
cold and repellent to Boississe and du Maurier.

"To recall to them the benefits of the King," said du Maurier, "is to
beat the air. And then Aerssens bewitches them, and they imagine that
after having played runaway horses his Majesty will be only too happy to
receive them back, caress them, and, in order to have their friendship,
approve everything they have been doing right or wrong."

Aerssens had it all his own way, and the States-General had just paid him
12,000 francs in cash on the ground that Langerac's salary was larger
than his had been when at the head of the same embassy many years before.

His elevation into the body of nobles, which Maurice had just stocked
with five other of his partisans, was accounted an additional affront to
France, while on the other hand the Queen-Mother, having through
Epernon's assistance made her escape from Blois, where she had been kept
in durance since the death of Concini, now enumerated among other
grievances for which she was willing to take up arms against her son that
the King's government had favoured Barneveld.

It was strange that all the devotees of Spain--Mary de' Medici, and
Epernon, as well as James I. and his courtiers--should be thus embittered
against the man who had sold the Netherlands to Spain.

At last the Prince told the French ambassadors that the "people of the
Provinces considered their persistent intercessions an invasion of their
sovereignty." Few would have anything to say to them. "No one listens to
us, no one replies to us," said du Maurier, "everyone visiting us is
observed, and it is conceived a reproach here to speak to the ambassadors
of France."

Certainly the days were changed since Henry IV. leaned on the arm of
Barneveld, and consulted with him, and with him only, among all the
statesmen of Europe on his great schemes for regenerating Christendom and
averting that general war which, now that the great king had been
murdered and the Advocate imprisoned, had already begun to ravage Europe.

Van der Myle had gone to Paris to make such exertions as he could among
the leading members of the council in favour of his father-in-law.
Langerac, the States' ambassador there, who but yesterday had been
turning at every moment to the Advocate for light and warmth as to the
sun, now hastened to disavow all respect or regard for him. He scoffed at
the slender sympathy van der Myle was finding in the bleak political
atmosphere. He had done his best to find out what he had been negotiating
with the members of the council and was glad to say that it was so
inconsiderable as to be not worth reporting. He had not spoken with or
seen the King. Jeannin, his own and his father-in-law's principal and
most confidential friend, had only spoken with him half an hour and then
departed for Burgundy, although promising to confer with him
sympathetically on his return. "I am very displeased at his coming here,"
said Langerac, ". . . . but he has found little friendship or
confidence, and is full of woe and apprehension."

The Ambassador's labours were now confined to personally soliciting the
King's permission for deputations from the Reformed churches of France to
go to the Synod, now opened (13th November) at Dordtrecht, and to
clearing his own skirts with the Prince and States-General of any
suspicion of sympathy with Barneveld.

In the first object he was unsuccessful, the King telling him at last
"with clear and significant words that this was impossible, on account of
his conscience, his respect for the Catholic religion, and many other
reasons."

In regard to the second point he acted with great promptness.

He received a summons in January 1619 from the States-General and the
Prince to send them all letters that he had ever received from Barneveld.
He crawled at once to Maurice on his knees, with the letters in his hand.

"Most illustrious, high-born Prince, most gracious Lord," he said;
"obeying the commands which it has pleased the States and your princely
Grace to give me, I send back the letters of Advocate Barneveld. If your
princely Grace should find anything in them showing that the said
Advocate had any confidence in me, I most humbly beg your princely Grace
to believe that I never entertained any affection for, him, except only
in respect to and so far as he was in credit and good authority with the
government, and according to the upright zeal which I thought I could see
in him for the service of My high and puissant Lords the States-General
and of your princely Grace."

Greater humbleness could be expected of no ambassador. Most nobly did the
devoted friend and pupil of the great statesman remember his duty to the
illustrious Prince and their High Mightinesses. Most promptly did he
abjure his patron now that he had fallen into the abyss.

"Nor will it be found," he continued, "that I have had any sympathy or
communication with the said Advocate except alone in things concerning my
service. The great trust I had in him as the foremost and oldest
counsellor of the state, as the one who so confidentially instructed me
on my departure for France, and who had obtained for himself so great
authority that all the most important affairs of the country were
entrusted to him, was the cause that I simply and sincerely wrote to him
all that people were in the habit of saying at this court.

"If I had known in the least or suspected that he was not what he ought
to be in the service of My Lords the States and of your princely Grace
and for the welfare and tranquillity of the land, I should have been well
on my guard against letting myself in the least into any kind of
communication with him whatever."

The reader has seen how steadily and frankly the Advocate had kept
Langerac as well as Caron informed of passing events, and how little
concealment he made of his views in regard to the Synod, the
Waartgelders, and the respective authority of the States-General and
States-Provincial. Not only had Langerac no reason to suspect that
Barneveld was not what he ought to be, but he absolutely knew the
contrary from that most confidential correspondence with him which he was
now so abjectly repudiating. The Advocate, in a protracted constitutional
controversy, had made no secret of his views either officially or
privately. Whether his positions were tenable or flimsy, they had been
openly taken.

"What is more," proceeded the Ambassador, "had I thought that any account
ought to be made of what I wrote to him concerning the sovereignty of the
Provinces, I should for a certainty not have failed to advise your Grace
of it above all."

He then, after profuse and maudlin protestations of his most dutiful zeal
all the days of his life for "the service, honour, reputation, and
contentment of your princely Grace," observed that he had not thought it
necessary to give him notice of such idle and unfounded matters, as being
likely to give the Prince annoyance and displeasure. He had however
always kept within himself the resolution duly to notify him in case he
found that any belief was attached to the reports in Paris. "But the
reports," he said, "were popular and calumnious inventions of which no
man had ever been willing or able to name to him the authors."

The Ambassador's memory was treacherous, and he had doubtless neglected
to read over the minutes, if he had kept them, of his wonderful
disclosures on the subject of the sovereignty before thus exculpating
himself. It will be remembered that he had narrated the story of the plot
for conferring sovereignty upon Maurice not as a popular calumny flying
about Paris with no man to father it, but he had given it to Barneveld on
the authority of a privy councillor of France and of the King himself.
"His Majesty knows it to be authentic," he had said in his letter. That
letter was a pompous one, full of mystery and so secretly ciphered that
he had desired that his friend van der Myle, whom he was now deriding for
his efforts in Paris to save his father-inlaw from his fate, might assist
the Advocate in unravelling its contents. He had now discovered that it
had been idle gossip not worthy of a moment's attention.

The reader will remember too that Barneveld, without attaching much
importance to the tale, had distinctly pointed out to Langerac that the
Prince himself was not implicated in the plot and had instructed the
Ambassador to communicate the story to Maurice. This advice had not been
taken, but he had kept the perilous stuff upon his breast. He now sought
to lay the blame, if it were possible to do so, upon the man to whom he
had communicated it and who had not believed it.

The business of the States-General, led by the Advocate's enemies this
winter, was to accumulate all kind of tales, reports, and accusations to
his discredit on which to form something like a bill of indictment. They
had demanded all his private and confidential correspondence with Caron
and Langerae. The ambassador in Paris had been served, moreover, with a
string of nine interrogatories which he was ordered to answer on oath and
honour. This he did and appended the reply to his letter.

The nine questions had simply for their object to discover what Barneveld
had been secretly writing to the Ambassador concerning the Synod, the
enlisted troops, and the supposed projects of Maurice concerning the
sovereignty. Langerac was obliged to admit in his replies that nothing
had been written except the regular correspondence which he endorsed, and
of which the reader has been able to see the sum and substance in the
copious extracts which have been given.

He stated also that he had never received any secret instructions save
the marginal notes to the list of questions addressed by him, when about
leaving for Paris in 1614, to Barneveld. Most of these were of a trivial
and commonplace nature.

They had however a direct bearing on the process to be instituted against
the Advocate, and the letter too which we have been examining will prove
to be of much importance. Certainly pains enough were taken to detect the
least trace of treason in a very loyal correspondence. Langerac concluded
by enclosing the Barneveld correspondence since the beginning of the year
1614, protesting that not a single letter had been kept back or
destroyed. "Once more I recommend myself to mercy, if not to favour," he
added, "as the most faithful, most obedient, most zealous servant of
their High Mightinesses and your princely Grace, to whom I have devoted
and sacrificed my honour and life in most humble service; and am now and
forever the most humble, most obedient, most faithful servant of my most
serene, most illustrious, most highly born Prince, most gracious Lord and
princeliest Grace."

The former adherent of plain Advocate Barneveld could hardly find
superlatives enough to bestow upon the man whose displeasure that
prisoner had incurred.

Directly after the arrest the Stadholder had resumed his tour through the
Provinces in order to change the governments. Sliding over any opposition
which recent events had rendered idle, his course in every city was
nearly the same. A regiment or two and a train of eighty or a hundred
waggons coming through the city-gate preceded by the Prince and his
body-guard of 300, a tramp of halberdmen up the great staircase of the
town-hall, a jingle of spurs in the assembly-room, and the whole board of
magistrates were summoned into the presence of the Stadholder. They were
then informed that the world had no further need of their services, and
were allowed to bow themselves out of the presence. A new list was then
announced, prepared beforehand by Maurice on the suggestion of those on
whom he could rely. A faint resistance was here and there attempted by
magistrates and burghers who could not forget in a moment the rights of
self-government and the code of laws which had been enjoyed for
centuries. At Hoorn, for instance, there was deep indignation among the
citizens. An imprudent word or two from the authorities might have
brought about a "blood-bath."

The burgomaster ventured indeed to expostulate. They requested the Prince
not to change the magistracy. "This is against our privileges," they
said, "which it is our duty to uphold. You will see what deep displeasure
will seize the burghers, and how much disturbance and tumult will follow.
If any faults have been committed by any member of the government, let
him be accused and let him answer for them. Let your Excellency not only
dismiss but punish such as cannot properly justify themselves."

But his Excellency summoned them all to the town-house and as usual
deposed them all. A regiment was drawn up in half-moon on the square
beneath the windows. To the magistrates asking why they were deposed, he
briefly replied, "The quiet of the land requires it. It is necessary to
have unanimous resolutions in the States-General at the Hague. This
cannot be accomplished without these preliminary changes. I believe that
you had good intentions and have been faithful servants of the
Fatherland. But this time it must be so."

And so the faithful servants of the Fatherland were dismissed into space.
Otherwise how could there be unanimous voting in parliament? It must be
regarded perhaps as fortunate that the force of character, undaunted
courage, and quiet decision of Maurice enabled him to effect this violent
series of revolutions with such masterly simplicity. It is questionable
whether the Stadholder's commission technically empowered him thus to
trample on municipal law; it is certain that, if it did, the boasted
liberties of the Netherlands were a dream; but it is equally true that,
in the circumstances then existing, a vulgar, cowardly, or incompetent
personage might have marked his pathway with massacres without restoring
tranquillity.

Sometimes there was even a comic aspect to these strokes of state. The
lists of new magistrates being hurriedly furnished by the Prince's
adherents to supply the place of those evicted, it often happened that
men not quahified by property, residence, or other attributes were
appointed to the government, so that many became magistrates before they
were citizens.

On being respectfully asked sometimes who such a magistrate might be
whose face and name were equally unknown to his colleagues and to the
townsmen in general; "Do I know the fellows?" he would say with a
cheerful laugh. And indeed they might have all been dead men, those new
functionaries, for aught he did know. And so on through Medemblik and
Alkmaar, Brielle, Delft, Monnikendam, and many other cities progressed
the Prince, sowing new municipalities broadcast as he passed along. At
the Hague on his return a vote of thanks to the Prince was passed by the
nobles and most of the cities for the trouble he had taken in this
reforming process. But the unanimous vote had not yet been secured, the
strongholds of Arminianism, as it was the fashion to call them, not being
yet reduced.

The Prince, in reply to the vote of thanks, said that "in what he had
done and was going to do his intention sincerely and uprightly had been
no other than to promote the interests and tranquillity of the country,
without admixture of anything personal and without prejudice to the
general commonwealth or the laws and privileges of the cities." He
desired further that "note might be taken of this declaration as record
of his good and upright intentions."

But the sincerest and most upright intentions may be refracted by party
atmosphere from their aim, and the purest gold from the mint elude the
direct grasp through the clearest fluid in existence. At any rate it
would have been difficult to convince the host of deposed magistrates
hurled from office, although recognized as faithful servants of the
Fatherland, that such violent removal had taken place without detriment
to the laws and privileges.

And the Stadholder went to the few cities where some of the leaven still
lingered.

He arrived at Leyden on the 22nd October, "accompanied by a great suite
of colonels, ritmeesters, and captains," having sent on his body-guard to
the town strengthened by other troops. He was received by the magistrates
at the "Prince's Court" with great reverence and entertained by them in
the evening at a magnificent banquet.

Next morning he summoned the whole forty of them to the town-house,
disbanded them all, and appointed new ones in their stead; some of the
old members however who could be relied upon being admitted to the
revolutionized board.

The populace, mainly of the Stadholder's party, made themselves merry
over the discomfited "Arminians". They hung wisps of straw as derisive
wreaths of triumph over the dismantled palisade lately encircling the
town-hall, disposed of the famous "Oldenbarneveld's teeth" at auction in
the public square, and chased many a poor cock and hen, with their
feathers completely plucked from their bodies, about the street, crying
"Arme haenen, arme haenen"--Arminians or poor fowls--according to the
practical witticism much esteemed at that period. Certainly the
unfortunate Barneveldians or Arminians, or however the Remonstrants might
be designated, had been sufficiently stripped of their plumes.

The Prince, after having made proclamation from the town-house enjoining
"modesty upon the mob" and a general abstention from "perverseness and
petulance," went his way to Haarlem, where he dismissed the magistrates
and appointed new ones, and then proceeded to Rotterdam, to Gouda, and to
Amsterdam.

It seemed scarcely necessary to carry, out the process in the commercial
capital, the abode of Peter Plancius, the seat of the West India Company,
the head-quarters of all most opposed to the Advocate, most devoted to
the Stadholder. But although the majority of the city government was an
overwhelming one, there was still a respectable minority who, it was
thought possible, might under a change of circumstances effect much
mischief and even grow into a majority.

The Prince therefore summoned the board before him according to his usual
style of proceeding and dismissed them all. They submitted without a word
of remonstrance.

Ex-Burgomaster Hooft, a man of seventy-two-father of the illustrious
Pieter Corneliszoon Hooft, one of the greatest historians of the
Netherlands or of any country, then a man of thirty-seven-shocked at the
humiliating silence, asked his colleagues if they had none of them a word
to say in defence of their laws and privileges.

They answered with one accord "No."

The old man, a personal friend of Barneveld and born the same year, then
got on his feet and addressed the Stadholder. He spoke manfully and well,
characterizing the summary deposition of the magistracy as illegal and
unnecessary, recalling to the memory of those who heard him that he had
been thirty-six years long a member of the government and always a warm
friend of the House of Nassau, and respectfully submitting that the small
minority in the municipal government, while differing from their
colleagues and from the greater number of the States-General, had limited
their opposition to strictly constitutional means, never resorting to
acts of violence or to secret conspiracy.

Nothing could be more truly respectable than the appearance of this
ancient magistrate, in long black robe with fur edgings, high ruff around
his thin, pointed face, and decent skull-cap covering his bald old head,
quavering forth to unsympathetic ears a temperate and unanswerable
defence of things which in all ages the noblest minds have deemed most
valuable.

His harangue was not very long. Maurice's reply was very short.

"Grandpapa," he said, "it must be so this time. Necessity and the service
of the country require it."

With that he dismissed the thirty-six magistrates and next day appointed
a new board, who were duly sworn to fidelity to the States-General. Of
course a large proportion of the old members were renominated.

Scarcely had the echo of the Prince's footsteps ceased to resound through
the country as he tramped from one city to another, moulding each to his
will, when the States of Holland, now thoroughly reorganized, passed a
solemn vote of thanks to him for all that he had done. The six cities of
the minority had now become the majority, and there was unanimity at the
Hague. The Seven Provinces, States-General and States-Provincial, were as
one, and the Synod was secured. Whether the prize was worth the
sacrifices which it had cost and was still to cost might at least be
considered doubtful.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Affection of his friends and the wrath of his enemies
     Depths theological party spirit could descend
     Extraordinary capacity for yielding to gentle violence
     Human nature in its meanness and shame
     It had not yet occurred to him that he was married
     Make the very name of man a term of reproach
     Never lack of fishers in troubled waters
     Opposed the subjection of the magistracy by the priesthood
     Pot-valiant hero
     Resolve to maintain the civil authority over the military
     Tempest of passion and prejudice
     The effect of energetic, uncompromising calumny
     Yes, there are wicked men about



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v10, 1618-19



CHAPTER XIX.

   Rancour between the Politico-Religious Parties--Spanish Intrigues
   Inconsistency of James--Brewster and Robinson's Congregation at
   Leyden--They decide to leave for America--Robinson's Farewell Sermon
   and Prayer at Parting.

During this dark and mournful winter the internal dissensions and, as a
matter of course, the foreign intrigues had become more dangerous than
ever. While the man who for a whole generation had guided the policy of
the Republic and had been its virtual chief magistrate lay hidden from
all men's sight, the troubles which he had sought to avert were not
diminished by his removal from the scene. The extreme or Gomarist party
which had taken a pride in secret conventicles where they were in a
minority, determined, as they said, to separate Christ from Belial and,
meditating the triumph which they had at last secured, now drove the
Arminians from the great churches. Very soon it was impossible for these
heretics to enjoy the rights of public worship anywhere. But they were
not dismayed. The canons of Dordtrecht had not yet been fulminated. They
avowed themselves ready to sacrifice worldly goods and life itself in
defence of the Five Points. In Rotterdam, notwithstanding a garrison of
fifteen companies, more than a thousand Remonstrants assembled on
Christmas-day in the Exchange for want of a more appropriate place of
meeting and sang the 112th Psalm in mighty chorus. A clergyman of their
persuasion accidentally passing through the street was forcibly laid
hands upon and obliged to preach to them, which he did with great
unction. The magistracy, where now the Contra-Remonstrants had the
control, forbade, under severe penalties, a repetition of such scenes. It
was impossible not to be reminded of the days half a century before, when
the early Reformers had met in the open fields or among the dunes, armed
to the teeth, and with outlying pickets to warn the congregation of the
approach of Red Rod and the functionaries of the Holy Inquisition.

In Schoonhoven the authorities attempted one Sunday by main force to
induct a Contra-Remonstrant into the pulpit from which a Remonstrant had
just been expelled. The women of the place turned out with their distaffs
and beat them from the field. The garrison was called out, and there was
a pitched battle in the streets between soldiers, police officers, and
women, not much to the edification certainly of the Sabbath-loving
community on either side, the victory remaining with the ladies.

In short it would be impossible to exaggerate the rancour felt between
the different politico-religious parties. All heed for the great war now
raging in the outside world between the hostile elements of Catholicism
and Protestantism, embattled over an enormous space, was lost in the din
of conflict among the respective supporters of conditional and
unconditional damnation within the pale of the Reformed Church. The
earthquake shaking Europe rolled unheeded, as it was of old said to have
done at Cannae, amid the fierce shock of mortal foes in that narrow
field.

The respect for authority which had so long been the distinguishing
characteristic of the Netherlanders seemed to have disappeared. It was
difficult--now that the time-honoured laws and privileges in defence of
which, and of liberty of worship included in them, the Provinces had made
war forty years long had been trampled upon by military force--for those
not warmed by the fire of Gomarus to feel their ancient respect for the
magistracy. The magistracy at that moment seemed to mean the sword.

The Spanish government was inevitably encouraged by the spectacle thus
presented. We have seen the strong hopes entertained by the council at
Madrid, two years before the crisis now existing had occurred. We have
witnessed the eagerness with which the King indulged the dream of
recovering the sovereignty which his father had lost, and the vast
schemes which he nourished towards that purpose, founded on the internal
divisions which were reducing the Republic to impotence. Subsequent
events had naturally made him more sanguine than ever. There was now a
web of intrigue stretching through the Provinces to bring them all back
under the sceptre of Spain. The imprisonment of the great stipendiary,
the great conspirator, the man who had sold himself and was on the point
of selling his country, had not terminated those plots. Where was the
supposed centre of that intrigue? In the council of state of the
Netherlands, ever fiercely opposed to Barneveld and stuffed full of his
mortal enemies. Whose name was most familiar on the lips of the Spanish
partisans engaged in these secret schemes? That of Adrian Manmaker,
President of the Council, representative of Prince Maurice as first noble
of Zealand in the States-General, chairman of the committee sent by that
body to Utrecht to frustrate the designs of the Advocate, and one of the
twenty-four commissioners soon to be appointed to sit in judgment upon
him.

The tale seems too monstrous for belief, nor is it to be admitted with
certainty, that Manmaker and the other councillors implicated had
actually given their adhesion to the plot, because the Spanish emissaries
in their correspondence with the King assured him of the fact. But if
such a foundation for suspicion could have been found against Barneveld
and his friends, the world would not have heard the last of it from that
hour to this.

It is superfluous to say that the Prince was entirely foreign to these
plans. He had never been mentioned as privy to the little arrangements of
Councillor du Agean and others, although he was to benefit by them. In
the Spanish schemes he seems to have been considered as an impediment,
although indirectly they might tend to advance him.

"We have managed now, I hope, that his Majesty will be recognized as
sovereign of the country," wrote the confidential agent of the King of
Spain in the Netherlands, Emmanuel Sueyro, to the government of Madrid.
"The English will oppose it with all their strength. But they can do
nothing except by making Count Maurice sovereign of Holland and duke of
Julich and Cleve. Maurice will also contrive to make himself master of
Wesel, so it is necessary for the Archduke to be beforehand with him and
make sure of the place. It is also needful that his Majesty should induce
the French government to talk with the Netherlanders and convince them
that it is time to prolong the Truce."

This was soon afterwards accomplished. The French minister at Brussels
informed Archduke Albert that du Maurier had been instructed to propose
the prolongation, and that he had been conferring with the Prince of
Orange and the States-General on the subject. At first the Prince had
expressed disinclination, but at the last interview both he and the
States had shown a desire for it, and the French King had requested from
the Archduke a declaration whether the Spanish government would be
willing to treat for it. In such case Lewis would offer himself as
mediator and do his best to bring about a successful result.

But it was not the intention of the conspirators in the Netherlands that
the Truce should be prolonged. On the contrary the negotiation for it was
merely to furnish the occasion for fully developing their plot. "The
States and especially those of Zealand will reply that they no longer
wish the Truce," continued Sueyro, "and that they would prefer war to
such a truce. They desire to put ships on the coast of Flanders, to which
the Hollanders are opposed because it would be disagreeable to the
French. So the Zealanders will be the first to say that the Netherlanders
must come back to his Majesty. This their President Hanmaker has sworn.
The States of Overyssel will likewise give their hand to this because
they say they will be the first to feel the shock of the war. Thus we
shall very easily carry out our design, and as we shall concede to the
Zealanders their demands in regard to the navigation they at least will
place themselves under the dominion of his Majesty as will be the case
with Friesland as well as Overyssel."

It will be observed that in this secret arrangement for selling the
Republic to its ancient master it was precisely the Provinces and the
politicians most steadily opposed to Barneveld that took the lead.
Zealand, Friesland, Overyssel were in the plot, but not a word was said
of Utrecht. As for Holland itself, hopes were founded on the places where
hatred to the Advocate was fiercest.

"Between ourselves," continued the agent, "we are ten here in the
government of Holland to support the plan, but we must not discover
ourselves for fear of suffering what has happened to Barneveld."

He added that the time for action had not yet come, and that if movements
were made before the Synod had finished its labours, "The Gomarists would
say that they were all sold." He implored the government at Madrid to
keep the whole matter for the present profoundly secret because "Prince
Maurice and the Gomarists had the forces of the country at their
disposition." In case the plot was sprung too suddenly therefore, he
feared that with the assistance of England Maurice might, at the head of
the Gomarists and the army, make himself sovereign of Holland and Duke of
Cleve, while he and the rest of the Spanish partisans might be in prison
with Barneveld for trying to accomplish what Barneveld had been trying to
prevent.

The opinions and utterances of such a man as James I. would be of little
worth to our history had he not happened to occupy the place he did. But
he was a leading actor in the mournful drama which filled up the whole
period of the Twelve Years' Truce. His words had a direct influence on
great events. He was a man of unquestionable erudition, of powers of mind
above the average, while the absolute deformity of his moral constitution
made him incapable of thinking, feeling, or acting rightly on any vital
subject, by any accident or on any occasion. If there were one thing that
he thoroughly hated in the world, it was the Reformed religion. If in his
thought there were one term of reproach more loathsome than another to be
applied to a human creature, it was the word Puritan. In the word was
subversion of all established authority in Church and State--revolution,
republicanism, anarchy. "There are degrees in Heaven," he was wont to
say, "there are degrees in Hell, there must be degrees on earth."

He forbade the Calvinist Churches of Scotland to hold their customary
Synod in 1610, passionately reviling them and their belief, and declaring
"their aim to be nothing else than to deprive kings and princes of their
sovereignty, and to reduce the whole world to a popular form of
government where everybody would be master."

When the Prince of Neuburg embraced Catholicism, thus complicating
matters in the duchies and strengthening the hand of Spain and the
Emperor in the debateable land, he seized the occasion to assure the
agent of the Archduke in London, Councillor Boissetot, of his warm
Catholic sympathies. "They say that I am the greatest heretic in the
world!" he exclaimed; "but I will never deny that the true religion is
that of Rome even if corrupted." He expressed his belief in the real
presence, and his surprise that the Roman Catholics did not take the
chalice for the blood of Christ. The English bishops, he averred, drew
their consecration through the bishops in Mary Tudor's time from the
Pope.

As Philip II., and Ferdinand II. echoing the sentiments of his
illustrious uncle, had both sworn they would rather reign in a wilderness
than tolerate a single heretic in their dominions, so James had said "he
would rather be a hermit in a forest than a king over such people as the
pack of Puritans were who overruled the lower house."

For the Netherlanders he had an especial hatred, both as rebels and
Puritans. Soon after coming to the English throne he declared that their
revolt, which had been going on all his lifetime and of which he never
expected to see the end, had begun by petition for matters of religion.
"His mother and he from their cradles," he said, "had been haunted with a
Puritan devil, which he feared would not leave him to his grave. And he
would hazard his crown but he would suppress those malicious spirits." It
seemed a strange caprice of Destiny that assigned to this hater of
Netherlanders, of Puritans, and of the Reformed religion, the decision of
disputed points between Puritans and anti-Puritans in the Reformed Church
of the Netherlands.

It seemed stranger that his opinions should be hotly on the side of the
Puritans.

Barneveld, who often used the expression in later years, as we have seen
in his correspondence, was opposed to the Dutch Puritans because they had
more than once attempted subversion of the government on pretext of
religion, especially at the memorable epoch of Leicester's government.

The business of stirring up these religious conspiracies against the
magistracy he was apt to call "Flanderizing," in allusion to those
disastrous days and to the origin of the ringleaders in those tumults.
But his main object, as we have seen, was to effect compromises and
restore good feeling between members of the one church, reserving the
right of disposing over religious matters to the government of the
respective provinces.

But James had remedied his audacious inconsistency by discovering that
Puritanism in England and in the Netherlands resembled each other no more
than certain letters transposed into totally different words meant one
and the same thing. The anagrammatic argument had been neatly put by Sir
Dudley Carleton, convincing no man. Puritanism in England "denied the
right of human invention or imposition in religious matters." Puritanism
in the Netherlands denied the right of the legal government to impose its
authority in religious matters. This was the great matter of debate in
the Provinces. In England the argument had been settled very summarily
against the Puritans by sheriffs' officers, bishops' pursuivants, and
county jails.

As the political tendencies, so too the religious creed and observances
of the English Puritans were identical with that of the
Contra-Remonstrants, whom King James had helped to their great triumph.
This was not very difficult to prove. It so happened that there were some
English Puritans living at that moment in Leyden. They formed an
independent society by themselves, which they called a Congregational
Church, and in which were some three hundred communicants. The length of
their residence there was almost exactly coeval with the Twelve Years'
Truce. They knew before leaving England that many relics of the Roman
ceremonial, with which they were dissatisfied, and for the discontinuance
of which they had in vain petitioned the crown--the ring, the sign of the
cross, white surplices, and the like--besides the whole hierarchical
system, had been disused in the Reformed Churches of France, Switzerland,
and the United Provinces, where the forms of worship in their view had
been brought more nearly to the early apostolic model. They admitted for
truth the doctrinal articles of the Dutch Reformed Churches. They had not
come to the Netherlands without cause. At an early period of King James's
reign this congregation of seceders from the establishment had been wont
to hold meetings at Scrooby in Nottinghamshire, once a manor of the
Archbishop of York, but then the residence of one William Brewster. This
was a gentleman of some fortune, educated at Cambridge, a good scholar,
who in Queen Elizabeth's time had been in the service of William Davison
when Secretary of State. He seemed to have been a confidential private
secretary of that excellent and unlucky statesman, who found him so
discreet and faithful as to deserve employment before all others in
matters of trust and secrecy. He was esteemed by Davison "rather as a son
than a servant," and he repaid his confidence by doing him many faithful
offices in the time of his troubles. He had however long since retired
from connection with public affairs, living a retired life, devoted to
study, meditation, and practical exertion to promote the cause of
religion, and in acts of benevolence sometimes beyond his means.

The pastor of the Scrooby Church, one John Robinson, a graduate of
Cambridge, who had been a benefited clergyman in Norfolk, was a man of
learning, eloquence, and lofty intellect. But what were such good gifts
in the possession of rebels, seceders, and Puritans? It is needless to
say that Brewster and Robinson were baited, persecuted, watched day and
night, some of the congregation often clapped into prison, others into
the stocks, deprived of the means of livelihood, outlawed, famished,
banned. Plainly their country was no place for them. After a few years of
such work they resolved to establish themselves in Holland, where at
least they hoped to find refuge and toleration.

But it proved as difficult for them to quit the country as to remain in
it. Watched and hunted like gangs of coiners, forgers, or other felons
attempting to flee from justice, set upon by troopers armed with "bills
and guns and other weapons," seized when about to embark, pillaged and
stripped by catchpoles, exhibited as a show to grinning country folk, the
women and children dealt with like drunken tramps, led before
magistrates, committed to jail; Mr. Brewster and six other of the
principal ones being kept in prison and bound over to the assizes; they
were only able after attempts lasting through two years' time to effect
their escape to Amsterdam. After remaining there a year they had removed
to Leyden, which they thought "a fair and beautiful city, and of a sweet
situation."

They settled in Leyden in the very year in which Arminius was buried
beneath the pavement of St. Peter's Church in that town. It was the year
too in which the Truce was signed. They were a singularly tranquil and
brotherly community. Their pastor, who was endowed with remarkable
gentleness and tact in dealing with his congregation, settled amicably
all their occasional disputes. The authorities of the place held them up
as a model. To a Walloon congregation in which there were many
troublesome and litigious members they said: "These English have lived
among us ten years, and yet we never had any suit or accusation against
any of them, but your quarrels are continual."

Although many of them were poor, finding it difficult to earn their
living in a foreign land among people speaking a strange tongue, and with
manners and habits differing from their own, and where they were obliged
to learn new trades, having most of them come out of an agricultural
population, yet they enjoyed a singular reputation for probity. Bakers
and butchers and the like willingly gave credit to the poorest of these
English, and sought their custom if known to be of the congregation. Mr.
Brewster, who had been reduced almost to poverty by his charities and
munificent aid to his struggling brethren, earned his living by giving
lessons in English, having first composed a grammar according to the
Latin model for the use of his pupils. He also set up a printing
establishment, publishing many controversial works prohibited in England,
a proceeding which roused the wrath of Carleton, impelling him to do his
best to have him thrown into prison.

It was not the first time that this plain, mechanical, devout Englishman,
now past middle age, had visited the Netherlands. More than twenty-five
years before he had accompanied William Davison on his famous embassy to
the States, as private secretary.

When the keys of Flushing, one of the cautionary towns, were committed to
the Ambassador, he confided them to the care of Brewster, who slept with
them under his pillow. The gold chain which Davison received as a present
from the provincial government on leaving the country was likewise placed
in his keeping, with orders to wear it around his neck until they should
appear before the Queen. To a youth of ease and affluence, familiar with
ambassadors and statesmen and not unknown at courts, had succeeded a
mature age of obscurity, deep study, and poverty. No human creature would
have heard of him had his career ended with his official life. Two
centuries and a half have passed away and the name of the outlawed
Puritan of Scrooby and Leyden is still familiar to millions of the
English race.

All these Englishmen were not poor. Many of them occupied houses of fair
value, and were admitted to the freedom of the city. The pastor with
three of his congregation lived in a comfortable mansion, which they had
purchased for the considerable sum of 8000 florins, and on the garden of
which they subsequently erected twenty-one lesser tenements for the use
of the poorer brethren.

Mr. Robinson was himself chosen a member of the famous university and
admitted to its privileges. During his long residence in Leyden, besides
the daily care of his congregation, spiritual and temporal, he wrote many
learned works.

Thus the little community, which grew gradually larger by emigration from
England, passed many years of tranquillity. Their footsteps were not
dogged by constables and pursuivants, they were not dragged daily before
the magistrates, they were not thrown into the town jails, they were not
hunted from place to place with bows and bills and mounted musketeers.
They gave offence to none, and were respected by all. "Such was their
singleheartedness and sincere affection one towards another," says their
historian and magistrate, "that they came as near the primitive pattern
of the first churches as any other church of these later times has done,
according to their rank and quality."

Here certainly were English Puritans more competent than any men else in
the world to judge if it were a slander upon the English government to
identify them with Dutch Puritans. Did they sympathize with the party in
Holland which the King, who had so scourged and trampled upon themselves
in England, was so anxious to crush, the hated Arminians? Did they abhor
the Contra-Remonstrants whom James and his ambassador Carleton doted upon
and whom Barneveld called "Double Puritans" and "Flanderizers?"

Their pastor may answer for himself and his brethren.

"We profess before God and men," said Robinson in his Apologia, "that we
agree so entirely with the Reformed Dutch Churches in the matter of
religion as to be ready to subscribe to all and each of their articles
exactly as they are set forth in the Netherland Confession. We
acknowledge those Reformed Churches as true and genuine, we profess and
cultivate communion with them as much as in us lies. Those of us who
understand the Dutch language attend public worship under their pastors.
We administer the Holy Supper to such of their members as, known to us,
appear at our meetings." This was the position of the Puritans. Absolute,
unqualified accordance with the Contra-Remonstrants.

As the controversy grew hot in the university between the Arminians and
their adversaries, Mr. Robinson, in the language of his friend Bradford,
became "terrible to the Arminians . . . . who so greatly molested the
whole state and that city in particular."

When Episcopius, the Arminian professor of theology, set forth sundry
theses, challenging all the world to the onset, it was thought that "none
was fitter to buckle with them" than Robinson. The orthodox professor
Polyander so importuned the English Puritan to enter the lists on behalf
of the Contra-Remonstrants that at last he consented and overthrew the
challenger, horse and man, in three successive encounters. Such at least
was the account given by his friend and admirer the historian. "The Lord
did so help him to defend the truth and foil this adversary as he put him
to an apparent nonplus in this great and public audience. And the like he
did a second or third time upon such like occasions," said Bradford,
adding that, if it had not been for fear of offending the English
government, the university would have bestowed preferments and honours
upon the champion.

We are concerned with this ancient and exhausted controversy only for the
intense light it threw, when burning, on the history which occupies us.

Of the extinct volcano itself which once caused such devastation, and in
which a great commonwealth was well-nigh swallowed up, little is left but
slag and cinders. The past was made black and barren with them. Let us
disturb them as little as possible.

The little English congregation remained at Leyden till toward the end of
the Truce, thriving, orderly, respected, happy. They were witnesses to
the tumultuous, disastrous, and tragical events which darkened the
Republic in those later years, themselves unobserved and unmolested. Not
a syllable seems to remain on record of the views or emotions which may
have been excited by those scenes in their minds, nor is there a trace
left on the national records of the Netherlands of their protracted
residence on the soil.

They got their living as best they might by weaving, printing, spinning,
and other humble trades; they borrowed money on mortgages, they built
houses, they made wills, and such births, deaths, and marriages as
occurred among them were registered by the town-clerk.

And at last for a variety of reasons they resolved to leave the
Netherlands. Perhaps the solution of the problem between Church and State
in that country by the temporary subjection of State to Church may have
encouraged them to realize a more complete theocracy, if a sphere of
action could be found where the experiment might be tried without a
severe battle against time-hallowed institutions and vested rights.
Perhaps they were appalled by the excesses into which men of their own
religious sentiments had been carried by theological and political
passion. At any rate depart they would; the larger half of the
congregation remaining behind however till the pioneers should have
broken the way, and in their own language "laid the stepping-stones."

They had thought of the lands beneath the Equator, Raleigh having
recently excited enthusiasm by his poetical descriptions of Guiana. But
the tropical scheme was soon abandoned. They had opened negotiations with
the Stadholder and the States-General through Amsterdam merchants in
regard to settling in New Amsterdam, and offered to colonize that country
if assured of the protection of the United Provinces. Their petition had
been rejected. They had then turned their faces to their old master and
their own country, applying to the Virginia Company for a land-patent,
which they were only too happy to promise, and to the King for liberty of
religion in the wilderness confirmed under his broad seal, which his
Majesty of course refused. It was hinted however that James would connive
at them and not molest them if they carried themselves peaceably. So they
resolved to go without the seal, for, said their magistrate very wisely,
"if there should be a purpose or desire to wrong them, a seal would not
serve their turn though it were as broad as the house-floor."

Before they left Leyden, their pastor preached to them a farewell sermon,
which for loftiness of spirit and breadth of vision has hardly a parallel
in that age of intolerance. He laid down the principle that criticism of
the Scriptures had not been exhausted merely because it had been begun;
that the human conscience was of too subtle a nature to be imprisoned for
ever in formulas however ingeniously devised; that the religious
reformation begun a century ago was not completed; and that the Creator
had not necessarily concluded all His revelations to mankind.

The words have long been familiar to students of history, but they can
hardly be too often laid to heart.

Noble words, worthy to have been inscribed over the altar of the first
church to be erected by the departing brethren, words to bear fruit after
centuries should go by. Had not the deeply injured and misunderstood
Grotius already said, "If the trees we plant do not shade us, they will
yet serve for our descendants?"

Yet it is passing strange that the preacher of that sermon should be the
recent champion of the Contra-Remonstrants in the great controversy; the
man who had made himself so terrible to the pupils of the gentle and
tolerant Arminius.

And thus half of that English congregation went down to Delftshaven,
attended by the other half who were to follow at a later period with
their beloved pastor. There was a pathetic leave-taking. Even many of the
Hollanders, mere casual spectators, were in tears.

Robinson, kneeling on the deck of the little vessel, offered a prayer and
a farewell. Who could dream that this departure of an almost nameless
band of emigrants to the wilderness was an epoch in the world's history?
Yet these were the Pilgrim Fathers of New England, the founders of what
was to be the mightiest republic of modern history, mighty and stable
because it had been founded upon an idea.

They were not in search of material comfort and the chances of elevating
their condition, by removing from an overpeopled country to an organized
Commonwealth, offering a wide field for pauper labourers. Some of them
were of good social rank and highest education, most of them in decent
circumstances, none of them in absolute poverty. And a few years later
they were to be joined by a far larger company with leaders and many
brethren of ancient birth and landed possessions, men of "education,
figure; and estate," all ready to convert property into cash and to place
it in joint-stock, not as the basis of promising speculation, but as the
foundation of a church.

It signifies not how much or how little one may sympathize with their
dogma or their discipline now. To the fact that the early settlement of
that wilderness was by self-sacrificing men of earnestness and faith, who
were bent on "advancing the Gospel of Christ in remote parts of the
world," in the midst of savage beasts, more savage men, and unimaginable
difficulties and dangers, there can be little doubt that the highest
forms of Western civilization are due. Through their provisional
theocracy, the result of the independent church system was to establish
the true purport of the Reformation, absolute religious equality. Civil
and political equality followed as a matter of course.

Two centuries and a half have passed away.

There are now some seventy or eighty millions of the English-speaking
race on both sides the Atlantic, almost equally divided between the
United Kingdom and the United Republic, and the departure of those
outcasts of James has interest and significance for them all.

Most fitly then, as a distinguished American statesman has remarked, does
that scene on board the little English vessel, with the English pastor
uttering his farewell blessing to a handful of English exiles for
conscience sake; depicted on canvas by eminent artists, now adorn the
halls of the American Congress and of the British Parliament. Sympathy
with one of the many imperishable bonds of union between the two great
and scarcely divided peoples.

We return to Barneveld in his solitary prison.



CHAPTER XX.

   Barneveld's Imprisonment--Ledenberg's Examination and Death--
   Remonstrance of De Boississe--Aerssens admitted to the order of
   Knights--Trial of the Advocate--Barneveld's Defence--The States
   proclaim a Public Fast--Du Maurier's Speech before the Assembly--
   Barneveld's Sentence--Barneveld prepares for Death--Goes to
   Execution.

The Advocate had been removed within a few days after the arrest from the
chamber in Maurice's apartments, where he had originally been confined,
and was now in another building.

It was not a dungeon nor a jail. Indeed the commonplace and domestic
character of the scenery in which these great events were transacted has
in it something pathetic. There was and still remains a two-storied
structure, then of modern date, immediately behind the antique hall of
the old Counts within the Binnenhof. On the first floor was a courtroom
of considerable extent, the seat of one of the chief tribunals of justice
The story above was divided into three chambers with a narrow corridor on
each side. The first chamber, on the north-eastern side, was appropriated
for the judges when the state prisoners should be tried. In the next Hugo
Grotius was imprisoned. In the third was Barneveld. There was a tower at
the north-east angle of the building, within which a winding and narrow
staircase of stone led up to the corridor and so to the prisoners'
apartments. Rombout Hoogerbeets was confined in another building.

As the Advocate, bent with age and a life of hard work, and leaning on
his staff, entered the room appropriated to him, after toiling up the
steep staircase, he observed--

"This is the Admiral of Arragon's apartment."

It was true. Eighteen years before, the conqueror of Nieuwpoort had
assigned this lodging to the chief prisoner of war in that memorable
victory over the Spaniards, and now Maurice's faithful and trusted
counsellor at that epoch was placed in durance here, as the result of the
less glorious series of victories which had just been achieved.

It was a room of moderate dimensions, some twenty-five feet square, with
a high vaulted roof and decently furnished. Below and around him in the
courtyard were the scenes of the Advocate's life-long and triumphant
public services. There in the opposite building were the windows of the
beautiful "Hall of Truce," with its sumptuous carvings and gildings, its
sculptures and portraits, where he had negotiated with the
representatives of all the great powers of Christendom the famous Treaty
which had suspended the war of forty years, and where he was wont almost
daily to give audience to the envoys of the greatest sovereigns or the
least significant states of Europe and Asia, all of whom had been ever
solicitous of his approbation and support.

Farther along in the same building was the assembly room of the
States-General, where some of the most important affairs of the Republic
and of Europe had for years been conducted, and where he had been so
indispensable that, in the words of a contemporary who loved him not,
"absolutely nothing could be transacted in his absence, all great affairs
going through him alone."

There were two dull windows, closely barred, looking northward over an
irregular assemblage of tile-roofed houses and chimney-stacks, while
within a stone's throw to the west, but unseen, was his own elegant
mansion on the Voorhout, surrounded by flower gardens and shady pleasure
grounds, where now sat his aged wife and her children all plunged in deep
affliction.

He was allowed the attendance of a faithful servant, Jan Franken by name,
and a sentinel stood constantly before his door. His papers had been
taken from him, and at first he was deprived of writing materials.

He had small connection with the outward world. The news of the municipal
revolution which had been effected by the Stadholder had not penetrated
to his solitude, but his wife was allowed to send him fruit from their
garden. One day a basket of fine saffron pears was brought to him. On
slicing one with a knife he found a portion of a quill inside it. Within
the quill was a letter on thinnest paper, in minutest handwriting in
Latin. It was to this effect.

"Don't rely upon the States of Holland, for the Prince of Orange has
changed the magistracies in many cities. Dudley Carleton is not your
friend."

A sergeant of the guard however, before bringing in these pears, had put
a couple of them in his pocket to take home to his wife. The letter,
copies of which perhaps had been inserted for safety in several of them,
was thus discovered and the use of this ingenious device prevented for
the future.

Secretary Ledenberg, who had been brought to the Hague in the early days
of September, was the first of the prisoners subjected to examination. He
was much depressed at the beginning of it, and is said to have exclaimed
with many sighs, "Oh Barneveld, Barneveld, what have you brought us to!"

He confessed that the Waartgelders at Utrecht had been enlisted on
notification by the Utrecht deputies in the Hague with knowledge of
Barneveld, and in consequence of a resolution of the States in order to
prevent internal tumults. He said that the Advocate had advised in the
previous month of March a request to the Prince not to come to Utrecht;
that the communication of the message, in regard to disbanding the
Waartgelders, to his Excellency had been postponed after the deputies of
the States of Holland had proposed a delay in that disbandment; that
those deputies had come to Utrecht of their own accord; . . . . that they
had judged it possible to keep everything in proper order in Utrecht if
the garrison in the city paid by Holland were kept quiet, and if the
States of Utrecht gave similar orders to the Waartgelders; for they did
not believe that his Excellency would bring in troops from the outside.
He said that he knew nothing of a new oath to be demanded of the
garrison. He stated that the Advocate, when at Utrecht, had exhorted the
States, according to his wont, to maintain their liberties and
privileges, representing to them that the right to decide on the Synod
and the Waartgelders belonged to them. Lastly, he denied knowing who was
the author of The Balance, except by common report.

Now these statements hardly amounted to a confession of abominable and
unpardonable crimes by Ledenberg, nor did they establish a charge of
high-treason and corrupt correspondence with the enemy against Barneveld.
It is certain that the extent of the revelations seemed far from
satisfactory to the accusers, and that some pressure would be necessary
in order to extract anything more conclusive. Lieutenant Nythof told
Grotius that Ledenberg had accordingly been threatened with torture, and
that the executioner had even handled him for that purpose. This was
however denied by the judges of instruction who had been charged with the
preliminary examination.

That examination took place on the 27th September. After it had been
concluded, Ledenberg prayed long and earnestly on returning to prison. He
then entrusted a paper written in French to his son Joost, a boy of
eighteen, who did not understand that language. The youth had been
allowed to keep his father company in his confinement, and slept in the
same room.

The next night but one, at two o'clock, Joost heard his father utter a
deep groan. He was startled, groped in the darkness towards his bed and
felt his arm, which was stone cold. He spoke to him and received no
answer. He gave the alarm, the watch came in with lights, and it was
found that Ledenberg had given himself two mortal wounds in the abdomen
with a penknife and then cut his throat with a table-knife which he had
secreted, some days before, among some papers.

The paper in French given to his son was found to be to this effect.

"I know that there is an inclination to set an example in my person, to
confront me with my best friends, to torture me, afterwards to convict me
of contradictions and falsehoods as they say, and then to found an
ignominious sentence upon points and trifles, for this it will be
necessary to do in order to justify the arrest and imprisonment. To
escape all this I am going to God by the shortest road. Against a dead
man there can be pronounced no sentence of confiscation of property. Done
17th September (o. s.) 1618."

The family of the unhappy gentleman begged his body for decent burial.
The request was refused. It was determined to keep the dead secretary
above ground and in custody until he could be tried, and, if possible,
convicted and punished. It was to be seen whether it were so easy to
baffle the power of the States-General, the Synod, and the Stadholder,
and whether "going to God by the shortest road" was to save a culprit's
carcass from ignominy, and his property from confiscation.

The French ambassadors, who had been unwearied in their endeavour to
restore harmony to the distracted Commonwealth before the arrest of the
prisoners, now exerted themselves to throw the shield of their
sovereign's friendship around the illustrious statesman and his
fellow-sufferers.

"It is with deepest sorrow," said de Boississe, "that I have witnessed
the late hateful commotions. Especially from my heart I grieve for the
arrest of the Seignior Barneveld, who with his discretion and wise
administration for the past thirty years has so drawn the hearts of all
neighbouring princes to himself, especially that of the King my master,
that on taking up my pen to apprize him of these events I am gravely
embarrassed, fearing to infringe on the great respect due to your
Mightinesses or against the honour and merits of the Seignior Barneveld.
. . . My Lords, take heed to your situation, for a great discontent is
smouldering among your citizens. Until now, the Union has been the chief
source of your strength. And I now fear that the King my master, the
adviser of your renowned Commonwealth, maybe offended that you have taken
this resolution after consulting with others, and without communicating
your intention to his ambassador . . . . It is but a few days that an
open edict was issued testifying to the fidelity of Barneveld, and can it
be possible that within so short a time you have discovered that you have
been deceived? I summon you once more in the name of the King to lay
aside all passion, to judge these affairs without partiality, and to
inform me what I am to say to the King. Such very conflicting accounts
are given of these transactions that I must beg you to confide to me the
secret of the affair. The wisest in the land speak so strongly of these
proceedings that it will be no wonder if the King my master should give
me orders to take the Seignior Barneveld under his protection. Should
this prove to be the case, your Lordships will excuse my course . . . I
beg you earnestly in your wisdom not to give cause of offence to
neighbouring princes, especially to my sovereign, who wishes from his
heart to maintain your dignity and interests and to assure you of his
friendship."

The language was vigorous and sincere, but the Ambassador forgot that the
France of to-day was not the France of yesterday; that Louis XIII. was
not Henry IV.; that it was but a cheerful fiction to call the present
King the guide and counsellor of the Republic, and that, distraught as
she was by the present commotions, her condition was strength and
tranquillity compared with the apparently decomposing and helpless state
of the once great kingdom of France. De Boississe took little by his
demonstration.

On the 12th December both de Boississe and du Maurier came before the
States-General once more, and urged a speedy and impartial trial for the
illustrious prisoners. If they had committed acts of treason and
rebellion, they deserved exemplary punishment, but the ambassadors warned
the States-General with great earnestness against the dangerous doctrine
of constructive treason, and of confounding acts dictated by violence of
party spirit at an excited period with the crime of high-treason against
the sovereignty of the State.

"Barneveld so honourable," they said, "for his immense and long continued
services has both this Republic and all princes and commonwealths for his
witnesses. It is most difficult to believe that he has attempted the
destruction of his fatherland, for which you know that he has toiled so
faithfully."

They admitted that so grave charges ought now to be investigated. "To
this end," said the ambassadors, "you ought to give him judges who are
neither suspected nor impassioned, and who will decide according to the
laws of the land, and on clear and undeniable evidence . . . . So doing
you will show to the whole world that you are worthy to possess and to
administer this Commonwealth to whose government God has called you."

Should they pursue another and a sterner course, the envoys warned the
Assembly that the King would be deeply offended, deeming it thus proved
how little value they set upon his advice and his friendship.

The States-General replied on the 19th December, assuring the ambassadors
that the delay in the trial was in order to make the evidence of the
great conspiracy complete, and would not tend to the prejudice of the
prisoners "if they had a good consciousness of their innocence." They
promised that the sentence upon them when pronounced would give entire
satisfaction to all their allies and to the King of France in particular,
of whom they spoke throughout the document in terms of profound respect.
But they expressed their confidence that "his Majesty would not place the
importunate and unfounded solicitations of a few particular criminals or
their supporters before the general interests of the dignity and security
of the Republic."

On the same day the States-General addressed a letter filled with very
elaborate and courteous commonplaces to the King, in which they expressed
a certainty that his Majesty would be entirely satisfied with their
actions.

The official answer of the States-General to the ambassadors, just cited,
gave but little comfort to the friends of the imprisoned statesman and
his companions. Such expressions as "ambitious and factious
spirits,"--"authors and patrons of the faction,"--"attempts at novelty
through changes in religion, in justice and in the fundamental laws of
all orders of polity," and the frequent mention of the word "conspiracy"
boded little good.

Information of this condition of affairs was conveyed to Hoogerbeets and
Grotius by means of an ingenious device of the distinguished scholar, who
was then editing the Latin works of the Hague poet, Janus Secundus.

While the sheets were going through the press, some of the verses were
left out, and their place supplied by others conveying the intelligence
which it was desired to send to the prisoners. The pages which contained
the secret were stitched together in such wise that in cutting the book
open they were not touched but remained closed. The verses were to this
effect. "The examination of the Advocate proceeds slowly, but there is
good hope from the serious indignation of the French king, whose envoys
are devoted to the cause of the prisoners, and have been informed that
justice will be soon rendered. The States of Holland are to assemble on
the 15th January, at which a decision will certainly be taken for
appointing judges. The preachers here at Leyden are despised, and men are
speaking strongly of war. The tumult which lately occurred at Rotterdam
may bring forth some good."

The quick-wited Grotius instantly discovered the device, read the
intelligence thus communicated in the proofsheets of Secundus, and made
use of the system to obtain further intelligence.

Hoogerbeets laid the book aside, not taking much interest at that time in
the works of the Hague poet. Constant efforts made to attract his
attention to those poems however excited suspicion among his keepers, and
the scheme was discovered before the Leyden pensionary had found the
means to profit by it.'

The allusions to the trial of the Advocate referred to the preliminary
examination which took place, like the first interrogatories of Grotius
and Hoogerbeets, in the months of November and December.

The thorough manner in which Maurice had reformed the States of Holland
has been described. There was one department of that body however which
still required attention. The Order of Knights, small in number but
potential in influence, which always voted first on great occasions, was
still through a majority of its members inclined to Barneveld. Both his
sons-in-law had seats in that college. The Stadholder had long believed
in a spirit of hostility on the part of those nobles towards himself. He
knew that a short time before this epoch there had been a scheme for
introducing his young brother, Frederic Henry, into the Chamber of
Knights. The Count had become proprietor of the barony of Naaldwyk, a
property which he had purchased of the Counts of Arenberg, and which
carried with it the hereditary dignity of Great Equerry of the Counts of
Holland. As the Counts of Holland had ceased to exist, although their
sovereignty had nearly been revived and conferred upon William the
Silent, the office of their chief of the stables might be deemed a
sinecure. But the jealousy of Maurice was easily awakened, especially by
any movement made or favoured by the Advocate. He believed that in the
election of Frederic Henry as a member of the College of Knights a plan
lay concealed to thrust him into power and to push this elder brother
from his place. The scheme, if scheme it were, was never accomplished,
but the Prince's rancour remained.

He now informed the nobles that they must receive into their body Francis
Aerssens, who had lately purchased the barony of Sommelsdyk, and Daniel
de Hartaing, Seignior of Marquette. With the presence of this deadly
enemy of Barneveld and another gentleman equally devoted to the
Stadholder's interest it seemed probable that the refractory majority of
the board of nobles would be overcome. But there were grave objections to
the admission of these new candidates. They were not eligible. The
constitution of the States and of the college of nobles prescribed that
Hollanders only of ancient and noble race and possessing estates in the
province could sit in that body. Neither Aerssens nor Hartaing was born
in Holland or possessed of the other needful qualifications.
Nevertheless, the Prince, who had just remodelled all the municipalities
throughout the Union which offered resistance to his authority, was not
to be checked by so trifling an impediment as the statutes of the House
of Nobles. He employed very much the same arguments which he had used to
"good papa" Hooft. "This time it must be so." Another time it might not
be necessary. So after a controversy which ended as controversies are apt
to do when one party has a sword in his hand and the other is seated at a
green-baize-covered table, Sommelsdyk and Marquette took their seats
among the knights. Of course there was a spirited protest. Nothing was
easier for the Stadholder than to concede the principle while trampling
it with his boot-heels in practice.

"Whereas it is not competent for the said two gentlemen to be admitted to
our board," said the nobles in brief, "as not being constitutionally
eligible, nevertheless, considering the strong desire of his Excellency
the Prince of Orange, we, the nobles and knights of Holland, admit them
with the firm promise to each other by noble and knightly faith ever in
future for ourselves and descendants to maintain the privileges of our
order now violated and never again to let them be directly or indirectly
infringed."

And so Aerssens, the unscrupulous plotter, and dire foe of the Advocate
and all his house, burning with bitter revenge for all the favours he had
received from him during many years, and the author of the venomous
pamphlets and diatribes which had done so much of late to blacken the
character of the great statesman before the public, now associated
himself officially with his other enemies, while the preliminary
proceedings for the state trials went forward.

Meantime the Synod had met at Dordtrecht. The great John Bogerman, with
fierce, handsome face, beak and eye of a bird of prey, and a deluge of
curly brown beard reaching to his waist, took his seat as president.
Short work was made with the Armenians. They and their five Points were
soon thrust out into outer darkness.

It was established beyond all gainsaying that two forms of Divine worship
in one country were forbidden by God's Word, and that thenceforth by
Netherland law there could be but one religion, namely, the Reformed or
Calvinistic creed.

It was settled that one portion of the Netherlanders and of the rest of
the human race had been expressly created by the Deity to be for ever
damned, and another portion to be eternally blessed. But this history has
little to do with that infallible council save in the political effect of
its decrees on the fate of Barneveld. It was said that the canons of
Dordtrecht were likely to shoot off the head of the Advocate. Their
sessions and the trial of the Advocate were simultaneous, but not
technically related to each other.

The conclusions of both courts were preordained, for the issue of the
great duel between Priesthood and State had been decided when the
military chieftain threw his sword into the scale of the Church.

There had been purposely a delay, before coming to a decision as to the
fate of the state prisoners, until the work of the Synod should have
approached completion.

It was thought good that the condemnation of the opinions of the
Arminians and the chastisement of their leaders should go hand-in-hand.

On the 23rd April 1619, the canons were signed by all the members of the
Synod. Arminians were pronounced heretics, schismatics, teachers of false
doctrines. They were declared incapable of filling any clerical or
academical post. No man thenceforth was to teach children, lecture to
adolescents, or preach to the mature, unless a subscriber to the
doctrines of the unchanged, unchangeable, orthodox church. On the 30th
April and 1st May the Netherland Confession and the Heidelberg Catechism
were declared to be infallible. No change was to be possible in either
formulary.

Schools and pulpits were inexorably bound to the only true religion.

On the 6th May there was a great festival at Dordtrecht in honour of the
conclusion of the Synod. The canons, the sentence, and long prayers and
orations in Latin by President Bogerman gladdened the souls of an immense
multitude, which were further enlivened by the decree that both Creed and
Catechism had stood the test of several criticisms and come out unchanged
by a single hair. Nor did the orator of the occasion forget to render
thanks "to the most magnanimous King James of Great Britain, through
whose godly zeal, fiery sympathy, and truly royal labour God had so often
refreshed the weary Synod in the midst of their toil."

The Synod held one hundred and eighty sessions between the 13th November
1618 and 29th May 1619, all the doings of which have been recorded in
chronicles innumerable. There need be no further mention of them here.

Barneveld and the companions of his fate remained in prison.

On the 7th March the trial of the great Advocate began. He had sat in
prison since the 18th of the preceding August. For nearly seven months he
had been deprived of all communication with the outward world save such
atoms of intelligence as could be secretly conveyed to him in the inside
of a quill concealed in a pear and by other devices. The man who had
governed one of the most important commonwealths of the world for nearly
a generation long--during the same period almost controlling the politics
of Europe--had now been kept in ignorance of the most insignificant
everyday events. During the long summer-heat of the dog-days immediately
succeeding his arrest, and the long, foggy, snowy, icy winter of Holland
which ensued, he had been confined in that dreary garret-room to which he
had been brought when he left his temporary imprisonment in the
apartments of Prince Maurice.

There was nothing squalid in the chamber, nothing specially cruel or
repulsive in the arrangements of his captivity. He was not in fetters,
nor fed upon bread and water. He was not put upon the rack, nor even
threatened with it as Ledenberg had been. He was kept in a mean,
commonplace, meagerly furnished, tolerably spacious room, and he was
allowed the services of his faithful domestic servant John Franken. A
sentinel paced day and night up the narrow corridor before his door. As
spring advanced, the notes of the nightingale came through the
prison-window from the neighbouring thicket. One day John Franken,
opening the window that his master might the better enjoy its song,
exchanged greeting with a fellow-servant in the Barneveld mansion who
happened to be crossing the courtyard. Instantly workmen were sent to
close and barricade the windows, and it was only after earnest
remonstrances and pledges that this resolve to consign the Advocate to
darkness was abandoned.

He was not permitted the help of lawyer, clerk, or man of business. Alone
and from his chamber of bondage, suffering from bodily infirmities and
from the weakness of advancing age, he was compelled to prepare his
defence against a vague, heterogeneous collection of charges, to meet
which required constant reference, not only to the statutes, privileges,
and customs of the country and to the Roman law, but to a thousand minute
incidents out of which the history of the Provinces during the past dozen
years or more had been compounded.

It is true that no man could be more familiar with the science and
practice of the law than he was, while of contemporary history he was
himself the central figure. His biography was the chronicle of his
country. Nevertheless it was a fearful disadvantage for him day by day to
confront two dozen hostile judges comfortably seated at a great table
piled with papers, surrounded by clerks with bags full of documents and
with a library of authorities and precedents duly marked and dog's-eared
and ready to their hands, while his only library and chronicle lay in his
brain. From day to day, with frequent intermissions, he was led down
through the narrow turret-stairs to a wide chamber on the floor
immediately below his prison, where a temporary tribunal had been
arranged for the special commission.

There had been an inclination at first on the part of his judges to treat
him as a criminal, and to require him to answer, standing, to the
interrogatories propounded to him. But as the terrible old man advanced
into the room, leaning on his staff, and surveying them with the air of
haughty command habitual to him, they shrank before his glance; several
involuntarily, rising uncovered, to salute him and making way for him to
the fireplace about which many were standing that wintry morning.

He was thenceforth always accommodated with a seat while he listened to
and answered 'ex tempore' the elaborate series of interrogatories which
had been prepared to convict him.

Nearly seven months he had sat with no charges brought against him. This
was in itself a gross violation of the laws of the land, for according to
all the ancient charters of Holland it was provided that accusation
should follow within six weeks of arrest, or that the prisoner should go
free. But the arrest itself was so gross a violation of law that respect
for it was hardly to be expected in the subsequent proceedings. He was a
great officer of the States of Holland. He had been taken under their
especial protection. He was on his way to the High Council. He was in no
sense a subject of the States-General. He was in the discharge of his
official duty. He was doubly and trebly sacred from arrest. The place
where he stood was on the territory of Holland and in the very sanctuary
of her courts and House of Assembly. The States-General were only as
guests on her soil, and had no domain or jurisdiction there whatever. He
was not apprehended by any warrant or form of law. It was in time of
peace, and there was no pretence of martial law. The highest civil
functionary of Holland was invited in the name of its first military
officer to a conference, and thus entrapped was forcibly imprisoned.

At last a board of twenty-four commissioners was created, twelve from
Holland and two from each of the other six provinces. This affectation of
concession to Holland was ridiculous. Either the law 'de non
evocando'--according to which no citizen of Holland could be taken out of
the province for trial--was to be respected or it was to be trampled
upon. If it was to be trampled upon, it signified little whether more
commissioners were to be taken from Holland than from each of the other
provinces, or fewer, or none at all. Moreover it was pretended that a
majority of the whole board was to be assigned to that province. But
twelve is not a majority of twenty-four. There were three fascals or
prosecuting officers, Leeuwen of Utrecht, Sylla of Gelderland, and Antony
Duyck of Holland. Duyck was notoriously the deadly enemy of Barneveld,
and was destined to succeed to his offices. It would have been as well to
select Francis Aerssens himself.

It was necessary to appoint a commission because there was no tribunal
appertaining to the States-General. The general government of the
confederacy had no power to deal with an individual. It could only
negotiate with the sovereign province to which the individual was
responsible, and demand his punishment if proved guilty of an offence.
There was no supreme court of appeal. Machinery was provided for settling
or attempting to settle disputes among the members of the confederacy,
and if there was a culprit in this great process it was Holland itself.
Neither the Advocate nor any one of his associates had done any act
except by authority, express or implied, of that sovereign State.
Supposing them unquestionably guilty of blackest crimes against the
Generality, the dilemma was there which must always exist by the very
nature of things in a confederacy. No sovereign can try a fellow
sovereign. The subject can be tried at home by no sovereign but his own.

The accused in this case were amenable to the laws of Holland only.

It was a packed tribunal. Several of the commissioners, like Pauw and
Muis for example, were personal enemies of Barneveld. Many of them were
totally ignorant of law. Some of them knew not a word of any language but
their mother tongue, although much of the law which they were to
administer was written in Latin.

Before such a court the foremost citizen of the Netherlands, the first
living statesman of Europe, was brought day by day during a period of
nearly three months; coming down stairs from the mean and desolate room
where he was confined to the comfortable apartment below, which had been
fitted up for the commission.

There was no bill of indictment, no arraignment, no counsel. There were
no witnesses and no arguments. The court-room contained, as it were, only
a prejudiced and partial jury to pronounce both on law and fact without a
judge to direct them, or advocates to sift testimony and contend for or
against the prisoner's guilt. The process, for it could not be called a
trial, consisted of a vast series of rambling and tangled interrogatories
reaching over a space of forty years without apparent connection or
relevancy, skipping fantastically about from one period to another, back
and forthwith apparently no other intent than to puzzle the prisoner,
throw him off his balance, and lead him into self-contradiction.

The spectacle was not a refreshing one. It was the attempt of a multitude
of pigmies to overthrow and bind the giant.

Barneveld was served with no articles of impeachment. He asked for a list
in writing of the charges against him, that he might ponder his answer.
The demand was refused. He was forbidden the use of pen and ink or any
writing materials. His papers and books were all taken from him.

He was allowed to consult neither with an advocate nor even with a single
friend. Alone in his chamber of bondage he was to meditate on his
defence. Out of his memory and brain, and from these alone, he was to
supply himself with the array of historical facts stretching over a
longer period than the lifetime of many of his judges, and with the
proper legal and historical arguments upon those facts for the
justification of his course. That memory and brain were capacious and
powerful enough for the task. It was well for the judges that they had
bound themselves, at the outset, by an oath never to make known what
passed in the courtroom, but to bury all the proceedings in profound
secrecy forever. Had it been otherwise, had that been known to the
contemporary public which has only been revealed more than two centuries
later, had a portion only of the calm and austere eloquence been heard in
which the Advocate set forth his defence, had the frivolous and ignoble
nature of the attack been comprehended, it might have moved the very
stones in the streets to mutiny. Hateful as the statesman had been made
by an organized system of calumny, which was continued with unabated
vigour and increased venom sine he had been imprisoned, there was enough
of justice and of gratitude left in the hearts of Netherlanders to resent
the tyranny practised against their greatest man, and the obloquy thus
brought against a nation always devoted to their liberties and laws.

That the political system of the country was miserably defective was no
fault of Barneveld. He was bound by oath and duty to administer, not make
the laws. A handful of petty feudal sovereignties such as had once
covered the soil of Europe, a multitude of thriving cities which had
wrested or purchased a mass of liberties, customs, and laws from their
little tyrants, all subjected afterwards, without being blended together,
to a single foreign family, had at last one by one, or two by two, shaken
off that supremacy, and, resuming their ancient and as it were
decapitated individualities, had bound themselves by treaty in the midst
of a war to stand by each other, as if they were but one province, for
purposes of common defence against the common foe.

There had been no pretence of laying down a constitution, of enacting an
organic law. The day had not come for even the conception of a popular
constitution. The people had not been invented. It was not provinces
only, but cities, that had contracted with each other, according to the
very first words of the first Article of Union. Some of these cities,
like Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, were Catholic by overwhelming majority, and
had subsequently either fallen away from the confederacy or been
conquered.

And as if to make assurance doubly sure, the Articles of Union not only
reserved to each province all powers not absolutely essential for
carrying on the war in common, but by an express article (the 13th),
declared that Holland and Zealand should regulate the matter of religion
according to their own discretion, while the other provinces might
conform to the provisions of the "Religious Peace" which included mutual
protection for Catholics and Protestants--or take such other order as
seemed most conducive to the religious and secular rights of the
inhabitants. It was stipulated that no province should interfere with
another in such matters, and that every individual in them all should
remain free in his religion, no man being molested or examined on account
of his creed. A farther declaration in regard to this famous article was
made to the effect that no provinces or cities which held to the Roman
Catholic religion were to be excluded from the League of Union if they
were ready to conform to its conditions and comport themselves
patriotically. Language could not be devised to declare more plainly than
was done by this treaty that the central government of the League had
neither wish nor right to concern itself with the religious affairs of
the separate cities or provinces. If it permitted both Papists and
Protestants to associate themselves against the common foe, it could
hardly have been imagined, when the Articles were drawn, that it would
have claimed the exclusive right to define the minutest points in a
single Protestant creed.

And if the exclusively secular parts of the polity prevailing in the
country were clumsy, irregular, and even monstrous, and if its defects
had been flagrantly demonstrated by recent events, a more reasonable
method of reforming the laws might have been found than the imprisonment
of a man who had faithfully administered them forty years long.

A great commonwealth had grown out of a petty feudal organism, like an
oak from an acorn in a crevice, gnarled and distorted, though
wide-spreading and vigorous. It seemed perilous to deal radically with
such a polity, and an almost timid conservatism on the part of its
guardians in such an age of tempests might be pardonable.

Moreover, as before remarked, the apparent imbecility resulting from
confederacy and municipalism combined was for a season remedied by the
actual preponderance of Holland. Two-thirds of the total wealth and
strength of the seven republics being concentrated in one province, the
desired union seemed almost gained by the practical solution of all in
that single republic. But this was one great cause of the general
disaster.

It would be a thankless and tedious task to wander through the wilderness
of interrogatories and answers extending over three months of time, which
stood in the place of a trial. The defence of Barneveld was his own
history, and that I have attempted to give in the preceding pages. A
great part of the accusation was deduced from his private and official
correspondence, and it is for this reason that I have laid such copious
extracts from it before the reader. No man except the judges and the
States-General had access to those letters, and it was easy therefore, if
needful, to give them a false colouring. It is only very recently that
they have been seen at all, and they have never been published from that
day to this.

Out of the confused mass of documents appertaining to the trial, a few
generalizations can be made which show the nature of the attack upon him.
He was accused of having permitted Arminius to infuse new opinions into
the University of Leyden, and of having subsequently defended the
appointment of Vorstius to the same place. He had opposed the National
Synod. He had made drafts of letters for the King of Great Britain to
sign, recommending mutual toleration on the five disputed points
regarding predestination. He was the author of the famous Sharp
Resolution. He had recommended the enlistment by the provinces and towns
of Waartgelders or mercenaries. He had maintained that those mercenaries
as well as the regular troops were bound in time of peace to be obedient
and faithful, not only to the Generality and the stadholders, but to the
magistrates of the cities and provinces where they were employed, and to
the states by whom they were paid. He had sent to Leyden, warning the
authorities of the approach of the Prince. He had encouraged all the
proceedings at Utrecht, writing a letter to the secretary of that
province advising a watch to be kept at the city gates as well as in the
river, and ordering his letter when read to be burned. He had received
presents from foreign potentates. He had attempted to damage the
character of his Excellency the Prince by declaring on various occasions
that he aspired to the sovereignty of the country. He had held a ciphered
correspondence on the subject with foreign ministers of the Republic. He
had given great offence to the King of Great Britain by soliciting from
him other letters in the sense of those which his Majesty had written in
1613, advising moderation and mutual toleration. He had not brought to
condign punishment the author of 'The Balance', a pamphlet in which an
oration of the English ambassador had been criticised, and aspersions
made on the Order of the Garter. He had opposed the formation of the West
India Company. He had said many years before to Nicolas van Berk that the
Provinces had better return to the dominion of Spain. And in general, all
his proceedings had tended to put the Provinces into a "blood bath."

There was however no accusation that he had received bribes from the
enemy or held traitorous communication with him, or that he had committed
any act of high-treason.

His private letters to Caron and to the ambassadors in Paris, with which
the reader has been made familiar, had thus been ransacked to find
treasonable matter, but the result was meagre in spite of the minute and
microscopic analysis instituted to detect traces of poison in them.

But the most subtle and far-reaching research into past transactions was
due to the Greffier Cornelis Aerssens, father of the Ambassador Francis,
and to a certain Nicolas van Berk, Burgomaster of Utrecht.

The process of tale-bearing, hearsay evidence, gossip, and invention went
back a dozen years, even to the preliminary and secret conferences in
regard to the Treaty of Truce.

Readers familiar with the history of those memorable negotiations are
aware that Cornelis van Aerssens had compromised himself by accepting a
valuable diamond and a bill of exchange drawn by Marquis Spinola on a
merchant in Amsterdam, Henry Beekman by name, for 80,000 ducats. These
were handed by Father Neyen, the secret agent of the Spanish government,
to the Greffier as a prospective reward for his services in furthering
the Truce. He did not reject them, but he informed Prince Maurice and the
Advocate of the transaction. Both diamond and bill of exchange were
subsequently deposited in the hands of the treasurer of the
States-General, Joris de Bie, the Assembly being made officially
acquainted with the whole course of the affair.

It is passing strange that this somewhat tortuous business, which
certainly cast a shade upon the fair fame of the elder Aerssens, and
required him to publish as good a defence as he could against the
consequent scandal, should have furnished a weapon wherewith to strike at
the Advocate of Holland some dozen years later.

But so it was. Krauwels, a relative of Aerssens, through whom Father
Neyen had first obtained access to the Greffier, had stated, so it
seemed, that the monk had, in addition to the bill, handed to him another
draft of Spinola's for 100,000 ducats, to be given to a person of more
consideration than Aerssens. Krauwels did not know who the person was,
nor whether he took the money. He expressed his surprise however that
leading persons in the government "even old and authentic
beggars"--should allow themselves to be so seduced as to accept presents
from the enemy. He mentioned two such persons, namely, a burgomaster at
Delft and a burgomaster at Haarlem. Aerssens now deposed that he had
informed the Advocate of this story, who had said, "Be quiet about it, I
will have it investigated," and some days afterwards on being questioned
stated that he had made enquiry and found there was something in it.

So the fact that Cornelis Aerssens had taken bribes, and that two
burgomasters were strongly suspected by Aerssens of having taken bribes,
seems to have been considered as evidence that Barneveld had taken a
bribe. It is true that Aerssens by advice of Maurice and Barneveld had
made a clean breast of it to the States-General and had given them over
the presents. But the States-General could neither wear the diamond nor
cash the bill of exchange, and it would have been better for the Greffier
not to contaminate his fingers with them, but to leave the gifts in the
monk's palm. His revenge against the Advocate for helping him out of his
dilemma, and for subsequently advancing his son Francis in a brilliant
diplomatic career, seems to have been--when the clouds were thickening
and every man's hand was against the fallen statesman--to insinuate that
he was the anonymous personage who had accepted the apocryphal draft for
100,000 ducats.

The case is a pregnant example of the proceedings employed to destroy the
Advocate.

The testimony of Nicolas van Berk was at any rate more direct.

On the 21st December 1618 the burgomaster testified that the Advocate had
once declared to him that the differences in regard to Divine Worship
were not so great but that they might be easily composed; asking him at
the same time "whether it would not be better that we should submit
ourselves again to the King of Spain." Barneveld had also referred, so
said van Berk, to the conduct of the Spanish king towards those who had
helped him to the kingdom of Portugal. The Burgomaster was unable however
to specify the date, year, or month in which the Advocate had held this
language. He remembered only that the conversation occurred when
Barneveld was living on the Spui at the Hague, and that having been let
into the house through the hall on the side of the vestibule, he had been
conducted by the Advocate down a small staircase into the office.

The only fact proved by the details seems to be that the story had lodged
in the tenacious memory of the Burgomaster for eight years, as Barneveld
had removed from the Spui to Arenberg House in the Voorhout in the year
1611.

No other offers from the King of Spain or the Archdukes had ever been
made to him, said van Berk, than those indicated in this deposition
against the Advocate as coming from that statesman. Nor had Barneveld
ever spoken to him upon such subjects except on that one occasion.

It is not necessary and would be wearisome to follow the unfortunate
statesman through the long line of defence which he was obliged to make,
in fragmentary and irregular form, against these discursive and confused
assaults upon him. A continuous argument might be built up with the
isolated parts which should be altogether impregnable. It is superfluous.

Always instructive to his judges as he swept at will through the record
of nearly half a century of momentous European history, in which he was
himself a conspicuous figure, or expounding the ancient laws and customs
of the country with a wealth and accuracy of illustration which testified
to the strength of his memory, he seemed rather like a sage expounding
law and history to a class of pupils than a criminal defending himself
before a bench of commissioners. Moved occasionally from his austere
simplicity, the majestic old man rose to a strain of indignant eloquence
which might have shaken the hall of a vast assembly and found echo in the
hearts of a thousand hearers as he denounced their petty insults or
ignoble insinuations; glaring like a caged lion at his tormentors, who
had often shrunk before him when free, and now attempted to drown his
voice by contradictions, interruptions, threats, and unmeaning howls.

He protested, from the outset and throughout the proceedings, against the
jurisdiction of the tribunal. The Treaty of Union on which the Assembly
and States-General were founded gave that assembly no power over him.
They could take no legal cognizance of his person or his acts. He had
been deprived of writing materials, or he would have already drawn up his
solemn protest and argument against the existence of the commission. He
demanded that they should be provided for him, together with a clerk to
engross his defence. It is needless to say that the demand was refused.

It was notorious to all men, he said, that on the day when violent hands
were laid upon him he was not bound to the States-General by oath,
allegiance, or commission. He was a well-known inhabitant of the Hague, a
householder there, a vassal of the Commonwealth of Holland, enfeoffed of
many notable estates in that country, serving many honourable offices by
commission from its government. By birth, promotion, and conferred
dignities he was subject to the supreme authority of Holland, which for
forty years had been a free state possessed of all the attributes of
sovereignty, political, religious, judicial, and recognizing no superior
save God Almighty alone.

He was amenable to no tribunal save that of their Mightinesses the States
of Holland and their ordinary judges. Not only those States but the
Prince of Orange as their governor and vassal, the nobles of Holland, the
colleges of justice, the regents of cities, and all other vassals,
magistrates, and officers were by their respective oaths bound to
maintain and protect him in these his rights.

After fortifying this position by legal argument and by an array of
historical facts within his own experience, and alluding to the repeated
instances in which, sorely against his will, he had been solicited and
almost compelled to remain in offices of which he was weary, he referred
with dignity to the record of his past life. From the youthful days when
he had served as a volunteer at his own expense in the perilous sieges of
Haarlem and Leyden down to the time of his arrest, through an unbroken
course of honourable and most arduous political services, embassies, and
great negotiations, he had ever maintained the laws and liberties of the
Fatherland and his own honour unstained.

That he should now in his seventy-second year be dragged, in violation of
every privilege and statute of the country, by extraordinary means,
before unknown judges, was a grave matter not for himself alone but for
their Mightinesses the States of Holland and for the other provinces. The
precious right 'de non evocando' had ever been dear to all the provinces,
cities, and inhabitants of the Netherlands. It was the most vital
privilege in their possession as well in civil as criminal, in secular as
in ecclesiastical affairs.

When the King of Spain in 1567, and afterwards, set up an extraordinary
tribunal and a course of extraordinary trials, it was an undeniable fact,
he said, that on the solemn complaint of the States all princes, nobles,
and citizens not only in the Netherlands but in foreign countries, and
all foreign kings and sovereigns, held those outrages to be the foremost
and fundamental reason for taking up arms against that king, and
declaring him to have forfeited his right of sovereignty.

Yet that monarch was unquestionably the born and accepted sovereign of
each one of the provinces, while the General Assembly was but a gathering
of confederates and allies, in no sense sovereign. It was an unimaginable
thing, he said, that the States of each province should allow their whole
authority and right of sovereignty to be transferred to a board of
commissioners like this before which he stood. If, for example, a general
union of France, England, and the States of the United Netherlands should
be formed (and the very words of the Act of Union contemplated such
possibility), what greater absurdity could there be than to suppose that
a college of administration created for the specific purposes of such
union would be competent to perform acts of sovereignty within each of
those countries in matters of justice, polity, and religion?

It was known to mankind, he said, that when negotiations were entered
into for bestowing the sovereignty of the Provinces on France and on
England, special and full powers were required from, and furnished by,
the States of each individual province.

Had the sovereignty been in the assembly of the States-General, they
might have transferred it of their own motion or kept it for themselves.

Even in the ordinary course of affairs the commissioners from each
province to the General Assembly always required a special power from
their constituents before deciding any matter of great importance.

In regard to the defence of the respective provinces and cities, he had
never heard it doubted, he said, that the states or the magistrates of
cities had full right to provide for it by arming a portion of their own
inhabitants or by enlisting paid troops. The sovereign counts of Holland
and bishops of Utrecht certainly possessed and exercised that right for
many hundred years, and by necessary tradition it passed to the states
succeeding to their ancient sovereignty. He then gave from the stores of
his memory innumerable instances in which soldiers had been enlisted by
provinces and cities all over the Netherlands from the time of the
abjuration of Spain down to that moment. Through the whole period of
independence in the time of Anjou, Matthias, Leicester, as well as under
the actual government, it had been the invariable custom thus to provide
both by land and sea and on the rivers against robbers, rebels, pirates,
mischief-makers, assailing thieves, domestic or foreign. It had been done
by the immortal William the Silent on many memorable occasions, and in
fact the custom was so notorious that soldiers so enlisted were known by
different and peculiar nicknames in the different provinces and towns.

That the central government had no right to meddle with religious matters
was almost too self-evident an axiom to prove. Indeed the chief
difficulty under which the Advocate laboured throughout this whole
process was the monstrous assumption by his judges of a political and
judicial system which never had any existence even in imagination. The
profound secrecy which enwrapped the proceedings from that day almost to
our own and an ignorant acquiescence of a considerable portion of the
public in accomplished facts offer the only explanation of a mystery
which must ever excite our wonder. If there were any impeachment at all,
it was an impeachment of the form of government itself. If language could
mean anything whatever, a mere perusal of the Articles of Union proved
that the prisoner had never violated that fundamental pact. How could the
general government prescribe an especial formulary for the Reformed
Church, and declare opposition to its decrees treasonable, when it did
not prohibit, but absolutely admitted and invited, provinces and cities
exclusively Catholic to enter the Union, guaranteeing to them entire
liberty of religion?

Barneveld recalled the fact that when the stadholdership of Utrecht
thirty years before had been conferred on Prince Maurice the States of
that province had solemnly reserved for themselves the disposition over
religious matters in conformity with the Union, and that Maurice had
sworn to support that resolution.

Five years later the Prince had himself assured a deputation from Brabant
that the States of each province were supreme in religious matters, no
interference the one with the other being justifiable or possible. In
1602 the States General in letters addressed to the States of the
obedient provinces under dominion of the Archdukes had invited them to
take up arms to help drive the Spaniards from the Provinces and to join
the Confederacy, assuring them that they should regulate the matter of
religion at their good pleasure, and that no one else should be allowed
to interfere therewith.

The Advocate then went into an historical and critical disquisition, into
which we certainly have no need to follow him, rapidly examining the
whole subject of predestination and conditional and unconditional
damnation from the days of St. Augustine downward, showing a thorough
familiarity with a subject of theology which then made up so much of the
daily business of life, political and private, and lay at the bottom of
the terrible convulsion then existing in the Netherlands. We turn from it
with a shudder, reminding the reader only how persistently the statesman
then on his trial had advocated conciliation, moderation, and kindness
between brethren of the Reformed Church who were not able to think alike
on one of the subtlest and most mysterious problems that casuistry has
ever propounded.

For fifty years, he said, he had been an enemy of all compulsion of the
human conscience. He had always opposed rigorous ecclesiastical decrees.
He had done his best to further, and did not deny having inspired, the
advice given in the famous letters from the King of Great Britain to the
States in 1613, that there should be mutual toleration and abstinence
from discussion of disputed doctrines, neither of them essential to
salvation. He thought that neither Calvin nor Beza would have opposed
freedom of opinion on those points. For himself he believed that the
salvation of mankind would be through God's unmerited grace and the
redemption of sins though the Saviour, and that the man who so held and
persevered to the end was predestined to eternal happiness, and that his
children dying before the age of reason were destined not to Hell but to
Heaven. He had thought fifty years long that the passion and sacrifice of
Christ the Saviour were more potent to salvation than God's wrath and the
sin of Adam and Eve to damnation. He had done his best practically to
avert personal bickerings among the clergy. He had been, so far as lay in
his power, as friendly to Remonstrants as to Contra-Remonstrants, to
Polyander and Festus Hommius as to Uytenbogaert and Episcopius. He had
almost finished a negotiation with Councillor Kromhout for the peaceable
delivery of the Cloister Church on the Thursday preceding the Sunday on
which it had been forcibly seized by the Contra-Remonstrants.

When asked by one of his judges how he presumed to hope for toleration
between two parties, each of which abhorred the other's opinions, and
likened each other to Turks and devil-worshippers, he replied that he had
always detested and rebuked those mutual revilings by every means in his
power, and would have wished to put down such calumniators of either
persuasion by the civil authority, but the iniquity of the times and the
exasperation of men's humours had prevented him.

Being perpetually goaded by one judge after another as to his
disrespectful conduct towards the King of Great Britain, and asked why
his Majesty had not as good right to give the advice of 1617 as the
recommendation of tolerance in 1613, he scrupulously abstained, as he had
done in all his letters, from saying a disrespectful word as to the
glaring inconsistency between the two communications, or to the hostility
manifested towards himself personally by the British ambassador. He had
always expressed the hope, he said, that the King would adhere to his
original position, but did not dispute his right to change his mind, nor
the good faith which had inspired his later letters. It had been his
object, if possible, to reconcile the two different systems recommended
by his Majesty into one harmonious whole.

His whole aim had been to preserve the public peace as it was the duty of
every magistrate, especially in times of such excitement, to do. He could
never comprehend why the toleration of the Five Points should be a danger
to the Reformed religion. Rather, he thought, it would strengthen the
Church and attract many Lutherans, Baptists, Catholics, and other good
patriots into its pale. He had always opposed the compulsory acceptance
by the people of the special opinions of scribes and doctors. He did not
consider, he said, the difference in doctrine on this disputed point
between the Contra-Remonstrants and Remonstrants as one-tenth the value
of the civil authority and its right to make laws and ordinances
regulating ecclesiastical affairs.

He believed the great bulwark of the independence of the country to be
the Reformed Church, and his efforts had ever been to strengthen that
bulwark by preventing the unnecessary schism which might prove its ruin.
Many questions of property, too, were involved in the question--the
church buildings, lands and pastures belonging to the Counts of Holland
and their successors--the States having always exercised the right of
church patronage--'jus patronatus'--a privilege which, as well as
inherited or purchased advowsons, had been of late flagrantly interfered
with.

He was asked if he had not said that it had never been the intention of
the States-General to carry on the war for this or that religion.

He replied that he had told certain clergymen expressing to him their
opinion that the war had been waged solely for the furtherance of their
especial shade of belief, that in his view the war had been undertaken
for the conservation of the liberties and laws of the land, and of its
good people. Of that freedom the first and foremost point was the true
Christian religion and liberty of conscience and opinion. There must be
religion in the Republic, he had said, but that the war was carried on to
sustain the opinion of one doctor of divinity or another on--differential
points was something he had never heard of and could never believe. The
good citizens of the country had as much right to hold by Melancthon as
by Calvin or Beza. He knew that the first proclamations in regard to the
war declared it to be undertaken for freedom of conscience, and so to
his, own knowledge it had been always carried on.

He was asked if he had not promised during the Truce negotiations so to
direct matters that the Catholics with time might obtain public exercise
of their religion.

He replied that this was a notorious falsehood and calumny, adding that
it ill accorded with the proclamation against the Jesuits drawn up by
himself some years after the Truce. He furthermore stated that it was
chiefly by his direction that the discourse of President Jeannin--urging
on part of the French king that liberty of worship might be granted to
the Papists--was kept secret, copies of it not having been furnished even
to the commissioners of the Provinces.

His indignant denial of this charge, especially taken in connection with
his repeated assertions during the trial, that among the most patriotic
Netherlanders during and since the war were many adherents of the ancient
church, seems marvellously in contradiction with his frequent and most
earnest pleas for liberty of conscience. But it did not appear
contradictory even to his judges nor to any contemporary. His position
had always been that the civil authority of each province was supreme in
all matters political or ecclesiastical. The States-General, all the
provinces uniting in the vote, had invited the Catholic provinces on more
than one occasion to join the Union, promising that there should be no
interference on the part of any states or individuals with the internal
affairs religious or otherwise of the provinces accepting the invitation.
But it would have been a gross contradiction of his own principle if he
had promised so to direct matters that the Catholics should have public
right of worship in Holland where he knew that the civil authority was
sure to refuse it, or in any of the other six provinces in whose internal
affairs he had no voice whatever. He was opposed to all tyranny over
conscience, he would have done his utmost to prevent inquisition into
opinion, violation of domicile, interference with private worship,
compulsory attendance in Protestant churches of those professing the
Roman creed. This was not attempted. No Catholic was persecuted on
account of his religion. Compared with the practice in other countries
this was a great step in advance. Religious tolerance lay on the road to
religious equality, a condition which had hardly been imagined then and
scarcely exists in Europe even to this day. But among the men in history
whose life and death contributed to the advancement of that blessing, it
would be vain to deny that Barneveld occupies a foremost place.

Moreover, it should be remembered that religious equality then would have
been a most hazardous experiment. So long as Church and State were
blended, it was absolutely essential at that epoch for the preservation
of Protestantism to assign the predominance to the State. Should the
Catholics have obtained religious equality, the probable result would
before long have been religious inequality, supremacy of the Catholics in
the Church, and supremacy of the Church over the State. The fruits of the
forty years' war would have become dust and ashes. It would be mere weak
sentimentalism to doubt--after the bloody history which had just closed
and the awful tragedy, then reopening--that every spark of religious
liberty would have soon been trodden out in the Netherlands. The general
onslaught of the League with Ferdinand, Maximilian of Bavaria, and Philip
of Spain at its head against the distracted, irresolute, and wavering
line of Protestantism across the whole of Europe was just preparing.
Rather a wilderness to reign over than a single heretic, was the war-cry
of the Emperor. The King of Spain, as we have just been reading in his
most secret, ciphered despatches to the Archduke at Brussels, was nursing
sanguine hopes and weaving elaborate schemes for recovering his dominion
over the United Netherlands, and proposing to send an army of Jesuits
thither to break the way to the reconquest. To play into his hands then,
by granting public right of worship to the Papists, would have been in
Barneveld's opinion like giving up Julich and other citadels in the
debatable land to Spain just as the great war between Catholicism and
Protestantism was breaking out. There had been enough of burning and
burying alive in the Netherlands during the century which had closed. It
was not desirable to give a chance for their renewal now.

In regard to the Synod, Barneveld justified his course by a simple
reference to the 13th Article of the Union. Words could not more plainly
prohibit the interference by the States-General with the religious
affairs of any one of the Provinces than had been done by that celebrated
clause. In 1583 there had been an attempt made to amend that article by
insertion of a pledge to maintain the Evangelical, Reformed, religion
solely, but it was never carried out. He disdained to argue so
self-evident a truth, that a confederacy which had admitted and
constantly invited Catholic states to membership, under solemn pledge of
noninterference with their religious affairs, had no right to lay down
formulas for the Reformed Church throughout all the Netherlands. The oath
of stadholder and magistrates in Holland to maintain the Reformed
religion was framed before this unhappy controversy on predestination had
begun, and it was mere arrogant assumption on the part of the
Contra-Remonstrants to claim a monopoly of that religion, and to exclude
the Remonstrants from its folds.

He had steadily done his utmost to assuage those dissensions while
maintaining the laws which he was sworn to support. He had advocated a
provincial synod to be amicably assisted by divines from neighbouring
countries. He had opposed a National Synod unless unanimously voted by
the Seven Provinces, because it would have been an open violation of the
fundamental law of the confederacy, of its whole spirit, and of liberty
of conscience. He admitted that he had himself drawn up a protest on the
part of three provinces (Holland, Utrecht, and Overyssel) against the
decree for the National Synod as a breach of the Union, declaring it to
be therefore null and void and binding upon no man. He had dictated the
protest as oldest member present, while Grotius as the youngest had acted
as scribe. He would have supported the Synod if legally voted, but would
have preferred the convocation, under the authority of all the provinces,
of a general, not a national, synod, in which, besides clergy and laymen
from the Netherlands, deputations from all Protestant states and churches
should take part; a kind of Protestant oecumenical council.

As to the enlistment, by the States of a province, of soldiers to keep
the peace and suppress tumults in its cities during times of political
and religious excitement, it was the most ordinary of occurrences. In his
experience of more than forty years he had never heard the right even
questioned. It was pure ignorance of law and history to find it a
novelty.

To hire temporarily a sufficient number of professional soldiers, he
considered a more wholesome means of keeping the peace than to enlist one
portion of the citizens of a town against another portion, when party and
religious spirit was running high. His experience had taught him that the
mutual hatred of the inhabitants, thus inflamed, became more lasting and
mischievous than the resentment caused through suppression of disorder by
an armed and paid police of strangers.

It was not only the right but the most solemn duty of the civil authority
to preserve the tranquillity, property, and lives of citizens committed
to their care. "I have said these fifty years," said Barneveld, "that it
is better to be governed by magistrates than mobs. I have always
maintained and still maintain that the most disastrous, shameful, and
ruinous condition into which this land can fall is that in which the
magistrates are overcome by the rabble of the towns and receive laws from
them. Nothing but perdition can follow from that."

There had been good reason to believe that the French garrisons as well
as some of the train bands could not be thoroughly relied upon in
emergencies like those constantly breaking out, and there had been
advices of invasion by sympathizers from neighbouring countries. In many
great cities the civil authority had been trampled upon and mob rule had
prevailed. Certainly the recent example in the great commercial capital
of the country--where the house of a foremost citizen had been besieged,
stormed, and sacked, and a virtuous matron of the higher class hunted
like a wild beast through the streets by a rabble grossly ignorant of the
very nature of the religious quibble which had driven them mad, pelted
with stones, branded with vilest names, and only saved by accident from
assassination, while a church-going multitude looked calmly on--with
constantly recurring instances in other important cities were sufficient
reasons for the authorities to be watchful.

He denied that he had initiated the proceedings at Utrecht in
conversation with Ledenberg or any one else, but he had not refused, he
said, his approval of the perfectly legal measures adopted for keeping
the peace there when submitted to him. He was himself a born citizen of
that province, and therefore especially interested in its welfare, and
there was an old and intimate friendship between Utrecht and Holland. It
would have been painful to him to see that splendid city in the control
of an ignorant mob, making use of religious problems, which they did not
comprehend, to plunder the property and take the lives of peaceful
citizens more comfortably housed than themselves.

He had neither suggested nor controlled the proceedings at Utrecht. On
the contrary, at an interview with the Prince and Count William on the
13th July, and in the presence of nearly thirty members of the general
assembly, he had submitted a plan for cashiering the enlisted soldiery
and substituting for them other troops, native-born, who should be sworn
in the usual form to obey the laws of the Union. The deputation from
Holland to Utrecht, according to his personal knowledge, had received no
instructions personal or oral to authorize active steps by the troops of
the Holland quota, but to abstain from them and to request the Prince
that they should not be used against the will and commands of the States
of Utrecht, whom they were bound by oath to obey so long as they were in
garrison there.

No man knew better than he whether the military oath which was called
new-fangled were a novelty or not, for he had himself, he said, drawn it
up thirty years before at command of the States-General by whom it was
then ordained. From that day to this he had never heard a pretence that
it justified anything not expressly sanctioned by the Articles of Union,
and neither the States of Holland nor those of Utrecht had made any
change in the oath. The States of Utrecht were sovereign within their own
territory, and in the time of peace neither the Prince of Orange without
their order nor the States-General had the right to command the troops in
their territory. The governor of a province was sworn to obey the laws of
the province and conform to the Articles of the General Union.

He was asked why he wrote the warning letter to Ledenberg, and why he was
so anxious that the letter should be burned; as if that were a deadly
offence.

He said that he could not comprehend why it should be imputed to him as a
crime that he wished in such turbulent times to warn so important a city
as Utrecht, the capital of his native province, against tumults,
disorders, and sudden assaults such as had often happened to her in times
past. As for the postscript requesting that the letter might be put in
the fire, he said that not being a member of, the government of that
province he was simply unwilling to leave a record that "he had been too
curious in aliens republics, although that could hardly be considered a
grave offence."

In regard to the charge that he had accused Prince Maurice of aspiring to
the sovereignty of the country, he had much to say. He had never brought
such accusation in public or private. He had reason to believe
however--he had indeed convincing proofs--that many people, especially
those belonging to the Contra-Remonstrant party, cherished such schemes.
He had never sought to cast suspicion on the Prince himself on account of
those schemes. On the contrary, he had not even formally opposed them.
What he wished had always been that such projects should be discussed
formally, legally, and above board. After the lamentable murder of the
late Prince he had himself recommended to the authorities of some of the
cities that the transaction for bestowing the sovereignty of Holland upon
William, interrupted by his death, "should be completed in favour of
Prince Maurice in despite of the Spaniard." Recently he had requested
Grotius to look up the documents deposited in Rotterdam belonging to this
affair, in order that they might be consulted.

He was asked whether according to Buzenval, the former French ambassador,
Prince Maurice had not declared he would rather fling himself from the
top of the Hague tower than accept the sovereignty. Barneveld replied
that the Prince according to the same authority had added "under the
conditions which had been imposed upon his father;" a clause which
considerably modified the self-denying statement. It was desirable
therefore to search the acts for the limitations annexed to the
sovereignty.

Three years long there had been indications from various sources that a
party wished to change the form of government. He had not heard nor ever
intimated that the Prince suggested such intrigues. In anonymous
pamphlets and common street and tavern conversations the
Contra-Remonstrants were described by those of their own persuasion as
"Prince's Beggars" and the like. He had received from foreign countries
information worthy of attention, that it was the design of the
Contra-Remonstrants to raise the Prince to the sovereignty. He had
therefore in 1616 brought the matter before the nobles and cities in a
communication setting forth to the best of his recollection that under
these religious disputes something else was intended. He had desired ripe
conclusions on the matter, such as should most conduce to the service of
the country. This had been in good faith both to the Prince and the
Provinces, in order that, should a change in the government be thought
desirable, proper and peaceful means might be employed to bring it about.
He had never had any other intention than to sound the inclinations of
those with whom he spoke, and he had many times since that period, by
word of mouth and in writing, so lately as the month of April last
assured the Prince that he had ever been his sincere and faithful servant
and meant to remain so to the end of his life, desiring therefore that he
would explain to him his wishes and intentions.

Subsequently he had publicly proposed in full Assembly of Holland that
the States should ripely deliberate and roundly declare if they were
discontented with the form of government, and if so, what change they
would desire. He had assured their Mightinesses that they might rely upon
him to assist in carrying out their intentions whatever they might be. He
had inferred however from the Prince's intimations, when he had broached
the subject to him in 1617, that he was not inclined towards these
supposed projects, and had heard that opinion distinctly expressed from
the mouth of Count William.

That the Contra-Remonstrants secretly entertained these schemes, he had
been advised from many quarters, at home and abroad. In the year 1618 he
had received information to that effect from France. Certain confidential
counsellors of the Prince had been with him recently to confer on the
subject. He had told them that, if his Excellency chose to speak to him
in regard to it, would listen to his reasoning about it, both as regarded
the interests of the country and the Prince himself, and then should
desire him to propose and advocate it before the Assembly, he would do so
with earnestness, zeal, and affection. He had desired however that, in
case the attempt failed, the Prince would allow him to be relieved from
service and to leave the country. What he wished from the bottom of his
heart was that his Excellency would plainly discover to him the exact
nature of his sentiments in regard to the business.

He fully admitted receiving a secret letter from Ambassador Langerac,
apprising him that a man of quality in France had information of the
intention of the Contra-Remonstrants throughout the Provinces, should
they come into power, to raise Prince Maurice to the sovereignty. He had
communicated on the subject with Grotius and other deputies in order
that, if this should prove to be the general inclination, the affair
might be handled according to law, without confusion or disorder. This,
he said, would be serving both the country and the Prince most
judiciously.

He was asked why he had not communicated directly with Maurice. He
replied that he had already seen how unwillingly the Prince heard him
allude to the subject, and that moreover there was another clause in the
letter of different meaning, and in his view worthy of grave
consideration by the States.

No question was asked him as to this clause, but we have seen that it
referred to the communication by du Agean to Langerac of a scheme for
bestowing the sovereignty of the Provinces on the King of France. The
reader will also recollect that Barneveld had advised the Ambassador to
communicate the whole intelligence to the Prince himself.

Barneveld proceeded to inform the judges that he had never said a word to
cast suspicion upon the Prince, but had been actuated solely by the
desire to find out the inclination of the States. The communications
which he had made on the subject were neither for discrediting the Prince
nor for counteracting the schemes for his advancement. On the contrary,
he had conferred with deputies from great cities like Dordtrecht,
Enkhuyzen, and Amsterdam, most devoted to the Contra-Remonstrant party,
and had told them that, if they chose to propose the subject themselves,
he would conduct himself to the best of his abilities in accordance with
the wishes of the Prince.

It would seem almost impossible for a statesman placed in Barneveld's
position to bear himself with more perfect loyalty both to the country
and to the Stadholder. His duty was to maintain the constitution and laws
so long as they remained unchanged. Should it appear that the States,
which legally represented the country, found the constitution defective,
he was ready to aid in its amendment by fair public and legal methods.

If Maurice wished to propose himself openly as a candidate for the
sovereignty, which had a generation before been conferred upon his
father, Barneveld would not only acquiesce in the scheme, but propose it.

Should it fail, he claimed the light to lay down all his offices and go
into exile.

He had never said that the Prince was intriguing for, or even desired,
the sovereignty. That the project existed among the party most opposed to
himself, he had sufficient proof. To the leaders of that party therefore
he suggested that the subject should be publicly discussed, guaranteeing
freedom of debate and his loyal support so far as lay within his power.

This was his answer to the accusation that he had meanly, secretly, and
falsely circulated statements that the Prince was aspiring to the
sovereignty.

   [Great pains were taken, in the course of the interrogatories, to
   elicit proof that the Advocate had concealed important diplomatic
   information from the Prince. He was asked why, in his secret
   instructions to Ambassador Langerac, he ordered him by an express
   article to be very cautious about making communications to the
   Prince. Searching questions were put in regard to these secret
   instructions, which I have read in the Archives, and a copy of which
   now lies before me. They are in the form of questions, some of them
   almost puerile ones, addressed to Barneveld by the Ambassador then
   just departing on his mission to France in 1614, with the answers
   written in the margin by the Advocate. The following is all that
   has reference to the Prince:
   "Of what matters may I ordinarily write to his Excellency?"
   Answer--"Of all great and important matters."
   It was difficult to find much that was treasonable in that.]

Among the heterogeneous articles of accusation he was asked why he had
given no attention to those who had so, frequently proposed the formation
of the West India Company.

He replied that it had from old time been the opinion of the States of
Holland, and always his own, that special and private licenses for
traffic, navigation, and foreign commerce, were prejudicial to the
welfare of the land. He had always been most earnestly opposed to them,
detesting monopolies which interfered with that free trade and navigation
which should be common to all mankind. He had taken great pains however
in the years 1596 and 1597 to study the nature of the navigation and
trade to the East Indies in regard to the nations to be dealt with in
those regions, the nature of the wares bought and sold there, the
opposition to be encountered from the Spaniards and Portuguese against
the commerce of the Netherlanders, and the necessity of equipping vessels
both for traffic and defence, and had come to the conclusion that these
matters could best be directed by a general company. He explained in
detail the manner in which he had procured the blending of all the
isolated chambers into one great East India Corporation, the enormous
pains which it had cost him to bring it about, and the great commercial
and national success which had been the result. The Admiral of Aragon,
when a prisoner after the battle of Nieuwpoort, had told him, he said,
that the union of these petty corporations into one great whole had been
as disastrous a blow to the kingdoms of Spain and Portugal as the Union
of the Provinces at Utrecht had been. In regard to the West India
Company, its sole object, so far as he could comprehend it, had been to
equip armed vessels, not for trade but to capture and plunder Spanish
merchantmen and silver fleets in the West Indies and South America. This
was an advantageous war measure which he had favoured while the war
lasted. It was in no sense a commercial scheme however, and when the
Truce had been made--the company not having come into existence--he
failed to comprehend how its formation could be profitable for the
Netherlanders. On the contrary it would expressly invite or irritate the
Spaniards into a resumption of the war, an object which in his humble
opinion was not at all desirable.

Certainly these ideas were not especially reprehensible, but had they
been as shallow and despicable as they seem to us enlightened, it is
passing strange that they should have furnished matter for a criminal
prosecution.

It was doubtless a disappointment for the promoters of the company, the
chief of whom was a bankrupt, to fail in obtaining their charter, but it
was scarcely high-treason to oppose it. There is no doubt however that
the disapprobation with which Barneveld regarded the West India Company,
the seat of which was at Amsterdam, was a leading cause of the deadly
hostility entertained for him by the great commercial metropolis.

It was bad enough for the Advocate to oppose unconditional predestination
and the damnation of infants, but to frustrate a magnificent system of
privateering on the Spaniards in time of truce was an unpardonable crime.

The patience with which the venerable statesman submitted to the taunts,
ignorant and insolent cross-questionings, and noisy interruptions of his
judges, was not less remarkable than the tenacity of memory which enabled
him thus day after day, alone, unaided by books, manuscripts, or friendly
counsel, to reconstruct the record of forty years, and to expound the
laws of the land by an array of authorities, instances, and illustrations
in a manner that would be deemed masterly by one who had all the
resources of libraries, documents, witnesses, and secretaries at command.

Only when insidious questions were put tending to impute to him
corruption, venality, and treacherous correspondence with the enemy--for
they never once dared formally to accuse him of treason--did that almost
superhuman patience desert him.

He was questioned as to certain payments made by him to a certain van der
Vecken in Spanish coin. He replied briefly at first that his money
transactions with that man of business extended over a period of twenty
or thirty years, and amounted to many hundred thousands of florins,
growing out of purchases and sales of lands, agricultural enterprises on
his estates, moneys derived from his professional or official business
and the like. It was impossible for him to remember the details of every
especial money payment that might have occurred between them.

Then suddenly breaking forth into a storm of indignation; he could mark
from these questions, he said, that his enemies, not satisfied with
having wounded his heart with their falsehoods, vile forgeries, and
honour-robbing libels, were determined to break it. This he prayed that
God Almighty might avert and righteously judge between him and them.

It was plain that among other things they were alluding to the stale and
senseless story of the sledge filled with baskets of coin sent by the
Spanish envoys on their departure from the Hague, on conclusion of the
Truce, to defray expenses incurred by them for board and lodging of
servants, forage of horses, and the like-which had accidentally stopped
at Barneveld's door and was forthwith sent on to John Spronssen,
superintendent of such affairs. Passing over this wanton bit of calumny
with disgust, he solemnly asserted that he had never at any period of his
life received one penny nor the value of one penny from the King of
Spain, the Archdukes, Spinola, or any other person connected with the
enemy, saving only the presents publicly and mutually conferred according
to invariable custom by the high contracting parties, upon the respective
negotiators at conclusion of the Treaty of Truce. Even these gifts
Barneveld had moved his colleagues not to accept, but proposed that they
should all be paid into the public treasury. He had been overruled, he
said, but that any dispassionate man of tolerable intelligence could
imagine him, whose whole life had been a perpetual offence to Spain, to
be in suspicious relations with that power seemed to him impossible. The
most intense party spirit, yea, envy itself, must confess that he had
been among the foremost to take up arms for his country's liberties, and
had through life never faltered in their defence. And once more in that
mean chamber, and before a row of personal enemies calling themselves
judges, he burst into an eloquent and most justifiable sketch of the
career of one whom there was none else to justify and so many to assail.

From his youth, he said, he had made himself by his honourable and
patriotic deeds hopelessly irreconcilable with the Spaniards. He was one
of the advocates practising in the Supreme Court of Holland, who in the
very teeth of the Duke of Alva had proclaimed him a tyrant and had sworn
obedience to the Prince of Orange as the lawful governor of the land. He
was one of those who in the same year had promoted and attended private
gatherings for the advancement of the Reformed religion. He had helped to
levy, and had contributed to, funds for the national defence in the early
days of the revolt. These were things which led directly to the Council
of Blood and the gibbet. He had borne arms himself on various bloody
fields and had been perpetually a deputy to the rebel camps. He had been
the original mover of the Treaty of Union which was concluded between the
Provinces at Utrecht. He had been the first to propose and to draw up the
declaration of Netherland independence and the abjuration of the King of
Spain. He had been one of those who had drawn and passed the Act
establishing the late Prince of Orange as stadholder. Of the sixty
signers of these memorable declarations none were now living save himself
and two others. When the Prince had been assassinated, he had done his
best to secure for his son Maurice the sovereign position of which murder
had so suddenly deprived the father. He had been member of the memorable
embassies to France and England by which invaluable support for the
struggling Provinces had been obtained.

And thus he rapidly sketched the history of the great war of independence
in which he had ever been conspicuously employed on the patriotic side.
When the late King of France at the close of the century had made peace
with Spain, he had been sent as special ambassador to that monarch, and
had prevailed on him, notwithstanding his treaty with the enemy, to
continue his secret alliance with the States and to promise them a large
subsidy, pledges which had been sacredly fulfilled. It was on that
occasion that Henry, who was his debtor for past services, professional,
official, and perfectly legitimate, had agreed, when his finances should
be in better condition, to discharge his obligations; over and above the
customary diplomatic present which he received publicly in common with
his colleague Admiral Nassau. This promise, fulfilled a dozen years
later, had been one of the senseless charges of corruption brought
against him. He had been one of the negotiators of the Truce in which
Spain had been compelled to treat with her revolted provinces as with
free states and her equals. He had promoted the union of the Protestant
princes and their alliance with France and the United States in
opposition to the designs of Spain and the League. He had organized and
directed the policy by which the forces of England, France, and
Protestant Germany had possessed themselves of the debateable land. He
had resisted every scheme by which it was hoped to force the States from
their hold of those important citadels. He had been one of the foremost
promoters of the East India Company, an organization which the Spaniards
confessed had been as damaging to them as the Union of the Provinces
itself had been.

The idiotic and circumstantial statements, that he had conducted
Burgomaster van Berk through a secret staircase of his house into his
private study for the purpose of informing him that the only way for the
States to get out of the war was to submit themselves once more to their
old masters, so often forced upon him by the judges, he contradicted with
disdain and disgust. He had ever abhorred and dreaded, he said, the House
of Spain, Austria, and Burgundy. His life had passed in open hostility to
that house, as was known to all mankind. His mere personal interests,
apart from higher considerations, would make an approach to the former
sovereign impossible, for besides the deeds he had already alluded to, he
had committed at least twelve distinct and separate acts, each one of
which would be held high-treason by the House of Austria, and he had
learned from childhood that these are things which monarchs never forget.
The tales of van Berk were those of a personal enemy, falsehoods scarcely
worth contradicting.

He was grossly and enormously aggrieved by the illegal constitution of
the commission. He had protested and continued to protest against it. If
that protest were unheeded, he claimed at least that those men should be
excluded from the board and the right to sit in judgment upon his person
and his deeds who had proved themselves by words and works to be his
capital enemies, of which fact he could produce irrefragable evidence. He
claimed that the Supreme Court of Holland, or the High Council, or both
together, should decide upon that point. He held as his personal enemies,
he said, all those who had declared that he, before or since the Truce
down to the day of his arrest, had held correspondence with the
Spaniards, the Archdukes, the Marquis Spinola, or any one on that side,
had received money, money value, or promises of money from them, and in
consequence had done or omitted to do anything whatever. He denounced
such tales as notorious, shameful, and villainous falsehoods, the
utterers and circulators of them as wilful liars, and this he was ready
to maintain in every appropriate way for the vindication of the truth and
his own honour. He declared solemnly before God Almighty to the
States-General and to the States of Holland that his course in the
religious matter had been solely directed to the strengthening of the
Reformed religion and to the political security of the provinces and
cities. He had simply desired that, in the awful and mysterious matter of
predestination, the consciences of many preachers and many thousands of
good citizens might be placed in tranquillity, with moderate and
Christian limitations against all excesses.

From all these reasons, he said, the commissioners, the States-General,
the Prince, and every man in the land could clearly see, and were bound
to see, that he was the same man now that he was at the beginning of the
war, had ever been, and with God's help should ever remain.

The proceedings were kept secret from the public and, as a matter of
course, there had been conflicting rumours from day to day as to the
probable result of these great state trials. In general however it was
thought that the prisoner would be acquitted of the graver charges, or
that at most he would be permanently displaced from all office and
declared incapable thenceforth to serve the State. The triumph of the
Contra-Remonstrants since the Stadholder had placed himself at the head
of them, and the complete metamorphosis of the city governments even in
the strongholds of the Arminian party seemed to render the permanent
political disgrace of the Advocate almost a matter of certainty.

The first step that gave rise to a belief that he might be perhaps more
severely dealt with than had been anticipated was the proclamation by the
States-General of a public fast and humiliation for the 17th April.

In this document it was announced that "Church and State--during several
years past having been brought into great danger of utter destruction
through certain persons in furtherance of their ambitious designs--had
been saved by the convocation of a National Synod; that a lawful sentence
was soon to be expected upon those who had been disturbing the
Commonwealth; that through this sentence general tranquillity would
probably be restored; and that men were now to thank God for this result,
and pray to Him that He would bring the wicked counsels and stratagems of
the enemy against these Provinces to naught."

All the prisoners were asked if they too would like in their chambers of
bondage to participate in the solemnity, although the motive for the
fasting and prayer was not mentioned to them. Each of them in his
separate prison room, of course without communication together, selected
the 7th Psalm and sang it with his servant and door-keeper.

From the date of this fast-day Barneveld looked upon the result of his
trial as likely to be serious.

Many clergymen refused or objected to comply with the terms of this
declaration. Others conformed with it greedily, and preached lengthy
thanksgiving sermons, giving praise to God that, He had confounded the
devices of the ambitious and saved the country from the "blood bath"
which they had been preparing for it.

The friends of Barneveld became alarmed at the sinister language of this
proclamation, in which for the first time allusions had been made to a
forthcoming sentence against the accused.

Especially the staunch and indefatigable du Maurier at once addressed
himself again to the States-General. De Boississe had returned to France,
having found that the government of a country torn, weakened, and
rendered almost impotent by its own internecine factions, was not likely
to exert any very potent influence on the fate of the illustrious
prisoner.

The States had given him to understand that they were wearied with his
perpetual appeals, intercessions, and sermons in behalf of mercy. They
made him feel in short that Lewis XIII. and Henry IV. were two entirely
different personages.

Du Maurier however obtained a hearing before the Assembly on the 1st May,
where he made a powerful and manly speech in presence of the Prince,
urging that the prisoners ought to be discharged unless they could be
convicted of treason, and that the States ought to show as much deference
to his sovereign as they had always done to Elizabeth of England. He made
a personal appeal to Prince Maurice, urging upon him how much it would
redound to his glory if he should now in generous and princely fashion
step forward in behalf of those by whom he deemed himself to have been
personally offended.

His speech fell upon ears hardened against such eloquence and produced no
effect.

Meantime the family of Barneveld, not yet reduced to despair, chose to
take a less gloomy view of the proclamation. Relying on the innocence of
the great statesman, whose aims, in their firm belief, had ever been for
the welfare and glory of his fatherland, and in whose heart there had
never been kindled one spark of treason, they bravely expected his
triumphant release from his long and, as they deemed it, his iniquitous
imprisonment.

On this very 1st of May, in accordance with ancient custom, a may-pole
was erected on the Voorhout before the mansion of the captive statesman,
and wreaths of spring flowers and garlands of evergreen decorated the
walls within which were such braised and bleeding hearts. These
demonstrations of a noble hypocrisy, if such it were, excited the wrath,
not the compassion, of the Stadholder, who thought that the aged matron
and her sons and daughters, who dwelt in that house of mourning, should
rather have sat in sackcloth with ashes on their heads than indulge in
these insolent marks of hope and joyful expectation.

It is certain however that Count William Lewis, who, although most
staunch on the Contra-Remonstrant side, had a veneration for the Advocate
and desired warmly to save him, made a last and strenuous effort for that
purpose.

It was believed then, and it seems almost certain, that, if the friends
of the Advocate had been willing to implore pardon for him, the sentence
would have been remitted or commuted. Their application would have been
successful, for through it his guilt would seem to be acknowledged.

Count William sent for the Fiscal Duyck. He asked him if there were no
means of saving the life of a man who was so old and had done the country
so much service. After long deliberation, it was decided that Prince
Maurice should be approached on the subject. Duyck wished that the Count
himself would speak with his cousin, but was convinced by his reasoning
that it would be better that the Fiscal should do it. Duyck had a long
interview accordingly with Maurice, which was followed by a very secret
one between them both and Count William. The three were locked up
together, three hours long, in the Prince's private cabinet. It was then
decided that Count William should go, as if of his own accord, to the
Princess-Dowager Louise, and induce her to send for some one of
Barneveld's children and urge that the family should ask pardon for him.
She asked if this was done with the knowledge of the Prince of Orange, or
whether he would not take it amiss. The Count eluded the question, but
implored her to follow his advice.

The result was an interview between the Princess and Madame de
Groeneveld, wife of the eldest son. That lady was besought to apply, with
the rest of the Advocate's children, for pardon to the Lords States, but
to act as if it were done of her own impulse, and to keep their interview
profoundly secret.

Madame de Groeneveld took time to consult the other members of the family
and some friends. Soon afterwards she came again to the Princess, and
informed her that she had spoken with the other children, and that they
could not agree to the suggestion. "They would not move one step in
it--no, not if it should cost him his head."

The Princess reported the result of this interview to Count William, at
which both were so distressed that they determined to leave the Hague.

There is something almost superhuman in the sternness of this stoicism.
Yet it lay in the proud and highly tempered character of the
Netherlanders. There can be no doubt that the Advocate would have
expressly dictated this proceeding if he had been consulted. It was
precisely the course adopted by himself. Death rather than life with a
false acknowledgment of guilt and therefore with disgrace. The loss of
his honour would have been an infinitely greater triumph to his enemies
than the loss of his head.

There was no delay in drawing up the sentence. Previously to this
interview with the widow of William the Silent, the family of the
Advocate had presented to the judges three separate documents, rather in
the way of arguments than petitions, undertaking to prove by elaborate
reasoning and citations of precedents and texts of the civil law that the
proceedings against him were wholly illegal, and that he was innocent of
every crime.

No notice had been taken of those appeals.

Upon the questions and answers as already set forth the sentence soon
followed, and it may be as well that the reader should be aware, at this
point in the narrative, of the substance of that sentence so soon to be
pronounced. There had been no indictment, no specification of crime.
There had been no testimony or evidence. There had been no argument for
the prosecution or the defence. There had been no trial whatever. The
prisoner was convicted on a set of questions to which he had put in
satisfactory replies. He was sentenced on a preamble. The sentence was a
string of vague generalities, intolerably long, and as tangled as the
interrogatories. His proceedings during a long career had on the whole
tended to something called a "blood bath"--but the blood bath had never
occurred.

With an effrontery which did not lack ingenuity, Barneveld's defence was
called by the commissioners his confession, and was formally registered
as such in the process and the sentence; while the fact that he had not
been stretched upon the rack during his trial, nor kept in chains for the
eight months of his imprisonment, were complacently mentioned as proofs
of exceptionable indulgence.

"Whereas the prisoner John of Barneveld," said the sentence, "without
being put to the torture and without fetters of iron, has confessed . . .
to having perturbed religion, greatly afflicted the Church of God, and
carried into practice exorbitant and pernicious maxims of State . . .
inculcating by himself and accomplices that each province had the right
to regulate religious affairs within its own territory, and that other
provinces were not to concern themselves therewith"--therefore and for
many other reasons he merited punishment.

He had instigated a protest by vote of three provinces against the
National Synod. He had despised the salutary advice of many princes and
notable personages. He had obtained from the King of Great Britain
certain letters furthering his own opinions, the drafts of which he had
himself suggested, and corrected and sent over to the States' ambassador
in London, and when written out, signed, and addressed by the King to the
States-General, had delivered them without stating how they had been
procured.

Afterwards he had attempted to get other letters of a similar nature from
the King, and not succeeding had defamed his Majesty as being a cause of
the troubles in the Provinces. He had permitted unsound theologians to be
appointed to church offices, and had employed such functionaries in
political affairs as were most likely to be the instruments of his own
purposes. He had not prevented vigorous decrees from being enforced in
several places against those of the true religion. He had made them
odious by calling them Puritans, foreigners, and "Flanderizers," although
the United Provinces had solemnly pledged to each other their lives,
fortunes, and blood by various conventions, to some of which the prisoner
was himself a party, to maintain the Reformed, Evangelical, religion
only, and to, suffer no change in it to be made for evermore.

In order to carry out his design and perturb the political state of the
Provinces he had drawn up and caused to be enacted the Sharp Resolution
of 4th August 1617. He had thus nullified the ordinary course of justice.
He had stimulated the magistrates to disobedience, and advised them to
strengthen themselves with freshly enlisted military companies. He had
suggested new-fangled oaths for the soldiers, authorizing them to refuse
obedience to the States-General and his Excellency. He had especially
stimulated the proceedings at Utrecht. When it was understood that the
Prince was to pass through Utrecht, the States of that province not
without the prisoner's knowledge had addressed a letter to his
Excellency, requesting him not to pass through their city. He had written
a letter to Ledenberg suggesting that good watch should be held at the
town gates and up and down the river Lek. He had desired that Ledenberg
having read that letter should burn it. He had interfered with the
cashiering of the mercenaries at Utrecht. He had said that such
cashiering without the consent of the States of that province was an act
of force which would justify resistance by force.

Although those States had sent commissioners to concert measures with the
Prince for that purpose, he had advised them to conceal their
instructions until his own plan for the disbandment could be carried out.
At a secret meeting in the house of Tresel, clerk of the States-General,
between Grotius, Hoogerbeets, and other accomplices, it was decided that
this advice should be taken. Report accordingly was made to the prisoner.
He had advised them to continue in their opposition to the National
Synod.

He had sought to calumniate and blacken his Excellency by saying that he
aspired to the sovereignty of the Provinces. He had received intelligence
on that subject from abroad in ciphered letters.

He had of his own accord rejected a certain proposed, notable alliance of
the utmost importance to this Republic.

   [This refers, I think without doubt, to the conversation between
   King James and Caron at the end of the year 1815.]

He had received from foreign potentates various large sums of money and
other presents.

All "these proceedings tended to put the city of Utrecht into a
blood-bath, and likewise to bring the whole country, and the person of
his Excellency into the uttermost danger."

This is the substance of the sentence, amplified by repetitions and
exasperating tautology into thirty or forty pages.

It will have been perceived by our analysis of Barneveld's answers to the
commissioners that all the graver charges which he was now said to have
confessed had been indignantly denied by him or triumphantly justified.

It will also be observed that he was condemned for no categorical
crime--lese-majesty, treason, or rebellion. The commissioners never
ventured to assert that the States-General were sovereign, or that the
central government had a right to prescribe a religious formulary for all
the United Provinces. They never dared to say that the prisoner had been
in communication with the enemy or had received bribes from him.

Of insinuation and implication there was much, of assertion very little,
of demonstration nothing whatever.

But supposing that all the charges had been admitted or proved, what
course would naturally be taken in consequence? How was a statesman who
adhered to the political, constitutional, and religious opinions on which
he had acted, with the general acquiescence, during a career of more than
forty years, but which were said to be no longer in accordance with
public opinion, to be dealt with? Would the commissioners request him to
retire honourably from the high functions which he had over and over
again offered to resign? Would they consider that, having fairly
impeached and found him guilty of disturbing the public peace by
continuing to act on his well-known legal theories, they might deprive
him summarily of power and declare him incapable of holding office again?

The conclusion of the commissioners was somewhat more severe than either
of these measures. Their long rambling preamble ended with these decisive
words:

"Therefore the judges, in name of the Lords States-General, condemn the
prisoner to be taken to the Binnenhof, there to be executed with the
sword that death may follow, and they declare all his property
confiscated."

The execution was to take place so soon as the sentence had been read to
the prisoner.

After the 1st of May Barneveld had not appeared before his judges. He had
been examined in all about sixty times.

In the beginning of May his servant became impatient. "You must not be
impatient," said his master. "The time seems much longer because we get
no news now from the outside. But the end will soon come. This delay
cannot last for ever."

Intimation reached him on Saturday the 11th May that the sentence was
ready and would soon be pronounced.

"It is a bitter folk," said Barneveld as he went to bed. "I have nothing
good to expect of them." Next day was occupied in sewing up and
concealing his papers, including a long account of his examination, with
the questions and answers, in his Spanish arm-chair. Next day van der
Meulen said to the servant, "I will bet you a hundred florins that you'll
not be here next Thursday."

The faithful John was delighted, not dreaming of the impending result.

It was Sunday afternoon, 12th May, and about half past five o'clock.
Barneveld sat in his prison chamber, occupied as usual in writing,
reviewing the history of the past, and doing his best to reduce into
something like order the rambling and miscellaneous interrogatories, out
of which his trial had been concocted, while the points dwelt in his
memory, and to draw up a concluding argument in his own defence. Work
which according to any equitable, reasonable, or even decent procedure
should have been entrusted to the first lawyers of the country--preparing
the case upon the law and the facts with the documents before them, with
the power of cross-questioning witnesses and sifting evidence, and
enlightened by constant conferences with the illustrious prisoner
himself--came entirely upon his own shoulders, enfeebled as he was by
age, physical illness, and by the exhaustion of along imprisonment.
Without books, notes of evidence, or even copies of the charges of which
he stood accused, he was obliged to draw up his counter-arguments against
the impeachment and then by aid of a faithful valet to conceal his
manuscript behind the tapestry of the chamber, or cause them to be sewed
up in the lining of his easy-chair, lest they should be taken from him by
order of the judges who sat in the chamber below.

While he was thus occupied in preparations for his next encounter with
the tribunal, the door opened, and three gentlemen entered. Two were the
prosecuting officers of the government, Fiscal Sylla and Fiscal van
Leeuwen. The other was the provost-marshal, Carel de Nijs. The servant
was directed to leave the room.

Barneveld had stepped into his dressing-room on hearing footsteps, but
came out again with his long furred gown about him as the three entered.
He greeted them courteously and remained standing, with his hands placed
on the back of his chair and with one knee resting carelessly against the
arm of it. Van Leeuwen asked him if he would not rather be seated, as
they brought a communication from the judges. He answered in the
negative. Von Leeuwen then informed him that he was summoned to appear
before the judges the next morning to hear his sentence of death.

"The sentence of death!" he exclaimed, without in the least changing his
position; "the sentence of death! the sentence of death!" saying the
words over thrice, with an air of astonishment rather than of horror. "I
never expected that! I thought they were going to hear my defence again.
I had intended to make some change in my previous statements, having set
some things down when beside myself with choler."

He then made reference to his long services. Van Leeuwen expressed
himself as well acquainted with them. "He was sorry," he said, "that his
lordship took this message ill of him."

"I do not take it ill of you," said Barneveld, "but let them," meaning
the judges, "see how they will answer it before God. Are they thus to
deal with a true patriot? Let me have pen, ink, and paper, that for the
last time I may write farewell to my wife."

"I will go ask permission of the judges," said van Leenwen, "and I cannot
think that my lord's request will be refused."

While van Leeuwen was absent, the Advocate exclaimed, looking at the
other legal officer:

"Oh, Sylla, Sylla, if your father could only have seen to what uses they
would put you!"

Sylla was silent.

Permission to write the letter was soon received from de Voogt, president
of the commission. Pen, ink, and paper were brought, and the prisoner
calmly sat down to write, without the slightest trace of discomposure
upon his countenance or in any of his movements.

While he was writing, Sylla said with some authority, "Beware, my lord,
what you write, lest you put down something which may furnish cause for
not delivering the letter."

Barneveld paused in his writing, took the glasses from his eyes, and
looked Sylla in the face.

"Well, Sylla," he said very calmly, "will you in these my last moments
lay down the law to me as to what I shall write to my wife?"

He then added with a half-smile, "Well, what is expected of me?"

"We have no commission whatever to lay down the law," said van Leeuwen.
"Your worship will write whatever you like."

While he was writing, Anthony Walaeus came in, a preacher and professor
of Middelburg, a deputy to the Synod of Dordtrecht, a learned and amiable
man, sent by the States-General to minister to the prisoner on this
supreme occasion; and not unworthy to be thus selected.

The Advocate, not knowing him, asked him why he came.

"I am not here without commission," said the clergyman. "I come to
console my lord in his tribulation."

"I am a man," said Barneveld; "have come to my present age, and I know
how to console myself. I must write, and have now other things to do."

The preacher said that he would withdraw and return when his worship was
at leisure.

"Do as you like," said the Advocate, calmly going on with his writing.

When the letter was finished, it was sent to the judges for their
inspection, by whom it was at once forwarded to the family mansion in the
Voorhout, hardly a stone's throw from the prison chamber.

Thus it ran:

"Very dearly beloved wife, children, sons-in-law, and grandchildren, I
greet you altogether most affectionately. I receive at this moment the
very heavy and sorrowful tidings that I, an old man, for all my services
done well and faithfully to the Fatherland for so many years (after
having performed all respectful and friendly offices to his Excellency
the Prince with upright affection so far as my official duty and vocation
would permit, shown friendship to many people of all sorts, and wittingly
injured no man), must prepare myself to die to-morrow.

"I console myself in God the Lord, who knows all hearts, and who will
judge all men. I beg you all together to do the same. I have steadily and
faithfully served My Lords the States of Holland and their nobles and
cities. To the States of Utrecht as sovereigns of my own Fatherland I
have imparted at their request upright and faithful counsel, in order to
save them from tumults of the populace, and from the bloodshed with which
they had so long been threatened. I had the same views for the cities of
Holland in order that every one might be protected and no one injured.

"Live together in love and peace. Pray for me to Almighty God, who will
graciously hold us all in His holy keeping.

"From my chamber of sorrow, the 12th May 1619.

"Your very dear husband, father, father-in-law, and grandfather,

                  "JOHN OF BARNEVELD."

It was thought strange that the judges should permit so simple and clear
a statement, an argument in itself, to be forwarded. The theory of his
condemnation was to rest before the public on his confessions of guilt,
and here in the instant of learning the nature of the sentence in a few
hours to be pronounced upon him he had in a few telling periods declared
his entire innocence. Nevertheless the letter had been sent at once to
its address.

So soon as this sad business had been disposed of, Anthony Walaeus
returned. The Advocate apologized to the preacher for his somewhat abrupt
greeting on his first appearance. He was much occupied and did not know
him, he said, although he had often heard of him. He begged him, as well
as the provost-marshal, to join him at supper, which was soon brought.

Barneveld ate with his usual appetite, conversed cheerfully on various
topics, and pledged the health of each of his guests in a glass of beer.
Contrary to his wont he drank at that repast no wine. After supper he
went out into the little ante-chamber and called his servant, asking him
how he had been faring. Now John Franken had just heard with grief
unspeakable the melancholy news of his master's condemnation from two
soldiers of the guard, who had been sent by the judges to keep additional
watch over the prisoner. He was however as great a stoic as his master,
and with no outward and superfluous manifestations of woe had simply
implored the captain-at-arms, van der Meulen, to intercede with the
judges that he might be allowed to stay with his lord to the last.
Meantime he had been expressly informed that he was to say nothing to the
Advocate in secret, and that his master was not to speak to him in a low
tone nor whisper in his ear.

When the Advocate came out into the ante-chamber and looking over his
shoulder saw the two soldiers he at once lowered his voice.

"Hush-speak low," he whispered; "this is too cruel." John then informed
him of van der Meulen's orders, and that the soldiers had also been
instructed to look to it sharply that no word was exchanged between
master and man except in a loud voice.

"Is it possible," said the Advocate, "that so close an inspection is held
over me in these last hours? Can I not speak a word or two in freedom?
This is a needless mark of disrespect."

The soldiers begged him not to take their conduct amiss as they were
obliged strictly to obey orders.

He returned to his chamber, sat down in his chair, and begged Walaeus to
go on his behalf to Prince Maurice.

"Tell his Excellency," said he, "that I have always served him with
upright affection so far as my office, duties, and principles permitted.
If I, in the discharge of my oath and official functions, have ever done
anything contrary to his views, I hope that he will forgive it, and that
he will hold my children in his gracious favour."

It was then ten o'clock. The preacher went downstairs and crossed the
courtyard to the Stadholder's apartments, where he at once gained
admittance.

Maurice heard the message with tears in his eyes, assuring Walaeus that
he felt deeply for the Advocate's misfortunes. He had always had much
affection for him, he said, and had often warned him against his mistaken
courses. Two things, however, had always excited his indignation. One was
that Barneveld had accused him of aspiring to sovereignty. The other that
he had placed him in such danger at Utrecht. Yet he forgave him all. As
regarded his sons, so long as they behaved themselves well they might
rely on his favour.

As Walaeus was about to leave the apartment, the Prince called him back.

"Did he say anything of a pardon?" he asked, with some eagerness.

"My Lord," answered the clergyman, "I cannot with truth say that I
understood him to make any allusion to it."

Walaeus returned immediately to the prison chamber and made his report of
the interview. He was unwilling however to state the particulars of the
offence which Maurice declared himself to have taken at the acts of the
Advocate.

But as the prisoner insisted upon knowing, the clergyman repeated the
whole conversation.

"His Excellency has been deceived in regard to the Utrecht business,"
said Barneveld, "especially as to one point. But it is true that I had
fear and apprehension that he aspired to the sovereignty or to more
authority in the country. Ever since the year 1600 I have felt this fear
and have tried that these apprehensions might be rightly understood."

While Walaeus had been absent, the Reverend Jean la Motte (or Lamotius)
and another clergyman of the Hague had come to the prisoner's apartment.
La Motte could not look upon the Advocate's face without weeping, but the
others were more collected. Conversation now ensued among the four; the
preachers wishing to turn the doomed statesman's thought to the
consolations of religion.

But it was characteristic of the old lawyer's frame of mind that even now
he looked at the tragical position in which he found himself from a
constitutional and controversial point of view. He was perfectly calm and
undaunted at the awful fate so suddenly and unexpectedly opened before
his eyes, but he was indignant at what he esteemed the ignorance,
injustice, and stupidity of the sentence to be pronounced against him.

"I am ready enough to die," he said to the three clergymen, "but I cannot
comprehend why I am to die. I have done nothing except in obedience to
the laws and privileges of the land and according to my oath, honour, and
conscience."

"These judges," he continued, "come in a time when other maxims prevail
in the State than those of my day. They have no right therefore to sit in
judgment upon me."

The clergymen replied that the twenty-four judges who had tried the case
were no children and were conscientious men; that it was no small thing
to condemn a man, and that they would have to answer it before the
Supreme Judge of all.

"I console myself," he answered, "in the Lord my God, who knows all
hearts and shall judge all men. God is just.

"They have not dealt with me," he continued, "as according to law and
justice they were bound to deal. They have taken away from me my own
sovereign lords and masters and deposed them. To them alone I was
responsible. In their place they have put many of my enemies who were
never before in the government, and almost all of whom are young men who
have not seen much or read much. I have seen and read much, and know that
from such examples no good can follow. After my death they will learn for
the first time what governing means."

"The twenty-four judges are nearly all of them my enemies. What they have
reproached me with, I have been obliged to hear. I have appealed against
these judges, but it has been of no avail. They have examined me in
piecemeal, not in statesmanlike fashion. The proceedings against me have
been much too hard. I have frequently requested to see the notes of my
examination as it proceeded, and to confer upon it with aid and counsel
of friends, as would be the case in all lands governed by law. The
request was refused. During this long and wearisome affliction and misery
I have not once been allowed to speak to my wife and children. These are
indecent proceedings against a man seventy-two years of age, who has
served his country faithfully for three-and-forty years. I bore arms with
the volunteers at my own charges at the siege of Haarlem and barely
escaped with life."

It was not unnatural that the aged statesman's thoughts should revert in
this supreme moment to the heroic scenes in which he had been an actor
almost a half-century before. He could not but think with bitterness of
those long past but never forgotten days when he, with other patriotic
youths, had faced the terrible legions of Alva in defence of the
Fatherland, at a time when the men who were now dooming him to a
traitor's death were unborn, and who, but for his labours, courage,
wisdom, and sacrifices, might have never had a Fatherland to serve, or a
judgment-seat on which to pronounce his condemnation.

Not in a spirit of fretfulness, but with disdainful calm, he criticised
and censured the proceedings against himself as a violation of the laws
of the land and of the first principles of justice, discussing them as
lucidly and steadily as if they had been against a third person.

The preachers listened, but had nothing to say. They knew not of such
matters, they said, and had no instructions to speak of them. They had
been sent to call him to repentance for his open and hidden sins and to
offer the consolations of religion.

"I know that very well," he said, "but I too have something to say
notwithstanding." The conversation then turned upon religious topics, and
the preachers spoke of predestination.

"I have never been able to believe in the matter of high predestination,"
said the Advocate. "I have left it in the hands of God the Lord. I hold
that a good Christian man must believe that he through God's grace and by
the expiation of his sin through our Redeemer Jesus Christ is predestined
to be saved, and that this belief in his salvation, founded alone on
God's grace and the merits of our Redeemer Jesus Christ, comes to him
through the same grace of God. And if he falls into great sins, his firm
hope and confidence must be that the Lord God will not allow him to
continue in them, but that, through prayer for grace and repentance, he
will be converted from evil and remain in the faith to the end of his
life."

These feelings, he said, he had expressed fifty-two years before to three
eminent professors of theology in whom he confided, and they had assured
him that he might tranquilly continue in such belief without examining
further. "And this has always been my creed," he said.

The preachers replied that faith is a gift of God and not given to all
men, that it must be given out of heaven to a man before he could be
saved. Hereupon they began to dispute, and the Advocate spoke so
earnestly and well that the clergymen were astonished and sat for a time
listening to him in silence.

He asked afterwards about the Synod, and was informed that its decrees
had not yet been promulgated, but that the Remonstrants had been
condemned.

"It is a pity," said he. "One is trying to act on the old Papal system,
but it will never do. Things have gone too far. As to the Synod, if My
Lords the States of Holland had been heeded there would have been first a
provincial synod and then a national one."--"But," he added, looking the
preachers in the face, "had you been more gentle with each other, matters
would not have taken so high a turn. But you have been too fierce one
against the other, too full of bitter party spirit."

They replied that it was impossible for them to act against their
conscience and the supreme authority. And then they asked him if there
was nothing that troubled him in, his conscience in the matters for which
he must die; nothing for which he repented and sorrowed, and for which he
would call upon God for mercy.

"This I know well," he said, "that I have never willingly done wrong to
any man. People have been ransacking my letters to Caron--confidential
ones written several years ago to an old friend when I was troubled and
seeking for counsel and consolation. It is hard that matter of
impeachment against me to-day should be sought for thus."

And then he fell into political discourse again on the subject of the
Waartgelders and the State rights, and the villainous pasquils and libels
that had circulated so long through the country.

"I have sometimes spoken hastily, I confess," he said; "but that was when
I was stung by the daily swarm of infamous and loathsome pamphlets,
especially those directed against my sovereign masters the States of
Holland. That I could not bear. Old men cannot well brush such things
aside. All that was directly aimed at me in particular I endeavoured to
overcome with such patience as I could muster. The disunion and mutual
enmity in the country have wounded me to the heart. I have made use of
all means in my power to accommodate matters, to effect with all
gentleness a mutual reconciliation. I have always felt a fear lest the
enemy should make use of our internal dissensions to strike a blow
against us. I can say with perfect truth that ever since the year '77 I
have been as resolutely and unchangeably opposed to the Spaniards and
their adherents, and their pretensions over these Provinces, as any man
in the world, no one excepted, and as ready to sacrifice property and
shed my blood in defence of the Fatherland. I have been so devoted to the
service of the country that I have not been able to take the necessary
care of my own private affairs."

So spoke the great statesman in the seclusion of his prison, in the
presence of those clergymen whom he respected, at a supreme moment, when,
if ever, a man might be expected to tell the truth. And his whole life
which belonged to history, and had been passed on the world's stage
before the eyes of two generations of spectators, was a demonstration of
the truth of his words.

But Burgomaster van Berk knew better. Had he not informed the twenty-four
commissioners that, twelve years before, the Advocate wished to subject
the country to Spain, and that Spinola had drawn a bill of exchange for
100,000 ducats as a compensation for his efforts?

It was eleven o'clock. Barneveld requested one of the brethren to say an
evening prayer. This was done by La Motte, and they were then requested
to return by three or four o'clock next morning. They had been directed,
they said, to remain with him all night. "That is unnecessary," said the
Advocate, and they retired.

His servant then helped his master to undress, and he went to bed as
usual. Taking off his signet-ring, he gave it to John Franken.

"For my eldest son," he said.

The valet sat down at the head of his bed in order that his master might
speak to him before he slept. But the soldiers ordered him away and
compelled him to sit in a distant part of the room.

An hour after midnight, the Advocate having been unable to lose himself,
his servant observed that Isaac, one of the soldiers, was fast asleep. He
begged the other, Tilman Schenk by name, to permit him some private words
with his master. He had probably last messages, he thought, to send to
his wife and children, and the eldest son, M. de Groeneveld, would no
doubt reward him well for it. But the soldier was obstinate in obedience
to the orders of the judges.

Barneveld, finding it impossible to sleep, asked his servant to read to
him from the Prayer-book. The soldier called in a clergyman however,
another one named Hugo Bayerus, who had been sent to the prison, and who
now read to him the Consolations of the Sick. As he read, he made
exhortations and expositions, which led to animated discussion, in which
the Advocate expressed himself with so much fervour and eloquence that
all present were astonished, and the preacher sat mute a half-hour long
at the bed-side.

"Had there been ten clergymen," said the simple-hearted sentry to the
valet, "your master would have enough to say to all of them."

Barneveld asked where the place had been prepared in which he was to die.

"In front of the great hall, as I understand," said Bayerus, "but I don't
know the localities well, having lived here but little."

"Have you heard whether my Grotius is to die, and Hoogerbeets also?" he
asked?

"I have heard nothing to that effect," replied the clergyman.

"I should most deeply grieve for those two gentlemen," said Barneveld,
"were that the case. They may yet live to do the land great service. That
great rising light, de Groot, is still young, but a very wise and learned
gentleman, devoted to his Fatherland with all zeal, heart, and soul, and
ready to stand up for her privileges, laws, and rights. As for me, I am
an old and worn-out man. I can do no more. I have already done more than
I was really able to do. I have worked so zealously in public matters
that I have neglected my private business. I had expressly ordered my
house at Loosduinen" [a villa by the seaside] "to be got ready, that I
might establish myself there and put my affairs in order. I have
repeatedly asked the States of Holland for my discharge, but could never
obtain it. It seems that the Almighty had otherwise disposed of me."

He then said he would try once more if he could sleep. The clergyman and
the servant withdrew for an hour, but his attempt was unsuccessful. After
an hour he called for his French Psalm Book and read in it for some time.
Sometime after two o'clock the clergymen came in again and conversed with
him. They asked him if he had slept, if he hoped to meet Christ, and if
there was anything that troubled his conscience.

"I have not slept, but am perfectly tranquil," he replied. "I am ready to
die, but cannot comprehend why I must die. I wish from my heart that,
through my death and my blood, all disunion and discord in this land may
cease."

He bade them carry his last greetings to his fellow prisoners. "Say
farewell for me to my good Grotius," said he, "and tell him that I must
die."

The clergymen then left him, intending to return between five and six
o'clock.

He remained quiet for a little while and then ordered his valet to cut
open the front of his shirt. When this was done, he said, "John, are you
to stay by me to the last?"

"Yes," he replied, "if the judges permit it."

"Remind me to send one of the clergymen to the judges with the request,"
said his master.

The faithful John, than whom no servant or friend could be more devoted,
seized the occasion, with the thrift and stoicism of a true Hollander, to
suggest that his lord might at the same time make some testamentary
disposition in his favour.

"Tell my wife and children," said the Advocate, "that they must console
each other in mutual love and union. Say that through God's grace I am
perfectly at ease, and hope that they will be equally tranquil. Tell my
children that I trust they will be loving and friendly to their mother
during the short time she has yet to live. Say that I wish to recommend
you to them that they may help you to a good situation either with
themselves or with others. Tell them that this was my last request."

He bade him further to communicate to the family the messages sent that
night through Walaeus by the Stadholder.

The valet begged his master to repeat these instructions in presence of
the clergyman, or to request one of them to convey them himself to the
family. He promised to do so.

"As long as I live," said the grateful servant, "I shall remember your
lordship in my prayers."

"No, John," said the Advocate, "that is Popish. When I am dead, it is all
over with prayers. Pray for me while I still live. Now is the time to
pray. When one is dead, one should no longer be prayed for."

La Motte came in. Barneveld repeated his last wishes exactly as he
desired them to be communicated to his wife and children. The preacher
made no response. "Will you take the message?" asked the prisoner. La
Motte nodded, but did not speak, nor did he subsequently fulfil the
request.

Before five o'clock the servant heard the bell ring in the apartment of
the judges directly below the prison chamber, and told his master he had
understood that they were to assemble at five o'clock.

"I may as well get up then," said the Advocate; "they mean to begin
early, I suppose. Give me my doublet and but one pair of stockings."

He was accustomed to wear two or three pair at a time.

He took off his underwaistcoat, saying that the silver bog which was in
one of the pockets was to be taken to his wife, and that the servant
should keep the loose money there for himself. Then he found an
opportunity to whisper to him, "Take good care of the papers which are in
the apartment." He meant the elaborate writings which he had prepared
during his imprisonment and concealed in the tapestry and within the
linings of the chair.

As his valet handed him the combs and brushes, he said with a smile,
"John, this is for the last time."

When he was dressed, he tried, in rehearsal of the approaching scene, to
pull over his eyes the silk skull-cap which he usually wore under his
hat. Finding it too tight he told the valet to put the nightcap in his
pocket and give it him when he should call for it. He then swallowed a
half-glass of wine with a strengthening cordial in it, which he was wont
to take.

The clergymen then re-entered, and asked if he had been able to sleep. He
answered no, but that he had been much consoled by many noble things
which he had been reading in the French Psalm Book. The clergymen said
that they had been thinking much of the beautiful confession of faith
which he had made to them that evening. They rejoiced at it, they said,
on his account, and had never thought it of him. He said that such had
always been his creed.

At his request Walaeus now offered a morning prayer Barneveld fell on his
knees and prayed inwardly without uttering a sound. La Motte asked when
he had concluded, "Did my Lord say Amen?"--"Yes, Lamotius," he replied;
"Amen."--"Has either of the brethren," he added, "prepared a prayer to be
offered outside there?"

La Motte informed him that this duty had been confided to him. Some
passages from Isaiah were now read aloud, and soon afterwards Walaeus was
sent for to speak with the judges. He came back and said to the prisoner,
"Has my Lord any desire to speak with his wife or children, or any of his
friends?" It was then six o'clock, and Barneveld replied:

"No, the time is drawing near. It would excite a new emotion." Walaeus
went back to the judges with this answer, who thereupon made this
official report:

"The husband and father of the petitioners, being asked if he desired
that any of the petitioners should come to him, declared that he did not
approve of it, saying that it would cause too great an emotion for
himself as well as for them. This is to serve as an answer to the
petitioners."

Now the Advocate knew nothing of the petition. Up to the last moment his
family had been sanguine as to his ultimate acquittal and release. They
relied on a promise which they had received or imagined that they had
received from the Stadholder that no harm should come to the prisoner in
consequence of the arrest made of his person in the Prince's apartments
on the 8th of August. They had opened this tragical month of May with
flagstaffs and flower garlands, and were making daily preparations to
receive back the revered statesman in triumph.

The letter written by him from his "chamber of sorrow," late in the
evening of 12th May, had at last dispelled every illusion. It would be
idle to attempt to paint the grief and consternation into which the
household in the Voorhout was plunged, from the venerable dame at its
head, surrounded by her sons and daughters and children's children, down
to the humblest servant in their employment. For all revered and loved
the austere statesman, but simple and benignant father and master.

No heed had been taken of the three elaborate and argumentative petitions
which, prepared by learned counsel in name of the relatives, had been
addressed to the judges. They had not been answered because they were
difficult to answer, and because it was not intended that the accused
should have the benefit of counsel.

An urgent and last appeal was now written late at night, and signed by
each member of the family, to his Excellency the Prince and the judge
commissioners, to this effect:

"The afflicted wife and children of M. van Barneveld humbly show that
having heard the sorrowful tidings of his coming execution, they humbly
beg that it may be granted them to see and speak to him for the last
time."

The two sons delivered this petition at four o'clock in the morning into
the hands of de Voogd, one of the judges. It was duly laid before the
commission, but the prisoner was never informed, when declining a last
interview with his family, how urgently they had themselves solicited the
boon.

Louise de Coligny, on hearing late at night the awful news, had been
struck with grief and horror. She endeavoured, late as it was, to do
something to avert the doom of one she so much revered, the man on whom
her illustrious husband had leaned his life long as on a staff of iron.
She besought an interview of the Stadholder, but it was refused. The wife
of William the Silent had no influence at that dire moment with her
stepson. She was informed at first that Maurice was asleep, and at four
in the morning that all intervention was useless.

The faithful and energetic du Maurier, who had already exhausted himself
in efforts to save the life of the great prisoner, now made a last
appeal. He, too, heard at four o'clock in the morning of the 13th that
sentence of death was to be pronounced. Before five o'clock he made
urgent application to be heard before the Assembly of the States-General
as ambassador of a friendly sovereign who took the deepest interest in
the welfare of the Republic and the fate of its illustrious statesman.
The appeal was refused. As a last resource he drew up an earnest and
eloquent letter to the States-General, urging clemency in the name of his
king. It was of no avail. The letter may still be seen in the Royal
Archives at the Hague, drawn up entirely in du Maurier's clear and
beautiful handwriting. Although possibly a, first draft, written as it
was under such a mortal pressure for time, its pages have not one erasure
or correction.

It was seven o'clock. Barneveld having observed by the preacher (La
Motte's) manner that he was not likely to convey the last messages which
he had mentioned to his wife and children, sent a request to the judges
to be allowed to write one more letter. Captain van der Meulen came back
with the permission, saying he would wait and take it to the judges for
their revision.

The letter has been often published.

"Must they see this too? Why, it is only a line in favour of John," said
the prisoner, sitting quietly down to write this letter:

"Very dear wife and children, it is going to an end with me. I am,
through the grace of God, very tranquil. I hope that you are equally so,
and that you may by mutual love, union, and peace help each other to
overcome all things, which I pray to the Omnipotent as my last request.
John Franken has served me faithfully for many years and throughout all
these my afflictions, and is to remain with me to the end. He deserves to
be recommended to you and to be furthered to good employments with you or
with others. I request you herewith to see to this.

"I have requested his Princely Excellency to hold my sons and children in
his favour, to which he has answered that so long as you conduct
yourselves well this shall be the case. I recommend this to you in the
best form and give you all into God's holy keeping. Kiss each other and
all my grandchildren, for the last time in my name, and fare you well.
Out of the chamber of sorrow, 13th May 1619. Your dear husband and
father,
                  JOHN OF BARNEVELD.

"P.S. You will make John Franken a present in memory of me."

Certainly it would be difficult to find a more truly calm, courageous, or
religious spirit than that manifested by this aged statesman at an hour
when, if ever, a human soul is tried and is apt to reveal its innermost
depths or shallows. Whatever Gomarus or Bogerman, or the whole Council of
Dordtrecht, may have thought of his theology, it had at least taught him
forgiveness of his enemies, kindness to his friends, and submission to
the will of the Omnipotent. Every moment of his last days on earth had
been watched and jealously scrutinized, and his bitterest enemies had
failed to discover one trace of frailty, one manifestation of any
vacillating, ignoble, or malignant sentiment.

The drums had been sounding through the quiet but anxiously expectant
town since four o'clock that morning, and the tramp of soldiers marching
to the Inner Court had long been audible in the prison chamber.

Walaeus now came back with a message from the judges. "The high
commissioners," he said, "think it is beginning. Will my Lord please to
prepare himself?"

"Very well, very well," said the prisoner. "Shall we go at once?"

But Walaeus suggested a prayer. Upon its conclusion, Barneveld gave his
hand to the provost-marshal and to the two soldiers, bidding them adieu,
and walked downstairs, attended by them, to the chamber of the judges. As
soon as he appeared at the door, he was informed that there had been a
misunderstanding, and he was requested to wait a little. He accordingly
went upstairs again with perfect calmness, sat down in his chamber again,
and read in his French Psalm Book. Half an hour later he was once more
summoned, the provost-marshal and Captain van der Meulen reappearing to
escort him. "Mr. Provost," said the prisoner, as they went down the
narrow staircase, "I have always been a good friend to you."--"It is
true," replied that officer, "and most deeply do I grieve to see you in
this affliction."

He was about to enter the judges' chamber as usual, but was informed that
the sentence would be read in the great hall of judicature. They
descended accordingly to the basement story, and passed down the narrow
flight of steps which then as now connected the more modern structure,
where the Advocate had been imprisoned and tried, with what remained of
the ancient palace of the Counts of Holland. In the centre of the vast
hall--once the banqueting chamber of those petty sovereigns; with its
high vaulted roof of cedar which had so often in ancient days rung with
the sounds of mirth and revelry--was a great table at which the
twenty-four judges and the three prosecuting officers were seated, in
their black caps and gowns of office. The room was lined with soldiers
and crowded with a dark, surging mass of spectators, who had been waiting
there all night.

A chair was placed for the prisoner. He sat down, and the clerk of the
commission, Pots by name, proceeded at once to read the sentence. A
summary of this long, rambling, and tiresome paper has been already laid
before the reader. If ever a man could have found it tedious to listen to
his own death sentence, the great statesman might have been in that
condition as he listened to Secretary Pots.

During the reading of the sentence the Advocate moved uneasily on his
seat, and seemed about to interrupt the clerk at several passages which
seemed to him especially preposterous. But he controlled himself by a
strong effort, and the clerk went steadily on to the conclusion.

Then Barneveld said:

"The judges have put down many things which they have no right to draw
from my confession. Let this protest be added."

"I thought too," he continued, "that My Lords the States-General would
have had enough in my life and blood, and that my wife and children might
keep what belongs to them. Is this my recompense for forty-three years'
service to these Provinces?"

President de Voogd rose:

"Your sentence has been pronounced," he said. "Away! away!" So saying he
pointed to the door into which one of the great windows at the
south-eastern front of the hall had been converted.

Without another word the old man rose from his chair and strode, leaning
on his staff, across the hall, accompanied by his faithful valet and the
provost and escorted by a file of soldiers. The mob of spectators flowed
out after him at every door into the inner courtyard in front of the
ancient palace.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Better to be governed by magistrates than mobs
     Burning with bitter revenge for all the favours he had received
     Death rather than life with a false acknowledgment of guilt
     Enemy of all compulsion of the human conscience
     Heidelberg Catechism were declared to be infallible
     I know how to console myself
     Implication there was much, of assertion very little
     John Robinson
     Magistracy at that moment seemed to mean the sword
     Only true religion
     Rather a wilderness to reign over than a single heretic
     William Brewster



THE LIFE AND DEATH of JOHN OF BARNEVELD, ADVOCATE OF HOLLAND

WITH A VIEW OF THE PRIMARY CAUSES AND MOVEMENTS OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

By John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., LL.D.

Life and Death of John of Barneveld, v11, 1619-23



CHAPTER XXI.

   Barneveld's Execution--The Advocate's Conduct on the Scaffold--The
   Sentence printed and sent to the Provinces--The Proceedings
   irregular and inequitable.

In the beautiful village capital of the "Count's Park," commonly called
the Hague, the most striking and picturesque spot then as now was that
where the transformed remains of the old moated castle of those feudal
sovereigns were still to be seen. A three-storied range of simple,
substantial buildings in brown brickwork, picked out with white stone in
a style since made familiar both in England and America, and associated
with a somewhat later epoch in the history of the House of Orange,
surrounded three sides of a spacious inner paved quadrangle called the
Inner Court, the fourth or eastern side being overshadowed by a beechen
grove. A square tower flanked each angle, and on both sides of the
south-western turret extended the commodious apartments of the
Stadholder. The great gateway on the south-west opened into a wide open
space called the Outer Courtyard. Along the north-west side a broad and
beautiful sheet of water, in which the walls, turrets, and chapel-spires
of the enclosed castle mirrored themselves, was spread between the mass
of buildings and an umbrageous promenade called the Vyverberg, consisting
of a sextuple alley of lime-trees and embowering here and there a stately
villa. A small island, fringed with weeping willows and tufted all over
with lilacs, laburnums, and other shrubs then in full flower, lay in the
centre of the miniature lake, and the tall solid tower of the Great
Church, surmounted by a light openwork spire, looked down from a little
distance over the scene.

It was a bright morning in May. The white swans were sailing tranquilly
to and fro over the silver basin, and the mavis, blackbird, and
nightingale, which haunted the groves surrounding the castle and the
town, were singing as if the daybreak were ushering in a summer festival.

But it was not to a merry-making that the soldiers were marching and the
citizens thronging so eagerly from every street and alley towards the
castle. By four o'clock the Outer and Inner Courts had been lined with
detachments of the Prince's guard and companies of other regiments to the
number of 1200 men. Occupying the north-eastern side of the court rose
the grim, time-worn front of the ancient hall, consisting of one tall
pyramidal gable of ancient grey brickwork flanked with two tall slender
towers, the whole with the lancet-shaped windows and severe style of the
twelfth century, excepting a rose-window in the centre with the decorated
mullions of a somewhat later period.

In front of the lower window, with its Gothic archway hastily converted
into a door, a shapeless platform of rough, unhewn planks had that night
been rudely patched together. This was the scaffold. A slight railing
around it served to protect it from the crowd, and a heap of coarse sand
had been thrown upon it. A squalid, unclean box of unplaned boards,
originally prepared as a coffin for a Frenchman who some time before had
been condemned to death for murdering the son of Goswyn Meurskens, a
Hague tavern-keeper, but pardoned by the Stadholder--lay on the scaffold.
It was recognized from having been left for a long time, half forgotten,
at the public execution-place of the Hague.

Upon this coffin now sat two common soldiers of ruffianly aspect playing
at dice, betting whether the Lord or the Devil would get the soul of
Barneveld. Many a foul and ribald jest at the expense of the prisoner was
exchanged between these gamblers, some of their comrades, and a few
townsmen, who were grouped about at that early hour. The horrible libels,
caricatures, and calumnies which had been circulated, exhibited, and sung
in all the streets for so many months had at last thoroughly poisoned the
minds of the vulgar against the fallen statesman.

The great mass of the spectators had forced their way by daybreak into
the hall itself to hear the sentence, so that the Inner Courtyard had
remained comparatively empty.

At last, at half past nine o'clock, a shout arose, "There he comes! there
he comes!" and the populace flowed out from the hall of judgment into the
courtyard like a tidal wave.

In an instant the Binnenhof was filled with more than three thousand
spectators.

The old statesman, leaning on his staff, walked out upon the scaffold and
calmly surveyed the scene. Lifting his eyes to Heaven, he was heard to
murmur, "O God! what does man come to!" Then he said bitterly once more:
"This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to the State!"

La Motte, who attended him, said fervently: "It is no longer time to
think of this. Let us prepare your coming before God."

"Is there no cushion or stool to kneel upon?" said Barneveld, looking
around him.

The provost said he would send for one, but the old man knelt at once on
the bare planks. His servant, who waited upon him as calmly and
composedly as if he had been serving him at dinner, held him by the arm.
It was remarked that neither master nor man, true stoics and Hollanders
both, shed a single tear upon the scaffold.

La Motte prayed for a quarter of an hour, the Advocate remaining on his
knees.

He then rose and said to John Franken, "See that he does not come near
me," pointing to the executioner who stood in the background grasping his
long double-handed sword. Barneveld then rapidly unbuttoned his doublet
with his own hands and the valet helped him off with it. "Make haste!
make haste!" said his master.

The statesman then came forward and said in a loud, firm voice to the
people:

"Men, do not believe that I am a traitor to the country. I have ever
acted uprightly and loyally as a good patriot, and as such I shall die."

The crowd was perfectly silent.

He then took his cap from John Franken, drew it over his eyes, and went
forward towards the sand, saying:

"Christ shall be my guide. O Lord, my heavenly Father, receive my
spirit."

As he was about to kneel with his face to the south, the provost said:

"My lord will be pleased to move to the other side, not where the sun is
in his face."

He knelt accordingly with his face towards his own house. The servant
took farewell of him, and Barneveld said to the executioner:

"Be quick about it. Be quick."

The executioner then struck his head off at a single blow.

Many persons from the crowd now sprang, in spite of all opposition, upon
the scaffold and dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood, cut wet
splinters from the boards, or grubbed up the sand that was steeped in it;
driving many bargains afterwards for these relics to be treasured, with
various feelings of sorrow, joy, glutted or expiated vengeance.

It has been recorded, and has been constantly repeated to this day, that
the Stadholder, whose windows exactly faced the scaffold, looked out upon
the execution with a spy-glass; saying as he did so:

"See the old scoundrel, how he trembles! He is afraid of the stroke."

But this is calumny. Colonel Hauterive declared that he was with Maurice
in his cabinet during the whole period of the execution, that by order of
the Prince all the windows and shutters were kept closed, that no person
wearing his livery was allowed to be abroad, that he anxiously received
messages as to the proceedings, and heard of the final catastrophe with
sorrowful emotion.

It must be admitted, however, that the letter which Maurice wrote on the
same morning to his cousin William Lewis does not show much pathos.

"After the judges," he said, "have been busy here with the sentence
against the Advocate Barneveld for several days, at last it has been
pronounced, and this morning, between nine o'clock and half past, carried
into execution with the sword, in the Binnenhof before the great hall.

"The reasons they had for this you will see from the sentence, which will
doubtless be printed, and which I will send you.

"The wife of the aforesaid Barneveld and also some of his sons and
sons-in-law or other friends have never presented any supplication for
his pardon, but till now have vehemently demanded that law and justice
should be done to him, and have daily let the report run through the
people that he would soon come out. They also planted a may-pole before
their house adorned with garlands and ribbands, and practised other
jollities and impertinences, while they ought to have conducted
themselves in a humble and lowly fashion. This is no proper manner of
behaving, and moreover not a practical one to move the judges to any
favour even if they had been thereto inclined."

The sentence was printed and sent to the separate provinces. It was
accompanied by a declaration of the States-General that they had received
information from the judges of various points, not mentioned in the
sentence, which had been laid to the charge of the late Advocate, and
which gave much reason to doubt whether he had not perhaps turned his
eyes toward the enemy. They could not however legally give judgment to
that effect without a sharper investigation, which on account of his
great age and for other reasons it was thought best to spare him.

A meaner or more malignant postscript to a state paper recounting the
issue of a great trial it would be difficult to imagine. The first
statesman of the country had just been condemned and executed on a
narrative, without indictment of any specified crime. And now, by a kind
of apologetic after-thought, six or eight individuals calling themselves
the States-General insinuated that he had been looking towards the enemy,
and that, had they not mercifully spared him the rack, which is all that
could be meant by their sharper investigation, he would probably have
confessed the charge.

And thus the dead man's fame was blackened by those who had not hesitated
to kill him, but had shrunk from enquiring into his alleged crime.

Not entirely without semblance of truth did Grotius subsequently say that
the men who had taken his life would hardly have abstained from torturing
him if they had really hoped by so doing to extract from him a confession
of treason.

The sentence was sent likewise to France, accompanied with a statement
that Barneveld had been guilty of unpardonable crimes which had not been
set down in the act of condemnation. Complaints were also made of the
conduct of du Maurier in thrusting himself into the internal affairs of
the States and taking sides so ostentatiously against the government. The
King and his ministers were indignant with these rebukes, and sustained
the Ambassador. Jeannin and de Boississe expressed the opinion that he
had died innocent of any crime, and only by reason of his strong
political opposition to the Prince.

The judges had been unanimous in finding him guilty of the acts recorded
in their narrative, but three of them had held out for some time in
favour of a sentence of perpetual imprisonment rather than decapitation.

They withdrew at last their opposition to the death penalty for the
wonderful reason that reports had been circulated of attempts likely to
be made to assassinate Prince Maurice. The Stadholder himself treated
these rumours and the consequent admonition of the States-General that he
would take more than usual precautions for his safety with perfect
indifference, but they were conclusive with the judges of Barneveld.

"Republica poscit exemplum," said Commissioner Junius, one of the three,
as he sided with the death-warrant party.

The same Doctor Junius a year afterwards happened to dine, in company of
one of his fellow-commissioners, with Attorney-General Sylla at Utrecht,
and took occasion to ask them why it was supposed that Barneveld had been
hanging his head towards Spain, as not one word of that stood in the
sentence.

The question was ingenuous on the part of one learned judge to his
colleagues in one of the most famous state trials of history, propounded
as a bit of after-dinner casuistry, when the victim had been more than a
year in his grave.

But perhaps the answer was still more artless. His brother lawyers
replied that the charge was easily to be deduced from the sentence,
because a man who breaks up the foundation of the State makes the country
indefensible, and therefore invites the enemy to invade it. And this
Barneveld had done, who had turned the Union, religion, alliances, and
finances upside down by his proceedings.

Certainly if every constitutional minister, accused by the opposition
party of turning things upside down by his proceedings, were assumed to
be guilty of deliberately inviting a hostile invasion of his country,
there would have been few from that day to this to escape hanging.

Constructive treason could scarcely go farther than it was made to do in
these attempts to prove, after his death, that the Advocate had, as it
was euphuistically expressed, been looking towards the enemy.

And no better demonstrations than these have ever been discovered.

He died at the age of seventy-one years seven months and eighteen days.

His body and head were huddled into the box upon which the soldiers had
been shaking the dice, and was placed that night in the vault of the
chapel in the Inner Court.

It was subsequently granted as a boon to the widow and children that it
might be taken thence and decently buried in the family vault at
Amersfoort.

On the day of the execution a formal entry was made in the register of
the States of Holland.

"Monday, 13th May 1619. To-day was executed with the sword here in the
Hague, on a scaffold thereto erected in the Binnenhof before the steps of
the great hall, Mr. John of Barneveld, in his life Knight, Lord of
Berkel, Rodenrys, &c., Advocate of Holland and West Friesland, for
reasons expressed in the sentence and otherwise, with confiscation of his
property, after he had served the State thirty-three years two months and
five days since 8th March 1586.; a man of great activity, business,
memory, and wisdom--yes, extraordinary in every respect. He that stands
let him see that he does not fall, and may God be merciful to his soul.
Amen?"

A year later-on application made by the widow and children of the
deceased to compound for the confiscation of his property by payment of a
certain sum, eighty florins or a similar trifle, according to an ancient
privilege of the order of nobility--the question was raised whether he
had been guilty of high-treason, as he had not been sentenced for such a
crime, and as it was only in case of sentence for lese-majesty that this
composition was disallowed. It was deemed proper therefore to ask the
court for what crime the prisoner had been condemned. Certainly a more
sarcastic question could not have been asked. But the court had ceased to
exist. The commission had done its work and was dissolved. Some of its
members were dead. Letters however were addressed by the States-General
to the individual commissioners requesting them to assemble at the Hague
for the purpose of stating whether it was because the prisoners had
committed lese-majesty that their property had been confiscated. They
never assembled. Some of them were perhaps ignorant of the exact nature
of that crime. Several of them did not understand the words. Twelve of
them, among whom were a few jurists, sent written answers to the
questions proposed. The question was, "Did you confiscate the property
because the crime was lese-majesty?" The reply was, "The crime was
lese-majesty, although not so stated in the sentence, because we
confiscated the property." In one of these remarkable documents this was
stated to be "the unanimous opinion of almost all the judges."

The point was referred to the commissioners, some of whom attended the
court of the Hague in person, while others sent written opinions. All
agreed that the criminal had committed high-treason because otherwise his
property would not have been confiscated.

A more wonderful example of the argument in a circle was never heard of.
Moreover it is difficult to understand by what right the high commission,
which had been dissolved a year before, after having completed its work,
could be deemed competent to emit afterwards a judicial decision. But the
fact is curious as giving one more proof of the irregular,
unphilosophical, and inequitable nature of these famous proceedings.



CHAPTER XXII.

   Grotius urged to ask Forgiveness--Grotius shows great Weakness--
   Hoogerbeets and Grotius imprisoned for Life--Grotius confined at
   Loevestein--Grotius' early Attainments--Grotius' Deportment in
   Prison--Escape of Grotius--Deventer's Rage at Grotius' Escape.

Two days after the execution of the Advocate, judgment was pronounced
upon Gillis van Ledenberg. It would have been difficult to try him, or to
extort a confession of high-treason from him by the rack or otherwise, as
the unfortunate gentleman had been dead for more than seven months.

Not often has a court of justice pronounced a man, without trial, to be
guilty of a capital offence. Not often has a dead man been condemned and
executed. But this was the lot of Secretary Ledenberg. He was sentenced
to be hanged, his property declared confiscated.

His unburied corpse, reduced to the condition of a mummy, was brought out
of its lurking-place, thrust into a coffin, dragged on a hurdle to the
Golgotha outside the Hague, on the road to Ryswyk, and there hung on a
gibbet in company of the bodies of other malefactors swinging there in
chains.

His prudent scheme to save his property for his children by committing
suicide in prison was thus thwarted.

The reading of the sentence of Ledenberg, as had been previously the case
with that of Barneveld, had been heard by Grotius through the open window
of his prison, as he lay on his bed. The scaffold on which the Advocate
had suffered was left standing, three executioners were still in the
town, and there was every reason for both Grotius and Hoogerbeets to
expect a similar doom. Great efforts were made to induce the friends of
the distinguished prisoners to sue for their pardon. But even as in the
case of the Barneveld family these attempts were fruitless. The austere
stoicism both on the part of the sufferers and their relatives excites
something like wonder.

Three of the judges went in person to the prison chamber of Hoogerbeets,
urging him to ask forgiveness himself or to allow his friends to demand
it for him.

"If my wife and children do ask," he said, "I will protest against it. I
need no pardon. Let justice take its course. Think not, gentlemen, that I
mean by asking for pardon to justify your proceedings."

He stoutly refused to do either. The judges, astonished, took their
departure, saying:

"Then you will fare as Barneveld. The scaffold is still standing."

He expected consequently nothing but death, and said many years
afterwards that he knew from personal experience how a man feels who goes
out of prison to be beheaded.

The wife of Grotius sternly replied to urgent intimations from a high
source that she should ask pardon for her husband, "I shall not do it. If
he has deserved it, let them strike off his head."

Yet no woman could be more devoted to her husband than was Maria van
Reigersbergen to Hugo de Groot, as time was to prove. The Prince
subsequently told her at a personal interview that "one of two roads must
be taken, that of the law or that of pardon."

Soon after the arrest it was rumoured that Grotius was ready to make
important revelations if he could first be assured of the Prince's
protection.

His friends were indignant at the statement. His wife stoutly denied its
truth, but, to make sure, wrote to her husband on the subject.

"One thing amazes me," she said; "some people here pretend to say that
you have stated to one gentleman in private that you have something to
disclose greatly important to the country, but that you desired
beforehand to be taken under the protection of his Excellency. I have not
chosen to believe this, nor do I, for I hold that to be certain which you
have already told me--that you know no secrets. I see no reason therefore
why you should require the protection of any man. And there is no one to
believe this, but I thought best to write to you of it. Let me, in order
that I may contradict the story with more authority, have by the bearer
of this a simple Yes or No. Study quietly, take care of your health, have
some days' patience, for the Advocate has not yet been heard."

The answer has not been preserved, but there is an allusion to the
subject in an unpublished memorandum of Grotius written while he was in
prison.

It must be confessed that the heart of the great theologian and jurist
seems to have somewhat failed him after his arrest, and although he was
incapable of treachery--even if he had been possessed of any secrets,
which certainly was not the case--he did not show the same Spartan
firmness as his wife, and was very far from possessing the heroic calm of
Barneveld. He was much disposed to extricate himself from his unhappy
plight by making humble, if not abject, submission to Maurice. He
differed from his wife in thinking that he had no need of the Prince's
protection. "I begged the Chamberlain, Matthew de Cors," he said, a few
days after his arrest, "that I might be allowed to speak with his
Excellency of certain things which I would not willingly trust to the
pen. My meaning was to leave all public employment and to offer my
service to his Excellency in his domestic affairs. Thus I hoped that the
motives for my imprisonment would cease. This was afterwards
misinterpreted as if I had had wonderful things to reveal."

But Grotius towards the end of his trial showed still greater weakness.
After repeated refusals, he had at last obtained permission of the judges
to draw up in writing the heads of his defence. To do this he was allowed
a single sheet of paper, and four hours of time, the trial having lasted
several months. And in the document thus prepared he showed faltering in
his faith as to his great friend's innocence, and admitted, without any
reason whatever, the possibility of there being truth in some of the vile
and anonymous calumnies against him.

"The friendship of the Advocate of Holland I had always highly prized,"
he said, "hoping from the conversation of so wise and experienced a
person to learn much that was good . . . . I firmly believed that his
Excellency, notwithstanding occasional differences as to the conduct of
public affairs, considered him a true and upright servant of the land
. . . . I have been therefore surprised to understand, during my
imprisonment, that the gentlemen had proofs in hand not alone of his
correspondence with the enemy, but also of his having received money
from them.

"He being thus accused, I have indicated by word of mouth and afterwards
resumed in writing all matters which I thought--the above-mentioned
proofs being made good--might be thereto indirectly referred, in order to
show that for me no friendships were so dear as the preservation of the
freedom of the land. I wish that he may give explanation of all to the
contentment of the judges, and that therefore his actions--which,
supposing the said correspondence to be true, are subject to a bad
interpretation--may be taken in another sense."

Alas! could the Advocate--among whose first words after hearing of his
own condemnation to death were, "And must my Grotius die too?" adding,
with a sigh of relief when assured of the contrary, "I should deeply
grieve for that; he is so young and may live to do the State much
service." could he have read those faltering and ungenerous words from one
he so held in his heart, he would have felt them like the stab of Brutus.

Grotius lived to know that there were no such proofs, that the judges did
not dare even allude to the charge in their sentence, and long years
afterwards he drew a picture of the martyred patriot such as one might
have expected from his pen.

But these written words of doubt must have haunted him to his grave.

On the 18th May 1619--on the fifty-first anniversary, as Grotius
remarked, of the condemnation of Egmont and Hoorn by the Blood Tribunal
of Alva--the two remaining victims were summoned to receive their doom.
The Fiscal Sylla, entering de Groot's chamber early in the morning to
conduct him before the judges, informed him that he was not instructed to
communicate the nature of the sentence. "But," he said, maliciously, "you
are aware of what has befallen the Advocate."

"I have heard with my own ears," answered Grotius, "the judgment
pronounced upon Barneveld and upon Ledenberg. Whatever may be my fate, I
have patience to bear it."

The sentence, read in the same place and in the same manner as had been
that upon the Advocate, condemned both Hoogerbeets and Grotius to
perpetual imprisonment.

The course of the trial and the enumeration of the offences were nearly
identical with the leading process which has been elaborately described.

Grotius made no remark whatever in the court-room. On returning to his
chamber he observed that his admissions of facts had been tortured into
confessions of guilt, that he had been tried and sentenced against all
principles and forms of law, and that he had been deprived of what the
humblest criminal could claim, the right of defence and the examination
of testimony. In regard to the penalty against him, he said, there was no
such thing as perpetual imprisonment except in hell. Alluding to the
leading cause of all these troubles, he observed that it was with the
Stadholder and the Advocate as Cato had said of Caesar and Pompey. The
great misery had come not from their being enemies, but from their having
once been friends.

On the night of 5th June the prisoners were taken from their prison in
the Hague and conveyed to the castle of Loevestein.

This fortress, destined thenceforth to be famous in history and--from its
frequent use in after-times as a state-prison for men of similar
constitutional views to those of Grotius and the Advocate--to give its
name to a political party, was a place of extraordinary strength. Nature
and art had made it, according to military ideas of that age, almost
impregnable. As a prison it seemed the very castle of despair. "Abandon
all hope ye who enter" seemed engraven over its portal.

Situate in the very narrow, acute angle where the broad, deep, and turbid
Waal--the chief of the three branches into which the Rhine divides itself
on entering the Netherlands--mingles its current with the silver Meuse
whose name it adopts as the united rivers roll to the sea, it was guarded
on many sides by these deep and dangerous streams. On the land-side it
was surrounded by high walls and a double foss, which protected it
against any hostile invasion from Brabant. As the Twelve Years' Truce was
running to its close, it was certain that pains would be taken to
strengthen the walls and deepen the ditches, that the place might be
proof against all marauders and land-robbers likely to swarm over from
the territory of the Archdukes. The town of Gorcum was exactly opposite
on the northern side of the Waal, while Worcum was about a league's
distance from the castle on the southern side, but separated from it by
the Meuse.

The prisoners, after crossing the drawbridge, were led through thirteen
separate doors, each one secured by iron bolts and heavy locks, until
they reached their separate apartments.

They were never to see or have any communication with each other. It had
been accorded by the States-General however that the wives of the two
gentlemen were to have access to their prison, were to cook for them in
the castle kitchen, and, if they chose to inhabit the fortress, might
cross to the neighbouring town of Gorcum from time to time to make
purchases, and even make visits to the Hague. Twenty-four stuivers, or
two shillings, a day were allowed by the States-General for the support
of each prisoner and his family. As the family property of Grotius was at
once sequestered, with a view to its ultimate confiscation, it was clear
that abject indigence as well as imprisonment was to be the lifelong lot
of this illustrious person, who had hitherto lived in modest affluence,
occupying the most considerable of social positions.

The commandant of the fortress was inspired from the outset with a desire
to render the prisoner's situation as hateful as it was in his power to
make it. And much was in his power. He resolved that the family should
really live upon their daily pittance. Yet Madame de Groot, before the
final confiscation of her own and her husband's estates, had been able to
effect considerable loans, both to carry on process against government
for what the prisoners contended was an unjust confiscation, and for
providing for the household on a decent scale and somewhat in accordance
with the requirements of the prisoner's health. Thus there was a
wearisome and ignoble altercation, revived from day to day, between the
Commandant and Madame de Groot. It might have been thought enough of
torture for this virtuous and accomplished lady, but twenty-nine years of
age and belonging to one of the eminent families of the country, to see
her husband, for his genius and accomplishments the wonder of Europe,
thus cut off in the flower of his age and doomed to a living grave. She
was nevertheless to be subjected to the perpetual inquisition of the
market-basket, which she was not ashamed with her maid to take to and
from Gorcum, and to petty wrangles about the kitchen fire where she was
proud to superintend the cooking of the scanty fare for her husband and
her five children.

There was a reason for the spite of the military jailer. Lieutenant
Prouninx, called Deventer, commandant of Loevestein, was son of the
notorious Gerard Prouninx, formerly burgomaster of Utrecht, one of the
ringleaders of the Leicester faction in the days when the Earl made his
famous attempts upon the four cities. He had sworn revenge upon all those
concerned in his father's downfall, and it was a delight therefore to
wreak a personal vengeance on one who had since become so illustrious a
member of that party by which the former burgomaster had been deposed,
although Grotius at the time of Leicester's government had scarcely left
his cradle.

Thus these ladies were to work in the kitchen and go to market from time
to time, performing this menial drudgery under the personal inspection of
the warrior who governed the garrison and fortress, but who in vain
attempted to make Maria van Reigersbergen tremble at his frown.

Hugo de Groot, when thus for life immured, after having already undergone
a preliminary imprisonment of nine months, was just thirty-six years of
age. Although comparatively so young, he had been long regarded as one of
the great luminaries of Europe for learning and genius. Of an ancient and
knightly race, his immediate ancestors had been as famous for literature,
science, and municipal abilities as their more distant progenitors for
deeds of arms in the feudal struggles of Holland in the middle ages.

His father and grandfather had alike been eminent for Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin scholarship, and both had occupied high positions in the University
of Leyden from its beginning. Hugo, born and nurtured under such
quickening influences, had been a scholar and poet almost from his
cradle. He wrote respectable Latin verses at the age of seven, he was
matriculated at Leyden at the age of eleven. That school, founded amid
the storms and darkness of terrible war, was not lightly to be entered.
It was already illustrated by a galaxy of shining lights in science and
letters, which radiated over Christendom. His professors were Joseph
Scaliger, Francis Junius, Paulus Merula, and a host of others. His
fellow-students were men like Scriverius, Vossius, Baudius, Daniel
Heinsius. The famous soldier and poet Douza, who had commanded the forces
of Leyden during the immortal siege, addressed him on his admission to
the university as "Magne peer magni dignissime cura parentis," in a copy
of eloquent verses.

When fourteen years old, he took his bachelor's degree, after a rigorous
examination not only in the classics but astronomy, mathematics,
jurisprudence, and theology, at an age when most youths would have been
accounted brilliant if able to enter that high school with credit.

On leaving the University he was attached to the embassy of Barneveld and
Justinus van Nassau to the court of Henry IV. Here he attracted the
attention of that monarch, who pointed him out to his courtiers as the
"miracle of Holland," presented him with a gold chain with his miniature
attached to it, and proposed to confer on him the dignity of knighthood,
which the boy from motives of family pride appears to have refused. While
in France he received from the University of Orleans, before the age of
fifteen, the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws in a very eulogistic
diploma. On his return to Holland he published an edition of the poet
Johannes Capella with valuable annotations, besides giving to the public
other learned and classical works and several tragedies of more or less
merit. At the age of seventeen he was already an advocate in full
practice before the supreme tribunals of the Hague, and when twenty-three
years old he was selected by Prince Maurice from a list of three
candidates for the important post of Fiscal or Attorney-General of
Holland. Other civic dignities, embassies, and offices of various kinds,
had been thrust upon him one after another, in all of which he had
acquitted himself with dignity and brilliancy. He was but twenty-six when
he published his argument for the liberty of the sea, the famous Mare
Liberum, and a little later appeared his work on the Antiquity of the
Batavian Republic, which procured for him in Spain the title of "Hugo
Grotius, auctor damnatus." At the age of twenty-nine he had completed his
Latin history of the Netherlands from the period immediately preceding
the war of independence down to the conclusion of the Truce, 1550-1609--a
work which has been a classic ever since its appearance, although not
published until after his death. A chief magistrate of Rotterdam, member
of the States of Holland and the States-General, jurist, advocate,
attorney-general, poet, scholar, historian, editor of the Greek and Latin
classics, writer of tragedies, of law treatises, of theological
disquisitions, he stood foremost among a crowd of famous contemporaries.
His genius, eloquence, and learning were esteemed among the treasures not
only of his own country but of Europe. He had been part and parcel of his
country's history from his earliest manhood, and although a child in
years compared to Barneveld, it was upon him that the great statesman had
mainly relied ever since the youth's first appearance in public affairs.
Impressible, emotional, and susceptive, he had been accused from time to
time, perhaps not entirely without reason, of infirmity of purpose, or at
least of vacillation in opinion; but his worst enemies had never assailed
the purity of his heart or integrity of his character. He had not yet
written the great work on the 'Rights of War and Peace', which was to
make an epoch in the history of civilization and to be the foundation of
a new science, but the materials lay already in the ample storehouse of
his memory and his brain.

Possessed of singular personal beauty--which the masterly portraits of
Miereveld attest to the present day--tall, brown-haired;
straight-featured, with a delicate aquiline nose and piercing dark blue
eyes, he was also athletic of frame and a proficient in manly exercises.
This was the statesman and the scholar, of whom it is difficult to speak
but in terms of affectionate but not exaggerated eulogy, and for whom the
Republic of the Netherlands could now find no better use than to shut him
up in the grim fortress of Loevestein for the remainder of his days. A
commonwealth must have deemed itself rich in men which, after cutting off
the head of Barneveld, could afford to bury alive Hugo Grotius.

His deportment in prison was a magnificent moral lesson. Shut up in a
kind of cage consisting of a bedroom and a study, he was debarred from
physical exercise, so necessary for his mental and bodily health. Not
choosing for the gratification of Lieutenant Deventer to indulge in weak
complaints, he procured a huge top, which he employed himself in whipping
several hours a day; while for intellectual employment he plunged once
more into those classical, juridical, and theological studies which had
always employed his leisure hours from childhood upwards.

It had been forbidden by the States-General to sell his likeness in the
shops. The copper plates on which they had been engraved had as far as
possible been destroyed.

The wish of the government, especially of his judges, was that his name
and memory should die at once and for ever. They were not destined to be
successful, for it would be equally difficult to-day to find an educated
man in Christendom ignorant of the name of Hugo Grotius, or acquainted
with that of a single one of his judges.

And his friends had not forgotten him as he lay there living in his tomb.
Especially the learned Scriverius, Vossius, and other professors, were
permitted to correspond with him at intervals on literary subjects, the
letters being subjected to preliminary inspection. Scriverius sent him
many books from his well-stocked library, de Groot's own books and papers
having been confiscated by the government. At a somewhat later period the
celebrated Orientalist Erpenius sent him from time to time a large chest
of books, the precious freight being occasionally renewed and the chest
passing to and from Loevestein by way of Gorcum. At this town lived a
sister of Erpenius, married to one Daatselaer, a considerable dealer in
thread and ribbons, which he exported to England. The house of Daatselaer
became a place of constant resort for Madame de Groot as well as the wife
of Hoogerbeets, both dames going every few days from the castle across
the Waal to Gorcum, to make their various purchases for the use of their
forlorn little households in the prison. Madame Daatselaer therefore
received and forwarded into Loevestein or into Holland many parcels and
boxes, besides attending to the periodical transmission of the mighty
chest of books.

Professor Vossius was then publishing a new edition of the tragedies of
Seneca, and at his request Grotius enriched that work, from his prison,
with valuable notes. He employed himself also in translating the moral
sentences extracted by Stobaeus from the Greek tragedies; drawing
consolation from the ethics and philosophy of the ancient dramatists,
whom he had always admired, especially the tragedies of Euripides; he
formed a complete moral anthology from that poet and from the works of
Sophocles, Menander, and others, which he translated into fluent Dutch
verse. Becoming more and more interested in the subject, he executed a
masterly rhymed translation of the 'Theban Brothers' of Euripides, thus
seeking distraction from his own tragic doom in the portraiture of
antique, distant, and heroic sorrow.

Turning again to legal science, he completed an Introduction to the
Jurisprudence of Holland, a work which as soon as published became
thenceforward a text-book and an oracle in the law courts and the high
schools of the country. Not forgetting theology, he composed for the use
of the humbler classes, especially for sailors, in whose lot, so exposed
to danger and temptation, he ever took deep interest, a work on the
proofs of Christianity in easy and familiar rhyme--a book of gold, as it
was called at once, which became rapidly popular with those for whom it
was designed.

At a somewhat later period Professor Erpenius, publishing a new edition
of the New Testament in Greek, with translations in Arabic, Syriac, and
Ethiopian, solicited his friend's help both in translations and in the
Latin commentaries and expositions with which he proposed to accompany
the work. The prisoner began with a modest disclaimer, saying that after
the labours of Erasmus and Beza, Maldonatus and Jasenius, there was
little for him to glean. Becoming more enthusiastic as he went on, he
completed a masterly commentary on the Four Evangelists, a work for which
the learned and religious world has ever recognized a kind of debt of
gratitude to the castle of Loevestein, and hailed in him the founder of a
school of manly Biblical criticism.

And thus nearly two years wore away. Spinning his great top for exercise;
soothing his active and prolific brain with Greek tragedy, with Flemish
verse, with jurisprudence, history, theology; creating, expounding,
adorning, by the warmth of his vivid intellect; moving the world, and
doing good to his race from the depths of his stony sepulchre; Hugo
Grotius rose superior to his doom and took captivity captive. The man is
not to be envied who is not moved by so noble an example of great
calamity manfully endured.

The wife of Hoogerbeets, already advanced in years, sickened during the
imprisonment and died at Loevestein after a lingering illness, leaving
six children to the care of her unfortunate husband. Madame de Groot had
not been permitted by the prison authorities to minister to her in
sickness, nor to her children after her death.

Early in the year 1621 Francis Aerssens, Lord of Sommelsdyk, the arch
enemy of Barneveld and of Grotius, was appointed special ambassador to
Paris. The intelligence--although hardly unexpected, for the stratagems
of Aerssens had been completely successful--moved the prisoner deeply. He
felt that this mortal enemy, not glutted with vengeance by the beheading
of the Advocate and the perpetual imprisonment of his friend, would do
his best at the French court to defame and to blacken him. He did what he
could to obviate this danger by urgent letters to friends on whom he
could rely.

At about the same time Muis van Holy, one of the twenty-four
commissioners, not yet satisfied with the misery he had helped to
inflict, informed the States-General that Madame de Groot had been buying
ropes at Gorcum. On his motion a committee was sent to investigate the
matter at Castle Loevestein, where it was believed that the ropes had
been concealed for the purpose of enabling Grotius to make his escape
from prison.

Lieutenant Deventer had heard nothing of the story. He was in high
spirits at the rumour however, and conducted the committee very eagerly
over the castle, causing minute search to be made in the apartment of
Grotius for the ropes which, as they were assured by him and his wife,
had never existed save in the imagination of Judge Muis. They succeeded
at least in inflicting much superfluous annoyance on their victims, and
in satisfying themselves that it would be as easy for the prisoner to fly
out of the fortress on wings as to make his escape with ropes, even if he
had them.

Grotius soon afterwards addressed a letter to the States-General
denouncing the statement of Muis as a fable, and these persistent
attempts to injure him as cowardly and wicked.

A few months later Madame de Groot happened to be in the house of
Daatselaer on one of her periodical visits to Gorcum. Conversation
turning on these rumours March of attempts at escape, she asked Madame
Daatselaer if she would not be much embarrassed, should Grotius suddenly
make his appearance there.

"Oh no," said the good woman with a laugh; "only let him come. We will
take excellent care of him."

At another visit one Saturday, 20th March, (1621) Madame de Groot asked
her friend why all the bells of Gorcum march were ringing.

"Because to-morrow begins our yearly fair," replied Dame Daatselaer.

"Well, I suppose that all exiles and outlaws may come to Gorcum on this
occasion," said Madame de Groot.

"Such is the law, they say," answered her friend.

"And my husband might come too?"

"No doubt," said Madame Daatselaer with a merry laugh, rejoiced at
finding the wife of Grotius able to speak so cheerfully of her husband in
his perpetual and hopeless captivity. "Send him hither. He shall have, a
warm welcome."

"What a good woman you are!" said Madame de Groot with a sigh as she rose
to take leave. "But you know very well that if he were a bird he could
never get out of the castle, so closely, he is caged there."

Next morning a wild equinoctial storm was howling around the battlements
of the castle. Of a sudden Cornelia, daughter of the de Groots, nine
years of age, said to her mother without any reason whatever,

"To-morrow Papa must be off to Gorcum, whatever the weather may be."

De Groot, as well as his wife, was aghast at the child's remark, and took
it as a direct indication from Heaven.

For while Madame Daatselaer had considered the recent observations of her
visitor from Loevestein as idle jests, and perhaps wondered that Madame
de Groot could be frivolous and apparently lighthearted on so dismal a
topic, there had been really a hidden meaning in her words.

For several weeks past the prisoner had been brooding over a means of
escape. His wife, whose every thought was devoted to him, had often cast
her eyes on the great chest or trunk in which the books of Erpenius had
been conveyed between Loevestein and Gorcum for the use of the prisoner.
At first the trunk had been carefully opened and its contents examined
every time it entered or left the castle. As nothing had ever been found
in it save Hebrew, Greek, and Latin folios, uninviting enough to the
Commandant, that warrior had gradually ceased to inspect the chest very
closely, and had at last discontinued the practice altogether.

It had been kept for some weeks past in the prisoner's study. His wife
thought--although it was two finger breadths less than four feet in
length, and not very broad or deep in proportion--that it might be
possible for him to get into it. He was considerably above middle height,
but found that by curling himself up very closely he could just manage to
lie in it with the cover closed. Very secretly they had many times
rehearsed the scheme which had now taken possession of their minds, but
had not breathed a word of it to any one. He had lain in the chest with
the lid fastened, and with his wife sitting upon the top of it, two hours
at a time by the hour-glass. They had decided at last that the plan,
though fraught with danger, was not absolutely impossible, and they were
only waiting now for a favourable opportunity. The chance remark of the
child Cornelia settled the time for hazarding the adventure. By a strange
coincidence, too, the commandant of the fortress, Lieutenant Deventer,
had just been promoted to a captaincy, and was to go to Heusden to
receive his company. He left the castle for a brief absence that very
Sunday evening. As a precautionary measure, the trunk filled with books
had been sent to Gorcum and returned after the usual interval only a few
days before.

The maid-servant of the de Groots, a young girl of twenty, Elsje van
Houwening by name, quick, intelligent, devoted, and courageous, was now
taken into their confidence. The scheme was explained to her, and she was
asked if she were willing to take the chest under her charge with her
master in it, instead of the usual freight of books, and accompany it to
Gorcum.

She naturally asked what punishment could be inflicted upon her in case
the plot were discovered.

"None legally," answered her master; "but I too am innocent of any crime,
and you see to what sufferings I have been condemned."

"Whatever come of it," said Elsje stoutly; "I will take the risk and
accompany my master."

Every detail was then secretly arranged, and it was provided beforehand,
as well as possible, what should be said or done in the many
contingencies that might arise.

On Sunday evening Madame de Groot then went to the wife of the
Commandant, with whom she had always been on more friendly terms than
with her malicious husband. She had also recently propitiated her
affections by means of venison and other dainties brought from Gorcum.
She expressed the hope that, notwithstanding the absence of Captain
Deventer, she might be permitted to send the trunk full of books next day
from the castle.

"My husband is wearing himself out," she said, "with his perpetual
studies. I shall be glad for a little time to be rid of some of these
folios."

The Commandant's wife made no objection to this slight request.

On Monday morning the gale continued to beat with unabated violence on
the turrets. The turbid Waal, swollen by the tempest, rolled darkly and
dangerously along the castle walls.

But the die was cast. Grotius rose betimes, fell on his knees, and prayed
fervently an hour long. Dressed only in linen underclothes with a pair of
silk stockings, he got into the chest with the help of his wife. The big
Testament of Erpenius, with some bunches of thread placed upon it, served
him as a pillow. A few books and papers were placed in the interstices
left by the curves of his body, and as much pains as possible taken to
prevent his being seriously injured or incommoded during the hazardous
journey he was contemplating. His wife then took solemn farewell of him,
fastened the lock, which she kissed, and gave the key to Elsje.

The usual garments worn by the prisoner were thrown on a chair by the
bedside and his slippers placed before it. Madame de Groot then returned
to her bed, drew the curtains close, and rang the bell.

It was answered by the servant who usually waited on the prisoner, and
who was now informed by the lady that it had been her intention to go
herself to Gorcum, taking charge of the books which were valuable. As the
weather was so tempestuous however, and as she was somewhat indisposed,
it had been decided that Elsje should accompany the trunk.

She requested that some soldiers might be sent as usual to take it down
to the vessel. Two or three of the garrison came accordingly, and seeing
the clothes and slippers of Grotius lying about, and the bed-curtains
closed, felt no suspicion.

On lifting the chest, however, one of them said, half in jest:

"The Arminian must be in it himself, it seems so heavy!"

"Not the Arminian," replied Madame de Groot, in a careless voice, from
the bed; "only heavy Arminian books."

Partly lifting, partly dragging the ponderous box, the soldiers managed
to get it down the stairs and through the thirteen barred and bolted
doors. Four several times one or other of the soldiers expressed the
opinion that Grotius himself must be locked within it, but they never
spoke quite seriously, and Elsje was ever ready to turn aside the remark
with a jest. A soldier's wife, just as the box was approaching the wharf,
told a story of a malefactor who had once been carried out of the castle
in a chest.

"And if a malefactor, why not a lawyer?" she added. A soldier said he
would get a gimlet and bore a hole into the Arminian. "Then you must get
a gimlet that will reach to the top of the castle, where the Arminian
lies abed and asleep," said Elsje.

Not much heed was given to this careless talk, the soldiers, before
leaving the chamber of Grotius, having satisfied themselves that there
were no apertures in the chest save the keyhole, and that it would be
impossible by that means alone for sufficient air to penetrate to keep a
man enclosed in it from smothering.

Madame Deventer was asked if she chose to inspect the contents of the
trunk, and she enquired whether the Commandant had been wont so to do.
When told that such search had been for a long time discontinued, as
nothing had ever been found there but books, she observed that there was
no reason why she should be more strict than her husband, and ordered the
soldiers to take their heavy load to the vessel.

Elsje insisted that the boatmen should place a doubly thick plank for
sliding the box on board, as it seemed probable, she said, that the usual
one would break in two, and then the valuable books borrowed of Professor
Erpenius would be damaged or destroyed. The request caused much further
grumbling, but was complied with at last and the chest deposited on the
deck. The wind still continued to blow with great fury, and as soon as
the sails were set the vessel heeled over so much, that Elsje implored
the skipper to cause the box to be securely lashed, as it seemed in
imminent danger, at the first lurch of the vessel, of sliding into the
sea.

This done, Elsje sat herself down and threw her white handkerchief over
her head, letting it flutter in the wind. One of the crew asked her why
she did so, and she replied that the servant in the castle had been
tormenting her, saying that she would never dare to sail to Gorcum in
such tempestuous weather, and she was now signalling him that she had
been as good as her word. Whereupon she continued to wave the
handkerchief.

In reality the signal was for her mistress, who was now straining her
eyes from the barred window which looked out upon the Waal, and with whom
the maid had agreed that if all went prosperously she would give this
token of success. Otherwise she would sit with her head in her hands.

During the voyage an officer of the garrison, who happened to be on
board, threw himself upon the chest as a convenient seat, and began
drumming and pounding with his heels upon it. The ever watchful Elsje,
feeling the dreadful inconvenience to the prisoner of these proceedings,
who perhaps was already smothering and would struggle for air if not
relieved, politely addressed the gentleman and induced him to remove to
another seat by telling him that, besides the books, there was some
valuable porcelain in the chest which might easily be broken.

No further incident occurred. The wind, although violent, was favourable,
and Gorcum in due time was reached. Elsje insisted upon having her own
precious freight carried first into the town, although the skipper for
some time was obstinately bent on leaving it to the very last, while all
the other merchandise in the vessel should be previously unshipped.

At last on promise of payment of ten stuivers, which was considered an
exorbitant sum, the skipper and son agreed to transport the chest between
them on a hand-barrow. While they were trudging with it to the town, the
son remarked to his father that there was some living thing in the box.
For the prisoner in the anguish of his confinement had not been able to
restrain a slight movement.

"Do you hear what my son says?" cried the skipper to Elsje. "He says you
have got something alive in your trunk."

"Yes, yes," replied the cheerful maid-servant; "Arminian books are always
alive, always full of motion and spirit."

They arrived at Daatselaer's house, moving with difficulty through the
crowd which, notwithstanding the boisterous weather, had been collected
by the annual fair. Many people were assembled in front of the building,
which was a warehouse of great resort, while next door was a
book-seller's shop thronged with professors, clergymen, and other
literary persons. The carriers accordingly entered by the backway, and
Elsje, deliberately paying them their ten stuivers, and seeing them
depart, left the box lying in a room at the rear and hastened to the shop
in front.

Here she found the thread and ribbon dealer and his wife, busy with their
customers, unpacking and exhibiting their wares. She instantly whispered
in Madame Daatselaer's ear, "I have got my master here in your back
parlour."

The dame turned white as a sheet, and was near fainting on the spot. It
was the first imprudence Elsje had committed. The good woman recovered
somewhat of her composure by a strong effort however, and instantly went
with Elsje to the rear of the house.

"Master! master!" cried Elsje, rapping on the chest.

There was no answer.

"My God! my God!" shrieked the poor maid-servant. "My poor master is
dead."

"Ah!" said Madame Daatselaer, "your mistress has made a bad business of
it. Yesterday she had a living husband. Now she has a dead one."

But soon there was a vigorous rap on the inside of the lid, and a cry
from the prisoner:

"Open the chest! I am not dead, but did not at first recognize your
voice."

The lock was instantly unfastened, the lid thrown open, and Grotius arose
in his linen clothing, like a dead man from his coffin.

The dame instantly accompanied the two through a trapdoor into an upper
room.

Grotius asked her if she was always so deadly pale.

"No," she replied, "but I am frightened to see you here. My lord is no
common person. The whole world is talking of you. I fear this will cause
the loss of all my property and perhaps bring my husband into prison in
your place."

Grotius rejoined: "I made my prayers to God before as much as this had
been gained, and I have just been uttering fervent thanks to Him for my
deliverance so far as it has been effected. But if the consequences are
to be as you fear, I am ready at once to get into the chest again and be
carried back to prison."

But she answered, "No; whatever comes of it, we have you here and will do
all that we can to help you on."

Grotius being faint from his sufferings, the lady brought him a glass of
Spanish wine, but was too much flustered to find even a cloak or shawl to
throw over him. Leaving him sitting there in his very thin attire, just
as he had got out of the chest, she went to the front warehouse to call
her husband. But he prudently declined to go to his unexpected guest. It
would be better in the examination sure to follow, he said, for him to
say with truth that he had not seen him and knew nothing of the escape,
from first to last.

Grotius entirely approved of the answer when told to him. Meantime Madame
Daatselaer had gone to her brother-in-law van der Veen, a clothier by
trade, whom she found in his shop talking with an officer of the
Loevestein garrison. She whispered in the clothier's ear, and he, making
an excuse to the officer, followed her home at once. They found Grotius
sitting where he had been left. Van der Veen gave him his hand, saying:

"Sir, you are the man of whom the whole country is talking?"

"Yes, here I am," was the reply, "and I put myself in your hands--"

"There isn't a moment to lose," replied the clothier. "We must help you
away at once."

He went immediately in search of one John Lambertsen, a man in whom he
knew he could confide, a Lutheran in religion, a master-mason by
occupation. He found him on a scaffold against the gable-end of a house,
working at his trade.

He told him that there was a good deed to be done which he could do
better than any man, that his conscience would never reproach him for it,
and that he would at the same time earn no trifling reward.

He begged the mason to procure a complete dress as for a journeyman, and
to follow him to the house of his brother-in-law Daatselaer.

Lambertsen soon made his appearance with the doublet, trunk-hose, and
shoes of a bricklayer, together with trowel and measuring-rod. He was
informed who his new journeyman was to be, and Grotius at once put on the
disguise.

The doublet did not reach to the waistband of the trunkhose, while those
nether garments stopped short of his knees; the whole attire belonging to
a smaller man than the unfortunate statesman. His delicate white hands,
much exposed by the shortness of the sleeves, looked very unlike those of
a day-labourer, and altogether the new mason presented a somewhat
incongruous and wobegone aspect. Grotius was fearful too lest some of the
preachers and professors frequenting the book-shop next door would
recognize him through his disguise. Madame Daatselaer smeared his face
and hands with chalk and plaster however and whispered encouragement, and
so with a felt hat slouched over his forehead and a yardstick in his
hand, he walked calmly forth into the thronged marketplace and through
the town to the ferry, accompanied by the friendly Lambertsen. It had
been agreed that van der Veen should leave the house in another direction
and meet them at the landing-place.

When they got to the ferry, they found the weather as boisterous as ever.
The boatmen absolutely refused to make the dangerous crossing of the
Merwede over which their course lay to the land of Altona, and so into
the Spanish Netherlands, for two such insignificant personages as this
mason and his scarecrow journeyman.

Lambertsen assured them that it was of the utmost importance that he
should cross the water at once. He had a large contract for purchasing
stone at Altona for a public building on which he was engaged. Van der
Veen coming up added his entreaties, protesting that he too was
interested in this great stone purchase, and so by means of offering a
larger price than they at first dared to propose, they were able to
effect their passage.

After landing, Lambertsen and Grotius walked to Waalwyk, van der Veen
returning the same evening to Gorcum. It was four o'clock in the
afternoon when they reached Waalwyk, where a carriage was hired to convey
the fugitive to Antwerp. The friendly mason here took leave of his
illustrious journeyman, having first told the driver that his companion
was a disguised bankrupt fleeing from Holland into foreign territory to
avoid pursuit by his creditors. This would explain his slightly
concealing his face in passing through a crowd in any village.

Grotius proved so ignorant of the value of different coins in making
small payments on the road, that the honest waggoner, on being
occasionally asked who the odd-looking stranger was, answered that he was
a bankrupt, and no wonder, for he did not know one piece of money from
another. For, his part he thought him little better than a fool.

Such was the depreciatory opinion formed by the Waalwyk coachman as to
the "rising light of the world" and the "miracle of Holland." They
travelled all night and, arriving on the morning of the 21st within a few
leagues of Antwerp, met a patrol of soldiers, who asked Grotius for his
passport. He enquired in whose service they were, and was told in that of
"Red Rod," as the chief bailiff of Antwerp was called. That functionary
happened to be near, and the traveller approaching him said that his
passport was on his feet, and forthwith told him his name and story.

Red Rod treated him at once with perfect courtesy, offered him a horse
for himself with a mounted escort, and so furthered his immediate
entrance to Antwerp. Grotius rode straight to the house of a banished
friend of his, the preacher Grevinkhoven. He was told by the daughter of
that clergyman that her father was upstairs ministering at the bedside of
his sick wife. But so soon as the traveller had sent up his name, both
the preacher and the invalid came rushing downstairs to fall upon the
neck of one who seemed as if risen from the dead.

The news spread, and Episcopius and other exiled friends soon thronged to
the house of Grevinkhoven, where they all dined together in great glee,
Grotius, still in his journeyman's clothes, narrating the particulars of
his wonderful escape.

He had no intention of tarrying in his resting-place at Antwerp longer
than was absolutely necessary. Intimations were covertly made to him that
a brilliant destiny might be in store for him should he consent to enter
the service of the Archdukes, nor were there waning rumours, circulated
as a matter of course by his host of enemies, that he was about to become
a renegade to country and religion. There was as much truth in the
slanders as in the rest of the calumnies of which he had been the victim
during his career. He placed on record a proof of his loyal devotion to
his country in the letters which he wrote from Antwerp within a week of
his arrival there. With his subsequent history, his appearance and long
residence at the French court as ambassador of Sweden, his memorable
labours in history, diplomacy, poetry, theology, the present narrative is
not concerned. Driven from the service of his Fatherland, of which his
name to all time is one of the proudest garlands, he continued to be a
benefactor not only to her but to all mankind. If refutation is sought of
the charge that republics are ungrateful, it will certainly not be found
in the history of Hugo Grotius or John of Barneveld.

Nor is there need to portray the wrath of Captain Deventer when he
returned to Castle Loevestein.

"Here is the cage, but your bird is flown," said corpulent Maria Grotius
with a placid smile. The Commandant solaced himself by uttering
imprecations on her, on her husband, and on Elsje van Houwening. But
these curses could not bring back the fugitive. He flew to Gorcum to
browbeat the Daatselaers and to search the famous trunk. He found in it
the big New Testament and some skeins of thread, together with an octavo
or two of theology and of Greek tragedies; but the Arminian was not in
it, and was gone from the custody of the valiant Deventer for ever.

After a brief period Madame de Groot was released and rejoined her
husband. Elsje van Houwening, true heroine of the adventure, was
subsequently married to the faithful servant of Grotius, who during the
two years' imprisonment had been taught Latin and the rudiments of law by
his master, so that he subsequently rose to be a thriving and respectable
advocate at the tribunals of Holland.

The Stadholder, when informed of the escape of the prisoner, observed, "I
always thought the black pig was deceiving me," making not very
complimentary allusion to the complexion and size of the lady who had
thus aided the escape of her husband.

He is also reported as saying that it "is no wonder they could not keep
Grotius in prison, as he has more wit than all his judges put together."



CHAPTER XXIII.

   Barneveld's Sons plot against Maurice--The Conspiracy betrayed to
   Maurice--Escape of Stoutenburg--Groeneveld is arrested--Mary of
   Barneveld appeals to the Stadholder--Groeneveld condemned to Death--
   Execution of Groeneveld.

The widow of Barneveld had remained, since the last scene of the fatal
tragedy on the Binnenhof, in hopeless desolation. The wife of the man who
during a whole generation of mankind had stood foremost among the
foremost of the world, and had been one of those chief actors and
directors in human affairs to whom men's eyes turned instinctively from
near and from afar, had led a life of unbroken prosperity. An heiress in
her own right, Maria van Utrecht had laid the foundation of her husband's
wealth by her union with the rising young lawyer and statesman. Her two
sons and two daughters had grown up around her, all four being married
into the leading families of the land, and with apparently long lives of
prosperity and usefulness before them. And now the headsman's sword had
shivered all this grandeur and happiness at a blow. The name of the dead
statesman had become a word of scoffing and reproach; vagabond
mountebanks enacted ribald scenes to his dishonour in the public squares
and streets; ballad-mongers yelled blasphemous libels upon him in the
very ears of his widow and children. For party hatred was not yet glutted
with the blood it had drunk.

It would be idle to paint the misery of this brokenhearted woman.

The great painters of the epoch have preserved her face to posterity; the
grief-stricken face of a hard-featured but commanding and not uncomely
woman, the fountains of whose tears seem exhausted; a face of austere and
noble despair. A decorous veil should be thrown over the form of that
aged matron, for whose long life and prosperity Fate took such merciless
vengeance at last.

For the woes of Maria of Barneveld had scarcely begun. Desolation had
become her portion, but dishonour had not yet crossed her threshold.
There were sterner strokes in store for her than that which smote her
husband on the scaffold.

She had two sons, both in the prime of life. The eldest, Reinier, Lord of
Groeneveld, who had married a widow of rank and wealth, Madame de
Brandwyk, was living since the death of his father in comparative ease,
but entire obscurity. An easy-tempered, genial, kindly gentleman, he had
been always much beloved by his friends and, until the great family
catastrophe, was popular with the public, but of an infirm and
vacillating character, easily impressed by others, and apt to be led by
stronger natures than his own. He had held the lucrative office of head
forester of Delfland of which he had now been deprived.

The younger son William, called, from an estate conferred on him by his
father, Lord of Stoutenburg, was of a far different mould. We have seen
him at an earlier period of this narrative attached to the embassy of
Francis Aerssens in Paris, bearing then from another estate the unmusical
title of Craimgepolder, and giving his subtle and dangerous chief great
cause of complaint by his irregular, expensive habits. He had been
however rather a favourite with Henry IV., who had so profound a respect
for the father as to consult him, and him only of all foreign statesmen,
in the gravest affairs of his reign, and he had even held an office of
honour and emolument at his court. Subsequently he had embraced the
military career, and was esteemed a soldier of courage and promise. As
captain of cavalry and governor of the fortress of Bergen op Zoom, he
occupied a distinguished and lucrative position, and was likely, so soon
as the Truce ran to its close, to make a name for himself in that
gigantic political and religious war which had already opened in Bohemia,
and in which it was evident the Republic would soon be desperately
involved. His wife, Walburg de Marnix, was daughter to one of the noblest
characters in the history of the Netherlands, or of any history, the
illustrious Sainte-Aldegonde. Two thousand florins a year from his
father's estate had been settled on him at his marriage, which, in
addition to his official and military income, placed him in a position of
affluence.

After the death of his father the family estates were confiscated, and he
was likewise deprived of his captaincy and his governorship. He was
reduced at a blow from luxury and high station to beggary and obscurity.
At the renewal of the war he found himself, for no fault of his own,
excluded from the service of his country. Yet the Advocate almost in his
last breath had recommended his sons to the Stadholder, and Maurice had
sent a message in response that so long as the sons conducted themselves
well they might rely upon his support.

Hitherto they had not conducted themselves otherwise than well.
Stoutenburg, who now dwelt in his house with his mother, was of a dark,
revengeful, turbulent disposition. In the career of arms he had a right
to look forward to success, but thus condemned to brood in idleness on
the cruel wrongs to himself and his house it was not improbable that he
might become dangerous.

Years long he fed on projects of vengeance as his daily bread. He was
convinced that his personal grievances were closely entwined with the
welfare of the Commonwealth, and he had sworn to avenge the death of his
father, the misery of his mother, and the wrongs which he was himself
suffering, upon the Stadholder, whom he considered the author of all
their woe. To effect a revolution in the government, and to bring back to
power all the municipal regents whom Maurice had displaced so summarily,
in order, as the son believed, to effect the downfall of the hated
Advocate, this was the determination of Stoutenburg.

He did not pause to reflect whether the arm which had been strong enough
to smite to nothingness the venerable statesman in the plenitude of his
power would be too weak to repel the attack of an obscure and disarmed
partisan. He saw only a hated tyrant, murderer, and oppressor, as he
considered him, and he meant to have his life.

He had around him a set of daring and desperate men to whom he had from
time to time half confided his designs. A certain unfrocked preacher of
the Remonstrant persuasion, who, according to the fashion of the learned
of that day, had translated his name out of Hendrik Sleet into Henricus
Slatius, was one of his most unscrupulous instruments. Slatius, a big,
swarthy, shag-eared, beetle-browed Hollander, possessed learning of no
ordinary degree, a tempestuous kind of eloquence, and a habit of dealing
with men; especially those of the humbler classes. He was passionate,
greedy, overbearing, violent, and loose of life. He had sworn vengeance
upon the Remonstrants in consequence of a private quarrel, but this did
not prevent him from breathing fire and fury against the
Contra-Remonstrants also, and especially against the Stadholder, whom he
affected to consider the arch-enemy of the whole Commonwealth.

Another twelvemonth went by. The Advocate had been nearly four years in
his grave. The terrible German war was in full blaze. The Twelve Years'
Truce had expired, the Republic was once more at war, and Stoutenburg,
forbidden at the head of his troop to campaign with the Stadholder
against the Archdukes, nourished more fiercely than ever his plan against
the Stadholder's life.

Besides the ferocious Slatius he had other associates. There was his
cousin by marriage, van der Dussen, a Catholic gentleman, who had married
a daughter of Elias Barneveld, and who shared all Stoutenburg's feelings
of resentment towards Maurice. There was Korenwinder, another Catholic,
formerly occupying an official position of responsibility as secretary of
the town of Berkel, a man of immense corpulence, but none the less an
active and dangerous conspirator.

There was van Dyk, a secretary of Bleiswyk, equally active and dangerous,
and as lean and hungry as Korenwinder was fat. Stoutenburg, besides other
rewards, had promised him a cornetcy of cavalry, should their plans be
successful. And there was the brother-in-law of Slatius, one Cornelis
Gerritaen, a joiner by trade, living at Rotterdam, who made himself very
useful in all the details of the conspiracy.

For the plot was now arranged, the men just mentioned being its active
agents and in constant communication with Stoutenburg.

Korenwinder and van Dyk in the last days of December 1622 drew up a
scheme on paper, which was submitted to their chief and met with his
approval. The document began with a violent invective against the crimes
and tyranny of the Stadholder, demonstrated the necessity of a general
change in the government, and of getting rid of Maurice as an
indispensable preliminary, and laid down the means and method of doing
this deed.

The Prince was in the daily habit of driving, unattended by his
body-guard, to Ryswyk, about two miles from the Hague. It would not be
difficult for a determined band of men divided into two parties to set
upon him between the stables and his coach, either when alighting from or
about to enter it--the one party to kill him while the other protected
the retreat of the assassins, and beat down such defence as the few
lackeys of the Stadholder could offer.

The scheme, thus mapped out, was submitted to Stoutenburg, who gave it
his approval after suggesting a few amendments. The document was then
burnt. It was estimated that twenty men would be needed for the job, and
that to pay them handsomely would require about 6000 guilders.

The expenses and other details of the infamous plot were discussed as
calmly as if it had been an industrial or commercial speculation. But
6000 guilders was an immense sum to raise, and the Seigneur de
Stoutenburg was a beggar. His associates were as forlorn as himself, but
his brother-in-law, the ex-Ambassador van der Myle, was living at
Beverwyk under the supervision of the police, his property not having
been confiscated. Stoutenburg paid him a visit, accompanied by the
Reverend Slatius, in hopes of getting funds from him, but at the first
obscure hint of the infamous design van der Myle faced them with such
looks, gestures, and words of disgust and indignation that the murderous
couple recoiled, the son of Barneveld saying to the expreacher: "Let us
be off, Slaet,'tis a mere cur. Nothing is to be made of him."

The other son of Barneveld, the Seigneur de Groeneveld, had means and
credit. His brother had darkly hinted to him the necessity of getting rid
of Maurice, and tried to draw him into the plot. Groeneveld, more
unstable than water, neither repelled nor encouraged these advances. He
joined in many conversations with Stoutenburg, van Dyk, and Korenwinder,
but always weakly affected not to know what they were driving at. "When
we talk of business," said van Dyk to him one day, "you are always
turning off from us and from the subject. You had better remain." Many
anonymous letters were sent to him, calling on him to strike for
vengeance on the murderer of his father, and for the redemption of his
native land and the Remonstrant religion from foul oppression.

At last yielding to the persuasions and threats of his fierce younger
brother, who assured him that the plot would succeed, the government be
revolutionized, and that then all property would be at the mercy of the
victors, he agreed to endorse certain bills which Korenwinder undertook
to negotiate. Nothing could be meaner, more cowardly, and more murderous
than the proceedings of the Seigneur de Groeneveld. He seems to have felt
no intense desire of vengeance upon Maurice, which certainly would not
have been unnatural, but he was willing to supply money for his
assassination. At the same time he was careful to insist that this
pecuniary advance was by no means a free gift, but only a loan to be
repaid by his more bloodthirsty brother upon demand with interest. With a
businesslike caution, in ghastly contrast with the foulness of the
contract, he exacted a note of hand from Stoutenburg covering the whole
amount of his disbursements. There might come a time, he thought, when
his brother's paper would be more negotiable than it was at that moment.

Korenwinder found no difficulty in discounting Groeneveld's bills, and
the necessary capital was thus raised for the vile enterprise. Van Dyk,
the lean and hungry conspirator, now occupied himself vigorously in
engaging the assassins, while his corpulent colleague remained as
treasurer of the company. Two brothers Blansaerts, woollen manufacturers
at Leyden--one of whom had been a student of theology in the Remonstrant
Church and had occasionally preached--and a certain William Party, a
Walloon by birth, but likewise a woollen worker at Leyden, agreed to the
secretary's propositions. He had at first told, them that their services
would be merely required for the forcible liberation of two Remonstrant
clergymen, Niellius and Poppius, from the prison at Haarlem. Entertaining
his new companions at dinner, however, towards the end of January, van
Dyk, getting very drunk, informed them that the object of the enterprise
was to kill the Stadholder; that arrangements had been made for effecting
an immediate change in the magistracies in all the chief cities of
Holland so soon as the deed was done; that all the recently deposed
regents would enter the Hague at once, supported by a train of armed
peasants from the country; and that better times for the oppressed
religion, for the Fatherland, and especially for everyone engaged in the
great undertaking, would begin with the death of the tyrant. Each man
taking direct part in the assassination would receive at least 300
guilders, besides being advanced to offices of honour and profit
according to his capacity.

The Blansaerts assured their superior that entire reliance might be
placed on their fidelity, and that they knew of three or four other men
in Leyden "as firm as trees and fierce as lions," whom they would
engage--a fustian worker, a tailor, a chimney-sweeper, and one or two
other mechanics. The looseness and utter recklessness with which this
hideous conspiracy was arranged excites amazement. Van Dyk gave the two
brothers 100 pistoles in gold--a coin about equal to a guinea--for their
immediate reward as well as for that of the comrades to be engaged. Yet
it seems almost certain from subsequent revelations that they were
intending all the time to deceive him, to take as much money as they
could get from him, "to milk, the cow as long as she would give milk," as
William Party expressed it, and then to turn round upon and betray him.
It was a dangerous game however, which might not prove entirely
successful.

Van Dyk duly communicated with Stoutenburg, who grew more and more
feverish with hatred and impatience as the time for gratifying those
passions drew nigh, and frequently said that he would like to tear the
Stadholder to pieces with his own hands. He preferred however to act as
controlling director over the band of murderers now enrolled.

For in addition to the Leyden party, the Reverend Slatius, supplied with
funds by van Dyk, had engaged at Rotterdam his brother-in-law Gerritsen,
a joiner, living in that city, together with three sailors named
respectively Dirk, John, and Herman.

The ex-clergyman's house was also the arsenal of the conspiracy,
and here were stored away a stock of pistols, snaphances, and
sledge-hammers--together with that other death-dealing machinery, the
whole edition of the 'Clearshining Torch', an inflammatory, pamphlet by
Slatius--all to be used on the fatal day fast approaching.

On the 1st February van Dyk visited Slatius at Rotterdam. He found
Gerritsen hard at work.

There in a dark back kitchen, by the lurid light of the fire in a dim
wintry afternoon, stood the burly Slatius, with his swarthy face and
heavy eyebrows, accompanied by his brother-in-law the joiner, both in
workman's dress, melting lead, running bullets, drying powder, and
burnishing and arranging the fire-arms and other tools to be used in the
great crime now so rapidly maturing. The lean, busy, restless van Dyk,
with his adust and sinister visage, came peering in upon the couple thus
engaged, and observed their preparations with warm approval.

He recommended that in addition to Dirk, John, and Herman, a few more
hardy seafaring men should be engaged, and Slatius accordingly secured
next day the services of one Jerome Ewouts and three other sailors. They
were not informed of the exact nature of the enterprise, but were told
that it was a dangerous although not a desperate one, and sure to be of
great service to the Fatherland. They received, as all the rest had done,
between 200 and 300 guilders in gold, that they would all be promoted to
be captains and first mates.

It was agreed that all the conspirators should assemble four days later
at the Hague on Sunday, the 5th February, at the inn of the "Golden
Helmet." The next day, Monday the 6th, had been fixed by Stoutenburg for
doing the deed. Van Dyk, who had great confidence in the eloquence of
William Party, the Walloon wool manufacturer, had arranged that he should
make a discourse to them all in a solitary place in the downs between
that city and the sea-shore, taking for his theme or brief the
Clearshining Torch of Slatius.

On Saturday that eminent divine entertained his sister and her husband
Gerritsen, Jerome Ewouts, who was at dinner but half informed as to the
scope of the great enterprise, and several other friends who were
entirely ignorant of it. Slatius was in high spirits, although his
sister, who had at last become acquainted with the vile plot, had done
nothing but weep all day long. They had better be worms, with a promise
of further reward and an intimation she said, and eat dirt for their
food, than crawl in so base a business. Her brother comforted her with
assurances that the project was sure to result in a triumph for religion
and Fatherland, and drank many healths at his table to the success of all
engaged in it. That evening he sent off a great chest filled with arms
and ammunition to the "Golden Helmet" at the Hague under the charge of
Jerome Ewouts and his three mates. Van Dyk had already written a letter
to the landlord of that hostelry engaging a room there, and saying that
the chest contained valuable books and documents to be used in a lawsuit,
in which he was soon to be engaged, before the supreme tribunal.

On the Sunday this bustling conspirator had John Blansaert and William
Party to dine with him at the "Golden Helmet" in the Hague, and produced
seven packages neatly folded, each containing gold pieces to the amount
of twenty pounds sterling. These were for themselves and the others whom
they had reported as engaged by them in Leyden. Getting drunk as usual,
he began to bluster of the great political revolution impending, and
after dinner examined the carbines of his guests. He asked if those
weapons were to be relied upon. "We can blow a hair to pieces with them
at twenty paces," they replied. "Ah! would that I too could be of the
party," said van Dyk, seizing one of the carbines. "No, no," said John
Blansaert, "we can do the deed better without you than with you. You must
look out for the defence."

Van Dyk then informed them that they, with one of the Rotterdam sailors,
were to attack Maurice as he got out of his coach at Ryswyk, pin him
between the stables and the coach, and then and there do him to death.
"You are not to leave him," he cried, "till his soul has left his body."

The two expressed their hearty concurrence with this arrangement, and
took leave of their host for the night, going, they said, to distribute
the seven packages of blood-money. They found Adam Blansaert waiting for
them in the downs, and immediately divided the whole amount between
themselves and him--the chimney-sweeper, tailor, and fustian worker,
"firm as trees and fierce as lions," having never had any existence save
in their fertile imaginations.

On Monday, 6th February, van Dyk had a closing interview with Stoutenburg
and his brother at the house of Groeneveld, and informed them that the
execution of the plot had been deferred to the following day. Stoutenburg
expressed disgust and impatience at the delay. "I should like to tear the
Stadholder to pieces with my own hands!" he cried. He was pacified on
hearing that the arrangements had been securely made for the morrow, and
turning to his brother observed, "Remember that you can never retract.
You are in our power and all your estates at our mercy." He then
explained the manner in which the magistracies of Leyden, Gouda,
Rotterdam, and other cities were to be instantly remodelled after the
death of Maurice, the ex-regents of the Hague at the head of a band of
armed peasants being ready at a moment's warning to take possession of
the political capital.

Prince Frederic Henry moreover, he hinted darkly and falsely, but in a
manner not to be mistaken, was favourable to the movement, and would
after the murder of Maurice take the government into his hands.

Stoutenburg then went quietly home to pass the day and sleep at his
mother's house awaiting the eventful morning of Tuesday.

Van Dyk went back to his room at the "Golden Helmet" and began inspecting
the contents of the arms and ammunition chest which Jerome Ewouts and his
three mates had brought the night before from Rotterdam. He had been
somewhat unquiet at having seen nothing of those mariners during the day;
when looking out of window, he saw one of them in conference with some
soldiers. A minute afterwards he heard a bustle in the rooms below, and
found that the house was occupied by a guard, and that Gerritsen, with
the three first engaged sailors Dirk, Peter, and Herman, had been
arrested at the Zotje. He tried in vain to throw the arms back into the
chest and conceal it under the bed, but it was too late. Seizing his hat
and wrapping himself in his cloak, with his sword by his side, he walked
calmly down the stairs looking carelessly at the group of soldiers and
prisoners who filled the passages. A waiter informed the provost-marshal
in command that the gentleman was a respectable boarder at the tavern,
well known to him for many years. The conspirator passed unchallenged and
went straight to inform Stoutenburg.

The four mariners, last engaged by Slatius at Rotterdam, had signally
exemplified the danger of half confidences. Surprised that they should
have been so mysteriously entrusted with the execution of an enterprise
the particulars of which were concealed from them, and suspecting that
crime alone could command such very high prices as had been paid and
promised by the ex-clergyman, they had gone straight to the residence of
the Stadholder, after depositing the chest at the "Golden Helmet."

Finding that he had driven as usual to Ryswyk, they followed him thither,
and by dint of much importunity obtained an audience. If the enterprise
was a patriotic one, they reasoned, he would probably know of it and
approve it. If it were criminal, it would be useful for them to reveal
and dangerous to conceal it.

They told the story so far as they knew it to the Prince and showed him
the money, 300 florins apiece, which they had already received from
Slatius. Maurice hesitated not an instant. It was evident that a dark
conspiracy was afoot. He ordered the sailors to return to the Hague by
another and circuitous road through Voorburg, while he lost not a moment
himself in hurrying back as fast as his horses would carry him. Summoning
the president and several councillors of the chief tribunal, he took
instant measures to take possession of the two taverns, and arrest all
the strangers found in them.

Meantime van Dyk came into the house of the widow Barneveld and found
Stoutenburg in the stable-yard. He told him the plot was discovered, the
chest of arms at the "Golden Helmet" found. "Are there any private
letters or papers in the bog?" asked Stoutenburg. "None relating to the
affair," was the answer.

"Take yourself off as fast as possible," said Stoutenburg. Van Dyk needed
no urging. He escaped through the stables and across the fields in the
direction of Leyden. After skulking about for a week however and making
very little progress, he was arrested at Hazerswoude, having broken
through the ice while attempting to skate across the inundated and frozen
pastures in that region.

Proclamations were at once made, denouncing the foul conspiracy in which
the sons of the late Advocate Barneveld, the Remonstrant clergyman
Slatius, and others, were the ringleaders, and offering 4000 florins each
for their apprehension. A public thanksgiving for the deliverance was
made in all the churches on the 8th February.

On the 12th February the States-General sent letters to all their
ambassadors and foreign agents, informing them of this execrable plot to
overthrow the Commonwealth and take the life of the Stadholder, set on
foot by certain Arminian preachers and others of that faction, and this
too in winter, when the ice and snow made hostile invasion practicable,
and when the enemy was encamped in so many places in the neighbourhood.
"The Arminians," said the despatch, "are so filled with bitterness that
they would rather the Republic should be lost than that their pretended
grievances should go unredressed." Almost every pulpit shook with
Contra-Remonstrant thunder against the whole society of Remonstrants, who
were held up to the world as rebels and prince-murderers; the criminal
conspiracy being charged upon them as a body. Hardly a man of that
persuasion dared venture into the streets and public places, for fear of
being put to death by the rabble. The Chevalier William of Nassau,
natural son of the Stadholder, was very loud and violent in all the
taverns and tap-rooms, drinking mighty draughts to the damnation of the
Arminians.

Many of the timid in consequence shrank away from the society and joined
the Contra-Remonstrant Church, while the more courageous members,
together with the leaders of that now abhorred communion, published long
and stirring appeals to the universal sense of justice, which was
outraged by the spectacle of a whole sect being punished for a crime
committed by a few individuals, who had once been unworthy members of it.

Meantime hue and cry was made after the fugitive conspirators. The
Blansaerts and William Party having set off from Leyden towards the Hague
on Monday night, in order, as they said, to betray their employers, whose
money they had taken, and whose criminal orders they had agreed to
execute, attempted to escape, but were arrested within ten days. They
were exhibited at their prison at Amsterdam to an immense concourse at a
shilling a peep, the sums thus collected being distributed to the poor.
Slatius made his way disguised as a boor into Friesland, and after
various adventures attempted to cross the Bourtange Moors to Lingen.
Stopping to refresh himself at a tavern near Koevorden, he found himself
in the tap-room in presence of Quartermaster Blau and a company of
soldiers from the garrison. The dark scowling boor, travel-stained and
weary, with felt hat slouched over his forbidding visage, fierce and
timorous at once like a hunted wild beast, excited their suspicion.
Seeing himself watched, he got up, paid his scot, and departed, leaving
his can of beer untasted. This decided the quartermaster, who accordingly
followed the peasant out of the house, and arrested him as a Spanish spy
on the watch for the train of specie which the soldiers were then
conveying into Koevorden Castle.

Slatius protested his innocence of any such design, and vehemently
besought the officer to release him, telling him as a reason for his
urgency and an explanation of his unprepossessing aspect--that he was an
oculist from Amsterdam, John Hermansen by name, that he had just
committed a homicide in that place, and was fleeing from justice.

The honest quartermaster saw no reason why a suspected spy should go free
because he proclaimed himself a murderer, nor why an oculist should
escape the penalties of homicide. "The more reason," he said, "why thou
shouldst be my prisoner." The ex-preacher was arrested and shut up in the
state prison at the Hague.

The famous engraver Visser executed a likeness on copper-plate of the
grim malefactor as he appeared in his boor's disguise. The portrait,
accompanied by a fiercely written broadsheet attacking the Remonstrant
Church, had a great circulation, and deepened the animosity against the
sect upon which the unfrocked preacher had sworn vengeance. His evil face
and fame thus became familiar to the public, while the term Hendrik Slaet
became a proverb at pot-houses, being held equivalent among tipplers to
shirking the bottle.

Korenwinder, the treasurer of the association, coming to visit
Stoutenburg soon after van Dyk had left him, was informed of the
discovery of the plot and did his best to escape, but was arrested within
a fortnight's time.

Stoutenburg himself acted with his usual promptness and coolness. Having
gone straightway to his brother to notify him of the discovery and to
urge him to instant flight, he contrived to disappear. A few days later a
chest of merchandise was brought to the house of a certain citizen of
Rotterdam, who had once been a fiddler, but was now a man of considerable
property. The chest, when opened, was found to contain the Seigneur de
Stoutenburg, who in past times had laid the fiddler under obligations,
and in whose house he now lay concealed for many days, and until the
strictness with which all roads and ferries in the neighbourhood were
watched at first had somewhat given way. Meantime his cousin van der
Dussen had also effected his escape, and had joined him in Rotterdam. The
faithful fiddler then, for a thousand florins, chartered a trading vessel
commanded by one Jacob Beltje to take a cargo of Dutch cheese to Wesel on
the Rhine. By this means, after a few adventures, they effected their
escape, and, arriving not long afterwards at Brussels, were formally
taken under the protection of the Archduchess Isabella.

Stoutenburg afterwards travelled in France and Italy, and returned to
Brussels. His wife, loathing his crime and spurning all further
communication with him, abandoned him to his fate. The daughter of Marnix
of Sainte-Aldegonde had endured poverty, obscurity, and unmerited
obloquy, which had become the lot of the great statesman's family after
his tragic end, but she came of a race that would not brook dishonour.
The conspirator and suborner of murder and treason, the hirer and
companion of assassins, was no mate for her.

Stoutenburg hesitated for years as to his future career, strangely enough
keeping up a hope of being allowed to return to his country.

Subsequently he embraced the cause of his country's enemies, converted
himself to the Roman Church, and obtained a captaincy of horse in the
Spanish service. He was seen one day, to the disgust of many spectators,
to enter Antwerp in black foreign uniform, at the head of his troopers,
waving a standard with a death's-head embroidered upon it, and wearing,
like his soldiers, a sable scarf and plume. History disdains to follow
further the career of the renegade, traitor, end assassin.

When the Seigneur de Groeneveld learned from his younger brother, on the
eventful 6th of February, that the plot had been discovered, he gave
himself up for lost. Remorse and despair, fastening upon his naturally
feeble character, seemed to render him powerless. His wife, of more
hopeful disposition than himself and of less heroic mould than Walburg de
Marnix, encouraged him to fly. He fled accordingly, through the desolate
sandy downs which roll between the Hague and the sea, to Scheveningen,
then an obscure fishing village on the coast, at a league's distance from
the capital. Here a fisherman, devoted to him and his family, received
him in his hut, disguised him in boatman's attire, and went with him to
the strand, proposing to launch his pinkie, put out at once to sea, and
to land him on the English coast, the French coast, in Hamburg--where he
would.

The sight of that long, sandy beach stretching for more than seventy
miles in an unbroken, melancholy line, without cove, curve, or
indentation to break its cruel monotony, and with the wild waves of the
German Ocean, lashed by a wintry storm, breaking into white foam as far
as the eye could reach, appalled the fugitive criminal. With the
certainty of an ignominious death behind him, he shrank abjectly from the
terrors of the sea, and, despite the honest fisherman's entreaties,
refused to enter the boat and face the storm. He wandered feebly along
the coast, still accompanied by his humble friend, to another little
village, where the fisherman procured a waggon, which took them as far as
Sandvoort. Thence he made his way through Egmond and Petten and across
the Marsdiep to Tegel, where not deeming himself safe he had himself
ferried over to the neighbouring island of Vlieland. Here amongst the
quicksands, whirlpools, and shallows which mark the last verge of
habitable Holland, the unhappy fugitive stood at bay.

Meantime information had come to the authorities that a suspicious
stranger had been seen at Scheveningen. The fisherman's wife was
arrested. Threatened with torture she at last confessed with whom her
husband had fled and whither. Information was sent to the bailiff of
Vlieland, who with a party of followers made a strict search through his
narrow precincts. A group of seamen seated on the sands was soon
discovered, among whom, dressed in shaggy pea jacket with long
fisherman's boots, was the Seigneur de Groeneveld, who, easily recognized
through his disguise, submitted to his captors without a struggle. The
Scheveningen fisherman, who had been so faithful to him, making a sudden
spring, eluded his pursuers and disappeared; thus escaping the gibbet
which would probably have been his doom instead of the reward of 4000
golden guilders which he might have had for betraying him. Thus a sum
more than double the amount originally furnished by Groeneveld, as the
capital of the assassination company, had been rejected by the Rotterdam
boatman who saved Stoutenburg, and by the Scheveningen fisherman who was
ready to save Groeneveld. On the 19th February, within less than a
fortnight from the explosion of the conspiracy, the eldest son of
Barneveld was lodged in the Gevangen Poort or state prison of the Hague.

The awful news of the 6th February had struck the widow of Barneveld as
with a thunderbolt. Both her sons were proclaimed as murderers and
suborners of assassins, and a price put upon their heads. She remained
for days neither speaking nor weeping; scarcely eating, drinking, or
sleeping. She seemed frozen to stone. Her daughters and friends could not
tell whether she were dying or had lost her reason. At length the escape
of Stoutenburg and the capture of Groeneveld seemed to rouse her from her
trance. She then stooped to do what she had sternly refused to do when
her husband was in the hands of the authorities. Accompanied by the wife
and infant son of Groeneveld she obtained an audience of the stern
Stadholder, fell on her knees before him, and implored mercy and pardon
for her son.

Maurice received her calmly and not discourteously, but held out no hopes
of pardon. The criminal was in the hands of justice, he said, and he had
no power to interfere. But there can scarcely be a doubt that he had
power after the sentence to forgive or to commute, and it will be
remembered that when Barneveld himself was about to suffer, the Prince
had asked the clergyman Walaeus with much anxiety whether the prisoner in
his message had said nothing of pardon.

Referring to the bitter past, Maurice asked Madame de Barneveld why she
not asked mercy for her son, having refused to do so for her husband.

Her answer was simple and noble:

"My husband was innocent of crime," she said; "my son is guilty."

The idea of pardon in this case was of course preposterous. Certainly if
Groeneveld had been forgiven, it would have been impossible to punish the
thirteen less guilty conspirators, already in the hands of justice, whom
he had hired to commit the assassination. The spectacle of the two
cowardly ringleaders going free while the meaner criminals were gibbeted
would have been a shock to the most rudimentary ideas of justice. It
would have been an equal outrage to pardon the younger Barnevelds for
intended murder, in which they had almost succeeded, when their great
father had already suffered for a constructive lese-majesty, the guilt of
which had been stoutly denied. Yet such is the dreary chain of cause and
effect that it is certain, had pardon been nobly offered to the
statesman, whose views of constitutional law varied from those of the
dominant party, the later crime would never have been committed. But
Francis Aerssens--considering his own and other partisans lives at stake
if the States' right party did not fall--had been able to bear down all
thoughts of mercy. He was successful, was called to the house of nobles,
and regained the embassy of Paris, while the house of Barneveld was
trodden into the dust of dishonour and ruin. Rarely has an offended
politician's revenge been more thorough than his. Never did the mocking
fiend betray his victims into the hands of the avenger more sardonically
than was done in this sombre tragedy.

The trials of the prisoners were rapidly conducted. Van Dyk, cruelly
tortured, confessed on the rack all the details of the conspiracy as they
were afterwards embodied in the sentences and have been stated in the
preceding narrative. Groeneveld was not tortured. His answers to the
interrogatories were so vague as to excite amazement at his general
ignorance of the foul transaction or at the feebleness of his memory,
while there was no attempt on his part to exculpate himself from the
damning charge. That it was he who had furnished funds for the proposed
murder and mutiny, knowing the purpose to which they were to be applied,
was proved beyond all cavil and fully avowed by him.

On the 28th May, he, Korenwinder, and van Dyk were notified that they
were to appear next day in the courthouse to hear their sentence, which
would immediately afterwards be executed.

That night his mother, wife, and son paid him a long visit of farewell in
his prison. The Gevangen Poort of the Hague, an antique but mean building
of brown brick and commonplace aspect, still stands in one of the most
public parts of the city. A gloomy archway, surmounted by windows grimly
guarded by iron lattice-work, forms the general thoroughfare from the
aristocratic Plaats and Kneuterdyk and Vyverberg to the inner court of
the ancient palace. The cells within are dark, noisome, and dimly
lighted, and even to this day the very instruments of torture, used in
the trials of these and other prisoners, may be seen by the curious. Half
a century later the brothers de Witt were dragged from this prison to be
literally torn to pieces by an infuriated mob.

The misery of that midnight interview between the widow of Barneveld, her
daughter-in-law, and the condemned son and husband need not be described.
As the morning approached, the gaoler warned the matrons to take their
departure that the prisoner might sleep.

"What a woful widow you will be," said Groeneveld to his wife, as she
sank choking with tears upon the ground. The words suddenly aroused in
her the sense of respect for their name.

"At least for all this misery endured," she said firmly, "do me enough
honour to die like a gentleman." He promised it. The mother then took
leave of the son, and History drops a decorous veil henceforth over the
grief-stricken form of Mary of Barneveld.

Next morning the life-guards of the Stadholder and other troops were
drawn up in battle-array in the outer and inner courtyard of the supreme
tribunal and palace. At ten o'clock Groeneveld came forth from the
prison. The Stadholder had granted as a boon to the family that he might
be neither fettered nor guarded as he walked to the tribunal. The
prisoner did not forget his parting promise to his wife. He appeared
full-dressed in velvet cloak and plumed hat, with rapier by his side,
walking calmly through the inner courtyard to the great hall. Observing
the windows of the Stadholder's apartments crowded with spectators, among
whom he seemed to recognize the Prince's face, he took off his hat and
made a graceful and dignified salute. He greeted with courtesy many
acquaintances among the crowd through which he passed. He entered the
hall and listened in silence to the sentence condemning him to be
immediately executed with the sword. Van Dyk and Korenwinder shared the
same doom, but were provisionally taken back to prison.

Groeneveld then walked calmly and gracefully as before from the hall to
the scaffold, attended by his own valet, and preceded by the
provost-marshal and assistants. He was to suffer, not where his father
had been beheaded, but on the "Green Sod." This public place of execution
for ordinary criminals was singularly enough in the most elegant and
frequented quarter of the Hague. A few rods from the Gevangen Poort, at
the western end of the Vyverberg, on the edge of the cheerful triangle
called the Plaats, and looking directly down the broad and stately
Kneuterdyk, at the end of which stood Aremberg House, lately the
residence of the great Advocate, was the mean and sordid scaffold.

Groeneveld ascended it with perfect composure. The man who had been
browbeaten into crime by an overbearing and ferocious brother, who had
quailed before the angry waves of the North Sea, which would have borne
him to a place of entire security, now faced his fate with a smile upon
his lips. He took off his hat, cloak, and sword, and handed them to his
valet. He calmly undid his ruff and wristbands of pointlace, and tossed
them on the ground. With his own hands and the assistance of his servant
he unbuttoned his doublet, laying breast and neck open without suffering
the headsman's hands to approach him.

He then walked to the heap of sand and spoke a very few words to the vast
throng of spectators.

"Desire of vengeance and evil counsel," he said, "have brought me here.
If I have wronged any man among you, I beg him for Christ's sake to
forgive me."

Kneeling on the sand with his face turned towards his father's house at
the end of the Kneuterdyk, he said his prayers. Then putting a red velvet
cap over his eyes, he was heard to mutter:

"O God! what a man I was once, and what am I now?"

Calmly folding his hands, he said, "Patience."

The executioner then struck off his head at a blow. His body, wrapped in
a black cloak, was sent to his house and buried in his father's tomb.

Van Dyk and Korenwinder were executed immediately afterwards. They were
quartered and their heads exposed on stakes. The joiner Gerritsen and the
three sailors had already been beheaded. The Blansaerts and William
Party, together with the grim Slatius, who was savage and turbulent to
the last, had suffered on the 5th of May.

Fourteen in all were executed for this crime, including an unfortunate
tailor and two other mechanics of Leyden, who had heard something
whispered about the conspiracy, had nothing whatever to do with it, but
from ignorance, apathy, or timidity did not denounce it. The ringleader
and the equally guilty van der Dussen had, as has been seen, effected
their escape.

Thus ended the long tragedy of the Barnevelds. The result of this foul
conspiracy and its failure to effect the crime proposed strengthened
immensely the power, popularity, and influence of the Stadholder, made
the orthodox church triumphant, and nearly ruined the sect of the
Remonstrants, the Arminians--most unjustly in reality, although with a
pitiful show of reason--being held guilty of the crime of Stoutenburg and
Slatius.

The Republic--that magnificent commonwealth which in its infancy had
confronted, single-handed, the greatest empire of the earth, and had
wrested its independence from the ancient despot after a forty years'
struggle--had now been rent in twain, although in very unequal portions,
by the fiend of political and religious hatred. Thus crippled, she was to
go forth and take her share in that awful conflict now in full blaze, and
of which after-ages were to speak with a shudder as the Thirty Years'
War.

     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

     Argument in a circle
     He that stands let him see that he does not fall
     If he has deserved it, let them strike off his head
     Misery had come not from their being enemies
     O God! what does man come to!
     Party hatred was not yet glutted with the blood it had drunk
     Rose superior to his doom and took captivity captive
     This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to the State
     To milk, the cow as long as she would give milk



     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE JOHN OF BARNEVELD, 1614-23:

     Acts of violence which under pretext of religion
     Adulation for inferiors whom they despise
     Affection of his friends and the wrath of his enemies
     And give advice. Of that, although always a spendthrift
     Argument in a circle
     Better to be governed by magistrates than mobs
     Burning with bitter revenge for all the favours he had received
     Calumny is often a stronger and more lasting power than disdain
     Casual outbursts of eternal friendship
     Changed his positions and contradicted himself day by day
     Conciliation when war of extermination was intended
     Considered it his special mission in the world to mediate
     Created one child for damnation and another for salvation
     Death rather than life with a false acknowledgment of guilt
     Denoungced as an obstacle to peace
     Depths theological party spirit could descend
     Depths of credulity men in all ages can sink
     Devote himself to his gout and to his fair young wife
     Enemy of all compulsion of the human conscience
     Extraordinary capacity for yielding to gentle violence
     France was mourning Henry and waiting for Richelieu
     Furious mob set upon the house of Rem Bischop
     Hardly a sound Protestant policy anywhere but in Holland
     He that stands let him see that he does not fall
     Heidelberg Catechism were declared to be infallible
     Highborn demagogues in that as in every age affect adulation
     History has not too many really important and emblematic men
     Human nature in its meanness and shame
     I hope and I fear
     I know how to console myself
     If he has deserved it, let them strike off his head
     Implication there was much, of assertion very little
     In this he was much behind his age or before it
     It had not yet occurred to him that he was married
     John Robinson
     King who thought it furious madness to resist the enemy
     Logic is rarely the quality on which kings pride themselves
     Magistracy at that moment seemed to mean the sword
     Make the very name of man a term of reproach
     Misery had come not from their being enemies
     Mockery of negotiation in which nothing could be negotiated
     More apprehension of fraud than of force
     Necessity of deferring to powerful sovereigns
     Never lack of fishers in troubled waters
     Not his custom nor that of his councillors to go to bed
     O God! what does man come to!
     Only true religion
     Opening an abyss between government and people
     Opposed the subjection of the magistracy by the priesthood
     Partisans wanted not accommodation but victory
     Party hatred was not yet glutted with the blood it had drunk
     Pot-valiant hero
     Puritanism in Holland was a very different thing from England
     Rather a wilderness to reign over than a single heretic
     Resolve to maintain the civil authority over the military
     Rose superior to his doom and took captivity captive
     Seemed bent on self-destruction
     Stand between hope and fear
     Successful in this step, he is ready for greater ones
     Tempest of passion and prejudice
     That he tries to lay the fault on us is pure malice
     The magnitude of this wonderful sovereign's littleness
     The effect of energetic, uncompromising calumny
     The evils resulting from a confederate system of government
     This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to the State
     This wonderful sovereign's littleness oppresses the imagination
     To milk, the cow as long as she would give milk
     To stifle for ever the right of free enquiry
     William Brewster
     Wise and honest a man, although he be somewhat longsome
     Yes, there are wicked men about
     Yesterday is the preceptor of To-morrow



     ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, ENTIRE JOHN OF BARNEVELD 1609-1623:

     Abstinence from inquisition into consciences and private parlour
     Acts of violence which under pretext of religion
     Adulation for inferiors whom they despise
     Advanced orthodox party-Puritans
     Affection of his friends and the wrath of his enemies
     Allowed the demon of religious hatred to enter into its body
     Almost infinite power of the meanest of passions
     And give advice. Of that, although always a spendthrift
     And now the knife of another priest-led fanatic
     Argument in a circle
     Aristocracy of God's elect
     As with his own people, keeping no back-door open
     At a blow decapitated France
     Atheist, a tyrant, because he resisted dictation from the clergy
     Behead, torture, burn alive, and bury alive all heretics
     Better to be governed by magistrates than mobs
     Burning with bitter revenge for all the favours he had received
     Calumny is often a stronger and more lasting power than disdain
     Casual outbursts of eternal friendship
     Changed his positions and contradicted himself day by day
     Christian sympathy and a small assistance not being sufficient
     Conciliation when war of extermination was intended
     Conclusive victory for the allies seemed as predestined
     Considered it his special mission in the world to mediate
     Contained within itself the germs of a larger liberty
     Could not be both judge and party in the suit
     Covered now with the satirical dust of centuries
     Created one child for damnation and another for salvation
     Deadly hatred of Puritans in England and Holland
     Death rather than life with a false acknowledgment of guilt
     Denoungced as an obstacle to peace
     Depths of credulity men in all ages can sink
     Depths theological party spirit could descend
     Determined to bring the very name of liberty into contempt
     Devote himself to his gout and to his fair young wife
     Disputing the eternal damnation of young children
     Doctrine of predestination in its sternest and strictest sense
     Emperor of Japan addressed him as his brother monarch
     Enemy of all compulsion of the human conscience
     Epernon, the true murderer of Henry
     Estimating his character and judging his judges
     Everybody should mind his own business
     Extraordinary capacity for yielding to gentle violence
     Fate, free will, or absolute foreknowledge
     Father Cotton, who was only too ready to betray the secrets
     France was mourning Henry and waiting for Richelieu
     Furious mob set upon the house of Rem Bischop
     Give him advice if he asked it, and money when he required
     Great war of religion and politics was postponed
     Hardly a sound Protestant policy anywhere but in Holland
     He was not imperial of aspect on canvas or coin
     He who would have all may easily lose all
     He who spreads the snare always tumbles into the ditch himself
     He was a sincere bigot
     He that stands let him see that he does not fall
     Heidelberg Catechism were declared to be infallible
     Highborn demagogues in that as in every age affect adulation
     History has not too many really important and emblematic men
     Human nature in its meanness and shame
     I know how to console myself
     I hope and I fear
     If he has deserved it, let them strike off his head
     Impatience is often on the part of the non-combatants
     Implication there was much, of assertion very little
     In this he was much behind his age or before it
     Intense bigotry of conviction
     International friendship, the self-interest of each
     It had not yet occurred to him that he was married
     It was the true religion, and there was none other
     James of England, who admired, envied, and hated Henry
     Jealousy, that potent principle
     Jesuit Mariana--justifying the killing of excommunicated kings
     John Robinson
     King who thought it furious madness to resist the enemy
     King's definite and final intentions, varied from day to day
     Language which is ever living because it is dead
     Logic is rarely the quality on which kings pride themselves
     Louis XIII.
     Ludicrous gravity
     Magistracy at that moment seemed to mean the sword
     Make the very name of man a term of reproach
     Misery had come not from their being enemies
     Mockery of negotiation in which nothing could be negotiated
     More apprehension of fraud than of force
     More fiercely opposed to each other than to Papists
     Most detestable verses that even he had ever composed
     Necessity of deferring to powerful sovereigns
     Neither kings nor governments are apt to value logic
     Never lack of fishers in troubled waters
     No man pretended to think of the State
     No man can be neutral in civil contentions
     No synod had a right to claim Netherlanders as slaves
     None but God to compel me to say more than I choose to say
     Not his custom nor that of his councillors to go to bed
     O God! what does man come to!
     Only true religion
     Opening an abyss between government and people
     Opposed the subjection of the magistracy by the priesthood
     Outdoing himself in dogmatism and inconsistency
     Partisans wanted not accommodation but victory
     Party hatred was not yet glutted with the blood it had drunk
     Philip IV.
     Pot-valiant hero
     Power the poison of which it is so difficult to resist
     Practised successfully the talent of silence
     Presents of considerable sums of money to the negotiators made
     Priests shall control the state or the state govern the priests
     Princes show what they have in them at twenty-five or never
     Puritanism in Holland was a very different thing from England
     Putting the cart before the oxen
     Queen is entirely in the hands of Spain and the priests
     Rather a wilderness to reign over than a single heretic
     Religion was made the strumpet of Political Ambition
     Religious toleration, which is a phrase of insult
     Resolve to maintain the civil authority over the military
     Rose superior to his doom and took captivity captive
     Safest citadel against an invader and a tyrant is distrust
     Schism in the Church had become a public fact
     Secure the prizes of war without the troubles and dangers
     Seemed bent on self-destruction
     Senectus edam maorbus est
     She declined to be his procuress
     Small matter which human folly had dilated into a great one
     Smooth words, in the plentiful lack of any substantial
     So much in advance of his time as to favor religious equality
     Stand between hope and fear
     Stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage wheel
     Successful in this step, he is ready for greater ones
     Tempest of passion and prejudice
     That he tries to lay the fault on us is pure malice
     That cynical commerce in human lives
     The effect of energetic, uncompromising calumny
     The evils resulting from a confederate system of government
     The vehicle is often prized more than the freight
     The voice of slanderers
     The truth in shortest about matters of importance
     The assassin, tortured and torn by four horses
     The defence of the civil authority against the priesthood
     The magnitude of this wonderful sovereign's littleness
     The Catholic League and the Protestant Union
     Their own roofs were not quite yet in a blaze
     Theological hatred was in full blaze throughout the country
     Theology and politics were one
     There was no use in holding language of authority to him
     There was but one king in Europe, Henry the Bearnese
     Therefore now denounced the man whom he had injured
     They have killed him, 'e ammazato,' cried Concini
     Things he could tell which are too odious and dreadful
     Thirty Years' War tread on the heels of the forty years
     This wonderful sovereign's littleness oppresses the imagination
     This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to the State
     To milk, the cow as long as she would give milk
     To stifle for ever the right of free enquiry
     To look down upon their inferior and lost fellow creatures
     Uncouple the dogs and let them run
     Unimaginable outrage as the most legitimate industry
     Vows of an eternal friendship of several weeks' duration
     What could save the House of Austria, the cause of Papacy
     Whether repentance could effect salvation
     Whether dead infants were hopelessly damned
     Whose mutual hatred was now artfully inflamed


END OF THE HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS BY MOTLEY



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.

A MEMOIR, Complete

By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.



Volume I.


NOTE.

The Memoir here given to the public is based on a biographical sketch
prepared by the writer at the request of the Massachusetts Historical
Society for its Proceedings. The questions involving controversies into
which the Society could not feel called to enter are treated at
considerable length in the following pages. Many details are also given
which would have carried the paper written for the Society beyond the
customary limits of such tributes to the memory of its deceased members.
It is still but an outline which may serve a present need and perhaps be
of some assistance to a future biographer.



I.

1814-1827. To AEt. 13.
BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS.

John Motley, the great-grandfather of the subject of this Memoir, came in
the earlier part of the last century from Belfast in Ireland to Falmouth,
now Portland, in the District, now the State of Maine. He was twice
married, and had ten children, four of the first marriage and six of the
last. Thomas, the youngest son by his first wife, married Emma, a
daughter of John Wait, the first Sheriff of Cumberland County under the
government of the United States. Two of their seven sons, Thomas and
Edward, removed from Portland to Boston in 1802 and established
themselves as partners in commercial business, continuing united and
prosperous for nearly half a century before the firm was dissolved.

The earlier records of New England have preserved the memory of an
incident which deserves mention as showing how the historian's life was
saved by a quickwitted handmaid, more than a hundred years before he was
born. On the 29th of August, 1708, the French and Indians from Canada
made an attack upon the town of Haverhill, in Massachusetts. Thirty or
forty persons were slaughtered, and many others were carried captive into
Canada.

The minister of the town, Rev. Benjamin Rolfe, was killed by a bullet
through the door of his house. Two of his daughters, Mary, aged thirteen,
and Elizabeth, aged nine, were sleeping in a room with the maid-servant,
Hagar. When Hagar heard the whoop of the savages she seized the children,
ran with them into the cellar, and, after concealing them under two large
washtubs, hid herself. The Indians ransacked the cellar, but missed the
prey. Elizabeth, the younger of the two girls, grew up and married the
Rev. Samuel Checkley, first minister of the "New South" Church, Boston.
Her son, Rev. Samuel Checkley, Junior, was minister of the Second Church,
and his successor, Rev. John Lothrop, or Lathrop, as it was more commonly
spelled, married his daughter. Dr. Lothrop was great-grandson of Rev.
John Lothrop, of Scituate, who had been imprisoned in England for
nonconformity. The Checkleys were from Preston Capes, in
Northamptonshire. The name is probably identical with that of the
Chicheles or Chichleys, a well-known Northamptonshire family.

Thomas Motley married Anna, daughter of the Rev. John Lothrop,
granddaughter of the Rev. Samuel Checkley, Junior, the two ministers
mentioned above, both honored in their day and generation. Eight children
were born of this marriage, of whom four are still living.

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, the second of these children, was born in
Dorchester, now a part of Boston, Massachusetts, on the 15th of April,
1814. A member of his family gives a most pleasing and interesting
picture, from his own recollections and from what his mother told him, of
the childhood which was to develop into such rich maturity. The boy was
rather delicate in organization, and not much given to outdoor
amusements, except skating and swimming, of which last exercise he was
very fond in his young days, and in which he excelled. He was a great
reader, never idle, but always had a book in his hand,--a volume of
poetry or one of the novels of Scott or Cooper. His fondness for plays
and declamation is illustrated by the story told by a younger brother,
who remembers being wrapped up in a shawl and kept quiet by sweetmeats,
while he figured as the dead Caesar, and his brother, the future
historian, delivered the speech of Antony over his prostrate body. He was
of a most sensitive nature, easily excited, but not tenacious of any
irritated feelings, with a quick sense of honor, and the most entirely
truthful child, his mother used to say, that she had ever seen. Such are
some of the recollections of those who knew him in his earliest years and
in the most intimate relations.

His father's family was at this time living in the house No. 7 Walnut
Street, looking down Chestnut Street over the water to the western hills.
Near by, at the corner of Beacon Street, was the residence of the family
of the first mayor of Boston, and at a little distance from the opposite
corner was the house of one of the fathers of New England manufacturing
enterprise, a man of superior intellect, who built up a great name and
fortune in our city. The children from these three homes naturally became
playmates. Mr. Motley's house was a very hospitable one, and Lothrop and
two of his young companions were allowed to carry out their schemes of
amusement in the garden and the garret. If one with a prescient glance
could have looked into that garret on some Saturday afternoon while our
century was not far advanced in its second score of years, he might have
found three boys in cloaks and doublets and plumed hats, heroes and
bandits, enacting more or less impromptu melodramas. In one of the boys
he would have seen the embryo dramatist of a nation's life history, John
Lothrop Motley; in the second, a famous talker and wit who has spilled
more good things on the wasteful air in conversation than would carry a
"diner-out" through half a dozen London seasons, and waked up somewhat
after the usual flowering-time of authorship to find himself a very
agreeable and cordially welcomed writer,--Thomas Gold Appleton. In the
third he would have recognized a champion of liberty known wherever that
word is spoken, an orator whom to hear is to revive all the traditions of
the grace, the address, the commanding sway of the silver-tongued
eloquence of the most renowned speakers,--Wendell Phillips.

Both of young Motley's playmates have furnished me with recollections of
him and of those around him at this period of his life, and I cannot do
better than borrow freely from their communications. His father was a man
of decided character, social, vivacious, witty, a lover of books, and
himself not unknown as a writer, being the author of one or more of the
well remembered "Jack Downing" letters. He was fond of having the boys
read to him from such authors as Channing and Irving, and criticised
their way of reading with discriminating judgment and taste. Mrs. Motley
was a woman who could not be looked upon without admiration. I remember
well the sweet dignity of her aspect, her "regal beauty," as Mr. Phillips
truly styles it, and the charm of her serene and noble presence, which
made her the type of a perfect motherhood. Her character corresponded to
the promise of her gracious aspect. She was one of the fondest of
mothers, but not thoughtlessly indulgent to the boy from whom she hoped
and expected more than she thought it wise to let him know. The story
used to be current that in their younger days this father and mother were
the handsomest pair the town of Boston could show. This son of theirs was
"rather tall," says Mr. Phillips, "lithe, very graceful in movement and
gesture, and there was something marked and admirable in the set of his
head on his shoulders,"--a peculiar elegance which was most noticeable in
those later days when I knew him. Lady Byron long afterwards spoke of him
as more like her husband in appearance than any other person she had met;
but Mr. Phillips, who remembers the first bloom of his boyhood and youth,
thinks he was handsomer than any portrait of Byron represents the poet.
"He could not have been eleven years old," says the same correspondent,
"when he began writing a novel. It opened, I remember, not with one
solitary horseman, but with two, riding up to an inn in the valley of the
Housatonic. Neither of us had ever seen the Housatonic, but it sounded
grand and romantic. Two chapters were finished."

There is not much remembered of the single summer he passed at Mr.
Green's school at Jamaica Plain. From that school he went to Round Hill,
Northampton, then under the care of Mr. Cogswell and Mr. Bancroft. The
historian of the United States could hardly have dreamed that the
handsome boy of ten years was to take his place at the side of his
teacher in the first rank of writers in his own department. Motley came
to Round Hill, as one of his schoolmates tells me, with a great
reputation, especially as a declaimer. He had a remarkable facility for
acquiring languages, excelled as a reader and as a writer, and was the
object of general admiration for his many gifts. There is some reason to
think that the flattery he received was for a time a hindrance to his
progress and the development of his character. He obtained praise too
easily, and learned to trust too much to his genius. He had everything to
spoil him,--beauty, precocious intelligence, and a personal charm which
might have made him a universal favorite. Yet he does not seem to have
been generally popular at this period of his life. He was wilful,
impetuous, sometimes supercilious, always fastidious. He would study as
he liked, and not by rule. His school and college mates believed in his
great possibilities through all his forming period, but it may be doubted
if those who counted most confidently on his future could have supposed
that he would develop the heroic power of concentration, the
long-breathed tenacity of purpose, which in after years gave effect to
his brilliant mental endowments. "I did wonder," says Mr. Wendell
Phillips, "at the diligence and painstaking, the drudgery shown in his
historical works. In early life he had no industry, not needing it. All
he cared for in a book he caught quickly,--the spirit of it, and all his
mind needed or would use. This quickness of apprehension was marvellous."
I do not find from the recollections of his schoolmates at Northampton
that he was reproached for any grave offences, though he may have
wandered beyond the prescribed boundaries now and then, and studied
according to his inclinations rather than by rule. While at that school
he made one acquisition much less common then than now,--a knowledge of
the German language and some degree of acquaintance with its literature,
under the guidance of one of the few thorough German scholars this
country then possessed, Mr. George Bancroft.



II.

1827-1831. AEt. 13-17.
COLLEGE LIFE.

Such then was the boy who at the immature, we might almost say the
tender, age of thirteen entered Harvard College. Though two years after
me in college standing, I remember the boyish reputation which he brought
with him, especially that of a wonderful linguist, and the impression
which his striking personal beauty produced upon us as he took his seat
in the college chapel. But it was not until long after this period that I
became intimately acquainted with him, and I must again have recourse to
the classmates and friends who have favored me with their reminiscences
of this period of his life. Mr. Phillips says:

   "During our first year in college, though the youngest in the class,
   he stood third, I think, or second in college rank, and ours was an
   especially able class. Yet to maintain this rank he neither cared
   nor needed to make any effort. Too young to feel any
   responsibilities, and not yet awake to any ambition, he became so
   negligent that he was 'rusticated' [that is, sent away from college
   for a time]. He came back sobered, and worked rather more, but with
   no effort for college rank thenceforward."

I must finish the portrait of the collegian with all its lights and
shadows by the help of the same friends from whom I have borrowed the
preceding outlines.

He did not care to make acquaintances, was haughty in manner and cynical
in mood, at least as he appeared to those in whom he felt no special
interest. It is no wonder, therefore, that he was not a popular favorite,
although recognized as having very brilliant qualities. During all this
period his mind was doubtless fermenting with projects which kept him in
a fevered and irritable condition. "He had a small writing-table," Mr.
Phillips says, "with a shallow drawer; I have often seen it half full of
sketches, unfinished poems, soliloquies, a scene or two of a play, prose
portraits of some pet character, etc. These he would read to me, though
he never volunteered to do so, and every now and then he burnt the whole
and began to fill the drawer again."

My friend, Mr. John Osborne Sargent, who was a year before him in
college, says, in a very interesting letter with which he has favored me:

   "My first acquaintance with him [Motley] was at Cambridge, when he
   came from Mr. Cogswell's school at Round Hill. He then had a good
   deal of the shyness that was just pronounced enough to make him
   interesting, and which did not entirely wear off till he left
   college. . . I soon became acquainted with him, and we used to take
   long walks together, sometimes taxing each other's memory for poems
   or passages from poems that had struck our fancy. Shelley was then
   a great favorite of his, and I remember that Praed's verses then
   appearing in the 'New Monthly' he thought very clever and brilliant,
   and was fond of repeating them. You have forgotten, or perhaps
   never knew, that Motley's first appearance in print was in the
   'Collegian.' He brought me one day, in a very modest mood, a
   translation from Goethe, which I was most happy to oblige him by
   inserting. It was very prettily done, and will now be a curiosity.
   . . . How it happened that Motley wrote only one piece I do not
   remember. I had the pleasure about that time of initiating him as a
   member of the Knights of the Square Table,--always my favorite
   college club, for the reason, perhaps, that I was a sometime Grand
   Master. He was always a genial and jovial companion at our supper-
   parties at Fresh Pond and Gallagher's."

We who live in the days of photographs know how many faces belong to
every individual. We know too under what different aspects the same
character appears to those who study it from different points of view and
with different prepossessions. I do not hesitate, therefore, to place
side by side the impressions of two of his classmates as to one of his
personal traits as they observed him at this period of his youth.

   "He was a manly boy, with no love for or leaning to girls' company;
   no care for dress; not a trace of personal vanity. . . . He was,
   or at least seemed, wholly unconscious of his rare beauty and of the
   fascination of his manner; not a trace of pretence, the simplest and
   most natural creature in the world."

Look on that picture and on this:--

   "He seemed to have a passion for dress. But as in everything else,
   so in this, his fancy was a fitful one. At one time he would excite
   our admiration by the splendor of his outfit, and perhaps the next
   week he would seem to take equal pleasure in his slovenly or
   careless appearance."

It is not very difficult to reconcile these two portraitures. I recollect
it was said by a witty lady of a handsome clergyman well remembered among
us, that he had dressy eyes. Motley so well became everything he wore,
that if he had sprung from his bed and slipped his clothes on at an alarm
of fire, his costume would have looked like a prince's undress. His
natural presentment, like that of Count D'Orsay, was of the kind which
suggests the intentional effects of an elaborate toilet, no matter how
little thought or care may have been given to make it effective. I think
the "passion for dress" was really only a seeming, and that he often
excited admiration when he had not taken half the pains to adorn himself
that many a youth less favored by nature has wasted upon his unblest
exterior only to be laughed at.

I gather some other interesting facts from a letter which I have received
from his early playmate and school and college classmate, Mr. T. G.
Appleton.

   "In his Sophomore year he kept abreast of the prescribed studies,
   but his heart was out of bounds, as it often had been at Round Hill
   when chasing squirrels or rabbits through forbidden forests.
   Already his historical interest was shaping his life. A tutor
   coming-by chance, let us hope--to his room remonstrated with him
   upon the heaps of novels upon his table.

"'Yes,' said Motley, 'I am reading historically, and have come to the
novels of the nineteenth century. Taken in the lump, they are very hard
reading.'"

All Old Cambridge people know the Brattle House, with its gambrel roof,
its tall trees, its perennial spring, its legendary fame of good fare and
hospitable board in the days of the kindly old bon vivant, Major Brattle.
In this house the two young students, Appleton and Motley, lived during a
part of their college course.

   "Motley's room was on the ground floor, the room to the left of the
   entrance. He led a very pleasant life there, tempering his college
   duties with the literature he loved, and receiving his friends
   amidst elegant surroundings, which added to the charm of his
   society. Occasionally we amused ourselves by writing for the
   magazines and papers of the day. Mr. Willis had just started a slim
   monthly, written chiefly by himself, but with the true magazine
   flavor. We wrote for that, and sometimes verses in the corner of a
   paper called 'The Anti-Masonic Mirror,' and in which corner was a
   woodcut of Apollo, and inviting to destruction ambitious youths by
   the legend underneath,--

          'Much yet remains unsung.'

   These pieces were usually dictated to each other, the poet recumbent
   upon the bed and a classmate ready to carry off the manuscript for
   the paper of the following day. 'Blackwood's' was then in its
   glory, its pages redolent of 'mountain dew' in every sense; the
   humor of the Shepherd, the elegantly brutal onslaughts upon Whigs
   and Cockney poets by Christopher North, intoxicated us youths.

   "It was young writing, and made for the young. The opinions were
   charmingly wrong, and its enthusiasm was half Glenlivet. But this
   delighted the boys. There were no reprints then, and to pass the
   paper-cutter up the fresh inviting pages was like swinging over the
   heather arm in arm with Christopher himself. It is a little
   singular that though we had a college magazine of our own, Motley
   rarely if ever wrote for it. I remember a translation from Goethe,
   'The Ghost-Seer,' which he may have written for it, and a poem upon
   the White Mountains. Motley spoke at one of the college exhibitions
   an essay on Goethe so excellent that Mr. Joseph Cogswell sent it to
   Madam Goethe, who, after reading it, said, 'I wish to see the first
   book that young man will write.'"

Although Motley did not aim at or attain a high college rank, the rules
of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, which confine the number of members to the
first sixteen of each class, were stretched so as to include him,--a
tribute to his recognized ability, and an evidence that a distinguished
future was anticipated for him.



III.

1832-1833. AEt. 18-19.
STUDY AND TRAVEL IN EUROPE.

Of the two years divided between the Universities of Berlin and Gottingen
I have little to record. That he studied hard I cannot doubt; that he
found himself in pleasant social relations with some of his
fellow-students seems probable from the portraits he has drawn in his
first story, "Morton's Hope," and is rendered certain so far as one of
his companions is concerned. Among the records of the past to which he
referred during his last visit to this country was a letter which he took
from a collection of papers and handed me to read one day when I was
visiting him. The letter was written in a very lively and exceedingly
familiar vein. It implied such intimacy, and called up in such a lively
way the gay times Motley and himself had had together in their youthful
days, that I was puzzled to guess who could have addressed him from
Germany in that easy and off-hand fashion. I knew most of his old friends
who would be likely to call him by his baptismal name in its most
colloquial form, and exhausted my stock of guesses unsuccessfully before
looking at the signature. I confess that I was surprised, after laughing
at the hearty and almost boyish tone of the letter, to read at the bottom
of the page the signature of Bismarck. I will not say that I suspect
Motley of having drawn the portrait of his friend in one of the
characters of "Morton's Hope," but it is not hard to point out traits in
one of them which we can believe may have belonged to the great
Chancellor at an earlier period of life than that at which the world
contemplates his overshadowing proportions.

Hoping to learn something of Motley during the two years while we had
lost sight of him, I addressed a letter to His Highness Prince Bismarck,
to which I received the following reply:--

               FOREIGN OFFICE, BERLIN, March 11, 1878.

   SIR,--I am directed by Prince Bismarck to acknowledge the receipt of
   your letter of the 1st of January, relating to the biography of the
   late Mr. Motley. His Highness deeply regrets that the state of his
   health and pressure of business do not allow him to contribute
   personally, and as largely as he would be delighted to do, to your
   depicting of a friend whose memory will be ever dear to him. Since
   I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mr. Motley at
   Varzin, I have been intrusted with communicating to you a few
   details I have gathered from the mouth of the Prince. I enclose
   them as they are jotted down, without any attempt of digestion.

          I have the honor to be
                  Your obedient servant,
                         LOTHAIR BUCHER.

   "Prince Bismarck said:--

   "'I met Motley at Gottingen in 1832, I am not sure if at the
   beginning of Easter Term or Michaelmas Term. He kept company with
   German students, though more addicted to study than we members of
   the fighting clubs (corps). Although not having mastered yet the
   German language, he exercised a marked attraction by a conversation
   sparkling with wit, humor, and originality. In autumn of 1833,
   having both of us migrated from Gottingen to Berlin for the
   prosecution of our studies, we became fellow-lodgers in the house
   No. 161 Friedrich Strasse. There we lived in the closest intimacy,
   sharing meals and outdoor exercise. Motley by that time had arrived
   at talking German fluently; he occupied himself not only in
   translating Goethe's poem "Faust," but tried his hand even in
   composing German verses. Enthusiastic admirer of Shakespeare,
   Byron, Goethe, he used to spice his conversation abundantly with
   quotations from these his favorite authors. A pertinacious arguer,
   so much so that sometimes he watched my awakening in order to
   continue a discussion on some topic of science, poetry, or practical
   life, cut short by the chime of the small hours, he never lost his
   mild and amiable temper. Our faithful companion was Count Alexander
   Keyserling, a native of Courland, who has since achieved distinction
   as a botanist.

   "'Motley having entered the diplomatic service of his country, we
   had frequently the opportunity of renewing our friendly intercourse;
   at Frankfort he used to stay with me, the welcome guest of my wife;
   we also met at Vienna, and, later, here. The last time I saw him
   was in 1872 at Varzin, at the celebration of my "silver wedding,"
   namely, the twenty-fifth anniversary.

   "'The most striking feature of his handsome and delicate appearance
   was uncommonly large and beautiful eyes. He never entered a
   drawing-room without exciting the curiosity and sympathy of the
   ladies.'"

It is but a glimpse of their young life which the great statesman gives
us, but a bright and pleasing one. Here were three students, one of whom
was to range in the flowery fields of the loveliest of the sciences,
another to make the dead past live over again in his burning pages, and a
third to extend an empire as the botanist spread out a plant and the
historian laid open a manuscript.



IV.

1834-1839. 2ET. 20-25.

RETURN TO AMERICA.--STUDY OF LAW.--MARRIAGE.--HIS FIRST NOVEL, "MORTON'S
HOPE."

Of the years passed in the study of law after his return from Germany I
have very little recollection, and nothing of importance to record. He
never became seriously engaged in the practice of the profession he had
chosen. I had known him pleasantly rather than intimately, and our
different callings tended to separate us. I met him, however, not very
rarely, at one house where we were both received with the greatest
cordiality, and where the attractions brought together many both young
and old to enjoy the society of its charming and brilliant inmates. This
was at No. 14 Temple Place, where Mr. Park Benjamin was then living with
his two sisters, both in the bloom of young womanhood. Here Motley found
the wife to whom his life owed so much of its success and its happiness.
Those who remember Mary Benjamin find it hard to speak of her in the
common terms of praise which they award to the good and the lovely. She
was not only handsome and amiable and agreeable, but there was a cordial
frankness, an openhearted sincerity about her which made her seem like a
sister to those who could help becoming her lovers. She stands quite
apart in the memory of the friends who knew her best, even from the
circle of young persons whose recollections they most cherish. Yet hardly
could one of them have foreseen all that she was to be to him whose life
she was to share. They were married on the 2d of March, 1837. His
intimate friend, Mr. Joseph Lewis Stackpole, was married at about the
same time to her sister, thus joining still more closely in friendship
the two young men who were already like brothers in their mutual
affection.

Two years after his marriage, in 1839, appeared his first work, a novel
in two volumes, called "Morton's Hope." He had little reason to be
gratified with its reception. The general verdict was not favorable to
it, and the leading critical journal of America, not usually harsh or
cynical in its treatment of native authorship, did not even give it a
place among its "Critical Notices," but dropped a small-print
extinguisher upon it in one of the pages of its "List of New
Publications." Nothing could be more utterly disheartening than the
unqualified condemnation passed upon the story. At the same time the
critic says that "no one can read 'Morton's Hope' without perceiving it
to have been written by a person of uncommon resources of mind and
scholarship."

It must be confessed that, as a story, "Morton's Hope" cannot endure a
searching or even a moderately careful criticism. It is wanting in
cohesion, in character, even in a proper regard to circumstances of time
and place; it is a map of dissected incidents which has been flung out of
its box and has arranged itself without the least regard to chronology or
geography. It is not difficult to trace in it many of the influences
which had helped in forming or deforming the mind of the young man of
twenty-five, not yet come into possession of his full inheritance of the
slowly ripening qualities which were yet to assert their robust
independence. How could he help admiring Byron and falling into more or
less unconscious imitation of his moods if not of his special
affectations? Passion showing itself off against a dark foil of cynicism;
sentiment, ashamed of its own self-betrayal, and sneering at itself from
time to time for fear of the laugh of the world at its sincerity,--how
many young men were spoiled and how many more injured by becoming bad
copies of a bad ideal! The blood of Don Juan ran in the veins of Vivian
Grey and of Pelham. But if we read the fantastic dreams of Disraeli, the
intellectual dandyisms of Bulwer, remembering the after careers of which
these were the preludes, we can understand how there might well be
something in those earlier efforts which would betray itself in the way
of thought and in the style of the young men who read them during the
plastic period of their minds and characters. Allow for all these
influences, allow for whatever impressions his German residence and his
familiarity with German literature had produced; accept the fact that the
story is to the last degree disjointed, improbable, impossible; lay it
aside as a complete failure in what it attempted to be, and read it, as
"Vivian Grey" is now read, in the light of the career which it heralded.

"Morton's Hope" is not to be read as a novel: it is to be studied as an
autobiography, a prophecy, a record of aspirations, disguised under a
series of incidents which are flung together with no more regard to the
unities than a pack of shuffled playing-cards. I can do nothing better
than let him picture himself, for it is impossible not to recognize the
portrait. It is of little consequence whether every trait is an exact
copy from his own features, but it is so obvious that many of the lines
are direct transcripts from nature that we may believe the same thing of
many others. Let us compare his fictitious hero's story with what we have
read of his own life.

In early boyhood Morton amused himself and astonished those about him by
enacting plays for a puppet theatre. This was at six years old, and at
twelve we find him acting in a play with other boys, just as Motley's
playmates have already described him. The hero may now speak for himself,
but we shall all perceive that we are listening to the writer's own
story.

   "I was always a huge reader; my mind was essentially craving and
   insatiable. Its appetite was enormous, and it devoured too greedily
   for health. I rejected all guidance in my studies. I already
   fancied myself a misanthrope. I had taken a step very common for
   boys of my age, and strove with all my might to be a cynic."

He goes on to describe, under the perfectly transparent mask of his hero,
the course of his studies. "To poetry, like most infants, I devoted most
of my time." From modern poetry he went back to the earlier sources,
first with the idea of systematic reading and at last through Chaucer and
Gower and early ballads, until he lost himself "in a dismal swamp of
barbarous romances and lying Latin chronicles. I got hold of the
Bibliotheca Monastica, containing a copious account of Anglo-Norman
authors, with notices of their works, and set seriously to reading every
one of them." One profit of his antiquarianism, however, was, as he says,
his attention to foreign languages,--French, Spanish, German, especially
in their earliest and rudest forms of literature. From these he ascended
to the ancient poets, and from Latin to Greek. He would have taken up the
study of the Oriental languages, but for the advice of a relative, who
begged him seriously to turn his attention to history. The paragraph
which follows must speak for itself as a true record under a feigned
heading.

   "The groundwork of my early character was plasticity and fickleness.
   I was mortified by this exposure of my ignorance, and disgusted with
   my former course of reading. I now set myself violently to the
   study of history. With my turn of mind, and with the preposterous
   habits which I had been daily acquiring, I could not fail to make as
   gross mistakes in the pursuit of this as of other branches of
   knowledge. I imagined, on setting out, a system of strict and
   impartial investigation of the sources of history. I was inspired
   with the absurd ambition, not uncommon to youthful students, of
   knowing as much as their masters. I imagined it necessary for me,
   stripling as I was, to study the authorities; and, imbued with the
   strict necessity of judging for myself, I turned from the limpid
   pages of the modern historians to the notes and authorities at the
   bottom of the page. These, of course, sent me back to my monastic
   acquaintances, and I again found myself in such congenial company to
   a youthful and ardent mind as Florence of Worcester and Simeon of
   Durham, the Venerable Bede and Matthew Paris; and so on to Gregory
   and Fredegarius, down to the more modern and elegant pages of
   Froissart, Hollinshed, Hooker, and Stowe. Infant as I was, I
   presumed to grapple with masses of learning almost beyond the
   strength of the giants of history. A spendthrift of my time and
   labor, I went out of my way to collect materials, and to build for
   myself, when I should have known that older and abler architects had
   already appropriated all that was worth preserving; that the edifice
   was built, the quarry exhausted, and that I was, consequently, only
   delving amidst rubbish.

   "This course of study was not absolutely without its advantages.
   The mind gained a certain proportion of vigor even by this exercise
   of its faculties, just as my bodily health would have been improved
   by transporting the refuse ore of a mine from one pit to another,
   instead of coining the ingots which lay heaped before my eyes.
   Still, however, my time was squandered. There was a constant want
   of fitness and concentration of my energies. My dreams of education
   were boundless, brilliant, indefinite; but alas! they were only
   dreams. There was nothing accurate and defined in my future course
   of life. I was ambitious and conceited, but my aspirations were
   vague and shapeless. I had crowded together the most gorgeous and
   even some of the most useful and durable materials for my woof, but
   I had no pattern, and consequently never began to weave.

   "I had not made the discovery that an individual cannot learn, nor
   be, everything; that the world is a factory in which each individual
   must perform his portion of work:--happy enough if he can choose it
   according to his taste and talent, but must renounce the desire of
   observing or superintending the whole operation. . . .

   "From studying and investigating the sources of history with my own
   eyes, I went a step further; I refused the guidance of modern
   writers; and proceeding from one point of presumption to another, I
   came to the magnanimous conviction that I could not know history as
   I ought to know it unless I wrote it for myself. . . .

   "It would be tedious and useless to enlarge upon my various attempts
   and various failures. I forbear to comment upon mistakes which I
   was in time wise enough to retrieve. Pushing out as I did, without
   compass and without experience, on the boundless ocean of learning,
   what could I expect but an utter and a hopeless shipwreck?

   "Thus I went on, becoming more learned, and therefore more ignorant,
   more confused in my brain, and more awkward in my habits, from day
   to day. I was ever at my studies, and could hardly be prevailed
   upon to allot a moment to exercise or recreation. I breakfasted
   with a pen behind my ear, and dined in company with a folio bigger
   than the table. I became solitary and morose, the necessary
   consequence of reckless study; talked impatiently of the value of my
   time, and the immensity of my labors; spoke contemptuously of the
   learning and acquirements of the whole world, and threw out
   mysterious hints of the magnitude and importance of my own project.

   "In the midst of all this study and this infant authorship the
   perusal of such masses of poetry could not fail to produce their
   effect. Of a youth whose mind, like mine at that period, possessed
   some general capability, without perhaps a single prominent and
   marked talent, a proneness to imitation is sure to be the besetting
   sin. I consequently, for a large portion of my earlier life, never
   read a work which struck my fancy, without planning a better one
   upon its model; for my ambition, like my vanity, knew no bounds.
   It was a matter of course that I should be attacked by the poetic
   mania. I took the infection at the usual time, went through its
   various stages, and recovered as soon as could be expected. I
   discovered soon enough that emulation is not capability, and he is
   fortunate to whom is soonest revealed the relative extent of his
   ambition and his powers.

   "My ambition was boundless; my dreams of glory were not confined to
   authorship and literature alone; but every sphere in which the
   intellect of man exerts itself revolved in a blaze of light before
   me. And there I sat in my solitude and dreamed such wondrous
   dreams! Events were thickening around me which were soon to change
   the world, but they were unmarked by me. The country was changing
   to a mighty theatre, on whose stage those who were as great as I
   fancied myself to be were to enact a stupendous drama in which I had
   no part. I saw it not; I knew it not; and yet how infinitely
   beautiful were the imaginations of my solitude! Fancy shook her
   kaleidoscope each moment as chance directed, and lo! what new,
   fantastic, brilliant, but what unmeaning visions. My ambitious
   anticipations were as boundless as they were various and
   conflicting. There was not a path which leads to glory in which I
   was not destined to gather laurels. As a warrior I would conquer
   and overrun the world. As a statesman I would reorganize and govern
   it. As a historian I would consign it all to immortality; and in my
   leisure moments I would be a great poet and a man of the world.

   "In short, I was already enrolled in that large category of what are
   called young men of genius,--men who are the pride of their sisters
   and the glory of their grandmothers,--men of whom unheard-of things
   are expected, till after long preparation comes a portentous
   failure, and then they are forgotten; subsiding into indifferent
   apprentices and attorneys' clerks.

   "Alas for the golden imaginations of our youth! They are bright and
   beautiful, but they fade. They glitter brightly enough to deceive
   the wisest and most cautious, and we garner them up in the most
   secret caskets of our hearts; but are they not like the coins which
   the Dervise gave the merchant in the story? When we look for them
   the next morning, do we not find them withered leaves?"

The ideal picture just drawn is only a fuller portraiture of the youth
whose outlines have been already sketched by the companions of his
earlier years. If his hero says, "I breakfasted with a pen behind my ear
and dined in company with a folio bigger than the table," one of his
family says of the boy Motley that "if there were five minutes before
dinner, when he came into the parlor he always took up some book near at
hand and began to read until dinner was announced." The same unbounded
thirst for knowledge, the same history of various attempts and various
failures, the same ambition, not yet fixed in its aim, but showing itself
in restless effort, belong to the hero of the story and its narrator.

Let no man despise the first efforts of immature genius. Nothing can be
more crude as a novel, nothing more disappointing, than "Morton's Hope."
But in no other of Motley's writings do we get such an inside view of his
character with its varied impulses, its capricious appetites, its
unregulated forces, its impatient grasp for all kinds of knowledge. With
all his university experiences at home and abroad, it might be said with
a large measure of truth that he was a self-educated man, as he had been
a self-taught boy. His instincts were too powerful to let him work
quietly in the common round of school and college training. Looking at
him as his companions describe him, as he delineates himself 'mutato
nomine,' the chances of success would have seemed to all but truly
prophetic eyes very doubtful, if not decidedly against him. Too many
brilliant young novel-readers and lovers of poetry, excused by their
admirers for their shortcomings on the strength of their supposed
birthright of "genius," have ended where they began; flattered into the
vain belief that they were men at eighteen or twenty, and finding out at
fifty that they were and always had been nothing more than boys. It was
but a tangled skein of life that Motley's book showed us at twenty-five,
and older men might well have doubted whether it would ever be wound off
in any continuous thread. To repeat his own words, he had crowded
together the materials for his work, but he had no pattern, and
consequently never began to weave.

The more this first work of Motley's is examined, the more are its faults
as a story and its interest as a self-revelation made manifest to the
reader. The future historian, who spared no pains to be accurate, falls
into the most extraordinary anachronisms in almost every chapter. Brutus
in a bob-wig, Othello in a swallow-tail coat, could hardly be more
incongruously equipped than some of his characters in the manner of
thought, the phrases, the way of bearing themselves which belong to them
in the tale, but never could have belonged to characters of our
Revolutionary period. He goes so far in his carelessness as to mix up
dates in such a way as almost to convince us that he never looked over
his own manuscript or proofs. His hero is in Prague in June, 1777,
reading a letter received from America in less than a fortnight from the
date of its being written; in August of the same year he is in the
American camp, where he is found in the company of a certain Colonel
Waldron, an officer of some standing in the Revolutionary Army, with whom
he is said to have been constantly associated for some three months,
having arrived in America, as he says, on the 15th of May, that is to
say, six weeks or more before he sailed, according to his previous
account. Bohemia seems to have bewitched his chronology as it did
Shakespeare's geography. To have made his story a consistent series of
contradictions, Morton should have sailed from that Bohemian seashore
which may be found in "A Winter's Tale," but not in the map of Europe.

And yet in the midst of all these marks of haste and negligence, here and
there the philosophical student of history betrays himself, the ideal of
noble achievement glows in an eloquent paragraph, or is embodied in a
loving portrait like that of the professor and historian Harlem. The
novel, taken in connection with the subsequent developments of the
writer's mind, is a study of singular interest. It is a chaos before the
creative epoch; the light has not been divided from the darkness; the
firmament has not yet divided the waters from the waters. The forces at
work in a human intelligence to bring harmony out of its discordant
movements are as mysterious, as miraculous, we might truly say, as those
which give shape and order to the confused materials out of which
habitable worlds are evolved. It is too late now to be sensitive over
this unsuccessful attempt as a story and unconscious success as a
self-portraiture. The first sketches of Paul Veronese, the first patterns
of the Gobelin tapestry, are not to be criticised for the sake of
pointing out their inevitable and too manifest imperfections. They are to
be carefully studied as the earliest efforts of the hand which painted
the Marriage at Cana, of the art which taught the rude fabrics made to be
trodden under foot to rival the glowing canvas of the great painters.
None of Motley's subsequent writings give such an insight into his
character and mental history. It took many years to train the as yet
undisciplined powers into orderly obedience, and to bring the unarranged
materials into the organic connection which was needed in the
construction of a work that should endure. There was a long interval
between his early manhood and the middle term of life, during which the
slow process of evolution was going on. There are plants which open their
flowers with the first rays of the sun; there are others that wait until
evening to spread their petals. It was already the high noon of life with
him before his genius had truly shown itself; if he had not lived beyond
this period, he would have left nothing to give him a lasting name.



V.

1841-1842. AEt. 27-28.

FIRST DIPLOMATIC APPOINTMENT, SECRETARY OF LEGATION TO THE RUSSIAN
MISSION.--BRIEF RESIDENCE AT ST. PETERSBURG.--LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.
--RETURN.

In the autumn of 1841, Mr. Motley received the appointment of Secretary
of Legation to the Russian Mission, Mr. Todd being then the Minister.
Arriving at St. Petersburg just at the beginning of winter, he found the
climate acting very unfavorably upon his spirits if not upon his health,
and was unwilling that his wife and his two young children should be
exposed to its rigors. The expense of living, also, was out of proportion
to his income, and his letters show that he had hardly established
himself in St. Petersburg before he had made up his mind to leave a place
where he found he had nothing to do and little to enjoy. He was homesick,
too, as a young husband and father with an affectionate nature like his
ought to have been under these circumstances. He did not regret having
made the experiment, for he knew that he should not have been satisfied
with himself if he had not made it. It was his first trial of a career in
which he contemplated embarking, and in which afterwards he had an
eventful experience. In his private letters to his family, many of which
I have had the privilege of looking over, he mentions in detail all the
reasons which influenced him in forming his own opinion about the
expediency of a continued residence at St. Petersburg, and leaves the
decision to her in whose judgment he always had the greatest confidence.
No unpleasant circumstance attended his resignation of his secretaryship,
and though it must have been a disappointment to find that the place did
not suit him, as he and his family were then situated, it was only at the
worst an experiment fairly tried and not proving satisfactory. He left
St. Petersburg after a few months' residence, and returned to America. On
reaching New York he was met by the sad tidings of the death of his
first-born child, a boy of great promise, who had called out all the
affections of his ardent nature. It was long before he recovered from the
shock of this great affliction. The boy had shown a very quick and bright
intelligence, and his father often betrayed a pride in his gifts and
graces which he never for a moment made apparent in regard to his own.

Among the letters which he wrote from St. Petersburg are two miniature
ones directed to this little boy. His affectionate disposition shows
itself very sweetly in these touching mementos of a love of which his
first great sorrow was so soon to be born. Not less charming are his
letters to his mother, showing the tenderness with which he always
regarded her, and full of all the details which he thought would
entertain one to whom all that related to her children was always
interesting. Of the letters to his wife it is needless to say more than
that they always show the depth of the love he bore her and the absolute
trust he placed in her, consulting her at all times as his nearest and
wisest friend and adviser,--one in all respects fitted "To warn, to
comfort, and command."

I extract a passage from one of his letters to his mother, as much for
the sake of lending a character of reality to his brief residence at St.
Petersburg as for that of the pleasant picture it gives us of an interior
in that Northern capital.

   "We entered through a small vestibule, with the usual arrangement of
   treble doors, padded with leather to exclude the cold and guarded by
   two 'proud young porters' in severe cocked hats and formidable
   batons, into a broad hall,--threw off our furred boots and cloaks,
   ascended a carpeted marble staircase, in every angle of which stood
   a statuesque footman in gaudy coat and unblemished unmentionables,
   and reached a broad landing upon the top thronged as usual with
   servants. Thence we passed through an antechamber into a long,
   high, brilliantly lighted, saffron-papered room, in which a dozen
   card-tables were arranged, and thence into the receiving room. This
   was a large room, with a splendidly inlaid and polished floor, the
   walls covered with crimson satin, the cornices heavily incrusted
   with gold, and the ceiling beautifully painted in arabesque. The
   massive fauteuils and sofas, as also the drapery, were of crimson
   satin with a profusion of gilding. The ubiquitous portrait of the
   Emperor was the only picture, and was the same you see everywhere.
   This crimson room had two doors upon the side facing the three
   windows: The innermost opened into a large supper-room, in which a
   table was spread covered with the usual refreshments of European
   parties,--tea, ices, lemonade, and et ceteras,--and the other opened
   into a ball-room which is a sort of miniature of the 'salle blanche'
   of the Winter Palace, being white and gold, and very brilliantly
   lighted with 'ormolu' chandeliers filled with myriads of candles.
   This room (at least forty feet long by perhaps twenty-five) opened
   into a carpeted conservatory of about the same size, filled with
   orange-trees and japonica plants covered with fruit and flowers,
   arranged very gracefully into arbors, with luxurious seats under the
   pendent boughs, and with here and there a pretty marble statue
   gleaming through the green and glossy leaves. One might almost have
   imagined one's self in the 'land of the cypress and myrtle' instead
   of our actual whereabout upon the polar banks of the Neva.
   Wandering through these mimic groves, or reposing from the fatigues
   of the dance, was many a fair and graceful form, while the
   brilliantly lighted ballroom, filled with hundreds of exquisitely
   dressed women (for the Russian ladies, if not very pretty, are
   graceful, and make admirable toilettes), formed a dazzling contrast
   with the tempered light of the 'Winter Garden.' The conservatory
   opened into a library, and from the library you reach the
   antechamber, thus completing the 'giro' of one of the prettiest
   houses in St. Petersburg. I waltzed one waltz and quadrilled one
   quadrille, but it was hard work; and as the sole occupation of these
   parties is dancing and card-playing--conversation apparently not
   being customary--they are to me not very attractive."

He could not be happy alone, and there were good reasons against his
being joined by his wife and children.

   "With my reserved habits," he says, "it would take a great deal
   longer to become intimate here than to thaw the Baltic. I have only
   to 'knock that it shall be opened to me,' but that is just what I
   hate to do. . . . 'Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither.'"

Disappointed in his expectations, but happy in the thought of meeting his
wife and children, he came back to his household to find it clad in
mourning for the loss of its first-born.



VI.

1844. AEt. 30.
LETTER TO PARK BENJAMIN.--POLITICAL VIEWS AND FEELINGS.

A letter to Mr. Park Benjamin, dated December 17, 1844, which has been
kindly lent me by Mrs. Mary Lanman Douw of Poughkeepsie, gives a very
complete and spirited account of himself at this period. He begins with a
quiet, but tender reference to the death of his younger brother, Preble,
one of the most beautiful youths seen or remembered among us, "a great
favorite," as he says, "in the family and in deed with every one who knew
him." He mentions the fact that his friends and near connections, the
Stackpoles, are in Washington, which place he considers as exceptionally
odious at the time when he is writing. The election of Mr. Polk as the
opponent of Henry Clay gives him a discouraged feeling about our
institutions. The question, he thinks, is now settled that a statesman
can never again be called to administer the government of the country. He
is almost if not quite in despair "because it is now proved that a man,
take him for all in all, better qualified by intellectual power, energy
and purity of character, knowledge of men, a great combination of
personal qualities, a frank, high-spirited, manly bearing, keen sense of
honor, the power of attracting and winning men, united with a vast
experience in affairs, such as no man (but John Quincy Adams) now living
has had and no man in this country can ever have again,--I say it is
proved that a man better qualified by an extraordinary combination of
advantages to administer the government than any man now living, or any
man we can ever produce again, can be beaten by anybody. . . . . It has
taken forty years of public life to prepare such a man for the
Presidency, and the result is that he can be beaten by anybody,--Mr. Polk
is anybody,--he is Mr. Quelconque."

I do not venture to quote the most burning sentences of this impassioned
letter. It shows that Motley had not only become interested most
profoundly in the general movements of parties, but that he had followed
the course of political events which resulted in the election of Mr. Polk
with careful study, and that he was already looking forward to the revolt
of the slave States which occurred sixteen years later. The letter is
full of fiery eloquence, now and then extravagant and even violent in
expression, but throbbing with a generous heat which shows the excitable
spirit of a man who wishes to be proud of his country and does not wish
to keep his temper when its acts make him ashamed of it. He is disgusted
and indignant to the last degree at seeing "Mr. Quelconque" chosen over
the illustrious statesman who was his favorite candidate. But all his
indignation cannot repress a sense of humor which was one of his marked
characteristics. After fatiguing his vocabulary with hard usage, after
his unsparing denunciation of "the very dirty politics" which he finds
mixed up with our popular institutions, he says,--it must be remembered
that this was an offhand letter to one nearly connected with him,--

   "All these things must in short, to use the energetic language of
   the Balm of Columbia advertisement, 'bring every generous thinking
   youth to that heavy sinking gloom which not even the loss of
   property can produce, but only the loss of hair, which brings on
   premature decay, causing many to shrink from being uncovered, and
   even to shun society, to avoid the jests and sneers of their
   acquaintances. The remainder of their lives is consequently spent
   in retirement.'"

He continues:--

   "Before dropping the subject, and to show the perfect purity of my
   motives, I will add that I am not at all anxious about the
   legislation of the new government. I desired the election of Clay
   as a moral triumph, and because the administration of the country,
   at this moment of ten thousand times more importance than its
   legislation, would have been placed in pure, strong, and determined
   hands."

Then comes a dash of that satirical and somewhat cynical way of feeling
which he had not as yet outgrown. He had been speaking about the general
want of attachment to the Union and the absence of the sentiment of
loyalty as bearing on the probable dissolution of the Union.

   "I don't mean to express any opinions on these matters,--I haven't
   got any. It seems to me that the best way is to look at the
   hodge-podge, be good-natured if possible, and laugh,

          'As from the height of contemplation
          We view the feeble joints men totter on.'

   I began a tremendous political career during the election, having
   made two stump speeches of an hour and a half each,--after you went
   away,--one in Dedham town-hall and one in Jamaica Plain, with such
   eminent success that many invitations came to me from the
   surrounding villages, and if I had continued in active political
   life I might have risen to be vote-distributor, or fence-viewer, or
   selectman, or hog-reeve, or something of the kind."

The letter from which the above passages are quoted gives the same
portrait of the writer, only seen in profile, as it were, which we have
already seen drawn in full face in the story of "Morton's Hope." It is
charged with that 'saeva indignatio' which at times verges on
misanthropic contempt for its objects, not unnatural to a high-spirited
young man who sees his lofty ideals confronted with the ignoble facts
which strew the highways of political life. But we can recognize real
conviction and the deepest feeling beneath his scornful rhetoric and his
bitter laugh. He was no more a mere dilettante than Swift himself, but
now and then in the midst of his most serious thought some absurd or
grotesque image will obtrude itself, and one is reminded of the lines on
the monument of Gay rather than of the fierce epitaph of the Dean of
Saint Patrick's.



VII.

1845-1847. AEt. 31-33.

FIRST HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL ESSAYS.--PETER THE GREAT.--NOVELS OF
BALZAC.--POLITY OF THE PURITANS.

Mr. Motley's first serious effort in historical composition was an
article of fifty pages in "The North American Review" for October, 1845.
This was nominally a notice of two works, one on Russia, the other "A
Memoir of the Life of Peter the Great." It is, however, a narrative
rather than a criticism, a rapid, continuous, brilliant, almost dramatic
narrative. If there had been any question as to whether the young
novelist who had missed his first mark had in him the elements which
might give him success as an author, this essay would have settled the
question. It shows throughout that the writer has made a thorough study
of his subject, but it is written with an easy and abundant, yet
scholarly freedom, not as if he were surrounded by his authorities and
picking out his material piece by piece, but rather as if it were the
overflow of long-pursued and well-remembered studies recalled without
effort and poured forth almost as a recreation.

As he betrayed or revealed his personality in his first novel, so in this
first effort in another department of literature he showed in epitome his
qualities as a historian and a biographer. The hero of his narrative
makes his entrance at once in his character as the shipwright of Saardam,
on the occasion of a visit of the great Duke of Marlborough. The portrait
instantly arrests attention. His ideal personages had been drawn in such
a sketchy way, they presented so many imperfectly harmonized features,
that they never became real, with the exception, of course, of the
story-teller himself. But the vigor with which the presentment of the
imperial ship-carpenter, the sturdy, savage, eager, fiery Peter, was
given in the few opening sentences, showed the movement of the hand, the
glow of the color, that were in due time to display on a broader canvas
the full-length portraits of William the Silent and of John of Barneveld.
The style of the whole article is rich, fluent, picturesque, with light
touches of humor here and there, and perhaps a trace or two of youthful
jauntiness, not quite as yet outgrown. His illustrative poetical
quotations are mostly from Shakespeare,--from Milton and Byron also in a
passage or two,--and now and then one is reminded that he is not
unfamiliar with Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus" and the "French Revolution"
of the same unmistakable writer, more perhaps by the way in which phrases
borrowed from other authorities are set in the text than by any more
important evidence of unconscious imitation.

The readers who had shaken their heads over the unsuccessful story of
"Morton's Hope" were startled by the appearance of this manly and
scholarly essay. This young man, it seemed, had been studying,--studying
with careful accuracy, with broad purpose. He could paint a character
with the ruddy life-blood coloring it as warmly as it glows in the cheeks
of one of Van der Helst's burgomasters. He could sweep the horizon in a
wide general outlook, and manage his perspective and his lights and
shadows so as to place and accent his special subject with its due relief
and just relations. It was a sketch, or rather a study for a larger
picture, but it betrayed the hand of a master. The feeling of many was
that expressed in the words of Mr. Longfellow in his review of the
"Twice-Told Tales" of the unknown young writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne:
"When a new star rises in the heavens, people gaze after it for a season
with the naked eye, and with such telescopes as they may find. . . . This
star is but newly risen; and erelong the observation of numerous
star-gazers, perched up on arm-chairs and editor's tables, will inform
the world of its magnitude and its place in the heaven of"--not poetry in
this instance, but that serene and unclouded region of the firmament
where shine unchanging the names of Herodotus and Thucydides. Those who
had always believed in their brilliant schoolmate and friend at last felt
themselves justified in their faith. The artist that sent this unframed
picture to be hung in a corner of the literary gallery was equal to
larger tasks. There was but one voice in the circle that surrounded the
young essayist. He must redeem his pledge, he can and will redeem it, if
he will only follow the bent of his genius and grapple with the heroic
labor of writing a great history.

And this was the achievement he was already meditating.

In the mean time he was studying history for its facts and principles,
and fiction for its scenery and portraits. In "The North American Review"
for July, 1847, is a long and characteristic article on Balzac, of whom
he was an admirer, but with no blind worship. The readers of this great
story-teller, who was so long in obtaining recognition, who "made twenty
assaults upon fame and had forty books killed under him" before he
achieved success, will find his genius fully appreciated and fairly
weighed in this discriminating essay. A few brief extracts will show its
quality.

   "Balzac is an artist, and only an artist. In his tranquil,
   unimpassioned, remorseless diagnosis of morbid phenomena, in his
   cool method of treating the morbid anatomy of the heart, in his
   curiously accurate dissection of the passions, in the patient and
   painful attention with which, stethoscope in hand, finger on pulse,
   eye everywhere, you see him watching every symptom, alive to every
   sound and every breath, and in the scientific accuracy with which he
   portrays the phenomena which have been the subject of his
   investigation,--in all this calm and conscientious study of nature
   he often reminds us of Goethe. Balzac, however, is only an artist
   . . . He is neither moral nor immoral, but a calm and profound
   observer of human society and human passions, and a minute, patient,
   and powerful delineator of scenes and characters in the world before
   his eyes. His readers must moralize for themselves. . . . It
   is, perhaps, his defective style more than anything else which will
   prevent his becoming a classic, for style above all other qualities
   seems to embalm for posterity. As for his philosophy, his
   principles, moral, political, or social, we repeat that he seems to
   have none whatever. He looks for the picturesque and the striking.
   He studies sentiments and sensations from an artistic point of view.
   He is a physiognomist, a physiologist, a bit of an anatomist, a bit
   of a mesmerist, a bit of a geologist, a Flemish painter, an
   upholsterer, a micrological, misanthropical, sceptical philosopher;
   but he is no moralist, and certainly no reformer."

Another article contributed by Mr. Motley to "The North American Review"
is to be found in the number for October, 1849. It is nominally a review
of Talvi's (Mrs. Robinson's) "Geschichte der Colonisation von New
England," but in reality an essay on the Polity of the Puritans,--an
historical disquisition on the principles of self-government evolved in
New England, broad in its views, eloquent in its language. Its spirit is
thoroughly American, and its estimate of the Puritan character is not
narrowed by the nearsighted liberalism which sees the past in the
pitiless light of the present,--which looks around at high noon and finds
fault with early dawn for its long and dark shadows. Here is a sentence
or two from the article:--

   "With all the faults of the system devised by the Puritans, it was a
   practical system. With all their foibles, with all their teasing,
   tyrannical, and arbitrary notions, the Pilgrims were lovers of
   liberty as well as sticklers for authority. . . . Nowhere can a
   better description of liberty be found than that given by Winthrop,
   in his defence of himself before the General Court on a charge of
   arbitrary conduct. 'Nor would I have you mistake your own liberty,'
   he says. 'There is a freedom of doing what we list, without regard
   to law or justice; this liberty is indeed inconsistent with
   authority; but civil, moral, and federal liberty consists in every
   man's enjoying his property and having the benefit of the laws of
   his country; which is very consistent with a due subjection to the
   civil magistrate.' . . .

   "We enjoy an inestimable advantage in America. One can be a
   republican, a democrat, without being a radical. A radical, one who
   would uproot, is a man whose trade is dangerous to society. Here is
   but little to uproot. The trade cannot flourish. All classes are
   conservative by necessity, for none can wish to change the structure
   of our polity. . .

   "The country without a past cannot be intoxicated by visions of the
   past of other lands. Upon this absence of the past it seems to us
   that much of the security of our institutions depends. Nothing
   interferes with the development of what is now felt to be the true
   principle of government, the will of the people legitimately
   expressed. To establish that great truth, nothing was to be torn
   down, nothing to be uprooted. It grew up in New England out of the
   seed unconsciously planted by the first Pilgrims, was not crushed
   out by the weight of a thousand years of error spread over the whole
   continent, and the Revolution was proclaimed and recognized."



VIII.

1847-1849. AEt. 33-35.

JOSEPH LEWIS STACKPOLE, THE FRIEND OF MOTLEY. HIS SUDDEN DEATH.--MOTLEY
IN THE MASSACHUSETTS HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.--SECOND NOVEL,
"MERRY-MOUNT, A ROMANCE OF THE MASSACHUSETTS COLONY."

The intimate friendships of early manhood are not very often kept up
among our people. The eager pursuit of fortune, position, office,
separates young friends, and the indoor home life imprisons them in the
domestic circle so generally that it is quite exceptional to find two
grown men who are like brothers,--or rather unlike most brothers, in
being constantly found together. An exceptional instance of such a more
than fraternal relation was seen in the friendship of Mr. Motley and Mr.
Joseph Lewis Stackpole. Mr. William Amory, who knew them both well, has
kindly furnished me with some recollections, which I cannot improve by
changing his own language.

   "Their intimacy began in Europe, and they returned to this country
   in 1835. In 1837 they married sisters, and this cemented their
   intimacy, which continued to Stackpole's death in 1847. The
   contrast in the temperament of the two friends--the one sensitive
   and irritable, and the other always cool and good-natured--only
   increased their mutual attachment to each other, and Motley's
   dependence upon Stackpole. Never were two friends more constantly
   together or more affectionately fond of each other. As Stackpole
   was about eight years older than Motley, and much less impulsive and
   more discreet, his death was to his friend irreparable, and at the
   time an overwhelming blow."

Mr. Stackpole was a man of great intelligence, of remarkable personal
attractions, and amiable character. His death was a loss to Motley even
greater than he knew, for he needed just such a friend, older, calmer,
more experienced in the ways of the world, and above all capable of
thoroughly understanding him and exercising a wholesome influence over
his excitable nature without the seeming of a Mentor preaching to a
Telemachus. Mr. Stackpole was killed by a railroad accident on the 20th
of July, 1847.

In the same letter Mr. Amory refers to a very different experience in Mr.
Motley's life,--his one year of service as a member of the Massachusetts
House of Representatives, 1849.

   "In respect to the one term during which he was a member of the
   Massachusetts House of Representatives, I can recall only one thing,
   to which he often and laughingly alluded. Motley, as the Chairman
   of the Committee on Education, made, as he thought, a most masterly
   report. It was very elaborate, and, as he supposed, unanswerable;
   but Boutwell, then a young man from some country town [Groton,
   Mass.], rose, and as Motley always said, demolished the report, so
   that he was unable to defend it against the attack. You can imagine
   his disgust, after the pains he had taken to render it unassailable,
   to find himself, as he expressed it, 'on his own dunghill,'
   ignominiously beaten. While the result exalted his opinion of the
   speech-making faculty of a Representative of a common school
   education, it at the same time cured him of any ambition for
   political promotion in Massachusetts."

To my letter of inquiry about this matter, Hon. George S. Boutwell
courteously returned the following answer:--

                  BOSTON, October 14, 1878.

   MY DEAR SIR,--As my memory serves me, Mr. Motley was a member of the
   Massachusetts House of Representatives in the year 1847 1849. It
   may be well to consult the manual for that year. I recollect the
   controversy over the report from the Committee on Education.

   His failure was not due to his want of faculty or to the vigor of
   his opponents.

   In truth he espoused the weak side of the question and the unpopular
   one also. His proposition was to endow the colleges at the expense
   of the fund for the support of the common schools. Failure was
   inevitable. Neither Webster nor Choate could have carried the bill.

                  Very truly,
                       GEO. S. BOUTWELL.

No one could be more ready and willing to recognize his own failures than
Motley. He was as honest and manly, perhaps I may say as sympathetic with
the feeling of those about him, on this occasion, as was Charles Lamb,
who, sitting with his sister in the front of the pit, on the night when
his farce was damned at its first representation, gave way to the common
feeling, and hissed and hooted lustily with the others around him. It was
what might be expected from his honest and truthful nature, sometimes too
severe in judging itself.

The commendation bestowed upon Motley's historical essays in "The North
American Review" must have gone far towards compensating him for the ill
success of his earlier venture. It pointed clearly towards the field in
which he was to gather his laurels. And it was in the year following the
publication of the first essay, or about that time (1846), that he began
collecting materials for a history of Holland. Whether to tell the story
of men that have lived and of events that have happened, or to create the
characters and invent the incidents of an imaginary tale be the higher
task, we need not stop to discuss. But the young author was just now like
the great actor in Sir Joshua's picture, between the allurements of
Thalia and Melpomene, still doubtful whether he was to be a romancer or a
historian.

The tale of which the title is given at the beginning of this section had
been written several years before the date of its publication. It is a
great advance in certain respects over the first novel, but wants the
peculiar interest which belonged to that as a partially autobiographical
memoir. The story is no longer disjointed and impossible. It is carefully
studied in regard to its main facts. It has less to remind us of "Vivian
Grey" and "Pelham," and more that recalls "Woodstock" and "Kenilworth."
The personages were many of them historical, though idealized; the
occurrences were many of them such as the record authenticated; the
localities were drawn largely from nature. The story betrays marks of
haste or carelessness in some portions, though others are elaborately
studied. His preface shows that the reception of his first book had made
him timid and sensitive about the fate of the second, and explains and
excuses what might be found fault with, to disarm the criticism he had
some reason to fear.

That old watch-dog of our American literature, "The North American
Review," always ready with lambent phrases in stately "Articles" for
native talent of a certain pretension, and wagging its appendix of
"Critical Notices" kindly at the advent of humbler merit, treated
"Merry-Mount" with the distinction implied in a review of nearly twenty
pages. This was a great contrast to the brief and slighting notice of
"Morton's Hope." The reviewer thinks the author's descriptive power
wholly exceeds his conception of character and invention of
circumstances.

   "He dwells, perhaps, too long and fondly upon his imagination of the
   landscape as it was before the stillness of the forest had been
   broken by the axe of the settler; but the picture is so finely
   drawn, with so much beauty of language and purity of sentiment, that
   we cannot blame him for lingering upon the scene. . . . The
   story is not managed with much skill, but it has variety enough of
   incident and character, and is told with so much liveliness that few
   will be inclined to lay it down before reaching the conclusion. .
   . . The writer certainly needs practice in elaborating the details
   of a consistent and interesting novel; but in many respects he is
   well qualified for the task, and we shall be glad to meet him again
   on the half-historical ground he has chosen. His present work,
   certainly, is not a fair specimen of what he is able to accomplish,
   and its failure, or partial success, ought only to inspirit him for
   further effort."

The "half-historical ground" he had chosen had already led him to the
entrance into the broader domain of history. The "further effort" for
which he was to be inspirited had already begun. He had been for some
time, as was before mentioned, collecting materials for the work which
was to cast all his former attempts into the kindly shadow of oblivion,
save when from time to time the light of his brilliant after success is
thrown upon them to illustrate the path by which it was at length
attained.



IX.

1850. AEt. 36.
PLAN OF A HISTORY.--LETTERS.

The reputation of Mr. Prescott was now coextensive with the realm of
scholarship. The histories of the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella and of
the conquest of Mexico had met with a reception which might well tempt
the ambition of a young writer to emulate it, but which was not likely to
be awarded to any second candidate who should enter the field in rivalry
with the great and universally popular historian. But this was the field
on which Mr. Motley was to venture.

After he had chosen the subject of the history he contemplated, he found
that Mr. Prescott was occupied with a kindred one, so that there might be
too near a coincidence between them. I must borrow from Mr. Ticknor's
beautiful life of Prescott the words which introduce a letter of Motley's
to Mr. William Amory, who has kindly allowed me also to make use of it.

   "The moment, therefore, that he [Mr. Motley] was aware of this
   condition of things, and the consequent possibility that there might
   be an untoward interference in their plans, he took the same frank
   and honorable course with Mr. Prescott that Mr. Prescott had taken
   in relation to Mr. Irving, when he found that they had both been
   contemplating a 'History of the Conquest of Mexico.' The result was
   the same. Mr. Prescott, instead of treating the matter as an
   interference, earnestly encouraged Mr. Motley to go on, and placed
   at his disposition such of the books in his library as could be most
   useful to him. How amply and promptly he did it, Mr. Motley's own
   account will best show. It is in a letter dated at Rome, 26th
   February, 1859, the day he heard of Mr. Prescott's death, and was
   addressed to his intimate friend, Mr. William Amory, of Boston, Mr.
   Prescott's much-loved brother-in-law."

   "It seems to me but as yesterday," Mr. Motley writes, "though it
   must be now twelve years ago, that I was talking with our
   ever-lamented friend Stackpole about my intention of writing a history
   upon a subject to which I have since that time been devoting myself.
   I had then made already some general studies in reference to it,
   without being in the least aware that Prescott had the intention of
   writing the 'History of Philip the Second.' Stackpole had heard the
   fact, and that large preparations had already been made for the
   work, although 'Peru' had not yet been published. I felt naturally
   much disappointed. I was conscious of the immense disadvantage to
   myself of making my appearance, probably at the same time, before
   the public, with a work not at all similar in plan to 'Philip the
   Second,' but which must of necessity traverse a portion of the same
   ground.

   "My first thought was inevitably, as it were, only of myself.
   It seemed to me that I had nothing to do but to abandon at once a
   cherished dream, and probably to renounce authorship. For I had not
   first made up my mind to write a history, and then cast about to
   take up a subject. My subject had taken me up, drawn me on, and
   absorbed me into itself. It was necessary for me, it seemed, to
   write the book I had been thinking much of, even if it were destined
   to fall dead from the press, and I had no inclination or interest to
   write any other. When I had made up my mind accordingly, it then
   occurred to me that Prescott might not be pleased that I should come
   forward upon his ground. It is true that no announcement of his
   intentions had been made, and that he had not, I believe, even
   commenced his preliminary studies for Philip. At the same time I
   thought it would be disloyal on my part not to go to him at once,
   confer with him on the subject, and if I should find a shadow of
   dissatisfaction on his mind at my proposition, to abandon my plan
   altogether.

   "I had only the slightest acquaintance with him at that time. I was
   comparatively a young man, and certainly not entitled on any ground
   to more than the common courtesy which Prescott never could refuse
   to any one. But he received me with such a frank and ready and
   liberal sympathy, and such an open-hearted, guileless expansiveness,
   that I felt a personal affection for him from that hour. I remember
   the interview as if it had taken place yesterday. It was in his
   father's house, in his own library, looking on the garden-house and
   garden,--honored father and illustrious son,--alas! all numbered
   with the things that were! He assured me that he had not the
   slightest objection whatever to my plan, that he wished me every
   success, and that, if there were any books in his library bearing on
   my subject that I liked to use, they were entirely at my service.
   After I had expressed my gratitude for his kindness and cordiality,
   by which I had been in a very few moments set completely at ease,
   --so far as my fears of his disapprobation went,--I also very
   naturally stated my opinion that the danger was entirely mine, and
   that it was rather wilful of me thus to risk such a collision at my
   first venture, the probable consequence of which was utter
   shipwreck. I recollect how kindly and warmly he combated this
   opinion, assuring me that no two books, as he said, ever injured
   each other, and encouraging me in the warmest and most earnest
   manner to proceed on the course I had marked out for myself.

   "Had the result of that interview been different,--had he distinctly
   stated, or even vaguely hinted, that it would be as well if I should
   select some other topic, or had he only sprinkled me with the cold
   water of conventional and commonplace encouragement,--I should have
   gone from him with a chill upon my mind, and, no doubt, have laid
   down the pen at once; for, as I have already said, it was not that I
   cared about writing a history, but that I felt an inevitable impulse
   to write one particular history.

   "You know how kindly he always spoke of and to me; and the generous
   manner in which, without the slightest hint from me, and entirely
   unexpected by me, he attracted the eyes of his hosts of readers to
   my forthcoming work, by so handsomely alluding to it in the Preface
   to his own, must be almost as fresh in your memory as it is in mine.

   "And although it seems easy enough for a man of world-wide
   reputation thus to extend the right hand of fellowship to an unknown
   and struggling aspirant, yet I fear that the history of literature
   will show that such instances of disinterested kindness are as rare
   as they are noble."

It was not from any feeling that Mr. Motley was a young writer from whose
rivalry he had nothing to apprehend. Mr. Amory says that Prescott
expressed himself very decidedly to the effect that an author who had
written such descriptive passages as were to be found in Mr. Motley's
published writings was not to be undervalued as a competitor by any one.
The reader who will turn to the description of Charles River in the
eighth chapter of the second volume of "Merry-Mount," or of the autumnal
woods in the sixteenth chapter of the same volume, will see good reason
for Mr. Prescott's appreciation of the force of the rival whose advent he
so heartily and generously welcomed.



X.

1851-1856. AEt. 37-42.
HISTORICAL STUDIES IN EUROPE.-LETTER FROM BRUSSELS.

After working for several years on his projected "History of the Dutch
Republic," he found that, in order to do justice to his subject, he must
have recourse to the authorities to be found only in the libraries and
state archives of Europe. In the year 1851 he left America with his
family, to begin his task over again, throwing aside all that he had
already done, and following up his new course of investigations at
Berlin, Dresden, the Hague, and Brussels during several succeeding years.
I do not know that I can give a better idea of his mode of life during
this busy period, his occupations, his state of mind, his objects of
interest outside of his special work, than by making the following
extracts from a long letter to myself, dated Brussels, 20th November,
1853.

After some personal matters he continued:--

   "I don't really know what to say to you. I am in a town which, for
   aught I know, may be very gay. I don't know a living soul in it. We
   have not a single acquaintance in the place, and we glory in the
   fact. There is something rather sublime in thus floating on a single
   spar in the wide sea of a populous, busy, fuming, fussy world like
   this. At any rate it is consonant to both our tastes. You may
   suppose, however, that I find it rather difficult to amuse my
   friends out of the incidents of so isolated an existence. Our daily
   career is very regular and monotonous. Our life is as stagnant as a
   Dutch canal. Not that I complain of it,--on the contrary, the canal
   may be richly freighted with merchandise and be a short cut to the
   ocean of abundant and perpetual knowledge; but, at the same time,
   few points rise above the level of so regular a life, to be worthy
   of your notice. You must, therefore, allow me to meander along the
   meadows of commonplace. Don't expect anything of the impetuous and
   boiling style. We go it weak here. I don't know whether you were
   ever in Brussels. It is a striking, picturesque town, built up a
   steep promontory, the old part at the bottom, very dingy and mouldy,
   the new part at the top, very showy and elegant. Nothing can be more
   exquisite in its way than the grande place in the very heart of the
   city, surrounded with those toppling, zigzag, ten-storied buildings
   bedizened all over with ornaments and emblems so peculiar to the
   Netherlands, with the brocaded Hotel de Ville on one side, with its
   impossible spire rising some three hundred and seventy feet into the
   air and embroidered to the top with the delicacy of needle-work,
   sugarwork, spider-work, or what you will. I haunt this place because
   it is my scene, my theatre. Here were enacted so many deep
   tragedies, so many stately dramas, and even so many farces, which
   have been familiar to me so long that I have got to imagine myself
   invested with a kind of property in the place, and look at it as if
   it were merely the theatre with the coulisses, machinery, drapery,
   etc., for representing scenes which have long since vanished, and
   which no more enter the minds of the men and women who are actually
   moving across its pavements than if they had occurred in the moon.
   When I say that I knew no soul in Brussels I am perhaps wrong. With
   the present generation I am not familiar. 'En revanche,' the dead
   men of the place are my intimate friends. I am at home in any
   cemetery. With the fellows of the sixteenth century I am on the most
   familiar terms. Any ghost that ever flits by night across the
   moonlight square is at once hailed by me as a man and a brother. I
   call him by his Christian name at once. When you come out of this
   place, however, which, as I said, is in the heart of the town,--the
   antique gem in the modern setting,--you may go either up or down. If
   you go down, you will find yourself in the very nastiest
   complications of lanes and culs-de-sac possible, a dark entanglement
   of gin-shops, beer-houses, and hovels, through which charming valley
   dribbles the Senne (whence, I suppose, is derived Senna), the most
   nauseous little river in the world, which receives all the
   outpourings of all the drains and houses, and is then converted into
   beer for the inhabitants, all the many breweries being directly upon
   its edge. If you go up the hill instead of down, you come to an
   arrangement of squares, palaces, and gardens as trim and fashionable
   as you will find in Europe. Thus you see that our Cybele sits with
   her head crowned with very stately towers and her feet in a tub of
   very dirty water.

   "My habits here for the present year are very regular. I came here,
   having, as I thought, finished my work, or rather the first Part
   (something like three or four volumes, 8vo), but I find so much
   original matter here, and so many emendations to make, that I am
   ready to despair. However, there is nothing for it but to
   penelopize, pull to pieces, and stitch away again. Whatever may be
   the result of my labor, nobody can say that I have not worked like
   a brute beast,--but I don't care for the result. The labor is in
   itself its own reward and all I want. I go day after day to the
   archives here (as I went all summer at the Hague), studying the old
   letters and documents of the fifteenth century. Here I remain among
   my fellow-worms, feeding on these musty mulberry-leaves, out of
   which we are afterwards to spin our silk. How can you expect
   anything interesting from such a human cocoon? It is, however, not
   without its amusement in a mouldy sort of way, this reading of dead
   letters. It is something to read the real, bona fide signs-manual
   of such fellows as William of Orange, Count Egmont, Alexander
   Farnese, Philip II., Cardinal Granvelle, and the rest of them. It
   gives a 'realizing sense,' as the Americans have it. . . . There
   are not many public resources of amusement in this place,--if we
   wanted them,--which we don't. I miss the Dresden Gallery very much,
   and it makes me sad to think that I shall never look at the face of
   the Sistine Madonna again,--that picture beyond all pictures in the
   world, in which the artist certainly did get to heaven and painted a
   face which was never seen on earth--so pathetic, so gentle, so
   passionless, so prophetic. . . . There are a few good Rubenses
   here,--but the great wealth of that master is in Antwerp. The great
   picture of the Descent from the Cross is free again, after having
   been ten years in the repairing room. It has come out in very good
   condition. What a picture? It seems to me as if I had really stood
   at the cross and seen Mary weeping on John's shoulder, and Magdalen
   receiving the dead body of the Saviour in her arms. Never was the
   grand tragedy represented in so profound and dramatic a manner. For
   it is not only in his color in which this man so easily surpasses
   all the world, but in his life-like, flesh-and-blood action,--the
   tragic power of his composition. And is it not appalling to think
   of the 'large constitution of this man,' when you reflect on the
   acres of canvas which he has covered? How inspiriting to see with
   what muscular, masculine vigor this splendid Fleming rushed in and
   plucked up drowning Art by the locks when it was sinking in the
   trashy sea of such creatures as the Luca Giordanos and Pietro
   Cortonas and the like. Well might Guido exclaim, 'The fellow mixes
   blood with his colors! . . . How providentially did the man come
   in and invoke living, breathing, moving men and women out of his
   canvas! Sometimes he is ranting and exaggerated, as are all men of
   great genius who wrestle with Nature so boldly. No doubt his
   heroines are more expansively endowed than would be thought genteel
   in our country, where cryptogams are so much in fashion,
   nevertheless there is always something very tremendous about him,
   and very often much that is sublime, pathetic, and moving. I defy
   any one of the average amount of imagination and sentiment to stand
   long before the Descent from the Cross without being moved more
   nearly to tears than he would care to acknowledge. As for color,
   his effects are as sure as those of the sun rising in a tropical
   landscape. There is something quite genial in the cheerful sense of
   his own omnipotence which always inspired him. There are a few fine
   pictures of his here, and I go in sometimes of a raw, foggy morning
   merely to warm myself in the blaze of their beauty."

I have been more willing to give room to this description of Rubens's
pictures and the effect they produced upon Motley, because there is a
certain affinity between those sumptuous and glowing works of art and the
prose pictures of the historian who so admired them. He was himself a
colorist in language, and called up the image of a great personage or a
splendid pageant of the past with the same affluence, the same rich
vitality, that floods and warms the vast areas of canvas over which the
full-fed genius of Rubens disported itself in the luxury of imaginative
creation.



XI.

1856-1857. AEt. 42-43.

PUBLICATION OF HIS FIRST HISTORICAL WORK, "RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC."
--ITS RECEPTION.--CRITICAL NOTICES.

The labor of ten years was at last finished. Carrying his formidable
manuscript with him,--and how formidable the manuscript which melts down
into three solid octavo volumes is, only writers and publishers know,--he
knocked at the gate of that terrible fortress from which Lintot and Curll
and Tonson looked down on the authors of an older generation. So large a
work as the "History of the Rise of the Dutch Republic," offered for the
press by an author as yet unknown to the British public, could hardly
expect a warm welcome from the great dealers in literature as
merchandise. Mr. Murray civilly declined the manuscript which was offered
to him, and it was published at its author's expense by Mr. John Chapman.
The time came when the positions of the first-named celebrated publisher
and the unknown writer were reversed. Mr. Murray wrote to Mr. Motley
asking to be allowed to publish his second great work, the "History of
the United Netherlands," expressing at the same time his regret at what
he candidly called his mistake in the first instance, and thus they were
at length brought into business connection as well as the most agreeable
and friendly relations. An American edition was published by the Harpers
at the same time as the London one.

If the new work of the unknown author found it difficult to obtain a
publisher, it was no sooner given to the public than it found an
approving, an admiring, an enthusiastic world of readers, and a noble
welcome at the colder hands of the critics.

"The Westminster Review" for April, 1856, had for its leading article a
paper by Mr. Froude, in which the critic awarded the highest praise to
the work of the new historian. As one of the earliest as well as one of
the most important recognitions of the work, I quote some of its
judgments.

   "A history as complete as industry and genius can make it now lies
   before us of the first twenty years of the Revolt of the United
   Provinces; of the period in which those provinces finally conquered
   their independence and established the Republic of Holland. It has
   been the result of many years of silent, thoughtful, unobtrusive
   labor, and unless we are strangely mistaken, unless we are ourselves
   altogether unfit for this office of criticising which we have here
   undertaken, the book is one which will take its place among the
   finest histories in this or in any language. . . . All the
   essentials of a great writer Mr. Motley eminently possesses. His
   mind is broad, his industry unwearied. In power of dramatic
   description no modern historian, except perhaps Mr. Carlyle,
   surpasses him, and in analysis of character he is elaborate and
   distinct. His principles are those of honest love for all which is
   good and admirable in human character wherever he finds it, while he
   unaffectedly hates oppression, and despises selfishness with all his
   heart."

After giving a slight analytical sketch of the series of events related
in the history, Mr. Froude objects to only one of the historian's
estimates, that, namely, of the course of Queen Elizabeth.

   "It is ungracious, however," he says, "even to find so slight a
   fault with these admirable volumes. Mr. Motley has written without
   haste, with the leisurely composure of a master. . . . We now
   take our leave of Mr. Motley, desiring him only to accept our hearty
   thanks for these volumes, which we trust will soon take their place
   in every English library. Our quotations will have sufficed to show
   the ability of the writer. Of the scope and general character of
   his work we have given but a languid conception. The true merit of
   a great book must be learned from the book itself. Our part has
   been rather to select varied specimens of style and power. Of Mr.
   Motley's antecedents we know nothing. If he has previously appeared
   before the public, his reputation has not crossed the Atlantic. It
   will not be so now. We believe that we may promise him as warm a
   welcome among ourselves as he will receive even in America; that his
   place will be at once conceded to him among the first historians in
   our common language."

The faithful and unwearied Mr. Allibone has swept the whole field of
contemporary criticism, and shown how wide and universal was the welcome
accorded to the hitherto unknown author. An article headed "Prescott and
Motley," attributed to M. Guizot, which must have been translated, I
suppose, from his own language, judging by its freedom from French
idioms, is to be found in "The Edinburgh Review" for January, 1857. The
praise, not unmingled with criticisms, which that great historian
bestowed upon Motley is less significant than the fact that he
superintended a translation of the "Rise of the Dutch Republic," and
himself wrote the Introduction to it.

A general chorus of approbation followed or accompanied these leading
voices. The reception of the work in Great Britain was a triumph. On the
Continent, in addition to the tribute paid to it by M. Guizot, it was
translated into Dutch, into German, and into Russian. At home his
reception was not less hearty. "The North American Review," which had set
its foot on the semi-autobiographical medley which he called "Morton's
Hope," which had granted a decent space and a tepid recognition to his
"semi-historical" romance, in which he had already given the reading
public a taste of his quality as a narrator of real events and a
delineator of real personages,--this old and awe-inspiring New England
and more than New England representative of the Fates, found room for a
long and most laudatory article, in which the son of one of our most
distinguished historians did the honors of the venerable literary
periodical to the new-comer, for whom the folding-doors of all the
critical headquarters were flying open as if of themselves. Mr. Allibone
has recorded the opinions of some of our best scholars as expressed to
him.

Dr. Lieber wrote a letter to Mr. Allibone in the strongest terms of
praise. I quote one passage which in the light of after events borrows a
cruel significance:--

   "Congress and Parliament decree thanks for military exploits,
   --rarely for diplomatic achievements. If they ever voted their thanks
   for books,--and what deeds have influenced the course of human
   events more than some books?--Motley ought to have the thanks of our
   Congress; but I doubt not that he has already the thanks of every
   American who has read the work. It will leave its distinct mark
   upon the American mind."

Mr. Everett writes:--

   "Mr. Motley's 'History of the Dutch Republic' is in my judgment a
   work of the highest merit. Unwearying research for years in the
   libraries of Europe, patience and judgment in arranging and
   digesting his materials, a fine historical tact, much skill in
   characterization, the perspective of narration, as it may be called,
   and a vigorous style unite to make it a very capital work, and place
   the name of Motley by the side of those of our great historical
   trio,--Bancroft, Irving, and Prescott."

Mr. Irving, Mr. Bancroft, Mr. Sumner, Mr. Hillard, united their voices in
the same strain of commendation. Mr. Prescott, whose estimate of the new
history is of peculiar value for obvious reasons, writes to Mr. Allibone
thus:--

   "The opinion of any individual seems superfluous in respect to a
   work on the merits of which the public both at home and abroad have
   pronounced so unanimous a verdict. As Motley's path crosses my own
   historic field, I may be thought to possess some advantage over most
   critics in my familiarity with the ground.

   "However this may be, I can honestly bear my testimony to the extent
   of his researches and to the accuracy with which he has given the
   results of them to the public. Far from making his book a mere
   register of events, he has penetrated deep below the surface and
   explored the cause of these events. He has carefully studied the
   physiognomy of the times and given finished portraits of the great
   men who conducted the march of the revolution. Every page is
   instinct with the love of freedom and with that personal knowledge
   of the working of free institutions which could alone enable him to
   do justice to his subject. We may congratulate ourselves that it
   was reserved for one of our countrymen to tell the story-better than
   it had yet been told--of this memorable revolution, which in so many
   of its features bears a striking resemblance to our own."

The public welcomed the work as cordially as the critics. Fifteen
thousand copies had already been sold in London in 1857. In America it
was equally popular. Its author saw his name enrolled by common consent
among those of the great writers of his time. Europe accepted him, his
country was proud to claim him, scholarship set its jealously guarded
seal upon the result of his labors, the reading world, which had not
cared greatly for his stories, hung in delight over a narrative more
exciting than romances; and the lonely student, who had almost forgotten
the look of living men in the solitude of archives haunted by dead
memories, found himself suddenly in the full blaze of a great reputation.



XII.

1856-1857. AEt. 42-43.
VISIT TO AMERICA.--RESIDENCE IN BOYLSTON PLACE.

He visited this country in 1856, and spent the winter of 1856-57 in
Boston, living with his family in a house in Boylston Place. At this time
I had the pleasure of meeting him often, and of seeing the changes which
maturity, success, the opening of a great literary and social career, had
wrought in his character and bearing. He was in every way greatly
improved; the interesting, impulsive youth had ripened into a noble
manhood. Dealing with great themes, his own mind had gained their
dignity. Accustomed to the company of dead statesmen and heroes, his own
ideas had risen to a higher standard. The flattery of society had added a
new grace to his natural modesty. He was now a citizen of the world by
his reputation; the past was his province, in which he was recognized as
a master; the idol's pedestal was ready for him, but he betrayed no
desire to show himself upon it.



XIII.

1858-1860. AEt. 44-46.
RETURN TO ENGLAND.--SOCIAL RELATIONS.--LADY HARCOURT'S LETTER.

During the years spent in Europe in writing his first history, from 1851
to 1856, Mr. Motley had lived a life of great retirement and simplicity,
devoting himself to his work and to the education of his children, to
which last object he was always ready to give the most careful
supervision. He was as yet unknown beyond the circle of his friends, and
he did not seek society. In this quiet way he had passed the two years of
residence in Dresden, the year divided between Brussels and the Hague,
and a very tranquil year spent at Vevay on the Lake of Geneva. His health
at this time was tolerably good, except for nervous headaches, which
frequently recurred and were of great severity. His visit to England with
his manuscript in search of a publisher has already been mentioned.

In 1858 he revisited England. His fame as a successful author was there
before him, and he naturally became the object of many attentions. He now
made many acquaintances who afterwards became his kind and valued
friends. Among those mentioned by his daughter, Lady Harcourt, are Lord
Lyndhurst, Lord Carlisle, Lady William Russell, Lord and Lady Palmerston,
Dean Milman, with many others. The following winter was passed in Rome,
among many English and American friends.

   "In the course of the next summer," his daughter writes to me, "we
   all went to England, and for the next two years, marked chiefly by
   the success of the 'United Netherlands,' our social life was most
   agreeable and most interesting. He was in the fulness of his health
   and powers; his works had made him known in intellectual society,
   and I think his presence, on the other hand, increased their
   effects. As no one knows better than you do, his belief in his own
   country and in its institutions at their best was so passionate and
   intense that it was a part of his nature, yet his refined and
   fastidious tastes were deeply gratified by the influences of his
   life in England, and the spontaneous kindness which he received
   added much to his happiness. At that time Lord Palmerston was Prime
   Minister; the weekly receptions at Cambridge House were the centre
   of all that was brilliant in the political and social world, while
   Lansdowne House, Holland House, and others were open to the
   'sommites' in all branches of literature, science, rank, and
   politics. . . . It was the last year of Lord Macaulay's life,
   and as a few out of many names which I recall come Dean Milman, Mr.
   Froude (whose review of the 'Dutch Republic' in the 'Westminster'
   was one of the first warm recognitions it ever received), the Duke
   and Duchess of Argyll, Sir William Stirling Maxwell, then Mr.
   Stirling of Keir, the Sheridan family in its different brilliant
   members, Lord Wensleydale, and many more."

There was no society to which Motley would not have added grace and
attraction by his presence, and to say that he was a welcome guest in the
best houses of England is only saying that these houses are always open
to those whose abilities, characters, achievements, are commended to the
circles that have the best choice by the personal gifts which are
nature's passport everywhere.



XIV.

1859. AEt. 45.

LETTER TO MR. FRANCIS H. UNDERWOOD.--PLAN OF MR. MOTLEY'S HISTORICAL
WORKS.--SECOND GREAT WORK, "HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS."

I am enabled by the kindness of Mr. Francis H. Underwood to avail myself
of a letter addressed to him by Mr. Motley in the year before the
publication of this second work, which gives us an insight into his mode
of working and the plan he proposed to follow. It begins with an allusion
which recalls a literary event interesting to many of his American
friends.

                    ROME, March 4, 1859.

   F. H. UNDERWOOD, ESQ.

   My dear Sir,--. . . I am delighted to hear of the great success
   of "The Atlantic Monthly." In this remote region I have not the
   chance of reading it as often as I should like, but from the
   specimens which I have seen I am quite sure it deserves its wide
   circulation. A serial publication, the contents of which are purely
   original and of such remarkable merit, is a novelty in our country,
   and I am delighted to find that it has already taken so prominent a
   position before the reading world. . .

   The whole work [his history], of which the three volumes already
   published form a part, will be called "The Eighty Years' War for
   Liberty."

   Epoch I. is the Rise of the Dutch Republic.

   Epoch II. Independence Achieved. From the Death of William the
   Silent till the Twelve Years' Truce. 1584-1609.

   Epoch III. Independence Recognized. From the Twelve Years' Truce
   to the Peace of Westphalia. 1609-1648.

   My subject is a very vast one, for the struggle of the United
   Provinces with Spain was one in which all the leading states of
   Europe were more or less involved. After the death of William the
   Silent, the history assumes world-wide proportions. Thus the volume
   which I am just about terminating . . . is almost as much English
   history as Dutch. The Earl of Leicester, very soon after the death
   of Orange, was appointed governor of the provinces, and the alliance
   between the two countries almost amounted to a political union. I
   shall try to get the whole of the Leicester administration,
   terminating with the grand drama of the Invincible Armada, into one
   volume; but I doubt, my materials are so enormous. I have been
   personally very hard at work, nearly two years, ransacking the
   British State Paper Office, the British Museum, and the Holland
   archives, and I have had two copyists constantly engaged in London,
   and two others at the Hague. Besides this, I passed the whole of
   last winter at Brussels, where, by special favor of the Belgian
   Government, I was allowed to read what no one else has ever been
   permitted to see,--the great mass of copies taken by that government
   from the Simancas archives, a translated epitome of which has been
   published by Gachard. This correspondence reaches to the death of
   Philip II., and is of immense extent and importance. Had I not
   obtained leave to read the invaluable and, for my purpose,
   indispensable documents at Brussels, I should have gone to Spain,
   for they will not be published these twenty years, and then only in
   a translated and excessively abbreviated and unsatisfactory form.
   I have read the whole of this correspondence, and made very copious
   notes of it. In truth, I devoted three months of last winter to
   that purpose alone.

   The materials I have collected from the English archives are also
   extremely important and curious. I have hundreds of interesting
   letters never published or to be published, by Queen Elizabeth,
   Burghley, Walsingham, Sidney, Drake, Willoughby, Leicester, and
   others. For the whole of that portion of my subject in which
   Holland and England were combined into one whole, to resist Spain in
   its attempt to obtain the universal empire, I have very abundant
   collections. For the history of the United Provinces is not at all
   a provincial history. It is the history of European liberty.
   Without the struggle of Holland and England against Spain, all
   Europe might have been Catholic and Spanish. It was Holland that
   saved England in the sixteenth century, and, by so doing, secured
   the triumph of the Reformation, and placed the independence of the
   various states of Europe upon a sure foundation. Of course, the
   materials collected by me at the Hague are of great importance. As
   a single specimen, I will state that I found in the archives there
   an immense and confused mass of papers, which turned out to be the
   autograph letters of Olden Barneveld during the last few years of
   his life; during, in short, the whole of that most important period
   which preceded his execution. These letters are in such an
   intolerable handwriting that no one has ever attempted to read them.
   I could read them only imperfectly myself, and it would have taken
   me a very long time to have acquired the power to do so; but my
   copyist and reader there is the most patient and indefatigable
   person alive, and he has quite mastered the handwriting, and he
   writes me that they are a mine of historical wealth for me. I shall
   have complete copies before I get to that period, one of signal
   interest, and which has never been described. I mention these
   matters that you may see that my work, whatever its other value may
   be, is built upon the only foundation fit for history,--original
   contemporary documents. These are all unpublished. Of course, I
   use the contemporary historians and pamphleteers,--Dutch, Spanish,
   French, Italian, German, and English,--but the most valuable of my
   sources are manuscript ones. I have said the little which I have
   said in order to vindicate the largeness of the subject. The
   kingdom of Holland is a small power now, but the Eighty Years' War,
   which secured the civil and religious independence of the Dutch
   Commonwealth and of Europe, was the great event of that whole age.

   The whole work will therefore cover a most remarkable epoch in human
   history, from the abdication of Charles Fifth to the Peace of
   Westphalia, at which last point the political and geographical
   arrangements of Europe were established on a permanent basis,--in
   the main undisturbed until the French Revolution. . . .

   I will mention that I received yesterday a letter from the
   distinguished M. Guizot, informing me that the first volume of the
   French translation, edited by him, with an introduction, has just
   been published. The publication was hastened in consequence of the
   appearance of a rival translation at Brussels. The German
   translation is very elegantly and expensively printed in handsome
   octavos; and the Dutch translation, under the editorship of the
   archivist general of Holland, Bakhuyzen v. d. Brink, is enriched
   with copious notes and comments by that distinguished scholar.

   There are also three different piratical reprints of the original
   work at Amsterdam, Leipzig, and London. I must add that I had
   nothing to do with the translation in any case. In fact, with the
   exception of M. Guizot, no one ever obtained permission of me to
   publish translations, and I never knew of the existence of them
   until I read of it in the journals. . . . I forgot to say that
   among the collections already thoroughly examined by me is that
   portion of the Simancas archives still retained in the Imperial
   archives of France. I spent a considerable time in Paris for the
   purpose of reading these documents. There are many letters of
   Philip II. there, with apostilles by his own hand. . . . I
   would add that I am going to pass this summer at Venice for the
   purpose of reading and procuring copies from the very rich archives
   of that Republic, of the correspondence of their envoys in Madrid,
   London, and Brussels during the epoch of which I am treating.

   I am also not without hope of gaining access to the archives of the
   Vatican here, although there are some difficulties in the way.

             With kind regards . . .
                  I remain very truly yours,
                         J. L. MOTLEY.



XV.

1860. AT. 46.

PUBLICATION OF THE FIRST TWO VOLUMES OF THE "HISTORY OF THE UNITED
NETHERLANDS."--THEIR RECEPTION.

We know something of the manner in which Mr. Motley collected his
materials. We know the labors, the difficulties, the cost of his toils
among the dusty records of the past. What he gained by the years he spent
in his researches is so well stated by himself that I shall borrow his
own words:--

   "Thanks to the liberality of many modern governments of Europe, the
   archives where the state secrets of the buried centuries have so
   long mouldered are now open to the student of history. To him who
   has patience and industry, many mysteries are thus revealed which no
   political sagacity or critical acumen could have divined. He leans
   over the shoulder of Philip the Second at his writing-table, as the
   King spells patiently out, with cipher-key in hand, the most
   concealed hieroglyphics of Parma, or Guise, or Mendoza. He reads
   the secret thoughts of 'Fabius' [Philip II.] as that cunctative
   Roman scrawls his marginal apostilles on each dispatch; he pries
   into all the stratagems of Camillus, Hortensius, Mucius, Julius,
   Tullius, and the rest of those ancient heroes who lent their names
   to the diplomatic masqueraders of the sixteenth century; he enters
   the cabinet of the deeply pondering Burghley, and takes from the
   most private drawer the memoranda which record that minister's
   unutterable doubtings; he pulls from the dressing-gown folds of the
   stealthy, soft-gliding Walsingham the last secret which he has
   picked from the Emperor's pigeon-holes or the Pope's pocket, and
   which not Hatton, nor Buckhurst, nor Leicester, nor the Lord
   Treasurer is to see,--nobody but Elizabeth herself; he sits
   invisible at the most secret councils of the Nassaus and Barneveld
   and Buys, or pores with Farnese over coming victories and vast
   schemes of universal conquest; he reads the latest bit of scandal,
   the minutest characteristic of king or minister, chronicled by the
   gossiping Venetians for the edification of the Forty; and after all
   this prying and eavesdropping, having seen the cross-purposes, the
   bribings, the windings in the dark, he is not surprised if those who
   were systematically deceived did not always arrive at correct
   conclusions."

The fascination of such a quest is readily conceivable. A drama with real
characters, and the spectator at liberty to go behind the scenes and look
upon and talk with the kings and queens between the acts; to examine the
scenery, to handle the properties, to study the "make up" of the imposing
personages of full-dress histories; to deal with them all as Thackeray
has done with the Grand Monarque in one of his caustic sketches,--this
would be as exciting, one might suppose, as to sit through a play one
knows by heart at Drury Lane or the Theatre Francais, and might furnish
occupation enough to the curious idler who was only in search of
entertainment. The mechanical obstacles of half-illegible manuscript, of
antiquated forms of speech, to say nothing of the intentional obscurities
of diplomatic correspondence, stand, however, in the way of all but the
resolute and unwearied scholar. These difficulties, in all their complex
obstinacy, had been met and overcome by the heroic efforts, the
concentrated devotion, of the new laborer in the unbroken fields of
secret history.

Without stopping to take breath, as it were,--for his was a task 'de
longue haleine,'--he proceeded to his second great undertaking.

The first portion--consisting of two volumes--of the "History of the
United Netherlands" was published in the year 1860. It maintained and
increased the reputation he had already gained by his first history.

"The London Quarterly Review" devoted a long article to it, beginning
with this handsome tribute to his earlier and later volumes:--

   "Mr. Motley's 'History of the Rise of the Dutch Republic' is already
   known and valued for the grasp of mind which it displays, for the
   earnest and manly spirit in which he has communicated the results of
   deep research and careful reflection. Again he appears before us,
   rich with the spoils of time, to tell the story of the United
   Netherlands from the time of William the Silent to the end of the
   eventful year of the Spanish Armada, and we still find him in every
   way worthy of this 'great argument.' Indeed, it seems to us that he
   proceeds with an increased facility of style, and with a more
   complete and easy command over his materials. These materials are
   indeed splendid, and of them most excellent use has been made. The
   English State Paper Office, the Spanish archives from Simancas, and
   the Dutch and Belgian repositories, have all yielded up their
   secrets; and Mr. Motley has enjoyed the advantage of dealing with a
   vast mass of unpublished documents, of which he has not failed to
   avail himself to an extent which places his work in the foremost
   rank as an authority for the period to which it relates. By means
   of his labor and his art we can sit at the council board of Philip
   and Elizabeth, we can read their most private dispatches. Guided by
   his demonstration, we are enabled to dissect out to their ultimate
   issues the minutest ramifications of intrigue. We join in the
   amusement of the popular lampoon; we visit the prison-house; we
   stand by the scaffold; we are present at the battle and the siege.
   We can scan the inmost characters of men and can view them in their.
   habits as they lived."

After a few criticisms upon lesser points of form and style, the writer
says:--

   "But the work itself must be read to appreciate the vast and
   conscientious industry bestowed upon it. His delineations are true
   and life-like, because they are not mere compositions written to
   please the ear, but are really taken from the facts and traits
   preserved in those authentic records to which he has devoted the
   labor of many years. Diligent and painstaking as the humblest
   chronicler, he has availed himself of many sources of information
   which have not been made use of by any previous historical writer.
   At the same time he is not oppressed by his materials, but has
   sagacity to estimate their real value, and he has combined with
   scholarly power the facts which they contain. He has rescued the
   story of the Netherlands from the domain of vague and general
   narrative, and has labored, with much judgment and ability, to
   unfold the 'Belli causas, et vitia, et modos,' and to assign to
   every man and every event their own share in the contest, and their
   own influence upon its fortunes. We do not wonder that his earlier
   publication has been received as a valuable addition, not only to
   English, but to European literature."

One or two other contemporary criticisms may help us with their side
lights. A critic in "The Edinburgh Review" for January, 1861, thinks that
"Mr. Motley has not always been successful in keeping the graphic variety
of his details subordinate to the main theme of his work." Still, he
excuses the fault, as he accounts it, in consideration of the new light
thrown on various obscure points of history, and--

   "it is atoned for by striking merits, by many narratives of great
   events faithfully, powerfully, and vividly executed, by the clearest
   and most life-like conceptions of character, and by a style which,
   if it sacrifices the severer principles of composition to a desire
   to be striking and picturesque, is always vigorous, full of
   animation, and glowing with the genuine enthusiasm of the writer.
   Mr. Motley combines as an historian two qualifications seldom found
   united,--to great capacity for historical research he adds much
   power of pictorial representation. In his pages we find characters
   and scenes minutely set forth in elaborate and characteristic
   detail, which is relieved and heightened in effect by the artistic
   breadth of light and shade thrown across the broader prospects of
   history. In an American author, too, we must commend the hearty
   English spirit in which the book is written; and fertile as the
   present age has been in historical works of the highest merit, none
   of them can be ranked above these volumes in the grand qualities of
   interest, accuracy, and truth."

A writer in "Blackwood" (May, 1861) contrasts Motley with Froude somewhat
in the way in which another critic had contrasted him with Prescott.
Froude, he says, remembers that there are some golden threads in the
black robe of the Dominican. Motley "finds it black and thrusts it
farther into the darkness."

Every writer carries more or less of his own character into his book, of
course. A great professor has told me that there is a personal flavor in
the mathematical work of a man of genius like Poisson. Those who have
known Motley and Prescott would feel sure beforehand that the impulsive
nature of the one and the judicial serenity of the other would as surely
betray themselves in their writings as in their conversation and in their
every movement. Another point which the critic of "Blackwood's Magazine"
has noticed has not been so generally observed: it is what he calls "a
dashing, offhand, rattling style,"--"fast" writing. It cannot be denied
that here and there may be detected slight vestiges of the way of writing
of an earlier period of Motley's literary life, with which I have no
reason to think the writer just mentioned was acquainted. Now and then I
can trace in the turn of a phrase, in the twinkle of an epithet, a faint
reminiscence of a certain satirical levity, airiness, jauntiness, if I
may hint such a word, which is just enough to remind me of those perilous
shallows of his early time through which his richly freighted argosy had
passed with such wonderful escape from their dangers and such very slight
marks of injury. That which is pleasant gayety in conversation may be
quite out of place in formal composition, and Motley's wit must have had
a hard time of it struggling to show its spangles in the processions
while his gorgeous tragedies went sweeping by.



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.

A MEMOIR

By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Volume II.



XVI.

1860-1866. AEt. 46-52.

RESIDENCE IN ENGLAND.--OUTBREAK OF THE CIVIL WAR.--LETTERS TO THE LONDON
"TIMES."--VISIT TO AMERICA.--APPOINTED MINISTER TO AUSTRIA.--LADY
HARCOURT'S LETTER.--MISS MOTLEY'S MEMORANDUM.

The winter of 1859-60 was passed chiefly at Oatlands Hotel,
Walton-on-Thames. In 1860 Mr. Motley hired the house No. 31 Hertford
Street, May Fair, London. He had just published the first two volumes of
his "History of the Netherlands," and was ready for the further labors of
its continuation, when the threats, followed by the outbreak, of the
great civil contention in his native land brought him back from the
struggles of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries to the conflict of
the nineteenth.

His love of country, which had grown upon him so remarkably of late
years, would not suffer him to be silent at such a moment. All around him
he found ignorance and prejudice. The quarrel was like to be prejudged in
default of a champion of the cause which to him was that of Liberty and
Justice. He wrote two long letters to the London "Times," in which he
attempted to make clear to Englishmen and to Europe the nature and
conditions of our complex system of government, the real cause of the
strife, and the mighty issues at stake. Nothing could have been more
timely, nothing more needed. Mr. William Everett, who was then in
England, bears strong testimony to the effect these letters produced. Had
Mr. Motley done no other service to his country, this alone would entitle
him to honorable remembrance as among the first defenders of the flag,
which at that moment had more to fear from what was going on in the
cabinet councils of Europe than from all the armed hosts that were
gathering against it.

He returned to America in 1861, and soon afterwards was appointed by Mr.
Lincoln Minister to Austria. Mr. Burlingame had been previously appointed
to the office, but having been objected to by the Austrian Government for
political reasons, the place unexpectedly left vacant was conferred upon
Motley, who had no expectation of any diplomatic appointment when he left
Europe. For some interesting particulars relating to his residence in
Vienna I must refer to the communications addressed to me by his
daughter, Lady Harcourt, and her youngest sister, and the letters I
received from him while at the Austrian capital. Lady Harcourt writes:--

   "He held the post for six years, seeing the civil war fought out and
   brought to a triumphant conclusion, and enjoying, as I have every
   reason to believe, the full confidence and esteem of Mr. Lincoln to
   the last hour of the President's life. In the first dark years the
   painful interest of the great national drama was so all-absorbing
   that literary work was entirely put aside, and with his countrymen
   at home he lived only in the varying fortunes of the day, his
   profound faith and enthusiasm sustaining him and lifting him above
   the natural influence of a by no means sanguine temperament. Later,
   when the tide was turning and success was nearing, he was more able
   to work. His social relations during the whole period of his
   mission were of the most agreeable character. The society of Vienna
   was at that time, and I believe is still, the absolute reverse of
   that of England, where all claims to distinction are recognized and
   welcomed. There the old feudal traditions were still in full force,
   and diplomatic representatives admitted to the court society by
   right of official position found it to consist exclusively of an
   aristocracy of birth, sixteen quarterings of nobility being
   necessary to a right of presentation to the Emperor and Empress.
   The society thus constituted was distinguished by great charm and
   grace of manner, the exclusion of all outer elements not only
   limiting the numbers, but giving the ease of a family party within
   the charmed circle. On the other hand, larger interests suffered
   under the rigid exclusion of all occupations except the army,
   diplomacy, and court place. The intimacy among the different
   members of the society was so close that, beyond a courtesy of
   manner that never failed, the tendency was to resist the approach of
   any stranger as a 'gene'. A single new face was instantly remarked
   and commented on in a Vienna saloon to an extent unknown in any
   other large capital. This peculiarity, however, worked in favor of
   the old resident. Kindliness of feeling increased with familiarity
   and grew into something better than acquaintance, and the parting
   with most sincere and affectionately disposed friends in the end was
   deeply felt on both sides. Those years were passed in a pleasant
   house in the Weiden Faubourg, with a large garden at the back, and I
   do not think that during this time there was one disagreeable
   incident in his relations to his colleagues, while in several cases
   the relations, agreeable with all, became those of close friendship.
   We lived constantly, of course, in diplomatic and Austrian society,
   and during the latter part of the time particularly his house was as
   much frequented and the centre of as many dancing and other
   receptions as any in the place. His official relations with the
   Foreign Office were courteous and agreeable, the successive Foreign
   Ministers during his stay being Count Richberg, Count Mensdorff, and
   Baron Beust. Austria was so far removed from any real contact with
   our own country that, though the interest in our war may have been
   languid, they did not pretend to a knowledge which might have
   inclined them to controversy, while an instinct that we were acting
   as a constituted government against rebellion rather inclined them
   to sympathy. I think I may say that as he became known among them
   his keen patriotism and high sense of honor and truth were fully
   understood and appreciated, and that what he said always commanded a
   sympathetic hearing among men with totally different political
   ideas, but with chivalrous and loyal instincts to comprehend his
   own. I shall never forget his account of the terrible day when the
   news of Mr. Lincoln's death came. By some accident a rumor of it
   reached him first through a colleague. He went straight to the
   Foreign Office for news, hoping against hope, was received by Count
   Mensdorff, who merely came forward and laid his arm about his
   shoulder with an intense sympathy beyond words."

Miss Motley, the historian's youngest daughter, has added a note to her
sister's communication:--

   "During his residence in Vienna the most important negotiations
   which he had to carry on with the Austrian Government were those
   connected with the Mexican affair. Maximilian at one time applied
   to his brother the Emperor for assistance, and he promised to accede
   to his demand. Accordingly a large number of volunteers were
   equipped and had actually embarked at Trieste, when a dispatch from
   Seward arrived, instructing the American Minister to give notice to
   the Austrian Government that if the troops sailed for Mexico he was
   to leave Vienna at once. My father had to go at once to Count
   Mensdorff with these instructions, and in spite of the Foreign
   Minister being annoyed that the United States Government had not
   sooner intimated that this extreme course would be taken, the
   interview was quite amicable and the troops were not allowed to
   sail. We were in Vienna during the war in which Denmark fought
   alone against Austria and Prussia, and when it was over Bismarck
   came to Vienna to settle the terms of peace with the Emperor. He
   dined with us twice during his short stay, and was most delightful
   and agreeable. When he and my father were together they seemed to
   live over the youthful days they had spent together as students,
   and many were the anecdotes of their boyish frolics which Bismarck
   related."



XVII.

1861-1863. AEt. 47-49.
LETTERS FROM VIENNA.

Soon after Mr. Motley's arrival in Vienna I received a long letter from
him, most of which relates to personal matters, but which contains a few
sentences of interest to the general reader as showing his zealous
labors, wherever he found himself, in behalf of the great cause then in
bloody debate in his own country:

                    November 14, 1861.

   . . . What can I say to you of cis-Atlantic things? I am almost
   ashamed to be away from home. You know that I had decided to
   remain, and had sent for my family to come to America, when my
   present appointment altered my plans. I do what good I can. I
   think I made some impression on Lord John Russell, with whom I spent
   two days soon after my arrival in England, and I talked very frankly
   and as strongly as I could to Palmerston, and I have had long
   conversations and correspondences with other leading men in England.
   I have also had an hour's [conversation] with Thouvenel in Paris. I
   hammered the Northern view into him as soundly as I could. For this
   year there will be no foreign interference with us. I don't
   anticipate it at any time, unless we bring it on ourselves by bad
   management, which I don't expect. Our fate is in our own hands, and
   Europe is looking on to see which side is strongest,--when it has
   made the discovery it will back it as also the best and the most
   moral. Yesterday I had my audience with the Emperor. He received
   me with much cordiality, and seemed interested in a long account
   which I gave him of our affairs. You may suppose I inculcated the
   Northern views. We spoke in his vernacular, and he asked me
   afterwards if I was a German. I mention this not from vanity, but
   because he asked it with earnestness, and as if it had a political
   significance. Of course I undeceived him. His appearance
   interested me, and his manner is very pleasing.

I continued to receive long and interesting letters from him at intervals
during his residence as Minister at Vienna. Relating as they often did to
public matters, about which he had private sources of information, his
anxiety that they should not get into print was perfectly natural. As,
however, I was at liberty to read his letters to others at my discretion,
and as many parts of these letters have an interest as showing how
American affairs looked to one who was behind the scenes in Europe, I may
venture to give some extracts without fear of violating the spirit of his
injunctions, or of giving offence to individuals. The time may come when
his extended correspondence can be printed in full with propriety, but it
must be in a future year and after it has passed into the hands of a
younger generation. Meanwhile these few glimpses at his life and records
of his feelings and opinions will help to make the portrait of the man we
are studying present itself somewhat more clearly.

          LEGATION of THE U. S. A., VIENNA, January 14, 1862.

   MY DEAR HOLMES,--I have two letters of yours, November 29 and
   December 17, to express my thanks for. It is quite true that it is
   difficult for me to write with the same feeling that inspires you,
   --that everything around the inkstand within a radius of a thousand
   miles is full of deepest interest to writer and reader. I don't
   even intend to try to amuse you with Vienna matters. What is it to
   you that we had a very pleasant dinner-party last week at Prince
   Esterhazy's, and another this week at Prince Liechtenstein's, and
   that to-morrow I am to put on my cocked hat and laced coat to make a
   visit to her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Mother, and that to-night
   there is to be the first of the assembly balls, the Vienna Almack's,
   at which--I shall be allowed to absent myself altogether?

   It strikes me that there is likely to be left a fair field for us a
   few months longer, say till midsummer. The Trent affair I shall not
   say much about, except to state that I have always been for giving
   up the prisoners. I was awfully afraid, knowing that the demand had
   gone forth,--

        "Send us your prisoners or you'll hear of it,"

   that the answer would have come back in the Hotspur vein--

       'And if the Devil come and roar for them,
        We will not send them."

   The result would have been most disastrous, for in order to secure a
   most trifling advantage,--that of keeping Mason and Slidell at Fort
   Warren a little longer,--we should have turned our backs on all the
   principles maintained by us when neutral, and should have been
   obliged to accept a war at an enormous disadvantage. . . .

   But I hardly dared to hope that we should have obtained such a
   victory as we have done. To have disavowed the illegal transaction
   at once,--before any demand came from England,--to have placed that
   disavowal on the broad ground of principle which we have always
   cherished, and thus with a clear conscience, and to our entire
   honor, to have kept ourselves clear from a war which must have given
   the Confederacy the invincible alliance of England,--was exactly
   what our enemies in Europe did not suppose us capable of doing. But
   we have done it in the handsomest manner, and there is not one
   liberal heart in this hemisphere that is not rejoiced, nor one hater
   of us and of our institutions that is not gnashing his teeth with
   rage.

The letter of ten close pages from which I have quoted these passages is
full of confidential information, and contains extracts from letters of
leading statesmen. If its date had been 1762, I might feel authorized in
disobeying its injunctions of privacy. I must quote one other sentence,
as it shows his animus at that time towards a distinguished statesman of
whom he was afterwards accused of speaking in very hard terms by an
obscure writer whose intent was to harm him. In speaking of the Trent
affair, Mr. Motley says: "The English premier has been foiled by our much
maligned Secretary of State, of whom, on this occasion at least, one has
the right to say, with Sir Henry Wotton,--

       'His armor was his honest thought,
        And simple truth his utmost skill.'"

"He says at the close of this long letter:

   'I wish I could bore you about something else but American politics.
   But there is nothing else worth thinking of in the world. All else
   is leather and prunella. We are living over again the days of the
   Dutchmen or the seventeenth-century Englishmen.'"

My next letter, of fourteen closely written pages, was of similar
character to the last. Motley could think of nothing but the great
conflict. He was alive to every report from America, listening too with
passionate fears or hopes, as the case might be, to the whispers not yet
audible to the world which passed from lip to lip of the statesmen who
were watching the course of events from the other side of the Atlantic
with the sweet complacency of the looker-on of Lucretius; too often
rejoicing in the storm that threatened wreck to institutions and an
organization which they felt to be a standing menace to the established
order of things in their older communities.

A few extracts from this very long letter will be found to have a special
interest from the time at which they were written.

             LEGATION OF U. S. A., VIENNA, February 26, 1862.

   MY DEAR HOLMES,--. . . I take great pleasure in reading your
   prophecies, and intend to be just as free in hazarding my own, for,
   as you say, our mortal life is but a string of guesses at the
   future, and no one but an idiot would be discouraged at finding
   himself sometimes far out in his calculations. If I find you
   signally right in any of your predictions, be sure that I will
   congratulate and applaud. If you make mistakes, you shall never
   hear of them again, and I promise to forget them. Let me ask the
   same indulgence from you in return. This is what makes letter-
   writing a comfort and journalizing dangerous. . . The ides of March
   will be upon us before this letter reaches you. We have got to
   squash the rebellion soon, or be squashed forever as a nation. I
   don't pretend to judge military plans or the capacities of generals.
   But, as you suggest, perhaps I can take a more just view of the
   whole picture of the eventful struggle at this great distance than
   do those absolutely acting and suffering on the scene. Nor can I
   resist the desire to prophesy any more than you can do, knowing that
   I may prove utterly mistaken. I say, then, that one great danger
   comes from the chance of foreign interference. What will prevent
   that?

   Our utterly defeating the Confederates in some great and conclusive
   battle; or,

   Our possession of the cotton ports and opening them to European
   trade; or,

   A most unequivocal policy of slave emancipation.

   Any one of these three conditions would stave off recognition by
   foreign powers, until we had ourselves abandoned the attempt to
   reduce the South to obedience.

   The last measure is to my mind the most important. The South has,
   by going to war with the United States government, thrust into our
   hands against our will the invincible weapon which constitutional
   reasons had hitherto forbidden us to employ. At the same time it
   has given us the power to remedy a great wrong to four millions of
   the human race, in which we had hitherto been obliged to acquiesce.
   We are threatened with national annihilation, and defied to use the
   only means of national preservation. The question is distinctly
   proposed to us, Shall Slavery die, or the great Republic? It is
   most astounding to me that there can be two opinions in the free
   States as to the answer.

   If we do fall, we deserve our fate. At the beginning of the
   contest, constitutional scruples might be respectable. But now we
   are fighting to subjugate the South; that is, Slavery. We are
   fighting for nothing else that I know of. We are fighting for the
   Union. Who wishes to destroy the Union? The slaveholder, nobody
   else. Are we to spend twelve hundred millions, and raise six
   hundred thousand soldiers, in order to protect slavery? It really
   does seem to me too simple for argument. I am anxiously waiting for
   the coming Columbus who will set this egg of ours on end by smashing
   in the slavery end. We shall be rolling about in every direction
   until that is done. I don't know that it is to be done by
   proclamation. Rather perhaps by facts. . . . Well, I console
   myself with thinking that the people--the American people, at least
   --is about as wise collectively as less numerous collections of
   individuals, and that the people has really declared emancipation,
   and is only puzzling how to carry it into effect. After all, it
   seems to be a law of Providence, that progress should be by a spiral
   movement; so that when it seems most tortuous, we may perhaps be
   going ahead. I am firm in the faith that slavery is now wriggling
   itself to death. With slavery in its pristine vigor, I should think
   the restored Union neither possible nor desirable. Don't understand
   me as not taking into account all the strategical considerations
   against premature governmental utterances on this great subject.
   But are there any trustworthy friends to the Union among the
   slaveholders? Should we lose many Kentuckians and Virginians who
   are now with us, if we boldly confiscated the slaves of all rebels?
   --and a confiscation of property which has legs and so confiscates
   itself, at command, is not only a legal, but would prove a very
   practical measure in time of war. In brief, the time is fast
   approaching, I think, when 'Thorough' should be written on all our
   banners. Slavery will never accept a subordinate position. The
   great Republic and Slavery cannot both survive. We have been defied
   to mortal combat, and yet we hesitate to strike. These are my poor
   thoughts on this great subject. Perhaps you will think them crude.
   I was much struck with what you quote from Mr. Conway, that if
   emancipation was proclaimed on the Upper Mississippi it would be
   known to the negroes of Louisiana in advance of the telegraph. And
   if once the blacks had leave to run, how many whites would have to
   stay at home to guard their dissolving property?

   You have had enough of my maunderings. But before I conclude them,
   may I ask you to give all our kindest regards to Lowell, and to
   express our admiration for the Yankee Idyl. I am afraid of using
   too extravagant language if I say all I think about it. Was there
   ever anything more stinging, more concentrated, more vigorous, more
   just? He has condensed into those few pages the essence of a
   hundred diplomatic papers and historical disquisitions and Fourth of
   July orations. I was dining a day or two since with his friend
   Lytton (Bulwer's son, attache here) and Julian Fane (secretary of
   the embassy), both great admirers of him,--and especially of the
   "Biglow Papers;" they begged me to send them the Mason and Slidell
   Idyl, but I wouldn't,--I don't think it is in English nature
   (although theirs is very cosmopolitan and liberal) to take such
   punishment and come up smiling. I would rather they got it in some
   other way, and then told me what they thought voluntarily.

   I have very pleasant relations with all the J. B.'s here. They are
   all friendly and well disposed to the North,--I speak of the
   embassy, which, with the ambassador and---dress, numbers eight or
   ten souls, some of them very intellectual ones. There are no other
   J. B.'s here. I have no fear at present of foreign interference.
   We have got three or four months to do our work in,--a fair field
   and no favor. There is no question whatever that the Southern
   commissioners have been thoroughly snubbed in London and Paris.
   There is to be a blockade debate in Parliament next week, but no bad
   consequences are to be apprehended. The Duke de Gramont (French
   ambassador, and an intimate friend of the Emperor) told my wife last
   night that it was entirely false that the Emperor had ever urged the
   English government to break the blockade. "Don't believe it,--don't
   believe a word of it," he said. He has always held that language to
   me. He added that Prince Napoleon had just come out with a strong
   speech about us,--you will see it, doubtless, before you get this
   letter,--but it has not yet reached us.

   Shall I say anything of Austria,--what can I say that would interest
   you? That's the reason why I hate to write. All my thoughts are in
   America. Do you care to know about the Archduke Ferdinand
   Maximilian, that shall be King hereafter of Mexico (if L. N. has his
   way)? He is next brother to the Emperor, but although I have had
   the honor of private audiences of many archdukes here, this one is a
   resident of Trieste.

   He is about thirty,--has an adventurous disposition,--some
   imagination,--a turn for poetry,--has voyaged a good deal about the
   world in the Austrian ship-of-war,--for in one respect he much
   resembles that unfortunate but anonymous ancestor of his, the King
   of Bohemia with the seven castles, who, according to Corporal Trim,
   had such a passion for navigation and sea-affairs, "with never a
   seaport in all his dominions." But now the present King of Bohemia
   has got the sway of Trieste, and is Lord High Admiral and Chief of
   the Marine Department. He has been much in Spain, also in South
   America; I have read some travels, "Reise Skizzen," of his--printed,
   not published. They are not without talent, and he ever and anon
   relieves his prose jog-trot by breaking into a canter of poetry. He
   adores bull-fights, and rather regrets the Inquisition, and
   considers the Duke of Alva everything noble and chivalrous, and the
   most abused of men. It would do your heart good to hear his
   invocations to that deeply injured shade, and his denunciations of
   the ignorant and vulgar protestants who have defamed him. (N.B.
   Let me observe that the R. of the D. R. was not published until long
   after the "Reise Skizzen" were written.) 'Du armer Alva! weil du
   dem Willen deines Herrn unerschiitterlich treu vast, weil die
   festbestimmten grundsatze der Regierung,' etc., etc., etc. You
   can imagine the rest. Dear me! I wish I could get back to the
   sixteenth and seventeenth century. . . . But alas! the events
   of the nineteenth are too engrossing.

   If Lowell cares to read this letter, will you allow me to "make it
   over to him jointly," as Captain Cuttle says. I wished to write to
   him, but I am afraid only you would tolerate my writing so much when
   I have nothing to say. If he would ever send me a line I should be
   infinitely obliged, and would quickly respond. We read the "Washers
   of the Shroud" with fervid admiration.

   Always remember me most sincerely to the Club, one and all. It
   touches me nearly when you assure me that I am not forgotten by
   them. To-morrow is Saturday and the last of the month.--[See
   Appendix A.]--We are going to dine with our Spanish colleague. But
   the first bumper of the Don's champagne I shall drain to the health
   of my Parker House friends.

From another long letter dated August 31, 1862, I extract the following
passages:--

   "I quite agree in all that you said in your last letter. 'The imp
   of secession can't reenter its mother's womb.' It is merely
   childish to talk of the Union 'as it was.' You might as well bring
   back the Saxon Heptarchy. But the great Republic is destined to
   live and flourish, I can't doubt. . . . Do you remember that
   wonderful scene in Faust in which Mephistopheles draws wine for the
   rabble with a gimlet out of the wooden table; and how it changes to
   fire as they drink it, and how they all go mad, draw their knives,
   grasp each other by the nose, and think they are cutting off bunches
   of grapes at every blow, and how foolish they all look when they
   awake from the spell and see how the Devil has been mocking them?
   It always seems to me a parable of the great Secession.

   "I repeat, I can't doubt as to the ultimate result. But I dare say
   we have all been much mistaken in our calculations as to time.
   Days, months, years, are nothing in history. Men die, man is
   immortal, practically, even on this earth. We are so impatient,
   --and we are always watching for the last scene of the tragedy. Now I
   humbly opine that the drop is only about falling on the first act,
   or perhaps only the prologue. This act or prologue will be called,
   in after days, War for the status quo. Such enthusiasm, heroism,
   and manslaughter as status quo could inspire, has, I trust, been not
   entirely in vain, but it has been proved insufficient.

   "I firmly believe that when the slaveholders declared war on the
   United States government they began a series of events that, in the
   logical chain of history, cannot come to a conclusion until the last
   vestige of slavery is gone. Looking at the whole field for a moment
   dispassionately, objectively, as the dear Teutonic philosophers say,
   and merely as an exhibition of phenomena, I cannot imagine any other
   issue. Everything else may happen. This alone must happen.

   "But after all this isn't a war. It is a revolution. It is n't
   strategists that are wanted so much as believers. In revolutions
   the men who win are those who are in earnest. Jeff and Stonewall
   and the other Devil-worshippers are in earnest, but it was not
   written in the book of fate that the slaveholders' rebellion should
   be vanquished by a pro-slavery general. History is never so
   illogical. No, the coming 'man on horseback' on our side must be a
   great strategist, with the soul of that insane lion, mad old John
   Brown, in his belly. That is your only Promethean recipe:--

             'et insani leonis
        Vim stomacho apposuisse nostro.'

   "I don't know why Horace runs so in my head this morning. . . .

   "There will be work enough for all; but I feel awfully fidgety just
   now about Port Royal and Hilton Head, and about affairs generally
   for the next three months. After that iron-clads and the new levies
   must make us invincible."

In another letter, dated November 2, 1862, he expresses himself very
warmly about his disappointment in the attitude of many of his old
English friends with reference to our civil conflict. He had recently
heard the details of the death of "the noble Wilder Dwight."

   "It is unnecessary," he says, "to say how deeply we were moved. I
   had the pleasure of knowing him well, and I always appreciated his
   energy, his manliness, and his intelligent cheerful heroism. I look
   back upon him now as a kind of heroic type of what a young New
   Englander ought to be and was. I tell you that one of these days
   --after a generation of mankind has passed away--these youths will
   take their places in our history, and be regarded by the young men
   and women now unborn with the admiration which the Philip Sidneys
   and the Max Piccolominis now inspire. After all, what was your
   Chevy Chace to stir blood with like a trumpet? What noble
   principle, what deathless interest, was there at stake? Nothing but
   a bloody fight between a lot of noble gamekeepers on one side and of
   noble poachers on the other. And because they fought well and
   hacked each other to pieces like devils, they have been heroes for
   centuries."

The letter was written in a very excited state of feeling, and runs over
with passionate love of country and indignation at the want of sympathy
with the cause of freedom which he had found in quarters where he had not
expected such coldness or hostile tendencies.

From a letter dated Vienna, September 22, 1863.

   . . . "When you wrote me last you said on general matters this:
   'In a few days we shall get the news of the success or failure of
   the attacks on Port Hudson and Vicksburg. If both are successful,
   many will say that the whole matter is about settled.' You may
   suppose that when I got the great news I shook hands warmly with you
   in the spirit across the Atlantic. Day by day for so long we had
   been hoping to hear the fall of Vicksburg. At last when that little
   concentrated telegram came, announcing Vicksburg and Gettysburg on
   the same day and in two lines, I found myself almost alone. . . .
   There was nobody in the house to join in my huzzahs but my youngest
   infant. And my conduct very much resembled that of the excellent
   Philip II. when he heard the fall of Antwerp,--for I went to her
   door, screeching through the key-hole 'Vicksburg is ours!' just as
   that other 'pere de famille,' more potent, but I trust not more
   respectable than I, conveyed the news to his Infanta. (Fide, for
   the incident, an American work on the Netherlands, i. p. 263, and
   the authorities there cited.) It is contemptible on my part to
   speak thus frivolously of events which will stand out in such golden
   letters so long as America has a history, but I wanted to illustrate
   the yearning for sympathy which I felt. You who were among people
   grim and self-contained usually, who, I trust, were falling on each
   other's necks in the public streets, shouting, with tears in their
   eyes and triumph in their hearts, can picture my isolation.

   "I have never faltered in my faith, and in the darkest hours, when
   misfortunes seemed thronging most thickly upon us, I have never felt
   the want of anything to lean against; but I own I did feel like
   shaking hands with a few hundred people when I heard of our Fourth
   of July, 1863, work, and should like to have heard and joined in an
   American cheer or two.

   "I have not much to say of matters here to interest you. We have
   had an intensely hot, historically hot, and very long and very dry
   summer. I never knew before what a drought meant. In Hungary the
   suffering is great, and the people are killing the sheep to feed the
   pigs with the mutton. Here about Vienna the trees have been almost
   stripped of foliage ever since the end of August. There is no glory
   in the grass nor verdure in anything.

   "In fact, we have nothing green here but the Archduke Max, who
   firmly believes that he is going forth to Mexico to establish an
   American empire, and that it is his divine mission to destroy the
   dragon of democracy and reestablish the true Church, the Right
   Divine, and all sorts of games. Poor young man! . . .

   "Our information from home is to the 12th. Charleston seems to be
   in 'articulo mortis,' but how forts nowadays seem to fly in the face
   of Scripture. Those founded on a rock, and built of it, fall easily
   enough under the rain of Parrotts and Dahlgrens, while the house
   built of sand seems to bid defiance to the storm."

In quoting from these confidential letters I have been restrained from
doing full justice to their writer by the fact that he spoke with such
entire freedom of persons as well as events. But if they could be read
from beginning to end, no one could help feeling that his love for his
own country, and passionate absorption of every thought in the strife
upon which its existence as a nation depended, were his very life during
all this agonizing period. He can think and talk of nothing else, or, if
he turns for a moment to other subjects, he reverts to the one great
central interest of "American politics," of which he says in one of the
letters from which I have quoted, "There is nothing else worth thinking
of in the world."

But in spite of his public record as the historian of the struggle for
liberty and the champion of its defenders, and while every letter he
wrote betrayed in every word the intensity of his patriotic feeling, he
was not safe against the attacks of malevolence. A train laid by unseen
hands was waiting for the spark to kindle it, and this came at last in
the shape of a letter from an unknown individual,--a letter the existence
of which ought never to have been a matter of official recognition.



XVIII.

1866-1867. AEt. 52-43.
RESIGNATION OF HIS OFFICE.--CAUSES OF HIS RESIGNATION.

It is a relief to me that just here, where I come to the first of two
painful episodes in this brilliant and fortunate career, I can preface my
statement with the generous words of one who speaks with authority of his
predecessor in office.

The Hon. John Jay, Ex-Minister to Austria, in the tribute to the memory
of Motley read at a meeting of the New York Historical Society, wrote as
follows:--

   "In singular contrast to Mr. Motley's brilliant career as an
   historian stands the fact recorded in our diplomatic annals that he
   was twice forced from the service as one who had forfeited the
   confidence of the American government. This society, while he was
   living, recognized his fame as a statesman, diplomatist, and
   patriot, as belonging to America, and now that death has closed the
   career of Seward, Sumner, and Motley, it will be remembered that the
   great historian, twice humiliated, by orders from Washington, before
   the diplomacy and culture of Europe, appealed from the passions of
   the hour to the verdict of history.

   "Having succeeded Mr. Motley at Vienna some two years after his
   departure, I had occasion to read most of his dispatches, which
   exhibited a mastery of the subjects of which they treated, with much
   of the clear perception, the scholarly and philosophic tone and
   decided judgment, which, supplemented by his picturesque
   description, full of life and color, have given character to his
   histories. They are features which might well have served to extend
   the remark of Madame de Stael that a great historian is almost a
   statesman. I can speak also from my own observation of the
   reputation which Motley left in the Austrian capital.
   Notwithstanding the decision with which, under the direction of Mr.
   Seward, he had addressed the minister of foreign affairs, Count
   Mensdorff, afterwards the Prince Diedrickstein, protesting against
   the departure of an Austrian force of one thousand volunteers, who
   were about to embark for Mexico in aid of the ill-fated Maximilian,
   --a protest which at the last moment arrested the project,--Mr.
   Motley and his amiable family were always spoken of in terms of
   cordial regard and respect by members of the imperial family and
   those eminent statesmen, Count de Beust and Count Andrassy. His
   death, I am sure, is mourned to-day by the representatives of the
   historic names of Austria and Hungary, and by the surviving
   diplomats then residing near the Court of Vienna, wherever they may
   still be found, headed by their venerable Doyen, the Baron de
   Heckeren."

The story of Mr. Motley's resignation of his office and its acceptance by
the government is this.

The President of the United States, Andrew Johnson, received a letter
professing to be written from the Hotel Meurice, Paris, dated October 23,
1866, and signed "George W. M'Crackin, of New York." This letter was
filled with accusations directed against various public agents,
ministers, and consuls, representing the United States in different
countries. Its language was coarse, its assertions were improbable, its
spirit that of the lowest of party scribblers. It was bitter against New
England, especially so against Massachusetts, and it singled out Motley
for the most particular abuse. I think it is still questioned whether
there was any such person as the one named,--at any rate, it bore the
characteristic marks of those vulgar anonymous communications which
rarely receive any attention unless they are important enough to have the
police set on the track of the writer to find his rathole, if possible. A
paragraph in the "Daily Advertiser" of June 7, 1869, quotes from a
Western paper a story to the effect that one William R. M'Crackin, who
had recently died at-----confessed to having written the M' Crackin
letter. Motley, he said, had snubbed him and refused to lend him money.
"He appears to have been a Bohemian of the lowest order." Between such
authorship and the anonymous there does not seem to be much to choose.
But the dying confession sounds in my ears as decidedly apocryphal. As
for the letter, I had rather characterize it than reproduce it. It is an
offence to decency and a disgrace to the national record on which it is
found. This letter of "George W. M'Crackin" passed into the hands of Mr.
Seward, the Secretary of State. Most gentlemen, I think, would have
destroyed it on the spot, as it was not fit for the waste-basket. Some,
more cautious, might have smothered it among the piles of their private
communications. If any notice was taken of it, one would say that a
private note to each of the gentlemen attacked might have warned him that
there were malicious eavesdroppers about, ready to catch up any careless
expression he might let fall and make a scandalous report of it to his
detriment.

The secretary, acquiescing without resistance in a suggestion of the
President, saw fit to address a formal note to several of the gentlemen
mentioned in the M'Crackin letter, repeating some of its offensive
expressions, and requesting those officials to deny or confirm the report
that they had uttered them.

A gentleman who is asked whether he has spoken in a "malignant" or
"offensive" manner, whether he has "railed violently and shamefully"
against the President of the United States, or against anybody else,
might well wonder who would address such a question to the humblest
citizen not supposed to be wanting in a common measure of self-respect. A
gentleman holding an important official station in a foreign country,
receiving a letter containing such questions, signed by the prime
minister of his government, if he did not think himself imposed upon by a
forgery, might well consider himself outraged. It was a letter of this
kind which was sent by the Secretary of State to the Minister
Plenipotentiary to the Empire of Austria. Not quite all the vulgar
insolence of the M'Crackin letter was repeated. Mr. Seward did not ask
Mr. Motley to deny or confirm the assertion of the letter that he was a
"thorough flunky" and "un-American functionary." But he did insult him
with various questions suggested by the anonymous letter,--questions that
must have been felt as an indignity by the most thick-skinned of battered
politicians.

Mr. Motley was very sensitive, very high-spirited, very impulsive, very
patriotic, and singularly truthful. The letter of Mr. Seward to such a
man was like a buffet on the cheek of an unarmed officer. It stung like
the thrust of a stiletto. It roused a resentment that could not find any
words to give it expression. He could not wait to turn the insult over in
his mind, to weigh the exact amount of affront in each question, to take
counsel, to sleep over it, and reply to it with diplomatic measure and
suavity. One hour had scarcely elapsed before his answer was written. As
to his feelings as an American, he appeals to his record. This might have
shown that if he erred it was on the side of enthusiasm and extravagant
expressions of reverence for the American people during the heroic years
just passed. He denounces the accusations as pitiful fabrications and
vile calumny. He blushes that such charges could have been uttered; he is
deeply wounded that Mr. Seward could have listened to such falsehood. He
does not hesitate to say what his opinions are with reference to home
questions, and especially to that of reconstruction.

   "These opinions," he says, "in the privacy of my own household, and
   to occasional American visitors, I have not concealed. The great
   question now presenting itself for solution demands the
   conscientious scrutiny of every American who loves his country and
   believes in the human progress of which that country is one of the
   foremost representatives. I have never thought, during my residence
   at Vienna, that because I have the honor of being a public servant
   of the American people I am deprived of the right of discussing
   within my own walls the gravest subjects that can interest freemen.
   A minister of the United States does not cease to be a citizen of
   the United States, as deeply interested as others in all that
   relates to the welfare of his country."

Among the "occasional American visitors" spoken of above must have been
some of those self-appointed or hired agents called "interviewers," who
do for the American public what the Venetian spies did for the Council of
Ten, what the familiars of the Inquisition did for the priesthood, who
invade every public man's privacy, who listen at every key-hole, who
tamper with every guardian of secrets; purveyors to the insatiable
appetite of a public which must have a slain reputation to devour with
its breakfast, as the monster of antiquity called regularly for his
tribute of a spotless virgin.

The "interviewer" has his use, undoubtedly, and often instructs and
amuses his public with gossip they could not otherwise listen to. He
serves the politician by repeating the artless and unstudied remarks
which fall from his lips in a conversation which the reporter has been
invited to take notes of. He tickles the author's vanity by showing him
off as he sits in his library unconsciously uttering the engaging items
of self-portraiture which, as he well knows, are to be given to the
public in next week's illustrated paper. The feathered end of his shaft
titillates harmlessly enough, but too often the arrowhead is crusted with
a poison worse than the Indian gets by mingling the wolf's gall with the
rattlesnake's venom. No man is safe whose unguarded threshold the
mischief-making questioner has crossed. The more unsuspecting, the more
frank, the more courageous, the more social is the subject of his
vivisection, the more easily does he get at his vital secrets, if he has
any to be extracted. No man is safe if the hearsay reports of his
conversation are to be given to the public without his own careful
revision. When we remember that a proof-text bearing on the mighty
question of the future life, words of supreme significance, uttered as
they were in the last hour, and by the lips to which we listen as to none
other,--that this text depends for its interpretation on the position of
a single comma, we can readily see what wrong may be done by the
unintentional blunder of the most conscientious reporter. But too
frequently it happens that the careless talk of an honest and high-minded
man only reaches the public after filtering through the drain of some
reckless hireling's memory,--one who has played so long with other men's
characters and good name that he forgets they have any value except to
fill out his morning paragraphs.

Whether the author of the scandalous letter which it was disgraceful to
the government to recognize was a professional interviewer or only a
malicious amateur, or whether he was a paid "spotter," sent by some
jealous official to report on the foreign ministers as is sometimes done
in the case of conductors of city horsecars, or whether the dying
miscreant before mentioned told the truth, cannot be certainly known. But
those who remember Mr. Hawthorne's account of his consular experiences at
Liverpool are fully aware to what intrusions and impertinences and
impositions our national representatives in other countries are
subjected. Those fellow-citizens who "often came to the consulate in
parties of half a dozen or more, on no business whatever, but merely to
subject their public servant to a rigid examination, and see how he was
getting on with his duties," may very possibly have included among them
some such mischief-maker as the author of the odious letter which
received official recognition. Mr. Motley had spoken in one of his
histories of "a set of venomous familiars who glided through every
chamber and coiled themselves at every fireside." He little thought that
under his own roof he himself was to be the victim of an equally base
espionage.

It was an insult on the part of the government to have sent Mr. Motley
such a letter with such questions as were annexed to it. No very exact
rule can be laid down as to the manner in which an insult shall be dealt
with. Something depends on temperament, and his was of the warmer
complexion. His first impulse, he says, was to content himself with a
flat denial of the truth of the accusations. But his scrupulous honesty
compelled him to make a plain statement of his opinions, and to avow the
fact that he had made no secret of them in conversation under conditions
where he had a right to speak freely of matters quite apart from his
official duties. His answer to the accusation was denial of its charges;
his reply to the insult was his resignation.

It may be questioned whether this was the wisest course, but wisdom is
often disconcerted by an indignity, and even a meek Christian may forget
to turn the other cheek after receiving the first blow until the natural
man has asserted himself by a retort in kind. But the wrong was
committed; his resignation was accepted; the vulgar letter, not fit to be
spread out on these pages, is enrolled in the records of the nation, and
the first deep wound was inflicted on the proud spirit of one whose
renown had shed lustre on the whole country.

That the burden of this wrong may rest where it belongs, I quote the
following statement from Mr. Jay's paper, already referred to.

   "It is due to the memory of Mr. Seward to say, and there would seem
   now no further motive for concealing the truth, that I was told in
   Europe, on what I regarded as reliable authority, that there was
   reason to believe that on the receipt of Mr. Motley's resignation
   Mr. Seward had written to him declining to accept it, and that this
   letter, by a telegraphic order of President Johnson, had been
   arrested in the hands of a dispatch agent before its delivery to Mr.
   Motley, and that the curt letter of the 18th of April had been
   substituted in its stead."

The Hon. John Bigelow, late Minister to France, has published an article
in "The International Review" for July-August, 1878, in which he defends
his late friend Mr. Seward's action in this matter at the expense of the
President, Mr. Andrew Johnson, and not without inferences unfavorable to
the discretion of Mr. Motley. Many readers will think that the simple
record of Mr. Seward's unresisting acquiescence in the action of the
President is far from being to his advantage. I quote from his own
conversation as carefully reported by his friend Mr. Bigelow. "Mr.
Johnson was in a state of intense irritation, and more or less suspicious
of everybody about him."--"Instead of throwing the letter into the fire,"
the President handed it to him, the secretary, and suggested answering
it, and without a word, so far as appears, he simply answered,
"Certainly, sir." Again, the secretary having already written to Mr.
Motley that "his answer was satisfactory," the President, on reaching the
last paragraph of Mr. Motley's letter, in which he begged respectfully to
resign his post, "without waiting to learn what Mr. Seward had done or
proposed to do, exclaimed, with a not unnatural asperity, 'Well, let him
go,' and 'on hearing this,' said Mr. Seward, laughing, 'I did not read my
dispatch.'" Many persons will think that the counsel for the defence has
stated the plaintiff's case so strongly that there is nothing left for
him but to show his ingenuity and his friendship for the late secretary
in a hopeless argument. At any rate, Mr. Seward appears not to have made
the slightest effort to protect Mr. Motley against his coarse and jealous
chief at two critical moments, and though his own continuance in office
may have been more important to the State than that of the Vicar of Bray
was to the Church, he ought to have risked something, as it seems to me,
to shield such a patriot, such a gentleman, such a scholar, from ignoble
treatment; he ought to have been as ready to guard Mr. Motley from wrong
as Mr. Bigelow has shown himself to shield Mr. Seward from reproach, and
his task, if more delicate, was not more difficult. I am willing to
accept Mr. Bigelow's loyal and honorable defence of his friend's memory
as the best that could be said for Mr. Seward, but the best defence in
this case is little better than an impeachment. As for Mr. Johnson, he
had held the weapon of the most relentless of the 'Parcae' so long that
his suddenly clipping the thread of a foreign minister's tenure of office
in a fit of jealous anger is not at all surprising.

Thus finished Mr. Motley's long and successful diplomatic service at the
Court of Austria. He may have been judged hasty in resigning his place;
he may have committed himself in expressing his opinions too strongly
before strangers, whose true character as spies and eavesdroppers he was
too high-minded to suspect. But no caution could have protected him
against a slanderer who hated the place he came from, the company he
kept, the name he had made famous, to whom his very look and bearing
--such as belong to a gentleman of natural refinement and good breeding
--must have been a personal grievance and an unpardonable offence.

I will add, in illustration of what has been said, and as showing his
feeling with reference to the matter, an extract from a letter to me from
Vienna, dated the 12th of March, 1867.

   . . . "As so many friends and so many strangers have said so much
   that is gratifying to me in public and private on this very painful
   subject, it would be like affectation, in writing to so old a friend
   as you, not to touch upon it. I shall confine myself, however, to
   one fact, which, so far as I know, may be new to you.

   "Geo. W. M'Cracken is a man and a name utterly unknown to me.

   "With the necessary qualification which every man who values truth
   must make when asserting such a negation,--viz., to the very best of
   my memory and belief,--I never set eyes on him nor heard of him
   until now, in the whole course of my life. Not a member of my
   family or of the legation has the faintest recollection of any such
   person. I am quite convinced that he never saw me nor heard the
   sound of my voice. That his letter was a tissue of vile calumnies,
   shameless fabrications, and unblushing and contemptible falsehoods,
   --by whomsoever uttered,--I have stated in a reply to what ought
   never to have been an official letter. No man can regret more than
   I do that such a correspondence is enrolled in the capital among
   American state papers. I shall not trust myself to speak of the
   matter. It has been a sufficiently public scandal."



XIX.

1867-1868. AEt. 53-54.

LAST TWO VOLUMES OF THE "HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS."--GENERAL
CRITICISMS OF DUTCH SCHOLARS ON MOTLEY'S HISTORICAL WORKS.

In his letter to me of March 12, 1867, just cited, Mr. Motley writes:--

   "My two concluding volumes of the United Netherlands are passing
   rapidly through the press. Indeed, Volume III. is entirely printed
   and a third of Volume IV.

   "If I live ten years longer I shall have probably written the
   natural sequel to the first two works,--viz., the Thirty Years' War.
   After that I shall cease to scourge the public.

   "I don't know whether my last two volumes are good or bad; I only
   know that they are true--but that need n't make them amusing.

   "Alas! one never knows when one becomes a bore."

In 1868 the two concluding volumes of the "History of the Netherlands"
were published at the same time in London and in New York. The events
described and the characters delineated in these two volumes had,
perhaps, less peculiar interest for English and American readers than
some of those which had lent attraction to the preceding ones. There was
no scene like the siege of Antwerp, no story like that of the Spanish
Armada. There were no names that sounded to our ears like those of Sir
Philip Sidney and Leicester and Amy Robsart. But the main course of his
narrative flowed on with the same breadth and depth of learning and the
same brilliancy of expression. The monumental work continued as nobly as
it had begun. The facts had been slowly, quietly gathered, one by one,
like pebbles from the empty channel of a brook. The style was fluent,
impetuous, abundant, impatient, as it were, at times, and leaping the
sober boundaries prescribed to it, like the torrent which rushes through
the same channel when the rains have filled it. Thus there was matter for
criticism in his use of language. He was not always careful in the
construction of his sentences. He introduced expressions now and then
into his vocabulary which reminded one of his earlier literary efforts.
He used stronger language at times than was necessary, coloring too
highly, shading too deeply in his pictorial delineations. To come to the
matter of his narrative, it must be granted that not every reader will
care to follow him through all the details of diplomatic intrigues which
he has with such industry and sagacity extricated from the old
manuscripts in which they had long lain hidden. But we turn a few pages
and we come to one of those descriptions which arrest us at once and show
him in his power and brilliancy as a literary artist. His characters move
before us with the features of life; we can see Elizabeth, or Philip, or
Maurice, not as a name connected with events, but as a breathing and
acting human being, to be loved or hated, admired or despised, as if he
or she were our contemporary. That all his judgments would not be
accepted as final we might easily anticipate; he could not help writing
more or less as a partisan, but he was a partisan on the side of freedom
in politics and religion, of human nature as against every form of
tyranny, secular or priestly, of noble manhood wherever he saw it as
against meanness and violence and imposture, whether clad in the
soldier's mail or the emperor's purple. His sternest critics, and even
these admiring ones, were yet to be found among those who with
fundamental beliefs at variance with his own followed him in his long
researches among the dusty annals of the past.

The work of the learned M. Groen van Prinsterer,--[Maurice et Barnevelt,
Etude Historique. Utrecht, 1875.]--devoted expressly to the revision and
correction of what the author considers the erroneous views of Mr. Motley
on certain important points, bears, notwithstanding, such sincere and
hearty tribute to his industry, his acquisitions, his brilliant qualities
as a historian, that some extracts from it will be read, I think, with
interest.

   "My first interview, more than twenty years ago, with Mr. Lothrop
   Motley, has left an indelible impression on my memory.

   "It was the 8th of August, 1853. A note is handed me from our
   eminent archivist Bakhuyzen van den Brink. It informs me that I am
   to receive a visit from an American, who, having been struck by the
   analogies between the United Provinces and the United States,
   between Washington and the founder of our independence, has
   interrupted his diplomatic career to write the life of William the
   First; that he has already given proof of ardor and perseverance,
   having worked in libraries and among collections of manuscripts,
   and that he is coming to pursue his studies at the Hague.

   "While I am surprised and delighted with this intelligence, I am
   informed that Mr. Motley himself is waiting for my answer. My
   eagerness to make the acquaintance of such an associate in my
   sympathies and my labors may be well imagined. But how shall I
   picture my surprise, in presently discovering that this unknown and
   indefatigable fellow-worker has really read, I say read and reread,
   our Quartos, our Folios, the enormous volumes of Bor, of van
   Meteren, besides a multitude of books, of pamphlets, and even of
   unedited documents. Already he is familiar with the events, the
   changes of condition, the characteristic details of the life of his
   and my hero. Not only is he acquainted with my Archives, but it
   seems as if there was nothing in this voluminous collection of which
   he was ignorant. . . .

   "In sending me the last volume of his 'History of the Foundation of
   the Republic of the Netherlands,' Mr. Motley wrote to me: 'Without
   the help of the Archives I could never have undertaken the difficult
   task I had set myself, and you will have seen at least from my
   numerous citations that I have made a sincere and conscientious
   study of them.' Certainly in reading such a testimonial I
   congratulated myself on the excellent fruit of my labors, but the
   gratitude expressed to me by Mr. Motley was sincerely reciprocated.
   The Archives are a scientific collection, and my 'Manual of National
   History,' written in Dutch, hardly gets beyond the limits of my own
   country. And here is a stranger, become our compatriot in virtue of
   the warmth of his sympathies, who has accomplished what was not in
   my power. By the detail and the charm of his narrative, by the
   matter and form of a work which the universality of the English
   language and numerous translations were to render cosmopolitan, Mr.
   Motley, like that other illustrious historian, Prescott, lost to
   science by too early death, has popularized in both hemispheres the
   sublime devotion of the Prince of Orange, the exceptional and
   providential destinies of my country, and the benedictions of the
   Eternal for all those who trust in Him and tremble only at his
   Word."

The old Dutch scholar differs in many important points from Mr. Motley,
as might be expected from his creed and his life-long pursuits. This I
shall refer to in connection with Motley's last work, "John of
Barneveld." An historian among archivists and annalists reminds one of
Sir John Lubbock in the midst of his ant-hills. Undoubtedly he disturbs
the ants in their praiseworthy industry, much as his attentions may
flatter them. Unquestionably the ants (if their means of expressing
themselves were equal to their apparent intellectual ability) could teach
him many things that he has overlooked and correct him in many mistakes.
But the ants will labor ingloriously without an observer to chronicle
their doings, and the archivists and annalists will pile up facts forever
like so many articulates or mollusks or radiates, until the vertebrate
historian comes with his generalizing ideas, his beliefs, his prejudices,
his idiosyncrasies of all kinds, and brings the facts into a more or less
imperfect, but still organic series of relations. The history which is
not open to adverse criticism is worth little, except as material, for it
is written without taking cognizance of those higher facts about which
men must differ; of which Guizot writes as follows, as quoted in the work
of M. Groen van Prinsterer himself.

   "It is with facts that our minds are exercised, it has nothing but
   facts as its materials, and when it discovers general laws these
   laws are themselves facts which it determines. . . . In the
   study of facts the intelligence may allow itself to be crushed; it
   may lower, narrow, materialize itself; it may come to believe that
   there are no facts except those which strike us at the first glance,
   which come close to us, which fall, as we say, under our senses; a
   great and gross error; there are remote facts, immense, obscure,
   sublime, very difficult to reach, to observe, to describe, and which
   are not any less facts for these reasons, and which man is not less
   obliged to study and to know; and if he fails to recognize them or
   forgets them, his thought will be prodigiously abashed, and all his
   ideas carry the stamp of this deterioration."

In that higher region of facts which belongs to the historian, whose task
it is to interpret as well as to transcribe, Mr. Motley showed, of
course, the political and religious school in which he had been brought
up. Every man has a right to his "personal equation" of prejudice, and
Mr. Motley, whose ardent temperament gave life to his writings, betrayed
his sympathies in the disputes of which he told the story, in a way to
insure sharp criticism from those of a different way of thinking. Thus it
is that in the work of M. Groen van Prinsterer, from which I have quoted,
he is considered as having been betrayed into error, while his critic
recognizes "his manifest desire to be scrupulously impartial and
truth-telling." And M. Fruin, another of his Dutch critics, says, "His
sincerity, his perspicacity, the accuracy of his laborious researches,
are incontestable."

Some of the criticisms of Dutch scholars will be considered in the pages
which deal with his last work, "The Life of John of Barneveld."



XX.

1868-1869. AEt. 54-55.

VISIT TO AMERICA.--RESIDENCE AT NO. 2 PARK STREET, BOSTON.--ADDRESS ON
THE COMING PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION.--ADDRESS ON HISTORIC PROGRESS AND
AMERICAN DEMOCRACY.--APPOINTED MINISTER TO ENGLAND.

In June, 1868, Mr. Motley returned with his family to Boston, and
established himself in the house No. 2 Park Street. During his residence
here he entered a good deal into society, and entertained many visitors
in a most hospitable and agreeable way.

On the 20th of October, 1868, he delivered an address before the Parker
Fraternity, in the Music Hall, by special invitation. Its title was "Four
Questions for the People, at the Presidential Election." This was of
course what is commonly called an electioneering speech, but a speech
full of noble sentiments and eloquent expression. Here are two of its
paragraphs:--

   "Certainly there have been bitterly contested elections in this
   country before. Party spirit is always rife, and in such vivid,
   excitable, disputatious communities as ours are, and I trust always
   will be, it is the very soul of freedom. To those who reflect upon
   the means and end of popular government, nothing seems more stupid
   than in grand generalities to deprecate party spirit. Why,
   government by parties and through party machinery is the only
   possible method by which a free government can accomplish the
   purpose of its existence. The old republics of the past may be said
   to have fallen, not because of party spirit, but because there was
   no adequate machinery by which party spirit could develop itself
   with facility and regularity.

   "And if our Republic be true to herself, the future of the human
   race is assured by our example. No sweep of overwhelming armies, no
   ponderous treatises on the rights of man, no hymns to liberty,
   though set to martial music and resounding with the full diapason of
   a million human throats, can exert so persuasive an influence as
   does the spectacle of a great republic, occupying a quarter of the
   civilized globe, and governed quietly and sagely by the people
   itself."

A large portion of this address is devoted to the proposition that it is
just and reasonable to pay our debts rather than to repudiate them, and
that the nation is as much bound to be honest as is the individual. "It
is an awful thing," he says, "that this should be a question at all," but
it was one of the points on which the election turned, for all that.

In his advocacy of the candidate with whom, and the government of which
he became the head, his relations became afterwards so full of personal
antagonism, he spoke as a man of his ardent nature might be expected to
speak on such an occasion. No one doubts that his admiration of General
Grant's career was perfectly sincere, and no one at the present day can
deny that the great captain stood before the historian with such a record
as one familiar with the deeds of heroes and patriots might well consider
as entitling him to the honors too often grudged to the living to be
wasted on the dead. The speaker only gave voice to the widely prevailing
feelings which had led to his receiving the invitation to speak. The time
was one which called for outspoken utterance, and there was not a
listener whose heart did not warm as he heard the glowing words in which
the speaker recorded the noble achievements of the soldier who must in so
many ways have reminded him of his favorite character, William the
Silent.

On the 16th of December of this same year, 1868, Mr. Motley delivered an
address before the New York Historical Society, on the occasion of the
sixty-fourth anniversary of its foundation. The president of the society,
Mr. Hamilton Fish, introduced the speaker as one "whose name belongs to
no single country, and to no single age. As a statesman and diplomatist
and patriot, he belongs to America; as a scholar, to the world of
letters; as a historian, all ages will claim him in the future."

His subject was "Historic Progress and American Democracy." The discourse
is, to use his own words, "a rapid sweep through the eons and the
centuries," illustrating the great truth of the development of the race
from its origin to the time in which we are living. It is a long distance
from the planetary fact of the obliquity of the equator, which gave the
earth its alternation of seasons, and rendered the history, if not the
existence of man and of civilization a possibility, to the surrender of
General Lee under the apple-tree at Appomattox Court-House. No one but a
scholar familiar with the course of history could have marshalled such a
procession of events into a connected and intelligible sequence. It is
indeed a flight rather than a march; the reader is borne along as on the
wings of a soaring poem, and sees the rising and decaying empires of
history beneath him as a bird of passage marks the succession of cities
and wilds and deserts as he keeps pace with the sun in his journey.

Its eloquence, its patriotism, its crowded illustrations, drawn from vast
resources of knowledge, its epigrammatic axioms, its occasional
pleasantries, are all characteristic of the writer.

Mr. Gulian C. Verplanck, the venerable senior member of the society,
proposed the vote of thanks to Mr. Motley with words of warm
commendation.

Mr. William Cullen Bryant rose and said:--

   "I take great pleasure in seconding the resolution which has just
   been read. The eminent historian of the Dutch Republic, who has
   made the story of its earlier days as interesting as that of Athens
   and Sparta, and who has infused into the narrative the generous glow
   of his own genius, has the highest of titles to be heard with
   respectful attention by the citizens of a community which, in its
   origin, was an offshoot of that renowned republic. And cheerfully
   has that title been recognized, as the vast audience assembled here
   to-night, in spite of the storm, fully testifies; and well has our
   illustrious friend spoken of the growth of civilization and of the
   improvement in the condition of mankind, both in the Old World--the
   institutions of which he has so lately observed--and in the country
   which is proud to claim him as one of her children."

Soon after the election of General Grant, Mr. Motley received the
appointment of Minister to England. That the position was one which was
in many respects most agreeable to him cannot be doubted. Yet it was not
with unmingled feelings of satisfaction, not without misgivings which
warned him but too truly of the dangers about to encompass him, that he
accepted the place. He writes to me on April 16, 1869:--

   "I feel anything but exultation at present,--rather the opposite
   sensation. I feel that I am placed higher than I deserve, and at
   the same time that I am taking greater responsibilities than ever
   were assumed by me before. You will be indulgent to my mistakes and
   shortcomings,--and who can expect to avoid them? But the world will
   be cruel, and the times are threatening. I shall do my best,--but
   the best may be poor enough,--and keep 'a heart for any fate.'"



XXI.

1869-1870. AEt. 55-56.
RECALL FROM THE ENGLISH MISSION.--ITS ALLEGED AND ITS PROBABLE REASONS.

The misgivings thus expressed to me in confidence, natural enough in one
who had already known what it is to fall on evil days and evil tongues,
were but too well justified by after events. I could have wished to leave
untold the story of the English mission, an episode in Motley's life full
of heart-burnings, and long to be regretted as a passage of American
history. But his living appeal to my indulgence comes to me from his
grave as a call for his defence, however little needed, at least as a
part of my tribute to his memory. It is little needed, because the case
is clear enough to all intelligent readers of our diplomatic history, and
because his cause has been amply sustained by others in many ways better
qualified than myself to do it justice. The task is painful, for if a
wrong was done him it must be laid at the doors of those whom the nation
has delighted to honor, and whose services no error of judgment or
feeling or conduct can ever induce us to forget. If he confessed him,
self-liable, like the rest of us, to mistakes and shortcomings, we must
remember that the great officers of the government who decreed his
downfall were not less the subjects of human infirmity.

The outline to be filled up is this: A new administration had just been
elected. The "Alabama Treaty," negotiated by Motley's predecessor, Mr.
Reverdy Johnson, had been rejected by the Senate. The minister was
recalled, and Motley, nominated without opposition and unanimously
confirmed by the Senate, was sent to England in his place. He was
welcomed most cordially on his arrival at Liverpool, and replied in a
similar strain of good feeling, expressing the same kindly sentiments
which may be found in his instructions. Soon after arriving in London he
had a conversation with Lord Clarendon, the British Foreign Secretary, of
which he sent a full report to his own government. While the reported
conversation was generally approved of in the government's dispatch
acknowledging it, it was hinted that some of its expressions were
stronger than were required by the instructions, and that one of its
points was not conveyed in precise conformity with the President's view.
The criticism was very gently worded, and the dispatch closed with a
somewhat guarded paragraph repeating the government's approbation.

This was the first offence alleged against Mr. Motley. The second ground
of complaint was that he had shown written minutes of this conversation
to Lord Clarendon to obtain his confirmation of its exactness, and that
he had--as he said, inadvertently,--omitted to make mention to the
government of this circumstance until some weeks after the time of the
interview.

He was requested to explain to Lord Clarendon that a portion of his
presentation and treatment of the subject discussed at the interview
immediately after his arrival was disapproved by the Secretary of State,
and he did so in a written communication, in which he used the very words
employed by Mr. Fish in his criticism of the conversation with Lord
Clarendon. An alleged mistake; a temperate criticism, coupled with a
general approval; a rectification of the mistake criticised. All this
within the first two months of Mr. Motley's official residence in London.

No further fault was found with him, so far as appears, in the discharge
of his duties, to which he must have devoted himself faithfully, for he
writes to me, under the date of December 27, 1870: "I have worked harder
in the discharge of this mission than I ever did in my life." This from a
man whose working powers astonished the old Dutch archivist, Groen van
Prinsterer, means a good deal.

More than a year had elapsed since the interview with Lord Clarendon,
which had been the subject of criticism. In the mean time a paper of
instructions was sent to Motley, dated September 25, 1869, in which the
points in the report of his interview which had been found fault with are
so nearly covered by similar expressions, that there seemed no real
ground left for difference between the government and the minister.
Whatever over-statement there had been, these new instructions would
imply that the government was now ready to go quite as far as the
minister had gone, and in some points to put the case still more
strongly. Everything was going on quietly. Important business had been
transacted, with no sign of distrust or discontent on the part of the
government as regarded Motley. Whatever mistake he was thought to have
committed was condoned by amicable treatment, neutralized by the virtual
indorsement of the government in the instructions of the 25th of
September, and obsolete as a ground of quarrel by lapse of time. The
question about which the misunderstanding, if such it deserves to be
called, had taken place, was no longer a possible source of disagreement,
as it had long been settled that the Alabama case should only be opened
again at the suggestion of the British government, and that it should be
transferred to Washington whenever that suggestion should again bring it
up for consideration.

Such was the aspect of affairs at the American Legation in London. No
foreign minister felt more secure in his place than Mr. Motley. "I
thought myself," he says in the letter of December 27, "entirely in the
confidence of my own government, and I know that I had the thorough
confidence and the friendship of the leading personages in England." All
at once, on the first of July, 1870, a letter was written by the
Secretary of State, requesting him to resign. This gentle form of
violence is well understood in the diplomatic service. Horace Walpole
says, speaking of Lady Archibald Hamilton: "They have civilly asked her
and grossly forced her to ask civilly to go away, which she has done,
with a pension of twelve hundred a year." Such a request is like the
embrace of the "virgin" in old torture-chambers. She is robed in soft
raiment, but beneath it are the knife-blades which are ready to lacerate
and kill the victim, if he awaits the pressure of the machinery already
in motion.

Mr. Motley knew well what was the logical order in an official execution,
and saw fit to let the government work its will upon him as its servant.
In November he was recalled.

The recall of a minister under such circumstances is an unusual if not an
unprecedented occurrence. The government which appoints a citizen to
represent the country at a foreign court assumes a very serious
obligation to him. The next administration may turn him out and nothing
will be thought of it. He may be obliged to ask for his passports and
leave all at once if war is threatened between his own country and that
which he represents. He may, of course, be recalled for gross misconduct.
But his dismissal is very serious matter to him personally, and not to be
thought of on the ground of passion or caprice. Marriage is a simple
business, but divorce is a very different thing. The world wants to know
the reason of it; the law demands its justification. It was a great blow
to Mr. Motley, a cause of indignation to those who were interested in
him, a surprise and a mystery to the world in general.

When he, his friends, and the public, all startled by this unexpected
treatment, looked to find an explanation of it, one was found which
seemed to many quite sufficient. Mr. Sumner had been prominent among
those who had favored his appointment. A very serious breach had taken
place between the President and Mr. Sumner on the important San Domingo
question. It was a quarrel, in short, neither more nor less, at least so
far as the President was concerned. The proposed San Domingo treaty had
just been rejected by the Senate, on the thirtieth day of June, and
immediately thereupon,--the very next day,--the letter requesting Mr.
Motley's resignation was issued by the executive. This fact was
interpreted as implying something more than a mere coincidence. It was
thought that Sumner's friend, who had been supported by him as a
candidate for high office, who shared many of his political ideas and
feelings, who was his intimate associate, his fellow-townsman, his
companion in scholarship and cultivation, his sympathetic co-laborer in
many ways, had been accounted and dealt with as the ally of an enemy, and
that the shaft which struck to the heart of the sensitive envoy had
glanced from the 'aes triplex' of the obdurate Senator.

Mr. Motley wrote a letter to the Secretary of State immediately after his
recall, in which he reviewed his relations with the government from the
time of his taking office, and showed that no sufficient reason could be
assigned for the treatment to which he had been subjected. He referred
finally to the public rumor which assigned the President's hostility to
his friend Sumner, growing out of the San Domingo treaty question, as the
cause of his own removal, and to the coincidence between the dates of the
rejection of the treaty and his dismissal, with an evident belief that
these two occurrences were connected by something more than accident.

To this, a reply was received from the Secretary of State's office,
signed by Mr. Fish, but so objectionable in its tone and expressions that
it has been generally doubted whether the paper could claim anything more
of the secretary's hand than his signature. It travelled back to the old
record of the conversation with Lord Clarendon, more than a year and a
half before, took up the old exceptions, warmed them over into
grievances, and joined with them whatever the 'captatores verborum,' not
extinct since Daniel Webster's time, could add to their number. This was
the letter which was rendered so peculiarly offensive by a most
undignified comparison which startled every well-bred reader. No answer
was possible to such a letter, and the matter rested until the death of
Mr. Motley caused it to be brought up once more for judgment.

The Honorable John Jay, in his tribute to the memory of Mr. Motley, read
at a meeting of the New York Historical Society, vindicated his character
against the attacks of the late executive in such a way as to leave an
unfavorable impression as to the course of the government. Objection was
made on this account to placing the tribute upon the minutes of the
society. This led to a publication by Mr. Jay, entitled "Motley's Appeal
to History," in which the propriety of the society's action is
questioned, and the wrong done to him insisted upon and further
illustrated.

The defence could not have fallen into better hands. Bearing a name which
is, in itself, a title to the confidence of the American people, a
diplomatist familiar with the rights, the customs, the traditions, the
courtesies, which belong to the diplomatic service, the successor of Mr.
Motley at Vienna, and therefore familiar with his official record, not
self-made, which too commonly means half-made, but with careful training
added to the instincts to which he had a right by inheritance, he could
not allow the memory of such a scholar, of such a high-minded lover of
his country, of so true a gentleman as Mr. Motley, to remain without
challenge under the stigma of official condemnation. I must refer to Mr.
Jay's memorial tribute as printed in the newspapers of the day, and to
his "Appeal" published in "The International Review," for his convincing
presentation of the case, and content myself with a condensed statement
of the general and special causes of complaint against Mr. Motley, and
the explanations which suggest themselves, as abundantly competent to
show the insufficiency of the reasons alleged by the government as an
excuse for the manner in which he was treated.

The grounds of complaint against Mr. Motley are to be looked for:--

1. In the letter of Mr. Fish to Mr. Moran, of December 30, 1870.

2. In Mr. Bancroft Davis's letter to the New York "Herald" of January 4,
1878, entitled, "Mr. Sumner, the Alabama Claims and their Settlement."

3. The reported conversations of General Grant.

4. The reported conversations of Mr. Fish.

In considering Mr. Fish's letter, we must first notice its animus. The
manner in which Dickens's two old women are brought in is not only
indecorous, but it shows a state of feeling from which nothing but harsh
interpretation of every questionable expression of Mr. Motley's was to be
expected.

There is not the least need of maintaining the perfect fitness and
rhetorical felicity of every phrase and every word used by him in his
interview with Lord Clarendon. It is not to be expected that a minister,
when about to hold a conversation with a representative of the government
to which he is accredited, will commit his instructions to memory and
recite them, like a school-boy "speaking his piece." He will give them
more or less in his own language, amplifying, it may be, explaining,
illustrating, at any rate paraphrasing in some degree, but endeavoring to
convey an idea of their essential meaning. In fact, as any one can see, a
conversation between two persons must necessarily imply a certain amount
of extemporization on the part of both. I do not believe any long and
important conference was ever had between two able men without each of
them feeling that he had not spoken exactly in all respects as he would
if he could say all over again.

Doubtless, therefore, Mr. Motley's report of his conversation shows that
some of his expressions might have been improved, and others might as
well have been omitted. A man does not change his temperament on taking
office. General Jackson still swore "by the Eternal," and his illustrious
military successor of a more recent period seems, by his own showing, to
have been able to sudden impulses of excitement. It might be said of
Motley, as it was said of Shakespeare by Ben Jonson, "aliquando
sufflaminandus erat." Yet not too much must be made of this concession.
Only a determination to make out a case could, as it seems to me, have
framed such an indictment as that which the secretary constructed by
stringing together a slender list of pretended peccadillos. One instance
will show the extreme slightness which characterizes many of the grounds
of inculpation:--

The instructions say, "The government, in rejecting the recent
convention, abandons neither its own claims nor those of its citizens,"
etc.

Mr. Motley said, in the course of his conversation, "At present, the
United States government, while withdrawing neither its national claims
nor the claims of its individual citizens against the British
government," etc.

Mr. Fish says, "The determination of this government not to abandon its
claims nor those of its citizens was stated parenthetically, and in such
a subordinate way as not necessarily to attract the attention of Lord
Clarendon."

What reported conversation can stand a captious criticism like this? Are
there not two versions of the ten commandments which were given out in
the thunder and smoke of Sinai, and would the secretary hold that this
would have been a sufficient reason to recall Moses from his "Divine
Legation" at the court of the Almighty?

There are certain expressions which, as Mr. Fish shows them apart from
their connection, do very certainly seem in bad taste, if not actually
indiscreet and unjustifiable. Let me give an example:--

   "Instead of expressing the hope entertained by this government that
   there would be an early, satisfactory, and friendly settlement of
   the questions at issue, he volunteered the unnecessary, and from the
   manner in which it was thrust in, the highly objectionable statement
   that the United States government had no insidious purposes,'" etc.

This sounds very badly as Mr. Fish puts it; let us see how it stands in
its proper connection:--

   "He [Lord Clarendon] added with some feeling, that in his opinion it
   would be highly objectionable that the question should be hung up on
   a peg, to be taken down at some convenient moment for us, when it
   might be difficult for the British government to enter upon its
   solution, and when they might go into the debate at a disadvantage.
   These were, as nearly as I can remember, his words, and I replied
   very earnestly that I had already answered that question when I said
   that my instructions were to propose as brief a delay as would
   probably be requisite for the cooling of passions and for producing
   the calm necessary for discussing the defects of the old treaty and
   a basis for a new one. The United States government had no
   insidious purposes," etc.

Is it not evident that Lord Clarendon suggested the idea which Mr. Motley
repelled as implying an insidious mode of action? Is it not just as clear
that Mr. Fish's way of reproducing the expression without the insinuation
which called it forth is a practical misstatement which does Mr. Motley
great wrong?

One more example of the method of wringing a dry cloth for drops of
evidence ought to be enough to show the whole spirit of the paper.

Mr. Fish, in his instructions:--

   "It might, indeed, well have occurred in the event of the selection
   by lot of the arbitrator or umpire in different cases, involving
   however precisely the same principles, that different awards,
   resting upon antagonistic principles, might have been made."

Mr. Motley, in the conversation with Lord Clarendon:--

   "I called his lordship's attention to your very judicious suggestion
   that the throwing of the dice for umpires might bring about opposite
   decisions in cases arising out of identical principles. He agreed
   entirely that no principle was established by the treaty, but that
   the throwing of dice or drawing of lots was not a new invention on
   that occasion, but a not uncommon method in arbitrations. I only
   expressed the opinion that such an aleatory process seemed an
   unworthy method in arbitrations," etc.

Mr. Fish, in his letter to Mr. Moran:--

   "That he had in his mind at that interview something else than his
   letter of instructions from this department would appear to be
   evident, when he says that 'he called his lordship's attention to
   your [my] very judicious suggestion that the throwing of dice for
   umpire might bring about opposite decisions.' The instructions
   which Mr. Motley received from me contained no suggestion about
   throwing of dice.' That idea is embraced in the suggestive words
   'aleatory process' (adopted by Mr. Motley), but previously applied
   in a speech made in the Senate on the question of ratifying the
   treaty."

Charles Sumner's Speech on the Johnson-Clarendon Treaty, April 13, 1869:

   "In the event of failure to agree, the arbitrator is determined 'by
   lot' out of two persons named by each side. Even if this aleatory
   proceeding were a proper device in the umpirage of private claims,
   it is strongly inconsistent with the solemnity which belongs to the
   present question."

It is "suggestive" that the critical secretary, so keen in detecting
conversational inaccuracies, having but two words to quote from a printed
document, got one of them wrong. But this trivial comment must not lead
the careful reader to neglect to note how much is made of what is really
nothing at all. The word aleatory, whether used in its original and
limited sense, or in its derived extension as a technical term of the
civil law, was appropriate and convenient; one especially likely to be
remembered by any person who had read Mr. Sumner's speech,--and everybody
had read it; the secretary himself doubtless got the suggestion of
determining the question "by lot" from it. What more natural than that it
should be used again when the subject of appealing to chance came up in
conversation? It "was an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted,"
and we were fortunate in having a minister who was scholar enough to know
what it meant. The language used by Mr. Motley conveyed the idea of his
instructions plainly enough, and threw in a compliment to their author
which should have saved this passage at least from the wringing process.
The example just given is, like the concession of belligerency to the
insurgents by Great Britain, chiefly important as "showing animus."

It is hardly necessary to bring forward other instances of virtual
misrepresentation. If Mr. Motley could have talked his conversation over
again, he would very probably have changed some expressions. But he felt
bound to repeat the interview exactly as it occurred, with all the errors
to which its extemporaneous character exposed it. When a case was to be
made out against him, the secretary wrote, December 30, 1870:

   "Well might he say, as he did in a subsequent dispatch on the 15th
   of July, 1869, that he had gone beyond the strict letter of his
   instructions. He might have added, in direct opposition to their
   temper and spirit."

Of the same report the secretary had said, June 28, 1869: "Your general
presentation and treatment of the several subjects discussed in that
interview meet the approval of this department." This general approval is
qualified by mild criticism of a single statement as not having been
conveyed in "precise conformity" to the President's view. The minister
was told he might be well content to rest the question on the very
forcible presentation he had made of the American side of the question,
and that if there were expressions used stronger than were required by
his instructions, they were in the right direction. The mere fact that a
minute of this conversation was confidentially submitted to Lord
Clarendon in order that our own government might have his authority for
the accuracy of the record, which was intended exclusively for its own
use, and that this circumstance was overlooked and not reported to the
government until some weeks afterward, are the additional charges against
Mr. Motley. The submission of the dispatch containing an account of the
interview, the secretary says, is not inconsistent with diplomatic usage,
but it is inconsistent with the duty of a minister not to inform his
government of that submission. "Mr. Motley submitted the draft of his No.
8 to Lord Clarendon, and failed to communicate that fact to his
government." He did inform Mr. Fish, at any rate, on the 30th of July,
and alleged "inadvertence" as the reason for his omission to do it
before.

Inasmuch as submitting the dispatch was not inconsistent with diplomatic
usage, nothing seems left to find fault with but the not very long delay
in mentioning the fact, or in his making the note "private and
confidential," as is so frequently done in diplomatic correspondence.

Such were the grounds of complaint. On the strength of the conversation
which had met with the general approval of the government, tempered by
certain qualifications, and of the omission to report immediately to the
government the fact of its verification by Lord Clarendon, the secretary
rests the case against Mr. Motley. On these grounds it was that,
according to him, the President withdrew all right to discuss the Alabama
question from the minister whose dismissal was now only a question of
time. But other evidence comes in here.

Mr. Motley says:--

   "It was, as I supposed, understood before my departure for England,
   although not publicly announced, that the so-called Alabama
   negotiations, whenever renewed, should be conducted at Washington,
   in case of the consent of the British government."

Mr. Sumner says, in his "Explanation in Reply to an Assault:"--

   "The secretary in a letter to me at Boston, dated at Washington,
   October 9, 1869, informs the that the discussion of the question was
   withdrawn from London 'because (the italics are the secretary's) we
   think that when renewed it can be carried on here with a better
   prospect of settlement, than where the late attempt at a convention
   which resulted so disastrously and was conducted so strangely was
   had;' and what the secretary thus wrote he repeated in conversation
   when we met, carefully making the transfer to Washington depend upon
   our advantage here, from the presence of the Senate,--thus showing
   that the pretext put forth to wound Mr. Motley was an afterthought."

Again we may fairly ask how the government came to send a dispatch like
that of September 25, 1869, in which the views and expressions for which
Mr. Motley's conversation had been criticised were so nearly reproduced,
and with such emphasis that Mr. Motley says, in a letter to me, dated
April 8, 1871, "It not only covers all the ground which I ever took, but
goes far beyond it. No one has ever used stronger language to the British
government than is contained in that dispatch. . . . It is very able and
well worth your reading. Lord Clarendon called it to me 'Sumner's speech
over again.' It was thought by the English cabinet to have 'out-Sumnered
Sumner,' and now our government, thinking that every one in the United
States had forgotten the dispatch, makes believe that I was removed
because my sayings and doings in England were too much influenced by
Sumner!" Mr. Motley goes on to speak of the report that an offer of his
place in England was made to Sumner "to get him out of the way of San
Domingo." The facts concerning this offer are now sufficiently known to
the public.

Here I must dismiss Mr. Fish's letter to Mr. Moran, having, as I trust,
sufficiently shown the spirit in which it was written and the strained
interpretations and manifest overstatements by which it attempts to make
out its case against Mr. Motley. I will not parade the two old women,
whose untimely and unseemly introduction into the dress-circle of
diplomacy was hardly to have been expected of the high official whose
name is at the bottom of this paper. They prove nothing, they disprove
nothing, they illustrate nothing--except that a statesman may forget
himself. Neither will I do more than barely allude to the unfortunate
reference to the death of Lord Clarendon as connected with Mr. Motley's
removal, so placidly disposed of by a sentence or two in the London
"Times" of January 24, 1871. I think we may consider ourselves ready for
the next witness.

Mr. J. C. Bancroft Davis, Assistant Secretary of State under President
Grant and Secretary Fish, wrote a letter to the New York "Herald," under
the date of January 4, 1878, since reprinted as a pamphlet and entitled
"Mr. Sumner, the Alabama Claims and their Settlement." Mr. Sumner was
never successfully attacked when living,--except with a bludgeon,--and
his friends have more than sufficiently vindicated him since his death.
But Mr. Motley comes in for his share of animadversion in Mr. Davis's
letter. He has nothing of importance to add to Mr. Fish's criticisms on
the interview with Lord Clarendon. Only he brings out the head and front
of Mr. Motley's offending by italicizing three very brief passages from
his conversation at this interview; not discreetly, as it seems to me,
for they will not bear the strain that is put upon them. These are the
passages:--

1. "but that such, measures must always be taken with a full view of the
grave responsibilities assumed." 2. "and as being the fountain head of
the disasters which had been caused to the American people." 3. "as the
fruits of the proclamation."

1. It is true that nothing was said of responsibility in Mr. Motley's
instructions. But the idea was necessarily involved in their statements.
For if, as Mr. Motley's instructions say, the right of a power "to define
its own relations," etc., when a civil conflict has arisen in another
state depends on its (the conflict's) having "attained a sufficient
complexity, magnitude, and completeness," inasmuch as that Power has to
judge whether it has or has not fulfilled these conditions, and is of
course liable to judge wrong, every such act of judgment must be attended
with grave responsibilities. The instructions say that "the necessity and
propriety of the original concession of belligerency by Great Britain at
the time it was made have been contested and are not admitted." It
follows beyond dispute that Great Britain may in this particular case
have incurred grave responsibilities; in fact, the whole negotiations
implied as much. Perhaps Mr. Motley need not have used the word
"responsibilities." But considering that the government itself said in
dispatch No. 70, September 25, 1869, "The President does not deny, on the
contrary he maintains, that every sovereign power decides for itself on
its responsibility whether or not it will, at a given time, accord the
status of belligerency," etc., it was hardly worth while to use italics
about Mr. Motley's employment of the same language as constituting a
grave cause of offence.

2. Mr. Motley's expression, "as being the fountain head of the
disasters," is a conversational paraphrase of the words of his
instructions, "as it shows the beginning and the animus of that course of
conduct which resulted so disastrously," which is not "in precise
conformity" with his instructions, but is just such a variation as is to
be expected when one is talking with another and using the words that
suggest themselves at the moment, just as the familiar expression, "hung
up on a peg," probably suggested itself to Lord Clarendon.

3. "The fruits of the proclamation" is so inconsiderable a variation on
the text of the instructions, "supplemented by acts causing direct
damage," that the secretary's hint about want of precise conformity seems
hardly to have been called for.

It is important to notice this point in the instructions: With other
powers Mr. Motley was to take the position that the "recognition of the
insurgents' state of war" was made "no ground of complaint;" with Great
Britain that the cause of grievance was "not so much" placed upon the
issuance of this recognition as upon her conduct under, and subsequent
to, such recognition.

There is no need of maintaining the exact fitness of every expression
used by Mr. Motley. But any candid person who will carefully read the
government's dispatch No. 70, dated September 25, 1869, will see that a
government holding such language could find nothing in Mr. Motley's
expressions in a conversation held at his first official interview to
visit with official capital punishment more than a year afterwards. If
Mr. Motley had, as it was pretended, followed Sumner, Mr. Fish had
"out-Sumnered" the Senator himself.

Mr. Davis's pamphlet would hardly be complete without a mysterious letter
from an unnamed writer, whether a faithless friend, a disguised enemy, a
secret emissary, or an injudicious alarmist, we have no means of judging
for ourselves. The minister appears to have been watched by somebody in
London, as he was in Vienna. This somebody wrote a private letter in
which he expressed "fear and regret that Mr. Motley's bearing in his
social intercourse was throwing obstacles in the way of a future
settlement." The charge as mentioned in Mr. Davis's letter is hardly
entitled to our attention. Mr. Sumner considered it the work of an enemy,
and the recollection of the M'Crackin letter might well have made the
government cautious of listening to complaints of such a character. This
Somebody may have been one whom we should call Nobody. We cannot help
remembering how well 'Outis' served 'Oduxseus' of old, when he was
puzzled to extricate himself from an embarrassing position. 'Stat nominis
umbra' is a poor showing for authority to support an attack on a public
servant exposed to every form of open and insidious abuse from those who
are prejudiced against his person or his birthplace, who are jealous of
his success, envious of his position, hostile to his politics, dwarfed by
his reputation, or hate him by the divine right of idiosyncrasy, always
liable, too, to questioning comment from well-meaning friends who happen
to be suspicious or sensitive in their political or social relations.

The reported sayings of General Grant and of Mr. Fish to the
correspondents who talked with them may be taken for what they are worth.
They sound naturally enough to have come from the speakers who are said
to have uttered them. I quote the most important part of the Edinburgh
letter, September 11, 1877, to the New York "Herald." These are the words
attributed to General Grant:--

   "Mr. Motley was certainly a very able, very honest gentleman, fit to
   hold any official position. But he knew long before he went out
   that he would have to go. When I was making these appointments, Mr.
   Sumner came to me and asked me to appoint Mr. Motley as minister to
   the court of St. James. I told him I would, and did. Soon after
   Mr. Sumner made that violent speech about the Alabama claims, and
   the British government was greatly offended. Mr. Sumner was at the
   time chairman of the committee on foreign affairs. Mr. Motley had
   to be instructed. The instructions were prepared very carefully,
   and after Governor Fish and I had gone over them for the last time I
   wrote an addendum charging him that above all things he should
   handle the subject of the Alabama claims with the greatest delicacy.
   Mr. Motley instead of obeying his explicit instructions,
   deliberately fell in line with Sumner, and thus added insult to the
   previous injury. As soon as I heard of it I went over to the State
   Department and told Governor Fish to dismiss Motley at once. I was
   very angry indeed, and I have been sorry many a time since that I
   did not stick to my first determination. Mr. Fish advised delay
   because of Sumner's position in the Senate and attitude on the
   treaty question. We did not want to stir him up just then. We
   dispatched a note of severe censure to Motley at once and ordered
   him to abstain from any further connection with that question. We
   thereupon commenced negotiations with the British minister at
   Washington, and the result was the joint high commission and the
   Geneva award. I supposed Mr. Motley would be manly enough to resign
   after that snub, but he kept on till he was removed. Mr. Sumner
   promised me that he would vote for the treaty. But when it was
   before the Senate he did all he could to beat it."

General Grant talked again at Cairo, in Egypt.

   "Grant then referred to the statement published at an interview with
   him in Scotland, and said the publication had some omissions and
   errors. He had no ill-will towards Mr. Motley, who, like other
   estimable men, made mistakes, and Motley made a mistake which made
   him an improper person to hold office under me."

   "It is proper to say of me that I killed Motley, or that I made war
   upon Sumner for not supporting the annexation of San Domingo. But
   if I dare to answer that I removed Motley from the highest
   considerations of duty as an executive; if I presume to say that he
   made a mistake in his office which made him no longer useful to the
   country; if Fish has the temerity to hint that Sumner's temper was
   so unfortunate that business relations with him became impossible,
   we are slandering the dead."

"Nothing but Mortimer." Those who knew both men--the Ex-President and the
late Senator--would agree, I do not doubt, that they would not be the
most promising pair of human beings to make harmonious members of a
political happy family. "Cedant arma togae," the life-long sentiment of
Sumner, in conflict with "Stand fast and stand sure," the well-known
device of the clan of Grant, reminds one of the problem of an
irresistible force in collision with an insuperable resistance. But the
President says,--or is reported as saying,--"I may be blamed for my
opposition to Mr. Sumner's tactics, but I was not guided so much by
reason of his personal hatred of myself, as I was by a desire to protect
our national interests in diplomatic affairs."

"It would be useless," says Mr. Davis in his letter to the "Herald," "to
enter into a controversy whether the President may or may not have been
influenced in the final determination of the moment for requesting
Motley's resignation by the feeling caused by Sumner's personal hostility
and abuse of himself." Unfortunately, this controversy had been entered
into, and the idleness of suggesting any relation of cause and effect
between Mr. Motley's dismissal and the irritation produced in the
President's mind by the rejection of the San Domingo treaty--which
rejection was mainly due to Motley's friend Sumner's opposition
--strongly insisted upon in a letter signed by the Secretary of State.
Too strongly, for here it was that he failed to remember what was due to
his office, to himself, and to the gentleman of whom he was writing; if
indeed it was the secretary's own hand which held the pen, and not
another's.

We might as well leave out the wrath of Achilles from the Iliad, as the
anger of the President with Sumner from the story of Motley's dismissal.
The sad recital must always begin with M-----------. He was, he is
reported as saying, "very angry indeed" with Motley because he had,
fallen in line with Sumner. He couples them together in his conversation
as closely as Chang and Eng were coupled. The death of Lord Clarendon
would have covered up the coincidence between the rejection of the San
Domingo treaty and Mr. Motley's dismissal very neatly, but for the
inexorable facts about its date, as revealed by the London "Times." It
betrays itself as an afterthought, and its failure as a defence reminds
us too nearly of the trial in which Mr. Webster said suicide is
confession.

It is not strange that the spurs of the man who had so lately got out of
the saddle should catch in the scholastic robe of the man on the floor of
the Senate. But we should not have looked for any such antagonism between
the Secretary of State and the envoy to Great Britain. On the contrary,
they must have had many sympathies, and it must have cost the secretary
pain, as he said it did, to be forced to communicate with Mr. Moran
instead of with Mr. Motley.

He, too, was inquired of by one of the emissaries of the American Unholy
Inquisition. His evidence is thus reported:

   "The reason for Mr. Motley's removal was found in considerations of
   state. He misrepresented the government on the Alabama question,
   especially in the two speeches made by him before his arrival at his
   post."

These must be the two speeches made to the American and the Liverpool
chambers of commerce. If there is anything in these short addresses
beyond those civil generalities which the occasion called out, I have
failed to find it. If it was in these that the reason of Mr. Motley's
removal was to be looked for, it is singular that they are not mentioned
in the secretary's letter to Mr. Moran, or by Mr. Davis in his letter to
the New York "Herald." They must have been as unsuccessful as myself in
the search after anything in these speeches which could be construed into
misinterpretation of the government on the Alabama question.

We may much more readily accept "considerations of state" as a reason for
Mr. Motley's removal. Considerations of state have never yet failed the
axe or the bowstring when a reason for the use of those convenient
implements was wanted, and they are quite equal to every emergency which
can arise in a republican autocracy. But for the very reason that a
minister is absolutely in the power of his government, the manner in
which that power is used is always open to the scrutiny, and, if it has
been misused, to the condemnation, of a tribunal higher than itself; a
court that never goes out of office, and which no personal feelings, no
lapse of time, can silence.

The ostensible grounds on which Mr. Motley was recalled are plainly
insufficient to account for the action of the government. If it was in
great measure a manifestation of personal feeling on the part of the high
officials by whom and through whom the act was accomplished, it was a
wrong which can never be repaired and never sufficiently regretted.

Stung by the slanderous report of an anonymous eavesdropper to whom the
government of the day was not ashamed to listen, he had quitted Vienna,
too hastily, it may be, but wounded, indignant, feeling that he had been
unworthily treated. The sudden recall from London, on no pretext whatever
but an obsolete and overstated incident which had ceased to have any
importance, was under these circumstances a deadly blow. It fell upon
"the new-healed wound of malice," and though he would not own it, and
bore up against it, it was a shock from which he never fully recovered.

"I hope I am one of those," he writes to me from the Hague, in 1872, "who
'fortune's buffets and rewards can take with equal thanks.' I am quite
aware that I have had far more than I deserve of political honors, and
they might have had my post as a voluntary gift on my part had they
remembered that I was an honorable man, and not treated me as a detected
criminal deserves to be dealt with."

Mr. Sumner naturally felt very deeply what he considered the great wrong
done to his friend. He says:--

   "How little Mr. Motley merited anything but respect and courtesy
   from the secretary is attested by all who know his eminent position
   in London, and the service he rendered to his country. Already the
   London press, usually slow to praise Americans when strenuous for
   their country, has furnished its voluntary testimony. The 'Daily
   News' of August 16, 1870, spoke of the insulted minister in these
   terms:--

   "'We are violating no confidence in saying that all the hopes of Mr.
   Motley's official residence in England have been amply fulfilled,
   and that the announcement of his unexpected and unexplained recall
   was received with extreme astonishment and unfeigned regret. The
   vacancy he leaves cannot possibly be filled by a minister more
   sensitive to the honor of his government, more attentive to the
   interests of his country, and more capable of uniting the most
   vigorous performance of his public duties with the high-bred
   courtesy and conciliatory tact and temper that make those duties
   easy and successful. Mr. Motley's successor will find his mission
   wonderfully facilitated by the firmness and discretion that have
   presided over the conduct of American affairs in this country during
   too brief a term, too suddenly and unaccountably concluded.'"

No man can escape being found fault with when it is necessary to make out
a case against him. A diplomatist is watched by the sharpest eyes and
commented on by the most merciless tongues. The best and wisest has his
defects, and sometimes they would seem to be very grave ones if brought
up against him in the form of accusation. Take these two portraits, for
instance, as drawn by John Quincy Adams. The first is that of Stratford
Canning, afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe:--

   "He is to depart to-morrow. I shall probably see him no more. He
   is a proud, high-tempered Englishman, of good but not extraordinary
   parts; stubborn and punctilious, with a disposition to be
   overbearing, which I have often been compelled to check in its own
   way. He is, of all the foreign ministers with whom I have had
   occasion to treat, the man who has most severely tried my temper.
   Yet he has been long in the diplomatic career, and treated with
   governments of the most opposite characters. He has, however, a
   great respect for his word, and there is nothing false about him.
   This is an excellent quality for a negotiator. Mr. Canning is a man
   of forms, studious of courtesy, and tenacious of private morals. As
   a diplomatic man, his great want is suppleness, and his great virtue
   is sincerity."

The second portrait is that of the French minister, Hyde de Neuville:--

   "No foreign minister who ever resided here has been so universally
   esteemed and beloved, nor have I ever been in political relations
   with any foreign statesman of whose moral qualities I have formed so
   good an opinion, with the exception of Count Romanzoff. He has not
   sufficient command of his temper, is quick, irritable, sometimes
   punctilious, occasionally indiscreet in his discourse, and tainted
   with Royalist and Bourbon prejudices. But he has strong sentiments
   of honor, justice, truth, and even liberty. His flurries of temper
   pass off as quickly as they rise. He is neither profound nor
   sublime nor brilliant; but a man of strong and good feelings, with
   the experience of many vicissitudes of fortune, a good but common
   understanding, and good intentions biassed by party feelings,
   occasional interests, and personal affections."

It means very little to say that a man has some human imperfections, or
that a public servant might have done some things better. But when a
questionable cause is to be justified, the victim's excellences are
looked at with the eyes of Liliput and his failings with those of
Brobdingnag.

The recall of a foreign minister for alleged misconduct in office is a
kind of capital punishment. It is the nearest approach to the Sultan's
bowstring which is permitted to the chief magistrate of our Republic. A
general can do nothing under martial law more peremptory than a President
can do with regard to the public functionary whom he has appointed with
the advice and consent of the Senate, but whom he can officially degrade
and disgrace at his own pleasure for insufficient cause or for none at
all. Like the centurion of Scripture, he says Go, and he goeth. The
nation's representative is less secure in his tenure of office than his
own servant, to whom he must give warning of his impending dismissal.

"A breath unmakes him as a breath has made."

The chief magistrate's responsibility to duty, to the fellow-citizen at
his mercy, to his countrymen, to mankind, is in proportion to his power.
His prime minister, the agent of his edicts, should feel bound to
withstand him if he seeks to gratify a personal feeling under the plea of
public policy, unless the minister, like the slaves of the harem, is to
find his qualification for office in leaving his manhood behind him.

The two successive administrations, which treated Mr. Motley in a manner
unworthy of their position and cruel, if not fatal to him, have been
heard, directly or through their advocates. I have attempted to show that
the defence set up for their action is anything but satisfactory. A later
generation will sit in judgment upon the evidence more calmly than our
own. It is not for a friend, like the writer, to anticipate its decision,
but unless the reasons alleged to justify his treatment, and which have
so much the air of afterthoughts, shall seem stronger to that future
tribunal than they do to him, the verdict will be that Mr. Motley was
twice sacrificed to personal feelings which should never have been
cherished by the heads of the government, and should never have been
countenanced by their chief advisers.



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.

A MEMOIR

By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.


Volume III.



XXII.

1874. AEt. 60.
"LIFE OF JOHN OF BARNEVELD."--CRITICISMS.--GROEN VAN PRINSTERER.

The full title of Mr. Motley's next and last work is "The Life and Death
of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland; with a View of the Primary
Causes and Movements of the Thirty Years' War."

In point of fact this work is a history rather than a biography. It is an
interlude, a pause between the acts which were to fill out the complete
plan of the "Eighty Years' Tragedy," and of which the last act, the
Thirty Years' War, remains unwritten. The "Life of Barneveld" was
received as a fitting and worthy continuation of the series of
intellectual labor in which he was engaged. I will quote but two general
expressions of approval from the two best known British critical reviews.
In connection with his previous works, it forms, says "The London
Quarterly," "a fine and continuous story, of which the writer and the
nation celebrated by him have equal reason to be proud; a narrative which
will remain a prominent ornament of American genius, while it has
permanently enriched English literature on this as well as on the other
side of the Atlantic."

"The Edinburgh Review" speaks no less warmly: "We can hardly give too
much appreciation to that subtile alchemy of the brain which has enabled
him to produce out of dull, crabbed, and often illegible state papers,
the vivid, graphic, and sparkling narrative which he has given to the
world."

In a literary point of view, M. Groen van Prinsterer, whose elaborate
work has been already referred to, speaks of it as perhaps the most
classical of Motley's productions, but it is upon this work that the
force of his own and other Dutch criticisms has been chiefly expended.

The key to this biographical history or historical biography may be found
in a few sentences from its opening chapter.

   "There have been few men at any period whose lives have been more
   closely identical than his [Barneveld's] with a national history.
   There have been few great men in any history whose names have become
   less familiar to the world, and lived less in the mouths of
   posterity. Yet there can be no doubt that if William the Silent was
   the founder of the independence of the United Provinces, Barneveld
   was the founder of the Commonwealth itself. . . .

   "Had that country of which he was so long the first citizen
   maintained until our own day the same proportional position among
   the empires of Christendom as it held in the seventeenth century,
   the name of John of Barneveld would have perhaps been as familiar to
   all men as it is at this moment to nearly every inhabitant of the
   Netherlands. Even now political passion is almost as ready to flame
   forth, either in ardent affection or enthusiastic hatred, as if two
   centuries and a half had not elapsed since his death. His name is
   so typical of a party, a polity, and a faith, so indelibly
   associated with a great historical cataclysm, as to render it
   difficult even for the grave, the conscientious, the learned, the
   patriotic, of his own compatriots to speak of him with absolute
   impartiality.

   "A foreigner who loves and admires all that is great and noble in
   the history of that famous republic, and can have no hereditary bias
   as to its ecclesiastical or political theories, may at least attempt
   the task with comparative coldness, although conscious of inability
   to do thorough justice to a most complex subject."

With all Mr. Motley's efforts to be impartial, to which even his sternest
critics bear witness, he could not help becoming a partisan of the cause
which for him was that of religious liberty and progress, as against the
accepted formula of an old ecclesiastical organization. For the quarrel
which came near being a civil war, which convulsed the state, and cost
Barneveld his head, had its origin in a difference on certain points, and
more especially on a single point, of religious doctrine.

As a great river may be traced back until its fountainhead is found in a
thread of water streaming from a cleft in the rocks, so a great national
movement may sometimes be followed until its starting-point is found in
the cell of a monk or the studies of a pair of wrangling professors.

The religious quarrel of the Dutchmen in the seventeenth century reminds
us in some points of the strife between two parties in our own New
England, sometimes arraying the "church" on one side against the
"parish," or the general body of worshippers, on the other. The portraits
of Gomarus, the great orthodox champion, and Arminius, the head and front
of the "liberal theology" of his day, as given in the little old quarto
of Meursius, recall two ministerial types of countenance familiar to
those who remember the earlier years of our century.

Under the name of "Remonstrants" and "Contra-Remonstrants,"--Arminians
and old-fashioned Calvinists, as we should say,--the adherents of the two
Leyden professors disputed the right to the possession of the churches,
and the claim to be considered as representing the national religion. Of
the seven United Provinces, two, Holland and Utrecht, were prevailingly
Arminian, and the other five Calvinistic. Barneveld, who, under the title
of Advocate, represented the province of Holland, the most important of
them all, claimed for each province a right to determine its own state
religion. Maurice the Stadholder, son of William the Silent, the military
chief of the republic, claimed the right for the States-General. 'Cujus
regio ejus religio' was then the accepted public doctrine of Protestant
nations. Thus the provincial and the general governments were brought
into conflict by their creeds, and the question whether the republic was
a confederation or a nation, the same question which has been practically
raised, and for the time at least settled, in our own republic, was in
some way to be decided. After various disturbances and acts of violence
by both parties, Maurice, representing the States-General, pronounced for
the Calvinists or Contra-Remonstrants, and took possession of one of the
great churches, as an assertion of his authority. Barneveld, representing
the Arminian or Remonstrant provinces, levied a body of mercenary
soldiers in several of the cities. These were disbanded by Maurice, and
afterwards by an act of the States-General. Barneveld was apprehended,
imprisoned, and executed, after an examination which was in no proper
sense a trial. Grotius, who was on the Arminian side and involved in the
inculpated proceedings, was also arrested and imprisoned. His escape, by
a stratagem successfully repeated by a slave in our own times, may
challenge comparison for its romantic interest with any chapter of
fiction. How his wife packed him into the chest supposed to contain the
folios of the great oriental scholar Erpenius, how the soldiers wondered
at its weight and questioned whether it did not hold an Arminian, how the
servant-maid, Elsje van Houwening, quick-witted as Morgiana of the "Forty
Thieves," parried their questions and convoyed her master safely to the
friendly place of refuge,--all this must be read in the vivid narrative
of the author.

The questions involved were political, local, personal, and above all
religious. Here is the picture which Motley draws of the religious
quarrel as it divided the people:--

   "In burghers' mansions, peasants' cottages, mechanics' back-parlors;
   on board herring-smacks, canal-boats, and East Indiamen; in shops,
   counting-rooms, farm-yards, guard-rooms, alehouses; on the exchange,
   in the tennis court, on the mall; at banquets, at burials,
   christenings, or bridals; wherever and whenever human creatures met
   each other, there was ever to be found the fierce wrangle of
   Remonstrant and Contra-Remonstrant, the hissing of red-hot
   theological rhetoric, the pelting of hostile texts. The
   blacksmith's iron cooled on the anvil, the tinker dropped a kettle
   half mended, the broker left a bargain unclinched, the Scheveningen
   fisherman in his wooden shoes forgot the cracks in his pinkie, while
   each paused to hold high converse with friend or foe on fate, free-
   will, or absolute foreknowledge; losing himself in wandering mazes
   whence there was no issue. Province against province, city against
   city, family against family; it was one vast scene of bickering,
   denunciation, heart-burnings, mutual excommunication and hatred."

The religious grounds of the quarrel which set these seventeenth-century
Dutchmen to cutting each other's throats were to be looked for in the
"Five Points" of the Arminians as arrayed against the "Seven Points" of
the Gomarites, or Contra-Remonstrants. The most important of the
differences which were to be settled by fratricide seem to have been
these:--

According to the Five Points, "God has from eternity resolved to choose
to eternal life those who through his grace believe in Jesus Christ,"
etc. According to the Seven Points, "God in his election has not looked
at the belief and the repentance of the elect," etc. According to the
Five Points, all good deeds must be ascribed to God's grace in Christ,
but it does not work irresistibly. The language of the Seven Points
implies that the elect cannot resist God's eternal and unchangeable
design to give them faith and steadfastness, and that they can never
wholly and for always lose the true faith. The language of the Five
Points is unsettled as to the last proposition, but it was afterwards
maintained by the Remonstrant party that a true believer could, through
his own fault, fall away from God and lose faith.

It must be remembered that these religious questions had an immediate
connection with politics. Independently of the conflict of jurisdiction,
in which they involved the parties to the two different creeds, it was
believed or pretended that the new doctrines of the Remonstrants led
towards Romanism, and were allied with designs which threatened the
independence of the country. "There are two factions in the land," said
Maurice, "that of Orange and that of Spain, and the two chiefs of the
Spanish faction are those political and priestly Arminians, Uytenbogaert
and Oldenbarneveld."

The heads of the two religious and political parties were in such
hereditary, long-continued, and intimate relations up to the time when
one signed the other's death-warrant, that it was impossible to write the
life of one without also writing that of the other. For his biographer
John of Barneveld is the true patriot, the martyr, whose cause was that
of religious and political freedom. For him Maurice is the ambitious
soldier who hated his political rival, and never rested until this rival
was brought to the scaffold.

The questions which agitated men's minds two centuries and a half ago are
not dead yet in the country where they produced such estrangement,
violence, and wrong. No stranger could take them up without encountering
hostile criticism from one party or the other. It may be and has been
conceded that Mr. Motley writes as a partisan,--a partisan of freedom in
politics and religion, as he understands freedom. This secures him the
antagonism of one class of critics. But these critics are themselves
partisans, and themselves open to the cross-fire of their antagonists. M.
Groen van Prinsterer, "the learned and distinguished" editor of the
"Archives et Correspondance" of the Orange and Nassau family, published a
considerable volume, before referred to, in which many of Motley's views
are strongly controverted. But he himself is far from being in accord
with "that eminent scholar," M. Bakhuyzen van den Brink, whose name, he
says, is celebrated enough to need no comment, or with M. Fruin, of whose
impartiality and erudition he himself speaks in the strongest terms. The
ground upon which he is attacked is thus stated in his own words:--

"People have often pretended to find in my writings the deplorable
influence of an extreme Calvinism. The Puritans of the seventeenth
century are my fellow-religionists. I am a sectarian and not an
historian."

It is plain enough to any impartial reader that there are at least
plausible grounds for this accusation against Mr. Motley's critic. And on
a careful examination of the formidable volume, it becomes obvious that
Mr. Motley has presented a view of the events and the personages of the
stormy epoch with which he is dealing, which leaves a battle-ground yet
to be fought over by those who come after him. The dispute is not and
cannot be settled.

The end of all religious discussion has come when one of the parties
claims that it is thinking or acting under immediate Divine guidance. "It
is God's affair, and his honor is touched," says William Lewis to Prince
Maurice. Mr. Motley's critic is not less confident in claiming the
Almighty as on the side of his own views. Let him state his own ground of
departure:--

   "To show the difference, let me rather say the contrast, between the
   point of view of Mr. Motley and my own, between the Unitarian and
   the Evangelical belief. I am issue of CALVIN, child of the
   Awakening (reveil). Faithful to the device of the Reformers:
   Justification by faith alone, and the Word of God endures eternally.
   I consider history from the point of view of Merle d'Aubigne,
   Chalmers, Guizot. I desire to be disciple and witness of our Lord
   and Saviour, Jesus Christ."

He is therefore of necessity antagonistic to a writer whom he describes
in such words as these:--

   "Mr. Motley is liberal and rationalist.

   "He becomes, in attacking the principle of the Reformation, the
   passionate opponent of the Puritans and of Maurice, the ardent
   apologist of Barnevelt and the Arminians.

   "It is understood, and he makes no mystery of it, that he inclines
   towards the vague and undecided doctrine of the Unitarians."

What M. Groen's idea of Unitarians is may be gathered from the statement
about them which he gets from a letter of De Tocqueville.

   "They are pure deists; they talk about the Bible, because they do
   not wish to shock too severely public opinion, which is prevailingly
   Christian. They have a service on Sundays; I have been there. At
   it they read verses from Dryden or other English poets on the
   existence of God and the immortality of the soul. They deliver a
   discourse on some point of morality, and all is said."

In point of fact the wave of protest which stormed the dikes of Dutch
orthodoxy in the seventeenth century stole gently through the bars of New
England Puritanism in the eighteenth.

"Though the large number," says Mr. Bancroft, "still acknowledged the
fixedness of the divine decrees, and the resistless certainty from all
eternity of election and of reprobation, there were not wanting, even
among the clergy, some who had modified the sternness of the ancient
doctrine by making the self-direction of the active powers of man with
freedom of inquiry and private judgment the central idea of a protest
against Calvinism."

Protestantism, cut loose from an infallible church, and drifting with
currents it cannot resist, wakes up once or oftener in every century, to
find itself in a new locality. Then it rubs its eyes and wonders whether
it has found its harbor or only lost its anchor. There is no end to its
disputes, for it has nothing but a fallible vote as authority for its
oracles, and these appeal only to fallible interpreters.

It is as hard to contend in argument against "the oligarchy of heaven,"
as Motley calls the Calvinistic party, as it was formerly to strive with
them in arms.

To this "aristocracy of God's elect" belonged the party which framed the
declaration of the Synod of Dort; the party which under the forms of
justice shed the blood of the great statesman who had served his country
so long and so well. To this chosen body belonged the late venerable and
truly excellent as well as learned M. Groen van Prinsterer, and he
exercised the usual right of examining in the light of his privileged
position the views of a "liberal" and "rationalist" writer who goes to
meeting on Sunday to hear verses from Dryden. This does not diminish his
claim for a fair reading of the "intimate correspondence," which he
considers Mr. Motley has not duly taken into account, and of the other
letters to be found printed in his somewhat disjointed and fragmentary
volume.

This "intimate correspondence" shows Maurice the Stadholder indifferent
and lax in internal administration and as being constantly advised and
urged by his relative Count William of Nassau. This need of constant
urging extends to religious as well as other matters, and is inconsistent
with M. Groen van Prinsterer's assertion that the question was for
Maurice above all religious, and for Barneveld above all political.
Whether its negative evidence can be considered as neutralizing that
which is adduced by Mr. Motley to show the Stadholder's hatred of the
Advocate may be left to the reader who has just risen from the account of
the mock trial and the swift execution of the great and venerable
statesman. The formal entry on the record upon the day of his "judicial
murder" is singularly solemn and impressive:--

   "Monday, 13th May, 1619. To-day was executed with the sword here in
   the Hague, on a scaffold thereto erected in the Binnenhof before the
   steps of the great hall, Mr. John of Barneveld, in his life Knight,
   Lord of Berkel, Rodenrys, etc., Advocate of Holland and West
   Friesland, for reasons expressed in the sentence and otherwise, with
   confiscation of his property, after he had served the state thirty-
   three years two months and five days, since 8th March, 1586; a man
   of great activity, business, memory, and wisdom,--yea, extraordinary
   in every respect. He that stands let him see that he does not
   fall."

Maurice gave an account of the execution of Barneveld to Count William
Lewis on the same day in a note "painfully brief and dry."

Most authors write their own biography consciously or unconsciously. We
have seen Mr. Motley portraying much of himself, his course of life and
his future, as he would have had it, in his first story. In this, his
last work, it is impossible not to read much of his own external and
internal personal history told under other names and with different
accessories. The parallelism often accidentally or intentionally passes
into divergence. He would not have had it too close if he could, but
there are various passages in which it is plain enough that he is telling
his own story.

Mr. Motley was a diplomatist, and he writes of other diplomatists, and
one in particular, with most significant detail. It need not be supposed
that he intends the "arch intriguer" Aerssens to stand for himself, or
that he would have endured being thought to identify himself with the man
of whose "almost devilish acts" he speaks so freely. But the sagacious
reader--and he need not be very sharp-sighted--will very certainly see
something more than a mere historical significance in some of the
passages which I shall cite for him to reflect upon. Mr. Motley's
standard of an ambassador's accomplishments may be judged from the
following passage:--

   "That those ministers [those of the Republic] were second to the
   representatives of no other European state in capacity and
   accomplishment was a fact well known to all who had dealings with
   them, for the states required in their diplomatic representatives
   knowledge of history and international law, modern languages, and
   the classics, as well as familiarity with political customs and
   social courtesies; the breeding of gentlemen, in short, and the
   accomplishments of scholars."

The story of the troubles of Aerssens, the ambassador of the United
Provinces at Paris, must be given at some length, and will repay careful
reading.

   "Francis Aerssens . . . continued to be the Dutch ambassador
   after the murder of Henry IV. . . . He was beyond doubt one of
   the ablest diplomatists in Europe. Versed in many languages, a
   classical student, familiar with history and international law, a
   man of the world and familiar with its usages, accustomed to
   associate with dignity and tact on friendliest terms with
   sovereigns, eminent statesmen, and men of letters; endowed with a
   facile tongue, a fluent pen, and an eye and ear of singular
   acuteness and delicacy; distinguished for unflagging industry and
   singular aptitude for secret and intricate affairs;--he had by the
   exercise of these various qualities during a period of nearly twenty
   years at the court of Henry the Great been able to render
   inestimable services to the Republic which he represented.

   "He had enjoyed the intimacy and even the confidence of Henry IV.,
   so far as any man could be said to possess that monarch's
   confidence, and his friendly relations and familiar access to the
   king gave him political advantages superior to those of any of his
   colleagues at the same court.

   "Acting entirely and faithfully according to the instructions of the
   Advocate of Holland, he always gratefully and copiously acknowledged
   the privilege of being guided and sustained in the difficult paths
   he had to traverse by so powerful and active an intellect. I have
   seldom alluded in terms to the instructions and dispatches of the
   chief, but every position, negotiation, and opinion of the envoy
   --and the reader has seen many of them is pervaded by their spirit.

   "It had become a question whether he was to remain at his post or
   return. It was doubtful whether he wished to be relieved of his
   embassy or not. The States of Holland voted 'to leave it to his
   candid opinion if in his free conscience he thinks he can serve the
   public any longer. If yes, he may keep his office one year more.
   If no, he may take leave and come home.'

   "Surely the States, under the guidance of the Advocate, had thus
   acted with consummate courtesy towards a diplomatist whose position,
   from no apparent fault of his own, but by the force of
   circumstances,--and rather to his credit than otherwise,
   --was gravely compromised."

The Queen, Mary de' Medici, had a talk with him, got angry, "became very
red in the face," and wanted to be rid of him.

   "Nor was the envoy at first desirous of remaining. . . .
   Nevertheless, he yielded reluctantly to Barneveld's request that he
   should, for the time at least, remain at his post. Later on, as the
   intrigues against him began to unfold themselves, and his faithful
   services were made use of at home to blacken his character and
   procure his removal, he refused to resign, as to do so would be to
   play into the hands of his enemies, and, by inference at least, to
   accuse himself of infidelity to his trust. . . .

   "It is no wonder that the ambassador was galled to the quick by the
   outrage which those concerned in the government were seeking to put
   upon him. How could an honest man fail to be overwhelmed with rage
   and anguish at being dishonored before the world by his masters for
   scrupulously doing his duty, and for maintaining the rights and
   dignity of his own country? He knew that the charges were but
   pretexts, that the motives of his enemies were as base as the
   intrigues themselves, but he also knew that the world usually sides
   with the government against the individual, and that a man's
   reputation is rarely strong enough to maintain itself unsullied in a
   foreign land when his own government stretches forth its hand, not
   to shield, but to stab him. . . .

   "'I know,' he said, that this plot has been woven partly here in
   Holland and partly here by good correspondence in order to drive me
   from my post.

   "'But as I have discovered this accurately, I have resolved to offer
   to my masters the continuance of my very humble service for such
   time and under such conditions as they may think good to prescribe.
   I prefer forcing my natural and private inclinations to giving an
   opportunity for the ministers of this kingdom to discredit us, and
   to my enemies to succeed in injuring me, and by fraud and malice to
   force me from my post. . . . I am truly sorry, being ready to
   retire, wishing to have an honorable testimony in recompense of my
   labors, that one is in such hurry to take advantage of my fall. .
   . . What envoy will ever dare to speak with vigor if he is not
   sustained by the government at home? . . . My enemies have
   misrepresented my actions, and my language as passionate,
   exaggerated, mischievous, but I have no passion except for the
   service of my superiors.'

   "Barneveld, from well-considered motives of public policy, was
   favoring his honorable recall. But he allowed a decorous interval
   of more than three years to elapse in which to terminate his
   affairs, and to take a deliberate departure from that French embassy
   to which the Advocate had originally promoted him, and in which
   there had been so many years of mutual benefit and confidence
   between the two statesmen. He used no underhand means. He did not
   abuse the power of the States-General which he wielded to cast him
   suddenly and brutally from the distinguished post which he occupied,
   and so to attempt to dishonor him before the world. Nothing could
   be more respectful and conciliatory than the attitude of the
   government from first to last towards this distinguished
   functionary. The Republic respected itself too much to deal with
   honorable agents whose services it felt obliged to dispense with as
   with vulgar malefactors who had been detected in crime. . . .

   "This work aims at being a political study. I would attempt to
   exemplify the influence of individual humors and passions--some of
   them among the highest, and others certainly the basest that agitate
   humanity--upon the march of great events, upon general historical
   results at certain epochs, and upon the destiny of eminent
   personages."

Here are two suggestive portraits:--

   "The Advocate, while acting only in the name of a slender
   confederacy, was in truth, so long as he held his place, the prime
   minister of European Protestantism. There was none other to rival
   him, few to comprehend him, fewer still to sustain him. As Prince
   Maurice was at that time the great soldier of Protestantism, without
   clearly scanning the grandeur of the field in which he was a chief
   actor, or foreseeing the vastness of its future, so the Advocate was
   its statesman and its prophet. Could the two have worked together
   as harmoniously as they had done at an earlier day, it would have
   been a blessing for the common weal of Europe. But, alas! the evil
   genius of jealousy, which so often forbids cordial relations between
   soldier and statesman, already stood shrouded in the distance,
   darkly menacing the strenuous patriot, who was wearing his life out
   in exertions for what he deemed the true cause of progress and
   humanity. . . .

   "All history shows that the brilliant soldier of a republic is apt
   to have the advantage, in a struggle for popular affection and
   popular applause, over the statesman, however consummate. . . .
   The great battles and sieges of the prince had been on a world's
   theatre, had enchained the attention of Christendom, and on their
   issue had frequently depended, or seemed to depend, the very
   existence of the nation. The labors of the statesman, on the
   contrary, had been comparatively secret. His noble orations and
   arguments had been spoken with closed doors to assemblies of
   colleagues, rather envoys than senators, . . while his vast labors
   in directing both the internal administration and especially the
   foreign affairs of the commonwealth had been by their very nature
   as secret as they were perpetual and enormous."

The reader of the "Life of Barneveld" must judge for himself whether in
these and similar passages the historian was thinking solely of Maurice,
the great military leader, of Barneveld, the great statesman, and of
Aerssens, the recalled ambassador. He will certainly find that there were
"burning questions" for ministers to handle then as now, and recognize in
"that visible atmosphere of power the poison of which it is so difficult
to resist" a respiratory medium as well known to the nineteenth as to the
seventeenth century.



XXIII.

1874-1877. AEt. 60-63.

DEATH OF MRS. MOTLEY.--LAST VISIT TO AMERICA.--ILLNESS AND DEATH.-LADY
HARCOURT'S COMMUNICATION.

On the last day of 1874, the beloved wife, whose health had for some
years been failing, was taken from him by death. She had been the pride
of his happier years, the stay and solace of those which had so tried his
sensitive spirit. The blow found him already weakened by mental suffering
and bodily infirmity, and he never recovered from it. Mr. Motley's last
visit to America was in the summer and autumn of 1875. During several
weeks which he passed at Nahant, a seaside resort near Boston, I saw him
almost daily. He walked feebly and with some little difficulty, and
complained of a feeling of great weight in the right arm, which made
writing laborious. His handwriting had not betrayed any very obvious
change, so far as I had noticed in his letters. His features and speech
were without any paralytic character. His mind was clear except when, as
on one or two occasions, he complained of some confused feeling, and
walked a few minutes in the open air to compose himself. His thoughts
were always tending to revert to the almost worshipped companion from
whom death had parted him a few months before. Yet he could often be led
away to other topics, and in talking of them could be betrayed into
momentary cheerfulness of manner. His long-enduring and all-pervading
grief was not more a tribute to the virtues and graces of her whom he
mourned than an evidence of the deeply affectionate nature which in other
relations endeared him to so many whose friendship was a title to love
and honor.

I have now the privilege of once more recurring to the narrative of Mr.
Motley's daughter, Lady Harcourt.

   "The harassing work and mental distress of this time [after the
   recall from England], acting on an acutely nervous organization,
   began the process of undermining his constitution, of which we were
   so soon to see the results. It was not the least courageous act of
   his life, that, smarting under a fresh wound, tired and unhappy, he
   set his face immediately towards the accomplishment of fresh
   literary labor. After my sister's marriage in January he went to
   the Hague to begin his researches in the archives for John of
   Barneveld. The Queen of the Netherlands had made ready a house
   for us, and personally superintended every preparation for his
   reception. We remained there until the spring, and then removed to
   a house more immediately in the town, a charming old-fashioned
   mansion, once lived in by John de Witt, where he had a large library
   and every domestic comfort during the year of his sojourn. The
   incessant literary labor in an enervating climate with enfeebled
   health may have prepared the way for the first break in his
   constitution, which was to show itself soon after. There were many
   compensations in the life about him. He enjoyed the privilege of
   constant companionship with one of the warmest hearts and finest
   intellects which I have ever known in a woman,--the 'ame d'elite'
   which has passed beyond this earth. The gracious sentiment with
   which the Queen sought to express her sense of what Holland owed him
   would have been deeply felt even had her personal friendship been
   less dear to us all. From the King, the society of the Hague, and
   the diplomatic circle we had many marks of kindness. Once or twice
   I made short journeys with him for change of air to Amsterdam, to
   look for the portraits of John of Barneveld and his wife; to
   Bohemia, where, with the lingering hope of occupying himself with
   the Thirty Years' War, he looked carefully at the scene of
   Wallenstein's death near Prague, and later to Varzin in Pomerania
   for a week with Prince Bismarck, after the great events of the
   Franco-German war. In the autumn of 1872 we moved to England,
   partly because it was evident that his health and my mother's
   required a change; partly for private reasons to be near my sister
   and her children. The day after our arrival at Bournemouth occurred
   the rupture of a vessel on the lungs, without any apparently
   sufficient cause. He recovered enough to revise and complete his
   manuscript, and we thought him better, when at the end of July, in
   London, he was struck down by the first attack of the head, which
   robbed him of all after power of work, although the intellect
   remained untouched. Sir William Gull sent him to Cannes for the
   winter, where he was seized with a violent internal inflammation,
   in which I suppose there was again the indication of the lesion of
   blood-vessels. I am nearing the shadow now,--the time of which I
   can hardly bear to write. You know the terrible sorrow which
   crushed him on the last day of 1874,--the grief which broke his
   heart and from which he never rallied. From that day it seems to me
   that his life may be summed up in the two words,--patient waiting.
   Never for one hour did her spirit leave him, and he strove to follow
   its leading for the short and evil days left and the hope of the
   life beyond. I think I have never watched quietly and reverently
   the traces of one personal character remaining so strongly impressed
   on another nature. With herself--depreciation and unselfishness she
   would have been the last to believe how much of him was in her very
   existence; nor could we have realized it until the parting came.
   Henceforward, with the mind still there, but with the machinery
   necessary to set it in motion disturbed and shattered, he could but
   try to create small occupations with which to fill the hours of a
   life which was only valued for his children's sake. Kind and loving
   friends in England and America soothed the passage, and our
   gratitude for so many gracious acts is deep and true. His love for
   children, always a strong feeling, was gratified by the constant
   presence of my sister's babies, the eldest, a little girl who bore
   my mother's name, and had been her idol, being the companion of many
   hours and his best comforter. At the end the blow came swiftly and
   suddenly, as he would have wished it. It was a terrible shock to us
   who had vainly hoped to keep him a few years longer, but at least he
   was spared what he had dreaded with a great dread, a gradual failure
   of mental or bodily power. The mind was never clouded, the
   affections never weakened, and after a few hours of unconscious
   physical struggle he lay at rest, his face beautiful and calm,
   without a trace of suffering or illness. Once or twice he said, 'It
   has come, it has come,' and there were a few broken words before
   consciousness fled, but there was little time for messages or leave-
   taking. By a strange coincidence his life ended near the town of
   Dorchester, in the mother country, as if the last hour brought with
   it a reminiscence of his birthplace, and of his own dearly loved
   mother. By his own wish only the dates of his birth and death
   appear upon his gravestone, with the text chosen by himself, 'In God
   is light, and in him is no darkness at all.'"



XXIV.



CONCLUSION.--HIS CHARACTER.--HIS LABORS.--HIS REWARD.

In closing this restricted and imperfect record of a life which merits,
and in due time will, I trust, receive an ampler tribute, I cannot
refrain from adding a few thoughts which naturally suggest themselves,
and some of which may seem quite unnecessary to the reader who has
followed the story of the historian and diplomatist's brilliant and
eventful career.

Mr. Motley came of a parentage which promised the gifts of mind and body
very generally to be accounted for, in a measure at least, wherever we
find them, by the blood of one or both of the parents. They gave him
special attractions and laid him open to not a few temptations. Too many
young men born to shine in social life, to sparkle, it may be, in
conversation, perhaps in the lighter walks of literature, become
agreeable idlers, self-indulgent, frivolous, incapable of large designs
or sustained effort, lose every aspiration and forget every ideal. Our
gilded youth want such examples as this of Motley, not a solitary, but a
conspicuous one, to teach them how much better is the restlessness of a
noble ambition than the narcotized stupor of club-life or the vapid
amusement of a dressed-up intercourse which too often requires a
questionable flavor of forbidden license to render it endurable to
persons of vivacious character and temperament.

It would seem difficult for a man so flattered from his earliest days to
be modest in his self-estimate; but Motley was never satisfied with
himself. He was impulsive, and was occasionally, I have heard it said,
over excited, when his prejudices were roughly handled. In all that
related to the questions involved in our civil war, he was, no doubt,
very sensitive. He had heard so much that exasperated him in the foreign
society which he had expected to be in full sympathy with the cause of
liberty as against slavery, that he might be excused if he showed
impatience when he met with similar sentiments among his own countrymen.
He felt that he had been cruelly treated by his own government, and no
one who conceives himself to have been wronged and insulted must be
expected to reason in naked syllogisms on the propriety of the liberties
which have been taken with his name and standing. But with all his
quickness of feeling, his manners were easy and courteous, simply because
his nature was warm and kindly, and with all his natural fastidiousness
there was nothing of the coxcomb about him.

He must have had enemies, as all men of striking individuality are sure
to have; his presence cast more uncouth patriots into the shade; his
learning was a reproach to the ignorant, his fame was too bright a
distinction; his high-bred air and refinement, which he could not help,
would hardly commend him to the average citizen in an order of things in
which mediocrity is at a premium, and the natural nobility of presence,
which rarely comes without family antecedents to account for it, is not
always agreeable to the many whose two ideals are the man on horseback
and the man in his shirt-sleeves. It may well be questioned whether
Washington, with his grand manner, would be nearly as popular with what
are called "the masses" as Lincoln, with his homely ways and broad
stories. The experiment of universal suffrage must render the waters of
political and social life more or less turbid even if they remain
innoxious. The Cloaca Maxima can hardly mingle its contents with the
stream of the Aqua Claudia, without taking something from its crystal
clearness. We need not go so far as one of our well-known politicians has
recently gone in saying that no great man can reach the highest position
in our government, but we can safely say that, apart from military fame,
the loftiest and purest and finest personal qualities are not those which
can be most depended upon at the ballot-box. Strange stories are told of
avowed opposition to Mr. Motley on the ground of the most trivial
differences in point of taste in personal matters,--so told that it is
hard to disbelieve them, and they show that the caprices which we might
have thought belonged exclusively to absolute rulers among their
mistresses or their minions may be felt in the councils of a great people
which calls itself self-governing. It is perfectly true that Mr. Motley
did not illustrate the popular type of politician. He was too
high-minded, too scholarly, too generously industrious, too polished, too
much at home in the highest European circles, too much courted for his
personal fascinations, too remote from the trading world of caucus
managers. To degrade him, so far as official capital punishment could do
it, was not merely to wrong one whom the nation should have delighted to
honor as showing it to the world in the fairest flower of its young
civilization, but it was an indignity to a representative of the highest
scholarship of native growth, which every student in the land felt as a
discouragement to all sound learning and noble ambition.

If he was disappointed in his diplomatic career, he had enough, and more
than enough, to console him in his brilliant literary triumphs. He had
earned them all by the most faithful and patient labor. If he had not the
"frame of adamant" of the Swedish hero, he had his "soul of fire." No
labors could tire him, no difficulties affright him. What most surprised
those who knew him as a young man was, not his ambition, not his
brilliancy, but his dogged, continuous capacity for work. We have seen
with what astonishment the old Dutch scholar, Groen van Prinsterer,
looked upon a man who had wrestled with authors like Bor and Van Meteren,
who had grappled with the mightiest folios and toiled undiscouraged among
half-illegible manuscript records. Having spared no pains in collecting
his materials, he told his story, as we all know, with flowing ease and
stirring vitality. His views may have been more or less partial; Philip
the Second may have deserved the pitying benevolence of poor Maximilian;
Maurice may have wept as sincerely over the errors of Arminius as any one
of "the crocodile crew that believe in election;" Barneveld and Grotius
may have been on the road to Rome; none of these things seem probable,
but if they were all proved true in opposition to his views, we should
still have the long roll of glowing tapestry he has woven for us, with
all its life-like portraits, its almost moving pageants, its sieges where
we can see the artillery flashing, its battle-fields with their smoke and
fire,--pictures which cannot fade, and which will preserve his name
interwoven with their own enduring colors.

Republics are said to be ungrateful; it might be truer to say that they
are forgetful. They forgive those who have wronged them as easily as they
forget those who have done them good service. But History never forgets
and never forgives. To her decision we may trust the question, whether
the warm-hearted patriot who had stood up for his country nobly and
manfully in the hour of trial, the great scholar and writer who had
reflected honor upon her throughout the world of letters, the high-minded
public servant, whose shortcomings it taxed the ingenuity of experts to
make conspicuous enough to be presentable, was treated as such a citizen
should have been dealt with. His record is safe in her hands, and his
memory will be precious always in the hearts of all who enjoyed his
friendship.



APPENDIX.

A.

THE SATURDAY CLUB.

This club, of which we were both members, and which is still flourishing,
came into existence in a very quiet sort of way at about the same time as
"The Atlantic Monthly," and, although entirely unconnected with that
magazine, included as members some of its chief contributors. Of those
who might have been met at some of the monthly gatherings in its earlier
days I may mention Emerson, Hawthorne, Longfellow, Lowell, Motley,
Whipple, Whittier; Professors Agassiz and Peirce; John S. Dwight;
Governor Andrew, Richard H. Dana, Junior, Charles Sumner. It offered a
wide gamut of intelligences, and the meetings were noteworthy occasions.
If there was not a certain amount of "mutual admiration" among some of
those I have mentioned it was a great pity, and implied a defect in the
nature of men who were otherwise largely endowed. The vitality of this
club has depended in a great measure on its utter poverty in statutes and
by-laws, its entire absence of formality, and its blessed freedom from
speech-making.

That holy man, Richard Baxter, says in his Preface to Alleine's
"Alarm:"--

   "I have done, when I have sought to remove a little scandal, which I
   foresaw, that I should myself write the Preface to his Life where
   himself and two of his friends make such a mention of my name, which
   I cannot own; which will seem a praising him for praising me. I
   confess it looketh ill-favoredly in me. But I had not the power of
   other men's writings, and durst not forbear that which was his due."

I do not know that I have any occasion for a similar apology in printing
the following lines read at a meeting of members of the Saturday Club and
other friends who came together to bid farewell to Motley before his
return to Europe in 1857.

             A PARTING HEALTH

   Yes, we knew we must lose him,--though friendship may claim
   To blend her green leaves with the laurels of fame,
   Though fondly, at parting, we call him our own,
   'T is the whisper of love when the bugle has blown.

   As the rider that rests with the spur on his heel,
   As the guardsman that sleeps in his corselet of steel,
   As the archer that stands with his shaft on the string,
   He stoops from his toil to the garland we bring.

   What pictures yet slumber unborn in his loom
   Till their warriors shall breathe and their beauties shall bloom,
   While the tapestry lengthens the life-glowing dyes
   That caught from our sunsets the stain of their skies!

   In the alcoves of death, in the charnels of time,
   Where flit the dark spectres of passion and crime,
   There are triumphs untold, there are martyrs unsung,
   There are heroes yet silent to speak with his tongue!

   Let us hear the proud story that time has bequeathed
   From lips that are warm with the freedom they breathed!
   Let him summon its tyrants, and tell us their doom,
   Though he sweep the black past like Van Tromp with his broom!

   The dream flashes by, for the west-winds awake
   On pampas, on prairie, o'er mountain and lake,
   To bathe the swift bark, like a sea-girdled shrine
   With incense they stole from the rose and the pine.

   So fill a bright cup with the sunlight that gushed
   When the dead summer's jewels were trampled and crushed;
   THE TRUE KNIGHT OF LEARNING,--the world holds him dear,--

   Love bless him, joy crown him, God speed his career!



B.

HABITS AND METHODS OF STUDY.

Mr. Motley's daughter, Lady Harcourt, has favored me with many
interesting particulars which I could not have learned except from a
member of his own family. Her description of his way of living and of
working will be best given in her own words:--

   "He generally rose early, the hour varying somewhat at different
   parts of his life, according to his work and health. Sometimes when
   much absorbed by literary labor he would rise before seven, often
   lighting his own fire, and with a cup of tea or coffee writing until
   the family breakfast hour, after which his work was immediately
   resumed, and he usually sat over his writing-table until late in the
   afternoon, when he would take a short walk. His dinner hour was
   late, and he rarely worked at night. During the early years of his
   literary studies he led a life of great retirement. Later, after
   the publication of the 'Dutch Republic' and during the years of
   official place, he was much in society in England, Austria, and
   Holland. He enjoyed social life, and particularly dining out,
   keenly, but was very moderate and simple in all his personal habits,
   and for many years before his death had entirely given up smoking.
   His work, when not in his own library, was in the Archives of the
   Netherlands, Brussels, Paris, the English State Paper Office, and
   the British Museum, where he made his own researches, patiently and
   laboriously consulting original manuscripts and reading masses of
   correspondence, from which he afterwards sometimes caused copies to
   be made, and where he worked for many consecutive hours a day.
   After his material had been thus painfully and toilfully amassed,
   the writing of his own story was always done at home, and his mind,
   having digested the necessary matter, always poured itself forth in
   writing so copiously that his revision was chiefly devoted to
   reducing the over-abundance. He never shrank from any of the
   drudgery of preparation, but I think his own part of the work was
   sheer pleasure to him."

I should have mentioned that his residence in London while minister was
at the house No. 17 Arlington Street, belonging to Lord Yarborough.



C.

SIR WILLIAM GULL's ACCOUNT OF HIS ILLNESS.

I have availed myself of the permission implied in the subjoined letter
of Sir William Gull to make large extracts from his account of Mr.
Motley's condition while under his medical care. In his earlier years he
had often complained to me of those "nervous feelings connected with the
respiration" referred to by this very distinguished physician. I do not
remember any other habitual trouble to which he was subject.

               74 BROOK STREET, GROSVENOR SQUARE, W.
                       February 13, 1878.
MY DEAR SIR,--I send the notes of Mr. Motley's last illness, as I
promised. They are too technical for general readers, but you will make
such exception as you require. The medical details may interest your
professional friends. Mr. Motley's case was a striking illustration that
the renal disease of so-called Bright's disease may supervene as part and
parcel of a larger and antecedent change in the blood-vessels in other
parts than the kidney. . . . I am, my dear sir,

               Yours very truly,
                    WILLIAM W. GULL.

To OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, ESQ.

   I first saw Mr. Motley, I believe, about the year 1870, on account
   of some nervous feelings connected with the respiration. At that
   time his general health was good, and all he complained of was
   occasionally a feeling of oppression about the chest. There were no
   physical signs of anything abnormal, and the symptoms quite passed
   away in the course of time, and with the use of simple antispasmodic
   remedies, such as camphor and the like. This was my first interview
   with Mr. Motley, and I was naturally glad to have the opportunity of
   making his acquaintance. I remember that in our conversation I
   jokingly said that my wife could hardly forgive him for not making
   her hero, Henri IV., a perfect character, and the earnestness with
   which he replied 'au serieux,' I assure you I have fairly recorded
   the facts. After this date I did not see Mr. Motley for some time.
   He had three slight attacks of haemoptysis in the autumn of 1872,
   but no physical signs of change in the lung tissue resulted. So
   early as this I noticed that there were signs of commencing
   thickening in the heart, as shown by the degree and extent of its
   impulse. The condition of his health, though at that time not very
   obviously failing, a good deal arrested my attention, as I thought I
   could perceive in the occurrence of the haemoptysis, and in the
   cardiac hypertrophy, the early beginnings of vascular degeneration.

   In August, 1873, occurred the remarkable seizure, from the effects
   of which Mr. Motley never recovered. I did not see him in the
   attack, but was informed, as far as I can remember, that he was on a
   casual visit at a friend's house at luncheon (or it might have been
   dinner), when he suddenly became strangely excited, but not quite
   unconscious. . . . I believed at the time, and do so still, that
   there was some capillary apoplexy of the convolutions. The attack
   was attended with some hemiplegic weakness on the right side, and
   altered sensation, and ever after there was a want of freedom and
   ease both in the gait and in the use of the arm of that side. To my
   inquiries from time to time how the arm was, the patient would
   always flex and extend it freely, but nearly always used the
   expression, "There is a bedevilment in it;" though the handwriting
   was not much, if at all, altered.

   In December, 1873, Mr. Motley went by my advice to Cannes. I wrote
   the following letter at the time to my friend Dr. Frank, who was
   practising there:--

     [This letter, every word of which was of value to the
     practitioner who was to have charge of the patient, relates
     many of the facts given above, and I shall therefore only give
     extracts from it.]

                       December 29, 1873.

   MY DEAR DR. FRANK,--My friend Mr. Motley, the historian and late
   American Minister, whose name and fame no doubt you know very well,
   has by my advice come to Cannes for the winter and spring, and I
   have promised him to give you some account of his case. To me it is
   one of special interest, and personally, as respects the subject of
   it, of painful interest. I have known Mr. Motley for some time, but
   he consulted me for the present condition about midsummer.

   . . . If I have formed a correct opinion of the pathology of the
   case, I believe the smaller vessels are degenerating in several
   parts of the vascular area, lung, brain, and kidneys. With this
   view I have suggested a change of climate, a nourishing diet, etc.;
   and it is to be hoped, and I trust expected, that by great attention
   to the conditions of hygiene, internal and external, the progress of
   degeneration may be retarded. I have no doubt you will find, as
   time goes on, increasing evidence of renal change, but this is
   rather a coincidence and consequence than a cause, though no doubt
   when the renal change has reached a certain point, it becomes in its
   own way a factor of other lesions. I have troubled you at this
   length because my mind is much occupied with the pathology of these
   cases, and because no case can, on personal grounds, more strongly
   challenge our attention.

                    Yours very truly,
                         WILLIAM W. GULL.

   During the spring of 1874, whilst at Cannes, Mr. Motley had a sharp
   attack of nephritis, attended with fever; but on returning to
   England in July there was no important change in the health. The
   weakness of the side continued, and the inability to undertake any
   mental work. The signs of cardiac hypertrophy were more distinct.
   In the beginning of the year 1875 I wrote as follows:--

                         February 20, 1875.

   MY DEAR Mr. MOTLEY,--. . . The examination I have just made
   appears to indicate that the main conditions of your health are more
   stable than they were some months ago, and would therefore be so far
   in favor of your going to America in the summer, as we talked of.
   The ground of my doubt has lain in the possibility of such a trip
   further disordering the circulation. Of this, I hope, there is now
   less risk.

   On the 4th of June, 1875, I received the following letter:--

               CALVERLY PARK HOTEL, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
                         June 4, 1875.

   MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM,--I have been absent from town for a long time,
   but am to be there on the 9th and 10th. Could I make an appointment
   with you for either of those days? I am anxious to have a full
   consultation with you before leaving for America. Our departure is
   fixed for the 19th of this month. I have not been worse than usual
   of late. I think myself, on the contrary, rather stronger, and it
   is almost impossible for me not to make my visit to America this
   summer, unless you should absolutely prohibit it. If neither of
   those days should suit you, could you kindly suggest another day?
   I hope, however, you can spare me half an hour on one of those days,
   as I like to get as much of this bracing air as I can. Will you
   kindly name the hour when I may call on you, and address me at this
   hotel. Excuse this slovenly note in pencil, but it fatigues my head
   and arm much more to sit at a writing-table with pen and ink.

                  Always most sincerely yours,
                       My dear Sir William,
                            J. L. MOTLEY.

   On Mr. Motley's return from America I saw him, and found him, I
   thought, rather better in general health than when he left England.

   In December, 1875, Mr. Motley consulted me for trouble of vision in
   reading or walking, from sensations like those produced by flakes of
   falling snow coming between him and the objects he was looking at.
   Mr. Bowman, one of our most excellent oculists, was then consulted.
   Mr. Bowman wrote to me as follows: "Such symptoms as exist point
   rather to disturbed retinal function than to any brain-mischief. It
   is, however, quite likely that what you fear for the brain may have
   had its counterpart in the nerve-structures of the eye, and as he is
   short-sighted, this tendency may be further intensified."

   Mr. Bowman suggested no more than such an arrangement of glasses as
   might put the eyes, when in use, under better optic conditions.

   The year 1876 was passed over without any special change worth
   notice. The walking powers were much impeded by the want of control
   over the right leg. The mind was entirely clear, though Mr. Motley
   did not feel equal, and indeed had been advised not to apply
   himself, to any literary work. Occasional conversations, when I had
   interviews with him on the subject of his health, proved that the
   attack which had weakened the movements of the right side had not
   impaired the mental power. The most noticeable change which had
   come over Mr. Motley since I first knew him was due to the death of
   Mrs. Motley in December, 1874. It had in fact not only profoundly
   depressed him, but, if I may so express it, had removed the centre
   of his thought to a new world. In long conversations with me of a
   speculative kind, after that painful event, it was plain how much
   his point of view of the whole course and relation of things had
   changed. His mind was the last to dogmatize on any subject. There
   was a candid and childlike desire to know, with an equal confession
   of the incapacity of the human intellect. I wish I could recall the
   actual expressions he used, but the sense was that which has been so
   well stated by Hooker in concluding an exhortation against the pride
   of the human intellect, where he remarks:--

   "Dangerous it were for the feeble brain of man to wade far into the
   doings of the Most High; whom although to know be life, and joy to
   make mention of His Name, yet our soundest knowledge is to know that
   we know Him, not indeed as He is, neither can know Him; and our
   safest eloquence concerning Him is our silence, when we confess
   without confession that His glory is inexplicable, His greatness
   above our capacity and reach. He is above and we upon earth;
   therefore it behoveth our words to be wary and few."

   Mrs. Motley's illness was not a long one, and the nature of it was
   such that its course could with certainty be predicted. Mr. Motley
   and her children passed the remaining days of her life, extending
   over about a month, with her, in the mutual under standing that she
   was soon to part from them. The character of the illness, and the
   natural exhaustion of her strength by suffering, lessened the shock
   of her death, though not the loss, to those who survived her.

   The last time I saw Mr. Motley was, I believe, about two months
   before his death, March 28, 1877. There was no great change in his
   health, but he complained of indescribable sensations in his nervous
   system, and felt as if losing the whole power of walking, but this
   was not obvious in his gait, although he walked shorter distances
   than before. I heard no more of him until I was suddenly summoned
   on the 29th of May into Devonshire to see him. The telegram I
   received was so urgent, that I suspected some rupture of a blood-
   vessel in the brain, and that I should hardly reach him alive; and
   this was the case. About two o'clock in the day he complained of a
   feeling of faintness, said he felt ill and should not recover; and
   in a few minutes was insensible with symptoms of ingravescent
   apoplexy. There was extensive haemorrhage into the brain, as shown
   by post-mortem examination, the cerebral vessels being atheromatous.
   The fatal haemorrhage had occurred into the lateral ventricles, from
   rupture of one of the middle cerebral arteries.

                  I am, my dear Sir,
                       Yours very truly,
                            WILLIAM W. GULL.


E.

FROM THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE MASSACHUSETTS SOCIETY.

At a meeting of the Massachusetts Historical Society, held on Thursday,
the 14th of June, 1877, after the reading of the records of the preceding
meeting, the president, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, spoke as follows:

   "Our first thoughts to-day, gentlemen, are of those whom we may not
   again welcome to these halls. We shall be in no mood, certainly,
   for entering on other subjects this morning until we have given some
   expression to our deep sense of the loss--the double loss--which our
   Society has sustained since our last monthly meeting."--[Edmund
   Quincy died May 17. John Lothrop Motley died May 29.]

After a most interesting and cordial tribute to his friend, Mr. Quincy,
Mr. Winthrop continued:

   "The death of our distinguished associate, Motley, can hardly have
   taken many of us by surprise. Sudden at the moment of its
   occurrence, we had long been more or less prepared for it by his
   failing health. It must, indeed, have been quite too evident to
   those who had seen him, during the last two or three years, that his
   life-work was finished. I think he so regarded it himself.

   "Hopes may have been occasionally revived in the hearts of his
   friends, and even in his own heart, that his long-cherished purpose
   of completing a History of the Thirty Years' War, as the grand
   consummation of his historical labors,--for which all his other
   volumes seemed to him to have been but the preludes and overtures,
   --might still be accomplished. But such hopes, faint and flickering
   from his first attack, had well-nigh died away. They were like
   Prescott's hopes of completing his 'Philip the Second,' or like
   Macaulay's hopes of finishing his brilliant 'History of England.'

   "But great as may be the loss to literature of such a crowning work
   from Motley's pen, it was by no means necessary to the completeness
   of his own fame. His 'Rise of the Dutch Republic,' his 'History of
   the United Netherlands,' and his 'Life of John of Barneveld,' had
   abundantly established his reputation, and given him a fixed place
   among the most eminent historians of our country and of our age.

   "No American writer, certainly, has secured a wider recognition or a
   higher appreciation from the scholars of the Old World. The
   universities of England and the learned societies of Europe have
   bestowed upon him their largest honors. It happened to me to be in
   Paris when he was first chosen a corresponding member of the
   Institute, and when his claims were canvassed with the freedom and
   earnestness which peculiarly characterize such a candidacy in
   France. There was no mistaking the profound impression which his
   first work had made on the minds of such men as Guizot and Mignet.
   Within a year or two past, a still higher honor has been awarded him
   from the same source. The journals not long ago announced his
   election as one of the six foreign associates of the French Academy
   of Moral and Political Sciences,--a distinction which Prescott would
   probably have attained had he lived a few years longer, until there
   was a vacancy, but which, as a matter of fact, I believe, Motley was
   the only American writer, except the late Edward Livingston, of
   Louisiana, who has actually enjoyed.

   "Residing much abroad, for the purpose of pursuing his historical
   researches, he had become the associate and friend of the most
   eminent literary men in almost all parts of the world, and the
   singular charms of his conversation and manners had made him a
   favorite guest in the most refined and exalted circles.

   "Of his relations to political and public life, this is hardly the
   occasion or the moment for speaking in detail. Misconstructions and
   injustices are the proverbial lot of those who occupy eminent
   position. It was a duke of Vienna, if I remember rightly, whom
   Shakespeare, in his 'Measure for Measure,' introduces as
   exclaiming,--

        'O place and greatness, millions of false eyes
        Are stuck upon thee! Volumes of report
        Run with these false and most contrarious quests
        Upon thy doings! Thousand 'stapes of wit
        Make thee the father of their idle dream,
        And rack thee in their fancies!'

   "I forbear from all application of the lines. It is enough for me,
   certainly, to say here, to-day, that our country was proud to be
   represented at the courts of Vienna and London successively by a
   gentleman of so much culture and accomplishment as Mr. Motley, and
   that the circumstances of his recall were deeply regretted by us
   all.

   "His fame, however, was quite beyond the reach of any such
   accidents, and could neither be enhanced nor impaired by
   appointments or removals. As a powerful and brilliant historian we
   pay him our unanimous tribute of admiration and regret, and give him
   a place in our memories by the side of Prescott and Irving. I do
   not forget how many of us lament him, also, as a cherished friend.

   "He died on the 29th ultimo, at the house of his daughter, Mrs.
   Sheridan, in Dorsetshire, England, and an impressive tribute to his
   memory was paid, in Westminster Abbey, on the following Sunday, by
   our Honorary Member, Dean Stanley. Such a tribute, from such lips,
   and with such surroundings, leaves nothing to be desired in the way
   of eulogy. He was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, by the side of
   his beloved wife.

   "One might well say of Motley precisely what he said of Prescott, in
   a letter from Rome to our associate, Mr. William Amory, immediately
   on hearing of Prescott's death: 'I feel inexpressibly disappointed
   --speaking now for an instant purely from a literary point of view
   --that the noble and crowning monument of his life, for which he had
   laid such massive foundations, and the structure of which had been
   carried forward in such a grand and masterly manner, must remain
   uncompleted, like the unfinished peristyle of some stately and
   beautiful temple on which the night of time has suddenly descended.
   But, still, the works which his great and untiring hand had already
   thoroughly finished will remain to attest his learning and genius,
   --a precious and perpetual possession for his country."

        .................................

The President now called on Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who said:--

   "The thoughts which suggest themselves upon this occasion are such
   as belong to the personal memories of the dear friends whom we have
   lost, rather than to their literary labors, the just tribute to
   which must wait for a calmer hour than the present, following so
   closely as it does on our bereavement."

        .................................

   "His first literary venture of any note was the story called
   'Morton's Hope; or, The Memoirs of a Provincial.' This first effort
   failed to satisfy the critics, the public, or himself. His
   personality pervaded the characters and times which he portrayed,
   so that there was a discord between the actor and his costume.
   Brilliant passages could not save it; and it was plain enough that
   he must ripen into something better before the world would give him
   the reception which surely awaited him if he should find his true
   destination.

   "The early failures of a great writer are like the first sketches
   of a great artist, and well reward patient study. More than this,
   the first efforts of poets and story-tellers are very commonly
   palimpsests: beneath the rhymes or the fiction one can almost always
   spell out the characters which betray the writer's self. Take these
   passages from the story just referred to:

   "'Ah! flattery is a sweet and intoxicating potion, whether we drink
   it from an earthen ewer or a golden chalice. . . . Flattery from
   man to woman is expected: it is a part of the courtesy of society;
   but when the divinity descends from the altar to burn incense to the
   priest, what wonder if the idolater should feel himself transformed
   into a god!'

   "He had run the risk of being spoiled, but he had a safeguard in his
   aspirations.

   "'My ambitious anticipations,' says Morton, in the story, were as
   boundless as they were various and conflicting. There was not a
   path which leads to glory in which I was not destined to gather
   laurels. As a warrior, I would conquer and overrun the world; as a
   statesman, I would reorganize and govern it; as a historian, I would
   consign it all to immortality; and, in my leisure moments, I would
   be a great poet and a man of the world.'

   "Who can doubt that in this passage of his story he is picturing his
   own visions, one of the fairest of which was destined to become
   reality?

   "But there was another element in his character, which those who
   knew him best recognized as one with which he had to struggle hard,
   --that is, a modesty which sometimes tended to collapse into self-
   distrust. This, too, betrays itself in the sentences which follow
   those just quoted:--

   "'In short,' says Morton, 'I was already enrolled in that large
   category of what are called young men of genius, . . . men of
   whom unheard-of things are expected; till after long preparation
   comes a portentous failure, and then they are forgotten. . . .
   Alas! for the golden imaginations of our youth. . . . They are
   all disappointments. They are bright and beautiful, but they fade.'"

          ...........................

The President appointed Professor Lowell to write the Memoir of Mr.
Quincy, and Dr. Holmes that of Mr. Motley, for the Society's
"Proceedings."

Professor William Everett then spoke as follows:

   "There is one incident, sir, in Mr. Motley's career that has not
   been mentioned to-day, which is, perhaps, most vividly remembered by
   those of us who were in Europe at the outbreak of our civil war in
   1861. At that time, the ignorance of Englishmen, friendly or
   otherwise, about America, was infinite: they knew very little of us,
   and that little wrong. Americans were overwhelmed with questions,
   taunts, threats, misrepresentations, the outgrowth of ignorance, and
   ignoring worse than ignorance, from every class of Englishmen.
   Never was an authoritative exposition of our hopes and policy worse
   needed; and there was no one to do it. The outgoing diplomatic
   agents represented a bygone order of things; the representatives of
   Mr. Lincoln's administration had not come. At that time of anxiety,
   Mr. Motley, living in England as a private person, came forward with
   two letters in the 'Times,' which set forth the cause of the United
   States once and for all. No unofficial, and few official, men could
   have spoken with such authority, and been so certain of obtaining a
   hearing from Englishmen. Thereafter, amid all the clouds of
   falsehood and ridicule which we had to encounter, there was one
   lighthouse fixed on a rock to which we could go for foothold, from
   which we could not be driven, and against which all assaults were
   impotent.

   "There can be no question that the effect produced by these letters
   helped, if help had been needed, to point out Mr. Motley as a
   candidate for high diplomatic place who could not be overlooked.
   Their value was recognized alike by his fellow-citizens in America
   and his admirers in England; but none valued them more than the
   little band of exiles, who were struggling against terrible odds,
   and who rejoiced with a great joy to see the stars and stripes,
   whose centennial anniversary those guns are now celebrating, planted
   by a hand so truly worthy to rally every American to its support."



G.

POEM BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

I cannot close this Memoir more appropriately than by appending the
following poetical tribute:--

          IN MEMORY OF JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.

             BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

        Sleep, Motley, with the great of ancient days,
          Who wrote for all the years that yet shall be.
        Sleep with Herodotus, whose name and praise
          Have reached the isles of earth's remotest sea.
        Sleep, while, defiant of the slow delays
          Of Time, thy glorious writings speak for thee
        And in the answering heart of millions raise
          The generous zeal for Right and Liberty.
        And should the days o'ertake us, when, at last,
          The silence that--ere yet a human pen
        Had traced the slenderest record of the past
          Hushed the primeval languages of men
        Upon our English tongue its spell shall cast,
          Thy memory shall perish only then.



PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS OF HOLME'S MOTLEY:

A great historian is almost a statesman
Admired or despised, as if he or she were our contemporary
Alas! one never knows when one becomes a bore
All classes are conservative by necessity
Already looking forward to the revolt of the slave States
American Unholy Inquisition
An order of things in which mediocrity is at a premium
Attacked by the poetic mania
Becoming more learned, and therefore more ignorant
best defence in this case is little better than an impeachment
Better is the restlessness of a noble ambition
Blessed freedom from speech-making
But not thoughtlessly indulgent to the boy
But after all this isn't a war  It is a revolution
Can never be repaired and never sufficiently regretted
Cold water of conventional and commonplace encouragement
Considerations of state have never yet failed the axe
Considerations of state as a reason
Could paint a character with the ruddy life-blood coloring
Emulation is not capability
Everything else may happen  This alone must happen
Excused by their admirers for their shortcomings
Excuses to disarm the criticism he had some reason to fear
Fear of the laugh of the world at its sincerity
Fitted "To warn, to comfort, and command"
Flattery is a sweet and intoxicating potion
Forget those who have done them good service
Fortune's buffets and rewards can take with equal thanks
He was not always careful in the construction of his sentences
His learning was a reproach to the ignorant
His dogged, continuous capacity for work
History never forgets and never forgives
How many more injured by becoming bad copies of a bad ideal
Ignoble facts which strew the highways of political life
In revolutions the men who win are those who are in earnest
Indoor home life imprisons them in the domestic circle
Intellectual dandyisms of Bulwer
Irresistible force in collision with an insuperable resistance
It is n't strategists that are wanted so much as believers
John Quincy Adams
Kindly shadow of oblivion
Manner in which an insult shall be dealt with
Mediocrity is at a premium
Misanthropical, sceptical philosopher
Most entirely truthful child he had ever seen
Motley was twice sacrificed to personal feelings
Nearsighted liberalism
No great man can reach the highest position in our government
No two books, as he said, ever injured each other
No man is safe (from news reporters)
Not a single acquaintance in the place, and we glory in the fact
Only foundation fit for history,--original contemporary document
Our mortal life is but a string of guesses at the future
Over excited, when his prejudices were roughly handled
Plain enough that he is telling his own story
Played so long with other men's characters and good name
Progress should be by a spiral movement
Public which must have a slain reputation to devour
Radical, one who would uproot, is a man whose trade is dangerous
Reasonable to pay our debts rather than to repudiate them
Recall of a foreign minister for alleged misconduct in office
Republics are said to be ungrateful
Sees the past in the pitiless light of the present
Self-educated man, as he had been a self-taught boy
Shall Slavery die, or the great Republic?
Solitary and morose, the necessary consequence of reckless study
Spirit of a man who wishes to be proud of his country
Studied according to his inclinations rather than by rule
Style above all other qualities seems to embalm for posterity
Suicide is confession
Talked impatiently of the value of my time
The fellow mixes blood with his colors!
The loss of hair, which brings on premature decay
The personal gifts which are nature's passport everywhere
The nation is as much bound to be honest as is the individual
The dead men of the place are my intimate friends
They knew very little of us, and that little wrong
This Somebody may have been one whom we should call Nobody
Twenty assaults upon fame and had forty books killed under him
Unequivocal policy of slave emancipation
Vain belief that they were men at eighteen or twenty
Visible atmosphere of power the poison of which
Weight of a thousand years of error
Wonders whether it has found its harbor or only lost its anchor
Wringing a dry cloth for drops of evidence



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS THE COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS:
[Including the Memoir of Motley by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.]

1566, the last year of peace
A pleasantry called voluntary contributions or benevolences
A good lawyer is a bad Christian
A terrible animal, indeed, is an unbridled woman
A common hatred united them, for a time at least
A penal offence in the republic to talk of peace or of truce
A most fatal success
A country disinherited by nature of its rights
A free commonwealth--was thought an absurdity
A hard bargain when both parties are losers
A burnt cat fears the fire
A despot really keeps no accounts, nor need to do so
A sovereign remedy for the disease of liberty
A pusillanimous peace, always possible at any period
A man incapable of fatigue, of perplexity, or of fear
A truce he honestly considered a pitfall of destruction
A great historian is almost a statesman
Able men should be by design and of purpose suppressed
About equal to that of England at the same period
Absolution for incest was afforded at thirty-six livres
Abstinence from unproductive consumption
Abstinence from inquisition into consciences and private parlour
Absurd affectation of candor
Accepting a new tyrant in place of the one so long ago deposed
Accustomed to the faded gallantries
Achieved the greatness to which they had not been born
Act of Uniformity required Papists to assist
Acts of violence which under pretext of religion
Admired or despised, as if he or she were our contemporary
Adulation for inferiors whom they despise
Advanced orthodox party-Puritans
Advancing age diminished his tendency to other carnal pleasures
Advised his Majesty to bestow an annual bribe upon Lord Burleigh
Affecting to discredit them
Affection of his friends and the wrath of his enemies
Age when toleration was a vice
Agreements were valid only until he should repent
Alas! the benighted victims of superstition hugged their chains
Alas! we must always have something to persecute
Alas! one never knows when one becomes a bore
Alexander's exuberant discretion
All Italy was in his hands
All fellow-worms together
All business has been transacted with open doors
All reading of the scriptures (forbidden)
All the majesty which decoration could impart
All denounced the image-breaking
All claimed the privilege of persecuting
All his disciples and converts are to be punished with death
All Protestants were beheaded, burned, or buried alive
All classes are conservative by necessity
All the ministers and great functionaries received presents
All offices were sold to the highest bidder
Allow her to seek a profit from his misfortune
Allowed the demon of religious hatred to enter into its body
Almost infinite power of the meanest of passions
Already looking forward to the revolt of the slave States
Altercation between Luther and Erasmus, upon predestination
Always less apt to complain of irrevocable events
American Unholy Inquisition
Amuse them with this peace negotiation
An inspiring and delightful recreation (auto-da-fe)
An hereditary papacy, a perpetual pope-emperor
An age when to think was a crime
An unjust God, himself the origin of sin
An order of things in which mediocrity is at a premium
Anarchy which was deemed inseparable from a non-regal form
Anatomical study of what has ceased to exist
And give advice.  Of that, although always a spendthrift
And now the knife of another priest-led fanatic
And thus this gentle and heroic spirit took its flight
Angle with their dissimulation as with a hook
Announced his approaching marriage with the Virgin Mary
Annual harvest of iniquity by which his revenue was increased
Anxiety to do nothing wrong, the senators did nothing at all
Are apt to discharge such obligations--(by) ingratitude
Are wont to hang their piety on the bell-rope
Argument in a circle
Argument is exhausted and either action or compromise begins
Aristocracy of God's elect
Arminianism
Arrested on suspicion, tortured till confession
Arrive at their end by fraud, when violence will not avail them
Artillery
As logical as men in their cups are prone to be
As the old woman had told the Emperor Adrian
As if they were free will not make them free
As lieve see the Spanish as the Calvinistic inquisition
As ready as papists, with age, fagot, and excommunication
As with his own people, keeping no back-door open
As neat a deception by telling the truth
At a blow decapitated France
At length the twig was becoming the tree
Atheist, a tyrant, because he resisted dictation from the clergy
Attachment to a half-drowned land and to a despised religion
Attacked by the poetic mania
Attacking the authority of the pope
Attempting to swim in two waters
Auction sales of judicial ermine
Baiting his hook a little to his appetite
Barbara Blomberg, washerwoman of Ratisbon
Batavian legion was the imperial body guard
Beacons in the upward path of mankind
Beating the Netherlanders into Christianity
Beautiful damsel, who certainly did not lack suitors
Because he had been successful (hated)
Becoming more learned, and therefore more ignorant
Been already crimination and recrimination more than enough
Before morning they had sacked thirty churches
Began to scatter golden arguments with a lavish hand
Beggars of the sea, as these privateersmen designated themselves
Behead, torture, burn alive, and bury alive all heretics
Being the true religion, proved by so many testimonies
Believed in the blessed advent  of peace
Beneficent and charitable purposes (War)
best defence in this case is little better than an impeachment
Bestowing upon others what was not his property
Better to be governed by magistrates than mobs
Better is the restlessness of a noble ambition
Beware of a truce even more than of a peace
Bigotry which was the prevailing characteristic of the age
Bishop is a consecrated pirate
Blessed freedom from speech-making
Blessing of God  upon the Devil's work
Bold reformer had only a new dogma in place of the old ones
Bomb-shells were not often used although known for a century
Breath, time, and paper were profusely wasted and nothing gained
Brethren, parents, and children, having wives in common
Bribed the Deity
Bungling diplomatists and credulous dotards
Burned, strangled, beheaded, or buried alive (100,000)
Burned alive if they objected to transubstantiation
Burning with bitter revenge for all the favours he had received
Burning of Servetus at Geneva
Business of an officer to fight, of a general to conquer
But the habit of dissimulation was inveterate
But after all this isn't a war  It is a revolution
But not thoughtlessly indulgent to the boy
Butchery in the name of Christ was suspended
By turns, we all govern and are governed
Calling a peace perpetual can never make it so
Calumny is often a stronger and more lasting power than disdain
Can never be repaired and never sufficiently regretted
Canker of a long peace
Care neither for words nor menaces in any matter
Cargo of imaginary gold dust was exported from the James River
Casting up the matter "as pinchingly as possibly might be"
Casual outbursts of eternal friendship
Certain number of powers, almost exactly equal to each other
Certainly it was worth an eighty years' war
Changed his positions and contradicted himself day by day
Character of brave men to act, not to expect
Charles the Fifth autocrat of half the world
Chief seafaring nations of the world were already protestant
Chieftains are dwarfed in the estimation of followers
Children who had never set foot on the shore
Christian sympathy and a small assistance not being sufficient
Chronicle of events must not be anticipated
Claimed the praise of moderation that their demands were so few
Cold water of conventional and commonplace encouragement
College of "peace-makers," who wrangled more than all
Colonel Ysselstein, "dismissed for a homicide or two"
Compassing a country's emancipation through a series of defeats
Conceding it subsequently, after much contestation
Conceit, and procrastination which marked the royal character
Conciliation when war of extermination was intended
Conclusive victory for the allies seemed as predestined
Conde and Coligny
Condemned first and inquired upon after
Condemning all heretics to death
Conflicting claims of prerogative and conscience
Conformity of Governments to the principles of justice
Confused conferences, where neither party was entirely sincere
Considerable reason, even if there were but little justice
Considerations of state have never yet failed the axe
Considerations of state as a reason
Considered it his special mission in the world to mediate
Consign to the flames all prisoners whatever (Papal letter)
Constant vigilance is the price of liberty
Constitute themselves at once universal legatees
Constitutional governments, move in the daylight
Consumer would pay the tax, supposing it were ever paid at all
Contained within itself the germs of a larger liberty
Contempt for treaties however solemnly ratified
Continuing to believe himself invincible and infallible
Converting beneficent commerce into baleful gambling
Could handle an argument as well as a sword
Could paint a character with the ruddy life-blood coloring
Could not be both judge and party in the suit
Could do a little more than what was possible
Country would bear his loss with fortitude
Courage of despair inflamed the French
Courage and semblance of cheerfulness, with despair in his heart
Court fatigue, to scorn pleasure
Covered now with the satirical dust of centuries
Craft meaning, simply, strength
Created one child for damnation and another for salvation
Crescents in their caps: Rather Turkish than Popish
Crimes and cruelties such as Christians only could imagine
Criminal whose guilt had been established by the hot iron
Criminals buying Paradise for money
Cruelties exercised upon monks and papists
Crusades made great improvement in the condition of the serfs
Culpable audacity and exaggerated prudence
Customary oaths, to be kept with the customary conscientiousness
Daily widening schism between Lutherans and Calvinists
Deadliest of sins, the liberty of conscience
Deadly hatred of Puritans in England and Holland
Deal with his enemy as if sure to become his friend
Death rather than life with a false acknowledgment of guilt
Decline a bribe or interfere with the private sale of places
Decrees for burning, strangling, and burying alive
Deeply criminal in the eyes of all religious parties
Defeated garrison ever deserved more respect from friend or foe
Defect of enjoying the flattery, of his inferiors in station
Delay often fights better than an army against a foreign invader
Demanding peace and bread at any price
Democratic instincts of the ancient German savages
Denies the utility of prayers for the dead
Denoungced as an obstacle to peace
Depths theological party spirit could descend
Depths of credulity men in all ages can sink
Despised those who were grateful
Despot by birth and inclination (Charles V.)
Determined to bring the very name of liberty into contempt
Devote himself to his gout and to his fair young wife
Difference between liberties and liberty
Difficult for one friend to advise another in three matters
Diplomacy of Spain and Rome--meant simply dissimulation
Diplomatic adroitness consists mainly in the power to deceive
Disciple of Simon Stevinus
Dismay of our friends and the gratification of our enemies
Disordered, and unknit state needs no shaking, but propping
Disposed to throat-cutting by the ministers of the Gospel
Dispute between Luther and Zwingli concerning the real presence
Disputing the eternal damnation of young children
Dissenters were as bigoted as the orthodox
Dissimulation and delay
Distinguished for his courage, his cruelty, and his corpulence
Divine right of kings
Divine right
Do you want peace or war?  I am ready for either
Doctrine of predestination in its sternest and strictest sense
Don John of Austria
Don John was at liberty to be King of England and Scotland
Done nothing so long as aught remained to do
Drank of the water in which, he had washed
Draw a profit out of the necessities of this state
During this, whole war, we have never seen the like
Dying at so very inconvenient a moment
Each in its turn becoming orthodox, and therefore persecuting
Eat their own children than to forego one high mass
Eight thousand human beings were murdered
Elizabeth, though convicted, could always confute
Elizabeth (had not) the faintest idea of religious freedom
Eloquence of the biggest guns
Emperor of Japan addressed him as his brother monarch
Emulation is not capability
Endure every hardship but hunger
Enemy of all compulsion of the human conscience
England hated the Netherlands
English Puritans
Englishmen and Hollanders preparing to cut each other's throats
Enmity between Lutherans and Calvinists
Enormous wealth (of the Church) which engendered the hatred
Enriched generation after generation by wealthy penitence
Enthusiasm could not supply the place of experience
Envying those whose sufferings had already been terminated
Epernon, the true murderer of Henry
Erasmus of Rotterdam
Erasmus encourages the bold friar
Establish not freedom for Calvinism, but freedom for conscience
Estimating his character and judging his judges
Even the virtues of James were his worst enemies
Even to grant it slowly is to deny it utterly
Even for the rape of God's mother, if that were possible
Ever met disaster with so cheerful a smile
Ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary warriors
Every one sees what you seem, few perceive what you are
Everybody should mind his own business
Everything else may happen  This alone must happen
Everything was conceded, but nothing was secured
Evil is coming, the sooner it arrives the better
Evil has the advantage of rapidly assuming many shapes
Excited with the appearance of a gem of true philosophy
Excused by their admirers for their shortcomings
Excuses to disarm the criticism he had some reason to fear
Executions of Huss and Jerome of Prague
Exorcising the devil by murdering his supposed victims
Extraordinary capacity for yielding to gentle violence
Fable of divine right is invented to sanction the system
Faction has rarely worn a more mischievous aspect
Famous fowl in every pot
Fanatics of the new religion denounced him as a godless man
Fate, free will, or absolute foreknowledge
Father Cotton, who was only too ready to betray the secrets
Fear of the laugh of the world at its sincerity
Fed on bear's liver, were nearly poisoned to death
Felix Mants, the anabaptist, is drowned at Zurich
Fellow worms had been writhing for half a century in the dust
Ferocity which even Christians could not have surpassed
Few, even prelates were very dutiful to the pope
Fiction of apostolic authority to bind and loose
Fifty thousand persons in the provinces (put to death)
Financial opposition to tyranny is apt to be unanimous
Find our destruction in our immoderate desire for peace
Fishermen and river raftsmen become ocean adventurers
Fitted "To warn, to comfort, and command"
Fitter to obey than to command
Five great rivers hold the Netherland territory in their coils
Flattery is a sweet and intoxicating potion
Fled from the land of oppression to the land of liberty
Fool who useth not wit because he hath it not
For myself I am unworthy of the honor (of martyrdom)
For faithful service, evil recompense
For women to lament, for men to remember
For us, looking back upon the Past, which was then the Future
For his humanity towards the conquered garrisons (censured)
Forbidding the wearing of mourning at all
Forbids all private assemblies for devotion
Force clerical--the power of clerks
Foremost to shake off the fetters of superstition
Forget those who have done them good service
Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
Fortune's buffets and rewards can take with equal thanks
Four weeks' holiday--the first in eleven years
France was mourning Henry and waiting for Richelieu
French seem madmen, and are wise
Friendly advice still more intolerable
Full of precedents and declamatory commonplaces
Furious fanaticism
Furious mob set upon the house of Rem Bischop
Furnished, in addition, with a force of two thousand prostitutes
Future world as laid down by rival priesthoods
Gallant and ill-fated Lamoral Egmont
Gaul derided the Roman soldiers as a band of pigmies
German-Lutheran sixteenth-century idea of religious freedom
German finds himself sober--he believes himself ill
German Highland and the German Netherland
Gigantic vices are proudly pointed to as the noblest
Give him advice if he asked it, and money when he required
Glory could be put neither into pocket nor stomach
God has given absolute power to no mortal man
God, whose cause it was, would be pleased to give good weather
God alone can protect us against those whom we trust
God of wrath who had decreed the extermination of all unbeliever
God of vengeance, of jealousy, and of injustice
God Save the King!  It was the last time
Gold was the only passkey to justice
Gomarites accused the Arminians of being more lax than Papists
Govern under the appearance of obeying
Great transactions of a reign are sometimes paltry things
Great science of political equilibrium
Great Privilege, the Magna Charta of Holland
Great error of despising their enemy
Great war of religion and politics was postponed
Great battles often leave the world where they found it
Guarantees of forgiveness for every imaginable sin
Guilty of no other crime than adhesion to the Catholic faith
Habeas corpus
Had industry been honoured instead of being despised
Haereticis non servanda fides
Hair and beard unshorn, according to ancient Batavian custom
Halcyon days of ban, book and candle
Hanged for having eaten meat-soup upon Friday
Hanging of Mary Dyer at Boston
Hangman is not the most appropriate teacher of religion
Happy to glass themselves in so brilliant a mirror
Hard at work, pouring sand through their sieves
Hardly a distinguished family in Spain not placed in mourning
Hardly a sound Protestant policy anywhere but in Holland
Hardly an inch of French soil that had not two possessors
Having conjugated his paradigm conscientiously
He had omitted to execute heretics
He did his best to be friends with all the world
He was a sincere bigot
He that stands let him see that he does not fall
He was not always careful in the construction of his sentences
He would have no persecution of the opposite creed
He came as a conqueror not as a mediator
He who spreads the snare always tumbles into the ditch himself
He who would have all may easily lose all
He knew men, especially he knew their weaknesses
He had never enjoyed social converse, except at long intervals
He would have no Calvinist inquisition set up in its place
He who confessed well was absolved well
He did his work, but he had not his reward
He sat a great while at a time.  He had a genius for sitting
He was not imperial of aspect on canvas or coin
He often spoke of popular rights with contempt
He spent more time at table than the Bearnese in sleep
Heidelberg Catechism were declared to be infallible
Henry the Huguenot as the champion of the Council of Trent
Her teeth black, her bosom white and liberally exposed (Eliz.)
Heresy was a plant of early growth in the Netherlands
Heretics to the English Church were persecuted
Hibernian mode of expressing himself
High officers were doing the work of private, soldiers
Highborn demagogues in that as in every age affect adulation
Highest were not necessarily the least slimy
His inordinate arrogance
His own past triumphs seemed now his greatest enemies
His imagination may have assisted his memory in the task
His insolence intolerable
His learning was a reproach to the ignorant
His invectives were, however, much stronger than his arguments
His personal graces, for the moment, took the rank of virtues
His dogged, continuous capacity for work
Historical scepticism may shut its eyes to evidence
History is a continuous whole of which we see only fragments
History is but made up of a few scattered fragments
History never forgets and never forgives
History has not too many really important and emblematic men
History shows how feeble are barriers of paper
Holland was afraid to give a part, although offering the whole
Holland, England, and America, are all links of one chain
Holy Office condemned all the inhabitants of the Netherlands
Holy institution called the Inquisition
Honor good patriots, and to support them in venial errors
Hope delayed was but a cold and meagre consolation
Hope deferred, suddenly changing to despair
How many more injured by becoming bad copies of a bad ideal
Hugo Grotius
Human nature in its meanness and shame
Human ingenuity to inflict human misery
Human fat esteemed the sovereignst remedy (for wounds)
Humanizing effect of science upon the barbarism of war
Humble ignorance as the safest creed
Humility which was but the cloak to his pride
Hundred thousand men had laid down their lives by her decree
I did never see any man behave himself as he did
I know how to console myself
I am a king that will be ever known not to fear any but God
I hope and I fear
I would carry the wood to burn my own son withal
I regard my country's profit, not my own
I will never live, to see the end of my poverty
Idea of freedom in commerce has dawned upon nations
Idiotic principle of sumptuary legislation
Idle, listless, dice-playing, begging, filching vagabonds
If he had little, he could live upon little
If to do be as grand as to imagine what it were good to do
If he has deserved it, let them strike off his head
Ignoble facts which strew the highways of political life
Ignorance is the real enslaver of mankind
Imagined, and did the work of truth
Imagining that they held the world's destiny in their hands
Impatience is often on the part of the non-combatants
Implication there was much, of assertion very little
Imposed upon the multitudes, with whom words were things
Impossible it is to practise arithmetic with disturbed brains
Impossible it was to invent terms of adulation too gross
In revolutions the men who win are those who are in earnest
In character and general talents he was beneath mediocrity
In times of civil war, to be neutral is to be nothing
In Holland, the clergy had neither influence nor seats
In this he was much behind his age or before it
Incur the risk of being charged with forwardness than neglect
Indecision did the work of indolence
Indignant that heretics had been suffered to hang
Individuals walking in advance of their age
Indoor home life imprisons them in the domestic circle
Indulging them frequently with oracular advice
Inevitable fate of talking castles and listening ladies
Infamy of diplomacy, when diplomacy is unaccompanied by honesty
Infinite capacity for pecuniary absorption
Informer, in case of conviction, should be entitled to one half
Inhabited by the savage tribes called Samoyedes
Innocent generation, to atone for the sins of their forefathers
Inquisition of the Netherlands is much more pitiless
Inquisition was not a fit subject for a compromise
Inquisitors enough; but there were no light vessels in The Armada
Insane cruelty, both in the cause of the Wrong and the Right
Insensible to contumely, and incapable of accepting a rebuff
Insinuate that his orders had been hitherto misunderstood
Insinuating suspicions when unable to furnish evidence
Intellectual dandyisms of Bulwer
Intelligence, science, and industry were accounted degrading
Intense bigotry of conviction
Intentions of a government which did not know its own intentions
International friendship, the self-interest of each
Intolerable tendency to puns
Invaluable gift which no human being can acquire, authority
Invented such Christian formulas as these (a curse)
Inventing long speeches for historical characters
Invincible Armada had not only been vanquished but annihilated
Irresistible force in collision with an insuperable resistance
It was the true religion, and there was none other
It is not desirable to disturb much of that learned dust
It had not yet occurred to him that he was married
It is n't strategists that are wanted so much as believers
It is certain that the English hate us (Sully)
Its humility, seemed sufficiently ironical
James of England, who admired, envied, and hated Henry
Jealousy, that potent principle
Jesuit Mariana--justifying the killing of excommunicated kings
John Castel, who had stabbed Henry IV.
John Wier, a physician of Grave
John Robinson
John Quincy Adams
Judas Maccabaeus
July 1st, two Augustine monks were burned at Brussels
Justified themselves in a solemn consumption of time
Kindly shadow of oblivion
King who thought it furious madness to resist the enemy
King had issued a general repudiation of his debts
King set a price upon his head as a rebel
King of Zion to be pinched to death with red-hot tongs
King was often to be something much less or much worse
King's definite and final intentions, varied from day to day
Labored under the disadvantage of never having existed
Labour was esteemed dishonourable
Language which is ever living because it is dead
Languor of fatigue, rather than any sincere desire for peace
Leading motive with all was supposed to be religion
Learn to tremble as little at priestcraft as at swordcraft
Leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house
Let us fool these poor creatures to their heart's content
Licences accorded by the crown to carry slaves to America
Life of nations and which we call the Past
Like a man holding a wolf by the ears
Little army of Maurice was becoming the model for Europe
Little grievances would sometimes inflame more than vast
Local self-government which is the life-blood of liberty
Logic of the largest battalions
Logic is rarely the quality on which kings pride themselves
Logical and historical argument of unmerciful length
Long succession of so many illustrious obscure
Longer they delay it, the less easy will they find it
Look through the cloud of dissimulation
Look for a sharp war, or a miserable peace
Looking down upon her struggle with benevolent indifference
Lord was better pleased with adverbs than nouns
Loud, nasal, dictatorial tone, not at all agreeable
Louis XIII.
Loving only the persons who flattered him
Ludicrous gravity
Luther's axiom, that thoughts are toll-free
Lutheran princes of Germany, detested the doctrines of Geneva
Luxury had blunted the fine instincts of patriotism
Made peace--and had been at war ever since
Made no breach in royal and Roman infallibility
Made to swing to and fro over a slow fire
Magistracy at that moment seemed to mean the sword
Magnificent hopefulness
Maintaining the attitude of an injured but forgiving Christian
Make sheep of yourselves, and the wolf will eat you
Make the very name of man a term of reproach
Man is never so convinced of his own wisdom
Man who cannot dissemble is unfit to reign
Man had only natural wrongs (No natural rights)
Man had no rights at all  He was property
Mankind were naturally inclined to calumny
Manner in which an insult shall be dealt with
Many greedy priests, of lower rank, had turned shop-keepers
Maritime heretics
Matter that men may rather pray for than hope for
Matters little by what name a government is called
Meantime the second civil war in France had broken out
Mediocrity is at a premium
Meet around a green table except as fencers in the field
Men were loud in reproof, who had been silent
Men fought as if war was the normal condition of humanity
Men who meant what they said and said what they meant
Mendacity may always obtain over innocence and credulity
Military virtue in the support of an infamous cause
Misanthropical, sceptical philosopher
Misery had come not from their being enemies
Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
Mistakes might occur from occasional deviations into sincerity
Mockery of negotiation in which nothing could be negotiated
Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
Monasteries, burned their invaluable libraries
Mondragon was now ninety-two years old
Moral nature, undergoes less change than might be hoped
More accustomed to do well than to speak well
More easily, as he had no intention of keeping the promise
More catholic than the pope
More fiercely opposed to each other than to Papists
More apprehension of fraud than of force
Most detestable verses that even he had ever composed
Most entirely truthful child he had ever seen
Motley was twice sacrificed to personal feelings
Much as the blind or the deaf towards colour or music
Myself seeing of it methinketh that I dream
Names history has often found it convenient to mark its epochs
National character, not the work of a few individuals
Nations tied to the pinafores of children in the nursery
Natural to judge only by the result
Natural tendency to suspicion of a timid man
Nearsighted liberalism
Necessary to make a virtue of necessity
Necessity of extirpating heresy, root and branch
Necessity of deferring to powerful sovereigns
Necessity of kingship
Negotiated as if they were all immortal
Neighbour's blazing roof was likely soon to fire their own
Neither kings nor governments are apt to value logic
Neither wished the convocation, while both affected an eagerness
Neither ambitious nor greedy
Never peace well made, he observed, without a mighty war
Never did statesmen know better how not to do
Never lack of fishers in troubled waters
New Years Day in England, 11th January by the New Style
Night brings counsel
Nine syllables that which could be more forcibly expressed in on
No one can testify but a householder
No man can be neutral in civil contentions
No law but the law of the longest purse
No two books, as he said, ever injured each other
No retrenchments in his pleasures of women, dogs, and buildings
No great man can reach the highest position in our government
No man is safe (from news reporters)
No man could reveal secrets which he did not know
No authority over an army which they did not pay
No man pretended to think of the State
No synod had a right to claim Netherlanders as slaves
No qualities whatever but birth and audacity to recommend him
No generation is long-lived enough to reap the harvest
No man ever understood the art of bribery more thoroughly
No calumny was too senseless to be invented
None but God to compel me to say more than I choose to say
Nor is the spirit of the age to be pleaded in defence
Not a friend of giving details larger than my ascertained facts
Not distinguished for their docility
Not to let the grass grow under their feet
Not a single acquaintance in the place, and we glory in the fact
Not safe for politicians to call each other hard names
Not his custom nor that of his councillors to go to bed
Not of the genus Reptilia, and could neither creep nor crouch
Not strong enough to sustain many more such victories
Not to fall asleep in the shade of a peace negotiation
Not many more than two hundred Catholics were executed
Not upon words but upon actions
Not for a new doctrine, but for liberty of conscience
Not of the stuff of which martyrs are made (Erasmus)
Not so successful as he was picturesque
Nothing could equal Alexander's fidelity, but his perfidy
Nothing cheap, said a citizen bitterly, but sermons
Nothing was so powerful as religious difference
Notre Dame at Antwerp
Nowhere was the persecution of heretics more relentless
Nowhere were so few unproductive consumers
O God! what does man come to!
Obscure were thought capable of dying natural deaths
Obstinate, of both sexes, to be burned
Octogenarian was past work and past mischief
Of high rank but of lamentably low capacity
Often much tyranny in democracy
Often necessary to be blind and deaf
Oldenbarneveld; afterwards so illustrious
On the first day four thousand men and women were slaughtered
One-half to Philip and one-half to the Pope and Venice (slaves)
One-third of Philip's effective navy was thus destroyed
One golden grain of wit into a sheet of infinite platitude
One could neither cry nor laugh within the Spanish dominions
One of the most contemptible and mischievous of kings (James I)
Only healthy existence of the French was in a state of war
Only true religion
Only citadel against a tyrant and a conqueror was distrust
Only kept alive by milk, which he drank from a woman's breast
Only foundation fit for history,--original contemporary document
Opening an abyss between government and people
Opposed the subjection of the magistracy by the priesthood
Oration, fertile in rhetoric and barren in facts
Orator was, however, delighted with his own performance
Others that do nothing, do all, and have all the thanks
Others go to battle, says the historian, these go to war
Our pot had not gone to the fire as often
Our mortal life is but a string of guesses at the future
Outdoing himself in dogmatism and inconsistency
Over excited, when his prejudices were roughly handled
Panegyrists of royal houses in the sixteenth century
Pardon for crimes already committed, or about to be committed
Pardon for murder, if not by poison, was cheaper
Partisans wanted not accommodation but victory
Party hatred was not yet glutted with the blood it had drunk
Passion is a bad schoolmistress for the memory
Past was once the Present, and once the Future
Pathetic dying words of Anne Boleyn
Patriotism seemed an unimaginable idea
Pauper client who dreamed of justice at the hands of law
Paving the way towards atheism (by toleration)
Paying their passage through, purgatory
Peace founded on the only secure basis, equality of strength
Peace was desirable, it might be more dangerous than war
Peace seemed only a process for arriving at war
Peace and quietness is brought into a most dangerous estate
Peace-at-any-price party
Peace, in reality, was war in its worst shape
Peace was unattainable, war was impossible, truce was inevitable
Peace would be destruction
Perfection of insolence
Perpetually dropping small innuendos like pebbles
Persons who discussed religious matters were to be put to death
Petty passion for contemptible details
Philip II. gave the world work enough
Philip of Macedon, who considered no city impregnable
Philip IV.
Philip, who did not often say a great deal in a few words
Picturesqueness of crime
Placid unconsciousness on his part of defeat
Plain enough that he is telling his own story
Planted the inquisition in the Netherlands
Played so long with other men's characters and good name
Plea of infallibility and of authority soon becomes ridiculous
Plundering the country which they came to protect
Poisoning, for example, was absolved for eleven ducats
Pope excommunicated him as a heretic
Pope and emperor maintain both positions with equal logic
Portion of these revenues savoured much of black-mail
Possible to do, only because we see that it has been done
Pot-valiant hero
Power the poison of which it is so difficult to resist
Power to read and write helped the clergy to much wealth
Power grudged rather than given to the deputies
Practised successfully the talent of silence
Pray here for satiety, (said Cecil) than ever think of variety
Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
Premature zeal was prejudicial to the cause
Presents of considerable sums of money to the negotiators made
Presumption in entitling themselves Christian
Preventing wrong, or violence, even towards an enemy
Priests shall control the state or the state govern the priests
Princes show what they have in them at twenty-five  or never
Prisoners were immediately hanged
Privileged to beg, because ashamed to work
Proceeds of his permission to eat meat on Fridays
Proclaiming the virginity of the Virgin's mother
Procrastination was always his first refuge
Progress should be by a spiral movement
Promises which he knew to be binding only upon the weak
Proposition made by the wolves to the sheep, in the fable
Protect the common tranquillity by blood, purse, and life
Provided not one Huguenot be left alive in France
Public which must have a slain reputation to devour
Purchased absolution for crime and smoothed a pathway to heaven
Puritanism in Holland was a very different thing from England
Put all those to the torture out of whom anything can be got
Putting the cart before the oxen
Queen is entirely in the hands of Spain and the priests
Questioning nothing, doubting nothing, fearing nothing
Quite mistaken: in supposing himself the Emperor's child
Radical, one who would uproot, is a man whose trade is dangerous
Rarely able to command, having never learned to obey
Rashness alternating with hesitation
Rather a wilderness to reign over than a single heretic
Readiness to strike and bleed at any moment in her cause
Readiness at any moment to defend dearly won liberties
Rearing gorgeous temples where paupers are to kneel
Reasonable to pay our debts rather than to repudiate them
Rebuked him for his obedience
Rebuked the bigotry which had already grown
Recall of a foreign minister for alleged misconduct in office
Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
Reformers were capable of giving a lesson even to inquisitors
Religion was made the strumpet of Political Ambition
Religion was rapidly ceasing to be the line of demarcation
Religion was not to be changed like a shirt
Religious toleration, which is a phrase of insult
Religious persecution of Protestants by Protestants
Repentance, as usual, had come many hours too late
Repentant males to be executed with the sword
Repentant females to be buried alive
Repose under one despot guaranteed to them by two others
Repose in the other world, "Repos ailleurs"
Republic, which lasted two centuries
Republics are said to be ungrateful
Repudiation of national debts was never heard of before
Requires less mention than Philip III himself
Resolve to maintain the civil authority over the military
Resolved thenceforth to adopt a system of ignorance
Respect for differences in religious opinions
Result was both to abandon the provinces and to offend Philip
Revocable benefices or feuds
Rich enough to be worth robbing
Righteous to kill their own children
Road to Paris lay through the gates of Rome
Rose superior to his doom and took captivity captive
Round game of deception, in which nobody was deceived
Royal plans should be enforced adequately or abandoned entirely
Ruinous honors
Rules adopted in regard to pretenders to crowns
Sacked and drowned ten infant princes
Sacrificed by the Queen for faithfully obeying her orders
Safest citadel against an invader and a tyrant is distrust
Sages of every generation, read the future like a printed scroll
Saint Bartholomew's day
Sale of absolutions was the source of large fortunes to the priests
Same conjury over ignorant baron and cowardly hind
Scaffold was the sole refuge from the rack
Scepticism, which delights in reversing the judgment of centuries
Schism in the Church had become a public fact
Schism which existed in the general Reformed Church
Science of reigning was the science of lying
Scoffing at the ceremonies and sacraments of the Church
Secret drowning was substituted for public burning
Secure the prizes of war without the troubles and dangers
Security is dangerous
Seeking protection for and against the people
Seem as if born to make the idea of royalty ridiculous
Seemed bent on self-destruction
Seems but a change of masks, of costume, of phraseology
Sees the past in the pitiless light of the present
Self-assertion--the healthful but not engaging attribute
Self-educated man, as he had been a self-taught boy
Selling the privilege of eating eggs upon fast-days
Senectus edam maorbus est
Sent them word by carrier pigeons
Sentiment of Christian self-complacency
Sentimentality that seems highly apocryphal
Served at their banquets by hosts of lackeys on their knees
Seven Spaniards were killed, and seven thousand rebels
Sewers which have ever run beneath decorous Christendom
Shall Slavery die, or the great Republic?
Sharpened the punishment for reading the scriptures in private
She relieth on a hope that will deceive her
She declined to be his procuress
She knew too well how women were treated in that country
Shift the mantle of religion from one shoulder to the other
Shutting the stable-door when the steed is stolen
Sick soldiers captured on the water should be hanged
Sick and wounded wretches were burned over slow fires
Simple truth was highest skill
Sixteen of their best ships had been sacrificed
Slain four hundred and ten men with his own hand
Slavery was both voluntary and compulsory
Slender stock of platitudes
Small matter which human folly had dilated into a great one
Smooth words, in the plentiful lack of any substantial
So much responsibility and so little power
So often degenerated into tyranny (Calvinism)
So much in advance of his time as to favor religious equality
So unconscious of her strength
Soldier of the cross was free upon his return
Soldiers enough to animate the good and terrify the bad
Solitary and morose, the necessary consequence of reckless study
Some rude lessons from that vigorous little commonwealth
Sometimes successful, even although founded upon sincerity
Sonnets of Petrarch
Sovereignty was heaven-born, anointed of God
Spain was governed by an established terrorism
Spaniards seem wise, and are madmen
Sparing and war have no affinity together
Spendthrift of time, he was an economist of blood
Spirit of a man who wishes to be proud of his country
St. Peter's dome rising a little nearer to the clouds
St. Bartholomew was to sleep for seven years longer
Stake or gallows (for) heretics to transubstantiation
Stand between hope and fear
State can best defend religion by letting it alone
States were justified in their almost unlimited distrust
Steeped to the lips in sloth which imagined itself to be pride
Storm by which all these treasures were destroyed (in 7 days)
Strangled his nineteen brothers on his accession
Strength does a falsehood acquire in determined and skilful hand
String of homely proverbs worthy of Sancho Panza
Stroke of a broken table knife sharpened on a carriage wheel
Studied according to his inclinations rather than by rule
Style above all other qualities seems to embalm for posterity
Subtle and dangerous enemy who wore the mask of a friend
Succeeded so well, and had been requited so ill
Successful in this step, he is ready for greater ones
Such a crime as this had never been conceived (bankruptcy)
Such an excuse was as bad as the accusation
Suicide is confession
Superfluous sarcasm
Suppress the exercise of the Roman religion
Sure bind, sure find
Sword in hand is the best pen to write the conditions of peace
Take all their imaginations and extravagances for truths
Talked impatiently of the value of my time
Tanchelyn
Taxation upon sin
Taxed themselves as highly as fifty per cent
Taxes upon income and upon consumption
Tempest of passion and prejudice
Ten thousand two hundred and twenty individuals were burned
Tension now gave place to exhaustion
That vile and mischievous animal called the people
That crowned criminal, Philip the Second
That unholy trinity--Force; Dogma, and Ignorance
That cynical commerce in human lives
That he tries to lay the fault on us is pure malice
The tragedy of Don Carlos
The worst were encouraged with their good success
The history of the Netherlands is history of liberty
The great ocean was but a Spanish lake
The divine speciality of a few transitory mortals
The sapling was to become the tree
The nation which deliberately carves itself in pieces
The expenses of James's household
The Catholic League and the Protestant Union
The blaze of a hundred and fifty burning vessels
The magnitude of this wonderful sovereign's littleness
The defence of the civil authority against the priesthood
The assassin, tortured and torn by four horses
The Gaul was singularly unchaste
The vivifying becomes afterwards the dissolving principle
The bad Duke of Burgundy, Philip surnamed "the Good,"
The greatest crime, however, was to be rich
The more conclusive arbitration of gunpowder
The disunited provinces
The noblest and richest temple of the Netherlands was a wreck
The voice of slanderers
The calf is fat and must be killed
The illness was a convenient one
The egg had been laid by Erasmus, hatched by Luther
The perpetual reproductions of history
The very word toleration was to sound like an insult
The most thriving branch of national industry (Smuggler)
The pigmy, as the late queen had been fond of nicknaming him
The slightest theft was punished with the gallows
The art of ruling the world by doing nothing
The wisest statesmen are prone to blunder in affairs of war
The Alcoran was less cruel than the Inquisition
The People had not been invented
The small children diminished rapidly in numbers
The busy devil of petty economy
The record of our race is essentially unwritten
The truth in shortest about matters of importance
The time for reasoning had passed
The effect of energetic, uncompromising calumny
The evils resulting from a confederate system of government
The vehicle is often prized more than the freight
The faithful servant is always a perpetual ass
The dead men of the place are my intimate friends
The loss of hair, which brings on premature decay
The personal gifts which are nature's passport everywhere
The nation is as much bound to be honest as is the individual
The fellow mixes blood with his colors!
Their existence depended on war
Their own roofs were not quite yet in a blaze
Theological hatred was in full blaze throughout the country
Theology and politics were one
There is no man who does not desire to enjoy his own
There was but one king in Europe, Henry the Bearnese
There are few inventions in morals
There was no use in holding language of authority to him
There was apathy where there should have been enthusiasm
There is no man fitter for that purpose than myself
Therefore now denounced the man whom he had injured
These human victims, chained and burning at the stake
They had come to disbelieve in the mystery of kingcraft
They chose to compel no man's conscience
They could not invent or imagine toleration
They knew very little of us, and that little wrong
They have killed him, 'e ammazato,' cried Concini
They were always to deceive every one, upon every occasion
They liked not such divine right nor such gentle-mindedness
They had at last burned one more preacher alive
Things he could tell which are too odious and dreadful
Thirty thousand masses should be said for his soul
Thirty-three per cent. interest was paid (per month)
Thirty Years' War tread on the heels of the forty years
This Somebody may have been one whom we should call Nobody
This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to the State
This obstinate little republic
This wonderful sovereign's littleness oppresses the imagination
Those who fish in troubled waters only to fill their own nets
Those who "sought to swim between two waters"
Those who argue against a foregone conclusion
Thought that all was too little for him
Thousands of burned heretics had not made a single convert
Three hundred fighting women
Three hundred and upwards are hanged annually in London
Three or four hundred petty sovereigns (of Germany)
Throw the cat against their legs
Thus Hand-werpen, hand-throwing, became Antwerp
Time and myself are two
Tis pity he is not an Englishman
To think it capable of error, is the most devilish heresy of all
To stifle for ever the right of free enquiry
To attack England it was necessary to take the road of Ireland
To hear the last solemn commonplaces
To prefer poverty  to the wealth attendant upon trade
To shirk labour, infinite numbers become priests and friars
To doubt the infallibility of Calvin was as heinous a crime
To negotiate with Government in England was to bribe
To milk, the cow as long as she would give milk
To work, ever to work, was the primary law of his nature
To negotiate was to bribe right and left, and at every step
To look down upon their inferior and lost fellow creatures
Toil and sacrifices of those who have preceded us
Tolerate another religion that his own may be tolerated
Tolerating religious liberty had never entered his mind
Toleration--that intolerable term of insult
Toleration thought the deadliest heresy of all
Torquemada's administration (of the inquisition)
Torturing, hanging, embowelling of men, women, and children
Tranquil insolence
Tranquillity rather of paralysis than of health
Tranquillity of despotism to the turbulence of freedom
Triple marriages between the respective nurseries
Trust her sword, not her enemy's word
Twas pity, he said, that both should be heretics
Twenty assaults upon fame and had forty books killed under him
Two witnesses sent him to the stake, one witness to the rack
Tyrannical spirit of Calvinism
Tyranny, ever young and ever old, constantly reproducing herself
Uncouple the dogs and let them run
Under the name of religion (so many crimes)
Understood the art of managing men, particularly his superiors
Undue anxiety for impartiality
Unduly dejected in adversity
Unequivocal policy of slave emancipation
Unimaginable outrage as the most legitimate industry
Universal suffrage was not dreamed of at that day
Unlearned their faith in bell, book, and candle
Unproductive consumption being accounted most sagacious
Unproductive consumption was alarmingly increasing
Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
Unwise impatience for peace
Upon their knees, served the queen with wine
Upon one day twenty-eight master cooks were dismissed
Upper and lower millstones of royal wrath and loyal subserviency
Use of the spade
Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
Usual expedient by which bad legislation on one side countered
Utter disproportions between the king's means and aims
Utter want of adaptation of his means to his ends
Uttering of my choler doth little ease my grief or help my case
Uunmeaning phrases of barren benignity
Vain belief that they were men at eighteen or twenty
Valour on the one side and discretion on the other
Villagers, or villeins
Visible atmosphere of power the poison of which
Volatile word was thought preferable to the permanent letter
Vows of an eternal friendship of several weeks' duration
Waiting the pleasure of a capricious and despotic woman
Walk up and down the earth and destroy his fellow-creatures
War was the normal and natural condition of mankind
War was the normal condition of Christians
War to compel the weakest to follow the religion of the strongest
Was it astonishing that murder was more common than fidelity?
Wasting time fruitlessly is sharpening the knife for himself
We were sold by their negligence who are now angry with us
We believe our mothers to have been honest women
We are beginning to be vexed
We must all die once
We have been talking a little bit of truth to each other
We have the reputation of being a good housewife
We mustn't tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh
Wealth was an unpardonable sin
Wealthy Papists could obtain immunity by an enormous fine
Weapons
Weary of place without power
Weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers
Weight of a thousand years of error
What exchequer can accept chronic warfare and escape bankruptcy
What could save the House of Austria, the cause of Papacy
What was to be done in this world and believed as to the next
When persons of merit suffer without cause
When all was gone, they began to eat each other
When the abbot has dice in his pocket, the convent will play
Whether dead infants were hopelessly damned
Whether murders or stratagems, as if they were acts of virtue
Whether repentance could effect salvation
While one's friends urge moderation
Who the "people" exactly were
Who loved their possessions better than their creed
Whole revenue was pledged to pay the interest, on his debts
Whose mutual hatred was now artfully inflamed by partisans
William of Nassau, Prince of Orange
William Brewster
Wise and honest a man, although he be somewhat longsome
Wiser simply to satisfy himself
Wish to sell us the bear-skin before they have killed the bear
Wish to appear learned in matters of which they are ignorant
With something of feline and feminine duplicity
Wonder equally at human capacity to inflict and to endure misery
Wonders whether it has found its harbor or only lost its anchor
Word peace in Spanish mouths simply meant the Holy Inquisition
Word-mongers who, could clothe one shivering thought
Words are always interpreted to the disadvantage of the weak
Work of the aforesaid Puritans and a few Jesuits
World has rolled on to fresher fields of carnage and ruin
Worn crescents in their caps at Leyden
Worn nor caused to be worn the collar of the serf
Worship God according to the dictates of his conscience
Would not help to burn fifty or sixty thousand Netherlanders
Wrath of the Jesuits at this exercise of legal authority
Wrath of bigots on both sides
Wrath of that injured personage as he read such libellous truths
Wringing a dry cloth for drops of evidence
Write so illegibly or express himself so awkwardly
Writing letters full of injured innocence
Yes, there are wicked men about
Yesterday is the preceptor of To-morrow
You must show your teeth to the Spaniard




*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "PG Edition of Netherlands series — Complete" ***

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